frigid air

The Cold Within

crossposted to ao3

Leonard sits on the floor of the cargo bay, legs stretched out in front of him, back against one of the many crates, staring at the cold white glow emanating from his hand. His fingertips are dark and dusty as if plagued with frostbite. Leonard would laugh if he didn’t feel so miserable.

He didn’t expect to be brought back to life, and he certainly didn’t expect to be brought back with powers. Powers he can’t control. Powers that felt more like a curse than a gift.

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Room For Dessert 01

Description: A boring company dinner gets a little bit spicy when you notice the tension between you and your table’s waiter.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Smut (M)

Word Count: 8.1k

Index: 01, 02, 02.5

A/N: Filth. Straight filth. That’s what this is. Jungkook’s graduation photos pretty much ruined me, especially when I saw the one of him taking their order and just looking so good and UGH. This is the result. Sin. Filth. Porn put to words. Enjoy. Please try not to die. 

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Mr. Min - Chapter 06

Description:  Your CEO caught your attention the first day you started your new job and it seems the attraction is mutual.  Too bad he’s only interested in a relationship that benefits him.

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader x Jungkook

Genre: Angst and Smut

Word Count: 26,321 

A/N: I’m so sorry.  I don’t think I’m capable of doing short chapters anymore.  Feel free to read this on AO3 instead if your app messes up.  

And a huge round of applause to the always lovely, @avveh, for beta-ing this behemoth.  I’m so sorry to put you through that lol.

Prologue - Ch 01 - Ch 02 - Ch 03 - Ch 04 - Ch 05 

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Cherry blossoms are blooming,
winter is ending;
the wind carries into the new season
this melody that we’ve practiced together

my submission for @iwaoiexchange

gift for Marissa @kenmasan
note: When I saw your prompt, I immediately had this image of them in my mind whereby they’d still be in the same club in university, and quite likely it’s music. Iwaizumi somehow strikes me as a cello player, the deep stable sounds representing his nature. Although the air is frigid, there’s a warmth between their connection that also signals the coming of spring… had a lot of fun painting this, and I hope I managed to capture this feeling. I also hope you like it!

Of Snowstorms and Men (Bucky AU Oneshot)

Characters: reader x Bucky, OC Tara (mentioned)

Request of sorts from this post by @whothehellisbella , summary/prompt by @novaya-model:

Hot single dad hires a broke babysitter who happens to need a date to their ex’s wedding and the two get stuck in a snow storm on the drive up there and have to cuddle in the small, tight backseat to keep warm

Warnings: mild swearing? Mentions of cheating and sexy times.

 Word Count: 3.2k (yikes. heh.)

Tags are at the bottom. Permanent list is CLOSED I’M SORRY. 

A/N: Holy crap, you guys. I haven’t written so much so fast in a really really long time. Like, 3k in 2 hours. Whoa. I’m a slow writer usually. I saw Bella’s post though and my fingers just started flying!! This is basically just a huge jumble of tropes and I really hope you like it. Any feedback and comments are appreciated! Love you guys!! 

Full Masterlist

_____________________________________________________

Three Weeks Ago:

“No offense I hope, but…you seem a bit older than most of the other applicants,” said the man who sat before you.

“None taken, I promise. Trust me, I never thought I’d be applying for a nanny job in my late 20s because I can’t get a job even with a Master’s degree,” you replied, laughing nervously.

“Understood,” he nodded. “So, what makes you a good fit for this position, Ms. (Y/L/N)?” he asked, tapping a pen lazily on your resume before him.

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Mr. Min - Chapter 01

Description:  Your CEO caught your attention the first day you started your new job and it seems the attraction is mutual.  Too bad he’s only interested in a relationship that benefits him.

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 8641

Warning: Dom!Yoongi, light breath play, cum play, punishment, demeaning names

A/N: I ended up having to split this chapter in two because it was getting so long.  I hope you enjoy it anyways!

Prologue - Ch 02 - Ch 03 - Ch 04 - Ch 05 - Ch 06

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The Dinner Party

just a random idea that came to me in a fever dream earlier this week. rated E for explicit smutty smut smut. enjoy!


“You want me to do what?”

Peeta frowned at her foot, wielding the nail polish brush threateningly. “First, I want you to hold still.” Katniss wriggled her toes defiantly but then obliged, hardly daring to breathe when he swiped the coral nail polish onto her big toe in nice, even strokes. It looked perfect, of course. He could always paint better than she could, even nails.

“Seriously, though. You want me to go to a dinner party with you?” she asked. He glanced up at her with a crooked smile before he started painting her next toenail.

“You make it sound like I’ve asked you to strip naked and run around the block or something,” he said, focusing on her toes. She snorted, then clamped her lips shut when he shot her a warning look. Snorting made her foot jiggle, apparently. “It’s just a dinner party. Delly asked everyone to bring a guest–someone, and I quote, ‘interesting.’ So I’m asking you.”

Katniss stared at the top of his head, his blond curls falling across his forehead as he worked. “But I don’t really know her. And what a weird stipulation,” she said with a laugh.

Peeta shrugged. “Delly likes her theme parties,” he muttered, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth as he delicately painted her pinky toe. Satisfied with his work, he shot her a triumphant smile. “And you’re the most interesting person I know.”

She rolled her eyes. “Says the guy who paints nails better than any girl I know.”

He gave her a look of mock offense. “Are you questioning my masculinity? You know how I feel about rigid gender roles.” Then he held up his hand, palm flat, fingers spread. “And who’s got a steadier hand than me?” She kicked playfully at his hand, and he made a noise of protest, grabbing her ankle to place her foot down on the coffee table. “Don’t mess up my hard work.”

Katniss slumped down into the couch, chewing on her lip. “You know I don’t like people. How am I supposed to be interesting around a bunch of strangers?”

Screwing the nail polish bottle shut, Peeta sat back on his hands. “Just think of it as a challenge. See how often you can work into the conversation that dry wit and razor-sharp sarcasm of yours without them realizing you’re insulting them.”

“Do you want people to hate me?” she asked wryly, folding her arms over her chest. He grinned.

“Delly said interesting. She didn’t say anything about likable.” He laughed when she flipped him off, then pushed off the floor to stand up. “I should head home. But I swear, if you just be yourself, people will love you.” She didn’t think it was that simple. Peeta never had to worry about getting people to like him; it just came naturally to him. But she didn’t argue the point, letting him pull her up from the couch. With cotton balls stuffed between her toes, she wobbled after him to the front door. Grabbing his jacket from the coat rack, he turned to her. “So you’ll come?”

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A Hundred Lesser Faces: (Six)

Notes from Mod Bonnie

  • This story stems from the premise: what if Voyager!Claire had gone first to Lallybroch instead of directly to the print shop in Edinburgh?

Craigh Na Dun

I brought a heart into the room

     but from the room I carried none with me.

No, I chided silently, staring around the pitiful shack, blank. I had left with a heart: I’d left with Bree, the love of my second life, and that little heart had kept me tethered to life until I’d found myself again.

….but the heart with which I’d entered? That was no more.  

They were still here, watching me from the damp, dark corners of the cottage: the fragments. I could feel them. Aching. 

Yes, this is where you left us. You made it out, but we remained. Here we shall remain, now that…

Now. 

My body was a no-man’s land. On the one side, grief: staggering in detail…unending…ripping me to shreds with every breath; on the other, utter nothingness: numbed oblivion…the absence of anything human. One force would rise up to charge, emboldened, and then be summarily routed, annihilated. The process would reverse and repeat over and over, leaving nothing but a throbbing, bleeding stalemate between. Mutually-Assured Destruction. 

I closed my eyes and swayed, my arms limp at my sides, a finger searching for the mark at the base of my thumb.

‘I want to take away your touch with me.’ 

A past me had said that, here within these walls.

 ‘…to have something of you that will stay with me always.’

‘Always.’ 

Only, nothing was ‘always.’ Not even that. 

True, I could see it, still, the faintest of white lines forming the letter J; but any palpable scar had vanished into the smooth landscape of the skin. 

Strange: I had never once allowed myself to acknowledge that fact. Doing so now—It plunged me into a cold, chill darkness, where only my terror was heard. Over the years, as I felt it fade, and fade, and fade, I had let myself cling to the fantasy of ‘always’; had permitted myself to never actually touch the spot, nor look at it—only to tell myself it was there, to cling to the safety and comfort of this one, tiny delusion. Yet, the cruel reality was that Jamie’s last touch was now no more than a photograph: a single moment in time, captured in the record, visible, but with no dimension. An image. A hint at a memory. 

Jesus H, Christ, but it’s the *memory* that matters, Beauchamp, so stop being foolish. You’re a physician, damn you: you should know better than anyone that scars are *supposed* to heal. It doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change the memory. 

Yes, the body, so perfectly adapted to regenerate and prolong us, will do everything in its power to erase the imperfections life inflicts upon it. The platelets will descend; the threads of fibrin will lash and bind; the white blood cells will attack infection at the breach, keeping the small hurt from becoming fatal. It is how we—physically, fundamentallygo on. 

The body cannot comprehend that its healing power, that very erasure, is a wound in and of itself; that our hurts and imperfections might be nothing less than our deepest desire; that even pain—

‘…I don’t care if it hurts; nothing could hurt more than leaving you.’

“Wrong again, Beauchamp,” I whispered, my voice catching. This could hurt more. Leaving him again, half our lives gone; facing the remaining half alone….and that, after rising from loneliness up to a great peak of hope—only to—

But you know he’s alive, this time, Beauchamp. You know he’s happy! You know he’s going to live to be an old man, perhaps to see his grandchildren. For Pete’s sake, you maudlin creature, surely you can agree that that fact makes this day far better than the eve of Culloden. 

Yes. Better.

….but I didn’t expect to endure anything of the like again. 

But now you *shall* endure it, Beauchamp. Now, you move on. 

‘Move on?’ How?…. I can’t even move from this spot.

I blinked hard up at the ceiling, fists and teeth clenched, tears falling. “Damn you, Jamie, how did you bloody do this?”

He’d been so brave—so fucking brave in those final hours under this roof. He’d known that he must send me away, must do so because it was the best chance for me, for our child. He’d touched me; roused me; smiled for me; reassured me; joked and laughed, even, as best he could. He had been strong and HIMSELF, to the end. 

And here I was — twenty-odd years later, leaving by the very same route for his sake, for his chance for a good and happy existence, just as genuinely assured in my conviction as he—falling apart.

How had he remained in one piece? How the bloody hell had he managed to say goodbye without even shedding a tear, damn him

‘I would sleep once more this way—holding you, holding the babe.’

Because he had known for a fact that he would die the next morning. He wouldn’t have to live with that emptiness, with a broken heart, or so he had supposed; and so he’d kept his tears at bay because he knew I would. I had to go on, and so he’d rallied for my sake, presented himself to me as a man calm and at peace, so as not to make my task—my grief, the reality that I would have to be the one to walk away forever—any more excruciating than it already was.

So brave. Strong.  

I would do the same for you, Jamie, if it fell to me. I hope I could be strong for you. 

But if there were any grace that had been granted to me, in this final, broken chapter of our story, it was that I was spared having to look my love in the eye as I gave him up to a better life;

that I, at least, could let my tears fall freely. 


A sudden draft stirred my flimsy skirt, bringing me sharply to awareness. I shivered against the frigid air, mindful through my disorientation of how sharply my knees ached. The light outside had shifted since I entered the cottage. The sun had long since disappeared behind the horizon, leaving only the dim grey-pink of November twilight. 

Time, Beauchamp. Walk out the door. Only a quick walk up the hill, and it’s over. No sense in prolonging it any further. 

It was time; and I found myself moving with purpose, though not toward the door.

There, at the back wall, in that opening where the boards had long since fallen away, I stood, silent and still. Snowflakes—scattered, sporadic— brushed my cheeks, but I paid them no heed.

The very last place I’d seen him; felt his touch; felt him within me.

The damp, rotten wood felt so soft and smooth under my bare palm. Warm. Living. 

‘Name him Brian…for my father.’ 

“Come find me, will you?” I whispered to the wind, forcing a smile. “When we’re both gone into what comes after, c—” 

My throat closed. 

I pictured seeing the outline of a tall, etherial figure, in that after-place…and seeing his arm circle around the waist of a small woman; the both of them stretching their arms out toward two little girls, running to them. 

Would he even see me? 

And yet…

‘I will find you….

I promise.’ 

“I shall hold you to it, Jamie Fraser.” I rubbed my thumb once over the plank.  “Til then, my love.


It was a much more strenuous climb than I remembered. The icy, twilight air stung my lungs as I gulped it down, the burning in my muscles only heightening the sensations of grief, of panic, of regret, and loss. I wanted to let myself fall, there on the slope, and weep, just sleep until I vanished into nothing. 

But the thought of Bree’s face kept me going up that hill, step after aching step.

You’ll see her, soon. 

Only a hundred yards more.

You’d prepared yourself to never see her again, and now you’ll have years and years

Fifty to go.

Just think of the surprise on her face.

Twenty-five.

Think of how relieved she’ll—

“C L A I R E !”


My heart stopped.

I swear, it actually

STOPPED.


Restraint

Daveed Diggs x Reader

Word Count: 2312

Request/Summary: This wasn’t requested, it’s a fake dating AU in which you invite Diggs to your high school reunion.

Warnings: None, just cussing and unrequited love.

Tagging: Long ago @whatdimissmotherfuckers asked to be tagged in this so… (it did NOT go as planned. but I like it. so,)

A/N: Please enjoy! Let me know what you thought, if things go as planned, there will be three parts!

Masterlist | Ask Box | Restraint | Stupidity | Infatuation | Fantasy


You sighed through your teeth, fiddling with the corner of the invitation in your hand, its shiny surface reflected the flickering light above you. You should go. You exhaled again and dragged yourself up from the couch, scouring the area backstage for Daveed. “Daveed.” You stated when you saw him.

“That is my name.”

“Let’s be honest. You’re the hottest guy here,” you started

“I would argue that Leslie is the hottest guy here.” Daveed countered, his teeth showing as a smile crinkled his eyes.

“Hey!” Thayne and Anthony harmonized, causing you to stifle a cackle.

“Anyway. My high school reunion is coming up,” Daveed grinned. “What are you smiling at?” You asked, suspicious.

“Nothing.” He chuckled, waving his hand dismissively and sniffling softly.

“Well, I need to rub in their faces how successful I am.” You continued hesitantly. “And… I need a fake boyfriend.”

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I’m your boyfriend, after all. // Haechan (Lee Donghyuck)

Originally posted by haenyan

Style: Drabble set

Genre: Fluuf, fluff and more fluff… so much fluff I almost made myself throw up

Warnings: None~

Words: 3.590

a/n: My bias ♥︎♥︎♥︎ I originally wasn’t going to post this since I ran out of ideas/the formatting is weird but then I saw all the rumours floating around him :’( Please try not to believe any of them until an official source says otherwise… he doesn’t deserve all the slander he’s getting!! Let’s all support him through this rough time! (also sorry for not updating frequently… school stuck a knife up my ass lol) 

if you enjoyed this, check out my doyoung college au here!

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Hate To Love You

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, fighting, violence, blood, inury, bad blood between Reader and Bucky, mentions of breakup

Word Count: 1087

Summary: After you and Bucky breakup you can’t stand to be apart of the Avengers any longer, choosing instead to work for yourself. However when Steve asks for your help, telling you that there was no one else he could ask you agreed to one more mission. 

A/N: I’m re posting this from my old blog, so I’m going to keep the original tag post for part 2 but if you wanted to be added just let me know right HERE !!


“There isn’t anybody else?”
“Sorry y/n, Wanda’s still in Sokovia and I couldn’t get Nat back on such short notice.”
“It’s fine, not your fault Steve,” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “What time do we fly out?”
“Zero six hundred tomorrow,” He replied, the sound of relief hanging in his voice. “Thanks for this y/n, I owe you.”
“Yeah, yeah.”

I disconnected the call, feeling my shoulders slump as I leant back on the kitchen bench, already exhausted by the thought of tomorrow’s mission. It wasn’t so much the mission itself though, it would be nice to get back into doing what I’d trained for years to do, it would be nice seeing Steve again. However I was also one hundred percent sure that Bucky would also be assigned on the mission, hence why I had a blooming headache starting already.

It had been eight months since I’d last seen or spoken to him, eight months since we broke up in a fit of shouting, tears and thrown objects. It hadn’t been pleasant and as a result I’d walked straight out of the Avengers compound, fully intending to never ever go back. I had been determined back then to get out of that business completely, find an apartment in the city and go to a normal nine to five job like everybody else. However, once something was in your life it was hard to let it go, so I found myself doing odd freelancing jobs, sometimes even for Nick Fury if he asked.
I wasn’t at all surprised that he’d passed my new number onto Steve, telling him that I would be more than happy to help him out if he needed.

Pushing myself off the bench I moved to the kitchen cabinet, pulling down a glass and the bottle of whiskey I kept for occasions such as these. Uncapping the lid I poured two fingers into the glass, swallowing them down in only two mouthfuls, the amber liquid burning as it went down my throat. I looked up at the clock as I poured out a little more alcohol. Only seven hours to take off.

-

The sound of my boots on the tarmac seemed to magnify in the quiet morning, the fog still hanging low to the ground and the sun only barely peeking out in the horizon. I took a deep breath and watched as it misted out in front of me in the frigid morning air.

“Y/n!”
I spun around at the call of my name, my eyes landing on Steve, dressed up in his Captain America suit, the cap hanging off one of his wrists. He jogged the last feet between us, bringing me swiftly into his arms, lifting me up slightly off the ground.
“It’s so good to see you!” I said with a genuine smile, having only just realized how much I actually missed him. “Eight months hasn’t changed you a bit.”
He shrugged, releasing me from his grip and standing back, his eyes sweeping over my form.
“It’s changed you though,” He chuckled. “You look good y/n.”
“Thanks,” I murmured, feeling the blush creep over my cheeks.

We were pulled from our short reunion as someone cleared their throat behind us, my eyes landing on Bucky, his jaw tense and tight.
“Mind if we move this along?” he glowered, his eyes barely sweeping over me as he turned his glare to Steve.
Steve looked like he was about to reply but I cut him off before he had the chance, my hand landing on my hip as I glared back at the soldier.
“Nice to know that hostility hasn’t left your personality James.”
“You bring it out in me,” He spat back, lips set in a thin line.

Without another word he pushed past us both, making sure that his shoulder bumped mine as he passed, the nudge causing me to stumble slightly. I glared venomously at the back of his head, my hands balling into fists at my side. At this very second the only thing I wanted to do was pull the glock from where it was resting on my side and shoot a nice hole through that metal shoulder of his.

Steve squeezed my shoulder, probably guessing my train of thought, the expression on his face filled with guilt.
“Sorry y/n,” He said. “I didn’t think he’d act quite like that.”
“What exactly were you expecting? It’s not like we ended our relationship on the best of terms,” Steve grimaced and I suddenly felt shitty for taking it out on him; he wasn’t the one acting like a total dick. “Honestly, it’s fine Steve, this is after all a job and no matter how we feel towards each other we might as well be professional about it.”

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Sunday Respite - Necromancy: Making Friends

I will be truthful, I have never had a player choose to devote themselves to the dark-arts … in-game, obviously. Well, and out of game. Usually they avoid the venerable school with a distance rivaled only by that given to inconspicuous props upon pedestals in wide, empty dungeon rooms. Perhaps its a dislike of suiting the stereotypical (yet badass) summoner of souls and entrapper of the dead, perhaps its a desire to pursue a more immediately rewarding school such as evocation or illusion. I say bah-humbug to this. If someone wishes to play in my game and hang out in haunted graveyards, chanting ‘til the pale moon sinks beneath the horizon, then I say good on you, pal.

Here are some enticing items to tempt the pure and incorruptible over into the blackest fifth and rotten waste, where mortal pleasures and obsessions are diseases to be cured through the sacrifice and suffering of the pursuit of true knowledge. Unlock that fascination, surrender to the whispers, take our hand and join us beneath the cloaking shadows of the dungeon walls.

Hooded-Cowl of the Antler

A warm and well-made cowl which tussles and dances in the midnight winds. A beautiful inner of amber weave gleams like torchlight under the absorbing darkness of the exterior; empty as sorrow, lonely as a blackened tide washing over barren shores of ancient bones and tattered flotsam. The collar ties loop together over the chest around an iron ring, and the hood obscures face and eye from any passing observer. The wearer, upon command, can pull forth from the speechless depths of the earth a great, prideful stag of ashen bone and gleaming frost. It howls out onto the wilderness and slowly lowers its head toward its master, offering a ride upon its icy spine. The stag can run as fast as any horse, living or dead, and can outrun a jackal pack over open ground. It leaves behind a path of frigid air, with pebbles and stones lathered in peeling cold for hours beyond its passing. Those unfortunate enough to cross this trail risk having their blood lock in their veins as they idly step through its trail.

Hangman’s Gift

This decoration is a rotten, gnarled length of thick rope, tied around the wearer’s neck with a clubbish knot hanging below the chin. The trailing fibers are frayed and sliced to wire-thin strings. This necklace, or sorts, is worn by those who have survived executions and certain death through one means or quite another. The gallows aren’t suited for them, and many executioners recognise such a symbol; one of an untouchable status. This man should be dead. Whilst the Gift is adorned, the wearer doesn’t require food, water, nor even air to survive. They live on through the worst that life can throw at them, and much beyond that.

Motley Neck-Knife

The Motley blade is a tidy-little throat slicer. Its a short, silver blade, barely an inch long, secured upon an ivory grip. Its sheath is that of a simple, black leather with a crude zig-zag stitching around its opening. When the Motley dagger earns its name and separates a man from his life with an abrupt, yet precise, infliction, that same body that dropped not two seconds ago jolts back to its feet at his killer’s side. Most guards have seen a murder in their time, so corpses scares them little. Some have even witnessed petty undead, so a shambling body upon its twisted ankles and bloated joints is nothing to panic over. But none had seen the smiles that the Motley carver grows over its victim’s lifeless mugs. Certainly none had heard the screams of the dead men inside as they watched in horror, helplessly passive as they see their own, empty forms stride forth towards friend and fellow alike with a feral madness burning in their bloodshot, and crow-pecked eyes.

Dead-Shot Arrows

These arrows are made of human bone. Their feathered ends are human hairs, the shaft is a carved femur, and the head is a incisor tooth, carved to a needle’s edge. They feel heavy to hold in mortal hands, like all of the goodness in the world and your head bleeds out onto the floor as you level it upon your pale palm. The munition is said to be made exclusively from the skeletons of priests and paladins from wherever they may be found. No-other would do, clearly. For when you test the wrath of the divine you may as well go full-in. Why not desecrate the holy dead? That query becomes difficult to dispute once the arrow meets a target. The arrow stings like a wasp swarm, digging out the skin, itching the blood like the veins are full of sandpaper. Then the victim’s bones begin to creak like heavy timbers under a sea storm, bending and twisting in horrific pain. Then they splinter and fracture through skin like porcupine quills as the bones begin to pull themselves out of their flesh.

Pipes of the Grave

A lonely city-bard may perchance these wooden pipes of birch and green leather in a lonely shop window on a lonely street they have never once walked. The shop-keep promises through yellowed teeth and dry lips that the instrument is as perfect as a true-lover’s kiss, bringing true emotion to any tale told with heartful passion and intent: a memorable performance if there would ever be one. The bard may yet further be intrigued at the low price, and may further yet buy them with a smile gleaming with the thought of gold and silver coins aplenty. The performances that she plays will sing like mountain cries and wail with forlorn hopes, echoing through every generation’s ears, bringing both youth and elders alike to rapturous applause. The crowd is crying, only not in joy. They scatter like woodlice as the lush grasses of the city park grounds split open into raw dirt and clawing fingers, as the generations lost before join in on the celebrations, tearing their rotten hulks up from the ancient graveyards buried and forgotten below. His performance ceases, and the dead collapse into piles of bone. She discards the instrument, destroys it perhaps, and she returns to her original flute. Unfortunately, once the Pipes have been played, the curse it contracts is not so easily gotten rid of, and the dead will rise wherever she sings.

Enjoy

Pixie x

12/2/17

I’m starting to realize I talk about weather near constantly in my lore posts, so I drafted up my HC of the approximate global weather patterns.

The Vortex basically has total control of the weather for west/northern Sornieth. The clockwise spin moves frigid air from the Southern Icefields into the Starfall Isles, Dragonhome, and the Scarred Wasteland, heating up as it goes.

The Viridian Labyrinth is far enough out that winds are relatively still, and takes more of its general weather from the greater ocean. The permanent and previous little sunlight in the Tangled Wood mean in theory it would be colder, but it actually sits right in the middle of a competing weather pattern that keeps it about as temperate as the Sunbeam Ruins.

The Shifting Expanse’s weather pattern are the ones that largely dictate what goes on in southern/eastern Sornieth. It’s variable, but I like to imagine the prevailing storm pattern is one that spins out from the Tempest Spire and pushes against the Vortex winds that would otherwise move south through the Ashfall Waste. This combined with the heat of the Great Furnace means that the Ashfall Waste is actually subject to fairly brutal ash storms. But the prevailing wind out of the Ashfall Waste actually merges into a fairly small but consistent weather pattern in the Sea of Thousand Currents, which causes the waters and the wind to have a primarily counter-clockwise flow. That current is a subsystem of the Vortex as well.

But in short, the heat from Ashfall follows the coast up into the Sunbeam Ruins and is the sole reason the Tangled Wood isn’t terribly different in average temperature from the Sunbeam Ruins. 

The weather from the greater ocean sometimes comes in and disrupts all this of course, but that’s how I think of it working in general.

And in the sea, there’s like 4 main maelstroms (the biggest of which I forgot to draw in whoops)

  • One in the sea between Fire, Wind, and Ice, just south of the Vortex.
  • A sister to the above, slightly further east in the sea between Fire, Lightning, and Ice.
  • One that forms in Meteora Sound (between Arcane and Earth) when the weather is right.
  • The biggest one in Windstar Bay, which frequently has chunks of the floes from Ice in it and is an actual demon to navigate by ship. (Also there’s a superstition that it’s not caused by the weather but something from the Greater Ocean that was irradiated and warped by Arcane energy and subsequently trapped by the Windsinger, Arcanist, and Icewarden when it tried to pass through the bay and get to the Sea of A Thousand Currents)

Idk I might do one that’s bigger and makes more sense later.

Warmth in the Winter - Daryl Dixon Smut

gather y’alls holy water because y’all will need it after this.

dedicated to the amazing human bean that requested kinky daryl. ya done got my fucked up.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - I WRITE FOR TWENTY ONE PILOTS AND TWD.

Pairing: Daryl x Reader

Type: ANGSTY SMUT

Setting: Alexandria era

Warnings: angry daryl, carol, winter, sex, sex, SEX, kinky daryl, restraints, choking, blood, edging/withholding orgasm, dirty talk, i think thats it?

enjoy, my sinners.

Originally posted by fifty-shades-of-mara

Your legs were propped up on the fireplace of your house in Alexandria and your back rested against the sofa chair behind you. The warmth from the fire radiated from the ashes to your feet and you wrapped the blanket draped around your shoulders tighter to your body to trap in the heat. As you took in a breath, you exhaled by wheezing from your scratchy throat. You sniffled and nuzzled your face closer into your book as you heard the front door open and cold air gush in. 

It was an unusually cold day in Alexandria and if there was one thing you hated more than talking to people, it was the cold. It made your lips chapped, made you sick as all get out, and it was so much work to get back warmth. However, the cold gave you an excuse to sit inside and not have to face people. Ever since the group with the leader named Rick joined, things in Alexandria finally began to slightly look up. You had been in Alexandria since the very beginning, so you never really had to fight unless times called for desperate measures. You were very nervous around their group, as they all seemed very placid and standoff-ish. After they had finally settled into their separate houses, you had gone to the couple, you assumed, named Abraham and Rosita, living next to you and offered to have dinner with them. Rosita slammed the door in your face and that was how you had first met her. You took it as a lesson and only spoke to them if you needed. After all, you were practically invisible in this community. You live alone in your house and offer your services to guard the gate. There was one person in the group that had didn’t seem too guarded and her name was Carol. She was the one person you talked to the most. She would come over to your house or you would go to hers and you two would exchange various recipes. After a few times of going to her house, though, you preferred for her to visit yours. The man she lived with, Daryl, would make rude, snide comments every time you were around and you felt extremely uncomfortably under his heavy stare. If you weren’t so timid, you would’ve slapped him by now.

“Hey! Where are you at?” Carol’s voice chimed through your living room. You pushed yourself up and set the book and the blanket down on the chair behind you.

“I’m here,” You responded, coughing up a lung in the process.

“Oh God, it’s this weather that’s made you sick isn’t it,” she sighed, grabbing a pot from under your stove.

“I can’t seem to make out why it all of a sudden has just gotten so cold,” you rubbed your hands over your dry skin.

She looked through your cabinets, looking for whatever recipe she was going to show you today.

“Damn, you don’t have any broth,” she said, shutting the cabinet and putting back the pot.

“What were you going to make?” you asked.

“Well, I was going to make you some homemade chicken noodle soup, but it appears you don’t have the ingredients,” she paused, grabbing your hand and leading you to the door. “I will just have to make it at my house.”

“Carol, no, you know I can’t stand Daryl,” you whined.

“Look,” she said, leading you out the front door into the frigid air. “You need some soup and possibly some medicine. If he says anything I will just slap him or something. He listens to me, I promise.”

You groaned as you walked through the cold air, wind cutting into the skin on your face, wrapping the worn jacket tighter over your body. Carol lead you up the stairs to her house and you entered, warmth engulfing your body again. You shed your jacket, hanging it onto the coatrack, and you headed into her kitchen. You saw Daryl lounging on the sofa, cleaning his arrows. At the sight of you entering and looking at him, he looked into your eyes, and for just one slight moment you thought he wouldn’t say anything. But you were wrong.

“What the hell you lookin’ at?” he asked. You averted your eyes to the ground and he went back to cleaning his arrows. You shook your head and headed the the island that sat in the kitchen. Carol was already preparing the stove when you asked, “Are you gonna show me the recipe?”

“Maybe some other time,” she said as Daryl got up, walking into the kitchen and stood right next to you, as if intentionally winding you up. You stiffened as you felt his eyes land on you, then down your body. “But for now you just need to get well. Daryl,” she addressed and he tore his eyes from you to meet hers. “Can you please get her the medicine from Denise?”

“I ain’t getting nothin’ for her,” he said, starting to walk back to the couch.

“Daryl,” she said more stern, as if reprimanding a child. 

“The hell’s she ever done for me?” he asked. You focused on the bubbling broth on the stove. Daryl sighed and muttered something under his breath before grabbing his crossbow and heading out the door, making sure to slam it.

“What have I ever done to him? You asked, anger bubbling in your chest.

“Don’t worry about it, he’s just Daryl,” she said resuming her recipe.

“Shit,” she cursed, slamming the cabinet door. “I should’ve told him to grab me some carrots.”

She walked to the door and threw on her jacket, talking to you in the process.

“Sorry about this, I will be right back. If Daryl returns, just don’t egg him on. Watch over the broth for me.”

You didn’t even have a chance to argue before she shut the door, leaving you in silence. You rose from your seat, looking into the pot where canned chicken broth bubbled. You clutched onto the wooden spoon, stirring it ever so softly.

The front door opens and closes again after a few minutes and you look up to see the dark eyes of Daryl. He carries the bottle of medication in his large hand and gruffly sets it down on the counter next to you. 

“Thanks,” you mumble, eyes locked on the soup. He scoffs in response.

“Yeah, whatever, you should be thankful.”

Something deep inside you snaps and maybe it’s because of the sickness you had or the raging sexual tension you endured when around him, but you don’t hold back as you throw the spoon back into the pot.

“What the fuck is your problem?” You roar.

“Woah, see that? You can fuckin’ talk,” He rolls his eyes. You storm from around to the island to right under his nose.

“What the fuck did i do to you? I’ve barely spoken to you and you are always fucking commenting on me or staring at me! Either stop fucking talking to me all together or tell me what the fuck I’ve done wrong!” you shout. Daryl pauses for a moment, and you see something in his eyes that you’ve seen too many times. But this time he acts on it. He grabs you by your shoulders and shoves you against the nearest wall and boxes you in with his arms.

“Wanna know what the fuck you did wrong?” He mutters, anger dripping from his voice. “I’ll tell you. Ever since I first saw you, I can’t stand it. You’re always parading around with that perfect fuckin’ body of yours and all I want to do when I see you is pin you down to my damn bed and fuck you so hard you can’t see straight and you’re screaming my name and squirting all over my cock. And that’s what I’m gonna do,”

You look up at him, eyes wide, a nervous lust coursing through your body with Daryl’s words. “B- But I’m sick, you’ll get sick.”

“You know what, I wish I gave a damn,” he moans, getting closer to your face.

You take his sentence in and your breath hitches, looking into his eyes. With your newfound, lust-powered confidence, you pull him close to you, almost kissing him and whisper, “Then fucking kiss me already.”

The second the words leave your lips, you pull Daryl’s face to yours, roughly dragging your lips over his. He sloppily kisses you and throws his hands around yours and shoves them against the wall above you, locking your arms above your head. You gasp as his hands tighten over your fragile wrists.

“You’re so damn quiet all the time, who knew you could be so dirty,” he groans. Keeping one of his hands locked around your wrists, he drags his hands down your body and feels for the button of your jeans. His lips harshly suck on the skin of your neck as his hands delve into your pants, coming in contact with your panties. His fingers start to rub your clit and you moan out loudly. He pulls his hand back and you whimper at the loss of contact, but suck in a breath when his fingers dive into your panties. He runs a finger up your already-slick folds, collecting the wetness on his fingers. He pulls his hand back again and holds the finger up to your face.

“Such a fuckin’ dirty slut. Lick my fingers,” he commands and you are far too aroused to argue. You run your tongue up his finger, tasting your salty-sweetness. You wrap your lips around his fingers, as if teasing him. In the midst of your acts, you hear Carol’s voice outside talking to whoever was accompanying her. Daryl whispers in your ear, “To be continued.” 

You button your pants and shakily walk back to the stove, smoothing your hair over your neck where there was undoubtedly love bites. Daryl goes to lounge on the couch, then Carol enters, hanging her coat back up. You reach for the medicine and get a pill out and Carol takes a closer look at your face.

“Your cheeks are flushed,” she points out. You reach for your cheeks. “Do you feel worse?”

“I’m okay, I think it’s just a bit… hot in here,” you shrug, looking at the ground and slipping the pill in your mouth and sitting at the island while she continued to make you soup.


It’s late that same night and you are just getting out of the shower. The towel was wrapped around your body and you turned to look in the mirror at your reflection. You pull your hair back and gaze at the single bruise that stayed planted on your neck. Your eyes were glowing with excitement and you wondered if he was going to show up at your house that night. You don’t know what had happened to you, but you had no problem with it. You dry the rest of your body off and slip a shirt over your bare breasts and slip a pair of pajama pants on on top of some black panties. Like clockwork, your front doorbell rings. You walk out of your room and into the foyer of your house. You reach for the door and open it. Daryl rushes in, almost as if he was going to be late, and slams the door behind him. He grabs your face and connects his lips to yours, not an ounce of gentleness in him.

“Lead me to your room right now,” he gruffly mumbles. You comply, walking quickly to your room with him in tow. You turn to face him, back to the bed and you fall back, arms open and legs sprawled out. He moans slightly, but crawls on top of you, shedding his shirt in the process. He grabs the thin shirt you’re wearing and nearly tears it off of you. He groans again when he sees you’re not wearing a bra. He presses his hands to your breasts, tweaking your nipples as his mouth comes in contact with the left nipple. He licks around it and gently bites it, doing the same to the other. He massages them together and kisses in the valley between, his lips sloppily making wet kisses all the way down to the elastic of your pants. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your pants and panties, dragging them down your legs. 

“God, I’ve been thinking about this cunt ever since our encounter earlier,” he says, his mouth inching closer to your center. However, when your hands tangle themselves in his long hair, he shoots himself up. He turns to your closet, yanking it open. He sees a flannel and yanks it off the hanger, turning back to you. He crawls on top of you.

“Put your hands up,” he commands. You gladly put your hands above your head, smirking at him. He ties your hands together in a tight knot.

“Listen here,” he whispers, his hands reaching up to wrap around your neck, constricting your airways. You moan. “You like this don’t you, you dirty girl. But one thing, you moan, you get punished. Got it?”

You nod, gasping for air when he lets go. He scoots down back to your core and settles his head between your legs. He lightly blows on your core and you’re already biting your lip, fighting moans threatening to tear from your chest. He finally licks a stripe all the way up your core, and your breathe in hard. He continues licking until one of his fingers dives into you suddenly. Your hips jolt at the contact, and you fight the feeling to moan. You feel your climax approaching fast and furiously, and you clench as tight as you can around his fingers. However, when his tongue comes in contact with your clit as his fingers ruthlessly dive into you, you let out a yelp, forgetting the rules. All at once, his actions stop. You pick your head up, gazing at him. He sits back, unbuckling his pants. He slides them down his legs and steps out of them.

“I done told you to not speak a word,” he mutters.

“I… I just…” you whimper as he slowly crawls over you again. 

“Look’s like you need to be taught a fuckin’ lesson,” he shrugs. Suddenly, he flips you onto your stomach and grabs fistfulls of your backside as you rise on all fours. Your arms are twisted against the bedpost, but that was the last thing on your mind. Without any warning at all, he shoves himself inside of you, already setting a pace.

“Speak,” he moans. “Tell me how good it feels.”

You immediately yelp out, “Shit, Daryl, you feel so good!”

He continues to relentlessly thrust into you, making the bed rock violently underneath you. Each time he thrusts, the bed hits the wall and your sure your neighbors can hear you moaning. Daryl reaches down to the flannel shirt and rips it untied, reaching down to wrap his hands around your throat again. He pulls your neck upwards, your body sitting straight up against his chest on your knees. With your new freedom from the restraints, you reach behind you, grasping at his hair and pulling it with the pleasure pulsating through you. He thrusts into you at the same pace and you moan out as his fingers leave bruises on your neck.

“Please, Daryl,” you gasp.

“Please, what? Use that quiet mouth of yours.”

“Fuck me harder,” you say.

A scream tears from your throat as he thrusts up into you even faster now. He finally realizes he hit the spot he’s been looking for when you throw your head back against his shoulder, not holding back moans as his other hand works on your clit on vigorous circles.

“Oh… oh shit,” you curse as you feel yourself approaching the edge, clenching around him.

“You better not cum until I say,” he says through gritted teeth, giving your throat one last squeeze before he throws you back down on all fours. He continues his thrusts and your hands are squeezing the sheets tightly and your teeth have sunk into your bottom lip, droplets of blood seeping into your mouth. When Daryl pulls out, you’re shocked at the sudden loss of contact, but he flips you on your back again and pushes your knees up to where your legs were going over his shoulders. He thrusts into you again, showing no mercy as he pushed your legs farther up. You screamed for him, nails running down his back so hard you’re sure you drew blood. 

“Not yet,” he muttered, voice breaking as his own end was approaching. You screamed again, the pleasure too much for you to handle. You felt like a dam about to burst.

“Okay, baby. Cum for me,” he says. The second the first word left his mouth, you came with a shout, twitching and moaning repetitions of his name, the sound of skin slapping skin, moans, and the bed hitting the wall shaking the house. You kissed him through your climax, the passion and pleasure spreading through your body like a wildfire. You twitch beneath him as you finish your high. He still thrusts into you, but pulls out after a few final sloppy thrusts and starts to finish himself off over you. You move shakily, still surfing the aftershocks of your own high, so that you can help finish him off. You quickly wrap your hand around his slick shaft and pump, tongue teasing his head. He finally moans your name one final time before his load shoots out and coats your hand. His breath evens out and he sits back.

“Didn’t know you was a squirter.”

You chuckle slightly, “Neither did I.”

After you clean yourselves up you convince Daryl to stay the night and sleep with you, and he finally reluctantly agreed, crawling under the sheets with you.

“You’re gonna get sick, you know,” you say, sleep making your voice groggy. He shrugs.

“That’s honestly the least of my worries right now.”

“Why is that?” you inquire.

“Normally, I never woulda done something like… ya know, that. But this whole zombie apocalypse thing has made me think, why not take some risks ‘cause who knows what could happen tomorrow,” he says, thinking hard about his words, as if he was a child trying to put a sentence together.

“I can relate to that wholeheartedly,” you softly smile and pull him in for one last kiss before turning over and letting your heavy lids down and your soul slip into a sleep.

requests are open - i write for twenty one pilots and twd.

Nightcap [Jason Todd x Reader]

Asked by anon: “Jason Todd x reader where the reader sleeps over for the first time”

A/N: Here you go beautiful anon! I hope you love it! Gotta love some fluffy Jason.

_________

Tonight was your and Jason’s designated date night. As always it ended with the both of you out late exiting one of your favorite restaurants. Tonight it was your night to pick the place, and you went for a simple bar that had good food and drinks.

It’s of mutual liking between the both of you. But sadly like all nights the date was coming to an end.

Walking out of the warm building and onto the cold Gotham street. The chill of the air immediately nipping at your exposed skin. A shiver ran through your body as you let out a shaky sigh. Your warm breath showing in the frigid air.

Jason noticed and wrapped an arm around you. Pulling you into his side, his warmth intermixing with yours. “I hate this weather” you shivered again.

“Yeah, it sucks. My apartment’s warm, wanna come over for a nightcap?” he offered as the both of you began to walk. “Hmm” you hummed, thinking about the offer as your steps matched with his.

“I think that’s just what I need to warm up” you smiled up at him.

“Then it’s settled” he said before grabbing your hand and taking off with you in tow. Almost falling in the process.

“JASON!”


When you got to his apartment building you were panting and hunched over, saying “You. Are. A. Jerk.” between breaths.

He chuckled as you stood back up straight. Cupping your face with his gloved hands, “But I’m your jerk” smiling down at you.

“Yes, yes you are” was what you could get in before he leaned down and connected his lips to yours softly. He pulled away saying, “Come on lets go.. warm up” he wiggled his eyebrows.

Chuckling and shaking your head, “Jason get your mind out of the gutter.” You walked away and up to the doors of the apartment building.

“Hey come back” he whined before catching up to you.

You then followed him up to his apartment. He unlocked the door and opened it a crack before turning and blocking your entrance. You gave him a ‘what the fuck’ look.

He smirked, “What’s the magic word?” he teased. Rolling your eyes, you reached up and crashed your lips into his. Catching him off guard. His hand slipped from the handle and fell on your hip.

You pulled away and looked into his blue eyes, “That’ll do” he said before pushing the door open the rest of the way.

Laughing you walked in and he followed. Though you went and plopped down on his couch while he went into the kitchen. “Jack Daniel’s or Crown Royal?!” he yelled from the kitchen.

“Do you only own whiskey?” you yelled back laughing. There was a moment of silence before you heard a faint “maybe.”

“I don’t care, I chose dinner you choose drink” you looked around the room. Hearing the clinking of bottles and glasses you waited patiently for him to come in. Standing up you went and clicked on his sound system, and looking through the CDs.

“Who uses CDs anymore?” you chuckled, flipping through the plastic cases.

“Are you judging my CDs again?” you heard his voice behind you. “A little” you picked one of his favorites out before putting it in the sound system.

“You don’t judge vinyls” he walked up to you, handing you the glass with the gold tinted liquid. “Those are different, they have an old timely vibe to them. CDs not so much” taking a swig of the gold as it burned down your throat.

“Ouch” he looked at you slightly hurt. Laughing you kissed his cheek before making your way to the couch again. He followed and sat down next to you.

He held his glass to you, “To nights off” smiling you clinked your glass to his before finishing off the drink. “Impressive” he nodded at you before leaning to grab the bottle and fill your glass again.

You both went on like that, just talking and drinking. Before you knew it, the clock struck twelve. “Aw shit” you looked at the clock, feeling buzzed.

“When did it get so late?” questioning before looking back at him. “I’d offer you a ride home but not after drinking” he looked at you apologetically.

“It’s fine, I’m sure my roommate will come get me” reaching for your phone on the coffee table. But Jason’s hand stopped you, “No” he said quickly,

“What?” you cocked an eyebrow at him.

“I-I mean, what if you, ya know. Stayed the night here? With me?” he asked. Now having your one hand on both of his. Rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles.

You were a bit stunned at the question. Yeah you’d been dating for around 3 months but you’d never stayed the night before. You guys were taking your time. You met his blue hues once again, seeing the determination but worry in his eyes.

Smiling you answered, “Yeah, I’d love to”

His mouth curved into a beaming grin before scooping you up into his arms. He’s being awfully affectionate. Making you happy he was so comfortable with you, so vulnerable. Knowing everything that happened to him, it was no easy feat.

He set you down before going to his closet. Grabbing a black t-shirt he turned and handed it to you. “Thank you” you smiled at him.

Heading in to the bathroom adjoining his room you heard him begin to get changed too. Closing the door, you changed into the t-shirt leaving your legs. bare.

Re-entering the bedroom he was laying on his bed in only sweatpants, reading a page of the book you had gotten him for your three months. Smiling, you leaned against the doorway observing him.

The way his hair was messy, the white streak falling to his forehead. His blue eyes focused on the page of words. Breathing level and soft. Your eyes fell to his scar ridden body. They littered his arms, chest, stomach, everywhere. Each of them a symbol of what he’d gone through. But he’s okay now. You love him, even though you haven’t told him yet.

Shifting your stance made the floor creek and his eyes moved to the source of the sound. He stared at you for a moment, taking in the sight of you in one of his shirts. He couldn’t help but think how beautiful you are.

You smiled and walked over to the opposite side of the bed, sitting next to him. “You’re beautiful you know that?” he marked his page before closing the book.

“So I’ve heard” You smiled at him.

He pulled back the blankets as you both climbed under them. His arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you into his chest. You trailed your fingers up and down his arm. “I love you” he interrupted your movements.

Your breath caught in your throat as you looked up at him. His blue orbs watched you as your eyes met. Smiling your hand trailed to his cheek as you pressed your lips to his. “I love you too” your lips ghosting over his.

Smiling he kissed you again, you pulled away and cuddled into the crook of his neck. He kissed your hair, “Goodnight [F/n]”

Smiling you kissed his exposed chest, “Goodnight Jay”

His arms wrapped around you tighter as the both of you fell asleep in each others arms and legs tangled under the sheets.

I wake up feeling melancholy
Yesterday’s bad decisions hang heavily in my belly, burning in my throat
I feel sick
Slowly I rise from my pillow
Daring myself to peak out dusty windows
To see ashen smoke chasing away cobalt skies
Did I dream of you again?
I can’t remember
My heart is soaked with rain
Bloated with salty ocean spray
Every painful gasp of air
Makes my chest creak and moan
I’m a lost ship rotting at sea
A one woman crew with no compass
What swallowed the sun?
I need to wake up
Bitter coffee laces together with my hemoglobin
Caffeine desperately strangles my blood vessels
Kissing my veins
My pulse quickens
Like a paper kite in a storm
Up down up down
There’s no stopping the tears now
I can’t wash this feeling away
Not even under the weight of boiling water
The scalding stream only burns for a second
Leaving me colder than when I first soaked myself
The frigid air bites at my skin and whispers memories of darkness
What am I?
I’m a chipped vase holding the wilted flowers you forgot to water
You pulled the curtains over the sun and
I long for my missing piece
I’m absolutely saturated with thoughts of you
But I can’t find relief
I can’t ever escape you
Not even in dreams.
—  How can I feel this sad when the day hasn’t even begun?
Running into your ex, Harry (AU)

Or when neither of you can remember why you broke up anyway, and it’s just dinner right?

Sundays are your favorite day. Sundays are meant for cozy snuggles, farmers markets, coffee shops and used bookstores. This particular Sunday you woke with a smile, already looking forward to the soothing sips of a hot coffee and smells of the old worn pages of books.

Today is one of the first days in months you feel a lasting feeling of happiness. Pushing up and towards the bathroom, you can’t help the little pep in your step.

Groaning as you catch a glance of yourself in the mirror, you shimmy your baggy pajamas off your legs and head towards the shower. As the water flows over your skin, your brain begins to wake up and plan the morning to come.

Keep reading

Flood my Mornings: And tell me that you love me

Anon said: For the next FMM I would love some J and C alone time ;) 

Notes from Mod Bonnie:

  • This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.
  • Previous installment:  Hogmanay (Frasers spend the holiday with Jamie’s Scottish friend) 



(NSFW, this one—Nary a plot to be found) 


January, 1951

He was on a beach. Aye, he was, daft as that seemed. 

And laying on his back.

And naked.  

Nor did he need to open his eyes to ken that fact. The wind was whipping across him, icy and sharp in itself, and peppering his skin with a spray of sand, forbye. 

He couldn’t move arms or legs, some force weighting him to the freezing sand—and the tide was coming in, fast

He braced himself for the shock, for the frozen wall of—

But the onrush of water over his feet and legs was warm, and he groaned with the relief and pleasure of it. Nor was it just warm compared to the frigid air: each swell was as as hot and comforting as bathwater, and seemed to seep right into his bones. 

The waves came in faster and higher, crashing over him…

… then pulling back and out….

..and over him…and back…

… each sinking him deeper, deeper into the sand…

…a rhythm of heat and cold, and blissful heat again, all over his body, over, 

and over, 

and over…

…and Jamie came slowly to the surface to find that the frozen beach was his bed….

….and the steaming waves of heat were Claire’s mouth between his legs.

Her hand slid upward to tease the sensitive skin around his nipples and he moaned for her, spreading his legs wide in a question that she answered at once, taking him deep, deep into her mouth.  

His head was limp on the pillow but he watched her, the dark shapes of her hair spangled with moonlight, lapping forward like the sea foam, slow and regular and sure. He said her name, his tongue feeling slow and feckless compared to what she was doing with hers. 

Her hand suddenly slid back downward to do something that had him fisting both hands hard in her hair, arching his back and making her moan around him as he pushed deeper. The light sparked behind his eyes as he moved in tandem with her, her scalp hot, its rhythm urgent under his demanding hands. A Dhia, she could have had him right then— but he wasn’t ready to relent just yet. “Come here,” he growled, pulling her upward. 

She moved to obey. He could see the gleam of her smooth, strong thighs as she moved toward him and poised herself over—

“No,” he rasped, “come *here*”

“I—What?—" She laid a hand flat on his belly to steady herself. “Where do you want—”

He slid down and pulled her higher so she was practically on his chest.

The sweet surprise in that faint, hoarse ‘…oh.’

“Oh, aye,” he whispered back.

“You’ve never done it from that position before.” She sounded dazed.

“I suspect,” he murmured, threading his arms around her legs to tug her toward his mouth, “I shall soon be apologizing…for the grievous oversight….”

A thrill of something dark and hungry in the way she looked down at him at him when she knelt on either side of his head. He gave her that dark gleam right back when he sat up as far as he could, kissing the sweet curve of her belly, slowly…hearing the little sounds of need from her throat….slowly… the urgency making her moan in earnest as he trailed his lips down….down….Her sharp hiss as he casually laid his head back on the pillow, grinning up at her. One of her thighs was against his cheek—and he could feel it trembling. He kissed his way slowly up it, just able to see her face above the curve of her belly; and as his tongue met the warm flesh of her, and the sound she made—

He skimmed his hands up and down her thighs, her arse, as he worked, feasting on every sigh, every tightening of her legs, the way she cupped his head, the rise and fall of her as she responded to his touch.

Christ, it must be good for her, this new way, for not a minute gone and—

“Ja—oh god—” she moaned, her breathing deep and ragged as her legs went taut and she bolted up high onto her knees as though to get away. New position or not, he knew the ways of her body, and knew that as as soon as he pulled her back down onto him—

The storm of her release crashed all around him, and it was as though her pleasure entered his body, driving him with her need and satisfaction so that he felt those things—NEEDED them—as deeply as he knew his own name. His arms wrapped tight around her hips, riding the rise and swell of her as she sighed and shuddered, he felt as though he’d happily die there on that frozen beach, if this sea spirit was to be condemned there with him, too.

“Aye,” he murmured a time later, when in a far less fanciful frame of mind, as she slumped against the headboard above him and he caressed her belly, “I do humbly beg your pardon for never thinking of that before.“ 

“You are— completely—forgiven.” An aftershock ran through her and she gasped, laughing a little. “Jesusbloodyfuckingchrist….”

“Mmmm, if I’ve got ye blaspheming, it must be good,” he purred, teasing with his fingers. “Shall we try that again?”

“Oh that is *definitely* getting added to the rotation.” She sighed hugely with released exertion, and made to clamber off him, then YELPED as he held her hips firm and dove back in. “Jamie!—didn’t mean NOW—” she half-laughed, half-whimpered, wriggling madly which only intensified the pressure of his efforts between her legs. She felt it, and the whimper became a groan. He felt her brace her hand behind her on his belly, her back arching in an inexorable swell of sensation. “Jamie—JamienonoJamienot again—I'm—”

He pulled back to look her in the eye. “D’ye really wish me t’stop?

She looked down at him…then released a deep, shuddering breath that ended in a wicked grin. She snaked her hands down to hold his head in place, and moved forward, braced on her knees to–

Didna think so

anonymous asked:

Can you recommend me some SuperCorp fanfics?

god that got… a bit longer than originally planned

  • such unruly heads and hearts - Lena wonders if the universe does this to everyone. Just recklessly bowls them over with people and realisations that they can’t ever really recover from. The one with Lena (who’s suffocating under the weight of the Luthor name and everything that comes with it), Kara (who just wants to make friends and cheer loudly for Alex at Quidditch matches, even when the quaffle isn’t near her), and the years over which they gravitate together. Hogwarts AU.
  • I Always Want You - Supercorp Hogwarts AU! (yes another one, i have a weakness ok)
  • heroism is a full time job - With her brother after her life yet again, Lena Luthor requests the protection of Supergirl until they can figure out who he’s hired to kill her and how to bring them down.
  • 12" by 8" - Objectively, it’s a beautiful photograph. A high definition immortalisation of a kiss in the sky, two figures pressed impossibly close, hands tangled in hair and around waists as they hover sixty stories in the air, illuminated gently by the neon of the CatCo Worldwide Media sign. But all she really sees when she looks at it is proof of Lena Luthor cheating on Kara Danvers. The one where Cat discovers that Lena’s stepping out with Supergirl (and decides to deal with the problem herself).
  • Lord, Save Me from Your Followers - A tumblr prompt, spiraled out of control. Kara, perhaps out of a want for thoroughness in her story, perhaps out of a Millennial-born urge to creep on a the social media of a woman she finds intriguing, discovers that Lena Luthor has a pretty active following on Instagram one afternoon not long after their first meeting. She debates it, just for a moment, before following Lena.
  • Call It Aggressive Negotiations - Kara’s first assignment as a reporter is to interview Lena Luthor for Catco Magazine. She’s a professional reporter now, so why does she feel so nervous? A fluffy introduction to the Kara x Lena ship.
  • epiphany - Lena’s just trying to drink away the day when she gets a not-so unexpected visitor on her roof. Post 2x08. Fix-it fic. Kind of. warning for the angst
  • no one but you (got me feeling this way) - It’s not like Kara deliberately sets out to make her life harder than it should be. It’s not her fault that she’s excitable, okay, and she forgets things sometimes and maybe those things should not be forgotten under any circumstances. Maybe those things include, well, housing forms, which as it turns out are super important to submit on time if she wants to not be homeless on her sophomore year of college. Her sister’s going to give her so much crap about this. Alternatively: in which Kara forgot to fill out the housing form and was left with no choice but to live in the most exclusive apartment on campus.
  • One And The Same - Lena Luthor has two crushes: Supergirl and Kara Danvers. This is the story of how she discovers they are one and the same.
  • second star to the right - She wasn’t aware of its presence until it was too late. It started small, a creeping sensation crawling down her spine, a tingling in the back of her neck that had nothing to do with the frigid fall air, the stuttering of her heartbeat at random intervals. or Kara somehow gets roped into stargazing with her not-so-secret-giant-gay-crush. (it’s a wip but with the way the last chapter ends it could be finished!)
  • Busted - Kara Danvers is worried about coming out to her not girlfriend Lena Luthor about the Supergirl thing. She’s worried about how the Luthor will take it. But if she wants more, she’ll need to come clean eventually. She just hadn’t realized how soon it would happen. And how it would come about. Canon up to episode 2x05.
  • Flower Shops and Loopy Signatures - Kara Danvers just keeps coming back to Lena Luthor’s flower shop. Again and again and again. Supercorp Flower shop AU
  • Our Souls Are Connected - There are no accidental meetings between souls. SuperCorp Soulmate AUs. Series of oneshots based on different reimaginings of the concept of a soulmate.
  • Lonely Youth - “And so Kara Zorel is left feeling small and unwelcome in a large and unfamiliar place (but what else is new, really?)” or Boarding School AU where Clark actually tries to raise Kara, decides that he can’t, and ships a small and shy Kara off to school instead.
  • Trust? - Lena’s reluctant to believe Supergirl or reluctant to believe she would look past the Luthor name.
  • of potstickers and preferences - Because really, who serves potstickers at a gala? Shameless fluff. Fix-it fic (sort of) to make up for the lack of Kara/Lena interactions at the gala.
  • Special Deliveries From ‘L’ - Lena somehow finds out that the way to Kara’s heart is through her stomach; Kara agonizes over whether Lena might be trying to bribe her as part of the 'favor’ she owes her.
  • Bruises - “It makes sense in a way you never thought all of this would: she was not born here. She is not from here. Fire and steel will not break her skin, but they clearly mar yours.” or: every bruise, bite, and scratch you get appears on the skin of your soulmate; and while supergirl may not bruise, lena luthor does.
  • (Super)Man’s Best Friend - When Kara saves a puppy from drowning on a rainy night in National City, she can’t bear to give him to a shelter; they’ve bonded. Except her apartment doesn’t allow pets. And her sister is allergic. And none of her friends’ apartments allow pets…except for one. Lena Luthor’s (Kara gets Lena to adopt a puppy. Dog owner related shenanigans ensue.)
  • of art room supply cabinets and a lack of caffeine - The last thing Kara Danvers expects to find in one of the art room supply cabinets is a person. Vaguely suggestive figurines? Sure. Abandoned sculptures? Maybe. But definitely not a person. And especially not one with dark hair, green eyes, and a downright killer smile. OR: The university SuperCorp oneshot AU you were all hoping and praying for.
  • Of RedK & One-Night Stands - After Jimmy rejects her, RedK-infected Kara Danvers finds some fun in another person’s company instead.
Coincidences Part I (Bucky x Reader)

Okay, so this is me attempting at one of those “I texted you by accident and we ended up talking and I actually think you’re a pretty decent human being” tropes. I don’t know how it’s going to work out because this is the first time I’m doing something like this, but I dunno.  Maybe it’ll be cool. 

Anyways. 

Without further ado: Happy Reading!

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Modern AU if that’s what its called)

Words: 4259

Warnings: I mean, swearing a little. But none other than that. 

Excerpt:  Blowing a sigh through your nose, you realize you probably should just leave it alone and not answer at all. Then again, you are slightly curious to at least find out who texted you. They obviously thought they were talking to someone else, so it couldn’t hurt to maybe steer them in a different direction. Maybe.

*After writing this first part, I have determined that this is going to have to be a multi-part fic. Yeah. This got away from me, but I’m gonna try to post the parts in succession. 

Tagging: @langinator @beccaanne814-blog @fairchild21 

Series Tags: @melanie451 @sebstanwassup @colagirl5 @winenighthoe @hillrich @gotnotfeature

Originally posted by seabasschino

Originally posted by mylastlove-mylastsong

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3:32 p.m hey u still wanna get that drink sometime? 

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