#fic: until dawn shall break

[ruthlesslistener]

[Staggers in and collapses, spitting up blood] Hi. Who wants a long-overdue update

#hollow knight #my writing #fic: until dawn shall break #buckle in lads this chapter nearly killed dryya and it nearly killed me

[jyoongim]

Just found you and read all your Alastor fics. Love them! My request is jealous fucking with breeding. But the jealousy comes on because of Lucifer. Luci comes to visit the hotel and causally makes a sweet comment to reader but as soon as he notices that it pisses off Al, Lucifer just goes all in offer to buy readers soul and free her just to piss off Al until reader and Charlie have to break them up before they fight. Then comes in the breeding, so everyone knows your his as if him owning your soul wasn’t enough

Oh I appreciate it so much! I hope you enjoy it around these parts and I am happy you enjoy my writing!

Warnings: fem!reader, jealous!Alastor, flirting, Lucifer riling up Alastor, rough sex, breeding kink, pregnancy mentioned

The hotel was in an uproar over the King of Hell's impending visit.

Charlie was a nervous wreck and you were doing everything to make sure that the hotel was somewhat presentable and that everyone was well behaved.

”Now just be your charming self and make sure to help promote the purpose of the hotel for Charlie” you said fixing Alastor’s bow tie. He smiled down at you, waving his hand dismissively “Oh don’t worry my dear Ill be the perfect host. There’s nothing to worry about”

Lucifer Morningstar, the King of Hell…was not what you had expected.

You could see where Charlie got her flare from.

He was looking around the lobby, taking in the interior and the residents. You didn’t miss the way his face scrunched up a bit.

”And here are our lovely hotel managers dad” Charlie said, turning towards you and Alastor.

You smiled, giving him a slight curtesy “Its a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty, I hope that you enjoy your time here at the hotel” 

Lucifer dawned a sultry smile, grabbing your hand and bringing it to his lips. Kissing it.

”The pleasure is all mine”

Alastor growled, stepping between the two of you. He gave a tense smile “Pleased to meet you sir” he slapped your hand out of his and took it to shake. Lucifer blinked, a slight frown on his face “and you would be?” A snort escaped the red demon 

“Alastor! Im the host of the hotel. Maybe you’ve heard of my radio broadcast?” Lucifer deadpanned “nah never was one to consume media” he shrugged.

He slipped by to your side, looping an arm around you “Now I’m sure you wouldn’t mind giving me a tour hmmm? Show me all of the more intimate parts” he chortled, as you nervously turned to Alastor.

Alastor's smile was tense and his eye was twitching slightly.

Irritated and annoyed.

Lucifer seemed to pick up on that.

He eyed the lanky demon, before cooing at you “oh don’t tell me you need the bellhop’s permission? ”

oh no. The lights flickered.

You cleared your throat “I would be honored your grace,but Alastor knows the hotel better than I. He can show you around” you offered, making the King groan.

Charlie chirped in “Yes yes. Alastor has been a great help. Well shall we?”

The tour went without any mishap. Alastor had you tucked away into his side as Charlie gave a run through of what she was trying to achieve.

Charlie suggested dinner before her dad left, to give him a little convincing to help.

You bustled about the kitchen, setting everyone’s meal down and making your way to sit by Alastor.

A hand grabbed your wrist, you stiffened as Lucifer gave you a charming smile “why not sit by me. Charlie has told of some of the improvements you think would work for the hotel”

You heard a static buzz as you took a seat by him.

You listened quietly as Charlie went on and on about her plans.

Lucifer had been not so subtly subtly flirting with you the entire dinner.

”Well I will think about it Charlie. I do believe your dream is possible” She smiled happily. he turned his eyes to you

”Especially with such lovely help” you blushed.

He seemed more interested in you.

”sooo what’s your deal with that guy” he was referring to Alastor

you tilted your head in question, he clarified his intention

”I mean he own your soul or something? A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be tied to the likes of him. how about I nullify whatever deal you made and you take you under my wing instead”

You looked at him shocked.

The sound of glass breaking sounded and Alastor shook his hand of the liquid once in the glass

He chuckled darkly “Well I am afraid it is late, wouldn’t you agree dearest?” His eyes narrowed on the man as he stood, coming around to stand behind you.

His eyes were black and glowing red as he practically sneered at the King.

Lucifer was unfazed by the intimidation tactic.

”haha what I strike a nerve? You’ve got this amazing beauty on a leash and for what? Im sure shell do much better being tied to you” 

Before Alastor could lunge at the man, you stood up and pressed yourself against him as you heard Charlie grab her dad to pull him away. 

Your hands reached for his face, turning his enraged eyes to you.

You shook your head at him slightly. You know when someone wa just trying to ruffle his feathers.

”I am feeling quite tired from today’s activities why don’t we turn in for the night yes?” You pleaded with him, softly pushing him back towards to door.

Large hands gripped your waist as his turned his eyes back towards Lucifer, he hissed lowly before whisking you out of the kitchen and to your shared bedroom.

———————————————————————————

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room.

You whined at a harsh thrust that jolted your body against the silky sheets.

The room was buzzing with static as Alastor fucked into you.

Green chains hung heavy around your collar as Alastor pulled on them to pull you into his thrusts.

He was pissed.

His usual composed and controlled demeanor slipping the moment he slammed the door.

He had taken you against the door roughly, too pent up to let you get a single word out.

He had thrown you onto the bed after, a dark aura surrounding him as his antlers grew with the angry emotions swirling inside him.

“Ah! Ha! A-Alastor!” You moaned as another orgasm racked through you.

He twisted your chains around his arm as he used them as leverage to drill his dick into you.

“Who do he think he is?” He growled, pushing your head into the mattress 

“Thinking he can just take you from me…ME?! You are mine”

You let out a cry as he ruined your walls, balls slapping against your cunt.

“You wouldn’t leave my side would you sweetheart” he hissed down at you, turning your head so you could see him.

”Who would want you after I ruin you hmm? You would be nothing but sloppy seconds.” He regraded you, angry at the very thought of you thinking you could terminate your deal with him.

Your deal with Alastor was nothing too extreme. Your complete devotion to him for his protection.

While he might not admit it, Alastor had grown accustomed to you being by his side, able to help him see reason and take on tasks he found too mundane.

You were like his wife in a sense. 

Soft and caring, always doing whatever he asked of you.

You never complained, happily fulfilling your duties to a tee.

And some goofy, short king thinks you would leave your benefactor?

Had he not given you anything you ever wanted?

You were the most free soul he had, that was a privilege.

Your cunt squelched as he pulled out, the tip kissing your outer lips as he stilled in his rough fucking.

You panted, clammy sweat sticking to your body as he tugged at your chains.

You were on your back, thighs spread around his waist.

A hand wrapped around your throat, Alastor leaning down to press a surprise soft kiss to your forehead

”You wouldn’t dare leave me would you baby” he cocked his head at you.

You shook your head quickly, hoping that he had blew off enough steam to finally be reasonable.

But Alastor’s jealousy was ugly.

He wouldn’t be done with you until there was nothing you thought about but him.

He should be what plagues your thoughts.

You should crave him by the time he was done.

He slotted back inside you, making you gasp as he returned to his fast pace.

”Leave me for that sorry excuse of a king? Ha! You wouldn’t. No not my pretty girl. Youre my good girl aren’t you?”

You mewled as you watch him transform.

”I-Im your good girl Ah! Pl-please!” Your eyes clenched closed in pleasure.

”Youre mine. You understand that? I own you. Your every thought. Every feeling. Your body, mind, and soul are mine. You gave them to me oh so happy. I can do whatever I please with you. Ruin you and dump you off into the street like a common whore if I wished”

You whimpered at his words.

”But thats not enough is it? Hmmm? Noooo. Youre not mine” he purred.

you pouted, ready to reassure him that you were, in fact, his.

He lifted one of your legs to your chest, angling his hips down

”Ill make sure every disrespectful wretch knows you are mine. Fir it seems my constant presence isn’t enough”

Your cunt fluttered.

How else would….

His dick hit that sweet spot deep inside you

”Oh! Ah!” His hand on your neck tightened as a sharp smile appeared on his face

”So maybe putting a claim to you will do the trick”

Your mouth shaped into an ‘O’ as he fucked you roughly, hips grinding down as if to make you mold to his very shape.

Sinners couldn’t reproduce.

Right?

that was your last coherent thought as he slammed his hips into yours over and over til he sighed, his dick twitching as he filled you with his cum.

You whined as he gave soft thrusts to keep his cum inside you, purring as it spilled around him, pooling around your ass.

You whined when he pulled out, hearing a soft ‘pop’ as you clenched around nothing.

A hand settled on your lower belly, now full of his cum, Alastor grinned wicked “Let’s see how much the pipsqueak will want you now my dear” he chuckled.

———————————————————————————

“Its nice to see you again sir” you said welcoming the King of Hell inside the hotel.

He smiled and once he got a good look at you, it fell.

”Charlie will be down in a second do you need anything?” You asked sweetly, hand resting on your swollen belly.

He stuttered out a response in surprise “O-oh w-why thank you. I take it you’ve been well”

Alastor manifested behind you, grinning at the short monarch, his arm roping around your waist, hand settling on the side of your stomach “Ah yes! We’ve been busy. Im sure you can tell”

Alastor- 2

Lucifer- 0

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #jyoongim #alastor x y/n #alastor smut #alastor hazbin hotel

[late-to-the-party-81]

Time spent with you is never wasted

AN: Here is something completely different to my last little one-shot. Have some sickeningly sweet, domestic supersoldier husbands.

Beta’d by @deafeningkittenking. Moodboard by me and divider by @firefly-graphics

This fic covers the following bingo squares

@buckybarnesbingo: U5 - Snowed In

@stuckybingo: N4 - Domesticity

@steverogersbingo: E2 - Holidays

Master list | BBB Master list | Stucky Bingo Master list | SRB Master list

Join my tag list here

Summary: A little break away, just the two of them. Whatever shall Steve and Bucky do when they get snowed in?

Relationship: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word count: 2.2k

CW: Sickening Fluff, Not Endgame Compliant, Supersoldier Husbands, Domestic Fluff, Flirting, Smut, Top Bucky, Bottom Steve, Ass Eating, Coming untouched, Anal fingering, Anal Sex

I’m dreaming of a White Christmas,

Just like the ones I used to know…

Bucky scoffed as he listened to the music, causing Steve to chuckle.

“What have you taken umbrage to in this song? We haven’t found one yet that you actually like.”

Bucky smiled and shook his head as he walked away from the window of their holiday cabin and crossed to the small kitchenette. He slotted himself behind Steve, who was standing at the counter measuring ingredients, wearing a Santa Claus apron. Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s trim waist and rested his head on his husband’s shoulder, watching as Steve added spoonfuls of sugar to the bowl and the needle on the scales went round.

“First of all,” Bucky muttered into Steve’s navy tee, “the White Christmases I remember were more ice on the inside of the windows and dirty slush in the streets - nothing you’d want to willingly remember, and secondly, if you’re dreaming about the type of White Christmas that’s currently outside this window, you need your head read.”

Bucky reached out and gesticulated out of the huge floor to ceiling windows to the large drifts covering the ground as far as the eye could see, and the current snowfall that was nearer to the word ‘blizzard’ than it was to ‘flurry’. 

There had already been snow on the ground when they’d driven up yesterday afternoon, but it had continued overnight, and when they’d woken up this morning - late for Steve, but a bit early still for Bucky - they’d discovered they’d been snowed in. Luckily though, they’d been planning to be here for a few days anyway, and had organised a suitable food delivery in advance. This was a holiday treat just for them - a private getaway before the hustle and bustle of a full Avengers ‘family’ Christmas.

At least, Bucky thought as he looked out at the snow, Steve wouldn’t try to get up for a run at the crack of dawn, and would need to find another way to work off his excess energy, like he had this morning

“I think it looks nice,” said Steve.

Bucky snorted. “‘Looks’ being the operative word here, pal. It’s a good thing that we’ve got nothing else to do other than relax, eat food and get lucky.” He slid his right hand down from Steve’s waist to lightly grope his cock through his sweatpants. Steve rapped Bucky’s arm with his wooden spoon.

“Hey, hands off the merchandise. At least until after these cookies have been baked,” Steve chastised.

“But I can’t help it if you look sexy with a sprinkle of flour across your cheek, my Domestic God,” Bucky teased, pressing his lips into Steve’s neck and making him squirm, before reluctantly pulling back and turning to lean against the countertop. “And what if instead of cookies I want cake?” He let his eyes blatantly roam over Steve’s ass, just imagining feasting on the plump flesh, Steve trembling and crying beneath him…

“My eyes are up here, Buck.”

Bucky smirked. “I know. Just admiring your other assets.”

Now it was Steve’s turn to smile. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

“Just madly in love, and no-one would blame me.”

Steve leant towards Bucky, wooden spoon still in hand, and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr Barnes-Rogers, but for now you’ll just have to wait.”

Bucky sighed dramatically, but settled in to do as asked. He watched Steve with a heated look as he finished making the cookie dough, rolled and cut it, then popped it in the oven. Straightening up, Steve met Bucky’s gaze, holding it as he slowly removed his flour-streaked apron and threw it on the counter. 

“I’m going to wash up,” he said, pointedly. “The cookies need ten minutes, then you can take them out, leave to cool on the tray for two minutes then place on the rack.” He sashayed over to Bucky and wrapped his arms around Bucky’s middle. “You can do that for me, can’t you, Buck? I’ll make it worth your while…”

Steve pressed his body in close and kissed Bucky slowly, but deeply, before stepping away and walking towards the bedroom with an exaggerated sway to his hips.

Bucky just gawked, his brain trying to regain control from his dick long enough to remember what it was that Steve had asked him to do. While Steve did pout oh-so-prettily, it wouldn’t be worth it to forget, because Steve was also the biggest grudge holder Bucky had ever known. So, despite the fact that his dick was basically screaming at him to follow Steve into the shower, press him against the tiles and get him all dirty again, Bucky waited. 

He waited until the timer went off, taking the golden brown sugar cookies out as directed. He waited a further two minutes for the cookies to firm up before using a palette knife to transfer them to the wire rack. He then forced himself to walk at a sensible speed to the bedroom, getting there just as Steve walked out of the en-suite, a small white towel wrapped snugly around his hips and another in his hand as he scrubbed at his blond hair.

It was then that Bucky allowed his self control to snap. In a few long strides he reached Steve, pulled the towel from his hand and threw it to the floor. His hands then cupped Steve’s cheeks and he started to kiss him. His tongue teased the seam of Steve’s lips and Steve opened to him, his own arms sliding around Bucky’s neck.

Bucky continued to walk forward, backing Steve up, until Steve’s legs hit the mattress and they both tumbled down onto it. The towel around Steve’s hips came loose almost straight away, meaning there was nothing to impede Bucky’s progress as he palmed at Steve’s cock once again. Encouraged by the movement of Steve’s hips and the little groan that came from his mouth, Bucky slid down Steve’s body, trailing kisses and little nips with his teeth. He took a long, slow detour over Steve’s pecs, sucking on his pert, pink nipples and relishing in the way Steve writhed beneath him. As he descended further, Steve’s hands tangled in his hair and tugged on it deliciously.

A long lick was the only attention Bucky paid to Steve’s cock as he reached it, feeling in the mood to tease his husband a bit. He then forced his thick arms and broad shoulders under Steve’s thighs and tugged him to the edge of the bed. His hands spread his husband wide and Bucky took a moment to look at Steve’s most intimate parts. Blond hair dusted Steve’s upper thighs, darkening around his crotch and ass. He wasn’t stripped bare, like they’d seen in modern pornography, but did keep himself tidy. Not that Bucky would have cared either way. Steve could have a full on jungle down here and Bucky would just declare himself a wilderness scout. 

Steve’s skin was still wet from his shower, and Bucky could smell the combination of Steve’s favourite three in one shower gel along with his own, potent musk. He turned his face into the soft skin of Steve’s inner thigh and breathed in deeply, before taking the delicate flesh between his lips and sucking on it, leaving his mark. Steve whimpered and pulled on Bucky’s hair, trying to direct him to where he wanted him the most, but Bucky wouldn’t be rushed. 

His nose brushed over Steve’s hole as he trailed his lips over more of the sensitive areas surrounding it, humming to himself almost absently as he worshipped his husband. He couldn’t hold back a smile at Steve’s punched out little noises of need and garbled whispers of “Buck… please!”  Eventually though, he capitulated to his own lusts and Steve’s pleas, swiping his tongue straight over the furled muscle nestled between the globes of Steve’s ass.

Steve let out a low, moan, and Bucky was glad they were in an isolated cabin, miles from anyone or anything, because his favourite thing in the world was to hear Steve let go and just feel. It was something they’d never been able to do, back in the day, when they’d had to be covert in their small apartment. Now though, there was nothing Bucky enjoyed more than hearing Steve moan wantonly at the top of his lungs.

Bucky shifted his grip to take handfuls of that luscious ass, unable to resist squeezing and massaging Steve’s flesh as he ran his tongue over Steve’s hole and up his taint to his balls. He continued in this way, making Steve all wet, messy and overwhelmingly needy before moving on. 

Moving his hands to the backs of Steve’s thighs, Bucky spread him even wider. Steve abandoned his hold on Bucky’s hair in order to hold his own legs to his chest, baring himself. A heartbeat later, Bucky was burying his face as far into Steve’s ass as he could, spearing his tongue into his husband’s spit-slick hole. Steve practically wailed.

Bucky ate Steve like a man starved, pushing his tongue in as deep as it would go. His nose now pushed against Steve’s taint, and therefore his prostate, so he rocked with it, fucking Steve with his mouth. God, Steve was glorious when he was like this. All fuck drunk and needy, desperate to cum. 

It was some kind of sixth sense, or maybe just a change to how Steve’s right leg was leaning against him, that let Bucky know that Steve had let go to try and take hold of his cock. Bucky batted Steve’s hand away with a muffled growl and then pulled back, eliciting a disappointed whimper from Steve’s red, bitten lips.

“You come on my tongue, Stevie. I know you can,” Bucky commanded and then dove back in, doubling down on his lewd sucking and slurping, while Steve babbled above him.

“Oh, God! Bucky! Fuck! Gonna come. Gonna…”

Bucky smiled to himself as Steve’s legs trembled and his ass tensed as he spilled all over his own abs. Bucky slowed down his ministrations, swapping to gentle licks of his tongue and soft kisses, as the waves of euphoria slowed their progress through Steve’s body. When they finally subsided, Bucky pulled back, letting out a groan of his own as he took in how debauched Steve looked. 

He dragged his henley off over the back of his head, taking the chance to wipe his spit covered face, then he shucked off his sweats, and without worry of the cooling, sticky mess smeared over Steve’s skin, he covered his husband's frame with his own and kissed him long and deep. Steve was still hard and their dicks brushed against each other as they kissed, Steve shuddering from the sensitivity. It wasn’t long before they were rocking against each other with more vigour, Steve wrapping his legs around Bucky’s waist, keeping him close.

“Buck…”, Steve murmured. “Please…”

Bucky pulled his lips from Steve’s and grinned down at him, brushing a lock of his blond hair from his face. “You need me, doll?”

“Always need you. Every day. Every minute if I could,” came the breathy response.

“Well,” replied Bucky, kissing down Steve’s neck. “I’d better not keep you waiting then.” He grabbed a pillow and pushed it under Steve’s hips before grabbing the bottle of lube from the top of the bedside table. His first finger slid in easily, and Bucky gazed upon Steve, fire in his eyes, as Steve fisted the sheets and moaned. Bucky added a second finger, stretching Steve out and trying not to aim for his prostate too often.

It wasn’t long before Steve half sat up, grabbing at Bucky’s arm and stilling his hand. “I’m ready, sweetheart. Please! Don’t wanna wait anymore”

Bucky chuckled and pulled his fingers free. “Okay, baby. I got you. I got you.” He pushed Steve back down, slicked up his own straining cock, and slotted himself into the V of Steve’s legs. He entwined his right hand with Steve’s left as he guided himself into Steve’s molten heat with his other hand. This was one of his favourite feelings. It was like coming home. Whether it was 1939, 2029, or somewhere in between, being with Steve like this was all he ever wanted or needed. 

He began to roll his hips and gave himself over to the sensations surrounding him. He hovered over Steve, watching his husband’s facial expression from between hooded eyelids as he moved, slowly building the pleasure between them. Steve panted and murmured unintelligible things, his hand tightening on Bucky’s as he was driven higher and higher.

As Bucky felt himself get closer to his own peak, he changed the angle of his hips, so that he could now brush over Steve’s prostate with each thrust. Steve’s fucked out noises changed pitch as his orgasm rapidly approached, his thighs clenched around Bucky’s waist so tightly that, had Bucky not also been a supersoldier, he could easily have been crushed.

“God, love these noises of yours, Stevie,” Bucky muttered. “Love hearing how you sound taking my cock, and you take it so well, doll. Almost there. Almost there.” He didn’t know if Steve was actually listening to him, lost in his pleasure as he was, but it didn’t really matter because Bucky was there, tipping over the precipice and pouring himself into Steve. “Oh, God!” 

Steve grasped his own cock with his free hand, giving himself a rough few jerks so he could follow Bucky off the edge.

A couple of minutes later, when they could both breathe properly again, Bucky propped himself up on his elbows and pressed butterfly kisses to Steve’s smiling, flushed face.

“That’s three times in two days. We should go on holiday and get snowed in more often, if this is what it leads to,” he said between the kisses.

“I have a feeling that this would happen on any holiday, snow or no snow,” Steve teased back.

“Well,” said Bucky, tilting his head to the side and trying not to laugh, “maybe we should test that theory?”

Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s neck and pulled him back down for another kiss. “Maybe we should. But in the meantime, wanna make it four times in two days?”

Tag list: @christywrites, @alexakeyloveloki, @doasyoudesireandlive, @galactusdevourerofworlds, @km-ffluv

#stucky #stucky fanfic #steve x bucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes #buckybarnesbingo2023 #stucky bingo #steve rogers bingo

[coffeeandjoon]

🌓 Nocturnal Prince 🌓 | Chapter II - DPR Ian/Christian Yu x Reader | Werewolf Fic

← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

Pairing: Christian Yu/DPR Ian x reader (nicknamed Vixen)

Chapter word count: 1k

Status: ongoing

Summary: Sometimes the most powerful of curses can be shattered by the strength of love. Or they turn someone into the cruelest version of themselves. The Prince of Avalon, Christian Yu, stopped believing a long time ago that one day someone would truly love him and break his curse. 

He’s a werewolf, roaming the forest close to Ravenswood by night, terrorizing and destroying everything that comes along his path with his pack of fearless werewolf soldiers. Everyone knows to stay out of the woods at night.

Meanwhile, in Ravenswood, Vixen struggles to be accepted as the "new girl" at college. As a fox shifter, that's not so easy, which is why she takes on the daring challenge of entering the forest at night and lasting until dawn. 

A night of fear and terror begins and soon Vixen is running for her life from a pack of wolves that hunt her without mercy. Much to Christina's chagrin, the fox shifter survives until dawn and escapes his forest. But not without catching a glimpse of him, which changes everything for both. He can't believe she's made it out alive and begins to feel a stirring within him that he hasn't felt in a long time – hope.

He starts to follow Vixen, watching her from the shadows, and slowly begins to realize that she might be the key to breaking his curse. As he watches her navigate the challenges of being the new girl in town, Christian starts to see that Vixen is not like the other shapeshifters and magical creatures of Ravenswood and breaks one of his most important rules: never seek contact with anyone outside his pack. 

Chapter 2

Christian’s POV

An innocent little lamb has strayed directly into my clearing. I almost feel something like pity at her shocked look, but my wolf instincts are stronger. I must hunt her down. And kill her. No one enters these woods and comes out alive.

I growl a few orders to my pack as the poor thing with the silver-black hair decides to run off. So foolish. My hunting instincts cry out for blood now.

Youngwoo leads my pack into the surrounding thicket, we will soon encircle her and then there will be no escape. For a brief moment I pause, trying to remember why I'm doing this at all, why she has to die ... the howl of my general snaps me out of my thoughts and back into the instant. Too great is the pleasure of hunting to resist it.

I run, catching up quickly. I happen to be the alpha of this pack for a reason. Soon I can see her again, running desperately for her life.

She breathes hastily, I can hear her desperate heartbeat, can listen to the branches crack under her erratic steps, can smell her fear dripping from her skin. Don't worry, I'll make it short, little lamb.

My pack falls back as it should, the kill is always mine. I continue to follow her, feeling almost intoxicated by her scent of fear. She turns sharply around an old copper beech; I follow her and then ... she is gone.

What the fuck? I stop, glancing around in irritation. Her scent has also disappeared. Her heartbeat is undetectable. What the hell?! She can't just vanish into thin air.

I try to pick up her scent again, but nothing. No human is in these woods anymore. Yet we are still a good distance from the town border. I signal my pack to retreat. This hunt no longer makes sense. But still, I must investigate this.

"Shall I help you, my king?" Youngwoo asks me over our mind link.

I decline. I'm not in the mood for his know-it-all advice. Whatever trick this person has just pulled, I will find out for myself.

I sniff the area for a while when the scent of a fox hits my nostrils. There are no foxes in these woods. Not anymore. Since Avalon's downfall, the only predators here have been us wolves.

And there I see it - a silver fox. It sneaks through the undergrowth, straight towards the town border. I'm usually not interested in other animals, but there's something about this fox that piques my curiosity. It almost looks like ... no, that's nonsense. And yet I follow it, but at a respectable distance.

We are getting closer and closer to Ravenswood, the trees are getting thinner, the dazzling glow of the streetlights shimmers slightly through the leaves. I slow my pace. I don't feel like picking a fight with these lunatic eschatology students.

They all come from centuries-old families who have made it their main task to justify their atrocities under the shelter of religion, yet they are nothing more than charlatans who use black magic to bring down kingdoms and bring out creatures like me. And to kill such creatures as me. I hate them all.

I suppress the thoughts and focus again on the fox, which to my surprise passes the town border and is suddenly no longer a fox at all. In front of me is the same girl that I had hunted just a moment ago. A fox shifter.

That is impossible. Apart from my pack, there are no more shapeshifters. The eschatology fanatics have made sure of that. However, I also can't deny what I just saw. She has transformed. Bumpy, to be sure, but it was clearly a transformation. What is she doing in this damn town? Once someone finds out about her, she's as good as dead! I must warn her, she––

The fox girl continues walking down the street that leads to the town and turns around once more. Her silver-black hair whips in her face, but that doesn't stop her amber eyes from boring into mine, and for a brief moment, time stops.  

"Don't." Youngwoo is suddenly standing next to me, in his human form, holding me back. It's only then that I realize I had transformed back, too. Fuck, I've never lost control of my transformations before!

When I look up again, she's gone.

Vixen’s POV

Wolves. Did Mingi's clique actually want to fuck with me?! So much for they would meet in the forest to hang out. I was lured out there like a piece of meat! I'm... I'm...

I take a deep breath. No need to get so upset, Vixen, I say to myself. In the end, I made the decision myself to befriend random people and believe them naively. No, it wasn't even that I acted out of naivety. It was, as always, my goddamn curiosity! It would really cost me my head one day.

I had never been so close to death before. And I had never seen other shapeshifters. This guy with the countless tattoos was definitely the wolf that had been hunting me.

I would have loved to question him, somehow I felt a strange connection to him, but then his big buddy showed up. No, thanks. I don't intend to end up as a wolf bite tonight. So I ran home.  

Exhaustion hits me full force as I lock the door to my apartment and take off my boots and jacket. That's enough Mission Impossible-like action for the rest of my life. I need to get some sleep. And ... ugh, I smell like an ox. I should jump in the shower first.

The hot water turns my thoughts back to the guy with the tattoos, his intense gaze, his muscles ... Vixen, what the hell? I'm still far from my heat for these six months, which makes these lustful thoughts even more inappropriate. And hello? I cannot lust after my chaser, can I? That would be absurd.

Nope. I must pull myself together. Just shower, sleep and confront Mingi and the others in the morning. Yep, that's exactly how I will do it.

And yet, the dark-haired wolf shifter haunts my dreams that night.

#dpr ian werewolf fic #dpr ian fic #dpr ian x reader #dpr ian fanfic #dpr ian #christian yu #christian yu x reader #nocturnal prince #christian yu fic #yu barom

[dropout-ninja]

The Hollow Knight, Bretta, Nightmare King Grimm

One of these is solely because I want to see you admit your favorite ship on main, I cannot stop myself

I think I need to not attempt ask games because I am too talkative and make long ass posts help

The Hollow Knight: What was the saddest part of the game for you? Which ending is the most sad to you?

All of it

But seriously, so many moments. I’ll throw the Nosk Den out as one, alongside the Abyss. A lot of the settings give feels, like the empty basin. The White Palace’s everything always makes me feel Emotions. A lot of the ghosts make me sad. MARMU. Agh. 

Which ending isn’t sad? That said, I am going to go with Sealed Siblings as the worst feeling ending. It feels like the one that has the most damage caused and the least hope. Dream No More is a ‘good’ ending, though, but it gives many sad feelings (just of a different nature than the long scream of SS/THK ending)

Bretta: Favorite Hollow Knight ship? Favorite fanfic?

Why you do this

I have so many ships, because I’m the type of person to read what looks like a crackship and if it’s written with crunch then now I’m shipping it (hi grimmnet). It doesn’t take much and I don’t tend to have notps, my personality is a continuous shrug (me out here sometimes reading pale nightmare and causing you unknowing psychic indigestion) 

Grollow was my first HK ship and I’d probably call it my favorite. I also really like Pale King/White Lady. Some of the more cursed ships I favor are Pale King/Radiance (or PK/Radi/WL) and Radiance/The Hollow Knight, exceptionally messy and toxic. There you go, Ashe, get me on main saying it all. 

All of yours are the answer XD (I mean it). From Eyes to W&G/Red Sky to Butterfly, sorry not sorry. Other favorites are Soul of God, Form of Moth by @basilbellona, which has been my favorite HK fic since April 2022, and In Defiance of Time (and associated oneshots) by @ganondorf--apologist. 

Now for a list of absolutely random things I’ve got in my bookmarks, which are excluding the multiple HK fics I have open but am still reading. I’m going to make too long a post just because I always want fics to get more love. Some of my other non-Ashyr favorites from bookmarks (no specific order and genre) are: Captivated, Until Dawn Shall Break, Not Too Late for Second Chances, Hold The Future With Silver Hands, Camouflage of Great Renown, It’s All Well Above Wonder Anyway, The Clock Stopped Ticking Forever Ago, Pale Revival, A Tribe Betrayed, Void Given Focus, Workshop Safety, To Reclaim A Dream, To Love A Lamprey, Moving Onward, Will Terribly, If You Will At All, I Swore I’d Have No More Knights In Shining Armor, We’re So Close But So Distant

Someday I’ll have even more to recommend when I finish reading the fics open in my tags (hi Tori fics, hello)

Nightmare King Grimm: Which boss battle was the most intense for you? The most satisfying to defeat?

What if I said Nightmare King Grimm

Each one I came across the first time I played faskfsdaf. I’m going to go with Absolute Radiance just because I remember the noises I was making on stream when I accidentally beat her in P5 the first time. But in terms of my favorite boss fight/the one I’m most satisfied about my skills in, I’ll go with the cliche of the NKG fight XD My one skill in this game is being able to absolutely bully the man and kill him hitless before the best part of his song plays. I put all my irl XP points into getting good at him. Other favorite fights are Sisters of Battle, and probably Pure Vessel even though they are gatekeeping me so hard in my all bindings P4 run and so I cry.

#ask game #fic rec #fic rec too I guess #that's what this spiraled into #oh boy #gonna flee into the swamp after this one

[vivifrage]

🥤🪐❄️🦴

Ohoo, four! Thank you!

🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love

Oh my GAWD I wanna recommend all my friends! Everyone! Ruthless with Until Dawn Shall Break, Shadow/Tigerspite's ELU, Intrepid's Diplomatic Ties, Skye's Purl fics, Awpie's got a whole huge space thing... And you wrote that Undertale/Hollow Knight crossover, yeah? I enjoyed that one! And ooh there's so much, I'd spend forever listing it all. Idk how I ended up hanging with so many wonderful writers, but it's wonderful.

Now, for a fic in a fandom I share with like, none of my buddies these days unfortunately but that I've been returning to time and time again since, uh... 2011 or before...: The Earth Diary of Toby Hamee Major Animorphs spoilers btw but I love it so much.

For all of you out there who are not yet into Animorphs, I'll get you one day.

🪐 ⇢ name three good things going on in your life right now

The "vaguely inspired by buldak" chicken I made tonight was super tasty and my sinuses are so clear rn

My quarterly eval went better than I worried it would and we've got an action plan for the stuff I do need to work on that I think might get somewhere!

I went digging through my fabric stash and found MORE chicken fabric yeah baybeeeeeee (also god help me there's so much fabric)

❄️ ⇢ what's your dream theme/plot for a fic, and who would write it best?

Ohhh this one varies. I love a good long fic, and from my previous long fic tastes, I love me some domestic drama going along with high stakes actiony stuff. Any combo of that in any fandom I've been in and I'm a happy clam.

For a specific, @shadowtriad if you ever want to write the Taniks eggnancy drama stuff I've got those monotreme embryology papers if you want 'em 😂

🦴 ⇢ is there a piece of media that inspires your writing? 

Other than whatever I'm writing fanfic for, hehe?

I do like putting music on while I write and all but honestly, I dunno if it does a lot to inspire the writing. Sometimes, though, I'll be thinking of stuff I've enjoyed in years past and go damn. Should make stuff like that.

Overall, though, I do think my biggest inspiration is less of media and more of fervent discussion with buddies.

[mostlydeadallday]

Lost Kin for the writing bingo!

Lost Kin was basically a combination of "This character checks so many of my boxes" and "I could make them check even more of my boxes"

Fics like Until Dawn Shall Break, the darkness carried you home to me, the Rain and Needles series, and The Persistence of Endlings were my major inspirations, but what really got my brain spinning was the concept of a long-term Hollow caretaking fic where they learn to sign and Hornet slowly gets to know them from absolute scratch. It's expanded substantially since then (laughs nervously in "approaching 200k") but I still go back to those core ideas for inspiration.

#lost kin fic #hollow knight #ask games #answeredsasks #saturno-sol #tyyyyy ♥

[the-letter-horror-lover]

She is not going to win, she realises, looking at the fixed expression on his face. It is the same one he uses when Lady Elizabeth visits without call first, disrupting the Young Master’s schedule, or with Miss Hopkins when she turns up wearing something untoward.

Holding back a sigh, Mey-Rin returns to her chair and rests her hands in her lap.

Silence lapses between them, a quiet, sunken thing, during which Sebastian adjusts his position, leaning back fully in his seat and letting his feet rest a little more outwards than usual. Whatever the nature of his injury may be, bruised ribs or worse, it has certainly lessened over the course of the day, Mey-Rin will give the butler that. But why the man deems himself suitable for leaving the comfort of his bed when given the leave is beyond her.

The Young Master coughs again, and Sebastian narrows his eyes, watching the rise and fall of the Earl’s chest shiver before settling down.

Then again, perhaps it is not so beyond her.

The rain weeps outside, and time passes slowly, though not as uncomfortably as she first feared. The boy made small in the large bed falls into the closest thing he shall get to undisturbed slumber, and while the watch is not the greatest thing in the world to be doing in the early hours of the morning, Mey-Rin does not hate it, either.

Sebastian says nothing else, only adjusting his posture to suit whatever ailment afflicts him and tucking the dressing gown comfortably around himself.

He should have brought his book, Mey-Rin muses.

Only once more does their Young Master suffer another fit strong enough to wake him, where they need to encourage more sips of water and refreshen the cloth across his forehead. This time it takes longer for him to settle, however with a few choice words from Sebastian that Mey-Rin fails to properly hear, and a readjustment of the bedsheets, they get him down again, the need for rest overpowering their Lord’s discomfort.

When the first hints of dawn break, brightening the carpet where the curtains fail to shade with the dreary grey of sobbing clouds, Mey-Rin blinks, glancing from the Earl to cast her gaze slightly dazed around the room. She stretches, feeling the bones of her back pop.

“Oh.” Stopping short, surprise flitting across her face, she pauses in her movement.

In the neighbouring chair Sebastian sits relaxed, his arms tucked around his chest, and his legs crossed at the heels. His head, tilted gently back against the seat, lolls a touch to one side, his eyes closed and his breathing coming in slow, rhythmic beats.

A light, amused huff tumbles out Mey-Rin’s mouth before she can stop it, and she settles back down, smiling softly.

A maid’s day begins early, and for now, her job is to watch over her Lord and Sebastian, until they no longer need her, and her work is done.

Notes:

I got halfway through before realising that the Campania wouldn’t have set off from London and the rescue boat wouldn’t have returned there, rather, it was more likely Portsmouth. But changing it by that point would mean changing the entire beginning of the fic, and most of the premise, so we’re all just going to ignore that little inaccuracy, okay? Okay.

In other news, Sebastian doesn’t take kindly to annoying doctors.

(Also I've not fully caught up on the manga, which I know is currently exploring Mey-Rin's backstory, so please no spoilers!)

Tumblr

The Trap

TheDarkivist

Notes:

A gift fic for Allie.

Work Text:

The black-clad mourners trickled out of the graveyard, unaware that in their midst stood the greatest thief, the greatest murderer in the world. He stayed far behind, silver hair covering his eyes so that the grieving family wouldn't see the bottomless, insatiable greed in them.

He looked at the white marble tombstone. That grave, too, would become his. That grave, too, would host one of his fantasy selves that he strangled. That grave, too, would take part in the utter annihilation of who he was and who he thought he could become.

The model reaper.

The renegade.

The man standing on his own.

The man who could love.

The man who could be loved.

He was getting closer those days. He felt the edges of himself blur and crumble, leaving him to dissolve in the autumn wind, sweet with smoke and promises of rest. He had tried before, whatever before meant. In vain. He wasn't quite so thorough back then, didn't know better, didn't know how hard it was.

He was perpetual loss given form.

It wasn't beautiful.

Slender fingers pulled out a piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it to reveal a sloppily written address, date, and time. Undertaker ran one long black nail over the messy handwriting, rereading the note for the hundredth time since he received it. Could be a trap. Should be a trap, if the young reaper had any common sense. Yet, something told him it was safe to accept the invitation, were he so inclined.

Undertaker slipped the note back into his pocket.

He still had selves to slaughter.

The autumn wind was sweet with smoke and possibilities when Othello left the building. Out of habit, he waved at the security camera above the door before he stuck his hands into the pockets of his lab coat and walked away. He never managed to find out who was watching those cameras. Who was watching the reapers, who themselves were meant to be observers. Who could watch them day by day and remain absolutely impartial.

(The implications didn't frighten him in the daylight.)

It had been a long time since he last visited the human world for other than work-related reasons. The air in the human world carried a different taste - different, yet familiar in all the small, painful ways. Othello reached into his pocket for the metal tin with liquorice sweets. His fingers brushed a worn-out notepad he kept there in case of an interesting discovery. Only he knew that the last page was missing.

He popped one of the black sweets into his smiling mouth. Oh, he was about to discover something interesting, all right.

Chances were that Undertaker wouldn't show up. What did he know about Othello? Nothing. It could be a trap. He should expect a trap, if the older reaper had any common sense.

Othello quickened his pace, whistling.

He still had a mystery to solve.

Othello watched Undertaker's slender fingers with glossy black nails wrap around the handle of the dainty porcelain cup before he picked up his own cup and brought it to his lips. His face scrunched up when the steaming hot tea fogged up his glasses and burnt his tongue. The sorry show elicited a quiet chuckle from the man sitting across the table.

Othello set the drink down on the saucer, put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "How did you do it?"

Undertaker helped himself to a biscuit, but didn't bite into it straight away. Instead, he broke it into two halves and stuck one in his mouth, playing idly with the other. "Don't bore me. Why don't you ask me something more interesting?"

"I don't care why you did it." Othello shrugged, secretly pleased at the flash of surprise that ran across Undertaker's features. Not so unflappable now, huh? "Philosophy's never been my thing."

The other leaned forward slightly and his voice dropped into a whisper. "Maybe it's what I want to talk about."

Othello pulled at his lower lip, deep in thought. He got the Undertaker to talk to him, why should he be picky about the kind of information he'd take away from the encounter?

"Tell me, then."

The legendary reaper broke the half of the biscuits into two more halves, adding more crumbs to the growing pile. "Too late."

"So what are you willing to tell me?" he asked.

"I don't know. What will you tell me?" Undertaker reached over the table and stuck one piece of biscuit between Othello's lips. He nearly choked and a wave of heat rushed to his cheeks. "Will you tell me what's going through the head of a good little reaper that would make him want to associate himself with someone like me? What kind of knowledge is worth the risk? Are you thinking of repeating my experiment?"

The younger took a sip of his tea to wash down the sweet. Silence hung between them, tense and crackling with something he couldn't name.

"I haven't got any agenda," he replied truthfully.

Undertaker opened his mouth, then closed it again. He blinked. Then his face lit up with glee and he burst out laughing, laughing until tears sparkled in the corners of his eyes. "You mean it! Well, aren't you a delight, young man?"

Othello snatched up the remaining piece of biscuit from the other's fingers and popped it into his mouth with a grin. "See? I answered. Your turn."

"It might be best if I showed you instead. You can afford this answer." Undertaker paused, looking somewhere behind the younger's shoulder. "That's not quite true. It all depends on the point of view."

Then he stood up and held out his hand to his companion. Firefly eyes, hazy behind the glasses, fell down on it as Othello pondered what the hand would feel like in his. Old paper, perhaps. Chalk. He reached out but hesitated before their hands could touch.

He glanced up. Their eyes met - Othello took the hand and gave it a firm squeeze. It was surprisingly soft and warm. Almost gentle.

It was definitely a trap.

Just not the kind either of them expected.

[lostinthewiind]

Sorry for already requesting again, I’m just slightly obsessed with your writing. Could I request another Poly!Matchablossom where they take care of the reader when they are on their period and in pain? If you want to keep the reader more neutral, I totally understand and would change the request to the reader just generally not feeling well. Thank you in advance!

Polyamorous Relationship w/ Joe & Cherry: Period Pains

A/N: okay so I love this request because I'm single AF and every time I get horrendous cramps during my period I wish I had someone to take care of me, but alas, I just have to curl up in my heated blanket alone :( Anyway, I shall now live vicariously through this fic. If anyone would like a gender neutral fic with the reader just being sick or something, let me know!

Rating: PG13

Warnings: mentions menstrual cramps and general period problems that some of us unfortunate souls have to endure once a goddamn month, mentions nudity, tiny bit spicy 

All things considered, it was shaping up to be a good day. The sun was shining bright, the warm rays peeking through the curtains of the apartment you shared with your boyfriends. Birds were chirping happily outside, waking the city with their beautiful song, and it was the weekend, so you didn’t have to go to work. 

It was going to be a great day . . . well, it would have been a great day if you weren’t currently experiencing some of the worst period cramps of your life. Because of this painful monthly inconvenience, all the things that would normally make you smile were thoroughly pissing you off. 

The sun shining through the crack in the curtains and the chirping birds acted as a taunting reminder that it was morning and that you hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep that night thanks to your uncomfortable cramps and aching body. Sometime during the night, you had been forced to sneak your way out of the bedroom and set up camp on the couch for fear of waking your boyfriends with your constant tossing and turning.

This, however, wasn’t nearly enough to sooth you to sleep. If anything, it only made things worse because you never slept well without Joe and Cherry by your side. So, after popping a couple painkillers and downing a glass of cold water, you resigned yourself to lying awake on the couch for almost the entire night, staring up at the ceiling and trying not to break out into sobs due to pain, frustration, and exhaustion. 

Hearing the bedroom door open, you tilted your head slightly and watched as your boyfriends emerged from the bedroom dawning housecoats on their bodies and happy, sleepy smiles on their faces. At least they were enjoying everything this wonderful Saturday had to offer.

“Good morning,” Cherry greeted you with a quick peck on the forehead as he passed you on the way to the kitchen to start the coffee maker. “You’re up early.”

You winced and squinted as Joe threw the curtains open, flooding the room with blinding light. “That assumes I went to sleep at all,” you scoffed, your eyes slowly adjusting to the sun rays shining directly in your eyes. 

“You haven’t slept?” Joe walked over to the couch, squatted down in front of you, and placed the back of his hand to your forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”

You grimaced and swatted his hand away, knowing deep down that he was only trying to be nice but being bothered nonetheless. “No, my body is trying to rip me apart from the inside out!” You grabbed a throw pillow from the couch, pressed it firmly over your face, and groaned loudly. “I’m in pain!”

Joe and Cherry, who were familiar with how intense your periods could be by now, shared a knowing look from across the apartment. As much as you tried not to, you tended to lash out a little when the cramping kept you from sleeping or doing any of the daily activities you were used to. 

“Cramps?” Joe inquired despite already knowing the answer. When you nodded from underneath the pillow, moving the pillow along with your head movements, Joe placed his large hand on your lower abdomen and pressed down firmly. Then, without hesitation, he began to massage the internal muscles that were causing you such distress. “How’s this?” he checked to see if his actions were helping or hurting.

You sighed, your entire body relaxing into his touch as he massaged away some of the discomfort. “Feels good,” you mumbled, finally lifting the pillow from your face and setting it to the side. “I took medication but it didn’t help at all. It’s really bad this month.”

“Do you want any coffee?” Cherry called softly from the kitchen, pausing after he opened the cabinet until he knew if he needed two or three mugs. 

At the thought of drinking anything that wasn’t water, your stomach turned. “No, thank you.” You shook your head. 

After setting the mugs atop the counter, Cherry shuffled over to the back of the couch and leaned over it to caress your cheek lovingly. “Nauseous?” he asked.

You nodded. “And I have a headache,” you added, “but that could be from lack of sleep or because I haven’t eaten anything in a while . . . or simply because the universe hates me.”

“The universe doesn’t hate you,” Joe assured you as he moved your legs a little so he could sit on the couch with you before laying your legs across his lap and continuing his massaging. “But even if it does, we love you so it doesn’t matter.”

You chuckled slightly as Cherry returned to the kitchen. “Thanks.” You tried your best to sound sincere but due to your exhaustion-induced monotone voice, you sounded more annoyed than anything. 

“So you spent most of the night out here?” Joe questioned, his rough hands shooing the pain away one skilled movement after another. 

“Yeah,” you answered. “I couldn’t get comfortable and didn’t want to wake you guys. No sense in all three of us not getting any sleep just because I was born with an organ that is infused with the wrath of Satan himself.”

Joe laughed under his breath. “You really do reach new levels of anger during this time of the month,” he commented. “Good thing you don’t take it out on us . . . most of the time.”

“I’m sorry,” you shot him a sheepish look, apologizing for all the times you had treated him and Cherry rudely because of your mood swings and pain. “I don’t mean it.”

Joe noticed the guilty look on your face and immediately felt bad. “I was just kidding, love.” He pulled your close to his body and pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “We know you don’t mean it.”

“Good.” You tucked your face into the crook of his neck. 

Removing his hands from your stomach, Joe ran his fingers through your hair and kissed you again. “Do you feel any better?”

“A little,” you forced a small smile. “Thank you.”

Just then, Cherry appeared before the two of you with two mugs of coffee in his hands. After handing one to Joe, he looked down at you with a sympathetic look on his face. “You should eat something, darling,” he told you. 

“I know,” you agreed. “I’m just not hungry.”

Taking a sip of his coffee, Cherry lost himself in thought for a few moments while he tried to brainstorm a way to get you feeling good enough to be able to put some food in your body. Then, without saying anything, he turned on his heel, walked away, and disappeared inside the bathroom.

Seconds later, you could hear water running and could smell the faint scent of your favourite bubble bath wafting into the living room. “A warm bath sounds wonderful,” Joe whispered in your ear, catching onto what Cherry’s plan was. “Take a relaxing bath with Kaoru to ease your muscles and by the time you’re done I’ll have breakfast ready. How does that sound?”

“Perfect.” The thought of soaking in hot water was nearly enough to put you to sleep right then and there. “The only way it could be better was if we had a bathtub big enough for the three of us.”

“I agree.” Joe kissed the shell of your ear. “I’ll join you next time.”

“Okay.”

Minutes later, the sound of running water ceased and Cherry emerged from the bathroom. “Come now, beautiful.” He lifted you out of Joe’s arms and into his own, years of skating at S gifting him with muscles that hid beneath his slender frame. “Better get to cooking, Kojiro.” He eyed the other man.

“Okay, damn.” Joe held up his hands in defense as you and Cherry headed for the bathroom. “Let a man take a few sips of coffee first.”

You chuckled lightly, seeing through Cherry’s remark and knowing he did it just to coax a laugh out of you like you did whenever the two bickered about nonsense, which he had achieved. 

“There’s that beautiful laugh,” Cherry commented, smiling at the sight of your amusement. “I wish I could do more to ease your pain but I hope this helps even a little.”

“Of course it will help,” you told him as he set you down and closed the bathroom door behind the two of you to keep the heat inside the room. 

After stripping and setting your clothes to the side, you stepped into the warm bath and let out a relieved sigh like you had when Joe had massaged you. As you sank down into the water and the beautifully scented bubbles surrounded your body, you felt your muscles begin to relax. Letting your eyes flutter shut, you basked in the euphoric feeling of being comfortable for the first time in hours.

“You look content.” Cherry’s voice was soft and quiet, careful not to startle you out of your happy daze. “Can I do anything else?”

“You can join me.” You extended your hand toward him. “Will you? Please?”

Cherry smiled as he too began undressing. “You don’t have to ask me twice,” he assured you, and as you slid forward to make room for him, he sank down behind you and the water sloshed against the sides of the tub as the two of you maneuvered into a comfortable position. 

As Cherry wrapped his arms around you from behind, you leaned back into his chest and smiled happily when he rested his chin on top of your head. The two of you stayed like that in complete silence for a while, just enjoying the time you had to spend with each other.

 “We should do this more often.” Cherry spoke after a while, sounding like he was enjoying the bath even more than you were. “I could almost fall asleep like this.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you warned. “I’m so tired.”

“You just close your eyes and relax.” He held you tighter. “I wont let you drown.”

“Promise?” you joked.

Cherry scoffed and rolled his eyes at you. “Yes, I promise.” He dipped his head down and began peppering your cheek, jaw, and neck with kisses, nips, and kitten licks. “I’m here for you. Whatever you want . . . I just want you to feel good.”

“That definitely feels good.” A small moan escaped your lips as you tilted your head to the side to allow your boyfriend easier access to your neck. “Very good.”

Once Cherry’s mouth reached your shoulder, he slid his tongue along your skin as he moved back up to your ear so he could work his way down again. “You know what else would feel good?” You felt him smirk against your flesh, but before he could elaborate, the bathroom door opened and Joe strode in with a spoon of something in his hand. 

Stopping halfway between the door and the tub, Joe narrowed his eyes at the two of you. “You know, I’m feeling very left out right now.”

“It’s not always about you.” Cherry scowled, clearly upset about being interrupted. “Ever heard of knocking?“

“I’ve seen you both naked before. Many times. I don’t need to knock.” Joe brushed off Cherry’s concern and approached with the spoon held out toward you. “Does this taste good?”

Now that your nausea had subsided and you were actually beginning to feel hungry, you happily opened your mouth and tasted whatever it was that Joe had created in the kitchen. You didn’t know what it was, but it was some sort of sauce and it was sweet. 

“It’s very good,” you assured him. “But everything you make is good.”

Joe’s face lit up at the compliment. “Not too sweet?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“Ahem,” Cherry cleared his throat. “I’m here too, you know. Do I get a taste?”

“It’s not always about you.” Joe threw his own words back at him before smiling sweetly at you. “Breakfast will be ready soon. I’ll call you.”

“Okay.” You couldn’t help but return the smile, feeling much better than you had earlier. 

Before Joe left, he pressed a kiss to your lips and a peck to Cherry’s head as a peace offering to make up for the two’s nattering at one another before. Then, he was gone and the sound of him working in the kitchen filled the apartment.

“What did he feed you?” Cherry questioned, running the tips of his slender fingers up your arm and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

You shrugged. “I have no idea, but it was delicious.”

“Mmm,” Cherry hummed, his mouth quickly finding its way back to your skin and sucking on your shoulder. “You know what else is delicious?”

You giggled when he grazed his teeth across a ticklish spot on your neck. “Breakfast is soon. You aren’t allowed to eat me.”

“But you taste so good, I just want to-”

“Kaoru, could you come help me?” Joe called from the kitchen, almost as if he knew what the two of you were up to and was interrupting again on purpose. 

Cherry’s head fell back and he huffed. “Oh, my God. Is five minutes alone too much to ask?”

Dropping your head back onto Cherry’s shoulder, you pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the nape of his neck. “Don’t go. Pretend you didn’t hear him.”

Cherry squinted down at you quizzically. “What’s gotten into you? You’re usually the one encouraging me to be nicer to him.”

“I know . . . but just this once, please?” You batted your eyelashes at him. “If he thinks we didn’t hear him, he’ll come to get you and then we can convince him to let us stay in the bath a little longer. It’s just so warm . . . I don’t want to get out yet.”

“But the food will get cold.”

Your eyes grew as wide as dinner plates at your sudden idea. “Do you think we can eat breakfast in the bath?”

Cherry laughed heartily at that. “Well if you ask Kojiro with the same wondrous expression you just gave me, I don’t think there is any way he could say no. He might even feed you if you say please and kiss that spot behind his ear that he really likes.”

“I hope so.” You felt like you were in heaven with the thought of being fed delicious food in a warm bubble bath. “It’s worth a try, at least.”

“Indeed it is.” Cherry kissed the top of your head, truly happy with how much your mood had lifted in such a short amount of time and proud of himself that he had helped make that happen. 

With your eyes glued to the door, waiting for your other boyfriend to walk back into the bathroom, you exhaled contently. Maybe today was shaping up to be a good day after all. 

#sk8 the infinity #lostinthewiind #fluff #sk8 joe #sk8 cherry blossom #sakurayashiki karou #nanjo kojiro #reader imagine #x reader #reader insert #polyamorous relationship with cherry and joe #polyamourous #polyamory

[ryosmne]

Safe Place.

Yakuza! Nanami Kento x gn Reader

Hello everyone, this fic is in collaboration with my dear friend @sunfloweroranges you can read their fic here :D

I kind of changed my writing style for this one, I'm trying out different things so let me know how it goes, feedback is always welcome, that's all from me hope you have a good time reading 💜

Summary: You're clueless

Warnings: mentions of blood, mature themes, mentions of murder and head chopping, language, yandare Nanami if you squint.

Grocery shopping is never fun when you're alone, especially making your way back home in the cold winter months, it gets dark so early.

A slight twist of your gut had made you walk back home in a faster pace. Turning your head every couple of steps, you never saw anything, yet this feeling never left even when you got through the main entrance of your apartment complex.

The elevator was broken once more, and you were already out of breath from rushing back, as you took the first steps up, your next door neighbor, who looked way too scary for your own liking bumped your shoulder on his way down.

Jeez he's in a hurry today.

Mumbling a quick apology, even though he was the one that was at fault, you quickly found the strength to run up the stairs and lock yourself in. Some short of commotion was coming from outside the complex that you didn't really care to hear.

That pink haired guy, your neighbor, who was build like a damn door, always got himself in some short of trouble, hearing him yell profanities or even throwing punches was a far too often occurance.

Why did he have to live right next door?

It's safe to say you did the best to keep the hell away from him, not that he seemed to bother with you, neitherless he was fucking scary.

Kento was ten minutes late, he was never late, except for the days that he had to clean up someone's mess, the days someone underestimated the power he held or the days someone dared speak your name. He wouldn't even tell them 'dont you dare speak their name' or anything along those lines. There was no warning when it came to mentioning yo,u only taking immediate action.

Naturally you were in the dark about all of that, Kento -or Ken as you would often referred to him as- kept you far far away from the darkness of his world. That was his way of keeping you safe and at the same time having you as his personal way out of his work and in his defence he didn't completely lie about his employment. He was an investor, just a bit of a different stock market than what you had in mind.

As far as you knew, Nanami Kento was an extremely successful business man, he chalked up his tattoo covered body as just his preferred style, since he is this good at what he does, he likes to say that his work place doesn't give a damn about his ink covered skin and the expensive gifts that he always pressures you to accept are just another benefit of his high profile job.

"Darling, I hope you didn't start without me." Wrapping your arms around your extremely sweet boyfriend you left a small kiss on his lips watching as the corners tagged upwards in an equally sweet smile the moment your lips left his.

"Of course not Ken, it's Friday remember?" Fridays are the established date nights in, you and Kento cook and dine together. More often than not you end up slow dancing to some jazz, or with you laying on his chest Infront of the fireplace, listening to his heartbeat, talking about life while he strokes your hair until the dawn.

Tossing him an apron, after he -like the gentleman he is- tied yours, you got to work on today's dish: Chorizo carbonara.

"You're never late on Fridays, bad day at work?"

You spoke while slicing some papers.

"Yeah, the stocks are all over the place and it's getting me stressed, but it's our night darling, anything else isn't of importance."

Kento always found a way of distracting you when it came to talking about his day, he is always quite vague and when his palm rested on the small of your back gazing down at you with those adoring eyes, it's hard to keep focused on anything other than him.

"Why don't you tell me about your day love?"

He always asked you that, Kento is in awful need of the calm that the mundane life you live carries. He craves to feel that, he still loves the power he holds over people, the way the mare mention of his name makes others tremble in fear of what the man will do to them shall they not comply to his requests -more accurately orders-

"Thankfully work was pretty good today, I finished grocery shopping so we could cook, I got us that wine you really loved too. The neighbor is being weird again but that's not new, maybe moving out isn't a bad idea."

Everything was like music to Kento's ears untill that last sentence. You had mentioned moving out before, but Kento always found a way to convince you not to. The rent was good, this house is close to your work, he would always reason with you until you changed your mind. He never pushed too hard fearing that you'd suspect something, but you only smiled and ended up agreeing with him.

You see, unbeknownst to you, your weird neighbor is Nanami's most trusted man, he's protecting you twenty four hours a day, even as you walked up the stairs today he dealt with another threat that was headed right your way. No, you cannot move before you know everything, but Nanami can't bring himself to break your bubble, he loves you and you love him, the real him, he would never scare you by letting you take a peek at his point of view. Maybe he should run away with you afterall.

"He doesn't look that bad, love. I'm sure he wouldn't hurt a fly."

Nanami knew he was capable of a lot more than that but it was true, your neighbor was an ally and although he would hurt lots of people, you were on the list of people to be protected and Sukuna took his bosses orders very seriously.

"Besides, my love, anyone would have to get through me first before attempting to lay a finger on you."

With the way his lips moulded on yours and his velvety tone, how could you not believe every single word that just came out of his mouth. Kento would die before letting anything happen to you, that little statement helped bring you comfort.

"You must really love my house Ken, can you pass me the butter?"

The moment your back was turned, Kento let out a breath of relief. That little voice in his head he always pushed away yelled at him to tell you everything, he burried it in the back of his mind once more.

"Can you believe that? I swear she drives me insane- Ken are you listening to me?"

That was weird, Kento always gave you his full attention. Perhaps he was tired today.

"Yes darling, you were talking about that Satoru guy, the one who annoys you at work."

Yeah you were, but that was while you were still eating, about twenty minutes ago.

"Babe, you're tired, let's go to bed, we can pick up where we left off another time, you need to rest."

The habit of staying up all night on Fridays had really stuck, but sleeping when your partner clearly needed to, is very much on schedule although it rarely ever happened.

Getting up from the sofa, tagging at Kento's arm to follow you to the bedroom had Kento irritated at how concerned you grew for him. He still feels you're too good at times, all the time to be exact.

You only heard him sigh before he pulled you back on the sofa, having lost your balance in his sudden move, you landed on top of him.

"Stay with me a little longer my love, I'm sorry I spaced out, I'm all ears for you now."

Another invitation for you to just talk to him, he didn't care about what. Kento loved the tone of your voice, how it changed pitch depending on what emotion you held or what you were talking about. His voice was quite monotone, like everyone else's around him. He had to grow thick skin and throw away all short of feelings, but everything he locked away years ago came rushing back the moment he spilled coffee on you six months ago. You hadn't even complained about the burning sensation on your skin as he helped clean you up, you just gave Kento a smile telling him that everything was fine and these things happen.

In his world they don't, someone can breathe the wrong way and lose their head, all it took was your damn smile and that statement to get him to need something different than what he had. Kento never thought he missed a thing, he found out how wrong he was that very day.

Sometimes he wished he never took the time to help you out back then, but that was only because he didn't know that he'd put you through all this.

"So I'm just sat there in a staring contest over the last price of cake, I won but my eyes still feel a bit dry."

You laughed, Kento stared down at you with a fond smile, your head on his lap and your hands tangled in his, brushing his knuckles and examining every bit of his skin with such care, God you were beautiful all over.

While Kento's hands were very interesting a small detail in the cuff of his shirt got your stomach to drop.

"Ken, is that blood?"

He swore he cleaned up, he always cleaned up before coming back to you, he never missed a single splatter. Maybe rushing home after not one, but two people tried to harm you today put him on edge.

He had missed a single drop. He was absolutely disgusted that even that tiny part of someone who dared to say the name y/n out loud infront of him and even threatened your existence was anywhere near you.

"Sweetheart that's probably tomato sauce from cooking, thanks for pointing it out, you know I hate staining my clothes, I'll go change."

Your meal didn't contain tomato sauce.

Why was your gut telling you that something was off?

Kento seemed a bit tense tonight, was it just a bad day at work?

He never really conversed on his profession. The huge dragon that started from the back of his thigh, ended on his left shoulder covering his entire back was just his 'style'. You swore you heard him talk to the pink haired man who lived next door but he told you he was on the phone. Everything little bit of suspicious behaviour you had previously payed no mind to, came to you. On top of that what was his reason to lie about a drop of blood on his sleeve? He could've said it was a paper cut or something, Why did he lie?

Behind the bathroom door Kento only cursed at him self.

Why didn't he lie better?

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #yakuza nanami #au nanami kento #jjk drabbles #jjk anime #jujutsu kaisen drabbles #jujutsu kaisen oneshot

[ruthlesslistener]

hoog

#we're doing it folks...we're makin' it happen #my writing #fic: until dawn shall break

[sprnklersplashes]

fic based on the theory that sarah fier was the one to bring ziggy back, not nick/the devil (I thought this was gonna be much shorter than it is oops)

“Just let my sister live.” 

The voice comes to her, faded, far away, but she hears it. Hears it because someone called out to her, which no-one has done in centuries, except to make fun of her. To mock her, smear her as the with they call think she is. But not this one. This one doesn’t mock her. She begs her.

“Just let my sister live!”

The picture comes into focus in front of Sarah’s eyes, as if it’s the first thing she sees waking up. Two girls, one small with flame coloured hair, one taller and covered in dirt, clutching Sarah’s own hand. Her throat is raw from screaming, her legs weak from running. Sarah can feel it in her spirit, the girl’s hand on the bone sharing her feelings with her. Weak, exhausted, and so, so scared. Not for her, but for the girl beside her, who turns helplessly in all directions.

It’s then Sarah realises the girls aren’t alone. Coming at them from all sides are... them. The people the Goodes have cursed. Cold skin, lifeless eyes, blackened hearts. Her own heart breaks when she sees them, her stomach twisting at the injustice.

William. Harry. Ruby. And now Thomas, the latest soul to be stolen by the Goodes. 

She tried. It’s been so long since someone found her hand. She tried to show them what Solomon had done those years ago, her promise bound to her bones, but it was for nothing. Her hand is small, her body incomplete, and so whatever powers she’s managed to gain here are feeble, and no match for the Goodes and their deals. They’re ahead of her, again, and she can’t do anything to stop them. Can’t stop as the older girl, Cindy, her sister calls her, runs towards what was Thomas Slater, can’t save the red-haired girl from the knife that pierces her gut. She watches, forces herself to watch, as their respective killers hit them again and again. Knife in the side, axe in the chest. The picture grows stronger as the girls’ breaths grow weaker, the veil between this life and theirs growing thinner. Sarah feels grass beneath her bare feet, the sound of the young girl’s scream attacking her ears. Of course. Life. Death. They���re such strange concepts, and soon the girls will be making the same journey she did. At the hands of the Goodes.

And she will welcome them, and is prepared they will hate her.

The young girl moans, and Sarah can feel her life ebbing away. She may be the first to go. So young, both so young. Her sister’s body shakes of its own accord as the axe hits her again, scarlet blood spurting from her mouth, staining her pretty face.

No, she screams, but her words are a mere breeze. She runs at Thomas, runs at Harry, to try to hold them back, but she is nothing. If they feel anything, they feel a slight chill, and it does nothing to them. She falls to the ground, her limbs aching from this one attempt, and failure creeps up on her again. She can’t save them. She can’t save anyone.

“Nothing will pull us apart,” Cindy promises her sister just before the axe hits her chest again.

“Never...” The young girl gasps. “Again.” The knife hits her side once more, then a final time. Her chest stammers, flutters, and Sarah watches the life flee her body.

It’s over. They’re over.

The killers disappear, vanishing back to the underground cave, their souls trapped until they’re needed again. And the girls lie on the grass, their hands reaching out to each other, never to touch in this life. 

Sarah sits and waits to greet them.

Until someone else comes running in. He runs right through her, and she feels the darkness in his blood immediately. A Goode. One who has already taken on his family’s legacy. She retches at the sight of him, although nothing comes out. This is the boy, the man, who sold Thomas Slater. Whose hands are stained with the blood of all those innocents. And who now, leans over the corpse of his victim, and begs her not to die.

The irony is enough to make Sarah smile.

“Ziggy? Ziggy don’t die on me, okay?” he begs, clutching her cold face in his hands. Sarah’s jaw clenches. She knows love when she hears it. The Goodes are monsters, but they are human, and humans love. But this love isn’t pure, not like her and Hannah. There’s a sting to it, in his desire

“What’s going on?”

Sarah turns, her blood cold at the sound of the voice. The smaller girl, Ziggy, stands before her, blinking blearily as if half asleep. It’s common for those who just crossed over, especially if it was before their time. Sarah’s experienced far more of that then she’d have liked to. It will take minutes, hours for young Ziggy to fully cross over.

Let my sister live! Cindy’s voice echoes in Sarah’s mind, her plea to her. She turns back around, sees Nick still desperately trying to save her, sending out a plea of his own, not to God. Somewhere, wherever he is, the Devil is no doubt pondering his wish, whether he will let Ziggy go or keep her blood for himself.

“No.” Her voice is small, rusty from disuse, but it’s strong, and she shouts again “No!”. She tilts her head to the sky and screams at it, screams at the Goodes and the Devil, “You will not have her! You will not have her!”

The sky opens up, rain falling right through her. If it is the Devil’s reply, she laughs at it, and she grabs young Ziggy by the arm. Her eyes still flutter, her gaze unfocussed, her form not fully here, as if sketched in in pencil. There is still time, if she acts fast.

“Wh-what?”

“They will not have you,” she tells Ziggy, even if she can’t hear her. “Your sister begged for you to live, and live you shall.”

She pulls her towards her body, where Nick Goode still tries to breathe life into her. It’s just steps away, but it feels like miles, her legs shaking with each move she makes. The Devi holds her back, unwilling to let go of his prize. Another dead Shadysider to add to his collection. Another innocent soul, demed unworthy by those in power. He wraps his arms around her, pulls them both away from her body, refusing to let his prize go.

“Not... today,” she pants. Her hand tightens around Ziggy, who blinks in confusion. She’s still not here, she still has time. Cindy’s begging rings in her ears, rings all around them. 

Just let my sister live!

“Not. Today.” She pulls herself and Ziggy the last few steps, drags her until she is beside her body. Her own will pulls the two of them forward, the centuries of hurt burning like a furnace, but it’s something else, one key ingredient that pushes her over the edge. A sister’s love, so pure and steadfast, that it holds the veil back just those seconds more. She can’t see the Devil, but she knows he is here, and she snarls at him. “Not. Her!”

She turns to Ziggy, watches the girl’s eyes open and close slowly, her lips trying clumsily to speak. She won’t remember this at all, and Sarah is glad of it. God only knows what will become of her for now, but she’s fulfilled her promise to her sister.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and she pushes her back across.

Just before she disappears again, she sees her eyes open, her pained gasps for air. She can’t be sure if she did the right thing, saving her. Some say surviving a tragedy is worse than dying in it. She wouldn’t know. All she knows is the Devil has one less person’s blood to feed on now, but the curse remains still.

A half-victory.

“Where am I?” Sarah turns, slowly, and isn’t surprised to see Cindy behind her. She wears the same clothes she died in, but now free from blood and, whatever it was she was covered in. Sarah suspects she doesn’t want to know. She looks up at her, eyes wide and terrified, like an animal cornered by a hunter. “Who are you?”

“My name is Sarah,” she begins, but the words stick in her throat. She’s had enough of explaining herself, and only being believed half the time. Had enough of people sapping her, screaming at her, cursing her, for something she never did. “Sarah Miller.”

“Oh. Um, hi.” The young girl looks at herself, looks at the limbo surrounding them. Realisation dawns on her face, memory after memory coming back to her, and she drops to the floor, her hands pressed to her mouth to hold back her scream.

“Am I... dead?” she asks, finally. Sarah only nods and kneels beside her. She listens to Cindy’s muffled sobs, the slowly building shrieks of agony, and she lets her do what she needs before showing her where to go. It’s easy to see where this girl will end up, and at least she’ll have some peace.

“My... my sister?” she asks. “Where-where’s my sister?”

“She’s alive,” Sarah tells her. Cindy goes weak with relief, falling into Sarah’s arms and sobbing, muttering “Ziggy’s alive” under her breath. 

Sarah wishes she can do more. Wishes she could say Ziggy will be okay, that Shayside will be okay, that this whole horrible saga is finally over. But she can’t. Because the Goodes were too powerful, again, and even as her hand tightens on them, theirs does on Shadyside. All Sarah can do is hold Cindy until they go to where they need to go, and hopes that the next time someone finds her, she can do more.

Hopes that one day, she can show them what was done.

#fear street #fear street fanfic #sarah fier #cindy berman #ziggy berman #fear street 1978 #THIS WAS MEANT TO BE A SHORT LIL THING BEFORE BED AND 40 MINUTES LATER HERE I AM #OOPSIE DAISY

[lovehotelreservation]

Praise Be

Summary: With The Firmament’s imminent debut on top of so much more, all Aymeric wanted to do was to enjoy and indulge this night with you, the mother of his dearest son.

Or rather, as you had come to cheekily reveal.

The mother of his dearest children.

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Plus-Size F!Reader/Aymeric

Sequel to “Belle of the Ball”

YEEEEHAW TIME TO CAP OFF THIS ROUND OF COMMISSIONS WITH MY FAVORITE DRINK OF CHOICE: ISHGARDIAN MILKIES 💦💦

THANK YOU AGAIN TO MY LOVELY COMMISSIONER AND I HOPE YOU AND EVERYONE ELSE HAVE ENJOYED READING ALL THE FICS FROM TODAY!!!

UNTIL NEXT TIME~!!!

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It was a night to indulge.

The fireplace crackled with flickering red and orange flames, filling the lounge  room of Borel Manor with much needed heat to deal with Ishgard’s neverending winter.

Though, even without the kindled fire, there was enough warmth within Aymeric’s chest to keep him immune to the cold for days to come.

Especially when tonight would be dedicated to just him and you, his most beloved wife.

It was a much needed break.

As the current Speaker of the House of Lords, his work was endless. Though he was happy to serve his revered home, there was only so much delegation and meetings that a single soul could bear to take, especially with The Firmament having reached completion and with its full public unveiling on the horizon.

While he was thankful for the work that Francel had done under his watch, as Ishgard’s main representatives, he was due to traverse across Eorzea and formally invite leaders and ambassadors for the official debut of the newly developed residential area.

And so his paperwork continued to pile up while his eyebrows furrowed all the more.

Though, as much laborious work that he had been doing, surely nothing could even come close to what you had to bear the burden of.

Your duty as the Warrior of Light carried a responsibility that made his duties and obligations look like the schoolwork of a mere child.

However, unless absolutely crucial, the brisk rate of your work as Eorzea’s savior had thankfully slowed in the midst of the current peaceful lull that the entirety of the realm was enjoying.

For in the year since past, the two of you had welcomed your most darling blessing of all.

With eyes and hair that mirrored his own yet with a nose and smile that were unmistakably yours, it had been a year since the arrival of your son, Nicolas, and Aymeric couldn’t have been more in love with you as you granted him the gift of fatherhood that he had wanted so dearly.

The few precious days that granted leave of his duties to be with you and your newborn were something he constantly looked back to fondly. Nestled by your side, your head on his shoulder while he cradled Nicolas with absolute loving care, only ever wanting to relinquish hold of your son over to you so he could attend to any of your needs.

It was heaven.

And while duty eventually called for his return to his office, nothing soothed his soul more than returning home to be greeted by you, a kiss shared between you both before the soft babbles of Nicolas would catch his ears and have him immediately scooping his beloved son into his arms.

Earlier today was no different.

Though, upon returning home from the Congregation of Our Knights Most Holy, Aymeric was greeted by the dutiful servant of Borel Manor, who noted that you had already taken off to the chirurgeon for your monthly check-up. 

He did not think too much about this after thanking the servant for the update while he headed over to Nicolas’s nursery to greet and spend time with his son.

After all, he was already aware of your appointment, your absence of providing him enough time to prepare for tonight’s proceedings.

And now, after having tucked Nicolas in for bed, there was a fond look in Aymeric’s deep ocean blue eyes while he continued to inspect the wine bottle currently in his hands as he stood in the center of his lounge room.

The finest bottle from Wineport, a pair of gorgeously ornate wine glasses paired with a delectable display of chocolates on a table, the crackling fireplace, along with petals and blossoms of your favorite flowers decorated all throughout the lounge room.

His attention turned towards the sofa, noting its spaciousness just moments before his lips curled into a small but utterly pleased grin.

Tonight would be one to truly indulge.

There was simply one missing vital component to complete the scene, one that eventually made itself known with the knock on the door that ignited a jolt of anticipation through him.

“I was wondering why you weren’t snoozing away in bed already.”

The familiar chime of your voice had him turning immediately, all while a light chuckle escaped his lips as he faced you, “To slumber without a kiss from your lips, my love? How can I even think of committing such a sin?”

While his tone was light and humored, his eyes immediately took in your current attire--a gorgeous winter set that hugged your thick curves perfectly.

He had to assess how quickly it would take for him to strip you down, after all.

You returned his laughter with your own, the sound so sweet and lovely to his ears. “Well now, has someone started worshipping Menphina all of a sudden?”

“I think Halone herself knows that my devotion to her guidance cannot match my love to you,” Aymeric responded, his tone half-teasing yet fully sincere.

Gesturing over to the spread of chocolates and the pair of wine glasses, he proceeded to offer his hand towards you as you approached him, a smile forming on his lips. “Now then, shall we spend this evening with a deserved respite, dearest?”

Your eyes grew wide for a moment as his fingers threaded with yours, just before they softened, an eager smile quickly spreading across your mouth, an excited mirth noticeable in your voice as you then spoke, “Ahh, I’m afraid I will have to refrain from a glass for a while, Aymeric.”

“‘A while?’” He repeated with confusion only for his dark blue eyes to grow wide.

Your visit to the chirurgeon. 

His jaw went slack as the realization dawned on him. “Wait...could you mean--?”

You rested a hand upon your stomach as you joyously affirmed, “Our son is only a year old and he’s already going to be an older brother. They’re twins, Aymeric! We’re having twins!”

Your husband’s breath caught in his throat.

Taking in each word you spoke, your exhilarated energy as you stood before him.

It was then that he proceeded to set the wine bottle down onto the floor.

For it was the last thing he wanted to be mindful of while his quickly deteriorating composure still remained intact.

Because as he proceeded to ensnare your body into his arms while his lips hungrily sought out yours, he was not going to hold back whatsoever.

The wine was forgotten for he was going to get drunk off of you instead.

While the pop of a wine bottle cork was ever satisfying to the ears, Aymeric much preferred the sound of your moans as his hands fondled your skin as he stripped you down upon the sofa.

The taste of Wineport’s finest had absolutely nothing to the sweet creamy mouthfuls of your milk as he feasted on your supple breasts, his lips suckling reverently all his fingers grazed over your thick curves, delving between your plump thighs to stroke over and plunge into your sopping core.

He had come far from the blossoming days of your relationship when merely brushing hands with you would render him weak to his knees.

Now, your husband--the noble and poised Aymeric the Blue--had become like that of an insatiable disciple to you, doing all he could to satisfy your pleasure, all while eager and galvanized to fuck you senseless.

As he did once he had rid himself of his own clothes, wasting little time to plunge the full and long length of his cock inside your slick heat, his mouth claiming yours once again as his arms enveloped around you lovingly, savoring the feel of your gorgeously plush body against his naked skin.

While mindful to not exert too much pressure upon your frontside, keeping some distance as he hovered above your form, his hips remained near conjoined with yours by the striking, brisk snap of his thrusts, his dick plunging into you with shameless desire.

Amidst your moans, you gazed up at your husband with a teasing twinkle in your eye. “I take it that you’re excited by the news.”

“I’m already looking forward to creating even more with you, my love,” he groaned, lowering his head to ghost his lips over your breasts, kissing and suckling on your nipples yet again. Ever far from the manners that were instilled into him, he continued, voice muffled and mouth happily full. “By the Fury, how you continue to bless me so.”

His thrusts quickened.

Your back arched.

A kiss shared between you both.

The flood of his seed was soon pumped into you with needy pounding thrusts was hot, inviting, with much more to come along the way as Aymeric lifted himself off of you to instead have you ride his lap instead, your hearts alight for each other.

It was a night to indulge, surely.

But it was a night to celebrate from dusk to dawn and beyond.

#aymeric de borel #aymeric x wol #wol x npc #Final Fantasy XIV #FFXIV #reader insert #Fic #super freaknasty writing

[sunflowersupremes]

Entreat

You shall find little pity, though all whom ye have slain should entreat for you.

Characters: Maglor, Earendil, Elwing, Elrond, Celebrían, Erestor, Glorfindel, Egalmoth, Finrod

Tags: Fourth Age, Sailing To Valinor, Kidnapping, This time it’s Maglor getting kidnapped, Arda is an escape room and Earendil has the emergency escape button, Earendil sneaks his son’s father into Valinor, Manwë is just done with the entire line of Finwe at this point, Elwing is just along for the ride (literally)

Read on AO3

At some point, it seemed, he had lost track of the years. It was well into the Fourth Age, perhaps even the Fifth, and all seemed well in the world. Sauron was gone, a houseless spirit who would never again take shape. Morgoth, too, was gone, trapped beyond the Doors of Night.

Even Cirdan, the only elf he had had any contact with in his long years of solitude (not because he had invited him) was gone. He knew only because the aged Shipwright had suddenly stopped leaving parcels of food and then the Grey Havens had finally crumbled to dust.

The world was peaceful and quiet.

And Makalaurë was dying.

It hadn’t been an Orc - they were gone as well - or a wild beast or even a mortal with a violent streak. No, Makalaurë Feanorian had stumbled in the dark, fallen to the bottom of a cliff, and the tide was rising.

He had fallen in the night, and when the sun had come up he’d realized how helpless his situation was. The small rock he was lying on jutted at least a foot out of the water, but with the tide… soon it would be engulfed.

I shall join my Silmaril then, in the depths at long last. And my brothers too, in Mandos, and there we shall remain, I imagine, until the unbreaking of the world.

It wasn’t that he was keen to die, or that he had given up, but his leg was shattered and there was no way off the rock he had landed on. The water was too choppy to swim, even without his shattered leg, and the cliff to steep to climb for a man who only had one functioning hand.

There was a ship in the distance, but he could not raise his voice enough to call it.

He wondered what Mandos was like, and remembered the Doom that had been put upon him:

‘your houseless spirits shall come then to Mandos. There long shall ye abide and yearn for your bodies, and find little pity, though all whom ye have slain should entreat for you.’

Ha! No one would entreat for him.

He would remain there, in the haunted depths of that place, until the Breaking of the World. Perhaps… perhaps they would even forget to Sing of him, in the Second Song, and let his soul simply slip away into nothingness.

That would not be so bad.

Was he hallucinating or was the little boat coming closer?

Maglor managed to raise his head, startled to see that, in the time he’d been contemplating his own death, the little boat was coming steadily closer.

Perhaps… perhaps he was not destined for Mandos just yet?

The man at the helm was young, his eyes gleaming, blonde hair blowing in the breeze. He was beautiful, but mortal.

It came to a stop beside him, but Maglor found his throat was still too dry to speak, barely able to raise one hand in greeting.

“Hail and well met!” called his rescuer. It was a mortal tongue, although the dialect had seemingly shifted since the last time Maglor had heard it. He was able to follow along well enough though.  

The boat was secured to a rock, and the man jumped out, landing lightly beside Maglor, helping him to sit up. “Steady,” he murmured.

Maglor’s head spun, the world around him growing blurry.

“I have you, brother,” the man said quietly, crouching beside Maglor, sliding his hands under his legs and shoulders, carefully lifting him up.

He moaned as his leg was jostled.

The boat was larger than he’d realized, though it was still a brave little thing, with a cabin that Maglor was carried to. It was a good thing he’d been the smallest of his brothers, otherwise a mortal would never have been able to pick him up.

“I saw your fall,” the man said, bringing him a glass of water and holding it to his lips. “I thought to go on, that there was no chance you had survived-“ he shook his head. “And then I told myself, ‘no, no you must go for him, for if not you then who?’ “

No one, thought Maglor glumly.

“No one,” agreed the man, as though he had heard his thoughts. “For no one else could have reached you before the tide.”

The tea tasted faintly of herbs and he found himself growing more relaxed, his body begging for the bliss of sleep. He struggled to keep his eyes open, but his rescuer waved his hand, as though urging him to sleep.

As he drifted into unconsciousness, he thought he heard the man say, “No one else, I think, would even have tried.”

When he awoke his leg was wrapped and propped on a pillow. The boat was swaying slightly, rocking on the waves, and he imagined he was going to be dropped off on the nearest stretch of shore.

Very well.

It was more of a chance than he deserved, and he would savor it. The cabin was sparsely decorated. Just a bed, a desk, and a chest. Nothing seemed to signify where the man was from, or what the purpose of the little boat was. It didn’t seem to be a fishing boat. For pleasure, then? He could be a lordling who simply enjoys the sea.

Maglor laid on his back, studying the ceiling until the door finally opened and his rescuer stepped inside. Beyond him, Maglor could see miles of open water.

“You’re awake!”

“Tha- thank you,” Maglor choked out. His throat was sore from Ages of abuse and a lack of decent folk to make conversation with, but he managed anyway.

“Of course,” said the man easily. He brought Maglor more tea and helped him to sit up to swallow it.

Maglor pointed to the door, uncertain how to communicate that he needed to leave before he brought any Doom upon his rescuer.

“No, no,” said the man, “Stay here and rest a while, brother. Shore is a ways off yet, I should think.” He tucked the blankets around Maglor with surprising gentleness before slipping back out of the cabin as the medication once again sent Maglor to sleep.

A storm started up that night, tossing their brave little boat in great huge waves that reminded Maglor of the sinking of Beleriand or the fall of Numenor.

His rescuer came inside the cabin to shelter with him, soaked from having struggled to get the sail down so it wouldn’t rip. “I knew it was coming,” he said ominously. “The birds scattered.”

Was that some sort of Mortal saying? Maglor frowned, then groaned and attempted to push himself upright. He had to do something, after all, the man had saved him from a long and very wet death. The least he could do was ask Ulmo to maybe have a bit of pity on this child of Eru.

He wasn’t certain the Vala would listen, but it wouldn’t hurt to try, as long as he was careful how he worded the request and made sure to exaggerate that it wasn’t for his own benefit.

“Easy there,” said the man, pushing him back into bed as he tried to sit. “Stay down.”

Weakly he pointed across the room, where he’d noticed a flute earlier in the day. The power of Elves had once been well known, hopefully those tales had remained and the man would know what he wanted to do. His harp was long gone, but he could make due…

But the man shook his head. “You cannot Sing away this storm, I am afraid.”

“I can,” he whispered, willing the man to understand that he was not just any elf. “I can calm it-“ his voice broke and he struggled to cough “-perhaps a little.”

He was given a sad smile and a squeeze on his shoulder. “Rest, brother.”

The storm was gone by morning, and Maglor was again alone in the dark little cabin. The mortal had gone outside as soon as it had calmed, only returning some time later to say, “We’ve been blown off course, but it won’t be hard to correct.”

“The seas are calm,” Maglor croaked. The boat had ceased it’s incessant rocking.

“Lord Manwë is in a merciful mood this morning, it seems.” A man of Gondor then, if he knew the old tales.

Maglor studied him, then quietly said, “Lord Manwë is seldom in such a mood.”

The man’s laugh almost seemed nervous, although who wouldn’t be frightened by the Light of the Trees that still shone from Maglor’s eyes? Even if he had met elves before, those that remained were not exiles like Maglor, but rather elves of the Greenwood.  

“Rest brother,” he said, then nodded his head and slipped back outside. He heard a key turn in the lock.

Maglor was out of bed in an instant, ignoring the pain in his leg. He didn’t like being locked up, even by foolish and well-meaning mortals. Perhaps I made him nervous when I sought to calm the storm last night. And clearly he was not pleased when I spoke of Lord Manwë. He must not have realized the full danger of what he had saved.

But he wasn’t about to stay locked up for long. He needed to know why it was taking so long to get to shore. He’d thought the man would drop him at the earliest convenience, but instead it seemed he’d decided to either take Maglor to civilization or hang onto him until he healed. Neither one would do.

The door was locked - and damn it, why? - but he was a son of Feanor, he’d learned to pick locks in infancy, and soon he had the door open.

Maglor stepped outside and froze.

They were not in the ocean at all, but rather sailing in a sea of stars. Realization dawned.

“Ah,” said the-rescuer-who-was-clearly-Earendil-son-of-Tuor nervously, stroking the head of a white-bird-that-was-probably-the-woman-Maglor-had-once-tried-to-kill that rested on the ship’s rail. “I wondered when you might try that.”

The Fic has several more chapters on AO3 than it does on here.

#maglor #earendil #elwing #elrond #kidnap dads #erestor #glorfindel #silmarillion #silmarillion fanfic #my writing #tolkien fanfic #story: entreat

[imagine-lcorp]

Between Two Lungs (One Shot)

A/N: Hello dears, so here it is the infamous fic I’ve been writing. I really hope this fullfils my dream of crushing your hearts once again and that you have a fun time agonizing over this final choice. Because yes, I’ve made this a multiending fic...As always, remember to tell me what you think, is it something you want me to keep doing for other fics? Also, how did you feel after this? pls let me know. Also i made this PLAYLIST if you want to add some feeling to this while reading... Enjoy! 

Lena Luthor x R/Hanahaki AU//Word Count: 3,464

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It is possible to die of a broken heart.

You look it up somewhere in the internet. It's similar to a heart attack, caused by a very strong and emotionally stressful event. The death of a loved one, a breakup, a betrayal. It's treatable and rarely fatal. Following the recommendations of your doctor, you can make a full recovery within weeks. Still, it is possible to die of it.

You don't have a broken heart. You wish you had one. Because love, the one only you feel, is growing inside of you and it is much worse than that.

Thankfully, compared to others your condition it's not as painful as it could be.

You have heard about people with roses inside them, how their thorns puncture their pharynges with every breath they take. Others don't get flowers. They get apple or cherry trees with their fruits pouring juice inside their lungs and out of their mouths. Some others have pines and spruces, with cones constricting their organs and rib-cages until they bones break.

So you look at the small white petal that lays in your hand and think that, in your case, it is something almost magnanimous.

Plumerias have no thorns and, even though some can be a bit thick, their branches are soft enough to bend around your heart and lungs without much trouble. Their petals, small and delicate, rise easily up your throat without lacerating it in a coughing fit.

Maybe, you want to think in a very optimist way, if you can keep that love from growing further, you won't have to suffer through it.

Maybe.

So you prescribe for your own heart solitude and abstinence.

The first one is the easiest.

You tell your friends you are sick and need some time to recover. Most of them get worried as they don't know yet what illness has fallen upon you in these troublesome times.

"You know, If you wanted, I could get you a full medical examination." Alex offers with a raised eyebrow, giving you the look of the always concerned big sister.

"Thanks, but it's alright." You assure them with a smile. "I was thinking about spending some time at home anyway."

After a lot of questions you manage to dodge in the end, they decide there's no reason to doubt your intentions. So they leave you to your own devices.

Homemade remedies, or herbicides depending on who you ask, seem to help as you spend your days at home. Drinking some salt water with lemon in the morning, or a couple of vinegar tablespoons in a cup of tea before going to bed. They don't taste that bad once you get used to the flavor and these help you ease the new bitterness that you taste in the back of your throat.

The second is a bit harder.

You have to stop yourself from dreaming her, thinking her, missing her.

She has texted you a few times already, wanting to know how you're doing and offering her help if you don't feel like you're doing okay on your own. You handle it as best as you can. You text back, consistently enough and with measured time and words, so you don't raise any red flags. When you don't seem to answer she calls, but just thinking about hearing her voice makes your chest hurt a little.

You never answer. She doesn't try to call again. You spit your first handful of flowers after that.

It's all fine, you lie to yourself, at least until the pain reaches your insides and white petals come out of you mouth dappled in red.

"You need to tell her." Kara says softly as she pats your back after another coughing fit.

You cover your mouth with your hand, making sure there are no signs of blood or petals as you tight it into a fist. "Tell who what?"

"Tell Lena about the flowers." She sighs when she fells you freeze under her touch. "Sorry. Alex told me if I could get a clear shot at your lungs maybe we could figure out how to help. I didn't expect it to be... well, flowers."

It shouldn't come as a surprise to you but you are still amazed at how easy it is to forget Kara has x-ray vision when she's not wearing her suit. With or without it, she's still the same caring and protective person you have always known. It also explains why she has been so adamant about having lunch together, at least once a week, after your failed attempt at convincing her you were doing well after a month alone. You couldn't expect less from your best friend, you remind yourself as you catch your breath.

"How do you know it's her?" The taste is bitter as you swallow the rest of blood and petals in your mouth.

"It's plumerias, isn't it?" She rubs your back again as you regain you posture. "They are her favorites."

There are a couple of red tainted petals in your palm when you open your hand. "Yeah, they are."  

Kara looks at you and you see something in her you don't think you have ever seen before in the Girl of Steel. But you recognize it, because you feel the same way. Hopeless. Helpless. Powerless.

"(Y/N)." She says like she's already grieving. "It's spreading fast."

The easiest way to get ride of the disease is by removing its seed from your heart, the doctor says. No more than an hour in the operating room and your respiratory system would be as good as new. Common symptoms after the surgery can include aches between your shoulder blades, ribs, back of the neck or chest, weakness and hoarseness in your voice, and, in general, some memory loss and the inability to experiment intense or deep affection towards another person. Most of these stop shortly after you recover, except for the last one.

More experimental methods have been developed with the help of biotherapy. Experts in Japan are said to have reduced the spread of the flowers with other plants like kudzu or barberry, while someone in Europe has been using thrips to eat the plant and control its growth. It's like using maggots to eat your wounds, the doctor explains more enthusiastic than you feel.

You could, of course, try the simplest of things and confess your love.

It only takes to be loved in return for you to heal before any permanent damage is done. The seed that grows in your heart will almost instantly wither, the cough will purge the last of the flowers out of your lungs, and your recovery will last only a couple of weeks. You will breathe again.

But, if your love goes unrequited, you'll reach your fatal end in a matter of days. Doctors will give you a double dose of morphine or induce a coma trying to ease your pain. Flowers, fruits and cones bloom, branches and thorns grow. You convulse and gasp until your last breath when the biggest flowers come out of your mouth. All until your thorax is transformed, beautifully and violently, into a garden of flesh and blood.

Anyone who has seen it happen will tell you, how shocking it is to witness such a thing.

Whatever the case, this only serves to confirm what you already know. You can't be optimistic anymore.

You're dying and you will die, soon with flowers in your lungs or after many years with a loveless heart. Because this life and death of yours, you think, cannot be, shall not be, decided by a coin in the air.

And yet.

"It's flowers...in my lungs." You can almost tell which direction the flower stalks take inside your chest as the words form in your mouth.

"Oh." Lena says as she starts to fidget with her hands.

The anger, that had been growing inside her after weeks of vague replies and evasions, vanishes in her eyes the moment she understands what you're going through.

"Have you...talked to the other person?"

"No, not really. Not yet." You try not to lose your composure as you feel the flowers threatening to rise up your throat.  

"Will you?" She asks.

You take a deep breath, feeling the gravity pull your already heavy heart down. "It's plumerias."

"Plumerias?" You can see the moment it dawns on Lena, and the look she gives you makes you wish again you could die of a broken heart instead.

"Miss Luthor, I'm sorry but the board meeting will start shortly."    

Jess opens the door a second later and it gives you time to look at the other side and place your hand in your chest. As if that could possibly stop your heart and lungs from collapsing.

"Thank you, Jess. I'll be there." Lena dismisses her with a nod and looks again at you.

She doesn't say anything else and you feel a coughing fit building in your lungs. Stronger than you have ever felt it.

"(Y/N)!" She leaves her chair, running towards you.

You cover your mouth as your chest feels like a boxer is using it as a punching bag. I doesn't feel like it will end quick and when it finally does the only thing that remains is pain.

You thank the chair that holds you in place as you catch your breath.  

"I'm fine. It's fine." You don't want her to see it, but she manages to catch a glimpse of the bloody petals that cover your palm once you recover.

"No, it's not, (Y/N). You're dying and I-"

"It's not your fault." You cut her off, shaking your head and taking a little napkin from you pocket to clean yourself as best as you can.

The death, the break, the betrayal. You feel it all as worry and pity finally merge in her eyes. There's also guilt when she looks at you. It is there along with everything else she doesn't feel for you. So you don't want an apology, especially not from her, especially not like this.  

"You're my friend and I just- I wanted you to know. I got my surgery already programmed."

"Surgery?" You watch her draw back a bit in surprise.

"I'll be fine." You lie again.

"(Y/N), I-"                            

"Miss Luthor, the board-"

"I know!" Lena snaps and, when she realizes the magnitude of her reaction, she retracts, taking a deep breath for herself before answering. "Sorry, yes. Do you think you could hold it for a minute?"

"You should go." You say with a small voice before any of them can say more. "The meeting, sounds important."

"(Y/N)..." The way she pronounces your name makes you want to be over with this already. You just can't stand it anymore.

"We'll talk later." You say. "We got time."

She wants to argue, you know, but you won't, can't, do it. Still, you pull a little smile for her.

"We'll talk later." She replies with a nod.

There will be time for another conversation. There will be time. There will be time. There will be time. You repeat it like a mantra to help you carry yourself out of her office.

Everything else after that passes like a blur.

You know you reach the front door of the building, with the voice of the receptionist behind your back offering to call for help. You stumble on the sidewalk trying to hold onto light poles and signposts to keep yourself from falling. You clutch your hand in your chest as the pain reaches its peak. Flowers come pouring out of your mouth and you gasp for air as you finally fall.

You're delirious by the time you land on the hospital bed.

Many faces come and go then, doctors, nurses, friends, ghosts, both the living and the death. The only constants are your dying gasps and the painful beating of your heart until the morphine does its work. It helps you see, with certain clarity the only face that can make a difference.

"You listen to me, alright? I'm sorry I didn't say anything earlier." You open your heavy lids at the sound of her voice, and you see those emerald eyes for what could be the last time. "I love you, (Y/N), please, I love you."

You hear her words, or you don't, or it is simply to late to care anymore. The coin is in the air and there's no more time.

***

☞ You let yourself drift into darkness as the plumerias are pulled to a better light. The garden is gone and what is left behind is only an empty carcass. You cannot stand the emptiness and your heart does what it should have done from the beginning. It breaks and breaks and breaks...

***

☞ Your mind tries to grasp her words but you find your heart too weak to keep a hold of them. So you let them pass through like a shadow. No need for them anymore as the anesthesia and the scalpel give you a break from all this suffering. There will be no flowers and it is, truly, not as bad as it could be...

***

☞ Her words suddenly hit you in their full meaning and your mind does its best to keep and save them into your heart. Even through branches and petals, it has the effect of an echo chamber, repeating those words like a healing prayer. I love you. I love you. I love you...

#Between Two Lungs #One shot #lena luthor #lena luthor x reader #lena luthor imagine #lena luthor imagines #lena luthor x you #lena x reader #lena x you

[tsuraiwrites]

“We slept in the same bed for space reasons but now we’re just waking up and there’s something about your bleary eyes and mussed hair…” for Dorian and anyone else you fancy?

thank you so much for the prompt! for @dadrunkwriting

trying my hand at Anders/Dorian with inquisitor!Anders because this group put the idea in my head and it lodged there.

Fic: At Grey Dawn

When Anders wakes, it’s to the ever-present noise that catches like serrated knives behind his forehead. Justice stirs under his skin, a rumble of discontent that he is only just able to make out over the Calling. Those shrieking notes scratch at the back of his brain relentlessly until Justice presses it down again, smothering most of the tumult down to a dull roar – though one he can never be entirely rid of. Anders sighs lowly, opening his eyes to the tent ceiling as the first grey light of dawn starts seeping through the heavy cloth. His entire body aches, his mana only just recovered enough to finish healing himself last night. His left hand, as always, burns with the tug of the Mark.

Anders shudders, finds his eyes wandering in an effort to distract himself from the pull of the raw Fade in his own hand, and invariably they land on his companion.

Truth be told, Anders hadn’t relished the idea of sharing a tent with anyone. With the mages from Redcliffe trailing along behind them, he’d done his best to see everyone properly outfitted with at least the basics, including any extra tents the Inquisition scouts brought along.

That unfortunately left few to go around. When presented with the choice between sharing with the Seeker who still has to curb her homicidal impulses around him, a Qunari spy, or Varric (who snores like a bellows at the best of times and still can’t always look him in the eye), Dorian Pavus isn’t the worst person to be crammed in with. His only other option had been to sleep out in the open as Solas and some of the scouts had chosen; Anders is used to roughing it but he isn’t a masochist. He likes a nice, warm – if cramped – tent and not waking up covered with dew.

That, and he likes to think he’s built up a rapport with the Tevinter mage over the last days; enough to trust the man not to slit his throat in the night. That horrendous jaunt to the future at least ended with a powerful ally on the Inquisition’s side, and that’s all Anders can really bring himself to say on the matter.

He’s already had to recount those nightmarish events for Pentaghast and the others; no doubt he will have to repeat himself to Josephine, the Nightengale, and Rutherford when they return to Haven.

Pavus will help, certainly. He had filled in some of the blanks for Anders’ companions when Anders couldn’t find the words to explain the horror of their time travel – let alone the technicalities.

One day, Anders will ask him to describe how time magic works… the theory must be complex.

When the man is awake, of course.

The Tevinter is lying on his side with his bedroll tucked tight around him, covering everything but his head, his face cushioned against his pack. As Anders watches, Pavus snuffles, turning his face into his makeshift pillow and rather neatly folding the left side of his mustache in half against his cheek. Anders’ lips twitch up against his will.

Between the disarray of his mustache and the smears of kohl around his eyes, Pavus looks far… softer. Less the haughty Tevinter nobility, and less hunted, too.

Anders recognizes the look of a runaway when he sees one. He doesn’t know Pavus’ story yet, but Anders finds himself wondering, taking in his ruffled appearance, if the man will deign to tell him. Maker knows he could use a few more people to talk to, to take his mind off this forsaken mess if only for a minute.

Anders only realizes he’s been staring when the Mark tugs, hard enough that his hand spasms. He doesn’t hiss but he does shut his eyes, right hand wrapping around his wrist as if he can stave off the pain that way. Touching the Mark itself or trying to heal it only makes the tugging worse, so all he can do is clutch at himself and wait for it to subside.

Justice rumbles again, angry at his inability to do more to help.

It’s fine, he assures the spirit. We’ve both weathered worse.

“Does it hurt?”

Anders nearly jumps out of his bedroll, unable to suppress the surprised noise he lets out as he turns to meet Pavus’ eyes. The smears of kohl around them only add to his bleary look, and Anders desperately stomps down on the part of him that starts going on again about the softening of Pavus’ face by the watery light.

“What?” he asks, the question flying over his head entirely.

“Your hand, does it pain you?” Pavus’ voice is quiet in deference to the early hour and the small space between them, but the words are filled with a concern not entirely in line with what Anders has observed of Pavus so far.

That makes Anders hesitate. Pavus has shown himself to be brash and confident – rightly so, considering his command of time magic and necromancy. The man hasn’t lied to him yet, and he’s also taken up firmly against whoever the “Elder One” is, to the tune of saving Anders’ life. Surely, Anders can afford to let slip a little of his own doubt, if Dorian is willing to hear him out.

“It hasn’t stopped hurting since the Breach opened,” he admits, watching the Tevinter’s eyes widen and flicker down to Anders’ hand. Pavus’ brow wrinkles, and Anders tears his gaze away. “I’m not sure even closing it will make it stop, at this point.” He flexes his fingers and Mark flares, crackling with Fade energy. It also sends a spasm of whire-hot fire through his palm that makes his whole hand convulse.

Dorian hisses between his teeth, and Anders isn’t sure if it’s in sympathy or censure when he asks:

“Should you be doing that? It looks… painful.”

Anders snorts as the spasm subsides, letting the Mark go as dormant as it ever gets.

“True. What would my healer say? Oh, wait...” He raises his eyebrows.

Pavus chuckles, himself already the beneficiary of Anders’ magic after one of the Venatori in the future had gotten a lucky strike.

“Does your spirit healing not work on it?” he continues, evidently unable to hold back the curiosity any longer.

“Not really. As far as Solas and I can figure, it’s a direct link to the Fade. It just sucks up and reflects any magic cast directly on it.” He sighs. “It’s why Josephine and the Nightengale wanted to recruit the mages in the first place.” Pavus’ eyebrow quirks and he explains. “Ah, they’re… advisors? Part of a council, I guess, if we include me.” And he’s not looking forward to the absolute fucking fit Rutherford is going to throw when he hears what happened; how Anders gave the mages a place in the Inquisition as allies.

As if Anders would ever do anything else.

“Anyway, we think with the boost in power it should be able to close the Breach.”

“I see. You have no way of testing this beforehand, I assume?”

“No. But we saw what’s at stake if it doesn’t work.”

They share a look that goes on for moments longer than Anders really means it to.

Pavus breaks their stare, and Anders isn’t sure if he imagines the way that he swallows before sitting up with a stretch.

“Aren’t we both delightful this morning? Shall we change the topic to something less heavy. What’s for breakfast, perhaps?” He sits up as much as he can in the tent’s cramped confines, dragging his pack around to rifle through it.

“Pavus,” Anders says before he can think better of it, and the man’s head whips back around.

“Call me Dorian, if you please. ‘Pavus’ is what I hear right before one of my old Circle peers or instructors descends on me,” he says, a wry smile blooming across his lips, and Anders catches himself staring again.

“Dorian, then. I just wanted to say thank you – for everything that happened in Redcliffe. I wouldn’t have made it out without you and I don’t think I’ve said it, yet.”

Dorian blinks, but the edges of his smile become less sharp, a tension disappearing that Anders notices only in its sudden release.

“You’re very welcome.”

#fic #dragon age #anders/dorian pavus #dragon age drunk writing circle #inquisitor!anders #finally I finished a thing asdhaihdsfk