#Dawn’s ficlets

[wildelydawn]

Aaaaaa did I almost not trick or treat you???

my dearest Faye, you get a whole ficlet (that was a writing exercise with @shou-jpeg but I’ve moderately cleaned up, I am so sorry djdkdkd)

-

“Come on, come on, hurry up!”

“I’m trying! I didn’t think Khum Kim knew how to set up an electronic safe. This is so much harder to crack into than I thought.”

“Ugh! Have you learned nothing?!” Tankhun shoves Arm aside and looks closely at the safe in his youngest brother’s bedroom. “It’s either something to do with the child or with himself.”

“Khun, if we type in the wrong password, there is no telling what could happen.” Arm pushes up his glasses. “This is Khun Kim we are dealing with.”

Tankhun folds his arms. “I know, that is why you should try the child’s birthday-”

A sound. 

Arm goes pale.

“Fuck! They’re home! What did I tell you!?”

“They’re supposed to be at the studio all afternoon-”

“Useless!” Tankhun yanks Arm towards Kim’s living room. If he knows anything about his brother, it’s that the brat takes far too long to unlace his Doc Martens, so if they’re lucky-

“Quick! Hide behind the sofa!”

They sneak behind the black leather just before Porchay bursts into the living room.

Tankhun sees his brother throw up his hands. “You’re being unreasonable-” 

“I’m unreasonable?!” 

Arm and Tankhun exchange a look. The younger Kittisawat is not happy.

“You say you’re gonna go every week, and guess what? You’re still here!” 

There’s a clattering sound that makes Arm nearly jump out of his skin. “Fucking alright then! I’ll leave! Is that what you want?”

“Yes! Please, for God’s sake, yes! Go find someone else that can do this, because I can’t.”

The door slams. 

What could they have possibly been arguing about? They only moved in together a few weeks-

“What the hell are you two doing behind the couch?”

Porchay’s icy voice makes the hairs on the back of Arm’s neck stand straight up before he does. “Khun Porchay!”

“Arm. Tan-” 

“Ohh! My baby!!” Tankhun instantly sweeps Porchay into his arms, pressing his annoyed face into his chest. “What did he do to you!?”

“Did you hear all of that?”

“I did! Don’t you worry! I’ll set him straight!” Tankhun huffs angrily. “The nerve!”

“Isn’t he so stubborn! Why is he asking me to help him find a replacement! And bring him here!”

Tankhun immediately pulls Porchay away. “Are you serious?”

“I am!”

Tankhun immediately crashes Porchay back into his chest. “NOOO, my sweet baby, you don’t EVER have to do that. Kim can find his own replacement! On his own! Nothing could ever replace how beautiful, wonderful, adorable-”

“And it’s not even my apartment!” Porchay yells into Tankhun’s oversized coat. 

“I’ll buy you a new house! With whatever you need!” Tankhun sounds like he’s on the brink of tears.

“No,” Porchay groans. “I’m done! We’ve been looking for days, and I’m exhausted.”

“You’ve been looking!?”

The door swings open and a very annoyed Kim walks in. “Okay, so I just spent $4500-”

Tankhun walks right up to him, and before Arm can even blink, the eldest Theerapanyakun smacks the youngest right across the face.

The room is dead quiet as Kim’s face slowly turns back to face the scene in his apartment. There’s a bright red mark across his face.

Kim calmly exhales. “Khun? What are you doing here?”

“How dare you try to replace PORCHAY! How dare you try to make him find your next slut to play with!? Have you no decency!?” Tankhun is shrill and shouting and everyone is utterly gobsmacked.

“Wait, what-”

Tankhun grabs Porchay by the arm and yanks him forward. “This man has put up with your narcissistic bullshit for so long. All for what? For this! To be replaced at the drop of a hat?” Tankhun grabs Kim by the collar of his shirt, releasing a bewildered Porchay behind. “You are a disgusting, vile, piece of shit!” Tankhun’s hand then goes to Kim’s throat, walking him up against the wall.

“Khun!” Porchay’s wail cuts him off.

“Yes, my dear?” Tankhun replies, hand still on Kim’s throat, voice eerily calm.

“Let him go! What the hell are you doing!?”

“What you won’t! No one can replace you, Porchay, you are-”

“Khun! Oh my god, let him go! We’re talking about replacing his grand piano! We need a crane and team to scale this 20 story building, but Kim keeps fucking slacking on finding someone!”

Somehow, the room is more silent than before.

“Oh.”

[hanafubukki]

Summary: You meet Princess Leah.

OT3 Masterlist

When you first meet Princess Leah, you understood why Dawn fell in love with her in your timeline.

Her laugh was as gentle as chiming bells. Her smile a welcoming to a comforting home. Kindness radiated off her.

Lilia was right.

Leah is different from Meleanor. She was soft spoken and tactful in her movements. She might not have the strength of knights and faes, but she exuded grace and protection rivaling even the majesty of any fae or human.

You feel a sort of healing in her presence.

“Thank you. This path to peace between humans and fae won’t be easy.”

Leah held your hand, “I’m glad we have you to help us. I’m happy they have you to love them.”

You can’t help it. How was she be related to Henrik?

“If only Henrick wasn’t the way he is.” She sighed.

Lilia was right; Leah is nothing like Meleanor.

They were opposites.

But he’s also wrong.

“If he wasn’t so paranoid, I’d have poisoned him by now.”

Princess Leah’s eyes shown fortitude and courage.

Faes and humans aren’t different.

They would always protect their loved ones at any cost.

You couldn’t help the smile and laughter that came from you. You could just imagine the faces Dawn and Lilia would make if they were here.

The princess joins you in merriment.

Was thinking about Princess Leah recently and this came to mind. Leah and Meleanor are different but they are the same too.

I wanted to show that here a bit. While Meleanor is a strong and stubborn princess loved by her people, Leah was known for her kindness and gentle demeanor.

But kindness and gentleness does not mean weakness. We have seen in canon she was ready to sacrifice herself for Silver. She tended to the troops when they were injured.

Two princesses alike and yet different. Very much loved by their people.

I feel sometimes people forget that kindness/gentleness is a type of strength. One of the strongest in fact. It’s easy to be mean. It takes strength to be kind. 💞🫶

The poisoning was in part inspired by Sally in Nightmare Before Christmas. 😂

[unbreakabledawn]

The good part about being injured was the popsicle.

The bad part was literally everything else. Dick's chest hurt like nothing he'd ever felt before, worse than any bruise or scrape or bump from the numerous falls he'd gone through at Haly's, during practice for a show, or playing outside, climbing trees and vaulting across playgrounds. Never bad enough to need to go to a hospital, just band-aids and warm wash cloths and ice packs.

We should tattoo a band-aid on you, it would save us time and money, his dad would say every time Dick scraped his knee, which was every other week. And his mom would brush the hair back from his forehead, kiss his cheek with a warm hum, and sneak him a popsicle even though it was Wednesday and he wasn't allowed sweets on weekdays.

Another pang of pain flared in Dick's chest, and it wasn't his ribs this time.

And Bruce freaking poking right where the pain was at its worst did not help at all.

"Ow," Dick yelped, scowling at Bruce.

"I'm sorry. I need to examine you." Bruce continued pressing gentle fingers to Dick's side, moving along the bones and the edges of the blooming bruise. "Is it hard to breathe?"

"No," Dick said, lips wrapped around his strawberry popsicle. "Just hurts a little. If I breathe deep."

"Where does it hurt the most? Here, or here?"

Dick used his free hand to trace the throbbing center of pain. Bruce nodded and reached for his hand, slipping a small plastic clip with a tiny screen onto his finger. "Um, what's that?" Dick asked, watching numbers appear on the screen of the clip.

"Pulse oximeter. It measures the oxygen saturation in your blood." Bruce was now pulling a stethoscope out of a set of drawers. He'd shown Dick how to use one a few weeks ago, slipped the ear pieces into Dick's ears and placed the little disc on his chest so Dick could hear the slow, steady drum of his heart. Bruce was leaning forward to place it on Dick's chest now.

"Can you at least wait until I've finished my popsicle?" Dick said, sullen, trying not to squirm as the cold metal slid across his chest while Bruce told him when to breathe.

"You can multitask. It's a useful skill to have. Lean forward," Bruce instructed, and repeated the procedure on Dick’s back.

"I'm okay," Dick said, because Bruce was acting like the one who'd crashed straight into a concrete ledge instead of Dick. He'd been practicing hand flips in the garden, and he'd stumbled on a cracked tile and fallen and hit the side of his chest on a stone flower bed. Ugh, how embarassing. His first injury after moving in with Bruce, and it wasn't even as Robin! And still, Bruce had whisked him down to the Batcave's medbay, promising him a popsicle in exchange for being allowed to check him out.

"Yes. I just want to make sure," Bruce said, worried frown still firmly in place. He was scrawling notes on a chart, because he was a freak like that and needed to document the fact that Dick was clumsy enough to get himself injured playing in the garden.

Dick sighed and licked off the last bit of the popsicle, and the juice that had dripped onto his fingers.

The sound of something large being wheeled closer made Dick freeze. He looked up towards Bruce, who was bringing some sort of machine to the gurney Dick was laying down on.

"What are you doing?" Dick asked, alarm bells ringing in his head over the whirring and humming of the strange machine.

"This is a portable x-ray device," Bruce explained while he manipulated the machine into position. "I need to take an x-ray of your chest."

X-ray? That’s what they used for broken bones, wasn’t it? Crap, did that mean he broke his ribs?

“But I’m fine,” Dick said, trying and failing not to let his panic bleed into his voice. “I don’t need it.”

Bruce paused, hands on the handles of the machine’s head pointing it towards Dick’s chest. He peered down at Dick. “It’s just an x-ray. It’ll take me two minutes.”

“You don’t need to,” Dick said, accidentally raising his voice. “It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

“Dick,” Bruce said gently. He hesitantly reached forward to brush the hair off Dick’s forehead. “It won’t hurt, you won’t feel a thing. It’s like a big camera that lets us look inside your chest.”

Dick stared up at what must be the lens of the camera. He bit his lip. It didn’t look like it would hurt. “How does it work?”

“This”—he touched the head of the machine—“sends out x-ray beams. They go through your body and this plate catches them, creating an image.” He held up a wide, black plate. “So I need to place this under your chest.”

“What are x-ray beams?”

“We can do a radiation physics lesson tomorrow, if you like. For now I need you to lean forward for me.”

He did, and let Bruce place the cold, hard plate behind his back. It wasn’t comfortable, but Bruce said two minutes. He could handle two minutes.

Bruce put on some sort of black apron, and attached a broad collar around his neck. “Lead protection,” he explained to Dick, and held up a remote that looked like the trigger to a bomb. “Ready?”

He nodded.

“Breathe in.” A buzz and a louder whirr. “And we’re done.”

Dick opened his eyes. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Oh. That wasn’t so bad,” he admitted, leaning forward again so Bruce could remove the plate and put away the equipment. "So,” Dick said once Bruce returned to his bedside. “Are my ribs broken?"

"I don't know. Probably not." Bruce was writing something down in the chart, but the line between his eyebrows was the familiar I'm-Concentrating frown instead of a Oh-My-God-You're-Hurt frown, so Dick felt more annoyed than upset for the moment.

"What?! What do you mean you don't know? What was the freaking point then?"

"I needed to check your lungs. Rib fractures can be hard to see or even undetectable on chest x-rays."

"Oh. So my lungs are okay, then?"

"As far as I can tell. I'm no radiologist."

Dick rolled his eyes. Good thing Bruce wasn't a doctor, because his bedside manners sucked. "Hmph. Well, you owe me another popsicle. Since I let you do an x-ray on me."

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him, and Dick just barely caught the quirk of his mouth before he smoothed out his expression again. "You drive a hard bargain, chum. Strawberry or pear?"

"Strawberry. Duh."

-

a/n: this is 50% due to @froizetta asking me about rib fractures for her fic, and 50% due to a patient i had last week: a young girl around dick's age who started sobbing as soon as i called her name for her exam, and who continued loudly sobbing throughout the two minutes it took to take a single x-ray of her hand. she was terrified, hospitals and medical tools and big machines can be scary to little kids! i work with a large variety of patient groups and kids are definitely the ones i struggle the most with, so this writing exercise also has professional merit (<- me making excuses for self-indulgent fic)

[ao3 link]

[hastalavistabyebye]

Holos #5

Ao3 version

Loving Ponds was easy. One of the easiest things Bacara ever did. 

Sure, the days could be long and lonely, especially when traveling from one warzone to the other, or just after a cease fire when it was time to count the losses and try to erase their presence as much as could be in a destroyed landscape, battered in black, brown and white. During those times, in front of his waiting paperwork or while keeping his troops focused and organized for that hard last stretch, Bacara sometimes longed for the familiar warmth of his lover. How many times did he wish to discuss plans with Ponds, to ask for his opinion ? The Lighting Commander had a knack for strategy, his mind sharp and logical, always seeing the broader picture in more details and reading it more precisely than anyone else. Sometimes Bacara would have given anything to rely on his lover and his hindsight. How many times did he hold on to the memory of Ponds’ smiling eyes, on the knowledge that he’ll see him right after this unending campaign was over ? Pushing through was so much easier with the promise of getting back to his cyare at the end of it. 

But that was just the way of the Marines. As much as he could curse the distance between each of their leaves, he didn't mind much. 

Especially not when his comm chimed familiarly in rapid succession, distracting him from seeping his energy drink. He fetched it from where it was lying next to his freshly completed report. His hope of having news from Ponds, who was the usual culprit for spamming his comm like that, was sidetracked by his surprised happiness at seeing Neyo’s name displayed. He loved receiving messages from his little brother just as much. It was rare to get so many messages in so little time from him, though. Even more surprising was the discovery that it was mostly holos. Did the two 91st Commanders mix up their commlinks ? Bacara knew they were supposed to be in a joint mission at the moment, so it wasn't as improbable as one could think. 

A little bit perplexed, he opened the conversation and was met with several pictures of Ponds without the top of his armor and bucket, followed by the message “You sure you really want that one ?”. It was definitely Neyo who sent them to him then, most likely during one of their breaks, going by the way Ponds was dressed. 

In the first pictures, the Lighting Commander was crouching in front of a green snake with hirsute scales. They were looking at each other steadily, practically nose to nose. Ponds had that light in his eyes. Bacara wasn't surprised at all to see him reaching to try and coerce the reptile like one would do with a tooka, in the following holos Neyo had taken. Ponds could be just as bad as a Jedi when it was about befriending any random wild animal that had sparked his interest. He thankfully wasn't prone to take a particular liking to beast bigger than him. (Which was admittedly not the case of High General Windu.) 

The Marine Commander huffed fondly at the rest of the pictures. Ponds had somehow managed to get the snake to coil around his arms. He had stood up and was visibly cooing down at it before beaming up at the holocamera. He was glowing like a star, eyes crinkling at the sides and dimples in full display. Some cloud high above was casting shadows on his side, not reaching his face yet. Bacara could have swear it’d never darken his skin, not when Ponds was shining stronger than the sun as he was. 

The Marine was smiling softly down at his comm, soaking up the sight of the holos, when he noticed how close to Ponds’ neck the head of the snake had crept. 

“Please tell me it’s not venomous.” He sent to Neyo right away, a defeated weight settling down at the bottom of his stomach, heavy like durasteel. 

“You know I will never lie to you, ori’tat.” Was the quick answer, thankfully followed a few instants later by : “The Generals are supervising.”

Bacara closed his eyes with a deep sight. At least the Jedi were around. 

Loving Ponds was one of the easiest things Bacara ever did, as effortless and paramount as breathing. But sometimes he deplored falling for a member of the Shebse batch. 

The snake is a Hairy Bush Viper.

[searchingforserendipity25]

times happened when aredhel escaped the confines of eöl's dominion, moving through the briars and the moss-faced oaks, long enough to find a slant in the high canopy.

a small fault, a breach; a fir eaten through with termites, dying slowly as it slowly slouched to death.

it was enough. arien was greedy for even a glimpse - her upturned face, her mouth open hungrily, her arms raised up. only a few instants, of course, before the mists rose; but o, arien did not relent.

arien had gathered the dew of laurelin, and lived as flame beyond smothering; and in times long past had loved the white lady of the noldor many times.

she loved her still. if it was an indulgence, then she was foolish; if it was pity, she made it a gift.

aredhel had lit a great fire in her honour, there where the helcaraxe met the northern lands, loose grass and kindling and her own braids for fuel, and around it danced as once she had danced arm-in-arm with arien, in vána's gardens, and around the two trees of valinor.

she, fingolfin's daughter, had hunted a great elk, and fed its heart to the fire; she had jumped three times over the leaping flames, and laughed, and with her burned palms praised arien's flames and fires, the fire that was arien herself.

how was arien not to love her?

nan elmoth had its own will, and its own master. it pressed her out, again and again.

through black boughs and clinging shadows, she had pressed on. in the dark; in a place shrouded from her gaze, where parasitical mushrooms grew atop one another, and many birds lived and died flying only inside the cage of its tall, tall branches.

arien sought her out in the places where she was not loved. where melian's power lingered still, twisted and altered, streams of sunlight intruded.

arien did not relent. she might never conquer this place, but anar her vessel rose, day after day. its work was the unmaking of darkness, and darkness existed well beyond morgoth's fortress.

and it was well worth the effort of many fruitless dawns, for when she did succeed.

a hundred kisses she pressed to her cheeks, when riding fast as the wind aredhel broke the siege of nan elmoth; a dozen times she burned her cheeks with eager welcome, and laid a warm breeze like a warm palm upon her son's squinting, frowning brow.

they buried aredhel in the sunlight. a high noon, relentless against gondolin's white walls, sinking greedy through ar-feiniel's white tomb of marble. not a thousand dawns could have warmed it through - not all of arien's might have pressed again the warmth upon aredhel's cold mouth.

it was a day of strange flaring lights, like comets in sunlight. the poets claimed, not falsely, that high above, beyond the heavens, arien wept.

[thewardenisonthecase]

Lucanis Drabble/Ficlet

Lucanis Dellamorte/F!Rook

Summary: A small fic of Lucanis sleeping on my Rook's lap.

word count: 341

Read on AO3

If anyone were to enter Dawn’s room, they’d find a curious sight. 

They’d find her, sitting on the green couch that more often than not used as a bed, and on her lap, Lucanis, his head on her lap as they talked. 

“Go to sleep.” The warden pleaded. “You need to sleep sometime, or you’ll lose your mind.” 

“But how can I do that with you around?” the crow argued, though he struggled to maintain conscience. 

“Do you want me to leave? Because I’ll-” She began to move but that only caused him to turn, grabbing her waist with one of his arms. 

“No, stay.” His head laid on her thigh, and he sighed, mumbling into it “Soft.” 

She chuckled, “Better than that wooden plank you call bed.” 

“Much…better.” Lucanis's speech was slurring. 

Dawn combed her hand through his hair, humming a tune from her childhood. 

If this street, if this street were mine 

I would pay it, i would pay it to me tiled

With little, with little precious stones

Just to see, just to see my lover walk

She felt his breathing even, and just when she thought he was falling asleep, he looked up at her and whispered “I never…heard that one.” 

“It’s a lullaby my mom used to sing when I was a kid.” 

“Can you sing it for me?” 

“Only if you promise to try and sleep.” 

He hummed “I can do that.” 

Lucanis shifted around before settling on her thigh once again, closing his eyes as he felt the hand on his head return and a soft tune sending him to sleep. 

In this street, in this street there is a grove

which is called, which is called loneliness 

Inside of it, inside of it there lives an angel 

that stole, that stole stole my heart away 

If I stole, if I stole your heart away 

It is because, it is because I wish you well

If I stole, if I stole your heart away 

It is because you stole mine as well

[frogyjones-writes]

General info:

I'll only do requests that interest me this is something I do for fun in my free time so you might get an answer awhile after a submission :]

Most likely to get through headcanons/short prompts done first!

Characters I write for:

Don't be afraid to ask for a character from the same Fandom however! I'm just better with these guy's characterization :]

The Last of Us: Ellie Williams, Dina, Abby Anderson

Dead By Daylight: The Trapper (Evan MacMillan), The Nurse (Sally Smithson), Ghost Face (Danny Johnson), The Huntress (Anna), The Pig (Amanda Young), The Plauge (Adiris), The Onryō (Sadako Yamamura)

Silent Hill: Lisa Garland, Maria, Mary Shepard-Sunderland, James Sunderland, Angela Orosco, Harry Mason

Misc: Sadako Yamamura (ringu), Selene (underworld), Carol Aird (Carol),

Resident Evil: Alcina Dimitrescu, Bela Dimitrescu, Cassandra Dimitrescu, Daniela Dimitrescu, Donna Beneviento, Jill Valentine, Claire redfield (games/movies), Alice Abernathy (movies), Rebecca Chambers, Helena Harper

The Quarry: Emma Mountebank, Abigail Blyg, Kaitlyn Ka, Laura Kearney, Max Brinley, Nick Furcillio, Jacob Custos, Dylan Leviny, Ryan Erzahler

Until Dawn: Sam Giddings, Ashley Brown, Emily Davis, Jessica Riley

Life is Strange: Maxine "Max" Caufield, Chloe Price, Rachel Amber, Kate Marsh, Victoria Chase, Dana Ward

Tomb Raider: Lara Croft (better with the survivor series), Sam

Saw: Amanda Young, Adam Faulkner Stanheight, Lynn Denlon

(More to be added later!)

Do's:

Character x Reader, Character x Character, Some OC X Characters, Polyships, LGBTQ+

Heavy angst/sensitive topics

AUs and alternative settings

Accept headcanon requests for multiple characters

Dont's:

NSFW (suggestive stuff is fine but I'm not writing smut)

Incestual/pedophilic ships (yes this includes adoptive family or parental/sibling figures don't test me)

Any dead dove sort of shit

General NoNo's

Writing examples

[thatonebirdwrites]

EXCERPT from later in the chapter. Been building to this moment, and figured out how to FINALLY get things aligned for this scene to happen. (Had two versions of this chapter in case I couldn't figure out a solution). So here it is.

Lena struggles to think, but time itself seems to slow. The world around her far too dark, the sun a blot of grey, and under it all a boiling energy that hurts. She grips Kara's wrist but still no heartbeat.

Someone crashes through the bushes behind them. “Oh no. Kara.” It’s Eliza’s voice. 

Lena hears it all from a distance. No heartbeat. There’s no heartbeat. That sizzle of energy grows through her limbs like vines. They curl around her heart and squeezes it with grief and pain. She gasps out a sob. 

No heartbeat. 

“Alex, Lena,  there’s…” Eliza is saying something, but Lena can’t make sense of it.

“You… you said she can recharge from plants!” Alex tears out grass and stuffs it into Kara’s hand. “Come on, Kara! Take it! Take the sunlight!” 

Lena digs her hands into the earth to grab more. Her hands grow warm, but she barely notices. She wraps her fingers around the grass and dirt, the pine needles prick her palms. Grief and rage fills her until she feels like she’s bursting. 

“Kara, don’t you fucking dare die on us,” she snarls. Lena can’t lose her. She won’t lose the person she loves most. Not when she's never had to chance to even tell Kara. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

[notthetwilightyouremember]

The Dinner

We hadn’t long landed at the island, which was still mind blowing to say, when Edward sent me off to have a “human moment”. The large bathroom off the bedroom, had a large bath, which I was happy to take advantage of.

Nerves had kicked in while I soaked in the bath, leading to a mad rush as I shaved every part of my body, would Edward prefer that? I could feel myself spiralling, as my nerves grew. I had to get out, re-join Edward, distract myself with him.

I wrapped myself in one of the fluffy robes that hung on the back of the door and padded out into the bedroom where my suitcase awaited. I heaved it onto the bed, why did it weigh so much? What had Alice done while I wasn’t looking? Taking in a deep breath, I unzipped the luggage with shaky hands, only to be greeted by an explosion of lace and silk. Alice had clearly repacked my case, stuffing it full of what her version of honeymoon attire was. I rolled my eyes; it was just like Alice to do something like this. I tried to dig through the mountain of lingerie but quickly realised it was pointless.

A sigh escaped my lips.

Grabbing Edwards suitcase instead, I grabbed one of his t-shirts and a pair of boxers. The fabric was soft against my skin, immediately bringing a sense of comfort and soothing my frayed nerves. My hair was still wet and clung to my back, but the tropical breeze stopped the sensation from being unpleasant. I fumbled around looking for a comb, why did Alice have to repack my suitcase? As I picked up various pieces of lace, a piece of paper fluttered free. Thick card stock, it could only be a note from Alice. Sighing I picked up the paper and opened it.

Enjoy your honeymoon, I repacked your original suitcase into the plain black bag, I hope you find my gifts useful!

Alice xxxx At least I would still have my things, I doubted Alice would know what I needed for my more human moments. The plain black case was easy to find and I felt a smile form on my face, as I was greeted with my own clothes. I grabbed my comb, raking it through my hair, the tangles making me wince. The ends had already begun to dry, making my job harder. But eventually I finished, my hair hanging limping around my face. Beautiful, I thought bitterly. But Edward had always liked my natural look. The thought brought a sense of comfort as I chucked my hair into a low ponytail so it fell down my back.

I looked around the bedroom, would I need to do anything else to make myself ready for Edward? Perfume? Deodorant?  Makeup? Maybe one of Alice’s pieces? No Edward liked me as I was, I wasn’t going to try and change that now.

My stomach let out a growl, the nerves had stopped me from realising how hungry I was. I hadn’t eaten anything on the plane. I did spot a kitchen, when we first arrived, had they stocked it for me? Only one way to find out, I guess.

I wandered my way to the front of the villa, the smell of pasta enticing me forward. Had Edward cooked? I laughed to myself at the thought, vampires didn’t cook silly. Yet as I turned the corner, the most beautiful sight greeted me and almost brought me to tears. Edward was at the stove, carefully watching something in a pot. The table had been dressed with flowers, reminding me of the meadow. A selection of candles lit up the table, their scent fresh like the forest that surrounded us at home. A single place had been set for me, a tall glass of coke with ice floating on its surface, waited for me.

“Oh Edward,” I choked out, from the lump in my throat.

He glanced up to me, breaking out into a dazzling smile as he drank me in, heat seared through me. How did he always look so breath taking? I felt a blush spread across my cheeks.

“Dinner is almost ready.” He was by my side in an instant, “take a seat.”

He guided me to the table, pulling the chair out for me, with a grand sweep of his arm. I ducked under it, taking a seat. He pushed me in, ever the gentleman. It was even more beautiful close up, the candle light provided a soft glow that made the atmosphere almost magical. Edward rushed back to the kitchen, lifting ravioli out of the pot and into an awaiting plate.

I found tears welling up as I realised what he was recreating, our first date, when I revealed I knew what he was. I remembered the nerves I felt that night, the scary men who Edward had chased away, the way Edward couldn’t believe I wasn’t in shock. It was hard to believe how far we had come since that night. How many battles we had faced, first James then Victoria, but here we stood. It was going to be weird, just getting time to laze around with Edward for a month, we hadn’t had such a time since our first summer together. I was looking forward to it, we certainly needed this after everything we had been through.

I was hoping to spend our first month as a married couple in honeymoon bliss. As Edward placed his dish in front of me, I couldn’t help but think we could.

It smelt surprisingly good, considering it had been made by a vampire, how did he know how to create the flavours?

“So, if I eat this will it poison me?” I joked, as Edward sat beside me.

Edward laughed, a musical sound. “No, Renee proved a reliable test subject.”

“Renee?” I laughed. She couldn’t cook to save her life.

Edward nodded. “Maybe a little help from Seth as well.”

I beamed at him. “Thank you, Edward, this is beautiful.”

“Say that after you try it,” Edward grinned.

I speared a ravioli with my fork, making a show of smelling it first, before popping it in my mouth. The flavour exploded immediately, making me moan, it was delicious.

“Is that a good sound?” Edward asked.

I picked up another, eating it quickly. “Oh yes, this is fantastic Edward, I can’t believe you made it.”

“I’m glad love.” Edward looked away, if he was human, I was sure he would be blushing. “I know we agreed to no presents, but I thought this would be allowed.”

I found myself choking up again, I reached for his hand. “It’s perfect Edward.”

His answering smile, took my breath away. I would take a thousand mushroom ravioli over any expensive gift anytime. The amount of work he must have put in to learn the recipe, blew me away.

“Although, there’s one thing missing.” I tried to make my tone serious.

Edward frowned, “what?”

“A kiss for the chef,” I explained, barely containing my laughter at his worried expression.

He leant forward placing a small kiss on my nose, “that was a very cruel trick to play Mrs Cullen.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck pulling him closer, silencing him with a kiss. One he happily returned, making me melt against him. Time forgotten.

Happiness bubbled up inside me. It was going to be a good honeymoon.

[thelazyecrivain]

Fluffbruary - Day 22 (Dawn)

Day twenty-two of @fluffbruary, using the prompt "dawn"

Today it's short, I've got a cold and can't write more than two sentences without blowing my nose. I hope you'll like it anyway!

Read on AO3

French Version

----

The sun begins to rise, waking the city with it. Birds start to sing and fly, people go out to work, cars and taxis take to the road, a police siren sounds in the distance, someone shouting on the phone. All the sounds that characterise this city that Sherlock loves so much and that John has come to appreciate.

Sherlock snuggled a little closer to John to enjoy his body heat. John pulled the blanket back over them, and wrapped his arms around his detective. Sherlock is settled between his legs, back to chest, while John keeps him close, leaning against one of the walls. His legs are crossed around Sherlock's waist and his arms around his torso to keep him close and prevent him from slipping.

John kisses him in his curls, while Sherlock plays with his hands. They are sitting on the roof of Baker Street, cushions underneath them, a blanket to protect them from the early morning chill. Sherlock takes a cake from the plate beside him, and holds it out. John took it into his mouth, thanking him with a kiss on his fingers.

"We should do this more often." John said.

Sherlock nodded. Strangely, he enjoyed this quiet time alone with John. He was serene, snuggled in his arms, the sun slowly rising over the capital. He rested his head against John's good shoulder, closing his eyes. John smiled tenderly, kissing his cheek.

(tell me if you wish to be tagged !) @topsyturvy-turtely @missdeliadili @mxster-jocale

[wildelydawn]

Trick or treat🎃

Ahh!! Hello friend, and thank you! I come here offering you what I call “KimChay Bleak Office AU,” which is really just a spin on Old Fashion Cupcake. :)

-

When they leave the cafe, Kim feels around his pockets. “I need a smoke,” he murmurs.

“Didn’t I tell you that those will kill you?”

“You did,” Kim says, fishing out the packet and zippo from his jacket pocket. “I just like it too much.”

Before Kim can light up, Chay says, “For every week you don’t smoke, I’ll cook you your favorite meal.”

Kim laughs. “What? No way. I can’t quit like that.”

“Fine. You can use one of those pens.”

“Pens? You mean a vape?”

“Yeah, like the nicotine version or a patch. Use one of those for a week, and I’ll cook you whatever meal you want.”

“Every day?”

“I said your favorite meal.”

Kim hums to himself before sticking out his hand. “Alright. Deal.”

Chay shakes it, but not without narrowing his eyes first. “Better not catch you smelling like smoke.”

Kim pockets his zippo. “You won’t.”

-

Send me a trick or treat about one of my WIPS! 🎃

[honey-badgers-library]

The Storm Brewing in the East

Yuichi Kimura sat in his dojo, hand on the hilt of his practice sword. His companion stood silently to the side before finally letting out a sigh. “We couldn’t find her, Mr. Kimura.”

The young-looking man quickly rose to his feet and attacked the practice dummy with a series of strikes and blows from the bamboo sword. The movements delivered with such precision and strength that, when the kendo sword came back to his hip, the dummy ended up six feet away from him. It laid there on the ground. Yuichi took a fortifying breath and gave a broken smile to his most faithful assistant. “Please excuse my outburst, Mr. Choi,” the head of the Kimura family began. “I’m still a bit rusty at controlling my anger. It’s been a while since something like this has—“

The friend of his father raised a hand to cut him off. “Yuichi, I would be disappointed if you turned to drink, but you haven’t as much as it tempted you on your patrols. I, and your father, are proud of you for that.”

Yuichi felt a true small smile from at the older man.

“That being said,” Mr. Choi began with a knowing look in his eye. “I noticed that the offerings on the altars have been replenished, including the sake.”

“I had Mami refill the sake for my father. But yes, I asked for their advice and I still have no idea what to do.”

Mr. Choi nodded once the silence settled between the two men. Yuichi crossed the dojo to place the practice sword back in its place on the rack. The only sound was the clapping of sandals on the wood floor. The smell of the ocean, salty and fresh, blew in with the wind. The last of the tension left Yuichi as he took a long look at his father’s best friend.

Mr. Choi was growing older, getting on in years. He refused to have his load lightened, but Yuichi feared that staying in his employ might actually kill the old man. The sixty-six-year-old looked at the almost-ninety-year-old assistant and shook his head. “Mr. Choi, I have one question to ask you if you don’t mind. It may break my father’s confidence in you and I would never ask under any other circumstance—“

“Yuichi, it would break your father’s confidence not to advise you. You may ask me anything.”

“It has been a month. In that time, we’ve gotten two phone calls from Hana and we haven’t been able to find her in Okinawa. Now, I am faced with a decision. Break the promise I made to my father, and be a terrible son, to keep a promise made to my brother after he and his wife passed on. Or break the promise to Hatori and Francine, and be a terrible brother, to keep the promise I made to my father.”

Mr. Choi made a noise and Yuichi took it as a sign to let the elder speak. “And you have made your decision it seems,” the old man said as Yuichi felt Mr. Choi observe the lock in his jaw and the steel behind his eyes. Granted, he needed to bend his knees to catch a glimpse at Yuichi’s eyes. “So what are you trying to ask me?”

Yuichi sighed. He gripped tightly on to his gi top and willed himself to meet the man face to face.

His body shook. And, not for the first time that month he felt the ocean beneath his skin pulling him under. He wanted to reach out, to grab the key that stood at his friend’s side and find the liquor cabinet. He wanted to drown himself in whiskey and sake and bourbon and whatever else was in the locked cabinet in the butler’s pantry. To give in and sink beneath his sins and failures before his own magic did him in.

But then what would happen to Hana? Mushi needed him, needed someone to help her because of her own coping mechanisms kept her from truly helping herself. She was taken from him and was no longer on the island. She was waiting for him to save her and take her home.

And what about Mr. Choi? Who just praised him not five minutes ago for not giving into temptation?

So Yuichi stood firm. The ocean roared within his blood, but he stilled its stormy rage. It would be free, and W.H.O. would drown—sink to the bottom of the blue abyss and torn asunder before its final resting place welcomed it with open arms. “Would my father hate me for resurrecting the Kimura Crime Family?”

The words hung between the two men.

The ocean waves crashed onto the shore, loud and calming to Yuichi as the silence dragged on. Finally, Mr. Choi patted the younger man on his shoulder. “Your father has been gone these twenty-two years. You are the head of the family now, even if there is only the three of us left. Send the letters if you must, but know that your father would want you to be your own man now.”

Yuichi nodded and gave Mr. Choi a bear hug. “We send the invitations to tea now.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Mr. Choi laughed in response.

Later that night, five families received hand written letters requesting to meet for tea this coming Friday. The note was signed by a name they hadn’t heard from in almost forty years.

Yuichi Kimura.

With that, The Storm brewed in the East.

[unbreakabledawn]

"Why the fuck do I have to go in?"

Somewhere between the dumpster and the sleeping homeless guy, a scrawny rat scurried forward and out the mouth of the alley before Tim or Jason could kick the undoubtedly pest-carrying vermin away.

Tim wrinkled his nose, and turned back to Jason, gesturing down at himself in response. "I'm dripping wet and there's blood on my gloves. It would be rude of me to go in and make the minimum-wage workers mop the floors after me at three a.m.."

"And whose blood is that?" Jason crossed his arms and leaned against the dumpster. There was a faint scratching and rustling sound coming from inside it, and Tim heard the occasional squeak. Great. Hopefully those were normal Gotham rats and not some sort of mutated killer vermin. This night was tiring enough already without the added mutant monster outbreak.

Tim glanced at his hands. Sewer water trickled from his cape. "No idea. I think it's Killer Croc's, but I'm not entirely confident it wasn't from a person he might have mauled, or perhaps eaten."

"Awesome. Really got my appetite going."

Tim raised his hand and counted on his fingers. "Spoiler and Batgirl are stopping the robbery at Twenty-fifth Street, Nightwing is taking the Mad Hatter back to Arkham, the brat has no manners--"

"I heard that!" a shrill voice shouted in his comm.

"--and B is B. Can you just go and get the food." Tim was approximately six seconds away from gnawing on the brick wall of the alley.

“Give me a hundred. Christ," Jason hissed, flinching away from the dumpster as a loud squeal erupted from within. It sounded suspiciously like a rat eating another rat.

Tim sighed. “The food’s already paid for, including tips.”

“It’s not for the food, it’s for me. Pay up or you can spend the rest of the night fueling up on B’s cardboard nutrition blocks. I do think he puts actual cardboard in them, by the way. Also that guy’s not breathing, you should call an ambulance.”

Tim and Jason both looked over at the homeless guy slumped in the corner of the alley. “He’s fine, I took his pulse five minutes ago,” Tim said, not at all sure that it was still there.

A rumbling snore emerged from the man. Jason tilted his head, but Tim couldn't read his expression underneath his mask. After a moment, Tim sighed again and fished a hundred dollar bill from a pouch on his belt and handed it to Jason. He shrugged his shoulders, took the blood-flecked bill and brushed past Tim to head inside, fucking finally.

Tim stood at the corner and listened to Jason kick the door open with much more force and drama than a fast-food establishment required.

"Pick-up for six Bat-idiots," he heard Jason say in his mask-modulated growl. There was a piercing scream from inside and Tim resisted the urge to cover his eyes with his blood-sticky hand.

When Jason reappeared, Tim eyed the take-away bags with suspicion. He couldn't count the items without opening the bags, but Jason wasn't interested in handing them over and set a course for the fire escape without even looking at Tim.

“There’s supposed to be seven orders,” Tim said slowly, following him to the roof. He felt a pair of rat-sized eyes tracking their ascent and was very grateful rats couldn't climb ladders.

“I’m not an idiot. Where's B, anyway? He used to get burgers for me on patrol all the time, he should be the one running your errands, not me.”

"Robbery on Morrison Street."

"At this rate, food's gonna be cold before anyone else makes it here," Jason said, sitting down on the roof's ledge and holding out one of seven burgers to Tim. He pulled off his sullied gloves before accepting it.

"Next time I'll issue a time-out notice to the criminals of Gotham while I'm putting in our food order."

"That's a great idea. You do that, and I'll eat B's fries."

"I heard that," growled a voice over their comm line.

-

based on a prompt by @unshatters-your-teacup! "the batfam stopping mid-patrol to get food somewhere" which i kind of mangled lol but i did have fun.

i'm trying out prompt fills to practice regular writing, because i'm having a lot of trouble with my actual wips. my inbox and my dms are open if you want to send me one (primarily batfam, superman, or batman, both ship and gen, but i can be flexible) though i can't promise i'll be able to write it <3

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Monster

Kinktober Masterlist

Pairing: Orc!Bucky x Sacrifice!Reader

Kink: Teratophilia (Monsterfucking)

Summary: You draw the devil’s coin in the village lottery, you will buy another season of peace for your people—but you don’t want peace.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Monsterfucking, References to past violence, References to past murder, Witch Burning, Forced Marriage, Dubious Consent, Violence, Revenge, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Darkfic, Dark Fanfiction

A/N: as a note, this story does NOT share a universe with my other Orc story, Brave. this is another version of Orc!Bucky that i cooked up for kinktober. speaking of which, i hope you all enjoy the first installment of my 2023 kinktober ficlets and drabbles! mind the warnings, and enjoy!

Your wedding day dawns bleak and cold. The snows have come early this year, snuffing out the brief, brittle green of summer with icy finality, blanketing the hills in thick layers of white.

Your death day.

“Up with you.” You aren’t asleep, but Thera rips the blanket from you anyway. “Come. It’s time you prepare for your... husband.” There is no pity anywhere on her wrinkled face as she grimaces at you, her eyes dark with disgust. “Witch.” She mutters the last part like a curse you aren’t meant to hear. You do, though, and you bare  your teeth at Thera like an animal in response. You are satisfied when fear settles over her features, her rheumy eyes widening. 

“If I were a witch,” you hiss, “You would not stand whole before me, Thera Truthspeaker.” This time it is her name that burns in the ear like acid. “You would lay at my feet in pieces.”

She slaps you for the threat, and you taste blood in your mouth as your head jerks painfully. Thera grasps your chin, and you turn dazed eyes toward the old priestess.

“You speak with as foul a tongue as your mother,” she spits.

“Pity you couldn’t burn mine out of me like you did her.” At this, she looks regretful, cutting her eyes at you angrily.

“Lucky for you Demon King likes his brides whole.” She squeezes until you grunt with pain. “And unspoiled.” She tosses your head to the side before standing away from your cot before brushing her hands down her long, thick robes as though wiping your taint from them. “Save your venom, little snake. It is by my grace you were not put to the torch two seasons ago with your witch mother.”

You almost wish they had, instead of forcing the scarred coin into your hand. At least you can serve the light like this, the priest had said, his grim face illuminated by the firelight. You have not forgotten the way your mother’s body burned bright, her head turned heavenward, her mouth open in silent scream as the flames leapt from her blackened lips.

At least you can serve some good when he comes.

Despite her age, Thera’s grip is strong as she forces you up out of the narrow cot. The stone floor of the chapel is like ice on your bare feet as you stumble after her. There is an old metal basin in the chapel’s meager kitchen, and Thera instructs you to strip before ushering you into the steaming water. You hiss at the burn, but it’s the warmest you’ve been in weeks. Months, more-like. She scrubs your skin raw with rough fingers, and tears through your hair with the comb until your scalp stings. When you wince, Thera cracks her open palm against the back of your skull.

“Be still!” Your ears ring from the force of her blow. “This is an honor—a great privilege you have been afforded, though you are tainted and unworthy.” 

The laugh that bubbles from your chest is bitter. “This is not your pulpit, Truthspeaker, and I am not your sheep.” 

Thera paints the symbols for fertility and prosperity on your damp shoulders in perfumed oil before rubbing them into your skin. She combs the oil through your hair, too, braiding gold thread into it as she pins it up away from your face. As she is closing the bridal robe around your shoulders, the door flies open.

The priest practically falls through it, his face shining with sweat despite the temperature. The charcoal around his wide, fear-bright eyes runs dark on his pale skin, like dark tears tracking down his gaunt cheeks. His terror is catching, your own heart pounding against your ribs. 

“He comes! The Demon King comes! He rides for the village!” Thera glances at you, her thin lips curving into a cruel smile. 

“And his bride waits.”

—

You have seen a bride taken, once. You were young, six seasons, perhaps? Seven? You saw the Demon King ride away with her, her long, black veil whipping behind her in the icy wind.

Mother had told you not to go, not to watch—It’s barbaric, my love, we needn’t take part—but you couldn’t help yourself. She is lucky, she is blessed, the townspeople murmured amongst themselves as they watched her go. Chosen. She’d drawn the coin from the bag, the same pitted, pocked metal that the priest had forced into your trembling hands as you’d watched your mother burn.

Life for life.

The rope bites into your wrists as you tug uselessly at your bindings. Your breath leaves your lips in frantic clouds of white as you pull and pull. Your only victory is the creak of the rope as it tightens. Your teeth chatter as you stare into the fog. It rolls out between the trunks of the bare trees like tendrils, creeping along the snow-covered ground until it fills the air, obscuring light and sound until all around you is dim as twilight.

“Your bride awaits you,” the priest’s muffled voice trembles. “Take her and honor our agreement, as it has been, and as it shall be.”

For a long time there is no answer from the thick, swirling fog. You count each second, your aching arms stretched above you, the rough wood of the post digging into your back through your cloak. The cold eats away at your bones as you shiver. It’s not snowing any more, but the loose drift blows up into your face as the wind rips at you. The priest’s voice trembles as he begins again.

“Take her and honor our—”

“Silence.”

 The voice vibrates powerfully in your very marrow, in your head and all around. He is near. You can barely see a foot in front of you, and now you are glad for it, glad you cannot see the face of your death. The mist swells, roiling angrily around you as your skin prickles with his closeness. You know not what the Dark King looks like, but you know what you have heard murmured in the dark corners of ale-soaked taverns and in the pews of every chapel of the Holy Light—he is darkness, he is devil made flesh and set upon the children of light so that they might know fear. 

That the price of flesh paid by your people is all that keeps him from loosing his terrible fury upon the valley—

But you do not yet know you believe.

You are afraid, that much you can tell from the thundering of your heart and the staccato sound of your own breath. You cannot see him, but you know he circles you, like a wolf, just behind the curtain of smoke and mist. The silence is deafening, and for a moment you wonder grimly what the Truthspeakers will do with you if the Devil himself does not take you—

“I accept this offering.”

 He steps sideways out of nowhere, the air simply parting like a curtain to reveal him. The Orc regards you silently, watching your breath cloud the air and disappear. He reaches for you and you flinch, but he doesn’t touch you. Instead, he pulls at the ropes. The priest knotted them tightly around the post, but when the Orc pulls lightly, it comes away easily, as if undone by his touch. 

His face is more human than you expected, fierce blue eyes set above chiseled cheekbones. His tusks poke out from beneath his bottom lip, but only barely, more evident as he grimaces. You wonder if he is displeased with you, as he looks you over, and you flinch when he reaches out with one massive, gloved hand. He grasps your chin firmly, turning your head this way and that before sighing. 

“Come.” 

 This time, his voice does not echo through the clearing as if spoken by a dozen men. He reaches for you again, this time drawing the dark veil down over your face. His horse is as large and dark as he is, and the great beast paws the ground as you near, and you see your own fearful face reflected in its strange red eyes. He chuckles at your reluctance.

“Afraid, little bride?”

You are. Truly afraid. Of him. Of the village. Of the way forward, wherever it led. But you would not be like Thera, like the cowering priests in their chapel. Your fear would not rule you. 

You grasp the reins and fit a foot into the stirrup. 

“I am afraid.” Swinging your leg up, you climb into the saddle. “And I am more than fear.” He smiles, the sharp, white points of his teeth gleaming as his lips part.

“Good.” He steps up behind you, and your face flushes with heat as he fits you against his front. 

“What are you called?” He hesitates, and you wonder whether or not he will tell you the truth.

“James.”

—

The sun is low in the sky by the time you see the encampment, nestled in the dark, snowy hills like a glowing ember. You tense as you see it, going rigid in the saddle.

“I did not know you came to collect your bride price with an army.” You reply, and behind you James chuckles. 

“How else would I make sure it was paid?” 

You feel small and alone as you ride into camp, your veil still pulled low over your eyes. The sounds of music and conversation die as the king approaches, the garrison watching with curious apprehension. The pack parts for you, people stepping away from James’ horse with a respectful bow. He is King here, of that there could be no doubt. A great fire blazes at the heart off the encampment, and James rides close enough to feel its heat before dismounting. He holds out his hand to you with a thin smile. 

“Come, little wife. Lay aside your fear and let us know your fate.” You return his grim smile with one of your own. 

I suppose I always knew it would end in fire.

You take his hand, and James helps you down. For a moment, there is no sound other than the roar of the flames and the shrill whistle of the icy wind. 

“She is small.” The voice is heavy with age, and rife with irritation. “It will not be her.” You turn to see the stooped Orc step out from the crowd of onlookers. She leans heavily on the staff she carries, the top adorned with an assortment of feathers and tiny, white bones. James does not look away from you. 

“The fire will tell.” 

He pushes your bridal robe from your shoulders, undoing the tie around your waist. The cloth falls to the ground, leaving you naked. You are not cold, though, not this close to the fire. The veil he leaves on, and the fabric whispers against your bare ankles. The old Orc hobbles closer, peering at you with her one good eye. 

“You know what to do.” 

You do—you step into the fire. It burns—burns hotter than anything you have ever known—

But there is no pain. You open your eyes. All around you is light, beautiful, glorious light. You lift an arm, and flames dance along your skin, leaving trails of radiant heat. You raise your arms above your head with a shout. They should have burnt me in the village. You imagine the streets burning bright with your flames. 

Something is changed in you, something opened, something broken free, something you’d never even known was caged inside you. You are the fire, it is you—

The old Orc slams the staff against the ground with a sound like thunder,  and the flames cool to embers as you drop your arms, panting. You are giddy with power, your heart beating in your chest as fiercely as the flames. 

“Fire-sign.” She draws symbols on your face in red ichor, and matching ones on James. Her scarred mouth twists into a smile as she pulls the veil from you. “Burn brightly.”  

James gathers you in his arms, lifting you with ease. He makes for one of the tents, pushing aside the heavy canvas hanging over the opening. James spills you unceremoniously onto the furs by the small fire, ripping at his clothes as he sets upon you with his hungry hands and mouth.

“Knew it would be you,” he mumbles as he lowers his mouth to yours. “Could smell the smoke on your skin.” 

Gods you burn as he kisses you. You are no longer standing in the fire but you feel it in your veins still, like it’s part of you. Your head swims as though you’d drunk your share of mead, James’ touch only adding to the dizzying rush of sensation. He kneels down between your legs, his eyes dark as he drags them down your writhing body. He licks his lips.

“My fire-sign.” He cups your cunt with one massive hand, trailing a thick finger along your slit. From the bits of hushed gossip you’d overheard from the older women in the village, wifely duties were to be penitently endured, you were to feel pain and discomfort, not this, this—

Fire.

James parts your thighs until they are wide enough to accommodate him, and he bends low. The whites of his eyes barely visible as he stares at your slick center. 

“What better wedding gift?” He says lowly, tugging your hips roughly forward until you can feel his breath on your cunt. 

You lick your lips. “And what is mine?” You ask, and James laughs. You keen as he licks a long, hot stripe up your soaked slit. 

“What would you ask of me?”

“Burn the village.” There are two voices coming from your throat when you speak. There is you, the you you know, the you you have always been—

And there is the fire. 

The thing of smoke and passion and rage in your skin now, too. 

“Leave nothing standing.”

James lowers his head to your sticky core, and wraps his arms around your thighs anchoring you to his face as he feasts. His tongue slides hungrily through your slick folds, and your eyes fly open a your hips roll of their own accord. You come apart then, shuddering and whining, but he doesn’t stop. Your hands tangle in his dark hair, pulling at his ceremonial braids as he tastes you till you’re dizzy. James finally relinquishes his hold, and when he rises his chin is wet with your pleasure. 

“You wish me to wage war, little wife?” He asks, reaching between your bodies to palm his cock. You can’t look away. “To spend fire and blood for you?”

You nod. 

“For that, I will require more than a marriage of convenience,” he replies, and you shiver as he taps the head of his cock against you with a slick, sticky noise. You whimper as he circles one of your nipples with his thumb. “I want more than just your body, understand, little bride?” His hand spans half the length of your belly it’s so big, and you stare wide eyed down at his cock. 

“I will have all of you.” James growls down at you. “Not part.” You whine as he pushes against you, the blunt head of his cock pressing inside with a pop.  Your lips fall open, a strangled moan escaping them. James’ claws dig into your hip, and he utters a curse. You’re already so full of him, you don’t know how more can fit, but James works his hips against yours, rutting shamelessly against you until you swear you’re choking on him. 

The ache is so sweet it brings tears to your eyes. 

“Y-yes!” 

He draws out, leaving you almost empty before filling you with a hard thrust. James moans low in his throat, his head falling back. He cups your face with one hand, dragging his thumb across your lips. You rake your fingers over his muscled chest and he grits his teeth, driving into you harder, curling over you as he presses your knees against your chest. 

Your breaths escape you in choked little mewls, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he drowns you in pleasure again, and the fire in your veins swells, consuming you. Behind him, the fire blazes more brightly than ever before, and  James looses a low growl, his cock pulsing inside of you.

“Then you will have war, little queen,” he says, nosing down the side of your jaw. He nips at your throat, hard enough to bruise.

You smile. 

[bennysblabbering]

Alleyway Rendezvous

Kinktober: "Sex Pollen" || Tomura Shigaraki x reader

contents: villain!reader, desperation, semi-public sex, clothed sex, hair pulling, dirty talk

words: 0.9k

g/n afab reader

↓ Ficlet below the cut ↓

A pink haze fills the air as the enemy runs off, middle finger up as he shoots you one last look with his tongue out. A simple petty gang had blocked your way, all of which you and your boss had taken care of swiftly- save for one who managed to slip through your grasp. The two of you cough and wheeze, the sickeningly sweet cotton candy-like scent filling your lungs. You start to walk quickly, any possible direction to get away from the fog- clearly the effect of the surviving enemy’s quirk as a means to get away. You had no clue what this would do to your body; it could cause asphyxiation, hallucinations, or worse. You both had to get away and get away fast.

“Y/N…”

Shigaraki’s voice comes out forced and weak, completely unlike the assertive man you were used to. You turn to see him leaning against the wall for support, his normally intense red eyes glazed over, looking up at you as he takes in labored breaths. Looking at him in this state makes it dawn on you what that quirk had done, because it was starting to take hold of you too.

It’s an aphrodisiac.

It almost felt like you were put under a spell and were magnetized to each other. You couldn’t resist the intense temptation running rampant through your body, especially now that you looked down and noticed the tent in the other man’s pants.

In an instant, your faces are plastered to each other, your mouths messily connecting and the generous saliva spreading across your lips and cheeks. Your hands wander around and across each other’s bodies as he firmly presses you against the wall, hooking your knee under his arm and hiking it around his hip. Eagerly he grinds himself onto you, his face lowering to place needy and wet kisses along your neck. You sigh in satisfaction, wrapping your arms around his back and grinding back with just as much fervor.

“Fuck, boss…this shit’s really potent…”

“I know, I know, I know. God, I’m so fucking horny, holy shit. I need to fuck you, right now.”

You nod, pulling your bottoms down just to your knees before turning around and bending over, spreading your already soaked folds to be penetrated by the villain. Immediately he unbuttons his pants, freeing his painfully hard cock, throbbing endlessly from the desperation to be inside you. He places one hand on your hip sans pointer finger, the other hand lining himself up and sliding in with a hiss. Both of you screw your eyes shut with a long moan, the satisfaction of the penetration clouding your minds. 

He wastes no time to see if you’ve accommodated to his length before he starts up at a brutal pace, the loud slaps of your combining thighs amplified from the reverb of the alley walls. Your eyes glass over and drool falls from your lips as he aggressively shoves his hips back and forth, fucking into you like it was the last thing he’d ever do. Helplessly you whimper repeatedly, the pure pleasure of being railed by your horny leader completely taking over your mind. 

“Shit, Y/N…this pretty pussy feels so fucking good…”

“Y-yeah? You feel f-fucking amazing, the way y-your cock stretches me…”

“Fuckin’ love how tight you are. Feels like you were made to take my dick.”

“Haaah…uh-huh…”

You nod as he continues to relentlessly bully his cock into your cunt, slipping effortlessly in and out of your slick walls, the red and swollen head kissing your cervix on every thrust. A slender hand reaches up to your hair, pulling on it while he keeps up his relentless rhythm. 

“You fuckin’ like being railed like a slut, don’t you? You like when I fuckin’ pound your hole like this?”

You can only mewl in response, the pure force of his frenzied hips driving you to insanity. “Uh-huh….”

He chuckles, growling as he reaches down to place a finger on your clit; a digit capable of so much violence and power, placed on the sensitive bundle of nerves, rubbing it back and forth with just as much passion as the rest of his body.

“If you wanna be a good little whore, you’re gonna listen to me. This is an order, got it?”

You nod weakly, wanting nothing more than to be obedient for your commanding and intimidating boss. You can already feel yourself building to a climax, when his final word sends your body over the edge.

“Cum.”

Your knees buckle and you cry out as your cunt clenches, a pure numbness washing over you as you roll your eyes back and release all over Shigaraki’s cock, still drilling into you and fucking you through your orgasm. You can tell he’s close too by the way he’s groaning and his hips eventually still, spilling ropes of hot cum into you. The two of you ride out your intense highs for a few moments, his arms caging you and both of your connected bodies rocking back and forth.

After the hazy climax subsides, the effects of the quirk fade away, the both of you breathing deeper as he pulls out of you, his seed starting to drip from your abused hole. You stand up with shaking legs, pulling up your pants and grimacing at the uncomfortable sensation of putting on underwear with a wet and messy undercarriage. 

“Didn’t know you could fuck like that, boss. We’ll have to do that again.”

He huffs, tucking his softening cock away with a smirk. “Absolutely.”

for some reason i just did not have a ton of muse today, im so sorry!!! i hope its still enjoyable anyway. humbly apologizing to my shigaraki fucker readers.

[necrotic-nephilim]

au - tim sneaking out of jason's room one night at the manor and accidentally locking eyes with dick who is sneaking out of bruce's room at the exact same time, breakfast is very awkward the next morning

(i did think of having it be jason instead of tim but honestly jason has 0 shame and even less issue outing himself if it means fucking with bruce and, to a lesser extent, dick)

i'm cackling I love these types of things so much. they're so silly. sometimes we deserve mindless crack for these ships. have a *very* low effort ficlet bc this just makes me snort, enjoy <3

Dick closed Bruce's door as quietly as he could. Usually, he didn't have to sneak around when he slept with Bruce. But the temporary room Bruce had given Jason in the manor was just down the hall, and Dick didn't feel like looking Jason in the eye if he walked out of Bruce's bedroom in the morning at the wrong time.

Just because he was pretty sure Jason knew, didn't mean he needed confirmation and confrontation.

Dick had almost caved to staying in bed with Bruce when Bruce tried to pull him back down, but he kept some level of wits about him, prying Bruce's arm off of him and giving him a final kiss on the cheek before heading for the door.

The one thing Dick did allow himself, though, was wearing one of Bruce's shirts instead of his own. It was a size too large on him but smelled safe and comforting. Dick breathed a quiet sigh of relief when the door latched silently. He let go of the handle, turning around to creep off to his own bedroom in another wing.

And found himself staring at another figure.

With all of the lights off and only faint moonlight streaming through the windows, Dick couldn't tell who it was, at first. His reaction was embarrassing no matter who it was, jumping nearly a foot backward and clutching a hand over his chest.

He was a goddamn vigilante. This was just embarrassing.

The other person wasn't nearly as shocked as Dick, but they stood perfectly still, staring with wide eyes that faintly reflected what little light illuminated their face. Dick squinted, leaning forward to see who it was.

"Tim?" Dick hissed, trying to keep his voice to a whisper. Bruce had fallen asleep and if Dick woke him up now, he was never going to get the stubborn bastard back to bed.

Tim, still looking like a deer in headlights, just blinked at Dick.

"What are you doing up this late?" Dick asked. They'd all agreed to take tonight's patrol off, letting Babs, Helena, Dinah, and Zinda handle it in exchange for tackling the massive human trafficking ring in the morning with fresh eyes and cleared heads. The job was the only thing that had gotten Jason to agree to work with them in the first place. Bruce barely managed to strong-arm Jason into sleeping in the manor, with a decent amount of guilting from Alfred.

Jason, who was in the room only a few feet away from Dick. The room that Tim's hand was resting on the doorknob of.

"That's Jason's room," Dick said slowly.

Tim just nodded. "I know." He wasn't whispering like Dick was, but his tone remained impossible to read.

He just saw Dick walk out of Bruce's room. Had he put it together? It was Tim, after all. if he hadn't yet, Dick assumed he only had a couple minutes before it dawned on Tim.

"What were you doing in Jason's room?" Dick frowned. If he focused on Tim, it could keep the focus off of him for as long as possible. Dick tried to ignore how fast his heart was beating.

Tim's expression was hard to make out in the dark. "We were talking about the case." Still, his tone remained entirely neutral.

Too neutral, for Tim.

"At two am?"

"Well, what were you doing?" Tim huffed slightly when he said it, folding his arms over his chest.

He was shirtless, Dick just realized.

Shirtless and coming out of Jason's room.

"I was-" Dick stumbled over his words, choking as he tried to come up with an alibi. "We were talking about the-"

"I already used that excuse, pick your own," Tim deadpanned. Dick was pretty sure he also rolled his eyes. "I've known about you and Bruce for years, you know. You don't have to pretend."

The noise that came out of Dick's throat was almost as mortifying as the realization that not only did Jason likely know, but so did Tim.

"It... okay it has not been years," Dick's face was hot and he was glad it was too dark for Tim to see his blush. "I mean- it's been a while but not years-"

"Whatever you say." Tim shrugged, sounding unconvinced. "There have been feelings between you two for years, close enough for me."

If Dick died, right here, in this hallway in front of Bruce's door, he hoped the cause of death would be put down as homicide instead of natural causes. Because every word from Tim's mouth made another piece of Dick die inside, just a little.

"It's none of your business either way." Dick tried to stand up straight to sound more in control of the situation, clearing his throat.

"Trust me, I don't want it to be my business."

Dick would've laughed, if this was happening to anyone but him.

"What about... you and Jason?" Dick asked carefully.

Tim shifted on his feet. "What about it? I told you, we were talking about the case."

"Right." It was Dick's turn to roll his eyes. "In his bedroom, at two am, without your shirt?"

Tim stared at Dick for a long, torturous moment. A moment that made Dick agree with Tim, about not wanting to know any sordid details.

"I'm going to bed," Tim said suddenly, turning away from Dick. "Goodnight."

Dick had a thousand more questions he wanted to ask. How Tim and Jason even got together, when it happened. Last Dick knew, they could barely stand to be in the same room.

But Tim was walking away at an alarmingly brisk pace and Dick just sighed. He was too tired and mortified about his own secrets to chase Tim down for an impromptu interrogation that would just end up embarrassing them both more.

Maybe it was best for Dick's sanity if he didn't know the specifics.

Dick didn't consider how awkward it would be until he was standing in the kitchen, staring at Jason bent over a cup of coffee.

Did Jason know Dick knew? It didn't seem like he did, but he had always had a good poker face.

When Tim ambled into the kitchen and grabbed overnight oats from the fridge, he didn't even look at Dick. He seemed to be pointedly avoiding it, sitting as far away from Dick as he could at the oversized dining room table.

All while Dick couldn't seem to stop staring.

"Your cereal is going to get soggy," Jason muttered, and it took Dick a moment to realize Jason was talking to him. "At least eat it before trying to explode my head with your mind, or whatever your staring problem is."

"I'm not-" Dick stuttered. he shut himself up with a mouthful of cereal when Cass gave him an odd look.

Would she be able to figure it out just from his body language?

Dick had never fully understood the lengths her ability to read people could go. he looked away from her and stared at a random spot on the table, trying to eat at a normal pace.

Bruce was the last to wander into the kitchen. He squeezed Dick's shoulder as he walked by, making Dick jump. It was an innocent enough touch that no one would question, but all Dick could think about was the brief look from Tim before he quickly averted his eyes again.

The silence around the table was going to eat Dick alive. He started eating cereal faster.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Jason broke the tension, throwing his head back and slamming an empty mug down onto the table. "Everyone knows you two are fucking, alright?" He gestured between Dick and Bruce. "Stop being so goddamn weird about it, you're acting like there's a bomb in the room."

Bruce choked on his coffee. "Jason." He tried to sound reprimanding, but his voice was a few octaves too high.

Dick threw his hands in the air. "I knew you knew about that, but I didn't know about you and Tim until last night so excuse me for feeling a little awkward."

"You didn't know about what?" Bruce nearly yelled, spinning around to face Jason.

"Damnit, Dick!" Tim groaned, putting his head in his hands.

Jason just scoffed, pointing a fork at Bruce. "Oh don't even give me that self-righteous bullshit-"

Their argument went back and forth while Tim just rubbed his temples, muttering to himself and glaring at Dick.

Worst of all, Dick was pretty sure Cass was giggling next to him under her covered mouth.

Dick just sighed and ducked his head, dutifully waiting for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

So much for his breakfast.