#Hastings Lodge

[carisc4pshaw]

MY 19th BIRTHDAY!!

[teddybeartoji]

18+ mdni; gn!reader

oral fixation but it's biting instead of sucking. toji has noticed that you like to gnaw on your lip a lot – when you're deep in thought, when you're watching tv, scrolling on your phone, in bed. it's cute. teeth sinking into the soft flesh, eyes blown wide as he works his mouth on you. he can't tear his gaze from you – you're biting down so hard, toji thinks you're going to draw blood. you're desperate, you're needy, and you need more.

he often finds you chewing on your on fingers, too. playing with the sharp canines in your mouth, toji holds back a groan before fixing himself through his pants. it's not his fault you look so good all the fucking time! and the fact that you're doing it unconsciously too, is making his head spin.

you do that in bed as well. toji has learned that you're not trying to hold back your moans – your teeth itch. you need more. he can see the marks you leave on your own skin, how you drool all over the finger that's lodged between your fangs. you bite down harder and harder with every thrust he makes and it has him wondering how much it hurts. do you like the pain? can you even feel it, or is it just pleasure in your head? he needs to know.

so, with one quick move, he pulls your hand from your mouth and pushes his own pointer finger past your lips instead. his hips never falter and he fucking adores the way you try to focus on what he's doing; you're fighting the urge to just let your eyes roll back inside your head but now that his heavy finger sits on top your tongue, you cannot allow them to do so.

your mouth is so warm and wet, and toji twitches inside you. his own lips part as he stares down at your confused expression. you close your mouth around his finger, thinking that he wants you to suck it but no, no...

"bite." his voice is more hushed than usual and the knot in your tummy tightens. "i know ya want to."

hesitation pools in your eyes but he washes it away by leaning forward and pressing a haste kiss to your cheek. it's sloppy, it leaves a stain and a whine bubbles up from your throat. he stays close, his lips brush over your jaw – and that's all it takes for you to obey.

the hiss he let's out is addicting; he pulls back from you in an instant, his mossy eyes glued to your mouth. it doesn't hurt, not really – it's perfect. the roll of his hips slows as he tries to slide his finger between your teeth (he wants it to hurt a little more), he loves the way sharp edges scratch st his already rough skin and he loves the way you're staring up at him right now. a little scared that he'll stop, that he'll tease you, but he won't. not when it feels this good.

you bite down even harder and his hips buck forward at the sensation. his own eyes grow wide, surprised by how much it's affecting him and he grumbles something under his breath before picking up the pace again. you're leaving dents in his skin and you're drooling, you're squirming and twitching. you're so fucking pretty and fucked out and cockdrunk and you keep whining around his fingers and he's going to pump you so full that you're going to taste his cum<33333

[pvrokinetic]

rin itoshi is infuriating. he’s spoiled, immature, and unfeeling. every habit he has is like nails on a chalkboard: almost painful to bare witness to. oh, but don’t think you’re alone in this feeling—rin despises you just as much, if not more.

after every argument, rin finds himself locked in the nearest room, fisting his cock angrily. he curses your very existence, jaw clenched and eyebrows furrowed.

this time is no different. he’s shut himself in a single-stall bathroom, seething from your recent shouting match. in his haste to relieve himself of the stress, rin had forgotten to lock the door.

you, oblivious to the events unfolding behind the bathroom door, knock. when you don’t get an immediate answer (poor rin’s heart was pounding too loudly in his ears to hear), you enter the bathroom.

moments later, rin has you pinned up against the back of the door, his deft fingers actually making sure the lock has been turned. ever the quick-thinker, rin had his lips colliding with yours in a depraved kiss before you could register what was going on.

—

propped up against the sink, you’re bracing yourself against the counter as rin relentlessly pounds his dick into you. he treats it as a challenge, trying to get himself as deep as possible.

he doesn’t realize he’s got it until your nails claw into his back. he hisses, your nails igniting his already heightened nerves.

“get’cher damn nails outta my back,” he cusses through gritted teeth. “so damn lukewarm, gotta putcha back in your place.” his teeth lodge themselves in the crook of your neck, causing you to yelp. it’s not enough to break the skin, but it was definitely a shock.

“rin…” you whine, your head lolling back as he continues to ruthlessly bully his tip against your cervix. “yer so mean to me…!” you sob, a coil building in your lower abdomen.

“shut up,” he commands, voice muffled as he cradles the back of your head. “fuck, i’m gonna cum.” he warns, his thrusts growing more erratic.

at those words, you fall over the edge, your orgasm crashing through your body. your cunt massages his dick rhythmically, coaxing his cum out.

“fuck, fuck, fuck…!” rin cusses urgently, his hips stuttering as he buries himself up to the hilt in your tiny pussy. he inhales sharply through his nose, his cum coming out in hot spurts to paint your womb.

when the two of you have calmed down, it doesn’t take rin more than a beat to return to his normal demeanor. you follow suit, insulting him for being a jackass. unfortunately, the cum dripping down your leg negates your argument almost instantaneously.

[earthtooz]

x : BANDAGED HEART :*+ﾟ

in which: blade finds out you're injured and can't contain his anger.

warnings: gn!reader x protective!blade, fluff, mentions of blood and injuries, 'who did this to you?' trope with blade LOL, slight manhandling, did i mention that he's protective?

a/n: blade debut, omg? this sucks btw but this was inspired by this comic that i saw the other day :> it just reminded me that the 'who did this to you' trope existed and i went YES and took my own spin onto it so, i hope you enjoy!

the smell of antiseptic wafts heavily through the air, bandages sit tightly rolled beside you, and you hiss at the sting of the antibacterial ointment slathered over the open wound on your arm. 

it hurts. 

blinking the tears away and gritting your teeth to bear with the pain, you reach for the unused roll, clumsily unravelling them with shaking hands and a blurring vision.

“oi.” a raspy voice from behind catches you off guard and you turn around from where you’ve seated yourself in the corner of the medical wing, having helped yourself to a supply of ointment and bandages. 

a familiar swordsman and fellow coworker towers above you, glowering at you through the streaks of his bangs. maybe if you weren’t on the verge of fainting, you’d have the energy to fear him.

“oh, it’s just you,” you mutter, “can i help you?”

his eyes glance you up and down, as if scanning you for any indication of misadventure. feeling uneasy under the intensity of his gaze, you return to trying to rip the bandages with bare hands since you had not brought scissors or even a blade with you in your haste. 

feeling the blood from your wound drip down your arm and onto the floor beneath you, you cringe, hurrying up so you don’t make a mess. this whole patching-yourself-up-thing should have been easy, but without something sharp and half your strength evaporated after a gruesome mission, it was much harder than usual. 

the growing frustration you were feeling was not offering much aid either, and with blade practically towering over you, you try not to let your fluctuating anger overwhelm you. 

aeons, it was as if you were sent on this mission with elio praying for your downfall. you’re lucky that you managed to get out with only a scratch on your arm and a missing weapon. it’s going to be hard finding a replacement for it, but when you just looked death in the face, you can’t say you have much to complain about that a weapon was the only thing you lost. 

suddenly, two hands sneak underneath your arms to lift you up, breaking your train of thought with a tight, unforgiving grip as you’re effortlessly placed onto a hospital bed right beside you. meeting the ruby eyes of the swordsman, your breath lodges uncomfortably in your throat, and you have to rip your gaze away from him; the intensity would paralyse you otherwise. 

“where are you hurt?” he asks, sounding more like a demand than a question. 

“i can do it myself,” you grumble. blade takes the bandage out of your hands, holding back your wrist that instinctively reached out to grab it back. the glare he shoots you from the corner of his eye placates any complaint you have.

“show me.”

reluctantly, you present your injured arm. he mutters a very quick and quiet ‘stay here’ before stalking off. a faucet is turned on, water begins running from a nearby sink, and blade returns with a wet cloth. 

grabbing your wounded arm, he cleans around the area, rubbing the blood that has trickled down your arm as well. he’s scarily gentle with you, attentive to your every wince and hiss, halting momentarily every time you let a noise slip. 

he makes quick work of patching you up, flawless and effortless in his technique. makes sense, you suppose, since he is covered in these. 

you wonder how many times he’s had to do this on himself. a small part of your heart aches thinking about it.

“thank you,” you whisper when he’s done, gratitude silently swirling inside you. grabbing the bandages and cloth, you slide off onto your feet. “i’ll put these away.” 

stepping in front of you, his body intercepts your path and you’re pressed against the bed, frozen under him. there’s an indescribable look of fury in his eyes, his red eyes seeming even angrier than usual. 

“what happened?” he asks.

you have hold yourself up, suddenly weak in the knees. “just a typical mission, it’s nothing you should worry about.”

the fellow stellaron hunter does not look satisfied with your response. “what do you mean ‘nothing you should worry about’? who did this to you?” he asks, punctuating each word with a dark expression. 

“blade- please, can we not talk about this right now?” you mutter, “i’m tired and i just want to sleep.”

he narrows his eyes. “who. hurt. you?”

“why? what can you do about it now?”

“kill them.”

you scoff. “yeah, right.”

blade wedges a leg between yours, hindering your escape even further by leaning himself closer to you. “i’m serious.”

“so am i. if you’re thinking about hunting them down, then please, don’t bother. let it go.” you mutter.

“but you got hurt.” 

“i get hurt all the time.”

his brows scrunch together, a small indication of the dangerous protectiveness growing within him. you interrupt his train of thoughts, placing a brave hand on his chest; right over his heart. ‘i’m fine. you don’t need to worry about me.”

“i’m not worried,” he grumbles lowly. 

“oh. i see.”

he grabs your hand and takes it away from his chest, holding you gently. “i’m angry that you got hurt.”

you’re speechless, blinking at the swordsman who raises your hand to his lips, placing a kiss on the back of it. it feels like a promise- not that you know what said promise is, but with that look in his eyes, you know it’s not a peaceful one. 

“so why don’t you tell me the truth? who did this to you?”

the answer slips past your lips before you can help it and when the words are spilled, a creeping guilt invades you. whatever he’s planning, you know that bloodshed will follow.

“see, that wasn’t so hard.”

in a blink of an eye, blade is gone, taking the intense pressure with him. he left so quickly that you wonder if he was ever here to begin with. the lingering brush of his lips is the only indication that he was not a figment of your half-aware conscious.  

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[reticent-writer]

Hiii, can you please write another fic about a teenage reader (16-18) and anybody from hazbin hotel. It can be about anything

HEloooo

Alastor x teen reader platonic

Headcannon by @ghostly-one: "During Alastor's absence, Reader went to the overlord meetings in his place"

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*knock knock knock*

You heard as you groaned and pushed your head up from your pillow.

"It's me, Y/n." You could hear the radio static through your door, "I have an errand to run and would like for you to join me."

"I'll be down in a minute." You replied as you started to get up.

------

"Oh, boy whats the plan, boss?"

"I like your suits."

"What are the antlers for?"

"Can I touch your ~staff thing~?"

"Are those your ears? or is it your hair? I can't tell."

The egg boiz were annoying the fuck outta you and Alastor. If you knew they would've tagged along, you wouldn't have come even if you were going to an overlord meeting.

"Hark Alastor, Y/n. How fare thee this day." Zestial appeared from nowhere in front of the both of you.

"Good evening Zestial, It's nice to see you again." You greeted with a smile as Alastor quickly threatened the eggs.

"Greetings Zestial." Alastor said as the sinners around you three started to take notice and run.

"Ah, the weather doth become this fine day."

"Indeed. Looks like we might have some acid rain this afternoon."

"If our luck doth hold! I do revel in the screams. How art thou? It has been an age since thou hath graced us with thy presence. Y/n hast been in thy lodging since thee've been gone." Zestial looked to you with a pleased expression as he patted your shoulder before continuing his conversation with Alastor.

"Some hath spun wild tales of you falling into... Holy arms."

"Hahaha Oh, I just took a well-earned sabbatical. Nothing serious. Though it's fun to keep everyone of their toes."

"There too hath been rumour of thy involvement with the princess and her recent flight of fancy. TELL ME, how does thou fall in such folly." Zestial would've creeped you out if you weren't used to his (and Alastor's) over-the-top and old-timey ways.

"That is more me to know. But please do guess. I'd love to know the theories."

"T'would be grander folly by far to assume the workings of your mind, Alastor. Thou hath been naught but an enigma since thy manifested in this realm."

"Coming from someone as ancient as you, I take that as quite the compliment."

The three of you made it the the building where the meeting would be taking place as you and Zestial stepped into the elevator you waiting for Alastor to tell the eggs to wait for him before pressing the button.

-------

You sat in between Alastor and one of Carmilla's daughters.

"Welcome, Hell sovereign overlords. I've invited you all here because you represent the controlling powers of out city. Together you own millions of souls. Souls at risk with the new extermination schedule. We need to discuss what can be done to minimize the impact to our interest." Carmilla said matter-of-factly. "Zestial, so good to see you, my friend."

"Enchanted as always Carmilla." He said as he sipped his tea.

Carmilla was about to look around the room when she spotted Alastor. The face that she made nearly made you laugh.

"Alastor?"

"Yes, I know I've been absent some time. I'm sure you've all been wondering." Alastor spoke like he'd been waiting 7 years just to say that.

"Not really. But welcome back in any case." She dismissed him. You could hear the static abruptly stop and had to bite your lip so you wouldn't laugh.

Once the meeting started you zoned out staring at the wall. To be honest you didn't really care about the meetings you were only there to show your face and now that Alastor is back it gave you less of a reason to care, but interesting things did happen quite often.

Like Velvette wanting a war with the exterminators.

✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　

Zestial translation: It would be much more foolish to think that I understand how your mind works, Alastor. You have always been a mystery to me ever since you came into this world. (just thought it would be nice to add this.)

@ghostly-one

This is choppy and rushed but parade season is starting soon and I have a lot of performances before then too.

[savorypink]

come and stay with us

a series of unfortunate events leads you to an inn.

fluff, smut, dad!alex.

Is there a stronger word for fucked? Doomed? Ill-fated? Wrecked? Should synonyms be on your mind? You're all the above, anyway. Your car's engine had a minor hiccup. Okay, minor is putting it lightly, but perhaps you could gaslight yourself into thinking this isn't a big deal. It'll spare you the tears.

The most crucial meeting of your career is today, but your car couldn't give half of a damn. In fact, your car's capacity for caring is so low that it broke down in the middle of Butt-Fuck Nowhere. If the empty road could morph, it would turn into a smile. It definitely feels like it's mocking you.

Now, you aren’t without options. You got a cell phone. Make a call—or several. There’s your boss; sweet talk him into not firing you. Reschedule your presentation, and it’ll be rainbows and sunshine. Oh, and don’t forget roadside assistance. You won’t last long on foot.

Like a madman, you dig through your purse, nearly tearing the leather to shreds in your haste. Your fingers finally close around the phone. Relief washes over you. Temporarily. The screen is off—odd, but you brush it off. When you press the power button, the low battery icon flashes. A warning. Your heart is in your throat but plummets before the phone shuts down. You don’t even reach the lock screen.

You worked too hard on your makeup. Banging your head against the steering wheel is not an option.

Perhaps you can make it on foot.

As you leave your car to open the trunk, the air is filled with the sweet scent of tree sap. Butt-Fuck Nowhere isn’t without a view. There’s some trees—lots of them, their leaves a vibrant cluster of fall colours. You didn’t hogtie a mechanic and throw him in your trunk, so you’re a little disappointed to see just your suitcases. You haul them out, lock your car, and start walking. But not before giving your car the middle finger. Cardio is fun. This is simply a workout.

The path unwinds before you, dappled with sunlight trickling through the sea of leaves. As you walk, the unmistakable smell of autumn hangs in the air, and the sound of leaves crunching under your pumps is the ultimate ASMR. God, it’s beautiful. The forest is alive with colour—reds, oranges, and golds blending together.

"Don’t do it. Enjoy this." You assure yourself. "You aren’t cooped up in an office. No higher-ups laughing at your ideas. For once, you’re breathing. And it feels easy."

Amidst your tranquillity, anxiety weighs its heavy shadow over your shoulders. Once your phone’s up and running, your first Google search will be "how to put in a two-week notice". The thought of showing your face in that office makes your stomach churn—what’s your boss going to think?

Better yet, what does this say about you? That you’re unreliable? Replaceable? The very things you’ve prided yourself on now remain up in the air.

The colours of autumn blur as you lose yourself in thought, a frigid wind whipping your hair. Maybe you need a change. A fresh start. Something away from the pressure of deadlines and high expectations.

As you round a bend, your pulse quickens. A two-story building comes into view. Ivy scales its stone walls while smoke billows from the chimney. Warm light spills from the windows, casting a glow on the cobblestone path before you.

For a moment, it feels like a mirage; you practically spoke this place into existence. You read the weathered sign before entering. Whiskey Way Inn. Though, the "inn" part is crossed out in red paint. "Lodge" is written above it in its place. Interesting.

Inside, the warmth is blissfully overwhelming. A roaring fire crackles in the fireplace, casting dancing shadows on the wooden beams. The armchairs around the hearth are plush and inviting with handmade pillows and—do you smell bread? And soup? The rumbling in your tummy proves your previous suspicions wrong. Dead wrong. This place is not a mirage.

Beside you, the small reception desk is vacant. A guestbook decked out in Bluey stickers sits on the counter, alongside some business cards and a pink glitter pen. Well, it definitely feels lived in. But by who? A three-year-old? You notice that the business cards get the same treatment as the sign at the entrance. "Inn" crossed out, but is "Lodge" written in that adorable pink pen. Again, interesting.

"Lilypad," a man’s voice groans. “You’re getting too big for me to carry.”

"Not true!" A smaller voice quips. "You carried a pumpkin yesterday. A big one. I saw you!"

"The abnormally large pumpkin you picked from the patch? Daddy’s back hasn’t known a good day since."

He’s got a tiny human at his side and unruly brown hair. Flour dusts the apron he’s wearing, and small handprints from, you’re assuming, Lily are scattered across it. Their large brown eyes bore into you, but the dad’s eyes linger longer than what feels appropriate. You sure feel crazy for wandering in Butt-Fuck Nowhere with no destination, but you didn’t think you looked the part too. You're still in your work blazer and pencil skirt.

Lily whispers something in his ear, and that very ear turns red when she pulls away. Lily giggles, and just like her, it’s adorable.

"Are you, um," he stammers, clearing his throat. "Checking in?"

You nod. "Kind of. I don’t have a reservation."

He sets Lily down, letting her scurry into the common area. "That’s alright. I’ll take care of you."

I’ll take care of you. Now, it’s something you’ve heard before from almost everyone in your life at least once. You can’t explain it, but the phrase seems more believable when he’s saying it. Is it weird that you want him to say it over and over until you die? His footsteps toward the desk are muffled; your heart is too busy pounding at your eardrums.

"How long are you staying for?" He asks.

The pounding stops. Your car’s abandoned in God knows where. You have a dead phone and a job that’s guaranteed to end after today. You chew on your lip. ‘Forever’ isn’t a booking option, right?

"Put me in for the weekend," you say. This is assuming you’ll have your shit together by then. Though, you aren’t so sure. "I can extend my stay whenever, right?"

"Mhm," he hums as he types. "Just let me know before your check-out time on Sunday at 12. Can I get your number?"

"Pardon?"

"Your number," he repeats. "So I can remind you about check-out and the events we’re hosting. And for emergencies, obviously."

Oh. That’s what he needs it for.

Your heart is back to pounding like mad. You give him the digits, trying to glue whatever’s left of your composure together. Why must the universe embarrass you in front of a man so handsome?

"Great. You’re all set." The innkeeper smiles, handing you a brass key and a business card. When he finishes at the counter, he steps forward, nearly closing the gap between you. The proximity feels just as inappropriate as his staring, but he smells…sweet.

It’s familiar, too, but his forehead colliding with yours keeps you from figuring it out. He was only reaching for the bags at your sides. You exchange your “ows” and sorries, and both of you are reluctant to leave the bubble you’ve created. But eventually, Lily’s dad is taking your bags upstairs.

You’re right behind him, but it feels as if there’s a magnet drawing you to him. You wonder if he’s choosing to ignore it because you don’t see those brown eyes again until he’s dropped your bags in front of the door.

"The Wi-Fi password is on the business card." He boyishly shoves his hands into his pockets but looks as if he's forgotten something. Suddenly, he shoves a large hand between your bodies.

"Alex. My name," he shakes his head, quickly correcting himself. "I mean, my name is Alex. Alexander, if you want."

Smiling, you take his hand, calloused and covered in flour. "Thank you, Alexander."

Alex’s eyes widen, and you get to see that smile again. If Alex were a puppy, his tail would wag a thousand miles, and his ears would perk up. It makes you want to give him head pats and ruffle his tousled hair.

"The pleasure’s all mine," he heads back down the hall but stops somewhere in the middle, taking that sweet scent with him. "Any questions? Concerns? You can text me if anything."

"Yeah. What’s with your business cards?"

He chuckles, flashing a heart-melting smile before disappearing down the hallway. "WWI doesn't look good on most business papers."

You’d do anything to hear that chuckle again. With that, you turn the keys and enter your suite, the room bathed in the warm glow of afternoon sunlight. A welcoming basket rests on the bed, filled with soaps, fall candles, and cookies - one shaped like a ghost and another a pumpkin.

You lean against the door for a moment, attempting to calm the butterflies in your stomach, and then, you realise—it’s cookies. Alex smells like cookies.

—

Alexander has the posture of a banana. That pumpkin must’ve done a number on him. Watching him set the table makes your back hurt, and you want to get up and straighten his back yourself. But when he’s dressed like that, you find it hard to be mad at him.

You'd forgotten about Halloween until you left the suite. Someone's responsible for the caution tape draped across your door and the fake cobwebs you tripped over when coming downstairs. Alex apologised for it, stating, "I let Lily do the decorating. Sorry."

All is forgiven. I mean, how could you not forgive him when he’s dressed as Mario? Hat, gloves, stupid moustache over his beard and everything. There's nothing more charming than a man committed to a bit. Footsteps and rustling fabric fill the room as Princess Peach, earlier known as Lily, rushes to her dad’s side.

"Daddy, I washed my hands!" She exclaims with excitement. "Can I help now?"

"Did you wash your hands with soap, Miss Toadstool?" Alex asks, raising a brow.

Lily looks down at her hands, then books it back into the kitchen. You almost choke on your coffee from holding back a laugh. From behind, Alex lays a hand on your shoulder, squeezing with assurance.

"Don’t worry. She didn't make your coffee. You can help me out if you want."

You set down your mug, smiling. "Anything for the Mushroom Kingdom."

When Alex takes you to the kitchen, the aroma of breakfast is there with warm greetings. Freshly brewed coffee mingles deliciously with the scent of muffins and bacon. You’re embarrassed when your stomach growls a bit too loud, and you swear you catch a chuckle from Alex. It deepens your blush.

The morning sun shines through the window, casting a golden hue on the countertops, and Lily, on a pink step stool, is washing her hands with way too much soap. The bubbles threaten to spill out of the sink, and she’s adorably unaware of the chaos she’s creating.

It's…quite grand. A thing so tiny and cute, making the hottest innkeeper you've met go grey before your eyes? Your heart swells. It's amazing. You can't get this anywhere else.

Alex lifts her off the stool, her hands dripping with suds. "Alright, Princess Peach," he says, setting her on the ground, "the Mushroom Kingdom just passed an ordinance. It’s the Stop Giving Daddy Anxiety law, and it starts today."

—

When was the last time you shared a kitchen with someone? Did you feel yourself wanting to float off the ground? Well, Alex makes it hard to stay grounded. Standing next to him, dicing fruit doesn’t feel like a group project you want to avoid. Unlike at your job, you don’t feel as if you’re trying to complete the picture. You’re already there.

Alex talks about Lily like she’s his best friend. Three days ago, she lost a tooth and got upset when Alex left her just one dollar. You don’t blame the girl, so you took her side.

“A dollar?” you ask in disbelief. “Do you hate her or something?”

He grins, embarrassment colouring his cheeks. “Is that not the standard Tooth Fairy rate?”

"Have you heard of inflation? That dollar won't mean anything in a few years. You're setting her up for disaster."

Alex chuckles, shaking his head. "I’ll adjust my fairy budget accordingly."

Lily is also in little league soccer, and she begged him to replace her shoelaces with ribbons. She’s a goalie. The only vegetable she eats without protests is carrots, and ever since this discovery, he’s been growing them in the inn’s garden.

In contrast, when you ask Alex about himself, you can see him searching for the words, almost as if he’s trying to remember who he is. You ask, "What made you want to run an inn?" and you can practically hear the Final Jeopardy music playing in his head.

"I like taking care of people," he says earnestly. "It’s a disease."

You laugh softly, but Alex’s eyes glint with a sincerity that’s hard to miss. "I’m an only child, so I’ve been taken care of for most of my life. Then, I had my kid and…the rest is instinct, I suppose."

He pauses, his gaze dropping to the cutting board. "I've had a whirlwind of a life. Messed around where I shouldn't. Deep down, I want control amidst the oddities of my...brain. So, I grew a beard, moved to the woods, and I have an inn. Seemed destined for it, really."

His honesty is refreshing, but he “messed around” where he shouldn’t have? This guy? The one with the cute kid that makes your heart leap? Maybe in another universe, he’s a dick. But right now, Alex’s words aren’t aligning with him. The infectious, steady calmness around him doesn’t match—and dare you say—the facade.

"Do I want to know where you’ve messed around?” You ask, unable to hide your scepticism.

Alex looks up, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "That’s between me and my therapist."

“So I’ll ask Lily,” you joke. “Got it.”

He laughs, and this time, it’s genuine. "She can't share patient information, but I’m willing to compromise. I have a pumpkin that needs carving. An extra set of hands never hurt, no? Help me, and I’ll talk to you."

You finish up with the last of the fruit, carefully placing it into a bowl. "Deal. Would these extra sets of hands hurt when I do this?" you ask, moving behind him.

You gently place your hands on his shoulders and align his back to perfection. Alex winces, but the goosebumps on his neck tell another story.

"Your disease is infectious," you say, taking the bowl and heading into the dining area. "Needed to take care of you."

As he adjusts to his new posture, Alex continues slicing his portion of fruit with a foolish, love-struck grin across his face. The idiot doesn't even realise the bananas are still in the peel.

—

Whiskey Way’s garden is a lush and tranquil sight. On an old, sprawling oak tree, the leaves turn to vibrant shades of red, orange and yellow, creating a colourful canopy ahead. Beds of chrysanthemums replace the summer blooms, their colours fitting right in with the fall palette.

A quaint stone path scattered with fallen leaves spirals through the garden, leading to the porch where you and Alex sit. It overlooks the vegetable patch where Lily's carrots and rows of rosemary, thyme and other herbs grow—their earthy scents sprinkling into the cool air.

Being here feels deliberate. You may not have found Whiskey Way by accident. And it’s certainly not a mistake that Alex brought you to what you’d deem the most mushy-gushy romantic place to spill his guts.

Speaking of guts, you’re knee-deep in pumpkin innards and seeds while Alex is going on about a UFO podcast he listens to in the morning. He’s a tad disappointed that since he’s started gardening, he hasn’t seen a crop circle.

"So they’re real?" You ask, dumping seeds and pumpkin guts into a bucket.

"Visitors?" Alex says this in disbelief, as if you’re asking if breathing is a human necessity. "Yes. Absolutely. They’re real."

"But have you seen one?" You raise a brow, and adorably, he blushes.

"Admittedly, no. But I want to believe in them. Even if they aren’t real, I’m having fun pretending." He turns to you, eyes shining like a boy on Christmas. "What about you? Do you believe?"

You’re compelled to say yes, but only to please the little boy behind those eyes. "I believe, Agent Mulder."

"Thank you, Scully."

When Lily turned three, Alex was diagnosed with depression. As he talks, you can see the walls forming, his eyes unsteady, and his voice trembling. But conversely, you watch as he throws a hammer at each one, breaking them down. You’re as awestruck as you are envious.

What does Alex know about you?

“Can I ask you something?” you say. Alex nods, his hands stilling on the pumpkin.

“What—” you almost bite your tongue. “What does it feel like?”

Alex looks down at the empty pumpkin, pondering your question before speaking. He sets down the carving knife and turns to face you, eyes meeting yours.

"You're a carpenter, and you've built yourself a house. It isn't your best work. You've done better in the past, but there's a roof over your head, so you don't complain. Then, a storm happens. Your roof has some holes and a leak. You patch them up and go about your day. It's not an issue.

“The day after, the storm gets worse. The holes are bigger, and the thunder keeps you from sleeping. You’re exhausted from the first time you've repaired everything. Your patchwork is sloppy this time, but the holes are covered, so you go to bed.

"The storm only gets worse. Your roof is missing, and the water is at your ankles. You can open a door or a window, but if you do, you'll flood the town and everyone in it. So you stay home. You're freezing. You're aching. And the house keeps flooding with you in it."

"Do you feel like that all the time?"

Alex shrugs. "On a good day, I’m lightweight. The garden isn’t neglected. My body isn’t either. Lily, the guests I have. It’s a day where I can...disrobe. A good day feels like today."

The wind rustles the oak tree’s leaves as you prepare to fill the silence, your voice barely a whisper.

"Are you…going to be okay?"

"I’ll be alright."

Alex loves the garden. He's said it about three times. When silence falls between the two of you, Alex would look out into the field, and it wasn’t to shy away from you or an awkward habit. It was his anchor. It kept him grounded, and you can feel yourself sinking with him.

—

Tonight, for the first time since you’ve entered the cosy cavern of Whiskey Way, you’re questioning your colouring abilities. Lily's got it down pat; in fact, she’s the one telling you to stay inside the lines. To be fair, she is the one wearing a crown. Lily's working on a giraffe on the left page, and you’re colouring an elephant on the right.

“Lily,” you pause, peering at her page, “Why’s your giraffe pink?”

“Because.” She keeps her eyes fixed on her masterpiece.

“Because...?”

“Because I said so.” Fair enough.

Also, for the first time, Alex is nowhere to be found. After the pumpkin carving, he’d gone off to prepare for the trick-or-treaters tonight, even though the inn doesn’t get much traction on Halloween. In his own words: “Lily gets a head start on candy, and we get a bowl of candy. Everybody wins.”

There’s something about Alex’s adding of “we” that makes it hard to conceal your smile. Whilst you’re smiling like the biggest idiot, Lily's finishing up her giraffe. She chooses yellow for the spots. What a kid.

“I heard the Tooth Fairy did you dirty.”

“Yeah,” Lily pouts, continuing her colouring. “I only got a dollar.”

“Well, what if I told you I’m…” you trail off, thinking. What is going on between you and her dad? “A close friend of the Tooth Fairy? I promise that you’ll get five dollars the next time you lose a tooth.”

“Five?!” she beams, and you see where that missing tooth ought to be. “Really?”

You draw a cross along your heart. “I swear.”

Alex comes downstairs with a pink, sparkly backpack slung over his shoulder, but Lily intercepts him before he can touch the last step. “Daddy! Guess what!”

Alex raises an eyebrow, looking over at you. "Oh, really? Who made you this promise?" The words are meant for you, and even though your cover is blown, you still try to hold back your laughter.

“It’s a secret,” Lily whispers, giggling.

He chuckles, blushing. "Ah, I see. Keep your secrets. Let's get your shoes on. Mummy's coming to get you, kid."

Alex places her down on the reception desk before grabbing a pair of tiny combat boots from the front door, their laces replaced with pink ribbons. Ribbons must be a Lily signature. As Alex puts the shoes on her feet, you notice he's ditched his costume, donning pyjama pants and a knit sweater, looking more huggable than usual. He's also looking paler than he usually does, tying Lily's laces at an intentional, slow pace. You even see his hands shake.

Alex isn’t ready to let her go.

"You’re gonna bring me lots of candy when you get back, yeah?" He asks.

“Mhm!” Lily nods, all enthusiastic.  

“Good,” Alex finishes tying the left shoe. “Don’t eat any candy before bed. Especially the Twizzlers. Those are for Daddy.”

You and Lily both laugh. “Kay,” Lily says.

The front door creaks open, and the crisp evening air sweeps in. A heeled boot clicks along the floors of the inn, stopping at the reception desk near Lily and Alex. With dark hair cascading down her back and legs for days, you aren’t sure if she scares you or if you want to be her. The world feels like it’s stopped spinning.

Alex ties the right shoe tight enough to make Lily kick. He squeezes her foot to apologise and sets her down, swallowing the visibly large lump in his throat.

You get it. You totally get it.

“She got you to do the ribbons on the boots, too?“ The woman scoffs, taking the backpack from Alex. “Jesus. We might as well buy her clothes at the craft store.“

“Kat,“ Alex says. “Try saying no to that face.”

As Alex gestures to Lily, Kat rolls her eyes, but a hint of a smile tugs at her lips. “Unlike you, I am immune to the charms of a six-year-old girl,“ she looks down at Lily. “Even if she is cute. Lilybug! Ready to get some candy?”

Lily only hears the word ‘candy’. “I am! I am!“ She’s practically bouncing with excitement.

“Stop calling her that,“ Alex’s tone faux-firm. “She wrote it on a test paper.“ Alex kneels down to Lily's level, kissing his palm and pressing it to her cheek. “See you when I see you. And be good.”

She nods and runs over to Kat, waiting with hands folded over her chest. “Now, Lily. When someone tells you to be good, you do everything you can to be on your worst behaviour. Ain’t that right, Daddy-O?”

“Get out of my inn, Katherine.”

Kat sticks her tongue out. “Alex, why do you hate fun? C’mon Lily, let’s go get some eggs, and I’ll show you some real Halloween fun.”

“Katherine,” Alex warns.

“I’m kidding! Kidding! I’m capable of making jokes, Alex!” Kat says, throwing her hands up in surrender. Her eyes drop to Lily, a playful smile on her lips. “But we’re gonna have fun. Don’t worry.”

And with that, they’re off. Alex lingers by the door for a bit, waving to Lily until she’s out of sight. Once she is, he sighs, hanging his head low before turning to you. This is the first time his smile makes your heart sink.

“Sorry you can’t be with them tonight.” You say.

Alex shrugs, “Eh. I’ll see her later in the week. We got a…co-parenting thing goin’ on. But let’s not drift away from what really matters.”

You look around the room, your face getting warmer. “And that is?”

“You told my daughter I’d give her five dollars. She gonna act like she won Who Wants to Be a Millionaire. You know that, right?”

Relieved, you chuckle. “Be glad I didn’t say 100.”

—

You don’t recall when it got so hot. The fireplace is roaring as usual, and you haven’t complained. Not once. Right now, you need a fire department to put you out. Alex is only getting closer—not that you mind—but he isn’t making it easy to focus. His pinky wiggles next to your palm, wanting nothing more than to intertwine with yours.

Each time he "adjusts" his position on the floor beside you, the scent of his aftershave feels only inches away. If one of you sneezes, it could cause a forehead kiss. Your first kiss with Alex won't be an accident, though. You can feel it.

“So,” Alex begins, “And I mean this in the kindest way possible, I believe you owe me, Little Miss.”

You furrow your brows, confused. “Be specific, Tooth Fairy.”

He changes his position again, sitting crisscross in front of you. “The garden. I told you everything. Now, I think you should return the favour.”

You suck in a breath, but it feels more laboured than usual. Fuck. Do you have to?

“I-I don’t know where to start.” You say, twiddling your thumbs.

Alex takes your hand, laying it flat against his. With his other hand, he gently brushes your knuckles. “That’s alright. I have a plan. For each fact you tell me, I’ll give you a kiss. With your permission, of course.”

He likes a stipulation. Even in your sweaty, nervous state, you can’t refuse. “You like making me work for it, huh? Okay. Permission granted.”

“Alright,” Alex says, kissing your knuckles. “That’s one kiss. Talk to me.”

A smile tugs at your lips, but a dry, hard lump lodges in your throat. “From certain angles, I think you look like Al Pacino. Not a bad thing! Obviously!” Those final five words slip out before your brain can stop them. Jesus. An icebreaker? Now? You’ll be dead of embarrassment before he gets to kiss you.

“So I’ve been told,” He says with a smile. Alex opens your palm, pressing a kiss to it. “Keep going.”

You clear your throat, shuffling uncomfortably on the rug. “Um...okay. I have a degree in marketing, and I work in advertising.” You hesitate, then add, “So, I think your business cards suck.”

Alex chuckles, rolling up the sleeve of your sweater to kiss your wrist. Every bone in his body is disgustingly romantic, isn’t it? “Perhaps you can help me fix them. Now, give me something good.”

Good? Your heart is racing like a wild stallion, so fast and hard that you forget there’s a fire crackling behind you. Is vulnerable...good? Honesty? Does he really want that? You can’t pull the plug. You’ve buried yourself too deep. Or, that’s what the anxiety is telling you.

You recall your surroundings as Alex leans in and kisses your jaw. The firelight casts flickering shadows along the walls and over his handsome face. He’s getting closer, his breath warm against your skin. And God, are his lips soft.

“I’m listening.” He whispers. Alex can see your goosebumps.

You look down to still see Alex’s hand in yours. You squeeze it, bile stinging your throat. “I’m here because my car broke down. I missed a meeting and everything, but now...I literally don’t know what to do.”

Alex doesn’t kiss you, but allows you to continue.

“It’s weird. I feel weird. My job treats me like shit, but I keep going. My car treats me like shit, but I keep going. I put myself in these places where I don’t feel welcomed, and I keep staying. I’m still paying all my bills from school, and I’m waiting for everything to just...stop. But it won’t. And I’m scared. I’m so fucking scared, Alex. I don’t know what to do.”

Tears well up in your eyes, and you try your damnedest, but they’re streaming down your cheeks. Your chest feels tight, making every breath shallow and strained, as if your lungs are being squeezed. Alex only holds your hand, and truthfully, it’s all you need. You lean over and rest your head on his shoulder, and you can feel the stability you’ve longed for.

“I,” you start. “I don’t want to be alone, Alex.”

Alex kisses your head before resting his chin on your scalp. “It’s a good thing you aren’t, right?”

—

“Your checkout time is in three hours.”

That’s not what you want to hear. And waking up in Alex’s arms makes it more of an offence. You aren’t prepared to go, and he isn’t ready to let you leave, either. Like in the garden, it feels deliberate. You’re meant to be with Alex right now.

The curtains billow in the breeze, the sun’s rays filtering through and bathing the room in the morning light. His fingers trace lazy patterns along your back, and you think this is his way of saying he wants more time.

“I haven’t checked my phone since I’ve been here,” you say, but you don’t sound as worried as you should. “My boss is gonna kill me.”

“You’re still on about that job?” Alex asks, sitting up. “From what you’ve told me, they don’t seem to care too much.”

Your arms close around his middle, and you bury your face in his chest. “If you’re asking if I’m still on about having my rent and bills paid, then yes. I’ll keep yapping.”

He lets out a dry chuckle. “You can yap until I’m deaf in both ears. I won’t get tired,” he pauses, kissing your head. “But the subject of your yapping isn’t making you happy.”

You gently and repeatedly bump your forehead against his chest, letting out a groan. Alex isn’t wrong, but he shouldn’t say it.

Alex is a great guy. He has a cute kid, a full head of hair, emotionally aware and candid. He’s the kind of person you write poetry about or have posters of plastered on your wall. The inn is a warm, big bear hug with all the coffee and fireside chats you could want. It’s fairytale perfect—a fantasy. Why does it feel real? If everything is so right, how can it be real? Maybe you’ve been deprived of the “good” for too long that you only want to revel in it. And why is that a bad thing?

“What should I do?” You whine, dragging the “o”.

Alex shuffles to sit upright, and you move with him, settling in his lap. “Do you want my selfish little boy answer, or my adult answer?”

“Give me the fun one first.”

He laughs, a sound like warm honey, releasing a sigh. “I’ll give you both. Go home and figure your shit out. I’ll help you find your car and everything. I will always be here when you want to come back. That’s the adult answer.” You nod. “Or, you can stay with me and—”

You cut him off with a kiss. The warmth of his lips, the lingering flavour of coffee still dancing on his tongue, the strength of his hands pulling you near—it all makes the moment seem so...vivid. You aren’t wrong for wanting a fairytale ending in your fairytale place. Besides, Alex looks good in rose tint.

Pulling back, your breath ragged, you meet Alex’s gaze - a mixture of surprise and something else that sends a jolt of heat through your body. “I’m glad we had this talk,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours. “Very productive.”

Your hands glide from his stomach onto his shoulders, pulling him into another kiss. “We’re done talking.”

For the next three hours, you don’t want to think. Unless it’s about Alex. And his hands going up the t-shirt he lent you for the night. They’re still calloused and eager to please. You moan as he fondles and squeezes your breasts with a gentleness you wouldn’t expect from his rough palms.

Alex’s fingers twist and pinch your nipples in response, and you grind into his lap. His pulse thumps against your tongue, a wild, relentless beat that races beyond your own. It’s a heady mix. The heat of his skin, the taste of him—it leaves you breathless.

He breaks the kiss to remove your shirt, leaning forward until you’re pinned against the bed. “Listen,” he stops to kiss you again. “I want to,” another kiss, “Really, I do. I want you. Terribly. But on my meds, I can’t…Jesus, this is embarrassing.”

Your fingers trace the contours of his face, his blush deepening, and he eventually nuzzles into your neck, his beard tickling your skin. “That’s okay, baby. Don’t be embarrassed.”

To apologise, he plants lingering kisses on your neck, his fingertips ghosting the lace of your panties. “We’ve got next time, yeah? And I promise, when it happens, I am going to fuck you senseless.”

Your toes curl up against the sheets as your underwear dampens. He shouldn’t say things like that when he can’t fuck you senseless. You card your fingers through his hair, pulling just to tease. “Remember, you promised.”

The flimsy lace finally slides down your hips. Your skin prickles with goosebumps, in part of the cold air and the nakedness you feel—physical and in a deeper sense. Alex kneels over you and takes you in, like a painting he already knows the meaning of. His fingers glide along your folds, and you suck in a sharp breath, shuddering.

“I think,” He begins as he sinks a finger inside you. “I think you’re crazy beautiful.”

For a moment, it’s uncomfortable. You haven’t had too many guys before Alex, and you’ve grown accustomed to your own fingers. His fingers are longer and wider than yours, and they pump in and out of you with a feeling your lust clouded head can’t place. You moan as the pace quickens, spreading your legs further.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Do you get this wet for other guys?” No, you don’t. It almost feels unnatural. You shake your head. “I must be lucky. So fuckin’ lucky. You want more?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please.”

He adds another finger, and you feel full already. Fuck. It’s too good. What is it again? Is it lightning? Electricity? An inferno swallowing you whole? Your hips are moving on their own, and your breathing is out of sync. Alex’s thumb brushes against your clit, and you moan, trying to curb the warmth in your stomach.

“Is this how you want me to fuck you?” He cups your face with his freehand. “Tell me. How do you want me?”

Hard. Slow and steady. You don’t know anymore. It’s a lot. You’re wetter than you’ve ever been. The quilt is damp with your sweat, and your back is arching off the mattress. Your nerves are on fire, and it’s all unfamiliar to you. You’d never reach these heights before, not with anyone or yourself.

It can't happen. Not yet. It's too soon.

All you want is for Alex to keep going. You want to tell him what you want. But before you find the words, clouds of white obscure your vision. Another moan escapes your lips as you feel your walls closing around his fingers. Tight. Fluttering. And the feeling is otherworldly.

As your body collapses onto the bed, the heat of tears begins to well in the corners of your eyes. Instinctively, your hands fly to your face, hiding it in pure embarrassment. May lightning strike you down swiftly and mercilessly. You weren’t supposed to do that.

“I-I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologising for?”

There’s a hint of a snicker in Alex’s voice. Ugh. Yuck. You burrow your head deep into one of his pillows. They smell like him. Like allspice.

“I…finished. Quick.”

His arms come around you in a comforting, snuggly, knit sweater squeeze. It makes it hard to be mad at his laughter, which is a lot more obvious with your bodies glued together.

Damn him and that sweet, honeyed laughter.

“So? Who cares?” He kisses your temple, rubbing your forearms reassuringly. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then don’t worry about it. I promised you a next time. Don’t forget.” As he rolls out of bed, you miss him already. “I’ll run you a bath or a shower. Anything you want.”

You curl into a fetal position. “Just leave me here to die, please.”

His voice grows distant as he enters the en-suite bathroom. You miss him even more. “As long as I am here, you will not die. I have nowhere to hide your body, anyway.”

You smile into the pillow. It’s stupid. You want to flail your legs around like a giddy teenager. So stupid.

The sound of the shower starting gives you a moment to gather your composure. That, and to be a little nosy. Pulling your shirt on, you leisurely stroll around Alex's room, hoping to find a shiny object or a book of curses. Whatever. Something to keep you from missing him while he's in the shower.

His desk catches your eye. It even has a swivel chair. Nice.

On the overhead shelf, there’s a line of books. Mainly literature, with poetry sprinkled in. They seem like interesting reads, but your knowledge doesn’t extend much beyond The Wonderful Wizard of Oz and Parenting for Dummies. In the free space beside the books, a nearly completed Lego Batmobile sits. You smile, running a finger over the tiny bricks.

Nerd.

On the desk, there’s an open notepad. He’s titled a page as “Anyways”, with several lines crossed out—an obvious work in progress. One line remains: Baby, you go hard in the paint!

A framed photo catches your attention. It's Lily and Kat. Lily's in her pink soccer uniform, perched on Kat's shoulders. They look happy—maybe she'd just won a game. You wonder which one of them Alex misses the most.

As you continue to explore, a stack of papers half-hidden under a book catches your eye. Curiosity piqued, you pull them out, and your heart sinks. The heading reads: Introduction to Uncontested Divorce Instructions. What You Need to Know Before Starting Your Divorce Action.

[gensinglodge]

What Services And Amenities Does The Hotel Offer For Special Events?

The hotel provides a wide range of facilities and services that are intended to make any special occasion a success. Every element is designed to satisfy the demands of the visitors from large, exquisitely furnished event spaces with modern multimedia technology to specially designed meal choices that accommodate a range of dietary requirements.

How Does Lodge Ensure Your Wedding Day Is Flawless And Unforgettable?

To ensure that your special day is flawless and memorable, The Lodge has a dedicated group of experts who offer personalized attention at all times. The Lodge, one of the best wedding venues in St. Leonards, Hastings, works directly with you to realize your vision, organizing all aspects of the event, from the ceremony to the reception. 

Experience the Elegance:

This offers a lavish and stylish vibe for every occasion thanks to the careful crafting of every element. Hastings Lodge makes sure that every moment seems unique with its delicious food and drinks, well-designed areas, and excellent service. The venue's excellent event planning, elegant decoration, and peaceful surroundings make it a great choice for anybody searching for a memorable time regardless of the reason for the party or only wanting a calm time.

Build Strong Memories:

A seaside hotel offers more than just a place to stay, whether it's for a romantic getaway, a family vacation, or a special occasion, it provides a distinctive around that enhances the entire experience. The serene environment and refreshing coastline breeze allow visitors to relax and become more conscious of what is going on, making every experience more meaningful. In conclusion, the vibe, customer service, and unique environment are crucial in producing memorable moments, whether the site is a stylish restaurant like Lodge or a beach hotel with stunning views. These tourist attractions places make certain that every moment is treasured and leave visitors with long-lasting recollections by highlighting elegance careful consideration of detail and personal attention.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Anyone up for some ANGST? >:) I started this when LU updated and didn’t get a chance to finish it til now.

Be aware! This can easily be read as major character death BUT I wanted to keep the end ambiguous enough that you could also assume there’s some hope left.

After all, fairies can bring people back to life if they act soon enough ;)

But please, keep yourselves safe <3

Other warnings: blood and injury

————————————————

There is blood everywhere.

It coats his hands, spreads in lazy puddles across the unforgiving ground, seeps from between his desperate, trembling fingers. Twilight presses down harder on the wound. More red escapes.

“‘M sorry,” Time mumbles.

All color has fled his face, making the blue of his eye unnaturally bright, his markings breathtakingly stark. He looks all at once like a being from another world, a deity to be feared, and a small child shivering in the face of something too strong, too terrible to defeat with weapons and courage.

That is not at all how he had looked mere moments ago. That is not how he had looked when he had detected substance in nothingness; when his response to Twilight’s strained query was to shove him aside so ferociously the rancher’s shoulder had collided with the stone wall.

There had been no words. Only a gasp, harsh and sharp as a blade. Then, the whisper of metal penetrating wind, the dull wet shunk of it lodging itself within something alive.

“An eye for an eye as they say,” that cursed lizard had purred as he placed a clawed paw upon Time’s back, holding him with the gentleness of a father embracing his child. And Time had not even had the presence of mind to pull away. He had merely stood there, rigid, as beads of crimson cascaded gracefully down the shattered plates of his armor, trailed down his lips.

“You took something of mine. Now I have taken something of yours.”

Twilight’s throat still throbs from the scream that had torn free. His body still aches from the force with which he had hurled himself at the beast, the force with which it had propelled him away.

“Pup, ‘m sorry.” Time is shaking his head now. His words trip over themselves in their haste to make it past his lips. “You shouldn’t have to take care of me.”

“Shut up,” Twilight chokes. His tears are so hot that they burn his cheeks. Emotions war within his stomach. He is furious, he is anguished; he is confounded, he is sympathetic. “Shut up, Time.” He drags in a breath, suffocates on a mouthful of salt. “You-you need to save your strength.”

He wants to scream. Why? Why did you do it? Why did you save me?

But he knows the answer. He can see it written across Time’s expression. It is in the way he smiles – a courageous upturn of the lips. It is in the way he lifts his hand, places it on Twilight’s cheek.

In the wake of his near-demise, he had thought he was a disappointment. That Time believed him a disgrace. It is only now, at the end, that he sees the love.

And the fear that that love propels forth.

“You need to leave.”

Twilight blinks away the tears, tries to screw up his face into something resembling a scowl.

“No. I’m not leaving you.”

“Twilight – ”

“No!” He shakes his head so hard liquid flies and his bangs slap his forehead. “No! If you think after that I’m just gonna run, you don’t know me at all!”

“But I do,” Time croaks. “I do know you. And that’s why I want you out of here. A-away from him.”

He leans forward, hissing through his teeth at the agony of the movement, expression brimming with urgency.

“Go, Twilight! Get the others out of here. Get to safety. You need to, you hav-have to…please.”

The last word drags itself forth, desperation weighing it down. Twilight lets the sound of it stab deep into his chest. He looks around at the scene through blurred eyes, at the shreds of bloodied tunic melding with the gore that splotches the ground, at the weapons fallen uselessly, at the too-pale fingers that clutch his, a band of gold embracing one of them.

The next sob takes his heart and wrenches it mercilessly from him.

“No.” It is a whisper, high-pitched from sorrow and lack of air. He collapses forward. His forehead comes to rest on Time’s chest and the hero’s gasping hiccups of breath fill his ears.

“No, no, no! This isn’t it!”

A hand comes up and cradles his head. Once firm, now it shakes with the weight of pain. Twilight breathes in sharply, tasting blood and salt, smelling mold and decay, sugary sweet fairy dust and warm hay and the soap Malon buys from Castle Town.

“I was supposed to change it. This was my chance to change it. To not let you die.”

“You’re not letting me die, pup,” Time whispers. “I chose this path. Do not burden yourself with guilt that is not yours.”

But you will. The thought rushes in, dreadful in its steadfast truth. You’ll burden yourself with the guilt of everything you couldn’t do. Everything you think you ought to have done. And it’ll turn you into a lonely, heartbroken wraith.

Time inhales and the sound is the desperate gasp of a dying man, shallow as the stream that flows through Ordon. Shallow and strangled and thin.

“Twilight…”

“No.”

It seems the only thing he can say now, the only word his trembling lips are capable of bringing forth. It is such a bitter utterance, a word that is all harsh edges and sharp angles. It cuts him on the way out.

“Don’t...”

Don’t speak, don’t waste your breath on a goodbye.

“Please, don’t...”

Don’t leave me here alone, don’t leave Malon, don’t leave…

“Twilight, I’m so…so…proud of you.”

Twilight squeezes his eyes closed. He has dreamt of hearing these words, clung to them as priceless treasure when he has. But hearing them now is a death sentence.

“I’m sorry,” he hiccups through teeth gritted so severely his jaw aches. “I’m so sorry.”

Time cradles him to his chest. His chin rests atop Twilight’s head. His touch is not the firm, unyielding thing it has always been. His body is no longer the unrelenting rampart, capable of being fallen upon in a storm of emotion and never once breaking. Already it has begun to lose its warmth.

“Oh, pup.” It is a murmur, a whisper as soft as a fairy’s departure. It echoes in Twilight’s ears.

It is louder than the pound of his heart, louder than the sobs that tear out of him with feral, merciless violence….

Louder even than the sound of the door, screaming on its hinges, as Time’s chest lowers and doesn’t rise again.

And when something small and determined and glowing with the deep emerald of the forest depths zips over his head and begins its dance with expert precision…he hardly knows it.

[thechurchretreat]

[djarrex]

thigh riding with steb in uniform? fem!reader if that's something I should specify, love your writing <3

thigh riding with men in uniform is always a yes from me

18+ drabble below | steb x reader

Steb’s ears twitched with the sense of impending danger and he unceremoniously pulled you behind around the corner, practically lifting you off your feet. He tucked the two of you between a narrow alleyway carved by nearly-touching buildings, shrouded in shadows. It wasn’t roomy by any means, and the haste he’d displayed when trying to get out of sight resulted in awkward positioning. Fronts mashed together. His steady, quiet breaths tickled your forehead as he remained vigilant of what could come your way. Frantic footsteps and displeased curses came from nearby, seemingly on the hunt for the pair of unwanted Enforcers that had been caught lurking for evidence in prohibited territory. 

You closed your eyes and chewed your lip, maintaining the control of your own breathing patterns until you calmed enough to tactical silence. Moments later, the men you’d been tailing ran by, thankfully oblivious to your presence in the very alley the two of you were uncomfortably lodged in.

It wasn’t until the sound of receding footsteps had faded completely that you allowed yourself to release a breath you’d been holding in, Steb doing the same. 

The precarious placement of his thigh wedged between your legs wasn’t noticed until the spell of adrenaline had started to simmer down. It was purely innocuous – but Steb adjusted his stance slightly, causing his thigh to rub against your core. Your breathing immediately hitched at the contact, heartbeat pounding in the clench of your jaw. His body went stiff but it was difficult to discern Steb’s expression with the lack of light, which in turn made it near impossible to read his mind. The only cue you were given to go off of was the faint sound of how his own breath seemed to catch in his throat at the realization of what he’d done. 

There was no attempt to amend, to correct. By either of you. All that remained was this charged, unmoving silence. You couldn’t speak, wouldn't speak – but the faint pressure of his thigh pressed against your core was too enticing to ignore. Testing, you subtly shifted your hips. Practically ground yourself against his leg. That singular, experimental movement was met was Steb’s physical response. Tentative, his hands went to your hips. Squeezed you with a hint of reassurance. Emboldened, you did it again. This time, you allowed a quiet gasp to escape. Your hand instinctively flew up to clasp over your mouth.

It felt wrong, yet right. Untimely, yet at a head. 

As you picked up the pace, a barely audible rumble came from Steb. A hum pleasantly mixed with a low groan. Unexpectedly, he removed a hand from your hips only to guide your free one to his shoulder. An invitation of sorts. Unabashedly accepting, you gripped the buckle there and continued to rock yourself against his thigh with a new fervour. Steb held you a bit tighter, more determined. Whimpers muted in the palm of your hand. Your head thunked against the stone wall at your back. The current predicament, the danger, the company – it was all mixing into an engrossing concoction that sent heat all over and tingled down to your toes. His steady hands and perfectly firm, lithe body grounded you. Allowed you to take what you needed. Even though it was too dark to witness, you felt the weight of his curious gaze upon you. Observant. Taking note of what it took for you to make such pretty sounds–unbeknownst to you–even if they were wasted into the cover of your hand.

The squared shoulder of his perfect posture is what you held on to, and the pressure of his thigh and slight give of the uniform fabric was perfect as you rocked yourself toward a blissfully hazy orgasm. 

Suddenly jelly-legged, you couldn’t help but slump the remaining miniscule distance into Steb. Beneath his fitted uniform, his pulse thrummed quickly. His chest rose and fell with a deep sigh. Something else unexpected was the feeling of him hardened now, a bulge tented in those uniform grays. A million more thoughts sparred with each other in your head. Something told you Steb was having a similar mental battle, because neither of you made any effort to move, lest the tension-riddled moment be lost before it could blessedly snap. 

[moonlit-rose-garden]

With You Till The End

A Boromir x Reader oneshot

Word count: 1,023

Reader is a skilled healer and the 10th member of the Fellowship. This mixes the events in the book, the movie, and some stuff I made up to make it more dramatic. The biggest difference is Boromir lives! Dialog will be a bit different as I don't remember all of it.

Boromir stumbled and leaned his shoulder against a tree. It all felt unreal. His body felt as if it were on fire. "I have failed..."

The adrenaline left Boromir's body, and he could no longer stand. Letting out a choked sob, he slid down the tree and looked at the blue sky.

"I failed them... the little ones, my brother, my people... I've failed them all..."

"Boromir!" He quickly looked towards the voice. Just a few feet away were his companions, Aragorn, (Y-n), Legolas, and Gimli. Quickly, they were by his side.

(Y-n) gently grabbed Boromir's hands. "Boromir... what happened?"

"They have taken the little ones." He tried to sit up, off the tree. Aragorn laid a hand on Boromir's shoulder, stopping him. "Be still."

Realizing he could not see Frodo nor Sam, Boromir frantically grabs Aragorns arm. "Frodo... Where is Frodo?"

"I let Frodo go." Boromir's grip loosened and drops his gaze to his other hand, still in (Y-n)s. "Then you did what I could not... I tried to take the Ring from him."

"The Ring is out of our reach now." Aragorn reassured him. Boromir was silent for a moment. "Forgive me. I could not see it." He looks at his friends till his eyes land on (Y-n). "I have failed you."

"No, Boromir. You fought bravely. You kept your honor." (Y-n) hushed him and went to remove an arrow lodged into him.

He grabs her hand, stopping her. "Leave it. It is over. The world of men shall fall. All will come to darkness. My city will ruin..." His eyes water, tears threatening to fall.

"I do not know what strength is in my blood, but I swear to you I will not let the Great City fall. Nor our people fail." Aragorn attempts to comfort him. His words make Boromir smile. "Our people... I would have followed you, my brother, my captain... my king."

(Y-n) shook her head, knowing they were saying goodbye. She pushes Aragorn away. "Be gone. Take Legolas and Gimli. Find the hobbits. I will care for Boromir."

(Y-n) gives a determined look to her friends and holds Boromir's hand tight. "Boromir shall not fall this day! My friends... we will see you again. Now go... make haste."

Aragorn bows his head as a goodbye, and he, Legolas, and Gimli quickly leave.

(Y-n) quickly got to work on Boromir's wounds. Removing arrows as gently as possible. "Why bother... I fear your troubles will be for naught... I won't make it through the night..." (Y-n) stopped for a moment to quiet a sob.

"Boromir... please... don't say such things." Her eyebrows stitched together, and tears filled her eyes. Boromir's eyes widened at her face, how it twisted in sorrow at the thought of his death.

For a short while, he said nothing as (Y-n) worked on him. "Boromir," (Y-n) breaks the silence. "I can not treat you properly with all these layers on."

Slowly, she helped him remove his cloak, surcoat, tunic, chainmail, and gambeson. The chainmail gives the most trouble with its weight and getting caught in his long hair.

(Y-n) heart hurt at the sight of his bruised and scratched body. She carefully cleaned and patched the lesions and punctures that riddled Boromir's skin.

He let out a hoarse laugh that caused (Y-n) to look at him confused. "This is not how I imagined you'd see me without any shirt for the first time." His smile left his face as he realized what he said.

"Oh. I apologize... I didn't mean..." Boromir weakly tried to explain. (Y-n) cut him off with laughter. He felt his heart beat faster as he watched her. Her laugh was beautiful.

"Worry not, dear Boromir. I thought the same..." She admitted with a small smile. Shocked, Boromir sits up slightly, looking at (Y-n). She's imagined them together, too?

"Can you... tell me what you imagined?" She asks slowly. He laid back, still watching (Y-n) as she put the finishing touches on the bandages that wrapped around his body.

Looking up at the sky, Boromir thought back to the last time the Fellowship made camp. "Last night... You were patching some of my clothes that I had foolishly torn... I watched you work by the light of the fire, and my mind wondered."

Despite the pain that rendered Boromir practically immobile, he couldn't suppress the happiness he felt getting to tell (Y-n). "I found myself wishing to hold your hands and your face. To feel you. To hold close to me with nothing separating us... I decided that when the war was over, I would ask for your hand."

A silence followed his confession, and he grew worried. "(Y-n)?" He sits up slightly to look at her.

She sat on her knees hunched over, hands clasped over her mouth. Her shoulders shook as she quietly cried. "(Y-n)?! Are you alright?" She looked at him, tears streaming down her red cheeks. All she could do was nod as a big smile graced her face.

"Oh, Boromir... I hardly allowed myself to dream that you felt this way. I thought surely you had someone waiting for you..." (Y-n) sobbed.

"I have only you in my heart." Boromir assured her and took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips. "If... When we make it through this war, will you marry me, Dear (Y-n)? Will you be mine and I, yours?"

(Y-n) nods. "Dearest love... of course... I can think of nothing I want more..." Boromir beams. "I love you, (Y-n)."

(Y-n) scoots closer to his head and bends over, planting a kiss on Boromir's cheek. "And I love you..."

"I will be with you till the end, Boromir..."

The end! How'd you like it? Sorry if he's ooc. It's been a while since I watched lotr. Anyway, feel free to make requests!

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[ladystarksneedle]

The eye of envy

Summary: A maid at the keep finds her own flame through the words of the dragon.

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: implied smut, mentions of child death, burns and injuries, angst.

Prev<

Masterlist

Her body aches in ways it has never before. She has known hardship her entire life, strenuous work from dawn to dusk pushing her to the brink of exhaustion and fitful slumber. She wakes up equally restless now, deliciously sore as she gets to work hiding the bruises beneath the wimple she opts to wear. She finds his  eye following her movements every time she enters or perhaps she’s more aware of his presence now that her longing has borne fruit. The sheets are changed more often with longer baths being taken together, grasping and clawing at each other till they're raw and need to be cleansed again. She finds herself visiting the sept more often, eyes on the lookout for his ardor as she begins honoring the Mother forsaking the Maiden before her. It is a wishful dream that she now lives every day, yearning for yet another part of him to hold and she’s answered soon enough. 

The wails that haunt the hallways make her shrink in terror wishing for the Stranger himself. There are whispers of madness and horror floating around that make her want to retreat into herself and run away from it all. The servants are rounded up again and cast into the dungeons awaiting harsher trials as she paces around her quarters unharmed yet she knows she'll face her fate soon enough. The blood that she'd given to him so readily hasn't arrived with the moon's turn making her choke back a sob. Some part of her thinks he knows what lies within her and it is perhaps his clemency which shields her from his wrath yet every time he returns to her his touch is fierce and unyielding, punishing her with sweeter torment. He leaves with a smirk on his face and a kiss to her cheek with a lingering promise of more as she struggles in silence. The Mother seems to have confused her punishment for the son that grows within her blooms as the young princeling of six wilts and the screams only grow louder.

The days that follow are short and agonizing. She's confined to his chambers with little knowledge of what passes outside other than the whispers passed at meals delivered to her on time. The King has ordered the death of all the rat catchers of the keep along with servants who've been presumed guilty. The stench of flesh soon greets her despite the windows being shut tight. Their bars can only hold so much death. 

It is a solemn occasion that greets her later as she dresses him in black. She feels him clench his jaw throughout the night in anticipation with no amount of coaxing soothing the guilt that he struggles to hide. She feels it too, a hand pressed to her womb in passing, feeling the pain she hears down the hall yet she braves it for him. He leaves shortly, assigning a guard to her door, prohibiting her leave as she's tucked into his bed with a lingering gaze. She knows the pain he carries now is for them both.

He becomes careful with her once the ashes of the little boy are strewn to the skies. His hands linger and ghost over her belly before retreating to clenching over nothing. There are days where she sees him only around the hour of the eel, woken up to being pulled close and taken in haste. There is an urgency to his movements which he tries to hide as he gives in to pleasure while not forgetting her own, yet he's gone before the sun rises leaving her locked and alone. She feels like a prisoner with more comfortable lodgings. She busies herself tidying his things yet she longs for home and the comfort of her own mother the most. It is days later when she's visited by one, clad in teal with her hands clasped in front of her. The Dowager queen looks as regal as she's spoken of, out of place next to a woman of her status as she bids her to sit. There is a sorrow that clings to her, haunting her beauty as she speaks.

“How are you doing”

“I am well your grace”

“That is good. You perhaps know why I’m here then”

“I make no demands of your grace. The prince-”

“Is quite fond of you, yes. It is why I've allowed him this fancy in the first place”

“It was not my intention”

“It never is” she responds ruefully. “The Mother has chosen to bless you child, in a time when she's tried us all” she continues fidgeting with her hands “Look after him” she whispers tiredly. She finds the woman that leaves is not the mother she hoped for but a crone gliding through the halls.

The first time she calls him by name is when he leaves for battle. She wakes up before dawn to ready him, helping him with his armour as he stares ahead. She cannot stop her tears as she finishes clasping his eyepatch in place before he pulls her to him whispering to her in the language of his ancestors. He kisses her farewell with a smile and a promise to return and that is what she finds herself praying for daily. She calls him by his name in her dreams, in the thoughts that haunt her while she kneels on stone. She lights candles for the Warrior to guide his blade and flame and for the Father to give them justice for the sorrow she sees amidst green. It is three moons later when word of victory reaches them before she finally approaches the Mother in peace.

The royal parade returns as her belly begins to swell. She hears the cheers in the distance and sees the head of the red horned beast that started it all, before seeing him fly triumphantly above. He returns to her with pride etched into him caressing her with longing burning through them both. It is only later she realizes how deeply the fire has consumed them all. The King screams in agony drowning the wails of his Queen who stares at him, pain etched into her features. She's been ushered into the room to help yet cannot stomach the sight before her. He's covered in bandages, salves and ointments lining his peeling skin, perpetually drunk on milk of the poppy to dull his senses. She sees her hold his hand and whisper something to him which is lost to the wind before she rises and leaves as the Dowager queen cries silently nearby. Aemond stands at the threshold observing it all with a blank face yet she knows what he sees. She remembers her mother telling her it is a curse to play chase with the Gods, yet as the man ahead of her screams as he's weaned off intermittently she can hardly summon any pity. Her heart lies with her lover at the threshold.

The night passes in flashes of anger with bolts of lightning illuminating the skies heralding imminent danger. She feels the empty bed next to her as her eyes adjust to the dark. It is cold as she struggles to wake up and explore. It is the last thing she should be doing but with him back she cannot feel anything but a semblance of security. She pads along the floor in her robe before making her way to where she thinks he is. She sees him stalking towards the monstrosity ahead as she lets herself in with a creak of the great oak doors.

“You shouldn't be here” he says as he hears her approach.

“Neither should you”

“It is to be mine on the morrow”

“Is it” she counters bravely “He still lives”

“Yet he's too weak to exert his will. It is I who’ll rule in his stead” he says, watching her reach him. “All of this will be ours someday.”

“In everything but name” she whispers reluctantly.

“Is it my name you still want when I have given you so much more”

“I want everything,” she admits.

“Greed doesn't become you”

“It seems to have found its place with you”

“This was always meant to be mine.” he remarks.

She sees another flash of lightning illuminate his face, silver and leather bathed in the moonlight, as she turns towards him. 

“You promised me your protection as long as I wished to continue. That is all I still ask for” she whispers, taking his hands in hers.

“Do you know the story about how the Iron throne was forged” he asks “A thousand blades were melted to take its form. A thousand men fell for its cause”

“Do you plan to fell a thousand more for your own?” 

She sees him smile in response as he replies “You shall have all that I have to give in time. Conquests do not yield their fortune in a day”

“Only King's perhaps” she finishes looking at him.

She dresses him at dawn with trepidation, her eyepatch now discarded for a new beginning. His sapphire glints in the dark as he clasps one around her neck.

“You are mine today for all to see” she thinks he means to tell her, as he pulls her to him from behind admiring the way it sits above her collarbones.

The ceremony is long and foreboding. She stands to the side in blue as he's crowned, curtsying with all the grace she can muster. She sees her father in the distance looking at her with confusion and her mother smiling knowingly before they bow. As the sun rises in the distance and steel finds a home atop a new head of silver, she feels the Smith at work, fashioning bonds aflame like the golden pin that glints on his collar. The doe ahead of her fumes in silence.

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