#Three Finger Hobb

[jackoshadows]

The Night's Watch election for Lord Commander is such a riot! Funny and full of twists and turns.

First, five of the brothers keep voting for Three Finger Hobb in all the rounds because they hate his cooking so much they rather have him out of the kitchen and as Lord Commander!

Tonight it was Sam’s turn to give his results first. “Two hundred and three for Ser Denys Mallister,” he said. “One hundred and sixty-nine for Cotter Pyke. One hundred and thirty-seven for Lord Janos Slynt, seventy-two for Othell Yarwyck, five for Three-Finger Hobb, and two for Dolorous Edd.” Sam was more relieved than disappointed. Even with Bowen Marsh’s support, Lord Janos was still only third. “Who are these five who keep voting for Three- Finger Hobb?” he wondered. “Brothers who want him out of the kitchens?” said Clydas.

Even funnier Three Finger Hobb is taking the election seriously and campaigning by cooking them food!

Three-Finger Hobb had promised the brothers roast haunch of mammoth that night, maybe in hopes of cadging a few more votes. If that was his notion, he should have found a younger mammoth, Sam thought, as he pulled a string of gristle out from between his teeth. Sighing, he pushed the food away

Three Finger Hobb also got more votes than Dolorous Edd! Which, I guess, is not surprising, considering Edd gives one of the most depressing campaign speeches ever!

Dolorous Edd got up, stone-faced and glum as ever. “I just want to say to whoever is voting for me that I would certainly make an awful Lord Commander. But so would all these others.”

So who is voting for Edd? Pyp just for fun!

Pyp and his stupid japes

Stannis really, really hates Janos Slynt and does some anti-Slynt campaigning before the team leaders...

“Your Grace, let me say how pleased we are to be summoned here. When I saw your banners from the Wall, I knew the realm was saved. ‘There comes a man who ne’er forgets his duty,’ I said to good Ser Alliser. ‘A strong man, and a true king.’ May I congratulate you on your victory over the savages? The singers will make much of it, I know—” “The singers may do as they like,” Stannis snapped. “Spare me your fawning, Janos, it will not serve you.”

Maester Aemon is dropping all the hints to Sam and going 'I can't be seen choosing any one candidate but someone else can...' Wink Wink!

“The choosing . . . Maester, isn’t there something you could do? What the king said of Lord Janos . . .” “I recall,” Maester Aemon said, “but Sam, I am a maester, chained and sworn. My duty is to counsel the Lord Commander, whoever he might be. It would not be proper for me to be seen to favor one contender over another.” “I’m not a maester,” said Sam. “Could I do something?” Aemon turned his blind white eyes toward Sam’s face, and smiled softy. “Why, I don’t know, Samwell. Could you?”

Cotter Pyke's description of the candidates is hilarious:

“Who? Bowen Marsh? The man counts spoons. Othell’s a follower, does what he’s told and does it well, but no more’n that. Slynt . . . well, his men like him, I’ll grant you, and it would almost be worth it to stick him down the royal craw and see if Stannis gagged, but no. There’s too much of King’s Landing in that one. A toad grows wings and thinks he’s a bloody dragon.” Pyke laughed. “Who does that leave, Hobb? We could pick him, I suppose, only then who’s going toboil your mutton, Slayer? You look like a man who likes his bloody mutton.”

Denys Mallister does a Joe Biden and is like I am old so it's my turn and I deserve this job and also engages in some old-timey classism.

Also everyone hates Janos Slynt!

And this so-called Lord of Harrenhal is a butcher’s whelp upjumped by the Lannisters. Small wonder he is venal and corrupt.”

Sam then does some garden variety electoral fraud and using Ned's philosophy lies to both Denys and Cotter Pyke that Stannis means to chose the other man if no decision was made by that night and setting a deadline. Poor ol' Ned must be turning in his grave knowing his 'some lies are honorable' teachings are being used to commit electoral fraud!

Another candidate then puts in Jon's name as a candidate!!

Maester Aemon answered, from the far end of the hall. “Your name has been put forth as Lord Commander, Jon.” That was so absurd Jon had to smile. “By who?” he said, looking for his friends. This had to be one of Pyp’s japes, surely. But Pyp shrugged at him, and Grenn shook his head. It was Dolorous Edd Tollett who stood. “By me. Aye, it’s a terrible cruel thing to do to a friend, but better you than me.”

Stannis' anti-Slynt campaigning works and Othell Yarwyck who was getting heavily courted by Slynt and Thorne then engages in a sudden twist, gives up his candidature and is like 'I support Jon, here are all his credentials' and does some light campaigning for Jon.

Othell Yarwyck stood up slowly, frowning. The big builder rubbed his long lantern jaw and said, “Well, I’m pulling my name out. If you wanted me, you had ten chances to choose me, and you didn’t. Not enough of you, anyway. I was going to say that those who were casting a token for me ought to choose Lord Janos . . .” Ser Alliser nodded. “Lord Slynt is the best possible—” “I wasn’t done, Alliser,” Yarwyck complained. “Lord Slynt commanded the City Watch in King’s Landing, we all know, and he was Lord of Harrenhal . . .” “He’s never seen Harrenhal,” Cotter Pyke shouted out. “Well, that’s so,” said Yarwyck. “Anyway, now that I’m standing here, I don’t recall why I thought Slynt would be such a good choice. That would be sort of kicking King Stannis in the mouth, and I don’t see how that serves us. Might be Snow would be better. He’s been longer on the Wall, he’s Ben Stark’s nephew, and he served the Old Bear as squire.” Yarwyck shrugged. “Pick who you want, just so it’s not me.” He sat down.

And then, AND THEN, frigging BLOODRAVEN turns up to do some last minute campaigning for Jon Snow that pretty much all but decides the election!

With a raucous scream and a clap of wings, a huge raven burst out of the kettle. It flapped upward, seeking the rafters perhaps, or a window to make its escape, but there were no rafters in the vault, nor windows either. The raven was trapped. Cawing loudly, it circled the hall, once, twice, three times. And Jon heard Samwell Tarly shout, “I know that bird! That’s Lord Mormont’s raven!” The raven landed on the table nearest Jon. “Snow,” it cawed. It was an old bird, dirty and bedraggled. “Snow,” it said again, “Snow, snow, snow.” It walked to the end of the table, spread its wings again, and flew to Jon’s shoulder.

The way Jon's Targaryen ancestors Bryndon Rivers and Maester Aemon came together to get their descendant elected is 🔥. Not to mention Yarwyck going 'Jon is Benjen Stark nephew!' which means his Stark heritage counted as well. Some Ice and Fire stuff in here.

And finally the election is over and Jon wins. Those poor five brothers will have to continue to eat Three Finger Hobb's food!

The humor interspersed throughout chapters like this are why this series just does not get boring no matter how many rereads I do. Even if GRRM never finishes at least we will have some good books out of what we still have.

[from-ib-to-asshai]

ok i have learned my lesson talking about asoiaf girlies. from now on i will only post dissertations on the most obscure characters possible. todays post is about THREE FINGER HOBBS and his THICK CREAM OF WHEAT

[stannis-the-freaking-mannis]

three finger hobb moodboard 😭😭😭

[asoiafreadthru]

A Game of Thrones, Jon III

He gestured with his stick. “Come, walk with me. They’ll be serving some vile stew in the common hall by now, and I could do with a bowl of something hot.”

Jon was hungry too, so he fell in beside Lannister and slowed his pace to match the dwarf’s awkward, waddling steps.

The wind was rising, and they could hear the old wooden buildings creaking around them, and in the distance a heavy shutter banging, over and over, forgotten.

Once there was a muffled thump as a blanket of snow slid from a roof and landed near them.

[nerdcousin]

BREAKING NEWS

I have acquired a new unbudging Headcanon due to a throwaway conversation in a fanfic about a completely different person:

Three-finger-Hobb is the collective mother hen of Castle Black.

(The fic is Blooddrops on Black Satin btw it seem real cool, but I’m not far yet, pov Satin after the mutiny)

[ladystoneboobs]

people would rather die like urri than have what davos does with stannis. that's likely the right choice.

[alchemistc]

The call comes in just after 2 PM, and Tommy's in the air five minutes later. White male, early thirties, took a tumble off the incline at one of the intermediate hiking points near Griffith Park, the engine can't winch him up without exacerbating his injuries.

It's a quick flight. Nothing remarkable at all, until Hurst has been down on the ground for a few minutes too long and then Tommy's captain is on the radio asking him to hand over the controls to his copilot the moment he lands at Presbyterian.

He's pissed about it the entire length of time it takes for the winch to pull up Hurst and their new passenger - time and a half for a 48 hour stretch isn't anything to scoff at.

And then he hears Hurst rattling off information as the door shuts, and he's desperately trying to remind himself that no amount of outside noise has ever distracted him before.

Evan Buckley, 33, moderate concussion, sprained ankle, three broken fingers, possible broken ribs, pulse is steady but BP is trending high.

Happy fucking Thanksgiving.

---

Tommy's phone rings as they're making the handoff at, and he answers more out of habit than anything else. It's Cap again.

"You can either ride shotgun back and be man behind or I can shift your time and a half somewhere else because you've had a family emergency," Hobbes says, and Tommy would love to have a snappy retort but he's still thinking about the way Buck had come out of it enough to tell Hurst his boyfriend - "ex-boyfriend, sorry" - flies for 217 too. Hobbes clears his throat. "Considering your last family emergency was when I forced you to take a holiday off, I know which one I'd choose."

Tommy blinks. They're almost to the doors.

"I'll see you in a few days, Captain," Tommy murmurs and hauls ass towards the retreating medical team wheeling Buck into the hospital.

---

He'd listened while Hurst and her partner - a loan from 136 he still hasn't actually been introduced to - pumped some pain meds to keep Buck from hurting himself more, but it's still a surprise to see how zonked he looks, pupils wide and eyes glassy as he blinks slow blinks up at the ceiling, the doctors, and Tommy.

Buck tries to tip his head sideways when he catches sight of him, and pulls a face when the C collar impedes the movement. A hand snags out, catches on the seam of Tommy's flight suit, and Tommy can't quite help himself. He reaches out and holds the hand in place.

It's easy to keep pace with the orderly as they leave the elevator, and Tommy knows exactly how many doors he's allowed through before he's got to make his way to the waiting room and figure out where the fuck to go from there.

Buck's face is scraped up good on one side, and the hand not in Tommy's is splinted too much for him to catch the full damage. There's more blood than Tommy can consciously account for in the moment, although most of it looks to be drying. The hand in his squeezes. "S-someone should ca-." He winces. Seems to lose his train of thought. Rolls back around to it right before the final set of doors. "You'll call Tommy?" he asks, a desperation on his face that does something ruinous to Tommy's gut, but the orderly has already slowed down and now she's looking a little like she'll shove Tommy off if he doesn't let go of her patient.

Tommy nods. Squeezes. "I'll call Tommy."

Buck's smile is lopsided and loopy as Tommy lets go of his hand.

"Good," he murmurs, and the doors swing wide and then shut behind him, and Tommy spends a solid five minutes staring at the spot where the red striping in the tile at his feet doesn't quite match up to its neighboring tiles.

---

He's a coward, so he calls Eddie first and puts his foot in it immediately.

"Why was Buck alone on a hike on Thanksgiving?" he asks, before Eddie's even finished his greeting, and he's glad he's stepped outside to make this call. He's not moderating his volume at all.

Eddie pauses. Seems to reboot. "Wait, what?"

Tommy recounts what he knows, which isn't a whole hell of a lot, if he's being honest. "So. When can I expect the cavalry?"

Eddie's silent for a beat too long. "I'm in Texas, Tommy. Is he - is it serious? How bad -?"

"He was conscious. Slightly more than superficial injuries. He'll - recover."

He'll be fine doesn't have the right ring to it, when he's just watched the man wheeled away without even recognizing Tommy.

"He went on a hike? What kind of idiot -?" Eddie asks, and then he's silent for a beat too long. "Tommy, don't take this the wrong way, but if there's even a small part of you telling you to make a break for it, do it now before he has a chance to get his hopes up."

Tommy feels it like the knife it's meant to be. It'd be shutting the door, really - in the short term, he'll remember asking someone to let Tommy know, and he'll assume Tommy didn't show. In the long term he'll remember exactly who he'd spoken to and he'll be pissed enough to make it a clean break.

It hasn't even been a month, and Tommy's out of distractions. No work, no house to clean and reorganize, no engines to tinker with, a phone on half battery.

"I need to call Maddie," he says, and he can hear the echo as Eddie shifts to speaker.

"No need. She's on her way. With like, half the station, apparently." He rattles off what must be a text from the group chat.

Tommy shoves down that familiar ache while Eddie sounds off everyone who is currently in the process of abandoning their holiday dinners to come sit in uncomfortable waiting room chairs and twiddle their thumbs. He should leave. Cut the loose threads, take an Uber home, convince his captain he doesn't need Friday off.

He's silent long enough that Eddie feels the need to check and make sure he's still there. There's an ambulance swinging into the bay thirty feet from where Tommy stands.

"You screwed up," Eddie says, and Tommy grimaces, swallows, ignores the thrum of anxiety pooling in his gut. "Showing up for him now would go a long way towards making a reconciliation viable. If that's something you want."

Tommy doesn't know what the fuck he wants, anymore. He's never allowed himself to have it long enough for it to settle. But he knows how it'd felt to know the first person on Evan's mind in the midst of his pain medication haze was Tommy.

Tommy pulls up the first delivery service app he sees and wonders how big a tip he should give for ordering a dozen coffees an hour before closing time on a national holiday. "You know what everyone's usual coffee order is?"

Eddie adds him to a group chat that's going to drain the rest of his battery before Evan's out of surgery.

>>>Part Two

[chimcess]

Afterglow || jhs

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader Other tags: Vampire!Hoseok, Vampire!Reader Genre: Supernatural!AU, Vampire!AU, Twilight Universe, established relationship, fluff, smut, pwp Word Count: 4.5k+ Synopsis: "A loud crack of lighting boomed in the distance followed by a low rumbling. The storm was here. My love was not. I kept watching and waiting." Warnings: Character death (brief), mental illness (not reader and very brief), penetrative sex, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, lots of licking, kisses, slow and deep, Hoseok is a vocal boy, they are so in love, edging, over stimulation, hair pulling, man handling, growling, body worship, breast worship, unprotected sex (stay safe), vampire/animal sounds, implied outdoor sex, they are honestly so freaking cute, let me know if I missed anything A/N: So, I recently rewatched the entire Twilight Saga and couldn't stop myself. I promise they have nothing to do with the Cullens. I'm simply borrowing S.Meyer's universe for a second. Thanks for reading.

Staring out of the second story window, I frowned. There was a thunderstorm on its way and the wind was harsh. Still, I stayed put. I would not move until I knew he was coming back.

The first few droplets that landed against my cheeks were freezing and as the rain started coming down, I got soaked. There had been a window here once but after a rather unfortunate night, one where mama had shouted and threw a candlestick holder at my head, the glass was all but gone. Only one singular piece along the very bottom of the trim remained.

She was dead now, well, as dead as I believed her to be. Daddy, too. Only I remained. The house had been suffocating at first, my body unable to handle the loneliness. My memories of the attack were weak and dimly lit, but I could never forget the moment the burn began. I will never forget what led up to it.

At the ripe age of nineteen, my father was planning to marry me off to a local boy called Percival Hobbs. Mr.Hobbs was a fine gentleman, his sensibilities and wit uncharacteristically gentle and kind for a man of the era. We were both middle classes, his family only slightly richer than my own, and well matched. I was happy to be marrying him, especially when he told me his plans of expanding his father’s business out of Virginia. I hated this place back then; I could recall that fairly well despite the thick film which covered my old life.

My mother was an unusual woman of which I had gotten my own set of quirks. When I was young, I could remember her singing as she cooked, weaving flowers through her greasy hair as she doted on my father as if he were a king. We never went without, and her joy was contagious. My mother, for all intents and purposes, was a happy person. Perhaps a bit odd, she was more outspoken and considered rather rude to the other women in Richmond, but no one could truly say anything bad about her.

It was only after a particularly nasty accident that her behavior changed. We were on our way to visit her sister in Norfolk when our horses were startled by something out in the woods. Our carriage took a fall and my mother hit her head on a rock. We were all lucky to have survived the ordeal, something my father praised God for, but mama was never the same. She never smiled, hardly spoke, and could never find the melodies of the songs she had loved so dearly. It was as though a switch had been flipped and the light within her was turned off.

Daddy was nervous, as was I, but childish worries and adult sorrow were different. I believed she was sad, but my father knew she would never return back to normal. His work became more demanding after that. As a lawyer, my father was held in high regard at the time and worked long days and nights in order to provide for the three of us. They never bore another child. I believe it was because my mother could no longer stand to be touched and my father could never hurt her, even if it broke his heart.

Years passed that way until a sudden change began to occur. No longer was she silent, but the songs she sang were very different. Her eyes were more alive than they had been in a long, long time, and her voice had come back. The joy of this was short lived, however, as her delusions started soon after. Men who were not really men, monsters who could love, and things that would reflect like diamonds in the sunlight. All of it rubbish, all of it insane, but all of it real in her fragmented mind.

Daddy was planning on getting her committed after she said there were people living in the walls of our home. He might have killed her for declaring her love for a man who shined in the sun if he had not believed her to be completely psychotic. All the while I watched as the woman I held dearly began to hate and resent the both of us. That was when the shouting started, the violence, and then father had no choice but to call the doctor.

He had no way of knowing the chain of events that could cause, nor the dire consequences it would have on me. The doctor came to the house a little after midnight to take my mother away. She screamed and thrashed violently as she went, calling out to her monster to come and save her.

His name had been Louis and I only remember it because of what happened next. She had only said his name once, a broken and terrified cry for help, when the figure appeared. He was a beautiful man; his skin so pale it shined in the carriage’s lantern light. I do not remember if his hair had been brown or black, it was too dark to make out, but I did know his eyes were red. Bloody, dripping with hatred, and trained on the hands of the doctor holding my mother.

The doctor was dead in the next breath he took, my mother curling into the beast’s chest in complete hysterics. Louis then looked at my father, his intentions clear, before finding me. I was crying, my nightgown thin and exposing, and my own horror was reflected back at me. Whatever he saw that day made all the difference. Killing my father was easy for him to do. If he was my mother’s lover, then he would have hated the man who bore her children. I don't remember screaming but I could recall my mother telling me not to be afraid. Louis would make it quick. My death, she said, would be painless.

It was not. When Louis’s teeth sank into my neck, I only felt the slightly pinprick of pressure before I grew tired and weak. I knew I would die, and I did not fight it. I was either too weak or shell-shocked to put much behind it. Then, he was off of me, and I was fighting to keep my eyes open.

“You will be magnificent,” He whispered, kissing my cheek. His voice was soft, presumably to keep my mother from hearing us. I would never know why. “I will take care of her. You take care of yourself, little one.”

Then they were gone, Louis and my mother both. I had barely managed to crawl back inside, my hand clutching the wound on my neck, when the burning started. It lasted for three days and when it was over, I woke up afraid and starved. My father and the doctor were still outside, but I did not care who they were. I drained what was left of them before realizing what I had done. Ashamed and mortified, I put them both in the carriage and set it on fire. No one could know what had happened, of that I was certain.

The next few years of my life were spent in the forests of Virginia staying out of sight and hunting. I lived off of animals mostly, their deaths did not weigh down on my conscience as much as a human's did. My family home was vacant, untouched, and our names were forgotten to time. In 1875, I finally emerged from my isolation in the forests and moved back in. By 1900, I was able to venture into town on a rare occasion when the sun was well hidden beneath a thick layer of clouds. The house had gone through very few changes and the room I stood in now had been my father’s study. I hated the thought of touching anything in it, but I knew I would need to fix this issue. I could feel how weak the wood around it was becoming.

A loud crack of lighting boomed in the distance followed by a low rumbling. The storm was here. My love was not. I kept watching and waiting.

I met Hoseok through coincidence. My friend Seokjin, a Korean immigrant who traveled across the world as a nomad, had stumbled across the boy when he was dying from tuberculosis on the streets of New York. Jin, feeling sorry for the young man, changed him as he had done so five other times. All of his children were nomads, two of them finding their mates, and I got along with them rather well. Hoseok was no exception.

Jin had come to me after Hoseok had taken a swipe at his sire’s own newly transformed mate, Evelyn. The boy needed someone to help him with his temper and dealing with two newborns was rather difficult. I remembered my own early years with distaste. We acted more like animals than people.

Hoseok arrived on my doorstep in 1953, angry, hungry, and completely irrational. He was just over a year old and while the worst of it was over, he had a gift that took its toll on him. Not all of our kind had an extra sense. Jin, for example, was completely normal. His beauty was unparalleled, but even in his human life he was the most handsome man one could have met. Hoseok, however, was not as lucky.

The boy was incredibly powerful, his ability to hypnotize anyone with the sound of his voice was something the Volturi, the leaders and rulers of our kind, would love to get their hands on. For Hoseok, it made his thirst grow quicker and he lacked control of it. He could easily manipulate those around him without meaning to, which was why his brothers did not want to deal with the task. I was Jin’s last resort and the only reason he had come to me was my own gift.

I lived in my world in a sort of bubble. Gifts, no matter the kind, were ineffective against it. The bubble was invisible, elastic, and malleable, but impenetrable. I could choose to remove it from myself and take the brunt of whatever ability was being thrown at me, but I had only done it twice. Both times had been when Jungkook had come to see me and wanted to know if his gift, to make fake clones of himself, could throw me off. He won the first round, but I came out on top the second time. Being the sore loser he is, Jungkook never asked for a rematch.

Hoseok and I took some time to warm up to one another. The pull toward him was instantaneous but he was too young and wild for either one of us to explore what that could mean. The first five months was spent chasing him down before he could attack the unsuspecting townsfolk in Richmond. Then it was showing him the way I hunted. When his eyes changed from red to amber to gold, his mood stabilized. Our friendship was finally able to take root and before long our love bloomed.

After our first kiss under the stars in the trees that surrounded my home, we were connected so deeply that removing one would surely bring death upon the other. When I was a child, I had been disappointed to grow up in the East. We were in the more rural part of Richmond and all of the girls at school made fun of me for being a ‘country bumpkin.’ As a vampire, however, my little ranch was a paradise. Hoseok and I could make love for hours and no one would hear a thing.

Right now, during this thunderstorm, would be prime time for us to lose ourselves within one another. It was a shame he had decided to go hunting alone today. Hoseok liked having space far more than I did, but I understood his wants and needs and gave him what he asked for. I could only hope his delay was from him getting distracted and not an unfortunate slip up. He had them more than I did, and they ruined his mood for weeks.

Finally, I saw him. His black hair was slick and stuck to his forehead from the rain, the linen pajamas he had worn out transparent and heavy. Elated to finally have him home, I jumped out of the window and crashed into him. The sound was thunderous.

Hoseok laughed, “Hey there, Sunshine.”

On top of him, I sighed, holding him close to me. The rain was cold, but it would not bother me. I could not get sick. Capturing his lips, I finally felt at ease. I did not like it when he was gone. The house was too quiet.

“I love you,” I sighed, feeling my body hum to life with need. “I missed you. Touch me.”

This aspect of our love life had been difficult for me at first. I was from an era when a woman did not speak this way, but after gentle coaxing from my lover, I had gotten over the prudishness of the 1850s. We were, after all, more connected than any human couple could hope to be. Gripping my hips, Hoseok licked my bottom lip.

“Can we go inside?” He asked, nipping at my chin as my hands shredded his shirt. “The rain is distracting.”

I nodded and he scooped me up, carrying me back inside at our natural speed. We were fan, faster than any living thing on the planet, and able to see the world clearly as we passed it by. Hoseok ripped the front door of its hinges, making me laugh. He was always so impatient when it came to sex.

We ran up the steps, passing the study on the way to our bedroom. The door was still open, the rain pouring into it. I wondered briefly what my father would have thought of Hoseok. Then his lips were attached to my ear and all thoughts of my father were gone.

He was less aggressive with the door to our bedroom. A creak inaudible to the human ear sent a chill up my spine as I clung to his wet body. His skin felt hot under my hands despite how cold we both were. Hoseok was panting like a dog, more from his excitement than any real need for air.

He laid me down on our bed gently before tearing off my dress. The chemise pulled apart as easily as a piece of paper. Hoseok’s mouth found my chest as soon as it was exposed to him, mouth finding a nipple as a hand fiddled with the other. Whining, I buried my hands in his hair and held him close to me.

“I missed you so much,” I cried out.

Hoseok bit down on the little nub before letting it go with a loud smack. Fingers still twisting and brushing my right nipple, he smiled down at me. Topaz eyes were pitch black with desire and a low purr reverberated through his chest. I felt it in my groin.

“I missed you more,” He replied huskily.

I smiled shyly, reaching out for him. Hoseok leaned into my touch, purring increasing as I caressed his face. Pouting my lips, I begged him to come closer with my eyes. He smiled; his eyes soft.

“I wish you could see how beautiful you look right now.”

He sucked on my chest for what felt like hours, grinding his hips down to meet my own, and purring like a cat the entire time. He had always embraced the more animalistic aspects of our life. My breathy sighs spurred him on, my hands increasing their wandering across his torso, as I silently pleaded with him for more. Hoseok only made me wait a few moments more before sloppy kisses descended down my stomach.

A thin pair of cotton underwear separated us, but he simply licked over the fabric. I cried out, the pleasure sending shockwaves through my body. Long, hard swipes of his tongue had my writhing, his breath so hot and warm against me it felt like I was taking a scolding bath. With every lick and suck I felt myself grow hotter. Hoseok lost himself to his own pleasure, rubbing himself against the mattress as he held my legs apart.

Sex was not always so brazen. Our first few times were more primal, the need to be close after months of dancing around the issue making the release all the more powerful. After that, I had grown slightly shy. Hoseok had taken to leaving my top on during those days, letting me grow more comfortable in his presence, and taking me so gently I cried. The next 70 years have taught us a great deal about one another, and now sex was just a part of who we were. Not a day went by that we were not lost to it, each time bringing out a different part of us, before going back to our respective hobbies. In a storm like this, however, I imagined we would not leave this bed.

“Please,” I whined. “More.”

Finally, the thin piece of cotton was removed, and his tongue was on me. Long and broad at first, he liked to play with me for a few moments before diving in. Unlike myself, my love had enough patience to watch and wait. Savoring it, he said. I think he just enjoyed being the only person who could see my eyes roll back in ecstasy.

I felt the ghost of his fingers trailing down my leg at the same time his mouth found my clitoris. I hissed, back arching off the bed as he swirled his tongue around the bud. His finger pressed against my opening. I gushed around it, grinding my hips down and forcing the tip inside of me. Hoseok groaned, tongue becoming more aggressive. I cried out, pushing down again and swallowing more of his finger. Finally, with a deep growl, he pushed it the rest of the way and added another immediately after.

I had never felt more alive than when we were in this bed. With Hoseok on top of me, eyes hungry and watching my every move like I was the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. The monster within me was finally asleep as I became all consumed with his touch. Finding the soft bundle of nerves within me, Hoseok purred. I sobbed, the pleasure overwhelming.

“Look at you,” Hoseok rasped, moving from my sex to watch me. His fingers stretched me out as my hips raised to meet his thrusts. “So pretty and warm.”

He kissed my neck, “Your body is so beautiful.”

Languid kisses down across my throat, teeth gently grazing the skin, before trailing back down to my breasts. They had always been his favorite part of my body. He licked down the swell before kissing my nipple. His fingers sped up their menstruations making me mewl.

“God,” He croaked, voice deeper than normal. “You love this, don’t you?”

I nodded, body twitching and convulsing. “Yes.”

“Tell me how much,” He sucked on my left nipple.

I struggled to find words. My body was on fire now, my stomach tightening and expanding, and I knew I was close. My thighs were shaking so violently I would be embarrassed if it was anybody else, but this was Hoseok, and I knew he was happy to see my body singing for him. Somehow, I managed to speak.

“So much,” I breathed. “I love it so much.”

Sitting back on his ankles, he smirked. His shirt was gone and his toned body was on full display. I would never get bored of looking at him. Hoseok was the most beautiful person I had ever seen.

“You’re so messy,” His voice was like velvet. “So wet for me.”

His thumb found my clit and I was cumming before I could really savor the feeling. With a loud shout, I fell apart with Hoseok’s eyes on me. I was wired up and so desperate for more I began to beg. My pleas came out without a single thought behind them. I was drunk on pleasure and yearning for more.

“Just relax,” He finally said, hovering over me once more. His fingers were gone now and I began to tear at his pants. They were still wet and his skin had cooled the rain even further. “I’m going to take care of you.”

My hands were all over him. With his pants disposed of and his cock out, I held it tightly as I began to work my hands in a rhythm I knew he loved. Hoseok let out a guttural sound, a mix between a bear and a mountain lion, as he began to fondle my breasts again. Flicking my nipples, he fucked himself into my hand as he panted.

“Stop,” He grunted, grabbing hold of my wrist. “Grab your legs.”

I did as I was told. It had been difficult to let go of my control in the beginning. I was such a tightly wound person, my need for schedules and sameness a byproduct of my upbringing. I was raised to be prim, proper, and well put together. Even if I did not feel well, I was to be washed, dressed, and smiling all day long. Father would not accept anything less.

When my sexual relationship with Hoseok started, that was still a large part of who I was. When we changed we were frozen in time. It took a lot to cause great change within our kind. For myself, I had only had two since the burning stopped. The first was my decision to stop hunting the humans in my area. Animal blood helped calm the raging anger and depression I carried over from the last night I was alive. The second had been Hoseok’s arrival. Our mates changed us in the most profound way, and his existence made the looming sadness I carried with me fade. It was not gone, it would never fully heal for that was impossible, but he made the gaping hole in my heart three times smaller.

The other thing that changed was my horrible habit of controlling the people around me. Jin and the others all commented on my inability to relax or let go. Jimin, the first person Jin had ever changed, had joked that I was the only vampire in existence with wrinkles. I laughed at the time, but after Hoseok came to me I realized he had been right. I was always stressed, always striving for perfection, and always disappointed when it never came to fruition.

Laying underneath him, I was in awe at how easily I pushed my legs up against my chest. My arm pinned them down. There was not a worry about how improper I looked or if my hair was splayed out nicely. I did not care if this was perfect because I knew we were. Hoseok pressed himself to my entrance and I smiled. I did not need perfection so long as I had him.

Pushing himself into me, he cried out in pleasure while I chanted ‘yes’ over and over and over again. Buried to the hilt, Hoseok took a moment to hook my legs around his hips and kissed the tip of my nose. With a soft declaration of his love, he began to move.

I held onto his arms with everything I had. Hoseok was stronger than I was so I did not need to worry about my own strength bothering him. Outside the storm raged on while we rejoiced in our pleasure. Hoseok’s thrusts were hard, steady, and hit my deepest spot with precision. After so long we had one another memorized.

“S’good,” Hoseok slurred, his hips pistoning into me roughly. “You feel so good.”

I whimpered, “Baby, please.”

He grabbed my hair, roughly shoving my face into the mattress as he lifted his leg onto the bed. I wailed, his cock pounding into my g-spot making me see stars. His own sounds grew louder, growls and snarls filling the space as the sounds of us coming together grew louder and louder.

Fire was pooling in my lower abdomen, so hot it rivaled my change. I could feel Hoseok pulsing inside of me, his grip on my hair still hard and strong. Then he tugged, my head lifting off the bed as he manhandled me. He forced our mouths together, a clashing of teeth and tongue as he chased his own high. Time began to slow before fading, the fire all consuming, and I could no longer respond to Hoseok’s kisses. He let go of me then and I fell back onto the bed.

Everything faded into white, hot, searing sparks shooting up my entire body and licking my bones on their way out. I could vaguely hear the sound of something being torn as my body convulsed with the weight of my orgasm. Above me, Hoseok stuttered.

“I love you,” He said, his own pleasure closing in.

I hardly paid him any attention. Our kind would never tire, never sleep, or sweat, but I was positive I was at least two of them at this moment. I felt like I was in a trance as I watched him fall apart, his eyebrows pulled together and his mouth agape. His grunts and groans were more like cries now, higher and pitch and breathless. Then, with one final thrust he was spilling into me.

We stayed that way for a while, Hoseok inside of me as we looked into one another's eyes. Neither one of us was particularly tired but I knew we would take a break before our next round. The both of us enjoyed the human charade of cuddling and pretending to sleep for a time. Eyes closed and breathing evenly before finally one of us would break. Outside a particularly loud rumble made him grin.

“How would dancing in the rain sound?” He asked.

I laughed, heart full now that he was here.

“What kind of dancing?” I teased, already knowing my answer.

“Well, it will not require clothing.”

I pushed him away, sending his body back toward the other side of the room. With a wicked grin, Hoseok jumped to catch me, but I was already gone. If Hoseok was the strongest, I was the fastest. I ran down the hall, into my father's study, and out of the window with Hoseok fast on my trail.

My change had always seemed so meaningless before Hoseok came. Years spent wondering Louis’s reasoning and subsequent abandonment. I had never seen nor heard from either Louis or my mother since that night, and that left so much time for me to grow angry and bitter about this life. I hated what I was and who I was forced to be.

Now, running in with Hoseok in the afterglow of our love I realized something that would cause a third change within me. Everything that had led me up to this moment was worth it. All of the pain, loneliness, and heartache I had gone through was not a curse. It was a precursor. Every memory leading to the very reason for my existence closer still. A smile stretched across my face, one of my rarest, largest of smiles, and I let Hoseok catch me.

As long as he was here, nothing else mattered.

© chimcess, 2024. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[altocat]

That ask about sephiroth having bad eyesight made me think of like. AGZ fucking around and stealing hojo's glasses to put them on and make fun of him to cheer up sephiroth like that one calvin and hobbes strip but then sephiroth, buoyed by their actions is like. "Give them here. I'll make fun of him too" and then he puts them on and goes "huh." Like:

~~~~~

"Hm." Sephiroth squinted through the lenses, baffled by the sudden shift in the world.

Angeal laughed. He was half a room away, but he had a smile of full teeth, creases in his face from the joy of it. "Yeah, the guy's blind as a bat, isn't he?"

He didn't get much chance to respond to that.

"Your pupils are freaking OUT, dude." Zack was peering at him- his eyes were the same shade as Angeal's. Was that the mako eyes people spoke about?

"I didn't realise that poster on the wall had words." He remarked. "Who would leave a cat hanging on a branch anyway?"

"You're joking, right?"

"No, of course not." He didn't mean to sound as defensive as he did. "Do you think there's a good reason to leave a cat hanging?"

The three of them were silent in the way he had come to recognise as meaning he'd said something Abnormal- except this time it was punctuated by the weird glances they were giving each other.

Angeal picked something up from the desk next to him, took a few steps back, and held it up "Sephiroth," He didn't like that tone of voice. "Just to check, what does this say?"

He narrowed his eyes, which made the light less glaring, but then things were indistinct again, so he took a hand to the glasses and adjusted them until it was clear again- which gave him a very good look at the growing concern on his friends' faces- but did make the thing clarify into a written page. "Report on the incident- That's your report from last month." His frown deepened. "Is that why he wears these things? So he can read things from the next desk over? Why doesn't he just get closer if he wants to read something? Though, I wouldn't put it past him to be going out of his way to snoop on people-"

"Seph, can you take those off and read it?"

"What, from over there? Don't be absurd. Do I look like a pair of binoculars to you?"

They were Looking at each other again. Was this normal? Did they always do this when he spoke? It was disconcerting.

Genesis plucked the glasses off his face, and he scowled, the sudden smeariness of everything exacerbating the growing pain in his head.

Genesis moved his hand- it was a test he recognised immediately.

"Three." He said, before Genesis even had a chance to ask.

Genesis was silent for a second. Sephiroth could imagine, now, more of those Looks.

He took the paper from Angeal- the white shape moving to his hand.

"What?"

"Well, now what is it?"

"What's what? I told you I can't read from half a room-"

"No, I mean my hand."

His... hand?

Sephiroth squinted again. He could sort of see a darker shade over- was that his hand?

"How am I supposed to know? I can't see what position your hand is in."

That silence definitely felt like a Look.

"Okay, please explain how the fuck you were telling how many fingers i was holding up."

"Hand position." Wasn't this obvious? "It's never one- it's always two, three, four or five." He held his own hand up to demonstrate. "Two fingers tilts the hand inward slightly, three tilts it outwards, four even further outward, and five is straight up, but the splay of the thumb sticks out more compared to one."

Genesis held up his other hand.

"Four."

This was obviously the wrong answer, given the increasingly uncomfortable mood of the room.

"No, it's two. I just tilted my hand the other way."

"How was I supposed to know it wasn't four, then?"

"Seph, that's not how you're- the point is you're supposed to be able to count each finger. It's a vision test for blurring, not for recognising patterns."

He was about to ask how the fuck he was supposed to count fingers, but then a realisation hit him.

All the long silences and Looks and tests...

He'd failed at something.

He was supposed to be able to do these things, wasn't he?

Something Angeal said earlier caught his attention. He'd said hojo was blind as a bat as if that was notable, but not concerning.

He chose his words carefully

"Are some people simply... better at seeing than others?"

That familiar silence of Fucking Up settled once again.

"Dude," Said Zack. "We have GOT to get your eyes tested."

Imperfect, said a reassuring voice in the back of his head. Imperfect, just like everyone else.

Imperfect, agreed another part of him, one much less soothing. Identically to Hojo.

HHHHHHHHHHHHH ANON WTF THIS IS SO GOOD I'VE BEEN AMBUSHED ASDFGDSADFDS

Sephhhh sweetheart it's okay cool guys wear glasses tooooo asedfghjgfds

[amber-laughs]

What would Jon Snow's favorite flavour of chips be? I have an argument to win, and we've both agreed that you're probably the best authority on this

candidates and reasonings!

he's a health bro to cope with a lack of control over his childhood and accidentally internalizing catelyn only buying sugar-free snacks (lettuce chips/cucumber chips)

2. original/cheese pringles (the bastards of the chip world, pringles in general aside from sour cream)

3. kettlecorn (just feels like something he'd pull out during a date with ygritte and she breaks up with him for it) (also kettle+corn = voter fraud callback)

4. pretzels (I actually think these are decent. he'd like the more solid texture I feel)

5. beef jerky (because ghost likes it and he's too bone tired to get a seperate bag on movie nights with himself and his dog)

I mean chips in the wider sense of the word

@thecounselorfeline this is one of the most important questions ever asked. unfortunately for everybody i think he’d be a beef jerky guy. you just fucking know three finger hobb is making that shit by the barrel before stannis’ men come and plunder their store room. no for most certain castle black has a communal barrel of beef jerky (it’s not always beef) that they all stick their sweaty hands into ala Five Guys’ peanut crates. jon was disgusted at first and wouldn’t partake but then fuck it ya know? his dad got beheaded, robb’s a king, arya’s missing he needs beef jerky like a normal man would need a shot of whiskey and it just rolled from there

[theredofoctober]

BONUS MANNA CONTENT

Between writing chapters I may drop fragments of 'Little One's diaries regarding her captivity under Will and Hannibal. Chronologically out of order

Characters: Reader or Little One (OC)/Will Graham

TW: eating disorders, noncon, kidnapping

---

FUNERAL BELL

Diary,

I've forgotten what wind feels like, in here. The air is so still that I can almost see it, silver prisms cutting across everything like shattered glass. The wind, the rain, I hear it all the time, but what it felt like on my skin I don't remember, whatever's left of the sensation out of focus, like a mirage, like a dream.

I used to spend hours staring out of windows, waiting for appointments and difficult conversations to be over. Now it seems it's almost all I do, hopeless and forlorn. The leaves are maroon, and so many cleave to the branches still that it's like the world beyond Hannibal's house is holding a ragged breath, waiting for me to do something.

Waiting for me to do wrong.

I've grown superstitious, in this dark place, death place, this cenotaph of shadows. Every cobweb and shrouded corner is hungrier than I am, desperate for someone to throw its secrets to the light.

My fathers— they made me like this.

If they are men, and just men, then I'd fear to know anyone beyond these walls again in horror that they, too, might hide that sanguine appetite, not only to kill, but fuck and torment as they will, and anyone they want.

They didn't sleep with Abigail Hobbs, but tossed her between their affections like orcas toying with a stone-battered seal, tearing her to pieces in their ruinous embrace.

They tear and tear at me, too, but I don't die, will never die.

I've always believed that, in some way, my absence of eating made me immortal, cleansed me to such strengths that no ailment could touch me, no failure of organs, nor any symptom common to the things I did. Bed sores, losing my monthly blood, and all the bad temper I could summon failed to break me; even now, cold and logical before the desk my jailer brought for me, I'm sure my illness makes me special, blessed as the saints were that starved, as I do.

This struggle between me and the men— it makes all three of us feel so very much more alive, I see that now. But I resent the power they take from me, that they would quench the last fire I had to survive the nights I can't undo.

I use them, for what they will give me, which isn't much, unless I play their girl. It's getting easier, even without the drugs, to the point that when I hear that whimpering voice, and see the crumpled pantomime of my expression in a mirrored surface, I ask myself: am I just pretending, or is that me? Has that always been me, the fossil of my first self, dug forcefully to the surface?

I can't stop thinking about this afternoon, and what I did to purchase the rarity of a phone call to my parents. Hannibal will no longer allow it— I become too agitated, he says; he doesn't like me crying for others. He's possessive, like that, they both are. My pain is distilled in their bottles, to be savoured by its brewers alone.

Today I clambered onto Will's lap and offered myself for him to drink. I ground myself upon his desperation, watched veins rise upon his clenched fists as I made him hard under the malice of my motions. I tasted the malt of his sweat and the cologne on his pretty white neck as I kissed my way up to his red mouth.

"One," he said, grimly— he always says 'One', a grudging attempt at Dr Lecter's nickname for me. "What are you doing?"

"I want that call, Daddy," I whimpered, into his throat —the veins in it jump-jump-jumped; I wanted to crack them in my teeth like shells and watch him cool in waxen death in Dr Lecter's armchair. I wanted to cry in his shoulder like a princess orphaned by war. I wanted him to fill up the volcanic yawn of my hunger with his fingers and cock to pestle my grief.

"Hannibal said no, but I'll let you do anything," I said— traitor, fork-tongued liar. "I just want to hear their voices. Please, please, please—"

Will ran so hot beneath me I thought I'd made him ill with my affection. I think maybe I had. He wanted to fuck me until I wept; he wanted to put me to bed as though I was very small, and forget that he'd ever touched me, I could feel it.

"If he said no, then why are you asking me?" he asked, through gritted teeth, but I felt his hands on my waist, touching me so awkwardly, with so much needy want that suddenly I needed him inside me, just to squeeze my knuckles shut around that spare shred of power.

"Because you love me," I said, looking into the November waves of his soft eyes, "and I hate you. And you don't want me to hate you. So help me. Please. Please. Please."

I put my tongue into his slick mouth and he moaned so pathetically that I was in awe, for a moment, that he was my captor, and I was not his. But then he was ripping at his buckle like a monk fallen before God in his love of women, and I remembered that I was afraid of him— too late, as the perspiring moon flesh of his hands drew me apart, and he thrust his cock in me with my mouth still on his.

The pleasure— I wish I could pick it out like a knot, that I could put a pin through a doll of it and see it die. But I still feel it all, now, the shift of his pelvis up into mine, his shaking hands on the back of my neck, on my thighs, promise in every fumbled grasp.

I hated him, held back tears even as my middle gleamed with the dirt of him inside me.

"You can call home in the morning," he said, between kisses that will haunt me like the dead. "I'll convince Dr Lecter that you've earned it. And... I think you have."

I lay in his lap, afterwards, his seed warm within me, my face in his shirt, breathing him in, wishing the spores of his pale skin alone could kill me.

Galerina marginata, they call the Funeral Bell, a mushroom that poisons its eater. I'm starting to think that I'm like that, to Will and Hannibal; for every bite of me they dig, dig down into an earthen darkness.

I think I want to see how far they'll go.

[rise-my-angel]

jon every 5 minutes:

“NO he can’t have a bite of your burrito-”

“NO not just a sip of your coffee-”

“Why have I just seen a picture of my son online holding a weapon…”

They have a group chat and it's just constantly filled with pictures of the baby in different places around Castle Black with different weapons. At one point he's laying giggling at the bottom of the stew pot Three Finger Hobb cooks in with the caption "Hobbs got a new ingredient for todays dinner" and Jon comes storming in saying that they are all banned from holding the baby from now on.

[asoiafreadthru]

A Game of Thrones, Jon III

They mounted the steps to the common hall.

Inside, the hall was immense and drafty, even with a fire roaring in its great hearth.

Crows nested in the timbers of its lofty ceiling. Jon heard their cries overhead as he accepted a bowl of stew and a heel of black bread from the day’s cooks.

Grenn and Toad and some of the others were seated at the bench nearest the warmth, laughing and cursing each other in rough voices.

Jon eyed them thoughtfully for a moment.

Then he chose a spot at the far end of the hall, well away from the other diners.

[creatureofsunandsky]

I trusted none of them with the Fool but carried him myself to the sled, loaded him, and clambered up afterward to sit beside him.

--

I saw her swallow. “As an apprentice, the first cleaning of an injured man is one of my tasks.”

“As his friend, it’s my task. Please.”

--

I rose and before he could touch the Fool, I took the rags and medicine from him. “I’ll do it,” I told him.

--

Another, saner part of me was saying softly, “Fool. Fool, it’s all right. You are here with me now, and they cannot hurt you anymore. You are safe here. Oh, Fool. You are safe. Beloved.”

--

Feared that it would alarm him to be touched and feared even more that it would draw me tighter into his misery and wake my own. But at last I took the three steps that carried me around the table. “Fool. You are safe here. I know you can’t believe it just yet, but it’s over. And you are safe.” I stroked the broken hair on his head, rough as the coat of a sick dog, and then pulled him closer to cradle his head against my sternum. His clawlike hands came up and clutched my wrist, and he held himself tighter against me. I let him have his tears. They were the only things I could give him then.

--

He rose and groped his way around the end of the table to where I sat. His hands felt for me, found a shoulder, the side of my face, and then fluttered up to my head and the crown there. He lifted it slightly, and then, with no self-consciousness at all, measured the length of my hair. He walked his fingers down my face, touching the break in my nose, the old scar, the scruff of beard on my chin. If anyone else had done it, it would have felt invasive. Insulting. But I knew he was comparing what I looked like now with what he recalled.

He cleared his throat once more and after a pause he added, “You’re a handsome man still, Fitz. Not as pretty as before Regal broke your face. But you’ve aged well, I judge.”

--

"But what matters, as I started to say, is that I want you to feel safe. So tell me. What can I do to make you feel safe?”

His grip on the knife loosened. “You aren’t irritated with me? Annoyed at my weakness?”

I was startled. “Of course not!”

“You went away so abruptly. When you didn’t come to tell me yourself, I thought … I thought you had wearied of having me depend on you for everything.”

“What would make you feel safer?”

“You do. Being here.”

--

Fool's Assassin/Fool's Quest Robin Hobb

[omnivorousshipper]

Hi Omni!! I think it's been forever since I've sent a request!

How about a Shobbs ABO accidental Mpreg? Luke and Deckard have been hooking up for Deckard's heats and they get caught in the moment 😅 Later, Deckard realizes he's pregnant but doesn't tell Luke for a bit until he corners and questions him. It's a shock and Deckard is hesitant until they go for their first ultrasound! It all clicks about how real everything is! Cue supportive Luke!!!!

Ooooooo!! ABO and mpreg!! I love it!!

~~~

The sun was barely above the horizon when Luke opened his eyes and heard birds chirping outside his bedroom window. He tried to reach up and rub at his eyes when his arm was stopped in it's tracks.

Smiling, Luke knew exactly why.

Laying on his side, Deckard was shoved tightly against his chest. He was sleeping on Luke's left arm and had wrapped his own arm under Luke's right arm. They were thoroughly wrapped around each other.

Pulling his head back enough to look down at the sleeping omega, Luke nuzzled his face against Deckard's head.

He could smell the faint wisps of Deckard's heat, indicating it was finally over.

All around them was a nicely crafted nest of pillows and blankets. Some were originally from Luke's closet while the more expensive materials were bought by Deckard and brought out during his heats.

Luke still wasn't exactly sure when Deckard had decided to trust him enough to ask him to spend his heats with him.

It had been years since Luke had helped with someone's heat, but by the way Deckard limped afterwards with a satisfied smile, he knew he was doing a good job.

This was Deckard's fourth heat.

The first had happened when Luke was in London for a mission. He had been shocked Deckard even knew he was in town when he had gotten the call. After that, the next three were spent at Luke's as it was easier for him.

This also allowed Deckard to spend more time with Sam.

While Deckard had this outer tough guy persona, Luke knew he absolutely melted around children. Sam also picked up on this and swiftly had Deckard wrapped around her finger. Not that he minded in the least.

Luke wondered if maybe that was the reason Deckard had spent a month before his next heat with them.

"Mmmm."

Smiling, Luke held Deckard closer as he slowly woke up.

"Morning, princess. How are you feeling?"

"Good," he mumbled, shoving his face into Luke's chest.

"Want me to make you chocolate chip pancakes?"

"Yes."

Chuckling, Luke gave Deckard a quick kiss to the cheek before sliding out of bed.

Heats took everything out of Deckard, leaving him fatigued and like a zombie for a few days afterwards. Luke would never tell Deckard, but he loved these days the most.

He couldn't wait for Deckard's next heat.

---

The call never comes.

Luke is scared when the three month mark comes and goes, without a text or call from Deckard.

So far, Deckard's heats were on time. Every three months.

But not this time.

Then another month passes.

Nothing.

Luke tries texting Deckard but only receives short response, which made him panic even more.

Next, he calls Hattie, who assured him Deckard was alive and breathing.

This doesn't calm him in the least.

He asked her to check and see if his last heat went well, but all he got in response was a gagging noise. Hattie refused to talk to her brother about his heats. She told him to call Owen.

As soon as he did call Owen, all he got was laughter and a clipped "fuck you, Hobbs" before being blocked.

With his job and Sam, Luke's not able to up and travel to London whenever he wanted to. He continues to try and call Deckard, but the other dodges him.

This is how the next month goes until Mr. Nobody calls him and the Toretto crew up for a mission.

Somehow, he was able to get the Shaw Siblings to show up as well.

Luke knows somethings different even before he sees Deckard. He can identify the omega's scent rooms away and knows that it's different.

His normally bittersweet scent was sweeter and sharper.

When he does actually lay eyes on the omega, he can see other changes.

His skin looks healthier, almost glowing. Meanwhile, his sweater was large, almost baggy on him. Luke had never seen Deckard wear anything so loose-fitting when out in public. He only wore those clothes when lazying around the house.

Staring at Deckard, Luke saw his hand resting on his stomach, rubbing circles into it.

Was he sick?

He would have stood there staring at the omega all day if Dom had nudged him and told Mr. Nobody to start the meeting.

It feels like an eternity before the briefing is over and Mr. Nobody let's them go prepare however they want for the mission.

Luke is hot on Deckard's heels, who had nearly ran out the door.

He found Deckard in the bathroom, on his knees and emptying his stomach.

"Are you ok, Deck?" Luke doesn't hesitate to drop to his knees as well, rubbing down Deckard's back.

The omega is too busy dry heaving to do more than shake his head.

Luke desperately wants to do more for him, but there's not much he can do other than wait out the nausea.

When Deckard finally pulls away and wipes his mouth, he sways on his knees. Luke doesn't even think before wrapping his arms around the smaller and man, pulling him into his lap.

Deckard doesn't fight against his offered comfort, rather shoving himself further into Luke's body. A soft whine leaves him as he squeezes his eyes closed.

"What's going on, Deck? Why didn't you call me for your last heat?" Luke keeps his voice gentle.

"I didn't have a heat," Deckard grunted, voice scratchy.

"What do you mean? I thought you were regular?"

"I usually am," Deckard sighed. "I didn't have my last heat because I'm pregnant."

Luke blinked.

"What?"

"I must have forgotten my birth control during my last heat," Deckard explained, leaning his head on Luke's shoulder.

"Oh."

"That's all you have to say?"

"Give me a minute, would you? It's not every day I hear the might Deckard Shaw is knocked up with my kid."

Luke deserved the soft punch Deckard gives him for that remark.

---

Luke's able to convince Deckard to come back to his house, but has to agree with Owen and Hattie staying as well.

He would rather deal with a rabid raccoon than two overly protective Alpha siblings, but Deckard is firm. If it wasn't for the vulnerable look in his eyes, Luke would have refused. But, as Deckard stares up at him, almost begging, he relents.

The house nearly feels like a mine field whenever the three Alphas are in the same room, but neither Sam or Deckard care as they bond over Deckard's baby bump.

Luckily, Deckard's first ultrasound gets them out of the house before a fight can break out. Neither Owen nor Hattie are interested in going to the hospital and potentially seeing Deckard's naked belly. Luke was relieved to finally have Deckard all to himself.

"There they are!"

Holding Deckard's hand, Luke looked up at the screen and could barely make out a baby.

But there they were.

His baby.

His and Deckard's

"We made a baby..."

Deckard snorted.

"You're just figuring that out, jolly green?"

"It all feels more... real," Luke explains, ignoring the soft jab. "We're really having a kid."

"Uh, well..." The technician clears his throat.

A spike of worry goes through the couple as their heads whip around to stare at him.

"You're actually having twins," he smiled at them. "Here's the other one's head."

~~~

I hope you enjoyed friend!! Thanks for the prompt!

[ficmesideways]

Request for @sacredwarrior88 Gif Source: Fight / Hobbs

Imagine meeting Hobbs at your daughters’ school after she gets into a fight defending Samantha from bullies and you ask him out.

------- Imagine --------

Getting out of work early to have to go and pick up your daughter who had received a brief suspension for fighting had not been the highlight of your day; but after sitting in the principal’s office and finding out why the fight had occurred you couldn’t bring yourself to be too mad at you little one. She had been defending a friend from a bully, and though you wished it hadn’t ended in violence you were still proud. You now sat with her outside the principal’s office, waiting for the other girls’, Samantha, parent to arrive as well. All three children would be suspended for the fight but at least the bully would be out longer and the two girls would return in a few short days. Still, the idea of having to deal with other parent’s had your knee bouncing in anxiety and your daughter noticed.

“Don’t worry Mom, I’ve met Sam’s dad. He is super nice.”

“I’m sure he is honey.” You said smiling at her and leaning back on the child sized chair as you continued your wait. You had just closed your eyes briefly when you heard a deep voice. You opened your eyes and looked up…and up into the smiling face of one of the most handsome…and built men you had ever seen. “You must be Glory’s mom, I’m Luke.” He said, reaching a hand down. You took it to shake it and he easily helped you stand from the chair still smiling. “So, I hear our girls got into a bit of a scuffle.”

“Seems so.” You said face flushing and heart pounding fast, faster when you saw no ring on the finger of the hand that still held yours. “I know the principal wants to have a few words with us but…um…” You couldn’t believe what you were about to do in the middle of your daughter’s school but hell with it, “would you like to go over it more…over lunch?”

His smile brightened even more as his hand stayed interlocked with yours. “I’d like that.” The moment would have been sweet if it wasn’t for the two oohing girls that began giggling and laughing at us.