#ao3 excerpt

[levelofyoureye]

First up is the triple flip-double axel sequence. Regulus turns into it with ease, tapping his right foot on the ice and drawing himself up into as tight of an air position as he can manage. He lands the jump without difficulty, then steps onto his left foot and kicks up right into a double axel. Yet again, he comes down with ease, and as the applause from the crowd picks up he uses it as motivation. That was nothing, he thinks as he takes his crossovers down the ice. Now, it’s just the triple lutz. One more jump, and you’re set. One more jump. One more jump, and it’s the one he’s landed the least in practice. One more jump, and his success rate is still barely above sixty percent. One more jump, and if he falls, his mother will be furious. Lucius will blame it on him nearly killing himself in the short program yesterday, and Regulus won’t be able to deny it. One more jump, and it’s a clean skate.

chapter 30 of my james potter hockey player/regulus black figure skater AU is up now, we're so back y'all! sorry i fell off the face of the earth for a bit–hope you guys accept this as an apology 🫂

[kiwisandpearls]

Excerpt from Chapter 1

summary: this is just a small-ish excerpt from chapter one of my LMK fic named “The Lady Bone Demon’s Vessel”. This is a remake of my Wattpad fic of the same name

warnings: reader goes by they/them, some wording might be potentially different based on if it was changed it as it was uploaded to ao3, potential spoilers for LMK season 2, potential implications of reader having an existential crisis even though they were literally just born

The first thing you had ever felt in your existence was the cold. That’s all you knew for the first few bits of your life. That is until you started to hear quiet whispers all around you. These whispers were mostly unintelligible but every once and a while you’d pick up on a few words. Words such as, ‘Sun Wukong’, ‘Monkey King’, and ‘fulfill destiny’. 

The next thing you heard was a voice.

“…Aren’t they just wonderful?” The voice, although much more clearer than the whispers could’ve ever been, was still slightly muffled. Not only that, but for some reason…the voice sounded almost…familiar to you. How? This was the first time you had ever heard anyone talk. How could you already be familiar with such a voice?

“Of course they would be My Lady. It was only thanks to your cunning genius that you could create such a vessel!” Another voice answered the first voice. This one sounded different, more eager…but who was this ‘Lady’ the voice was referring to? Who was the ‘vessel’? Who were you?

.

.

.

Can I open my eyes? You thought. You wanted to finally use your sight, see something, anything. You wanted to see who those voices were coming from. It took some effort and willpower, but your eyes slowly but surely fluttered open. Your eyesight adjusted and you could finally see who those voices were coming from. In front of you were two people.

One person was a small girl, she had black hair, most of which ran down to her back while some of it was tied up with a blue bun holder. Not only that, but she wore blue eyeshadow and a *white top and a black skirt. The person next to her was clearly older, wearing a black suit with blue stripes and a blue shirt with a blue tie underneath. His hair, while relatively short, was black like the small girl’s with a streak of blue on both sides of it.

You tilted your head at the small girl, pondering, is she the ‘Lady’?

aaand that’s it for the excerpt. If you want to read the full chapter here’s a link to it on ao3. It should be available for those without an ao3 account to view, but if not let me know so I can see if I can change that.

just wanted to post this because 1) I wanna set a pattern for myself that when I have multi chapter fics like this on ao3, I have an excerpt of the fic on tumblr, and 2) I just wanted to let people know that doesn’t worry, I have not quietly abandoned this fic lol.

[tenrousei-kuroi]

"Oh Prongs, really...you're doing me a favor."

[nootcatt]

An Excerpt from

Want So Bad

By HalaeNoor on AO3

Nangong Si finds it to be ironically amusing how everything that he files under good in his life somehow ends up related to Ye Wangxi. It is a phenomenon that happens unconsciously and as soon as he realises that it has happened again, he finds himself laughing and mentally smacking himself. He cannot help it. There is a reason Ye Wangxi is his best friend. All the best things in his life are because of him.  When Nangong Si first started thinking about what he wanted in his life, he was seventeen years and one month old. He remembers that night because that was the night Ye Wangxi told him about his gender identity.   It was a quarter moon night, and the stars were just beginning to show in the night sky because all the lights in the estate were finally turned off.  “Finally,” Ye Wangxi had said, wrapping his blanket tighter around himself. “Now maybe we can see the meteor shower.” For some reason, between the two of them, he always got cold sooner. Which is why he was tightly wrapped up while Nangong Si sat on his blanket with his weight on his hands and his legs spread in front of him. They had pushed the chairs to a side because they both preferred the floors to tweed chairs when they did things like this.  “It doesn’t start for another hour,” Nangong Si reminded him.  “Forty five minutes actually,” Ye Wangxi corrected him, “and that doesn’t mean I can’t be grateful for less light pollution.”  Nangong Si hummed and huffed a laugh at that, but he did not say anything against it. There were already so few things that Ye Wangxi enjoyed, why should he interrupt him now that he finally gets the chance.  He just observed his friend from where he was sitting while Ye Wangxi had his eyes already glued to the sky like some stray meteor would pass by way ahead of scheduled activity. His features were softer then, his cheeks were rounded and his body was smaller than it is now. He identified as a girl then. His hair was longer, but he always kept it rolled up or braided away. That night, it was held up with a simple ballpoint pen that he had been using in class. He was a tomboy. Yet his eyes and his smile have always been the same. Nangong Si found himself smiling whenever Ye Wangxi did. Never as wide or bright as his, though. Ye Wangxi’s smile has always been unparalleled. 

“A-Si,” Ye Wangxi said after a little while, “don’t look at me like that.” Nangong Si realised then that he was staring. He didn’t mean to stare, he was just watching how happy Ye Wangxi looked. “Sorry,” he said and sat up. He folded his legs under him and put his chin on his fists, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” “I’m not uncomfortable,” Ye Wangxi shook his head, “just… you weren’t even blinking.” That sounded a little peculiar to Nangong Si. The whole time he was looking at Ye Wangxi, he did not see the boy move his eyes away from the stars. How did he know that Nangong Si did not blink? “I’ll remember to blink next time I stare,” Nangong Si told him, and that earned him an eyeroll. “I didn’t mean that, dummy,” Ye Wangxi told him, “I mean don't stare.” “Ah Xi'er,” Nangong Si chuckled a little at that, “I will not stare. I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable.” “Don’t be,” Ye Wangxi said, and then they returned to waiting for the meteor shower to start. With nothing to do now that he was told to not watch Ye Wangxi, Nangong Si opened up the bag of chips that they had bought along with the juice boxes that reminded them of when they were little kids. He passed one box to Ye Wangxi and opened one for himself. He was careful not to finish all of it even before the shower started because then there would be no snacks left for after. “A-Si?” Ye Wangxi said when Nangong Si was half way through the box. “Yes?” He asked. “Did you feel bad when I told you not to stare?” That was an unexpected question. Was Ye Wangxi feeling guilty for having done that? Was he afraid of having hurt Nangong Si’s feelings? “Why would I feel bad?” Nangong Si asked, “It’s your right to tell me when you’re uncomfortable with something that I do.” “I was not uncomfortable,” Ye Wangxi told him, “not exactly.” The way he said that, Nangong Si wondered what was going on in his head. Just a little while ago he was so happy to be looking at the sky and now he was saying things like this that didn’t exactly make sense. “Can you tell me what you felt?” Nangong Si asked, and Ye Wangxi remained silent for a while. It made Nangong Si anxious. Even then, when Ye Wangxi did not make his heart beat faster or his breath fall short, Nangong Si cared about his feelings. He cared about when his best friend was feeling upset about something. He cared about his happiness and his smiles. “I…” Ye Wangxi pulled the blanket a little higher over his head, “I don’t know if it will make sense if I try to explain it.”

Nangong Si got up from where he was sitting and sat down on his knees in front of the bundled up Ye Wangxi. Under his blanket, he had his knees pulled up to his chest and half his face hiding behind it. His eyes watched Nangong Si waiting to see how he would react.

“Try me,” Nangong Si told his best friend, “I will tell you if it makes sense or not.”

Ye Wangxi closed his eyes then and pulled the blanket up until all of him was just a bundled up person in front of him. Then his muffled voice sounded from the depths, low and quiet.

“I don’t want anyone to look at me in a body that I don’t associate with.”

“Don’t associate with?” Nangong Si was confused. He hadn’t thought that Ye Wangxi was going through something like that.

“Let me explain,” Ye Wangxi peeked out from under the blanket, “think of it like… Like if you have a uniform. It’s pink and frilly, and it twirls when you spin it too. It's cute. Everyone says you look pretty in it.”

Nangong Si did as he was told, imagining a person in a uniform like that.

“Now,” Ye Wangxi continued, “Everyone else likes it. And it looks really good on other girls. But you hate the frills, and the pink is so bright it makes you want to squint each time you look in the mirror.”

“That was me when dad made me wear that brown frilly suit with the bonnet.” Nangong Si remembered, and Ye Wangxi pulled his head out. It was still hidden behind his knees, but his eyes were very bright and visible.

“That’s how I feel in my body,” Ye Wangxi told him then, “like it is good looking, but I don’t like being in it. I don’t like looking at myself in it.”

“Is that why you’re hiding?” Nangong Si asked, and Ye Wangxi nodded.

“Do you not like to be seen like you are?” Nangong Si asked and Ye Wangxi shook his head.

That could mean two things. Nangong Si decided to confirm.

“What would make you feel better?” he asked, “Would you like to be… curvier? Or…”

“Not curvy,” Ye Wangxi shook his head, “not curvy at all.”

“Then?” He asked.

“I don't know,” Ye Wangxi told him, “I just… I would change things if I could. I just… I just don’t like the way I look. I don’t want you to look at me like this either.”

“I will not look at you,” Nangong Si promised.

“Forever?” Ye Wangxi sounded so innocent when he asked that.

“Well not forever,” Nangong Si did his best to not laugh, “let's see if there's a way to make you feel easier in your body. Or maybe we just swap it for a different one and see if you feel okay being seen like that. You know, like in video games?”

“Like changing avatars?” Ye Wangxi found that thought funny too.

“Yes,” Nangong Si settled down there. Ye Wangxi crosses his legs as well, emerging from the blanket to copy his posture.

“Can I be taller?” He asked.

“Can I be taller?” He asked. “Not taller than me,” Nangong Si specified, “if you get taller than me, I'll have to call you jiejie.” “Don't call me jiejie.” Ye Wangxi shook his head, “you don't even call me meimei.” “What do I call you then?” Nangong Si asked. Ye Wangxi frowned as he thought that over. Then he came to the simplest solution. “Ye Wangxi.” “Ye Wangxi it is then.” He nodded. “But a taller Ye Wangxi,” came another specification. “Less… girly. Less frill, less frocks, no dresses— no makeup.” “Hmm,” Nangong Si hummed, “manly man Ye Wangxi. Big, strong and handsome.” Ye Wangxi blushed at that. He fumbled with his blanket and then a few days later, he told Nangong Si that he really liked the idea of Man Ye Wangxi, even though they missed the first few meteors. Nangong Si did not see any meteors at all though, so he could only chuckle. The only thing he saw was Ye Wangxi watching the stars with a possibility of a future that feels like a fantasy. Then he found himself wondering what would be in his fantasy future.

Read the rest of the fic here (x)

[lauraneato]

Excerpt - Character Dialogue | Trunks & Goku (225 words) From Legend & Legacy Book One, Chapter 4: Ramen Bowl

“It’s like…” Goku paused as he thought, “... making ramen.”

“Ramen?” Trunks looked up finally, with a flat and unimpressed expression. 

Oh no. Here’s the food talk again. Trunks sighed. Goku’s speeches always came back to food.

Goku spoke with his hands, gesturing to different spots in front of him, “Someone is the fire, and someone is the pot.” Goku pointed to a different spot, “Someone is the water, and someone is the stuff you put in the water.” His gestures swirled, “And then time goes by! And then someone else is the noodles, and then someone is the toppings!” He stopped and looked at Trunks, with his arms still out in a grand gesture. “And if any of that didn’t happen, it’s not ramen! Only together, we make it a complete meal.”

The whole concept was absurd to Trunks. But at least Goku wasn’t yelling, so Trunks humored him. “And which one am I in the ramen?”

Goku smiled, “You’re the bowl!”

Trunks glowered. “I can’t be the bowl. I haven’t been holding us together.”

Goku’s smile widened as it met his eyes. “Then maybe you can start thinking of yourself as the bowl.”

“I don’t want to be the bowl. You’re more of the bowl.”

“Nuh-uh.” Goku shook his head. “I’m the chopsticks.”

Trunks huffed a laugh. “This metaphor is getting out of hand.”

---

Complete Book on AO3: Legend & Legacy: Book One (258k words)

[theorist-fox]

Touch starved as he may be, there is still deep-rooted discomfort whenever his hunger is fundamentally fed. Sex he can endure. It’s a physical need: your hands on him when he’s practically buried in your guts are a natural necessity for your balance.

But when your touch isn’t inherently sexual, that’s where he struggles. 

When you linger nearby, fingers in his hair or cheek on his shoulder, he can’t fathom why. You have so many possibilities, so many spotlights ready to point your way, that he fails to understand why you would want to wander in the dark instead. 

Why you, unbelievably patient, put up with a path so brutal, with a wall so thick and bricks much too heavy to bear.

He shuts that voice. Stabs it ruthlessly, using the gentleness of your head resting against him as the sharpest weapon. He shows it off, flaunts it around—look at this.

Look at what I can have.

[thedaselcor]

Love Arthur as gay, love Arthur as bi/pansexual, but may I present... Arthur as fundamentally Merlinsexual: His whole life, Arthur had thought that he would marry for his kingdom. He’d never been especially interested in women, but he assumed that it was normal and, since he had to marry for Camelot anyway, that it really didn’t matter. Then Merlin kissed him, and he kissed Merlin back. And the kiss was passionate and feverish, and it spent several minutes getting more passionate and feverish before he’d been able to pull himself away. And something about it ignited the bond he’d shared with Merlin since the day he’d had Merlin imprisoned and he’d refused to back down. That spark… 

[inkyrainstorms]

The Martian Stan AU - The Apology - Excerpt

Ford was working as he always was nowadays, half listening to the radio behind him and trying to stop his heart from jumping in his throat every time that Stan stopped speaking for more than 10 minutes and nothing but static filled the room again. Ford wasn’t sure what exactly his brother was talking about anymore, as he welded a set of support bolts into place, but he nearly dropped the welding gun on his foot when Stan suddenly spoke after a long stretch of silence.

“Ford?”

Ford fumbled for a moment before shoving a stack of loose paper aside and  setting the welding gun down on the table beside him. He put his hands on either side of the radio on the same cluttered table and took a deep breath to calm his pounding heart.

“Yes, Stanley?” He asked softly.

Stan, of course, didn’t hear him, but had paused as if waiting for a response before continuing anyway.

“I know, I know damn well you’re probably never gonna hear this, but I need to say it anyway before… Well. I don’t need to eat as often and shit and I know you’d love to figure out why but… I’m not sure how long I’m gonna last out here either way.”

Ford didn’t say anything, staring down at the wooden grain of the table like he could burn a hole clean through it with his thoughts alone. His palms ached from where he’d dug in his fingernails, and his shoulders mangled to hunch even further.

Stan laughed. It was a bitter, ugly sound.

“Ah, damnit. This isn’t about me. Can’t even do this right, you idiot” His brother took a deep breath. “ But Ford… I think I need to apologize.”

Some old, fossilized hurt in Ford’s heart snarked ‘you think?’, but Ford nearly gagged as he suffocated the thought before it could take root anew. He felt sick.

Oblivious to Ford’s turmoil —and of course he was, because he didn’t know Ford was right here, that Ford wasn’t going to let one of the last things he ever said to Stan be that he thought Stan was worthless— Stan continued.

“I don’t think I ever got to, back when… you know. What I said that night is a bit of a blur to me to be honest, but I know I was spouting nonsense and saying all the wrong shit and… Moses, Ford. I know it’s too late now but I’m sorry. I really am.”

Something in Ford simultaneously healed and broke in his chest at Stan’s words, but he didn’t get the chance to process it because Stan wasn’t quite done yet.

“And I need you to know it wasn’t on purpose. I’d never do that to you. Never. Why would I ever want to hurt you like that, poindexter? I just… I was scared and I didn’t want to be alone in Glass Shard Beach scraping barnacles off the Taffy shop for the rest of my miserable life and I wasn’t. Thinking.” Stanley’s voice had been rising in a steady crescendo, but suddenly got so quiet that Ford had to strain to catch the words in the buzzing static. “I’d… I shouldn’t have gone into the gym. I shouldn’t have even gone near your friggin project. I didn’t go there to break it, I would never—“ his voice broke. “I thought you knew that. I’m your brother, you dingbat, why would I ever want to hurt you?When did I ever not support you, man?”

“Then why did you do it?” Ford whispered back, just as quiet. That old anger he’d tried to push down rose up again, simmering. Stan knew he’d poured months of his life into the perpetual motion machine, that he’s shed more than a few tears and more than a little blood and sweat over it. And then he’d thrown it all away?

“I’d only hit the table, ya know. Didn’t think the grate’d pop off or anything like that. I tried to fix it. I know I should’ve told you, I know and I’m sorry, just…” I was scared, goes unspoken. Ford’s legs were shaking, and he tried to steadily himself by leaning further on the table. “I know I should’ve told you. I know. I messed up fuckin’ good, Sixer.” Ford flinched.

“I’m. I know you’re never gonna get the apology you deserve cause I was too much of a coward to actually call you and say something.” Stan’s voice was shaking. And I’m sorry for that too. And I’m sorry for not listening to you about your stupid book, and I’m sorry— ugh. We’ll be here all day trying to name my fuckups. That’s the last sorry you’ll ever hear from me you nerdy, uh, nerd.”

Stan sighed loud enough for the radio to crackle and screech. “Good going, Stan,” he muttered, his voice getting quieter as he evidently walked away, done.

And all that was left was static.

Ford pushed himself away from the table and sank into the rolling chair nearby, putting his face in his hands and trying to breathe as the chair was pushed back several feet from his momentum.

“He’s lying,” Ford tried to say, but it tasted like ash in his mouth. “He’s trying to make it so… so.” He faltered. “He’s obviously trying to deceive me.”

Trust no one.

But he had trusted Stan. And Stan got hurled into a Dimension of Nightmares for it.

Stan has no reason to lie, Fords mind whispered, because it was always against him no matter what stance he took. He doesn’t think you’re coming to save him. Why wouldn’t he try to explain the worst mistake of his life in a fit of guilt and complete loss of hope?

“Shut up,” Ford said intelligently, and he didn’t dare pry his face away from his hands, heels of his palms digging into his eye sockets and pushing up his glasses to his hairline

Stan had no reason to lie.

Stan came to help him at the drop of a hat after ten years of being too afraid to even call him. 

Stan… Stan didn’t mean to break his project. It was a stupid accident, done by a stupid teenager too afraid to admit his own failings. Stan didn’t betray Ford. Not like he thought his twin had, for all these years.

Ford was wrong. About everything. He was wrong about Stan and Bill and Fiddleford and, Moses, had he ever done anything right in his entire, miserable life? Ford didn’t know. 

The empty bunk bed beneath his own  for those last few fateful months before Backupsmore, the tears and screaming at a boat that never even left the shore, the years of resentment and refusing to believe he missed his own twin, what was it all for? Because Ford suddenly felt the sharp sting of grief all over again, throbbing with a ferocity he’d refused to acknowledge for the past few weeks. Years. 

It was like he was 17 years old again, mourning for all the wrong reasons and all the right ones too. For his brother. For his chance to become someone worthy of recognition, of love. For pushing away the ones who’d already loved him.

For the first time since the day Stan fell into the portal all those weeks ago, Ford pulled his knees up to his chest on the seat and, in the safety of his own arms, he wept.

The static crackled on, steady and unchanging. Unforgiving.

———————

@aroace-get-out-of-my-face @littlelilliana15 (if anyone else wants to be tagged pls let me know! I’m going to probably be posting more for this au sometime this week)

I have ideas for a mini comic and a whole animatic using Space Oddity so I’ll just have to see how far I get, really

[kiwisandpearls]

Excerpt of Chapter 2

summary: a small-ish excerpt from chapter 2 of The Lady Bone Demon’s Vessel.

warnings: potential spoilers for seasons 2 and 3, reader goes by they/them pronouns, MK and Sandy might potentially be OOC, potential mentions of amnesia, font may look different from ao3 version as this taken directly from my google docs, before slight revisions

You were entirely not used to walking. At all. For the first few minutes of your life in this new world, you spent it merely stumbling around like a newborn baby. You let out a small whimper and leaned against a wall as the sunlight and loud noises of the outside world caused you to feel a headache coming on. (Which was another thing). You were also entirely not used to how (bright and loud) this world was.

(Figures), you thought to yourself as you tried to catch your breath, (maybe I should’ve just stayed in the cave…) at that thought, you shook your head and pushed yourself off of the wall. (No). You weren’t going to go back just yet. There was so much for you to see in this new world…you couldn’t give up yet. Sweat beaded down your forehead as you staggered out of the alleyway, swaying from side to side all the while.

You paused, this time hunching over to catch your breath. Your head was pounding, your vision was blurry, your legs felt like wet slop barely holding you upright. Every part of your body was practically (screaming) at you to just (go back in the cave), but you just looked up, and continued staggering onwards.

(One step…) you thought to yourself before taking a small step forward despite your legs trembling feverishly

(Two steps…) you took another step forward.

(Three steps…!) as you took one last final step, your body gave out on you. Blotchy black spots inked your vision, you could no longer feel your legs underneath you, and it felt like you had been hit over the head with a sledgehammer. It was all too much, and before you knew it, you slammed face first onto the gray pavement, which only ended up intensifying your headache.

The last thing you heard before your vision went black and you drifted into unconsciousness was the sounds of something screeching to a stop and someone running towards you.

here’s the excerpt of chapter 2 of LBD’s Vessel!! Here’s the full version on ao3

[tenrousei-kuroi]

I would just like to say that I constantly revisit your starcest fics on AO3 and they are all just *chef’s kiss* 😘 Nobody writes them quite as dark as you and you always have such unique premises for your fics that just spark my imagination! I really adored your Regulus Black is a Squib series in particular! Do you think you’ll ever revisit the Wings on the Blast fic you wrote? I was so excited when James and Remus were introduced to that series. I was really interested in their dynamic and how the rest of that story would play out. Either way, I love your work and wish you all the best!! 😊❤️

♡＾▽＾♡ I'm so glad you've been liking them! I'm always a little worried that one day people will realize that I've basically been writing the same fic over and over for a decade and call me out on it lol.

I will absolutely finish Wings on the Blast...I've got too much of the rest of it written to stop now, *hehe*. I meant to post the second chapter last month but some stuff got in the way. I'm so thrilled people have been asking about it <3 <3 I'll put an excerpt from the next chapter at the bottom of this post.

And I'm so sorry for the late response! I've been in and out of the country travelling some for work so a lot of my inboxes have been being neglected!

Anyway there are two fests I'm currently committed to and a third that I'm eyeballing (someone needs to rein me in for my own good, seriously), but after that Wings on the Blast and Ceremonious Nerves are top of my priorities list because I'm DYING to finish them and I'm feeling particularly motivated with those ones right now.

Regulus rolled over in Sirius’s lap and looked up at James fearfully. “You saying you didn’t have a good time?” Sirius asked carefully. James laughed. “Of course I did,” he admitted, circling the bed and smiling. “You know me, Padfoot, you know me so well.” Satisfied that Regulus’s wounds were fully dressed, Sirius called for Remus to bring some clothes and began dressing his brother for bed. Regulus was staring at the bloodstains on the sheets with a worryingly vacant expression. Noticing this, Sirius pulled his brother into a half hug and said coyly, “You don’t have to sleep here.” James smiled wickedly. “He can sleep with me.” Sirius smiled even wider. “Took the words right from my mouth.” Regulus froze like a rabbit caught far from its burrow. “Siri—” Regulus sounded panicked, near tears even. Sirius pulled his brother by a callous grip on his neck, pushing him towards the bathroom. “Go get ready for bed,” he ordered. James watched Regulus’s trembling form scuttle away from them, an obvious hunger on his face. “Don’t get any ideas, Prongs,” Sirius snipped. James raised an annoyed eyebrow. “Merlin you finicky bastard. You said—” “I know what I said,” Sirius snapped. “And I meant it but not now.” James ground his teeth. He was uncomfortably erect after watching Regulus’s naked body writhe on the bed. “Padfoot I swear to god if you’re just fucking with me. Maybe your family secret needs spilling after all.” Sirius rolled his eyes. “You promised to help me first, remember?” James felt his fingers twitch. He could still feel the smooth metal of the piercing in his grasp. “I thought I had,” he grumbled. “Just take him for tonight and let him worry. Let him see how you treat your favorite things.” Sirius eyed Remus with a wolfish grin. The other man had stepped back a few paces and was pretending to examine the sheet music laid out on Regulus’s music stand. James narrowed his eyes. “Having that much trouble keeping him in line, eh? Need me to hang out in the periphery as some sort of threat?” “I know your talents.” James groaned. “To think a decade ago I sat down next to you on that fucking train because I thought you looked so helpless and alone.” Sirius cracked a broad smile. “I’ll make good on my word, James. For now just...help me show my brother exactly what lies beyond the doors of this cushy home he has.” Remus coughed in disbelief. The other two men ignored him. Regulus never returned from the bathroom. Sirius seemed to expect this and marched in to drag him out. Regulus begged pathetically the whole while. “Please Sirius,” Regulus said sadly. “Don’t send—I...I want to sleep with you!” “Maybe later, Regulus. For now, leave.” Sirius’s voice was cold and Regulus fussed the whole while as James dragged him from his bedroom, Remus trailing behind them sullenly.

Poor poor Reggie, hopefully Remus can at least be nice...

[rosaliamama-mia]

Keith wakes up before Lance. It is dark in their room. Their room—whose room was it originally, Keith doesn't know.

Lance shifts quietly but doesn't wake, and his hair tickles Keith's arm as he sleeps, softly breathing like a blue hammock, paradisiacal. Everything evil becomes bearable—if only for a moment.

Keith thinks, I've loved you my whole life, which isn't possible. My life only started when I loved you, which is.

I want you, Keith realizes with such sudden ferocity he almost sits up out of bed. Only, his arm is trapped underneath Lance’s sleeping figure, and Keith would rather chop off his own arm than startle Lance from his sweet dreaming.

Keith cards his fingers through the feathery locks of Lance’s hair, fingertips ghosting against his temple. Lance is sleeping, and Keith risks a small kiss on his forehead to release this wave of affection that threatens to overwhelm him.

He squeezes Lance’s shoulder one last time before mournfully slipping out of bed, carefully maneuvering so as not to wake Lance. Keith shuts the bathroom door before fumbling in the darkness for the light switch. He wants Lance to be able to keep sleeping. The water takes a few minutes to get hot. He brushes his teeth with Lance’s blue toothbrush.

Keith thinks about the sound of water while he washes his face, a habit he’s only just recently picked up under Lance’s persistent insistence. What does water sound like to Lance on the other side of the wall? Can he even hear it? Is he awake? Keith likes hearing a shower running when he’s in bed. It's never loud enough to keep him awake. It's unobtrusive.

Keith wants to fall asleep in the shower and let his troubles be washed away by the warm water.

He turns off the lights and opens the bathroom door, and he can see Lance in bed. He’s completely covered with blankets. He has a pillow under his head and a pillow on top and a pillow in his arms, a replacement for Keith. It is almost time for them to start their day and Keith still doesn’t want to leave. He wants to ignore the universe and never talk to anybody else. He wants to fall asleep in Lance’s arms and never wake up.

He wants to quit being a paladin and languidly climb back in bed with Lance; wants to be the warmth that fills the space next to him. He wants to wake up again in a tangle of limbs so intertwined he can’t begin to tell where he ends and Lance begins.

He wants Lance’s everything, his gentle smile, and the radiant one too, his laugh—the special one, reserved for Keith and only Keith—his sweaty palms, his brown hair, his freckled face, his piercing eyes, his sleepy confused look when he wakes up, and the smile that follows when he sees Keith.

Keith wants it all. He doesn’t want to share.

[c-h4nn]

In the hoofprints and faraway glimpses of deer, upon the geometric backs of turtles and among the plentiful fish and waterfowl, in the verdant woods spilling with nuts and fruits and flowers, in the warm summer breeze, Olrox could almost see Sioketa, could almost touch him, nearly tasting him in bitter fox grapes.

[powerful-niya]

— (hαppílч єvєr αftєr.)

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 𝙷𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝚆𝚎𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙰𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝙽𝚊𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙷𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚊! (𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟻)

Link to One-shot Below ↴ Wattpad | AO3

Pairing˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Naruhina 

Synopsis˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡On their honeymoon night, newlyweds Naruto and Hinata Uzumaki indulge in a night of passion, love, and deep intimacy at a luxurious love hotel—a place they had always dreamed of visiting together. 

What begins as a night of pleasure quickly turns into something much more—a physical and emotional awakening, a celebration of their love, and the first of many nights as husband and wife. 

Content Tags˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Affectionate Sex • Anniversary Celebration • Body Worship • Bridal Lingerie • Candlelit Romance • Couple Goals •Clit Play • Cunnilingus • Dirty Talk • Domestic Bliss • Erotic Romance • Fantasies & Fantasizing • Fingering • First Night as Newlyweds • Fluff & Smut • Foreplay • Frottage • Honeymoon • Husband Appreciation • Honeymoon•Husband/Wife • Intimacy • Lingerie • Loss of Control • Love Hotel • Love Making • Marathon Sex • Multiple Orgasms • Newlyweds Bliss • Oral Sex • Overstimulation • Panties • Passionate Sex • Pillow Talk • Power Play • Praise Kink • Sensory Overload • Sixe Difference Kink • Soft Dom!Naruto • Strip Tease • Sub!Hinata • Sweet & Spicy • Tooth-Rotting Fluff • Vaginal Sex • Wedding Anniversary Special • Wholesome • Wife Appreciation • Voice Kink • 2025.

✨March 22, 2025✨

Overall Word Count˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚12.7K

Tumblr Post: Word Count˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚2.1K

Preview ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

"Congratulations on your marriage, Mr. and Mrs. Uzumaki!"

"Arigatou gozaimasu!"

Those words.

Naruto and Hinata had spoken those words countless times throughout their wedding day—again and again, from morning until night, to smiling faces, to cheering guests, to loved ones beaming with joy. 

They bowed deeply, thanking every well-wisher, every elder, every dear friend who had come to witness the moment they had waited for their entire lives.

And yet—no matter how many times they heard it. Congratulations!

No matter how many times they said it. Thank you!

It never lost its magic.

Never dulled.

Never stopped feeling surreal.

It was like a dream they never wanted to wake up from. Like something too beautiful, too perfect, too vast to fit inside a single day.

They were married.

Finally, undeniably, irrevocably bound to one another.

Tied together by fate, by love, by the very vows they had exchanged beneath the sky.

Today and always. 

Even now, with the wedding behind them and their honeymoon finally in full swing, their hands remained locked together, fingers tightly intertwined—just as they had been hours ago—

Standing beneath the altar.

Exchanging the very wedding bands that now shimmered on their fingers.

The wedding ceremony had been long, yet it unfolded so gracefully, so beautifully, stretching through the day in a haze of indescribable emotions—and neither of them would have had it any other way.

Every moment had been perfect.

From the slow, breathtaking walk to the altar—where, for the first time all day, their eyes truly met, seeing each other not just as Hinata and Naruto, but as bride and groom…

…as two souls about to become one. 

To their wedding vows—spoken in trembling voices, with blushing cheeks and teary eyes, each word drawn not just from the heart, but from the very depths of their souls. 

To the way their hands trembled as they slipped their wedding bands onto each other's fingers, to the thunderous applause and joyful cheers that erupted the moment their lips finally met in their first kiss as husband and wife.

They could still remember it vividly. The way it felt.

Deep.

Warm.

All-consuming.

Where the rest of the world faded into nothing, where time itself seemed to pause, where there was no one else, nothing else—only them.

And then finally—

The reception. 

An evening overflowing with joy and laughter, surrounded by their dearest friends and family. An evening where cups upon cups of sake were poured and savored, where glasses clinked high in the air, voices lifting in heartfelt toasts, and embarrassing stories spilled freely. 

Much to Naruto and Hinata's dismay. 

They ate and ate until their bellies were full, danced until their legs could barely hold them up, and laughed until their tummies ached, tears glistening at the corners of their eyes.—

Until breathlessness became bliss.

Until they were lost in the magic of the night, carried away until the stars shone high above them.

Yes.

Every moment had been exactly as they had imagined.

Exactly as they had wanted. 

A perfect day.

A perfect beginning to their forever.

And now, with nightfall upon them, it was time to unwind. 

To indulge.

To finally enjoy a night that belonged to no one else but them.

A sleek gold key slid smoothly across the counter, the soft scrape of metal against polished wood filling the space between them. It came to a halt just inches from where Naruto and Hinata stood, catching the warm, rose-tinted glow of the lights above.

Their gazes dropped.

There, resting against the polished counter, was their hotel key, and dangling from it, a small, heart-shaped keychain—a detail so charming, so deceptively innocent, it almost felt out of place.

Naruto chuckled, "Heh, cute."

He cast a sideways glance down at his wife, his grin widening at the sight of her flushed cheeks, the way her lavender eyes lingered on the key on the counter—though her expression told a different story. 

Because while the key itself may have seemed sweet and cutesy—

The place it led to?

Not so much.

The engraving on the key glinted under the low, intimate lighting, the delicate letters etched into its surface reflecting back at them—

"Suite 707."

"Your room has been set up exactly as requested," the hotel receptionist chirped, the words flowing effortlessly from her lips—as if she'd recited those words a thousand times before.

She was young, poised, with red lips painted into a welcoming smile and chestnut-brown hair pulled into a high, sleek bun, not a single strand out of place.

Her blouse hugged her curves, emphasizing a rather generous bust, and the way she leaned forward just slightly, elbows resting delicately on the counter, told them everything they needed to know.

She was eager for her job.

Perhaps, a little too eager.

From the moment Naruto and Hinata stepped inside, from the second her gaze landed on their glistening wedding bands, her demeanor had been rather…playful.

Naruto sensed it—the way her eyes lingered, watching them just a little too closely.

Like she had seen hundreds of newlyweds before them.

Some shy.

Some bold.

Some still caught in the daze of saying "I do."

But something about Naruto and Hinata amused her more than the rest. 

Maybe it was the way Naruto's grip on Hinata's hand never wavered, his thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles over her knuckles—gentle, yet possessive.

Or maybe it was the way Hinata's cheeks flushed so easily, her lavender eyes flickering with something soft, unsure—yet undeniably excited.

Maybe it was the eagerness thrumming between them.

The quiet thrill of their first night as husband and wife.

Or maybe, it was simply the fact that they had been waiting for this moment for so long—waiting to come here.

They had talked about this place for years, wondered what it would be like, joked about making the trip one day.

And now, as husband and wife—they were finally here.

The Secret Garden.

A love hotel.

A five-star one, too.

It was a hidden oasis, tucked away in the southernmost reaches of Kyushu, Japan—where the air was constantly warm, the nights stretched long, and the sea breeze carried the kind of temptation that lingered like the burn of good sake.

This was no ordinary hotel.

Wasn't for hurried travelers, tired businessmen, or even families on vacation. 

No. 

This place was built solely for lovers. 

A place where intimacy thrived behind closed doors.

Where secrecy was expected.

Where pleasure was promised.

Where desire was indulged.

A retreat for couples who wanted to disappear, to exist in a world of their own making—if only for a little while.

And just stepping into the reception area promised exactly that.

Soft, ambient lighting glowed from rose-gold chandeliers. The walls were draped in deep red velvet, the fabric rich and indulgent, meeting plush, matching cushions that lined the elegant chairs in the seating area.

Beneath their feet, the marble floor gleamed, smooth and cool—a striking contrast to the warmth that pulsed through the air, creeping into their cheeks, blooming deep within their chests. 

Flowers were everywhere. 

Makes sense, given the love hotel's name.

Many were arranged in elegant vases, others draped along the walls, cascading in lush, flowing garlands. Some were even woven into a breathtaking petal arch, framing the grand entrance to the lobby.

Their fragrance filled almost every corner of the building—so fresh, so sweet, so intoxicating.

And if that wasn't enough—there were other scents, too.

Subtle hints of rosewood and vanilla.

Not overwhelming, but just enough.

Enough to latch onto the senses.

Enough to sink beneath the skin.

Enough to warm the chest and make the eyes feel just a little heavier, a little hazier.

Like…an aphrodisiac.

Here and there, the walls were adorned with intimate artwork—portraits of lovers entwined, their bodies bare, sculpted in soft, artistic depictions of passion.

It was beautiful.

It was sensual.

It was exactly the kind of place Naruto and Hinata had always wanted to visit.

And for the next few weeks—it was all theirs.

"I truly hope you two enjoy your stay." The receptionist’s voice rose once more, her nails drumming lightly against the desk—a soft, rhythmic click, click, click.

"And if you need anything—" She paused, her red lips curling with amusement, "Anything at all—just dial zero."

Hinata's cheeks burned, her blush deepening, turning her as red as a ripe tomato. Heat crawled up her neck, spreading like fire throughout her entire body.

She couldn't shake it.

The jittery excitement.

The nervous, overwhelming anticipation sat buried deep in her chest, its grip tightening, coiling deeper with every thought, every breath, every passing second.

It's finally happened.

She was finally a wife.

Newly married.

Still adorned with the soft flush of her wedding makeup, her midnight-blue hair cascading in elegant waves down her back, crowned by a delicate headband woven with white camellias, baby's breath, and soft pink forget-me-nots—a floral arrangement as gentle and precious, as she was.

Her wedding gown was gone, exchanged for something lighter, more comfortable—a simple white sundress, one that still carried the grace, the beauty, and the full essence of a bride.

Finally, married.

Married to the man of her dreams.

It didn't feel real.

But it was real.

Hinata felt like freaking out.

Like fainting.

Like crying, laughing, or maybe spinning in circles and screaming at the top of her lungs, declaring to the entire world just how unbelievably happy she was. 

But even that—even all of that—wouldn't come close to capturing the depth of what she felt.

Kami.

On second thought… she just might faint.

But just as her world threatened to slip away into darkness, a gentle squeeze to her hand pulled her back, keeping her grounded for the one last second she needed.

"You okay, Hina?"

She blinked, her thoughts still struggling to catch up to reality.

Her gaze snapped up to Naruto's.

Somewhere along the way, he had already finished up with the receptionist, their adorably themed room key now dangling between his fingers.

She nodded, still breathless. 

"Yeah… it's just surreal." She acknowledged in total disbelief, "We talked about this for so long, always saying we'd come here someday, and now…"

"We're finally here," Naruto murmured, finishing the thought for her, "About to treat ourselves."

He leaned in, his warmth sinking deep, lips grazing her ear as his voice dropped—low, rough, just how she liked.

"All night long."

A slow, delicious heat coiled deep in her stomach, spreading lower, settling right between her thighs.

She knew exactly what that meant.

Hinata barely had a second to process before strong hands wrapped around her, lifting her effortlessly off her feet.

A startled giggle spilled from her lips.

Her body crashed against Naruto's solid chest, her legs tucked securely in his muscular arms, cradled bridal style.

Hinata barely had time to loop her arms around his neck before he was already on the move, carrying her quickly toward the lobby's elevator.

Behind the desk, the receptionist giggled, watching the newlyweds rush off in their excitement. 

"Have fun, you two~!" She called after them, lifting a hand in a playful wave.

But neither of them noticed.

They were lost in their own little world now.

Hinata laughed, breathless, her face pressing into his shoulder, his warmth seeping through the fabric of his suit. 

"N-Naruto-kun!" She gasped between breathless giggles, trying to contain the fluttering in her chest.

His grin widened, his hold on her tightening just a little more.

"C'mon, Hina," Naruto scoffed playfully, flashing her a toothy, mischievous grin, "You didn't really think I'd let you use those pretty little legs of yours to walk, did ya?" A deep, rumbling chuckle rolled through his chest, the sound vibrating against her, sinking into her skin.

His fingers flexed teasingly against her thighs, bunching up the soft fabric of her white dress beneath his calloused hands.

"Nah, not a chance." He shook his head, his spiky blonde locks bouncing with the motion, "Not on our honeymoon."

He jostled her playfully in his grip, making her squeal, her laughter spilling out even louder, drawing a few curious glances from nearby guests. Hinata's cheeks burned at the sight, mortification creeping up her neck, but no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't stop giggling.

"Naruto-kun! P-People are looking!" She whispered embarrassingly, burying her face against his neck, her warm breath fanning over his skin.

Naruto only grinned, completely unfazed, not even sparing the onlookers a second glance.

"Let 'em look, hime."

He leaned in a little closer, his lips brushing dangerously close to her ear. 

"All I want you to do," He murmured, his voice low, hot, "is sit back, relax, and let your husband do the honors—"

His smirk deepened, his grip firm and steady as he finally carried her through the open elevator doors.

"Let me take you to our room the right way."

Continue Reading on Wattpad Or AO3.

||Previous. ||

||🖤𝓚𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓜𝓮, 𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓜𝓮 𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷🖤||

[otaku-girl-ao3-fics]

Chapter 1 | Baby, I'm Preyin' On You Tonight

Kraven the Hunter x Bullet Train | 50 chapters | 180k+ | Sergei x Reader x Tangerine | Explicit

ATJ character masterlist | Baby, I’m Preyin’ masterlist | AO3: Otaku_girl

Summary

Your quiet life in the woods was never as perfect as it seemed. When Sergei leaves on a hunt, promising to return with a surprise, someone from your past arrives instead — and nothing feels safe anymore. Tangerine has changed. Or maybe you have. Everything is unravelling. It’s time to ask: Was your life with Sergei ever truly idyllic?

Pairings: Sergei Kravenoff x Reader x Tangerine Fandoms: Kraven the Hunter (2024), Bullet Train (2022) Rating: Explicit (18+) Warnings: For the full list of warnings, please check out the fic on AO3. Explicit smut, dark, kidnapping, unhealthy relationships, no use of y/n, long fic (180k+) Fic status: Updated on Fridays and Mondays

Master list: Baby, I’m Preyin’ On You Tonight

Chapter one

It’s easy enough to spot the traps once you know what you are looking for. You don’t like to set them yourself, but you know that it is a good habit, one that you must maintain if you do not wish to forget the hard-earned skill. There’s nothing in the first dozen you check as you slowly circle the perimeter. The river is higher than it should be, but nowhere near the flooding you had seen during spring. You plan to make your way back later with the jumpers if nothing else. You can’t quite bring yourself to change the sheets, even though Sergei’s scent has long since faded from them. 

As you check on the last of the traps, you come across one that has been sprung, a bright splash of crimson across the carpet of leaves warning you before you see the metal teeth clenched tightly together. Whatever was caught is long since gone. Unease stirs in your chest, and you find yourself hesitating. Perhaps it would be best to shorten your route. You are still well within the bounds of where Sergei told you it is safe, where no predators should dare tread. You wonder if his continued absence is making them bolder.

Sergei will be back soon enough and then everything will be fine.

If you return to the dome on quicker feet than when you left, there is no one but you around to see or comment. The laundry can wait another day or two. It might be best to wait, you tell yourself, given how high the river looks. It wouldn’t do to get everything neatly washed and hung up to dry, only to be unable to leave it all outside in the elements. 

You snag your basket from beside the front door, gathering your morning’s humble little harvest to take back in with you. There is always something to do out here; even with nothing but birdsong for company, time feels too precious to waste.

Vegetables neatly washed, you flit about the kitchen as you prepare both lunch and dinner. A simple enough stew in a slow cooker that should be more than enough to last you for several days, should company not arrive unannounced. You spend just long enough to wipe the kitchen table clean before you return to eat your lunch standing over the kitchen counters, a book propped open, a warm patch of early afternoon sunlight streaming in just the right place to make you feel like a contented house cat. 

You clean as you go, tidying behind yourself as has become second nature. Why leave messes behind to gather in your wake? It feels too much like borrowing trouble — or like asking for things to go wrong. 

Time slips through your fingers. Once everything is neat and tidy, you allow yourself to curl up to enjoy a few hours with your latest book. You should shower, or look at preparing one of the unused flower beds ready for more winter crops. There’s always something to do, yet you find yourself feeling lethargic as the sun begins to lower in the sky. The faint sound of birdsong begins to set your teeth on edge; a constant, mocking reminder of Sergei’s absence. You wish that you could tune it out.

You wish he was home.

Flicking lazily through a recipe book ��� you still haven’t gotten around to trying even a fraction of the recipes yet, though you have dozens upon dozens of dog-eared pages just waiting for you to attempt — the first, resounding notes of a phone going off sound harsh and grating to your ears. It’s not a sound that you hear often out here. It’s enough to set off warning signs in the back of your head.

Sergei rarely uses the satellite phone. What if something happened? 

You approach Sergei’s desk with a level of care and caution. It’s one of the few parts of the dome you do not regularly clean and tidy. A thin layer of dust coats every surface. There isn’t a trace of paper on the otherwise immaculate dark wood. Sergei had been careful to clean and tidy everything away before he left on his latest hunt. 

The draw isn’t locked. None of them are. You slide the third drawer down open, plucking the satellite phone from within its depths. You are careful to keep it charged despite keeping it neatly out of sight. You never know when Sergei might need to get hold of you.

Slipping back outside, you click to answer the call, knowing it can be only one of two people. 

“Finally! I thought you weren’t going to answer.”

“Dmitri?”

A smile transforms your face, worry melting away as the familiar, melodic voice washes over you. You step further into the clearing, moving seamlessly between planting boxes as you go. You’re careful not to get too close to the line of trees surrounding, knowing that reception can be patchy at best. “How have you been?” 

Deft fingers tug at the neck of your borrowed jumper, pulling it up to cover your mouth as you listen to the familiar, rambling voice on the other end of the phone. When was the last time you spoke to him — a week ago, maybe two? It hasn’t been that long, not really, but it feels like a lifetime ago. Hearing another voice is more jarring than you expected. It’s easier to allow your side of the conversation to fall into questioning hums and little noises of agreement as Dmitri tells you all about what has been happening at The Den since last you spoke.

Inevitably, the conversation turns back towards Sergei. You bite your lip, fingers twisting in the soft fabric as you try to ground yourself. “No, no. He isn’t… here right now.” 

Knowing that Dmitri doesn’t know where Sergei is sends a fresh twinge of worry through you. It’s a good sign, you remind yourself. If he knew Sergei wasn’t here and he still called, this would be a very different kind of call. No news is good news. 

“Do you know if—oh… of course, of course.” You slowly turn in a circle, hand coming up to run through your hair. You tug on a stray strand, the dull throb of pain grounding you before you can begin to spiral. You should be better at this by now. 

“Your birthday? I’m really not sure…” Neat white teeth bite on your lower lip, worrying the flesh until it is tender. It’s sweet that Dmitri is inviting you, even if it is still months away. You glance towards the treeline, and a frown flickers across your brow, furrow settling between your eyes. Something feels off, though you can’t quite put your finger on it. 

It’s impossible to tune Dmitri out as he promises a night to remember. It’s worth the risk of the connection dropping, you decide, as you make your way back towards the dome. You don’t stop scanning the treeline, trying to figure out what it is that is setting your nerves on edge. There is no unexpected movement. Nothing seems out of place. There’s no sound of breaking branches or crunching leaves; just the usual rustling trees and low whoosh of wind. 

You close the door behind you, careful not to make a sound. There is no lock to reassure you, no key to turn. Anything — anyone — out here that could possibly find you wouldn’t be stopped by something as simple as a lock and key.  

“Ask Sergei about it when he next drops in. You know he wouldn’t miss it for your world.” You move towards the kitchen, gaze darting around glass walls, searching for any tiny clue that you can find. Your frown deepens. Maybe you are mistaken? It wouldn’t be the first time that your mind started playing tricks on you. Being alone out here is usually a calming experience, but even Sergei has his moments when the silence gets to be too much and he needs to hear another voice.

You rest a hand on one of the tall bar stools that line the counter, running your finger along the smooth, padded leather. Forcing your gaze away from the windows, you catch sight of a dark-framed photo of Sergei and Dmitri. It must have been taken at Dmitri’s last birthday. You recognise The Den in the background, the shy smile on Dmitir’s lips and the wide, proud smile on Sergei’s as he wraps his arm around his baby brother and holds him close. The two really look nothing alike at first glance. They have similar eyes, though, not in colour — Sergei’s are the brightest, most unsettling shade of blue that you have ever seen, while Dmitri’s are a gemstone green — but in kindness. There is a softness behind their eyes that they so rarely show anyone but each other; it would be easy to miss if you didn’t know to look for it. 

“Are you still there? You haven’t been sleeping again, have you. You always have trouble when he’s away,” Dmitri’s voice snaps you back from your musings.

“Hm? No, no, I’m sleeping fine. I haven’t even needed to dip into those sleep gummies you sent back with Sergei — thank you again for those. It’s reassuring to know I’ve got them if I need them.” 

Soft fingertips meet the cold glass picture frame as you trace the line of Sergei’s jaw. You miss him. The low ache of loneliness seems almost sharper, more persistent, now that you can hear Dmitri speaking. Now that you have been reminded of what you are missing out on. It’s been months since you last saw him in person, since you were last at The Den. You never would have guessed just how much you would miss some things more than others.

“I’m fine. Really, Dmit— Dima,” you correct yourself, rolling your eyes fondly as he corrects you. “If that changes, I will call. I promise.”

Your eyes linger on the treeline outside, scanning for any sign of something amiss. Nothing. Biting your lip, you add, “And I’ll remind Sergei to call you when he’s back.”

Late afternoon gives way to early evening. Leisurely reading gives way to evening routines. Firewood is stacked neatly in a shed not far from the dome; it’s a simple enough task to fetch enough to last overnight. You don’t need the fire technically, the solar panels in the day heating your little home efficiently along with the bright rays of sun themselves and underfloor heating keeps the room feeling cosy. 

Leftovers are packed neatly away in sealed containers, half going into the freezer once they have cooled, the other half slipping neatly into the fridge. It never hurts to have extra on hand, just in case. 

You stand in the kitchen as you pick at your stew, gaze drifting back to the framed photograph over, and over, and over again. Missing Sergei is like a physical ache. It’s as if a part of you is missing, one that you aren’t even aware of until you are reminded in startling clarity of its absence. It’s impossible not to think of him in every little thing that you do, and yet, somehow, your call with Dmitri is enough to make your thoughts linger. 

Cleaning up behind yourself doesn’t take long. Everything is washed, dried and put away neatly in place. You linger by the back door, eyes falling to the impressive tub in the centre of the decking. It’s big enough to hold you and Sergei both with a little room to spare; he likes to spend his evenings relaxing in there, the water too hot for you to touch, much less bathe in. 

You enjoy watching him relax, muscles unwinding, unblinking gaze fixed on his domain below. You live for that little grateful twitch at the corners of his lips when you do well and bring what he needs before he thinks to ask. Something to drink, a snack, and the latest stack of reports he has been reading through. Some nights, he will send you back inside, the weather too cold for you to linger, or his work too pressing. But some nights he will invite you to climb in with him, to rest with your back to his chest and feel the deep rumble of his voice as he explains the star-strewn sky to you.

It seems a waste to use it without him. To fill the tub just for yourself. Your gaze lingers on the starry sky; there is no moon tonight, only the tiniest sliver that can barely be seen in the sky. It’s enough to make you hurry through the last of your responsibilities so that you can make the most of your night. 

Fire flickering away merrily, kitchen cleaned, food packed and stored away, you reluctantly remove Sergei’s jumper and linger by the full hamper. Hands clenching around the soft fabric, you pull it to your face, inhaling deeply. You can almost imagine you can smell him still lingering on the fabric, the sharp, fresh scent of pine, the deep coppery twang that always seems to cling to his skin, and beneath it all, the undeniable musk that is Sergei. You add your dress to the hamper, keeping the jumper clutched against your chest. 

One more night can’t hurt.

You can’t face getting into bed. Just a little longer, you think, snagging your discarded book from where you had neatly tidied it away to your shelf. Little trinkets from Sergei’s travels cover the dark wood expanse: books and pens, a delicate hairpin he brought you back from Japan, a smooth piece of Lapis Lazuli from Chile, a hand-carved little lion Sergei made for you himself while he was visiting Kenya. You snag the tiny dark leather notebook from the edge of your shelf, flicking past pages and pages of neat little lines until you reach your most recent one. You trace across the row of little dark marks, counting off the lines one after the other. You add another. Fifteen. Fifteen days since you last saw Sergei. 

He will be back. Soon. He promised.

You don’t allow yourself to linger. Moving across the heated floor feels good on your bare feet, no trace of chill to be found. You settle yourself on the floor in front of the flickering fireplace, a thick, dark green rug the colour of fresh leaves beneath you, the soft, sturdy presence of the leather sofa behind your back. You tug mounds of furs and scatter cushions down from the sofa to pile around you, creating your own little warm nest between the furniture and the fireplace, with nothing by the night sky able to see you. You still aren’t used to the glass walls of the dome, knowing that anyone could see inside. Not that there is anyone to see inside, not for hundreds of miles, or so Sergei has assured you. You daren’t venture past the safety of the perimeter of your home. Not without Sergei by your side. 

The furs feel soft against your bare skin. Lying back amongst them, you press the balled up fabric of Sergei’s jumper to your face, rubbing it against your cheeks slowly. You can almost convince yourself that it is his knuckles trailing gently across your skin, his warmth seeping into you, deep and calming, as the fire crackles and burns. You can almost convince yourself you can hear the low rumble of his voice as he points out the brightest stars in the night sky, naming each and every one for you as you curl up in his arms and allow yourself to drift.

Your eyelids begin to grow heavy. You turn your head towards his jumper, allowing the fabric to pillow beneath your cheek. You keep your gaze locked on the stars, tracing the constellations. You feel yourself beginning to drift. The last thing that you see between heavy blinks is the distinct outline of Leo lighting up the night sky as sleep finally takes you.

Today was just another day without Sergei. Perhaps tomorrow he will return. All you can do is wait.

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Baby, I’m Preyin’ On You Tonight (4082 words) by Otaku_girl

ATJ character masterlist | Otaku_girl_AO3 masterlist | AO3: Otaku_girl

[gothamite-rambler]

Stephanie is a booktok spicy girlie

*this is a real excerpt from the book*

Stephanie (reading from the book): “Such a pretty pussy, Anastasia,” I praise, running my COCK between her FOLDS, watching the goose bumps spread across her back when the TIP nudges her. “Hurry up and FUCK it then.” She sighs when I line myself up. “Please-

Jason: Stop reading the book out loud!

Barbara (having read this book five times before): Until I get comfortable. Oh this is getting spicy.

Barbara gracefully slid out of her wheelchair and rested her arms behind her head. Dick and Jason stared down at her then sighed.

Barbara: Read on.

Stephanie (continuing to read and emphasizing certain words): “So impatient,” I coo, holding onto her hips tightly as I PLUNGE into her, gasping at how WET she is.

Dick: Okay, why are you reading it like that?

Stephanie: To emphasize the words. God, this is one of the few times I use curse words, either leave or keep listening to the spicy romance!

Jason (while leaving): This isn't spicy, which is a stupid word, it's porn! You are reading porn!

Stephanie: We call it spicy!

[inkyrainstorms]

The Martian Stan AU - The Beginning

“Is that it?” Stan asked, his voice burning and rising like the coming tide, vicious and overwhelming and inevitable. Ford’s shoulders tightened involuntarily, and he threw his brother as scathing of a glare as he could manage. Couldn’t Stan see that this, Ford’s problems, were important? “You call me all the way here after ten years, just to tell me to get as far away from you as possible?!”

If Ford was any less exhausted, if the hole in his left hand and the hole in his heart  were any less gaping, and the fresh scrapes and cracked fingernails ached any less, he might’ve taken a step back to apologize. To explain that it wasn’t about what Ford wanted, or what Stan wanted. It was about stopping Bill, and saving the world.

If Ford were a different man, he’d reconsider his approach and find a way to fix the chasm that seemed to yawn wider with every word that came out of each of their mouths. But as it was, Ford was not a different man. He couldn’t even fix himself.

So Ford instead felt indignation sting like hot coals in his gut and urge him to step forward, closer to Stanley. His brother took an involuntary half-step back. “Stanley, you don’t understand what I’ve been through!”

“What you’ve been through!” Stan kept talking even as Ford pushed past him, fury etched onto every word like a brand. “No, no, you don’t understand what I’ve been through! I’ve been to prison in three countries, and I once had to chew my way out of the trunk of a car!”

He got up in Fords face when Ford turned back, his brows drawn low and finger jabbing into Ford’s abdomen. He didn’t realize it, because of course he didn’t, but he’d pressed right into one of the bruises on Fords ribcage from his trip down the stairs earlier that day. Ford grit his teeth and glared back.

“You think you’ve got problems? I’ve got a mullet Stanford!”

Why couldn’t Stan take Fords problems seriously? Was he really cracking jokes at a time like this? 

Ford couldn’t take it anymore. 

Oblivious to the dangerous precipice Fords stability had drawn close to,  Stan got bitterly sarcastic. “Meanwhile where have you been? Holed up in your fancy house in the woods and living it up, selfishly hoarding all—“

Ford went still. If he’d been a slightly different man, a slightly more composed man, perhaps, he’d have fired back another jab at his twin, because how could the man that ruined Fords life and betrayed his complete and total trust call him selfish?

There was a different voice, at a different time altogether too recent and a lifetime ago. His monstrous Muse, his most trusted friend, taking his body on a fucking joyride and then having the gall to look him in the eyes and say “YOU’RE PRETTY SELFISH IQ”. 

Ford had just kept on weeping blood. 

As it was, Stan didn’t get a chance to finish his rant. He was much too busy receiving a solid punch to the face and staggering back against the force of it. For a moment, all was quiet. Ford was shaking, he realized distantly, staring blankly at his brother. His knuckles stung from the impact.

Stan took more time to recover than Ford would’ve thought, but when he finally did, it was with a new layer of dark fury that Ford hadn’t ever seen from him before. Stan lowered the book from where he’d clenched it to his chest, and pulled out a lighter. “Fine.” He whispered roughly, though it echoed in the cavernous room anyway. Louder, then, “Fine! You want me to get rid of it so bad? I’ll get rid of it right now!”

A challenging fire burned in Stan’s eyes, and with a flick, it burned in his right hand too. Ford’s journal dangled above the hungry, all consuming light. 

Ford couldn’t breathe. Every piece of himself he’d had to let go of, that he’d lost to Bill and all that he was giving up to rectify his own mistakes, all to see Stan get rid of part of his life’s work right before his eyes. 

How dare he.

Ford let out a guttural shout and lunged for the book. Stanley, evidently not expecting this, stumbled back and tried to move the lighter before Ford and him could get burned from it in the tussle.

He only partly succeeded. Ford hissed at the momentary new pain shooting up the underside of his hand as he tried to grab for the book and Stan flat out dropped the lighter in response. His brother faltered for a split second, his brow creasing. 

“Sixer, I—“

Ford didn’t let him finish. The second he heard the nickname, some part of him blanked out entirely, and the buzzing in his ears sounded like an angry hornet in his skull. “Don’t,” he grit out, and he’s sure his voice was much too thick and angry and he wasn’t being rational but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Call me that!” 

When Ford lunged for the journal anew, he tackled Stan to the ground as his brother instinctively tightened his own grip on the book. Ford’s book.

“Why not?!” Stan cried out, trying to pry Ford off of him and only succeeding in rolling the two on the ground away from the portal. Ford couldn’t figure out if he sounded more hurt or concerned. The hurricane in his chest kept him from thinking on it too much.

Ford let out a wordless grunt in response, as the two of them, having grappled up to stand, slammed straight through the door and Stan tried to pin him down onto one of the control panels, before Ford managed to gain enough momentum to roll Stan off of him. They were throwing punches and shouting insults they probably didn’t mean, and after a minute long struggle where they surely broke every damn thing in that control room —and good riddance, Ford tried to think but he was too tired to think much at all— Stan had shouted with all the ferocious desperation of a drowning man, “why can’t you listen to me, damnit! You ruined my life!”

Ford had retorted, because of course he did, with “You ruined your own life!” as he finally got a good grip on the book and kicked Stan away with enough force to shove him against the side of one of the control panels. 

Stan’s scream was abrupt and guttural and horrifying. It cut through the haze in Fords mind with all the precision of a scalpel, dropping a rock of dread into his gut. Ford backed away as quickly as he could, and didn’t even register his journal slipping through his slack fingers to land facedown on the ground. He felt sick.

“Stanley! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” 

For a few, horrible, horrible seconds, Stan laid there, slumped and unmoving from where he’d hunched onto the floor. The burn— the brand on his shoulder looked angry and hot against his skin. It had burned clean through his coat and shirt.

Ford took a few hurried steps closer, shaking so hard he could barely walk, when Stan groaned. “Stanley…” he started, but trailed off as Stan pulled himself to his feet. His eyes were darker than Ford had ever seen them before. Stan was shaking too.

“You really want your dumb mysteries that bad?”

And Ford wanted to say, no, no he didn’t, because Stan still held his shoulder stiff as he could and his grip was knuckle-white where he’d used it to brace his arm against his side, because Ford had branded his own twin.

But the words stuck in his throat, because he realized with a start that Stan and him weren’t the ones shaking. The room was. His eyes shot to the portal.

His magnum opus and his curse, his Dadaleus’s Labyrinth, was activating. 

A sudden movement from Stan snapped Fords attention back to his injured, angry brother. Ford took a few cautious steps out of the control room and held up his hands placatingly as Stan advanced. His brother was blocking the doorway, but Ford needed to get in there, he needed to activate the shutdown procedure. “Stan, please,” he said weakly, not sure what exactly he meant. Let me through? Wait? Let me help you?

He didn’t get the chance to find out, though, because Stan continued talking, hefting up the journal he’d evidently picked up from the floor while Ford was distracted. “Well you can have ‘em” Stan said viciously, and Ford could hear the pain in it clear as day as he moved to shove the book into Ford’s hands.

Ford dodged Stan attempt, careful to not touch Stan’s injured shoulder, and weaved around him. “Stan, please, wait.”

Stan laughed, turning around. His grin looked painful. “I’m tired of waiting, Si— Stanford. I really am.”

Ford didn’t have time for this. His heart ached in ways Ford didn’t have the time to decipher as the humming in the room got louder, and he turned to move back to the control room. “Just a moment, Stanley, I just need—“

When Stan latched onto his arm and tried to whirl Ford back around, Ford reacted on pure instinct and deep seated paranoia, that kind that can only be born from aftermath of pure devastation. He followed the momentum and shoved Stan back as hard as he could, turning and sprinting to the control room before Stan could recover and try to stop him again.

“Stanford?”

He never got there. Stan’s voice, suddenly small and scared, ground Ford’s pace to a halt. The humming was louder now, reverberating through his chest. 

“Ford, what’s happening?”

For a terrible moment, Ford didn’t turn around. He just stared at the door of the control room as if he could stop time if he tried hard enough. He didn’t want to see. Seeing made it real. It meant his worst fears had become true, it justified the cold sinking in his chest. 

“Ford!”

Ford whirled around and let out a hoarse cry. There Stanley was, greasy hair floating in a halo around his face, one hand outstretched and the other holding Ford’s journal tight to his chest. Ford had pushed him over the danger line.

The look on his twins face was worse than Ford could’ve ever imagined. 

The anger had drained out of him, the closer he floated to the all consuming blue light of the portal. The was naked terror in his eyes, and he cried out for Ford again.

“Stanley! Hold on, please!” Ford said, before making another break for the control room.

He needed to shut it off right this instant.

“Hold onto what, brainiac!?”

“I don’t know, Stanley! Anything within reach, just don’t let yourself go through the portal.”

Ford input the shut down code. He input it again. He then realized that they’d knocked the cords out of alignment and frantically began adjusting them from where they were wired into the top of the control panel. Shit, they really broke everything in this room, didn’t they?

The third time he input the code, the light flashed green, and the keys made themselves known on a panel adjacent to Ford’s position by the window.

Three keys. Of course. Why did he have to make it three keys, all turned simultaneously?

Metal screeched in the portal room, and when Ford dared to glance up between trying to maneuver himself to turn all three keys, a jolt of horror swept through him and nearly knocked him off his feet. 

Stan has nearly entirely consumed by the light now, clawing at the edge of the portal he’d managed to reach. Ford cursed himself when he realized that the metal plate Stan was holding, as well as  over a dozen others, were loosening to the point of nearly falling off entirely from the main frame. The other objects he’d scattered across the floor of his lab, everything from basic tools like screwdrivers to bigger machine parts floated through the portal at increasingly high speeds.

Ford wouldn’t need to do anything, he realized, and it wasn’t the comfort he wished it was. The portal was destabilizing. Judging by the erratic pulsing the portal light was doing, it’d be closing soon.

Ford ran out of the control room and stopped short just as Stan locked eyes with him again. 

“Stanley!” he called, another desperate idea beginning to form in his panic addled mind as he scanned the room for spare rope and found none. The spare rope from the first portal test must’ve gotten caught in the portals expanding gravitational pull. His brother was barely a shadow in the light now, but Ford knew Stanley had heard him. “If you toss me the journal, I can—“

“The journal?” Stan gasped out, frenzied. “Is that still all you care about!?”

“No, no, if I just had the instructions, I could fix—“ this, fix everything. 

The screeching of metal and thundering of the portal reached a deafening crescendo, and Ford could see Stan open his mouth to interrupt, to say something, assent or argument or—

But Ford didn’t get to find out what Stan would’ve said. A particularly violent jolt shook the metal frame of the portal, and Stan, with a wide-eyed final look that Ford didn’t know how to decipher, slipped.

His brother disappeared into the light just as the portal collapsed in on itself with enough concussive force to send Ford crashing to the ground. He slammed onto his back hard enough to knock the air from his lungs.

Silence fell over the room. It was dark.

Ford stared at the ceiling above him, then dragged his eyes, slowly, painfully, to the portal. 

The deactivated, half missing and half obliterated portal.

For a long, long time, Ford sat in the dark under the full weight of every bruise and scratch and burn he’d sustained, and it was like he was underwater, head swimming with nausea and pain and bewilderment. He was numb. 

A faint plip-plop sound echoed suddenly through the deathly silent basement, and Ford squinted at the sound through his crooked glasses, trying to identify the source. 

A dark substance stained the edge of the portal, right where Stan had been holding on. Ford watched blankly as the liquid slowly rolled along the curve of the portal entrance, before reached a jagged gap in the perfect circle and slipping through. It slid down the jagged and crumpled panels, weaving until it gathered at the tip of a particularly jutting sheet of metal. 

Another drip.

Another.

Ford shifted closer, simply trying to breathe. He pointedly didn’t think about how the other side of the portal had driven Fiddleford to seemingly the brink of madness in moments, he didn’t think about the glimpse into the Nightmare Realm Bill had given him when he first revealed his true hand, and he certainly didn’t think about the final look Stanley had given him, grief and rage and betrayal all rolled into one.

He finally got close enough to see the liquid for what it was. It wasn’t oil, like he’d figured, like he’d hoped and prayed with every inhale and exhale to the gods he didn’t believe in. It was too thick, congealing with familiar splatters on the floor. It was a deep crimson.

Stan must have cut his hand on the metal with how hard he’d been holding it, Ford realized, and the thoughts were the first crack in the dam Ford had buried himself beneath. This was Stan’s blood.

Stan was in the Nightmare Realm, bleeding from one hand and burned on the other shoulder and begging for Ford to do something, asking Ford what was happening because he didn’t know, because Ford didn’t tell him, and—  

It was all Fords fault.

All of it.

Oh Moses.

The dam creaked with warning, a death rattle and a laugh rolled into one, before Ford was swept into the undertow.

Ford had killed his own brother.

All alone in the dark basement with the machine he’d turned into his brother’s grave, Ford buried his burnt, bloody hands in his hair and bowed his head until it hit his knees. All alone, Stanford Pines cried for the first time in years.

Alternate Titles: The Worst Conversation Ever

Or: Ford started disassembling the portal early and everything went to shit accordingly.

Tags! @aroace-get-out-of-my-face @pleasantartisanhottea @empressofsamoyeds @littlelilliana15 @pinefamilycatsau @thejaxindianrizzler (I saw your comment in the og post and it made me laugh cause I was in the middle of working on this when I noticed it) (I hope you don’t mind the tag :))

if I missed anyone I’m sorry about that! The tag is always a fair option to follow too (#martian Stan au)