#but hopefully i can squeeze in a few snippets here and there

[xkyoirre]

hello

i return with a new name and a spoiling of Punk Oscar

[colourstreakgryffin]

hey there honey! i'm here to request deerest alastor meeting a blitzo-like gn! reader fic if that's alright with you;) ( by that I mean either the reader with blitzo's story/persona/both if you wish. )

the genre? fluff, angst- anything, really. i kinda just wanna see how one would think they'd interact !

basically, i'm fine with anything, i do love a good surprise haha . it's rather more interesting;)

on a sidenote; i actually got this idea after watching some snippets of our boy and by recalling our conversation earlier. so i was hoping to see what's in store for our beloved if al were to ever cross paths with someone like him.

for an afterthought- man, i must say that i absolutely cherish this emo guy now.

( this could be platonic, or romantic; whatever you think fits for this shot/anything that is to your liking! )

hopefully this ask wasn't too confusing, and that you're fine with it. thank you, have a great day<3

Y E S! I love Blitzø from Helluva Boss so this duo will be so interesting! Alastor will have quite the difficulty to deal with a Blitzø! Leitora but yet, he will like them!

Alastor- Chaotic I.M.P

General

Alastor has such the passive-aggressive, crude, snarky, prickly Imp to handle. He doesn’t do that well but he also doesn’t shut said Imp out for the way they are… it’s just rough

Alastor’s patience is both worn out and stretched over further with you, the head of I.M.P and the royalty of being so immature and blood-thirsty. A assassin that’s trigger happy, and he isn’t sure how long he can stay calm with you

Alastor finds you interesting. Your mouth is vulgar but you’re actually very intelligent in your work and you rile up your little employee group very well. How fascinating, he considers studying you to figure out how native demons like yourself act

Alastor likes teasing you about your much shorter height and tugging you on your long tail. Both are methods to piss you off and maybe methods to make you pay attention to him as well

Most HCs of platonic can also apply to romantic then a few HCs of romantic can apply to platonic!

Platonic

Alastor doesn’t know how to react to the fact you’re constantly stalking him and following him around. You envy his relaxed, happy self and craves exactly what he has so you regularly watch him. All the times he’s caught you filming him… too many times

Alastor finds you hilarious. Your violent, dark sense of humour actually makes him chuckle and he encourages you to feel confident in what makes you laugh. It makes him laugh so it’s simply perfect

Alastor likes to tease you even more than he already does. Annoy you, piss you off, squeeze your face inbetween fingers to lead you on. It’s all so amusing and the way you bark out with rage at this has his day fixed instantly

Alastor does speak honestly about his own issues with you. He trusts you, you’re like the other friends he has, he may have known them specifically longer but he feels like he can be himself around you. You’re not that bad after all

Alastor finds it pretty cute that you have your own Hellhound child. You have a 22 year old Hellhound son/daughter/child and you’re so loving and affectionate to that Hellhound. He just watches it from the sideline, smiling widely and planning how to use this against you to mess with you

Alastor invites you out to hangouts regularly. To clubs, to drinking bars. Anywhere where it’s just you and him, and you two can just let loose by having drinking contests that end in Alastor slamming alcohol like a sailor and struggling to keep up with you on the dancefloor

Alastor will let you touch him with it seems fit but he does need breaks from you randomly touching him. He likes you, you’re a wonderful snarky little Imp so he can excuse any type of touch, but he needs space

Alastor’s smile and personality is more natural around his Imp friend and he treats all his friends equally so when you’re around, he’s smiling, giddy and sweet just like he is with other friends like Rosie, Mimzy

Alastor is the type of ‘I’ll do something for you at the right price’ friend. Give him what he wants and he’ll do a favour for you, he may like you as a friend but he wants to establish that you’re just like his other friends and you’re not that special at all

“Ah. My dear, this Hotel and my home is for everybody, including yourself. Feel free to get comfortable and we can chat more later”

Romantic

Alastor knows of your intimacy and commitment problems, and since he really likes this cute small gun-wielding badass imp more than he could suspect, he is willing to wait for you to get more comfortable with and trusting of him. Hence what actually fires up the relationship you two share

Alastor is extremely protective over you: you’re a mortal demon, he’s immortal. You can die, he already died and now immune to fatal blows. And the fact you’re an assassin that takes care of humans as well. You have the Radio Demon on your beck-and-call, and goddamn, how glad you are that you’re dating Al. You have a loving, doting but also scolding and cautious boyfriend right there to save your flank

Alastor expresses his loyalty, love and respect through that way he acts around you, giving you whatever you want free of charge, gifting you all kinds of presents, constantly writing you name on random pieces of paper or even the Hotel walls, being smitten of you around the Hotel staff. He can’t get you out of his head

Alastor loves carrying you around. You’re so small but you’re so squishy and cuddly, day or night. He loves hugging you to his chest and carrying you around, you’re smaller than Niffty and he’s living for it! You can be asleep and he’ll keep wondering around with you in his arms bridal style

Alastor is half for I.M.P, half not. The reason he isn’t is because he doesn’t want this psycho humans laying their hands on you and the reason he is is because he loves seeing you happy and he wants you to express your passions so he tries his best to be as supportive as he can

Alastor may or may not be the one taking care of you. You let loose sometimes after bad situations and he is the one reassuring you he’ll always be there, he won’t let you die alone and he’ll always be with you. He loves you and he wants you happy and healthy

Alastor’s ideas of a romantic date is to a nice restaurant, all dressed-up and bonding over simple conversation. Yeah, he isn’t the most ‘interesting’ date-planner but his vanilla tastes are so much better than anybody could ever suspect. You bond with Alastor very well with every date

Alastor enjoys bragging about you. He brags about you on his radio show and even promotes your business, I.M.P. He is going to show who you belong to and he’ll even mark you more… physically, if he must. You’re his and he won’t let any chance that somebody will try to steal you away

Alastor is an affectionate boyfriend and when I mean affectionate, I mean lovey-dovey, complimentary and touchy. He loves giving you kisses, holding you in his lap, giving you hugs, holding your hand all the time. He loves holding you, you’re so sweet and cute

“Darling. You should be a lot more careful… I wouldn’t do well without you, so please. Do both of us a favour and do not charge into battle recklessly… please? For this poor lovestruck little deer?”

Alastor also might just try figure out how to make you immortal so you’ll stay with him for all of Hell’s time

[eusuntgratie]

wip wednesday on thursday bc i do what i want 😘

haven't shared in a while bc i haven't had time to write but i appreciate all the tags so i'm gonna share a few little snippets of a few things i'm working on. tags below the cut!

guess who tripped and fell into a new fandom? oops. y'all gotta scroll past some 🏳️‍🌈👽 before you get to any rwrb-adjacent words 😏

malex bartender au (roswell new mexico) - hopefully posting soon!

Alex is covering the bar for Maria when he gets stuck, bottle of tequila hovering in between the bar and the glass he’s supposed to be pouring it in. He works hard not to notice people, notice men, but the most beautiful man he’s ever seen is walking into the bar and it's impossible to look away.

malexa 2x06 canon divergence, starting with maria waking up the next morning

Maria wakes up with a crick in her neck. One of her arms is asleep and she’s got a pleasant ache in her thighs.  She's warm, and the bone-deep fear that's been trying to suffocate her for weeks has abated. She takes a deep breath and keeps her eyes squeezed shut when she remembers why.

me? already writing rpf from my new fandom? GASP! please pretend to be shocked - vlamburn + a third i can't decide if i want to keep mysterious or not bc everyone who reads them would know who she is anyway i think?

“Kiss him,” she tells Michael, who finally tears his gaze from Tyler’s face to ask, “why?”.  “Because I wanna see.”  She nods and smiles when Tyler searches her face, looking a little panicked. But then Michael is leaning in close, wrapping his big hand around Tyler’s pretty neck and pulling him in and kissing him like he’s starving for it. Tyler moans and she’s so fucking wet she could shove Tyler out of the way and sit on Michael’s dick right here in front of him, but she keeps still, and watches. The way Michael pulls him closer, the way Tyler’s fingers twitch near his waist.

a little cuck fic update (sensing a pattern? don't worry about it) - taynick, disaster verse

Nick catches himself leaning forward, trying to chase Taylor’s mouth and his touch. He hears a sharp, “stay,” that rocks all the way through him and he slams himself back in the chair. He gets a barely perceptible nod for his efforts. He tries not to think about what he could do to elicit a bigger reaction. He drags in a breath and refocuses on Taylor. At a small gesture Nick barely notices, Taylor bends over the bed again. He is so fucking beautiful. Nick’s not sure he’s ever had the chance to just take him in like this. He’s always so desperate to get his hands on him when they’re alone.

alright that's enough snippets... hopefully i'll be able to get some things finished in the next few months! i miss writing! let me know what you think; i need all the motivation i can get.

thank you for the tags sunday and wednesday!

@catdadacd @firstprincehornyramblings @thesleepyskipper @basil-bird @sparklepocalypse

@thinkof-england @taste-thewaste

tagging @lostcol @bigassbowlingballhead @onward--upward for alien reasons 😘🛸

[thewolvesof1998]

Tidbit Tuesday

Tagged by the amazing @daffi-990 go check out her snippet its so damn cute!

This is a continuation of the snippet I posted on Sunday, I hope you guys enjoy it and hopefully the motivation to write will keep coming🤞

Embarrassment, that’s what he had to be feeling, he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing clothes like that, especially out in public.  “Yeah?”  He tries again, “Buck…” “That’s my name don’t wear it out,” Buck jokes “What are you wearing?” “Oh, this?” He looks down as if he doesn’t know what he left the house wearing and picks at the hem of the crop top, “I found it in some clothes Bobby was donating, can you believe he actually used to wear this in the 80s?” The information conjured an image that Eddie didn’t want but it cleared his mind enough to ask another question.  “Why are you wearing it at the station?”  A pink flush floods across Buck’s checks, “It’s uh laundry day but then Bobby called saying he was making his famous casserole and I didn’t want to miss out.” Right, Buck was here looking like that for food, not to give Eddie an aneurysm. His face must betray him because Buck crosses his arms defensively; which does not help the situation, in fact, it makes his arms look so damn big that Eddie just wants to… bite them. Holy shit.  “You got a problem with me wearing this?” Buck asks, scowling in a way that makes him look like Chris when Eddie tells him no more games for the night.  “N-no” Eddie manages to get out, it’s shocking that he can even form words, in the space of a few minutes his whole world has been turned upside down and Buck is still standing there looking like that. He’s attracted to men, well he’s attracted to his best friend, which isn’t ideal in the best of circumstances but it's especially bad when he’s standing there in the sluttiest outfit Eddie’s ever seen him in.  Buck takes a few steps closer, “That doesn’t sound convincing, come on, spit it out, you obviously have something to say.” “I-I-yes-no” “Right,” His lips pinching in a telling way and Eddie knows he’s fucked up, “It’s a good thing that I’m a grown man and I don’t need your permission or approval to wear whatever I want,” He says as he starts walking towards the stairs to the loft. Eddie’s arm shoots out and stops him with a hand on his bicep. He has to make a conscious effort to not squeeze it.  “Buck,” He takes a breath, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…I don’t, I mean, I like it?” The sentence goes up at the end like it’s a question, it makes him cringe because that hadn’t been what he was trying to say.  Buck raises an eyebrow, “Are you asking me or telling me?” “Telling, I like it,” He clears his throat, “It suits you.” Crap. Fuck. That sounded so lame. 

Tagging: @wikiangela @wildlife4life ​ @eddiebabygirldiaz​ @disasterbuckdiaz @spotsandsocks @try-set-me-on-fire @jesuisici33​ @bekkachaos @buddierights @forthewolves @911-on-abc @hippolotamus @shitouttabuck @911onabc @exhuastedpigeon @eddiediaztho @your-catfish-friend @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @watchyourbuck @king-buckley @chaoticgremlinwholikescheese @fortheloveofbuddie @steadfastsaturnsrings @mangacat201 @theotherbuckley @hoodie-buck @eowon @rainbow-nerdss @nmcggg @pirrusstuff @evanbegins @giddyupbuck 

[gvfmarge]

Lighthouse of my Soul - Chapter Three (Sneak Peak)

Hi everyone! Here’s a snippet of what I’ve been working on! It’s not finished or even close honestly. But I just wanted to post to keep you all on your toes- but hopefully in the next few days I’ll have Chapter 3 to you! (Super lightly edited, excuse any laziness or mistakes- I still have a lot I’d like to add to even this) Read Chapter One - Chapter Two

Warnings: just some cussing and fighting, as always.

What the hell are you doing Jake?!" You scream into the void, hoping he's still around to hear you. The echos of your footsteps pound throughout the house as you stomp your way up the stairs. "Did you hear me?" You yell out, the rage boiling in your chest. 

He appears to you at the top of the stairs. Leaned against the wall of the upstairs hallway, feet crossed, holding his pipe to his upward turned lips. "I did hear you and I was just getting him out of my house." His voice booming around you, his smugness churning the rage inside of you. "I didn't want him out of MY house." You squeak out, your fist firmly hitting the wall beside you. "You don't own this house, you don't own ME." Your anger fueling your braveness. "You CANT do that! I'm allowed to have friends!" 

"He isn't a friend to you, Y/N." Pushing off the wall with his shoulder he waltzes to you at the top of the stairs, his eyes boring holes into your own. Jake reaches his hand up to your cheek, flinching you whip your head away squeezing your eyes shut tight, thinking for a quick second that he may strike you. "You cannot act like this, Jake. If we're going to share this house, you have to give me my space. I have to live my own life." You slowly peered at him through your eyelashes, hoping your tender eyes will make some kind of peace with him. 

"Just look, Y/N." He whispers, finally softly placing his hand to your cheek. You feel his calloused thumb rub across your cheek bone. You sigh at the tingles the contact gives you. Goosebumps raise across your shoulders and down your spine. "What are you do-" 

Your quickly cut off when the image of the ocean waves appear in your vision. You can smell the salty air, almost feel the thick air sticking to your skin. The ocean is crashing to your right, the roar of the waves are so loud but so distant at the same time. Seagulls fly overhead and you turn your head upward to watch their wings flap. Squinting at the brightness of the day, you finally glance down to see your hand intertwined with another. His long fingers seem to fit perfectly in yours. It feels almost complete, like this is where your hand belongs. Scanning up the man's arm you notice his strong arms swinging along with yours. His white linen shirt flapping with the wind, your eyes keep scanning upwards. You notice his long chestnut hair blowing around with the wind, it's flying around every which way and you see that it's landing in his face. Your eyes meet his lips first, where a piece of hair has gotten caught. You finally look into his deep brown eyes. The golden specs are glowing in the sunlight. Your breath hitches as you realize you are walking the shore with Jake, hand in hand. Something seems different. This doesn't feel like your body. You glance down to see that your hair is brown, a dark rich brown that you've never had before. You quickly look back at him and he flashes his bright white perfect teeth, the most genuine smile you have ever seen from him. His smile almost fades as he quickly nods to you. You try to speak, try to ask what has happened but the sun suddenly disappears. The beach is completely dark, there's no moon or stars to light the sand ahead of you. You cannot hear the ocean waves crashing or the seagulls flying overhead. It's complete darkness. Trying to squeeze Jake’s hand for reassurance, you find your hand empty. Your body is frozen in time. You cannot speak, cannot scream, you try to fight it but there is nothing to fight. 

Your eyes slowly blink open to see the wooden ceiling of your bedroom once again, the sunlight blinding you. In your confusion, you quickly launch yourself out of bed. Frantically ripping your sheets from your bed, you find your phone to see that it is early Saturday morning. "What the fuck, Jake!" You yell out to him, wherever he may be in the house. “What the fuck was that!” 

Taglist: @lipstickitty @writingcold @peaceloveunitygvf

[jazzythursday]

Hi!

Your writing is so beautiful! Your characterizations of Wylan and Jesper are incredible in your oneshots and especially in Everyday, Just a Little or a Little Bit. Seriously, I think about that fic all the time. It's perfect. Sweet and angsty, domestic and wholesome. Are you interested in writing more for Wesper? Do you have any more ideas or WIPs that you'd like to write?

-sixofcrowdaydreams

I’m crying? This is incredibly sweet thank you so much 🥹💖

Wesper and the crows literally got me through the last year and are still my main source of serotonin atm so I promise I’m not even close to done writing about them yet!

I also think about Everyday… every day lol, I really do. I have a handful of offshoots and bonus scenes from that fic I still want to write/finish (Jesper’s pov of a few moments, his talk with Nina after Wylan leaves in ch3, so much with the bookseller from ch1 etc), along with a few wips and a giant list of ideas I haven’t even started.

Currently I’m working on my gift for an exchange we have going over on the @i-can-read-to-him server (which is becoming both incredibly stressful but also so so exciting with every scene I write) I wish I could talk about it but it’s a surprise™️ for the moment. It will hopefully be ready to start posting next week!

Until then, here's a snippet from one of the bonus scenes in Everyday. It's from the part in ch2 where Jesper comes back to the Slat after being jumped by debt collectors. (Fun fact: the original scene was supposed to be this version, but when I actually went to write it it was feeling too clunky with the rest of the chapter, so I changed it to the posted version)

Wylan wakes up alone one morning. 

He knows, immediately, that something is wrong. The only disturbance of the covers has been made by himself; the other side of the bed is untouched, except for where his hand had landed on Jesper's pillow during the night. The rest is left unruffled and empty.

He hadn’t come back.  Jesper had been sent on a job the night before that hadn’t needed a demo man. Wylan told him he’d wait up, and Jesper told him he didn’t need to. Wylan had planned to wait up anyway. 

Apparently, it hadn’t worked. Wylan does not remember falling asleep, and yet it’s undeniably morning now. Still early enough that the sun isn’t quite peeking through the curtains, but he can tell it will soon.

He tries not to get worked up. He gets worked up anyway. No matter how much he tries to rationalise it, there is a deep pit growing in his stomach, convincing him that something is very wrong. He gets out of bed and leaves the room. He doesn’t bother with boots, just creeps down the hall in his socks.  It doesn’t take long to hear voices. They filter out from Kaz’s office, freezing Wylan in place.  “You still might need a medik,” he hears—Nina’s voice. She sounds tired. “How many times do I have to tell you two I wasn’t trained for proper healing?” 

“You're doing fine.” Jesper. Jesper’s voice. He sounds… dim is the only way Wylan can think to describe it. Tinny. Like the rich, mellow timbre of his words have been syphoned off into something thinner. He coughs wetly. “Gold stars all around Neens, really.” 

“I’m not above knocking you out, you know,” Nina says, but even without being in the room he can tell there’s no real threat in it. It’s soft, fond, and concerned.

Wylan’s heart feels like it’s detached from his chest. Like it’s somewhere else entirely, and wherever that is, someones squeezing it very tightly. He walks closer, almost hovering outside the threshold. He places a hand on the knob. 

It’s been a very long time since Wylan has felt out of place with the Crows, but as he opens the office door, he cannot help but feel—not unwelcome, but uninvited, and left out of the loop.

Unnecessary, his mind supplies, and he tries very, very hard not to give it a chance to amend, worthless. 

He balls up the cuffs of his shirt—it’s one of Jesper’s, though Wylan can’t remember when he’d taken it up as his own. Long enough that it doesn’t smell like Jesper anymore, just Wylan, which is a tragedy—and casts a look around the room, feeling awkward and out of place and comparatively underdressed in only his sleep clothes and socks. 

Kaz looks as he always does, except worse. His hair is falling uncharacteristically messy over his face. He turns sharply from where he’d been facing the window when Wylan enters, eyes even darker than usual.

Nina looks worried, a deep weighty frown on her face as her hands press against Jesper’s abdomen. 

And Jesper looks— 

“What happened?” Wylan balks.  Everyone is staring at him now, and Wylan hates it, hates this, but it all pales in comparison to the awful feeling tearing itself through his chest at the sight of Jesper, Jesper’s face—

“Jes—” Wylan’s voice breaks.  

“I’m fine,” Jesper assures quickly. Nina scoffs. She takes her hands away from Jesper’s stomach to cross them over her chest. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine!”

“You’ll be fine when I say you’ll be fine,” Nina mutters.  

Jesper tries to smile at Wylan, tries to give him a surreptitious thumbs up with the hand farthest from Nina, tries to wink of all things. It doesn’t make Wylan feel any better. It also looks like it hurts, because both Jesper’s eyes are puffy and red, and the side of his face sports an angry mark that’s still bleeding sluggishly from his eyebrow. His jaw looks sort of swollen too, and he grimaces at his own smile, so it must hurt.

Looking at it makes Wylan want to cry, so instead he looks at Kaz. 

“What happened?” he asks again, very quietly. 

“Debt collectors. And an idiot.”

“Kaz!” Jesper protests. Kaz shoots him a glare that pierces slightly duller than usual, which makes Wylan worry even more. “It’s not as bad as it looks.” Jesper tries again. 

Wylan doesn’t respond. He keeps looking at Kaz. 

Kaz sighs. He sweeps his hair back in its usual style and pushes up from the window. “He’ll be fine. It’s not good, but nothing with debt collectors ever is. I’m working on it.”

This ask was such a lovely thing to read on a very tough day, so again, ty 🥰

[to-thelakes]

been working on part 3 of 'banged up' and it's definitely gonna be more than 3 parts! i'm not sure how much longer but it's definitely gonna have a 4th part at least.

i'm having a lot of fun writing it so hopefully i can get it finished tonight but my wrist has been acting up so i'm putting it in a brace for a few hours to let it rest.

i'll see how i feel later but hopefully, part 3 will be released within the next week! it's gonna be a longer one and delves a little more into what happened to reader, introduces the roommate (aka willow (she/they)) and develops on reader's growing feelings for frankie... get excited besties :)

OH and here's a little (unedited) snippet;

“You know how to get in contact with Jessica Jones?” You asked as you took the plate of food from Frank. He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side. “Wanting to add her to your roster of vigilantes to take care of?” He asked. You shook your head and stabbed your fork into a piece of bacon. “Nah, Willow needs a good railing. Thought you might have contacts,” You shrugged, a wry smile spreading across your face. Frank stared at you for a moment, painkiller bottle cap off and in his other hand. His face made you chuckle but that just made your stomach hurt and so you quickly wrapped your arm around it, squeezing your eyes shut. “You’re real funny, sweetheart,” Frank muttered. You nodded your head, completely serious. “I’m hilarious. God knew I would be too powerful if I became a comedian so he gave me no social skills and vigilantes for friends,” You responded, the corners of your lips turning up into a smile. Frank shook his head in disbelief.

[owlbearwrites]

WIP Wednesday (24/07, part 2)

Catching up with last week's asks!

All snippets from Shadows, a Borderlands/Don't Starve crossover, heavily Rhack-centric, but also featuring Angel!

CW: non-graphic, but violent fistfight

@eriquin

“Uh. ‘evening, kiddo.” Jack raises a hand in a tentative greeting. The next thing he knows, there is a fist flying into his face. “Whoa!” Jack ducks out of the way of the punch, just in time for Rhys’s attack to land a glancing blow on his shoulder instead of crashing straight into his jaw. “Hey, hey, we don’t need to—UGH!” Before he can finish the sentence, Rhys spins around and slams a fist into his stomach. This one lands dead on, causing Jack to drop his bag and double over. He coughs, or tries to, to get his breath back.

@1attheedge

“Okay… okay!” he manages, one hand thrust in front of him, palm open and, hopefully, placating. “I deserved—kheh—that one. But can we—ow—talk now? Maybe?” Rhys closes the distance between them, grabs the lapels of Jack’s coat and drags him upright so their faces are level, and only a few inches apart. “I’ve heard enough of your goddamned talking,” he hisses, teeth baring into a snarl, “for a goddamned lifetime!”

@scifikimmi

There’s nothing Jack can do to evade the next hit. Except squeeze his eyes shut and then, a second later, try not to bite his own tongue off as he hits the ground. His teeth haven’t even stopped rattling from the impact yet when Rhys is upon him, landing punches without rhyme or reason. Twenty years ago, Jack would’ve been able to give as good as he was getting; the way things are, his best bet is dodging what hits he can, blocking the ones he can’t, and hoping that Rhys will tire himself out before any teeth get knocked out, or bones broken.

@aparticularbandit

A few poorly-timed blocks later, Jack is reconsidering his strategy, as Rhys appears to have all the energy and ferocity of a rabid squirrel. Not to mention that he—rather unsportingly!—definitely does not shy away from using his still-animated prosthetic arm just as much as the real one. “Hey!” Jack snarls, barely managing to catch a blow from the wooden knuckles on his arm instead of chin. “I was the one who put magic into that blasted arm of yours, you little shit!” He uses a momentary pause in Rhys’s attack to grab the arm in question. “How about some goddamned professional courtesy, huh?”

@post-and-out

“Oh, where are my fucking manners?” Rhys spits. He yanks his arm free and grabs Jack by his front again. “You want my thanks, Carter? Here it comes! This”—he slams Jack’s shoulders into the ground—“is for teaching me how to make infernal machinery that almost killed me! This”—a short lift, another slam—“is for giving me the unique opportunity to go on an expedition that has actually killed me, at least three times! This—” “Fine!” Jack tries to pry Rhys’s hands off of him. “You’ve made your point! Enough is enough.” “Oh, you don’t get to tell me when enough is enough, Carter.” Rhys shakes his head, nostrils flared. “You don’t get to tell me anything anymore. We’ll be done when I say we’re done! And I still haven’t decided if you’ll even still be alive by that point!”

@lizhly

”Okay.” Jack holds out his hands, palms out. “You want to keep yelling at me, fine. You want to keep whaling on me, even though by this point you’re just beating on an old man? Fine. But may I suggest we take this closer to the fire? Because the light is going, fast, and at this rate, even if you kill me, you won’t live long enough to enjoy it.” “Oh, don’t give me this crock!” Rhys scowls. “‘You’ve got to stay out of the darkness, kiddo’, ‘there are powerful beings in this realm, kiddo’,” he sing-songs, in a terrible imitation of Jack. “That only worked when I didn’t know that the powers, and the monsters, and the darkness, and everything I was supposed to be afraid of in this nightmare land is all just your DAUGHTER!”

@madnessfromthemountains

“You… you’ve met Angel?” Jack raises himself on an elbow. “When did you see her? Is she alright?” Rhys stares down at him with an expression that suggests Jack has grown at least three extra heads, but lacks the brain to fill even the original one. “Yes, I’ve met her. But judging from your questions, I’m not sure you have. How could she not be alright? She is some kind of shadow… goddess!”

@adhdavinci

Jack winces. Then winces again, because it hurts to wince. “It’s… more complicated than that, kid. Believe it or not, there are still things here that you don’t under—” A fist smacks into Jack’s jaw without a warning. “What the hell?” “No, go on.” Rhys gives him a poison-tipped smile. “Tell me more about all the mysteries of this realm that I still don’t understand. Starting with your darling Angel. Incredible name, by the way. Just perfect to fool saps like me into believing she’s a poor little girl who needs help. Was it your idea, or did she choose it herself?”

@enigma-the-mysterious

A cold pit opens in Jack’s stomach, and is filled with lava immediately after. His hand moves so fast, he only registers it when his fist is buried in Rhys’s side. Caught entirely off-guard, Rhys coughs out a muffled ‘urk’ and topples sideways. Jack shoves him off the rest of the way and pulls himself to his feet. Once he’s up, he looks down on Rhys. The young man, still a bit stunned, gawks up at him. “Her mother picked the name,” Jack says. Then he turns around and walks towards the dying fire.

[sankttealeaf]

wip wednesday!! [18/10/23]

thank you for the tag @theviridianbunny!!!! i actually have stuff to show today :D some of it are requests, most of it is just shameless self-indulgent writing. i am nothing if not cringe (in the most positive way ever)

if you want an excuse to share something you're working on, take this as your sign!! i tag YOU to share some work!!

WRITING WIPS:

here's a few snippets of what i've been writing lately!

BG3: HEALING HANDS | astarion x gn!reader [requested]

"Either I leave and let slip to everyone how close you are to greeting death, or you let me help you," he says, and you wish your hands weren't so badly hurt or else you would have hit him. You always found yourself butting heads with Astarion, and now he was offering to help you?  Neither option was ideal. On one hand getting him away would be perfect, but then everyone else will swarm and fuss over you and you don't feel like dealing with that. With a heavy sigh, you place the washcloth in his hand.  "See? That wasn't so hard now, was it?" His voice oozes sarcasm and you glare at him. He squeezes out some of the excess water and begins to clean up your face. "Why don't you want to ask for help?" Astarion asks gently, wiping away the dried blood that coated your forehead. "We're a team, aren't we?" "You're one to talk," you snap back, though the intensity of your tone is crushed by the hiss of pain you let out when he presses against one of the deeper cuts on your face. "Ouch! You bastard." "If you aren't nice, then I guess I'll be rough with you," he says with a simple shrug, brushing some hair from your face. "Be good for me, alright?"

hit a slight writers block with this as i do not know where to progress further. hopefully my muse will return from war.

BG3: (currently unnamed fancy party intel gathering fic) | potential poly party x reader

With the threat of Absolute cultists marching on the city imminent, you were pressed for time to try and work out exactly who you were up against when it came to Orin and Gortash. You were well aware of the slippery masks Orin wore, posing as too many people already for your liking, her words laced with a hunger for blood to be spilled, but you knew nothing when it came to the latter. Well, next to nothing.

BG3: A Worse Situation Than A Cave In (wip title) | astarion x gn!reader | sequel to trapped

It's always a welcome breath of fresh air when you could bed down in an actual bed, so when you come across an inn on your journey you've already worked out how much it would cost for a night there than on the road. By the looks of it, your companions also wanted to spend the night in somewhat comfort. You decided to partner up for the rooms, to cut the costs and save your gold on useful things. The old lady at the front desk told you they have three rooms available, two of them can sleep two people and one of them could sleep three.  Lae'zel, Shadowheart and Karlach teamed up together, with Karlach loudly announcing for a 'girls night' while Wyll and Gale claimed one of the two bed rooms. Which left you and Astarion to take the other. You didn't mind, really. After everything that you both went through on that awful treasure hunting lead you suppose it would be nice to spend some time with him away from damp caves. You push open the door, ready to unload your bags onto the floor when your face falls. One bed, big enough for two people. You give Astarion a look as he pokes his head into the doorway.  "Oh." 

what's worse than being trapped in a cave? only one bed. duh.

BG3: let sleeping dogs lie | rue (my durge) x gortash

"Why do you have lemongrass scented soap in your cupboards?" She turns the questioning onto him as he leaves, beginning to light up some candles that were placed along the walls of the bathroom. "You complain when I don't have anything up to your standards, and yet when I do you question me?" He pauses in his tracks for a moment. Rue notices now in the soft warmth of candlelight that he is shirtless and something inside of her feels… angry? Annoyed? Flustered? What was this feeling?  "I'm simply curious."  He laughs and she grits her teeth. "Our alliance is only as strong as the bonds we forged them with. A happy business partner means a happy transaction." When enough light is now in the room he stops, taking a few steps closer to Rue. "Doesn't the idea of lemongrass soap make you happy?" She forces herself to hold his gaze and it's then she realises why she's so irritated at this gesture. The idea that Gortash has been listening to her complaints, her comments for better smelling soaps, her need to hide the smell of murder from her once the day is done makes her feel seen. Exposed. Spread open for the whole world to gaze upon. It irks her and for some reason she cannot stop thinking about what he must've looked like purchasing it. Gortash keeps his eyes locked with hers and tilts his head ever so slightly, awaiting a response. She breaks eye contact first and goes to snatch the bottle out from the cupboards. "Draw me a bath."

considering making this like, a multichapter thing documenting rue + gortash throughout their mutually beneficial alliance. i have many brainworms about durgetash right now,

ART WIPS:

did you know i also draw? i've been posting less art over on my instagram just because i never finish anything and sometimes i am allowed to keep art to myself, but here's some pieces i'm pretty proud of that i've done this past week!

had this idea in my brain to show rue (my durge) pre and post tadpole with the one she cares most about. something something to be loved is to be changed. not sure if i like the posing on the rue + gale one so it may change i just needed to get this idea down. also gale and rue's ship name is chaosweave and i need everyone to know that bc its the coolest thing ive ever come up with

and that's that! i have so many ideas swirling around in my brain all the time it's hard to get them all down coherently yknow?? i also have a few requests i'm gathering ideas for so if you've dropped anything in my ask box just know it's brewing in my brain like a soup!! (also feel free to drop in just to say hi :D)

anyway i am off to plan my dnd session some more and hopefully not get too distracted by other things (thats a lie, i will!)

[monocytogenes]

Ask game! Ask game!

👩‍💻 share a snippet that you worked on for a long time or struggled with

Okay so--you know those moments when you set up a scenario and then you're midway through the scene going 'how the hell is my character going to get out of this?' Yeah.

So, one of things I do in my agent!Pravin fics is really think about what kinds of fights he could conceivably survive, and how he'd go about that. Video game mechanics being what they are, there's multiple instances ingame where he's shooting and stabbing dudes who use lightsabers, and I'm like--nah, realistically, I think he'd get cut in half in under a minute.

This brings us to a WIP where Pravin's facing down Ardun Kothe, the enemy spy who, along with his team, exploited that mind control shit Pravin had in his brain (that he was ranting about in the other WIP I shared with you.) In canon, the guy's an ex-Jedi who fights you with a lightsaber and, being a Jedi, has a whole smattering of telekinetic powers. So yeah I was like, nix the lightsaber, but then I got about to the part in this snippet where Pravin cusses him out and then I was like--okay, how the fuck is he going to escape, haha.

Picked at it for a while before I wound up literally reading about interrogation techniques and came up with this solution. Kothe's line about his actions being "unforgivable" is a reference to some actual dialogue, and I thought, ohhh. I think Pravin can lean on that to distract and rattle him.

Also, the ticking clock element here is on account of Pravin having called an airstrike on his own position in order to put a stop to Kothe's plans and hopefully murder him in the process. In canon another character does that; I was like 'nah, this seems like the kind of batshit insane thing Pravin would do himself given the mental state he's in.'

(A quick warning--Pravin uses some really explicit language below.)

As he squeezed the trigger, with preternatural precision, Kothe lifted a hand and caught the bolt, the energy fizzling out ineffectually against his palm. “Well, well,” Kothe said, with all the mild disappointment of a mechanic assessing a cracked repulsorlift engine, “This explains a few things.” Pravin backed up a step, keeping his weapon pointed, his hand trembling slightly. “So you found a way to overcome the restraints. Alright.” He gestured vaguely at Pravin’s bloodstained jacket. “Should I bother asking where Wheel and Saber are?” “I don’t think you’d like the answer.” Kothe sighed. “Seems I was right about you.” A laugh, half-hysterical, escaped Pravin’s throat; the fury rising to choke him against his better instincts. “Tell me, Ardun, does it hurt?”

“To be betrayed?” “No, bending over to suck your own cock, you sanctimonious cunt,” Pravin hissed before he could stop himself. “How clever you are, how smart! What else could have possibly come of mucking with my brain to make me your slave?” Fear tightened his throat in the wake of his outburst but, to his surprise, Kothe faltered a bit. “I know that much was unforgivable. But I couldn’t risk this op.” Rationalizing. He can fizzle a kriffing bolt with his hand and he’s rationalizing. A snippet of interrogation training swam to mind, much as it had when he’d stood on the bridge of that dreadnought and asked Jadus question after question about his plan: attack his pride. Invite him to justify his actions. Let him try to vindicate himself. “Couldn’t you?” Pravin snapped. “I ran from my country, I turned my back on everything, and what the fuck did I get? I risked my life, I brought Chance back to you when he couldn’t speak a word to me, and you lot raped me over, and over, and over. Like it was easy. Like you enjoyed it.” “I didn’t enjoy it, Legate—” “Then why did you keep doing it?!” he shouted. “Because this is bigger than you and me!” insisted Kothe. “Because I’ve watched war tear this galaxy to shreds, and I’d do anything to keep peace alive.” Pravin brought up his other hand to grip his pistol, a deliberately-clumsy gesture that allowed him a glance at his chrono. Six minutes had elapsed—that meant he had nine to book it out of the facility if he were lucky, four if he wasn’t. He hoped he’d destabilized Kothe enough. “Anything?” he sneered. “Anything.” “I see it now, why you failed as a Jedi, why they kicked you out. You sound just like a bloody Sith.” “That’s enough—” Kothe went for the gun at his belt. With his dominant hand occupied, the man wasn’t fast enough—a flick of a trigger, and a bolt connected with Kothe’s shoulder, punching a hole through flesh.

[pinkboxess]

really craving some tedbecca hurt/comfort rn

I am always as well....here have a little snippet from my WIPS/drafts <3

After a long day, Rebecca rests her head on Ted’s chest, settling in to listen to his heartbeat. The steady thumping soothes her anxious nerves and unravels the knot in her stomach. Ted can tell, too, as he watches her sigh and the wrinkles in her forehead turn smooth, her eyebrows un-scrunching.

“There you go, pumpkin,” he murmurs. One of his hands lifts up to stroke her hair. He gently lets it out of her updo, knowing it’s more comfortable to lie down with her hair flowing freely, then rakes his fingers slowly through the blonde locks. When he scratches at her scalp, she lets out a big, appreciative sigh.

Taking a deep inhale of Ted’s scent, Rebecca lets her eyes close. They’re heavy and tired and grateful for the rest. She’s warm, wrapped up like this. Comfy, too. Perfect conditions for a nap.

“Ready for bed?” Ted asks quietly. 

“No…” Rebecca responds, her voice soft and sleepy. 

“You just wanna stay and be a snugglebug a bit longer?” 

“Uh-huh.”

Ted chuckles, adjusting his hold so he can secure an arm around her hips. He squeezes her ass softly, but it’s more just to hold her in place, knowing Rebecca is too tired for sex. He appreciates her in all her states, even when she’s tired and cuddly and clingy. 

It’s not a surprise when she falls asleep. Her breathing deepens, her body gets heavier and goes limp, and no more mumbles escape her lips. Ted thinks that if worst comes to worst he could tuck her up with a blanket on the couch for the night. Hopefully he’ll be able to rouse her in a few minutes, though, and get her to a proper bed. 

But for now, he’s settled with an armful of a sleeping Rebecca Welton, soothed by her body weight and intoxicated by her scent. They don’t have to get up just yet.

[zacksfairest]

Hi! I am the writing fairy! You should write! And then show me your writing! If you do, I’ll show you cats! Writing writing write write write!

I actually did wind up writing! This fic isn't done yet, but I suppose I'll put a litle snippet of what I managed to write over the last few days. It is not Unsounded related, unfortunately, (it's actually Star Wars/The Mandalorian. An old fic I started back in 2019) but hopefully I'll be writing an Unsounded fic for the fanworks contest <3

Anyway, here it is:

---------- Cassie inhaled slowly, a certain measure of calm coming over her as her finger rested against the trigger.  Her vision narrowed, years of training taking hold as the world fell away, leaving only herself and her prey.

Her lips parted. “Tra—”

The unmistakable sound of a discharged blaster cut her off, a single blaster bolt striking the Imperial in the shoulder.  The force of the shot knocked him off his feet and he fell to the ground with a dull thud, wailing all the while.

Out of pure reflex, she opened fire a bare second after that first shot made contact, squeezing the trigger of her blaster rifle in quick succession.  She barely felt the kickback through her armor, her gaze fixed on the Death Troopers, their attention momentarily diverted as chaos ensued.  Her target dropped after three shots: two to the chest, and one to the clavicle—the area nearest his unarmored neck.  Caedyc’s followed immediately after, though she couldn’t tell what had felled the trooper.

No, she was too busy trying to decipher the string of curses coming from Vys’kydir over the comms as the two remaining Death Troopers dove for cover.

“—di’kutla shabuir,” he spat, his frustration evident.  It was the first thing she could clearly make out.

“What?” Suriya demanded, whatever manner of confident composure she had managed utterly shattered.  “What happened?  Why in the manda’s name did you shoot, Vys?”

Cassie ducked down, the old windowsill exploding into small chunks of permacrete and stone as the Death Troopers began to spray the area with blaster fire, but she didn’t need to see out into the town square to know it wasn’t Vys’kydir who had fired prematurely.  The shot hadn’t come from the old bell tower; it had been too low, the angle of the blaster bolt parallel to the ground.

An angry snarl escaped her as she pressed herself against the wall.  She was so stupid.  She should have known better than to think the Mandalorian would go down without a fight—she sure as hell wouldn’t have.  She knew her people better than that.  She knew him better than that.

And now they’d lost the element of surprise, which meant she’d have to make a few adjustments.

“It wasn’t Vys, Suri!” Cassie yelled into the comms, the high pitched whine of Imperial issued blaster rifles making her ears ache.

“Sure wasn’t,” Caedyc added calmly, though he sounded a bit winded.  “Our friend’s one hell of a quickdraw, though.  I’ll give him that much.”

“Are you okay?” Suriya asked, her voice cracking slightly.  An acute guilt began to take root in Cassie’s chest.  “I can hear the blaster fire from here.”

“I’m fine,” Cassie reassured her, wincing slightly as a blaster bolt took out another chunk of the wall.  “Pinned down, though.  My cover’s not gonna last much longer.  Those rifles pack a nasty punch.”

“No kidding,” Caedyc said drily.  “I took one to the chest, knocked me flat on my shebs. I’m fine though, Suri.  Thanks for asking.”

“Oh, don’t be a baby, Caed’ika.”

“Ne'johaa, you two!” Cassie shouted as another round of fire rained more debris down on her.  “Vys, do you have eyes on our friend?”

“No,” he ground out, still clearly vexed.  “But if I had to guess, he’s pinned down across from you—against the wall of the building to your nine o’clock.”

“Osik,” she hissed, daring a glance out the window.  The two remaining Death Troopers had found cover in an alley across the way, concentrating their fire in the general direction Vys’kydir had indicated.  If she was going to get any kind of plan together, she was going to have to link up with their interloper—which, unfortunately, meant she was going to have to leave her quickly crumbling cover and brave enemy fire.

A long, resigned sigh left her.  It was stupid, but it was her fault they were in this mess in the first place.  And she’d be damned if she was going to leave one of their own to die at the hands of the Empire.  Much less him.

“Vys, I’m gonna need you to lay down some cover fire for me,” Cassie said, her hand coming up to grip the edge of the windowsill.  “You, too, Caed.  If you can manage.”

“For what?” Caedyc asked incredulously.

“Just do it,” Cassie replied, not bothering to curb her exasperation.  “On my mark.”

She felt the permacrete crumbling beneath her hand as her grip tightened, the stonework hot to the touch where blaster bolts had melted away the once sturdy architecture.  Her body grew tense, her thigh muscles pulled taut enough to snap as sweat began to bead along the flesh of her brow.

There was a brief pause in the deafening sound of blaster fire, and she made her move.

“Tracyn!”

With a strained grunt, Cassie vaulted over the windowsill and hit the ground running.  It took only a glance to see Vys’kydir’s summation had been right: the Mandalorian stood within the shallow entryway of a building across the way, his back pressed against the door, a small blaster in hand.

She ran full tilt toward him, a surge of blaster fire keeping her going—though it didn’t last long.  The sudden and unmistakable crack of a sniper rifle’s discharge brought the onslaught to an abrupt halt.  If she didn’t know any better, she thought she might have even heard a surprised yelp as Vys’kydir got off a second shot, followed by short bursts from what she assumed was Caedyc’s own rifle.

And while the Death Troopers attempted to regroup, Cassie made it to the other side of the gravel laden street, all but slamming into the door with a loud clang.

She looked up at the Mandalorian, breathless and shaking with the surge of adrenaline.  A featureless T-shaped visor stared back at her, though she could see the newfound rigidity in his stance, a range of emotions conveyed within that simple shift in demeanor.  Shock.  Disbelief.  Recognition.  A smug smile pulled at her lips, though it remained hidden beneath her own helmet.  “Copaani gaan, vod?”

[sagerxge]

work in progress novel snippet

I've been working on a novel for about two months now, and wanted to share a little snippet of it to see what people thought of it. It's about 2K words, not much, but hopefully enough to catch a general vibe.

It takes place in a world I've been creating for about 3 months for DND, but I think writing a fantasy novel based on some notable characters in the world would be really interesting. The working title is called "Soldier, Poet, King" and yes, it is influenced by the infamous "Oh Hellos" song.

Please keep in mind this is still a work in progress and things will be changed or refined.

----------------------------------

The room was loud. People were shouting. There was the crinkling of maps. The early morning sunlight from the window was shining harshly into their eyes. Someone spilled a mug of ale, the clattering of the cup clanging against the stone piercing Riv's ears. An elf was tapping their blade against their chair at an annoyingly slow tempo. A wizard was humming a tune, seemingly oblivious to the chaos. It was too much. Someone pounded a fist on the war table and shouted Dwarvish curses. Riv jumped up from their seat.

"Silence!" Riv demanded, pressing a hand against his forehead and squeezing his eyes shut. The room instantly fell quiet, save for the ringing of rolling cup against the stone floor. Riv gritted their teeth and a deep breath. He rubbed his forehead, their fingertips brushing against the bead circlet on his head. "What do we know?" Riv asked in a quieter voice. He opened their eyes, glancing at the elf who was tapping their dagger against her chair. 

Ninmara Darkblade was a Dark Elf with cool grey skin, harsh blue eyes, and hip-length platinum hair styled in a singular thick braid down her back. They were clothed in all black and decorated with blades of all sizes and styles; most notably, a sword with a blade the size of her torso propped against the back of her chair. Ninmara gazed Riv a chilly glance before standing up, her ankle-length coat making her tall, lithe figure seem even taller and leaner. 

"Queen Dralynn died sometime in the night, presumably some type of poison. The medical staff are consulting with the witches to see if they can find out exactly what it was, but we suspect it was a toxin from a plant called Nightlock," Ninmara began, her dark voice helping to ease Riv's nerves. Riv always loved Ninmara's voice. Riv already knew this information, but he let Ninmara continue and hoped there was going to be new information. "Nightlock is not native here in Berthiercola, nor has it been sighted naturally in Eckdar or Rutam." 

"How did it get here if it's not naturally occurring?" The dwarf asked. He was leaning back with his arms crossed, his fluffy red beard pooling over his chest and his large eyebrows nearly hiding his eyes. Gramthrune Fireforge was the best artificer in Quelocand, but he has a strong interest in botany, so Riv decided he could sit in on the urgent meeting. Gramthrune glanced at Riv. "I've never heard of it either." 

"We suspect it was brought over by the Zhentarim," Ninmara answered. Riv gave Ninmara a harsh stare. 

"What do you mean it was brought over by the Zhentarim?" Riv demanded. Ninmara met Riv's glare with an even gaze. 

"That's what my street sources say. Eckdar and Rutam blame each other, as they always do. A few people even blame the new arrivals, trying to stir trouble." 

"If the Zhentarim are involved, it complicates things," The deep booming voice of Talon Autumnpelt sounded out. Riv turned his gaze to the leonin. Talon was standing with his arms crossed, his cat eyes resting calmly on Riv. "I have rumors that they're taking money from Rutam." 

"Fuck Rutam," Gramthrune grumbled. 

"Enough," Riv snapped. They sighed and shook their head slightly. "It doesn't really complicate things. The Zhentarim has always had deep pockets and money from everywhere in the Planes. The fact that they're dealing with Rutam isn't surprising." 

"Who's your source?" Ninmara asked Talon. 

"Confidential," Talon responded crisply.

Ninmara smirked. "Confidential even to the intelligence officer?" 

Talon kept an even gaze on the Dark Elf, but Riv noticed his fur bristling slightly. 

"Do we know why the Zhentarim brought Nightlock over here and killed Queen Dralynn with it?" Riv asked Talon. 

"That's where the money from Rutam comes into play," Talon answered, turning his eyes back to Riv. "My sources say that Rutam officials were seen loading bags of gold from the palace onto a cart during changing of the guard a couple nights past."

"Did your source confirm who received the money?" Ninmara asked.

"No, but the gold bared Braggannin's crest." 

"One shady dealing does not mean that they are guilty," An elegant voice suggested. Riv glanced at Oni, the loxodon Church of the Light priest. She had her hands folding properly in her large lap. Even when seated she was still a full head taller than Riv, who was standing at full height. 

"One shady dealing and the death of our monarch seems pretty damning to me," Gramthrune growled. Riv recognized his rage as his eyes flashed. "I say we wage war on those Rutamish bags of- " 

"I think that will be all, Master Fireforge," Riv said, glaring at Gramthrune. "It is time for you to take your leave." Gramthrune gave Riv an obscene gesture but slumped out of his chair and stamped out of the war room, slamming the door behind him. Riv sighed. 

"I told you that you shouldn't have invited him," Ninmara mumbled in a sing-song voice. 

"I thought he would be helpful with his botany knowledge," Riv countered. "And I don't want to repeat this conversation." Ninmara gave Riv a cold look but nodded, turning her gaze back to Talon. 

"What about the deal that Rutam made? Do you know anything else? This is the first I'm hearing of it." 

"My source says it was a top-secret affair," Talon answered. "Only a handful of people close to Braggannin knew about it. It was a trade for roughly a thousand pieces of gold to a gnome waiting on a cart near the southern Sacred Pool of Rutmar. That's all the source knows." 

"So, your source is close to Braggannin," Ninmara hummed. Talon growled. Ninmara smirked. 

"With the Zhentarim," Riv spoke up, glaring at the two advisors. "Contact any inside sources you have and see if we can trace that gold, if it isn't smelted and rebranded already." Talon and Ninmara nodded. Riv bit their lip and sighed. 

"Has anyone heard from King Malcar?" Riv asked, trying to clear his throat. There was a small moment of silence before Oni spoke up. 

"He said he needed some space," The loxodon said in her gentle tone. Riv nodded. It was understandable. His wife of 30 years had just died, presumably murdered. It made sense that he wanted space. Riv's throat tightened. It made sense. 

"Have someone bring him food, if there hasn't been already," Riv said. "And tell him I need to see him when he gets the chance. We have the matters of beginning the Anointing process soon." 

"I will see to it," Leonin said. Riv nodded and turned to Ninmara. "See what you can find out about that gold deal Leonin mentioned with Rutam. You two work together and compile sources if you need to." Ninmara nodded. Riv turned their attention to Oni. "And I would like a word with you in private." The cleric bowed her head gently. "Everyone dismissed. Report back by dinner. I don't care what you do until then." The room emptied save for the two guards stationed by the door, Oni and Riv. 

"What is it you would like to discuss, Your Majesty?" Oni asked quietly. Riv fell to his chair, their throat tightening. He forced himself to take a deep breath. 

"My father is going to shut me out," Riv exhaled. "I need you to make sure that he doesn't shut out everyone completely. He won't listen to me, but he respects you, as both the Clergy and as an advisor." 

"You know how His Majesty is with these types of deals," Oni responded. "But I assure you, I will do my best." Riv nodded and cleared their throat. 

"How are you faring, Riv?" Oni asked. Riv fought back the tears stinging in his eyes. Mother was murdered last night, Father not here with him to sort out the stressful affairs. He needed his tactical mind. Dealing with Rutam is sticky business, especially if Leonin's sources are correct about the Rutamish working with the Zhentarim to assassinate Mother. Even if Eckdar knew something about the deal, Riv doubted they would say anything helpful. Riv rubbed their forehead, trying to ease their racing mind. 

"I'm all right, all things considered," Riv said evenly. He gave Oni a small smile. "Just make sure Father is ok. I can't have him shut down at a time like this. He needs to sign the papers to ensure a smooth transfer of power." Oni nodded, staying silent. "That is all. You are dismissed." Oni stood, bowed and left the room as gently as 9-foot tall loxodon could. Riv stayed in the war room, staring at the map of Quelocand painted onto the table. He enjoyed the silence of the empty war room, as well as the stacks of papers, scrolls, books and ink jars. They closed their eyes and inhaled, savoring the peace, quiet and calming smells of parchment and ink. They couldn't stop the tears that dripped from his eyes and quickly wiped them away. He cleared his throat and stood up, smoothing the skirt of his dress. Time for business. 

[seijorhi]

Pretty Young Thing

A yandere Erasermic commission for an anon, I hope you like it bby!!

Aizawa Shouta x reader x Hizashi Yamada

TW non-con, breeding kink, pregnancy, surrogacy, pregnant sex, smut, age-gap, nsfw

“Don’t you think she’s a little young, ‘Zashi?”

“It’s up to you both how involved you are during the first stages and the overall pregnancy. Normally we suggest an initial meeting with the potential surrogate for all three of you to get a feel for one another and decide if you want to proceed with the arrangement, but should you wish, we can–”

“No,” he interrupts, sparing Hizashi a fleeting glance. “We want to meet her.”

Beneath the desk, his husband squeezes his hand. 

Hizashi quirks an eyebrow, pausing midway through fixing his hair in the mirror. “Whaddya mean, babe? She’s in her twenties ain’t she?”

He’s not wrong, but that’s not the issue. They picked you, they both picked you, but there’s this lingering unease that he can’t seem to shake. It’s not so much your age specifically, he knows that you’re only a few years younger than the majority of the other women whose profiles they’d seen – you’re old enough to understand what you’re getting yourself into and agree to it, at any rate – it’s just that he doesn’t quite understand why somebody your age would want to do this.

And there’s something different about you, it’s just a feeling of course – he hasn’t yet had a chance to confirm his suspicions, but he wants to meet you and decide for himself.

“We do have a number of potential surrogates with promising Quirks if you’re considering pursuing that option for your child,” the Doctor told them, smiling as they flipped through page after page of profiles.

Hisako, 35, Quirk: Sun-flare

Nozumi, 26, Quirk: Mimic

Koharu, 28, Quirk: Seismic Wave

Chiyoko, 33, Quirk: Golden Whip

Yuzuki, 32, Quirk: Silencer

There’s dozens of them – which is more than he expected. 

Aizawa knew coming in that this wasn’t normally the process, that this agency catered specifically to Heroes – was recommended by the Hero commission – but it still feels strange, just browsing through pages upon pages of potential candidates to carry their baby. 

Was he supposed to be feeling some kind of emotion looking at these profiles? The women were all healthy, each of them attractive, in their own ways (nothing but the very best, the Doctor had reassured them with a smile). This woman, whoever they picked, she’d be carrying their baby, yes, but that was the extent of it. She wasn’t going to be a part of their lives beyond that, so what did it matter if she was nice or liked to cook or play tennis?

There were stats, of course. Their education and IQ’s and little snippets of history, but they were all impressive, otherwise they wouldn’t have been included. Were they supposed to choose based on their Quirk? One that might compliment his or Zashi’s? Quirks were troublesome things to begin with, and–

“Wait-wait, Shou, hold up,” Hizashi’s voice cut through his musings, long fingers wrapping around his wrist midway through turning the page. “Go back one.”

He does as he’s told, flicking the page back.

Y/N, 23, Quirk: N/A.

A lone eyebrow lifts. Quirkless, huh? A blank slate.

But that’s not what caught Hizashi’s eye.

“She’s kinda cute, don’tcha think, baby?”

It feels weirdly like a first date, nervous jitters and all – though he’d like to believe he’s better at suppressing that now then back when he was a teenager. Aizawa hasn’t bothered to shave, but his hair’s tied back in a loose bun and he’s pulled out a suit for the occasion – he’s even wearing a tie for fuck’s sake. Beside him, Hizashi’s ditched his usual leather jacket and ripped jeans for, well, nicer jeans and a button up floral shirt.

And then there’s you. Standing in the doorway of the cafe glancing around like a little lost lamb, he recognises you instantly from the picture on your profile, but the moment your eyes meet his he’s struck with the realisation that the picture didn’t truly do you justice.

Because you do look young (at least compared to their thirty odd years) and it might just be the hesitant smile adorning your face as you start to make your way over, or the charming little summer dress falling to your mid-thigh, swishing hypnotically with every step, but Shouta feels something catch in his chest the more he stares. You really are… what was the word ‘Zashi had used? Cute?

Yeah. You were cute. 

The agency had offered to host this little meetup at their clinic, and while he hadn’t particularly cared one way or the other, Hizashi’d been insistent. He’d wanted this to feel ‘natural’. 

‘I don’t really wanna meet our potential baby mama for the first time in some boring, sterile office, d’you?”

He’d only bitten back a sigh at the time, shaking his head. It wouldn’t have been worth upsetting him by reminding him that the girl was technically a glorified incubator. He had every intention of being involved in this process, but this initial meeting was to establish two things. Firstly, that after meeting them, you still felt comfortable with carrying their baby, and secondly, he wanted to make absolutely certain that you weren’t trying to get anything out of this.

Oh, he knew you were getting paid, handsomely, he’s sure, but the thought that you, or any of the women the agency had fobbed their way might not all be in this for altruistic reasons had crossed his mind. 

You were just so young.

But he was more than happy to determine those two things in a ten minute meeting at the agency. 

Hizashi was not, and so here they are. 

Ten minutes in, and he finds himself glad of his husband���s insistence. Hands wrapped around your mug of coffee (you should enjoy it while you can) you chatter away with Hizashi, beaming and blushing, tripping over your own words in your nervousness. 

You’re about as dangerous as a kitten, and he allows himself to relax enough in his seat to enjoy watching the blonde charm you. 

“So why don’t ya tell us a little about yourself, songbird?”

“There’s really not all that much to tell,” you say with a sheepish laugh, but they listen as you talk anyway. It’s nothing the profile hadn’t already told them, nothing spectacular that would make you stand out in the crowd. 

And yet, an hour and a half later, you’re trying in vain to distract him and Hizashi both so that you can slip your card in with the bill to pay for lunch, and Shouta finds himself oddly amused.

There were other candidates – ones with impressive Quirks, smarter than you, more accomplished than you, older than you–

“Ya sure you don’t want a lift, sweetheart? It’s no trouble.”

You smile again, demure little thing, and shake your head. “Oh no, really it’s okay. It’s not far and… I like the walk. Thank you, though.”

– but none nearly so endearing, he thinks. 

And when they watch you disappear into the crowd, one final wave thrown over your shoulder, Hizashi’s fingers lace with his once more.

“So she’s our baby mama, huh?

He’s silent for a moment. “I suppose so.”

—

The agency recommended, at least in the initial stages before the implantation procedure took place, that any communication between the three of you should go through them. 

Hizashi had your number programmed into his phone before you’d even left the cafe, and he’s been texting you every day since – to the point where it wasn’t unusual for Shouta to come downstairs and find Mic chuckling to himself, fingers dancing across the keyboard on his phone as he replies to whatever message you’ve sent. 

Shouta, for his part, tends to message only to check in.

How are you feeling? Any side effects from the meds?

Your response comes a little slower than usual, and it’s almost an hour before finally he receives it.

Sorry they’re cracking down on us using our phones at work :( 

Everything’s good so far! The doc said i should be on track for our appointment next week!

… is it weird that I’m a little excited haha?

His brow furrows at that. You hadn’t mentioned a job – at least not to him, he’d have to ask Hizashi later whether you'd said anything to him. 

Why on earth were you still working? He’d seen the contracts, he knew exactly how much you were getting paid for this little venture, wasn’t that enough to support you?

He makes a brief mental note to make sure that whatever job you were working at, you stopped long before the baby was due. You might just be a surrogate, but he’d be damned if his baby was put in jeopardy because you were needlessly exerting yourself. 

Nevertheless, his expression softens somewhat as he reads the second part of your message. You were excited, hm? 

Well, that made three of you.

Both he and Hizashi’d been willing to come along to the clinic with you – he’d even submitted a formal leave request to take the day off from UA, but the Doctor had assured him that it wasn’t necessary.

“The procedure is quick and relatively painless. She’ll be home within a few hours, and so long as she remains off her feet and doesn’t undertake any strenuous activity, she will be perfectly fine.”

It hadn’t sat particularly well with Hizashi who’d spent the afternoon huffing and complaining about the clinic trying to kick them both out of the process. That much, he expected – he understood it to an extent; the agency catered specifically to Heroes, most of their clientele probably had busy schedules (which was true in their case as well). There wasn’t a need for them to be present at such a minor procedure, even if it did hopefully mark the beginnings of your pregnancy. 

What he hadn’t expected was the twinge of discontent he felt settle in his own stomach. The Doc might’ve preferred they stay out of this, but at the end of the day he really didn’t give a shit what she or the agency wanted.

So he messaged you.

Do you want us there with you?

He watches those three little dots bounce for almost a solid minute before finally your reply comes through.

No, it’s okay, you don’t have to come. The Doc said it wouldn’t take long and I don’t wanna be a burden for you guys

It’s not really an answer to his question, and he briefly wonders if Hizashi might be right about the agency interfering, but he’s not going to fight you on it. 

At least, that’s his plan until Principal Nezu pulls him aside at the end of a staff meeting and tells him that he’s found somebody to cover his classes tomorrow if he still wants the day off. 

“Ya gotta go, babe. One of us should be there for our ‘lil mama.”

He asks you what time your appointment is and there’s a surprisingly pleasant fluttering in his stomach when you walk through the clinic doors and catch sight of him sitting in the waiting room.

It’s a momentary surprise – you almost do a double take, but a smile lights your face and you ignore the receptionist in favour of racing towards him. 

“Shouta, I thought you weren’t coming!” Your arms wrap around his middle, squeezing tightly.

He finds himself returning your hug – albeit somewhat stiffly – but he’s glad he made the decision to come. The Doctor wasn’t wrong, you’re only in with her for just under twenty minutes, and when you come out there’s a tremble in your legs, but you seem otherwise fine.

It goes without saying that he’s driving you home, though you try once again to beg him off.

Kitten, when are you gonna learn that so long as you’re carrying his and ‘Zashi’s child, they’re going to go out of their way to make things easier for you – whether you want them to or not.

Yet your quiet discomfort on the drive home doesn’t slip past his attention. Maybe it’s because he’s become accustomed to your nervous rambling, but there’s something odd about the way you’re sitting so quietly, fingers twisting in your lap as you stare out the window. He knows that if Hizashi was here, he’d be chatting your ear off, but he’s never been one to fill silence with unnecessary small talk.

Though he can’t exactly help the way his own mind drifts. Are you in pain? The Doc didn’t say anything about there being any pain, only that you should rest over the next few days, so it shouldn’t be that. Perhaps you’re just lost in your thoughts – it’s strange for them having a surrogate, he can only imagine what’s going through your own head now that it’s actually begun. He hopes that you aren’t having second thoughts, almost opens his mouth to ask before thinking better of it.

You’re entitled to your thoughts and feelings, whatever they may be, and if you wanted to talk to him about them, you would. 

It’s not until the scenery outside starts to change and the fancy sky-scrapers give way to dingy apartment blocks and dilapidated buildings, crammed in together too tightly that he realises that it’s not discomfort that’s written across your face, but embarrassment.

This was your neighbourhood?

Shouta recognises it, and really he should have picked up on it earlier when you’d given him the address – he’s spent more than a few nights patrolling the area. It’s a hotspot, not for the high-class, dangerous villains plastered across the news every night, but thieves and murderers. Petty thugs who prey on the weak, those addicted, with nowhere else to go… you live here?

Surely with the money you’re getting from the agency, and your job on top of that, you can afford a better neighbourhood.

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, watches as you all but shrink into your seat, and when you speak, your voice is little more than a whisper.

“You can just drop me off at the corner here.”

He pulls the car to a stop by the curb, and for a moment neither of you speak. He doesn’t know what to say, and judging from the way you’re nibbling on your bottom lip and glancing up at him, you don’t either. 

“I–”

“Thank you,” you cut him off with a tight smile. “For coming today, and for… this. I-I really do appreciate it.” 

The words aren’t quite sincere, but he only nods – noting the miniscule sigh that escapes your lips at the action. “Of course. Anytime you need us, just call, okay.” He waits for you to nod before continuing, “Do as the Doc said, rest.”

You all but scamper from the car after saying another goodbye, though Shouta waits until you’ve disappeared into the crumbling apartment block before driving off.

Maybe the inside is nicer, but he sincerely doubts it.

—

“You should’ve seen it, ‘Zashi.” The two of them are curled up on the love-seat, half empty containers of takeout littering the coffee table in front of them. “I just can’t figure out why she’d be living somewhere like that.” 

The blonde frowns. He’d been messaging you throughout the afternoon, so he knew that the appointment had gone fine. It wasn’t that he expected to come home and find the erasure Hero jumping for joy, but the subtle discontent on Shouta’s face had been enough to make him pause. 

“You’re worried about our ‘lil songbird?” he asks, pushing away just enough so that he could turn to study his face. 

The short nod says plenty. Of course he is – even if you weren’t potentially carrying his child, you’re young, beautiful and far too innocent for your own good. In places like that, you were easy pickings, and you don’t even have a Quirk to protect yourself. His job requires him to assess his students’ strengths, their failings and weaknesses and their progress. He doesn’t need to see you in action to know that you wouldn’t be able to hold your own in a fight. 

It bothers him. 

“She’s not safe there.”

Hizashi hums, but instead of settling back against his husband’s side, he straightens up further. “Well, why don’t we go take a look-see, huh handsome? Make sure our sweet thing’s pad’s all safe ‘n sound, put your mind at ease. Whaddya say?”

As he stares into those imploring green eyes, Shouta knows that he should say no. 

Concerned or not, there’s still a line, privacy that should be respected. He’s tired and this is the only night that they both have off this week. Your place is almost twenty minutes from theirs, and it’s already late – almost midnight. The list goes on, there are a thousand reasons that he should say no.

“Fine. Just for tonight.”

—

Two weeks later, the two Heroes receive a call from the agency; the blood test came back positive – you’re pregnant. 

In the blink of an eye, at least to Shouta, this becomes startlingly real. You’re pregnant. They’re going to have a baby. Boy, girl, it doesn’t matter… You’re pregnant, and as his husband ends the call and yanks him by his collar into a fierce kiss, he realises how important this is.

How important you are, just by the virtue of carrying their baby.

They invite you over for dinner to celebrate, and while he’s never been one to flaunt the comfortable lifestyle he and Hizashi have, he does find it strangely pleasing to watch you wonder wide eyed through their apartment. He’d be the first to admit it’s big – bigger than they’d ever probably need, though with the baby on the way maybe they’ll finally be able to make use of all that extra space.

Mic grabs you by the hand, eagerly dragging you towards the nursery he’s already begun setting up. “Once I heard the good news, I just couldn’t wait to get started! Our little rockstar’s gonna have the sweetest crib, don’tcha think? Ain’t it amazing?” 

He’s already started painting and there’s a wooden cot halfway assembled and the beginnings of a musical mobile pushed off to the side waiting for him to return to it. It’s hardly close to being finished, but you just grin, gazing at the mural he’s started on the walls. “It’s amazing,” you say.

“I knew ya’d like it!” he beams.

Shouta hangs back as Hizashi guides you through the rest of the apartment, chattering excitedly away. He likes seeing his husband happy, and somehow you manage to bring it out of him without even trying. It’s still early days but Shouta has to admit that already you’re more to him and Hizashi than he expected, or even anticipated. You fit well with them, seamlessly, as if you’d always been a part of their lives.

After dinner, they drive you home despite your protests, and Hizashi insists they walk you up to your apartment. You’re no doubt under the impression that they’re doing it to be gentlemanly, missing the shared looks between the two men as they pass the out of order elevator and tread down hallways with stained carpet and peeling wallpaper, ignoring the leering yellow eyes of your neighbour, peeking out from the crack in the doorway as they bid you goodnight, ‘Zashi squeezing you extra tight.

There’s an uncharacteristic hardness in his husband’s eyes as they both slip back into the car, “No way in hell are we lettin’ her stay here.”

On that at least, there’s no arguments from him.

—

Hizashi, unsurprisingly, is the one to bring it up.

The three of you are grabbing a bite to eat after your first ultrasound. This time, both of them had been insistent on being there, and he’s glad they were. Seeing that grainy image of their baby, hearing it’s heartbeat – strong and steady – had filled him with an emotion he’d never felt before.

It was happiness and excitement and wonder and awe all mixed up and wrapped into a gut punch that stole his breath away, and while Hizashi had burst into a loud fit of tears, burying his face in Shouta’s neck while reaching for your hand, he’d managed to keep his own at bay.

Mostly. 

Regardless, you have little choice but to indulge them when they drag you out to one of the blonde’s favourite restaurants – on the proviso that they had you home in time to get ready for work.

“Songbird, there’s something the two of us have been meanin’ to ask ya.”

You perk up a little, hastily swallowing down your mouthful of food so you can reply, “Oh?”

He wonders if you notice the way your hand already instinctively drifts to your stomach, your barely there baby bump. 

“Why’re ya livin’ in a place like that, sweetheart?” You freeze, the corners of your smile slipping, but Hizashi continues, “Ain’t the money from the agency enough? We know you’re working that other job as well… we just…”

Shouta can physically feel you tensing like a bunny caught in a trap, and he doesn’t know what possesses him to reach out, sliding a hand across the table as you pale, but you take it regardless. 

“Talk to us. Please,” he begs. “We just want to understand what’s going on. You have to realise that it’s not exactly a safe neighbourhood, and it’s not just you we have to worry about anymore.” Dark eyes flicker pointedly towards your stomach. 

It’s a dirty tactic, but that doesn’t mean it’s not the truth. Did you realise how much danger you were truly in? Not just from the common street thugs – though frankly he thinks it’s nothing short of a miracle that you’d managed to get this far unscathed – but any number of villains with a grudge against either one of them, or Heroes in general. If they found out a pretty, quirkless thing like you was carrying their baby, how long do you think it would take before they tracked you down and kicked through your door?

Your eyes flicker between the two of them, and you swallow shakily. “I-it’s…” you break off, taking a deep, steadying breath, “It’s all I can afford right now.”

“But, hun, what about–”

“I know,” you say. “The money for the surrogacy isn’t for me. It’s money I owe.”

Neither Hero speaks a word as you talk, telling them about your uncle, the man who raised you, how his business went under a few years back and you both lost almost everything.

Shouta isn’t surprised to find out that your uncle turned to loan sharks when the banks turned him away and threatened to take your house. Alarmed at the man’s blatant stupidity, yes, but not surprised. Your eyes start to water when you tell them about how he died a few months back – a hit and run –  and the visit you were paid only a week later, informing you that your uncle’s debts were now yours, and payment had better come through quick. 

Your hand’s trembling in his by the time you finish. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t have any options, I didn’t know how else to get the money, and they said that i-if I didn’t pay up, they-they’d–” a sob catches you unawares, and once again it’s Hizashi who’s out of his seat and at your side in a heartbeat, sliding into the booth beside you, pulling you into a one armed embrace. 

It’s his eyes that you meet, and Shouta understands. He doesn’t need you to explain what threats were made. You were scared, terrified probably, and you had every right to be. 

“I didn’t know what else to do,” you sniffle. “I’m sorry for lying to you.”

Really, he should be furious. Disappointed at the very least. 

“Move in with us,” he says instead, ignoring your sudden, startled intake of breath. “At least until the baby comes.”

He should be, but this works better.

—

It takes a little longer than he’d like to convince you, but the two of them wear you down and a few weeks later Shouta finds himself carting boxes of your things up into the spare room in their apartment.

Despite the fact that you’re pregnant with their baby, you’re terrified of being a burden to the two Heroes, but it’s because of the baby that you eventually relent.

They want to be close, involved. They want to know that you’re safe – and their apartment’s state of the art security system will make sure of that when they’re not home with you. They want to make sure that you’re not exerting yourself, that you’re eating the right things and not running yourself ragged at a job you don’t need, stressing yourself out needlessly and putting the baby at risk.

All of that’s true. 

It’s just not the entire reason. 

At first, he convinces himself that it’s for Hizashi, as well as his own peace of mind, but he’s starting to wonder if that’s the full truth of it. Because of course he wants to keep a close eye on the pregnancy – he knows that this can’t be easy on you. You have no family left, and if you have any friends then they’ve done an excellent job of keeping you at arm's length. 

You have nobody but them, and it does bring him some modicum of peace to know that you’re just down the hall if anything goes wrong. 

Hizashi adores having you there with them, having somebody else to cook for, somebody to come home to at the end of a long day. More than a few times, they’ve both returned from a night of patrolling to find you curled up on the couch, fast asleep with a blanket over your legs and a book slipping from your fingers, having tried, and failed, to wait up from them.

You tune into Mic’s radio show on the nights you can’t sleep, and on the odd mornings that you wake up before either of them, they come downstairs to find bacon sizzling away in the pan, a pot of coffee already brewing. There’s something oddly charming about the way you pout while you pour it for them, knowing you can’t have any yourself.

“You’re a special kind of masochist, ya know?” Hizashi teases, sidling up beside you to grab a cup.

You sigh dejectedly. “I must be,” you reply as he plants a kiss on your cheek and squeezes your side affectionately, but it’s impossible to miss the sparkle in your eyes. You’re happy here, with them. 

Shouta warns you from pushing yourself too much, but even he can notice the apartment’s tidier when they arrive home than when they left, the freshly baked goods sitting on the countertop that weren’t there yesterday.

“I just… I know I can’t pay you back for all of this, I just wanna make myself useful,” you tell him one night when he asks about it. “I still feel like I’m taking advantage of the both of you, staying here…”

“You’re carrying our baby, that’s enough,” he reminds you, his calm, steady voice brooking no disagreement. And yet, as dark eyes study your face, he can tell that it’s not enough for you, so he sighs, and in a quiet voice adds, “We like having you here.”

He likes having you there. Sitting at the dining room table, helping him grade papers, lounging around on their rare days off together – helping Mic set up the nursery, volunteering to go shopping with them for baby stuff. He’s lost count of how many pregnancy books you’ve bought, pouring over them with a fine tooth comb late at night – often falling asleep in the process, leaving him and Hizashi to carry you off to bed with a barely there kiss to your forehead.

You fit between them in a way he hadn’t quite expected. Not a burden, not an interloper, but as if there was always a place carved out for you with them, and it’s only now that they realise that there was something missing to begin with. 

It doesn’t quite click until he finds his thoughts drifting towards you at work, his fingers drumming along the top of his desk so he can stop himself from reaching for his phone. He’s not usually so distracted teaching, and as the hours drag he finds himself glancing towards the clock on the wall, counting down the hours, minutes, until the day is done and they can return home to you.

Shouta can’t pretend for much longer that there isn’t something oddly satisfying watching your belly grow and your breasts swell as your pregnancy goes on. You’re glowing, and soft and beautiful, and he could kid himself and say that it’s just the normal effects of pregnancy, but there’s some part of him that’s strangely proud when your shirt rides up and he catches a glimpse of your baby bump – knowing it’s his child you’re carrying. His and ‘Zashi’s and yours.

And oh, he wishes that it was only pride that burns through his veins at the sight of you, barefoot and pregnant, pottering around the apartment. Hizashi’s the one to hold back your hair and rub your back soothingly when your morning sickness hits, but it’s Shouta who takes care of you when you start complaining about aching muscles and joints.

He tells himself that it’s purely about comfort, namely yours, ignoring the way you flush and stutter when he drags you up the stairs and pushes you gently towards the bed, telling you to lie down on your side. 

It’s just a massage, yet the moment his fingers run along your soft skin and a breathy moan slips from parted lips, the very last vestiges of the facade he’d built up in his head crumble into dust. 

You’re perfection. Bared and beautiful beneath him, making the prettiest noises for him as he works away at your muscles, expertly releasing all of your tension. He’s glad that your eyes are shut and you’re lost to the bliss, you don’t notice the way his breath hitches and becomes rough and heavy, the way his cock twitches in his sweats, blood flowing south as you arc into his touch. 

Such a responsive little thing, aren’t you?

“You’re amazing,” you moan, and though you can’t see that either, Shouta smirks. “Please never stop.”

It’s a good thing he has restraint, because it’s taking absolutely all of his to stop himself from taking more. 

He wants all of you. 

Wants to tease and taste.

Take.

Wants to hear those pretty fucking moans take the shape of his name… Hizashi’s name.

And maybe he might have felt guilty for those perverse thoughts, for the way he wants to tear the rest of your clothes off and fuck you nice and proper, breed you–

If his husband hadn't been standing by the door, watching the two of you for the last ten minutes. Shouta doesn’t need to look to know that it’s not anger or jealousy burning in his gaze.

He knows that his husband’s far from disgusted, knows it from the way Hizashi grabs his wrist on his way back down the hallway, pulling him instead to their bedroom and shoving him back onto the mattress with a wicked grin.

There’s something positively feral in the blonde’s expression as he hovers over him, forcing Shouta back down with a hand splayed across his chest, the other reaching down to his sweats to free his aching, needy cock.

“You’ve been holding out on me, baby,” he sings.

—

They have time.

Your due date is still months away, and you’re comfortable, here with them. 

There’s no reason for you to consider leaving until the baby’s born, and Shouta is adamant about keeping it that way. Hizashi can huff and puff and moan all he likes, he knows that they have to take this thing with you slowly. He won’t risk spooking you and losing any chance they have.

That’s not to say that he doesn’t empathise with the blonde, what with all the affectionate hugs and touches you thoughtlessly bestow, the way you’ll plonk yourself down on the couch between them so they can feel when the baby’s kicking.

Hizashi’s gotten to the stage where he’ll drop to his knees to shower your stomach in kisses when he gets home of an evening before sweeping you up into a hug of your own, his face a mask of perfect innocence when he catches sight of his husband’s less than impressed expression over your shoulder. 

Having you here with them, this little temporary faux family dynamic the three of you have found yourselves in is easy, domestic and nice. It should be enough, but it’s not.

“It’ll be weird, going home after this,” you hum absentmindedly one night.

Preoccupied with the noodles you’re toying with in your bowl, you miss the sharp look shared between both men.

“Whaddya mean, sweetheart?”

If you notice the odd stiffness to the words, you pay it no mind, simply shrugging. “I mean once the baby’s born. I dunno, I think I’ve become too comfortable here freeloading off of the two of you…” you glance up, smiling a little. “Going back to work and finding a place on my own again, starting fresh, it’ll be different, that’s all. Not bad different,” you hasten to clarify at the blonde’s nearly stricken face, “just… different.”

“Well it’s not like we’re gonna be forcing ya out, hun! You’re always welcome to jam with us for as long as you want.”

You shake your head with a rueful little laugh, “We both know I can’t do that. You’ll have the baby to worry about and the last thing I want is to feel like some awkward interloper, always getting in the way – especially after everything you guys have done for me.”

Hizashi’s fingers dig into the meat of his thigh, tightening with every word out of your mouth.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “I’m not saying I’m never going to come around to hang out or anything, but once this baby comes I’m gonna have to figure out what I’m going to do with my life.” Your eyes meet his, wide and hopeful, and Shouta’s reminded once again of just how young you really are. “I can go anywhere, do anything. It’s kind of exciting, don't you think?”

It was a mistake, to think that you’d come around to them on your own. 

You were young and naive, still living out a rose tinted fantasy where the world was your oyster and all you needed to do was reach out and take it. And maybe he’s partially to blame for that, taking your problems and getting rid of them, making you feel safe and comfortable, not realising that that security didn’t extend outside of these four walls, outside of their protection.

They need you, but kitten did you ever stop to think that you need them, too? 

Shouta had made the mistake of forgetting how this all came to be – you hadn’t wanted a family, you were just trying to save your own skin. You still think that you can make it on your own, without them. 

He supposes he shouldn’t blame you for your misplaced idealism, it’s only natural after all. Some people just don’t know what’s best for them.

They need to be shown.

—

You don’t stir as your bedroom door swings open. 

Not as Hizashi pulls back your sheets, groaning softly at the sight of your swollen breasts and precious baby bump, stretching against the confines of your silk pajamas. “Ain’t she a fuckin’ dream, Shou?”

Not as the blonde busies himself in carefully sliding your sleep shorts down your legs, or even as Aizawa gathers up your wrists, pressing a kiss to each one, and binds them to the headboard with his capture weapon.

“Gentle, ‘Zashi,” he murmurs when the blonde crawls up on the bed beside you. “Nothing too rough.”

You wake as long fingers caress your cheek, tilting your face towards him so he can kiss you properly.

Shouta hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights, but bathed under the soft glow of moonlight from your window, he watches your eyes flutter open, the momentary confusion that flashes across your face followed by realisation, horror, as you try to jerk back and cry out–

Only Hizashi doesn’t give you the opportunity, winding his hand through your tresses and anchoring you against him, forcing your lips open so that he can deepen the kiss and groaning appreciatively when a terrified whimper escapes you. 

You still haven’t noticed Shouta kneeling on the bed between your legs, too preoccupied by Hizashi’s tongue sliding against yours. “Relax, kitten,” he says, laying his palm on your thigh, letting his thumb glide over the smooth skin.

“Let us take care of our cute ‘lil baby mama, yeah songbird?” Hizashi adds, breaking away from the kiss with a lovesick grin.

Tonight is solely about you. Your pleasure, whether they have to tease it from you willingly or not.

Your tears are kissed away, your broken little pleas swallowed under ‘Zashi’s greedy lips as Shouta shuffles down the bed, nudging your thighs further apart so he can lie between them.

The keening cry that leaves you at the first stroke of his tongue against your warm sex is a thing of beauty.

Blood rushes to his cock as you writhe, and he tightens his grip as much as he dares to keep you locked in place as he delves in again. There’s little finesse to the way that Shouta eats your pussy – it’s a simple study of reactions; the way you gasp and shudder when the tip of his tongue circles your clit, the way your pussy clench and quiver around the muscle when he eases it inside of you, massaging your spongy walls.

Never one to be left out, Hizashi decides that there’s a better use of his attention than just your lips. With your arms bound, he’s not able to take your top off entirely so he settles with yanking it down, freeing your breasts.

“Fuck baby, you’re so pretty. Look atcha!”

Your tits must be tender and aching, because the moment Hizashi’s mouth envelops one of your nipples, sucking at the pert nub, a fresh sob bursts from your lungs and you’re trying desperately to wriggle away.

Hizashi just frowns, breaking away for a second to brush a stray lock of hair back behind your ear, “Ah shit, sorry babe! I’ll be gentle, promise.”

Shouta’s far too preoccupied by the intoxicating taste of your sweet cunt to notice whether he actually does or not, but he trusts him not to push you too far. There’ll be plenty of time for that later.

Your baby bump is cute and all, but Shouta wishes that it wasn’t blocking his view of your face – he wants to watch every little expression as he slides two thick fingers into your dripping cunt and your hips buck up to meet him. It’s a twisted kind of pride he feels, pride fused with filthy, maddening pleasure as he pulls a string of choked moans from you with just a few shallow thrusts of his fingers.

His jaw’s slicked with your juices, your cunt sucking his fingers deeper when he turns his attention back to your poor, neglected clit. He can tell that you’re close, not just from the needy whimpers and the way your muscles are tensing beneath him, but the desperate canting of your hips, rocking up against his face even as you beg for relief.

“Shouta, Shouta, please– oh god, please stop, p-please!”

He longs to wrap a fist around his throbbing cock, desperate to help relieve the burning ache deep in his gut as you cum for the first time on his tongue. Or better yet, maybe have Hizashi wrap that perfect mouth of his around his cock and suck him off–

But now’s not the time for him to be greedy. 

Rough fingertips prod at your walls, searching for that hidden little spot that’s gonna make you go wild–

You almost convulse when he finds it, and Shouta can’t help but smirk against your cunt as you tighten and quiver around his digits. With Hizashi playing with your tits, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses along your neck, Shouta’s lips wrapped around your clit, tongue flicking at the sensitive pearl as he suckles on it and long, thick fingers driving you to madness with each and every stroke, it’s too much for your poor, pregnant, oversensitive body to handle.

You cum with a strangled shriek, and Shouta almost moans at the flood of juices that gush from your trembling cunt onto his waiting tongue. 

“How’s she taste, baby?” Hizashi asks, green eyes blown wide, his own erection straining against his leather pants. 

Shouta doesn’t waste a beat, pushing himself up with one arm and grabbing his husband’s wrist with the other, yanking him into a fierce kiss – letting him taste your honeyed juices on his tongue.

Fingers tangle in dark locks, tugging him closer, and ‘Zashi lets out a low, throaty groan. It’s rough and eager, a slow burning frenzy that makes the blood in his veins sing with excitement. With their lips still locked, the blonde hastily yanks at the zipper on his pants, freeing the painfully hard member with a tight hiss. 

But when he finally does break for air, it’s not Shouta that he addresses, but you, lying spent, crying and breathless between them, beautiful in your fucked out state.

“You can’t expect to put on a show like that and not get me all worked up, sweet thing,” he coos, taking his flushed, throbbing cock in hand and giving it a few slow, cursory pumps. “I’m gonna fuck ya so good, baby – have you singin’ like a little birdie for me,” his eyes meet Shouta’s, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips. “Nothin’ but the best for our cute ‘lil wife. Whaddya say, songbird? Lemme make you feel all nice and special, yeah?”

[writeroutoftime]

baby makes three

(gif created by me)

pairing: colin bridgerton x fem!reader (this is for the 3 anons who wanted to see a similar situation with colin being a father!)

summary: snapshots of colin throughout your pregnancy with your first child 

warnings: pregnancy 

words: 1.7k 

a/n: this is the story that kept disappearing in my drafts, but it has reappeared, which is why I’m posting 2 stories back to back! 😂anyway, this is such a sweet thought, and I adored writing it! hopefully it doesn’t seem too choppy, I just thought it would be interesting to write little snippets of colin and yourself preparing to be parents! (as well as some fluff once the baby is born!) anyway, please let me know what you think, and have a lovely day! 

oOoOo

the announcement 

“You’re what?” 

“Pregnant, Colin.” you repeated, unable to keep the smile off your face. “And you’re going to be the most wonderful father!” 

Immediately, Colin’s face morphed from one of disbelief to pure joy in a matter of seconds before he shot forward and wrapped you up in his arms. His laughter and lightheartedness was infectious, and your heart swelled at his reactions. A gasp of surprise left your lips as he spun your around before setting you back down and placing a chaste kiss against your lips. 

Growing up in the Bridgerton family, Colin always knew that he wanted a large family of his own one day. The day he had met you, he knew you were the one for him, and from that day he had imagined starting a family with you. Now, those dreams were coming to fruition, and neither of you could be happier. 

Once recovered, Colin quickly got down on his knees and lovingly placed a kiss to your covered stomach, staring up at you with intense love and devotion in his eyes. You reached down and carded your hand through his thick, chestnut locks, thinking how lucky you were to have someone like Colin in your life. 

“Hello, little bean.” he whispered sweetly. “I cannot wait to meet you, so you just stay safe and keep growing in there until it’s time.” Colin instructed, pulling a laugh from your lips. 

“Little bean?” you questioned the nickname for your unborn child. 

Colin shrugged with a sheepish smile. “Well, we don’t know if we are to have a son or a daughter, so I shall call our precious gift ‘little bean’ for the time being.” he explained as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.  

“Well this little bean and myself love you dearly, Colin.” you praised, smiling down at your husband. 

“And I, the both of you.” he vowed, offering your stomach one more kiss before standing up, unable to keep his lips away from yours. 

5 months 

Colin beamed as he watched you walk into the drawing room and sat down, admiring the glow that you seemed to radiate. The months were passing quickly, and now that there was a visible bump it made your situation feel all the more real. Of course, you had received so much love and support from not only Colin, but the rest of his family, especially the women who had already experienced a pregnancy of their own. It warmed your heart to know you were not alone in this endeavor. 

“Oh!” you suddenly gasped, quickly setting your teacup down and rubbing your stomach where you felt a slight discomfort. 

“Is everything alright, love?” Colin asked as he rushed to your side. “Do we need to call for the doctor? My mother?” he listed, worry glazing over his eyes as he hovered, waiting for your instruction. 

The movement repeated and with your hand rested over your bump, you smiled, realizing what had just happened. “No, no, everything is perfect.” you whispered, lost in wonder and awe. 

“Then what is it?” Colin inquired, still concerned and needing answers. 

Wordlessly, you grabbed his hand and rested it on your stomach, moving it around for a few seconds before pressing down. Colin was about to protest further until he felt the same sensation you did just moments before and his eyes widened at the spot his hand rested on. His eyes then flicked up to meet yours, and neither of you could contain the joy you felt. 

“That’s our little bean in there.” he whispered, voice shaky and eyes misty. 

“That it is.” you whispered, not wanting to disrupt the moment, though you let out a small giggle when you felt the baby kick again. 

“She’s going to be just as beautiful as her mother.” he said. 

“She?” you questioned. “What happened to little bean?” 

“Oh, she’s still our little bean, but I just have a hunch that we’re going to have a daughter to love and spoil.” Colin said, pulling you into your side and soothingly rubbing his hand up and down your bump, and that is where the two of you stayed for the rest of the afternoon. 

8 months 

The further along in your pregnancy you were, the more you found it difficult to sleep, tossing and turning as your child constantly kicked against your stomach. Luckily, Colin was always there to help you and even stayed awake with you on those restless nights. However, one night when sleep was achieved quite easily, you found yourself awakening to Colin’s soft voice. It only took a moment to realize he was talking to your baby, so you kept your eyes closed and your breath even, not wanting to interrupt the moment. 

“I can’t wait until I can hold you in my arms, little bean.” he whispered to your belly, hand supporting his one hand while the other ever so gently rested on your stomach. “You’re mother and I cannot wait for you to be in our lives, and you’re going to be so spoiled between your mother and I and all your aunts and uncles.” 

It was difficult to hold in a laugh as you imagined Colin’s words to be true. The two of you were eager to start your family, and the rest of the Bridgerton clan always enthusiastically welcomed another niece or nephew to dote upon. 

“Speaking of your mother,” Colin continued. “we are so lucky that she is in our lives. I know that this has been difficult for her, but you have been blessed with the best mother. We’ll both have to love and appreciate her as much as possible.” 

By that point, it was exceedingly difficult to keep your act up as you felt tears prickle at the corner of your eyes. How were you so lucky to have such a caring and attentive man like Colin in your life? It seemed as though your baby had been listening and agreed with Colin because right after he spoke, another sharp kick could be felt. 

“Are you giving your mother trouble, little bean?” he asked, brows furrowed as he awaited another kick. “What did I just say about being kind to your mother? It is not nice to kick her that hard, especially at night.” he reprimanded in the gentlest voice. “Even if she is pretending to be asleep.” he added with a smug grin, looking up to meet your eyes. 

Sheepishly, you looked down at your husband. “How did you know I was awake?” you asked, curious as to what it was that gave you away. 

“I could feel your small laugh earlier on.” he admitted, and shifted his body so that he was face to face with you instead of your stomach. “But I truly meant every word I spoke.” he whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your lips. 

When you pulled away, you couldn’t stop the tears that ran down your cheeks, moved by the love Colin always gave you. “I’m so lucky to be doing this with you by my side. You are going to be the best father, Colin.” you told him, your voice watery but sincere. 

Colin gently brushed away your tears and kissed the spots where tear tracks had been left behind as he entwined your hand with his. “I think I am the lucky one, love.” he countered, and curled into your side for the rest of the night. 

birth 

The moment you went into labor, Colin was there to hold your hand while sending out for the midwife and doctor as well as his mother. When the doctor tried to shove him out of the room, Colin held his ground and demanded that he be allowed to stay by his wife’s side; he was not about to leave you to fend for yourself at this hour. Hesitantly, the doctor granted his request, and you sighed a breath of relief, as Violet smiled to herself at the sight, her heart warmed at how dedicated the two of you were to each other. 

Hours later, filled with blood, sweat, and tears, you were propped up in your bed, gently holding your daughter in your arms. It was a tender scene between yourself, Colin, and y/d/n. Colin held you in arms and kissed the top of your head while gently stroking his daughter’s cheek with his thumb. It felt surreal that you child was now here and that your family had grown to three. 

“She’s beautiful.” you said, voice barely above a whisper, unable to tear your eyes from your daughter. 

“Just like her mother.” Colin responded, squeezing you a bit tighter. “Thank you, y/n.” he suddenly said, causing you to look up at him. 

“Whatever for?” you asked. 

Colin took a moment to collect his thoughts before he spoke. “For starting our family, for being so strong to support our daughter until she was ready to meet us, for making me so incredibly happy every single day.” he listed over, each one more passionate than the last. 

It was already an emotional day, and you didn’t think your heart could feel any more full, but as usual, Colin found a way to prove you wrong. “I love you so much.” you told him, and he leant his head down to rest against yours as the two of you spent the next couple hours admiring the newest addition to your family. 

Later that night, Colin found that he could not sleep, the excitement and adrenaline of the previous day’s events still coursing through his veins. Carefully, he untangled himself from your embrace and padded over to the bassinet in the corner of your room where your daughter slept. He knelt down next to her and simply watched as she slept her first night. A few minutes later, your daughter opened her eyes and met Colin’s gaze. 

“Hello there, little bean.” he whispered, not wanting to frighten her or wake you up. “I just want to let you know that I love you so, so much, and I’m always going to be here to protect you.” Colin promised as he offered a finger for your daughter to grab a hold of with her tiny hand, ready for everything the future would bring. 

oOoOo

tagging: @dreaming-about-fanfictions​, @elennox03

[ussjellyfish]

For the wip ask: we can always get it annulled. Since you've already given snippets of the other 3. Thanks!

Thanks for asking!!

We Can Always Get It Annulled is a silly thing where Michael and Laira have to get married so Michael doesn't have to be a Qowot Milat nun.

====

Hands fall to the bar beside her, Michael's hands, Laira realizes after a moment. Those are her sleeves.

She looks up from the bright blue tumbler of Romulan ale into Michael's exhausted face. Laira might have found one of the few people in the galaxy having a worse day.

"Romulan ale?"

Michael sighs and settles onto a stool beside her in lounge. "This was illegal in my day."

Laira takes a sip, letting it sting her throat. "And you never tried it?"

"You know, I was pretty boring back in the 23rd century. Barely did anything illegal until I got here." Michael pours herself a glass and studies the bottle. "It's legal now right?"

"It is." Laira lifts her glass, and clicks it against Michael's. "Mostly."

"Well, give me a pardon if I get in trouble."

"That's not how it works."

"Damn." Michael takes a sip, then another, wrinkling her nose. "I'll tell you my bad day if you tell me yours."

Shaking her head, Laira rubs the back of her neck. "Andoria and Ni'Var have a long history, as talks with Andoria progress, we keep hitting snags."

"Potholes?"

"Black holes."

"Ah." Michael touches her hand, fleeting, like all of the moments of contact between them, but it tingles like the ale. "Sorry."

"We'll get there. It's just a hard day."

"Hopefully tomorrow's easier."

Laira sighs, forcing herself to look up. It's almost impossible not to be hopeful when she looks at Michael. "Thanks. Tell me about yours."

"Well, unless I can find a better loophole, it seems I have to become a nun or not speak to my mother until I am ready to become one."

Pressing her fingers into her eye ridges for a moment, Laira sighs. T'Rina warned her about this. "The Qowot Milat hereditary ascendancy."

"Apparently I could have opted out at age thirteen, but I was back in the 23rd century."

"I'm so sorry."

Michael finishes what's in her glass in a gulp, wincing. "T'Rina said if I were less high profile, they could find a way around it, but I'm tied to old Vulcan and not honoring Romulan tradition--"

"Would be a mess." Laira pats her shoulder without thinking, and when Michael's fingers cover hers, her heart skips. "I'm sorry."

"I've been in the records with Shira, looking for something, anything." Michael reaches for the bottle and pours some more. "So far we have asking for a deferment until I'm ready to retire from Starfleet, which would require me to join the Qowot Milat at the end, I refuse the call to service and don't speak to my mother for ten years, or I marry someone with an ancestral religion incompatible with Qowot Milat teachings."

"Damn."

"I know. I--" Michael looks at Laira's ear for a moment, then sighs. "Think the prophets would take pity on me and take me in?"

"They've been known to have a soft spot for Starfleet Captains in need." Laira slides her glass over so Michael can pour. "Or we get married."

That earns a laugh from Michael, a real one, and her whole terrible day is suddenly all right. "Are you proposing?"

"No, no, I'm sorry, I--"

Michael pats her hand, then squeezes her fingers. "It's all right, I'll do it."

For a moment, Laira believes her. She always believes her.