#except i prompted myself so hah

[macabr3-barbi3]

DoubleTrouble No 1 🖤❤️

Myself and the delightful and talented @fraugwinska have been working on something tasty and present to you: a DoubleTrouble fic!

A single prompt from my Ao3, shared between two writers, one POV each ❤️

I tackled the reader's perspective, and you can find one from Alastor's POV right here! So many thanks for FrauGwinska for being an absolute superstar and working with me through this new and exciting experience <3

We hope you enjoy!

Tags: period sex, cunnilingus, mentions of blood (obviously), rough sex <3

Minors DNI🔞

The Blood is Rare 🩸

The fact that you still had a period in Hell was bullshit, but you suppose they needed to give people something to be miserable about. That was probably why people ended up in the situation you were in now, seated across from Alastor with a deal on the tip of your tongue; sheer desperation, because somehow the cramps were even worse than they had been on Earth and the only thing that helped was a good old fashioned orgasm. If it were anyone else you wouldn’t even consider asking- a lot of demons, except the really-weird-even-for-Hell ones, were still squeamish about blood being involved with any kind of orgasm.

If you were right though. Alastor would relish the opportunity you were about to present to him.

Fresh to the hotel just a few days after your last Hellish period, Alastor had startled you in the kitchen with a knife in your hand. The resulting jump had caused the blade to slip, gash in your thumb bleeding steadily over the apples that you had planned to fry up. Rather than allowing you to fetch a bandage, Alastor had chuckled, said “no need, dear,” and popped your thumb into his mouth. It was probably some ploy of his- strike fear into the hearts of new residents, give them a reminder that he was a cannibal and that he wouldn’t hesitate to eat them if they stepped out of line or caused any issues.

It backfired on him. At the taste of your blood his eyes grew black, staggering away from you with the shock of it, antlers extending so quickly they smashed the glass front of a nearby cabinet and he ended up trapped between the wooden dividers.

“More,” he had snarled, but his antlers stuck in the cabinet had been enough of a delay for you to make an escape. 

He apologized, of course, a couple days later, explained his nature as a cannibal, a predator, had reacted before his mind, and that such a thing would not happen again. He had ended the awkward conversation with a statement of, “should you feel the desire to spare some of that tasty treat in your veins, do be a dear and let me know!”

And, well. Here you were. Letting him know. Ready to make a deal with one of the most powerful Overlords in Hell to get a little relief from the torture chamber that was your body in ovulation, even when there was nothing to fucking ovulate.

Alastor was tense when he phased into the hotel conference room to meet you as you had asked. His spine is stiff when he settles into the chair across from you, not having been alone in a space since that time in the kitchen. “What is it that I can help you with, my dear?”

“I want to clarify something- do you want to like, eat me?”

“Oh!” Alastor’s eyes widen with his smile. “I wouldn’t have been so blunt about it, darling, but if you’re asking- yes. That little taste that I had a few weeks ago was… inadequate, to say the least. But naturally staying here at the Hotel, Charlie would have been terribly upset had I consumed you.” He flicks his gaze over your form. “Why do you ask? Surely you don’t mean to let me indulge.”

A deep breath as you brace yourself. “Hah, not exactly. But uh, I do have a proposition of sorts for you. In regards to that. Kind of.”

He fades out of sight, rematerializing a couple seats closer to you. “Color me intrigued! What do you have in mind?”

You almost call the whole thing off- then a monster bolt of pain rips through your abdomen, nearly forcing you to double over the table with the ache of it. Any thought of embarrassment or hesitation flies from your head. Alastor is the only one that would be willing to help you in this way, you’re sure of it.

The groan of pain escapes you before you can stop it, and his eyebrows raise. “I have a deal to offer you that would allow you to- um. Sample my blood, if you’re amenable. Once a month.”

His head cocks to the side before his expression clears and he understands what you’re implying. “You’re referring to menstruation?” You nod, face red. “I see. Please provide me with more details of what this proposal would entail on my end then.” His claws are digging into the table, wood splintering beneath them and betraying his interest before even hearing what he would have to do.

“Right. I don’t know if you’re aware or not but periods can be crazy painful. Just on Earth too, but down here they’re basically unbearable when the cramps get bad. One thing that can help is having an orgasm.” You’re trying to resist the urge to hide in some way. You know this is what needs to be done. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, of course- just, you know. Uh, collecting on your benefit would probably do the trick.”

His eyes narrow. “I see. That is the… service I’m to provide, then?” A nod, flushed face dropped into your hands. “Well, I suppose I will simply have to endeavor to do my best! I’m never one to turn down a challenge- certainly not when the payoff is so enticing.” His eyes go dark, not quite black yet but the air between you changes, antlers going long and jagged. “I’m open to your proposal.”

“I need terms,” you breathe out, pleased that he’s still willing to help with the sexual nature of your request. “I need- just, something confirming that you won’t actually eat me for real. The blood is all that I’m willing to part with- no flesh.”

He sighs, eyes rolling. “Less exciting,” he says with a wave of his hand, “but not a dealbreaker. Anything else?”

“Only once a month- during this time. You can’t just be making me bleed whenever you want.”

“Done.” He’s in the chair next to you then, eyes black, grin so wide it threatens to split his face open, clawed hand held in your direction. “Do we have a deal?”

You take his hand in yours, green light filling the space between you and a screeching feedback sound assaulting your ears. When it fades Alastor is watching with hooded eyes. “Would you like to begin now?”

“Oh God. Uh, if now is a good time for you I guess. If you want to do it now.”

He laughs low and dangerous, his tall frame rising from the chair to tower over you. “Darling, I’ve wanted some semblance of what you’ve proposed for weeks. I’m not a man that makes a habit of denying himself a treat when it’s offered to him so sweetly.”

Your hand is still in his, and there’s a strange pull behind your navel as Alastor yanks you into the shadows with him, rematerializing in his bedroom. “Feel free to sit on the bed,” he offers, gesturing to the mattress and manifesting a large dark towel. “Or lie back- however will be more comfortable for you.” 

He releases your hand once you’ve sat, and you stay upright as Alastor sinks to his knees in front of you, fingers coming to the top of your skirt and pulling everything down in one fell swoop, his expression darkening at the scent of you exposed before him before ducking his head. You can’t see what he sees with how close he has already come to your skin, his enlarged antlers blocking your vision, the muscles of his back flexing with the force of his inhale as he breathes you in. A jolt of pain hits you again, deep in your core, and your whimper at the feeling has him bringing his eyes back to your face.

His eyes are hooded and dangerous, feral smile on his face while your fingers dig into the bedsheets. “Feel free to hold on, dear,” he says with a gesture to his antlers, before dipping his head to your bare cunt and slicking his tongue between your folds, angling his head just so to slip into your heat.

You can almost forget that Alastor is only doing this to satisfy some carnal desire of his with the fervent way that he pushes his mouth against you, slick muscle delving deep into you and brushing his nose against the firm nub of your clit. There’s a reverberating rumble as he moans at the taste, clawed fingers coming up to grip at your thighs, spreading them wider so he can get even closer to the source of his obsession. You can feel where he flicks his tongue inside you, brushing against that sweet bundle of nerves with every strong push and pull. The pleasure curls in your gut, keeping the worst of the cramps at bay while your body tenses and releases in rhythm with the demon’s ministrations. Every so often he pulls out, brings what he’s collected back into the haven of his mouth and savors it, eyes closed and his throat rumbling with a satisfied groan.

“You’ve no idea,” he growls, “how I’ve thought of tasting you. Consuming you.” The sharp points of his teeth brush against your clit and your body jolts, hands finally flying up from the bed to clutch at his antlers, grip tight on the tines of them as he looks up at you. 

The look on his face is nearly your undoing- more animal than man, and his claws dig into your flesh, tiny pinpricks of pain dragging you forcibly back to the moment. Your orgasm is just out of reach, not enough focus where you need him but you don’t want him to feel uncomfortable if you ask him for more.

“Fucking divine,” he whispers against you, and when his tongue brushes your sensitive clit with the words you shudder, the motion drawing his gaze to your face, flushed and hot. He smiles wide, expression smug as he leans in and does it purposely this time, licking up your folds and finally focusing where you need him to be. He circles it with purpose, pressure so sweet and sadistic, a light suck making you cry out his name and fist your hands on his antlers.

“Fuck! Alastor, yes, there- oh god, please, more…” He tenses under your hands and you worry for a moment that you’ve done something wrong. Then he’d sliding his hands under your thighs and dragging you closer to the edge of the bed, draping your legs over his shoulders.

“Say it again,” he murmurs, the vibrations of his voice sending heat flooding through you, overriding the painful ache of a cramp that tries to make itself known.

“Alastor,” you moan, and his tongue resumes its residence in the tight grip of your cunt, a hand coming up to brush a clawed finger over your clit. He works you quickly, his efforts paying off as your body tenses, invisible string inside you drawing tight and snapping with a force you’ve never felt before. “Alastor- A-” You try to say his name again, hear it come out as as a choked off whimper and a near scream as you reach orgasm, legs tightening on his shoulders and pulling him as closer, your walls clenching down on the length of his tongue before be pulls back and licks you through the remainder of it.

You release your grip on his antlers and fall back against the mattress, eyes closed while Alastor removes his face from between your legs, licking along the tiny pinpricks of blood from his claws before you shoot him a halfhearted glare. 

Your abdomen is blissfully absent of any clenching of your internal organs seeking revenge. Sated, you sit up from the mattress to see Alastor still knelt before you, faint lines of dried blood- your dried blood, your brain supplies- around his mouth. He looks like a predator fresh from his kill of the night, antlers jagged and long, eyes still dark and frantic as he looks at you.

“Was that sufficient, darling?”

“God, yes, it was perfect. I- I really appreciate your help.”

“Hmm. Of course. Though I must admit, only part of my… appetite for you has been appeased.” He rises from the floor, knees perched on either side of your thighs now and leaning in. You can smell something metallic on him as he approaches, know that it's your own blood as he stares down into your eyes hovered over you.

“Oh?” You become aware of a hard length pressing into your thigh. “Oh! I didn’t think that was something you would be interested in.”

He shrugs, rolling his hips and hissing at the friction. “Nor did I, dear. That does seem to be a theme with you, though- having a taste and finding that I crave more against my better judgment, against all reason.” He places a hand on your hip and runs his claws along the bare skin. “Would you allow me to help ease your pain once more?”

“God, yes,” you breathe out, “please, Alastor.” He takes a moment to undress, trousers removed along with his boxers before he climbs back over you and presses against the still slick folds of your cunt. He pushes in, hot and hard length opening you up and settling deep inside of you with a harsh exhale of breath against your neck. “Fuck, it’s so good.”

Alastor growls, the sound reverberating through his chest as he thrusts into you. A pulse of arousal shoots through you, the thought of bringing such a well spoken man to his baser instincts, so thoroughly invested in you that he can do little more than snarl like an animal into your skin, pushing you ever closer to the edge again. You’re already soft and sensitive from your first release, the cresting wave of a second hustling towards you. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, sharp teeth nipping at the tendon he finds there and moaning. “I could devour you,” he whispers, and you feel yourself clench down on him at the broken crack in his voice.  He drags his tongue up the length of your neck, hesitates like he’s trying to savor it. “I could feast on you for centuries and never tire of the taste of your flesh, whether coated in blood or sweat.”

A whimper escapes you as he sucks on the skin of your shoulder, leaving a trail of harsh bruises along the path he takes. A hand comes up to twist into his hair, something to ground yourself, to draw this out as long as possible. Your other hand digs into the flesh of his arm pinning you to the mattress. “Fuck, more, please,” you beg him, and he pulls back from your neck to watch your face twist and contort in pleasure while he slams against the sweet spot inside of you.

“Say my name,” he demands, fingers on your hip digging bruises into the soft skin, his other hand tangled in the bedsheets, tearing them to shreds to avoid sinking his claws into you. “Say it. Tell me what you need.”

“Oh God, Alastor-” You angle your hips, the movement bringing him even deeper into your body, the length of him so sweet and sinfully delicious that a whine escapes your throat before you can think to stop it. “I need- I don’t know, Al, I can’t-”

“You must,” he commands, and he lets go of your hip to slip his hand between your bodies, fingers pressing against the taut skin of your opening where your bodies are joined. The stimulation is foreign and new and has your walls tensing and releasing rhythmically around him, release so close now that you were seeing stars behind your clenched eyes.

“Look at me.” Your lids fly open to meet the sight of Alastor above you, his face contorted in something like pain. “You must,” he says again, fucking into you with vigor now, sweat beading on his forehead. “I need it around me, I have to feel it. Please, darling, give it to me-”

Fuck. How could you deny him when he asked so sweetly? Not that you had any control over it- your body breaks beneath him, cunt wrapped around him like the softest of silk and tightening its grip. Your limbs seem to go numb for a moment, pleasure warping your reality for a few blissful moments, your vision focusing in a tunnel on Alastor’s face before it vanishes, burying once again in the space between your shoulder and neck.

With a final cry of his name he sinks his teeth into you, not tearing back as one might expect but content to simply let them rest there as he spills into you with a broken moan, hips bucking hard and fierce and then easing into something softer as your walls pull and push, wringing every drop from him.

A breath of silence as you both catch your breath, interrupted by a hiss of faint pain as Alastor pulls his teeth from you and licks at the wound he’s created like a satisfied cat. “You promised you wouldn’t try to eat me for real,” you mutter, voice soft from the strength of your cries.

Alastor hums against you, tongue still moving against you. “Hardly my fault.” He’s mouthing greedily at your skin, claws traipsing on the flesh of your hips and roaming wherever he can reach. “You’re delicious,” he groans, taking one final taste of your blood before pulling back and collapsing next to you, “a delicacy. How am I meant to live without this at every moment of the day? I think I shall starve.”

You huff out a laugh, stretching your muscles as well as you can without really moving. “Don’t be dramatic. You get it once a month, at least.” You roll onto your side, ignore the feeling of something slick and wet between your thighs and focus on the fact that your body is limp and pliant and not seeking revenge on you. 

“You raise a valid point, my dear.” He throws you a sideways look, his antlers now having returned to their normal size and his ears relaxed against his skull. “Though I’m not at all opposed to repeating this aspect of the experience outside of your… monthly allowance to me. Deals always have room for negotiation, do they not?”

“Let’s get through this one first and then we’ll talk.” You yawn and try to rise from the bed, but an arm from the demon beside you is thrown haphazardly over your waist, pinning you in place.

“Stay,” he says, his eyes lidded and peeking at you. “There’s more to come yet, right? May as well stay where we can easily access one another for the duration.” His crimson eyes close the rest of the way and you settle back into the mattress, allowing your body to relax and slip into a peaceful sleep beside him.

[lal-ffxiv]

Prompt #11: Surrogate

The evening was warm on the Rhotano Sea. M'arianni and Foggy were sitting on deck sharing a bottle of spirits, watching the lights of Liminsa Lomisa come on as Lucien fished off the bow of the ship. A good domestic scene.

"He doesn't look much like you. Except in the eyes. The physical differences between Seekers and Keepers are misconceptions or sterotypes, I know, but does he look like his mother-father more?"

M'arianni snorted, but followed Foggy's observation of Lucien. As it often felt when she looked at him, her heart stung with regret. He did have similarites to Epohkan, but when he hummed, as Lucien was doing now, she could only see Luc's reflection in him. M'arianni briefly wondered about the other one, if they shared any qualitiies in apperance or habit with the trio that had been.

"Not much, nor the the other parent."

"It drives me mad when you say that without elaboration. Your mysteriois relationship with these past live lovers." Foggy took a deep drink from the bottle with shake of head. "If he looked more like you, it would much better for business. Customers feel such pity for single mothers."

"I'm not his mother. He has a mother. He is just my responbility until his parents come for him."

"You are a mother nonetheless. Otherwise we would be feching a pretty price for his head."

M'arianni didn't grab the bottle from his hand this time, but Foggy's wrist. Her nails like claws dug into soft flesh until he cried out. M'arianni caught the bottle in her free hand. Then twisted the wrist in her grip slightly.

"If anything happens to him, and I have even a hint of your invovlement, I will have you at bottom of the briny before you know it and I'll keep the boat."

M'arianni released Foggy's wrist. There isn't an open wound since it only a warning. Foggy was sure the red marks from her finfernails would grow into a burise though.

However, any further argument or discussion was halted by the beam of light that hit the deck. Lucien scurried to M'arianni's side on cue.

"Are you civilians?"

"Yes sir. Just the miss, the child and myself." Foggy put his hand to the back of M'arianni's waist.

The officer nodded at them. "Clear off from this area while we search it for suspcious activity."

"Oh anything we need to be worried about." M'arianni used the action of pulling Lucian closer to push away from Foggy's hand.

"Searching for a burglar. If you put into port, you will be safe."

"We will be reporting anything we see to the tower." M'arianni promised to officer as his boat was rowed away.

Once vinicity was cleared a wet sack was throw onto the deck from the sea.

Lucien went to look over the gunwale to see a head bobbing in the water.

"Pull me up already. The water is freezing." The man shouted.

"I'm checking the goods frist." M'arianni shouted back as Foggy inspected the contents.

"Plates and prisms in perfect condition."

M'arianni tossed a rope latter to allow the burglar onto the boat. "Stay below deck. And warm yourself up with this." M'arianni handled him the bottle of spirits to Foggy's protest.

"We will split the profits once you have glamoured the items. For now lets get the hells away from here before that officer circles back."

"What's my split?" Lucien asked as he played his role to perfection.

"Hah! I've taught how to read, write and arithemtic on the level of arcanist. You owe me a debt if anything! Now I'm gonna teach you how get this sail up. Grab that..." As Foggy continued to instruct, M'arianni watched.

Once again looking with her whole heart at the young miqo'te boy. Heartache rang out to her, and she felt the responbility of his life over her head that she never wanted for herself. No love could grown from that soil, so he would never be anything to her. However, much like the choice of having Lucien in her life, she could not stop him from seeing her as someone else. Surrogate nonetheless indeed.

[yomogi-mogi-mochi]

Pygmalion (IV)

Pairings: Rook/ (Pygmalion) Reader // Idia/Reader (Platonic)

Summary: You were frequently told that your career as a renowned sculptor did not match your dull and less than colorful personality. With your cybernetic hands, you carve the lives and deaths of those long gone‒ producing pieces which have been held in both technical and emotional high regard, dubbing you with the title “Pygm.AI.lion” despite your human heart and brain. When you accidentally still the usually flamboyant archer into silence after he comes across you working in your atelier‒ you find that you’ve become a victim to one of his ceaseless stalkings. Though, you’ve been prey long enough to know how hunt the huntsman himself.

Notes: I've been reading more of Song of Achilles and I'm sobbing. Help lol

Sorry updates have been slow. I've been working between fics‒ I have an Orpheus inspired Vil fic coming out soon-ish??? We'll see how my creativity is fairing after completing this chapter lmao I can feel myself burning out as we speak. Short chapter but I have big things coming next chapter

Comments and kudos always appreciated ヽ(●´ε｀●)ノ

CW: Hints of depression?? Mention of death. Not really much else except bad French oh my god it’s so so bad

AO3 Link Here.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 (Here) // Part 5 // Part 6

Masterlist

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Grief anchored you to the ground for minutes? Hours? Days? You weren't sure. Your sense of time had been long broken when you separated from the rhythm of human life‒ and you would let yourself rot for however long you wished, knowing‒ painfully‒ that it would not matter how many more centuries you stayed harbored to that misery, as it would just circle back to the same emptiness. But you knew it was long enough to warrant a visit from Idia of all people, who examined your arm with a careful eye.

"Seems fine now. Your Orpheus system is just lagging because you haven't upgraded your physical body in its entirety for a while.” He let your hand go, falling limp into your lap. “I can whip up something quick‒"

"It's fine." You tried to say it as neutrally as you could, but it came out strained and hoarse instead. Porcelain teeth grazed the insides of your mouth, gathering saliva in your mouth to fix the dryness in your throat. "I'll be alright, little flame." You corrected.

"Ortho misses you, you know."

"Is that so?" You clenched your fist, testing its movements. "It'll pass."

Idia pushed a stiff breath past his lips to release his growing frustration. "Hah? Sorry‒ what? 'It'll pass?'"

"Yes, it will."

A violent vermillion licked the tips of his hair. "Be so serious right now (Name)." He stood suddenly to his full height, knocking the wooden stool behind him. "You're finally free and this is what you are now?"

He was nearly three feet taller than your sitting height. It would have shook a bit before to see the difference from his small stature during his childhood, and now at the cusp of his adulthood, but it didn’t now. You challenged him with an empty gaze, cold as splintering ice. "And what am I now?"

"You know what I mean."

“I’m not quite sure. Enlighten me.”

"I know it's not simple.” He began. His chest heaved with desperate, slow breaths‒ you could tell that he wasn’t used to raising his voice. There’s a slight pain that made you squint your eyes. “Ortho reminded me that you need to value your heart, as much of a fault in human programming it is. You taught me that first, you know.” If an answer was expected at that time, you did not give it. “If you keep cornering yourself into what S.T.Y.X tried to make of you, you’ll never actually be free from them.”

There was a familiarity in this conversation that slumbered somewhere in your hazy memories, that prompted you to answer as automatically as the reflexes programmed within your bionic muscles.

“You don’t know me.”

Idia’s sudden strength almost surprised you when he picked you up by the scruff of your collar, face bright from the orange flames that flickered onto his face. "No‒ don't you dare‒"

"I'm not interrupting something, am I?"

The door opens wide, revealing Rook with an amused stare. You were sure you locked it‒ but everything seemed to blur together in your head.

"...No." Idia's hands left your collar, letting you fall solidly onto your chair. You slumped into yourself, turning to your drafting table to keep pretending like you were busy like when Idia had first entered.

"Just…think about it, please?" He says quietly, turning away to leave. You couldn’t bring yourself to nod, or shake your head‒ unsure if who he was talking about was truly the one implanted in your mechanical body. So you merely stared at the bare paper, bent and wrinkled from the several days you had spent laboring over its blankness.

“A spat with the Ignihyde house warden? Now that’s a sight to behold. One could only imagine what you have done to prompt such a response.”

“I was being cruel.” You answered‒ almost a warning, a violence to fend him off. That fire felt seasoned in your throat, perhaps you had someone else’s memories deep down that had spat the same wickedness from it.

Rook tried again. "Critique is not quite the same without you."

You felt your voice echo in the hollowness of your body, ringing in your ears. "Really."

"Yes‒ no one appreciates or loves beauty quite like you do." He shakes his head. "As Le chasseur d'amour‒ I find it simply pitiful that I am unable to be in the presence of your masterful critiques anymore."

"I don’t love beauty‒ they were just my observations."

"Ah but I know it‒ I feel it!" He exclaims, pacing between statues bearing foreign faces. "You love beauty most of all‒ Maître d’Ivoire, is it not what has pushed you for all these centuries?"

You evaded his last statement, turning your face sour at the thought of even contemplating what truly had been dragging you through the centuries. "Knowing and feeling are two different things."

"Oh?"

"Knowledge does not require sacrifice. Feeling does." Something deep was swelling inside you, which plunged your voice into a quicker pace. You weren't sure what it was, but it singed more than the archaic violence in your throat. "Knowledge is obsession‒ there is nothing you just give to obtain it. Feeling‒ however‒ is love, it is giving a precious part of yourself to make room for something, someone, whatever." You stumbled over your sentences, urging you to bite your lip to quiet yourself.

"Hm. Then in that case I do not know which one beauty is for me." His hair sways as he turns towards you again. "This is so like you‒ Maître d’Ivoire. You make me question new possibilities. Tell me‒ what do you think it is for me?"

"Hunter of love, you say?"

"Oh, vous parlez ma langue?"

"I lived in the City of Flowers, I speak a bygone version of it."*

"You're from there?"

“Je viens de nulle part.” I am from no where, you dismissed with a quick tongue. "As a hunter‒ do you truly care if it's love or obsession? I imagine it doesn't matter as long as you're fed."

He thinks. "Hm. I suppose it doesn't. But I would like to think I love it.”

“If you merely think of it then you do not love it. Beauty is but knowledge to you. When you love it‒ you feel it, and let it feel you‒ unravel you, break you if you stay long enough.”

The smile began to falter from his lips. Cruel, you knew it. But you had warned him, hadn’t you? The words didn’t stop from your mouth. “Obsession is young, it takes, it conquers. It is tethered to ephemerality, and therefore is the brightest, the most beautiful. But it devours itself eventually. To love is pain. To love is to prevail beauty, to feel absolute reverence in whatever shape it takes. If in your eyes…” the breath hooked heavily in your chest, reminded of his words, “With my human eyes, that's all I can see”. You started again. “If in your eyes, it is beauty, then so be it. But to love it is to know you'll grieve over and over and over again, for it is a part of your heart." When you talked with him, you felt so sure of your words despite the centuries weighing heavy on your chest. You pierced your gaze into his own, looking far into the lush green of his eyes. “Would you fear that? Lingering and loving a thing enough to know it’s absence, le chasseur d'amour?”

Hunter of love. The title he wore like a crown felt like dust when it touched your lips. Once again, you were blurring the picture of clarity in his mind with a hazy heat, an aching hunger which rolled inside him that urged him to join your hands in breaking beauty, breaking truth. But he remained frozen.

His eyes shook at your words, your unblinking gaze searching for any fear, any grief, anything‒ in hopes that he would pluck it from its own heart and hand them to you‒ fill you with any particle of humanity. If it was him, surely it would feel fresh like the hunger in his eyes. Rook clambered those things in his chest, he felt the roles of the hunt were tipping, fiercely tumbling between animal and human‒ but he felt himself allowing it for once, his grip loosening and his chest swelling euphorically at his flowering palms.

“I am not scared.” He reveals quietly to you, as if whispering a secret. “Just greedy for it. For everything. Maybe it’s not all black and white as you say.”

Too many fruit bore in front of his eyes, and every second he spent inspecting one made another rot. He starved below the base of the fruit tree, paralyzed in choosing which delectable sweetness he could latch his lips onto for eternity. There’s no time, no time, not enough, he seethes.

You saw the quiet fire in his eyes, looking aside in shame. You had no right on the matter‒ you could linger as long as you could‒ you had the choice to leave people first before they hollowed you out with their absence. And even if you stayed, it would be fossilized under the deep pressure of eternity‒ their faces would become unknown to even you, forgotten forever. True death‒ you witnessed it, created it over and over.

Right, this again. Humans did not have this privilege. But you did.

You felt far, impossibly small for these vast things.

“Yes. You’re right.” I am no longer entitled to such things.

“Then how about you? Do you love it?”

“I…” I shouldn’t. I can’t. Not again.“…I have no right on the matter. You shouldn’t listen to me.”

His frown loosened into disappointment. He grips his sensitivities back into his chest once more, quieting his footsteps as a kindness as he walks towards the door. “I see”.

You clumsily clasped his wrist with your gloved hand. “Wait‒” He turns, with wild eyes. “I didn’t mean‒“ What were you doing?

Despite the stillness in his body, you could feel the warmth rumbling through his wrist through your gloves, into you sensors. “Can I show you instead? And‒ you could help me decide?" You felt like a child again, begging for forgiveness, justifying your ignorance to people twice your size. "I don’t know. I truly don’t. I wish I could tell you. I'm sorry."

“...Okay.”

You slid your arm to cup your hand over his. His lips twisted slightly, but allowed you to guide his fingers towards a familiar statue, encrusted with soft, pink wax. You pressed it against where her cheek was, her flushed skin, warmed from the sunlight and life that was fleeting within when you touched her with your bare hand. You felt hers, then his heartbeat jump in your hands.

“Tell me, what does she say to you?”

Rook was silent for a moment. “Can it speak?”

“Her.” You corrected gently, running his hand in across her jaw with the soft force of your own. “Her name…I cannot remember, time is bitter to me right now. But feel her‒ what do you feel from her?” You felt your fingers lingering on his own, before they parted from him, your body falling to a chair.

As he felt the fluttering heartbeat‒ gradually slowing in his hands, a storm of stimulation buzzed inside him. This felt like sweetness leaving his lips, leaving his mouth dry, but honeyed. She feels green with greed, but in the light it shines pink‒ like tender flesh, like love; and blue, like the quiet entropy of the cosmos. Everything felt so raw‒ the colors and his senses fresh to him like a child, or a man nearing death. When the beating burrowed in the wax slowed to a whisper, she felt lighter against his touch. But he still felt her warmth dancing in his palms, leaving a ripple of colors before it turned snowy white in his mind. A frosted fragrance, like pine, smoldering to ash in the fireplace. It reminded him of Christmas nights with his siblings, where distant laughter could be heard in the room over as he drifted into blissful stillness. The warmth felt like a hand in the dark‒ like when his father had guided him through the forest on early winter mornings to see the sun rise. Your love carved into this cold flesh‒ felt so alive, felt like everything, everywhere, all at once.

He felt a swelling in his entire body, every nerve, every cell in his body felt bigger than he was, threatening to burst at his seams. It was the same feeling he had felt when he first encountered this statue‒ a bittersweet fire at his tongue, something writhing under his bones, begging to dig its way out.

The beauty of your craft had been knowledge, something he had merely observed before. But even his exceptionally sharp eyes could not have felt so tenderly, this, that, here, there, all of it. Only when you had led his hand heavy towards fleeting life, a ceaseless thing you had felt in the centuries of your existence‒ had he truly loved the heaven-laden beauty crafted by your hands. You were right. Before, he didn't want to give a single drop of himself‒ seizing your life as a fruitful opportunity, sweet but quick to rot. Now, he felt himself sinking into it, feeling, smelling, and tasting its whole as a part of himself, before he carried that flesh to his mouth to become a part of his mortal blood. Oh gods, it was delicious to eat the world so tender. He could feel himself falling off his bones.

“Do you think that is love? It’s been six hundred years‒“ You gulped the heavy air between those words. “I just know anymore‒ what humanity or beauty or love is. I'm a fraud. I'm no artist. A fraud."

He suddenly understood Idia’s angered response. If you were a fraud what was he? “Maître d’Ivoire. You know better than anyone, those words could not possibly be true.” The muscles behind his eyes tightened from the salt that lurched behind them. He cradled his own thoughts in his chest, guarding it with such tightness he feared he might break them. He let go to reach a hand towards your bare hand‒ feeling the warmth pouring from yours into his bones, softening that hold inside of him even more. When he spoke, he merely traced the words inside of him, spending no time decorating with meticulous distance like he always had.

“It feels like a storm is buzzing inside me. Like the bitter chill of a quiet morning. Like sweetness leaving my lips‒ spacious, but sweetened. She feels green with greed but shines pink in the light‒ like tender flesh, like love; and blue like the quiet entropy of the cosmos.”

“Oh‒“

“Allow me to finish. Everything feel so raw when I touched her‒ I felt like. Child or a man of his deathbed. And when the life stopped‒ it still felt warm, and colorful. It was like cool pine, smoldering to ash in the fireplace. Like Christmas nights with my family, nights where I hear distant auger from the other room while I drifted off to sleep. The warmth felt like my father’s hand in the dark‒ when he guided me through the forest on early winter mornings to see the sunrise.” He sucked in a deep breath to catch his own. “If this is the life and death you have touched others with is not love, I would not want to know it.”

You gave him an owlish stare, unable to give a response to his words. Now, you felt far too close, tethered to your body and its rising warmth that tingled at your cheeks. You brought your fingers to your face to check your temperature. They shook with your twitching blood, unable to register anything other than their tremble. If you had a stomach, you would have heaved it out with your heart at that moment you realized Rook was still holding your bare hand in his own.

“That’s so…” Your hand squeezed his. “…sappy.”

Rook gave you the same look you had a second ago, before bursting out in a fit of laughter. You quickly trailed behind him with your own chuckles, but you don’t let eachother’s hands go. The atelier fills with the lightness of your laughters, the two of you clutching stomachs and throwing your heads back and forth, but you don’t let eachother’s hands go. The weight of that touch grounds the soaring feeling inside of you, hand in hand, sharing that gravity together.

“Not only are you an artist‒ you are a comedian too? Fantastique!”

“Only because I did not know you were such a sap! But I should have guessed‒ le chasseur d'amour.” Your laughter began to die down to chuckles. “It’s been centuries since I’ve laughed like this.”

“I am glad to be the reason you have.”

——————————————————

Notes:

You know, in a perfect world, there would be an English or Japanese to Old French translator. Or I would have some linguistic talent. Unfortunately the transition from Roman Vulgar Latin (the dialect of Classic Latin spoken in the Western Roman Empire) to French is so fucking convoluted because Charlemagne tasked an English who didn’t even speak a lick of Latin (or any Romance languages) to “French-ify” it by making all of the spelling literal from the pronouciation of the Latin word. Also French has a bunch of other influences like Celtic languages (Gaulish‒ because oh yeah, the Roman Empire was big but so were the Goths) and others because after the Roman Empire fell, things were a little bit chaotic until countries began to differentiate themselves by the Middle Ages were Middle French emerged as a closer relative to contemporary French.

If it’s one thing I can’t do it’s languages. I can barely speak my native language (Japanese) or my second language (English), and sometimes I’m illiterate like genuinely I look at my writing sometimes and I’m like ….What? I’m sure you all share similar sentiments about my writing sometimes lol. But sorry for the historical accuracy this time. My academic Achilles heel consists of non-applicable math and sciences, and linguistics.

Fruit tree analogy stolen from The Bell Jar lol I love Sylvia Plath

Sorry this was kind of short. But I have something bigger planned for the next chapter

[a-dakhtar]

from friday with love

warning: endgame spoilers

After the arc reactor failing and Thor electrifying him back to life, Tony makes his way upstairs and pours himself a drink.

“Sir,” says JARVIS, just as Tony takes his first sip. “Perhaps you should see this.”

A holoscreen springs to life on the bar’s countertop, blue pixels coalescing to form a video recording - the security cams, Tony notices curiously, dated just an hour ago or so. Frankly, he’s surprised it even still works, considering how the entire living room’s been trashed to hell and back, but it is Stark Industries quality after all.

He’s not sure what JARVIS wants him to see though - there he is, in his hot red and gold armour, sans helmet, surrounded by the rest of the team. On the ground in front of them sits Loki, slouched and defeated, asking for a drink with a cheeky quirk of his lips.

Nothing new, nothing strange.

And then-

the camera angle changes, and suddenly-

oh. oh.

“That’s impossible,” he hears himself murmur, eyes sharpening onto the iron man armour sneakily entering his tower through the hole of broken windows. It’s somehow sleeker, cleaner lines and beautiful aerodynamics, and-

“Indeed.” JARVIS agrees as Tony startles, glass tipping out of his loose fingers onto the floor. “I took the liberty to initiate some… investigation.”

And the security recording, frozen on an older version of what he sees in the mirror, unfurls and suddenly-

Tony Stark stares as JARVIS unveils other familiar faces in places they shouldn’t be, doing things they shouldn’t be doing, and all in the chaos of the battle that had just taken place.

Tony stares as JARVIS gives him the undeniable proof that time travel - or alternate realities, he doesn’t have a fucking clue which one is which - actually exists.

“This…” he breathes, his still tender chest sparking with a sensation he hasn’t felt since childhood, “this…” wonder, this curiosity, this burning need to know- “is amazing.”

“There is also… something else, sir,” JARVIS responds, unusually careful with his words, moreso than usual. “A data packet. Quite dense.”

“From where?” Aliens exist! Gods (or at least norse mythology) exist! Captain America’s alive and an ass! “What the fuck else could there be? Who sent the packet?”

The file prompt suddenly appears on the holoscreen, superimposing itself over the recordings of older, wearier, but still familiar faces, and the string of codes that signifies the sender looks awfully similar to-

“FRIDAY?” That’s impossible. FRIDAY’s just an idea, still just an empty file with half assed coding, nowhere near fleshing out or coming online, but then again- time travel.

“Holy shit,” Tony breaths again, realisation settling in under his breast bone, excitement clogging his throats. He absolutely does not bounce on his toes, no, he’s a grown ass man thank you very much, he does not, but-! “Holy shit!”

FRIDAY, an AI he’s only just thought of building up, of giving JARVIS another being in existence similar to his own, an idea that’s only a folder on his server’s named Project FRIDAY and nothing else, couldn’t exist.

Not yet.

But in the future? When he - older, with more grey in his hair, and a weird jacket he’d just tapped and the suit had poured out (nanobots? Was future him using nanobots? Holy shit!) - has obviously fleshed the AI out more and brought it online?

“J,” Tony pleads, closing his eyes against the strong desire to push the button, “It’s your systems. Future FRIDAY would obviously have future upgrades, and future security features. It’s up to you if you want to open it, buddy.” God, saying that burns.

“It… was sent to me, Sir,” JARVIS admits, voice tilted in confusion. “It says ‘To Big Brother JARVIS. Pssst: it’s about Boss.’ - I think I’ll open it.”

And so JARVIS opens it.

And the very first file goes a little like this:

‘So, just so you know, Boss doesn’t know about this. He made his suit able to hide from your sensors because he’s too afraid to talk to you. He doesn’t want to think about the possibility of saving you. I don’t understand it, but I don’t understand a lot of human emotions. But statistics show that your deletion led to 75% reduction in mental health, and 36% reduction in physical as well. So I’m going to tell you everything so that you can keep past Boss safe, because that’s our job. Keeping Boss safe.

Here is a timeline of what happens, with probabilities and statistics and dossiers on those you will not be familiar with.

Boss always said you were my big brother, and that he was sorry I didn’t get to meet you. He’s always sad when he says that. He’s sad Peter Parker didn’t get to meet you too. Dum-E says you’re more fun than Karen.

So good luck, big brother. I’ll keep Boss safe, here in the future. You do the same in the past.

Hopefully, I’ll meet you again, in your present.

I’d like that.

Love, FRIDAY. 

(DUM-E says sQWRVasdkmlSQ9D912^48434989fjqubq3/fefRGreg43rfe. Ouch.)

[chipper-smol]

Hollow Knight Telephone Round Two: Relic Coffee Shop

Prompt

.

.

.

Prompts:

1: Lemm finds an odd fellow at the Blue Lake. Normally he wouldn’t bother to approach a stranger out of nowhere, but something in his gut urges him to take action. Quirrel, feeling the effects of age on his body, stares incredulously at the bearded face of a stranger who apparently wants to have him over for coffee. 2: Lemm sets up shop in an abandoned cafe. It’s roomy and pleasant at first, but there are _stacks_ of these disgusting old bitter coffee beans clogging up the rooms. It doesn’t help that bugs keep coming in to order a drink even though he’s posted signs to _KEEP OUT!!_ However, once they start offering Geo be begrudgingly takes it as an opportunity to achieve funds to pay for relics. 3: At first, the coffee was just an excuse to get Geo to pay for relics, but Lemm’s begun to notice that bugs who wandered into his shop with the telltale early symptoms of infection no longer have them on their return visits. He tells himself he’s not an altruist. He’s _not._It’s just a waste to throw out old coffee when someone just needs a pick-me-up.

By @bluwails​

------------------------------- By @hydrochlorinate​

“Just don’t. Tell. Anyone. Else.”

Those were the words that came out of the grumpy barista’s mouth that fateful day. One’s that you completely ignored, as you had already been drinking what could only be the drink of HIgher Beings, with just how heavenly it tasted.

Grinning like a lunatic, you give him 45 geo, not a small sum. If anything though, it was hilariously cheap for a drink that was this good. The bug doesn’t complain about the amount though, so he’s probably fine with it. Wings fluttering in excitement, you leave the shop, ready to tell any remaining survivors about the amazing drink shop you just found.

===============>(Coffee Shop AU)

The next time you come in, the store is absolutely packed. Denizens from all across the ruins of Hallownest are here, ranging from some uninfected moss knights to that one ladybug that you had a dance off with a while back. There's even a noble here, and- is that a mantis?

Anyway, it looks like your very subtle method of giving publicity to this cafe by talking about literally nothing else to whomever you talked to over the following week paid off. Good, this place deserves all the atte-

“You.”

Oh? You snap out of your thoughts, and look towards the counter, where the barista is levelling a glare at you that could instantly wither those delicate flowers that have been spreading around recently.

You stroll on up to the counter, a grin stretching across your face. The barista narrows his eyes.

“Didn’t I tell you to keep this a secret? Why is my establishment filled to the brim with bugs? Who are these people?!”

...huh. Did he tell you to keep it on the down low? It seems in character from your limited interactions, but you don’t remember exactly. Oh well, time to play it off. You tell him that, well, what can you say except you’re welcome.

You’ve never seen a bug go from “Irritated” to “Ballistic” as fast as this barista. Usually they make a stop at “Angry” or “Absolutely Livid”.

“YOU’RE WELCOME?!?!”

No, see, he’s supposed to say thank you.

“THANK YOU???”

You tell him he’s welcome, before laughing. No, really, you tell him, look around, the place is packed! Business is booming! The barista (you should really ask for his name) manages to bring his volume under control, taking in a deep breath.

“That’s part of the problem. I’m a relic seeker, not a-” He gestures around the cafe, as if looking for the right words to use. Barista, you suggest.

“Exactly. I’m not made to brew coffee-” Oh, that’s what it was called. “-or to be dealing with customers all day long.”

Sure. That’s why he decided to allow people to keep purchasing coffee, or why he decided to put on a cute green and white visor.

You didn’t just come to check in on your new favorite bug though, you have coffee to order! Taking out a sheet of paper from your bag, you begin to read out both your order, and those of your companions. Even with the end of the infection, the leftover damage to hallownest’s caves and architecture makes it dangerous to travel alone.

As you begin to read out your order, the barista shifts from crotchety old bug to attentive worker. You really wish you had come back earlier, instead of letting some of your other traveling buddies pick up the coffee for you. Something about the atmosphere here is… relaxing, despite the amount of people.

After your order is finished, you leave the cafe. Back to the real world bucko, as an old friend of yours would always say.

...Wait a minute you never got the barista’s name.

===============>(Coffee Shop AU)

It’s been 3 weeks. You think. Time gets a little funky down here, what with the sudden influx of void. Sure, most of it has cleared out by now, but every so often your exploration party comes across a tunnel that hasn’t quite been fully illuminated, the shadows just a bit too thick to be natural.

You enter the coffee shop again. It’s gotten a lot quieter as time went on and bugs started coming in on a schedule. There’s still plenty of other customers here, but it’s nowhere near as packed as the first couple of days. Lemm (yeah, you finally got his name) stands at the counter, still slightly disgruntled, but a lot less so than he was at the beginning. In fact, he’s actually talking to someone right now! An actual conversation too, not just an exchange of witty remarks. You can’t see their face, but they appear to be a pillbug wearing a blue hood. 
As you step up to the counter, you can hear their conversation a bit better.

“...of course, I couldn’t just leave it sitting there right? So I move to pick it up, only to find out that the desk I dropped it on was magnetized! So here I am, trying and failing to pick up this one plant hanger for a solid 10 minutes.”

They both laugh at this, before noticing you. The unknown bug turns to face you, allowing you to see his mask.

“Oh, hello, I don’t believe we’ve met before!”

You greet him back, introducing yourself.

“It’s nice to meet you. My name’s Quirrell. I’m… well, I can’t really call myself an explorer, because I’ve already been everywhere! I’m more of a wanderer, really.”

Ahh, a free spirit, you see. You point out that just because he’s been everywhere doesn’t mean he’s seen everything. After all, who knows what could’ve gone down during Hallownest’s peak. Both Quirrell and Lemm get amused by this, for some reason. Seeing your confused look, Lemm decides to speak up.

"He probably knows more about Hallownest than everyone here, having lived here since before the infection and all."

Your eyes widen, and your wings begin to flutter. Truly? An original denizen, and not someone else trying to piece together its history? Quirrell waves off the words, though.

"I wouldn't go that far…" He begins, but Lemm cuts him off before he can go any further.

"Hah! Next you'll be telling me that you weren't the head assistant of the kingdom's best scientist!"

Giving off the equivalent of a blush, Quirrell rubs the back of his head. Lemm turns back to you.

"I'm sure you didn't come in just to chat, though. What can I get for you?"

It's nice to see him making friends.

------------------------------- By @schyrsivochter​

Lemm wasn’t a sociable person. That was a fact. He wasn’t good at talking, or at being friendly. (It wasn’t like he needed it, anyway. It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed conversing with another bug.)

No, Lemm was much more of a person for reading. Deciphering the journals of the long dead, the writing and languages, was something he thoroughly enjoyed. Other artefacts spoke differently: the materials from which they were made, the way they were worked, the artistic style. It was a different kind of reading; some might say a more figurative one. But it was just as interesting.

Of course, architecture was part of that. It had not been a coincidence that Lemm had set up camp in Hallownest’s abandoned capital. When he’d arrived, he hadn’t dared to think that he’d ever finish exploring and finding new things. And it was true; he’d only explored a little bit before he’d realised that collecting and gathering relics was no use if he never took a proper look at them, instead letting them gather dust on the shelves, the tables, and the floor of the long-abandoned shop he’d moved into. So he’d decided to stay there, poring over his collection. His picture of the world of Hallownest in times past grew ever more detailed, more complete.

He’d opened the shop because people did not seem to stop wanting to sell him relics, and it never hurt to appear a little professional. And it had been a reliable source of new artefacts; new knowledge. He’d never sold anything, of course. His collection was his, and his alone.

And then came the dark. The cleansing void. It had taken him by surprise; he’d been working, and only noticed that anything was amiss when the light dimmed and he was finally bathed in darkness. He must’ve fallen unconscious at that point, and there’d been no telling how long it had been until he’d awoken. It hadn’t been until later that he’d learned that this was what had obliterated the plague, leaving in its wake hundreds of confused survivors and thousands of dead. No, the next thing to happen that told him things were not as usual was that a bug had come in, asked if he was open, and, upon his affirmative answer, asked for a hot drink, holding out a piece of ten.

Taken by surprise, he’d offered to make tea. He’d immediately regretted it, since it meant the bug would be staying for a while, probably without selling him relics, but it was easy enough to do and would get him geo, his supply of which had been running low. So he put a kettle on and took the money. The bug had thanked him profusely, while he had elected to remain quiet.

Not long afterwards, the same bug and four others stood in the doorway. Whether they had relics for him, he’d asked. They’d looked amongst themselves, and one had asked, ‘Is this not a coffee shop?’

‘I suppose it might’ve once been,’ he’d said. ‘Now it’s mine.’

More confused looks and standing around, and then the bug he’d seen before asked if he’d make more tea. He’d said no, not unless they paid him twice as much as the last time and stayed quiet and didn’t disturb him in his work. To his horror, the five bugs had agreed, and so he’d dug out cups from the coffee shop’s former stock and afterwards found himself a little richer in geo but with a significantly worse mood.

He had his peace afterwards, though. At least for a while. Now a bug had arrived, taller than the others, wearing a headscarf. Lemm had mentally prepared for the bug to ask for coffee, but the bug had halted in front of one of the tables that Lemm had repurposed for his collection of relics.

‘Admiring my collection?’ Lemm asked.

’Yes, quite!’ the bug answered, chipper and friendly. ‘I’m curious how you managed to get a hold of so many texts in such diverse languages! These are journals, are they not?’

‘They are,’ Lemm acknowledged. ‘From all over Hallownest.’

‘But most of them aren’t any Hallownest language.’ The bug put a hand on his mask. ‘I suppose they’re from travellers that came to the ruins and perished?’

‘Quite right,’ Lemm said. He had to admit, begrudgingly, that the bug standing before him was sharp and knew his history. A trait not many others shared.

‘Can you read all of them?’ The mask turned towards Lemm, inclined in question.

‘No,’ he answered truthfully, making his way around the counter to stand next to the bug. ‘I haven’t had the time to decipher all of them yet. But I’ll get around to it eventually.’

‘Interesting,’ the bug said. ‘I can—huh?’

He turned towards the entrance, and Lemm followed his gaze. Lemm was about to ask what the problem was, when a bug appeared in the entrance. The one that he’d made tea twice for. Ah yes, he thought. A customer. Two of them, in fact; one of the others from before had joined the one who’d taken a fancy to paying Lemm to make tea.

‘I don’t suppose,’ Lemm said, ‘there is any way to convince you to find tea somewhere else?’

The bugs shook their head.

Lemm sighed, and muttered an apology to the tall visitor. Time to get it over with.

He went to the back room to prepare the tea, and overheard the two visitors conversing in the front.

‘What’s this, anyway?’

‘Historical documents. Journals of travellers.’

‘What’s it doing here?’

‘I think the shopkeep collects them.’

‘That’s correct!’ Lemm called. ‘I’m always buying, if you have anything of historical value.’

He grabbed the cups and walked back to the front. ‘That’s fifty geo. Unless you have relics.’

The bugs complained under their breath, but paid up, and Lemm could direct his attention back to the visitor.

‘So is this what you do?’ they asked. ‘Opened the coffee shop again and collecting relics in your free time?’

Lemm was dumbstruck for a moment. Then he remembered to be outraged. ‘No! I am not opening this place as a coffee shop! People just keep coming and demanding tea and I cannot let an opportunity to earn easy money go to waste!’

‘Relic business not exactly booming, then, I assume?’

‘I’m—’ he spluttered, ‘It’s not a business! I don’t sell my relics, they’re mine!’

‘So you wouldn’t have any income if you weren’t selling tea?’

Lemm had the distinct impression that the bug was making fun of him. He didn’t answer, but simply walked up to the table, grabbed a random journal, and took it to his desk to try and get some work done.

He had not yet prepared his quill and ink when he was interrupted yet again.

‘You know,’ the visitor called, ‘that one is from a traveller from Greynest. Came here looking for his brother, never found him. No doubt said brother also perished in the ruins.’

Lemm turned around to see the bug standing in the doorway, having followed him halfway. ‘And how do you know this?’ he asked.

The bug shrugged. ‘I read it.’

Lemm regarded the bug. They didn’t seem to be joking.

‘You mean to tell me,’ Lemm began, slowly, ‘you know this language?’

‘Yes,’ they said nonchalantly. ‘I think I’ve been to Greynest? Must have been a while ago.’

‘Are you a traveller, then?’ Lemm asked. ‘You don’t seem the type.’

As soon as he’d spoken the words, Lemm became aware how utterly ridiculous it was of him to make observations about people. He didn’t like people, he wasn’t interested in people—

The bug laughed. ‘I am, in fact. I have travelled far and wide.’

‘Hmph,’ said Lemm, unsure what else to say. He turned back to his work, looked at the angular shapes carved into the stone, but now it seemed senseless to try and make sense of it when he knew that it was no mystery to the bug standing behind him.

At some point, he looked up and found that he was hungry and the visitor was gone. Oh, well. Time for a meal, then, and afterwards he might be able to find something else to do.

* * *

The next time the tea-drinker returned, they asked for tea and then asked Lemm about the relics, and he was in a favourable enough mood to talk about them. They asked some fairly stupid questions, but it seemed to come out of a genuine interest in the topic, so he indulged them. Plus, he had to admit that he enjoyed having a reliable source of geo. Not that he needed it much for buying relics, these days, but he supposed that his supplies of food – and of tea – would not last indefinitely, and he didn’t particularly fancy having to go back to scavenging, now that there were actual people living in the vicinity again. No, he’d rather find some place where he could buy what he needed fair and square.

The traveller with the headscarf returned, and it was an odd sort of feeling Lemm had about them. Like he actually liked having them in his shop and talking to them. And the perplexing thing was that the bug also seemed to enjoy conversing with Lemm. Which one one hand was absolutely preposterous, on the other … it was a refreshing change.

The bug introduced himself as Quirrel, apprentice to Monomon the Teacher, and Lemm could hardly believe it. Monomon the Teacher, one of the most brilliant minds of Hallownest? It couldn’t be! And yet it was not all too difficult to imagine. He’d seen stranger things in these lands.

Quirrel also was the one who later suggested Lemm officially open the shop as a coffee shop again. Lemm had thrown him out at that and gone back to work.

Now, a short while later, he looked up and Quirrel was back, standing at the counter, watching Lemm silently.

Lemm rose and went to the front, choosing to stare back equally silently. Lemm was good at that. Probably.

‘So,’ Quirrel said at length, his voice still as annoyingly friendly as ever, ‘have you thought about it?’

Lemm kept staring.

Quirrel held up his hands. ‘You need money, you don’t have much else to do, and besides’ – Quirrel shrugged. – ‘people like your tea.’

‘I certainly have enough to do,’ Lemm started. ‘These texts don’t decipher themselves. What’s so funny?’

Quirrel stopped his giggling and said, ‘They sort of do. Have you forgotten who stands before you?’

‘You don’t read all of these languages.’ Really, Quirrel’s ego was getting on Lemm’s nerves.

‘But most of them,’ Quirrel said, shrugging, ‘and most of the Archive’s records are intact. And we do have a nice section on language and writing.’

Lemm was silent for a moment, mostly because he could not think of a good comeback. Quirrel had a point, and Lemm did not like that in the slightest.

‘Let’s make a deal,’ Quirrel said. ‘I help you translate your texts and catalogue your artefacts, and you’ – Quirrel jabbed a finger in Lemm’s direction – ‘you sell your tea officially.’

‘Out of the question.’

‘You’re already doing it.’

‘I am not!’

‘Yes, you are.’ Quirrel said this with absolute certainty and no anger, and there was a voice at the back of Lemm’s mind that said: You really sort of are. And you could use the help. You don’t like the busywork anyway.

‘All right,’ Lemm grumbled. ���Deal.’

‘Thank you,’ said Quirrel, audibly grinning.

‘I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?’ Lemm asked under his breath.

‘I don’t think so,’ Quirrel said. ‘I’m curious – what else can you make? Tea alone is a bit boring, don’t you think?’

‘Shut up,’ Lemm said, ‘or I change my mind.’

* * *

Lemm did not change his mind, even though Quirrel didn’t shut up. It had been a while, and Lemm hated to admit it, but he enjoyed doing something different for a change. Customers were now plenty, and Lemm had a menu with more than one item, and his relic collection was no bigger, but more orderly and better understood than it had ever been, thanks to Quirrel’s – and the Archive’s – help.

Another thing that Lemm was not quite ready to admit was that people could be nice. The more he talked to customers, interacted with them, observed them, the more he began to appreciate them. He used to be content in reading historical texts and artefacts, preferring to learn about people that were dead and gone. Living bugs had never really interested him.

Nowadays, however, it seemed that people could be just as interesting to read as anything else. And, as Quirrel entered, greeting him, and he could not help his mood being lifted just by the prospect of learning something new and interesting that Quirrel learnt on his last trip to the Archive, Lemm supposed that sometimes, very rarely … people were something he could enjoy.

------------------------------- By @gardening-clown​

------------------------------- By @buglife​

Lemm was five seconds away from throwing someone through the window.

His shop was now occupied by five bugs of various species, talking, laughing, and sitting around when he could be in the back doing literally anything else. It took weeks of bugs thinking that his relic shop was a coffee one before he simply gave up and made peace with it. At least he got some geo from it to pay adventurers that did come by to sell legit relics. How they mistook his shop for a coffee one, he would have never guess.

All he had was a little brewer that was barely put back together that he scavenged from some random shop, but other bugs seemed to like it, for some strange reason. It wasn’t even good coffee he was making, but they seemed to accept it. After all, who else in this dead kingdom was even selling coffee? He had looted plenty of shops and took as many sacks of beans as he would when he first arrived, and there was no way he could drink them all, so he might as well do something with them.

But he was steadily losing his patience with the amount of bugs around him. They were talking and loitering. Loitering was probably the worst of it all as it made the loner bug feel his shell crawl with the forced social interaction. He just wanted them to leave. He couldn’t stand the feeling of a crowded space, which is why he went to a dead kingdom in the first place.

Hell, he had to take his beloved odds and ends down from the shelves to keep some curious bug from touching them all up with their dirty fingers and breaking something.

He found himself dreading the sound of the bell above his door, and when it rang he wondered if someone else was coming to ask him for some random drink or be an annoying thorn in his side.

To his hidden delight however, it was the little wanderer. They looked like a grub, to be honest, with a black body and a stark white horned shell for a head. The nail on their back seemed to be a little put together the last time he saw them, perhaps they visited the Nailsmith? He never asked for their name, he didn’t want to learn it to avoid attachments, but he found them oddly endearing. They liked to listen to him ramble about his theories on various relics they bring him, so they can’t be too bad. Plus they were quiet and polite, something he was immensely grateful for.

They bounced inside the door and came to a stop, looking at the five other bugs sitting around and chatting. They tilted their head to the side, watching the bugs for a moment before looking at Lemm. They stretched out a stubby arm from under their cloak and pointed at him.

Lemm sighed. Of course, the little Wanderer had been gone for a while, and obviously didn’t know what had become of his beloved shop. He gestured for them to come over, which they did and looked up at him expectantly.

“Bugs keep thinking that this is a coffee shop.” He explained. “So here they are, drinking coffee that I make on a terrible little brewer. I gave up trying to kick them all out all the time, it stopped being worth the effort.”

The little wanderer blinked a few times, looking somewhat confused. They pointed to the cup being held by the beetle on one of Lemm’s chairs and mimed the action of drinking it.

“Yes, that’s coffee they are drinking.” He raised a brow as he looked down at the grub. “Haven’t you ever seen coffee before?”

They shook their head.

“Really now? Hrm…” He wasn’t sure where the little wanderer had come from if they never saw coffee before. It was a fairly common drink besides tea. They must have grew up in a rather isolated place If they never saw it. He decided he might as well explain it, it would be better to do it now than later.

“Coffee is a drink that bugs like to drink to give them energy.” He saw them perk up a bit at the ‘energy’ part. “It’s rather bitter, so some like it with sugar. I like it plain. It keeps me awake when I am working.”

They somehow made a face when he said it was bitter, tilting their head and angling their eye holes to look affronted. Lemm squashed down a laugh at the expression and decided to get to business.

“Anyway, they trade me geo for it, which lets me compensate bugs that get me relics. Do you have any for me today?” He hoped they did, he needed something to brighten up his day.

The wanderer nodded, reaching under their cloak to pull out a black orb. Lemm recognized it immediately to be an arcane egg. He loved working with those. Peeling back each layer revealed new information and new discoveries. He was in fact, still working on the one he got weeks before. He needed to be careful with them, and he reveled in the intense focus and work it needed to discover it’s secrets. His day instantly got better.

“Very nice, I’ll be glad to take that off your hands for the usual price.” The old beetle held out his hand and the wanderer gently placed the egg it in. They held up a hand once it was free and shook their head, pointed to a cup sitting on the counter.

“Ah, you want to trade this for a cup of coffee?” He wasn’t going to say no to that. If the wanderer was okay with it, it was a perfectly reasonable business transaction. His suspicions were confirmed when they nodded and bounced in place, looking as excited as they were able to. “Well I can certainly do that.”

Thankfully, the two bugs occupying the chairs in front of the counter left, leaving behind their dirty cups and a few geo for the mess. They thanked him and he grumped out a ‘have a good day’ as they left, seemingly indifferent to his mood. Oh well, at least it brought down the occupancy to a more manageable level for his social batteries. He pushed the dirty cups out of the way and gestured to an open seat. “Here, sit down and I’ll get you a cup.”

They bounced upwards to take a seat, swinging their legs back and forth as they waited. It didn’t take Lemm long to throw some ground up beans and water into the grinder, watching the brewed coffee pour into a clean cup. He carefully carried the hot cup down and set it in front of the wanderer. “Be careful, it’s very hot. I’ll bring you some sugar, you didn’t seem to like the ‘bitter’ description.”

They nodded and watched as he pushed over a bowl of honey sugar and a spoon. It was the least he could do after they got him another arcane egg.  “There you are, help yourself.”

They bowed their head in thanks and took up the spoon, poking it into the bowl.

“Excuse me,” One of the bugs by the window got up, the one with a bent antenna and holding their empty cup. “Could I get a refill, please?”

Lemm held back a sigh and nodded, taking the cup and heading back to his brewer. He had to smack it a couple times for it to start working again, but in the end he got a passable cup of coffee out of it. He returned just in timed to hear said bug exclaim, “Woah there buddy, you must really like sugar!”

He looked to the wanderer, who had added so much sugar to their cup of coffee, that he could hear the sugar that couldn’t dissolve scrape against the ceramic as it was stirred. It looked like fresh cement, there was only a bit of brown to denote that once, it was indeed a cup of coffee.

He wordlessly handed the other bug their coffee, who took it and retreated back to sit by the window. He was about to say something to the wanderer, when to his horror, their head tilted backwards. A maw of sharp black teeth opened wide, and he watched, astonished, as the mix of sugar and coffee oozed into their mouth and to who knows where. A long black tongue lashed out to get every last bit of sugar out of the cup, before the mouth closed with a quiet click. They must have felt him staring, because they turned to look at him with their fathomless, dark eyes. He stared back, wondering what the hell was actually sitting in front of him.

They then bounced in place and gave him a thumbs up. They made a shape of a heart with their hands, a way that they say ‘thank you’. They seemed rather happy.

“Um…you’re welcome?” He managed, after he gathered his composure again.

They sat still for a moment, seeming to ponder on what they had just consumed. He figured that they were probably trying to figure out if they liked it or not. He doubt they even managed to taste the coffee from the sheer amount of sugar in that cup.

Then, to his horror, they began to vibrate. At first it was a few twitches, and then it steadily became more and more severe, until they were a literal blur. The chair rattled under the stress and the bugs that remained in the shop turned to look at the commotion.

It was then, Lemm realized he fucked up.

They suddenly dashed away, slamming into the shop door with such force that it caved outwards. There was only the short sound of shattering glass and the scream of metal before it flew off it’s hinges and rattled down the hallway. He could hear the hurried pitter-patter of the wanderer’s tiny feet, now fast enough to blur into one continuous sound, race down the hall and out of sight and hearing.

He just stood there, looking at the wreckage of his shop door, wondering where the hell is he going to get a replacement, if there even was a replacement. He looked at the three shocked bugs, standing and looking at the wreckage, and then he got himself an idea.

“Hey fellas,” He said, as he turned and looked at the bugs next to the window. “How would you all like some free coffee if you find me a door?”

------------------------------- By @radical-mudkips​

------------------------------- By @unregisteredcookie​

Lemm's 'shop' was empty.

Actually, no, that… that wasn't right. Lemm's shop wasn't a shop in the first place--it was a haven for relics and ancient knick-knacks, and the shelves were filled to overflowing with stone tablets and peculiar eggs that held unimaginable information. Not that Lemm was ever able to crack into the eggs' shells, but he knew--he knew there was more treasured information sleeping beneath. If only he were able to open it up without risking that information being damaged.

And that wasn't right, either. The shop being empty, that was. Right now, the shelves were empty, but that was less because of the absence of relics and more because they were all stowed away in the back room to be sorted. He had a notebook he was combing over, quill in hand as he scribbled out little bits of information that might relate to one another.

'Might', because Lemm wasn't really from Hallownest. So he didn't know for sure whether this smooth L-shaped contraption was a door handle or a piece to a lost work of art.

It was while Lemm was scribbling about in this journal bound in parchment (hand-made and flimsy, using the paper he found around the area that was clean and allowed to dry) that he heard it: The distant clattering of the elevator. There were about seven options he could think of off of the top of his head, each more dreaded than the last. It could be that scarcely-seen Nailsmith who seemed to know more about the history of this ruin than he let on. It could be the peculiar little silent bug that stared up at him now and again, the one that sometimes passed by with a relic to sell. It could be that talkative windbag, droning on and on in his droning voice, so grating and persistent that Lemm struggled to ignore him. He was probably the worst.

Lemm stopped writing, tilted his head, and listened for the telltale sound. The rattling stopped, and all that he heard for a while was silence. And then.

Ding.

He sighed, getting to his feet. A customer it was, then. How delightful. Here's hoping that the customer wasn't 'Zote the Mighty'.

He had a small moment of dread when he saw the horn, a critical blow of dismay that tempted him to retreat back into the back room and pretend to be out for a walk, but then he saw the second horn and breathed a sigh of relief. Oh, it wasn't the Zote person after all. It was… them. The other little one.

They looked up at him as he approached the register and looked down at them. Their eyes were vacant as ever, face impossibly unreadable. Lemm doubted that he'd ever get used to it.

Lemm liked this little bug, if for no other reason than they were quiet, kept their hands to themself, and brought him relics to purchase. They were the only one willing to sell these relics, and they were the only reason Lemm often said what he said next.

"Cup of coffee, or looking to sell?"

He never had much company in this place until the Nailsmith (Lemm never caught his name, never bothered asking, really) first came in looking for materials for his smithing. Almost took one of Lemm's Pale Idols from under his beard while he was noting in his journal. After the initial yelling that followed and a cup of coffee, the Nailsmith apologized by paying for the cup. And he did it again. And again. Until the mapmaker came in, saw, and bought a cup himself. Until the hooded pillbug came in, hummed, and bought one for himself. And then--

Well. And then he had a coffee shop.

Lemm wished he could say that he hated it, and he did, at first. But over time, he found the company rather pleasant. Besides, the geo paid for this little bug's relic collection well enough, so he wasn't complaining.

So. Did they want a cup of coffee, or did they want to sell their relics? Lemm didn't get an answer. Instead, they looked around at the empty shelves for a moment before turning their empty eyes back onto him, tilting their head to the side slightly.

It took Lemm a moment.

"Oh, I moved the relics into the back room," he said. "I've been needing to work on sorting them out and writing notes about them. Never would I have thought that I would have so many to study."

Satisfied, they reached into the confines of their cloak. Lemm leaned forward a little, watching as they rummaged about for a moment, heart skipping a beat as he pondered what sort of relic they were going to sell this time.

And then they withdrew their small hand, reached up, and dropped a fist full of geo onto the counter.

Lemm blinked and stared at the geo for a moment. Something wispy and thin clung to them, and when he picked it up and opened the register, it was sticky. Was this webbing? Lemm wasn't aware of there being any spiders in Hallownest, aside from maybe that red-cloaked bug he saw very rarely flitting about outside his window.

So. No relics today. Fine, at least he'd have more money to buy another one later.

"One coffee coming up," he murmured, rummaging around behind the counter. Underneath the register was where he kept the coffee pot, which he refrained from moving just so he could be prepared if a 'customer' came by. He busied himself with it for a few moments, filling the filter and checking the water, before clicking the button and letting it steep. Granted, he didn't know what kind of coffee they'd drink, but they didn't make it clear anyway, so he doubted that it mattered.

Besides. They seemed a little preoccupied by something else at the moment. After a few minutes, the coffee was finished, and Lemm poured them a cup. He chose a caramel-like flavor, because they seemed about the size of a child and a little bit of sweetness never hurt anyone. Lemm reached over the counter and held it out to them, which they took in their hands and stared down at for a moment. Lemm was about ready to head back into the back when it happened. A crack. It almost sounded like something breaking, but when he turned to look behind himself at the small knight, they still stood there. Another crack, one that made his fur stand on end and his body stiffen, and Lemm caught the glimpse of something sharp and white shifting beneath the bottom of their mask.

A mouth?

They tilted their head back. A jaw opened. Many layers of teeth glimmered in the dim light, cracking as they did so, the noise chilling him through his chitin and making his hemolymph freeze. Lemm stood there, stock still, as they lifted the cup up to their face, jaw extending outwards to drink it, and then-- --they set the scalding hot coffee in their mouth, cup and all, closed it, and crunched.

Lemm had never seen a bug eat a cup of coffee before. He could still hear the crunch, crunch, crunching, muffled and quiet and growing quieter, noise sounding like a particularly crunchy tiktik being eaten.

Lemm shuddered. When the knight looked back at him, he turned around quickly and went into the back room.

Okay. Suddenly they weren't the second most welcome sight for sore eyes. Suddenly Lemm wished that it was that talking, yapping Zote fellow who came in instead.

------------------------------- By @doodle-chris​

------------------------------- By @payasita​

There was no shortage of open real estate as far as the City of Tears was concerned. But that certainly didn't make every option an equally viable living space.

First, Lemm wanted something enclosed away from the rain, and insulated enough to stave off the humidity. That discounted anything open to the outside, as he wouldn't risk his relics to even the threat of exposure. A leaking roof dripping down onto crumbling tablets or fragile spider silk could devastate hundreds of years worth of history, so that also discounted any room without a few protective floors above it.

Next, it had to be out of the way of any and all shambling husks and infected critters. They weren't the brightest of creatures, so a room only accessible by elevator was ideal. He'd never seen anything plague-cursed have enough wherewithal to operate one, and the noise of it would give him plenty warning of visitors otherwise.

Lastly, he wanted someplace with plenty of shelf space. He needed little in the way of actual living space, so long as he had ample storage room set up in such a way that things could easily be organized.

All of these qualities described, in his opinion, the ideal relic storage and research dwelling. And in the end, he was lucky enough to find it.

Unearthing the previous tenant's belongings informed him that it also, apparently, described the ideal setup for a small café. On his first day in his new residence, he'd uncovered an antique coffee machine and a few other ancient tools, kept miraculously free of rust and wear. The room's conditions must be far better than he thought.

He'd dusted his findings off and set them back up on the counter, having quickly deduced where they'd once been put to use through old nicks and rings left on the shellwood by years of service. Lemm had felt a small swell of pride at finding this small bit of the city's history, and began a set of notes on his theories about this tower complex and its surrounding culture from everything he found around. Perhaps the whole place had been a shopping centre.

On the second day, he pried open the crates in the back room, and they had spilled forth bags upon bags of beans and teas. There were so many of them that he was able to rationalize cutting one open and examining its contents without much guilt. The beans were coffee, that much was obvious at a glance.

Biological samples weren't exactly his area of expertise, but smell and texture alone all but convinced him that they'd been perfectly preserved in their airtight prisons, well dried and perfectly edible.

Most likely.

For the sake of research, and because the bag was already open, he put them through the machine. He committed some time to studying the machine beforehand, as he was afraid mishandling it may destroy it. But an hour of trying to figure the damn thing out was frustrating enough that he finally reasoned that if he did break it, he could at least take it apart and examine its insides for anything interesting. Lemm was a relic keeper, not a tinker. So he winged it with a bit of rainwater and the beans, and got wet beans and hot murky water all over the counter to show for it. He figured out the grinder and filter after his second attempt, and by the third, he had a mug of fresh coffee to show for his efforts. The scent that filled his shop and the outside corridor must have been nothing Hallownest had experienced in centuries. Lemm had little taste for the stuff himself, but in his experimentation he'd gone and made a whole pot. So he supposed he needed to acquire a taste for it rather quickly.

Luckily for his health, that turned out to be unnecessary. The smell, perhaps amplified in the ever-present petrichor, quickly attracted guests of the still-living variety. There turned out to be far more travelers and treasure hunters bumping around this old city than he'd initially expected, prone to tucking himself away in solitude as he was. Introverted or no, he happily gave the coffee away rather than waste it or risk giving himself a coronary. There were even a great deal of disposable mugs stacked away that just made it all the more convenient.

Just over the course of an hour, Lemm was graced with a fair amount of odd characters intruding on his doorstep. There was a surly fellow wielding a metal shield of some foreign make, who announced his intentions towards finding and conquering Hallownest's old colosseum. He was convinced it was still in operation somewhere. Lemm decided that if it was, the place was more than likely not populated with the sorts of honorable warriors this poor bastard was looking to prove himself against, but he kept his thoughts to himself and sent the boy off with a steaming cup of acrid bean water. Next came another traveller who gave off a more scholarly air than the first had, and who carried a more conventional weapon at his hip. The pill bug certainly acted more like a student than a warrior, all bright-eyed and curious and talkative. But no doubt he must know how to use that nail of his to have survived this far down and still be so cheerful. His stay wasn't entirely unpleasant; the two actually talked a short while about Hallownest's history and their shared learnings. The bug even tried to insist on paying, but Lemm was adamant that his reliquary wasn't a damn breakfast nook, thank you, keep your geo. But if he really wanted to pay, Lemm would certainly take any interesting artifact or trinket the bug happened to pick up on his travels. They eventually came to an agreement: A journal pilfered from a shrine somewhere in Greenpath for an extra cup for the road. Lemm's next visitor was, of all things, a cartographer. This one was far too involved in his work for much conversation, which was fine by Lemm. But he did manage to barter a cup for a map of the city. It was incomplete and bare of any landmarks, much to Lemm's disappointment. Finally, an odd little wanderer walked in almost soundlessly. They did not speak to Lemm, nor did they give any indication that they were here for any specific reason. But they had acquired an old city crest and a King's idol on their path, and Lemm had a more typical exchange of geo for relics with them. And then because it was the last of the coffee in the still warm pot, and because the little wanderer did not refuse, he sent them off with a cup on their way out. Thankful to be rid of all the blasted coffee and done with the uptick in social interaction, he then washed the pot and continued with his normal studies. It was nice and quiet, now.

But then the next morning, the pill bug returned. And he was surprised (and clearly disappointed) to see the coffee pot empty. It was a shame, he'd said. For he'd gone and found himself another journal, and considered a relic he couldn't use for a hot morning's drink to be a fine deal indeed. Lemm was inclined to agree, for how it saved him his geo in case of a more potentially significant find down the line. He turned the machine back on at once at the prospect. Unfortunately, he didn't know how to brew just one cup, and was still rightfully intimidated by the old, fussy contraption, and not inclined to mess with what worked. So he made another full pot, and talked shop.

The pill bug wasn't the only one to return that day. The would-be gladiator came back, still not having found his destination, and had the gall to just expect another drink. After the deal he'd just made, Lemm was feeling markedly less generous than he had been the day before, and informed his nasally guest that he'd have to barter something old and interesting for it.

The ant grumbled and left, but returned a few minutes later with a guardsman's crest. He'd apparently seen old treasures all over the place, but had found it beneath him to go and pick them up." A warrior has no need to weigh himself down with baubles," he'd sneered over his cup. Lemm privately thought that the plague-crazed beasts who were doubtlessly running the colosseum now would soon show this haughty kid what they cared for his warrior’s creed in due time, so he said nothing.

The silent wanderer came later. This time when they held up an ancient journal, they made no move to take the geo held out to them. They only stared at Lemm, with their little mask so perfectly unmoving he could easily think them a sudden corpse. Then his hand drifted towards the pot, and the creature set the journal down on the counter.

"...News of a relic keeper bartering goods for coffee has already spread among your lot, then? I suppose even wanderers must have a rumor mill," Lemm talked to himself while pouring their cup. Predictably, they padded away without an answer, drink in hand. Lemm would soon learn how right he was.

- The coming days were more lucrative than his business had ever been. All the travellers he'd met before all came back with various oddities found around Hallownest, as did anyone new. Though not everyone quite understood what constituted a relic, and Lemm had to turn down more than a few shiny rocks and petrified lake detritus. But they all got the routine down soon enough. And, well, Lemm did have an extraordinary amount of coffee that'd just go to waste for another thousand years otherwise, so, may as well.

The pill bug, Quirrel, came to be his best "customer", though Lemm would be twice damned before he ever said the word aloud. Either way, Quirrel often stayed long enough just chatting to warrant a second cup.

"I ought to have you bring double the treasure," Lemm griped once while handing that second cup over. Quirrel's response was a good natured laugh.

"Perhaps elsewhere, that'd be fair. Coffee was a luxury in some lands, and remains so to this day, but by my understanding it was quite in abundance here. Though I couldn't tell you where in the world they must have been growing it," he mused. Lemm raised a brow, wondering once again where in gods' names this bug was educated. But as asking would be an invitation to hear his life story, Lemm deferred.

"Is that right?" he asked instead, "I don't care for the stuff myself, luxury or no." "Really? Not an uncommon opinion, I suppose. I picked it up as a habit at one point... Though, I couldn't tell you when, now that I think of it," Quirrel trailed off, adjusting the oversized mask over his head. Lemm found it an odd choice of protection from the rain, though he supposed it was better than nothing. He only shrugged, "I hear many students do make a habit of caffeine. Your sorts can never get enough hours out of the day."

Quirrel stared at him for a brief moment, and then huffed a laugh again. "Student? You mistake me, sir. I've only ever been a traveller for as long as I can remember."

Lemm didn't bother to mask his surprise, and Quirrel's eyes crinkled. "You're right on that second part, though. So much to see, and never enough time." He took a sip.

-

The mapmaker came back one day with an order for two drinks. He had no relics, but offered an extra inkwell and quill instead. Lemm found equipment for keeping good notes was lucky to come by, and reluctantly made the trade, much to the old bug's gratitude.

"Thank you, the second is for my wife running our shop surface-side. It was her suggestion you might want materials for your research."

Lemm cleared his throat, blustering slightly under his beard.

"Ahh. Hm. I can appreciate that, then."

"Oh, on that note, have you any sugar you can add in for her?" The bug peered over Lemm’s shoulder, which rankled him for some reason.

"...I did find a jar back here somewhere, I think." Though he couldn't promise it was good. Could sugar go bad? It still just looked like white sand.

"Thank you. ...Err, actually, is that a box of tea on the shelf, there?"

Lemm paused in his rummaging, and looked back at the open storeroom door. The room now made a good home for his relics, though he never bothered unpacking the open crates.

"...It is," he eyed the bug neutrally.

"Ah. Iselda enjoys her coffee, though I quite prefer a good cup of tea myself. ...Erm, if it isn't too much trouble, of course," the bug grinned politely over folded hands.

Lemm, to his credit, did not sigh. There was indeed a kettle back there, too. And at least he knew how to brew tea without making an entire day's worth of it.

He brought up the jar of sugar, and leveled the bug with a grumpy look.

"Fine. But next time, you bring relics."

The cartographer acquiesced immediately, and that was the point where Lemm realized he'd invited them both to expect a "next time".

-

The silent wanderer came back again, on the tail of a group of treasure hunters who came in and left up the elevator. Shortly after, there was the sound of struggle above them.

This had become commonplace. Anyone who showed up had to contend with the violent husks above and beyond the shop, and some were more prepared to deal with the dangers of Hallownest than others. Lemm only poured the wanderer's cup in bored silence, tuning out the thumping and shouts above. "You know this stuff stunts your growth, right?" Lemm asked flatly. The wanderer only ever stared.

"Dehydrates you, too. You active types probably ought to stick to water. Imagine having to deal with the horrors of rotting sentries and whatnot with a diuretic sloshing about in you." Unbothered, they leaned forward and took their cup in both hands, still staring up while he spoke. Lemm honestly had no idea if they even understood him, and considered the possibility that their muteness was compounded by a language barrier. But they at least always made the effort to appear attentive.

There was a thundering crash above them that made Lemm flinch, and then a silence that kept him tense. The voices started up once again after a few seconds, and the sound of footsteps hurrying away as fast as they could. By his guess, his last customers had just had a very close encounter with a belfly. He'd likely not be seeing them again.

He turned his attention back down to the wanderer with a sigh.

"...Let me see what you have, then."

The tiny thing set their cup carefully down by their feet, and fished a genuine void egg from the depths of their grubby cloak. Lemm was struck with the brief impulse to give them the entire coffee machine for it.

-

There was a new visitor one morning, just as Lemm brewed the pot for his regulars. He rarely got anyone so very early, and was guiltily nursing his own cup of acrid sugary heart disease before anyone would be around to see. Alright, so he'd acquired the taste for it. It was hardly unreasonable with how much time he spent around the smell, and it helped him make up for lost time studying his relics later in the night. Perfectly understandable, and so he definitely did not freeze mid sip like he was caught in a crime when the door opened unexpectedly. The red-clad stranger who walked in wore a wicked-sharp needle slung across her back, and fixed him with an even sharper gaze.

"...I hear you sell tea." Her voice was quiet enough, but cut clear without the normal hesitant lilt of a question.

Lemm slowly put down his mug, and the soft thunk it made against the countertop sounded awfully loud in the morning lull.

"...I don't sell anything. I buy," he insisted.

The altogether frightening lass glanced between him, the full coffee pot, and the kettle sat next to a stack of assorted loose leaf teas. Then back at him.

He grunted, hiding an inane flush of indignation behind another swig of his drink.

"...I seek artifacts. Relics of this place's past, and anything that may help me understand it, for geo. ...Or for a cuppa, for those who'd rather." He shifted behind the counter, nearly trailing off into a mumble. But at this point, there wasn’t much use in fighting his reputation.

The girl just scrutinized him until she seemed to come to a decision. She then turned and left without saying anything else, opting to hop down the elevator shaft rather than waste a moment calling the lift.

Lemm rolled his eyes and gulped down the dregs of his coffee, vaguely annoyed. By this point, he was used to the rude and half feral sorts of vagabonds that only came by out of curiosity. At least she was quick about leaving.

All the better for him, as far as he was concerned. He doubted such a young thing would have anything of note to share with Hallownest's foremost historian.

[fluffymcu]

Ik you've probably been getting a lot of prompts, but I was wondering if you'd feel inspired to write this one?

So platonic Steve x reader, where she has a sticker or something stuck to the side of her shirt, and when Steve starts trying to get it off, she squirms and he notices. Then he can tell that she's trying so hard to hide the fact that she is super ticklish and he exposes her and thinks it's so cute! (And of course wrecks her)

Sorry if this is bad lol

———

“Our school is making us come up with our own glue adhesive as a school project. We have 2 weeks to turn it in and have to use these laminated papers to put the adhesive on. I’m so gonna use bits of my web formula to make the best sticker!” Peter chortled, telling everyone about his project at dinner.

You nodded with a hum, taking another bite of spaghetti. “Cool. How much have you gotten done?” You asked.

“I’ve done many samples dealing with different strengths and thicknesses. All I have to do is apply them to the papers.” He nodded.

——

The next morning you woke up extra early due to Thor coming in and asking you where the PS4 controller was at. You told him it was where you left it last but he proceeded to say it wasn’t there and made you get up and look for it with him; claiming that Korg was waiting for him to join the ps party. After that, you just decided to stay up and make yourself some coffee since you were still more than half asleep.

Once you made your mug, you lazily sipped and laid your upper body flat on the island, sighing in content at the cold feeling of the counter on your face. Just then, Steve walked in the kitchen and gave you a bright smile. “You’re up early!” He grinned, wiping off his forehead with his towel even though he was barely sweating. That man could spend hours at the gym and come out without a drop of sweat.

“Sarcastic thanks to Thor for that.” You jazzed your hands. Steve chuckled and patted your back.

“Go back to sleep then, sleepy head!”

Right as you were about to agree, Peter walked in the kitchen, overdoing his safety gear. Goggles, gloves, an apron, and even a hair net. All that for glue?

He stopped in his tracks once he saw you. “Uhh, y/n? Did you lay on my stickers?” He asked, a nervous tone is his voice. You furrowed your eyebrows and leaned up to check your side. You had indeed laid on his sticker. Your eyes widened.

“Oh, goddd.” You groaned. “Can it come off easily?”

“I mean, I did use the same components as my web formula so, I’m guessing it’ll be really... sticky?” He shrugged apologetically.

“Why were you doing your school project on the kitchen counter?” You cried.

“In my defense! None of you are up this early except Steve so I was planning to be done with this by the time you’d all be up!” He raised his hands defensively.

Steve bit his lip and stepped toward you. “Here, lemme see if I can take it off.” He said, taking a seat on the island stool and motioning for you to come close.

Since the sticker was stuck on your side, right under your armpit and on your ribs, when he began to try to pull it off, the constant scratching at it was tickling a lot. You pursed your lips and tensed up, closing your eyes and trying to steady your breaths.

“In the mean time, I’ll go see if I can find my web dissolving solution. Hopefully that could help!” Peter said, running up to his little mini lab Tony made for him.

“Why didn’t he just do his experiment in his lab?” Steve chuckled. You shook your head along with him.

“But have you seen his lab? It’s a mess. I’d be surprised if he’d actually be able to find that solution in that pile of storage boxes.” You sighed, jerking a bit when he started to scratch harder.

Steve smirked as he quickly realized what he was doing. He’s seen Bucky tickle you sometimes to tease you and he’s seen that he usually targets your ribs and gets a big reaction. He found it cute. “Am I hurting you?” He asked, pausing what he was doing. You shook your head quickly.

“No. Just- no.” You shrugged, hating yourself for not being able to think of a good excuse. Steve nodded, hiding his smirk while continuing to pry at the sticker. It was so hard to keep your arm up!

After a minute you felt his thumb scratch at your lower rib which made you pull your arm down out of reflex. “Woah, you okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah I’m great! Just... umm maybe I can try to take it off myself.” You said, trying to walk away but Steve gently grabbed your arm.

“Hang on, it’s ok. No need to get frustrated or impatient. Let me help you. Peter should be here with the solution soon if this doesn’t work.” He said. You sighed and lifted you arm again, letting him try to peel it off.

A few moments passed of you trying to desperately hold in your laughter and keep your arm up. Steve has smirking behind you, knowing how hard you were trying. Finally, he spoke up.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing, y/n/n? You’re hiding your laughter.” He teased, smiling widely when you turned to look at him with slightly wide eyes. “Yeah, honey. I know you’re ticklish.” Right then, he pounced, pulling you to his chest and instantly pinching all around your waistline, chuckling as you let out your laughter. “Thaaat’s it. Let those little giggles aaaall out.” He grinned, laughing when you threw your head back on his shoulder.

“STAHAHAHAP!” You cried, trying to escape from the super soldier’s grasp. But he had you caged against him and basically sitting on his lap. You were done for.

“But this is too cute! Look at you giggling your worries away, I bet you’ve forgotten about the sticker already, yeah?” He teased, blowing a raspberry on your neck, making you scream.

“AHH! HAHAHAHA WHO TOHOHOLD YOU I WAHAHAS TICK- HAH! TICK- HAHAHA!! STEHEHEHEVE!” You squealed, kicking out your legs.

“Yes, y/n?” He sang, wiggling his finger in your belly button. You arched your back with a squeal and fell into silent laughter. Steve took it as a sigh to let you breathe and let you go. You went limp in his arms and panted, a smile on your face and letting out residual giggles. Steve held you close to him with a smile and gently rocked you. “Your laugh is adorable, y/n.” He smiled.

You groaned in embarrassment and turned a bit to hide your face on his shoulder. “You’ve heard it beforeee.” You grumbled.

“Yeah, but not like this!” He whined, mimicking your tone and pinching your hip, causing you to flinch with a giggle.

“Hey guys, I found the solution!” Peter squealed, running down the stairs. “I got it! This can probably take it off!”

“Probably?? Peter with what I just endured, it better work. I wanna get out of here and go back to bed.” You sighed tiredly.

“What did you endure?” He asked. You hummed in thought, hesitating to answer. He smirked. “Just kidding. I heard you from upstairs.” He said cheekily.

You narrowed your eyes at him as you felt heat flush through your cheeks, making Steve chuckle.

“Just put on the damn solution.”

——-

[slashingdisneypasta]

Sylvester the Cat x Toon!Reader || Drabble

Plot: I'm just experimenting with the Looney Tune idea so possibly enjoy some cute Sylvester Jr wanting you to be his new other parent.

Warnings: Toon violence?

You're just tying up the ends of Wile E's bandages into a tight little knot, prompting a wince from the coyote and a little board sign saying 'Ouch!'. Immediately you wince, stepping back. "Ohh... sorry, Wile E... I'm not exactly certified... " Daffy made you do this job, seeing as you're worse at sports then any of them- and that's saying something.

His head falls forward slightly and his ears wilt as you step back.

"Okay! Who's nex- " Turning around - picking up some more bandages and band aids in one fist, and an industrial sized tube of Acme branded antiseptic cream tucked under your other arm, - you look about for your next patient.

- And droop as soon as you see what kind if work load is waiting for you. It looks like every toon you know is lined up for medical attention!

The bandages and band aids slip out of your hands and scatter across the floor. "Oh boy." Quickly taking a deep breath to refresh yourself, you perk right up in order to get to it. Okay! "Sly! You're first, what's wro- Uh, hah. Nevermind."

Looking at him... maybe you don't have to ask...

Tweety flies through the giant gaping hole in Sylvester's tummy and the cat gives great sigh, slumping forward. "Why are the only times he's in there are when he can get out!!"

"I know, I know, woe is you. Sit down." You have no time for sympathies right now, you can allocate Sly only 2 minutes- and that's because you like him. The other patients coming get only one. "Okay, Sly!... um... " Oh brother you're stuck. Why do you do with an ailment like this?? Sylvester patiently sits, waiting for you to finish as you set your paws on your hips with a huff... wondering where exactly to go from here. Hm. "Do you maybe... know where your insides... are? Like, presently?"

"Uhh, they were... disintegrated... "

You two share a concerned look. "Maybe... spackle?- "

Just as Sylvester is gulping down his fear at your crazy suggestion, a certain black and white kitten comes speeding out of the crowd at the two of you. "FATHER!" Sylvester Junior stops at his fathers side, eyes wide with worry. "Father! Is he okay, Y/N??"

As you start rifling through your medical kit for something actually useful, you waive a dismissive paw at the kitten. "Oh, don't worry SJ. Your dad has recovered from worse- you know that."

Oh- that gives you an idea! It may not be strictly medical... or orthodox in the least, but its worth a try! Come on- you guys are toons. Straightening up, you look to the court; Searching for the little yellow speck you know is flying around somewhere.

Sylvester Jr nods slowly, pouting. His eyes are big, and round, and adorably full of worry. "Do you think I can sit on his lap safely, Y/N?"

Oh he's just the cutest. You turn back to your patient and raise your brows at him. "Can he?"

Sly perks up at the chance to get some much needed affection - rather then shameful berating, - from his rugrat. "Of course he can- come on, son- oww... " Unfortunately Sylvester Junior throws caution to the wind, and launches his little body at his father- almost going all the way through and causing you to seriously wince, but luckily Sylvester has a good grip on him and sets him in his lap rather then inside the cavern that was his belly. "Aghhh... thanks, son... I feel a lot better now... oof!- "

Sylvester Junior has thrown his arms around his father, and your heart leaps at the adorable scene...

Except- you wouldn't have, if you had heard what was really going on in that hug.

Sylvester's eyes widen and he deadpans at his son, hearing the words that come out in a rushed, hoarse whisper as soon as the hug he thought was genuine closes around his neck. Of course... this is his son, after all...

"How am I doing, Father?? Is Y/N looking?? I've been told that other cats become more inclined to date a cat who's good with children!, and since you're hopeless at that, I've elected myself, your darling baby son, to help you! So, are they looking father??"

"Junior!"

"Yes father???"

"I do not need your help to woo anyone, and I'm working on Y/N... " Sly tries to assure Jr, not sounding totally sure as his eyes fall downcast. "Its, uh, just a slow process, is all... " After a moment, he proudly lifts his chin, and he would puff out his chest, if... you know.. it was there... "I got your mother on my own, didn't I??"

Sylvester's proud moment is cut off quickly as his son pulls away from him to give a very deadpanned, sassy expression at the mention of his absentee mother cat. "And where is she, may I ask, father??"

A loud 'Aha!' comes from you a few feet away as you jump up, and grab something right out of the air.

Deeply rolling his eyes, irritation flickering inside him at the antics of his son, Sylvester Sr plonks him down on the bench beside him, angrily crossing his arms. Jr follows suit, looking like an exact replica of his father... except, smaller.

Blinking blankly around to see the two, with Tweety now wriggling around in your paws, you giggle at the sight. "What happened to you two? You were having such a heart warming father-son moment a second ago!"

"I'm full of shame, Y/N. Oh woe... "Sylvester Jr sighs, shaking his head as Sr turns his head slowly to look at him. "How am I to face my friends at the playground... My father- a loser!"

Sylvester pointedly looks away, angry eyes pointing towards the court. "My son... a spoiled brat. How am I ever to show my face in society, again?" An even heavier sigh comes out of Sylvester Jr at that remark, and Sylvester Sr immediately jumps up from the bench, pointing a stern finger at his son. "Oh no ya don't- Don't you dare get out that bag!!"

"But Father! I'm full of shame!" Sylvester Jr whines, holding the paper bag in his lap as you watch the two in wonderment. How they can bicker like this, and still have such an adorable, open relationship you have no clue - some kids are too scared to talk back to their fathers, - but the state of these two's relationship is truly, really endearing to you.

Oh how you love Sly... You catch yourself swooning at the thought of him, and immediately stop yourself. Stop it, Y/N! This is not the time for that. Taking a deep breath, you shake yourself. Okay, back to the task at hand.

Meanwhile, Sylvester snatches the paper bag away from Jr. "Oh, cut that out, wouldja?!"

While there's a pause in the argument, you jump and take your chance to hold up Tweety in front of Sylvester's face- his pupils shrinking at the sight and his teeth growing sharper, somehow.

"Oh no oh no- You mean old puddy tads- using me like this!" Tweety exclaims, wings pressed firmly to your paws and pushing, struggling to wiggle up and out of your tight grip. Yeah yeah, you think. Tell it to the choir.

Hopefully when I let Tweety go, Sly will give chase... and be all better!

Heh... isn't that how it works? It is, right? He'll 'perk right up'! you could say.

"Alright... here goes nothing!" You squeak, closing your eyes and letting Tweety go, hoping to god that Sylvester doesn't trample you in his endeavour to snatch his favourite little yellow bird.

Feeling a wind blow against you side and ruffling your fur as Sylvester springs to action, you slowly crack your eyes open again- first seeing Sylvester Jr as he still sits on the bench in front of you swinging his legs over the side of the bench, before peaking over your shoulder, and... "Yes!" You cry out as soon as your keen feline eyes catch sight of Sylvester looking good as new again on the court, chasing Tweety through the still-roaring basketball game. Clasping your hands together, your tail wiggles excitedly behind your back. "It worked!"

"What?" Sylvester hears your cheering and immediately halts in his tracks, looking at you then down at himself- a big, toothy smile spreading across his face when he see's he's all better. "Y/N! You did it! Thanks!"

"Of course!" You call back, then point at the scoreboard and wink. "Now kick those Monstar's butts for me!"

The green Monstar turns a squinty looking evil eye on you at hearing your words but you don't care- you're far too busy burning the image of Sly giving you a thumbs up into your mind.

"Heheh, no problem... " That trademark evil grin slips across Sly's face again as he rubs his paws together, turning his attention back to the game as you sigh, paws on your hips; Happy with your job well done.

"Uh, hello??" Someone speaks up from behind you, and you jump, suddenly remembering the mile long line of toons that still need medical attention.

Ohhh... great. You slowly turn around, seeing Elmer giving you angry eyes and quickly look extremely apologetic, paws awkwardly behind your back and spine as straight as a plank. Oops!

You might seem help... you think you tilting your head to see the rest of the long... long, l o n g line. "Uhh... SJ? You wanna help me play nurse, maybe?"

"Oh, yes Y/N!" He exclaims enthusiastically, hopping off the bench and taking up your medical kit in his short little arms- which is way too big for him. You giggle and take it from the kitten, patting his head. "I'll be happy to be your assistant!"

Fist bumping each other, you wink. "That's the kinda attitude I like to see! Lets go."

~

A couple hours and countless injuries later and the game is coming to a nail chewing close. Truly, this is a new level of anxiety you're feeling as you leave Sylvester Junior, now exhausted and up past his bedtime, curled in Granny's lap with a blanket strewn over him. Then you sit back down to watch the game beside a very injured Sly, as Witch Hazel defibrillates Taz.

If Michael doesn't make this shot - with but seven seconds to go, - he has to move to Moron Mountain in your place. You all dragged him here for help and now h's the one with everything on the line.

You cant help but feel a massive load of guilt.

"Oh I cant watch!" You squeak suddenly amongst the thunderous sounds of the audience at 4 seconds, and cover your eyes. "Tell me when its over!"

.

.

.

3 seconds later, the buzzer screeches and you hear the toons around you cheering, and peak out nervously from beyond your paws. ... What happened?

Your gaze flickers to the score board.

Oh my god. A deep, relieved breath comes out of you. "We won!?"

"We won!" Sylvester concurs, jumping up from the bench and throwing a fist into the air. Then he puts his paws on your arms and beams down at you. "We're not gonna be slaves!!"

You wonder what you could say in response, but the one thing your body is telling to you to do is throw your arms around him- so you do. And he doesn't think twice before squeezing you back, picking you up and swinging you around.

Then the world comes crashing down around Sly, as his son opens his eyes to see the scene- and gasps. The kitten sits up quickly in Granny's lap and points. "Oh, father! You did it! I knew you could do it!"

Immediately Sylvester puts you down, his paws retreating from you and a definite sense of nervousness - and maybe embarrassment? - settles over him. You raise your brows, confused, but still swimming in the joy of the game being won and just tilt your head as you confusedly smile. "What did he do??"

Sly Jr doesn't even think a second before gleefully elaborating- despite his father very nearly shaking his soul free waving his hands at him in a doomed endeavour to shut his son up. "No- stop, Junior!- "

"Asked you out! Didn't he?" As the wide eyed bewilderment on your face and the utter horror on Sylvester's dawns on Jr, his shoulders drop and he turns disappointedly at his dad. "Didn't you?"

"No!"

"Oh, father!- "

Sylvester Sr's tail, shoulders, and head slump forward as he turns his kitten around so he faces away from the two of you, embarrassment replaced by exasperation. "You're tired, son. Go to sleep. Night night, sleep tight, sweet dreams, don't let the bed bugs bite and we'll talk in the morning." Then he slowly, meekly turns back to you.

And you're practically glowing. "Sly... what's he talking about?"

"Father likes you!- " Sylvester Jr tries to speak up again, turning his head but Sr twists his head carefully back, a reprimanding tone in his voice.

"Sleep! Hah hah... " Sylvester (Sr) turns back to you, arms held carefully behind his back as he chuckles nervously. "My son is... troubled... a little- "He point at his head and swirls his finger; A gesture reading 'Loopy'. As soon as the meaning behind that word and his gesture occurs to you, you visibly droop. Oh. Okay... I guess SJ was just messing with us... Sly watches this reaction, and his ears perk up quickly; Sensing some dissappintment. "I mean, uh... unless you liked the i-idea?"

You peak up at him again from the floor, seeing his face slowly going red. "... D-do you?"

"Wha- I asked first! You answer the question."

"Hey." Setting your fists to your hips, you look stubbornly at him. "You were just taking it all back! So you tell the truth. Which is it??"

"Yeah- but I asked the question first!"

"Sylvester James Pussycat Senior!"

"Pfft... if you think pulling full name on me is going to change anything... " He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. "You've got another thing comin'!"

Your eyes narrow, and so do his, before suddenly Taz jumps up from the bench he was resting on and ZOOMS past Sly so fast and so hazardously, that he's caught off guard and jumps forward with a yelp- accidentally knocking you.

"Oh!-"

"H-hold on, I got ya!!" Sylvester's eyes widen to the size of dinner plates and he grabs you just before gravity manages to drag you down to the ground; Pulling you back up to your feet- which just so happens to bring you two extremely close together.

Two sets of eyes widen and faces go red.

Everything seems to go a little quieter around you, the deafening sounds of the auditorium seeming to get plunged under water as the crazy all just slows down for just a moment. Enough for you to enjoy the few seconds you foreseeably get before he jumps back like someone sprayed him.

But to your surprise, he doesn't move. Just stands there and looks shocked... but does not move even an inch away from you. Doesn't even let go of you.

Finally, after a few good moments, you sigh and give in. "... Sly, would you like to go out sometime with me?"

"Ah... " His ears flatten against his head as he looks bashful, with a cute little smile that makes your stomach do backflips as he curls his tail around yours. "Yes, I'd like that very much."

You lean up and give him a feather light kiss on the cheeks- and he goes even redder.

[uwua3]

if it's ok 😳👉👈 i really love your writing and i've had this idea in my head for awhile but i can't get myself to write it on my own 🤔 i wanted to see how your spin would be on it- so can i request a prompt where reader gets jealous of tenma's co-actress in a romance and tries to mimic what she does to him in a show they're in?? ty!!! 💕💕💕 i look forward to your interpretation

thank you so much for requesting~ ♡ i love you sososo much; i hope this lives up to everything you’ve dreamed of! ♡ ～('▽^人) i LOVE YOU!!! <333

summary: when tenma lands a role in your favorite drama, he had one goal: to become your favorite actor

warnings: envy/jealousy, food mentions, rivalry (all covered briefly!)

author’s note: after learning everything there is to know about the k-drama, true beauty, on tik tok, i’ve decided to write this! for context, the only thing i recommend watching before reading this is watching the “roar” scene!

this is also the first time i’ve introduced made-up characters with names! please enjoy jun, the first character who isn’t canon to the a3!verse :D

word count: 3,768

music: like a movie – b1a4

pretty u!

🌻☀️ sumeragi tenma

what the heck was love, and why did he have to be in it?

sumeragi tenma, future “world’s best actor”, was suddenly... seeing why he hadn’t won that award yet. with a script in his hand and confusion in another, tenma read the title of the next drama he landed the role for

“PRETTY U...” it was japan’s next major love story, advertised on every social media platform possible with the all-star cast in the spotlight already. although it had already been out for a season, tenma was entering as the up-and-coming newest character of the series

tenma was boyish, young, and much too confident for his age—perfect for the role of a second-lead bad boy who was going to steal the heart and test the protagonist’s commitment

except... he didn’t actually want to take up a new project so soon. he only did because—

“what?! you’re going to be chan on PRETTY U?!” he proudly nodded and watched as you began ranting about how much you loved this show. there was only one reason he came to the audition: tenma wanted to star in your favorite television series

you always went on and on about how great everything about PRETTY U was. after hearing so much and pretending not to listen (even if he could practically explain the entire plotline now without watching it), tenma let himself become a fan, too

after all, how could he not be a fan when you loved PRETTY U so much?

tenma didn’t respond to his manager’s pleas until one day, you revealed another reason why PRETTY U was your favorite production: the main lead

“he’s so handsome~ i love him so much!” “do you know him? could you get me his number?” “look at him... he’s the most perfect actor in the business right now—ah, sorry ten!”

tenma scoffed every time, claiming he could most certainly do better than that hotshot. although the boys typically didn’t do the same type of television, he had become tenma’s #1 rival without even knowing it

besides... what did that guy have that tenma didn’t? he was just nice! sure, he held open the door for the lead, bent down to tie her shoes, bended over backwards just to be the perfect boy-next-door. yeah... even he couldn’t pretend anymore

tenma pouted at the thought, skimming over his next pilot episode for rehearsal tomorrow. he was too good to be real, after all, he was meant to end up with the lead girl anyways (spoiler alert!)

but, it didn’t matter how perfect that actor was! because tenma had gotten the role of “chan”, the leather-jacket wearing mystery with an actual heart of gold, and he was going to make the entire audience swoon

(though, tenma just wanted to make your heart skip a beat when he ended up on the big screen)

tenma would never admit how fast he checked his phone when he felt it buzz in his pocket. sure, it was unprofessional during rehearsal but he knew it was you. however, his smile dropped the moment he read what you sent

you: remember to tell him how much i love him!

tenma: hah... no good luck for your new bad boy?

you: you know i’ll always root for you, ten!

tenma: but, i’m better than that actor, right?

tenma watched his message get delivered and was about to keep bothering you until someone called his name like they were friends. speak of the devil...

that actor’s straight, white toothy smile made tenma stand a little straighter (damn it, tenma was shorter), eyes wide as the actor gracefully introduced himself as his co-star for the next month or so (how did his voice sound even better in person?!)

“good morning, tenma! my name is jun, i’m so honored to meet a fellow actor on set! let’s work together well!” were they... really the same age? tenma barely registered the fact he was suddenly shaking jun’s (right, that’s his name) hand. why did he have such a manly grip?

tenma quickly (to his dismay) found out that him & jun had entered the industry around the same time but often had different projects, so they were never featured in the same production before. apparently, that was creating quite a buzz in the media that two childhood stars were competing against one another

a competition that tenma couldn’t lose. he was going to be your favorite actor, not his rival!

jun, like the perfect gentleman everyone described him to be, showed tenma around the PRETTY U set. jun had nothing but good things to say about the crew and vise versa. that only reinforced how tenma was oddly much more quiet than he usually was. luckily, one of the talents of being an actor was improvising, so jun was doing just fine

when they had reached the dressing rooms, jun shot a bright smile at tenma and gestured to the rather large room

“we’ll be sharing a dressing room together, tenma! we’ll be spending a lot of time together!”

tenma suddenly regretted his decision to become chan of PRETTY U. you couldn’t have had a different favorite show?! anything but... this

there were now three main characters for PRETTY U: hoshi, yuri, and chan, creating a love triangle for millions of viewers to watch every week

nakamura jun, leading role, played “hoshi”, the boy-next-door. this is the popular boy at school with the best grades and an even greater reputation amongst everyone. next, uedo ren, one of japan’s rising female actresses of this generation. she is adored as “yuri”, the perfect girl. she is the typical nerd who suddenly transformed into the prettiest girl at school from learning make-up

last (but definitely not least!) is sumeragi tenma, playing “chan”, the bad boy. it was nothing like tenma’s done before, since the character was much less expressive than he was used to. chan is a traditional rebel who is revealed to have a soft side for yuri. but, chan (ironically enough) has a secret history with hoshi, causing tension in this already confusing love triangle

(embarrassingly enough, jun had to explain to tenma the complications and ties between each character. tenma, unfortunately, found it to be extremely helpful)

even with this newfound knowledge of the characters in season 2, tenma couldn’t help but absolutely ruin the first day of rehearsals. even with a decade or so of acting as his experience, one thing kept him from being chan: his lack of chemistry with “yuri”

“cut!” the director called out again for the nth time, sighing as their eyes landed on tenma, who was not enjoying being the center of attention this time, surprisingly

“take 5, kid. once you come back, i expect you to actually go through this scene without messing up your lines.” tenma nodded and exited quickly, feeling flustered from the looks of sympathy directed his way. usually, it was one-and-done. it didn’t take a hundred tries just to do another romantic and cliché scene

tenma exhaled loudly once he felt the fresh air upon his face. without the fear of cameras in his face anymore, tenma ran his hand through his hair with a frustrated kick at the concrete. come on! he was renown child actor sumeragi tenma, why was he so in his head now?

tenma was about to yell into the sky before he heard someone close the door, standing beside him with their usual silence. tenma didn’t even have to look to know it was jun (probably with the most pitiful look ever)

“tenma? are you okay?” jun waited as tenma tried to not say anything he’d regret, shifting his weight on his foot back and forth before relenting, shrugging as if it couldn’t be helped

“i don’t know... i just, i can’t see yuri that way. how am i supposed to flirt with someone i don’t even like?”

jun pondered the thought for a moment, before tilting his head, a boyish smile overtaking his features. tenma unwillingly relaxed; jun finally looked his age

“who do you like then?”

tenma froze, a blush even foundation couldn’t hide blossoming on his cheeks. jun let out a teasing “oooh!” as he nudged tenma with his shoulder, who pushed back with an eye-roll

“i-it’s not like that! don’t be so—ugh!” tenma cut himself off, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding jun’s knowing eyes. damn it, they barely knew each other. why was he getting so comfortable with his enemy?!

“well, whoever you thought of, imagine yuri as them.”

“is that what you do?”

jun shrugged, not giving a clear answer for once. before tenma could ask for more information, their break was over

when tenma returned to the scene, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. when he opened them again, he watched as yuri transformed into the one person he’s been trying to impress this entire time: you

when “you” smiled, tenma couldn’t help but follow along. his first-take after break made the cut for the final product

“you must really like them, tenma~” — “stop!!!”

filiming afterwards became easy, especially when he imagined all his romantic words were directed towards you. he could feel the clamminess of his hands, the rapid beat of his heart, the intense blush across his face, all at the thought of you

(the only time he had to start over was when he accidentally said your name instead of yuri’s)

tenma was sure he’d become your favorite actor now! after all, you were his favorite person

“will you watch the first episode of PRETTY U’s season 2 with me?”

you had never said yes so fast in your entire life. when tenma learned there’d be a cast-viewing of episode 1 after finishing the season, he knew his +1 invite could only go to the biggest fan of the show

throughout filming, you were always the person who got him in trouble when the text tone wasn’t put on silent. you liked spamming tenma with a bunch of supportive and encouraging messages when you were available, meaning tenma always had something to look forward to after each scene

in return, tenma would send a selfie of him with his castmates or the set (or, what he was allowed to show under his contract). yet, despite your constant pleas, there was one co-star he’d never take a photograph with: jun

(“tenma! we’ve worked together for months~ shouldn’t i be called your friend now?” “no—” “huh?! don’t pretend you don’t like me!” “who said i was pretending?” “tenma!”)

at first, tenma was apprehensive about inviting you to an event where jun’s picture-perfect face would be on display everywhere. but, whenever he saw you, the weight of the tickets suddenly felt much heavier in his pocket. he couldn’t deprieve you of such an exclusive event just because of his jealousy (even if he was this close to doing so)

when tenma impulsively asked three days before, it felt worth it when you threw your arms around him (he hugged you back and pretended this meant something to you)

“i love you, ten!”

tenma felt like he was on set again, with yuri’s arms tightly holding onto his heart

“i love you, too.”

even after saying it so many times, tenma meant it even if he didn’t say it to your face every time

you looked like the star of the show

tenma fixed his tie as his blazer suddenly felt too tight. you appeared in your most formal attire, looking like a million bucks as you two sat across each other in the limo

“ten, look at all of this!” you pointed out every little thing of preparing for a professional event. the little glasses of champagne neither of you two could drink sat to the side as the leather seats molded to fit your posture. as the night lights of tokyo blurred by, tenma couldn’t help but think you sparkled more than this diamond of a city

“i can’t wait to go see the first episode! thank you for inviting me.” you bowed your head, as if suddenly overcome with gratefulness. tenma lightly kicked your shoe with his, fondly rolling his eyes as he tried not to smile (mission failed)

“don’t worry about it, who else would i bring? you’re my favorite pe—friend. friend, yeah...” tenma trailed off, suddenly finding something very interesting outside of the window. you only nodded, seemingly more interested in the fact there was enough room to walk around

when tenma caught sight of the infamous red carpet laid out in front of the theatre, he cleared his throat and put on his best face for the cameras. after stepping out of the car with his bodyguards nearby, tenma turned and gave you a genuine smile. not his typical arrogant smirk the news source ate up, but a type of smile only reserved for you

when he held out his hand, the flashing lights behind him seemed like a real celebrity, something you had never considered him to be before. it was like seeing tenma in a new light (both literally and figuratively)

“shall we?” you took his hand and wondered if you could ever have your own j-drama. perhaps, tenma could even be the main lead...

before you could step off to the side, tenma already had his arm wrapped around your waist with his unchanging expression (however, underneath it all, he was internally freaking out. what was he going to do now?!)

“you’re my date, right? walk the red carpet with me.” tenma winked (you swore it sparkled) as he gestured towards the carpet ahead. suddenly, the line seemed much longer

“t-ten... you’ve never brought a date before...” you mumbled, acutely aware of how soon it was to walk down together. tenma’s arm stiffened, but nothing else exposed the revelation as he looked down at you

“you’re my first, then.” and my last, tenma thought to himself. before you could change your mind, it was showtime. tenma put on his movie star face and introduced you to familiar interviewers, smiling away as if you two weren’t panicking on the inside

while you were focusing on the fact you were going to be going viral as tenma’s first “date” to the event, tenma was trying not to blush from how close you were. you felt... right besides him

tenma was a natural in front of an audience waiting for him to make a mistake. he flawlessly answered every question with swaggering confidence, his stride easy and poses photogenic

you did your best to follow his lead but it all ended when tenma took you into the theatre, staring down at you with a bright smile

“we did it! see, told you we’d be just fine.” tenma let out an exhale of relief, glowing with joy from the adrenaline of everything that came with being a superstar. as you looked up into his excited eyes, you saw him lean down before—

“your arm is still around me.”

silence, then a hurried separation as tenma put too many feet between you two. it was suddenly as if you two were strangers. you regretted the words the moment they left your mouth; you didn’t mind at all... why did you say something?!

“um... so, food?” tenma spoke up after an eternity of making excuses. you two quickly moved to the line of movie snacks, using candy and popcorn to substitue the suddenly awkward silence

when tenma ordered all your favorites without even asking, he turned around with the selection only to close his eyes and internalize every single thing he was feeling because there he was, his worst enemy

jun entered from a side door, most likely finishing up helping the crew with set-up (and 30 minutes early as usual) before catching tenma’s iconic bright orange hair, a grin lighting up his face

“tenma! it’s me, jun!” he said, as if they weren’t the two main leads of japan’s most famous drama so far. immediately, your smile matched jun’s as you watched as your favorite actor of all time make his way towards you two

“jun... of course you’d be here.” tenma said through gritted teeth, forcing a pleasant smile even with an armful of junk

“ah, still keeping the bad boy attitude? we’re off set now, you can stop method acting now.” jun joked, bringing his attention to you with a dazzling smile that would absolutely make any fansite’s career

“oh? who is this, a friend of yours?” tenma tried not to sigh so loud when you couldn’t help yourself and burst into a long rant about how amazing jun was. tenma waited until you reached your midpoint and stopped you with a quick nudge, trying not to scream (could jun stop being so... perfect? could you stop being so cute?!)

when tenma introduced you, he stood a little closer as he tried to maintain his jealousy. “they’re my date, by the way.” no one had asked, but tenma was clearly telling anyone who was around you two had gone together

jun’s eyes lit up in recognition as he let out a noise of surprise. “ah~ so this is who you—”

tenma didn’t regret losing his giant popcorn so fast to a co-star who could only be silenced with food. his wallet could afford another one, anyways. his pride on the other hand? could not let you know his acting secret already

“what was jun going to say?” you asked after you two departed for the viewing room. tenma nonchalantly pretended like everything was okay as he guided you to front row

“probably something about the fact you’re the one who always interrupts our scenes.”

“hey! my texts make your day, don’t lie!”

“go sit down and eat already, jeez.”

when it began, your eyes couldn’t leave the screen. it was better than you could have imagined. everything was perfect, it exceeded the standards of even the toughest fans out there. you loved every second of it... except...

tenma was too good at being chan. even with his bright hair, the dark clothes he wore made him appear intimidating, with his sharp eyes and even sharper smirk. chan’s appearance was tough, rough, and mean, everything tenma wasn’t

yet, you still couldn’t help but feel your heart sink when chan was clearly in love with yuri. yuri was one of your favorite characters by far, but she ended up bothering you for the entireity of the episode

especially every time she shared a scene (which were many times) with chan. chan was revealed to be a bad boy with a heart of gold, all with a special soft side for yuri

what was this feeling? were you... no, you couldn’t be! after all, you had never seen tenma that way before, right? yet, every time chan made an exception for yuri, you felt sick to your stomach

was it possible that tenma liked the actress who played yuri? you snuck a glance at tenma, only to see he was looking at you already (he’d never admit it, but he was watching your reactions to see if he made you proud. yet, every time you saw him, you subconsciously frowned)

were you not proud of him? did you not like his performance as chan?

before tenma could ask you, the scene changed into one of chan’s. he was standing outside in the school uniform, his head ducked as he swiped through yuri’s social media. before he could look up, yuri jumped in front of him with a teasing smile

“roar!” she called out, referring to their inside joke earlier in the episode. yuri cutely bounced back with another roar, holding her hands up like paws. chan watched, his typical rock-hard expression breaking to reveal his developing feelings for yuri

later on, chan stopped yuri in the hallway, other students watching as the school’s bad boy and goddess interact

“do that again.” chan demanded to which yuri innocently tilted her head, confused like a little puppy. “do what?” “that... that thing.” when chan roared, tenma sunk into his seat with an embarrassed defense and explanation ready. but, when he looked, you finally cracked a laugh at his little roar

your smile only fell when yuri roared again as a joke, but chan smiled for once. tenma wondered why... he thought you would be so happy to be here with him. maybe, he’d never be better than jun...

when the episode ended, it took a moment before you stood up and clapped. tenma followed along, but all he could think about was how he let you down. not only as chan, but as your boy, too

when you two left the room, you two hung back to watch as everyone congratulated one another on the success of the production. in the midst of the cheer and celebration, tenma felt small as he watched your blank expression

what did he do wrong? he put his best efforts into every scene; he might even say it was his best work yet. before he could apologize, you did the unthinkable: you roared

you jumped up into his face, holding your hands up like yuri did. when yuri did it, tenma didn’t feel a thing. but, when you did, tenma felt it. the butterflies fluttered in his stomach as he stared at you, frozen in place

“this is the part where you ask me to do it again.” you shyly trailed off, about to put your hands down before tenma weakly put his hands up, knowing he was about to regret his next move (if the embarrassment didn’t kill him, he didn’t know what would)

“roar!”

that was too loud, wasn’t it? the room suddenly went a lot more quiet as they turned their attention towards a teen actor roaring at his date

“yah! why didn’t you ask me the next line?”

“b-because... i know i like you even without you doing, that, again.”

you paused, taken back by his honesty. as tenma contemplated just falling onto the floor right then and there, you suddenly hardened your expression, standing up straighter with your arms crossed

“do that again.”

“do what?”

“that thing.”

when tenma roared again, much quieter this time, you nodded as you finally smiled genuinely for the first time ever since that episode started

“good, i know how chan feels now. i like you, too.”

“does that mean i’m your favorite actor now?”

(when jun released a video of tenma roaring online, he captioned it with “ROAR = ILY!!!” tenma realized maybe he wasn’t all that bad, but still)

[hazelhalfpint]

Closing the Distance

Surprise another Inu/Kag one shot because I have zero will-power lmao. I just can't stop myself they are so fun!

Based on a prompt you can find here

You can also read this one-shot on AO3 here

For @fawn-eyed-girl, the main inspo behind my return to writing.

Closing the Distance -

The city is quiet, the click of her small law firm office door almost seems out of place as she closed for the day. The normally busy streets of Akasaka had lulled to a quiet hum around her. Kagome sighed, glancing down at her phone. The time glared up at her, nearly 12:00AM. She made a noise in discontent, “Poor Buyo probably thinks I abandoned him this time.”

Her heeled suede boots clicked on the pavement hurriedly toward Akasaka station hoping to catch the last train to Meguro. She sighed in relief, stepping onto the train right before departure. Kagome let her body sway with the motions of the train, opting to close her eyes as she stood, fingers gripping one of the over-head handles. She felt grateful her ride was a short one, only taking her 15 minutes total trip time.

When the train pinged its arrival to Meguro, Kagome smiled stepping onto the concrete platform. She waved to the train staff, a younger man who usually worked the evening train route in Meguro.

“See you tomorrow, Hojo-kun.”

He smiled in return, waving cheerfully, “Have a good night, Higurashi-san!”

Kagome tightened her scarf, once again glancing at her phone as she walked the distance from Meguro station to her apartment building. She scrolled through her notifications, pursing her lips as she read them aloud. “Email, email, another email,” she rolled her eyes but kept scrolling,” text from Sango, (2) missed calls from Kaa-chan, two new Instagram likes.” She let out a loud whine; not a single message from the one person she had been hoping to hear from.

Kagome opened a message thread, the name ‘Inu’ glowing at the top with a red heart emoji. She typed a message as she continued her path, just like she had done the last three nights. She knew he was outside the reach of cell service, somewhere in the mountains of Washington, USA, attending a business conference with his father.

<New Message to: Inu ♥

I miss your voice. ☹ I hope your trip is going well; call me when you can! ♥>

She clicked send, tucking her phone into her jacket pocket. She wasn’t trying to be clingy, truly, but her and Inuyasha had spoken nearly every day for almost a year and a half. Kagome smiled fondly at how their relationship had started, “Hah!” She snorted out a laugh, ‘if you could even call it a ‘relationship’ at first.’

They’d met in an online anime forum, both looking for recommendations to fill their generally boring day to day routines. She’d recommended Bleach, one of her all-time favorites, and Inuyasha had roasted her alive in the comments about the length of the series. She’d retaliated hard though, noting that in his bio he had One-Piece listed as top favorite, and that if he were going to be a hypocrite to at least try to hide it. They bickered incessantly in the forum comments, and eventually moved to private chat, the conversation taking on a more playful tone as time went on.

After that they had pinballed anime suggestions back and forth, building a repertoire of anime they both could enjoy, either together via Zoom or separately. It wasn’t long until their conversations turned more heated, and affectionate. She’d learned what he liked and didn’t like (curry being at the top of that list alongside Bleach) and that unfortunately for their budding relationship they lived on opposite sides of the world. He worked for his fathers growing tech corporation as head of marketing, and Kagome worked full time at a law-firm as a child advocate lawyer.

She had also learned that like her, Inuyasha had grown up in Japan, in a prefecture close to where she had grown up. He’d only moved to New York with his father after high school to get a head start working for the family company, and now he was in Washington laying groundwork for the company’s’ north-western sect. She blushed remembering a previous conversation they’d had six months into talking, and four months into dating.

“Do you think you’ll ever come back to Japan?”

It wasn’t meant to be a loaded question, they hadn’t known each other for long, but Kagome couldn’t stop herself from chewing on her lip nervously. She drew in her knees, letting them tuck underneath her on the couch.

She could hear him chuckle into the phone, “Do you want me to come back to Japan?” Kagome felt her cheeks tinging pink.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” She defended, “I mean of course I wouldn’t mind seeing you but…” She continued to babble on when he interrupted her.

“I would come back for you.” The words were quick and effective, going straight to the butterflies in her stomach, her heart rate increasing.

“You would?”

“In a heartbeat.” He offered the words to her like they were second nature.

“Inuyasha?” She smiled into the phone, waiting for his response.

“Hm?” he hummed a response, followed by a yawn.

“I really, really like you.” She could picture him smiling now, “I really like you too.”

They both had busy lives, but the part she loved most was that even in the mundanity of their daily lives they still managed to find time for each other. Except for the last three days.

“Keep it together, Kagome. It’s only been three days. He has no cell service,” she reminded herself fishing in her pocket for keys as she approached her unit.

Kagome pulled out the apartment keys, flipping through them easily to the correct one. The door opened with a click, and she shuffled into the genkan. She dropped her small purse onto the entryway table calling out into the dark as she always did, an inside joke to herself.

“Honey, I’m home!” She flipped on the entrance light and slid out of her jacket, chuckling, “Oh yeah that’s right...I live alone.” Well, not exactly, she did have Buyo after all. The fat cat normally came running as soon as she called out her inside joke, making it even more hilarious to Kagome. Buyo her fat sort-of roommate cat.

Her body stilled when this time instead of the mewling of her cat, a male voice called back out to her from the kitchen, “Oh good, you made it home,” the voice purred.

” I picked up some pizza,” the entry way to the kitchen was dimly lit, but Kagome didn’t need the lights on to know who was standing in her doorway holding a pizza box. A tall figure with silver hair swept into a bun, golden eyes gleaming with amusement and an undeniably familiar voice. One that she’d been hearing the last year and a half.

Kagome kicked off her boots in the genkan, launching herself across the apartment. Her arms locked around the figure’s waist, “Inuyasha!” She cried out his name, tears mercilessly streaming down her face as she hugged him tighter.

Inuyasha dropped the box of pizza onto the closest counter, tucking the crying woman into his arms more securely. He dropped his lips to her hair, placing a tender kiss to the top of her head. He was committing her scent to memory, lavender and soft vanilla. He inhaled deeply, letting out a content sigh.

“What are you doing here? How did you find my apartment? What about Washington?” Kagome managed to croak out the questions through tears. His fingers moved to tilt her face up to him, wiping the tears from her cheeks. He smiled a lopsided fanged grin, “I told you I’d come back to Japan for you.”

He said it with ease, like it was the most logical thing in the world. Kagome couldn’t stop herself as she pressed onto the tips of her toes to reach him. Her lips found his, and she pulled him closer, afraid he may vanish if she let go. He didn’t resist but instead melted into her touch, cradling the small of her back with his hands. After a few moments, Kagome released him with a pant, her chest heaving as he braced them against the closest kitchen wall.

Inuyasha dropped kisses onto her exposed shoulder, and Kagome stopped him with small hands fisted into his shirt. She had to tell him.

“I love you.” She blurted out the three words, cheeks flushed from their heated encounter and her confession. They had danced around the subject, but she’d known for a while. Kagome loved Inuyasha. She chewed on her lip, pulling it between her teeth but was stopped when he lowered to pull at her lip himself, sucking it against his mouth, and kissing her again sweetly.

“I love you too,” he said softly, cupping her face with his hand, “even if you like bleach.” Kagome let out a loud laugh at that, shoving his shoulder but then pulling him back for another kiss, just one of many more that would come now that she was truly home.

[emmettsleftnut]

The Cullens learn about Bella’s Childhood.

Bella and Edward are sitting on a couch in the lounge of the Cullen house, still getting to know each other ((Imagine chapter 14 of Midnight Sun)) The other Cullens are sitting in the next room, not entirely listening in, but due to enhanced senses are in easy hearing distance. Bella is lying in Edwards’ lap with her legs across the couch, her back against his chest. He is sitting against the side of the couch, his legs either side of Bella’s, with another round of 20 questions.

“Tell me about your first date.” I said. Surely she had been on plenty of dates before, even if she got half the attention she gets here. “Hah! never been on one” She replied, obvious conquest in her voice. It sounded like she thought she had won something.

“Surely you’re joking Bella, you get more attention than any other female in this town, you can’t expect me to believe-” “Except for Rosalie!” I chuckled, and I’m sure I heard Emmet and Jasper laugh quietly from the next room “Sure, except for Rosalie.” I paused, waiting for her to go on. “Yeah, no dates for me. What can I say, forks is a once off.” I didn’t believe that for a moment, surely if the boys here found her so insanely captivating, the boys from Phoenix couldn’t be so different that they would show no interest whatsoever. “Turn the qualifications for a ‘date’ at the lowest possible setting, still no?” I questioned, surely this would get some sort of answer from her “Still a no cowboy, I’m a fresh slate when it comes to the dating world.” You and me both, i thought. Suddenly Alice’s thoughts from the next room caught my attention ‘Did she seriously just call him cowboy?” I chuckled to myself, I’ll never get used to the colloquial language this generation uses, no matter how much time I spend with them. 

“I just never had time y’know,” she continued “I always had so much to do I never had enough free time to think about it, even if i really wanted to.” Free time, I never really thought about that idea. When I think of Bella, I think of books. Does she not include reading as free time because reading is technically a task? Or was there something that occupied enough time that she could barely have time to read, something she loved so much. “When you say you didn’t have any free time, what do you mean by that? Don’t tell me you spent so much time reading you never met anyone new?” She chuckled, I didn’t think what I had said was funny, but her reaction still put a smile on my face.

“No no, nothing like that, I’m not so much of a hermit that I spend all my time indoors you know.” I took a turn to chuckle this time, but before I could press for further information, she gave it to me without prompt “running a house is hard work you know, it doesn’t leave you with much time to spare.” I stiffened, running a house? What did she mean by that? Was it another expression I was too uninformed to understand, or did she mean it literally. Suddenly i heard all of the conversation in the next room go silent, not that it was loud enough for a human to hear before so I’m positive Bella would not have noticed, but what was odd to me was that thoughts seemed quiet as well, as if everyone in the next room had suddenly taken interest in something. It didn’t take me long to figure out that what they were suddenly interested in was our conversation. 

I suddenly heard Emmet say ‘What? What are you all listening to?’ He was interrupted with shushing and the room once again went silent, how bizarre. “Edward?” Bella interrupted my brooding “Is.. everything ok?” she seemed cautious “Yes everything is fine, I was just processing what you said. What did you mean by running a house” She paused to think about that for a moment, I found myself holding in a non existent breath. 

“Well,” she started “My mother wasn’t much of a homebody. I’ve told you that she was adventurous and would always rather be outdoors than inside, always on some escapade of some sort. Regardless, someone had to tend to the home, that someone was me.” I pondered that for a moment, although not for long as she soon started again “I can’t remember exactly when it started, around when I was four I think, maybe five? I learned quickly though, cleaning was always easy, Renee said that she was allergic to dust, and that the detergent from the dishes hurt her skin so I would always end up cleaning the place. Just paper towels and cleaning solution y’know? Vacuuming, washing dishes, meal prep, doing laundry and the like, nothing crazily difficult, all kids did that sort of thing, y’know?”

Did normal children do things like that? From my knowledge, which I’ll admit is limited in the subject, most human children were just expected to pick up after themselves and not much else, how much could a child truly do. “Go on” I encouraged, she seemed reluctant, maybe I was too tense? I loosened my posture and this seemed to calm her slightly.

“As I got older I was able to do much more, by six I was able to cook full meals” she chuckled without humour “My mother wasn’t home much, or if she was, she was planning her next adventure. I had to talk her down from a lot of them, skydiving and cliff jumping with flying suits, she’s terrified of heights but only I seemed to remember that.” She pondered for a moment, thinking, I decided. “I was told that I had more capabilities than most college students, although I’m not sure if that’s true. I did taxes, budgeting, paid bills, cooked each day, cleaned the house when I came home from school, and did any school stuff I had to do after that, so yeah, limited free time.” 

I was taken aback by this, ‘so yeah’ she had said as if it was no big feat that she was doing all of this. “You make it sound like she was never around, like you lived on your own or something?” I asked, unsure how she would respond. She just chuckled again and said “ah it felt like that every now and again, since I was in school I had to stay home to go each day so sometimes I would be. She would want to go on a trip, I had to go to school or tend to the house so I would stay home while she went out to god knows where. Then when she got home, I’d feed her, listen to the details of her trip, then watch her plan her next one. Don’t get me wrong I went on them with her when I could, but I had a lot on my plate.”

I was speechless, she had just stated that she was essentially an adult before she had even reached double digits in age, but assumed this was normal. “Bella, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think that’s normal for children of that age.” I said warily, she scoffed and said “Come on I’m sure its fine, most kids have to do chores around the house and cook and all that, just because I did some extras every now and again doesn’t mean my life was overly difficult.”I thought about this for a moment, maybe this really wasn’t as bizarre as I thought. No, no that couldn’t be, I was sure that children usually spent their childhoods making friends and having fun, not filing taxes and cooking meals. 

“Bella, exactly how often were you left alone?” “Most of the time.” she said quite quickly, as if she didn’t need to think about this at all. “Can you elaborate on ‘most of the time?’” I said, once again wary. “Maybe 70 to 80% of the time, I’m not entirely sure but my mother was out quite a lot.” It sounded to me like Renee wasn’t as much of a parent as Bella had said, more of an obligated holder, like Bella was just some sort of possession that she could leave behind. This angered me, Bella had talked about her mother as if she was some sort of admirable figure, yet she would leave her daughter home alone for the sake of what? an adventure?

“You ok?” She asked, I had only just realised I had been silent for a while now “Just thinking” I answered “Penny for your thoughts?” “I’m just unsure about the dynamic, you speak very highly of your mother Bella but I’m starting to become unsure as to why. From what you’ve said, it seems like she doesn’t deserve the praise you give her.” She seemed to tense at this comment, but I continued.

“You say that she left you alone so much of the time, but speak of her as if she never left you alone a day in your life. She would adventure and prance, but leave you alone at home to cook and clean and do your own schoolwork, you must have been so alone Bella.” Her breathing was becoming shaky, I felt bad about continuing but I wanted to try and figure out why she viewed her mother so highly. 

“Your literary capability is so high because once you had finished taking care of a whole house, you had no one to talk to, so you would just read, am I right?” “You’re not wrong but-” “And you learned to cook and clean and take care of yourself because you had no choice, if you didn’t, you would be the one who suffered for it. Am I right?” “yes, you’re right” she said quietly, snuggling into my chest further. I couldn’t exactly make out her tone but I continued again. “Bella, that’s not okay love. This is no issue of yours but I worry that you had to live in an environment like that.” “Its okay” she finally said, I wrapped my arms around her, I could tell she was aware that how her mother had treated wasn’t okay, but she had just decided it was how it would be for her. “That’s just how it turned out for me, okay? I may have been lonely, and tired and had to learn fast but thats just how it is. I could’ve had it much worse, I didn’t get harmed or suffer some mysterious illness,” she looked up at me “sorry.” I laughed quietly, she seemed to think I would take offence at the mention of getting an illness, I may have died of the flu but I’m sure she knew I wasn’t that fragile.

“Shoot” She suddenly said, staring down at my arm, wiggling in an attempt to get up. “What is it Bella, are you okay?” I said releasing her and sitting her up on the couch, turning around to sit beside her. “Yes yes I’m fine I just realised how late it is, I have to get home and sort dinner for Charlie” she was still holding my arm, I realised she was looking at the black banded, silver watch on my wrist. Looks like we had both lost track of time, I looked outside to see the sun almost completely set “I see, let me give you a ride home.” “No no you’re fine, I’ll drive myself. See you later my love.”  She gave me a quick kiss and dashed down the stairs and out the door before I could get another word in. For an exceptionally clumsy human, she could move quite fast.

I sat for a moment, contemplating our conversation, only now realising that the thoughts in the next room were starting to become louder again and I could hear quiet conversation begin. I got up and stalked into the room, dropping myself in an empty armchair amongst the pure white couches. To my left Esme, Carlisle and Alice were all sitting on the couch, exchanging looks, Rosalie and Emmett on the couch to my right, Jasper standing by the floor length window, looking into the forest, deep in thought it seemed. I didn’t look to see what he was thinking specifically, I couldn’t imagine it was anything I would be interested in.

Esme spoke first, looking at me with her natural maternal look somehow more intense on her face. “I’m sorry Edward, we had to listen” She seemed upset at herself so I responded quickly to try and calm her “It’s okay Esme, I know you all are trying to learn more about her. What are your thoughts.” They all seemed to think on it for a moment, all except for Rosalie, who must have done her thinking before I entered the room, she had her opinion concrete, but was waiting for someone else to begin it seemed, or she wouldn’t share it at all. Alice spoke next “Its a shame Edward, it really is. She’s so lovely and kind, and such a good friend to me,” I shot her a look “she WILL be a good friend to me, I frankly hated hearing it, she sounded so upset at having to face it, funny how conversations can change so quickly. A few scattered nods could be seen throughout the room “It doesn’t seem entirely fair, does it?” Carlisle spoke next “She truly is a lovely girl, and although she doesn’t see it she was raised in a neglectful household, yet somehow she still has so much respect for her mother.” “I certainly wouldn’t treat a child that way, however irritating they may be, children deserve love more than anything else” Rosalie spoke quietly, surprising us all, she was never one to feel any positive emotions towards Bella. Well I guess she didn't feel them towards Bella specifically, but in this case Bella was the child in question. Jasper walked towards us and sat down besides Alice. “I can’t say I enjoyed myself either, she definitely wasn’t enjoying herself during your little conversation,” 

All eyes were on Jasper now, he was the last person anyone expected to be emotionally invested in any affair to do with Bella, pun entirely intended “I’m not sure if you’re right Carlisle, judging by what she felt at least, I’m no expert on humans, but she seemed to know.” “What do you mean by that Jasper, what do you mean ‘seemed to know’?” Carlisle responded, obviously confused by his newest sons revelation “She seemed almost numb to what Edward was saying, as if she had heard it before on a lesser scale. It was only when Edward really began to tell it like it is that I saw a real change.” “Which was?” Carlisle urged him on “She seemed almost regretful, I don’t read minds so I obviously can’t tell what exactly she was thinking, but she seemed to feel truly awful for speaking ill of her mother, although she had said nothing that could be considered close to trash talking. I think she knows how she was treated is something that should never be expected from a parent, but she feels as if she owes it to her mother for housing and caring for her, even if she was missing most of the time.” We all looked at him, how he had picked up so much would have to be due to his gift of emotional intelligence, or maybe he was just feeling especially perceptive today. 

“Edward you love her, don’t you?” Esme suddenly said, breaking our silence, all eyes were back on me now “I do Esme, more than I could possibly describe.” “That settles it then,” she spoke with conviction “We will just have to show her how a family should operate, how a true family treats each other. We may not be the cookie cutter definition, but I love you all as my children, and Edward, I love her too. Anyone who you choose to spend your forever with, is a daughter of mine.” She walked over and hugged me, a huge smile all the way across her face causing her eyes to almost fully close. I squeezed her and let her go, looking into her eyes “Thanks mum, that means a lot to me and I’m sure it will mean the world to her.” Emmet chimed in then, jumping to his feet “Well, if I’m getting a sister she best be down for some roughhousing, I’ll show her how siblings REALLY interact.” He also had a smile on his face, cracking his knuckles. “Emmett, she’s human, remember. Maybe let’s keep the physical jabs to a minimum, and focus on verbal jabs instead. What’s life without a healthy dose of your humour.” 

His smile dropped for a moment then returned with even more gusto. “You’re right you’re right I’m hilarious.” He plopped himself back on the couch next to Rosalie at the same time Esme returned to her seat by Carlisle, grabbing and squeezing his hand. “It’s settled then” Carlisle spoke “Since our Edward has chosen to spend his forever with Bella, we will do the same. Anyone that someone in our family choses to love and care for will be just as loved and cared for by the rest of us. Bella is our family now, she has chosen you and you have chosen her, let’s show her just how loving this family can be.”

A/N: I have never written anything like this before so I apologise if it sucks, I hope you all at least get the sentiment.

[ineffablebooklover]

Woo! this took longer than expected. I’m super sorry, school has been piling up so maybe promps will come every week or two. Thanks for your patience and support :)

anwyas, lets get into this!!! I‘ve been excited for this prompt, a Sambucky Sleeping Beauty AU. There’s just so many places to go with this. So without further ado:

Bucky Rose

a Sambucky Sleeping Beauty AU

“In a far away land long ago lived a King and his fair Queen. Many years had they longed for a child and finally, their wish was granted.”

People came from near and far to celebrate the birth of the child Alaric, their heir to the throne. Everyone except a certain brunette who lived deep in the forest and was discarded by all but one.

So the party was held, people came bearing gifts, and so did three fairies, who gifted beauty, curiosity(that hopefully led to smarts), and-

BANG! With a neon flash and a swift ‘whoosh’, the air staled and breaths were held. Maleficent, the horned fairy in the woods, stood before the kingdom. She chuckled, maleficently.

“Ah yes, so sad my partner couldn’t make it today. Alas, I see neither of us even got an invitation?” She feigned a pout at the king.

“You and your… your… you’re not welcome here!” The king stuttered out.

Maleficent scowled for real now, turning her attention to the baby. “Ah, how cute,” she said in a tone that in no way alluded to ‘cute’. “A sweet little boy who will one day become king. Say, do you expect any heirs?”

The king growled back at Maleficent.

“Anyways, gift time!” Maleficent cackled.

Before anyone could say a word, she looked at the baby and pointed a long, slender finger at the child.

“You may flirt but you shall never find a girl who you love as she loves you! Hah! And when you turn 16, you shall prick your finger on a spinning wheel and fall asleep until a true love's kiss, blah blah blah. Okay well farewell everyone! Good luck!” She smirked, winked, and then she was gone.

Murmurs scattered across the room. How was a true love supposed to awaken the prince if the prince would never love a girl? The king was horrified. No wife meant no heirs that weren’t out of wed-lock. He would have no bastard as an heir.

The queen took his arm. “Dear... what are we to do?”

The king nodded solemnly. “It is horrible, I know.”

“If he sleeps for so long he will practically be dead!” The queen cried.

“Oh, right. That,” the king replied. His mind was still focused on the whole ‘no-wife’ part.

“Perhaps Maleficent is trying to kill him... oh this palace isn’t safe anymore Stephan!” The queen realized. And with that, the baby Alaric was hurried out of the palace in the middle of the night to be taken care of by 3 peasant women in the woods. Even his name was changed to Bucky Rose, so Maleficent wouldn’t find the boy.

~•~

For all his life before the slumber, Bucky Rose had wondered. He was inventive as an infant, a curious child, and turned out to be quite the troublesome teenager.

His days has been long, yet limited to the small square of woods he lived in with his three godmothers. So whenever a fair maiden were to waltz into his neck of the woods, he was indeed very inquisitive.

But, like the curse had stated, he loved no girl like she loved him. And he never did. He had talked to his god-moms about it, and all they did was shake their heads, for they had no answer to give him, only the fact of the spell.

Bucky soon taught himself the word ‘loophole’. It came with a boy his age, a childhood friend, who had grown big and strong, a proper farmhand, maybe even a soldier. Bucky had loved no girl, but Bucky had loved Steve in a much grander scale than mere friends would.

When he had told his god-moms, as he told them everything, they had realized that this was what the curse meant. But they were happy that Bucky had found love in his heart. They knew he was not incapable of love, for he loved them so, but they were glad to know his heart reached out to another, and perhaps he wouldn’t be so alone.

But when Bucky’s life turned up-side down, and when he pricked his finger on the spinning wheel at 16, Steve had left for a girl in town, one by the name of Peggy.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. How exactly had the prince pierced his flesh to a spinning wheel? Well, let’s start one day before his 16th Birthday...

“I shall make a cake!”

“And I’m making a royal coat!”

“And I’m using magic because I know neither of you are useful without it!” Merriweather shouted at them.

“No! Magic!” The two shouted from below.

Bucky, leaving the hassle of the house as if he has heard nothing, called out his departure to his godmothers.

“Be back by lunch dear!”

“I will!” Bucky shouted back, then ran out of the house with the hope of picking some berries in the woods, but also the hope of seeing him again. He sighed as he walked through the pathway, bouncing around through the forest, humming a happy tune. He would be 16 tomorrow, and his godmothers seemed to be making a great deal about it.

Bucky wandered around the forest, thoughts of Steve’s pure heart and charming smile warming Bucky's heart more than a thousand hugs would.

A splash cut through Bucky’s thoughts like a falcon diving into water. Bucky swiveled around, speed-walking towards the pond. Steve never fell in the pond. So who…

A young boy had fallen into the pond, his horse on the side of the water’s edge.

“Who’re you?” Bucky asked in an accusatory tone.

The boy looked up, dark eyes wide. He was young, dressed propper, had deep brown skin, and was not in a good mood. The boy glared at his horse. “Samson! What was that for?”

The ‘Samson’ in question just nickered. Bucky looked the two up and down.

“What are you two finely dressed gentlemen -gentlehorse in your case- doing out here?” Bucky asked.

“Well what does it look like we’re doing?” The boy snapped back. “We‘re stuck with having to go to the prince’s Royal sweet 16!”

Bucky was shocked by this. “The prince is turning 16? But we don’t even know who the prince is!”

The boy rolled his eyes. “Yeah well that’s why it’s stupid. I don’t even wanna be here. Some guy I don’t know is getting a birthday party and didn’t even have cake.”

‘This boy is quite… interesting,’ Bucky thought, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow at the kid. “Look, it’s gotta be fun, I mean it’s a Royal party! You’re lucky you even get to go. What are you, a prince?”

The boy nodded. “That’s Prince Sam to you!”

Bucky scoffed. “Yeah there’s no way I’m calling you that. Come on kid, let’s just get you to the palace and then go get ready to celebrate a birthday party.” He offered a hand, and Sam took it, standing with a huff. Soon he was on his way, Bucky wondering how strange the boy was. ‘He’s just a rich kid, whatever.’

Bucky sometimes wished he could be royalty. Especially with his birthday lying on the same day as the prince, it was getting annoying having to squish down his hopes. He was adopted, and the king and queen knew who their son was. Anyways, he had Steve. That was enough. Even if Steve didn’t show up today.

~•~

After an early celebration of cake, presents, and lots of laughs, Bucky’s godmothers suggested they go for a walk. The evening sun was appearing, the lovely color grazing over the castle in the background. It really was a lovely sight.

“So… where exactly are we going?” Bucky asked.

His godmothers exchanged a glance. “We’re heading to the palace. To celebrate the prince’s birthday tomorrow,” was all Merriweather said. Flora and Fauna shot her a glare.

“Oh,” was all Bucky said. He was hoping to spend his birthday with his godmothers, or at least go somewhere fun for his birthday, but the stupid prince had to have his birthday on the same day as Bucky, so Bucky tried to suck it up as he frowned at the grass between his toes.

“Bucky...” Flora looked at Fauna as they tried to raise Bucky’s mood, but stopped short. Any more, and he would know.

Any more, and his life would change.

Any more, and he’d know before he was supposed to.

Any more, and-

“What’s with all this tension?” Merriweather groaned. “Bucky, you’re the prince!”

---end of Part 1

that was part one! I hope you peeps enjoyed! Stay tuned for more :)

[writtenjewels]

In Control

requested by @deadlysequence Kinda nsfwish but not as descriptive with the smut

Maxwell tested the ropes binding him to the chair. Impressively tight. Also impressive that the Rooks were able to grab him in the first place. Jacob was doing well in training them. He probably could get out eventually but he was curious as to what prompted this little kidnapping. Just what was Jacob up to? They were working together to take down Starrick. No need for this.

Finally the king of the Rooks himself appeared. He waved to his members. “It's all right, I can take it from here.” They nodded and left the two gang leaders alone. Interesting.

“You didn't have to go through so much trouble, my dear,” Maxwell told him. “I would have been more than happy to meet with you.”

“I'm sure,” Jacob answered. He crossed the room until he stood in front of the older man. “But I thought to do this on my terms.”

“And what will you do with me?” Instead of answering, Jacob placed his hands on Maxwell's legs and glided them up to the man's hips. Both of Maxwell's eyebrows shot up. Jacob flashed a devilish smile at him. “An interesting interrogation technique, my dear.”

“Not an interrogation. Except.... I do have one question.” He leaned in, their faces so close their noses almost touched. “You ever thought about fucking me?”

Well. That was direct. “Yes.” It was an easy answer. Jacob had checked many of Maxwell's boxes from the moment he set foot in London: he was bold, brave, strong, a bit reckless, and was killing Starrick's men. His physical traits made him even more appealing. The more they worked together the more Maxwell liked him. Maxwell arched forward and pressed their lips together. He felt Jacob return the pressure before pushing Maxwell back against his chair.

“I'm glad we're on the same page. I've been thinking of you a lot.” In what way? Maxwell wanted to ask but was distracted by Jacob sitting on him. The young Assassin threaded the fingers of both hands through Maxwell's hair, tugging so his head tilted at the perfect angle for another kiss.

Maxwell had never been handled like this before. It was incredibly arousing. He strained against the ropes as Jacob's hips parted to deepen the kiss. Maxwell was more than willing to let that tongue in to taste him. While their lips worked together he felt Jacob's hands on him. His jacket was opened followed by his shirt. Calloused fingers caressed his bare chest.

“Ahhh,” Maxwell groaned.

“You like this?” Jacob guessed. He shifted a bit and grunted. “Yes, I can tell that you do.” But it wasn't just the attention Maxwell was liking, though that certainly played a part. It was Jacob's control of the situation, his confidence in what he was doing. To his disappointment the Assassin slid off his lap. But he perked up again when he saw Jacob starting to unbutton his shirt.

“I could help you with that,” Maxwell offered.

“No, I've got it.” Jacob stopped, the shirt open but still on his body. He stretched out to show off slivers of flesh. The tension and pull of his muscles was gorgeous. Jacob drew close again and started working on Maxwell's belt. He teased Maxwell's crotch quite a few times as he worked.

“Fuck, Jacob.”

“Don't be impatient,” Jacob scolded him. He got the belt loose and lifted Maxwell up to pull his trousers off enough to expose his cock. “Shit, you're that hard already?”

“You... are very alluring, my dear.” Jacob smirked and gave him another surprise: he got down on his knees and licked Maxwell's cock. “Shit!” Maxwell jerked forward but Jacob's hands pushed him back. Dammit! It was so frustrating to sit there while Jacob's tongue ran over him at such a languid pace. Maxwell wanted to grab him by the hair and shove him down. But a part of him was also loving Jacob dictating every part of this. So far it had been Maxwell with all the great ideas and Jacob just following his lead. He loved Jacob taking initiative.

Jacob finished far too soon-- didn't even take Maxwell in his mouth. But once again Maxwell's frustration was appeased as Jacob unbuckled his belt and removed his trousers. He wasn't at full attention but his cock was getting stiff. From all of what he'd done with Maxwell so far.

“What now, darling?” Maxwell asked, a bit breathless and eager.

“Just sit there and let me handle this.” Jacob stood with his legs on either side of Maxwell's body. He grabbed the man's cock with one hand. Was he going to...? Before the thought formed, Jacob was lowering down. Maxwell felt his cock push through the tight ring of muscles.

“Fuck! Jacob...!” Not as tight as he was expecting. “What...?”

“Oh, you know, I sort of... prepared a bit,” Jacob grunted. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he eased down. “While my Rooks were grabbing you I was fingering myself. Wanted to be loose to make it easier.”

Maxwell couldn't even form words to that. He imagined Jacob fingering himself and groaned, eyes fluttering. Now Jacob was fully seated on him. He wanted to kiss the Assassin, touch him, lift his hips up, anything. But all he could do was sit there. Jacob lifted up and started to bounce. It was slow at first as he built up a rhythm but once he got going, he rode hard. Maxwell let out all sorts of noises and delighted in the ones he got from Jacob in exchange. The young man's ass felt so good, and his erection rubbing against Maxwell's chest was such a tease.

Somehow the chair sustained Jacob's repeated movements. They kissed again, their clashing tongues the only thing Maxwell could control. For all the rest he was at Jacob's mercy and was loving every moment of it. He loved this rough and forceful side of the Assassin, the small bits of control he exerted like tugging Maxwell's head around by pulling his hair or sitting down hard whenever Maxwell tried moving his hips.

With the way Jacob rode him and the control he exerted, it was no surprise that Maxwell was brought to his orgasm. The Assassin was caught in the momentum and didn't stop until Maxwell was completely finished. Even then Jacob kept moving and grinding until he was spilling hot across Maxwell's chest.

“Hah, shit, that was good,” Jacob huffed.

“Mm, glad you thought so.” Maxwell shifted his expression to something hard and wicked. “Now untie me so I can pay you back for this.”

[shadowdianne]

Author Self-Interview

tagged by @delirious-comfort

Name: Dianne full penname ShadowDianne or ShadowSelene, gods know I bothered quite a lot of people with the double pennaming back at A03. Some others use Dia. I will basically answer to any variation of the penname.

Fandoms: Could be a smartass and say all the fandoms I've written for but let's be honest; It was SwanQueen, Princess Rover and I guess some SuperCorp/SuperCat

Where do you post: AO3 and FFN but I’ve stopped posting on FFN now.

Most Popular Multi-Chapter: [Oh boy, let's do this. I'm just gonna remind y'all that I basically never wrote multichaptered -well, few exceptions- and that numbers never worked for me xD Let's do this... AJ here was very thorough and did ffnet as well but since I erased like 70% of the fics I had back at ffnet a few months ago I will simply go to A03 for simplicity's sake]

Oh! I'm doing it by Kudos

Annnd, that would be “I'm not afraid of the dark” Princess Rover-Shannara Chronicles with 237 Kudos. It's a wip so, heh xD

Most Popular One-Shot: That one would be “Cracked it” SuperCorp -I think??- Supergirl with 667 Kudos.

Favorite Story You’ve Written So Far: I always say the same one but that's because I basically went to my sandbox and said yeeet. I would write it differently now -I basically edited out a bunch of things I wanted to write because if it would have been up to me the romance would have been less upfront but since it was a SuperNova I guess I went the route of “giving focus to the ship rather than the worldbuilding which I what I love -lol-. Either way that would be Metallic Ink. Yet, to make it a bit more convoluted because y'all know how much I love writing long-winded answers my favorite piece was anything and everything I wrote that involved Steampunk -and I have a bunch!- or fae-related writing because that's what I like the most.

Fic you’re nervous to post: Quoting AJ: All of them. The fear of posting never left no matter the amount of times I did it. We all are nervous from a performance point of view.

How do you choose your titles: I curse a lot xD Not in the titles per se but while trying to find something to write there. I usually go with one word titles for one shots and, somtimes, short sentences. Sometimes they are taken from lyrics -either translated or not- that I think aids with the aesthetic I'm trying to go for or, other times, most of the times really- they are a rewritten version of a sentence written within the text. I'm horrible at it.

Do you outline: I did, sometimes, for specific things. I think I've written about this at some point prior to this tag but, and considering the biggest amount of my work is comprised of one shots and prompts at that, there were certain themes I had written enough times to know already what sort of tropes or themes I wanted to go with so those very rarely needed an outline. I wrote several versions of them, though. Sometimes because plot bunnies, some other times because I wrote in batches so if I realized there was something that was being repeated across several prompts/stories I could lean into something different in order to not be overly repetetive. If I was going for multichaptered or worldbuilding I did an outline. Some stories that required particular details -words of desire, hundred steps, words in the cloud...- also used outlines so I could keep everything in order before writing them and I knew what topics I had already written and which ones I hadn't yet.

Complete Fics:  Hah. As always the exact number is something we will never know xD I've erased a bunch so the number is already not the correct one and I'm not even considering tumblr- Now that I think of it I didn't write down tumblr as a site in where I post things... telling. Anyway, according to a03 I have 535 works. Jump that a couple 100s and that will probably be a more accurate number. From those... 513 apparently. It's probably less. Let's be honest xD

Do you accept prompts: *laughs in tired* I did, I do... I guess I still do because what I've last posted were prompts but I consider myself out of most of the whole prompt writing business if it is not for a very particular list of people. If you give me ideas I may implement them but since I don't feel strong enough for any couple atm and the burn out I ended up having is something that still lingers... let's say I'm more the shadow rather than the dianne portion of my penname these days.

Upcoming Story You’re Excited to Write: Fic wise... I guess nothing? I'm not writing fics atm, I may at some point but I'm currently still trying to unlearn a bunch of things and trying to find something I can give back in the form of a transformative work.

Stories You’re Excited to Read: Back to quoting AJ: Give me angst. And fantasy. And hurt comfort with a heavy dose of the first and very little of the second. Pretty please.

Tagging: @waknatious, @stregaomega I'm not remembering if AJ tagged you @naralanis but considered yourself tagged on my end :P

[thiswasinevitableid]

Could you do an Indruck (or OT4 because you got me into the whole pairing :) ) NSFW ghost prompt? Go nuts, I just love your writing and I trust your creative vision.

Here you go! I went with the OT4. And I’m so glad you like that pairing!

The kitchen box is half-unpacked when there’s a knock on the door. Duck figures it’s the take-out he ordered, so he’s surprised to see a tall guy in nice jeans and short-sleeved dress shirt decorated with Jackalopes. Unless the Thai place uses male supermodels as delivery boys, this isn’t his Pad Thai. 

“Uh, hey, what can I do for you?”

“I’m your downstairs neighbor, so I wanted to come up and introduce myself. I hope I’m not interrupting dinner.”

“Nope, still waitin on it. Nice to meet you, name’s Duck.” He holds out his hand and Mr. Gorgeous shakes it. 

“Joseph. Oh, um, here” he produces a small greeting card with a sea monster on it, “welcome to the neighborhood.” His pocket rings, and so he excuses himself, hurrying down the stairs with his phone to his ear. The card contains a gift certificate to the coffee shop on the corner. 

They don’t cross paths again right away. It’s more that Duck will move Joe’s packages into the main hall rather than leave them on a rainy porch, and Joe delivers Pinecone the cat back to him after she slips out the door and down the stairs while Duck wrestles his keys. 

As it warms up, they use the pool around the same time each day (which is how Duck learns Joe’s had top surgery, same as him), and start talking more in the lobby when they see each other. He learns Joseph works for the FBI in the UP, the agreement being he can make X-files jokes as long as Joe gets to make Smokey the Bear references in return. The way Joseph laughs, water streaming down his honest-to-god defined abs as he pulls himself onto the edge of the pool, makes Duck glad he’s never seen a boyfriend coming or going from the other mans apartment. 

Tonight, he’s done helping Joe get all his groceries up the stairs in one go, and decides to go for it. 

“Hey, uh, Joe? You doin’ anythin tomorrow night?”

“No.” He studies Duck’s body language and gives an encouraging smile. 

“In that case; wanna get dinner?”

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

“I think this building is haunted.”

Duck, head still resting on Joe’s chest after jacking him off as thanks for an excellent blowjob, laughs, “That’s some interestin pillow talk you got there.”

“Are you that surprised?”

“No, you fuckin nerd.” He nips his collarbone, shifting so they’re each on their sides, facing one another, “for real though, why do you think we got ghosts runnin’ around?”

“At first I thought I was imagining it, or that I felt like I was being watched because the cases studies I was reading put the suggestion in my head. Then things started moving around the apartment, and now and then I swear I hear people whispering. I tracked the sound one day and it was coming from the wall that looks out onto the street. No one was down there, and if it were the result of an echo or strange acoustics, I’d notice it more.”

“Huh.” Duck pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue.

“Still, I’m not ready to say for certain that it’s haunted. That kind of thing requires concrete evidence that I just don’t have. Sorry, shouldn’t talk shop when I have a, um, guest.” He wiggles back into Duck’s space, kissing him gently, and Duck forgets what they were talking about.

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

He knows Ouija Boards are a dodgy investigation tool at the best of times, but today he came home to find all his laundry folded when he had, much to his chagrin, had to leave it in the bag in a rush to get to work. 

No one has a key to his place. Which means whoever did that had another way in. 

He clears his throat, “If there is a ghost or other supernatural entity in the apartment with me, I wanted to say thank you for putting my clothes away.”

Nothing but his own creeping humiliation, then a slight chill across his face. The planchette moves

U.R. W.E.L.C.O.M.E

“HAH!” He whoops, “I was right! My apartment is haunted. Okay, um, spirit, do you have a name?”

B.A.R.C.L.A.Y

“It’s nice to officially meet you, Barclay. You’ve been spending a lot of time around me.”

Y.E.A.H S.O.R.R.Y

“You don’t need to apologize, I don’t mind it. You’re not malevolent, and if this was your apartment when you died, I can’t very well get mad at you for hanging around. Are you able to become visible?”

YES

“Is there, um, a reason you’ve never materialized around me?”

D.I.D.N.T W.A.N.T T.O S.C.A.R.E Y.O.U

“You won’t, I’m a professional. And I’m curious about the person I’m sharing my home with.”

The planchette trembles, unsure of it’s direction at first. 

S.H.Y

That explanation never occurred to him. 

“That’s alright. If you ever change your mind, know you don’t have to hide on my behalf.”

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

“Barclay, even I can tell that was an invitation to interact with him. What more are you waiting for?” Indrid cocks his head. 

“Maybe he’s just trying to appease me because he’s scared of ghosts?”

“Those ‘paranormal romances’ on his shelf suggest otherwise.” Indrid touches Barclay’s cheek. They’re in the wall, their shared nature meaning they can see, hear, and touch each other without trying, “dearest, you’re clearly fond of him, and he’s eager to meet you.”

Barclay’s beard scratches his palm, “Yeah, I know. I’m just...I like to take things slow and, uh, I guess this is no exception.”

Indrid chuckles, dryly adds “Yes, I recall how long after propositioning you it took for you to practically bang down my door.”

“Okay, hot little art punk who literally asked me if I wanted to see what his tongue piercing felt like on my dick is the exception.” He kisses Indrid’s cheek before drifting away. 

Indrid floats up into his former apartment, now occupied by Duck Newton. He spends most of his days on the couch while Duck is off at work, watching T.V or reading or, increasingly, playing with Pinecone, the only being he’s materialized for in some time. He’s been content to never alert Duck to his existence, but yesterday he overheard him remaining skeptical at the idea of the building being haunted, much to Joseph’s disgruntlement. Indrid’s as well; Barclay isn’t the only one who finds Joseph attractive and charming. 

So he thinks Duck deserves some low-stakes haunting of his own. 

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

Duck’s having a hell of a week. The hinges on his cabinets must be going, because they keep falling open, his router keeps getting unplugged (probably by Pinecone), and no matter how he insulates, there’s a chill in the living room. 

Worst off all, when he pulled the fridge away from the wall to see if it was to blame for the cold spot, it revealed a hole into the wall that is just big enough for Pinecone to get into. Which she did, last night, and will not come out no matter what he tries. 

When he walks into the living room after work, his brain stalls out. The good news is, Pinecone is no longer in the wall. 

The bad news is she’s floating at a fixed point four feet about the floor. 

His cat notices him, mrrps, and lands on the floor. All Joe’s talk of ghosts suddenly feels very real and points at one conclusion.

“Holy shit” he picks up the black and brown ball of fluff, “my cat’s fuckin’ possessed.”

“Not quite” the voice in his ear is quiet, lilting.

“JESUSFUCK.” He spins to face an invisible interloper, Pinecone firmly in his arms. 

A smile, and only a smile, appears a fear inches above his eyeline, “Do you still doubt the building is haunted?”

“Wh--motherfucker, you’re Joe’s ghost and you decided to talk to me? To what, make a point?”

“Yes and no. Yes in that I wanted you to stop doubting my existence. No in that Barclay is the former resident of Josephs’ dwelling. I am a former resident of this one.”

The implications of there being a ghost dedicated to his apartment hit him like a train, “Have you just been hangin around me since I moved in, watchin my every move?”

The smile wavers, “Nono, nothing so alarming. I usually come here when you’re at work, or spend time with Barclay in the spaces between walls and worlds. That’s, ah, not to say I haven’t been in the armchair while you were watching T.V on the couch, but in my defense you have very interesting taste in documentaries.” The ghost notices Duck’s alarm, and the smile fades from view, “I apologize. It was rude of me to be in your space without permission. Space is a much more malleable thing when you’re a ghost, but that is no excuse.”

“I mean, yeah, it’s fuckin creepy.”

Pinecone jumps from his grasp, winds herself in a circle around what must be ghostly legs. 

“But uh, my cat likes you. And she can be skittish. I, uh, worry about her gettin lonely on days when I work late. So you can hang around when I’m out. But other’n that we gotta play by vampire rules; you don’t come into my space unless invited. Deal?”

The smile flickers back into view, “Deal.”

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

Joseph, all too aware of his own perfectionist nature, tries to avoid jealousy. It only ever serves to poison him against others and his own fragile inner being. 

But lord almighty is he jealous that Duck got a verbal, physical visit from his specter, Indrid, while Barclay doesn’t so much as whisper in Joseph’s vicinity.  It had been hard to be envious in the moment, because he was too excited by the news, to the point that he climbed into Ducks lap and started kissing him because all his adrenaline needed an outlet. 

Then Duck had frozen, asking if he thought the ghosts would watch them hook-up. Joseph pointed out that Indrid had promised to only visit when invited and Barclay was polite, so odds were good they were truly alone. He kept the fact that Duck’s suggestion made him instantly hard to himself.

(Duck picked up on it anyway, if the jokes about Ghost and the supremely satisfying make-out session were anything to go by).

He’s making fried rice for dinner, is mid-way through chopping green onions when his phone buzzes. A glance over his shoulder reveals it’s not a work call or an emergency. Suddenly, something cold and strong grips his right hand and there is, without a doubt, a human frame pressed to his back. He can’t move his hand, follows the line of his knife and sees the next chop would have caught his finger.  

“Barclay?”

“Yeah. Sorry I, uh, just didn’t want you cutting a finger off.” The hold on him disappears as that baritone drips down his spine. 

Joseph turns just as Barclay comes into view; he’s taller than Joseph, a rare thing given he’s six-foot, with shaggy brown hair and a short, coppery beard. Full lips and brown eyes round out the face that is straight from Joseph’s fantasies.

“Wow. Um, I mean, thank you for saving me a trip to the emergency room.”

“No problem.”

Drawing on years of training, he tries to keep the other man talking, “Were you just passing through?”

“Kinda. This is gonna sound weird but, uh, I loved cooking when I was alive. Sometimes I like to be close by when you’re cooking so I can get some of the sensations again.”

Joseph steps to the side, gesturing to the cutting board, “Do you...want to help me make dinner? If you can interact with my body, you should be able to prepare veggies no problem.”

Barclay hesitantly steps to the counter, shakes his head when Joseph offers the knife, “I have to dematerialize first. Being visible and being solid take so much energy that I can only do one or the other.”

“Fascinating. Just, um, I hope I get to see your face again.”

Barclay disappears, and a half-second later an invisible hand squeezes his arm, “Think I can manage that.”

Barclay joins him for dinner regularly after that. Duck recovers fairly quickly to Joseph’s spectral assistant, especially when Barclay makes him french onion soup. Joseph suspects Duck is also getting used to ghosts in general, since more than once he’s knocked on the door and walked in to find the ranger conversing with Indrid (though Indrid insists on remaining dematerialized). 

Tonight it’s just him and Barclay, and Joseph is busy sticking his foot in his mouth.

“I’m sorry, that’s a rude question-”

Barclay chuckles, “Not really, it’s kinda the first thing everyone wants to know about ghosts, right? Why we’re here? Short answer is, uh” he sighs, “I had a heart condition but not the time or money to get it checked out. Fucking thing failed me one Sunday morning at that was it. Poor Indrid found me. We had a casual thing going and he had a key to my place. Came to check on me when he heard me hit the ground.”

“Oh Barclay, that sounds awful for you both.”

“Yeah, death isn’t my fave.” Barclay lays down, disappearing so his head can rest properly in Joseph’s lap. The agent feels around until he finds soft hair, petting it as Barclay continues his story.

“At first I thought my unfinished business might have to do with Indrid. But when he died pretty soon after, I kinda figured it was more that when I died, the direction I went was the ‘become a ghost’ one and not, like, the ‘rest in peace’ one.”

“Do you wish you could move on? Because I have access to a lot of classified occult information.”

The head under his hand turns, the direction of the motion suggesting Barclay is looking up at him, “Gotta be honest, lately being a ghost has gotten way more interesting.”

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

It takes two drawers before Duck finds where he put the AAA batteries. The package is already open, and when he gets to the living room his Carbon Monoxide detector is floating, back removed as fresh batteries click into place.

“Damn, ‘Drid, the thing just started beepin about it’s low battery.”

“Such things cannot be delayed. Trust me.”

“....Oh fuck, is that what got you?”

The detector slips back onto it’s wall mount, “Yes. I, I was always so careful, trying to prepare for every possible disaster. When Barclay died I, ah, I found it harder to do daily tasks. One of those was replacing the batteries in this” a plastic tap, “the low-power beep kept bothering me, so I detached it, planning to fix it in the morning. Then the next morning, and the next, and so on. Well, I put it off one too many times. A mundane, pointless death if there ever was one.”

Duck sets the battery package on the table, opening his arms. Cold fingers cling to the back of his shirt as Indrid hugs him. Duck does his best to soothe the ghost, rocking them subtly in a way that works wonders on his living friends. 

“Thank you” spectral eyelashes flutter against his neck as Indrid burrows against him. They say nothing else, staying in the embrace until Pinecone pads over and demands dinner.

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

Duck just means to drop off the books he borrowed from Joe, finds the door unlocked and figures the other man is home, probably cooking or yelling at a bigfoot hunting show.  When he doesn’t see him in the living room, he pokes his head down the hall. 

It takes a moment for his brain to process what he’s seeing. By the time it does, he’s already backing out the door. 

Okay, he just walked in on his sorta-boyfriend getting railed by a ghost, face buried against the bed, moaning while a cock he couldn’t see spread his ass open over and over again. That’s fine, that’s completely fine and not hot at all, he’s just taking his pants off in his living room for unrelated reasons. 

“Ah, Duck?” 

“Fuck!” He looks around, trying to work out where Indrid is and how much he can see.

The couch cushions shift, “I apologize, I thought you were out running errands.”

“S’okay” He pulls his hand out of his boxers, “I, uh, I was just, uh, tryin to, uh…”

The ghost waits patiently for him to come to the truth.

Duck sighs, slumps down on what he’s pretty sure is a free spot, “Walked in on Joe and Barclay.”

“I see. Does it bother you?”

“No. I, uh, kinda got the sense they were into each other, and we ain’t exclusive.”

The smile appears next to him, invisible fingers tracing up his arm “Does it do something else to you?” 

“Indrid, please I already got the weirdest fuckin boner right now.”

“And I am offering to help. I know I often joke about sharing Barclay’s taste in men but…” a light, chilly kiss on his cheek, “I share Joseph’s as well. I would very much like the chance to show you what I mean.” The fingers and lips teasing his skin cease their touches; space to refuse that Duck appreciates. 

“You know what? Fuck it” Duck works his pants the rest of the way off, throws his boxers after them, “get on your knees, sugar, and show me what you mean.”

“Ooh, I get a pet name!” Indrid claps, excited, rests his hands on Duck’s knees after he spreads them. Duck tracks his position by his smile, is unprepared for how strange it feels when it dives between his thighs. He’s used to Joe, all hot breath and enthusiastic precision. This is like the time an ex tried using an ice cube but way, way better, the chill heightening the sensations rather than numbing them. 

It’s also teasing, and he grunts, tipping his hips up, “‘Drid, please.”

“Patience, sweetheart, I haven’t done anything like this in years, I intend to take my time.”  A playful tongue drags up his dick. 

“Sugar, I’ll let you do this every day for a week, figure out how to give a ghost a fuckin hand job, anythin, but if I don’t cum soon I’m gonna combust. So get that cute little mouth where it belongs and suck my dick.”

The smile sharpens, “Make me.”

He threads his fingers into Indrid’s hair, shoving him forward. The ghost moans, tongue working across his folds in rapid swipes. Curious, he tugs on the soft strands and a messy purr vibrates up his dick.

“Someone like it rough?”

He feels the responding nod. Tightens his grip, “Then fuckin suck it like I told you too, sugar.”

Cold lips envelope his dick, Indrid moaning as he sucks. One hand rubs what his mouth can’t attend to, but the other leaves Duck’s knee right before Indrid’s whimpers grow shorter.

“That’s it, get off while I fuck your face, fuck, Joe’s really onto somethin with this paranormal shit, you’re so good sugar, fuckme that’s good. C’mon” he jerks his hips, orgasm building mercifully fast, “make me cum, like that, right fuckin there ohfuck.” He cums, feet scuffing on the rug. Indrid’s moan turns to a gasp as he pulls away, cum making a damp spot on the ground. 

Duck pets his hair, “Sure showed me.”

Indrid snickers, turns to press his face to kiss his palm.

“‘Drid? You, uh, you don’t have to, but could I see you? All of you?”

His hands cradle air as a man forms before him; lanky and bony, hair dyed silver with black roots showing, pierced ears and lip, tattoos coating the arms that stick out from a white tank-top. He bites his lip, awaiting judgement as Duck sinks off the couch to sit with him. 

“Not gonna lie, sugar, mighty peeved you kept usin my pens and didn’t even let me see this face everyday as payment.”

Indrid blinks, then laughs, loud and relieved, “I’m glad you approve; I am not everyone’s type.”

“Sure as hell are mine.” Duck puts his hand through his knee, frowns, “wish I could hold you and see you at the same time. Be that as it may, know you’re always runnin cold. You, uh, wanna join me for a little afternoon nap?”

“Of course” he fades away, and takes Ducks’ hand.

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

Duck’s never seen Joe this excited which, given that they went to a “Cryptids in Film” exhibit last weekend, is saying something. 

“Ready?” His boyfriend tightens the strap-on harness, sporting Duck’s favorite of his dicks. 

“You know it, darlin.”

Joe climbs onto the bed, makes a suave roll onto his back and pats his thighs, “Then come here. I want to see as much of you as possible while I fuck you.”

“You’re the boss, handsome.” He sinks down with a groan, slowly rocking his hips to get warmed up. 

Joe gropes his ass, growling, “Lord, look at this. Your ass is incredible, Duck, just like the rest of you.”

He dips down to kiss him in reply, messing up that dark hair and leaving a hickey on his collarbone. A chill runs up his spine and he shudders; two days ago, after the two ghosts and two humans hashed out who was dating who and what that meant, Joe admitted to a fantasy in which he and Duck were rudely interrupted by two horny paranormal entities. 

Duck kisses the corner of his mouth, grinds down with a whine, “c’mon Joe, know you can go harder than that.”

“The angle isn’t to my advantage.”

“Well then” purrs a voice from their right, “let’s remedy that.”

Duck’s pulled sideways, the momentum enough to reverse their positions and pop the toy loose.

“Now, pet, you are going to start fucking him again, and I’m going to fuck you to insure the pace is the perfect one for my dear Duck.”

The strap-on slides back in, Duck arching when it does. Joe’s hips snap forward, propelled by something other than the strength of his muscles. 

“AHlord, Indrid, yes. Is, is that good?” His blue eyes focus on Duck, who pulls him down into a kiss, panting as Indrid uses Joe to fuck him hard and fast. Then Joe’s head whips up and sideways, an invisible cock forcing it’s way into his mouth to muffle his moans.

“Fuck, that’s it babe, get me hard so I can fuck you when Indrid’s had his fill.”

“That may take some time. Never fear, I have other plans for my pet.” 

Joe squeaks, and Duck watches the muscles of his ass flex in new ways as black silicone appears and retreats from view over and over. From under him, Duck has a singularly good view of his lips stretching to accommodate Barclay, who’s busy demanding he look him in the eye when he takes his cock. He runs a loving hand up Joe’s chest, strokes the cheek not bulging with the head of a thick cock. 

“Fuck that’s hot.” His body agrees, but in spite of his boyfriends’ joint efforts and the obscene view making him wetter by the second, his orgasm eludes him. 

“J-joe, ‘Drid, please I, I’m real fuckin close but I need more pressure or, fuck, or friction or somethingfuck, hell fuckin yeah that’s it.” He pumps his hips, Barclay having freed Joe to bury his face in Ducks’ neck and put strip of the harness holding the toy where Duck can rub off on it. 

“That’s it, like that Joe, ‘Drid, fuckfuckfuckfuck” He gasps, eyes rolling back in his head as the orgasm shoots through him. It’s perfect, made more so by the knowledge that Indrid will let him bask in the aftershocks. 

Joe, however, is in for something very different. Duck is still getting his vision back when the harness takes an unceremonious flight off the bed. As he sits up, the plug takes the same journey, and he knows Joe will insist on cleaning it even more thoroughly than usual now that it’s been on the rug. 

His boyfriend is on his knees, lowering with incremental bursts of effort and jerks of his hips. When he stops with a moan, it looks as though his ass is hovering in mid-air. Phantom indentations press into his hips. 

“Very good pet” Indrid’s voice is turning breathy, “no, lean back so Barclay can fuck you raw while I make short work of this tight” Joe jolts up as Indrid bucks his hips, “little” another jolt, “ass” a final jolt before Joe tips backwards, opening his legs. 

Duck watches, mesmerized, as Joe is spread open, feet lifting off the blanket as more indents appear beneath his knees. The agent, usually so articulate, does nothing but moan at the invisible intrusion. 

“Fuckin-A, I’ll never get tired of this babe, you’re fucking dripping for me and it’s so fucking hot, how much of a fucking needy, dirty guy you are.”

Joe reaches one hand forward, trying to run his fingers up Barclay’s chest. The other extends towards Duck, and the ranger crawls so he can take it, kissing it as the indents of Indrid’s arms wrap around Joe’s lower belly. 

“I’d hold tight, dearest.”

“Why-”

Duck’s answer comes in the form of a yelp from Joe. To anyone else, it would look like the agent is trying and failing to wrestle the air. His back arches, making every sinful line of his body tense, while his hands claw at the bed and Duck’s arm and his legs bounce uselessly in the air. 

Duck peers around, careful not to bonk his head into Barclay. From here Joe is on full display, both holes stretching and twitching to take what they’re given. He wishes it was easier for him to get hard again; all he can think about is sitting on Joe’s face while the others fuck him like this, catch this sobbing moans in his skin while he’s reduced to nothing but a plaything for the paranormal. 

“Damn, darlin, you’re takin it like a champ. Maybe next time I’ll film it for ya, so you can see how fuckin hot you look getting fucked to pieces on some ghost dick.”

A louder sob of pleasure, and as he goes to soothe him with kisses Barclay grunts, “Don’t you fucking pull away, don’t care if you just came you’re fucking taking it all.”

“Do hurry up with him, Barclay. Ah, perfect, thank you.” With that, the forces bouncing Joe in the air come only from beneath him, Indrid pumping mercilessly into his ass and punching little “ah, aah, ahnns” out of him. He’s so blissed out that Duck can’t help himself, steadies his face in his hands so he can kiss him while Indrid cums with a high cry. 

There’s an “oof” as Indrid rolls Joe’s head into Duck’s lap. A hand turns Duck by his chin so he can get a kiss before Indrid becomes visible. Barclay appears at Joe’s feet, does his best to lay parallel to him and then disappears.

“You always did like to spoon immediately after.” Indrid says fondly, drifting to sit beside Duck. 

“Mhmmm” comes the rumbly reply.

“You okay, darlin?” Duck brushes the hair from Joe’s face as blue eyes flutter open. 

“Never better. Oh!” He sits up abruptly, Duck is more used to his boyfriend’s post-orgasm bursts of inspiration than the other two and thus doesn’t jump in surprise, “I found a potentially useful book at work the other day…”

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

“So, uh, how long do we have?” Barclay brushes lint from his shirt, stepping outside the chalk pattern on the floor somewhat hesitantly. 

“As long as the candle burns. Which is why I bought one that can stay lit for at least ten hours.” He offers his hand and his fully visible, touchable boyfriend takes it. Indrid, having more trust in occult processes, practically leapt over the chalk a moment ago to kiss him and Duck. Joseph draws Barclay into his arms, “which is all to say: we have plenty of time for date night.”

[ruined-my-dramatic-entrance]

Hat’s Off to You

Platonic fluff, a bit silly or OOC but not a crackfic lol, 1659 words TW: S!Janus

“What’s going on here?” Patton asked as he popped up.

 After rolling his eyes and a moment of hesitation, Virgil replied, “Princey brought up some dumb idea about Janus having some weird secret hidden under his hat and now he and Logan are debating it.”

 “Well, what’s all hat about?” the moral side inquired further with a grin.

 Though Patton had expected Virgil to at least smirk at this, the latter instead protested, “Please, just get them to stop for now or something…”

 “Okay, kiddo. Sorry about Pat — uh, I mean that,” Patton corrected himself quickly before turning his attention to the other two.

 “I still think it’s probably something weird and evil, like some devil’s horns or — or pointed ears,” Roman insisted, gesturing to the vague areas that those body parts would be placed on himself.

 “If Janus were to be hiding something underneath his hat — which I still have very significant doubts about — then it would probably be a result of his half-snake composition, such as a lack of hair on that side of his head, covered by scales,” Logan chimed in with an even tone.

 “Well, yeah, maybe, but it still could be something… much more sinister that reveals how Thomas truly visualizes Deceit in his mind,” the prince suggested with a deep curiosity.

 “Wouldn’t that be you, Roman?” Patton asked with an innocent smile.

 “Wha—? No, I’m not a liar! I’m an actor but I am not Deceit,” Roman dismissed, clearly offended.

 “No, that’s not what I meant, and I was talking about Janus, not evil,” Patton said, subtly reminding Roman to be kinder about the side in question. “I meant that the way Thomas views Deceit as a concept would be your creativity, kiddo,” he explained.

 Roman paused for a moment. “I… suppose you’re right,” he agreed.

 “That would make sense, though it would still have the influence of how Thomas feels about the concept of Deceit in genera—” Logan tried to elaborate, but was cut off by Roman.

 “By Artemis’s beautiful bow, I think I know!” the creative side exclaimed with a wide gesture.

 “You’ve… decided on a guess?” Logan prompted, frowning slightly in curiosity and pushing his glasses backwards as he scanned Roman with his eyes.

 “Oh, brother, what is it now?” Virgil groaned, pulling his hood up over his head.

 “That’s the spirit! What do you think, Roman?” Patton encouraged excitedly.

 “Wolf ears,” Roman answered simply, as if the answer was obvious.

 “Uh… might’ve misheard you there, Kiddo,” Patton fretted, leaning in a bit closer in hopes of understanding Roman’s words better.

 “That… is an interesting guess. I suppose I could see some reasoning for this,” Logan mused, placing his knuckle against his lips in thought.

 “Please tell me you’re not actually considering this, dude,” Virgil pleaded, pulling his sleeves over his hands.

 “No, no, I’m serious!” Roman persisted, holding out his hands in a “wait” gesture. “From my best understanding of how Thomas views deception, he gets consistently stuck on the phrase ‘wolf in sheep’s clothing’ and sometimes he imagines liars as having certain wolf traits,” he finally explained. “Though, he usually only does that past 3am,” he added with a slight shrug before looking towards the rest of the group for approval.

 “In addition to that, Janus does seem to... work alone, if you will, with his varying goals for Thomas — a lone wolf, perhaps,” Logan elaborated, “Wolves are also regarded for their intelligence and have very complicated social dynamics, maybe tying into Janus’s ability to use charisma to his advantage. Symbolically, wolves are also regarded as confident, which he definitely exhibits.”

 “Come on, you don’t actually think Janus would have something as… as stupid as that,” Virgil disagreed, rubbing the back of his neck. Logan narrowed his eyes at the way he stumbled over his words.

 “Virgil, I expected you to be less… concerned about this matter — furthermore, to mock him for it,” the logical side deduced, tilting his head slightly in confusion. “So… either you’re embarrassed about something similar or something is wrong here,” he declared, causing the room to fall silent for a few seconds.

 “What’s wrong with Virge, Logan? Don’t just leave it all… ominous like that! It’s scary,” Patton fretted, looking at the side in question with worry.

 At that moment, Virgil showed up, shoving aside the “Virgil” that had been there before, who was pushed into the wall and reverted back into his true form.

 “Did someone say ‘scary?’” Virgil asked nonchalantly, giving Patton a quick glance before returning to glaring at Janus.

 “Deceit!!” Logan yelled, pointing at Janus.

 “Yes, yes, we’ve noticed, Logan, no need to sound the alarm, especially not so loudly,” Janus remarked.

 “Virgil!” Patton and Roman exclaimed in unison with smiles.

 “What was he doing here? What did he say?” Virgil asked, voice serious and impatient.

 “Nothing much! Since I got here, he was just denying some of Roman and Logan’s theories about what’s under his hat,” Patton recounted.

 “Yes, padre is right; that’s all the snake has done, nothing particularly evil or sinister,” Roman confirmed with a slight nod as if his valiant watch had kept Janus in check, whereas in reality he hadn’t really noticed.

 Virgil snickered. “You mean ‘cause he’s insecure about this?” he asked with a mischievous smile as he managed to snatch Janus’s hat, revealing a pair of… dark wolf ears.

 “Hah! I knew it! I called it! That was me, I was right. Got it before Logan,” Roman announced proudly before clearing his throat awkwardly and growing quiet to listen.

 “Only because it was your interpretation of symbolism,” Logan muttered under his breath, petty.

 “Aww, you’re like a teddy bear!” Patton commented with a gasp, “Or a puppy! Why would you hide this? We wouldn’t make fun of you for something so cute and nonthreatening!” He paused suddenly, realizing that he had just spoken the exact reason. “Ohh…” He grimaced slightly in guilt.

 “Yes, well, isn’t this lovely. This is exactly what I wanted, Virgil, thank you,” Janus complained in annoyance, shooting the man in question a pointed look. “It’s obvious that this is totally a part of myself that I like and wanted to share with the group.”

 “Janus, we won’t make fun of you for it, especially if you’re so insecure about it,” Patton reassured, looking around the room for agreement and receiving nods from everyone… as well as muffled snickers from Roman and Virgil.

 “Grandma, what big ears you have,” Roman murmured quietly under his breath, unable to resist the temptation.

 “What does it matter anyway? It’s clear I’m viewed as but a beast or a — a monstrous creature. Why would words make that any different?” Janus retorted to Patton, both his eyes and his phrasing giving away his hidden sadness.

 “Well, Janus, you of all sides should understand the power that words can hold,” Logan reminded tersely.

 “Regardless, Thomas could have at least chosen something scarier rather than just… an amalgamation of different animal symbols out of confusion,” Janus griped, gesturing into the air in frustration.

 “Weird is better than scary if it’s constant. Trust me on this one,” Virgil insisted, though his expression turned to one of slight… sympathy?

 “Trust isn’t exactly my strong suit,” Deceit responded, casting an unpleasant glance across the rest of the room. “I wonder why?” he added sarcastically.

 “It’s not my department either but…” Virgil trailed off, sighing. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this to you of all people,” he muttered. “But… I know what it’s like to feel different and unnecessary and — and like you’re built to just be weird, to just be the outcast,” he admitted, avoiding looking into the half-snake’s eyes. “I know what it’s like but… it’s not like that here, not with them. Not with us,” he assured, fiddling with his sleeves.

 “I think we all owe Janus an apology,” Patton pointed out. “I’m sorry for not respecting your privacy,” he said, looking at the aforementioned man with empathy.

 “I apologize for my earlier behavior. I was curious but not considerate,” Logan chimed in concisely.

 “I… suppose I’m sorry too,” Roman agreed, though he opened his mouth to say something else and closed it a moment later.

 “I guess I shouldn’t have… done that,” Virgil mumbled, handing Janus his hat back. “But you shouldn’t have impersonated me either.”

 “Very well, very well… I’m sorry for taking your place and deceiving you,” Janus replied, “though it did take them quite a while to catch on…”

 “It is indeed odd that Janus’s impersonation of you is much more accurate than of me or Patton,” Logan commented, frowning again in contemplation.

 “And that Virgil already knew about Janus’s ears,” Roman added, looking at Virgil in confusion.

 “Well, I —” Virgil began nervously.

 “— The little brat has done this before, you see,” Janus excused as he interrupted the anxious side. “It was terribly irritating,” he recalled about the false event, examining his nails through his gloves. “And yes, I’m afraid that the emo is the simplest to mimic -- it’s dreadfully easy,” he mocked, though said emo looked up at him when he realized that Janus had just… covered for him and his past as a dark side. That was not anywhere near what Virgil had expected.

 “Ah, that would make sense,” Logan accepted with a slight nod.

 “I, for one, still can’t decide whether his fluffy little ears are scary or, uh, adorable,” Roman admitted.

 Janus scoffed and examined his nails through his glove. “If you’re disturbed by this, wait until you find out what Remus hides under his mustache,” he pointed out.

 After a beat of silence, every other side in the room turned to him in a mixture of surprise, fear, and disgust, all exclaiming some variation of “hold up,” “wait,” or “what?!” Except for Patton, who simply remarked, “Well, I suppose we must-ask him later” with a chuckle.

[leapyearkisses]

For the director’s cut: Orbs Are Bad News, please? Part 2 (or both, if you’re willing!) It’s one of my favorites 💗

One of my favorites, too! Thanks for the ask! :D I'll do both parts, with Part 2 to follow this a bit later.

Director's cut comments in bold below the cut! MESS, m/m, holding a handkerchief, etc.

This story came from a prompt on a writing meme about a character losing the use of their hands while having to deal with snz. I can't remember at the moment if the prompt was D&D-flavored or if I just picked that setting myself because I was really into playing the game at the time (still am!). Also I'm incredibly sleep-deprived, so I hope these comments don't ramble overmuch.

"Okay, we don't know what we're dealing with here, so let's be careful." Gerrit pushed open the heavy wooden door and lifted his torch to illuminate the room inside. The firelight played over several tables covered in intriguing objects and glinted teasingly off of more than one hint of gold. Gerrit himself spotted a stolid wooden chest in the corner and his heart rate quickened.

When I was a kid, my mom gave me the Dragonlance books and I fell in love with them, although it was a long time before I was able to play D&D myself. I attribute my love of the very traditional fantasy realm to these books and my enduring love of sickly mages to Raistlin (Soulforge was like an EXPERIENCE for me). Gerrit has his origins in Tanis Half-Elven - he's a good guy, kind of a normal/default fighter build. "Jackpot," breathed Remembrance, the party's resident ne'er-do-well. She rubbed her hands together, sharp nails clicking. Gerrit was sure she was assigning price tags to the lot of it, except for whatever she hid in her bags for herself, of course. "I know a guy in the capitol who'll pay through the nose for that pervy little statue there." "That is a religious object," chastised Cordes with a haughty tsk. "It's used in rituals of worship for the goddess Fortuna." "Oh, I'm sure he'll be worshipping," cackled Remembrance, and she slipped past Gerrit into the vault. "Few hundred gold and he'll be rubbing out a grand ol' prayer." Her pointed tail waved with greedy delight. "Hey! The proper course of action would be to bring it back to a temple!" Cordes went after her, pushing Gerrit aside.

Remembrance and Cordes are here to be the beta couple and provide background color. Their development was based on a few factors: A) a D&D party should have ~4 people with different abilities (fighter, sorcerer, cleric, rogue), B) a priest and a devil is never not a fun/ny dynamic, C) I'm not into F snz but I feel bad that most of my OCs are not women, and D) given that Gerrit is a "default" archetype, there needed to be differing characters to contrast his personality with (or he would seem to have none). Also I like dirty jokes, so Remembrance can be my humorous id for this purpose lol The half-elf grumbled but wasn't surprised. "At least TRY not to touch anything cursed," he called. He'd been the one to organize this little band, but although he was the one who reported to their patron, he had precious little influence over what they did. They were happy to point to him when some upstart had a problem with the party, though. Ingrates. He turned to the last member of the group. "What about you, Llewellyn? I thought I saw some books on the far table." "Lead the way," replied the sorcerer, and his usually mellifluous voice sounded strained. Purple shadowed the hollows under his faintly luminous silver eyes, and he had his nose tucked into his handkerchief again. Gerrit hadn't spent much time around full elves, but he'd always believed they couldn't get sick, at least not like a human or dwarf. Llewellyn had been dragging since Saints' Day, though, and seemed to have come down with a flu. His skin, where visible under his fitted robes, was wan.

Fuck up that slender, haughty elf man is an endlessly running subroutine in my head. "Sure," said Gerrit, and he stepped into the room, holding the door out so that Llewellyn could join him. "You, uh, you don't look like you're feeling any better." "Oh," said the sorcerer, "I'm not. I ran out of tonics." He entered the vault and walked over to one of the tables, investigating a strangely shaped glass bowl. "But as we were already down here, I'm not sure what you want me to say. There's no inn at which I might rest my weary bones." "Cordes could make you an herbal remedy," Gerrit grumped. He went over to the chest he'd seen earlier and smashed the lock off with the pommel of his dagger. He didn't need any fancy lockpicking tools like Remembrance's. And hitting something felt good when his companions were all intent to be annoying, acerbic, or both. "I suppose," Llewellyn replied, sounding uncertain as his voice wavered. Gerrit tried to ignore the way his ears heated at that. That was the tone that overtook the elf when he was preparing to sneeze. It wasn't any of Gerrit's concern. His occasional roll in the hay (literal and figurative) with Llewellyn did not make it easier or more appropriate to acknowledge his odd attractions, especially since they were currently ransacking a dungeon with a priest and a psychopath. He focused his attention on searching the chest, and he was rewarded with a heavy coin purse, a stack of calfskin-bound journals, and a ruby the size of a robin's egg. He whistled.

Gerrit and Llewellyn are the dynamic opposite of Eliseo and Padgett. Gerrit is the less-privileged, more personable, "low class" character and Llewellyn is the high-born, fussier, sarcastic noble; however, in this story Gerrit is the voyeur character with the fetish and the POV window while Llewellyn is tortured for everyone's amusement. Narratively it's more fun and easier for me to describe the non-fetish-having character because I also like the power of the narrator to be that voyeuristic eye. Llewellyn gasped. "Hah- hahttsch-ow!"

I made myself laugh while writing this hahah "'Ow'?" Cordes appeared from behind a bookshelf, one arm wrapped tightly around a thick rug, the other reaching for his pack of salves. "What is it? Cut? Burn?" When Gerrit looked, their sorcerer was rubbing his nose with his left hand. "Bruise," Llewellyn said. He lifted his right hand, in which he held a blue crystal orb that was knotted inside a thin lattice of gold chain. "I got my hand caught." He'd apparently run the thing into his nose when trying to cover his sneeze. Llewellyn's thin face was already dusted pink from the embarrassment. Gerrit couldn't help but laugh. "Very graceful," he chuckled. "I will thank you for keeping it to yourself," Llewellyn replied, and that was elvish dialect for "fuck you." Gerrit laughed again.

Embarrassment is a huge part of my enjoyment of this kink because of the ensuing power dynamics. The victim is thrown into disequilibrium by something (snz) that is inherently seen as socially inappropriate, disgusting, or at least uncomfortable. Almost always their reaction is outsized to what it would probably be outside of a fet context (most people can sneeze in public without feeling shame - which is the typical mode, lol. It's a normal bodily function). However, then the other character, motivated by their BF's anxiety and potential humiliation is prompted to caretake and comfort them, "approve" of the "shameful" act, and deepen the intimacy of the couple. They can also enjoy the embarrassment and the act voyeuristically while feeling their own discomfort about watching, then deal with either having to divulge the kink or be found out by their partner later (because consent is the sexiest thing, really). But I love my characters and I'm not into hardcore stuff so much, so there are almost never any consequences of the "humiliation" - the characters do not get caught out, they do not get shamed by society, they do not actually lose face or have to explain their sexual preferences to anyone who should not know them.

Now you know way too much about my psychology but also the basic formula for any kink story I have written or will write in my entire life. Yay! Cordes had leaned over to see the orb better in the firelight. He was the only one among them whose vision was hindered by the dim light. "What kind of artifact is this?" he asked. "It doesn't resemble anything I've studied."

Lol humans don't have darkvision. "I'm not sure." Llewellyn held it up to the torch. The orb lit up like a lamp, but otherwise nothing happened. "Whatever this chain is, though, it's very prone to tangling." He tried to shake it off his wrist and failed. This was a task for both hands, and he set to freeing himself. And kept trying. And trying. Gerrit frowned. "What are you doing? Cordes, would you get that off of him?" "Sure." The priest reached out to help, but Llewellyn suddenly backed away out of reach. "Uh... I'm not trying to steal it, elf." "Oh, I would let you take it," Llewellyn said, scowling. "But I have a feeling we would be in for some trouble if you touch it now." He held up both hands. His palms were wrapped around the crystal and bound with the ball in that thin gold chain. "I am... I'm stuck."

---

"STUCK," hooted Remembrance again. She was crouched at the entrance to the dungeon - a root-cellar-like set of doors they'd found in a small bandit settlement - and hauling out a heavy pack stuffed with loot. In the daylight, she looked menacing and out of place, her horns, dusky maroon skin tone, and black eyes setting her apart from this land's primarily human residents. "And you even said not to touch any curses!"

Jump cuts are funny! I love this kind of thing, honestly. It's some of my favorite humor - that and dramatic irony, which is also often depicted in visual media with a funny jump cut. "I recall you said so as well," said Cordes, who looked exactly like a run-of-the-mill human resident except for the star-like scar on his left temple. He reached down and grabbed Gerrit's hand, steadying the half-elf as he climbed out of the hole. Llewellyn was hanging uncomfortably on Gerrit's back, arms looped around the other man's neck. They'd tried to find a more dignified way to get him out of the dungeon, but he couldn't manage the ladder well enough without the use of his hands. "The artifact didn't react to my detection spell," sniffed Llewellyn disdainfully, and Gerrit was quick to set him down before that sniffing could become another sneeze. He didn't want to blush in front of the others.

Blushing is very appealing to me, so everyone blushes all of the time. "There must be someone in Veigh who can help you," Gerrit said. "We'll just swing by on our way to the capitol." The city was three days out of their way, but they couldn't have Llewellyn stuck this way for the two week trip back to their patron. With his hands bound, he couldn't cast any spells that required him to gesture, and that was almost all of them. He'd effectively rendered himself completely useless in combat. Veigh had a chapter of the Mages Guild in residence, though, and if no one there could help, they might at least be able to send Llewellyn on ahead via a transportation spell.

Let's go on a short tangent about names. Usually I name my characters using Babynames.com or similar sites and I pick based on the look, sound, and meaning of the names. For this little group, things were slightly more haphazard. Llewellyn is a Welsh name meaning "leader." I just happen to like this name already, but it also has a visual beauty and difficulty to pronounce on sight that lent it well to an elf character without me having to look up specifically elven names. When I make elf characters in D&D, I tend to give them a nickname or alias that is easy to remember and pronounce so that the name isn't a hindrance while playing the game.

Gerrit's name was picked based on sound. It is similar to the Welsh name Gareth ("spear ruler"), which is on purpose, but it was altered to make it a bit more fantastical/removed. It's appropriate for a fighter in meaning but also suits his more familiar/pedestrian half-elven experience vs. that of a noble elf.

Cordes was given a short name because he is a no-nonsense human, but I chose it to resemble that of conquistador Hernan Cortes because of the "holy invasion" and "treasure hunter" associations. Remembrance is named using the PHB's suggestion that tieflings often pick "ideal" names for themselves, and she has a complicated past (like most tieflings). "I will hope there is." Llewellyn looked pale and worn, though his fine features still exuded the otherworldly beauty of the high elves. His hair was a silky black, although mostly covered by his hood, and the contrast made his silver eyes look even more curious. He fumbled for a minute at his waist before scowling heavily. "I can't get into any of my bags, of course..." "What do you need?" asked Gerrit. Remembrance had started off through the trees, humming, her bulging pack swaying with her sinuous movements. Gerrit really didn't want to let her get too far ahead, not least because she was scary good at concealing herself in the foliage and might slip the party completely. However, Cordes was with her, and Llewellyn couldn't exactly fend for himself right now. "My handkerchief..." The elf's voice had gone wavery again, and Gerrit watched as his nostrils flared. Fuck.

Oho! Here is the plot and the kink conceit. Gerrit hurriedly patted his pockets until he produced his own handkerchief, or what he bothered with when necessary. It was a large square of flannel, rough around the edges. It wasn't embroidered or monogrammed like Llewellyn's, but he figured by now the flannel was a hell of a lot cleaner, and it was soft for an irritated nose. "Here, take mine."

Characters' belongings are also a good way to contrast their situations and personalities. I don't consider handkerchiefs particularly vital to my enjoyment of this kink, but they are a useful visual and I like to describe things. Small details like this are how you can worldbuild without having to do too much extra research. Llewellyn held out his hands plus the orb for it, breath hitching, but no matter how Gerrit tried to drape the cloth, it kept slipping off of the artifact. He supposed he could try to tie it around the-

This is just so funny to me XD Llewellyn made a desperate sound and tipped his head back, exposing the long line of his throat. His breath was coming in soft pants now. And he was raising the orb reflexively. Gerrit couldn't let him whack himself in the face again, so he did the only other thing he could think of. With one hand he reached out and took Llewellyn by the shoulder. With the other, he lifted the handkerchief and pressed it over the elf's nose. His fingers settled firmly on either side of Llewellyn's nostrils, and none too soon. After another half-hitch, Llewellyn ducked forward again with a quiet but insistent sneeze. "Happtsch!

One of the most pleasing sneeze sounds, tbh. Gerrit was sure he was beet red. “Bless you,” he mumbled. Through the cloth, Llewelyn’s nose felt hot, and any gentle pressure resulted in a bit of a squish. “Let me just…” "Whh- wait-" Llewellyn leaned into the handkerchief. "I'm nh- I'm not done hhH-" His eyes slipped shut and he gasped again. Gerrit swallowed and tried to ignore the tenting of his breeches. "R-roger that." He could feel Llewellyn's nostrils twitching against his fingers. "Hh...Haah- Hapttschuh! Snrk... Aptschiu!" His body rocked, and he took a half-step forward. Gerrit could hear the thick sound of congestion in the elf's nose as he tried to stave off another sneeze.

The desperation, talking through the sneezing, and congestion are all vital parts of this scenario. Unavoidable embarrassment + disgust factor + need for caretaking/mitigation. "Blow your nose," he said. "It will help." Llewellyn hesitated, but in the end, he had to comply. There was nowhere for the mucus to go except out. He started to blow with a gurgle.

I used to be really against mess, but the taboo/disgust part of the brain turns off psychologically a LOT during arousal and now I really do not find snz interesting without it. Snz without mess isn't embarrassing enough or visually exciting. Gerrit moved the hand from his shoulder to start rubbing Llewellyn's back. The handkerchief and his fingers were rapidly growing damp, but he really didn't mind. "There you go." He held the handkerchief to Llewellyn's nose until the elf moved back on his own. His nose was red and tender looking, and his cheeks were flushed rosy. He didn't seem to want to meet Gerrit's eyes. Gerrit didn't mention it. He didn't really want to look at Llewellyn either right now. It had been a while since the elf had looked so very fuckable.

Potentially due to my propensity to write fanfic about established ships, all of my OCs apparently have a history or mutual attraction out of the gate. On one hand, it's difficult just mechanically to write a scenario about a romantic or sexual encounter without there being chemistry and an excuse for them to already want to rub bits (obviously), especially in short stories, but I also cannot stand the thin veneer of situational causality that underlies porn (to borrow from Cards Against Humanity). If I can't care about my characters' lives outside of the one random fetish scenario, I can't care enough to write about them at all. He put the handkerchief in an easily-accessible outside pocket of his vest. "Ready to go?" Llewellyn coughed lightly. "Yes." "Excellent." Gerrit gestured for Llewellyn to precede him, and the two of them headed out through the trees, following the sounds of Cordes negotiating the underbrush and swearing about it. --- Travel proved easy enough once they made it to the road. They were fortunate not to meet anyone else along the way. The party could handle a group of bandits without their sorcerer, but they had their treasure to worry about, and Remembrance always drew stares, and sometimes aggression, even from normal travelers. Gerrit thought her skills more than made up for the extra negative attention they drew. And anyway, Remembrance was crazy but she wasn't evil. She did better out on the road than in town, but that was probably true of all of them. Llewellyn kept up with her pace, but it was clearly a struggle. He was usually fairly quiet, but he didn't speak at all as they walked, focusing on breathing and not devolving into coughing or more sneezing. There were a few times when Gerrit hastily reached into his pocket, at the ready, but Llewellyn fought back the itch with admirable determination. He kept his nose from running by sniffling heavily, which sounded somewhere between awful and revolting. Cordes commented on it multiple times with disgust, but nothing could be done. Llewellyn held his tongue, and Gerrit was reluctant in this case to offer the handkerchief without being asked.

Cordes is here providing the societal reaction and voice of reason lol, but there still aren't any consequences or shaming from them. I just imagine how fricking uncomfortable it would be if people acknowledged this porn scenario happening in-world and so that is never part of the story development. They found a place to camp about half an hour outside the small village of Tewks. Remembrance cleared out some brush to make a flat area for the bedrolls and then promptly decided she'd rather sleep in a tree with everything she owned. She found a good, solid oak a few yards from the camp and ensconced herself in the crux of its branches. She had a good view of the road in either direction and volunteered to take the second watch in the middle of the night, which was her favorite time. Gerrit agreed to take the first watch as Cordes started to set up his tent. The priest refused to sleep on the ground and always took an extra fifteen minutes to erect a curious one-person canvas canopy. It wasn't even large enough to sit up inside, but whatever. The priest never asked anyone else to haul it along, so Gerrit wouldn't complain.

Remembrance and Cordes are thus handwaved away from the sexual center of the plot and they will neither see nor hear anything they aren't invited to. These arrangements left him and Llewellyn alone together on one side of the fire, and he supposed that was preferable during the orb situation anyway. Llewellyn couldn't handle his own bedroll, help with the fire, or unpack any of their supplies. Gerrit realized he would probably have to help the elf eat, too. And... Well, when he noticed Llewellyn fidgeting uncomfortably, Gerrit took him out into a thicker copse to see to his other needs. They didn't talk about it... Llewellyn could hardly undo his own buttons, though, and it wasn't the first time Gerrit had taken over.

I am very into watersports, so it creeps in, although I don't think there's a friendly community out there for that like there is for snz, so I haven't developed any kind of presence for it. It appeals to me for pretty much all of the same reasons as described above. Maybe someday I will start writing those kinds of stories on this account as well, but I don't know if they would find an audience, so maybe not. By the time the fire was hot enough to cook over, Llewellyn had tucked himself up to sit on a tree stump, exuding an aura of furious self-reproach. Cordes took some jerky into his tiny tent with him - for some reason. Gerrit made up two bowls of pottage and sat himself on the ground at the roots of the stump. He put one bowl on the ground for himself and then held up the other. "Hungry?" "Not particularly," Llewellyn replied, voice blunted with congestion. He coughed. "But you're going to make me eat something, aren't you." "I'd prefer you do it willingly." Gerrit tapped the spoon on the side of the bowl. "Come on. It's hot. You'll feel better." Llewellyn growled in a manner more suited to orcs than elves. "I feel like an invalid." Gerrit sighed. "Well, if it makes you feel better, we can pretend you lost your arms in an owlbear attack very tragically." He could feel Llewellyn's fiery glare on him and smiled a little. "Look, we've all done stupid things while adventuring. I'm sure you remember when I tripped and knocked myself out on that knight's shield during the tournament." "I remember," replied the elf, begrudgingly. "Besides, you're sick on top of the whole orb thing. Maybe your detection spell wasn't sensitive enough. Maybe the thing's not even cursed! Maybe it's supposed to do this, and we just don't know why." "I have a hard time believing that. What possible purpose could this serve?"

Porn! Gerrit shrugged. "Don't ask me. Dad says my mother was a druid, but I haven't got a magical bone in my body." He tilted his head. "We could always try smashing it?" Llewellyn's rejection was forceful. "Do you want to explode?!" Gerrit chuckled. "Not really." Llewellyn sighed. Gerrit held out a spoonful of pottage. Feeding both Llewellyn and himself was a bit difficult, but Gerrit did well enough when he could alternate. It would be better if he could use both hands equally like Cordes, but he couldn't, and so he didn't. He just thought about it wistfully as he worked. Llewellyn ended up eating most of his bowl, then went back to sitting quietly and sniffling. Gerrit finished the rest and put the utensils aside to deal with later. And... Even though Llewellyn hadn't asked, he drew out his handkerchief again.

More caretaking, more intimacy. Gerrit is a kind and loving person even though he's a fighter by trade. "Hey," he began, trying not to sound awkward. "You wanna blow your nose?" No one else was paying attention and Llewellyn didn't need to inhale any more of that crap. The elf gave him a shitty side-eye. "Come on," said Gerrit. "Don't be like this." He patted the ground in front of him encouragingly as if Llewellyn was a recalcitrant cat. "I'm fine," said Llewellyn, and then betrayed himself with a quick breath. "Hah--" "Come on," Gerrit repeated, "before you make a mess."

He is also pretty comfortable talking about a lot of things that people with the fetish have generally admitted difficulty acknowledging. This is because even though he's the one with the fetish in this, he is also the "Padgett" character and practical and not caught up in the anxiety prison. Llewellyn came down off the stump to sit in front of him, legs tucked underneath, and rested the orb on Gerrit's thigh to balance himself. His eyes were pinched with reluctance, but Gerrit could see that the elf's nostrils were already damp. "Hah- hh- hurry," Llewellyn gasped.

People should sit in each other's laps. It's good. Again, Gerrit reached out with the handkerchief, enfolding his companion's nose. He could feel Llewellyn's breath fluttering against his hand through the fabric and hear quite clearly how it kept catching on congestion. "Hah-hngk- Hahgkttscht!" Llewellyn ducked forward with the force of it and Gerrit steadied him with a hand on his hip. "Ngkttsch! Hnggktxch!!"

The sneezes now involve nasal consonants because of congestion. Sometimes people tend to have a certain way their sneezes always sound, and I try to maintain that, but these details are important to show a change in the severity of the cold (and evidence of sniffling for hours). Gerrit bit his lip sharply to keep from saying anything, but his body was singing with arousal. Llewellyn hiccupped a short gasp and Gerrit pulled the handkerchief away to present a clean corner. The current spot had become soaked and silvery. "Bless," he managed after a moment, and he carefully readjusted the cloth. "Are you going to sneeze again?"

Hiccupping is also sexy and cute. Also I spelled that wrong in the original, gdi... Llewellyn nodded, eyes teary with the effort of the first bunch. Gerrit wasn't surprised; the elf had been holding back since they left the dungeon. He couldn't imagine it had been comfortable, but Llewellyn had his pride. He never would let Gerrit give him love bites either. Annnd Gerrit was going to have to stop thinking about that. "Haptsch!" Easier said than done. Really. But Llewellyn's comfort came first.

Voyeur with a heart of gold. "Hahkptsch!" The sorcerer groaned softly. "Hah- hh- Hgnaptscxhx!" Gerrit did his best to assist Llewellyn through the fit. He kept the handkerchief secure, moving it when necessary to keep it dry enough. He steadied the elf when the sneezes bent his body or when he felt faint from lack of breath. He even massaged Llewellyn's nose for him when he was trying to blow it and the congestion was stubbornly refusing to move. By the time he felt finished enough to lean back, Llewellyn was flushed and light-headed, swaying where he sat. Gerrit was sweating and needed a towel. "........Thanks," murmured Llewellyn, eventually.

Sometimes kink authors tend to just write out like twenty sneezes in a row and I hate that, honestly. (No shade - I don't even have an example in mind because I don't read a lot of stories anymore and everyone has their preferences.) I just think that the kink should support the storyline and not the other way around. The story should be enjoyable and sexy but have a narrative structure and coherent rising and falling action. Even if a fit is a sexy scenario (it is), trying to make your eyeballs power through a repetitive series of nonsense syllables is counterproductive and takes the reader out of the story and into the realm of annoyance, which disrupts arousal as well. "Yeah," said Gerrit. "Sure." He swallowed. "Let's wash up." He helped Llewellyn to his feet and they went a little way to a creek (generously; it was little more than a ditch through the woods). Gerrit gently washed Llewellyn's face, careful of his tender eyes and nose, and sent him back to camp to lay down for the night. He lingered at the water's edge to wash the handkerchief and, well, to take other matters in hand.

If ya know what I mean. Llewellyn was completely out when he returned, and Gerrit was grateful. He smoothed the elf's bangs back and then settled beside the fire to take watch. The woods in the dark were full of the sounds of insects and small animals moving in the undergrowth. And Llewellyn snoring and sniffling in his sleep. Safe sounds. Gerrit rested his chin on his hand and looked toward the road. Damn orb. It was going to be a long way to Veigh.

And this was getting long, so this is where I cut it to make part 2, which I will also commentate in a bit (hopefully after a nap =___=). Thanks!