#flush him ? spare him ? his fate is in your hands

[katoros]

[fraugwinska]

um hi! can I request an embarrassed Al with s/o who likes to kiss on him repeatedly? :))

Hey there Anon! I hope I got it right? =D I just needed a bit of fluff and sickly-sweetness! ❤️ Thank you for your suggestion!

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

Pandoras Box

“You are looking grumpy today, my love.”

“I’m not grumpy. “

You and Alastor sat on the sofa next to the fireplace in the salon, a common occurrence that you had developed over the past few months. Whenever one of you had some time to spare, you'd find yourself on this very sofa, with the other magically appearing to keep you company. Sometimes your read together, sometimes you listened to music, most of the times you talked, about this and that, about light and heavy things, whatever came to mind. 

One fateful time, you had told him that you loved him. and a few other times later, Alastor had told you he loved you too. 

Everything could've been perfect if there wasn't the huge difference in need for physical affection. While you were a very touchy-feely person when it came to the people you liked (much less, loved), someone who loved to hug, kiss and cuddle - Alastor was reserved, to say the least. 

You understood, he came from another time, another culture, his tight-wound manners and gentlemanly behavior deeply ingrained in his personality. You loved him because of it, wanting to give him time to maybe someday get used to the idea, but sometimes the wait frustrated you - seeing Charlie and Vaggie lovingly hug each other every day on their way to the kitchen before breakfast, or Husk and Angel sneaking around the hotel (like no one would see them), making out in dark corners. You wanted to be respectful of his boundaries, but that didn't mean you weren't longing for more - or any - PDA. 

“The little wrinkle between your brows says otherwise, little doll.”

He looked up from his newspaper and rubbed the space between your brows with his long, slender fingers. You swatted them away and huffed. 

“I'm not grumpy. I'm…”, you searched for the right words, feeling Alastor's worried gaze on you. “...restless.”

He tilted his head in confusion, his smile more tense than usual. you knew him well enough to know he was worried. “And why's that, dear?”

You decided that the time has come where honesty was the best measure. 

“Because I want to kiss you.”

He stiffened, his fingers dug deep into the newspaper he held. You fiddled with the edges of a throw pillow - now pandoras box was opened, so you had to see it through. You lifted your eyes to look at him. His ears were folded back on his head, his smile seemed strained… and from under his collar, you could see the beginning of a flush. 

Oh. That was interesting. 

“Right now, here? That's a little... inappropriate, don't you think?”, Alastor said quietly, smile still tapered on but his eyes quickly scanning the empty foyer. 

“No one's here Al… besides, I just… Sometimes I just want to kiss you, or hug you, without care where we are or who might see it.” you say softly. “But I know you don't like that, so… I repress it.”

Alastor sighs, the redness creeping from his neck up to his jaw. 

“I suppose,”, he starts, voice slightly distorted - he's looking away from you, fixating on the double doors of the entrance, “since we are indeed alone, I could allow… “

Before he could even end the sentence, you darted forward, taking the vague opening he gave you, and pressed your lips on his. 

Different than the kisses you shared in the 'secrecy' of your bedroom, this kiss felt daring, exciting and oh-so-sweet. You could taste the way Alastor was flustered by your sudden brazeness, although he reciprocated. Hesitantly at first, but when you sighed into his lips he visibly and audibly relaxed, his hand tenderly weaving into your hair, scraping your scalp and pulling you closer. 

You broke the kiss, radiating happiness, it must've shown on your face because Alastor chuckled quietly, cheeks now as flushed as his neck. 

“My, that wasn't half as bad as I thought it… “

Another kiss cut him off again, like an addict you moved onto him, straddling him while you couldn't stop yourself, kissing his lips, his cheeks, his temples, searching for any spots that haven't been covered by your lips. 

Alastor had no chance in stopping you, mumbling things like “Enough dear!”, “Silly girl, you!”, even coming as far as “Give you an inch and you take a mile!” while you attacked him with feverish pecks. 

With a last, soft and long kiss on his lips, you slid your arms around his waist and let yourself rest on his chest, giggling content into his lapels. 

“Are you satisfied now, little vixxen?”

You nodded happily, still tightly pressed into him. 

“Good.”, he mused, wrapping his arms around you. 

“And you.” his voice fell an octave, and you lifted your head to see Angel, Husk and Niffty standing not too far at the end of the foyer, visibly shaking with - in order - suppressed laughter, horrification and morbid curiosity, “will cease that memory from existence if you value functioning organs.”

You couldn't help but laugh and kiss his nose as he sent death glares to the retreating demons, his ears flicking and cheeks still painted in the sweetest shade of red. 

[dragonakito360]

Boothill x Mechanic!Reader

I was inspired by a post from @buggytales so please show them some love for this amazing idea!

CW: I feel like Boothill is OOC and has my own hcs mixed in since it's written before his release, but that's about it.

Names Used: Darlin', Sweetheart

For as long as Boothill can remember, he's been the rootin' tootin' cyborg cowboy of the galaxy. The gunslinging galaxy ranger, fighting evil and bringing justice. His mechanical augmentations were a byproduct of his lifestyle, starting off with just an arm, then a leg, or perhaps a part of his chest? It was a blur now, because before he knew it, he was less human than machine. But that never really bothered him, not when he's got the best mechanic this side of the galaxy; you.

You weren't his first mechanic by any means, but you certainly were the first he trusted with all his being. Your shop was small, hidden away in a busy market district of your home planet. It wasn't famous, nor was it busy at any given day, so it always made you wonder what got Boothill to visit your shop. Some would call it fate, or maybe it was mere chance that he stumbled into the store needing urgent repairs. Nevertheless, since that faithful day, he's been your loyal customer ever since. Whether it be a phone call from you asking how he's been, a routine maintenance to make sure his systems are in working order, or repairs from a battle, he was happy hearing you, seeing you, he loved everything about you.

His heart may now be a machine, having a steady, rhythmic beat. But he swears it beats faster when he's close to you.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – �� ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

"Welcome!" You greet, looking up from your desk behind the counter. A smile forms on your lips once you see it's Boothill. He returns your bright smile with his own as he leans on the countertop. "It's not your maintenance day, so do you need anything repaired?" You ask as you eye him up and down for any visible damages, to which there were none.

"My handgun ain't workin', was hopin' you'd take a look at it."

"You can place it on my table-Oh!" You couldn't help but giggle when Boothill placed his left arm on your desk, his body halfway over the counter.

"What? Ya said to place it on your desk!" He laughed along with you, his heart skipping a beat when he heard your laugh. He's heard it countless times, but it always made his day to hear it.

"Come around here and let me take a look." Boothill nodded and circled around the counter, sitting next to you on the spare stool. You gently took his left arm, using a tool to inspect it further. "It seems the cylinder isn't revolving like it's supposed too... Don't worry, it's an easy fix!" You smiled reassuringly, carefully dismantling the arm and repairing it. "This has been broken for a while now, weren't their any repair shops on the planet you were on?"

"There's plenty, but none of 'em were as good as you."

"If you say so." You playfully rolled your eyes as you continued the repair. That is until a question caught you off guard.

"Why you always so gentle, darlin'?" The cyborg couldn't help but ask as you work. "Am I more fragile than I'm thinkin'?"

"No, no, I'm just... worried I might hurt you, that's all." At this, Boothill laughed heartily, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye out of habit.

"You ain't gonna hurt me darlin'! I trust you, more than any mechanic in the galaxy." Your cheeks flushed red and you avert your gaze, opting to stare at the floor. "Aww what's that look for? It's only the truth."

Taking a deep breath, you look up at him. "T-That's really sweet of you, but why me? I don't think I'm the best, you know." Boothill gave a dismissive wave and took your hand in his.

"You don't gotta be the best, you've taken care of me plenty! I'm trustin' you with all of me, sweetheart, don't ya forget it." He winked and you felt your heart pounding in your chest as your face reddens.

"Thank you..." You take deep breaths and calm your emotions.

"I should be thankin' you." He let go of your hands, allowing you to finish your repair work. A soft smile on your face as you work, he was mesmerized watching you. He couldn't take his eyes off of you for even a moment. Before he knew it, you were already done. Which sadly meant it was time for him to go again.

Aeons did he hate leaving your side, even if he came back in a few months for a check-up or a repair within weeks.

But that's why he cherishes every moment he's got with you working on him. Perhaps one day, when he's not so busy, he'll take you out for a date or two.

"Before you go, I have an idea I have for a new augmentation!" You pulled out a few blueprints from under your desk and showed it to the cowboy. Boothill snorted and tried to contain his laughter.

"Butt lasers? Darlin' I don't think I'm gonna have use for that."

"What? But think about it, what if your arms and legs malfunction and you can't move?"

"What makes ya think anyone's gonna defeat me and I ain't able to kick and shoot 'em?"

"Well, um... It's just a precaution, that's all." Boothill stood up and took your hand, placing a kiss on your knuckles.

"Don't worry too much darlin'. I ain't gettin' roughed up all that much, wouldn't want ya to worry." He thought for a moment. "But if it makes ya happy, feel free to add it next time I visit. Some extra firepower will do me good, even when I got three guns." He slapped the gun on his waist and flexed his metal arms, causing you to giggle.

"Okay then. I'll see you around, space cowboy." With a tip of his hat, Boothill headed out of your store.

"See ya, darlin'."

[addicted-to-dc]

AK!Jason Todd x Catwoman’s protégé! Reader - Just for tonight, Kitty - Pt 3

Guess who's back, back again? There will be a few more parts as long as inspiration fuels me.

Content: 18+, MDNI... angst, fluff, alcohol use (why does that look like it's spelled wrong?? anyways), getting into some smut (finally) in this part. Nothing too serious yettttt 😏

-----

Holding tight onto Jason, he grapples to the top of your penthouse. Rushing through the historical district at night always takes your breath away, especially with Jason. It’s been 5 years since you’ve enjoyed Gotham with him. It’s almost like the city is alive again.

Your feet gently land on the balcony, Jason landing behind you. Walking towards the entrance to the greenhouse, you input your code and open the door. The cold Gotham air quickly disappears as you step through the doorway. Jason’s right behind you, closing the door as he takes your plants in. Gifts from Ivy, ones that you spared no expense to help them thrive.

Finally, you enter your penthouse, descending your spiral staircase into your living area. The building, funnily enough, was severely damaged during one of the never-ending battles between Batman and his long list of rogues.

“I guess crime does pay, doesn’t it, Kitty?”

You turn around in time to watch him take off the mask. He places it out of sight, then his armor quickly meets the same fate. A bottle of your favorite drink calls your name. Two glasses join the party as you pour generous helpings of the beautifully colored liquid.

A quick laugh escapes from your lips as you turn to face him, your arm extending to hand him his glass, “It certainly has its perks, especially now I’ve branched out of Gotham.”

You take a sip, testing the flavor as you sink into the most comfortable couch money could buy. The glass is quickly placed on the table as you begin to take off your suit. Your gloves are the first thing to go, the fabric and hardware easily slipping off your arms.

Jason stays still, leaning against your countertop. He watches as your boots get tossed near the staircase. His eyes wander to the whip still attached to your waist before taking a big gulp of his drink. “That why you were in Venezuela?”

You take another gulp, relishing in your newfound warmth thanks to the alcohol. “Shopping for things to pay the bills. Might’ve made enough to retire.”

He laughs, “Do you really think you can retire? Once you’re in, you’re in for life.”

Leaning forward, you swirl your glass as he makes his way towards you. “Maybe, but it wouldn’t hurt to make it a part-time thing. Have some more time for myself, maybe for us?”

Jason finally sits down, leaving no space between the two of you. “After tomorrow night, I’m all yours.”

You gulp down the rest of your drink down, needing something to rid the thought of the near future. He places his drink next to yours before pulling you closer. Your thighs drag over his until you’re resting on top of them. He drags his fingers along the seams of your suit, goosebumps trailing behind his touch. You lean in closer, sighing as you take in his body heat.

“What are we going to do after this? Stay in Gotham?” you ask, your hand playing with the fabric on his chest. “We could go anywhere if we wanted to.”

His hand weaves in between yours, pulling it up for a kiss. “I don’t know, haven’t really thought of anything after this.”

You sigh, squeezing his hand. “No matter what we do, we always end up back here.”

“Hey.”

Your eyes flick up to his immediately. He adjusts himself, taking you with him as he places his back flush against the cushion. The movement sends a gasp out of your mouth, the friction setting you on fire. Your hands shoot out to stabilize yourself, using his shoulders to recompose yourself. You didn’t even register he unzipped the front of your suit until you felt his lips on you.

“Jay,” you whimper, back arching as he pulls you closer.

“This is where we met, Kitty, had all our little adventures,” he begins, leaving a trail of kisses and bruises as he travels upwards. “A little vacation every now and then would be nice, but…”

He bites your neck, stealing your breath away as he soothes the skin afterwards. Your grip on his shoulders loosens, overwhelmed by everything he’s doing to you.

“…Gotham’s home as long as you’re in it.”

You forgot how soft his lips were against yours.

---

Aha CLIFFHANGERRRR XD. Felt right to torture you guys a bit. Part 4 will be out soon, won't be able to fend off the fic voices for long.

As always, likes, comments, and reblogs are always welcome!!

[cambion-companion]

Cat and Mouse

"See, I was dead when I woke up this morning. And I'll be dead before the day is done." -Seven Devils, Florence and the Machine

Raphael x reader (gn)

Cause how could I not write something to go with this gifset?

Your blood had run hot as you’d shared passion in a devil’s den. Simmering beneath your flushed skin as your fingers traced his fiery veins.

Your blood now pumped cold, dread and fear following wherever you ran, leading him right to your every hiding place.

Your blood would run red upon the ground if he caught you.  The betrayal rotting bitter upon his tongue. Turning hope to an acrid ash that he would choke you with.

You heard your name again, spoken with the force of expelling a deadly toxin, behind you. Again, you thought to the events taken place not hours ago.

Raphael on his knees before you, defeated. The bodies of his devilkin scattered and strewn like so many crumpled and brittle leaves.  His eyes barely able to open, he made to plea for his life, no more honeyed words to try and sway you.

Your sword raised high, paused. You looked down upon the devil who had committed no trespass against you.  It was your fault, this aching sundering. Your careless blundering.

“Shit.”  You said, lowering your weapon.  You knew time was short.  Raphael would lash out, sensing weakness like a shark smells blood clouding the water.

Your companions were already jumping desperately through the portal, you saw Astarion calling for you, unable to hear beyond the steady thrumming in your ears. Your world tilted as you staggered sideways, fighting to remain conscious long enough to retrieve the health poultice from your pack.

“I won’t allow him to have you.”  You wondered if he heard you, his bright eyes met yours and you knew he understood.

You threw the poultice at him, turned and staggered for the sparking doorway back to your dimension.

Your name, snarled from within the dark ruins brought you back to the present. To the situation you’d custom made for yourself. Raphael had caught your scent, try and you might to avoid the inevitable fate.

He was powerful once more, perhaps more so than last you’d seen him. You turned, unable to run further, your feet useless as blocks of ice supporting your weight. Your fingers numb upon the cold stone column you leaned against.

A plume of orange fire lit the very back of the old temple, the bright light momentarily blinding your wide eyes. You heard heavy footsteps approaching, unhurried, purposeful and intent on your destruction.

Leathery wings stretched wide, lit scarlet by the inferno. The glimmer of eyes slowly gave way to the familiar angles and ridges of a hellish face and curving horns.

Something metallic glinted in the flickering light, sat in regal splendor upon Raphael’s head.

“No.”  You whispered in horror.  You’d given it to Gale.

“Out of touch with reality, as ever.”  Raphael’s large hand took a fistful of your hair and pulled, yanking a cry of pain from your throat. “I gave you every opportunity and you squandered it all like a petulant child.”

Your breath was ragged, the freezing air scraping through your lungs like daggers. The crown of Karsus mirrored the natural curve of Raphael’s horns, like it was tailor made just for him.

“Gale…”

“Is in pieces spread from here to Cormyr by now.”  With an insulting ease, Raphael tossed you by the hair to the ground.  

The air left your lungs and you gasped in vain to regain breath, struggling like a fish out of water, trying to drag yourself away from his approach.  

Raphael rolled his shoulders, the bonfire far behind continuing to blaze at his command. He circled slowly, waiting for you to regain your feet, like a cat playing with an injured and frantic mouse.

“I spared you.” You hissed in pain, clutching your side as you struggled back up.

“You doomed yourself.”  Raphael answered, the edge of his voice seeming to take physical form to cut your very soul.

His arm moved and something small clinked upon the ground, rolling to rest against your foot. You looked down, your lips twisting into a grimace as you recognized the health potion.  

“How generous.”

“With you, my dear, I am lenient as ever.”  Raphael waited for you to restore yourself, his wings folding slightly, but his posture remaining tense and ready. “Now we will finish what you started.”

[scekrex]

So after being stabbed by Niffty, Adam is still somehow alive (we don't question it lol, he just is) and the cannibals around him rip his wings out and eat them - reader comes to his rescue and kills the cannibals that did that to him. That's the moment Adam falls in love with him because no one had ever killed for him. The exorcists had killed because he had ordered them to do so, reader - a sinner - had done so by free will.

The hurt is real and I adore it

Part 2

Kill anyone for you

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language, canon typical violence

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

The pain Adam was feeling was unbearable, yet not enough to cause him to pass out from it. His body remained still as his ears heard movements all around him, it was the rustling of clothes and hungry sounding groans. The steps of the people closing in were heavy, they caused the ground to vibrate a little whenever their feet made contact with the solid stone ground he was laying on. He had tried to get up before, but the pain was too much and the fact that he kept losing blood didn’t help either. The sneaky little demon surely had done a number on him, she would not be the death of him though, that he simply refused to accept. There was no way a demon as small and unknown as the girl that had stabbed him was going to kill the first man, he would not let that happen. So he stayed still on the ground and kept listening. Until he felt something pull on his left wing harshly. Pain was quick to follow the discomfort of some unknown stranger tugging on his wing as the tugging turned more violent and the hands that had been doing so got replaced by razor sharp teeth.

A scream ripped from his throat as he tried to pull away from the source that caused the pain, he tried to get up once again, tried to crawl away from greedy mouths that kept biting little chunks out of his wings, resulting in even more bleeding wounds on the brunette’s body. And in that moment he wished he would have just died at Niffty’s hands. Sure, it would have shattered his ego, but it would have spared him all the pain those sinners were putting him through. He cried out in pain, yet he did not ask for help, he was aware no one would rescue him. Getting eaten alive by the cannibals his exorcists had fought against only minutes ago was his fate and despite it being painful, he took it.

That was until he heard the familiar rustling of wings, they did not sound like angel wings though, to Adam’s ears they sounded like they were made out of leather, they cracked at every other movement, making it appear as if they were rarely used. And when he felt the mouths that had been ripping out pieces of his wings leaving him be, he dared to look up. The cannibals had not just decided to leave him be by free will, no, somebody had torn them away from Adam, somebody the first man had never seen before.

When you had heard the screams that were filled with pain, you separated yourself from the group that went to rebuild the hotel to see what was going on and when you laid eyes on the scenario that was playing out next to the rebuilding process of the destroyed hotel, you had no real choice but to help the soul that was suffering, no matter if that soul belonged to the most sinful angel you knew. So you ignored the uncomfortable ache in your wings as you spread them, you ignored the cracking sounds they made as you used them to fly over to where the first man’s body was and you did not hesitate to reach for one of the dead exorcists weapon on the ground and defend the soul in need for help. A sword was what was the closest weapon and so you sliced right through one of the cannibals that was about to bite down on Adam’s wing yet again, preventing it from doing so and cutting it in half. Graceful you landed next to the wounded body, grabbing another cannibal by its throat, pulled the sinner’s back flush against your chest while the sword you had picked up impaled the sinner’s body, the angelic steel the sword was made of killed the sinner within an instant.

Two down, three more to go.

Adam was watching as you took the cannibals that had been about to eat him alive out one by one, not caring that those were your people and you were permanently killing them, his golden eyes threatened to fall shut, he felt tired, exhausted and the pain had left him, his entire body felt numb and the only thing the brunette noticed before his body went limp and his mind went blank were your arms that pulled him up against your side and tried to walk him away from the puddle of blood the angel had created on the ground. Adam was not sure if he would survive, but he knew that if he would wake up again, he would make sure to raise hell in order to get you through those pearly gates.

[hitomisuzuya]

hiii suzuu could i have some yn scara coffee shop au fluff?

Scaramouche x fem!reader. Fluff. AU. Scara with a smooth pick up line at the end. Some humor.

Hello, dear❤️ Sorry it took me awhile to get to this. I wanted to think of something really cute. I know you guys don't fancy my fluff or romance as much as my smut but I wanna show I am not a one trick pony.

At first, Scaramouche had only stopped in to get a coffee. Get in, order, pay, and get out. That was a plan, anyways. Until he saw you.

When he first walked in, there you were, standing there looking all beautiful as you smiled at him in what he started hoping wasn't an obligatory smile in greeting.

"Scaramouche. What a unique name," You said when you asked what name to put on his cup. You wrote with a marker on the cup. "Spelt like this, right?" You showed him the cup with his name spelt correctly in blocky but somehow elegant handwriting.

No one had ever taken the time or consideration to ask him if his name was spelt right. Were you some kind of subhuman or something?

Scaramouche left that day not having the nerve to ask you for your phone number. Fast forward to this point a few months later. He still hadn't gotten the nerve to ask for your number.

You know what they say about pretty girls? They were intimidating to approach because they were pretty.

Yeah, that was you.

Scaramouche always made it a point to ask you what days you worked so he could come and see you. He would spend his time making idle conversation with you about music or anything when there was a lull in customers, or when you were doing cleaning, or had a spare minute.

And ordering a lot of coffee.

He started picking random mixes, and it become something of a game for both of you. Especially when you started sampling his concoctions with him.

Scaramouche watched you at the counter, handing someone their order. This guy had been coming in quite often, just like he was. He knew what he was after.

He couldn't sit still any longer when the guy lingered by the counter. He needed insert himself into this situation before it was too late.

But, Scaramouche had something working against him. You did that thing where you tucked a lock of hair behind your ear when you smiled. That distracted Scaramouche from seeing that his shoe lace was untied.

Because fate loved him so much, he stepped on his shoelace, tumbling right to the ground. He let out a loud volley of curses.

You rushed out from behind the counter. "Are you okay?" You asked, kneeling down in front of him. You put your hands on his cheeks. "Did you hit your head? Look at me."

Scaramouche's cheeks flushed, gently batting your hands away. "I'm fine," He said gruffly, his pride heavily dented. His breath was stolen from his lungs when he looked into your eyes.

You sighed in relief. "That's good," You offered him your hand. He almost didn't take it out of pride, but that would give him a excuse to actually touch you in some way.

He could barely look at you as he got to his feet. He could smell your perfume. "Wait," He said when you turned to go back to the counter.

"Hm? Are you feeling dizzy?" You asked, looking over your shoulder at him.

Scaramouche shook his head, his cheeks flushing darker. "I'll need your phone number so you can come check on me later," He said, feeling his heart speed up in his chest. He'd finally done it.

His heart dropped when you smiled at him, and walked back to the counter without a word. Were you turning him down? What was going through your head?

You went about making a coffee, making sure it was black like he normally liked it. You wrote what he assumed was his name on the label.

A pity coffee?

"Here, it's on me," You said, handing him the coffee cup. However, his name wasn't on the label. Instead, there was a little heart colored in with purple marker, and your phone number under it.

Your cheeks had the cutest blush on them.

[ellekhen]

Of Silk, Sun, and Sparks

Chapter 3 - A Helping Hand

Summary: Gale reflects on how far he, Astarion, and Church have come together since their earliest adventures. Church finds himself at the mercy of the fact that Gale and Astarion both know him far too well.

Pairing: Astarion/Male Tav/Gale (w/established Astarion/Male Tav) Rating: Explicit Length: 9K+ words; Chapter 3/5

Excerpt below:

The renowned Professor Dekarios of Blackstaff Academy rarely has a quiet mind. A flurry of information swirls inside and often spills out in the form of rambling yarns between his lips. 

That is to say, it’s not often that Gale finds himself speechless.

But now, as he watches his dear friend taste him in a way he once could only fantasize shamefully about…

…for the first time in ages, Gale’s mind goes blank. He feels the searing ring of Church lips surging down every inch of himself, as well as the soft cushion of the tongue that moves subtly beneath the weight of his erection.

And — oh dear — those are his hands currently gripping Church’s hair and cradling his jaw, aren’t they? Guiding the tiefling with an authority for which Gale certainly hasn’t been accredited. On Church’s other side, Astarion pulls him flush by the tail with a soft, awed groan as he begins to pulse into his partner.

Church moans in ecstasy, and the vibration around Gale sends a positively electrical wave of magic through every bit of him — and not the magic of the Mystral Weave, mind you. It’s the magic that can only be summoned when one of the few people with whom you have felt truly close shows how much they trust you, letting you take their body into your hands (literally, in this case,) and share in a pleasure that once could only be a dream.

Gale has pined for Church before — for months, really, during their dire, tadpoled adventure. He would wake up to see that soft, sunny smile, and fall asleep to fleeting memories of his friend’s warmth beside him. After the numerous skirmishes they had fought together, Gale could recognize the flavor of his friend’s magic in the air. It’s how he would know when the other’s party was approaching camp.

In time, however, the wizard began to see during these long-awaited returns that the flustered warlock was clearly falling for the seductive, manipulative whims of their resident vampire spawn. Gale hated to think of how Astarion must have been using Church for not just pleasure, but quite literally as a convenient camp provision. 

And yet, it really wasn’t Gale’s place to intervene. Once he learned of his fate and its tie to the Netherese Orb in his chest, Gale gave up the idea of a future at all.

It would be better to spare his friend any grief from the loss of him. It would be better for the world to continue on without the wizard that has only ever fucked up his life with his own silly ambition.

And still Gale dared to kiss Church in that supposedly isolated clearing on the border of the Last Light Inn’s moonshield. He kissed him in a stolen, impulsive moment, knowing that he shouldn’t dare to take advantage of his friend’s trust. 

But as much as Gale loathed himself for making an ass of himself, Church was… kind to him about it. He showed him the grace and love only a true friend could, before it all went to hell in the Shadowlands. And he showed Gale how to live for himself — to say fuck Fate, and find another way to save the world.

In the days after their adventure together, Gale took his friend’s words to heart. It was difficult to keep in touch with everyone in their party, but when that first letter finally arrived back from the Underdark where Church and Astarion had made their home, he felt so much relief. Honestly, the wizard found himself weeping with joy knowing that they were still alive — Church, Astarion, and the thousands of spawn including the Gur children. 

Gale saw how Astarion had made the risky decision to free the other spawn and spurn the seductive power of Cazador’s ritual. He knew that doing so would mean a continued life of dread even without his master, but at least he wouldn't become corrupted like the vampire lords that came before him. Astarion would still remain Astarion — that vain, self-centered hypocrite of a man who had helped pull Church out of his downward spirals and, for some reason, would grouchily insist upon fixing his companions clothes because, "that mismatched button was about to drive him to murder." 

Gale saw how the vampire spawn had burned in the sun as a consequence for his compassion. He feared for the companion who was not quite his friend at the time, but someone he couldn’t help but care for as a friend… whether he reciprocated or not.

In time, Astarion did begin to reciprocate. He supported Church’s visits to Waterdeep, and tolerated Gale’s presence in the Underdark as a gracious host. And then, when investigating a magical anomaly all went to hell and Gale and Astarion feared the worst for the vanished Church…

They had each other. They had a job to do. A problem to solve. A loved one to save from a world that would have killed him.

After that harrowing situation, everything changed for Gale and Astarion. It became commonplace for Gale to pick up his sending stone only to find Astarion on the other end. His vampiric friend would be bored and begging for gossip from the surface between rants about the affairs of the Underdark. They even began to muse together about possible options to help Astarion survive the sun and cure his vampirism. 

All the while, Gale fought down the desire to reveal Church’s secret that the tiefling was already working on crafting a solution.

It was worth it — it was all worth it, for when Gale saw his rather disheveled friends at the Simril party with rings glinting on their fingers and soft, secret smiles on faces, Gale’s heart sang for them.

They survived to live. To love. To be alone no longer.

[eris-snow]

𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞

Tags: fluff, Bakugou x gn!reader, colourblindness

So what if he can't see colours? All that matters are results. Until he meets you.

Bakugou was colourblind, and he hated it. He didn't mind not ever seeing the vibrant colours of life. Hell, he didn't mind not perceiving the world differently than everyone else.

No, he hated it because everybody that knew held an infuriating look of pity in their eyes. With words of sympathy spewing from their lips, they would coddle and tread on eggshells whenever around him. Whenever that happens, he snaps at them sharply for underestimating him like that.

So what if it was a handicap? So what if he never got to see colours? All that mattered were his results. Every time the word "colourblind" was directed at him alongside a compliment, he then shoots back profanities along the lines of "Shut the hell up, extra." in a low, offended tone.

So when he reaches UA, he doesn't talk about it. He doesn't breathe a word about his 'disability' and focuses all his time on being the best hero he can be. Sure, it can be lonely to see his friends chatting, all of them in black and white like in a 70's cartoon.

Fuck, sometimes it's isolating. But that's when Bakugou allows himself to store up all the pent-up rage and sorrow and willingly lets it flood his senses. This lets him let loose and get lost in the fray of his emotions.

It's his coping mechanism, his escape, and it works.

It makes his problems mix into one blurry glob until he forgets why he was even angry.

So when he meets you on that fateful day, he thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him. They must be because there is no other way than to explain this.

Years after his UA days, he's spending another hectic day at work saving lives and living out his dream. Bakugou climbs the hero ranks in strides and even with his brash and pompous attitude, he has definitely mellowed out and matured enough to start gaining traction.

As he steps out of the agency that he built from the ground up, a person's orange scarf flutters to the ground in front of him as the individual walks past him without sparing him a glance.

Bakugou blinks. Is this what someone calls colours? He picks the scarf up, staring at it in fascination as tears unconsciously well up in his eyes. His eyes snap up to focus on you, the passerby that had brought him the shades of the world without even knowing to see you turn a corner, taking the vibrant tints of the world with you.

As Bakugou looks around him, everything starts to fade into its usual grey, leaving only the scarf in his hand that's bursting bright orange. Panic erupts in him as he started to bolt after you, not wanting to lose the rich colours of life around him.

He races past buildings, and it's not hard to lose you because you're glowing bright, revealing all the shades of beautifully rich colours around you.

"Hey!" He calls out, and it makes you turn around, shock written all over his face as you see the No 2 Hero running up to you with your scarf in his hand. Your face immediately reddens as he stands there, panting slightly.

"I'm so sorry, thank you so much Dynamight." You say as you take your scarf out of his hands. But Bakugou doesn't care. Everything going on around you, he can see it and it's so overwhelming. Hell, he can see the colours he's wearing, his hands and his red eyes reflecting in yours.

And you look so...

So, beautiful.

Bakugou can't remember colours off the top of his head, but he knows enough that you're wearing a cream-based outfit with a bright orange scarf. All he can do is listen to you rant nervously, admiring the new perspective he was given.

"Buy me a coffee." He blurts.

You cut yourself off, finally looking up from your shoes. "W-What?"

"To make up for me having to chase you down the street. Treat me to a meal." Bakugou's hands are shoved in his pockets, trembling in both excitement and nervousness. this is his first time asking someone out after all.

You flush even redder, nodding your head. "Right, of course, Dynamight-"

"Bakugou." He corrects, "Call me Bakugou."

That day, he goes back home with your number and overwhelming joy pooling out from his heart.

Because now, the world is no longer just black and white.

[vipersiia]

sunny days | xyx/gn!reader

Falling in love with Xyx was fast, a quick ascent and even faster drop. Days like these, where you can admire him for long periods of time are few and far inbetween, but time seems to trickle to a stop, to let you indulge in his presence a little during times like these.

The sun is high in the sky, shining directly on him like a spotlight. Illuminating his every feature for your eyes, as if the galaxy itself sees his beauty, and cannot help but focus on it as well. His tanned hand interlocked with yours, eyes occasionally shifting over to you, little smile never leaving his lips.

“Have I ever mentioned how beautiful you are?” you begin, “If I haven’t it would be a shame, for your beauty transcends even farther than the mortal eye can view.”

You can see his reaction before he even says anything, how he straightens up, gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly.

“What?”

He knows he took too long to respond, and he knows you know, if the way he’s avoiding looking at you says anything.

You push on regardless, “With the sun shining on you, you look profoundly beautiful right now.”

A smile plays on your lips, as you see his ears flush.

“Doll you cannot be doing this right now. Do you know what you do to me? Ohh, you are playing  a dangerous game.”

“Is it so wrong? For me to want to compliment the love of my life?”

When he gets a chance to look at you, he wonders what he’s done in his past life to be so blessed. The way you look at him is nothing short of unadulterated adoration, like he’s the only man in the world. It can’t possibly be good for his heart, just how much you love him. How you make his heart constrict, how you make him tear up with words alone.

Time with you is sacred, and leaving your arms has become a monumental task as of late. It’s worth it, if he could come back to you forever, assured of your presence in his life through the little things.

“You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love...I love you.” he begins, thinking of the novel, and how you can never get enough of it.

“I never wish to be parted from you from this day on, “ you finish, a smile playing on your lips, words whispered into the air. Words that sound so loud, that they ring in his ear long after you finish.

He doesn’t think he can get enough of you, your touch, your words, your love. From where your hands interlock, he spares a moment to lean over and press a gentle kiss to the back of your hand, eyes lingering on yours for a touch afterwards.

He knows he can’t get enough of you. Since the day you saw his face, a vulnerable moment in time. From that fateful meeting onward, he could not imagine a life without you by his side.

Sometimes, he wonders what you’re thinking when you look at him like that. Like he’s your entire universe, like he hung the moon and the stars in your name. 

You’re like a drug, and goddammit if he isn’t addicted. Maybe it’s bad, maybe he has become codependent. But if you asked him? He wouldn’t have it any other way.

[accidentalmistress]

Accidental Mistress - This Feeling

Apologies for being a day late, but the fic is finally here. This one follows directly after the events of Broken, so it might be a good idea to read that first if you haven't.

(For more Accidental Mistress content, check out the Master Post.)

Title: This Feeling

Word Count: 8,531

Content and Warnings: snz (F, N-B, mention of male snz), illness, caretaking

In which Oraion must learn to adapt to a situation he's never experienced in his long life - being responsible for a sick human.

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

Even without looking, he could feel those golden eyes boring into him. He always hated that unnerving, probing gaze that seemed to strip him bare despite the layers of his robes, so he kept his gaze ahead as they walked and he tried to process the words being spoken to him.

"I am sorry. It brings me no pleasure to bear this news. I know how much you care for her."

He took a breath and attempted, with great effort, to keep his voice calm.

"There has to be another way."

"Oraion." The man placed a firm hand on his arm, stopping him, but his tone softened a moment later. "There is not. Believe me, I have done everything within my power to find another path, but… there is none. The process has already begun; her fate cannot be changed. Not even by me. One way or another, she will die—"

He shut his own eyes. "No—!"

"Nothing can change that now. The only thing we can do is to ensure that it happens while she is still herself." He sighed and his touch vanished from Oraion’s arm. “I… would like to offer you the opportunity. I understand if you cannot do it, but it seemed wrong not to ask you first.”

At last Oraion turned to the man beside him, the absurdity of those words drawing him to seek some hint of alternate meaning in the other’s face. He shuddered when those eyes met his, unable to suppress the motion. One look told him everything he needed to know.

"You want me to…? Are you seriously asking me to kill her?!"

"I am not going to force you. We will find another to—"

"No! I do not wish for her to die!"

The other man lifted his chin, those horrible eyes growing narrow and cold.

"I believe I made it clear that you do not have a say in the matter. The only reason you and I are even having this conversation is out of respect for your aeons of faithful service. Her sacrifice will forestall disaster and spare countless lives. Surely you understand that. I do not make this decision lightly, but the needs of the many must outweigh the needs of the few. Or do you intend to oppose the will of the gods?"

Oraion awoke.

Morning. He reached a hand up to his face and traced a lingering trail of wetness with his fingers.

"... a memory?"

It had been quite some time since he had dreamed of that day, and longer still back to the time it had occurred. Ages ago, literally.

As he sat up in bed and cast about with bleary eyes, the demon realized he was not in his own room, but Noelle’s. A moment later the events of the previous evening came rushing back to him in a fresh torrent of emotion and flashes of memory. Noelle coming home bloody and bruised, her breakdown in the front hall, the bath he had given her, tucking her into bed, brewing her the tea that lulled her to sleep, and then…

He couldn’t tell her what he’d done. She didn’t want him to seek retribution for her. Yet old habits died hard, it seemed. Besides, he hadn’t killed the young men who had beaten her—he only visited upon them the same level of pain they had inflicted upon his Mistress. An eye for an eye, as they say.

His gaze fell upon her next to him in the bed, still fast asleep. She moaned a little and turned over, her expression tense. Oraion knew well that her sleep was often plagued by nightmares, but this morning her face was unusually flush. A lock of hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat, and as Oraion went to gently brush the hair out of her face he was surprised at how warm her skin felt. Her eyelids fluttered open and she blinked up at him.

“Mmh… Oraion?”

“Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Are you all right? You feel oddly warm.”

“Do I?” As she sat up, her chest spasmed with several harsh coughs. “Ugh, I hope I don't have a cold.”

“What? Are you… cold?”

Her brown eyes flicked to the side, hesitant. “Oh… Um, i-it’s nothing. I’ll be fine.”

She tried to get up out of the bed, wincing, and Oraion was on his feet and by her side in an instant. She gave him a sheepish smile.

“I guess I am a bit sore in a few places.”

“Your ankle—are you certain you should be walking on it?”

“It actually feels much better today, thanks to that bath. As long as I’m careful it’ll be all right.”

“Mistress, perhaps you should stay in bed and rest…”

Noelle grimaced and shook her head. “I can’t just lie around all day; I’ll only feel like a bother, and I’ve had quite enough of that. Really, I’m fine, Oraion…”

A sort of distracted look came over her face before she suddenly put her hands over her nose and mouth as her eyes squeezed shut.

“Ishoo! Ishoo! Oh gosh…”

Despite his concern, Oraion couldn’t help but think how cute she was when she sneezed. Gods, she really was rubbing off on him, wasn’t she? Well, his only real experience with sneezing had thus far been in an almost entirely sexual context, so could anyone really blame him for the association?

“Bless you, dear. You were sneezing last night, too.”

She sniffled as her cheeks turned a bit pink. “I-I know. I, uh… It- It was so chilly out last night, y-you know? I, um, guess it got me a bit sniffly.”

Oraion pursed his lips. He had the distinct feeling that Noelle was hiding something, but what it could possibly be, he had no idea. After her ordeal last night, however, he was reluctant to press the issue. Surely she would open up to him when she was ready.

“Is there anything I can do for you, then?”

“Um… Would you make me some more tea? If you don’t mind. I think I’ll just go wash up a bit—I’m so sweaty.”

Oraion nodded, glad to have a clear task to focus on. He made his way down to the kitchen and set about preparing the tea. He was embarrassed to admit it, but it occurred that he should probably learn to make proper food. He’d never needed to, not before he was a Demon Lord, and certainly not since. It always felt beneath him, but whenever he watched Noelle do it there seemed to be a sort of simple joy in it that he’d never bothered to take notice of before. More memories of the previous night came back to him.

“You could always, um, stay here with me. We can just… live like this.”

Could he actually stay here with her? Live like a mortal with her until…

Until she died.

Death. It was what made mortals mortal. It would happen to her one day, hopefully many years from now, but it would happen all the same. So many years had already passed Oraion by; the span of a mortal life was but a fraction of his own. Was he really going to put himself through the pain of staying with her, only to lose her when her time ran out? What was he thinking? He wasn’t thinking, he was letting his emotions rule him, just as he had back then.

Oraion closed his eyes and sighed. How had he gotten in so deep in a single year? Was it this contract that bound him to her? Was it influencing his mind? Making him care for her? Or were these feelings real? Did he… love her? Gods, it had certainly felt like it the night before.

He could still feel the heat of rage that seethed just below the surface, even after giving those thugs the thrashing they deserved. He knew, though, that much of the rage that remained was self-directed. He had failed to protect her, ostensibly his most important duty as her Servant, a role he had come to accept, even enjoy. At first he only felt distaste towards the very idea of being anyone’s “servant”, but Noelle never treated him like an inferior, never enforced a typical Master/Servant relationship. She had always treated him as an equal, a partner…

How did she feel about him? Did she harbor similar feelings as he did?

The demon took both hands and rubbed them up and down his face with a groan.

“Ugh… fuck. I really need to get a grip on myself and make this damned tea instead of having an existential crisis in the kitchen.”

Once the drink was ready, he carried it carefully upstairs. Noelle wasn’t back in her room yet, so he set the tea down next to the bed. Should he check on her? Or was he being overprotective? Caring for her had felt so natural last night, but now he couldn’t help but second-guess his every move. He’d certainly done an excellent job of confusing himself, that was the only thing he was certain about at this point.

He approached the bathroom door and stood outside it for a moment, hesitating, before he steeled himself and rapped on the door.

“Mistress? Are you all right?”

No answer, only the sound of running water. He knocked again.

“… Mistress?”

When silence remained the only answer he grabbed the handle and opened the door, anxiety snaking through his stomach before it dropped as though it fell through the entire tower.

Noelle was lying on the floor, unmoving.

Oraion didn’t even remember crossing the distance before he was at her side, cradling her in his arms.

“Noelle?!”

He lifted her off the floor and carried her to the bedroom, placing her gently on the bed before checking her over. She was breathing and he could sense her heartbeat, but she remained senseless no matter how many times he called her name. Her body felt even hotter than it had before, like she was burning up.

Wait, was this what humans called a “fever”? Her odd behavior, the sneezing and coughing, it all clicked into place.

Noelle was sick.

Oraion racked his brain, trying to remember anything he knew about human illnesses. It had been so long since he’d needed to concern himself with such things, though—at least a thousand years, if not more. Sickness had not even occurred to him as a possibility. What was a simple fact of life for humans was a foreign concept to demons, who were no more familiar with getting sick than they were with growing old: it simply did not happen.

He vaguely recalled something about humans becoming ill if you left them cold and wet for too long. Noelle had been awfully cold when she’d arrived home, and her clothes were soaked through. Was that what she meant when she said she might “have a cold”? Another reason those hooligans deserved what they’d gotten. It was their fault his Mistress was now ill.

Let’s see, what do I know about fevers…? There was that one village back in Shinchuro Province, about three thousand years ago, I think. A fever swept through and they begged for a cure because so many were dying.

He looked back to Noelle with renewed alarm. Were fevers really so deadly to humans? He began to pace, his tail lashing. Had he his full power, he could cure her in an instant with but a touch, but now… His hands balled into fists, enraged at his own impotence. He was only just beginning to untangle his own feelings for her—would the gods really take her from him now? Hadn’t he suffered enough for them?

No, there had to be something he could do. She’d only just fallen ill, so perhaps there was a way to stop the disease from progressing before it was too late. How was he supposed to figure out what that was, though? Most of Oraion’s knowledge of healing herbs was related to their properties on wounds and other physical injuries, not illnesses. Was there anyone he could turn to for help?

His pacing came to an abrupt stop. There was one person he could think of…

* * *

“Hyah!”

Metal bit into wood with a thunk as sword struck training dummy, shaving a chunk off of what would have been an actual person’s shoulder. Quinns wiped a sleeve across their brow: even in the crisp air of an autumn morning they were working up quite a sweat. A number of other members of the Knights honed their skills on other wooden or straw opponents and sparred against each other. Quinns stepped back and shook their shoulders loose, lining up for another go. A shoulder shot wouldn’t take down a truly dangerous opponent. They needed to do better.

They tightened their grip on their sword, assumed a fighting stance, pushed off with their back foot, and—

“Quinns!”

“Hhhgk?!”

Their strike went wide, missing the training dummy altogether. They stumbled as their sword met nothing but empty air, their shoulder protesting as they bounced off the training dummy and fell backwards, landing on their backside.

“Whoa! You okay there, Shaw?”

They heard several snickers and felt everyone’s eyes on them as they climbed back to their feet. The guy who’d called out to them wore a grin they dearly wished they could wipe off his smug face. Instead they took a deep breath and kept their voice even as they wiped the dirt off their uniform.

“I’m fine. Just lost my footing. I’m taking a break.”

Without another word Quinns sheathed their sword and went off to the side of the training grounds before sitting on a low wall.

“What the hell was that? It almost sounded like—”

“Like Oraion? Yes, hello, it is me.”

Quinns blinked as their mouth dropped open, barely stopping themself from swearing aloud.

“What. The. Fuck. Are you seriously inside my fucking head?!”

“Mm, yes and no. I’m not in your head to the point where I can read your thoughts or anything, but I am speaking directly into your mind.”

“What?! Why? HOW?”

“With great effort, and it’s only working because you’re relatively close by. Now, I don’t have time for a lesson in psionics: I need your help.”

“... What did you do now?”

“Nothing! Why do you always—? Ugh, never mind. Listen: Noelle is sick, and… I don’t know what to do.”

“Sick? Sick how?”

“I, uh, I think she has a fever? Her body is very warm. She said it wasn’t anything serious, but then she fainted. That’s- That’s not normal, right? I mean, is she going to wake up? What if she doesn’t? I-I don’t know anything about caring for sick humans. What if I do something wrong and make things worse? Gods, I can't even cook! I—”

“Whoa, slow down. Does she have any other symptoms?”

“Er, she was sneezing and coughing a bit last night and this morning.”

“Okay. Yes, it is a little concerning that she fainted, but it might just be a cold.”

“Yes, yes, she said that as well, but I don’t know what that is!”

“Oh… Uh, a cold is a pretty minor disease that humans get. It usually affects the nose and throat—coughing, sneezing, runny nose, sore throat, that kind of thing. It’s kind of like if you had an allergy attack for a week straight, and you were also tired and achy. It’s not fun, but it usually resolves itself on its own, and it’s rarely serious.”

“Then… she’s not dying?”

Quinns did not exactly trust Noelle’s pet demon, but there was no mistaking the note of hope and relief that colored his pseudo-voice in Quinns’s head. Maybe he wasn’t all bad…

“I doubt it. If she’s got a fever and she’s sweating a lot, then she might be dehydrated on top of feeling sick, so that may be why she passed out. Make sure she gets some water when she wakes up. If she doesn’t wake up after a few minutes, though…” They chewed on their bottom lip as several trains of thought fought for dominance in their mind. “Give me some time to get ready, and then I’ll come over to help. I’ll bring some medicine and food.”

They heard Oraion sigh in their mind, which was thoroughly weird.

“Thank you, Quinns. I don’t—”

“I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for Noelle.”

“I know, but still… Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just get out of my head already, would you? I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Very well.”

Quinns waited for a few seconds but didn’t hear anything else in their head. Had the demon actually gone?

“... You still there?”

When no response came, there was a moment where Quinns wondered if they had just hallucinated the entire conversation. Noelle’s tower was several miles away—was Oraion actually able to find where Quinns was and speak to them over that distance?

They shook their head in an effort to clear it. If they dismissed Oraion’s message as a trick or hallucination, and Noelle really was in trouble, then they’d be abandoning their friend when she needed them most. If they showed up at her tower and nothing was amiss, then they could figure out what was actually going on after they knew Noelle was safe. They had to assume it was real, and that Noelle needed their help.

They made a stop at their personal quarters for the medicine—a trip to the infirmary could raise too many questions about what they needed the medicine for. Unlike the Order, the Knights of the Midnight Falcon recruited on a volunteer basis, which meant that the number of healers in their ranks was never consistent. Add to that the fact that most Knights were, like Quinns, knights errant, and the chances of a healer who could prepare medicines being at headquarters were middling at best. As such, medical supplies were carefully rationed and kept track of. 

Food they could procure more easily and with fewer questions, so they went to the kitchen and started loading a basket with supplies for making soup. They may not be the best cook, but they could make some simple dishes. That was leagues better than Oraion, who even went so far as to admit he couldn't cook. Besides, how hard could soup be? You just threw a bunch of stuff into boiling water and let it sit for a while, right? Quinns grabbed some fresh meat and a bunch of different vegetables. Spices they could get from Noelle’s pantry—she always kept that well-stocked since she used the herbs for both cooking and magic.

“Oh, hey Quinns! What’re you up to?”

Quinns swore internally. There could not be a worse time for this. They blew out a breath and spoke without turning around as they tucked the last of the ingredients into the basket and covered it.

“Hey Ollie. Just grabbing a few things. I’ll be out of your way in a minute.”

“Oh, don’t worry, you’re not in my way. I was just gonna get something to eat.” He let out a warm chuckle. “I kinda overslept and, uh, missed breakfast with everyone.”

“I see. Well, I’ll leave you to it then. I have some things to take care of—”

Quinns picked up the basket and turned around to find Oliver standing right behind them. For being such a big klutz he sure moved as quietly as a cat sometimes. Quinns took a step back with a start.

“Oh, right, sorry.” Oliver rubbed the back of his neck with an apologetic smile and took a step back of his own. Oliver Dietrich had a fluffy, orange cat tail that swayed behind him, while the orange-furred ears that poked out of his light blonde hair flicked. “I forget you’re allergic to me sometimes.”

“N-no, it’s, uh, it’s fine… Well, I gotta go, so, uh…”

Even having taken a step back, Oliver was still blocking Quinns from leaving the kitchen. The younger Knight showed no indication of moving out of the way, either, and instead tilted his head to one side.

“What’s the basket for? Are you having a picnic?”

“What? No, I’m just… getting some ingredients for something.”

“For what?”

“Look, it’s nothing, okay? Can I please leave?”

Oliver crossed his arms and didn’t budge. “Well, is it something or nothing?”

“Nothing! It’s nothing. I don’t have time for this, Ollie!”

“If it’s nothing, then it shouldn’t be a problem for me to see, right? So show me what’s in the basket.”

“No.”

“Show me or I’ll hug you.”

Quinns physically recoiled. They were already starting to feel itchy just being this close to him.

“What?!”

“Kidding! I’m kidding! Sorry, it’s just- agh, I’m so curious! Can’t I see what you have? Or at least tell me what you’re making! Pleeease?”

With his pleading eyes and the way his tail lashed, Oliver gave Quinns the impression of an excitable golden retriever rather than a cat.

“Oh my gods, will you go away if I do?”

“Yes! On my honor as a Knight!”

Quinns sighed and opened the basket, showing Oliver the contents. “Fine. I’m making soup, okay?”

The time Oliver spent staring silently into the basket with his brow furrowed started to border on uncomfortable.

“Uh… Can I go now?”

“You said you’re making soup?”

“Yeah. You got a problem with that?”

“No, no, it’s just that…” He looked like he was struggling with some sort of internal dilemma. Or maybe he had indigestion. “Well, um, you’re not gonna be able to make a very good soup with this stuff.”

Quinns blinked. “Huh?”

“You’ve only got chicken breast meat: you should really have a whole carcass if you want to get a flavorful broth. You need the bones and stuff. And these beans should really be soaked overnight before you cook them. You’d do better with rice or pasta as a starch if you’re planning to make and serve the soup right away. You’ve got some good veggies, but if you put them all in at the same time you’re either gonna end up with half of them undercooked or half of them cooked into oblivion.”

For a few moments Quinns just stood there, stunned, but then they froze up for a different reason.

“Uh… Quinns?”

Damn it, this always happened. They couldn’t move or speak, they just had to wait until—

“Etchoo!”

“Oh no! I’m sorry! I got too close!” Oliver finally backed off to the other side of the kitchen with a guilty look. His tanned skin gained an embarrassed flush.

“Whatever. -snf- It’s fine… I, uh, I didn’t know you knew how to cook.”

“Oh, yeah. I have a bunch of younger brothers and sisters, and both my parents work a lot, so I often cooked for everybody. Soup is a great way to feed a crowd: it’s warm and comforting, and you can really stretch it with the right ingredients. And whenever somebody got sick, I always made ‘em chicken soup.”

Quinns frowned. Oliver was a little naive, impulsive, clumsy, dense, and irresponsible…  but he wasn’t a bad guy. In fact, Oliver was quite possibly the kindest person Quinns knew in the Knights. For all of his faults, he was also loyal and surprisingly discreet, a fact that Quinns had recently discovered after Oliver had walked in on them in the shower.

“Hey, Ollie… Can I tell you something?”

* * *

It wasn’t long after Oraion finished speaking with Quinns that Noelle stirred. In all she'd been unconscious for perhaps a couple of minutes, but to the demon it felt like centuries may well have passed.

“Oh no… I fainted didn’t I?”

Oraion sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand in his as he softly brushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Yes. I came upstairs and found you lying on the floor of the bath.”

She grimaced. “I’m sorry. I must have worried you.”

“It did give me a bit of a fright, yes.”

“I-I’m not sure what happened. I was just running some hot water to wash up, but then I, um, started to feel dizzy. Maybe- Maybe it was the steam?”

Trying to hide it, even now? Oraion shook his head with a little sigh before looking Noelle in the eye. “Why didn’t you tell me you were ill?”

She gave a guilty start and looked away, her voice going quiet.

“I… I didn’t want you to worry even more than you already have… but I suppose it’s too late for that. I’m sorry.”

“Mistress…” Oraion leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “Taking care of you is never a bother for me, all right?”

“A-all right…”

When he leaned back, it was difficult to tell if the red in her face was from blushing or fever. A slight smirk graced his lips, then he lifted a hand and snapped his fingers. A cup with water appeared on the bedside table.

“Here. Quinns said you might be dehydrated, so you should drink some water now that you’re awake.”

She took the cup from his hand and propped herself up enough to take a few sips. “Oh, thank you… Wait, Quinns is here?”

“Ah, no, not yet. But they’ll be on their way soon.”

“Then… how did you talk to them already?”

“Oh, I spoke to them telepathically. When you collapsed, I…” He looked away and swallowed something harsh in his throat. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t understand what was happening. I don’t know how to care for a sick human. I-I didn’t even realize you were sick until that point. I’m sorry, I should have asked you to explain what was wrong, but after last night… I thought it best not to press you.” He took another shaky breath and cleared his throat. “Anyway, I knew that I needed help, and Quinns was the only person I could think of, so I reached out to them through their mind. Fortunately they were close enough for me to reach.”

“Telepathy… You can do that?”

He looked back at his Mistress—even in her sickbed, her eyes were sparkling with interest at the prospect of learning something new. Another smile tugged his lips, one that held more warmth than he’d felt all day.

“Not easily and not for long. Not as I am now, anyway. It takes a lot of energy to maintain, especially in the Mortal Realm.”

“Why is that?”

“Mm, because there’s less ambient mana around, I think. In the Demon Realm, damn near everything is magic to one degree or another. So if you need power, you simply snatch it out of the air or the ground or what have you and shape it to your will. Here, there is far less of that energy around, so I need to rely mostly on my own reserves and whatever I can find to supplement that. Of course, my power is not insignificant, so it is sufficient for most workings, but truthfully the lack of mana within the Mortal Realm puts me at a fraction of my power, even without this damned collar.”

“Can you teach me how to use telepathy?”

“Heh. Maybe.” He took the cup of water from her and picked up the tea he had brought up earlier. “How about this: if you’re a good girl and drink your tea, I’ll start teaching you about it.”

“Ooh, I like this bargain.” She sat up further, wincing, and put a hand to her forehead. “Ugh…”

He leaned in, as though a magnet drew him to her. “What is it? Does it hurt anywhere?”

“No, no. I’m only a bit dizzy. Just, um, give me a moment.”

Oraion reached out with his free hand and touched her arm to steady her.

“Take as much time as you need. I’m right here.”

“Thanks, Oraion. I—”

She was cut off by a series of hacking coughs, crackly and phlegmy things that made him wince to hear.

“Oh, I-I’m sorry- I- uh-oh… eh-hishoo! ehshoo! Ugh, oh gosh, I’m so sorry Oraion. -sniff- I-I don’t want to get you sick. Maybe- maybe you, um, shouldn’t stay in here.”

“Oh, nonsense. Demons don’t get sick.”

She looked doubtful. “Are you sure?”

He smiled and handed her the tea. “Mistress, I am very, very old, and I have never once in my life come down with an illness. I don’t think I’m going to start now.”

Noelle looked down into the teacup, concern still writ on her face. “But… you’d never had allergies before either. How do we know for certain that you can’t, um, can’t get s-sick now too? eh-hishiih!”

Her sneezes made her hair fall forward again, so Oraion reached out and tucked it behind her ear once more. “I think you’re worrying too much, my dear Mistress, though I appreciate your concern. I will be fine, I promise.”

“Okay…” Noelle sighed and took a sip of the tea, then made a face. “Oh, it’s so bitter!”

“Right, sorry,” Oraion chuckled, “I ought to have warned you first. This blend is a little more medicinal, I’m afraid. I may not know much about human illnesses, but I do know some herbs that fight inflammation and have astringent properties, so I thought that might help. The only thing is that they are rather bitter.”

“Blech, what is in it?”

“Well, the base is black tea, then I added witch hazel, turmeric, yarrow, and, uh, lavender.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I must have sneezed a dozen times while making it, I’ll have you know.”

Noelle’s cheeks reddened considerably as she lifted the cup to her lips like she was hiding behind it. “Oh, I, um… thank you.”

Gods, she was adorable when she blushed. Oraion leaned in towards her with a smirk.

“Bet you’re sad you missed that, eh?”

Her cheeks grew even redder. “Um, m-maybe.”

“Heh. Well, next time you’ll just have to come watch me.” He gave her another quick kiss on the forehead before sitting back up. “The black tea already has a bit of bitterness, and the witch hazel and yarrow are both bitter herbs as well. Don’t force yourself to finish it if you don’t want to.”

“But I have to! I want you to teach me about telepathy!”

Oraion barked a laugh. “I only said you had to drink it, I never said you had to finish it.”

“Oh… um, I still want to, though. You made it for me, so…” Suddenly she waved a hand in front of her face. “Uh, s-sorry, I need to- nx’kishiu! Ugh, ow…”

Concern drew his brows together. “That sounded like it hurt.”

Noelle nodded with a hand on her throat. “My throat is getting sore. Ugh, that’s always the thing I hate most about being sick.”

“Hmm. I’ll see if I can figure out a remedy that might help.”

“Thank you.” Noelle pulled the blankets closer around herself with a shiver. “My, it’s chilly, isn’t it?”

“Er, I honestly find it quite pleasant. Is this why you call it a ‘cold’? Because it makes you feel cold?”

Noelle laughed. “Ah, no, you don’t always feel cold when you have a cold. Sometimes it’s unbearably hot. Right now, though, I’m freezing…” She looked down shyly as her cheeks got red again. “Um… do you think… you could hold me?”

With a gentle smile Oraion took the teacup from her shaking hands and placed it on the bedside table, then he climbed into the bed behind her and pulled her in close. Her body still felt so warm, poor thing. She snuggled into him, her back spasming against his chest with more wet coughs followed by another painful-sounding sneeze. He rubbed her shoulder as she whimpered from the abuse to her raw throat.

Even so, before long she had fallen asleep. Being ill must be awfully tiring, Oraion surmised. Her slumber seemed more restful now, at least. The demon carefully slipped out of the bed and headed back down to the ground level to wait for Quinns.

He was not surprised that they did not knock when they arrived. Quinns was never in the habit of doing so when they visited. What did surprise Oraion, however, was that the Knight had brought a new face with them. Behind Noelle’s slim, androgynous friend came a taller, broader fellow with tanned skin and an innocent bearing, as well as the orange-furred ears and tail of a cat. Quinns knew that Noelle wanted to keep the location of her tower a secret, so why was this unknown person, who also wore the uniform of a Knight, here in the first place?

Wary indignation smoldered in Oraion’s chest as he crossed his arms and straightened to his full height. “Who is this?”

The cat boy looked at him with wide eyes, which Oraion noted were of different colors: one gold, one greenish-blue.

“Whoa. Is that the guy?”

“Yeah. Oraion, this is a friend of mine, Oliver. Oliver, this is Oraion, the demon I told you about.”

“Wow, he is really hot…”

Oraion raised an eyebrow as Quinns’s cheeks colored.

“I didn’t say—! Ugh, whatever. Look, he’s trustworthy, okay?”

“Are you saying that to me or to him?” Oraion asked, making no attempt to hide his sarcasm.

“Both. We’re all going to have to get along right now. I know it was risky to bring someone else here, but Oliver is a good guy and he knows how to keep a secret. Most importantly, he can cook.”

Oliver’s face lit up in an excited grin. “Quinns said their witch friend is sick, so I’m gonna make soup!” He strolled up to Oraion as though they were already fast friends and held out his hand. The cat boy was only shorter than he was by a few inches. “They already told me you’re not bad guys, so it’s nice to meet you! I’m Oliver Dietrich, First-Rank Knight of the Midnight Falcon.”

Oraion looked down at the young man’s hand for several seconds before slowly reaching out to take it in his own. “You do know it’s usually your job to hunt creatures like myself, right?”

“Well, yeah, but it’s not always so black and white, y’know? It’s one thing when a Devourer is terrorizing a trade route, but you’re just here trying to live your life, right? You’re not hurting anybody. Far as I’m concerned, no one back at headquarters needs to know about you guys.”

“How do you know we haven’t hurt anyone? You’ve only just met me, and you haven’t even met my Mistress.”

He beamed. “Because you’re Quinns’s friends, of course! I trust them, so I know I can trust you.”

“I see. How… refreshingly forthright.”

Despite his mistrust of the newcomer, Oraion felt a twinge of guilt. Would the young Knight still think the same if he knew what Oraion had done to those men from the village only the previous night? Even if they deserved it…

“Oh hey, you have a tail too! All right, welcome to the Tail Club! Man, yours is way bigger than mine.”

Quinns pinched the bridge of their nose, and Oraion heard them mutter. “Oh my gods…” They then raised their voice to full volume. “Okay, I think that’s enough with the pleasantries. Where’s Noelle? Did she wake up?”

“She did, fortunately. Now she's resting in her room.”

They nodded and lifted a basket they carried. “I brought some medicine, so I’ll go ahead and take that up to her.”

Oraion stepped in front of them and held out a hand. “Allow me. You can show our new friend here to the kitchen.”

“Uh, why don’t you show him the kitchen? You live here, you know where everything is.”

Oraion’s eyebrow twitched. “Oh, it’s not very difficult to figure out. Besides, I hardly touch the cooking equipment, so I can’t say I really know my way around.”

A scowl crossed Quinns’s face. “Yeah, well, I know more about administering medicine than you, since you outright admitted that you don’t know how to care for sick people, so I should be the one to take it to her.”

Oraion took a step closer to them. “You know, it occurs to me that Noelle had only just fallen asleep when I left the room. We should probably let her rest. So, why don’t you just tell me how to use the medicine and leave it with me, and I’ll make sure she gets it when she wakes up.”

Quinns stepped closer in turn. “Now listen: Oliver and I came all this way to—” They cut off suddenly mid-sentence and looked around the room with an expression of mild but increasing alarm. “Uh… Where’s Oliver?”

* * *

Elegant music swept through a pillared hall lit by glimmering crystal chandeliers. Dancers in splendid finery spun and twirled in time with the tune. Usually Noelle would feel out of place at such a lavish event, but now she was dressed in an exquisite gown of blush pink, the full skirt trailing behind her in a train embroidered with hundreds of flowers. The trailing sleeves hung off her bare shoulders, and, with the plunging neckline, created the perfect canvas for showing off her beautiful necklace of sparkling diamonds. Her hair was done up in perfect ringlets instead of her usual messy curls, set with a glittering hairpiece. She felt just like a princess, and lo: there, on the balcony that overlooked the dance floor, stood the Prince.

He gazed out over the hall of dancers with crimson eyes, his blood red hair pulled back in a high ponytail that trailed past his shoulders. He was just as she imagined him, dressed in a fine coat of burgundy and gold over a lovely silk shirt and vest in ivory. As though drawn by some unknown force, his alluring eyes turned to her, locking with her own, and widened in amazement at her beauty. His full lips turned up in a radiant smile, and he extended his hand, beckoning her to come to him.

Elation filled her breast as she lifted her skirt and crossed the hall of dancers, still spinning and twirling like so many clockwork dolls. She began to ascend the stairs to the balcony where the Prince awaited her, when her path was abruptly blocked by a large, orange cat. It regarded her with strange eyes of different colors, one a sort of teal and the other yellow, as it lashed its fluffy tail at her. The motion snared her attention. That tail looked awfully soft and fluffy…

She reached out and touched the cat’s tail, running her fingers through its fur, which to her delight was just as soft as she’d hoped. There was something she was supposed to be doing, wasn’t there? The cat was so soft and warm, though.

“Um, it’s nice to meet you and all, but could you let go of my tail?”

“Huh?”

Did the cat just talk to her?

“I-it’s just that it’s kind of, uh, sensitive…?”

Noelle blinked her sleep-gummed eyes as the vision of the ballroom faded away, to be replaced by the far more ordinary sight of her bedroom, bathed in the sunlight of early afternoon. What was not ordinary, however, was the strange young man in Knight attire standing next to her bed with a bright red blush on his cheeks. Indeed, he did have cat ears and a fluffy, orange tail attached to him as well, the latter of which was currently clutched in her hand.

She shrieked and dropped the man’s tail before crawling as far back as she could in the bed without falling on the floor.

“Wh-who are you?! Wh-what– What are you doing in my bedroom?!”

“Oliver!”

Quinns came bursting into the room with Oraion fast at their heels. The demon grabbed the cat-eared man by the shoulder and wrenched him away from the side of Noelle’s bed with a snarl before placing himself between them. He even went so far as to spread his wings.

“What the Hell do you think you’re doing, coming in here?”

“I-I’m sorry! I just- I wanted to- to check on her! That’s all, I swear!”

“Damn it, Ollie! Why did you go off on your own?” Quinns stepped in front of him, Oliver apparently, and guided him back another step a bit more gently than Oraion had. Their voice, though quieter, was no less irate, however.  “I took a big risk bringing you here, and I vouched for you. Do you know how this makes me look?”

“I said I’m sorry! I-I promise I wasn’t gonna do anything bad! I was just…” He sighed. “I was really, really curious. I’ve never met a witch before, and… Well, then you two started arguing about who was gonna come up with the medicine, and I figured, y’know, somebody should go check on her. Besides, I… I didn’t wanna lose my chance.”

Quinns made an exasperated sound. “Lose your chance? What are you– Wait, do you mean to meet Noelle? Why would that even happen?”

“I-I don’t know… If you didn’t get to bring the medicine up, I guess I thought… maybe I wouldn’t get to come up either.” He looked down at the floor and scuffed it with the toe of his boot, cat ears drooping. “I’m so, so sorry. I know it was a stupid thing to do.”

“You certainly have the right of it there, Cat Boy,” Oraion snapped as his wings folded and vanished once more, “Now get out, before I throw you out.”

Quinns held up a hand. “All right, calm down. He didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Oh, really? And how do you know he isn’t simply playing dumb? How do you know he hasn’t been planning all along to sneak up here for the chance to take out a witch?”

Oliver looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. Noelle recalled his appearance when she had first woken up, with his blushing face and the way he had politely asked her to let go of his tail.

“It’s all right, Oraion. I don’t think he was going to hurt me.”

Her Servant turned to her with an incredulous look.

“You can’t be serious. You’re all right with a man barging into your bedroom like that?”

“Well, n-no, but he apologized, and, um, I believe he’s sincere. I would appreciate it, though, if someone could explain to me what he’s doing here.”

“I brought him, Noelle.” Quinns took a step towards her with an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry—I know you don’t want people to know where you live, but I swear, all of this nonsense aside, Oliver really is a good guy. He’s just… a little naive and impulsive sometimes. I brought him along because, um, I really wanted to bring you some soup, but… I-I don’t know how to make it, and… he does.”

With all of them crowded in her bedroom, and between Quinns looking chagrined, Oraion’s incensed protectiveness, and Oliver’s crestfallen, drooping cat ears and tail, Noelle couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Of course that just led her to start coughing again.

“Oh, right, the medicine.” Quinns shoved the basket they were holding into Oliver’s arms. “Take this down to the ground floor and into the kitchen, okay? And wait for me there—don’t wander off again, please.”

The other Knight nodded. “Yeah, okay. I’ll see you down there. And, um, I’m sorry again, Miss Noelle. It was nice to meet you.”

“Er, likewise?” She gave him a little wave as Oliver left the room.

Quinns reached into their belt pouch and produced a little bundle wrapped in cloth, which they then handed to Oraion. The demon looked at the bundle in his hands as though he was not expecting to receive it.

“Here: these are the medicines. They were prepared by our own healers in the Knights, so they should be pretty effective. Go ahead and open it, and I’ll explain what each one is.”

“Ah. Right…”

As Oraion unwound the tie that held the wrappings in place, Quinns turned to Noelle.

“Noelle, you’ll probably want to listen to this too…” They squinted. “What happened to your lip?”

“Huh? Oh…” Her hand went to the split on her lip, which had scabbed over but was still rather swollen. “Um, I must have hurt it when I fell earlier.”

“Huh. I see…” They did not seem convinced, but they didn’t press the issue, to Noelle’s relief. They didn't need to know about the men who attacked her.

They instructed Oraion and Noelle on when and how each medicine was to be administered. There was a pill for fever that should be taken twice a day, morning and night; a tincture that would speed the healing process that could only be taken once per day or else it could cause unpleasant side effects as the body tried to heal itself too rapidly (the worst of which, Quinns explained with their usual grim decorum, was coughing up blood because your body produced too much). Lastly, there was an oil that could be applied to the neck and chest, which contained a number of pungent-smelling botanicals that worked to clear a stuffy head. One whiff immediately set Oraion sneezing, of course.

Once they had finished going over the medicines and ensured Noelle got her first doses, Quinns and Oraion both left her room and headed back down towards the first floor to meet up with Oliver.

“So…” Quinns spoke up from behind Oraion as they passed the library. “Do you want to tell me what happened to Noelle’s lip?”

Oraion’s hands briefly formed fists at his sides, the knuckles popping.

“Some loathsome bullies in town happened to her.”

Quinns voice rose in alarm. “What?”

Oraion sighed. “She went to town on her own. I know I should have accompanied her, but… I had something I needed to take care of here. When she returned, it was clear she’d been beaten, and she confirmed as much.”

“Did she say who it was? What they looked like?”

“No, but I…”

A moment of tense silence passed before Quinns spoke, their voice already turning accusatory. “You what?”

“I found them later.”

Quinns grabbed Oraion by the arm, stopping him.

“What do you mean you ‘found them’? What did you do?”

Oraion lifted his chin. “I didn’t kill them, if that’s what you’re asking. But I did ensure they would regret their actions.”

Quinns pressed their lips together and took a deep breath. “Look: I understand, and I don’t necessarily disagree with what you did, but please tell me that you did it in your human form and not looking like, well, a demon.”

Oraion wrenched his arm away. “I felt the message would be more effective if I used my true form. “

“Shit… Oraion, you…” They sighed. “I really, really hope that doesn’t come back to bite you in the ass, man. I truly do, because if the Inquisition gets wind of a demon around here, then there won’t be anything I, or anyone else, can do to stop them from coming looking for you.”

Oraion scoffed. “I think I can handle a few humans coming after us. Besides, you know how well-hidden this place is. They’ll be lucky to even find us here.”

“Yeah… Well. Let’s hope that’s true.”

They shook their head once and pushed past him on the stairs. With great effort, Oraion managed not to roll his eyes as he followed them down. Quinns worried overmuch at the best of times, and this was no exception. No mortal could stand against a Demon Lord. Let anyone try to harm his mistress again; they would be shown the error of their ways with swift and terrible judgment.

Once the soup had been prepared, Quinns had the good sense to escort themself and Oliver out, to the latter’s obvious disappointment. He was calling back to Oraion even as Quinns was pushing him out the door.

“Um, it was really nice to meet you! Thanks for having me over! A-and I really hope Miss Noelle feels better soon!”

The door closed behind them both with a heavy thud, and Oraion shook his head. Something was not right with that boy.

When he arrived back upstairs with a steaming bowl of soup, he found Noelle nodding off while sitting up in bed. Her head popped up with a start when she heard him enter, and Oraion couldn’t help but chuckle. She was too cute, with her flushed cheeks and slow, sleepy blinking.

“Oh, um, is that the soup?”

“It is.” Oraion placed the bowl down on the bedside table and flashed Noelle a smirk. “Shall I feed it to you?”

The deepening of her blush drew his smirk into a grin as she frantically waved her hands in front of her.

“Ah, n-no! No, no, no! That’s- that’s quite all right. I can, um, feed myself. Thank you.”

“Heh. As you wish.”

She must have been hungry, for though she started eating the soup slowly, she soon made short work of the rest. Oraion sat on the edge of the bed and watched her silently, resting his elbow on his knee and his chin on his hand. He must make time to study mortal diseases. Humans were such fragile creatures. This time it was a minor ailment, but what if one day she contracted a more serious affliction?

She finally noticed him looking and gave an awkward laugh.

“What, do I have something on my face?”

“No. I’m simply admiring how lovely you are.”

“Oh, stop it. I’m certain I look awful.”

“Never. You’re always lovely to me.”

She hid her face behind her hands with a sound that was part groan, part giggle.

“Stop! You’re making me blush!”

“I know. It’s delightful.”

“Ugh, you!”

Noelle gave him a little shove with another peal of laughter, which quickly turned into a fit of coughing. Oraion’s smug grin faltered, and he reached out to rub her back with an anxious touch.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Do you need anything? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No- no, I- hh’kchiuh! htshhiuh! Ooh… I-I think I just need to rest.”

“Then… allow me to keep you company, at least.”

He climbed into bed next to her, enfolding her in his embrace and holding her tight against his chest. He buried his face in her hair and basked in her scent, in her closeness. Noelle Violette. His Mistress. He cared about her. He could admit that much. To himself, anyway. But whether that feeling was a result of their contract or genuine affection… He wasn’t certain, and he didn’t care. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that the woman in his arms made him happy, and he wanted to do everything in his power to do the same for her.

If that was love, well… perhaps that wouldn’t be so terrible, after all.

[breitweisergallery]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love❤

Omg okay! Check down below the cut because otherwise this will be long!

the flowers of springs past blossom again - The surprising part, the unpredictable part, is the way his eyes linger on Vincenzo Cassano, the way they follow each movement as Vincenzo slips his suit jacket off and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows, flicking that damn lighter open and closed again.

The surprising part is Joonwoo’s sudden resignation from Wusang after her the second he lays eyes on Vincenzo. “I learn better from you, sunbae,” Joonwoo says with a shrug of his shoulders and a slight smile that misses the usual flirtatious tone he takes with her.

Chayoung isn’t stupid. She notices the way Vincenzo’s eyes linger on Joonwoo as well, taking him in a way that is just slightly left of his usual sizing people up. Even more surprising is the lack of fight he puts up when Joonwoo starts camping out in Jipuragi. There’s the slight tilt of his lips in amusement when he slaps a stupidly large set of files into Joonwoo’s hands and tells him to put them away, and a surprising lack of complaining from Joonwoo at being demoted to even lower than he had been at Wusang.

false illusions and truthful liars - “When did you start?” Moonjo asks. They’ve finished eating and Moonjo has gotten comfortable, stretched out with his head on a pillow on the floor. Jongwoo leans back against the cool glass of his balcony door and hums under his breath.

“The army?” he says hesitantly. Moonjo turns and looks at him. “I didn’t do my first then. A couple of the guys I was with, they started this fighting ring. Got my ass handed to me the first few times, but the money was good. Taught myself to fight then. You?”

“Nine,” Moonjo says. He raises his hand and picks at his nails without getting up. “Not intentionally. I liked fires as a boy.”

Jongwoo pictures it; a boy, tall for his age, with limp black hair too long, black eyes, watching a house go up in fire. The light flickers against pale skin and he covers his mouth with a sleeve and coughs. When Jongwoo returns to himself, Moonjo has rolled over and is watching him. “Your imagination is incredible,” Moonjo says, nothing short of admirable. Jongwoo flushes.

the thing about fate is (across a distant memory) - Yohan sees it in action that night. Elijah is in her room, either working on her assignments or sleeping- he hasn’t gone to check but it’s no doubt one of the two- and Gaon is on the couch in his office, a book open in his lap. Yohan spares a brief glance up, and then a second, and then a third. The image is familiar, too familiar.

Gaon sits, leaning against the left side of the couch, his legs crossed and underneath him, and the book held up to his eyes. His hair, freshly washed, isn’t parted as Gaon usually wears it, but closer to Yohan’s own preferred style of leaving it down in his eyes at home.

Gaon is the spitting image of Isaac. The way he holds himself, the way he holds the book, his hair.

It’s purposeful. Yohan knows it is. He looks away, back to the documents on his desk, but when he glances up, again, for just one more look, Gaon is smiling.

Smug bastard.

restless constructions (don't leave me) - It doesn’t occur to him just how much Yohan loves him, until Yohan leans against him and rests his head on Isaac’s shoulder and sighs. Yohan, who simply does not like touch, leans against him and doesn’t pull away even when Isaac wraps his arm around Yohan and pulls him closer. “Hyung?” Yohan murmurs, and the depth of his voice astounds Isaac for a full minute before he hums his reply.

Yohan doesn’t say anything else, though, and Isaac dismisses it from his mind. He pulls his fingertips through the ends of Yohan’s hair, detangling the knots that have formed in the shaggy mess that Yohan probably needs to get cut, and feels rather than hears the sigh Yohan lets out as he leans into him further. “Can I sleep in here?” Yohan asks finally.

dreaming of flying - Karna likes the quiet of the night in the Meat Lands. It’s not quiet like the cities she’s used to — there’s no time when most fall asleep only to rise early again with the Bulb in the sky.

The quiet that falls is a peace of sorts; no one chooses to attack at night. It wouldn’t make sense to do so, when one’s pride and power comes with victory, and where better to do so than in the daylight?

[ly-art]

Snippet from my Solavellan fic - Don't fuck with Solas lol - 642 words

So I kinda have some time. So I decided to post a snippet out of my fanfic because I love that scene. It's so funny somehow, especially the end, lol

"If you are so keen of frolicking in the snow... *I* can make that happen." His smile turned icy, sending a chill down Amatisha's spine. Then it all unfolded in an instant. Solas seized her wrist, pulling her toward him, their bodies brushing, sending her heart racing. With a flick of his hand, pushing some buttons within her, her body flushing with heat, a sudden snowstorm descended, enveloping everyone but Amatisha. She looked up at him, his blue-gray eyes ablaze with fury, her mouth growing dry. *Damn, this is sorta... Uh... hot. I didn't realize anger could shove me off **that** ledge... Stop gawking, Amatisha!* For a brief moment, she glimpsed more than the usual gleam in his eyes. It was a fleeting flicker of deep unease, enough to dispel her thoughts. She recalled the Fade, the terror of the creature poised to emerge when she was cast out. It felt like an aura, something within her urging her to push it away, to repel the darkness. In the blink of an eye, the tempest Solas summoned vanished, dispersing the darkness along with it. The warning in her mind dissipated as well, leaving her questioning if it had truly been there. Yet the image of a dark wolf lingered, even after parting with Solas. *Why a wolf?* But fate had other plans, and just as she was about to speak, Cullen's enraged voice shattered the moment. "What in the Maker's name is going on?! *Herald!* What have you done?" "Oh-uh. I'm gonna get my ass whooped," she muttered, the memory of the wolf still fresh. But she couldn't deal with it now. Not with Cullen on the prowl. She tugged at Solas' tunic. "Um, lethallin, could you kindly release me? I appreciate you sparing me from that ordeal, but I really need to make myself scarce before Cullen catches me." His eyes flowed like liquid silver. He released her wrist, a myriad of emotions flashing across his face before he sighed heavily. "Will there ever be peace with you around?" He sounded weary, yet she sensed the flicker of amusement in his tone, causing her to grin. "Wouldn't that be dull. I know you secretly enjoy it." She wiggled her eyebrows, and he rolled his eyes. "I certainly do not," he retorted. She brushed off his response. "Of course not. Always the serious adult, brooding elf. Duly noted." As she turned to leave, he halted her. "You have yet to face your punishment." Her foot froze mid-air, her ears perking with anticipation. "W-what?" "Close your eyes," his voice enveloped her. She complied, her heart hammering loudly in her chest, fearing he might hear. *What is he up to now? Right in front of everyone?* Then, a sharp pain shot through her forehead, a startled yelp escaping her lips as she angrily opened her eyes. "Did you really just flick my forehead?!" She rubbed the reddening spot. "That hurt like a damn wasp sting!" His smirk irked her, and he shrugged in mock innocence. "Who can say? I'm not very adept at controlling my strength." Amusement danced in his eyes, hers narrowing in response, the cold ache on her forehead intensifying. "You... used ice magic, didn't you?" she accused. "Perhaps," he replied nonchalantly. "Ugh! How petty!" "Says the grown woman, playing in the snow without a care for repercussions." "Repercussions?! It's only *snow*! Don't be so dramatic!" She rolled her eyes, her forehead throbbing from her ministrations. "Herald!" "Damn it. He's found me! Telamdys ra, Solas!" She stuck out her tongue and bolted as she saw Cullen closing in on her. Bull and Sera had vanished. Unfortunately, Cullen caught her swiftly, dragging her back by her collar, and she resigned herself to her fate. *Traitors.* Solas waved at her, teasing from a distance. *I can't stand him.*

Yeah, I do love to read my writing, so what? It's fun😂

[melishade]

Regarding the question game.

Could you do a Surprise 2. for Lara and Megatron in the dark timeline, after Optimus has been rebounded and they finally have a chance to talk quietly.

This Dialogue Prompt (Where you are more than welcome to ask about)

"You're brother is still alive," Megatron informed her.

Lara stopped swinging her sword and turned her attention to Megaton's holoform. "What do you mean?"

"When Shockwave called me over to discuss a trade, I saw Willy amongst the crowd of pure titans," Megatron explained, "He remains alive as a pure titan."

"Remaining alive as a pure titan is a fate worse than death," Lara insisted, "It would have been better for you to just tell me he was dead."

"...I see," Megatron could only reply, and for some reason...that made Lara mad.

"That's it?" Lara demanded out of him, "That's all you have to say to me?"

"What do you want me to say, Lara?" Megatron asked her.

"Anything besides that," Lara answered, "My brother cared for you. He brought you into his home. He shared knowledge with you. Is that really all you have to say about him?"

Megatron didn't reply to that, causing Lara to huff in response. "I should've expected no less. You were no doubt on that train to try and get close to the Tybur family, and my brother was too kind enough to let you in. And to think I still have feelings for you-!"

Lara quickly slapped a hand over her mouth while Megatron snapped his head to her in surprise.

"You're...you what?" Megatron could only muster.

Lara groaned in frustration, her face flushed with embarrassment, but that was all the confirmation she needed. Megatron could only pinch the bridge of the holoform's nose before sighing in frustration.

"A few things. One: encountering your family on that train was purely by chance," Megatron explained, "I had no idea about your status in that moment, but when I found out, I did use that knowledge to my advantage to prevent myself from getting caught. Two: Despite my criticism of your family's inaction and hypocrisy, your brother does not deserve to suffer at Shockwave's hands."

Lara removed her hand from her mouth, but her face was still red.

"Your brother was naïve and a coward, but he had the right idea about wanting to change and be better," Megatron elaborated, "Maybe if he had acted on it, I would've respected him more."

Lara...felt a little guilty at that, knowing how bad Willy felt because of his status.

"Three: You are not my type," Megatron finished.

Lara nearly dropped her sword at how blunt that was, but...she couldn't help but be curious. "Is it because I'm human?"

"That and you're too reserved," Megatron elaborated, "You have grown into your own as a warrior, but you are still someone who would follow commands to a tee."

"I see," Lara nodded, "I apologize if I made things awkward."

"It's fine," Megatron shrugged off, "For now, we'll continue sparing. You need to be prepared for Shockwave's next attack."

"Do you think...there would be a way to save him?" Lara asked, "With your technology?"

"...the power of the titans is something unfamiliar to us, which is why Shockwave is experimenting on it so much," Megatron explained, "So to find a way to save Willy without feeding a titan shifter to him...is a question that would take time to answer."

"I see," Lara nodded.

"But...that will not stop us from trying," Megatron declared.

Lara looked down at the sword in her hand and gripped it tight. "And if we can't, then we kill Shockwave, and put Willy to rest."

(The Shockwave AU is pinned on my blog if anyone is curious.)

[herenya-writes]

Day 10: Fortune

The sound of footsteps on his stairs snapped Arlaros out of his paperwork-induced trance. He looked up from his work to see Dorian hesitating on the top step. Did he have an appointment with Dorian that he had forgotten? He thought he had found an empty day to work on everything that had been piling up.

“Leliana said I could find you here,” Dorian explained. “I would have knocked, but I doubt you would have heard.”

Arlaros shook his head with a smile. “I still don’t understand why I need the entire tower to myself,” he admitted. That had been Josephine’s call, and while he thought the space below his room (and his room) could be better utilized if given to the Inquisition at large, Josephine insisted that he keep the entire tower.

Dorian was still lingering on the top step. Ah, right. “Come in and have a seat.” He often forgot most people preferred invitations into his quarters. It was all so different to the communal way he had been raised.

If Dorian was offended by his slow invitation, he didn’t say. He walked over to the chairs across from the fireplace and sat, his eyes sweeping across the room as he did. He settled into the plush chair like he had sat there a hundred times before, and Arlaros had the fleeting thought that he’d like to see him there a hundred more times.

“I see our dear ambassador has spared no expense with your quarters,” Dorian commented. From someone else, the words might have sounded like an insult or accusation, but Dorian just seemed amused.

Arlaros stood from his desk and made his way over to the fireplace, lighting it with a flick of his wrist as he did. When had it gotten so late? “I’m sure the furnishings cost a small fortune. I’ve told Josephine a hundred times that I don’t need anything this fancy, but she insists. I can stand against demons all day, but if Josephine insists on something I’ve learned it’s best to stay out of her way.”

That earned him a chuckle. “There is something to be said about status. The Inquisition has put you at the very peak of its hierarchy; your living quarters should reflect that.”

“No one sees my quarters. I’ve never entertained dignitaries here, and I don’t plan to,” Arlaros argued as he sat in the chair across from Dorian. He still wasn’t used to the way he sank into the plush cushions. “I’m sure any money that goes into maintaining all of this could be better used elsewhere.”

Dorian hummed. “You hold meetings with various Inquisition members here, do you not?”

“Only when I’m too busy to leave, and only the inner circle really, plus any of the runners Cullen and the others send.”

“Status is important inside the Inquisition as well.”

Arlaros slumped back in his chair. “People cannot seriously place that much importance on what my bedroom looks like. That’s ridiculous.”

Dorian held up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t make the rules. I’m afraid you have become a symbol, and the ambassador knows it. I can think of worse fates than an Orlesian bed.”

A blush began to creep over his face. Here he was complaining about his comfortable accommodations when Dorian had left behind a home even more opulent to be here. “What did you need to see me about?” It wasn’t a graceful change of topic, but Dorian didn’t mention it.

“I believe I have found a way to trace Corypheus’s Tevinter heritage. He claimed to be one of the magisters who stormed the Golden City, and there is some record of who those people were. However, I will need access to several books found only in Tevinter. I was hoping you might be able to arrange for the Inquisition to obtain them.”

“Of course. Our relationship with Tevinter is a little strained, but I’m sure if Josephine can’t work something out Leliana can.” Arlaros frowned. “You didn’t have to come all the way up here to ask. A request sent to the war table would have been fine.”

It could have been a trick of the firelight, but Arlaros swore he saw Dorian flush slightly. “Ah, well if you must know I had a bit of an ulterior motive. You had locked yourself in your tower all day, which hardly seems healthy.”

Something warm spread through Arlaros. “You came to check on me?”

“Yes, I suppose. Can’t have our noble leader keeling over because he forgot to eat dinner.”

A smile pulled at Arlaros’s lips. He still hadn’t gotten through all of the reports he needed to review tonight, but if Dorian was offering… “Are you asking me to eat dinner with you, Dorian?”

“Well if I am, I ought to do it properly.” Dorian stood from his chair and gave a flourishing bow. He looked up from the bow and held out a hand. “Inquisitor Lavellan, would you do the honor of dining with me this evening?”

Arlaros laughed and took his hand. “The honor is mine, Lord Pavus.”

[not-bcring]

"If you keep hugging that rabbit like that, I'm going to start thinking you like it more than me," Hitoshi commented off-handedly. Despite his complaining, he actually thought Ken'ichi looked especially adorable with the stuffed animal that was almost as big as he was. Even more so than when the boy had first spotted it, and Hitoshi just had to get it for him. Whatever backlash his luck caused after winning it first try would be worth it. At least, that's what he thought until he saw the candle being knocked from its lantern toward the smaller one. Acting before he could even think, he pulled Ken out of the way, blocking him from the blaze with his own body. (Now it's your turn for angst.) -  ✩   「 @nickelsdrocs 」   ✩  

「 ☆ 」 This is Ken's first time at a Festival and he's already excited for the next one. And the next and the next... Part of him— the part that hasn't drowned its common sense in sugary drinks —fervently reminds himself that he doesn't KNOW if there will be a next one; let alone a string of them. He should put all his focus on this date visit ( which, to be fair, he IS ) and not get his hopes too high ( which, unfortunately, he is failing at ). There's no telling when the novelty of showing off for his fuck-toy turned... friend pet lover regular-toy, will wear off and Hitoshi might set his sights to more entertaining places. Although it's hard to think of anything being more entertaining than himself, Ken'ichi can't believe it won't happen.

Squeezing his giant plush as if his life depends on it, giddy smile buried into its soft form, he scoffs at Hitoshi's comment. Rolling his eyes, the playful brattiness doesn't hit quite as hard when paired with his flushed features or the sparkle within green hues. ❝ Well, it is more fun to cuddle with... and Pocket doesn't make smart-ass remarks either~ ❞ He teases, sticking his tongue out at Hitoshi to really drive the point home, his heart-shaped stud— a familiar blue one chosen for today instead of his usual multi-colored —twinkling in the light.

And then that light gets too close.

Abruptly yanked out of harm's way— a stark difference from always being thrust INTO it —Ken doesn't have time to process what's happening until it's already over. Fire taking hold of Hitoshi's clothes as if it has a personal vendetta against him ( from what Ken'ichi knows of the others luck, maybe it does ) Ken utters a panicked, ❝ Shit! ❞ before hastily trying to pat out the flames. Pocket dropped upon the ground out of harm's way, small but quick hands attempt to beat back the fire on their own; Ken paying no heed to the sting in his palms. A blessed moment of clarity, and a bit of luck in his outfit choice, makes Ken shuffle off his oversized jacket; stolen from Hitoshi as ❛ extra payment ❜ earlier in their relationship agreement.

Using it to aid in smothering the flames, he makes quick work of the rest. Adrenaline overwhelming his small form, fueled by confusion and fear and gut-wrenching guilt, he tries to steady his breathing. Scent of burnt fabric and flesh not helping the nausea in his knot-addled stomach, he spares a breath to look over Hitoshi to make sure he is still breathing ( of course he is, it was just a little.... fire ) before impulsively shoving the other man before he can think better of it. At least he has sense enough to avoid the singed areas, although Ken's reddened palms aren't happy about the contact, ❝ What the fuck?! Why did you DO that? ❞

Tears brimming in his eyes, there's little comfort in the fact they don't fall. ❝ What kind of idiot purposely lets themself get set on FIRE?? ❞ Never mind that, from Ken'ichi's anger, it's pretty clear he's the kind of idiot who would have preferred to get set ablaze instead. But that's a completely different situation. It wouldn't have mattered if it was him. But with Hitoshi— with his LUCK, it could have gone very differently if fate had decided to be crueler to both of them... 「 ☆ 」