#i got a bit distracted by fic but fingers crossed i get to draw this and then one other thing i want and THEN a lil comic for these two heh

[wip1502]

slowly noodling

[rottingfern]

all the wine is all for me || a Bad Omens fanfic

Summary: Noah’s just admiring his gains. Perhaps he’s a little more proud of his progress than the average guy. There’s definitely not a secret third reason for why he’s spending so much time in front of the mirror…

Pairing: Noah x himself lol

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: unbeta'd trash. masturbation. narcissism in the greek mythology way not the psychology way

A/N: I drank a lot of wine (what else is new) and also @throughwoodsanddirt showed me that one panel from the comics that made me cackle so hard because damn Noah just really thinks he's hot as fuck huh and then I cackled until I wrote this fic

Brainrot Club: @familiarscarsxelectrichearts @throughwoodsanddirt @cowpokeomens

Masterlist here.

Title taken from All the Wine by The National; banner made by me (using Caravaggio's Narcissus); dividers by @saradika

Noah’s reflection is smiling at him. 

That, of course, is explainable by the fact that he himself is smiling; grinning, in fact, because he just looks so damn good. His gains this month were frankly goddamn impressive. Already he can see the widening of his chest to form an inverted triangle of his torso, the definition building in his bicep when he flexes.

What worries him, though, is the naughty glint in his reflection’s eye, the too-sharp canines, the raise of a single eyebrow that he definitely is not capable of reproducing. Never has been. 

He knows this look. Once, he had a fling with this girl who was an absolute freak, gets him half-hard even just remembering half the things she got up to between the sheets. And the fucking cherry on top: she loved making movies. Editing those for her unfailingly devolved into multiple-hours long dates between him and his hand. The face he’s making - his reflection is making - is the one that painted his face in the movies when she, pointing her phone to get his reaction, would ask him for the nastiest shit he’d thought only a fantasy in porn. 

So it makes no sense that he’s looking at his reflection like this, because it’s not like he’s into himself. 

His hand beelines south down the expanse of his strong (so goddamn strong, he’ll have definition in his six-pack any day now) stomach. That’s definitely not something he’s doing of his own volition. He’s not that self-absorbed. 

Well, that’s a lie. He’s not gay (unless you count the exploratory hand stuff him and Nick did as teens), but if he could, he’d totally fuck himself. 

It takes a bit of effort to shuck the grey sweats he’d worn down his hips with one hand, distracted as he is with the shapes his other arm makes as it continues to flex in the mirror. These used to be pretty loose, just crossing the line of oversized on him. Now, they’re filled by thick thighs and marble-cut hip flexors. With a single finger, he traces the vee framing trimmed pubic hair. These used to show just a hint of the magic underneath. Now, his hardness bulges a vulgar display. 

Dropping the band even just an inch springs the tip of his cock, leaking and ready to play. It’s the only part of his body he’s never been self-conscious of, because God or whoever else decided he at least deserved a win in that department when they decided to make him a skinny bitch with weak lungs. Gives the girls who settle for him a nice reward. 

Except, he never gets this hard for all the pretty girls he bags. This - the red, burning tip, the feeling like if he touches it he’ll cum in just a few strokes, the pain of wanting to draw the pleasure out as long as he can - is reserved only for the times he’s fucking his hand. 

There’s a quiet battle of wills that follows between giving up inspecting his gains and giving into his own touch. He cups his balls through his sweats, head kicking back tugged by an invisible hand at the squeeze. Noah’s sure the column of his throat looks positively delicious like this, has seen enough photos of himself in this devout escape onstage, and thinks he’s no better than all the commenters saying they’d like to lick it. He’d do it instantly, and he knows it’d feel good.

In the end, the sweats come down his thighs. He’s never denied himself pleasure so heavily mounted, not when paraded before him so, not when the boundaries are inexistent. He won’t let himself be fucking tease.

The drag of the calluses on his fingers against the tenderhot flesh of his cock sends gooseflesh up his arms. 

His toes numb for a moment as he finally takes himself in hand at the base, breath hitching wetly as he watches his hand wrap against himself. He’s heavy in his hand even to himself, so thick and veiny and so hard. A drop of precum splashes his thigh before he even has a chance to run his hand up the length. He collects it with his pinky when he reaches the tip, not daring let it go to waste. 

Thunder thighs has always been a confusing insult to him. Thighs are the strength in legs, the support to a body, the place you put your hand to hint your desire to a lover. Thighs are his handles when buried in a lover - the cradle to what every person wants most from another. Years of touring and running out of underwear have made him accustomed to going commando, but since his thighs filled out - though he now can afford to just buy a five-pack Hanes on a whim - he prefers it. There’s never a better cradle for a commando cock than a thick set of thighs. 

The overeager spit bubbles as it mingles with the precum on his palm, glistening in the mid-afternoon sun. The way they rapidly deflate feels like a countdown, one he’s determined to beat, and so finally, finally, he takes himself in hand earnestly. 

He can’t help the strangled hiss that escapes.

Noah’s usually pretty quiet in bed. Doesn’t like the vulnerability that comes with voicing his pleasure, with sharing the secret of how easy to please he is with a partner. But, fuck, does he love talking himself through it. “C’mon, baby,” he chants to his hand as it increases speed. “So fucking good,” he groans through gritted teeth. 

His voice is so fucking smooth. So fucking deep when he speaks through his chest. Just the perfect amount of grit that, if he shuts his eyes, he can feel reverberate through his nape and scalp and bang against the back of his nose as the sound waves travel to his cochlea. 

He won’t shut his eyes now. Never - not when he’s looking like that with his brow furrowed, gaze hard and nearly icy, nostrils flared and jaw clenched tight. 

He clenches it tighter, raises his chin just so to create the illusion of that perfect jawline. 

“Noah,” he moans, “god, Noah, fuck.” It echoes in his ear, and it is his voice, but he swears he didn’t feel his lips move as he watches them round around each syllable in his reflection. 

His name sounds so good rolling off his own tongue. 

Release hits Noah not like a full-speed bullet train, but the way it feels when you pulled your first tooth: slow, painful, and with each tug more builds up until it just pops out. Only after does he register the relief, the shoot of tension up his spine to burst behind his eyes and temples, the numbness in his fingers as he struggles to jerk himself through. 

Just those few final caresses. His cum blinds him with exploding stars and broken breaths. It paints the mirror in sloppy strokes of seminal goo, but he supposes that’s what Windex is for. 

Before he registers the signal from brain to limb he kneels, the rough of his wall-to-wall carpet digging into his knees as he releases his eager tongue. The spend is saltybitter when it coats the bed of his taste buds, slimy as it runs down the ramp of his throat. Noah makes sure to collect every single drop. 

He doesn’t feel shame when his eyes meet his own in the wet, distorted reflection once he’s done savoring himself. “You did so well, baby,” he says. “Such a good baby.”

His reflection nods eagerly, eyelids fluttering blissfully, head dropping as Noah’s neck stays stiff and still, eyes wide open. 

God damn, he is a sight to be seen.

[k-daydreams]

The Pursuit of Feeling Alive: IV. Hot and Cold

Pairing: Azriel x fem!reader

Synopsis: cousin to Rhysand and Morrigan, y/n was once her family’s golden child. Faced with trials and tribulations her whole life, she needed reprieve— a distraction. Until a surprise homecoming opens Pandora’s box, and gives y/n a reality check. Especially facing her once close friend Azriel. Friends to Enemies to lovers trope.

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: angst, language, mentions of abuse/trauma, the Court of Nightmares being the worst, noncanon events, and let me just add again ANGST, probably poorly proofread

Authors note: wakey wakey I’ve finally finished part 4!!! Sorry for the delay, it’s been a busy summer! I’ve been burning myself out a wee bit and found it difficult to keep up with the fic and power through writing tbh. Hopefully this was worth the wait. And for treat we get Azriel’s POV. 🫣 Thank you all for the patience and love you all still give!! 🩷

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

The Hewn City never failed to evoke an unsettling unease, sending a chill down your spine with every step. Shadows lurked within the ancient peaks, unseen eyes watching from hidden crevices. Despite this, you strived to maintain a composed façade, refusing to let the Court of Nightmares perceive your inner turmoil. The sensuous strains of music resonated from the throne room, each beat pounding in harmony with your racing heart. The murmurs of the crowd swelled, as Cassian, Mor, and Lucien led the way to the antechamber while Azriel and you trailed behind.

Azriel walked beside you, so close that your fingers practically brushed with every step. At times, his shadow grazed your pinky, leaving you wondering if he noticed. His face remained impassive, devoid of emotion, his gaze fixed ahead. You tried to mirror his demeanor, yet couldn't help stealing glances at him. What thoughts occupied his mind? Was he as nervous as you were? Could he sense the buzzing energy emanating from your side? Memories of the earlier encounter in the foyer flashed through your thoughts—his closeness, his breath on your face, his calloused hand on your hip, the overwhelming scent of cedar and mist. Your stomach did flips at the thought.

"Do you have a staring problem?" His voice broke the silence, his eyes still focused ahead. You realized you had indeed been staring at him.

"I could ask you the same," you retorted smoothly. "For someone who doesn't desire my presence, you seem to do a fair amount of staring." Satisfaction prickled through your body as a mischievous smirk adorned your lips. You fixed your gaze straight ahead now, focusing on the back of Lucien's head.

"I wouldn't call it staring," he replied.

"Then what would you call it?" you inquired, your smirk fading slightly.

"Observing," he stated simply.

"What observations have you made, then?" you challenged, crossing your arms. He remained silent for a few seconds, likely searching for an answer. Seizing the moment, you dared another glance at the shadowsinger and caught him looking at you, specifically at your pushed-up bust from your crossed arms. A glint sparked in your eyes, despite feeling a flush across your cheeks.

"Those observations," clarifying his previous statement. "Typical Illyrian man can despise a woman, yet still ogle her." You watched as his face contorted in anger, his wings rustling, shadows swirling with indifference as he tried to regain composure.

You knew that would irk him the most, knowing how far from the truth it was. He was unlike any Illyrian man you had ever encountered, a gentleman who treated the women in his life like royalty and with respect. But you had found enjoyment causing him some ire knowing how much he could hate his Illyrian roots at times. The group ahead halted at the entrance to the throne room, and before you got too close, you provocatively placed your hand on Azriel's bicep, stopping him. Sliding it up his arm and around his neck, drawing his ear close to your lips.

"It's alright, Shadowsinger. It happens to the best of men. Just don't let it distract you from your duties tonight. Remember, you're supposed to be my fearless protector," you whispered, a sultry tone lacing your words. You felt his jaw tense beneath your fingertips, letting them linger caressing his defined jawline before releasing him. With a concealed smile, you walked toward the group.

"We're just here to make an appearance," Mor reminded, her voice cutting through the tense air turning to face everyone. "Cass, Lucien first, then I'll go, Y/n, and Az last. Let's get this over with please." She turned back around, her gaze determined. Cassian and Lucien made their way towards the grand throne room, Azriel taking his place next to you. The sound of murmuring voices subsided as they entered, the weight of expectation filling the space. You stood tall, despite the ache in your feet, pinning your shoulders back and adopting a stoic expression that concealed the amusement you had just moments ago.

"The official emissary for the Night Court," Mor announced, signaling your turn to make your entrance alongside Azriel. You strode forward, finding solace in the rhythmic beat of the music that still echoed throughout the room. The murmurs grew louder as you traversed the court, determined not to let the disdainful gazes of the Court of Nightmares' courtiers shake your resolve. You were aware that your presence was not welcomed; they saw you as a traitor, the one they had discarded to the Spring Court in the first place. No matter how much you proved yourself worthy and tried to make amends.

The walk to the throne felt interminable, under the scrutiny of judgmental eyes. Finally, you halted before the imposing seat, looking out at the assembled courtiers as the music gradually faded away. Kier and your parents approached, their scowls evident, yet they bowed to you reluctantly.

"The first visit in months, and the High Lord sends us the traitor.” Your father sneered, he spoke to Kier. Your mother nodded in agreement, her features mirroring their shared distaste. Next to you, Azriel emitted a low snarl at their words.

“Good to see you too, Father.” A sweet smile on your lips not letting your already building annoyance show. "Rhysand sends warm wishes," you responded, your voice calm yet tinged with a hint of steel. "He had other pressing matters to attend to. So, I'll be handling our little check-in." Taking a seat on the throne like you always had to make a point. The seat was cold compared to your warm skin, making you sit more upright.

“Why would I dispel any matters to a whore who doesn’t know where their loyalties lie?” Kier said arrogantly. “You had been frolicking in the Day Court last I heard, probably another one of Helion’s play things that he got tired of.”

You traced the serpent that wrapped around the throne’s arm, “my matters in other courts shouldn’t concern you or who I run off with nonetheless.” You noted how Azriel’s shoulders tensed, and he became so still he didn’t look like he was even breathing.

"We thought Amarantha let you rot under the mountain," your mother interjected, her voice laced with venom. She added, “instead she made you even more of a traitorous whore.”

She appeared just as she did during your last encounter—hair braided into an oversized bun that nearly doubled the size of her head, eyes dark as onyx, and fragile as a delicate piece of paper, swathed in her customary high-collared black gown. She no longer resembled a fae; instead, she embodied the beautiful demon who haunts your nightmares, the one who torments you alongside the redheaded evil woman she spoke of in your said nightmares.

The court erupted into whispers, some even cackling at your mother's statement. Azriel took a step forward, his readiness to strike palpable, while your closest friends looked at you with anticipation. Your heart pounded in your chest, fueled by a fiery rage that surged through your veins. You couldn't let those memories of what that wicked woman had forced you to do consume you. Instead, you embraced the anger, allowing it to fuel your inner fire. "Give them hell, you've earned it, little star," the note from Rhysand and Feyre echoed in your mind.

The crowd hushed as they noticed the faelights start to flicker in the room, a familiar tingling prickled at you as a surge filled the room that seemed to hum in a whirring vibration. You could taste and smell the bitter tanginess of magic, leaving the room in a thick blanket of trepidation. You inhaled willing yourself to keep the powers at bay, this was your game to play and win; not theirs.

“Music, food, drinks for the courtiers.” You demanded, snapping your fingers, letting the sensuous music drown that hum in the room, and dishes appeared on the tables around the hall. “Celebrate!” Your tone brash, making some of the courtiers flinch and turn away from the scene before them.

Then you rose to your feet, resting a hand on Azriel’s bicep as you sauntered past him toward your parents. A silent command for him to not intervene.

“Must we ruin the courtier's night with frivolous family matters?” You scanned the room to see if any of them paid any mind, then turned your sight to your father and Kier. “Or we can go about our business?” Something in your eyes shifted, a glow that emanated the whirring vibration that everyone could still feel around them despite not hearing it over the music anymore.

“We have nothing to discuss,” your father cleared his throat. He stood his ground as best as he could.

“Is that so?” Inquisitively you looked at three crones in front of you. “Why did the High Lord and Lady send me here so urgently then?”

“At least with you.” Kier interjected, his diadem shining on top of his gold hair. You could feel both the thrum of his and your father’s power slithering through the whir of yours.

“I don’t know why Rhysand trusts formal duties with a treacherous whore.” Your mother spoke boredly.

"Takes a whore to know one, doesn't it?" your voice devoid of emotion as you stared directly into your mother's eyes.

There was no trace of mercy in your gaze as she grew wary, sensing the power simmering beneath your skin. Was it mere coincidence that she took aim at you blindly by the insult of “whore”, or did she truly comprehend the extent of the horrors you—as her daughter—had endured during those unbearable fifty years? Amarantha had forced you to engage in her dark machinations, most of the time leaving you feeling soiled, as if a layer of filth clung to your very being at the mere thought of it.

She began to stammer, her voice trembling. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

So much for not bringing up frivolous family matters.

"I never told Father?" you replied, feigning shock. A flicker of realization flashed across her face as she recognized your seriousness. She pleaded with you to stop, but it was too late. You had held onto this potent piece of blackmail, a weapon you had kept hidden for centuries, ignoring her tearful pleas.

"Do you remember when Beron was here to arrange Mor's marriage?" you mused aloud, placing a hand on your chin as if contemplating. "I found you and him in our personal library, with you bent over Father's favorite reading chair." You glanced at your father, observing his reaction as your words sank in.

The faelights in the chandeliers began to flicker more intensely, rattling globes they were contained in. The music had stopped with your increasing temper, everything you have felt the past week, years—hell over half a century bubbled over. All the pokes, prodes, and resentment from your family was too much. The volley of insults between you and Azriel. Feeling inadequate no matter where you trekked.

Power consumed you beneath your skin, seeming to take over every rational instinct. You glanced at Mor, who sat on the edge of her seat looking skeptical at what you had planned. Your gaze shifted to Kier, locking eyes with him. With a mischievous wink from you, his face drained of color.

"And what about the time I sneaked out of my room late at night and discovered Kier and Mother on the dining room table?" you continued, your voice sickeningly sweet. "You had breakfast where they had fucked only a few hours prior, Father."

You had received more lashings than you could count once your father went into his meetings that day from your mother. Your father's nostrils flared, and he turned to your mother and Kier. The courtiers stood, sensing the impending storm, their conversations growing quieter.

“But I’m a whore?” You laughed bitterly. “When all I’ve done since my husband was murdered was try to make right with this court to prove my loyalty. Under the mountain you don’t know what I sacrificed for this court. Rhys had his reasons for what he did, and I had mine.” By now your eyes burned and your throat tightened at the tears of anger wanting to spill. “But I’m a traitor?”

Your mother had begun shaking silently, looking at you with a wild look in her eyes. That didn’t stop your wrath upon her.

"Should I bring up Thanatos though?"

The mere mention was enough to make your mother scream and charge at you. Azriel and Cassian instinctively unsheathed their weapons, freezing only when the glass containing the faelights shattered.

The tingling and prickling turned to a crackling that had been building up underneath your skin almost all at once came to the surface, creating a feeling you hadn’t felt in years. The lights seemed to mirror your emotions and converge on your mother. The room plunged into darkness and shook as she cried out in pain, the light piercing her body. The gasps of the crowd filled the air as the room went pitch black.

The burning sensation within you gradually subsided to a dull crackling. Panting, your heart hammering, you caught your breath. Anger and duress swelled through you, but you felt a surge of pride through you too. Azriel's shadows caressed your shoulder trying to find you in the dark. Then gently his scarred hand pulled your shoulder back, ensuring your safety. Raising your hand, you waved it through the dark, willing radiant light to materialize at your fingertips. Orbs danced between your fingers as you sent them forth to illuminate the broken chandeliers and lights once more.

As the room regained its illumination, you surveyed your mother's unconscious body, twitching slightly. You hadn't killed her, only shocked her—quite literally. Your father and Kier stood staring at her in shock. You smoothed your dress, brushing away imaginary dirt, and turned to face Azriel, who still had his hand on your shoulder. In his eyes, you detected a hint of concern. You pushed his hand away, glancing at your friends who had seemed to approve. Mor tried to hide her amusement as she covered her mouth with her hand, while Cassian sheathed his weapons cautiously, his eyes darting around the room to make sure no one attacked. Lucien stood from his seat as he watched the scene in front of him in an awe.

"Consider that a warning to think twice before speaking to me, or you'll end up worse off than that traitorous whore.” Nonchalantly readjusting the diadem atop your head.

“You have gotten your wish, Kier. Wait for your High Lord and Lady, I’m sure they won’t be as pleasant as I was.” You grimaced walking past your family. No one dared to speak, still frozen in place as you wordlessly walked out of the throne room the only sound was the glass breaking even more beneath your heels.

You didn’t know where you were walking to, you were just letting your feet take you to wherever in the Hewn City. Was it a wise choice? Probably not, but you didn’t care to think about that. You knew the cavernous hallways like the back of your hand from when you were younger, and you had brought yourself to the only place that had brought you true solace back then. It was an abandoned library in a wing that wasn’t in use for many centuries and by the looks of it, it still hadn’t.

Cobwebs and dust were thick films on furniture and books, the elegantly crafted black mantle fireplace contained a mound of ashes that stirred as you closed the tall dark mahogany doors behind you. You held your hand out, letting the light dance from your fingers to ignite faelights around you like you had in the throne room before waving it to use magic to dust off the your favorite chair to sit in. Kicking off the excruciatingly uncomfortable heels, you tucked your legs underneath you as you sat in the worn leather and mahogany chair. Absent-mindedly tracing the serpents that wrapped up the arms, you just sat staring at the hollow fireplace.

You mulled over everything within the past week, then the past five years, and then the last fifty years… and then the last century. That’s all you seemed to do lately was think of the past. You were so deep in thought, you hadn’t heard the door creak open.

“Are you alright?” Azriel’s deep husky voice echoed concern through the small library. The rasp that always lingered in his words sending an unwarranted shiver through you not expecting anyone to follow you.

“Why would you care to know?” A bitter bite back as he took a seat across from you in the dusty chair.

“I am supposed to be your fearless protector tonight.” He braced his elbows on his knees trying to fit his wings within the seat.

“Right,” you trailed off still staring at the empty fireplace. “Well you don’t have to pretend to care.” You cleared your throat, a lump forming within it.

He chose to ignore your statement. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen that extent of your power.”

“She had it coming,” you mumbled.

“I know the healing process can be painful.”

Your head snapped up toward the Shadowsinger to find him already looking at you with the irritating intense look he always gave you.

“Are you trying to be funny?” You said dryly.

He made a gesture with his tragically beautiful scarred hands, “I just know from personal experience.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have used your shadowsinger abilities on me and you wouldn’t have had to find out the hard way?” There was an edge in your tone.

“And maybe,” he clicked his tongue. “Just maybe, if you wouldn’t have been so hellbent on trying to prove something—I wouldn’t have felt the need to use them?”

Your eyes narrowed at him, “I was trying to protect my high lord.”

He scoffed, “he didn’t want our help. He was protecting us, why do you think he didn’t let us know before it was too late?”

“Because I knew Amarantha!” You clenched your fists in your lap. The way she had try to slither into the Spring Court, she had once tried to befriend you. You saw right through her though.

“Then you should’ve known when you snuck under the mountain that it was a trap.” His voice was a lot calmer than yours.

“I was sick of standing back and watching. Watching my friends…my family helpless.” Your heart ached at the confession. “I was locked in a mansion during the Great War because my husband thought he knew better. I then stood back and watched as he plotted with his brothers and father to kill Rhys and his mother and sister without a way to reach any of you. I watched Rhys’ father get slain by Tamlin.”

“I was tired of being a damsel or treated like some dainty noble wife. I was stoned and chastised when I returned for it.” A tear slipped down your cheek finally as you quickly tried to wipe it away. “Yet I wanted to do something to prove to my friends and my court that I wasn’t some treacherous bitch like everyone assumed I was.”

You sniffled, “even with Hybern, Helion didn’t even let me do anything besides go to Dawn to help Nuan and then Adriata to help with human refuges. I begged for days to let me fight, but he insisted it was handled.”

Azriel was quiet, his gaze on you unwavering as he listened. You didn’t know why he stayed and or didn’t interrupt. He had only told you days prior he didn’t care to know what happened to you under the mountain so why did he care to listen about this?

“Like I said, you don’t have to pretend to care about what I have to say.” You untucked your legs, and crossed them instead. You wiped your tears away, embarrassed you let him see you like this.

“You never had to prove to us anything.” Was all Azriel said as he got up from his chair. His scaled armor that had glittered under the lights when he first entered now was matte from the dust. His siphons roared brightly as he walked out of the room without another word leaving you be.

That was the first civilized conversation you had for the first time in forever, at least on his part. You easily flew off the handle nowadays even the weeks prior to leaving the Day Court. Even if he didn’t care to listen, it was nice just to have him sit there and let you send your tangent off to the void of shadows. It felt familiar like the days before you two had played this hot and cold game. You sat there for who knew how long before Mor had found you with Lucien in tow.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

Azriel was beside himself with feelings, something that wasn’t out of the norm for him. He always did a good job at keeping his mask of cold on to hide them… except when it came to you. The friction and emotion you caused him drove him crazy. You made him reckless and irrational, often making him aggravated, and in the end taking it out on you.

He told you he didn’t want to hear what you had to say, but that’s all that consumed his brain. You were all that consumed his brain. And you were all that consumed him while he laid on the ground as you left him for dead to sneak under the mountain. He was the moth and you were the flame that constantly burned him everytime he was near you. But he couldn’t stop the concern that poured over him when it came to you. He hated to admit that to himself.

He had thought for a while that he did the same for Mor, but when he saw you for the first time since Rhys brought you back from the Spring Court—you had become a plague to his thoughts, something Mor never did to him. He had chalked it up to the fact he always carried a sense of protectiveness towards you, being the youngest of all of them.

Watching you try to be the obedient daughter, every little thing you did was monitored by your family. Especially after Mor sullied herself, they became merciless with you. When the high lord wasn’t around you suffered greatly at their hands if you did something that displeased them. Your mother was the worst of them when it came to punishments, sometimes he swore she was a reincarnated death-god.

You were right about one thing: she had it coming. He was surprised you didn’t do it sooner, feeling quite proud of you and couldn’t help but feel that pride rumble in his chest the moment you struck her down. He would’ve happily obliged to do the maiming for you if you hadn’t.

Walking through the cavernous halls, he rubbed the back of his arm subconsciously at a small mark not many noticed amongst his other tattoos.

A beam of light.

He saw the look in your eyes when you had mentioned you wanted to fight, how it hurt you. He couldn’t admit he was the reason to you yet, not if he wanted a round two of you two almost killing each other. He had realized how selfish he had been when he had made that bargain with Helion all those years ago.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

It had been nearly two years of radio silence from you, but he knew you were in the Day Court keeping yourself busy. Rhys had reassured him, his spies had let him know too. After Rhys came back without you from under the mountain, Azriel was ready to tear whatever and whoever apart to find you. You hadn’t wanted to be found though, and that thought alone killed him. He could’ve throttled a thousand more times by your power and it still would’ve hurt less than knowing you purposely didn’t contact him.

Now with war approaching again, he wasn’t sure if he’d see you again. He wanted and was going to do everything in his power to keep you safe; whether you wanted it or not. Even if it meant sparing a few white lies to his brothers and friends. All he told Mor before he left the House of Wind that morning was he was going to gather information from some of his spies.

His nerves got the best of him as he waited in the private dining area of the Day Court’s palace. He had reached out to Helion privately under the guise of wanting to discuss an urgent matter. It wasn’t so much a guise as he considered you an urgent matter.

“Spymaster,” Helion greeted, slipping into the room exuberantly. The gold bands wrapped around his biceps and that clipped his cobalt fabrics together glimmered in the warm Day light as he walked towards Azriel

He just nodded in greeting at the ethereal High Lord, his hands clasped behind his back respectively.

“Thank you for meeting me under these circumstances.” Was all he uttered trying to keep his mask of cold coolness. Helion held out his hand and he braced his scarred one in his in a firm shake.

“It was a surprise to receive your urgent correspondence, but not unwelcome.” He drawled, before gesturing to the small table by the veranda. “Take a seat, would you like a glass of wine?”

The spymaster only shook his head, causing Helion to shrug as they sat. His massive wings uncomfortably cramped in the small chair.

“More for me, war preparations have me so tense. I’m sure it’s weighing on your court as well?” He sighed, pouring himself a glass from the decanter that appeared at the table as they sat.

“We’re bearing,” tapping his fingers on the table, impatient. He was not in the mood for small talk.

Helion noted his behavior as he took a long sip before speaking again. “What are the urgent matters you’d like to discuss?”

“How is she?” Was all he asked, and Helion’s typical overly confident smile graced his features.

“Ah, urgent matters revolving around our beautiful light-shifter. I should've known.” Azriel fought the urge to bare his teeth when the lord said ‘our’. You were not his. He kept a lid on the icy rage boiling through his veins. “She fares well here, the Day Court sun suits her. Her glow puts Thesan’s to shame.”

He could only imagine, he thought rather sourly. Still feeling a bite of overprotectiveness deep down. The image of you letting the light kiss your skin when you two would walk around during the sunny days in Velaris filled his mind. How your smile seemed to glimmer even ten times brighter from your power. Or when the stars braced your skin when he’d offer to fly you to the townhouse after a long night at Rita’s and your feet had ached from dancing with Mor. A little star. He shoved the thoughts away, focusing on the matter at hand.

“What is her role in the upcoming battle?” His tone low, anticipating the response.

That feline-like smile on the High Lord’s face curled to a smirk, a glint in his eye. “I was planning to put her on the front line. I think it would be a therapeutic experience for her.”

“Is that wise?” Azriel tried to not sound worried or look wary. Therapeutic wouldn’t be the word he would’ve used himself, maybe traumatizing.

The inner circle had trained you well in physical training once you had come back to court all those centuries ago. You could easily keep up with an Illyrian warrior, and your magic was one of a kind. None of your family had your powers that had been still alive. Rhys and Amren couldn’t figure it out, even having you go to the Dawn Court to learn to control it. Thesan was only able to teach you so much since the light you were able to generate was still different from his. So you had spent hours on the roof of the House of Wind by yourself practicing. With an occasional visit from the inner circle to keep you company.

The male across from him only raised an eyebrow, “are you not confident in her abilities?”

For the first time in ages, the Spymaster had been at a loss for words. He knew you were capable, more than capable. You had proven it the day you struck him yards away and left him for dead. Just something in him couldn’t let you go out there or see you out there bloodied and battered. He certainly couldn’t imagine you close to death either.

Clearing his throat, Azriel spoke carefully. “She has never fought in a war.” He had hoped that was enough of a response.

“She’s been training.” Helion countered back, that glint still in his eye. “I saw what she could do under that mountain—all of us High Lords did. It’s a shame for Hybern that Tamlin’s brother locked her away during the first war.”

“Please,” Azriel couldn’t stop the plea coming out of his mouth.

That mischievous look then softened. As if he understood. “I don’t know what I would have her do, she would be furious to know she won’t be out there fighting.”

“Anything, I’d rather her be pissed than hurt or worse—” the Shadowsinger couldn’t finish the sentence.

Contemplative, Helion traced his finger around the rim of his glass. “Praytell, how far would you go to keep her safe?” That softened empathetic glaze in his eyes turned almost dangerous looking. “I know your court is quite fond of making bargains.”

Azriel narrowed his eyes, jaw tensed. “What is it you require from me, Helion?” He spoke through gritted teeth, an uneasy feeling rising in his stomach.

“I would still love a night with you, Cassian, and Mor.” The High Lord across from him said casually.

The uneasiness turned to queasiness, unsure of the intent behind the statement. He watched the male sit back in his chair, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “That would be quite unfair though.”

He asked after a moment of silence. “How about providing some intel for me? I have quite a laundry list of inquiries and no one has been able to track them down for me.”

“And she’ll stay off the battlefield?” Rubbing the back of his arm, scanning the warm skinned lord’s amber eyes for any evidence of deceit. Helion was an ally for some time with the Night Court, the Shadowsinger never put his full faith into the term ally. Nothing had been absolute to him.

“It will be difficult, but she won’t see Hybern.” The long dark haired male reassured him.

Azriel visibly relaxed from the words. The two had discussed the terms of the bargain and whom Azriel would be gathering information about. The list ranged from lovers that spited him to old debts that still needed to be settled, and no doubt would put Azriel into a frenzy after the war was over—if he made it. At least he didn’t have to think of the consequences of if you didn’t.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

[x] previous chapter

Ahhhhh even tho this was tough to write and maybe not my best, I’m proud I beat the writers block for this!! I appreciate any feedback lovelies! Thoughts, opinions, likes, and reblogs!! Feel free to reply or message if I missed you in the taglist or want to be added 🩷🩷

Taglist: @tcris2020 @rachelnicolee @mich0731 @brekkershadowsinger @thelov3lybookworm @t0uch-starved-h0e @penguins-are-the-best @bubybubsters @jiinmii @hells-sluttiest-new-arrival @mcgintyandbeyond @callmelovergirl @marigold-morelli @marina468 @nightless @vellichor01 @brandywineeeee @fussel9913 @gretavanbobatea

[maleficore]

Tell me about harpers of the weave and hunger of the mind 🔫

Okay SO.. both of these started form one wip -- hunger of the mind. It was all about the party (Ezra, Gale, Shadowheart, Astarion only so far) finally getting a moment to breathe for the first time since the nautiloid and Ezra realising "hold on this is not survival instinct, something's fucked in my head real bad" once there's no more foes to fight to get his Durge zoomies out. The Urge settles really heavily on Gale in particular, which is where I got the idea of writing the whole thing from his POV so I moved Ezra's into a separate document. That doc got named "harpers of the weave" because it's a quote from Gale about his hands and Ezra really wants to relieve him of the apendages in that wip lol

"hunger of the mind" doesn't really fit a Gale POV fic anymore, but I was too lazy to change it so I just rewrote the begining and kept going. While it follows the same events, that one is less about Ezra's internal struggles (duh) and more about the gears in Gale's head working overtime trying to figure what the fuck is wrong with the guy who saved his life. Where does his freaky magic come from? Is he a sorcerer? What kind of spell was that even?? Oh no he's staring at me weird again... Maybe he's into me? Do I want him to be into me???

It's so fun.

I think that in the end I'll end up merging the two again if I ever come back to it and just have the POV ping pong a bit to not overcomplicate things 😅

ANYWAY, a little quote from the Ezra POV part because why not (tho I think I've sent it on discord before)

Such a ridiculous idea, to insist on cooking a meal in a time like this, but maybe the feigning of normalcy is the point, at least for Gale. Ezra could not care less and he’d rather stuff the empty space in his stomach with sausage and cheese and be done with it, but the wizard was insistent on using the looters’ supplies to prepare something proper. Last real meal in case they don’t get another chance to enjoy one before their diet turns cerebral, and a distraction for a man that unable to sleep, seems incapable of keeping his hands still. Ezra has no problem indulging him and with no one else voicing their disagreement, Gale is left to chop all the wilted vegetables he wants. He makes short work of them, clearly skilled with a knife despite preferring to keep his hands clean and using spells rather than a weapon during a fight. The dull sound of the steel blade repeatedly coming to a stop against the table fills the quiet space in the same way the drumming of a woodpecker’s beak would break the peaceful silence of the wild and the tranquil imagery it invokes is nearly as offensive to Ezra’s twisted sensibilities as the sound itself is to his ears and migraine-addled brain. The rising annoyance acts like a magnifying glass, it gathers his focus and brought out from the dark chambers of his mind where the memories his past should be, Ezra stops staring mindlessly and instead observes. He begins to watch Gale’s slender fingers lead the knife with the same interest a cat would track the movement of rustled grass in hopes of catching a glimpse of reckless prey, blessedly unaware of the looming danger. He near stops breathing in anticipation as the blade continues to come down unbloodied, always guided by the surface of Gale’s fingernails and never allowed to come close to drawing even the tiniest speckle of red from his flesh. It wouldn’t take much; one can bite off a finger with little more force than it takes to pierce through a raw carrot. One slip up or a bit of help to fix this blasphemous display. If not with teeth or knife wrought from Gale’s unsuspecting hand, then with the dagger he took off a looter’s corpse and that has been waiting in shameful disuse Ezra could spill the wizard’s blood all over the table and claim those bony digits as a trophy. Or better yet, go for the wrist and take the whole hand. The hungry thought crossed his mind before, but he shood it away to offer help instead of dismemberment. It’s a wrong that can still be righted if he’s quick enough and can manage it before either of his three companions stop him.

[tickleeteases]

Should Have Known

Fandom: Six of Crows

Word Count: 2072

Pairing: Jesper/Wylan pre dating

Summary: Jesper is bored but Wylan has been learning his tricks and turns the tables on him. Jesper tries to take what he usually dishes out and learns a valuable lesson.

This is a tickle fic. Enjoy!

It had been bound to happen really, he should have known. He knew the merchling would grow wise to the teasing eventually, but somehow it still came as a surprise to him.

The rest of the Dregs were all out on a job. Kaz hadn’t allowed Jesper to go, because it would involve going into a few gambling houses and he didn’t trust him not to get sucked in and blow the job. It had stung a bit, but Wylan had insisted on staying behind with Jesper, so that made him feel better, and after some convincing (arguing), Kaz had agreed.

Jesper had to hand it to Wylan, he’d gotten much more confident recently, and convincing Kaz to let him stay at the Slat had been a ballsy move. This increase in confidence should really have been Jesper’s first clue that his rein of one-sided teasing was coming to an end.

The others had only been gone an hour or so, but Jesper’s fingers were already starting to itch. It wasn’t fair that they were getting to gamble and he’d been grounded like a child. He was bored and needed a distraction, and the merchling sitting in the corner of his room was always a fun one.

“One of your buttons is undone, are you trying to seduce me?” Jesper lied with a smirk, flicking Wylan’s nose when he looked down to check.

Wylan rolled his eyes in an attempt to draw attention away from his pink cheeks. He chose not to respond, not wanting to give the Zemeni boy the satisfaction of hearing the inevitable nerves in his voice.

Jesper grinned to himself and moved to sit on the arm of Wylan’s chair. “Aww, come on, Wy. What’s a man got to do around here to get some attention from the cutie in the corner?” he teased softly into Wylan’s ear while his fingers grazed his bicep.

That nearly got him, but Wylan couldn’t help but laugh at that, much to the Fabrikator’s chagrin. “Man?” he snorted. “If you’d just referred to yourself as the boy that you are, you probably would have gotten the reaction you wanted from me, but alas, your big ego got in the way.” he winked.

The older boy scoffed indignantly. “I do not have a big ego! I’m more of a man than you are!”

Wylan snickered. “Well you sound like a whiny toddler right now.”

“I do not!” he huffed, sounding significantly like a whiny toddler. He stood up and crossed his arms, so he could pout at the younger, but dropped them quickly as he realised he was proving his point. Wylan smirked and Jesper felt some heat raising in his cheeks.

This back and forth should have been his second clue that their dynamic was changing.

Jesper rolled his shoulders back and straightened up. “You’re walking a risky line, Merchling.” he told him with as much confidence as he could muster while forcing himself to hold eye contact with Wylan and his smug grin.

“And yet you’re the one who seems nervous. I don’t think it’s me that should be worried, Jes. I think you’ve been playing too many risky games recently, and now you’re worried they’re going to come back and… bite you!” Wylan launched himself out of the chair towards Jesper, but stopped just short of actually touching him. He doubled over laughing at the surprised shriek that left the Zemeni’s mouth.

Jesper shot him a glare. “Stop laughing at me!” he complained, but there was no real annoyance in his voice, he knew they were just playing.

The younger boy calmed his laughter and grinned cheekily at his friend. “But that noise was so cute!”

Jesper blushed properly now. “It was not.”

“It definitely was.” he teased, pinching Jesper’s cheeks and cooing. “Awww, are you blushing? Your cheeks are so hot!”

Jesper pushed his hands away, but Wylan grabbed his wrists to keep him close. Jesper’s breath hitched the tiniest bit at that, and he looked into Wylan’s eyes, feeling his usually cocky demeanour falter.

“Problem?”

“You’re stealing my role.”

The merchant chuckled. “Maybe if you’d teased me less, I wouldn’t have been able to learn all your tricks so quickly.”

“Maybe if you let go of my wrists before I have to force you, I’ll let you feel the touch of my nimble fingers running through your hair, while I whisper sweet nothings in your ear.” He shot back, a last ditch attempt at regaining the upper hand.

“I don’t think you really want me to let you go.” Wylan smirked.

That was when Jesper finally realised his days of getting the younger boy to blush whenever he wanted with no repercussions were over. He should have known Wylan would learn quickly. He should have known that one day all the teasy, flirtatious comments he’d thrown at Wylan would come back and bite him in the ass. He’d given the younger all the tools he needed to knock Jesper down a few pegs, and he’d done it of his own volition.

Wylan could see the realisation written all over Jesper’s face and it only boosted his confidence. “Uh oh, is the little gunslinger in over his head?” he winked, slowly walking Jesper backwards until his back was against the wall. “Can he dish it out but not take it?”

Said gunslinger was doing his best to keep it together, but he’d taught Wylan well, and he suspected some of Nina’s charm and confidence may also have rubbed off on him too. He pulled lightly on his wrists, trying to get them out of Wylan’s grip, but the younger had gotten stronger during his time with the Dregs, which caught him a little by surprise. Jesper was sure if he really wanted to, he could still overpower Wylan, but… he wasn’t sure yet if he really wanted to.

Wylan smirked smugly when he felt the tug of Jesper’s wrists. “What’s wrong? Can’t escape? Honestly Jes, I’m a little offended that you underestimated me.” he teased.

The older boy rolled his eyes, but his expression quickly turned back to a flustered one when Wylan pulled his arms over his head and pinned them with one of his against the wall. He wanted to fight back, to prove that he wasn’t this easy to overpower, but maybe he was. Maybe all it took for him to melt was for Wylan to play him at his own game.

Wylan leaned in and chuckled lowly in his ear. “I’m going to take you apart.”

Jesper was done for. All the feelings towards his merchling that he’d been pushing down came bubbling up, showing themselves in the form of a hitching breath and a deep blush to rival the shade of Wylan’s hair. He gazed deeply into Wylan’s eyes and parted his lips slightly as the younger leaned in towards them. He closed his eyes, ready to finally get to admit his feelings without using teasing as a coverup. He was ready to be vulnerable.

And vulnerable is what he suddenly realised he was as he felt fingers spidering into his belly and laughter being forced from his unsuspecting mouth. “Wha-mehEHEherchling!” he gasped out through his laughter. He opened his eyes and was met by Wylan’s cheeky grin.

The Merchant snickered at the shock on the others face as he tickled his belly lightly. “You thought you were going to get what you wanted that easily, hmm? After the amount of teasing you’ve put me through? Oho no, Jes. I told you I was going to take you apart, and I meant it.”

If Jesper could have blushed darker, he would have. Wylan must have had some pointers from Nina, there was no way he’d gotten this good so fast on his own. He would be having some words with the fellow Grisha.

“I’m gohohohoing to kill yohohohou!” Jesper laughed, not sounding particularly threatening. He could feel himself sliding down the wall in an attempt to escape the tickling, but Wylan followed him down easily.

“Oh I’m so scared.” The younger snickered sarcastically. He moved his fingers up and tried Jesper’s armpits, grinning at the increase in laughter.

All the Dregs knew Jesper was ticklish. None had found out on purpose, and none had really taken things further than the occasional scribble to his sides. But he wasn’t very good at hiding his happiness or excitement, so Wylan had noticed how he lit up on the rare occasions he received a well placed poke or squeeze for a sassy comment or joke.

“I know you like this, Jes.” Wylan smiled fondly, as he slipped a hand up the pinned boy’s shirt and scratched maddeningly at his ribs.

“I do NOHOHOT! NohoHOHOT THEHERE! MEHEHERCHLIHIHING!”

The Merchant smirked a smirk, that looked far too evil for his face, at the reaction he received. “Bad spot? I think I might stay here until you admit that you’re enjoying this.”

Jesper had slid all the way down the wall at this point and was laughing loudly. “I DOHOHO NOHOHOT!”

Wylan let go of his wrists and used both hands to tickle his bare ribs now. Jesper’s arms were too worn out to do much more than grab weakly at his hands. He threw his head back in laughter, practically lying on the floor.

“FIHIHINE! I LIHIHIKE IT! NohoHOHOW STOHOHOP!” he demanded, but the smile on his face said otherwise.

Wylan smirked and stopped. “I know you do.” he winked, before placing a quick peck on the still giggling Zemeni’s cheek and drilling right back in.

The blush that had been beginning to fade from Jesper’s face immediately reappeared before he was thrown back into fits of laughter. “YOHOU ARE DEHEHEAD, YOHOHOU TEHEHEASE!”

Wylan laughed along with him now. “Me? A tease? I’ll take that as a compliment coming from you!” he beamed cheekily. He decided to give his ribs a break and skittered his fingers down his body to his legs. He squeezed up and down his thighs and found a wonderful little spot above Jesper’s knees that made him squeal adorably.

After a few more minutes of the treatment, the usually cocky, older boy’s laughter had gone silent and Wylan finally stopped for real. “Did… did I overdo it?” he asked, suddenly sounding much more like his usual, more reserved self.

Jesper was panting hard, but still had a big grin on his face. He shook his head, but playfully shoved the red haired boy. “Yohou will live to rehehegret this though…” he threatened, residual giggles still escaping his lips.

Wylan chuckled, relaxing again. “Mhm, I’m sure.” he teased. “Just so you know, I’m telling everyone about that spot on your knee that makes you squeal like an adorable little girl.”

Jesper flushed. “You will not.” he glared.

The redhead just shot him a wink. He stood up from where he’d been crouching over Jesper and held a hand out to help him up.

Jesper took it and pulled himself up. He used the momentum to push Wylan backwards onto the bed, earning a whine of protest from him, but it was quickly silenced as Jesper pushed their lips together, kissing him deeply.

Now it was Wylan’s turn to blush as he kissed him back passionately. After a couple of minutes Jesper pulled away and smiled down at the younger boy. “I should have been cruel to you and teased you the way you teased me… but I couldn’t resist your kissable face.”

Wylan chuckled fondly and blushed darker. “Your face isn’t so bad either.” he smiled back. “Plus I don’t think you should have been cruel, because me teasing you was just revenge for all the times you’ve teased me,” he rambled. “So as far as I’m concerned, we’re even now. Also, I think that now that we are both on the same lev- hey, what are you dohoho- JeheHEHES! Nohohoho! I’m sohohohorry!” He burst into bright giggles as Jesper shut him up with a dose of rib tickles.

Jesper smirked down at him. He shifted so he was straddling Wylan’s waist and used his knees to pin his arms. “Too late for apologies, Merchling. You’ve made your bed, it’s time to lie in it.” he winked. “What was it you said to me? Ahh yes… I’m going to take you apart… You really should have known I wouldn’t let you get away with messing with me.”

[alrightberries]

dante’s inferno

request: wassup homie could you maybe write a college au fic where levi and reader are rommies, then one day reader brings home an adopted cat without levi's prior knowledge? You could decide what happens next lol. Tysm 🥺

❈ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

❈ genre: fluff, semi-crack ❈ word count: 4k

❈ summary: college au. in which you bring a stray cat to your dorm and your neat freak roommate won’t let you keep it.

alternatively: a compilation of college shenanigans where you and levi are best friends who are bad with feelings (ft. an unamused cat named dante)

❈ trigger warnings: profanity. mentions of alcohol and smoking. implied smut.

a/n: this was supposed to be loosely based on the nine circles of hell according to inferno by dante alighieri— hence the title— but i did my research wrong so now it’s loosely based on the seven terraces of purgatory according to divine comedy. i’m keeping the title tho.

Inspired by this art by @ryuichirou on tumblr.

Permission to repost art was granted by the artist. Do not repost/edit the art without explicit permission from the artist.

���── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

i. first terrace: pride

“We’re not keeping it.”

“But why?”

“We’re not keeping it.”

“But why.”

Levi’s tongue clicks in annoyance. His eyes glance next you where the offending creature lay on your bed; tail curling, paws kneading at his your favorite fleece blanket. Quite frankly he’s a little offended when the little shit has the audacity to glare at him back.

He’ll never admit it, but his ego’s a bit bruised because the cat’s glare was slightly better than his.

“I said no,” he firmly replies, looking back to you. “It’s bad enough I have to share a room with an anarchist who has no respect for boundaries—“

“One time, I forgot to use a coaster that one time!”

“—and now you expect me to share a room with a dirty fur ball who does nothing but eat, shit, and sleep?”

“He’s a cat, Levi.” You murmur, scooping the cat into your arms. “And he has a name,” you give a nervous smile when you see your rommate grit his teeth. He feels a headache coming.

“You named it?”

“Dante is not an ‘it’.”

Levi makes a move to step closer but immediately stops when the ‘Dante’ hisses at him.

“Aw, he likes you.” You coo.

“Clearly,” he replies unenthusiastically. “Listen,” he sighs. “I respect your cat’s pronouns but that doesn’t mean he’s allowed to stay. Or do I need to remind you of the mac and cheese incident?”

Okay, maybe he was on to something. If you got caught with a pet in the dorms you’d breach your third and final warning, and you’d be forced to dorm off-campus. The fact that you were still here after the mac and cheese incident was solely because Levi pulled some strings (aka asked Erwin, golden boy of the campus who owed him a favor, to pull some strings).

But you couldn’t just let Dante go. There was something about him that felt so familiar; something about his black fur, thin silver eyes, unamused snarl, and overall grumpy demeanor. Especially endearing was the way he’d grumble and pretend to be annoyed whenever you tried to cuddle him but would complain if you stopped.

You just couldn’t figure out who or what he reminded you of.

Maybe you would’ve figured it out too if you weren’t so distracted with watching Levi and Dante stare at each other. Your eyes dart back and forth between the grouchy cat sitting on your bed and your grouchy roommate sitting on his desk. Both were slightly crouched over with their heads tilted up in a show of dominance; they were engaged in what seemed to be a glaring contest, gunmetal irises unamused and mouths taut in a snarl as they protected their territory.

You sigh. You really, for the life of you, couldn’t figure out why Dante felt so familiar.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ii. second terrace: envy

Levi is not jealous. He’s not.

At least that’s what he tells himself as he sulks alone on his bed. His arms are crossed and his lips are in a pout, eyebrows knitted in distaste, occasionally glancing to your side of the room where you sat up on your bed. He’s sure whatever movie you chose to watch together is interesting and all, but right now all he could pay attention to was that stupid cat. Sitting on your stupid lap. Getting its fur stroked by your stupid hand. Getting all the love and affection his stupid self should be receiving.

It was him you should be cuddling, not Dante. Saturday nights were reserved for him and you, not you and a cat while he happened to be in the room. He’s been trying to make a move on you since high school and he can’t fucking believe he’s losing your attention to a cat. Sure, he’s always been too chicken to make a move and had to suffer seeing you get together with assholes— as per your type during your emo high school days— but this was a new low. He can’t wrap his head around the concept that he’s losing his longterm crush to a motherfucking cat.

When you coo at how adorable the fleabag was for what felt like the 50th time that night, Levi decides he’s had enough of the cuddle-hogging piece of shit.

Wordlessly, he crosses to your side of the room and lifts the cat from its perch, ignoring your protests as he sets it down on the floor and tells it to ‘scram, you little fuck.’ He uses a hand to dust your lap free of any microscopic cat particles Dante probably left behind before lying down his head down once he was satisfied. He grabs your hand to put it on his hair.

“Stroke.” He orders, eyes closing.

“What? No! You pushed off Dante.”

“He was in my spot.”

“You couldn’t have given up your lap pillow for one night?”

“One night?” He scoffs and turns to look at you. “You’ve been abandoning me for two weeks. That disgusting, tic-infested, rabies-carrying slob has no business sitting on your lap.”

“He’s not disgusting, you gave him a shower before you agreed to let me keep him. And I took him the vet to make sure he had all his shots. He’s clean, Levi.”

“Tch, good. Now throw him out and let him find someone else to freeload from.”

“Okay, what’s going on?” You guffaw. “You’ve been grumpier than usual. And why’re you being such an ass to Dante? He’s just a cat.”

“Don’t think he’s special in some way. I’m an ass to everyone.”

“Then why does it feel like you’re always extra mean to him?”

He doesn’t reply. His lips are downturned into a frown when he looks away with a click of his tongue, and you realize with a sigh you won’t be getting an answer from your cryptic roommate soon. Your fingers start mindlessly stroking his undercut when you get lost in your thoughts— a habit you developed through years of Levi using your lap as a pillow. He always complained the first few times you did it but you knew it calmed both him and you, and that it put both your minds at ease. Moreso Levi right now, apparently.

You’re keenly aware of how he seems to curl up into you the more you keep going. You watch as his shoulders slump down when you stroke the side of his face, and his eyebrows relax slightly. From your angle, you could even see the way his eyes close in content. Maybe even a tiny smile if you were being delusional.

Your lip twitches upward.

“Oh my god, Levi, are you jealous of a cat?”

“Shut up and play with my hair.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

iii. third terrace: wrath

“You owe me a new cravat.”

You blink up at your roommate. “What?”

“You owe me a new cravat.” He repeats. He pulls from his pocket a white piece of fabric— barely recognizable— torn into shreds, releases it mid-air. It gently lands on your open palm.

“Wait, did Dante do this?” You ask, eyeing the slik in your hands.

“Unless you went feral in the middle of the fucking night and decided to cut up my clothes, yes.”

“Oh my god, Levi, I’m so sorry. I swear Dante will never—“

“You actually owe me three cravats,” he interjects. “The first two I overlooked since they weren’t that expensive but I draw the line here.” His lips are downturned into a frown, eyes poorly concealing his clear distaste. “This one’s my favorite and it was made from silk.”

You eye the fabric in your hands once more before nodding in understanding, setting down the once beautiful cravat before taking out your wallet. It was only fair that you paid him back; he was being more than generous with letting your cat stay and keeping it a secret, and now you wonder how many bad things Dante’s done that Levi’s overlooked or simply never brought up with you.

“Sure, I’m really sorry. How much do I owe you?”

Levi doesn’t say anything. Instead he pulls out his phone and types something on what you could only assume was google, most likely looking for the same brand of the cravat your cat had just torn into shreds. You weren’t entirely sure how much those could cost, but surely you could afford—

“What the fuck!” You screech, eyeing the page with very, very hefty price tags listed. Holy fucking hell where did he even get the money to buy something so expensive. Gulping, you nervously look up at your unimpressed roommate. You already knew he was taking it easy on you; his aura was the only thing intimidating, at least he wasn’t giving you the murder eyes. And even though he was a man of his word, you were thankful he hasn’t reported Dante.

Still, it didn’t change the fact that Levi looked pissed beyond belief.

“Uhm... can I pay you with a check that’ll definitely bounce?”

“You will pay me in cash.”

“Fuck, fine!”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

iv. fourth terrace: sloth

Levi silently works on his desk. His laptop’s open in fromt of him, numerous notes from classes and books from the library surrounding him. The gentle sounds of clicking and clacking echoe throughout the room as fingers typed at the keyboard, eyes concentrated and lips pulled taught as he focuses on his task. He’s on a roll. He’s almost done with this part of his research, nothing could snap him out of this, he just needs to—

“Levi, when do you think Dante will come back to me?”

He stops typing and grits his teeth.

This is how it’s been the entire night. Ten minutes of peace before you ask him some stupid questions that could’ve been answered with common sense.

“Fuck if I care.”

“Do you think it was something I did?”

He resumes typing. “Yes.”

“Do you think he’ll come back?”

“No.”

“Even after all we’ve been through?”

“Still no.”

“I miss him,” you sigh. “I miss him so much.”

“Then you shouldn’t have left the door open.”

It’s been a week since Dante escaped the dorm and Levi doesn’t understand why you’re still so depressed about it. I mean, you only lost a cat that you loved and treasured and treated like family. Surely a week of moping around in your pajamas and eating nothing but chips and soda was catharsis enough.

He hears you shift in your burrito blanket, presumably to turn away from him so you can sulk into the wall next to your bed. Good. Now he can get back to working on—

“Levi do you think Dante-“

“Enough.” He grits, slamming his laptop shut.

“Where’re you going?” You ask, eyeing the way he hurriedly stuffs papers and books into his bag along with his laptop.

“Out.” He replies, grabbing his keys and his coat. “I can’t stand this shit anymore.”

Your head is burried in your blankets when he slams the door shut and all you could do was slump down because great. You lost Dante, and now you’ve royally pissed off Levi.

Great. Just fucking great.

Unlike your cat, however, your roommate comes back hours later, just before curfew. He doesn’t bother with a hello— he never does— and neither do you, opting to stay hidden underneath the sheets. Though suddenly, there’s a dip in the mattress followed by a pur next to your head.

Could it be?

“Dante?” You murmur, lifting your head from underneath your cocoon of fabric. Small black paws and silver eyes meet your gaze. “Dante!” Immediately sitting up, you pulled him to your lap, scratching his little head and cooing about how much you missed him as he purred and curled into to you.

Levi would never say it, but he missed seeing you smile at the little fleabag.

You turn to look at your roommate. “How’d you find him?”

“Asked around the campus. He wandered into another dorm building and probably thought it was ours.”

“Well yeah but... I thought you hated him?”

“I do.” He replies instantly.

“Then why’d you find him?”

“I hate him, not you.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

v. fifth terrace: avarice

“I fucking hate both of you,” Levi grumbles, staring at the dorm.

Towers of boxes lined his supposed to be clean dorm room. He had a hard time prying the door open since it was blocked, and he wasn’t even sure how the boxes weren’t blocking out the light from how high they were piled. Dante’s sat on a stack of box directly next to the door, purring and flicking his tail around. Levi squints his eyes and glares at the little shit.

“You especially.”

“Mrow?”

Levi’s day had been, with no irony or sarcasm at all, amazing. He got a good grade on his research paper; the guy in front of him at the cafe accidentally ordered an extra serving of (coincidentally, Levi’s favorite) tea and gave it to him for free; and he got full marks for the presentation he’s been worrying about for weeks. His class even got dismissed early so he had an extra hour for lunch. He knew you didn’t have classes, so in honor of his great day he thought he’d do something nice and take you out for lunch. His treat, of course.

But any trace of his good mood vanished when he went back to the dorms and got greeted to a room that looked like it came from an episode of Hoarders.

This is what he gets for trying to be nice.

“Levi! Is that you?” You called out.

“What the fuck happened?”

You laugh sheepishly— at least Levi thinks you do. He couldn’t see you beyond the hundred boxes that took up your shared room. He hears some rustling and the sound of things being moved around before finally your head pops out from behind a wall of brown, smiling at him apologetically before walking towards him (and tripping a few times).

“Remember when I said I’d order some toys for Dante as a surprise?”

Levi’s eye twitches. “Don’t tell me—”

“I accidentally ordered 10,000 instead of 10. Online shopping struggles, am I right?” You nervously chuckle at his pissed off face. Levi was not in the mood.

Your smile widens as you make twinkly gestures with your hands. “So uh... surprise?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

vi. sixth terrace: gluttony

The clinic is still when you first entered.

The harsh smell of alcohol and sterile metal makes your nose grimace, and the coldness of the thermostat brings goosebumps to your arms. Behind the wall, somewhete in the waiting room, cats are hissing, dogs are barking, and you could even hear the sound of birds angrily chirping and rattling their cages.

Dante cowers in fear on the silver table, and your heart aches. His ears are down and his fur’s standing on its ends, but you couldn’t comfort him. Not right now, at least. The veterinarian still needed to do a few more checks.

You gulp, “how’s... how’s Dante looking, doc?”

“Not good,” she murmurs. Her eyebrows are furrowed, and she takes a deep sigh as she eyes the information on the chart. “It’ll take months before he can walk properly again, possibly more if we don’t do anything about it soon.”

“Don’t tell me... is he—-”

“I’m sorry, my dear,” she sighs. “But your cat is heavily obese.”

The corners of your lips twitch down into a frown, and your palm is warm when you start to stroke Dante’s fur. He calms down a bit from your touch, less on edge but still guarded as he warily eyes the doctor’s gloved hands.

“But I don’t understand,” you reply. “I’ve been following the recommended diet you put him on, and I haven’t been feeding him anything other than the cat food and vitamins you recommended. How’s he still obese?”

“Well, we could look into other solutions, but for now I think we ought to look at whether or not Dante has an underlying health problem.”

Levi tunes out the chatter between you and the vet, bored eyes staring into nothing. He’s leaning against a wall and he’s watching the cat carrier. Your bag’s slung over his shoulders and your coat’s in his arms, and he was sure you didn’t even need him to be here for “moral support.”

He mentally scoffs. You probably just needed a chauffeur to drive you for free, and honestly, Levi would rather feel like a chauffeur than a coat rack.

His eyes make contact with Dante’s, and all the fear in the cat’s eyes is suddenly gone, replaced with a steely glare and bared teeth. A warning, one no one else notices but him.

Levi gives him a solitary nod, understanding what Dante wanted to say.

Don’t tell Y/N I’ve been sneaking to the neighbors.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

vii. seventh terrace: desire

There’s something about the buzz of alcohol and nicotine that makes Levi confident—- the liquid courage in his veins and the smoke in his lungs clouding his judgement. Perhaps that’s where he finally gets the balls to cross the room, drunken eyes on your equally intoxicated ones, before he pulls you in for a kiss.

The kiss starts slow, with lips just interlocking and lightly testing the waters. But then he feels your tongue make its way inside his mouth and your fingers weave into his hair to tug him closer, and Levi loses the last threads of inhibition he has. His tongue massages yours and one of his arm wraps around your waist, the other comes down to grope and knead your ass. He feels you walk backwards and your hand pulls at his tie, dragging him with you. Suddenly he’s trapping you against a wall, lifting one of your legs up to wrap around his hips so he could grind his crotch into yours.

Levi doesn’t expect his first kiss with you to be like this; messy and full of tongue and spit, full of fingers clawing at clothes and small grunts escaping your lips. He was hoping it’d be more romantic, with warm cheeks and fingers softly intertwining, shy kisses exchanged through little smiles.

But he’s not about to complain—- he’s wanted to be with you for years, and god he loved having you like this. Loved having you all hot and desperate, trapped between his firm chest and the wall. His cock is hard in his pants, and he just about growls when he feels you start to undo his belt, the fly of his pants coming down as you got on your knees and stared up at him with innocent eyes as you pull out his aching boner. There’s a cheeky grin your face when you pump at his length, and your tongue peaks out of your mouth before—

“Levi, are you okay?”

His eyes snap open, and he’s greeted to the sight of your worried face directly above his.

“Fuck!” he yells, and his forehead slams into yours when he flinches away. “Sorry, sorry” he quickly ammends when you yelp in pain.

He’s covered in sweat, he notices. Chest heaving, heart beating a little too loud for his liking, and he silently pulls the blankets over his cum stained boxers when you sit beside him.

God, he was really hoping you wouldn’t notice the fact that he came in his pants like a high schooler. And it was before dream you even got to suck him off. How much more pathetic could he be.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and you nod.

“Yeah, m’fine, it’s just...” your eyes are distracted, staring off into space. Fingers trace his thighs, and you sigh. “You were having a nightmare,”

Levi blinks. “What?”

“You were having a nightmare,” you repeat. “Kept tossing and turning and groaning in your sleep. And you kept making these... funny faces,”

“...right,” he nods. Sure, a nightmare. A nightmare he never wanted to wake up from.

It takes about ten minutes to reassure you that yes, he was fine, don’t mind the way his cheeks are flushed, he was just... shaken up from his nightmare, is all. Then you’re back to bed, sleeping the night away, and twenty minutes later he’s on his way back to bed too; this time with a fresh pair of boxers and a content look on his face, all thanks to him finishing off his fantasies in the communal bathroom during his shower.

The door makes a quiet click when he shuts it behind him, and he freezes when he catches sight of Dante sat up on your bed, tail flicking behind him as he gives Levi a knowing look.

Levi squints his eyes, and he threateningly whispers, “you tell no one.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

epilogue

The half empty room brings a frown to your face, and all you could do was pout as you sealed up the last of the boxes.

“Why do you have to leave again?” you ask, and Levi turns around as he finishes folding the last of his clothes. He shrugs. “Cats aren’t allowed in the dorms.”

You owed him your entire college career, that much was sure. The RA’s found out about Dante, and Levi had taken the fall to spare you. He wasn’t required to move out since it was only his first strike, but he insisted on doing so so that Dante wouldn’t be alone, saying he already found an apartment nearby and he’ll never hear the end of it from you if he didn’t take Dante with him.

Bullshit. Levi had a soft spot for Dante, you knew that much. He wasn’t doing it for you, he was doing it for himself. Though normally you’d be overjoyed to know that Levi really did secretly like the cat he pretended to hate so much, this time, you were just pissed. You couldn’t believe a fucking cat was stealing away the guy you’ve been in love with since high school. Sure, you were too much of a coward to ask him out, but he was basically your boyfriend already—- the entire campus knew you inadvertently had dibs on each other.

“Yeah but... do you have to leave me alone?”

“I asked you to come with me, and you said no.” He points out. “I still don’t see why when we’ve been roommates since we were freshmen.”

“It’s different off-campus!”

“How?”

“Because it’s like... it’s like we’re moving in together, y’know?” you reply. “And it seemed wrong to move in with you when we’re not even dating.”

“Let’s do it, then.”

“What do you mean?”

He sighs, handing you a spare key to what you could only assume was his new apartment. You glance between him and the key in your hands, and he rolls his eyes when he realizes that you still don’t get it.

“I know we’re doing this backwards since couples don’t typically move in before the first date,” he says before gesturing to Dante. “But we already have a son, and I know you’re his favorite parent. We can share custody until you can move in with me.”

You blink. “What?” Your brain stopped working when Levi referred to you as a couple, and you’re pretty sure your heart stopped beating too. At this point, anything he said went in one ear and out the other. He flicks your forehead.

“Hey— ow! What was that for?”

“You weren’t listening.”

“And you’re being a prick!” you grumble. “It hurts, y’know.”

He scoffs. “What do you want me to do? Kiss it better?” he scoffs.

Your mouth moves faster than your brain, “I’d rather you kiss me.”

Wait. What?

Before you could go back on your words, Levi shrugs. Warm palms gently grab your cheeks, pulling your face closer to his. Your eyes widen and you momentarily freeze, brain definitely not working anymore. He hesitates when you don’t make a move, but then you’re shyly leaning forward, and that was all the confirmation Levi needs.

“If you insist,” he whispers, and suddenly your words die on your tongue when his lips interlock with yours.

alrightberries © 2020. do not modify or repost.

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[nataliedrawz]

Mora Trials // Genshin Impact Fic

Character's Used: Zhongli & Childe

Plot: Zhongli hasn't got any mora on him, so, what better should he do besides ask his friend, who gives him a 'little' trial.

It was a long day for Morax, who had wanted to get some rich Cor Lapis for the traveler, sadly, he didn't have any mora on him to even aford a sprinkle off the seller. Seeing as the amount was too high (thinking he could just make mora on the spot lmao) he headed towards the Gold House - AKA, where Childe usually went if he wasn't out fighting. -

As Zhongli walked in with his proper posture, he couldn't help the small smile that emerged once the red-head noticed his entry. "Zhongli, back so soon? How can I help ya?" Childe said in a jolly tone, yes, he knew that Childe was a goof, but sometime's it could be a bit irritating, especially when he knows exactly why his here.

"You know why I'm here, don't you, Childe?" The retired contract god spoke up, crossing his arm's as his foot tapped patiently on the ground. That statement made Tartaglia chuckle, why? Why would he think that's funny? He didn't know, but he gave him the eye and that's when he got straight too the point.

"I know you need mora, but, I'm gonna make a deal with you," He started, oh boy, what was it now? "We play a little game, every minute you stand my new technique, 1,000 mora you will earn. So, if that means you last an hour, that would be 60,000 mora, deal?"

1,000 mora...

For every minute..?

Zhongli couldn't say no to that ever, this was great, but, he couldn't help but get a bit cautious, "And that technique is?"

"You'll see, don't worry, it doesn't hurt, just gives you a little smile." Was all he said, Zhongli, being the old man he was, didn't understand but trusted him enough to stand still, "Ohohoh, Morax, one part of it means, arm's up." Childe retorted.

And with that, Zhongli did so, holding his arm's straight in the air, as if he was trying to touch the sky, this amused Childe a bit, but he got straight to the point. Being the harbinger he was, he went prepared, placing his leather gloved hands onto Zhongli's slim side's, and so the time started, he squeezed there relentlessly, resulting in a surprised gasp to leave the other, ughhhh, he already wanted to pull his arm's down, after everything he could've done, he had to choose tickling?

The retired archon could handle this, after all, it wasn't like he was going to change spots, right?

Wrong, Tartaglia noticed how much it wasn't affecting him and decided to massage his thumbs into his lower sets of ribs, the four slim finger's acrobating smoothly between each bone at the middle through the thin fabric. That was enough to draw out a stiffened giggle, if Childe wasn't listening, he wouldn't of heard it, the most precious thing ever, with his soothing voice, it made it ten time's better, Zhongli on the other hand, was purely embarrassed.

"Childe, thIHis won't doHO!" He strained in his word's, struggling ever so slightly from the sensation's, it slowly got to him, it wasn't like himself to have such a weakness (or was it?)

After some time, Childe got bored and went to where he thought (since he tickles his siblings alot) was Zhongli's bad spot, turned out was exactly the right spot, he knuckled gently into his armpits, and that's where the line was drawn. Zhongli thrown his arm's down and laughed freely, it was so rich, as if he bought tickets for the most sweetest melody his ever heard, and Childe adored it so much that he tickled him more.

"CH-CHIHILDE! CUHUHUT THIS OHOUT A-AT OHONCE!!" Was the last word's he screamed before he wailed, throwing his head back and arching his back like a wild stallion.

What really mattered was that Childe gave him the mora and extra for those minutes to buy that gift.

====================================================================

SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IN A WHILE, I got distracted with looking for jobs and looking at peoples amazing work (AKA my two friend's Angi and Ducky, go check them out and follow them-) Needless to say, thanks for all the support on my previous fics, I promise to do better in future, if you like my work don't be shy to suggest any fics for future, stay positive, bye!

[c-e-d-dreamer]

Happy Oct. 1 and the start of Halloween! Please enjoy this spooky inspired Nessian fic! :) 

It had been an accident. A complete and absolute accident. Cassian had agreed to host a mini Halloween party at his loft apartment. They would order food in, play some drinking games, maybe binge some horror movies. It was going to be fun, and Cassian simply wanted his place to look the part. So he had bought those fake spiderwebs and hung them from the lamps and across the curtains. He bought some fake skulls and plastic pumpkins to set about the living room and kitchen. 

And he simply thought it would be funny to draw a pentagram on the floor. It looked just like in those cheesy Halloween movies, and he knew Azriel would get a kick out of it. He even set some candles around it to really make it look the part, and he couldn't help but put on his best 'spooky' voice as he said some words he'd read in one of Rhys' musty books in his library, some language he'd never heard of but sounded cool. He didn't think anything of it. 

And that's how Cassian ends up with a woman standing in the middle of his apartment. 

Cassian has no idea who she is, but he can’t deny that she is breathtakingly gorgeous. Her golden brown hair is braided up into an intricate crown, a few wisps of hair falling against her temples and framing her face. It brings out the cut lines of her cheekbones. She’s wearing a form fitting dress, the black fabric hugging her curves and arms before it flows into a deep blue at her feet. But Cassian’s eyes get stuck on her eyes, as dark as night as they pierce into Cassian’s own. 

"I am the Goddess of Death, Princess of Decay,” the woman says, her voice seeming to boom and echo in Cassian’s apartment. “Who are you who commands me?"

"How did you get in here?"

The question seems to give the woman pause, and she blinks at Cassian for a few seconds. Cassian watches as her head tilts slightly, her eyebrows pinching. 

"Excuse me?" the woman asks. 

"I mean my front door is locked so I'm just confused how you got in here."

"You summoned me."

"I summoned you…?" 

Cassian takes in where the woman is standing, right in the middle of the pentagram, her too dark eyes, and the way power seems to radiate off her in a way that rumbles in his own bones. Finally, his brain catches on. 

"You're a demon." 

The woman crosses her arms, her weight settling on her left leg. She raises her eyebrows at Cassian, her face cold and unimpressed. It pretty clearly reads ‘no shit.’ 

“I summoned a demon?” 

“Are you asking me?” 

“I summoned a demon,” Cassian mutters, mostly to himself. 

“What are you expecting? Congratulations?” the demon-woman quips. “Look, just tell me what you want.” 

“About that…'' Cassian starts, clearing his throat awkwardly and rubbing his hand against the back of his neck. “I actually didn’t mean to summon you. It was an accident.” 

“Is this a joke?”

“Unfortunately not. But I don’t need anything from you, so I guess you can just go back to wherever it is demons live.” 

“That’s not how it works. I’m tied to you until you banish me.” 

“And how do I do that?” 

“You don’t know how to banish me?” 

“I just told you I summoned you by accident. I’m not even sure how I did that.” 

The demon-woman closes her eyes and lets out a long sigh through her nose like she’s trying to stay calm. Cassian can’t help but wonder what would happen if she doesn’t stay calm. Would she attack him like demons in movies? Are the representations of demons in movies accurate? Would it be rude to ask her? After a moment, the demon-woman takes a deep breath and smooths back her hair before settling her eyes back on Cassian. 

“So, let me get this straight,” the demon-woman says. “You summoned me by accident, you don’t actually have any biddings for me to do, and you don’t know how to banish me.” 

 “Yes,” Cassian replies, chuckling sheepishly. 

“Great,” the demon-woman mutters. “I was summoned by an idiot.” 

“But I can Google it,” Cassian promises. 

It turns out, Google isn’t that helpful when it comes to actual demons. Cassian tries various different searches, but all that he’s able to come up with is a bunch of television and movie references, a Buzzfeed article comparing different celebs to demons, and a weird article about making deals with the devil. Luckily, he is able to find a local witchy shop that’s only three blocks down from his apartment. Unfortunately, they’re closed and don’t open until the next morning, so he and demon-woman are stuck together for the time being. 

He had moved to the sofa when he started his Google deep dive, and the demon-woman had stepped gracefully out of the pentagram to sit on the opposite end. She hasn’t said anything since their initial talk when she appeared, and Cassian can’t help but steal glances her way out of the corner of his eye. She looks like a queen the way she’s perched on the cream colored sofa cushion. 

“So,” Cassian drawls into the silence. “Do demons eat? I can order pizza.” 

The demon-woman turns to him, one eyebrow poised. The look sends a shiver down his spine. He's not entirely sure it's out of fear. 

As it turns out, demons do in fact eat, as Cassian learns. He also learns that this particular demon prefers her pizza topped with veggies and that her name is Nesta. 

“Have you always been a demon?” Cassian asks, taking a bite of his pizza slice. 

“Seriously?”

“You’re the first demon I’ve ever met. You can’t blame me for being curious, sweetheart.” 

Nesta’s eyes snap to his, a scowl pinched across her lips. The expression pulls a smile across Cassian’s own face, which only makes Nesta’s eyes narrow more. Cassian’s fingers itch to reach out and smooth the lines between her eyebrows. The desire is so sudden that Cassian busies himself with grabbing another slice of pizza out of the box to distract himself. 

“First of all, don’t ever call me sweetheart again,” Nesta starts. “And to answer your question, no. I haven’t always been a demon.” 

“Then how did you become a demon?” 

“I made a deal.” 

“Was it worth it?” 

Something passes over Nesta’s face then, like ghostly fingers leaving a haunting trail against her skin. Her spine straightens like steel, and when her eyes meet Cassian’s again, there’s a guardedness to her expression that speaks volumes yet leaves Cassian with even more questions. 

“Most days,” Nesta replies simply. 

~ * * * ~

The witchy shop is decidedly less spooky than Cassian had envisioned, but perhaps that’s just his biases and what movies taught him coming into play. He expects cobwebs and weird animal parts in slimy jars, and maybe a black cat that screeches at him when he steps inside. Instead, there’s an aisle dedicated to herbs and another dedicated to crystals. He squints at the black scrawled writing of the placards declaring what each crystal is for. He supposes it would be a bit too easy if one just said ‘banishing demons.’ 

Nesta sighs loudly from over his shoulder when he picks up a candle to smell. When he glances her way, her arms are crossed and that scowl from before is back plastered across her face. Slowly, he turns back around and sets the candle back down on the shelf. 

“Do you mind?” Nesta quips. 

“Alright, alright,” Cassian acquiesces, keeping his voice down to avoid attention. Another thing he learnt last night was that only he could see and hear Nesta.

He heads for the counter of the shop where a young woman is arranging jewelry in the display case. As he approaches, the woman looks up and offers him a friendly smile. Cassian tries to offer one back, but he’s sure it must look more like a grimace. Once at the counter, Cassian clears his throat, shoving nervous fingers through his tangle of hair. 

“Hello,” Cassian starts awkwardly. “This is probably a weird question, but you wouldn’t happen to know how to banish a demon, would you?” 

“Do you have a demon problem?” the shop worker asks. 

“Something like that.” 

“Well, is the demon powerful?” 

Cassian looks over his shoulder to Nesta, raising a questioning eyebrow at her. In response, she merely smiles. It’s all teeth and the exact opposite of innocent. It stirs something deep in his gut. 

“Very,” Nesta bites out.

Cassian turns back to the shop worker. “Very.” 

“Wait,” the shop worker replies. “The demon, is he here?” 

“She,” Cassian corrects. “And yes.” 

“But how did she get past my wards?” 

Cassian’s gaze follows the shop worker’s own, to the silver trinkets that twist and clink together softly above the shop’s door. He can hear Nesta’s scoff at the suggestion, and he doesn’t need to be looking at her to know that she’s rolling her eyes. 

“It would seem they don’t work,” Cassian offers sheepishly. 

The shop worker gapes for just a moment before she turns on her heel, pushing past the beads hanging over the doorway to the backroom. When she returns, she has a box of crystals that she sets down on the counter, a bundle of herbs labeled ‘sage’ and a folded up piece of paper nestled on top. 

“You’ll need to draw a circle and set these crystals around it,” the shop worker explains. “Make sure you charge the crystals under the full moon and don’t wait. Do it the next day. That’s when they’ll be the most powerful. Burn the sage to cleanse and say this incantation, and you should be free of your demon.” 

“Great,” Cassian exclaims, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. “I’ll take it.” 

After paying and gathering his items, they head out of the shop. Cassian feels lighter already. They have a plan. Plus, the fall weather today is gorgeous and that always helps to lift his spirits, the cool breeze and canopy of yellow and reds above their heads. It definitely helps that fall and Nesta look amazing together, the golden rays of the sun bouncing off her hair. Cassian can’t help but offer her an easy grin as they walk side by side. 

“See? That was super easy. We’ll have you banished before you know it.” 

“And when’s the next full moon?” Nesta asks dryly. 

Cassian startles slightly at the question. He shifts the weight of the things he just bought to one arm and digs his phone out of his pocket with the other. A quick Google later, and Cassian takes in the date glaring back at him on the small screen with a frown. When he looks back up at Nesta, she’s staring back at him unimpressed, clearly already knowing the answer. With a roll of her eyes and what sounds to Cassian like a muttered ‘idiot,’ she takes off ahead him back toward his apartment. 

It’s going to be a long two and half weeks. 

-- 

And Cassian simps the whole time for those two and a half weeks. And there’s feelings. And Cassian makes a deal of his own to save Nesta’s soul. And they live happily ever after. 

[fairyoftbz]

tongue burn | k. sunwoo

��� pairing: bf! sunwoo x fem!reader ☕ word count: 1.1k ☕ genre: fluff, suggestive end ☕ tw: swear words, brief mention of explicit content near the end. ☕ synopsis: sunwoo burns his tongue and you kiss it better. ☕ a/n: this fic was originally meant for juyeon but i realised that sunwoo fit this concept better 😉 ☕ requested: nope!

╰☆☆☆☆╮

A yawn escaping your mouth, you stretched your arms above your head while whining, a few vertebrae popping along. The relieving sensation forced a groan out of your mouth, your hand moving from under you to feel the empty spot next to you in bed. Frowning when you couldn’t feel your partner, you sat up and arose from your slumber and sat still for a couple of seconds before grabbing Sunwoo’s zip-up black hoodie and wrapped it around your shoulders.

Walking out of the bedroom, you stifled another yawn, a longer one this time, and readjusted the item of clothing around you. The sound of some pans clinking against one another and a boiling kettle drew you to the kitchen, the amazing smell of pancake awakening your taste buds. Your eyes squinted at the brightness of the sunny kitchen as you came in, a tall figure standing in front of the windows, concentrated on the stove in front of it.

You remained quiet as you leant against the doorframe with your arms crossed, watching your boyfriend tackling his task with enthusiasm. He was humming a song you recognized to be romantic and smiled, his silhouette only clad in grey sweatpants distracting you from his faint, lower voice. You bit your bottom lip as your eyes stared at his strong shoulders, the urge to kiss and feel them against your hands almost forcing you to break the silence.

Sunwoo slightly flinched when he felt your arms sneaking around his middle, smiling as your mouth trailed some feather kisses along with his shoulder blades.

“Not that I’m complaining, but it’s quite dangerous to cook shirtless, babe,” you susurrated in his ear, and he chuckled, flipping the pancakes in the pan with ease.

“Good morning to you too, Y/N,” he declared, your stomach churning at his morning voice, your hand going to the back of his head to tame his crazy bed hair. He inclined his head to the side to look at you and winked, lowering his face toward yours to press your lips together in a sweet kiss.

Your hands lingered on his back, touching his warm skin as he kept piling up some pancakes, eyes going wide at the amount of food that was already on the plate. The kettle began getting agitated and you took it away from the stove, placing it on the cork support that Sunwoo had already taken out. You poured the boiling water into two cups, adding teabags and some spoons to stir, before setting them down in front of your respective seats, announcing that the tea was served and hot. Sunwoo came a few seconds later with the pancakes, serving you two before taking three for him. He rubbed his hands together and beamed at you, proud of what he prepared.

“Smells delicious,” you stated as you planted your fork in one pancake covered in blackberry jam, munching on the food, softly dancing in your seat as it tasted amazing. Sunwoo chuckled as he practically devoured his food like a caveman, maple syrup drooling from his mouth all over his chin. You both tittered as you handed him a napkin and he thanked you with a nod, wiping the sticky fluid from his lower face.

“Chill babe, I’m not gonna steal your pancakes,” you laughed, and he shrugged, a teasing smile emerging on his face.

“We never know,” he joked after swallowing, mouth still half-full, slowly frowning as he didn’t chew enough. He lightly grimaced at it went down, his Adam apple bobbing up and down a few times. You raised your eyebrows, silently asking him if he was okay, and he cleared his throat while nodding.

“I’m okay now,” he stated, voice a bit more distinct than before. He took his cup of tea and your eyes widened as he didn’t seem to care about the steam coming off the cup.

“Careful-” you began, but Sunwoo instantly placed the cup down and grimaced.

“Ouch, shit!” he cussed, sticking his tongue out to try and cool it down as it just got burnt by the boiling water of your tea. You hissed in pain as you stared at him, watching the man grimace in front of you.

“I told you it was going to be hot, I just poured the water from the kettle!” you gently scolded him and the grimace didn’t leave his mouth, his tongue turning inside of his mouth, desperately trying to relieve the pain.

“I should have been more careful,” he said as he started eating again, slowly this time.

“Do you want milk or anything? Maybe it can soothe the pain,” you said as you stood up, but Sunwoo was quick to rise from his seat to grab your wrist.

“It’s okay Y/N, let’s finish breakfast first,” he said and you looked at him.

“You sure? You should really try and drink something cold to ease it,” your concern didn’t seem to have reached his brain as his eyes didn’t move from yours, his dark brown orbits mesmerising you, preventing you from looking away.

“Maybe you could… kiss it better? I think that could help,” he smirked as the breakfast did not seem to be his priority anymore, your lips darkened because of the blueberry jam looking more appetising to him. You rolled your eyes and chuckled, wanting to look to the side but Sunwoo’s finger rested on your chin, forcing the eye contact between you two.

“You’re so annoying,” you whispered before letting out a yelp, Sunwoo lifting you and sitting you on the kitchen counter. His hands roaming the soft skin of your hips, you wrapped your arms around his neck and looked at him.

The smirk never left his face and you got closer, pressing your mouth to his in a soft kiss, but Sunwoo decided otherwise. He placed his hand at the back of your head to deepen the kiss, mouths opening as your tongues sensually danced together. Stopping for a quick second, you just had the time to tilt your head to the side before your boyfriend pulled you in a hungrier, needier kiss. You would never get tired of how great his lips moved against yours, the sensation sending goosebumps in your entire being, mixed with some butterflies erupting from your stomach.

His hands went under your his sweater and travelled up to your back, drawing you closer to him as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. Sunwoo groaned as you softly tugged on the hair at the back of his head for some oxygen, feeling and playing with the soft locks in between your fingers. You cupped his face and pulled away, looking at your boyfriend while smiling, struggling to keep your eyes open at the intensity of the kiss you’ve just exchanged.

“Better?” you said and he nodded, his mouth exploring the skin of your jaw.

“Hmm, I don't know yet. Let’s give up breakfast, I have something more important to take care of,” he mumbled and his breath fanned against the sensitive skin right where your ear met your jaw, pursing your lips as he proceeded to make the temperature rise in the kitchen.

[kamotoshi]

reminders [fushiguro tōji x reader]

pairing: fushiguro tōji x fem reader

genre: fluff

warnings: a bit of swearing; brief mentions of past trauma, manipulation, and financial instability/struggles

word count: 2.3k

overview: a sunset picnic reminds him to stop for a moment and remind his wife how he truly feels about her

note: just another fic to serve as evidence for my obsession with making big, beefy 2d men with tough exteriors completely soft for their significant others (wives especially)

“Aren’t we just the cutest couple ever?”

Tōji’s eyes move from the spread of food laid out across the patterned blanket beneath the two of you over to either side of him, where a few other couples and families have set up their picnic spots for the evening, then, to your phone. A glance at the screen displaying the timed photo you’d just spent the past five to ten minutes setting the scene for and perfecting brings a smirk to his face.

“Just the right amount of nauseating.”

“Like, to the point where people are a little envious, but they don’t think we’re being too over the top, right?”

“Right.”

You hum in understanding as you pop a piece of fruit into your mouth.

“But, I would say err on the side of caution and don’t post the super lovey-dovey ones. Actually, please don’t. That’s a request now.”

Your hand flies to your chest to match the look of feigned shock on your face at his words. He doesn’t miss how the diamond on your finger sparkles in the amber glow of the setting sun. The thought crosses his mind that he wants to buy you a bigger one when he has enough money to set aside—something that would shine just a bit brighter. Almost as brightly as that beautiful smile of yours he had the pleasure of seeing each day, if he was lucky.

“You mean… I can actually post a picture that I took with my notoriously elusive husband?”

With a nod, he shifts his gaze to the horizon—or whatever he can see of it peeking around the sides of each building—for a moment. “Just know it’ll probably end my job,” is his response given with a sigh, “Nobody’ll fear me after they see that I enjoy sunset picnics with my adorable wife, now, will they?”

“Or,” you offer with a grin, scooting closer to him so his arm can snake around your waist, “it could give you an advantage, people thinking you’re kinda sweet. Like, oh, he’s a cold-blooded killer who takes care of business, but he’s got a soft side, too. And then, bam! You swoop in and they’ll never even know what hit ‘em.” Sweeping a hand dramatically across the landscape in front of you, as if you want him to picture the scene in your head, you add, “Suddenly, you’re the talk of the town. Women want you. Men want to be you. Hell, they’d probably want you too.”

“And that’s the story of how I end up on the front covers of magazines, right?”

“Exactly. This is just the start of your success story, baby.” Tenderly, you place a hand on the side of his face to bring it closer to your lips. After pecking him on the cheek, you whisper, “Just try not to forget about me when you’re famous, okay?”

He turns to look directly at you, his eyebrow raised with incredulousness in an expression you’ve seen many times before. “You kidding me? I would never. Be famous, I mean.”

The teasing smack you land on his chest doesn’t deter him from leaning down towards you to press a kiss against your lips that you readily return in spite of your complaints at his devious comment. He relishes in the sweet taste lingering on his tongue when he pulls away, and the affection present in your half-lidded gaze brings a comforting warmth over him akin to the feeling of finally crawling into bed after a long day. In his moment of distraction, you’re able to sneak in another meeting of your lips before grabbing one of the snack boxes you’d meticulously crafted and dropping it into his lap.

“Since I’m nice, unlike you, I’ll still let you eat the food lovingly prepared by your loving wife.”

“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, giving your thigh an appreciative squeeze, “You know I love you.”

“I mean, I hope you do. You did marry me, and stick with me all these years, after all, you weirdo.”

He chuckles and pats your leg before shifting his attention to the delicious food you’d put together for the two of you, and you settle down beside him after collecting your own. His free hand plants on the ground beside your opposite hip, closing the gap between you.

Each day that he gets to spend with you he’s thankful for. But there’s something different about those where the sight of the sun slowly descending toward the horizon is beautiful enough to draw both of you out of the house to sit and watch it. He can’t quite explain it, but everything about these days feels different. The harshness of the city seems to fade away for a bit. The air smells sweeter. His breaths come a bit more deeply. The absence of your body against his in some way is felt more intensely.

In between gazing ahead at the sunset—allowing his eyes to flicker to his meal, the kids zipping past every now and then on their bikes, or other passersby—he finds his attention being drawn back to you. Each feature of your face bathed in the golden light of the sun’s last rays brings an unexpected flutter to his heart. He’s never surprised by how gorgeous you are, but, still finds himself in awe of just how lucky he is each time he stops to take it all in.

Lucky that he gets to wake up next to you and see you in those quiet moments of the morning when your eyes are still struggling to focus and your cheek is stamped with each wrinkle of your pillowcase, but you look beautiful all the same. Lucky that the arms and legs he has draped around him until you both wake up sweaty in the middle of the night are yours. Lucky to be offered a refuge wherever you are. Lucky you’re one he promised to love for the rest of his life.

In the busyness of your days, sometimes things are assumed rather than said. He assumes the parting kiss he presses to your lips each time he leaves the house translates into a small, “I love you, I’ll be back soon.” Just like he assumes the way he pulls you onto his lap while you’re sitting together, watching a movie, sends a small message of, “I need you here, close to me.” Or the pause he takes to gaze into your eyes after your more passionate displays of affection means, “I love you more than I know how to say.”

He realizes, given the risky nature of his work, that thought alone isn’t enough, though. Maybe he’s too afraid of saying something that’ll curse you for his lips to form the words he’s thinking as often as they should, but if he was one to let his life be ruled by fear, he wouldn’t be sitting with you in the first place. He would’ve let his family wreak havoc on him for the entirety of his life, weighing it down with constant reminders of his failures. He would’ve let his fear of being vulnerable keep him from getting close enough to you to fall in love with you.

Yet, here he is, making relaxed conversation with you—his wife—as the two of you sit together beneath a sea of brilliant oranges, candied pinks, and the gentlest hues of lavender. With the way you use your steadily built and strongly maintained trust in him to speak so freely and be so vulnerable without fear of judgment, he feels it’s only fair that he shows his trust in you by doing the same. That he reminds you of his feelings rather than lets the implications behind his actions speak for him.

When he decides to mention it, most of the sky has lost its fire and quite a few of the other picknickers have packed up and returned home. But the two of you choose to remain out just a bit longer in the warmth of the summer night, bathed in the sound of cicadas chirping incessantly. “Hey babe?” he calls, giving your hand resting in his a gentle squeeze as his cheek drops to the blanket so he can look at you.

“Mm?” You shift onto your side and scoot closer to him, moving your interlaced hands to your chest, holding the back of his against your gently beating heart. On instinct, your other set of fingers find his face to brush a few strands of dark hair away from his eyes, and he presses feathery kisses to your palm.

Sighing against your skin, he asks, “Do I tell you I love you enough?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you assure him, “I know you do.”

“Because I say it?”

You hum with uncertainty, fingers gliding from the scar at the side of his mouth down his neck, and to one of his broad shoulders. “More because I can see it in the way you look at me. But, then again, I also see you look at a really good meal the same way. Makes me kinda jealous sometimes,” is your answer given with a small, teasing smile, “Besides, I feel like I can safely assume that you’ve stayed with me all these years because you love me, right?”

“Of course,” he says, the strength in his voice contrasting the subtle, pained look behind his eyes, “But I don’t say it enough, do I?”

There’s a short pause before you murmur, “Not usually unless I say it first. But it tends to be more of a reflex for both of us, anyway. Like, ‘I’m heading out now, love you!’ or, ‘Goodnight, I love you,’ y’know?”

A gentle tug on your wrist pulls you towards him, until you’re propped up on both elbows, body leaning over his. Wrapping an arm around your waist brings your chests flush against one another and your faces mere centimeters apart. The way he’s regarding you as nothing else is as important as you are to him in this moment has you melting into the kiss he plants on your lips.

“You’re the love of my life.” Heat radiates from your chest all the way up to your face at his tenderly spoken words accompanied by his thumb skimming along your cheekbone. “And you deserve to hear me tell you how much I care about you more often because you’re the only person who’s made me feel deserving of love.”

The hand on your back slowly moves up and down, his fingers tracing along your spine. It was once deemed as a mindless behavior in your eyes, but after many years with him, you’ve come to learn that sometimes it’s a means of comforting himself or finding the courage to speak about something that’s been on his mind. To reassure him, you place a soft peck against the corner of his mouth and run your fingertips across his jaw.

He seems to find the strength he needs to speak the rest of his truth, since he continues, “I remember being terrified when I first realized how much I loved you. Because here I was, thinking I was only gonna marry someone as a way of erasing my connections to my family, and that falling in love would weaken me—make me easier to be manipulated—but you changed my mind. And I don’t think there’s a damn thing that could ever happen to make me wish I did things differently, even though we got married young, when we barely had enough money to our names to get ourselves through the week.”

A pang of somewhat bittersweet nostalgia ripples through you at the memories of sleeping on the floor, clinging to one another to keep warm during the cold, winter nights. Of how you’d both worked so tirelessly to make a living that sometimes all you’d do was cry into his shoulder when you got home. But soon, there was a couch. A bed. A table. A lamp that didn’t flicker. Then, a new place in a safer part of the city, filled with all the furniture and appliances you could need. Jobs that paid enough for the tears to subside.

The impulsiveness the two of you had displayed in your early twenties had gotten you into a lot of sometimes unbearable situations, but you wouldn’t have changed a thing had you somehow been granted the power to alter the past. While unpleasant, those events had helped the two of you get to where you are today, happier and more in love than ever.

“After all we’ve been through, and that you’ve stuck with me through, I at least owe it to you to remind you how much you mean to me instead of just assuming you know. Because you really do mean the world to me. So, this is me telling you that I love and appreciate you a lot more than I might feel capable of saying sometimes, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.”

With that same, bright smile of yours that he adores, you take your weight off your elbows to wrap your arms around him while he gives your body a tight squeeze in return. “I love you so much, Tōji,” you hum, heart swelling with joy.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

There’s a few moments of peaceful silence while the two of you remain wrapped up in a tight and much-needed embrace. Eventually, a deep exhale fans across your neck before he mentions, “That was pretty cheesy, huh?”

“Just a bit. But I promise not to tell anyone you’re secretly a bit of a sap, okay?” you comment, sending the two of you into a small fit of snickers. Your tone is more serious, however, when you mention, “It made me really happy to hear, though.”

“Good,” is his response as he moves his head so he can press his mouth to your temple. His next words are spoken quietly, as if just to himself, and nearly lost beneath the layers of environmental noise surrounding you, but you’re glad you hear them.

“That’s all that matters to me.”

[drabbles-mc]

As Soon As I Can

Nestor Oceteva x F!Reader

Request from @alienstardust​:  Umm All the angst in those childhood prompts. I’m a fan! Yes! <3 Maybe something with Nestor? 💫 thank you

I went with this prompt from This Post: When Person A and Person B were kids, Person A broke their arm and had to wear a cast for a while. To make them feel better, Person B decorated it by drawing a bunch of doodles and quotes all over it. When Person A finally got the cast off, they asked the doctor if they could keep it. Years later, Person A takes the cast to a tattoo artist and gets all of Person B’s doodles and quotes tattooed onto their arm so they can wear them forever.

Warnings: language, angst, hospitals

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: I looooooved writing this. Writing has been tough for me lately but this just felt really right. This is my first fic where I’ve done a lot of time skips within the story so hopefully it flows alright. Hope you guys enjoy! xo

General Mayans Taglist: @garbinge​ @mayans-sauce​ @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @paintballkid711​ @tomhardydallasstarsgirl​ @queenbeered​ @sillygoose6969​ @sesamepancakes​ @yourwonkywriter​ @chibsytelford​ @gemini0410​ @multiyfandomgirl40​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​ @plentyoffandoms​ @georgiaaintnopeach​ @twistnet​ @themoonandthewicked​ @bucky-iss-bae​ @encounterthepast​ @everyhowlmarksthedead​ @rosieposie0624​ @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo​ @mijop​ @xladymacbethx​ @blessedboo​ @holl2712​ @lakamaa12​ @masterlistforimagines​ @kkim120​ @toni9​ @shadow-of-wonder​ @crowfootwrites​ @redpoodlern​ @punkgoddess-98​ @black-repunzel99​​ @lexondeck​​​

You and Nestor were sitting in your back yard, sprawled out together under the one tree that managed to survive so many years in the California heat. You were laying on your back, cast-bound arm lying rigidly out to the side. You were staring up through the leaves as you listened to Nestor talk.

“At least they let you pick the color,” he was next to you, laying on his stomach as he dug through his backpack.

You laugh was heavy with sarcasm, “Yea, if I’m not gonna be able to move my arm for the next eight weeks it’s the least they could fucking do.”

“You sound bitter.”

You looked over at him, “I am bitter.”

He chuckled and shook his head, he was about to come back with a witty remark when he got distracted by finding whatever he had been looking for. He smiled as he pulled it out, “Aha!” he held up his pack of Sharpies.

“What’re those for?” you nodded towards the markers.

“For your cast.”

“You’re gonna decorate my cast?” you had to laugh.

“Yea,” he was carefully choosing a few different markers to start with, “Maybe it’ll make you feel better about totally eating it falling off your skateboard the other day.”

You laughed as you reached over and shoved him with your good arm, “Shut up—like you haven’t fallen a million times.”

“No casts for me, though,” there was a cocky smirk on his face.

“No casts for me, though,” you mocked as you tried not to laugh.

You watched him in semi-silence as he started at your wrist and slowly but surely made his way up your cast, covering it with all sorts of doodles and quotes. Sometimes you forgot how artistic he could be. You went back and forth between watching him and just resting your head back and closing your eyes. Neither of you kept track of the time as he stayed sprawled on his stomach beside you. the two of you probably would’ve stayed out until dark if your mom hadn’t stuck her head out and said that Nestor’s brother was there to pick him up and bring him home. Nestor threw all of his things back into his bag before helping you up.

Once he was gone, you took some time to actually look at the cast. You smiled at the amount of work he put into something that you were only going to have for a couple months. Your fingers traced lightly over the many marker lines that now covered your cast. Your mother looked over your shoulder at the artwork, a smile passing over her lips for a moment.

“Did Nestor do that?”

You nodded, not taking your eyes off of your arm, “Yea.”

She nodded, “That was sweet of him.”

You scoffed trying to suppress the smile on your face, “I guess.”

The next eight weeks passed by. And, despite the fact that having your arm in a cast was incredibly inconvenient, it could have been a lot worse. Nestor walked with you to all of your classes, offering to carry your backpack despite the fact that you told him that your busted arm had nothing to do with your ability to carry a bag. Whenever the two of you were together and things were quiet, he would keep adding onto the tiny mural that was your cast. Sometimes you wondered how much more he could fit on it, but he always found a way. For as much as you wanted it off, you were going to miss the bonding time for the two of you. And you were going to miss the artwork, too.

“So,” the doctor smiled and nodded at you, “you are all good to go. We can get the cast off and you’ll be as good as new.”

“Yea?” the thought of having your arm back made you feel giddy.

“Absolutely.”

You felt like a new person once your arm was free of the confines of the cast. Letting out a sigh of relief, you rotated your wrist a few times and carefully ran your fingers over the freshly-exposed skin, glad to feel like you were back in control of your own body.

“I can get rid of this,” your doctor held up the cast he’d just finished so carefully removing, “Unless you want to keep it as a momento.”

“Um, actually,” you felt your face heating up as you avoided eye contact with your mother, “Could I keep it?”

The doctor nodded, smiling as he handed it over to you, “It’s quite the work of art at this point—I understand wanting to hold onto it.”

On the drive home, you felt your mother glancing over at you every couple of minutes, a knowing smile on her face. You tried to ignore it but eventually you broke.

“What?” you were careful of your tone.

She laughed quietly and shook her head, “Nothing. Just, I think it’s nice that you’re keeping it, that’s all.”

“Mhm,” you tried to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks again, but that only made it worse.

You never told Nestor that you kept the cast. You never really knew exactly why you didn’t tell him—the two of you told each other pretty much everything else. The two of you spent almost all of your free time together, and as soon as he found out that your cast had been removed he was dragging you right back out to do things that could potentially break your arm all over again, and you let him. He never asked about the cast, so you never brought it up. There were moments, as the two of you got a little older, where you wanted to mention it to him in passing that it was something that you kept, but the moment never seemed quite right. Each time you went to clean out your room and your closet you would come across it, and each time you were faced with the decision of whether or not you wanted to keep it, and you always did. You always told yourself that you didn’t know why, but you knew.

--

“Alright,” you were trying not to let yourself get too emotional as you sat cross-legged on his bed watching him pack “You can’t do anything stupid while I’m not around to yell at you for it, alright?”

He chuckled as he shoved another shirt into his bag, “Trust me, there will be plenty of other people around to yell at me. That’s the whole point of—”

“But they can’t do it as well as I can.”

He glanced over at you, a small smile on his face. He knew how upset you were despite the fact that you were still being supportive. Him going into the Navy was something that you hadn’t seen coming. The thought of him being gone for so long after the two of you had spent so much of your lives practically joined at the hip was a bit jarring. You knew the ache in your chest was caused by more feelings than you were ready to admit to him, or to yourself.

“It’s not like you’ll never hear from me.”

You huffed, “Snail mail is not the same as bothering you in person,” you flopped backwards on the bed, “And for the record I still think it’s bullshit that you don’t get to call me.”

He laughed as he stood up and sat on the bed, looking down at you, “Don’t be dramatic. I’ll be in basic for less time than you had that stupid cast on your arm.”

“Yea but it’s not like you’re coming right home after that.”

He nodded, his expression sobering a little as he continued to look at you, “I know.”

“You’ll come home to visit me as soon as you can?”

He chuckled, nodding, “As soon as I can.”

For a moment you thought about spilling your guts—telling him everything that you were thinking and feeling. There was something about the way that he was looking at you that made you feel like maybe he felt the same way. But the confidence that shot through you went away as quickly as it appeared, and the moment passed as he continued to pack his things.

True to his word, you got letters in the mail. You saved each one, kept them stashed away in your closet alongside the cast that was still there collecting dust even after years of being shuffled around. You sent more letters than you received, not that you really minded. You figured that he needed them more than you did.

However as the months ticked by, you waited for him to say he was coming home, but he never did. It was one thing right into the next and the more time that passed by, the more you wondered if this was how he slipped away from you, even though he swore that that wouldn’t happen. He reached out when he could, when he had the time. And you knew that he had other priorities, and realistically you did too. But there was still part of you that felt like things were changing too much.

Your heart sped up inside your chest when you got a late-night phone call from him. You scrambled to answer it, “Hello?”

“Hey,” he sounded exhausted.

“Hey,” you pulled your blanket up to your chin as you spoke to him, “H-how are you?”

“I’m alright,” he sighed, “It’s good to hear your voice.”

You smiled despite the weight settling in your chest, “It’s good to hear yours too. I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

You didn’t want to push and pry, but you couldn’t help asking, “When are you coming home?”

There was a long pause before he spoke up again, “I, uh, I don’t really know.”

“Don’t they give you guys leave or something?”

He let out a tired chuckle, “Yea. But, um, I’m not sure if I’m going to be coming home for leave anytime soon.”

Your heart crumped inside your chest, “Why not?”

“Got some shit that I’m working on lining up here. Doesn’t hurt to stay close.”

You hated that your bottom lip was beginning to tremble, “Right.”

He knew you too well and you could hear the shift in his tone, “I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” you replied immediately, “Fuck, don’t be sorry. I’m proud of you, really. Keep…keep doing your thing.”

“Thank you for always being there. It’s been…it’s been nice knowing someone is in my corner when no one else seems to be,” there was a beat of silence, “You seen my family lately?”

You took a deep breath, “No. Why, everything alright?”

He sighed, “Wouldn’t know.”

You pressed your lips together into a tight line—things had never been simple for him when it came to family, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’ll be home to see you as soon as I can be, alright?”

Your breath was shaky as you exhaled, “Alright,” you were about to say goodbye but your brain betrayed you, “Hey, Nestor?”

“Yea?”

“I love you,” the words fell from your lips, free of their confines after so many years of locking them away.

It might’ve been you projecting, but you could’ve sworn that he let out a sigh of relief, “I love you too.”

--

That was the last thing that you’d heard from him. He went radio silent after that. You wondered if it was just you that he was ignoring, but no one seemed to have heard anything from him—his own family included. The only things that were running through your mind were terrible. All of your calls went unanswered, all of your texts went unopened. The letters that you sent didn’t get kicked back to you but you never got responses to any of them either. He had blipped off the radar seemingly without a trace and you had no idea why. You lost a lot of sleep over it but at the same time, life didn’t stop for anyone. You had to keep moving forward while a very large part of you was stuck in the past.

You were packing up your room, getting ready to move into your own apartment. You were throwing things from your closet into random bags and boxes—organization had never been your strong suit. As you were leafing through everything, pulling things down off the top shelf of your closet, you were smacked in the face with a stack of papers. You managed to catch them before they hit the ground, tears instantly springing into your eyes when you realized what they were. Your heart sped up inside your chest as you stood on your tip-toes, reaching for the very back of the shelf. The feeling of the plaster underneath your fingers sent a shock through your body as you pulled it towards you. Looking over it, you were bombarded with an onslaught of memories.

Packing fell by the wayside as you sat on your bed, reading through the letters and looking over all the artwork that was still holding up on the cast. How you managed to keep your tears from falling, you didn’t know.

There was a light knock on your door and you looked up, trying to make yourself look much less upset than you were. The smile immediately dropped from your mother’s face when she saw what you were doing, how it was upsetting you. She leaned against the doorframe as she tried to figure out what to say to you to try and make things better.

“I’m sorry, honey,” her tone was sincere.

You shook your head as you set your cast to the side, “Don’t be. You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You hadn’t really spoken much to her about it all—there wasn’t a whole lot to say. You didn’t have any answers and with each day that went by it was less likely that you would ever get them. It was difficult to tell whether or not it was more reassuring for you that no one had heard from him, not just you.

“There’s nothing to talk about. He just fucking disappeared, I guess. I just need to accept it and get on with my life.”

“He was your best friend—you’re allowed to be upset about it, you know.”

Even though you knew it, it was nice to hear her say it to you. Wiping the tears from your eyes before they could stain your cheeks, you nodded, “I know.”

She lightly drummed her fingers on the door frame, “You keeping those?”

There was a long pause before you finally nodded, “I think so.”

She nodded, “I’ll go grab you another box.”

--

“This thing looks like it’s been through the wringer,” your tattoo artist chuckled as she looked over the cast you’d brought with you.

You managed a smile, “Because it has. I’ve had that thing since I was in, fucking, like eighth grade I think? Long time.”

“What made you decide to get this done now?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know. Figured it’ll be better than moving it from one closet to the next over the course of my life.”

You could tell by the look on her face, that she wanted to ask for the story behind it all. But the fact that you didn’t offer it up, made her not pry. You’d always been open so if you were keeping something to yourself, she respected that. The two of you talked about the logistics of it, and the changes you want to make to clean it up a little bit. You were excited to come back and get it done, though.

Despite the wait, your excitement and nervousness about coming back didn’t fade. You didn’t regret the decision, but it was still nerve-wracking as you got ready to sit down in the chair. She had you look over the pattern she’d drawn up, and when you gave her the okay she laid the stencil out on your arm and got to work. You watched her as she brought it all to life—it was a little cleaner and more grown-up than the original scribbles and doodles, but it felt right. Tears stung at the edges of your eyes but it wasn’t because of the physical pain of getting the tattoo.

She was wrapping it up in saranwrap as she gave you the run-down of taking care of the tattoo. You’d heard the spiel before but you still listened anyway. You had a hard time taking your eyes off of the artwork as you made your way back out to your car. Sitting down in the driver’s seat, you let out a sigh as you tried to inspect the ink as best you could through the wrap around your arm.

The next day, you were putting on a fresh wrap over your tattoo after your shower when you heard your phone buzzing in the next room. With a heavy sigh, you slapped a piece of tape onto the wrap and scrambled to get to your phone before you missed the call. Looking down at the screen, you didn’t recognize the number. But it was an off-hour for a scammer to be calling so you answered it on a whim. Worst case scenario you would just hang up.

“Hello?”

“Hi, my name is Rita and I work at Imperial Hospital. I’m looking for Ms. Y/N?”

“Um, speaking?” you had no idea where this was going.

“Good morning. Someone was admitted and you are their only emergency contact—no next of kin listed. Do you know a Mr. Nestor Oceteva?”

Your heart dropped into your stomach, “Yes,” you couldn’t get the words out fast enough, “Yes I do. Is he alright?”

“He’s going to be fine,” her tone was calm enough to give you the smallest sliver of reassurance, “But we do need you to come in and answer some questions for us. He’s been in and out of it and we need someone who can give us reliable information.”

“O-okay. Yea. Yea I’ll leave right now. It’ll be about an hour or so before I get there though. Is that alright? He’s going to be okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. He’s going to be fine. Thank you so much for your cooperation.”

You hung up the phone and started flying around your apartment to get ready. You had no idea what you were about to be walking into but at this point you didn’t care. All these years you’ve been wondering about him and he was two towns over. You were as angry as you were relieved.

The line of questions that the nurses asked you seemed endless. You knew that it was all important but there was nothing that you wanted more than to be in the room and see that it really was him, that this wasn’t just some cruel trick from the universe.

Finally, the nurse started walking you back. You only heard half of what she was saying to you about his condition as the two of you approached the room. You heard that he was stable and the rest didn’t really matter to you. your hands were trembling as she gestured to the door to his room, telling you that she would give you a few minutes to yourselves.

You slowly opened the door and a sob lodged itself in your throat as you looked at him. He was passed out, whether the sleep was genuine or from the meds you didn’t know. Truthfully, it was almost difficult to see that it was the Nestor you knew and loved—but you could still see it. Underneath the cuts and scrapes, beneath the braids and the tattoos, there was still your Nestor. The man you knew all those years ago was somewhere underneath it all.

Walking over, you collapsed in the chair next to his bed. You reached out and took his hand in your own, seeing the scars and scabs that covered his knuckles. Whatever he’d been doing all those years, it wasn’t treating him well. You let out a shaky breath as the tears started to fall. You tried to keep your emotions bottled up and quiet, but you couldn’t. There were too many there that you had been battling with and pushing down over the years.

Your crying made him stir. With a quiet groan of pain he opened his eyes and turned to look and see who was in the room with him. His entire body went stiff as his eyes flew completely open, unable to believe that you were sitting there with him.

“H-holy shit,” he coughed, trying to sit up, “Y/N?”

He was conscious and able to speak, so you punched him in the upper arm, “As soon as I can my ass, Nestor.”

He winced and smiled, and you could see all of the motions in his eyes, “I’m…I’m sorry.”

“You fucking should be.”

“I am.”

“Good.”

There were a few beats of silence and then he heard the crinkling of the wrap on your arm as you crossed them and he nodded towards it, “Fresh?”

Heat instantly flooded to your face and you fought the urge to get up and run out of the room, “Got it yesterday.”

“Can I see?”

You hated that he was talking to you like everything was normal, but you couldn’t lie and said that you didn’t miss it. Taking a deep breath, you laid your arm down on the hospital bed for him to inspect. A smile instantly took over his features when he saw what it was. He looked up at you, and when he saw the happiness and hurt both in your expression, his smile dulled a little bit.

“I’m so sorry.”

“What the fuck, Nestor?”

“I know, I know. I should’ve said something.”

“Uh…yea.”

“When they let me out of here, will you let me take you somewhere and tell you all about it?”

“I mean. I guess. But only because I’m nosey,” you managed a smile through the tears.

“I love you.”

The words made your heart skip a beat in your chest, “I love you too.”

“That’s way less clunky than a cast,” he tapped the plastic wrap.

You smiled, wiping the tears away, “Yea, I guess so.”

“I can’t believe you still have the same number after all these years.”

You paused, looking down at your hands, “I kept it in case your ass decided to smarten up and call me one of these days.”

“Hospital calling you on my behalf doesn’t count?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “No. No it doesn’t.”

He reached over and clasped your hand in his, “I’m really glad that you’re here.”

With a deep sigh, you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the side of his forehead, careful to miss all the scrapes, “Me too.”

There was so much more to be said, but it could wait. You tried to soak up the feeling of his hand over yours, smiles appearing on both of your faces despite the lost time and the gravity of the situation. A lot of things had changed, but as you felt the heat from his palm and the way his thumb traced back and forth over your hand, you knew the important things were still exactly the same.

[magpie-to-the-morning]

On Fire from Within

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3.8k

Tags: Self-Indulgent, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, the helmet comes off, Blindfolds, Sex Pollen, Dirty talk, Mostly in Mando’a, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, PiV Sex, Din is soft and a mess, and so am I, so much Mando'a because I cannot be stopped, Please let me know if I missed anything

Summary: Reader is a newish crew member on the Razor Crest. She was helping out on a bounty hunting mission when she got hit with a laced dart at a shady brothel. It's a sex pollen fic lads, you know how this goes!

Read on Ao3

“Fuck,” you swore softly, pulling a small barb from the back of your neck. It’s only a little thing, a geometric pattern of angles and sharp points. Odd for a piece of shrapnel, but surely nothing to worry about. The small wound wouldn’t be worth the Bacta gel. You tossed it away before walking up the ramp into the Crest.

“Everything ok?” Mando stepped away from the controls of the carbonite chamber. You hadn’t realized he was so close, and startled when you heard the question crackling through his modulator.

“Yeah, it’s nothing. That bastard frozen yet?”

“Just about.”

“Good. That place made me want to scrub the inside of my skin.” You’d just finished helping Mando drag a bounty out of a local bar running an illegal “pleasure house.” It certainly hadn’t deserved the name, and you were more than happy to provide an initial distraction so Mando could come in for the kill. (The metaphorical kill, sadly. You would have been happy to leave the owner of that awful establishment a smoking crater on the floor of his bar, but apparently that was “not following the brief” and “wouldn’t bring in as much money for fuel.” Pfft). There had been a little static on the way out, and you assume that’s when you’d picked up that bit of metal. “I’m going to hit the refresher, unless you need it first?”

The bounty hunter shook his head and moved towards the ramp. “No. I’m going to trade in the puck and get us out off this rock. You go ahead.”

--

You checked the controls of the shower. Again. You’re sweating, and as much as you try, you can’t get the water cold enough to soothe your burning skin. You arch your back, moaning when the stretching movement sends a dart of pleasure straight to your aching cunt. Fuck, why are you such a mess all of a sudden? You slip a hand between your legs and are shocked to discover that you are already dripping wet. You rub the back of your neck and it hits you- that wasn’t shrapnel. It must have been a dart laced with something, and knowing the type of place you were in, you’d bet any amount of credits it was a nasty aphrodisiac. “Those bastards…”

You drag your hands through your hair and take a steadying breath. Ok, you can handle this, pull yourself together… Nice empty ship and a hot shower. Nothing you haven’t done before. You let your hands drift lower, massaging your breast and tweaking an already pert nipple. You’re already so close…

__

An hour later and you’re sobbing from want. Why can’t you just. Fucking. Come already? You’ve tried everything, every fantasy, every technique or touch, and nothing. You try again, stroking your clit and spiraling towards release before it slips away again, a jolt of pain rebounding through you. “Damn it!”

“Y/N? What’s wrong?”

You freeze. You hadn’t realized how much time had passed, of course Mando is back. What had he heard? “Um, nothing, it’s fine!” You wince at how falsely this rings, even to you.

There’s a pause. “Open the door.”

“… no? I’m not-“

“Open the door. Or I will break it down.”

Shit. You have a second to grab a towel before the door clangs open. Mando is through the door and into the tiny room in an instant, hand on his blaster. He checks all the corners which, takes about 2 seconds, before turning that implacable, visored gaze on you. “What’s going on with you?”

“Jeez, Mando, I-“ you try to bluff your way out of it for a moment before giving it up for lost. Even if you could explain away everything else, you know your flushed cheeks and glassy eyes will give you away. “Fine, just, promise you won’t laugh?”

“Is something funny?”

“No, it really isn’t.” You sigh. “So, I didn’t realize until we got back to the ship, but someone back at that hole in the wall hit me with some kind of dart. I think it was drugged.”

“Show me.”

“I chucked it just before I got on board, but this is where it hit.” You pull your wet hair back to show him the mark on your neck. Mando crosses the floor in one step, and you feel one of his gloved hands steady your shoulder as he takes a closer look. That small touch is enough to drive you wild, and you bite back a groan, leaning into his touch.

“Dank ferrik.” Mando pulls his hands away like he’s been burned, and your cheeks flame again, this time in embarrassment. “There are red marks at the injection site. I’ve, uh.. I’ve seen this before.”

You grit your teeth, finding it easier to talk about when you’re not looking at him. “It hurts, Mando and I can’t make it stop. How long am I going to feel like this?”

“Until it runs its course. Usually, a few hours. And it will get worse.”

You swear again, tears of frustration slipping down your cheeks. Mando stands there for a moment, flexing his hands and looking unsure of what to say. Finally, you hear a deep breath and, “let me help you.”

You startle, sure you’ve heard him wrong. It’s only been a few months since you signed on as his only crew member, a live-in mechanic and occasional extra pair of hands for certain bounties. You’d thought about it, of course. At first you’d seen this as just another short term gig. Some light repair work, the odd stint of standing lookout or patching up his wounds or acting as a distraction for a tricky bounty. The longer you spent with him though, the longer you started to see the man beneath the armor, his dark humor, his unexpected kindness, his tendency to throw himself into harm’s way for the sake of a code you can’t begin to understand. Stars, and that voice… but you knew he would never return those feelings. The idea of him offering himself to you now, out of pity or worse, obligation…

“No.” You move to shoulder past him.

He grabs your wrist. “Look, Y/N, I know I may not be your first choice but-“

You whirl around to glare at him. “Not my- damn it, Mando!” You kick the waste bin in sheer frustration. “I’ve wanted you for weeks and just because I don’t want you to feel cornered into sleeping with me you have the fucking gall-“

“Close your eyes.”

You blink in confusion. “Wait, what?”

“Do it. Now.” You shiver at the steel in his voice and comply without another thought.

There’s a soft hiss, and the clang of metal set down on metal. He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t… You start in surprise, feeling his leather-clad fingers cup your face and tip your chin up. “Are you sure you want this?”

You laugh, a little shakily, amazed to hear how deep and rough his unmodulated voice still is. “Are you?”

The next thing you know, he’s got you backed up against that wall. You gasp, reaching to pull him closer. His mouth slides over yours, lips warm and surprisingly plush. You deepen the kiss and moan, needing so much more. He responds by reaching down, pulling you up to straddle his waist. Trapped between the wall and a cage of Beskar, you’ve never felt freer. You card your fingers through his hair, marveling at the curls under your hands. Mando gasps, already sounding ragged. “How do you want me?”

You drag your nails down his scalp and lick your way up the column of his throat. You taste salt and pant into his ear, “in the cockpit chair.”

Mando groans. “You have been thinking about this, haven’t you, sweet girl?”

“Less talk. More chair sex.”

He huffs a laugh against your neck and pulls you from the wall, carrying you through the ship like you don’t weigh a thing. You make it through the corridor, with only a few brief stops against walls and doorways. Mando sets you down once you reach the cockpit and you whine at the lack of his touch, but still keep your eyes closed. He kisses your forehead. “Patience, sweet girl.” You give up the last shreds of your dignity and moan, rubbing your thighs together. “Can’t, I need you to touch me now.” You hear a few soft clinks, and realize Mando is removing his armor, piece by piece. Not wanting to be outdone, you toss your towel aside. Your eyes are still shut tight, but you add a hand to cover them, afraid you’ll forget yourself. You may not understand his beliefs, but you are damn sure going to respect them, even now.

There’s startle at a ripping sound, and Mando asking “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

“Good. Keep your eyes closed.” Mando pulls your hand away, pressing a kiss to your palm before knotting a blindfold around your eyes. You feel yourself pulled down to his lap. You twine your arms around his neck and lower yourself until you’re straddling his hips, grinding as close to him as you can.

“Tell me what you need.”

“Touch me.”

He’s eager to comply, and you shiver as you feel his hands (his hands, not the gloves, stars) skim up your sides. Mando cups the back of your head, drawing you closer as he kisses and licks his way into your mouth. You immediately open your lips to his, stroking his tongue with your own, teasing the roof of his mouth to egg him on. You’re rewarded with a small groan, and Mando palming your left breast. He strokes your nipple with his thumb, rolling and pinching it to make you arch your back. “What else?”

“Maker, that’s so good… talk to me, Mando, don’t stop touching me.”

“Never, mesh’la.” Mando rolls his hips and makes you squirm against him. You can feel his arousal, pressed so close to your own, separated only by the canvas of his trousers. You mewl and buck your hips against him.

“Oh gods, yes…”

Mando chuckles as your breath speeds up. “You’re so gorgeous, Y/N, going to take such good care of you. Going to make this so good for you.”

He bends his head and sucks one of your nipples into his warm mouth, and you nearly black out. The sheer relief of such a touch when you need it so badly nearly undoes you completely. “Mando…”

“Din.” The word is muffled against your chest, and you have to ask “what?”

He rests his forehead against shoulder. “My name, Din Djarin.”

“Din,” you taste the short name, adding it to what you’ve learned about this man. This capable, dangerous, surprisingly gentle Mandalorian. How can such a hard man be so… This train of thought is interrupted as another wave of desire bowls you over, making you shudder with need and pain. “I need more, Din, please…”

You don’t even need to finish that thought before you feel his rough, calloused fingers drifting down your belly and lower, lower… You lean back to give him easier access, his other arm coming to rest around your waist, holding you up. You gasp when he strokes your folds. “Me’bana? You’re so wet, mesh’la. Is this all for me?” He doesn’t wait for a response before slowly fucking two of his fingers deep inside you, dragging the pads over your G-spot over and over. He’s a quick learner, adapting to touch you harder or softer, quicker or slower, as you gasp and buck your hips. “So good for me, so wet and ready. Do you want me to make you come?”

“Yes, yes, please Din, I’m so close…” you whine.

Din rubs your clit while fucking his fingers into you. He bites down on your earlobe, whispering, “Then come for me, cyare.”

You do. You cry out as you feel yourself coming apart under his hands, your hips thrashing despite you as you moan and call out his name. When you drift back to yourself, you’re grateful for his supporting hold as waves of pleasure continue to roll through you. Din strokes you through all of it, only backing off when your breathing slows and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

__

You exhale slowly, taking stock after that release. “That was… whew…” Now that you have a moment to think clearly again, you can feel your mind spinning up to overthink this. Will you ever be able to look at your employer (partner? friend?) again? Not that you can ever look him in the eye anyway, but what if he’s completely disgusted with you after this? Your racing thoughts pause when you hear what can only be Din sucking your slick from his fingers.

“Maker, you taste as good as I hoped you would.” Thoughts: gone. Brain: empty. There can’t be any room for overthinking when your head is suddenly full of HE THOUGHT ABOUT TASTING ME?! “How do you feel?”

You force yourself to consider this. You can already feel the fire in your core roaring back to life. “Good, but, I can already feel it ramping back up.” You blush. “Not that I didn’t… I totally did, but.. sorry…”

“Shh, k’uur. I get it. Just relax and let me take care of you.” He stands up, depositing you gently in his seat. You only have a moment to wonder at this sudden shift before feeling him kneel down in front of you. Without even thinking about it, you let your legs fall open to him. “That’s it, sweet girl, let me see that pretty pussy.”

If you weren’t already positive you were running a fever, that would have tipped you over the edge. Din runs his hands up your thighs, his breath ghosting over your throbbing core. “Ibac’ner. Ni copaanir dinuir gar ner lalat akay gar jair.” Is he… praying? You’re past the point of caring, all you want is for him to stop sucking marks into your inner thigh and finally move to where you need him most. You nearly scream when he drags his tongue up your slit. He flattens his tongue against you, humming appreciatively as your roll your hips. He wraps his arms around your thighs suddenly, jerking you closer towards him. “Jatisyc, ni larayc teh gar.”

You are glad of the blindfold because you are so far beyond controlling your face. Din’s tongue feels like it is everywhere at once, tonguing your cunt like it was your mouth one second, then laving your clit the next. You curl your toes and howl when he sucks your clit into his mouth and you feel the barest hint of teeth around you. “So close, so close” you chant, reaching down to hold his head right where you need it.

Din releases your clit, licking circles around it instead. “You liked that, didn’t you cyare? Do you like it a little rough?”

You shudder, thrilled to have been caught out so soon. “Gods, yes.”

Din chuckles and you hope you haven’t slipped up by confessing quite so enthusiastically. “Oh this is going to be fun. I am going to ruin you, mesh’la.” He dives back into your pussy, licking and sucking and nipping at your thighs like a wild thing. You whine and arch your back.

“Hold. Still.” Din’s arm clamps over your waist like an iron bar. “How am I supposed to finish you off, if you won’t stop writhing around, you etyc dala?” When you push your luck, trying to squirm free, you feel a sharp slap to your thigh. “Are you going to be a good girl and let me make you come? Or should I leave you here by yourself?”

“No, please, I’ll be good for you I promise!”

“Damn right you will,” he snarls. Without warning, Din shoves two fingers into your cunt and wraps his lips around your clit, sucking hard. You come in a rush, screaming his name.

__

You’ve barely come down from that high before chasing your next. While your first orgasm left you with some temporary relief, this one only stokes the fire even higher. You seize Din’s face from where he was resting his cheek against your thigh and pull him to your mouth. Reticence is a distant memory and you devour the taste of yourself from his mouth. When Din leans back and groans from this spectacle, you palm his length, spear-straight and hard as Beskar under your hand.  Din shudders underneath you, and you can almost see the effort of restraining himself.  You trace the shell of his ear and murmur “Why are you still wearing pants?”

Din rushes to his feet, pulling you from the chair and pushing you up against the nearest wall in one smooth motion. He holds you in place with one arm across your breastbone, panting with effort. “Hang on, I don’t want to rush you.“

You wish you could look at him, to show you the burning desire in your eyes, how much you truly want this. Alas. You settle for dropping to your knees and fumbling blindly with the fastenings of his trousers.

“Dank ferrik…” a muttered oath somewhere above your head. Din reaches down to help you, drawing his cock out. Once again, you wish the blindfold wasn’t necessary. You can feel the velvet-soft skin of him, trace the head of his cock and stroke up and down the length of him, but you wish you could see him. You breathe over him and, holding his shaft to help guide you (and madden him), lick just under the tip of his cock. You run your tongue around the ridge and lick your lips before taking him as far down your throat as you can. Din hisses and unleashes a stream of Basic and that same tongue he’d been speaking earlier. “Fuck… ori jate, ori jate, yes, Y/N. Parer, ke’pare, ah!”

You hum around him, loving the sound of him absolutely losing it. “Too much?” you ask, all innocence.

Din actually growls. “Yes. Don’t stop, please.”

You smile, hoping he can see you amidst his unraveling. You bob your lips over the head of his cock, once, twice, before sliding down the length of him as far as you can take. Din’s fingers tangle in your hair and you can feel him jerking his hips, holding back from fucking your face like he clearly wants to. You pull back again, letting go  of his cock with a wet pop. “Don’t hold back, baby, I want all of you.”

This is more than Din can stand. He hauls you roughly to your feet, kissing you with abandon. “Say that again?”

“I want you Din, please. I fucking need you.”

Din grabs one of your legs and holds it over his hip. He teases your entrance while you beg him, rubbing against your folds. You moan in relief when he finally thrusts home, stretching you and dragging against your walls. You rake your nails down his back, biting at his shoulder. “Gods, yes, that’s so fucking good. Don’t hold back. Unh, yes, yes, yes…” He is pounding into you now, setting a brutally quick pace- just like you need. You try to kiss him but you’re getting sloppy and your kiss is more just dragging your open mouth along his jaw, panting as he fucks you. “Din, I’m so close…”

“That’s good, you’re so good at taking this cock aren’t you, mesh’la? Me'copaani? Do you want me to tell you how I’ve fantasized about fucking you over the console almost since you came on board? Do you want to hear how good it feels to be buried in your cunt, with your tight pussy around me? Because it is good, Y/N, and I am going to fucking destroy you.”

You scream his name. “Gods, Din, I’m gonna come!”

He seizes you by the throat, not hard enough to cut off your air but more than enough to let you know who is in charge now. “I want to feel you come on my cock. Come on, cyare, give it to me. Come. Now.”

It’s the full on bounty hunter voice command that slams you over the edge. You come hard, shaking in Din’s arms and soaking his cock. You absolutely would have fallen without him holding you up. He fucks you through it all, and as the aftershocks roll through you, you realize the screaming urgency has finally quieted. You can just about remember talking him through his own release before slipping below the cool depths of unconsciousness.

—

“Y/N? Here, drink this.”

You blink awake and feel a cold glass pressed into your hand. You take a sip. The icy water grounds you, and you take stock of your surroundings. You’re curled up in the captain’s seat, warm under a slightly tattered woolen blanket, or maybe a cloak? It takes you a moment before you realize what else is different. You can see again. “Din?”

“I’m here.” His voice is distant, slightly fuzzed. You look around, seeing him once again hidden beneath the helmet. “How do you feel?”

You’re still restless, like some distant part of you needs to get up and run or fight or fuck, but your limbs are feeling a bit heavier now and it’s easier to breathe. “Better.” You lift the glass again, drinking the rest of the water like you’ve never tasted anything so sweet.

Din lays his hand on your cheek, and you’re relieved to find that at least this bit of him has not been covered up again. “You’re still running a temperature but it feels like it’s easing up.” He takes the empty glass from you, setting it aside before taking your hand and drawing you up. “Come on, let’s get you to your bunk.”

You rise, unsteady on your legs after several rounds of fairly vigorous sex. Din steadies your elbow, guiding you out of the cockpit. “Sick of me already?” You’re aiming for a light tone but you know you missed the mark.

Din turns you to face him and studies you for a moment. “Yeah. Probably going to drop you off on the next planet we hit.”

You narrow your eyes at him, looking at your own skeptical face in the reflection of his visor. “Oh yeah?”

He presses his forehead to yours, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “No, ner kar’ta.” You couldn’t tell before, but now you’re almost sure he’s smiling. “I think you’re stuck with me for awhile.”

_________________________________

Mando'a Translations mesh'la beautiful

Ibac’ner. Ni copaanir dinuir gar ner lalat akay gar jair. This is mine. Going to give you my tongue until you scream.

Jatisyc, ni larayc teh gar. Delicious, I (am) drunk from you.

Etyc dala dirty girl

Ori jate so good

Parer wait

Ke'pare wait (emphatic)

Me'copaani? What's this?

Ner kar’ta My heart

[milliedazzledust]

Tell me you love me (Nick Scratch imagine)

Request from @starryblueeyesandstarryblueskies : Could you do a hurt/comfort Nick scratch fic? Like maybe the reader gets hurt by one of the villains in caos?

+ Request from anon: Just an INTENSE “oh my god thank fuck you’re safe” type of scene with nick 

---

“Okay, Y/N, that’s enough”

The girl turned her head to her friend. They were sitting on the stairs inside the Academy of Unseen Arts, talking about spells when the young woman had spotted Nicholas Scratch, talking to the weird Sisters.

“Enough ?” She repeated.

“Stop being distracted by Nick!”

“What ?” She straightened out. “What are you talking about, Brina ?”

“Are you kidding me ?” Her friend laughed. “Every time he walks in a room, your eyes go to him and your mind gets lost into this land of daydream you created to avoid telling him how you feel”

She puffed, averting her friend’s gaze before closing the book on her lap and getting up.

“Stop being so dramatic, Spellman. It’s not like that.”

“Oh yeah ?” She smiled. “Then why has he been staring at you with those love sick puppy eyes ever since he spotted us on the stairs ?”

Her eyes grew big and she took her friend by the hand, forcing her to walk.

“Spellman ! Y/L/N !” They hear Prudence called before they could disappear in the hallway.

Sabrina glanced at her friend, already annoyed, and turned back to the weird sisters and Nicholas.

“Hi, Prudence” She simply greeted her.

“And what is this book I see…” She pondered with a smirk. “Dark magic, huh ?”

“You do know it is forbidden to practice it” Dorcas reminded them.

“Who said anything about practicing” Y/N answered. “It’s called reading”

“Now if you excuse us, we have to go” Sabrina added.

Prudence looked them up and down before turned around, snapping her fingers at her sisters to tell them to follow her. And once again, before the two friends could go, someone stopped them. This time it was Nicholas. He grabbed Y/N by her wrist, forcing her to turn and face him.

“You’re not using any of those spells, are you ?” He asked.

“If I didn’t know better I’d say you’re worried about me, Scratch”

“I am”

“Well, don’t be.” She smiled at him. “You know I’m powerful. And besides, we have everything under control”

He looked between Sabrina and her, not entirely sure he believed them.

“If you need my help you know you can call me” He insisted.

“I know, Nick.”

“Please be careful” He called before she could get away.

“You know I always am” She sweetly smiled.

He pursed his lips, half satisfied by her answer and decided against his best judgment to let them go. Sabrina grabbed her friend by the arm, both of them making their way to the mortal realm. Half an hour later, they were sitting inside Dr.Cerberus’ coffee with Theo and Roz.

“When exactly did you noticed something was different about Harvey?” Y/N asked them.

“About two days ago. He started acting … weird” Theo answered.

“Weird how ?”

“Talking to a wall, having those spasms and drawing symbols”

“You have them ?” Y/N inquired. “The drawings”

“Yes!”

Roz got a piece of paper out of her bag. As soon as she put it on the table, the witches recognized it.

“We were right” Sabrina told her friend.

“What is it ?” Theo said.

“He’s possessed” Y/N explained. “It’s a sigil he’s drawing. It represents a lock in ancient Greek. Typically, when one’s possessed, they’ll instinctively try to protect their mind by making this”

“How … how do we help him ?” Roz continued, talking to Sabrina.

“I don’t know how to perform an exorcism guys” She admitted.

“I do” Y/N announced. “I’ll do it”

“You know it’s risky” Sabrina reminded her.

“I don’t see any other choices, Brina. Unless you want your friend to die, which will eventually happen”

She sighed, knowing the girl was right.

“How do we help you ?” Theo asked them.

“Staying away is the best option for you” Y/N told them.

“Why ?!”

“Once I’ll do the exorcism, the demon will be forced out of Harvey’s body. There’s a chance it might jump in one of yours to hide from me”

They nodded, understanding what was at stake.

“We’ll be a phone call away in case you need us”

“Don’t worry, it’s gonna be fine” Sabrina reassured them.

Once everything was settled, they made their way to the Spellman’s house. Sabrina had the idea to lure Harvey inside. The house would be empty that night so it was now or never. As the blonde witch wrote the message for her friend to come, Y/N started to prepare for the spell. Candles, cauldron with blood and ashes, a circle of salt and her book of Dark Magic were prepared for the ritual.

“As soon as he’s here, get him in the circle then close it with the salt” She explained to Sabrina.

“You sure about this ?” She asked one last time.

Her friend responded with a shrug. Before she could answer, her phone rang, distracting her. She sighed when she realized who was calling her and turned around for a bit of privacy.

“Nick” She answered.

“Hey! When are you coming back to the Academy” He inquired.

“Why ?”

“It’s almost midnight”

“So …?”

“Look, Y/N, I’m just making sure that you’re alright and not doing anything reckless”

“I told you I’d be careful, didn’t I ?”

“Yeah, well I’m aware of your definition of non-existent sense of self preservation”

“That’s offending”

“But true. Now when are you coming back ?”

“Later. I’ve got to go. Brina and I are kinda in the middle of something”

“Wait …”

She didn’t wait and hang up when she saw Harvey approaching the house.

“Ready ?”

“As I’ll ever be”

Y/N went to hide in the kitchen, waiting for Sabrina to give her a signal. She could hear them exchanged words and Sabrina kept talking to distract the possessed boy as she lured him in the living room. Everything was happening perfectly so far.

“Just sit here, Harvey” She told him. “Make yourself comfortable”

As he sat on the chair, she threw the salt she had in her fist, finishing the circle where he was now trapped.

“What is this ?” He asked, confused.

“Y/N!” She called.

The girl walked from behind him, putting him to sleep with a small incantation in latin. They exchanged one final look, ready to get to work.

“Once I’m inside, don’t come near me » She reminded Sabrina. « Do not touch me”

Her friend nodded. She took a deep breath and stepped inside the circle. Slowly, with all the patience she could conjure up, she started to prepare. Drawing signs on the floor with the blood mixed with the ashes, she started reciting a spell. Harvey started shaking, a small sign he was struggling. As she lit the large candle in front of her, she kneeled down, the last words of her spell pouring out of her mouth, sending her into a transe. Suddenly, she was gone. Her head thrown back, her eyes closed, she seemed in another dimension.

“Harvey!” She called inside her mind.

“The boy is not here” She heard a whisper behind her.

“Who are you, demon ?”

“You’re about to find out, witch”

And so her fight to free Harvey started. It was pitch black inside her mind and she could hear the demon laughing, waiting to attack. She tried to make a step but realized she could not move. Shaken, she look at her feet and saw a large pentagram, a witch trap.

“Shit” She murmured to herself.

She couldn’t reach Sabrina to tell her, she’d have to face him alone. Again, she heard him laughing. She turned around, trying to think of an escape but knew no spell would be efficient against a witch trap. Before she could realized what was happening, she felt what seemed like water on the floor. From outside, Sabrina knew something wasn’t right. Y/N couldn’t feel it in her mind but her body was shaking like crazy. Blood was rolling out of her nose and she almost seemed out of breath. Sabrina tried to call her but knew it was useless. She couldn’t help her, not from outside the circle and not by herself. Cursing, she knew who she had to call at their rescue.

“Nick, I need your help” She reached out to the boy through her mind.

“Where are you ?” She heard back seconds later inside her head.

“My house. Bring the sisters with you”

“Why ?”

“We used a spell and she’s not… I don’t think she’s alright”

“What spell ?” He asked.

“The exorcism”

“Who did it ?”

“…it’s Y/N. You have to hurry, Nick, please” She cried.

He didn’t answered back and she guessed he was rushing to get to the house. She turned back to her friend. Her eyes had turned wide. A large, empty white color staring back at nothing. It was like she had big electric jolts to her body. She could see Y/N trembling, the spasms so violent as she fought. Her body was in a tornado and Sabrina knew if she tried to even touch her it could have devastating effects.

“What the hell is going on” She heard behind her

When she turned around, the weird Sisters and Nick were standing there. The sisters stayed back, accessing the room, but Nick immediately rushed to Y/N once he saw her struggling.

“No!” Sabrina shouted.

He stopped right before crossing the line of salt encircling the young girl inside.

“What did you do, Sabrina ?!” He yelled back, his eyes glued to Y/N

“We had … we had to do an exorcism” She explained. “I didn’t know how but Y/N did. And once… once she started, her body just …”

“Why did you let her do it ?!” Nick cut her.

“Do you realize how dangerous this is ?” Prudence lectured.

“You have to help me” Sabrina said, ignoring their questions. “I can’t make her come back by myself”

Nicholas turned back to the girl, walking in front of her from a safe distance. He knew she couldn’t see him, but maybe she could hear him.

“Hey beautiful” He started to speak. “It’s me, it’s Nick. Can you hear me ?”

His heart broke when he saw her shiver more violently.

“I know you’re trapped, but I need your help Y/N”

Again, no reaction to tell him she was able to ear him.

“Try a memory, Nick” Prudence advised him.

He nodded.

“Do you… do you remember the first time we met ?” He knelt down in front of her. “You were on this rooftop, dancing by yourself. You were so beautiful. You looked like a mad woman, so I called your name but you didn’t hear me. I tried to come closer but I must’ve startled you, because you made me freeze on the spot with a flicker of your hand. I knew when you turned around that I was doomed to fall for you”

“Nick..” She whispered, almost as if speaking out loud was hurting her

“I’m here, Y/N, I’m right here love” He said back.

“I’m trapped with him”

“It’s alright, we’re here to help you get back”

“We need the demon’s name, Y/N” Prudence added, her sisters and her already in a circle.

The girl was looked straight ahead, distressed, almost conflicted by her choice.

“Once I tell you, you won’t have long” She told them.

“Why ?”

“He’ll do anything to keep us from casting him out”

“Makes sense” Agatha stated. “The power is in his name”

“Y/N” Nick called. “Which demon is with you ?”

“His name is …” She stopped herself, pursing her lips.

They could see her fighting a battle to open her mouth, to vocalize the syllable that could end her suffering.

“..B…Buka..vac” She murmured.

Prudence gasped, the simple name enough to horrify her and her sisters.

“What ?” Sabrina asked. “Who is it ?”

“He’s a demonic creature” Nicholas whispered, his eyes glued to Y/N. “He possessed people to torture them and drown them from inside”

Just as he said it, she started to hyperventilate. She opened her mouth to speak but only water came out.

“What’s happening ?” Sabrina shouted.

“Y/N, love, listen to me” Nick vehemently spoke, his eyes filling with tears. “You have to fight him back. Please, you have to…”

He couldn’t speak, his heart was breaking watching the girl he loved chocked on invisible water.

“C’mon Nick, get up” Prudence said. “Help us”

They formed a circle around her, locking their hands as they started chanting in an ancient language. Each of them in tune, they were giving strength to the young witch. Nick closed his eyes, keeping on reciting the words. He couldn’t watch her like this, it was too much. He could hear her struggle to keep the oxygen in her lungs, could guess the pounding of her heart and the fight in her head. In that moment he prayed Satan she’d keep breathing. There was a sense of urgency around them all that was more apparent than ever. They were close to losing their fight and all Nicholas could focus on was his love gasping for air. He let the tears freely roamed on his face, trying to shut the sound of her struggle.

And suddenly, it stopped. No more sound of heavy breathing or coughing, just a heavy silence. Fearful of what he would see, Nicholas slowly opened his eyes. He could swore his heart stopped beating right there when he saw her body laying on the ground. Without even thinking or realizing it, he crossed the circle made of salt and rushed to her side.

“No, no, no, no, no…” He kept whispering.

Her body felt cold, too cold to be alive. She felt like a ghost in his arms. He placed a hand of her chest, praying whatever entities could hear him to make him feel a heartbeat. He waited, but nothing happened.

“Move aside, Nick!” Prudence forcefully told him, pushing him away.

She started to pound on the young witch’s chest with all the power she could muster. Her sisters behind her were silently helping with a spell.

“C’mon, Y/N, breath” She shouted. “Breath!”

With a powerful fist she banged on her heart. The reaction was instantaneous and the girl woke up, taking a tremendous gulp of air as she regain consciousness. In doing so, and just as she arose, so did Harvey who had been asleep during the whole process of exorcism. Sabrina ran to him, wanting to make sure he was alright.

As of Nicholas, he didn’t waste a second before taking the girl in his arms, nodding at Prudence as a silence sign to thank her.

“Oh my god, thank fuck you’re safe” He whispered, crying.

Weakly, Y/N reached for him and hugged him as hard as she could.

“Thank you” She said, her head buried in his neck.

“Never, ever, do that again” He answered, taking her head between his hands. “I thought you were dead, Y/N/N”

A tear escaped her eye as she clasped her hands around his wrists, a simple way to ground herself to him.

“For a moment there I thought so to” She admitted.

Slowly, he helped her to sit.

“Harvey, are you alright ?” She asked, turning her head to the teenager.

“Yes, yes I am” He reassured her.

She closed her eyes, sighing in relief as she put her head on Nicholas’s shoulder.

“C’mon, you have to rest” Nick said. “I’ll take you back to the Academy”

She nodded.

“Sabrina, stay with Harvey to make sure he’s alright” She told her friend.

“You sure ?”

“Yes, I’ll be alright”

“I don’t want to leave you alone, not after all this” Her best friend confessed.

“She won’t be alone” Nick answered her. “There’s no way I’m letting her out of my sight”

Sabrina smiled as she watched the young boy bending to take the girl he loved in his arms. Hands clasped with Harvey’s, she watched the Sisters follow Nick and Y/N on their way back to the Academy. Through the small journey, Y/N slept. Safe in Nick’s arms, she knew she could rest peacefully. She woke up, several hours later, disoriented, in her bedroom at the Academy.

“We’re home” She heard a voice comfort her in the dark.

When she turned her head, she saw him. Sitting on her bed, his back to the wall, his eyes glued to her.

“You know it’s creepy to watch someone sleep, do you ?” She joked.

“I needed to make sure you were still breathing” He seriously stated.

She sighed, getting up to match his position. Slowly, she put her head on his shoulder and entwined their hand.

“I’m alright, Nick”

“I know” He said, closing his eyes. “But I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget the sight of you so pale and… and almost …”

“Hey, hey! Nick look at me”

She moved, kneeling in front him.

“I’m here, I’m alive”

She took one of his hand, putting in on her chest.

“Do you feel that ? …”

With a little force, he hugged her as hard as he could. His head on her chest, his ear on top of her heart, he listened closely. She let him have a moment, knowing it must have been rough for him. They stayed like that, in each other’s arms, her hand playing with his hair, for what felt like only two minutes.

“I love you, Y/N” He whispered, admitting his feelings.

“I figured” She joked.

He playfully slapped her thigh, making her laugh.

“Aren’t you going to say it back ?” He asked.

“I guess so”

“You … I’m sorry, « you guess so » ?” He straightened up, pretending to be hurt.

“Is that ego of yours bruised, Scratch ?”

“Very much so”

She laughed before looking at him dead in the eyes.

“Then I should probably tell you a secret”

“Is it a good secret ?” He asked.

“I’ll let you decide on that one”

“Alright, I’m listening”

With a wicked smile she leaned into him, slowly putting her lips on his. It was the sweetness of passion, a million loving thoughts condensed into a short moment, a statement from both of them admitting what they refused to say out loud before.

“I love you too, Nick” she whispered in his ear.

“Best secret ever” he answered, smiling, making her laugh.

[bittydragon]

The Ant King

Note: Huge thanks to Bittydragon for inspiring me to write this. I’ll be honest, this is the first fic I've ever actually written, as well as the only piece of creative fiction I've written in like two years so… fingers crossed it goes well hahaha.

TW: tight spaces, darkness, uh,,, bugs i guess. Near death experience

  There are things you have to know about ants when you get an ant farm. Basic fundamentals. What to feed them, how to keep them alive, what type of ants you have, etcetera. Even if your intentions were… torturous. After all, you need to know what makes something tick in order to make it stop.

One of the more common facts about ants is that every colony has a queen. She orders her ants to keep her alive so she can make more ants. Simple biology, the continuation of a species. Every nest has a queen, or it dies.

Apparently, this colony didn’t get the memo.

These thoughts buzzed in grumpy circles around Wilbur's’ head as he followed his ant companion, Tommy, deeper into the ant-farm. They had been wandering these tunnels for what felt like days now, in the center of the farm so there were no glass barriers to show the outside world. They were deep too. Almost at the bottom of the compound. Wilbur was not one to show fear, but even he was beginning to get claustrophobic.

Tommy, who up until now had been jabbering like a toddler the whole trip through the ant-farm had also gone uncharacteristically silent. The whole trip Wilbur had wanted nothing more than a few seconds of quiet from him, but now he missed the carefree noise.

They were on their way to see the ant King. A type of ant that, as far as Wilbur knew, didn’t exist. So either they were on a wild goose chase, or Will was way out of his depth.

The further they went, the more he was convinced it was the latter.

“Tommy do you-” Wilbur paused, his echoing voice in the tunnel almost felt like a taboo. An affront to the maddening silence that stalked them. He lowered his voice.

“Do you think… Will I ever get back to normal? Will the ant king change me back?” He hated that little quiver in his voice. He hated the uncertainty. The waiting.

Tommy continued to march forward silently, pondering the question.

“I dunno big man, I think you’ve changed heaps since you got here.” He turned his head to flash Wilbur a grin “Then you’ll be out there and all nice n shit. It’ll be poggers.”

The tunnel was dark, but not dark enough to hide the flash of uncertainty in Tommy’s eyes.

Wilbur's heart sank. “Thanks mate.” He mumbled, and they trekked on, once more in silence.

  By the time they saw light, it felt like they had been walking for days. Wilbur was almost glad he was about to meet possibly one of the most powerful ants in this colony. They rounded one last bend, and they were there.

Before them stood a huge double door set in the wall. Two vines with some kind of glowing fruit framed the door, shedding light on the small space. In front of the door, leaning on a spear made from a twig was another ant with a pair of large white rimmed goggles. 

“Well… This is it I guess.” Wilbur muttered. He cleared his throat “Hey, um. I-i’m here to have an audience with the King? If that's alright.”

The guard ant didn’t respond, continuing to stare at them with no discernible expression.

“H-hello?” Wilbur glanced at Tommy, who shrugged.

“Excuse me? Anyone home?” Wilbur snapped his fingers in front of the ant's face.

He seemed to startle slightly, before slumping down a bit and letting out a loud snore.

“What the fuck” Tommy said.

Before anyone could do much of anything, one of the massive double doors creaked open and a voice came through.

“George, I swear if you fell asleep again, I'm going to rip off your antenna and use them as- oh.”

Another ant entered the room, this one also carried a twig-spear and had a strip of white cloth tied around his forehead.  As soon as his gaze landed on Wilbur, his expression soured.

If looks could kill… Wilbur thought nervously

“It’s you” The new ant spat “Took your sweet time getting here Soot. Earthquake slow you down? Didja get a taste of your own medicine from your big pals out there?”

Wilbur pursed his lips, and the ant snorted. “Yeah. Thought so.” He walked forward and gave George a hard shove, sending the other ant sprawling with a startled yelp.

“Sapnap what the hell?!” He snapped, before spotting Wilbur and Tommy. “Oh hey. That guy is here.”

“Yeah he’s here, idiot.” Sapnap smacked George over the head with his spear “And we would have known a lot sooner if you hadn't fallen asleep on duty again!”

“OW! Sapnap stop! Get off me!”

Wilbur cleared his throat, drawing their attention “Sorry to interrupt, but me and my friend have been walking for a long, long time, so could we please have an audience with the King?”

Subpoena glared “Yeah. He’s waiting for you. Against my advice, he wants to see you.”

Oh. That… didn’t sound great.

Wilbur tried not to think about the implications of that statement as he approached the double doors. Tommy moved to follow, but was stopped by the guards.

“Hey!” He groused “Let me through dickheads!”

“I'm afraid the King only wants an audience with the great and powerful Wilbur Soot” Sapnap said with a smirk.

“But I want to go too! Let me in! You stupid ugly bitch ill fight you! You may have a fancy stick but just wait until I pull out my knife-gun!”

“Tommy its fine.” Wilbur interrupted “I’ll be fine mate, promise. Just wait here. I wont leave without saying goodbye.”

The last thing he saw was Tommy’s antenna drooping sadly, before the doors swung closed behind him.

  If Wilbur thought the tunnel was dark before, that was nothing compared to the room he was in now. The darkness was so thick, so absolute, that it made no difference if his eyes were open or closed.

“Hello?” Wilbur called “Uh… your majesty? I was told that you wanted to see me.”

His voice echoed slightly in the huge space, but there was no reply.

Wait. What was that? Something rasped ever so slowly across the opposite wall. Something big. As it moved, the moss where it had been standing glowed a dull green.

Bio-luminescence Wilbur reasoned. Trying to distract himself from the fear creeping up his spine. Touch activated, it seems.

He swallowed dryly “L-look, just tell me what you want. I’m not here to cause trouble”

The thing moved again, its raspy scuttle reverberated through the chamber.

“Wilbur Soot, not here to cause any trouble” A thoughtful voice hummed from the dark “Now that’s a first.”

The bio-luminescent moss was lighting up more of the room. If he squinted, Wilbur could make out a... leg. Probably.

Wilbur inches slowly to the side, the moss lighting up his own path. “Okay, I get it, I've done morally questionable things in the past, but I've learned a lot from my time here. I’m sorry.”

“For now” The voice replied. The thing was moving on the other side, matching him step for step. “What's to say you aren't faking remorse to get out of here? And maybe you really are sorry. How can I be sure you wont change your mind the second you're back to normal? It's too much of a risk.”

Wilbur continued to back away nervously “Your majesty-”

“Please, call me Dream. Everyone else does.”

“Right… Dream. I can say with 100% certainty that won't happen. I've seen people die in front of me. That’s enough to change anyone's stance on something.”

“And yet I'm still not convinced.” It was moving faster now, scuttling across the floor, walls and even across the ceiling. Wilbur's head spun with the motion. “And since we’re talking in hypotheticals, riddle me this: Whoever said I was going to let you out anyway? What if I just like to play with my food?”

Dream stopped suddenly, rearing over Wilbur, and with all of the lit up moss, he got his first proper look.

This ant was huge. Twice- no, at least three times the size of Wilbur himself. He looked a bit like a centaur, with a human torso connected to a pure white and thorax and abdomen.He also wore a strange white mask with a blank eyed smiley face drawn on.

Two huge claw arms- similar to those of a praying mantis- extended from Dreams waist and slammed into the dirt either side of Wilbur, startling him enough that he fell onto his ass. The king leaned forward with that lifeless grin, and Will closed his eyes, preparing for the end.

“But…” Dream said thoughtfully “A proper experiment should account and test for all variables, shouldn't it?”

“Y-yeah generally” Wilbur stuttered

“Oh good.” Dream hoisted him roughly to his feet. “I’m glad I asked you. After all, you know all about experiments, don’t you?”

Wilbur chose not to answer, glowering at Dream as the eyes on his mask briefly glowed a dull green.

A moment later, Sapnap and George marched in, dragging a cussing and struggling Tommy behind them.

“YOU STUPID MOTHEFUCKERS!!! Let me go or ill get married in rage!! Fuck you and-! Oh. wow that is a big fella.” Tommy stopped and stared in awe at Dream

“Sapnap, give Wilbur your spear.” Dream ordered.

A flicker of doubt crossed Sapnaps face but he obediently shoved the spear into Wilbur's hands.

“I’ll make you a deal, Wilbur Soot.” Dream purred, circling him. “I will let you go to your old life. You can do whatever you like; kill us, torment us, throw us away… it doesn't matter. All you have to do is kill one ant.” He gestured to Tommy.

“What?” Wilbur whispered.

“WHAT?!” Tommy roared “fuck you! I'm not your dumb-ass pawn, I'm going to kill you! Rrrrrrrrrrr!” he writhed, attempting to bite George who did a surprisingly good job of holding him still.

“Go on.” Dream cooed “It's just one insignificant ant standing between you and freedom. You've killed hundreds. What's one more?”

Spear in hand, Wilbur took a hesitant step forward.

Tommy's gaze snapped up “Wilby?” He asked, his struggling pausing for a moment.

Their eyes met, fear clashing with sorrow. Tommy seemed to see something in Wilbur's expression and hung his head in defeat. As if he had expected Wilbur to betray him.

Oh hell no. Fuck that. Wilbur angrily tossed the spear aside.

“No. I won't.”

“What?” Dream spat

Wilbur rounded on him “No! I won't kill him! Keep me here, kill me, hunt me for sport, whatever! Just leave him out of this! Tommy has been nothing but nice to me since I met him, even though it don't deserve it!” He rubbed his arm. “God knows I don't deserve it.”

“Hmm…” Dream hummed “Are you sure, even if it costs you your life?” One of Dream's massive claw arms grazed his side, a subtle threat.

Wilbur looked over at Tommy, who had a look of hope on his face.

“Yeah.” Will smiled, “I'm sure.”

I probably could have written more, but i wont. I hope you like this fic bitty! Thanks for reading :)

Edit: Fortune, this is amazing! Like, I hadn't really thought about this encounter in a lot of detail, but I honestly like this a lot! And Dream being a big boy since he's the king ant. Just yes. Thank you so much for this.

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Sensate Focus

A bitch takes one Human Sexuality class and gets stuck on the fucking Sensate Focus bullshit then has to write a fic about it. Its me. I’m the bitch. 😂

Warnings: Geralt is self depriciating-whats new, insecure jask, insecure geralt, overwhelmed by touch, big vulnerability, they’re in couple’s therapy, so like, its a rocky relationship, we got some connection building and cuteness in the end too, its not all bad, mentions of sex, nudity but like not in a smutty way, for once I dont think i used a single swear word? I had big feels while writing it i really hope they translated lmao.

I am but a humble psych major, not an actual therapist, so plz don’t come at me if shit isn’t accurate. I tried my best.

Also this is under a cut for a reason, not just length. If you are easily triggered by touch starved type fics this is not for you. It gets emotionally heavy plz read with caution.  

____________________________

“You want us to what?” 

“Come on, Geralt. You said you’d try.”

“I- no. Just- why? What’s the point?”

Both Geralt and Jaskier turned to their therapist, each equally confused and a little scared. 

The tiny woman kept her face completely impassive and answered his question, “The exercise helps people get out of their heads and reacquaint themselves with, not only being open with their partner, but also slowing down and enjoying touch for touch sake. Without being so focused on the end goal of sex or pleasing a partner, people can begin to refocus on the connection attachment theorists claim is the underlying motivation for sex without reproduction in the first place.”

Geralt swallowed hard. This was for him and he knew it. He’d said it himself, he was fucking terrified of failure and rejection and that absolutely extended to Jaskier. His husband. Of five years. Who’d been with him for ten. Logically it made no fucking sense, but the woman with the PhD had told him this was rather normal for a child of divorce as if he’d said he didn’t like horseradish sauce. He didn’t see how being scared of your spouse secretly hating you was normal in the slightest. 

He glanced over at Jaskier who sat at the other end of the black leather sofa picking at his nails. When they’d gotten married they’d laze around all day just holding each other and talking. It was safe and sweet and Geralt couldn’t for the life of him remember how it was tainted.

“Alright,” he grunted, “What’re the rules again?”

-

The next afternoon they’d carved out an hour and a half with no distractions, no phones, not even any music to Jaskier’s dismay. Apparently that was against the ‘guidelines - not rules’. 

They stood in their bedroom, lights dimmed and curtains drawn, as much for the ambiance as for the privacy. Geralt felt his stomach flip flop as he stepped out of his clothes, feeling a bit ridiculous. It’s not as if this was the first time they’d seen each other naked, but it was the first time they were to spend ‘as much time as necessary’ -whatever that meant- touching each other, one at a time. 

Jaskier dropped his clothes in the laundry bin and stood with his arms crossed, almost like he was hiding, “Right. So… Do you want to go first? Maybe go over things again?”

“Do you want to go first?” Geralt asked, immediately drawing his bottom lip between his teeth to gnaw at the peeling skin. 

“I just want to know why you look so scared, to be honest,” Jaskier breathed. 

Geralt took a deep breath, reminding himself that he wasn’t the only one being vulnerable here, “Not scared. Just nervous.”

“Rules then?”

Geralt nodded, “No talking. No, uh, erogenous zones. No sex. No kissing. If you don’t like something or it’s a big turn on or it tickles, move the other person’s hand.” the weight in his chest lessened a little bit, this really was simple. Just touching Jask. Something he’d done a million times. Hell he might not even get anything out of it. He didn’t need to be so damned worried about things going wrong. 

“If you get overwhelmed think about temperature and texture and how it feels. Don’t think about what the other person is thinking or feeling. The only bit that matters is moving their hand,” Jaskier added, his posture relaxing ever so slightly as he rocked up on his toes and back down.

Geralt stepped a little closer, holding out his pinky finger, “We don’t stay still if we don’t like something.” He said it more to reassure Jaskier than anything. 

Jask hooked his pinky around Geralt’s and smiled, “No barreling through,” he agreed. 

“Can I, uhm… go first?” Geralt kept their pinkies hooked together as he let their hands hang between them. 

Jaskier looked surprised, but nodded fervently, “Of course!”

“Okay,” Geralt pulled his hand back and ran it through his hair before stepping a bit closer, hovering both of his hands over jaskier’s shoulders, “So I just-?”

Jaskier nodded and whispered, “No talking, love.” 

Geralt let out an amused huff, the irony of the words bringing a soft smile to his face. He took a deep breath in and slowly let it out as he placed his hands over Jaskier’s arms. 

Sensations. He could do this. He was doing this.

Jaskier’s arms were soft, both in texture and in feel, giving way to Geralt’s fingers ever so slightly when he squeezed. He trailed his hands down over Jaskier’s elbows, noting the patches of dry skin over the joints that Jask had been scandalized by in college. His forearms had more hair, but it was softer than Geralt’s, silky even, and nice to touch. Geralt trailed his fingers down Jaskier’s wrist and back up, watching as the little hairs stood on end but seemed to stick to the pads of his fingers as he moved past them. When he noticed the goosebumps he glanced up to Jaskier with mild panic in his eyes, worried he’d already fucked it up and made him uncomfortable. But his husband just nodded, a light smile on his lips. 

Temperature. Back to task.

Geralt picked up Jaskier’s hand, holding it in one of his as he skimmed his fingers over his knuckles and calluses. His palms were warmer than the back of his hand and it seemed every spot where his skin had built up from use was just a tad colder than the thinner skin next to it. 

He gently guided Jaskier’s hand back down and trailed his hand up his arm, ghosting his fingers over his collar bone. He thought about how much softer this skin was, and how it made the butterflies in his stomach go wild as he moved back and forth over the spot a few times. He liked the pleasant little pitfall of his stomach, not arousal but not unlike it, just a little higher in his abdomen and lighter. He moved his other hand to mirror his movement’s on Jaskier’s other shoulder, palms soon coming to rest over his chest almost on their own. 

Geralt was so aware of his hands they almost felt numb. It made him think of one of those motor skills brain maps where it showed how much of your brain was devoted to moving which part of your body. Those huge chunks devoted to his hands must have been screaming. 

Jaskier gasped as a bit of his chest hair got caught in Geralt’s ring as he swept his hands downward. Geralt gave him an apologetic look but just got a grin and slight shake of his head in return instead of the shock he expected. 

Geralt continued, moving his hands in slow circles over Jaskier’s abdomen and hips and flanks, marveling at the warmth he felt not only under his hands but spreading through his chest. He let his hands rest above Jaskier’s hips, just at the bottom of his ribs and watched as his hands slowly moved apart and back together in time with Jaskier’s breath. It looked like such a small movement, but when he closed his eyes he felt like he was throwing his arms wide open. He tried matching his breathing to Jaskier’s, but that was close to overwhelming, so he moved on, refocusing on the texture and thickness of his chest hair as he moved up to his neck. 

One of his hands stayed resting on Jaskier’s chest as his other brushed up the side of his neck with the backs of his fingers. Even with such light pressure he could feel the thick ropes of muscle and tendons under his skin. It was warmer over his pulse point and Geralt’s breath hitched when he felt the little thump of a heartbeat under his fingers. He closed his eyes for a moment, surprised to find himself taking a deep breath, not out of fear or frustration, but to sink into the feeling as much as he could. He counted the beats, making a note of how comforting the feeling was. The longer he held his fingers in place, the softer the beats became, until they leveled out to a soft and steady thrum. 

When Geralt opened his eyes the beats picked up, matching the strange look on Jaskier’s face. Geralt moved his hand over his jaw and back a few times. He could almost hear the ridges of his fingerprints catching on Jaskier’s stubble as he traced over his upper lip. 

He felt a soothing sense of familiarity when his fingers grazed along the outline of Jaskier’s lips. His body latched onto the feeling and he found himself starting to get watery eyes as he reacquainted himself with the thin pink skin. He remembered their first kiss and how much it scared him even though he craved it so completely. He remembered kissing Jaskier over and over and over when they’d finally said ‘i love you’ and dropped the casual pretense. He remembered their kiss at their wedding, soft, firm, and a little wet with happy tears. 

An annoying voice that sounded an awful lot like their therapist sounded off in his head, “This is what I was trying to tell you, asshat. Focus on the positive.” 

Geralt smiled despite the sharp tug behind his eyes that told him he might cry, and brushed his fingers up over the thin skin beneath Jaskier’s eyes, careful not to press hard enough to catch and pull at the blueish skin. He traced his eyebrows, the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones and hollows, his chin, and his cupid’s bow, all with that same surprisingly pleasant near-tears feeling in his chest. He watched Jaskier’s eyes watching him as he carded one hand through his hair. 

That was what did it, what made the tears start to dribble down his cheeks as his hands continued to gently comb through his husband’s hair. The look of wonder and relief he was met with was overwhelming. He felt a bit of guilt, sure. Guilt for letting things get as bad as they’d been, but he was overwhelmed by how much love he felt. It permeated his whole body and the air around him. He hadn’t even felt this in the beginning; this was a settled and sure feeling, not the frantic need he’d felt before. 

Geralt pressed their foreheads together and closed his eyes, sending a fresh wave of tears over his cheeks as he brushed his hands over Jaskier’s back. He traced his spine, counted every rib, and outlined his shoulder blades with the tips of his fingers. 

Their fronts were pressed together, but technically it wasn’t against any rule, so neither of them moved back. Geralt’s hands moved to the dip in Jaskier’s hips, his thumbs brushing over the place where his skin creased when he sat and Jaskier wrapped his hands around his wrists. A warm puff of air washed over Geralt’s face as Jaskier breathed a small laugh and moved his hands up. Surprisingly enough, Geralt was only amused by being moved, filing the information away for later as he settled for measuring Jaskier’s breaths again, now leaning into the full body tingle he felt when they both exhaled. 

He wanted to stay right there for hours, but he suddenly wanted Jaskier to touch him. More than that, he wanted Jaskier to feel like him. He gave his sides a gentle squeeze as he straightened up and rocked back a bit, making the smallest bit of space between them.

“Switch,” he whispered, the soft sound coming out like crunching gravel in the charged silence. 

He let his hands fall to his sides as he opened his eyes, a little relieved to see he wasn’t the only one crying. 

Jaskier immediately reached up to cup Geralt’s cheeks and brush the tears away. It was odd, having to stay still when Jask was right there, when he could still feel the echoes of the sensations in his hands. But he stayed put, if for nothing else than the look of cautious excitement Jaskier was wearing. 

He wanted to tell him there was no need, that he would gladly spend the rest of the day standing in the dim light of their bedroom, silently taking turns softly caressing each other. But rules were rules.

Jaskier drew his hands a little closer together over his cheeks, making sure all the tears were smudged away with his thumbs as Geralt’s eyes fluttered shut. The warmth of his hands was soothing, especially when Jaskier slowly brushed his thumbs over Geralt’s eyelids. As Jaskier dragged his fingers over Geralt’s chin and brushed the backs of his fingers back up and over his cheeks, Geralt almost started to feel dizzy. He forced his eyes open and focused on watching Jaskier’s face. 

His tongue stuck out between his lips as his hands fluttered down his nose and to his lips. A wistful smile graced his features as he brushed over the chapped skin, pulling his bottom lip down just enough so when he let go it popped when it jumped back up to meet his top lip. Geralt tried not to smile, wanting him to do it again, but raised an eyebrow. Jaskier openly grinned and popped his lip a few more times before smoothing his thumb over it. He tucked some hair behind Geralt’s ear and cupped his hands around the base of his neck, gently pressing his thumbs into the tense muscles. 

A shiver ran down Geralt’s back as Jaskier brushed his hands out and over his shoulders, thumbing circles over the points where muscle just barely covered bone. Geralt watched his eyes, watched the little crows feet get deeper when he smiled and watched his brows lift up and together. 

It occurred to him then that Jaskier might have been just as lonely as he was, that the exuberant extrovert he’d married wanted this as badly as he did. It truly never crossed his mind until he saw it written plain as day on Jaskier’s face; he wasn’t the only one with insecurities in their relationship. 

Every bone in his body wanted to pick Jaskier up and crush him to his chest. The trails of goosebumps his fingers left over his skin made it even harder not to, but Jask was enjoying this. He’d even go so far as to say he was lost in it. Rules be damned, Geralt couldn’t take this away from him if he’d wanted to. 

When Jaskier’s hands ghosted over his navel he shivered and let his eyes flutter closed. If he wasn’t going to break and move he should at least lean into it.

However, being held without expectations, without needing, or even being allowed, to do or say anything in return was beginning to seem overwhelming. How had Jaskier just stood there and watched him? How could anyone just stand and constantly be told with the light brush of someone else’s knuckles over their cheek that they were desired and cherished? When the hands pressed to his chest told him over and over that he was loved, what kind of escape was there? 

One of Jaskier’s hands once again brushed his tears away and he leaned into it, lip trembling as he looked up at the ceiling trying to compose himself. Jaskier would have none of it, gently tilting his head down until their noses brushed and he was forced to look into his watery blue eyes. 

He needed this. Geralt was terrified but Jaskier’s expression spoke of a yearning that ran so deep even he probably couldn’t put a name to it. Geralt licked his lips and offered a watery smile, feeling warm relief when Jaskier smiled back and ran his hands down his arms to rest behind his elbows. He squeezed the meat behind his arms, the tops of his forearms, the tendons in his wrist, making his fingers involuntarily curl. Geralt didn’t move, he barely breathed, as Jaskier watched his own hands roam over Geralt’s like he’d never seen anything like it. 

When he stopped trying to run the sensation faded to a dull roar. Jaskier’s hands were warm and his breath across his skin was gentle. Geralt might even admit he felt a little bit worthy of the adoration in his husband’s eyes after a few minutes. 

Jaskier’s touches were light in some places, firm and grounding in others. Like when he circled his arms around Geralt and pressed his palms into the small of his back, resting his forehead where his collar bones met. Geralt had no idea how something so simple could make him feel so weak. He knew it wasn’t entirely true, but it felt like the only thing holding him up was Jaskier’s touch. When he rocked back, even if it was only an inch or so, Geralt had to fight not to follow him.

Jaskier rested his hands over his ribs, just above his elbows, and stared into his eyes. 

They’d agreed to say ‘end’ with their therapist. That’s what Geralt was waiting for. So when Jaskier whispered ‘enough’ and gave him a gentle squeeze it was all he could do to bite down on his lip and keep quiet. Of course he would say enough. The one word Geralt had struggled with from day one. Being enough always felt impossible, but he could begin to think of it as a bit more attainable standing in their dim bedroom without a sound in the world other than their breathing. 

He nodded and they both picked up their notepads and scribbled down the notes they were supposed to. Geralt’s was just a list of words but he didn’t care, he filled most of the page and chucked it on the bedside table before tugging on his sweats. 

When he looked up for Jaskier he found him staring at him, worry on his brow and pen hovering over what looked like a second nearly full page. 

“Do you, maybe want some tea while you write?”

He licked his lips and nodded, adjusting the blanket wrapped around his shoulders before going back to frantically scratching words onto his page. 

Geralt gently closed the door after him and took a deep shaky breath as he padded into their bright kitchen, running his hands through his hair. The kettle seemed to take forever with how fast his mind was racing, replaying every bit he could to lodge it in his memory. 

Jaskier was just closing his notebook and setting it on top of his laptop when he opened the door with his foot, careful not to spill any hot liquid on the carpet. 

“Thank you,” Jaskier whispered, taking his cup and sitting at the foot of the bed. 

Geralt joined him and draped an arm over his blanket wrapped shoulders, “Of course.”

They slurped at their mugs in silence until Geralt was able to take a full sip without scalding the roof of his mouth. 

Jaskier’s voice was soft as he spoke, the air from his words interrupting the steam drifting up from his mug, “Can I ask you something?”

“Mhm,” Geralt leaned in just a hair. 

“Why did you look up?” Jaskier rested his head on Geralt’s shoulder as he asked and it took Geralt a moment to remember he was supposed to answer.

“I…” he took a deep breath to pull his words together before he mis-stepped, “You stood still and watched me, and looked happy… and I wanted to do that for you… but I started crying again and I-hm. I didn’t want you to think I didn’t want to be there-here. Wherever.”

One of Jaskier’s hands drifted from his mug to Geralt’s thigh, “I was just worried.”

“Didn’t translate, huh?” Geralt asked, giving him a light squeeze. 

“Not quite,” Jaskier chirped, almost giggling. 

Geralt hummed and pressed a kiss to the top of Jaskier’s head, “I’m sorry.” 

“S’okay. Now I know.”

There were a few more moments of silence before Geralt chuckled, “I didn’t realize your hips were so ticklish.” 

Jaskier snorted, an attempt at sipping his tea absolutely aborted to save a spill, “I’ve never been ticklish, Geralt.”

Geralt set his tea on his knee and tilted Jaskier’s chin up to look at him, suddenly concerned, “What didn’t you like about me touching your hips?”

Jaskier’s goofy smile turned a little sly, “Absolutely nothing. In fact,” he started, taking both their half finished teas and setting them on the window sill before turning to envelop Geralt in the blanket with him, pulling him down onto the bed, “I liked it a bit too much.”

[quietmyfearswith]

with their little ; preferences

warnings — fluff (?) few hints at sexy times

characters — andy barber, steve rogers,ransom drysdale, bucky barnes, lance tucker, syverson, will shaw, august walker

a/n — THIS IS A DDLG FIC,, the characters will change depending on whether on how i see them fit the theme so yeah,, feedback appreciated

their love language

masterlist

“What are you up to, missy?” Andy asked as he noticed there was a presence who was looking at him as he was busy reading case files. “Nothing dada, I just miss you,” she mumbled as she played with sleeves of one of Andy’s sweatshirts that made her frame even smaller. “Why don’t you come over here then, baby,” Pushing away from the table, he patted on his thighs and turned his chair so he was now facing her. More than happy to oblige, Y/N excitedly crossed the short distance between them and plopped herself down comfortably on his lap. As if it was reflex, she instantly curled her arms around the lawyer’s neck whereas the bearded man circled his arms around her waist. “Are you done with your work dada?” She wondered, truth be told she had been wanting to spend some time with him, but understood well even when she was deep in little space how important it was that Andy remained undisturbed as he worked. Softly stroking her back he answered, “Not yet, baby.” Shoulders dropping, she started to unclasp her arms from where they were enjoying the warmth his body was radiating, “I’ll come back later then,” But as she was making her move to untangle from him he grabbed onto her tighter, “Where do you think you’re going, missy?” HIs fingers grazed her sides and tickled her, giggles erupting from her as she struggled to reply, “Don’t want to bother you work, dada.” Tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, Andy lovingly looked at her, “Work can wait, baby, it’s time to spend some playtime with you.”

“What are you doing?” His voice startled Y/N as she turned to face August, smiling sheepishly hoping that she could charm him enough to distract him. “Hi daddy, how are you?” She greeted him sweetly to which August just curtly nodded, “Hi little one; I’m curious as to what you are up to that got you all messy,” he pointed to her face that was covered in color. Taking this as her cue, Y/N turned and handed him the artworks she was previously focusing on, “Made this for you, daddy; that’s why I’m all messy.”

August managed to mask his facial features from showing how his heart melted at the thought of his little one making two artworks — one that featured the two of them holding hands with hearts littering the background and the other one was just him with a couple of guns in front of room while the words “Greatest Agent, My Hero” written in a banner. “We better clean you up, little one,” Holding out his hand, Y/N was more than happy to take it up seeing how her daddy didn’t seem angry with her as he gently placed the drawing on the desk behind her. As the tub was filling up with water, August gently lifted up Y/N and placed her there, “Did you like my drawings, daddy?” She looked up at him with pure adoration laced with curiosity, and he could not prevent the coo from coming out as he voiced out his gratitude and appreciation for his little one’s creations, “Daddy loved your art, little one. You’re one talented girl, aren’t you?”

As Bucky entered his living quarters, he felt the stress of the day’s workout and training leave him. He dropped the gym bag that his metal hand carried while the other hand wiped the sweat of his forehead with a towel. “Sweetheart, are you in here?” As he called out for her, he heard her excited squeals accompanied by her feet hitting the floor, running towards him. Before he could warn her about how filthy he was, her arms were already wrapping themselves around his waist while her lips were pressing soft, small kisses against his neck. “Hi tătic, I missed you.” He chuckled at how clingy she was and just messed with her a bit as he teased, “I was only gone for a few hours, sweetheart.” She moved her face away from his neck as she pouted, “But you were gone for so long,” she dragged on the last word as if to prove how he took too long to come back to her.

“But I’m here now, sweetheart; have you been good for me?” As soon as the question left his lips, she unclasped her hold from him and sheepishly looked at him she mumbled a soft, “Maybe.” Having suspicions based on how she was acting, Bucky crossed his arms and looked at her, “What were you up to while I was gone, Y/N?” And the girl could only whine as she hated it when Bucky used her real name; but the super soldier knew by doing so he could get her to answer. “Tătic, I only baked you some cupcakes! I knew you were going to be hungry and wanted to make you something,” She confessed as she grabbed one of his hands and led him to the kitchen — where there were around a dozen cupcakes on the counter. Grabbing one, she offered Bucky one cupcake that had blue frosting in it with a huge smile, “Please don’t be mad, tătic.” Taking up her offer, he took the cupcake and tasted it, moaning at the taste he looked at her as he kissed her forehead, relishing in the giggles she let out, “I’ll let it slide how you broke the rules; only because you made such delicious cupcakes.”

With both his hands carrying paper bags, he shut the front door with his foot. Ransom then made his way up to the second floor of his house and went to the room he knew his princess would be cooped up in the study; as she was burying herself in a ridiculous amount of workload. “Princess, are you in here?” He knocked on the door, and when he heard no answer he went ahead and let himself in. The picture of her sitting on the swivel chair as her head and arms were on the desk as she slept greeted him. Setting the paper bags down by the couch, he kneeled down beside her and gently caressed her back. “Wake up, princess,” He quietly tried to wake her up. She mumbled a bit as she slowly opened her eyes, and once she did she smiled, “Hello, my king.” 

Ransom could feel his heart swell double in size as she greeted him; planting his lips down on her nose for a kiss he inquired, “Were you busy with work again, princess?” Nodding, she lifted her head from where it was laying on the desk and sat up straighter while rubbing the sleep off her eyes, “Yes, my king, had a lot of deadlines.” Grabbing one of her hands, he planted a few kisses on her knuckles, “I saw how hard you were working, and thought that my princess deserved a reward,” he chuckled at how her eyes lit up and he pointed to where he put the bags, “Well maybe a few rewards.” Upon seeing how the bags were from her favorite brands and stores, she excitedly leapt out of her seat and launched herself to Ransom so she could hug him tight — the impact making Ransom fall on his bum, but he could only laugh at how she kissed every inch of his face she could get her lips on while repeatedly saying, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Rubbing her back he could only hum, “Anything for you, princess.”

“Baby girl, come back here!” Sy’s booming voice echoed through the walls as he ran after his little girl who managed to sneak away as they both were preparing for bedtime. As she was running through the halls of their home, she was laughing at how she managed to get away past his bear-like grip. Hiding inside the coat closet, Y/N covered her mouth with both her hands as she listened to Sy as he voiced out his thoughts, “I wonder where my baby girl could be.” She heard his footsteps louder, hinting how he was nearby. When the sound was so clear she could also hear his even breathing, she knew he stood right outside the closet, “I know you’re in here, baby girl, I’m giving you one last chance to come out so you’re punishment won’t be too bad.” 

As he opened the closet, Sy was surprised upon seeing how instead of standing on her feet to apologize; instead his troublemaker decided to crawl beneath his legs that were apart. Her giggles also made the Captain smile but he managed to put up his angry exterior as he grabbed Y/N by the waist and stood her up on her feet. “Now care to explain why you ran away when we were getting ready for bedtime?” With a brow lifted, Y/N knew there was no way she could talk her way out of it, so she dramatically sighed, “I’m sorry Captain, but I just don’t want to sleep yet.” Bringing her hands behind her back, Sy had a firm grip on them so she wouldn’t escape, “Well even though you don’t want to, baby girl, you have to.” She just whined as she turned her head to face him as she pouted to which the soldier just shook his head, “I’m sorry but you can’t charm your way out of this one, baby girl. In fact, I have to punish you for running off.”

“Papa, come look!” When Lance heard his angel call for him, he rushed to end his phone call with an event organizer. Setting his phone down on the accent table he then jogged up to their shared bedroom where he guesses she was at. “What’s wrong, angel?” He wonders as he enters without knocking, she then informs him that she’s in their walk-in closet. And when he does find his way in the closet, he chuckles upon seeing how his angel dressed herself up in his track jacket and pants, the sleeves of his jacket making her appear to have sweater paws. “What do you think, papa? Think I can be a gold medalist like you?” She questioned as she bent down to do a halfway lift as well as some stretches. Laughing at her silly antics, he tickled her sides which made her stand up and playfully hit Lance; but really it was the jacket that grazed his chest.

“What’d you hit me for huh, angel?” He feigned hurt as he pulled her close to him. Giving him a quick peck she sassed back, “What’d you tickle me for, papa?” He squinted his eyes as he teased her even more, “But angel you weren’t doing gymnastics! You were doing yoga!” Pushing away from Lance, Y/N then walked away with a strut, “Bleh, they’re all the same anyway.” Riled up from what she said he tackled her, causing her to land on her back, coming in contact with the soft mattress. “I guess I’m gonna have to show you how you do gymnastics huh,” Lance smirked at her.

“No peeking, doll,” Steve gently reminded her as he covered the sketchbook he was drawing on once he saw her eyes trying to catch a glance of what he was drawing. “Why not, sir? I just wanna see what you have,” she groaned out as she was drawing on her own sketchpad. “Because it ruins the surprise! Plus I’m excited to see what my talented girl came up with,” Steve said as he grabbed for his eraser and removed some of the minimal mistakes he made. Slumping back on her chair, Y/N now started to color her work, “What’s your favorite color, sir?”  Placing down the fineliner he had before answering, “Blue, it’s such a calm color. Also you can use it to portray emotions; you can use it to portray sadness or display tranquility.”

She nodded as he ended his explanation, she opted for the blue color to be the main color for her drawing. The next half hour they were silent as they sat across from each other and focused on their work. “I’m done, sir!” Y/N excitedly declared as she placed the sketchbook down on the table, “As am I, doll,” Steve said as he smiled, “Why don’t you show yours first?” LEtting out a huff to show how he didn’t want to go first, Steve just looked at her pointedly which made her comply, “Okay, sir,” She lifted up her work to show her artwork where she had drawn the two of them inside their house where they are sat together with the words “Best Day with Daddy.” “That’s absolutely good, doll! Those are my best days too, the ones with you.” She felt her chest swelling with pride, “Let’s see yours!” He proceeded to show her his work — a portrait of her. “I drew you, doll, because you’re the prettiest dame I’ve ever seen.” Making grabby hands a him, Steve chuckled as he made his way to her to lift her from her seat, carrying her to the kitchen, “You’re welcome too baby, I’d love to snuggle more with you but we’re on a tight schedule,” This comment made Y/N peer up at Steve, silently asking what he meant, “We need to prepare our dinner doll, we’re having that picnic remember?”

“What’s that, munchkin?” Will wondered as he saw Y/N walk towards him with the iPad on her hand. “Wanted to show you something, bubba; If you’re not too busy,” she cautiously said while approaching him. Patting his thighs, she motioned for him to come, “I always have time for you, munchkin.” With that she then giddily sat down on his lap, “What did you want to show me?” Once he asked that, Y/N unlocked the iPad and showed him a 360 degree view of the interior of the museum, “Wanna go here, bubba.” Will took a peak of the place, humming he pried, “You wanna go away for a vacation huh?”

Nodding, Y/N then explained, “I think a vacation might do us good, bubba. You’re stressed and I missed my fun bubba.” Will then realized that he was in fact quite often buried in work; he was also then thankful about how patient his girl had been with him. “You’re absolutely right, munchkin! We do need to go out and take some time off,” the girl on his lap then excitedly clapped her hands and squealed in excitement. “And what’s this about missing fun bubba? I’ll have you know he never left,” And to prove his claim, he then tickled her sides. This then prompted the start of their playtime — Y/N scrambling to move out of Will’s lap as he her bubba chased her around the house, laughter and joy filling up the place.