#i know it’s a shot in the dark making content for a tiny fandom

[tttoluca]

posting this on here too but it’s also on my tiktok

[breadbrobin]

our little affair

james potter x reader — harry potter; marauders era

[gn!reader]

summary: before three months ago, you hated james potter, and everyone knew it. then everything changed. now, you’re meeting him in dark hallways and he’s leaving hickeys on your neck, and someone is going full private detective to find out just who you’re seeing.

warnings: swearing, kissing, reader and james are in love but they won’t admit it, allusions to sexual content—non-explicit.

word count: 1.2k

(it’s been a WHILE but i’m back and writing for a completely different fandom lollll anyway james has always been the loml and i think he deserves to get made out with in a hallway thank you for coming to my ted talk)

———————————

three months. that’s how long it had taken for someone to figure out you were in love.

to be fair to lily, it had taken you around the same amount of time, and you were inside your own head, with full access to all those innocent and not-so-innocent thoughts 24/7.

it was a little stifling, how she watched you like a hawk to see who you were smiling at, glancing towards, blushing because of. and it was a little more than a little embarrassing that she’d figured you out so easily.

it was stupid, really. a hickey left slightly too high and a shirt collar dipping slightly too low while you studied. that was all it took.

“what is that?” she’d asked accusingly.

“what?” you frowned, looking up at her across the table.

“that.” she jerked her head at you, her eyes locked on your collar. “that’s a hickey.”

“no, it’s not,” you’d hissed sharply, but you’d tugged your collar up far too quickly to play it off anymore. she shot you a look, and you had to sigh. “fine. yes, it is. don’t ask who, when, where or how, please.”

“so you’re embarrassed.” she’d nodded understandingly.

your cheeks had flared red as you caught sight of james—god, james potter and his magic lips and warm hands and—stop it—over her shoulder, looking back at her before she could realise your attention had strayed. “i’m not embarrassed. it’s just… private.”

“for now or for good?”

“for now,” you’d answered like you knew for sure. in truth, you didn’t. you’d avoided talking about the whole public relationship thing with james because, well, was it even really a relationship now? could you call sneaking around and leaving secret notes and making out in secluded hallways a relationship? you really didn’t know, and you also really didn’t want to deal with it very much.

regardless, lily was obsessed. when she’d inevitably asked, claiming it was her right as your best friend to know and threaten the poor person, you’d shut her down, and she’d become a woman on a mission.

it was like she’d turned from your best friend to your bodyguard. you felt like the president of the united states, with the secret service watching your every move. it was, honestly, tiring.

it also didn’t help that james was as subtle as a gun in an echo chamber. every chance he got he was smiling over at you, slipping you notes half as sneakily as he should, winking at you across rooms and teasing you every chance he got. it wouldn’t take long, you knew that. you also knew that the moment lily found out the truth, every shred of your reputation that you’d built up over the years would crumble away.

years of hating james potter’s guts had slipped away in the blink of an eye, leaving you floundering in the deep end, and him as your dashing lifeguard, saving you easily. it was infuriating, and what was worse, was that you liked it.

you liked his lips on yours. you liked his body pinning you against a wall. you liked his touch, his smile, his voice… you liked him.

maybe you were a little embarrassed after all.

but you couldn’t even think of embarrassment when james slipped you a note with a tiny doodle of professor flitwick falling off his stack of books, and looked at you with that goofy smile that made you want to melt and then kiss him stupid. ugh, it was ridiculous.

but he was addictive, and after class when you met in the same secluded side hallway as always, and his lips found yours like they needed to be there for him to survive, and his hands were on your hips, your waist, your back, your hair… it didn’t feel so ridiculous. and suddenly you didn’t care.

he always melted into you like he’d been waiting all day for your touch. his shoulders dropped, the tension slipping away from them. a soft sigh of relaxation left him as he touched you.

and it was only you and him in the world, and it was perfect and—

“oh my god!”

james jumped away from you like he’d been burned. you covered your mouth with your hand and shook your head frantically, meeting lily’s wide eyes.

“lily, i—“

“ew, guys, really?” you thought she’d be mad that you were kissing a marauder, but she looked positively gleeful. “i knew i’d be the one to find you two!”

you and james both frowned.

“what?” he asked.

“god, marlene owes me ten galleons.” she laughed, shaking her head. “thank you, guys, really. fucking hell.”

you just stared at her with wide eyes. “you’re not upset?”

“upset?” she snorted. “babes, why would i be upset?”

“because…” you floundered for a moment, gesturing at james. “he’s a marauder.”

he snorted. “wow, thanks.”

“you know what i mean,” you scoffed.

lily laughed. “i don’t care who you make out with. i just care that you’re happy. and you’ve been happy these last few weeks since you two got together.”

“months,” you corrected absently.

“months?”

“three months and four days, to be exact,” james cut in helpfully.

lily stared at you two for a moment before shaking her head in wonder and stepping away. “wow… first of all, i’m offended you didn’t tell me. second of all… you guys have got to find a better hiding spot. everyone knows. marlene and i placed bets on who would find you guys making out first.”

you stared at her. “wait, what?”

she turned and walked down the hall. “toodles! i have to go cash in. use protection!”

and just like that, she was gone, leaving you and james standing in the hallway, confused.

“did that…?” you started, trailing off.

“yeah, i think so.” he frowned, leaning against the wall beside him. “huh. so… if everyone knows already…?”

you looked at him curiously. “what are you suggesting, potter?”

“what do you say to me asking you out? officially.” he stepped closer, fingers brushing a piece of hair out of your face.

you couldn’t stop the stupid smile from breaking onto your face. “i say yes.”

“great. that’s awesome. really.” he grinned, lips mere inches from yours. “because i’ve actually been wanting to ask you out for ages, and—“

“would you kiss me again, potter? and stop talking for once?”

“oh, yeah, right.”

and his lips were on yours again, and his hands were holding you close, and unlike every other time you’d kissed, you didn’t feel the need to hide and pull him down an abandoned hallway. actually, you felt completely fine kissing him in the middle of one of the main hallways of the school, even when footsteps entered the hall, and even when sirius black’s voice started loudly complaining at the two of you. even then, all you did was smile against james’ lips, and revel in the moment. you’d be late for your study session with your friends, but you had more important things to do.

[darkhymns-fic]

This Dark Heart of Yours

“And isn’t that what they say? That your drunk self is your real self?” The hand by Husk’s head finally moved–only to place itself against his cheek. Nails ran through his fur. “You’re just so starved for affection. It makes you forget your place.”

When Husk drinks too much, he makes mistakes. It will never be the last time.

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Characters: Alastor/Husk Rating: M Word Count: 5416 Mirror: AO3 Notes: Hey! So there's more unhealthy dynamics, implied past abuse, forced alcohol abuse, horror?? and other potentially triggering content in this fic. More tags are at AO3, stay safe thanks.

--

He had drunk too much. Again.

But it wasn’t like anyone was going to complain that the hotel bartender was getting wasted anyway. Not Miss Sunshine Princess who was always greeting Husk every morning, all smiles, pointedly ignoring his half-empty bottle of whiskey in his hand. Not Niffty, who was so eager to take away said empty bottles to keep like it was her own personal collection, staring too hard at the warped glass and most likely thinking of breaking them into tiny pieces. And definitely not the annoying porn star who frequented his bar too often, venting about some garbage flick of his instead of anything worthwhile.

And not his boss. In fact, Alastor seemed to always push another glass into Husk’s hand when he wasn’t looking. “Enjoy yourself! How grand it must look to everyone, to see the help partaking in their own little vices.”

Teasing. Condescending. Husk didn’t care. Another shot gulped down, and the buzz made the day just a bit more bearable.

But maybe. Just maybe, he had overdone it this time.

Husk couldn’t even remember why he was sitting in the lobby. Another morale booster by Charlie? Husk had learned to tune them out. Redemption was not in his cards, and with more than just what he had done when he was alive. He’d been clutching another bottle, half-laying on the couch. But, with enough sense to stay on his side. Just his side. To his right, it was like electricity, one that made his fur stand. But Alastor always sat wherever he fucking wanted.

He found himself waking up to static.

The revelation was slow. It’s what alcohol did; making him sluggish, wobbly, and too out of sorts. He could usually hold his own well enough, but he really went hard on the bottle this time. Old vintage. Probably from one of Alastor’s own personal stocks. The Radio Demon would sometimes just give what he had. Anything to amuse him, to make Husk ruin himself just a little more, piece by piece.

The warmth should have been surprising, and it was. It was like curling up against a fireplace, like pressing into something alive and malleable. He had fallen down at some point, letting his body drift off. One of his wings stretched out, reaching down to the floor. His hands pressed, and grabbed, and he buried his face to hide away. Hard to find something like it nowadays. So he had to hold on tight, for dear life, of whatever sort of life he even had left. His other wing furled around him and–

Him and–

The static fizzled and popped. And, just briefly, it keened like feedback. Still, it took him too long to move.

Husk opened his eyes to find himself half-laying across Alastor’s lap. His elbow was lodged within the crook of the demon’s leg. His claws were kneading against a torso, close enough to see a button’s details, down to the subtle engraving of antlers within its center. A head looked down. A shadow slithered within the darkness of the room. It was dark. The lobby was empty. It was just them both. Eyes lacking anything but sparks and fire.

No.

“Fuck! Sorry. I just–” Husk scrambled out of the way, as much as he could. He fell off the couch, hard on his shoulder. Red searchlights fell over his fur, his loose suspenders, no matter how much he tried to get away. “I didn't know that– It was you! I didn't know.”

Alastor remained seated. He held the long handle of his mic in both hands.

The man with a silver tongue was unusually silent.

And there really was no one else left in the lobby. The lights were dimmed, with only the sickly green walls of the bar showing anything bright left. How late was it? Husk could only imagine the scene from before; big dumbass cat falling asleep because he was drunk out of his mind, and he fell asleep over someone’s lap, which just happened to be Alastor’s lap. Some stupid cute image, all while Alastor just stayed still and didn’t move.

Fuck. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

Husk had never felt so sober, so quickly, drowned out by confusion and worry and why the hell was Alastor just staring at him? Why didn’t he fucking say anything?

The silence was near-torturous, only interrupted by those bursts of static, not even a small melody playing or a laugh track to cover Husk in derision. Nothing but that one noise, endless as an ocean.

“How long was I…?” His mind briefly explored that line of questioning, stopped and turned away from any possibilities. Minutes were too long. An hour was too long. “You know what, never mind. I’m… going to bed.”

The shadows shifted. The eyes flickered, catching him in their sights.

“I said I was sorry… alright?” Husk walked backwards, trying to head for the stairs, a hand reaching out to feel for the banister. “Just… Let’s forget it. I’ll wake up early to work tomorrow to make up for it.”

He didn’t want to think about how he had reached out for Alastor’s touch. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to.

He wouldn’t have done that if he was sober. That was all there was to it.

Alastor said nothing still, continued to say nothing even as Husk got further away. And he didn’t move. He stayed perched on the couch, eyes fixated on a prey that slowly headed for escape without notice.

Husk hated the feeling, like he had somehow stumbled into forbidden territory. No, he had always been careful before. He just wanted to get out of here, and when the back of his foot finally hit the bottom step of the stairs–

The thing about the shadows though is sometimes Husk can’t fucking see shit through them. Not through Alastor’s. He thought those shadows were far away, lurking in the distance like trees with overhanging branches, with a pair of eyes peeking through, too impossibly far. But the colors melded, and Husk’s head was still spinning from his hangover–and then it was like those shadows transplanted right next to his feet. The hollow antlers stretched up to grasp the ceiling, the arms, crooked as they were, bent just so to grasp at him.

And the eyes were now only inches away, disembodied things, bright and piercing and latching onto him. They had always been there. To Alastor, the distance did nothing but give his next prey a false sense of safety. He had told Husk plenty of times before, how the terror was always a little added seasoning to his meal.

So Husk remained still, blinked–and then he was right next to his bar, back pressed against those green walls, matching with the swamps Alastor had once called home.

And with the shadows still lurking around him, a hand, seemingly so regular compared to everything else, slammed into that venomous wall right by his ear.

Husk was frozen. Don't move. Don't make a sound.

The creature before him continued to stare. The shadows of his boss’ face, framed by ever-growing antlers that seemed to grin within the green backlight.

Then that same face blinked. Then it leaned forward. The face of a monster dissipated, leaving him with Alastor as he knew him. Not much difference.

“You were clingy.”

Husk swallowed. His claws embedded deeply in the walls behind him.

“Now. Why is that?” There was a furnace inside Alastor's chest, the way it breathed out such heat and made Husk sweat beneath his fur. “Are you asking me for something?”

It was a question that demanded an answer. Husk overcame the fear, just enough, finding the old rage inside. 

“You know I don't ask you for anything,” Husk finally said. “I was drunk. That's it.”

“Oh, I see.” The static grew louder. It garbled with small high-pitched notes before Alastor’s words pushed through. “Then you must be so needy .”

Alastor stretched out the word like torture. The sound of it dragged nails inside Husk’s ribcage. It was a knife that carved into his back, searching for nerves. 

He didn't need…He didn't want… him .

If Husk thought about it any further, he knew he’d spiral. It took all he had to calm himself down, still hanging tight to the wall, keeping his eyes on Alastor for anything sudden, terrifying, unspeakable.

“I said I was drunk. You hard of hearing now?” Husk snapped, trying to regain ground. His wings stretched out, almost daring to take flight then. “Everyone acts a little stupid when they had too much. Even you fucking do.”

And this was one of the stupidest things he’d ever done. His list of mistakes and regrets was already miles long, and it was agony to have this be part of it, especially when he wasn’t sure if he’d even live to get past it.

Alastor wouldn’t give him any fucking room to leave. The static kept doing a number on his head, making Husk want to drown it out with more whiskey. Never mind that was why he was in this mess in the first place.

“What more do you want from me?” he had to ask. Alastor was now his only reality. The awful antlers and shifting shadows were no longer as pronounced, but that smile hadn’t wavered, and the radio feedback just kept rising and falling in its awful airwaves. Husk shuddered, gritting his teeth. “If…you’re going to kill me for falling asleep on you, then just hurry it up!”

He had said it out of frustration, despite remembering awful screams through the radio, despite wondering, dismally, miserably, if those voices just kept living to be tormented again. Sometimes he heard repeat performances, though he was never sure.

And then, Alastor’s eyes lost their brightness. The static abruptly stopped. He laughed, leaning up slightly to let Husk finally take in a deeper breath.

“Oh Husker, you misunderstand me! I’m not mad at you!” A quick shake of his head, his shoulders still shaking from a chuckle. “I am simply fascinated.”

This failed to make Husk feel any better. “What…?”

He noted how the hand next to his head hadn’t moved an inch.

“It’s simple, really. I’ve seen you be such a pathetic drunk so many times, I’ve lost count! Amusing, but it’s usually the same. You’re always just such a grumpy kitty, but… this time it was different.”

Husk’s throat was dry. Claws very slightly gouged deeper in the wood. “Different,” he echoed.

“Yes, there's so much truth revealed when inhibitions are lowered. I suppose it takes certain spirits, or maybe even certain situations, to really unravel a person.” Alastor slowly, methodically, placed the head of the mic under Husk’s chin, pushing it up just slightly. “The kind that makes your body betray you at every moment.”

The way Alastor spoke, softly and with such intense focus, and for a moment, letting fall the radio filter so that Husk could only hear him and only him …

Husk felt himself slip against the wall, a right wing flapping to try and keep himself up. His head angled further, held by that mic. 

Fuck.

He was still drunk.

Alastor’s eyes widened. The red was piercing again. There was a sound behind him, like boughs creaking from the night’s breeze.

“And isn’t that what they say? That your drunk self is your real self?” The hand by Husk’s head finally moved–only to place itself against his cheek. Nails ran through his fur. “You’re just so starved for affection. It makes you forget your place.”

In Alastor’s words, there were always sharp teeth and flowing poison. Husk felt it sift through his head, keeping him on high alert all while the whiskey still ran through his blood. It made him nauseous, made him want to find an escape. But the hand kept him in place, and the warmth there was hard to deny.

Husk nearly slipped again. The hand clutched the back of his head–then raised him up. The back of his heels no longer touched the floor.

The soft feeling of panic was small, distant. It drifted away so slowly with the heat. Still, he kept his claws in the walls, felt them carve through the wood.

Alastor didn’t seem to mind, only watching his every motion. Husk couldn’t take it.

“How is it fair?” He then asked quietly, keeping himself rooted. He hated it, how Alastor could pull out his weakness like drawing back a string. “You can do whatever to me, yet I'm…”

No. Husk was not allowed to want.

To be free. To be away. To stop repeating this cycle, again and again. To feel like he wasn’t just something to be kept around as a toy and nothing else.

Alastor raised an eyebrow, then chuckled once more. His voice fizzled, gaining back its filter like a veil. “Oh, I apologize, Husker. How silly of me to forget.” The shadows rippled beneath them both, and then Husk heard the familiar clink of glass, saw how the green light shone through amber. “You still need a little help.”

It was a small bottle, the neck of it long but its body bulbous and filled with whiskey. Husk could already imagine the taste on his tongue, the rush of it in his throat. He eyed it, but dug his claws even deeper into the walls.

“No, I don’t…want that.” Husk tried to shake his head, and couldn’t. The hand held him tighter.

Alastor’s head tilted to the right, slightly. “You’ve never refused before.”

The statement struck something so deeply inside Husk that he wished he could just vanish and never exist in the first place. He shook. His wings raised but they felt heavy, lethargic, barely a part of him.

“I’m fucking done. I don’t want it now.” A swallow, and his voice cracked. “You can’t just keep forcing me to be like this!”

God, his mouth felt so, so dry.

Alastor’s smile didn’t waver, as it rarely did. But he saw it tighten, and how the demon’s eyes narrowed in turn. The mic underneath his chin quickly vanished, leaving Alastor with a free hand, while the other still held Husk.

It unnerved him again when Alastor said nothing. No static. No bursts of sound. Only the shifting tendrils that formed around him like arms, one of them dangling the whiskey bottle by the neck, popping open the cap which fell to the floor.

Husk’s ears flicked at the sound. What was this game now? Nothing Alastor did made much sense to him anymore, and even less when he was hardly sober.

Then, the tendril upended the bottle by a fraction, and the whiskey was poured straight to the floor.

It was instinct.

“Wait. Wait, what are you–Stop that!” Husk lunged forward, unearthed his claws from the wood to reach for the bottle. The tendrils pulled it back just out of reach. “Fuck, don’t just waste it! Hey!”

Another lunge. The tendril swayed again. The alcohol poured slowly, seeping into the carpet. Husk tried to move more, but the hand on his head was like iron, locking him in its grip.

“You didn’t want it,” Alastor said. “So, I was simply getting rid of it.”

“You piece of shit, you can’t just…” He could barely finish, watching in despair as the whiskey was being drained right before his eyes.

“So, there’s this side of you I know all too well. Desperate. Whiny. Anything to get more of your booze. If I let you go, will you just grab what’s left of it on the floor?”

Alastor’s voice was so low that it sent shivers down Husk’s spine. Still, he couldn’t even find it in himself to deny anything. Even knowing there would never be any lack of cheap beer or vodka or whiskey or anything at all, he couldn’t stifle the fear away.

“But I can be kind. Because it’s not just this–” He waved the bottle again, now half-empty, the downpour of whiskey thinning down to a trickle. “That you ache for, isn’t it?”

He didn’t want to answer. He was just so thirsty. It was hard to even speak.

Alastor’s free hand reached out. Husk thought he would touch him, grab hold of his chin as he so often did. Instead, the tendril moved near, and poured the whiskey over Alastor’s open palm.

Husk watched the liquid trail down in rivulets, droplets falling in between fingers, winking in the green light. He watched it all, his throat getting drier with each lost drop.

“No,” Husk whispered, trying to turn away, failing utterly. 

He didn’t know what pathetic sound he made when he spoke, but it was enough to make Alastor lean closer, enough to bring his hand, coated in alcohol, near Husk’s mouth. 

The palm was just against his lips, giving him what little drops remained, like water in a desert. He should have bitten down on that hand, ripped those fingers off. The indignity should have left him with nothing but rage, but he suddenly felt so desperate and aching and aching. 

Husk's tongue glided across the black gloved palm, searching, searching, wanting.

He wanted so badly.

Alastor watched him, all throughout, but Husk could only focus on the taste that was on his tongue. Still not enough. More drops from those fingers, even with their wickedly sharp points. He wanted and needed. The taste of it, and the warmth that held it.

Husk wrapped his mouth around one of those fingers, sucking the burn of it. It slid down his throat. Down, down.

He felt the heat of Alastor’s eyes on him, felt the curve of a finger just against the roof of his mouth. Dangerous, but it didn’t stop Husk from running his tongue along the skin and catch any whiskey that was left.

“My, you’re easy , aren’t you?”

If Husk was sober, maybe he’d react. And maybe, there was some part of him that burned at the accusation. But the other part was stronger, just wanting the drink to drown him. Just wanting to drown.

Eventually, the bottle was emptied. The last of the liquor slid across Alastor’s hand like branching rivers, some of it to flow into Husk’s waiting mouth, the rest to fall away to the floor. Husk took all he could, his body shaking all the while.

In his need, his hands reached out to grasp Alastor’s own. He couldn’t speak, but with everything else, he was begging.

He was getting more drunk. He wanted to get drunk. And he wanted–

Alastor.

If there was fear and revulsion at that, it drowned away in the seas of all that he ingested. Even as little whispers ran through his skull (No, I can’t do this again.) his mouth lingered on Alastor’s hand.

Tendrils moved again, small undulations that he could barely make sense of. And Alastor’s other hand no longer clutched his head as tightly, patting down his fur and caressing at the skin beneath. 

Then, in a low tone. “Keep begging.”

A small shock, a brief intake of air to make him realize the horror–only to drown once again, Husk still clinging onto Alastor’s touch. His throat was dry again. “Please…”

“Oh, you can do better, Husker.” Another bottle floated within the shadows, its green glass melding with the dim light. “Or I’ll just have to keep you wanting.”

Husk shook his head. (Enough. That’s enough). But he watched Alastor open the cap of the gin, imagining all of it draining away. “Please, Al… I need…this…”

A small blip of static. Alastor tuning in to further find the root of Husk’s debasement. “What do you need?”

Agony. All Alastor ever gave him was agony.

And still, he kept clinging to his hand.

Husk couldn’t even remember saying more, but Alastor showed some mercy. He upended the bottle at Husk’s face, purposely missing his mouth. The alcohol stung his eyes, went up his nostrils, burning. But all Husk did was move towards the downpour, letting it scald his throat.

Drunker. The holes in his memory were growing bigger, no longer able to connect between moments. Because at some point, he had been moved to stand behind the bar. He felt the ache of his waist hitting the counter, of Alastor pushing him into it. Hard.

The gin bottle was only slightly empty. He needed more. Alastor’s hand moved down to grasp at his neck, hooking fingers beneath the strap of the bow tie and pulling at the hidden manacle that Husk always felt, always wore.

“Is it fair that you get to have all this?” Alastor said, or Husk thought he said. Words were muffled the further he sank into the depths. “But you’ve always been a greedy little kitty.”

Husk struggled, but his back kept being pushed into the wood grain of the bar. He watched in dismay as Alastor took a sip of the gin, wanting it. Wanting it. His hands reached out, grasping the front of Alastor’s coat to pull him near.

What happened next was hazy, dark, confusing. Moments of sanity interspersed with poison.

Husk had watched the alcohol pour down between them both, how it half-pooled on Alastor’s tongue. And Husk had leaned forward, taking Alastor's mouth, taking the demon's tongue for every taste. There it was. The familiar burn, the sting on his gums. Anything to fall. To keep falling. 

Hands slammed into the bar next to him. Tendrils snaked out to writhe and hold onto limbs. Something pushed at his right knee, another pinned his wrists above his head until he felt they would snap. But Alastor didn’t stop the kiss. He pushed further, sliding his tongue around Husk’s, the alcohol pouring in-between them, still. The strong scent of it, the way it nearly cut off Husk’s breath, but still he seeked out the mouth coated in alcohol and blood and heat.

“So this is you…” Alastor spoke, making Husk whine when he moved his mouth away. But not far, still so close for Husk to feel his laughter rumbling against his skin. “How good to see you again, dear friend.”

His lungs were too filled to cry out. His skull was too filled to process anything of what was being said. There was only his mouth that wanted to find another. His head was the only part of him allowed to move, so he kissed Alastor harder, leaning in until sharp teeth clashed against his own, getting drunk off the taste of gin and whiskey, off the taste of Alastor’s tongue that made him choke.

It was warm, and wet, and hot, and scalding, and overwhelming and he wasn’t going to survive but he had always fallen so hard until there would be nothing but pieces of him left. Pieces that Alastor would leave on the ground to cut him open afterwards, but it was worth it all just to get ecstasy now. Just to feel something other than complete hollowness, even with a blade held to his throat.

If there were more touches that fell across him, more sounds that were pulled out of his throat, more names spilled out of him, again and again, he didn’t know. He just fell into warmth that was pitch-black, robbing him of all senses all at once. It was like being buried alive.

--

When Husk woke up the next morning in his bed, tucked inside blankets with his head on a soft pillow, the first thing he did was vomit all over the floor.

It had taken him ages to wobble to the bathroom, to expel whatever was left inside his stomach so that the fire inside him would stop. He knelt on the floor, hands shaking against the tiles, watching fur and feathers scatter from his shivering. Then he moved towards the sink, running the faucet over his head, hoping the cold water would douse the fever overtaking him. 

He remembered too much. The fear that froze him in place, the monster shapeshifting in front of him, the alcohol pouring, the touch on his cheek, and the kiss that left him panting for more.

Then completely nothing after that.

Somehow, that just made it worse.

Husk raised his head to the mirror, dreading what he’d see, whatever would be left of him. But all he saw was unkempt fur, matted down from water, bags underneath his eyes, and a dry tongue. 

Ordinary, because he would always drink before bed. Bottles of whiskey, vodka, gin and more were scattered all over his bedside table, or hidden in drawers. There was nothing different, and it fucking terrified him.

He ran his hand over his chest, swallowing hard. But even as his claws sifted through the fur, he couldn’t feel anything different. Everything in place. No marks of any kind. The only pain was the hangover doing a number on his stomach and his head all at once.

Nothing. But Alastor had always been good at covering his tracks.

And that very thought sent Husk’s mind reeling. He could’ve done anything with me. He could’ve made me do anything. He gagged, but there was nothing more to retch up except drips of saliva. His wings covered his shoulders on instinct, feeling cold in his bareness. But he always went to bed without clothes, so that wasn’t anything new either.

Hangovers were normal. Feeling like complete shit was normal.

He was going to shatter if he kept thinking about it.

Despite it all, Husk got to his feet, pushing everything away to just move. Went by routine. Gotta get ready. Gotta get to work. After all, he was the fucking front desk slash bartender for some goddamn reason.

Washed his face again. Half drunk the mouthwash. Did his business. Took a shower. Sat in the bathtub for ten minutes too long. He laid his wings flat on their sides. His claws kept kneading into his own legs. Finding nothing. Just nothing.

He left the bathroom. Went to the clothes closet that was half-open. Nice collared shirts, half-made ties, and jackets that hung around to gather dust, nearly falling off their hangers. He never bothered fixing them. He looked down, and saw the usual suspenders folded neatly on the bottom of the closet, his hat perched on top, right in the center.

Perfectly made. All set out for him. Husk stumbled into the closet, hung onto the side to keep upright. He breathed hard, harder, before he could finally calm himself down.

The bastard.

And still, he took the clothes, put them on. Clean and pressed, as if it had just been retrieved from the laundry. 

Cover all the tracks.

--

It almost felt unreal to see Alastor just out in the hallways, like it was nothing.

The demon wasn’t even looking at him. Husk had turned a corner and found Alastor walking forward, occasionally drifting a gaze or two to a hotel room door. Inspection? Just a stroll? If he was going to the lobby to meet up with Charlie, he would have just teleported like always.

Watching him, Husk felt  every old anger, every nauseous thought, every despair inside him. 

Instead of half a hallway down, Husk found himself only inches away, enough to see the patterns in Alastor’s coat. He reached out and grabbed a wrist.

Alastor halted immediately, turning sharply with a raised eyebrow. “Starting early today?”

The words sunk into him. Husk shuddered and let go, but still kept his eyes on the demon. “What the fuck happened before? What did you do?”

Alastor turned to face him. “Oh, so typical of you to pin the blame on me. And all just for a little nightcap.”

There was so much he expected to hear and so much he didn't. But what Alastor said made him feel he was losing his grasp on what little sanity he had left. The simple casualness of it, like Husk had only stubbed his toe instead of feeling like absolute garbage, inside and out. “Enough with your bullshit! What. Happened.”

Alastor tapped his fingers against the mic, creating a faint feedback from the motion. His grin widened. “Only a lovely evening shared between old friends.”

Something hot over his neck. His throat burning as he became undone. And bright eyes peeling through his chest, straight through meat and bone and–

Husk shook his head, tried to control his breathing. Alastor stood still, with not a flicker of change over his face. 

“I blacked out and that’s all you fucking say to me,” Husk said through gritted teeth. “You don’t care how much you ruin me. Or just…what I have to deal with afterwards.”

“Don’t be so ungrateful now. And after I made sure you would have a good night’s sleep.” He twirled the mic cane in one hand, the hum of it making Husk’s tail twitch in reflex. “Even rolled you on your side! Just in case, well, you know. You really should be more careful. One of these days you might not even wake up!”

Was that a threat? Husk couldn’t parse it, the words said so glibly from Alastor as if he was ordering a small cup of coffee. He breathed faster, his heart feeling like it would jump right out of his throat.

He just wanted to know what happened. He just wanted to know what Alastor did to him when he removed that block of memory from his head, shoving it away and only leaving him with invisible scars inside him. Ones he may never know about, or ones he would only find out when Alastor would reach for his hand out of nowhere.

And he just had to keep living like this.

Alastor leaned forward, towering over Husk, his shadow stretching out to cover him whole. Still, a certain distance was kept. One that could be broken at any moment. “I could see how much you truly missed it, you know,” Alastor said with a chuckle, pointing a finger right at Husk’s chest. “You told me so yourself.”

He didn't remember at all. Not a thing about that. No, he only remembered how Alastor had told him to beg and how he obeyed and how desperate he had been to get any drop left and he could only think how it must have gotten worse after that. It only ever got worse. His tongue felt like ash.

Something made his teeth rattle violently.

Husk blinked. Alastor was closer, but his boss hadn’t moved. The cane was held just before the demon’s face, blocking the claws that had reached out. Husk felt electricity run from his claws and up his arm.

He had aimed for it. For Alastor’s face. For his eyes. The undeniable urge to tear them out for what they must have seen.

There was always something that kept drawing him to Alastor. Teeth, claws, blood, hatred, fists, heat, despair, love, greed, everything, everything that was his. He didn’t know where it ever ended.

The grin widened. A red gleam that coated the hallway. “Husker. You have no idea how kind I am to you.”

He thought the chains would manifest, bring him to his knees and make him sink further and further into Alastor’s very being. Instead he was shoved. He was thrown away like disgusting trash and he couldn’t tell what were his thoughts or Alastor’s many whispers that sometimes trailed inside his head. Husk’s back hit the wall. He heard the cracks made in the plaster.

The only marks made. Easily fixed. But Alastor left the damage there for all to see, walking away as Husk struggled to breathe.

“Please do join us when you’re ready to be civil. The front desk can’t be unmanned for too long now.”

Husk waited and waited and waited. He didn’t know what for. His wings shuddered, and the pain in his chest finally felt so close to bursting open. Even though it wouldn’t. He knew it wouldn’t, ever since he first fell and couldn’t find a way to escape the pit he found himself in.

And if, for a second, he remembered being held within heat, a touch handling him as if he was fragile instead of worthless, precious instead of disposable, it didn’t really matter. Because he was still here, lying on the floor, waiting for something to change, knowing it never would. 

[drivinmeinsane]

City Life, Apple Pie

Driver x Reader ※ { masterlist } ※ { ao3 }

※ Summary: There’s a part of you that wonders if he would accept the brush of your fingertips over the back of his hand. If he would silently spread his fingers enough for yours to make a home between his. ※ Rating: G for general audiences. ※ Content/tags: Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, No use of Y/N, No Pronouns Given for Reader ※ Word count: 2,510 ※ Status: One-shot ※ Author's note: Another year has passed me by in this fandom and I'm no less captivated by so many of these characters. Happy 44th to Ryan Gosling. ※ Song inspiration: Apple Pie - Lizzy McAlpine

“You and the kid doing anything special tonight?”

Shannon’s voice cuts through the ambient hum of the overhead lights. You grit your teeth at the loud intrusion but you don’t turn your attention away from the sheets of paper littering the overcrowded desk. Ever since you started working for Picture Car Warehouse, you’ve been one of the many victims of the grizzled mechanic’s long-winded and largely one-sided conversations.

Instead of indulging him in glazed-eyed attention, you nudge an oil smeared wrench out of the way of a paragraph you need to look over. It leaves a black smear behind on the already smudged paper. One of the fingerprints that have been pressed into the corner of the sheet has a glaring interruption in the pattern that makes you think it was accidentally left by Driver. He’d sliced his thumb open on a piece of sheet metal just a few days ago.

Metal scrapping was yet another one of Shannon’s questionable business plans. He seemed to be a variable fountain of ideas. You’re honestly surprised he’s only ended up with a broken pelvis from all the bullshit he’s talked about pulling during his lifetime.

The older man clears his throat in lieu of any response from you and continues. “Now, if I were you, I might try a pie. Kid’s never been one for cake. Not that I’ve seen anyway. He’s always at that diner. You know? The one over on San Fernando? Jack's? I think? Something with a car in the name, maybe.”

“What are you talking about?” you finally ask, trying to rein in your exasperation. Looking up at him, you rub your thumb over the pen in your grasp’s clicker—not quite applying enough pressure to trigger the mechanism. You just want to get this insurance claim dealt with so you can go find Driver and the two of you can go home to your shared rental and you can be tormented with thoughts of how badly you want to kiss the crooked smile off your roommate while you watch TV crammed on the tiny couch that came with the place.

Shannon raises his eyebrows at you from his position leaning against the desk. He is clearly surprised you’ve spoken at all.

“The kid?” he says, slowly. “It’s his birthday tomorrow. Didn’t he tell you?”

Your stomach swoops unpleasantly with surprise. Driver hasn’t said a damn word about it. There hasn’t even been the vaguest suggestion of even what month he was born in. He’d left you completely in the dark to that personal detail. It had seemed almost unimportant while you had collected the crumbs of what you did discover, hoarding the small details like precious gems. You know that he likes the pale blue of spring sky the best. You know he doesn’t eat sandwiches because of his mother. You’ve learned that he flexes his fingers on his steering wheel when he’s done too many hours of driving and his joints ache. You think you’re realizing that he does love—quietly and intently. But you don’t know when his damn birthday is.

Of course he hasn’t, you think, he’d rather take a hammer to his own head than to be an inconvenience or let on that he actually has wants or needs.

“No.”

At this admission, Shannon laughs and claps you on the shoulder with a work-roughened hand before heaving himself off the edge of the desk to return to work with some effort. You know the brace he wears digs at him—Lord knows he’s rubbed at his perpetually bruised hip and grumbled about any hint of humidity enough that half the guys in the shop have offered to chip in and get the “old man” a rocking chair so that he has a designated place to sit for his scheming and bitching.

Halfway through the door connecting the garage to the cramped office that fronts the building, Shannon pauses. His voice is crackling with a barely concealed amusement as he makes a confession.

“He didn’t tell me neither. I snuck a glance at his license back when I hired him.”

───※ ·❆· ※───

Driver shifts the car into another gear. The action is preformed so smoothly that you almost can’t feel the subtle hitch as the old Malibu responds. No wonder Shannon has been singing his praises as soon as he’s out of earshot. Driver is good—almost unreal—when it comes to vehicles. His actions have always been able to speak more for him than any meager handful of words ever could.

He leaves his hand resting on the gearshift. You feel your throat go dry as you shoot furtive glances at it. It’s unfair, really, the way that the setting sun casts vibrant light over his skin. It highlights the contours of his fingers and sets the fine hair dusting down his arms and over the backs of his hands aglow. Letting your eyes linger, you can make out the silver flashes of old scars.

You look away.

You have to clench your hand into a fist to avoid placing it over his. You want to touch him so badly. It’s a desire that has kicked around in the unreasonable parts of your mind ever since Shannon forcefully introduced the two of you on the back end of some B-list car chase movie. It has only intensified since you signed a lease agreement for a shitty two bedroom apartment together.

There’s a part of you that wonders if he would accept the brush of your fingertips over the back of his hand. If he would silently spread his fingers enough for yours to make a home between his.

Your nails dig into your palm, biting like a badly trained dog. You can’t bring yourself to risk destroying your friendship with the quiet man at your side. It would be better to swallow down the bitter taste of unspoken admissions than to find yourself without his company at all.

Unable to take the usually comfortable silence of the ride home, you speak, thinking to the earlier conversation with Shannon. Your gaze is firmly fixated through the windshield. If you look at your roommate, you might cry.

“Cherry, peach, or apple?”

There’s a long moment of silence, so long that you’re not sure if he’s mulling over his response or if he’s that taken aback by your sudden questioning.

“Apple,” he says, voice soft. There’s a fondness in the depths of that one single word that you must be imagining.

“Okay,” you respond, swallowing down your own affection that threatens to bubble to the surface. You can work with that. There’s some apples taking up residence in a chipped bowl on the counter.

Scenery passes by. Neither of you make a stab at conversation for the rest of the way back to the apartment building. Silence has become second nature between the two of you. There’s an easy comfort in it.

───※ ·❆· ※───

“Got a job,” Driver says halfway through the movie you’re watching.

You look away from the TV.

The mechanic is sprawled out beside you on the couch, legs spread wide as he sags back into the worn material. His empty bowl from the dinner the two of you made together is perched on one knee. He’s close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off of his body. You feel drawn to it like a moth to a light. In the glow of the television, it’s so easy to imagine his arm draping over your shoulders and drawing you against the firm line of his body.

There has still been no mention of his birthday. You’re entirely certain that he’s going to just let it slip by without a word.

No real name, no birthday, no desires. He’s forcing himself to be a blank slate for the projection of others. It makes your heart hurt.

“What is it?” you ask, surprised that he’s going out after working at the garage since the sun teased the horizon and long after it tipped over the apex. Shannon has a tendency to overwork him.

He lets silence unfold after your question as fantastical plants come to light on the screen in front of you. You’re more intent on the minute changes in his expressions—a raise of his eyebrow, the flutter of his eyelashes against his cheeks—than on the movie.

Finally, Driver stands up. He holds his hand out to take your empty bowl. The brush of your fingers together as you pass it to him sends sparks through your stomach.

“Just taking some guys ‘cross town. Might take a coupla hours." He heads towards the kitchen with his cargo.

You follow after him, taking up residence in the doorway as he scrubs the bowls clean and sets them in the drying rack beside the sink. Wanting to be of some use, you lean over to snag his jacket off the hook by the front door. You offer it to him when he turns away from slipping the hand towel back over the oven handle. He takes it from you with a warm squint of his eyes and shrugs into it. The slick material shines blue from the distant television lights.

“Be careful,” you tell him. You want to kiss him goodbye. You don’t move.

There’s a pregnant silence. Palpable tension fills the air. The two of you are on the cusp of something.

The bubble doesn’t burst. The wheelman just nods and slips out the door, locking it behind him with a twist of his wrist. You let out a breath you didn't even realize you were holding.

His departure gives you time to pour over the battered cookbook some previous tenant had left behind in one of the kitchen cabinets. You should have just enough time to attempt making a pie. It can’t be that hard, surely. People have been making pies for centuries.

───※ ·❆· ※───

It proved to be a difficult task, far harder than you could have ever thought. You wipe down the counter, cleaning up the last traces of what had felt like an hour and a half fight for your life. You toss the rag over the sink faucet and look at your finished project with despair.

The pie is awkward and lumpy—almost a bad finger painting come to life.

Fuck. You know you should have walked to somewhere, anywhere, or coughed up the money for a taxi to find one made by a professional. This looks like shit.

A lump builds in your throat, quickly followed by involuntary tears leaping to your eyes. He’s done so much for you just by being a steady presence in your life for the past few months. The least you could have done was make him something presentable

Your self-pity is cut short by the solid step of boots outside the door, followed shortly by the clatter of keys making contact with the doorknob. Driver is home.

Nervous, you brush your hands over your face and gather yourself. With more confidence in your voice than you feel, you call out, “Welcome back.”

In response, you hear the rustle of a jacket being stripped off and folded under one arm, closely followed by a quiet exhale. The mechanic appears around the corner. Upon seeing you, a crooked smile slowly spreads over Driver’s face. He tosses his keys onto the counter with an easy motion of his arm. You’re blocking his view of the pie.

“Somethin’ smells good.” He sounds tired. There’s exhaustion lining weighing down the corners of his eyes.

“I…” you start, trailing off. Rallying yourself, you try again. “It’s not midnight yet so…”

Confusion creases the space between his eyebrows and he opens his mouth to speak, but you’re already turning and gesturing to your sad attempt at making pie.

“I know it’s not much, but happy birthday.”

Driver goes still and steps to your side to stare down at the misshapen dough. Apple juice and sugar have bubbled to the top, caramelizing into crispy, golden puddles. The expression on his face is almost too fragile to put a name to.

“How did you know?” The words he utters are barely more than a whisper.

“Shannon. He told me this afternoon.”

There’s a pause before he speaks, voice laden with helpless affection, “’Course he did.”

You feel like you’re about to fall over the edge of some unseen precipice. Vertifo threatens to overwhelm you. Shakily, you set to work carving Driver out a slice a pie. The mess you deposit on the plate could pass as a crime scene. You’re careful not to meet his eyes as he takes the plate from you after discarding his jacket onto the counter, covering up his keys.

The kitchen is filled with the low groan of the fridge kicking on. There’s the sudden whoosh of water darting through the pipes when one of the neighbors overhead turns on their sink. The scrape of the stunt driver’s fork is loud enough to echo in your mind while you stare at the glistening mixture in the pie pan still clinging to the void where the slice had been. Your chest feels tight. The lump in your throat is persistent.

Driver sets his plate on the counter with a soft clatter. A cautious glance reveals that it’s empty. He’d all but licked it clean.

“Hey.” His voice is quiet. Tender.

It’s tender enough that you look at him. That familiarly crooked smile is tugging at his lips. He reaches for you. Warm fingers brush against your side as he crowds into your space. The fabric of your shirt hardly feels like a barrier.

You barely get a breath out before he’s kissing you. He tastes like sugar and the cloying sweetness of baked apples. It’s all you can do to find his arms and hold onto him like the lifeline he’s come to be. He is sturdy underneath your clinging hands.

Much to your displeasure, Driver pulls back. He stays close enough that his nose brushes yours as his eyes seem to be searching yours for an answer to an unspoken question. Tension leaves his face as he finds it.

“Thank you for…” he lets the rest of the sentence die out, breath hitching in response to your touch.

Your hands slide over his biceps on their journey upwards. One takes residence on his shoulder while the other slips between his shoulder blades. Your fingers find their way into the short hair at his nape.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you respond and press your mouth against his in another kiss.

Eagerly, he accepts the affection. He sways on his feet, chasing after you when you break the contact. His lips brush over your cheek and you stop him in his tracks with a light touch on his sternum before taking his hand. His calloused fingers intertwine easily with yours as you lead him in the direction of your bedroom.

There is still some time before his birthday is officially over. You want to make the most of it.

Do not repost, copy, or reproduce my work to other sites or in other media formats. Do not use it for anything to do with AI. Thank you.

[howtodrawyourdragon]

Dad December 2024 Day 2

The Son is Sick

Summary: Set in a Dystopian/Post-Apocalypse AU. Hiccup notices that his eldest is sick.

Warnings: Sickfic

Rating: General

Words: 635

Prompt: Sick day

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Characters: Hiccup, Zephyr, Httyd ocs (Vigi Tiny)

Pairing: Hiccstrid

Author’s Notes: Not the first one-shot that I wrote for this AU, which is why I know that this is only the beginning of Hiccup's MOST RECENT troubles.

Enjoy!

-XOXOX-

It's late in the evening. After making sure Zephyr is fast asleep in her basket, Hiccup settles into his son's bed with Tiny. The boy has already picked out a book for him to read from. He picked it from the small collection that they have stuffed in between the bigger books of his parents in the living room bookshelf. Coughing, he crawls into his lap and pulls the blanket over the both of them.

Naturally, Hiccup watches him for a moment. That wasn't the first time he heard that cough this evening.

Settling in comfortably with his son in his lap and the book in his hands, Hiccup takes a look at what the choice is for today.

It's a collection of fairy tales. Not the dark stories like from the brothers Grimm and such, but their sanitized versions considered more "child-friendly."

"Okay, Vigi, what're we reading today?" Hiccup asks as they read the table of contents together.

"That one!" Tiny's finger immediately settles on that of The Three Little Pigs and Hiccup smiles before turning the pages to that exact one. Finding the right story, he begins.

Or rather, Tiny has another coughing fit and then he begins to read.

At six years old, his son is at the age in which he can read along a little. There's a school that he goes to, but even after work, Hiccup still takes some extra time out of his day to teach his son how to read and write and how to do math. When there isn't a lot to do at the workshop, Gobber doesn't mind it if he takes an hour to teach Vigi during the day. The boy likes to watch his father work.

"And he says-" Just as he's about to break out a third little pig's voice, Tiny interrupts him.

"What's that say?" He asks, no longer paying attention to the overall story as he's trying to decipher a particular word. He knows his letters, he knows what they sound like, yet he doesn't know this word and wouldn't know how to say it or what it means.

"It's-" when Hiccup wants to respond, his son has another coughing fit. It doesn't sound like a congestive cough, but that's what it could turn into.

Waiting until he's finished, Hiccup answers his question before continuing on with the fairy tale. Or cautionary tale, as that's what they used to be.

He tries to dismiss the fits. Astrid often tells him that he's "too worried" and "should let their son breathe." And if she were home, she would probably tell him that it's just a little cough. People often cough, especially down here. That doesn't necessarily mean that something has to be wrong.

Yet the next time a fit comes, Hiccup immediately pauses to place a hand on his son's forehead. He doesn't feel particularly warm. Just to be sure, he leans down to press his cheek to his forehead instead. Vigi lets him, though the craning of his neck makes another series of coughs erupt from his throat.

His dad pulls away from him when they do and simply watches as his eldest has to practically fold in half just to cough. He doesn't have a fever, not yet at least, but Hiccup has already decided that he might see a doctor with him tomorrow. Astrid is right, he does have a tendency of getting overprotective, but that might not be the case this time.

Once the story is finished, interrupted once or twice more by another fit, Hiccup closes the book and puts it aside. Tiny still in his lap, he wraps his arms around him. His eyes are slipping closed, he's falling asleep.

"Come on," Hiccup kisses the top of his head. "You're sleeping in my bed tonight.

[pizzafishandchips]

29 - "How did this happen?"

Fandom - Infamous IF Content warnings - alcohol use Summary - Luna goes to a party. Shenanigans ensue.

The loud music reverberates through Luna’s bones, every inch of her body silently quaking with each beat. Her body instinctively bobs and moves along with it as she makes her way out of the thick of the crowd. The plastic cup in her hand is half-filled with an untouched drink; she’d taken it out of politeness when someone had thrust it into her hands unprompted and, in the chaotic mass of bodies, she hadn’t yet found a place to toss it.

She breathes a sigh of relief when she steps outside into the cool night air, a welcome reprieve from the hot, sweaty whirl of party-goers. She’s emerged out into a large outdoor recreational area, empty lawn chairs and giant umbrellas surrounding a spacious pool on the far end from where she stands.

Placing her cup on the ground, Luna slowly takes the time to casually walk around. There’s no one else around, the outdoor area covered in the calm hush of night aside from the low thrumming beats ringing from inside.

She hadn’t initially wanted to come; it feels too soon, still a little raw after a certain someone left. The band nagged her into it, telling her that it would be healthy to finally go out and mingle, to return to some semblance of normalcy after what felt like the very foundation of her world was demolished right beneath her.

On the outside, it really did look the same. The same bright lights, the same reverberating rhythms, the same kind of loud shouting and movements she’d seen countless times before. Nothing outside has changed.

But none of it feels the same. When others swarm and dance, she doesn’t feel like jumping in with them. When people start taking shots, she doesn’t toast with them. If anything, the sight of alcohol now makes her slightly queasy, the tiny rush that comes after a single sip triggering something akin to fear. All it does is remind her of her mistakes, that catastrophic party that broke it all, and she can’t let it happen again.

When Luna wanders around the edge of the pool, she hears the door leading out opening. Rowan’s familiar silhouette stumbles out; with the way he teeters, it’s obvious that he’s had quite a few drinks.

“Lunaaaaaa,” he wails. “You out here?”

Resigned to the fact that her newfound sobriety has made her the designated party babysitter, Luna returns to him, concerned that he’ll fall over onto the hard concrete any moment. Upon seeing her, his face breaks out into an easy grin.

“Hey—hic—there you are. Didn’t see you inside. Wanted to find you.”

“Yeah, it was getting a little hot in there, and I wanted some air.” She takes hold of his arm to steady him, eyeing the drink that’s in his hand and wondering whether he’d notice if she took it away.

“Hmm, air. Yeah, air. Air sounds good.”

He attempts to repeat what she’d been doing the few minutes prior, unsteadily meandering around the area as Luna frantically tries to keep hold of him.

“Rowan, are you sure you don’t want to just sit down?” she urges.

“Nah, nah, I’m fine. I’m just fine, Luna, see? I could probably even go for a swim!”

With how small she is in comparison, no amount of protests is able to keep him from walking closer to the edge of the dark water. He doesn’t seem to mind when she has to throw her whole body against him in an attempt to block him from the pool.

“Rowan, no!”

Much to her annoyance, he only laughs and gives her a one-armed hug. “Kidding, kidding. I’m not—Not that stupid.”

He moves away from the edge but only a few inches. Luna feels like she has to play goalie with how she’s trying to utilize her entire body to block him; not for the first time she wishes she was taller, anything that could give her a little more mass.

She jumps when her guitarist suddenly takes her by the shoulders, staring into her eyes with a serious expression. “Listen, listen, Luna. We’re just a little worried about you, you know? Glad that you finally came to party after… after what happened but maybe you should get back in there, you know?”

Right now you should be more worried about not being a victim of drowning.

“Yeah, yeah, sure, I’ll do that, Rowan,” she says, in an attempt to appease him enough to draw him further away from the water.

He throws his arms up. “Come on, Luna! Live a little! You got the whole world—”

Luna yelps as this time he moves too abruptly, too forcefully to be able to retain balance in his state, and Rowan sways, he tilts, and his legs flail and stumble before he tumbles into the pool. Cursing, she quickly kicks off her shoes before jumping in after him, determined to fish him out by force.

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

“Alright, and how did this happen?”

Devyn, Jazzy, and Iris tend to the two of them, drying them off with some towels some charitable person lent them. Rowan is sprawled on the ground, winded by their little nighttime swim though otherwise unharmed. Luna is hunched over, dripping wet, hands propped on her knees and panting from the effort of dragging her bandmate out of the water. After she gives a brief account of what led to their little dip, a towel is tossed over her sopping wet head, and she looks up to see Jazzy’s concerned yet sympathetic eyes.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Luna groans. “Being the responsible one.”

Her drummer simply chuckles. “You learn, and you get used to it after a while.”

She sighs. Seems like she’ll have to get used to a lot of things now.

[funkyhanji]

Family Outing [English | BNHA]

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia (@Horikoshi Kohei) Character(s): Bakugou Katsuki, Bakugou Mitsuki, Bakugou Masaru Pairing(s): (Mitsu)KatsuMitsu Rating: E Word count: 1.500 CWs: Incest, Parent/Child Incest, Mother/Child Incest, Consensual Incest, Implied/Referenced Threesome -F/M/M, Femdom, Outdoor Sex, Vaginal Sex, Barebacking, Cunnilingus, Face-Sitting, Mommy Kink, Dirty Talk, Wank and Tell, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Summary: - It'd been a while since all three of them had had enough free time to hike up the mountain near the city, what with their fashion company and Katsuki's training keeping them too busy to take off even a couple of days for a tiny vacation with family. Mitsuki was happy they managed to plan this trip though. - PART 5 OF Got Me In Chains SERIES

«You good there, dear?» Mitsuki asks her husband, looking back to where Masaru is concentrated on putting together their tents for the weekend outdoors.

It'd been a while since all three of them had had enough free time to hike up the mountain near the city, what with their fashion company and Katsuki's training keeping them too busy to take off even a couple of days for a tiny vacation with family. Mitsuki was happy they managed to plan this trip though.

«Yes, dear,» Masaru answers, turning to smile at her. «I've got it, thank you!»

Mitsuki nods, winking his way. «Alright, then Katsuki and I will go find some wood for the fire!»

«Go alone, hag!» Katsuki pipes up from the edge of the hill they're camping at. He glares and pockets his phone after taking some pictures, a snarl at the ready.

Mitsuki rolls her eyes at her son's antics, striding toward him to snatch him by the collar and drag him away. «Stop being a little bitch, fucker. Come help your mom.»

They disappear under the canopy of trees outlining the clearing to the sound of Masaru's chuckles. It doesn't take long for them to be further enough away from the camp that they no longer hear him. Katsuki stops struggling and keeps up with Mitsuki, silent for the next few minutes as they walk through trees and underbrush.

She figures they're a fair distance now.

She whirls around, snatching Katsuki's shirt in her fist. «C'mere,» she says, pulling her son closer before he can react.

She's crashing her mouth to Katsuki's with a hum, her free hand snagging into his hair and tugging on it. Her son gasps, his lips parting with a low moan; Mitsuki's tongue slips inside, taking her time to thoroughly explore and taste him. She sucks on his tongue, nips at his lip, kiss him deeper.

«Mom,» Katsuki sighs against her neck when they separate, nosing at her jaw as her hands move lower. «Mom…»

«Yeah, baby.» Mitsuki slides her hands under her son's shirt, nails dragging up his back, warm skin exposed centimeter by centimeter as she bunches the fabric at his armpits. «I missed you too.»

Katsuki copies her, his larger palms sneaking under her top to feel her up, to push her sports bra out of the way and grope her tits, sink his blunt nails in the plump flesh. Mitsuki sighs, chest arching to encourage Katsuki to touch to his heart's content. He abandons her earlobe to bow down and latch on a pert nipple, sucking, nipping and flicking at it with familiarity. With yearning.

Mitsuki gets it. Ever since Katsuki moved to the dorms, it'd been difficult to adjust; to make time to see each other.

«So good, baby,» she says, patting blond spikes as he buries his face between her tits. His hands clutch at her sides, pressing her into a tree and she appreciates the support of it. He looks up at her, his red eyes dark with desire, feverish. «Kiss me, Katsuki.»

He's surging forward with a groan, his tongue invading her mouth, trying to rob her of her breath, of control, but they both know who calls the shots here. Still cute though, she thinks. Her hands travel along his flanks to his ass; she squeezes him, pulling his hips to rock into her own. She hooks a leg around his waist, rutting up into the tent she feels poking her. They both moan, panting into each other's mouths.

It's been so long since they had the chance to do this.

«M… Mom… can I…?»

Oh, she likes his pleading tone — even if he didn't outright beg, yet — and his wide eyes; it's like he's young and innocent again, being forced to sit and watch mommy and daddy fuck and have so much fun without him, asking why he's left out. Her pussy's drenched already. She takes his hand in hers, guides it between her thighs.

«Mommy's cunt's so wet for you, Katsuki,» she whispers. Katsuki shudders at the filthy words, his fingers pressing into her. Her damp thong dipping into the valley of her folds, fabric soaking up her slick the more her son put pressure on them. «Yeah, feel that?»

Katsuki nods, cheeks blushing a beautiful pink. His hand slips under her yoga pants and underwear, pointer finger wasting no time to trace her pussy and settle at her clit. Mitsuki parts her legs a bit, leaning on the tree, giving her son better access. She hums, rocking her hips up to meet his languid touch, grabbing his collar to crash their lips together once again. One stronger thrust of her lower half makes Katsuki's finger slide inside her and she fucks herself on it, enjoying the feeling but decidedly wanting something more substantial to pound her.

«Baby, fuck me,» she moans into his ear. «Now. Fast and hard.»

«Shit, shitshit—» he cruses. He's pushing his pants down past his ass in a hurry, his flushed cock swollen and dripping precum.

Mituski barely has time to turn and face the tree, her own yoga pants bunched down her thighs, when Katsuki grips her hips and shoves his cock inside her, her thong pushed to the side with a thumb. She sighs in satisfaction, arching her back for a better angle. They both thrust back into each other at a frantic pace, more focused on getting off together after months of distance then on drawing it out.

«M-Mom…! Ngh — tight…! F-fuck, so good!»

Mitsuki laughs, breathless. «Ya like... Mommy's— ah!— tight cunt... mh baby?»

Katsuki's moans of «Yeah! Good!» make her smirk through her pleasure. She rolls her hips on his cock, clenches around it to hear him curse and stutter on his next thrust. He's close, she can tell; his length throbbing as it spears her pussy over and over. His breath is humid on her nape as he licks her sweat from her neck, loud and interrupted by grunts and groans.

«I-I'm— Mom…! I—» he tries to say, hands gripping her tighter, thrusts erratic.

«Good boy Katsuki— aahn!— cum for Mommy,» she tells him, one hand blindly reaching backward to curl into his hair, her head turning to the side for an open-mouthed kiss. «Fill me up.»

«FUCK! Fu-fuck…! Mom…!!» he whines, cock shoved in deep one last time, before stilling and releasing spurt after spurt of thick cum in Mitsuki's pussy almost violently.

«Nnnh, yes, baby! Like that!» she praises. She ruts back onto him, smirking at his keen when she languidly fucks herself on his overstimulated cock. The squelch of their fluids lewd and dripping down her thighs. «Oooh, you were so pent up, mmh?»

Mitsuki lets her son pull out, tuck himself in his pants, then she's pushing him on the forest floor while he's still slightly off kilter. She ignores his squawk of surprise, crawling on top of him; she places her hands on his muscled, heaving chest for leverage and sits on his still-flushed face.

«Ya had your fun Katsuki, now be a good boy and make Mommy cum,» she tells him.

She cuts his answer off — it'd be a "yes please Mom" anyway, 'cause she's trained him well over the years — and smothers him with her sloppy cunt. He's there waiting, his tongue plunging inside her immediately, licking his spend from her stretched hole and puffy folds. She rides him, spine arched as she ruts her sensitive clit over his lower lip and chin, rocking back and forth, his lips sucking at it. He groans, pushing his face further up, his tongue fucking in and out. He eats her out like a champ, coaxing her orgasm closer and closer.

«Yes!! Keep going, baby! Ah! Fuck, yeah! You're doing so well…! Ah— shit…!!»

Mitsuki grinds her pussy down on Katsuki, tensing and digging her nails in his pecs, convulsing and cumming with a loud moan.

[-]

They walk back to camp after cooling down, rearranging their clothes and picking up few sticks of wood.

Masaru greets them with a smile. His brown eyes take in their disheveled hair, the leaves stuck in Katsuki's spikes; they notice the hickeys blooming on both their necks and Mitsuki's upper body. They zero in on the wet patch at Mituski's yoga pants' crotch as well as on the bulge in Katsuki's own.

«Had fun out there?» he asks, amusement in his tone and mischief in his gaze.

Mitsuki feels a bit guilty for leaving Masaru out this time, but it's all right — they have the all weekend to enjoy themselves anyway, all three of them; to renew their bond as a family, as a unit.

«Yeah,» she says, matching her husband's impish aura with her own. «Right baby?»

Katsuki stares between them, rolls his eyes. The blush staining his cheeks fools neither of his parents. «Yeah,» he agrees, a smirk stretching his swollen lips. «We did.»

Masaru laughs. «Well. I'm glad, but next time bring back more wood, eh?»

[chronicparagon]

SHIPPING INFO // ANSWER THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR MUSE(S) SO PEOPLE KNOW HOW SHIPPING WORKS ON YOUR BLOG.

While I am open to discussions on ships and giving them a shot, most of Harmony's ships are slow-burn. I tend to be pretty shy when it comes to shipping and I don't assume any ships unless it's discussed ooc.

WHAT IS YOUR OTP FOR YOUR CHARACTER(S)?

I love and adore all the ships I have with Harmony. Really, I'm surprised that there are people who want their muses to be with her. I am blessed to have friends and rp partners who also like shipping with Harmony. Each ship is unique and Harmony reacts differently to her partner in each verse.

HOW LARGE DOES THE AGE GAP HAVE TO BE TO MAKE IT UNCOMFORTABLE?

When it comes to romantic and sexual relationships, both muses need to be age 18 or older. As long as both muses are adults, then it's perfectly fine.

While there are a couple of verses where Harmony is a teen like the P5 AU, any relationship in those verses will not be sexual. Those ships would be innocent like high school sweethearts. These verses have the additional tag of teen!Harmony to specify.

The default verses are when she's an adult, so the other muse would need to be an adult as well if they want to be with her.

HOW FAR DO STEAMY MOMENTS HAVE TO GO BEFORE THEY ARE CONSIDERED NSFW?

Anything that involves removing clothing, intense foreplay, or anything below the waist. I tag suggestive content under read more with my blanket tag of "left in the dark" to be safe. If the interaction becomes sexual, then it's deemed that and will have additional tags.

ARE YOU SELECTIVE WHEN SHIPPING?

No, not really. The big things I look for are chemistry between muses and getting along well with the mun. The most important thing is if the other mun wants to go for it.

DOES ONE HAVE TO ASK TO SHIP WITH YOU?

The only reason why I would say yes is because I want to be sure it's something the other person wants. Really, open communication via ims, or dash via rp memes or tags are what's needed.

ARE YOU SHIP OBSESSED OR SHIP MORE-OR-LESS?

While I like shipping and enjoy it, I am also open to other interactions. There is nothing wrong with fluff. I like it from time to time. However, I prefer darker content like horror. I want to do more of that and angst when possible. (Though I will say I like a tiny bit of spice).

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SHIP IN YOUR CURRENT FANDOM?

Harmony was originally a FF7 OC until around 2019 when I expanded to other fandoms. She's more of a general oc without a main fandom.

FINALLY, WHAT DO YOU WISH TO AVOID WHEN SHIPPING?

I think it's things getting rough because of unclear communication. I also want to avoid people being unhappy with the ship involving their muses and Harmony. While I aim to have fun and develop stories behind ships, I want to be sure others are happy and having fun too. I encourage open communication to be sure things are okay or if anything needs to change. That is something I often stress with not just ships, but interactions in general.

Tagged by: @s-talking [Thank you, thank you! 💕]

Tagging: Anyone who would like to do this. Please mention me if you do!

[cha-melodius]

Hiii, congratulations on your milestones! I am not very good at prompts buuuut how about Napollya + some creepy abandoned house? Or a cemetery. Idk, it's not Halloween but I'm feeling spooky loool Feel free to go paranormal with it <3

(Outsmarted tumblr to answer this lmao. You said go paranormal and my brain said 'what about rival paranormal investigators??' Mark this down as another AU concept I never thought I'd write. Hope you enjoy it!)

chamel’s fandom fest info | read all the fics

The Harrowed and the Haunted

(napollya, 2.7k, T; read it below or on AO3)

The tiny blue car is already there when they arrive, tucked off to one side of the gigantic, decrepit mansion, and Napoleon swears under his breath.

“How did he even know we were coming here?” he complains. “No one knows this place.”

“Everyone knows about this place, Solo,” Gaby sighs from the passenger seat. “It’s a local legend. And you weren’t exactly subtle when you teased it as our next location in the podcast.”

Napoleon twists in his seat to look at her. “You think he listens to the podcast?”

She levels a look at him that he doesn’t know how to interpret. “You two are hopeless,” she says instead of answering him, then unbuckles her seatbelt and gets out of the car.

She’s already elbows deep into the equipment by the time he walks to the back end of the car, so he elects not to push her on what she means. Besides, the one time he’d tried, she ended up on some long tirade about how they’re obsessed with each other and it would be funny if it wasn’t so frustrating and also if she didn’t have to listen to him all the time. To which he had responded that she’s his best friend and morally obligated to listen to him complain about his nemesis.

Also, he’s not obsessed with Illya Kuryakin.

Yes, Napoleon watches all the videos Illya posts and reads all the stories he publishes on his blog. Of course he does, Illya is the competition. Napoleon has to keep up with the locations he’s visiting and the kinds of footage he’s getting so that he knows how best to make his own superior content. Because Napoleon has a secret weapon that means his videos are always in better resolution, with wider shots so you can see that he’s not just using tricks, and his data are more robust. That secret weapon is Gaby and the completely bonkers ghost detecting equipment that she builds.

Napoleon had been a skeptic when he started doing paranormal investigation; his whole schtick was proving that there weren’t ghosts in the places where the other guys had recorded their sightings. Then he’d met Gaby at a convention and she’d bet him fifty bucks that she could show him a site that not only had ghosts, but also that she could prove it with hard science. He’d been intrigued despite himself, and their partnership was born. The friendship came about fifteen minutes into that first trip, when it became obvious that they shared a similarly sarcastic, dark sense of humor and brutally pragmatic outlook on life.

Together, they still spend the majority of their time proving that locations aren’t haunted, but occasionally things happen neither of them can explain. Not that he’s convinced that the explanation is actually ghosts, but it’s certainly something outside the realm of known science. With Gaby’s help, his business really took off: there’s the YouTube channel that he started with, but now they have a wildly successful podcast as well. The Discovery Channel has made overtures about a show. Things are good.

At least they are when Illya Kuryakin isn’t around.

Illya came out of nowhere with his blog Prizraki and a fledgling YouTube channel of his own. He shouldn’t have ever drawn an audience because he has zero camera presence, for all his good looks. He’s not even in his own videos all that much since he’s a one-man operation. But. The man can write. The way he crafts a story, the sheer atmosphere of it—he more than makes up for the shoddy camerawork and rudimentary editing. Napoleon had thought his work would be easy to discredit, but Illya is thorough. Meticulous. Irritating, especially when he anticipates Napoleon’s next move and makes it his job that much harder. Napoleon would swear Illya has it out for him specifically.

So yeah, they don’t get along. Their rivalry is well-known among the paranormal investigation community at this point. And if he spends an inordinate amount of time following Illya’s content, it’s only because he has to, professionally. He certainly doesn’t enjoy it.

They find the man himself on the second floor, apparently scanning one of the rear bedrooms. He’s hunched over his device, which is emitting a random-sounding beeping as he moves slowly across the room. Napoleon and Gaby had been led there by the readouts on their own equipment, although things start going all funny once they get into the room. Napoleon is pretty sure it’s just the interference from Illya’s shitty gear.

“Got tired of coming up with your own ideas, Peril?” Napoleon says as they walk in, the ancient floorboards creaking under their feet.

Illya doesn’t bother to look away from his scan. “Don’t know what you are talking about,” he mutters. He finishes a sweep of the far wall and pauses. “I have plans to investigate this property for months. Check my website if you don’t believe me.”

Napoleon doesn’t, because he’s read every word of that blog and he never mentioned this property. Not that he’s going to tell Illya this.

His nemesis finally straightens and turns toward them, his usual sour expression somehow failing to keep him from being ridiculously, irritatingly gorgeous. Napoleon would wager that at least half of his subscribers are only there for the occasional eye candy. And look, Napoleon knows his own looks bring him hits—leverages it, specifically—but Illya pretends to be above all that, which is annoying. After all, his numbers had shot up rapidly after that one video where he’d somehow ended up shirtless while investigating some kind of haunted bog (and if Napoleon had watched that one any more than the others, it was only because he couldn’t get over the idea of a haunted bog, that’s all).

“I take it you haven’t found anything yet,” Napoleon counters, looking around the room. It’s largely empty at this point, save for a massive wardrobe that’s probably too heavy to move, the florid wallpaper faded and yellowed by time and marked by no small amount of water damage. “Not that I fault you for that, given your equipment.”

“I have found plenty—”

“Solo,” Gaby interrupts. She’s across the room, and when he turns to look she’s tucking her own scanner away and sliding a hand over the seemingly featureless wall. “I think there’s something here.”

Jackpot. Napoleon quickly crosses over to where she stands and starts carefully inspecting the wallpaper, his competitor all but forgotten behind them. Well, almost. The seam is well hidden, but it’s there, and Napoleon feels out the secret panel within minutes. When a door pops open, he turns back toward Illya and smirks with immense satisfaction.

“What was that about finding things?”

Illya just about growls at him.

“Look, while you two have this little pissing contest, I’m gonna go get my auxiliary power block,” Gaby announces before they can get going again. “There are some really wacky readings going on here and I think I’m going to need the boost.”

With that, she disappears out the door, and a moment later they can hear the clunk of her boots on the wooden steps.

“So, you are planning on leaving, right?” Napoleon asks.

“I was here first,” Illya grits out, and then the asshole just storms right past Napoleon and into the secret passageway, like he has any right to it.

Napoleon follows him, because he can’t not. The passage is narrow, barely wider than the span of either of their shoulders, and nearly pitch black save for the illumination provided by their flashlights and the meager light that filters in from the main room. The house is enough of a labyrinth that it could go almost anywhere; it’s promising, for sure.

“Only because you knew we were coming here,” Napoleon calls after him.

Illya stops a short ways down the passage and turns to glare at him. “You cannot prove that.”

“And we found the secret passage,” Napoleon continues. “If we weren’t here you’d still be going around in circles, chasing your own tail.”

“The discovery was inevitable. Maybe you sped it along, but now you are just in the way.”

Jesus Christ, this is going nowhere. Fine, Napoleon can be the magnanimous one, especially if he can use it later to argue that Illya was unreasonable. “Look, you wanna investigate right now, be my guest, but you can’t be here when Gaby gets back. Your equipment causes too much interference.”

Illya hesitates a beat. “She said you were getting strange readings. What kind?”

“Like I’m going to tell you,” Napoleon scoffs.

“Did you have to learn to be this much of an asshole, or were you born this way?”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from the guy who—”

He doesn’t get to finish that thought, because suddenly it sounds like every door in the house slams at once, including the one to the bedroom that they’d left open. They both jump a mile, startled out of their skins, and Napoleon whirls to look behind him, though of course there’s nothing there.

“Wind gust?” he tries weakly.

He doesn’t even blame Illya for the exasperated look he gets in response. They both know there hadn’t been even a light breeze, plus, he can feel it. Illya probably can too. There’s something about the atmosphere that makes his skin crawl and his hair stand up on end, and as a professional ghost hunter, that’s not easy to do. He’s learned to trust his gut, and it’s telling him something is definitely hinky here. He walks back over to the door, but there’s no handle on the inside, which seems like poor design for a secret passageway.

“Not getting out this way,” he tells Illya. “Maybe the other side?”

“We don’t know where it goes,” Illya counters. “Should we not just wait for Gaby to return?”

He’s got a point, but Napoleon really doesn’t like being cooped up in here. He’s not claustrophobic, but there’s a closeness to the air that goes beyond what can be explained by the narrow space. Not that he’s going to let on what’s driving his decision.

“Wait if you like,” he says with a shrug. “I’m going to do what I came here to do.”

Except Illya is standing between him and the rest of the passage, which is really not large enough for the two of them to easily pass by each other. Still, there’s nothing for it; Napoleon starts walking toward him, assuming Illya will get out of the way, only when he’s less than a stride from the other man, he trips.

He’d like to pretend the floorboards were uneven, but it feels like something fucking winds around his ankle, effectively binding his legs and sending him sprawling into Illya. At nearly the same time, there’s a loud pop and the bulbs in both of their flashlights just about explode in a shower of sparks. The end result is that Illya is too surprised or too distracted to stay upright himself, and they tumble to the ground in a heap with none-too-few curses in both English and Russian.

“Get off of me,” Illya protests, trying to shove Napoleon away, and Napoleon would like to, truly, but one of Illya’s elbows caught him in the diaphragm and he can’t exactly breathe at the moment.

“Gimme a fucking minute,” he manages, trying to catch his breath while simultaneously ignoring how he’s managed to land pretty much astride one of Illya’s very muscular thighs. There’s not exactly a lot of room here for him to maneuver, anyway, and in the pitch dark the very last thing he wants to do is put a hand somewhere it shouldn’t go. He manages to fish his phone out of his pocket, hoping for an alternative light source, only to find it won’t turn on. “Damn. Phone’s dead.”

“Think it was an EMP,” Illya groans. “Will knock out—”

“I know what an EMP is,” Napoleon snaps, then he sighs heavily. “I don’t suppose you have a lighter?”

Illya doesn’t answer, but a moment later there’s a faint snick and a small flame flickers to life, washing the two of them and the passageway in a faint orange glow. It also reveals the deep scowl on Illya’s face. “Now will you get off?”

“Aw, but I was just starting to enjoy myself,” Napoleon teases. And then, because he can’t resist an opportunity to fluster the other man in any way possible, he gives his hips a little wiggle. 

Something flashes in Illya’s gaze, though he can’t quite read it in the flickering light. “Do not start something you do not intend to finish, Cowboy,” he growls.

Which is— Napoleon cannot have heard that right. He hit his head on the way down, maybe, except for the fact that he knows he didn’t; he landed on Illya’s ample chest, which he still hasn’t really moved from. Their faces are no more than a handful of inches apart. Illya takes a deep breath in and out under him, and the thigh between Napoleon’s shifts slightly. Napoleon licks his lips, and Illya’s eyes follow the movement.

“Who says I don’t?” Napoleon manages, his voice tighter than he’d like. “And what about you? I thought you hated me.”

“Too pretty,” Illya murmurs. “Annoyingly so. Anyway, you hated me first.”

Napoleon can’t help the soft puff of laughter that escapes him. “Gaby says I’m obsessed with you.”

“Is that so?” Illya asks with a smirk that Napoleon would kind of like to bite.

“I’m not,” Napoleon protests, but he doesn’t get a chance to get any more out because Illya tugs him down into a kiss.

Napoleon shocks himself by kissing him back, tilting his head until their mouths fit perfectly together, letting his arms go out from under him until his body is fully pressed up against Illya’s again. It’s hard and it’s fast and it’s filthy, and Napoleon can’t get enough of it. Illya’s hands go to his waist then slide down to his ass, which he grabs enthusiastically, pulling Napoleon’s hips closer as his rock up against Napoleon’s thigh.

He never thought— never let himself think— Fuck. He wants Illya Kuryakin so badly he can hardly breathe, which is a pretty fucking novel revelation right about now. He doesn’t even notice that Illya has dropped the lighter, plunging them into darkness, until there’s a loud creak outside the passageway and the door rattles in its frame.

They startle apart, or at least try to; Napoleon attempts a roll sideways, but there’s not really any place to go, so he just kind of ends up jammed next to Illya, his heart climbing into his throat because he’d maybe gotten so caught up in the moment that he’d forgotten that they’re in a fucking abandoned house that supposedly haunted, with actual weird phenomena happening around them, and he’d really rather not die—

The door rattles again, then swings open to reveal Gaby holding a lantern in one hand and her bag of equipment in the other. She takes one look at them and her eyebrows climb all the way up to her hair.

“Oh, thank god,” Napoleon exhales heavily. “You didn’t get hit by the EMP?”

Gaby frowns at him. “What EMP?”

“The one that exploded our flashlights and turned our phones into bricks.”

“That’s not how EMPs work,” she says flatly. “Care to explain how that relates to… literally any of this?”

Napoleon winces. “Not really?”

The look she gives him quite clearly says that he’s not getting out of any part of said explanation, even if she’s willing to let it go for the moment. “So. Ghosts?”

“Apparently so,” Napoleon groans as he attempts to extract himself now that he can actually see where he’s going.

“And we’re… collaborating?” she asks, looking pointedly at Illya.

Napoleon glances over to find Illya staring at him uncertainly, which is probably fair considering they’ve discussed precisely nothing about this. Still. He looks back at Gaby.

“Apparently so.”

~~~~~

(The Haunting of McAllister Mansion is their first joint video, published simultaneously on both channels; it breaks all their previous records for views, likes, and comments.

The latter are split between people confused because they were sure Napoleon and Illya hated each other, and those who just comment: called it.)

[newagekryptid]

⋆｡˚☽˚🦇｡⋆.NewAgeKryptid.⋆🦇｡⋆ ☽˚｡⋆

A little about me —

29 l She/Her l Lover of writing, drawing and gaming l huge traveler l Tiny l Texan l Folk Witch l Autistic and eccentric 4/1/20 💙🧡

Lover of many pairings + Your ship is not my ship and that’s okay! 💞 (just to clarify, I will only pair characters I believe have decent chemistry. I am also allowed to verbalize my viewpoints over ships. Don’t like it, block me.)

Proud momma of four fur babies!! 🐾 + an adopted baby (my dad’s cat, lol!)

I don’t do cliques. I’m not that kind of gal, my apologies. 💋

Fandoms: Naruto, YuYu Hakusho, Trigun, Zoids (Chaotic Century), X-Men, Pokémon, Harvest Moon, Children of the Corn, Lord of the Rings, Fruits Basket, Durarara!!!, D.N. Angel, Black Butler, InuYasha, Space Dandy, Dragon Ball Z/Super, The Matrix, John Wick, Tokyo Ghoul, American Horror Story, Nolan!Batman, Gotham

This is a safe space. Respect me, and my mutuals. Otherwise; I will put you in your lane. I’ve had issues with this in the past, and I just need to make it exceedingly clear that I will say something if you step on my toes. If you’re doing something minor that isn’t even worth my time and energy, you will simply be blocked.

It’s not harassment if I have am having to defend myself, my space, or my mutuals at any point from anyone. I don’t just go around making posts about people. If I’m having to say something about it – It’s serious.

I need people to know before interacting with me: I don’t do bullshit. We will have issues if you bring this energy to the table.

Future Projects – 2025

Coming In Winter ❄️☃️ Ranging from Dec to April for me being in EST!

Doing events, catching up on one shots and completing stories of mine that don’t have much left to them.

Coming In Spring 🌼🧹 May

Gotta Catch ‘Em All: Starters

Starting original 151 Pokémon, cute trainer/starter chapters

Cleaning out my unfinished folder

Coming in Summer ☀️🍉 June, July, August

Continuing Hiatused Stories

To be decided…

Future Oneshots

(X2) Madara x reader (porn with and without plot)

Kakashi x reader (porn with plot)

DILF City (various Naruto Dark Daddy & Dead Dove oneshots)

Hashirama x Kakuzu (enemies/angst/fighting)

Shikamaru x Reader (fluff/friendship)

Madara x Hashirama (frenemy)

Hinata x TenTen (friendship/fluff)

Charles Xavier x Reader (messy romance)

Erik Lehnsherr x Reader (complicated romance)

Minors DNI with any NSFW content on this blog, you will be blocked!

Please enjoy a collage of my taste in music! Feel free to skip anything you don’t like! There truly is a mix of different genres on this playlist! :)

[jardinsdeminuit]

Genshin Impact Fanfic Masterlist

Genshin is probably the fandom I’m most active in right now, so please check back to this masterlist for updates!

Important notes:

All links are for AO3.

The rating of each fic is given. E (explicit) is for 18+, M (mature) is for 16+ and T (teen) is for 13+.

I am a young adult who writes primarily adult content. As such, a lot of these fics have smut, violence and dark themes. Please only click on E rated fics if you’re 18 or over and read the tags carefully at the start of each fic.

Most of these fics are x Reader (F or GN - each has been marked), but a couple are x Traveller. I’ve put all of these under the same heading to make this list as simple as possible. Any other ships will be in the ‘Multiple Characters’ section. For example, Dainsleif x GN!Reader and Dainsleif x Lumine will both appear under the ‘Dainsleif’ heading, but Dainsleif x Kaeya will appear under ‘Multiple Characters’.

Fics have been organised by region, then character. Longfics (ie. those more than a couple of chapters have their own section.)

I haven’t written word counts for short fics to make this easier to read, but in general, drabbles are less than 1000 words and one-shots are 1000-5000 words.

Please note that this masterlist is for Genshin Impact only. More fics can be found in my Dialovers and Otome/General masterlists.

Longfics

Cold Eyes, Cold Hands

Kaeya x Albedo / M / 4/5 chapters

Albedo is kidnapped from his lab in Dragonspine. Kaeya goes to rescue him. It's a simple, foolproof plan. That is until Kaeya gets captured, too.

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

Everything to Lose

Dainsleif x Kaeya / M / 7/20 chapters

Kaeya and Dainsleif search for Gold’s dagger to prevent the fall of Khaenri’ah.

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In These Hands (You Will Break)

Scaramouche x Mona / E / 11/15 chapters

Mona arrives in Inazuma and has to make a choice: become a Harbinger’s pet, or lose everything she’s been working towards.

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

Under a Grey Banner [On hiatus]

Kaeya x OC / M / 2/20 chapters

Ilse is drawn into a Treasure Hoarder plot after she sets out to rescue a kidnapped Kaeya.

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

Blood on Snow (Dark Genshin Fairytales 1)

Childe x Lumine / E / 3 chapters / Little Red Riding Hood AU

Ajax stalks a red-hooded girl through the forest. Little does he know she is far from the clueless prey he was expecting.

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

The Bamboo Cutter and His Firefly (Dark Genshin Fairytales 2)

Thoma x Lumine / M / 2/5 chapters / Kaguya-Hime AU

When Thoma finds a tiny woman in the stalk of a bamboo plant, he has no idea what to do except take her home and keep her for himself.

Mondstadt

Albedo

Chemical Theory (Albedo x F!Reader / E / one-shot)

Equivalent Exchange (Albedo x F!Reader / E / one-shot)

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

Kaeya Alberich

Prince of Ruin (Villain!Kaeya x F!Reader / E / one-shot)

Stupid Games (Kaeya x F!Reader / E / one-shot)

To Catch a Thief (Kaeya x F!Reader / E / one-shot)

A Voice of Reason (Kaeya x F!Reader / E / one-shot)

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

Lisa Minci

“Is that blood?” (Lisa x GN!Reader / T / drabble)

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

Diluc Ragnvindr

Jealousy (Diluc x F!Reader / E / one-shot)

Reassurance (Diluc x F!Reader / E / one-shot)

“Wake up!” (Diluc x GN!Reader / M / one-shot)

Liyue

Childe

In a Snowless Land (Childe x Lumine / M / one-shot)

Pinned (Childe x F!Reader / E / one-shot)

“Are you flirting with me?” (Childe x GN!Reader / T / drabble)

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

Xiao

Top of the World (Xiao & Lumine / T / one-shot)

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

Zhongli

Silken Tea (Zhongli x F!Reader / M / one-shot)

“Can we stay like this forever?” (Zhongli x GN!Reader / T / drabble)

Inazuma

Arataki Itto

Master (Arataki Itto x F!Reader / E / one-shot)

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

Scaramouche

Break (Scaramouche x F!Reader / E / one-shot)

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

Teppei

A Toast to Ambition (Teppei x F!Reader / M / one-shot)

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

Thoma

On His Knees (Thoma x F!Reader / E / one-shot)

Khaenri’ah

Dainsleif

And the Abyss Stares Back (Dainsleif x Lumine / M / 2/3 chapters)

Captured (Dainsleif x F!Reader / E / one-shot)

Summer’s End (Dainsleif x Lumine / T / one-shot)

These Lonely Years (Dainsleif x F!Reader / E / one-shot)

Multiple Characters

A Golden Memory (Kaeya x Albedo / E / one-shot)

A Reluctant Engagement (Arataki Itto & Kujou Sara / T / one-shot)

Like Dust Through Desperate Fingers (Azhdaha | Retuo Longwang x Zhongli | Morax / E / one-shot)

Sinners (Dainsleif & Gold / T / one-shot)

What Writhes Below (Childe x Mona / E / one-shot)

[thereaderinsertlady]

Writing Commissions

Due to the abundance of people asking about it, I figured I should start allowing people to commission me! I will only accept character x reader or character & reader submissions (for now), so keep that in mind please! I'm also in a partnership with Ellie now.

What is the difference between requesting and commissioning?

Anyone can request for free, but commissioning costs money. However, commissioning comes with several benefits:

Commissions are prioritized above everything else. Regular requests can take weeks or even several months to get to sometimes, but I will get to commissions as soon as I possibly can.

Commissions are more 'well-written' than regular requests, and heavily focuses on quality. When I write plain requests, I generally focus on getting them done (quantity over quality), and may even experiment on a few of them to test a few things out. However, with commissions, you will receive the best work I can create.

With commissions, I am more willing and flexible with writing fetish-y and dark content. With requesting, I tend to lean towards the lighter side of topics (yandere, smut...) if it isn't explicitly and specifically stated other wise, but with commissions, I will write, quite literally, anything you want (other than incest or pedophilia). Want your favorite character to spit into your mouth, and call you filthy names? I can do that! Would you like a vore-centered one-shot, gore-play, or anything involving 'watersports?' (urolagnia or urophilia) I'm your gal! Want a specific character to kiss your wittle forehead, and cuddle with you in your bed? Ah, now that's a bit extreme in my book, but I'll do my best!

Commissions are more personalized than requests. While you may be able to get as specific as you want with a regular requests, more often than not I won't be able to create it exactly how you imagined it. However, with a commission, I will be able to ask you questions to clarify specific details, and I'll be able to send you tiny excerpts for you to look at to see if it's how you imagined it.

Are there any new rules?

If you're going to submit a commission, please send me a personal message on Tumblr through this blog, or on Discord (Egg#0533). Don't send a commission request through my ask-inbox, since it may get a bit confusing. If you do, then... oh well lol, I'll just ask you to personal message me to discuss details. I check my email every-so often, but I respond to personal messages quicker.

Other than that, there isn't any new rules than what I have posted here. This link, or the pinned post shows what fandoms I know very well, and what characters I am willing to write for, so please read it over before asking me to write anything. If there's a character or fandom that isn't listed, but you really want me to write for, please let me know! I am willing to learn about it, but I will add a small flat fee of 5$ due to time loss.

What are the prices?

I may adjust prices every now and then, but these are my current prices for commissions:

Mini-fics

12$ per chapter for SFW. (Making-out, mild gore or injuries, 'safe-fics...')

18$ per chapter for NSFW. (Smut, mild or erotic fetishes, extreme gore. Does include vore, heavy degrading, whipping...)

28$ per chapter for Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. ('Watersports,' scat, gore-play, rape...)

Each chapter will be between 3,000 and 7,000 words.

Only 10 chapters per mini-fic commission, but each chapter over the limit will cost an extra 5$ on top of the other price. The minimum you can request for a mini-fic is 2 chapters, but you can mismatch chapters (Ex: 1 SFW and 1 NSFW).

One-shots

5$ per 1,000 words for SFW.

8$ per 1,000 words for NSFW.

13$ per 1,000 words for Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

Will write upto 20,000 words per one-shot commission. If I go over the pre-set limit (say, if you want a 3,000 word fic, and I write 4,000 words), I will not charge extra.

Payment options?

You can pay by submitting a 'donation' through my gofundme page, since it's one of the more easier ways to pay. You don't have to create an account, or anything like that! (Or so, I don't think you do...? But even then, creating an account there is very easy compared to other apps.) However, if you'd like to pay through a different method, let me know as soon as possible. I also have a Cashapp account.

Anything else?

If you aren't able to pay right away, then don't worry! I will hold onto your commission until you are able to do so. If you'd like to see samples of my works, feel free to browse through my ao3 account. I will post everything on Tumblr and ao3 unless discussed otherwise, but if you wish for your name to be anonymous, please do let me know!

[ryqoshay]

Putting on Hairs - Post Production: Salamander Fireworks

Primary Pairing: NicoMaki Mentioned Pairing: AiRina Rating: G Words: 339 AU: Theater, Monsters, Cryptids Fandom: Love Live, Love Live Nijigasaki Parent Fic: Putting on Hairs - Post Production Time Frame: Sometime after the main story Event: Promptober 2022 Event Source: Idol Fanfic Heaven channel on Discord Prompt: Fireworks Content Warning: Playing with fire, literally

---------

Author’s Note: Bonus 3rd entry for Oct 17th

Summary: Nico wants in on the supernatural fireworks

---------

“Maki-chan! Maki-chan!”

“Mm?” The named redhead turned to see a shorter, raven-haired woman rushing toward her.

“I just heard from Setsuna and some of the others, they used her fire powers last night to set off fireworks last night!”

“So now you want to have me do the same.”

“Obviously! Maki-chan knows how much Nico lo~ves her fire skills.”

Maki did know her girlfriend appreciated the warmth she was able to provide. And the light, on a few occasions, although they could both see well enough in the dark. Of course, she was also well aware of the fact that when Nico was overtly complimenting, it meant she wanted something. Something Maki may be reluctant to give otherwise. But lighting fireworks was easy. She’d don’t it many times on her own or with her parents or their house staff.

“What are you leaving out, Nico-chan?”

“Whatever do you mean, Maki-chan?”

Maki narrowed her eyes.

“Well, apparently, Setsuna dissolved a bunch of stuff in her mouth and would spit through a straw to make the firework.”

“Yeah, I’m not going to do that.”

“But Maki-cha~n!”

“I refuse.”

---------

She gave in.

Nico first convinced Rina to make what were basically tiny potato guns. Except that instead of filling them with gas then igniting it, Maki would fill the enclosed chamber, through the metal, with her flame until a pressure valve would release it. A burning grain of metal salt would then be shot out the end and Maki would cause it to detonate once it reached a decent height, thus creating a small firework.

Then Nico pulled her trump card, her siblings. She knew full well Maki had a hard time telling them no.

So here they were, gathered in a park, playing with supernatural fireworks. Nico, Ai and Cocoa were chasing each other with sparklers while Cotaro sat quietly, watching the show being put on by Maki. Rina busied herself filling the firework canons which Cocoro dutifully delivered to Maki.

Maki had to admit, this was actually pretty fun.

---------

Author’s Note Continued: Rushed this one a bit to get it posted before the deadline for the event; on the Discord server, not here or AO3. As such, I will most certainly come back to this one later and expand on it.

[archangeltwins]

Title: About Time Some Deliverance Is Due

Rating: Mature

Fandom: canon-divergence from NCIS: L. A., and my own headcanons

Characters: Charlotte O'Lear ( oc ) & Achilles 'Akhos' Laos

Triggering Content May Include: stalking, mentions of obsessive behavior, physical abuse and related injuries, violence, alcohol

“Achilles?” No answer.

“Achilles.” The winds from the mediterranean had turned cold, chilling Charlotte to the bone. A storm was approaching. Poor ventilation let a breeze into the building; a dingy, dilapidated thing.

“Akhos fucking Laos, would you answer me already? I know you’re in there!” Charlotte’s fist curled around her phone. Quick bodily shiver.

There was a moment of silence, then came a mumbled, groggy curse as the speaker’s own was lifted. Static crackled. A gruff tenor filtered through, ending in a yawn. “Char, it’s too damn early.”

“But A, just-”

“No. Not again.” He cut her off. No chance at bargain. “Supposed to be working?”

She hummed on her end, reply full of thinly-veiled snark. “Supposed to be answering the door, Mr. Laos? Refusing a guest is impolite.”

Goddamn it.

With a groan he rose, clad in shorts and sleeveless tank. The apartment he’d bought out was small. No luxuries. No affluent fixings. Alleys of native greece a good place to disappear. Running a hand through shortened thatches of dark hair, he paused to check the keyhole - one hand lax on the knob.

True to what she’d said, the brunette was standing in the hallway. He turned his head away, eyes falling closed for a mere second, the briefest of memories resurfacing.

No. This is not anything romantic. Something in gut told him otherwise.

Steeling himself, he banished it deep. The door swung open with a creak. Dim bulb above framed Charlotte’s face in a halo of golden light, backpack slung across one slim shoulder.

“Going to make me stand out here all night?” She teased, and he answered with a grunt.

“Considered it. Renault revoke your privileges?”

“No,” she says, sidestepping around him. Damn the lack of maneuverable space. And damn his tiny entryway.

He shut the door, lock clicking in place. “And that brought you back? Irony or coincidence?"

"Both.” Charlotte hardly glanced back when answering. Shrugging off her pack, it landed with a muffled thump. He arched a brow, arms folding over his chest.

“Elaborate?”

“Shadow’s haunting me again. He caught me in a pretty bad spot. Wasn’t deterred by the metal I flashed."

Akhos’ scowl deepened, a dark look passing over his features. Shadow was code for an especially obsessive ex from years back. "Went lone wolf because you thought it’d protect. Become anonymous. Didn't work?"

"No. It-it didn’t.” She finally admitted with a sigh, rubbing her nape beneath waves of dark curls.

He took stock of her reaction before striding to a kitchenette. Withdrawing two beers from the fridge, he tossed one to her. It was caught with ease. "Send in a report of behavior? Did he do anything to you?”

Charlotte hesitated, thumb circling the rim. Gaze downcast, no longer level with him. She chewed her lip. The cold prickled. Clock-ticks echoed. Silence was to be taken as an answer in most situations, but not this time.

“Char, did or did he not put hands on you?” came the dreaded question.

“A, it’s really none of your business - ”

The beer bottle came hurtling down on the table. Liquid sloshed, Akhos’ fingers tightened on the neck. His response was a growling bark. “It IS my fucking business! One day he’ll go too far and you’ll end in a ditch!”

Charlotte took to her feet, own bottle left unopened. Who was he to attempt a shot at any of her past choices? He had his own skeletons shoved in the closet.

Teeth were bared, masking a grimace. “I’m not some fragile flower, Akhos! I’ve bested others of our division! I am - I was - your partner! Your equal! You think I’ll break from just a few punches?”

“You’re slipping. You packed too light. You’re avoiding using core muscles to bend and sit.” He continued, motioning to the dirtied backpack. “Which means, you’re injured. I need to know where, and how severe before you fuck up beyond repair."

Damn him and his keen observances. Damn that ingrained intuition.

"Just, show me.” He said, leaving the table with one chair ajar. Not leaping to assist as his stubborn white-knightedness tended to make him do.

His expression was currently unreadable, leaving her wondering just what machinations lay beyond those calculatory blues.

But he cared. They’d changed from exhausted to attentive so quick it honestly spooked her. Must really hate injustice, or women-beating bastards.

Fingers curling beneath her shirt, she caved, lifting it high overhead. The discoloration drew Akhos’ gaze then, boot-shaped and peppering her stomach.

Bruises weren’t the only injuries. Stark red stripes had turned her into a human zebra, some oozing blood, cuts shallow. Non-fatal. Her jugular was ringed with blotchy pink, which he came to realize were handprints.

“Going to fucking kill him.” Charlotte heard him utter under his breath.

“Akhos, no. You can’t. You can’t and you won’t - ” She begins to protest, watching as he closes the gap. Hand lifting, his fingertips trace dark outlines across her ribs. Featherlight in evaluation, brows furrowed.

She sucks in a breath between clenched teeth.

“Thinking he could do this without consequence was first mistake. Taking frustration out on you will be last.” Akhos murmurs. Some are inflamed, and cause her to hiss at irritation. Any other time she’d push him away. The handprints are of least concern - not dark enough to bruise, light enough that they’ll fade.

“You’ve got two, possibly three cracks. And cuts - the type a switchblade leaves. Wanted you to heal, to scar. Carry reminders written in flesh.” He adds. “First aid kit’s in the bathroom - ”

“Narrow hall hugging kitchen. Ten paces inside and take a left.” Charlotte responds, with a pained grin. “I know, A.”

“Then rest, use pain relievers. No compression gauze. If you do get hungry, there’s microwavables.” He mentions, offhandedly waving towards the squat freezer.

“Sounds appetizing. Can’t wait.” She gives a hum of acknowledgement, interrupted by a wince. “What, not going to help a lady in need?"

"Distressed damsel? More afraid of you knocking me on my ass. Both know I’ll leave - whether or not you agree with methods.” He replies, downing what’s left of his beer.

“No gun. No knives. And no garrote, either.” Blossoming pain spread outward, adrenaline worn off.

Ten paces. This’ll be easy. One foot in front of the other, right? Drab beige wallpaper seemed to stretch, bright white spots dancing in her peripheral. Nausea twists her stomach in knots.

As she lets a shaky breath free, she faintly hears footsteps and then the door re-lock.

Well, damn. He did go.

"Asshole."

[jadelynlace]

NSFW Prompts / Ink Drinker Modern Vikings AU Request [Ivar x F!Reader]

full series is here

request by: @quantumlocked310 

author’s note: you can find the complete NSFW prompt list here, and you can find the request by the love of my life, I mean @quantumlocked310 here. also, see if you can spot my new favorite HC for this series!

content warnings: we’re taking another trip (no, not in our favorite rocket ship), back to before these two dumb asses were out to everyone. even though, everyone basically knew it. this is mostly just sweet fluff, like you’ll need an insulin shot.

prompt: “to skinny dip with my muse”

synopsis: a weekend retreat proves to you how much Ivar is already devoted.

~

“Ivar went up to the lake house for the weekend, he said ‘for inspiration’ but I’m sure it to fuck,” Ubbe said. 

“Oh, I bet Y/N went up there too!” Hvitserk laughed. “I’ll have to text her, see what her excuse is.”

“I wonder how much longer they’re going to hide it from us, they’re practically a couple anyways.” Ubbe groaned, tossing the popcorn through the air to land on his tongue.

“Do you know how hard it is not to turn to her in the ambulance and just go “so how big is my little brother’s dick, Y/N’?” Hvitserk said. “I just want to see the look on her face before she kills me.”

“Probably the same as yours,” Ubbe started. “You two are fraternal twins after all.”

“Thanks, Ubbe, not a thought I wanted to think.” Hvitserk groaned.

The drive isn’t very long, low hum to the playlist in the mustang, your reflection in the glass as you tell Ivar about the week’s worth of calls, detail by ever loving disgusting detail. And not once does he stop you, not once does he grimace or groan, he tells you to keep going and he asks you questions about such as you blabber to him. The sun had just set as the gravel road takes to the tires, crunching as the engine slowed, rolling around the bend of the driveway and parking next to the cabin. You’re silent as you gaze at the view, pure water with the rays of diminishing sun and the breeze blows an immediate calmness through your whole body. 

Dotting the sky with a speckle of tiny lights, when night finally crept over, you two had taken to the blanket on the small patch of grass that lead to the dock. Cobble stone path in between you and the shore line as you rested your head across Ivar’s chest. Steady beating of his heart in your ears while his hands never stopped their small strokes over your shoulders, tracing your spine, but going no lower, no dirtier than he was known for. Almost as if he was trying to gauge your time together with something other than the tangles of sheets and the moans, and you gladly accepted this side of Ivar. The peaceful, relaxed side.

“Those three dots are—”

“The summer triangle,” Ivar answers. “And those, make up Sagittarius,” He adds, pulling you closer to him as the summer air laps at bare skin. 

“What about that one?” You ask, pointing your finger back at the sky. 

“That’s Libra—kinda like you,” Ivar answers through a breath of clouds as he chuckles before pulling your hand back down as he places a peck over you knuckles. 

“I’m not a Libra, actually, I’m a—”

“I meant the air sign part,” Ivar snorts. “You have strong intellect and a good mind,” He adds, taking his finger down the bridge of your nose. Your face wrinkles into a smile as your own eyes sparkle in the moon light, rivaling the great sky before you two. 

“I didn’t know you knew about constellations,” You whisper. 

“My mother used to bring me outside at night when I couldn’t sleep and she would show me the stars, and tell me the tales about each one. Sometimes I made myself stay awake just to hear her talk,” Ivar hums, turn of his lips against your forehead.

“You think I have a good mind?” You whisper, curling back up against him, inhaling the scent of his cologne from his neck line and he only hums as you nuzzle closer. “Not a dirty one?”

“I never said good can’t mean dirty,” Ivar laughs, bringing and arm out to his side to crack his elbow, popping it with a snap before curling it back around you. “Did you tell Hvitserk what you were doing this weekend?”

“No, I don’t always have to talk to him, goof ball. And he doesn’t always need to know what I’m doing, even if it’s you.” And Ivar only snorts.

“I didn’t just bring you out here for sex,”

“Oh, you’re going to kill me? Great, thank you.”

“I can’t spend time with you, without my dick being inside of you?” Ivar asks and there was a tone in his question that warranted a serious answer, like he was baring his soul and opening it before you in the night sky.

“You can, Ivar. I really like it actually,” You answer, pushing yourself up and pecking the corner of his mouth. His eyes are closed as you do so, and he fears if he opens them you’re not going to be there—it’ll all have been a dream and he’s asleep in his bed in his flat, cold and alone and sad. But they finally peel apart and catch the moon light, glimmering and lightening and you lean down to kiss his mouth, only to pull back up so you can look at him. “Your eyes are really blue…” You hum.

“I let my Dad know that you said that,” Ivar teases, cheeky smirk and you only giggle, lean back down to peck his mouth a final time but his hand stops you. Holding your head near his as his mouth takes on a war against yours, a low vibration through Ivar’s chest as he kisses you, and you can feel it from where your hand is stationed. You’re moved slowly, pushed back along the blanket and Ivar is over you, holding his weight on his forearms as his lips move with yours. It’s a slow dance they take to, a waltz that’s not hurried like most of his kisses have been. He’s savoring you now, enjoying the hours with just you and no worry for the moment you two might be caught by someone. And Ivar realizes this is what he likes more—most of all so far, between the two of you, the hidden times alone where he can enjoy you, savor you and worship you like the Goddess you are.

Your nails rake against his neck as he settles between your bent knees, nose squishing against yours and you moan as one of his hands takes on a journey down your curves. Supple touches and soft strokes from his fingerprints gracing you, touching you like a prized relic he wants to admire. Ivar’s mouth finally pulls back enough as he rests his forehead against yours, and when you open your eyes to peek up, his are still closed and there’s a soft smile on his swollen lips.

“Do you want to go swimming?” He asks suddenly.

“Yes, I love the thought of whatever is lurking in those waters having a chance to touch me.” You say back.

“I’ll hold you,” Ivar starts, moving away. “It’ll be fine trust me,” And he’s pulling you up to sit, peeling his own shirt off and then taking yours with you and you can’t help but laugh as he moves. Fingers unhooking your bra and his lips trace your shoulder blades as he works.

“Ivar—no—not fucking naked!” You squeak as he lifts you up.

“I can throw you in?”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” You hiss as he wraps you in his arms. “I will give you blue balls for the next six months,”

“Noted,” Ivar chuckles, bare feet slipping into the shore line and you shriek quietly as the water graces the backs of your thighs, chilling the heated skin and your arms are wrapped around Ivar for dear life.

“We’re not having sex in the lake,” You mumble against him and he nods, lets out a fake whine and you laugh as you feel his hands swarm your back. “And you’re going to cut your feet on the rocks,”

“Would you stop worrying for thirty seconds?” Ivar asks you, his hands dipping into the lake before he lets the water trickle down your back.

“My record is twenty, but I can try,” You answer, lips on his neck as the same wet hands start against the ends of your hair, easing you into the lake as you shiver against him slightly. “Feels nice,” You whisper and he hums as you take your own hand and drip water over his shoulder.

“Thanks for coming up with me,” Ivar says to you suddenly and you move your head away to look at him when he talks.

“Of course, Ivar,” You smile back and he can still see it, even in the darkness of the evening as you push your mouth against his gently. His hands skim your thighs, around the swell of your ass and take to your hips. You hum against him as his hands roam, sending butterflies through you. “We’re still not having sex in the lake,”

“I’ll be quick,” Ivar tries.

“As suppose to what?” You tease and Ivar scoffs. His noise makes you laugh and there’s water splashed in your face a second later; small waves you’re eager to give back before laughter rings between the two of you. “I’m only teasing, you know that I like it.” You giggle and you sag against him as he relaxes beneath the water. 

“I like it too,” Is all Ivar replies as you two stay still, relishing in each others company as the lake moves around your bodies. You know Ivar’s caught feelings, it’s so evident in how he’s holding you, how he’s being around you, and you keep you mouth closed under tight lock and key, and simply enjoy the moment. Because you know that you’ve caught them too.

Ink Drinker Tags:

@smileysam13579 @dreamtherapy @heisentwerk  @angelofthenightposts @ill-skillsgard @youaremyfamiliar @unbetaedimagines @kathryn-jane @readsalot73 @skrsgardspam @lihikainanea @queen-sarang   @anastasiaskarsgard @andmyannabellee @walkxthexmoon  @flowers-in-your-hayr @peachyboneless @heavenly1927 @istorkyou @victoria-styles @quantumlocked310 @xbellaxcarolinax @mighty-ragnarssons @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @queen-of-upshur @nanahachikyuu @fandomlifeandeverythingelse @ivarhoegh @a5hl3y5ibley  @hashimily @youbloodymadgenius @love-all-things-writing  @theanxietyqueen17 @trip2themoon @tgrrose @synnersaint

*please message me to let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my tag list. specifications for series/etc. are also welcomed, as well as feedback.*

full masterlist can be found here.

[goldenspecter]

Cosmo’s TMNT Masterpost

(Rise, 2003, 2012, and others)

Here’s where you can find pretty much everything I’ve ever made for the TMNT fandom! Fanfics here[haven’t gotten the courage to post fanart here yet], hope you guys enjoy my work. Reblogs are appreciated!

Fanfics

1. Finding my way home(and moving forward)

Out of sheer curiosity, Leonardo and Donatello looked up, and there it was.

A portal.

Had the Universe really taken pity on them? Had it really heard his desperate prayers for one more chance?

It was not like the ones they had seen before, it was an irregular circle made up of several shades of blue, completely different from the perfect and symmetrical pink triangles of the Kraang.

Leonardo and Donatello looked into each other's eyes for a few moments, "Should we go in?" Donatello asked, almost shouting, drawing the attention of the others, who quickly turned to the portal and to see each other, then the two brothers in question.

"It's our best bet, and our only chance," replied Leonardo.

Or rather, with the 2012 kids' home gone, they end up in the Rise verse after a strange portal shows up. Therapy is needed, and start the slow process of healing from their trauma.

(Rise/2012, Work in Progress, written with @keeryd​ )

2. Strawberry Cookies:

"Mikey here was just about to tell me what we could do to cheer Raph up while he's sick," Donnie says. "Mikey continue?"

Now that Mikey had both of his older brothers attention, he grins. "I was thinking we make strawberry cookies!" He does his jazz hands as he says this and is met with looks of something that he can only put as disapproval. "What?"

"You do know that everytime that we have tried to make it-" Donnie starts.

"We mess it up and Raph has to come in and save our butts from burning the cookies?" Leo finishes, "What would be different this time?"

Mikey huffs, "We are doing this so we can cheer him up and to prove that we can do something on our own!" he says, "That's what got Raph sick in the first place!"

Or rather, Raph gets sick after helping his brothers recover from the poisoned pizza puffs. Mikey, Donnie, and Leo take a shot at baking cookies for Raph while trying not to burn their kitchen down.

(One shot, complete)

 3. Chicken Fried Rice:

“I only poured in half a pot of rice,” Donnie complained.

Mikey stared at him, really stared at him before he spoke. “You do realize that rice expands when cooked right?” he said, “You do realize that?”

Donnie was silent, looking away from Mikey.

“Donnie!”

Donnie makes chicken fried rice. Mikey watches over. Shenanigans and brotherly fluff ensue.

one shot in which Donnie is in the kitchen, cooking rice and Mikey, Mikey is positive he should have gotten Donnies braincell. 

(One shot, complete)

 4. Tea Time with Hortense and Patty: 

"Sooo," Raph starts. She's always been weird with awkward silences. "Are these grandma kinning hours?"

"Grandma hours!" Mikey exclaims excitedly. "Grandma time!!!"

"Ah, if it isn't our favorite girl and her little brother!" Hortense tilts her head over in their direction slightly. "Are you going to join us? We were just about done arguing," she says.

---

Today is Tea Time. Two old ladies have a tea party, one of them forgets to bring the food, and they are joined by Mikey and Raph. A good time is still had.

(One Shot, Complete)

5. One of those Days

When Donnie woke up this morning, he woke up with the familiar thrum of anger and irritation running through his body with more intensity than normal. Rubbing the crust out of the corners of his sleep-addled eyes, he jerkily grabbed his phone and turned off the alarm. It's one of Those Days, Donnie noted. Those Days where Donnie isn't capable of handling Mikey's over-enthusiastic optimism or Leon's chaotic trickster nature. His safest bet is to hang out with Raph, his calm and mellow demeanor always helped calm down before Donnie went on a rage fest and say anything he couldn't take back.

Or, Donnie and Raph help each other out, balance each other, and make things a little less difficult.

(One Shot, Complete) 

 6. Gift Hunting: 

“It’s Leo. Tiny Leo,” the voice answers. “I need your help with something.”

“What is it?”

“I can’t say until you say yes first,” Leo says. “It’s really important though.”

Angelo is silent, weighing his options. He could say no, he really could-

“Please, Angelo, you’re the only one who can really help me with this,” Leo pleads.

Rather, Angelo and Leonardo go out in the streets of New York to help the blue banded turtle find gifts for his brothers' sixteenth mutation day. Bonding and fluff ensues.

(One Shot, Complete)

 7. Aftermath:

“Raphie bear?” Mikey called out, gently tapping Raph, with relief washing him when Raph turned his head to face him. “What’s the matter teddy bear?”

“Th-thi-this doesn’t feel real.” Raph stuttered out, his voice cracking as a sob broke through. “I’m not really here. Neither are you and everyone else. I’m still alone with Draxum and his minions. No one’s coming to save me because I was stupid enough to get captured and no one wants such a worthless turtle like me.”

In which Raph was kidnapped and tortured by Baron Draxum and his family has to deal with the aftermath of it.

(One Shot, Complete)

 8. To Be the Eldest

Donnie, the second youngest in his family, wishes he was the eldest for once. Then one night, Donnie gets his wish granted and now he was three small turtles in his care.

Donnie adjusts to being the eldest, comes to some realizations, and makes a promise to his (now) younger brothers.

(Work In Progress)

 9. Wanted: Snaggletooth 

Dr. Noel bent down on his knees in front of Raph, a manic smile that showed too many teeth coming about on his face speaking of pain and suffering that has yet to come. He stretched out his hand towards Raph’s face, placing a thumb under his mouth, pressing into his snaggletooth. “Beautiful. Just as I expected,” he crooned, pulling out a syringe and injecting it into Raph’s neck, pushing the contents of the syringe into his system.

Raph’s eyes fluttered as he started losing consciousness, watching through hooded eyes as Dr. Noel's smile grew even wider, with his last thought right as darkness consumed him being that he hoped his family would find him before it was too late.

Post S2 Finale, Dr. Noel remembers Raphael, his snaggletooth, and manages to find and capture the red masked turtle. It doesn't end well for Raphael.

(Work In Progress)

 10. Dimensional Differences:

They bow. Not like one of those pretentious bows like she would do at Yokai parties and not like the ones she would do with her brothers when they hosted tea parties. They bowed deeply, heads stopping at her stomach, one hand closing around their fists. This spoke of respect and honor.

And that unnerved her a little bit. Why are they bowing so deeply?

“Thank you,” they said in unison. It’s unnerving to April and she felt the uneasiness coming from her brothers too.

“Why are you thanking me?” She said finally, voice sounding foreign to her.

“You saved my life?” Baby Leo said slowly, voice tinged with confusion. “That was an honorable thing to do?”

April blinked, “It shouldn’t be considered honorable for doing what any big sister would do,” she said. “That’s not honor, that’s just being a good older sibling.”

In which April, Sunita, Casey, and the turtles end up in the 2012 verse after a mishap with Leo's ōdachi and stay with the 2012 turtles until they can go home. They find out a lot of things that don't quite jive with them. Some things are the same, some things are different and they're not quite sure how to handle those differences.

(Rise/2012, Work In Progress)

 11. Mind Meld Part Deux:

“Oh thank Galileo that you all are back to normal!”

“What do you mean we’re back to normal?” Raph questioned, pulling back from the hug. Mikey and Leo also pulled back to stare at Donnie. “We’ve-we’ve always been like this?”

Donnie went quiet. He shouldn’t have said that.

“Donnie, what did you do?”

The brothers found out about Donnie’s Mental Intelligence Reprogrammulator. Arguments are had, words are said, words that tear a rift between him and his family, and it’s up to Donnie to earn his brothers’ forgiveness. The only thing is, will he get it?

(Work In Progress)

 12. I'm a little kid and so are you(don't you go and grow up before I do):

The 2003 turtles somehow, someway ended up in the Rise verse, with Rise Splinter and his turtle tots, and stay with them while the boys try to figure out their way home. 2003 Raphael got attached to his tiny counterpart the moment he laid eyes on the tot. (Raph centric)

(Rise/2003, Work In Progress)

 13. Dimensional Self-Isolation

Post S2 Finale, Raph finds himself trapped in the 2012 universe and has a difficult time coping with all of the differences that this world has in store for him. From new villains, unfamiliar familiar faces, and the way the 2012 boys and Splinter treat each other and him, Raph has a heavy plate on his hands during his long term stay.

(Rise/2012, Work In Progress)

14. A Collection of Turtle Thoughts

A collection of drabbles and ficlets about Turtles I've been writing since October 2020. Ranges from humor to hurt/comfort, I have it all.

Requests are open. SFW only though.

(All Iterations, Work in Progress)

If y’all reblog, read, and share my work, I’d really appreciate that! Anything and everything is appreciated, money or not! Thanks folks 🐢💕