#it made me cry writing it

[choccy-milky]

sometimes you gotta lure your overly-studious ravenclaw gf into spending time with you 🥰 📚 ( from 'Every Teardrop is a Waterfall' by Kat_12739 on ao3, GO READ IT!!! the first story is about seb falling sick and still pushing himself/not admitting he's sick until he ends up in the hospital, the second story is about the birth of seb and clora's daughter and seb's reaction to clora almost dying in childbirth, and the third is about dealing with a fussy newborn lewis😭🥹THEY'RE SO GOOD AND SWEET AND SOMEWHAT SAD (not to mention beautifully written) so go check it out!!💖💖 )

[wrongspacetime]

The Fall of the House of Usher 1.08 | The Raven (2023)

[magpie-trinkets]

continuing that "maya tries to contact claire" post, i present you the post-Spirit of Justice follow-up

[lost-in-fandoms]

"Tell me again."

Max hums, moving his hand in slow circles along Daniel's back, feeling his chest move against his side, his face hidden in the folds of Max's t-shirt.

He bows his head, pressing a kiss against Daniel's hair, shifting against the hotel's pillows until he's comfortable again.

"It's going to be sunny," he says, voice low, letting Daniel's curls tickle his lips and nose. "It's going to be sunset, orange, the trees all golden in the way you like."

Daniel's back shifts under his hand, his fingers twisting in Max's shirt.

"We'll be sitting in chairs, because you have old man knees, and would complain about sitting on the floor."

He twists away from the halfhearted poke in his side, then settles back.

"They will be those garden ones, the ones with the straw?"

"Wicker," Daniel corrects him softly, voice scratchy.

"Yes, wicker." He tugs Daniel even closer, not knowing how it is even possible. "With pillows, so you can curl in them like a little cat."

He smooths his hand down Daniel's back, like he does with Sassy, when she stretches out beside him on the bed, similar to how Daniel is now. Does it again when he feels Daniel's shoulders uncurl slightly.

"We will be drinking your weird beers, the expensive ones that taste worse than all the others."

"Craft beer isn't weird," Daniel argues, just like Max was expecting him to. He sounds like there's something stuck in the back of his throat, and Max kisses his hair again.

"It is weird, Daniel. Beer does not need to be that expensive."

He gives him space to reply once more, but Daniel doesn't.

"We will drink your weird beer, and we will talk about that time we ate pasta in your hotel room."

It wasn't just one time, but Max knows he doesn't need to specify. They're both thinking about the same one, illegal spaghetti ordered from room service, hidden from their trainers, sauce on the corner of Max's mouth, cleaned by Daniel's thumb first, Daniel's mouth later. And even if they aren't thinking about the same, it doesn't matter. Every plate of pasta shared, in every hotel room, would matter just as much, stepping stones in their story, just as important as that first kiss.

"And it will be rainy," Max continues, voice even lower. His t-shirt is damp, stretched by Daniel's tense fingers. Daniel's back is shuddering, even when he holds him closer and closer and closer.

"It will rain, and you will have a blanket, because you always get cold, even more when it is humid."

The thing that was in Daniel's throat is in his too now.

"We will talk about how stupid everyone was. We will say it was all unfair. But we will not be angry anymore, because it will not matter anymore."

Daniel's hair smell like Max's shampoo, even if he usually doesn't use it, because he hates how dry it makes it feel. Max can taste salt on the back of his throat as he shifts his head slightly, trying to at least keep his ears dry, now that his cheeks are a lost cause.

Daniel's breathing is a stuttered rhythm against his ribs.

"We will cook eggs," Max pushes on, pressing every word against Daniel's skin, hoping every one feels like the i love you that it is. "Because we will have chickens on your farm, like a real farm, so we will be good at cooking eggs. And you will drink your wine, and sing your songs."

His voice breaks, sudden betrayal, just as Daniel trembles in a sob, but Max pushes through. They've both always known how to push through.

"And I will ask are you happy and you will say yes," he says, making it sound like a promise, because it is a promise. "And we will not regret any of it."

He knows they won't. Not the angry moments, not the painful moments, not the annoying little moments they will never even remember. They will take all of them and throw them into the jar of their lives, little pebbles, and colorful marbles, and shards of glass smoothed out with time and love and distance, all mixed together.

"We will sit on your chairs, and they will have nothing, and we will have us."

He holds Daniel closecloseclose, because he's never learned how to let go of the things he cares about, has always clung to things with his teeth and desire bared, and he has no intention of starting now. He has no intention of starting ever.

Even if this is not the way he wanted things to happen, he doesn't believe in letting go, especially when it comes to Daniel.

He swallows, clears his throat to try and dislodge the tight knot of feelings there, raises a hand to swipe his thumb along Daniel's wet jaw.

"We will have chickens, and a garage full of dirt bikes, and I will ask Grace to teach me how to make the pasta sauce you spilled all over the carpet when you were five."

Daniel nods against his chest, fingers relaxing. His breathing is still uneven, Max's t-shirt is still damp, but he can feel him going lax against him, relaxing bit by bit.

"We will," Daniel murmurs, voice shaky enough it sounds closer to a question.

"We will," Max tells him, firm. Would be happy to tell him again and again, until Daniel's voice doesn't shake on it anymore. "We will eat so much food, and we will become fat, and we will be happy. We will."

Daniel nods again, then shifts, wiggling in Max's hold until he can properly climb on top of him, pointy elbows planted on the bed, above Max's shoulders, trembling fingers tracing the wet lines on his cheeks, red-rimmed eyes soft.

When Daniel kisses him, they both taste like salt, exhaustion and the future.

[vaperarmand]

i’m literally soo addicted to the idea that armand continues to visit daniel and make him forget for decades after they first get together. armand needs to read everything daniel’s ever written and needs to own signed copies of all of his books and needs to be there in the background from all his major life events. he’s there as a shoulder to cry on at the end of his first marriage, and again at the second. he’s the stranger at the bar who daniel tells about his daughters even though his relationship with them is crumbling. i need armand to be obsessed with daniel in every way he can manage and daniel to reciprocate every time. i need daniel to start aging and armand to be more excited every time he sees signs of it, and daniel — before he remembers — is confused and flattered and fond of the beautiful young man who curiously combs through his gray hairs and prods at his new wrinkles. and every time daniel remembers he's more angry, more hurt, more willing to beg (or demand) for armand not to do it again. and it gets more difficult for armand to do it every time, but that doesn't stop him. why should daniel remember how much he loves him?

[inkskinned]

i'm used to it, and how bad it is, and how often it's so bad that it rings like a bell inside of me, drowning out everything around me. and the truth is that i get frustrated with myself about it - again? we're like this still? again? it's not that i feel weak, precisely. it's just this sense almost like - i've already been pushing against this thing for years now, shouldn't i have gained more ground?

i get frustrated because i'm sick of picking up the loose ends every six months. i get frustrated because it's always this same shit, same problem - i lose myself in a matter of months; spiral out of control, lose touch with friends and loved ones. i stop taking care of myself and therapy gets hard and i let everything around me wilt and shrivel and fall off; start somehow both sleeping too much and not-enough. i panic-attack and cry in my car in a target parking lot, pulling my hair out and hurting my ribs from sobbing so hard - and later, when i'm better, i'm embarrassed because how could i let it get that far?

it feels like - i already have done this so many times. isn't there a way out of it? isn't there a point where i've just... won? that it never happens again, that i just get to be done? maybe this is weakness, i guess - that i still (so often!) succumb.

i am used to it, so i forget exactly how hard it gets. do you even know how many times i've laid in bed, exhausted, blank and numb and listless and said - i can't anymore. i just can't. i'm not even really upset. it's okay. i've been here long enough. so much of my life was beautiful.... i'm just... done.

do you know how many times i woke up and i said - i can't and put my feet on the floor and said i can't, i don't want to and took a shower and walked the dog and bought myself fresh bread and put a nice playlist on and said i really can't, there's no end to this and i went to work and i called a friend and i made myself cookies even if food tasted like ashes and decided that i really should wait for the new album from that artist i love and i thought i can't, it's not worth it and then i washed my hands and cut my hair and drank more water and wrote a poem and signed up for an art class at the local community college and said i can't, i can't, i won't do this again, and i paid my rent and let the dishes rot in the sink but still made myself eat anything fresh even if it meant overdrawing my account on a stupid bag of plums just because they looked delicious and do you know how often i closed my eyes and thought this is it i really fucking can't, something has to give and i have nothing left that it can take and then i went to bed and i got up and i fucking survived anyway

yesterday the local ice cream place opened up for the first time this season and they were giving out tiny samples of their new dairy-free options and i tried a mango sorbet. three months ago i was positive that februrary was going to be my last month on the planet. i am teaching my dog a new trick and i just discovered a new band i love. i got a plant from the clearance aisle and repotted her and she's been perking up. i made salmon for alison and we ate it in her new house with her new beautiful baby girl. my manager told me he keeps recommending my work to others just because i always include a stupid number of puns. tomorrow i'm trying a new dance class. tomorrow i'm maybe going to buy more plums.

i forget, you know? it's not some bone-deep strength or some magical power. it's that some part of me knows - i need to stay. in all of this; out of all of this - i just want to choose love.

[thresholdbb]

what's the threshold theory

There was a post about how Tom is the only crew member who isn't really affected by the Borg, and there's a theory that he has so much luck because he saw the past and the future when he crossed the transwarp threshold. He saw the past and the future, all of time and space. There's some subconscious part of him that remembers that experience. In fact, Tom refused to play a part in Chakotay indulging Annorax's temporal incursions, probably because a part of him knew nothing good could come of it.

If we extend that same theory to Janeway, some of her wild luck with time travel and other crack plans starts to make sense. She doesn't verbally hate time travel until after the events of Threshold, since it happens in Time and Again without complaint. Janeway has an uncanny knack for time travel, as evidenced every time she deals with it. She hates time travel, but it might be because part of her knows exactly how to manipulate the timeline. She manages to avoid the "inevitable" temporal explosion in Future's End, saving both Voyager and Braxton. She resets the entire timeline in Year of Hell, and no one else followed her reasoning. She pulled it off flawlessly. In Relativity, she senses the incidents are all related, despite it being just one reading that connects them. By the time she's involved, she has a temporal incursion factor of .0036 and a time travel protocol named after her, even if that may just be Braxton's personal grudge. Then there's Endgame, where she intentionally changes the timeline. Up until this point, she has been dragged into time travel, but for the first time, she jumps in on purpose. How does Admiral Janeway know how to get them home sooner in a way that completely avoids the Temporal Integrity Commission? It's because she has seen all of time, and part of her knows exactly what needs to happen so she can get Voyager home and do it in a way that becomes baked into the prime timeline. Maybe she doesn't consciously remember what happened during her transformation, but the experience lives in her mind somewhere, guiding her decisions.

[crystalflygeo]

Kinktober Day 1 - Semi-public ft Blade (Honkai Star Rail)

Guess who is attempting this challenge wheeeeeeeeze let's see how it goes~ This one is lowkey dedicated to @zhongrin ehe <3

You squeak when he presses you against the stony outer wall of the house. The streets of the divination commission are empty and most people would be at home, asleep. The darkness shrouds you, it shrouds him until only his red eyes glow like molten lava, mysterious and intimidating. 

“B-Blade?!”

His body flush against yours, the man lets out a soft grunt in acknowledgement as he nuzzles at your hair. Time stops. 

“We’re in p-public , what are you…!”

His large rough hands roam over your body and dip down your navel, venturing past the waist of your pants. Calloused fingers brazenly touch your folds. You yelp, face heating up with a strong blush.

“Keep. Silent.” He murmurs, voice husky and deep.

You feel his warm ragged breath by your ear, he deposits kisses along your neck and shoulder, and then rests his forehead there. All the while his fingers sink inside your sweet hole, deliberately slow, working you open…

You whimper, squirming a bit, asking for more or wanting to stop you’re not even sure yourself, the line is already blurry with pleasure. Your heart thrums wildly in your chest.

“Sshhhh… you wouldn’t want anyone to hear, do you?”  

Shamefully, your pussy clenches at that.

He hums, the sound vibrating against your skin where his lips press. “You like the idea of that.” You can hear the hint of a smirk in his voice. 

It’s not a question but a statement.

“I-I don’t-!” You hiss.

“All the better… I can barely contain myself” He growls. 

His fingers dig deeper, their movement grows faster and more insistent, his palm pressing against your clit making you see stars. His other hand slides up from your waist to massage your chest, toying with a nipple over your clothes. He presses close, so close. and suddenly you feel his bulge against your ass. His cock hard in his trousers, no doubt a leaking mess. Blade buries his nose into the soft slope of your neck again and inhales deeply.

“Fuck, the things I want to do to you.”

You simply bite your lip to stifle a moan, trying your best not to call out, trying your best to keep hidden in this dark corner. 

Blade is a man of actions rather than words, and you’re absolutely certain he has dragged you into this alley with the express purpose of publicly laying his claim, albeit hidden in shadows and behind some large tarp-covered crates, you’re still in the Xianzhou Luofu, a place that once meant so much to him.

Perhaps that’s why he decided to throw common fucking decendy out of the window. 

And maybe you too, considering you didn’t do a damn thing to stop him. 

“Blade.” You murmur, a plea that borders on a little too loud, shuddering and needy at the edge of that mounting pleasure. “Please.”

Your hips buck and you’re close, so close, eyes closed shut, lower lip caught between your teeth making a soft keening noise. 

At once the delicious friction stops, his left hand starts pulling at your clothes and you gasp at the slightly cold night air on your naked skin.

“W-wait what are you-?! Oh-” You start scandalized, when the hand that was previously busy instead cradles your soft thigh up. Your foot off the ground, your weight on the other one and caught between him and the wall. Spread, exposed. 

“Blade…!”  Your head tosses back. There’s the rustle of clothes again and the engorged head of his cock presses against your entrance. 

“Quiet down.” His free hand rests on your bare neck, not applying any pressure, just so, large and warm. Your own hand grips at his arm, his clothes, his hair, desperately trying to hold onto something, anything. “We are just getting started.”

[actuallyitsstar]

grief is not a feeling, but a neighborhood. this is where i come from. everyone i love still lives here. // (insp.)

[luvfy0dor]

incest and pedophilia isn't sexy

[zivazivc]

my brainrot about these two can be measured in liters

[courtesanofdeath]

The secret to enjoying life is to hold onto the kid inside you.

happy birthday gintoki ~

[zeeckz]

[alluringlight]

Seth Lowell x (GN) Reader

NSFW, 18+ only

Warnings: rut themes/rut cycles, feral/rough sex, biting/mentions of blood, dom!Seth, sub!Reader, pre-established relationship, knotting-adjacent shenanigans as in it isn't knotting but thanks to his biology you get stuck together, mentions of overstimulation, slight praise, there's like one mention of breeding, no usage of [Y/N] or [Name] just 'you'

Word Count: 2941

Seth had been avoiding you recently. You hadn’t noticed at first, with how busy you both are, but when you actually thought about the last time you’d seen your boyfriend it had been almost a week. Albeit not that long of a time, but you lived together. 

You assumed it’d just been his work, the life of a Pub Sec officer could be pretty time consuming, and there have been stretches of time where you didn’t see each other much with him going in early or staying late enough he’d have to sleep at the precinct dorms, not to mention your own work keeping you busy. But this seemed more deliberate, he’d been sleeping at the dorms the past few days without returning home, which he normally would talk to you about if he had to sleep there for more than a night or two. 

The sound of your phone startled you, but you quickly checked the notification, hoping to see something from Seth. Instead, you have a message from Captain Zhu Yuan, asking you to pick Seth up from the office immediately. 

Anxiety swelled in your gut, as you messaged her back saying you were on your way. You knew Zhu Yuan would probably not want to tell you if he was injured over messaging, and you wanted to get to him as soon as possible if it was so serious that she messaged you herself. 

You tried to stop your spiraling thoughts (he must be unconscious if he couldn’t message himself), and instead focused on driving over without going over the speed limit (he’d feel awful if you got a ticket because you were worried about him). 

Walking into the precinct, upon seeing her you immediately ran to Qingyi. “Is Seth okay?” You asked, breath stuttering as you tried to calm yourself. 

She sighed, “He’s fine. I’d diagnose him as an idiot, but he’s fine.” 

“H-huh? I thought something happened, it sounded urgent.” 

She nodded in the direction of the employee break room. “Just go in there and you’ll see what I mean.” 

As you opened the door, you could hear Zhu Yuan scolding someone. “Doing things like this is detrimental to everyone here. You should have requested leave. You know better than this, honestly Seth.” 

Fully stepping into the room, you could see Seth sat at a couch, Zhu Yuan standing over him, her arms crossed. He looked haggard but unhurt, maybe he had a fever? His skin was red, and sweat dripped down his forehead. He seemed uncomfortable, shifting every few seconds or pulling at his vest and collar. 

“Um? Is everything okay?” You asked, causing both of them to snap towards you. 

“Please take him home. He has the next week off. While he’s on leave, please talk some sense into him.” Zhu Yuan said, shooting one last glance towards Seth before she made her way to the door. She squeezed your shoulder. “It’s nice to see you.” 

Once she shut the door behind her, you took a step towards him. A growl rumbled through him, surprising you, and him it seemed. His hand shot to his throat as he gasped. “Ah, sorry. I’m sorry.” 

Cautiously, you continued your pursuit, until you were right next to him. “Are you okay?” You had an inkling of what was happening, but you felt it’d be best to make sure. 

“Y-yeah.” Seth’s voice cracked, and he avoided your gaze. “I- sorry. I’m sorry.” His arms wrapped around your waist, and he buried his face into your stomach. One of your hands grasped onto the back of his head, running your fingers softly through his hair. You could hear his ragged breaths, and he seemed intent on sniffing you so you let him be until he felt like speaking. “I didn’t know how to bring it up, so I hid at work.” He started rambling, voice muffled as his face was still pressed into your stomach. “Which just made it worse, ‘cause then my rut started at work today. And I feel sick, but all I can think about right now is-” He cut himself off, immediately letting you go and standing up, brushing past you towards the door. “Sorry. We can, um, we can go home now.” 

“You started your rut today?” You asked, hand reaching out to grasp his arm. “Hey, it’s okay, look at me, love.” 

He turned to face you, and you could see his eyes watering. “I know it’s weird, but I didn’t know what to do I thought I had more time to figure something out, but the stress probably made it start early-” 

You cut him off with a kiss, pressing your lips to his for a chaste moment, before pulling him into a hug, tugging him down so his face rested in the crook of your neck. “It’s not weird, okay? Let’s get home first and we can talk about what you want to do.” His arms wrapped around you, squeezing you for a long moment before he pulled away, his hands lingering a moment longer than normal. 

The drive home was silent, the only sound the puffs of breath Seth was letting out, as he seemed to settle into the rut further. 

When you got into the house, he pulled you into him before pressing you against the front door. You could feel his breath as he smelled the back of your neck, and you shuddered as you felt his tongue lap at the flesh. 

“You smell so good,” he mumbled. He pushed further into you, until you could feel his erection, hard and heavy against you. After a long few moments, in which you could feel your own mind starting to cloud over with arousal just from him pressing into you, whatever daze he was in broke as he pulled away from you lightning quick. “Ah! Sorry!” His hands pressed together in an apologetic gesture as he squeezed his eyes closed, his ears pressed flat to his head. 

“Seth, it’s okay,” you said. His eyes opened, his hands falling to his sides as his head tilted in confusion, one of his ears twitching. “I’m not mad at you or anything. I wished you’d told me earlier, but it’s okay I get it. Do you want help?” 

Red crawled down his neck as he became embarrassed. “I-I mean yes, but I’m also scared.” 

“Of?” you prompted. 

He sighed, “Of hurting you. I don’t have good control when in this, um, state.” His eyes flickered away, and you could tell he felt flustered talking about the subject so blatantly. “And with my…unique anatomy,” His face flamed as he carefully chose his words, and you had to suppress a laugh. He looked so cute when he was feeling a little shy or embarrassed. He was just so stupidly earnest it drove you a little crazy. “I could easily hurt you.” He finally looked you in the eyes again, grasping your hands in his. “And I don’t want that. I don’t want to hurt you, especially not because of some stupid biological problem.” 

You squeezed his hands, giving him a bright smile. “Seth, I love you and I want to help. If you don’t want me to, or you aren’t ready to spend a rut with someone I can pack a bag and stay with a friend. But I do want to help, if you’d want the same.” 

“Then, thank you.” 

The two of you made it to the bedroom, and made quick work of stripping off your clothes. Seth settled between your legs, intent on preparing you before he lost his rationality to the next wave of rut. 

You gasped as he lapped at your hole, everytime you did this you’d be caught off guard by how rough his tongue is. He hummed, pushing his tongue into you immediately and buried himself into your sex. 

He prodded at your hole, mindful to keep his claws retracted as he began scissoring you open. As he added another finger, his face pulled away as he mouthed at your thigh, pressing kisses into it softly. “You smell divine,” he mumbled into the skin. “Makes it harder to focus…I want you to smell like me.” He pressed another kiss into your thigh, before biting down. You yelped, mostly from the shock as the bite wasn’t that deep. Seth began purring as he lapped at the bite mark, licking away the small pinpricks of blood. You knew the mark would surely bruise. You bit your lip, holding in a whine as his fingers targeted a sensitive spot. 

You whimpered as you felt him bite down on the tender flesh of your thigh again. “That’s no good. Don’t hold in anything, wanna hear it all okay?” You nodded in assent, and he licked at the new bite mark. “Good. Sweet little thing.” You whined at the combination of his nimble fingers inside you and the praise. It made you a little weak in the knees, and had you close to cumming already with how he was abusing your weak points. 

The last push was when he pressed his tongue into you again, the muscle lapping at you, his saliva making  everything messier as you came on his fingers. He coaxed you through it, fingers curling into you, tongue still laving at you until you pushed him away as you became overly sensitive. 

He pulled himself up, slotting himself between your thighs, holding them over his hips as he stared down at you. His breathing was heavy, short puffs of air escaping his lips, and his face was pink from the heat he felt. His eyes were hazy as he looked at you, hands gripping your hips as he pushed himself closer to you. His cock was a deep red, slightly more pointed than a normal human’s, and the head had these little bump-like structures, that you knew in actuality were small barbs that would catch when he came. Seth’s cock bumped against you and he whined, lining himself up with your hole before he caught himself. “Can I?” He asked, voice strained as he waited for your approval. 

You nodded, slinging your arms around his neck to pull him closer as his cock split you open. You gasped, accidentally clenching down on him, causing him to let out a hiss before bucking his hips and sheathing himself in you in one fluid stroke. You let out a whine at the sudden stretch, and he remained still, trying to let you acclimate to his size. You could feel his hot breath on your neck as he panted, his muscles taut and tense as he waited, the last string of his rationality frayed but not yet snapped. 

“Seth, it’s okay,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his ear. “Take what you need, baby.” 

At your words he growled, you could feel the deep vibration emanating from his chest, before he quickly snapped his hips, his cock nearly leaving you empty before he fucked himself back into you in the next moment. Your breath left you as he quickly pistoned himself in and out, focused on the heat of you around him and nothing else. 

When you finally regained the ability to take a breath in, it was quickly leaving you in short gasps, or small whimpering moans. The noises you made only served to spur Seth on further, pressing himself further into you, faster, faster, faster, until your nails were clawing into his back in an attempt to hold onto your sanity. The bite of pain caused him to let out a moan as he clawed into your waist, leaving small pinpricks of blood in the wake of his claws. 

His hands moved upwards, pawing at your chest as he slowed down enough to latch himself to your nipple. He purred as he licked and sucked, nipping it occasionally, as his other hand kneaded your other nipple. He locked eyes with you, his pupils slit as he indulged in you. One of his ears twitched, his eyes half lidded as the volume of his purring increased. He could feel you tensing around him, the onslaught of pleasure had you close to cumming once again. 

Seth pulled away from your chest, bracing a hand on the bed while the other grabbed at your hip, before he rammed into you again and again and again, faster and faster and faster, until finally, you came around him, a loud moan leaving you as you dug your nails into his back deeper. 

“Good, sweet little mate, so sensitive,” he babbled. “Need to, h-hah,” He pulled out of you, coaxing you to flip over, and put a pillow below your hips so your ass was raised up, your sex displayed before him. He shoved back in, no care for your oversensitivity that had tears pricking at your eyes. He caged you in below him, laying his weight over you, one of his arms snaking under your arm, his hand grasping the top of your shoulder so you couldn’t move away from him. “Need to breed you. Have to, you have to take it,” he said, his voice vibrating with a growl as he began to fuck into you with earnest once again. 

With the new position, you could feel him deeper than before, causing you to let out whimpering moans as he fucked you through your oversensitivity, his cock deep enough you felt like you could practically feel it in your throat as he thrust into you. His hand reached down to grab at your hip, before it settled on your ass, pulling you further into, forcing you to arch against him with nowhere to go as his body remained settled over top of you. 

You could feel his shaky breath on the back of your neck, the hot puffs of air causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand on end. You could feel his cock twitch within you, the small barbs on the head of his cock beginning to swell, each desperate thrust into you causing them to poke and prod at every sensitive spot within you. 

Despite having just cum, you could feel yourself building back up to that precipice. You could feel his claws digging into you, into your shoulder and into your ass, as his other hand had you tightly in his grasp, keeping your sex spread open for him as he thrust into you. 

Seth pressed a kiss to the back of your neck, before his rough tongue began licking at your flesh. He nipped at the skin, pressing one last kiss to the sensitive area before he growled, his jaws opening wide as he dug his fangs deep into your neck. 

You cried out, bucking against him in shocked surprise, adrenaline kickstarting your pulse, your heart thumping in your chest like a jittery rabbit. He kept his fangs locked onto your neck, growling when you jerked in his hold, clamping down onto you, his prey, making sure you knew you weren’t going anywhere. 

The sensation of blood trickling down your neck became apparent, the hot liquid trailing down until it stained the sheets beneath you. He grasped onto you tighter, his thrusts becoming impossibly more powerful, until you felt like you could feel him everywhere. You couldn’t focus on anything but his cock bucking into you, his fangs in your neck, and his claws digging painfully into your skin. 

You felt yourself reach your peak once more, clenching down and cumming on his cock. You could feel a growl building in his throat, before he shoved himself in deep, cum spurting out of him and into you. He half thrusted, trying to shove his cum as deep within you as he could, before the barbs on the head of his cock caught onto you, leaving him completely in you and unable to pull out as he kept cumming within you, the amount a little uncomfortable as it filled you up so completely. 

He finally pulled his teeth out your neck, purrs rumbling in his chest as he began licking at the wound, lapping at the blood before it began to coagulate. He kept you pinned to the bed, and you began to feel drowsy, tired after the exertion. 

Seth pushed his face into your neck, his arms wrapping around your waist as he rolled the two of you onto your sides, careful not to dislodge you and accidentally rip himself out. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you any further. 

He pulled you flush against him, his breath returning to normal as he looked you over. “Are you okay?” he asked, voice shaky, tinged with worry as he eyed up the small wounds he’d given you. 

“Mm,” you hummed, reaching a hand back to pat at his hair, briefly rubbing his ears before pulling it back to wrap around his hands at your waist. “I’m okay, don’t worry.” 

“Are you sure?” 

You let out a tired laugh. “I’m sure. Feel full,” Between the inhuman amount of cum he let out, and his cock still snug within you, that was a bit of an understatement. “But I feel good, just tired, promise.” 

He let out a shuddery breath. “Okay. Try to rest, I’m not sure when I’ll, uh, feel the next wave, but, um, when I’m able to dislodge, I’ll clean you up.” 

“Sounds good,” you replied. You took one of his hands and raised it to your lips, kissing his knuckles, before you tucked it back around your waist. He squeezed you in response, the rumbling of his purring lulling you to sleep.

[dreamerdrop]

I don’t talk about my love for Kira Nerys too often because. Look. I think if DS9 handles anything well, it’s Kira, hands down.

Her character development is a work of art. She is so traumatised, so angry, so beaten down and STILL FIGHTING at the start. She struggles so much with her PTSD, with the idea that she is ever allowed to be in anything but attack mode…

And then, slowly, gradually, she becomes a whole new person. She laughs, she smiles, she makes corny jokes, she does dumb fun things for the sake of enjoying herself. She has friends, she has a family, she is surrounded by love and joy and HOPE.

Even in the middle of second war, she’s DIFFERENT now. She’s not the same miserable angry person she was, afraid to let go of the vigilant surivival instincts that kept her alive for so long. She’s come back to life as a person who has something to live for.

She has done terrible things. Her hands are stained with blood. She is never going to be able to forget her trauma or the suffering, both her own and that of her people, nor the suffering she inflicted while fighting for her freedom. But she recovers. She heals. She carves out an existence where she is truly, genuinely happy to be alive.

I don’t need to talk about Kira as much as some other characters because this all happens on screen. It’s right there, and it’s beautiful and perfect.

Kira Nerys goes from a person who cannot conceive of herself outside of the horrors she has suffered, inflicted, and fought against, to someone for whom her trauma is just one part of the larger picture, a piece of a rich and vibrant tapestry that is now filled, overwhelmingly, with joy.

Kira Nerys is like, hands down, bar none, one of, if not THE best characters Star Trek has ever created. I love her so much. She is just, completely and utterly perfect, especially in her flaws.

[seventh-district]

Midnight Hour

With the warm haze of sleep fading from you, your brow furrows as your right hand presses lightly against his lower abdomen, your thumb sweeping up and down in a small attempt at a comforting motion. You quietly call for his attention, voice still thick with sleep.

“Star? Is everything okay?”

His typically silent breath suddenly hitches, and his head angles down to face you. Now that he’s turned toward the light, you catch the way his eyes shine, and the way the light reflects off of what you quickly realize are tear tracks, running down his cheeks.

You awake in the middle of the night to find your lover in tears.

Pairing: Astarion x Reader

Word Count: 3,139

Content Warnings: [crying (obviously)] [non-specific mentions of Astarion's past trauma] [this fic was written by someone who hasn't actually played the game and that might show in the details/the lack thereof]

Blinking your tired eyes open, you squint at the light of the crackling fire in front of you. Closing them again, you let out a soft sigh as you try to guess at the current time. Given that you woke on your own, you’re assuming it’s likely close to, but not quite, time for you to take over tonight’s watch shift.

Your group has fallen into a routine where you pair off into teams of two, and a different team keeps watch each night. Tonight’s turn belongs to you and Astarion, and he’s taken the first half of the shift as usual. You usually, ironically, sleep your best on the nights that he keeps watch, in spite of only getting half the amount of sleep as you do on the nights another team has the job.

You suppose you can credit the fact that, at the end of the day, Astarion is a creature of the night. Something about knowing he has the upper hand when it comes to any unwanted nighttime visitors your group may encounter is… reassuring. To you, as well as to the others in the group, loathe as some of them may be to admit it. That is, once they all felt confident in his promises to not make a surprise midnight snack of them, at least.

Tonight is a bit of an exception, though, and you’re not quite sure what woke you early this time. You typically sleep soundly until he gently coaxes you awake, nails combing through your hair, voice soft and apologetic in your ear. He’s always somewhat reluctant to wake you, but he does so nonetheless, having learned his lesson after the first time he made the executive decision to let you sleep the whole night through. His arguments of “You really looked like you could use the rest.” and “What’s one sleepless night? I can sleep when I’m dead.” didn’t hold much water in the face of the way he dragged ass through the entire next day.

In “the spirit of fairness” and “proving that he can stick to an agreement,” he never tried to take the whole shift by himself again. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with how guilty he felt when he heard the disappointment in your tone when you awoke that first morning and discovered he hadn’t stuck to the plan. Definitely.

Laying there in the quiet, you try and fail to pinpoint what feels different about tonight. You don’t hear any strange noises, nothing feels unusual, and blinking your eyes open again you raise your head a bit to look around the fire. The rest of the group are circled around the other sides of the heat source, sleeping soundly. You figure that you’re probably just getting used to this routine by now, and your body simply woke up around your usual shift change time on its own.

Still, that doesn’t explain the vague, unplaceable feeling that something is just… off.

You let out a sigh that turns into a yawn as you stretch and roll away from the fire onto your back. Letting your head roll further to the left, your eyes land on the familiar sight of your lover’s back as he sits in his usual position beside you, diligently watching your six.

He’s taken to placing his bedroll right next to yours, insisting that you lie between the fire and himself. You couldn’t really argue with his point that he can’t feel the cold anyways, so there’s no need for him to be the one next to the fire. Nor could you argue with the benefits of having him as a line of defense between you and whatever lurks beyond the reach of the firelight.

The feeling of security and protection that he provides you with is still relatively foreign to you, and a soft smile blooms on your face at the warm feeling it brings. Your smile then falls a bit as you remember the silent question you ask yourself on the regular, of whether or not you provide him with the same.

You roll the rest of the way to your left, and shuffle further toward him, closing what remains of the small gap he’d placed between the two of you. Lying halfway on your bedroll and halfway on his, you curl your body around his seated form, bringing your right arm up and gently placing a hand on the right side of his waist. He flinches slightly, and if this were earlier on in your relationship, you’d retract your hand. He’s long since informed you though that his reaction to unexpected touch is simply involuntary, and as long as it’s you, you’ve no need to pull away.

You recall the quiet, restrained desperation in his voice when he first explained it to you, all but begging you not to pull away. He can’t control the way his body reacts to touch, given that before you, he couldn’t recall the last time being touched meant anything other than pain. In spite of that though, he wants it. He wants you. That’s obvious in the way that he, without fail, immediately relaxes under your gentle touch once his mind and body process that it’s coming from you. The way he’s come to not only relax, but to lean into it. Lean into you.

You’d never push past his boundaries, never in a million years, but he’s made it quite clear after about a thousand of your quiet requests for consent at every minor touch, that he’s entirely welcoming of your non-sexual physical affections. Getting the man to verbally admit that he actually enjoys cuddling with you, without the truth being concealed beneath a heavy layer of playful banter and practiced, honeyed words didn’t come easy, but he came around to it in his own time.

So, you don’t pull back, instead following through with the motion and slowly snaking your arm around his waist. You press your front against his lower back and curl around to rest your left cheek atop his left thigh. You can’t help but notice that he doesn’t relax into you in the way he usually does, and your head turns to the right a bit, struggling to get a half-decent look at his face as you’re both turned away from the fire light.

He remains tense, still, and unresponsive to your movements, gaze seemingly locked dead ahead of him, staring out into the dark forest.

With the warm haze of sleep fading from you, your brow furrows as your right hand presses lightly against his lower abdomen, your thumb sweeping up and down in a small attempt at a comforting motion. You quietly call for his attention, voice still thick with sleep.

“Star? Is everything okay?”

His typically silent breath suddenly hitches, and his head angles down to face you. Now that he’s turned toward the light, you catch the way his eyes shine, and the way the light reflects off of what you quickly realize are tear tracks, running down his cheeks. He’s actively crying, tears dripping from his chin, and now with his head tilted down at you they take a different path, running down to converge and fall from the tip of his nose.

You nearly bolt upright in your shock, quickly unwrapping yourself from him and clambering around on all fours until you’re sat down in front of him, your hands gripping tightly to your upper thighs in worry. His wide-eyed gaze followed your every movement, and even now that you’re sat still in front of him, his eyes still dart around, frantically scanning you, for what, you don’t know.

“What- what’s going on?”

You keep your voice as quiet as you reasonably can in spite of your shock and concern, not eager to wake your companions and have everyone witness… whatever this is.

He doesn’t respond, looking just about as lost as you feel, shaking his head in silence as more tears fall. It’s one hell of a sight, and it suddenly hits you that this is the first time you’ve ever seen him cry.

Unsure of what to do and what even caused this, you resist the urge to wrap him in a hug, not wanting to overstep in this unfamiliar territory. Instead, you glance back over your shoulder and once again see and hear nothing of note before trying another question.

“Is there a threat? Did you see something that scared you, honey?”

He takes a long moment to answer, seeming unsure, before eventually settling on another shake of his head. His lack of confidence in his answer isn’t the most reassuring thing at the moment, but given that you aren’t detecting any danger either, you decide to believe that he really didn’t see any threat. At least, not here. Not right now, in the present moment, in front of him. He seems about halfway here and halfway gone, and if your growing suspicions are correct, he’s probably been sat here lost in the dark corners of his mind for a while now, given the state he’s in.

You catch movement to Astarion’s right side and watch as Karlach raises up from her prior position sprawled out face-down on her bedroll, propping herself up with her forearms beneath her. Her expression of concern is too aware and her eyes are too awake for her to have just now woken up, and you quickly gather that she’s probably been awake and laying there long enough to have heard your questions and Astarion’s lack of any verbal response. She doesn’t say anything though, and doesn’t move, just letting the situation unfold and keeping a watchful eye on the darkness behind you.

Relaxing slightly at the knowledge that someone else is awake and helping to keep watch now, your focus shifts back to Astarion, who’s gaze has moved to his lap, tears still falling fast. It’s almost unsettling, the way he cries. There’s no sound, no movement, his breathing is hardly even affected, nothing more than the occasional shaky breath to give away any sign of struggle at all. You don’t have to guess why it’s like this, given what he’s told you about his past. You’re sadly certain that he learned to cry like this ages ago. Silent and still, sat alone in the dark so no one would notice.

You don’t want to think about the sorts of punishments he’s endured as a result of showing such pain and emotion, but your mind pulls from what experiences he’s shared and offers up a few anyways, making you begin to feel sick.

Leaning down and trying to catch his gaze, you ask another question.

“Astarion, are you with me right now?”

He blinks, more tears spill, and his lips finally part as he responds to you with a strained whisper.

“I’m trying to be…”

You smile in spite of your current emotions and the general mood of the situation, doing your best to be something positive, something gentle, something safe for him to focus on.

“There you are…”

You say it to yourself as much as to him, relieved to finally hear his voice, as laced with pain as it sounds. You hold out your hand near where his lie balled into fists in his lap, offering him contact without forcing it on him.

“I want you to keep trying, okay? Do your best to come back into the present with me. You can take my hand, if you’d like?”

He stares down at your offered hand for a long moment before shakily unballing one of his fists. He hesitates, fingers trembling, before reaching out and placing his hand in yours. His skin is even colder than usual and slightly damp to the touch, and you couldn’t be less put off, or give less of a fuck about the messy state of him right now, or ever, if you’re being honest. You just want to help him, however you can.

You curl your warm fingers around his palm, wanting to pull him into a hug so badly but restraining yourself, letting him call the shots.

“You’re okay now, Star. You’re safe right now, here with me. We’re safe.”

He’s quiet for another long moment as he shuts his eyes tight, taking in your words. His other fist unfurls, and his body trembles almost imperceptibly.

“I… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

Your heart breaks.

“Honey, you have nothing to apologize for. Nothing at all, I promise you.”

He shakes his head in disagreement, his voice an insistent whisper.

“I shouldn’t be doing this.”

Your shoulders drop from where they’d been tensely held up, body slumping with a silent sigh as you watch him still try to hold this wall up between the two of you. You’d made it past a number of his walls already, but this one… this one you’ve yet to be granted access behind.

“It’s okay to cry, you know?”

Another shake of his head, this time with far more force behind it, almost vehement.

“No.”

You soften your voice, insisting.

“Yes. It is. You can cry now, Astarion. No one’s gonna hurt you. No one’s gonna judge you. I swear on my life, that’s the truth.”

His breaths become more labored, uneven and shaking.

“You aren’t his anymore. The old rules don’t apply. You can let it out, now. No one, and I mean no one, is going to punish you for it.”

His eyes pinch closed and his head shakes hard side to side, like he’s fighting his own mind, and his hand opens and closes like it wants to grab onto something. He then moves, wrapping his free hand around your arm and suddenly you’re being pulled toward him, desperately, insistently.

You follow the motion as he continues to tug at you, first leaning forward and propping yourself up with your other hand on the ground as he continues to pull you closer. You quickly gather what he wants as he lets go of your hand in favor of latching onto your other arm, pulling you upward, choking back tears all the while.

You raise up on your knees and his hands move once again to hook beneath your arms as you allow yourself to be pulled up onto his lap with physical strength you keep forgetting he possesses. Hooking your legs around his waist, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him into you. His arms wrap tightly around your waist and he buries his face into the fabric of your shirt at the collar, muffling the soft sound of his crying which has now turned to full-blown sobs.

He’s still shockingly quiet in spite of it all, and you imagine it’s a mixture of being unable to let go of what’s ingrained into him, and not wanting to alert the entire camp to his current breakdown.

Your thumbs stroke up and down in place on his back, not wanting to let go of your hold on him but still wanting to give him some sort of comforting motion to focus on. Besides, you figure petting across the entire expanse of his scarred back might do the opposite of calming him down, so you refrain and keep your arms wrapped firmly around him. Turning your head down toward his, you whisper to him in between soft kisses to his temple.

“That’s it, love. Let it out.”

“You’re safe now, Astarion, I swear.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

“You have every right to cry. No one ever should’ve taken that away from you.”

He grips you even tighter as you shower him with painfully unfamiliar affection and acceptance, comfort unlike anything he’s ever felt before in his horribly long life. His forehead presses against your right shoulder as his crying slows, trying to ground himself and catch his breath. You make a point of holding him securely against you, breathing slow and deep to give him an example to follow.

You catch movement in your periphery and glance over at Karlach as she quietly sits up and makes a series of silent lip movements and hand gestures that you don’t entirely grasp. You work them out to mean that she’s gonna take over watch for the rest of the night, and you can rest with Astarion. You send her a grateful look and mouth a “thank you,” to which she waves you off with what you think you read as a silent “don’t mention it” on her lips.

After a short while spent focused on slowing down his breath and bringing him fully out of his memories and back here with you, you whisper quiet words in his ear.

“Your work is done, Astarion. You can rest now.”

You mean it in both possible interpretations of the words, and he seems to understand that, his body finally relaxing against yours for the first time tonight.

“You wanna lie down with me, love?”

He seems like he almost nods, but stops himself, whispering back in an exhausted voice, scratchy and thick from crying.

“Someone has to keep watch.”

You hesitate to inform him that Karlach has already taken over that role for tonight, sure that he’d get no sleep at all if he knew she’d witnessed this. You know you’re gonna be awake watching over him for the rest of the night anyways, so instead, you offer a compromise.

“I can hold you and keep watch at the same time, love. Just… let me sit and you can lay against me.”

He gives the suggestion a moment of thought before nodding his head, reluctantly loosening his hold on you. You maneuver the both of you carefully so as to avoid allowing his tired eyes to catch sight of your obviously awake companion sitting behind him.

It isn’t much of a task considering his eyes are halfway closed already, his only remaining focus locked on you. You settle down at the head of his bedroll, guiding him to lie down and bringing his head to rest in the center of your lap.

Your hands take turns gently combing fingers through his white curls, and you feel his tense shoulders begin to relax at the feeling. You bring a thumb down and gently stroke over the lines creasing his brow, quietly encouraging him to release the tension he likely doesn’t realize he’s holding. You watch him pull in a deep, albeit still slightly unsteady breath, and you can practically feel the relief that washes over him when he exhales.

Words aren’t necessary between the two of you at this point, not in this moment, but you offer him a few anyways, hoping they’ll resonate in his tired mind as he slips into sleep.

“You’re safe here, Star. Rest easy.”

A/N: Like I said in the CWs, I haven't played the game for myself (yet!) so I only know what I've seen in the hours of (mostly Astarion-focused) scenes I've watched on YT. As a result, this might have read a bit funny if I've gotten certain details wrong. For instance- I have no idea how resting at the camp actually goes, whether or not someone keeps watch all night, etc. Also I'm not sure if Astarion even needs to actually sleep or if he meditates/falls into a trance and just calls it sleep, but for the sake of simplicity, (and me being clueless,) when I say he falls into sleep just assume he's doing whatever he'd normally do to rest. On a different note- this little fic was inspired by a combination of two things. The lovely art and additional commentary on this post, by @velnna , and also by me listening to Midnight Hour by Sierra Eagleson on loop for like, an hour, and daydreaming up this specific scene before proceeding to write it out. It is a beautiful song that is now the title and theme-song for this fic, and I encourage you to go give it a listen if you haven't heard it already. Header Image Source: x