#no i did not forget about basin

[tanlorin]

One of Bastian's lines when you equip him with a new weapon type.

[goldenstring6123]

HIIIYAAAYAYA I LOVE YOUR WRITING SO MUCH AND I LOOK FORWARD TO EVERY SINGLE PIECE YOU RELEASE!!! YOU HAVE ME CHECKING YOUR PAGE 24/7 IM OBSESSEDDD 🫦🫦 ANYWHO ignore my fawning but how do you think the lads boys would react to a suuuuper clingy gf??? idk but if i were mc i would NOT be leaving their side and would literally be glued onto their body like mc is a strong soldier for resisting (especially rafayel my HUSBAND 😩) literally wanna just curl up in their lap and carve myself into their ribcage so they can never escape from me tehe. ALSOOO U DON’T GOTTA RESPOND IF UR BUSY OR UNCOMFY!!!! JUST KNOW I LOVE YOU AND YOUR DELICIOUS WRITING 🫶🫶

Lnds: Sticky little lover

Warning: vaguely suggestive, mentions of hickeys, fem!reader, clingy!reader, reader may or may not be the mc, there might be spelling mistakes, I haven't proofread yet.

Author's note: Awieee thank u sm pookie! I understand the feeling of wanting to latch onto the LIs~

Zayne:

Zayne wakes up with you on his chest, your leg over his crotch, and your arm across his stomach. To him, you were like a weighted stuffed toy and a weighted blanket, all at the same time. He wasn't complaining; maybe it was an excuse to stay in bed for another half an hour.

The bathroom is big enough for the two of you, with two wash basins, a separate shower, and a bathtub. There are three bathrooms in the house, but you always choose the one he uses. He's complained once, but you said you didn't like the interior design of the others. Side by side, you brush your teeth and comb your hair while he shaves and flosses. If you wake up earlier than usual, maybe he'll let you moisturize and exfoliate his face. It's no surprise Zayne leaves the bathroom door open for you. It's just normal for both of you to cross paths in the large bathroom.

When he leaves for work, you never miss a day to kiss his nose and give him a quick peck. You embrace him with two arms, but he hugs you back with one, the other hand holding his bag. You don't mind.

Your message gallery is filled with pictures of your mundane life: a snapshot of a book you're reading, the new coffee you tried, the little teacup Maltese that reminded you of him. Even though he's busy, he always finds time to react, and if he doesn't, he brings up the picture when you pick him up at the end of the day. He never forgets.

Calm days are spent in each other's presence. You always cling to him in one way or another. While he's reading a book, your feet are on his lap, and his fingers unknowingly knead your ankles. While watching a movie, your shoulders touch, and your hands are intertwined. When you react to the film, his hand, still holding yours, follows your movements.

Dates are always fun. It doesn't matter where you go or what you do as long as Zayne's in your company. Cafe dates are cute, but Zayne always calls you out for staring at him with a weird look in your eyes—you were admiring him. Whenever you walk, you cling to him, wrapping yourself around his forearm while playfully weighing him down. He stumbles for a second but smiles.

You love leaving hickeys on him, even bite marks if he allows, but the rule is never above the collar of his shirt. You oblige 97% of the time. The other 3%, you sneak in a light hickey that passes off as a mosquito bite, just peeking through the collar of his dress shirt. Sometimes, there's one behind his ear, barely visible. He never knows, but the doctors and patients at the hospital do.

When you're apart, you always call him and go about your day. At night, you video call and try to stay awake, only to snooze off. Zayne chuckles at your attempts to wash the tiredness away, but sometimes, he falls asleep with you. In the morning, both of your phones end up overheating and out of battery.

Zayne loves your company, to others it may seem trouble some but with you, it was adorable. It's through your clingyness that he experiences feelings he never once did before, and those little things always brighten his day. You actions with him makes him feel more loved and he knows he has a hard time expressing them but with you around, it had become more and more easier.

Rafayel:

They say opposites attract, but you and Rafayel are the universal exception.

Rafayel doesn't like it when you're late. Even for a home-date, he fusses about being left alone too long and feeling abandoned. You laugh at his whining over text and enter his door. When he sees you, he jumps off the couch and pouts, "Finally, it took you long enough."

You're like magnets to each other. Wherever one goes, the other follows. If you're cooking ramen in the kitchen, Rafayel sneaks behind you, hugging your back and sniffing your hair. If he's watering flowers in the greenhouse, you sit nearby and watch a ladybug on a leaf. If he's painting, you're reading on a nearby couch. Rafayel's residence is too big for one person but just enough for two.

Rafayel whines when you do something without him, especially if it's something he wants to do. You once took a flower arrangement class without him, and he sulked, "Wow, you didn't even think to tell me? I wanted to do that with you." Even watching movies is hard because you need to pause and wait for him whenever he leaves the room. One time, you finished a mystery series without him, and he ate the tiramisu you were saving for dessert in revenge.

Matching clothes is a thing. He avoids tacky prints but opts for complementary outfits. Because of this, Rafayel buys clothes with you in mind, often choosing items with a feminine counterpart. His shoe closet and yours are practically the same, and you don't complain because Rafayel has good fashion taste.

You love cute matching items. You once bought a two-piece mug set with a heart design, and he took the other one without you knowing. He also took a keychain from your collection, matching the one you have in your wallet.

"Are you tired of me now?" he asks when you keep your distance, avoiding a hug. It's the middle of summer, and the AC is broken. You reek of sweat, and the last thing you want is to be touched. You sigh and pat his back, "After I take a bath, I'll give you all the hugs you want."

He asks about your plans every morning, almost as a ritual. You've gotten used to replying while getting ready. If both schedules permit, he joins you for grocery runs, laundry, or whatever mundane tasks you have. You make good use of him, letting him carry the bags even if you could do it yourself.

When Rafayel is at an exhibit, you bombard him with texts: jokes, articles, or random thoughts. He replies quickly, hiding from the audience, bored out of his mind. In return, he sends you pictures of his artwork, which you threaten to sell online as digital files. He blocks you for a good five minutes.

You're each other's wallpaper. Surprisingly, Rafayel asked to do it. You spent hours finding the perfect pose and recreating trending ones. Rafayel insisted on multiple retakes.

You were rafayel's missing piece. To him, you were the only thing that he has ever wanted in his life. He loved you dearly and a part of him was terrified that you don't reciprocate the same level of love as he does to you; but lo and behold, fate has given him a blessing after all those years of loneliness. His heart swoons at the very sight of your actions. You were clingy, that was factually true but the same goes for him. Nothing makes him more fulfilled than seeing you both think and love in the same wavelength.

Sylus:

His base has become your home. On days off, you often find yourself in one of three rooms: his bedroom, where you lie on his bed, tapping away on your phone or laptop; his kitchen, where the chef cooks whatever you want in exchange for listening to his stories from his little village; or the lobby, where Luke and Kieran update you on the most boring things in the building. Sylus doesn't mind at all; it's less work for Mephisto, and he can keep an eye on you.

Sylus's sleep schedule is the same as that of those in Linkon City. His days begin in the evenings, often leaving you lying in the big bed alone. Sylus is nearby or at his desk if he's not out on the streets. You like hugging his pillow because it smells like his 3-in-1 shampoo. If he's out on late-night trips, you selfishly steal his shirt from the closet, wear it on the pillow, and hug that to sleep, forcing yourself to be satisfied with what you got.

His lap is your chair. It doesn't matter where he's sitting; you always find yourself on him. Sylus sometimes complains about his thighs going numb, but when you leave, he yanks you back, positioning you between his legs, with your butt on the chair instead of his thigh. He goes back to his work as if nothing happened, occasionally sparing you a kiss on the forehead or rubbing his face against yours. If not, you shower his chest and neck with light pecks before snuggling into the crook of his neck.

His biceps are nice to the touch. On dates to the city, while waiting in line, you squeeze his muscles for entertainment, even through his thick leather jacket. He flexes for a minute before relaxing, amused at how easily you entertain yourself.

The boyfriend shirt phenomenon is common. You don't leave the base wearing his clothes, but you certainly walk around the area in them. Whether a turtleneck, a black blouse, or just a plain shirt, you're always wearing his clothes, even in his company.

You're an eccentric one, thats for sure. Sylus never truly got ahold of how you managed to change from being so distant to practically being glued to him. It was like he partnered up with a whole new different person. He wasn't complaining at all if anything, he found it admirable and a part of him was quietly relieved that time did all the adjusting between you and him. Despite being a bit too fussy at times, he'd be more than willing to compromise if that's what makes you happy.

Xavier:

You always steal his hoodies. They're big, soft, and smell like him, so you have two or three at home. Xavier scratches his head when he notices bare hangers in his closet. When you visit, he finally sees what's missing. No matter how many hoodies and jackets he buys for you, you always get your hands on his, almost becoming a problem. Now, he rotates his jackets, giving them to you on schedule.

Xavier's hair is too soft to be human. When he's on your lap, you massage his scalp and fidget with the ends of his silver hair. If you have hair elastics and a cute clip nearby, he ends up with his hair tied up or braided. He needs your help to take it off because it's too painful for him to do alone. Oops?

You prefer sitting beside him rather than across from him at a table. He didn't understand at first because he wanted to face you when eating. But when he's beside you, he slowly gets it. You like touching him one way or another. You enjoy your elbows touching or your thighs grazing each other. It's also convenient to lean slightly and rest your head on his shoulder.

Xavier loves bathing with you. The bathtub in his apartment is big enough for both. He likes the smell of your bath bombs and is sometimes fascinated by the toys or mini jewelry inside. Your back always presses against him, and he willingly holds you. On more stressful days, you light candles and open some cheap wine to enjoy in rose-covered water.

He's riddled with bite marks, even when not having sex. He's dozing off when you suddenly find his arm or leg appetizing. He jolts awake and tries to shake your grip, but it's too tight. When you've had enough, he stares at your work of art and wipes his saliva-coated limb. You grin, watching him wipe your fluids. Because of the frequency, he rarely lets his consciousness drift away when his bare arms and legs are around you.

When bathing alone, you use his shampoo instead of yours. It's surprising he doesn't use all-in-one shampoo and body wash; he uses baby shampoo. When confronted, he shrugs, saying it does the job, and recalls you like playing with his hair. His perfume and powder are also for babies.

In the eyes of Xavier, you were adorable even if your actions were questionable. You were cute, and he never once thought that your actions were a burden or suffocating. The things you do, the way you speak they were all precious in his eyes and Xavier understands that this was you way of showing your love for him. Because of that, he tolerates you every time you bite him.

Your gallery is full of his pictures. Candid photos you secretly take daily. Your favorite is when his cheeks are full of food, resembling a hamster. You take pictures when he's asleep, using you as a pillow. Sometimes, you're both looking at the camera, making random faces.

Author footnotes: I'm sorry if these were pretty general. I'm not the clingy type so I don't know how these type of people act but I wrote it with the things I observed from films and tiktok lol

Layout by me, using Canva premium | Do not repost |

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: this one came out of no where.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

It’s uncharacteristically grim on the plains of Debray. Rains pelt the tall green grasses, flattening them in a slanted downpour that dims the horizon. Clouds blot out the daylight and lend to atmosphere of unease in the warring lands. 

Behind the castle walls, one can forget about the bloodshed staining the counties red, though it is all the dukes and his audience can speak of. The lords that bluster through those gates, sometimes at the toll of morning, some in the black swathes of night. You can’t count them all, you can name even fewer, but they come anon and leave just as brusquely. 

A peel of thunder shakes the land and a dark line limns the curve of the horizon. What appears first as a storm cloud advances quickly through the fields, appearing more clearly to the naked eye, distant nonetheless. Men. Another party fast on the approach. 

The alarm goes up at a man’s holler. Ethred, man at the gate hollers to the other men in mail. Niam peers out from the vantage of the tower and calls back down. A hush falls and bodies scurry all around, metal clinking and boots crunching. There’s something amiss. Something you can’t quite place. 

You turn away from the window, the steam rising from the basin in your hand swirling around your head. You carry on down the corridor, wool skirts around cautious steps as you balance the swaying water in the vessel. You approach the lady’s door and give it a rap with your knee. Merinda, another handmaid, opens it from within. 

You enter without a word and place the basin on the vanity table. The duke’s daughter preens herself with a painted fan, fluttering her lashes at her reflection as her curls spill down her long back. She tilts her head this way and that. She snaps the fan shut and puts it down, touching her soft brown cheeks with a devilish grin. 

“Do you know what father mentioned last eve?” Jazlene asks with a vain flutter of her lashes. 

“What did he mention?” Her mother, Lady Rezlyn prompts lazily as she plucks another cherry from a dish heaped in fruit. 

“A husband,” the daughter grins coyly at herself, “it is well due, isn’t it, mother? Who do you think it might be? Lord Gai, perhaps? He is young still.” 

“Perhaps the Earl of Mesafin,” her mother taunts back to a disgusted gasp. 

“Do not,” Jazlene pouts, “I could never... I am much too pretty for that haggard beast.” 

“Well, then, who might you have, precious?” Rezlyn goads. 

There is a clamour in the hall that keeps the younger of the woman from answering. She rolls her eyes and darkly glare at the door. You peer back behind your shoulder as a wail goes up carrying her father’s name; ‘Lord Dustan!’ 

“What is all that?” Jazlene whines, “as if it isn’t enough with the rain and the winds. It is summer!” 

“It’s always summer in Debray, darling,” Rezlyn scoffs, “otherwise I’d have never married your father. Pray you don’t hook yourself a winter lord.” 

You peek over your shoulder as you stand near the door, in your vigil, awaiting your next order. You face the ladies again as the elder continues to feast and the younger fusses over her thick brows. You scrunch your lips back and forth, a habit that often has your jaw aching. 

Jazlene turns to narrow her eyes at you, “what is it then? What has you making faces?” 

You bow your head, appeasing her ego, “my lady, there were men coming. A party approaching from the north.” 

“There are always men,” she shakes her head, “who was it then? Anyone I should wear silk for?” 

Her mother laughs, “I warn you, daughter, that trite tongue will not endear any husband.” 

“I do not know, lady,” you answer. 

“Ugh, useless, must I work as my own handmaid?” Jazlene tisks, “come, pin my hair. Merinda find me a gown. Mother... wipe the dribble from your chin.” 

“Eh, watch yourself,” Lady Rezlyn rises and wipes her lips with her sleeve. She wears muslin in a dark shade of burgundy, embroidered with little copper finches. “Or hope you marry above me before you lash that tongue at me.” 

Jazlene merely trills with laughter. You take the pins and work at twisting her fine curls into place. Merinda brings to her a dress of teal satin and is promptly shooed away, “something pink. It brings out my bosom.” 

You ignore her bawdy jest as her mother harrumphs. You work in quiet tandem with the other handmaid. You add a touch of paint to the lady’s cheeks and kohl around her eyes. You tint her lips with pigment and she pushes out her lips at the mirror. You help Merinda dress her, pulling the noble daughter’s corset tight enough to leave her lightheaded. 

The pair of ladies, elder and younger, leave the chamber with you at their skirt tails. They sweep through the corridors with chins up. They are queens in their own minds. Their fine dresses and sparkling gems are untouched by the disparity of war. The lives lost are squares on a game board, tawdry talk for men in their studies. 

“Lord Dustan,” Lady Rezlyn mimics the earlier call for the lord of the castle, “my husband. Dear, dear husband!” 

The women go to the banister and look down upon the great hall as the flurry continues below. You and Merinda loom behind, not daring to stand at a level with the pompous nobles. You have never volunteered yourself for their impetuous lashings. 

“Woman!” Dustan booms back up, “do not trouble me now.” 

“Oh, has another lord come? Perhaps a suitor for our lovely daughter--” 

“Cease!” The duke demands hotly, “now is not the time for womanly games.” 

“Tell me it true, husband, she will be an old maid before you find a suiting son-in-law--” 

“Go away to your chambers. Now. The men who come are not to be trifled with and you lot do trifle overly much!” 

“Bah! Oh do not be so uncouth!” Rezlyn decries. 

“Father, please, is it a husband?” 

“Go before I send my guards up to put you away like thieves in a dungeon. Hear me when I warn you that this does not concern you. Not as yet,” Dustan snarls, “you would spoil this war with your puny concerns.” 

“Ugh,” his wife puts her hand to her forehead, “he does tax me. All I ask of him is to take care of us, daughter. As any husband should.” 

“I should have your lips sewn shut!” Dustan rebukes hotly, “be gone before I find a tailor.” 

The women share an aghast look. The turn back to flutter away in their skirts. You and Merinda follow them to the drawing room, closing them in as they fall onto the velvet cushions. Jazlene reclines dramatically on the chaise as her mouth mopes on a sofa. 

“Shall I be alone forever, mother?” Jazlene snivels, “why won’t he let me marry?” 

“He only wants to find the right man, that is all, darling,” Rezlyn coaxes. “He is overprotective and that is good for it means he will find a husband for you with a similar bearing.” 

“Such sweet words cannot convince me. He punishes me. When all my lady friends have wed and borne a whelp or two, I remain with the dust and stone.” 

“Do not be theatrical,” Rezlyn girds, “you are silly.” 

“I am not silly, mother. I am afraid. I am twenty and three and I have no suitor. I have only a war butchering any man who might have my hand. Why must this go on? Why must I suffer for the gripes of stubborn kings.” 

“We cannot fear. This war will be won and you will have a knight for a husband. Isn’t that better? To have a warrior you can be proud of than some bookish lord in his tower?” Rezlyn stands and moves to sit with her daughter, petting her as she cooes, “oh my beautiful, no man can resist you. You will see.” 

⚔️

Some hours pass with the restless women, pacing and chattering, about careless things beyond marriage and war. Like needlework and a banquet that should be had upon the truce. Would that the day would come sooner. 

You and Merinda stifle yawns that pass between you. The act is contagious as you stand in the tedium of the wealthy and wait for a duty to be called upon you. The hours you spend watching the women preen and swoon make you envy the stable boys and the shit shovelers. 

The noise beyond those walls continues. You heard the moat open and the clopping hooves of horses, even the clatter of carts. The voices had since hushed but footfalls carried back and forth. The wordless activity betrays an air of impatience, almost of nervousness. As the ladies within mirror the sentiment. 

Finally, as the windows darken and the candles burn brighter, a knock shakes the door. The ladies snap their heads around. Merinda is asleep on her feet as you move first. You open to a man in grey and black waits on the other side. He is not Lord Dustan’s. 

“The duchess and her daughter,” he garbles through a mouth that sounds full of salt. 

You dip your head and look to the ladies in question. There is a tension, of unease, of unknowing, of excitement turned to dread. This is not as it has been. There is not call to the dinner table. There is no buoyant introduction of a lord Dustan met as a young scamp. There is silence and fear. Has someone died? Has a battle been lost? 

The women emerge and greet the man with niceties and tight-lipped simpers. He does not pay them heed as you and Merinda exchange looks. You trail after the ladies but the man stops. He turns back, a hand on the pommel at his waist, and sneers, a furrow in his brow. 

“One of ya,” he grits. 

Jazlene says your name. She must’ve noticed Merinda swaying on her feet. If she even cares so much about a maid. You keep your head down and follow as they press on. Down the corridor and around the duke’s study, recently deemed his war room. You’ve never been within. It is not the domain of women. 

The grey and black soldier thumps on the door. Mother and daughter clasp hands. Even they can sense the unusual frigidity. The door opens from within. It is Lord Dustan. He wears a serious look on his lined face. The ladies are beckoned in and the soldier nudges you after them as you hesitate. 

Lanterns light the space from the desk at the rear of the chamber. The large table draped in maps, wooden horses, and little wooden pucks stands central on a thick rug. A figure stands behind it, head down as his burly and broad silhouette seems to sop up the shadows. 

The ladies follow the duke to stand across from the man. His head is down as he slides a horse along a road on the map. He stops it and grips it tight. He looks up and the lantern light dances on his features. You suck in a breath, as the rest do, stunned by his appearance. 

His hair is white, his eyes are a goldish yellow, pupils deep pools of black, and his square jaw is just as thick as the rest of him. You have never seen a man like him before, but you have heard of one. Of him. King Geralt of Rivia. 

You stand in similar confusion to the ladies. Their silent confoundment is broken by Duke Dustan as he nears the table. He sniffs and presses his fingers to the table top. 

“Your highness, my wife, Lady Rezlyn, and my daughter, Lady Jazlene,” he introduces. 

The women glance at each other then curtsy to the white king. He watches them dully. You fold your hands, taking it in curiously. It is rather something to witness the scene. You are so unimportant as to not be a part of it. 

“Your highness,” the recite, “it is...” 

“An honour,” Dustan finishes for them, “of course it is. We fondly welcome you and your allyship. We hope that we will be essential in ending this war. In helping you attain the peace you have so valiantly fought for--” 

The king raises his hand to silence the lord. You can’t help but quork your head. Allyship? But King Geralt, he is of Rivia, he is of the hinterland, he is the one who invaded the summer country and bid it his own. He is the foe. That is what they told you. 

“Enough...” the king speaks in a silty tone that scrapes in his throat. His eyes wander over the women and narrow. You wince as your own meet his golden irises and you shy away, putting your chin to your chest. That’s a mistake. “...words.” He slaps his hand down, “you do not win wars with words.” 

“Yes, your highness, you are correct. I know it well. It is why I invited you here. It is the very reason I made my entreaty. You have my men, they will win this war for you.” 

The king is hardly impressed by the fact. He looks back to the table and moves the horse further before turning it back. He knocks it over and stands completely straight. 

“And the daughter of Debray, your highness. To have a wife of summer’s blood, men will bend the knee. If you show them you do not mean to eradicate but to join with them,” Dustan moves to stand closer to his daughter, “isn’t she a fine queen for a fine kingdom?” 

Jazlene swoons and falls against her father. She’s fainted. Rezlyn grabs onto her other shoulder and you peek up at the chaotic scene. You come forward to help, snatching a pillow from the single couch, and you place it under Jazlene’s head as they lay her down on the floor. 

A shadow shifts as Dustan and Rezlyn fuss over their daughter, fanning and calling to her. You look up as darkness clusters over you. You see the king staring down at the scene. No, not them. He staring at you. Before he can reprimand you, you put your head down. 

You must quit that lest you find yourself at the wrong end of a switch. 

[rocktavian]

One of the things I appreciate about Hollow Knight is the subtle distinctions in the design of each area of the map, and the way that those differences have such an impact on the moment-to-moment feel of being in those places.

What particularly resonates with me is the shades of difference between the three remotest major regions of the map: Deepnest, the Ancient Basin, and Kingdom's Edge. All three share an overall hostile and unsettling feeling, but their respective airs of menace manifest in different ways:

Deepnest wants you dead. Its tunnels are dark, mazelike, and claustrophobic, and when you're in them you're being hunted. Dirtcarvers attack from the ground, Little Weavers attack from the sky. You can't trust the floor to hold beneath your feet. You can't trust a corpse to stay dead. You can't trust your own reflection. Deepnest wants to back you into a corner and eat you and it will not let you forget it.

The Ancient Basin is dead. Airless, nearly empty, nearly silent. In most of the region, the only life you will see is Shadow Creepers, slow and mindless creatures that (per the Hunter's Journal) have never been known to eat or drink. If you dig deep enough you can find the vestiges of life – a lighthouse long abandoned, the vast emptiness where a palace once stood – but even these are few and far between. If the Ancient Basin were to blink into nonexistence, who but you would ever notice?

Kingdom's Edge does not care whether you live or die. Everything in this region is primal and inexorable. It's carved out of irregular cliff faces and yawning chasms over pits of acid. The Hoppers march incessantly forward, turning around occasionally but never stopping or changing their behavior; the Colosseum is equally perpetual, a continuous baying for blood that dumps its corpses ceaselessly into the pits below. Kingdom's Edge will not attack you, but nor will it protect you. Faced with the onslaught of Aspids and Belflies and stalactites, you can carve out a space (as Oro did), or you can get overwhelmed and succumb (as Markoth did). Either way – whether you live or you die – it's your own fault.

The experiences of being in each of these places is totally different. But all three give me that skin-crawling curiosity of "I'm not supposed to be here, but I can't look away."

[austinbutlerslovers]

Major Gale Fantasy

(He Racks You Down and Knocks You Up)

The poll on this was so close! 172 votes

The winner 53.5 Sweet and Gentle 💖

VS. 46.5 Hard and Commanding ❤️‍🔥

Thank you for all the votes enjoy!

Major Gale (Austin) is obsessed with the thought of getting you pregnant before he leaves to war. After envisioning you pregnant with his child he goes through great lengths to ensure you conceive.

Label 18+ mature

Established relationship married

Domestic fluff then straight to breeding kink

Smut• fluff • domestic •edging • mutual stimulation •in heat •breeding kink •p in v •mating press •multiple orgasms • cream pie • aftercare

I have no idea what they did in the 40s or how they really speak 😊 just go with it it’s cute

Inspiration: Austin butler looking so seductive in that uniform

(Historically Inaccurate spelling errors, grammatical mistakes, repeat words etc)

Master List

He Racks You Down & Knocks You Up

You were putting the finishing touches on your dish a beautiful roast chicken with vegetables. The cherry pie was warming in the oven Gale would be home any minute. You briskly walk to the wash room and click on the lights. Your makeup kit readily available near the wash basin. You reach in and pull out your favorite rouge lip stick marking up your lips and dabbing some on your cheeks.

You coif up your hair staring at yourself in the mirror and run a hand down your dress blowing a kiss like a pin up girl, you look ravishing.

Even more risqué was the idea to wear a fastener corset under your form fitting dress tonight putting your décolleté on full display.

Your legs were caged by thigh straps holding up your stockings and satin panties covering your derrière rubbing deliciously against your heat.

Gale said to get yourself a treat, and now it’s a treat for him too. He would be deploying after all and you wanted to give him an experience he would never forget to write home about.

At that thought you hear his key in the front door and hurry back into the living room to greet him. He turns the knob and steps in slipping the key into his pocket as his tall frame ducks into the door way. He removes his officers hat and hangs it on the entry way rack.

His handsome features always stun you at first glance. His big blue eyes and wispy lashes, his perfectly angular nose, firm chin and plump lips. He is an absolute dream especially in uniform. His suitcase in one hand and jacket draped on the other, he finally locks eyes with you and your heart flutters. He is slack jawed in return admiring how perfectly pretty you look in this moment.

“Well well well let me get a good look at you doll, do a little spin for me” his deep rich voice breaking the silence as his eyes admire your form.

You twirl around on your toes smiling as you trace your hands along your bodice enjoying the corset hidden beneath. You blush once your eyes meet, he has a seduced look on his face. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, let me settle my things and come appreciate you.” he flashes his flirtatious grin.

He hangs his coat and sets his suit case by the door he struggles to unbutton the top neck of his military shirt but you are right there to assist him lifting on your tiptoes brushing up against him and easily prying the button open with your smaller fingers.

The closeness makes you swoon for each other. He stares into your eyes before taking a peek down at your breasts resting against his chest, a naughty smirk plays across his face. You place your hands delicately on the nape of his neck and trace your fingers lightly over his sensitive skin there giving him goosebumps.

He looks back into your eyes as you stare up at him seductively through your lashes, his breathing increases as passion begins to cloud his thoughts “Gosh I’ve missed you” he nearly whispers it staring at your sultry red lips going directly in for the kiss. Your lips meet passionately and he scoops you into his arms lifting you from the floor.

Feeling his strength and the smell of his cologne arouses you completely. You are overtaken by his presence feeling so safe in his strong arms. You kiss across his lips as he holds you up to his chest. He begins rubbing his soft plush lips back against yours the sexual tension stifling you both. He slowly sets you back to the ground holding fast to your waist with every intention of taking you to the bedroom and having his way with you.

His lips are the beautiful rouge color that you imprinted on him. “Oh my” you say covering your mouth with one hand “What is it darling?“ he asks holding you to him by your waist brushing his hand across your cheek. He’s mesmerized by you, the way he’s staring into your eyes makes your heart skip a beat.

“I..I.. have gotten my lipstick all over you…let me clean you up and come! I’ve made a wonderful supper for you” you pipe up as you regain your thoughts, so proud of yourself for making one of his favorite meals.

He takes your hand and you lead him to the dining room table. He sits in his designated seat at the head taking the time to unlace his shoes and remove his socks setting them in the corner. You arrange his plate and set his dinner in front of him. It is a beautiful display of herb roasted chicken breast, mashed russet potatoes layered in gravy and sautéed green peas.

As his eyes settle in delight on the meal you prepared for him you slip away to the liquor cabinet fetching his favorite brandy. You pour it in one of the set glasses on the shelf and bring it to place next to him on the table. You grab a cloth from the kitchen drawer and soak it in the sink coming back to dab the lipstick off his lips and wipe his hands clean. He smiles at you appreciatively.

You both begin to eat. He cuts into the delicate chicken and takes a bite. His eyes close and he nods enjoying the taste, opening his eyes looking to you admiringly to show his approval. You gush knowing just how much he loves your home cooked meals after a long day on base.

You really can’t focus on your meal watching him eat. As a fully grown man he still looks so adorable as he chews. He’s slender yet toned and you love to see him full it melts your heart. You begin to eat in small bites, enjoying each others company and the meal.

You finish first with your smaller portions and he clears his plate soon after. You collect the dishes and rinse them in the sink

Feeling sated he completely unbuttons his shirt taking it off and hanging it over the back of his chair. Now in a white undershirt and tan military slacks, he rests back holding his glass of brandy slowly sipping it down watching you work.

You fidget with the oven turning it off and opening the door. The smell of the hot pie wafting through the kitchen. You grab your mits removing the pie from the oven and placing it on the stove top. You blow a strand of loose hair falling in your face the heat from the oven making you perspire slightly. You are in an odd state today feeling so sensual wearing the expensive lingerie.

Gale is set back watching the whole thing you bent over your breasts spilling out of your dress. The flash of the back of your thighs to him when your dress lifts as you reach into the oven.

He suddenly has a vision of you mixing pancake batter in the kitchen. You’re wearing a satin gown hair pinned up loosely in a bun your belly big and round growing with his child. His heart skips a beat as you whisk the mixture placing your hand on your hip to support your back. He imagines himself standing behind you planting a kiss on your head inhaling your scent and gently squeezing his hands around your breasts which will soon be full with milk.

He delicately places his hands down around the front of you to embrace your womb. Once he touches it an intensity fires in him of pure unyielding love for you. It infatuates him so strongly he is unable to keep his hands away from your pregnant belly. He begins passionately kissing behind your ear and down your neck completely obsessed with you having his child.

He was so deep in his thought he didn’t notice you trying to get his attention until you sweetly asked him again “Is everything alright?”

He palms himself under the table his cock growing stiff with anticipation of fulfilling his desires. He smiles at you nodding reassuringly taking another big swig of his brandy and setting his empty glass down.

He then pushes away from the table in his chair setting his sights on you and spreading his legs wordlessly patting his lap for you to sit. You notice the change in his gaze, how his pupils have dilated, how his eyes are fixated on you. It’s such a sultry look you don’t know what’s gotten into him.

You approach his lap and try to sit pretty with your legs together but he grabs hold of your waist pulling you to straddle him. It makes your heart flutter from the abrupt closeness. He looks into your eyes with a coy smile wondering if you can feel his rock hard erection pressing against you yet.

Taking his left hand he softly runs it across the nape of your neck moving your hair over one shoulder, trailing his hand down your spine. He begins unbuttoning your dress with both hands looking you directly in the eyes, each pop of a button making the excitement of having you naked increases.

He unbuttons your dress down to your waist and slowly pulls it from your shoulders to reveal your chest. His eyes lock on the delicate lace covering your décolleté. He pulls your dress farther and his mouth falls open in delight at your breasts in lingerie on full display for him. “All this for me?” He asks staring intently at your chest he caresses the soft fabric covering your nipples “Yes of course” you answer your voice soft from arousal.

He tweaks your nipples making them stiff then gently squeezes them with his fingers he looks up to gauge your reaction. It makes you part your lips wanting to cry out, you clench inside involuntarily pressing your heat against his stiff cock. He has a smile on his face sensing exactly what you need. He begins grinding his hips up gently rocking his massive erection against you. It’s so naughty and good at the same time a high moan escapes your lips as you double over onto him wanting more.

He grabs ahold of you by your arms pressing you down on him and grinding against you harder. He’s so strong and resolute with his actions it has you breathlessly panting and dizzy for him building an ache inside you that needs relief.

Seeing your face flush as your breathing increases he pulls you to him and plants kisses along your exposed neck and jaw line. The smell of you is devine to him he reaches and grabs the base of your neck tilting your head back farther to kiss his open mouth along your throat, It makes you close your eyes and grind back onto him the feeling so good building between your legs you don’t want him to stop.

He pulls back his lips from your neck and stares into your eyes as you grind each other fully clothed completely drunk in love “I want to fill you up tonight” he says kissing your lips and you taste the brandy “ I want to satisfy you completely” he kisses your neck again. Then he places his hand on your stomach “I want my baby growing inside of you” his voice almost a hush full of so much contained passion.

You grab onto the back of his neck pressing your forehead to his and closing your eyes “Yes…Gale please fill me and get me pregnant tonight ” your voice shakes with anticipation. The way he’s making you feel between your legs has your mind reeling as you grind against him with your panties absolutely soaked.

Hearing your words he slowly picks you up from his lap and gently places you to stand in front of him. He rises from the chair and removes his shirt then unbuttons and unzips his pants before unbuckling his belt. As he releases the leather his pants fall to the floor and the buckle clatters. You stare in awe at his massive erection strained back against his woven boxers shorts.

“Finish showing me that lingerie doll “ his deep voice breaks the silence redirecting your thoughts. He sits back into his chair spreading his legs and placing a hand on his cock to watch you. He wants to thoroughly enjoy the surprise you have for him.

You turn your back to him and peer over your shoulder. His eyes are completely fixated on you as you slide the dress down from your shoulders to the floor bending over to show him your black silk panties as you deliberately step out of it. You turn around to face him and he sits back in awe of your beautiful body.

The black silk bra and panties with the corset elaborate your curves, accentuating your hips and chest in the most delicious way. You begin swaying your hips and tracing your hands over your body as if they are his own giving him a show of how badly you need him.

He stands up from his seat and slides his boxers down stepping out of them his large cock slinging as he walks toward you. Your knees buckle a little as you hold the table behind you bracing yourself in anticipation.

He reaches for your corset and begins quickly unsnapping the clasps rocking your body as he looses each one. The corset breaks free and falls to the floor. He easily picks you up by your waist and sets you down on the dinner table.

Your legs are wide open and he eagerly moves himself to stand between them. He grabs you by your hips pulling you flush against him kissing you passionately parting your lips with his tongue his cock caged between your navels. Hes trying to go slow but his mind is racing with the thought of feeling your tightness squeeze around him as he’s pumping you full of his seed.

He refocuses on your pleasure placing his hands on the sides of your breast softly rubbing into your silk brassiere pressing your nipples up and down with his thumbs . A moan escapes you into his mouth everything he’s doing sending pleasurable sensations where you need to be touched the most. You begin winding your hips in small circles on the table to relieve the tension.

He senses your need as the heat is now emitting from your body your eyes pleading him for more. He takes a step back noticing his empty liquor glass behind you on the table and takes it safely to the sink.

As he returns to stand between your legs he places his hands behind your head lovingly holding your gaze. “I would do anything for you” he says softly his heart swelling wanting to make you his forever, the vision of you pregnant with his child burning in his mind. “I’m going to push you over the edge tonight I want to spill my seed into you and I want you to take it all for me”

You stare at him drunk from arousal your heart is pounding so hard you feel the strongest pulses in your pelvis you'll to do anything to make him tear your lingerie off and take you now.

“I want to hear you say it “ he says noticing you are not able to focus on his words.

You regain some composure to respond

“I will take it all tonight every drop you give me” you loosely repeat his words too distracted now staring at his perfectly chiseled naked body down to his large veiny erect cock wondering how good it will feel when he fills you up for the first time instead of pulling out.

“I’ll give you what you need “ he says with a coy smile knowing you’re not paying attention anymore. He’s never seen you so riled up, it warms him seeing you want his baby so badly it’s giving you a fever.

He places his hand on your chest pushing you down to lay flat on the table. He grabs your thighs and slides you down to him your heat directly against his cock your legs on either side of his waist. Your breathing quickens and your heart skips you need him inside of you he has you exposed in the perfect position on the table like you are his meal.

He brushes his hand against your silk panties admiringly not wanting to remove them just yet. His touch there alone makes you feel like he’s set a fire all over your body.

He reaches his fingers between your legs hooking your panties rubbing his knuckles against your slick folds. Your back arcs from the table as you restrain yourself from grinding against his fingers so aroused and needing to be touched so badly you begin panting loudly unable to calm down.

He knows you need him now and quickly pulls your panties to the side. His cock is pulsing hard as he rests it on your wet entrance, it’s covered in a silky liquid so he rubs his tip up through it and groans as you moan not thinking it would feel so good. He looks down into your eyes now needing you too, he lines himself up and slowly pushes inside your tight entrance.

You both cry out in a pleasurable moan his cock guiding in perfectly your walls greedily sucking him in. He penetrates you inch by inch making you gasp as the stretch becomes wider.

He gently caresses your pelvis making you feel the pressure of how far he’s gotten inside. You are impossibly more wet as his cock is going in.

He stares down at you in admiration when you finally take his full length. He stays still inside you for a moment letting you adjust. You feel so full of him, the pleasure coursing through your entire body as you try to focus gazing up at him.

He begins to work you gently, sliding himself halfway out and fully back in. His cock becoming completely covered in your slick making you feel every sensation as he begins gliding in and out it’s already earning the sweetest moans out of you.

You close your eyes as he begins rocking into your body against the table each thrust making your heart want to explode. Your continuous moans are music to his ears he stares at the reaction on your pretty face while you take him the perfect mix of pleasure and pain.

He has a drive to impregnate you tonight that he’s never had before. He wants to paint your walls inside and make you cry out for him before he finishes. It makes him high at the thought.

He releases his hands from your waist and hoists your legs up holding onto the back of your thighs spreading you like a “V” he pushes slowly into you on the table the new angle he’s hitting makes you delirious with pleasure he has you in a mating press and it sparks something deep inside you that tightens your core making it feel like it will snap at any moment.

Hes going so much deeper using your legs as leverage, he wants to feel you all the way through he presses his length the farthest and touches his cock head against the deepest part inside you making you moan out incredibly loud for him. He loves that feeling and thrusts into it repeatedly wanting his strongest and deepest ejaculation there.

You begin to feel hotter against his throbbing cock he keeps rocking you back and forth on his length jostling you on the table. He’s working into you with so much virility youre seeing stars. You are so overwhelmed with passion you can’t even think straight each hit pressing the exact button inside to cause a riot in your core. He pauses at the end of his deepest thrusts feeling like he will split you, your body tenses your voice in your ears sounding so foreign as you moan in an unending rhythm, the tightness building inside your core finally snaps.

A relief washes over you as your back arcs from the table your walls flutter tightly around him as liquids pour from your core squishing around his cock as you scream for him. It makes him start sliding into you at breeding speed. He thrusts into you deeper and harder your legs bouncing around at each strong jolt. His abs tighten as he is sucks in breaths through his teeth.

He presses your legs back farther grunting and angling his cock pressing his deepest inside you it pushes him over the edge “Im going to cum so deep in you …take it …all for me” he says through clenched teeth he pushes forward all the way into you and spills thick ropes of hot cum deep inside you painting your walls. He leans forward between your legs heavily breathing from exertion, laying on top of you and propping up lightly on his elbows he holds your face as he continues to empty every last drop inside to get you pregnant. His final thrust hits so deep you squeeze his cock with your walls a second time and moan for him almost crying at how good it makes you feel. You stare at each other panting and sweating you both start spontaneously laughing deliriously high with a sudden surge of endorphins.

As you calm down he stays completely still inside of you laying on top. Propped on his elbows he holds your head lovingly. He pets your hair back and stares into your beautiful eyes “I think we did it” he says suddenly as if the thought was ruminating in his mind . You smile at him “I’ve never felt anything like that” you admit gently stroking his sweaty hair from his face in return. He leans in and kisses your chest just at your heart, he loves you completely. He puts his ear on your chest listening for your heart beat to slow down so he can pull out saftey. When your breathing and heart rate decrease he lifts his chest off on yours.

“Are you ready?” He asks adjusting himself to pull out of you “yes” you say completely void of thought only how wonderful you feel. He holds your upper thighs and slides his cock out slowly when he pulls out the head you both moan from the loss of contact. Slowly you feel his seed trickling out of you. His eyes grow wide and he uses his fingers to push it back inside you. You lift your head to see as he pushes more back in and cups his hand to hold it. “put your legs up” he says quickly thinking. You put your legs up and hold them to your chest.

“How long?” You ask giggling this whole concept so foreign to you “I don’t know but until it takes” he laughs at how absurd he sounds. He grabs a wash cloth and rinses his hands. He turns to check on you and doesn’t like the way you are curled up on the table you look so uncomfortable.

He comes to your side and scoops you into his arms he easily carries you to the bedroom and kicks the door open walking you to the bed and laying you down. It’s so much softer and comfortable for you. He pets your head “ that’s much better “ he says seeing your face relax. He runs to get a washcloth and soaks it with water.

When he returns your still with your knees up. He kneels on the bed in front of you “You can put your knees down now you’ve been so good for me” he says gently as he caresses your thighs. He doesn’t see any more cum spill out of you so he starts undressing you. He uses his hands to slide your panties off with your stockings and fasters. As you lower your legs down he pats and wipes you carefully. He climbs on top of you reaching around your back and unclasping your bra you sit up and pull it off discarding it at the foot of the bed with your panties. He stares at you now fully naked glowing so radiantly from sex. He pulls the covers down behind you and you lift up to pull the covers back over you both as he lays beside you. He kisses your temple staring at the side of you face deep in thought about how much he loves you. He places his and on your stomach thinking about how much he wants his baby growing there, you place your hand on top of his

“honey?” He asks shyly a new thought popping into his head “ yes ” you answer sweetly “I …want to keep those panties with me when I deploy” he divulges.

You blush thinking of what he wants to do with them “Alright I’ll do them with the laundry then the day before you deploy I’ll wear them all day and slip them in your pocket when I kiss you goodbye.” He smiles so big and squeezes you to him. “ I would like that” he says whispering in your ear and kissing it. “And Gale” you ask “yes?” He answers intrigued “I want to write you when I find out if I’m pregnant…” you turn and look into his love filled eyes he wants that more than anything. You kiss his forehead and he tilts your face lower to him and kisses your lips. You reach over his head and click the light off you both rest your eyes and he keeps his hand on your stomach the entire night as you sleep.

~*To Be Continued*~

[queer-irritator]

could i request a kratos x shy reader Waking Up together and cuddling and Kissing, so basically fluffy?

Of course!! You asked at a perfect time bc I just got finished with finals! One thing about me, is I love a background story. I hope you like this one ❤️

New Routines

Who’s got time to proofread anyway? 

CW: Mention of animal death/hunting

Word Count: 1,196

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It had been less than 24 hours since you spilled your feelings to Kratos. 

You weren’t expecting to, you had long accepted that your fondness of the Greek God would have to remain locked tightly in the confines of your heart, never to be shared. He had gotten into (another) argument with Atreus.

“One day you won’t be able to tell me what to do anymore!” Atreus’ voice filled the space of the small log cabin he called home as he half-hazardly stuffed items into a satchel.

“That day is not today.” Kratos argued back in his usual stern voice. 

“Guess we’ll see about that…” Atreus mumbled to himself.

“Do you have something to say, boy?”

Atreus silently closed the bag he had been filling, slung it over his shoulder and pushed pass his father to head out the door. Kratos stopped him before he could push open the squeaky wooden door by grabbing his shoulder, spinning Atreus to meet his eyes.

“You cannot go.” Kratos stated to his son. Atreus was set on assisting Sindri with a dangerous sounding mission to gather rare artifacts. 

Atreus shrugged his hand off of him, “Why can’t you just believe in me? You never let me do things by myself. I’m not a little kid anymore!” He continued out the door. “Atreus!” Kratos called after him, moving to stand in the doorway. “Don’t worry,” Atreus said, dejected, “I’m just going to sleep with Speki and Svanna tonight.” He walked past where you had been sitting to head down to his wolves. 

Kratos let out a long exhale through his nose. After standing for a moment he finally noticed you sitting on a log stump right next to the house, skinning a rabbit.

“What are you doing here?” His words came out harsher than he meant to. 

Your stomach dropped at his tone, but you didn’t let it show. “I was going to cook supper for you and Atreus tonight.” you replied to him without looking up from your task. 

“...Yes, I remember now.” He wasn’t usually the type to forget things. 

You stripped the hide off of the last rabbit you had and stood up, “Would you clean these for me?” 

“Mh.” You got a famous Kratos grunt followed by a nod. 

You started to clean the blood off your hands in a wash basin. Kratos watched you from the corner of his eye as he began dressing the meat.

“Why do you care for us?” His sudden question caused you to turn your head towards him.

“What?” Confusion was evidently spread across your face. What type of question was that? Not the type to be casually brought up in conversation, that’s for sure. 

“You cook for us… You clean for us, make sure we are well. Why?” Kratos re-explained carefully, his was soft. A stark contrast to his usual short and serious tone. 

Your feet felt glued to the earth beneath you. A light, warm summer breeze ran through your hair as you stood searching for an answer besides ‘Because I love you’. 

But it did not come. 

Kratos turned his head to you, he knew you weren’t too talkative but this much silence from you was unusual. 

“Uhm…” You swallowed thickly, starting to feel nerves shoot through your body and the pit in your stomach return, “Just because.” You knew the moment the words left your mouth, it wouldn’t be a suitable answer for Kratos. 

“Most people want something in return.” Kratos resumed rending to the rabbits.

Was he insinuating you wanted something from him? Your nerves turned into confusion, even anger. A wave of confidence washed over you. 

“Can you just accept I come around because I like you? That I like spending time with you, talking to you, just being in your presence? Why do I have to want something from you?” 

“Mmh… So you have feelings for me?” The pieces were starting to fit together in Kratos’ mind. 

“What? I never said that!” You were a little too quick to defend yourself, you could feel your heart beating in your chest. You didn’t think you’d ever been through such a rollercoaster of emotions in such a short time in your entire life. 

This only left more questions for Kratos. Why would someone like you have feelings for someone like him? What did you see in him? You knew of the awful things he’s done to the people that are closest to him.

“Why do you have feelings for me?” He asked. He finished dressing the animals and turned around to face you and await your answer.

“Oh my gods, sometimes people just fall in love, Kratos!” This might have been the first time you ever yelled at him. But the way he thinks so lowly of himself gets you so heated. Kratos walked closer to you, so he was only a foot away. He was looking over your eyes and face in confusion. 

“Love?” He spoke softly.

You felt your cheeks burning and you looked away from him and finally you could move your feet. You quickly gathered up some vegetables you foraged for dinner and made yourself busy preparing the meal.

You felt Kratos’ eyes trailing you for the rest of the night. While you chopped vegetables, stirred the stew, washed the dishes, every move, he was watching you. 

You, on the other hand, had been avoiding his gaze the entire time. It was only when Kratos announced he was going to give Atreus his dinner and talk to him that you had a chance to relax. The second he closed the door you sat down on his bed and put your head in your hands with a loud sigh.

“Why would I say something so stupid?” You questioned yourself. All you wanted to do was curl up in a ball and fade away from the world. You were so exhausted after the events of the day you didn’t notice yourself leaning down on the bed. 

You blinked your eyes open, squinting at the sunlight that poured in through the gaps of the wooden roof. Rubbing away the sleep from your eyes, you just noticed the soft blanket around you and warmth against your back. Your attempt to sit up was stifled by a strong arm tightening around your waist. You looked down to be greeted by the unforgettable scarred arms of Kratos. 

Butterflies erupted from your stomach and seemed to flutter into your throat as your cheeks warmed up. When had you fallen asleep? Why were you in Kratos’ bed with his body entangled with yours? Questions raced through your mind as your heart began to pound harder. 

Rough, calloused knuckles gently stroked your cheek. You turned your head to meet Kratos’ amber gaze. The both of you stayed, gazing at each other while Kratos’ knuckles grazed your skin for a few minutes. 

Kratos had stopped his soothing motions, drawing you back to reality. “Hi.” Your voice was hoarse from sleep, but soft. 

“Mmh… Good morning.” Kratos greeted you. He placed a kiss to your head and his beard tickled your face. 

You could definitely get used to waking up like this.

[wri0thesley]

Diluc and L, pretty please!

L - Lily (purity): “I shouldn’t taint you like this. Not when you’re so pure.”

cw: injury, dub-con, captive reader

You're trembling. Diluc is blood-stained, his jaw set stubbornly, his clothes a mess of blood and charred carbon and mud and Archon-knows what else. You shouldn't have done this, you think, as his hand grasps your chin in his, as his fingers sink into the soft flesh of your cheek. He takes a slow, shuddering breath.

"You want to clean me up?" He asks you again, and you curse yourself for your own stupidity. He is your captor, not your lover. It can be hard to remember, wrapped in luxury, brought breakfast in bed by maids and dressed in pretty morning gowns of fabric you could never have afforded before Diluc's attentions - those days when Diluc is not here, and you can imagine Dawn Winery is yours.

But you are, at the heart of it, his captive.

When he is at home, he broods through the house; tells you shortly that you're not to leave this room, you're not to go onto the balcony without anyone with you, you're not to eat that, or say this, or forget your manners again. He sleeps beside you, arms like vices around your waist.

But he has not been home for two weeks, and when you had seen him at the door to your shared chambers, his face bruised and his lip swollen and bloody and his entire body bowed with exhaustion . . . you had forgotten all of it in a moment of weakness, and the memory of who you were before Diluc had made this your life had come rushing to the forefront.

You had seen to plenty of men and women injured like this, when you were in the employ of the Church of Favonius, running their clinics. You had patched up children's knees and sewn shut the wounds of the Knights with the same sweet smile and gentle disposition. You had learnt what to say to men like Diluc, who gritted their teeth and insisted it did not hurt and they did not need your assistance even as they fell to their knees on the marble floor of the cathedral and you had to ask some of the sisters to help carry them into the infirmary room.

You could backtrack. Slink back into bed, shake your head, say something about the mess and the scent of the blood--

But you couldn't really, could you? Diluc had - at least, he says - fallen in love with you in those little backroom infirmaries, elbow deep in blood and medicines and bandages. He had looked at your soft smile and heard your gentle voice and, he says, thought you far too sweet and precious a thing to languish there, at the mercy of any rogue who could walk into the Cathedral and ask for sanctuary. He would know you were lying.

You give him a wordless little nod instead, your face still cradled in his gloved hand. A look flits across his own visage; something so sweet and adoring and disbelieving it makes your stomach twist.

"I don't deserve you," he rumbles, and truer words have never been spoken, as he lets you take him gently by the arm and tug him towards the adjoining bathroom. You ignore the muddy boot-prints on the floor; you try and will yourself to imagine the Cathedral around you. Nothing more than Master Diluc Ragnvindr, needing your aid - you think, as your fingers reach for the fastening of his shredded, tattered jacket and push it off the broadness of his shoulders.

He lets out a hot breath that reminds you that this is not just an ordinary day at the Cathedral; looks at you through half-lidded eyes as you busy yourself with running warm water into the basin, searching for cloths and sponges. There is nothing untoward kept in this bathroom - Diluc does not even shave in here, lest you get the wrong idea about something sharp - but there are, thankfully, enough cloths and a tiny bottle of antiseptic, so that you can clean the wounds on his already scarred chest even as he hisses.

He . . . isn't often undressed around you.

That, he tells you, he will wait for - big soulful crimson eyes trained on you. Until you're ready. Until you realise just how hard he is working to take care of you and you return to him the affection he knows you have in your heart. He would never, he promises, hand on his heart, force you to do anything--

He says, as if you are not forced to play house like a pretty little spouse in his luxurious winery already. He says, as if you are not forced to bite down your growls and hisses and sharp words about the life he has stolen you from. He says, as if you are not forced to pretend you are someone else lest you simply go mad.

His breath is coming out in pants as you work your fingers through the matted crimson strands of his hair. His cheeks have flushed beneath your careful, slow attempts to clean him and his wounds. He groans, chest-deep, as you swallow and reach for his trousers, where you can already see that a gash on his thigh has stuck the fabric to his skin.

"This is how I fell in love with you," he grunts, as you manage to undo it, as your cheeks burn with humiliation as you undress him and he sits there, placid and silent. "So . . . lovely. So . . . caring. Even to those who don't deserve it." You kneel before him, so you can check over the wound to make sure there is nothing stuck in it--

And your mouth goes dry and fear and disgust war in the pit of your stomach as you realise he's hard, the stiff outline of his cock pressing against his underwear. Diluc reaches out for you, one hand curling around your shoulder, another soft groan falling from his mouth as he looks down at you.

You freeze where you are. The moment shimmers between you, charged with possibility, and you find yourself reciting a prayer to Barbatos in your head over and over again, muddling over the words in a fever pitch that Diluc will keep his word--

But he's been off ever since he limped into the Winery. Muddled. A blow to the head? Whopperflower nectar? Some creature's venom, some spell from the Abyss? You don't know what it is, only that Diluc is looking down at you and there is a hot, burning kind of hunger that he usually tries to hide written clear in his crimson gaze.

"You're so pretty down there," He says, voice low and dark and husky. "I . . . I shouldn't taint you like this. Not when you're so pure."

"Diluc?" Your voice comes out thready and reedy, your body trembling like a harp-string. "Let me patch you up--"

"No," Diluc says, more to himself than to you. "I've waited so long--"

The hand on your shoulder curves upwards, thumb brushing your collarbone, your jawline. You curse the thin little morning gown you'd let Adelinde dress you in this morning, the square neckline a little risque - giving Diluc unfettered access to the soft, vulnerable skin of your throat and your collar.

He's not interested in those, though. His thumb presses against the seam of your lips, instead. With a strength that an injured man should not possess, he uses his other hand to pull you closer at the same time as he hooks his thumb into your mouth, forcing it to open up.

Panic flaring in your mind. Diluc pulls your mouth open as wide as he can, uncaring that you're drooling - his eyes are somewhere far away now, as he mutters to himself--

"It's not so bad," he's saying, "I'm not . . . it's just your mouth, and I've been so calm, and you're so beautiful-- it won't . . . ruin you--"

"--'iluc--" You can't speak for his thumb in your mouth, for the saliva filling it, for the fear that runs through you as his other hand slowly goes to unbutton his placket as if in a trance.

"Shh," he says to you, and you have never heard a less reassuring hush. "It's alright, sweetheart. I would never hurt you. You offered, remember? I would never . . . force you to do anything--"

[cranberrybogmummy]

Arcane Nonsense ideas fics not sure....

Arcane season one Jayvik idea.

So Jayce, Viktor and Heimerdinger are celebrating some hextech type triumph with a few drinks. They are getting a bit buzzed with the in universe of sparkling wine. When Heimerdinger suggests they do shots (also he can really knock it back) it’s some Noxian (of course) liquor it’s the color of honey and smells like rubbing alcohol mixed with honey (not mead though) . Heinerdinger gets louder and more cheerful when he drinks, Viktor gets spacy, sloppy, but like contented, Jayce well he gets more reckless and kinds thinks he can drink the whole bar dry he wants to climb the walls literally. They are five deep and singing some stupid drinking song when Viktor turns green and throws up, then chuckles and falls over. That’s when they are asked to leave and Heimdinger who is the most ‘sober acting’ sighs. He gets Jayce to carry Viktor back to rooms, and says yo turn him on his side… also stay with him. And Jayvce spends the night sleeping next to Viktor sometimes in the middle of the night he forgets and is spooning the other man.

Arcane idea season 2 Zaundads fic tell no one.

It was after their first night together, when they were lying in each other’s arms exhausted and happy. Vander was on the edge of sleep when he saw Silco take out a small trinket from his nightstand look at it in the candle’s flickering light. Silco was running his finger over it. Vander knew he couldn’t see this, couldn’t know this. So he turned over and pretended to sleep. The next day Silco woke early, to shave and get ready for the day in the mine. Vander lazed in bed waiting ..until he was sure his lover wasn’t paying attention. He carefully opened the drawer and pulled out the object. It was a tarnished locket, made of some cheap shiny metal that long since lost it’s polish. He opened it, there was a lock of dark hair on the right side and on the left an old tintype of a fancy looking young woman with curls set in an old fashioned style. And then Silco was there snatching it out of Vander’s hand, cursing and glaring. He shoved Vander and sat down on the bed in a huff.

“I was a fool to trust you,” Silco said. “You were trying to steal it from me.”

“Whoa, no easy there,” Vander said tracing his hand over Silco’s undershirt back, he could feel the other man’s heart thumping like a mad drum. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I saw you looking at it and I got curious. Who was she?”

In truth the locket wouldn’t be worth much, at pawn shop. Whatever it was made of was cheap and it was old. Silco turned his hair falling over his face. “Couldn’t you tell? She was my mother.”

Vander hadn’t had time to examine the locket, but now he sat up and next to Silco. Of course the Silco didn’t trust him he’d had a suspicious nature since they met in childhood (not to mention they’d met shortly after Silco had been jumped and robbed by older kids). But now Silco held the locket out to Vander and he looked at the woman really looked: she was beautiful, and she had the same nose as Silco, the same smile and the same dark hair.

Vander brushed the hair off Silco’s face and said gently: “Tell me about her.”

Silco pulled away his lips curled in a snarl: “I don’t really her remember …much. “

Vander knew this wasn’t true but he wouldn’t push it. Maybe he’d never know, he wished it didn’t matter but it did, it was another thing he didn’t know about the man who he… loved? Yes, he did love Silco.

Vander sighed: “Fine, keep your secrets.”

He got off the bed and walked over to the wash basin to get ready for the mines.

The dirt from the mines, seemed to get under you skin in every crack and cranny a person had. The foreman a massive hulking thing, a race bigger ten even Vander didn’t allow slacking. so when Silco had a coughing fit at the end of his shift Vander and distracted the foreman by singing the bawdiest song from the lanes as loud as he could: Felicia, and Connol joined and soon everyone was singing it, before the Foreman yelled at them, It was a good distraction. Silco had stopped coughing and was back at work when the foreman glanced is way. He looked at Silco winked and smiled, Silco gave faint half smile back. Afterwards after they cleaned up in at a bathhouse (not that kind), in one of the various drinking holes in Zaun half in their cups maybe more then half.

“That was stupid Vander, we’ve both seen the foreman beat men to tar for less,” Silco said.

“I could handle him,” Vander said. “You couldn’t.”

“Hmmmph,” Silco shifted. “I can take more than you think.”

“Ah, really?” Vander teased. “Show me.”

Silco leaned over and they kissed full on the lips. “When you get back to my rooms I will.”

About an hour or so after making the mattress dance and the bed frame groan, as they lay shuddering in the aftermath, Silco began to cough again retching and shaking as he covered his mouth and ran for the basin.

“Are you alright?” Vander asked sitting up.

Silco looked up and said: “Yes, it’s just the dust from that place gets inside of you. It’ll kill me one day, like it killed her.”

“Who?” Vander asked.

“Mother,” Silco sighed.

“Tell me about her,” Vander asked again.

“If I do, if I tell you what I remember will you stop pestering me?” Silco said. “If I tell you will you tell no one else?”

“Yes,” Vander said.

“I was only eight when she died, when they came to take me from the hovel we’d ended up in to the orphanage. I escaped though, and that’s when those urchins—“ Silco began

“—I chased them off,” Vander said.

“You did, but before you could they took the locket,” Silco said. “Back then it looked like it was worth something other the sentimental value. The first time I had money, I tracked it down to a pawn shop and got it back.”

“Who was she though, she looks like…” Vander began.

“Her name or what they called her was Yinalika, she was plucked from the streets of Zaun, because of her voice, trained in opera and when she started coughing up blood they put her back in Zaun with her bastard, me,” Silco said.

“What about your father?” Vander asked. “Didn’t he—?””

“Ah,” Silco said. “I don’t know exactly which of her keepers was my father, there were about four of five of them, she was using all of them of course. She never told me though, she told me to call them all Daddy, because they’d give us so much more support.”

“Aaaah,” Vander trailed off. “

“She was vain and arrogant, frivolous and manipulative. She didn’t deserve to be used, discarded and die like she did. I still can recall her the way her perfume smell sometimes in dreams I can hear her doing vocal warm ups.” Silco continued. “But I can’t recall… what she sounded like when she spoke, it was a lifetime ago.”

“If she was living the good life in Piltover, keepers and money and nice things… what happened?” Vander asked.

“It wasn’t the opera didn’t actually give us that much, you see. She was never an opera star, she always was played the minor roles, she was a soubrette not a diva. We were dependent on the rich men who ‘kept’ her.” Silco said. “When she finally got a main part the stress killed her eating her from the inside out.”

“Consumption?” Vander hazarded.

“Of course, do keep up,” Silco said. “Now this is what I recall, she was cast as some important role, she was constantly practicing with her instructor pushing herself more and more. No time to amuse her keepers, no time to even look at me… She was spending her money to try and fight off the sickness, working to hard to practice for her big role. In the end when she fainted, blood clots still clinging to her chin. They took away the role, our keepers went away, so did the nice life. What I really recall about her, is seeing her lying in bed, drugged to the gills, sick and dying, in some dingy rooming house in Zaun.”

“Why didn’t you go back to Piltover? Find your Dad, I dunno blackmail him?” Vander asked.

“Because of you, the Overcity didn’t want me or my mum. It’s only been twelve years but they’ve forgotten her utterly. But you and Zaun took me in. I belong here and I belong by your side.” Silco said.

“Thank you.” Vander said. “I promise you, you won’t die like she did Silco, you are stronger than that.”

“Promise?” Silco asked with a teasing smile.

“Yeah, your a tough sly thing, don’t worry about it,” Vander said taking Silco in his arms and kissing him all over his face.

[the-fiction-witch]

Heart In My Hands

Media - The Artful Dodger Character - Jack Dawkins Couple - Jack X Reader Reader - Y/n (Hospital Secretary) Rating - Sweet Word Count - 2485

Warnings - Graphic Medical scenes / Victorian doctoring / mentions of Suicide and self-harm/

Y/n nodded as she sat on the spare empty table in the morgue, her lilac dress around her with a tight corset and large crinoline below, her boots swaying a little where her feet didn't touch the floor, she fixed her curls from her face a little adjusting the matching bow that sits in her hair, her eyes on the floor.

Jack looks down at Y/n with his hand on his forehead. "get off my table, I don't want your fancy dress ruining the furniture."

she nodded and sheepishly hopped off standing fiddling with her white cotton gloves,

Jack sighed, "I can tell you want something so out with it, you daft girl." As he spoke he began washing his hands and utensils in a small basin of water.

"Can I stay and watch?" She asked sheepishly,

"Only if you keep quiet so you don't distract me. And you're not allowed to touch the body or anything that can possibly be infected." Jack said in between washing his tools in a small basin of water

She nodded and stood close to the table, close enough to see by far enough not to be a risk of contamination. She watched as he brought his tools to the body and began his work, blood coating his hands as he cut through the body, Y/n stood and watched egarly with a smile

Jack looked up at Y/n as he started cutting. He smiled seeing her eagerness. "Don't forget. I said no talking unless you have an intelligent question that will further the science."

she nodded silently

Jack smiled as he began working. He made his way down the abdomen, cutting the skin open he reached into the body itself and began pulling out the internal organs, dropping them into a basin of water on the floor.

she looked at his work curiously and she spoke "Do you think bodies know what happens to them once they die I suppose of course they can't feel it but I wonder how long the nerves keep working to know what's happening,"

Jack let out a chuckle and smiled slightly. He liked that question.

"Honestly, I think it depends on several variables; the way they died, if they knew they were going to die or not and the cause of death. I don't believe the nerves are active long after someone expires."

"Hum... I'm sure of them do else why do bodies spasm or react? Bodies still bruise after death so one can assume at least something is still working internally"

"If you're speaking on a cellular level perhaps. But on a whole organism level, probably not. I've seen too many a body not do anything after death to believe that there is something truly still working once someone dies."

"I suppose so... People say if you are decapitated your mind is aware for a few seconds, at least while your brain is starved of blood and oxygen"

"Most certainly, but I wonder how long that lasts. Is it really that long or does it feel like it's longer because your brain is panicking and going through millions of possibilities as your organs begin to shut down?" he chuckled,

"When was the first time you saw a body?"

"When I was about your age. Maybe a bit younger. But I remember I was just starting out," he smiled, "What about you? When was your first time?"

"were they already dead? Or did you watch them die?"

"They were already dead. I was given the task of disposing of the body after performing an autopsy. But I think you're avoiding the question; my first time, and your first time.. come on now, let's not play games."

"... I was six" she answered

Jack raised his eyebrow slightly, waiting for a further explanation. For now, he decided to continue working,

"my father was looking after me one afternoon in his study, I was playing with my toys and he uhhh... He hung himself." She nodded sadly "I watched him die ... Saw the end in his eyes, watched his body hang until the maid came in"

"Oh-..oh... I-..." Jack froze for a minute, before he sighed, continuing with his work. He kept his eyes down as he worked, trying not to work through how such a thing would affect a child. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. Especially at such a young age.."

"It's alright, he wasn't a happy man. I suppose I... Found sollis in the morbid" she said still watching his work with fascination,

Jack gave a small nod, knowing what she was saying all too well. "As do I. I often wonder if my obsession for the morbid would exist as strong if I grew up in a more... Normal household."

"Perhaps, but those aren't the people we are" she smiled "... Do you have nurses do this for the female bodies?" She asked, "Or do you do that?"

Jack smiled as she changed the subject. "I'm the only one who touches them. I don't trust the Nurses with something as important as an autopsy."

she nodded "Are women and men really that different on the inside? Other than the reproductive?"

Jack thought for a moment, "Hm... I would say there are subtle differences in the internal structure. Women tend to have a wider pelvis to allow for childbirth, while men have a smaller pelvic area. Both internal female and male sexual organs tend to be shaped differently, however, the rest of the organs tend to be the same."

"hummm... I'd have imagined the ribs and chest to be slightly deformed... Given women have the additional weight of breasts"

Jack chuckled slightly as he nodded "You would think that, but the human body can easily adapt to handle the additional weight and size of the chest. Men, on the other hand, usually have larger lungs than women. Not by a tremendous amount, but enough to notice the difference."

"Oh, I thought men an women were far different" she giggled

"Oh really? You think so?" Jack chuckled and smiled at Y/n. "What gives you that idea?"

"I don’t know doctor’s always seem to have a harder time given women a diagnosis other then, loose weight, close your legs and pray."

Jack nodded. “That’s because most doctors are old pigs who have no idea how women work,”

"that's being a woman, unfortunately, medical men aren't always the most helpful"

"I can very well believe it. I've encountered quite a few of my fellow male doctors in the medical field who would be much better suited working on animals rather than humans. Thankfully, you landed yourself with me. And I'll be certain to never let you see another doctor so long as I can help it."

"thank you jack" she smiled "I wonder sometimes if sneed would be better on dogs then people"

Jack let out a hearty chuckle, he knew that feeling all too well, "Now that's certainly something I'd be more than willing to agree with. In fact, I'd go as far to say that Sneed would be better off as a dog himself."

"I think he'd like being a dog, he already humps everything that moves close enough to him and I wouldn't be surprised if I heard he was licking himself" she chuckled

Jack burst into a fit of laughter. "Oh christ no- you just had to go and make me imagine that! I really didn't need that mental image first thing in the morning!" he complained, "Sneed can't even properly diagnose a basic infection! How the hell he's still qualified to work in this hospital is beyond me.."

"Because he is friendly with Professor McGregor"

Jack rolled his eyes and groaned at the name. "McGregor... Damn that idiot. How he's still a professor, I'll never know. I'd be more than happy to do away with his liver."

"I think the poor liver could use a rest" she smiled "but that is the reason Prof is old and worn out, sneed is a suck-up. Those are the only reasons they are more in charge then you are"

Jack let out an irritated sigh, "Sneed is the type of suck-up that will do anything to get by in life. And McGregor is little more than a tired old fool who cares more about his reputation than his patients. I'm honestly shocked the place hasn't fallen down around them yet..."

"of course, it hasn't, your here"

Jack smiled at Y/n's compliment. "And that's the problem. I do all the actual saving of people, while they just sit up their arses collecting payment." he sighed, "But it's not always bad, I've got my job, and I'm fortunate enough to spend it with such pleasant company like yourself."

"awww" she giggled "if I had it my way I'd make you head surgeon"

Jack shrugged slightly as he laughed. "Ah.. if I had it my way, McGregors position would be mine. He's nothing more than a waste of space in the medical field. Though, I suppose it's only a matter of time before people realise he's not all that he's made out to be. Unfortunately, I don't think the day will come before his time does." he chuckled, "How about you? You got any ideas? Any particular dream job you'd like to have? Or are you alright just doing the secretary work here?"

"I'd like to be a doctor... Such is a dream unrealistic I know"

Jack let out a slight laugh. "Women can’t be doctors, or surgeons. Not my rules, society's rules. All thought I admit in another world… You seem to understand the human body quite well! And you have a kind, pleasant attitude that helps people feel calm. Not to mention a strong enough stomach to stand the sight of blood. You'd make a damn good doctor." he smiled, "But- Sometimes, I forget what century this is..."

"its alright, I don't mind I like helping with the paperwork" she smiled "speaking of which" she grabbed the folder and began doing all the paperwork for him noticing inquiries, weights and other such information happily,

Jack smiled as she went to work on the paperwork. He had a genuine smile on his face when he saw her enjoying something as simple as doing his paperwork. It gave him a warm feeling inside that someone else, even if they weren't a doctor, found the work fascinating. "You know, you're the best secretary anyone could ever ask for. The hospitals never had someone quite as good-looking as you either."

she giggled at his compliments

Jack smiled happily. Having her around made the work so much more enjoyable. Even doing something as mundane as paperwork was more fun, simply because he got to spend time with her. "You keep laughing at my compliments, one of these days you're gonna have me saying something quite embarrassing."

"like what?"

"Hm... Something along the lines of how absolutely angelic you look every time I see you..." Jack stopped working to look up and smile at Y/n. "How everytime I hear your laugh, it's impossible to keep myself from smiling..." He then thought for a second before he continued. "How I wish I saw you everyday, and I feel my heartbeat skip a beat upon sight of you."

she giggled again "If you're going to be giving me such juicy compliments doctor Dawkins you could at very least buy me dinner first" she teased as she finished with the paperwork and came to egarly watch him,

Jack laughed as Y/n came over to watch him finish his work. "My apologies my Lady, I should have realised how forward my statements were. Perhaps I should be a bit more discrete in the future, unless a certain fair lady is interested, of course."

"why? Is a certain doctor asking?" She raised her eyebrow

Jack laughed. "Perhaps he is... Would you consider accepting if he was?"

"she might consider accepting, if he was asking, I think he was asking she'd certainly be interested just depending on what exactly he was offering"

"Well, the Doctor would offer a wonderful night of courtship. Perhaps a dinner, and then maybe a stroll amongst the stars with a beautiful, wonderful and intelligent woman." Jack said with a smile as he finished detaching the heart. As he did, he gave the heart a firm squeeze to remove excess blood. The heart in his hands, he turned to Y/n and offered it out to her. "For you, my lady~"

“I can?”

“Go on,” he nodded,

She giggled so happily pulling off her gloves and taking the heart in her hands, looking it over and describing all the intricate anatomy names she looked as if he’d just handed her a bouquet of roses, Jack found it hard not to smile at her. But she handed it back knowing she’d be in trouble if someone found out,

"Ah, that's rather cruel of you, won't you even accept a heart from a handsome doctor such as myself?" Jack said with a chuckle, In his mind, this was perhaps the closest to giving his heart to Y/n that he could ever get. A somewhat morbid thought, yet not too unexpected for him.

"I would adore to accept... In concept doctor Dawkins however the physical heart may make a mess of my handbag" she giggled cleaning her hands off and slipping her gloves back on, "but if it's all the same to you I would like to accept your offer of a nice dinner and stroll in the stars if that is still available?"

"Well, I suppose that's a fair reason to reject my fine heart. I'd hate to make such a mess of your fine handbag." Jack smiled and laughed slightly as he gently put the heart back down. "In that case, my offer of a night of courtship is still very available. Might I ask, would you be free this coming evening?"

"I would be…"

"Perfect. I'll collect you at 7 this evening. We can skip straight to the main event with dinner, and enjoy the stars afterwards. Sounds lovely, doesn't it?" Jack asked, the happiness and excitement written all over his face,

"it sounds perfect" she smiled

"Fantastic! And if I'm not being too forward in my asking, would I be given access to an official kiss from you if the evening is to your liking?" Jack asked with a smile, slightly embarrassed to be asking such a thing. Yet, at the same time, slightly excited about the prospect of receiving a kiss from Y/n.

"I think it's possible you could get one this evening"

Jack grinned as he finished cleaning himself up. "Well, in that case, I shall eagerly await my evening of courtship and the fine kiss that shall come with it."

"I will too, well I'll see you later Doctor" she smiled taking the paperwork with her and giving him a little wave as she headed out of the morgue and up Into the hospital

Jack gave her a little bow as she waved goodbye, leaving a spring in his step and a smile on his face as he put his things away. He cleaned his working space for the next doctor that would be working there, before leaving to his office, excited for the upcoming evening.

[kimbapisnotsushi]

As far as public bathrooms go, the one at Ocean’s Edge isn’t all that bad for throwing yourself a pity party in.

The sinks are all sleek and modern-looking, with gold faucets and polished stone basins. Large oval mirrors hang above them, and—true to the club’s name—little neon fish swim all over the navy-blue walls. [Speakers somewhere in the ceiling play the lulling sounds of waves rolling against the shore.] There’s even an air freshener plugged into the corner that puffs out coconut-scented mist every ten minutes[, so that you can truly feel like you’re in a tropical paradise while throwing up from however many drinks it takes to make you forget about a shitty day.]

The black stall isn’t exactly roomy, but Morisuke has just enough space to stretch out his legs while he perches on the edge of the toilet, chewing his bottom lip as he stares at his phone. The screen is bright in the bathroom’s dim lighting and draws all of Morisuke’s attention like a moth to a flame. 

Please, reads the last message. It had been two weeks since then. Kuroo, talk to me. What did I do?

Kuroo never responded. Rereading the conversation makes Morisuke feel like he’s dragging the claw of a hammer across his heart, but he keeps scrolling farther and farther back. 

Let’s end it, Kuroo had written. This didn’t really mean anything, after all. I have better things I could do with my time.

Six months. Six fucking months, and none of it meant anything, apparently. Not the late nights they stayed up to make fun of inaccurate sci-fi series, or the times they met early at the cafe for breakfast because it was their only chance to get together for the day. Not even the time Kuroo opened up about his mother, his gaze distant, and Morisuke had held his hand to anchor him to what was real and here and whole. He still remembers that soft smile Kuroo had given him after, the way they'd curled up on the couch like two puzzle pieces slotting together. Morisuke had offered him tea, hot chocolate, whatever he needed. Kuroo just laughed and kissed his temple.

All I need is you, he had said. You're perfect, Yakkun. i couldn't ask for anything more.

And then not even a week later, Morisuke was getting dumped over text.

"Stupid," he says out loud now. “Dumbass. Idiot. Why the fuck did I ever fall for him?”

The bathroom door creaks open, letting noise from the club spill in, but Morisuke doesn’t pay it any mind until he hears a familiar voice calling out his name. 

“Morisuke? Are you here?”

“No,” Morisuke grumbles. His voice echoes off the bathroom walls. “Go away.”

“You made me promise to stop you before you do anything stupid.” Footsteps fall closer until they pause right outside Morisuke’s stall. Damn Sugawara Koushi and his unwavering loyalty—he’d probably break in if he had to. “Are you planning on doing anything stupid?”

Morisuke unlocks the stall door and lets it swing open. He glares at Koushi, who just smiles back at him. It’s a hot summer night and they’d been surrounded by heated bodies on the dance floor, but Koushi still looks totally put together. Meanwhile, Morisuke is sweating through his socks and the back of his neck feels way too warm.

So, yeah, he’d needed a break. It’s not like he came to the restroom just to feel sorry for himself. 

“You had me worried,” Koushi says. “The last time I saw you, you were downing your seventh shot. And that was after the two drinks you already had.”

Was it really? Morisuke hadn’t been keeping track. He’d just asked for something strong. And again. And again. And then for one more, perhaps two or three times. Maybe five. 

Whatever. Morisuke is feeling perfectly fine. His head is a little foggy, sure, but he’s fine. He can totally think this through. 

“I wanna text him.”

Koushi makes a choked sound. “Oh, no. You are very drunk, aren’t you?”

“I’m not.” Morisuke frowns at his phone. “He never told me why. I want to know that much, at least.”

The door to the stall next to Morisuke’s flies open with a bang, and he and Koushi jump. A body wedges itself between them: tall and broad-shouldered, with artfully-tousled chestnut hair, glasses framing brown-sugar eyes, and a jawline that could cut through steel. Hot, but not Morisuke’s type.

Kuroo had been Morisuke’s type.

-- an excerpt from don't text your ex, a kuroyaku exes-to-lovers fic where yaku gets unsolicited advice from a stranger in the club bathroom

[comfort-questing]

she'd guessed from the start that the three of them weren't all leaving the inn the next morning. she'd seen them arrive, the two in their rain-spattered cloaks supporting the third of their group between them, hood pulled low, and harsh breathing the only thing she'd heard from them as they passed her on the way to the counter. just a glimpse of a sallow, pain-drawn face as they'd paid the innkeeper and made their slow mutual way up the creaky staircase - and then she'd had to run because the table by the window needed another round of drinks.

she'd offered, to the man who came back downstairs later, his unshaven and bruised face harried: "you lot all right? you were looking a little rough just now, do you need anything?"

he hadn't seemed to expect an inquiry from the lowest-ranking barmaid, and startled a moment, but then answered easily enough. "is there any healer in this town?"

"just Brant, he's the apothecary. little place under the giant oak tree by the cornfield. his door is shut for the night but you can go find him tomorrow if you need." it hadn't used to be just that, but town was a generous descriptor for whatever was going on in their clearing between the riverbend and the roadside. if you didn't work at the inn, or had your older brother or dad working at the inn, there wasn't much reason to stay around.

the man shifted from foot to foot, glancing around the crowded room. "we... met with some troublesome people on the way here. nobody likely to bother any of you good folk, of course, or in a place with others around. but..."

he must have observed her skeptical look, because he sighed, then, and when he spoke again his voice was softer still, as weary as his eyes.

"a stab wound from an associate of mine, three days ago. we had a disagreement and she got between us. it's the ... kind of thing she does."

there was a sorrow hanging all about his words that he didn't seem about to spill to a strange barmaid, and she didn't blame him for that, but she couldn't leave him alone in it either. she re-settled the tray in her aching arms. "if you need to, you can wake up Brant," she said. "he's had it happen before."

he didn't answer, but nodded, and turned to the door and the rainy night outside.

-

she didn't see them again until half-past ten o'clock, after the last of the supper dishes were washed and the only folk at the tables were the stragglers who'd probably fall asleep there anyway. Cook had given her leave for the night and Mari and Joan were off to their homes and families, and so there was nothing between her and her closet and sleeping cot besides her own meddlesome curiosity and strange pity.

still, she'd lingered in the hallway, and seen the door open, and the man from before and one of his friends (now drier than before but equally as unkempt as his companion) step out and close it softly behind them. his friend had a basin of water in his hands, and a bundle under his arm.

" - see in the morning," he was saying, and then, "Rhyes doesn't forget things like this."

"she won't be able to travel," said his friend, "that's clear enough - "

"did you find Brant, sir?" she said, maybe too suddenly because it made him jump, but they'd have to go past her to get to the stairs anyway.

"I did. thank you - " he paused.

"Talya, sir."

"Talya. yes."

and then, because they were both watching her with the distinct expression of people who desperately needed something to go well in their lives right then - "any way I can help?"

-

there were ways to help, it seemed. hot water, and rags, and another blanket. they let Talya in when she returned, perhaps a quarter of an hour later, their soft voices falling to silence at her knock.

they didn't seem to want to give her their names, those two men, and the hunted look in their eyes had only seemed to intensify over the hours. but she heard one of them murmur Merrim over the motionless figure on the bed, and saw her eyelids flicker open in response - wide muddled pale eyes unfocused in the lamplight, sliding from face to shadowed ceiling to closing door.

"it's all right," the man said, "she's a friend."

it gave Talya an obscure feeling of delight to be called a friend, nicer than hey you there or girl or whatever else. she set down the fresh basin of water on the three-legged table and undid the bundle of blanket and rags.

from the bed, the woman's gaze followed her, sweat-matted brown hair tousled around a fever-flushed face. she'd curled one hand around the man's hand where he knelt by her, and the other arm hidden under the blanket, bloodied bandages just barely visible at the shoulder.

"we can't stay." her voice was hoarse. "we can't - "

"you're not going anywhere," said the other man, from where he sat cross-legged by the door. "we'll figure it out."

"then - leave me and go - idiots," she said, with the air of someone who'd said it several times before, her eyes slipping shut again. "because if he - "

"shh, shh, let's wait till morning." the man rubbed a thumb across the back of her hand, then clambered up. "let's get the bandages changed, all right?"

there were a lot of layers of dirty, blood-clotted bandage to remove, and Talya helped, since one of the two men seemed intent on keeping watch by the closed door and startling at every footstep in the hallway instead. Merrim seemed to be asleep at first, but now and again the clench of the corners of her mouth, the shivery tensing and release of her body, betrayed the pain of it. the bitter, herbal scent of the balm they'd gotten from the apothecary didn't quite mask the stink of blood and a poorly-healing wound.

"I'm sorry," the man would whisper, now and again, and then, "should've been me."

"numbskull," said Merrim, barely to be heard, but with a twitch of her lips towards something like a smile.

cleaning the deep, messy stab-wound just beneath the hollow of her right shoulder made her cry out, though, in small sharp whimpers that made Talya cringe to hear. the man by the door would jump as well, glancing towards the door with each cry.

"do you think someone's after you - here?" Talya had to ask, in a momentary spurt of company loyalty and practicality. the innkeeper liked to know things like that.

"not yet," said one of the men, and "maybe," the other, almost on top of his companion.

well - no use asking that again. Talya had only to settle down by the bed, and in a sudden instinct reached out to stroke the back of Merrim's clenched fist, among the rumpled covers.

"you can sleep here tonight, anyway," she said, inanely, but perhaps the woman heard her; anyway, her fingers fluttered a little, and grasped at Talya's, sweat-slippery and desperate.

better to put off decision-making for a bit, maybe.

[judysxnd]

can you please do an imagine where your nervous about telling pedro your pregnant then maybe where you guys tell bella?

The subject of pregnancy.. I don’t really relate to that one, as I don’t like children in general. I also don’t really relate to it towards Pedro as he doesn’t have children and won’t have any, but it’s also cool to think about it! I somehow like what I wrote. I know I started with the pregnancy as bad news before making it good. This is how I see it, and it’s hard to change my mind, but I’m trying my best!! And also, it’s not always good news! Especially in this context as I really like when what I think and what I wrote about relate and corresponds as much as possible to Pedro’s real life.

I Hope you like it ! I did turn the nervous part into something more, but I think it’s accurate.

——————————————————————————————

Pregnancy has never really been on the table. Pedro being in his late forties, extremely focused on his acting career, he was never really interested in it. Even if most of his roles implied being a father. It was enough for him. Interacting with his nephews since they were born, and friends’ kids was clearly enough for him. As for you? Well, you never really thought about it, you never questioned if you actually wanted at least one child. It wasn’t a part missing, you were enjoying your life as it was.

But here you are, pacing in the bathroom, trying to convince yourself to do the test. That one time where you both felt wild and had unprotected sex was catching up. It’s been almost a two months. Yeah. That’s how much busy both of your lives are. You actually had you period last month, but you read somewhere that it was possible during the first trimester to still have your period or losing a little blood, and you’ve been having pregnancy symptoms, therefore you got paranoid.

I mean, morning sickness, nausea, bloated, it kind of matches. Not to forget some weird cravings. Pedro hasn’t been here for two weeks since he is on set on the last of us, so he doesn’t know about you being sick.

“Okay, you can do it. It’s just a test, it might not-” you got cut

“Y/n!” You heard a male voice calling you. It could only be Pedro. With the music blaring in the background, you didn’t really recognized the voice, but it could only be him. You panicked and opened the first drawer and put the test in it before leaving the bathroom. As you opened the door, Pedro was standing there, ready to open the door.

“Hey!” You got scared. He had a big smile

“Sorry didn’t mean to scare you”

“It’s okay. But, what are you doing here? You were supposed to come back only tonight!” You slowly closed the door, not breaking eye contact with Pedro.

“Well, as we are extremely professional actors, we did a great job and we got to finish early this week, so here I am”

“Professional actors huh?” You both laughed

“I missed you mama” ouch, mama, the nickname brought you back to reality, remembering what was about to happen in the bathroom as you forgot for a few seconds. Pedro pulled you into his chest, hugging you tight.

“I missed you more” you closed your eyes, your arms holding him as tight as he was holding you.

“What’s with the basin by the bed?” You suddenly opened your eyes, moving your head to look at it.

“Hum- I got sick this week, it was.. in case I didn’t feel I could make it on time to the bathroom”

“You got sick? When? You didn’t tell me” you parted. He was looking at you, worried.

“I didn’t want to make you worry for nothing, I think I just ate something bad”

“Probably the sushi’s you dared to order Wednesday night without me” you smiled

“I’m sorry I couldn’t wait any longer!” You both laughed “but karma got me back”

“Are you feeling better now?”

“Yes, it as two days ago, I’m fine”

“Good. Because I want to take you out tonight. Find a cute dress, maybe the red one from our first date, I’m taking a shower and we’re out, okay?”

“Oh okay” you were surprised, but good. It could only help you change your mind, and you really needed it. Pedro kissed your forehead and went in the bathroom, as you anxiously watched him move. You hoped he wouldn’t find the test.

And now you were out, at your favorite dinner, with your favorite person. You were having a wonderful night. As the weather was nice, you had the chance to eat outside, just like your first date.

“It brings so many memories to be here tonight” you said staring at Pedro. “I’m wearing the same dress, we’re outside just like it” you both smiled

“Yeah, so many things change since that first date” you nodded, laughing “and it’s about to change again” he started at you, not really showing his emotions. You were confused

“Again? What do you mean?”

“I could ask you the same thing?” You furrowed your eyebrows

“What? I’m going to need you to elaborate please”

“Well you’re pregnant so-”

“You saw the test”

“Yeah”

“But I didn’t do it” now Pedro was confused

“What?”

“Yeah, I was about to when you arrived. I had been pacing for 5 minutes trying to do it, and you arrived”

“Oh”

“I know we never really talked about it, and I know you don’t want kids b-”

“No I never- it’s not that I don’t want kids- it’s just- yeah okay, it wasn’t something I really needed, I agree. But, it is also because I’ve never been in a long term relationship like we are, and-”

“So you would be opened to it? Because I don’t really think I am. It’s a lot you know, body changing, life changing”

“And if you don’t want to, I will respect that, you know that right?”

“I know” you both smiled. You both went silent for some time. “Can we go home so I can actually do the test?”

“Yes please” you both hurried outside to the car, going back home. You couldn’t really tell if it was anxiety or excitement that got you back home so fast, but here you were, in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet, ready to do the test. Pedro was waiting in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed, thinking about the future. In a matter of minutes everything could change. 5 minutes later, you got out of the bathroom and sat next to Pedro, leaning on his shoulder.

“Now we wait.. 3minutes” you read on the box. Pedro held your hand tight.

Suddenly, your timer on your phone rang, making your heart skip a beat. You looked at Pedro, and got up, going to take the test that you left in the bathroom. You took it, and looked at it. Positive. You slowly walked out, staring at the test.

“What is it?” Your eyes connected with Pedro’s.

“Positive”

“How are you feeling?”

“I-I don’t know. I was really hoping I wasn’t, I’m sorry”

“Don’t be sorry, It’s okay” he looked at you. “Come here” you walked in front of him, still looking at the test. “It can still be a false positive, those things, we don’t even know if they’re reliable”

“False negative are common, but not false positive”

“Hm- well, you know what, let’s not be sure until we see the doctor, okay?” You couldn’t stop looking at the test. “Y/n, baby, look at me” which you did. “It’s going to be okay. You can still abort if you want to”

“Yeah but aborting it’s still something big”

“I know, and I’ll be here. Whatever you choose, I’ll never leave you alone” his eyes were wondering on your face. He was really trying to calm you down, make you feel better. But it was still a lot. We’re talking about having a child.

[two days later]

You were anxiously sitting in the waiting room. You were at your gynecologist. You needed real proof that you were pregnant (or not). You’ve been thinking about it non stop since you found out. Finding reasons, good and bad, to either keep it or not. Unfortunately, you had to go at the appointment alone. Pedro was on the set of The Last of Us, and couldn’t leave. He did try to take a day off, or at least a couple hours, but couldn’t. And after thinking about it, maybe it was for the best. You needed to make your own mind about it, and even if he would support you whatever you chose, you needed to be alone.

After your appointment, you somehow felt relieved. You were indeed pregnant. Almost two months. And your instinct was right. Even if you got your period you were pregnant. You got a small picture, even if it looks like a bean, you wanted a real proof to show Pedro. This relief you felt when you knew you really were pregnant was the last reason you needed to make up your mind.

You’ve been with Pedro for almost three years and he is the love of your life. You want to give this child the love you give and receive from Pedro. You’ve always seen him being a father figure to someone, and now, you really want to see him being the father to your kid. Yes maybe the age gap can make it a little difficult, but he has the soul of a child, he will be the best father ever. And you wanted to be the best mother too. Your childhood scared you enough to avoid children in general until today, but it wasn’t going to define you. You will be better. And you had the best partner with you.

So you decided to drive to the set to surprise Pedro with the good news. When you arrived on set, you saw him doing a scene with Bella. They were walking next to each other and Bella was telling jokes. When the scene was cut, you made yourself known to Pedro, who immediately came to hug you, ignoring everything around you.

“Mi amor, how was the appointment?” You looked around you, then took Pedro’s hand and went in a quieter side of the room.

“I have a little bean in my stomach”

“And how are we feeling about it?” He was trying to see if it was good or bad news

“And I can’t wait to see it growing” his eyes widened

“Does this mean-”

“Yes” you took out the picture

“Oh my god!” He jumped then he hugged you very tight

“You’re going to be a real daddy” you whispered in his ear

You were suddenly interrupted by a voice calling Pedro. It was Bella

“Oh hi Bella!” You said happily

“Hi y/n, what’s going on?” They were looking at you confused. Pedro looked at you very excited.

“Can we tell them?” He whispered in your ear. You stared at him, smiling.

“Sure”

“I’m going to be a dad!” He hold Bella’s hands, they were shocked. He was laughing, so happy.

“Whaaaaat? No way!! Congrats!” Bella hugged you

“Thank you!”

“Is that a picture of the baby?”

“You mean a bean? Yeah” you laughed, showing them the picture

“How far are you?”

“It’s only two months”

“Yeah only” Bella joked

“Seven to go!”

You knew it was going be seven long and challenging months. But with Pedro, it was worth it. Right now you might feel happy, but tomorrow you might panic just thinking about it. It’s not always good or bad. But you’re in the right path, and you really want it to happen. This is the proof of the true love between Pedro and you. It can only bring you happiness. In a house full of love.

[falsemilkbun]

Haven't You Heard the Word of Your Body? (ch. 1 rough draft)

I enjoy sharing process stuff and I'm still on my forty eight hour handgun purchase wait for my archive of our own account, so here's a rough draft of the first chapter of my run at applying a variation on omegaverse to elves. There's no inny-outy in this part, no one has boobs, I can put it on here...

This kept happening. They would encounter a monster, a fight would ensue, and the captain would deplete his mana stores because, as Kabru was learning through experience, he was no good at judging his own limits. He would march past the point of exhaustion. He would forget - or, worse, refuse - food and water. He was an absolute pain to put down to sleep. All these things had become Kabru’s responsibility, at least for the week it took Captain Mithrun’s team to reach them down in the depths of the dungeon.

It was getting worse, too. He grew weaker every time, and the periods during which he could be considered recovered got shorter and shorter. On that day, it had already happened twice when Kabru found himself ducking under Mithrun’s swooning body to catch him. Elves were lightweight, which was a blessing of a kind, but he was dead weight this time. His arms had lost the strength, or maybe the coordination, or even both, to grip anything. He couldn’t be slung over Kabru’s back, he had to be carried folded up against his chest like a little child. The most the Canaries’ captain could manage was to curl his body inward, pressing his pained face against Kabru’s chestplate.

This was more serious than mana exhaustion. He was sick, and Kabru had even less experience in nursing than he had in cooking.

The sweat crystalizing to his hair and the way his breath turned bright, solid white were visible signals but Kabru could feel the fever burning through the body in his arms. How long had he been sick? Was it the cold, or had he been unwell for days and never realized or said anything?

No matter. In the present moment, Kabru needed solutions to problems and not answers to questions, and the solution to their main problem would be finding a place to rest.

It didn’t take long to find one. He must have really wanted it.

Even if Mithrun had warned him not to want for too much, how could he be expected to stop? He had needs, and unlike Mithrun his mind and his heart registered them.

The shelter that the dungeon provided for them was too perfect. The rough wooden door was ajar, even, and he didn’t even have to set Mithrun down to toe it open and step inside. It as a lot like a sparse, one-room home, though the exterior consisted of little more than a shingled outcropping from the dungeon wall that shielded a pile of firewood from the ever-falling snow.

It wasn’t frigid in the shelter, but it certainly wasn’t toasty warm, either.

There was a bed, a narrow one dressed sparingly in a sheet over straw bedding, and he rolled Mithrun on to this. The elf immediately curled in on himself as if in pain, and Kabru asked his forgiveness to get water and light a lamp so that he could start treating him. 

Water was easy. The dungeon had provided it in the form of a basin on the floor that filled endlessly from the stone mouth of a spigot in the wall in the shape of a lion’s head. It was clear and cool and Kabru used it to soak the spare articles of clothes he could spare from his pack. He wasn’t thinking about fever so much as heatstroke when he did this, but he was forced by necessity to assume that the conditions were similar enough that he might as well try. He left the soaked rags draping over the edge of the basin and used a stout sprig of straw from the bed and the fire starter in his pack to light the  lamps on the walls.

Mithrun was watching him now, he discovered. His face was in full red flush and his eye was wide.

“It’s all right,” Kabru said, out of habit. He couldn’t be sure Mithrun knew or cared he was in danger. He stooped by the bed and pushed on Mithrun’s shoulder to turn him over onto his back. There was no resistance. “I have to remove some of your clothes to treat you. Is that all right?”

No response. Mithrun’s eye had closed again, and he seemed most focused on drawing and expelling breath and enduring whatever pain was subtly contorting his face. He did experience discomfort, Kabru had observed, just not any immediate motivation to resolve it.

“Captain?” He had to try again.

Nothing. No acknowledgement but a gasp that shuddered through him and dramatically raised his slight chest. Sometimes, having been raised with elves, KAbru could forget how small they were, how frail they looked. What he’d mistaken for uncharacteristic toughness on Mithrun’s part had been a lack of care for his own wellbeing, after all. Elves weren’t hardy, the danger to him was very real.

Well. If it turned out that losing his clothes was the one thing he could still care about, then he could be angry about it later.

“Whatever.” Kabru sighed. Mithrun wasn’t even opening his eye at that point. If he was going to be speaking to himself alone, there wasn’t any need for considerate speech. 

He exposed Mithrun’s throat first, then wrestled him lightly around to pull his tunic over his head. Mithrun cringed when he touched him, but there was no way to be sure if he did this as any kind of protest to the treatment. Kabru convinced himself, for the sake of having the wherewithal to continue, that he was simply dazed and uncomfortable. All he knew was someone was manhandling him and shifting him around when his body needed rest, that was all.

And even if it wasn’t…

But it was. It couldn’t be anything else. 

The expanse of Mithrun’s body left bare by the Canary armor under his tunic was scattered with pale scars. He was like Milsril, chewed up by his dedication to the Canaries’ cause. The slim lines where his skin had knitted itself back together caught the light from the lamps and turned it silvery.

That was routine enough. He was a soldier, his career was impossibly long to Kabru’s mind. It shouldn’t be distracting.

Kabru stripped the upper portion of Mithrun’s armor next, and the silver-threaded flesh of his chest swelled and rose to his palm when he slid a hand under the stiffened spider silk to lift it away. It was firm and smooth and furnace hot.

Behind the wall of his ribcage, his heartbeat was frantic.

There really was something wrong with his body, not just his attitude, like Kabru had suspected. There had to be. This was too sudden and severe for any other explanation to apply. Wracking his brain for any monstrous or magical effects that could bring on such a condition turned up nothing.

Was he simply frail after all he’d been through, pushing past his compromised stamina to achieve the only goal he had left? He looked it, flushed and breathless and half-stripped on a bed built for one person almost twice his size.

The cool air in the shelter would help, surely.

Kabru went to the basin and took two cloths back to the bed, a smaller one to drape across Mithrun’s throat and a broader one to put under his arms and across his chest. The chill must have shocked him, because his eyebrows knotted up and he made a sound like someone trying to cry out in their sleep.

“Easy, I’m helping you.” He felt like his foster mother in that moment, speaking to him before he trusted her. Patient and kind. Even if he’d never go ‘home’ to her if he could help it, he couldn’t convince himself that her love for him wasn’t genuine. Or that he was echoing her words out of sheer habit. “You’ll start to feel better soon. Just lie still and don’t stress your body any further.”

He took water from the basin in one of the tin cups in his mess kit and coaxed Mithrun into sitting up enough to drink from it without choking. Or, really, he scooped and hoisted him into such a position and let the hot frame of his body rest against him while he drank. His eye, open but just barely, was a watchful sliver reflecting the light like his scars had. He seemed just a little more lucid, and Kabru felt proud.

“Captain?”

No words, but the tarnished circle of Mithrun’s iris did glide in the direction of Kabru’s face. He could at least recognize that Kabru was speaking to him. That was a good sign.

He brought him more water and wet down the cloth for his throat again. When he returned to Mithrun’s side, he found himself pressed on by a body insistent that he hold it up with his own.

Was he one of those people who got needy when they were sick? That would be bothersome.

“Are you cold?” Kabru asked. 

Waves the color of fog rasped on steel when Mithrun shook his head. He was looking up at Kabru again, his expression open in a way Kabru might have called expectant if he believed Mithrun could expect anything from anyone.

“Lie down, then.” Kabru helped him. “I’m going to finish… dressing you for sleep, if that’s all right. Is it?”

“Yes.” The word was almost a breath, but it came without hesitation or consideration. He’d been understood, whatever faculties Mithrun had for protecting his dignity were engaged.

The rest of the armor came off, then Mithrun’s boots, and the hose he laced these over. Mithrun twisted and drew hissing breaths all through this process, but he didn’t explicitly protest.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

“Then stop squirming.” Kabru let the last of Mithrun’s proper clothes drop to the floor. The first thing he noticed once that was done was a dramatic splotch of wetness soaking through his underpants. On the one hand, this felt like an inevitable escalation. On the other, cleaning another grown man up like a toddler was almost too much to tolerate.

Still, Kabru couldn’t get angry if he tried. It was no one’s fault. Mithrun was unwell and couldn’t care for himself besides, and Kabru was still learning how to care for him. It was fine.

Really.

If he didn’t keep reminding himself of that, he was going to lose it before the week was out.

There was clean water, there were things that counted as wash cloths if he didn’t think too hard about it, and it would be unconscionable to not help him.  He hooked his thumbs in the sides of Mithrun’s underpants and pulled down hard, shocked but not unpleasantly when Mithrun lifted his hips to help him. If that was all, it would have been fine.

Mithrun’s head rolled back, exposing the underside of his chin, and he breathed a sigh that carried his voice. The cloth unstuck itself from him and came away with a shivering strand of viscous fluid clinging to it. 

Kabru, even under pain of torture in the West, would only ever have admitted to looking for a fraction of a second. That may not help his case, considering that elves were primarily hairless past their necklines and this left absolutely nothing up for interpretation. 

This would have marked him as a bastard for certain. No noble house would try to solicit matches for such a son, so they hardly appeared except in cases of infidelity. It was their bodies that did the soliciting, and they did it in a way that was not within their control. And they did it with men. Such a son wouldn’t be a pruned branch on the family tree, but the quality of any grafts couldn’t be assured. He would be an inconvenience, and a shame besides.

Kabru had heard - reading on the topic was scarce, for predictable reasons - several accounts of what was done with these sons. A mother in dire need might sell him. A family lacking in conscience might abandon him with another family and call it charity. If he were lovely and fair like his mother, they might put him to other purposes besides the maintenance of the lineage.

Press him into service of the Queen, good service doing good work. And if he died, well, he died as an expression of the house’s loyalty. His contribution could be controlled in this way.

“I’m sorry!” The anger that had risen up from Kabru’s chest and into his head bled through into the words and made them sound strange. He had to try again, even if Mithrun wouldn’t care. “Captain, forgive me, I didn’t realize. Forgive me, too, because I don’t know how to help you.”

Mithrun drew several deep breaths. “No, it was my mistake not telling you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I told you, I need to know things like this.”

“Sometimes, when I can’t decide what would be best to do, I imagine the person that I was before I became like this.” Mithrun patted around on the bed for the edge of the sheet and used his limited energy to pull it over the lower half of his body. This was probably more for Kabru’s benefit than his own. “I ask myself what I can imagine him doing, and I couldn’t imagine him telling you.”

“Can you imagine why not?”

“I was conceited and ashamed of this body.” Mithrun rolled over onto one side, pulling the sheet with him. “I always suspected that the love I left behind chose my brother over me because I wasn’t the kind of man who could give her children.”

As if the story needed to be any more complicated.

“Well, I know now.” Kabru moved to the head of the bed and reached down to press the backside of his hand to Mithrun’s forehead. Still hot, but not dangerously so. “How are you feeling?”

“You may not want to touch me,” Mithrun said, the words coming through a throat pinched tight.

“Why is that?”

A long pause. Was Mithrun checking in with his past self?

“I don’t want anything,” Mithrun finally said, his arms crossing tight over his chest as he curled in on himself as if evading Kabru’s hand. “But my body wants you very badly right now, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“I-” Kabru’s mouth opened and closed like a fish flapping on a riverbank until covered it with his hand to spare himself the embarrassment of having been knocked speechless.

Talk about complicated.

[hd-junglebook]

Edge of Exile

prologue

summary : this is pretty short compared to what I have in mind for the next chapters. Just some background before I get the story rolling.

The scream died in her throat as y/n jerked awake, heart pounding. The remnants of the nightmare still clung to her - the acrid smell of burning flesh, the anguished cries she released as her mother stopped breathing, the way they dragged her out of the room. She pressed a palm against her forehead, taking deep breaths to chase the images away.

It had been six years since she lost her mother, but it may as well have been last night. The nightmares never let her forget. She saw it vividly every time she closed her eyes – the operation table, the look on Abby Griffins face when all attempts to save her mother’s life failed. And her mother - her brave, stubborn mother - running back into the inferno to help others, never to return.

Y/n rose unsteadily to her feet in the cramped cell, the sound of her footsteps filling the room around her. She splashed icy water on her face from the basin, then reached under her mattress for the tattered notebook. Her fingers trembled slightly over the pages as they traced the faces - her mother's kind eyes, her best friends’ smiles.

The cold vastness of space only seemed to amplify her aching loneliness. Y/n was used to being alone, staying alert, not allowing anyone in. It was the only way to survive now.

This prison cell had been her home for the past year after she was incarcerated. Like all the prisoners aboard this dying relic, she was kept in prison station, locked away from the rest of society, labeled as a danger to herself and the citizens of the ark.

She inhaled a shuddering breath and carefully returned the notebook to its hiding place. There was another long haul to get through today. She couldn't afford to dwell on the past. The ghosts would need to wait - at least until she slept again.

A chime sounded, signaling the prisoners that it was time for breakfast. Y/n took a deep breath and steeled herself. She had survived a year in this floating tomb; she could survive another day. Keep your head down, don't cause trouble, watch your back - that was the only way.

She paused, struck by the silence. The usual morning clatter of prisoners being escorted to the eating hall was absent. She peered out into the corridor - the cells were empty. The entire block, once filled with over a hundred prisoners, was now a ghost town.

Unease crept over her. Just a week ago, these halls rang out with activity. Where had everyone gone? Her friends - Harper and Miller - had been in the cells nearby just day’s before. Now all of them had vanished.

Rumors of mass executions had spread through the cell blocks in recent days. Resources on the dying Ark were scarce, and the leadership was becoming more ruthless. But she had never believed it would actually happen to them.

Harper's 18th birthday was just a few days away. She had seen it happen to so many others before, and now it seemed like it was Harper's turn. In the society they lived in, turning 18 meant one thing - being floated.

Had her friends been marched to their deaths in the middle of the night? Where had the guards taken them? And more urgently - would she be next?

…

The loss of her mother sent y/n into a downward spiral. She became angry and reckless, no longer caring about the consequences of her actions. Her mother had been her rock, and now she was adrift.

She was left under the watchful eye of her uncle, Kane. He was one of the Council members who maintained draconian order on the Ark. y/n saw him as part of the same corrupt system that floated her father for treason.

She had overheard Clarke and Wells discussing how her father had discovered the Ark was running out of air and wanted to inform the citizens. The Council's answer had been to silence him - permanently. He was given a treason charge and floated. Y/n’s uncle being one of the few who did not vote against this decision.

After Jake Griffin’s death, she decided it was time to pick up where he left off. Enough waiting silently in the shadows. She rallied a group from Factory Station, using her uncle's connections to gain access to Council events. Spent hours strategizing and devising a plan to confront the chancellor about the dwindling resources and oxygen.

The day of the Council meeting arrived, and y/n and her followers had knocked out enough guards to sneak into the council room. She marched in with the head guard, Commander Shumway, at knife point. The Council members stumbled over their words, trying to defend their actions. In the end, they confirmed that the Ark was running out of oxygen, but they were sneaky.

The Ark Guard burst through the doors. They had gotten word that the group was holding the Council hostage. Talia never expected them to act so quickly. The guards surrounded them, weapons drawn, ready to subdue them.

Her defiance only angered Kane further. He condemned her "rebellious theatrics" and soon had her locked away, floating the rest of the demonstrators. Charged with spreading false information, the murder of two guards and inciting rebellion.

The day the executions were carried out, y/n could only watch in helpless horror as her friends were floated one by one - launched out the airlock to their deaths. She should have been with them - was ready to die alongside them. But the Guards held her back.

Instead of execution, y/n was sentenced back to solitary confinement. At first, she didn't understand why she had been spared. It made no sense. She had led the uprising, held the Council hostage, exposed their lies. By all rights, she should have been the first to die.

Being left alive was its own special torture. wracked with guilt, replaying every moment in her mind. What if she had done something differently? What if she had turned herself in so the others could get away? She would never know now. Their faces, full of fear yet resolute courage as they floated out into oblivion, haunted her.

The only explanation was her uncle. Kane's influence must have swayed the Council to stay her execution. But to what end? So she could rot in this cell, alone with her guilt and grief?

…

Y/n sat silently in her cell, gazing up at the mural she had painted on the walls over the past year. The portrait depicted a man and woman standing resolute as flames engulfed the scene around them, the Ark crumbling into ashes amidst the inferno.

The burning ark symbolizes the destruction that can be caused by our negligence and disregard for the world around us.

She had just returned from the melancholy affair of breakfast - prisoners eating alone, guards eyeing them warily. The food stuck in her throat these days. Her friends should be here breaking stale rations  with her, not lost to the void.

The slam of the cell door jarred Talia from her thoughts. She scrambled to her feet as guards entered behind her uncle, Kane. " Printer 124, Stand against the wall," they ordered gruffly, readying their shock batons.

Kane lifted a hand. "It's alright, let her be," he said. y/n slowly sank back down, watching Kane with wary eyes as he took in her mural. What did he want now? Surely not just to critique her art. The guards took up positions around the small cell standing at the doors.

"The Council has authorized me to make you a deal," Kane finally said as he clasped his hands behind his back. "About a week ago we sent some prisoners to the ground. 100 to be exact. We’ve communicated with them. There's talk of sending the exodus ship to the ground. They want you to go with the first group."

y/n’s eyes widened in surprise. Return to Earth, after all this time? Could the Council finally be desperate enough to take such a risk?

She hesitated, taking in his words. 100 prisoners to the ground the day of Harper and Millers disappearance. But if there was any possibility of life on the ground, she had to take it...for their sake.

Jaha's offer was simple - help repair the last three stations and once they reach Earth, her slate would be wiped clean, but they must be desperate if Kane was resorting to bargaining with me.

"And if I say no?" y/n challenged.

"Then you'll be floated with the rest of them," Kane said coldly.

[mudandmire]

Changes

Azris Week - Day 6: Changes

~~~ Little heavy for @azrisweek day 6, but I've had this scene in my head for days now and wanted to do it justice. I hope I did! Thank you all for reading, hope you enjoy!! :D ~~~

Fixing it

The salve Azriel uses for his hands now has to be restocked in the washroom cabinet every week. A supply that once lasted him two, sometimes three weeks, is running out faster than before.

Azriel will never complain—never whine or groan about how quickly he runs out of salve. Because all of it is going to Eris, and there is not a more worthy cause to use up all the burn salve in the world than him.

Sunlight slants through the window, golden and liquid where it pools on the wood floor and in the wash basin. Azriel brushes his hand on Eris’s right shoulder, gentle and searching, down to his arm. Eris startles slightly—he always does these days, but Azriel knows not to take it personally.

“Mina’s down for her nap,” he says softly, his other arm wrapping around his waist, “we should change your bandages, sweetheart.”

Azriel knows a time when Eris would have turned to him, a smirk tugging at his pink lips that Azriel would kiss at just to make them bloom into a smile.

He now knows a time when Mina isn’t crying, or fussing, or sick, Eris is quiet. Pensive. He leans more to his right, turns to his right, his right hand following Azriel whenever he falls to his left side.

He presses gentle kisses to fabric on his shoulder, waits patiently for Eris to say something. Or nothing, they’ve cultivated a comforting silence like their own secret garden over the years—it’s come in handy. This is one of those times.

“Are her wings doing better today?” Eris’s voice is quiet, raspy from how little he talks.

Azriel’s eyes fall shut, melting into the line of Eris, chest to back, pulse to pulse. He’s near dead on his feet with exhaustion. Taking care of an infant, an Illyrian infant when neither of them had very good childhoods was certainly a learning curve. Unfortunately for both of them; the curve seemed to be carving out most—if not all—of their sleep.

“They are, yeah. A little sore by the tendons, but Mumiah took a look today and said it’s most likely growing pains.” He mumbles into the warm skin of his neck, eyes still closed.

“That’s good.” Eris whispers. His own hands, spurred on my the littlest of good news, the best news when it comes to them, find Azriel’s and lock around them.

“C’mon,” Azriel says, stepping away from the heat of his body and leading him to the washroom, “we need to change the bandages before she wakes up.”

“We don’t need to do anything, Azriel.”

Azriel pauses in the doorway of the washroom, spinning on his heel and fixing Eris with the sternest look he can possibly conjure when he’s one second away from either bursting into tears, falling asleep, or kissing Eris so hard both of them forget the past month. Past year, past whole of their lives. Until they’re nothing but warmth and starlight and forever.

“I’m saying this once: It’s not a chore, Eris. You changed my bandages for months, was it ever an obligation for you?”

“Azriel—no, that’s not what I meant.”

“Sweetheart,” his fingers ghost along the cotton gauze of the edge of the bandage. “I know what this is like, intimately. I know what you’re thinking so I need you to understand this isn’t a chore, or a job, or whatever else you think it is. I do this because I want to, because I love you, because I want to do everything with you.” He holds Eris by his chin, waiting for the love his life to meet his gaze.

Eris swallows hard, a glossy sheen over his eyes. “I love you.” He whispers back.

He pecks his lips gently, “love you, besheirt. Will you let me change your bandages, now?”

“If you must.” He grumbles, arms crossed defensively over his chest.

Azriel brings him further into the washroom, settling him at the counter near the basin. “I must.”

He runs his hand under the water, Eris handing him the little bar of soap. “Is the new milk working better for her?”

Azriel shrugs, patting his palms dry with the towel. “Depends—I think we can do as much as we can, but as long as she doesn’t have a mother…” A pinch appears between his brows, and he shakes his head.

“It kills me we can’t be what she needs.” Eris whispers, softer than intended.

Azriel watches him carefully, paying close attention to the bandaged left side of his face and neck, down to his shoulder. The same sentiment had been running through his head, too. How no matter how gentle and loving, no matter how they gave her a soft bed with all the furs and blankets she could want or sourced different milks from all over Prythian—they couldn’t be what she most needed, at this stage.

“We’ll get there.” He’s reassuring both of them, but it comes out uncertain.

“I want to be good enough, Azriel. I need to be good enough for her.”

Azriel nearly breaks his concentration from where he’s cautiously peeling away the bandage from Eris’s skin. He knows it’s painful, knows how many nerves are sparking and screaming. But Eris bears through it, nothing but the tight clench of his jaw and his hands curled into fists on his lap revealing otherwise.

“You are good enough, Eris.”

“No, I’m not, I’m—” he cuts off, one hand gesturing widely to his face, the piece of mangled, scarred skin revealed by the peeled off bandage.

Azriel bites down hard on his lip. No, this past month and a half hasn’t been easy. But one of the hardest things has to have been watching Eris—lit up from the inside with his copper hair and his trickster grin and that caring, daring heart—fall into a shell. A safe cocoon of vacancy and indifference.

It kills him, that he can’t be what either of them needs. Can’t stretch himself far enough, can’t give parts of himself away like bandages or the right milk to fix whatever’s broken. He can stitch by hand, mend by touch; but give nothing of what the two loves of his life actually need.

He swallows past the knot in his throat, letting it bob along the rising tide of despair that swells till it reaches the back of his tongue.

Azriel lets the silence be for now as he works away the rest of the bandage around Eris’s left ear, the one that stretches down to his neck. Soft apologies slip from his lips with every hidden wince, every caught whimper that Eris keeps behind his teeth.

When it comes away, fully, Azriel discards it and looks at him. There used to be a time where Eris relished being the center of Azriel’s unwavering attention—the star that kept his gaze. It’s just another thing Azriel has had to adjust to: like touching Eris on his right shoulder before greeting him, changing his bandages at odd hours when Mina finally cries herself to sleep, and keeping his gaze light. Easy. Not a search light or heavy, shared secret—but simple.

Azriel does so what is silently asked of him when Eris curls in on himself. His eyes skate around the ridges of his scars, the angry, raw sheen of it and the tight, whitened edges.

“It’s healing at the ends, so that’s good.” He says quietly, a damp, soaped cloth in his hand he begins to blot gently over the burn.

“Mm.” Is all he says, amber eyes cast down to where his fingernails pick at his cuticles until small drops of blood bead.

Azriel cups his fingers in his. “It is good. It means this isn’t forever.” His voice is stronger, head ducking down to meet Eris’s gaze. “And,” he starts, “even if it was—this doesn’t mean you’re not good enough, Eris.”

“Then what does it mean, Azriel. Because from where I’m standing—sitting—it means I completely failed.”

“Gach’lilit, failed what? The only one who’s a culprit here is ten feet underground in a pile of ash. Your father is the one who failed you, failed your family but most of all you.”

“How am I supposed to—” his voice breaks, “how am I supposed to care for her, raise her and love her when I struggle to do that for myself most days? Azriel, this isn’t—”

“That’s why I’m here. That’s why you’re here. So when we fall short—because stars, Eris, we will constantly fall short—we have one another to pick up the slack. To pick each other up, dust us off, and send us on our way with a kiss.”

He laughs wetly. “Where did you learn all this wisdom, my love?”

“Zebedee.” He says simply. “He wasn’t my father, not by blood, but he was the father I needed.”

Eris nods with quiet contemplation. “And we’ll be the fathers Mina needs. Not ‘cause we’re blood, but because she’s ours—and we’re hers.”

“Exactly, gach’lilit.” He’s patting the burn salve on gently against the burn, his touch so light, it would be a whisper.

Eris’s hands circle his wrists when he pulls away. “I never meant to insinuate scars mean you’re unworthy, my love. I’m sorry.” He brings them up to his lips, pressing gentle, open mouthed kisses to each place he knows twinges with a dull ache now and then. The palm of his hands, the knobby knuckles of his fingers, the sensitive skin on the inside of his wrists.

Azriel sighs softly, wings shuddering, letting Eris’s lips take the path they want and basking in the warmth they emanate.

“Do you remember,” he says, and Eris glances up through the fan of his copper eyelashes, “the first week or two we had Mina and how she would just cry every time I held her?”

Eris frowns, his lips turning down where they’re pressed against Azriel’s hand. He nods.

“How she cried, and wiggled, and tried to get out of my arms—but every time you held her she would settle down enough to fall asleep.” Azriel casts back his memory to those first few dark weeks—Eris having just come back from his father, scarred and shattered, now deciding to raise a little Illyrian girl with no home, no parents, no living relatives to speak of.

Azriel gives Eris a grimace. “I thought she hated my hands, the feel of them. I thought I’d never be able to hold our daughter because of these.” He gestures to them with his head, fingers twitching in Eris’s grip.

“But,” he whispers, “you told me otherwise. And you didn’t just tell me, you helped find a solution.” He wings flutter gently, rustling the still afternoon air, and Eris’s eyes dip down to his tunic.

A smile quirks his lips. “Who knew infants had such specific fashion tastes.”

“Who knew—you did.” Azriel scoffs a laugh, his head thrown back.

“Well, I didn’t know, it was a guess. I just wanted to fix it.”

“Mhm,” he hums, “so, guess what I’m doing?” He says, holding up the clean bandages with raised brows.

Eris sighs, but he’s smiling and Azriel will count it as a win. Sunshine’s come back, at least for now, and when the clouds come back—because they will—he’ll sit with him then, too.

“Fixing it?” Eris guesses for show, but his soft eyes tell Azriel the truth.

“Yep.” He says, beginning to wrap the cotton gauze around the burn, now shining with ointment. “Because that’s what we do.”

“I fix it when it turns out you need to wear softer clothes, not Illyrian leathers, when holding Mina.” Eris finishes.

“And I fix it when you need your bandages changed—or if you need to sleep on the other side of the bed to be closer to her, to hear her better.” His careful, steady hands press the edges of the bandage down, keen eyes watching Eris for any flicker of pain or discomfort.

“How’s that, too tight?”

Eris leans forward, pressing his lips to his with a sigh Azriel catches and keeps. His arms circling around to rest on Eris’s waist.

“You always do it perfect, love, you know that.”

Azriel’s features twist. “Not always, I remember the first couple times I botched it because I was used to putting bandages on me, not on someone else.”

Eris’s hands run up the length of his arms to his shoulders, hanging loosely around his neck as the tip of his nose nudges against his cheek. “Yes, but you never hurt me.”

“Mm, never.” Azriel says against his mouth. Quiet, a declaration. Not to Eris, because he knows, but after a life of abuse from someone who was supposed to have made that same promise, Azriel didn’t mind vowing it out loud now and then.

It’s easy to bask in each other—the golden sunlight filling the room, warming their sides and arms, making them glow like some ancient, lovely carving of devotion. Eris keeps their foreheads pressed together, and Azril makes sure he’s nowhere near the bandage. Their eyes have fallen closed; whether from exhaustion or contentment, neither know. It remains easy, sitting in silence like this; their cultivated garden, their familiar cluster of stars.

A sharp cry echoes from the bedroom. Loud and wailing, heavy for being the product of such little lungs.

Eris laughs, and his breath brushes against Azriel’s mouth—who can’t help but press forward slightly to kiss him. Eris slips off the counter, a light in his eyes rekindled and Azriel smiles at him warmly.

“C’mon,” Eris says, “we have a little terror to feed.”

Azriel throws his head back in a laugh. Exhausted, drained, completely and utterly dead on his feet; he’s slightly afraid that if he even sees a bed he’ll fall asleep—but there is absolutely no grander part of his life than this. Nothing more luxurious than helping Eris change his bandages. Nothing more simple, but lovely, than watching as the first love of his life coos a soft greeting, and picks up the second to cradle her small body against his chest.

Golden sunlight pools around them, stars of a different kind, and Azriel walks forward to join them.

~~///~~///~~///~~

Alright yay cool they don't make me want to bang my head against a wall at a l l. I know nothing about changing burn bandages please don't come at meeee. The editing for this is rushed because I'm trying to get it out before work lol so I'll fix mistakes when I get back.

I can't believe azris week is almost over???? That's crazy this has been so so fun I'm gonna miss it so much :((

[hannibalzero]

Do you know who I am?

Charthur 🦬🦌🦬🦌 dabble!

With Dyani! Beware of cute and just Arthur.

Coming back from fur trapping, Charles Smith had hardly been gone a week but he was already so damn homesick. Turns out when you have a home to miss, it happens so easily. Charles hardly got on the trial before wanting to turn back and run straight into that little ranch house up on the hill with that large flower garden.

Charles missed Arthur, missed Dyani, his bed with that heavy quilt and a warm bath.

Taima being a spoiled and beloved horse now, saw her barn and broke out into a canter. She was sick of being on the road, she wanted to be home.

“Easy girl!” Charles soothed but couldn’t help but to smile. Excited himself to be home with his family. Taima stopped to allow Charles to open the stable door, Charles hurriedly got off before pushing the door open.

He stopped for a moment and counted. There were eight horses, when Charles left there was only three. Peaches, Gin and Brandy. Taima was with Charles of corse. Five random horses where looking at Charles curiously.

Arthur’s horses were still here.

But Charles still worried.

Removing the saddle and blanket, Charles took care of Taima and stabled her, he also cleaned his equipment and hung his fur haul to process later. Worry churned his stomach, did something happen while he was gone?

Charles took a deep, slow breath and settled himself as he approached the ranch house. He carefully pushed open the back door, the sound of Dyani crying made his heart hurt.

“Oh I know, it’s awful ain’t it.” Arthur soothed the crying baby in his hold. The sound of water filled poor Charles in on what was happening. In a washing basin on the kitchen table, Arthur was bathing Dyani much to her dismay. “Gettin’ wash up, I gotcha I ain’t gonna let ya go. Such a pretty girl.”

Beside the table was the actual tub, seems like Arthur was about to have a bath himself. The water was heating over the fire.

Charles relaxed a lot. “Hey.” He called out to his family, entering the room now as he closed the door behind him with a click.

“Hey you!” Arthur called out not hiding the smile on his face. Moving Dyani onto the towel on his shoulder and wrapping her up. “Wasn’t expectin ya till tomorrow!” He stood up and walked over. “God I missed ya.”

“Got done early, headed home as soon as I could.” Charles rubbed noses with Arthur before kissing him. Then moved down a bit to kiss Dyani. “Saw all those horses in the barn. You been busy?”

Arthur moved the baby to Charles shoulder towel and all. “Not by choice, but my hand was forced. Descent horses should fetch a good price after a little training.” Arthur went to pour the warm water into the waiting bath.

“Whatcha mean?” Charles asked his worry coming back to full force.

“Ohhhhhhh, small gang of outlaws broke into our house in the middle of the night. Thinking they could strong arm me for some money and well…pleasurable company.” Arthur said with a hum. “They hit the ground after sayin what they wanted and I got to work.”

“You took out a gang of outlaws?” Charles asked in shock holding Dyani closer now.

“While nursing.” Arthur sounded proud of himself. “I ain’t puttin up with nobody’s foolishness.” He looked back at Charles. “….we’re alright, I took care of everything.”

Charles was stunned for a moment. “You know something Arthur? I sometimes forget who you are and what you’re capable of. You are so sweet and caring, now that where out of the life it’s easy to forget.”

Arthur snickered cheeks turning red. “Imma Arthur goddamned Morgan Smith. I have a bounty of five thousand dollars and pretty red letters underneath saying don’t approach.” He bragged. “Husband of Charles Smith which they can’t find or charge. mama of the prettiest baby in four territories!” He leaned over and kissed Charles.

“Imma complicate feller you know?”

Charles smiled into the kiss. Nodding in agreement. “Yeah yeah you’re complicated. I’m glad you and Dyani are safe when I’m gone.”

“Miss ya awfully fierce when ya are gone. Makes me grumpy.”

“Those poor souls.”

“Ya got that right.”