#self-insert fic

[emperorsfoot]

I was having a conversation with my wife and now I need to know; please answer the poll as accurately as you can

[newtabfics]

So I totally made a self-insert, self-indulgance fic about Kar'Niss and arachnophobia. I don't go much into detail on it, but tbh...it's horribly ironic that a Drider has possibly cured my arachnophobia.

tw: mild arachnophobia

"There you are," He said gently uncupping his hands for the spider to comfortably sit in her trembling cupped hands. "You're doing wonderfully," He purred softly.

Tabby gulped, holding the hairy spider in her palms. It was harmless, listening to the command to behave from Kar'Niss. It almost sniffed at her palms, curious about this mortal the Drider grew fond of.

Her heart hammered as she held the spider in her hands, feeling its fuzzy legs tapping gently against her palms. With a shaky breath, she closed her eyes tight and held her palms out to the Drider again.

"Take them. I don't wanna hurt them," She whimpered, hands twitching as she shook.

Kar'Niss smiled and carefully lifted the creature, looking to it. "Good work," He muttered to it before gently setting it in the web above.

He returned and nuzzled her hair gently. "You're getting stronger."

She laughed nervously as Gale approached, glancing at Kar'Niss warily still. "Everything alright?" He asked, seeing Tabby's shaky hands and pale face.

Tabby nodded, sighing. "He's helping me with my arachnophobia," She confessed, smiling shakily. Gale's eyes widened. "I know, I know."

"You've been in a relationship with a Drider with a paralyzing fear of spiders? How does that work?" He chuckled.

"With a lot patience on his part," She confessed with a shy smile to the Drider.

Gale couldn't help the lopsided smirk that spread over his lips at the drow woman and her Drider partner. It was sweet.

[finalbabygirlsteve]

woman moment

[disneymarina]

My Self-Insert Story (The self-insert story generator)

(the link to the generator) ______________________________________________

[10millionyearsdungeon]

Kriegsbeute: Lone Survivor

A/N: So...there are days when I’m stuck in my feels, and then there’s this shit. Inspired largely by a game (can we call it a game?) and conversation that ensued in the Smut Pile discord server. First fic for Attack on Titan, rather takes place in the AoT universe. Might add onto it depending on how we’re feeling (if we’re continuing down the wistful, introspective depression hole then yes, there’s going to be more). Enjoy the blood-soaked, PTSD-fueled memoirs of a near-centenarian.

TW: Blood, violence, tobacco use, death. (for later installments) Non-con, alcohol use, forced consumption of illicit substances, blood play, forced pregnancy, graphic depictions of grievous injuries, and death. 

======================================================= There's always something so lonesome about cold, rainy mornings. Awake before the rest of the household, spare maybe the cat curled up outside the bedroom door, the rest of the world is still asleep. They're locked into dreams and warmth while I sit pondering the gnawing, nagging dread simmering in the pit of my stomach that even after my retirement from the Scout Corps hasn't found the decency to leave an old woman to her gilded twilight years. The familiar lick of a lighter whispering to life under my thumb reminds me of easier mornings when waking up wasn't the loneliest part of the day, when drawing ten drags closer to cancer was a bonding activity and not a necessity to brace against the rising tide of my own anxieties. Nearly a century is a long time to dwell on my own faults and what might have been. I think back to my comrades in arms, the sisters and brothers devoured by the agonizing march of time and circumstance. 

Rain, cold pinpricks of silver on polished pavement, patters an aimless rhythm, and all I can hear is the rumble of thundering stones crashing through the town square and the haunting screaming of my squad-mates fleeing the carnage. As the fire catches on my fingertips and the smoke fills my withered lungs I remember their faces, bloodied and lifeless in the warm colored light of the festival. We all knew the dangers of war; we were soldiers, but nothing could have prepared us for the betrayal, the abandonment we faced during that darkest day. Titans were one horror, but knowing the human face behind the plot, living a life alongside the traitors who could throw away the lives of my compatriots so carelessly was a wound left festering for the better part of seventy-five years. How cold those emerald eyes turned when Eren wrote off halving our numbers-- our own people! 

"Collateral damage," Armin rationalized. Even before I was jaded by endless war and empty promises of peace I knew better. I could see it in the faces that remained-- the senseless loss, the pyrrhic victory that Eren craved through every inch of those final battles had become a fact of life. 

"We lost five of our best today…"

"And we will honor their sacrifice by winning the war." 

"By winning your war," I thought bitterly at the time. It was a sentiment shared by most and voiced by none. We knew tomorrow was never promised, but the odds of living through the night grew slimmer still while we shared a roof with traitors. 

"Erwin wouldn't have wanted this," Lauren whispered. It was practically a mantra those days before she met her end at the edge of an Ackerman's sword. 

Smoke curls around my pursed lips in a mirthless chortle over the memory. The battle scars littering my gnarled hands and bent body are a litany of medals and accolades beguiling the pain still aching beneath. How I longed for the quiet, the serenity I was certain peacetime and old age would bring! My survival is a cosmic joke, yet even when my grandchildren are rousing from their beds, eyes still heavy with the warm cling of sleep, I have to wonder if perhaps my place should be back in that square beside my battle sisters, bleeding to death from ruptured organs and shattered bones. 

[killrqueen7]

Be My Best Nightmare - Dracula/Gender Neutral! Reader

Rated G - Just some good ol’ cuddles and a bit of Stockholm Syndrome

You awake with a start, sitting up in your bed with a hand over your heaving chest. The dream that had awoken you was nothing short of terrifying, and you’re shaking at the memory of it.

          Flames danced along the castle walls, reaching up with furious heat to consume the only home you had ever known. You knelt, wailing in the grass as the angry townspeople around you shouted horrible names – “Devil!” “Monster!” – and threw flaming molotovs into the windows. You could hear the screaming of your beloved husband as he battled with staying inside his burning home or stepping out into the sunlight where he would surely be turned to dust. Suddenly, his cloak was consumed by the greedy flames and he went up like kindling, howling in agony and despair. You tried to run to him, crying “No! No, put him out! He hasn’t done it! He’s innocent!” but you were held back by your waist. You were forced to watch as the only man who had ever touched you with kindness was taken from the world.

          As you stare at the covered window, beams of orange and rising sunlight peeking from the curtains as they flutter in the breeze, you are consumed with the need to see him. To make sure he is still here; not alive, not breathing, but still here, with you. Your socked feet gently touch the carpeted stone of the floor and you push your hair from your face as you look around your room. You do not know the time but guess that it must be around five or six in the morning. Dracula is surely sleeping by now; deep within the heart of the castle. Avoiding the lines of sunlight striped across your bedroom floor, you tiptoe along the edge of the room to the door that separates you from the rest of Castle Dracula.

_

          Dracula left you ignorant of where he lay during the daylight hours; content to keep you as his bride but at arm’s length. For a long while, you spent most of your time in The Box, cramped and bathed in darkness. Your only company were the cats that he sometimes fed you through the hollow glass sphere, and the brides stuffed within the other boxes – though they never spoke and only moaned in pain and hunger. One of his brides, his least favorite of the three, was fed only flies. Poor dear. You had been nothing more than an experiment, but as time wore on, you began to long for his visits, even if they were only to feed you and the others.

He hummed as he did so, a different tune every time. He was such a cultured man, that Dracula, and he hummed sweet melodies in a deep voice of honeyed molasses. When you closed your eyes, you could almost hear the waves of the cello and the bright tittering of the flute. You had always loved music; attending orchestras and operas in your home country before you were lured into his arms and further, into his home deep within the Carpathian Mountains.

Most of all, you remembered his hands. Large, with long fingers, and callused from battles fought before your time. His sleeves were always pushed up to his elbows whenever he fed you and you had to fight the desire to reach out and drag your fingertips along the prominent vein that ran the length of his forearm. Once, when you attempted to touch his hand, he’d jerked it back so quickly that it shook the box you were in. He said nothing, but simply locked the small door and walked away, leaving you to your meal and the lonely darkness for another three days.

The next time he’d come, humming like nothing had happened, you pressed your ear against the box, fingernails bloody from scratching the day’s tally into the wood under your cheek. You recognized the tune and softly, began to hum along with him.

“In The Hall of the Mountain King.” You said when he’d stopped humming. “Now that is appropriate.” Smiling at your own joke, you pulled your knees to your chest and waited. You heard slow footsteps approaching and they stopped nearest the corner opposite you.

“You know music.” He stated, the first bit of conversation proposed to you in nearly half a year. He wasn’t asking. He knew.

“A bit,” You answered anyway, growing hopeful. “I was learning to play the mandolin before…coming here.” You did not want to disappoint him or scare him away. “I dabbled in the piano.”

You could nearly hear Dracula contemplating your statements, but soon it grew so eerily quiet and you were afraid that he’d left.

“I could play for you!” You told him, desperate to be out of the box. “And if I am not good enough, I can get better.”

More silence.

Then, the sound of the door unlatching. A sound you hadn’t heard in 174 days.

You’ve been Dracula’s personal musician for the better part of a year, growing more comfortable with the keys as the days went on. Dracula, of course, owns only the best instruments, and brings to you experts in the fields of string and keys so that you might drink from them and learn pieces played for his ear alone.

You love playing for him, but a larger part of you wishes to dance with him instead.

_

Tiptoeing through the shadows of the castle and holding a lamp in your right hand, you reach a set of stairs leading down into what seems to be a cellar. Just down those stairs and through a dark passage, where you were forbidden from going, lay the man you longed for. Dracula had opened his home to you, allowing you free reign of the rest of the castle, but the corridors beyond these stairs were off limits. It was not unfair, you know that. Dracula is, above all things, fair. He is the picture of politeness; a true gentleman in all ways – kind, strong, gentle and generous. You are so fond of him that it hurts and have even began referring to him as your husband. Should a bride not have a groom?

Before you can change your mind, you take your first step down into the darkness. Your left hand caresses the stone wall beside you and your eyes struggle to adjust to the shadows beyond your light. Shadows which you had discovered one early morning, before the sun had come up, when curiously following Dracula to this storage room beneath his castle. He’d floated down the corridors and then simply disappeared like he was made of nothing and you hadn’t mentioned it that night at dinner. The only discussion he’d made of it was to implore you to avoid going down those stairs again; pointing out that the rest of the castle and its grounds were yours to roam. You did not ask why but nodded in agreement and continued playing for him a familiar tune.

Once again, you enter the storage room and brush your hands along the top of one of the wooden boxes. You are sure the contents could tell a great many stories; secrets of Dracula’s past. There must be hundreds of these crates in the room, stacked taller than you stand. Each of the crates are nailed tightly shut and briefly, you consider spending some time in here, prying them open and diving into a bit of a history lesson. What sort of treasures lay within these boxes, forgotten in the dark and the mildew? What sort of memories would Dracula have squirreled away down here?

The squeak of a rather large rat scurrying across your foot breaks you from your enchantment. The contents of these boxes are none of your business. You do not wish to be any more rude than you are already being by entering a place where you have been forbidden. You do not want to anger your master and end up in that box again. The thought alone sends a cold rush down your spine and you proceed, past the towers of wooden crates, and further into yet another dark and narrow corridor.

The very next room you come upon is a dead end and is largely taken up by a large stone crypt, upon which is chiseled the surname ‘DRACULA’. Separating the A from the C is fissure that extends from one end to the other, wider in separation in some places than others. Slowly, you creep around to the other end of the room and peer down at the crest split in half by the fracture in the stone, however, something else catches your eye and you raise your lamp to see clearly.

Smooth skin upon a relaxed, sleeping face. The sharp slope of a nose, dark brows, and long, black lashes that brush just the very tops of his cheeks. At the corner of his lips is just the faintest smear of blood. The rest of his face is marked with lines of his age in life, made even more beautiful in the innocence of sleep. Dracula, your master, lies in this box – his burial casket; a place meant for eternal sleep. It smells of earth and is intoxicating in its contents.

Slowly, his eyes open and it startles you. Gasping, you step back as Dracula reaches up and pushes the stone slabs aside like they weigh nothing. “M-master!” You cry out, holding your hands up in surrender. His teeth are borne and his eyes red; disturbed from his deathly sleep by a disobedient bride. Slowly, he rises from his grave and you, shaking like a leaf, begin to beg his forgiveness. “I am sorry, master. I am sorry to have disturbed you from your slumber. Please, I am not here to harm you.”

He approaches you, soft growls bubbling from the back of his throat. “Then what for?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” You answer and even to your ears it sounds childish. “Nightmares. Horrible dreams…I- needed to see that you were still…” You stop to take a breath, meeting his eyes for only a moment before averting them to the ground once more.

In the light of the lamp, you notice that his eyes have begun to lose the red in his iris. His shoulders relax and despite your worry, he hasn’t attacked. Instead of taking you for his next meal, he simply sighs and leans against the slab of stone covering his dreary bed. You watch the vampire pinch the bridge of his aquiline nose and then slide his palm further down his face to pinch at the corners of his lips and clean them of any remaining blood. “You know, there is a reason why I asked you not to come down here. It’s dangerous.” He sounds exhausted; defeated.

You don’t speak, afraid of angering him. You simply nod. He looks over at you, brows pinched in the middle as he regards you for the longest few seconds of your life. “I don’t think I was being unreasonable.”

“No,” You finally say, lowering your head once more.

“No,” He repeats and licks his lips, studying you for a long moment, “Come on then.”

You lift your head in surprise, meeting those dark eyes which, for a moment, seem amused at your disbelief. “M-master?”

“I said, come on. Climb in.” Dracula gestures into the tomb and tilts his head in a manner that you would say is almost adorable. “I am very tired, and I can see that you are as well. Or is this not what you were seeking me for?”

“I-“ You start. Surely, he cannot be serious. He wants you to sleep with him, in there? Slowly, you take a step closer and glance inside. There isn’t a pillow or even a blanket. Just stone and earth. You hesitate.

“You’re welcome to go back to your own bed if this isn’t up to your standards.” The count offers, fingers curling around the slab on either side of his thighs.

“No,” You say a little too quickly. Return to your bed and pass up a chance to sleep next to the man you’ve been pining over for months? The choice was obvious. “No, I- this is fine. Perfect.”

The count’s dark brows raise and then lower in amusement. “Perfect, is it? I’d say that’s being generous but given the things that you’ve been okay with these past months, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were genuine.”

“No, it’s great. Thank you, master.” You meet his eyes, asking that he believe you.

Dracula grimaces, and for a moment, you’re worried that you’ve displeased him. “Just Dracula from now on, alright? Leave the ‘master’ business to my lawyer.” He offers his large hand and you take it, doing your best to climb into the tomb with him. Once you’re standing inside, he reaches past you, his face just centimeters from your own, eyes locked on yours as he extinguishes the lamp. You thank whichever god is listening that it is too dark for him to see the rush of red in your cheeks. You are absolutely gone on this man; he has to know it.

You watch as he lies down in the shadow of the tomb and peers up at you. Before he can say a word, you sit beside him, as best as you can given the space that you have. You glance at him again and bite your bottom lip when you feel his hand on your back. “You’re overthinking it.” He tells you. “Lie down, now. You can use me as a pillow. Any part of me you wish.”

You take a deep breath and then gradually lower yourself into a prone position. Carefully, the count curls his arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer so that your cheek rests on his left pectoral. He is surprisingly warm, and you begin to relax when he uses his other arm to pull the slabs closed above you. Bathed now in darkness, you bury yourself further into his side and smile when you feel his soft breath rustling your hair. Despite the cold earth beneath your bodies and the inherent danger in falling asleep next to a vampire, this is a dream. He is solid in your arms; real and broad and not ashes on the ground.

You feel the gentle press of his palm against your cheek and then soft lips against your forehead that sends a wave of warmth and content through your body.

“Sweet dreams, my darling bride. Let the beautiful children of the night carry away those dark dreams and replace them with only peace.”

You close your eyes and allow his voice to carry you away.

_

Tagging @thebeautyofdisorder @mephd​ @hoefordarkness @lets-talk-about-claes-baby @dracula-s-bride ​  @claesbangblogblr @claesbang @mr-kisskiss-bangbang @bangclaesbang @bangtheking @punk-courtesan @festering-queen ​

If anyone else wants to be tagged please let me know!

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

Okay so this might be a bizzare request but I feel like it could have some both angsty and fluffy potential. So I was thinking that the reader is a student at Oxenfert uni and is trying to become a witcher, and is somehow being chased by thugs and ends up stealing a horse. But what she doesn't realise is that the horse she steals is Roach. So when she gets a very angry Geralt storming after her she gets absolutely terrified and accidently puts a spell or curse on him?Cue Yen coming to the rescue

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Geralt x Yennefer, Platonic!Geralt x Reader Word Count: 1,853 Rating: G Taglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak​ @whatevermonkey​ @mycat-is-mylove @mynamesoundslikesherlock​ @kemmastan​ @magic-multicolored-miracle​ @writingstudent​ @mlleecrivaine​ @coffee-and-stories​ @amirahiddleston​ @ultracolorfulnerdcollection​ @astouract​ @your-not-invisible-to-me @daydreamer-in-training @morelikebyesexual a/n: I just kept picturing that scene from Ever After where Prince Henry tries to steal Danielle’s father’s horse and she pelts him with apples. Sadly, no apples here, but I hope you still like it.

In hindsight, breaking into the Dean’s office and trying to steal the mushroom that had been excavated by Kaer Morhen wasn’t the best idea you’d ever had. This thought came to you the moment the guards walked in and upon seeing your hands hovering over the fungi, immediately drew their swords. They didn’t care you were a student. They didn’t care you hadn’t succeeded in touching it. They just chased after you and you bolted out the door, casting a spell over your shoulder that would slow them down but not keep them at bay forever. You fled past the nearly empty corridors, through the courtyard, the sounds of clanking metal and heavy footfalls always just behind you. You spotted the stables and, to your great relief, a horse was tethered to the post. Giving a silent offer of thanks to whoever had left the horse, and a little apology and promise to whoever owned the horse that you’d give it back, you leapt on its back and with nearly no prompting it took off running.

-----

Geralt finished Jaskier’s lecture and though the bard had invited him out for a drink, the witcher had declined. He didn’t like leaving Roach at the university alone for very long. People tended to spoil her and then she’d demand oats and apples for a week straight. There was another lady he was supposed to be meeting up with soon as well and if he headed out shortly he’d be able to catch her on her way over. A small smile crept up on the witcher’s face as he thought of her but when he looked in the direction of the stables the smile fell away. A figure sat on Roach, that was trouble enough. Then Roach began to gallop away and Geralt’s blood went cold.

-----

Yennefer enjoyed the walk to Oxenfurt Academy. It was quiet and peaceful and the trees were especially lovely in autumn. The turned leaves, golden and bronze, reminded her of a certain witcher’s eyes and she smiled fondly. A copse of trees broke apart somewhere in the distance as birds scattered from their branches and Yennefer could sense something was very wrong. She reached out to the weave as she approached cautiously, listening for signs of what lay ahead and hoping against hope that Geralt hadn’t gotten himself into some sort of trouble again.

-----

“I’M SORRY!” you cried, craning your neck to send the words to the man who ran after you. Not a man, though. A witcher. The irony was not lost on you but you didn’t have time to tell him about your aspirations or dreams. You didn’t have time for anything but clinging to the horse’s neck and praying that you could outpace him, though he drew ever closer. You’d felt confident you could outrun the guards on this horse but a witcher was another matter entirely. You of all people knew how tenacious they were and though you tried to call back an explanation or more apology, the angry snarl on his face didn’t waver. Your words only seemed to fuel his ire and you wondered idly if he would even take the time to grab the correct sword or if he’d even use a sword. The look on his face was one of a man who was prepared to rend someone limb from limb. His labored breathing drew close and you felt a hand snatch at your ankle. Reacting on instinct you lowered your hand and grasped at whatever the weave would provide.

“I’M SORRY I PROMISE I’LL RETURN HER I’M SORRY,” you called back to the now prone witcher whose amber eyes still watched you as you retreated deeper into the forest.

-----

“GET OUT OF THE WAY!” the girl screamed the words at Yennefer who had been hurrying up the road, narrowly missing her by inches. Yennefer sent a few choice epithets her way and then continued her pursuit of Geralt. Because by now she knew it had to be him. Few things would stir such a strong impulse within the mage who usually tried to keep her head down and mind her own business. Her suspicions were confirmed when she broke through a small copse and saw Geralt lying prone in the distance. She’d never seen him look so angry but as she rushed to his side to undo whatever the magic holding him (shoddy work but still effective, likely an adept mage who’d had to work in a hurry), a look of relief came over him.

“Geralt what the gods have you gotten yourself into now?” Yennefer sighed. As soon as he could the witcher bolted upright, nearly bowling her over in the process.

“Someone stole Roach,” he bit out as he helped her to her feet.

“What?”

“I left her in the stables and someone took her,” he snarled.

“Why?” Yennefer asked, drawing an incredulous look from Geralt.

“Doesn’t matter,” he snapped, and immediately began to set off ahead, Yennefer rolling her eyes and following suit, admittedly worried about the horse herself.

When they caught up to you, you were standing beside Roach, wringing your hands and openly crying as you spoke aloud to the horse.

“Oh gods, oh gods, what am I going to do? I’m dead, I’m not getting out of this. Even if the witcher doesn’t find me I have to go back to school sometime and then the guards will cut me down and I’m probably going to be expelled and I’ll never become a mage let alone anything else and my family is going to have to identify my remains from whatever scraps get left behind oh gods how did this happen…”

Your words bled together, muffled by sniffling, but Geralt was unmoved. Yennefer held him still as they watched you from some bushes and the only reason the witcher hadn’t broken through despite the mage’s wishes was because he could see that Roach was very calm. The horse didn’t seem concerned in the slightest, sometimes butting her head against the girl – and it was just a girl, young and scared and hardly matured into adulthood. Still a dark scowl was etched on Geralt’s face and Yennefer knew it would not be easy convincing him to remain calm.

“Let me take the lead on this,” Yennefer said. He sent her a withering side glance, eyes squinted so hard they were practically just a sliver of amber, but he didn’t argue. She rose and entered the little clearing where you stood and you screamed, nearly tripping over yourself in surprise.

“Who are you?” you cried.

“Yennefer of Vengerberg, much more powerful mage than you so I’d put that hand down if I were you,” she said, eyeing your fast moving fingers pointedly.

“Are you with him?” she asked. In another, the witcher rose, pulling another scream from you and a censuring glance from Yennefer. You ran behind Roach but Geralt didn’t move past Yennefer.

“Why did you steal Roach?” Geralt asked.

“Her name is Roach?” you asked.

“You’re in no place to criticize names,” Yennefer said.

“I was being chased. They were going to kill me, I would never have laid a hand on her otherwise I swear,” you insisted emphatically, eyes dancing between violet and amber.

“Who was chasing you? And why?” Yennefer asked.

“Guards. I didn’t recognize them, they wore full armor and brandished longswords, but I was trying to… borrow the mushrooms brought from Kaer Morhen,” you replied, properly sheepish.

Geralt and Yennefer exchanged a brief, confused glance and then Geralt moved closer. You shrank back against the nearest tree but Geralt simply took Roach’s head in his hands and looked her over, muttering quietly to her and petting her mane. When he seemed satisfied that she was alright he turned his attention back to you.

“Oxenfurt University was not given permission to collect those samples. And the school doesn’t have guards, not guards with swords who will chase down students at least. We’re taking you back and when we get there you’re going to show us where these mushrooms are kept,” Geralt said plainly, jumping onto Roach’s back and holding out a hand for Yennefer to climb on in front of him.

“Um… what about the people who are trying to kill me?” you asked in a small voice.

“They weren’t trying to kill you because you were stealing it, they’re trying to kill you because you know it’s there. But that’s another point – why were you trying to steal it?” he asked.

“I… thought it might turn me into a witcher,” you admitted, willing the earth to swallow you whole.

“What?”

“I’ve always wanted to be a witcher and I know about the process and that it’s basically always from childhood but I thought maybe if I trained really hard and had access to some of the things you did, like the mushrooms, then maybe…” your voice trailed off under Geralt’s incredulous gaze and Yennefer’s barely restrained laughter.

“Get on the horse,” Geralt sighed, looking like a worn out, bedraggled father trying to wrangle his prodigy. You did as instructed, climbing behind him, and he pulled your arms around his waist to ensure you were secured. Roach began the walk back to the university and you tried to remain quiet, sensing that would be the safest course of action. For about five minutes.

“What about them, though?” you asked.

“What about what?”

“The people trying to kill me.”

“I won’t let them kill you,” Geralt said.

“Why are you helping me?” you asked, suspicious but also deeply grateful. Another sigh and another barely muffled chuckle from the mage in front.

“You’re clearly in over your head. I’m not in the business of abandoning people to their fates. Even if they’ve been foolish and some would argue they deserve them,” Geralt said crossly. Yennefer gave a skeptical snort but otherwise held her tongue.

“Thank you,” you said, squeezing a bit tighter and feeling safe for the first time all day.

“Why do you want to be a witcher?” Geralt asked, not able to keep from asking any longer.

“Witchers save people,” you answered quickly, “I want to do that. I want to help.”

Geralt thought for a long moment, the sound of leaves crunching under hooves breaking the silence.

“There are many ways to save people,” he said finally, “Find one that won’t get you killed as quickly.”

“You’re not dead,” you pointed out.

“Hmm.”

Nothing else was said for the rest of the ride and for once you let the silence remain, certain that before long there would be more noise and fighting and fear. Right now you would let yourself enjoy the brisk autumn breeze and the strange but exhilarating company you’d found yourself in. You also worked on your pitch to the witcher for taking you along on his travels. University was all well and good but you’d certainly learn better in action. Yes, that would be your first argument. Now to find the seventy five others you’d need before you could wear him down enough to accept.

[disneymarina]

My Self-Insert Story (The self-insert story generator)

_______________________________________________   (the link to the generator) ______________________________________________

[zigratbites]

Going through my inbox, I managed to delete an ask, so: To the anon asking for Rammstein self-insert fics, I’m afraid that’s beyond my area of expertise. Does anyone else know of anything helpful?

[beneathawesternsky]

Hi I've never done this before but could I please request a smutty fic with Ben Hardy?? I recently discovered that we have a mutual friend (he went to drama school with my friend from high school!) and would love the idea of meeting at a party and not wasting any time getting to know each other ;) (sorry I'm so unimaginative!) My name is Kasia, I'm half Polish and I actually play bass guitar... so I love Deaky, but Ben is far too hot to ignore ;) thank you!

Alright, my dear… It took me forever, but work is crazy for me in the winter months, and we were down two staff members, so I was pulling quite a few long days. But this little blurb was always getting worked on… and then, whoops, it turned into ≥4,400 words. So here it is. Thank you so much for submitting a self-insert request. (oh, and I changed the setting a little bit… I like to let my creativity flow, and this is where it took me this time)

To all others, YES, I am still taking self-insert requests. See my blog for details.

You plopped down into the airport seat with appreciation—you had just walked what seemed like a half a mile through the airport your connecting flight was going through, and your feet were killing you. It didn’t help that your footwear was less than practical. Still, heels were best for job interviews, and you would have no time to change when you landed before your interview.

You settled in, pulling out your airport distraction of choice—“The Captive Mind” by Czesław Miłosz, in Polish. You’d been wanting to brush up on your Polish language skills. You were a fine conversationalist, having spoken with half your family in their native tongue your whole life, but you decided that 2019 was the year of challenges.

You weren’t very far into the first chapter when the man sitting two seats away from you spoke to you.

“Light reading?” he asked. You looked up, and over at him. His face struck you for a moment. Was he who you thought he was? He couldn’t be.

Your mouth gaped a moment before you looked down at the book, putting the receipt in as a bookmark. You gave a half smile. “It’ll probably take me six months, but I’m always up for a challenge.”

He squinted, and looked at the spine. “Polish?” he asked.

“Ah,” you said, nodding. “One of my parents is Polish. I just wanted to brush up on my reading skills is all.”

He nodded in understanding. “Well, I won’t bother you, I’ll let you get back to it,” he said, turning to his iPhone.

It was his small smile that struck a chord with you. “No, no… I’m glad for the distraction.”

The smile stayed at the corners of his mouth, and that’s when you remembered how you knew him.

“You’re… Ben Hardy, aren’t you?” you asked, tucking your hair behind your ear. You mentally reminded yourself to keep your hands away from your hair. You always did that when you were talking with someone you found attractive.

He demurred, and looked back over at you, ready for the onslaught of questions or requests for selfies. But he was too polite to ever complain. It just came with the territory, now that Bohemian Rhapsody had been so successful.

“Yeah,” he said, “guilty.”

You smiled, showing your teeth. “We’ve actually got a friend in common.”

His eyebrows knit together a moment. He seemed surprised. Relieved even.

“Do we?” he asked, leaning into your conversation with his body, his elbow up on the armrest.

“Yeah,” you said, setting your book down on the empty seat beside you. “Tracy Young. She went to college with you. She and I went to high school together.”

His face lit up. “Oh wow, what a small world. How is she these days? Do you two keep in touch?”

“Occasionally, when we’re both home on holiday or when we’re in the same city,” you replied. “She’s doing alright. She’s making the move to LA soon, but she’s not had the level of success you’ve had. Just a few bit parts, but she’s done well enough to warrant moving.”

“That’s great,” he said, his eyes unconsciously flicking downward to take in the rest of you. The action was not lost on you. Your heart picked up a half a beat. “And what about you? What do you do?”

You proceeded to tell him what you studied, and what you were doing now.

“In fact,” you said, “I’m on my way to an interview for a new job.”

“I’m sure you’ll nail it…” he said, suddenly looking out the window. “But I’m still not convinced we’ll be taking off in this weather.”

You looked out with him. It was just a spot of rain, or at least you had told yourself that when you landed from your first flight.

“God, I hope it’s not canceled,” you said, suddenly worried you were going to make a terrible impression before your interview. Surely they would understand if a flight was canceled?

You two shared a moment of silence, maintaining eye contact. God, how was it possible that a man could make you feel that way with just a look? You crossed your legs, hoping to quell the feeling.

“So…” you said, hoping to distract yourself from the worsening weather, and the feeling you were starting to have difficulty suppressing. “Where are you headed?”

“Home,” he said simply. “Just getting back from LA, and I get to finally relax a little.”

You chuckled. “Oh my god, that’s right, the… Oscars, they were last weekend.” You can’t believe you just said that. This was getting unreal. It was so easy to forget the weight of who he was. He was just that disarming.

He nodded, beaming a bit, but suppressing it.

“Are you pinching yourself just a little bit still?” you asked with a small chuckle.

“God yes,” he said, and the two of you shared a laugh.

“I was really pleased for you all,” you said. “I couldn’t think of anyone more deserving than Rami, and all of you.”

“Thank you,” he said, blushing slightly.

You opened your mouth to say something else, when the flight attendant’s voice came over the PA system announcing that due to weather, all flights coming in or going out of your connecting airport had been canceled.

“No,” you groaned, putting your hand through your hair. “Shit.”

Ben merely smirked, and pulled out his phone. “Guess it’s time to get a hotel squared away.”

You sighed, frozen for a moment in disbelief. “Yeah.”

“I’ve got a booking site pulled up now,” he said, looking up at you with his face still slightly downward. “You can bet the good rooms are going to go quick. There’s not much to choose from around these parts, but this one’s fairly close to the airport.”

You nodded, pulling out your phone, going to your favored booking site, and found only four hotels in the area, with all surprisingly similar price points. You started to wonder for a moment where Ben might be staying, but you told yourself not to be a creep. He would bolt the second you asked.

“Where are you booking?” he asked, reading your mind, a sly confidence behind his words.

Your mouth hung open a second. “I, I don’t know…”

“Well, I’m booking at the Hilton,” he said, pausing a moment. “Look, I hope this isn’t too forward, but I’d love to keep talking with you. Maybe take you out for dinner?”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you were sure your face was beet red. “I’d like that,” you said, nodding, and the two of you smiled. You both proceeded to go through the steps online of booking your own hotel room. When you were finished, you and Ben stood, ready to move on to the next juncture.

“I’ve got to call the people interviewing me really quickly,” you said, hiking your carry-on bag up your shoulder a bit. “Tell them I’m not going to be there today.”

He nodded. “Of course…. Er, I don’t think I got your name.” He blushed, and your stomach flipped at that fact. You two had been talking so effortlessly that you couldn’t believe you’d left that out.

“Kasia,” you said, extending a hand, which he took gladly.

He shook your hand, and your skin tingled where he touched you.

“Kasia. That’s lovely,” he said. You two looked at each other a moment longer, before he stepped back a step. “Alright, Kasia, I’ll wait over here.”

Your heart hammered as you called your potential employers, and they were perfectly understanding. They told you to keep them updated on the status of your flight, and that they would rearrange things to meet with you tomorrow.

When you met back up with Ben, you and he walked out to the taxi line, knowing you would be sharing a cab to your hotel, without either of you having to say as much.

Ben told the cab driver where you were going, and the two of you talked the whole way there. You were struck by how easilyconversation with him came. When the cab pulled up to the hotel, you two made the mad dash to the entrance through the rain, and when you got inside, you couldn’t believe how soaked you got from that short time in the rain.

You two laughed, and shook yourselves off as you checked in, each of you getting your own card keys. Now your plans couldn’t be delayed any longer as you two neared the elevator. “Well,” he said, pushing his wet hair back, regarding you thoughtfully. “How about we meet down at the hotel bar at seven?” he asked.

You nodded as the elevator stopped on your floor. “Great,” he said in a gentle tone. You got off the elevator reluctantly, pausing before the door and holding his gaze while the door closed again.

When you were sure it was closed, and he was out of hearing range, you made a strained squeal, and shook your whole body a bit in excitement. You took measured breaths as you walked to your room and put your key in the door.

You looked at your phone, seeing that you had another hour to kill before you met up with him. You sat on your bed, considering what had just happened, and what was going to happen.

He had been nothing but sweet to you, so you couldn’t be sure things were headed where you thought they might be… but then you shook yourself, telling yourself that of course things were moving in that direction. He wouldn’t have suggested you stay in the same hotel otherwise.

But did you want things to move that fast? You weren’t in the habit of one-night-stands. You hoped it wouldn’t be a one-night-stand, but would accept it if it were. So, with determination, you opened your overnight bag, pulling out your toiletries, taking special care that you would be prepared for hotel sex.

–

You pulled your shirt down, much more comfortable in your black skinny jeans and white long-sleeved shirt than you were in your business casual attire. You’d let your hair down, and touched up your makeup a bit, darkening it for night time. Yeah. You knew exactly where things were going tonight.

But all that confidence fled for a moment when you saw Ben standing in the lobby, waiting for you. Of course he looked amazing. But rather than comment on feeling woefully underdressed, you walked over to him confidently.

“Hi,” you said coolly, when beneath it all, you felt anything but cool.

“You look great,” he said, regarding you a moment.

“Thanks,” you said, and the two of you walked to the hotel bar, the dim lights a welcome comfort. The host greeted you, and when you were being taken to your table, Ben surprised you by putting his hand on the small of your back. You were ready to fall apart right then.

You sat down, and ordered your drinks. You two easily slipped back into conversation, spurred on by excitement and anticipation.

“So what do you do for fun, Ben?” you asked, taking a sip of your drink.

“I’m a bit of a slave to my dog now,” he said, scratching at his neck a moment. “She and I go for walks around town, in parks. Anything outdoors, and I’m happy. And after learning drums for the movie, I quite enjoy that now.”

You lit up at that. “So you’d call yourself a musician now?”

He nodded. “What about you? What does Kasia do in her free time, other than read Polish prose?”

You laughed, and told him all of the interests that came to mind. “And… I do play base guitar.”

“Do you?” he said, lighting up. “I’d love to hear you play sometime,” he said, and your stomach did another backflip. So this wasn’t just a one-time thing… you hoped he meant that.

“I’d like that too,” you said, spinning your drink on the table.

“You know,” Ben said near the end of dinner, “if you don’t get that job, I’m going to be very disappointed.”

You blushed and locked eyes with him. “Me too,” you said.

When dinner was over, the two of you reluctantly made your way out of the restaurant.

The two of you neared the elevators, and he finally said what he’d been thinking. “At this point, I’d be asking you to take a walk around town with me, but this weather is just shit.” He sounded disappointed.

When you pressed the up button, and while you waited for the lift to come down, you were suddenly overcome with bravery.

“As an alternative… you could just come up to my room,” you said, and the doors opened. You stepped in, and Ben stood there dumbstruck. It warmed your heart that he seemed genuinely surprised. “Well?” you prompted, shaking him from his daze.

He got into the elevator, and the second the doors closed, he was on you, pulling you into a kiss, his hands on the back of your neck, tipping your head upwards to meet him. You held onto his waist, feeling just how solid he truly was. He teased your lips with his tongue, and you opened your mouth, letting him kiss you a moment before responding. Despite descending on you so quickly, he was surprisingly gentle, but passionate.

The elevator opened, pulling you from your haze. He took a half step back, and you swayed a little on your feet—and you’d only had two drinks.

You let out a breath of air, and Ben took you by the hand, leading you out of the elevator. He wasted no time, pressing you against the wall beside the elevator for another deep kiss. This time, his hands rested on your lower back, pressing your hips into his. You ran your hands up his chest, ready to tear his shirt off him right there, but your desire for privacy prompted you to push him away slightly. He made a small sound at your separation, but happily followed you as you took his hand and guided him to your room. You fished your card key out of your back pocket, and stuck it into the card reader, only to have it flash red. You tried once more, and it flashed red again.

Ben took this opportunity to press himself into your back, his hand on your stomach, his mouth on your neck as he put your hair to the side. He hit a spot on the back of your neck that made you melt, and you arched your back into him, moaning instantly, and cursing under your breath. You took a steadying breath, and slowly put the key into the card reader, and it finally read green. You turned the handle, and when the door closed behind you, Ben had you against the wall again, turning you to face him.

His face hovered before yours, his lips almost touching yours.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.

You breathed shakily, feeling the heat radiate off him as he braced himself on the wall on either side of you. He pressed his hips into yours, and tucked his knee between your thighs, putting pressure on your core. You could barely form a coherent thought. All you wanted was him. So you nodded.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, pressing his knee harder into you, causing you to moan slightly.

“Yes,” you said, and that was all he needed to hear. His mouth came down on yours, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. Quickly, he took his hands, grabbed your wrists, and moved them to the wall above you, pinning them there. He kissed you slower then, and you flexed your fingers a moment.

When he pulled back to look down into your eyes, you enjoyed the feeling of his gaze boring into you. It was almost as if he was considering something. He looked up at his hands holding your wrists to the wall, and then back down at you.

“Do you like this?” he asked.

Your heart pounded. Yes, you absolutely did… if you said yes, though, how much more would you be inviting upon yourself? You looked down at his bottom lip, which he drew under his teeth a second, and then decided you wanted more of what he obviously was holding back.

“Mhmm,” you hummed, pressing your hips forward into his. It was game on. This seemed to please him, and he smiled, letting your wrists go, and pulled away from the wall. You ached at the absence of his touch, and your body followed his, hoping to close the gap.

He put his hands on your hips to steady you, and started walking you backwards into your hotel room. When your thighs hit the bed, he kissed your neck, and his voice came into your ear, a gravely tone deeper than you thought could come out of him.

“Take your clothes off and get on the bed,” he said, and stepped away from you. You stood there frozen as he pulled a chair from the desk over to the foot of the bed. He sat, his legs spread wide. He raised his eyebrows, and at that you thrilled. You’d never been bossed around like this before. You wondered if he was always like this, or if it was just the fact that you were having hotel sex with a virtual stranger.

So, you complied, and started stripping, watching his eyes as each article of clothing met the floor. You paused slightly when you were down to a bra and panties, and he smirked knowingly.

“Everything,” he said, and his hand came to the bulge in his pants, gripping himself through the fabric.

You undid your bra, and slid your panties down to your feet, and stepped out of them, getting on the bed as he’d told you. You kept your legs slightly closed, feeling so totally vulnerable with all your clothes off, and his on.

He smirked, and began undoing his belt, still leaning back in his chair, with his legs spread.

“Open your legs, Kasia,” he said, chuckling at your hesitation. “And I want you to touch yourself.”

Your breath left you a moment as he undid his pants, and put his hand inside. “Go on,”  he said gently, but you knew he wouldn’t say it gently a second time, so you opened your legs and exposed yourself completely, bringing your hand down to your core, feeling at the wetness that had pooled there already.

You sighed when you felt how wet he’d made you, and he grunted in pleasure as he pulled his length out completely, stroking slowly.

“Beautiful,” he said, pulling his bottom lip under his teeth. With his free hand, he began unbuttoning his shirt, and shrugged out of it.

“Now use your middle finger, and put it in slowly,” he said, gripping the arm of the chair with one hand, and stroking his cock with the other.

You did as he asked, and your mouth opened slightly, wanting more than what he was telling you to do. He could tell you wanted more, and he shook his head with a smile.

“Add a second,” he said, and you knew then that he was taking it easy on you.

You did what he said, and moaned in relief. You closed your eyes and enjoyed the thrill of being this exposed to someone, and having him love it so much. You were so wrapped up in what you were doing that you didn’t notice he had stripped down completely until he told you your next instruction.

“Take them out,” he said, “and play with your clit.”

You whimpered in want for him, not satisfied with just doing this to yourself, and when you looked up, he was standing at the foot of the bed, stroking himself. He let you do this a minute longer before he knelt on the bed between your legs, and grabbed your hand, putting your fingers in his mouth greedily. He ran his tongue up them a moment, and then sucked them gently.

“Ben,” you said, your voice dripping with desperation.

“What do you want, Kasia?” he asked, still on his knees between your legs, putting his hands on your knees, and massaging your thighs.

“You,” you said, gripping the pillow above your head.

“Me, ‘what’?” he asked, letting one of his hands find your core, running up your center, feeling at your wetness. Your hips bucked involuntarily, and you cried out at finally being touched by him.

“So wet for me,” he said, playing with your folds, occasionally grazing your clit, slowly building up to pressing his ring and middle fingers into you. “Now tell me, Kasia,” he intoned, “what do you want me to do?”

You pivoted your hips, hoping he would put his fingers inside you. Beyond that, you could see all the things you wanted. But right now, you just wanted him to fuck you.

“I want you to fuck me, Ben,” you said, and he merely responded by pushing his fingers into you.

You cried out, and reached for his arm, grabbing it for dear life while he watched your face as he pleasured you.

“Oh, I will,” he said, the look in his eye telling you that you were in for the best kind of trouble. “But not just yet.”

He shifted his body downward, and placed himself on the ground at the foot of the bed, kneeling so his upper body rested on the bed. He grabbed you by your thighs and pulled you further down the bed so he had full access to you. You cried out in surprise, and giggled a little.

He positioned your legs so they were resting on his shoulders, and he admired you, flattening his fingers on your pussy, reveling in how wet you were. He leaned in, and licked either side of you, so close but so far away from where you really wanted his tongue.

He hummed in appreciation as he tasted you. “Amazing,” he said, and finally found your clitoris, causing your hips to buck. He held your hips down firmly, and you knew he was only using a small portion of the strength you knew he had.

Your hands shot to his hair, and laced into it. He found a pattern that made you hold your breath, and knew that was the one that would take you over the edge, so he did it harder. When you came, you cried his name, and gripped his hair. You tried to push him away when your clitoris became too sensitive, and in defiance, he held your hips in place even tighter, continuing his work, drawing your orgasm out longer. You were practically on the verge of screaming when he finally relented, and put his hands beneath your back, picking you up and tossing you further up the bed like you were a ragdoll.

He crawled up the bed to find his place between your legs, and kissed you sweetly as you panted and said incoherent words as you recovered from your orgasm.

He was kissing your breasts when you had recovered enough to speak.

“God, you’re amazing at that,” you said, and put your hands on the back of his neck, drawing him up to kiss you again. You could taste yourself on his lips, and it turned you on even more.

He was positioned at your entrance, and angled his hips so his cock slid over your wet folds. He was getting himself wet before he slid into you, but both of you were enjoying it too much to stop.

When he had had enough, he slowed to a halt, and stayed at your entrance, ready to slide home. He pulled his head back a bit and took in your expression, waiting for you to object to him not wearing a condom.

“Do you want this?” he whispered against your lips. “Do you want it this way?”

You stifled a small moan. You knew the smart thing was to use a condom—but you’d be damned if this wasn’t the hottest sex of your life, and you weren’t going to stop now. You nodded slightly, just enough that he was sure you meant it.

He buried his head in the crook of your shoulder as he pressed forward and buried himself completely. The two of you moaned at your joining, feeling every sensation. He moved slowly, but didn’t wait long to start. He had exercised extraordinary restraint by not taking you as quickly as he wanted, but sheathed inside you he was barely holding on.

Your hips matched his thrusts, and he picked up his pace, intensifying how hard he thrust into you. You grabbed his ass and held on, urging him on.

“Let go, Ben,” you said, and moved your hands to his lower back, ready for him to let go. “Fuck me like I know you want to,” you whispered into his ear.

He let out one solitary chuckle, and pressed a kiss to your shoulder before he drew his hips back further and thrust into you harder, snapping his hips up and hitting your g-spot as he did so.

You cried out as he supported himself on his forearms to free up his hips. You came instantly, tensing around his cock. His breathing picked up, and he was groaning into your shoulder, letting go, not worrying about lasting forever, but just wanting to come inside you now.

He came shortly after you, and you felt him spill inside you. He tensed, and whined as you purposely clenched your kegel muscles around his cock to help him along. When he stopped moving in you, he let his body weight down, and let himself recover in your arms.

After a minute or so, he pulled back slightly and kissed your lips sweetly.

“I have never been more thankful for bad weather,” he said, and the two of you laughed weakly.

He pulled out of you, and he pulled the covers down on your bed, bringing you with him under them. He pulled you to his chest, still breathing a little fast.

“I really hope you get that job,” he said, and you buried your face in his chest a moment before looking back up at him. His face was honest and open, so different from the dominant Ben you had just met.

“Me too.”

[groovy-lady]

Fic Writing!

I’m planning on writing a self-insert fic for myself! I had the idea while I was in the shower last night.

The fic idea: Jane Foster has 2 assistants: Darcy Lewis and me (a bi-graysexual woman). As we know, Darcy majored in political science. I majored in religion with a specialty in Norse mythology and I’m a devotee of Thor’s since I’m pagan. When Thor shows up on Midgard after being banished and made powerless by his father, I am the first person he sees instead of Jane and I am the one he falls in love with. I keep him calm while he’s at the hospital after Darcy tazed him. i help him to learn humility and compassion during his banishment. I even go with Thor to Asgard around the end of the film.

Let me know if y’all want me to post the story here!

[rhymingteelookatme]

Burdens

Picking up where ‘Fault’ left off.

Words: 1472 Fandom: FFXIV Genre: yet more hurt/comfort, what else

She does not know when, precisely, she fell asleep after sobbing herself out. What she does know is that it’s getting closer to morning, and she’s just woken up to the sight of a snowy-haired head not a fulm away from her. 

Alphinaud is down for the count, his face buried in his arms, leaning on the edge of her mattress. There’s an empty stool behind him, which he seems to have abandoned in favor of kneeling in this way. [Name] is too exhausted to puzzle out why he would have taken up such a position.

Only… it cannot be good for him, she thinks, sleeping in that strange attitude. Gods know he’s done similar over many a desk, but that was from a seat closer to said surface’s height. No, no- if she is supposed to rest properly, then by the [guardian] he will too.

She reaches out and shakes him gently by the shoulder. He makes a low sort of “hmm” sound, barely awake. 

“Hey,” she says, briefly surprised to hear the hoarseness in her own voice. “Alphinaud… You dozed off, I think.”

Another low “hmm.”

“Shouldn’t you lie down?” she asks him. 

He shakes his head just a bit. Mumbles something.

“Pardon?” She scoots closer. 

“…cert’n yer all right,” comes through the crook of his arm. 

Was he... was he praying, down there on the floor, that she would find some measure of peace? “I do not think he likes being ignored,” a phantom voice sounds in her head, and despite (or perhaps due to) her fatigue, her eyes sting with a few fresh tears. 

She shakes that thin shoulder once more. “I will be all right, but please… Lie down.”

In the end he crawls up next to her and stretches out with his head on one of the extra pillows. She faintly remembers having wondered why this bed was so wide upon first seeing it (was that only moons ago? it seems longer), but now she’s glad it is so. Moving over to the other side, she pulls half the covers over herself- his legs are weighing down the other half- and drifts into a thankfully dreamless sleep.

It is afternoon now, she thinks, and she is alone. She has finally had enough of rest; her muscles have gone stiff with inactivity. She still feels a bit hollow, but eating is not now an entirely unwelcome notion.

There is something under a silver dome over on the table by the fireplace; upon inspection, it is a plate of plain, cold food- some fruit, dried karakul meat, slices of bread. And a note, sticking out from under the edge of it all.

When you wake, please have some of this. You know you need it. -T

She takes some of the meat and works at it slowly with her teeth. She is not sure how much her stomach will accept, after the night she has had, but Tataru is right: she does need some sustenance, if only to spur her on to the end of this day, and the next- to the true end of this war.

As it turns out, she gets the meat and a few bites of apple down before her insides start threatening to revolt. She waits a half-bell or so, hoping the churning will cease on its own, but all in vain- she is forced to flee to the washstand, its basin being the nearest thing to a bucket. Twelve forgive her for befouling such fine porcelain. When she feels well enough to move again, she gingerly carries the thing to the bathroom and sets it in a corner- then creeps back to the chamber that is, for now, hers.

For an entire moon, the subject of that first night A.H. (After Haurchefant) goes untouched. There are battles and pursuits and all the usual fare, while [Name] tries her damnedest to maintain a sort of baseline 'normal' behavior pattern, lest she become a liability to their missions and a further worry to her friends.

(The sight of certain shades of blue puts her on high alert, yes, and if anyone uses the word ‘splendid’ within earshot she is nearly deafened with its echo through her memories, and she takes great care with all her meals lest they decide to come back up. But she is by-gods trying.)

Tonight, though, she feels a touch better- Tataru has news of lost Scions found, and they are to set out for Ul'dah in the morning. She has already packed her bag; now she sits at the hearth, staring into the fire. 

Then the door opens behind her: lo and behold, it is Alphinaud, who goes slightly pink in the face when she spots him. 

���[Name],” he says. “May I come in?”

She nods.

He makes his way inside, but declines to sit; instead, he seems to be trying not to shift his weight or even tread too loudly. “You... you look well. Better, that is.”

Well, she's not had to heave in quite some time, she supposes. “Thank you,” she says, recognizing and encouraging this obvious stall, before the pair of them lapse into mutual silence. 

It suddenly occurs to her that he has been especially kind, not mentioning the spectacle she must have made of herself, or how alarming it must have been for him to witness: the ever-stoic, steady Warrior of Light turned to a wailing child. She wants to acknowledge this, but gathering the nerve is proving difficult. Still...

They both begin to speak at once, then stop. He holds up a hand. “You first, my friend.”

She takes a deep breath and lets it all out. “I am… sorry for the way I behaved the other night. You should never have had to see me- carrying on, like that. I tend to worry you enough as it is.”

He is pinker than ever. “[Name]- ‘tis I who must apologize for that night. Not only did I speak without thinking, careless of your grief, but I- I…” His turn to breathe deep. “It seems that I intruded upon your, ah. Your…” His gaze darts to the bed and back. “Pray forgive my thoughtlessness.”

[Name]’s heart aches. She can even muck up kindness, it seems. “Oh, Alphinaud…” she whispers, then swallows. Pushes her voice to its usual volume. “It was no intrusion. You were tired. I had the space, and I gave it to you- I didn’t want you to awaken feeling as if you’d never shut your eyes. Not after you stayed all night to look after me... There is naught to forgive." 

His blush has faded, but now he has the strangest expression on his face. 

“What is it?” She is done, she decides, with letting things remain unspoken- especially between her friends.

“We are almost never able to relax, we Scions,” he finally says. “The world does not cease being imperiled for anyone’s sake, let alone ours. But that does not mean you must spend every waking moment pushing your heart aside while we do what needs to be done. There are some hours we do have for ourselves, and I would... that is... I would fain have you come and find me if you ever require a friendly ear, or simple companionship. Do not worry about frightening me or- or ‘carrying on.’”

She stares at him. Is he serious? “I don’t think you know what you’re asking,” she says slowly. “There’s… a lot going on here. To put it mildly.”

He half-smiles. “If it gives you ease for so much as a minute, it is worth it. No one- not even the Warrior of Light- should carry all her burdens alone.” 

Damn it, is everything going to make her cry now? She blinks furiously and nods, pressing her lips together in a futile attempt to keep the tears back. Bowing her head, she lets them fall. 

She hears him approach, and then something soft is brushing her fingers. He’s offering her his handkerchief. She presses it to her eyes and waits for this fresh tide to ebb away.

When she can look at him again, she gives him a wan smile. “What was it you said to me, back on the Royal Promenade? ‘There is no woman alive in whom I would rather confide?’” 

Alphinaud blinks. “You… remember that.”

“I could hardly forget,” she admits. “It is one of the nicest things anyone ever told me. And… if you really don’t mind…”

“Of course not!” he exclaims, then covers his mouth as his blush floods back. “I mean- I beg your pardon- do go on.” 

She can feel her smile gain a little more life. “I was going to say that at times like this, I… I don’t think I’d rather have anyone else with me than you.” 

[scarletjedi]

Scarlett and Anakin begin to *talk*

if you like what I do, please consider clicking my coffee button. That’d be cool of you. :D

[killrqueen7]

I’m not entirely sure what possessed me to write it but have some Dracula squishin’and smashin’

Dracula stares up at you, eyes dark and pupils blown as he takes you in. Never, in all his years, had he imagined he’d be staring up at a woman while inside her body. In his natural day, he’d had his fill of the human form, men and women alike, but even they lay beneath his powerful body as he filled and stretched them out. But here you are, taking him as if he belongs to you. 

Your blood sings to him, pumping quickly, but rhythmically behind the curve of your breast. His palm slides between them for a moment, if only just to feel the rapid pump of your most precious muscle as your hips lift from his lap and then press back down to a beat that doesn’t quite match, but is no less beautiful. 

As you impale yourself again and again on the vampire’s impressive girth, Dracula’s nails bite into the soft skin if your thighs. His skin is warm, fresh off a feed, and he almost looks sweaty and flushed. But perhaps that is your sweat, lingering on his handsome face from when you’d had his nose pressed against your throat. The trust you displayed in him drives him wild. 

Your palms press hard against his broad and furry pectorals as your hips rock and work him deeper. His dark eyes never leave your face for a moment, cataloging every bite of your lips and every tiny micro-expression that reveal just how good you feel in his lap. You actually notice the bed rocking with some force, Dracula sliding up and down the pillow with every forward roll.

He stares at you with such intensity, and it lights something up inside you. Something warm. Something that makes you feel like the most beautiful, seductive creature in the world. A couple locks of dark hair stick to his forehead and gently, as if you are soothing him with soft words and softer touches instead of riding him for his life, you brush them away and further, card your fingers back through thick hair. 

The corners of his full lips curl up slightly, the sharp points of his teeth just barely visible in that charming, surprised smile. He is beautiful like this, completely at your mercy - though he could easily flip you onto your back if he wanted to. That smile reminds you of all the times you’ve longed for him; all the times he’d leaned down into your space, searching for your eyes after paying you a wonderfully worded compliment. In some ways, that smile makes you even hotter for him and you are almost sad to see it disappear. It morphs into an open mouthed gasp as you tighten down around his cock, involuntarily, simply in response to the way he’s looking at you.

“Oh..” It almost comes in a whisper, teasing you with just the hint of what he must sound like when he truly lets go. 

“Yes,” you beg, curling your fingers against his chest. You slide down his length slowly, squeezing your inner muscles the entire way. There is so much of him. “Please, moan for me. Anything. I want to hear you.“ 

Dracula grunts at the sound of your voice and the feeling of your heat squeezing at his every inch. He closes his eyes, trying hard to hold himself back. He wants this to last for as long as he can. He’s never felt so alive.

Stilling your hips, despite the overwhelming urge to keep going, you grab his chin and tilt his head back down. "No. Keep looking at me.”

The Count opens his eyes, but also bares his teeth and gives a soft growl, reminding you for just a moment of how dangerous he truly is. You have a monster beneath you; death itself, many would say. He could tear you to shreds and pick his teeth with your bones.

You smile, stroking his chin with your thumb, gently dragging the pad of it across his bottom lip. Close enough to be dangerous. “There it is, that’s exactly what I wa-ah!" 

You are rudely interrupted by the snap of Dracula’s hips, pulling out and sinking back inside you. The force of it lifts you up and he holds you there, fingers bruising, as he takes what he wants. 

The vampire doesn’t stop growling, however; he is feral with it. His eyes are even darker now that you’ve pushed him to this and well…control felt good while it lasted. But this, this feels like nirvana. 

His hands lift you so easily, supporting your back as it shifts and bows. He even seems to be pulling you back against him; keeping you from floating right up to the heavens. Nothing you say is coherent but he fills your head with all sorts of pretty things.

"Is this what you wanted?”

“You know I could tear you in half, don’t you?" 

"You’re mine.”

Your entire body trembles, tense as a bow string as he punches gasps out of you with his hips. Dracula slides his hand down your body, allowing his nails to catch slightly but never break the skin. Finally, it reaches his goal and the pad of his thumb circles your most sensitive spot; a spot that you hadn’t realized had been throbbing for attention until now. 

He rocks his thumb against your clit and chuckles darkly when you hold his hand in place and begin grinding your sex against it. 

Heat begins to build in the pit of your stomach, gripping your pelvis tight. Something intense coils inside you, growing tighter with every brush of Dracula’s thumb against your clit. You are overheating, trembling, and making tiny, desperate noises as the edge approaches faster and faster. 

He can see that you are close, taking you in. Every noise makes him smile; the sight of you dangling on the edge was art. The sounds you made were music. 

“Let go,” He whispers, the end catching in a growl, “I want to feel you finish.”

Suddenly, the whole world goes white, the pressure that had been building in your core unraveling and crashing over you like a wave. You grip Dracula’s arms as you come, squeezing his cock like a vice. 

In your ecstasy, you fall against Dracula’s chest, panting like you’d run a full mile. Dracula continues lazily pushing himself into you, nails carefully curling into your hips as he grows closer and closer. 

He presses his nose into your hair when he comes, throbbing inside you as he groans from deep in his chest. The feeling of having him inside you, his arms looped around you and holding you flush, it is safe. It is warm. All of the things he shouldn’t be. 

You’re breathing hard, and it should be unsettling that he isn’t breathing at all, but it isn’t. He distracts you with his hands, brushing them up and down your back. 

“Your heart is beating so fast.” Dracula chuckles and he buries his face further into your hair, taking a long pull of your scent. 

You smile against his chest, gently patting the hair that tickles your cheeks. There’s a pleasant ache in your groin and Dracula is still nestled comfortably inside, sitting through the occasional muscle contractions around him. It’s a good, full feeling that is replicated in your heart. “That’s your fault." 

"Mmm, I’m not sorry." 

You lift your head to look at him and he meets your eyes with a soft, almost sleepy smile. Your hand moves up to gently push back some of his stray hairs, stroking gently at his temple and cheek. "Then you’re not forgiven,” you tease and press a kiss against those lips. His large hand moves to cradle your face, the movement of your lips slow and intimate. 

Because you need to breathe, you pull back and meet those dark eyes. How this gentle, affectionate man was once a feared and fierce warlord…well, it isn’t clear in this moment, at least. 

“Are you hungry?” You ask.

“Darling…for you? Always." 

Dracula moves to kiss at your throat, tongue moving gentle against the raised scar there. When his razor-sharp teeth pierce your skin, you feel him begin to stiffen, once again, inside you.

Gif by @sku77​ can be found here! (I couldn’t find this exact one in the gif search)