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strangemaleswaps · 11 months ago

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Strange Job Swap

“Oh it's beautiful!” exclaimed the customer waiting in line. I handed her a nicely decorated cake for her son's birthday.

“It's no big deal. Just doing my job.” I acted like it was no big deal, but really I was gladly accepting the praise!

“This is perfect though. Have you considered being an artist?” she replied with a slightly more serious look.

“Yes I have actually…but the job market is tough.”

“Aww you'll get there eventually! Don't give up! Well anyway, you made my day so for that, thank you!”

“You're welcome.” I was a bit sad though, because she was right; I SHOULD be an artist. I recently earned my bachelor's degree, but yet I was still stuck in this dumb hick town, working as a grocery store cake decorator. I may have been good at what I do but I wouldn't want to do it forever!

At least my co-workers are pretty decent, especially my fellow bakery buddies, Chase, Amber, and Domingo. Amber was cool and didn't take anyone’s shit, which is why I loved seeing her because I didn't have much confidence when dealing with unruly customers. Domingo was very sweet, and even though he didn't speak very good English, he's hella good at his job. And Chase, well…he's hot! His bleach blond hair somehow always caught the light at a perfect angle. I don't know how I even kept my focus when he's working next to me.

At the end of my shift, I clocked out, and decided to buy a couple groceries like I normally did. I scanned everything at the self-checkout, put the receipt into one of my bags, and started walking towards the exit. The store had 2 exits on either side of the front, but I only took one because the other had a certain asshole at it - Richard.

The greeter position was removed a long time ago, but they bring it back for employees that have been injured or are too old, so that they can keep their jobs. Now this old guy named Richard had surgery a long time ago and became the greeter while he recovered. But yet he never went back to his old position.

He always stays at one specific entrance, and the reason I hated him so much was because he's racist. Part of his job has him checking customers’ receipts to make sure they didn't steal anything, which seems pretty unnecessary when you have those anti-theft machines at the exit. But I've seen him. The only people he checks the receipts for are minorities. It's not a subtle thing either; he’s super friendly, greeting and saying goodbye to all the white people passing but when it comes to someone who's not, his demeanor suddenly changes.

My luck must've run out today, because I found the sliding glass doors at my usual exit were broken and currently being fixed. The area was blocked off by a barricade, and I knew there was only one other way to leave. I headed over to the other exit, and there Richard was, waving goodbye to a white mother and her toddler. He was wearing his typical gray uniform shirt that was clearly too small, because you could see his gut and nipples trying to poke through. Gross.

I moved through the aisle, trying not to draw attention to myself, but it was all for nothing because right on cue, Richard walked up to me and gave a great big (and so obviously fake) smile.

“Hello sir, can I see your receipt please?”

“Richard, it's me, Marco. I work in the bakery. You've seen me a million times before.” His smile suddenly faded, and his eyes narrowed, as if every ounce of happiness in his body just vanished.

“That's no excuse. How do I know you aren't stealing?”

“Because I want to keep my job?”

“Don't backtalk to me. You seem awfully suspicious today.” He then reached for his walkie talkie and started to page a manager. I really was able to walk out with no repercussions because I truly didn't steal anything, but there's a chance he would page the Asset Protection lady, who was almost as awful.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” Nobody answered him. Thank god.

“Am I free to go now?” I said happily. The anger returned to his face.

“Just don't let me catch you stealing again. Or there'll be consequences!”

“Yeah…suuuure.” I walked out the door, into my car, and back home. I can't believe some people honestly. I was so sick of this town! I needed to move away real soon.

When I got home my dog, Kenny, was excited to greet me as usual so I let him outside to do his business while I got into my running clothes, prepping for a run. As I let Kenny back in, I went to check the mail and found a weird envelope in between the bills and spam. I opened it up and it was a letter addressed “to whom it may concern”. I threw it away without a second thought but Kenny suddenly ran up to the trash can, took it out, and placed it back in front of me.

“You really want me to read this, don't you boy?” I said cheerily as I patted him on the head.

“To whom it may concern,

Are you struggling with your current job? Unhappy with the life you have? Well I have just the cure for that! We are now selling happiness inducing coins for only $1 with free shipping! One flip of this coin will guarantee you will soon get a job you love! Get it fast before it all runs out! Just follow the link on the back of this letter if you are interested.” - VV

I wondered who or what VV was supposed to be, and $1 with free shipping sounds too good to be true, so this seemed like a scam. I also wasn't a superstitious person, but for some reason my gut was telling me that this was a good idea. Kenny seemed to think so too as he was wagging his tail under the table and I read. I followed the link listed on the back of the page, typing in each random letter and number combination into my phone and ordered the lucky coin. I went to bed that night feeling a little more hopeful.

The next day at work was just like the previous day, only the door was fixed so I didn't have to walk out the exit Richard was standing at. We did make eye contact though, and he shot me a dirty look. I got home to find that the package had already arrived, which was awfully quick. I cut open the box and inside was a golden coin with a picture of a brain on it. The other side had a picture of a person with their arms spread wide. It was a really weird design. I read the instructions.

How to use:

Flip the coin

No matter what side it lands on, you'll be guaranteed happiness in your new job!

It sounded so lame, but I followed the instructions anyway. I flipped the coin the air, and slapped it on the back of my other hand. Tails. Nothing happened. I guess it was just $1 so it wasn't a huge waste of my time. It's pretty cool looking so maybe I could display it on my dresser or something.

I felt especially tired the rest of the night, but I was fine because I had a day off tomorrow. I was gonna go to the park with Kenny, as well as do a few errands. I was just glad I had time away from my job.

The next morning my alarm went off for some reason. I must've accidently set it by mistake. The weirder thing was Kenny wasn't there. Normally at the sound of my alarm, he comes running from wherever he was sleeping, and jumps on the bed to get me up. But there was nothing. When I started to truly wake up and become more alert, I realized that my alarm was set to the default or something. Instead of my usual calming piano, it was an annoying ringing. I opened my eyes to see what was happening. My vision was blurry, but I could tell I wasn't in my own room.

What happened? Did someone kidnap me? The alarm clock wasn't even on a phone, but rather it was an actual alarm clock. I had no idea what was going on, but I reached over to turn it off so I could think. I'm certain I must've been kidnapped somehow but why? And why would they set an alarm clock? I couldn't see but felt around the nightstand for a clue and found a pair of glasses. When I tried them on, just like that, my vision returned to normal. I had perfect vision before! Why did I suddenly need glasses? I reached up to scratch my head and found my hairline was incredibly receded. I was balding! I looked down with my now clear vision to find an even worse fact. I was chubby!

I sat up and stared at the foreign gut and two large man tits, as well as numerous graying chest hairs. I ran my hands through the hair, pinching them to make sure they were real. I pinched the tits as well, and felt sensations I've never felt before as they wobbled when I let go. I ran my hands through my face and felt a mustache and double chin, and began feeling nauseous at the thought of what I actually looked like. I didn't see a mirror in the room so I walked out the door trying to find a bathroom. The fat jiggled all around as I ran.

I got to the bathroom and nearly puked on the spot when I saw who I was. Richard. Oh god no. Of all people, I had to look like this racist bastard? I stared at myself and grazed my hands along my face. Suddenly I felt angry and started pinching it instead, as if I was doing the same thing to the real Richard, but denial didn't help; that was my face and it hurt. I touched his mustache and pinched it, as if it would come off.

Just then I heard the doorbell ring. I didn't want to interact with anybody looking like this but until I figured out how to fix it, I knew I had to pretend to be Richard. I answered the door to find the mailman.

“Howdy Rich! Woah uh.” He stared at my chest. I forgot I was still shirtless. Having this much fat hanging from my body was almost like answering the door naked. “I see you've lost some weight!” he said, obviously lying.

“Oh uh, thanks.” I replied, trying to imitate Richard’s voice, which was pretty easy considering I've mocked him before.

“Well anyway, not much today; just a letter.” He handed me a letter with a purple stamp on it.

“Well uh see you tomorrow!” The mailman went on his way and I closed the door. I opened the letter and found a note similar to the lucky coin advertisement.

To whom it may concern,

Good morning! I trust that your lucky coin worked well? Welcome to your new life! As promised, you now have a job that you love. Unhappy with the results? Just flip the coin once again, and make sure it lands on what it landed on before! If not, however, your fate is sealed. Best Wishes! - VV, Venefica Viola

Shit. They're not lying though. Richard did love his job. And since I was in his body, I now had that job! But who is this Venefica Viola? It sounded like Latin somehow. I walked back to the bedroom to find Richard’s phone. Luckily he didn't have any lock screen pin so I could easily get in. I searched for a translator, dodging the random pop up ads that were everywhere on his phone and looked up Venefica Viola.

Violet Witch. So magic is involved somehow. I needed to get my coin back so I could undo this! It must still be at my own house. Shit! I just realized why the alarm clock went off. Richard worked today! He had perfect attendance and never uses his PTO, so not going in was gonna look suspicious. I glanced at the clock and realized I only had 20 minutes.

Even though I'd love to see Richard be humiliated by going to work in his underwear, I decided that it wasn't worth attracting attention so I looked through his clothes to put on a work uniform. I found a pair of boxers and accidently flashed myself when I completely forgot I didn't have my own dick either. It was all wrinkly, but honestly a lot bigger than I thought. No. I was not about to get horny over Richard's dick! I found what he normally wore to work and put the rest on. I found tucking the shirt was more difficult than usual, as I had to pull it over my belly.

I guess I could make this work…for now. I hated to admit it, but Richard wasn't all that bad looking. It was his personality and habits that made him so repulsive, but now that I was in control of him, he didn't look all that bad. Maybe I could even turn things around for now and do something nice for the people I know he hates. I grabbed the car keys on the nearby table, and drove to work.

I walked in the store, put Richard's nametag on, and clocked in. I nearly started walking to the bakery area but stopped myself. I guess I'm really going to have to be a greeter for a day. This feels humiliating. I made my way to the front entrance and just stood there, waiting for customers to enter or exit.

Soon enough customers began arriving and I tried my best to act like Richard, though one customer asked if I was all right because I guess I overdid it. I didn't ask any customers to show their receipts though, because I might as well take advantage of being a greeter. I noticed Domingo at the checkout and when he bagged up his groceries, he approached me first instead of the door. He hastily grabbed his receipt and started showing it to me. I wasn't about to let this happen.

“No no it's ok. You don't have to show me the receipt anymore.”

“No?” He looked shocked.

“Checking receipts is stupid anyway. I don't need to do it anymore.”

“Really? I can go?”

“Yep! Have a good day.” It was unnerving seeing him so scared at the sight of me, but he smiled like normally did as he put the receipt back in the bag and walked out.

As I moved towards the break room to take my break, I noticed someone who looked awfully familiar walk through the door. It was…me! I mean Richard. It must've been; if I was in his body, he must've been in mine. It became more obvious by the way he was walking, taking big steps as if he was used to having his gut swinging around…like mine was now. God I hated this. I had to talk to him to sort things out. He smirked as I approached.

“Hey!”

“Oh it's you. I mean me. I mean,” he paused for a second and rounded his mouth into an even bigger smile, which looked uncanny with my face. “The old me.”

“What do you mean ‘the old you’”?

“Well seeing as I'm much younger now, while you're much older, I think the term is appropriate.”

“Well yeah, but not for long. I'm going to switch us back.”

“Oh no you're not! I may have preferred being white, but I’m enjoying youth again! Oh, and don't worry. I saw that coin thing and that letter this morning, and I made sure it would never see the light of day again. You got that…Richard?”

He called me that in the same mocking tone that I always use to call him. I can't believe this!

“Y-you can't do this! I had a future!”

“That's my future now old man. You know maybe I could be a model with these looks. Maybe make one of those, what do you kids call it? OnlyFans?”

God no, I'm an artist, not a pornstar. He can't do this!

“The greeter is a real fun job, Richard. Enjoy it. You're hired!”

#strangemaleswaps #body swap #male body swap #male tf #weight gain

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m00nkissedlover · 5 months ago

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・｡Dream of Me 💭

You've ordered: a slice of coffee cake! enjoy!

"I know it sounds super cliché, but you make me feel some type of way"

Paul Atreides x fem! Freman! reader | word count: 1,166 words

Summary: paul's been having rather...vivid dreams about you 💭

Warnings: MDNI (everything's pretty mild, but i still want to put a warning just in case) mild spice, mild sexual themes, feminine terms used. let me know if i left anything out!

Note: again, sorry if this sucks, i'm not the best at writing intimate scenes like this (even if it's vague) T-T also, this was not proofread-

You.

You were the reason why Paul Atreides hadn't gotten an adequate night's sleep in the past few weeks. Every time he'd close his eyes, instead of seeing pitch black darkness or some other vision, he'd see you. He'd see your beautiful smile, your soft hair, your perfect body. The crazy part was he didn't even know you. Paul swore he'd never met you in his life, that these dreams were the first time he'd seen someone like you, your bright blue eyes staring into his soul.

When he'd voiced his concerns about the dreams to his mother, Lady Jessica assured him that it was just that, a dream. But she knew deep down that sooner or later, you'd meet her son. And it seemed it would be sooner rather than later. With the sudden fall of House Atreides, Paul and his mother had to evacuate out to the desert, nothing with them except for the ring of House Atreides that sat in Paul's pocket.

That night, Paul dreamt of you again. Each dream would start off different: you two meeting in the desert, you two watching the sand dunes together, you teaching him to sandwalk properly, etc. But, every dream always had the same ending.

Your lips pressed to his in a kiss so passionate, he could practically taste the spice on your tongue. You'd be sitting in the comfort of a tent, the smell of spice and overwhelming passion intensely pungent. Your fingers would tangle into his curly brown hair, Paul's hands moving from your waist to the hem of the shirt of your sleepwear. He'd pull away and mumble an ask of permission, the word "Yes" leaving your lips before he'd even finished.

He'd see himself slowly peeling your sleepwear off of your body, his heart thudding in his chest. He'd practically feel you undressing him as well, your bodies molding together as one. He'd see everything after that in blurbs: the sound of your heavy breathing, the smell of your skin, the feeling of your fingertips caressing his back as he'd make love to you. Then, just as things were getting to their peak, he'd wake up, covered in sweat, his heart going a mile a minute. Just who was this girl that occupied his dreams every night?

When Paul first saw you in person, he couldn't even speak. His mouth went dry and his hands got super sweaty as his heart thudded in his chest. You looked exactly like he'd dreamed: warm, sun-kissed skin, the prettiest hair, eyes as blue as the ocean, and that smile....the smile he'd see every night before he got an almost otherworldly taste of your lips.

You'd only spoken on a few occasions, your attraction to one another growing as the days and weeks passed. But then, he'd changed. He'd started avoiding you, making you think that he just didn't like you. Each time you'd try to strike up conversation with him, he'd give you a one word answer and just walk off. After that, you started avoiding him too, walking right past him when he'd ask you something or completely ignoring him during sandworm rides.

Enough was enough. One night, you wandered around the tents, finding that paul wasn't in his. Lady Jessica told you he'd gone to sit up on the dunes, something he'd been doing often since coming to live with the Freman. You slowly made your way up the sand dune, sitting a few feet away from him as to not make him uncomfortable.

"Did I do something to offend you?" you asked, drawing in the sand with your finger.

Paul didn't answer at first, and just as you were about to get up and leave, you felt his fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you back down next to him. He was so close, too close. You could smell the faint spice on him, your heart skipping a beat.

"No....you...didn't do anything."

"Then why-"

"I've met you before," he blurted out, a look of confusion crossing your features.

He'd met you before?

"Not literally. I've...had dreams, as you know. But recently," Paul took a breath, glancing up to meet your crystal blue eyes.

"Recently, they've all been about you....actually, that's a lie. I've been seeing you in my dreams since before we landed on Arrakis."

Your eyes widened a little, your body relaxing a bit. He'd been dreaming about you all this time.

"What do you see in these...dreams?" you asked. It was evident that your question had an interesting answer by the way Paul glanced away from you for a second.

"I see you, laid out in front of me in all your glory. Your eyes, it's as if they're...pulling me in. You lean in, then I lean in...then-" he trailed off, the pale skin of his cheeks turning a shade of red.

Then it clicked, and you were blushing too.

"....You know...I'd be lying if I said I didn't develop feelings for you the first few weeks you were here..." you admitted, feeling a strange tingle in your chest. Paul let go of your wrist, his hand slowly moving up to cup your cheek.

"Do you want me to kiss you?" the question was so simple yet held so much weight.

Your heart was beating in your ears, a shiver running down your spine as his breath hit your cheek.

"...Yess....yes, i do. Do you...want to kiss me?" you questioned, the look in his eyes making your knees go weak. Good thing you were sitting.

"More than anything." he whispered before closing the gap between the two of you. The kiss started out soft and slow, soon taking a passionate turn.

It wasn't long before you were dragging Paul through the sand dunes, back to the privacy of your tent. Once the two of you were inside, Paul was on you in an instant, pressing you against the makeshift mattress as he kissed you with newfound fervor. Your fingers tangled into his hair, just like he'd dreamed of. But this was better than his dreams, by a thousandfold. Passionate, breathy whispers, heavy breathing, and words of love and affection filled the air of the tent as the two of you melded together.

By the time it was all over, Paul held you close, his face buried into your neck as he caught his breath. You breathed deeply, your free hand gently stroking his hair as he shifted to look up at you.

"You're definitely the girl of my dreams" he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the skin of your shoulder.

You felt your heart warm from his words, pressing a kiss to his forehead and letting your lips linger there for a moment.

"I love you, Y/n~" Paul said as his eyelids started to grow heavy.

You smiled softly, moving to nuzzle up to his chest. at that moment, you knew you'd forever love this Caladanian for as long as you lived.

"I love you too, Paul Atreides~" 💭

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theladyofbloodshed · 11 months ago

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Hunt x Nesta - Epilogue

Life sucked.

Hunt could split his life into two chapters: before Nesta and after Nesta. Both chapters sucked. But that little blip in the middle – the one week where life had been better than he ever expected was good. He’d always have that.

‘Stop moping, my goodness.’

Isaiah groaned from his desk then dropped his forehead onto the cheap wood.

‘Everything reminds me of her,’ Hunt replied, holding up a sugar sachet from the crappy coffee machine.

It was true. Hunt could draw a correlation to Nesta regardless of the topic; she liked it, she would have hated it, he wished he could show her it, they’d tried it.

He had loved Shahar but it had been intense from the start. The rebellion had intensified every moment of it, pushing them both towards a zenith that he free-fell from. Losing her was different. It was a loss that held finality – but Hunt had lost so many that day, had suffered so much as a result, the grief had been for Shahar and all the others who'd fought alongside him.

To Shahar, he had been Hunt, a powerful angel plucked from the bowels of Pangea to command her legions.

This was different.

To Nesta, he’d only ever been Orion. Grumpy, sleepy, teasing, serious, or goofy, she’d wanted all of him. And Nesta wasn’t dead but it would have hurt less if she was.

Night after night, Hunt scoured the internet on any whiff of something similar to the Horn to try and find a way back to her. He’d deal with breeches and no hair dryer if it meant they were together again. He’d even wondered if Ruhn Danaan would know anything about another fae relic because Isaiah couldn’t be persuaded to get another warrant to search the Autumn King’s home for hidden artefacts.

‘I know that you miss her, Hunt, but it’s just not possible to find her again,’ he said calmly.

Those same words had been said to him a month earlier, also by Isaiah, when he’d found Hunt deliberating in the street. He’d gathered is hard-earned coins ready to dump them all in the Astronomer’s lap so that he’d use his mystics to locate her. In the end, it proved too risky. Hunt wouldn’t dare to expose Nesta that way.

‘It fucking sucks,’ replied Hunt before shuffling back to his desk for a long night of paperwork.

When Nesta left, Hunt expected a depression to come and drown him. He’d been there before and it always lurked in his periphery. But she’d given him hope and it felt different. The light didn’t abate in her absence; the flame remained burning. So he worked and worked. Did what Micah asked. Treaded every single line without complaint. And he thought of her. Thought of her smile, her curiosity, the way she had him wrapped around her finger in a single day.

***

‘What now?’

Emerie’s brown eyes had dulled from their week of absolute hell. She sat on the cushioned windowsill of the river estate with mud still caked over her face. Nesta looked down at her own hands. They were splattered with a mix of blood. Some was hers, Cassian’s, Bellius’, and Feyre’s.

Her stomach was empty enough that it hurt. She’d see a healer soon. Gwyn had the worst injuries so was with Madja in a separate room.

A small cry rang out down the hall from the baby boy, Nyx.

Feyre had died. Her heart had stopped beating. Nesta had felt the whole world turn colder, felt the knife coming for Feyre’s thread, so Nesta did the only thing she could think of. Still beaten and ruined from the Blood Rite, she gave her power back. She gave it all back.

And Feyre lived. The boy lived.

Nesta wedged her aching body into the windowsill next to Emerie, wishing they were a different set of wings cradling her shoulders.

It had been a tough few months since her little jaunt to Lunathion.

To his credit, Lucien did not speak of what he saw. He simply pretended the entire event had never happened and acted with all the quality of one the males from Fangs and Bangs when it was discovered by the others that Nesta had returned. It was their secret, never to be mentioned. She was grateful for that.

None ever questioned her moroseness because it was no different to her capricious ways. She could feel herself pushing everybody away, as always, week after week without Hunt’s infectious joy. The idea of Cassian touching her churned her stomach. She’d put an end to it, dumbfounding him. And when her sister’s family had convinced her to seduce Eris through dance, it confirmed to Nesta that all she would ever be was a pawn to be used for their benefit. When Eris had shown interest, Nesta had considered it if only to have a lifeline out of the Night Court.

‘I don’t even know if it will work,’ Nesta said quietly, tilting her head to touch Emerie’s.

The pair of them absolutely reeked. Being dragged from their beds and dumped onto Ramiel for a week would do that. Only sheer grit and hoping had kept them alive. That, and Gwyn bringing a beast to slaughter eight of the Illyrians.

‘It’s worth a try,’ replied Emerie.

They’d huddled together in the dark, cold and tired but not willing to sleep. And Nesta had told Emerie and Gwyn everything about the male she’d found in Lunathion. How she could not even go an hour without thinking of him, without imagining a life together. They’d listened with rapture, delighted for her as true friends were. Even when she cried at the thought of leaving them behind, they encouraged her to take her chance if they made it out alive because they loved her enough to let her go and find happiness.

‘It’s complicated.’

‘What’s complicated? Toot the horn and fly off with your angel.’

Gwyn limped into the room in her filthy clothes. ‘Who’s tooting? Are we tooting?’

‘Nesta’s about to go to the future with her angel lover.’

Instead of indignation, colour heated her cheeks and she felt like a giggling, love-struck fool. ‘He is so handsome.’

The cell phone had died quickly from all the moments that Nesta had spent agonising over photos of the Umbra Mortis in his boxers, as he called them.

‘So we have heard,’ Emerie replied drily.

Nesta shoved her heart back into its cage. ‘It’s impossible. I’ve surrendered my power. The Horn won’t work. Hunt is a slave. It’s been almost four months. He could be sold by now to another owner.’

‘Then buy him back,’ urged Gwyn.

‘With what?’

Emerie braced a hand against her ribs as she stood. ‘Well, the High Lord did offer you anything for saving their lives.’

‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘Rhysand would never agree to let me go, much less give me a pile of his wealth to send me on way. They still think Cassian is my mate. That the bond will snap. If it didn’t snap when Briallyn had him try to kill me, it never will – and I thank the stars for that.’

The words hung heavy. It had been one horrific moment after the other. Cassian bellowing at her on a bridge crossing the Sidra that she was his, despite her refusals. Morrigan delivering her to Emerie and Gwyn as she trembled. Waking disorientated in the Blood Rite. Staring down Bellius as she held Ramiel’s pass. Briallyn controlling Cassian with the Crown, trying to kill her. Only the Mask coming to her rescue again had saved her life.

‘I made a list the other day of all the things I’d like to do in Prythian. Do you know what I wrote?’ At her friends’ expectant faces, she continued, ‘Finish my book. I have no desires or dreams here. I am simply an object.’

‘What did you write for the other side?’

The corners of her mouth twitched. ‘So many things. There are things I want to do that I don’t even know exist yet. I want to go to the amusement park with Hunt. To study. I’d study for my whole life. I want to throw my cap in the air when I’ve finished studying. I want to live with Orion – I want a life with him like I’ve never dreamed of a male before. I didn’t kiss him enough.’

‘It was not only the High Lord’s life you saved, Nesta,’ Emerie reminded her. ‘There is a High Lady of the Night Court.’

***

Silver light poured into the room like molten metal, so bright that Hunt needed to shield his eyes from the glare.

A low, hissing noise had him scurrying from his bed and pressing his wings to the cream wall in anticipation.

‘What the fuck.’

The wall opposite was flooded with a silver fire that chilled him to the bone. The narrow window above his bed frosted over. On his exhale, his breath was visible.

Then she was there.

The fire fell away, revealing an ornate library with rows of leather-bound books. Light streamed in from the massive bay windows, bathing Nesta in its glow. Like the first day that Hunt had seen her, Nesta was other-worldly. Instead of tight leathers that sinfully kissed every curve, she wore a pale lavender dress with a square-cut neckline. Her hands were buried in the long sleeves although Hunt spotted the tip of the horn poking from beneath. The draping skirts couldn’t hide the sneakers that she’d bought in Lunathion and declared the comfiest shoes she’d ever tried.

‘Tell me I’m dreaming,’ Hunt murmured.

Twice, Nesta’s lips parted then sealed again. Tears rimmed her grey eyes.

‘Nesta,’ he said, stepping closer to the fiery portal. The hairs on his arm stood from the seeping cold that surrounded it.

A soft gasp emitted from her side and two females came into view, ushered into the library by the same male he’d seen months ago with red hair and a metallic eye. One cradled a baby to her chest. This had to be Feyre; she had the unmistakeable look of her older sister although freckles dotted across the bridge of her nose and her hair hung freely. A swirling, black tattoo covered the hand that stroked her son’s wings. The other female was darker haired with large brown eyes reminding Hunt of a faun.

‘It worked?’ Feyre asked.

‘Obviously,’ the male replied, making Elain giggle and cover her mouth to hide it.

Hunt took another step closer to Nesta who was still immobilised. In the chairs behind her were two more females. Hunt had heard all about them. The winged one was Emerie and the red-haired one was Gwyn. Nesta’s face had lit up as she spoke of her only friends in Prythian when they’d been together.

‘Hey, Starlight,’ he said, reaching his hand through to her side. He jerked his chin towards her sister and the baby. ‘They made it.’

‘They made it,’ Nesta repeated, face twisting with emotion. ‘I gave up my power for them. I didn’t know if this would still work. I had to choose between seeing you again and saving them.’

‘And everybody won,’ he said, grasping her shaking hand.

It took every instinct not to haul her through to his side and kiss her until every star went out.

Nesta did that for him.

From the force that she yanked him to her, Hunt was practically falling. His hands found her waist to steady himself and he could feel her breath on his cheek as he pulled himself upright. Their bodies knocked together, the softness of her curves feeling like home.

‘I missed you.’

‘There has been nobody to laugh with.’ He touched his forehead to hers. ‘There was a national crisis because demand for ice cream plummeted since you left.’

When Hunt moved to kiss her, he stilled. There were markings on her neck, a fresh cut that still had the scab on her cheek and more wounds on her hands. They had to be recent because fae healed as fast as malakim.

‘What the Hel has happened? Are you alright? Who hurt you?’

The two females in the chair exchanged a glance then he noticed that both of them had been wounded recently too. Emerie had a bruise above her eyebrow that caused the lid to swell and Gwyn’s hands were bound in bandages.

‘It’s alright,’ Nesta murmured, holding his hands in hers. ‘Something happened. I was taken. The three of us. We woke in the Blood Rite.’

‘I don’t know what that is.’

Surprising him, Nesta broke into a laugh. It skittered over his skin like static.

‘What’s funny?’

‘That’s what I say to you, Orion.’

The male, Lucien, cleared his throat from his post at the door. ‘Nesta, I don’t know how long it will be open – or until they notice.’

‘Right,’ she said, nodding. ‘It was hell. All of it. That week on the mountain and all the months before. All I wanted was you. I told my friends that if we survived, if we made it through each night, I would find you.’

From the three-legged table, Nesta picked up a rolled-up piece of parchment. There was a line down the middle, splitting it into two columns. In an elegant script, lines upon lines of text had been written.

‘I wrote why I should stay here or why I should leave. There is danger on both sides, uncertainty, and it feels like leaping into the unknown. This is the world I know. My sisters are here. But the difference is in Lunathion, I will have you. And that makes all the difference, Hunt.’ She clutched the paper tighter. ‘I don’t care. All I want is you.’

When his day began, Hunt didn’t have Nesta appearing and offering him a forever on his bingo card. He blew out a breath. ‘Nesta, I’m a slave. I can’t give you a home. I don’t even know who my father is. If you want a life of comfort, you’re better off with Tristan Flynn.’

There was a brilliant shine of determination in her eyes. ‘I want a male who will love me.’

He’d loved her the moment she’d dropped out of the sky and told Isaiah she was a bard. These months without her had felt like living without the sun. He’d do another two hundred years in gorsian shackles strung up in the Asteri’s dungeon rather than spend another moment without Nesta.

Hunt stepped back through the portal to his room in the barracks and pulled out a prospectus for Crescent City University along with guidance on how to apply for funding. He’d gathered them just in case Nesta ever came back. He’d pulled legislation on the minimal rights of slaves. As long as Hunt answered when called, slaves could rent a property – they couldn’t own it, but it was a start, so he’d saved every penny of his pitiful wages, took double shifts and worked on his allotted days off to scrape together a few more coins because Nesta had given him that piece of hope that he hadn’t had before.

On the desk, there was photo album that he’d been compiling. It had provided an outlet instead of moping. Hunt had channelled all of his dreams into it.

‘There’s still space for more,’ he said, stepping back through and handing it to Nesta.

Her sisters and the other females peered over her shoulder at it. Every single photo that Nesta had taken on her cell and his, no matter how blurred, had been printed out and stuck in with his terrible handwriting beneath with a caption. Hunt had written about their day, about what she’d said, where they’d been or what they’d eaten. There was one of her bending down with the Istros in the background as Hunt had tried to get a scurrying otter in shot with her – but ended up with a smear of brown and yellow flopping into the river.

‘You look in pain there,’ said Elain, pointing to one.

‘She couldn’t decide on a milkshake flavour.’

Nesta’s lips quirked as she looked at the photo. ‘I regret banana.’

‘Is that why you drank mine?’

There were photos of him too. Ones she had taken. Ones that were blurry or zoomed in too far or ones in the elevator when she discovered that she could use the mirror to capture both of them. One of him with his fluffed-up wings and that rotten witch-ink halo on full display. One of them snuggled up on the bed on a pile of pillows. Lots of them together; Nesta appearing regal and poised whilst he looked surly or goofy to annoy her. One of Nesta in her gown before the ballet with Ruhn that she’d taken of herself in the bathroom mirror. A few of her when she’d put a cat-eared filter on and couldn’t work out how to take it off. Some even of Ruhn when he was driving, trying to block the camera with his tattooed hand.

‘I thought that was Rhys.’

Nesta chuckled, ‘So did I – and I gave him hell for it.’

‘They’re coming,’ said Lucien from the window where he’d been observing the skies. ‘They’ve likely felt the shift in the wards.’

On the horizon, three black shapes were moving quicker, wings beating rapidly.

Nesta turned to him, silver eyes shining with hope. ‘Will you have me?’

‘You were mine the day you fell from the stars. I love you. You think I make photo albums for every girl that lands in the middle of the road?’

Nesta silenced him with a kiss that surprised everybody in the room.

‘My bags are packed. I’ve already said goodbye.’

‘You’ll have to flirt with Flynn to get his credit card again,’ he said, grimacing slightly. ‘It will be centuries until I can afford somewhere for us to live.’

Feyre shook her head. ‘Finances are handled.’

‘I’m paying for your freedom,’ Nesta said resolutely. ‘There may only be one Umbra Mortis but I’m the bitch who stole from the Cauldron. That has to count for something.’

What she was, was a pillar of steel that could never be broken. Hunt didn’t care if she was sharp or unyielding, she was his Nesta. His girl from the stars.

Hunt slid his hands to her face, kissing her deeply. He didn’t care if her sisters watched. Didn’t care if the winged female whistled loudly at them. He had waited months to feel her again, to hold her.

‘We need to go,’ Nesta urged.

The two females had moved back to the chairs and exchanged a glance as the roof shook. A heavy landing. Feyre clutched her son to her chest, eyes going vacant as if listening to something else.

Three bags had been prepared and neatly tucked beneath the table. On her direction, Hunt hauled them up and through the portal back into the barracks. The final one tested his strength. It was bulky and ridiculously heavy, but with five females watching him, Hunt pretended the weight didn’t surprise him even if his muscles strained.

‘Are you bringing your Harp, bard?’

‘No. Only the Horn to close it then we’ll destroy it.’

Hunt pretended he didn’t just hear Nesta declare that she was about to break a priceless fae artefact that would have Einar Danaan, Micah, and the Asteri string her up from a dungeon for touching it.

They were doing this.

A cold sweat rippled down his back. They were really doing this. In the face of an archangel, a fae prince, and whatever the Asteri were, Hunt and Nesta were doing this for real.

His fingers enclosed around her wrists as steps grew closer. ‘Are you sure? You’ve known me a week.’

‘I have the rest of my life to know you,’ she said, before kissing him tenderly again. ‘Orion Athalar, you are my home. Maybe I fell that day, rattling the stars, because I was searching for you.’

The door swung open and shadows flooded in, sweeping the rugs of the library like a tidal wave that could no longer be held back. The first male had slicked back black hair and sparkling eyes so blue they appeared violet.

‘Shit, he does look like Ruhn,’ said Hunt.

In a soft voice, he said, ‘What is this?’

Two more males filed in, taking care to manoeuvre their large, leathery wings through the wooden doorway. These were the Illyrians she had spoken of which meant one was Azriel, who’d handed her a bag too heavy for her to manage, and the other was Cassian, a male who Hunt would delight in hurting.

Immediately, Hunt catalogued the subtle changes in Nesta. Whilst he would have expected her spine to go straighter, her chin to lift in defiance, instead Nesta curled in on herself as if she was deflating. Her shoulders hunched, making herself smaller and a flat, empty expression took up residence on her pale face.

The high lord’s eyes flashed to the Horn in Nesta’s hands. With a jolt of magic that Hunt felt fire across the room, he tried to lurch the Made item from her grip but it stayed firmly in her hand.

‘You have opened a portal to another world,’ he said, voice low and edged with warning. ‘You are endangering the lives of everybody in this city, Nesta. Endangering my mate and our son.’

Hunt couldn’t take it. It was as if all of the air was being pressed from the room. The two Illyrian sentries stood silent either side of their high lord in a display of cruel dominance. Neither would speak for Nesta. Hunt looked again to the females. Her two sisters were mute. The red-haired male had taken a not-so-subtle step closer to Elain, an arm extending ready to shield her. The other two females were as pale and timid as Nesta had become in their chairs; the winged one settled a hand on Gwyneth’s knee in reassurance as shadows lashed at the walls.

These fae pricks.

‘Who the fuck do you think you are?’

The urge to let his lightning loose was an instinct that proved difficult to deny – but not when Nesta was in the firing line, nor a child and a male with a metal eye that would send his lightning haywire.

The high lord blinked in disbelief then took a step closer to Nesta.

Lightning wreathed his hands in response. ‘Don’t even fucking think about it.’

‘If it hits Nesta?’

Hunt could play that game. He went into the place where Micah sent him where it was cold and empty. ‘If it hits your son? Your mate?’

He let the static tighten the room so strands of their hair rose. Hunt pulled the clouds closer, bringing in a storm from the mountains which darkened the room. Rain pattered upon the glass.

The male to the high lord’s left tilted his head, back hair falling across his pensive face. The blue stones on his leathers pulsed. ‘What are you?’

‘He’s not Peregryn,’ the male with red stones said.

He kept his brown eyes fixed on the threats in the room while he spoke softly to Nesta. ‘Go through, Starlight. We’ll go to the movies tonight. I realised you never tasted popcorn.’

The weight of her decision pressed on her. That, or the arrogant bastards shooting daggers at her.

‘We can make out on the back row too.’

That shifted something in Nesta, like the final screw coming loose. She exhaled with relief and edged towards him. Hunt stretched out his arm towards her to sweep his love behind him, behind his wings, so she could step through safely to the barracks as if they were negotiating the transfer of a hostage.

‘Baby, can you get my gun? It’s in the holster at the bottom of the bed.’

With a trembling hand, Nesta placed the gun in the hand that was outstretched behind himself. Magic was great, but nothing could quite replace a steel kiss. Hunt cocked his weapon, keeping it trained on the high lord.

‘Which one’s Cassian?’

Likely the male whose face was purpling as he stared at Hunt like he wanted to wrap his hands around his throat. Join the club, buddy, Hunt thought.

‘The red stones?’

None in the room gave an acknowledgement to his words. He didn’t want this to turn into a standoff but now that Hunt was here, facing the bastards who’d made Nesta’s life a misery for the last couple of years, he couldn’t resist being a dick. The Umbra Mortis had earned his reputation. He’d survived torture and a failed rebellion. And he was going to have a beautiful future with his gorgeous Nesta – but first, these males needed to atone.

‘Listen, these ladies look as if they’ve seen enough violence so I’ll refrain from blasting your brains out on these lovely rugs, but you owe my girl an apology.’ Over his shoulder, Hunt asked, ‘Does Lucien need to say sorry?’

‘Hunt, don’t bother. Let’s just close it.’

‘Does Lucien need to say sorry?’ he repeated.

Nesta gave a sigh. ‘No. Lucien is fine.’

‘Good male,’ he said, offering a slight wink in the scarred-one’s direction.

A shadow that had been creeping along the skirting board made to lunge towards him but Hunt hit it with a bolt of lightning that crippled it. The male who’d bejazzled his leathers with blue stones winced as if he felt the blow too. Aha, that was the shadowsinger. Red stones was the prick who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.

‘Alright, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to say sorry to Nesta then I’m leaving with her. We’re going to have a beautiful life together and never come back to this place again.’ Hunt gave a dramatic sigh. ‘If I’m honest, I think it’s less about my company and more about the fact you three have made her life so miserable here that she's willing to leave.’

‘That’s not true,’ Nesta called, and he caught the slight playful edge in her tone. ‘I want to go to university too.’

Little minx.

The three males were carved from stone. Every now and then, Hunt felt something trying to edge towards his mind like a tendril of smoke but his lightning zapped it without thought.

‘My finger is getting really sweaty holding back this trigger.’

The gun wasn’t even loaded – safety protocol – but if these fae were as clueless as Nesta had been, they’d have no idea.

‘Nesta, I am sorry that we did not extend the same warmth to you as we did to your sisters. I’m truly sorry that after the war, we were not a support for you.’

‘Well done, blue stones. Next one.’

The high lady shuffled the baby who was growing restless in her arms. ‘Is this necessary?’

‘Yes. Next question.’

Hunt lashed his lightning towards the males’ feet, making them leap back a step. Damn, he wished he recorded the sudden bloom of fear on their arrogant faces.

‘I’m sorry that I loved you,’ Cassian said. ‘I’m sorry that I gave you everything I could and it still wasn’t enough. Nes, what are you doing? In this life, we can have our time together. Think of our future.’

‘Didn’t you make her walk until she collapsed?’

The male blanched. ‘It was for her own good.’

‘No,’ Hunt uttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘I can't do this. I need to go before I shoot you.’

Behind him, Nesta’s snort of laughter was the confirmation that Hunt needed. Nesta would never get the apology that she deserved from this male – but the promise of a future free from him was good enough. A future with Hunt meant more.

His wings scooped low, tucking towards his spine, as Hunt took a backwards step. The cold bite of Nesta’s magic that surrounded the portal edged closer. He hoped he would look cool departing the library and wouldn’t fall on his ass through to the other side.

Once back in Lunathion, Hunt stood at Nesta’s side, proud to do it.

‘We won’t come here again,’ said Nesta, voice growing stronger with every word. Her eyes bounced between her friends and her sisters. ‘I love you but this is best for me. I wish you all the love in the world.’

Nesta lifted the horn to her lips and Hunt prayed to Luna that she’d hit that note on the first try or he’d laugh his ass off again. His hand enclosed around her fist, raising it in the air.

‘This is how we say bye in my world, assholes.’

Hunt prised Nesta’s middle finger up to flip them off – giving her only a moment to blow the Horn before she grinned.

Silver flames swarmed it then fell in on themselves like a star collapsing. They were left with the plain wall of his room in the Comitium.

‘You okay?’

Hunt touched her cheek in an attempt to read her expression. She didn’t need to wear the mask anymore. There would be no hiding her feelings or supressing her hurts. Nesta could be Nesta in Lunathion. And if she didn’t know who that was yet, it was fine. She could discover who she was.

Nesta slipped her hands around his neck, moving closer. ‘Oh, you are going to get it tonight, Orion Athalar.’

‘Oh?’ An eyebrow cocked up.

‘Defending me. Making them say sorry. What a male.’

Their lips crushed together. Now they had about a thousand things to do before they could relax, like storing the Horn somewhere safe, where nobody would notice the magic, find a place to live rather than keep her smuggled in the barracks, and figure out what the Hel was in that massive bag. With Nesta at his side, anything was possible. They’d weather the storm.

‘Your male,’ Hunt said between hurried kisses.

‘Mine,’ agreed Nesta.

‘Always.’

#hunt x nesta #hunt athalar #nesta archeron

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lick-me-lennon22 · 10 months ago

Text

Teddy Boy!John Lennon X Modern!Reader - Smoke & Serendipity 🚬

(based on an anonymous request for a tb!john x modern!reader oneshot where the reader has accidentally traveled back in time !! hope you all enjoy 💕)

Confusion clouds your mind as you blink, trying to make sense of your surroundings. It takes a moment for the realization to sink in: you had somehow traveled back in time.

Suddenly and inexplicably, you find yourself standing atop the cobbled streets of 1950s Liverpool, amidst the buzzing energy of rock 'n' roll and the birth of a cultural revolution.

As you stumble through the unfamiliar streets, your heart races with apprehension. How had this happened? And more importantly, how are you going to get back to your own time?

You begin to notice the judgmental sneers and bewildered stares you were receiving from passers by, many of them clad in tailored suits and long, pleated skirts.

You glance down at your own attire.

Yeah, this isn't going to cut it, you think to yourself. I'd better get out of sight before I draw any more unwanted attention.

You wander a bit further, searching for a suitable place to lay low while you figure out how you're going to get out of this mess, when your eyes land on a hazy, dimly-lit alleyway.

Perfect.

You make a bee-line for the alley's entranceway, desperate to duck into the secluded spot. Before you can slip away into the cover of shadow, a bruised and bloodied teenaged boy storms out of the alley and past you, muttering curses under his breath.

What the hell...

You freeze for a moment, startled by the strange sight. You shake your head side-to-side, regaining focus on the task at hand as you cautiously round the corner.

Before you stood a tall, thin young man wearing a too-big leather jacket and scuffed boots, hair once slicked back but now disheveled from his skirmish with the other adolescent. He held a cigarette between two fingers of his bloody-knuckled right hand, taking drags on occasion as he kicked at the gravel beneath his feet.

Curiosity propelled you to approach the stranger, though nerves threatened to paralyze your steps. You gingerly step closer, finally catching the eye of the mysterious young man.

He is visibly taken aback at the sight of your unconventional attire, eyeing you up and down with an incredulous expression on his face. You're beginning to regret your decision when he lets out a low whistle and opens his mouth to speak:

"I've seen some outlandish outfits in me time but yours takes the cake, love," he teases with a snicker, curls of cigarette smoke framing his smug face.

You're shocked and somewhat offended by the gall of the stranger. You cross your arms over your chest defensively, but decide to keep the interaction playful- this is clearly not the kind of guy you want to provoke.

"Hey, don't knock it 'til you try it. Maybe I'll start a new fashion trend around here," you retort. The man quirks an eyebrow, intrigued by your quick wit and unfamiliar accent. Before he has time for another snide remark, you continue.

"Besides, you're one to talk. What's with the bloody knuckles, uh..."

"John," he interrupts you, chuckling softly. He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly as you make the observation, slightly ashamed but determined not to let his tough exterior slip.

"Ah, just a little scuffle. Nothing I couldn't handle- you know how it is."

You think back to the beat-up young man you spotted earlier, putting the pieces together.

"Do you... do you often find yourself in situations like this?"

John's gaze softens, a hint of melancholy in his eyes.

"More often than I'd like, but it comes with the territory I suppose. Life's rough around the edges, especially for a lad like me." He gives a hollow chuckle.

The urge to pry further tugs at you, but you choose to ignore it. Before you can formulate a response, he regains his confidence and speaks up again.

"Why do you ask? Just curious, or-" he takes a step towards you, "Perhaps you fancy a bad boy, hm?"

You're stunned by John's boldness, beginning to blush as you look up into his half-lidded eyes. At such a distance, you quickly take note of how handsome the young man really is, in a rough-and-tumble sort of way.

"I wouldn't say that, but... is it a crime to be curious about a rugged stranger?"

John shakes his head, amused, and puffs on his cigarette before speaking.

"Well, if you really do want to know more... me band's got a gig tonight down at the Cavern Club. How's about you make an appearance?" he suggests with a smirk.

You narrow your eyes cautiously, wary of his intentions at first, but beyond his bravado you can tell that he's being sincere. You mull the idea over in your mind, finally deciding that your trip back home can wait.

"Perhaps I'll see you there. Unless of course some other charming young man comes to sweep me off my feet in the meanwhile," you tease. "Someone a little less... greasy."

You reach a hand up to ruffle his hair- as much as you can, anyway, with what's left of his hair gel stiffening his locks. John gives you a playful shove and rolls his eyes.

"With that dreadful getup? Fat chance."

He saunters past you as you stammer, furrowing your eyebrows at him in distaste.

"Hey! I... it's... well-"

"I think what you meant to say was, catch you later, handsome."

He winks and struts off down the street, leaving you a flustered mess.

Now I really need to hit the shops.

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thelampisaflashlight · 1 year ago

Text

Lost Little Lamb

[Omega finds a curious little ghoul in the dark under unfortunate circumstances. Implied non-consensual body modification and death.] Below the cut.

The first thing that hits him is the smell.

Mildew, rust, and the unmistakable scent of rot.

It takes a minute or two for his eyes to catch up with his nose, and when they do, he can't help but close them, unable to stop the puff of air that escapes his lips like a pained hiss.

Omega tries not to let it get to him; He's a beast from Hell, he's seen worse, but that doesn't make this -any of this- good, or fine, or okay in the slightest.

It's...

"Satanas..."

There had been an anonymous tip about a small sect of the church that was attempting to "make" ghouls.

Not summon.

Make.

"How many do you think there are?" someone asks from further in the darkness, "I count seven."

"Do we... do we count-"

"See to the ones moving around first, check for breathing... leave the rest until later. Prioritize the injured."

Omega scans the room before him, trying to get his bearings, but being a ghoul means he can see... see so much more than the human clergy along with him.

It's a curse to be able to see the scale of the horrors that have taken place here, but his keen eyesight also has its advantages, and he will use it to his advantage to search this manmade pit top to bottom.

"I'll..." he breathes, steeling himself, "I'll get a better lay of the land."

The basement is massive.

Longer than it is wide, but still the fact that the space seems to keep going and going is...

It makes his stomach twist with unease.

When he finally reaches the end of it all, Omega has to set himself against the wall, running his hands over his face as he tries to understand what has happened here.

He can't.

He cannot imagine the sick and twisted minds of the people who did this, and frankly he doesn't want to, but it's his job.

He has to figure out what happened, and...

Crunch.

Omega pushes himself from the wall at the sound of movement, thinks to call out for whoever -whatever- is shifting in the darkness to show its self, but that's when he sees it...

...sees them.

Crawling around through the mess on the floor, pale hands caked in dirt, long white hair obscuring their face, is the smallest, skinniest little ghoul he's ever seen.

When he shifts involuntarily, the ghoul turns to him slowly.

A single coal black eye shining dully in the faint overhead light filtering through a crack in the ceiling above.

They look him up and down, tail curling around their frail body protectively as they move to sit up, kneeling there before Omega looking so...

Omega crouches down to be on eye level with the ghoul, inspecting their face and trying to match it to any of the missing persons he'd seen in the file he was handed earlier, but, whether through a flaw of his own memory or an oversight by the investigators, he doesn't remember anyone like them.

"Hello." he whispers, he doesn't have to, but he can't quite seem to force himself to speak any louder, "Hi, I'm Omega. I'm here to help... You... do you have a name?"

The ghoul scratches lightly at the dirt floor, and for a moment Omega thinks they might start writing something, but instead, they just knead the soil.

Digging blunted nails into the dry earth as they stare.

The anxious motion makes Omega's heart squeeze.

"Do you want to go around to the front with me?" he asks, "There are people there that can give you a little check-up, make sure you're okay?"

Scritch, scritch, scritch.

"Can you..." Omega clenches and unclenches his hands for a moment before taking his finger and drawing a line from his ear to his chin, hoping the ghoul might understand the gesture.

They squint at him for a moment, then repeat the gesture, shaking their head.

"Okay... okay, so you can hear me then. Can you talk?" he tries, and the ghoul nods, but...

They crook their middle and index fingers and hit their fists on top of each other.

Hard? Maybe...

"It's difficult?"

They nod.

Omega looks at their legs.

"Can you stand?"

In the end, Omega has to carry them to the exit.

They can stand, but they keep moving down to crawl or to skulk on all fours, and it all looks very painful and dirty given the state of the floor, so with a bit of convincing and very little physical effort on Omega's part, he manages to scoop up them up.

The whole way back, Omega can feel the ghoul's every heartbeat against his own chest, and the subtle fill of their lungs as they breathe.

They seem so small tucked into his arms.

Omega finds himself rubbing soothing circles into their back, shushing them softly when they fidget a bit before getting comfortable.

He holds them the whole way to the van, only letting go when one of the other ghouls gives a nervous chirrup from the backseat, prompting the smaller ghoul to climb out of his arms and slip over the seats to comfort them.

They don't say anything as they curl up against the frightened ghoul, rubbing their face against them, and giving a loud, gravelly thrum from their chest.

The others seem to take the small ghoul's return as a cue to relax.

"Is there anyone else?" Omega asks, "Is there anyone else down there?"

"No." replies one of the larger ghouls watching over the rest of the group, their eyes never leaving their companions, "It's just us left."

"Okay..." he nods, "Do you have names?"

"I don't... I don't know." they reply, looking down, "I'm... I'm the newest from... from what I can tell."

"And the others?" he questions, "Do you know who's been here the longest?"

"I do..." They say, "...But I don't know for how long."

"That's fine, who..."

They point at the little ghoul, who is now sleeping with their head in the other ghoul's lap.

"They were here before everyone else."

Omega breathes.

"...and how many years was the second longest here for?"

"Six."

It takes three years.

Three whole years.

For Omega to sort through everything from the basement incident.

But even after all that time, he still cannot seem to find anything about the little ghoul he found in the very back of the basement.

Lamb.

"I can't find anything about them anywhere in these documents, nothing matches." Omega groans, "It's like they appeared out of thin air.

"Perhaps, and mind you this is just a theory..." Brother Elijah hums thoughtfully, looking through a series of test results, blood work for the ghouls formerly quarantined in the lower den, now occupied by the Ghost Project band ghouls, "...the reason we cannot find anything about them is because they were actually summoned, unlike the rest, and used as the sort of... originator... of the ghouls the sect created."

"What?"

The human slides the papers to Omega.

"The method the sect was using to 'convert' those people was through blood transfusions." he splays the papers across the surface of the table, pointing at a red circle he's drawn on each of the results, "This here."

Omega frowns.

"Everyone else has a trace amount of this... unknown element." the man continues, "Except for Lamb."

"Then how-"

Brother Elijah places yet another paper on top of the pile.

"Lamb has nearly forty times the amount of the rest of them. It's as prevalent in their bloodstream as iron." he says, "In fact, they have such a surplus of it, it seems to be leeching from their pores. That's what makes their skin glow."

"So you think they used Lamb as their patient zero?" Omega asks, "...Even if that's the case, where did Lamb come from to begin with?"

"We still don't know." Brother Elijah admits, leaning back in his chair, "And until Lamb remembers, which..."

Omega rubs his temples.

"...Is unlikely."

"I could... I could try entering their mind again." Omega scratches his chin, "But..."

Brother Elijah pats his arm.

"No need to push yourself, my friend."

"I just... I don't know what happens if we can't find anything." he frets, "What happens to them?"

"That will be for them to decide, but, in the meantime, is it really so bad for them to stay here?"

"...You and I both know things are happening behind the curtains, Eli." Omega sighs, "I worry for what it could me for the future, for the project and..."

"Terzo?" the other smiles sadly, "I'm sure he'll be quite alright. Even if the rumors are true and Sister Imperator wishes for him to be replaced, I doubt she would bring him any harm... stepping down might do him some good, and just think of how much more time you would get to spend together once he retires."

Omega chuckles, "I guess you're right... Still though-"

A knock at the door.

"Brother Elijah, Mister Omega? There's been an incident involving one of the new summons..."

"Enter." Brother Elijah calls.

A sister of sin with long red hair steps inside, looking rather fidgety.

"What's happened?"

"Well..." she purses her lips, glancing at Omega, "You see, um, the new water ghoul summon, Rain? He, uh... He's hurt."

"How severely?" Omega asks, already pushing his seat back.

"Oh, y-you see, he's fine, but..."

"But?"

"The reason I came to report this to you directly is because L-Lamb was involved." she laughs nervously, "They, uh..."

"What's wrong? What happened to them?" he frets, heading for the door.

"...They bit Rain's ass."

"WHAT."

#lamp writes #shitghosting #nameless ghouls #omega ghoul #rain ghoul #ghost band #the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost band fanfic #ghost band oc #nameless ghoul oc #Lamb chomped that ghoul

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wizardgirlxyz · 2 months ago

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start of a she ra catradora aristocrat au fanfic I’m working on

Viscountess Catra scanned the room, looking in search of anybody worth talking to. Aligning with her expectations, she had no such luck. This ball would likely be another waste of time, perhaps only made better by a brief interruption. Perhaps somebody would be revealed to have an affair and the entire room would be allight with hidden whispers, secret gasps, until the rumours would be debunked and then the room would settle again into a monotonous routine like all the others. Meaningless small talk about politics, mingling, dancing. How dull. Sometimes she wondered why she even made the effort to show up to these things. Many months ago Shadow Weaver would have told her that attending such events was vital to creating a good reputation - but she was not Miss Weaver’s ward anymore (Thank the Titan) so whatever the lady used to say made no difference to such matters. For example - ‘do not slump one’s shoulders’ and ‘do not look bored’. Catra’s shoulders were slumped, not much, but a lot more than Miss Weaver would’ve liked, and her face was pulled into the embodiment of ‘I could not give less damns’. (probably because she couldn’t)

“Catra.”

Speak of the devil and she will appear.

“Shadow Weaver.” The viscountess turned around, stringing her face into a small grin - the most she could be bothered to do. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Your shoulders are hunched,” The old lady hissed. “And I have told you a million times before to not lurk in the corners. How do you expect to find suitable company?”

Catra rolled her eyes and leaned against the wall, crossing her arms.

“Don’t you have anyone else to control nowadays? Or are you really so bored that you showed up just to piss me off?”

The magicat could see her former guardian bristle at the use of wording.

“Ah, yes. Perhaps you would like to meet my ward. She shows much more constraint than you ever did, and she is mannerly.” Shadow Weaver turned around to where her new ward was standing by the refreshments table, scooping up tiny cakes and shovelling them into her mouth like a wild boar. “Adora!” Miss Weaver screeched, which caught the girl by surprise, and made Catra instinctively flinch slightly.

Though she pitied the girl, Catra could not help but snigger.

“Yes, yes, so much constraint. So mannerly,” she said, sarcastically.

She could see the old hag trying very hard not to reach out and hit her. She would’ve found it funny if the expression wasn’t so morbidly resembling to past events back when she was Miss Weaver’s ward.

“I see you are as impolite as ever.”

“I pride myself on it,” Catra snarked, and grinned. “If you’ll excuse me, I am going to find myself a drink, and perhaps some pleasurable conversation with your ward.”

It looked like Miss Weaver was going to say something but then decided against it. Catra guessed she did not want to draw attention to herself because Titan forbid anybody sees who the ‘respectable’ Miss Weaver really is.

#Catradora #fanfic #spop fanfic #catra #adora #spop catra #spop adora #spop #she ra netflix

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dra-and-sdra2-hot-takes · 1 year ago

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Harassing your best artists does not a good fandom make

disclaimer: i won't be naming the two artists who were harassed for obvious reasons, and i won't be naming any of the specific person(s) who did the harassment both because they* don't deserve credit and because i don't want to start a fight with them* but to give a lesson to both them* and people who stood idly by and let it happen.

these two artists are some of my favorite in the fandom. while they're both still somewhat active in the fandom, [artist A] has said they* feel disillusioned with the fandom based on its treatment of them* and, well, i can fucking see why! and while i haven't seen [artist B] comment on the harassment directly, i can imagine they* aren't enthused either.

i've had multiple people in this fandom tell me personally that people have come into their inboxes and told them to unfollow/block A and/or B because they're* "problematic" for reasons including but not limited to "drawing nsfw of the another cast" [as if they aren't fucking confirmed to be adults]

and, to top this layer cake of the disgusting treatment of these two artists, i have literally seen, and i am not the least bit joking here, someone's DNI including the line "if you support [artist A] or [artist B]... DNI, they're gross" the audacity. the fucking nerve. to put two random tumblr/social media users in their* shitty little '~do not interact~' list. two users who have done nothing wrong and whose only crime is drawing fiction

setting aside that harassment is.... you know.... always wrong, all the time. this is not how you build a good fandom. there are other good artists in the fandom. but A and B are my as well as many others' from what i've observed. they do a lot of good in this - and i cannot stress this enough - very small fandom.

if you do not like these artists (or any other artist), say it with me now, block and move on. add their usernames to your "filtered content" list if you absolutely musn't see them*. although the claim i've seen of their* mere mention being horrifically triggering for certain people is... odd, to say the least, and reeks of attempted ostracism, just like the backtalking they* recieved in random people's dms.

and of course it is not just these two artists experiencing bs like this in the fandom but their situation speaks to how such a toxic fandom like ours treats even our best and britest.

conclusion: stop harassing people. that's the bare minimum. perhaps don't mention people by name in your 'dni lists'. and realize building positive community is necessary for this and any other small fandom to thrive.

*they/them/theirs pronouns used exclusively to anonymize the people involved in this story because the identities of the people here is not the point. i'm not trying to use an incorrect pronoun for anyone involved here, just protect their identities.

p.s.: i don't control you, dear readers, but i can at least ask you please don't speculate about the identities of anyone i mentioned in the post. kthx

[ID: This blog has no DNI. Please be civil and respectful to everyone under my posts!]

#fire a take!!#dra #sdra2 #danganronpa another #super danganronpa another 2 #dra fandom #sdra2 fandom

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peyton-warren · 1 year ago

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A Dash of Cinnamon- A Jake Jensen Comfort Fan Fic

Characters: Jake Jensen Reader Fandom: The Losers (2010) Pairings: Jake Jensen x Reader Word count: 1202 Gender/Ethnicity/Body: Any/Neutral Type: One-shot Warning: Fluff, angst, vague mention of panic attack, brief description of surgery and stitches Author's Note: Thank you to @ellethespaceunicorn for the prompt, and @adulting-sucks for the beta! And thank you for those of you sticking with me through my horrendous writer's block. Tried to keep reader as Neutral as possible to be inclusive. Summary: Jake Jensen comforts you after a minor panic. Ask Box: Open Masterlist

“Hey, Sugar Bumpkin,” Jake calls as he enters your shared home after his errand. You hear the shuffle of grocery sacks as he closes the door, locking it. “They had your favorite strawberry ice cream,” he continues as he walks towards you, or at least towards where he left you on the couch. “They were out of..... Hey,” he stops, and you could almost picture the confusion on his face as he looked around the living room, glasses slid down his nose, forehead adorably wrinkled. “Where did you go, babe?”

You only sniffle from your hiding spot, but he’s on you like a bloodhound, quickly dropping his purchases to the coffee table.

“Babe?” he calls again, this time heading down the hall to where you are. “What’s going on?”

You don't even bother to look up at him as he stands in the doorway of the bathroom. You wipe your face with your good hand, possibly the only good hand you have left. This thought brings the tears back up as you curl your other arm tighter against your chest, keeping it carefully cradled with your knees drawn up. The fat tears you were crying while he was gone are suddenly back and you hide your face with your good hand.

“Oh, shit,” Jake softly says, and you can almost hear the conversation in his head about how he was gone for maybe 20 minutes and he wasn’t sure what could possibly have gone wrong in that time. You were happy on the couch when he left you, well drugged and happy. “Baby cakes,” he starts as he gets on his knees in front of you where you have yourself expertly wedged between the toilet and the shower, drawn in on yourself. “What’s going on? What happened?”

You just shake your head a little, sobbing into your hand as you continue to lament about your predicament. You try to draw in a little breath, enough to start speaking. “They are going to have to take my arm off,” you wail. “Wait what?” He sounds very disoriented. “Did the surgeon call while I was gone?”

You shake your head, the tears getting heavier, your breathing getting shallower. “Gangrene,” is the only word you can push out between your lips.

“Gangrene?” Jake echoes, bewilderment still in his voice. “You had surgery less than a week ago, babe.” It is then he looks around the room and notices the bandages and gauze on the closed toilet lid. Anti-everything creams open on the counter and around the sink. Blood tinged water in the sink.

You feel his massive hands brush over your upper arms as you continue to cry. “It’s gonna be ok, my love. I promise,” he shushes you, laying a kiss on your forehead for extra measure. “Can you tell me what happened?”

You sniffle and draw in a bigger breath, lifting your head to face him. You see the look of concern on his face shift behind those owlish glasses. Worry morphs into loving care as he tugs on the long sleeves of his shirt, pulling it over his hand as he wipes at your cheeks, attempting to clean up the tears. “Can you tell me?” he asks again, softer this time as he settles back on his heels.

You nod and untuck your arm from your chest and hold it out to him. He is careful to hold your forearm just right, knowing where the stitches are on your arm. He rotates it enough to bring the site of your recent surgery into view. The skin is a bit more irritated than it was last time he looked, and there might be a sight of blood around the one stitch where the knot is on the end. The skin around it is puckered and appears to be a healthy healing color. “Looks good, babe,” he admits.

You repeatedly shake your head and look up at him with pleading eyes, looking like a scared little child. He searches your face for more, hopeful for another clue about what is going on and why you think the surgeon is going to amputate your arm. After a moment of nothing, he sighs, running his thumb over your soft skin below the stitches, not over them. Your skin feels normally warm, not abnormally hot. It all seems ok to him.

“I need you to use your words, love,” he finally concedes defeat. “I can’t figure this out on my own.”

Clearing your throat, you wipe at your cheeks with your own hand, blinking up at him. “There’s... well, there was pus,” your voice wavers slightly but you continue. “Right there.” Your shaking finger points at the stitch that’s got the tiny amount of blood around it.

“And?” Your boyfriend is infinitely patient, and god, you love him for that. Especially when your brain gets tangled and messy like this.

You sigh softly, now seeing you might have maybe, in the new light of someone else’s view, overreacted a teensy weensy bit. Just a little. Nothing too much. “Pus means infection,” you reason. “And infection is bad.”

Jake’s patient and handsome face seems to follow your logic. When you stop, he fills in the blanks. You saw the pus, and tried to clean it up as gently as you could, then debated the best course of action with all the bandages and creams in the bathroom while your brain tried to tell you the doctor was going to amputate your arm. With a genuinely loving smile, he leans over and kisses your cheek softly, his stubble gently scratching your skin, making you hum softly as you lean a bit into his lips. “Sweetpea,” he starts. “Pus isn’t always bad. It just means your body is healing, doing its thing, white blood cells grouping together and....” he pauses, looking up at the ceiling as if the medical jargon he was looking for was written across the ugly popcorn ceiling. “Well doing their thing. And you’ll be fine. I promise.”

“How’s your hand?” he asks, still holding your forearm with one hand while the other scoots under your palm, cradling it in his own hand. You find it oddly soothing to feel his fingertips gently touching your palm, your own fingers dangling against his palm. He gently nudged your pinky finger with his thumb, your finger twitching in response, drawing a small smile from your lips. “How’s the numbness?” Your surgery was because you had numbness in your last two fingers of your hand that occasionally blossomed into unbearable pain. You had a pinched nerve, which the doc fixed during a quick surgery a few days ago.

You nod and give him a little smile. “Better,” you allow. Your fingers had feeling in them again, and not the excruciating kind.

“Good,” Jake states, bringing his lips down to your ring and pinky finger for a quick kiss. “How about I go make you a bowl of ice cream before it melts out of the box? And I’ll clean up this mess?” He vaguely gestures around the bathroom as he gets to his feet. Giving you that boyishly shy half smile of his, he reaches down offering you his hand.

General Tag List: @littleone65, @mysweetlittledesire, @jvanilly, @identity2212, @avengersfan25, @foxyjwls007 (if you'd like to be added or removed from my tag lists, please let me know)

#jake jensen #jake jensen fanfiction #jake jensen fluff #jake jensen x reader #jake jensen x you #jake+jensen+x+you #chris evans characters #chris evans character fanfiction

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2baddiesfanfics · 4 months ago

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Home is Where the Hearth is

Pairing: Arlecchino x Furina

Tags: Domestic Fluff, Domestic, Domestic Bliss, Scissoring, Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Fingering, Moving In Together, The House of the Hearth (Genshin Impact)

Summary:

Arlecchino has asked Furina to move into the House of the Hearth with her and the children. After showing some reluctance, the former archon decides to give it a shot. But even though she gets her own room, there's no bed to be found...whatever shall she do?

Read on Ao3

Furina raised a shaky hand to the front door of the House of the Hearth. With a single suitcase by her side, she knew it was too late to turn back. She had taken the Knave up on her offer to reside with her and the children despite having only started seeing her romantically three months ago. Their relationship had progressed quickly, but Arlecchino had been surprisingly respectful of her.

Then, after a night of tender lovemaking she’d never thought she’d experience with a Fatui harbinger, the woman had held her close and whispered, “Come live with me.” The former archon turned the request over in her mind carefully. Part of her screamed “YES!” while the other contemplated running away and locking herself in the bathroom.

She was content to live alone and figured it was her punishment for deceiving the people of her nation. If she had to live out the rest of her days in a small, dingy apartment, so be it. Yet here she was – in the arms of someone who used to frighten the life out of her, offering her a future of happiness and belonging.

“Um…can we maybe try it for a few weeks first? Don’t get me wrong, I…like you a lot and want to believe this is right for us. I just don’t –“

Arlecchino had traced the curve of her cheek with a single finger to calm her. “Don’t what, droplet? Speak your mind. I’m not going to bite…tonight,” she chuckled.

Furina offered a weak smile in response to her attempt at humor. “I just don’t want you to be…disappointed if it’s not what you’ve imagined.”

The Knave kissed her forehead. “Such a silly girl. How could I ever be disappointed with the opportunity to draw closer to someone who deserves to be shown what it’s like to have a family?”

The other woman teared up at hearing this word applied to her life. When you expect to be alone for the rest of eternity – to see those you were even somewhat close to die before you unceasingly – you become immune to the idea of trying to create a future. In the end, Furina had agreed to a trial run, which is how she now found herself at Arlecchino’s front door.

“Lady Furina! We’ve been expecting you. Please, let me take your luggage,” Lyney said excitedly when she finally worked up the courage to announce her arrival. “Lynette is already in the kitchen preparing you a cup of tea. We also picked up some of your favorite cake, but it might be a little stale…we weren’t sure what time you’d get here.”

The former archon blushed at receiving so much attention the second she walked through the door. “Oh, my. That really wasn’t necessary, but I do so appreciate you thinking so far in advance! Hello, Freminet, it’s nice to see you as well.” The boy sat at the dining table where a little mechanical penguin lay on its side.

“Uh…Um…H-hello, Lady Furina,” he stuttered, clearly uncomfortable with the presence of someone new in the house.

“You three…please. Call me Furina. I don’t desire any kind of special treatment. I’m here because Lady Arlecchino invited me, plain and simple. If I can help around the House in any way, please, just say the word.”

Lynette brought the tea set over and the group took the remaining seats at the table. The four carried on in conversation getting to know a bit more about each other when the Knave appeared and leaned in the doorway.

“My, my. It seems like you’ve already made yourself comfortable, Lady Furina. It does my heart good to see you all getting along. I’m sure the children have already mentioned it, but if there’s anything you require, do not hesitate to ask,” she said with a bow.

Immediately, Furina rose to her feet in a show of respect. “Lady Arlecchino! I just finished telling Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet they should feel free to address me as just ‘Furina.’ There’s no need to be overly formal!”

“Hmm. As long as that’s what’s most comfortable for you, I will ensure the other children follow suit. But if that’s the case…I insist you call me Father,” she said with a smirk.

The former archon’s cheeks turned an embarrassingly deep shade of red. While she knew it was a title rather than a term of endearment around the House of the Hearth, she felt her stomach flip at the thought of uttering it herself. The Knave moved from her spot to stand directly behind her.

“Why don’t you give it a try, Furina.” Hearing her name on Arlecchino’s lips was enough to make her melt. Unsure of how much she had told the three among them, she tried her best to keep her next words from sounding too suspicious.

“I think I could get used to hearing that…Father.” The Knave’s eyes bore into the other woman’s, clearly aroused by the connotation of her words.

Sensing there was something private going on between the two, Lyney cleared his throat. “AHEM. Lynette? Why don’t you and Freminet come with me to show Furina around the rest of the house, hmmm?”

“I’d love that. We’ll catch up later, Father. Au revoir for now,” she said with a flirty wave of her fingers.

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

The tour continued and the three eventually left Furina alone to explore on her own for the remainder of the evening. The Knave was an expert at observing from afar, and it was taking everything in her not to retreat to her office with the former archon in tow.

In the few hours the girl had been there, she’d already stopped to speak to Heloir about her hobby of potion making, had a lively discussion about tea varieties with Lynette, and was now deep in conversation with Freminet about Pers – a miracle in and of itself.

“Where do you typically acquire parts for him? I wonder if Monsieur Neuvillette might have any connections to help us upgrade him…” Furina thought aloud.

“Would you really do that for him? Oh…hi, Father. Didn’t see you there. Did you hear that? Furina might be able to help me get Pers to fly!”

Arlecchino’s lips twitched upward into a smile. “Is that so? That sounds exciting. But it’s getting late. I think it’s better you two continue this discussion tomorrow, don’t you agree?”

“Oh, yes. Of course. Thanks for talking with me, Furina!” He said as he collected his gear. “And…I’m happy you’re here.”

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

The former archon trailed behind her host as they wandered the halls.

“I assume the trio showed you to your room?” She questioned.

“Ah, yes. It’s awfully large, though. And…there was something quite strange.”

The Knave cocked an eyebrow at her.

“Strange?”

“Um…there wasn’t a bed. That is my bedroom, is it not?”

Arlecchino kept walking, a very confused Furina following by her side. “Incorrect. That is your space to do whatever you please. Screenplay writing, script rehearsing…things that bring you joy. This…” she stated before opening a door at the end of the hall, “…is where you will sleep. With me.”

A large canopy bed dressed in luxurious maroon- and charcoal-colored sheets sat in the middle of the room, a roaring fireplace adding to the cozy atmosphere. Furina walked inside, mesmerized by both its size and apparent comfort. Turning to face her, she asked, “You mean…together? Every night?”

“That was the plan. Unless, of course, you don’t want to.”

“But…this is your room. You deserve privacy as well. I can’t take that from you. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Darling, I have an office. What kind of harbinger would I be if I just left everything out for anyone to find? Not that I’d hide anything from you in the first place,” she explained.

The door clicked shut and the former archon felt Arlecchino’s arms slip around her slender waist.

“Now…what say you to breaking in our new bed, hmm?”

“W-what about the children?”

“What about them? They’re long asleep by now. Their day starts early. Watching you interact with them today did something to me.” Furina could feel her tighten her grip. “Well, that and hearing you call me…”

“Father…” the girl whispered nearly imperceptibly. A growl rumbled in the Knave’s chest and she spun her around, her mouth crushing hers. Furina let out a squeak of surprise before melting into her embrace. She felt herself walking backward toward the bed, and Arlecchino held her steady until she felt the edge of the mattress safely underneath them. The two tumbled down, the Knave trapping Furina’s body against her own.

“Again…say it again…” the harbinger begged against her lover’s tongue. The former archon’s head was swimming under a haze of lust and longing. Her nervous energy had been converted to courage knowing the woman on top of her was intoxicated by her uttering one simple word.

“Father…please…make me yours…”

They tore at each other’s clothing, removing layer after layer until nothing was left but flesh on flesh. The roar of the fire and warmth of their skin ensured they were comfortable enough despite it being the middle of winter in Fontaine.

“Gladly, my Furina,” she murmured against her neck as she kissed down her collarbone. “As long as you’ll stay.”

“If this is what I can look forward to every night, I’d be insane to leave.” The Knave’s lips burned against her chest, the tantalizing feel of her cool tongue against her nipple making her moan and arch into her mouth.

“Why do you think I brought you here? I was sick of having to leave your side,” Arlecchino spoke softly as she kissed down the girl’s side, slowly making her way toward her goal. Furina gripped the sheets in anticipation as she felt the heat of the other woman’s breath between her legs.

“I keep trying to convince myself I’m not dreaming, but this certainly feels too good to be true…ahhh!” She was interrupted by a long lick across her slit, her hips bucking in response.

“Shhh…you talk too much, love. I assure you this is very real - so you better get used to it.” Her tongue circled her clit in waves, the former archon’s juices coating her lips. She could hear the girl panting, trying desperately not to come so soon, but she was fighting a losing battle.

“Arle…I’m going to…oh gods…”

To send her over the edge, she pushed two fingers into her while rapidly sucking on her bud until her body shook in ecstasy. As she lay spent, the harbinger gave her a moment to recover from the intensity of her orgasm.

“Sorry. I couldn’t help myself,” she apologized as she started to peel back the sheets. “You’ve had a long day, but hopefully you feel satiated enough to get a good night’s rest.”

Furina shot up. “Wait…we can’t go to bed yet! It’s your turn!”

“Oh, droplet. It’s not about turns. We’ll have plenty of time for that some other night. You do live here now, after all. Here, come get comfortable with me.”

“But-“

“Don’t argue,” Arlecchino said sternly, pinning her with a piercing gaze. The former archon swallowed hard, not daring to push the issue further.

——————-

When Furina awoke nestled under the Knave’s arm, moonlight was still peering through the curtains. She turned her head slightly and almost gasped at how beautiful and at peace her lover looked. Smiling to herself, she decided to take a chance.

The former archon wiggled her hips, her ass pressing into the other woman’s crotch. Letting out a whisper of a moan, she grabbed her hand and brought it up to cup her breast.

“Just what do you think you’re doing? Go back to bed,” Arlecchino said, her voice deep and heavy with sleep.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” she replied cheekily. “I don’t think I’m all that tired. I do have an idea of how I might wind down, though.”

The harbinger cocked an eyebrow out of curiosity. “Do tell.”

Furina extricated herself from under her grasp and moved to slip one of her legs between Arlecchino’s. The Knave’s eyes snapped open when she realized what the girl was about to do. She felt her crotch begin to grind against her own, their juices eliminating any friction.

“Ohhhhhhh fuck…Furina…will you never behave?” She panted.

“I’ve behaved my whole life…I think it’s time for a change, don’t you?” The confidence she exuded turned Arlecchino on. This was a side of her she wasn’t used to seeing. Controlling her desire to dominate the situation, she let Furina continue.

The former archon’s hands roamed, groping the other woman’s firm breasts. They kissed lazily, tongues sliding against each other, mimicking the movement of their lower bodies.

“Furina…archons…faster…move faster…” she gasped. Racing toward a second climax herself, the girl rocked against her ferociously. The Knave’s clit throbbed with a desire for release, her hips tilting at just the right angle for the pressure to build and boil over.

“Furinaaaaaaaaaa!” She cried out in ecstasy. The former archon grinned with satisfaction knowing she could make someone so fearsome lose their composure. Her own orgasm followed soon after, and the two lay in a tangle of sweaty limbs.

The harbinger let out an exhausted laugh. “You’re a sneaky little one…where did you learn that from?”

“Let’s just say I’ve had Navia and Clorinde over to my apartment for some ‘girl talk.’ I’ve been waiting to try that, but you rushed me to sleep so fast I didn’t have a chance!”

Kissing her on the forehead, the Knave muttered, “Remind me to never underestimate you again.”

#fanfic #fanfiction #fic #wlw #hoyoverse #mihoyo #genshin #genshin impact #arlefuri #arlecchino #furina #the knave #harbinger #house of the hearth #arlecchinoxfurina #arlecchino x furina #furinaxarlecchino #furina x arlecchino

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denizenhardwick · 5 months ago

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The Part Where You Missed It: Chapter 4

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

Denizen Hardwick knows who he is now; for the first time in his life, he has a family and a real home. But, of course, nothing is that simple. Vivian still won’t open up to him, and feelings are so often a painful burden to carry. As Denizen begins his new life of Knighthood, he finds challenge and triumph lurking around every turn--both in the world and in himself.

Takes place in the six months between Knights of the Borrowed Dark and The Forever Court; massive spoilers for book one.

Simon soaked up sunlight like a plant. Sometimes, while walking through Dublin, he would suddenly stop and stare up at the sky. It reminded Denizen of when people saw the aurora borealis–not that he had seen it, but he’d seen pictures of people seeing it–and looked up in absolute wonder.

It was winter, though, and nice, sunny days growing scarcer and scarcer.

One such lucky day, Abigail pointed out at breakfast that the weather was pleasant and gave Denizen a not-so-subtle wink indicating this was the day, as if he’d forgotten somehow. He had to get Simon out of the house for a few hours to give the girls prep time.

So he invited Simon on a little walk.

Simon grabbed his scarf, and they were out. It was a crisp day, made chillier by the breeze, and the sun kept dipping behind clouds, but running into various shops managed to keep the shivering to a minimum.

Denizen supposed he could draw on his power to keep himself warm… no. Absolutely not.

They ended up standing side-by-side, watching the faint winter sunlight play across Dublin Bay.

“So… tell me about Grey?” Simon gripped his scarf closer to himself and looked up innocently.

Denizen went cold in a way that had nothing to do with the weather. “What?”

The other boy shrugged. “I dunno. It's okay if you don't want to talk–I get that–but I didn't get to meet him, and, well, you don't really let people get close to you. So I was wondering. What was he like?”

“I…” Words failed, and he trailed off.

Gazing out over the water, Denizen tried to think of something to say. “I don't think I really knew him that well.” If at all.

“Hmm. That's okay.” When Denizen remained silent for another minute, Simon sighed. “I shouldn't have brought it up. Sorry.”

“Ugh, no. Don't apologize. You told me what happened with you, which was infinitely worse than my month, and I still haven’t shared what happened with me… it's not fair.”

“I got the basics. Shadow monsters, magic, saving the world, your aunt actually being your mother. All that. I'm just curious at this point.”

Denizen laughed.

“Dublin’s nice,” Simon said, changing the subject. “We should go exploring sometime.”

“Oh, no, don't worry, you'll get to see plenty of the city when Abigail takes you running.”

The boys finished their walk, interspersing light conversation as they moseyed along the waterfront, and started heading home. Outside of the embassy building, Denizen abruptly stopped.

“Grey was a really easy person to be around.” Denizen threw thoughts regarding the later bit of the month in a mental box, took a breath, and continued. “He was chatty, and he'd tell jokes, and sometimes he'd do these really kind things and try to pass them off as jokes or something casual, but…”

A lump was building in Denizen’s throat, making it hard to speak, to breathe, and anger rolled fitfully in his chest.

He cleared his throat. “Also,” he said, pointedly louder, “Abigail and Darcie are waiting in the dining hall for us. Well, more specifically, you.”

Simon frowned. “Huh?”

Grinning, Denizen took his arm and escorted him inside. “You nearly died on your birthday, remember? I wanted to give you something nicer.”

“Happy birthday!”

Simon spun slowly, face breaking into a smile as he took in the decorations. It wasn’t much, but Denizen was proud–there was a banner hanging from the ceiling, a pretty cloth draped over one of the tables, and, on top of that, the cake that Darcie had made, which was probably more edible glitter than actual cake.

“Here,” Denizen said, gesturing to a bench. “Sit.”

Simon complied. “I cannot believe this.”

“It was going to be a surprise party, but we didn’t think you’d like that,” said Darcie.

“Yeah. Thank you.” His voice was awed. “Oh, so this is what all the winking this morning was about! Ha.”

Denizen flushed. They’d been planning this for a month, and it was a miracle they'd managed to keep it a secret.

With flourish, Abigail presented Simon’s birthday present. His jaw dropped.

“Guys…”

“It’s mostly from Denizen,” she said, “but he wanted us to present it as a kind of joint gift.” She took a seat, then so did Denizen, and Darcie cut them all cake slices–Simon’s being the biggest, of course.

The party lasted most of the afternoon, and Denizen wasn’t sure he saw the smile ever leave Simon’s face. It was contagious. By the end, Denizen’s cheeks hurt, and they got busted by a very angry Vivian for making a mess of the dining hall again, but…

But it was the happiest he’d seen Simon for months.

#knights of the borrowed dark #kotbd #denizen hardwick #simon hayes #my writing

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darkwitch1999 · 1 year ago

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A Random Headcanon: Why Marc Anciel Should Never Have Coffee Part I☕🚫

So I have a few headcanons that I am going to be included in my fanfiction series about Marc Anciel:

He has two moms. Emerson Anciel who runs a coffee shop and Kiki Anciel who is an aromatherapist.

Despite his mother running a coffee shop, Marc isn't allowed to drink coffee since caffeine worsens his anxiety.

During the few times Marc sneaked some coffee, he tends to become a bit...eccentric.

Anyway, I had this idea in my head for a few days now and I just couldn't resist writing this out and sharing it on Tumblr. Basically, this takes place during the "Adrienette" romantic plans time and it's stressing him out big time. As for what happens next, well, just read and see:

Collège Françoise Dupont: Art Room 33

(Nathaniel walks into the room to see his frazzled and twitchy partner. Is he mumbling to himself? )

Nathaniel: (hesitantly) Uh… H-Hi, Marc. (approaches the writer cautiously and nervously) W-Whatcha doing?

(Marc immediately snaps his head towards Nathaniel. His mouth spread wide forming a massive, unhinged smile. Deep, dark circles caked around his eyes with his right eye twitching rapidly. His black hair resembled that of a bird’s nest. And his hands trembling terribly. His partner’s appearance immediately took Nathaniel aback.)

Marc: (speaks frantically) Nath! I’ve got it! I finally figured it out!

Nathaniel: (nervously) Uh…figured what out exactly?

Marc: (grabs Nathaniel’s shoulders) The answer to Marinette and Adrien’s kissing problem! The solution was right in front of our faces this time, and we just couldn’t see it! It’s so simple! There’s no way they could mess this up for the 72nd time in a row! (starts shaking Nathaniel) OUR SHIP IS SAILING AT LAST!!!!! THE WAIT IS OVER!!!!!

(Nathaniel pulls himself away from Marc’s grasp, recovering from the feeling of dizziness from being shaken by the frantic writer. Perhaps these Adrienette first kiss plans were starting to take their toll on Marc? Nathaniel couldn’t argue that he too was starting to feel burnt out on drawing new plans to help Adrien and Marinette finally have their first kiss. Still, he could also understand why these plans would leave Marc feeling the most drained since he is the one who wrote over seventy different perfect romantic scenarios that ultimately fail over and over again. Guess it was only a matter of time before he snapped.)

Marc: (picks up his open journal and starts frantically shoving it into Nathaniel’s hands) It’s all written down right here! The ultimate solution! The one I should have just thought up a long time before I wrote those other miserably failed plans!

(Nathaniel took note of the bitterness and venom that was lacing the writer’s tone of voice. Additionally, he also noticed that his partner’s hands were increasingly shaking violently as he kept trying to shove the journal into his hands. Now Nathaniel was getting even more worried for Marc’s well-being.)

Nathaniel: (uses caution as he speaks) Marc, are you feeling okay? Y-You seem a bit…

(Unhinged? Crazed? Frazzled? Unstable? Disturbed? Fixated?)

Nathaniel: Tense?

Marc: (starts talking fast) Tense? Who’s tense? (unhinged chuckling) Certainly not me! You worry too much, Nath! I’m fine! Yep, totally fine! In fact, everything is going to be great now because now we have a full-proof plan to get Adrien and Marinette to finally have their magical kiss so that they just kiss already, live happily ever after, and we can all finally get on with our LIVES!!!!!

(Okay, now Nathaniel was fully convinced that Marc had finally snapped. When this latest plan fails, he definitely needs to have a long talk with his class about leaving him and Marc out of these Adrienette plans for a while. He would have gladly done so now if not for his unhinged partner forcefully insisting that he read the latest scheme that he has come up with this time.)

Marc: (finally manages to get Nathaniel to take hold of his journal) C’mon, Nath! C’mon! Read it! Read it! I’m telling you, this idea is foolproof! There's no way they could mess it up this time!

(Marc stared at Nathaniel with his twitching eyes and wide smile. Nathaniel, despite being disturbed by the writer’s insistence, took the journal and started to read through the page)

Nathaniel: (reading the page) “JUST KISS ALREADY, FOR FUC-”...Marc!

(Nathaniel gaped as he skimmed through the rest of Marc’s “plan”, which was actually just a double-sided five-page long rant about how frustrating Marinette and Adrien were. He was taken aback by how many times the writer used swear words in his rant. Though the artist knew Marc rarely cussed, he knew that whenever the few rare moments when the writer did use swear words meant that his hidden rage would be unleashed.)

Marc: Soooo, what do you think?

Nathaniel: (cringes) I think you should see your therapist ASAP. I…uh don’t think that this plan is going to work out the way you want it. Honestly, I don’t even know where to start drawing this out.

Marc: Well, if you don’t like that idea, I also came up with another one right here. (Flips through the pages and then stops at a page) Take a look!

(Nathaniel was hesitant about reading Marc’s other plan. If the first one was this bad, he could imagine how terrifying the alternative would have been. Despite this, Nathaniel decided to read what his partner had written. He then lets out a shocked gasp as he reads.)

Nath: Marc! No! We can’t do this to them either!

Marc: (whines) Oh c’mon, what’s the problem now?! This one has got to be flawless! They are so close to kissing, they just need a little push!

Nathaniel: (raises an eyebrow) And by little push, you mean having our friends literally push them together and force them to kiss? Marc, there’s no way we can do that to them! It’s wrong and I’m pretty sure it’s illegal too! What the hell is wrong with you?!

(Nathaniel knew that Marc wasn’t thinking clearly. He knew that Marc was against trying to force love onto someone and a ruthless critique when it came to other writers trying to force their ideals of “perfect lovers” onto their characters when there were better choices for character pairings.)

Marc: (his smile slowly falters into a frown) What’s wrong with me? (starts to chuckle unsteadily) You think that something is wrong with me?! Oh let me tell you something, Nathaniel Kurtzberg, if there is something wrong with anyone, it would be MARINETTE and ADRIEN! (Starts anxiously digging his finger through his hair) You know, when Alya and Nino first approached us and asked for our help to bring Marinette and Adrien together, I thought to myself “This is going to be so much fun!” and “It will be just like writing a romantic love story but in real life!”. I was more than happy to help out our friends and I was excited to play the part of Eros alongside you. I wanted to see them both become our LONG awaited favorite couple and do all of that “cutesy” couple stuff that either makes others go “awwww” or shout “Get a room!”. But most importantly, I wanted them to be happy together and to finally get over acting all awkward around each other so everything is not always so tense and complicated whenever they are in the same room together! (grips the sides of his head) But those two…those two, Nathaniel, are just so FUCKING FRUSTRATING! Don’t get me wrong, I love Marinette. She’s like a sister or a cousin to me and she was the first friend I made here at Dupont. If it wasn’t for her, I would probably still be writing alone under the stairs every day and avoiding human interaction as much as possible. BUT THAT GIRL IS SO FUCKING CLUMSY THAT IT IS OFFICIALLY CRINGE!!!!! It doesn’t matter how I set up each scenario, she always manages to trip over, fall, and break everything that crosses her path! Never mind KISSING Adrien, we’ll all be lucky if she doesn’t KILL him first. Oh and speaking of Adrien, how can someone so well-educated be so FUCKING CLUELESS?! I mean, I get it. He was homeschooled and sheltered all of his life, but how can he be so OBLIVIOUS towards Marinette’s obvious crush on him?! Seriously, she literally acts like she has rabies every time she tries to talk to him and apparently, he has to pretend to be a wax statue to get her to “profess her feelings” to him, and yet that obvious sign still goes over his fucking head! (tilts his head to the side). So you want to know what my problem is, Nath, or as you put it “What’s wrong with me?”?! I’ll tell you what my problem is! My problem is that in addition to schoolwork and writing our comics, I’ve had to spend the last couple of months playing matchmaker for two of the most awkward people in our grade! Tell me, Nath, do you enjoy sleeping? I know I USED TO!!!! I didn’t expect the first couple of “Adrinette” plans to succeed and I would be lying if I said I didn’t anticipate a few setbacks, but for FUCK’S SAKE! IT’S BEEN MONTHS!!! MONTHS!!!!! I’m all out of ideas, Nath! I don’t know what to do! This shouldn’t be that difficult! She likes him and he likes her. We’ve established that. (Slams his head down onto the table and starts pounding his fist on the table repeatedly) HOW HARD IS IT TO GET TWO PEOPLE TO FUCK-.....

Nathaniel: Marc!

Marc: -ING KISS ALREADY!!!!!

(Nathaniel was at a loss for words. His partner was having a complete breakdown and he wasn’t sure what he should say next. Did Marc admit that he was losing sleep over this?! Marc hardly ever pulled all-nighters because he knew that a lack of proper sleep wasn’t good for his anxiety. The whole “Adrinette” plans were supposed to be like a side project. When did they let these romantic fantasies become one of their priorities?! Nathaniel knew that Marc didn’t like letting others down and that he always put his own well-being last, but this was extreme even for him. This must have been building up for a while, but why was he letting this all out now? What could have triggered this breaking point? Marc was fine yesterday, even after their latest “Adrienette” plan had failed, he didn’t show any signs of frustration or resentment. Honestly, Marc was acting like that one time he stayed up all night to rewrite their manuscripts for their comics after the original copy was lost and he drank-....That’s when it hit Nathaniel! The unhinged body language. His erratic fast-talking rants. His violently shaky hands. Nathaniel’s eyes quickly fell onto Marc’s blue Stanley tumbler cup with “My Hero Academia” stickers decorated all over.)

Nathaniel: (eyes Marc with suspicion) Marc, what’s in your cup?

(Marc immediately raises his head off the table and looks at the artist with nervously shifting eyes.)

Marc: Uh…what?

Nathaniel: (crosses his arms) Marc Anciel, you heard me. What have you been drinking out of that cup?

(Marc’s eyes darted around nervously as he actively tried to think up a cover-up. Nathaniel’s suspicions were confirmed as he noticed how the writer took his time to answer the artist’s question as well as how much his eyes kept shifting all over the place.)

Nathaniel: Marc, there’s coffee in that cup, isn’t there?

Marc: (frantically) What?! No! It’s not coffee! It’s just water!

Nathaniel: Your lying, Marc. If there was water in that cup, you would have just told me right away and wouldn’t have asked me to repeat myself.

Marc: No! Nath, I swear I’m not lying! I swear on my life!

Nathaniel: (raises an eyebrow with a smirk) What about on your moms’ lives?

(Silence fell between the two boys. Nathaniel was playing dirty, but it was necessary to get the truth out. Marc then started fidgeting with his fingers nervously and let out a sigh.)

Marc: (avoids eye contact with Nathaniel) Okay fine, maybe it is coffee.

Nathaniel: (gives Marc a disapproving look) I knew it! Marc…

Marc: (frantically exclaims) Look, I’m under a lot of pressure right now! Our next meeting with the editor is in three weeks and I had to finish writing the ending to our next comic issue so you could start drawing the panels! Not to mention I had to finish my science homework as well as come up with more doomed-to-fail ideas for our desperate attempts to get our friends’ ship to sail! I needed it to help me stay awake and keep me going!

Nathaniel: (looks at Marc with a concerned, softened expression) Marc, you know what coffee does to you. Drinking caffeine makes your anxiety worse. You could’ve given yourself another panic attack or be close to one right now.

Marc: (forces a grin) But I’m fine, Nath! Everything is fine! I swear, you and my moms worry too much. I can handle a little caffeine.

Nathaniel: Just how much of this “little caffeine” have you had, Marc? And I want the truth this time.

Marc: (eyes shift left and right as he twiddles his fingers nervously) I’ve only had one cup…or maybe two? ……give or take five?

Nathaniel: (eyes widen in shock) Marc!

Marc: (defensively) I said I was under pressure!

Nathaniel: (points at Marc’s cup) That’s your fifth cup of coffee?!

Marc: Weeeellllll, technically it's my sixth cup that I just started drinking…

Nathaniel: (gives Marc a stern look) Ok, Marc. I think you’ve had more than enough. I’m cutting you off.

(Unfortunately for Nathaniel as he starts reaching for his partner’s cup, the writer immediately snatched it off the table and started backing away from Nathaniel slowly. This caught the artist off guard as he watched the wide-eyed, erratic boy hold his cup protectively against his chest. Nathaniel then put his hands up in a placating gesture.)

Nathaniel: (tries to approach the writer cautiously and calmly) Marc…let’s stay calm and be reasonable. You're not well and I want to help you. Please, give me the coffee-...

(As Nathaniel tries to reach for the cup, his partner lets out a loud hiss at the artist like a wild cat and bolts out of the art room, leaving the artist flabbergasted.) Nathaniel: D-Did…Did he just seriously hiss at me?

Well, hope you all enjoyed part one, and stay tuned for part two!

@artzychic27 @nerd-chocolate @username8746489 @andromeda612 @princessbutterflysposts @lady0lunamoon

#miraculous ladybug #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #ao3 writer #marc anciel #coffee #caffiene #adrienette plans are cringe #character rant #mlb headcanon #marc anciel headcanon #marcnath #nathaniel kurtzberg #mlb marc #mlb nathaniel #angst #i wrote this instead of sleeping

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