#the sequel in my head ☺️

[whiskeyskin]

Goddesses and Mortals

Premise: After the events of Love and Longing, Gale finds out that his feelings are reciprocated.. and that's not all.. 😳🍑🫵

Accidental sequel to a previous fic cause I can't get this lonely Wizard out of my head without the promise of a potentially happy ending 🥹 in more ways than one 😏🍆

Gale x gn!tav • 18+ • E/M rating • MDNI

Gale POV, reader referred to as 'you', no specific mention of gentials or gender, porn with plot?, Mystra can fuck right off, fantasies becoming reality, longing, love, tenderness, mutual masturbation, anal fingering (M receiving), unabashed consent, mild cum swapping, minor sub/dom energy, marking if you squint

5.3k words

Special thanks to @senualothbrok for nestling this tadpole in my brain for Gale to get the real deal one day.. 💜

And at it again @spellbooking with another beautiful gif of our Rizzard ☺️ Thank you! 💜

•°•°•

Gale was close, very close.

He had to hurry, the party would all be rising from camp soon. Though there was no sunlight in this desolate place, a full rest was almost upon him.

Safely secluded in the abandoned house on the far reaches of camp; sweat damp on his brow, his hand slick with salvia, Gale feverishly pumped his length in quick bursts.

Your illusion image looked up at him through lidded eyes licking your bottom lip hungrily and growling a hedonistic moan.

"Gale.." you whimpered, the voice distorted.

"Yes, love.. I'm going to come for you.. only for you.. come with me." He bit out, on the precipice of orgasm.

Suddenly, a faint lilting of rosewater assailed his nose and stopped him dead.

A cold dread filled his body, incapacitating his lungs.

Mystra.

It couldn't be.

Surely not.

Not here.

Not now.

Why right now for hell's sake?

He'd not felt her presence since she'd tried to wedge herself between you both when you'd shared a moment of magic in camp.

Despite their separation, she still checked in on her disgraced former chosen and lover at the most inopportune moments.

Fumbling, he quickly tucked himself away in his waistband and spun on his heel.

Nothing.. but the scent remained.

Had she finally gotten sick of his abusing himself constantly to the fictitious likeness of you, using her magical essence to do so?

Had she been sensing him masturbating at least twice a day since her intervention charm through Elminster?

Was she making herself known to quell his incessant self-gratification, or to participate in it?

Even a tenday ago, that would have been a comforting thought. One he would have relished in, taken solace and pride in.. but this felt wrong.

His sweet nothings he had whispered in the dead of night to "you" weren't for Mystra's perverse enjoyment, or sick amusement, weren't for her for to cast judgement on.

"I don't know why you're here," he called brazenly, "but I assure you, this is nothing that concerns you any longer. Now, if you'd be so kind, leave me in peace." He requested, firmly.

Silence.

He wasn't convinced.

"And I don't appreciate the timing of you little assertion here. Now that I'm finally on a path of some kind of healing, you make yourself known?" He snapped, pointing a finger at nothing.

"You have no reason to be here. You have already spoken your will and want with my life and until such a time that that moment arrives, I will do what I want, with whomever I want. Be they real, or fantasy is no concern of yours. Now, leave." He frowned and gestured finally.

The warmth in the air he didn't realise had been present disparated. He was left cold.

Just like always with her.

"Gale?" Called your voice, your vision now by the doorway.

He looked up to see you leaning on the doorframe, slightly bleary.

"Sorry, my love. I got distracted. Less said about that, the better. Now," he beckoned a crooked finger towards himself, "let's get back to where we were before everyone wakes up."

You frowned and looked him up and down, "Did you just call me, 'my love'?" You asked.

For the second time that early morning, Gale's blood ran cold.

"And what exactly were we doing before?" You irked a brow, looking amused.

Gale struggled for words as the blood that had been swiftly journeying to the south was urgently redirected north.

"I-uh-I did? Must've been a mistake. What are you doing up so early?" He asked, trying to change the subject.

You squinted, "Who were you talking to?"

"No one." Gale answered, feigning innocence.

"Wow, that was convincing." You teased with mockingly wide eyes. You narrowed your eyes at him and he felt a gentle brush against his mind. You were seeking permission. He allowed it.

"Mystra?" You asked with a tense lilt. Gale nodded.

"Thought so, I heard you calling that you were trying to move on and someone was suddenly trying to get your attention again. Is everything alright?" You asked, your tone worried and sincere.

Gale's heart bloomed.

"Yes, since her missive from Elminster, she's reached out. I don't have time for it."

"That's a massive step for you, Gale. You said something about moving on, is that true?"

"Somewhat." He answered in a half truth.

You smiled, "Is she still here?" There was a pause, Gale could see the cogs turning, "Did you want to make her jealous? Is that why you called me 'my love'?"

Gale blinked twice.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, maybe you snuck up here to be with me. Maybe I'm the one you're moving on with."

Again, Gale blinked twice.

How unintentionally right you were.

He swallowed.

"Would that be something you're interested in helping me with?"

"To fuck with the gods? Anything." You purred the last word down the connection at him and it made the hairs on his neck raise like you'd whispered it directly against his skin.

"Then by all means, take the lead."

You irked a seductive brow and turned down your head to gaze through lidded eyes.

He swallowed.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to stare. You're just so gods damned handsome. I'm glad we could sneak away again." You walked towards him confidently, a slight prowl in your gait.

Gale's blood supply had ignored previous instruction and fully marched back south. The sight of you - truly you - saying these things to him had him dizzy from the rush of blood.

"Not to worry, I quite enjoying being gawped at."

"Well, it's certainly no hardship." You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him in for a sensual hug, while he desperately tried to keep his erection from your notice.

"Mm, we have to be quick. We don't have much time until the others wake up." You crooned, wrapping your arms around his neck, "Did the minor illusion keep you warm enough while I was gone?"

And for the third time that morning, Gale's body shot full of ice.

His blood entirely confused, threw it's hands up in defeat for direction.

You knew?

How could you know?

He was careful.. wasn't he?

Your hands never stopped roaming; his arms, his shoulders, his neck.. his hair.. oh gods, up into his hair.

Gale's breath hitched and shuddered.

Oh gods, you felt like heaven. Even if he felt like he was in hell.

"I know you like me to watch you but I've been so neglectful lately with everything that's been going on. Can you forgive me?" You pulled back from him, your face pulled into a beautifully twisted smile, sin pulled at the edges.

"I th-think you can make it up to me." He gasped.

Your eyebrows flexed in amusement up your forehead, "Do you want me to watch you right now? With everyone waiting in camp, drinking tea and preparing breakfast?"

You smoothed your hands from his shoulders to the top of his chest, "Do you like the anticipation of being caught, Gale? The rush of being found?"

Oh gods, you were so close. You smelled so good, like lemongrass and lavender.. and underneath the balms, your musk, your scent. You.

"I would do anything, as long as it was with you, my love." He breathed, unable to contain the emotion in his voice.

Your eyes unfocused for a brief moment, then came back, blinking as though seeing through an unfogged mirror.

A soft gasp caught in the back of your throat; that noise could state him for a thousand nights.

Then you stepped away.

You averted your gaze, and backed away from his arms completely. You shut your eyes tightly.

"Gale, I-"

You opened them, a wealth of feelings swirling but he couldn't decipher any of them.

"I need to get back to camp. We need to get to Moonrise Towers today, with Isobel's blessing we can cross the Shadows. We need to be ready." You nodded curtly and disappeared.

Gale stared after you, the cold air of the Shadowlands around him a cruel but poetic pathetic fallacy.

He groaned and closed his eyes against balled fists, as he pressed them against his eyes. Tears brimmed behind them, hot frustrated tears.

"Gods fucking dammit."

***

Gale had attempted to maintain distance today, which had been difficult considering you'd partied up together with Karlach and Shadowheart.

Karlach had tried to question his glum mood, but he'd simply recused it as nerves of their close proximity to the potential Heart of the Absolute.

"Ah, Gale. If there's anyone who knows how shit it is to have a ticking time bomb in their chest, it's me. Come and speak to me sometime mate, yeah? We can talk about it."

"Karlach, you're truly a soul that steels my own. I may just take you up on that."

A firm nod and a beaming smile from Karlach ended the conversation as they entered this Balthazar's chamber, after which none of them really had the stomach for food that night.

Wyll had stepped up and made a hearty bowl of vegetable and meat stew. It was nothing on his own cooking, of course but it was a valiant attempt.

Needed a little more pepper.

You sat nursing your bowl, generally making conversation around the fire. Halsin had joined you back from Last Light with no new news of the catatonic lost soul, apart from that he kept singing. A lute of significance to him had been added to your list of items to retrieve; an ever growing list.

Gale swallowed a mouthful and risked a glance towards you, your eyes met for a brief moment before you looked away, uncomfortable. His heart sank.

He'd truly ruined any chance of friendship after his desperate behaviour this morning. You'd barely spoken two words together all day, and now you wouldn't look him in the eye.

He excused himself for an early night and retreated to his tent. He lit his candles and pulled out one of the many books he'd picked up along today's excursions around Moonrise, hoping that one of them would point them towards the heart.

***

The noise around the campfire grew weary as he poured over his readings. Various 'goodnights' alerted him to the potentially late hour.

Gale sighed and rubbed his eyes, he conjured a bookmark, closed it and drained his glass of wine.

Now that he'd been pulled from his focus, he realised how tired he was. Physically drained from a gruelling day of emotional turbulence.

Rosewater gently lilted under his nose, he snorted it back out.

"Oh for the love of-! Bugger off!" He spat through a whisper.

"I'm sorry." Came your voice from behind him.

He spun around on his knees to see you hastily trying to leave his tent.

"No!" Called a little too loudly, reaching out across the space, "Not you. I didn't mean you."

You stopped, looking back at him for the first time since the morning. The soft glow of the candles illuminating your wonderful face, his heart squeezed uncomfortably.

"I assume she's back again, then?" You asked through terse lips, glancing around the low lit interior of his tent.

"Where rosewater is, Mystra's sure to follow. What can I do for you?" Gale asked, shaking off the lingering of his former lover.

"I-," you started, wringing your hands, "I wanted to apologise for this morning."

Gale blinked.

You wanted to apologise?

"What for?" He questioned his tone incredulous.

"For it all. I embarrassed you, I embarrassed myself.. I acted poorly. I thought it would be a good way to show that I knew what you'd been doing-with the minor illusions." Gale's eyes widened. He'd been attempting to solve that one today.

"H-How did you find out?"

"I'd cast Detect Thoughts on Jaheria when we met her at the Inn, and it lasts all day. I heard you when I was laying down to rest. All the things you wanted to do." You swallowed thickly, and a jolt of excitement shot it's way through his cock to his brain.

That was two nights ago.

He'd fantasized about gourging on your sex as you mounted his face, fucking yourself with his mouth as you leaned back with one hand to stroke him. He'd made a mess of his walls, as well as himself.

"You've got a pretty interesting imagination, Gale. Especially since we seem to be ethereal galaxy people in your head." You smiled, folding your arms across yourself, "The one from last night was pretty hot too." You bit your bottom lip to contain more, and swallowed.

He remembered that vividly.

He'd fantasised about spooning you, fucking into you and playing with you from behind. The mirror image had gasped and moaned for him, breathed his name over and over again, as he came to the thought of pleasing you enough to milk his cum inside your clenching walls.

"I thought it was just sex, that maybe we could get rid of some nervous energy together but then this morning.. the way you-you looked at me.." you trailed off, Gale's heart hammered against his chest.

You rest your splayed hands across your heart, "I was foolish. You're not the kind to just sleep around. To have casual sex and not think of it again."

"Like Astarion?" He quipped before vetting the venomous comment.

You tightened your lip, "Kind of." You answered, with a tone that felt loaded with more secretive information but he didn't want to pry.

Well, he did.

But not right now.

"I could be." He postured, looking up at you.

You let out a short laugh, "That face this morning is not the face of someone who can just have sex and not want more."

He hardened his face, "It could be.. if you wanted to be.." Gale irked a brow, feigning a casual air.

"Oh, yeah?" You goaded, leaning on one hip and folding your arms again.

"Absolutely. We could have sex right now and I wouldn't bat an eyelid." He lied, pushing his lips down into a grimace, while his cheeks flushed and his heart pounded against his sternum.

"Really?" You questioned, looking dubious.

"Unquestionably." Gale punctuated with a flick of his fingers, relaxing into his position on the floor, widening his knees to sit back on his heels in an attempt at nonchalance.

"So, you fantasising about kissing my neck, my chest, stomach and hips and calling me "my love" means nothing." You stated, using air quotations.

"Certainly not. Mere sweet talk." Gale shook his head, shrugging his shoulders, while sweat gathered on his forehead.

You kicked off your hip and confidently strolled towards the short distance to him. His mouth instantly dried to dangerous levels of dehydration, as he tried to keep composure.

"And imagining your cock in my mouth, telling me how much you adore me, that isn't telling at all?" You sneered a lip through a smirk and shrugged one shoulder.

"Demonstrably." He tried to remain calm but every cell in his body was panicking, "Do you see me reacting?" He willed himself through words not to show a care.

Your tongue broke through your smirk to rub against your top teeth and his felt it between his legs, he jerked unconsciously.

"You're glowing." You drawled, dipping your eyes to his chest, "Do you even realise the orb lights up when you're horny?"

Gale's painfully stony face dropped as he quickly darted his vision to his chest.

You were indeed correct.

Through his camp clothes, a faint purple hue eminated through the fabric. Gale shot his had to cover his blatant display of arousal. He gave a sharp exhale through his nose and closed his eyes in utter embarrassment.

"This tent has been a purple colour show since Crèche Y'llek." You teased, the sound of your voice curved around a grin.

Gale's chest hollowed.

Gods dammit.

Mystra dammit.

"Oh and also this.." Suddenly he felt something graze along the length of his concealed erection - what he thought was a his concealed erection.

He let out a whining gasp, his hand slapping against worn leather, and he opened his eyes.

You'd rubbed the top of your boot under and against him in his kneeled position, gliding his sensitive member with the leather of your shoe. You continued the rhythm, the gentle friction was delicious, he gasped open mouthed.

Oh gods, it was real.

You were real.

It wasn't a cruel trick, or a fantasy.

It was you.

Gale reached up to grasp the crook of your knee, you held your gaze steadfast against his own. He began to pull off your boot, your eyes never faultered from his as it was flung to the back of the tent.

Your foot resting on his thigh, his hand still holding the meat of your strong calf.

You took his prickly chin within your fingers, eyes unsure.

"If this going to happen, it's just sex. Nothing more." You stated, in a low tone.

Gale nodded, trembling from anticipation.

"I mean it. If you're on a path to self-destruction in the name of a Goddess, I'm not wasting my time with feelings." Your voice caught and anger flashed across your features but tears hinted in your eyes.

You slid your foot off his thigh and slowly descended to crouch in front of him, taking his face fully in your hands. Their warmth slid into the deepest recesses of his lonely soul.

"I care about you, Gale. You're worth far more than what she's asked you to do. Far more."

He poured over your face, so close to him. Emotions that he had denied himself bubbling to the surface; the longing, the loneliness.. the fear.

You ran a thumb to dry a tear he hadn't realise had fallen.

"Say something." You whispered, your gaze flitting between his eyes and his lips.

Oh gods.

This was to truly happen?

He'd kiss your beautiful, soft lips?

His breathing was unsteady, the anticipation coiled dangerously around every facet of his musculature.

Gale opened his mouth to speak, to utter sweet poetry regaling your beauty, your passion, your wit and wisdom but the words would not form, they were stunted on his paralysed tongue.

You were so close.

He could feel the heat from your body, he could see the wisps of your hair moving with his unsteady breath.

You came closer and pressed your lips between his brows, electric tingling his skin in your wake. His eyes lolled shut as he finally brought his hands to hold you to him, press you to him, to feel you finally.

He slid his hands below the seam of your shirt, to feel your smooth and scarred skin, fire grazing his fingertips at the contact.

"I-.. I care for you deeply. I cannot deny this." He began breathlesly, your forehead's connected, your bodies melting together. You sank further into the embrace, widening your legs to fully welcome him between your thighs.

The image of that first night he touched himself to thoughts of you, bloomed across his mind and he bit his lip.

"Neither can I." You agreed, the sound of your voice low and raspy, "It scares me, Gale. It scares the shit into me," you leaned back, holding on to the back of his neck, slowly leading you both down to the carpeted rugs below his bedroll, "Show me. Show me I'm not wrong to feel this way. Show me I'm not alone in this."

Gale shook in head, almost trance-like, "You're not alone-not alone.. I'm with you." He followed you down, desperate not to lose a second's touch with you.

"And I'm with you, I'm not letting you go." You spoke the words against his mouth, it made his mind numb.

"No, never. Never leave me." He mumbled, as you both situated yourselves on the floor. Words bubbled and frothed out of his mouth before he could stop them, "I've been so utterly alone for so long, cut off from everyone I knew and cared for.. and I'm terrified, I'm filled with dread each day. I don't want to die-I want to stay.. stay here." He mewled through the overwhelming emotion in his throat. You increased the intensity of your touch against your brows.

"Shh, none of that matters now. It doesn't exist. For now.. it's just us.. you and me.." you whispered against his skin, he felt it shiver down every vertebrae.

"You and me." He repeated, comforted by the softness in your voice.

Suddenly, your hand grasped his naked cock. He yelped in pleasure, but was hushed by the passionate meeting of your mouth. You captured his cries, claiming them as your own.

His fingers bunched your shirt, his knuckles white, as your tongue swept in to merge with his.

Oh gods.

You tasted like wine, and oranges, and sex.

He'd imagined your taste, your scent.. but this.. the full force of you was so much more intense that he could have expected.

You fingered his leaking slit and he jerked at the sensation, causing you both to make involuntary, open-mouthed moans.

You increased in fervour at his reaction, a desperate whine eeking from his body.

It was too much but not enough. He wanted more, more of you, more of this. He wanted the world to fall away and to be consumed by only you.

Like you said; "Just you and me."

Even though it would be grammatically correct to say 'You and I'.

Your hand wrapped around the length of him, pumping the head of his penis in short, lanquid bursts.. and suddenly the correctness on ones grammar seemed worlds away.

Gale shuddered and knelt over your body, settling himself between your gorgeous thighs, pressing down against your sex, enough to make you gasp.

You shared a wicked grin together before he cradled you to him, desperately kissing and mating your tongues. His hips unconsciously twitching against the friction of your hand.

"Gods, Gale. I want you." You keened against his lips, puffs of air escaping aggressively from your lungs, as his hips drove against you.

"Yesyesyesyesyes.." he chorused, messily thrusting against your palm, "Want this. Want you. For a long while.. even before.."

"Did you fantasize about all the positions we could fuck in?"

A sharp feeling settled low in his gut and he squeezed his eyes shut to close out a threatening, pre-emptive climax.

"Yes, wanted you.. badly." He added, barely able to speak.

"I know, I saw. Sweating and willing underneath you?"

"Yess.." he hissed.

"Slipping a finger inside me, then another, preparing me to take you?"

Another deliciously painful pang shuddered inside him.

"Stretching my tight hole for you, till I'm begging you to fuck me hard and unrelenting?" You growled against his lips.

Gale tensed his jaw to mute a groan from his chest, as your words gripped the back of his head.

Oh dear fucking gods.

You were very, very good at this.

"I especially liked where I got to play with you. Those moans at the back of your throat when you'd think of me on top, or taking charge.. I had trouble concentrating yesterday because I couldn't stop replaying those sounds."

He heard you whisper an incantation, that his lust-filled brain slowly realised was Mage hand, the moment before he felt the cold sensation working his undergarments completely free, pushing them down passed his knees.

"There was one particular part you seemed to be interested in exploring together." You purred against his temple, as you twisted your grip around his plump, weeping member.

The Mage hand palmed at the cleft of his ass and lazily dragged it's fingers up his perennium, sliding towards his..

He gasped, throwing his head back and loosening his tight hips to tilt them upwards in wanton display.

"Oh gods." Gale whimpered, biting down on his lip hard, "Mm-Mhm." He panted in abandon.

He'd experimented with himself in this matter in his youth and in his newfound sexual freedom after his year of self imposed celibacy but never with another.

The magical fingers languidly drawled across his sensitive skin. He bucked and jerked against the feeling of you pleasuring him, needing more of both.

You groaned and rutted your hips against him.

"You look so beautiful like this, I can see you in the mirror behind you. You look spectacular, spreading yourself for me." You crooned, praising him and licking your bottom lip. You looked beyond him to what he assumed was his mirror.

Oh gods.

You were going to watch him like this.

Like he'd imagined.

Exposed.

Hedonistic.

Depraved.

The thought waved over his brain and made him dizzy, the desire swelled low in his belly.

"You're so willing and receptive, Gale. Do you want me to slide these fingers inside you? To pleasure you completely until you can't comprehend your own name?" You asked salaciously, assuring consent before blindly continuing. He raised his hips higher for better access as wordless agreement.

The mage hand ran a soaked finger across his puckering hole but ventured no further without express permission.

His whole body trembled, desire coarsing through his veins, soaking into every orifice.

"Yes.. yes.. fuck. I need it. Please.. please.." he wailed through staggered breath.

"Look at me." You instructed softly, halting your motions of abject pleasure.

With great difficulty, Gale did as he was told. He about exploded with joy with the sight of you.

He'd imagined you, summoned your likeness but nothing could ever compare to this.

The aura of his orb bathed you in a magical amethyst glow; the adoration shining in your eyes, the seductive curve of your lip, the sweat flattening your hair to your temples.

"So handsome.. so beautiful. Look at you, look at how you light up for me.." you smiled, guilding him with compliments as you raise a hand to touch the angry purple mark on his chest, now emblazoned with Mystra's star. "This does not define you. You are not the orb. You are not Mystra's chosen. You are Gale and you chose your own path. You are, and will always be, enough.. just as you are.."

Soft tears fell from his eyes from the intensity of his emotional response to your words and the physical stimuli of the hand gently testing his entrance.

You gently kissed the apples of his wet cheeks, then looked up at him with a darkened expression.

"Arch your back for me, sweetheart."

Gale instantly buried his face against your neck, lifting his exposed self for you.

"Good.." you cooed, beginning a slow pace to pump his cock again.

"Ohh, gods." His whined against your skin, his limit already close.

"Relax.." you whispered, kissing his temple, "Relax for me, darling. Take a deep breath, and let it out. Keep breathing."

Gale did as he was told. With each expell of air he loosened the muscles surrounding his asshole. The need growing to dizzying heights.

Pressure pushed against his rim as the finger glided halfway, he gasped and clenched unconsciously.

"Breathe, Gale." You soothed, pressing soft kisses to his face, "You're handling this so well."

Further and further you pushed inside him, delicious sensation flooding his body. His body tense and limp simultaneously, as the pleasure radiated through him from his pulsating walls.

"Fuck." He barely managed.

He kissed your neck and sucked down on the bite marks left by Astarion. He would make his own mark on you. One that everyone would see.

You gasped, your breath catching as you rolled your hips against him, teeth lightly nipping at his ear lobe.

Gale felt the friction of your other hand reaching down between you to stimulate your own release. His urge re-doubled in it's efforts to push him higher, intoxicated by your arousal.

He could feel your desperate movements between you, lightly grazing his testicles with the back of your hand.

You surprised him by gently pinching the head of him and thumbing the slit before initiating an unyielding, rapid rhythm wrapped around his cock. Synchronizing with curling the Mage hand towards his stomach, rubbing over the knot of his prostate.

A ragged, strained noise escaped from his throat as the sensations joined, assailing him from both sides.

He pushed back against the Mage hand, taking it's digit to the hilt.

"Oh yes, that's it. Enjoy it. It's for you.. all for you." You chorused his words to you, the words he used every night to pray to your false altar.

But now he had you, truly had you.. and you were spectacular.. you could not be formed into words.. you transcendend this mortal plane.. you were.. more than Godly.. you were-

A second finger penetrated him without refute and stretched his hole, doubling the pleasure against his sweet spot inside his ass, and he cried out in sheer bliss. Your hand wrapped around his cock, pumping in jubilant rhythm combined with the thrusting of the spell deep inside him.

The precipice of orgasm gripped him like a vice and choked him of all other need, apart from that to cum.

In that moment of blessed eternity, the world was narrowed down to nothing more than you and him. A vaccum in existence bathed in magical light.

Rapture split through every atom of his existence, building and climbing in a torrent of unstable energy.

"Yes, Gale-yes-come. Come with me."

His mouth open, panting like a rabid dog, he lost himself entirely.

He roared and strained and gasped, as he shot thick ropes all over your torso. His asshole squeezed and clenched tightly on the digits deliciously stuffed inside him working his orgasm longer. Your skilled hand milking every last drop from him.

He gulped for breath as you cried out underneath him, jerking against your own hand, breathless and exhilarated.

He watched you come undone underneath him, eyes screwed, mouth gaping, then biting down to quieten your moans.

Dear gods, you looked exquisite.

He reached a hand between you both to feel the after effects of your rhapsody, you twitched and laughed through a smile, as he stroked your sensitive sex in the wake of orgasm, riding you longer like you were to him.

"Stopstopstop-too much." You barely gasped against his sweat laden forehead.

There you lay, for what seemed like an easy age, together.

Aftershocks struck you both as you lay together in your joined euphoria.

The Mage hand had disappeared and left him feeling pleasantly sore from the hectic pace.

Gale pushed himself up onto his forearm, extracating his hand from between you. It was covered in your release, it glistened on his hand.

It was one of the most erotic things he'd ever seen. Something he hadn't fantasied.

He glanced back to you, you also held up your hand drenched in him.

You opened your mouth, clearing indicating to feast on yourself from his fingers. His tender cock twitched with desire.

He reciprocated his mouth and you swept your digits in his mouth. He tasted himself, licking his semen clean, as you suckled your own essence from his fingers, then pulled him in for a deep kiss.

Gale moaned at the melding of you both on mating tongues. It was pure sex and exhilaration. The desire and need. The fullfilment and warmth.

The kiss broke and you smiled at him, letting out a large breath.

"That was.." He started.

"Incredible." You finished.

"That's one of many words." He mused, laughing breathlessly.

Gale pushed himself up higher, "Oh, gods." He snorted, looking down at the scene of debauchery before him and kneeled onto his heels.

You and he were both covered in cum. It was obscene how licentiously delicious you looked painted with each other.

He remembered the first time he'd cum to your image, how hollow and alone he'd felt.

But not this time.

This time he felt complete.

Like a piece of him had hurried it's way back to him after so long apart.

"Well, that's one way to let off some steam." He chuckled darkly.

"I think it's hot." You smirked, biting down on your lower lip.

Gale swallowed with difficulty, "Careful you, that's dangerous."

Gale heaved out a breath and came to grips with what had just transpired between you both. How little his imagination had been able to conceive of you. What paltry figments had been the stars of his fantasies.

He glanced down upon you; hair mussed, sweat drying on your skin, clothes rumpled and he couldn't have loved you more.

"What?" You asked in a quiet voice.

Gale shook his head, "Nothing." He feigned.

He waved his hand with a simple somantic and the evidence was gone.

"Then come down here, I'm getting cold." You stroked your hands up his arms and enveloped him into an embrace that warmed all the lost parts of his soul.

"I meant it, Gale. I won't let you destory yourself for this. We'll find another way." You nestled yourself deeper into the hug.

Gale smiled contentedly from ear to ear, "I know we will.. because now I have something to live for."

•°•°•

Part 1

Psst.. Ive got a Masterlist too 👀

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: hey there! i never actually planned on writing a sequel to ‘9 pm’ but a few anons asked about it and i liked the idea of giving them some happiness following that fic! the perfect title gave me the idea for the fic and here we are ☺️ i hope you guys enjoy!!

word count: 2.8k

tw: brief and minor mention of a miscarriage, pregnancy

direct sequel to 9 p.m. in vancouver

summary: andrei’s off on a road trip and you’re more exhausted than normal. once you realize why, you have to call andrei immediately

It’s barely ten at night and you’re falling asleep on the couch, Friends rerun playing at a low volume on the TV. Your blinks get longer, eyelids heavy, while Joey yells about the Coast Guard.

A yawn creaks at your jaw and you try to blink away some of the sudden exhaustion in your body. It doesn’t really work, another yawn catching you a few minutes later. You wrap your arms around one of the throw pillows, cheek smashed up against the pillow tucked under your head.

It’s been a long few days, work overwhelming you and Andrei up in the tri-state area for a mini road trip. The Canes had lost to the Flyers before beating the Devils. They’re currently up two goals on the Rangers, according to your NHL app updates, with just a few minutes left in the third.

The team will spend the night in the city before heading to Long Island for the second half of a back to back tomorrow.

It’s a grueling schedule so early in the season, four games in six days, and you know Andrei will be exhausted when he gets home on Monday morning. At least they’re off for two days before hitting the ice for a home game on Wednesday. You yawn again and decide vaguely that maybe you’ll go to the game, if you can keep your eyes open. It’s been a while since you went to the arena and you miss watching Andrei play live.

You can’t help but think briefly about the game in Vancouver last November, almost a year ago now, and your hand drifts to your stomach.

The baby would’ve been four months old, probably keeping you wide awake right now.

You don’t really think about the loss as much anymore, you can go long stretches of time without thinking about him - because you’d decided that it was a boy, even though it was too early to ever tell. Your due date had come around at the end of July and Andrei had spirited you out of the country, the both of you quiet and moody for a few days.

And then training camp had started and you’d gotten busy with work and then the season started and you didn’t dwell on the loss for a while.

But now it’s late and you’re tired and you haven’t seen Andrei in a few days and you should be cuddling a baby right now.

A few tears trickle down your temple and you swipe at them, emotion clogging your throat.

“God, get a grip,” you mutter to yourself, shaking your head slightly. It’s not even like you’re on your period to be so hormonal right now. Your brain takes a second to process the thought and when it does, your eyes widen and you kick your legs out, struggling with the blanket to try and sit up.

“Oh, oh my god,” you scramble for your phone, tossing blankets around until you hear the tell-tale thunk of the phone hitting the floor. You lunge for it, the TV remote going flying, but you barely pay attention to that as your fingers wrap around the loop on the back of your phone case and snatch it off the floor.

Your hands shake violently as you unlock your phone and thumb over to find your period tracker app. The app takes seconds to load, seconds where your heart beats wildly and your vision goes a little blurry. You mutter, “come on, faster, faster,” under your breath and suddenly the screen loads and there in the center of the screen, in bold font, is the notice that your period has been late for more than thirty days.

You’ve missed two periods.

Without even realizing it.

To be fair to yourself, after the miscarriage, everything was thrown off and you’ve only had seven or eight periods in the past year. So it’s not totally crazy that you didn’t realize you missed two cycles.

Your stomach lurches a little bit and you chew at your lower lip. You probably should take a test. But do you want to know without Andrei, again?

It didn’t work out so well last time.

You’re probably not even pregnant, you rationalize, it’s the stress of a new season starting and your body getting back to normal.

Never mind the fact that you’ve long been cleared to get pregnant again and your gynaecologist hadn’t said anything was wrong at your last appointment.

Your phone vibrates in your hand, nearly scaring the shit out of you. It’s just a notification from the NHL app - sometime in the last few minutes, while you’d been spiralling, the Rangers had tied the game and it was going to overtime.

Overtime anxiety is better than maybe-pregnant anxiety, so you tune into Bally, the sudden brightness of the glare off the ice making you blink. You’re half-heartedly paying attention, fingers tapping against your thigh while the players zip up and down the ice, trading scoring chances. Andrei’s on the ice for a shift and then he’s back on the bench. Pyotr makes a save and then another and then he doesn’t.

You frown at the TV, watching Andrei and the guys file off the ice, miserable for the team’s loss. You change the channel back to Nick at Nite, not interested in seeing the post-game analysis of the loss.

The audience laughter from the show echoes around the living room and you chew at your lower lip anxiously. Andrei won’t be back to his hotel room for hours, the post-game process already underway, but between media, a shower, and the travel. Well, it’ll be at least close to midnight before you can talk to him.

He’ll reassure you that you’re overthinking, that it’s nothing. But a quiet part of your brain is insistent that you’re pregnant and it just won’t shut up.

The smartest thing would be to take a test, find out once and for all if you’re even going to mention anything to Andrei. You’re pretty sure there’s no tests left after last time and if there are, they’re probably expired.

Your fingers tap at the screen of your phone almost by memory, the Google search showing that there’s a twenty-four hour CVS just a ten minute drive away.

The episode ends and another begins while you sit on that information, giving yourself a moment to imagine what you’ll do if the test is positive. He has to know immediately this time, you don’t think you’d be able to wait.

“Oh fuck it,” you mutter to yourself, pushing the blankets off your legs and getting up from the couch. Your vision goes fuzzy, briefly, the blood rushing from your head. You blink and everything shifts back into focus, your heart hammering a little.

Before you can overthink it, you turn off the TV and head for the front door, making a stop at the front hall closet to grab a jacket. Your fingers close around the sleeve of one of Andrei’s, the jacket dwarfing your frame as you slip your arms into the sleeves. You shove your feet into a ratty pair of Uggs and drop a faded Canes ball cap on your head.

You look insane, more like a college kid doing a walk of shame than a married woman, but Andrei’s scent embedded deep into the collar of his jacket is comforting you.

At CVS, you grab at the pregnancy test boxes like a woman possessed - Clear Blue, First Response, and the CVS generic brand all go into your basket, along with a bag of pumpkin shaped Reese’s Cups and a pack of Twizzlers. Something about the waxy, artificial strawberry ropes seems appealing right now.

Thank God for self-checkout, you don’t think you can face another person right now.

The pregnancy tests feel like they weigh a million pounds in the plastic bag and you gnaw anxiously on a Twizzler as you drive back home.

It’s well after midnight by the time you manage to drink enough water in order to pee on all the sticks and this round is more anxiety producing than when you’d done it over a year ago. Once you’re done, you set the timer on your phone and flip each stick over on the counter, so you can’t see the displays.

Instead of waiting in the bathroom, which is feeling small and stuffy despite how large it actually is, you pace around your bedroom for the few minutes it takes for your timer to count down. You wonder if you could call Andrei now, be on the phone with him when you look at the display, but if you’re not pregnant and he’s on the phone, he’ll be disappointed right before the next set of games. He’s been talking about it a little more lately, in the abstract, how nice it’ll be to have a baby one day. And you maybe haven’t been as enthusiastic as he’s been, so you don’t want to get his hopes up.

If you’re not pregnant, Andrei doesn’t need to know that you worried yourself into a tizzy over nothing.

But if you are? Well, Andrei will be the first call anyway.

The timer goes off on your phone and the sudden, shrill noise makes you jump. Your stomach lurches and you flatten your palm over it. Underneath the anxiety, there’s a little bubble of excitement growing, the thought of a baby providing a little spark of joy.

You wander back into the bathroom and close your eyes before flipping the tests over with shaking hands.

The plastic clatters against the countertop and you squint one eye open and then the other, vision focusing on the little displays.

“Oh!” You gasp, eyes immediately filling with tears, hands flying up to cover your mouth.

All three are positive, the little Clear Blue display declaring you ‘Pregnant’ in tiny letters.

Tears slip down your cheeks and you start giggling wildly, overwhelmed in the best possible way. Your hands press on your stomach, palms flat and fingers splayed.

“Hey there, baby,” you murmur, looking down. “Stay safe in there, okay? We want to meet you.”

The tears fall faster and you wipe at them with your shoulder, a damp splotch forming on the fabric of your sweatshirt. It’s so late, but you need to tell Andrei, and you move on autopilot, climbing onto your bed and finding your phone among the messy covers - the bed hasn’t been made in two days because Andrei is more of a stickler for that than you are and you like to get right back into the nest of blankets at the end of the day. It’s on your list of things to do before he’s back in a few days. Now, you pile yourself into a little cocoon of the blankets and comforters, warm and happy.

You text him first, just a quick ‘you awake?’ that you know he’s going to read as a request for phone sex.

True enough, your phone vibrates in your hand a few seconds later, Andrei’s name at the top of the screen. You grin and slide the bar to answer, “hey there.”

“Is late,” he replies, a faint laugh in his tone. “Thought you would be sleeping.”

“No,” you giggle, feeling a little unhinged. “Not asleep. Couldn’t sleep. Um, are you alone?”

Your husband laughs fully now, the sound echoing over the line. “Solnyshka, been a long day. I love you, but we have early morning,” he teases and the rumble of his voice makes you smile.

“No, not for that you perv,” you shoot back, twisting your fingers in a loose thread. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

You know you’re sounding vague and strange, but to his credit, Andrei doesn’t call you out on it. Instead, he’s quiet for a second before your phone vibrates against your ear, signalling an incoming text. You pull the phone from your ear and tap over to your messages, laughing when you see the picture Andrei just sent.

The hotel room is nearly pitch black, but you can still make out the shape of Martin Nečas passed out in his bed with what looks like an eye mask covering his face. Andrei’s grinning face is cut off in the corner of the picture.

“Guess that’s a yes then,” you smile, bringing the phone back to your ear.

“Neci has earplugs in too,” Andrei informs you. “Says I snore, which is lie.”

It’s not, but you don’t feel like relitigating that particular point with him right now. So you move on.

“I know I should’ve waited, done something cute, but I’m bursting,” you let the words come out in a rush, feeling lightheaded with excitement. “I couldn’t, I had to tell you right away, Drei, baby, I’m pregnant.”

Andrei’s silent on the other end and a slightly manic laugh bubbles out of your mouth while you wait for him to say something.

“Pregnant?” He repeats, sounding like he’s just taken a blow to the stomach - winded and hoarse. “Like, with baby?”

“Yeah, mhm,” you hum, just letting the news soak in. Andrei’s breathing is audible in your ear, a soft ‘huh’ puffing out.

He starts to laugh and you can hear the grin in his voice when he says, “oh, solnyshka, fuck, I’m… ya chertovski schastliv.”

He slips into Russian and you’re not totally familiar with the words, but he repeats them in English, “I’m so fucking happy. Are you okay? How you feel?”

“I’m okay, I was feeling a little tired earlier,” you say. “That’s kind of why I took the test, just to see.”

Without asking, Andrei switches the call to a FaceTime and you pull the phone back, his grinning face taking up the entire screen. He looks lighter and happier than he has in months and the sight of him, of that smile that you love so much, makes you emotional.

“I wish I could kiss you,” he shakes his head, still smiling. “Hold you, something other than smile like idiot on phone.”

“I’m just happy to see your smile,” you say truthfully. A hug wouldn’t be unwelcome, but just seeing Andrei’s face has you calmer. “It’s late,” you continue, catching sight of the time in the top left corner of your phone - nearly 1:30 in the morning. “You should get some sleep.”

The adrenaline is starting to wear off now and you slump back against the pillows and headboard.

Andrei nods. “Call me when you get up,” he requests, phone bouncing slightly as he shifts on the bed. “We leave early, but call any time, okay?”

“Okay,” you promise, pressing your lips together to smother a yawn. “Hey, I love you.”

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Andrei replies in Russian, warm and awed. “You and baby, both.”

You’re both quiet for a bit, comfortable and sleepy, reluctant to end the call. You just want to enjoy his long-distance presence and this little bubble, but eventually Martin lets out a snore on his side of the room, startling you since you forgot he was there. Andrei laughs faintly and reluctantly ends the call, after telling you he loves you again.

Now that Andrei knows, your whole body relaxes and you sink happily into the nest of blankets and pillows, curled up in a c-shape, one hand on your stomach.

There’s a million things to figure out in the coming days, weeks, and months, a million worries to ruminate on, but for now, you fall asleep with a smile on your face and pure happiness bubbling in your stomach.

The next morning, you snooze your alarm and allow yourself to wake up slowly and lazily. It’s an easy morning and you don’t plan on getting out of bed until you hear the doorbell ring.

With a grumble, you climb out of bed and shove your feet into a pair of slippers to pad downstairs, wondering who could be at the door this early.

It’s a delivery man, half-hidden behind a huge bouquet of flowers. You accept it, surprised at the delivery but not at the sender.

The oversized bouquet made up of baby roses, baby’s breath, and a few other types all in various shades of baby pink and baby blue can only be from your husband. Your face hurts from the size of your smile and you dig out the little card from between a pale pinks rose and a light blue hydrangea.

‘I love you, we will celebrate as soon as I am home. A hug and a kiss from New York for you, mama. -A’

It’s not Andrei’s handwriting, but you trace your fingers over the letters and feel tears well up. Any concerns or worries you might have about having a baby are pushed aside.

Andrei’s going to be the best dad and you’re so lucky to be doing this with him.

[loganslowdown4]

Revisiting The Nightmare Before Spirit Christmas

Well it’s been 3 weeks since this gem was released! Did you all like it? I loved it 😂 Good silly fun to watch with our faves 🎃🎄

Logan

For all intents and purposes, Logan with dark round glasses DOES look like Matt Murdock aka Daredevil— I’m sorry but he does!

Also Roman imagining Logan singing is just 😚👌👌 like he would object because it’s not about jam or rapping, but Roman I think loves when he sings

Anyway they both looked really good in this ❤️💙

Roman

He’s just so pretty

Hell yeah he’s the pumpkin KING peasants-

Patton

Makeup says Clown With the Tearaway Face 🤡

But my heart says ZERO 🐶🔴👻 🩵🤍

No I won’t be corrected 🙂‍↔️

Virgil

Has the prettiest makeup hands down

BTW Did you know there was a sequel novel to Nightmare called Long Live The Pumpkin Queen?? Give it a read, it was actually very good—

Janus

in love with his makeup too (second favourite) ☺️

and every time he turned his head there was a gear click sound which just made me so inexplicably happy lol

Remus

Thomas had posted an insta story of him randomly buying burlap material

So I guess this finally paid off lol

He’s little green riding hood haha

Plus you can see the bugs on his cheeks, look closely 👀🪲🐛

If you missed it, I also made a silly reaction video to go with the silly musical video! Enjoy!

@thatsthat24 💙

I guess we’re in Spirit Christmas time now! Happy (early) Holidays lol

[f-imaginings]

Hi! First of all, I hope you're recovering <3

Anyway, I was re-reading Book of Bill and the Billford parts (if we can call them that) and damn. All the conversations they have in the book are so… KMKY to me, I mean, I'm amazed at how you've studied and understood the characters so well that now, when the creator thinks about how their dynamic would be, it's IDENTICAL to KMKY. I can easily see those scenes as a KMKY scene and I'm in shock.

Just, congratulations on the writing, seriously, you're an inspiration to me in writing and character study!

Hi lovely,

Thank you for the kind words! I'm all done at the hospital and I'm cheering! Nothing was wrong and it looks like I'm healthy for the most part BC the treatment is working well ☺️

Omg no one was more surprised than me reading the book of bill about their dynamic. Especially their banter! You can call me anything just don't call me late for dinner and get out of my head, you first! were some of the highlight reels for me. It was just such a fun book to read and I'm so grateful it reignited my passion for writing so I can come back and finish the fic!

I've had ideas for spin offs and sequels too since getting such lovely feedback on the fic. I have plans and ideas for characterisation that hopefully are fairly unique (I haven't seen some of these ideas done before) and I'm cheering that folks have been enjoying what I put out so far.

I have always cherished the positive feedback ppl have given to the fic (I reread comments like non stop) but to have gone from getting maybe 1 comment a month to all of this attention has been wild. I think ppl assume this was always a popular fic but it had a lot of silent readers. I had the same four or five ppl tell me they vibed with it but they were the cherished few. Now however I've had folks actually tell me that they're reading and what parts they're enjoying and its given me boundless energy to work on chapters and put in 100% so I'm doing right by y'all and giving you my best work. I really appreciate folks like yourself telling me what you like about it so thank you for writing in to let me know. 💛💛💛

[formula-fun]

hello dear, do you think we can get a little snippet from the if i had words sequel? ☺️ you confirming that there’s actually a sequel happening made my whole week. 🩷

hellooooo my dear! yes you may <333 i think i owe you a long one since it's going to be a bit of a wait--can't remember if i posted this one before but here you go!

IV. THING ONE AND THING TWO // WOULD YOU LOVE ME IF I WAS ANYTHING BUT WHAT I AM?

A scorpion asks a frog to carry it across the river. The frog hesitates, fearing that the scorpion will sting it, but the scorpion tells the frog not to worry because if the scorpion stung the frog it would doom them both. The frog agrees and allows the scorpion to sit upon its back. Halfway across the river the scorpion stings the frog. 

“Why did you do that?” the frog asks as they both begin sinking into the water.

The scorpion replies, “it’s in my nature.” 

“That’s a stupid story,” Max says, biting at his thumb nail. Beside him, Victoria is dead asleep. 

Sophie gently removes his thumb from his mouth. “Ah, do we need to paint this again?” 

“No,” he huffs. He sits on his hand. “It’s a stupid story. The frog should have known.” 

“Well, that’s the moral. Cruel people will always behave in cruel ways. We can’t expect them to be any different.” 

“But the scorpion isn’t cruel. It’s like when I got stung by a bee, and dad said it wasn’t the bee’s fault because flowers are for bees so I shouldn’t go in them.”  

Sophie purses her lips. “Well, it was a mistake. You didn’t know there were bees in the flowers.” 

“Oh.” He turns that over. “So it’s the frog’s fault? Because it should know the scorpion can sting?” 

She’s silent for a long beat. “It’s nobody’s fault,” she says at last, her voice firm. She closes the book. “Enough stories, hmm?” 

“I’m not tired yet.” 

“No? Are you hungry? We still have some treats from grandma.” 

And just like that the story was swept clean out of his head. 

Years later, he met Charles. 

Years later, sweeping around karting tracks was already old hat. He bumped wheels and pushed other children off, and he saw them cry to their parents about it after, and he didn’t feel a thing. It sucked sometimes, the way they treated him after, but he didn’t mind it that much. That was racing; that was life. If they couldn’t handle it, that wasn’t really his problem. 

Charles pushed him off the track. 

Max shoved him, and Charles shoved back. Charles drove him into puddles and across muddy strips of grass; Charles drove over Max’s tires and across his front wing and smiled about it after. Max gave as good as he got, and he didn’t feel any particular way about it until the third time it happened, when Charles took his helmet off and stood on the second step of the podium and looked a little bored and a little irritated; he was standing above Max that day, but he still hadn’t won. 

Oh, Max had thought, and something slotted into place in the back of his head—something strange, something unusual. Oh. It’s in your nature.

He understands Charles, now. Beautiful creature; unstoppable thing, formed out of the same stuff that Max is. Charles is a shark in bright red water: to stop moving is to stop breathing. Max is holding his breath, these days. He’s holding his breath, and holding his daughter. He’s making bottles and reading storybooks and when he lays down in bed at night every muscle is tense until he gets up the next morning—every muscle like a spring, waiting for the gun to go off so that he can run and run and run until he reaches wherever it is that Charles is in the world. 

“I miss you,” Charles tells him on the phone. Max had seen him win in Baku earlier that day. He’d held the trophy high on the podium and Max had pointed to the television and said that’s Mama, and Julie had squirmed and laughed at Max but not looked where he was pointing. 

“I wanna come home. I miss you so bad. I feel like I’m going crazy sometimes. I can’t sleep at all, I just want to be around you and Julie.”

“Yeah?” Max murmurs. He’s laying on the couch, his head against the arm. Julie is on his chest with one thumb in her mouth, and when he cranes his neck he can kiss her head and smell her strawberry baby shampoo. “I miss you too.” 

“What do you miss the most?” 

“Just having you around. Hearing you in the other room. Knowing you’re close by.” His throat feels tight; he swallows hard against the feeling. 

The line crackles as Charles breathes, even and slow. “If you close your eyes right now is it just like I’m there?” he says quietly. 

He thinks about doing it for a beat, but can’t; he can’t imagine the feeling of the illusion shattering when Charles hangs up. “Charles, come on,” he says, and his voice sounds pinched even to his own ears. 

“Max.” 

He clears his throat; settles his hand on Julie’s back and rubs little circles, over and over. “Tell me about the race,” he says instead. “You did—after the first stop you were doing such a late apex for a while into turn 1, but that’s so hard on the new tires when they’re not in the window.” 

“The sun was setting. There was a cool patch of pavement on the outside that made it easier,” Charles says. “Max, I’ll be home so soon.” 

“Did that work though? Even on hards? I have had that work on mediums, but you run the risk of so much spin there.” 

“I short-shifted.” 

“To get more heat into the rears?

“I know this is hard for you, baby,” Charles rushes out, and Max’s breath stalls in his throat. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“But you know it’s okay, right? I miss you and I’m coming right back as soon as I can. I’m going to try for tomorrow, okay? I know it hurts right now, but we’re always a family even when we’re not together. I’m always coming back. Whenever I’m away from you I’m trying to find a way back to you.” 

Max’s eyes burn. He breathes very slowly and very shallowly. His lips wobble, so he presses them together. His throat aches, so he clenches his jaw until he doesn’t feel it. 

“Do you understand?” Charles says. He sounds broken. “I’m coming right back.” 

His lungs stinging, he takes a breath finally. It’s tight and uneven, more like the inhale before a sob.

[thebrandywine]

maaaav hope you’re doing well ☺️ those puppy Leon sketches from the other day have been swirling in my brain soooo maybe ❛ you gonna be a good boy for me? ❜ for Leon?

i'm going to be SO real with you- i am not in the smut mindset today. the smutset, if you will. but @fonulyn and i chatted and here you goooo

accidental sequel to the last one?!

-

"I don't need a medical exam. I'm fine."

Chris shakes his head and walks off, abandoning Piers to the task of making Leon not be an idiot. "I'll have them get a room ready," he calls back.

"Leon," Piers says with as much patience as he can muster, which isn't a lot after the day they've had. "You have a gut wound."

"It didn't break all the layers of skin."

"It's going to get infected."

Leon glances up at him from where he's strapped to the travel gurney and clearly still unhappy about it. "I have so many leftover antibiotics at my place."

Like that's reassuring, Piers thinks, passing a hand over his eyes. While Leon has gotten a lot better over the past few years when it comes to admitting himself to medical, there are still times where he is adamant that he's fine, and that he doesn't need to see anyone, and that it would be a waste of everyone's time if he did. To Piers, those instances are still random, and he has been unsuccessful so far in tracking a rhyme or reason as to why they pop up.

Piers opens his mouth to argue and then stops, struck by lightning. He drops his hand and braces himself on the rails of the gurney, looming over Leon and letting his expression go confident and authoritative and wanting. His mouth curls into a tiny smile as he dips closer.

Leon's eyes widen a little before narrowing. "Don't."

"Don't what?" Piers asks.

"Don't."

Piers lowers his face in to nuzzle their noses together, glancing brushes of their lips all the contact that he allows. Even injured and missing half his blood, Leon still automatically tries to tip up into the kiss. He fails.

Piers kisses him very, very lightly right under his eye. When Leon shudders, he lowers his voice to ask huskily, "You gonna be a good boy for me?"

Leon sucks in a quiet breath, shifting against the straps holding him down for transportation, hands clenching tightly. "You're an asshole," he hisses.

Piers hums, kisses the same spot again, and then trails his lips over to Leon's ear. "C'mon, baby," he murmurs. "If you're good, I'll give you a treat."

"I'm not a dog," Leon tries to say, but it almost comes out as a squeak--

"I just learned way more about your sex life than I ever wanted to know," Jill says.

Piers jumps clear away from the gurney and whips around. Leon jerks in place and then barely smothers a cry of pain, expression twisting as he presses a hand to his stomach. Jill has a vaguely disgusted look on her face but ignores them both, pulling the lock on the gurney's wheels and grasping the footrail to start down the hall.

"I," Piers says, scrambling after them.

Jill intones, "I do not want to know."

Leon asks tightly, "Can someone just kill me now?"

[andorerso]

Hello! How about these two ❄️ + 💧 for the WIP ask ☺️

❄️Share a snippet from a WIP of your choosing.

from pt. 2 of my Good Behavior AU:

"What’s your real name?" she wonders, turning her head to look at him. They have a long six hours ahead of them; might as well get to know the man who's basically holding her hostage. "Cassian." "Cassian," she nods, testing it on her tongue. "Like a prince." "What?" He sounds confused. Jyn shakes her head. "Nothing." That was Caspian. Prince Caspian.

💧Share something romantic/hot from your WIP, or just something sweet if it's gen.

from the sequel to the Lady Knight Jyn AU:

She would die. If he kept kissing her like that, she would die, and she would not mind one bit. But almost as soon as the thought ran through her brain, Cassian pulled away, and Jyn gasped in displeasure, instinctively seeking his mouth again. No, scratch that. She would die if he did not kiss her again. “We mustn’t,” he said, but his heavy breathing and crazed look in his eyes told her otherwise. “Why not? If you’re leaving, who will know?”

[lets-just-daydream]

Hi! I’ve never done a request before so bear with me here. I just finished reading your previous short story about the virgin reader and Astarion and it had me so invested! If you don’t mind, could you write an update following the event, possibly when Astarion chooses to confess to the reader his intentions and finally wanting something more. The reader could be conflicted with feelings of utter dismay about basically being used and empathy towards Astarion’s past (what lead him to do the deed with her) but the ending can be fluffy or something of the sort. Idk, I’m not good at creating plot so if you decide to put your own twist to it then that’s fine by me! I’m just here for a sequel☺️Thank you for taking the time out to read this! ❤️

A lil palette cleanser as I continue on I Loved You First hehe

After the night you shared with Astarion at the tiefling party, there had been a couple more romps. You'd approached him each time, suggestively swaying side-to-side and asking if he'd like to join you in your tent for the evening. 

Each time, he had eagerly said yes and spent the evenings with you, ravishing your body and making you cry out his name in ecstasy. It was always the most delicious pleasure but each time felt like the first where you recalled that Astarion wasn't entirely present in the moment. 

Whenever you asked, he reassured you that he was alright. You couldn't have known the truth and he didn't hold it against you, but two centuries of habits were hard to shake, of course. After that, you had stopped asking Astarion to join you for the evenings and that instilled a fear in him. What if you were about to kick him out of camp and leave him to a cruel fate? But by this point he knew his fear was more than just that. It was fear of losing you forever. 

He figured it was time to be honest. Something foreign to him.

You all trudged through the dark hellscape that was the Shadowlands. You'd been searching for Moonrise Towers for what felt like forever and with no light to guide your way, you and your group were totally lost. 

Gale spotted an abandoned house ahead and suggested that you all stop there for the night. You nodded, tired and ready to rest before another day of searching tomorrow, no doubt. 

“I'll take first watch,” you said, plopping down on the disintegrating sofa.

Your companions sought out their own rooms and beds for the night, except for Astarion who stood by the dining table, lit by some of the various candles that you'd all lit upon your arrival. 

“Not going to get some rest, Astarion?” You asked. 

“No,” he said softly. “At least not yet. I have some things on my mind.” 

“Oh,” you hummed. “Would you like to talk about it?” 

“Well, yes actually. It's something that's been on my mind for a while.” 

You shuffled around on the couch and sat with your knee bent in front of you and your elbow resting on the back of the sofa. You cradled your head in your hand as Astarion sat opposite you and looked down in his lap before looking back at you. 

“So, I haven't been entirely honest with you,” Astarion began. 

“Oh?” 

“How do I put this…” He inhaled a deep breath and exhaled slowly, his scared eyes coming up to meet yours. “When we all first met and you had become the leader of our little ragtag group, I formulated a plan. A nice, simple plan to cement my place in the group and in your heart.” 

Your brow furrowed but you'd stayed quiet. 

“Seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings and make you fall for me.”

You gulped as your heart froze, your breath hitching. “What?” You breathed. 

“I had to guarantee my safety, make you fall for me while not falling for you. But,” Astarion sucked through his teeth. “That's where my little plan fell apart.”

“Astarion? What are you saying?” You felt sick, your stomach turning as you recalled the nights you'd spent tangled up in Astarion's arms, his body against yours. 

“I… I used you,” Astarion said, his breath shaky. “I was acting on two hundred years of instinct. Of looking out for myself and no one else. I was so used to being alone and using my body for my own personal gain.” 

Your head spun and your hand flew to your mouth in shock. “You were using me? Did any of what happened between us mean anything to you at all?” 

Astarion sighed. “Not at first. But the more time I spent with you, the more… I got to know you, I ended up falling for you.” You glanced up and saw the sadness in Astarion's eyes. “That first night we spent together… I didn't… I didn't want to be your first. I felt awful about it, I still do. I took something from you that you can't get back.” 

You felt angry, betrayed, ready to throw Astarion out and let him fend for himself against the terrifying shadows. But your heart also ached for him. He'd opened up to you about the horrors of serving under Cazador. How everyday was a struggle to live and that he'd begged for it all to end more times than he could count. You couldn't blame him for seeking safety and somewhere else to belong. 

He leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees, his head dropping. “You deserve something better,” he mumbled. “Something real. I wish I could give you that but… I don't know how.”

You shuffled forward and rested your thigh against his. “Astarion… I… I do care about you, you know?” 

He sat up and looked at you, his face a mixture of hope, twinges with guilt. “Really?” 

“Yes. Of course I'm upset that you used me, but I also understand. You've told me of horrors I could never imagine. Sex or not, I would never turn my back on you.”

“Oh,” Astarion breathed. “I suppose I never thought of intimacy as anything other than a means to an end. Luring people to Cazador, using you for my own personal gain. You always asked me why I felt like I wasn't all there, and well, I suppose you probably understand why now.” 

“I do,” you whispered. 

“I've grown to like you, to genuinely care for you. But this is new to me. Terrifying,” Astarion choked. “I don't know how to give you what you deserve.”

You moved closer to him and Astarion looked up at you, uncertainty on his face as he held his breath. You wrapped your arms around him and his dead heart stuttered, your hands rubbing his back comfortingly. You buried your face in his neck and after a moment of being engulfed in your warmth, he wrapped his arms around you in turn. His hold on you was tight and you let him hold onto you as long as he needed to, not like you were willing to let go, anyway. 

Astarion eventually pulled away, a hand coming to cup your cheek. “I have no idea what I'm doing, honestly,” he said with a nervous chuckle. “But this feels nice, this feels right.” 

You responded with a smile. “Whatever you need, Astarion, I'll be here for you. I truly do care for you.” 

“And I care for you,” he whispered, reaching out for your hand, which you took and wove your fingers together.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Christmas fic please?

☺️

The Blue Hour This is somewhat of a sequel to my other 18th-century fics 'When the Heart is Full the Tongue Will Speak" and "The Prison Ship," but it also stands alone. Valley Forge was arguably the worst winter of the war. Alfred's having a bad time. Matt tries to help. He has something for Alfred. This was supposed to be longer, but I had to say fuck it and put it in the queue, or it wasn't happening, so I'm so sorry for inflicting it on you. Apple pie reference is from the HC that Alfred's pie recipe comes from a nice Pennsylvania Quaker lady who took him in in the late 17th century when he was little after the Massachusetts witch crazes. This isn't a happy fic, but it is deeply loving. Also on ao3

Valley Forge, Christmas 1777

Alfred’s legs didn’t feel quite real as he approached the clearing. It was silent here. No animals. No people, either. Even the last chickadees, so faithful through the winter, had disappeared behind him as the previous winter sun faded from a depressing grey to pitch dark. He was a bit numb and more paranoid as he rounded a copse of trees and found himself staring at a pristine clearing. He recognized this house, grey stone with a heavy slate roof. There was no glass in the windows, but cheery, flickering firelight escaped through whatever slight cracks there were in the shutters. He hefted his rifle, bayonet attached, closer and approached, wary. The forest held its breath, and the fire crackling became louder as he approached. There was smoke from the chimney but no shadows of movement inside. He gripped his rifle. He should go home to his haphazard tar paper and log shack, but it was dark now, and Valley Forge was 30 miles behind.

He pushed open the door with a bang, rifle to his shoulder, and heard a surprised shout. A figure twisted, axe in hand, poised to hook it into Alfred’s neck and remove an arm at the shoulder like a branch from a trunk. Then, a note of laughter, and he was embraced.

Warmth hit him. First, Matt’s entire body was warm, and his clothes were fire-toasty. Then the smell of roasting meat floated, so solid it was almost visible, into his senses. Then, dizziness. Dizziness struck like a blow to the head. Alfred might have passed out on the floor if Matt hadn’t already had his arms around him.

Matt squeezed with more strength than Alfred had ever known his baby brother to have. The rifle was tugged from his hands, and he was suddenly sitting, sodden clothes and boots pulled off, feet stretched towards the fire. He might have vomited if he wasn’t so hallowed out. Matt was gone for only a moment, but Alfred grabbed a hold of him as soon as he was back.

“Have you changed your mind?” He grasped Matt’s sleeve with a shaking hand. “Did you come to your senses?”

“Have you?” Matt said, derisive even as he pressed a mug into Alfred’s hands. “Drink that, and the world will stop spinning.”

“Matthew---” He didn’t let go of Matt’s sleeve. “You haven’t come to—.”

“Bend the knee?” Matthew’s eyes flashed, and Alfred was all too aware of the axe on his belt and the rifle against the wall. “No. I’m not.”

“What are you doing here then?” He let Matt go and sipped on the contents of the mug—broth, salty and rich beyond belief. Matt was right. The world did stop spinning.

“It’s Christmas.”

“Is it?”

“It is,” Matt said with a watery smile. “I take it you got my note.”

“Pie at sundown,” Alfred recalled. “I got it. I could hardly believed you remembered that.”

“First apple pie you ever made me. I’ll remember it til the sun goes dark.” Matt was before him with a blanket and a stack of clothes. “Finish drinking that, put these on and then we’ll talk.”

They were his own clothes, what he’d left in the chest of drawers in Boston after he’d slipped his guards and disappeared across the border and into Quebec. He wanted to toss them back. They were the clothes of a crown subject, a boy with a British boot on his neck. Not the free man he wanted to be. That he was, but he hadn’t had a fresh shirt since his baby brother had dragged his corpse out of his shallow grave on the Hudson. He could wash it as often as he liked, but the linen was still wearing thin. His former things were practically new, the linen fresh and clean, the wool still warm. Alfred ran a hand over the fabric, still so chilled he hardly considered his pride as Matt turned away to tend to the bird slowly roasting over the fire and dressed. He glanced over his shoulder when Alfred slipped the shirt over his head. There hadn’t been a mirror to look at himself in months, and he didn’t want to. He knew his ribs were stark; he could feel them. Matt looked that kind of devastated that, if he hadn’t turned away, might have made Alfred cry.

“Have you had a decent meal since I saw you?” He didn’t look over his shoulder again until the shirt was over his head, and he’d buttoned the blue waistcoat over his chest. Everything was so ill-fitting now.

Alfred ignored him. “Does Father know you’re here?”

Matthew snorted. “It’s Christmas; he’s so deep into the officer’s nog when I left he won’t realize I’ve gone unless I’m not there for epiphany morning with tea going. So I shot a turkey and pissed off south to find you. Looks like its a good thing I did too.”

“I’m fine.” Alfred scowled. “There’s a camp of thousands of men 2 miles from here with nothing but rice and vinegar for Christmas dinner. Next to them, I’m all right.”

“I’m sorry,” Matt said, and it damn well looked like he meant it, narrow shoulders bowed as he sat heavily onto one of the overturned logs he obviously meant to use as a kitchen chair for the occasion.

“You could feed a lot of people if you stayed. You’re a good hunter.”

“Don’t,” Matt said. “We’ve had this conversation. Look at you. You know I wouldn’t survive another war like this. You’re kissed by God himself and you look like death.”

“It’s not so bad.”

“Rice and vinegar, eh? Yeah well. Try some turkey and see if it compares.”

“Why do you keep coming to see me if you won’t pick a side, Matt? You’re committing treason and you know it.”

“You’re my brother.”

His shrug was simple, unemotional. The sky was up, the Earth was down, the snow was cold, and Matt would haul and shoot a turkey and walk four days just to sneak him a decent meal. He teared up. Maybe it was the cold, the deprivation or just how much he missed home and heart and heart. Throat working, shoulders shaking even if he wasn’t crying, he grabbed Matt by the shoulders and squeezed for a third time, kissing him on the forehead about a dozen times and just feeling something so desperately affectionate he had to ride it out like dizziness.

“I missed you.” He said.

“You too.” Matt had clamped himself around Alfred, playing as if he just held on; he wouldn’t feel how much weight he’d dropped since summer. After a long moment, he made Alfred sit on one of the logs and tossed the rucksack while he struck flint and steel and put tinder to kindling. “Have you been sick? You look terrible,”

“Everyone is.” He said. There was no point in hiding it. “You know what it’s like. A moving army is a healthy army. A camped army is a sick army.”

“Why do you think I like the woods so much? I could run from the British as easily as from the typhus.”

“Yeah, well, they’re my people. I can’t leave them.”

“Do you have scurvy yet?”

“Gettering there.” He poked his tongue at his teeth. He had all of them, but he was always so tired. It couldn’t be far away.

Matt pivoted and took an orange in each hand, shoving them at Alfred. “Father... he’s in the habit of buying two.”

“I can’t take these!”

“Think of them as reparations.”

“Won’t you get scurvy?’

“I get lime juice twice a day. Just take anything you want out of my pack and eat it. Take the rest tomorrow. I’ll get a rabbit on my way back if I get hungry.”

“Why do you have to go back?”

“Stop asking me that. Pick something for me to make out of what’s in there, all right? Anything you want tonight, and you can take the rest tomorrow.”

“I want you to stay.”

Matt leaned against the wall by the hearth, arms crossed. “And I don’t want to die. So stop asking. That’s the agreement. Stay alive. Not stay with you.”

“You should be my right hand. It should be me and you against the world.”

“You’re the one fighting with the world, Alfred. I already have. I lost. Pick a vegetable, eat an orange, have some wine and stop trying to sentence me to death because you’re lonely again.”

He was tearing up, and so was Alfred. They looked away from each other, and Alfred went to the pack.

He opened food like he had once opened pewter inkwells at the apothecaries, looking for the blue ink he liked better than the quickly fading walnut; there were cranberries, potatoes, apples, stalks of celery, onions, cabbage, carrots, mushrooms, honey cakes, tea, coffee, a jug of wassail and a smaller bottle of Madeira. Smaller quantities of sugar, flour, oats, rice, raisins and rye. There were more of his clothes that he hadn’t taken when he’d fled Boston nearly two years prior. And under all that, a length of blue cloth with shining brass buttons. 

“Mattie.... What is that coat?” 

His brother froze. He’d been dragging his knife down the side of the roasted bird and onto a rough-hewn platter. For one long moment, Alfred thought he might burst into tears. 

“It’s for you.” He said. 

“Whe did you get it?” 

“General Montcalm.” He said. “It was too big so I hid it under the floorboards. Thought I’d wear it too the victory parade someday. It’s... it’s your colour now, isn’t it?”

“It— Yeah it is.” 

“I hope its luckier for you than it was for me.” He said quietly. “I hope Lord Bonnefoy is better to you too.”

“Mattie.” Alfred said quietly. 

Matt was standing there, eyes shut against tears, until he looked up at Alfred with those same big, hopeful eyes he’d always had before all this. Full of all the softness and warmth of Canada that may not have existed elsewhere that winter. Words stuck in his throat, and suddenly, so homesick he wanted to burst, Alfred opened his arms. Matt gave up on carving the bird, put down the plate, and allowed Alfred to pull him in again. If Matt had grown, it was only a little, and Alfred could still easily rest his cheek on Matt’s crown, which he did for a long moment.

“Thank you.” He said. 

“It was meant for you,” Matt replied. “You’re... tall and capable like that. It will fit you, even when you fill it out again.” 

“You’ll grow.” Alfred said. “Someday. And then we'll be fine."

Someday. 

[hanafubukki]

Otome games what your recommendation for beginner to try out game?

Hello Ladyxtiger 🌺💙💚

This is a bit hard to answer because it depends on what you mean by otome. Do you mean the traditional otome games or romance games in general.

Traditional otome games are dating visual novel games aimed at girls. While romance visual novels in general can be aimed at anyone.

So I’ll add a mix of them.

(Also a warning, you should check for triggers because some of these deal with religion, mature themes, blood, etc.)

For mobile:

Ikémen Sengoku

Ikémen Prince

Ikémen Villain

Mystic Messenger

Court of Darkness

Obey Me (I prefer the original one but you can technically play the second one without playing the first I believe)

These are romance visual novels on mobile so I have to warn you they are gacha based, especially obey me.

Obey me, I always warn more because it’s heavy gacha and events and seems endless, and with the recent rumors of quality lowering…well, I’ll leave that up to you.

In general, mobile games are more of a “daily” ticket gameplay. You can read a chapter a day for free unless you want to pay. If you’re patient, I would say go for these options.

If you’re not patient, I would recommend console/pc visual novels:

Our life series (an absolute fave, very comfort esque.)

Touchstarved (only demo is out but! Very good premise and potential)

Code realize (steam punk and cute! Has many sequels and route, very traditional otome game friendly. This one was my first otome game and has a special place in my heart)

Collar x malice (my favorite, I wasn’t the same after this otome. Everything about it just hits)

Bustfellow (perfect mix of mystery, murder, and romance)

JACKJEANNE (writer of Tokyo ghoul made this and they announced a sequel. Worth every penny. Not only romance esque but so many other wonderful characters and platonic relationships)

Cafe enchante (😌🫶, Lilia’s Va is a side character. I am down on my knees begging for a sequel and for him to get a route!! His aesthetics fits everything I love 😭😭)

And that’s all I have off the top of my head, if I remember more, I’ll add onto this ☺️🌺

[pedrito-friskito]

Happy Sleepover lovely Kay!!

You know how I love me some Steve Rogers, I’d love to request him with the prompt…

“You have any idea how much I hated seeing someone else touch you.”

Please and thank you!

🌹

ericca!!! thanks for such a fun request ☺️ the inspo jumped out of me on this one (but my apologies for taking so long to get it posted!) and out came a sequel/follow-up to walking the wire!!

would def recommend reading that before you read this (if you haven’t already 😉)

tell me your troubles - steve rogers x fem!super soldier reader (phoenix)

word count: 3k

warnings: lil more than canon-typical violence (i like netflix marvel more than disney marvel these days can u tell), lowkey possessive!steve, heavy make outs, shower sex, oral (f receiving), unprotected p-in-v (they’re supersoldiers ok but wrap it before you tap it) - also russian translations from google so if it’s not right I’M SORRY

Nat gives the order to fall back, and it goes against every fibre of Steve’s being to obey.

They have you. They have his girl.

It’s Nat’s op. She’s in charge, and he knows this isn’t her fault, that she’s not to blame for the fact that you’re not by his side right now, that you’re instead being hauled into the back of a large van, too-thick cuffs banding your arms behind your back. He’s having flashbacks to Berlin, to Bucky in a cage. They put a hood over your head, and you manage to catch his eye before your face disappears from view.

Go.

His every instinct is screaming at him to go after you, doubly so when the van starts to drive away. But there are bombs planted between you and him, obstructing his path. One wrong step, and no amount of super-soldier serum could save him from being blasted apart. And then where would that leave him?

Where would that leave you?

+

“I want a plan,” he spits as soon as they’re back at the makeshift base they’ve been calling home the last few months. It’s no Stark Tower, but there’s running water and a bed he’s shared with you most nights, a haphazard sign scrawled on the door — Cap & Phoenix. Bucky drew a little cartoon shield and a flame to go along with it.

He sees Nat bristle as he barks his order, but when her sharp gaze flicks to him, something in him softens. He tends to forget, that she cares for you on a similar level to his own affection. Not the same type granted, but the Widow holds you close to her heart, and despite Steve’s own confirmation that Nat’s not to blame for your kidnapping, he can see in her face that she doesn’t think the same.

“You didn’t do this, Nat,” he says, following her into the large office they’ve used to map out missions. Bucky and Sam make themselves scarce, disappearing from the corner of Steve’s vision. “We all knew there was a risk.”

“She was right there,” Nat replies, shaking her head, sinking into a crouch in front of the table, surveying the map you’d all reviewed before leaving. “She was right there, and I let them grab her.”

“We couldn’t have known they’d have the capability, the means to—”

“This is my fault, Steve.”

“It’s not,” he reiterates, hand clenched into a fist, knuckles pressed to the table. “I know it, Phoenix knows it. But letting it get the better of you isn’t going to bring her back. You think you made a mistake, then fix it. We find her.” He plants his other fist. “No matter the cost.”

Nat arches one perfect brow, and he can already see the wheels turning behind her eyes. “Sir, yes, sir.”

+

Tracking you down is the easy part; recovering you proves to be a touch more complicated.

Natasha’s plan is airtight this time, outright refusing to split the team, the four of them moving through the building silently. They have each other’s backs, and soon enough, they’ll have you. But it’s a maze from the moment they step in. The map they have is accurate, but it’s more heavily guarded than they’re anticipating. Nat and Bucky both put men down with acute precision — assassin precision — and Steve finds himself lagging behind Sam, his knuckles aching from the sheer number of punches he’s delivered.

Part of him feels naked without the shield. He gave it up for a reason, before he had you. It’s something he’s talked through over and over, you sprawled on his chest, chin propped on the back of your hand, watching him talk as he stares at the ceiling.

Talk to me, drevniy. Tell me your troubles.

That last night, before the mission went awry, it was the same. He’d talked himself in circles, until his voice went hoarse and he was losing himself to the soft press of your body against his, and then all he really wanted to lose himself in you instead, so he did.

You held him close after and murmured something in Russian he couldn’t quite make out. He lifted his head to ask you what the words meant, but you kissed him before he could get the question out, and you’d drifted off to sleep a few minutes later. He didn’t have the heart to wake you.

Damn the shield, he thinks now, trying not to flinch when Bucky pulls the trigger on his gun, more men dropping to the floor. Damn it all.

They round a corner, and Steve nearly crashes into Nat’s stalled figure.

“Hello, Captain.”

You’re strapped to a chair. Restrained nearly the exact same way that Bucky was back in Berlin. Only him, the man Steve had watched cart you away, he’s got his hand knotted in the back of your hair, your head yanked back, your throat bared, a large knife pressed against it. It could be steel, but Steve would bet good money it’s vibranium.

Steve darts forward, but Nat throw her hand out, stopping him. She tilts her chin imperceptibly, and Steve’s eyes follow the direction, spotting a generator in the far corner. From the corner of his gaze, he sees Bucky catch on, and wordlessly, the plan is formed.

“Let her go,” Steve calls to your captor, and when the man starts laughing, Bucky slinks into the shadows, towards the generator. Nat raises her gun, aiming at the thugs flanking either side of your captor, and Steve’s hands clench into tighter fists.

“I would not do that if I were you, Captain Rogers,” the man taunts, waving a finger in the air. “You have not even heard the bargain I propose, for the return of your sweet Phoenix.”

“I don’t make it a habit of bargaining with kidnappers,” Steve returns, and the man yanks your hair back harder. He can hear your slight whimper from where he stands. “Let her go, and maybe I let you live.” From the corner of his eye, he can see Bucky near the generator, hidden by the shadows — perks of super-soldier sight and stealth.

The man starts laughing. He sees the glint of the knife press against your neck, and a single drop of blood beads along the blade. Nat’s eyes cut to Steve’s, he nods, and Bucky’s metal fist connects with the generator, sparks flying as the room is plunged into darkness.

It comes in flashes. Bullets spark through the air as Nat takes down the two thugs who have started running for them. Bucky shoots forward, yanking the metal away from where it’s restraining your arms and pulls you out of the chair. Steve disarms your captor, the knife now streaked with your blood, but before he can do anything else, you grab it from him, whipping it over your shoulder. The blade buries itself in your captor’s chest, and the man drops instantly.

Steve reaches for you, hauling you into his arms, and you cling to him as you all turn tail, heading out of the building. It’s not until you reach the Quinjet that Steve finally feels relief, but remembers the blood and takes you to the back of the jet while Nat and Bucky prepare for takeoff.

“Let me see,” he murmurs, and wordlessly, you push your hair away, baring your neck to him. The scratch is barely visible, already just the remnant of a scar, but Steve knows it won’t go away, not completely. He wipes the blood gingerly from your skin, his movements gentle even though he knows he can’t hurt you, not truly.

His brow furrows as he looks the rest of you over. There are no other obvious injuries, or evidence of them. Your clothing is tattered, dirt and grime smeared on your skin, and there’s a brightness in your eyes that he hasn’t seen in a long time — not since they pulled you out of that lab.

“I’m fine, drevniy,” you say, grabbing his wrist when his attention falls back to your neck, to the tiny scar now there. “It will take much more than a scratch like that to take me from you.”

Steve bristles at the mere thought. He feels like a live wire suddenly, exposed, vulnerable. You tug on his hand, pulling his palm until it rests over your heart, until he can feel the rapid beat if it against his skin. You lean up, fitting your lips to his pulse, a soft kiss to his throat. His whole body feels tight as a bowstring, and while the feeling of you has soothed it some, he can’t shake it.

“Steve,” you call, your voice low, almost cajoling. Suddenly, he feels guilty. You’re the one who was kidnapped; he should be comforting you, not the other way around. The corner of your mouth lifts. “Tell me your troubles.”

He groans, and the tether on his restraint snaps. Both his hands move to your face, cupping your cheeks in his palms. He hears your quick intake of breath right before his mouth covers yours, and you sigh into him, your body relaxing almost completely in his grip.

“You have no idea,” you murmur, and the purr in your voice makes his tac pants grow tight, “how much I missed your touch.”

“Baby,” he nearly growls, pushing you back against the metal wall of the jet. You’re tucked in the corner now, out of sight of Nat and Bucky, and Steve’s plan forms quicker than Nat’s rescue had. “I need you right now.”

Your breath hitches high, the noise catching in your throat, and Steve’s hands drop from your face to your waist, tugging your hips until they’re flush with his. “Right now?” you ask, a teasing smile on your face. “Buck’s hearing is as good as yours is, Steve. You want him hearing you take what’s yours? Want him to know what I sound like?”

The reminder tugs his restraint back into place. Something deep in his chest, something feral and wild, growls in response. Mine. He lifts you until you’re high enough to wrap your legs around his hips and his fingers press into your sides, feeling the rush of your blood beneath your skin, the heat of it. 

He kisses you until the jet touches down again. 

+

As soon as the ramp lowers, he hauls you over his shoulder and stalks down it, his boots clanging against the metal. He barely hears Nat’s low chuckle behind him and grinds his teeth when you palms settle on the small of his back, fingers tapping random patterns against his skin.

Once you’re inside, he heads straight for the bathroom you’ve been sharing. You barely get a word out as he turns the water on, nearly as hot as it’ll go, just like you like it. When he turns back, you’re naked, and more relief blankets him when he sees you’re untouched, unscarred.

“You’re wearing too many clothes, Captain,” you grin, and Steve backs you against the wall, desperate to feel your bare skin against his. You bite your lip as his palms skim up your ribs, but he feels your hands on his belt, unhooking it with ease. But then the light in your eyes changes, and as his belt thunks to the floor, your hand roves up his chest, two fingers tucked under his chin, tilting his face to yours. “I knew you’d come for me.”

Something in his chest cracks. “Of course I did. I…”

He’d barely let himself feel it, when he saw you there, strapped to that chair, that man’s hands on you, the knife at your throat. The…intensity, the way he instantly knew he would do whatever was necessary to get you back. If Nat hadn’t pulled his focus, pointed out the more sensible path, he can only guess what might have happened, what mess he might have left behind. 

Your palm, light against his cheek, pulls him out of his head. “Hey, come back to me,” you call, your voice so soft, so sincere, it pushes away the violence in his head, the guilt that threatens to brew over things he hasn’t even done. “I’m here, krasivyy. Alive. Intact. Yours.” You get closer, your nose brushing his, lips grazing his when you speak. “Only yours.”

“Mine,” he repeats, like the word might bring him back down to earth. His hands grip your hips, lifting you with ease, growling when he feels your legs wrap around his waist. “Watching him touch you, you have no idea how I…” He bites off the sentence with a groan as you grind against him, your bare core leaving a wet patch on the spot just above his waist. Keeping you in place with his hips, he rips the shirt off, tossing it away as he pushes at his pants, barely getting them down his legs before his cock is springing free. The head taps between your legs and it makes you squirm.

“I’m yours, drevniy,” you say, and the nickname once made him bristle, but now it just lights a fire in his chest. “Only yours. No one else gets to touch.” You lean up, pulling yourself against his chest, nosing at his neck, scraping your teeth at his earlobe. “Just you.”

Steve growls again, holding you against him with one arm, wrenching the shower door open with the other. You hiss when the water hits you, but the sound drags out into a low moan as he positions you beneath the spray, steam filling the stall, smudging your outlines.

He lets his hands roam, massaging your limbs, cleaning the dirt from your skin. You hum along with his movements, your head tipping back between your shoulders when he works your chest, wiping away the dried blood and grime. Then he walks you back, pushing you against the tiles. You gasp when your back touches them, the porcelain so much colder than the water, but Steve’s made up his mind.

He starts at your lips. Kisses you rough, bites at you bottom lip, pushes his tongue past your teeth to tangle with yours. When your hands move to grip his hair, wet strands wrapped around his knuckles, he groans into your mouth, drags his lips along your jaw, down your throat.

He bends slightly, tracing your collarbones with his tongue. Your hands don’t leave his hair, only gripping tighter as he moves down, nose dragging along your sternum. But then he pauses, cheats left, scraping the scruff of his jaw along the curve of your breast. You breathe out his name when he closes his lips around your nipple, giving you just the edge of his teeth, pinching the other between his knuckles lightly before rolling it between his fingers.

“Steve.”

He grins against you, sure you can feel it as he pulls back, satisfied only when he sees your nipple is peaked, tight from his attention. Then he does it all over again on the right, only stopping when you tug at his hair, a panting mess as you look down at him, your eyes heavy-lidded with lust.

“What are you…” you start to ask, but the words drop off into a moan when he drops to his knees, using his shoulder to wedge your legs wide, leaning in to bite the inside of your thigh.

“Appreciating what’s mine,” he replies, tongue soothing the spot he bit. “Too much?”

You shake your head, rolling it against the tile, a blissed-out smile on your face. Fuck, he missed you. Can’t imagine his life without you. “Never,” you reply, meeting his gaze again. “Prityazhatel'nyy padezh.”

Steve’s brow lifts, and he puts his face against your thigh again, dragging his tongue up toward the heat between your legs. “Translate, please.”

“Possessive.” You moan the word, one hand staying in his hair while the other reaches up to squeeze at your breast. “Fuck, I should have gotten myself kidnapped a long time ago.”

The thought makes him see red, and you squeal as he grabs both your thighs, throwing them over his shoulders and diving straight between your legs.

“Steve!”

He eats your pussy like he’s never done before. Nips and sucks and licks until your thighs are quaking around his ears, until your cries bounce off the tile walls. You’re an oasis in a desert, his first meal after being starved for days. You’re everything. 

You’re his.

He doesn’t stop until you cum, your hand an iron vice against his scalp, tugging so hard it gives him just that little twinge of pain, and he’s reminded how evenly matched you are. He takes everything you have to give, drinks down every drop until you’re pushing at him, overstimulated, body lax in his grip. He works his way back up to standing, worshipping you on the way up the same as he had on the way down. Your chest heaves against his as he pushes his body against yours, caging you in against the wall, keeping you safe.

“Tell me something,” he asks, and you nod, the movement lazy, your hands dragging up and down his ribs as he straightens, reaches up to brush a wet strand of hair from your face.

“Mm?”

Steve leans in, nosing at the curve of your jaw before pressing a soft kiss to your throat. “How do you say I love you in Russian?”

Your whole body jolts as the words fall past his lips, and he chuckles into your skin, pulling you even closer, wrapping his body around yours. Your head tips back, eyes trained on the ceiling, but you hold him just as close. “You’re going soft, drevniy.”

“Only for you,” he replies, nipping at your throat. “Yours, remember?”

Your quiet laugh seems to echo around the shower until you speak again. “Ya tebya lyublyu.” You say, and Steve gives his best repetition, earning himself another chuckle from you. After his second try, your eyes lower, and he sees the wetness in them. “I love you, too.”

[spotsandsocks]

Fuck it Friday

Here we go- a bit of self promo putting a touch of F in your Friday with one of my E fics that I was quite pleased with. 😏

Tagged by @jesuisici33 @hippolotamus @heartshapedvows @disasterbuckdiaz @daffi-990 @wikiangela @loserdiaz with wonderful snippets

Coming Home 8.5K first kiss to first time (sequel to I Missed You 11k an angsty little number where Buck leaves for several months until Eddie finds him and finally tells him how he feels but can be read alone) A bit from each chapter to tempt you in

Chapt 1 😚

“Buck we can’t.” Eddie doesn’t sound completely convinced.

“Why?” he tries not to whine

“Because if you kiss me I’m not going wanna stop and we’re at work.”

“I’m not, not back yet.” Eddie considers this a persuasive argument.

“One kiss Eds, please”

Eddie groans, moves infinitesimally closer then pulls back again, head thunking against the wall. His pupils are blown he’s panting and they haven’t done anything.

“We’re waiting.” he says but he lifts his hand and runs his fingers slowly over Buck’s parted lips. Buck closes his eyes and chases after them, catches Eddie’s hand by the wrist, if that’s all he gets he’ll take it. He pulls his hand to his mouth and kisses the palm, drags his lips up to a finger and slides the tip into his mouth.

Chapt 2 ☺️

Chris is already sat on the bed, he pats the spot next to him and Eddie eyes narrow suspiciously, half amused, half concerned.

“Everything ok?”

“Just sit down Dad”

“We need to talk.”

Eddie frowns, well that is a worry, few conversations that start with that end well. “We do?”

“Yes” Chris sounds serious. “It’s about Buck.”

Eddie sits down a little harder than he intended, oh God what if Chris has worked it out and disapproves, he never thought of that. Chris loves Buck so much he never thought he’d be unhappy if they got together. He keeps the nervousness out of his voice when he asks the tentatively, “What about Buck?”

“I don’t want him to go away again.” Some of his anxiety fades, that’s somewhat reassuring at least.

“Neither do I” Eddie reassures him quickly “but I don’t think he will bud.”

“He was sad before but he’s not anymore.” Eddie can’t work out what Chris is trying to say to him.

“No, I think he’s happy to be back.”

“With us?”

“Yes.”

Then Chris gets to his point.

“With you?” Chris fixes him with a look far more penetrating than a preteen should be capable of.

“Um” Eddie’s horrified to feel his cheeks start to go red.

Chris nods thoughtfully, taking his father’s embarrassment in his stride “That’s what I thought.” Then he follows up with a crushing statement, “Dad, why are grown ups so silly That makes him laugh and he bumps shoulders with his son, “no idea.”

Chris has another question, “Denny asked if I can go to his for a sleepover tonight. Can I?”

“That’s a bit short notice Chris” Eddie’s reluctant to agree and anyway he’s already asked Carla to babysit tonight while he’s out with Buck.

“Denny said it was his mom’s idea so it’s fine.”

“Was it now?” he mutters and thinks about his meddling friends fondly.

Chapt 3 😏

Buck pulls away to breathe deeply, mutters his name in a reverent tone with his eyes closed. Eddie’s dizzy, he doesn’t think he’s ever been kissed quite like that, like he was the oxygen necessary for Buck to breathe.

He thinks its finished but then his lips are taken again, harder, faster and he’s being moved backwards until he hits the door of the fridge with a thump. Eddie meets the fire from Buck eagerly, hands coming up and burying themselves in his curls. He tugs slightly and Buck groans, kisses him harder, presses then closer together. He can feel the aching hardness between his legs matched by Buck, pressed up close like this there is just enough friction to tease but not satisfy.

The kisses were a lot but then Buck shifts to his neck kissing downwards, when he bites lightly into the muscle Eddie cries out and his knees actually do stop working he slides a little down the refrigerator door. Buck stops to laugh his breath tickles and Eddie’s squirms. Buck bites again making him gasp once more.

“Like that huh?”

“Take a guess.”

“Nuh huh we said we’d talk,” he’s peppering more kisses along his skin “you gotta tell me these things Eds, I gotta know what feels good”

“You, you feel good” he’s arching back against the door, pressing himself harder against Buck, giving him more access to his neck. Buck hums a pleased little noise. When Eddie looks at him he’s blushing.

“Yeah?”

Eddie pushes his hip forward again to prove it and Buck takes a stuttering breath at the pressure against his cock, eyelids fluttering shut.

Eddie licks his lips “Wanna go somewhere more comfortable?”

@monsterrae1 @rogerzsteven @shortsighted-owl @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @hippolotamus @buddierights @stagefoureddiediaz @thekristen999 @like-the-rest-of-la @the-likesofus @thewolvesof1998 @wildlife4life @spaceprincessem @eddiebabygirldiaz @exhuastedpigeon @hoodie-buck @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @elvensorceress @bekkachaos @giddyupbuck @housewifebuck hope I didn’t forget anyone

[goshen-applecrumbledore]

Hey Roni! Hope you are well ☺️

Anything in the works lately? Maybe just been working on the mysterious novel I’ve seen referenced?

(Or just taking the days as they come at you like I am?)

Was re-reading one of your fics recently and had a curiosity moment

Best wishes!

hello! I am [david byrne voice] letting the days go by

I wish I could say I've been working on my novel as much as I've meant to, but I'm not. but I AM thinking about it, so that's something.

I'm also not actively working on fic though, which has been freeing, but also a little terrifying. whenever I have an idle moment I'm thinking about dialogue and writing in my head and it's been super strange to not have that going on. I think I was doing it pretty obsessively, in a way that was productive but unhealthy. so: trying to empty my brain to give me space to think about my novel and its new characters.

with all that being said (lol) I do have some on-hold-but-not-abandoned WIPs I can list here to give ya something to chew on

WIP summaries under the cut!

a second short true detective fic where marty gets off on danger and exhibitionism and keeps getting rust into dangerous and sexy situations. this is not an established relationship fic which I think makes it very funny as a concept

a second house md fic from cameron's POV for whatever reason. set shortly pre-S1, she joins the team and has a crush on house, and house is with wilson and has been for some time, which is like an open secret. so it's a voyeur/nosy thing where cameron goes full fujo. she's just like me fr

another bear fic as a kind of sequel to no good days (probably like, a very-much-a-sequel actually) where richie + carmy tell natalie about their relationship. the main part I've come up with is that they go over to nat and pete's for dinner, and they're parked outside making out in the car to steel their nerves, and pete sees them. so then they have to start dinner with nat and pete where pete, richie and carmy all know that carmy and richie are hooking up, and nat does not. sitcom-ass plot

this one may be abandoned: a pre-series spn fic where john finds out that sam and dean are fucking and sam like, big-dogs him into not busting their balls about it. I was thinking about spn the other day and was like damn maybe I should finish that

this is not a fic but I had a horny dream about brock samson from the venture bros last night and that is weighing heavily on my mind. all my current fandoms are live action. however. you can take the player out of the game but you can't take the take the Wanting To Fuck Cartoon Characters out of the player.

this is also not a fic but I'm working on my first D&D campaign with barry + co. players get roped into doing dirty work for the wizard mafia, headed by the nefarious skogie chromecast, a smooth talking mage with a shady past.

thank you if you read all that!

[smilingangel582]

Me see lee Lyney and him having a crush on Aether:

AAAAAAAA SOMEONE WHO LIKES THIS TO!?

Any ways I was thinking of requesting lee Lyney and ler Aether but if you don't take request because of to busy or just plain out just don't want to I understand

Have a good day or night ☺️

-Pepper 🫑 anon

Nah, nah, Im totally planning on writing ler!aether soon!! Hehe, great minds think a like.

I often have a very air headed mind, so I decided to write the fics on requests so it will be easier and better for anons, hehe. Anyway, enjoy this genshin fic. Additionally, think of this as a sequel to "Rainbow roses."

This is romantic, btw hehe~

(P.s his tongue sticking is way too cute, and i wanna punish him with tickles)

Fontaine thrills Aether in many ways. He often thought Sumeru was the best place he ever visited, but Fontaine came to equal grounds. He can tell Charlotte wasn't kidding back then.

"Bonjour monsieur." The far voice of the woman in a frilly dress greeted him, "Are you perhaps on your way to see Mr. Lyney's latest magic show?"

He smiled and exchanged glances with Paimon, who pointed out "Yup we are... we really see Lyney go wild"

The rainbow rose he kept made him look forward to today's show. It's been some time back after the phantom weasel incident.

After showing the way to take the tickets the woman already left. Lynette was by the entrance of the opera house waving now along with her ears and tail swishing "Hi,"

"Lynette!" Paimon squeaked only to greet back, "Oh, where's Lyney?"

Aether nodded in agreement. Then, for the first time, she offered a fond smile, "I'm sure the ever so confident and bold magician Lyney is, in fact, nervous in particular today."

Aether tilted his head "Why is that?"

She pointed at the rainbow rose on his bosom. "This... well, I'm sure I gave you enough hints, so... take your seats in the front we'll meet during our performance."

With a mysterious glance, she left. Paimon clueless turned to the rose. "Eh? Because of the flower? Was he worried about us asking for the trick again?"

Aether blushed with a smile. Maybe he did understand the situation, especially after Charlotte's brief enlightenment of floral symbolism.

"What's got you so red?" She piped curiously, of course he shakes his head and offered to proceed to the opera House.

Indeed the show began, there's no sign of anxiety, yet he did shift his eyes away from Aether when he talked animatedly by flourishing his hat with a pigeon flapping out of his hat.

The crowd laughed when he juggled clumsily, feigning that he wasn't talented at that but then spinning them back to Lynette, who perfected it by one hand. Aether was fascinated by magicians. He never did understand how magic is considered a form of deception.

The show was spectacular as always with new tricks and old ones that never get bored. After the show everyone exited, talking about how amazing Lyney did and Paimon nagged on that she gotta know the trick somehow to satisfy her.

Later on, the stars of the show arrived. Lyney's discomfort seems slight, but it's his voice that convinced his act. Lynette waved adorably "Hello, did you like the show, traveller?"

They nodded, and Paimon as always stepped towards Lyney folding her arms. "So, teacher? Paimon observed your tricks! That disappearance magic happened because you had a pigeon hidden in the hat, right?"

Aether pointed out now "I doubt that's it, he did show his empty hat"

"Right on the money traveller"

Hearinf Lyney's reply as well, it felt like the end of the world for Piamon. she wailed "Aahhh Paimon's gonna get brain fry!"

Lyney stuck his tongue playfully "Well sorry Paimon, but you tried... I still can reveal my secrets like that"

Aether wanted to say something, but Lyentte suddenly reached for Paimon, taking her out. "How about Paimon and I go and have some desserts, you two chat along"

Expecting a chide from Lyney Aether turned to him, but he flushed in complete surprise. "D-dont leave... I mean... don't spoil your a-appetite Lynette" she was already gone with a complaining Paimon.

Aether is socially active, so he can tell how Lyney is awkward for the first time. As a man on stage he's hard to read but right now Aether can read him like a book.

They left the opera house only to reach the top peak of fontaine, through the lift and staring at the city and waters. Lyney seemed to change the subject first "So, how was the show, traveller?"

Aether shrugged with a grin "As amazing as ever, honestly that's amazing"

"Loss of vocabulary, I see?" Lyney chuckled "well its a good compliment for me, and I'm motivated..."

Aether slowly picked the rainbow rose, seeing the latter distracted by the breeze he shifted the topic now, "I must say, you have a really nice way of expressing passion, Lyney"

Choking a bit to a dangerous topic he sheepishly waved it off seeing hiw the rainbow rose is already involved, "Come now, you flatter me traveller, do I look like a floral expert to you"

A clever magician indeed.

Smirking, Aether advances, pinning Lyney against the balcony as his arms gripped the railing, he appeared taller now, "So, quick question, Charlotte did provide the symbolic meaning of the rainbow rose, plus you decided to change it so easily after knowing the truth, I doubt it's ignorance"

Lyney's position did seem uneasy. He tried to remain calm, but Aether's mesmerising golden eyes didn't let him. "Aether, please... I..."

"You said my name"

That genuinely sounded happy. In fact, he could see Lyney's defences crumbling gradually. He reached to playfully pinch his sides. "Right...? You did say Aether, right?"

Flinching at the touch, he tried to push those taunting fingers, "N-no...?"

"Liar,"

The squeezes became clear as water this time, Lyney couldn't help giggle contagiously. "Alriihight trahahahveller thihihis ihihis rihihidiculous!"

Grinning back, he hummed mockingly. "Not even the magician can understand my sense of humour"

He forcefully wiggled his fingers under his armpits finally breaking the defensive part of him. This made Lyney try to escape from the side as loud snickers tumbled from his lips "Ahahaha Aehehehether wahahahit wahahahait whyhyhyhy?"

"Lynette did let slip a fact about you, so... I want confirmation. " this time, both of them blush, one because of the flushed excitement and the other in his predicament.

"Whahaha? Shehehehe dihihid?" He tried once more to push the annoying pesky fingers playfully poking his bare underarms, which he tried to close up.

"Come on Lyney, admit it, you like me?"

This was like that night with Lyney all over again. He whined now trying to curl away from him, "Ahahaha plehehehease! NOHOHO!"

Aether decided to slide his fingers on his tights, though he didn't know how sensitive they were "How convenient that your weakest spots are so vulnerable, Lyney your so cute"

"CUTE??? AHAHA AEHEHEHTHER COHOHOME OOHOHN WHYHY AHAHARE YOU TIHIHIHICKLING ME?"

Aether decided it was enough before anyone else heard Lyney's loud laughter. He watched the other lean forward on the balcony gasping for breath "Ahahaha gohohod thahats uhuhunexpexted"

"Sorry, I felt... like doing it, since you seemed to stiff" Aether said shyly.

"Aha... noho worries I... neheeded that" finally gasping and regaining his stamina he cleared his throat, no picking up his hat "Well truthfully, I didn't expect you to find out so easily, I... uh... didn't mean to but-"

"Save it, Lyney," Aether grabbed his wrist and and then reached over to grip his neck as he forced a kiss. It surprise Lyney that a mild reaction of pulling away took over but soon gave into the warm touch.

They had the same rosiness, and Lyney lowered his hat with a wary giggle. "Ihi don't know what to say... uh, Aether"

"Say nothing, I'm looking forward to your next performance" Aether waved now heading back first. Then Lyney nodded with overwhelming happiness but mischievously added "And revenge"

Looking back a brief frightened look took over but he smiled it over "Sure then I'll get revenge on your revenge, Mr. Magician."

Lynye ran after him, catching as they laughed together. Meanwhile Paimon was the only clueless person who was still engrossed in figuring out how Lyney did his tricks.

Hope Lynette didn't slip a new interrogation method for Paimon. She just left us speechless when she drank her tea, pretending obliviously to that question.

[hircines-hunter]

I'll answer the ask you sent me in the morning, but let me ask the same thing back about Sifkni and Roar of a Wolfborn-!!! I remember you've mentioned it has been years so I'd love to know how it began ☺️

Take your time!!!! No rush!!!!

If anyone wants to read the actual fic! Here’s the link!

It’s 46 chapters long. 202k on gdoc and word but 201k on AO3! It is finished! It’s Farkas/OC and there’s some Skjor/OC and mentions of another pairing. :3c

It all started a month after Skyrim came out. And I made Sifkni officially. I was gonna do the Companions and Main Quest like normal. Originally she was to become a werewolf through companions quest. Via Farkas instead of Aela bc she asked him.

But then the Dragonborn DLC came out and there was that werewolf pack. I changed everything. It mostly lived in my head. Her. Her pack. Her and Farkas.

I didn’t start writing about her until 2014 (I may rewrite the thing?) it’s a short 6 chapter fic from when her mother passed to the final attack on her pack before canon events. (I may be willing to share but it’s poorly written and 10 years old.)

And the roar of a wolfborn that has been finished is technically the 3rd draft! I started to write Roaw at the same time as her other fic in 2014 as well.

Because of the pack I made her born a wolf. And the first draft Sifkni and Farkas take it a lot slower than the 3rd draft. Like a lot slower. Lol. Sifkni mourned her husband. More. She had more… moments where she would talk super fondly and then start crying.

Farkas was down bad. Like worse than the latest draft. Trust me. He had it so bad. Vilkas had to be like dude calm tf down my brother.

Sifkni also was Asexual af in the original. I’m not sure what happened btwn then and now. But yeah.

I started the 2nd draft in 2023 going thru editing and tweaking and fixing and writing newer chapters. Before I finally jumped the gun , deleted the old version and started the new one. This time I decided to add the past events into the main fic (I found most people didn’t want to read the prequel). I added more nightmares. More mourning. More crying and changed a Lot! From what happened in the pack to how she reacts and remembers . To how the actual plot goes. I never intended for a lot of what happened to happen. The dragon attack that had her stuck in jorrvaskr for 2 months. Thats where a lot of her bonding with Farkas happens. Btwn ustengrav and the dragon. I never intended for them to ever get married. But… that happened. I never intended for later events to happen.

And saving skjor!?? Man that’s probably the biggest change I still have the old draft with Skjor’s death and the aftermath lol 😂

I never imagined I would ever finish it too I am so very proud of what I wrote! And that’s it’s finished!

But, yeah….. Sifkni has been through a lot from day 1 up til 13 years later….. and I am

But yeah… that is Sifkni. Her origins. And the journey to the ending.

And now I get to work on the Sequel. Which is all new. I’ve never planned or plotted this. It is mostly going to be a lot shorter than roaw. But it’s also the means for Sifkni to peacefully pass onto the Hunting Grounds! >:3c there will be a lot of reopening of old wounds. We get to meet her pack again! And Hircine will be there!

[autumnwoodsdreamer]

20 Questions for Writers

(Thanks for the tag @katebishopofearth 💛)

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

18

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

452,721

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Avengers, Mandalorian, Star Wars Rebels, The Bad Batch, HTTYD, and I really want to write something for Prospect

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Lift a Sail

Head Above Water

Anchors

Black & Red I: The Early Days Chapter (okay, I was surprised this one made the top five)

The Lighthouse Keeper

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes! I appreciate comments so much and I know I love it when writers respond to my comments on fics and give me DVD special features behind-the-scenes commentary and I love giving lore and insights and explaining things. (I feel crushingly stupid with everything I say, though… 🫣)

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don’t know… I tend to cram the angst in the start and middle of a story but I compulsively aim for happy endings.

Maybe Lift a Sail? It ended with everything in the worst state (even though it was in the process of getting put right and I did put it right in the sequel! But. Yeah. It ended the angstiest.)

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

It’s a tie between The Lighthouse Keeper and Shadows Dancing on the Walls. They’re my happiest endings ☺️ everyone together, reunited, safe and sound

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I’ve been really fortunate. I’ve gotten some but not too much, mostly just a few nasty comments but it was from ones who I think just didn’t understand what my endgame for the story was or they misunderstood something and thought I meant something I really didn’t. (Hence why I preface my stories now with so many warnings and notes. They seem ridiculous but I have had people get upset at me for not following canon in a story explicitly tagged “not canon compliant” so… yeah.)

This very memorable time, I had someone tell me to stop writing from Grogu’s POV because it’s not interesting and they get disappointed every time they see a new chapter and find out it’s his POV (may the record reflect that out of literally over a hundred chapters in the series, I have written from his POV less than 10 times and this comment was on the third). What surprised me (and continues to warm my heart) were the other people who jumped into the comment thread and they didn’t bash the person (I wouldn’t want that) but they assured me that they enjoyed these chapters and encouraged me to keep writing what I wanted to write. I’m so grateful for that because I take everything to heart and I seriously considered deleting that chapter (even though I really loved it and was so proud of it).

9. Do you write smut?

No.

10. Do you write crossovers?

Oh, yeah. A lot of in-universe crossovers (I mean, Avengers is itself a crossover, technically, and what I write for Star Wars counts as crossovers because I take characters from various shows who haven’t met in canon and I put them in situations together.)

I have loads of ideas for actual crossovers. My sister and I are always creating these convoluted meetings between totally different universes (you should see our HTTYD/The Mandalorian crossover. It’s wild)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I believe some of my early stuff wound up on Wattpad.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

The aforementioned stuff got translated into Spanish, I believe. (Which… I can’t really argue with. I think that’s awesome; I can’t translate my stuff into Spanish, so I think it’s great that someone could and then more can enjoy it. But I just wish whoever did it had asked me first.)

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I help my sister with her fics sometimes. She’s a fantastic writer—her comedy is exquisite!

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Oh, don’t make me choose. Ironwidow (Tony Stark/Natasha Romanov) is so precious to me, but I’ve gotten swept up by Djarwren (Din Djarin/Sabine Wren) and (the actual canon ships) TechPhee (Tech/Phee Genoa) and Kanera (Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla) have my heart in a vice.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Probably the Black & Red series. And the Tough Act to Follow story. And The Face of the Lost. And…

16. What are your writing strengths?

I’ve developed a penchant for descriptions. I love painting scenes with words. Anne of Green Gables was my favourite book growing up and the way Montgomery describes the places always carried me away.

I also really love writing dialogue and capturing individual voices.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I struggle with making characters do or say things that I don’t agree with. Sometimes they have to do or say something (for the plot or that’s just what that character would do in that situation or interaction) but I don’t like it or don’t want them to do it because I’m a marshmallow and I want everyone to be friends

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

One word: italicise. That’s what I was taught in school and I love seeing it when others do it because it helps me see that it’s in a different language (I’m dyslexic. I once read a whole sentence and only figured out a few paragraphs later that it was in French. I thought I was just having a bad day).

(Of course, there’s always exceptions to the rule)

But, yeah, I think it’s great seeing other languages in a fic (real world ones or made-up ones like Mando’a, my beloved). It adds a lovely richness to a story, especially when the writer knows the language. I grew up in a multi-lingual community so reading something with characters coming in with different languages feels like home to me.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Doctor Who (like, fifteen years ago. It’s squirrelled safely away in a notebook, never to see the light of day)

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Anchors.

No pressure tagging: @seleneisrising @desertbeskar @sytortuga @sotvtaughtmehowtofeel @quicksilvermad @the-kittylorian-writes @heatherthetiredwriter @visitbespin (and I swear there were more I thought of just a minute ago but my mind has blanked so, please, if you see this and you want to do a round yourself, go right ahead, you can say I tagged you)