#the worms in my brain are satisfied… but not for long…

[kidnoodles]

my volleyball au with the iliad boys, who should i add next!!! :0

more yapping below

tbf all my knowledge of volleyball is from haikyuu + the 2 olympic matches ive seen so. but anyway im kinda obsessed with this (it was between volleyball/soccer)

i wanna add more characters but idk how they would fit!!! i guess the trojans are a different team? and are the greek gods their coaches?

athena as the coach for the boys team - 100% trying to get ody and dio to play professionally

ares as the coach for the girls team

hermes is like the supervisor but he dgaf lowkey he just watches for the thrill and the drama (LOVES doing the cheers)

maybe poseidon as the coach for a diff team, would def still have beef with ody somehow #trust

anyway if u read all this 1) please tell me ur thoughts and 2) thank u for reading here’s a gold star ⭐️

[sensitivedead]

.

[everythingsinred]

Sorry if you've already brought this up somewhere at some point, but I have two NatsuMikan questions about,,, gregnancy 😬

1) Do you think they'd even want kids? I can imagine that they'd both be hesitant on the idea of having a kid that undoubtedly would have an Alice, even if the academy wasn't chasing families down anymore (which like, that is a thing that was stopped, right? I hope it was because that's literally so traumatic, why is this school so fucking traumatizing)

2) There would be a chance that the kid could get an Alice shape like Natsume's, so like,, that could be rough on his end, like would they even want to do that without knowing how long Natsume has?

I realize that kinda seeps into an idea that people with chronic and/or terminal illnesses can't have families or be happy or something, but I'm just thinking about Natsume's mom, and how young he was when she died. I *heavily* doubt he would remember her death, but I'm certain that he would feel her loss, and I'm just wondering if you think he would go through with it despite that.

Personally, I have a hard time imagining them having a family, but that may be because for the majority of the series, they are children. Whenever I do try to imagine it, my brain just goes into Punnett Square Mode(tm) and tries to figure out what could be dominant traits from what is known, so not much is done there lmao

these are really great questions. to be honest because they never actually talk about it, the answer would be entirely up to headcanon, so there is no right or wrong answer.

also this ended up being rly long and rambly sorry

funnily enough i did mention this topic a lil when i'd reblogged a character question meme thing and someone requested i do all of them (i'd established myself as a natsume aficionado at this point i guess lmao). the relevant part of my answer to question #13 (about what he'd be like as a parent) was:

 i feel like natsume would be hesitant at first to be a dad. like he’d be super happy to find out mikan is pregnant ofc but he’d be hesitant. maybe he wouldn’t voice it. he’d be uncomfortable on several counts: 1) life shortening alices are genetic and he would never want his child to suffer as he has. 2) he’d be scared that he wouldn’t have as much time to spend with his kid as he’d like and would be sad to miss out on important milestones in the case that he dies too young. in my mind the life-shortening alice gets cured after a few years so these become non-issues and thus he gets very happy about having a kid.

something you must know about me is that i HATE the thought of natsume dying like it fully disgusts me--i hate to imagine he dies young. it feels really wrong to me. my brain cannot allow me to view the last little bit of the manga as canon tbh, so it's constructed another canon ending for me that includes the discovery of a cure for the fourth shape. (is it even possible to cure it? i dont CARE.) because of this (delusional) state of mind, i dont rly think of most of the things you mentioned. the cool thing about post-canon is that nobody can really stop you from thinking whatever you want. but i will address all of your points anyway bc theyre valid and then ill give my thoughts on them having kids, though im not an expert and certainly not the deciding opinion on what headcanons other ppl should adopt.

its a good point to bring up, discussing what happy endings exist for ppl with chronic or terminal diseases in media, even if he still has the same alice shape. my sister zoe has type 1 diabetes and we've had conversations about this exact thing (not about natsume; about her). it's a complicated issue for her, because even if type 1 diabetes isn't terminal (anymore), it is a huge source of grief and upset for her AND it's genetic. it ultimately comes down to each individual person, i think. some disabled or sick people want cures, others don't. some want children, some don't. because each person is different, what each person wants for their future or even in the media they consume is different as well.

your first question reminds me of yuka, actually, whose dream was to start a family and live a happy life. when she finds out her baby has an alice, she tries to steal it because she wants mikan to have a good life, and not suffer as she had, until kaoru stops her. it's definitely a valid concern, but i don't know how natsume or mikan feel about it in terms of having their own kid. personally im still not sure how the academy has actually changed since mikan left. we don't really get much of a breakdown. that being said, even though mikan said "i trust narumi-sensei" and that she didnt regret coming to the academy in kageki, im pretty certain that if they did become parents, they definitely wouldnt want their kid taken away from them.

which would mean the academy would have to change fundamentally to allow BOTH 1. parents to decline sending their kids to alice academy without being ceaselessly harassed and scouted AND 2. parents who do choose to send their kids to alice academy to get full visiting and contacting privileges WHICH SHOULD GO WITHOUT SAYING?? if a mom hears her son is crying himself to sleep bc he misses her, she should be allowed to call him or visit or send him a care package. (you know. how normal boarding schools work.)

maybe if the school changed in this way (and hey, maybe it did), then i could see natsume and mikan feeling a bit better about having a kid.

the next point, about natsume's alice shape being genetic... yeah its pretty rough. natsume the martyr, who always thinks of others, would never EVER have kids if he thought there was even a chance his child might suffer like he did.

so i guess my answer is... depending on what you want to believe happens after the ending, natsume and mikan MIGHT have kids and they MIGHT not. it entirely depends on what developments take place. ppl have been coming up w headcanons for their future even before the manga ended, anything from completely ignoring natsumes alice shape to having mikan and their potential kids visit his grave (not my favorite premise tbh).

ig my idea of natsume having his alice shape "cured" or undone or whatever comes from wanting one of my favorite characters to live a long happy life. its not specifically for the outcome of children or anything like that. its just worth noting that the academy is also a research institute, that there's healing alices in this world, and that you can make up whatever you want bc its a fantasy setting where ppl have magical powers and are able to undo death. (yes this is me justifying my staunch belief that natsume doesnt die in his early twenties.)

personally, i dont mind them having kids. its not rly something focal to me bc theres so much else going on in the story and with their characters for me to think about that the idea of kids is so far away. still, sometimes i like reading a lil fic about them having a kid, canon or au. its kinda cute. i also kinda like it in that if i believe they could have kids, that means that natsume MUST live and his alice must no longer be an issue (bc like we both agree on, natsume simply would not have kids if he thought the child could inherit his alice shape). in my head, i kinda always assumed they would? its made possible by my delusions. if you read the questions post i linked up there, i said "it's non-negotiable" but that was mainly in regards to higuchi maintaining in the memorial book that natsume wouldnt live a very long life. again, natsume WOULDN'T have kids if he knew they had a chance of suffering like he did, so that means if he ever DID have kids, then that chance must no longer exist. idk if that makes sense.

again, im really actually not an expert. i would even say "i didnt create these characters" except that that would mean higuchi's say should be final and i dont want her say to be final. really, its a fictional world w fictional characters. so if u wanna be delusional like me and find it difficult to see higuchi's ending without saying "but thats not what it looks like to ME," then go for it! we can be happy together. but also if these aspects of natsume and mikan and the academy feel inseparable from your own beliefs of the story, then thats fine too. honestly theres rly no right or wrong answer when it comes to post-ending headcanon. ppl can disagree. dont take me saying "i want natsume to have kids so he can spite higuchi" or whatever as a way of judging or disapproving of the headcanon that he wouldnt have kids. its a plausible outcome that he wouldn't. i just feel like i need to say that bc my opinion doesnt rly weigh more than anybody else's

i must say though: thank you for sending this ask. i have been having a rough day and coming home to answer this took my mind off the whole situation and made me feel so much better <3 thank you

[rowarn]

wet&messy, afab!reader, no prns, just my brain worms dancing as usual, simon is obsessed with ur pleasure bc i SAID so, idk what this is its not normal grinding but.....just a lil treat from the depths of my brain <3

soft devoted simon who is addicted to your pleasure. everything he does is to get u off. he literally thinks about making u cum while he eats sleeps and dreams. its his hobby tbh

he loves loves loves slow, deep, sloppy sex. he loves having you spread and pinned beneath him — he's so much bigger than u so he can manhandle u and move you however he pleases bc he knows exactly what u need before u even know urself.

in particular, his favorite thing to do is have u pinned open your knees against his ribs and his body draped over yours. either holding himself up by his elbow above your head or his arms on either side of your head. he's got his knees slid underneath your thighs, making sure his hips are flush against yours.

you can't even break eye contact, he wont let you. all you can do is whine and squeal as he makes you take it nice and deep. his body covers yours; his scenes overwhelms you his body heat makes you sweat from just how warm the man is.

then he starts with the grinding — the slow, deep grinding of his hips that makes his cock stir inside you. there's gooey, sticky wet noises from between your thighs when he does it. he makes sure he slides over your clit in this position too.

you can't do anything but twitch and drool as he does it. and he'll do it until you cum all over him he doesn't care how long it takes.

sometimes he milks multiple orgasms out of you this way. it practically melts your brain with how he touches every single sweet little spot inside of you without ever thrusting — just that godforsaken grinding.

you don't know what to do with yourself. he's so deep. you're so wet. it's messy and loud. you scramble to hold whatever part of him you can; scratch his back, tug his hair, slap the bed beneath you. doesn't matter because you won't be getting out from under him or getting a chance to breathe until you cum.

and god, he's so deep. he's so fucking deep!

you're creaming all over him, the base of his cock covered in a thick, milky ring that just about drives him over the edge with you when you squeeze around him like a perfect little vice.

he's whispering praise and sweet little compliments about how lovely you look cumming and how good you make him feel.

it's almost crazy how selfless he is with making you feel good. he doesn't even care if you're too fucked out and tired to do anymore. doesn't even care to get off himself. all he thinks about all day is grinding into you until you gush a sweet little mess all over him without him even breaking a sweat.

ur so sweet and pliant for him and he loves it. loves u!!! adores u!!!

will go to sleep happily with a hard cock as long as u are satisfied.

but if u tell him what you want is for him to fill u up nice and full...well....he'll do anything to please his baby!!! <3

[satoruzip]

Imagine Rafayel and you having sex for the first time… He lays on top of you eyes closed as he thrusts into you softly. He has a slight blush on his face and is whining into your shoulder. His teeth sink softly into your flesh. He tries his best not to bite too hard but ends up leaving cute little marks all over your shoulders. You just feel too warm and he can’t help himself. “Does it feel good.?” he’d say through moans while you nod your head and hold him even tighter. It’s just so intimate and soft and feels like heaven. He doesn’t last long but he keeps going until you’re satisfied. Overstimulated and all, he still wants to make sure you feel good too.

a/n- just a cute little brain worm i had :p i’ve been loving l&ds recently and i just got to lvl 96 with raf :) the new cards are so cute and though raf is my fav i love how sweet zaynes card is <3 thank for reading as always and sorry if he feels a little ooc !

[solitary-traveler]

Two Sides of the Same Coin

How are you so unaware of the fact that he despises you because he’s desperate to remain unattached?

Harbinger!Scaramouche x Gn!Reader

Notes: Hi, I caved. So for those asking for a part 2 on certain stories... I'm not sure how to approach a part 2 for the two of them so I did this instead. Hopefully, it satisfies you AHAHAHAHA. Also, I'm not that well-versed in writing smut but hey, I tried-

Warning: harbinger x secretary lol, cursing, NSFW, marking

Scaramouche hates everyone. That’s a fact.

Yet for some reason, he despises you. 

He detests the flicker of luster within your eyes when your lips voice a low hum, triggering your body to sway along to whatever illusive melody is in that tiny brain of yours. He loathes your gratified, cat-like stretches, a testimony that amplifies his obscene appetite. He finds himself revolted by your ability to catapult his judgment far from the naked eye, and inspire his thoughts to vanish into nonexistence.

He hates this so fucking much.

How can one even bear this much animosity towards someone? Even he didn’t know. All he was aware of was how much it aggravated him when he saw you exhibiting interest in anyone that wasn’t him. For Archon’s sake, you were his secretary. Not Childe’s. Not Dottore’s. Not even Her Majesty’s.

His secretary.

Is that so hard to understand? Even a brain like yours could surely discern something so unambiguous. So why were you still preoccupied with others? Especially with those worms who were beneath his rank? How baffling could this concept be that even you can not be conscious of it?

How are you so unaware of the fact that he despises you because he’s desperate to remain unattached?

For someone like Scaramouche, life was nothing but a cruel joke. Providing him the luminescence of his longing only to be dispelled and scattered within the air he didn’t need. It has happened three times already. He doesn’t need it to resurface and transpire again.

He despises you so much he won't let you be his 4th.

And he despises you so much he’ll make sure to drill this lesson in that thick-headed skull of yours.

Wretched whines and hitched gasps reflect around the room, only to bounce against the walls and into Scara’s ear, appeasing his vulgar notions. He's been at it for… how long now? An hour? Or two? He couldn't remember. But why should he keep track? He was far gone, consumed by his irrational side that led his sensibility astray. Everything around him has withered away as his focal point shifted to your mellow and inviting passage. The tight heat provided solace akin to that of a home. His home. Oh, how he wishes he could stay inside of you forever.

“Remember this, you fucking whore”, he hisses as he adjusts your position for his convenience. He relished the way your nails jab at his skin, scraping against his back as he rams into your sweet spot. It drove him insane. Despite the turmoil of sweat and cum, the movement of his hips does not falter. If anything, he proceeds to fasten his pace. "I'm your boss," he growls as his slender fingers curl around your hips, "Your Harbinger."

His lips twitched upwards as he instilled in his memory the way your face contorted in pleasure. "And you...", he pauses, only to deliver a hard thrust that provokes more moans to spill out your pretty mouth,

"You are nothing more than my secretary"

Scara kept jack hammering into you, forcing your face on the pillow to stifle your piercing cries of ecstasy as he subdued you. He's going to make sure you'll be the good little bitch he wants you to be. His figure looms over you like a shadow, an impending threat as he takes you from behind. "You obey me", he snarls as he inclines his head near your ear. He grapples your chin for him to catch a glimpse of your adorable face. It delights him to see your tear streaked features pressed against the pillow, seeking an end to this twisted play as your body argues and wails for more. At a leisurely pace, he slithers down your neck as his hot breath leaves a succession of feather light kisses on your skin. "You do everything I tell you to do"

With a vigorous bite, he slams with ferocity before burying himself in a great depth inside you. A wanton moan pushes past your lips as he starts to grind. It was euphoric, a dopamine boost that is sure to maneuver him over the edge. "I'm not going to let anyone have you,” he chuckles, “not even the gods"

His hold was secure, ensuring that you can’t slip away. Not like you would anyways. Not when you get a thrill out of this as much as he does. He knows how much you savor every inch of his cock as it throbs and shudders against your tight walls

"Just you wait", he grins against the comfort of your complexion as he unhands your hips, "I'll become a god”

“Your god"

He withdraws from the intimate space with a smirk. He stationed his hands on top of your thighs, before spreading them apart. An incentive to impale himself further into you and propel you to see Celestia in all its glory.. 

"And you'll be my first follower. You'll devote yourself to me and me only. You'll worship me like the fucking god I am"

His thoughts ran back to the failures of the past. Past people who fractured glass words known as promises, who didn’t care enough to sustain him in their grasp, who withdrew from his life and left him to fend for himself. Each one of them took a piece of the puppet, and never had the heart to return it back. And now, in your grasp was a substantial segment of him that he never wanted to give away. Yet, somehow, you had managed to snatch it away.

He hates you for it.

And he hates himself even more for wanting you to keep it.

So he has no choice. He won't let you be one of them. He won't allow himself to lose you too. 

"I'll keep you safe. I'll always look after my most devoted follower"

He's going to become a god, that’s for sure. He’s going to attain the towering heights of power possible and bind you to him for all eternity. He veers down, before puncturing your flesh with his teeth. It leaves a deep impression on your smooth skin. A mark of promise. 

"So don't you dare fucking leave me behind. Understand?"

"I won't allow it”

[gamblersdoll]

hi hun! Love ya work and everything bout it 😼😼 deserve more recognition fr I’m not too sure bout your rules for asks so feel free to deny but but but it’s rotting at my brain and I need it satisfied 😞 but reader being a brat and bakugo going to punish her at home but then she falls sick and it turns into domestic bakugo taking care of reader mhm? I’m so sick rn and I want domestic but I also want like Ughughugh idk babe do what you want with it just brain worms LOL

implied smut, fluff, comfort, domestic katsuki !

ping!

the notification goes instantly to his phone, you putting your phone down and laying against the mattress the both of you shared. your phone immediately goes off, taking a peak and its just him rambling to himself practically..

‘im going to fuck you up.’

‘keep playin with me at work and im going to play in your pussy next.’

you smile to the phone, but your stomach somewhat churns for whatever reason. you probably have another stomach bug, being prone to stomach issues and back issues. you reply really quickly, tossing your phone and groaning into the pillow in the fetal position.

it doesnt take long for him to get home, however. he busting through the room and seeing you curled up, he thinks your ready for him to take you like he did last weekend.. but something’s off, your skin is greenish and clammy. “hey.. you good? the matter?”

“dont feel good.” you mumble, hands clutch your stomach and moan. “sorry.. i know you were excited about fucking—“

“hoe, shut up.” he grunts, scooping you up and taking you to the bathroom. “where does it hurt?” he asks, watching you lift your shirt and he feels around. “here?” he asks, rubbing your neck and kissing your cheek. “sounds like you got another stomach virus.”

“yeah.. you dont have to be around—“

“didnt i just tell you to hush it?” he asks, flicking your head and starting a bath. the waters’ cool, him slowly settling you inside. “sit here for a sec, relax and ill fix some food.” he mumbles, talking about hes calling for the next week.

“you dont have to..” you mumble watching him untie his boots.

“i do, because i know im going to get sick and its for sickness and in health, stupid.” he replied, glaring at you. “you do know that i love you, right?”

you nod, feeling some what better.

eventually, he has you take some herbal tea and put you on the bed. “just rest, youll be okay— and we’ll figure it out.”

“are you mad that we cant fuck..?”

“have you or have you not been dating me for four years?” he asks like you had six heads, putting a hand on your stomach. “no im not mad, yes i still love you, no i wont hold it against you, no im not mad i got to miss work, yes i will stay with you.”

note taken.

[n0tamused]

dottore having to dispose of a faulty clone (maybe bc they were threatening reader) and then handfeeding reader parts of it like cannibalism as a metaphor for love…. do we see the vision or is this a little too 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 💔💔

A/n: pookie you're all good, thank you for feeding my brain worms with this idea I'm sending you smooches. I do hope I executed this well. I had a lot in my head that I wanted to write for this but I didn't want this to turn into a word scramble so here's this. Enjoy <3

Content: Dottore x GN reader, dark content(?), a bit yandere, implied unhealthy relationship, implied cannibalism, cannibalism as a metaphor for love, idk what else to tag as I never posted something like this so if anything else needs tagging feel free to lemme know

Words: 735

Several candles lined the polished oak table, its surface smooth and almost sticky, the light rippling over the dark lines of the carvings on top like little light bugs chasing one another. The golden hues danced over the plates as well, but the dim light scarcely allowed for a good look at the dishes.

The fork extending forward to your lips was the only thing that held your attention long enough to be observed, taken in fully, lips closing around the bit of meat and vegetables. The juice and oil fills your mouth, sinking past your teeth and around your gums, the taste is rich yet stale all at once. You couldn’t comment on it, you didn't know what to say about it. Not with the Doctor sitting at your side and being the one to feed you so, so gently.

It's hard to remember when was the last time he looked so gentle, kind even, perhaps when he was lighting up the candles with such care, as if his own breath would blow the flames into a blaze, allowing you to see your plate in full.

The meat was well done, seasoned to your liking, and something told you it was Dottore’s own hand who prepared it, gave it his all to make it so perfect for consumption. Parts of him were laced through every sensation, every smell and every bite. Your own plate is set before him and he's cutting all your bites, spearing pieces of meat and salad onto the fork before feeding it to you, making sure you ate well.

The dull ache in your arms is brought back into memory as you languidly chew on a bite, and your fingers absentmindedly touch over your sleeves over where the bruises lay, feeling the ache grow.

“Do they still hurt you?” His voice called out amidst smoky smells and brown fog, calling you to the present. “Have you gotten any rest at all, my dear?” He added, his head tilting in your direction, his bird-like mask not allowing you for a glimpse of his ruby eyes, but from underneath you can see glimpses of the scars peeking through, teasing your eyes. For some reason he chose to wear it here, now, only puzzling you further. 

“No.. no.. they're fine… I’ll get some rest later tonight, sir..” you reply as you swallow and watch how he grimaced at the title, and you nearly cough from how big this bite was, but you would have taken a bigger bite had Dottore allowed you to feast yourself. Perhaps not, but you told yourself you would. Be it the rich taste or some other factor, you yearned to take up each bone from the meat and lick it clean, sucking out the marrow from within and letting it melt into your guts.

Would he be satisfied then?

Would you be?

The candles flicker. He's still looking at you

“Are you still afraid? I've already told you so, and explained it many times. You have nothing to fear here. This was just an error in the system which will not ever happen again.. and you shouldn't have been around to witness it, anyhow..”. You have to wonder how he can say all this with so little fear. Then again, the clone was his creation. He knew it inside and out, every crevice and every wire.

“I understand.. it's just that.. I'd rather not face the others now..not after that..” 

Truth be told, having him around was also slightly unnerving, as he wore nearly an identical face as the one that harmed you. They were the same, but also not. He was gentle, but he was not.

The one that hurt you was long disposed of and would never harm you again, but Dottore was once the one that hurt you, and now he has poured himself out before you, all for your pleasure and the sweet poison of safety and love.

He hopes to convey it to you through each meticulously put bite, every sip he graces your lips with. He had cut himself open for you and would do so again, just as he hurt you through that error. It came as easy as drinking and breathing. 

“That’s understandable. I assure you are safe, and however dark the night may get - I'll be there with you… But for now, you must eat, not fear. Open wide..”

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[jusst-you-race]

max and charles, 18!

i hope you don't mind that i made this volleyball au (i miss it) and also that it's... not really a kiss <3 thank you for the prompt!!!

a kiss as encouragement

The whistle blows as Charles slams the ball down on the other side of the court, easily breaking through the opposing block. Max swears loudly, and Checo winces, shaking out the hand that the spike had hit. There’s a chorus of cheers behind him from his team but Charles doesn’t turn to them just yet, instead he waits for Max to look his way. It doesn’t take long, they always seem to find each other’s gaze across the net.  

Charles blows a kiss at Max. Max scowls in response.

“Oh my god Charles you need to stop being a menace or the other team is actually going to kill us.”

Charles rolls his eyes.

“It’s for encouragement, Pear.”

“Encouragement?” Pierre asks sceptically.

“Yes. They are playing terribly today. Max always responds well to being pissed off.”

They both watch where Max has pulled the other team into a huddle, and can just hear his angry spitting from where they’re standing. Daniel looks like he’s trying very hard to placate Max, Lando and Oscar look like they're trying very hard not to laugh. 

Satisfied, Charles turns back to his own team. 

Lewis is levelling him with a very unimpressed look. 

“Charles, if you’re done winding up our opponents now? I’d like to actually talk about strategy.” 

A little bit sheepish, Charles worms his way into the group huddle, tucking himself into Pierre’s side. He only half listens to what Lewis is saying; Pierre is setting today and Charles knows his play style back to front so he’s not worried about missing any tactics. Instead his mind wanders, as it so often does, to Max. 

The blown kiss had mostly been a joke, something he knew would get under Max’s skin, which is Charles’ favourite activity after volleyball. But really, deep down, when he forces himself to acknowledge it, he did sort of want to blow Max a kiss.

It’s not just a kiss you want to blow…

Charles ignores his traitorous brain. The little voice in the back of his head that whispers about Max when he’s caught off guard and not violently beating it back with a stick. It’s getting a little bit louder every time they play the other team, and today has been especially bad. Max had shown up in a clearly borrowed t-shirt that must have been from Lando, judging by how it seemed a size too small. The way the shirt hugs the swell of Max’s chest has been incredibly distracting today, and Charles is genuinely glad that Pierre has been setting. He would have been absolutely screwed if Lewis was making him work for it with his clever sets. 

“Charles isn’t listening, he’s clearly thinking about Max.”

Charles winces, caught, and embarrassed that even Valtteri has picked up on it. Lewis just rolls his eyes. 

“Well Charles will just have to keep up,” he says as he waves his hand to dismiss the team and steps back away from the court. Charles flashes him a winning smile in an attempt to placate him, and then strides to his position by the net. 

Max is directly opposite him now. 

They lock eyes as George prepares to serve somewhere behind Charles. He brings his hands up to protect his head without breaking eye contact with Max. 

The whistle blows.

Max blows a kiss.

Charles’ brain short circuits.

[shootingstar-scuderia]

gotta be the last to know

lestappen | max verstappen x charles leclerc

like a serpent fated to eat it's own tail max chases championships over and over again, he can't help but wonder who exactly is driving the car

a/n: this started as an offshoot of my lestappen fic and then very quickly tumbled into a max character study. don't ask me what happened, i have no idea. a big thank you to my beta reader to the stars K who looked this over in the midst of moving apartments, i adore you greatly.

masterlist

“Do you think we are written in the stars?”

Charles asks him that one night. When they’re cocooned in the warmth of their home, the lights dimmed and curtains drawn. And Max doesn't know, doesn’t have an answer. Because, truthfully, he’s never thought much about it, about fate, about destiny. 

Charles seemingly has though and Max supposed it comes with the territory, comes with being known as Il Prediestanio. The predestined one. As if there was never a question as to whether Charles’ passion and determination would take him to Ferrari. That it was his history, his father, Jules that drove Charles to a legacy. To championships. To Max.

So maybe, in some ways, they are written in the stars. That just as many did before them Il Prediestanio Charles Leclerc has written himself in the stars in slow swooping letters and has dragged Max up there with him. The two of them joined together by their shared legacy. 

He tells that thought to Charles, feeds it to him to watch him beam, bright and burning, satisfied by the pretty words. 

And Max leaves the conversation at that. He doesn’t bring it up again and he doesn’t think Charles gives it much thought after that night. But Max can’t seem to stop thinking about it. 

Because, maybe it’s the same for him too. Destiny. The thought of it worms its way through his brain, wrapping itself around his body until it constricts him, narrows his field of vision into that one single point. Is he written in the stars?

His father wanted a champion and he got one. Moulding Max into being until he was exactly what his dad wanted, until Max could feel the pull of a vast legacy charted out in front of him. His father shaped him into being, into an inevitability. 

Max remembers the first time he heard someone call him that, an inevitability. Remembers how the feeling of it sat funny in his chest, the idea that he was a certainty. Remembers how he wanted to be seen as a choice and not a given.

It had felt almost inevitable to win his first championship the way he did and it had felt right to keep on winning them. It also had felt inevitable when he started losing them.

Championships come in cycles, in an ebb and flow. It’s a pattern Max had seen when he was young, one he had seen in Lewis, in Seb. And to be able to notice it before following in the worn tread footsteps of those before him feels like the beginning of an ending he should have recognized.

So, if Charles has been written in the stars Max thinks he has been stamped into the ink of the sky by a printing press. Mechanically and methodically, put into place and pressed into being by others. He just hopes the ink is still fresh enough to be smudged and written back into a legacy. 

It turns out another championship is in the cards for him after all. A sixth one for his collection.

Only, when he crosses the finish line it doesn’t feel the same. In fairness none of them did, each of them coming to him differently. But the pleasant thrill of shock was always the same. The way the rush of adrenaline sharpened him until all he can feel is the roar of the crowd in his blood and all he can think about is the power of the car under him was always there. 

This time Max can’t help but let a feeling of unease bloom in his stomach. The feeling that he’s just fulfilling his duty, hitting his marks. The feeling that by wanting this and by achieving it he’s just following in the footsteps of something that had been set in motion long before him.

It eats at him, an acute pain in his ribs, and Max can’t help but wonder if this whole time each of his wins have been cored out from his center. A biting acid that has hollowed him into a vessel made to be filled by a purpose set forth by others.

And when Max goes through the press cycle the interviewers all crow, “a sixth, the drought has ended!” Grating and brash they praise him, “was there ever any doubt?” At night Charles wraps him in his arms. “A sixth,” he whispers into his ear, voice feverish. “I am so proud of you.”

A sixth. It sits funny in his mouth and he stumbles over the words as he tells them all how it’s been a long time coming, how he knew that it was always going to be a matter of when and not if. He thanks the team for it, thanks the fans, thanks Charles. 

It’s the same speech every time, he parrots the words out from where they sit in his brain, mechanically laying them down one after another. A printed out copy of him pressed into his brain by the media team.

He doesn’t answer them when they ask if he’s hungry for a seventh though. Doesn’t answer when they ask if he thinks another is on the horizon. 

He never does. It’s a deliberate choice, one that feels like digging his heels in. A pushback at being the winner that he’s been moulded into, a quiet betrayal towards those who shaped him.

But as the interviews go on and they ask, and ask, and ask, and Max continues to not answer, and not answer, and not answer, it begins to feel like something else. Another cycle, another prophecy that he’s set forth for himself, one that he’s fulfilling dutifully.

Max’s sixth trophy sits in the living room next to Charles’ first and third. “These ones are special, no?” Charles has said as he cleared the space on the shelf. “We need to give them the respect they deserve.”

To Max there’s no need. There’s no need to worship something that lingers at the edge of Max’s vision like a ghost, the shine of it as it catches the light haunts him. He can’t escape it, even in the night, when he creeps into the kitchen, careful to avoid the sight on it though the entryway of the living room.

It glows like a beacon in the silver of the moon. A glittering lure he hooks himself on time and time again. The shine of it whispers to him like a Greek chorus. A sixth, another one for our legacy. Our champion is back, are you going to win us a seventh?

And Max doesn’t think he has a choice.

[icanhearcolors]

Close Encounter pt. 3

Hello beautiful people! I have so many ideas for a camp / long rest scene but we gotta collect the companions first so please enjoy the obligatory Gale and Lae'zel chapter.

pt 1 | pt 2

Word count: 3.8k

You must be seeing things. You blink and rub at your eyes but when you open them again nothing about the morbid scene in front of you changes. There’s a mind flayer on the ground ten feet from you.

You turn to signal as much to Astarion, who must have fallen behind on the way up the hill, and jump out of your skin when you realize he’s standing an inch away- if that. 

“Good Gods you scared me!”

“You should be paying more attention. What if I were a blood thirsty vampire trying to sink my teeth into your pretty neck?” He teases. 

You point to the clear blue sky with raised eyebrows. The sun is mercilessly beating down on you both. The waves of heat are visible if you squint hard enough, and sweat slicks your clothes to your skin.

“I’d say under normal circumstances that would be unlikely.”

“True. And yet,” he grins, leaning down and snapping his teeth so close to your throat you feel his breath kiss your skin. Some self preservation instinct kicks in and sends you flying before you even process what’s happening. You jerk so hard you surely would have hit the ground if he didn’t catch you by the arm, cackling with self satisfied laughter. 

You rip your arm out of his grasp and glare.

“That wasn’t funny.”

“Aw come on, it was a little funny.”

“Can we focus please? There’s a mind flayer up ahead.”

The amused look is wiped off of Astarion’s face, replaced with surprise and then accusation.

“Why didn’t you say something?!”

“I’m saying something now aren’t I?” You hiss, returning your gaze to the twitching mass of purple amidst the wreckage up ahead that you believe to be a mind flayer.

“It looks injured. I’m gonna talk to it” You decide, more speaking your thoughts out loud than anything else.

“I'm sorry, did you say you were going to talk to it?! It doesn’t even have a mouth- get back here!” Astarion protests, but it falls on deaf ears.

You step toward the mind flayer, its tentacled face limp. This thing knows more than anyone how to get the worm out of your skull, and it is dying. Before you even decide to do it, your feet are carrying you forward. Astarion follows reluctantly behind.

The mind flayer is a disturbing looking creature. Purple in hue, covered in a film of viscous slime, oozing wine-colored blood. You turn to Astarion, a curious look in your eyes. You wonder if there are creatures even a vampire wouldn't drink from.

“I would rather starve.” He answers the question you hadn’t even asked yet, his nose wrinkling as he glares down at the monster.

That answers that. 

You turn your gaze back to the mind flayer, and notice its one visible orange eye is rolling in its socket. You resist the urge to put your knife through the twitching pink flesh of its brain. You need information more than you need revenge. You take a few steps closer, just a foot from it now, and when you glance back at its face you see that orange eye is now focused unblinkingly on you. You can’t look away. It looks pitiful, the poor thing, mangled by wreckage and its own crushed armour. When it comes to creatures who consume the life forces of others, miraculous things can happen when they feed. Perhaps you could find someone to sacrifice to this dying creature. No- it only has minutes to live, you need to sacrifice yourself. It’s for the greater good. This mind flayer has powers beyond your understanding, and you are but a lowly mortal. 

“Tav?” A voice somewhere very far away echos.

You ignore it. The fledgling that’s taken up residence in your brain would have turned you into a mind flayer within a few days anyway. Wouldn’t you rather save a life than create a new one? Your mind made up, you take another step towards its welcoming embrace.

An arm catches you around the waist. Someone pulls you backwards, away from the mind flayer. The tadpole in your brain wriggles violently in a way that causes splitting pain inside your skull. You wince and fall back into something, someone.

“It’s in your mind” They whisper, or shout, it reverberates in your pounding head regardless.

You wrestle with your battling emotions, the real contempt and the imposing compassion. The influence of the tadpole lessens now that you have been made aware of it, and you tamp it down to a dull throbbing at the base of your skull. You’re still connected to the mind flayer. You feel its disgust and hatred toward you. Similarly to what happened to you on the path with Astarion, your consciousness is ripped from your body and thrust into the mind of the dying monster. It is fantasizing about your subjugation. It wants to whip you and your companion until the skin is ripped from your backs while you bow before it. The rage you feel destroys whatever vestiges of influence the thing still had over you, and you use it to dive intentionally into the mind flayer’s intellect, searching for answers. You see through its eyes flashes of its story, its rebirth from man to monster, its care for the pool of tadpoles that now live in the brains of the ship survivors, and you feel its fear. 

It is terrified of death. 

You feel it’s consciousness slipping away quickly like sand through your fingers. Its brain is shutting down and misfiring. You have no idea how to pinpoint the information you’re looking for in the hurricane of foreign memories flashing before your eyes. Still, you are in control here. The mind flayer’s tadpole was meant to kill you, but as you stand over the dying illithid, holding what’s left of its life hostage in your hands, you realize that along with a time bomb in your skull it has gifted you a fraction of the power it wields. A sick sadistic pleasure fills you when you realize you could bend the mind flayer’s will to your own, just as it had done to you. The feeling terrifies you.

You let go of your grip on its thoughts and are flung back into your own body once more. The creature's eyes are unfocused and dim. With an angry shout you lift your foot and drive the heel of your boot into its squishy head.

It jerks, and then falls still- dead.

There is still an arm around your waist you realize, once you've come back to your senses.

You look down to find a pale hand, fingers splayed across your abdomen. You glance up at the owner of that hand, and find Astarion looking at the mess of a mind flayer carcass with a comically shocked expression. He glances at you, then back at the body.

“Perhaps I should do the talking from now on darling.” 

You roll your eyes and step out of his hold, striding toward the path again, but as you turn Astarion grabs the strap of the supplies pack flung across your shoulder and uses your momentum to turn you back around again. 

“Well hold on just a second! What was that?”

“What was what?” you bluff.

Astarion drops the strap of your bag to cross his arms over his chest.

“Oh so we’re going to pretend I didn’t just watch you offer your brain up for a snack, change your mind, practically pass out, then wake back up again moments later and squash the mind flayer’s head like a cockroach? Great. Carry on then.”

You shrug, nod, and turn on your heel.

“I was obviously being sarcastic!” He shouts, jogging to catch up with you.

“Are you mad at me for killing a mind flayer?” 

“Quite the opposite, I quite enjoyed the little show you put on. I just want to know why I had to restrain you from letting that thing snack on your skull. If you want someone to take a bite out of you darling I guarantee you’d have much more fun with me.” 

“I can’t imagine how being exsanguinated would be fun in any way,” you deflect. He takes the bait and smiles.

“No need to imagine it when I can show you,” his voice drips with a dark promise that heats your blood. Intrusive thoughts bombard you with images of him following through with that promise, and you dig through your pack for a bottle of water, taking several long sips. He tosses his head back and barks a laugh at your nervous reaction.

“This is fun. I’ve spent two hundred years hiding what I am, smiling with closed lips, hoping my charm or the dim lighting of a tavern was enough to distract whoever I was talking to from the fact that my eyes are crimson. There’s no reason to hide what I am with you, you already know. It’s nice to just be as I am.”

You stop so suddenly it takes Astarion a second or two to realize you’re no longer next to him. He tosses you a worried look over his shoulder and turns around to face you.

“Did I say something wrong?”

A warm feeling you’re not entirely familiar with but could get used to fills your chest. You’re honored to be the first person Astarion has been able to be himself with, even if that person is a relentless flirt with fangs. In a way, you feel the same. You have a lot of experience pretending to be someone you aren’t too, and Astarion seems to be bringing out a whole new side of you. Whether that's a good thing or not has yet to be determined. You have a feeling he wouldn't want you to make a big deal about this, so you say the first thing that pops into your head.

“They’re not crimson." You clarify when he gives you a confused look, "Your eyes I mean. They’re brighter than that, like this.”

You hold up one of the poppy-red colored health potions.

“What?” He asks in a low tone that you can’t quite decipher. The purple runes on the boulder you both stopped in front of begin to glow, but you don’t perceive any magical threat from them, so you return your attention to the vampire.

“Your eyes… they’re bright red. Startlingly so.”

Astarion places a hand on his chest. He looks absolutely devastated.

“Please tell me you’re lying,” He begs.

“I… I’m lying?”

“Oh this is bad. Really really bad.” He begins to pace a short line back and forth. You’ve never been so confused in your life.

“Do you not know what color your eyes are?”

He stops pacing and looks at you incredulously.

“Of course I don’t! I haven’t been able to see my reflection since this happened!” 

He pulls down the collar of his white undershirt and reveals two perfectly spaced scars on his neck. A bite wound.

You nod, still confused.

“Right… that makes sense.”

“I can’t believe no one told me my eyes were bright red. I'm going to have to throw away an entire wardrobe.”

Your concerned expression drops instantly, and you close your eyes, pressing your fingers into your temples.

“For the love of- please tell me you aren’t freaking out right now because your eyes don’t match your outfit.”

Astarion doesn’t appear to hear you, he continues to pace, muttering to himself.

“This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“What?” You shout, and he finally stops pacing, startled to a stop.

You genuinely can’t tell if this is an elaborate bit, or if he’s being serious.

“You were enslaved for two centuries and the worst thing that has ever happened to you is that you found out your eyes were a slightly lighter shade than you thought they were?”

Astarion doesn’t break your stare, he holds your gaze and without any discernible hint that he’s lying or telling the truth he says,

“Absolutely.”

You shake your head in mute disbelief, and reach into the bag you took off one of the dead passengers from the beach.

“What are you looking for?” Astarion asks, peering over your shoulder.

“Holy water.”

“Now wait just a minute-”

“Ahem”

Both you and Astarion leap into action at the sound of someone clearing their throat behind you.

Astarion whips the short bow off his shoulder and knocks an arrow so quickly you would have missed it if you blinked. 

You follow suit and pull your knife from your belt, turning to face the newcomer.

Your knife arm falls to the side, forgotten, when you take in the sight before you.

The glowing purple runes of the boulder were now spinning around a black hole, and sticking out of that void is a man’s arm.

An impatient and strained sounding voice, as if the owner is somewhere far away and has to shout to be heard, echoes out of the hole in the stone.

“I seem to be interrupting something, but I could really use a hand… anyone? Please?”

You sheathe your knife and step forward, glancing back at Astarion. He nods at the hand, his bow aimed at the swirling sigil. The unspoken message is clear. If anything goes wrong Astarion will shoot.

Comforted by that thought, you sidle up to the portal, an impulsive thought taking hold of you. 

What if you gave him a high-five?

You slap the hand.

Astarion snorts behind you, and the owner of the hand wags a finger at you.

“Perhaps I should have clarified. A helping hand please? I’m not sure how much time I have left before this portal closes, or what will happen if it closes while my arm is on the other side of it.”

With that in mind you abandon any notions of using magic to calm the sigil and just grip the hand in both of yours, pulling with all your might. There’s a terrifying moment when your grip slips, and you’re pulled partially into the portal as the owner of the arm falls back, but you regain your footing and try again.

This time it works, and a man launches through the portal a moment before it seals closed.

He lands half on top of you. Raising up on his arms, he looks down at you in wonder.

“You did it! I can’t believe that worked.” He laughs, sounding relieved.

“Ahem” Astarion clears his throat, much like the strange man did earlier.

His bow is trained on the stranger’s chest, his face passive, but in his eyes you see something darker than you’re used to seeing from him. 

The stranger scrambles back on his hands, standing quickly and dusting the dirt off of his robe. It looks expensive, the fabric is a thick rich purple overlaid with brown leather around his shoulders.. 

Astarion shifts the bow into one hand, and reaches the other toward you, eyes never straying from the man you just saved. You take his hand and allow him to pull you up, dusting yourself off as well. The man waves awkwardly at you both.

“Um. Hello. I’m Gale of Waterdeep.”

He lunges forward to grab your hand for a shake, but quicker than a snake strike Astarion’s bow is drawn again and aimed at his eye. He stumbles back, hands raised, and clears his throat nervously.

“Thank you for the rescue. My apologies, I’m usually better at this.”

“No need to apologize.” You place a hand on Astarion’s shoulder and he reluctantly lowers the bow.

“I’m Tav. My friend with the trust issues here is Astarion. Don’t worry, he warms up quickly. Are you okay?” you ask Gale.

“You were on the nautiloid weren’t you?” Astarion asks before he can answer, and now that you take a closer look you can see that yes, Gale does look familiar.

You study him for a moment. His shoulder length brown hair is swept back, revealing a silver earring in one of his ears. Your eyes travel down to his well kept beard, and further to a fragment of a tattoo that starts at the base of his throat and ends somewhere under his robe. He looks remarkably put together for someone who just fell out of the sky. 

“I was about to ask you the same. Back on the ship, you too were on the receiving end of a rather unwelcome insertion in the ocular region were you not?”

You and Astarion both nod.

“This insertee that we speak of, the parasite - are you aware that after an excruciating gestational period it will turn us into mind flayers? It’s a process called ceremorphosis, and let me assure you: it is to be avoided.”

Astarion side-eyes you, his eyes seem to convey a message.

I don’t like him.

You give him what you hope is an admonishing glare in response.

Be nice.

Gale doesn’t seem to notice.

“You don’t happen to be a cleric by any chance do you? A doctor? A surgeon? Uncannily adroit with a knitting needle?” He asks with a hopeful lilt to his voice and a flourish of his hand.

“Oh yes, Astarion here can knit with the best of them. Can’t you Astarion?”

The vampire twirls an arrow between his fingers and levels Gale with a bored look. 

“Define ‘needle’.”

Gale to his credit only eyes that arrow for a few moments before moving on.

“Well that’s not exactly what I had in mind. We’re most certainly going to need a healer, and soon too. How about we lend each other a helping hand once more and look for a healer together?”

You nod and smile at the charming, if not a little long winded stranger.

“I say the more the merrier. Astarion?”

Astarion turns to you, a bit taken aback.

“You’re asking my opinion?”

“Yes.”

Astarion looks at you, then at the grinning stranger in the purple robe, and sighs.

“Fine. You can keep the wizard, but if he has an accident I’m not cleaning it up.”

Gale furrows his brow.

“What is that supposed to mean? And how’d you know I was a wizard?”

“Because you smell like a library-” You clap a hand over Astarion’s mouth and immediately regret it when his eyes light up with what you know is the urge to bite your hand.

You pull away before he can make up his mind one way or the other. 

“Ignore my pale friend here, he gets cranky when he’s hungry, we should get going.” you say to Gale in an overly cheerful voice, who is now looking at you two with thinly veiled suspicion of some sort.

“You two seem close.”

You laugh, a bit hysterically.

“Would you believe me if I told you he tried to kill me an hour ago?”

Gale looks the pale elf up and down. He's still deftly twirling an arrow in his hand.

"I would actually." He says.

“I wasn’t trying to kill you, I was just prepared to do so if you didn’t answer my questions.”

“Oh okay, you should have told me that sooner Astarion that makes all the difference.”

You begin trudging along the path before you, unlikely companions in tow.

Astarion nods, his expression serious.

“I knew you’d see it my way.”

Gale walks in conflicted silence for a moment before curiosity seems to get the best of him.

"So if he tried to kill you, why are you traveling together?"

Astarion addresses the wizard before you can.

"Strange times make for strange companions Gale of Waterdeep."

~

The sun lowers steadily in the sky as you walk. It feels like walking is all you know how to do at this point. Gale and Astarion bickered for a little while over Astarion's refusal to call Gale anything except his full title "Gale of Waterdeep" but even that had died down as the heat and exhaustion caught up with them, too. Your legs burn and the temptation to turn in for the night plagues you, but you know the wilds of the sword coast are no place to sleep, and you repeat the mantra that has pushed you along these last few miles.

One more step. One more step. One more step.

You're brought out of your thoughts by a hand on your shoulder.

Astarion holds a finger to his lips and tilts his head toward the rocky hill in front of you. He hears something. Someone.

"Zorra was right. Yellow as a toad, and twice as ugly." a masculine voice spits.

"The thing's dangerous. Leave it for the Goblin's to kill." pleads a feminine one.

You reach the top of the hill. Shock freezes your blood when you see the thing they are arguing about. It's your Githyanki ally from the nautiloid, suspended in a tiny cage several feet off the ground above two tieflings. Your tadpole squirms as she meets your eyes, and this time instead of swapping minds, your minds seem to connect. She stares at you intently. Her lips don't move, but you hear her next words all the same.

You again. Get rid of them.

Well. The Gith are not exactly famous for their manners so you suppose the abrasiveness is to be expected.

"And if it escapes? How will you- oh. It appears we have guests."

The man catches your eye as you step into view.

You raise you hand in greeting and nod toward the trapped Githyanki.

"Oh she'll escape alright. The Gith are horribly tenacious creatures. Incredibly dangerous too. We have some experience with them. Why don't you leave her to us and we'll take care of it."

You lie through your teeth. Astarion and Gale nod along, but the three of you make a rather odd little group. Astarion looks the part of a Baldurian noble high elf, except his pupils are red and there's dried blood on his hands. Gale, the human wizard, would have no reason to have any experience with the Gith. And you, well you look like you just fell from the sky.

The tiefling hesitates. He's obviously suspicious of the three odd strangers who have appeared seemingly out of nowhere and offered to solve his problems, but the desire to no longer have the problems wins out and he nods, turning to his companion.

"She's right. Let's go. We need to check out that blast."

Your curiosity is piqued, but you want them gone as quickly as possible, so you don't ask about the blast. They take off down the path.

You turn to Lae'zel, suspended in what appears to be a goblin trap.

"Enough gawking!" She barks, "Get me down."

Maybe you're gaining some confidence out here in the wilds, maybe it's Astarion's influence, but the next words out of your mouth shock you.

"Say please."

Astarion laughs.

Lae'zel is less amused.

She rears back as if you just insulted her.

"Never."

You shrug, turning back to Astarion.

"Those teiflings looked well fed. I'll bet you there's some sort of civilization near by."

"I'll make that wager." He turns towards you, hiding his face from Gale, and gives you a devilish watch this smile.

"What say you Gale of Waterdeep?"

"If you say 'Gale of Waterdeep' one more time I will incinerate you."

Astarion winks at you before rounding on Gale, hand over his heart in mock betrayal.

"That's rather rude Gale of Waterdeep. I thought we were friends."

"Free me from this cage before I slaughter you all like the chattering animals you are!" Lae'zel hisses.

You look up at her with a frown. She sighs deeply.

"Please" She mutters.

Recognizing that's as good as you're going to get, you raise your hand, aiming for the ropes that tie the base of the trap to the rest of the cage.

"Ignis!"

Flame shoots from your hand and snaps the flimsy ropes. The bottom drops out of the frame and with it an angry Githyanki.

She lands in a crouch and stands slowly as you approach. You have to admit the move is pretty badass.

"It appears the tadpole hasn't scrambled all of your senses. Auspicious. But the longer we wait, the more it consumes. My people possess a cure for this infection. I must find a creche, you will join me."

How curious. You know a fair amount about the Gith, and you're quite sure lending a helping hand to others is not written in their doctrine.

"And what exactly is a... creche?" Astarion asks.

Lae'zel turns her withering stare to him.

"It is many things. A hatchery, a training grounds, a shelter. Githyanki protocol is clear: When infected with a ghaik tadpole, we must report to a caretaker for purification."

Gale crosses his arms.

"A simple thank you for saving your life wouldn't be amiss"

Lae'zel glares at the wizard, and he takes an intimidated step back, raising his hands.

"Or not."

She smiles, satisfied with that response.

"You might as well suggest a wyvern bow to worms. The cure I offer you will suffice as thanks."

It seems almost too easy, a solution to all your problems stands before you.

"I'm not so sure about this." Astarion mutters, and Lae'zel scowls.

She doesn't get a chance to respond, however, before the sound of pounding footsteps somewhere further in the distance has you all pausing to listen.

That's when you hear the screaming.

--------

Tag tiiiime

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[jacks347]

(After the latest BVZ episode, I have to get this out of my brain. Enjoy Albus visiting home out of panic.)

Faith barely heard the door open and slam shut over the low buzz of the early evening. Faith was working on dinner, Kerano was doing her homework at the kitchen table. If anything, she expected the sound to be Devlin. It wasn't until she felt a familiar pair of arms wrap around her in a tight grip, burying his face in her hair.

It was...odd. Faith almost didn't want to breathe, lest she break the atmosphere. Albus didn't do hugs, Faith would know. But here he was, clinging onto her like she'd disappear if he didn't. If she really listened, she could hear him mumbling something. "She's safe, she's okay, he can't hurt her now." Over and over like a mantra. Just what had happened out there?

She slowly reached up, smoothing over the warrior's hair. "Albus? Are you okay?" That seemed to snap him out of it as he lifted his head, his near death grip loosening. "Huh? Oh, I'm fine, Faithful. Just...had a rough mission." Faith leaned her head back to raise an eyebrow at him, unable to resist a teasing smile. "What's this? The impervious Albus York admitting he had a bad day?" He snorted, almost offended as he pushed her away. "Yeah yeah, laugh it up. Next time I'll just leave you to worry like an old housewife." "Don't you dare, I will march out to Maya myself and hunt you down if I have to." Faith warned, brandishing her spoon like a sword. Albus only chuckled, pushing her spoon down and kissing her forehead. "You're cute when you think you're intimidating, you know that?"

The healer could only sputter and blush, unable to find the words to counter him before pointing towards the table. "Just...go sit for dinner. You came all this way, you're not leaving until I know you're not going to drop over dead from hunger or something." "Stickler as always, Faithful." "Go!" "Alright, alright, I'm going."

Albus wandered to the table, settling into the chair across from Kerano with a sigh. "How ya doing kid? Listening to your sister?" Kerano’s head popped up with a toothy grin. "Mr. Albus! When did you get here?" "Ah only a couple minutes ago, you didn't miss much." "Oh well that's good! Big sister really misses you when you go away for so long." "Oh does she now?" "Yeah! I mean, she has Mr. Devlin and she's always happy with him but she talks about you a lot. Wonders where you are or what you're doing or if you're okay. She really worries about you. She tries not to show it but she acts different when you haven't been around for a while." Albus raised an eyebrow at that. "Acts different? How?" "Her shoulders get all tense. They get closer to her ears bit by bit like a wind-up toy. And she gets really nervous. Then you come by and she relaxes again. It's kinda funny to watch." Kerano giggled as Albus’s heart flipped. She really worried about him. Gods above, if only she knew how much he put on the line to protect her.

"Kerano, honey! Can you clear the table? Dinner's ready!" "Yes big sister!" Kerano hopped down from her seat and quickly cleared her papers off the table, setting out dishes as Faith brought in a delicious smelling meal. As they both took their place at the table, talking and dishing out food, Albus sat quietly and watched. He watched his girls talk and laugh, watched them be happy like a mom and daughter.

This was his mission. This was the thing he fought so hard to protect. Fuck whatever he told people, fuck his own life, he fought for his family. For the woman he loved, the girl he cared for as his own, and the brother he'd grown to have. He would never deserve it, never deserve a place in their picture perfect life, but he'd be damned if he let his actions be the thing that destroyed it. So he would defend them with his life.

"So Kerano tells me you get all jumpy when I'm away. Haven't convinced Vinny to give you any stress relief, eh?" "Albus!!"

(There. Brain worm satisfied. I can finally finish my homework in peace-)

[thedovesaredying]

Reverse Fae AU

Was in the middle of working on the next Cowboy Nikto chapter but got sidetracked by the ask @ghouljams got about Love being a fae/goddess and Ghost being the human one, so uhhh I had to feed the brain worms.

Not sure if it'll be canon or not, I'm just playing around with some thoughts.

(Brief warning for gore at the start. Unedited because I'm lazy)

Hot flesh squelches between your teeth, sending a thick trail of blood dripping down your chin. A single twist of your head and the whole chunk comes free, and it slides down your throat slowly, before settling heavy in your stomach. It gives you a warm, tingling feeling inside to have a fresh kill to feed upon.  

The man’s eyes are staring unseeing into the distance, face frozen for all eternity in an expression of pure terror. The blood that had been spurting from the large hole in his throat has finally dried up, leaving only small drips raining from the wound.  

Your bright eyes lift from your meal, only to meet a pretty pair of icy blues. No doubt they would taste delicious pulled from the man’s skull and shredded by your canines. You wonder how attached he is to them.  

You hold the stranger’s gaze while you lean closer to your kill, playing with a strand of sinew with your clawed fingers. “Come to avenge your friend?” you ask, sickly sweet and batting your eyelashes up at him. You’re not too hungry, satisfied with the one pretty soldier boy, but who are you to waste a free meal?  

“нет,” the man says, and you tilt your head, pausing your flirty little act, “this is his problem, not mine.” 

You giggle loudly, not having expected that from him. It’s fair enough you suppose. “Will you come to the lake with me? I need to wash out all this blood,” you coo, pushing a little influence into your tone.  

The other soldier looks at you and then looks at the water, then he says, “you are Rusalka?” 

He’s smarter than the other soldier, that much was already clear, but to have no reaction to your attempt at convincing him to follow you? Something’s different about this one. “No, Rusalki are my cousins, I am the Each-Uisge.” 

The strange soldier just stares at you again, still unblinking. “You kill the other soldier too?” he suddenly asks, gesturing his head back toward the bar where you’d found your first victim of the evening.  

“Wait-” Now it’s your turn to blink, “you want me to kill the other soldier you were with as well?” 

“да,” he nods.  

You can’t help giggling again, what a weird human. But sure, you’ll entertain this guy, at least for as long as it provides you an easy meal or two. You wonder what this other person has done to deserve being killed by a fae though, and ask, “why do you want him dead?” 

The guy shrugs, “there is no need to split payment if no one else returns, yes?” 

[ninadove]

Writing year in review

I was tagged by the lovely @bittersweetresilience to share some snippets from my 2024 works! Some were written over a long period of time, so I have sorted them by posting date. I’ve also tried not to choose a Miraculous fic when possible, for the sake of diversity, but what can I say? I love my kids so much. ❤️💜����

JANUARY

Felix always had something to say.

His brain was perpetually buzzing with questions, ignited at the discovery of every puzzle he could not solve; he burnt to understand the secret mechanisms that set the world in motion, to solve the complex equation of the human race.

“Why is the sky blue?”

“Why did Romeo not check Juliet’s pulse?”

“Why is Mum wearing long sleeves in the middle of summer?”

The answers were rarely satisfying, if spoken at all.

— Un bouquet d'œillets blancs {Miraculous 🦚}

FEBRUARY

“You can keep your princess. I don’t want her.”

Adrien let out a sigh of relief, surprisingly big for his tiny body.

“Are you sure?” He was pushing his luck now, but that was how he was: always ready to give the shirt off his back, and the tiara off his head. “You always end up stuck with the villains.”

Félix sunk into amethyst cushions, patting the mattress with a tired smile. Witches and krakens were a necessary evil: someone needed to breathe life into the plot devices, to snuff out the lights of their improvised theater, so his cousin could get a chance to shine on his own terms.

Adrien wormed his way back to their little cocoon, resting his head on his shoulder.

“I don’t want to be the hero.” Félix snuggled close, flipping to the first page. “Monsters are always so much more interesting.”

— Brave, Truthful, and Unselfish {Miraculous 🦚}

MARCH

Humans were fascinating creatures, always inventing rules to the most trivial things; the Order, in particular, thrived on prayer and processions. Duusu studied the traditions intently, munching on momos and breathing in incense: if they did well enough, if they filled themselves with everything that mattered to their guardians, maybe they would want to be friends.

Unlike Kwamis, humans grew up, grew old, and eventually faded away. Their time on Earth was limited — too scarce to be invested in the tiny creature.

But this holder was different. This holder was a child.

— Birds of a Feather {Miraculous 🦚}

APRIL

Eurylochus is thirteen, and the hull rears below his feet.

The wind is gracious, sated with salt and the promise of rain; breams graze the precarious hull, silver fins slicing through solid turquoise. It does not stop the damned ruin from bouncing up and down, nor Polites from teetering over the gunwale; Eurylochus yanks him by his chiton, saving him from the depths of careless contemplation.

“This is wonderful, Ody!” His smile, bright as always, ripples over the patient wavelets. “How did you even get this boat?”

“I have my ways.” Odysseus is younger by a full year, and their uncontested captain: he leans against the prow, arms crossed in self-satisfaction. “I’m going to be king someday. If there’s something — anything — I want, people give it to me.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. Aren’t you glad you’re my best friend?”

Polites nods, and the soft glow morphs into a beam; he hunches once more, caressing the immensity of the ocean.

He is kind, kinder than either of them. Wickedness, to him, is a crab lurking in the sludge: he does not fear it, for he does not see it.

Eurylochus never enquires about the twists and turns of his captain’s mind. He knows better than to probe the abyss.

— When does a ripple become a tidal wave? {EPIC 🌊}

MAY

“It’s so fragile.”

Adrien held the first bean as if it were a heart, as if it were pulsing against his palm: the day was young, the garden thawed at last, and lemonade waited underneath the porch.

The world kept on spinning, not dead, not crumbling between his claws.

“Isn’t it?” Felix slid his gloves off, satisfied with his work: perfectly circular dents dotted the forest-scented soil, lined up for inspection like a well-trained platoon. “One thing about Steinbeck is that he had the subtlety of a truck running over a cricket.”

“I thought you liked the guy.”

“I do. He had the intelligence to recognise that sometimes, evidence is the most powerful metaphor of all.”

The truth of these words warmed them down to their bones: softly, delicately, they tucked their treasure into the soft bedding.

“I’m not fixed yet,” Adrien confessed, green eyes seeking green eyes. “I don’t know if I ever will be.”

— Keep me from the cages {Miraculous 🦚}

JUNE

“Have you eaten at all today?”

Of course he had, and Ragueneau knew it all too well; Le Bret was not one to let hunger devour him, to squeeze suffering and verses out of a weakened stomach. The baker fed him either way, tartelettes amandines and meatloaves and a constellation of croissants; twice as much as needed, whisked and sprinkled with twice the love.

“You did not edit the punctuation, did you?” Always with the questions, with the nervous protectiveness of a genuine friend. “He would hate that. He would hate that so much.”

“Of course not. I am merely trying to decipher this mess.” After Arras, Cyrano’s handwriting had become hurried and tight, as if he feared a shortage of paper and time; sweat and ink stained the corners of his manuscripts, tears and blood in their own right. “I don’t trust publishers to transcribe it correctly.”

“You found someone, then?” Ragueneau’s voice lifted toward the ribbed vault; below his cassock, the canon’s shoulders sank. “Oh, the world will love him so! How could it not, when it knows him like we do?”

Le Bret smiled, a pathetic half-moon of dulled teeth, and bit into a chausson-aux-pommes.

— Ou bien dans les étoiles {Cyrano de Bergerac 🪶}

JULY

“You know you were her favourite, right?”

Shadows stretch against the cold marble: a cloud, an eclipse perhaps. Never have they been more aware of their own pallor — of the ugly things lurking on the other side.

“You’re the rebel,” they whisper, the words cold against their teeth. “You’re the actor and the secret-keeper. Hell, you even got the Peacock Miraculous… You’re like her, in a way I can never be.”

“Adrien.” Felix retraces his steps, looking for something lost. “Your mother adored you.”

“She did.” Finally, mercifully, they let their eyelids fall. “She adored me, and she loved you.”

— Satellite {Miraculous 🦚}

AUGUST

Adrien traps their hands between their knees, considering. They used to shed these thoughts like they shed their mask, but they aren’t sure they want to anymore: it’s selfish, of course, but Adrien hasn’t been selfish enough in their short life, and the thundering between their ribs drives them away, drives them forward, drives them over —

“Adrien.” Something lands on their shoulder, nestling in the crook of their neck. “Adrien. Adrien.”

“Hey.” There’s something desperate in the syllables, in the arms that pull him back, and they can’t help but lean into the touch. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

“I’m sneaky like that.” A chuckle dies on Felix’s lips; he presses against their back, heartbeat bouncing between the two of them. “Unlike you… your late-night brooding woke me up.”

“Don’t tell me you wear the brooch to bed?” Their cousin’s grip tightens, and that tells them all they need to know. “I’m sorry. They’re just feelings, I wasn’t actually going to do anything about them...”

“You should have come to me,” Felix reprimands, gently. “But it’s alright. We can talk now.”

— With a touch of my hand (I'll turn your life to gold) {Miraculous 🦚}

SEPTEMBER

“How did you…?”

“Suppose the World Times ran this story,” Emmy cut, leaning dangerously close. “Hawks’ career would be over before dinner, to say nothing of the legal jumble that would follow.”

“And you’d do that because…?”

“I’ve never been much of a Tory,” she shrugged. “Besides, that’s quite the token of goodwill, don’t you think?”

“This is priceless.” His breath was sharp, a puncture to his lungs. “I only have one question.”

“Ask away,” Emmy glowed, inviting. “I have all the answers.”

Clive let go of the envelope, spilling its entrails over the tiles.

“Do you really think I’m that stupid?”

— What do you know about love? {Professor Layton 🎩}

OCTOBER

Felix tastes of caramel, and the night has only just begun.

Not that they’ll make it out the door, she manages to think, drunk on sugar and cinnamon and a fire she knows all too well; it flows through her veins as she dips him onto the mattress, pools in her stomach as she straddles his hips.

What a beautiful sight: Felix’s coat like coppery leaves, like autumn sneaking in through the window. The folds of her dress like dark wings around him. So unmistakably them in spite of their costumes, to the point she can spot the stubborn gold of his locks piercing through the foggy dye.

“My holiest love,” Kagami whispers, fiddling with his tie. “My dear, dear husband.”

This, too, is only half-pretend: they will be married in December, the mere officialisation of what has already been sealed with other rings and other vows. Husband, she thinks again as the fabric falls from his throat, husband, she breathes as she leans down, leans closer.

— And we will stumble through heaven {Miraculous 🦚}

NOVEMBER

He walks in, and you know instantly: it’s in the myosotis of his eyes, in the calluses of his hands. Light pours through the dirty panes like chalk on a blackboard, like stained glass trapped behind scaffoldings, and it’s a sweet pilgrimage that takes you to his desk.

“They say your father makes hats?”

It sounds terribly conceited, yet you couldn’t be more genuine. You recognise and share the damage of the pen, that terrible splint keeping your idle fingers upright; but there’s something else in his, in the pulse that drums against his wrist. Just below the surface, like carps tickling the open sky.

The boy you’ll die for peels away from his thoughts, and smiles.

— Alma de araña {La Sombra del Viento 📚}

DECEMBER

“I don’t need anything from anyone.”

“You need so, so many things.” The stranger tears away — a page out of a notebook, a limb ripped off his body. “Companionship, first and foremost.”

“I’ve never even met you before.”

“And yet, I understand you. How many people can say that?” There’s a strange little note, something dropped in the sink. “How many people want to?”

“Sounds to me like you’re the lonely one.”

“Maybe I am.” They pause there, leaning against the counter. “That’s the nature of a patron of the arts, isn’t it? Pouring money into a void that never closes.”

“You think I’m an artist?”

“I think you once were.” The tap tilts open, soothing, hypnotising. “I think you could be.”

— We’ll jump at the same time {Professor Layton 🎩}

Overall, 2024 was a great year for my creative drive! I made sure I did something writing-related every day, even if it was just the actual action of clicking “post” on a fic. A huge thank you to my eternal beta-reader @dragongutsixofficial, the Anarchist Gang and everyone who has been leaving kind words or kudos on AO3 (you know who you are)! 💚💜❤️

Tagging @faiirygrahamdevanily, @bright-thehawksflight, @pegasusdrawnchariots, @beezonia, @adastra-rising, @nayvwriter, @sillyangstfic, @trishacollins, @alexandriaellisart, @rubytactician and @dragongutsixofficial to show us their creations (be they writing, art, GIFs, origami or something else)! May 2025 be gentle to you! ❤️✨

[voraciousvore]

The Tiny (Chapter 7)

Chapter 1 | Previous (6) | Next (8)

Content Warning: NSFW/ 18+ for goofy sexual shenanigans

Word Count: 1.7k

------ Chapter 7: Fondness ------

I prep another bath for Jackie, so she can wash off all the filth. When I come to collect her, she’s fresh and clean, dressed in a light set of pajamas. My heart soars when I offer her my cupped hands, and she willingly enters them. I feel lighter than I have in weeks. We don’t speak to each other, but the silence feels comfortable and subdued, rather than strained. I can tell she’s weary after her adventure inside my mouth and just wants to relax. 

I take her into the living room, recline on the sofa—the very same one she’d been hiding under just this morning—and turn on the TV. I like to watch the cooking channel, but I figure that’s probably not the best idea, so I change the programming to something inoffensive, an old movie. I’m amazed to find that I’m not hungry anyway. She’s worked miracles for me. 

At first, I keep her tucked securely in my palms, but my arms start to get stiff and tired. So I drop her into my lap instead, where I hope she’ll be comfortable. My stomach flutters with butterflies when she snuggles up to my torso, wrapping herself in my shirt like a blanket. I can’t focus on the TV at all, with how flustered I become. She smells heavenly. Without my hunger to interfere, I feel very cozy and content.  

She falls asleep on me. I bask in her quiet radiance, enjoying her smallest movements as she shifts in her sleep. I grow weary as well, so I gently worm my hand underneath her until I can lift her without waking her up, and bring her to my bedroom. I get comfortable, with her light weight resting on my chest, and fall into a deep slumber. 

It’s the best sleep I’ve had in a long time, dreamless and refreshing. I awaken in a daze, yet very pleased. Out of habit, I sit up in bed and stretch my arms high above my head, forgetting the tiny lady on my chest. I recognize my error immediately when I feel Jackie tumble down my belly with a surprised squeak. To my horror, she topples on top of my underwear, landing squarely astride the hard pillar underneath. 

Time seems to stop as we both freeze in shock. My face sizzles with embarrassment, particularly as my blood rushes to my eager groin. She turns as red as a cherry tomato and springs back with force, colliding with my torso. I’m ashamed to admit my dick twitches from the stimulation of her physical contact. The carousel of erotic fantasies I conjured up yesterday parades through the primitive pleasure center of my brain as I look down at her. A hearty carnal passion rises within me, but definitely not one that either of us are ready to satisfy in reality. 

She meets my eyes with shame and we can only stare stupidly at each other for several moments, trapped together with our mutual mortification. I imagine I must feel hot as a furnace to her, with how aroused and flustered I am. My body is all around her, smothering her with my masculine musk and warmth. My self-awareness only darkens my blush more. 

She breaks first, ducking away and hiding her face with humiliation. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe that just happened, I’m so, so sorry!” she blurts out. 

I can’t help but chuckle with how cute she looks. I remind myself that she can’t read my thoughts; she doesn’t know all the dirty, inappropriate desires plumbing the depths of my soul. “It’s alright, it’s alright! I know it was an accident! I should be apologizing to you!” I assure her as I wrap my hands around her delicate form. I raise her up to my eyes. 

She peers through her fingers at my smiling face, before a fresh wash of pink crests her cheeks. I’m charmed by how adorable she is. She removes her hands from her face and presses her palms against mine, sitting up from her cowering pose. She shyly avoids my gaze, instead opting to survey the canyons and ridges of my palm with her dainty fingers. Her touch tickles my skin and makes my heart sing. 

“It’s okay,” I utter softly. My stomach purrs; I hope she didn’t hear it. “Why don’t we get some breakfast?” She agrees, but I detect an undercurrent of uncertainty behind her expression. I pray I can restrain myself. I’m feeling strong today. 

I hastily dress to hide my raging boner, hoping that Jackie doesn’t notice when I completely fail to calm my lust. I don’t want to waste time, so I content myself with a generous bowl of cereal. I crumble up flakes for her and add them to milk in a bottle cap. I chomp down my cereal with confidence, watching Jackie in my peripherals politely sip hers. She’s not shaking like before. Maybe it’s my dick talking over my stomach, but I don’t feel quite so desperate to consume her. 

I want to do something special for Jackie, to show her my appreciation. I want to demonstrate to her, in a subtle way, that I care about her, even if she will never reciprocate my feelings. I want her to feel safe around me. I can’t take her anywhere near other giants, but I do live in a peaceful and secluded region, surrounded by the beauty of nature. 

“Want to go outside for a walk? I could use some sunshine,” I ask her. A smile overtakes my lips, as I gaze down at her. She’s my little ray of sunshine. 

“Sure,” she agrees, fiddling her hands with mild nervousness. I love her endearing little mannerisms. I envelop her in my fist and perch her on my shoulder. My heart hums when she climbs into my collar, pressing herself up to my neck. I walk with steady, deliberate strides for her comfort, and step outside. 

The day is beautiful. Bright sun kisses the trees and foliage, making every individual leaf sparkle like an emerald. The wildflowers explode with rainbow colors in meadows of gold. A soothing calm settles over me as I stroll through the trees. I’m so happy to be able to share the scenery with Jackie. Every touch from her alights my skin with pure joy. 

I hope she feels less confined, being outside. However, she keeps shifting under my collar, and I can feel her heart rapidly ticking against my neck. My throat constricts, and a sharp edge twists in my gut. Despite her calmer exterior, her heart betrays her true feelings. She’s scared. I’ve hurt her, and the damage is done. I can’t undo my wrongs. 

“Jackie?” I bring up. “I can feel your little heart beating so fast, are you alright?” 

She flits in response. “I-I’m fine.” Her voice is louder than usual, so close to my ear, yet I’m unable to decipher the complex emotions conveyed within. It’s high-pitched, rapid, almost frantic. 

There’s no point in dancing around the issue. “Are you still afraid of me?” 

“No, no! It’s not that, I’m not afraid. I’m fine, really.” That same frantic tone. She’s concealing her true feelings. I wish I could see her, but she’s in my blind spot. 

“Ok, good.” I don’t really believe her. My ephemeral happiness is tainted with sorrow. Is she just placating me, pretending to be agreeable, out of fear that I’ll devour her when dissatisfied? It was wishful thinking on my part, to ever believe that she’d grow to like me, or even tolerate me. I blink away my melancholy. I’m too sensitive. 

I brush those thoughts aside. Whether she likes it or not, she’s stuck with me if she wants to stay alive. If I can, I still wish to make her happy. “I want to show you something.” We’re ascending a ridge cloaked by trees, to one of my favorite lookout spots. I shade my eyes as I step out of the shroud of leaves, into the blinding sun. 

I want to see Jackie’s reaction, so I gingerly pinch her between my fingers and lift her out of my collar. She doesn’t struggle or cry out, which heartens me. I sit on a rock and set her on my knee, circling my hand behind her for security. “What do you think?” 

She exhales sharply in surprise. The view is quite stunning: I can only imagine how much larger and grander it must appear to someone of her stature. The cliff overlooks a rustic countryside of farms and fields, glistening with lakes, seas of grain, and leafy green crops. The landscape is teeming with life—ducks, chickens, livestock, even a few people—against a cloudless backdrop of bright blue. “It’s beautiful,” she tells me. 

I rub her back tenderly with my thumb. “I thought you might like it.” Rather than shying away, she subtly leans into my touch. She gazes up at me with a kind, open smile that feeds my soul. I’m struck by how comely her countenance is when she smiles. The sun paints her face with streaks of light, and gives her hair and eyes a brilliant luster. Maybe I’m just unusually emotional today, but the sight moves me almost to tears. “See, the Land of Giants isn’t so bad now, is it?” I put forth hopefully. 

“I suppose not.” She doesn’t break eye contact, implying some degree of sincerity. I temper my confidence, with the knowledge that I’m likely being overly optimistic in my assessment. She couldn’t possibly have any positive view of me. 

“I’m glad that you’re here with me,” she expresses. My heart jolts. I beam with unrestrained vigor, enough to make my cheeks hurt with how wide my mouth stretches. We sit for a little while, drinking in the special moment, until we’ve had our fill. 

“Let’s go home,” I suggest. I tuck her back into my collar, so she can’t see my fluttering eyes and lips. My chest is bursting with rainbows as I return home, with my sweet little Jackie lounging on my neck. 

Chapter 8

[partially-controlled-chaos]

Reposting my WIP Wednesday because tags aren’t working and Tumblr support is not helping.

I want to apologize in advance if you’ve already seen this, but I’m reposting my WIP Wednesday because it’s not showing up in my tags and Tumblr support is no help. So, if you’ve seen this already, sorry!

I once again have Halsin smut on the brain and my current little brain worm would not let me rest until I wrote at least something towards an upcoming fic. The idea of Halsin pleasuring himself while alone in his tent and thinking of you (or the reader) has always been *chef's kiss* for me, so I had to write something for it.

This is a very tiny snippet of a larger oneshot, but I need to finish the Halsin request (I've yet to finish and absolutely should have by now) before I post this one.

Anyway, as usual, this is unedited and likely to change, but a little tease of what I have coming up. Also, very much NSFW, so please, MDNI.

Halsin’s hand rested atop his chest, faintly feeling his own steady heartbeat underneath his camp shirt as his thumb absentmindedly ran along the ridges of his attire, taking note of the stitching and changes in texture. His eyes closed as he allowed his mind to unwind in an attempt to drift off into a peaceful meditation, soon finding that his wandering thoughts found no purchase in their usual subject matter. Lingering regrets concerning the Grove, the dangers ever present in the shadow curse, and now the problem of the growing illithid infection festering deep within Moonrise Towers were long forgotten as he focused on something much more pressing and mind consuming; you. He was suddenly overtaken with the memory of your hands running along his skin earlier in the evening, replaying the feelings that had begun to rise in his chest as you lavished his skin with your touch.

His hand slid across his chest slowly, feeling his way across his body with no sense of urgency or frenzy, simply savoring the feeling of contact against his body that was now beginning to burn with desire. Although these were typically feelings he would suppress when his mind was muddled with duty and responsibility, he allowed himself a quiet moment to bask in his thoughts. Halsin imagined it was your hand that was roaming along his sternum, trying his best to mimic the softness of your touch and mirror your movements from earlier. Even though his large, calloused hands were nothing like your much smaller and softer ones, the lust beginning to cloud his senses allowed the illusion in his mind to be enough to satisfy his meandering touch. A shuddered breath escaped his lips as the tips of his fingers lightly ran over one of his now hardened nipples, the bud pressing firmly against the interior of his night shirt. 

The sensations cascading over his body were almost electric, given just how long it had been since he’d indulged in a moment of self pleasure, and each touch and swipe of his fingers across his chest sent shivers down his back and a gentle heat to rise to his cheeks. Halsin’s hand traveled lower, pressing more firmly with each movement as he explored the expanse of his stomach, still fantasizing that it was your hands worshiping his body in such a way; touching and caressing with the gentleness you possessed, easily undoing his hardened resolve with the faintest tease from your fingertips.

Halsin’s thoughts broke momentarily as his fingers brushed along the upper seam of his trousers, making his lower body twitch and buck into the air at the contact. His eyes finally opened as he explored his lower half, glancing down to see that the whole of his now hardened and throbbing cock pressing uncomfortably against the confines of the leather pants. He tentatively ran his palm along the outline of his bulge, feeling how his aching length traveled along his mid thigh and twitched at his touch, stifling a moan at the contact. Halsin’s hand quickly moved to his opposite thigh, squeezing and stroking at the leg of his pants to take his mind off the intense need to touch himself more as the throbbing in his cock turned into a much harder pounding. His stiffened length strained against his camp clothes, making the sensation borderline painful as he continued his ministrations along his thigh and back towards his lower abdomen. 

A wetness began to coat his thigh where the tip of his cock rested, the head weeping early traces of his spend as it ached and begged for another touch. Halsin succumbed to his desires once again, slowly running his hand along his arousal in attempt to soothe the throbbing. This of course only encouraged the lust and desire to bloom more, making his trousers more and more uncomfortable the longer he palmed himself. Eventually the sensation was too much to handle, the desire and intense need for release had grown too strong and there would be no chance of getting a second of rest until Halsin came to his release. It wasn’t long before Halsin began unlacing the ties that lay at the front of his trousers, his fingers shaking with need and fumbling with the tassels. With a frustrated grunt, he finally managed to roughly pull the opening to his pants apart, almost ripping the eyelets from the fabric with the force behind the tug.