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feyascorner · 3 months

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Okay perhaps this sounds odd but imagine Astarion starts to disassociate while intimate with Tav and so he uses their established safe word, only to be bewildered when Tav actually listens to him and stops and asks if he’s okay and tries to comfort him because nobody has cared that much before 😢

OH GODS WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME (i love it) warning for suggestive content :)

For as long as Astarion's been genuinely intimate with you, for no other reasons but simply because of the affection the two of you hold for one another, he has always been in control.

It soothes him, in a way, to be on top. And as much as he enjoys watching you come undone beneath him, there's a more frustrating reason behind why he always feels the need to be the one to push you down onto whatever surface he deems decent enough at the time. From above you, he can see every little twitch in your body, every shift in your expression, and most of all, he can control what's happening, unlike his centuries spent as a seductive tool for Cazador's own needs.

He knows you're not like those fools. He knows you're different, and you're special to him. But the gnawing voice in the back of his head always forces him to pull you in, to hold you closer, to make love to you.

It's fucked up in so many ways.

"I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel."

But when you look up at him with those imploring, loving eyes, the voice seems to go quiet. He swallows the dryness of his throat, unable to think of anything but how wonderful your touch feels on his skin, and he thinks he could drown in this forever. He's putty in your hands, whether he wants to admit it or not.

"Well? Don't be a tease just standing there, darling."

In what feels like minutes, he's a mess. He's making sounds he shouldn't be making, fingertips digging into your hips as if they're the anchors keeping him from finishing too early. He breathes heavily into the crook of your neck, groaning when you caress the sharp tip of his ear between your fingers.

The only thing keeping him from spilling is the impending embarrassment he'd feel for doing so this early on in the night.

Then, everything stops.

"You're so beautiful," you whisper.

They're only words. They're not ones he's heard little of---in fact, he's heard it too much in the past two hundred years. In an instant, memories of the nights he spent under strangers, forced to shove his mind into its darkest corners just to get through their own pleasures, flood his consciousness. The sickening taste in his mouth afterward, and the need to rub his skin till it goes raw were not uncommon. It was routine. A sick part of his life that he'd rather forget.

You don't mean it the same way they did. They only said things like that because that's all they could say. They didn't know him as anything but the husk of a body he resided in. He knows you are saying the words to him. Not to his body but to the very person he is.

But the word comes spilling out his mouth, and immediately, you freeze.

You actually stopped.

Of course, you would. You're you.

"Are you okay? Did I do something?" you reach to cup either of his cheeks, and he stares at you as if you're a star that's fallen from the sky. He blinks, slowly.

"I don't know, I just---" he searches for words. "--you haven't done anything wrong, darling."

You wait for him to finish patiently. Gods, he doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve you.

"I only remembered something I'd rather not," he plasters a crooked grin on his face. "It's quite alright. We can continue now if I haven't ruined the mood."

You pull away from him, and he fears you'll leave.

Moments later, you return with a glass of water. Wordlessly, you hand it to him, and he only stares at it, confused beyond belief. Only once he notices the way you gesture to the glass does he drink it, and you finally climb back into bed, lying down beside him.

"Come here," you open your arm, motioning him to come closer.

"Darling, as much as I'm all for experimenting, that's a strange position to have sex in."

You smile, shaking your head. You don't explain any further, only continuing to hold out your arm.

Hesitant though curious, he slowly lies down beside you, his head just above your chest and slotted between the space below your chin. With gentle hands, you pull him closer and toss the blanket over both of your bodies.

It's warm. Strange, but warm.

"You don't have to wear a mask with me," you whisper.

His eyes grow wide, and his chest stills. He doesn't have many tears left after 239 years, but there's an unfamiliar squeeze in his chest that tells him if he were still 39 and alive, he might have. Astarion wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face into where he can hear the steady beating of your heart.

Later, when your eyes begin to droop, he mumbles.

"Tell me I'm beautiful again."

"You're beautiful," you say softly. "With or without your pretty face."

You might be imagining it, but you feel him smile against your skin.

#astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 x reader #bg3 #fluff

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hyperfixating-rn-brb · 5 months

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The Good Omens Fandom has had a lot of fun recently with the knowledge of Aziraphale and Crowley holding hands on the bus at the end of season 1.

Soo here's everything that went through my head as I learned of it for the first time.

For that entire scene, Aziraphale is really far gone. He's dissociating so hard he can't even realize he's been sitting on a sword. Crowley is probably the only thing keeping him grounded.

They just narrowly stopped Armageddon after a showdown with literally Satan, and still can't let their guard down. For the first time ever, they're completely on their own side. Now they have to orchestrate a body swap to save both of them. They wouldn't just be killed, they'd be completely destroyed. Everything must go exactly according to plan, but how often does that actually happen?

And on top of that, his bookshop, his home, his safe place with the demon he has to pretend not to love is burned and gone.

Crowley is so incredibly gentle and reassuring this entire scene. He's been through so much trauma himself and has spent a lot of his existence shielding the angel from it, hoping to protect some of his innocence and naivete. Crowley is absolutely familiar with every symptom of PTSD and anxiety.

Now he has to see his sweet angel see such a small bit of the horrors of heaven and hell and start to crumble inside. He's going to do his dam best to try and help Aziraphale through it. Speaking softly, ("the bookshop burned down... remember?) slowly and carefully, gradually helping to pull the angel back to reality, reminding him that he's there and will help ground him.

They get on the bus, and sit next to each other. 11 years ago, they sat nearby but separated while Crowley begs Aziraphale to help him prevent the Apocalypse. Now they are sitting together. Both an act of reassurance and unity.

Crowley sits first, Aziraphale could so easily just sit across from him, behind or in front. But he chooses to sit right next to him. And hold his hand. Aziraphale desperately needs to be near to the *former* demon he loves, to hold him, to make sure they won't be separated.

In the book, their famous lines of "none of this would have worked out if you weren't, deep down, just a bit of a good person" and "just enough of a b*stard to be worth liking" came as Satan rose from the earth, as a goodbye in case they were destroyed.

Luckily, that didn't happen and they survived. Armaggedon was stopped. But the angel is still so anxious of losing Crowley. So he chooses to reach out, to anchor himself and reassure himself that Crowley is still there beside him and that they are okay, at least for a few minutes.

And Crowley let him. He knows how badly Aziraphale needs him, he needs the angel just as much. He knows how badly he craved an anchor and support system as he was first abused and traumatized by his Fall, then further by Hell. So he's going to continue being there for Aziraphale, doing everything he can to make his angel feel safe and comfortable.

Over the next few years, Aziraphale would become so much more comfortable reaching out and touching Crowley. Leaning into him, resting a hand on his shoulder or briefly touching his chest. Somehow both reassuring himself that the former demon was still there, and reminding Crowley that he's still there for him at the same time.

Then Crowley becomes more comfortable with the touch, leaning into the angel by himself. No longer flinching at a sudden graze of a hand or reassuring squeeze.

That one moment of the two holding hands on the bus cemented so much of their relationship. "The last few years, not really..." all started on that bus the moment Aziraphale chose to sit down next to Crowley.

edited: at first this said "new knowledge" because I just found out about this all the other day, and wrote this up at 3 AM, and didn't really fact check when this knowledge became well known. I've only really been a GO fan since maybe 2021, and only really started being active in the fandom during the last few months, so a lot of info that is fairly well known is still generally new to me. soo yeah this was edited :)

source for anyone asking for it!

#good omens spoilers #crowley #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #good omens #go2 #bus scene #they like holding hands #neil gaiman #david tennant #michael sheen

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thedevilssinner · 7 months

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I wanna share something because I don't want to suffer alone with my thoughts 😅

It's one of the scenarios where Tav knew Astarion before he was turned, but I've never read anything where it played out like this.

I apologize if something is wrong, English is not my native language.

Imagine that Tav is an elf and Astarion's lover before he was turned.

They're devastated when they finds out that Astarion has been killed. Mourning his death for a very long time and even moving away from Baldur's gate because everything reminds them too much of Astarion.

They know that all their happiness and love are gone. No one can fill the void that Astarion's death has brought them.

And now, two hundred years later, they stand on the beach, the sun beating down on their head, the burning Nautiloid at their back and before them... Astarion?

Only it's all wrong, his eyes are red and he's pale... paler than he's ever been.

Anger rises up in Tav. How dare some shapeshifter even take on Astarion's form after their beloved has been dead for 200 years?

And do a bad job at it!

Before the pale creature could even call for help again, Tav lunged at him with an angry cry, surprising the imitation and truckling it to the ground, dagger pressed to it's throat while they straddled his body. "How dare you?! How dare you to take his form?! Show me who you really are... now!" They command, surprising even themselves with their actions. But they couldn't stop... not when someone is using Astarion's face for gods knows what.

"Darling, there seems to have been a little misunderstanding. I don't know what you're talking about, and I'd appreciate it if you'd remove the dagger from my neck." The shapeshifter replies, his voice smooth and flirtatious and so unmistakably Astarion's that it hurts, and Tav presses the dagger a little harder against his neck.

"Shut up, shapeshifter!" Tav shouts at him, gaze anchored on that so familiar yet different face. "Where did you even get his face?! His voice?!" They ask angrily, the hand holding the dagger starting to shake. "You have no rights to pretend you're Astarion when he's... when he's gone. And to do it badly!" They continue, still angry but deep seated sadness linger behind.

The shapeshifter's eyes widen, opening his mouth as if he wants to say something, Tav noticing the fangs there and even worse idea that him being a shapeshifter, starts to creep into their mind.

"Tav?" Fake Astarion finally speaks, saying their name as if he were saying it for the first time in a long time, tasting it on his lips. The previous flirting gone. Instead he looked confused and as if just now he remembered something that was hidden in his mind. "You are them, aren't you? Gods, how could I forget... so beautiful." His red eyes glide along Tav's face, his voice nothing than a whisper. He's clearly lost in his head and Tav swallows thickly, realisation slowly grasping their mind but they fight against it.

"No, stop! Stop it! You can't be him. You can't... he's dead and your eyes are wrong. You're wrong." Tav says, their body starting to shake all over, threatening to cut him by mistake with the dagger still against his neck.

But now it's easy for 'the shapeshifter' to take Tav's wrist and move their hand away from his neck, easily wrenching the dagger from their fingers and tossing it aside. His lips stretch into a sad smile.

"That's what vampirism do to you, my love." Astarion says ever so softly, the deepest pain and sadness etched in his voice and Tav knows, feels it in their soul, that he is telling the truth.

So that's how Tav meets Astarion again, this encounter more painful and bittersweet than anything else.

They stay on the beach for a little while, Tav crying their heart out and Astarion trying to hold back his own tears. Both of them not expecting something like this to happen.

(Sorry if Astarion seems ooc.)

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x gn tav #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x gn reader #baldur's gate tav #baldur's gate astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #tav bg3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 writing #bg3

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bystarlightlore · 8 months

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lord have mercy jesus christ…the love scene

i can barely write about this scene without tears pouring down my face. it’s beyond intimacy.

frame by frame. magic.

usually all of their touching and tracing is leading somewhere, but in this singular moment, they're just admiring each other. henry is taking his time and alex is leveling all of the air in the room into the most delicate, pointed gaze. there is so much love in that one look. the way henry looks back is so sweet; the most affectionate smile playing at his lips.

alex's breath hitches a bit when henry's hand reaches his heart; and he bursts into the most gorgeous smile.

alex's affinity for bracing his hands against henry's back and waist is beautiful. the way he molds his fingers to every curve of his body. henry going straight for the hair; bracing his grip to the back of alex's neck.

alex never takes his eyes off of henry. not once. he's doing so much with that one look; asking, testing, falling, following. letting henry take the lead. they're saying everything to one another without uttering a single word. in the book, it talks about the tiniest of nods that henry does when they're together, and how alex is the one that notices them and knows what they mean -- i love seeing it here.

this is new for the both of them in different ways. their very own "first time." and you'd think that something this exposed would come with a sense of fear from either of them, but that's not what you find in their eyes. there's wonder, curiosity, love, and even a bit of timidness and caution, but no fear. they're so open and willing with one another. giving all of themselves without hesitation.

& hesitation is a big thing for henry because that's all he's ever done. but here, with his alex, he doesn't have to hold anything back.

their synced exhale, henry's whisper of a smile, the way his teeth graze his bottom lip, licking his lips. alex in absolute awe of him.

the emotional nakedness here is...more intimate than the sex itself. they're both discovering so much about each other in these lines. alex releasing every inhibition and assumption. his words are breathy and loose, like he found it impossible to hold his tongue. like the look in henry's eyes alone is drawing out the very core of his heart. and in this moment, he's realizing that part of his heart is henry now.

& henry. delicate, precious henry. for a boy so filled with passionate, poetic soliloquies, he stripped himself bare with three words. so much about this masterpiece of a boy has to be kept hidden, and this gives everyone around him the ability to make up their preferred versions. he can barely let anyone in.

but here, where for a moment, it's safe, he's letting alex know in just three, life-altering words that alex has all of him. this is everything that he is. and sweet alex takes on every inch, never looking away.

this kiss is where the tears started coming down hard.

the two of them express a very equal amount of love in two stunningly distinct ways. alex's is very pointed, henry's is incredibly rounded. (ill touch on it in another analysis). alex anchors them, henry surrounds them. they literally created their own yin&yang. they crafted their own harmony. it's madness. beautiful, beautiful madness.

you can see alex's pointed focus here in the way he kisses henry. it's direct & unfettered & insatiable. henry's rounder edges are featherlight. his jaw is relaxed, his lips are soft & loose. his eyes are fluttered closed, like he's sleeping.

he's safe enough here to kiss alex softly.

...& that's why i bawled my eyes out.

this got me too.

they're taking their time to trace eachother; learn each other. there's some subconscious part of henry that doesn't feel as secure as he is in this moment, and you can see that in the clutch of his fist.

alex opens it; and he laces them together. it's so easy to get lost in a moment like this, but alex is so intentional and attentive to detail that he takes the time to loosen and anchor every inch of henry. he doesn't leave a single piece of him apprehensive or locked up.

henry’s fingers kneading alex’s shoulder. the way alex runs his hand along henry’s arm & the bend of his waist. alex's grip covering henry's hand as he threads it into his hair. holding it there, keeping them steady. stay.

their touches don’t beg, they take, & the other gives — whatever & however much they’re craving from one another. they want so much of each other. & they have all the time in the world. it’s just them.

they’re both so blissed-out & lost in each other here. there’s nobody else in the world. euphoric in its nature, concrete in its beauty.

the slight tremor in alex’s lower lip, the way his lips gently brush henry's brow. henry’s mouth falling open, eyes flitted closed. it’s all so skin-to-skin. neither of them knows where the other ends and they begin.

the meticulous release in the flex of henry’s hand. he can feel alex, & his feelings for alex in every nerve, every bone, down to the arched tips of his fingers.

it’s tender & gentle & warm & i’m going to bawl my eyes out. help.

#rwrb #rwrb movie #red white and royal blue #alex claremont diaz #prince henry rwrb #taylor zakhar perez #nicholas galitzine #firstprince

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luveline · 10 months

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𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

miguel does everything he can to make you feel better after a civilian casualty steals your ‘sunshine’. —a fic featuring reluctantly adoring miguel and his sad spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested here. fem!reader, 4k

cw character death, violence, reactive depression

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

"Miguel," you say, your voice grained by the communicator in his ear, "this universe is almost the same as mine, right?"

Miguel stares down at a Doc Ock variant you're staking out, lying in wait for the anomalistic antagonist to make his first move. He's trying desperately to maintain his focus but you have a nice voice, and you ask him with a confidence that betrays your total faith in him. You haven't considered that he might not know.

Well, Miguel does know. He's not sure he should start this discussion and distract you, but he has trouble saying no to you in any capacity, so he does.

"I don't know every difference, but yeah, they're the same. Same geography, world leaders, roughly the same fast food chains." He bites his lip. He's at work, more than work —you're attempting to save an entire dimension, here— and he shouldn't feed the conversation anymore. But he knows you'll be interested in this. "Donuts aren't a thing, here."

"What?"

"They have donuts, but they aren't called donuts, and they're nowhere near as popular."

"This is a very strange way to flirt," Lyla says, her flickering hazed by a golden aura as she changes rapidly between laying on her front, legs kicking, and her back, as though she's in a therapist's daybed. She floats across his vision lazily.

"That's because I'm not," Miguel says.

"What?" you ask.

"Nothing. Talking to Lyla."

"How come Lyla doesn't talk to me?" you ask sweetly.

Miguel can see you in the distance, your simple black suit like an ink splodge against the blue grey glass of the skyscraper you're standing on. Anchored with a web and your body tensed, you're perfectly parallel to the ground below, as though you're standing on the windows.

"It's not that I don't want to," Lyla promises. "Miggy won't let me."

"That is not true."

Projections cover Miguel's vision, powered by his favourite lying intelligence. Movements are mapped in a bright marigold yellow, though the net turns red to signify potential danger, chance percentages bouncing up and down. Doc Ock raises an arm and it turns an eye-straining red. He sits down on a park bench and his body turns yellow again. It's a smart program, but it can't account for everything.

"Something isn't right."

You hum appreciatively. "It feels weird, how he's acting. Like he's two separate people."

Doc Ock glitches hard, the air around him fractured by colours in varying depths, like a tangible, physical screen tone. They've been coming faster. He doesn't have much time before he begins to tear apart, and that tearing will prompt panic. Panic will prompt anger.

"What should we do?" you ask.

Miguel doesn't know. He regrets asking you to come with him, not that you aren't capable. When you first joined the Spider Society you'd hadn't been Spider-Girl in your own universe for very long, and you weren't particularly proactive. You were kind-hearted but lackadaisical, and after worming your way into his life, a flower budding between concrete slabs it shouldn't have the power to crack, (he seriously doesn't know how it happened, only that you'd been bringing him things, carefully wrapped foods and trinkets you'd made, your bad conversation, and suddenly you were worrying about him and doting on him in the strange way that you do, suddenly, he was doing the same), you decided you wanted to help. You've trained hard on Spider-led courses at the Society, improving your overall fitness, your stamina, your technique, to become the fighter you are now. You can hold your own well.

Miguel knows what motivated you. You want to look after him. You'd all but admitted to it. And that's why Miguel wishes he asked someone else to come with him, because you'll put yourself in harm's way as he would for you, to protect.

"Why did you want to know if this universe was the same?" he asks, the nano of his suit morphing over his hands, claws growing long and minaciously sharp.

"Oh! Because, I used to have these favourite cookies called Butter Leaves, but they stopped making them in my dimension 'cos of the Whey disease. Even when it was better, loads of companies couldn't come back…"

You give him the entire history. He already knows it. He tries to listen to you with the attention you deserve anyway, only he's weighed the options, and taking down Doc Ock feels much more important than listening to your cravings.

"They were really thin and they had this sweet coating brushed over the top. You'd like them, I think." Miguel drops the last hundred feet to the ground, ignoring the jarring heat in his ankles at such a landing without having rolled into it. "If they were a little softer and had some sugar they'd taste just like polvorones, Miguel."

"You could say that about lots of things," Miguel argues, tone measured as not to alert bystanders nearby of his presence.

"This doesn't feel like a good idea," Lyla says. Standing now, alert.

Miguel toggles the communicator so you can't hear him.

He wonders if you'd even notice him speaking over the intensity of your excitement, "I know it's not professional but maybe we could go and look? After we beat the bad guy. They're more than worth it, I swear," you say hopefully.

"It's fine," he says to Lyla, throwing out a hand, shins braced and ready to burst into a tackle.

"It feels off, you both said it."

"It always feels off. He's in the wrong dimension, his presence caused a shift. The wrongness is unavoidable, like the body–"

"Rejecting an organ transplant," Lyla says. "I know. You say it constantly."

"If you know, why are you asking?" he asks, deadpan.

"Good to know your girlfriend can ask questions and I can't. You're a trailblazer for equality, O'Hara."

Not my girlfriend, he thinks, but he isn't sure how true that is. Miguel realigns his eyesight, the holographic netting that pinpoints anomalistic stress a menacing red where it maps Doc Ock's limbs. The colours are abrasive against the yellow-green leaves fluttering in the breeze to the grass below, trees like arms stretched toward one another standing behind the simple brown bench where Doc Ock murmurs drunken-sounding ravings.

Miguel's fangs slice through gum and lock into place. He tries not to salivate. The paralysing agent produced gives him a numb tongue.

Miguel attempts to work quickly. Approach the target. Lock the target in. Incapacitate. He rears back and takes a deep breath.

"Wait! Behind! Behind you, Miguel, there's something behind you!"

He twists backward without hesitation and swings his arm around a cold neck. He squeezes hard, hears a metallic crunch similar to a mortar and pestle, but the person in his chokehold isn't a person, it's a robot.

"Octobots!" Lyla shouts.

"HELPFUL!" Miguel shouts back, grunting as a robotic arm curves around his back, and then a second, a third.

The hills of his muscles strain against white-lacquered steel, a sweat breaking at the back of his neck as he groans, desperate to stop the octobot from crushing his arms to a powder. He can practically hear the creaking of his humerus.

Around him, civilians scatter, screaming for their lives as a small horde of octobots descends on the park. Doc Ock doesn't react to the chaos. He sits there muttering to himself as people run past him and his octobots play cat and mouse. Miguel finally snaps the arms off the robot holding him with a pissed grunt, punching the carcass of machinery away from him while you tuck and roll from a dive to the ground. In an impressive show of your improvement and coordination, you throw out a web as you roll and hit Doc Ock square in the face, a second binding his chest to the bench. You spring to your feet, shooting at bots one after another. You must take down six by the time he's gathered his bearings.

"On your left," Lyla says. Miguel smashes a bot at the apex of its white body and she laughs. "Nice. Behind."

Miguel falls into the fight as though it's a well-practised dance. With the stress maps locked on, quick-thinking, and Lyla's pointed direction, Miguel can decapitate or incapacitate each bot swiftly as long as they don't get a hold on him like the first one managed.

You're like Lyla in that a good skirmish seems to set you off —you're giggling, cheering, enjoying yourself much more than you should be. "This is just like that video game," you say, leaping onto a moving octobot and shooting webbing at the joints, gumming them up until they can't move. "With the girl and her super powered puppy, you know that one?"

"Of course I don't know that one." Miguel brings his claws down into the aluminium shell of an octobot as it swipes your legs from under you and tears it in two. It cracks like a halved apple, the gore of its inside sparking and smoking as it hits the ground in tandem with you. Your head whacks hard into the concrete pathing beneath. He doesn't have time to help you.

The arm of a bot races forward like a stinger. This one must be the head of the hive, the Queen bee so to speak, far more complicated than the others in the plating of her ivory bodice and chain-mail like shielding on her arms.

Miguel swears under his breath and vaults at it.

He pulls your droid feed up in his display, watches you writhe from one side and the other as your pained moans play in his ear. You clamber onto wobbly footing as Miguel descends, the screeching cry of metal while it's shorn apart beneath his hands not half as loud as your useless gasping —you're winded, likely concussed.

"Civilian entering range," Lyla says.

"What? Where?"

Lyla has your drone's camera spin on the spot to show Miguel the civilian stupid enough to enter an active fight zone. They aren't stupid at all, it figures, but unaware. A man in activewear jogs the beaten path with headphones in, eyes to the ground. He stops for a moment to look at his sports watch, and like the octobot can tell, it shakes Miguel like a bothersome flea and surges for him.

You're closest.

"Y/N!" Miguel shouts, knowing it's too late before he so much as closes his mouth. You turn, your head braced in your hand, breathing hard with pain. Miguel would take it back if he could.

You can't save the civilian, but you can watch him die.

—

People look at him like he's a ghost, sometimes. Wide-eyed, horrified, they move aside in the halls. They treat him how he feels on his worst days, like someone who should've died a long time ago. Today, things are different.

No less than three Peter Parker' have stopped to stare at him unabashedly. Nearly all make the same jokes, Late for a date?

He'd honestly prefer feeling like a ghost. He can't deal with their derision and he doesn't want to, ignoring their looks and their judgement as he treks to the elevator that's gonna drop him outside of the medbay. The only person he wouldn't mind poking fun at him is you.

You aren't in the mood.

Miguel doesn't acknowledge your prone form at first. He walks to your bedside table to deposit the bouquet he'd chosen, peonies for good health and strength, swapping old for new, changing the water in your small shared sink. He may orchestrate the Spider Society, but Miguel's special privileges can't reduce the extreme turnover rate of the medbay. You have curtains to partition the room for privacy, and you got the bed by the window, and that's as much as he could get you. You deserve better.

Miguel opens the window to drown out the smell of antiseptic. He stands in front of it, his shadow stretching over your twisted hip. You're not sleeping, you're resting. Doctor's orders.

Miguel wishes you'd deign to rest in your own bed, or his, but you're a little too catatonic for a safe discharge either way.

He sighs quietly. You likely hear it with your enhanced senses and still you remain an impassive lump under your blue hospital blanket.

"Good morning," he says, instead of the thousand other things he wants to say, that he's too much of a coward to ask. "Let's get up."

He doesn't give you any choice about it. Starting slow, Miguel rounds the bed to meet your eyes through your sluggish blinking. Perhaps you'd been more asleep than he thought.

Gentle, Miguel peels down your blankets enough to push his hands under your armpits. He pulls you up into a sitting position, and it —it breaks his heart. He's a monolith, he's hurting, he has years and years of loss and grief behind him and it doesn't matter, it finds him again. His heart breaks at your limblessness and your willingness to be positioned like a paper doll.

Miguel arranges the sad pillow behind you and puts the remote for the adjustable bed frame in your hand. The last time you'd been here in the medbay after a training exercise fractured your ulna, you'd spent pretty much the entire time messing around with your bed, even as they crafted your cast. It made for messy work. Miguel must've told you to quit it fifty times.

Your fingers curl around the remote.

Miguel perches on the mattress on one knee to fix the protective style your hair is in. Nothing serious, just smoothing the tiniest of stray hairs and making sure it's still comfortable. He strokes your temple absentmindedly, checking you over one feature at a time. Tired eyes, nose tip looking parched, your lips chapped. Frowning, he sits properly, and he pulls your big hospital bag from the bedside table, his hand falling to your wrist to say, Hey, I'm here, and I'm not going far.

He finds your smaller bag of toiletries and necessities and unzips it. He tries not to think about the last time he had to take care of someone like this as he cleans your face with a wet wipe, two fingers wrapped in the wipe and petting at your skin carefully. He notices the life returning to you inchingly, his touch a tether you're pulling on, so he prolongs his actions. He smooths moisturiser over your face extra slowly. If you asked why, he could say it's cold, but you don't ask.

Your face shiny in the sunshine filtering in through the wide windows, you almost look like yourself again.

"Are you hungry?"

You shake your head. An almost imperceptible gesture.

"This is why you don't feel well," he says. "You're not eating enough."

"That's not why," you say.

He aches to hear your voice. I know, he thinks, but doesn't say.

"Eat something," he says.

You shake your head again. He managed to bring you back and squash you back down in less than a minute. He really doesn't like himself, at that moment. Often, but especially now. He's failing you. He failed you with the octobots and he's failing you now.

Miguel refuses to fail someone he cares about again.

He takes the remote for your bed and lifts the top section so you can sit back comfortably. He shakes the blankets out over you, and he puts away your things. Hopeful, Miguel places new pyjamas and underwear with your shower caddy at the end of the bed and pulls a strict pose, hands crossed over his chest.

"I need to go. Shower, eat breakfast when it comes. Please."

You give him a look that might mean Yes but probably doesn't mean anything, laying down as much as the bed allows and turning your face from him toward the flowers. Miguel leaves, stopping a ways away to look back, and watches through the gap of your curtains as you reach out to touch the flowers he'd brought. Your pinky finger is less than an inch from the petals when your movement stutters, your hand falling back to your chest with a soft thud. You close your eyes.

When Miguel returns, he's thankful to find you've done as he told you. Showered, changed, a discarded breakfast tray at your feet. You've attempted the oatmeal and left the toast to go cold, congealed butter white against golden yellow.

Miguel swaps the tray for his bags. He's hoping you might be tempted to look while he's gone. He knows before you would've known the entire contents of the open bag by the time he'd left the room, but he returns having taken your tray to the rack and is sorely disappointed.

That's fine, he decides. You don't have to look. He doesn't mind laying things out for you.

First port of call: extra pillows. He pulls the plastic wrapped 'hotel pillows' up onto your sheet and tears the plastic. They pop out. He didn't think for pillow cases, so he slides them behind your hospital pillow and pushes you down by the shoulders, not cruel but not particularly gentle —you actually laugh at his handling. He bites back a smile.

"What, you got me presents?" you ask as he dumps a blanket onto your lap. It's one of those soft, shiny fleece ones patterned with those characters you love so much, the girl and her super powered puppy.

You rub your hands over it appreciatively and spread it out over your legs. "What's that mean?" he asks, pointing at the Chinese characters, '超級汪汪!'.

"Chāojí wāngwāng!" you cheer, an impression missing the majority of your usual pep. "Super woof. It's his level five power up. He yaps and Joyce gets her HP back."

Miguel pretends to know, like he'd forgotten, and you're reminding him. "Ah."

You're watching now, interested. He puts his back between you and the bag and you whine weakly, "Miguel."

"What? You think these are for you?"

"Please, I want to see."

He gives in like a cheap tent, passing you a packet of pearly beads for your bracelet making, skeins of variegated thread that change colours, a packet of pencils with frogs on the lids, a plushie. You don't know how to react and Miguel doesn't know what to say. He honestly doesn't want to say anything, vulnerability stopped being his thing a while ago, but he clears his throat. "Do you know what I look like in the middle of Miniso? Picture it."

Miniso being a Chinese home goods store lined floor to ceiling with plushies.

You laugh weirdly. Miguel knows it's guilt holding you back.

"One last thing." He sits down on the bed next to you, hands big enough to cover the box in its entirety. "You were wrong, by the way. Extremely wrong, these don't taste a thing like polvorones."

He passes you the box. You take it into steady hands, smiling widely, your thumb brushing up against the black cursive font. A box of butter leaves from one of your sister dimensions.

"I don't know if they'll taste like they did. Are they the same ones?"

You nod, loosing a breath between parted lips. "Same ones."

"If you don't eat them all, I won't get them for you again."

"That's so mean," you murmur. Miguel would apologise if he thought you meant it.

"That's how it is. Eat your cookies. I'll come back later to make sure you actually ate dinner."

He stands. You immediately grab him, cookies dropped in favour of braceleting his wrist in your warm fingers.

You look up at him through your lashes, a frown dampening your pretty features. At least, in his eyes.

"Please don't go," you say. Your eyebrows pinch together. It's even more heartbreaking than your catatonia, this pleading loneliness, like you think he won't stay.

"You have to talk to me," Miguel says. He softens at your chastised wince, sitting back down again. "Did you want a hug?" he asks.

It's an apology to offer it, though he should've asked you this morning, or yesterday, even the day before. You'd been inconsolable when it happened. Miguel's never seen you that way. Your sunshine shattered, your shoulders shaking under his hands as he led you away from the scene, he didn't hug you like he wanted to. It wouldn't have made a difference at the time. You couldn't speak. You could barely walk.

Seeing something like that happen leaves a mark, even if you've seen it before.

You sweep aside your gifts and twist your legs to climb onto your knees. Miguel hadn't realised how much you wanted to be close to him until you're bordering his lap, your arms sliding over his shoulders, your pyjamas soft and smelling of antiseptic under his nose. A switch flicks at your nearness. He pulls you into his lap and sandwiches you there, chest to chest, thankful for his stature because it means he can encapsulate you effortlessly. He can hide you from the world for a short while.

You choke him half to death.

"It's okay," he says, your back curved into the length of his forearm, leaning forward so you can take the weight off. "You're okay."

"I don't– it's not me. I'm not worried about me."

"It's over," he says. "What's done is done." Which isn't to say it isn't tragic, or that it didn't leave a permanent mark on the world. But you're punishing yourself for a crime you didn't commit.

"It's all my fault," you whisper, your cheek pressing to his shoulder, face hidden in the juncture of his neck.

He tilts his head toward you. "It's my fault. I jumped in. I wanted it to be quick."

"I let him…"

"You had a grade ii concussion, you didn't let anyone do anything. I'm lucky you didn't pass out right there. I'm lucky you had the ability to defend yourself, because I left you defenceless."

"No, you didn't, it–" You rub your cheek against his shoulder. "It happened really fast, you were making sure that bot didn't get me because I was stupid enough to leave myself open–"

"Stop it."

It's harsh enough to stop you in your tracks. Miguel sighs hard, hair blowing away from his face.

He lays down backward, skewiff on your bed, and pulls you with him in a secure but gentle hold. You make a quiet 'oof' as you go down. Apologetic yet again, Miguel rubs a line up and down your back, fingertips between your shoulders, palm flattening as he reaches the small of your back, your shirt inching up. He's sure you look foolish to anyone watching, but for once, he's past embarrassment.

"I don't want to hear you blaming yourself. It's not your fault."

You've twisted on your side on the mattress rather than crush his pelvis, though your chest remains pressed to his. You twist a strand of his dark hair around your finger. "Why did you bring me all this stuff?" you ask softly.

"To make you feel better."

"But why… do you… want that? Why does it matter that much, that you'd waste time going to get me things?"

"Why do you think?" he asks.

Your lips ghost the column of his throat. "Mm… 'cos you're nicer than you let on."

"Wrong."

You laugh again. He's more grateful than he'd ever say aloud.

"Because you care about me too much."

Too much is right. He feels like he's at the stern of the universe's most important ship. The universes, plural. That ship is heading square for an iceberg, for the precipice of a gargantuan whirlpool, and there's nothing Miguel can do but hand out buckets and veer sharply to the left, hoping it will be enough, knowing deep down that it won't be if something doesn't give soon. And he's lived a life, two lives, before he even met you. He's tired. He doesn't want to lose anyone else, and he hoped he could do that by never caring again.

What a stupid hope.

"I just want you to feel like yourself again," he admits.

"I really wanted to save him."

"You can't save everyone."

He knows better than most.

"I know," you say, no tears left to cry, voice impossibly small.

Miguel wraps his arms around you and doesn't let go for a long, long time.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you so much for reading, I really really hope you enjoyed! please think about reblogging if you liked it, I appreciate it <3

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 4 months

Note

First things first Happy New Year, dear 🫶🏻✨️✨️

Since you're writing for Spencer Reid, may I suggest something that goes along the festive date?

I was thinking of unfinished business between the reader and Spencer, and when the whole team (who is suspicious about you both) stays at someone's place to celebrate the new year, you two end up drinking a little too much (nothing that makes you incapable of giving consent nor forgetting what happened) and what's just a cuddle session ends up with both tangled in the bedsheets, trying your best to keep the noise down.

hii bby!! happy new year to you too lovie <33 love love love it🫠 thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

NEW YEAR’S KISS.

spencer reid x fem!reader

word count. 531

warnings. 18+ only!! pinv, soft lovey dovey sex, readers roommate is home. mdni

For this New Year's Eve, you decided to keep it simple.

Rather than celebrating at Rossi's like every year, you and Spencer opted for a quiet evening at yours - deciding that you wanted to drink cheap wine and cuddle on the couch as you see the New Year in. It was the only way you wanted to spend the occasion, with the only person you wanted to be with when the clock strikes twelve.

However, things don't always go as planned.

Your roommate changed plans an hour before Spencer's arrival, and instead of going out to a bar, she decided to stay home - inviting a group of friends over for drinks and board games.

You and your special friend were still figuring things out, everything new and foreign to the both of you, so you wanted to keep your situation private - at least, until you could put a name on it. Inevitably meaning, you and Spencer were cast away to your room for the night.

You were in your dimly lit room, candlelight flickering on your nightstand, warmth casting a green hue through the half-empty bottle of wine. Spencer was hovering atop - his thin frame slotted between your spread thighs, your ankles crossed over his lower back. One of his hands nestled on the side of your face, carefully holding your cheek in his palm, the other anchored beside your head - elbow resting by your shoulder. His lips merely shadow yours, soft murmurs falling past each of your lips as he slowly winds his hips into you - cock rubbing against your insides ever so perfectly.

You extend your hands up to his face, fingers grazing the sides of his ears as you reach for his hair. You carefully comb through his soft curls, raking the stray hairs back, keeping your eyes locked on his pretty hazels as he continues to knock the air out of your lungs.

"Spence," you coo, lips parting as your head falls back into the pillow behind. "Gotta be quieter— they're next door."

"I know," he murmurs, his voice hoarse. "You're just too beautiful."

You bashfully smile up at him, brows knitting and eyes softening, your features growing pliant under his attention. You brush over his lips, kissing him soft and sweet, letting your strangled whines slip - your faint moans muffling against his tongue.

His thrusts remain leisured, winding into you unrushed - working into you like he had all the time in the world. The curve of his cock hitting all the right spots, veins grazing the ridges of your walls so nicely. No one had ever made you feel as good as you did right now - no one had ever taken the time to ensure your pleasure. And whenever you were with Spencer, that was always his main priority.

Spending the night with Spencer in your sheets is probably the best end to your year, and it just might be marked as your new favourite holiday. As the fireworks set off around your street, indicating the arrival of the New Year, you reach up to brush your lips over his, giving him the first kiss of 2024.

#request #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #reid x reader

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vendetta-if · 4 months

Note

Kinda along the lines of "if MC's family put a hit out on them", suppose an heir!MC went power-hungry (Or paranoid) and put a hit out on people, what would be the reactions of everyone (ROs, Yvette, Luka, Gramps) if they were the one that MC put the bounty on.

Ash

Would be utterly devastated. They'd probably fight off all of the hitmen's attempts and burn their way back to MC. Once they're finally face-to-face with MC, they'd just ask them the reason behind all of this and ask them to kill them themself. If there's anyone they'd rather die to, it would be by MC's hands and in MC's arms.

Rin

Would be seething in cold fury. There'll probably some hints of sadness and sorrow because they really thought they can trust MC, but that is eclipsed by the rage of the betrayal. Probably never going to be able to fully trust anyone else outside of their family for the rest of their life.

They'd pay MC the same courtesy, putting even higher bounty on MC's head. It'd be an all out war between the Morozovs and the Aikawas, no matter how good of a friendship Luka has with Takashi. It would be such a Pyrrhic victory for whichever family left standing that the result might as well be mutually assured destruction.

Santana

Would be devastated and in despair. Probably going to just give up and wait for their fate. After all, what else can they do? They're not good in combat, their power can't help them, they don't have any connections or resources that can get them out of the city or to safety.

Their only wish is to be able to meet MC again for one last time and ask them why are they doing this? Santana is a nobody compared to MC and their family, considering them a threat is laughable. Should've just told them if MC is now bored of them instead of this.

Skylar

Would be in disbelief and in denial. There's no way MC would do this to them, right? It must've been villains they have fought who got away and now hold grudge against them.

With their dual powers, it would be easier for them to fight off the hitmen. But also, they'd probably fly up directly to whatever ivory tower MC resides in, phase through and try to clarify it with MC.

But once MC makes it clear that it is indeed them, Skylar's just brokenhearted, disappointed, upset, and a lot of other mix of emotions. They swear they would be the one who take MC down, no matter how many years it would take, before taking off and leaving.

Luka

Honestly, for the first few weeks, he probably wouldn't know what to do and is probably shutting down emotionally from the overwhelming stress and grief. He doesn't understand why MC would betray him like this; he has sacrificed his youth to raise and take care of MC and he thought he was doing a good job. He also doesn't want to hurt MC because he cares for them and he promised his brother.

Thankfully for him, he's got a hitman with powerful ability as his boyfriend. Jackal, upon finding out about all of this, would be livid and curse out MC for being an ungrateful brat. He's basically the only thing anchoring Luka and he tries his best to protect him and to keep him from spiraling even further.

But in his heart, he swears, once everything starts to die down and Luka is somewhere safe, he will hunt down MC, even if Luka will end up hating him. Luka might've made a promise not to harm MC and to always keep them safe to Viktor, but Jackal has never made such promise to anyone so far.

So, yeah, the probability of MC getting rid of Luka through bounty is pretty slim considering he has Jackal, who has spent most of his life surviving the same ordeal. And not only Jackal's haemokinesis is really strong, but Luka's own teleportation ability makes him a very hard man to catch.

Grandpa

Deep sorrow... and emptiness. He knows what he has to do, for the sake of his only remaining son and for himself... It's probably the hardest decision he has--and probably will--ever make in his entire life, but in the end, he knows it's necessary.

Grandpa can be stone cold--even more than he already is--when he purposefully shut down his emotions and repress his feelings, and that will be what he does for MC. Even though MC might be the heir and probably de facto head of the family in Elysium City, the old man still has a lot of sway, respect, and fear among the members of the family and some of the city's elites and officials. Especially the branch in New York, it is still under his control.

He would declare MC a traitor and start to try turn MC's own people against them--probably not all, probably some decide to stay loyal to MC, probably some just see more opportunities to rise through the ranks under MC's leadership... But the number of those who do side with Grandpa would not be small and there will probably be some kind of internal civil war within the family.

He would also put a bounty for MC's head, higher than the bounty MC put on him and he would also immediately cut off any of the family's companies that are not directly under MC's name, effectively cutting off MC's supplies of money and resources as well.

In a battle of attrition, Grandpa would probably win, plus he’ll constantly surround himself with the strongest and most loyal of his men, and with his own power allowing people to do as he commands, it is going to be really hard to kill him.

Yvette

Would be scared for her life and depending on whether you reconcile with her or not, it can be either a sense of acceptance or a sense of regret. Maybe she’s just reaping what she sowed; after all, it is already some sort of miracle that she can even live this long without any problem despite having pissed off the Morozovs.

And now, after years of being under Viktor’s protection,of course, it’s going to be their chid who’s finally had enough. She knows she has no chance of fighting or even simply confronting MC.

Her strength has never lied in combat and her powers have always been used more as support, and now, as she’s getting older, she has started to pass her prime. But what she can do is use her powers to get away and escape encounters.

Maybe she’ll leave the city if she can, but she honestly doesn’t know what to do after—or how long can she keep evading these hitmen.

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shinekocreator · 27 days

Text

based on this amazing prompt by @ghost-bxrd (it's hella ooc, but if you wanted it in character, you wouldn't be here)

⚠️Tw: mentions of death, stopped heart, panic, fear⚠️

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

NO NO NO NO NO NONONONONO!

They weren't supposed to find out, at least, not like this.

His heart, which just a few moments ago wasn't beating at all, is now beating too fast, too loud, too strong.

He wants to move, to say something, to do something, but he can't. His lungs are still empty, so he starts breathing, too short, too fast.

This isn't good. They're not supposed to know, not supposed to see.

How could he let this happen? Why did he even agree to this stupid sleepover? Now they're all going to know.

All of them?

Panic creeps into his mind. What if he finds out? He can't find out.

He takes a look around the room, Dick is holding him, and he says something that Jason can't hear. Damian looks scared and on the verge of tears. Tim is in the corner holding Cass's hand, trying to reassure her that everything is alright, even if he doesn't believe so himself. Steph and Duke aren't in the room. He has no idea where they could've gone. Barbara is on her laptop, probably searching for a course of action.

"... Just breathe in slowly. " he can finally make out what Dick is saying. So he does just that, trying to slow his breathing and heartbeat, using Dick's voice as both a guideline and an anchor.

It works. He can talk now. He pulls Damian into a hug, which Damian doesn't reject. "I'm alright, Baby Bird, I'm alright."

Damian starts sobbing into his arms. "Your heart, it stopped, and you, you weren't breathing and I, and I don't know what to do because I don't want you to die again!"

"I'm not. You guys aren't getting rid of me so easily," he jokes, then kisses Damian's head. Damian doesn't flinch or move away. He must be really concerned then.

Jason turns to Dick "what exactly happened?"

"Just like Damian said, your heart stopped, so did your breathing. Does this... Happen often?"

Jason nods. He's not sure what to say.

Then Tim speaks "What the actual fuck Todd?! You have any Idea how scared we were? Why didn't you say anything?"

Jason slowly gets up and goes to hug Tim. He can't seem to find the right words.

Tim pushes him away with a horrified expression. "Dude, you're freezing cold!"

Hearing that, Cass brings him the warmest blanket she can find. "No more cold," her warm smile is radiant, Jason wants to hug her but knows he shouldn't.

Barbara comes closer and helps wrap the blanket around him. She doesn't need to say anything.

Jason pulls her into a hug, then brings in Dick, Cass joins them soon after, and so do Tim and Damian.

It's not as cold anymore, Jason feels warmth spreading throughout his body.

After they let go of him, Jason finally pays some mind to the absence of people in the room.

"Where's Steph? And Where's Duke?"

Dick rubs the back of his neck. NO NO NONONO!!

"They went with Alfred to calm Bruce down."

NO! NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!

Jason removes his grip from the blanket, letting it fall to the floor as he attempts to escape and leave the manor altogether, but the presence of a man in the doorway stops him in his tracks.

Jason takes a step back, and right before he manages to turn around and run for the window, two strong arms wrap around him, pulling him in for a hug.

And Jason fully breaks down.

Bruce holds him while he sobs and whimpers, giving him a moment to let everything out and calm down a little.

"It's alright, I'm still here. You're still here. We're still here." Bruce says, whether to Jason or himself, no one knows.

Jason can feel Bruce shaking. He tries to grasp the fact that Bruce cares and wants him around. Tries to process that Bruce was scared, terrified of the thought of Jason dying again.

Jason takes notice of the tears running down Bruce's face, moving his hand up to gently wipe them away.

"I'm still here, old man, I'm not dying again."

That's the last thing he says before he allows himself to relax and hug Bruce back, after mouthing a quick "thank you" to Stephanie, Duke, and Alfred, knowing he's wanted and loved by his family.

#batfam #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #barbara gordon #stephanie brown #duke thomas #damian wayne #alfred pennyworth #cassandra cain #hurt/comfort #drabble #shinekowrites #fear #stopped heart #death #tw death #lazarus pit

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dadrielle · 10 months

Text

god, fuck, shit, just.

Imogen talking about how she can't hear Laudna's thoughts, and Laudna sounding so sad to have another barrier, even as she says it's a good thing, because it makes life easier for Imogen; Imogen clearly struggling as well to put into words that she misses hearing her, that the pain being gone is wonderful but but but....(Imogen, "I just hate not knowing" while they're separated, Deanna saying oh you're used to knowing everything because of the mind reading, aren't you?), Imogen remembering sitting at the table as Laudna breaks down, trying to help, and not KNOWING how to fix it, trying anyway, floundering a little, it's different, its different. Laudna weighed down by so much change and now Imogen can't even hear her thoughts, could this make it worse or better? Imogen doesn't know but she's not got the flittering of surface thoughts to read like tea leaves, to try to interpret, she can't hold it in, and all she can do is ASK.

Laudna perhaps thinking here is another foundational thing irrevocably changed. Another thing lost that she can't even blame anyone for. Then Imogen recontextualizing that change. A GOOD change, a hopeful, beautiful, wonderful choice, "Can I kiss you?" and oh, different can be the best thing in the world, but she has to make sure Imogen knows how she's different too, so she knows what she's choosing, and the moment Imogen says you're not a bad person, I know you, and I choose you, I choose you, "I kiss her again."

Just. Fuck. "I said you're my anchor, my tether, we are that for each other."

"Together, either way."

I can't be coherent. I'm losing my mind.

#critical role spoilers #critical role #imodna #imogen temult #laudna #I'm literally gone all that is left in me rn is THEM

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syraxesrevenge · 3 months

Text

﹒❁┊WHISPERS IN THE NIGHT

≻─────────-⋆✩⋆-────────≺

fic type: x reader

pairing: jace velaryon

notes: first fic kinda scared lol, takes place after ep 10. very self indulgent bc I'm a jace girlie at heart

≻─────────-⋆♡⋆-──────────≺

Jacaerys is reminded of a lot of things, when he thinks of home.

The bristling, red-hot fireplaces dotted around the common room of Dragonstone, so different from the hearthy cold in the north, which almost freezes his joints together alme days. The shimmery, glittery mirage of the drink glass when light wobbles through them. Holding his brothers hands in his own reassuringly when they're scared.

And he's reminded of you.

The way your head felt laying against his chest, the way your heartbeat slowed down, the way you smiled. It was comforting, in a way, how he could remember every single detail of your face in the cold north. It was an anchor for him, laying in bed at night. How many horns did Meleys have? What did his mother usually wear? What would you be saying if you saw him lying here, all sappy and sad?

Rūklon, the word feels bitter and loveless on his tongue. His hand twitches as he looks from the frosted purple flower to the sky, and back again. He remembers the way it slid gracefully from your lips, the way he'd tried very hard to copy, but it came off choppy. Broken.

———————————————————

“Ruuuuuklon.” You said slowly, enunciatimg the U in a rather smugly accomplished tone.

“Rūklon. It's not that hard, Jacaerys.” Luke muttered before he yelped in surprise when the book of High Valyrina was thrown in his face. The kid really needed to learn when to shut up.

“It's not that hard, Jacaerys!” Jace answered, mockingly, before outreaching a hand to flip the dusted cover of the book back into his arms. Luke promptly stormed off, most likely to tell Rhaenyra.

“Hey, don't be so mean! It's not his fault you're illiterate.” You responded, in that stupidly sickly sweet voice of yours you used to be condescending. Your hand reached out as an offer, and he gingerly laced his fingers between yours gently

It was a small gesture, but he liked it. A bit too much, for a ward of his mother, but, alas.

“Rude. Treason, actually. How dare you suggest such things of my good honour, milady.”

Your fingers traced circles into his palm, the kind of circles that made his heart bump, bump. bump with affection. He brings your hand up to his lips, placing a hesitant kiss at the back of your hand. His lips linger at your skin, just for a moment, a single moment longer than they should've. The heat of breath placed in lieu, before he set your hand back down beside you. Where it belonged, not with him.

Jacaerys didn't feel bold at that moment. He didn't feel like a fearless warrior, or a king, or a fierce dragonrider; he felt like a lovesick, stupid little boy. Like he was all those years ago, playing among the courtyards of the Red Keep, chasing each other, comforting each other when you had to leave for Dragonstone, riding on Vermax. He felt exactly like that boy.

———————————————————

And he doesn't feel bold now. The bump bump bump of his heart has turned into a thump bump thump, worried and wishing he could be back at Dragonstone, back in a world where you and his family were safe, safe from his cousins, and safe from everything.

He retreads the letter you've sent him for a seventh time that night. His brother is dead. He has been killed. The words make him want to choke, to fight and attack and do something; but he can do nothing. He wasn't there to save Lucerys, and he can't bear the thought of not being there to save you, either.

He spends that night sleepless.

#house of the dragon #hotd #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys x reader #jace velaryon x reader #jacaerys x you #jacaerys x yn #jace velaryon x you #jace velaryon #hotd x reader #hotd x you #asoiaf x reader

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louroth · 9 months

Text

A chat with Leith

You can read all the q's if you'd like to support me on my Patreon, but I want to share this one with you too <3

What do you most want to tell the hunter when you are reunited?

“This is dangerous.”

“Can we try?”

They sit quiet and still for a while, so still that I have to blink to make sure they are breathing. "Leith?"

Leith smiles a watery smile, wavering at the edges. "Fine- I imagine it all the time anyway. When I finally see them again, the first thing I want to do is hold them close," Leith says, their voice quiet, their fingers fidgeting. "I want to wrap my arms around them and feel their heartbeat against mine, just to know that they're real, that they're here, with me."

“Don’t you think you’ll scare them, doing that?”

Leith shrugs, nodding. A tear escapes and trickles down their cheek, but they brush it away, trying to compose themselves. "I want to tell them how much I've missed them, how every day apart felt like a lifetime. I want to apologize for any moments of doubt or hesitation, for any times I let fear get in the way."

With a deep sincerity in their gaze, Leith continues- but I can see the flash of their teeth, the hopelessness in their eyes turning into something darker, something hungry. They speak slowly. "I want to tell them that they've been my light in the darkest of times, my anchor in the stormiest seas. They're my best friend, my confidant, my everything. And I want to promise them that from now on, I won't let anything keep us apart."

A bittersweet smile graces their lips, and they take a moment to compose themselves, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to overwhelm them, hand trembling over their mouth. They shake their head. "I've dreamed of this reunion, yearned for it with every fiber of my being. It's been torture I wouldn't wish on my worst enemies. But now, knowing that it's finally happening, I am…" They hesitate. "Scared."

Leith's voice cracks, and they pause to take a deep breath before continuing, "I want to create new memories, laugh together, and share our future together. I want to have it all back, to show them how deeply they've affected my life and how they've made me a better person. But I don't know if I can do any of it- I, I lost that part of me. It was taken from me.”

I flinch as they snarl the last words, lunging from the couch. Leith walks away, their back to me. Shadows swirl around them, licking at the walls. When they speak again, their voice is low, barely contained, one of many.

“I don't know if they will accept what I am now. There is so much darkness there. So much pain. I can't hide it- I can't be like I once was."

Their darkened eyes shimmer with unshed tears as they flash me a look over their shoulder, but they speak with unwavering determination, "When I finally see them, I'll take whatever they can give-"

Something breaks, a levy crumbling. A growl grows in their throat, their shadows rising. They face me fully. “I will take it.”

The room pulses into darkness as Leith's energy shifts, as they spread, as they grow. Shadows dance across their faces, their smiles turning into grim lines, all hard edges and terrifying severity. I’ve seen the transformation many times, but it never stops from being horrifying. I can barely look at them, pushing back into my own seat, fear creeping up my sternum and out my throat.

“Take it- what they give willingly, you mean?” I croak out.

"Í̷̹̥̔̿̄̉ṭ̵̲̯̒̋̒̽̽͜͜ ̸̨̨̻͂̍̾̌̐̓̽͊̽͝͝i̶̡̝̘̪͎̮͖͂š̷̢̻͇̖̙̩͉̦͙̞̰̩͓͉́̉̀̾̂̊̌̒̏͒̎̊̅̂͐̈́ ̶͔̣̪̟͖͋͘ṃ̴̻̄̉̂͌̑͂̔̀̊̐̊̚͝i̴̡͖͈̬͓̥͆̃̄̃͆́͊̀̈́͑͜n̶̢̨̺͚͍̗̬͎̪͈͕̤̙͙̖͔͑̒̋̀ẹ̶̡͑̐̇̀̓̎̍́͘.̴̹̺̫̙̮͚̬̫͊̇̅͛͑́̌̉̐̋̓̾̚̚͝ͅ"

#OUROBOROS #ouroboros-if #interactive fiction #leith/custom #patreon #HEHE #glitchtext my babygirl #the next Q&A poll is up + it includes other characters like Oma or a random dude from Riven sksksksksk. I'm v curious on who will win

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freyyzu · 1 year

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MEMORIES OF YOU

in a timeline where your presence is lacking, they do everything to keep you beside them.

a/n; i really want to know what the brothers in our current timeline are doing. how are they holding up? sorry for another long post, i felt insane (m;_ _)m. a few of them got a bit out of hand compared to others.

Lucifer plays your voicemails on repeat.

there are times when the workload gets a little bit too much now. lucifer hadn't ever noticed how much he had relied on your presence to soothe him after a stressful day; the shoulder massages and brief kisses, the comforting words, the mere company of you beside him had begun to feel like second nature.

unfortunately, you're no longer here to provide that for him, and neither is he there with you to offer a guiding hand in whatever it is you might be going through right now. the thought that you could be in danger sends a dull ache to his head, and the thought that it could be him being the one harming you is enough for him to put down his pen. no more work will be getting done today.

in moments like these—and he hates to admit they've been frequent—lucifer reaches for his d.d.d. the device feels heavy in his hand, and he has to stop himself from trying to once again call you. instead, he goes for the next closest thing.

"lucifer!" your voice is bright and cheery, it rings out clearly enough that he almost believes you've teleported right next to him. the tension of his shoulders ease as you continue, "i'm really sorry for leaving early today, but i did make breakfast before i left!"

lucifer leans his back against his chair, chuckling at the flustered sound of your delivery. it sounds as if you were running while recording this.

"there should be enough for everyone plus seconds and uh..." he can hear the quiet mumbling of your counting. "tenths for beel! again, i'm really sorry for leaving without all of us getting to eat together. i accidentally left an unfinished project back in the classroom and—oh! there's RAD! i'll see you in a bit, lucifer. tell everyone i said good morning!"

the voice message ends with a click, and he feels like the weight of the entire world is once again stacked upon his shoulders. as it always does.

with anchored fingers, he goes to tap the next voicemail when a knock on his door stops that.

"i'm comin' in," the voice from the other side warns before opening the door. mammon steps inside with a single cup balanced on his hand and places it on lucifer's desk, sparing a glance at the papers strewn across its surface. "still working?"

"it's never really done," lucifer responds, taking a sip from the cup. his eyebrow raises at the flavor. "is this barbatos' tea?"

"not really." mammon reaches out to sort the files into a neater pile. "i asked him to teach me in exchange for helpin' with castle cleanup."

it's the second time today lucifer's shoulders relax. "thank you, mammon."

Mammon fills his room with trinkets.

it's hard to keep mammon from spending all his grimm without you there to stop him anymore. for a while, the habit had dampened with your absence, and his brothers had wondered if he would drop it all together until you were back. that thought lasted all but two weeks.

when he had started back up again it was his usual treks—gambling at the casino, buying luxury items he had no real need for, spending it on bets he was sure to lose—and then they shifted.

there's a pile of boxes and paper bags settled carefully inside the seats of his car—the safest area of his room. they range from big to small, all designed and painted with different colors and patterns. a few of the logos and brands repeat, and asmo is the first to take notice that they're all from the stores that you like to visit.

it's somewhere near high noon when mammon leaves the house of lamentation and late evening when he comes back home.

he lets out a silent thanks that his brothers aren't around right now. or maybe they've gotten used to his schedule for the past couple of days and have decided to give him the privacy he needs. whatever the case may be, he's grateful there's no one at the entrance to chide him again.

kicking the door closed with his foot, mammon does his best to not let the multiple shopping bags hanging on for dear life in his hands slip.

it's almost like clockwork, the way his feet leads him to your room first, as they always do. he spares only a moment to take a look around. many of the things he's bought have been tucked securely in his room, but there are times, like today, where he just wants to show them off.

"Didja know Beel keeps comin' in here to eat his snacks lately? I bought a candle to clear out the air." true to his word he pulls out a candle in an intricately designed glass jar, scented in your favorite fragrance.

though it doesn't stop there, and soon your entire table is filled to the brim with different items.

mammon takes a look at everything he's bought once before pulling out a lighter and flicks it on. a mild, familiar scent fills the air, and he hates to admit it's the most calm he's felt in weeks.

Leviathan can't stop updating you.

if there's one thing that hasn't changed, it's the frequency of your texts with levi—or more accurately, levi's texts with your d.d.d. even if it's for the most mundane thing, he doesn't hesitate to whip out the mobile device and let his fingers fly across the keypad.

no one tells him to put his phone down anymore during their meals together, and even the pit pat of the letters being pressed feels more like comforting ambient noise now. the new normal in lull of conversation topics.

sometimes, there's nothing for him to talk about. times where he doesn't leave his room, where he isn't playing a game, or watching a new anime, or reading the latest manga volume release despite the media being right at his fingertips. the house of lamentation feels like it becomes empty during those days, but he doesn't want to tell you that.

levi finds that his bathtub becomes more comforting as every day passes by. the small, slightly confined space that hugs at him from both sides feels reassuringly warm with the blankets and pillows he's stuffed in there.

still, even as he shifts into a more relaxing position, nothing beats the joy he feels tapping away at his d.d.d.

he hasn't left his room for the past five days for anything other than the usual family meals, and even the games that usually pull him in no longer grab his attention. the only thing that does is the device settled within his hands, the dim glow it admits being the only thing he can focus on.

[ have you eaten yet? if not you better get to it, beel's been clearing out the fridge so fast lately i don't even bother going to the kitchen anymore. it's straight to the store for me LOL. ]

[ there's a new anime that's releasing soon. it's based off a manga about two twins that fall from the sky and end up saving the nation that raises them. i hear it's a real tear-jerker! i'll wait until you get back though so we can watch it together. ]

eventually, even levi runs out of things to talk about, and so he reluctantly marks the end of the the conversation with a goodbye.

[ talk to you soon, i'm going to pass out. sleep well when you do! ]

he does his best to ignore the fact that the messages aren't sending.

Satan sees your name in every word.

in the beginning, satan goes through every tome within every library the devildom has to offer. there must be a way to get you back from where you've disappeared to. and while he trusts solomon to keep you safe, he wants nothing more than to be there to guarantee that safety, or better yet—not have you disappear at all.

still, after turning every archive upside-down and over, satan resigns that there's nothing more he can do but to trust the sorcerer. but he can't; the thoughts of his years right after the celestial war ended haunt him and he fears that if anyone was to jeopardize your safety the most, it would be him.

and so he throws himself into his pastime. yet even then, his eyes can only skim the pages, the words nary processing in his mind. how could they, when every term, every phrase reminds him of you?

satan's hope of losing himself within the world of a story doesn't go as planned. it hasn't been going as planned for the past couple weeks.

the spine of a book cracks open, and the coffee-stained colored pages are flipped. his finger slides over the finely inked words, and then pause just minutes in when he realizes he hasn't retained a single thing he read.

rinse and repeat, the same old pattern.

frustrated, he snaps the cover closed, the force of his action loud enough to be heard by anyone who would pass by his door.

the protagonist of the book he had picked up was described as kind and forgiving. they would brighten up every room they entered and had as much fear in their body as they had caution—which was little to none. they face many trials to bring happiness to those they love all without a care for their own well-being. satan sighs, curling in on himself from his seated position.

a strained laugh nearly leaves his throat, but he holds back. of course he would gravitate towards this book with a description like that.

with a heavy heart it tucks it back ontop of the pile of other unfinished tomes—the height of it becoming increasingly worrying—and hopes that the ending is a happy one.

Asmodeus can't stop talking about you.

without your presence, asmo delves himself deep into his social circles. it takes his mind off of how concerned he is about your well-being; he doesn't need to keep himself awake thinking on how much he misses you or how you might be missing him and the rest of his brothers.

well, at least he thinks he's taking his mind off of things. it's hard for anyone to put a word in once asmo starts opening his mouth, especially when the only thing that leaves from his parted lips every other sentence is your name.

if it wasn't evident in his conversations then it's evident in the way his shampoo has been swapped out for a fragrance you had always been more privy to, or the way his style has slightly shifted towards what style you like to wear. he picks up your habits like it's his own even if he doesn't notice it.

"oh, you'll never believe what they did next!" asmo laughs, his sing-song voice ringing above even the loud blasting of music from the party speakers.

one of the demons closest to him leans in closer, a sparkle in her eyes as she continues listening to his story. a story that he's been telling for the past two hours since they sat down. "what happens next?" she pries, genuinely curious.

the stories continue on for the rest of the night, until the music dies down and the crowd thins out. the female demon is still by asmo's side, a yawn leaves her lips and he mimics the notion.

asmo blinks, eyes trailing to the watch she wears loosely around her wrist. "oh! i didn't realize it was so late, sorry to keep you here for so long."

"not at all!" she smiles, waving her hand. "thank you for telling me such interesting stories! it's the most fun i've had this week. it's obvious you must care for this person a lot."

it's only when she says that does asmo realize you were the only topic of his conversation this entire night. a smile creeps to his lips before he can help it. it's the first time in a long while that he's thought of you without fearing about how you might be doing.

because it's you. and you're always getting out of every situation the world throws you in.

Beelzebub gravitates towards the food you eat.

alongside belphie, beel—like everyone else—makes regular visits to your room. it becomes his primary hangout spot now outside of his own shared bedroom and so the snack stash that you usually keep in a drawer under your desk has recently expanded.

it practically bursts at some points from how much he tries to stuff in there on some days, but it's always empty again by the end of the week. sometimes he finds items that he didn't buy settled on the top of the rest snacks, though they always seem to be foods that you enjoyed nibbling on.

he misses the food that you used to cook for everyone at the house of lamentation, and no matter how good simeon's cooking might be, it just isn't the same. still, he does his best to replicate it sometimes. maybe by the time you get back he can surprise you with a home-cooked meal... if he doesn't eat it first.

it's usually mammon or asmo that walks through the doors with half a dozen bags grasped in white knuckled grips, not beel, but here he is. in contrast to his older brothers, though, beels bags aren't filled with clothing or make-up, but food.

"are you sure you don't need help with that?" belphie asks, a little more than concerned at how even with how wide the doors are to the house of lamentation he was barely able to fit through the opening.

"it's fine," beel shakes his head. "this is nothing."

they make their trek to the kitchen with little difficulty. as beel said, those bags really did feel like they weighed nothing. "what do you think we should try making?"

"hmm," beel looks over their ingredients. they hadn't really thought that far ahead. whatever was on sale, they bought. "how about shadow pork ragu pasta?"

thankfully, with belphie's ability to keep himself conscious, he helps beel from continuously 'taste testing' their creation. it goes well until they're half-way through and the door opens, a head of blonde hair popping inside.

"i thought i smelled something here, what are you two doing? it's not your turn tonight for dinner duty." one look at the dish they're making though and satan gives a nod of understanding. it's the dish you had made for belphegor some time ago. "need some help?"

satan's help is very much needed as belphie was on his last winks and that meant there would be no one to keep beel in check either. by the time the pasta was finished there's five-too-many more servings than intended on the counter and four more demons surrounding it.

seems like they won't be having dinner in the dining hall today.

Belphegor takes your room as his own.

there's no other room in the house of lamentation that's as comforting as yours—that's simply a unanimous fact. and with the absence of your presence now, it's also the only place belphie can go to feel the closest to you.

he spends more time in your room now than he does in his shared room with beel and the attic combined. there are days where mammon sneaks inside during the night only to already find the twins loitering around, laying on your bed or sitting at the table having a snack (or at least, beel's definition of a snack).

while belphie admits he likes the time he spends in your room alone, he feels more at peace when his brothers decide to join as well, uninvited or not. it makes the days feel like they've gone back to normalcy, when you're still here and they can just relax in each other's company.

"mammon stop clinging to me, dammit! you're the one who wanted to watch a horror movie!" levi pulls away from his older brother as much as possible, holding a container of popcorn above his head to prevent it from spilling all over the floor and dirtying your carpet.

satan's groans are louder than any of their yelling, "quiet down! i can't focus on what the characters are saying! and beel your chewing too loud!"

"sorry," comes the prompt reply followed by even more chewing.

asmo leans his back on the bed frame, head tilting to the side in order to get a better view of belphie's face under the dim light of the monitor. "having fun?"

"what do you think?" he groans, pushing his head further into your pillow.

and while belphie can't see the expression asmo makes, he has a good prediction that he's grinning. "i think you're having fun. after all, you haven't kicked any of us out yet."

"it's not my room," he replies.

"but you know everyone would gladly leave if it meant you felt more comfortable."

the youngest brother turns his back. "you guys are too loud, i'm going to sleep."

"yes, yes, sleep well, belphie," asmo quips. "have nice dreams."

and he does.

even over the loud noises of his brothers yelling and the muffled sounds coming from the speakers of the tv, belphie finds that he hasn't fallen into a sleep this deep since you disappeared. and while morning comes eventually, he treasures the dream with you in it for as long as he can.

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blouisparadise · 3 months

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Today we have the fifth part of our short fic rec list! All of the fics on this list are a nice quick read that is less than 10k. If you missed the other parts to this rec list, you can find part one here, part two here, part three here, and part four here. Happy reading!

1) Shut Your Mouth, Baby | Explicit | 3,028 words

While fooling around in a closet at a New Year’s Eve party, Louis can’t seem to keep quiet. All he needs to do is hold off until midnight, when Harry will finally uncover his mouth and let him come at full volume.

2) Heaven In These Sheets | Explicit | 3,557 words

Bunny Hybrid Louis has it out for his boyfriend’s phone.

3) Tide’s Deathless Death | Explicit | 4,350 words

The Red Serpent gleamed in all of her marvellous glory from where she was anchored a meagre few miles away from the land. Her flag waving proudly in the afternoon sun. The image was certainly memorable, of the flag, that is; a serpent coiled viciously around a human heart, fangs sunken into the organ and blood oozing from the very spot. If not for the ship herself, the flag had its own repute of conveying the message that the captain was not to be trifled with. There was no single man who had survived after taking up arms against the captain. Well, there was one man, but including him amongst the hoard of common faces would be a foolishness on the feared-by-all captain’s part. That man currently stood silently staring after the captain, palm curled around the handle of his blade, and teeth clenched in anger. He was certainly going to relieve all the navies of their plight by taking down the captain. At least then, in his relatively newfound life of piracy, he would have done one good deed.

4) Always Tell The Truth | Not Rated | 5,027 words

Harry is Louis’ dentist and getting a wisdom tooth removed shouldn’t be the end of the world.

5) I Knew It From The Start | Explicit | 5,233 words

Louis starts calling Harry ‘daddy’. Consequently, Harry discovers that he has a daddy kink.

6) Spaces Between Us, Hold All Our Secrets | Not Rated | 6,441 words

The thing about Harry is, is that he is the most wonderful guy you´ll ever meet. He is kind, compliments you on things you are usually insecure about, which shows he truly pays attention to who you are as a person. And he befriends everyone. Except Louis.

7) Outline Of My Sins | Explicit | 6,551 words

Prompt 453: AU where alpha Harry is an art student who is taking a figure drawing class and omega Louis is the nude model. In the many years that Harry has taken art classes, he has never been more hot and bothered than now, having to stare at a beautiful nude omega model for hours.

8) Shouldn’t Cry (But I Love It) | Explicit | 6,586 words

They're roommates. They're quarantined. There's a small problem coming up.

9) Your Name Is Tattooed To The Bottom Of My Heart | Explicit | 6,613 words

Prompt 114: a PWP where Louis gets an arse tattoo with Harry’s name for his birthday.

10) Leave Like The Summer Breeze | Explicit | 6,551 words

When Louis and Zayn are stranded in Alabama, a farmer offers them shelter. He just asks for one thing in return.

11) Smile for the Camera for It Knows Everything, Hollywood Star| Mature | 6,676 words

Prompt 132- The story of Nancy Reagan being called the blowjob queen of Hollywood but it’s Louis.

12) The Writing On the Wall | Explicit | 6,705 words

When BookToker Louis receives a gift basket filled with all his favorite sweets, wines, and stuffed animals alongside the new Harry Styles book, he’s shocked at the story he finds in the pages.

13) Muffins & Cigarettes| Mature | 7,591 words

Louis pouts. “You can’t pout your way into this, Louis”, Harry said as he was fixing his tie, watch and rings glinting against the soft sunlight filtering through the window. “Of course, I can. Watch me.”

14) The Knothead Neighbor| Mature | 8,058 words

Prompt 3: Neighbors AU, preferably ABO! Harry works evenings/nights (maybe like a surgeon something that requires him to be gone for long hours) and has a cat. The cat has a little kitty door at the back so that it can explore and such. Louis just moved next door and the cat seems to always end up at his door. Eventually, Louis lets the cat in, as he’s new and he’s feeling quite lonely. They become fast friends, so much so that the cat prefers to stay with Louis rather than go home. Harry gets concerned that the cat starts to stay out all day/night so he eventually leaves a note attached to the cat’s collar with its name and phone number. Louis texts him telling him he’s his neighbor and not to worry, the cat just likes to hang with him as it might be lonely. Harry gets pissed that this stranger is stealing his cat so he goes to confront Louis and tell him to stop stealing his cat. Of course, as soon as he sees Louis, he falls in love with him and the rest is history. (If ABO could be cute that both Harry and Louis like to cuddle with the cat because it holds the other’s scent)

15) Kiss It Better | Explicit | 8,080 words

Harry shakes his head with a light laugh and leans down to kiss him again which Louis happily accepts even if he is a little confused by the reaction. "Baby, not a night has gone by that I haven't thought about you in my bed, naked, and begging for my cock." Blinking up at him with wide eyes, Louis opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out. While they did flirt a lot over the last few weeks, Harry had never said anything like that. It shocks him as much as it turns him on. "News to me." "I won't lie and say I like random hookups or casual sex, but to me this isn't what that is." Louis swallows thickly, unsure of what to say to that but once again Harry gives him an out. "So, If you want we can stay up here and I can show you all the things I've thought about doing to you." Another kiss, quick and sweet. "Or, we can go back downstairs and we'll dance all night."

16) Could Start A Cult | Explicit | 8,750 words

He lowers down the top that Louis is wearing, successfully unclasping his nursing bra as well, letting Louis’ tits bounce at the sudden movement. Harry massages both breasts to stimulate the milk flow, and he can feel his cock hardening inside his pants.

17) Should Be, Meant To Be | Explicit | 9,174 words

Prompt #65: Louis signs up for a Sugar Daddy dating website on a drunken dare. He forgets for a while, until one night he gets a notification for a message request from none other than his really hot (really rich) boss, Harry Styles.

18) Into It | Explicit | 9,197 words

Louis meets Harry. They hit it off.

19) Something To Prove | Explicit | 9,425 words

Louis is the first and only omega to work at Red Valley Medical Center. Despite being more than qualified, he still faces prejudice for his career choice everyday. From patients refusing his treatment to condescending alpha doctors intervening with his work, practicing medicine in Boston is more challenging than Louis had ever thought it would be.

20) Sugar Water | Explicit | 9,454 words

When his most familiar begins to feel all too unfamiliar, Harry finds out what it means to love like real people do.

21) Hook You Up (Charm You Down) | Explicit | 9,600 words

Swiftly, Harry raises his right hand to his head. Bringing two ringed fingers up, he touches the brown hat sitting on his head, tipping it with a raise of eyebrows in the direction of Peter Pan. He punctuates the whole action with his signature smirk. The reaction is almost immediate. Like Harry hoped it’d be. Though he expected the grin he received, he can’t say he directly expected the man to come forward his way. But he surely isn’t going to complain. “Captain! Fancy seeing you there,” Peter Pan says when he reaches Harry’s space. And wow. Seeing it from up close, Niall was right. Face of an angel, totally Harry’s type and all that.

22) Poppies In May | Mature | 9,603 words

And maybe he deserves it, Louis thinks bitterly. His hand curls around the fence tightly, and he feels like if he lets go he’ll slid onto the cold ground and never fucking get up again. Maybe standing here, staring at Harry’s hunched over, retreating back is what he deserves.

23) Wanna Do Nothing With You | Explicit | 9,606 words

The accident happens in the stupidest way possible. One minute Louis is demonstrating a skateboard trick he’d just learned for Lottie, the next he’s waking up in a hospital. He’s told that he wasn’t unconscious the entire ride, but he has absolutely no recollection of it. One second he’s fucking around in his own garden and the next he’s being assaulted with the strong sterile scent of a hospital. So. There’s that.

24) Hello, My Name is Louis | Explicit | 9,686 words

Louis hurried to hang up the phone and take off his headset, throwing it away as if it was burning hot. He hugged himself by the shoulders and hid his face in his knees, sitting in his desk chair like a swimmer ready to dip into a pool, a pool of embarrassment. Not many people got past "Hello, my name is… " and even fewer engaged in a full conversation with him. And if they did, it usually went better than this.

25) Got It Right Such A Long Time Ago | Explicit | 9,699 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

There are a lot of people Harry might expect to find on his doorstep at three o’clock in the afternoon these days. It could be the delivery man, come to drop off the pair of boots Harry impulsively ordered online last week. It could be one of his neighbors, dropping by to complain about how a party he’d thrown weeks ago had clogged up the street. It could also be any number of his friends in L.A., who stop by unannounced most days to mooch off Harry’s food or whisk him away to try some new yogurt shop. As a rule, it definitely cannot be Louis Tomlinson, although Harry’s blinked at least three times now, and it’s still Louis standing there, a backpack slung over his shoulder and a duffel bag at his feet.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

#bottom louis #top harry #larry #fic recs #blp #blp fic recs #short fics

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