#the prompt said the gold was on his forehead and i put it on his cheek lol

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

CONGRADULATIONS ON THE 100 FOLLOWERS!!!! Can I request Idia with the stargazing prompt? Can it please be romantic and fluffy? This event is so fun! I hope you have a wonderful day!!☆彡♡ :)

Stargazing; Idia Shroud

Content; Fluff, gender-neutral reader, romance

Word Count; 700+

AN; Thank you, Sofia! I hope you enjoy the fluffy Idia! He deserves to not always be a wet cat (affectionate) As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist

The heat of the day was finally gone. Dew covered the grass. Crickets chirped in the undergrowth. And above you were millions of stars, and visible galaxies and nebulas, not obstructed by decades of light pollution. It was beautiful. 

Sitting beside you on the blanket that was spread out to provide a somewhat comfy barrier between you and the ground, was Idia. He had the hood of his sweater tied on tight, as so to hide the fact that his hair was nearly neon pink, and a dead giveaway of how he was feeling. And even though he was out of his comfort zone, he wanted to join you. And he was happy that he did. Yes, he felt nervous, but it wasn’t just because he was out in public — it was because this was a date, an official date. And while the two of you sitting in his room and playing games or watching shows were technically dates, this was the first public one.

“Hey, Idia,” you tugged at his sleeve, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Do you have a favourite constellation? A planet?”

He cleared his throat and hesitantly held your hand in his. His hand shaking the slightest bit. “Not really,” he said quietly looking up to the sky. Well, his head was pointed up, but he wasn’t looking at the countless stars. He was looking at you from the corner of his eye. “And you?”

You hummed, looking up at the unfamiliar sky. “Pluto. It’s a planet from… from back home.”

Idia gently slipped his hand into yours and squeezed it. “I-if you want, you can talk about it,” he internally cringed. He hadn’t stuttered like that since he had truly started feeling comfortable around you.

You squeezed his hand back and leaned your head on his shoulder. “Well, it used to be a planet but then got demoted to a dwarf planet. Which is kind of ironic, seeing that it’s named after the Roman god of the underworld.” You sigh and turn to Idia, whose hood had slipped down, revealing his hair. It was a lovely shade of pastel pink, and it was the entirety of his hair, not just the tips. It cast the both of you in a soft rose light. “... a person people tend to underestimate and judge.”

Idia clamoured to get the hood over his head, but he was stopped by your hand, which gently placed the hood down. Why are they looking at me like I’m the milk bread protag in some cheesy shounen?! He was in his own head, but all of that went away when he felt your hand cup his face.

Idia was similar to Pluto, and not just in the themes of relating to the god of the underworld. For so long, people only saw them as unassuming. But when you get closer, then you can appreciate the beauty and tiny details. Someone that you would stand next to and defend at all costs, even when the rest of the world may say that you shouldn’t, that you should just let it be as is.

“I love you,” you whisper, looking into his gold eyes.

That was the first time you had said that, well, said it out loud. Maybe it was the fact that Idia did something out of his comfort zone for you, maybe it was the setting, or maybe it was something else entirely.

You place your forehead against his. “I love you, Idia Shroud,” you say again, still looking into his eyes.

If Idia’s hair were not already as bright and pink as it could go, it would have gotten brighter, but it was as bright as the sun. But his face was now warm, and he was holding eye contact; even though he wanted to hide. “I-I,” he shut his mouth, took in a deep breath and centred himself. He didn’t want his first time saying the phrase to be stuttered. He wanted it to be perfect. I can do this. “I love you too.”

Shyly, he placed a kiss on your cheek and held eye contact for a few moments before hiding back in his hood. He swore that you were more stunning than all the stars that glittered above.

#dove does events #100 follower event #twst #twst x reader #twst x gn reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x gn reader #idia shroud #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud x gn reader #decided to make this separate from the starsending event for some reason #idia will now not leave his hoodie; bro used up all his courage points for that move #also yes; reader's favourite planet is pluto; we all pack bonded over the planet #also kinda fitting and not just for the planet name; as pluto has two moons and there are two shroud brothers; idia and ortho #sofia! #idia shroud fluff #also going to beat my laptop next time it autocorrects 'idia' to 'india'

[oh-stars]

Finally

Parents

a Stobin Month 2024 prompt | Word count: 1520 | CW: referenced pregnancy (but mild) | Rating: T

--

“Are we assholes for not saying something sooner?” 

“They would have talked us out of it.” 

Robin hums as she rocks back and forth, eyes never leaving the sleeping baby in her arms. “Still feel like we should have given them a warning. If only so that they keep the volume down.” 

Steve pauses where he’s unpacking the baby’s go bag. “I didn’t think about that.” 

She glances up at him, eyebrow raised. “You seriously didn’t consider that inviting all of your little gremlins wouldn’t result in a category five sound explosion the second they cross the threshold? If they wait that long?” 

He waves her off. “Eddie’s going to let them in,” he says, “he’ll scare them into acting right.” 

“If you say so.” 

Before Steve can say anything, there’s a little snuffle from the bundle in her arms that has him scrambling to kneel beside her. He peers, eyes wide and voice the softest whisper he can manage as he asks, “Is he waking up?” 

“I think so,” she whispers. She looks at the cloud clock on the nursery wall. “Can you fix a bottle?” 

Steve leans forward and kisses the baby’s forehead. “You betcha. Be back in a flash.” 

He carefully steps away then darts out of the room. Robin rocks back and forth to the sounds of Steve and Eddie in the kitchen, trying to be quiet and failing miserably. They all have to get used to being softer around the house now that they’ve got a new little roommate.

It’s still a bit mindblowing that she and Steve have a baby now. 

They’ve been married since Robin turned eighteen for Upside Down reasons, in case something happened to either of them, they’d be the one in control of the medical decisions – not their clueless parents. And ten years later, the Upside Down fully behind them, it just hasn’t been a priority to undo it – not with the tax break and protection it gives them both. 

Of course, it’s totally platonic. Robin’s a proud gold star lesbian and Steve is… Steve. He tries to date, but his heart hasn’t been in it since he met Eddie. He can deny he’s not in love with Eddie all he wants, but friends don’t usually send you into a multi-year sexuality crisis. 

It was on Steve’s twenty-ninth birthday that the existential crisis hit him. 

“What if we never find anyone?” he said, turning to look at her. They’re laying in the driveway, stargazing as they share a bottle of wine but neither are up for drinking. “What if I never get to be a dad? What if–” 

“Why wouldn’t you get to be a dad?” 

“We’re getting old and I’m hopeless! I could barely get to first base with Sydney the other night,” Steve huffs. “I’m just not… It’s too hard to connect with people who don’t understand why I can’t sleep without a nightlight at fucking thirty–” 

“You’re not thirty yet,” Robin reminds him gently. 

“So not the point, Robs.” 

She sighs and scoots closer to lay her head on his shoulder. “I’d have a baby with you if I could,” she said, not sober enough to really make that kind of promise. And at the moment, they both knew it was just a comment, a throwaway line to try and make him feel better, but it stuck. It stuck with her. 

It was three weeks later when she caught him making faces at a baby in the soup aisle of the grocery store that she realized she could do that for him. She’s never really considered kids before, not as a viable option for her what with the whole gay thing, but the more she considered it, the more open she was. Having a baby with her best friend in the entire world, someone who has been by her side through both literal torture and tax season, seems like the best decision she could make. 

Robin didn’t say anything for another month, letting the idea simmer as she really considered if this is something she would want to do. In her heart of hearts, she knew Steve would say no at first but the second he knew she was being honest, that she really wanted this, he wouldn’t be able to say no. But it would put a huge damper on her romantic life for the foreseeable future and make it difficult moving forward forever. She’d have a kid to think about, because if she commits, she’s doing it right. 

It’s pretty clear they went through with it.

The whole experience has been kind of incredible. Surreal to say the least. 

And only Eddie and her parents knew. 

They still think she’s straight, that she and Steve are married for real. And she does love them, knows that if she ever got the courage to tell them she’s been platonically married for the past decade that they’d be confused but open to learning. So she couldn’t keep this secret from them. 

Eddie had to know, as their roommate it’d be impossible to hide it from him. “I think Uncle Eddie has a nice ring to it,” he’d said when they told him they were going to try and have a baby. He didn’t ask any of the weird questions she expects from the gremlins either, about how they conceived if she was a lesbian and all the whys they’d ask. Eddie understood it, has even been excited for it. 

All these months of preparing and anguishing over her decision and he’s finally here, in her arms. 

Baby boy squirms as he opens his eyes, letting Robin see the murky blue of his eyes once again. “Hi,” she whispers, shifting to run a knuckle down his cheek. “Today’s a big day for you, Bubs.” 

Steve walks back in with a bottle in his hands and a rag thrown over his shoulder. “Want me to feed him this time?” 

“Are you saying I need a break?”

“You smell like baby vomit.” He sets the bottle on the table beside her. “And I’m pretty sure there’s still spit up in your hair from his last feeding. I can take Bubs so you can shower.” 

“Don’t think she’s got shower time, Stevie,” Eddie says from the doorway. “Byers just called, they’re at the corner store for a pee break. Apparently Henderson couldn’t hold it another ten minutes.” 

Robin hands over the baby to Steve, with more reluctance than she anticipated. The hormones have hit her pretty hard postpartum and while she doesn’t have the natural instincts Steve seems to have, the attachment is very real. She heaves herself up from the chair with a wince, body still sore everywhere. “It’ll take me ten minutes just to pee,” she huffs, glaring at Eddie. 

He holds up his hands. “Just saying.” 

Steve sits in the rocker and grabs the bottle, putting it to Bubs lips with a sweet coo. “Eddie can stall them if you need more time?” She can’t help but feel warm at the sight. He looks so at peace holding their son, holding his baby, the one she carried for him and will raise alongside him. This really is what he was meant to do and Robin helped him get to this point. And now, no matter what happens to either of them, there’s a little piece of Steve and a little piece of Robin in that precious boy. Her precious boy. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, “I made sure the baby evidence was hidden away from the living room.” 

“And I took care of the kitchen.”

“So you won’t miss the surprise on their faces,” Eddie adds. 

She makes her way to the door and nods, then pauses to turn back to Steve. “And you’re still sure letting Erica name our kid is a good idea?” 

Steve shrugs as much as he can without disturbing the baby. “Do you really want to tell her that we’re backing out of the deal?” 

Robin wrinkles her nose. “Not particularly.” 

“Then I think it’s our safest bet. And hey,” he grins down at Bubs, “at least Erica will have a sensible name in mind. Unlike Eddie who suggested Beelzebub.” 

“Beelzebub Buckley is a badass name.” 

Robin swats his shoulder on her way out the nursery. “We’re not naming my son after Satan.” 

“You call him Bubs!” Eddie points out, following her towards her bedroom.

“Yeah, for Bubbles,” she huffs. “He felt like bubbles in my gut and the name stuck. You were there. You should know this.” 

Eddie opens her door for her. “Need a hand?” he asks. 

“No, unfortunately, you cannot help with this next part,” she says as she heads for the en suite. “Just go stall.” 

“Yes ma’am,” Eddie says with a salute. 

Robin rolls her eyes and holds off on smiling until he shuts the door behind him. She takes a deep breath and enjoys the first five minutes of alone time she’s had since she went into labor five days ago. It may be fleeting, but she’ll enjoy every second she has of it. 

So so worth it, though.

--

Thank you @lady-lostmind for beta reading!

Ao3 Link

This is the first prompt I kind of want to explore more in a serious sense, so let me know if you want to see more of Stobin and Bubs (with eventual Steddie ofc).

#ohstars fic #steve harrington #stranger things #robin buckley #stobin month 2024 #ohstars posting challenge #platonic soulmates stobin #platonic stobin #stobin

[ohdeerfully]

hii! i just read everything you've posted and am obsessed. can you possibly write an alastor x fallen angel!reader? i would just love to see the interactions! -🐈‍⬛ anon

HIII 🐈‍⬛ im sorry this took one hundred thousand days to write. but at least its fairly long!!!!!! 4k words

honestly i cant imagine alastor warming up to an angel very quickly, like he would probably haaate reader for a long time before being like "actually u know what <3"

though that being said this can definitely be read as a platonic story since theres no romance (though maybe ill write a romantic fallen!reader someday)

anyway hope u enjoy!! mwah!

Welcome to Hell

alastor x reader TW: heavy descriptions of gore WITH the reader, reader is heavily wounded, alastors a dick, cursing obviously, thats it i think join my discord!

PLS READ: im putting the story immediately under a read more because it jumps really quickly into gore, so if ur uncomfy with that please dont read on!

◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈

“Hey, bitch,” A dangerously whispered voice spoke in your ear after you shooed away a small demon, sending all the warning bells in your body ringing. You stood and braced yourself to run, but—

The sensation of bone and arteries being savagely torn from your shoulder blades sent flaming, white hot pain through your body, setting every nerve ablaze and prompting a scream of agony through your lips. Your throat quickly became sore with the intensity of your cries as you crumpled over yourself, tightening your arms around yourself in a useless attempt at comforting the pain away.

Knife-like sensations rolled through your body, leaving you struggling to catch your breath and see through tears. You lifted your gaze from your trembling, bloody-gold hand onto the two who stood above you, one looking down with a twisted smirk and the other a disgusted sneer. The man still held your ripped wings between his claws. You could barely hear the ambience of terrified screaming that surrounded you through the heartbeat in your ears.

“Angels like you sicken me,” Lute said, chin tilted up in superiority. “You don’t even deserve that title.” She brought a foot up and then down onto your shoulder, shoving you onto your chest. The movement made you scream as another flash of pain ignited in your back. You balled your hands into fists, pulling them against your chest as you pressed your forehead against the hot ground, trying to catch your breath once again.

You sat, hunched, for what felt like hours. Maybe it was hours, as when you finally came to your senses the atmosphere was eerily silent. Adam and Lute were long gone. You only heard the faint noise of cannibalistic demons tearing apart bodies, and the occasional rustle of trash or paper being thrown in the wind across a deserted street. The recognition made you sit up—oh, shit, too fast. Your vision practically vanished as your head became light. You tried to catch yourself with your hands before you fell backwards, but considering the nature of your wound; ripped flesh directly over your shoulder blades… your elbows buckled at the intense sting.

I’m so fucking stupid, you cursed yourself as you contemplated your situation, deciding that it would be better to not try to stand up and walk around right now. Honestly, you’d be surprised if bloodloss didn’t kill you, considering the glistening puddle that had formed around you. You had managed to slowly scoot into a somewhat secluded corner and rested your head against the brick wall. Uncomfortable, but all things considered… it might as well be a five star hotel bed to you. Your eyes shut.

“Come on—...never know-”

“If you think— unpredictable—”

The two things you noticed when you came to were a broken conversation and an uncomfortable prickling sensation on your skin. You struggled to crack open your eyes, dried blood nearly pasting your left eye together. When you finally managed, you still had trouble focusing.

Two blurry, tall demons stood in front of you. Despite the fact they were demons, it felt considerably less imposing than the two that were in front of you earlier that day—was it still the same day? Still, you were on high alert and grabbed for where you thought you had left your weapon. You palmed at empty concrete. You cursed both at the lack of your tool for self defense and at the fact the two noticed you were now conscious.

“I do hope you don’t mind,” An amused bark of laughter erupted from the taller of the two, which forced your gaze back towards them. “We confiscated your little prong for our safety.” You blinked rapidly, squinting slightly till you could finally focus your eyes and actually get a good look at them. Surely enough, your trusty spear was held tightly between red claws.

To your right was an oddly friendly looking girl with blond hair and the reddest cheeks you had ever seen, who stood with a slight bend at the hip and hands on her knees as she peered down at you. Her brows were turned up and furrowed with what you guessed was worry, although the thought was shocking considering… the circumstances, you mused gravely when another rush of throbbing pain coursed through your body, reminding you of the giant wound on your back. You hadn’t noticed yourself wince, but the woman in front of you did, what with the way her hand shot forward as if wanting to help you. She paused, unsure.

You turned your head to the voice, taking in the demon next to her. He was just a bit taller, and incredibly… red. Red coat, red hair, red eyes… a little excessive, maybe—though, it didn’t really matter what you thought of his fashion choices, because the overwhelming and ominous feeling of dread ensnared your thoughts. He bent at the hip in a similar manner to the girl next to him, though the movement seemed somehow much less natural. The ever-present radio noise in the air increased in volume as his face inched closer. Meeting his gaze seemed to cause your mind to fill with a buzzing emptiness, prickling your entire being and causing your skin to tickle with goosebumps. Although you’ve never met him before, you knew by aura alone the power he held, especially over you in this situation. It was frankly obvious that he knew, too, for he stood with practiced leisure, leaning his weight onto his cane with one hand as he fidgeted curiously with your spear in the other. You immediately switched your gaze towards the friendlier of the two, who still seemed to be fighting a mental war, her still outstretched hand twitching as she considered her next move.

With a brief, sideways look towards her companion, she smiled gently and outstretched her hand in your direction. You eyed it suspiciously, gaze flicking between her and her hand. She had to have ulterior motives, right? Maybe she was just leading you somewhere where you could be finished off. Or something. Adam always insisted that the demons were far to “fucking stupid” to know how to hurt, let alone kill an angel, but that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t resort to various strange experiments and tests. They were demons, after all. In Hell.

Though, you had to admit to yourself with a sigh, at this point, I’m not any different than them. You figured “fallen angel” could even be a worse title than demon, because how horrible of a being do you have to be to fall from holy stature? Was saving the life of a demon, a child, at that, so evil?

It wasn’t worth thinking about, you decided. You were here. In Hell. Fuck.

You raised an embarrassingly trembling hand and cautiously received her own, and fought yourself to keep from ripping away as her slender fingers wrapped over yours. You were watching her movements sharply, nearly flinching when her black manicured nails glinted as they caught a light. Even still, her expression regarded you with so much undeserved compassion, a softness in the subtle curve of her eye, that you let your shoulders relax. She pulled you gingerly to your feet, and caught you against her steady shoulder when you nearly fell.

“I’m Charlie, by the way,” She said. Although she seemed hesitant earlier, every minute that passed seemed to confirm some unknown idea in her head as she slowly grew more vibrant and excited. Even still, she remained otherwise calm and gentle, her body holding strong to support nearly your full weight. She shot a look at the other demon.

“Oh! I apologize for my manners,” You weren’t even lookin at him—his voice alone sent a weird feeling down your back. You turned to look. “Alastor! A pleasure to meet you my dear, quite a pleasure!”

You finally turned to look, and noticed he didn’t hold his hand out, but rather the blunt end of your spear. When you reached to grab it, maybe to yank it away from him—not that you had any intention of fighting back at this point—you found that he still held a vice-like grip to it. When your fingers closed around the stick, he merely shook it, as if the weapon was an extension of his own hand. You weren’t really sure whether or not to take it as an insult.

Charlie seemed indifferent to Alastor’s antics, and you started a bit when she seemed unable to control herself any longer, and began blabbering about some hotel and some plan she had. She spoke with such a furious speed that you wondered if anybody could decode her words. She paused, suddenly, to take in a long breath, but the other demon interrupted her before she could begin again.

“Charlie, while I love watching you try so desperately, I’m not sure beings of their ilk are fit for your idea.”

Ilk? Sure, you understood him holding caution to your presence, considering you were an angel, but come on! Circumstances have changed for you! You opened your mouth, planning to make some retort (that you had not yet planned out) but Charlie quickly beat you to it.

“No! Alastor, come on, I know they’re… was one of them, but that gives them all the more reason to want to follow my plan… right..?” She looked down at you, where you still leaned heavily on her shoulder as the three of you slowly walked down the street. You honestly weren’t sure what they were talking about—you barely managed to catch a single word she rattled about earlier. You gave a weak shrug and a nod, just to be agreeable.

Alastor only gave a dismissive ‘hmm’ in return, and picked up his pace to walk in front of Charlie and you. In fact, he kept his pace and just continued walking away, down the sidewalk, around a corner, and gone. Personally, you didn’t mind. The air was noticeably lighter without his presence.

Charlie sighed in defeat, but didn’t mention it. She seemed accustomed to his behavior. You silently expressed your sorrows for her; even if he was nicer than he appeared, which you doubted heavily, he was likely still an exhausting guy to be around. 

The walk was long and unbearably painful for you, each labored step sending pulses of sore pain through your body, and your back occasionally exploding in needles that would halt you in your tracks. Charlie was incredibly patient, and you couldn’t even begin to word how thankful you were for her. Being one of two demons you had encountered since falling, you began wondering what else was in store for you down here for what you assumed may be the rest of your eternity.

You didn’t have long to ponder, as it seemed enough time passed since the extermination for demons to start their usual routines. And man, what routines they had. If you weren’t in imminent danger, you would find the scene almost comically chaotic. There were projectiles smashing through windows, sending shards everywhere, and fires erupting from said windows. Your eye caught the glinting of weapons in the hands of various demons, which some were… actively using to stab another demon. And, of course, when bodies fell there were at least two pit-eyed cannibalistic creatures that would descend on the corpse like starved dogs. You clung close to Charlie, who seemed unnervingly calm in the situation. Surprisingly, even with the lack of a weapon or any means of self-defense, nothing came at you.

Seeming to sense your unease, she looked at you with a calming smile. “Charming, huh?” She joked lightly. She grimaced slightly at the sound of a scream being cut short by a loud bang. “It’s not usually… this bad. They’re just worked up after extermination. That’s when the crazies hit.”

Yeah, you silently mocked. Yeah, starting fires and murdering people is being ‘worked up.’ Cool. You only nodded in response, not really finding anything nice to say. And, honestly, anything you said would probably seem hypocritical given the fact you were an exterminator mere hours ago. Luckily for you, she seemed content enough at that. She started to talk again about where she was taking you, a bit slower this time, obviously half focused on keeping you supported.

“So, my Hotel kind of just started, and Alastor is in the process of making a commercial to get some attention. I think he said it would be done today.”

You nodded wordlessly. Part of you felt a little guilty, not having much to say despite Charlie’s efforts to welcome you and take care of you, especially compared to her constant rambling. She didn’t seem to notice, though.

She re-explained her whole idea, undeniably proud of her plan. Sinners working on themselves to get redeemed? To leave Hell and climb those glittering steps to Heaven?

Absolutely unheard of.

Maybe it was your internal biases talking, but you could not imagine the possibility. If it was possible, why hadn’t somebody showed up at the gates from Hell before? You held back a roll of your eyes, feigning support and interest to the best of your ability.

After an achingly long journey, you finally reached the stone path that led to a rather plain, but tall building. It looked sleek and well built, but you couldn’t help but notice the tacky blinking lightbulbs that formed arrow shapes towards the entrance and the huge, spelled out name of the hotel. 

Hazbin Hotel.

You stifled a laugh as you looked up at the signage.

“Well! We’re here!” Charlie announced, brandishing her arm forward and sweeping it in a ‘viola’ motion. Your eyes traveled over the expanse of the property, noticing how many windows lined every wall. Were there that many demons here?

You were answered nearly immediately when Charlie opened the door to the hotel and you found yourself in a nearly empty lobby. It was kind of sad, honestly. There was a cat-like bartender and a long-limbed pink demon splayed across the couch, but other than that…

The demon next to you scratched the back of her head, and gave you a light smile. She jerked her head towards the door as if inviting you, but to be fair you didn’t really have any choice but to go wherever she led you.

“Ooh, fresh meat,” The pink-ish demon with a striped top shot upright, eyeing you wryly with a cocked brow. He stood and took long strides forward, one pair of arms on his hips and the other crossed under his rather… voluptuous chest. 

“Eyes up here, toots,” He snapped a finger, but when you met his eyes you could tell he was all jokes. You gave him a tight smile in response.

You heard the sound of quick steps and an already aggravated looking face appeared from the upper level, quickly descending the steps. You felt an ice-cold feeling of familiarity when you saw a gray-skinned, white haired angel—or, well, fallen angel at this point—stop in front of you. She apparently felt a similar feeling, though her response was much more rapidly aggressive. With a narrowed eye and tense shoulders, she manifested an angelic spear and held it at the ready. You tried to remove yourself from Charlie’s hold, desperate to be able to defend yourself even in your sorry state, but her protective grip held you fast against herself. You struggled only for a moment, but the exhaustion coursing through every vein stopped you. Man was she strong.

“What is someone like them doing here,” The other questioned in a hiss, her lips curled in a sneer. She eyed you up and down suspiciously, likely analyzing your capacity of harming anybody in the room. Admittedly you couldn’t blame her caution. 

When your lips parted, planning to shoot an accusatory in retort, the tip of her spear shot to your lips, effectively shutting you up. There was a look in her eye, behind the rage and caution, that you somehow recognized as a silent plea. A plea for what? To stay quiet? Not state the obvious recognition you two shared? Did the others somehow not know she was an angel? Whatever it was, you obliged and swallowed a lump in your throat.

“Vaggie, please,” Charlie spoke in a tumble, rushing her free hand to press the point of ‘Vaggie’s weapon away from your face. “She’s practically one of us now. Don’t go threatening my new guests every time they walk through the door! We can’t scare them away…”

“Angels aren’t guests Charlie,” Vaggie’s voice seemed strained as she held pinched fingers on the bridge of her nose. “We literally just had an extermination.”

“I know,” Charlie pressed, the tone of her voice conveying some sort of desperate ‘just go with it and calm down.’ “But… obviously she was an outcast, unwanted by Heaven. Just like us, right?” 

You furrowed your brows and looked at her through the corner of your eye, but decided not to fight for your dignity. She wasn’t even wrong.

Vaggie seemed easily defeated by Charlie’s words, yielding quickly to her words and putting her spear away. You briefly wondered where your own was. Charlie gave Vaggie a thankful smile, a light kiss on the cheek—to which the angel blushed—and led you carefully into a nearby room. 

It seemed to be some type of medical room, and Charlie quickly got to work dragging a warm rag over the dried blood that left streaks down your skin. You grabbed her wrist, and she looked up at you, a little confused.

“I can wash myself, I’m not that useless,” You argued, using your other hand to pull at the rag.

“But, you can barely—” 

“Charlie,” You said, more stern than you meant to, which you immediately regretted after the taken aback expression on her face. Considering you barely spoke a word since meeting her, it was no wonder she seemed surprised at your sudden brash tone. You tried to speak more gently. “Please, just let me wash myself off. I’ll need your help dressing my wounds, anyway, it’s the least I could do.”

She pondered for a moment, but nodded, smiled, and left you to it. She left the room with a quick ‘call me when you’re’ done, closing the door with a gentle click. You sighed, finally enjoying a moment of privacy. You looked at yourself in the mirror, a sick feeling churning in your stomach.

It was still you, staring back, but it somehow at the same time wasn’t. Golden streaks tainted your gray skin, crusts of blood still grabbing at the corners of your eye and matting your hair. You briefly brushed a hand through the strands, but promptly gave up after your fingers caught on multiple knots. You’d have to wash it out.

For now you focused on just wiping the blood and grime off of your skin, especially around the wounds. You were incredibly tender when you reached your back, elbow bent awkwardly over your face as you tried to reach the marred flesh. You tried positioning your arm under your armpit, hoping for a better angle, but it was still no use. Even when you managed to get close to the wound, every touch sent stinging pain down your back. On top of all that, you could barely see where you were dragging the damp cloth, neck struggling to crane enough to look in the mirror.

The door opened suddenly, and with it a sense of impending doom and static sensations encased you. You froze, eyes darting towards the entrance. Even though you knew exactly who would stand there, you still couldn’t help the sick surprise that twisted your gut.

Alastor stood in the entrance, eyes half open and brows raised as he examined you bent in so many awkward ways. 

“How’s our new vulture doing,” He asked suddenly, eyes lighting up in an overly cheerful manner. He entered the room without much invitation, circling you. You felt like prey being stalked and toyed with by a wolf. Your eyes diligently followed until he took up a spot behind you. “Charlie got caught up in something, so she asked me to help you.”

You watched him in the mirror as he looked down at the torn flesh of your back, his long, clawed finger tapping at his chin while his other hand thrummed against the head of his cane.

“A ghastly sight you are,” He commented, meeting your gaze in the mirror. His hand pointed down at your back. “That wound of yours is rather unpleasant, too.”

You frowned and opened your mouth to shoot something back, though you didn’t know if you wanted to throw curses or insults back at him. Any words you may have said died on your tongue as the look in his eyes darkened, and his smile curled impossibly higher, more sinister. 

He leaned down, positioning his head just next to yours, still meeting your eyes in the mirror. Every inch of proximity caused the prickling on your skin to increase, and the static in your ears to grow louder.

“Let’s patch you up, then!” He straightened himself out, walking towards a cabinet and quickly grabbing various tools from different shelves. “While I’m not in the business of playing doctor to someone like you, I can’t deny the Princess.” His voice seemed all too cheery for the rude words he spoke, and that smile on his face never faltered. You briefly thought about him referring to Charlie as “princess,” but quickly dismissed it. You’d think about it later—right now, you had to be ready to make a run for it in case that feeling of doom that loomed over you came to fruition.

Alastor approached you again with a small tray of medical supplies, and pulled thin gloves over his hands with a brief snap, saying something about the importance of being sanitary, but part of you wondered if he was just making more jabs at you regarding his disdain for angels.

Surprisingly he seemed to know what he was doing, working quickly with different types of wipes and stitches and gauze. He was being rougher than likely necessary, pretending to accidentally poke a claw into your open wound and pressing his tools far too firm against your sore skin. You bore it with gritted teeth and narrowed eyes, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of putting you through a miserably painful half hour. 

After it was finally over you drew out a long sigh and watched as he discarded the gloves and washed his hands. And washed his hands. And washed his hands. And… still he’s washing his hands. You began to wish you counted the seconds.

He turned to you after finally finishing up, shaking water off his hands. He didn’t seem to recognize that he was flicking droplets directly on you. If you weren’t in such a weak state and absolutely terrified of him, you probably would’ve made some effort to stop him, but now… you opted to let him get away with it. For now.

“Now, if that’s all…” He turned, waving a hand at you dismissively. “I’d prefer you keep out of my business from here on.”

No fucking problem, you agreed to yourself. He didn’t even have to ask. You couldn’t imagine bearing to be around him unless absolutely necessary. Though, in an effort to maintain pleasantries…

“Thanks, though,” You called, not trying to hide the hint of dislike in your tone. Your words made him stop, hand just barely hovering over the knob to the door. After a brief moment, his head turned slightly, just enough for him to look at you out of the corner of his eye.

Although it was brief, you saw a glint of what you assumed was malice in his eye as his lips twitched and curled, momentarily revealing the black of his gums. His face quickly returned to his regular facade of cheer. He opened the door, not saying anything in return, and quickly took his leave, slamming the door behind him.

You drug your hands down your eyes, looking at yourself once again in the mirror. Cleaner now, but still rough. You thought deeply about what your future here would be like, especially around Alastor. If he was truly Charlie’s right-hand-man, you doubted avoiding him would be easy, despite how desperately you wanted to.

Yeah. This is Hell.

#ohdeerfully #🐈‍⬛ #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor x you #charlie morningstar #alastor x reader platonic #platonic x reader #cutely adds one million tags #gore #tw: gore

[fili-urzudel]

Omg congrats on 50+ followers!! 🎉 Could I request "what do you have behind your back" with #4 play wrestling from the prompt list? With Aragorn/fem reader? Potentially fluff at the end? Thank you!! ❤️

4. Play wrestling

21. "What do you have behind your back?"

I knew I was going to have trouble with the play wrestling prompt as soon as I put it out there 😅 Hopefully this meets your fluff requirements!

Word Count: 0.6k

Warnings: just cute, maybe a very teensy weensy bit suggestive but it's barely there I promise

Take a Break - Aragorn x Reader

You almost regretted leaving the bathwater before it had gone cold, but there was no time. You had said as much to the king last night. There was no time to take a day off and stay in the bath, or in bed. There was too much to do, especially with the approach of his silver jubilee and the ball and the kingdom-wide, week-long festivities...

Yes, much too much to attend to. There was no time to indulge your tired, sore muscles or aching eyes.

You emerged from the bathing chamber in your lace shift, briefly finishing the braid of your still-damp hair. 

You would wear something simple today, so it wouldn't require any help to put on, and leave your hair as it was. The satin slippers would do today, since you weren't going outside. All that was left was—

"Where's my crown?" You ask, your heart involuntarily jumping. It was always on your dressing table. Or your head, obviously.

Your husband stood leaning against the opposite wall, one hand behind his back. "Hm, that's strange, I have no idea," he pondered, looking for all the world like the cat that definitely got the canary.

"Darling, what do you have behind your back?" You asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Nothing," he widened his eyes innocently. "What are you talking about?"

"Aragorn, I need my crown," you said seriously. "I have a meeting with the incendiary specialists in an hour, and you know firework makers, they're remarkably punctual."

"Not the one I know," he argued, and you sighed. 

"Hand it over," you held your hand out. 

He straightened to his full height, holding your gold band over his head. "Or what?"

You ground your heels into the floor, knowing what you had to do. The two of you had played this game before, though it had been about ten years since the last time. You leapt in vain in the hopes of snatching the crown from his hand, but you knew he was too tall for it to make a difference. He caught you by your waist, spinning you to the center of the room. 

"Aragorn!" You squealed. 

"Yes, my lady?" He smirked.

You waited until he set you back down to strike, bolting for his middle. He gasped in defeat, tumbling onto the bed and caught rather like a beetle on the plush blankets. "Brought low by amateur wrestling tactics!" He cried.

"You will surrender and hand over my crown at once, sir!" you said, clambering over him and toward his still outstretched arm.

"Never!"

A quiet knock suddenly sounded at the door, followed by a click of the latch. "Your majesty, will you be requiring any assistance this morning? You're usually in the dressing room—oh! Excuse me," the maid's voice suddenly raised an octave.

The deep rumble of Aragorn's laugh beat against your chest as you froze in mortification. You groaned and dropped your forehead to his shoulder, cheeks burning in embarrassment. 

"I have a feeling no one will be bothering us for a while now," he said triumphantly. 

You thought about that for a while, and finally started laughing a bit as well. "I feel bad, I'm pretty sure I gave Lisbet an eyeful."

"Aw, and what about me?"

You sat up a bit more to look him in the eye, brushing a lock of greying hair out of his eyes. "You always get just what you want, don't you?"

"Well, what's the point of being king otherwise?"

#lotr fanfic #lotr #lotr fandom #lotr headcanons #aragorn son of arathorn #aragorn x reader #aragorn imagine #lord of the rings imagine #aragorn request

[kay-elle-cee]

@jilytoberfest 31 Prompts: Day 15 || 668 Words || Read on Ao3 —

The bloke in the corner booth has been there for twenty minutes now. Lily’s already taken his drink order and has been rebuffed twice when she’d asked if he was ready to order, the man insisting that someone was joining him. He looks up from his phone and catches her staring, his eyes widening slightly behind his glasses as a resigned smile settles on his lips and he raises a hand to flag her over.

Trying to tame the flush that’s creeping up her neck from being caught staring, she walks over with a smile. “Would you like something while you wait?”

The man grimaces. “Actually, I think just the check for this”—he gestures at the half-drunk glass in front of him.

Lily nods, trying not to let too much sympathy show on her face as she turns to ring up his total. As she’s walking towards the back of the house she shakes her head in a bit of disbelief at how anyone would stand another person up, let alone one that looks like that. Something in her chest tightens a little as she remembers how easy his smile had been when she’d first greeted him and taken his drink order. That was someone who had something to look forward to—and she had watched as he gradually deflated with every glance at his phone, every time he had to tell her that he was waiting to order until someone arrived.

Led more by a feeling than her actual brain, Lily comps the drink and enters an order for sticky toffee pudding. She hovers around, waiting for only a few minutes before it’s presented to her, and suddenly feels embarrassed as she walks her way over to the table. It had seemed like a nice gesture at the time of putting the order in, but does it read as too much as an act of pity?

His eyes catch hers as she gets closer, his brows raising and disappearing under black curls that fall over his forehead. 

“I didn’t order this,” he says uncertainly, glancing down at the dish that she’s placed in front of him.

“It’s on the house.”

His attention is back on her, and the slight pull of his lips sends heat rushing to her cheeks. “So, a pity pudding? Is this what you do for blokes who get stood up?”

“If you don’t want it—”

“I never said that,” he assures, pulling it a little closer to him. “I’m just trying to understand, so I know how to cheat the system in the future.”

Lily grins. “You’d have to hop restaurants, and I’m afraid I can’t guarantee every waitress will be as nice as I am.”

The man is fully smiling back at her now, pudding forgotten in between them. “Is that so? And why would I have to hop restaurants?”

“Because you’re very memorable and no one would believe you’ve been stood up more than once.” Lily realizes what she’s said as silence settles around them and she quickly clears her throat. “I need to check on my other tables, but, er, enjoy!” She turns on her heel and squeezes her eyes shut in mortification before taking a step.

“Wait,” she hears from behind her. “This thing is massive. I can’t finish it by myself.”

Slowly, she looks, and that easy smile is back on his face—similar to how it had been at the beginning of the night. His eyes—brown, flecked with gold and green—are looking at her, hopeful, and she knows without the explicit words what he’s asking.

A small exhale escapes her lips as her gaze darts to the clock on the wall before. 7:50.

“I can’t…not while I’m on the clock.” He deflates a bit, nodding in understanding as he leans back in his chair, and Lily’s stomach flutters. “But I get off in ten.”

A grin splits his face and he pushes the pudding away to the other side of the table.

“Ten minutes? I can wait.”

#it's (always) you #jilytober2023 #james potter #lily evans #jple #31 prompts

[writemekpop]

Bad Decisions | Na Jaemin

5K Follower Series Ep. 17

Summary: You’re set to say, I do - until your fiancé Jaemin gets drunk and confesses that he no longer loves you.

Genre: Established relationship AU, angst 

Word Count: 1.4k

Prompt : “I made us dinner...”

As soon as you opened your apartment door, Jaemin crashed into you, wrapping you in a bear hug that left you breathless. 

“Can’t- breathe-” you chuckled.  

Jaemin loosened his grip, but kept his arms around your waist. He hadn’t held you like that in months.  

“Y/n!” he exclaimed. “You didn’t tell me you were so pretty!” He wrapped one piece of your hair around your ear. “Pretty… pretty… pretty…”  

You frowned at his very red face. “Have you been drinking?” 

Grinning lazily, he pushed you till your back was pressed against the wall. He dipped his lips to your neck, making you gasp. Jaemin hadn’t kissed you like this in months. 

“Come to bed, fiancé?” he asked. “I’m rock hard.” 

You could taste the tang of tequila on his lips, you could smell it coming off his skin. 

You bit your lip. “I don’t know if this is a good idea…” 

Jaemin pushed his finger on your lips, shushing dramatically. 

Jaemin pulled you towards the bedroom. Why did Jaemin have to make life so hard for you? Every piece of better judgement you had was screaming that this was a bad idea. But still… you wanted him.  

Jaemin kissed you on the mouth, his hands cupping your head. You started to lose yourself in his warm grasp, all doubts evaporating like smoke.

Then suddenly, his knees caved in and he collapsed, pinning you against the bed. 

You groaned, crushed by his weight. “God, J, you promised this wouldn’t happen again.”

A siren wailed outside the window. 

Jaemin slumped his head on your shoulder. “Think I’m gonna be sick.” 

You managed to help him to the bathroom just in time. You got a towel and dabbed the sweat off his forehead. 

Once you’d cleaned Jaemin up and put him bed, you slumped down beside him, exhausted. 

Jaemin was suspended in the place between wake and sleep. Sex was definitely off the table now.   

Jaemin nuzzled his face into your neck. “Sorry I got… drunk.” 

You sighed. “It’s fine. Just promise me you won’t be like this at the wedding.”

“Mmm, wedding.” Jaemin said, eyes shut, drifting in and out of sleep.

You closed your eyes and imagined Jaemin in a blue tuxedo, eyes beaming. 

“Don’t wanna get married…” he said. “Can’t go back… gave my word.” 

Your eyes went wide. You stared at Jaemin, but his eyes were shut. Was that the tequila talking?  

“Don’t tell Y/n…” Jaemin mumbled in his sleep. “But… don’t love her no more…”  

You couldn’t breathe. You were filled with a sickening sense of dread. 

You’d barely seen each other since the proposal, but you figured that was because of your jobs. Had Jaemin been avoiding you? Had he found someone else? 

Was your relationship really over? 

— 

You woke up to the sound of the vacuum screaming.  

You sat up and saw Jaemin frantically hoovering the bedroom carpet. You didn’t even think he knew where the hoover was. 

“Good morning, sweetie! Last night was crazy. I got so drunk. I don’t remember a single thing. Nothing. Nada. Crazy, right?” 

You frowned. “Jaemin… last night, you-“ 

Jaemin cut you off. “Mad what alcohol does to you, right?” He threw his head back and laughed manically. 

Your mouth fell open. “But you-“

“Wow, I’m so late for work. I’ll catch ya later, Y/n!” 

He dropped the hoover and ran out of the room. 

You stared at the door in disbelief. Why was Jaemin acting so strange? You shuddered. 

You stayed at work as long as you could, dreading coming home to face Jaemin. But eventually, your boss insisted you go home. 

When you got home, the apartment was silent. You sighed. Hopefully Jaemin was out. 

But then, Jaemin rushed into the hallway. 

“You’re home!” Jaemin pulled you in for a hug. “I made us dinner…” 

You followed him into the dining room. When you saw the table, you gasped.  

The table was scattered with rose petals, and a heart shaped balloon floated above your chair. In glittery gold writing, the balloon said, “I LOVE YOU.” 

Tears pricked at your eyes. “Is this some kind of joke?”  

Jaemin’s brows shot up. “No! Can’t I make a romantic dinner for my fiancé?” 

You sat down, knees threatening to give way. “Jaemin, I know…”

Jaemin slumped down in his chair. He swiped his brow. “K-know what? Last night? Nothing happened last night?” 

“So you do remember what happened! Tell me what’s going on!” 

 Jaemin gulped. “Are we really gonna do this now?” 

“Jaemin, please! D-do you not love me anymore?”

He took in a sharp breath, as if you’d physically wounded him. You let yourself hope. Maybe it really was just a stupid dream. Maybe he did still love you.

 And then he spoke. 

 “I… I… don’t… know how I feel, about you…” 

You didn’t realise how much it would hurt to hear it - to have your worst fears come true.

“Thi-this was the plan? Just lie to me forever? Or, I don’t know, ditch me on my wedding day?” You balled your hands into fists. “Or maybe you’d never tell me. Maybe you’d just cheat on me behind my back!” 

Jaemin sighed. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you! I hate seeing you all… upset.” 

You scoffed. “Oh, don’t pretend you give a damn how I feel.” You were trying your hardest to keep the tears in. 

Suddenly, you were too overcome to speak. You sat down on the couch, burying your head in your hands as hot tears welled in your palm.  

Finally, you whispered, “Where did we go wrong? Was it… something I did?”   

Jaemin put his hand over yours, shaking his head. “It’s nothing like that, Y/n. I think we’re just… better off as friends. It’s my fault for letting this go on for so long.”

You didn’t shout. You didn’t even look Jaemin in the eye. 

“I wish I’d never met you, Jaemin. Because then, I would never have to find out what a selfish jerk you are.” 

Jaemin didn’t flinch. He just smiled sadly.

You stood up, yanking your jacket over your shoulders. You turned to leave, but smacked face first into the obnoxious heart shaped balloon. You yelled in frustration. 

“I’m sorry.” 

--- One year later--- 

“So how’s it going with the new guy? What was his name again… Mark something?” Jaemin handed you another cocktail. You were stretched out on sun loungers by the beach.  

You smiled to yourself, remembering Mark’s crooked smile and the way he was too shy to meet your eyes the first time he asked you out. 

“It’s going good,” you said. “We’ve been on nine dates.”

Jaemin grinned. “And how’s the sex?” 

You whacked his arm, laughing. “Jaemin! We may be friends again now, but we’re not there yet.” 

He waggled his eyebrows. “Oh, really? Come on, Y/n. You gotta give me something!”

You bit your lip, then propped yourself up on your elbows. “Okay, fine. It’s amazing. He does this thing with his tongue that’s like-“

Jaemin clamped his hands over his ears, yelling. “Okay I take it back, we’re not there yet!” 

You laughed. 

Lifting up your sunglasses to look at him, you said, “Honestly, I am so grateful we’re not dating anymore. Because I can finally tell you how frickin’ annoying that thing with the dishes is! Put them in the dishwasher, you idiot! Don’t just let them sit in the sink!” 

Jaemin burst out laughing, protesting, “What about the- grammar thing you do? God, you don’t know what a relief it is to get sentences out without worrying about splitting an infinitive.”

Chucking sand at each other, you both laughed till your stomachs hurt. 

It had taken some time for you to realise that actually, you and Jaemin were better off as friends. In fact, this was your honeymoon that you never went on. After spending weeks arguing over who got the tickets, you decided to just go together. 

And you weren’t just joking around: you really weren’t made out to be a couple. Fate had worked out in a mysterious, and idiotically painful way, but you were both better for it. 

You lifted your pina colada and clinked it with Jaemin’s. The dying sun painted the sky in the glorious reds and purples. 

“To the best decision we never made,” you said. 

He chuckled. “I’ll drink to that.” 

—

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[e-wills-afterhours]

Yay prompts! Forehead kisses! Palm kisses! Hugs from behind! Soft affection makes me melt

A/N: You want soft Hiccstrid, I'll give you the softest Hiccstrid, my friend. You know how I do. *cracks knuckles* Obviously, I write in my own AU where RTTE never happened. This should surprise no one by now.

Rating: T+

Softly, Tenderly

------

The first few moments of wakefulness could be disorienting. If the night that preceded it was wild, and the sleep was deep enough, one could almost forget who they were and where they had collapsed before they drifted into vivid dreams, almost sure to be forgotten in the morning.

Hiccup found himself staring at the ceiling, putting colorful pieces together in his grogginess, until the wooden beams that crossed above his head and the familiar scent of old pine reminded him that he was home, in bed. Completely unremarkable a thing, by most standards.

What escaped him still was when and how he ended up there. Vague memories of food and drink, song and games, drifted to the forefront of his mind; all lingering thoughts of the Einherjar feast that went well into the night. Berk knew how to celebrate and honor its dead. Mead and beer flowed freely. It was a small triumph he could remember anything at all.

He rubbed his eyes then looked to his left. Toothless snoozed peacefully in the corner of his bedroom, with his large head resting on folded claws. Satisfied that his dragon was accounted for, Hiccup looked to his right, with growing awareness of another warm presence in his bed--which he had not anticipated.

His stomach flipped, and he sat bolt upright. Upon doing so, he realized, beneath his furs, he was completely and unabashedly naked. Also, minus one metal limb.

But the tousled blonde hair, unbound and strewn over his spare pillow, was familiar. The rise and fall of his companion's curves were as committed to memory as her delicate scent of rosemary and juniper, which greeted him like a hug. He could drown in it, let it consume him.

The momentary panic of alcohol-induced amnesia faded into relief and adoration. Astrid was beside him, just as naked and vulnerable as he was. She looked so peaceful, breathing slowly and rhythmically.

Like the glow of candlelight emerging from the darkness, flickers of their night together grew brighter and clearer in his mind: unhurried kisses and confident hands had carried them into the wee hours of the morning. Their clothes lay scattered about his room, her tunic as inextricably tangled up with his pants as their limbs had been, in throes of all their passion and sweat.

He leaned over and brushed haphazard strands of gold from her face, tucking them ever so carefully behind her ear. She was as beautiful when she slept as she was almost every waking moment.

"Astrid?" he murmured, placing a loving kiss on her neck. For good measure, he planted another one behind her ear, lingering a moment longer than he had with the first, closing his eyes and savoring the feel of her skin against his lips.

She stirred, humming to herself with a stretch. He stifled a laugh as a carless fist almost connected with his face. It would not have been the first time, but his reflexes had improved. Taking her wayward hand, he kissed the back of it before holding it safely against his chest, hoping the sudden beating of his heart would not startle her.

"Hiccup?" she whispered thickly, opening her eyes and blinking in bewilderment.

He smiled as she worked through that same initial confusion that he had, putting all the night's fragments into place.

"Good morning, you," he said, pulling her back against him, until their bodies met, oh-so-perfectly.

She did not resist, surrendering to the warmth of his skin on hers. They breathed together, and there was nothing better.

"Good m-mornin'," she yawned as he wrapped his arms around her, releasing her hand. "I almost forgot..."

Hiccup kissed her shoulder and she sighed, sweet and contented.

"Mmn. I'm glad you didn't," he said; he wanted her to recall every blissful moment, and every honeyed word he had told her.

She arched back into him, craning her neck until the tip of her nose brushed his cheek. Tender, fluttering kisses fell along his jaw. One of her hands snaked its way up to his hair, her nails lightly grazing along his scalp, making him shiver. She tugged on the little braids he left there for her, grinning. Only she could ever touch him like that; she had his heart, so she had the rest of him. She laced her fingers with his, of the hand that rested on her belly. Her thumb brushed affectionately over his minute scars and freckles, before she brought his hand to her lips.

"I don't think I could ever forget the things these hands can do," she murmured, before placing a couple of appreciative kisses on his palm. They tickled but left behind a subtle warmth all their own.

He smiled, and they shared a kiss before touching their foreheads together, blonde and auburn bangs mixed together. She turned into him, chest to chest, thighs against thighs, in a relaxed embrace.

"I don't want to go," she admitted, tracing idle patterns over the faded scars that adorned his chest--light, affectionate touches. "This is nice."

"Then don't," he replied. "I certainly won't make you." She felt too good, too right, in his hands.

Astrid shook her head. She sat up and began gathering her messy hair behind her head.

"You know I can't," she said, deftly weaving her hair into a loose plait. Her skill in braiding, particularly when her mind was elsewhere, was awe-inspiring. "People will talk."

Hiccup scoffed and rolled onto his back, arms folded behind his head. "People already talk. It doesn't bother me."

Astrid smirked. She bent over and kissed his forehead, then the tip of his nose, which he wrinkled playfully. "It's different for you."

He frowned, cursing the double standard he'd rather not acknowledge. "I know, I know..."

She caressed his face, and he leaned into it. "One day, I won't have to sneak out of here. By then, I bet you'll be dying to get rid of me."

"Impossible."

Her blue eyes twinkled. "Oh, yeah? You won't simply 'get used to it?'" she teased, adopting one of his more common phrases.

"If I'm used to it, then I'm probably dead."

Astrid laughed, and it was a beautiful sound. She threw her arms around him and curled into his side, head on his chest. He did not often have cause to feel like her refuge, because she seldom ever wanted or needed one. In such moments, where she relinquished control and dropped her tough exterior, she gave into the comfortable pleasure of being held by him. He draped an arm around her, trailing his fingers up and down her hip, delighting in the goosebumps that arose with his touch.

"A couple minutes more maybe..." she said, giving him a fond squeeze.

He caught her beneath the chin and tilted her face up so their eyes met.

"As much time as you need," he replied, and kissed her forehead.

And they clung to each other no longer concerned with cheap gossip and the passing hours. All that mattered was the warmth between them, keeping the rest of the world at bay.

#hiccstrid #hiccstrid fic #is it soft enough? #do you want it softer #I caught a fever from my kids and i am dEleRiOus friends #enjoy!

[jazzythursday]

Prompts: Nightlight | Drifting | Dried (1489 words)

Wylan is tired

Nightlight runs off of the oil lamps and the club signs that line the streets, spilling out of open doors and casting the wet cobblestones in tones of yellow and gold.

Wylan is cold.

He drifts through the streets of the Barrel like a spectre, like he’s invisible. Like the cold canal water has seeped straight into his bones, and he shivers for too many reasons to count.

He’s not dead.

It’s an absurd thought to have, even more absurd because he’s so surprised by it.

I’m not dead. I think my father tried to have me killed. It didn’t work.

Jan Van Eck is not a man who takes well to not getting his way. If he’d wanted Wylan dead, Wylan has no clue how he managed to avoid it.

It makes him consider that this all might have been some misunderstanding. Maybe father hadn’t meant for him to die. Perhaps he had intended for Wylan to reach Belendt. Maybe his men were simply confused, or they could have been hired by some other party, someone else with a vendetta to settle.

Maybe, perhaps, could have. Who is he kidding? Miggson and Prior are loyal to his father, and no one else hates Wylan enough to even bother with killing him. How could they, when he’s barely left the house in years and his father has only ever exposed him to the public to parade him like a symbol of his good intentions as a humble family man, a single father and a dutiful Ghezenite.

No, this was—it had to be—there were too many coincidences, there were too many factors, and all roads led back to the same answer.

I’m not dead. I think my father tried to have me killed. It didn’t work. Over and over again. It didn’t work.

It makes a funny sort of sense, considering that the only goal his father has ever fallen short of achieving is Wylan himself. Eternal disappointment and failure, no matter how much he poured into Wylan, no matter how much he tried. Wylan failed his expectations as a son, and he failed his expectations tonight as well. It didn’t work.

His father always said his greatest talent is causing problems.

I’m alive.

Wylan is not, if he’s honest with himself, quite sure if that’s a good thing.

He might die of hypothermia anyway, if he doesn’t find somewhere to rest soon. He’s soaked through. His wet hair drips down his forehead and his boots squelch with every step. Already he feels close to collapse, weight dragging him by his joints and lungs wheezing from inhaling water and swimming for hours and also, probably, being nearly choked to death.

Weak, his mind whispers, what are you going to do with a life you’re not strong enough to live? Wylan is too tired to answer it, too cold to care anymore. A numbness deeper than the chill has been slowly setting in since the terror of Prior’s hands around his neck had first left him for exhaustion, and Wylan wants to sink into it like a blanket, protecting him from the harsh bite of wind and the dark night. If he’d cried, he hadn’t been aware of it, and when he touches shaking fingers to his face they come away dry.

He thinks of putting each foot in front of the other, walking as he has for hours, and nothing else. There are too many feelings, too many thoughts, and he has a hunch that giving into them now might just bring him to his knees right here on the pavement. Might finally break him. He clutches the straps of his bag in his hands like his life depends on it, like they’re the only things holding him up.

“Boer, buddy, no need to get handsy, you only need to ask nicely.”

“That’s enough, Fahey, you’re done for the night.”

Wylan stops, he turns to see a man being led out of a club by a bouncer, practically dragging him by the collar of his coat. The man grins like he and the bouncer are having no more than a friendly chat, hands held loosely up and top hat tipping to the side as he tilts his head.

“But the night isn’t done with me, Boer. You wouldn’t deprive her, would you? Me and the night, we have plans.”

“Not here you don’t. Go home.”

“But I’m feeling lucky! Kaz will understand. Come on, one more game, and then I’ll be out of your hair for good, on my honour.”

“Don’t speak of honour where none exists. Times up.”

With that, the bouncer pushes the man roughly off the step, only to stumble gracelessly into the street.

The thing is, Wylan may feel invisible, but his body is as solid as ever, and that’s proven to him as the man’s momentum sends him forwards and directly into Wylan. It knocks them both off balance, and they go careening downwards like a clumsy sack of potatoes. Wylan yelps, back hitting the ground with a harsh slap of wet stone and knocking the wind out of him. The man follows, falling just shy of collapsing on top of him, hands and elbows bracing against the slick ground and bracketing Wylan’s shoulders. He groans as Wylan’s knee jerks up and hits him, tangling their legs together.

His chest rises and falls in heaving and shaky pants. His shoulder hurts where it’d hit the ground, his satchel digs painfully into his shoulder blades. He’s been moving for so long, and now that he’s stopped, everything aches even worse.

Wylan stares up, stunned, and the man stares back. A sound that is not quite a whimper and also not not a whimper emerges, unbidden, from Wylan’s throat.

All at once, the man snaps back into action as if he’d never been still at all. “Sorry. Sorry. I’m—Saints, here, let me—” he pushes himself carefully off of Wylan and offers him a hand. Wylan, still too stunned to do anything else, takes it. The man pulls him up and then braces him as Wylan sways forwards into him, unsteady on his feet. His heart is pounding, his legs are jelly, and somehow, Wylan still finds it in himself to be embarrassed, because even in the low lamplight, the man is the most attractive person he’s ever seen, and Wylan must look like a drowned rat that’s been dragged through the mud.

He takes a sharp breath and it rattles in his chest, making him cough. The man looks at him with open concern, probably noticing for the first time the state Wylan is in. The bruises he’s sure wring his neck, the dark purple under his eyes and blue tinge of his lips.

“Are you alright?”

And, Wylan may be stupid and foolish, but he knows what the Barrel is like. He knows the kinds of things that go on here, knows that there’s absolutely nothing about this situation that’s advisable or safe. But Wylan is tired, and cold, and despite all efforts to the contrary, he’s alive.

And the beautiful man has kind eyes.

Wylan bites his lip, and shakes his head.

“Do you need some help?”

He does, doesn’t he? Yes, Wylan definitely needs help. But he doesn’t respond. This is supremely stupid, and he knows it. There’s no guarantee that kind eyes make a kind person, and there’s every likelihood he could be robbed for what little kruge he still carries and then dumped for dead.

Seeming to sense this, the man smiles, softer than the cocky grin he’d given to the bouncer.

“I promise that looked worse than it was, by the way. Boer likes to play, forgets his own strength. Ask anyone around and they’ll all tell you l have dodgy luck with the cards, but my other references will check out.”

Wylan nods, though he isn’t sure he quite follows.

“I’m Jesper,” the man—Jesper, and Wylan thinks the name suits him—says. “Jesper Fahey.”

“W—” Wylan coughs again, and his voice sounds as ragged and waterlogged as he feels. “Wylan.”

“Okay, right. Hello, Wylan. Now that we’ve been acquainted, need some help?”

“Why?”

“Well, I did accost you in the street. My fault entirely, by the way. Look, can I just—can I walk you anywhere at least?”

“I don’t have anywhere to go,” Wylan whispers pitifully. He looks down at his water soaked clothes. At the space between Jesper’s boots and his. His bottom lip is starting to tremble. From cold or the impending collapse of all his crumbling walls, he doesn’t know. He can’t make sense of anything beyond the cold in his bones and the sense that he is finally too broken to ever be fixed.

A hand squeezes his shoulder gently, and Wylan looks up and into the incongruously kind eyes of this strange but seemingly lovely man. Jesper Fahey.

“Okay, that’s—okay, we’ll sort that out first.”

#I’ll probably post this to ao3 at some point but I’ve been lazy with titles lately #also idk if it’s going places or not we’ll see #a drabble for your troubles? #jazzy writes #jazzy writes fanfic #wesper fic club #flash fic #wesper #shadow and bone #wylan van eck #six of crows #jesper fahey #sab fanfiction #soc fanfic

[nirikeehan]

Happy Friday Niri! For DADWC, how about #31 from Artifacts of Thedas, for Cullen and Dorian (heh heh): A Satinalia mask

HI DEMA thank you!! This deliciously fit right into my ongoing masquerade side quest fic set in Pravinquisition AU, previous installation here

Also I was an absolute maniac and managed (I hope) to shove five Cullen & Dorian prompts into one scene, so thank you @zenstrike, @rosella-writes, @kiastirling, and @liza011 for these additional prompts:

overdramatic arguments about non-important subjects

All I Do is Wear Cool Outfits, Tell Jokes and Hide My Depression

doing things in sync

'Rule one: Don’t get caught.'

Madness. But perfect for them and I think I got them all

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 1350

---

Cullen stood sentry in the corner of a marble-pillared room, watching the revelry with distaste. A pair of inebriated Orlesians had taken it upon themselves to climb upon a makeshift stage and butcher the Fereldan tavern song Andraste’s Mabari. He was nominally glad the panther-shaped mask he wore hid his grimace, though the rest of him wanted to wrench the damn thing off his face. It made his forehead itch something awful. 

He was grateful to see Dorian stroll into the room and make eye contact. The Tevinter mage looked far more comfortable at this soiree than Cullen knew he would be in a million years. Dorian cut a sharp figure in blues and greens. He wore a black half-mask; it was adorned with feathers and sparkled even in the dim light.

“I hope you’re not grinding your teeth too hard in there, Commander,” Dorian said jovially, sidling up with a goblet of wine in one hand. “You’re like to give yourself a headache.”

Cullen opened his mouth to protest, only to realize how correct the mage was. He worked his jaw, trying to loosen it up. “I didn’t think I’d have to suffer attacks on my homeland when I agreed to come here, that’s all.”

Dorian tilted his head, caught wind of the lyrics, and took a stiff sip of his drink. “I see your point. Perhaps we ought to go somewhere a touch, ah, quieter?”

“Please.” 

They ducked down a hallway that spilled out onto a small courtyard. The chill night was a welcome respite from the stuffiness of the Comte de Valette’s estate. The place seemed deserted, so Cullen removed the mask to the feel the relief of open air on his face. Any moment an angry Orlesian noble would probably materialize and command he put it back on — the allure of secrecy and all that — but for the moment he could think unburdened. 

“Tut, tut, Commander,” Dorian chided, smirking at his clear hatred of the mask and all it signified, “do you also remove your helm mid-battle?” 

“This farce of a party is hardly the battlefield,” Cullen grumbled. “And perhaps if I hadn’t let Fidencio design my entire outfit I’d feel less like a made-up doll.” The whole ensemble had been the bard’s idea. Cullen stood all in black, with a paisley patterned in velvet on his jerkin, gold trim on the sleeves, and a black overcoat. He already felt like a mummer’s idea of a pirate, but then Fidencio had insisted upon the damn mask to complete the look. Because a lion — Cullen’s suggestion — was the official sigil of Orlais and would send the wrong message. “Did the bard pick out your costume as well?” 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Commander, but I’d never need a theatre man to dress me properly.” Dorian smirked into his wine goblet. “I happen to dress this sharply on the regular, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Why, this was just my Satinalia mask from last year.” 

“I bet.” Cullen paid the boasting no mind. “Anything to report?”

“Sadly not. The Inquisitor and I spoke to all the premiere nobles of the Orlesian court — you think they’d want to hide their identities better, but I found them quite easy to identify. They had little and less to say. Nothing but praise for the Comte, but curiously no one can find the man.” 

“Strange, do you think?” Cullen asked. “That the Comte should be so aloof?” 

“Ah, who knows?” Dorian countered. “I’ve been to galas in Tevinter thrown while the host wasn’t even in the country. He’d do it just to remind everyone he still had more money than the Maker.” 

“And Lady Thalia?” Cullen asked, scanning the windows facing the courtyard. In the orange glow of the rooms, the revelers cut ghastly, demon-like shadows. Or maybe that was just how it seemed. The mind could play tricks, and Cullen hadn’t wanted Thalia to accept the Comte’s invitation even before he learned that de Valette was rumored to be some dark mage. 

“She was with Fidencio, last I checked. In that room with the enchanted butterflies.” 

“Maybe I should check on her. No offense to Fidencio, but I’ve seen him in the sparring ring. He’s more of a lover than a fighter.” 

Dorian snorted. “That he is, for certain.” 

Cullen waited for a snide remark about Fidencio’s swordplay in alternative arenas, but Dorian merely smirked. It seemed he was too polite to grasp for the low-hanging fruit. That was fine with Cullen, who had uncovered a strange sense of foreboding he couldn’t shake. He replaced the asinine mask on his face and headed back inside with Dorian matching his stride.

Dorian led the way to the butterfly room, which was full of the flitting insect lanterns and simpering party guests, but no Inquisitor or the headwear-loving bard. Cullen’s bad feeling worsened. 

“Well, they were just here,” Dorian added unhelpfully. 

Cullen walked brusquely from room to room, checking with his stationed soldiers along the way, but none had seen the Lady Thalia. Even Blackwall confessed they’d only crossed paths before she’d met up with Fidencio. 

Dorian kept pace, cracking bad jokes along the way, until Cullen finally snapped, “Are you incapable of taking anything seriously?” 

Dorian sobered. “Ah, yes, the humor is just my dominant coping mechanism, I’m afraid. I’m actually a bit nervous myself.” 

Cullen let out a slow breath. “Any idea where they could have gone?” 

“No, but I think we must employ process of elimination here, Commander.” He leaned against the wall in a small, winding corridor and crossed his arms. “Thus far the masquerade has been confined to the ground floor of the chateau and surrounding environs. As Inquisition soldiers have been stationed in both places, I think it’s safe to assume they’re not there.” 

“So that leaves, what, upstairs? In the guest chambers? ” Cullen did not like to think about what might be transpiring up there. One heard tell of what transpired at certain Orlesian parties. “I hope Fidencio would not be fool enough to let Thalia near any sort of—” Could he even say it?

“I think it’s unlikely Fidencio would have led her to an orgy,” Dorian said blithely. “Unless she asked to go— which is also unlikely,” he added before Cullen’s pulse could spike too much. “Goodness, you have met the girl, haven’t you? She can barely handle one man, let alone a whole gaggle.” 

Cullen chose not to dignify any of that with a response. “So then, where else?” 

A silent beat passed between the two men, and they spoke in unison: “The cellar.” 

“There must be one,” Dorian said. “This is a castle. What’s a castle without a wine cellar?” 

“And a dungeon,” Cullen said darkly. What if the Comte de Valette had made an appearance after all, and now Thalia was his captive? 

“Commander, your imagination is at times alarming,” Dorian said lightly. 

“I’m in charge of an army. I’m paid to think about the worst case scenario.”

“Be that as it may.” Dorian paced back and forth in the corridor, and raised a finger in the air. “I think I might know a way in.” 

“Oh?” Cullen asked. 

“A little staircase I came across when I took a wrong turn earlier in the evening. A pageboy assured me it was just the servant stairwell and steered me back to the party.” 

Cullen drew the mask from his face, wiping the perspiration from his brow. “Do you think you can find it again?”

Dorian stroked the end of his mustache. “I’m fairly certain, yes.” 

“Though I suppose we’ll have to think of a fine excuse, to allow ourselves entry,” Cullen mused. “Unless we want the entire chateau alerted to our movements.” 

“Spoken like someone who never snuck around much in his youth.” Dorian flashed him a mischievous grin.

Cullen sighed. “What do you want me to say? The Templar barracks were well-monitored.” 

“Oh, don’t misunderstand me; that was not meant to be a slight. I only mean, Commander, you’ve not yet learned rule number one in subterfuge: don’t get caught.”

#cullen rutherford #dorian pavus #cullen & dorian #thalia trevelyan #pravin talavera #pravinquisition #fics #dragon age drunk writing circle

[khaleesa]

58! Or 80! Or both! 🥰

Bet you'd given up on getting a response to your prompt, Anon! But here I am--late, but better than never, right? This is for #80, “I’m not wearing any underwear. Thought you’d like to know.”

~*~

Division of Labor

"I'm not wearing any underwear," Chrissy said, walking into the kitchen. “Thought you'd like to know." 

The words made Eddie, who slumped half-asleep over the dinette, slurping soggy store brand Frosted Flakes, snap his droopy eyes wide open, and his dick snapped to attention. It had been a late Tuesday night at the Hideout, and Chrissy was sound asleep when he got home. He wondered now, though, if he'd slithered into bed beside her and murmured the same flirty phrase in her ear, whether they would've had the same magical waking effect on her? Uh, except for the dick part. Cream her panties?

Wiping a dribble of milk from his chin with the back of his hand, Eddie turned toward her with a grin, only for his face--and his dick--to fall as he took in Chrissy. She wore a silk blouse, pleated skirt, and a totally not flirty expression.

"Oh shit!" He smacked his palm against his forehead. "The laundry." 

Chrissy looked at him for a sec with pursed lips, then stepped away with a sigh and a swish of skirt. Eddie tried not to think about the jiggle of her perky little bare ass beneath it as she poured a cup of coffee.

"I did the laundry." He stumbled over his chair as he rushed to the washing machine and flung open the lid. A faintly musty smell wafted up at him. "I just, uh, forgot to hang it out to dry." 

Above her coffee mug, Chrissy regarded him with eyes that looked like she wanted to hang him out to dry. 

Annoyance flared in his chest that she hadn't put the laundry out herself, only for the spark to burn out when he remembered that she'd gone straight from an eight-hour shift at the credit union to her night class at the community college, and it was dark outside by then, and she'd had homework, and they'd argued about chores in the past before Uncle Wayne got sick of it and snapped that if they were old enough to get married, they were old enough to figure out a fair division of domestic labor. Eddie had volunteered to be the laundry guy. 

"Look upon me not with displeasure, sweet lady!" 

He dropped to his knees and scooted across the unswept linoleum (her chore) to take her left hand. He trailed kisses across the back and knuckles, lingering on the gold band with the single, tiny (but genuine!) diamond solitaire he'd gotten her at the pawn shop. It was so much less than she deserved, but she'd acted delighted when he proposed to her with it. Or maybe it had just been more than she'd expected from him. 

"I shall not send thee off to thine employer without suitable raiment!" 

Chrissy made a snorting sound. A laugh? She was softening. "Yeah. I'm pretty sure going commando violates the credit union dress code. 

Eddie crawled back to the washer and rummaged around in the drum until his fingers closed around a pair of her panties, peach cotton with lace around the legs and waistband. Brandishing them over his head, he bounded down the hall to the bathroom. "Just give me a few, I'll use your hair dryer!"

He’d just plugged it in when Chrissy appeared in the doorway with her coffee.

"Don't bother, Eddie." 

"No bother at all!" He flipped the power switch on the handle. 

"EDDIE!" 

He turned off the hairdryer. "What?" 

"That's sweet, but it'll only get them mostly dry. I don't want to go to work with only mostly dry underwear under my hose." 

Chrissy's nose scrunched, and Eddie nodded in agreement. He'd pulled only mostly dry boxers off the line plenty of times and gone to school damp and chafing beneath his jeans. Honestly, he preferred to just wear dirty undies. He didn't suggest that to Chrissy, though. 

"So what're you gonna do?" Eddie dropped his voice to a hush. "Break the credit union dress code?" He put his fingers to his lips and raised his eyebrows.

Although Chrissy's eyes rolled upwards, she let out a puff of a laugh. Getting even softer--though that somehow didn't make Eddie feel any better. 

She deserved better than a slob for a husband who forgot to put the laundry on the clothesline. 

Hell, she deserved better than a clothesline. 

"I'll just pop into Melvald's on the way to work and buy a pack." 

Eddie nodded. She was always very sensible. "Is that, uh, in the budget?" 

Chrissy was big into budgeting, which made sense, since she worked at the credit union and all, but Eddie both loved and hated that every penny they earned and spent was accounted for. But if they ever hoped to have their own place, and stuff to go in that place, they had a lot of saving to do. 

"It might have to come out of the fun money," Chrissy replied, "but I think we can swing it."

She stepped back into the hall.

"Underwear can be fun," Eddie said, following her into their bedroom. "Can I pick them out?"

Chrissy sat at the edge of the bed, rolling pantyhose onto her feet. Eddie couldn't help but tilt his head, hoping for a peep up her skirt. 

"I think your idea of fun underwear is a little different from what they sell in a five-pack at Melvald's," Chrissy said."

"Uh, I believe you mean funderwear," Eddie said, and this time, Chrissy's laugh rang out. 

She swung her feet to the floor and stood to tug her hose up her calves and over her hips. Her skirt fell over them like a curtain blocking Eddie's chance at a glimpse of her temporarily pantiless lady parts. 

"Tell you what," she said, coming up to him and sliding her hands up his chest. "Whatever underwear I get, I won't wear them tonight when I get home." 

"Funnest kind of underwear I can think of." Eddie squeezed her ass through her skirt and bent his head to kiss her, when he caught a glint of mischief in Chrissy's eyes. 

"I won't be wearing them because you'll be washing them, of course." 

She bobbed up on her toes to peck his lips, skirt swirling as she turned to pick up a pair of pumps from beside the bed. 

While she finished her coffee and ate a bowl of cereal, Eddie pulled the wet clothes from the washing machine and dumped them into a laundry basket. 

"You know, when we get our own place," he said, hefting it to carry out to the line, "we're gonna make sure it's got a dryer." 

Because Chrissy deserved it. 

And honestly, so did he. 

150 Random Writing Prompts

#hellcheer #hellcheer fic #hellcheer source #chrissy cunningham #eddie munson #chrissy x eddie #stranger things #stranger things fic #my fic #ask fic

[aquagirl1978]

Hi again, Aqua! For the fall prompts, may I request Chevalier + changing seasons + fluff with a side of he's caught cold and his voice is all nasally?

Do you know what a challenge it was to make Chevalier - a man so perfect, he would never get sick - come down with a cold?

The Queen's Command - Chevalier Michel x Reader (Ikemen Prince)

A/N: Part of the Fall Fluff / Autumn Angst ccc hosted by myself and @violettduchess

Pairing: Chevalier Michel x Reader

Prompt: changing seasons

Tags: fluff

How many years have you stood in this room watching him? How many springs, summers, autumns and winters have you watched him grow, admiring him more and more with each year together? He sat at his desk, tall in his chair, as he had done for so many years, meticulously reviewing the documents before him. 

Upon a first glance, one would not think he had even changed much over the years - his hair was still light and golden, the crinkles around his eyes when he smiled only slightly more prominent. There was, however, one more obvious change recently.

You watched with amusement as he held the document further away, a poor attempt to read its contents with minimal squinting. With a disappointed sigh, he reached into a draw to retrieve his reading glasses. Putting them on with a frown, he continued his review. 

“I find them annoying. A hindrance,” he said without looking up from his papers, answering you before you even said a word. His voice sounded off. Not his usual rich baritone, it sounded nasally, as if he was coming down with a cold.

“But they make you look so handsome.” You approached his desk, perching on its edge. Thumb on his chin, you tilted his face up to yours, blue eyes bright and deep as the ocean. "But…"

You pressed the back of your hand against his forehead. Warm. “How do you feel?”

“I feel -” 

He turned his head as he removed a golden silk handkerchief embroidered with his crest from his breast pocket with a fluid grace that only came with being born into royalty. Tilting his face to the side away from you, he quietly sneezed into the cloth. Even his sneeze was perfect and majestic.

He returned the handkerchief to his pocket and looked at you, his expression stoic. “I feel fine.”

“You’re not fine,” you argued, your voice rising. “You need to rest.”

“I have work to finish,” he said, his gaze returning to the pile of documents on his desk.

“It’s already late; Clavis can finish that tomorrow.” Chevalier bristled and looked up at you in horror, as if you had suggested something truly wretched. “Queen’s command,” you ordered. He raised an eyebrow, silently questioning you. 

“As your queen,” you said, staring straight into his icy eyes, “I demand you rest. Let me take care of you.”

Your fingers caressed his cheek before removing his reading glasses; he sighed loudly as you returned them to their designated place in his drawer. Taking his gloved hand in yours, you nudged him up and out of his chair. 

With your king by your side, you smiled at him, pleased with how compliant he had been, your smile soon fading when you realized he was likely more under the weather than he had been letting on. You walked in silence as you made your way back to your shared bedroom.

Once there, you both got ready for bed, quickly changing into your night clothes. 

“Read to me?” he asked as you joined him in the large bed.

“Of course,” you replied. He smiled at you softly as he handed you the book that was lying on the table by his bed. Pulling the soft covers over your bodies, Chevalier rested his head on your chest, his body warm against yours. 

Your fingers traced the ornate gold-embossed lettering on the leather bound book in your hands; it was a newer book, one you had picked up for Chevalier only a few weeks ago, when the bookstore you used to work at received a new shipment of books from a nearby foreign country. 

Opening the book to where he had left off, you began to read aloud while his arm curled around your waist. Stroking his soft hair, you soon noticed the tiger in your arms was fast asleep. Closing the book quietly, you returned it to the nightstand where it came from. Your head soon found the comfort of the plush pillow underneath, your arms embracing your love. You brushed a kiss to his forehead before allowing your eyes to drift closed.

Tagging: @redheadkittys @alixennial @rhodolitesrose @atelieredux @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @chaosangel767 @queengiuliettafirstlady @queen-dahlia @devildomwritersposts @talfollowingstuff @kpop-and-otome @kisara-16 @altairring @lucyw260 @lordsisterxotome @violettduchess @umi-adxhira @bellerose-arcana @yarnnerdally @scorchieart @crypticbibliophile @cilokgoang

#fall fluff autumn angst ccc #ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #chevalier michel #ikepri chevalier #ikemen chevalier #ikemen fanfic #ikepri fanfic #otome #otome games

[itsprashimusic]

I’ll be strong for you

Pairing - Steve Rogers x desi!wife!reader

Summary - Sometimes superheros need someone else to lean on instead of being others’ support beam. In Steve’s case, that someone is his wife. 

Warnings - desi reader and references, some hindi is spoken but i have put the english translations in brackets next to them, let me know if i made any errors cause its 3 am and i don’t have the stamina to proofread

Word Count - 650

Part 2

masterlist is pinned

Your paayals (anklets) made a soft jingle every time your foot made contact with the ground. But it couldn’t be heard over the loud thuds your foot made while you were running towards the front door. 

Your husband had been out on a mission for over a month. Normally you were used to his week long missions and the ones even longer than that. But this was the first time he had been gone for a mission that lasted longer than 4 weeks. 

It was late at night, dark enough to prompt you to turn on a ceiling light in the living room. The soft yellow light illuminated the room giving it a very homely look. After checking through the peephole that it was infact him behind it did you make a move to open the door (steve wanted you to keep this habit if you were home alone). 

No sooner had you opened it, you had been engulfed in a bone shattering hug. Steve didn’t ever seem bothered by the fact that you both were still standing at the door. Realising it you walked backwards into your living room while still hugging him somehow managing to close the door aswell. 

He pulled back to look at you, relishing your features as if to remember them forever. He opened his mouth to say something but whatever was about to come out died before he had the chance. He held your face in both of his hands with such gentleness, his thumb sweeping over your cheek in a loving manner. 

Your own hands held his wrists, your thumbs rubbing over the back of his hand. The soft yellow light did a great job of not just giving beautiful structure to Steve’s face but also of making the diamond that sat in the middle of your gold wedding band shine bright. 

With his hands still cupping your face he pulled you in closer resting your foreheads before meeting your lips in a kiss. The kiss was sweet. But you could tell that he was holding back something. Deterring the thought from your mind you just focused on your significant other standing in front of you after not being there for 40 days. Steve pulled away, instantly hugging you again but this time letting his head fall in the crook of your neck. That was when you heard him say something for the first time, “I’ve missed you, so bad.”

“ हाँ राजा, जानती हूँ। ” (Yes dear, I know) you said closing your eyes and holding him even tighter, diminishing any possible remaining gaps between you both. 

You didn’t notice when, but you started feeling your shoulder turn wet. The same place where your love had wedged his head in. This was a rare occurrence. Maybe something happened on the mission that caused it? Could be, since the last time he cried was when Tony died in the final fight at the Avengers Compound. 

You tried asking him what happened, “What’s wrong, sweetheart? क्या तुम बता सकते हो what happened?” (can you tell what happened?). He said nothing only sobbing harder now. You narrowed it down to him just being exhausted and needing a break. So, you held him tight, both of you standing in the middle of the living room under the yellow light.  

Sometimes, even those who save us need to break in order to be strong. 

Bonus 

“I’ve made some aloo parathas that you can eat later,” you said knowing its his favourite. And you said the right thing because just as you said it you felt him smile against your neck, his cries slowing down to hiccups. “You made them for me?” he said with a sheepish smile as he looked up from your shoulder, your hand rubbing circles on his back. You nodded. “Can we have them tomorrow as well?” 

“ हर रोज और हमेशा के लिए। “ (everyday and forever). 

A/N -  I absolutely love this. let me know your feedback. likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated and let me know if you want to be tagged in anything   I will be making a masterlist when i have a few more works under my belt.  

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x fem!reader #steve rogers x wife!reader #steve rogers x desi!reader #steve rogers x woc!reader #steve rogers x poc!reader #steve rogers x desi!wife!reader #avengers #marvel #mcu x reader #marvel x reader #i'll be strong for you #steven grant rogers #captain america #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #husband!steve x wife!reader #steve rogers fluff #itsprashimusic

[yourheartonfire]

ok so i think you did this a while ago, but do you remember that one story you did with bug and everette and gingerly writing reposted it? that story has lived in my head rent free for weeks now, could you think of continuing it?<3

That's one of my favorites too! First part here, original prompt courtesy of @gingerly-writing, continuation suggestion by @avery1s .

CW for mind control and references to off screen dub con and other atrocities.

Later, everyone would collectively claim they had no memories of what they had done - what they'd been forced to do - under the Mad King's reign. A sort of universal spontaneous pardon, necessary for people to be able look each other in the eye and put out the raging trash fires the antagonist had left in his wake.

The protagonist wondered if everyone else was as much of a liar as they were.

Yes, most of those memories were colored a sweet hazy gold, like drowning in honey. But there were moments the protagonist had surfaced, where everything came into sharp relief even if their will was still wrapped in the antagonist's cotton candy mind control.

They remembered snapping to in the council room, kneeling beside the antagonist's chair as an offending minister danced an awkward and humiliated jig on the middle of the conference table.

"This isn't going to solve the grain shortage," the protagonist had said into the hum of the chatter.

The antagonist had nearly choked on his goblet of wine, and the witch king's crown jolted on his head. "Bug? How the hell-"

"You can swallow your pride or refuse the trade agreement or go to war," the protagonist said patiently, amazed at the sound of their own voice. "Only one of those choices doesn't end in starvation."

The antagonist flushed an angry red and grabbed his goblet. The liquid splashed across the protagonist's face. "You dare talk to me like I'm stupid?"

The wine stung the protagonist's eyes as they blinked up at their king in confusion. "Of course I wouldn't. I love you-"

Everett made a horrible noise and clamped his hand to the protagonist's forehead and they sank...

They swam back up again in a red-lit room, sitting on the king's lap before the dying embers in the fireplace as the court cavorted in lockstep through another interminable feast. There was no bread on the table and no smiles on anyone's face. Especially not the king's.

The protagonist raised a hand sleepily to trace the purple/black lines spidering down the antagonist's temples.

"I thought you were going to take this off?" they hummed, raising their fingers towards the crown -

The antagonist caught their hand in a crushing grip. "Bug," he breathed in an unsteady voice. "All the power in the world and you still show your freak face at the worst possible moment."

"All the power in the world," the protagonist repeated. Dimly they were aware their hand hurt in the antagonist's grip but they couldn't quite feel it. That was good. They hoped the courtiers who'd been ordered to stand in the fireplace hadn't felt it either before they'd died. "That's what you wanted. Why aren't you happy, Everett?"

"Oh I'm thrilled," he husked, hauling the protagonist closer across his lap in a bruising grip. "Never better. All my dreams come true. Tell me you love me again."

The protagonist snuggled into that cold embrace, closer to that galloping heartbeat that seemed to quite settle these days, and looked tenderly into their old rival's face.

"I hope you choke and die," the protagonist said sweetly, and wondered why the antagonist's face contorted with rage and magic-

- and they awoke in the royal bedchamber. Gray sunlight struggling through the rips in the velvet drapes, the watered silk of the settee grimy with dust. The antagonist's head on their lap as he sobbed into the protagonist's thigh.

The protagonist stilled, their hand still threaded through the king's overgrown hair where it scraggled down his neck.

"Oh." The antagonist sat back on his heels, wiping tears and snot on his sleeve. "Oh yes. Of course. My little fucking bellwether."

"Oh, Everett." Like moving through molasses, the protagonist drew their fingers slowly through the tangles. The antagonist shuddered. "Are you sad, Everett? Did you break too many toys? Did you order me - me! - to comfort you?"

The antagonist buried their head harder into the protagonist's thigh as the protagonist kept stroking. Somewhere along the way the antagonist had gone from cold to feverish. The protagonist sighed. "You should have listened."

"Just a few more to bring in line," the antagonist whispered. "And the rebellion in the west and the spies in the city and the rest of the disloyal lords..."

"They're all disloyal," the protagonist said. "Everyone hates you, Everett."

They looked up and the protagonist nearly screamed at the terrible black stained eyes staring back out from under the cursed crown. "It's almost done."

The protagonist grabbed for the crown.

They'd expected it to burn or to sting. They were braced for pain. But it felt like normal, cool metal in their hand. Except that it wouldn't come off the antagonist's head.

The antagonist laughed, low and bitter. "It's almost done," he whispered, climbing up to the protagonist's lap. "It'll come off when it's done."

"I almost feel sorry for you," the protagonist said, glaring as the antagonist cupped their face in his hands. "Almost."

"I know, I know. You warned me." And then the antagonist lunged for the protagonist's mouth and...

...quiet. And peace. The protagonist blinked gently awake to sound of songbirds and realized there was nobody in their mind but them.

There was someone else in the bed though.

When the surving ministers burst into the bedroom the protagonist was ready. The king's body had been arranged across the bed, ash and charcoal fragments from the hearth across his dessicated face and the pillows. The protagonist had scrubbed their hands clean of soot and huddled on the settee under a sheet.

"The crown crumbled," they whispered to the courtiers. "How did I get here? What happened?"

There was silence. Then someone cleared their throat and said "I don't rightly remember it myself," and a murmur of agreement rose.

There were questions and suspicion of course, but there was too much to do for imaginations to run wild. The protagonist performed a few weeks of work themselves before making their excuses and leaving. No one begrudge them their exit.

They hit the road with a few coins, their pack, and the witch king's crown angrily pulsing at them from its hidden place in its wrappings. The protagonist's anti-magic field was enough to contain it for now, but they were eager to get to the ends of the earth and dispose of the thing.

I did not create him, the crown murmured. I only enhance what is there.

"I know," the protagonist said out loud, and set out to see how far they could go.

#my fiction #hero x villain #heroxvillain #fantasy #Bug and Everett #gingerly writing #100

[salt-is-a-terrible-currency]

Please (with your finger)

Written for day 2 of the Narcos fandom smut alphabet over on @narcosfandomdiscord

Fandom: Narcos

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Words: 1 163

Pairing: Javier x OFC Aurora

Prompt: bound and begging

Warnings: smut, bondage, sub!Javier, implied trauma

Tag list: it's been forever since I wrote for this fandom, so I don't know who to tag anymore

Kultsi = gold (a Finnish term of endearment)

He’d been quiet all day. Aurora first noticed it when they got ready in the morning. He gave her the usual forehead kiss as he rolled out of bed, said ‘morning’ in that low voice still raspy from sleep. But there was no question about how she slept, nor any verbal answer to her question about whether or not he’d seen her purple plaid shirt. He’s not a talkative one, she knows that, but this is the most extreme it's been since Colombia.

“Javi,” she said as they got a moment to themselves while Chucho went to show the vet one of the heifers, “kultsi, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” he attempted to dismiss her concerns. Even turned his back to her, as if he hasn’t learned by now that she’ll circle around him to keep him from hiding his emotions.

“Nightmares are back?” The shock on his face was brief, but it was there. She was right. Then his features smoothed over, settled into well-practiced neutrality that Aurora is just as experienced at seeing through. Javier sighed, knowing the look in her eyes that told him she wasn’t letting this go.

“I’ll deal with it,” he said, again attempting to turn away when her hand landed at his forearm.

“Let me help you,” she urged. “For once in your life.”

“How?” He set both hands on his hips. “What, are you going to hop into my dreams and save everyone dying in there?” She paid no mind to the sharp words, well aware that the upset was directed more at himself than at her.

“I could try and help you relax.” She rubbed gently at his forearm. “Put you at ease so sleep comes easier and maybe with less terrors.” His face pinched together as he studied her in the afternoon sun out on the patio.

“How?” Javier asked again. That led to a long and hushed conversation, which then led to…this. 

⁂

She goes over the restraints again. Normally, they’ve been used on her when she’s in the mood to have Javi take care of her in such a way that it overrides her anxiety. She watches him now, his brow furrowed but from confusion rather than distress she thinks.

“Javier.” He turns to her as she speaks. “We can stop whenever you want.” He shifts beneath her, the seam of his jeans rubbing against the inside of her thigh and setting off a flash of heat.

“Not used to this,” he murmurs.

“I know.” She brushes curls away from his forehead. “So you have to promise to tell me if something doesn’t feel good.” Javier peers up at her, big brown eyes studying his fiancée. He nods.

“Promise,” he says. Aurora bends down, meeting him as he raises his head from the pillow, and they meet in a kiss. Just a peck, really, then she sits back up. They’ve already done away with his shirt, making sure that it was off before restraining his arms, and now she reaches for his zipper. Pulling at the tab, she reveals his bulge where it lies beneath black boxer briefs. Half-hard just from the anticipation. She pauses to squeeze him and hears a breath catch in his throat.

“You’re so fucking handsome, Javi,” she croons. “Can’t believe you trust me enough to do this.” She catches a smile playing over his features before it disappears again.

“You trust me enough.” She does. Trusts him enough to let him tie her to the headboard and settle between her legs even though others have put cuffs on her for cruelty’s sake. Aurora passes her hands along his thighs, feels the plump meat of them. He’s gotten better at eating ever since she moved in, not because she cooks for him but because there’s a routine now. It’s no longer work and/or drink until one of the two has him passing out in his childhood bedroom. His underwear lands on the floor, joining the rest of the clothes. Aurora bends down over him, presses her lips to his heated salty skin in a trail of open mouthed kisses along his collarbones, his neck, his cheeks. He’s trembling beneath her, breaths coming quick and shallow. When she pulls away, he goes to grab her. Or rather he tries to because the restraints keep his arms solidly low and to the sides. In plain view of him, Aurora spits into her upturned palm before reaching between his legs. As soon as she makes contact, his cock twitches in her hand and Javier begins to curse in a way that’s usually reserved for when the truck breaks down. She swipes the tips of her index and middle finger across his head where a bead of precum is glistening. He gaps as though he’s been punched in the gut, his stomach muscles contracting so violently that she has to clamp her thighs on either side of him.

“There,” he pants.

“What was that, kultsi?” she asks, smugly.

“There,” he repeats in a whine, “like that. Feels so fucking good.”

“Uh-huh?” She raises her eyebrows at him. “And what do we say when we want someone to do something for us?” Javier’s lips purse together, a scathing glare sent her way, but then she passes her thumb over his weeping head again and his throat bobs.

“Please,” he says between gritted teeth. “Please, querida, do that again. With your finger on my- Fuck!” The rest of his sentence becomes a drawn out groan as she presses the pad of her thumb to his tip and rubs circles into it. His whole body tenses, hips rising from the bed and feet scrambling to find purchase in the bed linen as he tries to push himself further into her touch. She holds him there, making herself as heavy as she can on top of him as her thumb keeps at the motion until she hears the change in his breathing, his telltale sign that he’s close, and she stops as abruptly as she started.

“Aurora…” he whines while she shifts on top of him. She pauses - raised on her knees and cock in her hand - to see if he’ll say stop but when he remains silent she angles him to her opening and sinks down. Javier sobs as she takes him into herself, his arms making a jerking motion as if to try and grab her again.

“Please…” He’s sweating, the curls she previously pushed away now sticking to his forehead and his eyes as wide as saucers. Aurora begins a cantering motion, rocking back and forth with a pleasant heaviness building in the pit of her stomach. It happens quicker than she thought it would. Something within her snaps, the climax surprising her with its intensity as it courses through her, and she squeezes Javi tightly between her thighs. He gasps again, closes his eyes and bites his lip. His hips stutter into motion, getting one, two thrusts in before he cums.

#nffalphabet #javier pena fic #javier pena x ofc #narcos fic

[trulybetty]

oct' 23 x harvest

Prompt: harvest Pairing: gold rush!joel x f!reader Word Count: 822 Warnings: mentions of food & alcohol, mostly fluff and maybe a sense of foreboding? Summary: just some domestic fluff between charlotte and joel prior to the events of gold rush.

x. masterlist

The evening had wound down, and the boisterous laughter that had once echoed in Amy's home had now hushed to a gentle murmur. In the kitchen, Amy and Charlotte sat over a half-empty bottle of wine, their words and laughter spilling softly into the silence of the room.

Amy gave a playful grin, swirling the wine in her glass before casting a knowing glance at Charlotte. “Almost five years, Charlie. It's about time he put a ring on it.”

Charlotte laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “You sound like mom,” she teased, leaning back in her chair.

As if summoned by their conversation, the sound of the sliding glass doors drew their attention. Joel stepped inside, the soft glow from the overhead porch lights illuminating his figure. He slipped off his boots, a small smile adorning his lips as he approached Charlotte. He dropped a quick kiss onto her forehead, the familiar gesture causing Charlotte’s heart to flutter as it always did whenever Joel was around.

“What are we talking about?” Joel asked. His voice was mellow and rich, dipped in a tiredness that he couldn’t shake from this last job he and Tommy had taken on.

He moved to the counter, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the leftover lasagna that Amy had left out for him. He helped himself generously, the smell of warm cheese and tomato sauce filling the kitchen.

Amy couldn’t resist the opportunity for a well-timed remark. Her grin widened over the rim of her wine glass, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just wondering when you're finally going to make an honest woman out of my sister.”

Joel, with a forkful of lasagna midway to his mouth, paused and raised an eyebrow. His gaze met Charlotte's, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He took a bite of his food, his eyes never leaving Charlotte's, enjoying the faint blush that coloured her cheeks.

The gentle tease hung in the air.

Joel took his time, finishing his mouthful of lasagna before finally breaking the silence. “Now, who says I haven't been trying?” he joked back, glancing at Charlotte with a playful twinkle in his eyes.

Charlotte snorted into her wine glass, rolling her eyes at Joel's comment. Amy let out a belly laugh, shaking her head as she pushed out her chair. “Well, Charlotte, you've got your hands full with this one,” she said, nudging her sister gently as she made her way around the table to the fridge.

“All part of his charm,” Charlotte responded, smiling warmly at Joel.

Joel paused to give Amy a quick embrace, the older woman reaching up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, before he moved to join Charlotte at the table, sliding into the chair next to her. His arm found a comfortable spot around the back of her chair, pulling her closer. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Missed you,” she whispered, and his arm around her shoulder pulled her in tighter.

“Has it been that long?”

It was an open ended question, one looming court case and a work site that was running into continuous problems, they were passing ships in the night.

“It feels like it,” Charlotte murmured.

Amy returned with a bottle of beer for Joel which he accepted with a thanks, “I heard from Charlie you’ve got a new commission?”

Amy beamed, “Yes!” She declared, “An installation piece for the city's Harvest celebrations, it’s a take on the changing of seasons, using natural materials and soundscapes to create an immersive experience.”

Joel exchanged looks with Charlotte, who just gave him a shrug as she smiled behind her wine glass. This was Amy, one for theatrics. While Joel could appreciate art on a perhaps a rudimentary level, sometimes Amy's descriptions could fly a little over his head.

Joel raised a brow, intrigued. “That sounds like quite the undertaking.”

“I’m in the middle of sourcing some materials, but I’m almost there.” Amy replied, her eyes twinkling with excitement, “I might need your help with that though Mr. Handyman if you're free next weekend?”

Joel nodded, “I'm about.”

“Speaking of next weekend, it's your birthday this week is it not old man?”

This produced a genuine laugh from Joel, Amy was a good ten years his senior.

“It is, but you know me, not one for birthdays.”

Amy winked at Charlotte. “I bet Charlie has something special planned, though.”

Charlotte shot her sister a glare at the reference of their conversation from earlier. Amy only smirked and raised a toast to her younger sister.

“Well, that's if only we get this case wrapped up before the weekend,” Charlotte remarked, “the defence are dragging their heels in their refusal to concede, and Joel's been just as busy.”

Joel nodded his agreement. “Damn concrete guy keeps bailing on us,” he grumbled, as he took a swig from his beer bottle.

#october x 500 #autumnal offerings #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x charlotte winters #joel miller x oc #joel miller x ofc

[selene-and-the-cold]

Sicktember Prompt 19 – Curled Up With a Pet

Hello again. Today's little ficlet was inspired by Sicktember prompt 19: Curled Up With a Pet.

Fandom: OF/MD

Characters: Sick!Ed and fussing Stede with a side of grumpy Izzy.

No snz, so more of a general sickfic. Slight fever, a cough, and dubious medical treatments. And some sappy fluff, because apparently that's how I roll these days.

***

It was the year of our Lord 1717, and Blackbeard the scourge of the seven seas had come down with a cold.

Well, technically, Edward Teach had come down with a cold, which had put Blackbeard on an unprecedented hiatus. The hiatus was mainly forced on him by the Gentleman Pirate Stede Bonnet, who had insisted that Ed should rest.

It had taken some coaxing and well-meaning threads from Stede to get him that far, but now that Ed was resting comfortably in Stede's bed, a cool compress on his forehead, wrapped in a robe which smelled of Stede and lavender, and covered with layers upon layers of the finest blankets, while a steaming mug of tea with a tooth-rotting amount of sugar sat right next to him, Ed was grateful that he had been persuaded to take a break. Just like Ed had learned about the concept of „retirement“ from Stede, Stede had also introduced him to the term „sick leave“. A time of rest and recuperation for the illness-vexed body.

There was just one more thing missing for Ed to reach peak levels of comfort.

“Steeede? What's taking you so long, man?”

Calling out for Stede had not been the best idea, since it launched Edward into a chesty coughing fit.

“Just a second longer, Edward,” Stede replied from the other end of the room, where he was rummaging through his shelves and cabinets, fluttering from one spot to the next like an oversized butterfly. “I'll be with you before you can say 'Tell me where the loot is or you'll be skinned alive!'”

“Well, you just said it and you're not here, yet, so... “

“Psshh... I never had you down as the nit-picky type, Ed,” Stede waved Ed's objection away with his hand as if it were a pesky insect, his long, lacy cuffs dancing around his wrists. “You are quite moody when you're sick, aren't you?”

“Moody? No!,” Ed protested, crossing his arms in front of his chest, sounding decidedly moody as he did. Stede just shot him a look. “And besides, I'm not nitpicky. I'm a perfectionist. You don't achive my level of piracy and fuckery by doing things half-arsed.”

“Fair point,” Stede conceded as he approached, a vision of soft pastels, gold embroidery and white lace.

He was pushing a tea cart with ridiculously intricate gold-plated acanthus-carvings towards Edward. It was laden with various little bottles and vials of medicine and spirits, a stack of handkerchiefs, and books. The cart had been part of their latest loot from raiding a French ship and it was Stede's newest obsession. He loved pushing it around the captain's quarters to transport things, but in this case, it actually came in quite handy as an additional side-table for Ed's sickbed.

“What the hell is all of this stuff?”

“This,” Stede declared with a dramatic flourish, “is an assortment of things that will make you feel better in no time. Especially curated for you by me.”

Ed took a jar from the cart and peered into it, moving careful so the cool compress on his forehead would not slip. Inside of the jar were a bunch of leeches writhing and winding against the glass.

“Eww, come on Stede, you can't be serious! I hate those fuckers!” He hastily put the jar back down, staring at Stede in horror. “There's no way in hell I'll allow you to put one of those on me, man! I'd rather die than have my blood sucked out of me by some disgusting vampire snail!”

“Well alright, alright! No leeches,” Stede agreed and put the jar onto the lower shelf of the tea cart. “But perhaps I could interest you in this soothing balm for your chest..”

“Look, Stede,” Ed began softly, interrupting the blonde before he could rattle on about whatever ointment he was about to suggest, “I appreciate that you compiled all of that stuff to make me feel better, but I don't really need any of it.” As he spoke, Ed propped himself up on his elbows, taking off the cool cloth. His eyes were much more intense like this. Their vast, dark seas gazing at Stede, deep and mysterious like the ocean at midnight. “There's just one thing I need to make me feel better.”

“And what's that?,” Stede asked eagerly, curious blue eyes scanning the room to find the object in question before meeting Edward's eyes again, lips parted, muscles tensing in anticipation as Stede readied himself to go and get whatever Edward desired.

“It's you, you nut!,” Edward chuckled. “I need you. Right here next to me. That's all it takes to make me feel better.”

Stede's face glowed, his chest swelling with pride.

“Well, in that case...”

In one swift motion, Stede shrugged off his Jacket and kicked the shoes off his feet before he hopped onto the bed next to Edward. Their bodies met in a long, warm kiss, and soon the tea cart was forgotten as the two men melted into each other.

***

Some time later, Izzy made his way to the captain's cabin. He had not seen Edward all day and he did not like that his captain spent more and more of his time with the pompous colorful canary that was Stede Bonnet. Izzy could not allow that his cut-throat, menacing soul-as-black-as-hell Blackbeard fell more and more under the spell of the would be captain Bonnet.

Besides, the rest of Blackbeard's crew was itching to get news from their captain. It was all nice and dandy to spend some time aboard the Revenge, but it had been a while since their last raid and the men were itching for their next adventure.

“Edward?,” Izzy demanded, his voice as loud and assertive as his knock at Stede's door. “Edward, you need to come out, I need to talk to you!”

He was not getting a response, but Izzy was was tired of waiting, so he just opened the door and barged in – only to be aggressively shushed. Stede was sitting in bed, Ed's head resting peacefully in his lap, his body curled around Stede like a black cat.

“What the fuck?!”

“He's asleep,” Stede mouthed. “Come back later.”

“But...,” Izzy huffed, but Stede shooed him away with his hand.

“Not now!," Stede hissed, "We'll be up on deck AFTER Edward's rest.”

“Fine,” Izzy pressed out through gritted teeth, then turned on his heel and left for the main deck, his mood as dark as as a thundercloud.

“Where's the Captain?,” Fang asked as soon as Izzy set foot on deck.

“Below deck, curled up with his pet,” Izzy replied with a growl. “Stede fucking Bonnet!”

#of/md #sickfic #sicktember 2023 #prompt 19 #colds #mild fever #fluff #sick!Ed #and a silly interpretation of the prompt I could not resist