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babybluebex · 3 years

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good doctor kreizler ch.3: o come, all ye faithful

summary ↠ part 3 of good doctor kreizler // on christmas eve, as you and your new husband prepare to host your friends, there's a drastic change in plans, and the sudden need for an extra place setting. pairing ↠ laszlo kreizler x fem!reader (y/n) word count ↠ 5.6k warnings ↠ explicit language, smut, oral (f!receiving), sexual content involving a pregnant woman, explicit descriptions of childbirth (and everything that goes along with that), mentions of medical procedures, abduction a/n ↠ finally here it is! masterlist/taglist in bio!

The rustling of the bedsheets was a comfort to hear. Laszlo often woke up earlier than you did in order to prepare for his day at the Institute, and he tried his best not to wake you up. Your doctor had advised that you rest as much as possible, especially in the coming few weeks; as you learned, you seemed to have inherited your mother’s “weak womanly constitution”, as the doctor called it. You had to scale back your help during the investigation because of your weak stomach and over-eager emotions. It broke your heart into pieces when Laszlo finally told you that you were off the case entirely, but you understood his hesitations. At least, you considered, your husband knew better than you.

Not a day went by that you didn’t revel in your new title. The ceremony was a quiet affair, hardly even reported in the society papers, and you had just the most important family there. Sara served as your maid of honor, John as Laszlo’s best man, Marcus and Lucius as the legal witnesses. Laszlo had managed to secure a ring for you, and it glittered on your left hand every single day. The wedding, if you could call it that, had happened on a Saturday morning, and, when you went into work on Monday and had to alert Commissioner Roosevelt to your name change, Teddy had given you a warm smile that secured in you the thought that you would never truly be alone ever again. And you liked it.

You gave a soft moan and threw your arm behind you to capture your husband before he rose from bed. “Las,” you mumbled. In an instant, your hand was filled by his, and Laszlo was pressing his mouth to your cheek. “It’s still dark out.”

“Yes, my beloved, I know,” Laszlo said softly. “But I need to get an early start today.”

“Do you need to?” you groaned. “It’s awfully cold, sweetheart, I’ll freeze up if you leave.”

Laszlo gave a soft coo and kissed your cheek again, and he whispered, “I must get the house ready for dinner tonight.”

“For… What?” you mumbled.

“We’re hosting dinner tonight,” Laszlo explained slowly. The old wife’s tale of pregnancy brain seemed to be a certifiable malady in your case; you were constantly forgetting dates and appointments and misplacing things that you had in your hand. There had been more than one occasion where you had torn apart a room looking for the eyeglasses that you had perched on your nose. Laszlo, in his never-ending loveliness, was patient with you, and he would repeat things as many times as needed for them to stick. “Sara, John, Marcus, and Lucius are joining us.”

“Oh, God,” you huffed. “What’s the occasion?”

“Christmas dinner,” Laszlo said. His hand rested gently on your hip, his thumb making soft circles on your skin, and he nuzzled his beard into your neck. “I suppose, for Marcus and Lucius, it’s just dinner.”

“Oh, damn!” you murmured. “I forgot! How could I forget about Christmas?”

“You’ve had quite a lot on your mind lately,” Laszlo chuckled. “Please, my love, go back to sleep. You can’t help me with this anyway.”

“Why not?” you asked. You struggled to sit up, and Laszlo put his hand on your back and aided you upright. By you and your husband’s calculations, you were about eight months along, and you could feel every moment of it. Your back was constantly aching, and you had headaches that were so awful that you could feel your brain pulsing inside your skull (migraines, Laszlo called them, but you didn’t give a damn what they were called). All of the aches and pains meant nothing, though, when you felt your son kick up into you. Yes, Baby Kreizler was an active one, and, more often than not, you found yourself being woken up in the morning by his movements and kicks.

Laszlo placed his hand gently on your swollen belly, and his palm was met with a nudge. “It involves your Christmas present,” Laszlo told you. “And I can’t very well have you spoil your own present.”

“You—!” you began. “I thought we said we weren’t doing presents! Oh, Las, I have nothing to give you!”

“You must be joking,” Laszlo said. The room was dim, only the dull flame of a gas lamp lighting the bedroom, but you could see your husband’s glittering dark eyes as easily as if it were in the daytime. “You are giving me the best present that I could ever ask for. I could never ask you for anything more.”

You pouted, but drew Laszlo into a kiss. You often forget about your husband’s stubbornness, and, while it had made him the successful man he was, it was rather difficult to try to surprise him with anything. You had told a little fib when you said that you hadn’t gotten him a Christmas gift. The small leather-bound book was stashed in a drawer under your stockings, a neat ribbon around it, the front page reading a personal inscription from the author itself. Laszlo had a habit of reading literature that made you sick to even think about, and he had grown fond of an author that was published in a Boston newspaper, a man named Poe. You had acquired a collection of Poe’s stories and sent him a letter, explaining your situation, and he had sent it back with haste. You had peeked at the inscription, and you smiled just a bit at the words “you and your work are an inspiration, Doctor Kreizler”. Laszlo would like that, you were sure of it.

Laszlo moved his hand from your belly to your cheek, and he held your face as he deepened the kiss. You gave a soft laugh at his boldness (you supposed, though, that a husband’s need for his wife was hardly bold), and you lifted your arms to wrap around his neck. In an instant, Laszlo abandoned his need for being early, and he pressed a line of fluttering kisses down your jaw and neck. You let your fingers run through his hair, still mussed from sleep, and Laszlo pressed a sweet, open-mouthed kiss to your breast. That was another surprise of pregnancy; not that your breasts would grow as your milk came in, but that Laszlo would form an odd attachment to them. If it were anybody else, Laszlo would have looked at the behavior as codependent and perhaps leaning towards neglect from one’s mother, but, since it was him, you knew that he didn’t think about it. The moment your beautiful and eloquent doctor had one of your breasts in his mouth, he turned simple-minded.

So simple-minded, in fact, that he hardly seemed to notice the way his hand slid and crept up your thigh. Or perhaps he was aware of it, and was being coy for your sake. Either way, you keened up into his hand, whimpering just a bit, silently pleading for him. You two had become experts at reading each other, and Laszlo knew what you wanted without you having to utter a word. You didn’t want his hand, he knew that. He gave one last kiss to your hard nipple, then continued to trail feather-light kisses down your body. His hand tangled in your nightgown and rucked it up past your hips, and he gave an open-mouthed kiss to your hip. Your hands clawed at your nightgown, pulling it up and over your head to free your body completely, and Laszlo took a departure from your hip to lavish your belly in kisses. The skin had been permeated with light marks where your skin had stretched to accommodate the baby, and, while you didn’t quite care for the look of them and worried if they would persist, Laszlo never stopped for one second to consider them anything but beautiful.

“Laszlo,” you whimpered out. “Please, my love.”

Laszlo kissed down your hips to your thighs, and he pressed your legs open and pulled them over his shoulders. Then, finally, mercifully, he pressed his mouth to your cunt. He wasted no time, placing open-mouth kisses all over your sensitive skin, and your fingers closed in his hair. You tugged a bit, telling him to go further, and Laszlo licked a stripe up your waiting cunt. You gave him a satisfied little moan and your hips jerked a bit when he gave a harsh suck to your clit. “Las!” you squealed, and you felt him smile against you. “Fuck, more.”

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Laszlo mumbled, looking up at you through his eyelashes as he pressed his mouth against you again. The sight of it had you whimpering, and you felt your release close at hand. That was how it seemed to go, as of late; Laszlo hardly had to stimulate you, and you were a wet, spent mess within minutes. He said it was the baby, and you didn’t know enough to dispute him. Laszlo detached his mouth from your cunt and lifted his hand to stroke your throbbing clit with the rough pad of his thumb. “Taste so good… How could I ever have lived before you?”

You hardly had the brain to wax lyrical at the moment, but, if you did, you would have said that perhaps he wasn’t truly living before you, just as you hadn’t before him. The world had changed with him, and you could never want anything else except him for the rest of time. “Las,” you gasped, the pleasure he gave you making your legs shake. While his hand worked, his mouth went to your thigh, and he placed wet kisses all over the skin. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you as you writhed under him, and you moaned and keened at him. “Las—” you gasped. “I-I’m gonna—”

The wonderful and heady relief washed over you before you could even finish your sentence, and you basked in it for a long while. Your chest heaved as you smoothed down Laszlo’s hair, and he stood up with a soft grunt. “Gosh, I’m sorry, sweetheart,” you mumbled, sitting up on your elbows; you hadn't meant for him to kneel down on the hard floor, but he didn't seem to mind it much. His robe had come undone during the act to show his chest and stomach, and you worked yourself fully upright so that you could wrap your arms around him. Your head landed on his chest and you kissed over his heart, and Laszlo gave a quiet little sigh. “You grow lovelier every day,” he whispered, and he landed a kiss in your hair.

You smiled into his chest. But you felt as if something was off. Yes, your muscles and fibers had relaxed with the orgasm, but there was still an odd tightness in your core. It felt almost like the cramps you had to endure monthly, or, at least, the onset of one. “Oh, no,” you mumbled. You knew what that feeling was.

“What is it?” Laszlo asked.

The contraction finally landed and settled fully in your core, and it nearly knocked the breath out of you. “God!” you yelped, drawing your husband closer to you. “Las— I’m in labor.”

Laszlo didn’t seem to fully process your words, because he looked down at you with a sort of bleary-eyed confusion. “Labor?” he repeated. “As in…?”

“As in labor, Laszlo!” you cried. “As in I will give birth sometime in the next few days and it’ll be your head on a pike if you don’t get the doctor here now.”

Laszlo stepped away from you and looked around the bedroom, a little frantic. Finally, he clenched his jaw and tied up his robe, and he went to the door of the bedroom and threw it open. “Cyrus!” he yelled. “Cyrus! Ring the doctor! Y/N’s gone into labor!”

You heard Cyrus respond to Laszlo, and suddenly his hands were on you again. The pain, while not awful, was certainly unpleasant, and you moved slowly as Laszlo helped you back into your nightgown. His hand was shaking almost as badly as yours were, and you grabbed his hand and drew it to your mouth for a firm kiss. “I love you,” you whispered. Your eyes watered, and you tried to pretend that you didn’t see Laszlo’s eyes wetting as well.

“I love you too, my beloved,” Laszlo said softly, laying you back amongst the pillows. “The doctor will be here soon. Can I get you anything in the meantime?”

You bit your lip at an onslaught of pain that rocketed down your spine. “Get me Sara,” you said.

“S-Sara Howard?” Laszlo asked.

“She’s practically my sister,” you said. “Please, Las, I need her.”

“Of course, of course,” Laszlo said quickly. “Can I get you anything else?”

You gave a shuddering sigh as the pain died down, and you mumbled, “A glass of water?”

John took the steps into the house two at a time. He had just been sitting down for breakfast with his grandmother when their telephone had sounded. While his grandmother raged at the thing, he answered it and had the briefest of conversations with Laszlo that went something like this: “She’s in labor. Come quick.” “... Now?” “Childbirth waits for no man, John, and I intend for my child to meet his uncle as soon as possible.”

The energy inside the house was an odd one. The place was done up with garlands of holly, obviously having been prepared by the little motley family of Laszlo, Y/N, Cyrus, and Stevie, to stand as a lovely locale for Christmas dinner. It should have been so cheerful— chattering and laughing— but there was just silence. “Laszlo?” John called, looking upwards from the base of the stairs.

“Top floor!” He heard Laszlo call back after a moment. Usually, the doctor would have greeted him at the door, and now he wasn’t even coming down to debrief the situation. John steeled himself and prepared for the worst.

Thankfully, the top floor wasn’t a tragedy zone. Laszlo stood in the hallway, pacing restlessly, mumbling to himself in every language he spoke. “John, Mein Gott,” he sighed. “Thank you for coming quickly.”

“Is she really in labor?” John asked.

“Yes,” Laszlo replied. “We woke up only a few hours ago and… Her water broke. The contractions have been ebbing and flowing ever since, but she is insistent that a doctor get here.” After a moment, and noticing John’s trepidation, added, “A real doctor, she said. Someone who has experience with delivering children.”

“That’s probably a good call,” John said. “Is she in there?” He gestured at the closed door that he could only assume was Laszlo and Y/N’s bedroom, and Laszlo nodded.

“Sara’s in there as well,” Laszlo said. “Comforting her.”

“Why are you not in there?” John asked quickly. “I mean, my God, Laszlo, this is your wife and son!”

“I know,” Laszlo snapped. “I wish I could be, but… I can’t bring myself to. The numbers of women who die in childbirth… And most of the time, there’s nothing to be done to stop it… I-I would only blame myself. If I were in that room, with my knowledge, and she died, and I couldn’t help, I would blame myself.”

There was a sharp yelp from inside the room, like a hurt animal, followed by muffled shushing; the mother and Sara, John supposed. “Where’s the doctor?” John asked.

“The one we chose to schedule when we would go to wellness checks was booked until this afternoon,” Laszlo said. “He’ll get here when he can. Until then, we… Wait. I will allow myself to go in every so often and check dilation, but it’s getting to the point where… The sight of it makes me ill.”

John didn’t know much about childbirth, but the word dilation helped him figure up enough of an image to make him a little ill as well. “Can I get her anything?” John asked. “Something from the shop on the corner?”

“She says no,” Laszlo said. “She’s only asked for water. A kiss, every so often, but I feel that’s less vital and more encouragement.”

John nodded in agreement, and he pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his pants. “How long do we wait?” he asked.

“However long it takes,” Laszlo said with a shrug. “For some women, it’s mere hours; others, days.”

John sighed and took up a place leaning against the wall, and he mumbled, “I guess dinner’s off, isn’t it?”

Laszlo finally cracked a gentle smile, and he leaned next to John. He wore the beginnings of an acceptable outfit, pants and a buttoned shirt with his suspenders, but no vest, no cravat, no jacket. This was a worried man, an expectant father, a ready doctor. “I’m sure we can find a way to have dinner,” he said. “Perhaps, if the timing’s right, we’ll have to put out an extra place-setting.”

John still could hardly believe that, out of their entire group, Laszlo was the first to have a baby. Just meters away, behind the door, Laszlo’s wife was in the beginning stages of bringing new life. On Christmas Eve, no less. “Did you ever think you’d have this?” John whispered.

“No,” Laszlo replied after a moment. He looked down at his boots and wrapped his arm around himself, and he chewed on his thoughts for a moment. “Even just last night, as we were going to bed… I watched her enter the room, and the lamp lit her up… Her body was silhouetted against the lamp through her nightgown. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I’ll never forget the sight. If I had any artistic inclination, I would have captured it. The memory might be greater than any piece of art, though.” He took a moment to savor the image, and he gave a short sigh. “But I have done my share of worrying. Every day, every moment, I was terrified. I have never known greater fear, truly. When she was at work and the Institute would get a phone call, I felt physically ill until I could answer it. Every day, I woke up and asked myself… ‘Is this the day where we lose him?’. It’s not a good way to live, John. But every night, after another successful day, when I would get her in my arms, it was the most perfect thing. It is unbelievable. Me, a father?” He scoffed. “I just hope he looks like her.”

“Why?” John asked.

“I don’t want him to be plagued with my visage,” Laszlo said. “If he resembles me, people will know he’s mine, and he won’t ever escape my reputation. I know the name Kreizler is an unusual one, but he can deny relation. If he has my name and face… There’s no denying it.”

“And you’re ashamed of that?” John asked. “Laszlo, there is nothing but pride to be had in your name. Kreizler is… You’re a man of science, a world-renowned alienist. You are intelligent, smart as a whip! You are dedicated to your work and your family, and you treat people with the utmost respect… Well, you treat your patients with the utmost respect.” John paused to dig his elbow playfully into Laszlo’s ribs, and Laszlo gave a little huffing laugh that held no true humor in it. “And you’re kind. You’d give your life for the people you love. A man can only ask for a friend as loyal as you. And you’re quite handsome, Laszlo. A child with any resemblance to you is a blessed one.”

“Alright—” Laszlo started plaintively.

“No, truly,” John said. He cast a glance at the door, then added, “May I confess something?”

Laszlo gave John a sideways glance, then nodded, and John took a deep breath. “I promised the good Mrs. Kreizler to keep this secret, but I feel it’s past time to tell you. The day you two met, when Sara brought her from the police station to the Institute, I heard her and Sara speaking as they left. I heard her say ‘That Kreizler fellow is quite handsome’. I confronted her on the basis of light teasing a few days later, and she implored me to not tell you. Got quite emotional about it, in fact. She said that she… She wanted to prove her place in the job. She said she didn’t want to be one of those women who joined a man’s work and fell in love and become some subservient housewife. She wanted to be a detective. But, before your wedding, she admitted to me that she was glad that what had happened had happened. She told me she couldn’t see any other life that didn’t have you in it. She told me that she had even considered naming your son after you, but she knew that you would fight her tooth and nail about that. She loves you, Laszlo, and she’ll make sure that your son does too. Hell, he’ll be proud to carry the name Kreizler. All the more so if he looks like you. Don’t be ashamed of who you are or your past. The future has yet to come and, from what I can tell, it’ll be a good future. Don’t waste it by worrying about if your son is proud of you or himself, because, frankly, that’s a fucking ridiculous thing to worry abut. He’s your son, Laszlo; the part you should worry about is how to shrink that ego that he’ll have.”

Laszlo smiled once more, and he drew John into a tight hug. The men were quiet, and John gave Laszlo a few firm pats on his back. “Thank you, John,” Laszlo said softly. “Those are kind words.”

John shrugged. “It’s the least I can do,” he said. “I suspect that you’ll wear divots on the floor if you keep pacing, though.”

“Can you blame me?” Laszlo asked. “Just beyond that door… It kills me.”

Just then, there was another cry of pain, and John heard you cry out: “Laszlo! I need you!”

Laszlo couldn’t have moved faster if he were shocked by electricity. He flew from his place on the wall and opened the door, and he was instantly by your side. John hesitated for a moment, seeing your nakedness and open legs, but Laslzo beckoned him in. John entered slowly, taking in the smell of sweat and blood, and then he really examined you. The bedsheets around you were dark with birthing fluid, your nightgown discarded on the floor. Sara sat next to you, undressed down to her underskirt, with her sleeves rolled to her elbow, holding your hand and giving you soft encouragement. Your skin was shining with strained perspiration, your hair matted to your forehead. Your bottom lip was nearly bitten raw, and your hand clambered out for Laszlo’s. Your chest heaved as you tried to breathe slowly, and Laszlo pushed your damp hair from your face. “You’re doing great,” he whispered and planted a kiss on your temple. “John, come here. Hold her hand while I check her dilation.”

The two men switched places, and you gave John Schuyler Moore a smile. “Glad you could make it, John,” you said, reaching for his face and drawing him in to put a kiss on his cheek. “Oh, Christ, it hurts.”

“I know it does,” John said gently. “But you’re being so strong. I’m proud of you.”

John looked expectantly down to Laszlo, examining you, and, when he looked at you, his eyes were tearing up. “It’s time, my beloved,” he said, and you gasped. “You need to push.”

“What? No!” you cried. Fear radiated through your body, and you sobbed. “No, it’s too early! The doctor isn’t here yet!”

“There’s no choice,” Laszlo said. He was firm, his jaw set, but you could see the emotions welling behind his eyes. He was scared too. He was as unprepared as you were. Sure, he was a doctor, but he hardly knew how to deliver a baby. “He’s coming now. Sara, run to the kitchen and get water, a clean rag, a large empty bowl, and a pair of scissors; a sharp knife would be sufficient.”

Sara nodded and, before she left, she gave you a quick kiss on your forehead. “You can do this,” she said. “I believe in you.”

You could hardly focus on your husband’s words, telling you to relax as much as possible and push when he said. The sensation of pushing was an odd one, your middle cramping with the force of it, and a whimper fell from you. You held John’s hand tightly, so tightly that your brief moments of levity from pushing had you apologizing for it, but the contraction would return, and you had to push again. Sara returned after the second bout of pushing, bearing all the tools required, and Laszlo quickly dipped his hands in the water to cleanse them. For the moment, he was bearing the dual responsibility of father and doctor, and he wore both roles on opposite sides of his face. His eyes were steadied and focused, using his Harvard-granted education, but his mouth was screwed up in concern. His forehead shined with sweat, and he paused in-between the fifth and sixth round to roll up his sleeves. Sara and John picked up the familial slack, encouraging you and helping you where they could.

Your vision grew spotty after ten rounds of intense and strenuous pushing, and you gasped out, “Las, I-I can’t do it anymore, I can’t—”

You wished that you hadn’t looked down. If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have seen Laszlo’s white shirt spotted with blood, the stuff caked under his fingernails. The sight of it made you sniffle and hold back a gag. The wrinkles in your husband’s forehead were deep, but they dissipated when he looked at you. “Yes, you can,” Laszlo said firmly. “You’re too far along, there’s no stopping now, my love.”

“Laszlo, I can’t,” you croaked. “I can’t, I— I can hardly breathe or see, I-I cannot do it anymore!”

Laszlo paused, studying your face for a moment, and he stood up from the floor in front of bed and leaned forward to capture your chin in his hand. “You have to,” he said firmly, pressing his forehead against yours. “He’s nearly halfway out, coming feet-first. You need to finish what you’ve started, my dear. Goddamn it, finish this, for me, for you, and for him. Do you hear me? Fucking finish this.”

You nodded, gritting your teeth. Under any other circumstances, you would have slapped him outright for being so harsh with you, but you needed to hear it. You had no idea that you were that far along, and the thought that perhaps you were a few minutes away from holding your son gave you the strength you needed. You took a deep breath and readjusted your grips on Sara and John’s hands, and you waited for Laszlo to tell you to push. And you did. You felt a popping in your ears and a fierce snap in your hips, and the culmination of what felt like eons of work made you give one, hoarse, exhausted, gut-wrenching scream.

And then… There was another. But not your screams. They weren’t coming from your mouth, tearing up your throat what felt like beyond repair. No, no, they were coming from—

The soft snip of scissors interrupted the air of high shrieks, and then the weight of an even six pounds was settled on your chest. You looked down through spotted and tearful eyes, and you found a small being laying on your chest, wailing his little lungs out. All pink and wrinkled, still covered in little flecks of blood and other such stuff. He had a small swirl of dark hair atop his little head, and his mouth was like a rosebud. He had a tiny nose and, when you looked at Laszlo, you saw the same one. “Oh my God,” you gasped, instantly putting your hands on your baby’s back. “Oh my God! Hello there, baby. Oh my God, Laszlo—”

Laszlo took up John’s place at your head, and you looked to see his shirt splotched with your blood, tear tracks shining bright on his face. You had never seen him smile so big. He placed a gentle hand on his son’s back, touching him as if he would disappear the moment contact was made, and he swallowed thickly. “Welcome to the world,” he said softly, and he leaned down and settled a kiss on his son’s head. Almost instantly, he stopped his crying, devolving into quiet coos and whimpers, and you laughed.

“God, of course he loves you more,” you laughed. “Oh, Las… Oh, he’s here.”

“What’s his name?” Laszlo asked.

You didn’t have to think. You had been pondering ever since you found out you were pregnant, and you had come up with the perfect name. “Friedrich Wolfgang Kreizler,” you said.

“Nietzche, Mozart…” Laszlo mumbled, stroking his beard in wonderment. “Yes, that’ll do quite nicely, I think.”

Laszlo settled down on the bed next to you, and you carefully passed Friedrich to him. He held him in the crook of his left arm, and his heart nearly stopped when his son looked at him. Dark brown eyes, with a small dark birthmark just at the top of his left cheek. Just like Papa. “A spitting image, eh?” Laszlo chuckled lightly.

“Chip off the old block,” John chuckled. Sara moved to pull the blankets up over your body, and you captured her and pulled her into a tight hug. You whispered a “Thank you” to her, and she smiled. Sara was always so supportive in her own way, and the smile meant the world to you. “Congratulations are in order, Kreizlers.”

Kreizlers. Plural. There were three of you now, a full family. Mama, Papa, and baby. “Thank you for your help,” you told John. “I truly couldn’t have managed it without you.”

You let your head fall back on your pillow, and you glanced at the window. The sky outside was painted with ink, the smallest pinpricks of silver coming through; it had taken all day and into the night. “Is it past midnight?” you asked, and John quickly looked at his watch.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s Christmas Day.”

You laughed, and looked at Laszlo. “You did say he was the best present you’d ever gotten,” you told him.

“I did say that,” Laszlo agreed. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of Friedrich since you had given him to him. You could hardly place the emotion he had in his eyes, but you knew that it was some form of love. “I meant it then, and I mean it now.”

“I love you,” you told him.

Laszlo finally looked at you, and he saw an entirely new woman. He thought that the whole spiel about a “mother’s glow” was a myth, a way to make women feel beautiful after the strain of giving birth, but he saw it more clearly than anything. You were radiant. Your skin was sparkling and your eyes were bright, and your smile could have lit up a thousand street lamps. Motherhood suited you. “I love you too,” he said. He leaned over to kiss you, and even that felt new.

Finally, Laszlo broke the kiss, and he said, “Let me take him to get clean. You rest up, my beloved; I’ll have Cyrus bring you something to eat.”

You nodded. You had no qualms about Laszlo taking Friedrich. He was his father, after all, and you knew that Laszlo would sooner burn his library than hurt his son. “Can I have a moment alone?” you asked.

“Of course,” Sara offered. “I’m proud of you.”

“You should go hold your nephew,” you said. “That is, if Papa Bear will release him for long enough.”

The four of you laughed, and Laszlo stood up from the bed. “Get some sleep,” he said. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Laszlo could only gaze down at Friedrich as he carried him into his nursery. The place was decorated with images of animals, per your request, and John had managed to paint a collection of birds that lined the top of the walls. He took special care to wipe Friedrich clean, tilting his head as he listened to his little man’s curious vocalizations, and he chose a blanket that Lucius Isaacson had knitted to swaddle him in. Laszlo had done the stereotypical practice, tormenting the small bags of flour that sat in the kitchen, and he had gotten quite good at doing it with his one arm. He slowed to a stop, though, and he looked at his right arm for a moment. He looked back at Friedrich, seemingly asleep in his warm wool swaddle, and he took his arm by the wrist and guided it to his son. Carefully, he pressed his cheek into his palm, and his heart swooned at the feeling of his warm, soft skin against his fingers. He nearly felt like he would pass out. He loved you, yes, but he could never love anything more than the boy in front of him.

The moment was shattered, though, when, down the hall, Laszlo heard you give a clipped shout of his name. “Las—!”

“John!” Laszlo called, and John took his place with Friedrich as he raced to the bedroom. When he opened the door, he expected the worst. He expected pools of blood, perhaps a corpse, his wife and the mother of his son to have succumbed to an unknown complication in the time it took him to clean Friedrich.

He didn’t expect an empty bed and an open window, the thin curtain rustling with the breeze. He didn’t expect a small slip of paper amongst the stained sheets. He didn’t expect to read the page and grow so angry that he let out a howl of anguish: Mother Mary has delivered. She must repent. Happy Christmas, Doctor.

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inhuman-obey-me · 3 years

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🪄+ MC+ Mammon

“You’re the darkest fairytale.” - Mammon x MC

The demons before you laugh, sickening howls of delight that slice through the night air between empty branches of dead trees.

You shouldn't have wandered so far from the main streets alone.

This is the Devildom, after all. You've been warned time and again that it's not safe to walk around alone. You have been told repeatedly not to be out by yourself. Ask a brother to escort you. Take one of them along to protect you.

You should have listened.

The demons are happily discussing how best to prepare their newly acquired delicacy. Not that they've been terribly delicate with you. There are definitely bruises on your arm from where their claws sank into you as they snatched you off the side streets of the royal capital. One moment, you had been peeking into the windows of some small shops, looking for a cute present to surprise your boyfriend -- and the next, you had found yourself getting dragged along the bumpily paved ground at terrifying speed. And now you are here, tied to a tree, watching these demons delight over how best to eat you.

The shriek of an ear-splitting caw pierces through the lively atmosphere before you.

You hear the clomping of bones against the dirt before you see it -- a long white ghastly skull emerges, thin jagged branches from the forest casting shadows that look almost like cracks upon its face. Then the rest of the body, just as skeletal, held together by an unending darkness that seeps through the bones like gas.

A figure leaps off the back of the horse, a golden glint of his glowing eyes catching the moonlight for just a moment before nightmarish wings of hundreds of crows catch him in midair to carry him directly to you. With a swift slice, his claws rip apart the ropes binding you, and he sweeps you up in his arms, circling back to place you gently upon the horse as it charges through the demons' little camp. As he retakes the reins, the crows scatter off to attack the demons before they can run, pecking at eyes, ears, and any other body parts available to them.

"Mammon!" You cling gratefully to him as relief rushes through your whole body, and he holds you tightly against him to keep you from falling off. "You came for me!"

"What are you talking about, ya big dummy? Of course I did!" he answers.

"You're the darkest fairy tale," you sigh happily, nuzzling your face against his warm body. "My very own Prince Charming. Thank you, Mammon."

#obey me #obey me!#obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me mammon #om! mammon #obey me mammon x reader #obey me mammon x mc #obey me fics #obey me drabble #666 follower celebration #writings #drabble #mod chaos in the devildom #a fairy tale with a different kind of grimm prince

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cottoncandyreaper · 2 years

Text

((I really do love writing Red as a dad, it's so fluffy and just super fun to see him in that light))

"I got a work function event tonight honey, ya ain't goin with me and I ain't about to not go cuz you're cryin' so ya better figure out what to do about those tears before Uncle Grillby gets here."

"B-but I don't w-want you to go!"

"Baby bones you're dustin me darlin." He sighed.

It had just passed five months being on the surface, there were still rough patches between the humans and more deadly monsters but after acquiring a good job and settling in things seemed to have calmed at least for the skeleton family. Besides Winfred having separation anxiety recently it hadn't been so bad given that Red barely ever left her at home. It was either school or always with him...yeah, something he needed to work on for sure.

"Winfred go, let Daddy get ready baby bones and we'll talk before I go."

The crying only continued shaking her head reaching for him more.

"Oh man kiddo...what should I do with you honey?"

Scooping up his little human all he could do was coddle her swaying and rubbing her back. Little hands latched onto his clothes so tight while hiccuping with shakes hiding away in his neck.

"I won't be gone all night, I'll be back to tuck you into bed I promise."

"N-no!"

"No you don't want me to tuck you in?"

"N-no! D-don't go! Stay h-home D-Daddy!"

Leaning his skull against her head he shushed her gently moving to sit on the bed wrapping his arms more tightly around her hugging her as closely as he could.

"Breath Winfred...you're gonna get a head pain and then you really won't be happy."

The hard crying became a mix of hard choked sobs, coughing and whines. It took a good amount of time to calm her down when these panics hit but Red had gained a quick and effective method to deal with them. Nothing like being squeezed tight by your dad as he sways side to side humming your favorite lullaby. Little arms moved after a few quiet minutes drying stained cheeks and pushing messy red hair out of her face. The tension finally melted away as she leaned more comfortably into Red's frame laying her cheek on his shoulder twirling his shirt between her fingers as the final shaky breath was heard.

"Ya feelin better now baby bones?"

"....y-yeah..."

"Can we talk now without anymore cryin'?"

"Yeah."

He wanted to sit her up and have her look at him but some parental urge told him to keep on with the cuddles and nuzzles.

"This is the first time that my work is havin' a function for us. It won't be very long at all, two-maybe two in a half hours long tops. And you know I work really close to home and can be back super fast. So I need you to be good and hang out with Uncle grillby and make sure he behaves okay? I promise promise promise that I'll be home to tuck you in bed okay?"

She tensed up a bit whining but a reassured squeeze stopped it.

"O-okay...can I call you i-if I want too?"

"Yes you can. Uncle Grillby always has me on speed dial."

The nod was slow to be given but once he had it Red slowly eased his hold placing her on the ground as the booming voice of Grillby reverberate throughout the walls.

"Go get some snuggles from him Winfred and I'll be down in a second."

"Okay..."

Running phalanges through her crimson locks he noted that she looked so tired now that she might be asleep before he even got home as she pitter patted out the door closing it gently. This was at least a step in the direction needed to get the melt downs under control. Red knew he would manage, it would just be hard for a bit.

Later that night walking through the front door feeling more relaxed the moment he was home the scene he found melted his soul. Grillby leaned back in the couch propped up by a fist with Winfred curled up so nice and snug in his lap looking like a burrito in her favorite quilt.

"Damn, guess I missed tuck in time."

Not wanting to disturb the two he passed quietly back up to his room but kept his door open incase a certain baby bones decided to claim a spot in bed with him.

#lullaby #undertale #undertale story #writers on tumblr #underfell sans #underfell #sans the skeleton #cuteness #cuddles #best dad #girl dad #grillby

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being-luminous · 3 years

Note

🙀 prompts?! how about harry keeps doing things to get tom’s attention/regard , praise kink

🥺 thank you! i love your writing!

Thanks for the prompt, anon! This one is also under a read more. It's not as long as the first fill, but it's just as much pwp

Contains: praise kink, oral, a bit of crying, tom being smitten, pet names

The first time it happens—or, rather, the first time Tom notices—he doesn’t understand what it means.

“I’m impressed, Harry,” he says, turning the newly acquired book over in his hands. He’s been searching for a copy for months now, yet somehow Harry managed to beat him to it. “This must have been difficult to find.”

“A bit,” Harry says, and there’s something in his voice that makes Tom look, that makes him pay attention.

Harry's face is flushed, deep red blooming over his cheeks, practically glowing. He barely manages to hold Tom’s gaze before he turns his head, and Tom is struck suddenly by the picture he makes—eyes lowered, soot-dark lashes fanning over his cheeks, bottom lip held between his teeth.

Curious, he thinks.

And then he turns his attention back to the book in his hands, and the moment is forgotten.

(Later, he’ll think long and hard about the way Harry presented this gift to him—the eagerness in his expression as he handed it over, then the pleasure at his praise.

But not yet.)

The most curious thing is—he keeps noticing.

First, the grin that steals across Harry’s face whenever Tom thanks him (the one that makes Tom thank him more often just to see it), shy and pleased all at once. Then, the way he leans ever so closer whenever Tom speaks a word of praise, like a flower seeking the sun. And the flush on his skin—over his cheeks, down his neck. The way he tucks his hands beneath his arms as he leans in, like he’s holding himself back from…from something, though Tom couldn’t say what.

The heat in his gaze before he turns away.

The way he keeps doing these things to earn Tom’s praise, even when Tom doesn’t ask him to.

Slowly, so slowly he’s embarrassed to admit it, after, Tom puts the pieces together.

Then he begins to plan.

When he’s finally ready, he lures Harry to his flat late one evening with a fabricated plea for help. If he remembers correctly (and he always does), Harry will need to cancel whatever puerile plans he made with those…roommates of his in order to come over, but Tom isn’t worried. Harry will choose him as he always does, and when they’re done, he’ll stay.

He has to.

When he spies Harry walking up the pavement, he has to force himself not to express the giddy rush that floods his chest. The door to the street shuts behind him, and Tom begins his count; each second stretches into an excruciating eternity. When the door to his flat swings open without a knock—Harry was given his spare key months ago—Tom waits with bated breath as his…friend (for now) makes his way from the entryway to the bedroom where he waits. Eventually, he pokes his head through the doorway.

The way his face lights up when he catches sight of Tom where he’s braced against one of the bedposts, ever pleased to see him, is gratifying.

“Tom,” he says in greeting, trotting closer when Tom holds out a hand to him. He takes it, not at all hesitating even though they’ve never been the tactile sort. “How are you?”

“Well enough,” Tom says, and anticipation churns in his gut, threatening to leave him breathless and weak at the knees. “I wanted to ask you a question.”

Harry’s head tilts. A grin pulls at his plush lips. “Go ahead.”

And Tom is certain of Harry’s response, he is. Still, he feels something like fear boil over him when he asks, voice even, “Would you suck my cock?”

It takes a moment for Harry to register the words. When he does, his breath catches and his lips part. His eyes go wide and dark. A surprised flush blooms over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. In his mind’s eye, Tom sees that same flush streaked white with his come, and he sways, almost knocked off his feet by the force of his own arousal.

He didn’t expect it to affect him so.

Finally, Harry recovers enough to speak. “Is this a joke?” he asks, voice faint.

“Not at all,” Tom tells him, and this time he doesn’t quite manage the even tone he aims for.

“So…” Harry stops, wets his bottom lip with his tongue. His gaze darts around the room, like he’s afraid someone will catch them. “Right now?”

Tom inclines his head. “If you would.”

For a long moment, Harry only looks at him, like he’s waiting for Tom to laugh at him, to take it back. Then, hand still held in Tom’s, he sinks to his knees.

“Good, Harry,” Tom says, relief flooding through him, though he’ll never admit to any doubt.

He uses his free hand to palm Harry’s cheek, thumb brushing against his lips, which part so sweetly for him. He presses in, touches the pad of his thumb against his teeth, then over his tongue as he uses his hold to tilt Harry’s head back, to make Harry look at him.

The flush on his cheeks is bolder now.

His eyes are ink-dark in the light of the lone lamp in the corner of the room. They look wet, Tom thinks, and he wonders if Harry will cry when he has his cock down his throat.

He wonders if Harry will choke on it.

“Take my cock out,” he says, gentle because he can afford to be. “Use your hands.”

And Harry does.

He wraps his strong, well-formed hands around Tom’s cock, and Tom lets out a pleased sigh, grinning when Harry swallows thickly, when he sways closer.

“Well done, Harry,” he says. “Now, put your mouth on me.”

And Harry does.

He licks a line of heat up his shaft, one hand cradling his balls as the other curls around the base. When he reaches the head, he sucks it into his mouth, tonguing at his slit, and Tom hisses, his hips jerking forward. He feels his cockhead bump against the roof of Harry’s mouth, and Harry just takes it, moaning as he forces Tom’s cock even deeper.

Inch by agonizing inch, his cock sinks into the wet heat of Harry’s mouth.

He curls his hands in Harry’s hair, close to his skull, feels the vibration of Harry’s whimpered moans at each sharp tug.

“Merlin, Harry,” he says, panting. “You’re so—“ He grits his teeth, hips jerking again, and Harry’s hand around the base of his cock is replaced with his mouth.

He’s never felt anything like it, he thinks as he stares down at the ring of Harry’s lips, the obscene stretch of them around him. The memories of past sexual partners fizzle away, pressed from his head by the feel of Harry’s tongue massaging his shaft, by the wet sounds his throat makes on each thrust.

Heat coils low in his belly, pressure building higher with each slick press into Harry’s mouth, and he knows he’ll come too soon if he doesn’t stop.

Pulling Harry off his cock is quite possibly the hardest thing he’s ever done.

“You’re so good to me,” he says when Harry whines, sucking like he could keep it inside him if he just tried hard enough. “Just—give me a minute, darling, and you can have it again.”

He doesn’t even mind the pet name that slips from his lips, too busy watching the way Harry melts at the sound of it. Harry sighs, nuzzling at his hip, and Tom shivers when his hair brushes against his cock.

“Tom,” Harry says against his skin, voice wrecked, pleading.

“Hush, darling,” Tom says. He rubs his thumb through the tears on Harry’s cheek, uses his hand in Harry’s hair to pull him closer, to pull him down again, until he can feel every gasping breath against his balls. “I know. You’re doing so well.”

His toes curl against the floor when he feels Harry nuzzle his cock, then further down, feels his tongue on his balls before he begins to suckle them gently into his mouth.

He grinds into the feeling, smearing precome over Harry’s face with every rock of his hips.

“You’re so good, Harry,” he says, breathless, head knocked back against the bedpost and his eyes clenched shut. If he looks at him, he’ll come. “So perfect for me.”

He feels Harry sigh against his skin, pressing impossibly closer, and he shudders, wraps a hand tight around the base of his cock. He’ll come soon, he knows, and he wants to do it buried in Harry’s throat, claiming him from the inside out.

“Can you take me in your mouth again?” he asks.

Harry moans, and it sounds like yes.

“I know you can,” Tom says, gasping. “Of course you can, because you’re perfect, darling.” He tugs Harry’s head back, takes his cock in hand and touches it to his lips, holds him still as he feeds his cock back into his mouth. “You take me so well.”

And Harry is a vision at his feet.

Flushed face wet with saliva and tears and precome. Eyes wide and dark. Hair in disarray. Chest having on each breath.

Lips stretched wide around his cock.

“I’d keep you here forever,” Tom says as Harry’s tongue curls around his shaft, as the wet heat of his mouth, of his throat, takes him deeper. “On your knees. So sweet for me, so open.”

Harry’s throat clenches as he swallows, and Tom’s hips jerk forward.

The sound of Harry choking around him is better than any symphony.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he asks, only barely hearing his own voice. He doesn’t care about the words spilling out of his mouth. All he cares about is the slick press of Harry’s tongue, the squeeze of his throat as he fucks into his mouth. “You’d live for it.”

Harry bobs his head, meeting his every thrust, trying to suck him back in every time he pulls away. He gets a hand on his balls again, and then it’s over. He’s coming. His release tears a moan from his throat, leaves him breathless and blind to all but Harry’s mouth on him, all but the blessed, terrible relief of it.

With a bitten off curse, he curls forward over Harry’s kneeling form as he forces his head down one last time, feels the press of Harry's nose against his pelvis as he grinds into his throat.

When it’s over—when he’s recovered as much as he can—he feels the flutter of Harry’s throat around him as he tries to cough.

A foamy mix of come and spit is leaking out the corner of his mouth, and Tom gently wipes it away with his thumb as he slowly—so slowly he could die—pulls Harry off of him. The cool air against his spit-slick cock makes him curse, and he tugs Harry back to him, lets him lick his cock clean and warm again until it all becomes too much, and he has to hold Harry’s face to his hip instead.

If he moves, he thinks he might fall.

“You’ve done that before,” Tom says eventually, one hand petting at Harry’s hair as he leans his head back against the bedpost.

Against his hip, Harry nods, and he feels the press of teeth on his skin as he grins.

He wonders why he never knew, then discards the thought as unimportant. It doesn’t matter who came before him; what matters is that there will never be another.

“So,” Harry says eventually, and Tom feels another sick jolt of arousal at the scrape of his fucked-out voice, at the wet spot he can see on the front of Harry’s trousers where he came untouched. “How’d I do?”

For a long moment, Tom can only stare down at him, reeling at the thought that Harry doesn’t know, doesn’t realize how thoroughly he’d ruined Tom with just one act. Then he catches the wicked glint in his eyes, the grin tugging at his lips, and he huffs a laugh, sinking down to the floor so he can tug Harry into his lap and press a bruising kiss to his already bruised lips.

When he pulls back, Harry’s grins has softened into a new look, one Tom hasn’t seen before.

He decides he wants to see more of it.

“You were exquisite, darling,” he says, peppering more kisses to his cheek, his temple, the bridge of his nose, and the sound of Harry’s laughter is enough to light a fire in his chest. He cradles Harry’s face between his hands, kisses him once more, achingly chaste. “You were perfect.”

#tomarry #pwp #prompt fill #this one might also end up on ao3 #thanks for the prompt!! it was v fun #also sorry if this wasn't at all the direction you wanted it to go aksldjfl #my fic

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lilyofthesword-writes · 3 years

Text

Kokkuri-san (Loki Oneshot)

Summary: You are on your way back to the Tower when you sense a strange energy emanating from it. Loki is there to help.

Pairing: Loki x F!Reader (established relationship)

Word Count: 1,718

Warnings/Disclaimers: Opens with description of being unable to breathe.

A/N: I tried to provide enough information for this to be a stand alone, but it does still act like a follow-up to Sorceress. And if you would like more information on the game Kokkuri-san, I highly recommend checking out the podcasts Kowabana and Toshiden both created by Tara A. Devlin at Kowabana.net. Just a heads up, this is NOT sponsored by anyone. I just enjoy listening to scary stories, and this became one of my favorites.

Masterlist

Molasses had seeped past your skull, compressing your brain uncomfortably. Or at least that’s what it felt like. A wavering darkness flowed around you as if you were underwater. Your lungs were sluggish to take in air, and it was getting worse. The longer you were forced to endure this pressure, the harder it was for you to focus, to breathe.

-up...

A voice muddled through the inky blackness.

Wa- up...

It sounded so familiar...

Wake up...

Nat, maybe? Were you asleep?

WAKE UP!

Your eyes shot open, unwillingly taking in the light of the Quinjet. The air you sucked in felt like gravel in your throat. Nat’s steely grip on your shoulders were beginning to ground you in reality.

“Wha- What happened?” Your throat burned as you spoke.

“Some kind of dream.” Her concerned eyes bored into you as you tried to blink yourself to full consciousness. “You were breathing heavily before you just stopped altogether. You okay?”

“Y-yeah,” you half lied. You didn’t feel nearly as bad in the dream but it still felt like sludge was creeping across your mind. Whatever energy you were getting close to was some kind of nasty. “How far are we from the Tower?”

Nat released you from her hold. “About an hour out.”

The pressure on your head was only growing worse the closer you all got.

“Okay...” you sucked in a deep breath.

Sitting in the seat across from you, Nat eyed you wearily. “You sure you’re good?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, pulling out your phone. “Just going to break one of Fury’s rules. Something is going on at the Tower.”

An eyebrow shot up her forehead. “One of those sixth sense things, again?”

“You could say that...”

You pulled up Loki in the messenger app. You could astral project yourself to talk with him, but that could be more dangerous with whatever energy was infecting the Tower.

You: Hey. We’re almost back. What’s going on there?

Loki: Good evening to you as well, Darling. You can feel the energy from where you are?

You: Yes, it’s very... Palpable. ☹️

Loki: Well, we could use the extra help. It seems that the Ant-Man’s daughter played some spirit summoning game before joining him here for the summer.

You: And it followed her... Great... Is she at least okay?

Loki: She is unharmed. More spooked than anything.

You: Good, good. Did she mention any specifics? Like which game?

Loki: She did, yes. Although, she is unsure if she remembers it correctly. I believe she said it was Kakariko.

You: That can’t be right... That’s a village from a video game series.

Loki: So I learned recently with the Spiderling’s assistance.

You: Did she mention anything else?

Loki: She spoke of strange symbols as well as numbers being written in rows on a piece of paper. A coin was used as a conduit to pick each symbol.

You huffed and smacked your head in realization.

Kokkuri-san

Similar to a Ouija board in nature, missing or mucking up a step could be dangerous. Summoning spirits really should not be a game, something you concluded after cleaning up several messes on campus caused by the students who believed themselves master magicians despite their lack of experience. You couldn’t blame them too much for wanting to try since you had played a variety of those games in traveling with your family as a child. In Japan, Kokkuri-san was all the rage in schools.

Bumping your head on the back of the seat impatiently, you checked the time on your phone for the millionth time. You were about twenty minutes away now. Estimating the physical distance, you debated on just teleporting to the Tower instead of waiting in agony during the small amount of time.

Your phone pinged with a new message.

Loki: How are you faring?

You: Better than before. Energy barrier helps. How’re things there?

Loki: I have Lang and Cassie in her room with protection. The spirit cannot reach her there. However, it is lurking about. Stark is none too pleased.

You: He’s not blaming you, is he?

Loki: He tried. It did not last long.

You: Good. We should be there shortly.

Loki: I’ll be waiting, Dove.

Placing the phone in your pocket, you huffed.

“You know,” Nat chimed in, “We should be pretty close now. Just go already.”

Contemplating a moment, you answered, “I don’t know... I’ve only practiced long distance teleportation a few times.”

“And you were successful. Count this as extra practice. Now get out of here.” The harsh sound of her words was mitigated by an encouraging smile.

With a nod, you took a deep breath and teleported to the landing pad. You were about a foot away from the floor when you reappeared. Loki was already there to catch you. The god knew you too well.

“I dare say you might be getting the hang of this.” He held you close like he was making up for lost time.

You reached up and cupped his face to pull him in for a kiss. “Only because I have a very patient teacher.”

“I have missed this,” he breathed, his lips brushing against yours. “But I believe there is a young girl waiting for our help.”

Aside from Stark’s ranting about how ghosts weren’t real, setting up the library went off without a fuss. Between the salt, candles, charms, your spells and Loki’s seiðr, there was no way this could go wrong.

After confirming with Cassie that she had indeed played Kokkuri-san with a new friend who had recently moved to the States from Japan, you had coaxed the whole story out of Cassie. At their slumber party, they had started to play and were spooked by a sudden power outage and strange noises, causing them to let go of the coin used to slide over each symbol. With their connection to the conduit broken before properly closing the game, the kami/spirit latched onto Cassie and followed her here. The best bet was to re-summon the kami in a more secure environment and properly close the game. Luckily for all of you, she had kept the 10 yen coin her friend accidentally left behind, something you needed for all this to work.

You were quadruple checking the last set of charms when Loki snuck up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and nuzzling your hair. “Everything ready, my little sorceress?”

“As ready as it will ever be,” you huffed before turning on your heel to face him. “This always makes me a bit nervous.”

He pulled back to look at you while he spoke. “Everything will go according to plan. Besides, you have me here. Nothing could possibly go wrong,” he chuckled, a teasing grin painted his face.

“What an ego,” you exclaimed and lightly smacked his chest. You couldn’t help your own smile. “Just go get Scott and Cassie so we can get this over with.”

“As you wish,” he relented, teleporting away after stealing a kiss to leave you flustered. It was certainly one way to lighten the mood.

The summoning had gone well enough. Both you and Loki knew for sure just by the feel of the energy the right kami had come. It was getting it to leave that was the problem.

“Kokkuri-san, please return.”

The coin slid to いいえ/iie no matter how many times you all reset it to the middle of the board.

No.

While you and Loki both grew in frustration, Scott was busy keeping Cassie calm. As level headed and clever this girl could be, the repetition was getting to her. Loki decided another tactic was in order. A few unintelligible words under his breath that you barely heard and the kami was visible on the table.

A tall kitsune clad in white and red robes hissed and glared at Loki, but made no move to attack. It knew it had no chance with all the preparations you two had done. Its four tails flicked in annoyance and its white, almost silvery ears pressed back. You held back a sigh of relief. This kitsune was not as strong as it could be, having not lived long enough to acquire its maximum nine tails and its full power.

“What is it you desire, Spirit?” Loki spoke loud and unwavering.

“Same as Mischief God. Fun,” it growled through its broken English. Despite the ability to hear it now, none of you dared remove your fingers from the coin.

“Well, you certainly have had your fill. Now begone! Return to your realm,” he challenged.

The kitsune’s tails waved wildly as it contemplated its next move. Its eyes flitted to Cassie, softening almost apologetically as it gazed upon her. Similar to its Western Fae counterparts, it did not fully understand that its version of fun was not the same as it was for mortals.

“分かりました。/Wakarimashita,” it huffed, bowing as it turned its attention back to you and Loki.

Understood.

You felt the coin move again. This time it was to the top left of the paper to hover over はい/hai. Yes.

It then promptly glided to the torii gates drawn in the top center. The kitsune vanished from the table, the energy it left behind dissipating rather quickly. You all said, “Thank you,” in unison before pulling away from the coin.

“So... Is that it?” Scott asked with a mixture of confusion and the need to ensure his daughter was safe.

“Not quite,” you mused while picking up the paper.

“What do we do?” Cassie chirped.

Your raven-haired god looked to you curiously. You didn’t tell him about the next part.

“You don’t have to do anything,” you grinned, “The next two parts are easy.”

Picking up the paper, you began tearing it. You counted as you went until you hit forty-eight.

You held up the coin for all to see. “Now. Part two is going to be more interesting.”

“Do tell,” Loki purred.

“We have to spend this within three days.” Your grin slipped into a more mischievous smirk.

Cassie’s eyes sparkled with hope. “So does that mean...”

“Uh-huh. It’s time for a vacation. Who wants to go to Japan?”

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sennextheassasinkingoflight · 3 years

Text

Say It Anyways

Cursed (Tv 2020) Rated: M

Lancelot Centric Crossed posted on Ao3.

TW: Suicide, Depression, Self Harm, mentioned/implied Defenestration Additional tags and warnings: Major Character Death, Greif, Self-worth issues, Self Deprecation, Sad ending, Graphic descriptions, religious imagery and symbolism, author is sleep deprived, author regrets nothing, author regrets everything. SUMMARY: It only takes a moment for a decision to become permanent. A moment for a thought to became a plan and for that plan to become action. Lancelot has a lot of dark moments, and one night it’s to much.

The guilt weighed heavy in his gut. It was his constant companion, one he could never be rid of. He had tried and still the weight lingered, dragging him down, preventing sleep and laughter. It was as if someone had filled him full of river stones and he couldn’t be rid of them. A millstone around his neck.

How could he ever hope to atone for his actions?

For every Fey he now protected he had killed 10 there was no way to offset that count. He could give his body over and over as supplication shielding others from harm. He could give himself comfort and protection. He could give himself as company, and in acts of pleasure and still it would not be enough. Gawain called it love and perhaps it was but could one such as him ever return that feeling, or hope to understand it, least of all know it? He certainly didn't hate Gawain for not understanding. And he certainly didn't hate that moment afterwards wrapped in his arms when he felt safe, maybe loved, at the very least allowed to breathe comfortably. If only for a moment.

He looked over at the man sleeping softly beside him and smiled sadly. He always slept best after days like this. They had battled back another group of paladins and Cumbers men. The last of them according to Arthur and Guinevere. They had celebrated with the others over the victory and retired early to celebrate just the two of them. Slowly he lifted a hand and ran fingers through coarse unkempt hair and smiled softly. Leaning in he pressed the ghost of a kiss to Gawain's temple and stood from the bed. He should leave a note but nothing he says will matter. It won't change anything in the end. Besides, what would he possibly say?

He dresses in the dark silent as the assassin he is. He slips from the room, leaving his swords behind, and makes his way down the hall of the keep they occupy. Gently he pushes Percivals door open. He can smell wine on the boy and knows he wont wake, not that he would have anyways. He watches as the boy turns in his sleep. He isn't a boy now, a young man full of life and having seen too much in too short a time. Just another atrocity he is guilty of causing. He reaches out a hand and pulls the blankets up against the chill and let's his hand linger a moment on Squirrels shoulder, caresses it gently with his thumb. He fights back the urge to shed tears and tears his gaze from the serene face blanketed in shadow. He closes the door softly behind him, footsteps echoing lightly down the halls as he heads toward the stable. He has one final stop.

He steps into Goliaths stall and the horse nudges his shoulder. He does cry now, but not for himself, not for fear of his actions, but because he is overwhelmed and cannot hold back the ache that's been building and building in his chest. The relief at knowing what he is doing and that it means he will be free. He raises his hands and strokes Goliath's muzzle up his cheek and down his neck. He buries his face into the familiar scent and speaks lowly to him.

"Take care of them Goliath of Gawain and Percival. They'll take care of you." He sniffs and wipes at his face pulling back to look him in the eye. Goliath nuzzles his face and he stands there enjoying the quiet comfort of his stead. Finally he turns from the darkened stable and heads out into the snow. Newly acquired item in hand. The snow is falling hard and fresh and he vaguely wonders if his footsteps will be visible come morning.

He enters the woods not as a hunter but as prey. He's unafraid of what he might find here. The dark doesn't frighten him, it has long since been his ally against Fey and Man and Beast alike. Which of those it will ally against with him tonight he dare not imagine. On he walks until his legs ache from the cold and his fingers have long since gone numb. He had not dressed appropriately, there had not been a point.

He looks around absently. He can't see far, the moonlight and the starlight cut off from him by the canopy of trees. A fitting metaphor for a demon cut off from the love of God and man alike. He strips out of his cloak and lays it in the ground. He uncoils the short riding whip and kneels on his cloak and removes his tunic. Grasping the whip in his hands he looks towards heaven one final time. The first strike is unfamiliar. It's been some time since he'd done this and if Gawain found out…. It didn't matter now, he wouldn't. As he continued to strike at his back the ache returned a familiar comfort to his person. On instinct he recited the Lord's prayer as he worked. And then laughed mirthlessly, blood running in rivulets down his back. He was a creature from hell, spawned to kill. Born in the fire and blood of conquest, famine, war, and death to devour the souls of the living and save the damned in doing so. Reciting a prayer he had been forced to learn on his knees with bloodied hands wouldn't save him from the fires if hell. Surely that's where he was going, there was no chance he would be accepted into the afterlife of the Fey after all he had done. He winced, the whip coming into contact with a particularly nasty split in his flesh. How many was that now? It didn't matter, he could still feel them. The wolves howled near by and for a moment he reconsidered his plan. Ultimately though, there was nothing to change.

He would not be missed. Beyond Gawain and Percival only Arthur, Guineveir, and Merlin accepted him. The rest of the Fey regarded him with unveiled mistrust and thinly hidden hate. And he wondered more often than not about the motives of the five he called friend. It was in his nature to wonder, to ask questions, to be mistrustful. He knew what trust could earn him, he had known it at the hands of Carden and the other paladins as a child. It was broken bones and bruised skin, sore muscles and degradation. He was nothing. Nothing more than a killer bathed in blood and irredeemable.

He blinked spots from his vision. Lifted the whip again and let it fall with a splitting smack that echoed around him. The snow around him was now pink with blood. His fingers were growing numb again and his thoughts hazy. He smiled, finally they would be free of him. Free of his stoic attitude and bloody hands, the mistrust his presence brought and pain he reminded them off. This was a blessing he could give them. It was a blessing he was happy to give. They could move on, be well loved and adored by their people and he would be forgotten to the rivers of time.

He blinked tears from his eyes only to feel them freeze against his cheeks hidden by the mark of his kin. The switch fell from numb fingers and he lay forward in his ruined cloak. His vision swam with darkness, the howls of wolves nearby. It wouldn't be long. He would die as Jezebel had. Perhaps it was fitting for one such as he. He closed his eyes and remembered Gawain's smile, that image let him drift to sleep in the cold.

Arthur retched.

How? How could this have happened. Lancelot was a trained warrior. One of the best among Fey and men alike. And yet, here his corpse was, torn apart by wolves. It was bloody and gruesome and he couldn't bear to look upon it any longer. He turned his back and shook his head in an attempt to clear it. What was left of the body was shirtless, the garment folded neatly to the side under a layer of snow. His cloak soaked with his own blood, and the whip beside it too. He presses his eyes closed and rubs at them with the heels of his hands. This had been intentional. What was he to tell the others? Never had he been so grateful that Percival had stayed with Gawain, or that he had told them to check the castle and town instead of the woods.

Nothing had been out of the ordinary. Nothing accepts his swords having been left in his room. None of them had grown concerned until supper time arrived and they hadn't seen him. Now the dark closed in around him as the others gathered his remains and wrapped them in that same familiar old cloak. How was he to tell the others? Why hadn't he seen this. He was king now, Lancelot to be one of his knights. And he missed this.

The trek back to the keep is the longest one Arthur had ever made. They move in slow, sombre steps through the woods. On the edge he stops and takes a deep breath Percival and Gawain are coming to meet him. He's frozen to the spot.

"Any luck?" Percival asks chipper and hopeful. He stares at the boy, too far still to see him clearly. To see the bundle the men behind him carry. He doesn't respond. Voice stuck in his throat. He swallows and straightens his back.

"Arthur?" Gawain inquires, voice sharp and on edge. He's a wizened old soldier he knows what silence like this means. He's sat beside too many sickbeds, sought out to many wives, and mothers, and brothers, and husbands not too. He quicken his steps and passes Percival and still all Arthur can do is stare at him.

"Arthur! Damnit, did you didn't you find him?" He looks away from Gawain who is boring holes into his skull. All he has to do is look behind him, accept the silence for what it is but he isn't. So steeling himself Arthur makes eye contact and speaks,

"I'm sorry." It's barely a whisper, a breath on the chilled night air. And now the famous Green Knight looks past him. He steps to the side and puts a hand on his shoulder. There's nothing more he can do. This would have been better inside where it was warm and they could be safe from the cold. Not that it would take the pain away.

Gawain stares at the bundle. He knows it's a body. Knows its Lancelot's body and still he stares. He ignores the looks on the faces of the men carrying him. He can't stand the pity he knows he will find there.

“NO! No. No. nononono Gawain. No it can’t he can’t. No.” Percival shouts behind him. Instinctively he puts out his arm and stops the boy. Pulls him close and forces him to stop struggling.

“No. Please no. Why? Why HIM!?!” Percival screams into his chest and what is he to say to the child they had trained, that they had raised? He looks over Percival at the soldiers,

"Inside then."

He hears a voice say, hollow and far away. It's not until they've marched inside that he realizes it was his own. They set Lancelot down surprisingly gently. He wonders idly if it's because they think he's likely to go off on them. He doesn't blame their fear. It's Percival that ultimately returns him to reality. The boy is trying to stop his crying and falters. Sobs wrack his frame when Gawain turns to him. Instinctively he opens his arms again and Percival steps into their protective embrace. He looks over his shoulder and stares at the blood soaked cloak, the ice is melting in the warmth of the room. A puddle of pink forms around it spreading outward in a mockery of a battlefield death.

"How?" His voice is empty to his own ears, but he needs to know.

Arthur meets his eyes again and shakes his head.

"Wolves. He went out there without a weapon." King Arthur sounds very small, smaller than he had when they first met, and Gawain thinks bitterly that it’s finally time the man showed some humility.

"What are you leaving out?" He can see there is more in the way that he shifts on his feet, flicks his eyes away from them and back. Arthur looks pointedly at Percival and shakes his head.

"Say it anyways." He says, voice breaking. He knows what’s gone unspoken. What's coming.

"Gawai--"

"SAY IT ANYWAYS!" He roars and Percival flinches in his arms.

"His back was bloody. Whipped bloody. He went out there to die." Arthur holds his gaze until he drops his head to Squirrels shoulder. They cling to one another desperately, attempting to stay standing amidst the crashing of their world. He closes his eyes and pulls Squirrel closer. They stand there in the flickering light of torches for hours. The only thought in his mind "why?"

It's two days before they can gather enough wood for a pyre. They give him the burial of a knight at Arthur's command and Gawain agrees. More people attended than he thought would. No one has been told the truth. Those who recovered the body are sworn to secrecy. It is not the way a knight should pass, nor is it something they can accept yet. Gawain cannot bear the way the others would speak of him, nor does he wish for Percival to hear it. It will be hard enough with them all so happy that he is no longer around.

"Why did he do it?" Percival asks no one in particular when only the five of them remain. His eyes red and puffy from crying and lack of sleep.

"The same reason we've all thought about it." Merlin answers looking at Gawain and to the others in turn.

"He believed himself alone and unworthy."

They watched in silence as darkness came and the flames burned until there was nothing but embers to remind them of the man who had saved them.

#Cursed #Fanfiction #Lancelot the Weeping Monk #Gawain #The Green knight #Percival #Squirrel #Arthur #Major Character Death #suicide

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israltale · 3 years

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Narish x Croma (NSFW, First Time, Huge Load, Boobmaredragonhybrid, Crossmare)

Narish sighed, he waited for his Henchmen Hybrids to return from their Mission. They had acquired a new Member recently. He would check him out a bit later. His one Cyan eye went to the Guardian, kept in a pretty Area with flowers and Stuff to make them comfortable. It was, of course, for their own safety.

Finally the door Opened. “We’re back, Boss.” Kiros said as he entered first. Narish’s tails flicked in annoyance. “Kiros… You do know the concept of knocking before entering? Even a pea brain like you should be able to raise your Hand or Tail to knock before walking into a Room.” Narish growled, it was most likely the Second in Command would brush it aside anyways. “Sure Boss, Maybe next Time.” Kiros said with a laugh. Narish grumbled, before his Cyan eye went to the New Hybrid. He was clad in white and Black colours, his four large horns were a deep purple colour, with a pinch into the blue, his one tail spiked and the tip small but sharp.

Narish suddenly got an idea, how he could get to find a bit out about the New Member. Kiros gave his report about their Mission and how Croma managed. “Kiros.” Narish suddenly said. “Yeah, boss?” The Red Hybrid asked. “Take care of our Guardian, i have something to do. Croma… you will join me.” He ordered, leaving the Room. Croma being a good Soldier followed him of course. Kiros grinned after them. “You heard, Boss. For tonight, you’ll join me.”

Narish went to the garden, knowing Croma was behind him, following like a good Dog. “We will enjoy the Evening together, so i may learn about you.” Narish said. “Yes, Sir.” Croma answered. The Boss lead him to a hot Spring, normally Narish only brought the Guardian or those he had Sex with here. It was a quiet Place, no one would interrupt them.

The waters were steaming and green coloured. Narish started to undress. Croma blushed purple. Why would he even? Narish was his boss, the one who saved him from Madness. Narish slipped into the Water, relaxing his Body. “So, Croma? What do you prefer? Breeding or being bred?” Croma started coughing heavily. “W… what?” Narish turned his one Cyan eye to him. He wasn't one to repeat himself. “Breeding or being bred.” Croma blushed a hot purple colour. “W… Why?” The Boss got angry for a second, before something crossed his Mind.

“Could it be? You never did it before?” Croma choked, that was all Narish needed to know. “Form your Body.” He demanded. The Purple horned Hybrid blushed even more. “W… Why?” Narish turned to him. “I will see what will come natural to your Body if you think about creating a Family.” Croma blushed even more, squirming a bit under Boss’s hot Gaze. The six Horned Hybrid had plans for this, he would test what Croma would be and find a suitable Partner to breed the Chaos Vicinity Army. All he needed to know was if Croma was better in having Eggs or placing them.

“Croma.” There was a demanding tone in Narish Voice, making the Soldier squirm, before his Clothes started to fill with Purple Magic. Narish watched his Chest First, but there was no sign of any Breasts, or they were to small to actually perk out, but he doubted that. His Cyan eye wandered down the Guards Body, who squirmed as if his Gaze was burning him. Croma gulped as Boss started to lick his Lips, apparently he had found something that quiet interested him. “Time to get in the Water Croma, but let your Body called.” He ordered. Finally Croma undressed, only to reveal a large purple cock with Spikes on the lower part of his Member, nubs on the sides and a slightly pointed Dick head to thrust better into his Partners Womb. Narish felt himself grow hot, as he saw that still unused Dick. Oh he will devour it fully, Popping Croma’s Cherry would be delicious for him. He licked his Teeth, while his Cyan ecto started to form.

Croma didn’t watch as he undressed, the more shocked he was to see his Boss in the water, with huge Cyan coloured Breasts, his purple eyes followed lower and his Member throbbed in need. Narish grinned. “Come here now.” He said. “I will show you how good it feels.” Croma gulped heavily, slowly making his way to the hot water to sink in. Narish watched him, he was impressively build down there, it became even more clear that Croma was a Top Breeder, clearly he could fill Incubators fast and with many eggs, but this needed to be found out first.

Croma finally relaxed, the warm water making him more comfortable. After a few Seconds he finally started to actually look at his Boss Ecto. Big plump boobs, slightly lifted because Narish had his Arms underneath them. Croma blinked, there was something odd about the areola, but he couldn’t Pinpoint. The King of Negativity scooted closer, it made Croma flinch. The Purple Hybrid gasped confused as the King of Negativity closed his Phalanges around his Cock. Spikes slightly Poking the Leader in the Bones. “Relax, I’ll make you feel good, while i pop your Cherry.” Narish told him in his Deep Voice. Then he started to Move his Hand up and Down, Croma inhaled a sharp breath, he never was touched by someone and never felt the need to touch himself. Narish had his Cyan eye on Croma, the others breathing speed up a bit, while the Leader stroked him. Narish grinned pleased, leaning down a bit. Croma gasped, feeling warm Ecto around his Member, only to see Boss rubbing the purple Cock between his plump Boobs. “Shit… Boss…” The Purple Hybrid heard a strange noise coming from him and was surprised, Narish huffed a bit. Croma was such a Virgin, but not for all to long anymore.

Croma gasped, feeling Boss Tongues around his throbbing Cock, something was building up inside him, before it bursted out without a Warning. The Hybrid blushed hotly, seeing his Boss covered in a huge load of Purple Jizz. Narish was surprised as well. The Newcomer had covered his Boobs and Face in a great amount of Cum, that smelled like Lavender. The Smell made Narish’s pussy throb in Need. “Let’s get to the Main course then.” He said, positioning himself above the large purple cock. “B… Boss.” Croma huffed. Narish laughed a bit, wet from the hot water and his own need for that massive and thick cock to be inside his throbbing pussy. “Relax.” He said, while letting the purple Member inside his hot Ecto.

“SHIT!” Croma growled, grabbing on the others Hips. The leader grinned, seemed like instinct hit the Hybrid, as he started to thrust into him. Croma moaned, he never felt so good, while his Boss warm Walls throbbed and clenched around him. His spikes scratching the needy flesh, while his Dickhead poked against Narish Cervix. “Fuck… Fuck… Fuck…” Croma moaned again and again, his eyes drawn to the bouncing Boobs in front of him. “Boss…. ah….” Croma bend forward, his Tongue teasing the Plump globes, slipping into the tight space that was hiding the hard Nipples. Narish moaned, while the other teased his Hiding buds outside. Once they were free the Purple horned Skeleton didn’t lose any time, biting teasingly at the hard buds. It showed it’s effect as Narish was throbbing and clenching around his cock even harder, his Throat left a loud moan.

The New Hybrid couldn’t last any longer, he felt that strange feeling from before again, grabbing tighter on his Boss Hips to Push the other down, burying his large Cock deep inside of Narish. The Goop covered Hybrid moaned loudly, as Croma pushed into his Womb, making the Leader climax hard, his whole Ecto Body shivering and spasm around the larger Male. He buried his Skull into the big Chest, while coming himself. Filling his Leader with his purple Cum. It didn’t stop for a while, making the Ecto stretch and bulge, filling Narish to a Point he would almost burst.

Finally Croma calmed down enough, only to stare in surprise at the overfilled stomach. Narish blushed a deep cyan colour, while watching the Purple inside his ecto swirl. It was so much that Croma had filled the other, so he looked now like he was in the last month of pregnancy. “You sure have…. a lot to give.” Narish slightly moaned, before pressing his Teeth against Croma's. The larger nuzzled his Boss, thankful for taking such good care of the Lost Hybrid.

#IsralTale #DragonHybrids #DarkMillenia #Narish #Croma

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blog-sliverofjade · 3 years

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Of Doms & Subs 5: Field Trip

Pairing: Angus Hopper x OFC

Summary: What's a submissive female to do when she fights her nature and goes on the run as a Lone wolf to avoid being assimilated into a pack?

Word count: 1896

Of Doms & Subs Master List

“Don’t feel guilty, think of it as a bribe,” Mickayla said when she’d told me we were going shopping and I was to leave my wallet behind. I stared at her. “Think of trying out packs as like dating. This is a date at a fine restaurant with a dozen roses,” she explained. “And just like dates are a way for potential mates to prove they can provide, this is how we prove that we can take care of our members.”

“It sounds more like you’re looking for an excuse to go shopping,” I said dryly. “But you’ll harass me until I give in, so ok.”

“You already know her so well,” Matt said with a hint of a smirk. She elbowed him in the ribs and she only put up a token struggle when he wrapped her up in his arms. I looked away. The whole pack seemed to be much more touchy-feely than I was comfortable with.

“Meh, I’d go for another five minutes, tops, before I pulled the Dommy voice on you.” She tossed her head so that Matt momentarily ended up with a face full of her hair.

“Dommy voice?”

“Dominant and mommy. Dommy,” Matt explained, nuzzling his wife’s hair.

“Oh.” I hid my blush by turning to shrug into my jacket. Don’t ask if you don’t wanna know the answer.

The first stop was Pike Place Market, which was already packed despite the early hour. Matt led the way to plow a path for us through the crowd with Mickayla following him so that all I could see was her curtain of golden hair and perky butt. Shane was on my heels, but not so close that he was breathing down my neck. None of the others had wanted to go shopping, preferring instead to play video games. Some things stay the same no matter the species.

I normally treat shopping like I imagine Navy SEALs treat missions: get in, get target, and get out ASAP. Mickayla obviously did not subscribe to this philosophy. Most of the items we had acquired so far were for her. I was too busy trying to ignore the din and overwhelming aromas invading my senses. My wolf also wanted to snap at every stranger who bumped into us, which thankfully was only once or twice. Most people took one look at my companions and steered a wide berth.

We were climbing a stairway that seemed to narrow even further and the low ceiling felt like it was pressing down on my head. I swayed on the edge of the stair as the wolf surged up, tearing at me, wanting to run from the mass of consumers. Pain rippled along my skin and burst like spikes in my joints until I nearly fell backward until Shane stepped forward until his firm chest allowed me to lean against him. An instant later, Matt and Mickayla flanked me, forcing the flow of shoppers to part around the island that we made.

Normally I didn’t like people touching me. Certainly not people I’d known less than a day and not so close as this. But I relaxed into the warmth and comfort of their bodies. Their combined scent surrounded me like a warm, familiar blanket. No one said anything. They didn’t have to. Their eyes all had the same look of understanding. My whole body felt raw. If I had shifted in the middle of Pike’s Place on Labor Day weekend…

“Reason number four why packs are awesome: dominants can help when you’re about to lose it,” Mickayla said gently, having seen the panic on my face. She slipped her arm through mine in what was becoming a familiar gesture. “Let’s head some place a little quieter.”

The weather was a bit too grey and windy for anyone other than locals and werewolves, so we had the waterfront mostly to ourselves as we sipped hot drinks from the first Starbucks location. The movement helped ease the need to run and calm my wolf. After a while, Mickayla paused to check that a bench was dry before sitting and patting the spot next to her. The men wandered a little way upwind, arguing about the game last night.

“Ok fine, you made your point,” I sighed and sank down next to her. “What was it this time, how long I’d last before going furry?”

“Not on this one,” she shook her head and immediately had to pick strands of hair out of her mouth when the wind caught it. “But that’s not the question you should be asking.”

I thought about that for a minute. “What would’ve happened if ya’ll hadn’t been there.” It was a statement, not a question. She gave it time for the full implications of that sink in.

“You’re not used to having to rely on others. Not since the divorce.” I glared at her out of the corner of my eye. I did not like being psychoanalyzed at the best of times. This was certainly not one.

“Gee, doc, are ya gonna tell me that I use sarcasm as a defense mechanism, too?”

“If you’re so self-aware, pup, then why did we have to have this little exercise?” She bumped my shoulder firmly with her own.

“Because you can tell a kid something’s hot, but won’t believe you till they touch it.” I slumped down further on the bench.

“Head of the class,” she saluted me with her coffee.

“Don’t make me bite you” I grumped.

“Talk like that’ll earn you a spot as teacher’s pet,” she winked. I groaned and shook my head at the pun before taking a sip of my drink. It was something fancy, “full of sugar and cream and calories, everything a growing pup needs” as Mickayla had put it when she’d ordered. Having a dominant around to step in and order was pretty nice when I was intimidated by the menu with its foreign terms and still too rattled to think straight.

“Speaking of petting.” Mickayla laughed at the segue. “John said that unmated females belong to the Alpha.” That whole sentence tasted like rotten lemons, which fanned the embers of my dormant anger. “Shit, is that the reason unmated females are second class citizens? So we’re basically whores for the Alpha because we have no other choice? If I won’t fuck Angus then I’m delivered to Eugene with a pretty bow? Montana’s, what, a ‘re-education centre’ if I don’t put out?”

“Montana’s for new wolves, those who can’t control their wolf, and those who need to heal,” she said firmly. “If you don’t want to move here or to Eugene, you can stay in Aspen Creek until you find a place and a pack you do like. As for being second class citizens, it used to be that females couldn’t participate in dominance challenges and gained status through their mate. While that seems to be slowly changing, it doesn’t necessarily mean that you won’t be treated with respect.”

“Since I couldn’t care less about kicking butt and taking responsibility, I don’t have to worry about that, which is why I’m considered submissive in the first place,” I said with dawning comprehension.

“See, Ian was wrong, you can be taught!” Mickayla laughed with a wink.

“But what about the other… thing?”

“Wolves are very possessive,” she said slowly, as if having difficulty translating her thoughts into words. “It’s supposed to be a way to protect the women, sometimes from unwanted attention from their packmates. Some Alphas may take advantage of what’s meant to be a protective role, in much the same way some college professors tend to go after undergrads.”

“Are there many Alphas like that?” I had a gut feeling that Angus was not like that, but then again, mama always said that my “picker” when it came to men was broken.

“Rape is not condoned, but since it’s not been a problem here, that’s something you would have to ask Angus, Matt, or Tom about if you’re thinking of going elsewhere. Here, they have to answer to Angus. If any of them so much as even make you uncomfortable he’ll have their balls in a sling because you don’t have a mate to protect you. They all know that Matt would use their skull as a soup bowl if they so much as looked at me funny.”

Her scent had changed subtly with an almost salty quality that had nothing to do with the sea air. She looked down with amusement at me as I sniffed her arm. “You’re learning how to smell a lie! About the soup bowl anyway, you don’t keep evidence lying around. Good girl,” she said teasingly and petted my hair. I mock growled without meeting her eyes. She tapped my nose with a finger. “Bad pup, no cookie.” I straightened from my slouch with a laugh. “Come on, let’s hit a couple of stores that’ll be quieter than tourist trap central.”

“Do I have to?” I asked tiredly.

“Sweetie,” she slung an arm around my shoulders. “Your pants would be falling off if you didn’t have that belt tightened within an inch of its life. I think you might have even managed to put a pleat or two in it like that, not a good look. You need clothes that fit your new body.” She plucked at my jacket, which tented around me before settling again. I wasn’t necessarily fat before, but I certainly had carried more than a few extra pounds. Two weeks in the backcountry had fixed that. Oh, and becoming a werewolf helped, too. I groaned in defeat and at the thought of more crowds.

Mickayla returned triumphant from the hunt, seemingly having gained the energy that the new wolf appeared to have lost. Ellie quickly fled to her room with several large, bulging shopping bags.

“How went the great experiment?” I asked far more calmly than I felt.

“Took it like a champ, boss,” Shane answered while still untying his boots. “Lasted ninety minutes.”

“I was ready to call it at an hour myself,” muttered Matt. “Shrieking kids.” We all winced in empathy.

“I’m thinking that John was doing his best to keep her isolated,” Mickayla frowned.

“Do you think he wanted her for a mate?” My wolf paced in agitation. He wanted to taste this John’s blood under our fangs.

“Not The Hills Have Eyes, but barefoot and not-pregnant in the kitchen…” she grimaced. I felt my eyes shift to gold then back as I struggled to convince my wolf that there was nothing here for us to rend. “He told her about unmated females being under the protection of the Alpha, and led her to believe that it’s exploitive in nature,” she continued once I calmed.

“I see, thank you, Mickayla.” I turned on my heel and retreated to my office to make a call. Once the door was shut, it was virtually soundproofed against werewolves. It’s good to be the king of tech.

“I’m afraid that I don’t have any news yet, Angus,” Bran said with faint amusement by way of greeting.

“I’m afraid that I do,” I said and conveyed Mickayla’s impressions of the situation.

“And you can’t question her directly without scaring her into running.” I could readily picture him pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. “Thank you. Keep me apprised.”

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llamagoddessofficial · 4 years

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May I have more headcanons for the hydra AU idea? I was thinking maybe it would be set in the past, like the middle ages or something. MC is just in the right place at the right time and they see her and are just like "pretty... Mine now" only they have to share.

I think @fandoomadept ’s line of ‘three heads and one braincell between them’ pretty much sums them up perfectly

Their bones are a steely grey colour, a mix of Red’s black bones and Sans/Skull’s white.

They usually work in tandem and don’t have any issue with moving but sometimes, if one of them is pissed or decides against the group, they’ll interrupt movements and cause a fuss

Sans, the middle head, is the one in charge

Each head breathes a different colour of fire; Sans breathes blue, Red breathes red (duh) and Skull breathes out uncontrollable bursts of purple flame that sometimes acts similar to a liquid

They live in a cave on a mountainside and generally don’t care what humans do so long as they get left alone

Three’s a crowd, after all

Met Mc when she got chased out of the nearby town by people accusing her of being a witch, and she ran riiiight into the hydra cave while desperately trying to escape bandits

Wife acquired!

don’t worry sweetie we’ll look after you :) :) :)

Took her a little while to warm up to the giant three-headed beast that had decided to keep her as a girlfriend but Red’s ability to smooth-talk anyone was very helpful in getting her to relax and calm down

It’s hard to stay frightened when one hydra head is using the lamest, most painfully bad pick-up lines you’ve ever heard, while the other two look on what seems like a mix of confusion and disappointment

... If she’s forced to remain out of town, she might as well stay there, right? The chances of being robbed while under the care of a possessive hydra are preeeeetty fucking low

Sometimes they’re an infinitely wise and lovingly protective being, learned in things she could never understand... and sometimes they a sad bone doggo who rolls onto its back to encourage attention and pets from Favourite Human

(It technically doesn’t matter which head she pets because they all feel it, but they’re still attention hogs who will absolutely fight over it)

jaw scritches are the favourite

Skull is the most affectionate head by a long shot, but the other two will still nuzzle and gently snout-bump her from time to time if they want affection

They’re also surprisingly cute; when they’re mad or frustrated they blow little huffs of warm, colour-tinted steam out of their nasal cavities

Mc eventually learns that the thing about hydras is more heads does not equal more brain; it just means you have several idiots combined

#llamagines #hydra au #its a moron fusion

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cyndecreativity · 4 years

Text

Day 21 - I Think We’re Alone

Late Night – “This. This makes it all worth it.”

There are advantages to peace and quiet. Alden finds himself alone in the estate with Idania and is eager to take full advantage of their solitude. (NSFW-ish)

---

Alden waved to Sophie and Valash as the pair made their way down the street. His brow furrowed as they turned a corner together. “Wasn’t he staying here…?” He muttered the question to himself.

“Who?” Idania peeked around the Prince’s right side to he empty street. “Was that Her Highness?”

Alden jumped. “How long have you been there?” He turned back into the estate, allowing Idania to close the door. “But yes, that was Sophie. And Valash.”

Idania locked the door. “I thought he was staying here? Does he have a key? Should I leave the door unlocked?”

He heaved a sigh. The house felt lighter, quieter. His brow furrowed slowly, mentally checking his list of occupants. The Djinn left for their own estate earlier in the evening. Tristan managed to acquire his mother’s old estate and moved his father in. William and Garren chose to share the hybrid’s estate, but only as William recovered.

Alden crossed his left arm to massage his right shoulder. Idania’s lightly slapped it and led him to an ottoman in the foyer. She started a massage on his left side, but the pain dissipated from his right as her magic drifted from her, the very physical manifestation of her affection.

He turned his head again, checked his mental list again, and flexed his right hand as his tail shook. “Idania, the house is empty.”

Her brow furrowed. “Empty?” Her massage shifted to the base of his skull and neck.

His tail rattled inside the muzzle. “We’re alone. Idania… Do you know what this means?”

Her fingers hesitated. “I asked you first. Should I unlock the door for Valash?”

An almost deranged laugh escaped him. He shot up from the ottoman and grabbed her hands. “Idania. You and I are going to express our love. As only a man and a woman can.”

Her brows and tail lifted, eyes wide. Her lips popped into a grin. “I’ll leave the door locked, then!”

---

Alden panted heavily, stinger dripping quietly onto the floorboards. His necrotic arm rested on the bed, forgotten. His chest burned, faintly, from the Curse. He had missed it. The fighting over, the day won, he had little occasion to exert himself to exhaustion in combat. And he had even fewer occasions alone with his kalara. He smiled through his efforts to catch his breath.

She cuddled up against his side, head rested on his forgotten arm. Part of him recognized it, felt the disgust, but the ecstasy of their activities drowned out any negativity. He bent the arm to drape it around her shoulder, the action easier with her heightened emotion, the fuel for the magic in his arm. She purred, her own tail dripping over the side of the bed with his. He chuckled, reminded of his fresh stinger mark on his back.

Contentment filled him, a warmth he had craved for years, constantly yanked from his outstretched fingers every time he got too close. “Idania?”

Her head shot up. “Sorry. Am I hurting you?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “No, kalara. In fact, your magic is what makes it better.” He tapped her shoulder. “I just wanted to say I love you.”

She dropped down quickly, but pulled herself up short to place her head gently. “Thank you, sire.” He slapped her shoulder. “I love you, too.”

He grinned, eyes closed. “This. This is what it was all for.”

He felt her head angle against his arm. “All what?”

“All of it. All the shit we’ve dealt with the last few years.” He left hand moved under his head.

He felt her tense. “I wouldn’t say all of it.”

He frowned. He had only been thinking of himself. He held her closer. “You’re right, but don’t let that spoil this evening. We are one night closer to experiencing this heaven every night.”

She frowned against his chest. “I doubt the Empress or your sister will approve.”

He laughed, sardonic. “They don’t have a leg to stand on. You’re a Djinn now. Not only did you perform your duty to seal away Phiphi, but you saved the two Scorpio Princes.”

Her hand moved over his middle. “Two?”

His left hand slapped down onto hers on his stomach. “You saved Sylvain, obviously, but I would argue you saved me as well. All those late nights caring for me, even before this whole adventure began. But especially after my mother and sister trusted the healers to care for me, turning a blind eye and allowing them to feed me all those… herbs.”

His arm tingled, not wholly unpleasant, though still strange. “I…” She nuzzled into his chest. “You’re welcome.” He smirked. “K-… kalara.”

He jolted. She had never, if ever, called him that. He flopped about, jostling her. “Kalara!” He felt tears sting at nose. “Does this mean you’ll accept?”

She sniffled through her giggles. “Maybe! I still need time!” He wrapped his arm around her, almost pulling her on top of him. “Okay! Okay! Calm down!”

He kissed the top of her head. “Calm down! How can I calm down when you just became my wife!”

She laughed and squirmed from his grasp. “Come on, we need to bathe!”

#zodiac #my wip #wip #zodiac chronicles #original content #original work #original characters #oc #ow #writeblr #fictober #flufftober #hint at sex

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myouki · 5 years

Text

Eternal Vow: Chapter 12

Credits:

Goth: @nekophy

Palette Roller: @angeutblogo

Reaper: @renrink

***

"As touching as this is, there is much to discuss regarding the actions of our guests," Reaper coughed into his hand to gain their attention, "Lady Daria and her servants are awaiting us at the meeting hall. We have already cleared your release with the guards, so there will be no problems."

Palette let go with a blush, crawling off the cot and giving Goth room to follow. Swinging their feet over the frame, the vampire drew his left hand into his chest with a sharp hiss upon pressing it down into the sheets of his cot.

"Goth, what happened to your hand?" Palette asked; his tone a mixture of worry and scolding as he grasped the smaller's hand in his own to unwrap the bloody bandage while ignoring the warm, tingling sensation in his fingertips.

"I had to make a cut to give you some of my blood...," the vampire trailed off timidly.

The taller vampire inspected the injury, "It's not even scarred over. Lord Reaper said I was asleep for a few hours; something like this should have healed by now."

"You were attempting to starve yourself," Reaper accused with a stern glare, "Russel told me you refused your canteen when he left it here with you; I assume as some form of penance?"

"Is that true?" Palette whispered with horror etched on his face. Goth hunched in on himself, answering the question without a word.

Scanning the room, the servant spotted the canteen laying against the leg of the cot. Picking it up and unscrewing the cap, Palette pressed the container into the smaller's good hand, "You need to drink. I don't want to see you hurting and I know from personal experience now that being hungry as a vampire's a really uncomfortable feeling. Please?"

Goth sighed, taking the canteen and drinking hesitantly after getting an encouraging nod from the taller. Satisfied as the injury began to scab over, Palette accepted the container, slinging the strap around his shoulder as Reaper directed them out of the cell. He grasped the smaller's good hand, greeting the guards cheerfully as they left the prison sector together.

---

"I have to admit, I feel kind of bad that Lady Daria was being used by her dad like that," Palette said as they walked the path down the shopping district toward home, "Also, why did you agree to get married if you didn't want to?"

"I... I had my reasons," the smaller vampire stated, looking pointedly at the ground while burrowing into his scarf.

Their meeting had gone well enough. Daria, now the acting leader of her coven upon her father's death, had formally announced the annulment of the marriage and Goth had readily agreed, adding that their offer of an alliance was still on the table since her actions made it clear she was opposed to her father's plans.

"Tomorrow will be a busy day," Reaper groaned, shoving his hands into his cloak pockets in lament, "Not only will I need to null the old contracts, a new one will need to be written up and signed with the new terms. Not to mention we will need to orient young Palette in the ways of vampires."

"Wait, does that mean I'll be able to learn how to turn into a bat too?!" the servant gasped, his eye lights almost sparkling in excitement.

Goth laughed, "Eventually, yes. It might take a while, so I wouldn't get discouraged if you can't get it right away."

"Yeah, this is going to be great!" Palette exclaimed, grasping Goth's hands to swing them around in joy. Another question popped into the servant's head and he stopped spinning, "Oh yeah, I also wanted to ask if this tingly feeling is normal for vampires."

The smaller vampire blinked at him, "Tingly feeling?" He sounded confused.

"Describe this tingly feeling for us," the elder vampire requested, "when did you first experience the sensation?"

"Well, at first it felt like an earthquake hit me, but now it kind of tickles... it's really warm and cozy and my soul races when it happens," Palette described the symptoms, unaware of the deepening blush on his companion's face, "The first experience...? I think it was in the cell after I hugged Goth."

"That, young Palette, would be your newly acquired vampire instincts," the elder laughed.

"Instincts?" the servant asked, turning to the smaller vampire, "What do-"

It was only now that Palette was able to notice Goth sputtering next to him, his face resembling a grape with how deeply he was blushing.

Reaper donned a smug grin, "Is there something you would like to tell us? Have you perhaps been harboring feelings for young Palette?"

"Feelings?" it was Palette's turn to be confused as he questioned the smaller, "Wait, does that mean you like me? Why didn't you say anything?"

"I... I did," Goth stammered, taking a deep breath before finally looking the taller in his sockets, "I asked what you would say if a vampire said they liked you, but you said you had other priorities; that you weren't interested."

"Is that the reason you agreed to Lord Arnest's proposal?" the lord surmised, getting a quiet nod in response from his son.

"You were talking about yourself...," Palette murmured to himself, only to let out a snort and hug the smaller, "You misunderstood me; when I said I had other priorities, I meant you. If anyone else asked, I'd tell them no because it would get in the way of my time with you."

A glimmer of hope sparked in Goth's eye light, "Then... if it was me asking?"

"Then I'd say yes, of course!" Palette laughed, nuzzling the smaller. Before Goth could properly respond, the taller vampire asked, "Wait, can I still be your servant if we get married?"

"You would still be allowed to perform your regular duties, you would merely drop the title of blood servant; at least that is the route Geno took," Reaper clarified with a smirk, "I suppose we will be in need of the banquet room and its decorations after all; however, I would suggest postponing any festivities until things have settled. I would recommend a week at least."

"That sounds good," Palette agreed merrily. Suddenly, an idea struck him, "Hey, I remember hearing someone mention it; can we do a blood bond?"

"What?!" The smaller squawked as Reaper bellowed in laughter.

"You certainly wasted no time," the elder gasped, wiping tears of mirth from his sockets.

"Palette, that's...," Goth breathed, gaining his companion's attention, "What you're asking for isn't something to take lightly. You need to understand exactly what a blood bond entails before you ask that."

Tilting his skull to the side, Palette assented, "Okay then, what's a blood bond?"

The small vampire spoke carefully, "A blood bond is a ritual between two vampires; a sacred vow that for as long as you exist, there will never be another that can take your partner's place. By agreeing to a blood bond, you are agreeing to tie yourself to one and only one individual for all eternity. Vampires only perform a bond with someone they consider 'the one' without a single shred of doubt since it's heavily looked down upon to renege on a blood bond and seek out a new partner regardless of whether the other is still living or not. A blood bond means forever."

The taller smiled softly as Goth finished, "If that's true, then that just makes me even more sure. You're everything to me, so there's no one else I'd rather spend eternity with."

The shock on the smaller's face was quickly replaced with joy as he wrapped his arms around Palette's chest, "Then I accept your proposal."

Reaper chuckled, walking away as he called back, "Then I will see to making the proper arrangements; I shall let you two love bats have your alone time."

Goth buried his skull in Palette's vest, seemingly forgetting the parent was present and causing the taller to snort at the adorable display. As the smaller peeked up with a flushed face once more, they murmured, "It feels like I'm dreaming."

"Believe me, this is real," Palette declared as the pair slowly closed the gap, sharing what they both hoped would be their first kiss of many.

***

And that’s it for our story. Hope you enjoyed and Happy Halloween for those who celebrate it~

#Poth #Goth #Palette Roller #Reaper Sans #EV #Short Stories #MyWriting #Vampire AU

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yastaghr · 4 years

Text

Rounded Going Round

@kirinsaga commissioned me (During @sansy-fresh Art Drive) to do a little one-shot with some pregnant #sanster angst! You can find the finished work on Ao3 here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21411682

Enjoy!

Sans tried hard not to wince when yet another door slammed behind him. It was hard not to take it personally after the first five times. He'd totally given up by the 11th. He'd stopped counting at 23. This was somewhere in the depressing realm beyond that.

It took him some time to gather himself enough to walk through the lobby of the hotel. He knew there were tears streaming down his face. He could feel them as they impacted with his gravid belly. His shirt was probably more like a lantern than a cover up now, but he had to walk through this lobby with all the confidence and ease he could. This hotel was deep in human territory, and a monster showing signs of weakness (heh. He was a living sign of weakness and he knew it) was in serious danger of being jumped. He did not want to become another hate crime statistic today. He couldn't bear to do that to Gaster, not on top of everything else.

Once he was not in that lobby Sans almost ran to the nearest alleyway. He needed to be safe somewhere where he could cry and cry and cry and not have to worry about people staring at him or judging him. Heh. He, the former Judge of the Underground, was afraid of being judged. How the tables turned.

He ducked behind the overflowing dumpster of the Thai-Spanish fusion restaurant, skidded on a smear of Thai iced tea flan, and crashed into the brick wall of the alley. He picked himself up out of mess of cultures and foods, shivered at the feeling of something leaking down the back of his neck, and teleported straight into the bathroom of the flat Gaster and he shared. Blue magic filled the room. It turned on the shower all the way to warm, untied his soiled dress shoes, stripped off his stinking khaki pants and blue button-up shirt, and locked the door. He did not want Gaster to see him like this. He needed to be clean first. He just did.

As he climbed in the shower, Sans reflected on the face of the human as he was told, for whatever numbered time it was this week, that the position he was applying for had already been filled and, while appreciated, his resume was surplus to requirements. Not every human had phrased it the same way, of course. Some were much more open about their speciesism. It was, after all, still legal. But one thing they all had in common was a certain amount of glee as they watched him fall apart.

Even now Sans couldn't stop the tears from coming. And why would he? It was healthy to express your emotions, and, moreover, he was pregnant and a monster. They both got a pass. Or at least…they did among those who actually cared about monsters. And pregnant people. To bad he hasn't been dealing with either of those.

Sans grabbed the bottle of body wash and poured a generous dollop of the stuff onto his body poof. The smell of cinnamon filled the air. Like always, it soothed him. The smell of cinnamon always brought him back to the first time he and Gaster had walked into the Snowdin Shop. The shopkeeper had just finished baking a fresh load of cinnabunnies. They’d tasted like absolute perfection, warm and sweet on his to- damn it. Now he wanted cinnabunnies. He’d have to text his lover once he got out of the shower. Denying his cravings only made him miserable.

At least he could relieve some of that misery right now. He scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed at the stains of mixed-culture food that covered his body. He stopped just short of rubbing his bones raw. Gaster always got so worried when Sans did that, and it always took so long to heal. He really couldn’t afford the wound right now. Heh. Figuratively and literally.

Finally Sans could look at his own bones and not see the multicolored stains. He was back to being clean, which was good because the hot water had just run out. He rinsed off the soap, turned off the water, and went to grab his towel.

A familiar hole-y hand passed him one of the biggest ones. Sans jumped back, slipped, and ended up sitting on the wet floor of the tub with a thud. A cracked skull instantly peeked through the curtains, worry evident in every line of his expression. Gaster apologized profusely. “I am so sorry for scaring you, Sans. I thought I’d made enough noise to alert you, but the sound of the shower is highly likely to have drowned it out. Do you need any assistance?”

Sans chuckled. Yeah, that was his Gaster. Always quick to apologize over the slightest reason. “it’s okay, g. you didn’t scare this old bag of bones too bad. but, i, ah...might need a little bit of a hand up? this belly really gets in the way.”

Gaster quickly set aside the towel and helped him up. “Of course, Sans. Come here, let me dry you off while you tell me about your day. I wasn’t expecting you home for another hour or two. Did something happen?”

Sans tells him about his day in detail, leaving out not one rejection, tear, or alleyway. Gaster nodded along, but Sans could tell he wasn’t as worried as he had been the last few weeks. His large, round eye sockets narrowed. “gaster. aren’t you paying attention? i still haven’t found a job, and the baby will be due in a few weeks, and-”

Gaster smiled up at him excitedly. “-It will be fine, Sans! I just finished setting up the party in the living room. The others will be arriving in a few hours, but I really wanted you to be the first to know. Come get dressed so I can show you!”

Sans sighed, but slipped into a clean t-shirt he had stolen from Gaster’s pile and some old gym shorts. He shuffled his feet into his signature pink slippers and shlepped after Gaster. He was lead into the living room. When they got there, his jaw dropped. There were balloons and streamers, cheerful music was playing from the speakers, the smell of baking treats wafted from the oven, and a custom cake sat proudly on the counter. Sans gravitated towards it. The cake was blue on the sides and had a night sky of sparklers scattered across the flat top. It also had, in white lettering against the dark background, a message. It read, “Home Loan Acquired!”

Sans felt tears roll down his zygomatic process. He wiped them away and turned to Gaster. The other took a step back from the upset fury radiating off of Sans.

“how could you. we can’t afford all this, not and still make the payments. and we don’t have a home loan! that human bank said they wouldn’t lend to us unless we both had a job, and i keep getting turned away! this is all...all…” Sans broke down into tears. Why did this hurt so much?

Gaster wrapped his arms around him and rubbed his back gently. “It’s okay, Sans. I should have told you sooner. I was talking with King Asgore today over lunch, and I happened to mention our difficulties with the loan. He was sad that the human banks were being so prejudiced, but not overly surprised. I, on the other hand, was struck dumb when he offered to give us a loan from the Royal Bank. I tried to protest, but he insisted. He said that’s why they set up the Royal Bank in the first place: to help out monsters in positions like ours. So we do have a home loan, and at a much better rate than the humans were offering us. And there is no requirement for you to find work. He was very upset that they would force something like that on us, especially with you so pregnant. Queen Toriel could barely function while she was carrying Prince Azriel. So we don’t have to worry! We can get the house of our dreams and be moved in before the baby comes.”

Now Sans’ tears were ones of happiness. “i can’t believe this. it’s a dream, right? there’s no way we could be this lucky.”

Gaster nuzzled his forehead. There was a huge smile on his face. “It is real, love. We’re really going to do it. In a few days we’ll be adding books to the shelves in our new living room. We can pick out the perfect dining room set. You can read me the instructions while I build our new crib. Are you happy about it?”

The pregnant Sans nodded, the tears still flowing as hormones got behind the emotion and shoved. “i am. i’m so happy i just…” He breathed in a huge sigh of relief. No more rejections from speciesist humans. “i’m just so happy.”

Gaster smiled, squeezed him carefully, then released him from the hug. “That’s good. Now, do you want to help me set up the extra bean-bags in the living room for all our guests? I...may have gone critical in my excitement. There will be 14 people joining us to celebrate. The Royal family, of course, and your brother and his fiancee. Dr. Alphys and Undyne, obviously, and my followers. They’d feel so sad if they were left out.”

Sans chuckled. “good thing we’re going to be moving into a big house. we’ve got too many friends to fit in a small one.”

His husband laughed his clarion laugh. “Good indeed. Now, do you want to...actually, why don’t you work on the food while I move furniture? We can never be too careful. Our little one’s life hangs on the balance.”

“sure thing, drama queen,” Sans said fondly. “i’ll get started on some more snacks.”

#undertale #sanster #gaster x sans #sans #gaster #yastaghr

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secret-time-is-here · 4 years

Text

The King and his Aid; Trials

Chapter 3: Calling for help

Previous - First (Season 1) - First (Season 2) - Next

After months of staying strong, nearly a year of not following the traditions laid out before him, he had begun to crack under the pressure. His few relationships, aside from with Edwin, broken to pieces. No one understands. They wouldn’t be able to, they all think it’d be fantastic to be a royal!

It isn’t.

Everything’s done for you. You have to keep to schedule. Constantly being in line. Never under any circumstances acting out. Strict manners. Strict policies from a young age.

Sleeping in? Never heard of it. Day off? What’s that? Having real friends? That’s a good joke. Childhood? You mean studying for your future in a decade and a half?

Neil just couldn’t take it anymore. He doesn’t need a Bride, much less a Queen. What’s the big deal with it? Half the staff is caring for their siblings or parents, it’s not an issue for them! Other’s simply don’t have anyone in their lives, they aren’t being chasted and bombarded with questions of a bride.

The head generals are both on their own, the head of Military Sciences is caring for his brother as a constant and the head General lives on his own, no one’s telling them to go off and get married! Then again, the head Chef does have a wife and family and also lives with his brother.

Others would think it’d be great, even amazing to have Princess wanting to marry you, but it’s just fairytale lies. A storybook lies life. Almost all of the women that showed for the ball were spoiled brats, thinking they could get whatever and whoever they wanted. Only Cora and one other were raised well and respectful.

Even keeping in touch with Cora hadn’t helped him through this, Edwin was doing his best to be comforting, but it only reminded the Prince how much he was it was just him and his aid.

Maybe one day it could be like that. They could just run away late winter with planting seeds and some coin. Find a way to survive in the woods together, be relieved of their pointless responsibilities that will only give them a forgetful life.

Neil could grab one of his hunting guns too, let them do trade at a random nearby town and let them get more food and build up a small cabin to call their home. Something small. Something simple. He could try and watch out for an abandoned structure next time he’s able to go hunting.

He’d have to leave his brother to do that, however. Leave the few friends he’s acquired. However, the temptation of just him and his number one was always quick to jump before those worries.

He loved Dean, he was proud of him like the father neither of them got to grow up with. Protective of him like the mother they had lost. Maybe, that could help him.

Neil pushed himself up from his resting place, his back to his friend, his aid was quick to bookmark their place and turn his full attention to his Prince.

The ever warm hand rested on his shoulder and he was quick to hold it with his own, wanting to keep it in place until the end of time.

“Could we… got to her grave?” The royal’s voice was soft, questioning and uncertain. “...If we have time.”

“We have until you decide to go to bed. But, are you sure?”

“I need to talk with her.” Was his immediate reply, not bothered by the hesitation in Edwin’s tone.

“Aren’t you a part of her?” The Prince nodded his head, “Can’t you talk with her anytime?”

“I am only a part, and so is Dean. It’s difficult to talk to a fraction of a person.”

His aid hummed, not understanding, but knowing that this would help his Prince. The hand placed on his shoulder pulled away and Neil let go but gave a small smile when he felt the errored skeleton hug him in comfort. Reassurance that was greatly appreciated.

“Do you want to go now?” Edwin whispered into his eardrum, voice gentle despite the glitching. The King to be nodded after a few minutes of contemplating. “Alright.”

His aid let go, his body shivering from the sudden lack of warmth and his mind screaming to lean back into it. He gave in, but only a little this time, turning back to his friend and grabbing the skeleton’s hand as they both stood up.

Walking outside the air chilled their magical bones, the Royal embracing it while his aid had trouble handling the cold. The frost licked and scolded their faces as they made their way to the small secluded area of the former Queen’s grave. A place that his mother had loved and eventually buried in.

The moon lit up their path and the minty green grass around them as they made their way to their destination. The guards stationed at the entrance lost their posture for a moment as they approached, not expecting the soon to be King, but then stood up straight and tall once more.

With a small wave, he gestured for the guards to go take a small break and to generally leave the area for some time, letting Neil and his aid be alone with the former Queen.

Hesitantly, they moved from their station, their armor clanking as they walked away into the silent night.

The elder Prince let out a long exhale and his expression and body slumped, showing the weight that was getting to him and how his lack of sleep had fatigued him. He quickly took off the suit of his attire and draped it over Edwin, a small smile escaping from hiding when his friend snuggled into the jacket for warmth, looking up at him in worry and question.

The royal took his aid’s hand, small comfort for himself and reassurance to his glitched friend. Nostalgia consumed him as he stepped into the closed-off garden, memories of spending days together with his mother-and when his brother came to the world, Dean as well-playing around and talking with her.

A light squeeze to his hand and he took a small step closer to her grave, a cleared area of flowers tended to daily and kept under care attentively.

“Hello, Mom...” Tears dotted his eyes and his aid intertwined their hands further, giving another reassuring squeeze to his hand, before pulling away. Going to stand guard by the entrance and let his Prince have the moment alone with his creator.

Realizing and understanding his friend’s plan, Neil let go of his tight hold, listening as his aid walked toward the entrance and turned his back. Letting him be as alone as he could be.

Painfully slow, the prince sat down, sitting cross-legged before deciding to pull his knees up and to his chest, a rare small show of vulnerability.

He felt a part of his blazing soul reply in return as if saying hello, a smile drifted to his face.

“I guess the connection is still there, huh?” Using the wrist of his skeletal hand, he carefully wiped the tears away. His soul pouring out the illusion of a ghostly figure, purple magic drifting in the air before taking a translucent form.

“Yes, I suppose so.” A soft and gentle mimick of his mother’s voice responded, the figure taking a small decent down to sit on the floor in front of her son, her simple silk robes folding and body purple with the illusion. “May I ask to why your part calls out so desperately in need of help?”

“I have to find a Queen,” Neil spoke, his head down. A burn of held-back emotion filled in his chest, but he refused to give in. The illusion put her hands on each side of his skull, and on instinct, he looked up into her milky lilac eyes, he sighed. “I don’t want to. I don’t want a Princess at my side… I just want to...”

“What do you want my son?” The illusion asked carefully, wiping away tears that he hadn’t realized he was producing. He sniffled, nuzzle his face into her hands, barely physical enough to allow him the action. His hand held her’s there when he became aware of the fact.

“I just want to rule… alone. Like you did.”

“I have a feeling that isn’t the entire truth.” The former Queen commented, not sounding at all angry or disappointed, but simply wanting her child to be honest with her.

“I-” The elder Prince hiccuped, “I just want to rule alone… w-with Edwin by my side. Or not rule at all. I just want him by my side.” He sobbed, feeling the pressure on him finally releasing. Still aware of his aid nearby and keeping watch, but wanting his friend to know of the truth.

“Do you finally accept that?” His mother started, “Your soul has yelled out that fact since my passing, and I’m sure if it echos to me, it echos to your brother as well.” Neil dropped his gaze from his creator to the ground, “Have you spoken to Dean about this?”

“H-he-” The King to be started, before breathing in a long breath and trying to calm down, “Dean just wants to continue the tradition of marriage and bring heir’s to the family.”

“Does he forget that he is a child of a single Queen?” He nodded his head, “Have him come talk to me soon, he’ll likely ignore the call from his soul.” The former Queen asked, before comforting her son, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, lead on your own if you choose. I’m sad to say that the court might force you to choose, however.”

“How did you get by without a King, mom?” The Prince sniffed, bringing his gaze back up to his mother.

“I created you, and after a few years of your stability, your brother. Sadly, I think you wouldn’t be able to follow the same method as I did. I don’t believe a fraction of a fraction could live such a happy life as you two have. That, and I don’t wish for you to go through that painful process.”

Neil nodded, as much as he wished and with the little cases to study, it would be difficult for the child to live. Even if his part had matured and become his own soul, albeit with help and encouragement.

“It’s becoming much too late to be healthy for you,” She started, pulling her hands away and drifting over to and above her grave, “You should go back with him and get some rest.”

“Thank you.” The royal smiled, “I love you, mom.”

“I love you too my son.” The former Queen laughed, her illusion wisping into the air before compacting into a stream of opaque magic, drifting back to his blazing soul once more.

Nightmare and Dream belong to @jokublog

Error belongs to @loverofpiggies

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