1 - 20 of 48 Works by wizardlover
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Aldo has never really been one to think much about penance.
“We honor God in a multitude of ways,” he’d told Thomas once. “I agree that discomfort is useful. We learn to turn away from our sins and commit to do better. I don't understand what mutilating yourself in His name is meant to accomplish. We were not put in this world to suffer, Thomas."
Thomas had been quiet for a long time. "It is a different thing, though," he'd said finally. "You will agree on that much at least. Self-harm is a sin. Self-flagellation has a place in doctrine."
Aldo had winced. "Next thing you'll tell me is you've joined Opus Dei. You don’t think confession is enough? Prayer?”
“I think mortification of the flesh has its place,” he’d said absently, eyes faraway.
“Does it serve a purpose, though, apart from hurting you? Does senseless pain really bring you any closer to Him?”
Thomas had barely flinched. Aldo had felt possessed by the urge to grab his jaw and direct him forward, look at me, look!
“We must repent, Aldo,” he’d said simply. "By whatever means necessary."
He’s always thought Thomas did enough repentance as it was for the two of them. He thinks he understands better now.
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“The utility bill comes right out of your pockets, just so you know,” Lamb says. “What? Thirty years of life and you still haven't figured out how to wash yourself?”
“Ever hear the one about pots and kettles?” River bites out through chattering teeth. He's hot-and-cold all over. “I don’t think I can stand.”
Lamb starts unbuttoning his shirt. River watches him, a little dumbfounded, and he snorts.
“You might like playing mermaid, but I’d rather not take a swim with all my clothes on.”
“It’s not like they couldn’t use a rinse.”
“Oh, but I've already washed them this month, I’m not due ‘till next Christmas.”
He’s wearing a stained white vest underneath. River averts his eyes; it feels almost voyeuristic to see him without all the layers. Lamb reaches for the showerhead.
“Are you trying to become an icicle? Jesus, it’s colder than a witch’s tit.”
“It felt good,” River mumbles, drowsy. “You’re getting water all over the floor.”
Lamb scoffs. “Hopefully I'll slip on it and save myself this whole trouble. Now stop squirming unless you want to give yourself more brain damage.”
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which one's appetite's the biggest? by wizardlover
Fandoms: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: The Veilguard (Video Game)
01 Jan 2025
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“Rook,” he says. “What a surprise. I didn’t consider we might still be linked. That might prove troublesome in the long run.”
“I’m going to kill you, you piece of shit,” Rook tells him, and shifts on their knees to face him. Solas laughs.
They hadn’t realized it would feel like this, seeing him again. The ball of grief that has made itself home in their chest goes supernova; their rage white-hot.
“No need for the expletives.” Solas’ indiference is like kindling. Rook lunges forward, tries to grab his ankle and trip it, and the pressure increases. They clench their teeth until it aches. “Please, Rook. Let us have a civilized conversation.”
Rook laughs. “You’ve never been civil in your fucking life, wolf,” they say. Something glints in his waist—he’s clipped the dagger to his belt, and it glimmers with its own light. There is a quiet hum coming from it, that beautiful lyrium song.
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“The fuck are you waiting for?” Hoffman says, which is the closest he will get to asking. Lawrence’s hand slides down until he’s brushing two fingers against the head of his cock, fucking in between Hoffman’s thighs. “A handwritten invitation? Sorry, I left all my nice stationery at home.”
“Please and thank you would be nice,” Lawrence sighs, and Hoffman laughs. He’s burning hot—Lawrence is sweating into his shirt.
“Put your cock back in my cunt,” he says, “and that’s the best you’re gonna get.”
Lawrence huffs against his neck, hips faltering. Hoffman’s thighs are big and supple. He mouths at Hoffman’s shoulder blade, teasing the tip of his own cock with a finger, and goes back to trace a few circles around Hoffman’s clit. Then, out of his mouth without much thought:
“You do get desperate to be filled.” And Hoffman stutters, all at the same time—breath hitching, back spasming. His jaw is clenched so hard Lawrence worries for his enamel.
“You,” Hoffman grits out, and the rest of the sentence dissipates as Lawrence fucks back into him.
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natural as another leg around you in the bed frame by wizardlover
Fandoms: Our Flag Means Death (TV)
18 Oct 2023
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“Are you gonna tell me what happened now?” Ed asks, standing with his arms crossed. He’d laid Stede on the bed with a painful level of gentleness.
“Already told you.” Lucius peers into his eyes. Stede looks back at him, dazed. “Some creep put something in his drink. I chased him off. He’s all yours to deal with now.”
“I bet I could still find him,” Ed says darkly, and Stede groans.
“Enough of that.” Ed falls silent, but Stede can practically taste the rage coming off of him.
“Is he gonna be okay?”
Lucius gives Ed a complex look. “He’ll be fine. I mean, might make it easier to fuck him through it, but I don’t tell you how to live your lives.”
There’s some spluttering. Stede realizes it’s coming from him. Ed is making noises, too, confused and defensive.
“What’s that got to do with—”
“Oh my god, do I have to spell everything out? It was a rape date drug. You know that kind of crowd. He’s probably gonna be horny out of his mind for the rest of the night.”
“I’m fine,” Stede says weakly. He’s started feeling it now; the desperation licks at his heels, exacerbated by Ed’s presence. His head feels like it’s stuck in a cloud.
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“How’s the kid’s treatment going,” House asks, pretend-light and clearly uncomfortable. Chase can feel his voice rumbling against his chest. “Are you crying?”
The words get stuck in his throat. He opens his mouth and catches the tail end of a whine between his teeth. House startles at the noise.
“Should we be worried about you killing another kid?” House makes a humming noise. “Probably cheaper to take you off rotation for a month than deal with another lawsuit. Cuddy will agree.”
“Screw you." He tries to put some steel into it, but his voice sounds pathetic.
“Sucking up only gets you far if the suckee is alive, you know.”
“God, you’re an asshole.”
“Another quarter for the blasphemy jar.” House isn’t pushing Chase away, some hidden background process in the back of his brain pipes up. His hands are still hanging limp by his sides, and it’s like hugging a piece of dry driftwood, but Chase can’t let go. “You’re doing a lot of crying over an asshole. You’ll put Cameron out of a job.” He turns his head at the end of the sentence and his warm breath tickles the shell of Chase’s ear.
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“There truly is nothing more to it,” Aziraphale admits. “And it’s quite alright, anyhow, and we do not need to discuss it further.”
“Mmm,” Crowley says. They lapse back into comfortable silence. Aziraphale is petting his hair again. “What if we did, though?”
“Hmm?”
“Discuss it further.” Aziraphale cracks open an eye.
“Crowley,” he says, exasperated. “You literally just—“
“I know, I know,” he says quickly. “But I didn’t really get it.” Aziraphale sighs, but he’s smiling a little, and when he kisses Crowley it’s short and sweet. “Still don’t, that is. But I think I’d be fine, if you really want to try.”
Aziraphale looks at him in silence. His hands come up to cradle Crowley’s jaw, gently sweeping a thumb back and forth beneath his ear. His eyes look so loving.
“My dear,” he says. “You ran out of the room when I suggested it.”
“You caught me off guard!” Crowley huffs. “And, in case you don’t remember, you brought it up while I had my mouth on your cunt.”
“No need to be vulgar,” Aziraphale murmurs. Crowley reaches under his nightgown to pinch his nipple, enjoying how Aziraphale squirms. “Crowley!”
“Yeah, sorry,” he says, not sorry at all. “My point stands.”
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and in the ripe evening i wanted to be a nightingale by wizardlover
Fandoms: Good Omens (TV)
14 Aug 2023
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“Crowley.”
“Angel.”
“What's wrong?”
Crowley fidgets. “You can be really annoying sometimes, you know that." Aziraphale holds his silence. “I’m not… hurt.”
“But you,” Aziraphale starts, then bites his lip. “You keep… flinching. Is it—has it always…?”
“What?” Crowley’s face is really so lovingly expressive. “No! No, you—you’re fine. It’s me.”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale says, exasperated, “explain.”
“I, er, drank some poison. On accident.”
“Oh! You should have told me earlier! What is it—do you need—“
“Aziraphale. I’m not dying. But I,” and he swallows, and falls silent again.
“Would you like me to guess?”
“No! How would that be helpful? No.”
“Well what is it then?”
Crowley grumbles something. Aziraphale is quickly coming to the end of his very, very long, almost endless patience—he steps forward and grabs Crowley’s wrist and Crowley makes a noise.
It all goes very still. Aziraphale stays frozen in place, staring at Crowley with wide eyes.
“Are you,” he starts.
“You’re not hurting me,” Crowley mumbles, his face in his hands. Aziraphale makes an inquisitive noise. “I said, you’re not hurting me.”
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"Really," Crowley says, and laughs, sharp and mean. "They gave you the job and not the authority to run it? Well, isn’t that a surprise. If only someone had told you."
"That's not how these things work! It's just—slow going, is all. Change takes time, Crowley."
"Sure, yeah. Climb your way up, but not too much, ey?"
"It's not about me," Aziraphale says, snappy, in that holier-than-thou voice. Crowley smiles mirthlessly, bares his teeth.
"No, you're just a tool for the greater Good, are you. How's that working out, d'you think?"
"Swimmingly, actually. The Metatron really appreciates my suggestions." He smiles—soft, wondrous, almost disbelieving. Crowley wants to scratch it out of his face. Wants to shake him until he comes to his senses and drops to his knees and begs him—
"I always knew you were naive, but not this much," he hisses. "They're going to chew you up and put you through the grinder until you can't take it anymore and then, when you finally, finally snap, they'll cast you down like they did the rest of us."
Aziraphale's eyes flick down once—to his mouth, Crowley realizes, and abruptly steps back, face prickling with shame. Shame, him. Imagine that.
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“I really won’t take it personally if you want someone else here,” Trent murmurs. “Not that I want to go, Ted, but—everyone told me to give you their best wishes. The only reason Coach Beard didn’t come with me is that Roy needed him around to finish up the day.”
“I’d like you to stay,” Ted tells him, which is so hard to say it makes him nauseous.
“Then I will.” Like it’s that easy. Ted sniffs again. He wipes at his face with the back of his hand and grimaces. Trent produces a packet of Kleenex from god knows where—and then, instead of handing it to Ted to clean his own damned face like an adult, he leans in and wipes at his cheeks and beneath his eyes, face twisted in concentration.
"Afraid I'm ruining all your efforts," Ted tells him as more tears stream down his face. He feels cracked open. "Shit, Trent. I'm sorry. I'm sure this wasn't what you were expecting."
"I can't say it was," Trent says, still dabbing at Ted's face with the patience and gentleness that comes only from having an emotional toddler, "but I'm glad I came either way. Now sit tight for a moment."
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let me wrap my teeth around the world by wizardlover
Fandoms: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age - All Media Types
19 May 2023
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“Aren’t we friends, Solas?”
This seems to startle him enough that he turns to look at Varric. In the dimness of the tent his eyes reflect the light from the fire outside, like a wild animal.
“I would call us that, yes."
“Then won’t you share whatever burden is pressing you down with me? That’s what friends are for, you know.”
“Not this one." Varric sighs.
“Come on, Chuckles. I’ll get back out there and get the Inquisitor to spill it, but it seems like a waste when I’m already here.”
Solas is quiet for a long moment—he has shifted around again, so Varric can only see the rise and fall of his back as he breathes, carefully controlled.
“I am… compromised,” he says. Varric waits. “That damned plant, combined with an errant spell—I have… urges. And I can’t—it is—” He cuts himself off, frustrated, and isn’t that a wonder, Solas out of words? And then,
“Urges?” Varric stifles a laugh. “Do you mean—”
“You know what I mean, dwarf,” Solas hisses, and Varric realizes that his neck is red and the tips of his ears have gone pink, and that the air in the tent is warm and stuffy and a little heady, all of a sudden. He clears his throat.
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arms laced with red thread by wizardlover
Fandoms: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom
01 May 2023
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“I would be hard pressed to call this a race." Link is surprised that the noise manages to carry over the whipping winds of the Gerudo Highlands peaks. He stares up—he can just make out the sharp edges of Revali’s talons hanging down as he sits on the edge of the summit. “I mean, really.” He’s almost to the top. If he cranes his head up he can see Revali’s face, leaning forward to smirk at him, his beak shiny through the snowstorm. “I could have circled around to Rito Village and back in the time it’s taken you to drag your pink little limbs all the way up here.”
“You cheated,” Link signs, motions wide enough to be visible in the flurry, “I’d like to see you try to climb this fucking mountain!”
“Well, I resent that,” Revali sniffs, beak turned upwards—it’s a dismissive motion, but something in the glint of his eyes makes it look playful, enough that Link has to bite back a smile. “The peak you pointed to was barely a hill. And I thought you wanted to show me the sights, hm?”
“And how much, exactly, can you see through the hail?” His fingers shake through the motions. Revali notices, of course. He clicks his beak and gestures with his wing.
“Maybe if you stop dawdling and come up here I’ll show you.”
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let me watch the dressing start to peel by wizardlover
Fandoms: Мор. Утопия | Pathologic
22 Apr 2023
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“Sorry,” Artemy whispers. “Did I wake you?”
Stakh is silent. Artemy is still charmed by the way he sleeps—with his hands tucked towards his chest, his chin pressed to his shoulder—even if it is terrible posture. When he turns his face is still tender with sleep, relaxed around the edges in a way it never is in the daytime. Something in Artemy’s chest squeezes and he turns, tongue too-big in his mouth, stomach churning.
“No,” Stakh says after a long beat. “It’s cold.”
It is; Artemy can see his breath fogging up in front of him. March is stretching out into a long, harsh winter. He presses his fingertips to the edge of the window pane and tiny droplets condense from the heat.
There’s more rustling. Artemy glances behind him again—the sight of Stakh with the duvet wrapped around his shoulders is enough to startle a smile out of him.
“Go back to bed,” Artemy tells him. “Maybe sometime between this century and the next you’ll make up for all that missed sleep.”
“It snowed again,” Stakh murmurs.
“I think it’ll keep until spring.” Artemy sways a bit—lets himself lean minutely into Stakh’s warmth, tentatively, like he’s a cat that will spook with sudden movement.
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i say i want you inside me and you split me open with a knife by wizardlover
Fandoms: Star Wars: Obi-Wan Kenobi (TV), Star Wars - All Media Types
30 Jan 2023
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“You have not even begun to understand,” Vader tells him, and yanks Kenobi’s knee to the side. This gets him a different noise—the joint pops as Vader pushes his leg out of the way and presses closer to him. Kenobi’s eyes are wet, but his mouth presses so tight together it pales. That righteous fury—it warms Vader inside out like the flames of Hell. He reaches his hand down.
“You,” Kenobi starts, then stutters into silence. “No.”
“Struggle is pointless,” Vader tells him again. “I will make you see.”
Kenobi laughs, a broken hysterical twinge to it. Vader’s strength is vastly superior, but even then Kenobi is so emaciated that he feels weightless in his grasp. Vader’s fingers trail over his hips, implacable, and Kenobi chokes on his own spit when he wraps them around his cock.
“I thought you wanted to hurt me,” Kenobi gasps. Vader smiles. His teeth are jagged.
“You lack perspective,” Vader says. “Do not fret, Master—you will be begging for pain soon enough.”
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Saw pulls him into a backroom, after.
Luthen keeps his hand on the gun he pilfered from Tubes. Saw won’t try to hurt him—not here, not now, not without serious reason—but one can never know, when he gets like this.
Except all Saw does is shove Luthen into hard rock and press close against him. He grins at him—teeth, glinting eyes. All slightly manic, but nothing Luthen hasn't worked with before.
“Now?” He asks, wary, and Saw laughs.
“Why not? You’ve never objected before.”
Luthen wants to say that before hasn’t ever been minutes after sealing the death of thirty men—plus Kreegyr—but Saw already knows this. Luthen won't find any satisfaction in riling him up again. He lets himself press back against Saw—his armor is hard and full of edges that dig uncomfortably into him. It’s a blessed relief: it feels something like penance.
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Luthen, pale violet hair curling around his ears, lifts an eyebrow at him. There’s the barest hint of amusement in the corner of his mouth.
“There is safety in blending in, Andor,” he says, and reaches to pluck a demure-looking leaf from a shrub. His long sleeves pool around his elbows as he does—his robes are mint-green and velvety, stamped with round purple petals, and they look way too expensive to be gardening in. Cassian spots a smudge of dirt in the jut of Luthen’s wrist, where it peeks out from under his gloves, and thinks about smearing it.
“This is not blending in,” Cassian says. He thinks about Aldhani—military uniforms and steady marching. “This commands attention.” Luthen hums.
“Of the right sort.”
He’s watering some of the pots now, strewn around in what Cassian is sure is a perfectly calculated fashion. The sight of Luthen holding a dainty little watercan is enough to fill Cassian with an odd sort of manic glee—he thinks about this man crouching elbow-to-elbow with him rigging a car to explode and marvels at it. The same hands, brushing a drop of water off of a petal. It’s asynchronous.
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Cassian gets two fingers on his wrist and brushes his thumb against Luthen’s rabbit-quick pulse.
“Increased cardiovascular activity, elevated body temperature… it is poison, then.”
“We’ll make a doctor out of you yet,” Luthen says, dry. There’s a bead of sweat pooled in his cupid’s bow. “I’m not going to keel over, Andor. Save the mother-henning.”
“Fuck you as well,” Cassian tells him, and tightens his grip on Luthen’s wrist. It’s then that it happens—Luthen’s breath hitches, and he turns so still that Cassian is for a moment concerned that his heart has given out where he’s standing. Then he watches the way Luthen’s pupils have dilated and the way his throat is working and blinks. “Oh,” he says, and laughs. “You could have just said—here I was thinking we were going to have to race it to Vahi for a specific anti-venom.”
“I’m glad this is entertaining for you."
“This was your plan, really? Hiding out in a corner until it passes?”
“Would you have preferred I do it in the cockpit?” Luthen shrugs his coat back onto his shoulders. Cassian doesn’t fight very hard to keep the smile off his face—it’s not that he delights in Luthen’s discomfort, but it’s novel to see him falter this way.
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and i asked my younger self for a dance by wizardlover
Fandoms: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
17 Dec 2022
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“No,” you tell him, and he blinks at you.
“No?” The way he tilts his head is uncanny. Your hair raises on edge.
“No.” You take out a cigarette and your hands don’t shake. He laughs.
“A very strong opening, don’t you think?”
The metal railing is burning cold under your bare fingers, but you grip it anyway.
“Who are you?” It comes out more afraid than you mean to. You light your cigarette with steady hands. When you turn to look at him he’s standing right next to you. You startle—his footsteps were completely silent. Here, further out onto the light, he looks even more uncanny. Washed out.
“I was going to ask you that! Who I am, that is.” He smiles at you when you squint at him, like none of this is bone-crushing wrong.
“Why would you ask me who you are?” His stare goes vacant for a moment, and you shiver. His eyes are milky-white. Everything about this feels surreal—the lateness of the hour, the cold biting at your fingers. The snow piling in your shoes. Maybe it is just a very vivid dream.
“It just seems like you might know.” He shrugs. “Or, if you don't—I think I might be dead. Do you happen to know anything about that?”
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rejecting love through blinded feeling by wizardlover for OllieOutie
Fandoms: Hermitcraft SMP
05 Dec 2022
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“Here, I’m just going to—”
Something shines silver in Scar’s hand, and in less than a second Grian has him pinned against the wall. The scalpel clatters to the ground as Scar opens his hands and stares at him, wide-eyed. Grian chokes on a yell as he pulls back his right hand where it’s holding Scar’s wrist.
“Jesus, Grian,” Scar says. “I was going to cut off your sweater. I don’t think you can get your arm out of that.”
“Right.” Grian stumbles back, head swimming. “Right. That makes—that makes sense.”
“Sorry.” Scar bends down to pick it up, slowly. He telegraphs all his movements as he straightens up. “I should have warned you.”
Heat pricks at Grian’s cheeks.
“I don’t need you to be wearing kid gloves around me,” he snaps, and drags himself back into the bed. Scar is quiet and then approaches with loud steps.
“It’ll just be a moment,” he says, and true to his word, it is. The scalpel doesn’t even glance Grian’s skin, and he’s still terrified the whole time.
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“You know,” Andor pants, “if you were trying to catch me by surprise, then—oh—congratulations, you have managed it.” Luthen closes his eyes, tries to roll his hips back against Andor. “That’s how it is with you, right? It’s masks on masks. Which is the real one?” Luthen laughs, breathless and dizzy with unfamiliar pleasure.
“Wrong question again,” he tells Andor, who furrows his brow and twists his mouth, but keeps fucking into Luthen with a precision that is overwhelming. Efficient, Luthen thinks to himself, and almost laughs again. Then Andor grinds against the right spot inside of him and Luthen shakes, melts back into a conjoined pile of limbs held together by Andor’s hand on his hip.
“You didn’t think about it,” Andor says, fucks into him faster, “I put my gun in your hand and you didn’t have to think about it, did you?”
“No,” Luthen tells him, voice fraught and biting his cheek so hard blood spills into his mouth, “I had already decided before I walked into the ship.”