1 - 20 of 118 Works by HazelDomain
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"In my defence," Ilya says, "I am only one-sixteenth werewolf."
"Huh?"
Ilya doesn't know how to explain that he is only just now discovering that the one-sixteenth is apparently all housed in his cock. But given where said cock is currently lodged he figures he won't have to in about, oh, five more seconds.
--OR--
Werewolves can only knot their soulmates, which isn't going to be a problem because Shane is just some boring hockey hook up, right?
Series
- Part 3 of Heated Shorts
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“Omegatisation takes a fuckton of hormones. The first heat is going to hit like a truck.”
“I’ve been hit by a truck before,” Dick muttered.
--OR--
One omega in every pack. That was the rule.
Dick would do anything to protect his family. But not all alphas were as honourable.
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They weren’t a large pack, like he’d pictured being in when he was a kid. But they were his. He wanted to keep them all, and if he had to sacrifice himself to do it, then. Well.
--OR--
One omega in every pack. That was the rule.
Dick would do anything to keep his family.
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Viren claws at the air, a moment of madness convincing him that he can fall more slowly, regain the serpentine creature, a moment of madness believing that it matters whether they impact the ground together.
And then there is silence.OR
Aaravos somehow made himself and Viren a biological child and I had many thoughts on that topic.
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I messed up my Toxic Gay Power Couple run and Gale didn't ascend. Astarion did.
At the epilogue, Astarion talks about decadent balls and the utter debauchery he surrounds himself with. Gale talks about quiet nights by the fire, and a life ripe with domestic bliss. And I thought, how do these lifestyles reconcile? Is someone lying, and if so... who?
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Rule number one of hustling pool: don't let your marks know they've been hustled. They don't like it, and tend to retaliate.
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Rolan's basement was full of delightfully expensive looking trinkets. Astarion was helping himself. Gale was having moral qualms about it. Astarion was finding them annoying. Overall, a pretty typical state of affairs.
And then the walls exploded.
(Or, Astarion sets off a trap that leaves him hallucinating vividly and Gale needs to talk him through it, and other adventures.)
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There’s a discussion to be had about human language failing to create a more inclusive word than "humanity," but you aren’t thinking about that now. Now, as you’re lying on your bedroll and staring up into eyes that burn red in the dying embers of the campfire, all you can think is *Astarion isn’t human.*
There’s still a ghost of his touch along your throat, where his fingers had frozen in the process of- of what, exactly?
“This isn’t what it looks like,” he says, and the silver tongue that’s talked him out of a dozen arrests has apparently deserted him, because this is *exactly* what it looks like.OR: I wanted a fic about what it must be like to have such a genuinely terrifying guy skulking around being gorgeous all the time.
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Astarion hadn’t done anything as stupidly romantic as *run away with someone.* That wasn’t what this was. They’d made plans to rendezvous, an anonymous fuck in an inn near the Szarr estate, and Astarion’s feet had carried him past the building, past the upper wall, past the guards at the gate, and away, before he’d even realized he was going to do it. Eight years of dreaming, and it was done. He’d run.
(He doesn't get far)
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“Your boyfriend’s acting weird,” Bucky hisses at Steve over his shawarma.
“Yeah,” Steve agrees sadly. “He was really hoping you’d like the raincoat.”
Bucky stares at his plate like maybe the shredded lettuce will offer some clarity.
--OR--
The one where Sam gets dating advice from the birds
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Jaskier’s hold was tightening around him with each passing second, and with horror, Geralt realised that it wasn’t Jaskier that was changing.
Unbidden, Vesemir’s voice floated through his brain.
There’s a reason why we’re called the school of the wolf, pup.
No fucking way.
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In which Jaskier finally convinces Geralt that he can take that dick, but no one realises Witchers are built different until it's too late...
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Sam and Dean defeated Chuck, escaped the Narrative, and were never seen again; a Huntercorp Story.
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A witch curses Castiel, and his attempts to heal go terribly wrong.
Even after the curse is lifted- presumably- he's afraid to touch anyone with his skin, let alone his grace. He's sitting in the bunker in a hoodie and gloves, flinching if anyone comes within accidental contact range.Sam's sure the curse is lifted, and he's going to prove it. One way or another.
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“I’m guessing your arms will give out before your legs, but you sometimes surprise me,” Sam says. His fingers trail over Dean’s taut body, pausing to scratch at the peak of one nipple.
“Unless I get out of the ropes,” Dean quips, and Sam laughs.
“You won’t,” he says. “You’re going to stretch that hungry little hole of yours until you can’t take it any more, and when you cry uncle, I’ll let you down and fuck you.”In which Sam plans to have Dean take an absolutely massive tapered dildo, but isn't as good at bondage safety as he probably should have been.
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Dean's cursed, which puts Sam in the unfortunate position of trying to track down his stupid brother's One True Love.
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On the road, time passes in an unconnected succession of 'now's.
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The werewolf gasped, claws digging into Dean’s hips as he came. His already massive cock seemed to get even bigger, and Dean gasped despite his resolution to stay quiet and bear it out.
“Oh, yeah,” the werewolf growled, and then, in a completely different voice, “yes.”
The light changed, seeming to get lighter and darker at the same time. Like the sun had risen, but was shining through dark blue clouds.
“Hello, Dean,” the werewolf said.
Dean’s eyes snapped open.
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“How much did you use?” Geralt growls, teeth finding a new home in Jaskier’s neck.
Jaskier hums happily and tips his head to the other side so Geralt can peruse the real estate over there, too.
“Concentrate, Jaskier! How much did you use?” Water sloshes over the sides of the tub as Geralt hoists him halfway out, then pulls him back down so they’re sitting flush, Jaskier’s thighs thrown wide over Geralt’s.
“Hm,” Jaskier says, a little dreamily. He gestures at the empty bottle on the floor. “How much was in there?”
Geralt swears in what sounds like Elder tongue.
Speaking of tongues…
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It sinks beneath Eddie’s skin with a sigh. Returning to Eddie is like coming home.
And then.
What in the—
“Eddie!”
Eddie doesn’t respond because Eddie is…
Eddie is…
Eddie is dying?
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Angels aren't meant to live for centuries without their mates. It's torture. Cas Novak lost his hundreds of years ago, and the loss is a physical ache, driving him to desperation.
Sam Winchester has just left home for the first time- well, as much as a series of motel rooms and hunts could be considered "home." He's trying to hitch a ride to Stanford when he's picked up by a very strange man.
**Abandoned and discontinued**