#though not many gentle touches in this snippet

[tamsinsfanfictionrecs]

@atomsforthewin, thank you for the ask. I'm always happy for the chance to work on my Stockshop TMNT 2003 fic.

Enjoy your snippet.

Bishop grabbed Michaelangelo and slammed him against the wall. Then, he drew one of his hidden knives and pressed it against the turtle’s throat.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t end you right now?”

“Because if you kill him, I will destroy everything you value, President Bishop.”

[last-starry-sky]

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alpha!141 x omega!youtuber!reader

[MDNI – MIND THE WARNINGS: 2.5k, poly/pack!141, nothing nsfw, baby’s first omegaverse fic, (mentions of cycles/heats) pls be gentle.]

shorts

It was quiet in the little room. At least, as quiet as a room can be with four large men stuffed inside it. It was nothing special; just an unused office one of them had claimed as an ad-hoc rec room. This base’s rec was . . . okay, but it served all comers. It was too bright; too loud. Too many scents. Too many unknowns. It was just better this way, to be away from everyone else and around only each other.

Despite it’s size, it had slowly collected everything they needed: Soap’s gaming PC shoved in the corner, a recliner for their old man Captain to “rest his eyes” in. A collection of beat down, worn-in, chairs and couches curled around one wall. The perfect place to pile together at the end of a stressful day; to melt into each other’s warmth and scent, for their pack bond to silently strengthen. They wouldn’t call it a den, per se, but it was as close as they could get here. It was a place for the four of them to relax separate from the rest of the base. A place they could forget their bloody, awful work didn’t exist outside the concrete brick walls and dingy lights.

Though they had been working separately, they all had filtered in one by one over the course of the afternoon. Ghost had been first, sprawling in the middle of the jumble of couches in the most comfortable spot. He was absorbed in his phone, scrolling away as snippets of soft music and voices started and stopped, when Soap came in. They had given each other a tired nod, communicating all they needed as the other man plopped himself down in front of his computer. Ghost watched him while he sat back in his rolling chair, rubbed his eyes and groaned. He hooked a pair of old headphones over his head while he waited for his game to load. Ghost scoffed under his breath as he flicked to the next video. He didn’t understand how Johnny could spend all day either behind a computer or a gun, and then choose to relax to both of those things, but he had respect for the man so he let him be. At least he didn’t have to listen to digital gunfire and kids with scratchy mics anymore now that he had the headphones.

Gaz and Price rolled in together. Nothing new there. The stripped down scent of artificial musk and spice wafted in ahead of them. Ghost’s eyes wavered between the two men, down to his screen, then back up. Gaz was literally still wet behind the ears. Price’s shirt was damp where it pulled over his chest and under his arms. Oh. Humph. Had a shower together, had they? He gave the two the same tired nod as they strode in, letting his attention soften back into his phone as they found their places.

Price’s joints popped as he relaxed groaning into his ratty recliner, eyes falling shut as he breathed in deep, even breaths. Gaz chose to slide in next to Ghost, something he didn’t do often. He eyed his lieutenant nervously; big, brown doe-eyes raking over his closed-off form, carefully testing how close the other man would let him get.

Bloody fucking hell, he thought. Still acting all shy and shit? Ghost patted his shoulder, ripping off the band-aid. “Cm’on,” he mumbled with a jerk of his head that kept his low gaze trained on his screen, urging the sergeant forward. “Plenty’f room.”

He complied, pulling himself in close enough to fall against Ghost’s broad shoulder. Gaz relaxed into the larger man’s heat instantly, a low rumble purring out of his chest, his eyes falling closed. Ghost couldn’t help but smile, safely hidden behind his mask. Gaz always was the most tactile of the four of them; constantly seeking out heat and touch and giving it in return. If he wasn’t in need of both his hands at the moment, Ghost would have wound one around Gaz’s shoulders, blanketing him further in the comfort of his warmth and scent.

“Whatcha’ watchin��?” Gaz slurred out half coherently, pressed into the skin of his bicep and exhausted. Suddenly, his head lifted away from his arm. His eyes, already heavy with sleep, zeroed in on the video playing soft piano music in his hands. “She’s cute,” he commented, voice heavy. “Real fuckin’ cute.”

Ghost’s eyes snapped down to his phone. He lifted it to his eyes, squinting at the jumble of information crammed on the screen as the video replayed. A woman in fast motion was cleaning her room from the looks of it: stripping the soft pink sheets from her bed, throwing pillows, blankets and plushies to the side until the semi-circle mattress was bare. Both him and Gaz shared a low chuckle at how comical the speed of the playback made her actions look. The woman then got up on her bed, failing over and over to reach for the hook that held up the bed curtain until, with a jump, she finally grabbed it, flopping down onto the mattress with a cheer of success to the camera.

“Yeah. Cute,” Ghost agreed with a rumble, watching as the short finished with her trailing the long, gauzy curtain out of frame before popping back in front of the camera to smile and wave.

“Who is she? What’s her name?” Gaz asked, practically pushing himself into Ghost’s lap to get a better look at his screen, his fingers just brushing the side of the case as the video started replaying.

Ghost jerked his phone out quickly out of Gaz’s reach. “Cool it,” he warned. “Can find it m’self,” he said, staring Gaz down. He felt the smooth screen sliding beneath his bare fingers as he swung his arm back to his face.

Fuck, he realized too late. He had scrolled to the next video. She was gone, the two men realized with matching groans. Disappointed, Ghost still brought his phone up to his face. Happily, he was met with another video from the same woman. The two men sighed in relief together when they saw her smiling face. It was short lived. Silence fell, the room filled with only with heavy breathing and Soap’s clacking controller as the video played.

There was no music in this video. You walked out in front of the camera this time, your pretty, sleepy face and rumpled hair perfectly in frame. You scrunched your face, yawning and stretching in your soft loose PJ’s, your voice-over began as you started some sort of morning routine in fast motion in the video.

“Hi guys,” you cooed, sweet and gentle. Oh, your voice. Your voice was warm and sweet and comforting, like vanilla and cinnamon - like laundry fresh out of the dryer. You washed your face with a white hand towel, lotion smoothing over your skin quickly after.

Ghost felt Gaz’s cheeks flush against his chest, the choke of a soft, “oh” caught between them.

“Because my other short did so well, I thought I would make another one for all you lovely people!” you said as your other self brushed her hair. You were obviously happy, but your voice was toned down. Tired. “This is from my, um, morning get ready with me that I posted last week, if you couldn’t tell,” you said with an honest to god giggle.

“Fuck,” Ghost breathed against his mask, tensing his free hand, hoping to whatever higher power was out there that no one heard him.

“What’s got you two so quiet all of a sudden?” John mumbled sleepily. He popped his back as he stretched, not yet fully awake from his cat-nap.

Neither of them responded. Ghost was powerless to stop the video playing in his hands, the gentle sounds of plastic containers clicking against something hard out of frame continued in the background as you leaned in close, applying mascara. You batted your eyes for a brief second, drying them before dancing out of frame.

“Just simple makeup today: BB cream and . . . um mascara, because I filmed this right before work and I didn’t feel like being too done up. All the products I use are in the description of the original video, by the way, as always.”

Their Captain’s knee pushed into the couch, his hand on Ghost’s shoulder as he leaned in to watch. Price was beyond needing an invitation like Gaz. His presence was always welcome: warm, solid, and inviting. He was just in time to see you flounce back into frame with an outfit on a hanger: a long, soft gray sweater, black leggings, and fuzzy pink socks, then back out. Ghost didn’t need to look up to tell John was already entranced. The steel grip of his hand cutting into the meat of his shoulder was all the sign he needed.

“Don’t you just love those socks? They are SO much pinker in person, believe me. I was sad how dull they turned out looking in the video. But they are SO comfortable. I would wear them everyday if I could. Um, so yeah, just working and then doing some editing today, so I chose something comfortable but also nice enough in case I had a Zoom meeting. Always have to plan for those even though I hate them,” you said with a tired laugh.

The three men let out a collective groan when you stepped back in frame wearing your outfit. You did a little twirl, socks sliding across the beige carpet, before you stepped close to the camera again. Your face craned away; hands masking off the long column of your neck, showing off the three tiered necklaces you were wearing: a black tattoo-style choker, a short velvet ribbon with a star pendant hanging from it, and a long gold chain with a small heart-shaped locket.

Gaz kicked the back of Soap’s chair, knocking him forward hard enough for his headphones to roll off his head.

“SHIT!” he snarled as he turned. “Who fuckin’ did that? Gaz? The fuck-”

“Get over here now,” Gaz hissed at him, voice biting through the air.

Soap obeyed, scrambling onto the couch next to Gaz as your video came to a close.

“I love these necklaces too. Omg, look how they sparkle,” you squeaked. “I have the BEST light in this room. I’m so lucky. Someone asked me where I bought them and I honestly can’t remember! I’m sorry! I know they were all separate and I’ve had that long locket-thing for ages, so they might not even be available to buy anymore. Hit up your local antique and thrift stores though! If the scents don’t both you too much it’s a great place to find pieces like this. Ooo that’s a good video idea! How to de-scent second hand clothes? Let me know if you want to see that! Anyway, that’s all the time I have bye!”

The four of them sat in silence, pressed as close around the phone in Ghost’s hand as their bulk would allow, the video replaying. The mood in their ad-hoc rec room shifted like the tide. It was nothing dangerous, nothing concerning. Just the four of them, so attuned to one another, deciding within them on a single course of action. It was all internal, though; all within that basal, animal part left in them that made them alphas. The first to bring that reaction into their human brain was Soap. He sank sideways into the cushion of the sofa, smashing into Gaz, as he watched you flicker in and out of frame. He groaned when you held your hands up to display your necklaces for the fifth time.

“Nay any mark there,” he sighed, eyes still following you.

“Means . . . means she not-” Gaz rambled quietly, still entranced.

“No claim,” Price gritted out. The three other men groaned in tandem as he said it, something akin to a group howl.

“How?” Soap asked, scrubbing a hand futilely over this face as he tried to snap himself out of the cloud of testosterone filling the room. “How’s a pretty thing-”

“Pretty omega,” Ghost interrupted, plunging the room into silence once again. Soap was first to respond once again.

“No way,” he breathed, “You sure? How’d you know?”

Ghost flicked his thumb down the screen, interrupting you as you leaned in to scrub your face. The previous short began to play. “Look,” he urged, voice grumbling harsh and low, “Lookit the name of the video.”

They all squinted to make out the title in it’s tiny font. “Post-heat/post-cycle bedroom clean with me!” #nest #omegalife #omegasafe A jumble of sighs and keens, of possessive chest rumbles and hisses, rang out. They didn’t mean it. It was an instinct reaction that, even among the pack, they might have to fight one another for you flared before dissipating.

“Gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” Gaz breathed, speaking to no one in particular.

“She got other videos?” Soap asked, his hands reaching for the phone before Ghost snapped it away. “Cmon, Ghost. Just lemme look, please? Know she’s gotta-”

“Yeah, cmon, Ghost,” Gaz joined in, forcing the man to fend the both of them off with his arm, his phone curled protectively into his chest with the other.

Price was up off the couch in front of his three men as fast as his sore knees would let him. “Get a hold of yourselves!” he bellowed, snapping them to attention. Wide-eyed, they sat waiting for instruction. “We’re not gotta find shit about this girl fightin’ each other, actin’ like a bunch of dickless welps.”

Three, slow, “yes, sirs” followed.

“We’re a pack. We work together,” he said looking at each of them, hands on his hips. “We all want this one, right?” Price looked from man to man as they all nodded. “Then we have to be smart about it. We use all of our skills to help each other. Divide. Conquer. Reap the rewards. Sound good?”

“Then what’s the plan, Cap?” Gaz asked, breaking the knife-like tension of the room.

Price’s mustache twitched, his mouth squashed into a thin line of frustration as he thought. “First,” he finally said, “Ghost, send that channel t’ each ‘f us.” The large man immediately began tapping away at his phone. A buzz rang out around the room as a link landed in each of their messages. Price hummed in satisfaction before continuing. “Assignment f’ tonight is to watch through everything she’s uploaded. All of them. Take notes. Find what you can. We meet here tomorrow after breakfast for discussion and further planning.”

Soap made to stand up, his eyes glued to the pretty lady decorating the channel on his phone, but Price caught his shoulder; forcing the man to look him in the eye. “Don’t think I need to say this, but you three do not breathe a word about her to anyone else. This does not leave this room, understood?”

“Understood, Cap,” Soap said slowly nodding until Price released his death-grip on his shoulder.

“Good,” he said looking over at Ghost and Gaz still sunk into the couch. “See you all t’morrow then,” he said with a curt nod as he cleared his throat and turned on his heel. “I’ll be in my office.”

[leatherfaceologist]

To Feed the Flame

Remmick x Vampire Wife

Part 1 of 2. 18+ only.

Why does Remmick wear a golden band on his wedding finger? How was Remmick turned, so many ages ago, into the immortal beast he's become? Was he alone in his transformation? Love, memory, blood, and lust coalesce in this swamp-set gothic tale.

Themes & Warnings: vampirism, southern gothic, explicit sexual content, blood drinking, telepathy/hivemind, canon typical violence, love, romance, blood kink, worship kink, trauma, slight angst, brief origin story, singing

words: 4,705

notes: Remmick x OC. I poured a lot of love into this, and I hope some of y'all enjoy it. there's smut in this part, and will be even more in part 2. likes, comments, reblogs + any and all feedback is very appreciated! <3

Irish Words: an tine: meaning 'the fire'. Éirinn: Ireland. sidhe: the term for both a mound and a type of supernatural being. bean sidhe: translates as 'fairy woman'; a death omen; the original spelling of 'banshee'. Seaghdha: what is most likely the original name that was then anglicized into 'Shaylene'.

part 2 coming soon.

Part 1: O Death

“…the reason for living, was to get ready to stay dead a long time.” -Faulkner

Bones - heavy, hollow, and ancient. Weighted down with centuries of memory, coursing like blood through the marrow of a god-like creature. An archaic patchwork of recollection lay knitted there, the mobile grave of countless ages. Though the surrounding muscles rarely felt the ache of human fatigue, another pain was nestled deep within the unyielding bone. 

An tine… 

A longing for the flame, a furnace licking at his heart from beneath. Like a frog in a pot, the heat had been slowly rising up within the undead fragment of Remmick’s soul for near 3 years. The longest stretch without his fire. 

It’s been a while, darlin’… Is tonight the night I’ll see yer smilin’ face?

All around, the swamp was singing its nocturnal lullaby. Cicadas chirped, a blip to the human ear but waves of buzzing pleasure to the amplified senses of the undead. Their nighttime blessing lulled him, soundwaves pulsing like the comfort of a mother’s arms against Remmick’s sweat-tinged skin.   

Here, beneath the lazing cypress, nestled under the twinkling lanterns in the darksome blanket of sky - Remmick could slip into his waking dream. In this place - in their place - the chorus of cricket frogs and Fowler’s toads could lull him back to any era, sinking deep into the pyre of his remembrance. Here, he could burn. 

The whisper of a voice beneath the chorus of the swamp - a quick caress at the base of his skull. Like wind through magnolia trees, perfumed and murmuring above the drone of nocturnal song and subtle mist of voices of his night children. 

What was that, darlin’? Coulda swore ya said somethin’. 

The gentle, buttery teasing of his mind-voice, softly focused upon the secret place at the back of his brain. The night children - his immortal offspring - couldn’t touch that spot. It was the pocket room, reserved only for him and an tine. Like two eager parents, exchanging quiet flirtations as they passed each other in the hallway before putting the babies to bed. A special corner of the cosmos, his own little universe with her.

…sing…

The word was felt more than heard, a sensual brush against the outer realms of his secret galaxy with Shay. It had been so long since she’d answered him - or did it only feel like an aeon to Remmick? Sure, he’d felt her across the miles listening in to his poetry recitations and attempts at luring tunes. At times he swore he could see a flash of her crooked smirk - the snippet of dangerous canines, white and clean and unblooded when he’d send a playful string of sentences her way through their bond. Perhaps it was only his yearning, or the distance between them for the better part of 3 years, that only made it seem her words were few and far between. 

…sing for me, Remmy. 

The immortal’s eyes flew open, crimson lanterns softly burning in the dark. Remmick remained where he was on his back, the impish curl at his mouth moving upward. There was no doubt - she was speaking to him. Ever-coaxing, her desires the eternal siren song of his heart. Whatever he need do to stoke the fire - he would. 

“O Death. 

O Death, won’t ya spare me o’er til another year?

Well what is this, that I can’t see

With ice cold hands takin’ over me…”

Undeniable now, the twin of his own thoughts as he felt her smirk and what could only be the familiar shaking of Shaylene’s head. The sensations were thicker, more tangible - she must be closer than she’d been before. Amusement colored her mind-voice as the thought was carried to Remmick’s head between the song’s mournful verse. 

…morbid man. Always have been. 

Remmick’s gaze remained fixed upon the sky’s twinkling lamp lights, knowing she could see the same stars as he. In all their countless years, through all their shared memories of the world’s different eras - the stars would always stay the same. Just like him and Shay. 

“Well I am Death, none can excel. 

I’ll open the door to heaven or hell 

Woah Death, someone would pray

Could you wait to call me another day?”

Remmick’s voice continued, resonant waves of song brushing up against the other night creatures’ timbre. He sang for her, an tine, the everlasting kindling to her distant passions. The loathsome sky became as a scrying mirror, the veins of Remmick’s memory coursing with both pleasure and pain…

Before Remmick’s eyes swam images of an age near-forgotten, before the Long Death and Eternal Night. A time when life still coursed through his veins, and the veins of his bride. Outside the humble place of dwelling spanned miles of emerald, tucked beneath a sky of softly weeping grey. Éirinn was her own still then - the Isle belonged only to herself, though like any nation its grasses watered with the blood of human conflict. 

The hut overlooked a sidhe - one of the mounds, dwelling place of Those Most Fair. It had always made him uneasy, but Shay’s reassurances that her alliance to the People of the Mound would keep them safe brought an ounce of comfort. And asides - the presence of Na Sidhe or not, it was his father’s land. To tend the mounds was a job of great honor - though thankless still, and his beloved wife’s skills of seership would always garner suspicion. 

Back then, she was still Seaghdha. His wife had been blessed with a gift - and with it, a number of curses. Folk came to her for their troubles, or to beg the gods for succor. Only the brave implored Remmick’s wife to pact with the Good Neighbors on their behalf - the brave or the stupid. All who came to the hut left with hope, and while the gifts of the gods and ungods were not always what they seemed, none could deny that they’d been given exactly what they’d asked for. 

When an tine had shared with Remmick that she was with child, a streak of fear had slit his guts beneath the fires of joy. What if Na Sidhe took their child? It was known - the People of the Mounds loved the little ones. Coveted them, and stole them away. Sometimes a changeling was left behind - an improper exchange of old or sickly fae with the human baby. 

‘They’ll no’ take ‘er, Remmy. I’ve a bargain with the Neighbors. Ye know that.”

At the age of 4 their daughter - who had practically run before she could walk, inheritor of the same flaming locks as her mother - began to tell them of her dreams. Red milk on the mound, smoke from a large fire that covered up the sky. Shaylene had remained stark silent, and despite the way her eyes had glazed over like a mist upon the sidhe - Remmick knew. Even he, devoid of his wife and child’s prophetic night wanderings - could feel something terrible was coming. 

On the eve of invasion, to the sound of distant drumbeats and the haunting horns of war - Remmick and his family had climbed down to the mound together. A fire was lit, tendrils of smoke curling up into the sky, darkened with the balefires of their neighbors’ burning homes. Remmick pulled their child close to him, watching with widened eyes and hammering heart as Shay ran a dagger down the pale, calloused flesh of her palm. The gash blossomed, igniting the flames as blushing liquid dripped into the licking embers. Shay was calling to Them, reciting every name and pleading title that might please Those Most Fair. Remmick knew the dangers of giving the Good Neighbors blood that did not emerge from swine nor steer - but when would a family ever be more desperate, than when certain death was just over yonder hill?

Just when Remmick was about to grasp his wife’s hand and tell her they must flee - that the Good Folk weren’t going to help them - time lurched to a standstill. The sounds of distant violence, clashing of swords and screaming of innocents… was silenced. The blooded flames seemed to be suspended, the air around Remmick and his family thickening. He’d only felt it twice before - the unmistakable presence of Them. Remmick’s hair stood on end, a cold sweat breaking out upon the nape of his neck. The air itself was closing in upon him - heavy and choking in his lungs. 

“What wish ye, mortal?”

The lining of Remmick’s innards felt hollow, the thrumming of his heart sped to what felt like a fatal beat. The cold, sensual, ancient voice that had curled around him and his family chilled him blood to bone. He had never heard one of Them speak. 

Shaylene, her voice strange and faraway in the pocket reality they stood within, was imploring the Otherworldly being for aid. Remmick could only bring himself to glance at the creature - pallid as the dead, with a strange lunar glow that seemed to illuminate from within its humanoid shape. Man or woman? To Remmick’s eyes, it seemed to be a man - the most beautiful, terrifying man he’d ever laid eyes upon. Stark against the creature’s pallor was a gaze as black as night, with no trace of snowy white to distinguish its eyes as human. For despite the deceptions of its general shape, a palatable dread had filled the air - this being was not a child of Adam. 

“I’ve need o’ the strongest o’ magics. Give tae me, O Fair One. In exchange, ye’ll have me service in the next life.”

Remmick had chanced to gaze upon the creature’s face, unable to contain his stare as the luminous monster studied his wife. The being’s body was still as a corpse, its rib cage unmoving. Remmick realized with a shudder: it had no need of breath. 

“Grant us the power tae fight off Éirinn’s enemies… ‘n keep our child safe.”

Remmick had watched, his heart sinking as the Fair One’s pitch-dark gaze had slowly moved from Shaylene… down to their child. Sweaty arms clutched his offspring tighter to him, the chill of terror nearly buckling Remmick’s legs. He didn’t know that his body could take much more of the icy dread spiking his muscles - until the creature’s cruel mouth slowly curled to an insidious smile. Endless rows of pearly, sharpened teeth emerged - the uncanny nightmare froze the very blood in Remmick’s veins. 

“We have an accord.”

What happened next had become a blur in Remmick’s mind. Over myriad years, he’d sat and concentrated with pinpoint precision, straining to remember finer details. After a time, the immortal came to understand that his mind had blackened some specifics in order to protect whatever glimmer of sanity Remmick still grasped. What he did remember was pain, terror… and what felt to him as wading through an endless sea of blood. 

Faster than light, the Pale One was on him. Knocked clean to the hungry ground, it happened so quickly Remmick didn’t have time to grasp for their child. The shrill cry of Shaylene’s voice was ringing in his ear, a bean sidhe’s wailing for what was soon to be a dead husband. The creature’s body, though lithe and wiry in shape, had Remmick pinned to the soil with ease. Rows upon rows of razors were sunk into the carotid artery, hot streams of life force spraying from the wreckage of his throat to splash upon the dirts of Éirinn. Had the creature driven in any further with its lethal bite, Remmick’s head would’ve severed from his neck. 

Time no longer held meaning. Every moment leading up to Remmick’s inevitable death was happening all at once before his eyes, to the dirge of his wife’s screaming and involuntary gurgles that rippled from his opened throat. 

Life was fading swiftly from his body. All control upon his muscles had been given up unto the Pale One - Remmick himself the bloody altar upon the earthen burial shroud of his ancestors. Empty… so hollow. The feeling of his life’s blood draining into the creature’s mouth and dripping to the Isle would remain the queerest sensation Remmick would ever experience. Before the warm and roving black of surrender took him, there was only the round face of innocence staring up as she watched her father die. 

When Remmick woke, his body burned. A disintegrating pain that would soon pass into memory, replaced by flame of power in his blood. The sacrificial fire had been extinguished, but the light still burned his eyes somehow. He slowly moved his aching neck, craning to peer up at the heavens. A canopy of stars, glimpsed through a blanket of smoke, was pulsing fast with stellar light. Hypnotic and dancing, Remmick realized through the fog of his rebirth that the lamplights of the night were hurting his eyes. 

Wincing as he peered back down to the earth, a small cry choked forth from out his throat at the sight of Shaylene’s body sprawled upon the soil. A pool of shining crimson was leaking from her prone form, flaming strands of hair soaked and covering her face. Remmick’s horror was blessedly short lived - as though his cry had stirred her, a shudder ran through Shaylene’s form. Just as he, she began to move - the sickly crunch of bones moving back into their place, emphasized by the groans of pain in transformation. 

Husband and wife had steadied shaking limbs, emerging from the ground to stumble into one another’s arms. Remmick could remember the haunting glow, pinpoints of murderous light peering out at him from Shaylene’s face. Wreathed in blood, the couple embraced - bonded in their newly aching hunger. It was Shay first who glanced beside them - her crimson burning eyes widening at the sight that Remmick dazedly followed. 

The Fair One, stained with the vitality of Remmick and his bride, held their daughter’s hand. The child looked, for all intents and purposes, unscathed - a haunted look in her faraway eyes, wet and shining in the dark. The grip of fear tightened its claws in Remmick’s chest - but the fear was not his own. 

Ye gods…. No!

Remmick startled to hear his wife’s voice within his head, echoing off the walls of his skull with shocking resonance. A shaken glance was stolen to his wife, her newly taloned fingers covering her blood-speckled mouth with horror. Realization dawned, pale and cold as a winter’s sunrise in the fresh immortal’s heart. 

Another faded recollection, Remmick holding Shaylene as she near collapsed into his arms… her frail body wracked with sobs. The Fair One’s voice seemed to sing across the landscape, echoing through timelines both known and not yet unveiled. The being was already turning aside, gently leading their only child into a growing swath of light. 

“Ye requested she be kept safe… and so she shall. Away from earthly sorrows.”

-

“Oh the young, the rich or poor

Hunger like me you know

No wealth, no ruin, no silver no gold

Nothing satisfies me but your soul. 

O Death,

O Death.”

Remmick’s eyes fluttered closed, lips covering fang at the final tremor of his song. He savored the feeling of Shaylene’s attentions, her focus on him in the ether of their bonded thoughts sweet as a lover’s caress. No doubt she’d glimpsed the bitter memories that had threshed across his mind during the song’s recitation. It remained unspoken - they’d recounted their tragedy in every form of lamentation from thought to song too many times to count. Between them it passed now, thick as summer in the Delta - but unspoken like the breeze. 

I miss ya, darlin’.

Remmick shifted restlessly, pressing a new memory into the shared acreage of his universe with Shay. The last time they’d been in each other’s presence - the last time they’d made love. Remmick brushed against the memory, moving it toward his wife as gently as a paper boat upon the Mississippi. The feel of her marbled, tender flesh beneath his calloused fingers - the honeyed scent of her arousal, drawing him in and down to the burning core of her temple. There, he had worshipped… there, he had sinned. 

How bad ya miss me, sugar?

Shay’s drawl was low and liquid, like wine spilling over his cup. The caress of her witchcraft, licking at his mind and soul like the nails of a lover down Remmick’s back. The building tease between them, secret and sensuous beneath the starlit night, was his favorite part about their thought-bond. How he loved to sense the rush of blood within her veins, the heat between her legs building from afar. The stars would soon collide, to sate his need and quench the fire - it was so close, he could taste it. 

Remmick groaned, the echo of Shaylene’s purr in his thoughts and the vision of their lustrous fornication making heat rush to his groin. The immortal reached down to palm his growing erection, squeezing through the cotton slacks as he whispered back to his wife through their cosmic connection. 

My body’s achin’ for ya. ‘n it’s nothin’ to say for the hurt that’s in my heart. 

He could feel her smirk returning - he knew she loved it when he begged. 

Can’t ya feel it? I need ya so bad, darlin’. Been near 3 years now. Feels like forever. 

He could feel her giggle at that - the low, vibrating heat of subtle laughter like music to their shared thoughts. Remmick’s mouth opened in a slight sneer - self satisfied, razored canines flashing in the swampy dark. He squeezed himself tighter, the hardness pressing to his trousers twitching slightly at the laughter of his wife. 

Forever is a real long time.

Remmicked groaned once more, moving his fingers to the button of his trousers - the mind-voice of his wife was louder now, visceral and thick as though she stood beside him. He’d ask her now to talk him through it, plead like a dying beggar if she wanted him to. If he couldn’t touch the fire, at least he could hear its song…

“So… this party by invite only? Cuz I'd sure love to join."

Remmick startled from his reverie, excitement candied and pouring through his muscles like a flood. The scent of blood was in the air - some of it dead, and some still alive - but on from that was the cloying, lurid scent of his beloved wife. Cold violets, burning cloves, and flowering vine. 

In the darkened glade he saw her form - a shadow beneath the cypress, curved against the tree’s thick trunk. A pallid arm moved up, raising the clove to patient lips. The cherry burned, a pinpoint of sunset in the dark as Shay inhaled - framed beneath the burning coals of red in her eyes. 

A vital body’s heart would’ve rushed into a frantic thrum, but Remmick’s lay dead within his chest. Instead the blood began to move more quickly in his deadened veins - and a spark like fire being made passed between him and Shay. The red of blood, of love, of eyes shining in the dark - arose like a wave dashing on the rocks within his soul. 

“Hey there handsome.” The roughage of the clove’s hot smoke passed over Shay’s low voice, a grind that made Remmick’s cock jump in his pants. He’d stood at lightning fast speed, stance poised by instinct for danger - or for the hunt. 

“An tine… ain’t you a site for sore eyes.” Remmick’s clawed digits twitched at his side, excitement buzzing through his form like the flutter of a lightning bug. “Like heaven in a day dress.”

A grey cloud of smoke sheened in the starlight, dissipating as Shay chuckled low beneath her breath. “Charmin’ as ever… I just couldn’t stay away no more.” The redhead swiftly stuck the clove’s burning point out on her palm, the scent of singeing flesh rushing into Remmick’s nose with a hiss. “I just need my lovin’ man… so, so bad.”

Shaylene’s words were thick with honey, and though she dolloped them like cream upon her husband, the sincerity of her longing was like a cool caress within the bondage of their thoughts. He knew she loved to tease… but cushioned beneath their games was an endless font of love. 

Dizzy now with want, Remmick dropped down to his knees with a thud. He leaned forward slowly, palms touching the earthen floor as he moved his body towards her. Shaylene watched, and a flicker of heat passed between them like a flashing bulb. Remmick knew his wife loved to see him like this - and more than that, he loved to please her. To worship at the sacred fount of her cunt, to drink her lips and taste the venomous blood upon his tongue. Shay’s eyes, wet and shimmering in shadow, fixed upon her husband as the pink of her tongue darted out to brush her lip. The sight of Remmick’s sharp, toothy, deviant grin was seen from her eyes as he crawled, stalking as a bobcat in the swamp. 

A short length from the mud-ridden bare feet of his wife, Remmick paused as still as straw when he heard a whimper from behind the Cypress. The smell of pulsing, living blood seemed to hit him full force, his cock getting thicker with the ambrosial scent upon the air. “Ya brought company?”

Shaylene’s crooked grin revealed a double pair of fangs, twinned to Remmick’s and slick with saliva. Her body pushed away from the tree, reaching back and down behind the cypress. “Nah… I brought ya a present.”

Faster than a bullet, the man-shaped meat sack hit the ground just beside Remmick, a pale sliver of moonlight illuminating the injured human shape. Blood spurted out a wound in the man’s leg - the splintered bone of a fractured tibia, temporarily crippling the pitiable creature. Remmick felt the spit build up inside his mouth, swallowing once before his mouth hung open in hunger. “Oh sweetheart… ya shouldn’t have.”

The urge to rush upon the sobbing man and feast upon his fear was high - but Remmick was far too old to forget his manners. Burning gaze tore from the injured man, the vampire’s body slinking back towards his wife once more. Shaylene stood before him, looking down with love and voracity upon her beloved. Reverent fingers left the soil, placed upon Shay’s hips before squeezing the supple flesh beneath her thin cotton dress. The smell of fresh blood and the tender meat of Shaylene’s body beneath his fingers was a frenzy not easy to fend off. Remmick fondled at her thighs, the cotton creasing beneath his dirty hands. Let’s share ‘im. 

The frantic movements of his hands increased the pulse of energy between them, Shaylene’s lips parting to utter a lustful sigh. Remmick’s thought-words caused her head to fall back, taloned fingers carding through his dusky locks. The touch of her hands, sharpened nails raking across his scalp made Remmick loose a moan. A thick stream of drool beaded at the edge of his lips before trailing down and off his chin. 

The neck is yours, handsome. 

Remmick flew from his wife’s doting fingers, latching with a lethal bite to the injured man’s tender throat. Hot, vital, flowing liquid burst into his mouth immediately, leaking out the sides to chase the drool from his jawline. The man’s mournful cries turned to wailing, though the sound was quickly stifled by the gurgle of blood that filled his ravaged throat. A momentary clawing at Remmick was abruptly finished when Shay lunged upon him with a hiss. Her claws made quick work to secure the man’s hands at his sides before sinking her ravenous dentition to the flesh of his shoulder. A seizing twitch shook his body once, before all the fight leaked out with his fluids. 

From out the dizzying mania of his bloodlust, Remmick felt the wire of his bond to Shay undulate. He let his mind touch hers, relishing the savor of blood that rushed into her undead form, coalesced with the sensations of his own feeding. His cock was painfully hard now, and he thrust against the dirt to get some friction. He couldn’t help but moan, a gush of blood erupting out the side of his mouth with the sound. 

Remmick squirmed at the beastial growl let loose from Shaylene’s throat - as the thrust of his pleasure rippled through her mind. Death had nearly claimed their prize, the fluid of his vital force painting the immortals before flowing to the dirt. At the final breath, his wife disengaged with a humid gasp. Remmick swiftly followed, a passel of blood roiling in his mouth. Above the drained man, the dripping mouths of the vampires met, open in a frenzied kiss. The savored blood poured from Remmick’s tongue onto Shay’s, passing the final drops to her in frantic gratitude and love. A moan swept between them, fangs clashing as they devoured one another’s mouths. Three years of waiting, of wanting, of lust for the body and blood of their respective companions poured into each other like sweetest wine. Hands sharp and slick with blood were frantically running over Shay’s body as she clutched the sides of Remmick’s face to draw him closer. 

Sunlight and starshine constellated in their veins, the glowing force of vitality dancing between their bodies & minds. Remmick clambered over the nameless husk, intoxicated with the blood and lusting for his wife. Their lips barely separated, only when Remmick pressed his stained mouth to Shaylene’s throat, her jaw, her grasping fingers. Love ye. Need ye. An tine.

Shay was spread beneath him now, her parted thighs a bewitching invitation. Remmick’s cock engorged with his need, pulsed and straining against his pants with blood. The smell of his wife’s arousal hit his senses, sumptuous and sticky in his throat. Remmick growled, thrusting up against her heated core. 

Remmy, please. Love… Want ya so bad. Please! 

“Ya have me, darlin’. I’m yours. I’m yours.” His guttural affections passed from out his lips, the echoes of Shaylene’s mind-pleadings shooting heat unto his groin. I’ll kiss yer pussy raw. 

A bead of sweat dropped from Remmick’s forehead, landing upon the newly-exposed flesh of Shaylene’s chest. Her husband had ripped the front of her dress open, a single claw tearing cotton down the front with a violent sound. Droplets of red fell to the pink and budded nipple, beading from the drooling point of Remmick’s chin. He set to licking, sucking, and moaning down into her breast - bloodied tongue circling the pebbled rosebud as Shaylene arched her back. The razored tips of Remmick’s claws circled the other breast, wishing not to neglect any mound of tender, willing flesh. A drawn out sigh emerged from out her lips, sweet and sumptuous as any swell of songbird’s tune. 

I love you. I love you. Kiss me, Remmick…

“I got ya, sweet thing.” He was kissing the line of her collarbone, relishing the sweetness of her flesh painted down with liquid life. No better combination, in this world or the next - that much he was sure of. ‘n I ain’t never lettin’ go… 

Remmick pressed his cock against Shay’s thigh, purposely avoiding the spot they both were aching for. To draw things out, to worship at the altar of a woman’s flesh and bones, was to carry her to heaven’s gate. No matter how long it took, he’d wing her to that sacred, flooding ecstasy. 

Panting breaths escaped Shay’s lips, moans becoming more frantic as her husband kissed his way to the curve of silky hips. The hem of her dress was pushed up past the pallid skin of her legs, bunched in haste above her navel. 

Remmick snarled at the sight of her pussy, open and exposed with nothing to cover his wife beneath the slip of a dress. A blood-spattered grin eased across his face as he lay belly-down into the dirt, inching eager lips to Shay’s waiting slit. The tips of needled talons pricked into the silken flesh of his wife’s thighs, the smallest beads of red forming there to trail down her leg, and into the pink folds that were already slick for him. 

“My turn to make ya sing, darlin’.”

In the next installment: earthbound gods collide to shake the earth with their lovemaking + a vampire’s lullaby. 

[kaayyyys]

Daryl Dixon X reader

Fluff alphabet

A is for Arms: His arms. Strong, calloused, always ready. Ready to pull you close when a walker gets too close, ready to hold you tight when the nightmares come. They’re not always gentle, a little rough around the edges like the man himself, but damn, they feel like home. Sometimes, when he thinks you're not looking, he'll just wrap one arm around your waist, pulling you close enough to feel the warmth, a silent promise that he's there.

B is for Banter: Before you, Daryl didn't 'banter'. He grunted. Now, he teases. It’s subtle, a dry remark about your terrible aim (which isn’t that bad), or a playful jab about the time you tried to cook squirrels and nearly burned down the house. It's his way of flirting, his way of showing he's paying attention. You tease him right back, of course, because seeing that small, almost-smile flicker across his face is worth any risk.

C is for Comfort: He's not one for grand gestures, but he knows how to offer comfort. A silent hand squeeze when you're upset. Sharing his blanket on a cold night, even though he pretends he doesn't need it. Leaving you the last of the clean water. Comfort, Daryl-style, is quiet, practical, and fiercely devoted.

D is for Dreams: You share them now, whispered in the dark. Nightmares of what you've lost, yes, but also dreams of a future. A future where you can build a life, a home, a garden even. Daryl doesn’t talk about them much, but you catch him looking at you sometimes, a hopeful glint in his usually guarded eyes.

E is for Eyes: His eyes are a roadmap. They tell you everything he doesn't say. The worry when you're out on a run. The pride when you take down a walker. The raw, untamed affection when he looks at you like you're the only person in the world. You've learned to read them, to understand the language he keeps hidden from everyone else.

F is for Firelight: Sitting by the fire, the crackling flames painting dancing shadows on his face. It's in these moments, quiet and still, that you feel closest to him. He'll sometimes share stories, snippets of his past, things he's never told anyone else. The firelight makes him open up, makes him vulnerable, and you cherish every word.

G is for Grateful: You're grateful for him. For his strength, his loyalty, his unwavering presence in a world that wants to tear you apart. He’s grateful for you too, though he'd never say it in so many words. You see it in the way he watches your back, the way he always makes sure you're safe.

H is for Hair: The first time you ran your fingers through his hair, he tensed up, ready to fight. Now, he leans into it, closes his eyes, lets you card your fingers through the strands. It's a small intimacy, a quiet moment of connection that means more than any grand declaration.

I is for Inside Jokes: You have a whole language of inside jokes now. A raised eyebrow, a shared glance, a mumbled word that means something entirely different to the two of you. These tiny moments of shared understanding are what build your bond, what make you a team.

J is for Jealousy: He doesn't show it often, but you see it sometimes. A flicker in his eyes when someone gets too close, a tightening of his jaw when someone else makes you laugh. It's a possessive, protective kind of jealousy, born from fear of losing you. You reassure him without words, a gentle touch, a reassuring smile. He's the only one you want.

K is for Kiss: His kisses aren't soft and gentle, not at first. They're raw, desperate, like he's trying to pull you into his soul. But over time, they soften, become tender, a quiet promise of forever.

L is for Loyal: Daryl Dixon is nothing if not loyal. He'd walk through fire for the people he cares about, and you are at the top of that list. He's got your back, always, no matter what. That loyalty is the bedrock of your relationship, the foundation on which you're building your life together.

M is for Mending: You mend each other. He patches up your physical wounds, stitching you back together when the world tries to break you. You mend his emotional scars, slowly, carefully, with patience and love.

N is for Near: Just being near him is enough sometimes. Sitting shoulder-to-shoulder by the fire, walking side-by-side on a supply run, just knowing he’s there is a comfort in itself. His presence is a grounding force, a reminder that you’re not alone.

O is for Outdoors: You both find solace in the outdoors. The woods, the quiet, the sense of freedom. You often take walks together, just to escape the confines of the walls, to breathe in the fresh air.

P is for Protect: The need to protect each other is fierce, primal. You'd both lay down your lives for the other without hesitation.

Q is for Quiet: Sometimes, the best moments are the quiet ones. No words, no distractions, just the comfortable silence of being together.

R is for Respect: He respects you, your strength, your intelligence, your compassion. He sees you, really sees you, and values you for who you are.

S is for Scars: You both carry scars, both visible and invisible. They're a reminder of what you've been through, but also a testament to your resilience. He doesn't shy away from your scars; he traces them with his fingertips, a silent acknowledgment of your pain.

T is for Trust: Trust is everything, especially in this world. You trust him with your life, with your heart, with your deepest secrets. And he trusts you, completely.

U is for Understanding: You understand each other, on a level that transcends words. You see the pain behind his stoicism, the vulnerability beneath his gruff exterior. And he sees the strength behind your kindness, the fire beneath your gentle demeanor.

V is for Vulnerable: It takes time, but he lets you see his vulnerable side. The moments of doubt, the flashes of fear, the pain of his past. He trusts you enough to show you his true self, and that's the greatest gift he can give.

W is for Warmth: His warmth. Physical, in the way he holds you close. Emotional, in the way he makes you feel safe and loved.

X is for XOXO (Kisses and Hugs): He's not one for saying it, but he shows it in every action, in every glance, in every protective gesture.

Y is for Yearning: Even after all this time, you still yearn for him. For his touch, his voice, his presence. The yearning is a constant reminder of the depth of your love.

Z is for Zenith: You've found your zenith with him. Your peak, your highest point. He makes you a better person, stronger, more resilient. Together, you can face anything. Together, you are home.

[eternalstrigoii]

Snippet because I'm feral

The dark was still, cloying, and it smelled like you.

Under the blanket, Remmick shifted. It didn’t register, at first, that he had been asleep. He couldn’t remember needing to. Wanting to. Whether the periodic gaps in his memory were from the condensation of time or something more natural, something as inescapable as the deep – sudden – breath that pushed sweet air back into his lungs. His hips moved, shifting for the first time in how many hours; they found the satin warmth of your thigh still draped over his. His arm over your back. Moving, even softly, awakened some long buried instinct to pull you closer, press the heat of your body into his.

Your head was on his shoulder, face buried in his neck. Like you’d forgotten about the blankets you’d strung up over the windows, the only way to keep him as he was – bare, let alone in your bed. Your breath was a gentle pulse along where his once beat.

He was glad he hadn’t disturbed you.

You slept hard enough to drool on him a little, and the ghost of a smile crossed his face. He was tryin’ not to dwell on those soft feelings – was no point – even though his fingers skimmed along the pathway of your spine. It was hot and bright out there, he knew. Whatever sleep he had hadn’t washed the day out. It felt oppressive, like a fire blazing on the roof.

You shifted, then. Motivated by his touch, maybe, or simply the urge to draw the warmth of your body more closely to his. Your forehead pressed into the place below his jaw, lips and nose brushing from the crook of his shoulder to the hollow of his throat. Sent sensations like stars breaking through a clouded night right through him.

“G’mornin,” he mumbled, something selfish in the way his lips brushed your hair. Hadn’t even realized he didn’t settle his touch, though his fingers had stalled just below your shoulders.

The little pickup in your heart gave your awakening away. If he thought his desires were selfish, he should’ve felt how his voice traced your nerves. You noticed it when he let his guard down whether or not he did; you hadn’t cared for the Carolina drawl much. Listening to the way he must’ve sounded to himself felt exceedingly more intimate.

“Mornin’.” You flexed your toes to warm them up and brushed the half-cool skin of his calf in the process. If he noticed, he didn’t seem to mind. “Hungry?”

He caught himself wondering if it was a habit of yours to ask before your hand moving up his chest disrupted his ability to think. Your mouth was soft and seeking, pressing to his neck once, twice, a tender third time before your hand settled on his shoulder for leverage to partially rise. His eyes traced your skin all over again as you bared it to him, as if he hadn’t done a fine job of committing you to memory into this morning.

His eyes were a dark, pretty red. Hadn’t meant to let you see that.

You pushed your hair back, letting it cascade over his hand. The outline of where he’d bitten you last night was already faded, little more than an old scar.

His hand came up. Moved up your shoulder to trace it with reverent, probing fingers. The outline of his teeth were already gone, only pale moons lingered where his fangs had punctured. It was like he’d marked you, though – reasonably – he knew those marks would fade. Maybe in a day or two. Nobody but he and you would ever know how deep he’d been inside you – literally, tangibly, his teeth in your skin and his body fit with yours like you both belonged there. The way blood felt running down his back when your claws pressed in; the way your cunt clung to him when he made you cum.

How long had it been since he joined with someone like that? Pushed you to the release you needed and joined you without waiting? Not since…

You got closer. Cupped his jaw, your thumb brushing along his lower lip.

You were inviting him.

The muscles of his lower stomach tensed.

When was the last time he’d hesitated? He searched the soft set of your mouth for disapproval. The warmth of your not-quite-human eyes. Dog brown, now, soft and sweet. He had the aching, selfish urge to crawl up inside you – pull you forward, sit you down on his cock, drag your hips close until you could only feel flesh on flesh and how perfectly he fit, like he was made for you, like he’d done something to deserve this – to be in you, on you, with you. Still ask even though you welcomed him. Still promise when he meant to beg.

This was a hunger deeper than it should’ve been.

[muffinsin]

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! This one's gonna be a bit longer, a series of snippets! Take your pick ;)!

G!P Bela, Cassandra and Daniela. f! reader

You get your girlfriend a gift for Valentine's day and are so very excited to try it out with, or on, them

Have a lovely Valentine’s Day, everyone🙌🌹💐🥀

Let's get into it! ;)

Masterlists

Sub G!P Bela

You turn your head, cooing at the pink flush now visible all over Bela’s pale cheeks. She’s whimpering and moaning below her breath, as though still trying to keep her composure.

Ah. You can’t have that.

She shivers and jumps when your lips part already, anticipating your touch, yet shivering when your warm breath hits her hard nipple. She’s so adorably sensitive for you, shaking already and whimpering sweetly for you. The toy you gifted her, the fleshlight shaped like a tight pussy, is squeezed and shakes within her grasp, overflowing with her cum already as it hugs her cock tightly.

When your tongue first touches her nipple, she jerks, her lips parting and a breathless moan ripped from them.

You find, it’s one of the many sweet sounds only you are granted to hear from the proud, strong Dimitrescu heiress.

Now, Bela is yours entirely, her head thrown back and hands gripping the bed sheets tightly. She’s so beautiful like this, so shaken up in the best of ways.

Looking up at her, you see her parted lips shut again, her lip slightly bloodied. You chuckle. So the pretty thing thinks she can deny you those lustful sounds she makes by biting her lip…

No, you can’t have that.

You raise your free hand to her face, cupping first her chin before you let your index and middle finger tip hover just in front of her lips. Her eyes are closed, her brows furrowed in concentration as she tries not to buck her hips and squirm away as you bring the toy up and down on her sensitive dick.

“Open, Ghiocel”, you coo, your lips curling to a smirk when her golden eyes immediately shoot open and her plush lips part for you.

Wasting no time, you push your fingers inside, cooing at the muffled gasp you drag from her.

“Ssshhh”, you whisper, both yours and her eyes briefly darting to the door as you hear shuffles outside, caused either by maids or one of her sisters moving about the corridor.

“Mghmm!”, she squeaks, her hips bucking up automatically as you bring the fleshlight down on her again. Her nails dig into the sheets and mattress and you almost coo again at the sight of her trying to stay quiet.

Alas, she has never been good at that.

Now, with your fingers stuffing her mouth and her lips wrapped around them obediently, your fingertips pressing down on her tongue and your tongue flicking her nipple, she can but glance down at you and plead with her eyes, wide and hopeful and betraying the intense need she feels.

How adorable.

Continuing on, you allow your lips to fully wrap around her nipple, her body trembling beneath you whenever your teeth graze at her skin.

She’s overly sensitive, moaning and whimpering loudly despite the fingers in her mouth already. She sucks them eagerly, the usually so intelligent, proud heiress panting and moaning, sucking your fingers like a desperate maid in need of being taken.

Well, it isn’t entirely wrong.

You place a gentle kiss to her heaving chest, her nipple left pink and glistening with your saliva. Through the fleshlight, you can feel her cock aching and trembling as more and more cum oozes from the ends of the toy, more and more proof of her sensitivity and by now seemingly countless orgasms.

Lifting the toy for but a moment, you feel and hear her whine around your fingers, golden eyes set on the erect, pink cock now displayed for her.

Looking into her wide, golden eyes, you can’t help but smile at her.

You’re certain, you can drag even more from your beautiful girlfriend.

Switch G!P Cassandra

Allowing your eyes to wander a little, you take in the breathtaking view in front of you.

Cassandra’s skin glistens with a fine layer of sweat, whereas a larger area of her stomach is covered in thick, white, creamy cum. Her ankles and wrists sport ugly, purple bruises from the chains hugging them. Bruises which- you made sure to point out more often than necessary- would not be there if the sadist and masochist would have simply stopped wiggling and squirming and trying to tug herself free.

Now, you know they turn her on, though, and will heal fast enough.

The most deadly thing still, though, is by far her glance. Her eyes are deadly, her gaze dangerous. Her teeth are bared and it’s almost cute how hard she’s trying to intimidate you despite each jolt of pleasure ripping a desperate moan and whimper from her.

You coo.

Maybe you should take pity on her~

You giggle as you lift the toy, the tight fleshlight soaked up in her precum, from her, exposing her aching, slightly twitching cock and the thick line of precum drooling from it.

“Do-Don’t you- dare!”, she snarls, but it’s almost like all the venom in her voice is replaced with the sound of rattling chains and wanton whimpers when you lean down and gently blow against the pink, sensitive head of her cock.

She’s struggling against the chains holding her wrists and ankles and tying her to the bed, but you know- should she truly wish to, it would be all too easy for her to free herself. You find the thought almost cute, that she is not only masochistic to enjoy this game, but also indulges you enough. You see it in her eyes, after all, how very badly she yearns for break free for real and take you. Especially so after the torment you’re putting her through.

You wait a little more, wait until her meaningless threats die down and the orgasm she was so sure she would get to experience dies down again.

Then, you lower the toy again.

You bite your lip at the sounds it creates, the wet, almost squirting noise of the wet toy as it swallows and drags against her soaked, thick cock, soon accompanied by her low moans and groans.

She’s completely exposed to you like this, her legs spread wide to allow you to sit in-between them, your knees just barely making contact with her full and heavy balls. You hold the toy with one hand and allow your free hand to drag across her skin, across her strong, muscular stomach and scarred flesh.

Beneath, she shivers, her head thrown back in a rare moment of outright exposing her throat to you. Then, she lowers it again, groaning and almost whimpering as you jerk your hand a little faster, granting her more and more friction.

Cassandra isn’t the most sensitive, per se, but with the many hours you’ve kept her here and the countless orgasms ruined in just the last moment, she’s getting there nicely.

“Ah-Ah-Ah!”, you yelp, seeing her fingers curl around the chain already, as though ready to yank free and- if you had to guess- grab you and bury herself inside of you already.

None of that.

“You promised!”, you remind her, your dirty smile widening as she whimpers and releases the chain.

Certainly, when she bet against you and set this as the winner’s prize, she didn’t think she’d be the one to lose the bet. A rare sight, an even rarer chance. You’re planning on keeping her like this for as long as you can.

And she allows it, for the moment, even as your girlfriend takes more and more pleasure in acting snarkier and snarkier, threatening to do this and that should she not be released, only to moan filthily when you force the fleshlight down a little more to shut her up.

This time, you stop your arm movements, a flirty smile on your face as you meet her dark golden eyes. Her brows are furrowed, and again it takes her less than a moment to bare her teeth and rattle at the chains binding her limbs, her brows furrows in frustration and- perhaps above all by now- desperation.

This time, you decide being a little bolder.

And when your free hand comes down on her hip, she jumps, but immediately understands.

Your mouth waters as you watch her hips thrust up aggressively, eagerly and quickly chasing the orgasm you’ve denied her so often now. Your head fills with times you were in the toy’s place, your hips grabbed and neck pierced by sharp teeth, her cock buried deep inside of you.

Later, no doubt. A Valentine’s Day gift for her, too.

Now, you’re just a little too eager to keep this rare opportunity up and going.

Sub G!P Daniela

“Ah-Ah-Ah. What did I tell you, Iubita? Stay still”, you coo, a perhaps almost sadistic smile grazing your face as you drag your fingertip over Daniela’s soft cheek. The poor thing is whining and squirming, rolling her hips and arching her back for you, all too desperate to be touched and to touch you.

Alas, sat completely naked on your lap with her hands and arms bound behind her back by beautiful, dark green satin ribbon, does a good enough job at preventing just that.

Her chest, neck, and thighs are all covered in lipstick and bite marks already, and the deep red ribbons and bows tied by her thighs give her a cute, Valentine’s Day themed look she was so eager to sport.

Her red lipstick is smeared and you chuckle as you feel her fingers try to reach for you, sliding across the fabric of your clothing as though desperate to hold onto you.

Indulging her at least a little, you readjust her position and pull her a little closer on your lap, your arm wrapped tightly around her, your other hand occupied between her legs.

Ah, at last- the source of her pleasure and desperation.

You coo as you lift the tight, realistic fleshlight, giggling as cum oozes and drops from it and right back down on her hard, pink dick.

“Another, huh, Princess?”, you whisper by her cheek, chuckling as you run the edge of the toy across her pink, soaked tip. You know, she can give you more still- will give you more still. She was so eager to try out her gift, after all!

Now, the seductive, smart youngest of the Dimitrescu family squirms helplessly, her moans music to your ear, her pleads full of purity and desperation at the same time.

Beneath your clothing, you feel what she does to you, how your body heats up and drools, too. You curse lowly under your breath, tightening your hold on your girlfriend. Her little moans and whimpers really do a number on you…

“Please, my love!”, she coos, moaning and whimpering when the toy is lowered on her cock again. While certainly having fun with the toy, you notice the poor thing becoming more and more desperate for your touch and giggle when she once again begs for you.

“Please, what, Daniela?”, you ask easily, hearing her suck in her breath when the toy easily slips around her cock again and you begin jerking your hand holding it up and down.

“Ple-a-ah…a-ase-touch-a-aah! Me…!”, she moans, green-golden eyes rolling back as she slumps against you once again. You hear her flies buzz for you, feel the swell of her ass and see the roundness of her large chest as you take in her body.

She gasps when your hand tightens around her yet again, your fingertips running across her soft hip, greedy and gentle and worshipping, as though caressing a goddess.

She loves feeling this way. Being made to feel like this.

Daniela shakes her head, a small pout playing on her lips as she whines and gasps.

“No-Not like tha-a…ah…that…!”, she gasps, rolling her hips as though silently pleading for you to move already.

You’re certain, soon enough, by the end of the day, you will have her on her hands and knees for you, bouncing on your lap, or bent over the edge of the bed for you.

Alas, you aren’t quite there yet. The night has barely even started, and there is still so very much time to play with your sweet girlfriend.

Still, you decide to indulge her at least a little bit.

“A…Ah…!”, she gasps when your hand drags up to her chest, your fingers greedily groping the soft, large mound in your hand. You laugh as you flick her nipple and feel her hips buck helplessly for you, her overly sensitive cock drooling once again.

“Please…!”, she gasps, her lips parting and tongue momentarily sticking out as she pants. The sight has your lower stomach cramp with need and fingers grip her a little tighter. You resist every urge to push her over, pull the plug you nestled in her sensitive ass, move away the fleshlight and play with her properly.

She’s nice and warm for you as you move closer to her face, your lips, then your teeth gently grazing her sensitive ear as you whisper;

“Oh, I see, princess…you want me to touch you like this..”

She sucks in a breath when you force the toy down all the way, the pink, drooling tip of her cock poking out at the end and her back arching for you when you toy with her nipple.

“Do you want my mouth on you again?”, you coo, giggling when she nods quickly, as though a bobblehead figure might.

So eager…

Instead, you only jerk the toy around her a little faster again, humming and biting at her ear and neck as her moans and wanton pleads pick up almost immediately.

[mskenway97]

Wanting to follow up on the previous snippet of titan!Orion and cityspeaker!D-16 I came up with this: D-16 was processing everything that had happened that day in finding the titan: he found a race of titans that Sentinel Prime had said was extinct, but Orion seemed alive even though he couldn't transform so D-16 thought it was for lack of Energon. Secondly, finding the way out of that place was the most difficult thing because that titan didn't let him go at any time, he almost crushed him in his servos. Thirdly, as he explained to the miners, maybe someone would recognize them and they would come after him. Many things were going through the bot's head as he put down his tools while he went to berth to rest and have some peace but… -Deeeeee - a voice sounded in his head making him sigh, he tried to ignore it but the voice sounded again in his mind - Deeeee, come on I know you can hear me. We have a connection, buddy

-Some people sleep at this hour. Besides I've had a long day - said D-16 trying to find a position to sleep.

-But D… come on, I've been sleeping for I don't know how many cycles. Come on, get back here,” said Orion. So they stayed all night, some miners saw D-16 with the marks and what looked like the optics somewhat off that he had not been able to rest as he should. He had the same day as always taking the miner's tools to repair until he saw a bot in his path. Darkwing.

-Excuse me, sir - said D while Darkwing pushed him.

-That aside, miner, you are more absent-minded lately. One more mistake and you'll be back to level 1 or sub level 40… - Darkwing said as D-16 was about to respond, tremors were felt throughout the cave causing everyone to panic. D tried to keep his balance so as not to fall until the tremors ended. 'What just happened' thought D as he picked up the tools and left leaving Darkwing confused.

-That guy shouldn't have treated you like that I hope with this. Learn your lesson,' said Orion as D was somewhat shocked to hear him.

-Was it you with the tremor, what were you thinking? You could have done a lot of damage,” said D-16.

-Come on, I'm very careful, just give the necessary touches. Besides, sitting in the cave is very boring…. I need to move around a bit - said Orion leaving D-16 sighing.

-Yes, I'm going to see you, will you stay still? - said D-16

-You have my word - said Orion A moment later… After dodging the security system and a few guards. He had finally arrived. The cave had the illumination of the optics of Orion who did not hesitate to put his servo on the ground to climb up to D and see him more closely with a smile.

-Listen we have to have some rules, your movements threaten the foundation of the mine area. So I guess you'll have to find your way out of the place,” said D-16 while Orion nodded.

-I was just trying to defend you… You're the first being I've seen since I woke up. I want to know everything that happened and for you to tell me,” said Orion as D sighed.

-You are a pain in the spark… It's okay I can give you that information,” said D-16 letting Orion closer to D's face making him feel helpless as he received a gentle caress. D-16 had a small blue blush, he didn't know what intentions this titan had but it was clear he was going to get him all riled up as much as he could but on the other hand he wouldn't mind if he did.

[minafeu]

I'm not the greatest at writing when tired and it's 11 pm before I got to school the next day but I thought I'd give a snippet of what I have so far. The chapter will be called "Girl, So Confusing" because the tension I've written is utterly divine and fits the title because the way Red be acting is so confusing to Chloe.( @uhhhh-em-draws-stuff this is for you pookie 😘)

Theatre class. A place where many don't have academic rivals but Chloe was unlucky enough to have her academic rival in her Theater class. Today they were doing line readings just to make sure the teacher picked the right people for the roles. Chloe reading for Juliet and Red reading for Romeo. An irony Chloe could care less for but still funny none the less. Red takes her hand as per the directions of staging "If I profane with my unworthiest hand. This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: My lips two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss." Red had an annoying sly smile on her face, knowing she was slightly getting under Chloe's skin.

She take a deep breath and begins her line. "Good Pilgrim, you do wrong your hands to much, which mannerly devotion shows this; for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch. and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss." They make eye contact whilst Chloe recites her lines lines. It's obvious to Red that Chloe has honed the craft of theatre for many years which is almost impressive if it weren't for the fact she acted slightly cocky about it. It elicits a small chuckle out of Red, it being humorous that Chloe thinks so highly of herself.

"Have not saints lips, and holy palmers' too?" Reds voice is soft but firm. Chloe laughs slightly and states "Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer." She give an unserious smile, emulating the character of Juliet. It's almost impressive how well Red is doing as Chloe has never seen her so theatre. Red simply brushes off the slight look of disbelief on Chloe's face and responds. "O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do: They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair." Her smile growing more cocky, her head tiltes slightly to the side as she watches to see how Chloe react. "Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake" Chloe speak softly, shaking her head lightly during my lines. She lightly looks Red up and down as she recites Red next lines.

Red steps a bit closer to Chloe. "Then move not while my prayer's effect I take." She takes Chloe's chin in her hand, just a few inches from her face. "Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged." Chloe rolls her eyes lightly, breaking character for but a moment. She clears her throat, takes a step back from Red and delivers the line promptly. "Then have my lips the sin that they have took." Chloe's gaze is questioning with a hint of innocence, replicating how a child of Juliet's age would have said it. "Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again." Red looks into Chloe's eyes, a mischievous smile on her lips. "And scene!" Their teacher calls out.

After a few moments, Chloe goes to her seat and grabs her things, intent on getting to her next class to have peace for just a few moments. The only bad thing about next hour being AP history was perhaps the fact that the seating chart just had to have Red sitting right next to her. It was the only class they sat next to each other and every moment felt like hell on earth. As the teacher begins to give Red compliments on her compelling acting Chloe checks her phone and texts back her mom. After about a minute, the teacher begins to compliment Chloe who dutifully takes them. Red simply rolls her eyes. Ah yes, little miss perfect taking compliments like it's nothing. It's almost as if she isn't Satan incarnate in academia clothing and a pretty smile.

(now published as a full chapter on ao3)

[ladysomething]

I'm so impatient, but I love this story too much!

If u have time , would we be able to get another snippet ??? Preferably a cute moment between max and charles if u don't mind☺️

honestly I barely remember the snippets I've shared from the upcoming chapters, but I also feel like there's been so many?

but here is a short one anyway!

“Charles,” he says eagerly, when he comes to stop at the foot of the lounge, staring at Max in shock. He can tell from where the movie is now paused that Max is partway through the fifth film. “These movies are—also, this pink lady is pissing me off. I can’t believe I’ve never seen these.” 

“Max,” he says slowly, trying to be gentle. “It’s eight in the morning. Have you slept?” 

Judging by where he’s at in the series, Charles will happily guess he hasn’t. 

“Well, no, but—” 

“Lando is coming today,” Charles interrupts. “Maybe you should go get some sleep?” 

“But the movie—” 

“We can finish it after you sleep. Come on.” 

Max bites his lip, but relents easily enough. The bags under his eyes are deep purple, lids half closed, and he needs a shower. But he’s compliant following Charles up the stairs, though he does turn back to get one of the blankets. 

Charles watches him with narrowed eyes, until Max says, stupidly honest and probably half-delirious, “It smells like you.” 

Well. 

Max follows him up the stairs, then tucks himself into bed quickly, the blanket he’d brought up smushed between his cheek and the pillow. Slowly, Charles reaches out, carefully brushing his hair back from his face. Max tilts his head up into his fingers, seeking out Charles’ touch. 

[potentiality-26]

whoops. I meant 💗 slow kiss / gentle kiss / inevitable / soft, for Hartwin

For these kiss prompts.

Here it is at last! Not exactly a snippet but definitely soft as hell.

--

It felt like something that was always going to happen.

Not Eggsy getting laid up in medical after a bad fall — that was a surprise, and an unwelcome one too, no matter how many times Harry said these things happen to us all — because sure, injuries did happen — but graceful landings were Eggsy’s thing.

Falling through a ceiling and landing on his arse and having several pieces of it — the ceiling, obviously, not his arse — come down on his head? Not so much.

And what, pray tell, is my thing? Harry had asked at one point, sounding a touch bewildered, and Eggsy had flicked his eyes over Harry’s lovely scarred face and said nothing, because the obvious answer was shrugging off catastrophic head injuries and Eggsy didn’t want to give him ideas.

No, it was how sweet Harry was that felt inevitable.

He was at Eggsy's side through all of it, even when he was only complaining incoherently about the injustice of the fall.

Poor thing, Harry murmured and kissed his forehead.

It should have felt paternalistic at best, but something about the way he said it — or maybe the drugs they had given him, or both — made it feel… nice. So nice Eggsy flushed and uttered only a halfhearted fuck you.

And Harry looked delighted to hear it, his eyes crinkling, and Eggsy had spent a good minute memorizing that look before he was out again.

So though Eggsy hated being laid up, hated the recovery time ahead of him, and hated his usually perfect reflexes for flaking out on him — he definitely didn’t hate the advent of forehead kissing. Not at all.

See, Harry was a bit of an awkward one when it came to physical affection. That day in the pub, after he kicked the shite out of Dean’s goons and Eggsy had some kind of second sexual awakening centered wholly around Harry's body and what it could do, Harry put his hand on Eggsy’s shoulder — to plant a bug, it turned out — like he’d only ever see it done in movies. And then later — a long, long while later — when he had managed to survive getting shot in the head and Eggsy hugged him, hard, Harry had laid his hands on Eggsy’s back like he thought they might break each other in two if they weren't very, very careful. And Eggsy, who wanted to be touching Harry basically all the time, had pretty much resigned himself to just tucking odd moments like those away in a secret corner of his mind for the rest of his life. Except… Harry seemed to realize that Eggsy liked it — or maybe that he did — and gradually his stiffness faded.

It started with little things, mainly — his hand at the small of Eggsy’s back as they turned a corner, or smoothing down Eggsy's lapel to fix the line of his jacket, or squeezing his arm after a particularly feeling bloody well done. And Eggsy was properly obsessed with those hands, so that was…. Amazing.

And then there were the times when Harry sat close enough that their knees or elbows brushed, or knocked Eggsy’s foot with his own under the round table to share a silent joke about one of the other knights — or, yes, those times when a certain danger to life and limb occasioned a full embrace.

Eggsy had even kissed Harry once, on the cheek in greeting, but this forehead kissing — that was new.

Eggsy was still thinking about it later, when Harry had his tablet in one hand and Eggsy’s fingers cradled in the other. He was down to just his shirt and tie, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hair loose against his forehead like he had been running his hands through it. “All right?” Eggsy asked him.

“I’m fine,” Harry said immediately, fondly. “And you? You must tell me what I can do for you.”

Sometimes Eggsy thought he was mad — totally bleeding bonkers — to ask for anything when Harry had given him so much already. To be always taking and taking and still wanting more. But there was this look Harry gave him sometimes — not unlike the one he was giving him right now — like he would do anything if Eggsy only asked — that wasn’t easy to brush off. And, honestly, if this wasn’t something Harry could give him, now was as good a time as any to know it. Who knew the next time the floor would literally fall right out from under him, right? “Felt good,” Eggsy said at last.

“Not, I assume, when the building landed on you,” Harry said, the kind of exaggeration he would never tolerate if he had been the one hurt.

Eggsy snorted. "When you—" He gestured weakly to his forehead.

“Ah.” Harry’s gaze was drawn to it like a magnet, somehow going sharp and soft at the same time.

“Felt good,” Eggsy repeated. “Do it again?”

Harry’s eyes were incredibly dark as he gave Eggsy’s hand another squeeze and then let it go, rising. He rested his hands on either side of Eggsy on the bed and bent to drop another kiss on his forehead. Harry’s lips were firm and warm, and he smelled so good. Eggsy rallied enough to grip his strong arms, fingers sinking into the smooth fabric bunched at his elbows.

Harry pulled back just enough to look at him. “Again?” he asked.

Eggsy nodded, whispered, “Please.”

Harry kissed him a little lower that time. He didn’t ask again, just gave a low interrogatory hum and when Eggsy nodded, the moment itself dragging Harry’s lips across his brow in another little kiss, Harry moved lower, ghosting his mouth across Eggsy’s cheek, right where — God, right where Eggsy had kissed him, that time, like Harry had turned it over in his head as often as Eggsy had.

Like he had been waiting for exactly this moment, too.

Eggsy whined and turned his head, just a little, just enough to finally find Harry’s lips with his own.

Harry fitted their mouths together, slow, easy, and so soft that Eggsy shook.

He had sometimes thought that if he ever kissed Harry, he would kiss him like he was trying to climb inside his skin, which was how Eggsy felt about Harry a lot of the time anyway — but he wasn’t up to that much, and it didn’t feel like Harry would let him, either — not yet, anyway.

He braced himself over Eggsy with one hand still on the bed, and lifted the other to stroke Eggsy’s forehead, like he was soothing the burning place he had kissed before, and soothing Eggsy too, and kept their kiss light, careful, sweet.

God, it was so sweet.

It didn’t even feel like a tease, just a promise, that there would — once Eggsy was doing better — be more. But he must have been saying it still, chanting it even — please please please — because Harry murmured, “Anything. Anything you want.”

“Feels good for you too?” Eggsy asked.

“Darling.” Harry sounded vaguely reproving, but the warmth when he said it, like when he called Eggsy poor thing before, made it different, and had Eggsy flushing again. And when Harry smoothed his lips over Eggsy’s cheeks, barely there kisses over heated skin like he’d been wanting to do just that at the time —

Well. Eggsy felt a little silly, for doubting. Because when he thought about it, ever since he survived Valentine’s bullet, hadn’t Harry always taken everything Eggsy showed him he could have? Weren’t they the same, in this, after all? Always wanting more? And hadn’t they always, always been headed here?

He let himself melt. Let Harry drop those soft whispering kisses all over his face until he thought he’d like to sleep again.

[allbark-no-bite]

mr. iceman, sir

icemav (wc: 1.5k)

summary: they called him Iceman for a couple of reasons. Jake is sweating under his stare. a snippet of Jake asking Ice to marry Bradley

warnings: none, mostly just fluff

author’s note: based off of the song ‘Sir’ by Cooper Alan. the first time i heard this song, all i could think of was Jake asking Ice to marry Bradley. thus this was born.

————————————————————————

They called him Iceman for a couple of reasons. 

Ice cold.

A lot of it had to do with his eyes. Thomas Kazansky had a stare that could freeze hell over. They were pale blue—unnervingly so—and bone chilling. It was as if their chill could seep right into you, get under your skin, turn your blood cold and make you a bit sick to your stomach before you even knew what was wrong with you. One glance was enough to bring a grown man to his knees. 

No mistakes.

He had nerves of steel. Nothing surprised him and not much got past him. He was cool and careful and calculated in all scenarios. He'd come face to face with a MiG and not break a sweat. Swing and he wouldn't flinch. He didn't take risks because he didn't need to. He just knew.

Even as a near retired admiral and many years past the days of when he was a young pilot in his prime, Tom liked to think that he still lived up to the name. Even if that meant making Jake Seresin squirm in his seat a little bit. 

The blonde aviator is looking a bit green around the gills if Ice must say so, nervously tugging at the too tight collar of his white polo shirt and glancing over at any and all possible exits of the restaurant when their conversation temporarily dulls down. 

If his husband were here, he would have probably placed a gentle hand on Ice's knee and told him to go easy on the kid. But Maverick is not here. It had been Ice that Jake had nervously approached and shakily asked out to dinner, his voice so tight Ice thought it was going to crack. At first Ice had been unsure of why Jake had chosen him over Maverick. Maverick was obviously the easier choice. It wouldn't have taken much to win him over, maybe a case of beer and a bit of groveling, but certainly not a high-end steak house. But the more Ice thought about it, the more he appreciated the effort. Maybe the kid was smarter than Ice gave him credit for. 

Now they're sitting across from each other at the restaurant, Ice picking at small pieces of his steak and pretending not to notice the young lieutenant's discomfort. Jake had picked out the place himself, a five star wine and steak house that neither of them had ever been to. Even Ice, who had a penchant for treating his husband to lavish dinners simply because he could, had to admit the place was a bit over the top.

Ice had shot an inquisitive, almost accusatory glance over at Jake when the server offered him an Old Fashioned without any prompting. Playing innocent, the twenty-six year old had simply conjured up a look of pure surprise, as if he hadn't been aware that it was the admiral's drink of choice, and then ordered one himself. 

Ice is on to him, but he can't honestly say he's mad about it. 

Jake: I      Ice: 0

Because he doesn't like being played, Ice orders one of the pricier steaks on the menu. Jake winces a little at the price. Much to Ice's amusement, Jake swallows back a bit of dismay and follows suit, asking for brussel sprouts as side instead of green beans. Jake has never touched a brussel sprout in his life. 

Jake: I      Ice: I

They make small talk about work, Ice doing more of the talking than Jake. He doesn't mind, more than used to making the best of work meetings that he doesn't want to be apart of. Jake keeps most of their conversation centered around Ice, asking about his job, which Ice is more than happy to talk about. With retirement closing in, he's gotten more questions about buying a vacation home than anything Navy related.

Jake pushes around the brussel sprouts on his plate, at least making an effort to make it seem as though he's eaten anything in the twenty minutes since they've gotten their food.

Finally, Ice watches as Jake seemingly builds up some courage, swallows back what's left of the whiskey cocktail in his glass, and then sets it back down on the table. 

"Sir, I'm sure you know why I asked you here."

If Jake was hoping that he would get off easy by vaguely hinting at where he was heading with all of this, Ice would give up the oblivious act that he'd been putting on all evening, he's sorely mistaken. Ice stares at him cooly, raising an unimpressed brow.

If Jake could disintegrate into his seat, he would, but somehow he finds the courage to continue.

"I know that Bradley and I have had our moments. We've fought with each other a hell of a lot, but we've also fought to be together, and I think that says more about how much we love each other than anything," Jake says, sounding determined. Ice doesn't stop him so he continues.

 "That year we spent apart after we broke up, that was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life," he admits. "I didn't think I was going to survive it, being apart from him."

Ice knows. He knows because he orchestrated it. The truth is, after the Uranium mission, Bradley screwed up. Ice still isn't quite sure of the details. He doesn't know what or when or who or how or why, but Bradley screwed up and broke things off with Jake a few weeks after the mission. After that, the worst thing for everyone would have been for them to stay stationed in the same place. So Ice sent them both halfway across the country. It killed him to send Bradley away, especially after he and Maverick had only just gotten him back, but it would have looked bad had only Jake been sent away.

 "And so I've never been more sure of anything in my life when I say I want to marry him." Jake swallows. "That is, if you'll let me, sir."

Silently, Ice waits a heartbeat. Then another. He stares at Jake, his fixed expression neither surprised nor relieved. He thumbs fondly at the gold ring on his own finger under the table, the one Maverick put there nearly twenty years ago. With his other hand, he supports his chin, index finger tapping periodically against his temple. 

"You know," Ice finally begins, removing his hand and sitting up straighter. "That no matter how many laws they repeal, what the government say is legal and what's not, it's still going to be hard. In this line of work, people are going to look at you different. They're going to talk to you and talk about you different. This kind of thing, it could very well change the entire trajectory of your career."

For just a second, Jake's green eyes dart away, suddenly interested in a spot on the wall. Ice watches as his throat works and his jaw clenches, but eventually Jake nods, his green eyes coming back to meet Ice's. "I understand that, sir. I think he's worth it."

"I'm not trying to discourage you son. But I've been in this business along time. So has Captain Mitchell. It's no secret that my husband gave up a lot of things when we went public with our relationship. Of course we were later on in our lives than you are, and so I had the time to establish who I was before we got married. Meanwhile, Maverick was doing god knows what," he adds, trying and failing not to picture the many many reports that came across his desk of all of Maverick's escapades during that time. 

That's besides the point at the moment. What he's trying to say is that he wouldn't blame Jake for being a little selfish. Ice knows Bradley. As great of a pilot as he is, that's all he's ever going to be, because he's okay with just being great. He's a lot like Maverick in that way. He'll stop applying for promotions in a few years, spend less and less time in they sky and more with his feet on the ground. He wants to settle down in San Diego sooner than later, raise a family close by to Maverick and Ice.

Ice also knows Jake. Jake, he's a lot like Ice. What's good is not great and great isn't good enough. Jake is ravenous. Ice sees it in the way he flies, the way he acts, the way he talks. If given the choice, he'd never settle. The kid would soar through the ranks if given the opportunity. But also like Ice, he'd give up just about anything for the person that he loves.

Jake has gone quiet from across the table, having gotten the sense of where Ice was heading with this.

Ice clears his throat. "But I'm not going to tell you no, Seresin. Such a thing would be hypocritical of me being that I am a happily married man. That and my husband and I are quite fond of you. We'd be happy to have you in the family."

Even though Jake is trying to conceal his bleary eyes and is making an effort not to smile too hard, his relief is apparent in the way his tense shoulders finally let up. Ice presses his lips together to suppress his own smile.

"I promise I won't let you down, sir."

[lunebris]

They set their camp near the entrance of the cave. It seemed that rain wasn't a possible visitor during the night but at least the men would have shelter from the wind. Many had gathered around the fire, exactly the way they had been doing for every night since their departure from the citadel. Sharing stories, sharing meals. Not so enthusiastically this time, though. They seemed tired after experiencing great relief, possibly not getting sleep last night more than a few blinks. Perhaps this tone touched Arthur as well. Having finished the latest additions on his booklet, Merlin went looking for the prince and found him leaning against the mountain wall near the mouth of the cave, isolated from the rest of the group. His being was half lit up with the warm fire behind him, half illuminated with the cold white waning moon. He looked ethereal, Merlin thought as set himself next to him, hiding the booklet that required the leader's opinion behind his back and admired the views instead. The nature was asleep, only the wind sang a distant lullaby among the trees. He realized he had nothing to say. Nothing important enough that should disrupt this fleeting moment of peace, anyway. He glanced at Arthur, then at the moon. Was it the scenery and silence that made him feel so at peace, or was it because of Arthur's presence? Moments like these, he knew which one it was.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

By the time Arthur had finally let his mind become at ease, the moon was shining high in the sky. It was his job to be alert, to be wary. But for this one moment in time he was able to hand the reins over to his men and simply be. He noticed Merlin's presence and because he didn't say anything, Arthur assumed he wanted the same thing. What a heavy weight it is to carry: existing. So here, now, with the calmness of the evening, he was free.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Eventually, Arthur’s blue eyes found Merlin again. He was looking down at his servant's drawing, just staring at it. This piqued his interest. “What is it? Are you finished?”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Merlin blinked for the first time in ages when Arthur spoke. ”What? Yes. No. Sort of. The base is finished. What do you think?” He gave the booklet to Arthur, inspecting his face for reactions. ”And don’t say it looks terrible just so that you have a reason to put me into the stocks”, he added with a gentle tease.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Arthur snapped another gaze up at Merlin afraid to meet his eye. He found his manservant watching him. His eyes went straight back down to the page. Arthur wondered then how Merlin saw him and if that's what was on the parchment before him. He certainly was flattered if that was the case. He didn't know how to respond to Merlin's inquiry though. The blunt truth or a soft half truth. He settled by simply nodding his head and handing the booklet back to Merlin. "You're safe from the stocks this time."

Merlin draws Arthur Fanart and some snippets of @suitupbatman and my Merthur story

[moodymisty]

Hello! I've never sent in a request before, so hopefully I'm doing this right? The Emperors Children and Fulgrim are really interesting in my humble opinion, so it'd be nice to see some content. Honestly something that is either really fluffy or just straight heart ache would be neat. Maybe the reader watching as the man she loves slowly becomes unrecognizable and debauched? I don't know anything really? I love your work! Thank you, and sorry if this is wrong, or request aren't open.

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author’s note: I’ve not written for Fulgrim yet, so let’s break that barrier shall we? Here’s a snippet.

Relationships: Fulgrim/Gn!Reader (I will warn that the word nightgown is used twice but other than that zero gendered terms)

Warnings: None really other than the implication of slanesshi corruption I guess, and the implication of Fulgrim once wanting to invite Konrad for a threesome lol

Fulgrim enters his bedchambers, his armor long since discarded and climbs into the bed softly; crawling over silken sheets and blankets to lay behind you. You lay on your side and he comes closer until his chest is against your back, his legs touching yours. One of his hands raises to cup your shoulder and push the fabric of nightgown aside. Exposing your skin so he can press his lips against your shoulder, he tenderly kisses upwards until he reaches the crook of your neck.

“You seem worried, my dear.”

You tilt your head to allow him access to continue, while your face morphs into hesitation.

You are worried, but you can’t say the reason why; Not the real one.

“I’m just… I'm worried about Konrad. After everything…” You quiet yourself, and pray that Fulgrim doesn’t catch you in a lie. Though it isn't one, at least not entirely.

“Konrad lays in a bed of his own making. Don’t worry about him so much. I said what needed to be said.” You don’t face him, so you don’t hold back your face of sadness and worry as much as you should.

Konrad… Despite all of his issues, has done nothing but trust Fulgrim and attempt to connect with him. The two were quite close; Konrad desperately wanted one of his fellow primarchs to not despise him on first impression.

He was even kind to you, in his own way. He never once intentionally hurt you.

For Fulgrim to shatter his trust like that, destroy the relationship they'd had for many years, he’s changed. It was the final instance you needed to admit it.

But who could you tell? His men are his own and vehemently loyal and even if Konrad was here, he wouldn’t have the ability to understand or even care about why you’re worried.

Ferrus however, would.

You felt horrifically guilty sending such a message behind your lover’s back. But Fulgrim's gradual changes worried you, you've watched him begin to morph into something else, and his closest brother might be the only one who would understand why. His reply is still burned into your mind when you’d briefly managed to tell him something was wrong with Fulgrim without him or any of his Emperor's Children knowing.

When you return to Terra, I will send one of my men to fetch you quietly. Then you can explain yourself to me in private.

You can only hope Ferrus will hear your worries about Fulgrim and see what you mean, rather than cast you as insane. Though knowing him, the mere fact that he’s going to hear you out lets you know he already has his own suspicions.

But before you can sink any further into your own thoughts, Fulgrim's sonorous voice pulls you from them as his fingertips glide across your skin.

“My love, are you still acting so glum?”

His lips tickle the nape of your neck, a hand on your thigh pushing up your nightgown.

“Sorry, I…” Fulgrim laughs, fingertips tickling your inner thighs. You don’t know why it makes you feel a bit nauseous.

“You’re still thinking about Curze, aren’t you?” You nod and agree, if only to make sure he doesn’t get suspicious of you. He lets out a gentle chuckle.

“I’d rather you not think of him while I’m doing this unless he’s already in the room, my love.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. Fulgrim had mentioned a few times about letting Konrad into your bedroom, but you know the Night Haunter would never speak to Fulgrim again. He's long gone; Whatever friendship they had is nothing but ash beneath Fulgrim's boots. And he couldn't seem to care less.

But Fulgrim doesn’t think that, think about how he’s destroyed his relationships one by one while you watched on; He’s too focused on your body and his own.

“Relax. Stop thinking about those pointless things, and let me touch you.”

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

Hi!! This is hopefully a fun question to ask! 💚 What are some of your favourite versions of suguru &/or satoru by your moots/non-moots that you’ve read in their fics ? For example your winter satosugu drabble has my favourite satoru 💅💅💅

🥺🥺🥺 ANONNNN first of all i’m so happy you like that satoru…… i’m really fond of him too!!! he’s very Husband + the implied mommy issues are tasty imo…

but wahhh… this is absolutely a fun question!!!! i doooo wanna preface this by saying that i legitimately love . all my moots’ versions of stsg. they’re all a little different so i go to different moots/other writers depending on what i’m looking for :3 i love love love the fact that fanfic births so many different takes and aus…. it’s one of my favorite parts of reading it!!!

i doooo have some versions of stsg that i’m partial to though!!!! gonna throw them under the cut, i decided to only go with my moots because i’m…… really scatterbrained. there are SO many other sugus and torus that i adore my brain just can’t pull them out at command </3 but i hope this’ll suffice!!

first of all…. my favorite gojos :333

niku’s gojo in general is one of my favorites ever ever ever but i’m specifically adding a link to bten because . bten lives in my brain <3 and i adore both bten!reader & bten!gojo more than anything….. ANYWAY . niku’s gojo is my favorite for many reasons but above all else he just…. feels so real to me . sometimes i have to remind myself that i’m reading a fic and not canon content bc her gojo just FEELS like gojo . it’s a little scary. i read bten and heard kaiji tang’s voice in my ear 😭 i think it’s sooo difficult to capture the balance that canon!gojo has, but niku does it so effortlessly!!! he’s so charming and guarded and annoying and kind beneath it all and i’m just….. in love with him . that’s all. i do want to strangle him just a tiny bit but mostly i want to kiss him.

sel’s col!gojo…. my baby my husband the loml. i adoreeeee sel’s take on gojo and the way he views/approaches love ….. and just like niku her gojo feels so real and so grounded!!!! sel has a way of rounding out her characters and making them feel so human, which i. adore. and it works so well with gojo. col!gojo is canon to me idc. he’s so relatable to me and following his story with col!reader was just so touching 🥹🥹 i . cried . every time he blushed or got flustered i fell to my knees . flustered gojo is really hard to get right i think??? bc it’s just….. such a rare mood from him. but it feels so perfect in her fics. col!gojo reminds me of a plant in the softest, most loving way and i just want him to grow and embrace the sun !!!!!!!! i want him to be happy….

another general pick; alexis’s gojo!!!!!! (link goes straight to my personal fav which is a very bold statement to make but i think abt this fic constantly)…. this is another gojo that just feels. so canon to me somehow???? every time i read her gojo fics i’m just like yeah…. that’s gojo satoru. that’s the gojo satoru that i love and adore. it always reminds me of WHY i love him sm and it’s just….. such a wonderful feeling yk??? alexis rlly captures what i perceive as the core of his character!!!!! i can’t tell you what it is exactly but i feel that so strongly!!!!! he’s my baby and i love him so so bad. he makes me so happy and he feels so human:((((( i just love him…. him and his self-destructive little habits….. also special shoutout to idol!gojo bc he’s just soo. yeah.

then we have io’s flower shop!satoru <333 the fic isn’t out as of rn, but i added a link to a snippet that i’m still swooning over….. i ADORE this concept and it’s so perfect for io’s gorgeous and flowery writing!!!! he was made for her fr…… i just really love the idea of a soft, gentle, smitten satoru 🥺 and him being a flower boy rlly scratches an itch in my brain because of his canon ties to flowers!!! the fact that he kind of views other people as flowers. or at least compared them to flowers in ch. 236….. i just feel like this concept is . genius. nature loves satoru and he loves it back . he’s a nurturing soul at his core imo and that’s not something i see people explore super often, but this au captures it perfectly <33

NOW. SUGU TIME.

moss’s knight!suguru…. my beloved. not a day goes by where i don’t think about him. there isn’t a single language on this earth that could properly convey the physical reaction i had when i read this drabble . this is . The most attractive suguru in the world. to me. he’s so sexy i’m sorry i need him so bad. we all know how i feel about knights and suguru individually so when you mash em together….. 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 yeah. my life was changed. the armour the blood the contrast between his polite exterior and gritty fighting … i’ll be so honest just the idea of knight!suguru fighting using his fists instead of his sword is enough to have me falling to the floor in agony like i NEED him. you don’t understand. you will never understand. it physically pains me to know that he will never beat ts out of me. BUT YEAH HE’S JUST SOOO???? he’s so hot and cool and Doomed and i desire him carnally

then we have mickey’s suguru :3 he’s just….. soooo fucking charming? it’s sickening . i can’t stand him. he’s perfect and i need him. mickey always writes him in a very wolfy way while also making him feel so soft and sweet and i just…. adore it. he’s a loverboy first and foremost and he makes me sooooooo happy it’s insane…… i’m linking my personal fav sugu fic of his but i truly adore them all!!!!!!!!! his suguru is just . theee most charming man alive and that’s all i can really say to properly convey my feelings. this particular fic genuinely wrecked me i got soooooo flustered just reading it 💔💔💔 save me sweaty!sugu…….. save me……….. he’s a wolf he’s a romantic he’s a cooer and most importantly he’s my Wife :33

kairo’s suguru is soooo lovely and so hot but i’m especially in love with black is the colour!suguru….. he’s just. so hot i’m sorry. not really though. tattoo artist sugu 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 with his piercings …. his honeyed voice…… his boundless devotion…… heavy breathing . he’s so mommy in this. but also so Father. that’s the best way i can explain it aaaaaaand i’m terribly weak to it……. he’s just so perfect there are SO many scenes in this fic that made my knees buckle 😔😔 he’s so sweet and doting and complex and just hhhhhhhhhhhHHH kairo if you see this you’ve ruined me for life…… specifically thinking about the scene where he worries he acts more like a dad than a boyfriend sometimes + where he calls reader his dove…… i need him in my life i need him to fix me

lily’s poseidon!suguru stole my heart very recently and i have ….. not stopped thinking of him since. i love any take on suguru as a god and lily’s version is just so genius . suguru being a god of the sea????? it’s perfect….. and the fact that he’s so gentle and coaxing and sweet 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 just the way he speaks in this drabble had me captivated he is truly the god of all time….. and his DESIGN . the concept in itself. i know for a fact that he’s the most stunning man you’ll ever see. he’s so almighty and powerful and he speaks so softly and gently but you hear every word crystal clear because he just has this Presence…… i rlly can’t stop thinking about him.

then we have rem’s suguru!!!! who is the acts of service king of All Time. and i’m obsessed with him. i love chatting with rem because i love her but also because we always agree on suguru and her thoughts always make me feel insane….. he NEEDS you to need him. he needs to take care of you. or he’ll literally explode. he’s such a caretaker and i can’t get enough of him….. that’s really the Core of suguru’s character imo!!!! his desperation to take care of others. he wants to take care of you more than he ever takes care of himself because doing that makes Him happy. and rem just captures that so, so perfectly, yknow?????? oughhhh her sugu is just so Mommy i need him to coddle me :(((((

aaaaand finally!!!!! last but not least!!!!!!!! rheya’s vamp!sashisu :33 i know you asked for stsg specifically but i’m throwing in shoko as a bonus bc they’re All characterized so well in this. they live rent free in my silly little brain . there’s not a single person on this planet that i trust to write poly sashisu more than rheya bc she just Gets them!!!!! and….. vamp!sashisu..,… lord save me…….. they could drain me like a capri sun idec. I LOVE THEM!!!!!! their preferred biting spots just feel soooo in character and the fact that they’re all so gentle makes me emotional 🥺🥺 generally speaking i’m not super into vamps but rheya entered my life and i was changed forever . i need them so bad

i wasn’t gonna tag anyone originally, but i want you guys to know how much i love you and think abt your silly little guys actually... thank u for letting me read abt them 🥹

@stellamancer @seiwas @kissxcore @neptuneblue

@mossmotif @dollsuguru @teddybeartoji

@storiesoflilies @hayakawalove @satoruxx

[dizzydaisychains]

A plea to the stars and ready or not sound so fun!!!

Have any snippets you'd like to share from those wippies? If not totally fine, know I am SAT whenever those get released :D

hello emmy!! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

i'm kicking my feet at the thoughts of anyone being excited for one of my wips, so this means a lot to me that you sent this! i've been working hard on a plea to the stars, so here is a snippet of part 1 for you and anyone else who is curious as to what this sylus fic will be about since i've kept things quite vague. (i've been researching quite hard, trying to pick apart the meaning of 'desire' and what it means for sylus's character in the fic. my nights have been spent pouring over the works of roland barthes and the poetry of the 19th century romantics.)

i hope everyone enjoys this snippet!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

PART I: FALLEN PETALS

“Veiled Melancholy has her sov’reign shrine,

Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue

Can burst Joy’s grape against his palette fine;

His soul shall taste the sadness of her might, 

And be among her cloudy trophies hung.

– From Ode on Melancholy by John Keats 

i.

Under the crimson sky of the N109 Zone, through an archway built from brambles and thorns, there stands an impressive greenhouse made from the finest glass in all of Deepspace. Inside, wilted leaves and dead foliage litters the floor, as if time within the glass is frozen in an eternal Autumn. 

And in the middle of the withered petals and plants, Sylus stands tall, his lips pressed together in a thin line as determination engraves itself onto his face. 

With shaking hands, he pours a trickle of water from a small watering can. Holding his breath, he watches as the drops absorb into the fresh soil. Nice and steady. No need to rush. After so many failed attempts, Sylus has learned to be patient. Like mortals, the flowers have a mind of their own, a whole set of nerves and reactions that Sylus has studied with the hopes of growing a garden of flowers to keep him company when the two of you are apart.

Maybe it is possible, he thinks to himself as he stares down at the little rose bud in the soil. Maybe this time the flower will trust me.

With all the gentleness of a cloud drifting across the sky, Sylus waves his fingertips over the sole survivor of the blight he cannot cure. The single rose bud trembles as gentle wisps of black and red mist tickle its body, trying to coax the little plant out of hiding. 

Maybe they just don’t bloom this time of year. It’s a sentence that haunts him in his dreams; a lie that serves as a cruel reminder that everything he touches is doomed to die. 

Melancholy hangs in the air as the little flower shivers. Desperate to save it, Sylus increases his Evol strength as he attempts to create a warmth akin to sunlight with his powers, but his energy only overwhelms the flower. It shivers as it slowly curls into itself, fighting to stay alive, until it all becomes too much, and just like its predecessors, it shrivels up and dies. Life fading away before it even had a chance to be born. 

Shutting his eyes, Sylus murmurs a soft farewell to the rose, crouching down to remove the pitiful stem from the soil. Perhaps it’s time to face the truth that nothing can grow in darkness. That maybe, just like his garden, the N109 Zone is incapable of flourishing under his rule. Even the greatest empires fall in the end. Babylon. Atlantis. Rome. It’s only a matter of time before The N109 Zone crumbles. He can feel it in his bones; knows that he’s getting weaker by the day, and the urge to devour every soul within range is only getting stronger. Protocores cannot satiate the greed of a dragon. 

His soul wants to devour its other half.

“Sylus?”

A faint breeze drifts through the greenhouse. The dying leaves suddenly perk up at the sound of a sweet voice that holds the promise of light and rebirth. Getting to his feet, Sylus turns around and finds you smiling at him, a wicker basket in your hand. His breath hitches as he drinks in your appearance; a chiffon sundress that falls to your knees, paired with the delicate gold necklace he had bought you in the last auction he attended. 

“What brings you here, Kitten?” Sylus asks, trying to wipe away any trace of his misery in case it worries you. He hates making you worry. Hates the way your worry leads to you waking up and screaming from nightmares of your past. Why do I dream of plunging a sword into your chest? Sylus, tell me it didn’t happen that way! Sylus always loses count of the hours you spend weeping into his chest after awaking from your bad dreams. All he can do is cradle your body in his strong arms and assure you that dreams are just dreams, that all those things happened a long time ago. But how can he protect you from your Destiny? Around and around the two of you go, stuck in a loop of killing each other. How can he break the curse without losing you? 

“Earth to Sylus?”

He blinks as you hold up the basket from the entrance and smile.

“Were you even listening to me? I was asking if you wanted to try and plant these seeds. And while we’re at it, let’s see if my resonance Evol can help bring some of these flowers back to life.”

As you walk closer towards him, the plants whisper excitedly at your surprise arrival. Sensing the warmth of your Evol, they bend their stems towards you, eager for you to caress their dried up leaves. One touch from you will heal them instantly. Sylus has seen you do it. You were the one who healed him with a single touch, after all. 

“Mephisto was sitting on the roof of my car after work. He kept cawing at me until I followed him into a flower shop,” you explain as Sylus raises an eyebrow.

“Since when did you and Mephisto become such good friends?” He takes the basket from your hands and examines the contents. Among the seeds he can spot painkillers, a roll of bandages and antiseptic cream. 

“Did Mephisto also tell you to get medical supplies in the flower shop?” He gives you a suspicious look as a faint blush tinges your cheeks. 

“Okay…maybe I lied. Mephisto didn’t come and get me. The twins told me you were gardening and I was worried you might open your wounds while digging or something." You give him a sheepish smile as he snorts in amusement.

“They also may have told me that it depresses you that nothing ever blooms in your greenhouse. Is that true?”

“Luke and Kieran will say anything to get you to come over. They say I’m nicer when you’re around.” 

“Oh? And I shouldn’t be inclined to believe them?”

“Take it with a grain of salt, Kitten.” Sylus takes out the packet of seeds, turning them over in his hands. “Peonies?”

“Prosperity, honour, wealth. All the things that are needed to make the leader of Onychinus smile,” you say, matter-of-factly. 

Sylus snorts. “Am I that shallow that only factors of success can make me smile?”

“Well, there’s also another thing that I think can make you smile.” You take a step closer to him, your hands behind your back as you look at him from behind long lashes.

“Does it involve a certain Miss Hunter?” 

“Yes, no, maybe so,” you tease, echoing his own words as you balance on the balls of your feet and place a quick kiss on his jaw. 

Sylus shivers as he drops the basket and reels you in with his Evol, his hands holding the small of your back as he looks down at you with desire burning in his eyes. 

“The plants missed you,” he says. 

“And what about you?” 

“You already know.”

“I already know.”

Sylus’s hand trails down to your heart, his large palm resting over the skin that protects it as he counts the beats. On the surface, it seems normal. A mortal heart; he counts sixty-three beats per minute. But it’s pseudoscience when it comes to you, because Sylus knows. He knows what they did to you. The harsh lights of the Ever Labs. The cold, sterile glass tank he pulled you from. He remembers it all. How fragile you looked, eyes scrunched in pain, begging for someone to just pull the plug. They had ripped the wings off his guardian angel. He can still feel the fury that coursed through his veins; how could he let this happen? He blamed himself for years, only daring to watch you from afar. Solitude became his punishment. But the Universe had other plans. The tug of the red string was too powerful. The other half of his soul was calling to him like an echo in a canyon, he had heard it in the depths of his dreams long before you even remembered his name…

“My heart isn’t going anywhere you know.”

Your voice makes him drift back down to Earth as you poke his cheek. Right. His palm is still pressed against your beating heart.

“I was just wondering if it’s been giving you trouble recently,” Sylus says, not exactly telling a lie. 

“Actually, it’s been pretty stable these days,” you say, a slight frown on your face. “I can’t tell if it’s a good or bad omen.”

“Let’s take it as a good one,” Sylus says, stroking your hair, briefly wondering if he’s trying to soothe himself or you. “Perhaps you can help me with the flowers then, if your Evol is up to the task.” 

Sylus watches as you look around, sadness in your eyes as you take in the wilted foliage around you. But it leaves as quickly as it arrives, and within seconds you’re out of his arms and picking up a nearby trowel, determination in your eyes as you give Sylus a bright smile. 

“What are you waiting for? If we start now, I’d say we can have this place in full bloom in an hour.”

For as long as he can remember, Sylus has always succumbed to the despair that likes to drag him into the darkest depths of his depression. Aeons of reincarnation can do that to a soul. 

But in this moment, in this glimmer of light in a garden that reeks of death, Sylus fights against the waves of his grief and allows you to pull him to shore. 

Just this once, Sylus pleas with Fate as you lead him to one of the flower beds in the corner of the greenhouse.

Please, let me stay with her in this lifetime for a little longer.

[drabblesandsnippets]

Snippet #2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-size female character (name removed)

Background: Another edited scene from an AU soulmate story. No snap/blip. After leaving Wakanda, Bucky moves to Brooklyn and joins the Avengers. He meets a woman who has premonitions and they fall in love. 

Summary: Short snippet of Bucky helping his girlfriend with her anxiety.

Warnings: 18+ Only. Sexual content. Mention of anxiety.

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Her skin feels like it’s crawling, like there’s a current of energy just beneath her skin, itching to be released somehow.

She knows the feeling all too well, and even though her anxiety has been better lately, she’s not sure it’s something she’ll ever be free of. 

A quick glance at the clock tells her she needs to try to go back to sleep, but the deep breaths and tapping exercises are useless. The anxiety just keeps rising.

The feelings intensify with each slight movement of her limbs as she searches for a more comfortable position until it becomes too overwhelming. She can’t lay here anymore.

Just as she’s about to throw off the covers, Bucky’s hand brushes across her bare back. “You okay?” His tender touch and gravelly voice send a shiver down her spine, immediately making her curl up more, encouraging him to keep going.

Not that he ever needs any encouragement, he’d happily spend hours touching her, enjoying the feel of her softness underneath his fingers. Bucky knows her better than anyone ever has and it only takes a few words for him to understand exactly what she’s going through.

“Firm or soft?” he asks, closing the distance that sleep had created, his thighs fitting perfectly against hers. 

The moment the word ‘firm’ leaves her lips, the heat of his body presses against her and he wraps his arm her waist to hold her tight. They’ve done this dance so many times, she wonders why she still tries to handle things on her own. 

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, kissing her shoulder blade, the familiar gentle scratch of his beard helping to channel her focus away from her anxiety. It’s not enough though. She needs more, and the subtle movement of her hips and slight tension in her thighs makes her intensions clear.

Bucky happily obliges, his vibranium hand sliding up to take a hold of her hair, reminding her how well he knows her, and her body. “Yes,” she breathes.

The soft exhale of such a simple word causes Bucky’s cock to twitch between them and he rewards her with a soft groan, gripping a fistful of her hair, sending a burst of pleasure straight to her core.

“Is that what my woman needs?” he asks, all evidence of sleep gone from his voice, his desire for her obvious. “To help her forget about everything except the way I can make her feel?”

There’s nothing subtle about the way she grinds back against him this time and he lets out an approving grunt, his cock already hard and ready to go. There’s no doubt that she’s wet for him, the smell of her arousal making him dizzy with lust.

True to the nature of their relationship though, he won’t take this further until she’s vocal about what she wants, no matter what her body is telling him.

“I need you to use your words,” he reminds her, his free hand inching closer to her breast with every heavy breath she takes, a teasing promise of what’s to come. “Do you want me to keep touching you, or should I stop?”

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