#also 'yet to be fleshed out' i say as if the whole fic is not just a vague collection of ideas that have yet to be connected or solidified

[tvckerwash]

a yet to be fleshed out scene from my ct lives au is more or less just ct going "I cannot believe I have to go on a mission with these 2 strangers whom I don't trust in the slightest because my former teammates mercilessly slaughtered all of my boyfriend's teammates so now his boss doesn't think he's qualified for field work anymore"

[arminsumi]

I WANT TO KISS YOU / キスしたい

↳ GOJO さとる + fem!reader

you and Satoru falling in love despite a language barrier.

2.9k

Chapter index

Summary : you've come to visit Japan to meet these two boys you met online. Though Satoru can't speak English and you can't speak Japanese, the two of you still fall in love. Very cute. Very cheesy. Oh no... wait is there a tension between you and his best friend, too? Oh boy...

Warnings : romantic tension with Suguru / potential love triangle, cat scratch

Note : i think of this fic a lot and i found the continuation hiding out in my drafts sooo here 👍

🍒 More from Jay : Gojo works / Gojo fave works / JJK works

Satoru blinks awake to see your face. His heart beats harder.

結局昨日は夢ではなかったのか？ Yesterday was not a dream after all?

He's not an early bird at all, but from the first day of your visit he magically woke up early as if his soul was too excited to sleep when it knew you were right there, in the flesh. No screen. Just you.

When the first day starts, it feels like you've always been together. Was there ever a screen separating the two of you? And were you really going to disappear behind one again in just a month?

今のところ、彼女はここに留まるように感じています。彼女が訪問を終えて出発するとき、私は空港で赤ん坊のように泣くことになると思います。 For now, she feels like she's here to stay. I think I'm going to cry like a baby at the airport when she leaves after her visit.

Morning routines are carried out. The sky is cloudy at first, threatening rain, and by the time you three cluster into the kitchen to make breakfast together, it starts raining.

You and Satoru banter like two cats. Suguru's morning rasp is very strong.

"Satoru... uh... sugar?" you ask, preparing to make yourself a second one and automatically making Satoru another one, since he looks still very bleary-eyed even after spending an hour freshening up in the bathroom.

"...? Yes?" he tilts his head, then you raise the sugar cube jar. "Yes. Uh... four. Thank you."

Suguru's blushing because of the cute tension between you and his best friend. It fills the whole kitchen, which already felt full with their two bodies and a third one now. Everyone keeps bumping elbows and yet not complaining about it, in fact it's enjoyable to be squished together. Maybe because you three waited so long to be together in person, you don't mind it. There's a silent, ever-present comedy in the air about the tight proximity.

You hum happily, tossing in one, two, three... four? That's a lot of sugar. "Suguru, tell Satoru he mustn't have so much sugar all the time. It's not good for his health."

Suguru laughs. "I try to tell him that every day. But his sweet tooth is incurable."

"His dentist must hate him." you smirk at Satoru, who's been looking at you blushingly after hearing his name mentioned.

彼女の声が今では一番好きな音だと思います。 I think her voice is my favorite sound now.

もう一度私の名前を言ってください。 Please say my name again.

"Satoru? Coffee?" you interrupt his lovey-dovey thoughts and he suddenly reanimates himself, because for a moment there he zoned out and just stared at you with those pretty eyes.

"Mmm... thanks." he takes the coffee from you with a noticeable timidness that you can't quite explain. There's a lot about him that's indescribable, you're having a small internal crisis; aren't you supposed to be fluent in English? And yet you can't even begin to describe just how sweet and gentle Satoru behaves. The most you can do is use metaphors that barely justify him.

"Suguru, tell her... her voice is nice, and also sorry for cuddling you in my sleep (and that she can definitely kick me away at night if it bothers her.) Also!" (the three of you head into the living room, and Suguru habitually trips over the cat who stalks under his feet too quietly to notice) "Also tell her... if it rains today, does she still want to go out? Because if we go out in the rain, she might get sick. And I don't want her to get sick on her trip. Not that I'd mind taking care of you, Y/n, of course."

Suguru lets out a long sigh and pulls a funny face. You smile amusedly.

"...It's too early to be a translator..." he grumbles in English after Satoru overloads him.

"What? C'mon tell her everything I said!"

"Let me have my coffee first. How about the two of you write to each other?" he suggests, putting the rim of the cup to his lips and sipping languidly.

"Eh, fine." Satoru pouts, and stalks off into his bedroom to get his phone.

Then, when he's in his bedroom, his chest flutters for some reason when he sees your suitcase standing there opened and emptied into the free cupboard space. He takes his phone, smiles at the homely feeling of seeing your belongings in his room, and leaves.

"Oh..." he has a sudden idea, and remembers the magnetic drawing board that's hanging in the kitchen. He and Suguru usually use it for writing reminders to each other, like get milk or you're an idiot or sometimes it has doodles of Mint the cat with sunglasses on.

So he returns to you with this magnetic drawing board, and points at it meaningfully, then holds one finger up and bows his head as he begins writing very slowly.

Suguru's checking the weather forecast and muttering sour complaints under his breath to you. "Of course it would rain for three days just when you arrive... at least by the weekend it will be clear and sunny..."

"Mmm... it's alright. A little rain never hurt nobody." you respond.

"I like your optimism." Suguru compliments flippantly at first, but then continues; "It's really uplifting. I think Satoru said something about you being a joy once, he said it really poetically but I can't recall it now."

"Aw..." you dip your head beneath your coffee cup, hiding the bashful expression on your face, which Suguru chuckles at.

And then, for a long moment, you just stare and watch Satoru writing on the board. You're completely captured in this moment, completely captivated in his enveloping presence as he sits next to you. He has slow, meticulous wrist movements. His knees press together, like he's worried that he'll invade your personal space if he sits too comfortably close to you. Funny, considering he cuddled you all night and you had no complaints about it.

He's writing very simply and neatly, just like how he texts you. You're a bit baffled by the characters he's using, though he's trying his best to avoid using any kanji knowing that you don't know a lot of it. He's sure you can figure things out by slowly pronouncing each hiragana character, or at least he hopes.

"Here." he hands you the magnetic drawing board, and then raises from the couch to go feed the cat.

"Minto-Minto... " he calls after the cat and makes a small cute sound to lure her out.

You're trying to read each hiragana character, eyes squinting a bit.

Suguru leans in close to you. He just takes a look, but the proximity for some reason gives both of you butterflies.

"Ooh... that's cute." Suguru comments after reading what Satoru wrote. His voice reaches deep in your tummy.

"Hm... I'll spell it out and... figure it out... anyways, why did you name your cat Mint?"

"Oh... well. There's two reasons. So the first..." he sets down his coffee, like he's about to tell you a great story, "Is because Satoru watched this show called Tokyo Mew Mew growing up, and he liked the character Minto. So he calls her Minto. And then I agreed on calling her that, but I call her Mint, because I hate mint the herb."

"You — haha, wait what? You call her Mint because you hate mint?"

"Yes. I hate mint, both the herb and the cat. She hates me too, clearly." Suguru raises his hand to remind you of how the cat scratched him the night before.

"Such a cute Hello Kitty sticker..." you tease.

"Thank you. Only the manliest men wear Hello Kitty Bandaids."

"How did she scratch you anyways...?"

"Oh, she likes to hang out in the washing machine if Satoru accidentally leaves it open. And when I try take her out of her comfy spot, she scratches me."

You sympathize, "Poor thing."

"What, the cat or me?" Suguru laughs.

"The cat." you lie teasingly.

"Wow! And here I thought you were being sympathetic!" he raises his brows.

You giggle and look at him, eyes finally making contact — ooh no that's bad bad bad, better break it immediately. So the two of you look away like you've both just indulged in a taboo intimacy. His stomach flips.

"Minto has been fed. She gave me cuddles." Satoru comes back into the room, and you admire the feeling he brings with him.

"No scratches?" Suguru asks.

"No, obviously, she loves me more than you." Satoru cheeks.

"Fuck you, haha."

Satoru makes his voice lower and leans to Suguru, "(Did she figure out what I wrote yet?)"

"Y/n did you figure out what he wrote?" Suguru asks.

"I'm trying so hard. What does this part mean...?"

Suguru shakes his head and puts his hands up. "Like I said, I'm not Mr Translator in the mornings."

"But you've had your coffee! Please, just this part..." you beg, and he can't deny that sweet begging. He easily folds for it, just like when Satoru begs for anything.

"Okay, where — this? Uh... Satoru your handwriting isn't usually this neat, is it...? That part means... 'voice'."

"Oh... ohhh!" you suddenly realize, and then the boys swoon over you when you pronounce the characters out loud to yourself.

"Uh... I think I know what it means..." you feel your cheeks warm up from the crown to your jawline.

あなたのこえがすき。 a-na-ta-no-ko-e-ga-su-ki.

"I like your voice, too." you respond to Satoru, and he half-gets it and gives you a thumbs up.

"Thanks."

You look at each other and then promptly look away with shy smiles.

"You two are cute." Suguru comments.

"Ahah... ahah shut up... hey, the sky has cleared up." you point out.

"Ooh... it cleared up 'cuz Satoru walked back into the room."

You awe at what he said.

"?"

"Nothing."

"Hey, Translator — (stop talking about me behind my back!)"

Suguru chuckles, "I wasn't! I was just — never mind. Let's get ready to head out."

And so you head into Satoru's bedroom to get ready, and Suguru heads into his bedroom, and Satoru himself goes into the cramped bathroom. Poor boy. He's really too tall for that archway, he bumped his head again.

彼女に花を買ってあげるべきでしょうか？それともちょっと多すぎますか？ Should I buy her flowers? Or is it a bit too much?

（なんてことだ）、なぜこのシャツには穴が開いているのでしょう？ (Oh my god), why does this shirt have holes?

The door slides open, he steps out of the bathroom half-dressed, and intends to quickly slip into Suguru's bedroom to borrow a shirt instead of awkwardly knocking on his bedroom door and disturbing you.

But oh, you know what? The cheesiest possible thing happens instead. The universe likes making Satoru's life a little more fun in odd times. So the two of you encounter each other in the hallway; you're fully clothed and he's got just pants and socks on.

He stutters once, swallows awkwardly, and even more awkwardly places his hand on your head as if to say sorry for this inconvenience.

But you laugh in response to the funny situation.

ああ、またあの美しい笑い声。 Ah, that beautiful laugh again.

"Sorry." he mutters, and disappears to go get a shirt from Suguru.

"It's okay." you reply.

The image of your pretty smile is burned in his head.

You can hear him telling Suguru something in the other room, and then you hear Suguru's muffled laugh as a response.

"(Don't laugh! I'm embarrassed! She's seen me shirtless now! No one's seen me shirtless except you!)"

"(You're such a virgin.)"

"(Say that again, I dare you.)"

"(Sorry, I don't understand you. I don't speak virgin, only English and Japanese.)"

You're wondering why Satoru sounds so embarrassed and annoyed, and then he groans down the hallway. It feels like you're their roommate, it's funny.

"Hi."

"Hi."

The two of you encounter each other in the hall again. This time he has a shirt, yes. And this time Suguru is there, too, and he's holding back an amused smile. He fluffs Satoru's hair as a way of embarrassing him more.

So Satoru leaves, and he leaves in such a way that it's super comedic, making you and Suguru laugh. Ooh, what a laugh that boy has; his Addam's apple shifts up and down deliciously.

"Ah... Suguru? I need help with the washing machine..."

"Yes...?"

"...this kid on the plane who sat next to me, he spilled strawberry juice all over my shirt and now it's sticky."

"But at least it smells like strawberries, right?" he jokes. "You can put it in the washing machine, I'll be doing the laundry in a second anyways..." there is a small moment of eye contact shared, then Suguru looks down, and frowns at something he sees, "(SATORU YOU LEFT YOUR SOCK ON THE FLOOR AGAIN!)"

"(Haha, sorry.)" you hear Satoru half-heartedly apologize from the other room.

So Suguru picks up the sock like an annoyed mother and goes to lecture Satoru.

"(You're embarrassing me in front of our guest. For the love of god, don't leave your goofy ass socks on the floor. What if she slips on them?)"

"(You're such a mother, Suguru.)"

You're calmly and casually going to put your juice-stained shirt in the washing machine like Suguru said, but then...

(the boys are talking and there's just this hilariously dramatic scream from the laundry room)

"DID THE CAT SCRATCH YOU?"

"(Did the cat scratch her?)"

"Ow, y-yeah!" you whine.

Suguru's the first one at the crime scene, and he picks up the cat and proceeds to lecture the cat as if it understands Japanese. It licks its lips and nubby nose and has an evil stare. You giggle.

"I'm so sorry... come, uh — (Suguru, we still have Hello Kitty adhesives somewhere, right?)" Satoru instinctually holds your hand that got scratched.

And he holds it so tenderly and caringly that it makes your whole chest quake for him.

彼女の手の傷はとても小さなものですが、それでも私は心臓がチクチクするのを感じました。 Although the wound on her hand was very small, I still felt my heart tingle.

He leads you to his bedroom, picking up some adhesives and antiseptic on the way, and sits with you on the unmade beds. You watch his fingers nimbly peeling the plastic off the adhesive, admiring how swiftly and perfectly he does even the littlest things. He has such a great attention to detail, it makes you self-conscious; is he thinking of you with the same attention to detail as everything else? Yes... he is.

He dabs some antiseptic on your small scratch, and then gently wraps and pats the Hello Kitty adhesive around it. You're pretty sure he's the one who bought them. Oh, if only you could ask him, but where even is your phone? Lost in a void somewhere, probably.

"Thank you, Satoru."

His eyes light up. His heart thumps. Why did those small, simple words have such a great effect on him?

"Mhm." he hums in acknowledgement. "You're welcome."

あなたの傷がもっと良くなるようにキスしたいです。 I want to kiss your wounds to make them better.

A second after thinking this and looking at your hand, he brings it to his lips and presses a very delicate kiss to the edge of your wrist, where the small cut spanned up to the base of your palm. Can you even call it a kiss? It's more like his lips graze your skin, hovering timidly.

And for some reason... the atmosphere becomes very intimate. Is it because of the place where he kissed you? The inner wrist has never occurred to you to be an intimate spot, and yet you're feeling as if he just kissed you on the lips.

You hear him audibly swallow, like he's conscious of this, too. The both of you become very aware of the tension in the atmosphere.

And then he looks apologetic, as if he overstepped a boundary. So you mutter a small, whispery "thanks..." which lifts his heart up into his throat and reassures him that you don't mind the intimacy.

"Mmm..." he blinks at you, pursing his lips.

His eyes linger on your lips for a moment, and it feels like he's about to... well you know his body just wants to... he sort of...

"Hey, how's the wounded patient?" Suguru interrupts, and you and Satoru spring apart like you're elastic bands that just got released after being stretched.

"Ahah, I'm okay. It's not a bad scratch." you lift your hand, "I'll cherish this Hello Kitty Bandaid forever, thank you."

"Yeah, Satoru bought 'em so you can thank him."

"I knewww he bought them, haha! So expected... cutiepie." you admire Satoru, and he's pretty sure that the last thing you said is some cute nickname, so he smirks.

"Okay, well... anyways, let's head out before the sun rises too high and it gets too hot to walk."

© arminsumi

Do not plagiarize / repost / translate / copy layouts / etc.

Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

[maxislvt]

Thinking about babysitter!reader fucking Wanda in the back of her mini van.

(Also, this is only a fic request if you want it to be! Otherwise, enjoy the imagery😌)

Love your work btw<3

warnings: power bottom!Wanda, service top!r, amab!r, semipublic sex, age gap relationship

thank you for the compliment :) I hope you enjoy this! also shout-out to @wndaswife for inspo. PLEASE GO READ HER POWER BOTTOM WANDA FIC IT'S SOOO GOOD

Though you took pride in being a good role model for all the young children you babysat, you found yourself in a situation that could only be described as scandalous.

Wanda Maximoff, the mother of two wonderful twin boys and a pillar of the community, was pinned beneath you and almost entirely nude in the back of her Honda. The fact it was in the parking lot of an abandoned mall certainly didn't help. It would be a lie to say you didn't see it coming. You and Wanda had truly only been together a few weeks. The increasingly scandalous outfits and jokes at the expense of your virginity were a dead giveaway about how she was feeling. You were shocked it didn't happen sooner.

"Oh, you'd be as red as a tomato if you heard what the other moms around town wanna do to that pretty face of yours."She whispered with the same drawl that got you into this whole mess. It was easier to fall in love with her again than it was to tell her no. The hand stroking down the length of your shaft was relentless. "Especially that little nose of yours." Wanda guided your tip up and down her slit until you were practically shaking. "But you only want your mommy, isn't that right?"

You nodded frantically. "Just you, I promise." Your admission earned you the privilege of burying yourself inside of the warmth of Wanda's cunt, but you hesitated to take advantage of it. "D-don't I need a condom?" You asked foolishly. You were still so careful and nervous about everything. "And isn't it a crime to have sex in public? I'd hate for you to —"

Wanda wrapped one of her legs around your waist and pulled you forward. A low moan fell from her lips as you slid inside of her. "If I wanted you to wear a condom, I would've brought you one." She pulled you in for a kiss just as she started moving her hips against you. "Don't worry about that, okay? Just focus on making me feel good." One of her hands moved down to guide your hips into the pace she wanted. "That's it, nice and slow for mommy."

A low whine escaped your lips. "Mommy, you feel so good." You mumbled out in a daze. Nothing could ever truly compare to the feeling of Wanda's walls sucking you deeper inside of her. The confidence that you had built up weeks in advance meant nothing at that moment. You were nothing more than a pet for your lover to boss around and tease. "You're so warm," You whimpered. An unusual stroke of boldness took over as you began to grope at Wanda's chest. The mound of soft flesh felt heavenly in your hand. You were tempted to lean down and suck on it.

"You can be rough, baby. I want you to hurt me." There was an edge of excitement in her voice. It only grew as you began tugging on her nipples. "Fuck, just like that!" Wanda's moans had become increasingly broke and desperate. "I can feel you twitching baby. Are you gonna cum?" She purposely clenched around you tighter as you shook your head. "Are you sure? Mommy won't be upset if you do."

You clenched your eyes shut and tried focusing on the rhythm. "No Mommy, I can hold it. I promise." You weren't entirely confident in that statement. Your fingers abandoned Wanda's nipples and opted to focus on her clit instead. The bundle of nerves was almost too wet for you to properly stimulate.

Wanda was endeared by your sacrifice and was more than willing to test the stamina she knew you didn't have yet. However, the trunk of her car wasn't the most ideal place to do that. She hooked her ankles together behind your back. Her hips rolled against yours desperate to squeeze every last drop of cum out of you. "I'll tell you when I want you to hold it, but right now mommy wants you to fill her up. Can you do that?"

Of course, you could do that. Rope after rope of your cum painted Wanda's walls until you had nothing to give. Feeling her cunt flutter and gush around your dick was almost too much. You buried your face into Wanda's neck, embarrassed by how much was coming out of you. "I'm sorry, it won't stop," You mumbled weakly. You would've had to pull out at some point, but you started to dread the mess to come actively.

Wanda affectionately rubbed your back and whispered praises in your ear as you shook on top of her. "You did such a good job for Mommy," She coed. Her fingers tangled into your hair and played with it while you slowly caught your breath. "I know it feels good but we still have errands to run, remember?"

The groan you made as you pulled out didn't go unheard, but it was a bit upsetting to have the moment interrupted. You wiped yourself off then got dressed. It wasn't until you finished dressing yourself that you realized Wanda's problem."Are…are you going to the store like that?" Your eyes were immediately drawn to the already ruined panties. "Aren't you worried it'll leak out?"

Wanda shook her head as she climbed out of the van. "If that happens, you'll just have to use that pretty mouth of yours to lick it up."

[sciderman]

Sorry if someone else already asked this but out of the Deadpools in any animated adaption which one is your favorite?

fortnite

okay kidding, i've never played fortnite but i love watching him do the dances. i'll rate all of the animated deadpools i guess. all the animated deadpools that i know of.

hulk vs wolverine

5/10 i think this might be the first animated deadpool i'd ever seen. and he's okay. i don't like nolan north's voice, really. i know a lot of people love him. i think his voice is pretty plain jane and his delivery is nothing special. mind you this wade doesn't have a lot of funny things to say anyway. this whole film is so very mid and so forgettable. marvel animation generally is really mid and forgettable. also he's such a scrawny little twink. i like my wades beefier. 5/10 for being one of the most ordinary, inoffensive, mid portrayals of deadpool ever.

deadpool (the game)

3/10 yeah i don't know, i hate this guy. nolan north yet again but his voice is slightly less plain jane and more rocket raccoon here. not into it. this game sprouted all the worst interpretations of deadpool ever and for that it must pay dearly. three stars because at least his tits are massive. but i hate his stupid pinhead.

ultimate spider-man deadpool

8/10 yeah he's the best one the west has to offer. sorry. he is. his jokes are funny. he is completely insane. he upstaged spider-man in every way a deadpool should. he's a scene-stealer. he has the presence. he has the hips. he has the thighs. he has my heart. one of my first ever exposures to deadpool and the start of a downward spiral for me. he loses two stars because DEAR GOD his voice is UNBEARABLE but. the episode is a masterpiece if you hit the mute button. i wanted to write a fic about him to flesh out his lore because honestly i'm really interested in this specific presumably teenaged wade wilson who was digested by the shield system and came out of it a mercenary. wade i was a teenage mercenary wilson. i want to know everything about him. i'm obsessed with him.

marvel disk wars

10/10 he is SO cute and i think i'd die for him. he lends himself to anime so so well, and the japanese just know how to do deadpool. he's a spider-man fanboy and every bit the attention whore he's meant to be. he knows how to give his chimichangettes what they want. the crotch shots. the unrelenting barrage on the 4th wall. but he also has a good heart at the end of the day. he's everything to me.

marvel's future avengers

10/10 obligatory, for being basically just a continuation of the prior deadpool but in a new series. he is very wife. the art is better but the animation isn't. but he's so. so cute. look at him. look at his gwumpy little faaaace look at HIIIIIM...

the japanese do just know how to do deadpool. his sole motivation in all of these is literally just to hog screentime. that's literally all he's there for. he's just a spotlight hog. all he wants is attention, and for them to make cute anime figures of him. he's the most valid deadpool ever. i think.

[heavens-aesthetic-kitchen]

Why the TF2 Defense Trio deserve more recognition

The people have spoken, I have decided to create an essay disguised as a post on this godforsaken website because it's a free country goddammit! (I would have done it either way lmaooo, I have a lot of shit to say about these maniacs) To start this formal essay glorified very serious shitpost, why should you as a tf2 fan care about these 3 men? They're so "boring" and there's not much going on with them. If ya took a second, let's pause with what was being said. YOU MUST BE OUT OF YOUR GODDAMN MIND to think such thoughts, we must shake you out of cuckoo land by giving you an in-depth look into these three so that you understand where I'm coming from. Let's start in order:

Demoman:

After being in the fandom since 2019, there's always one character I always thought wasn't given much anything in the fandom at all. Even taking ships out of the equation, there's barely any fics I've that focus on Tavish Finneagan Degroot specifically that I've seen that isn't a compilation fic (I read a lot of x readers, don't judge me). Believe me, I checked ao3. I went through Demoman's tags and I tried very hard to filter a lot of the crossover and relationship tags, yet there's less of Demoman himself, than there's him just existing as a side character of a story. Which is honestly sad, I honestly think Demo is one of the more kinder mercs compared to a lot of the team. This man made friends with the BLU soldier, despite knowing that they were supposed to be killing each other. Sure, it's unclear whether or not Demo did actually go through with it and it's just a ruse, because the voicelines in WAR! don't have a set timeline. But I do think that Demo would have tried to keep his friendship with BLU soldier. He's very chill. I've never actually seen him get violent against his friends and family, despite being a drunkard. I honestly think he's one of the sweetest people in TF2, he takes good care of his mom and haunted sword lmaoooo. Jokes aside, he seems like a genuinely good man and I barely see anything that suggests he's sadistic. He's a chaotic and loud, but not bad. Not bad at all. The fact he can still do his job well, even after drinking so much that his body created a whole distillery, is even more impressive. He is damn good at what he does and works very hard. He's had multiple jobs, even as wee little lad. Despite what people think of him, the fact he's getting paid 5 million dollars a year, is proof he knows what he's doing. He loves his job and couldn't bear the thought of not working. I feel like his backstory isn't talked about enough in the fandom either. When you think about it, it's kinda fucked up that he was put in an orphanage by his biological parents until he was in the right age to be blowing people up. Not only that, his eye socket was haunted by the Bombinomicon so that every halloween a giant eye would manifest, attacking him and his friends. Even Medic couldn't help him and instead resorting to scooping the part of Demo's brain where he remembered so he would stop asking. He most likely has a lot of stories for you, I see him as the type that has a lot to say. His past is the most fleshed out and complete out of all the mercs, which I really appreciate, you can do a lot more with him. Also another thing, during Unhappy Returns, he took the time to reassure Soldier that he wouldn't think he's a civilian. He didn't brush Soldier's worries aside and instead comforted him. I wish I had a lot more to say about Demo because I am baffled that he isn't being gushed about as a potential partner. He has the excitement and like zero baggage. A thing I also wanna point out is that he seems to be insecure of the fact he's a black scottish man with only one eye during Meet The Demoman. I may be reading into things a bit too much, but it makes me wanna be like "NOOOO don't talk about yourself like that, bro. You're so cute UGHHH" Also also he's handsome. Sure looks can be subjective, but I still think Demo has a face I would kiss hehe. He looks great with his beard and his cheeky ass smile. GOD I could gush about him all day, but I have to move on rip.

Heavy:

Honestly, I'm having a hard time just finding the words to describe this amazing man without giving him the respect he deserves. But I'll sure try. Heavy has had a difficult life and I've always admired how strong he was. Not just of his muscles, but he endured one of the toughest situations and still kept moving forward with his life even though it was traumatizing. You see why I'm even having a hard time talking about him? I can't really get down into the weeds, without getting serious for a min. I feel like the fandom doesn't give him much credit for being able to deal with so much. He's the rock for his family after his father disappeared (atp I think he's dead, which is the cherry on top this depressing sundae) and I wouldn't doubt that he would be the same for his team. He's a man of few words, but that makes him all the more intriguing. Just because this man has a lot of brawn does not mean he's dumb at all. Despite how he acts in the battlefield, Heavy is observant and clever. Although, it's implied that Spy being Scout's dad is an open secret between the mercs and Miss Pauling, the fact he figured it out without saying it directly must mean he has a lot more going on. He's also educated, getting a phD in Russian Literature. It's not a STEM program, but he actually got a doctorate and went to college, that's a lot more than half of what the mercs did lmaooo. Also he has a bit of a softie side, not just for his mom and sisters, but also other creatures as well. I respect him so much for avoiding violence against those dogs during the Showdown comic. Not only shows what an absolute sweetheart he is, but also how much he's able to think quickly on his feet. Heavy is very direct and blunt, I don't see him as the type to lie about his feelings. I appreciate that he doesn't feel the need to sugarcoat anything, he'll get the job done and he ain't playing. There's no fluff, he knows what he wants and that's to rev up Sasha and ram through sons of bitches without any worries.

I feel like I wanna point out, his story seems the most unexplored in the fandom, even though it has a lot of potential for ANGST factor. I already broke down how sad it is, but I just feel like it isn't said enough. Can I just say how cuddly he looks?! GAH, I feel like he would give the warmest hugs! The way he smiled in Unhappy Returns when he finds out his family doesn't need to live in fear anymore, just melts my heart! He's so protective over his family and friends! I wish I had a lot more to say about this guy because I just can't stop finding more things about him that go unappreciated. I had to literally edit this part so many times before moving on, he just has those little details you don't notice until you take a second and have that OH MY GOD moment

Engineer:

I was getting so hyped, when it was finally our resident southern nerd's time to shine. GOD I have so much to say about this man. It's been over 5 fucking years and I have never stopped simping for this man since 2019, I think I'm gonna go insane from how much I've been repressing, I go feral when he's around. Anyways enough stalling. I don't ever think a fictional character has ever made me swoon quite like Engineer, I really mean that. I have ask and pleaded to whatever god was listening to give me a man like Engie. To me, he is everything I ever wanted and more.

First, I wanna talk about what makes him attractive to me. His accent. His southern charm, UGH he's killing me with that smooth voice and chivalry! I swear this man could make me faint just from existing. The way he smiles is so warm, his insults are so corny I love them. That five o clock shadow GAHH! I'm getting butterflies all over again. I swear I love all three of the defense bois, but Dell Conagher has my heart wrapped around his gunslinger metal finger. All those personal reasons aside, I've always thought Dell Conagher was a very interesting character in the world of TF2. He might not have much screen time or goofy shenanigans like the other mercs, but that doesn't mean you can ignore him oh no no no. This man is important within the whole story of Mann Co and TF industries, his grandfather being the catalyst of the game's events and the comics going forward. The Conaghers are the SOLE REASON why Team Fortress 2's story exists. I find it strange that the fandom hasn't done much with this fact because you can do a lot with this idea. Engineer knows a lot of shit and would be the biggest threat to Helen, if not for the fact that his family has been helping her for years.

Like his backstory, he's not seen much in the battlefield, but he has a lot more going on behind the scenes. Imagine the possibilities. He is damn intelligent and he knows it. While Dell is very sweet and has a southern charm, this is a facade to hide his God complex and sadistic tendencies. If you think this man is just your boring gentle engineer, you've got a big storm coming. It's heavily implied that he sawed off his own arm so that he could use the gunslinger. This man works on projects with Medic and doesn't question the moral implications of putting a human brain in a pumpkin. Hell, he threatened his own employer, even if he was an old man (Granted, Blutarch dug up his grandpa's grave, so he probably should have gotten something a lot worse than just Dell telling him to fuck off). Engineer is more than the texan egghead sweetie pie, he is a mercenary for a reason and I would argue that he might be as insane, if not more than, the rest of the team. No sane man would willingly work with a bunch of war criminals if he wasn't also crazy. That's the thing I really like about him. I love playing as him in the game because it represents his character very well. He technically serves a supportive role to the team with his buildings, but he is a killer with a lot of tools in his disposal, With the right amount of training, he can absolutely dominate in the battlefield.

I feel like he's one of the people that underestimate and assume that he's an easy target, but he's a lot more than that. He has a lot of layers that makes me want to learn more about him and what he has to offer.

In Conclusion:

These guys are cool. Lmaooo okay I won't just end it there. I genuinely believe that they're not getting the recognition that they deserve, they've got a lot more going for them if you pay attention. Sure they might not always be the loudest or most prominant character in the story, but what they lack in quantity, they make up for in quality TEN FOLD. They don't have to be your favourite, but you should at least give them a chance. You never know, they may surprise you.

Okay so thats enough of that, I couldn't find a divider above this message, so you're getting this grainy ass gif. Honestly, I put way too much effort on this shitpost lmaooo, but I just wanted to get my thoughts out in a more concise manner. If you want to add more stuff about these three that I didn't mention, feel free to do so. Anyways thanks for reading

[straykeedz]

𝔅𝔞𝔫𝔤 ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔰 ; #2

okay okay this is just a hard thought i’ve had since i woke up today (that says a lot about me ig)

like you know how bang chan is usually portrayed as a dom in fics, right? nothing wrong with it i absolutely love dom chan i stan dom chan - but part of me is also convinced he is a huuuuuge switch

so basically this is u spanking mr. bang!

tw: switch!chan & switch!reader ; spanking ofc ; mentions of anal play (m receiving) but nothing happens! ; also mentions of balls slapping ; both mommy and daddy kinks bc i said so ;

it’s a known fact that chan loves spanking you, you know? just bend you over his legs, pull your pants down your legs or flip your skirt. he thinks it’s a punishment, you think it’s a reward, the way his fingers collide with your asscheeks with each slap. and oh, his hisses when he sees the reddish marks on your skin are the most beautiful sound in the whole world… he’d get so hard just from spanking your pretty ass, occasionally running the pads of his fingers along your folds to collect some of your wetness - of course, he’d lick his digits clean afterwards, he could never miss the opportunity to taste your sweet arousal 🤤 “my dirty girl… aren’t you enjoying your punishment a bit too much, love?” he teases you, slapping your ass a bit harder this time, but you only moan harder and it makes his cock twitch in his pants. “ah, you like it when daddy spanks you, don’t you?” and he gives you the fucking of your life afterwards, yk? ass up, face down so that he can keep watching your pretty ass as he fucks you - caressing the marks on your skin as well as landing new slaps on your flesh.

but what if… what if it’s you spanking him? have him lying on his tummy, bent over your legs, with his boxers almost all the way down his toned thighs.

it started as a joke, you landing a playful slap on his ass - neither of you were expecting a moan to come out of his mouth. and now here he is, trying to hold back his whimpers as your fingers caress his asscheeks, fisting the sheets beneath him as he bites his lip.

“aw, does daddy like it? daddy likes when i touch his pretty ass?” you grin as you keep brushing the soft skin and then - you land your first slap on his ass, and chan gasps. “mommy asked you a question.”

and his brain short-circuits because, you know, mommy? he’s never called you that before and he finds it… hot. so hot his pretty cock, hard and pressed against your thighs, starts leaking pre-cum.

“y-yes, mommy, i like it,” he whimpers, and you reward him by spanking him once again.

“good,” you bite your lip at the sight of your red hand print beginning to show on chan’s skin, “now you’re gonna count for mommy. right, daddy? you’re gonna count each slap mommy gives on this pretty ass of yours?”

chan nods, and you spank him.

“o-one,” he hisses, and you can’t see him but he’s rolling his eyes back in pleasure.

you continue spanking him, enjoying the way his body shivers and trembles under your touch - each slap on his asscheeks is bringing him closer and closer to his release. he can’t believe it feels this good, no wonder you’re always crazy wet when he spanks you.

“ten- ten, mommy,” he whimpers.

it’s the prettiest sight - his ass red from your slaps on his fair skin. you could keep going all night - make him cum like this, maybe even overstimulate him a bit until he begs you to stop, until he squirts. because of you. for you.

“you’ve been so good, daddy,” you praise him, and he blushes a little. “i should spank this ass more often, don’t you think?” you mumble, groping the soft flesh, squeezing it between your fingers. he looks so pretty like this - bent over your legs only for you, his asscheeks and balls on full display for your eyes to see. “maybe i should slap your pretty balls too… i bet you’d like it, daddy.” he whines when you cup them in your hands, giving them a delicate yet firm squeeze. “next time, daddy.”

he’s about to protest, tell you he wants it now, that he doesn’t think he’s gonna be able to wait until next time, that his cock is so fucking hard right now and he needs you to do something about it when - oh. he feels your hand on his ass once again, spreading his cheeks a bit.

“such a pretty hole, daddy…” you hum, thinking of all the times he said the very same thing to you - his ending with babygirl, of course.

he feels so exposed and he fucking loves it, his cock leaking even more pre-cum at the thought of you touching him there, of having your pretty fingers deep inside his-

“oh,” you gasp, feigning surprise, “your cock is so hard, daddy. do you like this?”

he nods desperately, fisting the sheets even tighter. “i do, mommy, i do. please, do something, please,” he begs.

you’re not gonna finger him. not tonight, at least.

“you look so hot like this, daddy,” you comment, pupils full blown at the sight of your boyfriend being so vulnerable, letting you see him like this.

“yeah? thank you, baby,” he lets out a surprised gasp when you spank him.

“it’s mommy tonight.”

“sorry. m-mommy,” he corrects himself, “thank you mommy.”

“mhhh look at this pretty hole, daddy…” you hum, then smirk when chan whimpers, “maybe one day i’ll touch you there if you want, yeah?”

at this point, chan is a mess - cock continuously throbbing, brain short-circuiting as he discovers a new side of himself. “y-yeah,” he gasps, feeling close.

“yeah? you’d want that?” you ask, and chuckle when he nods desperately. “you’ll let mommy touch this pretty hole of yours?” he whines when you spread his cheeks once again, not touching him there, just looking. “you’ll let me breach this tight hole with my fingers?” his cock throbs once more and he involuntary thrusts his hips, brushing your thighs with his leaking cockhead. “you’ll let me run my tongue along your pretty hole, daddy, won’t you?”

chan comes unexpectedly, with a gasp - his whole body trembling and clenching as he finishes on your thighs and his stomach, making a mess.

“m-mommy…”

you smile, running your fingers through his dark hair as he pants, heart hammering in his chest. it’s beating so fast you can hear it.

“you’ve been so good…” you praise him, and he takes your hand in his, bringing it to his lips to place a soft, chaste kiss on it. “you’ve been so good to me, daddy.”

[astralnymphh]

hopping on this train about the whole smut is overdone and sexualization of ellie thing since i'm bored ! i agree with the whole thing about certain scenes centered around struggle and sorrow being sexualized, and the watering down of her character— it definitely happens quite often, and whenever i do see those scenes where ellie is at her lowest i have a sense of like "my poor baby noo" so i can see that. think ive only used that image of her torn up back for reference once, but that was it. sometimes i do think her personality gets very misrepresented, but tbh i don't mind a purely cocky or purely loser ellie when it's done in balance. feel like when you write one, you get called out for not putting the other into play. unless im hallucinating. idk.

on the other hand, the debate about smut and the need for more angst, fluff, and plot— i'm a tinge in the gray area abt this. if you've seen any of my works (oneshots or series) especially copy that romeo, you know i'm a plot warrior 😭 unreleased knight!ellie is literally my most yappalicious fic (in the shakespearian way). yet most of my works feature smut, cause i'm either horny or feelin romantical, but also it's entertaining to write. tickles my pickle, mayhaps 🔥. but like, realistically? from the bottom of my heart? bottom of my booty? plot is hellacious to delve into. making stories from scratch or even sewing up a new path within the realm of a different video game— can be grueling. so, i can see why people don't jump into it as much. i encourage people to try, definitely, even a modicum of plot can really put the ommphh in your fic IF you are searching for it. but I'll be so so honest sometimes fleshing out stories makes me want to BOIL and get straight to the romance dialogue or whatever. so when i say i can see both sides— i do because writing smut woven by a majority of dialogue can be funner and simpler. like a little treat.

a lot of people debating this state these as opinions, and claim nobody is targeted in the process, but with the passion i'm seeing being bootyfucked into long long paragraphs, i just think that some names have to blossom to mind?? like almost indirectly, yknow? or maybe i'm just paranoid. i love love LOVE all the people debating this don't take this wrongly, TRUST i love some of ur accounts, especially those who like to analyze ellie's charecter I LOVE IT (i already forgot the name of the person who kind of sparked this whole thing but ily) but yeah. i just feel even opinions could be taken to heart by those who want to write, or write smut, and feel guilty for it. maybe that's how my brain works but. putting it out there ig.

anyways ELLIE WILLIAMS BREEDING KINK fic is in the works and that definitely has plot (kms) so buckle in for that ride!!!! 🔥🔥🔥💯💯💯

DAILY CLICK . IMPORTANT TLOU POST . PALESTINE INFO

[thedovesaredying]

Monsters in the Dark | Nikto x Reader | Cowboy AU

Prologue

Introduction to my fic set within the cowboy AU created by @ghouljams for our dear boy Nikto. This is just a quick starter piece to set the scene for the fic so to say. Also decided to include Sputnik since I don't see many fics including the precious baby!

A/N: Obligatory note that I do not condone the owning of dangerous or wild exotic animals as pets regardless of a country or state's laws. Exotic animals require a large amount of knowledge in their husbandry and specific requirements to ensure the highest standard of welfare is maintained. They should never be treated like domestic animals, they do not make good pets.

Warnings: Discussion of Serious Injury, Limb Amputation.

Masterlist: CoD Masterlist

Next Part

Nikto had been waiting for death to greet him throughout the entirety of his career. It was simply an inevitable fact of life both in the military and working as a mercenary for hire. People died constantly at his sides, and it quickly became a question of “when” and not “if” the final string would be cut and his body would fail him for the last time. 

There were days when he almost wished for the reaper to claim whatever remained of his empty heart. Torture was tolerable, an old friend at this point, but the months and years of recovery afterwards were what really felt like suffering.  

Alive, and yet completely useless. A fractured mind trapped within an equally ruined body.  

The only thing he could look forward to was getting back to work once his body was finally strong enough to pass medical approval. Tedious as the waiting game could be, he wasn’t stupid enough to push himself beyond his limits like some honour-hungry rookie. No, he waited and saved his strength for when it would one day be needed, for the days when nothing but sheer willpower can save his pitiful soul.  

And yet despite his many brushes with death, he had still yet to be taken by it, even when by all rights he should have been. Death yet remained a stranger.  

But why? Was his mind too corrupt and darkened for even the devil to want to touch? He had never believed in any God, but surely there was one looking down on him and mocking his pathetic existence. How else could he have survived an injury that should have killed him?  

He could remember little of the mission, only the sounds of people shouting orders, the potent scent of smoke and chemicals in the air, and pain. Certainly not the worst pain he’d experienced in his life, a blade to the gut still had the honour of that, but close to it. He was fortunate that the concussion he’d received had left him drifting in and out of unconsciousness for most of the trip back to base.  

His arm was fucked. According to the doctor and the reports from various other operators present on the mission, his elbow was bent in a way it definitely shouldn’t have been, and there was enough shrapnel in the remaining flesh that he might as well have lopped the whole thing off entirely.  

Which is exactly what the doctors ended up doing.  

It was their last resort, but with the complete lack of feeling in the limb coupled with an infection that just couldn’t be stamped out no matter how many antibiotics they pumped into his IV, it was necessary. They tried as hard as possible to save it, but necrosis had set in, and the safest course of action was to remove all damaged and dead tissue.  

He still wasn’t sure what would have been worse, being taken out by sepsis, or dealing with his current existence.  

And what a miserable existence it is.  

KorTac wanted to keep him on – surely, they couldn’t just let a wild beast like him roam free without a firm hand on his leash – but there was very little they could offer for him. Stay with the PMC and become a glorified guard dog? Train bratty little recruits? Sit behind a desk pushing papers nine to five? No, that would destroy what little grasp he still had on his sanity.  

That was how he ended up standing on the rundown porch of a house that could be described in a single word as dilapidated. It was cheap but came with enough land for him to not need to worry about nosy neighbours. He’s so far lacked the motivation to do anything to try and restore the building, but it has four walls and a roof, which is more than can be said for some of the “safe” houses he’s utilised over the years.  

He’d been lucky to discover the place at all with how small the town is. A passing comment from a fellow soldier about the region had caught his attention and, considering the impossibility of returning to Russia, he’d decided to look into it. America was a massive continent, and in the US he wouldn’t be questioned for owning weapons. Even better? This particular state allowed him to continue to keep Sputnik without suspicion.  

The old man who had been selling the house had been sympathetic after he’d played the whole “injured veteran” card and had even offered him a reduced price for the property. It still sickens him to think about how weak he must have looked in that moment, but needs must, and what he needed was a place to call home, even if only for a little while.  

One terrible accident and he’s reduced to begging for help like a stray dog wanting scraps.  

His irritation has the hand of his prosthetic curling gently into the fur of Sputnik’s pelt. All it can do is open and close around things to allow him some form of grip, but it works, and he supposes that’s all that matters. His girl doesn’t seem to care that it’s not a flesh and blood hand petting her, leaning into him regardless.  

She’s the centre of his current predicament and the reason he’s been forced to reach out for help. No amount of puppy dog eyes and wide grins sent his way are enough to save her from a trip to the vet. Or rather, a visit from one.  

He waits patiently as a large car rolls down the gravel road that leads to the small house from the property’s front gate. Sputnik whines as it draws closer, before beginning to laugh with nervous excitement. The moment the vehicle pulls to a stop she moves to investigate, but is quickly stopped with a barked, “МЕСТО!” command from Nikto.  

Sputnik huffs, unimpressed with not being allowed to greet their visitor, but settles for sitting at the top of the stairs while her master approaches.  

In all honesty, Nikto had been expecting a grizzled old man or woman with decades of experience under the belt when the receptionist had promised to send someone with knowledge of exotics. What he wasn’t expecting was... you.  

[justarandompersononthehellsite]

So... @muffinlance wrote a really awesome story. I read a post from a point in time, though I truly do not remember when since it seems like I've been working on this project forever, saying that she gives blanket permission for people to print and bind the story into a book (I think there was an also addendum saying that they do not give permission to be sold, since selling fic is illegal). This fic has had total control over my whole brain since it was sent to me (@creatorofthemind I believe it was you, so thank you forever for tuning me into it) back during the days of like chapter six or seven.

So here I am now, sharing this amazing journey of my first ever bookbinding adventure. Further reading below.

So to give you an idea of what's going on, this is a fanfiction about Zuko (Avatar the Last Airbender) (animated show version, the LA show did not exist yet and we do not speak of the movie) being adopted by Hakoda, Father of Katara and Zuko. (This might have also been what kicked off the Give Zuko A Parent craze, but don't fact check me.)

Overall, the characters from the show stick very well to the cannon versions, but where MuffinLance really shines is in the rich backstories and fleshed out feeling of all the non cannon elements. Especially the background characters. I would argue that the writing in this peice of fanwork could easily rival the cannon show at many points of comparison.

Now that you have context, we can get into the actual process.

To start, I used this guide to figure out where to even begin, and fount the included resource list to also be quite helpful. I cannot for the LIFE OF ME figure out where I found the template I used for the front matter and such, but it must be somewhere and I will link to it when I inevitably come across it again.

Then I began to typeset. This step took... a long time. I worked in chunks from about September of 2022 to late March of 2024. I would get a big section done, sometimes even the entire thing, but then find I hated the way I had done it and give up for months at a time. Such is the life of ADHD and flitting interest in projects I suppose.

And then finally, step one was done, and I was left with pages on a word document that look like this. (And do please let me know if you want the link to the document. It was so much work, and I would love to not be the only one to use it.)

Next step was printing out this beast. Ended up being about eight pages of front matter, and about 630 pages of body text.

That I printed wrong.

Twice.

Before finally getting it right. And then not getting a picture of it, because I finished at 4 am and had work at 7, and am also an idiot.

Then I simply stitched along, putting everything together into a beautiful text block.

And came up with a design for the cover.

Yes the glue did end up lumpy. Ignore it.

Yes I did have to sketch out the design onto a scraped page several times before I figured out what I was doing. Ignore that too.

The cover design does wrap around the entire cover. No I did not get a picture before I glued the thing down. See again: I'm an idiot. And just... massively impatient.

Finally, we get to the stage of gluing. Behold, my bookpress.

Of course, topped with Madam MuffinLances own actual professional-people book, Fox's Tounge and Kirin's Bone. It is Excelent. Here is the LINK so you can go and support this amazing author with the real-monies as well as the internet-kudos.

Then, once everything is glued together, one must give the book its "gilt" edges.

[beiasluv]

Hiii! Love your writing! I was wondering if you can write a cute avatar fic with the reader is human and lo’ak or netayam falling in love with reader and always checking on her like checking if her mask is on properly and stuff. Thank youuuu 🥰🥰🥰

lo’ak x human!reader

a/n: YES PLEASE, I WANNA WRITE FOR LO’AK / enjoy 🤍

masterlist

being one of those babies who got left on pandora has its pro’s and con’s

pro’s, you get to spend time on this excellent planet, instead of the crusty dusty earth.

con’s, it gets quite lonely.

you imagine it couldn’t get worst; until your human friend, spider, wandered out of the lab for the first time. not being of the age yet, you were basically left behind by him.

for the first few times, you felt isolated and lonely in the lab. you started to recognize how weird the lab actually is, how quiet it gets during the day and night, how the pandora plants glowed in the dark, and different tools wiring around the lab

spider, being a good friend he is, never visited the lab, unless he is terribly hungry. which, he crammed a lot of stuff into his mouth, and without a glance, he’s off into the forest.

well, you always like to babble to grace since you were a baby. now, she’s your only candle burning. it felt weird at first, but who is there to actually care? none, you can talk none sense all day long.

grace twitches sometimes to your blabbing but non other than that. crazy as it might sound, it gave you a little hope that she was listing to your heart and soul.

until one day, spider brought some visitors.

he introduced you to kiri and lo’ak. your breath was taken away by the resemblance of kiri to grace, it was like eywa responded to your prayer for a friend. kiri connected to you immediately like you’ve known each other for so long. well, she’s glad that at least there is another girl alive.

the other visitor gave you a lingered look on your small frame and your face

you didn’t say anything but a lump in your throat started to form. had to excuse yourself out of the room to catch some breath, but faith isn’t quite on your side, or is it?

“hey, i saw you back there, are you okay?” he crouched down held your shoulder questioning.

“i- i am fine, thank you.”

“by the way, i’m lo’ak, nice to meet you,” he held out his blue giant hand.

“i’m y/n,” you reached out for his hand, which it engulfed your tiny hand in it, spreading the coldness against your skin.

lo’ak was definitely screaming internally how small your hand was compared to his. on that moment, unknowingly, he made a vow to protect you and swear with his life on it.

“your face is getting hot, are you okay?” you cubbed his reddened face in your tiny hands.

flustered lo’ak entered the chat

now, that was about 5 years ago. lo’ak was still a baby (even though he was bigger than you, but anyways) you guys were still 13 years old. until these past few years, puberty hit him like a BUS

he had grown taller, obviously, and more muscly. his chubby face grew some sharp angles, contrasting to his soft pouty lips

your frame had changed as well. you’ve grew more comfortable in your own flesh and body, which lo’ak definitely noticed.

he just loves how tiny you are (compared to him) and how easily he can crush your bone in his hand. hell yeah, he can even lift you off the ground with one hand. it made him even more determined to protect you from everything this planet had to offer

you guys didn’t grew only physically, but also emotionally. your souls bonded and fitted together perfectly like a piece that was missing from each other.

one day, lo’ak decided to took an action and asked you to be his partner, and he did it the sweetest way possible.

that whole day, i can guarantee that you guys barely had a moment where you skins are not touching each other. he lovesss staying close to you, especially that special day.

when you agreed to finally leave the lab, he was so thrilled. to the point that he never leave your side like you are a baby 🥺

“got your mask?” he caressed your face.

“yep.”

“oxy- oxygen tank?”

“yep.”

“good girl,” 😳 he petted your hair. “let’s go,” without a second word you are hurled up against his back.

always carrying you arounddddd. when you say you can walk yourself he would be like: “noooo, sweetheart, you will hurt your feet, let me carry you.”

if you say he’ll get tired he’ll say that he’ll never get tired of you, plus you fitted perfectly in his embrace. AHEM, just another excuse to hold you close.

of course, he loves to change up the position around. his favorite is bridal style, cuz who doesn’t love seeing your face every time he looks down. plus, he can feel your hands around his neck and your breath against his chest.

your favorite have to be piggy back, ALL THE WAY. you love holding your body against his back. plus, teasing him by kissing his neck is so funny. he’ll tremble in your touch and his purrs will slip out 😳

if you are flying together, he will be super extra EXTRA careful for you, like wrapping an arm around your waist smth like that 😩

will and definitely have a safe word with you. if he gets too extreme sometimes, you’ll have to pull him back (you dirty minded, guys, i was talking about like jumping off a clif or smth 😳)

but you rarely have to use the safe word because he is super caring for youu

he knows how your much your human body can take and will be super acknowledging towards that. if you are tired, he will immediately drop everything and hold you close so you can have a nappy time 🥺

made it as his habit to always carry around an extra mask, in case sometime goes wrong

buttt his favorite of all time would be touching your skin and hands

it brings comfort to him when he knows that he isn’t the only one with five fingers in the family. well, yes, his dad might have them, but he never really acknowledged the judgment from others. people respected him, lo’ak just wanted a simpler life like his dad’s.

your babyboy is sad, so you will do something. every night, he will be showered with comforting and reassuring words. holding his hand and emphasizing on his pinkie, you will kiss them one by one. intertwining them as if you will never take them off.

“see, we have the same pinkie, and these fingers are special. you are special to me, lo’ak.”

we all know that in that moment he wanted to crush you in his arm and inject you into his vein. he loves you so much but it pains him for not being able to hold your face.

so, obviously, his favorite place to spend time with you is at the lab. BECAUSE he can caress your face and every inch of you without the problem of the mask.

he loves tracing down from your eyebrows, feeling the tickling sensation against his fingertips, your nose, how they are more curved out from your face than his, and your mouth, touching your juicy lips as he resist the urge to plant a kiss on them

going down your chin, neck, and everything AAAAA

you LOVE touching his nose, how cute it is and how it twitches to every little sensitive things. your honorable mention is his tail, how it brushes and wraps against your skin.

BUTT YOU LOVE EVERY PART OF HIM PERIODT

he will DROOL if he sees you wearing them na’vi clothes. he loves how it accentuated your body and every part of you.

obviously, because it was more revealing to him and he is OBSESSED. gets protective when other people look at you tho >: “you are only my sight to see, only for me”

obsessed with your hairrr

whether it is straight, curly, wavy, long, or short he will find a way to style it according to na’vi’s culture.

will beg kiri to braid your hair and compliment you every 10 seconds

OVERALL = PROTECTIVE LO’AK BBG FOR YOU 10000/10

today’s a great day to take a break 🤍 emotionally and physically, you deserve it <3

@rosaryos / @bumblinbumblvee / @nyotamalfoy / @fangirl-2610 / @astablacksword / @lokisblueskin

[yeyinde]

circle the drain | Captain John Price x F!Reader

》 WARNINGS: SMUT 18+ — P-in-V sex; unsafe sex; gendered female reader, female gendered anatomy; implied power imbalance; no substance only smut SUMMARY: Somehow, you know his hands are the only things capable of keeping you whole. 》 WORD COUNT: 7,6k 》 NOTES: This was supposed to be a valentine's day gift, but it's super late on account of me being ridiculously sick. I'm also becoming the Patron Saint of "soon-ish" but this is the sequel to Caught p., i. Yeah. That fic that's been requested a bunch lmao. ANYWAY. It's FINALLY here. This was written in a day and edited under a feverish delirium in what feels like four months but was actually less than 10 minutes.

His hands are firebrands, fingers the lit end of a cigar. When he touches your skin, you hear the sizzle of your flesh burning away, and the pop of it cauterising under his blistering heat. He seals a little part of himself in the wounds he wrought: buries them deep in your dermis until they leak into your bloodstream. 

There is no victory in this. 

And yet—

"Fuck me, captain—"

—you just can't help yourself sometimes. 

His eyes flash. "I didn't tell you to stop."

》 Caught p., i

MASTERLIST | JOHN PRICE MASTERLIST | AO3

It's the firm press of his front against your back that starts it all. 

His hands, rough, firm. Scorching. They drop to your shoulders, one palm sliding down your bicep, fingers curling over the soft skin in the crux of your elbow. 

You try not to tremble when his broad back presses flush to your spine. When he ducks his head down, bending a little at the waist to reach you—Price is a mountain, a tower—and you feel the coarse hairs along his jaw, chin, scratch against the soft curve of your neck, the back of your ears, your cheek. 

"Steady."

Your teeth snap tight together when you feel the rumble through his ribcage before he even opens his mouth to utter the words. The rasping little groan—mmh—he makes rolls over your spine, the back of your ribs. It rattles through your bones, clotting in the fibrils of your tissue. 

The fluttering wings of a hummingbird beat in the cavity of your chest when he speaks. 

"One…two notches higher." 

You scent burning sycamore when he breathes out, the rasp of his breath brushing your shoulder. Heat bleeds into your spine when he sidles close to you, hands firm on your body as he strings you into the position he deems best. 

You wonder, then, how those broad hands would move you around in a different context. How the unyielding press of his chest would feel naked against your back—

"—y'right?" 

Squeaking out a clipped affirmative is all you can do amid the roiling currents that batter through your chest—a dizzying concoction of want, need, for the man pressed against your spine. 

He rumbles again, his pitch a guttural whisper that seems so opposed to his very essence—Týr in flesh and bone; a behemoth on the battlefield yelling himself hoarse—and the slow, smoky roll, the muted murmur, makes your toes curl. Fingers itch. 

"Yeah?" He presses, unwilling—or unable—to let go until he's satisfied, until the worry in his chest over his men, over you, is abated. Shifted to some other place where it can't distract him. He leans in closer, and you find notes of Tobacco and malt nestled amongst the cindered Sycamore. Psalm ashes tickling your nose. 

"Yes—," it's barely more than a breath. A ghost of something you can't place. 

When it comes to Price, you never sound like yourself. Breathless, breathy. Voice a whisper amid the rumbling clatter of a rockslide careening down a mountain. His very presence seems to syphon the air from your lungs until you're gasping. 

It feels like you've run a marathon—throat throbbing like an open wound; infected and raw. The taste of heme wells on your tongue. Your lungs burn. Ink blots clot over your vision. 

"I'm—yeah, I'm good, cap." You say, and try not to focus on how his proximity makes you dizzy. Desperate. 

He feels good against you, and you can feel the smoulder of his body even through the thick layers of his tac-vest, his military-issued jacket, and his long-sleeved shirt. The heat is dizzying. Liquifying your sense of propriety, decorum; it leaks over your threadbare resolve—that brassbound lockbox where you keep all of your hidden secrets tucked inside a place no one, nothing, can touch it. 

It's absolute hot—one decillion, four hundred and twenty nonillion degrees celsius—and, well—

Who can withstand the hottest possible temperature matter can reach?

The box isn't just burnt or turned to ash—but erased. Swallowed whole by the flames that spark so hot, they don't even leave behind a scorch mark but burn the platform it laid on, too.

It frees everything you struggled to keep bound within you when he steps back, when there's more distance between his thundering heart and your liquified spine than ever before. A chasm. 

Your chest is a hollow crevasse, an inexistent hole, and when he steps back, you feel threads of absolute zero snake over the scorched flesh. 

You hear the sharp inhale through tobacco-stained teeth when you add sir, and wonder if he feels the same chill clot inside his marrow that you do. 

When you swallow, his eyes drop, flashing to the smooth column of your throat. Liquid puddles in those sapphire pools—cenotes framed in burnt umber—and the burn of his eclipsing pupils makes you feel like you're choking.

Price clears his throat, his eyes skirting away from you in a mockery of something disquieted, demure. The loss of his eyes on you makes something sour twist in your guts. 

You want it back, you think, and know, then, that it's far too late. That whatever tenuous hold you had over yourself had been carbonised and charred to cinders when he touched you with his molten hands, melting that gossamer of resolve you clung. 

And—

Fuck. 

His eyes are fixed somewhere on your forehead—either unwilling or unable to look you bare in the eye, and you worry for a moment that he knows. That he can see the want in your gaze, the heavy weight of sin that rolls over your shoulders until they quiver. The want in your hands makes your fingers tremble.

But it dissipates when he offers a facsimile of a smile. 

"Good work," he says, the words sticking to the nicotine in his throat, and you wonder if you could become addicted to smoke just from the fumes he exudes. 

(You feel the itch in your veins for the smooth draw of smoke into your burning lungs when he moves away from you.)

Fuck—you think, eyes fixed on his broad back, his taped waist, heavy shoulders—indeed. 

You've never smoked a cigar before, and somehow you find yourself feening for a hit, for the smooth curl of tobacco smoke in your throat, sticking to your teeth. 

Your eyes are drawn to the flash of orange in a perfect ring of controlled fire, to the stem of dark brown clenched between an even thicker thumb and forefinger; the lips pursed around the butt, the beard peppered with ash. 

The craving hits you harder than ever when you look at him: the complete picture of your leader, captain, hunched over a bed of papers and files. 

It's when the ashlar blue of his gaze flickers up, catching the end of something Soap says, that you know, without any sense of uncertainty, that all the cigars locked inside his case wouldn't be enough to quench the hunger in your chest. Rapacious. Greedy.

(Greedy hands, they'd say when you took too much.

Your joints burn with the urge to cling, to hold.)

Price looks up, catching your wanting gaze. He holds it for a moment, just long enough for you to forget how to breathe, how to function. Something shudders over the thin veil of indifference he wears, sealed over his face like a scab. It splits, peels back until the oozing wound below is once again exposed to the open air. 

Raw, pulsating. 

You wonder what would happen to your mortal body if you syphoned the ichor of Tyr, let it pool on your earthly tongue. 

Your mouth is dry. Lips chapped and numbed. Your tongue lashes out, wetting them. A distraction—an unconscious action. You've studied enough to know that chewing on your lips, nails, the inside of your cheeks until the skin splits and bleeds is a self-soothing mechanism to abate the flood of anxiety that rips through you. Still. You do it, anyway. 

It's a trick of the light, you think, when his eyes dim, lowering down to your blood red mouth, narrowing at the tease of your tongue flicking across your trembling bottom lip. 

A manifestation, a delusion.

When you want something so badly, your mind is startlingly, debilitatingly, adept at playing pretend. 

Your gaze drops to your unfinished plate, and you struggle to pretend you're not losing your mind to the whims of your desire because for a moment there—a brief, almost imperceptible second—it almost felt like he wanted you, too. 

You bum a cigarette from Soap, and try not to think about that cold, windy night in Cairo when Price dropped his cigars to save you. 

The barking laugh that hacked from his soot-stained lungs when you found a pack of Cleopatra Lights in the warehouse you were hiding in. 

"Ain't the same, love." He huffed, white teeth flashing in the blue-green light of the Azbakiyyah quarter spilling in through the smeared windows. "No substitute for the real thing." 

You take a drag, and sputter over the side of the balcony, gasping and coughing through the thick musk of tobacco that chokes your lungs. 

It does nothing to abate the hunger inside of you. 

With tar-stained lungs, and nicotine glueing to your aching throat, you think: no, not the same at all. 

(Once you get a taste of the perfect vice, love, no imitation can compare. Keep the cigs. They'll only make me anxious if I start smokin' 'im now.)

The itch in your joints becomes too much. 

You slide your fingers over your flesh, and wish it was him—

Your head lifts, glancing once more at the entranceway to the changing room. 

Liquid sapphires. Brow drawn tight. 

Your heart stutters. "C—captain, I—"

His eyes flash. "I didn't tell you to stop."

It's curt. Direct. Blunt. Everything he is—all narrowed down into this claustrophobic space that fogs with steam; the walls bleeding with condensation. It's sticky, balmy. Feverish heat that prickles hot and cold against your skin. 

He says: I didn't tell you to stop. 

And you say: I didn't tell you to watch. 

An impasse. Stalemate. No victor, no loser. 

(Except you. Always, always you.)

This promises nothing but your ruin should you let your arms drop from the tight clench around your bare breasts, nipples hardened, prickled and sensitive from when your delicate, small fingers rubbed at them and dreamed about his mouth. 

An invitation. 

One you can't bring yourself to open. The envelope is ripped, torn. But the card is folded neatly on the table in front of you. 

(Take a peek, it beckons when he shifts, the unmistakable outline of his thick, hard cock bulging through the fabric of his trousers. Just a little look. A little taste.)

But it won't be, will it? Just a little. Laughable. Don't be stupid. 

You never learned how to say no to yourself, how to hold back. 

(Your moon is fixed in Cancer.)

You give, give, give—and, in equal, if not a little more, measure: take, take, take. 

Want, want, want.

You think of his heat searing your back, liquifying your spine, turning your calcified bones to polymer, and know, deep down within your aching marrow, that what you crave is blue. 

You can't let yourself want this—want him. 

It's dangerous. Wrong. It's a gaping maw of hurt and agony just waiting to sink its teeth into your fleshy body, to tear you apart; ripping you limb from limb until you're a pulpy mess of tendon and crushed bones, barely human, but alive. Stuck in anguish. 

He's heartbreak in smoke, in Maduro brown with a golden logo on the stem. 

—means dark. Ripe. Used to only be made from the highest leaves, 'cause they spend the most time on the plant. 

Dark. Ripe. Price. 

Dangerous. Addictive. Inescapable. 

His eyes—l'heure bleue—gaze at you through the dense fog. Waiting. Waiting. It's in your hands, now. The option to march forward and commence, to push yourself into his palm, in the worn hands that touched brushed the small of your back one day, and ignited a fire in your veins. 

Or to retreat. 

To walk back, to end this. To call it. Mentor, mentee. Captain. Disciple. Distance will split between you, stifling like the air that clogs the tiled, tacky room. Heavy, oppressive, and—

Inescapable. 

Fuck. 

You either take, take, and then deal with the aftermath of a bloody battle that will leave false starts on your bones, cutting deep to bleed marrow into your bloodstream, or you—

Forfeit. 

There is no future in this. No grand declaration of romance or togetherness. It's the artificial merging of bodies in an offering to Hēdonē; an evanescent dance. It leaks heartache in the seams, and carries the tang of disillusionment should you dip your fingers in glacial blue. It'll stain you. His fingertips are drenched in agony—molten red, a hot poker—and will brand your flesh, scar your body with the perfect imprint of his touch. Of him. 

It'll rear, in those soft, lonely moments when your thoughts are too loud and the room is too quiet, and the phantom press of his skin will become a burden. 

Yearning. 

You hate how it tastes oh so familiar. 

Perpetual. Never-ending. Stasis.

You look at him and see blue: blue eyes, blue blood, blue heart, blues. 

(Ache.)

But if you don't: 

Stagnancy. 

(Is it so different from stasis, really?)

It's nautical twilight somewhere, surely. The centre of the sun is six degrees below the horizon. You have six more degrees to go before it ends. 

Six. 

And then—

(It's not a jump, but a leap.)

Your fingers dig into the skin of your forearm. Piercing. Painful. The bite leaves crescents behind. Blue moons. You pry them apart, and—

Drop. 

Into the sea. Into blue. 

He says your name when you bare yourself to him again, consenting to this—whatever it is—and giving yourself over like an offering to some whimsical god of lust and poor choices. 

The rasp of it makes your spine prickle—a low simmering heat sparks in your belly: satiated by your own fingers but never satisfied. Him standing before you, eager and wanting, strokes the flames until they burn in a frenzy of wildfire; consuming everything in its wake until you're raw, charred husk on the verge of collapsing. 

A fragile supernova. 

Your core is molten; liquid heat—absolute hot—and when he moves, you feel the foundations wobble, and start to fall apart at the seams. 

(Somehow, you know his hands are the only things capable of keeping you whole.)

Price, still dressed in his sweatpants—tented with the obvious outline of his turgid arousal—and tight t-shirt crosses the threshold in seven easy steps. The soft squelch of his feet against wet tile echo in the room, somehow louder than your gasping breaths. 

He doesn't walk to you, he stalks. His gait is measured, purposeful; each step brings him inches closer to your trembling, bare form, and the heaviness of his lidded gaze, liquid blue in a chamber of pearlescent white, cudgels into your ribcage, breaking your resolve apart as it pries the protective ivory wrapped around your delicate, fragile heart apart. 

"Price—"

The grey of his pants is splattered with the inkblot stain of the water sprinkling from the looming showerhead. The darkening patches draw your eye to the jut of his hips, wide and expansive, and then further down to the damp outline of his thick, heavy cock still housed in a cotton polymer. 

There's a fever in your veins—a sickness echoed in the folds of ever blue that pierce through the smog clouding around you. A blunt weight, a burning heat. 

His shirt moulds to the contours of his chest when he finally, finally, stands in front of you. The burnt umber of his chest hair bled through the logo of his faded, worn tee. Liverpool Football Club in bright red against stark white. It glues to his pecs, his biceps.

Your mouth waters at the sight. 

"You want this?" 

His hands lift, biceps bulging, flexing under the tight cotton when he presses them against the slick, humid tile. His hair clings to his forehead, dark and wet. Droplets bead in his beard. 

He presses forward, eyes brimming with want; a palpable sense of desperation that shouldn't frisson over his rigid lines. 

Price won't repeat his words—not when his voice is thicker than tar, and stripped bare—and you arch against the cool porcelain pressing into your back, the duality of his unrelenting heat, and the chill of ceramic making every synapse in your head misfire. 

Trembling, shaking, and desperately trying to hold on to some sense of cognisance amid this turbulent reality, you force a nod. A jerk of your chin.

He breathes through his nose, the breath wisping over the bridge of your nose. Frustration, you think, and—

Impatience. Uncertainty. 

"Do you—"

Your facsimile of consent isn't enough for him. He's not a man known to repeat himself, and this—the words that are ripped from the smouldering depths of his chest should be a warning, if not a bare-faced testament to just how much he wants this—makes your heart flutter. A thrumming beat that seems to echo in the scant space between your bodies, the crevasse pitched at an intentional distance by his stalwart sense of control, propriety. 

He won't touch you unless he's absolutely sure you want this, him—

Frustrating. 

Verbalising your assent, your eagerness, makes something churn inside of you. As if uttering the words aloud will somehow break the spell you cast over him by your pithy voice ringing his name in the shades of your pleasure, the sight of your delicate fingers threading between your swollen, drenched folds. 

You want him—haven't wanted anything nearly as much in your life than to feel his damp, naked chest flush against yours, his hips prying your thighs apart, his massive hands grasping your flesh like each pound was owed to him, and he was collecting his dues. 

But—

That leap, the precipice you balance yourself on, is daunting. A touch won't be enough. A taste would just be a tease. A morsel. 

You don't want a crumb—you want it all. 

"Price," you whine instead, biting back the words he wants to hear. "Just—give it to me—"

It makes him groan. His head tips forward, eyes burning pits of sapphire-stained coal. 

"Need to hear you say it."

It borders that illicit equinox of being both too much and not enough: that dangerous precipice where you either climb to higher, deadlier altitudes or fall down to certain death. 

You wonder if there is a win somewhere in that. A choice when you come out unscathed, whole. 

Price leans in, hair wet, matted to his forehead, beard slick with droplets of water that bead against the auburn, and immediately you think: no. 

There is no victory in this. 

And yet—

"Fuck me, captain—"

—you just can't help yourself sometimes. 

. . .

His hands are firebrands, fingers the lit end of a cigar. When he touches your skin, you hear the sizzle of your flesh burning away, and the pop of it cauterising under his blistering heat. He seals a little part of himself in the wounds he wrought: buries them deep in your dermis until they leak into your bloodstream. 

It's wicked. Intense. 

The clothes he wore were shed from his body like a second skin under your quiet, hungry acquiescence. They sit in a sopping pile that keeps drawing your eye.

He's naked—just like you—but there is something marginally more intimate, vulnerable, in seeing your stolid leader in such a state of disarray. His hair is clumped from the humidity and moisture—matted on the top, but moussed on his side when he stepped away from you, and peeled the drenched shirt from his body. It sticks up in pieces near his ears, and your fingers ache with a longing to smooth them down. 

Make him presentable, somehow. 

Or maybe it's a distraction. A way to skirt around the tangibility of him standing before you, touchable and real, and—

And wanting. 

The same shades of your desire are echoed in the rucked crevasses of cenote blue when he gazes down at you, head bowed, and catching the spray like your own personal protector. The water hits the nape of his neck, and glides down his broad shoulders, his chest. 

You want to sink your teeth into the puddles caught by the jut of his clavicles. Want to taste the briny water running in rivulets across his skin. 

Want, you think, and want, want, want—

Price's hand knots in the fine hair at curve of your neck, a perfect fistful in the thick of his palm, and he uses it as an anchoring point, a steer, to bend your chin in whichever way suits him best to slant his rapacious mouth over yours, and devour. 

His kisses are blistering—contained: controlled, powerful, and measured; and desperate: soft gasps, gentle hums, and needy noises spill from the parted seam of his teeth, muffled by his nicotine-soaked tongue that dips in each crevasse it can find. 

It's addicting—just like you knew he would be. 

His touch is better than anything your nimble fingers could ever conceive; broad strokes of his rough hands run down the inches of skin available to him. Calloused thumbs catch the mooned curve of your nipple, grazing the soft tissue until your mouth drops in a gasp of his name. He rolls the blunt pad of his finger over them until they tingle from his touch, until each brush sends a shock of pleasure to your core. 

Price's hand slides down, fingers ghosting over the wet skin of your side, your hip, your thigh. Each whisper of a touch drags out a whimper from your throat. It's too much. Your skin prickles with goosebumps in his wake, and leaves you feeling feverish and chilled at the same time. A war, then, starts as your body tries to oscillate between stemming the ache inside of you, the emptiness in your cunt, and the delicious drag of his flesh over yours. A droplet of intimacy and tenderness in a sea that collects the ashes of Gomorrah when it rains. 

It is a shade softer than what you've come to expect from your captain, and far more delicate than you deserve. 

The unexpected tenderness of this moment is a stab to your chest. Blunt, brutal—it's a sharp juxtaposition to the ginger way he touches you; the soft reverence in his gaze when he looks down at you. 

Just sex, you think. Lust, want. Greed, hunger. 

It isn't supposed to mean anything outside of unexpected happenstance; the melding of two willing bodies in a sign of ritualistic devotion to Hēdonē. 

And yet—

You want. Full stop. 

Everything. All of what he has to offer, and more, because you're never satisfied with just one. Never content until you've consumed, devoured, everything. Every iota of whatever it is that ensnared your attention. 

And it's terrifying. 

It's not a jump, but a leap. A careening descent down an embankment that has no ledges for you to sink your fingers in, and cling to. It's a treacherous fall to the bottom. 

And still. Still. You won't regret the plunge. The drop. 

How can you when you know what his skin feels like under your palm—warmer, softer, than you could have ever imagined. What he smells like when he leans in close, head dropping to suckle on your pulse point—vetiver and smoke; thick and musky—and the scent of his damp hair, cigar and malt, that darkens when it's wet, and curls slightly at the ends. 

He's hairier than you'd imagined he would be—a thick bed of black curls on his chest that taper off into a line down his stomach, his navel, before thickening around his pelvis. A bed of curls, untrimmed and wry, that frame the jut of his thick, uncut cock. It curves a little to the left, and what he lacks in length—though you'd hardly call nearly six inches lacking—he makes up for in sheer girth. He's fatter than anything you'd ever felt in the palm of your hand, than you'd ever taken before. Your mouth waters at the sight, and you wonder if his cock would taste the same as the skin of his neck, his red nipples that peak through the coarse curls. 

Wonder, then, if you'd even be able to take him all the way down to the base or if he'd stuff you full, and make your jaws ache just around the head of his fat cock. 

When you gasp it out—wanna choke on your cock—Price shudders. The hitch in his breath, humid on your neck where he buried his face, nipping the skin around your jugular, is punched out of his chest, and accompanies a low snarling noise that sounds more animalistic than it does human. 

"Fuckin' hell, love," he heaves through clenched teeth. His gaze flickers up, staring at you through the dusting of brown lashes cut over blue ashlar. His mouth is red from the trail of peppered bites, nips, he laved against your wet sternum. It's sin, you think, when he shivers. When his nostrils flare. "You can't just say shite like that—"

"Played with your pretty little cunt earlier, thinkin' of me, mmhm? Made yourself cum, didn't you?" Price stands to his full height, head bowing over yours. His hand wraps around the thick of his cock, eyes cresting in pleasure at the touch. There is a moment, then, when his gaze flickers to you, catching the burning anticipation that greets him like a kiss. "Gonna fuck you now, yeah?"

The look on his face, the hunger lingering in the cut of cerulean that gleams through the thin mist that clouds around you, is magnetic. Captivating. You can't tear your gaze away from the almost primal way he stares down at you. Wanting. Needy. 

You taste heme in the back of your throat, and feel something knot inside your chest—something animalistic, possessive—when his eyes drop like an anchor to the smooth curve of your throat when you swallow the ichor down. 

There's is the faintest flash of teeth from beneath his wet beard. A gnarled grimace. A botched grin. He bares the whites of his canines and moves closer to you. The blunt press of his throbbing cock steals the last vestiges of air from your quivering lungs. 

"Teasin' me, eh?" He rasps, eyes dropping further to catch the sight of him dragging the silky head over your wet flesh until it's notched at the apex of your sex, kissing the divot above your aching clit. 

With your lungs collapsing, you can't find the words to refute him, and settle instead for a meek nod. 

"Use your words, love." It's a snarl punched through the clench of his teeth. "I want to hear you, yeah?"

"Yes," you gasp, back arching, aching for him. "Yes, captain—"

His broad shoulders tremble, lashes fluttering when the head of cock meets your cunt. The slide of him, iron-hard and velvet soft, has you mewling out some broken whisper of his name. Price responds with a groan. A wet, rasping noise spills out from his heaving chest. 

"Fuck—," the curse is sawed out from between clenched teeth, the brush of his cock parting your slick folds, pressing taut to your leaking hole, has something wanting and possessive simmering in those cerulean pools. A gnarled hunger. 

It makes you wonder, then, how often he'd leaned back against the same tile, his hand wrapped around himself just like this, and whispered your name into the steam. 

"Look so pretty like this," he rumbles, fingers leaving indents in the thick of your thigh when he grasps you tighter. "All desperate for my fuckin' cock. Want it, don't you?"

The whimpered yes is ripped from your throat and shredded between the small gap of your jaws before his words take any tangible shape in your mind. 

Your captain asks you a question—want my cock, don't you? So fuckin' desperate for it, ain't you?—and you respond immediately. No questions asked. 

Pavlov's dog, you think, mouth watering when his cock slips against your cunt. 

Price stops with just the head of his cock kissing your entrance, movements halting abruptly. 

The protesting whine is cut off when he leans down, lips slanting over yours in a soft kiss, a brush. His beard scraps over the sensitive skin of your cheeks and chin, but the wet drag of his coarse hair feels good. 

"Price—"

"Are you ready for me?"

No. It's immediate. Quick and decisive. A firm, assured thing that echoes in the scant spaces of your ribs. 

You should say no. No, because then you'll want more. No, because once will not be enough to satiate the hunger inside of your chest. The growing chasm that growls out its need with each soft utterance of your name, each touch of his hand. 

You're greedy. 

You don't, though. 

The hunger is stifled under the waves of desire that roll through you when his cock notches against your clit. 

Instead, you nod. Whispering, I want it. 

His gaze is blistering when he levels it on you. Gyre blue; arsenic white. His mouth knots into an even line, thick with anticipation. Determination. He echoes your nod once, and then presses his forehead against yours, holding it there. 

His eyes bore into you when he steadies his hand on your thigh, trapped in his firm hold, and pushes himself against you once more. 

"Breathe for me," he rasps, the word a low command, and then he rocks forward. 

His cock stretches you with each inch that slides into your cunt. It's a white-hot heat that licks up your spine—the edges of too much and not enough, and how could there possibly be another inch when he's already so fucking deep?

The doesn't stop until his hips are flesh with yours, filling you to the brim. When his cock presses against the plug of your womb, you expect him to stop. He's bottomed out, filling you so deeply that you can almost taste his bitter tang on your tongue, but he doesn't. He doesn't.

His cock notches into your womb: a pulsing grind into the very end of you. The slide of it makes you hiss, makes your nails rake over his flesh, leaving rivers of red when you claw at him, struggling to keep yourself from being swallowed by the waves of pleasure, pain, that roll over you. 

He pauses his slow rolls for a moment, just long enough to catch your lips in a searing kiss, and lift his hand up, pressing his palm flat against the wet tile. Distracting you, maybe, from the drag of his cock pulling out of your pulsing, gripping him tight as if to keep him locked inside of you forever. With his mouth on yours, fingers threading through the wet, clumped locks of his hair, you barely have time to brace yourself when he plants his feet on the floor, and rocks into you. 

The air is forced from your lungs with the even cant of his hips, the slide of his cock back into you. It burrows deep, hitting something behind your naval that makes you keen, head reeling from the phosphenes that blink, coruscating in front of your eyes. An illicit lure in bioluminescence.

The blunt, bludgeoning thrust rattles through you, hard enough to make your bones tremble, and your head spin—dizzy and heavy with the blow of his hips fucking into the tight clench of you around him. 

His hand drops from the wall, falling to your thigh.

He doesn't give you a moment to ready yourself before slips his fingers around your flesh, and hefts you up. Your back slides against the slick wall, thighs pushed tight around his marrow waist, held tight in the grip of his hands. 

"C–captain—!"

Price shushes you with a searing kiss full of teeth, tongue. It tastes of charcoal and Sycamore bark when his tongue rolls over yours; a heady, smoky tang that makes you dizzy off the pure nicotine nestled between his teeth. 

Comfortably situated in his grasp, legs wrapped around his waist, he starts a new rhythm. The stretch of his cock sawing into your pussy stings, edging sharply against your mettle as he fills you deeper, wrenching you open wider, than you'd ever experienced before. 

But it's a good pain. 

The kind you don't think you could ever live without now that you had a taste. No substitute for the real thing. 

It's a scorching heat that ebbs, notching higher and higher as Price holds you tighter against the slick wall, fucking into you like a man starved. 

His pace is hard, fast. Unrelenting. 

Pleasure blooms inside of you and feels like a bruise when it brims in your nerves. Sparks of pain, ones that edge into that dangerous precipice of feeling somehow good despite the ache, weave together with the bliss. A quit of too much knotted into an overwhelming sense of euphoria. 

Maybe it's the taste of success, of victory, when Price drops his head to your temple, mouthing across your damp skin. His tongue is scorching when it laves over your flesh, chasing the droplets that leak from your hairline to your cheekbone. 

The graze of his beard running over your skin feels like everything you wanted, and more.

Your fingers curl over his broad shoulders, holding him close to your trembling chest. He's an anchor, a beacon—a buoy in the middle of the ocean. You can't help yourself from thinking six degrees when his chin lifts, and his mouth swallows the gospel of his name as it's choked out between your bruised lips. 

The noises he makes, deep, rasping growls of your name; grunts of pleasure; hisses when you clench tight around the thick of him, desperate to keep him locked inside of you, are better than any fantasy you could have conjured up. The weight of his body on yours, the tight grasp of his hands, the rasp of his tongue, the whisper of your name—it piles and piles; the heavy weight falling on you like an anvil. 

Velvet softness, and heat. Each drag of him over your sensitive walls makes you keen, toes curling, back arching in pleasure.

You're already sensitive from earlier, from when you played with yourself thinking of him, and the fullness, the slight sting of taking him into you, make a knot form behind your navel. A spooling thread of bliss pulling taut with each deep plunge of him seating deep behind your belly button. 

"Touch yourself," he demands, words rucked through the clench of his teeth, bared in pleasure as he syphons bliss from your willing body. "C'mon, love—want you cum around my cock. Wanna feel you—"

You had expected blunt brutality—it had circled your fantasies the moment you pressed your back against the tile, and slipped your fingers through your folds. It's a staple of him, you think; who he is. Ferocity in flesh and bone. He'd touch you with the same rough hands, and regard you with rougher words. 

"Mm, spread your legs for me, dove."  

"You want it bad, don't you?"  

Words reeking of the same smoke on his breath. Heavy commands fell from his blistering lips. It brought you to the brink, to the ledge of that white-hot pleasure until the thought of his hands branding your skin shoved you over. 

Hearing it uttered aloud now nearly has you weeping. Frenzied with desire, and that unignorable sense of victory when he leans down, hands roughly hiking your thighs higher up his waist as he fucks into the molten centre of you. Accomplishment when your skin smarts long after his hand drifts away, knowing there will be a mark left behind—blood pooling under your bruised flesh when he gripped too hard. 

It's enough to make you delirious. 

"Come on," he husks, pressing the flat of his teeth against the underside of your jaw. "You made your pretty cunt cum on those fingers earlier, mmh? Do it again. Make yourself cum around my cock. You wanted this, didn't you? Moaned my fuckin' name with your fingers buried inside your sweet pussy. Well, now you have it, love. So, fuckin' cum—"

His words make you moan loud, your belly quivering at the heat in his voice when hisses the command into your skin. 

Your hand slips from the vice grip around his shoulders, dropping to the apex of your spread thigh. Your cunt is burning to the touch, and hotter than the steam billowing around you like a thick cloud. Condensed sin. The lips of your pussy are slick, and swollen from the brutal way he fucks into you. The tips of your fingers ghost over the chafed, raw skin of your pussy, feeling the thick slide of his wet cock, sticky and drenched in the mess of your arousal, as it pounds into you. 

Everything feels somehow heightened, real, when you feel the stretch of your flesh around the molten heat of him. 

It makes you moan—a noise you'd never heard yourself make before: low, needy. A desperate whine, broken at the first vowel of his name. Jo—John—!

"That's it, love," he gasps, low and desperate, lashes tickling the skin of your jaw. "Cum for me—uhhh, fuck—gonna—gonna fuckin' cum—"

Your fingers pass over your throbbing clit, circling in tandem with each blunt piston of his cock kissing the seal of your womb. Oversensitive from your earliest orgasm, it doesn't take much for you to march toward that precipice once more, dusting over your nerves where it stings like a bruise, and rips through you like a gale. 

The building crescendo of your pleasure ends when Price snaps his hips against yours, hitting deep, and finding a spot inside of you that seems to be a direct link to Nirvana, to bliss. He throws you over the ledge until you're once again falling down with nothing but him (him, him, always him) on your mind, and his name slipping off your tongue. 

"C–captain—!"

Your cunt throbs around him, fluttering like the rapid pulse beating against the thin skin he nips with his teeth. It floods your veins with liquid bliss, and the euphoric haze that congeals in your head, a mushy slurry of chemicals and victory, is soporific, heavy. It falls on you like an anvil, an anchor around your neck, and you cling to him, murmuring his name into his crown as his thrusts grow sloppy, clumsy. 

Price lifts his head, hands holding you tight to him as he fucks the tight clench of your cunt. His lips slant against yours in a messy, wet kiss, broken by gasps of your name spilling from his mouth. His tongue lashes across your teeth, rhythm stuttering into a desperate series of thrusts. 

He groans in your ear, a hushed noise cudgelled in the background of everything else—the slap of his balls slapping against your sopping cunt as he plunges into you, pushing in as deep as he can go, and then deeper still, the heavy pants that tumble from your lips. 

"Yeah, fuck, love—," another brutal snap has your mind whiting out in pleasure. "Jus' like that. Takin' it so good. So fuckin' good, ain't you?" 

He batters against the seal of your womb like he was trying to bludgeon his way inside. 

"Fuck—gonna cum—gonna—"

You spasm around him, tied tight at the base of his cock like a pretty little knot, a bow, and he groans low and dazed when he pulses deep inside of you, filling you up with his cum. 

"Fuck—!"

He snarls your name, mouth sliding across your skin; wet and messy. His hands are hot on your skin, heavy and branding as he clings to you, riding out the last smouldering vestiges of his release that paints insides pearlescent with the stain of him. 

Branded, you think, inside and out. 

Your lips sting when he rubs the coarse hair of his chin over them, mouth trailing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses up the bridge of your nose. 

He comes to himself in increments, and you catalogue each notch as they unfold before you. Heaving gasps against your neck; messy, wet kisses; murmurs of devotion into your hairline, your temple (fuck, love, fuck, feels so good, so good, good for me, perfect little thing, aren't you? So fuckin' perfect, can't get enough of your little cunt around me, gonna taste you after, gonna bury my face between these pretty thighs and make you ride my face, kitten, gonna make you cum on my tongue—); and finally, finally—his head lifts. 

The sight of him, cheeks stained roseate from the heat of the still running shower, from the exertion of spreading you open, and fucking you against the wall—

It's breathtaking. 

His eyes are dark, cindered ash and crushed basalt around the edge of a liquid blue cenote. A lunar mare—Oceanus Procellarum dusted with fine azure. 

Thunderclouds of blue. 

Something intense brims in the arsenic gyre when he stares down at you, lidded eyes heavy with the weight of his lingering pleasure; subdued and far more docile than you'd ever imagined he was capable of. 

He blinks slowly and languidly; liquid strokes of a pale curtain suffering over the glacial canyons cut into ashlar—the motion is almost hypnotic when the thinning fog from the cooling shower sweeps across the scant space between your bodies. A veil of diaphanous white. 

The haze makes him seem almost ethereal. Incorporeal. It almost feels like a dream—a manifestation of your wants taking shape in your subconsciousness. An illicit tease from the depths of your endless desire. 

But the thud of his heart under your palm, the feeling of his cooling flesh glued to your skin like gauze, and harsh breaths ghosting across your flesh are too good to ever be a dream. 

You're not imaginative enough to conjure the phantom feeling of his softening cock seated deep within your aching, tender cunt. 

Or the sting of your flesh. 

Your body feels like one massive contusion. The throbbing sting of strummed rubber bands snapping across the places he touched, gripped tight between his fingers. 

It feels like the aftermath of a battle, and the comparison makes your mouth split, unfurling into a satisfied grin as the quiver in your muscles begins to remind you of that time you sprinted through the bustling streets of Cairo together. The heat blooming in your chest, your core, as hot as the sun that scorched your exposed skin. 

The burn in your thighs is the same throbbing pain you felt when you slid on loose sand, and skinned your bare knees on the cobblestone of a hidden alleyway, tucked behind an alcove. 

Price is a firm mountain holding you steady—just like then, when he picked you up off the ground despite your protests (just a scratch, cap, I can walk—), and carried you through the maze of winding tunnels on the outskirts of the city centre. Solid. Stalwart. Your dependable leader. 

You've looked at him the same way for the last four years. Respect, want. Admiration, desire. Greed. You crave him in ways that always, always, felt unattainable. One-sided. 

Silly. 

And that was it, you think, staring into the naked blue of his eyes. Bare. Raw. Vulnerable. 

You've been so busy running from your own feelings, your own ways, convinced without any proof that they were one-sided. A one-way path without any parallels, any concurrents. All this time, with your head buried in your chest to avoid getting caught staring at him so wantingly, you've missed the look in his eye, bent by refraction—your own avoidance. 

The way Price looks at you is rapacious—a twin flame to your own covetous desires. 

There's something so unfathomably fragile about how he stares at you, now. Head bowed, catching the brunt of the chilled spray as it rains down on him, shielding you from the cold. He keeps you warm, and tucked safely in the fold of his arms. Unwilling, you think, to let go just yet. To slip back into the same impasse as before. The same forced stalemate forged by hesitation. 

It drags something out of your chest—a laugh, maybe: broken and frayed at the edges, a vocal fry of derision, and disbelief. 

His chin lifts at the sound, brow furrowing together in a knot of confusion between his nautical blue eyes. Six degrees. You feel every notch when he slowly lowers the two of you to the ground, falling in a clumsy heap to his knees, and still buried within you. 

"What?" 

The word is drenched in the thick tang of the bloom of his dormant hesitation shucking the tendrils of sleep away as the spell around you splinters at the broken laughter that tumbled from your lips. It makes you coo—a soft, soothing noise to placate the dent between his brow, and the knot of his mouth souring into an even line. 

"Just thinking," you hum, legs tightening around his waist, knees now hiked up the sides of his ribcage. 

He hisses teeth gritted teeth when you wriggle on his lap. "About what?"

Your palm sides down his slick chest until the thud of his heart sits in the cup of your hand. "About this."

Your words draw a low hum from his throat, and you feel it reverberate through your joints. "That so?"

That cold night in Cairo rears again. No substitute for the real thing. 

The thing is: with your head buried in the proverbial sand, you missed the way his eyes never wavered from your face when he said it. How the corners tightened with something that felt like irritation, but now feels like restraint. 

Why you had to hunt for Cleopatra's, anyway. 

(—losin' some bloody cigars' is hardly the same as losin' you, love. Don't you ever do that to me—to us—again—)

In some ways, you think you lost the battle—many of them, in fact—but when he winds his arms around your waist, keeping locked in his embrace, you know you somehow won the war. The unwinnable victory thudding steadily against the palm of your hand. 

You glue your forehead to his, and murmur: "been waiting a long time for this." 

"Well," he rasps, voice ghosting over the shell of your ear. "Hell of a way to get my attention." 

[stillbeatingheart]

thought about burning the past

Also on Ao3

Harringroveson AU: Billy is a cat, Eddie is a bat, and Steve is just trying to keep everyone alive now that they're back to being that way.

Fic under the cut (I don't see any warnings that would apply, but this would be established poly relationship, post Upside Down)

A big orange cat paw stretches out and pins the chirping bat to the carpet.  

“Knock it off,” Steve warns as he kicks off his shoes.  When he walked up to the door it had sounded like a herd of buffalo in here.  He’s been amazed more than once at how much noise these idiots can make, even in forms that should be quiet and agile.  

The bat squeaks and the cat reaches out with his right paw to whack the bat before he releases him.  The orange cat sprawls out on his belly in the strip of sun on the floor, licking his paw and running it across his head before laying both paws out in front of him, kneading the carpet and kicking out his back legs.

“Are you proud of yourself?” Steve wonders towards the cat.  The cat flips his tail in response, rests his chin on his paws and closes his big blue eyes.

“Of course you are,” he mutters and he stoops down to offer the bat his open palm.  The bat looks disgruntled but unwounded as he hops up into Steve’s hand. “Don’t act innocent in all this either,” he warns the bat, “I know you most likely started it.”

The bat squeaks in response, shakes like he’s flicking the dirt of the afternoon off his coat, and then tucks his wings in close to his body.  

“You won’t dignify that with a response, then?” Steve sighs, brings his hand up to his shoulder to let the bat climb on.  

“I’m out there all day earning money to pay the bills, working my fingers to the bone, and here you two are just playing a game of tag.  It’s like you don’t even care if you ever go back to your human form.” 

The bat squeaks, nudges against the side of Steve’s throat with his face.  The cat opens one eye, his ear twitches and then he closes it.  

“What if I kicked you out?  Would that change your drive to figure this shit out?”

Eddie squeaks again, Billy flops over to his side and flips his tail.

“I suppose no one cooked dinner either,” Steve says as he makes his way towards the kitchen. “What’ll it be tonight? Insect soup with a mouse chaser?”

Eddie makes a coughing noise right next to Steve’s ear and Steve snorts.  He reaches for a can of soup and dumps it into a pot, firing up the stove, he crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the counter.  Eddie’s body weight is shifting from foot to foot on Steve’s shoulder and he knows he wants to tell him something but they’ve yet to figure out a way to communicate.  

Sure, this whole thing seems a little like Steve’s fault but he doesn’t regret it.  He’d been asking the world in general for his boyfriends to return from the Upside Down and reiterating plenty of times in his most distressed states that he didn’t care how they came back or how they’d changed, just that they came back.  He tried witchcraft in his more desperate hour, and well, it worked he supposes because now they’re back.  And not really human.  It’s not like some Pet Cemetery thing or whatever, they aren’t zombie animals, they aren’t blood thirsty or taking any opportunity to bite Steve and eat his flesh.  They’re actually kind of really fucking adorable, but he’s not going to say that to either of them.  At least not yet, not until they figure out if his foray into spell casting fucked them over for life or if it’s something they can control and shift like a werewolf.  Fictionally speaking.  Steve’s never met a werewolf and used to doubt their existence but in the last couple years he’s decided to just never doubt anything.  If he never doubts anything then he can’t be surprised anymore.  

He hasn't told anyone about this just yet, it seems way too complicated to explain to anyone, including Robin.  Though he feels guilty every time he’s around her and his mind wanders back to home, back to wondering what Eddie and Billy are up to, if they’ve killed each other yet being cooped up inside all day without anyone else for entertainment around. Then again, they did just spend months in the Upside Down with nothing but each other, so they’re probably pretty used to it.  

He also knows the first thing anyone is going to ask is how exactly he knows it’s them.  It’s just some random cat and some random bat that have come into his home and he’s crazy enough to believe it’s Billy and Eddie, like the truth is he’s fallen into some kind of delusional state and he’s truly just building his life around a feline and a mammal.  He can’t really take the chance that he end up in a mental facility and Eddie is put down, Billy put in a shelter.  

Steve’s gaze flicks over to Billy, he’s flipped over to lie on his back.  Showing his belly.  Steve never had pets, so he did a little research at the library.  He knows they aren’t actually animals, so it’s not like he can follow pet owning as a golden rule, but he figures it doesn’t hurt to know about dietary restrictions and body language as much as he can.  So he knows that Billy showing his belly doesn’t mean he wants to be pet there, it just means he’s in a place where he feels safe and he trusts the people he’s around.  Yeah, there’s no way he can allow this cat to end up in a shelter.  Billy would end up getting put down after he bit every single hand that reached for him.

And Eddie, well, he’d either be set free to go live amongst his own.  Or they’d deem him incapable of survival in the wild after being domesticated.  Steve reaches a hand up, scratches Eddie’s tiny furry head.  Eddie leans into it and when Steve drops his hand to get the soup off the stove, he drops from his shoulder.  It’s not enough height for Eddie to actually fly, but he can use his wings to slow himself down and cushion his landing on the counter.  This was something that took some trial and error and a whole lot of Steve catching Eddie in his palm before he could hit the ground and hurt himself.  

Steve pours the warmed soup into a bowl, spoons some of the veggies and chicken out onto a plate.  He calls out towards the sleeping cat, “Billy, food’s ready.”

For Eddie, he cuts a few chunks off an apple and lays them out on the counter beside him.  He squeaks what sounds like thanks, so Steve responds, “You’re welcome.”

Billy’s ear twitched, so he knows the asshole heard him.  But he hasn’t bothered to get up yet. “Well, I’m not bringing it to you, so if you’re hungry eat before it gets cold.  Or eat it cold later, I don’t care.”

Billy stays still, like he hasn’t listened to a word.  Until Steve pulls the stool out at the counter and sits down to eat his own bowl of soup.  Then he’s getting up, stretching long, yawning and sauntering over to rub against Steve’s ankle.  He stands on his back legs, reaching up with his front paws to Steve’s knee.

“Yeah, except that I know you come up here all the time and lick the plates in the sink.  So…” Steve reaches down anyway.  If Billy is seeking touch, then he’s not going to deny him.  He just needs to make it clear that he’s onto him without so many words.  He lifts Billy from under his belly and sets him on his leg, pushes his little china plate over close to the edge so Billy can eat without getting up on the counter.  There's a bat already on the counter, so it’s not like Steve is trying to impress anyone, but it’s kinda nice to have Billy keeping his thigh warm under his fluffy vibrating weight.  

Steve talks them through his day, gives them any theories he has about how to get them back to their human states, while they eat.  Eddie is making it clear he’s listening by giving Steve eye contact and doing this cute little nod thing every so often, squeaking softly like a hum when there’s moments between Steve’s words.  Billy is not offering anything, he’s chowed down his soup and curled up on Steve’s lap.  His tail flipping in a steady rhythm against Steve’s hip the only thing proving he’s even awake anymore.   

When Eddie is done eating, he hops across the counter, climbs his way up Steve’s arm and settles in on his shoulder.  As much as he loves cuddle time, it’d be a lot easier if they’d wait until he was done eating and sitting on something more comfortable than a kitchen stool.  He tells them as much, Eddie nudges his neck and Billy flicks an ear.  Neither of them bother to get up.  

“Isn’t this what you two do all day already?” Steve wonders when he’s done eating and Billy is allowing a head scratching.  Billy sighs and Eddie chirps.  

“Alright,” Steve says after a few moments.  He lifts Billy off his lap and instead of being still and trusting Steve to deliver him to the couch, he jumps down, digging his back claws into Steve’s thigh on the way. It startles Eddie when Steve stiffens under the pinpricks of pain, he dives off Steve’s shoulder and hits the counter with a thump.  Billy hit the ground, went off like a shot and Steve is pretty sure he’s going to hide under the couch all evening.

“You alright?” He asks Eddie, laying his palm out for him to step into.  

Eddie does so, and eagerly accepts the lift to his perch.  The tips of his wings tickle against Steve’s neck when Eddie lays on his belly, using his wings to balance his weight.  

“If this lasts much longer, I’ll have to clue Robin in on it so she can help me mend my wardrobe appropriately.  Little pads on my shoulders for you.  A sling to carry Billy in.”

Eddie squeaks his approval as Steve starts working on the dishes.  

^~^

Steve is already in bed, with Eddie hanging off the curtain rod, by the time Billy makes his way back out from under the couch.  He’s silent on his way into the room, the dim light from the hall slanting across the floor when he pushed the door open.  Steve hears it when he jumps up to the foot of the bed, feels his weight on the mattress.  He’s careful when he puts one paw out to test the waters.  Laying it on Steve’s ankle like an apology for clawing him earlier.  

Steve pats his chest, the place that’s become Billy’s favorite place to spend the night.  Which is equal parts comforting and uncomfortable for Steve, but his warmth and purring outweigh the pressure of his body on Steve’s sternum.  Billy carefully walks the length of Steve’s leg like a balance beam, keeping his claws in and making every footfall light.  It’s impressive even with the careful stepping just how much weight is on each paw.  It’s not like cats are heavy, Billy is kind of a brick of a cat, but he’s still a cat.  

When he walks across Steve’s belly, Steve tightens his muscles to protect himself and to give Billy solid footing.  Also, he can just imagine Billy’s voice saying, “Getting a little soft in the middle Harrington,” if Steve didn’t pull his abs taut for his crossing.  

With all four paws on Steve’s chest, Billy headbutts Steve’s chin.

Steve lifts his hand and strokes Billy’s head, then follows the curve of his spine to his tail before he starts over at his head again.  Billy arches into it, purrs so loud it might as well be the only sound in the room.  It’s always been easier for Billy to offer affection in the cover of darkness, Steve’s not surprised it’d be any different in this form.  

It’s really not hard to fall asleep with Billy’s soft warmth under his hand and against his chin, with that weight on his chest chasing the nightmares away.  By morning Eddie has made himself comfortable tucked into the juncture of Steve’s shoulder and neck.  His tiny puffs of breath tickling Steve’s ear and the undeniable feeling of being stared at are the things that wake him.  Opening his eyes, he’s met with Billy’s big blue ones giving him the unblinking stare that only a creepy ass cat can dole out.  As soon as Steve blinks at him, he’s launching himself off the bed and scampering out the door like his mission has been accomplished just by startling someone out of a deep sleep with only his eyes.  

“Asshole,” Steve mutters, reaching out to slap his alarm before it can go off.  The motion wakes Eddie, who immediately clambers up into Steve’s hair. “Not the hair, man, c’mon,” he grumbles as he pulls himself to seated on the bed to scrub at his face, “Why do I even put up with this?  I gotta get you changed back before you both drive me insane.”

Chapter two

[sapphicantics]

Don’t Want Another Lover

Pairing: Janis Imi’ike x fem!reader

Summary: Janis ditches a blind date you’d spent helping her prepare for and you confront her at a party to find out why.

Contents: best friends to lovers trope, pining!Janis, talks of unrequited love, Janis is constantly talking about being alone,

Word count: 1.4K

Authors note: This was not supposed to be the next fic I posted but Towa put me in a chokehold with her song and I’ve spent all weekend working on this so here we are. Also imma say this now, I guarantee you guys are gonna get tired of me because the amount of fics running through my head inspired by this song is fucking ridiculous but we’ll see if I actually stick with them and they’ll come out. If you haven’t already, listen to the song down below.

— — — —

Janis Imi’ike can’t believe she let herself be talked into this again.

The this in question is yet another date her best friends somehow convinced her to go on with a girl they’re sure she’ll like because she needs to put herself out there if she ever wants to get a girlfriend. Janis had scoffed at this because Damian doesn’t even like girls so what would he know about getting a girlfriend.

Still, she agreed if only to get over this ridiculous crush she has.

Except getting over her crush is damn near impossible when said crush is also one of her best friends who originally started this whole ‘get Janis a girlfriend’ thing in the first place and is currently helping her get ready for date number whatever.

“Where are you guys going for your date again?”

Janis looks up from her sketchbook, watching you rummage around in her closet. You’re dressed in a white crop top and a pair of black cargo sweatpants that are hanging low on your hips, and Janis can’t stop her eyes from tracing over the skin on display.

“Janis?”

Janis wonders if your skin is as sensitive as it looks; if a single finger would have goosebumps raising on your flesh.

“Janis?”

Janis wonders how it would feel to press kisses along your skin; how many kisses it’d take to make you melt and turn you to putty in her hands.

“Janis!”

She jumps, her eyes shooting up to yours. “What? Sorry, I- I didn’t hear what you said.”

You chuckle, shaking your head in amusement. “I asked where you were going for your date.”

“Oh, uh,” Janis licks her lips in thought as she tries to remember exactly where she’s supposed to be meeting this date, Laura she thinks this one’s name is, and what they were supposed to be doing. “We’re going to an art museum.”

You nod and turn back to her closet, rummaging around for a few more moments before emerging with several items in hand. You toss them all on the bed and tug Janis up by her arm, and she has to bite back a groan as she prepares to be turned into a human mannequin.

If it was anyone else, she would’ve snatched her arm away already, but Janis has never been able to deny you anything, so she stands in place while you hold up different articles of clothing until you’ve seemingly decided on the perfect outfit for her; leaving the accessories and makeup to complete the look up to her.

She turns to you once she’s finished and her breath hitches as you reach up and adjust the necklaces around her neck, your fingers tracing lightly on her skin and it takes everything in Janis to fight back the sigh of content that so desperately wants to escape her lips.

She’s done such a good job hiding her feelings from you and she can’t reveal them now. She’s already had several close calls before and she can’t risk destroying her friendship with you over feelings you’ll never return.

No matter how much Janis wishes it was different, she knows the way you’re smoothing down her shirt and brushing off her shoulders is purely platonic.

“You look beautiful.”

Janis blinks her eyes open, unsure when exactly she closed them, and she gulps at the bright smile on your face.

You seem more excited about this date than her and you’re not even the one going on it. She wonders if you’d look that excited if you were going on this date, and her heart clenches in response because she knows you wouldn’t be going with her.

She pushes back how much that thought hurts and instead gives you a smile. “Thank you, it’s all thanks to you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jay, you’re always beautiful. The most beautiful girl in the world.”

Janis swears she’s going to fucking combust if another compliment falls from your mouth and she has to act like it doesn’t mean anything to her when it means absolutely everything to her.

She can practically hear Damian’s voice in her head calling her hopeless — which she is, but she doesn’t need his two cents even if he isn’t here to actually give it.

Thankfully (or maybe not depending on how she looks at it), she doesn’t have to dwell on that too much longer because it’s time for her to leave if she wants to make her date on time — which she totally didn’t forget about until just now — and while she’d much rather stay here with you, she’s not rude enough to bail 15 minutes before the initial meetup.

“Have fun, Jay,” you call. “I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

-

Admittedly, the date is nice and Janis does vibe with Laura, but she ends up cutting the date short because she keeps picturing you in Lauras’ place instead and that’s not fair to anyone.

She does not tell you that, of course.

She’s actually been avoiding telling you anything about the date which is only making you suspicious about all the things that could’ve happened and made Janis shut down on you like this.

It all comes to a head at a party which you convinced Janis ( and invited Damian because that man needs no convincing when it comes to parties ) to come to and got ample amounts of alcohol in your system.

You end up stealing Janis away from her corner where she’s spent majority of the time glaring at anyone who isn’t you or Damian attempting to talk to her and drag her into an empty room upstairs away from the party.

You’re not tipsy, but you’re also not drunk enough to where you can’t consent to anything or will forget about tonight.

Janis knows this as she’s gotten drunk with you multiple times and she knows you get bold when you’re like this, but she still doesn’t expect the words that come out of your mouth once the door closes behind you.

“Janis, what the fuck?”

Pure confusion laces her face, but you continue before she can say anything.

“I just ran into Laura and she told me you dipped out in the middle of the date.”

“Damian called me, said he was having an emergency.”

Janis can’t seem to deny you anything, but lying to you is apparently really easy. Of course, she’s lying to keep you in her life so that’s probably why it’s so easy.

“Bullshit, Imi’ike,” you scoff. “You’ve been crying about wanting a girlfriend, doing absolutely fuck all to get one, and then you keep accepting to go on these dates I’m setting up for you that are going absolutely no where, for what reason?”

Janis has the decency to look guilty, but in her defense she never asked you to do any of that. She was perfectly content to remain single and alone for the rest of her life while everyone else in her life got to fall in love and find their happy endings.

It fucking hurts that she won’t get hers.

And that combined with the alcohol in her system seems to be enough to make the truth finally come out.

“I don’t want a fucking girlfriend, I want you as my girlfriend!”

Silence falls between the two of you and Janis takes the time to process what she’s said.

Fuck.

Janis decides she fucking hates Tequila and is never going to drink again. It’s cost her a 6+ year friendship and Janis swears when she’s older she’s absolutely going to destroy Tequila manufacturers for this.

“Say it again.”

She can’t believe you’d actually be this cruel to her.

( Somewhere in the back of her head, Janis can hear a voice that is fed up with her shit calling her an idiot and a useless fucking lesbian.

It’s Damian again, she’s sure, and she wishes he’d stop popping up in her head at these times. )

“Janis, please say it again,” you whisper. “Say it again so I know it’s real and not in my head this time.”

It takes a moment for the words to register in Janis’ head and there’s a slither of hope in her heart as she stares at you. Slowly, she releases a breath and speaks. “I want you as my girlfriend.”

“Then kiss me and prove it.”

“Are you sure?”

You place your hands on her neck and her hands fall to your hips, pulling you flush against her. Your lips are inches from hers, breaths mingling together, and if she moves the slightest bit, she’ll kiss you.

“Positive.”

But that’s what you want.

And well, when has Janis ever been able to deny you anything?

[seongminiz]

okay… well i will dump some thoughts here but ofc as usual no pressure😓😓 and i hope u feel better soon<333

i was having a LOT of thoughts but i’ll try to keep this message more concise at least.

1. i love matthew’s voice, when he sings it kinda like cracks a little sometimes? like in a cute sexy way i feel like his moans/whines would be just… the sexiest ever omg i wanna hear him so bad

2. and then also just like, jiwoong edging you at the country club but sorry like not edging but like teasing you? idk just like keeping you guessing if he has any interest or taking it a step further and like getting progressively more touchy with you the more he loses control but never gives you want you want fully, will put his hand in the small of your back when he’s showing you something, leaning in towards your shoulder, close enough you can feel his breath on ur neck (he would smell like whatever the most expensive, masculine, yet subtle fragrance would be) and maybe even when you get more bold, you’d get him alone, in his office or smth sitting on his desk while he’s in his chair, leaning towards him so your breasts begin to spill from your active tank top a bit😣 squishing your thighs together while you ask him to leave early on friday to go hang with your friends, “please jiwoong?” and your pout is so irresistible but he knows as soon as he gives you what you want, you’ll become uninterested.. you’re so spoiled after all, he knows you want him only because you can’t/shouldn’t have him. maybe he’d slide his hand along your knee to the hem of your skirt and you’d shiver immediately because you swear this is the most he’s touched you. ever. and he’d experimentally lift the edge of your skirt to push his fingertips a little further, sinking them into your soft flesh only slightly, but he can’t go any further he knows he’ll lose control, he looks up at you, moving that hand on your thigh to your chin, lightly holding your jaw, tilting your flushed cheeks to meet his eyeline “hmm,” he’d hum and tilt his head, your lips parting, so flustered, praying he’ll lean in and kiss you, your eyes are fluttering closed, but he lets go and says “yeah, you’ve been a good girl lately, you can go, that’s fine” and would push his chair back, standing up, you’d be face to face with his abdomen, watching the way his tight white dress shirt pulls against his firm body, gulping audibly. “run along.” he tsks when you don’t move, so you jump off his desk and scamper away.

yeah. i did not keep that shit concise.

- 🧁 anon

omg this is so long .... /pos i'll try to write answer without frying my brain halfway through it 🙏🏻🙏🏻

1. yesssss omg matthew whiny moans :(( n ngl i just think he would be soooo vocal in bed i feel crazy

2. i.... i genuinely have no words to express how this made me feel . U R INSANE . n like atp thats a whole fic damn‼️

[somehow switched to semi-proper grammar/writing halfway through this oops so like ,, ofc not proof read who do u take me for warnings ? pool sex , semi-public sex , dry (wet ? they r in the water idfk) humping , unprotected sex :3 kinda switch/subby leaning!matt , finger sucking]

but yeah he'd be such a tease :( at the end of the day hes just giving back the same energy u always give him , but since u r sooo used to getting whatever/whoever u want with no effort it pisses u off sooo much .. which unfortunately also just makes u want him more ,, n get even worse with ur own teasing :3 wearing shorter skirts n more revealing clothes everyday until jiwoong has to avoid u or he'll get hard on the spot just by seeing u ....

+ to bring back lifeguard!matthew in this mattwoong sandwich summer special country club insanity , the more jiwoong avoids u the more it makes u want to act out , the riskier the places u have sex with matthew become . he doesn't even mind that ur using him, as i said in the other post , getting to fuck u before his boss gives him a massive ego boost .

n im just saying , he rlly cant be blamed when he steals the keys to the pool just so u two can sneak in after closing hours .

'just to swim without all the other people around' he says , helping you out of your clothes between one kiss and the other . you both try to be quiet , not knowing if or when a security guard might come by and catch you, but it's hard when basically everything makes you giggle like two teenagers on their first date - and honestly, matthew would like to think of this as almost a date .... bless his heart , he's convinced at some point you're going to catch feelings for him like he did for you :')

matthew gets in the water as silently as he can, and before you can figure out how to do the same - half sitting on the edge of the pool, half trying to slowly push yourself into it - he grabs your waist and lifts you almost effortlessly before lowering u into the water with him (all that free time spent at the gym rlly paid off , didn't it)

you don't have much time to react before matthew kisses you, caging you with his arms against the pool wall (? is that what its called hwlp i hate the english language) and it turns into a heated makeout session pretty quickly , with only the thin fabric of your swimsuits separating u two ,, he'd get so whiny and sensitive just by grinding against your clothed cunt to the point you have to pull down his swim trunks for him or he'll just cum without even getting to fuck you properly :') he's so needy , doesn't even bother taking off your swim bottoms n just pulls them to the side , moaning so loudly as he sinks into you that you both kind of panic thinking you're going to get caught . when you're sure the coast is clear , matthew starts fucking you and he just gets so whiny and can't keep quiet , he has to bury his face into ur neck n bite all over it n your shoulders just to stop himself for moaning out loud again ,, idk , shut him up with your fingers in his mouth , that might be more efficient (n will get him to cum quicker)

n if jiwoong happens to walk by for some reason and catch you ,, just put on a show for him , he might be a little more lenient with your punishment if u do :3

[eydi-andrius]

Break Your Pretty Things (Aegon II Targaryen x Reader)

WARNINGS: characters are aged up, toxic relationship, implied infidelity/cheating, implied character suicide and death, nsfw (18+), oral sex (f receiving), manipulative reader, obsessive!aegon, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

summary: The King's Landing mourned the death of its heir and Queen Helaena. Yet, King Aegon II was seen walking down the Street of Silk wearing his robe as he entered his mistress brothel house.

A/N: This fic is highly inspired by the song Tongues & Teeth by The Crane Wives. The song itself is a warning!! This has been on my drafts for a while now. I hope you all like it!

As always, I humbly request your support and reblogs because it will be easier for me to view it than checking your comments.

+++++++++

“I believe you have some places to be, your grace.” Annoying. That’s the first thing that came into your mind when you felt his hand tightened on your thighs.

The man in between your legs has been stubborn since you have met him but he has been worse the following moons.

He calls himself persistent but you thought of him as nothing but troublesome.

"You have been gone for two morrows. Go home, my king." You tried to close your legs, ready to stand up and walk away from whatever he was using to distract you with. However, you just heard his low hum and you shivered when his teeth playfully bit your sensitive flesh.

He is particularly good at pleasing a woman but no one knows about that except you. Your girls never liked him. They thought of him as cruel and too rough with them. He also spoke words with them which you disapproved of. But with you….he is like a puppy. He will wag his tail to get your approval and love. You used to bathe with his praises, compliments and attention. Yet, what he was doing lately had been rather suffocating and grating on your nerves.

"My love really says such ridiculous things when you're opened up to me so beautifully, so………wide.” Eyes blown with lust, he raised his head and looked into yours. The adoration in his eyes used to fill you with pride but now, it feels like a mistake. He grins, lips smiling smugly as it glistens with your essence.

He did not give you time to talk back when his mouth was back onto your slit again and you groaned. Both in seething anger and pleasure. You tried calling out his name but all his reply was to taste you with his tongue. He truly knew how to stop you from arguing with him further. It normally would work. But not now. Not today.

You tried calling forth his name again but he was unbothered. With a deep sigh, you run your hand through his soft silver locks, the way he loves it, and you pull it up firmly, forcing his head to look up at you. He groaned in satisfaction and even left a soft kiss on your pulse. Like a man drunk in ambrosia.

"You need to go home, Aegon." Voice graved and serious. You looked deeply in his eyes. "The Queen worries. Your mother is losing her mind looking for you everywhere."

His dreamy state had vanished and was placed with a deep frown.

"If you truly care about what my mother feels, you wouldn't agree to hide me." He accused you and with disgusts you pushed him away.

You did not go far when you felt his arms hugging your hips as he kneeled behind you. Begging you not to leave him.

It was all true. He made you weak. You shouldn't have felt empathy and accepted him into your arms that night when he came into your home, drenched from the rain and wide eyed, full of sorrow. You cannot erase that image of him. He was sober. Something you were not used to. If it was his usual drunk self, you would push him away and tell him to be with his family instead of seeking refuge from his mistress.

However, the moment he recognized you, he bawled his heart out. He did not explain why. He cried and cried. He did not let go of you the whole night. You heard him thrashed and cry from nightmares while he slept. It broke you.

It was so unlike the Aegon you knew. The king who inflicts the pain he was feeling unto others so he will forget his. It was such a dark and gloomy day that you did not think twice and agreed to house him until he feels better.

But a nation will not run without its king. And the thing that makes you lose your mind was the fact that he left without a knight or anyone knowing where he was.

By now, you've gotten intel that knights have searched your brothel. Hoping to find him. They will not find him there. You knew telling him your secret home was a choice you will always regret.

Rolling your eyes, you turned and looked down at his form. He looks pitiful. No, pathetic.

How can a king kneel to a whore? His mistress on top of that. The one who destroyed his family by accepting his advances without remorse on its future infliction.

"Let go of me. And do what a king must." You did your best to pull yourself away from him but he tightened his grip and mumbled apologies and regret for blaming you with his decision. Admitting all of this was his fault.

"Another day and I promise to go home." He insisted.

"No. You must go home today." You nodded at the direction of the door and guards swarmed up your way and pulled him forcefully to let go.

He screamed profanities and even tried to tackle and punch your guards but they were quick to apprehend him.

"I will make sure to burn all of you if you don't let me go! Do you even know who I am!? I am your k-" In anger, you were not able to stop yourself and you slap him. The sound echoed throughout the chamber. Even the guards stopped on their tracks, not knowing what they would do next.

He stared at you. Shocked, about what you did. You did not expect to hurt him nor to inflict him pain. Aside from your fear for your life, you just cannot hurt someone with your own hands. You bit your tongue and swallowed your regret.

"Let go of him and leave us be." Bowing, they immediately moved out of the room. Closing the door behind them with a loud bang. Even the guards knew that they must hurry. How can you be so careless.

"Have you truly gone insane? Do you know why I am forcing you to go home? Nobles throughout King's Landing knew you were missing. Revealing your identity. Threatening them with the power you planned to abandon…You are helpless, Aegon. They will not hesitate to kill you. Especially now, that your son and not just your Queen, died. Get yourself together and act like a king!" You are fuming in anger. You did not even breathe as you nagged him. You never planned to reveal what was happening outside. Afraid that he will force his welcome here for more days. However, he needs to open his eyes and know what is happening now. He cannot stay cooped when your business is also on the brink of losses from an incompetent ruler.

"I never wanted to be king."

"A lot would wish to be in your position." You countered.

"How about being my Queen? You deserve that power, don't you think?" He offered, eyes full of hope and all you could give him was a glare that stopped him from his tracks.

The silence was loud as he looked down at your feet. It was only your loud breathing, in anger, that could be heard. He has never been quiet like this before. Maybe he was contemplating. Thinking. You did not realize it but you found yourself praying to the new gods for a miracle. That this man, your king, finally went back home. And stop the madness.

"I am sorry, my love. I know I am stubborn. But please, let's dine together. One last time." His eyes were filled with unshed tears. He was barely looking at you as he fiddled with his fingers.

You stopped yourself from sighing. With gritted teeth, you yelled at your servant to serve some food. Without looking, you sat down on the chair at the nearby table, frowning outside your window. It was sunny. The bird chirps beautifully as they enjoy the warm breeze of the afternoon. The green leaves sways as the wind greets them with its cold air. You envy them and you wished that it was them in your situation. Oh how you envy them as they fly and sing their beautiful song without care.

He stood there for a moment before you saw him move. He sat beside you and stared. His hands creeped at your hand that you put at the table while the other you used to held your head. You frowned. He held it softly and carefully unclasped it with care and love. You did not realize that you fisted it too tightly. Your palm were red due to your nails. Once he was successful in removing your fingers from your tight hold, he moved it towards his lips to give it a kiss and you only rolled your eyes at the action.

"Why do you need to make things difficult for me?" You gritted and looked at him.

"I know and I regret every ounce of it, my love." You can't help but sigh and your eyes soften at him.

"I apologize for hurting you too. I didn't mean it." You moved the hand he was holding and decided to touch his face. He sighed with content when you finally touched his swollen cheek. You grimace at the feel of it. Hoping that it will not bruise. It seems like he noticed the look at your face and he gave a light chuckle.

"Well……I do know that your kiss will make it better." He smiled, slyly.

Laughing at him, you moved forward and he eagerly moved his cheek to touch your soft lips.

~~~~~~~

A woman such as yours must do everything to survive. And if laughing and feeding him with lies will make him satisfied, you'll do it.

The silver wares he used clattered as his hands let go of them and his face bowed, sleeping soundly. You were glad that your servant made sure that this sleeping medicine is potent enough to work this fast.

"Mistress, the one-eyed prince is here to see you." From outside the room, you heard your servant calling for you. You stood up and opened the door, just enough for you to pass.

"Where is he?" You asked, curiously. You thought that at least it would take him a day to answer your riddle but rumors do not give him enough credit for his intellect.

"In the sitting room, mistress." Your servant answered.

"Very well. Bring me to him." The servant bowed and you went after him.

The sitting room isn't as large as what you have in the city. It was small and cozy as you do not see yourself inviting many guests over your home. But despite its size, the room was situated near the garden. And so the smell of the flowers and bright sun shines the area beautifully. As if it was a gazebo in the middle of a maze. Like a hidden paradise.

The one-eyed prince was sitting at the far end of the room. His size was barely fitting in your small seat, catered to only houses your size. He looks huge and intimidating. His straight silver locks softly danced from the wind. He looks ethereal and you can't help but be awed by his lilac eye as it travels in your direction.

"Your grace." You courtesy at him and he only stared at you. Face withdrawn from any emotion. You looked at your servant and you ordered her to leave you be.

"I did not expect for you to solve my riddle so soon. But I was glad you came in here, right after he slept. I believed you came in here with no escort, yes?" With a soft smile, you sat in front of him, with grace, and carefully tucked your legs to your side. You might be a whore but you have followed a certain standard, especially to you, who owns a brothel.

His fingers tapped his leather pants and he sighed, as if exhausted. You can't help but raise your eyebrow at that.

"The Queen Regent was losing her mind for losing her only daughter and eldest grandson on the same day. Then her eldest son vanished, in the middle of the night, and she was expecting the worst to happen to him. But this awful king, was gone just because he chose to seek the bed of his mistress, in a place so secluded it's hard to find. Alone, with no knights or guards to protect him. Does he know no shame!?" He questioned, voice filled with venom. The small table even shook at the impact of his hand hitting it.

While Aemond, the one-eyed prince continued to slander his brother's name, losing his calm demeanor in anger, you drank your tea peacefully and let him be mad to his heart's content.

You understand to an extent. The whole realm was losing their heads, and here comes their king who was licking a whore's cunt and begging her not to leave him alone, without care for his people.

Some may call you a witch for bewitching him but a man as lonely as him doesn't even need a witch's power to charm. He seeks comfort and love, which you can give freely with a price he can easily pay. The only difference you offered was your sincerity and honesty. Treating him like a man seeking for a person that accepts him fully and not the king they forced him to be.

After sometime and once the prince calmed down, you gave him a smile and got back to your business.

"Did you bring what I asked you for?" You settle down your cup and look at him.

He breathed deeply before he produced a parchment. He gave it to you and opened its content.

With a contented hum, you nodded in approval

Finally, you're now holding the title of the land you asked him to get for you. It wasn't a large land nor something important, that's why you know acquiring it will not take too long. It was a small piece of a building you plan to build your new brothel. Another parchment showed the golds the Queen Regent paid for your services.

No, you did not betray Aegon until the very end but you know when to stop. Slowly he turns obsessive and you did not hesitate to ask the Alicient's help for it. Believing in her kindness, you know that she will help you get rid of his son. You told her about the hardship you have to endure as a girl, alone to fight against the cruel world and how you did not expect to catch the eye of the king. You lied about being happy with him and falling in love until he revealed he was the king. At first, you did not believe him but when he proved it, you were so scared for your life. You were just trying to earn an honest living and did not want to get tangled with the nobles. You told her half truths and lies to get her empathy and she did favor you more than her own son. The death of her family was an unforeseen tragedy but it did not stop you for what you had planned.

Once you acquire money and power through the king, you will move away and build another business that will be better and much more successful than you already have. You do not feel any remorse or regret because who would? This is your dream and you will get the power with your ability and beauty.

"I trust that this is all real, your grace?" Working at the slums, you know how to weed the liars and so you waited for his answer to confirm.

"Yes. And my mother even wished for your success. Tell me where my brother is before I kill him myself and forget that the Queen Regent is waiting for him." You bowed to his grace again and ordered your servant to navigate him to where Aegon was.

A smile graced upon your lips, as you looked outside, head held high, confident that all your plans will proceed as is. It all sounded ridiculous before but you're so close to achieving it now.

Luck is truly a gift to those who waited at the right place and time.

~~~~~~~

The carriage shookt as it ran on a pebble. In your trip towards the new city, riding a carriage for a week is required before you ride a boat and travel to your new home. It must be a lot to move this far but you won't risk letting Aegon find you too fast and destroy your plans for yourself. That man might be miserable but a man who is starving and was able to taste a bite of meat, will crave it until the very bone. And you know him more than anyone. If he could, he would find you and drag you back by his side.

It was all fun and games entangling with him until he asked if you wanted to be a Queen. The first time he mentioned the offer, you remembered laughing, but the looks he gave you still gives shivers down your spine. He was serious and you know he would give it to you if you ask for it. Since then, you asked Alicient's help and made sure to lessen your contact with him.

You avoid him like a plague if you can after that proposal but keep him close for the protection he was providing. You fear for yourself each time he repeats the same question, again and again. So to placate him, you told him that you will only accept being his Queen if the realm became so strong that no one will be able to destroy it. After that, he became quiet and he later dropped the subject, until the last time you saw him.

You breathed deeply and welcomed the fresh air. The sun was peeking through the leaves and you smiled at its beauty. You were admiring the beauty outside when the sky darkened for a moment. The loud swish of the wind shook the branches of the trees, forcing some leaves and small branches to fall down. You frowned at it and you looked around. The carriage behind you was still following you but the murmurs of the mercenaries you hired, unsettled you.

"What was that? Is there something wrong?" You eyed the mercenary on your side, when the horses suddenly neighed loudly and stopped abruptly. Due to the sudden motion, the carriage you were riding almost tipped over and you screamed in terror before your head hit the side and you felt dizzy. Your vision blackened and you closed your eyes to help your eyes to focus. You groaned when you felt something warm and sticky on your forehead. The pain was sudden when you accidentally touched your concussion and you inhaled sharply.

There was a roar and screams surrounded you. The carriage even shook at its intensity. You can hear clashes of iron and crackling of fire outside. It was loud and even though you're still dizzy, you forced yourself to move and open the door. It took you a while but when you were finally able to get closer to the door, the booming sound of terror stopped and only silence was apparent. You hesitated for a moment, hand stopped midair but the carriage door opened on its own.

The light from the blaze outside blinded you for a moment before your eyes focused on the man standing at the door. His lilac eyes are dead set on you who was kneeling at the floor. He wore his crown and he looks regal as black and gold adore him.

"This is what you get for leaving without notice." His voice was cold as he spoke to you. But you cannot focus as your head felt like it was beating and your hearing sounded like it was under water. You squint your eyes but your eyesight is still foggy from the impact.

You heard a loud tsked and you felt warm hands cupping your face. You winced as he moved your head to the side. Even with blurry vision, you saw him frown and he was tight lipped as he inspected your face.

"How could you do this to yourself? I was planning to just scare you but look at this concussion. I hope it doesn't scar. But having the scar on this will also remind you not to leave me alone with my twat of a brother who gave me such a hard time." He smells like ashes and fire. The smell you get accustomed to whenever he visits you, sober and fresh from flying around with his dragon.

"A-aegon?" You crooked.

"Yes, my love. Tis I, Aegon, the man you loved and betrayed. However, I forgive you. I knew your fears about being Queen but I didn't listen. I thought that was you being modest. You don't have to worry now. My mother and brother agreed that I can keep you after I begged them. I cannot lose you too." He answered as he picked you up like a bride and carefully walked away from the carriage.

"What do you mean?" You breathed deeply. Your nose caught the smell of burning flesh and strong smell of iron. You heaved and tried your best not to panic.

"You do not have to worry about titles or anything. My brother and I will seize the land you planned to move in. I plan to give it to you as a gift so you can become a noble lady and our marriage will not be bothered by the King's hand." He said so casually. As if, he did not just kill the people you were with.

"What have you've done?" Warm tears traveled down your cheeks and you can't stop when they pour out of your eyes.

Your plans, your dreams and your everything. You know all too well that it was perfect. So what happened. What changed? Did the tragedy of death to the family truly made them mad or was it your eagerness to run away from your fate that made it all crumble down.

"Oh shush….please I don't want to see you cry…. If it will make you feel better, your girls are all safe. Vhagar is guarding them." He smiled. So sickly, it hurts. He looks so happy. Content. Relieved. As if he did not kill men and burn them to death.

"I cannot wait to see you wear your crown and sit beside me by the throne. I love you so much." You choked on your own tears as you felt him placing you on his dragon's back.

The gods must be cruel to the likes of you.

~~~~~~~~~

King Aegon II was kneeling in front of his mother, begging not to take his mistress away from him. Even his mother never saw him this desperate before. He rebels by implicating pain to others but she never saw him kneel nor beg for someone.

He cried and told his family how he loves her. He did his best to follow what they ordered him to do and this was the only time he wanted to be selfish, for once.

Alicient was torn. She knew how important duty is but in Aegon's eyes, she saw something she didn't want. And she will not lose another child. She had always dreamt of marrying someone she loved no matter what his status would be and she knew he cannot deprive his son of what he wanted any longer. Especially after his strong display of affection to his mistress.

She sought Aemond that night and she talked to all of her children to come up with a plan. That night, they made sure that Aegon will get the love he deserves even if it means going to war. Even with disapproval, Aemond understood what her mother wanted and he followed her wishes.

Before the sun rises, Aegon and Aemond flew with their dragons to find his Queen and set to bring her home.

[rafesvoid]

Rain together

You never thought at 20 years old you’d still be on the outer banks living the life as a Pogue while serving to the kooks. You didn’t think you’d be a kook by now either. That being the last thing you wanted. All you craved was to be somewhere far far away from this Pogue vs Kook life.

But life was expensive. No matter what job you got it was never enough. And the high paying jobs were strictly ran by kooks and only for kooks. And even if a Pogue like you managed to land a job owned by some brooding kook you were underpaid and overworked.

This brain tangling dilemma lead you to choosing a job as a quaint restaurant. The pay wasn’t much but maybe in a few years you’ll book a one way ticket to where no Kook has been. The restaurant was often quiet. The music you’ve gotten to know by heart being louder than any conversation held.

People didn’t come there to socialize or have a nice dinner with their family. It was more of a 30 minute getaway before immersing yourself back into the Pogue life. Which is why everyone and their mother was shook when none other than the Cameron’s walked in.

It had been like any other day, long and uneventful yet giving you much time to be with your thoughts. The rain was pouring down hard. The sound of the droplets hitting everything in sight outside soothing you more than anything could.

Maybe 10 people occupied the restaurant besides you and your coworkers. Most just wanting a coffee while waiting for the rain to die down. But as you tried your best to remove a stain with a hot rag the bell of the restaurant went off alerting you of a new presence.

You heard a herd of feet walk near the cashier you before you locked eyes with the Ward himself. You almost wanted to pinch yourself to see if it was real. Most kooks would rather die than be seen on the cut unless it was for a party let alone eat in one of their restaurants.

But in the flesh was the whole Cameron family soaking wet and waiting for something to eat.

“I- What can I get for you guys tonight”

You meekly poured out with the tight lip smile. “Maybe a new set of clothes if you have the back there” the ward replied with a smile filled with none either than warmth

Now you never socialized with the Cameron’s yet you had your own assumptions on them. The ward being a kind person was not one of them.

“Well over there we have some heaters you can sit by and I’ll give you paper menus and once you’re ready you can come order”

Ward and rose thanked you while their 3 brooding childeren followed them. After a silent 15 minutes or so of every Pogue in the restaurant exchanging looks each Cameron came up one by one to order food. Rafe being the last

Rafe was a year older than you. You didn’t go to school with him and only saw him at parties snorting a line. It be a lie to say you didn’t think he had grown more attractive by the minute but it also be a lie to say he ever crossed your mind. Until tonight.

Rafe walked to the counter his head hung low obviously regretting his families decision to come into a Pogue ran restaurant than wait the storm out in the car. But as he reached you his scowl adorned face softened. The hue of his eyes lightened to the different color blues than the black he wore mere seconds ago

He paused eyes running across you for what felt like a century. Rafe didn’t know you. If he ever saw you before there’s a chance he’d mix you up with 50 other girls yet he stared at you like you were one in a billion.

“Can I get your number?”

———

Hi! This is my first Rafe fic so bear with me if it’s awful. I will get better I swear

Also I love rafe but he’s the only reason I watched obx so if something doesn’t make sense because it’s not accurate plz ignore it because in really just do not know lol