#and he likes rabbit trails anyway

[social-mockingbird]

It is late enough that I am willing to argue that when Oberon put the love potion on Titania’s eyes he turned her into a succubus no I will not explain myself

[t4tstarvingdog]

tim theres something so so special about seeing you gay yearn posting on the dash when i am gay yearning too but am too tired to post

true solidarity

i've got you <3

[6gumi]

oh my! what a naughty bunny!

synopsis﹒honkai star rail men n’ their bunny girlfriend !

pairings﹒boothill 、sunday 、dr ratio 、aventurine 、gallagher x bunny fem!reader

cw ﹒nsfw MDNI. unedited. mild dacryphilia ( dr ratio 、sunday ) 、mating press ( gallgaher . . . becuz he’s big ) 、spanking ( dr ratio ) 、fingering ( aventurine ) 、cunilingus ( aventurine ) 、blowie ( sunday ) 、dirty talk ( boothill ) 、 some of them tug on ur ears :> 、petnames ( bunny 、sugar 、etc ! )

note﹒i am slowly catchin’ up in honkai star rail so i decided tew write these ! ! :33 been thinkin’ hard about dis anyways so . . it doesn’t hurt to write a lil sumn ! mistakes might be found . . | reblogs are highly appreciated. feel free to send me an ask if you would like to talk t’me or send a thirst/rq ! — millie ♡

୨୧ 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋

boothill couldn't help but chuckle at your pathetic attempts to resist him, you were the one who wanted him first and begging for him to fuck you . . . why are you changing your mind now? your struggles were utterly adorable and only further fueled his desire. “oh sugar," he muttered gently, reaching out to cup your chin. his eyes softened as he looked into your tear-filled eyes. the cowboy knew your body was aching for release, the desperation and excitement coursing through your veins. "i can’t understand ya, baby," he whispered, leaning in close to your ear. "do you want me or nah? ‘cause i’ll walk ‘outta this room if you keep whinin’ and grindin’ against me like this, be vocal. tell me what ‘cha need.”

“n—no! don’t wanna!”

“don’t wanna what, bunny? use ya words.”

“i . . don’t want you to walk out . .”

“good girl. see, wasn’t s’ hard to use your words, yeah?” boothill chuckled, the sound rumbling deep within his chest as he met your gaze. His eyes darkened with desire, but there was still a playful twinkle within. “such a slutty bunny,” the cowboy gave you a wicked grin, his hand trailing down your exposed stomach, stopping just above your panties. the fabric was damp from your arousal, and he couldn't help but smirk. “listen baby, ima reward you if you're a good girl . . a real pleasure show for a real naughty bunny like you."

your ears twitched at his words, squealing when he pulled you even closer. “am not a naughty bunny . . .” “yeah? ya sure?” his voice dropped to a husky whisper, "we’ll see about that. we’ll see how long you’ll last with my cock inside this pussy. trust me, sugar . . . you'll enjoy it more than you ever thought possible. just like the slutty and naughty bunny you are.”

୨୧ 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘

“now now, don’t cry," sunday soothed, his voice low and sultry. “we’ve got a lot of time tonight, sweetheart. maybe i’ll teach you a few lessons on how to suck on my cock properly . . you’re quite sloppy, my beloved.” sunday echoed, his monotone voice full of amusement as he leaned down, capturing your tearful gaze with his own. he gently lifted your chin, his thumb wiping away a stray crystal tear. his dick twitched in your throat when he kept his gaze on your teary eyed face . . fuck. he wanted to see more of that. “beloved . . .” he cooed, feeling the rush of pleasure course through his body as he thrust into your warm, wet throat . . his hand slowly wrapping itself around both your cute little rabbit ears, tugging you forward. he could feel you struggle, the way you gagged and choked on his length, it sent a thrill of excitement through him. your boyfriend gripped your ears tighter, guiding the movement as his thrusts grew eager.

“that’s it, angel, take it. take all of it.” sunday murmured, his voice hoarse with lust. at this point, he could feel his release building up, the tension coiling in his gut. “swallow it, choke on it, make it yours." the halovian male slammed into your poor little throat, knowing he owes you warm tea and breakfast the next morning! your moans were heavily muffled by his thick cock filling your throat. the mere sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, punctuated by sunday’s grunts and your whines, increasing the tears that spilled from your pretty eyes. the wave of ecstasy crashing over your boyfriend and you knew it. his orgasm hit him like a foreign train, flooding your throat with his essence . . . holding you in place by your bunny ears.

“mmh . . . that was good, my little angel." his hand traced over your cheek, “but we might have to work on your gag reflex.”

୨୧ 𝐃𝐑 𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎

SMACK! a loud sound reverberated around the room . . your fluffy white tail twitched in veritas’ hold. with a force of movement, he pulled you up . . . using your tail as a leverage as he chuckled, smacking your ass again . . . you could almost feel it warming up. “naughty bunny you are. you thought it was a good idea to send me erotic pictures?” veritas’ fingers worked on your skirt, pulling it up and off. he discarded it on the floor of your shared room, leaving you in your underwear. dr ratio couldn’t help but bite his lip at the sight of your tears streaming down your face, murmuring pleas for him to pound you. aeons . . . you were such a naughty bunny. the naughtiest bunny he’d ever come across. " . . . foolish girl. your desires have consequences," he growled, “you’re a naughty slut. it’s like you’re begging me to pound you when you cry like that . . .” he adjusted himself, positioning himself at your entrance.

he raised a brow, admiring your precious submission he yearned for. the sight of you pleading for more, bunny ears twitching, breasts bouncing invitingly, your sparkly-like eyes that produced tears, sent shivers down his spine. he leaned up, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss. his tongue delved deep, tasting his bunny’s need and desire. dr ratio wanted to push you further, testing how far he could take you before breaking point. pulling away, his large hands found themselves on your ass again, running his hands along your flesh . . , raising it for another smack. “you’re insatiable, aren't you? let me remind you again, girl, bad bunnies get punished for being naughty. or have you forgotten that?”

୨୧ 𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄

your boyfriend’s eyes lit up at the sight of your pussy, glistening with desire. he loved every part of you, basking in the warmth of your body as he chuckled . . . reaching up to caress your little ears that he wouldn’t trade for anything else. “damn, you're soaked," he murmured, licking his lips. "i can't wait to taste you.” aventurine moved closer between your legs, pushing your thighs apart further with a smirk, flicking your bud with his thumb. “spread them wider for me, bunny." aventurine’s eyes widened as he saw how wet you were. he had to fight the urge to dive headfirst into your pussy. he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. "you’re so ready for me, aren't you?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. with an eager nod, he slowly slipped his two fingers inside, filling you up pure lustrous intent. “m—more ‘turine . . .” a soft chuckle emitted from your boyfriend as he lowered his head, licking your inner thighs. "i know bunny, i know what i’m doing.” but yet, he wanted to hear you beg for it, to know that you desired him as much as he did you.

“c’mon baby . . . say this for me.” his tongue flicked against your outer lips, tasting your sweet nectar. "say . . “please, aven” . . .” he begged himself. "eat me out." his eyes fluttered open, narrowing dangerously . . . he couldn’t help but devour you with his gaze. “ . . please aven . . ‘w—want you to eat me out.” “that’s my good bunny.” aventurine’s tongue darted painfully slowly in and out of your pussy, teasing your walls. as he licked and sucked your clit, his fingers explored the depths inside your pussy, the gambler wanted to touch every inch of you, to know your body better than his own. he was determined to make you cum hard, just like he knew you'd make him. although in the back of his mind, he knew he had to fill out the paperwork that’s been due for days! but right now, all he cared about was making his cute bunny scream his name. he wanted to make you forget about everything else in the world in that dumb little head of yours except for him.

୨୧ 𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐑

you were so small against him. not only was he obsessed with your cute lil’ rabbit features, he was also obsessed with how cute and adorable you were against him, legs he had to restrain with his own hands due to you moving around too much . . . your cries echoed in the room, punctuating your passionate lovemaking. each groan fueled his dominance, reinforcing his love for you. gallagher gently placed his hand over the bulge on your belly, biting his lip at the sensation of his cock sliding in and out of your belly, grunting when he caught sight of your ears twitching. shit, you were adorable. “fuck, you’re fuckin’ tiny, baby, i could break you whenever i please if i wanted to.” his cock reached the deepest parts of your pussy in this position, knowing he wouldn’t last long with your legs pinned up against the mattress.

with a tug of your ears, gallagher savored the sound of your cries, your body folding under his weight . . your pussy taking his big dick so well heightened his arousal, driving him further into depravity. his thrusts grew more fervent, each one a declaration of love. “. . ‘m foldin’ you left and right, baby. see how good your pussy sucks it in?” with a growl, his hand gripped your ears lightly . . . sparking something primal within him. gallagher kissed you roughly like a starved man, bruising lips colliding fiercely with yours as his tongue invaded your mouth. the harsh mating press position made it harder for you to move around, trying to keep up with his harsh movements and thrusts at the same time! heavy breathing filled the room, punctuated by occasional cries of lust and pleasure. gallagher was taking what he wanted, his lil’ bunny girlfriend.

© 6GUMI. please do not modify 、translate 、share my works on other platforms 、or consider them as yours.

[precious-little-scoundrel]

|| Radio ||

Requested plot points? ☑️

Circa: early February 1944

Immediate previous fic: Favorite Escape

Summary: when your hodge podge radio won’t work, who should ya call? Probably the flight engineer

Warnings: usual universe warnings apply, 18+ but nothing very alarming really happens in this one, references to others are made, some potential slut shaming in the beginning if ya squint? perhaps some queer baiting but it’s the Buckies rolling around on the flooor, they’re one massive queer bait lbr, it’s not me. Also. My shit Crystal Radio making descriptions- don’t come for me I haven’t made one and I spent five hours falling down a rabbit hole as to how the guys made them in the camps and at the end of the day I said: screw it! And went with one of the Brit’s scenarios 🍻

Edited only by my tired little eyes, full warning and have mercy 💋

Also, just a note I feel compelled to make- this fic centers around women in the army, in a war, which they’re spending under dire conditions in a POW camp. Yes there is love here, there is also hierarchy and discipline and the enforcement of that does not make one character or another necessarily callous or less loving. They are their ranks first and foremost as all signed up for.

“They’re forging papers, you know.” Maureen broached the topic to Egan one day, late February and when her cheeks were still bruised from Ida’s book.

Bucky paused his tracing of a map, sooty finger trailing along a river with the same incomprehensible name as its twin running parallel, he didn’t know anything about papers or anyone making them and she knew that. “Who?”

“Good ones. Identification, passports.” She enumerated.

“Who?”

“The Poles. The ones with the-“

“-the liquor.” he finished for her, remembrance and condemnation heavy in his wry tone. “The ones you stayed out all night with.”

“Stayed long enough for them to get drunk enough to show me.”she replied, without heat, which was surprising.

“Some grand plan of yours, huh?” He bit back a laugh, it was a fine way to cover her ass for being insubordinate. It was a way he’d likely try if he was in her place.

“No.” she swore instead. “Just luck, I happened to see them. They got careless. Maybe an answer to all Jack’s prayers.”

“Yeah. Anything to give that rosary a break.”

“Yeah.”

“You asked them?”

“What for?”

Bucky regarded her with thinning patience but something kept him from snapping, the feeling of a riddle still to be solved. “For some papers.” he clarified, measured and intent, she knew how much easier that would make their plans for Ida.

Maureen shook her head, glancing down at her twisting hands, “I didn’t want to-“ her mouth twisted too, “-I wanted to ask a superior first.”

Bucky considered that for a moment, slightly touched at her newfound wisdom, “Why not ask Buck?”

She shook her head again, auburn hair curling under her chin just so, even here in the stalag she had some traces of the old charm. “He’s got too much to worry about for me to be bringing in hypotheticals.” she was so upset by something she would not even meet John’s eye and he felt a slice of remorse for how he hadn’t even noticed the ground down change in her since she got here, his drinking buddy and the soft fleshed rival of merry old English days was a gruff and battered and sullen woman; being a red blooded American male, he regretted that dismal change. “And I'm worried about what to bargain with. What can I promise? We haven’t got much and I don’t have— there’s not much anyway, but what we’ve got I didn’t wanna promise. Not without-“ she still hadn’t met his eye, he tracked hers; a furious roving of pale blue back and forth across the floorboards and it made Bucky itch.

“Who signs these papers?” Bucky asked, thinking the logistics through, knowing she’d perk up if he brought them up.

“Haven’t a clue. Maybe they haven’t figured that part out yet. I don’t know. I just know they’ve got papers.”

“Good ones.”

“Yeah.”

“We haven’t got much.” he agreed, clicking his teeth in thought, “What’d you give them for the liquor?”

“They just invited me.”

“Didn’t have to lend a hand or nothin’?” he balked and Maureen threw him a glare that seemed more hurt than rage, and chastened by a voice inside that sounded much like his mama’s, he amended with sheepish humor, “Hell, feel like lending a hand myself these days, if it’d get me a whisky.”

Her gnarled fist curled white in her lap, she managed hoarsely, “They just wanted to talk about home. To someone who hadn’t heard about it a million times before.”

“They got cigarettes?” he asked.

“As most common payment for their booze -they’ve got enough to insulate their shack three deep.”

“Cigarettes won’t cut it then.”

“I’ve been thinking.”-

“Yeah?”

“The radio. I’m the only one who doesn’t think it’s worth the risk but, I know, it doesn’t matter, it’s happening. Gale’s going to keep trying. And if it works-“ she rubbed at her eyes, tired and unsure, “-that’s quite the bargaining chip.”

Bucky nodded slowly, eyes narrowing as his smile grew a touch broader, “News of the outside world.” he was half in agreement, “Buck asked for a week. Been four days.”

“He’s stumped.” Maureen retorted instantly. “And he’ll stay that way and he’ll go nuts and you’ll go die going over the fence and then he’ll have no reason left not to die too.”

Bucky whistled, low and chiding, “You’re full of rainbows today, Candy.”

“You know who he oughta ask.” she shook off the barb. “But he won’t. And I don’t want him risking it for this thing anymore than anyone else, but you all want it so bad, and they’ll shoot us for it if it works or not. I’m not asking her. But you would. Might as well get shot for it working, right? Isn't that what you said yesterday? You know who he should ask.”

Bucky’s keen eyes showed the moment it dawned on him, his eyebrows shot up and his mouth sagged and he ran a weathered hand over his face, “Awww shit, Candy.” came garbled behind his palm. “Ah shit.” he said again with conviction as he shoved the hand into his pocket, wretched acknowledgment of her point clear on his face.

“I didn’t want to suggest it, told Ida it’s a fucking dangerous thing and I’ll never forgive if— but you all—“

Bucky grounded aloud, “Nah, nah she’s -Lu would solve it.” he muttered, shushing her. “Demarco really pummeled you the other day, huh?” he added, and that got her to meet his eye, she looked spooked and a little incensed, “Saw him fuckin’ you up behind B compound but sheesh, s’like he hollowed you out worse than a jacolantern; yer shifty as hell.”

“He-“ Maureen still felt like blanching at the memory of Benny’s terribly correct opinions, his disappointed eyes and his fist full of her flight jacket asking her what in the living fuck was wrong with her besides a concussion, a sick childhood and an ever nauseating jealousy of Buck Cleven’s paternal time and effort, “-he had some admonitions. After…after the other night.”

Bucky hummed, shitty smirk taking up residence on his face, “How ‘bout that.”

“I’m gonna be better.” she muttered and Bucky felt for her, could almost taste the echo of his identical and hollow determination to climb the mountain of bad habits when weak from spuds and pneumonia. He told himself the same every morning and fell into bed condoning his failure every night, like a ritual.

“You’re gonna get us those papers.” he corrected, shoving off the wall to come near her, give her the full Major treatment and maybe a friendly hand, “And you can promise your drinkin’ buddies news from the radio.”

Maureen nodded in understanding, no joy or animation left in her green eyes. She used to enjoy a bit of subterfuge, now she only felt hollow misery at the thought that she'd dragged Lu into this, too. This risk she hated so much and yet no one cared. Lu would be glad to be dragged in, it’s true, she was itching at the chance to be useful and to make Gale proud, it’s how the girl was wired. It’s how most girls were wired, Maureen supposed, desperate to make Gale Cleven approve. Lu’s enthusiasm wouldn’t make the sight of her being made to kneel in the mud and have a bullet put in her head any easier, wouldn’t make Maureen feel any less responsible for it when her lifeless body thudded to the earth.

All that lovely goodness stamped out.

Over a radio.

Bucky’s hand felt too hard and too big on her shoulder. He had gone before the vision cleared, mud and wire and the freezing main square at Ravensbruck fading back to the musty bunk room. Maureen shook herself and stood up to make herself somehow appealing, reamniante some semblance of the cheerful rashness that had led her to the Polish combine in the first place: she found it hard to inspire. She’d like to count that a victory but she knew better, she wasn’t reformed she was just tired.

A washed face and a fake smile and the promise of news from outside would have to be enough to bank all their risks on, it would have to be.

“Crank,” she greeted the man in the hall, flashing him clean, water brushed teeth and her gentlest, freshly soot lined eyes, “I’ve been tasked by Major Egan with an errand, spare a minute to babysit me?”

__________________________________

Bucky finds Buck Cleven in his own bunkroom, Demarco outside on watch and that’s all Bucky needs to know to guess the radio is out and Buck’s working like a fiend yet again to make it work. Sure enough, he’s hunched over the table with it, mittened hands shaking from cold and exhaustion and a sheen of sweat on his forehead despite the paltry sweater he wears.

Bucky walks in and Gale gives him a soft, acknowledging glance before continuing to his work. Bucky takes up his usual place behind Buck’s left shoulder to watch and Buck, being used to it, goes on.

“My little Kriegie Marconi, huh?” Bucky allows the nagging impulse he has felt for weeks while standing in this position to finally exert itself, and his forefinger lifts and swirls in the curling gold strands of hair at the nape of Gale’s neck, his friend almost bolts away but then seems to choose a prey’s tactic and just stills, goes very still and Bucky scritches the scalp beneath his grab in assurance he don’t meant anything by it. He doesn’t think he does, at least.

Gale, wary and with a voice close to mechanized it’s so stilted, inquires with ever-present politeness, “You alright Bucky?”

It’s better than that whole ‘major’ business; getting called Major as if that meant shit anymore. “Yeah, ‘course I am.” Bucky rakes his fingers through the hairs there at the nape of that dainty neck, scritches the scalp with all four of his main ones, and uncovers a white long scar sliding round once he lifts the hairs there. “Why wouldn’t I be? Gonna be a father soon.”

Buck does jerk then, away from his touch and wheeling his chair around to glare at Bucky; it’s an impressively executed little pirouette and John misses the feel of his warm neck and oil soft hair. “Jesus John.” he reprimands.

“We’re gonna get outta here Buck.” John swears, he’s so sure of it because he cannot in all his thinking and predicting ever imagine a scenario where they don’t, and he chooses to think it’s not delusion but a good omen. “Ida’s gonna have that baby and when it’s safe we’ll all meet up.”

Gale is looking at him like he’s his own father again, Bucky knows that look, it always makes him equal parts ashamed and desperate, “Jus’ like that.” Gale mocks in a husky gust.

It’s devastating, and it’s intended to be, and Bucky could bear that with better humor if he could still touch Gale and his hair. “Just like that.”

Gale hums and it’s a mean sorta vocalization that makes Bucky’s heart thud and his skin prickle hot, it’s the kinda noise you kiss off a person, he thinks, but it’s Buck and so he doesn’t know what to do with it. “It’s gonna get you killed.” Buck is saying instead and Bucky lets him, “I know you all think she’s cracked up and maybe she has but it wouldn’t hurt to listen to Kendeigh sometimes when she’s tellin’ ya shit that a five year old could accurately guess, -goddamn it.”

His voice rose to a strong rage by the end and Bucky takes a chair opposite him, sick of standing there like a dumb dog waiting for his scolding to be over. “So what.” Bucky challenges him, “We just wait around and Brady pops out a child and the krauts let us keep it and it’s our new mascot and we all sing zippidy doo da, huh? Huh, Buck?”

Gale’s hands fell away from his face with a slam to the table, a shocking degree of anger showing for a split second and it gave Bucky an odd degree of gratification. “I jus’ want you to find a plan with better odds.”

Bucky sniffed and leaned forward, went in for the kill and Gale was looking at him like he expected it, like it was his turn to play daddy to everyone here and Gale for once was so beaten down he wouldn’t just allow the changing of the guard, he was close to angry at its lateness. It made Bucky’s heart thud.

“I’ve been listening to Kendeigh.” Bucky refuted briefly, “And we’ve got a plan.” Gale gave him a tired look of encouragement to go on, “How long’s it been since you slept? Huh, well, we got a plan. Practically perfect, or it will be, just need the radio.”

“Ain’t giving this away.” Gale said, “Not for anythin’, even useless.”

Bucky patted the table top in easy assurance, if he could have reached Buck’s thigh, he’d have patted that instead, “No, no, don’t need to give it away, just need it to work. So,” he softened his voice and his eyes tightened, “I’m callin’ Lu in.”

Oddly, Gale does not fight it. Not aloud, at least. There’s an anguished look of hate on his face and Bucky mirrors it. It’s for this place and the fucking awful choices they have to choose from every goddamn day.

“You run this by Ida?” is all he asks.

Bucky pops his flaking lips audibly, “What, need us both gangin’ up on you to agree? She’ll sign off. Smith’s an officer. Gotta remember that sometimes, Buck.”

The way his Buck swallows hard and dry contradicts his words, “I do remember that.”

“Really?” Bucky’s mouth gives a soft smile of doubtful incredulity and Gale’s mimics it, mournful but a smirk all the same, “Feel like she should answer to ‘Gale’s Baby’ these days. Lieutenant Smith who?”

Gale scoffs, “Careful now.”

“No really, she’s an officer and she wants to be treated like one. It’ll do her good to have work. Her kinda work.”

“Could get her killed.”

“Layin’ in her bunk could do that.”

Gale grunts, its sounds like an agreement.

“So I say Lieutenant Smith gets put on radio detail. Like her goddamn job description suggests. Huh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Gale lets out a shaky agreement.

“Aaaaand,” Bucky draws it out as he rises again and saunters over to Buck who is ready for him and loose this time, “how bout I go back to bein’ the one you’re frettin’ ‘bout all the time. Got me almost jealous of the girl. How ‘bout I do. Huh?”

Gale’s scoff is fond as anything as he looks up at John with cheerful derision, “And you ‘bout to be a father? Make me an old man? Fuck no, ya looney.”

“Alright.” Bucky concedes with hands up in surrender before lurching forward and grasping Gale’s rickety chair back by its wobbly spokes and hefting it partially off the ground, beautiful and outraged prude of an occupant still seated in it, “Then I’ll play daddy and put you to bed, how ‘bout that.”

“John Egan for fucks sake-“ Gale’s fists pounded on the meat of his shoulders and his outraged protests wafted against Bucky’s neck and his jabbing knees collided with the meat of his thighs and Bucky hadn’t felt so close to him or so happy to be alive since England.

“Major sir, the hell is goin’ on?” Demarco’s tame inquiry from the safety of the doorway made them both lose their grapple and they collided together onto the floor, bunk bed barely missed by their heads and the hapless chair mixed up between their limbs.

Bucky grinned, hip sore from his fall and kidneys suffering from Buck’s trapped elbow there, “Puttin’ Goldilocks to bed.” he replied.

DeMarco processed that and the scene before him with grave sobriety before saluting lazily and turning to go, “Right on, sir.”

John did his best to rise up without further pinching Gale who was indeed trapped beside him and beneath him, chair legs wound between a lanky human leg in a puzzle that Bucky realized might take some caution to untangle without harm. Strangely, Buck wasn’t moving, he was just looking up at him like a cat would their clumsy master who has done somethin’ stupid which was a surprise to neither. It was so innocuous a look and so nostalgic, it winded Bucky with the realization he hadn’t seen it in ages, just as he hadn’t felt his boney ribs against his own and the feel of his elegant hands yanking him around in a fight. This miserable place really was stomping out the glow in the best people.

“Ya know Buck,” he ventured, clearing his throat for extra casualness, “I’ve missed you.” When Gale only kept looking up at him, perfect porcelain face with its unsettling scars and wary eyes without a lick of storm in them, John Egan grabbed his shovel and dug his own grave a little deeper, drug a finger down his cheek. “Missed all this.”

Bucky didn’t know what he meant by “this” but it felt safer and worse all at once, since he did miss Buck but he and Buck never used to hang out on floors with a chair as chaperone. Mercifully, Buck neither points that out nor moves away, acting very much like he needed to heaped on the floor with Bucky and a stray chair every bit as much as John did. Like it’s doing him good.

“And you couldn’t’ve jus’ said.” Gale murmurs with the softest eye roll of the century and Bucky feels like beaming and it must show in his face so strong and bright after a sunless winter that after a flash Gale’s cheeks flame from it and he averts his eyes.

“I dunno Buck, could I?” Egan asks one blushing cheek and Gale hasn’t got a good reply for that, so they just lay there on the floor.

“Go on now, get off me.” Gale doesn’t shove at him, he presses his hand to John’s forehead like he would a dog and John goes, obedient as one.

———————————————————————-

They found Lu with Murph and Benny and Brady, measuring out what seemed to be lot lines between Love Shack #9 and the next combine, boot scuffed perimeters already visible in the light snow and drawn in a decently tidy rectangle. There were guards loitering nearby, nosey as always with their cigarettes and their antsy dogs anytime someone did something out there besides piss or pace or stare at the fence.

“What’s all this?” Bucky inquired cheerfully, coming up to them with Gale, bundled and shivering behind him.

Benny looked up from tilling a furrow with his boot, right where Lu’s mittened finger pointed out. “It’s for the garden. S’posed to be spring before long.”

“A Chicago man oughta know better, Benny.” Egan snarked.

“Need us?”

Bucky sniffed, a casual set to his body that belied his quest, “Just the little one.”

Smith promptly looked startled, then eager. “All well Majors?”

“Need your advice on the color of my cufflinks with this suit.” Bucky extended his arm and beckoned her, “C’mon back in for a minute. One of you too, need a watch to go with the cufflinks.”

———————————————————————

With Benny on guard, Brady and Kendeigh having excavated the radio’s shell from the floorboard and table leg in which it resided, the Buckies stood over Smith’s small frame as she sat at the table and inspected the simplistic device with keen eyed appreciation for the construct.

“It’s really marvelous.” she assured Cleven, running her fingers over the carefully coiled wire and precarious pin.

Gale didn’t even crack a smile. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked instead.

She shook her head, a frown gathering. “Never made one-“ she cautioned.

“-but you get the idea.”

“Yes sir, I do.”

“So what’s wrong.”

Lu ran her fingers over the wire, again and again, the dusty metal not insulated, just bare copper, likely stripped from somewhere. It reminded her of early days as a cadet when they threw chicken wire mixed with hydraulic lines at herself and her fellow rookie engineers and told them to sort it, testing to see if they knew which was which. It had been so rudimentary she had wanted to laugh until she realized others were being flunked.

This was so basic she was stumped.

“Take your time, Lu.” Bucky spoke up after a burdened pause during which she could almost feel Major Cleven breathing down her neck.

“Candy, can I try with the headphone?” she asked at last, frustrated and out of her element, just a few months out of a plane and she had already lost her touch.

Maureen passed it over and Lu pressed it to her ear, not to discern what was quite obviously radio silence, but to imagine the whole process in reverse, track it down the cord all the way to the base, each possible breakdown of the conduction.

She fingered the ramshackle diode with burgeoning suspicion. “What’s your crystal?”

“That’s just…lead.” Cleven muttered.

“From?”

“Ground pencils.” Bucky supplied cheerfully.

Smith bit her lip, “We need sulfur added. Lead won’t conduct on its own.” She figured Cleven knew that, the grim and unmoving set of his mouth suggested so.

“Just- sulfur?” Maureen asked.

“If I had sulfur we could add it to the lead dust, ignite it and-“ Smith grinned at Kendeigh, knowing that she alone may have shared her enjoyment of a small conflagration from time to time, “burn it down and you’ve got something close enough to Galena. Just need a pinch of it should work.”

Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets and surveyed the mostly morose room. All except for the two girls grinning at each other over the hypothetical of a little chemistry experiment in a highly flammable wooden combine.

“We’ve got sandy soil.” Buck’s contemplative drawl spoke up, “Dunno if we could extract enough pure sulfur.”

Maureen stared back at Egan instead, “Other sectors have gotten portions of kits, chemistry kits, radio kits, they’ve been smuggled in with all sorts of stuff. Inside of a violin, oat bags. Nothing to fully build something. They might have sulfur. I could make inquiries and- well, Jack could pick it up next time the band goes over C compound to entertain the poor Aussie bastards.”

“How do you kno- nevermind, actually. Nevermind.” Bucky broke off, “Alright. Sure, why not. Ya sure that’s it?” he asked Lu once more.

She gave a helpless little shrug. “Gotta be. Or the wire’s dirty. Where’d it come from anyway?”

Gale gave Bucky a long suffering look as Bucky seemed to swell a couple inches and bounce back on his heels at the mention of his scrounging prowess. “The lamp.” he nodded above them all.

Jack Brady scoffed, short, clipped, betrayed, “That why it cuts out all the time? Strobed us so bad last night -thought the room was possessed.”

“Sacrifices Jack, sacrifices.”

———————————————————

Benny had hauled in enough water buckets to elicit some negative attention from the guards, and when the inspection came the inmates of the Love Shack insisted the drenched floors and table of the Majors’ barracks were due to sanitation post regurgitation. At night, with only one stolen torch light from Combine 15 to illuminate the endeavor, a basin of water beneath a smaller bowl in which lay their precious and recently procured ingredients, a science experiment began. The Majors and Ida gathered round, all looking as ghastly and spectral in the light of the flashlight as Brady’s fake ghost. It held the thrill of a bonfire night except for the stakes, which all in the room did their best not to dwell on.

“Zippo, Candy.” Lu gave the word and Maureen, with only the protection of Ida’s bent aviators to keep from a scorched cornea, flicked on her lighter and set the mixed powders ablaze.

It flamed up high and smelly, making Benny gag and mutter something about Meatball’s gas to a tittering Brady, and then died down to a yellow smoking ember.

“We should let it sit.” Lu surmised with a squeeze to Maureen’s only somewhat singed hand, her big dark eyes surveying the burnt bowl and their smoking experiment with glittery excitement at the possibility of success, “Let it cool, settle, maybe strain it. Can you get me a net? Oh Candy come now, get me a strainer?” she begged with a laugh as Maureen rolled her eyes at the idea of yet another trip to the Stalag Market for the most random items imaginable. If they hoped to not be suspicious, they’d need better lies or more money.

“How about cheesecloth?” Kendeigh tried not to grin indulgently- and failed- in the face of Lu and having recently been allowed to set something on fire

Lu kissed her cheek. “Cheesecloth would be perfect.”

In the end, cheesecloth did indeed prove perfect, and amongst the burnt dust of the combined minerals was a gritty little pinch full of the needed crystals. Or so Lu said, Gale agreed but the crease between his brows hadn’t lifted for two days; Bucky’s fingers had begun to twitch in antsy need to manually smooth them out. He imagined Maureen felt the same but she hadn’t said, uncharacteristically forbearant now she had some job to keep her sane. Even if it was playing fetch for Lu.

—————————————————————

“Well, this is it.” Gale muttered when the watch had been set once more, Murph and Hambone on the steps, Crank inside, Brady at the door, Benny at the window. Even Major Clark had joined them in the barracks for this final try and Lu’s cheeks were maroon from the attention even as her deft hands steadily pressed her concoction beneath its intended rod.

“Pass me the pliers, sir?” She asked and for a moment, the teacher became the apprentice and Gale fetched her the stalag forged tool, rudimentary like everything here yet the gripped and pulled and lifted same as the pliers back home. “You could check your look in this wire’s reflection.” She complimented Gale’s buffing of the copper wire.

He shrugged in turn. “Didn't wanna leave anythin’ to chance. That it?” he asked as her hands stalled and she surveyed her work.

Lu nodded solemnly. “Yes sir.”

Gale picked up the headphone from in front of him on the table like it was a gun he was about to bring to his head. “Here.” He extended it to her instead, “S’right, it was your job, you should be the first. Cmon.”

Despite her voiceless protest he pressed the headphones into her hands and Lu, never knowing how to disobey an officer, folded immediately.

For a good ten seconds everyone in the room held their breath as Smith pressed the headphone to her ear and gently wiggled the clothespin along the wire, searching and tuning, her face holding that old peaceful concentration they hadn’t seen since the last mission. She was at home with her mind tuned to another dimension. The pilots in the room knew that look, that was the look of someone at home with something that terrified them all the same, the gut swooping feeling of clearing the take off and sledding along the tops of the clouds. Wrong and strange and utterly incomparable to others, it was the closest to home one’s mind could be. Lu belonged somewhere on those electric currents and searching them out was like finding oneself again.

Then at last, Lu’s eyes sharpened out of their dreamy haze of concentration and she said, gentle as always, “It’s the BBC sir.”

💋 Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

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[bvnnywrites]

Still Waters Run Deep

Chapter 2: Überprüfen

PAIRING: Eldritch!König x Reader

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry for the very long wait. My body gave out on stress and I passed out the side of the road this Monday on my way home. Also, I was manic and I had an episode yesterday so yayeet. Also, I read all your comments in the last chapter and asvbhbvdvdhdhfhv I LOVE ALL OF YOU GUYS. THANK YOU SO MUCH RAHHHHHH. Anyways, enjoy the chapter! UwU

WARNING: NON-CON/DUB-CON, DARK, SMUT, NSFW, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Fingering, Stomach Bulge, Age Gap, Unprotected Sex, Cockwarming, Implied Discharge, Power Imbalance, Abuse of Authority, No Beta Reader, Dom! König, Size Kink, Size Difference, Cannibalism, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Older!König, Eldritch!König, Monster!König, Masturbation, Dark Romance, Blood and Gore, Violence, Monsterfucking

THE ONLY INTERESTING THING TO DO AT KORTAC, if he wasn’t out and about in the field, was apparently dwelling in the thought of committing fraternization – and König chided himself that he was better than this.

But there’s nothing to worry about. Of course, he isn’t losing sleep overthinking the eager look on your face to get in his good graces—his approval and validation. No. he isn’t staying up late, seeing your adorable pouty lips and sweet-looking eyes glancing up at him because you’re too small whether you stood or sat. Especially, the softness of your flesh when he held your chin to make you look at him, or the warmth of your body when he soothed you from seeing those disgusting pictures.

König definitely does not want to know every detail of your life—what your flesh taste like pressed against his tongue, what it feels like as the tentacles on his face roam your body and leaving slick in its trail, what you like or hate, what blood type you have, how soft your hair is when he’s gripping it in his fingers while he’s shoving his cock deep in your little cunt, what your favorite position in bed is, what it feels like to have your pussy milking him desperately as he breeds you again and again until you’re pregnant with his children.

No.

No.

Who the hell was he kidding?

He’s is a fucking pervert—the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

What he’s doing is fucking disgusting and he can’t believe that he’s thinking this way about you. God, König knows he’s a thousand shades of fucked up, but he did not expect to be like this. The colonel never expected he’d go this fucking low. He doesn’t want to be like he’s father—a disgusting fucker who was selfish and sick in the head—but he can’t help but fall straight down the rabbit hole and into the maws of the abyss of his own wicked desires.

König is a fucking disgusting creep because you’re so sweet, calm and understanding when he threw the first few layers of ugliness from his soul, dumping it on your lap, and you so graciously comforted him. He is disgusting because you’re literally twenty-three years younger than him, old enough to be his daughter, and yet your eagerness to obtain his approval has him losing his shit. You have him losing his morals. The softness of your skin has him wanting more, his teeth clenched with poorly contained desire, and yet he demands more – to be closer, to reach into the depths of your soul and twist it until you’re as fucked up as he is—craving him the way he craves you. You have him understanding why his father did what he did because now he thinks that maybe the sick fuck couldn’t control himself in the presence of his ‘Aphrodite’.

And you… you were König’s ‘Aphrodite’—the embodiment of his desires, both good and bad.

He is a fucking pervert because you were eager to help him in this manhunt for the so-called beast. Eager and desperate to advance in the ranks of the military – that’s all you were probably hoping, but instead of following the logical side, König had let himself be swayed by the waves of his depravity.

König was always proud of his self-control – his more human nature that he had inherited from his beloved mother. He never thought the day would come where these sickening thoughts would run in his mind. He was a monster, yes, but nature does have a way of being more predominant than nurture. At least, in this case. It didn’t even matter that his mother – who despised and loved him at the same time – had engrained the Lord’s teachings into his head or the holy scriptures that she would beat into his flesh.

All those teachings went to waste because at the end of the day, he was his father’s son.

He could see the disappointing and disgusted look on his mother’s face right now.

But all that washes away when his mind comforts him with the thoughts of you. The way your pretty eyes look up at him through long lashes, the way your voice addresses him has desire pumping in König’s veins. Because somehow, when it comes to you, he feels calm as he feels the need to lash out. He feels the need to bite and claw at you, marking you as his own little wife to love and to fuck. He wants to rip off his mask in front of you and make you braid his hair and weave flowers into it because you called him ‘beautiful’, wants to let one of his tentacles slither around your neck while he bites you and marks you as his. His little and eager to please mate—his beloved wife-to-be.

He can still see your pouty face, as if you’re there right in front of him. Your pretty wide eyes looking up at him—looking at him as if he wasn’t a disgusting monster—like an actual breathing person. Your scent lingers in his nose for the past two days. You smelled delicious – divine, if he’s honest. You reeked of the shower gel that you use,  and that suffocating perfume—or is it a cologne?—that you’re using to make yourself fresh. Several thoughts ran in his head, wanting nothing more than to smother you in his scent. Rubbing his smell all over you, until every single being—doesn’t matter if mortal or not—would know that you’re his.

The thought itself had his cock twitching more than it did before. It’s throbbing hard, leaking precum all over his hand as he pumps it with his fist while the other grips the sheets. Judging from your smaller form against his, you’d definitely be fucking tight, which was why he was gripping it mercilessly. The pictures of pin-up girls had long been discarded. He doesn’t need those when he has your pretty face, adorable ass, and alluring scent engraved in his mind. He’s a fucking perverted old dog… and it was all because of you.

König wants to have you on his knees before him. Relieving him of his stress by wrapping your adorable lips around the head of his dick, soft tongue lapping at the precum he’s making as if you’re a goddess and the gushing liquid was ambrosia—the very thing you needed to live.

He wants to take care of you, cradle you in his arms and pepper your face with kisses and show you how much he can just provide for you—KorTac isn’t cheap in their payments, and he is one of their best mercenaries they have, not counting the huge mess he has made that his superiors are ordering him to clean up. He was too valuable for them to lose, so they’re just asking him to wipe away the evidence and pin the blame on some poor soldier who was there at the wrong place at the right time.

König wants nothing more than to hold you close. He can’t even think about letting you fall in the grasp of another man—whether they be as old as him or young as your age, whichever you prefer—because you are fragile as you are gullible. He can tell by the way your eyes glimmer at him or the kindness that blossoms on your face whenever you cater to the soldiers under your command, acting as if you’re a mother to them. He wants you to be his. His little, beloved wife. Waiting for him in the house he’d buy for you in Hallstatt or maybe he’d catch you walking along the shoreline of the lake while you’re telling stories of yours and his love story to his unborn child that grows in your womb.

By God König wanted you more than anything.

He’s thinking of putting you on your knees, preferably on his bed so it wouldn’t make you uncomfortable in the long run, so you can be comfortable while he shoves his cock down your throat. Your pretty lips wrapped around his cock, little whines and moans vibrating from you and on to his length and muffled from how strong his thrusts are inside your tight, wet, and warm mouth.

 Your face would be messy, mascara running down your cheeks, if you had any, and lip gloss smeared and staining his cock. And König would try to be gentle, so he wouldn’t end up breaking you, but it’d be impossible when you’re so eager to please him. You’d have trouble barking out orders and speaking normally, because he knows he’d wreck your throat by the time he’s done with you.

König is fantasizing about it—having you in such a state, making use of your delicate mouth and moving tongue.

But guilt flashes across his mind. No. No, he couldn’t do that to you. You’re a fragile little thing—not to mention a human. You’re like an adorable little mouse beneath him. Breaking you would break him too—hurting you would hurt him too.

He is a worthless monster, a disgusting being that should be shot dead for just thinking of you—his klein hase—like this. That woman who read his future was right. He was depraved. He’d ruin you…

But God have mercy on him because he couldn’t bring himself to care enough to back the fuck away from you.

Your name falling from his lips like a prayer, chanting your name as if you’d be able to save him from eternal damnation – and maybe you could, in your own human way. A primal and dark urge to have you in his full mercy, waiting for him to claim you. He… He just wants to be accepted by people, to be welcomed by his peers, but none of it matters now because he just wants to be accepted by you. He’s panting and groaning, pumping his dick several times, chasing that climax. He is shamelessly hard, cock angry as it's about to burst.

König feels dirty for this. He felt like a teenage boy who’s jerking off to his crush. And despite that, he’s imagining you sucking on his cock or having your forehead pressed against his, whispering how much you love him and how you can’t wait to be filled with his cock. He imagines your cum-drunk expression, eyes glazed as your head is muddled and filled with nothing but pleasure, and that makes him cum; thick ropes of white shooting out from the tip, while his cock pulsates as he pumps it continuously before gradually slowing to a halt.

He keeps cumming, more than he usually does. The white, thick liquid staining his abdomen, pants, and sheets. He moans, biting his lips in a poor attempt to conceal his pathetic whimpers. His release covering his hand—sticky and disgustingly warm. Bless KorTac for allowing him and other high-ranking superiors to have their own room, because he knows goddamn well that he won’t be able to commit such sinful acts in communal barracks.

Post-nut clarity hits him hard, almost the same way his mother would, and he’s shameful for what he had just done. The two of you barely know each other, only getting information about you out of your files, and yet he was infatuated with you the moment you arrived on KorTac that sunny day. And yet he fell in love completely in just a matter of two days after talking with you.

He wants to resent you for what you made him do. He wants to worship you and mark your body with his marks. He wants to be left alone—preferably in your arms while you stroke his hair and look at him lovingly because no one ever looked at him the same way you do.

“Mein Gott, Shatz. What are you doing to me, liebling?”

König pants, letting his head fall back into the pillow as he sighed. His muscles relaxed, so much that he feels like he’s going to be one with the mattress. He lays there for a bit in his own bodily fluids before he got up to clean himself and get changed, replacing the sheets with cleaner ones.

“Colonel, are you there?”

Your soft voice came to his ears, making him stop in his tracks. Was he delusional to the point that he’s imagining your voice? He’s losing it. He’s definitely losing it because no way in hell did you sought him out at—he glances at his clock and sees that it’s 24:58 on a Wednesday—this late in the night. König ignores the voice, opting to throw himself back into the bed, cuddling his pillows and imagining that it’s you.

“Colonel?” Your voice echoes, followed by a soft knock. “Sir? This is very important, I’m sorry.”

Oh. Oh. No, he’s not actually hearing things. You’re actually outside his door. König wore his mask, covering his ugliness because he didn’t want to scare a pretty little thing like you. It would be too soon for you to see his face. It’d be like putting a frog straight in boiling water instead of heating it up little by little.

He rushed to fix the cloth over his head, zipping and buttoning his pants. König almost tore the bolts of his door just to immediately see you, and when he swung the door open—almost ripping it off the hinges—he saw you standing there with several dossiers in your arms. Your pretty doe-like eyes, the ones he fantasized about as he came literally just seconds ago, looks up at him with a sheepish gaze. You smile apologetically up at him, neck craning to properly look at him. He sees the way your eyes glanced at his shirtless torso before flickering up to look at him.

Were you attracted to him the same way he is to you?

Did your cunt also drip at the thought of him, the same way his cock throbs at the mere thought of you? Did you also touch yourself when you were alone the past two days after you two spoke to one another? Did you also call out his name? Whimpering and panting as you flicked your clit and plunged your tiny fingers in your weeping pussy–

“Sorry to disturb you so late at night, I was ordered to give you these documents. Horangi said that I deliver these to you because it needs your immediate approval, sir.”

You say to him, spouting out your reasons and he can see that you’re doing so in hopes of not angering him because you think you’ve disturbed his sleep. How adorable. König keeps a note to himself to tell Horangi not to let you out this late at night; he doesn’t want you being suspected as the killer. Your cheeks are slightly red, and König finds red pretty on your face. So much so that he wants to just grab your squishy cheeks and pepper it with kisses. Maybe nibble on it affectionately.

“It’s alright. No worries. Come in, Schatz.”

He moves aside, letting you in. And, oh boy, you eagerly entered his chambers as you rushed to the desk in his room. You bend over to place the heavy papers on his table, and he has half a mind to bend you over the desk, tear off your clothes, and fuck you stupid until all you can do is mewl and whine on his cock. The fact that he was imagining you on your knees, choking on his cock or pumping it with your hands while you whispered sweet nothing to him five minutes ago didn’t help the colonel either.

“I’m really sorry. I know you’re probably sleeping–”

“I said it is fine, liebling. No need to lose your head over nothing, ja?”

He finds it endearing that he calms you, that his words weigh that much for you. Usually, he’s used to barking orders, establishing things with force. And yet, when he speaks to you softly, reassuring you, that it’s alright if you waltz into his room—into his heart, even—and take whatever you wanted is a nice change of pace. He’d give more to you on your way out, because he loves you. He wants to marry you. He wants to take you back with him to Austria. You’re beautiful in gear, but König knows you’d be more beautiful in maternity dresses.

But he is sane about you. Completely sane about you. Totally normal. Absolutely nothing wrong with his state of mind regarding you. Everyone loves strongly, ja?

“It’s late at night, and I don’t want you to end up as a corpse in the halls, liebling. Let me escort you to your quarters, ja?” He says softly, walking up to you as he effortlessly moves the paperwork that were practically heavy for you. “It would ease me to sleep, knowing you’re safe and sound in your bed.” König pats your head.

“I… um… are you sure, sir?” You look at him, confused as you tilt your head in confusion. “You must be tired for the day, and I’ve already taken up much of your time.”

He ignored your words of worry as he grabbed his hoodie and wore it, finally giving you an ounce of mercy because as much as he loves the way your eyes are drawn to his torso, he also doesn’t want to give you cardiac arrest just because he was being too much for you.

Now that you’re here in his room, alone with the colonel, your heart hums nervously. You pray that no soldier would see you walk out of his room at this hour. Because you don’t want to burden him with silly rumors when he’s drowning in paperwork, focusing on an investigation, and you don't want to add up to his plate.

“I want to protect you from harm, Schatz. With me around, I doubt the beast would hurt you.”

Lies. No, wait. It’s not all lies, so basically just half-truths. With König around, the thing that lurks in the halls of KorTac would never hurt you, if anything it would worship the ground you walk on. Ask him to give you a town for your dowry, and he would enslave every continent on Earth and lay it by your feet—because the thing in the dark is him, and he loves you, and he wants to give you the world.

“Okay. I mean… if that’s okay with you, sir.”

“König.”

“What?”

“Please, mein liebe. I would appreciate it if we drop the formalities. We are comrades, ja?”

“Alright… as I was saying, I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to burden you, König.”

“You’re not a burden. Not to me… not if it’s you, mein liebling.”

Your face scrunched up in confusion with the way he addressed you. It sounds like German, and the way he pronounces it makes you feel important. You don’t know German, and you kick yourself mentally because you wish you knew what he was calling you. For all you know, he’s calling you stupid affectionately. Because it took you weeks before you realize Izzy was calling you ‘stupid’ in the most affectionate way possible, so who’s to say the colonel is any different?

Before you can ask him what the words mean, he walks past you, opening the door for you. You walk out his room, thankful that no one’s there to see the two of you together.

You two walk down the halls, side by side. And poor little you.t you’re practically walking alongside the devil. The halls are empty, devoid of any soul. The trip to your room was quiet, no one is around, obviously. Soldiers were already asleep, and those who didn’t need to follow the curfew were chilling in their room or buried in neck-deep paperwork in their offices.

König wished he wasn’t the monster right now. He wished it was someone else, because he wants an opportunity for him to be a hero. To be a protector. To put up all of his pent-up aggression on someone else while you praise him for his strength and bravery. Maybe shower him with loving kisses, even. He wants something to try and kill him, just so he can show you that he can protect you from anything and anyone who would want to kill you, but then you stop in front of your room, making you turn and smile at him.

He loved your smile, the way your skin stretched and your adorable features twist just to give him a kind gesture

“Well. This is my stop.” You offer him a warm smile, unaware that it’s a currency that König could never afford yet you willingly give it to him for free. “Thank you… for looking out for me, König.”

“You’re a valuable soldier. It would be a shame if the thing lurking the base comes and kills you, Shatz—I want you safe.” He smiles at you beneath the mask, and the way his eyes crinkle is adorable and you know he’s smiling when they do that. “For as long as I’m able to, I’ll protect you, okay?”

His fingers gently held your chin, afraid that he’d break you at the slightest pressure. Your heart thumps in your chest. How could Roze or Izzy ever tell you to avoid him? He was practically a sweetheart. The colonel wanted you safe more than anything, isn’t that enough to warrant an inch of friendship from you?

Your eyes met his, those eyes that remind you of a storm at sea, are filled with nothing but warmth. It makes your breath hitch with how… oddly intimate it feels. You’re sure that if you weren’t a soldier, if the two of you met outside the forces, as civilians, without the medals and badges, you’re sure that he would’ve kissed you right then and there. It felt like your heart was about to explode – it’s too overwhelming.

So, you forced yourself to look away, stepping back and away from his grasps—from his touch. The absence of his touch makes your head clear without realizing it felt hazy in the first place. Such a strange effect that the colonel has on you.

König is displeased that you’ve put more distance between you two, but he doesn’t show it. He doesn’t want to make you worry, despite the adorable look on your face whenever you do look troubled. So, König opts to pat you on the head briefly.

“Sleep tight, Schatz. Don’t forget to lock your door, ja?”

“Alright, co–König. Good night.”

As you shut your doors, the monster outside stood there for a few more minutes before it walked away.

“Did something good happen today, colonel?”

“None of your concern, major.”

Horangi was as sharp as ever, deep voice rumbling in his chest which intimidated most people around him. He was also the only one in the ranks to be able to speak casually with his superior – even though all of KorTac members usually avoid the giant soldier since they don’t really want to risk being discharged because they can’t function properly anymore. Horangi was the closest thing König has to a friend – which is kind of sad since a former gambling addict was the only one who can tolerate his shit and can understand him, even with his hood permanently on.

But Horangi was right.

Something good did happened.

You happened.

“That new lieutenant.” König starts. “If you’re sending her out to deliver files, tell me so I can escort the klein hase to her destination,” the colonel orders him, “I do not wish for her to be hurt.”

He spent the night awake, drinking and shredding it in the gym, trying so hard to put your adorable face out of his mind. You were out of sight alright, he hasn’t seen you running around base for the day because he’s too busy cooped up in his office and signing off the papers that you’ve given him hours ago, but the way your facial features would get distorted into something more adorable every single time he closed his eyes was highly concerning.

And he calms himself down in those wee hours the same way he did moments before you knocked on his door—jerking himself off until he felt nothing but self-hatred and the yearning of having your soft body pressed up against his.

“She’s a lieutenant, König.” Horangi snort. “You know I don’t recruit the weak.”

“She’s a woman,” König responds, “I’m not saying she’s weak, but most soldiers in base are men… I’m sure you can see where I’m going with this.”

“She can handle herself.”

“And what of the monster on the loose?”

“Why? Do you plan on eating her next?”

“… Perhaps.”

König thinks for a moment. It should be easier if he would have an official legal reason to keep you by his side. Have your desk literally in his office so he can always keep his eyes on you, make sure no one lays a finger on you. König chucks his delirious thoughts to the lack of sleep, his fingers held down the paper while he wrote with his pen, but he wished he was holding you down and fucking into your wet cunt instead. He had those things before – overthinking about the tiniest details in someone he never truly knew, but understood that he can’t be with them—it could be his childhood crushes that he could never had thanks to his hideous appearance… and anxiety. It could be fantasizing about a pretty woman that caught his attention one day—imagining a life with them, multiple kids, and maybe a dog or two. König is aware that he has a problem , but not like… this; never dangerous.

The problem was that he knows he can have you.

Perhaps not in a traditional way. No. He can’t court you, that’s against the rules, and König wished nothing more that you were a civilian instead of a soldier. Because of your badge, he couldn’t be with you. He has half a mind to snatch you away and leave you as his perfect little bedmate because he knows you would never marry a monster like him, so abducting you was… reasonable. He can shower you with gifts in your captivity, decorating you with all the gold and jewel in the world while he’s fucking his child into you. He can have his men kidnap you, and yes, it is inhumane but you would be happy with him as his wife than a woman playing as a lieutenant. He would soothe your worries, fuck you every single hour with no rest until his cock rearranges your insides and impregnate you until he can convince you that he was the perfect mate for you, and then boom – happily ever after.

He knows that he can have you.

And it drives him crazy because he has never felt a strong urge to want  something so bad in his life. At this point, it’s not even a want. It’s a need. It’s hilarious how the two of you barely knew each other, but König was head over heels for you. He wants you by his side, whether you’re willing or not.

“Have you eaten?” Horangi asked.

“Not yet.” König answered.

That’s how he found himself sitting down at the mess hall, eating this food that was barely stimulating his senses. Horangi didn’t join him, said he had to attend a meeting with his soldiers since a complaint was given to him. It was good, actually. There was rice, three hamburger steak, gravy and mashed potatoes. They gave him a bigger serving simply because he was a giant man, it only made sense to give him enough sustenance to function. The food was delicious, but König didn’t really pay attention much to it.

Now that he has had a taste of you—you giving him kind words and smiling at him—König couldn’t get enough. You were like a drug. He want to pin you down, ravage you in bed, feel your walls clamp and spasm around his cock over and over again while you’re reduced to nothing but mewls with a cum-drunk expression the same way a drug addict heats heroin over a spoon before injecting it into their systems.

He needs you under him, panting and blushing, lips puffy from kisses, skin glazed with sweat and marked with his lips and teeth.

He needs you under him, creaming on his cock while he stretches out your cunt deliciously – taking him to the hilt like a good girl, cock forming a bulge on your abdomen. Juices dripping on to the sheets while he suckles on your nipple, his other hand groping your other tit.

He needs you under him–

“Colonel?”

König’s eyes snapped up and locked on to yours, and the concern scribbled on to them has his heart swooning over you once more. Your brows are turned upward with worry and you standing in front of the table he was sitting at, calling out to him has him wanting to put you on his lap and nuzzle against the crook of your neck. He smiles underneath the mask, seeing you again, blessing his eyes with your beauty.

“Ah, liebling. What brings you my way?”

“Roze is on a mission and Izzy is currently in a meeting, and every seat is taken. So, I was wondering if I can sit with you.”

“Of course, mein liebe. Your company is always welcome.”

You can sit on his lap.

You can sit on his face, ride him while he eats you out. Tongue lapping at your sweet juices as you cum on his face. God, he wants to spoil you. Cover you with kisses and embrace you because he loves you.

To König, you’re adorable when you eat. Your cheeks puffing a little like a chipmunk as you chew your food, before gulping some of your water. There’s a bit of mashed potato smeared by the side of your lips, and you don’t seem to notice. Before he can stop himself, his fingers had made contact with your skin, wiping away the stain. He sees you visibly froze, eyes widening so adorably.

“You had mashed potato on your face.” König chuckled, wiping the food off of his gloves with a tissue.

“O-oh…” You stutter, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry. I was hungry… I missed breakfast.”

Your cheeks turned red, flustered at his gentle gesture, and König eats that shit up. His mind keeping the moment in his head. His desires spilling over it like ink; tainting a shared innocent memory between you two. He stares at you for a solid minute, engraining your features into his memory—as if he hasn’t memorized your face at this point—and smiles softly beneath the mask. There are scars all over his body, including his face, and the tentacles on his face struggles not to reach out to you and feel your skin against it.

He wants you to know that he would do anything for you. How he’s willing to lay down his life for you. How he’s willing to protect you from anything because you’re all he ever wanted in his whole life. You would appreciate a man with scars, right? After all, it’s a sign of bravery.

König took part in many battles, too many to count with his tentacles and fingers and toes combined; spent his youth training to be the best killer possible. He took part in many conflicts and killed hundreds, maybe thousands even,  while feeling nothing but recoil. He isn’t afraid of anything – maybe, except for talking to people sometimes. It’s not like he’s terrified of them, but rather afraid of making a fool of himself. König always hated talking to people, but being colonel meant he had to communicate to soldiers under his command and his superiors.

He isn’t afraid of anything. But… he is afraid of you finally seeing underneath the mask and thinking that you, in fact, find him revolting to look at.

The colonel takes one look good at you, and figures that maybe it’s worth the internal turmoil if it meant that he would have you by his side. He would agree to get as many ranks as possible if that meant he could provide for you and have you quit your job as a soldier. If that would allow him to come home to every day and night instead of sleeping alone in his room.

“I suppose you enjoy your breakfast, liebling?” König chuckled, and your face just goes even more red.

“It’s delicious,” You answered, smiling sheepishly.

He loves it when you smile. Obsessed with it—the way your eyes twinkle with delight whenever you cast your gaze at him without a hint of disgust.

“Would you like to get coffee someday?” König offered. “I know a café that has really good coffee or if you prefer non-caffeinated drinks, they also have milkshakes and their desserts are pretty good.”

 And you with those pretty doe-eyes of yours say, “Sure! Set the time and date, colonel.”

Other soldiers are looking. They’re glancing at you and him, but you don’t seem to notice the stares or the fact that it had gone slightly quiet. He is a creep, weirdo and all the words in a song that he’s been blasting in his tiny headphones these past few days because he can smell the sweetness of your perfume and the way you are smiling at him with such unbridled admiration was driving him mad.

“How about this Thursday, ja?” König inquired, wanting to hear your opinion on the matter.

You think for a moment, brows furrowed and König finds it really endearing. Izzy said she’d take you to a café but she wasn’t really sure yet since she says it might be the day Horangi and her go on missions. Roze wouldn’t be back until Sunday, and you’re left alone with nothing on base.

Well… there is König.

“Sure! I’m free this Thursday.” You say to the colonel, brimming with excitement at your newfound friendship.

The monster is pleased. It seems you’ve checked out all the boxes he’s looking for in a mate.

Tags: @itsbellaham,leslie-lemon,tapioca-marzipan,starcrossed02,manjiroxs,mr-sol,euuuuuuun,sleepyoriana,urmom-77,marriedtoeddie,sylviatherosairy,breannab2018,asmicity-writes,slutforelliewilliamss,3-kai-3,notsamaira,kenz-ee

P.S. Idk how to tag or if I did it right^^

[officialundertakersmoocher]

Hi, I was so excited when I saw there is still someone writing for Kuroshitsuji and, more specifically, for Undertaker (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡ since your fixed post said you're accepting requests, I hope you don't mind if I send one. @yaboisbullshit wrote something that won't leave my mind (I hope they don't mind that I have tagged them, I'm new on Tumblr and don't know the proper etiquette ╥⁠﹏⁠╥). Anyway they wrote about a scene in "Who framed Roger Rabbit" in which we have, basically, Jessica Rabbit simping over Roger Rabbit and I would love to see Undertaker, Sebastian and Ciel's reaction to some girl who is basically a Mary Sue (beautiful, smart, maybe a noble) who's Undertaker's partner and a total simp (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠) like, he's just eating his biscuits and she's giving him heart eyes lol. Anyway, sorry for the long ask and thanks a lot for your writing, whether you do my request or not (⁠✿⁠^⁠‿⁠^⁠)

and i would love to write it!

Undertaker's Not so Secret Admirer

Synopsis: The Undertaker's shop is filled with odd visits, but he never expected one such as this.

It started as a normal day in the Undertakers shop, slow as usual for the small funeral parlor.

A certain earl makes his way down the streets of the late 18th-century England, a black clad butler by his side and a mission underway. The earl strides himself with purposeful intent and a will that cannot be stopped by many, but as Ciel entered the familiar establishment that day-he stops in his tracks at the sight that he catches before his eyes.

A young woman with a bright aura sits by herself at the center of the parlor on a plush couch in the center of the parlor, giving a giddy wave to the Phantomhive boy.

Not only had Ciel never seen anyone besides his own company adorning the parlor, he also had never seen the parlor fit for human company in such a way.

Ciel gives his butler companion a puzzled look, though receiving nothing but silence from the female counterpart.

The two boys stand in the doorway in stunned silence before the younger boy decides to take charge, yelling into the darkness, "Undertaker...!"

The man in question bursts through the side door, holding a platter of tea and cookies which was obviously prepared in advance.

"Phantomhive, perfect timin', make 'rself at home." He states with a mischievous grin glittering his lips.

The earl seats himself with his butler near and watching. Ciel notices that on the opposite side of the couch, the woman has now adorned a doding expression at the sight of the funeral parlors owner.

She sits with her legs crossed and her palms holding her chin, heart eyes practically bearing through her head. Meanwhile, The Undertaker giggles as he seats himself opposite to them. The young earl starts to feel as if he is witnessing a game that he was not invited to play.

The Undertaker, on the other hand, seems to be more than entertained by these ongoing events.

"I apologize for interrupting you while you have guests, however, I have some business to di-" Ciel starts, however he is quickly interrupted by the sounds of the seemingly love-struck young woman sitting across from him.

Practically squealing in her seat from excitement, the young woman seems to be giddy to speak to The Undertaker and at the notice of his silence, the mystery woman jumps up from her seat and slams her hands on the table.

"Oh gosh, i'm sorry! I've just been so excited to meet you...!" She is now leaning over the coffee table, practically soaking in the rest of personally space that Undertaker has to spare.

The Undertaker bursts into laughter at the sentiment.

"Oh god, I've just heard so much about you. They said you were good looking, but I could've never imagined how right they were," she continues, voice growing more and more smitten as she trails off.

The Undertaker cannot seem to stop his fit of laughter now.

"Actually, young master, I believe we shall leave The Undertaker to this company. It would simply be improper to do otherwise..." the butler spoke, silently guiding his master up from his seat. The earl mutters some very confused phrases on his way up out the door.

The Undertaker tilts his hat towards the earl on his way out and he watched as the young woman seats herself once again. She tries to hide her flushed expression, sipping from her tea cup once again.

The Undertaker clicks his tongue several times as he raises from his seat and heads towards the door which had been left agape. "Ahaha.. Oh dear," He says, wiping a stray tear from his eye from giggling too much.

The Undertaker leans his back against the door, closing the remaining gap between you and the outside world.

"Now, if you planned on coming here to present such a hilarious show such as that one in hopes that I would tell you about myself.. you could have just asked." His voice lowers more and more as he goes on and begins to slowly creep towards where you stay seated.

The sudden realization that all of his attention was now placed on you had you blushing profusely. You attempted to cover your face with your gloved hands, however your sense told you that he already knew how flustered you were.

You let out a nervous giggle as The Undertaker approaches you, placing one hand behind you on the back of the couch and the other on the arm of it- you were essentially trapped.

"So, my dear, what is it that you wanted to know...?"

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

27 / 1.7k / spreading rumors about dating Gaz, part 2

⬇ nsfw; mention of revenge porn

...

Gaz doesn't negotiate. He doesn't back down. When the situation calls for it, he knows when it's time to escalate.

That's why he fucks you on your dining room table instead of a public bathroom. Partly because he's not a slag. The idea of you possibly agreeing to do it--of giving him the same ammunition you gave your ex to humiliate you--leaves a sour taste in his mouth. Even if you started rumors and risked his reputation.

A growl rises in his throat at the thought of your ex having the gall to send him that video of you. Christ. What on Earth did you see in him?

Partly, though, he wants to fuck you in your own house so that when he next sees your prat of an ex-boyfriend, he can properly rub it in that fucker's face that you invited him in on the first date.

Or maybe he'll take a picture of your panties in his teeth. He hasn't decided yet.

You're strung out with pleasure, your bare back against the table. You’re caught between wondering why he wanted to fuck you after all and letting every last reservation about it vanish into nothing. You’ve always wanted this. You never thought it would happen.

"Sergeant," you gasp out. "Is this-- what about your reputation--?"

"Don't start." His fingers trail the lines of your body, his eyes fixed on the parts of you he caught only blurry glimpses of in your ex's video. It didn't do you justice.

He wants to pretend there's nothing to this besides convenience--you did owe him. Hell, you wanted to sleep with him. You always made that crystal clear. Now he's just allowing himself to give in to baser impulses like a dog snatching up a rabbit thrown into its path.

But you're right. This will look bad if someone finds out. He should worried, but it's hard to care about that when the thing competing for his attention is the filthy way your pussy swallows him again and again, seeing how slick you leave the base of his cock.

He should've used a condom. He knows for a fact you knew he didn't and you said nothing. He'd tell you off for it now, too, but he's absolutely certain it would just make you cum. The nerve of you.

His hips stutter for a second before he can banish that thought from his mind. He shouldn't like the idea of you being that obsessed. Acting like you'd do anything he asked. Christ, work would be a nightmare if this got out. Him actually sleeping with you. But then again, he suddenly doesn't much like the idea of you finding a different rebound. You'd just be thinking of him anyway, right? Wouldn’t you?

Whatever. He’ll deal with the fallout later. When he's not enjoying your body.

“Who’s going to know?” he murmurs, eyes falling to your chest. “Let it go.”

“Mkay,” you sigh out. There's nothing more you want than to please him right now.

"You'd do anything I asked, wouldn't you." It's not a question. You both know it's true. And he likes that--he hates admitting it, but he does. His eyes drop to your pussy again, and his hips pick up their pace.

You've spent months flirting with him, teasing him about taking you to bed. Now you're getting everything you want. He's right. Why would you care one goddamn second about the consequences? “Anything.”

He hates how needy you sound when you say that. You're too trusting. He's taking advantage of you. Don't you get that?

His grip on your hips tightens, pushing into you more and more roughly. Your moans rise in pitch and he has to grit his teeth.

“Good." He says lowly. "Then you won't tell a soul about this, will you?"

"But--ah, ngh..." You bite your lip as he stops thrusting and grinds himself into you. You gyrate your hips, needing friction. "But people already think we're together."

“Do they? That’s a bold claim.” You're overestimating how many people believe silly rumors. Besides, it's hardly your concern anymore. He lays his palms flat on the table on either side of you, bracing himself. Your skin is so soft; your neck tempts him, but he restrains himself. "You're keeping your mouth shut from now on, yeah?"

You let out a sound of frustration as he slows even further. You try to push your hips harder against his. "Sergeant, please!"

"You want this, don't you?" His voice is chilled, but the heat in his eyes as he stares down at your bucking hips is hardly discouraging. "You'll want it again. You'll keep wanting it."

"Ugh, yes," you snap, squeezing your thighs fruitlessly around his toned waist.

"As long as you don't tell a soul about this, I’ll see to it that you get what you want," he growls. "Not your team, your friends, your stupid ex. No one."

You open your mouth to question him again, but he pulls away and snaps his hips hard into yours. Whatever you were about to say dissolves into a string of semi-coherent affirmations. Yes, you'll keep it quiet. Yes, you'll pretend none of this ever happened. Yes, you'll never use his name on base again. Anything he wants. Just don't stop.

"Good girl. Good girl..." Easy enough. Now that he knows how to get his way with you, you shouldn't be such a problem anymore. He can’t help but be a little greedy, though. "You're not going to fuck anyone else, either."

"Never!"

He grunts in approval. "And you'll never--and I mean never --try to get back with your ex. Understand? You'll stay away from him."

You writhe and plead, winding your arms around his shoulders. He grabs your wrists and pins them to the table, the muscles in his arms taut.

"Do. You. Understand?" His voice comes down on you like low thunder, all around you.

"Yes!"

"Good. I'll know if you do. Mm…" His breathing grows shallow. Your heat is impossibly tight, and tightening up even more. He squeezes your wrists. "You going to cum?"

"C-Can I?" you breathe out. "Please, can I cum?"

His hips stutter and he has to close his eyes for a moment. God, he's never been tested like this.

"Sergeant, please!"

"Cum," he says, the word short and sharp like gunfire. "Cum on my cock. Right now."

He presses his thumb to your clit and you wail, clenching around him like you haven't cum in weeks. Your body rolls, practically convulses, your head knocking against your dining table as you arch up. He lets out a snarl, not slowing down despite how painfully tight you squeeze him.

Once you come down from the high, his pace never slowing, your swollen core twitches and spasms with overstimulation. You cry out, but you make yourself stay in place. You want to keep making him feel good. You want to make him feel better than he ever has.

"Cum inside me," you pant out. "I-I'm on birth control. You can-- please--"

"You're a liar," he growls through clenched teeth even as he picks up his pace.

"I promise," you plead. Even if you're a liar, and you are, you're not lying about this. God, you want him to do it so bad you can feel yourself clench up again at the thought.

You're teetering on the edge of another orgasm when he pulls out, spilling his load across your chest and stomach instead.

You clench down on nothing, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction even as your orgasm ebbs out of reach. You let your head fall back onto the table, your breathing heavy. You don't see his eyes running over you, deliberating.

"Sergeant?"

"Mm?"

"Do you maybe want my phone number?" Almost seems like a silly question. He has your address now anyway.

"Hm." He pulls away, picking up your discarded purse from the mess of clothes on the floor. He pulls out your phone and opens your texts, types in his number, and sends himself a quick message. Then he finds your conversation with your ex-boyfriend. His eyes narrow. The last texts exchanged were earlier tonight. And you started it. You told him you were out to dinner with someone else. Just to get a rise out of your ex. It obviously worked.

That's okay, he figures, opening the menu and blocking your ex's number. If there's one person he does want to know about this, it's that arsehole. Maybe now he'll stay away from you.

You sit up. "Kyle?"

His eyes meet yours, steady and unwavering. "Yeah?"

"Were you serious?"

"I was."

"Even about coming over again?"

"I mean every word I say.” He hands your phone back to you and begins to get dressed.

You watch him, grasping the edge of the table. "When will you be back?"

"My squad leaves on assignment tomorrow. Don't know how long it'll be." He zips up and grabs his t-shirt. "I'll text you."

"Right, right." You suppress a sigh. "Always got a job to do."

He slings his coat over his shoulder, then pauses. He knows he shouldn't, but he can't help but reach his hand out to your cheek. He runs the back of his finger over your jawline. Then he disguises the tender gesture by gripping your chin and pulling it up so you're looking him in the eye.

"Behave," he tells you, voice low. "No sleeping around. No flirting of any kind. Is that clear?"

Your heart pounds. You swallow and nod.

"Good," he says, holding your gaze a moment longer.

As he leaves, closing the door behind him, he curses himself.

This is not a good idea. What's he trying to do, fix you? Stupid, stupid, stupid. This isn't going to end well. You're not good for him. But damn if he doesn't feel more satisfied than he has in years.

He has no choice. If he wants you to behave, he'll have to keep your eyes on him. Whether he’s on base or not.

...

part 1 / [part 2]

more Gaz / masterlist tag

[dyaz-stories]

casual || gojo satoru x reader

Coming soon...

synopsis: Getting recruited for a double position as a teacher for Jujutsu High in Tokyo and a strategist, tasked with assigning missions to sorcerers in the region is the perfect situation for you. It pays well, it's well regarded, and it's as safe as possible — by sorcerer standards, anyway.

There is one problem though, and his name is Gojo Satoru. The one who's supposed to collaborate with you and answer to you.

The one you can't keep your hands off...

word count (chapter 1): 7.5k+

genre: 18+, friends with benefits to lovers, coworkers to lovers, canon divergence, smut

warnings/tags: fem!reader (she/her pronouns, reader is afab), friends with benefits, teacher!reader, emotional slow burn but they fuck like rabbits, canon-typical violence, smut, angst, fluff, specific warnings by chapters

Gojo walks up to you, hands in his pockets. His approach to teaching involves not stepping in unless the danger becomes too extreme, so you'd expect some reaction, since you did intervene, but he doesn't seem inclined to scold you. There’s the ghost of his usual smile on his lips, but it doesn’t feel mean-spirited this time.

“We do have to save them if they need us," he says, voice surprisingly gentle, "but it’s at least as important that we teach them how to fend for themselves.”

“I don’t disagree with that.”

You just don’t think it’s worth losing an arm over this kind of reasoning.

Gojo steps closer, leaning towards you so close his nose is almost touching yours. You suck in a breath through your mouth. From up close, it’s particularly hard to ignore how handsome he is, even without seeing his eyes. You blame your accelerating heart rate on the fact that being a sorcerer is a high-stress kind of job and you’re feeling pent up. Either way, you don’t let it show, and you hate that you’re finding it harder to breathe now.

“You’re not what I expected.”

He’s said it before, but his voice is lower now, deeper, vibrating through your body, and you feel your stomach twisting.

You didn’t know what to answer the first time he said that, and you sure as fuck have no clue now. Instead, you glare at him, until he laughs, light and airy, and takes a step back.

“If you need me, I’ll be on top of the building, watching the kids.”

You wait for him to disappear in the distance, keeping yourself still, too still, probably, to be completely inconspicuous, and it’s only when you’re sure he’s gone that you let yourself exhale very, very slowly. The urge to to laugh at yourself seizes you, because what the fuck is wrong with you? It's not the right time, not the right place, and not even remotely the right person.

Even though you’re fully aware of all of that, your eyes trail towards the building, where you could imagine seeing Gojo’s silhouette, if you didn’t know better.

Except you do. You do.

When you look away, you know full well you’re doing it too pointedly.

Now available here!

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 3: The Ones Who Died Without A Name]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is here unfortunately.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Holiday” by Green Day.

Word count: 6.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

The Tahoe runs out of gas just west of Ashland, Ohio, coasting to a stop along the shoulder of State Route 96, sapphire skies and cotton ball cumulus clouds, emerald fields of Swiss chard and beets slowly being nibbled bare by deer and rabbits, the inheritors of an abandoned earth.

“Well, that’s it,” Baela says, offhand, blasé, as if it’s not a disaster. You’ve sorted this out, it didn’t take long: there are people who aren’t allowed to panic. If they do, it’ll be like a dam crumbling, and the flood will burst through to drown everything, like when Noah’s wrathful God decided it was time for the world to start over. Baela can’t panic. Aemond can’t panic. And maybe you can’t either. Rio gives you a skeptical look—Are we really about to walk to Oregon?—and you slap his thigh encouragingly as you climb over him and out of the Tahoe.

“Everyone gets a gun,” Aemond says as he starts distributing them: Rugers for Rhaena, Baela, and Helaena (although she winces as she obediently takes the revolver, immediately tucking it away into her burlap messenger bag), .22s for Daeron and Aegon, Remington 12 gauges for Jace and Rio, who gives you his M9. You’re better with it anyway. Aemond’s Glock 20 is in a handmade leather holster he took from the cellar of the house back in Distant, Pennsylvania. Luke, still a potential zombie, will not be armed; but Aemond slings the strap of a .22 over his own shoulder for in case Luke recovers.

“Safeties on, right kids?” Rio goes down the line checking everyone’s gun. “Remember what we practiced, use your sights, don’t go pointing the barrel at anyone unless you’re okay with blowing a hole in them. The noise is risky, but getting bit is worse, so use your best judgment.”

“I don’t have any of that,” Aegon says, grinning.

Rio grabs Aegon’s sunburned face roughly and smacks a kiss onto his cheek. “I know, Honey Bun. Don’t you worry. Stick close and I’ll do your thinking for you.”

You spy it up the road a ways on the right, half-obscured by tree limbs: a white and orange sign, a logo shaped like a diamond. “Oh my God. It’s a Stewart’s.”

“A what?” Aemond asks, squinting at the sign. It’s late afternoon, and soon the sun will be sinking into the west like a drowning man through deep water, and like all prey animals you are restless without the promise of shelter.

“A Stewart’s Root Beer. They used to sell hot dogs and barbeque and all these neat soda flavors like key lime and black cherry. We had one where I grew up. That was the fancy place. You knew it was a good day if you ended up at Stewart’s for dinner.”

Aemond considers you, that subtle ceaseless curiosity. “We can stay the night there.”

“I thought we didn’t want to waste any daylight, Aemond,” Jace jabs as he helps Luke—miserable but presently human—out of the Tahoe. “That’s what you said when I wanted to check out that Barnes & Noble, Aemond.”

“What the hell do you need books for?” Aegon says. He’s grabbing clear CD cases out of the center console of the Tahoe. He pounds on the eject button and then punches the CD player when he realizes he won’t be getting that particular disk back. “Oh, you bitch! I had Shakira on there!”

“I would like to preserve my ability to read at higher than a fifth-grade level. I wouldn’t expect you to understand. I was going to work for Sullivan & Cromwell, you know.”

“And now you’re a jobless loser just like me. Isn’t life funny?”

“You can’t be serious,” Baela says to Aegon, his arms full of CD cases. “You’re going to carry all those to California? You don’t even have a way to listen to them.”

“I’m not leaving my mixtapes.” Aegon shoves them into a U.S. Army backpack he found at Fort Indiantown Gap and then hoists it onto his back with a grunt.

Aemond tells Jace: “We only have a few hours until the sun starts going down. We don’t know what’s up ahead. We should take advantage of a safe place to sleep if it’s available. Getting caught out in the open after dark is the worst case scenario.”

“Whatever, Aemond. It’s your call. Everything is your fucking call.” Then Jace plods out into a field of rabbit-ravaged Swiss chard to relieve himself semi-privately, his back to the Tahoe.

“Hey, Chips Ahoy,” Aegon says, taking the folded-up map out of the pocket of his shorts, mint green plaid. “Want to tell me if there are any nuclear power plants near our route so we can steer clear of them and not get irradiated?”

“Uh, well, I don’t exactly have them all memorized…” You examine the map, hoping the black-ink cities will jog your memory, trivia you catalogued years ago, snippets you’ve heard from your fellow seamen. “Perry’s in Cleveland. We won’t be anywhere near that one. Fermi is up by Detroit.” You hesitate as your fingertips skate past Chicago. “Braidwood, LaSalle, and Byron are someplace between Chicago and Peoria, but I’m not sure where. And then there are a few others around the border of Illinois and Iowa. West of that, I don’t know. Rio?”

“Cooper’s in Nebraska, dead east of Lincoln. That’s all I got.”

Aegon is nodding, making notes on his map with a glittery forest green gel pen. “Cool, cool. If I don’t end up eaten or a zombie, I can look forward to being a sterile, glow-in-the-dark mutant.”

Luke frets: “What if we accidentally drink contaminated water or something?”

“Then you die an agonizing death, kiddo,” Rio says. “Your cells dissolve and you turn into human Jello and there’s nothing anybody can do about it.”

Luke swallows noisily. “Awesome.”

“You might just get cancer if the dose is small enough,” you tell him. Luke does not seem pacified. Rhaena gives him a sip of warm Coca-Cola from a plastic bottle from the Wawa.

Jace comes trudging back to the road, zipping up his khaki chino shorts. “Alright, are we ready?”

Helaena is gazing solemnly out over the fields of green leaves, red roots that grow like arteries into the soil. “We should try to find antivenom.”

“Antivenom?” Aemond asks, distracted as he makes sure nothing of importance was left in the Tahoe. The keys are still dangling from the ignition; you won’t need them. There’s no breathing the Tahoe back to life. There’s no returning to Aemond’s house back in Boston. There is only the West, beckoning you to cross rivers and plains and mountains to join her, and to do it as people did two hundred years ago, no cars, no phones, no escape hatches. The only way out is through.

“For the snakes,” Helaena says.

Aemond stares at her. The stitches in his face are dissolving as the flesh weaves back together, jagged maroon scar tissue, beautiful savage ruins, landscapes of improbable survival. “Helaena, antivenom has to be refrigerated. Even if we miraculously found some, it wouldn’t be useable.”

She nods, eyes wide and glazed, still peering into the fields, into the earth.

~~~~~~~~~~

A hand brushing the loose strands of hair out of your face, a whisper through the dissipating indigo of sleep: “Guess what today is.”

You startle awake and yelp as you bolt from your assailant. Aegon is watching you without any shame whatsoever. People are laughing as they gather up supplies so you all can get moving again, brushing teeth, arranging hair, drinking glass bottles of Stewart’s soda found last night in crates in the storeroom, snacking on bags of Utz chips. Sunlight is streaming in through the windows; specks of dust glimmer in the air like comets through the inhospitable void of outer space.

Luke says from where he is sitting on the floor, his arms and legs tethered: “Hopefully the day when somebody’s going to untie me.”

“It’s my birthday!” Aegon announces.

You’re still blinking at him, disoriented. “What…?”

“Aegon, I told you,” Aemond says, sipping a bottle of Stewart’s key lime soda. “It’s not your birthday. It’s not the 23rd.”

“It’s the 20th, right?” Rhaena says.

Rio looks to you, bewildered. “Isn’t it like the 25th?”

“We’re still in June?” Luke says. Now Aemond is hacking through his ropes with a hunting knife from the cellar in Distant, Pennsylvania.

“Your hand is healing up. Your color is good, your temperature is normal. I guess we can officially declare you human for the foreseeable future.”

“I knew it,” Jace says, combative so no one will see the desperate relief underneath.

Aemond examines your hands next, calloused over where the heat of the transmission tower burned the skin. There is no pretext for needing to tend to them any longer, no antiseptic or ointment or gauze. Aemond nods somberly at your palms, as if he isn’t entirely happy to pronounce them cured. His hands linger on yours for slow, unnecessary seconds.

“So what are we going to do special for my birthday?” Aegon presses eagerly.

“We’re going to walk between ten and twenty miles towards California,” Baela says.

“That’s not a birthday activity!”

Daeron groans as he inspects the screws and bolts of his compound bow. “Aegon, it’s not your birthday!”

“Shut up. You can’t even apply to get a credit card.”

“No one can get a credit card now! Currency is worthless!”

Rio offers you a cherries and cream soda. You take it and say: “Aegon, how old are you? On today, your alleged birthday?”

He hesitates. “That’s not the important part.”

Aemond smiles as he tells you, mock-whispering: “He’s thirty.”

“Thirty?!” Rio exclaims. “That’s like, an actual adult age. Marriage and a mortgage, shit like that. What were you doing before everything went insane?”

Aegon gestures vaguely. “I was considering a number of opportunities.”

“He was living on my couch,” Aemond says.

Rio shakes his head, grinning. “No job? No school? No nothing?”

“I wasn’t doing nothing. I played a lot of golf.”

“He was totally doing nothing,” Jace says. “I was in my third year of law school at Harvard, Baela was getting a master’s in Aeronautics and Astronautics at MIT, Rhaena just started an Anthropology PhD, Luke was getting a master’s in Screenwriting at Boston University—he was going to be very sad and very broke, but still, he had a plan—and Aegon was doing…nothing.”

“I’ve never had a real birthday party before,” Aegon tells you; and there is something in his murky blue eyes that is tremendously sad, wounded, childlike. “I might not get another chance.”

“What do you want to do?” Now people are alarmed, skittish glances and mouths open to object. You are encouraging him.

“I don’t know yet,” Aegon says. But he’s glad you bothered to ask. You can see it on his face.

It’s not until several hours later—after noon, the sun high and blazing, everyone’s unpracticed feet aching and blistering in their shoes—that Aegon experiences a revelation like the angel Gabriel appearing to the Virgin Mary or Sir Isaac Newton extrapolating gravity from an apple falling on his head. Aegon’s epiphany appears in the form of a bowling alley in Shenandoah, Ohio called Luxury Lanes. It is remarkably unluxurious, a nondescript black rectangular building with a few doors in the front, one small tinted window on each, and no other openings. To Aegon, it is an oasis in a desert.

“I want to go bowling!”

“Aegon, we’re not going bowling,” Baela says, breathing heavily but trying to hide it, her hands massaging the small of her back. Aemond is watching her worriedly. Baela is the only person not burdened with carrying any supplies beyond her hammer and shiny new Ruger—and she resisted this accommodation at first—but still, she suffers more than anyone.

“Once again, it is my birthday—”

“Aren’t bowling allies soundproofed?” Rio asks Aemond. “You know, so they don’t get noise complaints?”

“Uh, I guess so…?”

“It’s kind of a fortress, isn’t it?” Rio continues. “Not many ways in or out. We wouldn’t be seen or heard. Might be a good place to stop for the night. ”

“Yeah!” Aegon says. “Right, Aemond?”

Aemond looks at you. It takes you a moment to figure out why. “I think the bowling alley is a good idea,” you tell him. “It’ll be safe, assuming we can clear it. And Aegon can have his party.”

Aemond is skeptical. “A party?”

“Survival isn’t just about not dying. It’s also about holding onto the things that make us human.”

“Like bowling!” Rhaena says excitedly. “It’s preserving a tradition! And I used to be so good at bowling. I bowled a 250 game once.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Aegon says, still delighted to have her on his side.

“There’s a sign for a Walmart maybe half a mile up the road,” Daeron points out. “We could search it for supplies and then double back here.”

Aemond polls the audience. Everyone agrees.

Shenandoah is tiny, rural, religious, and out of the way from the major highways. The Walmart doors are chained shut with padlocks, and amazingly no one has taken that as an invitation to drive their car through them or otherwise shatter the glass yet. Rio is honored to be the first. He takes the butt of his Remington shotgun and punches through the glass of the locked doors, kicks away loose shards, whistles and shouts to lure out any zombies. A dozen of them come reeling out of the aisles and towards the doorway. Daeron shoots down most of them with his compound bow. Rio kills two with the butt of his Remington, his new favorite toy. Aegon, the birthday boy, uses his golf club to beat in the skull of a teenager who is still wearing glittery pink nail polish and fake eyelashes. According to her nametag, her friends and family once called her Raelynn.

Inside the Walmart, Jace and Aemond take one side of the store, you and Rio the other, doing a quick sweep to make sure you didn’t miss any undead employees or customers waiting for the chance to sink their teeth into you. And when that’s done, you begin shopping.

The shelves are probably two-thirds empty, but there are still treasures to be found. You push carts through the aisles and fill them with candles, lighters, Chef Boyardee, Doritos, canned soup, fruit snacks, tuna pouches, 5 gum, bottles of Snapple, socks and underwear, hair ties, t-shirts and shorts, Kleenex tissues, pads and tampons, toilet paper. Baela finds some cute maternity dresses. Helaena picks through the pharmacy for useful medications, Aemond shadowing her with a baseball bat in his hands and his Glock at his waist.

“Chips, they got Cheddar Whales!” Rio exclaims, tossing several boxes into your cart.

“I miss grocery stores,” Rhaena says as she climbs the shelves to get the last box of Teddy Grahams.

“I miss going to the mall and getting Auntie Anne’s pretzel nuggets,” Aegon commiserates. Then he stumbles upon the liquor aisle and his eyes light up like high beams. “Aemond!”

Aemond appears—perhaps a bit flustered—and deliberates for a while as he browses the selection, Aegon waiting anxiously, before he decides: “Since it is allegedly your birthday, you can drink tonight. And you can pick one other person to drink with you. But only one.”

“Rio,” Aegon says immediately.

“Come on!” Daeron whines.

Aegon is already putting bottles of Captain Morgan rum into a cart. “Sorry. Illegal. Underage.”

“I’ve helped you butcher countless zombies, but I can’t drink?!”

“Just Say No, as Nancy Reagan would tell an innocent child such as yourself.”

Jace strides over, sly and playful, gnawing on a Twizzler. “Aemond, were you over there rummaging through the medicine aisles again? What do you keep looking for? Condoms?”

There is an awkward silence, an extremely awkward silence. Aemond glares at Jace. Jace’s eyes go wide.

“Oh, I, uh…I was definitely joking. But…congrats on the possible future sex!”

“I already checked,” Luke tells Aemond apologetically. “You know condoms were the first thing to get bought up or looted everywhere.”

“Okay, great,” Aemond says quickly, willing the conversation to be over. There is blood, hot and mortified, flaring in his cheeks. He was thinking of you, he had to be; the only other single woman here is his sister, and obviously that’s not an option.

Jace takes another bite of his Twizzler. “Just pull out, man.”

Baela, incredulous, gestures to her belly. “Because that worked out super well for us.”

“I told you to stop riding me!”

“Yeah, a whole two seconds before you impregnated me with your super-swimmer Michael Phelps sperm.”

“Please don’t make me listen to this,” Luke begs. “I’m starting to wish I really was bitten.”

“Don’t you know all the tricks to not getting someone pregnant, Aemond?” Jace says. “Wasn’t that going to be your specialty? You wanted to be a vagina doctor? So don’t you know all the mysteries of the vagina, Aemond?”

“He was going to be an OB/GYN,” Baela says, unamused.

“Really?” Rio turns to Aemond. “Why would you want to do that?”

“So he gets to look at pussies all day,” Aegon says morosely, as if heartbroken that such a path is inaccessible to him.

“That’s not why,” Aemond insists, mostly to you.

You smile. “I didn’t think so. What’s the actual reason?”

“Interns do rotations in different departments so we can figure out what we enjoy and what we’re best suited for. I knew within two days of my OB/GYN rotation that that’s where I wanted to be. Giving birth is the only life-threatening trauma that is necessary for humanity to continue. I wanted to help people get through it as safely and painlessly as possible.” Then his gaze darts to Baela. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make it sound worse—”

“No, it’s okay, I’m very much aware. It hurts like hell, people die. Believe me, I’d be thinking about that even if you hadn’t said it. I think about it all the time.”

“I have an idea you’re not going to like.”

“What?” Baela says. Aemond nods to the nearest shopping cart. “No way. You’re not going to push me around in one of those.”

“I believe it’s an adequate solution until an alternative appears.”

She sighs. “I’ve lost my body, my career, my society, my parents…must I lose my dignity too?”

Aemond winks. “Only when you’re too tired to walk.”

“Alright, Aemond. I realize you’re under the impression that this is a favor. So thank you.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“Let me give you a favor in return.” Then Baela begins shooing everyone except you and Aemond out of the liquor aisle. “Grab anything else you want, we’re leaving in five minutes! Jace, come look at the baby clothes with me…”

When the two of you are alone, Aemond says: “I really hope that didn’t make you feel too weird. I’m not someone who gets uncomfortable about the…um…the subject matter in general. But I wouldn’t want you to think that I was trying to…I don’t know. Assume anything or pressure you into something that you weren’t already open to. Obviously I like…um…I mean, enthusiastic consent is essential, and I just…I would never try to convince anybody or…you know what, I’m just going to stop talking now. Okay?”

“Aemond, I’m fine. I didn’t think it was weird.”

“It’s a compliment,” he confesses, flushing pink again, touching his chin, perspiration gleaming at his temples.

Now you have to show interest so he knows you’re on the same page. You’ve never had to think this way before, you’ve never liked anyone enough to play the game. “So hypothetically, if someone didn’t want to get pregnant but there were no condoms, pills, etcetera…what are the options?”

He looks at you, pleasantly surprised. “Well, there’s the rhythm method. It’s not perfect, but it’s been around forever and is reasonably reliable if done correctly.”

You are only vaguely familiar. “We didn’t get a lot of sex ed down in Kentucky.”

Aemond chuckles then leans in, a mischievous curl of his lips, a craving in the crystalline river blue of his eye. He grips the shelf above your head, his arm a canopy. His voice is hushed. The front windows of the Walmart face west where the sun is setting; golden light floods in to illuminate the store. “Is your cycle regular?”

“It is, actually.” This should be embarrassing, but it’s not; it’s exhilarating. You’re imagining him seeing you, touching you, unearthing secrets you’ve never been tempted to share with anyone else.

“So if we imagine it like a circle…” He draws one on the back of your hand, invisible, mesmerizing, blue-white lightning crackling up the path of your metacarpals, wrist, ulna and radius, humerus and clavicle, descending ribs like the rungs of a ladder to jolt the sinus rhythm of your heart. “The start of your period would be Day One.”

“Okay,” you say, hypnotized as his fingerprint skates in an arc across the bumps of your knuckles.

“Ovulation doesn’t happen until around Day Fourteen. You might have noticed some increased arousal and…wetness. Clear in color, elastic consistency.”

Your eyes are trapped in his face, smooth skin, jagged scar tissue. You tease him back, stepping closer. You can hear people snickering in the next aisle as they eavesdrop. You don’t care about them, and neither does Aemond anymore. “Now that you mention it…”

“That’s nature trying to trick you into reproducing. Day Fourteen is crunch time. Once ovulation occurs, the egg is only good for up to twenty-four hours. And then the rest of the cycle you’re effectively useless, as far as making miniature humans is concerned.”

“Wait, you’re telling me people can only get pregnant one day a month?” This seems improbable. “How has the species managed to survive this long?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Aemond admits. “Depending on the health of the specimens, sperm can survive up to five days inside a woman’s body. And it’s difficult to tell exactly when ovulation occurs. So, in practice, there’s basically one week a month when you’d want to avoid a man…completing the act, if you will.” He’s still smiling, taunting, famished, imagining the same scenes you are. You know this with a categorical certainty, as if you’re reading his thoughts like stark stripes of distance on a measuring tape. “And that’s also the week when your hormones are demanding you have sex, inspiring you to make all sorts of impulsive yet extremely consequential decisions.”

“Don’t I know it,” Baela laments from the next aisle, and there is a rupture of wild giggles.

“Anyway.” Aemond lifts his finger from the back of your hand and you have to stop yourself from reaching for him as he recedes from you. “There’s a basic overview.”

“It was very educational.” You follow him out of the liquor aisle.

“I’ve used the rhythm method for years,” Rhaena says as everyone makes their way towards the front of the store with their carts. “Clearly that’s just anecdotal, so don’t think I’m officially endorsing it. When I’m in my fertile week we add condoms. Well…we used to. Back when we could get them.”

“Ugh, I hate condoms,” Baela grumbles.

“We can tell,” Aegon says.

“I hate the way they feel, I hate the way they smell…”

“They’ve never bothered me,” Rhaena says. “I don’t notice that much of a difference. And it can be fun to try different kinds.”

“Are you on drugs?” Baela whirls to you. “Seriously, what is wrong with her? I’m right, aren’t I? Condoms are awful.”

Rio gives you a cautious look, uncharacteristically reticent. He’s not going to be the one to reveal it. He doesn’t know if it’s something you’re willing to share. But if anything is going to happen with Aemond—and you want it to, already you know you want him—then it’s something you think you should be honest about. You want him to know about you. You don’t want to have to create some false version of yourself to wear like a pelt, heavy, smothering, something that will inevitably need to be taken off.

“I am regretfully not qualified to say.”

“You’ve never used condoms?” Baela asks, a bit dubious.

“I’ve never done any of it.”

Everyone freezes at the defunct checkout counters and turns to gawk at you. “No sex?” Jace says. “No nothing?”

You shrug, smiling a little self-consciously. “I made out with a guy once.”

“The Marine from Corpus Christi?” Baela asks. They’re obsessed with him, they’re convinced there’s some lore to be excavated, translated, displayed like a relic in a museum. There isn’t. Sometimes people pass in and out of your life as seamlessly as shadows or sunlight, no weight, no indentations, nothing to recall or relay. He existed and then he didn’t. He was an airplane drawing contrails in the sky that faded before the blood red fire of dusk filled the horizon.

“No. Someone from home. Just a guy, not even worth mentioning.”

“Girl, you gotta fix that, soon, pronto, like yesterday.” Jace seems genuinely horrified. “You can’t die a virgin.”

“You really can’t,” Daeron adds, and Aegon pretends to be distraught over the loss of his youngest brother’s virtue.

“That’s what I’m always telling her!” Rio says.

“Not everybody wants to have sex,” Helaena murmurs as she records today’s findings in her spider notebook.

“True,” Jace concedes. “And that is totally legit. Mother Teresa, Queen Elizabeth, Jesus Christ, Buddha, Joan of Arc, Sir Isaac Newton, Nikola Tesla, the Jonas Brothers for a while, all great people. But Chips is not celibate by choice, correct?”

“Buddha had a wife and son,” Aemond says, preoccupied. He isn’t looking at you now, which is concerning; he’s peering down at where his hands grip his shopping cart, his brow creased with…what is that? Unease, disapproval, concern, thoughtfulness, fear?

“It’s not some big thing,” you backpedal. “I don’t have a hangup about it, I just never met a guy I liked enough, and enlisted men, they’re…well, a lot of them are taken, or cheaters, or idiots. Or all three.”

“Not to worry, Chipper.” Aegon claps a hand on your shoulder; and you aren’t sure if it is his purpose to break the tension, but he seems to have that effect regardless. “If you ever wish to be initiated into the art of lovemaking by a slightly below average and entirely unintimidating penis, I’d be thrilled to assist you. I love condoms. But in their absence, I am the king of pulling out. 100% success rate. Zero bastard children running around to my knowledge.”

“You should give Jace lessons,” Baela says.

And the last thing Aegon takes from the Walmart is a green battery-powered Toshiba CD player so he can blast to his mixtapes.

~~~~~~~~~~

Flickering candles lining the middle lane, drinks and snacks strewn across the tables, Rio’s Moonbeam propped up so it’s aimed at the disco ball still hanging from the ceiling from a time before the dead started devouring the living. Daeron is at the end of the lanes to reset the pins after each player’s turn. Helaena is keeping score in her notebook; Rhaena is currently in the lead by a massive 80 points. Aegon is wasted, dancing on a table and crunching Cool Ranch Doritos beneath his bare feet, his blonde hair flopping. Each time it’s his turn to bowl, Aegon has to roll the ball down the lane with two hands like a child. Rio, several shots deep but unable to feel much shy of half a bottle, is singing along with him to Cruise by Florida Georgia Line, but it’s really more like shouting, each sentence an off-key monstrosity that makes you laugh.

“Baby, you a song, you make me wanna roll my windows down and cruise!

Down a back road, blowin’ stop signs through the middle, every little farm town with you!

And this brand new Chevy with a lift kit, would look a hell of a lot better with you up in it!

So baby, you a song, you make me wanna roll my windows down and cruise!”

You cleared Luxury Lanes easily; the only difficult part was figuring out how to get into the area called the pit where, in normal times, felled pins were mechanically collected and sorted. There were two former employees roaming around back there in their tattered uniforms, snarling and drooling blood. Both were rapidly neutralized.

Someone always has to be by the front doors, watching through the small tinted windows for signs of trouble, whether from zombies or living humans. Aemond is currently on guard, nursing a Snapple. According to the bottle, the flavor is called Takes 2 To Mango. You grab your own Snapple—plain and simple Lemon Tea, no charming gimmicks—and walk over to join him.

“So now I guess it’s my turn to say I hope that conversation didn’t make you feel weird.”

He smiles politely, glancing out the window. “No, I’m completely fine.”

“Good. Because I don’t want you to look at me differently than you would any other girl, like I’m better than them, or worse than them, or like there’s anything wrong with me, because it really isn’t something I consider to be paramount to my identity, and people always seem to get all twisted up about it, but it’s a pretty boring story, I just…”

“You’ve never liked someone enough to take the risk. I get it. I don’t think you’re a freak or anything.”

“Okay. Good.” The next song on Aegon’s mixtape is Shaboozey’s A Bar Song. Jace is dancing with Baela, spinning her around as she giggles. With Rhaena’s coaching, Luke bowls his first strike. You rest your head on the door as you gaze up at Aemond, the phantom of a smile on your lips. “I might like you enough.”

And he says as if it’s the worst thing in the world, a plague, an infection, an apocalypse: “You’d fall in love with me.”

It hurts, of course it does, this flippant rejection. He burns you, he cuts you, he stitches you up with no anesthetic. You try not to show it. “You’re…confident.”

“No, I don’t mean because of anything specific I would do, it’s just…it’s natural to form a certain…attachment. To the first person you’re with. It leaves an impression.” Not an impression like a first judgment, superficial and swift; an impression like an imprint, a hollow, a prehistoric fossil that is preserved through eons. “That was already true before. And everything is more intense now, because life is so…” Aemond takes a while to settle on a word. “Precarious.”

You say like a challenge: “Are you still in love with the first girl you slept with?”

A shadow that ripples through his face, a flinching he tries to hide. You shouldn’t have asked. Still, you feel like you need to know, like you’ll run out of oxygen if you don’t. “I think I’ve gotten enough distance from it to realize that she wasn’t…wasn’t good for me in a lot of ways. It was an unconventional situation. But I still carry all these pieces of her around with me, yes. I don’t think that will ever go away.”

“Aemond,” you say gently. “Who was she?”

He is evasive, smirking. “It’s a cliché.”

“Was she a patient? That’s very Grey’s Anatomy of you.”

“No. She was my professor.”

An older woman, wise and experienced and captivating and sophisticated. He’s cut you again, a blade slicing effortlessly through veins like soft butter. “Oh. From med school?”

“Undergrad.”

“You were really young,” you say, a little startled.

He nods. “I was eighteen when it started. I was this shy, insecure, friendless freshman, she was married with two kids around my age. And it was off and on, but there was never anyone else for me, she took up too much space in my head, in my chest, like I couldn’t breathe unless I knew we were okay.”

“It went on for seven years?”

This seems to stun him, hearing how much of his existence she bottled like a terrarium. “I guess so.”

Is she dead? Missing? Safe somewhere with her husband and kids? “Is she…gone?”

His gaze drops to the floor. “Yeah.”

“Did you see it happen?”

“I was the one who killed her when she turned.”

It’s indescribably horrible; you don’t know what to say. “Aemond, I’m…I’m really sorry…”

He is abruptly nonchalant, the blue of his eye cool and dispassionate. “Look, I’m not prepared for this to be anything more than casual. And I don’t think casual is really in the cards for us. So it’s probably best to leave it alone.”

“Right,” you agree numbly, not meaning it.

“We’re headed different places, I’m going to California, you’re planning to end up in Oregon, it’s just…a bad idea to muddy the waters, I think.”

“Because I haven’t done this before.”

He shrugs ambiguously. “It’s a contributing factor.”

“Well you seemed pretty interested before you found that out, so.”

“I don’t mean to offend you.”

“You aren’t offending me. You’re disappointing me.”

Now Aemond is offended. “By trying to protect us?”

“No, by saying you don’t think I’m a freak when you clearly do, and by having some savior complex, or a whore-Madonna complex, or whatever’s going on in your head, it’s always such a mystery to everyone else.”

He downs the rest of his Snapple and shoves the bottle into the nearest trash can. You hear it thump against the bottom, no garbage bag. “Alright. This was fun.”

“Maybe you’re afraid of making a mistake, just like I always was.”

“Maybe I don’t want to have to teach you how to do everything,” Aemond snaps.

“I taught you how to shoot.”

“The fact that you don’t realize how wildly different those two situations are proves you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, bye. Sorry about your zombie girlfriend.”

Aemond glares at you, shocked, furious. “That was so fucking low.”

It was. You regret it. But you can’t bring yourself to tell him that. You flee to the far end of the bowling alley and sit alone at a table draped in shadows. After a while, Rio notices and ventures over to see what’s wrong, a bottle of Captain Morgan swinging from one hand. He’s tipsy now.

Rio sighs as he takes a seat beside you, reaching over to rub your back. His hands are large and indelicate; what he means to be comforting is more like getting manhandled. Sometimes he leaves bruises, but it’s not his fault. Nature gave Rio the body of a killer. If anyone is going to survive the zombie apocalypse, it’s him. “What’s going on, Chips?”

Your voice breaks as you say it; tears sting in your eyes. “I hate caring about people.”

He bursts out laughing. “Yeah, it’s the worst, isn’t it? But once in a while it works out.”

“Bryan.”

And now he knows you’re serious. You have his full attention, large dark eyes fixed on your face, lines etching into his brow beneath the artificial starlight of the disco ball. “What are you asking me?”

“We can’t leave them and walk to the West Coast ourselves, can we?”

“I mean, technically we could, but it would be really stupid. Everything’s so much easier with ten people. And also I think I’d have to kidnap Aegon and take him with us, I love that little dude. Why? Do you really want to leave them?”

“No.”

“I figured.” He offers you the half-empty bottle of Captain Morgan.

“I’m not drinking that.”

“Come on. It’ll take the edge off.”

You look at him. Rio looks back, smiling now.

“I’ll watch out for you,” he says. “And if you get bit I’ll shoot you dead, no hesitation, swear to God. I remember our promise. I won’t let you die alone.”

“You’re a good guy.”

“I know.” He nudges your arm with the bottle of Captain Morgan. “A few swigs won’t hurt. It’ll help you sleep.”

You take the bottle, twist off the cap, drink down amber-gold poison that burns like gasoline, like fire.

[grllmx]

"Ragatha in Wonderland"

🌻 Them side by side for height difference 🌻

Heya!! Y'all wouldn't mind some info dump, would ya?

But before I share my thoughts and ideas for this au, note that I am making this all for fun and that I am only merging two concepts at once because they sound fun in my head!

-- So without further ado, let's start shall we?

Ragatha in Wonderland is a fun silly lil' au I thought about in my spare time (Though I am aware that I'm not the only person who had similar ideas) buuut! Here's my take on how this concept goes ~

💜🟣🎀- - - - - RAGATHA IN WONDERLAND - - - - -🎀🟣💜

🌻 Wonderland is similar yet different from the Circus. Many possibilities await in this newly found land, but wait... How odd, suddenly everyone and everything is of new variation! Did things really stay the same? Are things different? It's a confusing world that warped and transformed the original digital land into something new. New places to explore, new outfits! New concepts... New people? It seems everything changed. Perhaps even... True death is possible now.

Ragatha - Plays the role as Alice. Confused and bewildered at first but Ragatha progressively adapts to the world and the surroundings around her. Acts like herself for the first portions of the story but as she dwells longer in this 'wonderland' she loses herself, her identity, as if the place was sucking out all of 'her'. She'll meet a lot of familiar faces. She feels comforted, knowing that she isn't alone in this newly found world but little does she know - they are not what she seemed.

Jax - The white rabbit leading Ragatha to wonderland. Jax was the one who dragged her in this, so Ragatha's first instincts was to follow him, hoping he knows where the exit is. Though he often plays tricks, teasing and playing with Ragatha's head whenever given the chance. Maybe he doesn't sound like a reliable shoulder to lean on, but he is Ragatha's key in terms of escaping wonderland.

Gangle - Starring as the mouse and the dormouse. The first person (other than Jax) Ragatha meets in wonderland. Gangle is skittish and has an extreme fear of cats. She does not like hearing or mentioning them, her mouse-like features says so otherwise. Though, in later unfortunate events, Ragatha scares her by mentioning, you guess it, cats. And then flees elsewhere.

Zooble - Following the (possibly tobacco) smoke trails, enters in the wise caterpillar. Meeting for the first time was not fun, in Ragatha's case mostly. Zooble asks Ragatha a lot of questions, typically centering around herself which gradually starts her descend into madness. Zooble's questions hit hard for Ragatha, making her realize a lot of things and learn more about the world. Though one question stuck the most, "who are YOU?"

Caine - The Hatter/Mad hatter. Need I say more? Hehe, anyways... Caine, alongside Bubble, is notably the most mad or insane person living in wonderland. Always yapping about random things (Riddles, jokes, factual statement... you name it) that can either be truth or made up, which Ragatha can't tell the difference of since they are always so surreal and deranged, or in other words, utter nonsense! He is another character that made Ragatha's mental state and mindset deteriorate. (Ragatha wishes to never meet him again)

Pomni - It's Pomni! Though, something is off... Pomni's role is the Cheshire cat. She's willing to help Ragatha escape, even suggesting ideas that felt to be possible, but are things really that easy? No, of course not! She is a red herring, a person filled with mischief that fools and plays with her victims until she deems them boring. Ragatha meets Pomni in the woods right after she ran away from Caine, and just like Jax, Pomni plays with Ragatha's head. But eventually helps her out and leads her to the kingdom's garden.

Kinger - Sometimes, a king is fit to be queen. Kinger is the Queen of Hearts, a short tempered, bossy but childish queen. After first meeting, Ragatha didn't deem Kinger as a threat at first, even playing a simple game of croquet with him. But as she starves and remembers that hunger was present in this land, she secretly ate the queen's well-known 'tarts'. This resulted into the seething rage of Kinger, declaring a court trial in which Ragatha was later proven to be 'guilty'. Hence, "OFF WITH HER HEAD!"

🌻 So, spoiler alert -- Just like in original tales and stories inspired by Alice in Wonderland, this was all in Ragatha's head, a dream! I'm debating to either turn this into a comic or not, because I think it helps further explain my ideas, but who knows? Maybe with the right motivation and energy, I might do it.

Thank you for reading! Have a nice day/night 🌻

[icyminghao]

look at me

pairing: jeonghan x gn!reader genre: fluff, some angst(?), college!au warning(s): none word count: 1.2k

summary: you’ve been noticing that jeonghan never fails to maintain eye contact with everyone he converses with. everyone but you, that is.

In your past year of interacting with and being around a certain Yoon Jeonghan from Mass Communications, you’ve noticed that he loves eye contact.

He maintains intense eye contact in every conversation, one that would definitely render you speechless had you been the receiver of his undivided attention.

Which is why this whole… thing has increasingly become evidence of Yoon Jeonghan’s possible dislike towards you.

From what you’ve noticed, Jeonghan holds eye contact with everyone he’s speaking with, but not you.

You’ve tried asking his best friend, Jisoo, if he’d experienced something similar and whether it was normal, to which he’d just let out an awkward laugh and told you to “Go ask him yourself”, much to your dismay.

But then again, you’re probably overthinking. Right?

“What are you thinking about?”

As if on cue, Wonwoo shows up at just the right time to ground you before you start spiraling down a rabbit hole of self-doubt.

“You know what I’m thinking about,” you sigh, sending Wonwoo a tight-lipped smile.

“Jeonghan again, huh?” Wonwoo chuckles, eyes trailing after the man of the hour from across the bar, having the time of his life with his two best friends in tow. Beside you, Soonyoung nearly spits out his drink at whatever had just come out of Wonwoo’s mouth.

“Yoon Jeonghan? y/n, you like—”

“Soonie, no!” you lightly hit Soonyoung on his forearm, and he dramatically winces in pain like you’d just delivered a killing blow to his arm, “I just… think he doesn’t like me.”

“What? Why? He’s—”

“It’s stupid,” you cut Soonyoung off before he can complete his sentence. Soonyoung simply stares at you, and you sigh.

“Well, um, you know how he always maintains eye contact with whoever he’s speaking?” Soonyoung raises an inquisitive eyebrow, but nods anyway, prompting you to continue, “I’ve been realising recently that he just doesn’t seem to want to look at me every time we talk.”

An eerie silence engulfs the three of you, and you can almost hear the gears turning in Soonyoung’s head, making you all the more insecure.

“Let me get this straight,” Soonyoung speaks up after what feels like a long while, holding back laughter, “You think that loverboy over there doesn’t like you because he refuses to make eye contact with you?”

“I told you it was stupid!” you groan, resting your head on your hands, “Wonwoo, help me here!”

“Well, it is pretty stupid,” Wonwoo shrugs, patting your back in an attempt to comfort you.

“He doesn’t hate you, y/n,” Soonyoung pipes up, practically exploding from where he’s seated. “It’s quite the opposite, really-”

“What’s quite the opposite?” you remove your head from your hands to be greeted with the sight of Seungcheol coming up to stand in front of the three of you, Jeonghan and Jisoo in tow.

“Hyung! My man,” Soonyoung raises his voice in excitement, and you wince a little at the sheer volume as they both greet each other with a hug.

As usual, Jeonghan’s eyes are trained on anything but you, and you can’t help but notice that he’s being a little more fidgety than usual, bouncing on the balls of his feet and playing with his fingers all while Seungcheol and Soonyoung are quite literally acting like nobody else is around them watching their interaction.

“Anyway, we’re here because Jeonghan… has something to say to y/n,” Seungcheol turns to us and explains with a teasing lilt in his voice, and Jeonghan’s cheeks darken ever so slightly under the dim lighting of the club.

“He does? That’s literally such a coincidence, we were just talk—”

“Let’s go, Soonyoung, I just saw Jihoon over there,” Wonwoo cups a hand over Soonyoung’s mouth before he can complete his sentence, practically dragging him away from the conversation.

Seungcheol and Jisoo, too, bid their awkward goodbyes, each lightly punching Jeonghan on his shoulder before leaving the two of you behind. Alone.

For awhile, the two of you simply stand there in silence, and you can only hope and pray for the ground to swallow you whole.

“Um—”

“I have nothing to say to you.” Jeonghan cuts you off as you speak, and your eyes widen a little at his cold tone.

“Oh, I—” you shrink into yourself, willing yourself to stay calm.

“No! Wait, I meant—” Jeonghan leans forward, taking a deep breath, “Seungcheol and Jisoo put me up for this for no reason.”

“So it’s a joke?” you scoff, raising an incredulous eyebrow at Jeonghan as the embers of rage grow inside of you.

“No! I—” Jeonghan’s eyes widen, immediately shaking his head to refute before you cut him off.

“Do you hate me, Jeonghan?”

“What? No, I- I don’t hate you, y/n,” Jeonghan runs a hand through his hair, frustrated, “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know, you refuse to look at me every time we talk, and now you’re- you’re doing this and making me confused and- I don’t know what to think, Jeonghan.” you bite back, growing more and more annoyed by the second

“Look, I-” Jeonghan pauses, seemingly trying to gather the right words, “I don’t hate you, y/n. I could never.”

You open your mouth to reply, but Jeonghan holds a hand up, continuing, “I’m just— I usually know what to do, okay? Usually, it’d be the other way around, and you’d be the one as flustered as I am right now, but you’re- you’re different. I’ve… had a crush on you ever since we met through Wonwoo and I just… couldn’t hold a conversation with you long enough without chickening out and just ended up trying as much as possible not to interact with or look at you so I don’t make a fool of myself and I guess… you saw it as me hating you and no, that’s not true, it’s far from it even, I—”

Jeonghan is cut off as you lean forward to press the tiniest of kisses on his lips to shut him up, and his eyes widen in response.

“I like you too, Jeonghan,” you flash him the softest of smiles, and he just looks right back at you blankly, still trying to process what had just happened, much to your endearment.

“You… do?” you nod. “But… I was so horrible to you.”

“You didn’t mean it, did you?” you reply, and Jeonghan shakes his head immediately. “I didn’t, but—”

“Well, then, you could make up for it by taking me on a date,” you cut him off, surprising both him and yourself at your boldness. Jeonghan flashes the cutest shade of red, before nodding determinedly.

“We should get back to the boys,” wrapping your arms around Jeonghan, you start leading him towards where the boys have gathered from across the club, filled with newfound hope for your blossoming relationship with Jeonghan, “They haven’t stopped looking at us since they left.”

BONUS:

“And then he told me to— Hannie, why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” Jeonghan simply chuckles from beside you as you pause your rambling, furrowing your brows at him.

“You’re staring. What happened to refusing to look at me, hm?” you lean towards him, taunting.

“Well, that made you think I hated you, so I’ve gotta ramp up the eye contact to make sure you know how much I love you, babe.” Jeonghan leans forward too, resting his forehead on yours.

“You’re so cheesy,” you lightly punch his chest, giggling.

“Only for you, babe.”

a/n: hi i’m back! i hope this was okay, i struggled with jeonghan’s characterisation but i thought a flustered him would be cute ><

taglist: @xomingyu @pepperonidk @belladaises @tastymintchocolate @dahliatopia @kwantaro @chanceonceli

masterlist

[ckret2]

Chapter 27 of human Bill Cipher trying to trick his captors into liking him, featuring a mall shopping trip that turns into this:

Also, Bill faces the most difficult ethical dilemma of his life: should he act like a big jerk to a 13-year-old.

####

As they left the cheap jewelry kiosk, Bill tapped his new dress shoe against Stan's ankle to catch his attention. "Hey. Your cut." He flipped a ring in the air.

Stan caught it and inspected the symbol on its surface. "Is that the Royal Order of the Holy Mackerel?"

"You gave your protégé your fez, I thought you might want a replacement! I know how proud you are of your lodge membership, Fisherman."

Stan admiringly studied the ring and its open-mouthed crescent fish; then the corners of his mouth turned down. "Ahhh, it wasn't my membership." He stuffed the ring in his pocket.

"No? I got one with the Fishmasons symbol if you'd like that better." Bill spun the oversized ring on one finger. It slipped off and he fumbled trying to catch it.

In the smoothest move he'd pulled all summer, Dipper caught the ring before it hit the floor. He ignored Bill's outstretched hand and inspected the complicated tool-lined diamond symbol. "Fishmasons? I thought they were called..."

"Yeah, you would," Bill scoffed. "Do you believe everything you read in The Paranoia Code? You know novels are usually fictional, right?"

"But don't masons work with stone? How does a 'fish mason' make sense?"

"If everyone knew what it meant, it wouldn't be a secret society, would it?"

Dipper gave up on prying anything more than snark out of Bill and turned toward Stan. "The Royal Order of the Holy Mackerel is associated with the Fishmasons, right?"

"Yeah," Stan said, "they're uh, sister organizations or something, I think. It's complicated."

"It's a spin-off organization," Bill said. "All Mackerels are Fishers. Once you've reached the top rank in the Fishers, you're eligible to join the Holy Mackerel."

"Yeah. What he said."

Dipper nodded. "Sooo... is it true that the Fishmasons are secretly... working with the government, or...? I mean, yeah, I read it in a book. But they've had a lot of real historical figures."

Stan snorted dismissively. "If they are, they didn't invite me to those meetings."

"Well sure. The lodge that decides politics is in D.C.," Bill lied. Dipper's head whipped around to stare at him. Ha. When they got home, Bill would have to spend some time deciding which would be the stupidest conspiracy theory rabbit holes to send Dipper down. If he played his cards right, by Thanksgiving he could have the kid spouting rubbish that would alienate half his extended family.

"Would you stop staring at me like that?" He shoved the side of Dipper's face; and, while he was distracted, grabbed back the Fisher ring to inspect its symbol. Kryptos's face. Far better drawn than Bill could do. And the thin little layer of gold atop the ring should be enough to enhance Bill's psychic signal. Maybe that would be enough to get a call through to the Nightmare Realm.

He tucked the ring in his shoe and turned to Stan. "Anyway, if you think that was good, you should see what I can do in a real jewelry store. What do you say?"

"I dunno. Jewelry shops are tricky, they're always on the lookout for shoplifters."

"They never catch teams and we've got two rambunctious kids to split their attention. I'll do the distracting, you do the lifting. When's the last time you had a gold watch that isn't cursed?"

"Nope!" Mabel, who'd been trailing behind the group with her arms crossed, finally shoved her way between Stan and Bill. "That's enough! We came here for a good time, not a crime time!"

"We came here to go shopping," Stan protested. "We're shopping!"

"Yeah, we're just getting the best discount possible."

"It's like advanced couponing."

Bill laughed. "Hey, I like that."

"No!" Mabel stood in front of them, arms and feet spread wide like a barrier. "Grunkle Stan, you should know better. You're letting—" she dropped her voice to an emphatic whisper, "Bill talk you into doing bad stuff. The whole reason you came along was to make sure he can't do that!"

Stan snapped, "Oh, like you didn't just make us stand around for an hour while you played dress up with him! Why's it okay when you play with the demon, but nobody else can make him useful?"

Mabel winced. "No, that's not... I mean..."

If this conversation went the wrong way, Stan and Mabel might both talk each other out of doing anything interesting with Bill. He'd better defuse this situation quick. "Hey, c'mon, Stanley, that's your niece. Don't be so hard on her."

There was a flicker of irritation on Stan's face directed at Bill, followed by a flicker of guilt toward Mabel, followed by him grunting and refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

That was one threat neutralized. Bill turned his grin on Mabel. "Sorry for monopolizing the trip, kid. We'll make it up to you! Fordsy got you that cute crystal bracelet, didn't he—wanna graduate to some real gemstones?"

"Hey, yeah," Stan said, immediately perking up. "You like jewelry! I can get you something with hearts or kittens. Way better than a bunch of boring rocks." Bill mentally patted himself on the back. Oh, he was so good at this. Good old sibling rivalry. Families were so easy to manipulate.

Mabel slapped her hand over the rainbow crystal bracelet mixed amidst her other bracelets. "I don't want you to get me real jewelry!" she shouted; but Stan had already set out on his new mission, with Bill trotting along just behind him. "Not if you have to steal it!"

"Relax!" Bill waved without turning around. "We're a couple of pros, you've got nothing to worry about." He elbowed Stan before he could absorb Mabel's protests. "Don't worry, once she's older she'll appreciate what a financial investment fine jewelry is. Never too early to buy a little gold. Or—well—acquire gold."

"Yeah," Stan said, "who knows when the next apocalypse is gonna be."

"Could be any day now," Bill lied.

"The only bracelet I want is this one!" Mabel waved her arm in the air, pointing at the shooting star friendship bracelet Bill had made. But Stan and Bill were too far away to care about her protests now.

Mabel's shoulders slumped. She glowered at the friendship bracelet. It didn't seem as friendly as it did when Bill gave it to her. "This whole trip was a mistake, wasn't it."

Dipper grimaced. "I didn't say it."

"You don't have to." Mabel sighed heavily. "I don't know what got into me. B—Goldie's been so nice lately, I thought he was making progress! But he's been nothing but a creep today. Guess the niceness was all an act."

"He can act nice for a long time. It took Grunkle Ford almost three years to figure out how evil he is." When Dipper concluded that this hadn't had the comforting effect he'd intended, he asked, "Do you wanna tip off security about the jewelry heist?"

Mabel sighed again. "No, I don't want Grunkle Stan to get in trouble. And if Goldie's arrested he might spill the beans to mall security. Let's just wait outside by the car."

"Yeah, all right," Dipper said. "If they don't come out in twenty minutes, we'll call Ford."

Headed the other way across the mall, Bill said, "So, a watch for you, a necklace or something for the kid, and for me... they probably don't have crowns here, so—"

"Whoa, hey, I don't remember offering to get you anything," Stan said. "I already got you fancy shoes and a bunch of clothes. We're square."

"We're no such thing. Besides, why should I help you if I'm not getting anything?" Bill asked. "Maybe earrings? Gimme a nail when we get home and I can pierce my own ears—"

His arm was wrenched backwards and he fell on his back.

Thirty feet away, Mabel yelped as she was yanked back and landed on her butt.

Bill and Mabel turned around and stared at each other.

Bill said, "Right! Forgot about that. Just—get over here."

"No!" Mabel shouted. "You get over here!"

Bill scowled. "Come on, kid. Your great-uncle and I are trying to do something here. If you don't want to come along, at least let Stanley have the other half of the bracelet—"

"I said NO!" Mabel planted her feet wide apart and tugged her wrist back as far as it could go. "You used me! You were only nice so you could go outside and I fell for it! As soon as you got what you wanted, you started acting like a huge poop face again!"

"Wow, language—"

"I'm not helping you anymore!"

Bill could feel his face heating up. "Kid, don't be ridiculous! You can't stand there forever! You're being..." selfish, irrational, petty—what word would get him what he wanted?

The pedestrian chatter over the inoffensive mall music had fallen silent. The feeling of being watched crawled over his back. (He seemed to discover another unpleasant new human bodily sensation every day.) Oh. Witnesses. There was no way the stranger in a shouting match with a little girl was coming out of this looking cool.

He could still save face if he got her uncle to do Bill's arguing for him. He turned hopefully to his new shoplifting buddy. "C'mon, she's—she's being unreasonable, right? We're talking about one watch, here."

And Bill had lost him. Stan's expression hardened. He crossed his arms and Bill flinched at the movement. "If a stupid watch is gonna upset Mabel that much..."

Families were so difficult to manipulate! Why did they have to gang up on him, it wasn't fair. He shot a furious glower at Mabel.

And then laughed, loudly enough for the rubberneckers to hear. "Okay, okay! You win. Sheesh, you look so serious. Peace talks in front of the Kidz Zone?"

Sternly, Mabel said, "Okay, but you do not get to ride the little coin-operated train."

"I wasn't gonna ask!" Bill paused. "Or the—?"

"Or the helicopter!"

Dipper called, "You haven't earned it, man."

"Fine," Bill snapped, "I didn't want to ride it." Swallow your disappointment, Cipher. Just play it cool.

When they'd rendezvoused, Bill said, "Okay, I might have gone a little overboard. Big deal. But we've been here all afternoon, we haven't eaten, I'm sure that's why everyone's so testy. Let's just swing by the food court and then get out of here."

Mabel frowned. "You're just trying to get us to stay."

"Yes. I am. So that we can eat before we go." If he ended this on a win, even a small win, that would be what everyone took away and he could call this trip progress. "Funny thing about human bodies is they need to be fed a couple times a day. Maybe you've noticed."

Dipper frowned. "Dude, you're only eating twice a day?"

"I don't question your diet, get off my back. What do you think, Stanley, feed the kids before we go?" Bill might've lost Mabel, but he had a shot at securing Stan. He could work on Mabel again once they were home. "You wanna drive home a couple of cranky teens, or a couple of cranky and hungry teens?"

Dipper snapped, "We're only cranky because of—!"

"Nah, he's right," Stan said wearily. "I'm starving. We'll grab something quick to eat."

Bill immediately perked up; but Mabel's frown deepened.

####

"I want chicken strips," Dipper said. 

Mabel said, "I'm getting pizza."

Bill said, "I want—"

"I don't care what you want," Stan said. "I'm getting a burger and you're getting the fries."

"Oh, so you want to find out what I'm like when I'm the cranky and hungry one?"

Stan grunted. "Fine. Your budget's five dollars. I really do only have a twenty."

"Fine." Bill drifted over to Mabel, who'd gotten in line in front of the food court's pizza booth. "Hey, Shooting Star—"

"Leave me alone, jerk."

"Whoa, am I not allowed to get a slice of pizza?"

Mabel didn't respond. She was glaring through the glass display window at the available pizza flavors as she waited for her turn to order. Apparently Bill interpreted that as permission to stay and look over the flavors himself. 

Standing so close to Bill Cipher when Mabel didn't want him there was like having a monster breathing down her neck. She hadn't realized how hover-y he could get until it stopped being fun. She remembered something like this from Ford's lesson on cults and con artists, how they try to get into your head by talking and talking and not giving you any time and space to breathe.

She could feel Bill's heavy gaze on the side of her face. Dipper and Stan were at the next restaurant over, but Bill stood between her and them. The chain bracelet on her wrist felt like a handcuff. She wanted to rip it off and be free of him. She wanted to go home.

"I've never had American pizza before," Bill said. "What do you think, cheese or Hawaiian?"

Mabel screwed up her face. "Ew, the one with pineapple?"

Bill's grin twitched wider. "Is that a vote for cheese, then?"

Gross, he was trying to get her to talk again. She glared at the pizza more determinedly. "Get what you want, I don't care."

Bill sighed. "Fine. You're no fun." He looked over the pizzas—standing too close—for one brief moment of heavy silence; and then, pointing between the cheese and Hawaiian, murmured to himself, "Eenie, meenie, miney..."

Mabel's whole body went stiff.

####

She felt the oppressive oven-like heat of Bill's dark floating pyramid, a too-euclidean temple built without the comfort of humans in mind, so hot that touching the walls burned your skin; and she felt a sticky sweat running down her back. She felt the constant electrical static of Bill's glowing shadowy grip around her waist. Every time she shifted and struggled, her sweater crackled and stung her. Bill's hand felt like nothing, absolutely nothing, and it was crushing and inescapable.

She could hear his voice, that forced jollity pushing to the verge of exhausted hysteria, saying, "I think I'm gonna kill one of them now just for the heck of it!"

She could see his eye like a blood red spotlight, eye like an incinerating laser, the light swallowing her and Dipper; she heard her heartbeat pounding in her ears; she saw the symbol that represented her flashing in Bill's eye, and even before he stopped she knew it would be her. 

"EENIE... MEENIE... MINEY..."

She saw his hand tremble with rage as he prepared to snap her out of existence.

"YOU!"

####

"Hey, you." Bill put a hand on Mabel's shoulder. "What are you getting? Maybe we can split two slic—"

There was a wild look in Mabel's eyes.

The moment she seized his upper arm, he knew he was ending up on the floor and it was going to hurt.

She spun her back to him, jerked him against her, and flipped him over her shoulders. It was bizarrely relaxing, that second spent floating upside-down in the air. Familiar, comforting.

And then he slammed back first on the tile floor. And it hurt.

He stared wheezing at the faraway lights until his internal organs remembered how to lung. The world was too bright; he'd lost his sunglasses. He sat up and gingerly felt the back of his head. It had cracked open, he was leaking internal organs—no. That was his hair. His head was fine.

Dizzily, he asked, "What was that for?" He shook his head to clear it. "Hey. Hey! What the heck was that for!" He grabbed the counter and got to his feet, and almost slipped back down on his first attempt. "I've been a little obnoxious but what'd I do to deserve a surprise attack out of nowhere? What, were you just waiting for a chance to get the jump on me—"

And then he saw the look on Mabel's face—the absolute unadulterated terror—in the split second before she gave a little flinch of realization and the guilt kicked in.

Baffled, he looked past her and the confused nearby mall-goers to Stan and Dipper—who thankfully didn't look angry, but they also didn't look as confused as Bill felt. They had tight-lipped white-faced looks like they understood what they'd just seen perfectly.

"What," Bill said. "What'd I do? Was it something I said?" He racked his brain. He did something that scared the dickens out of them—because all of them were giving him that look—it was three against one, something must have happened that he didn't pick up on. Something that made humans nervous that wasn't important enough for someone like him to recall?

He didn't know what.

That was it. He lost. All his work was undone, they were afraid of him again, they saw him as a threat and they'd lock him back up in the shack. There went any chance of ever seeing the outside world before his execution. There went his hopes of befriending the more pliable humans, or winning Ford back over. There went his conversations with Mabel. And he didn't even know what he did wrong.

If he killed Mabel and cut the bracelet cord, was he fast enough to escape before Stan and Dipper could react? If he lunged over the counter, could he get the pizza cutter and slit Mabel's throat before she flipped him again?

He saw a flickering glimpse of his uncoordinated scramble in the futures where he tried; the scene quickly fizzled out as he concluded it wouldn't work.

"Sorry," Mabel said. "Instinct. You know how martial arts are! You get it trained into your muscle memory, and... and... I... didn't mean to do that, that was my bad."

No less confused, Bill said, "Yeah, no, sure, it's—it's fine." He couldn't afford for it not to be "fine"; he didn't know what the other options were. "I know I cut an intimidating figure." He laughed weakly.

He couldn't apologize even if he wanted to. He didn't know what he was supposed to be apologizing for. He was still watching Mabel's face and Dipper's and Stan's for any context clues to explain what just happened.

And Mabel said, voice small and shaking, "You... don't wanna hurt us again, right?"

Bill blinked slowly at her.

It was the stupidest question he'd ever heard.

She had to know that. Everyone watching had to know that. Bill had been plotting how to hurt them again not fifteen seconds ago. He had every reason to want to hurt them—his very survival depended on finding a way to hurt them—and anyway, regardless of his intentions, obviously if he was asked he'd say "no," wouldn't he! As if he could admit to his captors that he did want to hurt them! It was such a breathtakingly stupid question that he could laugh.

He didn't laugh. He didn't point out how dumb she was for asking, or what a waste of time the question was, or remind her that they both knew there was only one answer. He didn't want to show off how effortlessly he could talk circles around humans; he didn't care about making her feel stupid.

He only wanted Mabel to stop looking at him like he terrified her.

So he said, "No. Of course I don't want to hurt you." He nodded toward Stan and Dipper, "No promises about these guys, they've been making fun of our fashion sense all afternoon, but... not you." He held up one hand, showing Mabel the friendship bracelet she'd given him with the evil eye beads. "You gave me a new job, remember?"

He'd hoped the jokey half-threat might help lighten the mood, maybe get her to smile; but she just nodded. "Okay."

Okay.

Stan shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Welp. I lost my appetite. We're going home."

####

Bill didn't care about Stan and Dipper glaring at his back as they trudged toward the exit, but Mabel walking so quietly beside him was sandpapering at his nerves. If he were back home and she were one of his usual pack of friends, he could just order her to perk up or else get out of his sight until she did—but that wouldn't work here, where he was currently not all powerful, he didn't have supreme control over everybody in the vicinity, and they did have to share a ride home. If he tried to get all imperious on her, she'd never speak to him again and Stan would probably break his skull.

What could he do to make her less nervous?

"Hey." He held out his hand to her. She gave it a quizzical look, then looked up at Bill. He said, "Can't hurt you if I can't use my hand, right? Unless you expect me to start biting."

Mabel said, "This isn't, like... a deal, is it—?"

"No! What? There's no deal, where would there be a deal?" Irritably, Bill said, "I'm just trying to help, if you don't think it's helpful then fine, whatever—"

Mabel took his hand. He shut up.

She flinched in surprise and pulled her hand back, holding the ring with the Fishmasons symbol. "I don't w..."

"I know you don't. Listen—we're all going to jail if we go back to 18th Century to return anything, but... I mean, we pass the ring kiosk on the way out, so..." Was that enough? Would that do anything?

She pushed it back into his hand. "You return it."

Irritation flared up his throat; he swallowed it down. "No problem." She was probably worried he was trying to set her up.

As they walked past the kiosk, he steered around to the side opposite the teen manning it; ran one hand over the rows of rings like he was idly inspecting the designs as he passed; and with a subtle movement, slid the stolen ring back amongst the others without pausing. He showed Mabel his empty hand to prove he'd done the deed.

As they moved passed the kiosk, she took his hand again. He squeezed hers back.

He'd find another way to get a message out to Kryptos. That dumb cheap ring probably wouldn't have worked anyway.

Dipper muttered, "You're still a threat if you have one hand free." He took Bill's other hand. They simultaneously shuddered. Never mind the being-watched feeling Bill had earlier, this was what the phrase "skin crawling" truly meant.

But Mabel immediately perked up. "Thanks, Dipper."

Oh! Sure! Thank him. Bill shot Dipper a dirty look and tightened his grip. (It wasn't even tight enough to hurt.) "I forgot how sweaty your palms are."

"Shut up."

Behind them, Stan grumbled, "I'm just glad you only have two hands."

"Hey!" Bill twisted around to give Stan an exasperated look. "Do you have any idea how much I envy you right now? This is torture. I can feel every fingerprint on these two. How come you're the only one who doesn't have to suffer."

Mabel laughed weakly. "Because Grunkle Stan never tried to end the world."

"Neither did I." He sighed exaggeratedly. "But fine—I'll take my punishment like an adult."

He'd gotten a laugh out of Mabel. That was good enough for now.

####

As soon as the car pulled around to the house side of the shack, before they'd even come to a stop, Bill unfastened his seat belt, shouldered open the door, and tumbled out into the sunlight and dirt. A couple of stolen shirts fluttered free.

"Hey!" Stan rolled down his window. "Get back—! How'd you get that door open?!"

"I never closed it!" Bill was already doing cartwheels across the grass, turned like a sunflower to catch the early evening sunbeams filtering through the trees. "I just pulled it close to the car."

"It was ajar the whole drive?!"

"A jar of what?" Bill's cartwheels were already better than the ones he'd tried earlier that day.

Mabel winced. "Sorry, Grunkle Stan, I should have checked..."

"It's not her fault!" Like heck was Bill letting Mabel get in trouble over one little door. "I'm an out-of-control agent of chaos! I'd ride home sitting on the roof if this body had the friction to stay put."

Stan snapped, "Next time, that's where I'm putting you!"

While Stan parked properly and everyone else got out, Bill got tired of cavorting and trudged up to the shack. He kicked his shiny new shoe against the wall as he waited for the Pines to let him inside.

"Glad that's over," Stan sighed. "I'm never going shopping with you again."

Yeah, sure he wasn't. Bill could work on him. Stan would want a new watch eventually.

"And I'm still starving," Stan said.

"Pizza," Bill said. Dipper and Mabel perked up like a couple of dogs that had just heard their owner say walk.

"Ehh..."

"Hawaiian," Bill added.

Stan looked considering. "I do appreciate pineapple's laid-back, tropical attitude." Dipper and Mabel groaned in disappointment.

Bill proposed, "Two pizzas."

The Pines and Bill went inside, and the door swung shut behind them.

None of the humans noticed the minuscule break Bill had kicked in the shack's unicorn hair barrier.

####

(Thanks for reading, y'all! I've been really looking forward to posting this chapter, so if you've got any comments or thoughts, I'd love to hear them!)

[heartfullofleeches]

i'm obsessed with fletcher and foxboy darling too it's okay lol

ooooooh what would their wedding be like? like i can imagine foxboy darling talking with one of the townspeople who asks darling about what their wedding was like and darling's just like 'we....... eloped?' And the townsperson is like. 'Aw that's romantic :) but we should do something for you two!!'

Fletcher and Foxboy Darling have two weddings. The first takes place in the forest on the outskirts of town where Darling originates from. It's a ceremony between the couple alone and done to prove the bond between them is true despite Foxboy Darling's protest. Fletcher leads Foxboy out to the end of the safe trail for the rabbits and gives them two choices - stay with him, or return to the life they once had. Foxboy was in it for the free food and a safe place to sleep in the beginning, but slowly begins to reciprocate Fetch's feelings with this moment being when they finally admit/realize they are indeed in love with him too..

The second takes place on the barn. Most weddings are held there anyway, but the townspeople find it strange Fletcher and Darling haven't had theirs yet despite being husband and wife. Everyone gets on Fetch's case, but the main reason he's held off on a wedding for the town is because he doesn't want those with wandering eyes to see his wife looking their best. A handful of people still see Foxboy Darling as that mangy animal, but if they wear that dress those sweet seamstress bunnies made for them as thanks for all Fletcher's done he knows everyone will see them in a new light.

It's when someone makes a passing comment how they'd divorce their hubby if they had to wait this long for a wedding that Fletcher finally sits his ass down and gets everything ready. He gets some assistance from friends/family, but it's his and Darling's word before anyones. It's a happy time for the newlyweds... till someone scare Foxboy Darling off because they don't belong. Fletcher quickly nips this in the bud and the two are married officially.

Thinking about doing a full length fic with these two getting married now - likely the farm wedding with flashbacks/snippets of their first spliced between. Maybe some smut because why not. Sound interesting?

[sunshine-scented]

Helloo again, I wanted to thank you for making my last request, i loved it <33 I don't know if it's still accepting requests, if not it's ok you can just ignore it ^^, but if so, I could make a hcs of wukong, macaque and nezha with your wife s/o dragon (again sorry kk i love dragons) pregnant? I imagine dragons are like rabbits and have lots of children, how would they react if your wife wanted more children after she had already given birth to her first child? having nsfw along, sorry if it's too much can just ignore ;w;

Sora!!!! I love these dragon requests so much oh my gosh I'm obsessed!!! (Also, thanks for adding Nezha, now I can finally brainrot about him hehehehehe~)

❀ Dragon Family ❀

: Dragon s/o wants more babies!! Give the big scary dragon her babies!!!!!

: Sun Wukong, Macaque, Nezha x fem!reader

: Fluff and a generous amount of Smut :))

Sun Wukong

• would absolutely agree with you, a hundred percent

• he has so many monkey friends so he's used to taking care of multiple things

• and if it makes his wife happy??? It's already an immediate yes from him

• like, you didn't even have to try to convince him

• he's already planning the names of the babies as you speak

• excited to see more children run around the mountain

• suddenly, he's not so lonely anymore

• sobbing

Wukong carefully set you down on the bed, his lips catching yours in a heated kiss as you wrap your arms on his neck. He trails his hands on your waist and softly starts to grind against you.

You tugged on his hair making him groan and bite your lip as he lets go to stare into your eyes "My beautiful wife" he takes one of your hands and places a chaste kiss on your knuckles "My oh so precious wife"

You giggled at his affectionate behavior making him smile, he leaned in towards your ear biting against your skin, gently pulling it with his teeth making you shiver and moan out his name.

"I'm gonna pump you up with my children yeah? Gonna make you look so full of me, and only me~♡"

Six eared Macaque

• he's a little hesitant to agree with you

• he's not used to taking care of something so...fragile

• and yet you want more??

• that's what he tells himself, yet that look on your face as you ask him over and over again made him double take

• the sight of you kneeling down before him, your hands hugging his waist as you look up at him with those pretty eyes of yours

• heavens, save this poor man

• eventually, he agrees to your requests

• with a small price of all your time tonight~

"Ahn~ Macaque.." you whined as he pinned your hands over your head, his tongue licking your neck and biting your delicate skin against his fangs, a low chuckle was heard from him.

"What's wrong? Isn't this what you asked of me, Darling~?" His suave voice made your knees weak as he picked you up and placed you on the kitchen table, squeezing your thighs and capturing your lips in a sloppy, messy kiss.

He groans at your warmth and how willing you are to give all of your being to him, sends shivers down his spine as he pulls out and stares into your half lidded eyes. He smirked and slapped your thigh, erupting a moan from you

"Shh, quiet now. Our little baby is sleeping, we wouldn't want to wake them up from their precious nap now would we~"

Nezha

• AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

• sorry that's my bad

• anyways, he's similar to Macaque

• he has both the map of the samadhi fire and the jade emperor to protect, both of which isn't an easy job to do as it is

• but you're just so irresistible ♡

• and a huge tease

• surely, you would gladly take responsibility of the absolute mess you made him to be, no?

You started to grind you hips onto his lap, making cute little sounds right beside his ear as you felt him take a breath to try and calm himself down, he's just so adorable

He suddenly grabbed your waist in a tight hold making you gasp as he took the opportunity to shove his tongue inside your mouth in a sloppy wet kiss, you hummed his pleasure as you start to trail your hands onto his chest.

You tugged and pulled on his hair near his scalp making his breath hitch as he pulls away, a string of saliva connecting your mouths "You're playing a dangerous game, (Name)" he breathlessly whispered to you with a furrowed brow.

Yet you licked your lips and started you caress his thigh and leaned in closer to him "I know, I just want to know if you're strong enough to play with me~" you mocked a baby voice on him as he finally snapped, grabbing a fistfull of your hair and pulled your head facing upwards making you moan as he started biting onto your exposed neck.

"Lucky for you, I love a good challenge~"

No I don't have favoritism, what are you even going on about silly

[ivymarquis]

I saw that post that @ceilidho shared of Barry looking all “tf are you doing out of bed” and then I had to write this down for John. Sidebar the title of this in my google docs is “John decides he’s keeping his ONS”

Get Back Here

Pairing| John Price x Reader Rating| T Word Count| 863 Content/Warnings| This is post coital with them having fucked like rabbits but everything is above board. This theoretically would be such a nice jump off spot for a darker twist BUT my heart is still mostly fluffy for the cod boys. I am working on something a lil unhinged with Price tho.

While this piece is rated T, I am an MDNI blog. Minors + ageless blogs will be blocked.

If she has any sense in her head, she’ll slip out from the sheets while he’s snoring beside her, get dressed and fuck off back home.

Of course, how much sense she has at the moment is debatable at best because he went and fucked her brains right out of her skull.

Forget pipe- The man laid infrastructure earlier and it’s already screwing with her head. Making her really have to try and talk herself out of the urge to see where things go. The only thing she needs to see is where the fuck her drawers went. Getting dickmatized is a real struggle and while she doesn’t often go out, she lets the soldier sweet talk her on the expectation that there would be a fair degree of “get in, get done, get out”.

Post nut clarity is nowhere to be seen on his end, as he’d tucked her into the spot next to him with the promise of breakfast in the morning. A well deserved reward on her end for all her hard work.

Maybe her brain just likes to torture her but she starts to think that she’s just not meant for casual hook ups like this. He is kind and respectful and a phenomenal lay and her brain is already trying to twist this to justify finding a way to wrangle down another night with him. She just needs to rip this bandaid off and go.

Chalk this up as go-to spank bank fodder the next time she’s lonely.

It’s easier this way, she tells herself as she peels back the bedding he’d cocooned her in.

Less humiliating this way, to sneak away in the night as the cold bites at her as she gathers her clothes. All the while he’s snoring up a storm, assuring her that he’s still out of it and unaware of her escape attempt that is delayed by not being able to find her damn bra.

There’s a small part of her that somewhat feels bad for planning to sneak out in the middle of the night, but there’s a larger part of her that doesn’t want to hear whatever is his go to prompt when it’s time to kick his partner out of bed and back to the rest of the world.

She fixates on locating her wayward bra to the point she doesn’t notice the lack of white noise as he -John- stirs at the loss of her. She doesn’t see the way he gropes blindly at the space she was occupying not five minutes ago, nor the way his expression screws down into a scowl as realization sinks in when he fully awakens.

She does hear his huffed “The fuck are you doing?”, lacking any bite to it despite the phrasing. What she’s doing is fairly obvious given how her clothes are gathered in her arms as opposed to rifling through something she shouldn’t.

“I, um,” she blinks stupidly. He’s a gorgeous man, just enough moonlight filtering through the window so she can see him even in the dark. “I’m getting dressed,” finally her brain clicks into place.

His eyes are squinting at her as he blinks back sleep, shuffling partly up to get a better look at her, the blanket pooling at his waist. Christ her knees are already weak just looking at him again. “None of that,” he dismisses firmly, “it’s too cold, love. Come back to bed. Promised you breakfast in the morning anyway.”

She has a decision to make, she realizes- if she’s adamant about leaving it’s not like he’s going to keep her hostage. He has to let her leave.

But, her thoughts trail off, it is fucking cold. And that bed is incredibly warm. And she still doesn’t know where the fuck her bra is.

“Come on then, back you get.” He prompts with a pat to the spot she’d previously occupied, and that’s enough to make her fold (she can’t deny that she’s been lookin for a reason to fold all night, even if a part of her knows this is a bad, bad, bad idea). Setting her clothes back in a neat pile rather than them being strung all over the floor-still sans bra-, she returns to the bed and slides back under the covers he’s lifted for her.

Immediately his arm bands across her torso, pulling her in snug against him. Well, there’s certainly no sneaking away now. After a bit of shuffling as they settle in against each other, John ensuring there will be no more half hearted attempts to flee.

He doesn’t snore-likely keeping an eye on her to ensure she’s not going to run again- until she’s securely in that half-awake-half-asleep limbo. It’s incredibly easy to slip into. The room is cold, he is warm and the bed is so incredibly cozy. The math is very simple and the end result is her dozing in the arms of a man she can very stupidly see herself getting attached to- even if he snores like a bear.

Come morning, John makes good on his promise for breakfast.

She doesn’t end up needing to find her bra until two days later.

[drymushroomfics]

Reminiscing

Sandor Clegane x Female Reader

Next

Chapter One

"Sandor."

"You don't want this, girl."

"It's all I want."

You take in a breath, thoughts drifiting back to what you lost... To who you lost.

Your brain drifts to him less and less as time goes on. The pain of what happened hurts less and less as the time passes too.

You'd never been one to trust or love anyone.

You kept to yourself when you worked in the kitchen at the Red Keep.

He always waited until there was no one left in the kitchen, then he'd come in and ask for dinner. It became like clockwork. You'd finish all your cleaning duties once everyone had left and he'd walk in and sit at the table. You never understood why he never ate with the other Kingsguard but you never bothered asking. For at least a month, you never spoke to each other; just sharing silent glances.

When you had spoke to him finally, he only gave small responces. He was not one for social situations and you were almost glad for it because you were just the same.

Everyone was always so scared of him but you never felt that fear. You only felt curious toward him. You wanted to know more about the King's guard dog and you had learned more than you expected all those years ago.

•○•◇•○•♡•○•◇•○•

Taking a break you step down from your horse. After tying her to a tree off the trail, you move to find anything to ease the ache in your stomach.

You're greatful to whatever gods looking down at you when you manage a rabbit and two apples.

You feed the apples to your mare, relieved to see her not hungry anymore.

Moving to the fire you'd started, you began skinning and cooking the small rabbit.

Digging into your small find, you let more memories play through your head.

  One day while working the kitchen, you had heard the servants talking of King Joffrey. He had apparently been rather cruel to Sandor. He had been the object of Joffrey's amusings all day. You knew it was bad if the servant's had thought it was cruel treatment to Sandor.

You expected him not to show that night but there he was, right on time.

You had just finished cleaning up the kitchen when he walked in. You pushed the plate toward him and gave him a small smile. He looked you right in the eye. He never did that and you felt sometime shift inside you.

When you turned your gaze away out of embarrassement, he scoffed.

"Can't stand to look at me either, girl?", he had asked you.

"I have not a problem with you.", you had told him, moving to continue your duties.

"Don't lie to me, girl."

"Just because you've had a shit day, doesn't mean you can can come down here and be crued towards me, Clegane."

You had watched him stand up and move toward you. He had you pinned against the counter, trying to intimidate you.

"You don't scare me.", you told him.

"Why's that?", he smirked.

"If you're a dog like everyone says, then all dogs can be tamed by certain people."

"Think that'll be you just because you set my supper aside and I don't yell at ya every time I walk through the fuckin' door?"

"May be... But I'm not sure if you deserve to be a tamed dog."

"Have no need for being tamed. Especially by a little bunny like you."

That's where the nickname he gave you started. You remember it all too well as you eat the meat from the rabbit.

It was weeks before you saw Sandor again. You always left him food anyway, just in case.

When he did come back, you could see his surprise that you still left out his dinner.

"Starve?", you asked with a smirk on your face, "Figured you'd have to return to eating down here some time."

He didn't reply as he sat and scarfed down his food.

"Why'd you call me little bunny?", you had asked me a few moments later.

"You're always hopping about the fuckin' kitchen like a rabbit.", he had told you.

You had laughed and nodded in aggreement.

That's how your friendship with Sandor Clegane had started. From that night on, you did start talking and the romantic feelings had seemed to just seep into the both of you.