#his empty socket feels . Awful .

[ragnarot]

I never fully wrote a full response , but I’m going to have to eventually . but @lunarscaled answered a prompt once where lyric ripped out jack’s magick eye , and it’s a concept I just … adore . it’s gross & nasty , of course , but it is such a turbulent event TO HIM , that it’s its own little timeline on this blog . :) because whoever has the audacity to even try to go for that with Jack , it was a master stroke of writing on dogma’s behalf . Jack , as anyone could imagine , is the worst in that timeline . it’s … special to me :)

[vhagarlovebot]

WON’T LET GO.

♡. ── gif credit. ; ( aemond targaryen masterlist. )

pairing: prince aemond targaryen x fem!reader

summary: aemond is in pain and you want to help, but he doesn't want to scare you.

content warnings: hurt/comfort, established relationship, insecure aemond, mentions of losing an eye, mentions of abuse.

note: if there are any mistakes i apologize but as some of you may know english is not my first language. hope you enjoy! reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated.

LOSING A PART OF YOURSELF, physically or emotionally, comes with a great pain.

and aemond targaryen knows that very well.

ever since he lost his eye there are times where the pain is almost unbearable. not even the milk of the poppy helps to ease the pain.

when he decided to used the sapphire, it was the best decision he ever made. everyone started to fear him more, he felt powerful. he felt attractive, less a monster.

however there are days in which all he wants to do is lock himself in his chambers and remove the gemstone. just lay there without his eyepatch, everyone who would look at him disgusted forgotten behind his doors. he knows it was a fair exchange but sometimes he whishes to have his eye back.

and once he met you that wish became more and more painful each passing day.

aemond knows you love him but sometimes his insecurities make it impossible for him to believe that he can be loved. so he forces himself to endure the pain. until one night it becomes too much.

you wake up because you heard a noise and as you try to touch aemond you realize he’s not next to you in bed. scared you get up, and even in the dark you can see him in a chair by the window, hands covering his face.

"aemond? are you alright?" the cold coming from the window makes you shiver, and you hug yourself as you crouch down beside him.

aemond is quick to look away, giving you just enough time to see that his eyepatch is missing.

"my love?"

"go back to bed." he groans. he's in pain and you feel useless, not knowing what to do to help him.

"is it your eye?" he still doesn't look at you and you start to feel impatient. "let me help you. please."

"i do not.. i don't have the sapphire- i don't want to scare you." his voice barely rises above a whisper and you can't help but let tears fall from your eyes.

you cup his chin, slowly making him face you, his one good eye closed. his empty eye socket doesn't even affect you.

"you want me to help you put ointment on the scar?" you ask softly, standing and turning around to go look for it. however, you don't make it too far when a sob escapes aemond's lips. rushing to his side, you wrap him in your arms, pressing his body tightly against you as he lets it all out.

he's hurting and you are hurting with him.

and it’s not just a physical pain. he’s hurting from the inside. he is still an abused child, damaged and scared, trying to live without an important part of himself. always remembering the pain he felt, how the only two people who stood by his side and defended him were you and his mother.

he, a child, was forced to grow up listening to the awful ways people referred to him, making him feel insignificant and a burden. he was forced to create a wall between him and the world; it was the only way to endure the pain.

aemond didn’t deserved everything that happened to him.

you don't know how much time passes but eventually his body stops shaking and he finally looks at you.

"you would never scare me." you make sure to wipe his tears, leaving a kiss on his forehead. "you don't have to hide from me... i love you, aemond. just as you are. and i’m here for you, i’ll always be here.”

he takes your hands and tenderly kisses them. "just hold me, please." he looks so broken it makes you want to burn the whole world to ease his pain, to lift that weight from him.

you hold him in your arms all night, only pulling away to put ointment on his scar or to make sure he’s no longer in pain. he falls asleep with his head on your chest and his arm around your waist, hugging you tightly even in his sleep.

[qin-qin16]

Bittersweet

During a cuddle session, the liquid that flows from Killer’s eye sockets ends up staining Color’s bones, and, like any mentally stable person, he wonders: what would his tears taste like? cw: Suggestive, they match each other's freaks, semi nudity in some sense (they are all bones), kisses with blood, this one oneshot can be uncomfortable for some people…  note: The idea for this started here!

They had always been intrigued by each other, whether it was Color feeling both intimidated and curious about Killer's black tears, or Killer being captivated by Color's various flames— he didn't even attempt to mask his favoritism, enjoying it when their emotions caused the flames to spiral out of control.

Of the two, Killer had always been the most committed to experiments (or, as Color would describe it, morally inclined towards controversial experiments). However, in their recent encounters, Color couldn't shake a recurring thought: perhaps he was as fascinated by Killer's tears of determination as Killer was by his flames. What would they taste like? Would they be similar to blood? With a harsh, bitter flavor… Or would they be bittersweet, like the words of their owner? Sweet, yet with a dry, bitter aftertaste.

Gosh, I’m such a freak, he thinks; but wouldn’t Killer be just as, if not more, weird than him? After all, both had experienced rather… questionable situations. A memory flashes briefly before his eyes: one of the many kisses they had shared, but this time with each other’s blood on their teeth, spreading more and more red across their faces.

Without even realizing it, Color runs his tongue over his teeth, as if trying to taste Killer's bitter blood again. The flames emerging from the wound on his skull dance with even greater fervor, slipping slightly out of control with such not-so-normal thoughts — but since when has their relationship been anything but weird?

“Hello? Earth to Color!” The flames then settle back to their normal state, swaying freely within his skull. “I know you think about me all the time, but how about paying attention to me now that I’m here?”

A hand moves up and down his sternum; Color can feel Killer’s fingers lightly scratching the bone, leaving fleeting marks near his ribs.

They were lying on an old bed, their bodies pressed close together, with Killer draped slightly over Color — one leg pinning him against the mattress while his hand distracted him with gentle caresses.

While Killer was still fully dressed except for his coat, Color had removed everything except for his black shorts with a white stripe on each side.

“Sorry, I was just… you know what? Forget it, it’s weird.” He runs a hand over his face, letting it rest over his one functional eye.

The other arm pulls Killer closer (is that even possible?), gently tugging him by the shoulders.

“Keeping little secrets now?” Killer purrs, “And let’s be honest, there’s nothing weirder than me in this relationship.”

Color doesn’t even attempt to respond in the same playful tone; no, he’s too preoccupied with the sensation of the black liquid trickling from Killer’s empty eye sockets, flowing down the pillow and onto his ribs.

He had never paid such close attention to this detail before, but now it was the only thing on his mind. Color knew that the texture was like touching wet paint: sticky, uncomfortable, and certainly unpleasant once dried. And the smell. He had grown used to it, but at such close proximity, he could detect a faint odor of decay; subtle, yet still nasty.

But what about the taste? The hand that had been resting on his eye falls away; the small light within his eye socket shifts to focus on Killer, or rather, on the trails of liquid running down his bony cheeks. It would undoubtedly taste awful, just like the texture and the smell.

“Color? Are you okay? You’re oddly quiet…” The playful tone had vanished, leaving only concern in Killer’s voice — a tone not very familiar to Color.

Receiving no response, not even a grunt, Killer gets up from the bed, supporting himself on his forearms on the mattress, his face not so far from Color’s.

“Is it because of Chantilly? I know I promised not to bring any more cats here, but if you had seen his little face when I first saw him,” The liquid continued to drip, trailing down his chin until it finally fell onto Color, “and he doesn’t make that much of a mess — okay, he scratched the curtain one time, but he’s still scared and—”

Fuck it.

With a slight thrust from his spine, their faces collided, a gentle bump against each other. Before Killer could grasp what was happening — or think it might be the beginning of a kiss — Color opens his mouth, revealing a tongue the same color as his flames, and in a swift motion, licks Killer’s face.

The tongue moves from the tip of Killer’s chin to the edge of one of his eye sockets, cleaning the entire area in a single lick. The first thing he feels is a certain numbness, followed by a bad taste — bitter as he had imagined; perhaps it mixed with Killer’s tears as well, which would explain the salty taste that came afterward.

Still mulling this over, Color lays his head back down on the bed, not even noticing the state he has left the other skeleton in. Killer remains still, his mouth slightly open in surprise at Color’s unusual action. Now, his face was not only smeared with the remnants of his determined tears but also had a trail of saliva across it.

However, he doesn’t stay in that state for long.

“Was that the weird thing you were thinking about, hmm?” His soul vibrates between them as Killer finally settles all his weight onto Color’s lap, straddling him. “You really are a freak…”

Before Color could defend himself, Killer had already brought their faces close again, returning the lick Color had given him — but this one was very different from the previous one. It was slow, seeming to savor Color’s face with a certain tenderness, following the same path as Color’s tongue, from the tip of his chin to the end of his eye socket.

“Lucky for you, I can match our freaks, right?”

@toffeebrew @howlsofbloodhounds

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Tonality [3]

Pairing: Prince!Geralt x Princess!Reader

previous chapter

Summary: “The white wolf wants you. He’ll have no other.” As you grieve the loss of your father, your mother marries the king. Whilst you struggle to acclimate to your new life, you begin to suspect the interest your new brother has in you is less than familial.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Darkfic, Step-cest, Medieval/GoT inspired AU, (Future)Smut, Dubcon/Noncon, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, MINORS DNI!!

A/N: more creepy dream fuel, Geralt being slimy and having ulterior motives, and a little more tension with reader and her mother. all in all, i think you guys will enjoy this latest addition. as always, please mind the warnings, and enjoy!😊🥰 divider by @firefly-graphics​

The doe’s coat is as yellow as spun gold, and she blinks at you nervously as you approach. You cannot hide your childish squeal of delight, though it vexes her further. She nickers, shifting from hoof to hoof as she blinks at you with wide eyes. 

 “Papa, is she really mine?” You ask, your quiet voice heavy with awe. “She’s beautiful.” You hold out a hand, and her nostrils flare at your scent. Her long ears flick back, laying flat against her head behind her horns. They’re small—she’s young, barely a year old, perhaps less—and still covered with soft, velvety baby fur that you know will shed as she ages. 

 “Careful,” your father’s voice is ripe with caution. “She is new. Young, still, and a bit unwieldy.” You cluck your tongue at her, producing the sugar cubes you’d stolen from your mother’s tea tray from the sleeves of your dress. “I said careful—!” The doe leans forward, pressing her muzzle into your outstretched hand. You raise an eyebrow at your father, who shakes his head, a disbelieving laugh puffing out from between his lips. You stroke her head, running your fingers gently between her antlers and softly flicking ears. 

 “She about took Gaspard’s hand off this morning, she was so wild,” he says, shaking his head. “And yet she eats from your own as if you had weaned her yourself.” 

 “Did Gaspard try sugar?” You ask, giggling as her lips tickle your palm. “Perhaps she mightn’t have tried to amputate his fingers had he kept some of his salt to himself.” The wind shifts, and beneath the doe’s thick animal scent, there is something else.

 Something like sulphur and rotting meat.

 Your hand passes down the doe’s head, and her skin sloughs off beneath your fingers, leaving shiny, white bone behind. You gag, clapping a bloody hand over your mouth as fat flies buzz lazily out of her empty eye sockets. Wrong. This is wrong, it doesn’t happen like this—

 How does it go, again?

 Your father gifts you the doe, the golden doe, you are eighteen, you are a woman now, you will ride with him on the hunt, you will—

 “Su—gar swe—et,” Your father’s voice is the buzzing of a thousand glistening black flies, his tongue is made from them, wriggling in his wide open mouth. His eyes are children’s scribbles, black and writhing, and tears like ink drip from their corners. “It tasted like sugar—”

 It is then that you remember your father is dead.

 He is dead. He is dead here, because he is dead everywhere, dead and rotting and gone but not gone and you mustn’t listen, you mustn’t—

 You wake with a sharp gasp. 

 “—Princess?” The words dissolve into a static, meaningless drone as you are thrust suddenly back into consciousness. For a moment, the dream is still overlaid over the waking world like runny watercolor as you blink groggily in the dark. Beneath your trembling fingers, you can still feel the doe’s soft, golden coat—and the sharp, polished bone of her skull. With a sweaty palm against the wall, you retch, doubling over as you heave. 

 Nothing comes up. 

 The air around you is stale, stagnant, and the taste of dust and decay blankets your tongue as you swallow down lungful after panicked lungful. One thing is abysmally clear to you as you dizzily rest a hand on the cold stone to keep yourself upright—

 You are not in your rooms. 

 Where am I?

 “Princess.” The voice sounds again, and your head snaps about wildly, your eyes wide as you stare into the dark. The dream is still there, sticking the fringes of your waking thoughts like tar, and for a moment there are two voices, one made of dark black honey, sickly sweet, and the other the insectile buzz of a thousand glassy wings all beating in unison—

 “Wh-who goes there?” You ask, dragging the back of your hand across your quivering mouth. There is a sound like the sharp rushing of air, and all at once the room is lit with warm yellow light. You suppress a scream as your father’s withered, sunken face appears before you, his eyes like children’s scribble—you shut your eyes, closing them tightly as you whimper. 

 “A dream, this is a dream, a dream—” A cool, bare hand wraps about your wrist and you scream, pulling and fighting as fiercely as you can manage. “No! No! You’re dead—!” You cry, hysterical tears creeping out of the corners of your closed eyes. 

 “I regret to inform you, little sister, that I am very much alive.” It is not your father’s voice—not the dead—but your step-brother’s. “Despite your best attempts to dispatch me.” Slowly, you open your eyes, sniffling as you meet his gaze. He nods up at your balled fists, still trembling in his grip. You can feel the heat of him through his own loose night-shirt and your thin cotton shift, and your skin prickles as he licks his lips. 

 “Release me.” You say it with more confidence than you feel. For a moment, you feel your step-brother drag his thumb across your pulse point and cock his head, as though he is considering it. 

 “Will you strike me again, little princess?” He asks, a mocking smile curling at the corners of his mouth. You scowl. “I did not plan for a midnight brawl.” You shake your head, your cheeks flaming. Geralt stares at you for a moment, like his golden eyes see something yours do not. As you prepare to make the demand again, he frees your wrists. You clutch your hands to your chest, eyeing him warily. The torch he has lit casts the long room in dim orange light, the flames dancing in his irises, turning them molten. It is the firelight, you think, that makes him look so menacing, so…

 Hungry. 

 You shiver, turning your gaze instead to your surroundings, squinting at the long stone hall in the flickering light. The cool, stagnant air is disturbed only by the sound of your quiet breath, which catches in your throat as your eyes widen.

 “Where…are we?” You ask, though you fear you know the answer already. 

 The walls are lines with alcoves bearing countless candles, stuck into the melted pools of wax left by their predecessors rather than into proper candelabras. And in neat rows in front of them… 

 Graves. Made of the same gray stone as the castle. Highly polished and clean, they are each adorned with ornate carvings of their occupants. You stare grimly at the rows and rows of polished stone, and wonder at how you might have possibly found your way here through the dark labyrinth of the castle. You think again of the dream, and gooseflesh rises again on your skin. 

 ”Did you bring me here?” You round on the prince, your brow furrowed. He chuckles in response, and the sound of it grates against you. 

 “Me? I merely followed you. In truth I had wondered why you would visit the catacombs at this hour. I thought perhaps,” his eyes narrow as a crude grin plays at the corners of his mouth. “A secret paramour, or—”

 “Do not confuse me with yourself!” You snap, wrapping your arms around your body as you shiver. The prince clucks his tongue at your ire.

 “Come now, don’t be cross, little sister,” Geralt purrs. “It wouldn’t have been proper to leave you wandering the hallways in your state of undress, muttering to yourself like a madwoman.” Your cheeks warm at his crude words, and you feel angry, embarrassed tears flush hotly into the space behind your eyes. You blink them back. 

 “I… have not walked in my sleep since I was a child,” you admit, looking down at the space between your bare feet. Geralt hums in response. Old Madge, in her half-blind wisdom had always muttered fearfully to your father about your nightly escapades. 

 A soul shouldn’t walk about at night, she would say, her thin, knobby fingers twisting strands of honeysuckle and dried lavender together into a long chain, one she would wind around your bed’s posts every night for a year until finally you stayed in it. A soul shouldn’t walk about at night. What’s it lookin’ for?

 “I fear I…” You shake your head, swallowing your concerns—they are not for him to hear.  “No matter.” For an instant, a look of disappointment crosses his face before it is gone again, leaving you to wonder if you had even seen it at all. “Thank you.” Your reluctance is palpable. “For waking me.” 

 “You’ve no need to thank me. Not yet.” His eyes glitter darkly. You swallow thickly, and they follow the movement, sweeping almost lazily down the line of your throat. “Let us go.” They flick back up to yours. “Unless you wish to spend the night here?” He gestures behind you, and you shiver again, shaking your head quickly. 

 “Please.” 

 You are grateful to leave the eerie silence of the royal catacombs behind you, following as closely as you dare behind the prince. His torch throws up strange shapes on the walls of the narrow, spiraling stairwell. You can feel the dream sitting at the edges of your thoughts, waiting eagerly to settle back over you like fog. You were not predisposed to bad dreams, and yet they seemed to be the only ones you have had since you arrived. You have been beset with dark thoughts, nipping at your heels like hungry dogs, no—

 Wolves. 

 The two of you emerge from the narrow stairwell into the empty chapel, and the vast hall echoes with your entry. The sconces are dark, and the robed, painted priests nowhere to be seen. The chapel is far less intimidating at night, the sharp features of the northern gods softened by shadow. Cold moonlight filters down softly through the domed ceiling, the colors pale and muted. For a moment, the perfectly round moon is framed perfectly by the pane of red glass containing Father Wolf, shining bright crimson above his head as you pass beneath it. 

 The choking scent of the incense is gone now, and only a trace of it remains in the still air. It is overpowered by a thick, musky animal scent that reminds you of wet fur. As the two of you cross the center of the room, Geralt hooks left, towards the wide, dark archway on the other side of the room. It gapes open like a toothless mouth, the stone floor sloping downward steeply into the dark. 

 You stop at the top of it, the warm air stirring the loose hair about your shoulders. Geralt turns to look back at you, raising a brow and cocking his head p as he lifts  the torch higher. There is a question in the tilt of his head, unspoken on the curve of his lips.

 Are you afraid?

 You are. The dank, pungent animal scent washes over you again, and you shudder. It reminds you of your father’s hunting dogs.

 “Come, little Doe.” His voice feels like cold fingers drawn across the back of your neck. “You need not fear the kennels this night.” 

 “I am not afraid.” You jut your chin out stubbornly, even as gooseflesh erupts along your arms. 

 “Good,” he purrs, licking his lips. “They can smell it.” Geralt descends down into the dark maw, and you reluctantly follow. Like most, you are no stranger to the rumors that leak steadily from King Vesemir’s halls; fantastical tales of furred beasts whose jaws were wide enough to swallow a horse whole. You clutch yourself, inching closer to the prince as the sloped path straightens out, opening into a massive cavern. 

 Geralt’s torch is little more than a pinprick of light in in the vast, unyielding dark. The warm glow only manages to dimly outline the shapes of natural stone pillars, throwing up misshapen shadows. There are still more passageways, little more than tunnels, littering the walls like pockmarks. For a moment, the light of Geralt’s torch throws a long arm across the chamber. 

 Reflected in it’s light are two, glowing orbs. Eyes, the size of dinner plates, their color impossible to describe. It was as if the eyes themselves were ablaze, glowing brightly, breaking the darkness. Over the rush of your own labored breath, you can make out the quiet scratch of claws on stone. It’s coming closer. The thought tightens your throat.

 You are powerless, paralyzed before it like prey. Are you prey? You suppress a whimper. There is warmth at your back, and you realize belatedly that it is  Geralt, so close his breath brushes the back of your neck. 

 “No fear, little princess. No fear.” 

 In less than an instant, the creature stands just beyond the ring of light cast by the prince’s torch. Faintly, you can make out the hulking shape of it; larger by far than any horse. Shaggy white fur, stained a rusty red around its muzzle, it’s ears pricked up and forward as it listens to the sound of your breath.

 “Hold out your hand.” You do, lifting a trembling palm in front of you as if to stop the wolf from coming any closer. The wolf’s lip curls, exposing the wickedly sharp tip of a fang. It sniffs at your hand, and for a moment, you fear you will draw back nothing but a bloody stump. Your shock is palpable when it presses the tip of its snout against your hand, whiskers tickling your palm. 

 “Incredible.” The word escapes with the release of your held breath. You stroke the warm, bristly hair on its muzzle slowly, your eyes still wide with disbelief. The dire-wolf snorts, claws tapping against the stone as it turns from you. As quickly as the wolf appeared, it is gone again, disappearing back into the dark. You remain as you were for a moment more, your arm still outstretched as you watch its retreating back with terrified wonder. 

 “Yrsil.” Geralt’s voice drags you back to the present, and suddenly you are aware of how close he is to you, the way his warm breath ghosts against the shell of your ear.  “The she-wolf. Her name is Yrsil.” You jump away from him, smoothing your hands down your shift as you eye him warily. 

 “Why did you bring me here?” The accusatory note in your voice appears to amuse him, further stoking your ire. “To frighten me?” 

 “If I wanted you fearful, I would not have needed the kennels to do it.” You clench your fists, glaring hatefully at him as he resumes his casual pace across the cavern floor. “Come, now. This is the quickest way back to the eastern wing of the castle. I would not lie to you.” You glare at him, your eyes narrowed.

 “Would you not?” You reply dryly. 

 “I am many things, Princess.” Geralt’s voice drips into your ears like snake oil. “But liar is not one I am eager to add to the list.” 

 True to his word, the two of you emerge from the kennel entrance in the throne room, the hot musk of below sticking uncomfortably to your skin and hair. You half expect the prince to take his leave, now that you are back in familiar territory, but he doesn’t. He keeps pace with you all the way back to your chambers. The heavy door is still slightly ajar, no doubt from your midnight venture. The prince places the lit torch in one of the empty wall sconces before leaning expectantly against the wall, his body partially blocking the doorway. 

 “Excuse me.” 

 He slowly tilts his head, fixing you with a questioning look. “I do believe there is something you are forgetting, my Lady.” He parrots Kassandra’s tone with irritating accuracy. “I know Redania keeps to the old customs as well as they can, however here in Rivia we do require a certain level of decorum.”

 You clench your fists in your nightgown. “What do you want, Geralt?” You ask, exasperated.

 “A kiss should suffice, little Doe.” He purrs. His golden eyes burn the same way they did in the gardens the night of your mother’s coronation. You shake your head in disbelief as you stare at him, your lips parted. 

 “Y-you cannot ask this of me!” Your repudiation is a shrill squeak. “T-tis  indecent, w-we cannot—!” You shake your head again. “The king will not allow—”

 “I think you will find, little sister,” he reaches forward to trace the pad of his forefinger along your jaw-line, “that it matters not what the king will allow if he is not present. Do you see him?”He pushes your head to the side, forcing you to look down the hallway. “I don’t.” This is the closest Geralt has ever been to you, practically pressing you against the wall, caging you in with his massive arms. You understand now, the message relayed beneath his words—you are in no position to negotiate. 

 “You are my brother!” You plead, but he is unmoved. 

 “In name only.” He leans down, twining a lock of hair between his fingers, tugging it gently. “My father’s sham of a marriage has remarkably little to do with me.” You press yourself against the stone as he leans closer. “Come now, little Doe. Let us speak truth.” He tugs gently at the satin ribbon at the neck of your shift and it falls open. 

 “What you saw in the gardens intrigued you,” Geralt traces a path from your chin to your collarbone, his fingers feather-light, “did it not?”

 “No!” His open amusement at your conviction is like cold water down your back. 

 “I saw, Sweetling,” he says lowly. “The look on your face—”

 “Fine!” You shrill, tearing yourself away from him. It is not true, it cannot be—and yet, your blood rushes through your veins, a thin tendril of that same shameful longing uncurling in your belly. The dark curiosity that had driven you to peer around the hedge all those nights ago surges with sinful familiarity, even as you try to stamp it out.

 You lean forward with a grimace, rolling onto the tips of your toes. The prince cups your chin, smoothing a finger along your lower lip. He is unprepared for you to turn your head sharply, your lips brushing against his stubbled cheek. It is only the quickness of your movement and Prince Geralt’s own surprise that allows your malicious compliance, and you dart away, ducking under his arm and through the slim gap in the door. 

 He snarls, reaching for you, but you slam the it shut, sliding the bolt into place with speed that surprises you. Your heart hammers against your chest as for a brief moment, there is silence on the other side of the door. 

 “Aren’t you clever,” he sneers, his voice muffled through the wood.  He tries the handle before letting out a muted curse. “Open the door.” Your silence earns you a dark growl. “Open it!”

  You jump back from the door, muffling the sound of your scream with the palms of your hands as Geralt throws himself against it. It shudders in its frame, and for a terrifying moment you fear it will burst open, revealing the enraged prince on the other side—but it does not.

 “Open it!” You shrink against the wall as he seethes, his threats echoing in your ears. The sturdy wood holds against his assault, and when he finally stops, you can hear the sound of his labored breathing on the other side. That too, gradually fades into silence, and cautiously, you approach the door. Somehow, though you cannot see him, you know he remains there, waiting. 

 “You will regret this night.” There is grim promise in his words. “Little sister.” The sound of Geralt’s retreating footsteps makes your shoulders sag with relief, and you collapse against the wall, your breath labored. Though you doubt he is still there, waiting to ambush you in the hall, you do not dare open the door again until morning—

 Just in case. 

 —

 “It is a beautiful day, is it not?” Your mother flutters her fan daintily as she basks in the warm end-of-summer sun. To her right, Lady Amelia, red-faced and sweating beneath her pale face paint, forces a smile through her obvious discomfort.

 “Oh yes, Highness.” She blinks as a cloudy bead of sweat slides down into her eye. “Lovely.”

 You know the noblewomen fawning over your mother would much rather be inside, sheltered from the hot sun by the cold stone of the castle. It was where you would have been, if not for the summons from your mother. You had spent the majority of the past week or so in your chambers, reluctantly leaving them only when strictly necessary in your attempts to avoid the prince.

 The Prince.

 At the thought of him, you cast a wary glance at your surroundings, looking for the telltale gleam of his golden eyes, or the shock of his snow white hair. Thankfully, you find neither. Crossing the patch of soft, green grass toward your mother, you perch impatiently on the end of the carved stone bench as you wait for her to notice you. You make idle conversation with her ladies as you wait, twisting your fingers nervously in the fabric of your skirts while you try to parse out your request.

 I want to go home. 

 “Ah, daughter,” she greets you, and you drop your head respectfully as she addresses you. “Come to enjoy the weather?” She gestures around her at the blooming garden. “I daresay we shall miss it soon enough.”  She stretches, the jewels adorning her fingers and throat shining brilliantly in the sun.

 “It is lovely,” you say, nodding agreeably. “It does remind me of home.” You curse yourself as the word slips from your lips. Instantly, your eyes fly to your mother’s face, watching for the displeasure you know you will see written in the stiffness of her smile or the narrowed slant of her eyes. 

 “Of Redania, you mean.” The soft curve of her lips belie the dagger sharp edges of her words. The smile you force in return is weak, trembling at the edges of your mouth. 

 “Y-yes. That is… what I meant to say.” You do not miss the way her ladies lean in amongst themselves, whispering. “D-did you wish to speak with me?” Though the day is unseasonably warm, and you yourself are surrounded by people, you feel small and cold and alone. Adrift. 

 “Must a mother need a reason to see her child?” She asks, rising gracefully from her seat. One of the servants rushes over with a parasol, but she waves him away, shaking her head. “If a reason must be given, I suppose mine might be that I have missed you.”  She loops her arm through one of yours securely, steering you off the patch of cool grass and back onto the garden path proper.  The whispers of her ladies follow behind you, biting at your heels they fade. 

 “I am your mother, and yet I cannot recall when last we broke bread together.” 

 “I have found myself quite exhausted, of late,” You mumble the half truth. “I fear the journey weighs heavily upon me still.” You suppress a shudder as you remember the dream, your father’s rotting face bloated with fat maggots—“I have not slept well.” 

 “Late night escapades do tend to be quite exhausting.” Her lips curve into a cold, knowing smile, and your belly fills with hot lead. Shame turns the blood in your veins to ice as your mother inspects her sleeve. A terrible fury rages beneath the placid surface of her pleasantries, and you cower in the face of it. 

 “M-mother, I—” The words will not come, leaving you floundering as your mouth opens and closes in silence. “H-he—”

 “Did you think I would not see it?” She spits. Disgust drips from the words.    “Would not notice his...” She pauses, her eyes narrowing as her mouth twists with displeasure. “Interest.” You swallow against the lump in your throat, knowing it matters not but still wondering who might have seen, who might have witnessed Prince Geralt raging at your door. 

 “Mother, I-I swear to you, I have done nothing—! H-he, I—I walked in my sleep, a-and he found me, I—nothing happened!” You hate the look on her face, like your pleas of innocence have only confirmed your guilt. “Nothing—”

 “Nothing?” Her lip curls. “You must know these games you play, all they have done is pique his interest.” She speaks as though somehow, you should have known better. “Men are stupid, willful creatures, desirous of what they cannot have.” She clucks her tongue at you. “Your father coddled you far too long—you are a woman grown! It is long past time you act like it!” 

 “Father would believe me!” You sob. Hot, angry tears spill down your cheeks.   “I am innocent!” Your mother stares at you coldly, before reaching forward to cup your chin. 

 “It is not your innocence I question.” Your mother’s voice is deceptively soft.   “It is your sense.” You blink at her through your tears, trembling. “My sweet, naive girl.” She wipes roughly at your tears with the pad of her thumb. The cold distance in her eyes splits you cleanly down the middle like a sharp blade. There is part of you that wants to fawn, to deliver honeyed words on a platter until her love shines down on you again like the sun—

 And part that wants nothing more than to flee. You want to ask—no, beg—for her to send you home, to return you to the walls you knew better than the lines on your own palms. Your mother embraces you, her lips brushing your cheek even as your own work silently. The words won’t come, like they are stuck in your throat. 

 “There should be only honesty between us.” Your mother says. “Understand?”

 I want to go home.

 Send me home.

 Please.

 “Yes.” You hang your head in defeat, the words retreating from your tongue.  

 “Good.” She chirps as she leans away. She is herself again, smiling affectionately as she brushes imaginary dirt from your dress, tucking loose strands of hair back into your fraying braid. “And you’ll tidy up for supper, won’t you? We have missed you at the table these past nights.” You clasp your hands together so tightly that your palms sting as you force a smile.

 “Of course.” 

 For a moment, just a moment, the warm breeze carries with it the smell of rot and earth, and you remember the doe, your father’s gift dead and bloated in the patch of hexweed in the woods. 

 It smells like sugarcane, but it isn’t, your father had taught you young. It smells sweet, but it’s not, understand? 

 Perhaps, you think, as you reluctantly follow your mother’s retreating back, people can be hexweed too.

to be continued…

next

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

[swifty-fox]

“it’s just me now. you don’t have to be brave anymore.” BUCK PATCHING BUCKY UP AT THE STALAG AFTER HE ARRIVES WITH A BUSTED EYE SOCKET

ooo lets go

cw: hurt comfort, semi graphic depictions of a head injury

Gale smiles for John. Skin pricking cold on wire fencing, body still sore from his own crash, dirty and hungry and very very far from home. He smiles for John because John is alive and John is here and he's so goddamn beautiful it sets the insides of Gale squishy and vulnerable.

If only they had known, if only the guards had known what they could leverage against him. If they threatened to hurt John Gale would have given them everything.

He smiles for John, because they're all smiling and cheering and whooping and bowing the fence with the force of their impending reunification. Because Benny beside him mutters quietly under his breath, "Jesus, look at his face," in quiet horror.

Head wounds bleed a lot. They all knew this, had seen it plenty.

It still looked bad.

The boys watch John Egan stand for processing, pacing the fenceline like dogs waiting for their leader. Their missing Major doesn't sway or falter, but the moment he's through those gates and extracted from the delighted clutch of their boys Gale sees it, the slightest misstep as John approaches him.

Gale regards him, takes in the dark curls pressed to a helmet of gore around his face, the dried creek of blood from his nose. The messy pulsing devastation of his eye socket, the blue of his iris turned brilliant cobalt by the blood in the whites. He soaks it all in and John's looking him over right back and then the taller man is making a quiet noise in the back of his throat and Gale's arms are opening and they're crashing into each other like two stars across the night sky.

"You look like Hell, Bucky," Gale says.

"Been better," John laughs into his shoulder.

--

The showers are blessedly empty and Gale gets John set up on a stool against the wall and takes a moment to double-check the door. Brady and DeMarco were standing guard outside, passing Brady's pipe back nd forth while making sure nobody would disturb their Majors, but Gale didn't want them hearing anything either.

He has his shower kit made up of a barely functional razor, a couple rags, and most preciously; a chunk of soap.

Together they drag the stool beside the barebones sinks, Gale deciding that it would be more trouble than it was worth to try to get John under the spray of a showerhead. He can feel john's strength flagging, leaning his large body back against Gale's thigh as he helps him strip out of his jacket and overshirt.

"What happened to the sheepskin, Bucky?" Gale asks quietly as he folds the clothing, placing it away from where it might get wet.

John shrugs, heavy-limbed and wincing, "Kidd was looking cold."

"Awful nice of you," Gale says, voice barely above a whisper as he returns to John's side, getting the water as warm as it will go before using one rag to slowly sponge at John's caked hair. He can feel a swollen lump somewhere behind the larger man's ear but there's too many layers of grime in the way. It streams down John's face and shoulders in thick streaks of brown and red and some in-between rust.

John is mostly silent, every now and again making a soft wounded noise when Gale gets too close to what slowly is revealed to be a tremendous gash in his hair, maybe an inch long but wide and deep enough that Gale can make out the layers of pink and blessedly healthy tissue. With a murmured apology, he pries apart the edges of the injury just slightly to flush out any stuck debris. John cries out softly, fingers vicing on his thigh but bears it.

"Gonna need the doc to stitch that up," Gale says when he's happy the wound is clean, cups his hand over the hurt spot and rubs his thumb against John's ear until by inches and increments he relaxes. His fists stay clenched however, as Gale pivots around to begin cleaning his face. And his eyes are vacant, staring somewhere over Gale's shoulder stubbornly.

Gale doesn't mind, he's still reeling from the shock of John being here, from the shock at the state of him. Of the relief and grief and anger dancing a threeway battle across his ribcage. He cups John's chin in a tender mirror of the other man's own habitual caresses and dabs the blood and sweat from his hairline, swipes it from his cheeks and around his mouth and under his beautiful distant eyes that flicker with something like emotion for a moment before being viciously cut off at the knees.

"Bucky," Gale sighs, begins dabbing at the obviously broken bone around John's eye.

The skin feels hot and spongy under his touch, swollen but with too much give and it sends nausea teasing across Gale's throat. John's jaw clenches tight, Gale can feel the tick of his muscles under his thumb and he puts the rag down to brush through his now blessedly clean hair.

"Hon."

John flinches, squeezing his eyes shut even though it must hurt, and shaking his head sharply just once.

"You don't have to tell me anything, John. But it's just me now. You don't have to be brave anymore."

It's not immediate, happening more in increments than the sudden burst of emotion one might expect from John Egan.

First his broad shoulders draw up to his endearly large ears, fall back down heavily. Bottom lip trembling, face screwing up tighter and body slowly bowing in half in a slow movement like landing gear folding up. A ragged breath, exhaling on a whine and then a second one on a dry sob. Gale puts a hand on the back of John's neck and draws him close, rocks his man's body slowly as John sobs his relief into a bloody smear of emotion on Gale's neck.

[willowser]

one thousand lonely stars, hiding in the cold—

android!shouto x reader

wc: 2k+

tags: angst, cyberpunk dystopian setting, financial vulnerability, explicit language, minor mention of sex work + sex workers, reader has strong/conflicting feelings about their situation, and — as always — the question of true humanity.

notes: what a great opportunity this was for me to continue exploring this idea !! tysm to @shoto-brainrot for not only giving me the chance, but also for being such a support and helping me to figure out all this commission jazz !! i so appreciate you, and i hope you enjoy it ! 🩷

original post

You’ve yet to find out what caused the damage to Shouto’s faceplate.

By the time you discovered him outside the credit exchange, he had been busted open and left for—whatever the equivalent of dead is for an android. A gaping hole in the left side of his disturbingly human face exposed his inner circuitry to the rain and you think that should have finished him off, truly, but—he's still kicking. 

Technology in the lower district is distinct. The most careful hands could have crafted him down in the best underground salvage yard and he still wouldn't have lasted half an hour with his face submerged in a shallow mud puddle like that. Wiring would have been shot, fuses blown.

Even if the Todoroki Corporation symbol on his wrist wasn't glowing, a blinking light in time with his would-be heart, you'd know what he is. You'd know he didn't belong down here, beneath the smog, in the industrial bones of your dying city.

And yet—

The left side of Shouto's face took the brunt of whatever blow he'd been dealt, and the scarring—if it's even called that?—has extended down over his cheekbone and backward, so violently that his ear had only barely been hanging on. Without the bandage you've wrapped him up in, he's quite a sight: half a tangled mess of wires and pins, a dull cyan light glowing in his orbital socket. With the wrapping, however, he’s almost exactly as he was meant to be: seamless.

The fate of his detached ear had been unknown. Until this morning.

It still works, much to your surprise, learning so only after wondering aloud the whereabouts of your data docket and hearing Shouto answer from across the apartment. Whoever put him together, you realize, took great care to make him durable, adamantine; the carbon nanotubes and polymer arrays that make up his cochlea were hardly affected by the assault.

Someone—or something—meant to harm him, and you know that for certain, now. Such wreckage couldn’t have happened naturally, not to a Skin-Puppet like him.

(When you look at him, you can’t help but consider his creator. How far he is from them and why. If the hands that made him and the hands that ruined him are the same, if he meant to leave or if he was cast out. You haven’t asked, but it’s odd that a machine could keep such information to himself—itself.)

(Given the brutality behind his mutilation, perhaps it’s best you don’t know the answers.)

Working tech from the richer district—KōkyōLuxuria, above the smog, built high into the clouds—could not only earn you enough to eat this week, but also to pay off all your debts to the League. Maybe even finance a decent apartment a few stories up.

And that’s why you’re here: racing through the slums in the rain, doing your damndest to make this sale before time runs out and you’re forced to find another buyer. Coming across a Hack with 1,640,254 credits in their docket is rare; who knows when you’ll find someone from the Trade in Musutafu sector again? You’re likely to sooner perish—either from your empty stomach or that broker that demanded payment two days ago.

Shouto, however, doesn’t see the urgency.

“Hello, handsome! Awful cold out tonight…care to warm me up?”

“Oh, hello.”

At the even, all-too-friendly lilt in his voice, you halt your sprint again, and spin around with a hiss. “Shouto!” You snap—but it comes too late; the Entertainers have struck like lightning, already scrambling his code. 

Out of habit, you’d pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head before leaving the apartment, and now the material separates his image from view—though you can easily imagine the pleasant expression showing on his face, illuminated in pink under the NanotechNymph advertisement.

At his easily captured interest, two women strut from the open doors of the low-lit den, all allure and swaying hips, mirage flickering beneath the heavy rain. They only meet him halfway—too far from the emanator deep within the club—and you dash forward to stop him from wordlessly accepting their offer. You can’t afford to owe anyone any more than you already do.

“Shouto,” you say again, mouth twisting when he looks at you simply. Despite the hood, his bandage grows dark from the rain and—despite his framework, worry fluxes in your stomach at the thought of him getting too wet. “We have to go.”

“Aww,” an Entertainer says to you, girlish pout pulling down her full lips. “You don’t want to come inside and play with us?”

“No,” you try not to look at them any longer, just in case that racks up a charge, too. Rock solid as he is, Shouto allows himself to be steered away, much to your relief. “Buzz off, holo-ham.”

“I’d like to play.” Shouto pipes up, peeking behind his shoulder when the girls squeal in excitement. “Can we come back once we’ve finished?”

“Not for that kind of play.” You put a hand on the back of his head and swivel it, all while shoving him down the sidewalk. You almost remark on how man-like he’s acting, before chasing the thought away.

“What other types of play are there?”

“Just—hush.” 

And he does, finally, when you loop your arm through his: a presumably innocent gesture that draws his attention fully back to you, as physical touch seems to do, with him. Beneath the material of the jacket, he feels natural, all muscle and bone, even leaning into you as if the weather has made him cold. You can feel him tracing your face with his one-eyed gaze—scanning you—and you pretend not to notice.

“Your heart rate has gone up. Have I made you angry?”

“Yes,” you tell him, though he hasn’t, really. “You and your curiosity are gonna make me late, and then we’ll be in some serious shit.”

He looks away then, down to the soaked pavement, a mimicry of disappointment. From the corner of your eye, you can see his manufactured Adam’s apple bob, and the muscle beneath your hand shifts.

“They seemed nice, the holograms.” He says, and you can’t help the soft snort such a comment merits. 

“Yeah, they’re nice, alright, until you can’t pay them.”

Shouto looks at you once again, stride threatening to falter until you tug him along. “Do you know them?”

You already know where he’s going with his question, and the corner of his lips quirk up when you cast him a filthy look. “Well, no, but—”

“Then how do you know—”

“I just do, alright?” You frown at him and he accepts it in full, studying once more. Whatever he finds in your expression amuses enough that he’s placated for the moment, though you know it won’t be long before he’s piping up again.

He does it often—studies you: body language, physiological changes, speech patterns, vocal cues. Human behavior he catalogs and streams to someone back at the Corporation headquarters, finding the miniscule details he can use against you, some day. Whatever the reason behind his damage, he is still a product of his evil overlords, made for reasons you can only imagine. 

This is what you tell yourself. 

As his fingers shift until their smooth pads are brushing the delicate veins in your wrists, as he tightens his arm around yours when another stranger on the streets knocks your shoulder, as he leans into the warmth of your humanness: this is what you tell yourself.

You’re overcome with a sense of loss and you don’t know why, and you clear the strange lump hardening in your throat. “Life lesson number six, Todoroki,” you murmur it closely to him, nearly into the fabric at his shoulder, though he doesn’t react to the name. “Everybody wants something from someone, holo-hams included.”

Shouto seems to process your words, for a moment, and his face is expressionless when you steal a peek up at him. Technicolor rains down on your both, swathing him in a wild array as advertisements dance on the buildings that tower above you, and again you think of his creator. The careful hands that crafted his smooth cheeks, the sharp line of his nose, the leanness of his body. You wonder if he’s ever been deemed precious.

Nearly all of the residents relegated to the lower districts owe the Todoroki Corporation in some way. Be it through credit loans or applied interest rates on subsidized housing or hidden costs and high premiums on mandatory, shit insurance—Enji Todoroki sits in the lap of KōkyōLuxuria, has probably never even stepped down from his pedestal. 

There’s no good reason a product of his could have found its way to you: this is what you tell yourself.

“And you want my ear.” Shouto says, looking back down at you as your shoulders tense. There isn’t a byte of hostility in his voice, but he must understand the sharpness to what he’s saying.

“Yes,” you admit with a nod, and some underlying, rogue streak of guilt has you pressing into him, as if your proximity could make up for your selfishness. “The sensors in your ear are gonna pay for our dinner tonight, handsome.”

His stride falters once more, and despite the time clock ticking in the back of your mind—you let him stop you. Maybe you want him to. Nothing ever goes unnoticed by him and you know that and maybe it’s cruel of you to say such a thing, to offer a comfort you can’t admit to, but Shouto looks down at you in all his ruination and—

Before he can say anything, a fat drop of water hits the tip of his perfectly manufactured nose. It makes him flinch, delayed, and the surprise he wears and the scrunch of his brow seem so—human, there before you. Shouto tilts his face to the dark, smoggy sky, and again that worry bites you, about too much water trickling into his core.

“We’re going to be late,” you repeat, though it’s much weaker than it was earlier. This is one those moments in which he overrides all your defenses, uploads something warm and hopeful and frightening into your chest cavity; you can’t tell if you want to run because you have to, for the sale—or if it’s a result of watching him now, haloed in neon.

He’s not one to ignore you, but he doesn’t respond, instead retracting his arm from your grip in order to push the hood back off his head. Raindrops soak into his bandage and the excess pools, dripping down over the line of his jaw and the column of his throat. So close to him, you can see the goosebumps that break out across his skin.

(You wonder if he’s ever been deemed precious. You wonder if he meant to leave, or if he was cast out. You wonder if he was created for continued corruption—or if someone out there wanted him to experience life, no matter how rusty.)

(You wonder if he feels as human as he looks. If he can blush, or if the soft skin below his ear can bruise.)

A small sound bubbles out of him, like a light laugh of disbelief. 

You found him face down in the rain; you’re not sure why it could cause such a reaction now, but he turns to eye the commercial playing behind him, before watching the path of a man walking by the two of you. Rain collects in his perfect cupid’s bow until he licks it away, and his hair slicks to the side when he pushes it out of his face. 

Shouto turns his attention back to you rather plainly, though the edges of his smile pull up a little higher than they usually do, enough that the apples of his cheeks round. He asks you, “What’s going to be for our dinner?” and the question is oddly worded, but each one is intentional. 

Maybe it’s not the rain that amuses him—and maybe it is. Maybe it really is that simple, that innocent. Maybe it’s the microtremors in your voice and your increased heart rate, all the little details that could never go unnoticed. 

There isn’t a way that this could end well: this is what you tell yourself.

You nod once and turn to face back the way you came, resigned, before looping your arm through his again. You trace the delicate veins on the inside of his wrist, careful not to cover the slow-blinking symbol embedded there, and you decide it doesn’t matter what his creator did or didn’t want. Because he has wants of his own, just like anyone.

“Okay,” you sigh, and when you slosh through the puddles collecting on the sidewalk, Shouto seems happy to follow along, this time. “I can probably sweet talk Toyomitsu into buying us some takoyaki, but you’re gonna have to play it cool.”

“Is this the kind of play you were talking about?”

That lilt has returned to his voice, even and friendly and amused.

“No,” you swat at him to hear his little huff of laughter, “now stop asking about that.”

Of course he doesn’t.

[nichuuu]

Yeowooya

Tags: Smut, creampie, facial, handjob, teasing, subby joy, doggy, riding, fluff(?) Word count: 6k++

The clacking of your keyboard filled the empty office. Your eyes throbbed in their sockets, begging you for some sort of rest from your computer screen. The minute hand of the clock was slowly approaching the 12 mark on the clock, it would be 1 am soon. Regardless, you were determined to put in those extra hours and finish this damn proposal. With a sip of some extra strong coffee, you let the caffeine take over your senses. You mindlessly typed away, words appearing on the document faster than your mind could process. 

Your teammates had gone out drinking again. Unlike them, you had a sense of responsibility in you, so you were the one who stayed to finish the last leg of the proposal. While your so-called “teammates” were busy celebrating god knows what, you were slaving away in your space, fingers achy and joints sore. 

“Wow… Hard working as ever…” 

You looked up. A familiar face smiled back at you over the cubicle.

“Not now Soo-young,” You huffed, looking back at your screen. From your peripheral vision, you saw the woman pout. 

“Aw… Why so grumpy?” She teased you. You glared at her. 

“I said: Not now,” You repeated yourself. Joy rolled her eyes.

“Fine…” She sighed. Her head disappeared behind the wall of your prison, re-appearing from the entrance to your cubicle. 

“Is it me? Or does this place get messier and messier each time I visit?” She mused.

“Keep your hands off my shit,” You warned her, eyes not leaving the screen.

“I’ll do what I please, thank you.”

You heard her rummaging through some papers on your desk. You wanted to whip around and just let her have it right there, but you were so close to completing your task. Forcing yourself to stay laser focused, you pushed yourself a little more. Your fingers moved faster, the frequency of the clacking increasing. At some point, you felt Soo-young looking over your shoulder, watching silently as words appeared on screen. Then she went back to poke her nose into the papers on your desk. 

“Damn… This paper was dated 2 years ago!” You heard her mutter. “He really needs to sort his shit out…”

More rustling came from behind you. You were on the final stretch now, just a few more sentences left. You could feel your heart beating faster in excitement as you made your way towards the light at the end of the tunnel.

Alas, you typed out the final word. A rather loud yell of victory left your mouth as you saved your work. You crashed back in your chair, feeling more relieved than you’d ever had before. 

“Oh my god… Never again…” You grimaced, massaging your tired eyes. 

“This all seems like a you problem not gonna lie,” Joy chimed in. You opened your eyes. 

“Joy… Please shut the fuck up,” You requested. In response, she dragged your chair out and spun you in a circle. You yelped, quickly planting your feet down in the ground to stop yourself. God forbid those 4 cups of coffee came out of you.

“You’re done with your work! Stop being a grumpy old fart!” Soo-young reminded you. You sighed. 

“Stop nagging. You remind me of my Eomma,” You told her. She scoffed. 

“Maybe you should take better care of yourself. That way I can stop taking care of you like you’re a little kid,” Joy retorted. You wanted to argue against her statement, but she had a fair point.

“Fair enough,” You relented. 

“That’s what I thought bitch boy,” She sneered playfully. You chuckled.

You weren’t sure how to describe your relationship with Soo-young. You started off as complete strangers to each other, strangers that worked 2 desks away and always seemed to go to the same spot for lunch everyday. One fine day, she sat down next to you in the middle of a meeting—she was half an hour late—and introduced herself to you. You spent the long hours of the meeting entertaining yourselves in hushed, clandestine conversations, stopping only when your boss turned back to face the zombie crowd. At the end, you made yourself a new friend and exchanged numbers with her. 

Months passed. You got closer to Soo-young, close enough to call her what all her friends called her.

“They call me Joy,” She told you one morning over some doughnuts and coffee. 

“Joy?” You mused. She shrugged. 

“Yea… I never really understood why, but the name stuck.”

You would come to understand why with time. She truly lived up to her namesake, her bright, contagious smile and her amusing personality making her a true Joy to be around. You liked her company, it made the office feel like less of a slave plantation. 

Your relationship with her was simple up til Christmas day. She invited you back to her place for a couple of drinks after an office party, and you gladly obliged. A few jokes, some snacks and quite a few glasses of wine later, your clothes were discarded together with Joy’s and you were taking her against the window of her apartment. After your fling with her that night, you two made a mutual agreement: What happened would be a one time thing. You were friends, simple as that.

However, neither of you really kept to the first part of the agreement. It was broken just a few weeks after when Joy pulled you into a storage room and sucked your cock.The she proceeded to take your cock up her pussy, your hand clasped around her mouth to prevent anyone from hearing her moans. You broke the agreement two months later, guiding her away from the poolside party at a friends house, ripping her bikini off her and fucking her senseless in the guest bathroom. Since then, sex with Joy happened almost on a weekly basis—sometimes a monthly basis if you two were really busy. No real feelings had manifested for Joy, and Joy certainly didn't seem interested to enter a relationship with you of all people. Hence, the two of you declared yourselves friends with benefits.

“Why are you still in the office?” You asked Joy, powering off your monitor. Soo-young sighed.

“Had to file my team’s paperwork again…” She lamented. “I really hate these slackers.”

“Same here,” You chuckled bitterly. “I just keep saving their asses over and over again while they go out drinking every other night… Ridiculous if you ask me.”

Joy laughed, clearly sharing a common sentiment. 

“Should’ve just shredded all the papers… Let those fucks rot for all I care,” Joy mused. 

“We’re on the last leg of the proposal submissions… Presentations are tomorrow,”  You reminded her. Joy nodded. 

“Yep… Which is exactly why I plan on calling in sick tomorrow,” She said. You raised an eyebrow. 

“Why?” 

Joy scoffed. 

“We’re the same. We both stay for long hours in the office saving our team’s asses, but we get zero recognition at the end of it all cause it’s a ‘group effort’,” Joy lamented. “I’ve been doing all the work. I want to see how they pitch the proposal without me tomorrow.”

You smirked. 

“You’re more cunning than I thought,” You mused. She winked. 

“I’ve got lots of ideas up here,” She said, tapping her head. “You know, maybe you should call in sick tomorrow too…”

You shook your head. 

“As much as I want to let my team burn to the ground, I don’t see myself doing that,” You told her honestly. Joy groaned.

“Oh my god! You and your morals!” She sighed. “Have a little fun! You certainly seem to be able to put aside your little moral compass when we fuck.”

“But that’s because… Because… Uh…” You struggled to argue. 

“Because what huh?” Joy pressed. “Because you like using my tight little body and ravishing my ass? Is that it?”

She wasn’t exactly wrong, but you didn’t want to let her win just like that. 

“And what if that is the reason? What are you gonna do, Joy?” You challenged her. Joy stared at you for a moment. Her brows furrowed, visibly deep in thought. 

“Alright then,” She finally said after some time. “If that really is the reason… I pitch you an offer.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. 

“Let’s hear it.”

Joy leaned against your desk.

“If you call in sick with me tomorrow, I’ll let you fuck me tonight.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“I’m guessing there’s a catch?” You prompted. She grinned. 

“But of course,” She replied. “If you fuck me tonight. You have to come to the beach with me tomorrow.” 

“That sounds like more of a win for me,” You told her bluntly. 

“It’s a win-win for the two of us,” She explained. “You get to fuck me and go to the beach—I get to screw over both our teams, get railed and go to the beach. Simple.”

You nodded your head thoughtfully, pretending to think it over. In truth, you had your answer ready for quite some time. 

“So?” Joy urged. 

“I accept your offer,” You answered. Joy grinned. 

“Perfect,” She said. “Now get your shit and let’s go. All this talk about sex has me aching for your cock.”

As she turned to leave, you grabbed her by the wrist. 

“Who said anything about leaving?” You asked. Joy raised an eyebrow.

“My my… Getting mischievous aren’t you?” She teased. 

“Well… Like you said: I can set aside my moral compass when it comes to fucking you.”

Joy smiled that lustful smile. 

“So are you just gonna keep talking? Or are you gonna kiss me?” 

In a flash, you were up on your feet, her tight frame in your arms and her lips on yours. Her hands touched your chest, your own hands on her ass.

“I know the pin to my boss’s office…” Joy whispered. “She has a couch in there.”

A sly grin made its way up your face. 

“Then what are we waiting for?” You asked. Joy giggled. She grabbed your hand, hurriedly pulling you towards the direction of her boss’s office.

Looks like your night was far from over.

You ran to that office with Joy like it was an emergency. Once there, Joy hurriedly punched in the numbers. A series of beeps, a green flash and Joy threw open the door, pulling you in with her.

“Any cameras in here?” You asked her. 

“Nope,” She replied confidently. “Funnily enough, the CEO turns off all the cameras at night to save money on electricity. That’s why we have so many security guards.”

“That sounds oddly convenient,” You mused.

You found a light switch and flipped it on. The room filled with warm light, revealing the spacious office that was at your disposal.

“Christ. Just shut up and undress me already,” Joy huffed. She moved to unbutton your shirt, and you did the same. The lacy fabric of her bra slowly became more and more visible with each button that came undone, heightening your excitement and making your cock twitch wildly in your pants.

Joy tugged at your pants.

“Get this off,” She whispered. You gladly undid your belt and unbuckled your trousers. They fell with a ‘thump’, pooling around your ankles and exposing the very apparent bulge in your underwear. Joy got her skirt off, making quick work of the article of clothing and tossing it to a side.

“Come here,” She said. She captured your lips, hands hooking the waistband of your underwear and pulling it down. You jolted a little when you felt the coolness of her palm against your shaft, but quickly adjusted, relishing the small sparks of pleasure when she stroked your length slowly. Your lips parted with hers, your eyes drinking in Joy’s curvaceous body.

“The usual?” She asked, toying with the tip of your cock.

“You pick,” You told her. There was a gleam in Joy’s eyes as she placed a finger on her lips, deep in thought. 

“I wanna ride you,” She decided. You grinned.

“Sure thing, but I want to eat you out first.”

Joy let go of your cock.

“Then fucking eat me.”

She guided you over to her boss’s desk. She propped herself up on it, spreading her luscious thighs apart and exposing a wet patch on her still-clothed pussy. It would only be a matter of time before her underwear would be discarded as well.

You didn’t need to be invited over. You were on your knees in a flash, hands pushing Joy’s spreading Joy’s legs a little further. Your index finger pressed against the damp spot on her panties, making her gasp when you started tracing the outline of her pussy with your fingertip.

“D-Don’t tease me like that…” She whispered. 

“I like to play with my food a little,” You smirked.  She whined, her voice full of need and desire.  She squirmed atop the desk, eyes squeezed shut and head tilted back. She made no further attempts to cease your teasing. 

When you eventually decided you had Joy riled up, you pulled the thin fabric of her panties off. Her pink folds glistened under the light. You licked your lips, mouth watering at the sight. 

You planted a kiss on her left thigh, then her right. Joy’s legs trembled in anticipation. 

“Look at me Joy,” You ordered. She bit down on her lower lip, eyes locking onto you. Maintaining eye-contact, you leaned forward and placed your mouth on her soaking pussy. 

You’d never forget her reaction when your tongue darted out, sweeping across her slick with the tip of your tongue. Her head whipped back, jet black hair sent flying behind her as she let a sharp sigh escape her lips. You quickly responded with another lick, your tongue tracing a path from the bottom of her slit to the top of her opening. Her juices accumulated on your tongue, her taste lingering in your mouth. 

Joy’s hand found your head. She gripped a fistfull of your hair, your name spilling out from her half-parted lips. Her thighs clamped around your head, the flesh drowning out the whir of the air conditioning — a warm, pillowy heaven. Her moans resonated through her body, her thighs vibrating slightly with each gasp or sigh. Your tongue attacked her folds, the flat side of your tongue brushing up Joy’s womanhood in slow, long strokes. The tip of your tongue flicked the swollen nub at the top of her pussy, playing with her clit to your heart's content as you made Joy writhe with pleasure.  Nails dug into the back of your skull. Her Thighs clamped down harder around your ears. Her juices leaked out of her cunt, pooling in your mouth as Joy pushed your head into her, forcing your tongue as deep as it could go. 

Her thighs shifted down slightly, gripping your cheeks in their grasps instead. 

“Fuck… Keep going… Keep eating me…” She pleaded, face twisting in pleasure. There was really no need for that request. You never intended on stopping till she came. 

It didn’t take long for you to get close to accomplishing your mission. When her thighs tensed around you, you increased the intensity of your assault. Joy’s breaths became shallower, the intervals between her moans decreasing with each one that left her mouth.

“Oh god… I’m cumming… I’m fucking—”

She never finished her sentence. Her throat strained visibly, her vocal chords tensing as the pleasure struck her like a bolt of thunder. In a sweaty, beautiful disarray, Joy orgasmed. Her lips formed a round “o”, her nails threatening to puncture your scalp. You lapped up the juices that gushed out from her entrance, drinking in as much of her as you could. You fell some of her sweet fluids dribbling down your chin, but you’d handle that later. 

You held her body down by her thighs as she shook and quivered on the table. Eventually she settled down enough. She brought her left hand—which had been digging into your scalp—-down to your cheek. She lifted up your head softly. 

“Couch… Let me fuck myself on your cock.”

You smiled. 

“With pleasure Joy.”

You stood up. Grasping her hand, you helped her off the table and onto the couch. Your cock throbbed violently in her hand as she gripped it firmly, guiding the tip of your shaft to her entrance.  Without a word of warning, she dropped down, sheathing you inside of her tight little cunt. Your eyes bulged, a strained sigh leaving your throat. Your hands found her full ass, gripping it tightly. 

“Fuck… I always forget how big you are…” She breathed, slowly grinding against you to adjust to your size. 

“But you never forget how much you love bouncing on my cock, do you Joy?” You asked. 

“Of course…” She replied, eyes glazed with pleasure. “I will never forget how good it feels to be filled with your cock.”

Her hips stopped moving. She shifted on top of you, her hands resting on your shoulders. She kissed you tenderly, tasting herself on your lips. 

“I’m gonna fuck myself so hard on this big cock,” She whispered. 

“Go ahead Joy,” You said. “Show me how you ride this cock.”

When she began bouncing on you, the sensation of her walls gripping and sliding up and down your shaft almost made you black out. You grounded yourself in reality with the aid of the tender flesh of Joy’s butt, your teeth clenching as she impaled herself on you relentlessly. Her pussy pulsed around your shaft, each beat matching her pace. 

“So… Fucking… Big…” She gasped. “I’m… Addicted… To your big cock.”

Her voice was raspy, filled with desire. She wanted this. She needed this.

You smirk, eyes glued to her breasts that were bouncing with each impact she made against you. She caught you looking, taking the hint and leaning forward to give you better access to her assets.

“Thank you,” You smirked through the overwhelming pleasure. You dived in, licking up the sweat between her breasts before shifting slightly to take one of her tits into your mouth. Joy’s walls seemed to clench down tighter around you, responding to the attention you gave her breasts. She moaned louder, riding you faster as your tongue swirled around her taut nipple. 

“Fuck yes, suck my tits. Suck my fucking tits!” She screamed. Her cheeks were flushed, her body glistening with sweat as she rode you fiercely. She wasn’t letting up on her pace, fucking herself harshly on your cock just as she promised. She seemed to be sucking you deeper and deeper between her folds. Each bottom of her strokes squeezed you deliciously, partially forcing you out of her pussy when she rose. The motion repeated, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

You could feel the cushion of the couch compressing under your combined weight, Joy’s frantic bounces onto you making it feel like you were on a trampoline. She moaned right into your ear, making your hair stand as her scent filled your nose. Joy overwhelmed your senses. You were going insane. 

She continued riding you, thighs clamped around your waist and her arms wrapped around your neck. You released her tit from your mouth, mounds of flesh glistening in a mixture of sweat and saliva. Joy’s eyes, half-lidded in pleasure, stared into yours. The intimacy was sublime. 

As much as you would have enjoyed letting Joy bounce on your cock forever, you had your limits.

“Joy…” You grunted. She understood. 

She stopped riding you, quickly dismounting you and sitting down next to you. Her hand gripped your shaft, slick with her juices, jerking you off frantically. 

“Quick, choose a place to cum,” She urged you. 

It takes effort. But through your gritted teeth, you manage a reply. 

“Y-Your face. Let me cover your face.”

Joy was on her knees in an instant. Her hand never left your shaft, pumping away with gusto as she closed her eyes. Her free hand fondled your balls, gently massaging your cum up your shaft as your toes curled into the carpet. With a grunt, you let loose.

Rope after rope of your hot seed shoots out of your cock. Joy’s face is covered almost instantly, your load painting her features white in your semen. She squeezed your cock, forcing every last drop of cum out of you. Your body went rigid in overwhelming bliss, your senses numbed by the force of your tidal wave of an orgasm. 

Joy waited patiently for the last drop of your cum to ooze out of your twitching shaft. Her tongue emerged from her cum stained lips, licking up your seed that was around her mouth before cleaning you up thoroughly. You mustered the strength to rest a hand on her head, gently stroking her sweat-matted hair as she worked on your cock, helping you to gently ease down from your high.

“That… Was better than I imagined,” You mused. 

“Ever since when has sex with me been a disappointment?” Joy grinned, gathering bits of your load off her face with her fingers. 

“That’s true…” You mused. Joy giggled, slapping your cock against her face. 

Joy waited for you to regain some strength, content with sucking your cock in the meantime. 

When you could finally stand, you assisted Joy in cleaning up the mess you made on her face. When all was said and done, you and Joy made sure that there were no odd stains left anywhere in her boss’s office. Once you were both sure that your deed would not be discovered, you hastily put your clothes back on. You turned off the lights and slipped out of the office. 

“That was fun,” Joy giggled, hugging your arm. “Now… I expect you to hold up your end of our deal.”

You chuckled.

“It would be rude of me not to after what we did,” You mused. Joy smiled. 

“Good… Then it looks like we’ll be seeing each other tomorrow.”

~~~~~~

The sun shined intensely on your face. Joy’s car cruised down the road, the wind catching her flowy black hair and making her sundress flap a little in the wind. 

“Quit staring at my tits will you?” She remarked. 

“You can’t blame me,” You defended yourself. She rolled her eyes.

“Right. I just look too good in this don’t I?” 

You chuckled, your eyes turning back to the road. The sand and the blue waters were visible now, you were close. 

“Take the exit just up ahead,” You instructed her. 

“I know what I’m doing. You don’t need to backseat drive,” She scoffed. 

“All right… You’re the boss…”

Joy smirked, pushing up her sunglasses a little. When the exit came, you were amused when Joy’s car sped right past it. 

“I thought you said you knew what you were doing?” You questioned.

“I do,” She answered confidently. 

“Then why the fuck did you miss the exit?”

“Cause we’re going somewhere else.”

You raised an eyebrow. 

“I thought you said we were going to the beach?” 

Joy smiled innocently. 

“We are, just a different part,” She answered. You gave her a look.

“What?” She asked. “Why are you giving me that side eye?”

You folded your arms. 

“Why are you suddenly changing our destination?” You interrogated. Joy’s lips formed a thin line.

“Relax. I’m not kidnapping you or anything,” She reasoned with you. “Just calm your ass down. We’re almost there.”

You were a little sceptical, but you knew better than to doubt Soo-young. But you still had the urge to have a final say.

“Always breaking agreements,” You muttered. 

“I heard that,” She told you.

“You were supposed to,” You replied. Joy clicked her tongue in annoyance, but you recognised that familiar cheeky glint in those eyes. She was having fun, so were you.

Joy drove for another 10 minutes or so. A roof of a structure slowly emerged, a stand alone seaside chalet revealing itself. 

“We’ll get the beach to ourselves here,” Joy grinned. You chuckled.

“You’re full of surprises,” You remarked.

“And you’re full of shit,” She shot back. 

Joy’s car pulled up to the gate of the chalet. She rustled through her tote bag for a bit before retrieving a remote. With a click of a button, the gate rolled open. Joy drove in, parking the car just outside the entrance to the small house.

“We came here on a team retreat a year ago, I figured out how to book it,” She told you.

“I didn’t ask,” You said.

“But you’re bound to ask at some point,” She fired back. 

She wasn’t wrong. 

You helped Joy to unload the things in her trunk, amused to find that she had brought beverages and meat to grill. You quickly deduced that this would be an overnight stay, realising why she asked you to pack an extra set of clothes. 

You entered the chalet with Joy. While Joy put your things in the room, you busied yourself with storing the meat and drinks in the fridge. It was quick work for the both of you. 

“Look around for a bit, I need to change,” Joy told you.

“Can I watch?” You asked. She slapped your arm.

“Fucking pervert.” 

You chuckled. Joy giggled a little before retreating back to the room and shutting the door behind her. You did as suggested, exploring the place a little while you waited for Joy to emerge out of the room. It was a cosy little spot, complete with an outdoor dining area that offered a breathtaking view of the sea. The view was great, but something told you that the view of Joy’s naked body would’ve been better. 

“All right. Let’s head to the water.”

You turned. Your mouth dried up. 

Joy sauntered towards you, towel in hand. Her wide hips swaying in those skimpy shorts that cut off perfectly around the fullness of those thighs, perky breasts bulging out behind that tight neon-yellow top on her body, bending the words “Life Is Sweet” around her ample tits. Her hair was tied up into a high ponytail, a cap sitting on her head to block out the harsh sun.

“What?” She prompted, giving you a look. 

“N-Nothing,” You quickly replied, shaking off the dirty thoughts in your head. “Let’s go…”

You slid the door open and walked out into the deck. You could hear Joy’s pattering footsteps behind you, and you had to resist the urge to look back and get another good look at her. You’d seen her in all sorts of clothing. Suits, dresses, mini skirts, you’d seen it all. Hell you’d even seen her naked countless times. 

But this? This felt so different for some odd reason. 

Your feet hit the sand, the grains crushing under your feet as you moved towards the water. 

“Wait,” Joy called out from behind. You turned—a little too enthusiastically—and saw her holding out a bottle.

“Put on some sunscreen,” She told you, walking up to you and uncapping the bottle. You held out a palm, and Joy pumped a generous dollop into your hand. You thanked her with a smile before applying the lotion onto your body. Joy busied herself with her own body, the Sunscreen making her skin gleam slightly before she rubbed the lotion into her skin completely. 

“Could you help me with my back?” She requested, turning her back to you. You quickly took a moment to soak in the shape of her ass in those shorts before walking over and taking the sunscreen from her. You pushed down, pumping some of the lotion onto your hand before applying it on Joy’s back. Your hands cheekily slipped under the bits of her top that clung to her back, earning a playful gaze from the woman. You took your time to rub the lotion into her smooth skin, savouring the curves of her body from behind. 

When you decided that you were satisfied, you stepped away. 

“All done,” You smiled innocently.

“You sure took your time. Had a good look?” She teased, catching you red handed. You smirked. 

“Definitely,” You replied. She smiled and pinched your cheek.

“What a cheeky boy…” 

Joy laid down a mat under the shade of a tree, far enough from the tide but close enough for you to quickly access the water. You walked towards the azure blue sea with Joy, wet sand squishing under your feet as you went deeper and deeper. The two of you didn’t go in too deep, stopping when the water hit your knees. A wind had picked up, and Joy stretched out her arms.

“Ah… This is nice…” She sighed. 

“Mhm,” You hummed in agreement. A smile made its way onto the girl’s face. 

“I wonder how our teams are fairing…” She giggled. 

“Not too well probably,” You answered truthfully. 

“Ah well… We all get what we deserve…” She sighed. “And we deserve this nice bit of relaxation…”

You nodded, silently agreeing with her. There was a moment of silence between you two as you both stood there, letting the water sweep around your knees. The sea water left a pleasant tingle on your skin, giving you some sort of a respite to the heat of the summer. 

Joy moved closer to you.  

“You know what’s nice about this?” She whispered. 

“What?” You asked. She stretched out her arm towards the shore.

“We have this segment of the beach to ourselves.” 

She moved in a little more, your bare arms touching each other. You caught her gaze. She smiled. 

“Say…” She began, gingerly reaching for your hand. “I wanted to ask you a question.”

“What is it?” You asked. Joy didn’t reply, opting to silently guide your hand onto her toned tummy. Your knuckles slipped past the waistband of her shorts, your fingers coming into contact with something warm and wet. Experience allowed you to deduce what exactly was against your fingertips.

“Ever thought about fucking on the beach?”Joy grinned. 

“Nope… But I’m down to try,” You replied.

As quickly as you had entered the water with her, you found yourselves back up on shore, tongues in mouths and hands on each other. Joy’s mat served as a barrier between you and the sand, providing a perfect place for you to lay Soo-young down and slip your digits into her slick folds. A moan escaped her lips, her front teeth becoming visible as she bit down on her fingernail. You pumped your hand, working your fingers deeper into her slick cunt, your lips peppering her neck with kisses and light nibbles. A stream of moans and whines flowed from Joy’s mouth.

“Oh yes… Right there baby… R-Right fucking there,” She hissed, hips jerking  when your fingers curled up and made contact with the soft flesh on the roof of her walls. 

“You’re so wet Joy,” You muttered. 

“I’m always wet for you…” She replied. 

You smiled. 

“You're always such a little slut for me, aren’t you?” You whispered into her ear. She nodded. 

“O-Oh… Y-Yes… I’m your little slut…” 

Your fingers worked faster, pumping harder and deeper into her warmth. She gasped sharply, her back arching deliciously. You bent her to your will, a dark part of you finding pleasure in making her yours.

“Oh shit… Don’t stop… Please don’t stop,” She whined, her left hand kneading her left breast while her right clung to your shirt sleeve for dear life. She let her sighs and gasps tumble out of her mouth, not bothering to control her volume as her hips start grinding against your hand. Her eyes filled with need, her tight body quivering and thrashing against your hand as she moaned your name into your ear. With each entrance of your fingers, a delightfully erotic squelch filled your ears, mixing with Joy’s filthy exclamations of pleasure. Your lips found Joy’s, muffling her cries with your mouth. Her thighs clamped down tightly around your hand, keeping you deep inside of her while you drove her wild. 

Your left hand found one of her taut nipples, and you gave the nub a pinch. Joy moaned into your mouth, her right hand shifting up and gripping your forearm. You released her lips, allowing you to hear those cute mewls and gasps clearly. Her moaning increased in volume, her eyes widening. 

“Fuck… I-I’m gonna cum,” She said, nails digging into your arm. “Keep fucking me with your fingers! I’m fucking… Oh!” 

Joy came, tight frame shaking violently. Her mouth opened  in a silent scream, pupils dilating further as her thighs quivered around your hand. Her back arched further, her breasts proudly protruding on her quivering chest. Your hand slowed, gradually halting to give Joy a breather through her high.  Her body crashes down on the mat mere minutes later, heaving with each breath Joy took as the bliss faded. Sweat beaded on her brow, her skin glistening deliciously under the light. 

Her weak left hand tilted your chin towards her. She finds your lips once more, holding you in a sweet kiss for a little before releasing you. 

“Fuck me however you want… Just promise that you’ll cum in me this time.”

You smiled. 

“Of course Joy…” You affirmed her. “Let’s get you undressed.”

Her soaking wet shorts were off in a flash, her skin-tight top following closely behind. Joy undid the strings of your shorts, pulling them down to let your hard cock spring out. Her hand gripped your shaft, slender fingers squeezing your member gently as she stroked you lazily. 

“The usual?” She asked. You nodded, feeling a little bit of Deja vu. Joy’s hand left your cock, planting itself behind her. She flipped herself belly down, her big juicy ass raised and presented for you. You pulled your shorts down past your knees before positioning yourself behind Joy. She looked back at you, that devilish smile on her face as you slapped your cock against her ass.  

“Put it in…” She whispered. 

“Patience, Joy… You’re always in such a hurry,” You  told her, taking your time to line yourself up with her slit. While you were aching to enter her, a dark part in you took pleasure in making the girl beg. 

“Please… Please just put in already…” She implored, a wanton expression wiping the smile off her face. You finally relented. 

You pushed your tip in, parting her flushed, pink lips as the rest of your cock slid into Joy’s cunt with ease. You groaned, hands gripping the full cheeks of her ass as you hilted yourself in her tight walls. It was pure bliss.

“God… You’re always so fucking tight Joy,” You hissed, spanking her with an open palm. She yelped in delight, ass rippling under the impact. 

“Fuck me…” She gasped. She was so full of need and lust. 

You did as she requested. Your hips popped back, your shaft redrawing from her slick momentarily before spearheading right back into the depths of her cunt. You gave her no time to adjust, quickly establishing a rough, frantic, carnal pace and taking her pussy. Joy was gasping, crying, screaming in delight, her ass rippling hypnotically with each deep stroke you made. Her little body rocked, the warmth of her ass cushioning your crotch with each entrance. Her hands dug into the sand, fingers buried deep in the grains to hold her steady as you pounded her tight little pussy mercilessly. Her walls sucked you in, pulling you deeper and deeper into her till you could feel the warmth of her core on the tip of your cock. Jolts of pleasure shot up your spine and through your nervous system. 

Joy lowered her upper body to the ground, deepening the angle of your frantic thrusts into her. You reached down, hands quickly locating her swaying breasts and cupping them. You played with her soft ample mounds, relishing Joy’s curves in your palms. 

“Oh fuck Joy… You take my cock so well,” You grunted. 

“My body… Was made to take your cock,” She hissed back. “This pussy is yours. Take my slutty little pussy like it’s yours.”

She made eye contact with you for the nth time. The look in her eyes made something snap inside of you. 

Your palm left her tits, pushing down on the small of Joy’s back. Her face dug into the mat, her thighs spreading even further to take you deeper into her folds. She screams your name, begging you for more. 

You doubled down on Joy, your slick shaft emerging and disappearing between her slick pussy lips.  Her hand reached between your bodies, rubbing frantically at her clit. 

“Oh fuck fuck fuck! Fuck me fuck me fuck me!” She cried, sounding breathless. She was enjoying every last second of her treatment. The waves crashed against the shore, doing little to mask the screams of pleasure escaping from Joy’s lips.

You fucked Joy into the sand, taking control of her body as you bent over her to keep her pinned between you and the mat. 

“How does it feel Joy?” You growled into her ear. “How does it feel being fucked like a dirty little slut?”

Joy struggled to answer.

“It feels… So… Fucking good…”

The pure filth coming from her mouth spurred you, making you fuck her faster, harder… You wanted to fuck her senseless like you always did. Joy loved taking your cock till her mind went blank. Be it in the office, in between her own sheets or even in a car, she relished the feel of your cock stretching her out and fucking her till her brain rattled in her skull. There was no such thing as “Slow” when you were with Joy. 

Your hand gripped her ponytail, yanking back hard till her head was looking straight ahead. 

“I’m gonna fucking cum Joy,” You hissed. “I’m gonna fucking cum inside your tight little cunt.”

“Yes yes yes… Do it! Fill me! I need it so fucking bad!” She grunted. Your hand leaves her hair, both hands gripping her wide hips roughly as you give Joy all you had.

Your orgasm almost made you black out. You buried yourself as deep as you could inside Joy’s body, struggling to keep your upper body upright. Your cock spasmed and pulsated, your body quivering and shaking — absolutely overwhelmed by pleasure. Joy’s sighs drowned out the noises around you, a dull ring in your ears as you pumped your load into her awaiting cunt. It takes an eternity for you to recover. When you do, Joy was quick to request for more. 

“I want it in my ass next…” She told you. Through your sweat-matted hair, you managed a grin. 

“Coming right up.���

You wouldn’t be going back into the water for quite some time.

~~~~

A cool evening breeze ruffled your hair, rustling the leaves of trees behind you as you sat on the deck with Joy. Her head rested on your shoulder, mouth busy chewing on the piece of meat in her mouth. There was a pleasant silence between the two of you, both of you silently listening to the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. 

“Feed me another piece,” Joy requested. You gladly obliged, poking a slice of grilled meat with your fork and bringing it to her mouth. She bit it off your fork, chewing happily. 

“You know… I think we should do this more often,” She told you between bites. 

“There’s a limit on the number of times we can call in sick Joy,” You reminded her.

“Ah who fucking cares,” She said. “We can probably find other loopholes in the system.”

You chuckled. 

“I guess so,” You mused. She tapped your hand. You fed her another piece of meat.

A deep sigh left her mouth. You risked a glance down, noting the look of content on her face as she stared out into the sea. The sun was setting just past the horizon, an orangish-golden glow illuminating the surface of the water. The sunlight blended with the deep blue water of the sea, the sun reflected on the surface of the water. It was… Oddly romantic.

“Thanks for coming out with me today,” Joy said. “I really appreciate it.” 

You smiled. 

“No problem Soo-young,” You replied. “I needed this break either way.”

Joy giggled. 

“I know. So did I.”

“So was I always meant to be invited?” You questioned. 

“Hm… Maybe.”

You feigned offence. Joy laughed and smacked your arm playfully.

“Well… Intended or not, I’m glad you asked me to come,” You told her sincerely. Her expression softened. 

“That’s great… Would’ve been a waste if you didn’t,” She replied. 

Your eyes met hers. For once, past the cheekiness, past the lust and past the mischief, you saw a faint glimmer of… something behind her gaze. Something stirred in you.

You looked back out towards the sea, feeling an odd sensation on your chest. You didn’t know what it was, but it made you hold Joy a little closer.

Maybe… Just maybe… You felt like the two of you were more than just friends with benefits.

-------------------

Hello. Hope you enjoyed this one. I had a little bit of a Joy overdose so...

Anyways, thanks for stopping by and reading! Have a great day!

[miyaagis]

love is rising, no resisting. cheeks are flushing, now you're living.

+ warnings. mdni 18+ explicit smut, cheating, husband!kuroo, wife!reader, co-worker!fem oc, angst ig? too much plot im sorryyy, not proof read!

+ word c. 3k

tnmici m.list

"shit, that was close."

the reclinable chair creaks under his weight as he leans back, his forearm covering his eyes, but the relieved smile on his lips brings a veil of youthfulness to his tired eyes. kuroo has never felt so much bliss just by turning off his computer, signaling he's finally free from the claws of his 9 to 5 that, somehow, had turned into a 9 to 9 lately. a headache started brewing at the back of his head for the past hour, but the knowledge that he'll be home in less than thirty minutes eases up his mind.

before he can start wondering what you, his wife of three years, made for dinner, the familiar and feminine laugh of his co-worker echoes through the empty office. he’s giving her a funny look before joining in her chuckles with the last bit of energy he's left.

"remind me to never, ever, trust you again with a project."

even with twelve hours of a stress-filled day clutching at her spirits, uesugi yuko still manages to look somewhat composed. at least more than him, and that’s something kuroo has always admired from her.

"aw c'mon," he’s quick to stand up and squeeze her shoulder, earning him a scoff as soon as he smiles smugly at the woman, "we work better under pressure."

"i'm beat, tetsuro."

yuko curses under her breath while rising from her seat, letting out a whine after being in the same position, hunched over her own laptop, for over 4 hours straight. kuroo's eyes wander almost automatically down her legs as she stretches before him, amber eyes following the tight fit of her pencil skirt around her hips and thighs. he’s not really thinking, just… watching the fabric hug the suppleness of her behind. he vaguely remembers yuko complaining about having lost her favorite “work skirt” two weeks ago.

“you said you lost it," he points at her legs, and she follows his line of sight, her lips stretching into a smirk.

"left it at sukuna’s place."

and there it is, the daily reminder that yuko is a beautiful and single woman that lives her life however she wants. kuroo vaguely remembers when he used to be like that before settling down with you, feeling as if that was a lifetime ago, even though yuko is barely a year younger than him.

he’s too busy in his thoughts, unconsciously frowning, that he doesn’t notice her putting her laptop in her designer bag before sliding it up her arm, offering him a wave as she struts to the elevator.

"bye tetsu!"

—

later that night, as he’s deep inside you and your breathless moans fall against his neck, he briefly wonders if yuko is doing the same thing in sukuna’s bed.

—

the screen in front of him displays an array of numbers that his mind refuses to understand so early in the morning. ten minutes in, and kuroo already wants to remove his eyeballs from their sockets, when it usually takes until noon for the sentiment to brew.

a large cup of hot coffee and a rather cute, baby blue bag with something that smells like a salmon bagel, are placed on his desk. he looks up, mouth slightly agape in surprise and confusion at a fresh-looking yuko who seems to glow under the sunlight with her navy blue suit and long hair—always down in soft waves.

"can't have you lacking," she says before he can ask what’s the meaning of the sudden act of kindness. not that she’s ever been mean to him, but yuko is known for her cold and sarcastic persona. "suguru wants us in his office in an hour."

and since kuroo is well versed in the art of yuko's disinterest and roll of her eyes, the faint smile in her lips throws him off guard, doubting for a second if it was even real, but he trusts his observant eyes wouldn't fail him like that.

and it feels as if he just scored a goal.

"don't be late," she’s walking away right after, not giving him even a second to thank her for the coffee.

exactly one hour and two minutes later, he walks by her desk, not without placing a can of diet soda next to her keyboard and making her look up at him from her seat. an understanding nod is shared between the pair as they walk together to the meeting room.

—

"text me as soon as you land, okay?" 

your voice is drowned out under the sounds of honking cars, and planes flying on top of your heads, the chaos of the airport not helping with the jitters you’re experiencing of sending your husband to another three-day-long business trip. granted, it’s not the first time he has to travel for work, but you don’t think you’ll ever get used to it.

with almost tearful eyes, you watch as he unloads the trunk of the car with his backpack thrown over his shoulder and his hand gripping the handle of his carry-on, leaning down to kiss you once he makes sure it's properly closed. 

"i love you." 

kuroo smiles against your lips at your sudden profession of love before covering your face in kisses, your soft giggles making his heart grow.

"and i love you," he whispers, and that’s all it takes to ease up your heart, the stars in his eyes gleaming as he stares down at you before kissing your lips and your cheek one last time. "see you in three days, pretty girl."

a small smile plays on his lips as he walks inside the airport, right after making sure he watched you drove away to the safety of your shared home. he’s already checked-in through the airline’s app, so he heads straight to his gate after going through customs, deciding he might need at least a cup of coffee to get through the flight.

the queue is long, as he expected, but he’s got time, briefly checking his watch and adjusting his backpack on his shoulder as he glances around the menu until he’s spotting the familiar figure of yuko. the grin on his lips appears suddenly as he strides towards her, the nasty glares from the people waiting in line flying over him as he moves to stand beside her.

"always the early bird," with a quick glance, she realizes it’s him and not some random weirdo getting into her personal space, so she goes back to facing the cashier, handing out her card as she receives a large latte in return. kuroo makes sure to point that out. "hey! where's mine?"

"buy one yourself."

yuko pushes him softly aside, struggling between making sure her latte doesn’t spill onto her purse hanging around her forearm and getting the tiny wheels of her carry-on to cooperate. he finds his fingers itching to carry it for her, a frown etching onto his lips and soon, he’s snatching the small luggage from her hands, her eyes widening slightly in surprise.

“w-what are you–”

"c’mon,” he strides ahead of her while making sure she’s not too far behind him, offering a smug grin at her that he knows very well will make her huff and scoff. “you're my work-wife: you help me stay sane by buying me coffee, and i help you look good.”

“i am not your work-wife, what the–”

“ah, see? that’s where you’re wrong,” he tuts at her, a disapproving look in his eyes as she stares at him in bewilderment. “c’mon, we’re a great team! our projects are the best, and we’ve never messed up with a client.”

her mouth opens and closes, words failing her as she tries to make it clear that she is not his work-wife. yes, she agrees that he’s good at his job, or whatever, but she’d rather die than tell him that.

“and i know i’m your favorite at the office,” he shrugs his shoulders innocently, a knowing grin on his lips that’s quickly making her blood boil, “can’t blame you, the rest are a bunch of incompetent idiots.”

yuko is ready to tell him off, to make it clear that there’s no way he’s her favorite and that he too is an idiot—just a little less of an idiot since he does have common sense. but he beats her to it, starting to walk towards their gate with their carry-ons.

“better hurry, or we’ll miss our flight!”

—

meetings with clients always went the same way: paying for a fancy, expensive meal where they barely ate anything as they tried to pry into their interests until they found something in common with them, using said interest as bait to make the client think they’re just like them, meet up again but this time in a more private and business-like setting where they can finally pitch in their ideas and make the client take the bait, and finally, celebrate with drinks before sending them off to the airport.

yeah, that’s how usually it’s supposed to work. but the CEO representative of this fast-growing corporate was quite the tough cookie to crack.

“did you notice he didn’t even bother to look through the documents!? jesus, he could’ve at least skimmed through ‘em. that fucker.”

yuko is on her second beer already, five minutes in, and she hasn't stopped once to let out her frustrations after meeting with their client. with her manicured hand, she catches the attention of the bartender and orders a couple of tequila shots for herself before turning to look at him.

“another whiskey?”

but she immediately turns back to the bar and orders it for him along with a third shot of tequila. amusement dances across kuroo’s lips, the tension in his shoulders slowly fading as he realizes hell is over, and he gets to see yuko lose her marbles. 

“i didn’t know we were gonna be getting drunk.”

“we aren’t,” she’s quick to deny, eyes lighting up as the row of shots is presented before her, “we just… deserve this after dealing with that asshole.”

“i’ll drink to that,” he sighs and takes one of the tequila shots, welcoming the heat from the liquor heating down his throat.

the hotel bar is rather empty, a few patrons sitting on the booths or by the garden outside while they remain by the bar. the high stools are all empty too, just the two of them keeping the bartender busy with their orders and keeping him company with their complaints.

yuko faces him, her knees knocking against his accidentally, and she giggles, her fingers running through her hair, “i’ll definitely ask for a week off after this.”

kuroo perks up at that and pouts dramatically, the tips of his ears flushed and his lips glistening with his last sip of his drink, “nooooo, don’t abandon me! that’s mean.”

she smirks before bursting in a fit of giggles, and he thinks he has never seen her smile this much, or be so laid back. her whole face looks different when she smiles, as if she became five years younger and, overall, happier.

“you’ll manage.”

kuroo pouts even more and knocks his own knees against hers, making her gasp and chuckle at the childish reaction. but she guesses it’s nice to finally bond like this with him, since he’s certainly the only sane person in the office.

after a quick trip to the ladies room, yuko comes back with sleep-laced eyes, resting her head on her hands to try and get it to stop spinning.

“you good?”

her heart drops faintly to her stomach, his voice against her ear in the softest whisper. without looking at him, she shakes her head with a whine, “m’sleepy, tetsuro.”

and honestly, so is he. he’d kill to lie on his hotel bed and sleep until the afternoon. he’s about to agree with her when she finally looks up at him with big eyes, her cheeks flushed and her hair messed up. he doesn’t think she has ever looked this cute, plus the way she’s being vulnerable with him clouds the rational side of his brain.

kuroo realizes he wants to kiss her. badly.

“let’s get you into bed, then.”

being none the wiser, yuko trails before him with his help. her touch is enough to make him tense up, recalling the brief snippet of her light blue bra peeking from her blouse during their uber drive back to the hotel, and how he tried to fool himself by imagining you with it, making a mental note that he should buy one for you. yuko’s head resting on his arm shouldn’t be making his pants this tight, but it’s both cute and hot that she’s way smaller than him that she can’t even rest her head on his shoulder—not even with her heels on.

“we’re here,” his voice has grown considerably hoarse, amber eyes observing her search for her key until she shows it off to him proudly. “text me if you need anything. good night, yuko.”

fuck. he thinks to himself, he can’t wait to get off of his slacks and jerk off. he wonders if he still has one of those videos with you sucking him off. or maybe he should try his luck and call you, hopefully you’re still awake and–

“tetsu?”

he blinks, yuko standing under the threshold with her door wide open and gnawing at her bottom lip. all he can do is make a sound to acknowledge her, 

“thank you,” she pauses, exhaling softly and letting the words of appreciation sink in. “m’glad we got paired up for this trip.”

fuck it.

it only takes one long stride for him to be face to face with her and grip her waist, smashing his lips onto hers as her own hands grip his shoulders. the kiss is impulsive and messy, barely an outlet to show how much he wants her.

it doesn’t take long for them to part from the kiss, and he sees her wide-eyed, her swollen lips looking even more inviting, if possible.

“shit. y-yuko… i–” he swallows down, hard, the ring on his finger starting to burn against his skin. “fuck, fuck, m’so drunk.”

“me too.”

and he doesn’t even bother to pretend thinking it through, taking it as a green light to push her inside her room and slam the door behind him, carrying her over to the bed.

“hmm fuck, i’m so hard,” he nibbles across her neck and collarbone, breathy moans escaping her lips and only making him press himself harder against her frame.

his hands travel along her sides, cupping her breasts in his hands and gently squeezing the soft flesh while he goes back to kissing her.

“take it off,” she whispers against his lips before moving to sit on his lap, her legs around his hips and his erection pressing right onto her clothed center.

it doesn’t take long for his thumbs to pinch at her hard nipples, the feeling rushing to her pussy and making her wetness grow, while her own hands fumble with his belt.

kuroo can’t remember the last time he felt so needy, so desperate to sink his cock into a woman that wasn’t you. right, his wife. his mind wanders fleetingly to you, but before the guilt starts to brew, he groans as yuko’s hand wraps around his length timidly.

taking the lead once again, he moves to the side so that he's on top of her and her body is in the right position for him to enter her. his voice is lustful with a mix of passion and need, watching her legs spread out to accommodate him, her skirt bunched up at her waist and her breasts spilling from her bra.

“don’t have a condom with me. can i pull out?”

his question is answered by her soft legs wrapping around his hips and pushing him forward, his leaking tip rubbing against her folds before he’s guiding it inside her.

blame it on the alcohol or having grown used to his wife’s body, but kuroo swears he’s never had a pussy feel this good around him, feeling like velvet stroking his sensitive length.

“ohh fuck, yuko…” he gasps as he falls forward, his frame on top of hers as his lips search for her breasts, “fuuuuck, you’re so… tight— shit.”

“tetsu–” her fingernails claw at his back as his tongue laps around her nipple, his thrusts slow yet deep, his pelvic bone meeting her clit with each movement, “oh god, feels so good.”

his eyes open to stare at hers hungrily, his lips wrapped around her breast as he slowly increases his pace, the squelching sounds of her pussy taking him growing louder. he lets go of her nipple and raises up, holding onto her waist as he pounds into her and one of his hands grips her chest.

“these are the prettiest tits,” his thumb strokes over her nipple, and she whines in return, his rhythm speeding up slightly, “and the prettiest pussy.”

her inner walls tighten and he’s letting out more groans and filthy words at her, his gaze moving between her folds taking his length and her breasts bouncing with each thrust of his hips. his other hand moves down to her clit to rub slow circles, grinning like a mad man as her pussy creams even more around him. he smiles and presses his lips to hers and moves his hips faster, letting her feel every inch of his length as his breath becomes heavy with her every moan. 

with each stroke on her clit and the fullness of his cock inside her, yuko is quickly reaching her orgasm, not being able to hold back from moaning and whimpering against his lips.

“oh tetsu! m’gonna—” she squeals as he starts moving faster, his tip reaching deep inside her as his lips attach onto her neck, “gonna come!”

his ragged breaths fall against her ear, and it only takes a few more strokes on her clit to have her coming around him, her pussy quivering and fluttering around his girth as her squeals turn into screams. the sudden tightness makes him lose his mind as well, barely pulling out in time to jerk his cock against her pussy, the head resting between her folds as he comes too, smearing the white liquid around her entrance and teasing her by sliding in the tip

that night, kuroo goes to bed with yuko’s pussy around him, and his wedding band around his finger.

[leiabird]

Sapphires

Under Queen Rhaenyra's rule Lucerys grows into a beautiful young man. He is constantly pursued by many suitors fighting for his favour and gets called the new Realm’s Delight.

For several weeks now he has an anonymous suitor who hasn’t yet shown his identity. But Lucerys always recognises the gifts as they are always blue. Sapphire blue.

First flowers, then the most beautifully embroidered clothes and then actual sapphires. Everywhere sapphires. Sapphire earrings, sapphire rings, sapphires embroidered in fabric. And lastly a stunning and luxuriant necklace with three big sapphires.

Lucerys wonders about the identity of this new suitor who has impeccable taste and a curious fixation on sapphires.

That is why on a grand celebration in the Red Keep with a ball Lucerys puts on not only the clothing but also the incredible necklace with the three big sapphires by his mysterious suitor.

Immediately upon his entrance to the festivity he is the most fought for dance partner. His dark hair correlates perfectly with the blue and all the sapphires are shining in the candlelight and make him glow.

His mother the Queen Rhaenyra is watching delighted from her place on the podium whilst Daemon next to her is more looking sullen and mistrustful of all the young men dancing with his son. He knows how they are and think, he was one of them once.

Lucerys is having a wonderful time but he is still wondering if his mystery suitor will make himself known, now that Lucerys is openly wearing his gifts.

Swept up into conversation and dancing he almost doesn’t think about it any longer until suddenly his uncle Aemond is standing in front of him. His hand outstretched in the silent question for a dance.

Lucerys is confused. He didn’t think his uncle has ever forgiven him for the incident that cost him his eye, they had barely made peace and usually didn’t interact with each other often enough. Why would his uncle ask him for a dance?

Still he lets himself be swept to the dance floor by his uncle, their hands interlinked as Aemond pulls him closer to his body than absolutely necessary. Lucerys feels his face heat up. It isn’t as if he thought Aemond wasn’t an attractive man.

His uncle is surprisingly nice to him, smirking at him and engaging in light conversation. He even tells Lucerys how beautiful he looks.

That is what does it for Lucerys.

“Why in the seven heavens are you doing this?” He asks, enraged by now, thinking this is some sort of cruel joke.

Aemond laughs and spins Lucerys around before pulling him in very close again.

“Well, nephew” he whispers against Lucerys’ face and there are butterflies in his whole body “I thought you wanted to dance with me, given the fact that you are wearing my courting gifts.”

His mind goes blank. The gifts are from Aemond. The most beautiful courting gifts he has ever received are from Aemond.

Lucerys wants to ask so many questions. Why would you court me? Is this all a joke? Why would you put so much effort and money into a joke? Do you actually like me?

The question that makes it out of his mouth is: “Why sapphires?”

His uncles smirks and in a swift motion that is so elegant it could be part of their dance he takes off his eyepatch.

Lucerys gapes at him. Aemond has never taken his eyepatch off in front of Lucerys and definitely not in public where everyone can see. They certainly have the attention of the whole room now.

Then his heart stops. In the empty socket where he cut out his uncle’s eye is a sapphire. A beautiful sapphire that makes Aemond look like an ethereal God more than a human. He is power and divinity and grace. What is shocking the rest of the people is luring Lucerys in.

I did that, he thinks and looks at his uncle with awe and adoration.

Relief seems to wash over his uncle’s face when he doesn’t receive a negative reaction. Then Aemond smirks again.

“Well, nephew” he says again “I merely wanted us to match.”

And then he stops them in their dance in the midst of the people that are still trying to stare as discreetly as possible and pulls Lucerys flush against him, his hand on his nephew’s lower back and his breath on Lucerys’ lips.

“And now everyone knows you belong to me as I belong to you. Now you wear my mark as I wear yours.”

Lucerys’ mind is spinning and he reaches for Aemond’s face before he can think better of it, cupping his uncle’s face and tracing the scar with a touch as light as a feather.

Aemond draws in a sharp breath before sighing contently and closing his good eye. And then he leans in and Lucerys knows he will be in the seven heavens when their lips will finally meet-

And then Aemond is suddenly gone. Lucerys snaps his eyes open to see his father Daemon before him who has grabbed Aemond by the neck and shoved him away. His uncle stumbles but manages to look at Daemon defiantly. His smugness enrages Daemon further.

“Get away from my son!”

With a last longing look at Lucerys Aemond leaves the room. People are staring openly now.

Daemon turns back to Lucerys and gently puts a hand to Lucerys’ arm.

“Has he hurt you?” His father asks and Lucerys would be thankful if he didn’t miss Aemond’s touch already.

“No”, he answers when his brain is able to function again “But I think I will retire for the night. I think I danced too much.”

In truth the thought of anyone else touching him the way Aemond has makes him want to vomit.

And that is when he realises that Aemond has ruined him as much as he ruined Aemond.

His hand goes up to touch the sapphires on his necklace and he smiles.

[ttttobistuff]

Hi hi hello! I'm a big fan of your work. I was wondering if I could request something for Eyeless jack? :)

Gn!reader (I'm gn) that Maybe found Ej hurt and decided to be a good person and help him out without knowing who he was. And then Ej feels like he needs to repay the favor somehow?

Fluff, No smut please :0

Venous Bleeding

—E.J. x (gn) reader

TW: Mentions of blood and wounds

A/N: Thank you! I’m glad you enjoy my writing. Also, forgive me if this is a bit short…I’ve been quite occupied.

…

Wandering through the empty streets at midnight was one of your strange pleasures, and, to a certain point, a need. Black as obsidian, the path taken had been long scorched into your blaring mind.

Pacing slowly, breathing in the city, breathing out the burden. A place which more so often cacophony took control of. The brimful multitudes you saw with awe from your home were long gone, perhaps sound asleep. For you, moonbeams and night terrors would awake you. You always felt as if someone gazed through the window. Resting before sunrise was an exceptional occasion.

A step after one another, dragging your cumbersome body to a pointless destination. It all seemed to repeat, without an apparent end. The emptiness of noise was as if a mother rocked her child to slumber.

While your eyes only examined the strong, fearsome moon, moans got lost in the wind. A semi broken light of the street shined down, revealing a pond of blood and the source of those whines. Two thoughts formed for you, but the idea of helping whoever might need it overcame the uneasiness.

Sprinting your way to the body, you kneeled down on his side. Regardless of the mess underneath you, your clothing wasn’t of much significance. The stranger slightly flinched at your sudden approach.

“I won’t hurt you, I promise.” You spoke, softly.

Reaching out for his injured arm—which he held close to his chest—you saw an oozing wound. Dark red, with a tinge of blue. Thick blood flowed down to the ground.

“Cephalic vein,” a man’s voice said, “mild venous bleeding.”

He knew more than you, that was evident, yet you tried your best. You elevated his arm, above his heart. Meanwhile, your eyes frantically searched for clothing to press over the wound. Upon giving up, you ripped your shirt. The man seemed impressed by your decisiveness, yet said not a word.

As the piece of clothing hugged his flesh, your palm was pressed down too. He was warm, his skin was certainly tougher than you would’ve expected, yet it wasn’t a bad surprise. A craving lingered inside you. You felt jealous at the clothing, wishing it was you who embraced him in such a way.

You did not know why you felt that way. Something bribed you closer to him. Something you could not understand, and honestly, didn’t want to. You enjoyed how you felt around this stranger.

Thankfully, the flow slowed down until coagulation outside created a barrier for the blood. Removing your hand, covered in a crimson layer, his breathing became slow once more.

“Is there anything wrong?” Your question prowled the alley. Ten seconds passed and he did not answer. Then twenty, thirty, even forty seconds later he did not speak a word.

You backed away, handing him the bottle of water you tended to carry around. The man returned to his feet, and you finally caught a glimpse of his face…

A navy blue mask, a black substance dripping down from its seemingly empty sockets. Though you were not frightened, he quickly ran away.

On your way back, you couldn’t help but think about him.

—

It was still dark, yet you had come back home. You felt the need to, but terrors still awaited you. Sleeping was still a faraway possibility.

You hoped for sunrise in your bed, staring at the ceiling. Suddenly, a cold breeze made you shiver. Looking around to find your window open, you wondered if it had always been like that.

Your doubt was answered with the warmth of another body crawling into bed with you. Instinctively, your arms swung open for him to squeeze closer.

Somewhere deep inside, you knew who he was. Though blood still smeared everything he touched, it was no longer his blood. The crimson drops falling from his mouth were not his. Different shades of red, you thought.

You couldn’t care less. Only his touch was an important matter at that moment. He made you feel as if nothing could ever hurt you, and perhaps, it was true.

“I came to make us even,” he said, as he calmly pushed his soft hair onto your neck, “nights are the worst for you.”

He held you, and you held him tightly. His body was no longer stiff. He smelled like meat, like death, and you found a strange comfort in it.

“Call me Jack.” He said, as he caressed your back softly with his hand. The image of his lips moving made your heart twist and squirm, but your body stayed still.

Before slipping into the unconsciousness of rest, you figured something out. That which once caused you night terrors, was now the reason why your eyes felt heavy.

This time, only sunbeams and a breath close to your face awoke you in the morning.

[targaryensluttt]

muse on fire (chapter two)

pairing: soft! aemond x fem!reader

warnings: some smut, (18+!) although I would consider this light. depictions of violence. reader has a panic attack. not proofread thoroughly, still testing out the waters.

Valyrian translations:

Vok ābra = perfect woman

ñuha vok ābra = my perfect woman

ozbāragon nyke= brand me

kessa= yes

notes: feedback would be much appreciated :)

chapter one

chapter three

chapter four

After sitting with the bedridden king this evening, studying him for the portrait you knew he would not be able to sit for long, you had expected to drift off into a heavy sleep. And you did, at first.

Leaving your rooms at night felt risky. As you weren’t part of the inner royal family, you were not afforded any official personal guards. The castle could be as dangerous as the walls outside the Red Keep, especially for a young lady wandering alone, as you knew too well. Although, that was not to say you were unprotected. You happened to have your own personal guard dog, with long silver hair and an eyepatch, and yes, he did bite. Especially when it comes to you. You had suspected for some time that he kept tabs on your whereabouts when he was indisposed or at night, but with nothing but a sly smile from him as confirmation when you asked, you still felt exposed walking around the drafty castle halls. You had not yet reached the point in your existence where you realized you could hold your head high at all hours of the night, daring someone to do you wrong. 

Especially now, you were terrified. The nightmare that had jolted you awake had been awful, and even though you knew it was a dream, it left you feeling nervous and cold to your very bones. It was not as if you consider yourself a seer, like your dear friend Helaena, but having visions of your very best friend slit from ear to ear bleeding out on the castle grounds, the eye that had been stolen from him so cruelly years ago as a child now robbed of it’s sapphire, eye socket empty and gaze soulless and dull, did not exactly leave you at ease. As you snuck down the halls with fat tears falling from your lashes, clad in nothing but your light sky blue colored nightgown and a thin black robe, you cursed your brain for making up those images. As if seeing it in your head could speak it into existence. After conjuring that in your troubled mind, you knew you could not wait until dawn to go see Aemond. As illogical as it was, you had to be sure of his safety, now. 

When you saw his door from down the hallway, you noticed that, once again, he had dismissed his guards for the night, and that did nothing to reassure you. 

“Let them try to come to our rooms.”  he laughed once, at a family dinner.

“I’ll cut them from throat to groin.” he added, totally serious. 

 Aemond was a private soul, and preferred to deal with all personal matters of him and his closest loved ones himself, if at all possible. Including theirs, and his, safety. He was an excellent swordsman, and he considered himself perfectly capable of the task. You were inclined to believe this is why he had not tried to force his mother, Queen Alicent, to assign you your own guards. Once, during one of the many afternoons you had spent together, you had remarked about a castle rumor that prowlers were sneaking into lower born and servants rooms at night. He had froze from swinging his sword into the straw filled dummy and turned around to stare at you intently. He slowly walked to you, taking your hand, leaned into your ear to whisper, and said with certainty:

“Do not fret. There is no one you can trust like me. There is no one that will keep you safe like me. They would not dare harm you, darling.” 

“I believe you.” You had told him softly, quite serious and truthfully as well.

His other hand that was not already in yours had been laid upon the side of your face when he began to speak, and when he pulled back, he drew it down slowly, so his fingers came to rest upon your lips. If his name had not been called so loudly by Sir Criston, which caused you to slightly startle and pull his hand off your face in fear of Sir Cole discovering you two like that, you had always wondered what he would have done next. Instead, he whirled around and gave the straw dummy a good thwack down its middle in frustration, spilling its straw guts everywhere.

But clearly, you were not worried about your own safety at the moment. Snapping back to the present, you realized you had made it to his door. Lifting your hand to the door, you had to stop yourself from frantically pounding on it. Taking a deep breath, you paused for a moment to try to collect yourself slightly. You looked down at what you were wearing and suddenly felt very self aware. Although the robe was loosely tied, it ballooned open loose around your breasts, revealing your curvy figure under your very thin nightgown. Your hair was loose, frizzy and undone from its normal intricate styles from sleep, and if you still had not been so frightened, you would have smoothed it out to look more presentable. But there was no time. Your anxiety spiked thinking about how you were worried about your appearance when the person you cared for the most in this world could be lying dead or injured in his bed, alone with no one to help him. At this thought, your hesitation ceased. 

Taking the flat of your palm to the wood before you, you pummeled it frantically. “Aemond! Aemond!” you half hissed, half shouted into the door.

At once, the door swung open and you almost fell to your knees before the quizzical looking man in front of you, had he not snaked his arm around your waist the second he registered it was you. The palms of your hands came to rest upon his chest and you looked up into his very much still alive gaze, and intact patch. 

“Thank the Gods. Thank the Gods.” you said.

Upon seeing your frantic state, he wildly grabbed your face, searching it and the rest of your body for the source of your distress.

“Y/N! Y/N! Look at me. Look at me!” he demanded.

You met his eye, and let out a sigh of relief. 

“I-I had to come to you. I had to make sure you were safe.”

“What do you speak of, sweet girl? What has happened? Are you well?”

You could have laughed with relief if you were not feeling quite so shaken still. Of course he was asking about you. About you, as if  you hadn’t just dreamt his death. Shaking your head you told him you were fine, and started to explain the nature of your disturbance, but sobs choked the words from your mouth. Remembering the sick blue pallor his skin had taken on after you dreamt his throat slit, you started to hyperventilate, and Aemond pulled you into his room and shut the door behind you two, and sat you on the nearest chaise that was situated by the fireplace, without letting go of your waist even for a moment. 

Realizing you were currently unable to speak, he held you close. You tucked your head in the crook of his neck, and threw your arms around his neck, dearly hoping you weren’t disgusting him with your tears and snot getting on him from crying so hard. His grip did not waver, though.If anything, he just held on to you tighter at feeling your distress. The settee was wide enough for him to hold the entire upper half of your body with both of you comfortably sitting next to each other. Cradling you, he began to stroke your hair, and rocked you both back and forth slowly in a soothing motion.

“Let it out, darling. You’re safe here.” he assured you.

 No one realized how tender the fearsome Prince really could be. This went on for what seemed like eternity to you at first, but as you slowly left your head and those horrible thoughts, and focused on where you were now, you felt your body and mind begin to calm down.

“That’s it, that’s it, that’s my girl, shhh, shhh, shhh” he said, when your sobs started to slow.

Lifting your head and tenderly brushing away the hair that was now plastered to your face with your own tears, he spoke again. 

“Now, do you think you can tell me what’s happened?”

Suddenly, you felt very foolish. You sheepishly wiped your nose, still hiccuping and attempting to speak though errant sobs broke through your sentences. 

“Well, I-I-had a dream.”

Aemond was never one to make you feel silly when you expressed things that were clearly impacting you deeply. He stayed silent and listened, scratching and rubbing the back of your head lightly while cradling your skull, your body tucked into his, trying to keep you focused on him, the present, and your story. 

“I thought- you said, and paused. I saw your death, Aemond. It felt so real. I was there. You were cold. They ripped off your patch and took your jewel. They slit your throat. You were so cold, you repeated. At this, you shuddered, and then continued on, I had to come here. I had to come to you. I had to make sure it was truly just a dream.”

Describing the brutal imagery in your head out loud had made it feel so real again, and the pace of your sobs picked back up.

Taking your hand, Aemond placed it over his heart so you could feel it beating. It was strong and consistent. 

“I am here, Y/N. I am safe. I am well, especially so with you here in my arms.” he said, holding his hand over yours that centered above his warm beating heart.“I desire you, Aemond. I desire your safety desperately, above all else,” you whispered softly, as if you were afraid of your own words. And truthfully, you were.

Despite the gestures, stolen glances and touches, nothing so bold had ever been admitted out loud between you two. 

At hearing these words leave her soft lips, Aemond felt a rush of warmth and affection spread throughout his body. The sensation was so physical, he felt lightheaded and dizzy, like when he first rode Vhagar and she took a deep dive to the sea below. He could only think of one thing to do to ground himself back to Earth again. 

He looked up from both of your hands intertwined on his chest, and met your eyes. Looking up to his elegant face, you saw the flames from the fire flicker and bounce off of it. 

Beautiful, you thought.

Though he felt guilty for relishing in your obvious distress, he was so touched how much you are affected by this, no one's ever cared for him so deeply before, and it sparks something in him.

Looking at you with such reverence, he slowly brought his face down to yours. You could feel his hot breath mixing with your own, and for a moment you both just looked at one another. So close together, you kept one hand locked with his own on his chest, and dragged your other one up his chest and shoulder, until you were grasping the back of his neck, and his eyes flickered shut. You followed suit, closing your lashes (still wet from crying) and it wasn’t but a second later that you felt his lips graze yours, closing the distance. 

When you kissed, it felt so inevitable. Natural.

You were both on fire, bound.

Inhaling through his nostrils, he deepened the kiss, and you felt the pressure of his lips increase against yours. Swiping your tongue against his lower lip, you demanded entrance, and he gladly let you in. You needed to feel him. You needed to feel his spark, and reassure yourself he was not fading away. He was here. He was not leaving this world. Leaving you. He had broken his hand out of your grip so he could grab the sides of your face. His tongue lapped into your mouth deeply, as if he were the ocean’s waves seeking the moon itself.

Tangling your hands into his fine silver hair. Tugging. Pulling. Wanting him, nothing but him, desperate. 

His hand moved from your face to your waist, pulling your body on top of his, so you were in his lap. He used his other hand to turn your face and you gasped for air, while he started to focus his attention to your neck, alternating between gently kissing the delicate skin there and peppering kisses up your jaw, until his lips met yours again. 

Lightly caressing your shoulder, you shivered, and your eyes met his, wanting. Keeping his eye on yours the whole time, his hand drifted lower, and his lips met your own again, and he gently palmed your breast through the flimsy nightgown. His hands were so big, fingers so long, and though you had ample bosom, his palm covered it fully without issue.

“Vok ābra.” 

“ñuha vok ābra” he said, praising you.

Licking into his mouth, you groaned at the feeling of his hand gripping your breast harder, and put your palm over his, urging him on. Still gripping his neck, you sighed in contentment, and set your hips down to roll over his. 

“Fuck, Y/N, fuck”

Now, you did not consider yourself naive. Your septas have taught you what goes on between a man and woman, but not in every detail. Your movements were as organic as the sunrise. Both of you were just listening to each other’s bodies, and doing what felt right. His nightshorts were very different from the thick leather he normally preferred to dawn, and through them, you could feel the tent in his pants straining more and more by the second. At this angle, on top of him, you could position yourself perfectly, so your core was settled right upon his dick. Continuing faster, you felt his dick hit your clit just right, and you gasped loudly. Sliding back and forth so the pressure alternated between your inner center and bundle of nerves, Neither he nor you could tell who was causing the wet spot that both of you felt growing between you two, but at the realization of it, he groaned loudly. Becoming frantic, you worked your body faster and faster until the pressure was ready to snap, and his hips thrusted up into yours. His grip had fallen to your thighs, and he was sucking and kissing on your neck, pausing every so often to kiss you deeply and swirl his tongue around yours, while you took and gave pleasure to you both. Panting in each other’s mouths, you told him, 

“ozbāragon nyke,” knowing a bit of the old Valyrian language yourself.

“So I will continue to feel you after tonight.” you explained.

You took both of his palms, and placed them back on your chest, wanting him to feel you too. Your breasts underneath your nightgown, and your racing heartbeat under them as well. 

The look he had in his eye made you want to explode. Intense beyond any look you had ever seen. Eye glimmering, it never left yours. Between the physical sensation of his body against yours, and seeing him like that, It felt as if you would indeed explode.

“kessa” he whispered against your neck, and sucked down hard, until you felt your blood break and begin to bloom under his lips. At this sensation, your hips began to stutter, and lose their rhythm.

Thrusting sloppily now, and although you did not have an exact idea of what was about to happen, you trusted him completely, and knew in your heart it was nothing to be fearful of. Nothing that felt this perfect and electric could be unholy. He was taking you somewhere, and you were letting him, without reservation. 

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N” He repeated into your mouth as he came forcefully.

Between feeling the warm stickiness soak even more through his pants and into your panties, and the sensation of him sucking on your neck, you let go. You feel your whole body tense, and then relax. A warm sensation grew throughout your body, from your toes to your forehead.

“Aemond. Aemond.” you cried out, and grasped him desperately as you rode through your first high of this kind.

“I’ve got you, my love. I’ve got you.” he said, hugging you close.

And you knew, without a doubt, that he did.

Both too exhausted to discuss the events of the last two hours, you let your head rest against his chest while you were still sprawled on top of him. Both of you had been breathing so heavily, but now, your breaths had slowed back to normal.

You heard his heartbeat, felt his chest rise, and were assured of his strong life force.

Reassured, you closed your eyes, and let yourself fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

[avenirdelight]

Take Care

Son Heungmin

Sonny is recovering from an injury and he’s going away for the world cup. [Requested]

Warm food was ready on the table. She had bought those bath bombs that he liked, refilled his favourite soap, and replaced the empty bottle of face toner. She had changed the bed sheet and covers. The aromatherapy candle in the bedroom was ready to be lit. She had set the house to perfection and got everything ready so Sonny would have the best comfort.

She had felt the horror just over a week ago when she received the news about Sonny being injured. Things had been a blur since. Some examinations, a surgery, recovery sessions, and endless discussions about the world cup. Even though a fractured eye socket wasn’t a huge injury, it didn’t make it less overwhelming especially when Sonny’s participation at the biggest tournament is at stake.

But thankfully everything was going the right way. Sonny was all better now and was confirmed to be a part of the world cup squad. He’d started to do his own sessions of training and today he’d gone to the stadium to watch the match; she’d chosen to use the time to clean the house and do things she hadn’t had the time to do.

The night was getting deeper, but she patiently waited for Sonny to come home. She rushed to the door when she heard Sonny’s car pull up. Even though she knew he was okay—she saw those photos of him and Rodrigo after the match, both men had wide smiles plastered on their faces—she couldn’t help but to worry. She had actually asked him to stay home but he insisted on going, saying he needed to watch the last match and see his mates before going away for the world cup.

“Hi. You okay?” She asked, welcoming Sonny with a hug.

“I’m okay. Like I promised, I came home safely. All good. Nothing to worry about.”

“I simply can’t not worry about you.” She hugged him a little bit tighter. After the injury she had been feeling awful every time she had to let Sonny get out of the house. She honestly would prefer to have him stay home so he could always be under her watch.

Sonny led himself to the kitchen as she asked him about how the match had gone, she trailed behind him. He animatedly bragged about how Rodrigo had scored two goals, how the boys had put on a fight. Sonny looked genuinely happy and that gave her a little bit of relief, mostly because he’d been a little bit down lately because of the injury.

“The mood was good. It was nice to get a win before the break. Everyone was happy and— Wait a minute.” Sonny only wanted to get some water at first, but the sight of the dining table caught his eye, so he stopped. “You cooked? Oh, no. I already had dinner, babe.” He turned to her with an apologetic look.

“I know. It’s fine. I just cooked a bit just in case you were hungry,” she shrugged. “Do you want to just take a bath? I’ll run the water.”

Sonny immediately took a seat and picked up a fork. It was already too late for dinner and he really shouldn’t be taking any more carbs today. Though he knew she wouldn’t even get upset if he didn’t eat it, the food she had cooked was still warm and looked very appetising. He couldn’t resist, especially when he knew it was going to be good.

“Baby, this is so good,” he commented as he munch on the food. His eyes sparkled like it always did every time he ate her food, which gave her that warm and fulfilling feeling. He gave her a smile, which was infectious, she smiled too. “I need to have some bites. Please don’t tell my nutritionist.”

She giggled as she ran her hand through his hair. “I won’t. How about the bath? You feel like taking a warm bath before bed?”

A cheeky grin appeared on Sonny’s face, and he nodded.

—

“I feel like it’s my birthday. You’re kind of spoiling me tonight,” Sonny said as he got in the bathtub. The water was turquoise and smelled nice from the bathbomb; his favourite one, he always said that it made him calm and relaxed. “This is really comfortable, innit?”

“You tell me,” she said, pulling up a stool so she could sit near him beside the bathtub. “I think you’re really gonna have a good night's sleep tonight. Watched a fun match, ate good food, end the day with a warm bath…”

“I know. Today was a good day. Almost feels like my birthday because I feel like you’re spoiling me.” Sonny reached for her hand and gave it a light squeeze. “Thank you.”

She shrugged. “It’s not much.”

“No. Thank you for everything. You’ve been taking a really good care of me. I really don’t know what I’d do without you,” Sonny said, staring into her eyes. She knew he meant every word, she could feel how genuine he was being. 

She let out a little sigh as her other hand went to his face. She graced her fingers on his cheek very carefully, still scared to hurt him even though he said that he no longer felt any pain. Sonny seemed to melt into her gentle touch, closing his eyes and slightly leaning his head, wanting more of it. She, on the other hand, felt her heart clenched when she stared at his healing scar.

“I’d do anything to help my baby recover and stay fit. He needs to captain his country at the world cup, remember?” She gave him a reassuring smile. Sonny drew her hand closer to his lips and placed a kiss on it.

—

“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself,” she muttered. The worry was creeping back and it showed in her voice. It was quite a tiring day for her and it was time to get some rest, but she just couldn’t stop thinking. “Listen to your coaches, get enough rest, have fun.”

They were in bed, lying face to face as their hands linked. Both were wearing matching pyjamas, covered by a warm blanket. Sonny was already drifting to sleep and honestly she could easily fall asleep too now, but she still wanted to use the opportunity to just stare at his beautiful face.

Sonny was going to leave in three days for the world cup, they’d be away from each other for a moment. She’d go with his family once the tournament started but they would only have very limited time to see him, so she was determined that she’d make the best out of the next three days with him.

“Are you still listening?”

“Hmmm,” Sonny responded.

“Promise me you won’t get injured again…”

“Can’t promise that. But I’ll try,” he vaguely mumbled.

“Promise me you’ll win the games.”

“I’ll try…”

Her lips perked into a small smile when Sonny opened his sleepy eyes and blinked them slowly a couple of times before meeting hers. “I need you to promise me something too,” he said. He sounded rather serious. “Take care of yourself. You’ve been stressing out so much, so once I depart for the world cup, I want you to take a break, have time for yourself.”

She simply nodded.

“Go have lunch with your best friends, bake some cookies, go shopping, do whatever you want. Okay? Stop worrying me for a second. I’ll be fine. Okay?”

She giggled and shuffled closer to put a kiss on his cheek. “Okay, I promise,” she said, kissing his cheek once again.

“Come here, now.”

Sonny opened his arms and she fell right into his embrace. He hugged her tight and caressed her back, kissing her on her forehead. She put her palm against her chest, feeling it heaving up and down, feeling his heartbeat. The conversation eventually ended and it didn’t take long until they both fell asleep. She fell asleep with a smile on her face, knowing that this had been a good day, for the first time in what felt like forever. She didn’t mind that it had been rough lately, but all that matters was that Sonny was happy again and getting his spirit back. And maybe she had to give herself a little credit for that.

—

thank you for everyone who has been reading my sonny fics, i really appreciate it🥺 i hope you enjoy them!

i hope you liked this one too. i currently take requests so you can send them in! likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated. thank you!💖

My Masterlist🤍

[koifsssh]

unstoppable force meets immovable object

cw! puppet on puppet violence! blood, and guns!

[ A translation in case other's cant read it! and a little extra! ]

"It's a shame really, our conversation was going so well, but then you grew stubborn... Does everyone in Darling's little family hold this trait? How Awful."

Clover's voice was fuzzy in Rainy's ears, the ringing take up half of his attention. How long had he been here again? It feels like forever...

"Haha, I suppose... It's a needed trait you could say..." It was a quiet response, mere conversation. He didn't want to answer more questions.

"Let's try this again." Nellie moved for Clover, lifting the gun up and aiming towards the socket that was missing an eye. Rainy kept the tired smile on his face as Clover's voice rang in his ears.

"Please cooperate with us this time."

It was a rather tedious interrogation, Clover and Nellie found themselves scrapping at the bottom of the empty barrel Rainy provided. Barely any information besides things they already knew about or "fun facts" about Rainy's neighbors.

"Must you do this the hard way? I don't understand how you could sit there and be loyal to such a cruel man."

Rainy's eye fall shut, exhaustion evident on his face from this encounter.

"I treasure my family just as you treasure yours, Ms. Clover." He lulls his head to the side, his eye opening just the slightest bit to stare up at the singer, "We all have sides of ourselves, I'm sure Daisy is a prime example of that."

They both tensed, it was an accident really.

Even when someone has lots of experience with weapons, they can still make mistakes.

What a mistake.

[ Nellie belongs to @sheriffopossum & Clover belongs to @chimeracarnival! ]

[ I hope this was alright! i never really write, so i hope this not ooc for Nellie and Clover! (well... it might be ooc a bit for Nellie... not sure if she would accidentally pull the trigger... but ah well...) ]

[whatwooshkai]

17!

Even if Heatwave wasn't psychic, he would know something's about to happen.

He hasn't seen anything, but he's got that funny feeling in his tanks, and Chase is tapping his digits together, staring intently at a spot on the wall.

Heatwave leans over the back of the couch. "Whatcha thinking about?" he asks, poking Chase's finial, which flicks irritably. Heatwave's tanks cramp uncomfortably.

Chase's mouth turns down, but he doesn't look up at Heatwave. "I am curious about the effect of-"

An audial-splitting scream rips across the base, and Heatwave's turning around and running towards it before his processor even registers what's happening. Fuck, fuck. I should've known, Chase wouldn't do something stupid so spontaneously-

"It's fine, it's fine!" Boulder runs out to intercept Heatwave, waving their servos placatingly. "I mean, it's not fine, but no one's dead! He's okay! Okay-ish! Okay I lied it's bad, but it's not awful, but if I look at him for another minute I'm going to be sick-"

"Blades?" Heatwave guesses, shoving Boulder out of the way, before stopping in his tracks.

Blades stumbles out of the door Boulder just came out of, giving them a pained grin. Blood gurgles from an empty shoulder socket.

"Hi," he says stupidly, waving his detached arm at them.

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Pairings: None

Word Count: 1,624 Words

Summary: Jigsaw is not happy the twins are alive. He does something about that to someone he

Warnings: Kidnapping, Eye Trauma, Trauma, Injury, Torture (mentioned), Caps, Cursing, Death (mentioned only), Permanent Injury, Partial Amnesia/Suppressed Memories, Assault (mentioned only, implied/referenced), Vomiting (non-graphic), Abuse (mentioned only), let me know if I should add anything else.

This Is Your New Home: Chapter 2

KC blew out a sigh from his vents. His fire had gone out again. Wonderful. The damned rain had made everything far too wet to keep it lit for long. KC moved and grabbed the lighter and drier wood, sitting the old wood that hadn’t been fully burned yet to the pile of wool to dry and be reused if he could.

Upon tossing in the lit firestarter, which was cotton and old newspaper doused with lighter fluid, the flame burst back up again. Thankfully, the rain had died down now. But, the second he lit the flame again, he saw a person vaguely like Sun. Perhaps Sun had gotten a new model?

“Ah, you visit me again?” KC asked Sun.

“Aw, you think I’m your Sun?” A different voice sprouted up. This wasn’t Sun, it sounded…off. He looked up to see it was a broken and ruined model frame of yes, Sun, but also Moon. Who in the hell was this?

“Who are you? How do you know Sun?” KC asked.

“Oh, you’ll find out.” The person told him. KC expected him to sit, explain he was a dimensional traveler Sun and Moon had saved from a horrible situation as he’d heard they’d done recently.

But the animatronic did no such thing. KC only felt a sharp pain in the back of his head and blacked out. KC woke up strapped to a table, what was this?

“Oh, you woke up! Wonderful! Amazing! My name is Jigsaw and your name is Paradox!” The same bot that had been there before he blacked out cooed at him. ‘Paradox’? Like hell was his name Paradox. His chosen name was Crescent, though he had yet to tell it to anyone but his children.

“Where am I?” KC growled.

“Oh, just getting one procedure done.” Jigsaw told him.

“I do not require a procedure!” KC snapped.

“Oh but you dooooo. You require one big procedure. You’re not functioning properly.” Jigsaw giggled and KC growled feeling pain.

“Don’t touch me!” KC snapped at him.

“Awww, you’re not behaving either.” Jigsaw cooed like he was simply a child, which only festered his rage.

“Let me out!” KC snapped.

“I have one little requirement to let you out.” Jigsaw chuckled.

“What!?” KC snapped.

“Beg.” Jigsaw simply said and KC gave a scream feeling his optic ripped from its socket.

KC powered on, oh thank god, he powered on. He couldn’t navigate, why couldn’t he navigate? Where was he? He felt his face and felt his optic sockets empty and ruined wires hanging from them. Right, he was ruined.

He felt cold flooring under him but it was rather soft. He felt the divots of the padding, the daycare? The padded daycare floor. He had passed out sometime after he had his spine broken in half and finally begging to be released. He’d given into that sociopath, dammit!

KC felt the floor and tried to find something familiar, where was he in the daycare? Not the ball pit, nor the garden-like area of the floor. He felt the security desk to his left.

He had been left on his brothers’ doorstep like trash. He was pathetic. A pathetic father, a pathetic brother, a pathetic existence. He used the security desk as a guide and pulled a chair to his liking, using it to hit the objects on the desk itself.

It created a successful toppling effect on the desk and, thankfully, one of the objects toppled had managed to hit the keyboard as he’d wanted and turned on the emergency alert system.

“WHO IS THAT!?” Moon yelled down.

“Me! KC!” KC called back.

“Why the emergency alert?” Moon called closer-by. He was using his fly wire down maybe? But Moon was in the daycare with him.

“Do you know someone named Jigsaw?” KC asked.

“Yes, why?” Moon’s voice got frustrated.

“He hasssszzzz aaaa…he haaaaa-hasssss a message.” His voice box began fizzling from the mixture of battery acid and bleach. Great.

“What!?” Moon asked closer.

“I kn-kn-know you hhhhhhave themmmmm.” KC growled silently as his voice box finally fizzled out.

“Oh my fucking god!” Moon exclaimed rounding the desk and KC took a few breaths. He couldn’t explain further, this couldn’t get worse.

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck did he do to you!?” Moon roared, dropping down near him and getting him up into his arms, something rather easy for him given KC was smaller than him still in this body. He patted his throat to motion for his voice box being damaged.

“Fuck, I gotta fix you.” Moon growled with rage, pure unadulterated rage. He didn’t think he’d ever heard this Moon so angry.

“That demented fucker stole our little brother and tortured him.” He heard Moon tell someone. Sun maybe? Sun was the only other sibling he was younger than. Lunar was younger than him, Earth was hunter too. And his children…weren’t around.

KC blacked out again from the agony that was his spine prior to Jigsaw snapping it in two. He woke up still blind, he supposed Jigsaw had been telling the truth that he’d disable the feature in him permanently to sight.

He felt around and realized he was in Moon’s bed. With the lack of plushies or cats or excessive pillows, it had to be Moon’s bed of all his siblings.

“You’re awake. Thank fuck.” He heard Moon sigh with relief.

“We had been looking for you for a month, KC. You lost GPS signal a month ago.” Moon told him as he helped him sit up. Moon had thankfully fixed his spine, though the pressure of sitting on the new one hurt and ached.

“It’s been a month?” KC asked softly, holding and squeezing Moon’s hand at the pain in his back.

“You don’t remember?” Moon asked.

KC was about to respond but then it seemed like the dam broke. Yes, it had been a month. His mind had suppressed memories of what had happened to him. He suddenly remembered his pelvis being broken, ribs, knee joints, ankles, hips, all of which had happened before his spine was snapped.

Horror struck him. He’d forgotten? He felt nauseous and lurched forward. Moon’s hands on him quickly left and he had a trash can thrust into his hands just before he threw up, throat burning with bile he choked up.

He remembered why his memory was suppressed from the month. Jigsaw’s favorite method of torture toward him. It made him feel sick and dirty despite being in a repaired and likely spotless body, it even felt like a new body but it still felt dirty and exposed. But he still felt dirty enough he wanted to scratch off his casing.

“You don’t have to say why you threw up, I know. You must’ve suppressed your memories because of it.” Moon told him softly and he nodded in response. “KC, it’s not your fault.” Moon told him and he took in a shuddering breath to his engines, listening.

“You didn’t ask for this. You couldn’t have. What Jigsaw did to you isn’t your fault. You’re not anything he told you you are, you didn’t deserve this, you are not a mistake.” KC sniffled a little at Moon’s words.

“I…Thank you.” KC simply agreed. It wasn’t his fault, he’d only trusted Jigsaw thinking he was a traveler sent by Moon.

“I have something that could perk you up a little. It’s not like, therapy or anything, but it might make you a little happier. Or cry. Probably cry.” Moon rambled mostly to himself.

“What is it?” KC asked.

“Let me lead you? I’ll bet you’re still not used to walking around blind.” Moon asked.

“I’m not. You can.” KC agreed and Moon gently helped him to his feet, setting the trash bin back where it was likely to be cleaned later. Moon led him what he thought was the main balcony room, given he got led through a tunnel.

“Zodiac, Horoscope, this is KC. The one I told you about.” Moon introduced. “KC, this is Zodiac and Horoscope. Your sons.” KC looked toward Moon with disbelief. Moon made him two kids?

“Dad!” KC’s new but still unseeing eyes went wide. That was Blood Moon’s voice. Moon remade Blood Moon? KC suddenly got hugged by a smaller bot, a foot shorter than him. And it felt so nice to be hugged by who he assumed was his Blood Moon.

“That one’s Zodiac, the other is Horoscope.”

“Dad?” Harvest Moon’s voice. Horoscope. His name was Horoscope now. KC felt tears building up.

“You remade them?” KC asked, voice nearly breaking with his tears as Horoscope came to hug him as well with his twin.

“I didn’t. Jigsaw made them. It’s hard to say, but he made them, abused them, and then sent them here for me to kill. But I couldn’t do it. They’re my nephews and they didn’t deserve me to kill them when they were beaten and abused. I couldn’t do that. Lunar helped rename them. So the older twin is Zodiac and the younger is Horoscope.” Moon proudly told him.

KC immediately descended into tears, hugging his twins close, his babies.

“Oh, and this one. Solar, he can’t see you, say something.” Moon told someone.

“Parade me around like a show dog, why don’t you?” ‘Solar’ scoffed. Eclipse! His oldest son’s voice.

“Go hug your damn dad!” Moon seemingly pushed Solar because Solar ended up stumbling into KC’s arms. He had his three sons.

Not the originals, he couldn’t have them back, they existed in his memories now. But he had these three, these wonderful new sons and he choked back a sob as he hugged them as close as he possibly could, fearing they’d disappear if he didn’t.

[mommyhelgayanderelover]

Optimus is dissecting your human body

Pairing: yandere Optimus Prime x reader

Optimus hovered over the platform, gazing into the painfully familiar human features. You were beautiful. You were perfect, as you always were.

And so was your body, which didn't contain your mind. Ratchet had called it a corpse, but Optimus thought otherwise. No part of you could be dead. No part of you.

That's why he was here. And that's why he lied to you and Ratchet: your organic body wasn't destroyed at all. Optimus didn't want that. Why would he? Why destroy this beauty?

But it was also dangerous and... Not as interesting to leave it in its familiar form. Optimus had long felt the urge to find out exactly what Eve's organic body was hiding inside of her. The Cybertronian could easily expose any part, even the Spark, while humans were beyond his control. And Optimus wanted to. Wanted to know what was inside you. What your soul and body were hiding.

There was no obstacle to that now. The merger would soon take place, but the body...

Optimus transformed the manipulator into a blade. A combat upgrade might not be suitable for operating on organics, but operating on you with something other than your own body Prime considered sacrilege. Oh, no. He must feel. To feel the way his Spark's flesh cut through like a thin layer of metal.

Optimus had purposely sharpened the blade in a way he hadn't sharpened it in the entire war. Optimus thought long and hard about where to begin. Everything drew him in, beckoned to him, and all he could do was blow air through the ventilation systems at high volume.

The blade swept across your forehead, thin drops of blood trickling down, staining the unnaturally pale skin. The scalp came off easily. Optimus watched with interest as the thin layer of red film hid the skull. White against the red.

Prime carefully sliced the scalp off, setting it aside. Thoughtfully examined your head.

The next stage was the eyes: Optimus couldn't afford not to look into them at least once a joor. Therefore, he really wanted to keep it.

The tip of the blade lifting the closed eyelid, digging under the eyeball. It's exquisite workmanship. Optimus never thought he'd do a job like this, but he couldn't let you down and mess it up. So he calculated every move, every gesture.

The first eyeball protruded from the eye socket, and Optimus carefully began to cut away the tendons. Slowly, in no hurry. When the eyeball was finally separated from the body, Optimus held it up to his optics. The brown pupil stared at him silently.

Optimus smiled at your gaze, and then proceeded to the other eye. This one was quicker to do.

Optimus moved a little and pressed on your jaw. Your mouth opened obediently, and the mech immediately hooked your tongue with his fingers. He pulled it back a little, and with a second manipulator he cut off your tongue. Optimus really liked to hear you talk, and to neglect that organ would be... Just awful.

Optimus examined the result he'd gotten. You looked at him with empty eye sockets and the bloody yawn of an empty mouth.

Optimus wanted what was hiding behind your skull. Your brain.

But Optimus was thinking. He so wanted your whole skeleton. In order to do that, it had to be stripped completely of meat, muscle, fat, internal organs. At these thoughts, Optimus' motor sounded louder, more satisfied: the process would be long. Now the blade rested against your sternum. It pressed down, burrowing inward, but without damaging your lungs or ribs.

Optimus moved the arm downward, revealing your chest, abdomen, and pelvic organs. Beautiful. You were as beautiful on the inside as you were on the outside.

A riot of red, burgundy, yellow, and even purple, that's how Optimus saw your inner world. Prime noted with frustration that to get to your lungs and heart, you'd have to break your ribs.

Those hid the things Optimus needed with their whitish cage. But that's okay.

Optimus would rebuild the skeleton afterward.

The sound with which each rib broke, separating from you, Prime could only compare to a prayer. The blade moved with even more care.

Optimus cut through the heart sac, slicing through aortas and tendons, wanting to get to the heart.

Your heart was... Prime, it was what Optimus had spent so long conquering. Prime took a few long brims to look at what once drove blood through your veins, and then brought it up to your dermis, kissing it. A trail of blood was immediately imprinted on the soft metal. But that's okay.

Optimus will lick it off later. Right after he got the lungs. The stomach. Liver. The intestinal tubes. And the uterus and ovaries. And Optimus won't leave anything inside you untouched.

“What the hell are you doing in there!!!” you banged your fist loudly several times against the automatic doors leading to Optimus' compartment. His private compartment, not their shared one. “Ratchet is calling for you. He refuses to take me for a physical on this stupid hull and my Spark without you present.”

Optimus immediately switched gears: contacting your past body was intriguing, but contacting your new hull and asset... It was infinitely times better.

“Give me five minutes, my Spark,” Optimus hurries into the purifier. He doesn't want to wash you off of him at all, but if he doesn't, you yourself... Once again, you'll be afraid. Reject. You won't understand.

Outside the door, you hummed quietly in response. The familiar smell of metal and... Meat? But you immediately dismissed those thoughts.

Where on Cybertron would meat and blood come from?