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mypearlsareclutched · 18 days

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We're Sinking Into The Sand

High By The Beach | Chapter Eleven

Modern!Aegon II x Original Female Character, Modern!Aemond x Original Female Character

After the chaos that was Viserys' funeral, Mila heads back to Old Town to help the Targaryen she loves. But it was Aemond who brought her and Aegon together, will it be him who tears them apart?

BTDubs this was where I was originally planning on ending the series but I had SO MUCH MORE TO SAY about Mila and the Targs and ole Creggie and the homies. So (as you can tell from the masterlist) there are a further six chapter coming after this mwah. Also I updated hella quick, huh? Who's proud of me <3

Song inspiration | High By The Beach, Lana Del Rey

CW//TW: Sexual Content (MDNI, 18+), smut, angst, joking at an inappropriate time Aegon style, Old Town and the beach house, drugs, mentions of addictions, HELLA angst at the end, British lingo, morning sex, passionate missionary yuh, consent is sexy, Aegon is OOC in that respect, enjoy the good vibes while they last because I'm here to hurt your feelings <\3

Word count | 5.2k

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It took almost a whole day to drive back to Old Town. Which was good time. She drove like a bat out of hell, never stopping. Except for traffic lights, because having the police on her ass was not in the cards. By the time she arrived to her destination, the sun was falling down in the sky once again.

Parking Laena's car in the driveway of the Old Town beach house, Mila breathes out a sigh she didn't realize she had been holding in her lungs since leaving the Targaryen home.

Just the sight of the house relieved tension inside her very bones, the smell of the sea air drifting through the open windows and the sound of seagulls flying high above all made her feel like a weight was lifted off of her shoulders.

Another car was parked beside the house, expensive looking and clearly the car Aegon had stolen from Viserys' garage. Mila walked past it to the house, holding the front door's handle with shaky hands.

The house is unlocked, the keys discarded on the table near the door, next to Aegon's alien sunglasses. He must be here.

"Aegon?" Mila calls out, stepping into the entryway.

The house is silent, save for the ticking of the grandfather clock against the far wall. No lights have been turned on, the room is shadowy and painted with strips of sunlight from the surrounding windows. A small sliver of darkness catches Mila's eye, and she crouches down to pick up a black tie.

A pair of sandy, black dress shoes lie a few feet away, the discarded garments leading a bread crumb trail right to the bedroom. Mila stands, walking to the door in search of the MIA Targaryen. A relieved sigh leaves her when she sees him.

He's lying on the bed, legs splayed out over the edge and eyes closed. His black suit from the funeral is still in tact, save for the tie and his shoes.

"Hey-"

"Seven hells!" Aegon exclaims, sitting up. His wide eyes blink at her, before he exhales out a laugh, "Jesus, Em, you scared the shit out of me."

Mila laughs as she shakes her head, her own spirits lifting as she looks at his smiling face, a much prefered alternative to the grimace he wore during his father's funeral.

"So, you took a page out of my book and fled the Targaryen prison?" He asks, standing up.

"Yeah, and Otto is going to drag you by your short and curlies right back there." Mila shakes her head, smoothing her hands over the crinkled black dress she still wore.

"Let him try." Aegon chuckles, "I can disappear if I want to."

He wraps his arm around her waist, pressing his lips to hers in a passionate yet gentle kiss. Mila sinks into it, letting out a please hum as he licks along her lower lip.

The kiss grows heated, and Aegon's hands are quick to wrap around her and pick her up, spinning her around to deposit her on the bed. Mila's legs open automatically to welcome him in, his weight a comforting presence against her sore body. Soft hands run through her hair, over her thighs. Chapped lips run along her neck.

Aemond's hands... Aemond's mouth...

"Baby, stop." Mila says softly, guilt wracking her body as she pushes him away gently. Aegon's face falls, but not from disappointment. Concern is evident on his cherubic features, his hands leaving her as he sits up and looks at her worriedly.

"What's wrong? We don't have to if you don't want to-"

"I fucked Aemond." Mila bites out, closing her eyes.

Aegon is silent, and her stomach drops. He blinks at her, and she can see his mind processing what she just said.

"Oh." He says, voice soft and robotic.

"Aegon-"

"Okay."

"What?"

"I said okay." He shrugs, lying back down on the bed, "That's fine, it's your body, babe."

"Aeg-"

"I don't want to talk about it." Aegon sighs, one hand coming to cover his eyes, as his other hand takes hers. Mila looks down at their clasped fingers, squeezing his hand.

"I'm so sorry."

"Hey, shh." He sits up, eyes once again soft and face warm again, taking her hands in his, "I'm not mad at you, baby. I would never be. This shit is complicated. I just... don't want to hear the details. It'll make me want to cut open my stomach and pull out all my internal organs.

"I wouldn't tell you." She smiles weakly, reaching a hand up to move a stray strand of his hair out of his eyes, "It meant nothing, really. It was just... a moment of weakness. I got too caught up in who I wanted him to be, instead of who he really is. I want you, for who you really are."

Aegon smiles sadly, "If you saw me for who I really am, you would run for the hills."

"Maybe I'll surprise you."

"All you do is surprise me." Aegon laughs, nosing at her hand as it fiddles with his shoulder-length hair, "Wherever you were yesterday doesn't matter to me. I'm just glad you're here now, with me. I really do love you, Em. So much."

"I love you, too." Mila reaches a hand up and cups his cheek, his face leaning in to hers, "Otto is still going to come for you."

Aegon is silent, his head lifting so he can look over at the ocean through the window panes. The sun has begun to set, casting the bedroom in a hue of blush pink and burnt orange. A far away look forms in Aegon's blue eyes, a small crinkle appearing between his pale brows as he thinks.

"What's going on in that head of yours?" Mila asks, prodding his temple playfully.

Aegon sighs, looking at her, "Suicide pact?"

"Aegon."

"So that's a firm 'no' on the suicide pact?"

"I need you to take this seriously." Mila says, taking his chin in between her thumb and forefinger.

"I am." Aegon says as smiles, taking her hands in his, "I'm taking this seriously."

"This?" Mila laughs, confused.

"This. You and me. This. Us." Aegon smiles, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand.

"Us?"

"Us."

The next morning, as the sun rose over Old Town, Mila woke up encased in the warm arms of Aegon Targaryen.

She slept like the dead, immediately falling into the land of dreams after Aegon had helped her get out of her dress. He grimaced at it, throwing it in the bin, waving away Mila's complaints.

"You look better in the crappy clothes we got from big Tesco anyway." He grins, tossing her an oversized shirt with the words 'Straight Outta Old Town' written on the back. She rolled her eyes with a smile of her own as she put it on, laughing at Aegon's ogling as he removed his own clothes and threw on some joggers.

The second her head hit the pillow, and Aegon wrapped around her from behind, Mila was out like a light.

When the sun rose, she never wanted to leave this room again.

Aegon murmurs sleepily behind her, offering a quiet 'good morning' when he realises she is awake. Mila hums back, turning around in his arms. He gives her a dopey grin, eyes barely open. She returns his smile, reaching her hand up to trace along his face from his eyebrow, down his nose, and across his jaw. When Mila's fingers dance across the skin of his lips, Aegon purses his lips to kiss her finger tips.

She leans in for a kiss first, and he meets her halfway. Their lips meet in a loving dance, noses brushing and hands grasping onto whatever was in reach.

In an instant, Aegon rolls on top of her, kissing her feverishly as he covers Mila's body with his own. Her thighs open for him to lie in between them, flushes skin pressing against one another.

"Is this okay?" Aegon asks softly, desperate to feel more of her but unwilling to go beyond her boundaries.

"More than okay." Mila affirms, leaning up to kiss him again. He groans against her lips, his hands continuing their exploration as his hips buck against her one.

The hot tip of him presses against her wetness, and they gasp into each other's mouths. Aegon shifts forward, slowly fucking into her as she mewls against him, throwing her head back at his familiar, euphoric size.

"That's it, baby." Aegon murmurs, pressing his face into her neck as he begins thrusting into her sensually, dragging his hips back and forward in slow, loving strokes, "Fuck... feels so good."

"Aegon..." Mila moans out, running her hands over his hair and kissing his temple, "I love you."

"I love you too... so much..." His words trail off as his speed increases, fucking her in earnest. The sound of Mila's breathy whines and Aegon's grunts fill the room, mixed with the sounds of skin meeting skin.

Mila's orgasm creeps up on her, making her body jolt as a loud moan leaves her parted lips. Feeling her tighten around him, Aegon speeds up, breathing out curses and praises.

"You feel so good, baby, fuck!" He grits out around clenched teeth, grabbing the back of her knees to press her thighs to her chest, opening her wider. Mila gasps as he fucks her harder, hips pistoning into her with passion yet great care. Her peak subsides, and her body trembles with overstimulation.

"Aegon, fuck... 's too much..." Her eyes roll back, her hands weakly gripping onto the sheets below her and the pale, soft skin of Aegon's thigh.

"Doing so well for me, doll. Making me feel so fucking good. I can feel you getting tighter, wanna feel you cum again. You can give me another, right baby?"

"M-hm!" Mila bites her lip, words leaving her as Aegon angles his

"Right there? That feel good? Fuck, look at you." He praises, his eyes trained on her writhing body below him, "Come on, baby, need to feel you cum again. Please, baby."

"Aegon, fuck!" Mila shrieks, shaking uncontrollably as her legs tighten, her cunt gushing around him as he pushes her over the edge again.

The feeling sends Aegon over the edge, his pace faltering until he shudders and thrusts into her as far as he can go, painting her walls with his spend. Eyes rolled back, Aegon mumbles praises and promises and recites Mila's name like a prayer as his cock throbs, releasing all he has into her soft heat.

The Stark below him feels boneless and content, her knees still pressed to her chest and her cunt still full of Aegon's softening cock, her walls trying to push him out as she moans softly in overstimulation.

When he finally pulls out, both of their releases leak out of her, making Aegon groan at the sight, "Fucking beautiful."

Mila smiles sleepily, eyes blurry. She winces when she stretches her legs out, her hips and thighs burning.

"I'll be right back, Em." Aegon says softly, kissing her knee before rising off of the bed.

As hus weight disappears, Mila whines as she waves her hand to try to stop him. His tired chuckle makes her heart flutter, and after a minute he returns. A cold rag presses against her inner thighs, cleaning the mess they had made. Aegon's hands are gentle as he soothes her aching muscles, pressing kisses against her flushed skin.

"Sit up, baby." Aegon softly orders, and Mila rises slowly onto her elbows. The cold feeling glass presses against her lips, and she swallows down the offered water.

Satisfied that she's clean and hydrated, Aegon kisses her forehead before getting up again, putting the empty glass and soiled rag in the adjoining bathroom.

"I'm going to have one hell of a time trying to walk later." Mila smiles, dazed. Her eyes follow Aegon as he enters the room again.

"Oh, so you think you're leaving this room?" Aegon asks with a mischievous grin, diving back into the bed atop a laughing Mila.

The next day, Aegon drags her along an unfamiliar street. It's old, all ancient cobblestone walkways and winding alleys covered in ivy.

"Woah, Aeg, chill." Mila finds herself laughing, gripping onto Aegon's hand as he pulls her along like an overexcited puppy.

"Come on, we're almost there!" Aegon says, a beaming smile across his face.

Mila had never been to Honeyholt before. She had woken up this morning to Aegon laying on top of her, his chin against her sternum as he watched her sleep.

"Creep." Mila murmurs, a smile on her lips. Aegon huffs, rolling his eyes with his own cheeky grin as he presses a kiss to her collarbone and stands up.

"Come on, lazy, we've got things to do."

"Lazy? You're the one who twisted me up like a pretzel from dawn to dusk yesterday, no wonder I'm tired." Mila laughs, exasperated as she fluffs up her pillow and gets cozy again, "Also, what things? I don't know if I have the energy to do that last thing we did again."

"As much fun as that was, no. We have more fun things to do." He says as he pulls on his jeans, searching the room for a clean shirt.

"What's more fun than a sixty-nine bridge?"

"If you want the answer to that age old question, you should get your perky ass out of bed." Aegon wiggles his eyebrows as he tosses her a shirt.

Honeyholt was beautiful. Cultural, historic, full of tiny shops and homes. They pass smiling faces around every corner, including a flock of old ladies who chuckle as Aegon drags Mila down the street towards the unknown location.

Out of breath from running and laughing, Mila is grateful for when Aegon halts with an enthusiastic, 'Ah!'

She tosses her windswept curls over her shoulder as she watches Aegon walk into an old shop, dusty and seemingly disused. When he realises she is not following him, he pops his head out the doorway.

"Come on, then!" He calls, beckoning her forwards.

Mila laughs as she follows him in, her jaw dropping when she gets a good look at the place.

It had long been abandoned, cobwebs and dust covering most surfaces and furniture. But underneath the years of misuse, was a work of art. Antique chairs and tables dotted around, dark wooden floors covered in floral rugs. The wallpaper was peeling, and some mould had begun to grow, but the dark coloured spirals of the painted paper remained vivid. Along the back wall were ancient bookcases, and dirty chandeliers were hung from the ceiling.

Aegon bounces around the room, picking up fallen chairs in his wake before he leans against a fireplace across the room, looking at her for her reaction.

"What is this place?" Mila asks in awe, eyes wide with wonder as she walks around the small yet beautiful shop.

"It's just some old litt place. It was like a cafe or something until the lady who runs it, you know, bit the dust."

Mila rolls her eyes at his candidness, running her fingers along the dusty bookshelves that lined the far wall, "It's beautiful here."

"And cheap, too." Aegon comments, walking over to her to wrap his arms around her waist from behind, "The old owners son wants to get rid of it so the price is beyond reasonable."

"You're thinking of running a cafe? Aw, will you wear a frilly little apron while you're at it? You'll look so cute." Mila jokes, turning around in his embrace to kiss along his jaw.

Aegon rolls his eyes, but his smile never falters, "It doesn't have to be a cafe, dumbass. It could be anything we want once we buy it."

Mila stops, looking up at him with wide eyes, "Once we what?"

"Buy it." He says, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I'm thinking bookshop in the front, tattoo parlour in the back. Our own little haven."

"That's absolutely crazy." Mila laughs, wrapping her arms around his neck, "You're crazy."

"You love it." Aegon smiles as he leans in to kiss her.

"I love you, you crazy Targaryen."

They stayed like that for a while, standing in the cramped and dirtied room of a shop that promised a future for them both.

They had stopped off to get petrol on the way back from Honeyholt, when Aegon's phone began to ring.

Mila was paying inside the station, chatting idly to the woman behind the counter. Leaning against the car, Aegon watches her with a small smile, studying the movement of her lips as she spoke, and they way her eyes lit up when she laughed.

His phone ringing caught him off guard. Looking around, he noticed it lying in the back seat where he had flung it over his shoulder on the way here the night of Viserys' funeral. Helaena had given it back to him, chastising him ever so gently for leaving Weirwood without any of his belongings.

Grabbing it, he looks down at the caller ID, a groan escaping him as he rolls his eyes at the name.

"Piss off." He sighs into the phone.

"Hello to you to." Aemond scoffs, voice already sounding annoyed, "Is she there?"

"Who?"

"Hilarious. My fucking girlfriend."

"Which girlfriend? The hot one, or the dinosaur? Oh, wait, the hot one abandoned you after pity fucking you and came back to me."

"...So she is there."

"...No."

"Aegon." Aemond sighs, his rings knocking together as he seemingly runs a hand over his face, "Stop being childish for five minutes, and listen to me."

The older brother laughs, "Listen to you? What could you possibly say to me right now that won't make me hurl this phone into the sea?"

"What did you buy?"

"Should have bought condoms the way this is going." Aegon chuckles, eyes flicking to Mila once again.

"No, Aegon." Aemond's voice takes a dangerous tone, "What did you buy? On your way back to Old Town."

Aegon's blood runs cold, ice water in his veins. He swallows, turning around, as if looking in Mila's direction suddenly hurt to do, "How the fuck did you know?"

"You forget that I've known you all my life, and how you operate as a scumbag junkie for almost two decades." Aemond laughs cruelly, the sound prickling Aegon's eardrums like needles.

"I haven't done anything." He emphasises, "I wasn't going to-"

"Yes you were. If Mila hadn't turned up when she did you would already be stoned beyond human capabilities, possibly even dead. Now, wouldn't that be a shame."

"What the fuck do you want, Aemond?!"

"For you to end things with her."

"Then you are out of your goddamn mind." Aegon bites, knuckles going white around the phone as he grips onto it, "I won't. You can't make me."

"I'm not going to make you, Aegon." His brother chuckles humorlessly, "You've proved time and time again that you won't listen to a single thing we ask of you, even when we try to help you. But it's not you I want to help, not now."

"What the fuck do you mean by that?"

"I mean, Mila should not be around a bad influence like you, Aegon. She's a recovering addict. She's unstable, and delicate right now. And she's going to relapse if she's around you."

"She won't-"

"But she will. Because you will." Aemond explains, simply as if he were educating a child, "You've been down this road far too many times, brother. You will go back to your vices the second things get too hard. Mila stopped you from getting high this time, but at some point, the thrill of being with her will wear off for you. As it always does."

"She's different."

"Oh they were all different to you!" Yells Aemond, startling Aegon into docile silence, "It's all different until it's mundane. Until you get used to those feelings she inspires within you. Then you'll go back to drinking, or to snorting, or injecting, until it's fucking. It'll be all of those and she won't be able to handle it, Aegon. She will relapse."

Aegon flinches, his hands twitching as he takes a shuddered breath, feeling his heart crack at the thought, "I wouldn't do that to her."

"You wouldn't try to, Aegon." Aemond says, his voice softer now, "But you can't protect her from yourself."

It's silent. Aegon swallows this information like a bitter pill. It leaves an aftertaste like bile in his dry mouth, his heart beating like the hooves of a racehorse and his stomach twisting into knots.

Because he's right, a voice whispers inside his head. You are beyond saving. No matter how many times you try, you always go back to your wicked ways. Can you live with yourself? When you poison her, like a spec of black dye in a basin full of crystal clear water? You will ruin her, because that is what you always do.

It is almost like Aegon can hear Aemond reeling back for the final punch, his brother's voice like a siren's when he states...

"Mila deserves better than you."

A blow to the gut, because it is true. Aegon knew it from the second he met her, from the second he saw her smile and heard her laugh. She was good and she was kind and Aegon will kill her.

"Rot in all of the seven hells, brother." Aegon bites out, ending the call. He takes a shaky breath, blinking away tears he hadn't realised had formed. He throws his phone as far as he can, watching it flicker with light reflected by the sun before it disappears into the long grass.

Turning in place, he watches as Mila waves goodbye to the shop clerk, smiling to herself as she walks out the station and heads his way.

If only he felt the contentment she feels. But all he feels is sick.

Mila knew something was wrong the second they got in the car. Aegon wouldn't respond to anything she said, except a few hums and one-worded answers. His smile had vanished, the light in his eyes dimmed.

It broke her heart, because she had no idea what could have caused it.

When they finally got to the beach house, Aegon disappeared inside, walking on autopilot like a ghost. Mila watched him with wary eyes, biting the skin around her gnarled thumb nail.

Inside, he was nowhere to be seen. The taunting ticking of the grandfather clock was the only noise that greeted her, and she glared at it as she walked past, heading towards the bedroom.

Aegon was standing beside the bed, looking down at the rumpled sheets with a frown.

"Aeg?" Mila says softly, standing in the doorway. The room felt cold, the beginnings of winter making the overall temperature drop, but an icy chill surrounded Aegon.

"You need to go." He says, voice quiet.

Mila freezes, staring at him with furrowed brows, "Huh?"

He sighs, rubbing his hands over his face, groaning against his palms.

"I need you to go. You can't be here anymore." With a shrug, he finally looks at her, face emotionless and eyes stony.

Standing before her, was the Aegon she never met. Something in him had changed, switched gears inside his head. His entire aura became somber, uninspired... broken.

Looking into his dulled eyes, Mila took a step forwards. But he took a step back, working his jaw as he flexed and unflexed his hands beside him.

"Aegon... I don't understand what you're saying." Mila pleads, hoping to the old gods and the new that he's not saying what he .

"We can't be together." He shrugs, "Aemond was right. I'm going to fall back into old patterns, and when that happens, it's going to fuck you up. Worse than Aemond did. I'm not good for you."

"It was Aemond on the phone wasn't it?" Mila chokes on a bitter laugh, looking up to the ceiling as she runs her hands through her hair, "I saw you talking on the phone. Aegon, baby, please, let's just talk this through."

"You're wasted on me." He mutters to himself, "You should get out while you still can, before I make you worse."

"All you've done is make me better, Aeg." Mila insists as she takes another step closer to him.

Hearing her insistence, Aegon stares off into the distance, his face hardening while his eyes remain shining with unshed tears.

"Quick question." Aegon says, his voice turning cruelly playful, "Did Aemond tell you to come here when he was balls deep inside you or was it kind of like a pillow talk conversation afterwards?"

Shocked by his impersonal voice and crude statement, Mila is take aback, a shiver running down her spine, "Aegon-"

"No, no, don't answer that." Aegon waves his hands, "I'm sure it doesn't matter."

"It's different with you. All of it is different. What I have with you is so much realer than what I ever had with him."

Aegon scoffs.

"Aegon, I want this. I want us. We can do this."

"We can't." Aegon chuckles, "Because Aemond was right. At the end of the day, you're going to go back to him and I'm going to go back to all of the other shit."

"No, you're not, Aegon. You're not-"

"Will you stick by me?" Aegon asks, his voice taking a taunting tone, "When I come home drunk or high or smelling like some other pussy would you just sit back and forgive me?"

"You're not going to do that, you're doing so much better, you wouldn't-"

"No? I wouldn't? What's this then?" Aegon stomps over to the bedside table, opening the drawer hard enough to send it clattering to the floor. Various items scatter against the faded carpet, but one item in particular makes Mila's heart stop.

A ziplock bag full of various coloured pills and powder filled baggies, "You didn't...."

"Oh yes I did, baby. Stopped round an old buddies house the night after the funeral. Got all the best flavours here; LSD, ket, some molly too, I know you love that... ooh, and some crystal, didn't even realise that was in there-!"

"Stop it." Mila says, trying to keep her voice level though it shakes.

"Ah, come on, baby. Let's have a little fun, eh?" He taunts, shaking the bag in her face, "We both know I will, so are you just going to sit pretty and watch me?"

"Why are you being like this?" Mila yells, frustration building as she watches the man she's loved turn into the nightmarish, fictitious man Aemond warned her about.

"So boring." Aegon groans dramatically, flinging the bag away across the room, "I'll go back to one of my addictions, doll, so pick one. Maybe you would prefer it if I did what my brother did, hm? What if I found myself my own Alys Rivers? Some hot, older lady that I can stick my dick into every time I get sick of you. Maybe I was too quick to judge my dear brother. If I had you on my ass every second of every day I'm sure I would also be dying for some other cunt-"

Aegon is silenced as his head whips to the side, Mila's palm stings as it lingers in the air.

She slapped him. She can't believe it for a second, too shocked

Mila stumbles back, cradling her hand to her chest as sobs wrack her body.

He watches her, cheek slightly red from where her hand struck him, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"You're right, Aegon." Mila sobs, "We can't be together."

Though she fully intended to drive away, Mila sat in Laena's car, suddenly struck with an uncertainty of where she would go.

Her apartment in Kings Landing was stained with memories of Aemond, every item of furniture lines with scars where he once sat, stood, lay. Mila used to think fondly about how his cologne could be smelt in the air, on her blankets and on her couch cushions, but now the thought of smelling his scent turned her stomach.

It no longer felt like the comforting aroma of the man she loved, but the scent of a man who claimed her, used her, broke her.

She could go to Cregan's. Or Baela's, or back to Dragonstone where Rhaenyra would always wait with open arms.

But the beauty of Old Town boiled down to its distance. The distance from King's Landing and all the sordid experiences Mila had there that haunted her past. The parties, the clubs, the bars. The drinks, the drugs, the men, the women, the people whose genders mattered not to her in the moments where their lips touched. All the nights spent drifting from reality with magic in her veins, the mornings crashing back down to the real world in fits of sweating and throwing up the contents of her stomach.

The year where she made new memories no longer wrapped in a drunken haze, were ones she made by Aemond Targaryen's side.

Mila could not go back to King's Landing, because the ghosts will be waiting for her.

But she could go to another haunted place.

Pulling out the pay-as-you-go phone, she dialed Baela's number. The sound of her best friend's soft voice greeting her made her feverish skin cool a bit, "Hi, gorgeous. Are you okay? Mom told me you borrowed her car and left the city."

"Yeah, I needed to get away, needed to talk to Aegon." Mila says, her voice thick with her tears.

She can hear Baela sit up straight in her chair, her voice taking a concerned lilt, "Mila? What's wrong? Talk to me."

"It doesn't matter." Sighs the Stark girl, "I'm going home."

"Okay, babe. Do you want me to set up my sofa so you can sleep on it?"

"No, Bae. I'm going home."

It's silent on the other end for a moment, seagulls caw in the near distance, and another tea tracks a warm trail down Mila's face.

"Holy shit... really?" Baela asks in a soft voice.

"Yeah." Mila sniffs, wiping her nose on her sleeve. The sun looms behind the beach house, casting the patio and driveway in shadows. Within the darkened windows, the shadow of Aegon watches from behind the sheer curtains.

"I'm going back to Winterfell."

AN// nOW LISTEN PUT THE GUN DOWN I CAN EXPLAIN. Don't hurt me for making Emiliaegon fight :( we are all children of divorce. TRUST things will get better. The sadder the angst, the sweeter the subsequent fluff <3

Lula x

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armysantiny · 9 months

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Perfect Little Pet – KHJ

P: Hongjoong x afab gender neutral reader | G: smut, oneshot | Inc: cruella!au, cruella!hongjoong, assistant!reader, 'Captain', 'pet', Felix mention, journalist!Wooyoung, Yunho mention, Wooyoung/Yunho mention, set in the UK, Trafalgar Square, flaring tempers i.e. Hongjoong's, fashion studio, cruella movie-esque fashion show, Hongjoong occasionally abusing his power, wet dreams, fwb ending, a lot of British references and general mannerisms, two smut scenes | Wc: 5.9k

W: d/s tones, 'Captain' used during sex, bent over the desk, dom!Joong, sub!reader, overstim, begging, wet dreams, blowjob, cumshot on face, backshot during sex, one/two uses of the word slut, 'pet' used during sex (please let me know if I've forgotten anything, I'm writing this post up at 1 am)| R: 18+ mdni

Summary: Captain. Anyone who’s anyone knows who that is; none other but the rising name in fashion and making a name for himself for his eye-catching and punk-inspired shows. And right there in the back, is obedient little y/n, the childhood friend. The assistant to the Captain and one of the few to know Hongjoong for who he is behind the scenes, uptight and frantic and so achingly desperate to be perfect. Good thing they’re the Captain’s perfect little pet.

Min's notes: We're starting the year off strong! And you may have figured it out already, but @hee0soo, I'm your secret santa! I had so so so much fun writing this, you have no idea. When I tell you I was giggling like an idiot when you answered my question in the server, it was perfect. I hope you like reading this! And this happens to be my longest fic <33 also, 'on the dole' = on benefits hehe

There’s graphite on his hands, smudged all over the sketchbook, and Hongjoong takes another look at the plain mannequin standing by its lonesome in his office. Something’s missing, he knows it. Is it the hem? The length of the sleeves? Whatever it is, Hongjoong can’t bloody tell and it’s driving him up the wall. The designer groans, dissatisfied with own progress and discards the sketchbook on his desk. He gets up with just as much frustration, boots stomping across the floor in the direction of the balcony. His production facility looms below him, hard at work.

Almost taunting him.

“Just one more…” he mutters, taking a reluctant step back into his seat, “one more of the bloody things and I’ll be ready for runway…” Sure, it is self-imposed encouragement, but it is encouragement. Hongjoong isn’t a beggar. He’ll take what he can get. And take, of course. Until his pencil simply drags along the paper with no real goal and he snaps the dastardly thing between his sleek fingers, throwing its remains against the closest wall. It clatters to the floor just as the frustrated designer storms towards the door to his office, opening it and unleashing a powerful tension upon the production floor.

“Bring y/n up here!”

Y/n shivers from where they stand, helping move a box of supplies into the stock room. No matter how long they’ve stood by Hongjoong’s side, there is nothing that will help them get used to the sound of him barking out a command like that. A frustrated Hongjoong is a live wire – temperamental, snappy, and not someone to be approached without caution. They freeze with the box for just a moment before it’s taken out of their hands by one of the new starters.

“Captain sounds pretty miffed,” they say, pulling on the sleeve of their hoodie, “go on, I’ve got this!”

“If you’re sure…”

“Course I am luv, go on already~” And y/n is all but gently shoved out of the stock room, left to face their employer. And childhood friend.

All eyes are on y/n as they walk through the building towards those ever-familiar stairs, trying to ignore the weight of everyone’s gaze. It’s just Hongjoong, our Joongie, there’s nothing to be anxious over, their mind repeats, heels clicking along the wooden panelling amongst the unusual human silence. Seconds go by excruciatingly slowly, and finally, y/n stands in front of Hongjoong’s office. One steadying breath, and then another.

The door opens before they have a chance to knock, Hongjoong all but yanking his assistant inside and locking the door behind them both. There’s an impatient energy in the room, furthered even more by the fact y/n watches their friend pull them along to the mannequin and frantically go about putting his prized mannequin back by the window where it overlooks the production floor.

“Lean against the wall for me, will ya?” Hongjoong asks, reaching for his sketchbook once again, certain he’s found a muse in y/n. They have this gait around them that would work just so well with his new line, it would be criminal if he doesn’t capture it on paper at least once. Well, perhaps a few times, because the creativity comes back with a vengeance. His pencil glides along the cartridge paper with ease, framing y/’s silhouette perfectly and a grin erupts on his face.

Finally. Finally, he can make a start on creating the showstopper piece.

Time is but an illusion as Hongjoong works on his piece, occasionally looking up to really solidify the vision he’s got in mind. Y/n’s holding themselves just the way he needs them to, providing just the right amount of feedback and silence he needs, and Hongjoong might as well be inside a creative paradise of his own making. He’s found the right formula. He’s found his new muse, perfectly shaped in the image of y/n, his little assistant. The outfit seems to come together all on its own as he draws, each stroke of the pencil working in tandem with each other to create a look he knows will absolutely shock the viewing public in Trafalgar Square.

It’s around an hour later when the design is finally complete, Hongjoong’s mind at ease as he does one last look over everything. He’s done it. The look is perfect. There is just one thing…

He’s rather hungry now.

“Right,” he starts, setting his sketchbook down, “that’s us done here y/n, thanks again pet~”

“O-oh, it’s no prob—”

“But do get us a spot of lunch, would you? I’ve been dying to try out that new brunch café. I want either a chicken alfredo or a chicken Caesar salad, understood?” He tosses y/n his wallet as they begin to leave, turning on his heel and collapsing into his office chair with a yawn.

“Your regular coffee too, Captain?” Y/n asks. Oh, what a darling they are.

“You know me too well~ of course I want my coffee. I want them both here by the half hour.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Checking the time as they leave the café, y/n breathes a sigh of relief: they’ve got at least another fifteen minutes to make it back to the factory if they can get to Hongjoong’s favourite coffee spot before the lunchtime rush, otherwise they’ll be late. So, they make a break for it, taking extra care to leave their Captain’s lunch flat in their bag lest they have alfredo decorate the inside of the gifted Nevada Leather Weekender slung over their shoulder. The coffee spot itself is only a few metres away, less than a few minutes to run, but every second counts in the world of the Captain.

Lady Fate is on their side it seems, because there absolutely no sign of a queue, or even the beginnings of one, when y/n makes it to the coffee shop. Aurora, a quaint little place y/n remembers Hongjoong spending almost every free minute in before they watched their friend shoot to success, when they were still just two friends with a dream. Their running slows to a brisk walk as they enter, greeting the barista with a smile and getting a card ready as soon as they confirm they’re after the usual iced latte with two extra shots of espresso and a shot of vanilla. Once payment goes through and the coffee is in their hands, y/n is out of there in a heartbeat, eager to make it back in time.

“Look at you~ exactly two minutes early,” Hongjoong muses as he sees y/n walk into his office. He pockets his stopwatch, hangs his custom-made coat on the coatrack and takes his coffee. “If there’s anyone I trust to make coffee the way I like it, it’s that pretty one with the deep voice. Face of an angel, but, God, that voice?”

Oh. His lunch is on the desk, but y/n is still here.

Strange.

“Well, are you waiting for me to say something? Run along now, pet, go… oh, I don’t know, busy yourself until I need you.” He chuckles, shooing them away and waving with his fingers once y/n is finally out of the door and Hongjoong can eat his lunch in private, just the way he likes.

Y/n’s bag slides down their arm and onto the floor of their studio flat as they step inside, well-earned exhaustion lacing their bones and pulling a yawn out of their mouth as they fall onto their sofa. They’re used to running all over London for Hongjoong, sure – hell, their daily step count always passes ten thousand – but it’s the weeks leading up to one of his planned fashion event-hijackings that y/n truly feels the burn. Where they truly feel pushed to their tether.

But it’s always worth it in the end, they remind themselves in between making themselves a cup of tea, watching the kettle boil. Together, they will achieve worldwide success, their brand – Silver Light – will be in every boutique and everyone will know who the Captain is. Y/n spoons a teaspoon of sugar into the mug, pops in the teabag and pours the boiling water and milk, huffing at the connection their mind puts together.

They’re the teaspoon of sugar. Not the main event, no, but an addition to make things sweeter. To make Hongjoong’s plans sweeter.

“New sources and evidence have since come to light regarding the hijacking of Oxford Circus last week. The impromptu fashion show was caused by the organisation called Silver Light, headed by someone calling themselves the ‘Captain’, who witnesses say was armed with a cane, yet no one has been harmed. Following an insider comment…”

The rest of the news story plays on tv, y/n’s interest piqued when they recognise the journalist behind it all. One of Hongjoong’s newer friends, a trusted insider working for the BBC that y/n’s met a good few times. They grab their phone from its charger, unplugging it and dialling the number they’re looking for. It’s a few seconds before they hear the call pick up on the other end of the line.

“Can it be~?” Wooyoung’s voice sings through the phone, “the Captain’s assistant is calling little ol’ me~?”

“Good evening to you too, Wooyoung.” Y/n laughs, ever fond of the charming journalist. “I’m watching your news report tonight, my… you know just how to create the right kind of excitement. A master with words, one would say. Just how do you it~?”

“Y/n, darling,” y/n can almost see the playful rolling of the journalist’s eyes, “you’re flattering me, you know? But flattery gets you everywhere with me, so thank you ever so much.”

The conversation goes on for another half hour, y/n giving Wooyoung all the subtle information he needs to create the next buzz around Silver Light’s next big show. There needs to be a sizable crowd for Trafalgar next week, and Wooyoung is just the right person to weave his words and create that buzz y/n knows Hongjoong is looking for. All manner of press and paparazzi should be there; Silver Light needs to be on the front cover of every broadsheet and tabloid in England.

And when they switch to video call so Wooyoung can jot everything down, y/n chooses to ignore the knowing glance sent their way. They’ve had this conversation before, plenty of times even – concern that all of y/n’s efforts aren’t their own will, that Hongjoong’s somehow forcing them to be his assistant. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

They make themselves another cup of tea, and sigh when Wooyoung still refuses to back down.

“Woo, I know that look,” they sigh, already knowing what comes next. The concern, the lecturing. The you’re being his servant, y/n, you deserve more than that. “This isn’t something Hongjoong is making me do, I really do want Silver Light to succeed. This is my dream too, even if it doesn't look like I want it as much as he does, or it looks like he’s forcing me.”

“Y/n…”

“Have a little faith in me, hm?” They bargain. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“If you say so—” Wooyoung’s gaze snaps to something above the camera, “oh, Yunho’s home, he brought food! See you soon y/n~”

“See you soon, say hi to Yunho for me.”

The call ends, and y/n is left with their thoughts, a hot cup of tea, and a muted news channel playing on their tv. Rather than let themselves succumb to the impeding thoughts on the horizon, y/n sips on their tea, unmutes their tv and scrolls through BBC iPlayer until they find the most recent unwatched episode of MasterChef and hits play. The thought manages to persist, though.

Are they just Hongjoong’s errand runner? A simple cog in the machine that Hongjoong pays just that bit more attention to than the others?

Hongjoong’s footsteps echo along the floor as he walks through the production floor, inspecting every station as he passes them by. The Trafalgar show is but days away and he cannot afford a single error whatsoever. He’s counting on this one to be a success; Wooyoung’s articles have created the right kind of stir he needs, y/n’s been busting their ass helping him with the finer details, the last thing Hongjoong needs is his plan falling apart.

So why the fuck can he see someone stitching a button incorrectly?

“You!” He barks, storming over to the unsuspecting employee, fury lining his brows. It stuns the rest of the room into silence, terror in their eyes as they watch. “Are you trying to ruin this week’s show?! Just what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?!”

They shiver, the poor thing, watching as Hongjoong furiously inspects the garment for any more errors. It’s a simple mistake really, a small oversight but they know better. Everyone at Silver Light knows better:

Captain doesn’t give second chances.

But then Hongjoong smiles. Not a genuine one by any means, no, but something that’s a little too sweet.

“What’s your name, darling?”

“M-my name is Felix, Captain—” whatever Felix tries to say is cut off by a heart-attack inducing bang, Hongjoong’s cane slamming down on their workstation in the blink of an eye. The shock sends Felix tumbling, and they prick their thumb on a fashion pin, droplets of blood staining the floor where they stand.

“Oh, just get out!”

“Captain, wait! P-please!”

“You’re fired, get out!”

A pin-drop silence echoes through the building, Hongjoong’s frustration palpable to everyone watching. The workstation is unmanned now, no one remaining to take the task, yet the buttons still need to be taken out and resewn on. Properly, this time. Exhaling, Hongjoong slips his cap off in favour of brushing his hand through his hair, the black and white split-dye messing up and framing his face.

What he needs right now, is y/n to make his problem go away. To be his reliable ally and fix the problem in his way.

He pats his coat down, looking for his phone and almost wants to cry out in relief when he finds the infernal device in his back pocket. A deep breath slips past his lips, and he calls y/n.

And like the angel they are, y/n picks up.

“…Joong?” They rasp out, clearly still tired. “It’s my day off, is everything alright over there?”

No, everything is not alright, Hongjoong wants to rant, the stress itching away at under his skin.

“I really, really wish it was, pet. How fast can you get here?” He asks, praying that the rustling he hears from the other end is y/n changing into their usual work outfit.

“Y/n? Pet?”

“Still here!” They call out, and Hongjoong has half the mind to kiss them when they arrive. “Just checked the traffic, I can make it in twenty?”

“Make it fifteen and I’ll get you that pretty gem of a car you’ve had your eye on.” Hongjoong offers, huffing out a laugh when y/n readily agrees, and the line goes dead seconds later. They’re on their way to Silver Light, and all his problems will be solved. For whom else can Kim Hongjoong rely on other than his y/n?

The clock ticks by agonisingly slowly, teasing Captain with every second that y/n is still on their way. Sure, he can fix this specific coat that Felix so wonderfully fucked up, but there’s a whole line of these that need to be done, and the designer is only human. He can’t do this alone. But he can relax because as soon as Captain resigns himself to hand-stitching every coat, y/n comes in through the door, hurrying over to the workstation and shoo-ing Captain away.

“And you fired him?! Over a button?!” Y/n asks, completely baffled as they listen to Hongjoong rant while they’re stitching the buttons properly. “You really have lost your marbles, Kim Hongjoong.”

“But you still came to my aid! Y/n, you know I couldn’t do all of this without you~” They deadpan, scoffing with smile they can’t control when Hongjoong latches himself onto their back in gratitude. “You’ll be able to handle doing the rest of the coat buttons, right?

Y/n rolls their eyes. They can handle it.

“Bring Felix back, and I’ll stay until the end of the day,” they bargain.

“Deal!”

Y/n doesn’t regret offering to help Hongjoong, really, they don’t, but they have a day off in the middle of the week for a reason. Exhaustion nips away them as they finish the last of the coat buttons, hanging the last one on the rack and patting the sleep out of their face as best they can. Felix is back inside, replacing y/n at his workstation with a meek smile and y/n doesn’t know whether to be happy the young man is back or give the split-dyed designer running the entire outfit a piece of their mind—

And Hongjoong’s calling them into his office.

There’s a corkboard standing when they enter, Hongjoong pinning post-its with various last-minute details. It’s chaotic — more so than usual. Y/n takes a few steps towards the board, reading Hongjoong’s ideas and avoiding the eccentric designer running circles around them.

“Why the last-second rush around?” They ask, still obediently helping Hongjoong sort out his mismatch of written thoughts. “I thought we figured all the details? You’re going to smash the event, Joong, I know what you’re capable of.”

“Awe, thanks y/n~” Hongjoong pats their shoulder. “Your unwavering faith in me is awe inspiring~”

“Oh, shut up,” y/n laughs, then yawns. Bloody hell, they’re tired. “I know I said I was going to stay for the rest of the day, but I’m asleep on my feet here... I can come in tomorrow?” It’s a risky bargain trying to convince Hongjoong like this, but it’s worth a try.

“Y/n, pet... You’re just fine, just sit in here for a bit,” and there goes their chance at rest as Hongjoong admonishes them. “And I need that brilliant mind of yours for later; can’t have you sitting at home, now can we~?”

No, no he can’t apparently. So, y/n stays, because of course they do.

But now it’s a day before the big hijack, at the god-awful time of one in the morning and Hongjoong is still deliberating over what to wear for the event, lovingly dubbed Project Trafalgar by his darling y/n. Y/n, who answered his messages only half an hour before and watches Hongjoong run around from their spot on his bed, legs crossed and looking oh so cute.

So easily corruptible. But he stores that thought away.

Hongjoong holds up one of his favourite blazers for y/n, a navy cropped piece he’s admittedly worn far too many times. It’s supposed to go with the rest of his outfit that’s already spent a good few hours working on, one that’s going to blow people’s minds away when he reveals himself once Project Trafalgar finishes successfully. Y/n tilts their head, examining the clothing and giving a sleepy thumbs up, nodding their head as they approve of his choices.

“You know~” Hongjoong sings as he goes to hang the blazer up in preparation for tomorrow. “Sometimes I think you’re the true genius behind our success, you always know just how to make everything look absolutely perfect.”

Y/n laughs, and Hongjoong wants to hear more of it.

“Is that Kim Hongjoong appreciating me I hear?” They tease, and Hongjoong gets to hear more of that endearing laugh when he mock-glares in their direction. “I’m just taking the mick, relax. I appreciate what you said, this is important to me. Silver Light and yourself.”

“You’re important me to me too, pet.” And it’s true.

His outfit hung up and decided, Hongjoong finally starts to feel the pull of exhaustion himself. Y/n really wasn’t lying when they said the designer was going to crash from his adrenaline high. He stretches, lithe and cat-like, and disappears into his ensuite to change into something a bit more… suitable for sleeping after an all-nighter putting together his outfit. His cleanser and other nighttime hygiene products are on the shelf above the sink, and Hongjoong figures that he might as well get started removing the stress of the day from his face.

“Y/n, darling,” he starts, “do you think that—”

Hongjoong stops talking when he gets no answering noise in return, and he pokes his head out of his bathroom. Y/n is asleep. He chuckles; of course, y/n is asleep because unlike himself, y/n actually has a normal sleep schedule.

So, he forgoes the question was going to ask them in favour of heading to his bed, lifting’s y/n’s head and resting it on his lap after he sits down. Their hair is soft, he finds, loosely getting his fingers tangled as he finds a strange comfort in the moment he's found himself in. The silence doesn’t help either; letting Hongjoong’s mind spill out words of gratitude he knows his pride would never let him say. It’s better that way, anyway.

But Captain isn’t entirely devoid of basic human empathy.

“Get some rest, pet,” he mutters, “you earned it, my busy little assistant.”

Hongjoong shivers, his head thrown back on the sofa of his flat as he watches y/n through near-shut eyes. They’ve got the head of his cock in their mouth, swirling their tongue around the tip and good lord does Hongjoong want to just buck his hips into y/n’s warm, pretty mouth and—

Not yet. Not if he wants to stretch this out and enjoy it just that little bit longer.

But apparently, he isn’t the only impatient one in the room because y/n wastes no time in getting more of his length inside their mouth, hand wrapping around the remainder. Cold hands and a warm mouth are a killer combination, and Hongjoong shivers with a groan, bucking his hips forward and enjoying the sound of y/n’s muffled surprise.

“Don’t you start acting like that, pet,” he says, reaching down to grab their hair. He gives a few testing thrusts and fuck does he want more. “You’re just as eager as I am, you and I both bloody well know that.”

A rhythm develops, one that has sinful noises bouncing around Hongjoong’s flat and a coil of heat building in his abdomen, his orgasm drawing closer by the minute. Y/n’s moans send vibrations up his cock, and it’s really not all that fair. Not when he’s trying so hard not to just shoot his load down y/n’s pretty throat.

But fuck if y/n isn’t trying to suck his soul out, their criminally talented tongue making his cock twitch. Higher and higher his voice climbs, until his hips are twitching, breaking his rhythm and Hongjoong wraps his legs around y/n’s back, gently forcing them to look him in the eye.

“Where do you want it, pet?” He’s met with y/n’s questioning blink before they tap their face and their chest. “Fucking tease, want me to paint you in my cum? That right, baby?”

They nod, pulling themselves of Hongjoong and yanking off their top in record time. His cock is in their mouth again, twitching as the coil builds and builds, until Hongjoong pulls out, pulling y/n’s face back and coming with a shout of their name.

“Fuck, darling...that was—"

Y/n’s startled awake when Hongjoong shoots up out of bed, watching through tired eyes as the frazzled man looks around the bedroom. They do the same, deciding under the cloud of sleep to not question how and why they ended up in the same bed, but whatever time it is, is no humane time to be awake. So, y/n pads around for their phone, checks the time, and groans.

It’s three in the morning.

“Joong...everything okay?” They ask, shrugging the cover over their face, eager to return to sleep.

“Hm? Oh— yes, yes... everything’s fine, just have Trafalgar on my mind.” Of course, he does. They roll their eyes, an affectionate chuckle and reach over to yank him back down, filing away the sound of Hongjoong’s squeak in the depths of their mind.

“Go back to sleep, love…it’s too early for you to fret.” Y/n says, the comfort of their words wrapped in the inviting warmth of sleep. They fall back asleep just as well, quickly enough that they miss the tint on Hongjoong’s face and his mumbled agreement.

There is all but one precious hour until Project Trafalgar is underway, and Captain has been fidgeting with his hands for the last half of it. He goes through every step of the process once, twice and he’s about to go through it a third time when Captain feels a hand on his shoulder. It’s y/n, and he takes a few deep breaths as per their instructions as his mind hits the breaks on his fretting.

“Captain, you’re doing it again.” They admonish. He blinks; he’s doing what? “Bloody hell, you’re the greatest fashion visionary in British history, this will go perfectly. Ok?”

“Ok.” Captain nods, maintaining eye contact. Reliable little y/n, always by his side. He keeps up with the eye contact, looking into the eyes watching him with so much confidence and unbridled trust that he can feel the confidence resurface under his own skin.

And then y/n leans forward to peck his lips, and his heart does a thing.

“Go on, show them all who Silver Light’s captain is.” Y/n chuckles.

“Are you saying they forgot, pet?” Hongjoong counters, the need to fret over last minute details gone entirely. “Tonight, will be unforgettable, I can promise you that much pet. Make sure you’re watching, hm?”

And watch, y/n does, as they stay hidden away from the obvious police presence Silver Light seems to attract and watch as Captain’s show begins. The music is loud, attention-grabbing and y/n feels excitement light up every nerve in their body. Months. Months and months of sweat, blood and tears has gone into every moment, and they watch the models come into view, each wearing an individual piece from Captain’s new line. It’s gorgeous. Utterly stunning, and y/n can’t help but snap a few pictures and record a quick video.

They’re going to need material to send to Wooyoung, after all.

The next half of the models make their appearance, and y/n very much joins the crowd’s cheering, clapping as each piece is given its moment and basking in the theatrics of it all. Everything sings with Hongjoong’s personal touch. It’s dramatic and elegant and everything that y/n knows to be the essence of Hongjoong’s taste and the Silver Light brand. The crowds are loud, and y/n uses the opportunity to slip away unnoticed from the police and the general public, back into the safehouse Silver Light had so kindly borrowed for tonight’s event. Sure, they’re going to miss when Hongjoong reveals himself and scatters leaflets inviting everyone to purchase an item from his collection, but they’ve seen that all before.

And then they fall asleep on the closest sofa.

Hongjoong bounces in with excitement as he pushes the door of the safehouse wide open, the leftover adrenaline coursing through his veins. He laughs, victorious and gleeful before yanking a now wide-awake y/n.

“Someone looks happy~” they comment, and Hongjoong stops outside his makeshift office, letting his adrenaline take the lead and planting a kiss on their lips.

“Oh, y/n,” he exclaims, pushing open the door and pulling y/n inside. “You have no idea! My darling pet, I~ will be making good on that promise I made.”

And almost immediately he has y/n pressed against the wall as he captures their lips in a kiss, eager and finally getting to act on that bundle of unspoken desire in his chest. A hand is cupping their cheek, tilting y/n’s head as Hongjoong’s tongue pushes past their bottom lip, demanding entry in the only way he can. He explores the warmth he had dreamt about, a chuckle sounding in his throat as y/n’s mouths feels just as good as he had imagined.

“Perfect…” he whispers, a trail of saliva connecting their mouths as he pulls away. “my perfect, perfect y/n…”

Hongjoong gasps in pleasant surprise when y/n makes the move to attack his neck, kissing and sucking on his skin with vigour. He relents, exposing his neck for his darling y/n and busies himself with the task of removing their clothes. By simply ripping them clean off, enjoying the surprised whimper that vibrates against his neck. He pulls them back just that little bit, running his gaze across their exposed body and—

Oh, how pretty his y/n is.

The hairs on the back of y/n’s neck stand up under Hongjoong’s eyes as heavy breaths leave their lips. This is happening now, and they want it, no matter what tonight will do to their friendship with the man in front of them. Whatever lingering hesitations they’ve ever had go out the window, and y/n wastes no time themselves in removing Hongjoong’s clothes, just that bit gentler about it than him.

“Pretty little pet,” they shiver as Hongjoong whispers in their ear. “Want to be good for me, don’t you?”

And they do. They really, really do.

Somewhere in between heated touches and the new hickeys being made on their skin, y/n watches as Hongjoong sinks to his knees, grabbing the inside of their thighs and getting dangerously close to their cunt. He’s taking his time, kissing just close enough to their folds, making y/n twitch in anticipation, but it’s not enough. They want more. Y/n needs more. So, they buck their hips, chasing the feeling but whimper the moment Hongjoong pulls himself away and holds them still.

“You said you’d be good for me, pet, didn’t you?” They nod.

“Then beg. Beg for me to get my mouth on that gorgeous little cunt like the good little slut we both know you are for me.”

So, y/n begs. Pleads with Hongjoong to shove his face in between their legs and eat them out until their knees buckle, for him to push his lithe fingers inside and wring cries out of their mouth. For Hongjoong to fuck them.

Satisfied, Hongjoong digs his fingers into y/n’s thighs as he pulls their legs apart, tutting as his favourite little pet tries closing their legs, suddenly shy. What, did they think he was joking?

“Still or I leave you like this, understand?”

“Yes, yes Captain…” And Hongjoong likes that.

“You keep calling me that, pet.” He says, and wastes no time in pulling himself closer, licking a fat stripe along y/n’s folds. They’re wet, and Hongjoong goes to town, indulging himself and sucking on the sensitive flesh until his nose is buried in y/n’s cunt, drinking up the sounds of his pet’s gasps and whines, his title a song on their lips. He keeps going, bringing his fingers to y/n’s untouched clit, rubbing against the bud in achingly slow circles.

He spends minutes like this, slipping two of his fingers inside y/n’s sopping cunt and sparing little mercy as he coaxes them closer and closer to orgasm. Hongjoong’s cock is stiff in his dress pants, straining against the fabric and the taste on y/n on his tongue is going to make him fucking come if he isn’t careful. He peers up from where he’s kneeling between their legs, hooded eyes making contact with the desperation looking back at him.

“Hong— Captain! Please!” Y/n cries when Hongjoong slips a third finger inside them, hands scrambling for purchase against the wall of the office. They’re close, so achingly close and fucking dammit they need to come so badly. But Hongjoong doesn’t relent, raising a brow and watching them writhe where they stand.

“Please, what, pet?” He taunts. “Use your words like the good pet you are.”

“I— I want to come! Please, Captain, I’m so— fuck, fuck— so close, I need—” Whatever words they want to say are stolen out of their throat, replaced instead by an overwhelming pleasure that has them squeezing their eyes shut, at the mercy of Hongjoong’s will. It’s unrelenting, and soon enough their orgasm is crashing through them, shooting stars through their vision all the while Hongjoong makes them ride it out on his fingers, the man getting off his knees and pulling them into a heated kiss. They can taste themselves on his lips, and it only spurs on another wave of desire.

They’re bent over the desk when the last of the first aftershocks leave their systems, head held back by neck as Hongjoong whispers dirty promises and slides his cock into their inviting – and only a little sensitive – cunt. A second goes by, the designer allowing y/n to only just get used to it before he starts thrusting, a leisurely quick pace.

“All this time, darling,” Hongjoong groans from above them,” all this time I could have had this perfect body of yours bent over my desk. Made for me, you were, absolutely made for me.”

And fuck, aren’t they just?

Hongjoong can’t hold back anymore, and he presses his chest against y/n’s back, pounding away into their tight hole and groping their chest in his hands, nipples caught in between thumb and index finger. Y/n’s cries are only motivation, and in the few seconds it takes for him to figure out the best angle, Hongjoong decides he’s allowed to chase his own high, giving into the devil on his shoulder and biting on the soft flesh of y/n shoulder.

“It’s so much, oh god—”

“Fuck- just a little longer pet, c’mon,” he rasps, his own orgasm well within reach. “Where do you want it, hm? You can answer that much, can’t you?”

“Yes, yes, fuck— on my back, I want it on my back!” And what else is Hongjoong to do, but oblige? He fucks them into them with the slightest hint of abandon, holding y/n impossibly closer and the orgasm builds, and builds, until he’s pulling out and coming onto their back with a drawn-out moan, his hips stuttering as the waves of pleasure begin to die down.

Exhaustion makes its way into the room, but it’s welcome this time, as Hongjoong very graciously helps y/n rest on the sofa he’d luckily had moved inside the office. There’s some wipes and a towel, and he makes quick work of cleaning the both of them up, ruffling up y/n’s hair when they watch him, almost surprised.

“And what’s that look for?” He huffs, tossing the used wipes away and patting them both dry. “I’m not that bad.”

Y/n simply laughs and shakes their head. They’re rather cute sometimes.

“Just,” they gesture to the office and between the two of them, “all of this; the event, the sex, the… us, I guess? I’m going to be sore tomorrow but fuck, that was amazing.”

Hongjoong nods along as he heads over to his desk and pulls out two water bottles, handing one to y/n as he sits down beside them, the pair donning robes. Nothing but the finest cotton, of course. There’s a silence that overcomes the rooms, and Hongjoong welcomes it – y/n too, sinking into the plush cushions and eying the evidence of sex in the room.

And then Hongjoong breaks the three minutes of silence, because his mind suddenly craves an answer.

“Y/n, pet… do you think this will change anything?”

“Between us, you mean?” He nods.

“Well, you’re treating me the same way you normally do, I don’t exactly want to date you…seems pretty same-y to me.” Y/n reasons, but then they pause. “Though, the sex continuing would be a pretty nice bonus~”

Hongjoong laughs, “so our little relationship is on the dole then, is it?”

“Oh shut up, you.”

Networks: @kwritersworld, @kdiarynet, @ultkpopnetwork, @whipped-kpop-creators, @ateezlovenet, @cromernet

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading! Consider reblogging, leaving some feedback or donating to my kofi!

Taglist: @teeztheflag, @jeonqquk, @mikailo666, @blonghoonie, @xavi-in-kpopland, @marxenash, @tinystarstay | Taglist form

#Writer Elf Minnie #kwritersworldnet #kdiarynet #ultkpop #wkcnet #ateezlovenet #cromernet #ateez #ateez hongjoong #hongjoong smut #ateez smut #ateez x reader #hongjoong x reader #ateez au #hongjoong au

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biasbuck · 10 days

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BiAsBuck’s ficrec Fridays

Happy Friday 13th everyone! Oh my gosh, two weeks to go, I'm so excited. Here's another round of the fic I've been reading when not actively losing my mind over all the buzzy promo landing. You can find previous rec lists here.

13 September 2024

the wayward son by @gayhoediaz had me GRIPPED. As the author summarises: 'Eddie misses his son, grows a mustache, pines after his best friend, and becomes a regular at a gay sex club. That last part is either an indulgence or an inevitable, somewhat self-destructive conclusion to several decades worth of compulsory heterosexuality and catholic guilt. Don’t ask him which.' The result of this is a scorchingly hot voyeuristic thrill ride with an absolutely aching emotional heart along as a passenger. I felt so much for Eddie as he self destructed and built himself back up again, truly throwing himself in at the deep end, and then Buck there to catch him when he falls. This fic gave me every emotion and was so incredibly satisfying. I already know it's gonna be one to go back to time and again.

had a feeling i could be someone by @butchdiaz of course I had to include the butch dyke Hotshots on XYZ inspired Eddie contemplating shaving her head fic. This one resonated with me so much, and was such a lovely take on the themes we're seeing in personhood and self actualisation and ownership of image versus what your parents intended for you. I love this character study of Eddie reclaiming her butch identity and expression, and Buck's sweet support in her journey. Make sure to check out the gorgeous fanart by @iinryer it was inspired by and it inspired if you haven't already seen it!

whatever you like by @clytemnestraaa 'hello mr performance anxiety meet mr desperate to please' sums it up perfectly. In which established relationship Eddie and Buck are having sex, but they still need to work on their communication. Buck wants to know what Eddie likes in order to give him that experience, but that's easier said than done when you're not really sure what exactly it is you want, or how to go about it. I really loved this exploration of a misalignment in sexual experience, the resulting cross purpose conversation, and the non-judgemental openhearted hand extended in order to find your way together. Or 'two 30-something men inexplicably put through an episode of Sex Education.' Sympathetic, sweet, and funny too.

But God, I love the English by @starlingbite this au tickled me for the sole reason of having watched several seasons of the show before someone told me Oliver is from London, and not having picked up on that accent slippage despite ALSO BEING FROM LONDON. Chimney and a British Buck take part in a six week cultural exchange programme with Chim going to London to stay with Maddie and work at a fire station, whilst Buck joins the 118 in LA. Eddie is instantly besotted by the handsome stranger, and fun linguistic hijinks aside, Buck fits right in. How will they manage long distance when it's time for him to go home? So much fun, and with sweet background Madney too!

it's leading me on, every time we touch by @bisexualbellamyblake in which after Eddie mentions to the team that he's having a little back trouble, Maddie lets slip that Buck once trained to be a massage therapist during his career jumping youth! As an almost certified professional of course it wouldn't be like Buck to not offer his services. And Eddie has no reason to turn him down. Does he? This oozed with sexual tension, whilst also being really lovely moment of friends getting to know each other better. Really excellent character voice and internal dialogue from Eddie.

all of the girls you loved before by @wildehacked back again with yet another banger...literally. Let me tell you, I read this one on public transport and had to school my expression with all my decades of fic reading experience in full force. Dragged out to team drinks on their evening off, the tipsy conversation turns to the team's top sexual experiences. When Buck finds out Eddie's is from years before, he can't help but dwell on just exactly how he could fix that. And he finds narrowing down his own top five a little tricky. With flashback cameos from Abby, Taylor and Tommy, this 5+1 fic was hot as hell.

P.S. Insert plea for Madney and Henren friendship/extended family fic here...I think I'm gonna need it! As usual feel free to self rec! And please share and reblog :) See you next week.

#biasbuck recs #buddie fic #buddie fic rec #buddie ficrec #911 fic #911 recs #911 ficrec

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angelkhi · 2 years

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keep driving - j.m

pairing: dbf!joel miller x reader

summary: you need some extra driving lessons and your dads best friend offers himself up for the job.

warnings: SMUT 18+ (Minors DNI), car sex, oral (m), mutual (?) praise, unprotected sex (please wrap your disco stick❤️‍🔥), fingering, language, age gap, panic attack, mentions of a heart attack (in passing), mentions of a near car accident, slightly awkward in parts sorry, driving (it's horrible and needs a warning?!), very little plot but also a lot going on.

word count: 2.8k

a little note: some of you are american and call it “driving stick” but for me (a british person) ya girl is just driving okay???? be gentle with me i’m rusty x (btw wrote this instead of an assignment that’s many hundreds of words less than this you’re welcome)

The quiet evening was coming to a close when your dad had bought up how close he came to a heart attack every time you got behind the wheel. A couple of glasses of rosé had already warmed your cheeks, but as your father listed all the ways he didn't trust you on the roads to Joel, you quickly became embarrassed.

Joel ever the hero interjected a couple of times assuring you that he wasn't great at the start and he's sure you're much better than you're given credit for, but that didn't stop your dad from going on and on to the point where Joel offered to take over. At first you had been grateful when Joel offered up some of his time to help you gain confidence behind the wheel. That's how you'd been raised after all, grateful and polite, some may say to a fault.

Even a few evenings later when the lesson finally arrives, you choose to be grateful that Joel Miller is taking the time to teach you how to drive in between lessons, rather than focusing on the implications of being alone with him in such a small space. You push whatever ridiculous and overly horny thoughts floating about your head to the back of your mind or you're sure you'll crash the car before it even turns on.

Now parked on a small street, he runs over the basics you thankfully already know because there's no way your brain is registering anything he says when he's sat so close to you, taking up so much space so gracefully. He talks with his hands, pointing at various buttons and gesturing about the vehicle, and you can only hope that he'll stop doing so before he makes focusing on the road an extremely hard task. He finally gestures for you to start the car, which you do, placing it in gear and doing your final checks. He's saying something, talking you through it but you're already familiar with everything he's telling you to do.

"Okay so clutch up slowly- oh okay never mind we're driving already." Joel can't hide the surprise in his voice at your obvious competence behind the wheel. The way your dad had talked about teaching you to drive, he'd made it sound like you couldn't tell your left from your right (which lets be honest you can't) but Joel was expecting to be grabbing the wheel every 5 seconds.

Still, nearly 20 minutes into the destination-less drive, and you're yet to make a detrimental mistake. He tries to make small talk with you, asking about your uni degree, his focus split between your driving and your words. Though every now and then your responses are cut off by some bright and colourful curse, telling a slow driver 'fucking suck a dick' or grumbling at the gears to "fuck off" if they didn't transition smoothly. Joel didn't anticipate the absolute filth coming out of your mouth. Each time it caught him off guard in the worst of ways. He hoped you wouldn't notice the way he'd began shifting in his seat when you called a red light a "fuckin cocksucker", but he got ahold of himself and whatever bizarre thoughts your potty mouth had bestowed upon him.

The drive was smooth apart from a couple issues following directions and a near miss whilst parallel parking. Every now and then he'd mumble some form of 'good' or 'well done' or 'that was perfect' or your personal favourite, a low whistle when you execute something particularly smoothly. He was fucking with your brain constantly and you were worried that you were growing close to swerving into a bush.

The drive continues smoothly for another 10 minutes until you turn onto a main road, a large truck parked on the opposite side of the street. You consider slowing down worrying about cars coming around it, but maintain your speed hoping that the oncoming drivers will be just as considerate.

You watch as a car approaches behind the van, slowing down a little preparing to stop, until car suddenly decides to swerve into the middle of the road, cutting you off completely and dangerously. You turn the wheel and break sharply, narrowly avoiding a head on collision with the absolute idiot who just continues driving like they'd done nothing wrong. The car is silent apart from the low hum of the radio and yours and Joel's heaving breaths.

"Woah. Okay let's pull over here." Joel points to a small side street a few paces ahead and it's then you realise you've frozen, on a main road. You take a moment to move and Joel asks if you'd like to switch over but you shake your head and get the car moving again. You pull into the overgrown industrial estate quietly and shut off the engine, still not quite processing what just happened.

"You did real good out there." Joel's hand rests on your thigh and you're trying real hard to not let his words affect you. "Dunno what your pops is talking about, you're a pro."

The warmth from his rough palm is intoxicating and you let yourself slip and just wonder for a moment, what would happen if his hand were to slide further across up leg. But then you scold yourself for even entertaining the idea after what just happened.

"I think i need some air." Just like that you're out of the car, stones crunching beneath your feet, the only light from the beaming headlights as you drink in the night air. You had almost died. Joel had almost died.

"That wasn't your fault. Just some dickhead driver who shouldn't be on the road." Joel is in front of you, all warm and brooding and he's hugging you, so tight that you almost let yourself cry.

"Hey hey look at me." His hands cup your face, so large and warm against your quickly chilling skin. "Breathe. That's it, good girl"

You look up at him, studying the soft wrinkles on his forehead, the small bags under his eyes, the firm frown on his face. The pair of you stay like that until your breaths even out a little and your hands stop trembling. He looks like he wants to say something more, but then he drops his hands and opens the passenger door for you.

"Cmon it's getting chilly." You nod, sliding into the seat wordlessly, watching as he walks round to the drivers side. Joel cranks up the heater and focuses on you once more.

"You okay?" He asks, his voice rough. His hand comes to rest on your thigh again and all of a sudden you're both fine and ten times worse than before.

"Yeah. Think so." You pause, "uh, thanks for tonight. It was really helpful."

"You're welcome sweet pea." fucking hell.

"Also sorry about the bit where we almost died." You add quietly.

"You handled it like a pro, just a shame there's some 'fuckin cocksuckers' out on the roads." You laugh when he quotes your earlier cursing and his own dry chuckle accompanies your own. His hand is still on your thigh, and maybe its the adrenaline from the past few moments, but you place your hand on top of his.

A silence stretches between the two of you and you're scared to look up at him. You're scared that he'll see sense. That he'll remember to him you're just a kid. You move his hand half an inch closer to where you desperately need him but he squeezes your thigh tighter, halting the movement.

“Hey,” his thumb taps your chin, forcing you to look up at him, “what’re you doing sweet pea?”

You don’t reply, not trusting your own voice. Instead you move his hand once more, slow waiting to see what he does. At first he just watches you, intrigued by the boldness of your actions, waiting to see how far you’ll take it. Why you finally drop his hand, he waits for a moment, watching you all doe eyed and desperate to be touched.

This time, when his hand moves it’s of his own volition, sliding between your thighs, cupping your clothed cunt, watching in awe as you automatically begin grinding on his hand.

“Tell me what you need, darlin.” His hand slides under your shirt to the waistband of your leggings, thumb stroking at the skin just above the elastic.

“Joel…” You’re already so desperate, so needy for him to give you what you want.

“You want me to touch you?” His fingers push into your leggings and your breath hitches as he stops at the hem of your panties. “Gonna need an answer, darlin.”

“Yes. Please Joel.”

“Where?” You watch as he smirks, waiting for your answer. “Where do you want me to touch you?”

“Want your fingers in my pussy.” He looks stunned for a moment, before finally pushes your panties to the side, rubbing his fingers over your wet cunt.

“You’ve got a dirty fuckin mouth.” He rubs at your clit, “And a messy cunt.”

“Who’s got a dirty mouth now?” You gasp as he slips a finger into you, the low hum of the radio not enough to drown out the wet sounds of him fucking you with his fingers. “More.”

“Greedy little thing.” He whispers, stretching you out with a second finger, his cock growing hard, straining against his jeans. You grind yourself against his hand, clit bumping against his palm, chasing the orgasm he’s so close to giving you. You grip his arm for support, his rough skin perfect against your sensitive clit. Joel curls his fingers ever so slightly, catching just the right spot and you’re done for. You grind against his hand until your too sensitive to move anymore, cheeks warm and breaths shallow.

He pulls his hand from your panties and brings his fingers to your lips, licking them clean, tasting you on his tongue and he has to stop himself from bending you over the and tasting your cunt until you’re a crying mess.

“Get in the back.” He says gruffly, popping his door not waiting for a response. You climb between the two seats, watching Joel as he slides in beside you. You don’t waste time, reaching for his belt, and he lifts his hips helping you pull down his jeans and briefs.

You waste no time wrapping a hand around him in all of his thick and weeping glory, pumping his cock a few times before lapping at the precum leaking from the tip. You take your time swallowing him down, using your hands where your mouth couldn’t reach.

“Fuckin hell girl.” His hand finds its way into your hair, gripping at the roots, tensing when you take him further into your mouth. Joel’s hips buck lightly, his tip sliding further into your throat, the unexpected intrusion making you gag a little.

“Shit sorry, sorry.” He’s apology falls on death ears and you move your tongue in the same way hoping he’d do it again. “You’re unbelievable.”

You gag on him once more, hands working at his base gripping him tightly, relishing in his tight grip on your hair. When he pulls you up off of him you’re confused, worried that you’ve done something wrong, but then he kisses you pulling you into him.

“You did so good for me, so good. But if you keep going I ain’t gonna last.” You nod, slip out of your trousers and move to straddle him, enjoying the way he responds so easily to you, his grip on your waist sure to leave a mark when you drag his tip between your wet folds.

His hands slide to your hips, guiding you as you slide down onto him, slow and cautious at first. Joel curses under his breath and sends out a quick prayer that he’ll last longer than a singular thrust. He’s never felt a cunt so wet and warm and perfect for him in his entire life. The way you squeeze him when you lift your hips, the way you rock forward against him when you swallow him in all over again. He’s not sure if once will be enough, if he can live without you wrapped around him 24 hours a day.

“Take what you need, you’re doing so well for me.” You’re more sure in your movements now, your hips moving quicker, with more fluidity and you never want to remember where you end and Joel begins.

Joel let’s his head drop into the crux of your neck, his teeth nipping at your most sensitive spots, his warm breath soothing your marked skin. He can already feel the tightening in his stomach, his cock growing more and more sensitive but he’ll be damned if he comes before you do.

You’re whimpering against him, enjoying the way his hips meet your thrusts. You forget how to breathe when he slides his hand into the small gap between your bodies, rolling his thumb against your clit, slow and soft, increasing the pressure by a fraction when he feels your pussy grip him a little tighter.

“Joel, you feel so fucking good. Gonna cum.” He groans deeply and you consider for a moment that Joel enjoys you praising him. But then he thrusts up, hitting just the right spot and any thoughts are clean out of your mind.

“That’s it sweet girl, give it to me.”

His arm is secure around your waist, holding you against him as he drives his hips up into you, fucking you through your orgasm. Your cunt clamps down on him like a vice, his fingers not letting up on your clit and you’re pretty sure you may pass out if he keeps touching you so perfectly.

“Fucking hell.” You whimper when he finally lets up, your breath shallow in your lungs. Joel’s face is flushed, his eyes alive with need as he peers up at you, watching you come down from your orgasm. He’s devastatingly handsome and you’ve never seen him look so needy.

“Joel, cum inside me please want it so bad. I need it Joel.” You thread your hands through his short hair, pressing long kisses against his jaw and lips, swallowing his throaty groans.

“You’re so good to me, fuck. You gonna let me send you home to your pops full of me, huh?” He speaks against your lips, but you’re too far gone to even pay attention to his words anymore.

You’re surrounded by Joel, his scent, his skin, you’re lost in him. Your teeth sink into his bottom lip, just past the point of pleasure, before you pull him into a soothing kiss. His hips stutter, and he grips your waist so tight, as though he’s scared your going to disappear, pulling you flush against him whilst he releases thick ropes of cum into your pussy.

His groan is deep and guttural and completely Joel. The kiss is slow this time, slow and sweet and a little bit filthy, his hips grinding into you once more, eliciting more needy whimpers from you.

“Fuck.” He presses his soft lips against yours. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you.” You reply, scratching lightly at his nape, enjoying the way he shivers against you.

“What’re you thinking?” He asks. You run your hands through his salt and pepper locks once more, just taking him in.

“You’re really pretty.” Your pride swells when his cheeks flush even further. “And… i’m so glad we didn’t take my dads car.”

He chuckles, throwing his head back, enjoying the sound of your laugh. You shift above him slightly and he winces, stilling your hips.

“C’mon let’s get you dressed. I’m pretty sure I made a promise, something along the lines of sending you home full of my cum?”

“You’ve got a filthy mouth on you, Mr Miller.” You speak against his lips as he slips out of you, and reaches for your underwear. He watches as you awkwardly manoeuvre pulling your clothes back on and climb into the passenger seat.

“I learned from the best.”

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x reader smut #the last of us #the last of us part 2 #the last of us hbo #the last of us smut #dbf!joel miller #smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal joel miller #pedro pascal smut

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akyonceyar · 23 hours

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Kon: Rob, you're 2 minutes late. I called all the emergency rooms. Tim: I know. I went home from your place to shower, and I'm so tired that I fell asleep while blow-drying my hair. Kon: But we went to bed so early. Property Brothers was over at 10:00. I mean... Sex. We do it. He's tired from all the doing it. Tim: Who are you talking to? Kon: Tower. Tim: Come on, man. Kon: Yeah. Tim: No, I was up all night because your dumb lumpy mattress is so uncomfortable. Kon: What? But I gave you the good lump. Tim: Ugh. Please stop talking till I finish eating my Zesti. Steph: *in a British accent* Ooh, a lovers quarrel. Tim: No, I'm just tired. Steph: I didn't ask for part two. Kon: Never fear, Tim. For I have a solution to all your problems: Highly potent liquid speed. Criminal: Oh, you gonna love that stuff. Kon: Devon, we're heroes. Read the room. But I know you'll be excited because I busted Devon here with four vials of this, which is a new drug called... Tim: Taxi! You actually found some? Kon: Yup. Your info was right. It's popping up on the corners. Tim: Man, my snitches are the best. The key is to always send them handwritten thank-you notes. Kon: Oh. So what do you say? Shall we take this partnership from the sheets to the streets? Tim: Ooh. Our first case as a couple. Kon: Why not? Bart: Hey, guys. I just discovered a new drug too. It's called "Your Relationship" and I'm high on it. Kon: Bart, I'm gonna need you to back off, man. Bart: Roger that! Kon: Yeah.

#tim drake #kon el #stephanie brown #bart allen #timkon #red robin #kon el superboy #tim drake robin #dc impulse #dc spoiler #batgirl stephanie brown #dc

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missluckycharms · 2 years

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Mary On A Cross.

Summary: A priest who can't keep his word and a woman who likes to test everyone's patience.

Content warnings: talks about religion (not much) use of religious words, doing unholy things in a church, if you're not comfortable with this please click away now, I won't be offended <;33

Smut warnings: oral sex.

A/N: this is somewhat inspired by Fleabag, it isn't dark Harry so don't worry!! I don't condone this type of behaviour but it's all fiction!

Part two.

Y/N would consider herself to be a good person.

Sure she would, we all think we're good people no matter what we know about ourselves. We love to tell people about our good sides, leaving the not so good sides tucked deep down in hopes they never get remembered.

Y/N did in fact have a not so good side, one she knows if people in her small town found out about, they would for sure have her hunted out of there faster than she could even blink.

It wasn't the people who lived around her that she worried about figuring out this side to her, no, it was her family; they don't need to know this side to her, they never will know this side to her.

Only one person knows about this side to her and that's her best friend, Florence. She never meant to let her in on the side of her that would have everyone looking at her weird, but one night it just slipped out.

"I want to fuck a priest."

Florence didn't even bat an eyelid when Y/N confessed this, she simply sipped her wine, placed it down onto the coffee table and sat back in her seat, looking at her best friend before speaking her next words:

"Catholic?"

Y/N nods.

"A good one?"

"Yes." She speaks quickly, trying to judge her friends reaction.

"Looks good in the ..." she says while gesturing to her lap that was concealed by her blush pink nightgown.

"Yes." Y/N blurts out, looking away from Florence.

"Mmmh." Is all Florence says for a few seconds as she leans forward, downing the rest of her red wine in one gulp.

"Do you want to fuck a priest, or do you want to fuck god?"

Y/N doesn't know what to say to that, she sits back on the sofa, hand clutching her wine glass in true shock and confusion as she lets Florence's words sink in.

"Can you fuck god?"

Florence shrugs and opens up another bottle of red wine, the cork popping making Y/N jump back into reality as she sits in Florence's home.

"If you fuck him, it might feel like you've fucked God."

That sentence hasn't left Y/N’s brain for weeks now, even as she sits in church, beside her family as the priest she's been drooling over for months now speaks the word of the lord, his eyes scanning the people sat before him as they listen intently.

It's when his eyes land on her for a split second that she feels her entire body freeze, her mind goes blank as she stares down at her lap.

"Y/N, let's go say hello to the Father, thank him for such a beautiful evening." Her mother shakes her from her thoughts, did an hour really go past that fast?

Before she knows it, she's standing in front of the man she's been dreaming and fantasising about, dressed in all black as he smiles his award winning smile, dimples popping out as his gelled back hair sits neatly on his head, and when one strand comes lose and dangles on his forehead, Y/N knows one thing is for sure.

She doesn't want to fuck god, she wants to fuck him.

"Thank you for attending Miss, did you enjoy the congregation this evening?" His attention is now on her, her face turning red as she listens to his deep British voice echo around her.

"Yeah it was, great Father, thank you." She tries to shut it down there, her hands as sweaty as anything as she tries to get away soon.

"Please, don't call me Father after my job is done, unless you want to."

Did that come across as sexual? It did.

Or maybe her mind is just thinking that way.

"What should I call you then?"

"Harry, only if you want to." He smiles brightly, turning on his heels to head towards another group of people but not before shooting her a glance over his shoulder, making her nearly melt on the spot.

She needed him, in ways that are far too unholy.

—

"Should I go to confession?"

"And what? Confess you want to suck his dick?"

"It could be easier, than saying it directly to his face."

Florence laughs, setting down a plate of food before Y/N as they settle in to have a meal together, something that happens once a week, mainly to gossip but for the last three weeks, it's been about Y/N's reoccurring urge.

"I'm not saying you should, but it could be way to see his reaction, if he's appalled; you just leave and the worst case scenario is you get denied communion."

Y/N had not thought about that part, what would she tell her Mother when it was time for communion?

'Sorry, but I confessed to the priest I want to fuck him and he doesn't even want to look at me anymore. But hey, praise the Lord!'

"Best case scenario, he fucks you on the alter." She bluntly says, eating her food from the fork with an unbothered expression, not matching Y/N’s panicked one.

That's how Y/N found herself here, sat in the confession booth, wall between her and the priest as she awaits him to speak first, her hands clammy with nerves as she tries not to move around too much.

"Good afternoon."

His voice comes way too quick for her liking, her throat drying up as she tries to force a greeting from between her lips that feel as if they're cemented together.

"Good afternoon, Father." She coughs slightly, hoping he hadn't heard her as she swallows down every ounce of anxiety running through her veins.

"What brings you here today? Whatever is spoken in this booth, is between us and the lord only."

He's gonna regret saying that, sorry to the big guy upstairs.

"I just need to get something off my chest."

"That tends to be what this is for." He chuckles softly, the sound making a sweat break out on her forehead.

He has no clue.

"I've been having these reoccurring thoughts lately."

The silence she's met with urges her to speak on, knowing he's listening as she bows her head in almost shame before speaking her next few words.

"I'm sorry for the language I'm about to use but, my thoughts have been consumed with the urge to ... fuck a priest." She rushes out the last few words.

Again, she's met with silence, the sound of rustling before it's silent again. She's sure he's left, she's fucked it all up now, waiting to be asked to leave by him as she sits in her own pity.

Her head flies up when light trickles in on top of her, the sound of the booth door opening echoing around the church, revealing Father Styles before her, looking down on her as she sits inside.

A beat of silence passes before he speaks one word that has her heart racing faster than it has the last few minutes.

"Kneel."

"Excuse me-"

"I said, kneel."

Before she can speak another word, she's obeying, kneeling down as he comes to step into the small booth with her, shutting the door behind him, leaving them in the near dark together.

"It's time to repent your sins, you better start praying hard, because I don't play nice."

The sound of him unbuckling his belt is sure to make God himself roll his eyes and sigh but for Marianne? It makes her mouth water and stomach erupt into butterflies.

She doesn't even need to find his cock as he softly takes her head, waiting for her reaction before guiding her to it, his breath shaky as her lips come into contact with it.

"You need some good punishment huh? Fantasising about sucking and fucking the cock of a priest? Filthy girl huh? You're right where you should be ... down on your knees for me ... fuck-"

Hearing him say that word has her opening her mouth wider, his hand in his hair gripping tighter as she swallows around him, loving the feel of him on her tongue as she goes lower and lower for him.

"That's it, suck it like a good girl. Christ, you're an Angel." She nearly laughs at his words, but when he lets out a deep moan, one that she wants to hear again and again, she focuses on her task at hand.

His other hand that's not in her hair, slaps against the wall of the booth, the clear sound of his rings clinking against the wood has her eyes rolling and a soft moan escaping her own lips.

"Like that huh? Like having a priests cock down your throat? Like knowing your sinning and that if anyone knew about this, we'd both be fucked?"

His mouth is dirty and she loves it so much, she's not surprised really, she was hoping he'd had a dirty mouth but hearing it in reality? She's a little shocked but it makes the whole thing so much hotter.

A man that devoted his life to God, sworn to never have romantic relations and would be stripped of his title if anyone found out his cock was down a church goers throat?

Yeah, this is so much hotter than her dreams.

"Bet you look so pretty right now, lips around my cock, your pretty eyes probably tearing up over how deep it's in there ... a fucking dream." He moans out, throat dry and his words raspy as he sighs out in pure bliss.

It's only a few more minutes of filth being spewed from his mouth before he's cumming into hers, making her take it all with a firm hand on her head as he buries his cock in her throat, rutting his hips until he's rode out his orgasm to his liking.

"Now, go home and say twelve Holy Mary's, to repent your sins." He says while buttoning back up his trousers, the sound of his rings against the metal of his belt filling the booth.

"Thank you, Father."

He leaves her on her knees in the booth, his smirk widening as the light shines on her once again, mascara smudged under her eyes, along with her messed up red lipstick followed by her messy hair.

"See you next week."

And that he will, he definitely will.

#harry styles #harry styles au #harry styles imagine #harry styles fandom #fan fic author #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you

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builtbykittie · 1 year

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Play fighting

Samuel Kiszka x f!reader

See part two here

Summary: Your best friend Sam invites you over for a dinner at his place, theres no harm in a little play fighting, right?

Words: roughly 3.6k

Warnings: some friends to lovers action, alcohol consumption, slapping/hitting, sorta bratty Sam, SMUT, dom Sam, slight impact play, masturbation, unprotected sex (don't do it y'all), slight cock warming, BONUS: mentions of Jake having a gf (sorry Jake girls)

A/N: a Sammy fic in honor of his birthday, I had to speed through this to get it out before/by the third because, for some smart reason, I decided to start it hella late so I am very sorry if it is not the best.

✧

You find yourself at the steps of your best friend's house for about the 2nd time this week. Sam had invited you for dinner with him, Danny, Jake, & Josh after you recently mentioned wanting to see his brothers again. Unsurprisingly, instead of simply making a reservation at a nice restaurant, Sam insisted on making dinner.

"Y/N!" Sam exclaims as he opens the door, throwing his arms in the air and immediately pulling you through the door. "Jesus Sam, I saw you yesterday," you giggle while trying to escape his hold on you.

"Hi guys!" you wave to the boys sitting at the island, you must've been tardy since you got here after everyone else. Setting down your bag on the counter, Sam stabs his index finger into your side, eliciting a yelp and flinch from you.

"You asshole!" You whine, lifting your arm to hit him, but are stopped by a death grip on your wrist. "Calm down, princess," he nonchalantly lets go of your wrist and brings his hand up to your chin, squeezing the skin of your cheeks to make your lips pucker.

"Knock it off," you mumble, pulling his hand away from your mouth to pour a glass of wine.

You walk into the living room where Jake is sat with tequila in hand listening to the music playing for background noise. "So... Y/N," Jake devilishly smiles, your mind preparing for whatever he's about to say. "Yes, Jakey?" You sit down next to him, anxiously sipping the wine you poured just minutes before.

"You and Sam hookup yet?" He nudges your arm with his elbow which causes a drop to jump up and splash back down in your glass. "Jake!" You gasp, and you feel your cheeks start to grow red "I can't remember how many times I've told you, we're just friends!"

Jake lets out a chuckle from within his chest "oh come on Y/N. You're always flirting with each other, I swear to god I've seen his hand up your skirt." You start to become flustered in reaction to his words, and the thought of your best friend's hand up your skirt gets stuck in your mind. "First of all, I can assure you that you've never seen his hand up my skirt."

You stand up in protest "and second of all I would not give up our years of friendship just to relieve some 'sexual tension'." You watch as Jake's lips curl up into a shit-eating grin, now you know you've messed up.

"So you admit it? There is something with you two."

Of course there was. Sam was too hot for his own good and you couldn't stop yourself from thinking it. You would never admit it aloud, but you loved whenever Sam fucked with you. There was no denying you felt something for your best friend, however, there was nothing to do about it.

"No Jake that's not what I meant," you lied "can we talk about something else? Please?"

---

"How was it?" Sam smiles as you approach him at the sink, waiting your turn to wash your plate off. "Terrible," you crash your hip into him with a giggle "no, it was really good, thanks Sammy."

"Ah, the wife's calling," Jake jokes in that British accent everyone likes to call 'Oliver Reed', specifically when he's drunk. Not long after picking up the phone, Jake hangs up with who seems to be his girlfriend "hey guys I'm gonna head home."

"You sure you can drive like this?" You giggle, settling next to Sam on the couch. "I can drive," Josh suggests, knowing damn well he's not any less drunk than anyone else here.

"Whatever, just get home safe," Sam wraps his arm around the back of the sofa and leans back, waving to his brothers getting their coats on and ready to leave. "You guys, if there's anyone who has to drive I think it should be Daniel," Sam nods his head in agreement with your words.

"What? Are you trying to get rid of me?" Danny smiles, grabbing his keys and jacket. "No! I was just saying!" you blush, sitting up and leaning forward. "Oh it's fine, I needed to get some things done around the house anyways.. and it'd be better if they didn't die. I'll see you later," Danny meets the other two at the door with a smile.

"Bye, guys! Love you!" You call as they file out the door, earning waves and 'goodbyes' from them before turning your attention to Sam. "Guess it's just you and me handsome," you joke, bringing your knees up to your chest and bumping him with your leg.

"How about we switch this music to something smoother, maybe.. jazz?" Sam gestures to the record player, standing slowly on steady legs. Suddenly, that image Jake gave you of Sam's hand up your skirt pops into your mind. You got nervous at the thought of being alone with Sam, tipsy and listening to smooth jazz.

You stand up to shake the inappropriate thoughts, you'd be lying if you said this was the first time you thought about him in this way. "Aww, Sammy," you giggle "you finally got an incense holder!"

You've been pestering him for not owning a holder for weeks, at some point he must've given in and bought one. You pull a mystery stick out of a mini vase "what is it? The scent."

"I don't know, light it and find out," Sam turns his head to look at you after finally getting the damn vinyl situated, the soothing sounds of jazz filling the room. "You know," Sam adds, his lips curling up into a smirk "Jake was talking to me earlier."

Your heart starts beating at an unimaginable pace, of course Jake talked to Sam as well. "Really? Me too," you step back from the shelf where his vinyls and incense sit, trying to muster up all the confidence you could.

"Yeah? Then I'm assuming he said the same thing to you, huh?" Sam has that stupid grin on his face that he always does whenever he's up to no good. "The thing about me and you?" You put your hands on your hips.

"what about you and me?" Sam smirks "I was thinking of what he said about my cooking."

Suddenly your cheeks get dangerously hot and you plant your face in your hands "oh god, Sam!" Of course, Sam knew what he was doing, it was in his nature to fuck with you. He knew exactly what you were talking about.

His devious laughter at your distaste infuriates you. Without a second thought, you are angrily walking over to him and hitting his chest with just enough force to make him fight back.

Before you can get a second hit on him he's hooking his arm behind your knees and lifting you into the air. "Hey!" You kick your legs as he adjusts you to be hanging upside down. You're lucky the dress you wore was fitted or else everything would be on display for your best friend to see "Sam! I'm wearing a dress!"

"Maybe you should've thought of that before you hit me like a little brat," he chuckles, your slip dress starting to bunch up at your shorts. Before you can protest, you're being laid down on the floor and he's fixing the skirt "wouldn't want my princess to be uncomfortable."

His cocky words spark something inside of you, you start to feel the wetness growing between your thighs and there was absolutely no stopping it. You start to sit up, grabbing onto Sam's legs and pulling him down with loud giggles.

"Agh! Man down!" Sam shouts, prying your arms off from around his legs. You quickly stand up before he can do anything, jolting back to avoid his arms swatting at your feet. "Come on Sammy! Stand up, tough guy!" You cackle, holding up your arms as if to punch.

"Oh, you don't really think you can beat me, do you?" Sam chuckles, rising to his feet and grabbing your wrists in an iron grip. "Well if you'd let go of my arms maybe I could!" You giggle, yanking your arms back and kicking his shins.

"Ow, you little shit!" He lets go of your arms and attempts to tackle you despite your many dodges. Finally, Sam gets you down and wrestles for dominance, the both of you frantically moving around the soft carpet.

Suddenly, you scurry up to your feet and away from your best friend. "Where do you think you're going?" Sam chuckles, quickly standing up and walking over to you. You were standing by a wall, already plotting your escape but too late once he approaches you.

Unknowing what to do, you start hitting his chest, loud giggles escaping your lips with each throw of your arms. Sam slots his leg between your thighs and slams you against the wall, grabbing your arms and pinning them by your head.

You stop giggling, your eyes wide and mouth agape. "What's wrong baby?" Sam smirks as you squirm under his grasp, unable to escape from his hold. Sam's eyes grow dark and blown out with lust "looks like you lost, princess."

"Sam," his name comes out in a broken whisper as you look down to your feet, there was absolutely no chance of shutting him off now. Staring intently into his eyes, you start to stutter "Sam, we're drunk."

By now, the incense has burned out and you both completely drowned out the music playing in the back. "Mm, not really," he inches closer "it's been a while."

He was right, you were buzzed, but not drunk. You were frightened, not sure if this is how your friendship with him would end. Your mind races as he brings his face even closer, his warm breath fanning across your face "Sam.. Are you sure?"

"I'm positive," Sam presses a kiss to your cheek "are you?" You stood with your reflections, trying to decide what to do as quickly as possible.

"Mhm," you consent, looking up and locking your eyes with his. "Let me hear you say it, lovely," he kisses the corner of your mouth, letting go of your arm and stroking your cheek. "Yes, Sammy. Please kiss me," you whisper, gazing into his beautiful eyes with great adoration.

Wasting no time, he smashes his lips against yours. Your lips molded together beautifully, locking like puzzle pieces. To your surprise, the slow, passionate kiss turned hungry within a matter of seconds. He drops your arm with his other hand, his arms wandering from your face to your waist, holding you still against the wall, and his tongue swipes across your lips.

You open your mouth slightly to grant him access to your mouth, and his hands move down further to hold your ass with a squeeze. "Sam," you pull back "take me to your room."

"A bit impatient, are you?" Sam smiles smugly, landing a slap against your ass which causes you to release a small moan. With a chuckle, Sam is lifting you by your legs once again and throws you over his shoulder to bring you to his room, now making sure your dress falls to your waist with a slight shake of your body.

With every step up the stairs, you grow more and more impatient, your arousal soaking your panties at the excitement of knowing you were moments away from fucking your devastatingly attractive best friend.

The door opens and he sets you down, you look around the familiar setting of his minimal cozy room, basking in the beautiful scent of sandalwood and possibly eucalyptus. Your moment of contentment is interrupted by the loud slamming of the door behind you and Sam's footsteps toward you.

The first time you had ever considered Sam in this way was after a long day. Stress had piled up due to work and you decided to relieve it by taking a warm shower, but after that didn't work you decided to take it into your own hands, literally. As you reached your peak, you pictured Sam's hand replacing your own, and you couldn't shake that thought for weeks.

"Tell me doll," Sam cups your cheek "how do you like it?" You impatiently pull down your shorts so that they're resting at your ankles "I don't care, just fuck me."

"What's the magic word?" he squeezes your face in between his hands to the point where it starts to hurt. "Seriously, Sam?" you pull on his hands in an attempt to get him to let go.

"I'm not gonna touch you until you say it, spoiled brat," instead of letting go, he squeezes your cheeks tighter. "Oh my God, fine." you muster up the best 'fuck me' eyes you possibly could "please Sammy, fuck me. I need it so bad."

"Atta girl," he lets go of his hold on your cheeks, gently slapping one cheek before pulling the top of your dress down below your breasts. "God, you're fucking gorgeous," Sam marvels at your chest, your nipples instantly stiffening at the air hitting your freshly bare boobs.

"On the bed," Sam demands, undoing his belt. You do just as he says, climbing on the bed and sitting on your shins, your hands tucked neatly between your thighs so that your arms are pushing your breasts together slightly.

The bed you were sitting on was the same bed he held you in while you were crying, the same bed he took you to after blacking out at the bar, the same bed you gossiped to him in, and now it'll be the same bed he fucked you in.

He lets both his pants and boxers fall to his ankles, pulling them off his feet and walking toward you. "Oh my God," you mutter, squeezing your thighs together even tighter than before. "What is it, baby?" Sam wraps his hand around his cock with an iron grip, pumping at a dangerously slow pace that made you wince in anticipation.

"Sam, you- you're big," you stutter, shamelessly staring at his length in awe. "What'd you expect pretty?" Sam smirks, incredibly proud of himself.

"I don't know," you finally break eye contact with his cock to look at his face "not this."

"Were you really about to fuck me while expecting me to be small?" Sam fakes offense, a shit-eating smirk you knew all too well playing on his lips. "No! I thought you were gonna be, I don't know.. average," you stutter, your head dropping to look down at your knees.

"Look at me," Sam's voice gets deeper. Your head darts up, meeting his lust-blown eyes.

Sam takes steady steps toward you, climbing on the bed and sitting in front of you. He taps the underside of your thigh "Sit up." Without another second to waste, you're rising, shifting your weight fully onto your knees.

Sam hikes up your dress, sighing at the inconvenience of your panties blocking his access "take these off." You shimmy the fabric off of your hips and down to your knees as he removes his shirt from his body. Sam does not wait to slot his fingers between the lips of your heat.

Your hand flies to his cock as he starts to rub merciless circles around your clit, swirling your hand around his rock-hard length. "Oh God, Sammy," his name flies out of your mouth so effortlessly, like it was always meant to emerge from your lips in such a lewd situation like this.

Sam speeds up his pace, your upper body collapses into his shoulder and your legs start to quiver. You begin to slow down your arm, leisurely stroking him and tugging with each pump. "Fuck Y/N just like that," Sam groans, almost as a whisper.

"Sammy!" you moan "oh my God Sam, I'm close." The sensation was so addictive, jutting your hips forward to chase your upcoming high.

"I know baby," he could tell by your breath significantly speeding up and your moans progressively getting louder and louder.

Before either of you can reach orgasm, he pulls his hand from you and rips your hand away from him. Leaning in toward you, he whispers deeply into your ear "don't think I'm letting you off that easily, after hitting me and saying you could beat me."

"Please Sam," you whine, falling back down onto your shins with a pout. "Jesus Christ Y/N, don't be so impatient. I'll make you cum once you've earned it."

"Yeah? And how do I do that Sammy?" you furrow your brows, annoyed at his cocky attitude. "When you stop acting like a spoiled, needy bitch," he grunts, flipping you over and shoving your head into the sheets.

You've seen sam upset before, but never like this. It was intriguing, and without a doubt hot.

With your ass pointing up in the air, he situates himself behind you and lays a smack against it. "I think you need to apologize before I can fuck you," Sam grasps the meat of your ass.

"Oh my God," you mumble, just loud enough for Sam to hear and slap your ass in disapproval. "Sam, I am so sorry for being a brat. Please, fuck me," you beg, swivelling your hips for him to know you're ready.

"Good," Sam swipes his hand over the red mark on your ass before grasping the base of his cock and flicking his tip over your soaked pussy which is just enough for you to moan his name softly.

Without warning, Sam is stretching you out in one slow and agonizing thrust before pulling out to come back down with one quicker, sharper thrust into you. The sting of him stretching you out felt so amazing "how does it feel doll?"

"So good Sammy. Please, never stop," you moan, moving your head to make sure your words are heard. Sam bends down so that his chest is flush against the skin of your back not being covered by the silk fabric, snaking his arm around you to meet his fingers with your clit, your body jolting at the sensation.

You mewl as he starts to rub harsh circles on your little bundle of nerves whilst thrusting deep into you. "Yeah? You like that baby?" Sam mutters between thrusts and heavy breaths. You shriek his name into the sheets of his bed before frantically nodding your head, your arm snaking down to meet his hand and adjusting his fingers to be pressing hard against the swollen bud.

"Oh God Sam," you cry, the head of his beautiful cock hitting a different sweet spot with every thrust. He hit spots you didn't think were possible to hit, spots that you didn't even know existed and were desperate for attention.

"Come on princess, let go for me," Sam whispers, his cock beginning to brush against your g spot with each movement of his hips. Sam sits back up, fingers still rubbing around your clit and still thrusting mercilessly into you, now just covered in a thin layer of sweat caused by your hot bodies pressed against each other.

"Shit," he mumbles, his orgasm quickly approaching him. A heavy fog takes over your mind, completely blurring your vision as the knot in your stomach tightens.

The band of pleasure inside you snaps, and you cry out as he helps you ride out your high, his orgasm coming just seconds after. The warm sensation of his cum spurting out inside you was addicting, you would let him stay inside of you like this all night if given the chance.

The pleasure he gave you was unlike anything you've ever felt before, it was so different from all your other partners that failed to please you. It's like Sam already knew your body, like you've done this with him a million times before.

His thrusts come to a slow stop, staying still in the same position for a few moments to fully come back down to earth. Sam starts to pull out "wait," you mutter, not ready to miss the contact just yet.

"Just tell me when you're ready baby," Sam's tone is much different from what you've seen tonight, it was soft and sincere. As much as you loved his sassy attitude, this sweet tone could instantly make you fall in love all over again.

"Okay," you mutter after waiting a few seconds, bracing yourself. Slowly, he pulls out of you, and you hiss at the sensation followed by a breathy moan. Sam slowly crawls around and lays next to you, grabbing your waist and pulling you closer.

You cuddle your head into his chest, damp due to the thin layer of sweat coating both of your bodies. "Jesus Christ," you start to giggle, your head tilting up to get a good look at his gorgeous face.

You slowly sit up and crawl toward the edge of the bed, struggling to stand on weak legs, Sam following you. You shed off the remaining fabric on your body before lifting the toilet seat and sitting down, Sam wetting a washcloth with warm water as you go pee. "Wait," he places his hand on your shoulder to sit you back down while you go to stand up.

Sam taps your knee "open for me." He gently wipes the sticky slick off of your inner thighs before peppering soft kisses to the area. "Thanks, Sammy," you smile, kissing the top of his head and holding onto him as you both stand up.

"So what now?" you say, laying back down next to him in the bed, your mind flipping through every consequence of having sex with your best friend. "Shh," he whispers "we can talk in the morning."

You nod your head, lifting your upper body to press a kiss to his beautiful lips before tangling your hands in the soft tresses of his brown hair. It was within a matter of seconds that you start to doze off to the warmth of his body.

"Goodnight Sam," you whisper, getting even closer to his body, as if that was even possible.

"Goodnight lovely."

✧

#greta van fleet #sam kiszka #sam gvf #sam kiszka smut #greta van smut #gvf smut #greta van fleet smut #greta van fleet fan fiction #gvf fanfiction #sam kiszka fanfiction

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neverwalka1one · 1 month

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Magnus Protocol 27

Yes I skipped making one of these for 26, it was a week and a half and mostly it consisted of me going 'plz stop poking the Spiral Lady she might eat you' at Celia, so.

Kidnapping/consumption, there is no way that classification can mean good things, nope.

Sam just kind of... sucks at grunt work. Like. I know he never meant to do a busywork type of job, this was a fallback, but... look. If Lena wasn't bound and determined to Not Have To Hire More People, Sam would be out on his ass in a week. You don't get that sassy with an overbearing manager and not eat asphalt. Sam, that's a clue, take it, please, omg.

Lena is tidying away Colin's files. Can someone get us proof of life on Colin?

$10 says Lena's planning on feeding Sam to one of the externals.

Oh Gwen, living down to middle manager tropes are we?

Hi Augustus, horrible to hear you, what ye olde times horror do you have for us you utter psychopath?

Strong alchemy vibes, gotta love it

So the institute is instituting (Magnussing?) by committee, I think I'm seeing why the Institute didn't overpower this world.

.... this is Jonah Magnus. THIS IS JONAH MAGNUS HI JONAH YOU ASS WHERE DID YOU PUT JON AND MARTIN

The eeeeeeeeeeeeeeye [snork] dude, stahp.

... uh. That coach ate a dude.

Hey Magnus. Magnus. Go get et by a coach.

Boyle! I got that reference. And Boyle is from the same time as Newton, so like... what, is this a committee you get to join because you inherited a seat? What, my daddy's rich and in this secret society I am too? .... actually nm that's pretty on point.

So if Boyle and Newton are from late 1600's (ish), and these letters are from nearly 200 years later... were there earlier Magnuses? It sounds like the institute is being named after him personally, so if there were, why is he so special? If there weren't, how did he get into the >200 year old rich boy's club? Why is it still a committee? Or was Newton more part of what the government bit is, that wipes Institute-esque things off the map when they get too powerful? Halp.

Jonah Magnus magnussing over here feeding his colleague to a coach with very little to no remorse I applaud Archibald (who tragically does not appear to be a real person) for spending his last moments cussing out Jonah Magnus.

Jonah has figured out about the Fears. Smirke's coming up next, isn't he? Oh no.

'Do you ever get weird emails' '[deadpan] I'm openly trans on the internet.' Read her to filth, Alice. Get her ass.

'We're not doing this now.' Doing whaaaat, Gwen? Sorta hate-flirting? Approaching romance sidelong like it might bite? C'mon, you were having fun.

Nooooooooo not the breakrooooooooooooooooooom FINE I'll break out the transcripts.

'What was that?' 'That was sex, Sam.' OOF. Sam, my shrimp king, never let Alice know Celia said that, even in jest, she'll roast you forever. Also 'pretty decent' sex? Damned by faint praise much? Or is this one of those 'if I vaguely praise it it was awesome, but if I'm very enthusiastic I think it was trash' British things?

Trevor Herbert is the MP????? That hobo-ass vampire slayer? Oh god, at least he'll get on with Lady Mowbrey.

Nope, still hung up on TREVOR being an elected official, I can't, help.

Whoop, Celia is spooked by the Archivist, what, you didn't clue in... ohhhh. oh no. She didn't hear the story last week. With the eyes. hahaha oh no.

Oh sure Celia, you just 'happen' to find the Hilltop Road property, just coinkidink, yup, just got a 'feeling' about it, yah-huh. If there are spiders there I'm going to be yelling so loud.

#the magnus protocol #tmagp #tmagp spoilers

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magicalrocketships · 11 months

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Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by @powerful-owl! (Em's answers are here)

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

170. Crikey etc.

2. What's your total ao3 word count?

2,698,478. That's a lot of words.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

At the moment I'm writing F1, but I haven't been able to write anything for quite a while, and I never put the lid on any fandom. I've got some outstanding 1D WIPs that are on hiatus.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Emperor's New Clothes (1D famous/not famous, NDA where there used to be a relationship)

Can't Fight The Moonlight (Harry/Draco accidental mpreg)

Truly, Madly, Deeply (10 Things I Hate About You) (1D high school AU, famous/not famous again)

Maybe This Time (1D age play)

I Had Rather Hear My Dog Bark At A Crow (tomlinshaw, secret relationship, watersports, resulted in some of my favourite saved screenshots:

hashtag never forget (my beloved)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

LOOK, I want to, and I used to when I had a fic lj, but every couple of years I'd try to on ao3 and then I'd just be drowning in my own horror at writing "thank you so much!!!!" over again and essentially we hit a slump and I haven't in ages. I'm going to pick it up again, though.

6. What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

oh god I hate a sad ending. I hate them!!!! I will only accept an ambiguous ending under certain circumstances, so I don't think I've got any with truly angsty endings. I've got plenty with very angsty middles. That SAID, I occasionally get hassle from people who don't think my fics are happy enough at the end because I don't like to tie all the ends up. I really, really hate pointless epilogues - NOTE, not all epilogues are pointless, and some of them I love - but the ones where it's just an unnecessary flash forward and all the problems are solved and they've got 2.5 children and a beautiful house and everything's perfect and it just feels like a horror story to me, like a fannish/romance novel version of the stepford wives. If it's an epilogue where the characters have had a bit of a chance to breathe after the main events, and they're happy, GREAT. If it's a cookie cutter ending then I'm out, so I guess maybe the end of Emperor's New Clothes where they're trying living together and trying to be financial partners in their relationship, and Not Your Fault But Mine, where Louis and Nick are together but it isn't obvious which route Louis is going to take back to university/he's still struggling with his mental health was still too angsty for some people. To me, both those fics end with them together and planning for a future so they feel happy to me.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I think all of mine are happy but maybe We Used To Wait is the most deserved happy ending, because it's the one where Louis was in an accident and a secret relationship with Nick, and he's in intensive care and his injuries are really bad, and the ending is him getting to perform again, and being out and being with Nick.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

y e p. Sometimes it makes me laugh because this fic very clearly wasn't For You, just press the back button, and sometimes it's more frustrating. Sometimes it's gross.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Oh yeah baby. My current fic is delightfully feral (to me) and I love writing smut. And then other times, I'm like... yes we won't be writing THAT right now thank you, no sex please we're British. Usually I have one week per month when I vastly prefer everyone keep their clothes on. Love a weird hormonal flux.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I have in the past, but in general now I can't be bothered. I definitely wrote a Sharpe/Doctor Who one back in the day.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yeah, a few times. The most egregious (and recent) was someone stealing We Used To Wait (which was Louis/Nick) and changing the names to Aaron and Robert, and amending various little bits to suit Emmerdale canon. If you're going to steal a fic, it's best to do it in a fandom I'm not in/I don't fucking read in, for the love of fuck.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, I love having a blanket transformation policy on AO3. I'm always so in awe of people wanting to engage with your writing like that.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! A couple of short ones and then the delicious Sugar, We're Going Down which I co-wrote with my very dear Anonymous friend, and we didn't ever think we were going to share it when we wrote it (hence why my friend is anonymous on it!) so we just went balls to the wall feral with it.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

I don't have an answer to this, but if I ever considered something my OTP I will go to my grave loving it. I love Louis/Nick so much, and each OTP before that. Right now I'm extremely focused on Max/Daniel and I don't see that going anywhere soon.

15. What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Nope, I have the I Had Rather sequel and Harry Styles Cooks outstanding but hopefully they'll both get an ending when the time's right, even if it's just me reading them.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue? Angst? IDK??!! Help!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Oh, action and description for sure. I'm not a very visual writer/reader, I very rarely have a picture of a character in my head or the space that they inhabit. I know everything they say, though.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I'd be worried about fucking it up. If I knew someone who was a native speaker and it worked, then I guess.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Young Americans technically, then probably Percy/Oliver in Harry Potter and Dom/Billy for the Lord of the Rings films.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

I Had Rather Hear My Dog Bark At A Crow - I loved writing this, it came together in a few weeks, it made me fall in love with the pairing, legit changed my life for various reasons and I just enjoy it a lot.

Anyway, tagging @allwaswell16, @astorytotellyourfriends, and @junkshop-disco if you fancy it :)

#waffling on about fic

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tenaciousbouquetearthquake · 1 day

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It's just what wolves do, pt1

An AU where the boys are a pack of shifters who've been recruited by the British government to fight Nazis. I've borrowed details from Nalini Singh's Psychangeling books in how I've written shifters, so if you notice any similarities, that's why. Also, follow me please and let's be friends. I need more people who read her books to talk to and I need to talk about how much I hated Primal Mirror and how disappointing it was.

Read it on ao3 | Check out the Masterlist

Ch01, Apple and Gus meet at Dunkirk, but leopards and wolves notoriously don't get along with each other and Gus seems to take a special pleasure in annoying Apple. But, you know, shifters are inherently tactile creatures. They require physical and sexual contact to keep their animals under control.

I mean, what can you do? Things to expect: wolf Gus being a pain in the ass to leopard Apple, Gus as a kleptomaniac, Gus has a glasses fetish, and *sex* happening off screen. Because we're keeping it G in this one.

Oh, and Apple mauls someone and Gus severs someone's carotid artery and breaks their neck, and *coughs* okay, it's PG-13. I make no promises about reader/bear!Anders stories being rated PG-13. I might get too excited and write that as smut. I can't help myself. I'm obsessed.

Around 5,000 words.

Dunkirk

***

There isn’t a day that goes by that Apple isn’t glad that he was born a cat. His settles his rifle carefully in position, finger poised on the trigger, and eyes his prey from across a field. From this position, he can not only see him perfectly, even in the pitch black of night, but he can scent him on the wind—sweat and mud and filth, too many days stuck in a trench with no relief while the fight drags on.

Apple knew when he signed up to fight that the war wouldn’t be a picnic. When Apple was sent to Dunkirk, he knew this wouldn’t be an easy fight.

But it’s a necessary one, Apple thinks, and even though he’s not particularly happy with being trapped in a foxhole with—Apple smothers the growl that threatens to escape him and redirects his thoughts away from him. He can’t be distracted, not now, while his prey is moving. His eyes narrow as he watches the German, the shape of him moving in the darkness. He’s a distance away from the rest of the others, fiddling with the buttons on his uniform, moving to undo his trousers and relieve himself. Maybe it’s bad form to kill a man while he’s taking a piss, but then, Apple thinks, it’s his own fault for straying too far from his comrades and a little too far into Apple’s view, and as much as Apple likes to think himself a gentleman and has the title to back it up…he’s not above taking this kill.

Not if it gets him out of Dunkirk a little bit faster.

Not if it gets this war over with a little more quickly.

He holds the rifle carefully, aiming with the sort of precision that only a cat could manage, and feels his eyes shift to full leopard in feline delight. Shifters have always had to curb or control their inner animals in an effort to fit into polite society, but perhaps this is one advantage to war—the only one to be had. Apple doesn’t have to hold himself back anymore, not in this moment. His inner leopard is ready for the kill, muscles tense, every inch of him ready to strike.

The enemy is in the perfect position. His finger begins to tense around the trigger, one delicate move from ending a man’s life. Slowly. Apple paces himself. He takes a breath in. He begins to exhale, his finger curling—there’s a scream in the distance and Apple releases an unearthly growl, a feline snarl from deep in his chest that echoes out into the night as a harsh warning to anyone nearby. “Fuck.”

Somewhere in the distance, Gus howls in wild laughter, his wolf form nearly prancing into view of Apple by the kill. His snout is bloody from where he’d leapt at the German and caught his throat, latching on and sinking his teeth deep into the man’s throat, severing his carotid artery in one go. He’d landed with a quiet, graceful thud, giving his neck one good shake that effectively snapped his neck, before dropping the body where it lay and prancing out into open space.

Apple can see the eyes of his wolf looking toward through the darkness, a silvery glow in the pitch black, wearing an expression only a fellow shifter would recognize—a bloody, toothy grin at having stolen Apple’s prey.

There isn’t a day that goes by that Apple isn’t glad he was born a cat, but he could do without a goddamn wolf to keep him company.

As soon as Gus gets back to the foxhole, there’s going to be hell to pay.

***

Gus lets down his heavy body with a sigh of relief, jingling as he does, grinning that wild, toothy grin of his that drives Apple absolutely crazy. For Gus, it seems like the wolf is always close to the surface, mischievous and dangerous and ready to needle the cat across from him at every opportunity. Perhaps it’s simply that Apple is a cat and Gus is a wolf, and even though they technically belong to the same pack—a band of ruffians and scoundrels and filthy animals who the British government has determined should work together in the war effort—the cat families and the wolf families are always at odds. Perhaps it's that Apple is just a little too buttoned up, a little too proper and pristine in that cat sort of way, always outwardly relaxed as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. Perhaps it’s just that Gus’s mother is right and he’s simply too wild and doesn’t have enough self-control. He was born too much of a troublemaker.

But whatever it is, Gus can’t help himself. Not where Apple is concerned. Not when he can see the leopard glaring out at him from Apple’s eyes as the other man takes a delicate spoonful of whatever flavor of soup is being served to the men tonight, and Gus watches the delicate curves of Apple’s throat as he swallows. He feels the wolf inside of him grow restless, his eyes growing bright. He’s been trying to coax Apple into letting him get closer, to letting him explore the vulnerable curves of his neck and to draw him into some play, but the cat just won’t go for it. And Gus…he’s obsessed. He can’t stop it. Too stubborn to back down, too wild to not chase after he wants with all of his strength, and the wolf wants Apple.

The wolf wants Apple with a need so fierce that it’s practically feral.

“And why,” Apple drawls, eyes of green-gold fixed on Gus over the soup that Gus can tell the cat has no real interest in, “are you jingling?”

Gus huffs out a small laugh. “No reason,” Gus lies, knowing the cat can scent it on him. It’s hard to keep secrets from shifters—you have to be very, very good to hide the scent of lie. Gus has never managed it, although he knows for a fact that Apple can. The wolf in him is fascinated by this. The man is, too.

“I didn’t think stealing was especially common among your kind,” Apple says, voice silky and crisp, a low purr that Gus finds himself leaning into, yet something else about Apple that seems to draw him in. “It doesn’t seem like very wolf-like behavior.”

There’s probably not much that Gus won’t do for that delicate purr in Apple’s voice. He wonders what it would feel like to touch the cat’s fur, to bury his hand in the vibrant gold and black of it and settle his face there and just breathe in the scent of Apple while the leopard purrs against him. It makes the wolf and the man in Gus tempted enough to let go of his already limited restraint and reach out to the cat, just to see what Apple’s skin feels like, to feel his body hum with the quiet vibration of his voice when he speaks. “You haven’t met many wolves, have you, Apple?”

The cat stills visibly and Gus feels his heart skip a beat at the sight of it. Delicious.

“No,” the cat admits. Slowly. Reluctantly. Like a soft stroke down the length of his back, a tease of a touch that leaves the wolf wanting more. Needing more.

The cat may be here to hunt Germans, but the wolf has a different prey entirely on his mind.

“Just wait until you meet my family,” Gus promises, the assumption that Apple will be coming home with him after the war hanging in the air between them, an easy thought that just seems right to Gus. He can imagine his mother’s face as seeing a cat on their doorstep, the chaos of Apple meeting a family of wolves. The wolf can hardly wait. “Pack of thieves, the lot of them. They’ll steal your glasses right off your face if they get the chance.”

The cat doesn’t appear amused by this. It only makes Gus want him more, a desperate need for Apple’s attention, like an itch that needs to be scratched. “I don’t wear glasses,” Apple replies in that silken voice.

Gus’s grin grows as he answers in a low, throaty growl. “That’s too bad,” he replies. “I reckon you’d look good in them, old boy.”

Gus’s fantasy about bringing Apple home to meet his family now includes a pair of gold-framed reading glasses perched on his nose, that dark hair of his swept back, beard and mustache pristine. Gus can’t wait to muss it up, his hands closing with an unconscious need to touch. He silently wonders if he can find a pair of reading glasses for Apple somewhere among the dead Germans before they leave Dunkirk. They won’t need it anymore and Gus is in the mood to play.

And besides, he still has room for more booty in the pockets of his battledress.

***

The idea of an interspecies pack is ludicrous, of course, but it speaks a lot to how the British government views the shifters in their midst. A bunch of animals who can be shuffled around and put together any which way the government decides would be the most useful. Generally, families stick to themselves, species never mixing.

Especially not leopards and wolves.

Apple’s mother would scruff him in an instant if she knew what was going through his mind right now. He watches the wolf pace through the morning fog, the animal’s restless energy visible with each step. Silver and brown and black, moving back and forth with a lupine grace that Apple didn’t even think was possible. His family group, in particular, prefers to remain isolated, even among shifters. Gus is his first exposure to wolves and while he’s tried to remain unimpressed, Apple has to admit to himself that he can see a majestic sort of dignity there. It makes the cat quietly attentive, watching Gus from a distance even when it’s not necessary, just to see the confident gait of the wolf as it lopes through the morning chill, the way his body tenses as he catches a rabbit’s scent and begins to track it. He paces back toward Apple and lowers himself into a play bow, bouncing back and forth on his front paws as he gazes at him.

It's an invitation, Apple knows. For some reason, this wolf has taken a liking to him. Or at least, he’s taken a liking toward irritating Apple at every opportunity.

It’s probably a wolf thing, Apple thinks. Either way, the cat isn’t interested in playing with him. Apple moves swiftly to his feet and grabs hold of his gun, taking two long steps and climbing out of the foxhole. He gazes at Gus for a long moment with the sort of patience that only a feline can muster while Gus grows increasingly restless under his gaze, shifting from one front paw to the other, head lowering and ears perching forward. The look on Gus’s face is imploring, but Apple has never considered himself particularly suited to play. He was raised to be focused on the hunt and nothing else.

There’s a strange feeling low in Apple’s gut as he turns to walk away, leaving behind a confused and whining wolf, head tilted as it watches the cat go. Apple can’t explain why the feeling of walking away from Gus bothers him so much or why the sound of Gus’s whimpers that slowly shift into full howls seem to haunt him, but they do. Perhaps it’s because he’s never been away from his family for this long before, or perhaps it’s because shifters are tactile creatures who ground themselves in the sharing of physical and sexual touch and for Apple, well…it’s been a while.

It's been too long, Apple thinks. That must be it.

He simply needs to find a partner, someone to touch. Someone to touch him in return. Release.

But Geoffrey Appleyard is the only cat in Dunkirk, and while a human would work just as well—shifters and humans have been interbreeding for centuries—Apple isn’t in the mood to explain the intricacies of shifter life and culture to an outsider.

He’ll just have to keep biding his time, he thinks as he walks away. The Battle at Dunkirk can’t last forever. He’ll get away from this place and find someone who can satisfy his need for touch, and then he’ll be back to feeling like his old self again.

Still, Apple can hear the sound of a wolf howling in his ears long after Gus has gone silent and now that Apple is aware of his lack, all he can think about is the desperate need for contact.

***

Gus is getting irritated. They were only supposed to be at Dunkirk for a couple of weeks, that was the information he’d been given. It’s been a month now and he’s still trapped here, and the longer he’s here, the more frustrated he gets. The only time he can shift is late at night or in the earliest hours of morning, before the Germans have good enough visibility to catch sight of him. Gus isn’t used to having his wolf be so restricted, penned into such a small territory and with only a few hours of freedom. Shifters need space to roam and stretch, they need to run and hunt. Most shifters shift between their human and animal forms multiple times a day.

He tugs at the collar of his battledress, undoing the top few buttons, feeling too confined in the uniform. The feeling only gets worse when he gets sight of Apple, his only real ally in this place—the only other shifter for miles. The wolf inside him huffs in annoyance, tensing as he just catches a glimpse of the leopard as Apple prowls in the moonlight. He’s fast, Gus thinks with approval, his eyes going full wolf just to keep sight of him.

Shifters may live separately from each other, and wolves and leopards don’t inherently get along, Gus’s wolf has always been a bit of a rogue and he knows when he sees something he wants. Gus tugs another few buttons loose on his battledress, leaving his shirt and coat open midway down his chest, enjoying the cool night air against his skin as he watches Apple. He has to be feeling it too, Gus thinks. He’s been watching Apple, he knows that Apple is as isolated as he is, and unlike Gus, Apple is wound far too tight. Where Gus has staved off the worst of it by letting his wolf out, Apple is a master of restraint.

But there’s only so long you can smother the animal before it’ll fight to be let out, and there’s only so long Apple can avoid him.

Gus is Gus, however, and wolves never really do know when to leave well enough alone. He tries to track Apple’s whereabouts in the night, but his eyes can’t keep up. Apple is too sneaky, too careful about the way he moves and interacts with his surroundings. He easily disappears into the darkness. The wolf is delighted at Apple’s skill, even if it’s frustrated by not being able to visually track him. Gus will have to rely on scent alone.

Luckily, wolves are excellent scent trackers. Gus can pick Apple out on the first cool breeze, a hint of Apple interlaced with the settling of dew and the thick scent of earth. Gus moves on silent feet, tracking that scent through the darkness, out of the foxhole and pacing carefully around trenches and human soldiers, further back toward a tree line. In other circumstances, Gus would be more careful. In this darkness, in the chaos of battle, it’s not unfeasible that a German or two managed to slip behind their lines, or that somewhere there’s a sniper with a good enough line of sight here. But Gus trusts Apple’s instincts—whatever he’s doing here, Gus scents only Apple, and he knows that Apple would never shift into his leopard form if he thought it would leave him vulnerable.

It turns out that Gus successfully managed to track Apple, but not where Apple is currently prowling. Instead, he finds Apple’s uniform, neatly folded and waiting for Apple to return, creases perfect and without a speck of dirt or wrinkles. Gus can’t help but grin at how perfectly Apple that is. He’s crouching down to indulge in a lupine need to touch, to feel the roughness of the fabric against his fingertips and to inhale the scent of Apple deep into his lungs, to taste it, when it happens.

Apple springs out of the darkness and tackles Gus, rolling him into his back as Apple’s leopard stands above him, pinning him to the ground with paws on either side of his head and the leopard’s heavy body on top of Gus’s human form. From here, Gus can see the fine features of the leopard, even in the darkness, the lines and spots of its face, the delicate whiskers. His lips are rolled back in a snarl, bearing those sharp teeth as Apple growls and hisses in warning, and those green-gold eyes are fixed on Gus.

Gus could live to be a hundred, could meet a hundred leopards or more in his lifetime, and he would still be able to pick Apple out of them now, he thinks.

Magnificent.

“You’re upset, I can see that,” Gus says humorously, giving him a toothy grin. Apple snarls in response, claws digging into the dirt beside Gus’s head, but Gus isn’t bothered by it. At least, not in the way Apple is hoping, he thinks. “In my defense, I was only tracking you to have a conversation. It didn’t occur to me to try and steal your clothes until just now.”

The leopard isn’t amused, especially since it’s not a lie. No, the thought of a naked Apple is now impossible to shake, especially with the leopard on top of him, pinning him to the ground, and Gus is half-wishing that he’d had that plan to start with. It’s a wolfish thing, this need to bother Apple, to annoy him, to demand Apple’s absolute attention no matter what. Apple lets out another low growl, deep from his throat, lowering his face very near to Gus’s, so close that Gus can feel the heat of his breath on his face.

He loves it. The proximity, the danger, the weight of Apple pressing down on his chest, his groin. He feels Apple’s long, elegant tail swish angrily and the weight of Apple’s body shifts just right so that Gus can’t help himself, letting out a moan and grinding his lower body upward against the cat.

Apple growls, but it gradually eases down into something else, and Gus can see that Apple hasn’t missed his reaction. Even if Apple couldn’t scent Gus’s arousal, masculine and predatory, he can feel it underneath him, hard and ready against the cat’s heavy body, and as much as Apple clearly has more control over his cat than Gus tries to have over his wolf…as much as Gus has managed to keep that need at bay…he’s quickly losing all restraint.

“I know you feel it,” Gus says, wolf in his voice, eyes glowing silver in the darkness. From the eyes of the wolf, the cat is glorious. Regal and breathtaking. He has the overwhelming urge to claim it, to claim Apple, for himself. Only for himself. “I know you need it just as much as I do.” The green-gold eyes of a leopard glare down at him in the night and any sane person, human or shifter, would be afraid under that gaze. But Gus isn’t sane—not in this moment, and certainly not where Apple is concerned. Sexual need can make anyone go a little bit mad.

This, however…this goes much deeper than that.

Mate.

Gus has to mentally shut down the thought before it can take too deep a hold in his mind. If that’s what he wants out of Apple, and gods above, it is, he has to play this correctly. Gus the wolf has to out think Apple the cat, or the cat will never give in.

Luckily, Gus can be patient when he needs to be.

“We’re the only shifters here,” Gus continues. Notably, Apple doesn’t stop him, doesn’t shift or blink or snarl again as he stares down at Gus. “We’re the only ones who can give the other what they need.” A huff of air as Apple exhales, Gus’s sweaty curls shifting on his forehead, his face moist from Apple’s breath. “Let me give you what we both need.”

There’s a long, long moment of consideration from Apple, another swish of his tail over Gus’s legs. Those thick, sharp claws dig even further into the dirt beside Gus’s head. It feels like forever that Apple just lays on top of him, forcing him to stay still. Gus hates to stay still.

But for Apple, well…for Apple, Gus can wait. Gus can gamble. Gus can plan and bide his time. Gus will do just about anything, because Gus’s wolf has already decided what it wants and the man is in full agreement.

It happens in the blink of Gus’s eyes, a soft shifting of light, that peculiar sort of magic that no one can explain where one form shifts into another and Apple the leopard is no longer laying atop Gus. Apple the man is stretched naked above him, balanced on arms that are more well-muscled than Gus had been able to guess under the uniform. Gus can see the outlines and shapes of tattoos on his chest and arms, that normally perfect hair of his tousled and loose, lips parted as he takes long, heavy breaths, the leopard still in his eyes.

Gus has never seen a more beautiful sight in all his life.

Apple gazes down at Gus and runs his tongue over his lips. Gus can scent the arousal on him, heady and wild, sexual need with an edge of violence. Delicious.

“Just to take the edge off,” Apple reasons.

Gus grins. “Whatever you need, Apple, old boy.”

The first taste of Apple makes it clear to Gus that this won’t be a one-time thing. It can’t be. The wolf can be reckless—and getting involved with a leopard could certainly be described as such—but it’s also stubborn. So very stubborn.

Gus’s lips connect with Apple’s in a kiss so aggressive that Gus is nearly loss in an immediate overload of sensation. Apple’s tongue in his mouth, the taste of him, his naked weight pressing down on Gus, a growling moan that sinks into a purr and sets Gus’s entire body on edge. It’s exhilarating and addictive and Gus knows he’s hopelessly lost.

The real battle here is no longer for Dunkirk. It’s not even against the Germans.

The battle here is now for Apple.

Gus returns the kiss, letting his hands have free reign to explore Apple as one touch leads to another. One taste leads to another. The wolf and the cat, alone in the night, a symphony of moans and wild sounds as Gus discovers that Apple is the type to leave scratches behind.

That’s alright with Gus, though, because he’s the type who likes to bite in return.

***

The cat is sated. For now. Apple doesn’t think too much on it. Refuses to think too much on it. He can’t remember the last time he heard about a cat and a wolf fucking each other, much less about any shifters who successfully mated or otherwise made a go of it in such circumstances. No, this was strictly out of necessity and convenience. Nothing more, nothing less.

Apple’s leopard has taken to claiming this section of land, prowling it at every opportunity, which isn’t as much as the cat wants, but it’ll have to do. At least there are trees here, he thinks. Places to climb, to see from so he can survey his territory. At least there are small animals to track and hunt, creatures that haven’t quite been scared off from the sounds of war. At least the underlying need for contact is gone, set aside for now.

Apple can scent Gus on himself as he moves carefully over the landscape, eases between trees and bushes, around rocks and foxholes and trenches, without being seen by anyone. The cat should be bothered by it, but it isn’t. Perhaps, Apple thinks, it’s because of the unfamiliar territory, because they’re both so isolated from everything they know, all the people who belong to them. Isolated from their homes and their packs.

When you’ve lost all sense of direction, all sense of belonging and who you are, you’ll grasp at the slightest thing that seems familiar. Anything to hold onto that can give you a sense of stability and a taste of what you’re craving. People have done dumber things than fuck obnoxious wolves in the woods in pursuit of that, right?

Maybe, Apple thinks, but not much.

His trail of thought is quickly cut off as the leopard catches an unfamiliar scent. Gunpowder and cigarettes, mixed with something else.

A German nearby. His leopard eyes move over the landscape, trying to track the source of it and finding it closer than he expected it to be. Closer than his leopard would ever allow into his territory, mere feet away from a sleeping Gus, still snoring and naked under the shelter of a tree. The last vestiges of humanity quickly disappear from Apple, the leopard half of him taking over completely. He stalks silently toward the German and a sleeping Gus, body low to the ground, poised to attack with each new step.

The German is close to Gus, too close. He raises his gun. He’s about to fire.

He doesn’t get the chance. Apple leaps an inhuman distance and takes the German down in one move, swift and deadly, a haze of claws and teeth. The screams wake Gus from his sleep, the wolf immediately alert and pushing himself up from the ground, but the German is already taken care of underneath Apple, mauled and choking on his own blood as the leopard yowls and snarls.

Gus stands back and watches, carefully still as the leopard snarls his displeasure. His muzzle is still bloody when he turns to face Gus, green-gold eyes accusatory and full of reproach. Apple growls at him, showing him sharp, bloody teeth.

Gus is unperturbed by the display. “Good morning, Apple.”

The cat is not impressed, and he’s certainly not pleased by how relaxed Gus is or how far into Apple’s territory the German managed to get.

The instinct is a feline one, coming from the most leopard part of him, a deep animalistic need that Apple gives into without any conscious thought. He gazes up at Gus with those green-gold eyes, holding that gaze for the space of an eternity, before letting his eyes slowly drift closed into a feline blink. His body moves forward, head lowering to brush his face against Gus’s leg, dragging the length of his fur against Gus, spreading his scent there and claiming the wolf for himself.

His.

No German will ever get that close to Gus again.

At least, Apple later reasons with himself, not while they’re in Dunkirk.

***

The battle is over. Apple and Gus are leaving, off to some other battlefield in this miserable war. Their mission in Dunkirk is over, the experiment of an interspecies pack of two on the battlefield an apparent success. Their superiors need never know all the specific details of it.

Even though Gus has been replaying those details in his head every spare moment.

They’re seated next to each other in the back of a truck, on their way to be shipped back to England. Dunkirk is disappearing in the background.

Gus looks over to Apple, to the fine brown strands of his hair combed perfectly into place, the soft lines around his eyes, the scruff of his beard and mustache that could use a trim. He wonders where the war will take them next, how this story will play out for the shifters in England and those who are serving God and country to keep a Nazi hell at bay. The truth is, the wolf has claimed Apple for itself, and the cat has claimed Gus in kind, although Gus is certain that Apple doesn’t see it that way. Until Apple does, the mating bond will never be fully settled between them.

It'll only be there on the surface, a hint at what could be, what they could be together.

A wolf and a cat.

He can just hear his mother’s howls of laughter, imagine her shaking her head and saying, “Only you could go to war and come back with a cat.”

The thought makes him grin.

“By the way,” Gus says, breaking the silence between them. Apple’s sharp gaze turns to look at Gus and Gus absolutely revels in the undivided attention. “I found some glasses.” Gus reaches into a pocket and pulls out the gold-framed glasses he stole off a dead German, along with quite a few other things. Those brilliant cat eyes flicker down to them, then back up at Gus. “Thought you might need these.”

It’s a game, of course. Apple doesn’t wear glasses. Shifters have notoriously good eyesight, even as they ease into an old age that’s far longer than most human lifespans. Apple will never need glasses. That man was born perfect and will remain so until the day he dies a long, long time from now.

But Gus can’t help himself. He’s a wolf. It’s just what wolves do.

Apple watches Gus for one of those long cat moments, a minute that seems to span an eternity, before reaching out to take them from him. “Jolly thoughtful of you,” Apple replies.

The wolf in Gus is jubilant. He can’t stop grinning in triumph all the way back to England, but if it bothers Apple at all, the cat doesn’t say anything.

#henry cavill #alex pettyfer #geoffrey appleyard #gus march phillips #the ministry of ungentlemanly warfare #tmouw #alan ritchson #anders lassen #freddy alvarez #henry hayes #henry golding #hero fiennes tiffin #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill characters #alex pettyfer fanfiction

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vermillionbedfellow · 1 month

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Can we please, finally, admit to ourselves that the problem was not immigrants, or asylum seekers, or black and brown British people. It was never their fault, and historically, if we're being honest with ourselves, it never has been. The British fascist terrorists (and let's call them out for what they are, thanks) and the disgusting complicit UK press took a horrendous event and monopolised it as a means to do what they do best, sow fear and division in already petrified communities, drink cans, chuck bricks into holy buildings and rob sausage rolls from Greggs. Brave martyrs to the 'British cause' such as they are, clutching imported beers and novelty £1 cupcakes. It has been clear from the start that the terrible actions of one young black man acted as a catalyst for pogrom like behaviour from some of Britains finest advertising for corsodyl, already angry and indoctrinated crowds looking to scapegoat communities already in a vulnerable position in the fabric of this weird, very weird island.

The issue, the repeating factor in all of this violence, is men. Misogyny in the UK is killing us. It's killing our boys, destroying their lives and warping their brains into hateful, spiteful, twisted rage machines , and it's killing us. Age won't protect us. You could be six years old at a Taylor Swift dance party, eleven years old and visiting Trafalgar Square with your mum, 33 and walking home from a quiet drink with friends, in your 60s and at home with your two daughters. You could be dressed in a tutu, a raincoat, a hijab, pyjamas. You can fight back, you can comply, you can run and you can dance, but you will always be at risk of a man having so many feelings that he just might have to kill you about them. We can't help but exist in the vicinity of men, and it's becoming increasingly clear that there is very little being done to stop them from destroying us for having the audacity to be visible. Today, authorities deemed violence against women to be at epidemic levels, but ask any woman living her day to day in this country and she could have told you that years ago. It's scary out here, and it's getting worse. I bartend for a living, and at least once a day a man says something so harmful and rude and repulsively sexual that it makes my eyes sting. Mostly it's more than once a day, often it's more than words. With the insidious surge of right wing populism and their major macho bullshit talking points creeping into politics, news media and daily vernacular, I don't have real confidence for the future and for womens safety going forward. No wonder the birth rates continue to decrease in the UK, I don't want to have to raise a girl in a society that will fail to protect her, nor do I wish to raise a little boy in a society that might just turn him into a 'red pilled' knife wielding maniac.

What's more is that it's women of colour who are so much more at risk of being victims of femicide. These women are being attacked on two fronts, on the basis of their sex and on the basis of their race. We also know that crimes against women in these demographics are woefully underreported due to a lack of trust in policing institutions, with police often mishandling reports of violence when they are brought to their attention, causing further risk of harm. In London last year, 62% of the victims of femicide were black women (not that one would know that from a glance at the headlines, crimes against black women may as well be invisible to the uk media). And yet, where is the outrage over their safety from the bald headed pricks bellowing 'protect our women' and waving stolen crocs? It's almost as if only one form of compliant white woman is worthy of sympathy, but again, further than that, seeing as these brave protectors of woman have often been found to have had previous dv charges themselves, it's almost as if it was never about protecting women at all.

There is no conclusion to this post. Sometimes you just need to get thoughts out of your skull. Especially ones such as these. They make my teeth hurt. I don't have anything else to add. Just sad and apoplectic and feeling pretty powerless.

(In the tags are the names of some of the women and girls killed in the last year in this country. Just a few of them. If you have the strength to learn about their stories and honour their memories please do so, and if this isn't something you can face right now, they remain in our world even after death as long as we continue to share and speak their names, so share news articles and posts when you are able)

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izzymarksthespot · 7 months

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Another fic idea, this time fueled by boredom & horniness:

Months after whole Nassau being seized by the British incident and Izzy decidedly not dying or getting shot, the Revenge encounters the William co-capitained by none other than Anne and Marry, with the addition of CJ, who in fact did not die.

That leads to a rather happy reunion (even if Stede is less than pleased at seeing Jack again) and both ships dock at a nearby island for both crews to meddle and party it out.

Izzy, Anne & Mary sneak away with a couple bottles of rum at some point, cause they need some time alone together to catch up; soon the topic of Bonnet pops up. Here's the thing: Stede & Izzy have been casually fucking for a while now, and both women figure it out right away (the looks, the tension) - and they're super curious cause wow, Izzy with someone other than Eddie, how did that happen?

They start teasing like "Sooo... is Stede like a steed in any way? Any truth to the name?" "Hmm, he was quite a good kisser..." "Jack did mention it's not fair for a posh toff like Bonnet to be packing like that." which has Izzy all flustered, and sputtering profanities and blushing bright red.

It's also making him horny, cause yeah, sex with Stede is fantastic actually, and he did have quite a bit to drink and apparently the entire conversation was doing it for Anne&Mary too cause they start to make out, and ok, fuck it.

He leaves the women to it and starts to make it back to the party, and bumps into Stede who has been looking for him apparently and Izzy's slightly drunk mind makes the decision for him. He jumps his captain right then and there, kissing him, pawing at his clothes and ignoring Stede's scandalized (but half-hearted) protests "We're in a public space, what's gotten into you Izzy?" and Izzy who's inhibitions are rum low admits "We were talking about you. You made me like this, you twat."

It ends up with Stede fucking Izzy silly in the nearest room, fingers in his mouth to keep him quiet 👀

#once again i regret nothing #i'm a sucker for izzy/marry/anne being besties #i'm also a sucker fr stizzy but that's just my normal state #stizzy #gentlehands #izzy hands #stede bonnet #ofmd #our flag means death

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inevitably-johnlocked · 1 year

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Hi Steph!

Was wondering if you had any fics where Sherlock and Sally become friends?

Or something similar?

Hey Nonny!

Ah, I haven't read many of them, but I know of a few! The ones in my bookmarked section are the ones I remember Sally features as a friend in the fic, but aren't necessarily "Sally focussed". The MFL section has fics that are tagged with Sally, so it may or may not be what you're looking for. I know I'm missing a tonne, so if anyone has something, PLEASE add them!! We need more Donovan love! <3 Enjoy!

SALLY DONOVAN FRIENDSHIP

Realisation by Susie.Donym (K+, 957 w., 1 Ch. || Sally POV, Pre-Slash / Friendship, Humour) – It takes her a while but Sally finally makes a huge realisation.

Only Human by BlackBandit111 (K+, 2,179 w. || Tragedy, Major Character Death, Sally POV) – Sally Donovan didn't think she'd ever see Sherlock cry.

Albion and the Woodsman by Glenmore (NR [E], 54,437 w., 50 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post S3, Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst, Family, Drug Use, Depression, Sherlock POV, Light Humour, Reconnecting, Declarations of Love) – Sherlock and John are devastated after Mary Morstan makes her final moves. Sherlock relapses at the crack house, John walks around the world … and a lot happens in between. Parentlock, in the good way.

Wars We Fought, Things We're Not by blueink3 (M, 55,204 w., 10 Ch. || Post S3 / Post TAB, Parentlock, Fluff & Angst, Kidnapping, Whump, Post-TAB, UST/URT, 3G, Mild Peril, Slow Burn, Couple for a Case, Protective Mycroft, Infant Death Pre-Story, Friends to Lovers) – Five months after John's world has fallen apart, Mycroft sends the consulting detective and his doctor on a case that neither is prepared for.

The Green Blade by verityburns (T, 72,929 w., 15 Ch. || Case Fic, Bromance) – As a serial killer hits the headlines, the police are out of their depth and the next victim is out of time. With faith in Sherlock Holmes at an all time low, this is a case which will push loyalties to the limit...

Bakers with Benefits by Raina_at (E, 88,130 w., 14 Ch. || Great British Bake Off AU || Strangers to Lovers, Switchlock, Friends with Benefits, Mentions of Alcoholism / Past Drug Use, Banter, Flirting, Fluff, Light Angst, Semi-Public Sex, Past Sherlock/Victor, Mutual Pining, POV Sherlock, Obsessive Sherlock, John’s Bum) – Sherlock Holmes has a successful YouTube baking channel, but what he really wants is his own bakery. When an old friend sends him a call for the very first Great British Bake Off, he seizes the opportunity to finally win a sponsor for his bakery. Here's the plan: Win Bake Off, get the bakery, don't fall in love with the handsome Army doctor at the neighbouring station. Easy.

A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada & ShinySherlock (E, 125,492 w., 23 Ch. || Historical Pirates AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Doctor John / Pirate Captain Sherlock, Sailing, UST / RST, Masturbation, Action / Adventure, Mild Angst & Peril, Romance, Shaving, Molly/Janine, Bottomlock, Hand / Blow Jobs, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Mild Violence, Facial Shaving, Happy Ending) – Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship's surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there's more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin' the eye, he has to choose... is it a pirate's life for him?

Performance In a Leading Role by Mad_Lori (E, 156,714 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE|| Hollywood / Actor AU, Secret Relationship, Falling in Love, Slow Burn, Romance, Coming Out, Fluff and Angst, Pining) – Sherlock Holmes is an Oscar winner in the midst of a career slump. John Watson is an Everyman actor trapped in the rom-com ghetto. When they are cast as a gay couple in a new independent drama, will they surprise each other? Will their on-screen romance make its way into the real world? Part 1 of Performance in a Leading Role

MARKED FOR LATER

How Was The Vacation, Freak?! by for_the_love_of_wolves (G, 1,405 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF, POV Sally) – Sally Donovan experiences something which changes her attitude to Sherlock radically.

Cigs & Civility by afteriwake (T, 1,462 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TSo3, Missing Scene, Flashbacks, Cigarettes, POV Sally, Apologies, Making Up, Friendship) – The day Sally gets her promotion to Detective Inspector, she and Sherlock have their first entirely civil conversation in the entire time they’ve known each other.

Like a Normal Person by OldToadWoman (T, 2,576 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Angst, Fluff) – John Watson is getting married. Sherlock Holmes is getting drunk. Sally Donovan is getting a headache. A bit of fluff where Sherlock and Sally are almost, but not quite, friends at least until they sober up.

ESC: Trapped by HonestCannibal (T, 3,273 w., 1 Ch. || Claustrophobia, Friendship, Panic Attacks, Anxiety) – Sally Donovan hates small spaces and has a fear of the dark, and it is so unbelievably likely for her to end up getting trapped with Sherlock Holmes in these exact conditions.

The Trajectory of a Falling Star by Queerasil (G, 5,092 w., 11 Ch. || Post S3, BAMF Sally, Case Fics, Drugs, Torture, Snuff Films, Depression, Friendship, Sherlock Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Nice Anderson and Sally, Withdrawal) – Sherlock is a bit not good. Sally notices, investigates, and decides to help.

The Contingency Plan by mightypog (G, 5,844 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF, BAMF John, Autistic Sherlock, Friendship, Angst) – When Sally and Greg prevent Sherlock from committing suicide when he thinks John has been killed, Sherlock and Sally reconsider each other.

Feel My Heart Banging Like a Gun by thetimemoves (M, 7,166 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4, Clubbing, Drinking, For a Case, Sentimental Sherlock, Amused John, Awesome Sally, Drunken Kissing, Groping, Confessions) – The clothes are tight, the music is loud, and the drinks are endless. It's for a case, really. And then it isn't. And then everything changes.

Dance With Me by Silvergirl (E, 24,813 w., 12 Ch. || Post TEH, Dancing, Met Charity Gala, Sally/Sherlock Friendship, No Mary, Fluff) – Sherlock rescues Sally Donovan, and in turn she tries to help him get John to stop faffing about and get on with Johnlock.

The Case of the Dress Up Murders by darkphoenixreal (E, 32,574 w., 5 Ch. || Canon Divergence, Rape Recovery/Aftermath, Torture, Rape/Non-Con, Underage/Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Kidnapped Sherlock, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Past Drug Abuse, Forced Feminization, Forced Crossdressing, Gender Confusion, Emotional/Psychological Abuse) – Lestrade's team is working a case involving a serial rapist/murderer that targets adolescent boys. Sherlock, of course, is on the case. He is brought in on the third crime scene much to Donavan and Anderson's annoyance. As he's leaving alone, he and Sally are shot with some sort of dart and disappear. Sherlock finds himself locked up in a basement with Sally, drugged on opiates. Sally, though, is clearheaded. Soon, their captor reveals himself to be the man they are already hunting. Confused, he informs Sherlock that he targets those who have a past of sexual abuse as children, and that according to a certain consulting criminal, Sherlock fits his requirements of that and being "unspoiled" since. He uses Sally as Leverage to get a very high Sherlock to cooperate as he reveals what he has planned, to dress Sherlock as he had the others he's murdered, and have a nice tea party. Sally manages to escape, only to be recaptured and both are moved. Now, Lestrade and team have to deal with uncovering the secrets of Sherlock's past, and trying to find him before his captor tires of him and kills him like he has killed his other

Saccharomyces cerevisiae (Baker's Yeast) by yaycoffee (E, 60,879 w., 13 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Unplanned Pregnancy / One Night Stand, Drunken Sex, First Kiss/Time, Bit of Case Fic, Sally/Sherlock Drunk Sex First Ch.) – Sometimes, one makes an imprudent decision born of a devastating combination of drink and sentiment. Sometimes, the consequences of that decision take on a life of their own. And sometimes, the facing of those consequences shapes every aspect of one's life--from the hugely meaningful down to the seemingly insignificant. Part 1 of the Knows His Own series

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #sally donovan fics #my fic recs #friendship fics

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