#the hound one shot

[nahoney22]

Congratulations on the followers!

Can I please request a fluffy enemies to lovers with a clone of your choice with the prompt “Did you just call me cute?”

Would love to see any! Female reader if possible. Thanks! 💓

Up Close and Personal 🌊

🫧 Pairings: Commander Fox X Female!Reader

word count: 3.9k

prompt:

• “Did just call me cute?”

Plot: When you accidentally let slip you thought Fox was cute, he grows curious and wonders if you still think the same under the helmet.

Warnings: Safe for work, grumpy/sunshine trope, teasing, awkward moments, flirting, kissing, mutual pining, accidental confessions.

You’ve been working alongside the Coruscant Guard for a while now, handling everything from delivering reports to managing routine tasks that help keep the operation running smoothly. Most of the clones greet you with a warm smile and friendly chatter when you drop by.

You were cheerful and always had a smile on your face, nothing ever seeming to phase you.

But when it comes to Commander Fox, he doesn’t seem to match your enthusiasm. Where others find a moment to chat or joke around, Fox’s response is always the same: curt and dismissive.

You remember one time when you entered the office, probably a fortnight ago, laughing with Thire and Stone as you handed them their files. “You’re a lifesaver,” Thire had said with a sigh of relief and grin after his had miraculously gone missing. You of course always had extra, just in case.

Stone chuckled and added, “You’re the only reason we stay organised.”

Before you could reply, however, Fox cut in. His tone like durasteel. “Can you just leave the files and go? Some of us are trying to work.” He hadn’t even looked up, but the chill in his voice was unmistakable. You forced a smile, and rolled your eyes at his attitude when you left the office that day. It didn’t bother you as you were used to his moods but you couldn’t help wondering what it would take to get past that fickle exterior.

And despite his attitude, you had noticed Fox’s subtle care for his brothers; something you found rather endearing. You’ve caught him running silent armour checks, making sure everyone’s gear is spotless and in perfect order. Of course, it’s not about vanity but simply about keeping his men safe.

It’s those types of moments that make you think there’s more to him beneath the mask. Or helmet in this case.

Today, you decide to do something different. Rumors have been swirling that the Guard’s workload has been overwhelming lately. Crime in the lower levels is on the rise, and the boys are sadly running themselves ragged. So, you arrive at their station with a special treat: caf orders, each customised exactly how you know they like it.

You start with Commander Thire, who breaks into a grin as you hand him his cup. “You’re too good to us,” he says, taking a sip. “Thanks.”

Next is Stone, who raises an eyebrow in surprise. “Didn’t expect this today,” he says, taking the steaming cup. “But I’m not complaining.” He shoots you a wink. “You really know how to keep morale up.”

Sergeant Hound, busy tinkering with his gear with Grizzer snoozing at his feet looks up with a smile when you hand him his drink. “You actually remembered mine,” he says, sounding almost impressed. He takes a long sip before giving you a small nod. “Cheers. Really needed this.”

Finally, you approach Fox. He’s leaning back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, watching you carefully through his visor. “I’ll assume you didn’t get me anything,” he says, voice as flat as ever.

You fight back a smirk and meet his gaze behind the visor. “You assume wrong, Commander.” You slide the cup across his desk. It’s strong, with a hint of sweetness—your best guess based on what you’ve observed. Alongside it, you place a small sweet treat and the stack of data devices you’ve been carrying. Oh, and you also could help but draw a small smiley face on the lid to his cup.

Fox doesn’t touch the drink. Instead, he gives a sharp nod. “Just leave it and go.”

You swallow your disappointment, trying to keep your smile from faltering. “Of course, sir.” You turn to leave, the brief flash of hurt lingering despite your best efforts to shrug it off. Huh, maybe it did get to you.

As you exit, you catch a glimpse of Thire, Stone, and Hound exchanging looks before Thire’s voice cuts through the room. “You know, Fox, a ‘thank you’ wouldn’t kill you.”

Fox remains silent, but you don’t stay long enough to see or hear his reaction. The door closes behind you, and you let out a quiet sigh.

Moments later, you hear quick footsteps behind you. “Hey, wait up!”

You turn to see Thire jogging to catch up. “Don’t take it personally,” he says, offering a sympathetic smile. “Fox is… well, Fox. If he didn’t like you at least a little, he wouldn’t let you stick around.”

You laugh softly, though the sting hasn’t fully faded. “Doesn’t feel like it sometimes. I know he’s under a lot of stress, but still…”

Thire nods, understanding in his eyes. “He’s got a funny way of showing appreciation. But trust me, we all see what you do for us, even if he doesn’t say it. You’re a bright spot in this whole mess.”

Your smile this time is more genuine, though still a bit weak. “Thanks, Thire. I just wish I could get through to him, you know?”

“Give it time,” Thire says, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “He’ll come around. Until then, we’ve got your back.”

A few days later, you arrive with—surprise, surprise—yet another stack of files. You expect to find the usual group in the office, and sure enough, Thire, Stone, and Hound are all at their stations, busy with their tasks. But there’s one notable absence: Commander Fox. You glance around, scanning the room in curiosity.

Before you can ask, Stone notices the way you’re searching and smirks. “Looking for someone?”

Your cheeks warm slightly, realising you’ve been caught. “Nope,” you reply, a little too quickly. “Just… making sure I don’t miss anyone.”

Thire chimes in, an amused glint in his eye. “Sure, that’s what you’re doing.”

You roll your eyes playfully, trying to play it off. “Honestly, you guys are worse than all those gossiping cadets and shinies.”

“Did Fox ever apologise for the other day?” Hound asks as you stand nearby, shifting through some flimsi. His question surprised you a little since you hadn’t truly thought about it until now. But, you shake your head with a dismissive wave. “Nah, but it’s fine. I’m used to him being a grump. Besides,” you add with a smile, “you lot make it worth coming around.”

But then Stone started to dig a little deeper as he leans back in his chair. “Did you think about what Thire said? About Fox not minding you hanging around?”

You bite your lip, remembering Thire’s words all too well. Now that did have you wondering for most of that night. For someone who always wanted you to go, he never actually told you to fully leave.

“Yeah, actually. It got me thinking… maybe he’s not as bothered by me as he pretends.” You pause, considering your next question. “Hey, have any of you actually seen him without his helmet?”

The three of them exchange glances before Thire nods, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. “How do you think he downed that caf you brought him the other day?”

You lean back against the wall, arms crossed as you think it over but also a little smug knowing that Fox clearly liked your drink choice for him. “I always wondered what he looks like under there. Maybe he’s got some cool tattoos, or, like, bright red hair or something; to match the gear.”

Stone shrugs, pretending to be nonchalant. “Could do. But we’re not spilling anything.”

You narrow your eyes at them playfully, but before you can push further, you find yourself blurting out, “I mean, I bet he’s kinda cute.”

There’s a beat of silence before all three of them break into laughter. Hound gives you a teasing nudge. “So, you’ve got a crush on the boss now, huh?”

You wave them off, feeling your face flush. “No, I mean—well, no, yes, kinda? I don’t know!” You fumble with your words, realising you’ve put yourself in an awkward spot. You wouldn’t say it was much of a crush but you did admire him.

“It’s not like that. He’s just interesting, I guess. Annoying, but in a weird way, it’s kind of… cute?”

The boys exchange amused glances, and you’re about to defend yourself further when you notice all of their gazes suddenly lock onto something—or someone—behind you. The laughter dies down, and your stomach drops.

Before you can even turn around, a deep voice rumbles from directly behind you. “Did you just call me cute?”

You freeze, feeling your blood run cold. Slowly, you turn to face Fox, who’s standing there with his arms crossed, his helmeted visor trained directly on you. You can’t tell what expression he’s wearing underneath, but the deadpan delivery of his question makes you want to disappear into the nearest ventilation system.

“I—uh…” you stammer, utterly at a loss. “Well, you see—”

Thire, Stone, and Hound are barely holding in their snickers, clearly enjoying your discomfort. Fox’s posture remains unyielding as he waits for you to say something. Anything.

You finally manage a weak shrug. “I mean sure, why not?”

For a long moment, there’s nothing but silence, and you’re certain you’ll never live this down. But then, just when you think it couldn’t get worse, Fox turns his helmet slightly as if considering your words. “Interesting,” is all he says before he strides past you, not giving anything away.

The room erupts in laughter as soon as he’s out of earshot, leaving you standing there, cheeks burning, as Thire claps you on the back. “Well, if that’s not a confession, I don’t know what is.”

“I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”

Stone grins. “Nope. But hey, at least now you’ve got him wondering.”

You playfully slap Stone’s arm with the thick stack of flimsi you were holding. “You’re impossible, you know that?” you tease, but there’s a grin on your face despite your embarrassment.

Stone just chuckles, dodging away from your reach. “You make it too easy, kid.”

Shaking your head, you wave the guys off. “Okay, I’m leaving before I say anything else stupid. You’ll just have to survive without me for a bit.”

As you walk away, you can still hear their laughter, and although your cheeks are still warm, you can’t help but smile.

Over the next week or two, you notice that Fox isn’t in his office as much. You’re not one to pry, but eventually, Thire lets it slip that it’s the Supreme Chancellor who’s been keeping him busy, not the fact that he might be avoiding you. “He’s been running all over the place on Palpatine’s orders,” Thire had said. “Trust me, it’s not about feeling awkward with you around.”

You nod, but you can’t help the nagging thoughts that linger. Still, you push them aside, deciding it’s better not to dwell on it.

One afternoon, you arrive at the office, balancing a tray with the usual caf orders and some sweet treats. It’s become a bit of a weekly ritual now, something the guys seem to look forward to. But today, when you step inside, the office is eerily quiet—no Thire, no Stone, no Hound. And non-surprisingly, no Fox.

You frown, setting the tray down on the nearest desk. “Hello?” you call out, but the only response is the hum of the overhead lights.

Shrugging, you decide to leave everything on their desks for when they return. You place each clone’s drink down, making sure their reports are organised alongside them.

When you reach Fox’s desk, you pause. It’s a bit messier than usual, the clutter showing signs of someone who’s been overworked and stretched thin. Your brows furrow in concern as you instinctively start tidying up, sorting the files and stacking the more urgent ones on top.

As you organise his drawers, you’re about to close one when something catches your eye. An empty caf cup, tucked away almost like it’s been hidden. You pull it out and recognise it immediately—it’s the cup you gave Fox the other week, the one with the little smiley face you drew on the lid. Your heart skips a beat. He kept it.

For a moment, all you can do is stare at the cup, a small, unexpected warmth blooming in your chest. Maybe there’s more to his gruff exterior than you first thought. Maybe he does have a soft spot for you, even if he won’t admit it.

“Can I help you?”

You jump, nearly dropping the cup as you whirl around to face the door. There stands Fox, his arms tucked behind his back, his gaze unreadable behind his helmet.

“Fox—Commander!” you stammer, hastily shoving the cup back into the drawer and closing it. “I was just… fixing things.” Your voice trails off as you awkwardly step away from his desk, suddenly finding it difficult to meet his gaze.

He takes a slow, deliberate step forward, and you feel your pulse quicken. “I’ve been meaning to speak to you.”

“Oh! Sure, of course!” You’re flustered now, your mind racing. “Is it about the reports? Or maybe the supply request? Or—”

“No.”

You clamp your mouth shut, cheeks burning as you mentally curse yourself for rambling. You stand there in silence, waiting for him to continue, while he circles around you with the careful precision of someone used to keeping others off balance. His presence is commanding (oh the irony), making the room feel smaller as he closes the distance between you.

“I had overheard something the other day,” he says, his voice low, almost conversational. “You were wondering what I looked like. Wondering if I had tattoos, colorful hair…” He trails off, his tone giving nothing away.

“I—uh—well, I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just curious, you know? I hope you didn’t take offense, Commander. It wasn’t—”

He stops in front of you, so close now that you can see your own reflection in the dark visor of his helmet as you crane your neck to look at him. “Why not?” he asks, cutting off your nervous rambling. “Do you not want to know if I’m ‘cute’ or not?”

The words hang in the air between you, and you feel your breath catch in your throat. His tone isn’t mocking, but there’s a subtle challenge in his voice, as if daring you to admit something you haven’t even fully acknowledged to yourself.

You try to swallow the lump in your throat, searching for a response. “I—I mean… maybe?”

His head tilts slightly, as if studying you. “You know, I rarely remove my helmet. It’s part of who I am, part of the uniform. Most people never see what’s underneath.”

“I get it,” you say quickly, eager to reassure him. “It’s not like I need to know. You’re still you, helmet or not.”

But as you speak, he moves closer, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. “And yet, you’re curious.”

Your gaze flicks up to meet his visor, the tension thick enough to cut through. “Maybe a little,” you admit, barely above a whisper.

You think he’s about it leave, a small stagger in his step. But instead of stepping back as you expect, he reaches up and, with a slow and deliberate motion, removes his helmet.

Your breath catches in your throat. You were expecting him to look like the other clones but nothing prepared you for this.

His hair, salt and peppered with a few streaks of silver, is slightly messy but still shows a hint of soft curls. Framing his face in a way that’s both rugged and refined. But it’s his eyes that catch your immediate attention.

A deep, rich brown, just like his brothers but darkened by exhaustion. Yet somehow still smolder with an intensity that makes your heart stop. They’re striking, alive with an alluring warmth that makes it hard to look away.

You’re utterly speechless, barely registering that your mouth has gone dry. He’s not just cute; he’s absolutely gorgeous. His lips curve into a knowing smirk as he tilts his head at you, clearly gauging your reaction.

“So, tell me…” he drawls, his tone soft and low as he notices your gaze drifting to his lips, “how ‘cute’ am I?”

Your mouth opens, but the words you want to say get stuck somewhere in your throat. You feel a sudden heat rising to your cheeks and creeping down your neck, making you feel warm under the collar. For months, you had wondered what it would be like to be this close to him, to hear his voice without the filter of that helmet, to feel his presence in an almost tangible way. Now, with his breath fanning your face, it’s almost overwhelming.

“You’re… you’re…” You struggle to find the right words, but everything comes out in stutters as your brain short-circuits under the intensity of his gaze.

Fox leans in closer, his eyes never leaving yours, his lips still curved in that teasing smirk. “Mhmm? I’m what?” There’s a playful and teasing lilt in his voice as he inches nearer, clearly enjoying how flustered you’ve become.

Before you know it, you’ve backed up until you’re nearly pressed against the edge of his desk; close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him, and it’s impossible to think straight. Your pulse feels like it’s pounding in your ears. Especially as he leans in even further, the distance between you shrinking until it’s nearly nonexistent.

His breath is warm against your skin as he adds, “Come on, I’m waiting. You were so curious before. For someone so chatty, you have gone awfully quiet. Why’s that?”

Your mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, but the only thing you can focus on is how close he is, how those deep brown eyes are watching your every reaction, and how his lips look infuriatingly soft. Finally, you manage to stammer out a broken, barely coherent, “You’re… more than cute.”

Fox chuckles as he straightens slightly, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Good answer.”

You let out a nervous chuckle, brushing a hand through your hair, thinking this is the end of it. But he barely budges before asking, “Do you want to know what I think about you?”

Breath shaky, you avoid his eyes. “Let me guess… annoying… too talkative…”

“Distracting,” he cuts you off.

Before you can respond, his hands lift, gently cupping your face. You’re caught off guard as his thumbs brush tenderly over your cheeks. A soft gasp escapes your lips at the unexpected warmth of his touch, your eyes fluttering closed as you lean into it. His presence is all-consuming, his closeness dizzying as his nose lightly brushes against yours, sending sparks dancing down your spine.

His voice is low, rich with a sincerity that makes your heart race even faster. “I find you distracting. Beautiful and distracting.”

Before you can fully process his words, his lips capture yours in a kiss that’s impossibly gentle and utterly intoxicating.

It’s slow and unhurried, his lips moving against yours in a way that feels both tender and deliberate. Your eyes widen in surprise at first, hands raised but unsure where to place them.

Fox was kissing you. the Commander Fox was kissing you. You didn’t even know what this meant fully. Had he been harbouring feelings for you after all this time?

The initial shock soon melts away, your body relaxing into the kiss as your arms instinctively wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. The feeling of the warmth of his mouth on yours, the soft press of his lips sending a sweet sent an addictive thrill through your veins. He’s steady and confident, guiding the kiss with a gentleness.

His hands remain on your face, anchoring you to the moment until one slides back to cradle the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair that makes you gasp against his lips.

You can’t help but chase after his lips, the slow and tender rhythm of the kiss drawing you in deeper. He’s all you can think about—the taste of him, the feel of him, the way he’s holding you as though you’re something precious.

Fox finally pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting gently against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the small space between you. His eyes, those deep, mesmerising brown orbs, search yours as if he’s looking for something—confirmation, maybe, or understanding. You’re not sure, but whatever he sees in your gaze seems to settle something inside him.

His thumb sweeps over your cheek again, a soft, almost absent-minded caress as he holds you there, still so close. “You have no idea how distracting you are,” he murmurs, his voice hushed.

You’re left breathless, your heart racing in your chest as you blink up at him, dazed by it all. “You… you kissed me,” you whisper, your body still flushed against his as you try to piece things together.

“I did,” he replies softly, his hands now moving to rest on your waist, grounding you in the moment. “Is it okay that I did?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess it’s just… I thought you didn’t like me.” You pull back slightly, leaning against the desk this time. He looks down at you, his gaze unexpectedly soft.

“I’ll admit I haven’t been the kindest to you,” he says, a touch of regret in his tone. “The lads gave me an earful the other day.”

“So, was it a guilt kind of kiss or…?” you mumble, sincerely hoping it wasn’t.

Fox’s eyes widen slightly, and he quickly shakes his head. “No, it’s nothing like that,” he exclaims, his voice firm but gentle. “I’m not great at showing how I feel, and hearing you call me ‘cute’… it pushed me in the right direction. Made me realise I couldn’t keep pretending I didn’t care.”

His sincerity catches you off guard. “Oh,” you say, your voice small but relieved.

He offers you a small smile, the kind that’s rare for him, and it makes your heart skip a beat. “So, would you consider going for drinks with me tonight?” he asks, his tone hopeful but tinged with the same guardedness that’s always been there.

The hesitation in his voice makes you understand how much this moment means to him, and you can’t help but smile back with a genuine, warm smile. “Yeah, I’d like that,” you reply softly.

Fox’s shoulders visibly relax, the tension you hadn’t even noticed finally easing as he nods. “Good,” he says, his voice low and a little rough around the edges. But there’s a warmth there now, something new that you hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing before. “I, uh, have to get back to the Chancellor. I knew the others wouldn’t be here today, and I know your routine, so I figured I’d have time to speak to you before heading back.”

You raise an eyebrow in surprise. “So, you’re not supposed to be here?”

“No, I’m not,” he admits with a somewhat sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “I may or may not have told the Chancellor I had an important matter to tend to.”

You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you did that.”

Fox joins in with a chuckle, the sound rich and surprisingly pleasant, before he takes a final step toward you and presses a soft kiss to your cheek. “It was worth it,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

Your heart skips a beat as he pulls back, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment longer. “I’ll see you tonight?” he asks, a hint of uncertainty in his tone.

“Definitely.”

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[norringtondeservestheworld]

"All my life men like you have sneered at me, and all my life I've been knocking men like you into the dust."

[author-morgan]

Title: A Dove and a Hound Rating: T Pairing: Sandor Clegane x fem!Reader Summary: A little dove with broken wings must save her wounded Hound. Or in which Sandor Clegane finds something sweeter than killing. Word count: ~3.7k Warnings: Injury/blood and typical Westerosi shenanigans.

ARYA STARK LOOKS at the bleak landscape around where they had made camp for the night in the northern Riverlands—almost in the Vale. It’s all craggy with sharp boulders and high patches of land, and hardly any trees. The names roll off her tongue as they do every night. The Mountain, The Hound, Cersei, Illyn Payne, Meryn Trant...she doesn’t make it to the next name after hearing the scraping of boots on rock nearby. Quiet as a shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Syrio Forel’s words are burnt into her memory. 

"What’re you going on about now, girl?" The rasp of the Hound's voice makes her jump, and she curses him, looking up at the night sky, watching for shadows when she hears the soft noise again.

“We’re being watched,” she tells him, turning on her bedroll to face the Hound, her hand resting on the hilt of Needle.

His laugh cuts through the air—a rough sound that hurts her ears in a strange way. A man like the Hound should never laugh. "Here, in the middle of fucking nowhere?" His scarred face looks all the more hideous with the light of the fire licking at his skin. "Finish your little list, girl, then go the fuck to sleep." Arya frowns and looks around again at the land but sees nothing but boulders and empty plains, but she knows someone is out there. 

Sandor Clegane won’t admit it, but the Stark girl’s warning is the reason he stays up for over half the night. Then, when he’s certain Arya is asleep, he rises from his bedroll and unsheathes his sword, setting off to search between boulders and in the shadows cast by their dwindling campfire. But there’s nothing there. The Hound moves to return to his bedroll, but that’s when he hears quiet cursing and soft crying. And then he finds a woman huddled between two rocks, trying to nurse an injured leg. 

You see the hulking shadow approach too late to muffle your grunts and groans of pain. “Come any closer and I’ll put a fucking arrow through your eye!” You shout. But Sandor Clegane can see the bow in your hand is broken, even if you try to hold the two wooden pieces together to make it seem whole. Then he sees the broken arrow shaft sticking out of your swollen calf, too—the reason for your caterwauling. 

“With a broken bow and the only arrow you got stuck in your leg?” The Hound asks, laughing. “Pay a couple of hundred silver stags to see that done.” Sandor drives his sword into the dirt and awkwardly kneels near you, looking over the wound. He can feel your eyes on him, gaze nigh burning. But the soft white light of the moon softens the sight of his half-burned face. He looks familiar. Like you’ve seen him in passing somewhere—or maybe on the parchments nailed outside taverns noting bounties and the enemies of the Crown. 

You swallow the knot in your throat and look up at him—you might not be able to place who he is, but you know he’s dangerous, a killer. “Well, go on,” you snap, tears stinging in your eyes. “Kill me and get it over with.”

The Hound recoils as though stung by the words—he knows he’s put a lot of people in the ground, but for some damn reason, he can’t stomach the thought of landing the mercy blow now. You close your eyes and wait—no longer fearing death or pain. But the cold bite of steel never comes. Instead, Sandor Clegane lifts you into his burly arms and heads back toward the dying campfire.

Arya’s surprised when the Hound returns and lets you down to rest against the boulder nearest the fire. The girl’s quick on her feet, bringing a half-filled skin of water, and you greedily drink. "Think I'll end up losing it?" You ask the girl—wiping your mouth with a torn sleeve—a glint of humor shining through as you pat your thigh, ignoring the sharp jolt of pain that shoots down to your calf and makes your toes curl. 

“If you’ve gone this long” —Sandor crouches down and looks closer at your injury— “it’ll take more than an arrow to kill you,” he says. It earns him a dry and humorless laugh with a surprising grimness. Given enough time, he thinks he could come to enjoy the company, but right now, he and Arya Stark are already pressed for time, luck, and coin. Neither of them needs the liability of an injured woman—another mouth to feed—on the path to the Eyrie. Be best to leave her come the morning, he thinks, but now that he’s brought you back here, he knows the Stark girl won’t let that happen.

“May I have your name, good ser?” You finally ask—it only seemed proper to know the name of your white knight.  

Sandor Clegane looks at you, and the firelight paints the tangled and twisted mass of scars on his face red—pocking the flesh with craters and cracks. “Not a fucking knight,” he bites back.

And then you can piece everything together—his brute size, the burned half of his face, the posters scattered around the Riverlands. The rumors people whispered are true then, you think. Joffrey’s dog tucked tail and ran while the Blackwater burned. “You’re The Hound.” He grunts. You glance at the girl staring down at you with wide ice-grey eyes. If he’s the Hound then... “You’re Arya Stark.” The girl nods.

The silence that grows between the three of you is heavy and tense. You shift and grimace again. Then your gaze flits back over to the Hound. “Well, are you going to help me get this arrow out my fucking leg or not?” You ask, not understanding why he hauled you back here if he didn’t mean to do something about your current state. “'Cause if you aren’t, I’d sooner you cut the damn thing off or put me out of my misery.”

Sandor moves to you after that and cuts away the fabric of your britches from the arrow, then calls Arya over to set his dagger in the flames—unwilling to go closer. She does as he says, pushing the blade into the hot coals, but then Arya Stark leaps to her feet when she sees Sandor’s hand grip the shaft of the arrow—like he means to tear it from flesh. She knocks his hand away then pushes back on his shoulder, almost hard enough to knock him off balance from where he sits on his haunches. 

“We can’t just pull it out!” She tells the Hound like it should be obvious. But he’s not the one who grew up with a maester in Winterfell or spent time reading any books.  

“Then how you gone get it out, girl?” He asks, gruff and impatient. You glance between the odd pair, wondering how they haven’t killed one another by now. Arya crouches down and prods the swollen and bloody flesh, then without warning, she grips the arrow shaft and breaks off the fletching. Seven hells, you think, biting down on the inside of your cheek to keep a wail of pain at bay, I am going to lose my leg. 

“Push it through,” Arya says, remembering the time she watched Maester Luwin remove an arrow from a hunter's shoulder. The Hound grunts and draws a second, smaller dagger, starting to whittle away at the splintered end of the broken arrow shaft. 

Arya goes to fetch more water and brings back a cloth with her before settling down to watch with wide, curious eyes. Blood starts to seep down your calf around the entry and exit of the arrow shaft from being handled so roughly. Satisfied with his woodwork, the Hound steadies your leg against his trunk and starts to pull on the iron-forged arrowhead. 

You grit your teeth together, fingers digging into the soft earth below, as he begins to ease the wooden shaft through gently and quickly as he can. Arya watches your face twist in pain, but somehow, you don’t cry out. It feels like an eternity. Sandor sets the arrow aside and takes the waterskin from the Stark girl, dumping the cool water over your leg to wash away the blood—there’s a cool but welcome sting.

Sandor tosses the empty skin back to Arya. "More water, girl,” he rasps. 

“Bring wine too,” you insist, and the Hound howls with laughter.

“Seven hells,” Arya remarks. You’re just like him. The girl heads off, then comes back with more water and looks at the open wound on your leg with a scrunched-up nose. 

“Needs to be sealed with fire,” Sandor says, sitting back on his haunches, that’s why he already had Arya put a dagger into the flames. They don’t have salves and ointments and teas and brews to keep infection at bay, and despite his fear and hatred of the fire, he knows it’s the best way to clean and seal a wound like this.

“I’ll do it,” Arya offers. Her hands are steady, and the fire and heat don’t bother her like it does the Hound. He nods, and the girl goes to fetch the hot knife. They give you a strip of leather to bite down on, and then the Hound looks away when the girl presses the flat of the blade against your flesh—you do scream then. He knows that pain—that scream—and the putrid scent of burning flesh that jumps into the air. Black dots and white stars dance around in your vision. It hurts worse the second time. But you fight through it. 

Your gaze settles on Arya after a while, struggling to stay awake. “Where are you taking her?” You ask, eyes flitting to Sandor Clegane. The two are an odd traveling party that much is certain—a Hound and a wolf—made even stranger by your sudden arrival. 

“The Vale,” he tells you, “she has an aunt there.” You hadn’t expected a man with his reputation to do something so kind, not even if heavy coin purses were offered as rewards. A hush falls over you, but then the Hound rises and picks up a threadbare blanket from his bedroll. He drapes it over your shoulders, not ungently. “Best get some rest,” he says. “It’ll hurt worse tomorrow.”

THE DAYS ARE both quick and slow to pass, and soon, you’ve lost track of the time since meeting Arya Stark and the Hound—it could have been a few weeks or maybe months. But since that fateful night, your wounds have healed cleanly, and the only reminders of them are a fading scar and the limp in your stride after long days or over strenuous terrain. You remember the first time you insisted on walking instead of riding Stranger—a great black, unruly destrier. When you slowed, Sandor Clegane slung you over his shoulder like a sack of flour before depositing you back on the horse and complaining about the slow pace. Arya Stark was particularly amused by it all. 

Disappointment is all that awaits you all at the Bloody Gate of the Vale. Lysa Arryn is dead, and her young son and named protector, Petyr Baelish, will not accept visitors—not even one of Lysa’s own kin. So at the point of arrowheads and tips of steel blades, the Hound turns back, and you and Arya follow, trekking through the Vale and back to the Riverlands, unsure of what to do and where to go. Arya says they should go north, to the Wall—she has a brother in the Night’s Watch—or across the Narrow Sea.

There’s a small village not far, and you take a handful of silver stags and copper stars in hopes of replenishing your stock of ointments and bandages—especially with the now festering wound on Sandor’s neck, a nasty bite from a rogue—and maybe a decent bottle of wine or ale too. But by the time the sun is beginning to set and you return to Sandor and Arya, they’re not to be found. 

The campsite is empty. The fire still burning. The bedrolls laid out for the coming evening. You look around the craggy landscape, feeling panic seize your heart and stomach—mind racing. “Arya!” You shout, but there is no response from the girl. “Sandor!” And again, there is nothing but silence.

If not for the fading evening sun glinting off tarnished pieces of silver armor, you think you might not have found him. You stumble over to him, kneeling at his side, fearing the worst. But his chest still rises and falls, and he starts when you touch his cheek, hand wrapping around your wrist, leaving a thick smearing of blood. 

There’s something in your eyes, not pity, but he’s not seen that look before —almost doesn’t want to think of what it could be, could mean. Sandor’s grip goes slack, and he grimaces, each breath a ragged rasp. You look over his mangled shoulder, the bruises and scrapes on his face, the muscle-deep cuts on his palm, and his lame leg. These wounds are beyond your skills, and there are not like to be any travelers on this path for days.

The Hound tugs free a dagger from his belt and places it in your hand. "Go on,” he rasps, nodding toward the knife, resigned to his new fate. “Get on with it." The Stark girl wouldn’t put him out of his misery for the hatred she still bore toward him, but maybe you would. 

Your fingers curl around the hilt of the blade, grip tightening, but frozen in place—unwilling and unable to move. "I can't," you breathe, fervidly shaking your head. I won’t. He curses you when you drive the blade into the hard earth and not his heart. Sandor Clegane saved you from certain death, and now you’ve a chance to return the favor.

You wet a strip of cloth and dab it over his bloodied face until he turns his head to look at you. "If you think I'm some wounded pup you can redeem, you're stupider than I thought, woman,” he snarls like an aggrieved dog. 

But you don’t pay any mind to his hateful words. “Be still,” you chide, gently, going to collect the pack of supplies from Stranger’s saddle. The Dornish strongwine eases the pain, and he lets you clean the rest of the cuts and bruises to the best of your abilities —his broken leg, though. You aren’t sure what to do, but you know if something isn’t done soon, Sandor Clegane won’t be using that leg again in this lifetime. You lose track of how many times you have to wander down to the nearby stream. All you know is the limp in your step has come back. By nightfall, the wine and pain claim him, and you’ve said your prayers to the Seven, asking them to spare your poor wounded Hound.

There’s a dim lantern on the dark horizon, steadily drawing nearer and brighter, and then you can hear the rattling of a cart and the braying of a mule. You rise from your post and go to intercept the rickety cart thumping along the winding trail. The mule comes to a halt—the path forward blocked. 

The driver has a kind face, rounded from smiles and wrinkled with wisdom, and eyes that are deep and thoughtful but speak of the horrors of the world. “A lady and her knight,” he muses, sparing a glance at the makeshift medicinal supplies illuminated by faint firelight and the state of the brutish man sleeping—half-dead more like.

“Can you help us?” You ask. “Please.” And the broken plea strikes something deep down in the man’s heart.  

He thinks on it for a moment. “Aye,” the man says, “I can try.” If he couldn’t, the others on the Quiet Isle could—especially the Elder Brother. His dusty brown robes dust across the rocky ground as he goes to the Hound’s side. It takes all your strength combined to lift Sandor Clegane into the cart—even with the weight of his armor gone. Then you clamber to the front of the cart next to Sandor, letting his head rest in your lap, and with a snap of the reins, the mule walks on again, heading south along the bumpy road—it would be a long night.

Weary and exhausted, you look between the Hound and the driver. “Who are you?” 

“You can call me Ray,” the kindly man says. “I’ll take you both to the Quiet Isle. The Elder Brother can help.” You’ve heard tales of the isle—where men go to atone for their sins and take vows of silence. Some even say those who reside in the Bay of Crabs live in a world unlike the one ravished by war and pain. Brother Ray can see the growing trepidation on your expression. It’s nigh common knowledge women are not allowed to dwell on the Quiet Isle. “Won’t force you and your knight to be parted,” he tells you. 

“He’s not a knight,” you murmur, eyes trailing from the road ahead to Sandor, knowing he doesn’t like being called a knight—and for good reason. 

“No, but it seems he’s your knight,” Ray says with a chuckle, sparing a wayward glance back at you and the Hound. You flush at the thought and turn your gaze to Sandor, his head resting on your thigh.

A FEW MONTHS pass and Sandor is as well as he’ll ever be. The damage done to his leg makes him limp after long distances or strenuous tasks, but no one would be able to say such injuries made the Hound a feeble man. Even now, you’ve never seen a man split firewood with so much power and anger. Sometimes, you wonder if he hates you for not ending it when he pleaded for the blade’s mercy. But on the day when the brothers let you see him again, he wore a fleeting smile, soft and weak—the first time you’d seen such a sight. 

Storms roll in for the night, and lightning flashes through the window—thunder rattling your featherbed. You pull the covers tighter, squeezing your eyes shut, praying for sleep to come. It feels childish to be afeared of a storm, but it’s a reminder of the night the Lannister men destroyed your home and family and put an arrow in your leg. Rousing from the uneasy rest, you pull on your dressing robe and wrap the wool and linen blanket around your shoulders before setting off in search of company. 

His bed is empty, and you frown. Disheartened, you turn back only to bump into a solid wall of flesh and muscle. No man his size had a right to move around so quietly. “What are you doing awake, little dove?” Sandor asks, and you’re unable to meet his gaze with your flushed cheeks as you search for a valid answer. “Can’t sleep?” He surmises, and grateful he spake first, you nod sheepishly. The hand that wraps around your wrist is warm and calloused, yet his touch is light—as though you’re some bird with a broken wing. But wordless, you climb onto the bed next to Sandor, still huddled under your blanket, but not alone, and even with the storm raging outside, within these walls with him, you’re safe. 

The morning light breaks through the small window—only glowing embers remain in the hearth, not enough to chase away the chill in the air. You wake to find yourself alone, and it sends a strange pang of sadness through your heart. Making your way back to your chambers, you change into a plane shift and stride from the cottage to find him—the wet grass tickling the soles of your feet as you head down a winding path toward the water’s edge.

Sandor is sitting down on the rocky shore of the island, his dusty brown cloak fluttering in the wind. You go to him and sit on the weathered rock next to him. The morning is cool, and the spray of waves breaking against rocks in the bay kisses your cheeks. Wordlessly, the Hound pulls his cloak free and drapes it around your shoulders. In comfortable silence, you pull the coarse material tight and rest your head against his arm, looking out over the water and the clear blue sky—as though the Old Gods had not unleashed their wrath upon the land last night.

After a long while, Sandor rises, knowing it’ll be time to head to the Sept and see what tasks the Brothers need help with today. You’re quick to follow after him, but before he can start up the rocky path again, you brush your hand against his with all the timidness of a mouse, daring to have a lingering touch as you gather the nerve to ask something that’s been festering in the pit of your stomach, in the darkest parts of your mind and the deepest parts of your heart. You take both his hands—rough and twice the size of your own—and look up at the Hound. "Sandor,” you breathe, his name like a birdsong in your voice, “will you kiss me?"

He laughs—thinking you are playing him for a fool. No sane woman would ever wish to have his touch or his kiss. “With this ruined mouth?” He mocks. But the next jape dies on the tip of his tongue when you fist your hand into his woolen tunic, hauling him down with all your strength to just the right height where if you stand on the tips of your toes, you can kiss him. And you do. Sandor is surprised at first, but his hard exterior fades, and then a strong arm curls around your middle, hoisting you up and then off the ground entirely. You pull back for only a quick second and smile for him.

“Little dove,” he rasps when you move your hands to hold his face, thumbs stroking over his cheeks—one marred by the flame—and down into his thick, wiry beard. He half expects to find a shred of fear or disgust in your eyes, but there isn’t any. There never had been. You kiss him again, softer and sweeter this time, and he returns it in full. 

Reluctant to part, he places you back on the ground but is quick to pull you into his side and hold you close in the golden hour of the morning. And for the first time since he can remember, Sandor Clegane has a handful of happy memories, and perhaps, in the end, he's found something even sweeter than killing.

[Game of Thrones taglist: @certifiedlittleshit / @erzsebetrosztoczy / @hereforreadandwrite / @hc-geralt-23 / @holysmokesblog / @Idkjj04 / @lady-stark-winter-rose / @mikariell95 / @misskatiewrites / @mrsragnarlodbrok / @nyotamalfoy / @rigshak / @savagemickey03 / @xinyourdreamsx ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Game of Thrones taglist, or any other taglist, just let me know with this Google Form!

[duffslut]

Secret love

Izzy Stradlin x Reader

My Masterlist.

Word Count: 649

Warnings: Fluff!

- What are you doing here again? - Slash asked, stopping Izzy in the middle of the hallway.

Izzy didn't say anything, he just looked at you asking for help.

- He's helping me with some stuff for college, mind your own business, Slash. - You said, trying to make way to get past him.

- She needs me man. - Izzy said and shrugged at Slash, with an ironic smile on his lips.

- Why didn't you ask for my help? - Your brother asked and you rolled your eyes, walking past him and taking Izzy with you.

- Because you're too busy getting drunk. - You replied.

You and Izzy continued to your bedroom but as soon as you closed the door someone opened it again.

- Leave this fucking door open. - Slash said, and finally left.

- I told you it's not a good idea for me to come when he's here. - Izzy said, but seconds later he was already kissing you, not caring about the door being completely open.

- I don't care what he thinks. - You said, and then brought your body closer to Izzy's.

The make-out session between you was starting to heat up when a sound of footsteps made you jump away.

- Why don't we go to the backyard, huh? - Izzy suggested, fixing his pants. - We need to talk about that thing too...

You threw yourself on the bed like a spoiled child.

- I don't want to. - You whined.

But your tantrum was no use, Izzy dragged you out of the room, with his hand intertwined with yours, you sat on the backyard porch and Izzy started to roll a joint for him.

- You know the longer we wait the worse it will be, don't you? - Izzy asked, placing the joint between his lips. - It'll be worse if he finds out for himself.

You watched as your boyfriend exhaled the smoke in the air, why did you have to fall in love with someone from your brother's band? It was a little hard not to fall in love with Izzy tho, his mysterious way and incredibly striking gaze made your legs tremble from the first time you saw him, not to mention his beauty, his beautiful black hair, his style, the shiny piercing in his nose...

- So, we're gonna tell him tonight - Izzy said, and you finally came out of your thoughts.

- What?! - You asked without having any idea what Izzy was talking about.

- I love you, Y/n, we don't need to hide this anymore. - He said, and seeing him so confident about your relationship brought a little more peace to you.

You nodded, agreeing to tell your brother and the rest of the band that you and Izzy were dating.

- I love you too. - You said, giving him a peck on the lips but immediately pulling away when you tasted the weed on his mouth. - Ew!

Later, when the whole band was gathered on the couch in the living room, you were standing in the next room, waiting for Izzy to start talking.

- Guys. - He cleared his throat. - Most importantly, Slash...

You appeared in the room and joined Izzy.

- I think it's time to let you guys know that Y/n and I are dating. - He said.

Your eyes immediately went to Slash's.

- I knew it. - Axl said, and then Duff and Steven agreed with him, laughing. - You guys can't hide shit.

- Y/n I'm not an idiot, you've always been a disobedient little sister. - Slash said and you lowered your head, you knew he wouldn't let that happen.

Izzy placed you behind him and positioned his body in front of you, facing Slash.

- I'm in love with her Slash. - He said.

- Well, what can I say? Good luck. - Slash said, and you looked at him confused, was that a yes? - But know that I'll keep on your back.

- Yes!! - You squealed with joy and jumped into Izzy's lap, hearing the rest of the boys cheer with you.

[cerealboxlore]

Billy Batson at a convention

Hear me out on this-

Yes I know I have a billion fic ideas on my list waiting to be written, but shush!

Imagine the Justice League deciding to attend a huge superhero convention as guests of honor for their fans and meet everyone, and to also help raise their public image. They don't all appear on the same day, showing up on separate days bc of security reasons, and Captain Marvel, being a long standing member of the JL, is invited, too. He is completely ecstatic about it, but decides to decline. He says he has important Champion of Magic duties to attend to and before anyone can ask, he Flys off. JL is a bit disappointed he won't be there, but understanding.

On the days of the convention, the JL are met with endless happy fans overjoyed to meet them. They all sign autographs, shake hands, etc. They all even remember one cute fan by the name of Billy Batson who handed them all adorable hand drawn pictures of them as a little gift. He was so sweet and even got to take a picture with all of the members.

The reason CM couldn't attend the convention as CM was bc he wanted to express his love, respect and admiration to his coworkers fully. He also was too nervous to ask for their autographs before, so this was a golden opportunity to have some fun as just Billy.

[zoeykallus]

Hello there! My request is the reader (gender neutral) is offered to dog sit Grizzer. But the reader loses him, chaos happens but the reader manages to find Grizzer before Hound comes back.

BTW I love all of your writings :)

Aloha!

Sorry for being so late, I'm slowly catching up with old requests 😬

I'm not good at harmless, fluffy stuff like this, but I'm trying 😅

Hound x GN!Reader – One-Shot – Grizzer On The Loose

Warnings: Slightly Angsty/Fluffy/SFW

____________

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

____________

>Master List<

____________

'Of course, I can keep an eye on Grizzer' you assured him, 'no problem at all'. Now it turns out that it is a problem after all. Somehow, the dog made off on your walk. You just had a quick chat, didn't look for a second, and Grizzer's gone. His leash is chewed off, the dog obviously had no patience with you. You call and whistle, but the animal doesn't show itself and doesn't let you hear anything from it. Normally, Grizzer responds very well, even to you. Hound has taught you how to handle him, what commands are important. But it doesn't matter what you do, Grizzer just doesn't show himself. Slowly, panic rises in you and your heart pounds up to your throat. Your steps quicken, you look around every corner, down every alley, calling out for the animal again and again. You curse softly to yourself, run down the alley and along the park, several times, ask passers-by if they have seen anything, but to no avail. At a street corner you stop, take a deep breath and look around. "This just can't be happening," you mutter quietly to yourself, "Hound is going to be so angry and disappointed in me."

You curse and clench your hands into fists. "This just can't be true"

Meanwhile, with Hound: The sun is shining, warm but not too obtrusive, a gentle breeze is blowing across the shore and the river. Hound has a day off for the first time in a long time. He's with a couple of his brothers on a little fishing trip that's been planned for a long time. Perfect peace and quiet, no pressure, no work. Actually he had wanted to take Grizzer with him, he loves the animal, but you had suggested taking care of the dog, so that Hound can really enjoy a day of complete rest. "Where is your four-legged friend? You don't usually leave home without him," asks one of his brothers. Hound answers with pride in his voice, "I have someone. Grizzer is in the best hands." But then he looks thoughtful. He misses the dog and you. Actually he's never fished before, that was the idea of one of his brothers who got it from that Hunter guy from CF99. Now that he's sitting here thinking about it like this, he'd rather be with you and Grizzer. "I don't think this is for me," he says as he starts to pack up his stuff. His brothers look at him questioningly.

"I'm going back" His brothers roll their eyes, but don't try to stop him. In fact, they have bets on how long it will take Hound to want to go back. He's never away from his dog for long, and he always cancels most trips because of it. So they are not really surprised.

Grizzers view: So many smells! Must explore everything! Nostrils quivering. So exciting! Wait a minute, where did my guardian go? Grizzer looks around, sniffs. He smells you, picks up your scent, runs. Then he sees you. Found them! Are we going home now? But before he reaches you, another smell distracts him. A food truck passes between you. Again, nostrils quiver. FOOD! Grizzer knows very well that he is only allowed to eat what he is given, but his master is not there, maybe he can make an exception. FOOD WAIT FOR ME!

You turn around, out of a feeling, your eyes darting back and forth, but you see nothing. You sigh wistfully. When your com beeps, you flinch, startled. It's Hound. For a moment, you think about not answering it, but that seems wrong. "Hi. How's it going?" asks Hound cheerfully. "Great!" you blurt out, "Everything's fine." "Really? Grizzer didn't give you any trouble?" You get hot and cold, you want to tell him the truth, but automatically you say instead, "Grizzer is behaving very decently, we're having a lot of fun." Hound laughs softly, "I'm glad to hear that, in a few hours we can have dinner together, I'll be back a little early." You get hot and cold. "Earlier? Oh, really? Trip's not as good as expected?" you ask innocently as sweat breaks out. Hound says, cautiously, "Well, it's not bad, but I miss you and Grizzer". That was incredibly sweet, but right now, unfortunately, you can't really appreciate it.

"Oh, wow, that's.... really sweet. When will you be back?"

"In about three hours, my shuttle lands," Hound says excitedly, "Will you two pick me up at the landing site?" "Sure!" you say, almost choking your voice. "Great, I'm looking forward to seeing you both".

Grizzer: The food truck is too fast, the four-legged friend has to give up the chase. He pants, a little out of breath. A disappointed snort is heard, then Grizzer turns around and walks a little more leisurely back the way he came. He's hungry, but he's sure the guardian will feed him when he gets home. Even if it doesn't smell as good as the food truck. Hunger finally quickens his steps. His paws tap across the ground in quick time. It takes a little while, but he picks up your scent again and follows it, all the way back to the park. Grizzer finds you in the park, sitting on a park bench. Somehow you smell different than usual, strangely bitter. He knows that smell, you're sad. Maybe he should bring you a present.

You have only a few minutes left before you have to run to the landing platform and confess to Hound that you have lost Grizzer. You feel heavy, a knot in your stomach, pressure on your chest. You feel so sorry. You worry about the animal and of course what Hound will say and feel, he loves Grizzer. He loves you too, but maybe soon he won't anymore, you think bitterly. Suddenly, something nudges you from the side. Your eyes grow huge, your heart leaps. It's Grizzer, who has fished an empty fast-food package out of the trash and is holding it out to you, wiggling happily. "Grizzer!" Hastily, you tie the torn leash back onto his collar, with a double knot. You pet the dog, actually wanting to scold, but you are far too relieved to do so. Your eyes wander along the dog's body, and you are relieved to see that he has no injuries. "Okay, let's go, we're going to be late!" Grizzer has no idea what you're saying, but you're obviously happy about the gift, because you smell very different now.

You get to the platform just in time as the shuttle lands. As Hound runs down the ramp, you beam at him and Grizzer fidgets excitedly. You see the wide smile on Hound's face and feel a wave of relief wash over you. He immediately embraces you, kissing your cheek. You are so happy and relieved that your knees almost buckle. "I missed you," Hound says softly, kissing the corner of your mouth. "You've barely been gone ten hours," you say, laughing softly. "Still," Hound says with a grin, finally crouching down to greet Grizzer. "Hey boy, have you been good? Have you been a good dog?" Grizzer wiggles excitedly and nuzzles into Hound's petting. But then his hands wander to the collar and Hound sees the knot and that the leash has been broken. "Sure nothing special happened?" he asks, looking up at you from his crouch. You smile, nervous but as composed as possible.

"Well, he got loose once, but that wasn't too tragic," you explain hastily. Hound looks at the animal and asks, "Grizzer, weren't you such a good boy after all?" The dog tilts his head to the side and looks at his master, uncomprehending. "That wasn't so bad," you say, waving it off, "He was actually quite well-behaved." Hound laughs softly. "All right, if you say so" He takes the leash from you, grabs your hand and says, "Let's go shopping for groceries, we'll cook something together at your house" You breathe a sigh of relief and nod. So happy this panic is over. "That's a great idea"

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

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[ohabeeeeeee]

All Hounds go to Heaven

Part one of my little one shots, 286 words, angst and minor character death

Gingerbrave walked around the battlefield if you could even call it that. The attackers were a patrol of unlucky cake hounds who happened to cross paths with them.

Cherry jam still red and vibrant was splattered across the new candy grass that came with spring. Unmoving cake hounds were littered in the otherwise beautiful clearing.

Gingerbrave leaned down to start moving the cake hounds, at least wanting to bury them properly. He could feel its still warm body in his hands when a warning growl came from a nearby hound with its ears pressed back.

It was still alive, just barely, and not for much longer. Gingerbrave had come back alone, and even if he wanted to fetch the little king, it would be too late to heal it.

He quietly walked over, and sat next to it, which only made it growl again.

"...Shh, I'm not going to hurt you... not more," Gingerbrave whispered.

He tried to pet it, but it bit his hand. He flinched, but he steeled himself, pulling the bleeding hound onto his lap. Gingerbrave started gently petting it where it wasn't wounded.

"I know we're not on the same side, but you guys did a really good job. You gave it your all," it looked at him, confused but so exhausted, "You're real loyal. I'm sorry you have to suffer like this, but I'll stay with you."

It relaxed its ears, accepting his touch, and the inevitable. It felt so good to be pet... at least someone would remember it. Everything slowly started to go blurry, the comfort, the searing pain, the sound of its own heart beating in its chest, it all melted together. It let out one last whine.

[aheckinmess]

Terms & Conditions [Deku] (Angst)

(One-shot 17/? in a collection of My Hero Academia one-shots posted regularly on Saturdays - and sometimes Sundays.)

Read on AO3.

Tags: Izuku x OC, Midoriya x OC, Deku x OC, Izuku Midoriya, Deku, Original Female Character(s), Ichijiku Aoki, Tigress, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Shouta Aizawa, Eraserhead, Papazawa, Hound Dog, UA High School, Pro Heroes in Training, OC Tends to Self-Sabotage, And Self-Sacrifice, Aizawa Calls Her Out on It, But Also Reminds Her to Take Care of Herself, She a Little Depresso Espresso, But She Gets Counseling from Hound Dog, Deku is a Proper Ray of Sunshine, And Comforts Her Afterwards

Word Count: 2,106 words

Summary: Ichijiku is called into Mr. Aizawa's office after he notices she hasn't been herself. After a brief discussion with him and Hound Dog, Ichijiku talks with Deku about how she's been feeling for the past few weeks.

Ichijiku (Tigress)

“Aoki-san, a word in my office, please.” Mr. Aizawa says. 

“Am I in trouble, sir?” I whisper, looking up at him with a slump in my shoulders.

“No, nothing like that. Just a check in.” He reassures me, remaining quiet until we’re both in the classroom and he’s at the door, gesturing for me to leave.

As I step through the threshold and walk towards his office, I go over the possible reasons he might need to speak to me. Unlike America, homeroom teachers aren’t just there to be an extra teacher. Homeroom teachers in Japan act as your second father, and I’m sure by now Dad is grateful Aizawa is mine. 

Even I can say for myself that I’m an emotional burden for anyone to carry.

We step in and I set my bag down beside the chair opposite his desk as he shuts the door. I wait until he’s standing by his seat before I seat myself. My eyes can’t seem to meet his, though, and I use my hair as a curtain between us. Authority has always terrified me.

“You’re not in any trouble,” He begins by reassuring me again. “But I want to know if there’s anything going on that’s contributed to your unusual behavior lately.”

Anything else he says dies in my ears. My body stiffens, rigid as a board. I grip my uniform skirt over my knees and instantly combat the traitorous tears blurring my vision. That’s why he called me in here? No one’s noticed anything, not even Dad. How would Mr. Aizawa notice?! He’s trained to notice these things, Little One. You’re not in trouble. We can tell him the truth. No. No one ever listens to me, anyway. Why would he? In my ongoing mental combat, I remain stiff and unspeaking.

“Normally, my students often struggle because of their grades in my class. But yours are on par with some of your higher scoring peers. Even in math, your struggle subject, you keep stable and ask for help. So I take it that your trials are not academic in nature, right?” He goes on. I can feel his eyes trained on me.

“I don’t know what kind of unusual behavior you’re talking about.” I force my muscles to loosen as I speak, never looking up. “Can you explain that?”

“Whether or not you realize it, you’re normally a bright and optimistic personality in the classroom. You may be much quieter, but you are typically passionate about things you enjoy and kind to your peers. You often wait for your friends and make sure everyone’s cared for on and off the training fields.” All of the compliments make my sad little heart shudder with hope, even if delivered in my teacher’s monotonous drone. “For the past few months, however, you’ve grown more detached. You don’t make eye contact in class. You keep your head down. You’re often the first to leave even if your friends stay behind.”

Because no one listens to me, so why say anything at all? I think, but I know that in part that’s a lie. I just stare at my feet, loosen the tension in the rest of my muscles, and clear my throat to keep my voice steady.

“You have nothing to worry about, Sensei. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Look up at me, Aoki-san.” He orders, and I can’t stop myself from complying. He may be tired and try to play the apathetic authority figure, but we all know that our teacher is compassionate. “I know that’s a lie.”

My jaw clenches and my lip quivers, and he sees it.

Maybe he can offer some advice. It’s okay to ask for help. Asking for help just proves that I’m weak. Asking for help just proves that you’re human, Little One.

“No one listens to me.” I whisper, barely aware I’ve said it until the rest comes tumbling out. “I’m the quiet kid. Everyone listens to me when it’s convenient for them. Even my closest friends interrupt or only like talking to me whenever I agree with them.” Tears escape and I snap my head down, afraid of the scolding I’ll get for crying. You can talk to him. He is safe. “I’m only wanted when I’m useful or have something to offer. I know Bakugo’s normally aggressive, but he gets even more defensive and asserts more dominance when I have an opinion that’s opposed to his. I know that’s not surprising, but it still hurts. We’ve been good friends for a long time but it feels like when we spend more time hanging out, he expects me to share his thoughts and agree with him about everything. And if I don’t then my voice suddenly doesn’t matter anymore.”

“That is a reasonable concern, Aoki-san. But, I assume there’s more?”

“Stop knowing me!” I huff a little laugh, before wiping my eyes and continuing. “Hanoku and I are best friends, too, but sometimes it feels like she only wants me around for what I can give her…because I’m of use to her. I’m not saying everyone has to agree with me or cater to my whims. I know they have other things to do.” Better things than putting up with me… “But her…even Sayuri will often only listen to me when I have something she contributes worthy to listen to in a conversation. It just feels like everyone I talk to thinks I’m too snobbish because I’m quiet, or I say stuff they don’t like, so they don’t bother listening. I just want them to care about me…because I really care about them.” I shrug.

“You just want to be loved because you’re you, not because of a service you provide.” 

Something suddenly clicks and I look up at Mr. Aizawa, tears and all. 

“Do you feel that way sometimes, Sensei?” My heart squeezes. “Because of your quirk?”

The bad voice doubles down. Other people have problems, too. Mr. Aizawa probably puts up with this on a daily basis and he doesn’t whine about it.

“I do, sometimes.” He nods.

“I’m sorry,” And I mean it. I hide behind my hair again, hearing the seam whine under my fingers as I grip my skirt again. “You have the same feelings and I’m whining about mine. I apologize.”

“You’re allowed to hurt, Aoki-san. Especially when people you care very deeply about don’t always measure up. We may be heroes, but we’re only human.” He reminds me.

“Yeah, but you have other problems to worry about. And so do they. So I feel like talking about my problems makes me selfish,” I whimper and then mutter. “I should be grateful anyone pays attention to me at all.”

“You’re not being selfish for addressing human conditions that need attention.” Mr. Aizawa says this slowly enough that I look up at him, scared to believe such a statement. “I mean it. I’m your homeroom teacher. Any emotional or mental concerns you have are meant to be addressed here. It can be something small or something big. My job is to provide you with the tools to get through it with your head held high.”

“So I’m not,” I pause, tapping my teeth together behind closed lips. “I’m not being mean or ungrateful?” 

“Your concerns about your friends putting conditions on their affection for you is not being mean or ungrateful. It’s a concern. A valid one. You care very deeply about them, yes? And while you may sometimes want things from them, they aren’t demands. You’ll hang around them even if your requests aren’t fulfilled and their opinions are different from yours. You’re allowed to be upset because you feel like they don’t extend the same courtesy to you. You feel like they make demands of you because you think they won’t love you as much if you don’t do anything for them. Regardless of if it’s true, it hurts because you care about those people.” 

“Yeah, but…” I sniffle and pick at the fabric of my skirt. “I shouldn’t feel that way. I shouldn’t feel like I deserve anything more.”

“Why not?” 

“Because I’m just…” I shrug my shoulders. “Me.”

“And that is exactly why you deserve more than what you think.”

. . . . .

Mr. Aizawa leads me to Hound Dog for extra help on learning to work through my emotions and give them space. By the time I walk out, I’m feeling a good deal better than when I stepped in. I feel less like my friends secretly hate me and more confident that they still love me without conditions.

“Honeydoodle!” Deku’s voice breaks into my menagerie of thoughts as I give my thanks to my teachers. He gives a bow to Mr. Aizawa and Hound Dog as they leave, but his focus stays on me. “I was wondering where you went. Are you okay?” 

“Me? Yeah, I’m okay. Mr. Aizawa was checking on me and decided I could use a little help from Hound Dog.”

“Are you feeling well?”

“Just a little sad, but I’m feeling better now after talking about it.” I reassure him, pulling him into a hug.

“Aww, do you need a–oh, yeah that!” He laughs for a moment before giving me a good squeeze. When we pull back, he holds my hand and we start heading out. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I want to be honest and talk with you about it.” I pause, chewing my lip as I weigh the consequences of being vulnerable with him. “I don’t know if I can tell you without making you sad or mad at me.”

“You can trust me, Ichan. If it becomes more than I can handle, we’ll take some time to think before we come back to it.” He assures me with a smile. “So, what’s wrong?”

The brisk wind of autumn answers him before I do, whipping his green hair around his face and haloing him like an angel as I think about how to explain what I’ve been feeling for the past several weeks.

“Lately, it feels like everyone only keeps me around because of what I can give them, not because I’m their friend.” I begin, swinging our arms as we walk off campus and down the street. “I talked with Hound Dog about it. Mr. Aizawa ratted me out and told him that I have a habit of self-sacrificing instead of taking care of myself.”

“Hehe, he’s said that about me, too.” Deku rubs the back of his neck with a nervous chuckle. “But at least that’s something we can both help each other with.”

“Yeah. We basically figured out that I’ve been feeling overwhelmed because I overexert myself for others. I expect the same from them but I don’t tell them when I need it, so…” I try to remember how Hound Dog put it, but decide on an analogy when I can’t find the right words. “He said I’ve been offering all of myself to everyone…pouring all of the water from my cup into others and hoping others will offer the same to help replenish me.”

“And,” He playfully pinches my cheek to make me look at him. “You feel like we don’t?” 

“Sometimes. But we spoke today about how I don’t get filled because I put my needs secondary. I don’t tell anyone I need help, which is why I’m trying to do better and talk to you.” I admit, glancing at him for a moment before taking a deep breath and looking at my toes instead of the approaching train station. “Because even though I’ve been acting like I’ve been fine for so long…the truth is, I’m really hurting most of the time. I get tired, same as everyone else. But I don’t want any of you to be upset, so I pretend I’m not bothered.”

Deku abruptly pulls me against his chest the second we find a spot to stand on the train. My heart stops, but I allow myself to melt against the firm warmth of his chest. I begin dozing against his shoulder before he speaks.

“You’re one of the strongest people I know, Ichijuku.” He whispers. “I’m sorry that we often take that for granted, and I can’t speak for everyone, but know that I don’t just keep you around because of what you can give me. I want you by my side because you’re one of the kindest, gentlest souls I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing and calling mine.”

The dull ache in my chest smooths out into an affectionate glow, pulling tears down my cheeks as the endless activity of my mind finally quiets.

Want More Deku? Try: Below Ground Zero - Rhythm & Blues

[sundove88]

A Cookie’s Best Friend- A Cookie Run One Shot

This is my headcanon fanfic on how Red Velvet met Chiffon for the first time- complete with an added dosage of cuteness.

The Tower of Sweet Chaos swarmed with activity as Red Velvet Cookie, commander of the Cake army, patrolled it. “My soldiers, the time for Dark Enchantress to rule this world will dawn upon us soon.” He said, scratching each one of them on the head and giving them extra treats. The Cake Hounds barked, the Cake Wolves howled, and the other cake monsters cheered wildly as their commander made his way towards the evil cookie.

“My, Red Velvet Cookie! You’re doing quite well. Say, have you checked up on any of the new recruits?” Asked Dark Enchantress Cookie. “They’re all doing well and ready to March into battle.” Red Velvet informed her. Suddenly, a whimpering sound was heard from deep within the tower. What could that possibly be? Red Velvet Cookie wondered. Following the noise, the Cake army commander could not believe what was before his eyes.

In front of him, was the smallest cake hound you could ever see. His fur was white and golden brown, his ears were strawberry red, and his eyes sparkled with stars. “It looks like we’ve got a runt… but then again, all creatures deserve a chance to live.” Red Velvet said to himself as the puppy backed into a corner, still scared. “Hello, little one. Are you the cake that was left in the oven while your siblings marched onwards?” Red Velvet asked as he picked up the small cake hound. The puppy responded with a sad whimper, as if to say yes.

“Red Velvet! Where are you?!” Came a voice from the outside. It was Pomegranate Cookie, and she wasn’t that impressed with how Red Velvet Cookie was spending his time. “Oh! Pom! You were looking for me, right? Well, I have something to show everyone, and you will be pretty surprised by it.” Red Velvet replied as he walked out of the tower, still carrying the tiny cake hound in his giant claw-hand. “It’s alright, little buddy. You’re going to be ok.” Red Velvet whispered.

The moment he and Pomegranate arrived in the meeting room, Red Velvet opened up his cake hand to reveal what he was carrying- a tiny cake hound puppy who was very scared; but also very curious. “So THAT’S what you were smuggling the whole time!” Schwarzwalder yelled in surprise. “Whoa! Whoa! You’ll scare him!” Red Velvet said as the puppy began whimpering. “Oooh! Puppy!” Poison Mushroom Cookie replied. “And that’s where the noise from earlier was coming from!” Licorice Cookie added. “Look. He’s very… cute, to say the least.” Dark Choco said as his comrade took the cake hound to his room, where a puppy bed lay; as well as bowls for food and water.

“Here you go, little one. I hope that you can be as strong as your comrades.” Red Velvet replied as he coaxed the tiny puppy towards the food and water. All of a sudden, the cake hound began running around and eating and drinking. “Look at that! You’ve finally opened up!” Red Velvet exclaimed in amazement. And just as he said that, the small cake hound leapt into his arms, as if to snuggle up to him. “You really like me, don’t you? Well, let’s figure out your name. What shall I name you?” The commander replied as he picked up the puppy.

A few moments later, Red Velvet set out pieces of paper with names on them. “Go on and choose, little one.” He said as the Cake hound bounded towards one- that paper having the name “CHIFFON” on it. “From now on, you will be called… Chiffon! Oh, Chiffon! We are going to be brothers in armor, that’s for sure!” Red Velvet cried as he picked up Chiffon and gave him some well deserving head pats. There was no doubt about it- Red Velvet had found his comrade for life.

The End

[thesmokingguns]

Twelve Days of Christmas

Day One: Ugly Sweater

Izzy looked down at the sweater that was laid out on the bed. It had green and black stripes on the sleeves, a black background with a picture of Krampus on the front complete with the whipping branches and a stolen child in a basket. At 31 years old he saw no reason to wear this sweater in public and was more upset when his girlfriend came strolling into the room with a sweater featuring Jesus on the front with ‘Birthday Boy’ on the front. Instantly Izzy had to pinch his nose to stop the migraine that was forming there.

“I bought you a sweater.” Izzy, who was well aware of what she had bought him wanted to ask why but he knew by speaking it would indulge his girlfriend who already was glowing with excitement. He knew better than to encourage her when she was in moods like this. Over excited and ready to pounce on the festive spirit.

But she proved to have great will power as she waited beside him for a follow up question of what was going on. He could feel the excitement radiating off her and reminded himself this is the woman he fell in love with. The same girl who sat on his bicycle handlebars as they rushed through Amsterdam, who kissed him as they went under Niagara Falls, who had tea with him in India, and who rolled down hills with him in Ireland. This was the same woman he loved with all his heart even though she was a lunatic around christmas time.

“My darling, why do I need a sweater?” he played into her, regretting it as she pounced upon an explanation.

“We’re having an ugly sweater party!” Izzys gut reaction was to just say no. To strap her into the car and drive her around to look at Christmas lights. He would even splurge and buy her a hot chocolate despite her being banned from drinking things in the car because she always managed to spill things.

But he made a very, very big mistake and looked at her. The way her eyes gleamed with the manic excitement for the holidays. He thought about their first Christmas, they had just met and Izzy had asked her to come with him up to Northern California. He had gotten drunk, lost the rental car keys, and left them stranded for the holiday in a shitty hotel room as he detoxed. She had been so good about it even though he heard her crying on the phone with her mom and apologizing for not being able to make it home. The second year they had been together Izzy had gone home with her for Christmas. The Christmas that her mother had broken the news of her diagnosis with breast cancer. She had passed that summer so on their third Christmas when she didn’t feel like celebrating he had taken her away to Europe. A Christmas abroad where he wanted to see her come alive again. And now, on their fourth christmas they were settled in a new house in Izzy’s home town and he was thinking about how she had moved here with him because she loved him and he knew that anything she wanted for the holiday he would give to her.

“When?” he knew she was going to say something that was too close. Something that made him realize even if he didn’t want to do this there was absolutely no time to back out of it. The way she smirked, moving closer to him like snuggling up and cuddling him would make him forgive what was coming out of her mouth just put her more on alert. “When, Marie?” he said her name with a sigh as she kissed the corner of his lips.

“Your family will be here at six.” she was kissing down his throat as Izzy looked at the alarm clock on the side of the bed. It was already 4:48PM. Not exactly the notice he wanted for a party that he was hosting. She could

“Darling-” he groaned out but she wasn’t breaking down. Instead she wrapped her arms around him, making Izzy look at her. Their foreheads touching before he was swooping in to kiss her, feeling her smile against his lips. “Let me get this sweater on and then I will help you set up, okay?” He didn’t complain, there was no use in it. If Marie wanted an ugly sweater party they were having it.

Izzy looked up from his punch, looking at Marie in front of the Christmas tree. His nieces and nephews around her as they glued haphazardly ornaments she was helping them make. She looked so alive with all the kids climbing over her and he wondered if he should bring up the topic of kids again or if she would still say no. Izzy was neutral, either way he was happy but Marie was always so good with the little ones, the patience of a Saint and endless ideas to keep the tiny crumb snatchers entertained.

She was rising, moving over to him and wrapping her arms around his stomach, letting Izzy kiss her like he had been dying to do and smiling at him. The smile made the headache of hosting worth it.

“Thank you.” she was soft eyed, serious as Izzy rubbed her hip wanting to kick everyone out of their home and just lay her down on the rub that was probably sticky with sugared hand prints and elmer glue, “I love your family so much and being around them makes the holiday easier to get through.” his heart ached as she confessed this. Izzy was well aware she would always miss her mother but there was relief that she felt like his family was hers.

“I’m sure my siblings all are thankful for you watching their kids as they get drunk.” he joked as she laughed, holding Izzy tighter as she laid her head against his heart and looked at the kids who were using glitter in irresponsible ways.

“I like being around the kids. It makes me realize how nice it is to enjoy them when they’re little and how to take my time because everything changes.” Marie looked up at Izzy, his eyes turning to her, “But I like when they go and we can have all the house to ourselves too.” And she kissed him then, taking her time as her tongue slid into his mouth, tasting the sweet punch and the cigarettes he had been sneaking outside to smoke despite the foot of snow he hadn’t gotten around to shoveling yet.

Izzy held his wife close, warming all over. Maybe it was the sweater that she had him in or maybe it was the peace of being home for Christmas surrounded by all the people he loved. Either way, Izzy was thankful.

[explorar-curiosity-e-opportunity]

*a crow hand richas a picture of pepitos puppy*

THAT'S A FUCKING OUPPY!!!!

[paddockbunny]

Seeing as some of you need constant reminding:

If I have stated the words “ONE SHOT” on my imagine/blurb/whatever then it means ONE SHOT!

STOP IGNORING THE WORDS ONE SHOT! IT WILL ONLY PISS OFF THE AUTHOR NOT GET YOU WHAT YOU WANT!

[duffslut]

Becoming Parents

Izzy Stradlin x Reader

My Masterlist.

Word Count: 636

Warnings: Smut! Breeding kink. Minors Dni.

- I love seeing you with kids. - Izzy said as you two drive home from the birthday party of one of your friends' baby. - You're so good with them.

You looked at Izzy, surprised by the sudden topic, blushing a little.

- Do you mean it? - You asked staring at him as he drove home.

- Yeah. - He said, Izzy glanced at you and rested one hand on your thigh while turning the steering wheel with the other. - You would be such a good mom.

- Wow, Izzy... I don't know what to say. - You said, trying to ease the nervousness that was starting to set in. - I had never thought of that.

- I can get you pregnant. - Izzy said as soon as you entered the house after getting out of the car. - We can do it now.

You chuckled and bit your lip, thinking about the idea for a few seconds, would it be a good idea to have a child with Izzy? Would you really be a good mother?

- What are you thinking about? - He asked, kissing the skin behind your ear. - Let me make you a mommy. - He said and then touched your belly under your shirt and slid his fingers through your stomach.

You gave in to his touch, letting your body lean against his, feeling your legs weaken as his hand moved down from your belly to your panties, which were already soaking wet, something in you had really got into the idea of being impregnated by him. Izzy kissed your shoulders as you unzipped his pants, his dick jumped out, already so hard, and you started to masturbate him, wrapping your hands tightly around his cock, moving them up and down, massaging the tip of his dick, playing with his pre-cum.

- Come here Y/n. - Izzy turned your body against the wall and made you arch towards him. - I'm gonna put a baby inside you. - He muttered in a deep voice, shoving his cock inside your pussy.

You moaned breathlessly as Izzy began to thrust deep inside you, with one hand holding your waist so tightly that you could feel his rings marking your skin and the other resting on your belly as his cock went in and out of you. You squeezed your pussy around him to feel every inch of his big dick inside your cunt, his balls slapped against your clit with the speed at which he pounded into you, and you bit your lip to control your moans, thinking how could he be so good at everything.

Your legs weakened and you couldn't get the idea of Izzy filling your womb with his seed out of your head, you could feel that he was close to cumming too, he moaned and sighed with difficulty near your ear, and his cock began to throb inside you.

- Breed me, Izzy! - You whimpered, bringing your fingers to your pussy, touching your clit as you felt your orgasm drip from your pussy along with Izzy's cum, who had cum deep inside you, you could feel his hot liquid gushing from his cock inside you, filling every inch of your womb.

- You're gonna be such a pretty mom. - He said in your ear, still with his cock inside you, making sure you wouldn't lose a single drop of his semen.

A few weeks passed, you and Izzy talked about pregnancy frequently, and him cumming inside you became part of your sex routine, until your period started to be late. You bought the pregnancy test without telling him anything, and waited to take the test when he was home, you were nervous, your hands were shaking when you looked at the two lines on the device screen.

- Izzy. - You ran into the living room where he was sitting, playing his guitar. - We're goinna be parents!

[brynnmclean]

y'all, I feel like I've said this a lot, it is truly a joy to be a GM, but I am so fucking ready to get out of the chair and be a player again

[ladyaster]

I can’t take people who say that Sneasler is the worst pokemon ever designed seriously when Aromatisse has existed since 2013. Especially since Sneasler is kind of the poster child of video essays regarding why “Legends Arceus bad”.

Let’s be real here, if Blaziken and Lucario were 8th/9th gen pokemon rather than 3rd and 4th gen respectively, they would be loathed and reviled instead of seen as untouchable and iconic.

[corellianhounds]

There could still be a rat on Nevarro.

As far as we know, the spy Gideon had in the shipyard could still be there. It’s possible they made an exit not long after hiding the tracking beacon on the Crest and relaying the message to Gideon’s crew, but it’s also possible they stuck around.

Either way Mando didn’t know about them because he showed up on Nevarro at the end of The Tragedy to have Cara Dune run the records on Mayfeld; if he’d known about the spy it’s probable he would have done something about it (though getting info on the kid’s whereabouts does take precedence). He never knew about the tracking beacon in the first place, but I imagine that seeing not just him but an additional Mandalorian show up would be reason for the dock worker to hightail it out of there

But if they didn’t, that person could still be a plant on Nevarro come season 3