#this was supposed to be another little window to my large fic and ended up being a monster

[greeksorceress]

the thought and care he has put into methodically plan out this day is nothing short of laughable. the very same day he learned about rhaenyra’s departure to dragonstone, he started calculating how the reencounter would go.

aemond has spent years of his life now imagining his first meeting with his half-sister’s second son after the younger boy took his eye and his sanity with him. he has seen himself patiently waiting for the inevitable family reunion, holding his want for revenge long enough to have lucerys sleeping soundly in his bed and aemond attacking him in the middle of his dreams. 

fast and dirty and treacherous, just like lucerys himself acted upon him that night.

sometimes, the ire and resentment that threaten to rot him from the inside are enough for aemond to forget about any meticulous plan and just ride vhagar to dragonstone and burn it to the ground, like the madman lucerys has made of him. 

his favourite fantasy, however, doesn’t even revolve around him specifically, no. his most treasured daydream features his father caring for him like the parent he’s supposed to be and not the king who chooses favourites, demanding rhaenyra to handle what is owed to viserys’ second son. 

aemond is not stupid, though. he knows the last one of these confabulated possibilities is the most unlike to work for him, for nothing has ever been handed to him freely and effortlessly before. aegon has the name and the position to get him the things he wants, and also the things he doesn’t —but that aemond desperately needs—, and if it had been his older brother, he’s sure there would had been more repercussions for rhaenyra’s bastard. but he’s the second son, the spare, the one who isn’t granted neither love nor justice and just serves the purpose of standing in the shadows until he’s needed. 

still, he hopes.

 (hoping has never got him far, either.)

aemond knows the corridors and the secret passages of the red keep by heart. he has memorised the names and faces of the guards and their schedules and knows when both servants and royalty are supposed to be in bed. so, it’s easy to imagine lucerys trapped under his power and will if he were ever to come back to the castle. it’s always the first option with aemond, anyways, because who’s he if not a perfectionist —second sons don’t get the chance to be anything but—.

and then the day comes. helaena and aegon get married and lucerys comes back home to attend to the wedding. 

“i’m tired, mother. i shall see you in the morrow”, he tells her before departing himself from the festivity, noticing that rhaenyra’s children have already retired.

aemond has mapped out the exact path he’s following, years and years of submerging himself amongst the darkest corners of the keep finally paying off. he’s going to wait for the change of guard, and he knows everyone else will be wasted and high on wine and celebrations, having no intention of paying attention to any children that should be sleeping by now. the dagger he has chosen for this specific moment —he took two years to decide, but ended up electing the same that sliced through his own eye, because it seems that he’s a sentimentalist too— is safely secured under his belt.

he moves behind the tapestry dedicated to visenya that hides the almost invisible opening of the tunnel connected to the room that used to be jacaerys and lucerys’, the one currently inhabited by just the second boy, and only needs to take a swift look around the room to locate lucerys velaryon —strong, bastard, bastard, bastard— by the windowsill.

whatever aemond had planned for this moment dies before it’s even birthed. 

the moon shines on lucerys’ alabaster skin, illuminating his face and his doe eyes. he’s looking up toward the west wing of the keep, his cheeks resting atop his hands and his elbows firmly supporting his weight against the wooden rail of the windowsill. 

aemond knows what lucerys is contemplating, for his very own chambers are located in that exact wing. it shakes aemond to his core, because lucerys isn’t observing aemond’s territory with fear, keeping himself awake in a kind of a night shift in order to guard his own safety. no. lucerys is looking at aemond’s window, almost in a perfect diagonal line to this very room, with an expression that doesn’t take much for aemond to pinpoint and recognise.

lucerys’ eyes are wide and glassy, and his gaze is absolutely dreamy. he looks like he wants, like he longs, just like aemond does when viserys ignores him or mother and grandfather offer aegon something that aemond has been craving for longer, harder. he’s looking at the tower like a lover in one of the old poems that the maesters made them all learn, sighing and huffing as if his small heart cannot take the distance. like aemond looks at vhagar, or the iron throne from time to time. like aemond looked at viserys when he informed them that rhaenyra and her children were coming home. 

lucerys is glowing, there’s no better word for it, and aemond cannot stop looking. he laments his lost eye, and for the first time not because of fury. he wishes he had the full capacity on himself to completely soak in and burn this candid moment that lucerys is unaware he’s providing. he wants to remember how red lucerys’ lips are, and how many little dots complement his nose and cheeks. he wants to remember his sweet sighs, and the wind ruffling his curls. 

but more than anything, aemond wants to remember the look on his eyes. 

why lucerys would look at anything related to aemond with such longing escapes aemond’s mind, but it matters not. he’s looking at aemond like that, indirectly and secretly, but he’s doing that, and something hot and possessive blooms in his chest, as if he had been branded by scalding iron. he wants lucerys to always look at him like that, to look at aemond’s eye and face with the same need.

lucerys is more of an angel than he’s a human, like a vision materialised on earth to save aemond’s soul. aemond wants to consume him, wants to be saved and damned by that boy. 

the knife is heavy in his pocket, and it’s truly laughable how easily he has forgone his thirst for revenge and has replaced it with devotion. his resolve has crumbled, but he has forged his destiny. he knows it, he can feel it settling under his skin like an organism.

he doesn’t leave until lucerys is tucked under his covers and is finally succumbing to a deep slumber. he has been baptised, and he has a new god to worship —didn’t his own mother say that he was prone to obsession? what else could he do when he’s been provided with the representation of faith in flesh and bones?—.

aemond goes to sleep with a new resolution.

he wakes up when the sun is yet to be up, throat raw from screaming, the taste of the rain and the fire and the blood of a chase that was never meant to be heavy on his tongue. 

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

Studious VI (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+ FINALE

Five months after your reconciliation, you and Aemond have grown ever closer. When he returns from his first time away from you, you have a surprise ready for him.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: kissing, oral sex (M and F receiving), p in v sex, fluff

Author's Note: And with this, the series is complete! I want to thank you all so much for all the support y'all have given my silly little story. I truly cherish every reply, comment, or like it receives.

And fear not! This isn't the end of the journey for our lovely, stupid couple. On the 21st, I will be releasing another short fic as part of my 12 Days of Smuff event. If there will be anything more beyond that, it remains to be seen!

Read Part I Here - Read Part II Here - Read Part III Here - Read Part IV Here - Read Part V Here

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Taglist is in reblogs

Studious VI

It was the middle of the afternoon, and though the sun shone brightly in a cloudless sky, there was still a chill in the air. You had uncovered all the windows in the room, so it was quite cold within the stone walls. Therefore, you were curled up on a large, plush chair – Aemond’s reading chair – contentedly snuggled within your oversized robe.

And only the robe.

Vhagar’s mighty wingbeats had thundered above the keep not long ago. Thanks to the open windows, you’d heard it clearly – the chill was well worth it. A rush of excitement flowed through you, and you immediately traded your warm dress and stockings for the robe and took up your perch.

Aemond had been gone for four long, lonely, torturous days, and you were determined to be there the moment he walked through the door to his chambers.

It was the first time he’d left King’s Landing since your wedding five months ago and the first time the two of you had been apart for more than a few hours since your ‘reconciliation,’ as you had come to call it. Both of you argued passionately against it.

Neither of you could bear to be parted only two weeks after Grand Maester Orwyle confirmed that your nightly activities had resulted in the child now growing within you. Aemond wanted nothing more than to be by your side every moment until the babe was born. You weren’t opposed to it, though you did wonder about the practicality of such an arrangement.

But the Queen and the Hand insisted on Aemond going, rather than one of his siblings. The unfortunate result of his being the dutiful and trustworthy son, you supposed.

So, you had gone with him to the edge of the woods and watched as he mounted Vhagar and flew away. Of course, he had kissed you deeply before he left. Long enough for both Vhagar and the Dragonkeepers to begin subtly voicing their impatience. Had they not been there, you likely would have shared a more thorough goodbye.

Still, the four days felt like four years, four decades, four centuries. You would have gone mad if you hadn’t found something to do to fill the Aemond-shaped hole in your life. So you filled your time with planning how you would welcome him home.

You were sure he would be very pleasantly surprised.

Time passed quickly while you were held in suspense. The sound of soft, steady footsteps soon began echoing from the hall, and you just barely contained a squeal of delight. You readied yourself to leap, standing atop the chair to give you a better chance of actually landing on your target.

Then the door opened, and you pounced.

Thankfully, Aemond caught you easily. His strong, lithe arms wrapped around your hips and rear as if on instinct, and you were once more safe and secure.

You didn’t get to see his reaction to your leaping upon him, which you only regretted slightly as you pressed your lips hard against his

Aemond made a choked sound of surprise that soon faded into a low, passionate moan as he teased your lips open with his tongue to deepen the kiss. It still wasn’t your favourite sensation – a taste you had to acquire – but after days without it, it was almost enjoyable. Almost.

“I missed you so much, Aemond,” you whispered between kisses, strained and desperate as your fingers clawed at him, seeking to touch every inch of him. Every inch you had missed.

Aemond’s brow furrowed, but he did not stop kissing you. “I was only away four days, my love. Could you miss me so much in so short a time?”

You pulled back just enough to look into his eye as you touched the tip of your nose to his, widening your eyes and making a show of pouting. “Did you not miss me as well?”

He gave you the slightest glimpse of his startled fish face before kissing you again. “No… I longed for you every minute we were parted. It took all my strength to resist the temptation of forgoing my duty and returning to you. I missed you so much I ached.”

“Show me,” you commanded, smiling against his lips as you watched the realisation that you had never doubted his missing you dawn on his face with an affectionate, put-upon smile.

You squealed as he pulled you closer to his chest – you had not thought such a thing possible – and brought the hand that had circled your waist to cup your neck as he began kissing you again. Fiercely. Passionately. Lovingly.

The rooms were a blur as he began to blindly carry you into the bedroom, depositing you squarely in the middle of the bed. You were granted only a moment to catch your breath before he was on you again, his welcome weight pressing down on you as his heat continued to soak into your bones.

“If you were wearing anything else,” Aemond growled as his hands started furiously fumbling with the tie of your robe, “I would tear it to pieces.”

You bit down on his bottom lip, ever so slightly harder than you normally did to scold him. It did not work. It only prompted him to kiss you deeper.

“Were you ever to tear even a single thread of this robe,” you panted. “I would return to my father’s keep and never speak to you again.”

“Then I will be very careful, and…” Aemond trailed off when he opened your robe and realised you were bare beneath it.

His eye raked over you slowly, studying you as if you were a master artwork. His chest heaving, he slowly traced his hand from the base of your throat down to your navel, and when you shivered at the sensation, he shivered too.

He splayed his hand over your still-flat stomach, his eye sparkling as if he could see the babe within. “How is it possible that you become more beautiful every day?”

You laughed, reaching up to cradle his cheek in your hand. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Aemond. And I dare say that your eye is quite biased towards me.”

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head ever so slightly. “Your beauty is utterly indisputable. Any who behold you and do not see it must be truly blind.”

You could not suppress the smile that came over you, wide and unyielding. “I will remind you of those words when I have grown as large as a bear and have the temper of a taunted goose.”

Aemond chuckled lowly, moving his mouth along your jaw and onto your neck. “Then I will say them again, for nothing could alter how I feel about you, my love.”

Any smart reply you had was quickly forgotten as his mouth followed the path his hand had just taken. Your only complaint was that his mouth was far slower.  He would press a kiss or two against your skin, then momentarily lose his grip on whatever restraint he had. Then, he latched on, laving his tongue upon you as if he wished to devour you. Sometimes, he even lightly nipped you with his teeth, but he never failed to soothe the pain with more gentle kisses.

You could have happily let him continue for hours. But you had made plans, and you were going to follow through. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled him close enough for you to whisper against his cheek. “Jiōrna mazumbilloti, ābrazȳrys.”

Your use of the Valyrian mother tongue surprised him, breaking him immediately from his lustful haze. He sat up and leaned over to kiss your cheek swiftly enough that you could only catch a glimpse of a mischievous smile.

“So close, but…” he apologetically kissed your nose. “You are ābrazȳrys. I am valzȳrys.” He pressed his finger on your skin just above your heart. “Ābrazȳrys – wife.” He moved the finger to his chest. “Valzȳrys – husband.”

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up and fuck me, valzȳrys.”

He obliged, his mouth continuing its path down your front after a brief return to your breasts. The closer he came to your center, the louder your moans and pleas became.

He pulled away slightly when he finally reached your dripping cunt, chuckling slightly. “Oh, how I’ve missed this beautiful thing,” he mused.

You spread your legs as much as you could in a show of impatience. “Well, then you should do something about that, shouldn’t you?”

“I suppose.”

A desperate gasp escaped you as you felt him gently blow a cold breath onto your heated core. Your back arched as he did it again, tracing a line of cool air up and down your folds.

“Aemond,” you breathlessly begged, “I’ve already waited so long. Please, don’t tease me like this!”

You watched as he looked back up at you with a wicked grin. “I’ve waited just as long, my dear. I want to savour this. Make up for lost time.”

“Fine,” you grumbled, though you could not deny his plan sounded quite pleasant. “Savour me, then.”

He did.

Aemond’s mouth was thorough. In the five months since he’d first pleasure you like this, he’d become as skilled and precise with his tongue as he was with his sword.

His tongue found your pearl almost instantly and began teasing it ever so slowly, as if it were a game for him. He alternated between pressing on it, drawing circles and various shapes upon it, and sucking on it like a candied lemon.

He did not stop until he’d pulled two releases from you. Only then did he finally acknowledge your entrance beyond merely pressing against it with his chin while he focused elsewhere.

Had he not been so eager to lap up every bit of wetness from you, you were sure the bed linens would have been ruined for how much slick spilt from you. But he was voracious in devouring you – moaning and gasping nearly as much as you were. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he came simply from being buried in your thighs. He’d done it before, after all.

Your hands found their way into his hair as his tongue delved inside of you, his wonderful, glorious nose still giving your pearl the attention it craved. Holding onto him was the only way you could withstand the intensity of what he was doing to you, to keep it from overwhelming you.

It also helped that when you tugged on his hair or slightly dug your nails into his scalp, he groaned in pleasure, sending delicious vibrations through you as his hips bucked into the bed. And when your release barreled through you, and you pulled on his hair like it was the reins of a dragon, he nearly screamed against your cunt.

Aemond gazed up at you, his face glistening and flushed. “My sweet ābrazȳrys,” he hummed before ducking his head back between your thighs again.

“Ah, ah ah!” You scolded, using the hands you had in his hair to drag him back to your face, causing another satisfied moan to escape him. “By my count, I’m at three, while you’ve yet to have even one. Unless…?”

A glance at the front of his trousers confirmed that he had not come simply from pleasuring you, and you sighed dramatically. “Still at none, then.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Aemond placed shortcut soft kisses all over your face before retracing his path downwards. “Let me give you more.”

You yanked him up again, kissing him fiercely. “No. My turn.”

He rose onto his knees as you pushed on his chest, his eye never once leaving yours. You smirked as you sat up with him, your legs still between his.

“I’ll rid us of these,” you said as you began unlacing his trousers – fortunately, he’d removed the belts for his sword and dagger before he’d even come to his rooms. You nodded to his doublet. “If you get rid of that.”

You had still yet to master the ridiculous clasps and buckles on the damnable thing. And Aemond resisted all your efforts to have a new, less complicated garment made for him.

At least he did not tease you about it this time and began to remove it swiftly.

Still, you accomplished your task before he did his, and he fumbled slightly as he threw the rest of his clothes on the floor as you grasped his red, weeping length in your hand and began returning his affections.

“Oh gods,” he groaned, forgetting his doublet entirely. “Oh, dōnus riñus… sȳros. Sȳros!”

His hands flew to your head. He didn’t pull at your hair or dig his fingers in. Aemond never did; he was always gentle. He simply cupped the back of your head with one hand while the other held your cheek, stroking you with his thumb in time with your ministrations.

He had been right when he said that learning to please a man was substantially easier than learning to please a woman. There were some things you had to remind yourself of the first few times you’d done this – don’t squeeze too hard, don’t take him too deep, and never use your teeth.

But you’d had plenty of practice and knew precisely what Aemond liked.

You knew how much he liked it when you used the tip of your tongue to trace his slit before swirling it around the head of his cock.

You knew the way he liked you to play with his stones – caressing them lightly with just your fingertips, and every so often giving them the gentlest of tugs.

You knew exactly how to pace yourself in a way that drove him wild without speeding him towards an early end.

He begged. Several times, he begged you to go faster, to let him finish. But after he’d told you what he meant by “practice” in his diary, you knew he could take it. Knew he enjoyed it.

“Please,” he said breathlessly. You looked up to find tears streaming down from the corners of his eyes.

For a moment, you slowed, worrying that you’d pushed him too far, until he pulled you back down onto him so far your nose nuzzled into the silvery hair at his base.

Your hands went to his hips, bracing yourself while he pulled you forward and back. Always gently, but with more speed than you’d allowed him thus far.

It was the first time he’d ever taken charge in this particular scenario. He was always dominant in all other intimate moments, but never with this. Whenever you held him in your mouth, you commanded the prince.

The thrill of it sparked a burning heat of desire in your core, and you moaned around him.

It was enough.

Aemond pulled you as close as he could until your brow rested against his stomach, and he reached his peak. His entire body shook as he spilled himself down your throat. And he did not release you until he heard you struggling to keep him so deep.

“Oh, my darling, did I hurt you?” he asked as he again laid himself atop you.

You laughed, kissing him deeply. “No, Aemond. Well, maybe a little bit, but it’s a good hurt.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“Don’t be, please. It was less of a hurt than you being gone.”

Aemond rolled onto his side to kiss you once more, languidly, now that the initial rush of lust had faded. You could almost feel his adoration as if it were a tangible thing. You held it tightly, and would never let it go. When he finally pulled away, his lips only left yours for a moment before he was again trailing his mouth along your neck to your chest.

“Well?” You asked. “Do you like your surprise?”

“It was wonderful, my love. Would it be indelicate of me to ask for more?”

You narrowed your eyes, tugging on his hair just enough to draw his attention away from your breasts and back to you. The moment he saw the confusion on his face, it was reflected in his own.

“This was not the surprise, Aemond.”

“Then what is?”

You smiled, looking dramatically over the bedchamber. Aemond only stared at you, waiting for you to speak, until you were forced to seize his chin and turn his head.

Then, he finally saw.

As his eye roved across the walls and shelves, he rose until he was kneeling in the center of the bed. You laid back against your pillow, watching him admire what you had spent the last four days doing.

The bare walls were no more. Now, they were filled with paintings, tapestries, and even a few little sculptures. By the bookshelves – which you had filled with as many trinkets as possible – you’d hung paintings depicting some of your favourite stories from fiction and history. A wrought-iron dragon flew across the space above the doorway. On another wall, a tapestry depicting your home keep surrounded by a field of dog roses hung proudly. And above the head of the bed, a new tapestry you had made in secret these past few months.

“Vhagar,” Aemond whispered when he saw it.

You let out a sigh of relief – you had not been sure whether he would recognise her. After all, the only time you saw the dragon was when Aemond took you to visit her. Making sketches on those few occasions would have swiftly given away your secret. Fortunately, Helaena was more than happy to help you in its creation.

Aemond moved closer to admire the tapestry, one leg falling off the bed. He started, looking down to find his foot had landed atop a plush blue rug. When he looked up to gape at you, his eye caught on the bursting of colour atop the armoire.

His plain stoneware and metal vases had been joined by others more intricate and brightly coloured. All of them were now filled with a vibrant bouquet. The one you’d painted yourself when you were young and thought yourself the next great painter was filled with bright pink dog roses, much to his delight.

“You decorated,” he said in awe as he faced you again. While he’d been surveying the room, you’d sat up, holding onto his arm and resting your head on his shoulder.

“No…” you teased, savouring that quick moment of his confusion before continuing, “I moved in.”

His face crumpled with an affection so strong you hardly knew how he contained it all.

Except you did know.

You did it, too.

“My dearest,” he sighed, “I – ”

“I love you, Aemond.”

The colour drained from his face, and you swore his breathing halted.

A roiling storm of emotions passed over his face. Unbridled joy, sweetest relief, depthless love, and a single moment of fear beneath it all. He’d told you only to say those words when you truly meant it with all your heart. His worry that you didn’t was clear.

You held his face in your hands and pulled him forward until his brow rested against yours. “I love you, Prince Aemond Targaryen. Not only with my whole heart, but with all that I am.”

A tear fell from his eye, and a soft whimper escaped his lips. “Oh my love,” he murmured like a prayer, “my love…”

Then he was upon you again. His mouth against yours, his comforting heat warming you. He wrapped his arms around you – one on your waist, one at your shoulder – and pulled you against him so tightly there was nowhere you were not touching.

“I love you, Aemond,” you repeated every time your lips parted from his. Each time, he nearly sobbed at the words.

You kissed for a long while, until you at last felt him hardening against you. For only a moment, he pulled away, his eyes still damp as he looked down at you.

“May I?”

Your only response was a smile and another kiss.

Aemond entered you in one long, gentle thrust.

That moment of stillness and adjustment was no longer strictly necessary, but you both still enjoyed it.

Just a moment to look at each other. To see the joy and now, the love within them. A moment to revel in the connection you shared and bask in the feeling of being whole with each other. Aemond kissed you again before he started thrusting into you. Both were gentle and slow, allowing you to cherish each other. You were not fucking to find release, but to simply be together.

There were times when Aemond was completely still as he ravished you with his mouth or hands rather than his cock. There were times when he rutted into you like a beast, only stopping so he could prolong the connection. And there were times when both of you were still, just embracing each other, breathing together, and knowing that you were loved.

Eventually, you could hold off your instincts no longer. You squirmed against Aemond to seek more pleasure – more of him. And he happily obliged. He braced one hand on your hip as he began to move. Faster and faster. With smooth, practised thrusts.

He was so familiar with your body that it did not take long for him to have you gasping as you approached your peak. He was already brushing against that wonderful spot inside you with every movement of his hips, and when he brought a finger to gently tease your pearl, you could not hold back.

Nor could Aemond. He buried himself in you entirely, his face falling into the crook of your shoulder as he moaned your name, along with several High Valyrian words you did not know.

You lifted his head to bring his lips to yours and kissed him until his breath steadied again.

“No,” you whined as he moved to sit up and pull his softened cock out of you. “Stay. Please.”

Aemond smiled as he understood your meaning, again pressing his hips against yours to keep himself inside you as he rolled you onto your sides. “If I could stay forever, I would.”

“I know.” You nuzzled into his neck. “In fact, I’d quite like it if you did.”

“Then so I shall.”

A long, peaceful silence passed between you. Your flushes faded, your breathing calmed, and the evening air began to blow through the windows and cool your hot skin.

The day was not yet over. There was still dinner to attend, and Aemond likely needed to meet with the Small Council to discuss his trip. Yet neither of you moved. You simply laid there, basking in the bliss of holding the person you love.

You loved him. You loved Aemond so much.

He’d said it so often to you in the past five months. You had a lot of catching up to do.

“I love you,” you whispered.

“I love you,” he replied.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you…”

[mandomaterial]

I LOVE your Miguel x Reader fic so much! Can we please get another Miguel x Reader where they are complete opposites again, but she isn't use to seeing a scary/violent Miguel. So when she finally sees him like that she gets a little scared and Miguel has to reassure his little angel that he would never behave this way with her. Fluff please because i love your fluff fics!

OFC BBY! I changed it a little so that reader didn’t only see it but also experience it, yk? U’ll see :3 I hope you like it pookie!

Miguel scaring and accidentally hurting you

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✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

You were on your way to visit your boyfriend of a few months at work, with a little Tupperware box of fresh cookies in hand, you knew that he was Spider-Man and you knew all about the spider-verse. You also knew that Miguel worked very hard to keep the society intact and that it put an immense strain on his mood and health.

He’d come home all grumpy and annoyed, just wanting to cuddle you to death, he wouldn’t even let you get up to make him some food or treats, so today you decided to bring him something to cheer him up. You’d made a variety of cookies, some frosted and others shaped like animals and stars, to some people it might seem like something from a kids birthday party where a trottle ran off with the sprinkles and went crazy with them but it was just how you liked to bake. You knew that some people thought you were weird for dressing in bright colours and having fun hairstyles, sometimes older people would whisper when you walked past them but you didn’t mind, to you the worst possible thing would be being called normal or plain. You didn’t let anyone stop you from buying or making the clothes you thought were cute and today you decided to show off the new skirt you made. You spent all of last week sitting at your desk with your sticker covered sewing machine, securing the fabric and hemming the edges.

It was truly adorable and you loved how it framed your butt and thighs! You matched it with the off white cashmere sweater that Miguel gifted you after only two moths of dating. He knew that you liked cute things so he had little bows added to the sleeves and it warmed your heart every time you thought of his attentiveness. You packed the cookies into a little shoulder bag and set off.

It didn’t take long for you to get to the main office and there you almost crashed into Jessica who you always enjoyed having a little chat with, you always asked how her baby was and if everything was going as planned at HQ, but today she decided to give you a little warning, Miguel had been a little agitated and stressed today, because Gwen got stuck in a mess and brought back a Teenage boy who was never supposed to know about the Spider-verse and how said boy was causing a bit of trouble. You thought nothing much of it and continued looking for him.

Your first stop was his main office, to be honest it looked like the bat cave, with a floating platform that was his favourite. It always made you giggle when you compared Miguel to batman, but he wasn’t there, so you decided to just walk around and see if you’d find him, when you suddenly heard a loud bang. Instinctively you whipped around, running to a large window and what you saw shook you to your core.

It was thousands of spider people chasing after what seemed to be a small figure in a black suit, it was a sight that you’d never seen before, was everything alright? Was that an anomaly? Why were so many chasing it? Millions of thoughts rushed through your head as you sprinted down the stairs to the ground floor to get a better look, but everything was moving so fast that you lost sight of them as that disappeared behind another building.

You rushed through the halls, trying to catch up with them and somehow you ended up in the room with the go-home machine, all while everyone was surrounding Miguel and the young boy who was in the midst of being “sent home” and Miguel had his talons dug into the electric walls of the capsule, almost tearing it apart while growling and yelling. You’d never seen him like this, as if he were a feral creature hunting its prey with cruel intent. Your body started shaking a little as you took a small step back, maybe this was a really bad time. In that moment the capsule fully closed itself, sending the teen home and leaving Miguel seething with rage, ready to demolish anything he got his hands on, when he suddenly noticed his wach showing signs of an anomaly or something that wasn’t supposed to be at headquarters standing only a couple meters behind him.

Without a second thought and with pure rage and will for distraction Miguel lunges backward, his vision blurry with fury as he sunk his claws into the floor, propelling himself closer and closer to his new victim. All the while you didn’t even have time to think, fear filled every fiber of your already tensed body, he made the decision in split-seconds, not even realizing that it was you, his partner, as he rushed closer to you. You started stumbling back, screaming his name, but nothing helped clear his mind. Miguel stretched out his right arm, talons out as far as they could go, ready to tear you to shreds.

His usually gentle fingers wrapped themselves tightly around your neck, nicking you and squeezing tight, you felt him almost crush your throat but that wasn’t the end of it. Miguel flexed his arm, lifting you up into the air and just as he was about slam you down with all his force, he had a moment of clarity, his heat almost stopped as he recognized your face, albeit it was contorted in ear and pain. He noticed how tight his grip on your neck was and how you were scratching at his hand for a single breath, as he cut off your air way. His eyes widernd, fear and regret washing over him. Instead of glamming you to the ground, he quickly let go of your neck and pressed you to his chest. He felt your tears wet his suit and he heard you cries. Your cries were pain filled and your voice hoarse as he tried to comfort you by rocking you back and forth gently. He knew that it was his fault. What had he done? What if you never wanted to see him again?

He did something he swore to never let happen. He hurt you. He made you fear him. Miguel commanded everyone to leave, so that the two of you could calm down and as soon as it was only the two of you, he collapsed to his knees. It was like your tears were never ending and your fingers weakly grabbed onto him, barely able to hold on as you hid your face in his chest.

“I’m sorry…” Miguel whispered, his voice cracking as he continued muttering “I’m so sorry.. please forgive me.. I didn’t mean t-to…” he whimpered, but it was like you didn’t hear it, way too caught up in the scenario that played out just minutes ago. Your heart was going a mile a minute and you were hyperventilating, not being able to calm your breathing. Minutes passed and Miguel was still rocking back and forth, as if comforting a crying child, the horrid scenes kept replaying in his mind and he didn’t know how to make it better.

Your cries slowly turned to whines and hiccups, you moved around in his lap, trying to find a comfortable position when he gently lifted your chin to look him in the eyes, he opened his mouth but said nothing for a few seconds until he finally whimpered “I love you, you know that, right?” He pulled you into a close hug, not even waiting for your response, he squeezed you as close to him as he could, his anger long gone. “P-please don’t leave me…” he continued, he sounded utterly broken and that only made you shed more tears, you didn’t want to be sad, you didn’t want him to be sad, this was just a stupid accident right? He didn’t mean it…

You nodded a little and tried to speak, but nothing audible came out, only whimpers and whines. Miguel pulled the two of you apart, gently placing his large hand onto the crown of your head, carefully lacing his fingers between your hair as he looked at your little form that was dwarfed by his own. “It was and accident… please forgive me…” he muttered as his eyebrows scrunched together in regret. You replied with a little nod, your lower lip still wobbling a little. Miguel caressed your hair a bit before moving lower to your neck, he pushed your hair back and revealed a couple red scratches going almost all the way around. He felt so ashamed that he’d hurt you, that he was the cause of your pain. Ge gently brushed his fingers over them and you let oust a little wince. He’d take you to the med bay right after this, he promised.

Only then did he notice what you were wearing, first he looked at the sweater. It was the one he had custom made for you, when he saw it in the store window he thought about how’d you look like a fluffy baby alpaca in it and he just had to get it for you. He touched the soft fabrics and slid his grand down your arm, intertwining his fingers with your slender ones. Next he noticed the skirt, ha hadn’t seen it in your closet or anywhere else?. Did you buy it? No it fits too well for that… you probably made it. He couldn’t help but let a soft smile cross his face. The room was almost silent so he tries to shift your attention to a different topic “Did you make this?” He gently rubbed the b fabric between two of his fingers.

You looked around quite confused for a moment until you found what he was talking about, you rubbed your eyes a little and gave him another nod “y-yea, i finished yesterday.” Your voice was barely audible and littered with hiccups.

“It’s cute” he replied, placing his hands on your hips and shifting your body so that you were sitting sideways on his lap with your head leaning on his pec. He wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled closer, almost purring. You liked sitting like this, on his lap and utterly surrounded by him, it made you feel small and soft, like a precious delicate possession of his.

You could feel how worried he was, it washed off him like waves and you wanted to make him feel better, so you cupped his jaw and whispered “I’m okay Miguel, you didn’t hurt me” as soon as he heard, you could almost physically hear the stones dropping from his heart and his spirit lifting. The two of you were definitely feeling better but there was still a bit left to talk about, so Miguel decided that it was time to leave. He rose to his feet but kept you in his arms, you rolled over a little and decided to play with his hair as he walked out of the now silent room. Your fingers wrapped themselves around the little short curls at the back of his neck, it was one of your favourite parts of his hair because it was so much more curly than the longer pieces.

Miguel felt your little fingers and could stop the lopsided smile that formed on his face, sure he still had work to do, but to be honest, for once in his life, he didn’t care. He’d do it tomorrow and surely get an ear full from Jessica.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Once Miguel stepped through the doorway a long sigh left his chapped lips, he still felt quite bad about what happened today, but he knew that you’d forgiven him and that you weren’t upset. You fell asleep in the car, so he decided to be the good boyfriend he was and carry you up to his penthouse. You often slept over at his place because you liked the big windows and loved his comfy king sized bed. Normally you fell asleep earlier than him and once he got to bed, he’d find you in your cute pink jammies, laying starfish with one of your legs over the blanket and the pillows long thrown off the sides. He couldn’t help but snap a little picture, you were just too adorable.

So now he careful layer you down on the side you preferred to sleep on. He took off your socks and reached under your shirt to unclasp your bra and pull it off you so you wouldn’t wake up in pain, before covering you with his blanket. Once you were tucked in, he strode over to one of his cupboards in the bathroom and pulled out one of the first aid kits (he has multiple stocked) and pulled out a salve. He rummaged around further until he found your favourite bandaids, the ones with the cute shapes on them and walked back to his bedroom.

You were sleeping soundly as he sat down right next to you, careful not to dip the mattress too much, he gently stroked your hair back so that he could tend to the little wounds on your neck. Guilt shot through him again once they were revealed, t be honest they weren’t even that bad, but he knew how sensitive to violence you were and he knew that the scare was probably worse than the pain. Nevertheless he dipped his fingers in the salve and started softly rubbing it over the red marks and covered them with the bandaids after. After a few minutes he was satisfied and snuggled up to you, making you the little spoon, he wrapped his arms around your wast to pull you close. And just like that, all cuddled up, the two of you fell asleep, meeting again in your dreams.

[sunstone-smiles]

Setting the Screen to Smile

Author's note: *Kicks down the door like Mimzy* IT’S ME! I’m back with another fic! Tumblr pulled me into the Hazbin Hotel fandom and somewhere down the line my liking for the TV man, Vox, grew even bigger. This fic includes my Hazbin OC Vicky (a pink, anthropomorphic wyvern with rotary phone features) and is based off of this drawing I did with them. I hope you all enjoy!

Series: Hazbin Hotel

Characters: Vox and Vicky (OC - Reference here!) 

Word count: 2,496

Summary: Vox feels like the work day was a total waste of time, so Vicky takes it upon herself to attempt to cheer up the TV demon—with a little laughter. Enjoy!

---

Vicky knew something was off when she walked into V Tower. Demons on the production crew are speed walking across hallways and weaving in and out of rooms like it’s high traffic time. Usually it’s not as cluttered, nor is it as chaotic, especially when work is supposed to be winding down for the day. Vicky makes her way to the main elevator, dodging a demon that comes rushing out and apologizing for almost crashing into her. If all of this is going on downstairs…she wonders how Vox is dealing with the commotion.

The elevator drops her off on the top floor and she opens the door to the lounge area. When she looks into the room, her question is answered. The message of the pandemonium downstairs has traveled up the floors to reach the boss himself.

She sees Vox pacing around the empty room, talking with a phone held to the side of his head. He comes to an abrupt stop, his back turned towards the door, unaware of Vicky’s presence as he faces the glass windows like a large screen.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Vox says to the phone, “I no longer need the truck of equipment to come tomorrow, I need it for the day after tomorrow.” Vox pauses. The overlord rolls his eyes. “Yes, in two days from now.”

Vox shouts, “What?! You’re not available that day!?” He puts a hand to his face like he’s rubbing out a headache and takes a deep breath before growling out an exhale. “Alright alright. Let’s reschedule it for exactly a week from today. Same time. Same place, but I want the truck here, on time, and not a minute late! Good?”

He waits for a confirmation. 

“Great.” He pulls the phone from his head and ends the call, letting out another growling sigh. He grumbles to himself as he turns around, only then perking his head up when he notices the pink anthropomorphic wyvern near the doorway.

“Oh, Vicky,” Vox’s expression visibly changes to one of comfort. The tension in his voice eases to become softer. “I didn’t hear you come in. How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough for me to hear the tail end of that conversation…” Vicky steps forward. “Is everything okay? Things seem to be a bit…disorganized.”

“That’s because they are,” Vox moves towards the sofa. “Somehow we lost all the film for a commercial that was shot today, so Velvette and I have been trying to find it all day with no results. Because the film is lost, we have to reshoot it, meaning we’re going to be a day behind schedule. And on top of that, viewer ratings are five percent down, which the commercial was supposed to help, but now it can’t, which doesn’t seem like a lot but it could add up if viewers are moving to you know who’s radio show,” Vox’s tone turns a prickly static near the last part as he fumes with annoyance at the circumstances. He calms himself, “We’ve been scrambling to reorganize things, so overall, this entire day has been an unproductive waste of time.”

Vox’s phone suddenly rings. He looks at the device, then holds the phone up to show Vicky that the name “Velvette” is across his phone screen. 

“Speak of the devil.” Beep. He answers the call. “Any luck?” He waits for the other end to reply.

“It’s not there either?” Vox shouts into the phone, slowly losing more patience at the situation. “Try checking the file room. That’s the last place I can think of.” He walks towards the front of the sofa and waits for a response. No answer.

“Velvette? Hello? Hello?!” He pulls his phone away from his head. The screen is completely dark with a flashing battery icon housing a singular red bar. 

He snarls at the device, then throws his hands up in an aggravating loss. “Great! Great! The battery’s dead!” He tosses his phone on the coffee table and plops onto the sofa, sprawling out horizontally with his head leaning back on the arm of the couch and his legs thrown over the other. He cups his hands over the face of his screen in utter defeat and mutters curses at the ceiling.

“Oh Vox, darling…” Vicky moves around to the front of the sofa with sympathy in her diamond-shaped eyes. Vox peeks at her in between his claws and Vicky motions her hands for him to make room for her. Vox pulls his legs to the floor so Vicky can sit next to his side, then he lifts his legs back up and plops them into her lap. “I don’t like seeing you worked up like this,” she says, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Vox drapes an arm over his eyes. “If you can find the film, that would be great. Other than that, there’s no other way to help.” Vox’s words drift off, as if he’s lost all the energy in his system.

Vicky sighs through her nose. She gently pats Vox on the stomach, then scans around the room, trying to get an idea of how to cheer him up. Maybe watching TV or a movie? No, bad idea. That will remind him of work. Maybe she could try her hand at finding the missing film? No, that might stress him out more, especially if it still turns out missing. 

Again, Vicky exhales through her snout. She glances at Vox’s face, unsmiling, low-spirited, tired. It tears at her heart to see Vox’s this way. Out of ideas, she hangs her head down, staring at her claws resting on Vox’s stomach. 

But only a second passes before Vicky blinks in realization. She picks up her head with a new plan. The answer is right in front of her. 

“Actually,” her wyvern snout puts on a smirk, “there’s one other way that you’re forgetting.” 

“Oh yeah, and what’s that?” Vox slowly lifts his heavy head. Suddenly, he jolts forward like he was zapped with electricity. His arms wrap around where his stomach was poked and his eyes shoot open to see Vicky’s claws hovering over his belly. He glances upwards to meet Vicky’s smug look peering right at him. 

Vox slowly starts crawling backwards with a nervous smile on his face. “Now now, Vicky dear-” 

But Vicky lunges her claws at him with playful intent, tackling him to the cushions and getting a ticklish hit at Vox’s sides. He yelps from surprise, then wrestles her hands away while giggles slip from his mouth at the mere thought of her tickling him silly. 

“Vicky!” Vox calls out. He jumps back from another poke that strikes him in the side. “Wahait! Darl–ING!” the overlord’s words leap with laughter when Vicky finally finds an opening to claw at his side.

With his defenses quickly crumbling with laughter, Vox crawls back and reaches the arm of the sofa. He props himself up into a sitting position, then, with the newfound leverage, Vox launches himself forwards towards the opposite end of the couch, but Vicky wraps her wings around him, catching him and nearly toppling off the side of the furniture with him.

“Oh no you don’t!” Vicky squeezes his waist, causing Vox to reel back into her arms with another fit of giggles. She then tosses him back over her lap and starts a full on tickle attack, maneuvering her claws around the flailing limbs of the giggling overlord. “You’re not going anywhere until we get you out of this rut!” 

Vox wraps his arms across his body in an attempt to guard his torso. “Sohoho this is your genius plan to get me to stohohop moping?!” He curls in on himself a little from a tickly swipe at his belly.

Vicky glares down at him with a lighthearted glint in her gaze. “Are you trying to antagonize me? In your position? Doing that will only get an extra tickle,” she mischievously slides her claws upwards to dig into his ribs. Vox throws his head back with a squeal-like cackle and reflexively clamps arms to his sides. He tightens his arms around his torso and kicks his legs out above the seat cushions.

“I didn’t mehehean–!” the rest of his words for that sentence are overpowered by his laughter pouring past his fangs, “Vickyhehehehe!” He tilts his head towards the cushions, as if he was trying to hide the adorable expression on his face.

Vox could easily turn into electricity and zap himself off the sofa if he wanted to escape, but Vicky knows that the big giggly smile on his face, although he’ll be stubborn to admit it, is also in part because the TV demon is having fun. 

Vicky giggles alongside Vox. “Oh my, it looks like I accidentally set the TV’s audio to giggle mode,” she teases. 

“I dohoho NOT have a giggle modehehehe!” Vox denies with a faint blush forming on the pixels of his screen. 

“Really? Then what do these buttons do?” Vicky uses a single claw to scribble and poke around Vox’s torso, causing Vox to let out a stream of giggles each time she moves her claw to “test” a new spot.

Vicky chuckles again at Vox’s reaction. All of a sudden, the phone-shaped end of her tail and her horns vibrate with a bell-like RING. Vicky halts from the surprise, realizing she’s getting a call.

“One moment, darling,” Vicky stops her tickle attack on Vox. He uses the free time to catch his breath as he sinks back into the couch.

Vicky clicks the phone-end of her tail in place between the spines on the side of her face, then she places the phone to her ear. “Hello? Oh! Hello Velvette!”

Vox lifts his head forward. “Velvette?!” he exclaims in surprise. He nearly forgot that his phone cut them off in the middle of their conversation. “Let me talk to her.”

Vicky gives him a disapproving look. Vox sits up, but Vicky leans back when he tries to reach for her tail phone. Narrowing his eyes at her, Vox tries again and again to swipe for the phone. Vicky dodges out of the way every time. When Vox stretches to extend his reach, she puts a hand to his chest to keep his distance from the phone as he continues to swipe away at it.

“Yeah, I get it,” Vicky responds to Velvette’s comments on the phone, partly distracted with Vox’s persistence. In an attempt to shove him away, Vicky uses her free hand to ticklishly jab at his belly. Vox clamps his arms around himself, losing his balance and toppling over onto the couch. 

With a low growl, Vox sits back on his arms. He lunges himself at Vicky, nearly knocking her over and trying to crawl around her to reach her tail while Vicky holds him back.

“Give me the phone!” Vox whispers, only loud enough for Vicky to hear. 

Having enough of his stubbornness, Vicky thrusts both sets of her claws to scribble into his waist. The overlord reels back with a giggly yelp and slaps his hands across the mouth of his screen, having a feeling that he was probably audible enough for the phone to pick up the sound. He flops back on the couch, trying (poorly) to hold in his giggles as Vicky shoots a glare at him while scribbling across his sides, belly, and ribs. His snickers sound like the crackling static of a TV screen when no signal is found. His heels dig at the cushions, as if moving his legs will help deter the surge of tickles coursing through his upper half.

With Vox’s attempts to steal the phone thwarted, Vicky returns her attention to the call. “What was that again, Velvette? Ah, yes. Vox’s phone died and he hasn’t charged it yet. That’s why you couldn’t get a hold of him.” She waits for a response. 

“Yeah, he’s here with me, but he’s currently undergoing Vicky’s foolproof stress relief program. You know how it goes.” She smiles over at Vox—who’s still snickering audibly through his bared fangs with a hand covering half of his smile to prevent himself from exploding with laughter. 

Vicky pulls the phone away from her face for a moment, “Darling, I'm on the phone. Please, try to keep your voice down,” she teases him. The gates of Vox’s laughter nearly burst right there and then.

There’s an understanding giggle on the other end of the phone from Velvette. Afterwards, she gets back as to why she called in the first place. Vicky moves her claws away and gives Vox a break. An exhale of relief seeps between Vox’s previously clenched fangs.

“Sure, I can give him the message,” Vicky responds to the phone. Seconds pass as Vicky receives Velvette’s follow up. “Alright I’ll let him know. Thanks, Velvette.” Vicky clicks the phone to her spines again to end the call. Immediately after, she dives her claws into the ribs of an unsuspecting Vox.

“HEY!” he jumps, “Whahahat is this fohohohor?!” 

“Punishment. You think it’s funny to disrupt me while I’m on the phone?” she asks lightheartedly. 

“Buhuhut the call was for mehehehe!”

“Hmm, fair enough,” Vicky pulls her claws away, providing a soft smile as she does so. Vox is given a chance to breathe before Vicky informs him of the call.

“So do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

Vox perks up, “There’s good news?”

“Mmhm,” Vicky nods. “I’ll save the good news last then. The bad news is that Velvette still couldn’t find the film.”

Vox’s antennas droop. “Figures…”

“But the good news is that a deadline for one of the other projects got extended, meaning now you’re not as behind schedule as you thought you once were and you can make up for the lost time.” 

“Well,” Vox eases a little, “at least that’s something.”

“See, fortunately things worked themselves out this time around.” Vicky leans over and kisses his forehead. Then, she pats his shoulder. “Now you don’t have to worry as much.” 

Vox takes Vicky’s hand in his and gazes up at her. A smile, softly curled like a wave, forms across his screen. It’s a unique smile, unlike the ones he has to falsely flash in front of the press. It’s one that’s genuine, relaxed, and grateful. It’s a smile that warms Vicky’s heart, seeing him this way.

Vox puts his arm behind his head and leans back on it, “I guess the day wasn’t completely unproductive then.”

“I agree,” Vicky nods. “You definitely produced an abundance of laughter, my giggly TV.” 

Vox scoffs with a lingering grin, “I wasn’t that ‘giggly.’”

Vicky chuckles, taking in the joy of the moment in contrast to the chaos she witnessed earlier. “I beg to differ.” She looks at Vox with a sparkle in her diamond eyes. “But I’m glad to see you happy again, my darling Vox.” 

[snootlestheangel]

Another Gaz/Soap Bromance Moment

I've still been thinking very hard about this, and it's officially invaded my main fic and I do not regret any of it.

Because of this, I'm treating y'all to a little Gaz/Soap bro-ment (with like a hint of protective!Ghost if you squint at the ending)

Don't Get Lost

Hurt/Comfort one-shot

It was supposed to be a simple mission. It wasn't supposed to go like this. One second everything was fine, but the next Soap was screaming his throat raw in search of his friend.

God, Gaz. He can't be lost, he can't be. He just can't.

Soap took his eyes off Gaz's back for one fucking second, and now he's lost. There was smoke, and suddenly he couldn't see anything. He was grabbed from behind, several sets of hands trapping him, rendering him useless. He could hear Gaz cursing from ahead of him, his own struggle evident in his voice.

It never should have turned into this.

Soap never should have gotten his hands this bloody, he never should have ended up somewhere dark and cold. He shouldn't be here, laying on stone and bleeding into it. He should up and with Gaz, finishing their assignment without any troubles.

Soap can't stop the tears, the gasps as he stares at the blood seeping between his fingers. He can't die just yet. He needs to make sure Gaz is okay. He can't lose Gaz. He needs to get to Gaz. Soap lets his head fall back onto the cold ground, tears burning his eyes and the strangled gasps making the aching in his chest worsen.

Soap groans before sitting up again, his breaths shaky and shallow. He sniffles before forcing himself to his knees, a cry of pain shooting through his entire torso, the pain escaping in a weak whimper. He gingerly crawls to his vest, it having been ripped off him by the vicious hands that came in the smoke. The hands that never should have been there. He finds the pocket that held a compression bandage and allows himself to fall back onto his side, nausea swarming his vision as the pain becomes unbearable.

He's been shot before, even shot in the stomach like this before, but never has he felt so much pain. Never did he got shot trying to keep watch for his fellow sergeant, his best friend, his brother in arms. He's failed Gaz, this he's accepted. Soap can't stop crying now, even if he wanted to. He doesn't, not really, as he's crying for Gaz.

The idea of failing Gaz and losing him has always plagued his nightmares, and the worst of them couldn't even be comforted by his lover Ghost. After the really bad ones, the only thing that could make him feel better was to go climb into Gaz's bed, to listen to him complain about being woken up, to listen to him tell Soap that he's okay, that everything's gonna be okay, to listen to his heart and let it lull him back to sleep.

Yet here he was, dying and alone, no Gaz in sight. No contagious laughter in his ears, no smile that could rival the sun gracing his vision, no hint of cherry from Gaz's favorite soap flooding his senses. There were no comforting words from his brother, just the tortured sounds of a man who's failed everyone closest to him.

He was supposed to keep Gaz safe and he lost him. He fucking lost him.

Soap hadn't realized he was laying on his back again until his vision filled with an obnoxious light as the window above him opened. Soap closed his eyes, allowing his attackers to finish the job. But it never happens.

Hands press to the wound in his side, a voice whispers in his ear, pleading, begging.

"Soap, mate, please. Please, say something, fuck don't do this to me." Soap cautiously opens his eyes, finally realizing just how tight his chest felt. He blinks away a few tears as he focuses on the face before him. Large golden brown eyes reddened with tears meets his gaze, their long dark lashes fluttering quickly as they move closer.

"God fucking... don't ever scare me like that again. I thought... I thought I lost you." Gaz whispers, his eyes ripping away from Soap's as tears fall down his cheeks. He busies himself with Soap's wound while the Scot stares at him.

"Funny ya say that. Thought I was the one that lost you." Soap manages to croak out, and Gaz lets out a half sob half laugh. He wipes his nose with the back of his hand, barely avoiding smearing his friend's blood on himself.

Soap remembers vaguely grasping at Gaz's pant leg before fading into darkness.

~~~

He wakes up surrounded by a soft yellow glow, not yet bright enough to overwhelm him, but light enough to chase away any remaining darkness. Soap panics as he struggles to lift his arms, the sensation of two heavy weights pressing them deeper into the mattress. He hears beeping, and the fear of the unknown tightens his chest.

Soap lets out a whimper as he tries to focus on his body, focus on gaining movement of his arms once again. Instead, he's greeted with a cold hand brushing against his cheek, wiping away a tear he hadn't realized was there. He blinks a couple of times, staring at the face that has moved closer to him.

"Simon." He croaks out, the familiar pale face surrounded by a halo of choppy blond hair smiling ever so slightly at him.

"Easy, Johnny. We're here." Soap frowns, leaning into Simon's cold hand. That was something he always loved about him. He ran so cold, and Johnny always ran so hot. They balanced each other perfectly.

"We?"

"Gaz is here. Go back to sleep, love. You two deserve it." Soap turns towards his other side, relaxing as his eyes fall on the sleeping form of his closest friend. Their hands were intertwined, and judging by the puffiness of Gaz's eyes, he had been crying until sleep finally took him. Soap turns his attention back to Simon as he gently brushes his hair back into place.

"Sleep, love, I'm serious." Soap nods, but once again ignores his request once again. Gaz stirs slightly, but quickly brightens once he realizes Soap is awake. His warm smile seeps into Soap's very core, and the Scot can't help but smile back. Gaz opens and closes his mouth as he struggles to find an appropriate thing to say. Tears fill his eyes again as he decides against words and instead places a firm kiss against Soap's forehead.

"You ever scare me like that again, mate, and I swear to God." Gaz squeaks out as Soap removes his hand from Gaz's. He chuckles lightly as he wraps his arm around Gaz's shoulders, bringing him closer to return the kiss. Gaz remains with his face planted in the crook of Soap's shoulder, and Soap lays his head on top of Gaz's as he finally eases back into the pillows. A soft, barely audible chuckle pulls him back towards Ghost. Soap frowns at Simon as he stands, but the man just shakes his head.

"If I have to tell you two to sleep one more fucking time I'll knock you out myself." Both Gaz and Soap chuckle at Ghost's threat, and in response, Gaz pulls away from Soap long enough to climb into the bed and curl back against him. Soap matches Simon's smile, a peace flooding his entire body as sleep gently tugs at him.

"I'll be back later, love. Get some rest." Simon whispers once again before leaning down to place a chaste kiss against Soap's lips, and second kiss against Gaz's temple. Gaz extends his available hand for a fist bump, which Ghost obliges before disappearing from the room. Soap lets out a deep sigh, pressing further into the warmth of his brother, the reality of his blood loss starting to make his toes ache with coldness.

"Love you, mate." Gaz whispers and Soap gently squeezes him with his arm.

"Love you too, brother."

[deceitfuldevil]

1k Follower Sleepover Celebration!

Some may argue that 1,000 is not that large of a number, but I implore you to look up what 1,000 people in a room look like; and you’ll be as dumbfounded as me. I cannot believe that now over 1,000 real people follow me. I will not lie, I have always thought very little of myself and my writing. So hitting 1,000 followers is a milestone like no other to me, and I can’t begin to think of the right words to say to express how grateful and happy I am for each and every one of you for supporting me. Me and my weird, strange, obscure, and niche work. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you all.

Now for what everyone actually wants to read, no more sentimental blubbering for now.

I basically want to put out as many fics, drabbles, and headcanons as possible. So here are 100 different prompts for requesting! 33 smut, 33 fluff, and 33 angst. (1 extra for creating your own prompt to request!) The sleepover begins today, 2/16/23 (12:00pmCST) and ends 2/23/23 (11:59pmCST). 

Smut:

“Never tease me like that again”

“Touch me and you lose”

“You don't have to be so shy around me, you know?”

“You don’t have to be gentle with me, I don’t break easily.”

“You keep acting like a little brat and I’ll take you over my knee right here, I don’t care how many people are watching.”

“I’m not going to touch you unless you beg.”

“You can't tease me like that and expect not to be punished.”

“You look a bit tied up, want me to come back later?”

"You can give me another one, can't you baby? for me, please?"

“You better shut that pretty little mouth before I put it to work, love.”

"Cry all you want… I'm starting to think you're enjoying this."

“Don’t give me that look”

“The only way you’re getting off is on my thigh”

“Why don’t we film it?”

“I'm going to ruin you.”

“Do you think of me when you touch yourself?”

"What's the matter, love? you get nervous when i look at you like this?"

“I thought you said you were going to be good for me?”

“It hurts!” . . . “Good.”

"I know you're mad and all, but I just wanna bend you over the desk right now."

“Aw baby why didn’t you tell me, I could’ve helped you”  

 “Gonna fuck you until the only word you remember is my name.”

“Don’t tell me you’re feeling short of breath now”

“No, I’m the one that’s supposed to be making you feel good.”

“Yeah? you like being treated as a doll, don't you?”

“You aren't the innocent little angel everyone thinks you are, are you?”

“I'll stuff you so full you'll be leaking my cum for days.”

“Show me where you want me.”

“I wanna rip that dress off you.” . . . “Only if you buy me a new one.” . . . “Deal.”

“You want to come?” . . . “Y-yes, I— please—” . . . “Hm, but do you really deserve to?” 

“Stop fucking teasing me and get to it already.” 

“Th-There are people outside this door—” . . . “Well, this isn’t about them, is it?” 

“I don’t like people touching what’s mine.”

Fluff:

“Just to clarify: me holding your hand doesn’t, like, mean anything, by the way. not in that way, at least. unless you want it to mean something. I don't mind. That's cool.”

“Come taste! Tell me if I need to add anything.”

“Why can’t we stay here forever?”

“My lipgloss is all over your lips.”

“That's the first time I've ever seen you smile.”

“You canceled plans for me?”

“Quick, kiss me!”

“That's the sixth time you’ve complimented me today.”

“How mad would you be if I kissed you?”

“It’s hard to sit here and be close to you and not kiss you.”

“My heart is so full of you I can hardly call it my own.”

"I heard what you said...no one's ever talked about me that way before.."

“Here's a spare key so you don’t have to keep coming in through the window.”

“As much as I’d like to stay in bed with you, I have breakfast to make for the two of us.” 

“Not that I'm not enjoying being used as your pillow, but I think we’d be more comfortable in bed.”

“It’s always been you, and it will always be you. Please never forget that.” 

 “Aw, sweetheart you know you don’t have to ask...come here.”

“Your cheeks are really soft.” . . . “Stop squishing them!” 

“How much lipstick is smeared on my lips right now?”

“Wherever you want to go, I promise I'll be with you every step of the way.”

“Is it the alcohol or are your eyes always this pretty”

“Never pegged you for a horny drunk”

“Can you wash my hair for me?” 

“You sent me inappropriate pictures. . . when I was out in public” 

“Can I sit on your lap?” 

“I had a nightmare…”

“Should we make it official?” (I’m thinking Vegas?)

"Should I stop talking?" . . . "Don't, your voice is very soothing"

"Do you want me to carry you?"

"Thank you" . . . "For what?" . . . "For coming into my life"

"C-can you... hold me for a while?" "Of course."

“Is that... my shirt that you're wearing?”

“gods, you're such an idiot.” . . . “and yet, you still love me that way.”

Angst:

"It would be better if you stayed away from me."

"Do you really want me? Or is this just your way of trying to solve your daddy issues?"

"I am here to tell you that I cannot meet you anymore."

“You always push people away. i just thought you’d never do it to me”

“I know I have a heart because I can feel it breaking”

“I hate the way that I don't hate you.”

“I didn't realize it was such an inconvenience.”

“How many times am I supposed to forgive you?”

“All my friends told me you’d break my heart.”

“How could you let them say that about me?”

“You look happier” . . . “I’m not.”

“You still live in the silence between my thoughts.”

“I am in love with a moment we never had.”

“You didn’t just break promises, you broke me.”

"Don't go on that date." . . . "Why?" . . . "You know why." . . . "Say it."

“I don't even remember why we used to fight so much.”

“Why didn’t you kill me when you had the chance?” 

 “Please, for the love of god, shut up for once.” . . . “Why don’t you come over here and make me?”

“I don't like you. I can barely even tolerate you.” . . . “Then why do you keep coming back?”

“You’re annoying, you know that?”

“I don’t need your permission to do anything.”

“Why is it that whenever we see each other, you’re always covered in blood?”

“Don’t pretend to care about me.”

“Us? There never was an ‘us’.”

“What do you want? Because I could care less.”

“Why are you suddenly coming back into my life after I just started to do better?”

“Do me a favor and never cross my path again.”

“You can’t save everyone you know.”

“Take another step towards me and see what happens.”

“I don’t have the energy to fight you anymore.”

“I’m allowed to move on.”

“You can’t save me and then must walk out!”

“I needed you, I fucking needed you and you weren’t there!”

BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE!

ASK TYPES:

🪐 Ask about the author! Ask me anything you want to know about my writing, my personal life, even my favorite (x,y,z)! (these are what I’ll answer stoned) ((see below))

📝 Send in any sort of request from any of the prompt lists at the top, with characters I’ve write for! (Peter Parker, Pietro Maximoff, Baron Helmut Zemo, Druig the Eternal, Matt Murdock, and Valkyrie!) 

🗣 Send me your name and I’ll tell you what I associate with it!

🏹 Ask about one of my WIPs or up-and-coming story ideas and I’ll post a snippet!

+ anything you want to see in this sleepover, just ask!

It’s a good thing tumblr has polls now because now I can ask this: tumblr is a relatively faceless app. . . but would you all care for a face reveal to mark this milestone?

Regardless of the results of the poll, I want to share more about myself with all of you! So what better way to get the most truthful and vulnerable answers than answering asks while stoned? All of 2/22 will be devoted to answering personal asked while high as balls <3

Once again thank you all so much for 1,000 followers, and don't forget to reblog this so my sleepover isn't a total flop lmaooo

Much Love, 

—Skyler

Mutual tags: @mactavishwritings @wannabemurdock @grippingbeskar @galaxysgal @toastybuggy @peterman-spideyparker @yourbucky084

Mutual tags: @mactavishwritings @wannabemurdock @toastybuggy @peterman-spideyparker @yourbucky084 @galaxysgal

Mutual tags:

—Skyler

Mutual tags: @wannabemurdock @peterman-spideyparker @yourbucky084 @mactavishwritings

[kariachi]

Guess what I've been working on all damn day- fic! 4500 words of a day in Kwarrel's childhood.

Warning: A good part of why he ended up where he did is because of abuse in the family, extended and otherwise, so...

~~

He was comfortable. The mattress just hard enough, his position perfect, Jaja curled up on his belly. Any sunlight coming in the window hadn’t made it all the way to his bed, and with the electric lights still off slipping back into sleep was as easy as

“Suthryen!” A sharp kick to his leg jolted his eyes open, glaring slow death at Ungyov.

“Give me collarfoot why don’t you,” he hissed, their voices low enough to not wake their younger siblings. She just gave him a nasty smile.

“That’s an idea, then you can spend all your days with Grandpa.” His frown twisted at the thought. “Get up, you heard Dad, he wants you to go to the garden.”

“Yeah, I heard him.” Swinging a hand in her direction, still too groggy to put in the effort to get a proper hit in, he glared at her back as she rolled her eyes and walked away. Once she’d returned to her bed and began getting herself ready for the day, he heaved a sigh and slowly sat up. Jaja croaked his aggravation at all the disturbances, but didn’t fight as he was lifted up and set back down on the mattress. “I don’t like this any more than you do, grandfather.”

The old prout didn’t go back to sleep, giving a long stretch and settling in to chew at claws and greying scales as his favored owner cracked open the chest at the foot of his bed and blindly yanked out a shirt and pair of pants. He didn’t even bother to get out of bed to dress, shucking and replacing pajamas while sat there. His sister’s wadded pajamas nearly nailed him when he rolled onto his back to swap pants, only taking as much care as needed not to squish Jaja.

“Nobody needs that on display.”

“I have to look at your face all day, you can look at my butt for a minute.” Rolling back into a sitting position, he grabbed the pajamas and threw them back at her, giving a little huff when she dodged. Between her narrowed eyes and frown, he could tell she wanted to stomp her feet at him, and smirked at the knowledge she wouldn’t risk waking the others.

~

The bathroom was large enough for them to not be falling over each other as they washed their faces, brushed their teeth, tended manes. One of the benefits of being the oldest at home was only having to share with each other in the early morning hours, and while they stood as far apart as they could, it didn’t stop them savoring the peace and space for as long as they could get away with it.

As long as he could get away with it. While Ungyov fiddled with makeup she wasn’t supposed to have for another year, he made his way down the hall with Jaja at his heels. Passed the children’s room, passed winter storage, to slip inside the adults’ rooms. He was careful as he opened the door, and rewarded for that caution by the sight of his eldest grandmother and youngest brother still asleep in their respective beds. Quietly, he made a straight path through and to his father and grandfather’s room. Setting Jaja on his father’s bed, he grabbed the basket from it’s hook, the key to the garden from its hiding place, and used the latter to slip out the door into the courtyard.

Without a thought his legs carried him to the rimih shed, the long-legged things flapping their wings and giving chattering calls as they rushed from out among the lush blue foliage to crowd around his ankles.

“I know, I know, bright morning to you too,” he said, finally able to speak normal as he did a quick headcount. Satisfied everyone was there, he hooked up the water faucet against the shed and turned it on. Either his father or grandfather would come out after breakfast to shut it off again, when the system had watered the plants that needed it daily and filled the rimih’s trough with it clean and fresh. Some of the flock split off, attracted by the flow of water, but the rest continued to crowd as he rounded the coop to the feed bin. There were only so many pests in the garden, even in midsummer, with the drain leading out passed the house and the open sky above it, and so he made sure the scoop of dried meat scraps he cast out onto the ground for them was heaping. With them suitable distracted, he was able to slip inside the shed and grab the morning’s eggs without having to kick anybody aside.

After that it was a simple matter of walking around the garden and grabbing things for breakfast. Some leafy greens, some fresh fruit. It was past the season for the good flowers, or for green twigs, but he grabbed a few handfuls that hadn’t turned all woody yet, and snuck a few late blooms for himself since no one was there to see. A large squash that seemed ready to go was contemplated before being cut from its vine with his pocket knife. A final look around the courtyard, the child-painted walls and well-loved plants, pulled him towards one of the berry bushes. His grandfather’s favorite, he cut free a small branch heavy with fruit and dropped it into the basket before picking up the squash and heading inside.

~

“Morning Su.”

“Suthryen.”

“Morning.” Shoulders tense, he nodded to his father and grandfather as he entered the kitchen, Jaja trailing behind, taking in the scent of breakfast cooking. The smell of roasting tubers, squash, spices and herbs, were a balm after making his way through the living area. After the admonishments one of his mothers had given him from where the women and Ungyov watched the news for grabbing the squash when it was too late in the morning to cook it properly for breakfast.

“A nice selection,” his father said with a smile as Suthryen set the squash on the counter and held up the basket for inspection. The eggs in particular seemed tiny in his large hands as he moved them onto the counter, alongside the greens. “Could you peel the good parts from these twigs and pit some fruit for the kids?”

Something in his gut leapt and roiled all at once at not being in that group, but he nodded with a “Yes, sir” as he picked a spot out of the way of the proper cooking going on. The fruits would be quick, only a few needed pitting, so he stacked the twigs on the counter in front of him to start with. Pocketknife in hand, he began to shave the parts soft enough to chew into a pile, proust curled up on his feet. Easy, methodical work, and he was a good chunk of the way through before his grandfather dropped a hot pan loaded with a variety of thin sliced tubers not far from him. He couldn’t help but jump at the clatter, turning to face the old man’s frown.

“You still can’t peel twigs right?” Stepping aside, ignoring Jaja’s croaking, Suthryen put up no resistance in spite of the burning in his gut as twig and knife were all but snatched from his hands. In a single, smooth motion his grandfather peeled a long, curling strip away, a sharp contrast to the shorter, irregular strips he’d managed. Even with aging joints he finished the twig quickly and easily, all but slamming the knife on the counter when he was done. “It’s not difficult.”

“Buxun,” his father cut in in a tone closer to pleading, “he’s still young.”

“He,” his grandfather said with a huff, “is already twelve. Nearly a man and he can’t even peel twigs.” He ground his teeth against his temper as the old man shook his head. “You keep coddling your boys like this and they’re going to be useless in the caravans. Why do you think the older two haven’t been back? Shunted off to some other group at the first chance, I’d bet money.”

As if anyone would come back. He was sure his older brothers had gone as far as they could as soon as they could, just as he planned to do once his fifteenth came. Still, he wasn’t quite fool enough yet to speak his mind, or give in and kick his grandfather’s cane out from under him, merely retrieving his knife and returning to his work, trying his best to get to long strips that were expected of him.

A quick glance at his father showed him turned silently back to the stove.

~

His younger siblings were playing when he went to get them ready for the day, but quickly fell in line once he walked in. Toys were put away, clothes changed, faces and hands washed, teeth and manes brushed. Zimily was still favoring his wrist, and rushed to steal Maine’s seat when they arrived for breakfast. There was a hushed argument between the two before a grandmother growled at them to both sit down.

Suthryen couldn’t bring himself to do much more than roll his eyes as Maine settled into their brother’s normal seat beside him. So Zimi was avoiding him, maybe now he’d finally learn not to mess with his stuff.

Breakfast was normal. A puree with nut butter for the grandparents and little Naeigyn, and with caramelized nuts for the rest of the family. The youngest also got to share in the soft-cooked eggs with greens, though his came with cheese. All the children got cheese, dense blocks that showed no sign of having melted during frying and that squeaked under knife and between teeth, from Maine all the way to Ungyov, who face screwed up at the sight of it.

“I’m grown enough,” she griped, “I don’t need dairy anymore.” As she said it, she pushed the platter down closer to the younger children, earning a glare from one of their mothers.

“You are a child,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument, “and a skinny one at that.” Standing, she reached down the table to spear a block and drop in intently onto Ungyov’s plate. “You need to put on weight, or are you intending your sister and cousins to put in all the work charming a man?” Though she continued to frown, she hunched her shoulders and turned back to her plate, listlessly piling twig shavings and roasted tubers like it might hide the offending product.

“No, ma’am.”

~

A normal breakfast of the adults and Ungyov talking about the news and weather and plans for the day while the younger children discussed what school would hold and Suthryen kept an eye on his siblings and a hand on the prout in his lap lead into everyone who would leave the house gathering their things. School books, work gloves, hats, and a pack lunch for Muhnea’s mother specifically, who didn’t intend to come home for the meal. Everything he would need, a few things his younger siblings would need, and a few leftover pieces of fruit made their way into his pockets before the front door opened like a floodgate and the family spilled out onto the street.

While their mothers headed towards the river, he and his siblings headed for the next neighborhood over. School beckoned, whether they liked it or not. Opinions varied wildly, even just in their own household, nonetheless as they started acquiring cousins. All the herd’s school-aged children, all heading in the same direction to the same location.

“Kwarrel!” A weight lifted off his shoulders as Ausom stumbled to a stop at his side, punching his shoulder as he did. Taking a quick look around found Fadesi not far behind, herding two of his own younger siblings to catch up.

“Hey,” he called as he reached them, his own little herd joining Suthryen’s as both his older cousins jostled him. “What are the chances by maths teacher died overnight.”

“Probably pretty low,” Suthryen said, patting his shoulder in consolation.

“I don’t want to take this test,” Fadesi groaned. “I couldn’t even study last night, it was chaos at home!” Suthryen nodded his understanding, he only had five siblings at home, but poor Fadesi had seven, including another toddler and a sister too young for school, and you could tell their mothers were siblings. Ausom, meanwhile, just grinned at them, checking to see if anyone was paying attention before shuffling a few steps closer to them.

“So, you’d be happy to skip with me then?” The other boys were quiet for a moment.

“What did you do?” Huffing, Ausom pulled himself up straight and stared them down. It didn’t really work.

“I didn’t do anything,” he declared, then relaxed, leaning in again. “My sister was part of that mine inspection, and she says they might have found some decent veins the last herd left behind.” Eyes going wide, Suthryen and Fadesi went from keeping at least one eye on their younger siblings to giving their cousin their full attention.

“And?”

“And it’s still not guarded yet,” he continued. “If there’s some good gems in there we could make our own beads.” A tempting argument, as they walked along with wooden beads and simple embroidery on their clothes. For all their herd primarily made beads the vast majority of the nice ones- out of gems and metal pulled out of the river and off the mountain- were sold to neighboring herds and passing caravans. The very idea of having something so fancy was enough to have Suthryen fingering the patterns along his shirt’s hem.

“Are you sure nobody is watching it,” Fadesi asked, and Ausom nodded.

“Yeah! They’re still arguing about whether it’s worth the effort!” He checked again, still grinning. “Nobody’s paying attention, we slip off, fill our pockets, and we’ll be set!” Slip off- Suthryen looked at the rest of the crowd, his younger siblings, then shared a look with Fadesi. Ausom’s older brother hadn’t left yet, but they were the oldest boys at home and they knew exactly what would happen if they left their younger siblings to walk without them.

“We’ll go when we get to the school,” Suthryen said, full of the knowledge that Fadesi was young enough to argue with and he was big enough not to. Face falling, Ausom groaned.

“Seriously?”

“We’d to be able to walk to school tomorrow,” Fadesi added, and between the two of them Ausom huffed, but didn’t push the matter.

“When are we going to get our own school, anyway,” he grumbled. “I’m sick of walking to a whole other neighborhood just so somebody else’s aunts can tell me what to do.”

“Acuni’s working on that, isn’t she,” Fadesi asked, turning to Suthryen, who nodded.

“Yeah, once she done in school she’s gonna be a teacher.” Huffing, Ausom rolled his eyes and got a hard sock to the arm for it. Nobody outside the household got to roll their eyes at his siblings.

“I don’t think one teacher’s going to do much,” he said, rubbing what would surely be a bruise as he stepped away from Suthryen and his glare. “What would we even do with just one?”

“Teach the boys at least,” Faderi said. “Grandmother Miehu hates that we keep having to leave the neighborhood, calls it ‘bachelor behavior’.” All three of them huffed at that, Suthryen kicking harshly at the dirt beneath his feet.

“Almost want to go to class now.”

~

As planned, while everyone else was heading into the school the three of them held back and slipped away, backtracking for home and beyond it to the mine. Quite the long walk, easily four, five times longer than just getting to school in the first place, but perfectly manageable for three young boys with adventure and small riches in front of them. Manageable and worth it to be stood in front of the big opening to the mine, fiddling with the lock on the fence. How had none of them come prepared for a lock? How had Ausom not come prepared for a lock?

“How long is this going to take,” Faderi asked, leaning against the fence while Ausom continued to fail at breaking in. Suthryen was in the process of looking around the area, maybe find another way inside. “Kwarrel and I need to be back at the school before lunch.”

“It’s not my fault you guys are scared,” Ausom said, throwing a glare at Faderi and ignoring their cousin hefting a large rock. “If you’re that worried then leave, I’m getting in here.” Glaring, Faderi pulled himself up and started-

“Hey!!”

The other boys started and turned in time for Ausom to throw himself away from the fence and barely out of the way of Suthryen slamming a rock against the lock with as much force as he could manage. In shocked silence the two watched him yank and fiddle with the old pieces of metal attaching it to the fencing, sheered mostly free from the blow. With only a few minutes forcing he’d managed to work them off, tossing the whole set to the side, pinging it off the rock. He shoved the door open, heading inside with a purposeful gait as Faderi collected himself and chased after.

“Kwarrel,” he said, “you could have taken Ausom’s head off!”

“I warned him.”

“A little more next time, please.” Rolling his eyes at the pleading, Suthryen continued like he hadn’t heard.

“You broke my knife,” Ausom called as he ran in, glaring when Suthryen turned around.

“What, worried,” he asked, meeting him glare for glare. “I have places to be.” For a long minute they continued glaring before Ausom tore his gaze away, digging in his pocket and pulling out a flashlight.

“I’m the one with the light, idiot,” he said, shoving his way to the front of the trio and starting further into the mine. Suthryen glared and snarled after him, Faderi slipping in between him as they followed his silhouette against the light.

The mine itself was large and old, with electric lights they didn’t even try to turn on running along the ceiling and an old cart track to one side. It also had more twists and turns than they had expected. None of them knew anything about mines, not really, and while they and many others had found ways inside over the years, they themselves had never gone very deep. There was a brief huddled discussion of how to deal with all the offshoot tunnels before they came to a general agreement to stick to the left wall going in and then the right coming out. Following the walls led them deeper and deeper into the mountainside, down various turns and crossroads.

They chatted as they went, voices low to avoid echoes that made the mine seem deeper and fuller than it was. About school, shows, games, siblings, cousins, plans for the future. Not that there were a lot of options on that last one, it was ‘stay with the caravans’ or ‘marry and raise kids’ really, but enough for a discussion and friendly teasing. Assurances that it was a good thing Faderi wasn’t interested in finding wives because he was too ugly to find decent ones. It was during this teasing, just before Faderi started kicking people, that Ausom caught a glint of something at one of the walls.

"What is it,” Suthryen asked as the three of them crowded around small patch of yellow crystals, eyes darting between the stones and Ausom. The other boy looked it over intently, handing the flashlight off to Suthryen as he motioned for Faderi’s pocketknife. With an effort that had it’s owner cringing, he used it to pry a crystal loose for better inspection.

“It is… andalusite,” he declared with all the confidence of someone who shouldn’t have been so confident, but was surrounded by people who somehow knew less than him, and so could get away with it. The others ‘ooo’ed appropriately, and since Faderi was knifeless, Suthryen handed him the flashlight while he pulled out his own. Together, he and Ausom set to work on the cluster of crystals with their knives and the occasional nearby rock.

While far from experts, between the two of them they managed a solid handful of little yellow stones that Faderi counted out into three equal piles as they went. They were downright tiny things, but still the boys took several minutes twisting them back and forth in the light to watch them shine and talking about where they would use them once they’d made them into proper beads. It was the topic of the walk back, a fun and fitting distraction as each walked with a hand on the right wall. Everything was success and laughter as they were briefly left blind stepping out into the light of the mid-afternoon sun.

Faderi and Suthryen froze.

“Masus ihrere sirs-!!”

~

They made sure to get back to the school before lessons ended for the day, and walked their younger siblings home like good older brothers, tense as springs and back ramrod straight all the while.

Suthryen’s grandmothers’ response when he got home still wasn’t for polite company.

~

The rimih weren’t quite stupid enough to be underfoot and Jaja was staying curled up under a shrub when his father found him in the garden, storming circles around the place in leu of tearing up paving stones and heaving them at the walls. His appearance at the door raised his hackles, just then when he wanted- Not to lick his wounds, to throw things and fight people, but his grandparents, his mothers, were all bigger and outnumbered him. If they hadn't-

“Su.” Suthryen stopped, fists clenched, as his father spoke. Long strides brought him to his side, meeting his glower with a frown and putting a cool, damp cloth to the swelling under his eye. It wasn’t the only place he was hurt, or would have bruises come morning, but he still couldn’t help but lean his head, just barely, against it. Setting a hand carefully on his shoulder, his father heaved a sigh. “What am I going to do with you?”

He bit his tongue, held back the urge to say he’d do what he always did, what he’d done in the front room. Nothing. That there was nothing to him but empty pleas and inaction. Instead, he kept his mouth shut, jaw clenched on the side that didn’t ache.

“First all the fighting, then the temper with your siblings, and now you’re running off, some days I’d swear you’re trying to get into trouble.” The words brought tears he wouldn’t let fall to his eyes, the idea that his own father- Heaving another sigh, he pulled Suthryen into a tight hug. “At least promise me you won’t go into the mines again. You boys could have gotten hurt, or trapped, and we may never have found out.”

Suthryen trembled with anger, hurt, but eventually gave a slow nod. It seemed to pull a weight from his father’s shoulders, and when he pulled away he just seemed sad. Pathetic even.

“I think,” he said, “it’s probably best your mothers don’t see you again today.” Somehow tensing even further, Suthryen gave an unfortunate nod, even as his father stroked his mane. “How about, you go run yourself a bath, and I’ll bring you dinner later. Alright?” With something that felt like regret and felt like relief, Suthryen stepped out of his reach.

“Alright.”

~

It was the first time in at least weeks, possibly months, that he got the bathroom to himself for more than a few minutes at a time, and Suthryen made sure to take full advantage. Drawing a nearly scalding bath, topping the water up every time it started to chill, and doing his best to relax into the heat. Especially when the yelling started at the other end of the house, not loud enough to hear but enough for Jaja to hop onto the edge of the tub where he could easily pull him into the water with him. His mothers, one of his grandmothers, little Naeigyn started sobbing at one point, a sound that travelled through the house as he was taken to the relative quiet of their parents’ quarters.

For not the first or the last time in his childhood, he was happy to be able to just pack up and go to his room rather than join everyone for dinner.

~

His father managed to slip in about two hours after the screaming stopped, ostensibly making his way to replace the basket in his room, and hand off a plate loaded down with two meals worth of leftovers.

“Don’t worry about getting the plate back,” he said as Suthryen stared down at the pile with mixed emotions. “I’ll handle it tomorrow.” Slowly, he nodded.

“Thanks, Dad.” His father smiled at him.

“No problem, Su. Sleep well.”

He watched the door as he slipped away, listening for the sound of his feet on brick, and the silence of nobody following. Only once he was sure he would stay alone did he tear into his food like someone who hadn’t eaten since mid-morning.

~

“Are you still up?”

Hours later, Suthryen started as Ungyov walked into the room, shutting off his flashlight on instinct. Logically he knew there was nothing wrong in what he was doing, thumbing through a book for growing boys he’d inherited from his older brothers, but it’d begun feeling otherwise in the past several months. As she crossed to her bed in the dark, he stowed it away in his chest and pulled his pajamas back out. She was allowed to be up over an hour longer than him and he knew from experience she wouldn’t let up until he was all tucked in at least.

“I’m just supposed to be in bed,” he said as he started changing, “the rules don’t say anything about sleeping.”

“Intent of the law, not the letter.” Other than his responding huff and the annoyed croaking of Jaja, poor old thing just couldn’t get sleep in, the room fell into a comfortable quiet. At least until Suthryen was getting his pants changed.

“You know, you won’t be able to get away with that in the caravans.”

“What do you know about the caravans?”

“That even they expect you to be civilized.” With the sound of her falling back onto her mattress, he threw a rude gesture across the room and tried to settle in himself. The space filled with the quiet shuffling of blankets and pillows, clink of a plate under a pillow knocking against tiling, the croak of a prout being picked up and set in his normal place on his owner’s belly. Stroking the animal’s back, Suthryen took and released a deep breath, eyes sliding shut.

“Hey.” Not bothering to open his eyes again- wasn’t she the one who wanted him sleeping? sisters... -he just made a curious, annoyed noise. “Are you okay?”  That was all it took to make him go still, letting the words sink in and through.

“Yeah,” he lied.

“Good.” There was a hint of relief to her voice, more shuffling of covers. “Night.” Another deep breath, this time with a wobble he hoped she couldn’t hear.

“Night.”

[the-crow-binary]

One day, I will post a fic who has full context, with an actualy beginning, and is accessible to anyone... today is not that day.

Have a little piece about Mathias trapped in CV3 Castlevania after living there for a while and having bond quite a lot with Hector :) (tbf, @beevean is the one writing the fic wich is the context to this piece, but has not yet finished it. Blame her not me <3)

The room was strangely pretty. A good bed, a table, a chair, a few books… If he had been led here blindfolded, Mathias could have never guess it was supposed to be a cell. It was all so neatly prepared, he suspected the Count always had the intention to lock him up at one point or another. All the suppose freedom he had given him was nothing but a big cage, in the end. But his freedom was the last of his worries. He couldn't tell how much time had passed since he has been led here by Dracula's minions, who were still guarding his door, but it didn't matter. The recent events were still playing in his head, haunting, torturing his mind. Hector getting impaled on large, demonic wings' fingers. The blood dripping from his mouth, his pained moans, the sound of shattered glass and the Count's clothes folding as he throws his general out of a window. There was no scream, except, maybe, his own. Sitting against a wall, his limbs were still shaking, but his cheeks were no longer wet. He was never going to see him again, he was never going to hear the sound of his voice, of his laugh, the sparkles in his eyes as he was swearing his life to him, kissing the back of his hand… He brushed over it with his fingers. Somehow, he could still feel the warmth of soft lips caressing his skin.

"Is somebody there?"

Mathias looked up, startled. Two men were standing in his cells. One, armed with a whip, standing with an elegance that painfully reminded him of Leon, and the other, much smaller and scrawny, wearing clothes he could only associate with bandits. How did they get in his cell?

"Looks like it," said the small man, "why aren't you saying anything, sir? Did they cut off your tongue?" "Don't rush him, Grant. We don't know what he has been through."

The taller one approached carefully. Mathias stayed still, observing.

"To be protected by such fierce beasts, and being offered such a nice room as a cell… You must be an important prisoner to the Count, are you not?"

The Lord wanted to snap, to scream all his hatred for the Count, all his despair for being trapped in more ways than one, to order these strange men to go away and leave him alone to brood. But he kept his composure and silenced his most stupid thoughts. He wasn't going to get anything from crying alone in his cell, waiting for death. He still needed to go back home… he still needed to go back to his wife and friend. That's what Hector would have wanted.

"Who are you?" he calmly asked. "My name is Trevor Belmont," the name made Mathias' heart skip a beat, "and this is my companion, Grant Danasty." "We're here to defeat Dracula and put an end to his reign of terror, once and for all!"

Mathias looked at both men, one after the other. He didn't have time to process the informations given to him that a hand reached to him.

"And your name, sir…?"

He looks into the eyes of the man, they were the same blue as his old friend… Something about him was magnetic. He couldn't say if it was naturally coming off from him, or if it was his mind playing tricks, knowing he's the descendant of Leon… but it was there. And it made him take the offered hand, without thinking about it.

"Mathias Cronqvist. I'm…" he paused, getting up on his feet with the hunter's help, "I am an important prisoner to the Count. You are right." "Oh? Are you going to help us defeat him then?" asked Grant. "I don't have much, except for my brain. But if you will have me… I'll gladly join your side." "We would never be too much to fight him, but are you sure…? I'm sure you already know how dangerous our mission is." "Trust me, I am most confident in the fact I won't get too harmed." "Alright… Welcome to the group, Mathias Cronqvist."

Trevor shook his hand and put the other on his shoulder. The gesture was comforting, and so was his friendly smile. He reminded him all too much of his ancestor… four hundred years into the future, and Leon's influence still lived on. He would marvel at the fact, if the situation wasn't so heartbreaking.

[coolunclebruno]

Familiar Stranger

[link posted at end of fic]

“Excuse me, señora ?”

Isabela, who was sitting with her legs kicking freely and had just been in the middle of admiring the flow of the river from the bridge, heard the voice from behind and turned around to see who it was, and she saw potentially the most out of place man she had ever seen.

He was short for starters, maybe a head or two shorter than her, and had his hair slicked back in a poofy pompadour and had the wisps of a mustache and a beard on his chin. He was wearing a brown suit and tie with almost comically large shoes, had red square-framed glasses perched upon his nose, and was holding a big brown leather suitcase. 

He had to be the most dorkish, most out-of-place man she’d ever seen, excluding her tío.

“Hm?”

“Do you think you could point me in the direction of the Pomar Inn?” the man asked. 

“Oh, yeah, just head that way,” Isabela said, pointing in the direction the man had just been walking from. “You just turn left at that building right there, go down the street, take another left, and it should be that yellow-orange building, with two stories and the empty planters in their windows.”

The man glanced behind him and then ran his hand down his face.

“I walked past that building twice …,” he said in a defeated tone.

Isabela put a hand over her mouth to hide her chuckle. “It’s your first time here at the Encanto, isn’t it?”

“You’d think so,” the man said. “But I actually grew up here and left for the city when I turned 18.” 

“Oh really?” Isabela perked up at hearing that. 

“Yes, I know, shocking,” he chuckled sarcastically, putting down his suitcase and taking a seat opposite Isabela. “But, yes I was born and raised here.”

He took a look around at the buildings on both sides of the river. “So much has changed since I left…”

“I’d argue that it all stayed the same…,” muttered Isabela. 

The man turned around to face Isabela to get a better look at her and tightened his face in thought. 

“Something wrong?”

“No, no…,” the man reassured. “It’s just…you look awfully familiar.” 

“What did you say your name was again?” he asked.

“I-I didn’t even say my name…,” Isabela stammered.

“Okay, well what is your name?” he asked. 

“Isabela Madrigal.”

“Isabela…,” the man said thoughtfully, rubbing his hand on his chin. 

Suddenly, the odd man shot back, face lit up with recognition. 

“I-Isabela Madrigal?!” he shouted. “ Dios mío! I can’t believe you’re the first person I asked here for help!” 

“Huh?” 

“I remember you! We went to the same school together! Do you not recognize me at least a little bit?”

Isabela took a good look at his face, only seeing a freckle that she hadn’t seen before. 

“No, no, sorry, I really don’t.”

To her surprise, he chuckled. 

“I suppose you wouldn’t after all these years,” he said, moving himself closer to Isabela. 

“How about this; do you remember a short girl being in your math class?”

“There were a lot of short girls?” Isabela said, confused. 

“She had a short bob, glasses that were too big for her face, and was really shy and quiet?”

Isabela tried to paint a picture in her mind, but nothing was really coming together…

“And she had a big nose.”

Suddenly, images of a girl flooded Isabela’s memory, a tiny, fragile-looking girl, who always seemed to be in a corner and looked like she was uncomfortable even in her own skin…

“Y-you’re…?”

“Lupita?” he asked, pushing his glasses back up on the bridge of his nose. “I guess you could say that! But I go by Bubo now, it’s what my friends call me.”

Bubo bent down to look for something in his suitcase, trying to suppress his grin as Isabela sputtered in shock. 

“B-b-but ho-what? How? I-how did you become a man?” she blurted out. 

Bubo looked up. 

“I didn’t become a man per se, I’ve always been a man deep down, you see. I take medicine now to make my appearance more like a man, and I got a ‘surgery’ to help with that, as well!” 

Isabela looked down in utter bewilderment, taking in the information that was just told to her. After some time, she finally spoke up.

“So…you’ve always felt like this?”

“For as long as I can remember, yeah,” said Bubo. 

“Wow…,” Isabela was speechless. “...You certainly seem happier.”

“Why, thanks for noticing!” Bubo laughed out loud. “You should see the look on your face right now, honestly!”

Isa giggled in unison. “I bet it’s something to behold, huh?”

The two laughed together like fools, before finally calming down. Bubo got up and grabbed his suitcase. 

“Well, I should make my way over to my hotel. I don’t want to keep them waiting! Thanks again for the directions!” he said, and started walking away.

“W-wait, Lu-sorry, Bubo!”

Bubo stopped and looked back.

“I…I don’t fully understand it…,” Isabela started slowly. “But, I’m really glad to see that you’re happy.”

Bubo grinned. “Thank you, Isabela. See you around town!” And he walked away towards his destination. 

Isabela stared as he turned around the corner. 

“ Hm, he’s actually kinda cute, I won’t lie…,” she thought to herself. 

link to fic on a03;

[leoalvarez-clowncarcommittee]

Furry Visual Novel Book Club: Echo Week 7 SPOILERS

Hi everyone, here is the SPOILER FREE discussion post for “Echo - Carl’s Sunday-2 Electric Boogaloo???”  

Links: Previous - Next - Original - Spoiler Free Version

Feel free to respond in reblogs/replies/or asks :D

We open this section with Jenna on the scene, having just struck Carl with a stool 

Jenna ignores the ram she had just knocked over the head and explains she stumbled into the house looking for Tj and that things have been crazy after Carl and Chase left the lake... About Tj seeing Sydney among Leo acting strange. She continues that something is happening to everyone, mentioning gunshots from main-street. The trio explains that things aren’t much better here either. Really dying for the reverse Carl-Route fic with Tj, Flynn, and Leo

This is the really only ‘Silent Hill’ type route, where the party is trapped in a nightmare dimension while all other routes deal with experiencing the Hysteria. This initially disappointed me on my first play-through, because I got hooked on the Silent Hill aspect. We do get more, with the horrors generating themselves mostly as these the subconscious nightmares of the characters, but this is the only time it’s front and center. It’s definitely more in-line with Cosmic Horror nature of the Entity to do it the other way, but at least one more nightmare route would have been appreciated. Good fanfic space where we can throw out themes because the game did the themes though!

Raven opens the newly unlocked door, and the group all pass out. Chase awakens to Raven calling out for Chase and Carl, reminiscent of events of the kitchen. Chase hobbles downstairs in a new location, to find Jenna and Carl in front of wardrobe containing a screaming Raven. Raven is let out and the group determines they’re in a log cabin of some kind.

I think this is where Raven works the best in the narrative. They need someone a little dumb and someone a little detached from the horrors other than Chase to help ground things (As well as giving Jenna SOMEONE to talk to). Also is this a ‘Raven in the closet’ joke??? He’s obviously a LITTLE fruity, at least how he acts/responds. Maybe he’s just metro-sexual.

Chase peers out of a window for the source of beating drums and sees a large bonfire some ways from the cabin. The group see ‘something’ moving outside and resolve to find more evidence as Neutral kicks in, relaxing the mood. The group split up to look, with Chase commenting on Carl’s possession condition.

I was initially upset by the ending of the route where Carl and Chase don’t end up together, but seeing lines like this so before the ‘climax’ makes it make a lot more sense in full context. Carl was truly mostly gone.

The music cuts as Chase dwells on the feeling of being watched… From the lines “I hold still, then lean back, tiling my ear towards the sound,” a twenty second timer kicks in before playing ‘Bent’, an unsettling piece, accented by the ‘something’ from earlier presumably rustling around just outside the cabin. The ‘something’ appears in the window to Chase, Chase’s body freezing upon seeing it. An unknown voice commands it to stop, something from INSIDE the cabin. 

My best interruption is that this is ANOTHER Echo/Ghost of John Begay. With James I being the voice over Chase’s shoulder. Which leaves us with maybe three? The one possessing Jenna, the Smoke Monster, and now this fox. The spirits are also more ghost-like (white and appearing over shoulders). Definitely something I’m looking forward to getting some more concrete answers to in either TSR or a potential rewrite. (As this ‘entity is dropped too... unless it’s supposed to be the shadow monster from the next part too? And it’s just taking different forms to spook people??)

The creature cackles in response, replaying the cackling sound from earlier in the route. The rest of the group rush down stairs as Chase is finally able to scream. Carl badgers Chase for information on what he saw, only for the conversation to be interrupted by Raven finding a newspaper clip. The newspaper catches fire only after Raven is able to read a single line

Carl and Jenna argue about the burned paper, attacking and defending Raven over igniting it with a candle on accident respectfully. The group end up searching for a few hours and decide to sleep on different floors for the ‘evening’. Chase comments that all of Carl’s mannerisms are different and the two settle into bed together to sleep. Carl embraces Chase, pulling the otter into him. Chase has trouble falling asleep, and after doing so, explores downstairs to find water after waking. Chase finds Raven asleep, and a convenient cup of water on the table.

-----

mmhhh... buppy <3

-------

He takes a sip only to spit out a foul liquid. A loud sound scares Chase and he goes into the adjoining room to investigate. The wardrobe Raven was trapped in early starts to shake. 

Black tendrils from the wardrobe make the shape of hands and feet, before the wardrobe opens violently, followed by a black creature from within attacking Chase. Chase suffocates as the creature engulfs him… Chase wakes up from a nightmare, only to see Carl over him in bed.

We also see this kind of creature in another game doing something very ... similar. It feels at least especially inspired by this line too...

EXCELLENT use of nightmare setup. We’re already conditioned to just accept whatever weird thing is happening, and with the layers of nightmares already seen, it fits in while still being ‘explained.’ Also was the liquid in the cup this route’s piss joke?

I had completely misread this scene wrong the first time. I thought Carl/James I was shaking Chase awake/drove off the monster... but it does sound like he was trying to ‘mount’ Chase in his sleep and the weight on top of him caused his sleep paralysis nightmare...

Jenna barges into the room as “Anger” begins to play. Jenna tackles Carl out of bed and starts to beat on Carl who is now on the floor. Chase notices a shadow making Jenna appear larger… only for Chase to notice the same kind of shadow around Carl. Raven shows up to drag Jenna away from the scene. He questions her and she responds: 

The forms of the shadows disappear, and Chase helps Carl up. 

Neutral comes back in as the two talk and have a serious talk about ‘them’. Intimate plays as the two discuss what’s going on, asking how much of James influenced the ram. 

(Hi, as soon as Silent Echoes is wrapped up, I’m going to be entering my Carl Brain-Rot era after replying this scene)

This is where the Route splits into two branching narratives. For the purpose of this Book Club, we will be selecting ‘Fight it.’ We will cover ‘Let it help us.’ at a different time! In my opinion this was the ‘harder’ route split option to choose ‘correctly’. They really did make Carl to be a bit inept, and I was on the bamboozle train that John was the child abuser not James I (which after a scene in TSR, maybe they both are????)

Chase doesn’t trust the entity and tells Carl to fight it. 

‘We ARE in this together’... the ship that only sails when Carl has the pedo-ghost... truly fucking tragic these two idiots don’t ever talk to each other otherwise because they make such a good/cute pair when they do.

------- 

🐺   🪢  ......... I like to think this was on purpose

------

Chase awakens to Carl spooning him, and the two let themselves enjoy the moment. 

They eventually remember the spooky hell dimension they’re in after being a little to loud.

Personal Note: BOOOOOO, GET BACK TO THE BED AND STOP THINKING. Also this frumpy, bloodied up Carl sprite is TOP FUCKING TIER

Chase heads downstairs to resume the search… 

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

And that wraps our reading for this week. Despite the ‘length’ of this section, not much happens. The new setting is certainly interesting and Jenna and Carl’s worsening conditions sure are interesting.

Next week will be our longest one, approximately double the length of previous weeks. There’s a fail state on the next choice, so make sure to save in case you don’t remember/want to reread the death scene yourself. It’s not very long but I’ll be sure to cover it!

This will be the end of Carl’s Route. Be on the look out for a poll about the branching narrative option!

Remember, this is the spoiler version, Spoiler Free Version HERE

[the-fiction-witch]

Train Man

REAL LIFE (MAYBE?) COUPLE READER X MYSTERY MAN (IT COULD BE ANYONE) RATING SEXY

Writers note: hello everyone, felt like maybe this could be a little bit of fun let's have ourselves a mystery fic why not maybe do a small series and see if we can figure out who it is... Maybe I don't know we'll see

I woke to the blare of my alarm, so I sighed turning in bed and silencing the stupid thing. I climbed out of bed with a yawn and a stretch rushing to the bathroom doing my usual business before climbing into the shower. I took my strawberry shampoo making sure to wash my hair properly. I scrubbed up and down my body twice making sure I was all clean. I grabbed my towel wrapping it around myself and headed back to my bedroom. I threw my white bra onto my bed and my little lilac panties. Once I was dry and threw my towel to be washed and quickly clicked my bra on instantly feeling it support me even if it took my fairly large breasts and squished them together and up almost so much my boobs looked like one of those pron girls where here boobs will jump out her bra if she breaths a little too hard. I sighed I really need a new bra. I slipped my panties on feeling the soft cotton against my skin. I sat on my bed grabbing my socks pulling them slowly up my legs to my thighs as usual, I grabbed my shirt doing up all the little buttons, I grabbed my skirt and had a fight with the stupid zip the moment I got it zipped up I exhaled but noticed in my mirror the front of my skirt the hem was at my knees the back well… you can see the top of my socks 

"Stupid! Big butt!" I complained trying to pull the skirt down but it just wasn't working so I undid my skirt a little so I could actually pull it down, I grabbed my cardigan and threw it over my shoulders. I sat in my vanity and fixed my hair for the day as well as some minimal make up as anything more would get me in trouble. I grabbed my bag and my books heading downstairs.

"Morning darling" my mum smiled from the kitchen

"Morning, can't stop I'll be late" I told her as I slipped on my shoes 

"I know, go on have a nice day" she says 

I smiled and hurried out the door into the grey stuffy london streets I hurried down the grey cracked pavement most of it broken open by the few trees roots breaking thought them. I did my best to keep on track time wise as I knew the punishment if I was late again. I spotted the familiar little round logo for the london underground so I hurried down the stone tile steps into the depths below. Thought the round corridors lit completely by artificial light making you feel as if you where in an apolcolyps bunker at the end of the world. People rushing by to get whenever they where going that day, adverts for theatres liked the walls, the sounds of people hurrying in every which way as well as the strange changes in temperature you get on the underground one corridor your sweating tnenyou turn and a corner and suddenly arttic then another corner and it's suddenly hawaii temperature I don't know something to do with the airflow I suppose. I got to the little platfrom I needed so I waited along with the mass of other people. A rush of hot strange smelling air blasted past and seconds later the train came into view and of course it being london and morning rush hour it was packed to the brim with people. I climbed on with a few others as I knew I had no time to wait for the next train an I huddled myself near the back window close to the door trying not to be in people's way but also not get lost in the cargnage of the carriage I kept my eyes out the window looking at the various tunnels and little stations we passed I always felt weird about the london underground at this time of day. 

The concept of personal space just doesn't exist. 

If you get mad your the asshole.

Your breathing everyone else in london's morning coffee breath.

You dare look someone in the eye on the tube you'll get stabbed the moment you touch the platform.

Just standing here there is like twenty, hands, knees, elbows either actually touching me or just about to. 

I put a headphone in trying to ignore the world keeping the other out so I could hear of there where announcements or anything.

I listened to my music food a good while until suddenly I felt something.

The train jolted and stopped clearly an issue somewhere I had to grab the yellow pole just to stop myself going into the person beside me, various people began muttering and complaining about the stop of the train and instantly I noticed something. 

A hand. 

The hand sat on my ass clearly over my skirt.

I didn't think much of it maybe someone just had there hand down and then they bumped into me when we stopped or something. Maybe they just didn't realize they had there hand there or something.

It was definitely a man by the size of the hand I glanced around a moment seeing if I could see who it was but knowone was looking up then again what did I expect. 

I moved a little so the hand left me and didn't think much more about it getting back into the song.

But I felt a hand again.

This time no excuse. No reason it could have been a mistake or a misunderstanding. No I moved away and you went right back to having your hand on my ass. No weather or not you knew before is debatable but you choose to put your hand back so you knew exactly what you where doing.

I didn't want to kick up about it on such a busy and angry train and honestly on a train this full there was reasonable expliantions.

I felt something that ran a ice cold chill down my spine a small little squeeze.

Aww hello no sir. 

Luckily the train started up again rushing fast down the track to get back on schedule. 

I felt him squeeze me a couple more times clearly feeling me up a little.

The moment those doors opened I jumped out onto the platform being the first person off I rushed to stand against the wall looking seeing if anyone would look at me, see if anyone looked suspicious but there were so many people embarking and disembarking the train trying to find one was like trying to find a realistic cake that looks like an orange on a bowl full of oranges. I gave up and hurried up the steps.

[buckys-black-dress]

see through

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

a/n: i dont have much to say other than that it's 1 am and i needed to get this out of my system. chapter 4 of play the game is underway, i promise. also, there will be a pov switch in this fic!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. = POV change!

wc: 4.1k words

[ neighbor!bucky barnes x fem!reader ]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

-

Every Friday night, without fail, you saw the light filter into your apartment.

Notice how you said night?

Yeah, it was almost two in the morning, by the way.

And why was there light coming through the chiffon curtains you had hanging on the rod above your window?

(Great choice on your part, by the way.)

Well, because of your neighbor.

You've seen him a few times, actually. Usually on the street outside your buildings, or just out and about. Never spoke to him, though. He was quiet, kept to himself. Didn't seem very friendly or willing to exchange a greeting if he ever saw you.

But you never took it personally. Maybe he was having a bad day. Every time you saw him.

But that's besides the point. The point right now is that you can see the lights blaring in your room. From the apartment across from yours.

Should it even be possible for light to travel that far? I mean, we don't even live in the same building. You think to yourself as you watch the colors dance in the dark.

You debate getting up and yelling out your window to tell him to shut that shit off or to invest in some blackout curtains. You were tired of sacrificing your sleep every week.

But then you decided against it, because you quite frankly could not be bothered to get up from the warmth of your bed. You'd tough it out for the night, but the next time you saw him, you'd have a few words for him.

-

The next morning, it was almost ten when you woke up. You didn't have your shift at the coffee shop you worked at until three, so you took your time in making your way out of bed.

You noticed the curtains of your neighbor's apartment were still open, but you could see his figure moving across the room. He was clearly on the phone with someone, and he didn't look too happy. You wondered what could have him so angry at such an early time of the morning. He seemed like a person who could use someone to talk to, someone who he could vent to.

But before you let your thoughts get ahead of you, you turn away from the window, heading back into your kitchen to eat breakfast and get ready for the long day ahead of you.

-

"Hi, what can I get started for you today?" You ask as brightly as you can muster at the moment. You were halfway through your shift, another three hours until close.

"Uh, just a large black coffee." The gruff voice says, and it takes you a second until you look up and look closely.

It was him.

"O-okay, that'll be $3.27." You say, and he hands you a five dollar note before grumbling,

"Keep the change."

"Thanks, and your name?"

He gives you a look that's asking, 'what the fuck do you need my name for?'

"For the order." You try and salvage your dignity, because it feels like the stare shrunk you to a speck of dust.

"James."

That's all he all but growls before turning back to find a seat.

As your coworker takes over the cash register, you grab the biggest cup and fill it with his desired coffee.

You try to not think about it too much, but the anxiety you feel rising up inside you and just calling his name to give him his coffee feels absolutely ridiculous.

"Are you just gonna stare at the cup or give it to the customer?" The voice of your coworker, Jenna, rings in your ears and you look up at her, snapping out of the trance you were in.

"Sorry, I'm just a little out of it today, I guess."

"Everything alright?" She asks, and you nod.

"I'm fine, it's just... that's my neighbor." You nod your head towards where James is sat, in the corner by the window as he watches the raindrops run down the expanse of the glass.

"The one who doesn't let you sleep?"

"Yeah, but I don't think he'd take it too kindly if I tell him about that. He seems to have a lot on his own plate anyways," You explain, and she just nods.

"Well, that sucks, but you still need ta' give the guy his coffee." Jenna smiles and walks back to what she was doing before.

You gently slide out from your spot behind the counter and walk to his table.

"Here's your coffee, James. Enjoy, and- uh, let me know if you'd like anything else." You tell him while placing the steaming cup in front of him.

He murmurs a thank you that you barely catch, but you don't quite have the time to sit and wait for more of a reaction.

For the next several hours, James sits right where he was. He doesn't do anything in particular, either. He just watches outside, as the rain continues to pelt down on New York City, and as people come and go from where they were.

Eventually, about an hour left until close, you offer another cup of coffee.

"Do you want a refill? On the house." You ask gently, waiting to see if you'll get brushed off again.

"Uh... are you allowed to do stuff like that?" He asks, and you're a bit taken aback at the sudden concern.

"I don't think you should worry yourself too much, James. Free coffee's free coffee." You smile lightly, and grab the cup before filling it up without his confirmation. You could tell he wanted to say yes but didn't want to seem rude.

"You didn't have to..." He grumbles, and you simply shake your head.

"I know, but you've been here a while, and what kind of employee would I be if I let a customer sit here without any sustenance?" Your lips ply into a tiny smirk, trying to get him to loosen up a bit.

He seems so guarded, defensive. Like any moment, he's ready to run if need be, you inspect to yourself.

"You'd just be a regular employee, Y/N." He says, but the way he says your name makes a shiver run down your spine; and you can't tell if it's a good or bad one.

You unconsciously look down at your name tag, pinned to your black apron that's branded with the café's logo.

"Well, I felt like being nice. I hope you can deal." Your voice comes out short, but he knows you mean no harm.

As you walk back to the counter, you see a small smile playing on his lips, but he doesn't allow it to manifest on his face. You take that as a small victory for your last hour of work.

(bucky's pov).・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The girl who works at this café is annoying.

But she's got a nice smile. And she's nice to me, Bucky thinks to himself.

He sips on the new coffee you'd just poured for him, without his consent, he thinks bitterly.

But it was a nice gesture.

Why can't you just take a nice gesture?

Because your brain's been scrambled eggs for 70 years. You don't know what to think about anything these days.

He watches you fiddle with the espresso maker, cleaning it with a rag, which you then dip into a bucket.

You look extremely familiar to him, but he can't exactly pin where he's seen you before.

Bucky closes his eyes for a moment, trying to recall where he'd seen you, but for a moment, he comes up with nothing.

Ever since he's been living back in the real world, he hasn't been outside too much.

He goes on the occasional walk, or goes to the tower to see Steve and Sam.

But other than that, he spends a lot of time in his Brooklyn apartment. He watches movies that Steve suggests, or he invites Steve and Sam over to have beer and watch TV with him.

He hates how lonely it gets, though.

Bucky wishes that he had someone.

Someone who could understand.

And don't get him wrong, he loves Sam and Steve. They fill in the gaps in his days, and they make them better.

Sometimes, thinking about having something to do that day is what makes it. He likes having something to do, something to plan for for when his friends come over.

But it feels like a teeny, tiny part of his life is missing. A person shaped-hole in his heart.

But Bucky doesn't spend too long thinking about it, or it'll send him into a spiral about failure and how he needs to 'push himself to get out there more.'

Or that's what his therapist says.

"Hey, we're about to close, and we usually throw the pastries out at the end of the day. Do you wanna take these home, by any chance?" Your voice rings in his ears, snapping him out of the impending slippery slope of his lack of love life.

He hesitates to answer for a second, looking at the brown paper bag pinched between your fingers.

Bucky can tell you were nervous when you spoke to him. He knew he made you uneasy, and it killed him inside.

He hated that. He just wanted to have a normal conversation with someone. But everyone seems to know who he is.

Who he was.

"Uh, what is it?" He croaks, unsure of what to say at your gesture.

"It's a few cookies and a chocolate croissant."

"Sure, I'll take 'em." Bucky simply answers, watching as you hand the bag over with a soft smile and watches you walk back.

You sweep up the floor and put up all the chairs, except for the one Bucky's sitting on. You leave his table alone, and bid farewell to your coworker who was scheduled to close with you.

Bucky doesn't know what drives him to do it, but he gets up after he sees you walk out the door, and follows you home.

Damn, if you like a girl, you usually ask for her number or somethin'. Not follow her home to make sure she's safe, you idiot. Bucky's inner voice speaks and sometimes, he wishes it would just shut up because he knows he has no game nowadays, but this is all he knows to do.

He realizes the way you're walking is familiar, and not at all of the way he was supposed to be going. That made him feel a little better, less like a creep. He's about half a block behind you, and when you turn onto the same street he lives on, he's really confused.

Did you know he was behind you? Are you trying to play a trick on him?

But before Bucky can speak up or say something, you walk right past his building, and into the one right next to it.

All of a sudden, images of you right on the street in front of your buildings flash through his head. He's seen you because you're his neighbor. Bucky's seen you right there, getting ready to start your run through the neighborhood, or probably on your way to work, now that he's seen where you work.

But he feels like there's somewhere else he's seen you; somewhere familiar.

He shakes his head, wondering why he's so caught up in you. He thought you were beautiful, but he feels a pull to you that he's never felt with anyone else before.

Bucky's hands move to unlock his door, sliding the key in and twisting the lock open.

He enters, staring at his dark apartment. It's moments like this, when he spends a long day alone, that he wishes there was someone.

Someone to come home to, to hug, to kiss, to share dinner with.

Some to fall asleep with at night. Someone to keep the terrors of the dark away.

But there was no one.

And then his mind thought back to you. Your hair, your face, your warm hands that touched his while you passed him the brown paper bag of treats.

Bucky wishes he was man enough to ask you out. Not even that, just to talk to you. Have a normal conversation, to get to know you.

But that wasn't in the cards for him anytime soon, he thinks.

For now, he focuses on taking things one at a time. And right now, all he wanted was a nice, warm shower and to get at least three hours of sleep tonight.

He's in his room, forgoing the lights for now, before he looks out his window.

For a moment, he believes his eyes are playing tricks on him.

There's absolutely no way that you are standing right there, right outside his window.

Well, in your own apartment, of course.

And there's absolutely no way in hell that Bucky is watching you undress right now.

As soon as you pull off your top, Bucky turns around before he could get more than a peek of your black lace bra, and he feels a burn in the pit of his stomach.

He can't tell if it's shame, guilt, or arousal.

(y/n's pov).・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You couldn't stop thinking about James all day.

After yesterday, you wondered why you couldn't shake this feeling about him.

He'd made it quite clear that he's not a people person. Or maybe he just wasn't a you person.

But again, you tried to not take things too personally these days.

Sometimes, you wondered, though, as you looked through your bedroom window to his some nights.

You imagined what it would be like, watching one of those movies with him at night. Making dinner with him. Having coffee in the mornings before work, wondering what he did for a living.

You chastise yourself for your thoughts, thinking that you were crazy for these ideas you were coming up with out of nowhere.

As you pull off your clothes to get ready for bed, you feel the same emptiness fill your heart when your head hits the pillow, and another day has gone by where you're all alone.

-

The next day, your shift was at ten in the morning so you were up early.

You took your time in rolling out of bed. The warmth of your duvet was holding you down, and you couldn't help take a peek out your window.

You see that the room facing yours is finally housing a body in the bed. In all the time you'd been living across him, you've only seen him on the floor.

You feel a warm flutter at that. Whatever reason led him to actually sleep in the bed last night was, you hope you played a role in it.

-

You make your way to the café, and although walking in the rain wasn't ideal, you made it, somehow.

You clock in and head to the register, ready to take the millions of orders that come in through the day.

"Hi- oh! Welcome back. What can I get you?" Your tone of voice made it clear you were surprised, but was trying to not let it show.

"Uhm, just the same as yesterday, and... Can I get a chocolate croissant?" Bucky's gruff voice tells you.

You ring him up, wondering if you should say something about him being your neighbor. Although, he didn't seem too keen on looking you in the eye right now, and you wonder if you did something to make him uncomfortable yet again.

He seems to have this issue quite often.

Little do you know, this time, it isn't because of you or anything you did.

Well, nothing you did on purpose.

Nothing you were aware of at the time.

Anyways, you tell James to go take a seat and that you'd be right out with his order.

"Here you go, James," you place the plate and mug on the table, and this time, when you hear him say something, you turn around with furrowed brows.

"Sorry, I didn't catch what you said." You apologize, waiting for him to repeat himself.

"I- nevermind, it was stupid anyways. You probably have to get back to work." He mumbles while looking back down at his pastry.

"James, whatever it is, you can tell me." You offer with a kind smile. "I can come sit with you during my break, if you don't mind?" A hopeful smile crosses your face.

"Uh, I- yes, yeah, that would be nice." He struggles for a moment, but finally nods his head in confirmation along with his words.

"Alright, James. I get off in an hour for my break." You simply tell him with a soft grin, and you can practically feel his eyes burning into you as you walk away.

The blush creeping up your cheeks also stays there until the remainder of your shift.

-

As you plop in the chair across from James, you inspect him for a moment.

He was attractive, you'll admit.

Okay, he was more than attractive.

"So, James, where are you from?" You ask, your own cup of coffee in front of you on the table.

"Well, I'm Brooklyn born 'nd raised. Never was a time I didn't live here. You?" His lip twitches, looking out the window fondly.

"That's nice. I moved here when I was nine, so I guess I've been here a while. But no matter where I go, there's nowhere like home." You smile.

"There really isn't, huh? This place is irreplaceable." He gives you a crack of another smile, and you find yourself yearning for more from him. Just a tooth, something.

"Well, do you live around here?" You ask, deciding to play coy. You wanted to see what he'd say.

"Uh, yeah, actually. Over on DeKalb and Clinton." He clears his throat, the hint of a smile on his face melting right off.

"Huh, that's so funny. I live on those streets too." You grin, waiting to see his reaction.

"O-Oh really?" James doesn't really know what to say without giving away that he knows where you fucking live.

"Yeah, isn't that funny? Which building?" You're pressing, and you know he knows, but you're having your fun right now.

"T-the uhm... I live in the Washington." He's now making zero eye contact with you, and you're close to breaking.

"What a coincidence! I live in the Oakley!" You're in a fit of giggles when his face drops, you just can't help it anymore.

"James, can I tell you something?" You ask in a coquettish manner.

"Yeah, I suppose you'll tell me even if I say no." He gives a tight smile as a joke.

"I don't wanna sound like a creep, but I knew you lived in the Washington."

"Oh," James releases a breath of relief, "thank God. I knew you lived in the Oakley, but I didn't wanna sound like a stalker either." He says.

You laugh, sliding a hand on top of his resting on the table.

"Y'know, you do this really annoying thing where you leave your movies running on full brightness on your TV, and I can see it through my windows at night." You laugh at the incredulity of the situation.

"Oh... I never even thought of that. I'm sorry, Y/N." He looks genuinely remorseful, and now you feel bad for any bad thought you've had about the man that lives across from you.

"It's alright. No big deal." Your smile does a good job of convincing Bucky that you truly weren't bothered by his actions, but he still felt bad.

"Y'know, maybe I could make it up to you?" He asks, and you feel a blush moving up your chest. "Like, maybe over dinner?" His voice is timid, you can tell by the way he tilts his head down while speaking.

"James," you slide your hand into his this time, your smaller one resting in his large metal one. "I'd love to go out with you sometime."

Before he could react, you stood up from the chair.

"My break's over, but I get off at 3." You lean down and pull a pen from your apron, scribbling your number onto a napkin. "Here."

You walk away before he could say anything, but there's something about him this time that you notice.

He's blushing, too. And he's smiling. A bright, white, blinding smile.

You think of that smile throughout your whole shift, until you see he's still waiting for you when it's time to go.

"So, do you like Chinese or Italian better?" He asks with a crooked smile.

-

bonus scene:

six months later

You and Bucky are laid across your bed, the TV blaring a movie that neither of you are paying attention to. Your head is resting on his shoulder, leg thrown over both of his, and his hand running through your hair.

"You wanna know somethin' doll?" Bucky asks, and you feel his chest rumble under your head.

"Yeah, everything okay?" You ask while leaning up on your elbow to get a good look at him, trying to gauge his mood.

"Everything's okay, just remembered something." He laughs, his hand moving to hold your jaw in it. You shivered at the touch, but smiled fondly at the action.

"When I first saw you at the coffee shop, that first day when you gave the free coffee and pastries... I followed you home."

Your brows furrow and it's clear that you were confused as to why.

"I wanted to make sure you got home safe, and then it turned out that you lived right next to me. So I went up to my apartment and wondered what I'd done right in a past life to have you live right next to me, and then I saw you lived right across from me." His face was tipped upwards, like he was replaying that night in his head.

"You followed me home just to make sure I was safe?" You asked in disbelief that he did something so nice for you, when at the time you thought he hated you.

"Of course, sweetheart. It was dark out and there 're some real jerks out there, y'know." One corner of his mouth lifts up in a soft smirk. "Didn't want anything to happen to ya."

You lean down and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, appreciating his gesture.

"I really thought you didn't like me back then, so this is a nice little secret you've been hiding from me." You giggle when he pulls you back in for a real kiss.

"Yeah, well, I don't think I could'a hated you if I tried, baby. You're too sweet. And at the time, I was still getting used to being out in the open without being a national security threat." You both laugh lightly, dropping your head down.

A moment passes where you bask in his words, letting them soak in. And then a thought hits you, and you can't help but become more curious. Now you need to know the answer.

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, hon." Now Bucky's brows are pulled together, and you reach up and smooth out the wrinkle with your thumb.

"Did you ever... see me doing anything in here? Like, I usually keep the curtains open, and even if they're closed, they're pretty see-through..." You trail off, giving him time to craft his response.

You have a feeling you know the answer, considering how he turns red like a tomato in an instant as words leave your lips.

"I... there was this one time, but I swear, I wasn't trying to peep on you or anything, it was the same day I followed you and I just so happened to look into your window, and you were getting undressed, but I swear, I turned away as soon as I saw what you were doing, baby-" He was rambling, trying to save himself from sounding like a complete creep after all he's just told you.

"Did you like it?" You ask, innocently, but he knew what you were trying to do.

"I-I- You were getting undressed, sweetheart, of course I liked it... are you kidding me?" Bucky's grasping for the words, trying to make you understand.

"Well... we could always recreate it, but maybe in the same apartment this time?" You cock your head to the side, your doe eyes stirring a feeling in his abdomen.

"I think that's an excellent idea, honey." Bucky's hands grasp your waist as you slide on top of his lap. "After all, I am a hands on learner."

-

fin. i hope you enjoyed!

[dreamingofaizawa]

Good Kitty

Shouta Aizawa x Chubby! Kitty Hybrid! Fem! Reader

***18+ Fic***

If you are under the age of 18, leave. Thank you.

Warnings: Kitty hybrid reader, smut, fingering, unprotected sex, praise kink (?), reader has insecurities, Shouta is soft and lowkey feral?, chubby kink (sorta), reader has a heat for the first time, barely implied virginity loss, a touch of dacryphilia

Word Count: 2.4 k

Author’s Note: This is inspired by @cupcake-rogue ’s fic Not Allowed on the Bed. I got permission to use it as inspo so here we are! Tbh the orignal had me feeling all sorts of feelings because, as a very subby sub that loves to please, I definitely have a praise kink and I WILL CRY if I’m called a bad girl. HOWEVER, Katsuki being the rough-around-the-edges guy he is wanting reader regardless of size made me very happy and warm and fuzzy. 

The premise with this is pretty much the same, except I made reader a kitty hybrid...and of course I wrote for Shouta, love of my life he is. I’m such a fucking simp. I’m not the biggest fan of the ending, but this has been sitting in my WIPs for too damn long and it’s decent enough for me to feel ok posting it.

Also, for reference, reader has black fur regardless of hair color. Reader could be blonde, but still have black ears and tail. That’s just the way I’ve chosen to write this for some reason, don’t ask me why, I’m weird like that. 

I think this is the first time I’ve written for a hybrid, so cut me a little slack.

Anywho, enjoy~

*

*

*

You can’t remember life outside the shelter. You’d grown up here, the caretakers said they’d found you on the street as a nearly newborn kitten and immediately scooped you up and brought you back here. That was a long time ago. Now you sit, waiting, your hopes for getting adopted diminishing with every passing day.

It’s unfortunate, but you still haven’t been adopted. It’s not that you’re bad, you always behave, you make sure you do. But you’ve overheard time and time again the people that gazed down at you and whispered about how you were too chunky, too big and too squishy for a kitty hybrid. And some even called you bad luck. The pitch black fur on your ears and tail warded off many.

Today was just the same as any other day. Wake up, get fed, wait in your room while potential owners pick and choose not you. Adults and children alike would take chunks out of their time to play with you, but they all left the shelter with another smaller cat. It was nearing bed time now, dinner just finished and the caretakers were about to start closing when the little bell on the front door jingled. Someone had just come in. You ignored it all the same.

Two pairs of footsteps began making their way past rooms, whoever it was that had entered smelled good, like coffee and tree bark. A smooth hum accompanied the caretaker’s voice, it made your ears twitch and tail sway gently. Still, you decided to just curl up in bed and try to sleep. The chance of him adopting you was slim, if it existed at all.

As you lay there your ears pick up their footsteps, the lazy set that dragged familiar, the nearly silent set less so. You listened as they came closer, never stopping as the man strode past each room and peered in the windows. You waited for them to pass right by your room, as they had been, but suddenly the footsteps halted. The caretaker spoke first.

“Y/n? You awake?” You let your eyes flutter open and sat up, tucking your legs under you and sitting up straight. They asked the man if he wanted to go in and see you, and he gave a simple nod. When he entered you finally looked up at him. The first thing you noticed were his eyes, tired and bloodshot with dark circles beneath them, a deep scar curved under his right eye. His long black hair fell around his shoulders, swaying lightly with every measured step he took toward you.

He stopped right in front of you, a large hand stretching out and you give it a small sniff before nudging your head into it, letting him pet your hair and scratch at the base of your ears. It felt nice to be getting attention like this. A small purr sounded in your chest, your tail gently swishing behind you.

“How long have you been here?” His voice is deep and calm, tired even, but it sounds so welcoming. It’s so soothing to your sensitive ears, like a warm blanket. You give a small hum before answering.

“A long time. I don’t remember anything outside this place.” At that he raised an eyebrow, turning to the caretaker with a questioning look.

“Most people look for...specific traits in the cat hybrids. Y/n here is well behaved, a perfect house kitty really,” you purred a bit at the praise, “But she’s a little larger than most. And her black fur wards off the more superstitious.” The man gives a curious hum before looking back down at you.

“Do you want to come home with me, kitty?” The question caught you a little off guard. Nobody really asked the hybrids if they wanted to go with them. You looked over to the caretaker, who nodded their head with a gentle smile, encouraging you to answer. All you could do was give a small nod, and soon you were in the car, on the way to your new home.

He’d told you to call him Shouta. He was nice, always quiet and never got mad. He never smiled, but you supposed that’s just the way he is. He gave you your own room, and always let you rub up on him when you wanted to, taking the opportunity to pet you. Occasionally you got the odd kiss on the forehead when you nuzzled into his neck. Those always made you purr. He never came seeking you out, which was good since there were times you really didn’t want to be touched. 

The longer you’re with him the closer you get, and you find yourself doing things you’d never thought to do before. Sometimes you found the floor more comfortable than the couch, and would kneel down and rub up on his leg, your tail wrapping around his ankle. There were times you’d see his fingers idly drumming on his lap, and you’d lay down and nibble on one with your little fang-like canines. He didn’t seem to mind that little oral fixation, and he always let you do whatever you wanted. All in all, life with Shouta is great.

But today you feel weird. You’d been cooped up in your room for the first hour or so of the weekend morning, not quite wanting to go out and make it known something was off. But it’s gotten abnormally hot, your face and chest especially warm, and between your legs as well. Your panties are beginning to feel damp, your thighs starting to feel humid and sticky. It’s a little uncomfortable. And your tummy is starting to boil, neediness beginning to cloud your mind. This never happened at the shelter.

Reluctantly, you step out of bed onto slightly wobbly legs and peek your head out of your door to see him sitting on the couch, a book in hand and a mug of coffee on the table. His hair is loose, his strong lean body relaxed as he read. The sight of him and his scent made the feeling worse, made your panties and thighs wetter, your chest beginning to heave with your panted breaths. 

“Sh-shouta…” Your voice came out shakier and quieter than you wanted it to, but he’d heard you regardless. He closed the book and peered over at your shaking form in the doorway.

“What is it kitty?” You nearly mewled at his voice, his heavenly smooth baritone sending a shiver down your spine through to the tip of your tail.

“Something’s wrong...I feel weird…” As you tell him about everything that’s happening to your body, he’s dragging his eyes over you, taking in every detail. Soon he’s on the phone with the doctor, you can’t quite comprehend his words, only catching snippets. ‘Help’ and ‘how long’, followed by agreeing hums. It was all jumbled after that, your mind refusing to focus as you leaned heavily on the doorframe, your quivering legs barely able to hold your body.

Shouta’s large hand came up and cupped your cheek, letting you nuzzle into his palm. When had he hung up the phone? He ordered you to sit on the bed, and you obliged, watching as he swept up his hair into a loose bun and strode over, tilting your chin to look up at him through half-lidded eyes. He’s so close, his scent overwhelming and making your brain fuzzy.

“You’re in heat, kitty.” Heat...where had you heard that before? Back at the shelter, maybe? It was all a distant, unfocused memory right now. Shouta leaned down and kissed you sweetly, lips melding with yours as you purred and mewled, your tail thrashing behind you. His hands tugged at your clothes until you were bare before him, every inch of you on display. 

“You’re such a pretty kitty, you know that? So beautiful. Lay down for me.” The praise made you purr, made a chill crawl up your spine and your tail flick wildly. You obeyed the command, laying flat in the middle of the bed and he slotted himself between your legs, plunging two fingers into your tight hole. He let out a groan, pumping and scicssoring his fingers to stretch you out. You were already a sloppy mess, loud squelches ringing through the room in between your loud, whiny mewls and panting. 

It felt so good, the heat in your belly burning and tightening until Shouta’s fingers curled up into a spot that made stars dance in your vision. The pressure in your belly snapped hard, your legs trembling as he kept fingering you through it. His fingers slowed when you whined about it being too much, too sensitive. But you still felt hot all over, now it was worse, you wanted something so bad but you didn’t know what.

He got up and undressed himself and you licked your lips at his naked body, scarred skin pulled taut over thick muscle. What stood between his legs had heat spreading like fire through your body. You’d never seen a naked man before. He was quick to return to you, slotting his hips between your thighs and guiding the thick head of his cock along your soaked folds. 

“Relax kitty. I’m gonna make you feel good.” You gave a small nod and then he was pushing his thick cock inside you, groaning at the way your pussy clamped down on him. Your tongue lolled out of your mouth as he slowly pushed and pumped his hips, cock dragging along your wet warm walls perfectly. Mewls slipped past your lips, high pitched whines and pants like music in Shouta’s ears. 

His hands wandered over your body, squishing and pulling at every piece of you he could get his calloused fingers on. It made you squirm beneath him, your own hands trying to push his away, but he wasn’t having any of it. He grabbed both your wrists and pinned them above your head in one strong hand, then went right back to groping your body with his free one.

“I can’t have you stopping me from touching you, kitty.” That’s all he said before focusing back on your body. He tugged at your belly, your sides, every place that was fatty and squishy. He’d never admit out loud how much he loved how soft you are. You’re perfect, plump and meaty, just more for him to touch, to look at, more to squeeze and pinch and pull.

He groaned out as you whined beneath him, tears beginning to clump in your lashes because he just kept squeezing, and he isn’t fucking you hard enough. Your orgasm built slowly with his languid pace, not nearly enough to get you to that peak and you were frustrated because you wanted relief but it wouldn’t come. Shouta picks up on your hips jerking and rolling, trying to get him to fucking move faster. He pulled his hips back and slammed back in, setting a brutal pace and making you whine high and long. 

Tears begin to fall from the sheer ecstasy of it, and he’s realizing how much he loves to see you cry from the pleasure he can give you. With a groan, he’s releasing your hands and wrapping his arms around your waist, burying his face into your breasts and biting and sucking at your skin as he pounds you into the mattress. He isn’t normally an impulsive man, wouldn’t let himself let go like this. But for you. For you he’d give in to his lust and ravage you like you need him to.

Your orgasm slams over your body like a tsunami, your muscles locking up and a loud yip ringing from your throat, pleasure making your whole body shake. Shouta let out a hiss, your nails digging into the muscles in his back furiously, but he wouldn’t stop for that. He never stuttered in his pace, just kept ramming his hips into yours, heavy balls slapping against your ass and lewd squelches coming from where your bodies are connected. 

You’re overstimulated, throat feeling raw and tears still falling down your heated cheeks as you thrash from another orgasm, this one just as powerful as the last and making your vision spot black. This time Shouta leans back, wrapping a hand around your throat and licking the salty trails away.

“Such a good little kitty for me, so good.” With a few more thrusts he’s spilling inside you, and you can feel the warmth spread in your belly as you lay there, boneless. He lays down on top of you, both of you sweaty and tired and he starts whispering sweet words into your twitching ears.

“So pretty. You’re so pretty, kitten.” 

“Such a good girl for me.”

“You’re all mine, kitty. So good, all for me.” Tears begin to spill from your eyes for a different reason. Up until now you’d lived your life believing nobody wanted you because there was something wrong with you. You never felt ugly, never really felt like there was something truly wrong with you, but you always felt...unwanted. Unloved. Unlovable. 

But Shouta makes you feel wanted, and loved, and pretty and all the things you always assumed you didn’t deserve. You’re his kitty now, and you’re such a good kitty for him too. He’s showering you with affection that you’d never known before and you’re shaking from all the overwhelming emotions. He can feel your body quivering, leans back to look at you and cups your face in his warm palm.

“What’s wrong, kitten? Why are you crying?” Your nose twitches as you sniffle, which he mildly notes is fucking adorable.

“Do you mean it? Am I a good kitty?” His eyebrows furrow and he rolls the both of you over so you’re on top of him. He’s peering into your big sad eyes as if reading your soul through them, trying to read the emotions you’re feeling, but it isn’t hard for him to figure out what’s racing through your mind. You nuzzle your nose into his neck and breathe in his scent, his hand coming up to pet your hair and ears.

“Of course, kitten. You’re such a good kitty.” The small reassurance makes you feel warm and happy, your tail flicking softly before curling around both your leg and Shouta’s, the end brushing his skin gently. You can’t help but want to stay with Shouta forever.

[inkedtae]

a lover’s howl ⇾ kth. [M]

⟶ inspired by Howl’s Moving Castle and part of The Ghibli Series

⌁ pairing; howl!taehyung x reader (f.)

⌁ genre/rating; studio ghibli au, howl’s moving castle au, smut, a dash of fluff, a bit of angst, 18+

⌁ summary; an unforsaken spell blesses you with his presence again

⌁ word count; 4.1k

⌁ warnings; howl!taehyung, blonde!taehyung, bigdicc!taehyung, dom!taehyung, sub!reader, unprotected sex, rough sex, praise kink, dirty talk, oral (f. receiving), fingering, body worshipping, basically a moving amount of filth~ 

⚘ happy birthday juno ♡ (@onherwings​)~ 

⚘ a huge thanks to my beta readers, @kkulmoon​, @nottodayjjk​ and @uhgood-dooghu​, for taking the time to read this over and fix it up for me. it means a lot and i don’t think i will ever be able to thank you enough. also a special thanks @yeoldontknow​ for letting me talk at her, giving me ideas and always supporting me. I owe this fic being finished on time to you. 

The rumble of the train trembles the walls of your workshop. Black fumes cloud the moonlight. Your candles flicker atop your desk, threatening to diminish and leave you sewing in the dark. Weaving feathers in and out of a black hat, you’re too preoccupied with thoughts of him to be fazed by the sound. He writes often, enclosing a black feather with every letter, but doesn’t visit as much. You’re not sure what of this “important business” is so dangerous that you can’t come along as well. You have survived much worse, witnessed his near death and helped him rebuild his castle afterall. And though you told yourself countless times that there’s no good dwelling on the past, you can’t seem to stop wondering what exactly changed his mind. 

A prick of your thumb stings you out of your thoughts. In a jolt, you drop the needle and hat to shoot out of your seat with a hiss. You lick the wound before it bleeds then press your fingertip upon it. You hope the pressure subsides the wound long enough for you to fetch a bandage from the first aid kit. 

Now, where did Taehyung say it was? Something about a library... or was it a living room? You make your way up to the attic, hoping he did in fact mention the library. All you can really remember from that conversation was how handsome he looked in that pink coat you stitched up for him. It just frames his broad shoulder so well only to narrow around his thin waist. And then there was that knowing look in his eyes that told you he knew just how much you weren’t listening at all. 

“Baby,” he had whispered, cupping your chin. “Are you listening?” And once you had found the mental capacity to resist the urge to kiss him and slowly nod, he had smirked and repeated, “The kit is in-”

The library flickers to life when you enter. Dust settles upon every inch and you begin to wonder why he had forbade you from entering before as you scan the shelves for the kit. Leather bound books and tightly rolled scrolls reside on every surface. Trinkets of his journey clutter around as well. You had thought you talked to him about the importance of organization, but it seems that he prefers this mess best. 

Your attention settles on the desk, sitting in front of a large window. Presuming it’s probably in one of the desk drawers, you make your way over with the intention of rifling through them and nothing more. You’ve learned from past experience that it’s best to never tinker with his things. However, once you stand before it, a red, leather bound book catches your eye. The imprinted title is written in an unreadable script and seems to be floating off the cover. How could that dance off the surface like that? Against your better judgement, curiosity hovers your fingers over the font.

Slamming open, the book flips and flicks through various pages only to suddenly stop. Rose coloured font apperates into view in that unreadable script again. You furrow your brows, attempting to read it anyways, until the strokes of ink shift around the pages. They rearrange themselves into a script you can decipher. 

A Lover’s Howl. 

Yearning of heart and 

Tethers of soul.

I wish to end my misery

And the distance apart

Together unruly and-

The tremors of the train erupt every wall of the attic, pulling you out of your thoughts. Startled, you glance out the window to find that it is not the train at all you owe this rukkus to, but the upset clouds. Flashes of lightning burn the sky alight as rain beats down the busy street. 

You turn back to the desk and shut the book. That’s enough snooping for a night. You still have that first aid kit to find. Rummage through the drawers, you finally find a little tin of bandages under a box of rose and emerald ink pots. Teeth between the thin paper, you rip open the little bandage and wrap it around your thumb. However, it seems like once one wound is taken care of, another flames. 

Aching, your heart sits heavy in your chest. You take a deep breath, hands too shaky to return the kit back beneath the ink pots. The action seems to push the numb pain to your gut. A little whimper escapes you. You lean on the edge of the desk, inhaling sharply. You’re still breathing, you try to remind yourself. And that should be a comforting fact if your pussy didn’t begin aching as well. With a shaky gasp, you press your thighs together and wonder why the thought of being bent over this very desk seems to be unfathomably appealing right now. 

Your fingers hover over the pearl buttons of your dress; it suddenly seems awfully tight in this hot room. Wait- when did the room get so ho- “Agh,” you whine as another pang of pain makes you needier. 

The newfound heat suffocates skin, hands moving fast to push that blue dress off your shoulders. It doesn’t hit the ground before you start to discard your bra and panties as well. Still, your body burns with a desire to be overtaken. It’s as if you’ve been edged all day, left half finished and ready to finally unravel. Desperate to feel just that, you slide a hand down to your aching pussy. It clenches emptily, yearning for Taehyung's huge cock. God, it’s been too long since he last stretched you out. Nothing can ever quite compare to his size, your fingers and vibrator a weak excuse for anything besides clitoral pleasure.

Rubbing at your clit, you try to soothe the craving for him now. However, the pain only seems to intensify. It’s as if your body knows it’s not your own hand you crave, but Taehyung’s. And where is he now to graze your folds between his fingers and tease with little praises? You can just see him peeking up from between your legs, tongue poking out of his lips and breath fanning over your heat. And you’d push yourself up into him. So, he’d smirk and chuckle, and tell you to be patient or he won’t do anything at all. You can even hear him now, taunting at your desperate, half-naked state in the very section of the house he told you to never enter. 

“What did I say about looking through my things?” 

Hand cupping your heat, your attention snaps to the door. Taehyung leans against the doorframe, the candlelight sculpting his features sharply. His name leaves you in a whisper as you begin to wonder how desperate you are to have resorted to hallucinations? Maybe you should really call him if your mind’s gone this far. But, as you attempt to move around the desk, another shot of pain holds you back. You gasp a quiet cry and harshly rub circles around your clit. 

Concern colours Taehyung’s features. “Sweetheart,” he calls, rushing over to you. You’re about to pride your mind on such a vivid and accurate imagination when you feel his large hands settle on your arms. Soft and cold, he holds you tight and guides your hunched over frame onto the desk. Shrugging his coat off, he drapes it over your shoulders and asks, “What’ve you done to yourself?” 

“You’re here?” 

“I’m here,” he smiles. 

A breathless chuckle bubbles out of you as your hands wrap around his neck. Your arousal slicked hands stain his shirt, but he doesn’t seem to mind, pulling you into a tighter hug. “You shouldn’t have come in here,” he mutters between peppering little kisses in the crook of your neck. 

His vanilla cedar scent coddles your heart and aches your bones. You whimper into his shoulder at how quickly the pain intensifies from a single whiff. Taehyung pulls half an inch away, concerned and confused. With his forehead resting against yours, he licks his lips and you can’t think of a better use for that tongue if not to lick at your pussy. The pain shoots at you again just as your thoughts become interesting. You swallow your whimpers as he brushes your hair out of your face.

His gaze falls to your bare chest before lingering around your pussy. Suddenly aware of your nakedness, you shyly press your thighs together. Every inch of you just wants to beg him for his cock already, no matter if you're bent on his desk or pressed against the window. You just need him on you, in you, touching every part of you. 

The courage to ask for what you want finally presents itself when he shifts his gaze to something behind you. You sneak a glance over your shoulder to find that open book. A little sigh escapes him and he returns his attention to you with a little smirk. “You missed me this much,” he teases, caressing your cheek, “that you just had to cast a mating spell, hmm?” 

Is that what that was? You weren’t even sure you could read it before it rearranged. You’re about to apologize when the pain cinches your words in your throat. Doubling over, you rest your head against his shoulder and whine, “Ah, Tae!” 

He wraps his arms around you, further engulfing you in his scent and you don’t think you can take much more of this. Whatever this mating spell is, you’re sure it’s not supposed to be tearing you apart. Clutching on the collar of his shirt, you mumble, “I need you, Tae. I need your mouth and fingers and- I just need you so bad.” 

You wish you can say you hate the way his eyes glisten with power. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he knew exactly how you were feeling and was just waiting for you to say it. He’s told you before that the sight of you so needy always awakes something dark within him. He loves to watch you whine and quiver. 

His hold on your face tightens as his fingers dig into your skin. You swallow thickly, another whine escaping from the mere thought of those fingers deep in you. He licks his lips before asking, “What do you need me to do so bad, sweetheart?” 

He trails his fingers down your neck, past your collarbone and the valley of your breasts; waiting, watching. When all you can muster is his name in a little mewl, he whispers, peppermint breath fanning over your face, “Do you want to start on your knees?” 

“Anything,” you gasp, tugging on his shirt. You just need him close, need him now. “We can do it anyway you want, just please fuck me already.” 

Surprise alights his eyes for a moment. Never have you spoken this crassly, without his cock already deep in you that is. He chuckles, on the verge of teasing you about it when another pained whimper escapes you. Taehyung settles his large hands on your thighs. Leaning in, he brushes his nose against yours then places a soft kiss upon the corner of your lips. “I know it hurts, sweetheart, but I can’t do much if you don’t tell me exactly what you want.” 

You pause for a moment, wondering how much clearer you could be. Usually, a declaration to be riled is enough to set him off. You’re never the one guiding him as he always insists on guiding you. He says it's because he loves how obedient you suddenly become when his dick is involved. And though you have tried to fight him on it in the past, there’s not much you can deny now. So, you bite back a whine until you have enough strength to order just above a whisper, “I need your mouth, Tae. You’re fingers too. Honestly, anything will do just as long as you're tasting me.” 

He bites back a chuckle as he lowers himself to his knees. Spreading your legs, he urges you to lean back a bit. The gesture pushes a variety of books and pens to the floor. Neither of you can be too bothered, however, with his face inches away from your pussy. 

Holding your gaze, Taehyung dives in. You expect him to lick a long strip up your pussy to start, as he always does, only to have him suction his lips around your clit. Either way, you’re sure the pain withers away. A relieved gasp echoes in the small room as you throw your head back. You can barely even feel the previous ache when he releases your clit to lap up your wetness. All you can focus on is how you missed his warm tongue. 

“Oh fuck, just like that,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut. Your hips roll up to meet his tongue, body craving more of him. 

“Keep talking to me, baby,” he mutters around a mouthful of pussy. “How fast do you want it?”

You run a hand through his hair and hold on tight. “Fast!” Taehyung groans against you, making your heart flutter enough for you to forget what more you wanted to say. Until a small ache pokes at your gut again. With a whine, you reply, “I need your fingers. I need you to shove them in me and lick me and make me cum. Fuck, Tae, just please make me cum.” 

Taehyung circles two fingers around your tight, little hole, muttering, “About time you remembered your manners.” 

Not much strength lives in you to tell him that you’ll remember your manners when he finally lets you come along with him to whatever “important business” that’s taken him this long. And even if you could speak, all you can really think about is how you missed his fucking fingers. So long and slender, they slide into you so far and curl just right.The pain dissipates and you throw your head back with a loud moan. You’re not sure what this spell was, but you’re thankful for it if it means bringing Taehyung back home. 

You attempt to ride his face again only to have him remove his lips. He smirks up at you, amused gaze peeking through his blonde bangs. His fingers quicken and bash just where you need them.

“Taehyung,” you sigh. Voice breathless, strained with the return of that painful, greedy desire to unravel, you whine, “I need your mouth.” 

He chuckles. You shudder. Has he been gone so long that you’ve genuinely forgotten just how much you adored that laugh? You’ve never been able to process the duality of it, the cheerful tone sounding so deep and dark.

“And what do you want me to do about that?” 

Oh, right. The spell. It only seems to let him follow your orders. You make a mental note to tease him about it later, the gnawing ache of your gut begging to be eased. Still, under your breath, you mumble, “Must I hold your hand through this?”

Taehyung clenches his jaw. His eyes blink cold, hard and darken into vexation. If he could, he’d smack your pussy, bend you over for a spanking only to edge you thrice before finally letting you cum. At least, that’s what he did the last time you talked back. Instead, he resorts to glares and little reminders to “behave” since “the spell will break before the night is over.” 

You shiver with every moan as you sit up. A few more scrolls roll to the ground from the shift of your position, but you pay them no mind. As the thunder roars beyond the little library, you cup Taehyung’s wet smeared chin and guide him back onto his feet. 

“All I can ever think about,” you start, attempting to speak through your moans, “is all the time lost not getting fucked in that moving castle.” 

“It’s d-”

“Dangerous,” you finish. “More dangerous than a mating spell? Than this stupid libr- fuck, I think I’m close.” You fall forward to rest your head against his shoulders. Taehyung scoffs and you don’t need to glance at his handsome face to know he’s smirking. You can hear it. 

Hand shooting to his wrist, you stop his fingers mid-thrust. The spell’s pain lingers around your pussy, tightening your walls around him. It threatens its return as your orgasm slowly disappears. He whispers your name, but you only meet his gaze when you’ve bitten every needy whine back long enough to say, “I just want you to fuck me like you want me.” 

“What makes you think I don’t want you?”

A little whine slips past your lips. Taehyung’s expression softens and he shifts in place, likely feeling helpless when you don’t allow him to ease the ache. “You left, Tae,” you sigh. “You left me here. I want you to fuck me like you never did. I want you to replace your fingers with your cock and touch me like you love me.”

Taehyung pauses. “You think I don’t love you?” 

Though the answer is on the tip of your tongue, you know better than to tell him it now. Taehyung is no fun to fuck when he’s genuinealy upset. And if you are going to be rid of this unforsaken curse, you know that you’ll need to keep the rest of your thoughts to yourself. So you let go of his wrist and the spell compels his actions once more. 

Taehyung removes his fingers then rids himself of his clothes. You can’t seem to keep your hands from wandering over his chest and clutching onto his shoulders. He smiles at you and, though it’s small, that smile of his makes you wonder if perhaps you’ve ruined the entire mood and now he’ll only fuck you because he wants simply to help. 

Then he seizes your hips. You’re pulled forward until the length of his cock presses between your folds. He strokes his nose along your cheek, wet lips whispering, “I think the real issue is how you have trouble following orders.” Rolling his hips against yours, Taehyung groans into the crook of your neck. “It looks like I have to show you how it’s done.” 

You lose your fingers in his hair, clutching onto his bicep with your other hand. You missed how much he loved to tease. Lips biting into your collarbone, Taehyung reaches a hand between your bodies to align himself. A gentle push in and you’re exchanging praises. He’s definitely been gone too long if you’ve forgotten just how big he is. His mere tip stretches you enough to lose all words, incoherent affirmations taking their place instead. Eyes rolling back, you thrust up to try meeting his hips halfway, but Taehyung grounds you in place. 

A specific speed never left your lips and you just now realized that fast is in fact Taehyung’s default setting when it comes to fucking you into submission. All the pain you thought was returning feels as though it never arrived at all. You’re about to tell him to thrust harder when he clutches onto your neck. 

He stares into your desperate eyes, his own looking needier than usual - a fact he has never enjoyed admitting. “Do you know how many times I almost used this fucking spell?” he hisses as his thrusts become harsher. “Every night, I stare at that fucking page and think about how pretty you’d look when you’re full of my cock.” He growls a curse under his breath. The hand around your neck tightens just to let go. As it trails down your body to cup one of your bouncing breasts, he groans, “You look even more beautiful when you’re desperate for it. Did you know that?”

You let out a shaky moan. Hands sweaty, you try to maintain your grip on his shoulders as he plays with your body like a passtime. He thumbs your nipple, gazing down at how you arch your back and push yourself further against him. Breathless from the sheer sight, he picks up his pace. The desk scratches at the floor with every thrust. Your moans drown its sharp creaks as Taehyung buries his face between your breasts. Licking and biting, he feasts on you like he never left, like he does this every night and still can’t believe he has you. 

Cradling his head closer, you feel that once painful ache in your gut tighten, twist and slowly begin to beg for a chance to release. And you know he can feel you inching closer as well, little praises pouring out of him between his appreciation of your chest. 

“That’s my girl,” he rasps. “Taking my cock so well.” 

True, you’re annoyed it took a fucking spell to bring him back, but you’d be lying if his insistence of you being such a good girl didn’t just replace all your anger with affection. “Taehyung!” you cry. 

You’re about to ask for permission when you recall the fickle detail that you are the one calling the shots this time. Even still, you try to subside your urge to cum long enough to ask, “I-it’s okay to cum, right?” 

Taehyung laughs against your skin. He trails quick kisses back up to your lips, only to mutter moments later, much to your constant whining, “You don’t need to ask this time, sweetheart.” 

Like being doused with cold water, you allow yourself to come undone. Fingers digging into his skin, eyes rolling back, you scream out his name over and over again with the rhythm of his hips. Every new thrust adds to the quaking of your body. It breaks in your voice as you cry out for him. 

“Does that feel better?” he teases, voice husky and strained. If that isn’t enough indication that he’s close, the little twitch of his cock gives it away. “Is my dick enough or do you want me to cum too?” 

Nails imprinting into his skin, you try to meet his gaze. “If you don’t cum in me right now,” you start, breathless and desperate, “I swear I’ll cry.” 

Taehyung nudges his nose against yours before pressing his lips to yours. He lets you swallow all his moans as he pulls you close by your ass and holds you tight. Then, he bites your lip and fills you until you’re stuffed with more than just his giant cock.

A few more rushed kisses and sloppy thrusts are offered before Taehyung ceases all movement. He rests his head on your shoulder, fingers still sunk into the curves of your ass. Sweaty, heaving exhaustion overwhelms your senses. Pussy pulsing, you find that the longer Taehyung remains in you, the more twinges of that pain return. You know you should tell him that, only you’re worried that he’d go the moment he pulls out. He has served the purpose of the spell after all. 

Taehyung stands straighter now that his breath has returned to him. He shifts his hands from your ass to your hips and gently pulls out. A hiss escapes him. You feel empty all over again. 

Crossing your legs, you softly push his hands off your hips. It might just be best to make this easier on both of you, you wonder, and give him a chance to go. Maybe that way it won’t feel as though he’s abandoning you. 

“I guess you have to get back then,” you say as you hop off the desk. 

You both know he can sense your discomfort. “I can stay for a little while.”

Grabbing your dress off the ground, you ignore the emotion in his words. “Lucky me,” you mutter, turning back to find him inches away. 

Eyes locked, Taehyung maintains his sincerity. He tentatively wraps his arms around your waist and, when you don’t interject, presses you against his chest. “I’m- I-” he stutters for a moment before the words come together once more. “I thought leaving alone would be the safest. I didn’t think it would take this long.”

You shake your head. He’s missing the point. It shouldn’t take a spell to compel him to return. He shouldn’t have left you alone. “It shouldn’t matter how long it takes. I should always be there.” 

Taehyung falls silent. Guilt flashes in his eyes as he reverts them to the floor. Swallowing thickly, he meets your gaze again to mutter, “I just can’t risk losing you again.” 

“Then don’t leave me alone,” you whisper. 

Taehyung pulls you into a warm hug. A tearful apology is mumbled into your shoulder. You’re not very interested in it though. All you want is him; with or without a lover’s howl. 

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

[oonajaeadira]

If You Will Let My Heaven Touch Your Stars (Ezra x f!reader)

Rating: Mature. 

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect film) x f!reader

Warnings: FLUFFY SMUT. INSPIRED BY THIS. Non-explicit oral (m and f receiving). Formatting may be strange in certain Tumblr themes due to paragraph spacing with the poetry.

A/N: Okay, y’all. I was looking for another reason to write some Ezra. I got inspired by this naughty confessional post and felt the need to rise to the challenge, but make it a bit soft. You know I’m allergic to writing physical doings without some emotional yearnings. So it has come to this. And I’m not sorry.

Summary: Ezra runs his mouth over some poetry. You run your mouth over some Ezra.

TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up here –> TAGLIST

MASTERLIST

_______________________________

You know that sigh. It will be shortly followed by a gravelly, dissatisfied “hm.”

“Hm.” 

Next will come the impatient flipping of pages as Ezra learns that the book he’s chosen from the stack he got in trade on the Pug is…”less than literary and more than malignant.”

“What’cha reading, Ez.” The main node on the electropulse generator blew during the last harvest and you’ve been doing your best to repair it for the better part of the scaling period. Better to keep eyes on the electrics than let them wander over to his bedroll where he’s stripped to his skivvies, propped up against a crate, reading.

The rotation of Ranakh-4 is almost sixty hours, and in the north hemisphere there’s always light. Should be perfect for prospectors to take shifts and get things done, but instead, it creates a scaling period--a good fifteen-hour window of intense heat and sunlight that’s too dangerous to be exposed to for long, causing lots of nasty side effects. Including skin scaling. Hence the name. So during that period you and Ezra hide in the cooled tent, sleeping, polishing gems, maintaining equipment, wasting time, and generally trying not to annoy each other too much.

That’s a joke between you. In the years you’ve known him, Ez has yet to get under your skin. Ezra’s usually up for a game of dice or five-stand during scaling period, and if you’ve got gear to clean or inventory to count, he’s good for a story. Or ten.

But after the third rotation he stopped playing games of chance with you and his stories got gradually less... crusty. He still had a lot to say, but he stuck mostly to mining anecdotes, weaving around salacious details and editing himself in the moment.

And you’re pretty sure you know why.

This isn’t the first posting you’ve had with Ezra.

There was the assignment on Phintreas. The job on TG-19. The second assignment on Phintreas--that one it was just the two of you. Just like this one. 

There was a moment near the end of that run when you took a break from digging to stretch, arching your back in the dappled sunlight and pulling your arms up and back toward the thick foliage tops. There were singing insectoid creatures on Phintreas and you’d dropped your wrists to your head to listen to their song a little, closing your eyes and hearing in their hum the chords of a song you used to love.

It was just a few seconds, the warm air on your bare shoulders, the long thin trees--actually large grass--rising and swaying above. A pleasant stretch in your lower back. But there was something off. Your ears were full of insect song but there was something missing. 

The sound of Ezra’s digging had stopped.

You turned to find him taking a break, leaning on his shovel, jumpsuit open and pulled down to a knot at his waist like yours. Dirt-streaked arms and undershirt, looking at you, staring with sad eyes, the long slopes of his mustache running into his patchy beard making him look like he was pouting more than he was. Probably. Totally lost in thought, his eyes slid down your torso. When he woke to the fact that you caught him using you as a backdrop for reverie, he didn’t even have the balls to be embarrassed. Just realigned his focus on his shovel and went back to digging, the veins straining out on his big hands.

“You okay, Ez?”

“As well as one can be, sweetheart. I feel we’re close. It is a fine day full of wonderments.”

You’d thought about that look in the days afterward. Didn’t really know what it meant for you. Until the final sleep cycle on that grass planet, the wind traveling through the fields making the grasses sing hollow and low in the night. 

“What’cha reading, Ez?” You’d come to learn that it was a magic question, one that not only got you an explanation, but perhaps a chapter or two in his baritone twang.

And that night, as you packed your final bag, he swung the spine around to read out, “Papas Cordel, Love Verses.”

He didn’t ask you if you wanted to hear any. He just started to read.

Softly. Slowly. The words were innocuous on their own but their combination was sinful, his voice melting at the back of your brain, lifting the fine hairs of your neck, slithering down your spine before making an orbit to press upon your core and vibrate there. 

He never said goodnight. Just read you a few poems full of worship and yearning in that sonorous voice of his, then rolled over and went to sleep. It left you in a panic, trying to control your breathing, in full understanding of what that look from a few days ago had really meant.

And for the duration of your next couple of jobs you spent some time in regret, wishing you’d decoded your feelings sooner or that he’d made his own clearer. You’d vowed that if you ever had the chance to go back and live that night again you wouldn’t hesitate to….what? To do what? You never got that far. Didn’t matter. Time doesn’t go backwards. After a while, it was easy enough to convince yourself that you’d just read too much into it, that you didn’t really feel anything and neither did Ez. He had just been tired and staring into space that day. And he’d just been aesthetically moved by the song of the grasses in the night wind. It was a trick of the light, and the more you rationalized it, the further the memory slipped into the realm of silly fantasy.

So when this assignment came, you’d had time enough to leave the fantasy behind and met Ezra as you always had--as a friend and a damn talented prospector you were happy to dig with. The man always got his haul and getting paired with him always meant profit.

It only took one scaling period to make you realize you were lying to yourself. 

Scaling period means getting somewhere shaded and cooled and making yourself as comfortable as possible. Which means stripping down to essentials. All those dice games trying not to look at Ezra’s broad, bared chest, looking up from a hand of cards to find his eyes quickly darting away from you…. By the third rotation you’d noticed that neither of you could make eye contact with the other anymore and after that, Ezra generally spent his downtime during scaling periods laying on his bedroll in his skivvs, reading one of the dozen books he’d scavenged back on the station.

You weren’t sure if you were flattered or embarrassed or even injured that he wouldn’t move on whatever he was tense about. But, ultimately, this arrangement was easier.

Or so you lied to yourself.

A “what’cha reading, Ez” got you a few chapters of an old time-travel adventure or a philosophical treatise on the life of some forgotten pioneer while you mended a garment or recounted the supply of viable drill bits or tried to fix the damn faulty electropulse generator for the millionth time. Something rollicking and full of resonance to keep your ears busy and your mind distracted while you focused your eyes on anything but Ezra’s bronze skin and sable eyes and full lips and big hands and thick thighs and--

This time he clicks his tongue and runs a hand through his hair, humming a high note in a kind of frustrated laugh. “I won’t devastate your ears on this one, sweetheart. Not much of interest here but some poor soul ruttin’ and scraping for talent that eludes them. How this found its way into a thing to be bought and sold I will never understand.”

And yet, he keeps reading. Silently.

After a few minutes and another wire successfully cleaned and reconnected, you repeat yourself, taunting him.

“What’cha reading, Ez.”

“Mm.” He just flips through a few more pages, refusing to answer.

“Hey.” You chuckle into your work. “What’cha reading.” 

You hear a huge intake of breath before a hold and a forced release.

“Wow,” you laugh. “Fine. Don’t waste breath on it. Just tell me which one it is so I can avoid it later.”

“Love and other Stars by Aeon Aido Raja.”

“I see. What’s it about?”

“Sadly, it is about a poet who cannot seem to make the match between words and sentiment; a volume of supposed amorous verse.”

“Amorous verse,” your hands stop working on their own. “Love...poetry?” There’s a sudden flashback to the sound of hollow reeds and soothing verses in the night. The words are a program in your brain, overwriting your inhibition and professionalism, pushing you to a deeply-coded goal to calm the flutter in your chest.

“So it claims. Although I fear it lacks full understanding of both--” His voice cuts out as he realizes you’ve stood and you’re moving toward him and his wide eyes lock to yours as you sit beside him on the bedroll. “Now what has gotten into you, sweetheart?”

You know exactly what’s gotten into you. The triggered wish of returning to that night, the built-up tension of dancing around each other in your underwear, trying to deny what’s going on, watching him purposefully respect you when you know he feels something, when he knows you do too--

What was it you were going to do if you had a chance to go back to that last night on the grass planet? Time to find out.

“Read to me.”

Ezra hesitates, unsure. “This?”

“Read it.”

His eyes flick down to follow the quick fold of your lips as you wet them with your tongue, unconsciously mimicking you, before fumbling his gaze back to the book and, with a regretful sigh, begins.

“I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--

“Walking through the light of a moon in decline-- Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

When he looks for your reaction, you’re not sure if he’s pleading with you for permission to stop or continue.

Shit. He’s right. It isn’t great. But you’re here now, you’re going to make the most of it.

“That’s not...so bad.” And then you find out what you would have done that night--or at least how you’d start--by showing him your raised palm, lowering it slowly toward him. “Tell me if you want me to stop.” Your hand travels down through the air, just to the inch above his skivvs, waiting a moment in the aura of radiated heat there, before settling lightly over him. He never says no, never takes his eyes from yours, the only reaction coming from a small lift in his chest, the corner of his mouth curling just a fraction, and the fabric beneath your hand quickly becoming the only thing there to qualify as soft.

“Sweetheart, what you’re beginning here--”

“The only words I want from you are that poem. I want to hear you read. You stop, I stop.”

The heat hangs heavy between you, burns beneath your hand. And with a huffed exhale, Ezra starts again.

“I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--

“Walking through the light of a moon in decline-- Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

Supporting him from underneath, you’ve begun running your thumb up and down him, and his breath hitches, bringing him to a stop. So you stop.

“You stop, I stop, Ez.”

“Believe me, gentle one, I do not wish the impediment of your affections--”

“Then don’t stop.”

In a beautiful panic, Ezra looks back to the poem. “You sure you want this one?”

You nod. “I don’t care how good it is. That’s the poem I want. Keep going. I've always liked your voice. I know you can make it pretty.”

He stares at the page a moment, and you push him--literally--gasping into a start.

“If ever I could tell you When my heaven touched your stars If ever I could tell you Beloved--”

You stop palming him when he stops to breathe, and it’s only when you trace his waistband with your fingertips that he swallows and continues, willing you to keep going--

“Waking in the night to the aching void of your embrace-- Can you forgive me if I plead your name? If I summon you to my body from wherever you are?”

Whether it’s the want in his voice or just getting further into the words, the poem is already getting better. His eyebrows begin to push together and arch, as you stretch the top of his underwear down, wrapping your hand around him. His words start riding the occasional groan which just resonate with you more and you rock yourself against the bedroll in time with your gentle, yearning pulls--

“You hold me adroitly With accurate proximity To keep your breath and my breath Two founts and one pool. To swim a in star-reflective stream of our holy recreation--”

He’s doing so well, the words wandering out deep and breathy, so beautifully controlled...until you lower your mouth to him.

Then there’s a strangled staccato grunt as he adjusts, takes a couple of quick breaths and continues--

“But your body is a.....wildfire Your lips a destruction And I give my everything over to your….cleansing devastation.”

Oh, his struggle is glorious. You can feel him trying not to buck, needing to blow out a breath between pursed lips here and there to concentrate on the print. He reads with intent, leaning into context and feeling, making a gift to you of every word.

“I have yearned for you to find me worthy of a spark An ignition... The rebirth of your combustible attentions.”

He pauses again to breathe, and while you allow him a small reprieve, he’s stopped a little too long and you abruptly halt. When you pull back to look up in reprimand, he gives you a soft smile through his panting, shaking his head in wonder. You know he’ll have plenty of praises when this is over, but he doesn’t seem to want to break the spell to say them now. When you return his little smile, he looks back to the page and continues, prompting you to return to your own administrations.

“How you draw from me each sweet effusion-- Every secret vein untapped-- Now yours in expert execution, Now open to your burning maw.”

He pushes through the poetry rather than into you, allowing you to hear him and match him. Your body begins to counter-react as you feel him brimming, turning on more need in you than you’ve felt in a while, and you show him just how well he’s doing by doing well by him. 

There’s a shift in his voice as more breath enters in and nonverbal noises begin to punctuate the words; a shift in his body as his fingers tangle in your hair and grip tightly, suggesting a final rhythm-- 

“But within the fire An aperture of...divine precipitation Where those of us who live untouched Can go to drown To die To howl…..! To see the blessed face of eternity Or the….busting open….of a thousand….wretched….stars-- You-call-me-to-sinful-prayer You-invoke-my-abject-soul I find myself in debt…!...and thrall…!... to your superior…!...divinity--”

When he stops reading this round, you show mercy as he pounds his fist into the bedroll and makes his own additions to the poem, exclamations made up of your name and curses and calls to higher powers. You can only expect a man to expel from himself wondrously one method at a time, and Ezra’s earned his reward so beautifully.

Damn his opinion. The poem was perfect. You chose correctly. Either that, or Ez’s tongue really can spin any old refuse into gold.

But the book is still held high, and as you lift from him and guide him through his aftershocks with your hand, he breathes heavy though the final verse--

“This is how I love you from afar With agony and forlorn words While you hover forever in my purview A shaft of dazzling incandescence Shining down from your sun/star Through the glass of my desire Starts and restarts an everlasting blaze”

Then, setting the book reverently on the bedroll, he takes your face in his hands, dragging his thumbs across your lips, no longer needing the page for the last lines.

“If ever I could tell you And if you will let my heaven touch your stars If ever I could tell you Beloved--”

Ezra’s kiss is achingly grateful. He tries to put into one kiss the loving equivalent of everything you’ve just done for him.

When he pulls back, he gives you the tiniest rough shake, a punctuation of his playful consternation. “Mmm,” he grunts. “While I am glad to know you find my recitals pleasing, you’re about to find out that my talent for oral ministrations do not stop at mere recitation.” With a miner’s strong arms he flips you over him onto the bedroll, making short work of your underwear and pinning your legs around his shoulders in a matter of seconds. “Now, I will not be so cruel as to make you put words to my reciprocation, unless you’d like to fill the silence to direct me to your will. Or say what you please. I will not be able to add to the conversation as I will be otherwise occupied.”

You don’t know if it’s years of running his mouth or wagging his tongue or yapping his jaw, but he’s well practiced in using allllll the muscles therein to help finish what poetry couldn’t quite accomplish.

At one point you think of surprising him and trying your own hand at reading while being entertained. But when you fumble for the book, it opens to the same poem.

But not the same poem.

The opening lines are there: “I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--Walking through the light of a moon in decline--Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

And that’s it.

That’s where it ends. The whole published poem--a mere seven lines.

Oh, Kevva. That’s...that means….

Damn, Ezra. The mouth on you.

The book drops to the bedroll.

And you break into pieces as his heaven masterfully consumes your stars.

________________

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[cruciology]

Under the Table

Requested by anon: Ok i don’t know if this is too smutty but could I request a sandor x reader where they’re at a tavern or something and reader starts touching him under the table. No one notices but he has to stay serious and tries his best to hide it and as soon as they’re both alone she’s getting her reward.

a sequel to my fic, The Princess and the Dog

The chilly air of Winterfell gave you constant goosebumps. You supposed it was better than being on the King’s Road as you had been for a month, but you were still cold, even with the new fur cloak you had been gifted by your father. You had a feeling it meant he had bad news for you, he just hadn’t told you yet.

You wrapped the cloak tighter around your nightdress as you stepped out of your room and into the hall. Your little sister slept like the dead in the room next to yours. It was only your first night in Winterfell, but you had taken notice of where the guards were placed. It was easy enough to avoid them as you sneaked to the end of the hall, passed where Joffrey and Tommen slept, and rapped on the Hound’s door. After a moment, it cracked open just the slightest bit. When he saw it was you, the Hound quickly pulled you in before anyone could see.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He growled, shutting the door as quietly as he could. He had been in bed and wore only his pants, his hairy chest bare.

“I didn’t get caught, it’s alright,” you insisted. You were hoping he would be happier to see you. On the road, you were constantly surrounded by guards or your family. Besides a few squeezes of your hand in passing, you hadn’t felt his touch since you left the capitol. Your mother had kept her promise and hadn’t said anything after she had caught you with him in the library, but she kept a closer eye on you now. “I missed you,” you said softly.

His mouth was a hard line as he looked at you. Finally, he placed his hands on your hips, drawing you close to him. You pressed your face into his chest, almost crying at having him close again after all this time.

“It was stupid,” he said as he held you. You laughed.

“Don’t worry, I know you missed me too,” you said. He sat down on the wooden chair that stood by his window, pulling you by the hand until you sat on his lap. The cloak fell to the floor but you were warm enough when he wrapped his arms around you, his rough hands sliding over the silk of your nightdress.

Finally, you were able to press your lips to his. You kissed him gently first, as a lady should, but then you needed to show him just how much you missed him. Heat pooled between your thighs as you threaded your fingers through his hair, kissing him hungrily. He growled low in his throat as he kissed you back. His hand went under the hem of your nightdress, up your thigh, and you gasped softly as his finger entered you. You hadn’t even had enough space in the last month to touch yourself and his touch felt like magic as he stroked you from the inside.

He kissed your cheek, your jaw, then your neck, sending a chill down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold. “How does that feel, Princess?” He asked against the shell of your ear.

“So good,” You muttered back, eyes closed.

You felt him start to remove his hand and squeezed your thighs tight in an attempt to keep him going. He laughed slightly as he brought his hand to his face. He licked you off of his fingers, groaning softly and sending another surge of heat through your body.

He kissed you roughly, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “You taste so fucking good,” He said against your mouth. He gathered you up in his arms with ease, moving to take you to the bed.

Someone pounded on the door with a heavy hand. In an instant, you were on the bed, the Hound quickly covering you with the thick blanket. Your heart pounded in your chest as you listened to the Hound open the door once again. It nearly froze when you heard your father’s voice in the hall.

“Didn’t wake you, did I, Clegane?” He laughed. He was drunk, it was clear from his slurred words. The welcome feast ended hours ago. He must have stayed up drinking with his old friends.

“Wasn’t sleeping, Your Grace,” The Hound spoke to your father with your taste still on his lips. “What can I do for you?”

“Put some clothes on, Hound, we’re going on a hunt,” The King said. You could hear him clap the Hound on the shoulder roughly.

“It’s well past midnight, Your Grace,” The Hound informed him.

“What are you, my wife?” Your father said. “I am your king!”

“Why don’t you retire to your chambers, I’ll get you more wine,” The Hound suggested. He knew your father well. He wouldn’t say no to more alcohol.

“Wine and a girl,” The King laughed. Your lip curled in disgust, but if it got him away from the Hound’s room without him seeing you in the bed, you didn’t care what your father did.

“Wine and a girl,” the Hound confirmed.

“Get one for yourself while you’re at it.” You heard your father stumble away. For a brief moment you wondered if you should worry about him, but there were dozens of other guards along the way who would help him back up to his room. He would most likely be asleep before the Hound could find him again.

You felt the blanket fly off of you as soon as the door was closed. “Go back to your room,” The Hound instructed. “Now.”

You stood up, not even coming to his shoulder. You reached up, touching the burnt side of his face, letting your fingers memorize the scar. His eyes closed just briefly. He put his hand over yours. You stood on your toes, kissing him gently before sneaking out again.

---

You never really drank. But after the news you had gotten, you decided now was as good a time as any. Your body wasn’t quite used to it, only having previously had a few sips here and there. As the residents of Winterfell were once again crammed into the dining hall, you nursed your third glass, feeling the warmth spread in your chest. Everyone was pleasantly drunk around you, save for the severe Ned Stark and his lady wife, so you didn’t feel left out despite sitting off on your own at a table near the exit.

You stared at the table where your newly announced betrothed sat. Robb Stark was handsome, strong, and kind. He had lands and a title. You would be the Lady of Winterfell. You had known this was coming, but it didn’t mean you had to like it. Your mother didn’t even try to hide the smug look on her face when your father broke the news to you earlier. You suspected it was directed at your guard who had been in the room as well, something you were sure she had planned. Your mother would get what she wanted after all.

“Princess,” You heard from behind you. Your heart lifted instantly.

“Sit,” You insisted, patting the seat next to you. The Hound’s eyes scanned the room and you rolled yours. “It’s not unheard of. You’re supposed to be guarding me, you can guard me from down here.”

“You’re drunk,” He noted as he sat next to you. You felt the bench creek under his large body. You wished that you were alone so he could pull you into his lap. You were so tired of not even being able to hold his hand.

“I might be,” you said.

“You are.” He grabbed a pint for himself, taking it halfway down with one solid gulp. “Celebrating your engagement, Princess?”

“Stop it,” you said with a tight jaw. “You know I’d rather-,”

“Be quiet about that,” The Hound said, his eyes darting around the room once again. A few eyes were on you, but they were passing glances, folks wondering why the Princess was off alone, but you knew they were not going to question your choice of company.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “But you can’t be upset with me, I can’t take that along with everything else. It’s not my fault.”

The Hound made a noise half way between a grunt and a sigh, but still didn’t look at you. “I know,” he said.

Your hand found his knee comfortingly under the table. It was probably the wine in your stomach that made you unafraid of any consequences. You were surprised he didn’t pull away, but he let you leave your hand there. You were feeling sad and stupid. You moved your hand up further, touching the inside of his thigh. The growl from his throat didn’t stop you. So long without touching him for fear of being caught and here you were now with your hand in his lap when the dining hall was full of eyes.

“Princess,” he said through clenched teeth. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He was trying not to draw attention. Just drunk enough not to care, you moved your hand even further. His breath came out as a hiss as you palmed the growing bulge in his pants. His massive hand clamped around your wrist.

“No one is even looking,” you said, not really caring if they were.

“Are you trying to lose me my head?” He asked. You noticed that he hadn’t moved your hand away from him. You squeezed him, making him groan. “Fucking hells,” he muttered, placing both hands on the table. He wasn’t going to stop you.

You made sure you weren’t looking directly at him as you stroked your hand up and down his length through his pants. You watched his hand on the table clench into a fist as he tried to keep a straight face. “It’s a lovely feast, isn’t it?” You asked, a wicked smirk playing at your lips. He merely grunted. The wine and the thrill of touching him once again made you forget for a moment the pressure you had felt since the news of your engagement.

“But I do think I have had a bit too much to drink,” You said, loudly enough for anyone at the tables near you to hear. Luckily, they were drunker than you. “Walk me back to my room, please.”

The Hound rose first, helping you balance yourself. You really did have a bit too much to drink. He let you go as soon as he thought you would be able to stand. You looked over your shoulder for just a moment, catching a glance at your mother. She sipped her wine next to your father, who was probably the drunkest one in the room. No one would say anything to the King about his drinking. Your mother caught your look but said nothing. She knew who your father would believe if you went to him with what you knew.

The Hound walked a few steps behind you as you walked out of the hall. The voices from the dining hall carried out into the corridor. As soon as you turned the corner, far enough away from the crowd, his hands were on you. You giggled drunkenly as he scooped you up.

“You’re going to get me in trouble, Princess,” he said into your neck, placing a sloppy kiss on the column of your throat. He shouldered the nearest door open. You should have been more worried about getting caught but the only thoughts swimming through the alcohol in your brain were about the Hound’s mouth.

The room was empty and almost pitch black, the only light coming from the full moon outside. The Hound sat you down on the plush loveseat pushed against the wall. You grabbed his belt, attempting to pull him towards you and finish what you had started in the dining hall but it appeared he had other plans. He pushed your hand away.

“Your turn, Princess.”

He lowered himself to his knees in front of you, giving you a breathless kiss, his massive hand cupping your cheek. Leaving your head spinning, he pulled away. He shoved your skirt up, gathering it at your thighs. He pulled you down to the edge of the seat, spreading your legs before him. He placed your legs over his broad shoulders, the metal of his armor cool on your flushed skin. From the wine or from him, you couldn’t be entirely sure.

He bit the inside of your thigh, placing a kiss over it just as quickly. You were just about to tell him not to tease you when you felt his tongue at your apex. Your hands went to his hair, your head going back against the love seat. It had been so long since he could have you like this, he lapped at your pussy hungrily, his fingers digging into your thighs in a way you knew would leave a bruise. That made it even sweeter.

“Sandor, please,” You begged, tugging at his hair, trying to pull him up to kiss you again. You weren’t sure how much time you had with him and you wanted to feel all of him before you had to part. Normally, he would tell you he was going to take his bloody time, but he was probably thinking the same as you.

The Hound wrapped his arm around your waist, moving you to lay with your head on the armrest of the loveseat, his body looming over you. He was always afraid to put his whole weight on you, but you liked feeling his presence. You helped him pull himself out of his pants and with one quick thrust, he was fully seated inside of you. He paused for a moment, his face in the crook of your neck. You guided his face back to yours, kissing him. You wrapped your legs around him, making sure he was as close as he could be to you. He rutted into you, each thrust punctuated with a grunt. He kissed your neck, your cheek, your collarbone, your mouth, any bit of you he could. His thumb found its way to your clit, finishing what his tongue had started. Your legs squeezed him tighter. You tried to stay quiet, but his free hand still went over your mouth, muffling the cry as you came, your legs tight around him.

He took his hand from your mouth, placing it on the loveseat next to you to brace himself. His other hand moved to the small of your back, pushing you closer to him as he fucked you. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in to whisper in his ear, “Cum in me.”

The hand on your back moved to your outer thigh, squeezing tight as he shuddered, finishing into you with a final grunt. He hid his face in your neck, his hot breath sending a shiver down your spine.

“Stupid, that was stupid,” The Hound muttered into your skin.

You pulled his face towards you, making sure his eyes met yours. “I love you,” you said firmly. His eyes darted away again. You had said it only once before to him. He never said it back, it wasn’t his way.

Instead, he kissed you and responded, “Aye.”