#If I was there I would roast her endlessly

[caracolcondiarrea]

Tomorrow my parents are having a meeting with my awful English teacher bc she literally let nearly everyone in my class laugh at my face twice and she didn’t said or did anything and more things she did that showed she is an awful teacher to a student who has the C1 and oh my god, do I want to be in the room where it happens.

[presiding]

formerly an essay in tags but - billie lurk. half-nameless, misremembered woman. her powers derived from the things taken from her, without any catharsis or empowerment. the rat charm, tied with deidre's hair, her lover's voice in the mouth of rats. her arm and eye, taken, given back only to cause her chronic pain, then lost again. foresight seems a cruel gift for a woman who botched the timing of her takeover of the whalers, and bet wrong when it came to delilah.

she never bore the outsider's blessing; his first visit to her was more like an assault. every other dishonored POV character gets the choice to be selfish, and for that selfishness to mean something, but billie's actions have no effect on the world at large, either, in a game without a chaos system.

some say that corvo is the ghost, but he can reach out and change things. billie's buried herself twice and come back and nothing she does seems to matter - she is less a protagonist, more a convenient full stop in the narrative.

try this: open doto, start a new game. sit in her cabin. notice how little of billie there is. even the woman she loved more than anyone has the face of another named character.

she sits amongst the assets of other games: empty canvases and a dressmaker's mannequin that wears nothing.

[hijackalx]

BG3 NON-COMPANIONS/NON-ORIGIN COMPANIONS TURN ONS/KINKS +18

FEMALE BG3 COMPANIONS

MALE BG3 COMPANIONS

characters included: halsin, minthara, jaheira, gortash

*dark content warning for gortash*

HALSIN

SIZE DIFFERENCE

OBVIOUSLYYYY lmao. he loves how small u are in comparison to him. i mean everything about him is large— hands, arms, chest, thighs. also, i feel like he likes that he has to help u when u take control because ur smaller or weaker than him. like, when he has to subtly help u pin his wrists by moving them in the direction u want lol

THIGH RIDING

this also plays into the size difference thing. like his thigh is just so big/muscular, and he loves watching u grind on it (or he can bounce his knee to help u get off too). the type to grab u by ur hips and assist u when ur rhythm starts to stutter. he also loves the wet spot that forms in ur underwear if u keep them on 💗

DEEP THROATING/FACESITTING

OK HE LOVES BOTH like i said everything about him is large (😈) so he loves to see u try to swallow him whole. the way u gag and struggle to take him in is soooo hot to him. also all the drool that spills out of ur mouth 🤤🤤 as for facesitting u better sit ur ass tf DOWN !! HE CAN TAKE IT !! lovessss when u grind on his face/mouth, also loves to squeeze ur ass during it

THREESOME

THIS MAN IS GENEROUS !!! LOVES to share !! always wanting to invite people to have sex with y'all. he feels like it's so much more fun and also loves to watch u get fucked/have u watch him get fucked. will want to do spit roasting too.

SWINGING

sooo into exchanging partners with other couples. or just fucking other people in general. of course he won't do this if u don't want to though. but he gets really excited if u do 😹😹 probably gets off while sharing ur experiences with each other

MINTHARA

KNIFE PLAY

likes the way u shake and whimper as she brings her knife close to ur skin. will leave small cuts and want to carve her initials into ur skin. also slightly into bloodplay too ?? i feel like she'd be into smearing ur blood on her hands and making u clean them off with ur tongue OOF

BONDAGE

she would absolutely cast web and use it as bondage restraints LMAO. will have u in some crazyyy positions too. kind of in a shibari way but with webs. the webs are actually pretty gentle though and have some give so she's not like, totally sadistic with it 😌💗

DACRYPHILIA

SHE DOES LIKE TO SEE U CRY THOUGH LMAO like something about how weak/pathetic u look turns her on so bad— as long as SHE'S the one that made u cry. if it's because of somebody or something else it's lowkey a boner killer for her 😹😹😹 will say really horrible, mean things to try to bring u to tears and then get wet af. will not comfort u after either

GAGGING

likes to use a ball gag but will honestly use whatever she has at the moment. a rag or her fingers even. she likes that u can't speak and can only moan/whimper. also into the way u drool. will purposely ask u questions and then punish/degrade u for not being able to answer

BOOT WORSHIP

LOVESSS making u kiss her boots. will want to hold u down with her boot and make u praise her endlessly. or step on ur face. might even be into giving u a little kick in the diaphragm if u want 😹😹😹

JAHEIRA

MIRROR SEX

WILL WANT TO BE FUCKED IN FRONT OF A MIRROR!!!! with her face pressed against it while she's getting backshots or even with one propped up beside the bed so she can watch how good she looks while she rides u. lowkey will put on a show for herself and get off to it 😹😹

LINGERIE

loves lingerie of all kinds. the garter straps on her thighs are her favorite part tbh. probably prefers to wear black or red— like classically sexy colors. also probably likes it if u wear some too, and will want to keep it on for the full duration of the sex. LOVES lace

STRIPPING

^^ ALTHOUGH.... she also really likes to strip for u. like going nice and slow while u try to restrain urself lol. will probably give u a lap dance too and is pretty playful with it sometimes. particularly loves to see how u get progressively more horny the longer she takes, also into seeing u touch urself a little bit during it too

NIPPLE PLAY

sucking on/playing with her nipples is a MUST. HUGEEEE erogenous zone for her. can probably cum from nipple stimulation alone. likes when u make it hurt a little too, like pinching or twisting them

DEGRADATION

kind of into u calling her names.... like whore or slut. tell her she's a dirty whore while u pull her hair and fuck her from behind. will also talk down to u if ur not really doing the best job LMAO like u better fuck her right or ur gonna get it 😹😹 she'll straight up be like "is that the best u can do?" or "this is pathetic."

BONUS:

GORTASH

BREEDING

HE NEEDS HEIRRRSSSS !!! ALWAYS wants to cum inside. an actual babymaking MONSTER like he cums so much its crazy. loves to see u stuffed full of his cum, it really makes him feels accomplished after all of his hard work 💪🏻💯😹

DADDY DOM

he is so into being called daddy. depending on the context he’ll get rock hard but also likes if u call him that outside of sex too. u can basically get anything u want from him if u add a ‘please daddy’ at the end of it— like he just can’t bring himself to say no. he’ll do anything for u to keep calling him that lol

*** DUBCON ***

DEFINITELY into coercing u/figuring out ways to get what he wants. likes when u get overstimulated and start telling him it’s too much or trying to push him away (u do have a safeword). also the fact that he can overpower u if he wants gets him sooo hard

POWER PLAY

LOVESSS having u at his beck and call. the more pliant and submissive u are the better. won’t do this outside of the bedroom unless u want to or if u initiate it since he prefers the idea of only him being able to see u like that. he’s the only one you’ll roll over for, so to speak lol

COLLARING

makes a special collar for u with expensive imported materials and shit lmao. thinks u look absolutely gorgeous in it and will tell u that all the time. loves the way u gasp when he sharply tugs on its leash. will also tug on it while giving u backshots. likes how it chokes u a little bit too, and the bruises it leaves behind when he’s too rough with it

MALE BG3 COMPANIONS

FEMALE BG3 COMPANIONS

[wholoveseggs]

Kinktober - {Day Twenty-Five}

{<- kinktober masterlist}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List} {Kinktober}

{Harwin Strong x whore!Reader} Request {Anon}: Kinktober request for Ser Harwin Strong, spanking please🤭🍑

♡♡♡ Yessssss anon!! I wish we had more Harwin onscreen!! Rhaenyra has TASTE ..♡♡♡

2k words - Kinks: public sex & lots of spanking ...

When a tourney was held in the city, it always led to a celebration that made the streets buzz with excitement. The taverns were packed, the ale flowed endlessly, and every brothel knew they would have a busy night. Tonight was no different, knights with heavy coin purses, drunk on victory and violence, were spilling into the streets.

Inside the brothel, the Madame clapped her hands, calling for your attention. “Alright, ladies, look alive. The winner will be flush with coin, but don’t turn down the others. They’ll want to celebrate too, so make sure you see two, three, or more.”

You nodded along with the other girls, glancing at the mirror one last time. You tightened your corset, adjusted the cut of your bodice, and arranged your hair in a way that made your eyes look bigger and more innocent than they were. Satisfaction tugged at your lips as you appraised your reflection.

Out in the large tent where the celebration was in full swing, knights were already filling every corner with their bragging, laughing, and loud toasts. The air was thick with the scent of ale, sweat, and fire-roasted meat. Music and chatter hummed in the background as you made your way through, easily falling into your rhythm, sidling up to men who sought the company of a woman. You let their hands wander as you settled on their laps, whispered encouragements and playful words, and soon your pockets grew heavy with coins.

The loudest cheer of the night came when the champion himself entered the tent. Harwin Strong. He was hard to miss, a massive man with broad shoulders, a strong jaw, and a presence that made everyone else seem smaller. He was wearing the cloak of his house, and as he moved closer, you could see the sigil embroidered into the fabric.

He settled at a table surrounded by fellow knights, their boasting continuing while Harwin mostly listened, sipping from a goblet of wine, his face relaxed and faintly amused. Something about his quiet confidence drew you in. Without thinking, your feet carried you toward him.

You curtsied when you approached, hoping to be noticed. A few of his companions turned to you first.

“Well, look what the gods have blessed us with,” one of them smirked, raising his mug. “A beauty for our champion, eh?”

Harwin glanced up at you, his eyes taking in your form with interest but no rush. “You want a drink, love?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent a spark of warmth down your spine.

You accepted the goblet he offered and smiled. “Thank you, ser.”

“Go on, sit with him,” another knight said with a chuckle, sliding a coin across the table. “Our champion deserves the best company tonight.”

Harwin leaned back in his chair, a faint smile on his lips as he watched you. The invitation was clear, so you settled on his lap, immediately aware of his strength as his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. The firmness of his thigh beneath you, the warmth of his body, it was impossible not to lean into it

“You fought well, ser,” you said, your fingers trailing along his arm, feeling the muscles under his tunic. “A well-earned victory.”

He smiled at that, the weight of his gaze resting on you. “I appreciate it,” he said, his voice low, vibrating through you as his hand tightened slightly around your waist.

"Bet she’d like to see you wield that sword of yours again, eh?" one of the knights teased with a bawdy laugh.

"Leave her be," Harwin said, though there was no malice in his voice. His fingers brushed absentmindedly along the edge of your skirts, grazing the bare skin of your thigh.

“You’re a proper gentleman,” you said with a teasing smile, letting your legs part just enough for his hand to slip higher if he wanted. He didn't move, instead watching you with a slight quirk of his lips.

He was patient and gentle, even while you tried your best to spur him on, and the longer he waited, the more your frustration grew.

The men around you continued their rowdy conversations, boasting about their feats in the tourney, their drunken voices filling the air. Harwin, however, remained focused on you. His fingers finally ventured further under your skirt, stroking your skin in slow, lazy circles. The touch was light, too light, but the promise of it made your heart race.

You shifted against him, letting him know that you welcomed his touch, but still, he took his time, his gaze never wavering.

The longer the evening went, the more you found yourself forgetting the crowd around you. Harwin’s touch was both gentle and firm, driving you to distraction as he slowly teased you under the table, never fully giving you what you wanted.

By now, the other girls had already begun to entertain their marks more openly. The tent was filled with soft gasps and moans, the sound of bodies moving together in dimly lit corners. But Harwin seemed in no rush.

His thumb finally pressed against your wet center, stroking gently while his fingers slipped inside you. Your breath caught, but the only reaction you received was a smile. He was watching you intently, studying your expression as he began to pump his fingers inside you.

You bit back a moan, gripping his tunic, your body begging for more.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "You’re quite the pretty thing, aren't you?" he murmured, his voice thick with lust as his fingers pushed deeper. "How much for a night with you?"

You swallowed a gasp "Three gold coins,"

"That's a steep price, love."

You leaned into his touch, letting your breath caress his ear. "A champion could afford me, don't you think?"

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a thrill of anticipation through you. "Is that so?" he mused, his fingers curling inside you. You bit back a moan, trying to keep yourself from moving against him, from begging him to take you here and now.

"I suppose a champion could afford to be a bit greedy." He nipped at your ear, his beard scraping your skin.

"Then take me to bed, ser," you murmured, pressing a soft kiss against his throat.

"And what about a bit rough?" he asked, his thumb pressing down on your sensitive nub. "Would you be alright with that, little dove?"

You whimpered, your hips rocking against his hand. "Please,"

He smirked, pulling away and withdrawing his fingers. The absence of his touch left you cold and wanting, but before you could complain, he rose from his seat, wrapping his cloak around your shoulders.

You could feel the jealous looks of the other women as you passed by, their envy a tangible thing. It had you grinning, knowing you were about to have a champion all to yourself.

"So, do I get to see the sword that won the day, ser?" you teased, trailing your fingers over the bulge in his trousers.

"Is that why you chose me, love?" he chuckled, his grip tightening on your waist. "You like watching men fight?"

"I like seeing men win," you replied, leaning into him. "And I like a man who can win a battle, a tournament, and a woman's heart."

He laughed, a low, warm sound that sent a tingle of pleasure down your spine.

You could barely close the door behind you when Harwin suddenly spun you around, pinning you to the wall. His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you effortlessly and pressing his hardness against your center. The feel of him, thick and hot, made your mouth water.

He claimed your lips in a searing kiss, his hands squeezing your ass and pulling you closer. His mouth was demanding, his tongue dominating yours, and all you could do was cling to him and surrender.

"That's it, love," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "I'm going to take what I want, and you're going to give it to me, aren't you?"

"Yes," you moaned, arching against him, desperate for more.

"Good girl," he murmured, his mouth trailing along your jaw, nipping at the tender skin of your throat. "Such a good little whore."

He pulled away from you and pushed the cloak off your shoulders, letting it pool on the floor.

"Take off the dress, love," he ordered, his gaze heavy with lust.

You did as he commanded, letting the gown fall to the floor, exposing yourself completely. You felt his gaze rake over your body, drinking in every inch of bare skin.

He quickly tugged off his own clothes, tossing them aside, leaving his strong, muscular body bare to your eyes. Your gaze traveled over the expanse of his chest, taking in the scars, the hard planes of his stomach, the thick shaft of his cock, and the way it twitched under your scrutiny.

He stepped closer, his hands gripping your hips, spinning you around and bending you over the edge of the bed. You felt the hard line of his cock press against your ass, and you couldn't stop the whimper that escaped your lips.

"You like that, love?" he rasped, his hands running over your curves, squeezing and groping, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. "You like it when a man takes what he wants?"

"A man like you? Yes," you moaned, rocking your hips against him.

He chuckled, and his hand came down hard on your ass. You gasped, the sting of his palm sharp but strangely satisfying.

"That's it, pretty thing," he growled, his hand coming down again, and again, spanking you with a steady rhythm that had your core aching. "Let me hear you sing."

Your fingers curled into the sheets, your breath coming in short, ragged pants. Each smack of his hand sent a wave of pleasure through you, your skin heated and sore, but still, you craved more.

You cried out, arching your back and pressing against him, silently begging for more.

He obliged, his hand coming down harder, the slap echoing in the room, and then he stopped, his calloused palms caressing your sore flesh, soothing the ache.

You could feel his cock, hard and hot, pressed against your ass, and a moan fell from your lips as he pushed into you. The stretch was exquisite, filling you to the brim, and the delicious burn made your head spin.

He let out a groan as he began to move, slow and deliberate. His hands gripping your hips and pulling you back into his thrusts.

You moaned, gripping the sheets, your body aching for more. "Please," you begged, pushing back against him, needing him deeper, harder.

The room was filled with the sounds of your cries, his grunts, and the slap of skin on skin. His hands were rough and demanding, his cock thick and hard, and you surrendered yourself to the pleasure, your body shaking with need.

Your fingers twisted into the sheets, your breath coming in short, sharp pants as he continued to thrust into you, each push bringing you closer to the edge.

You were so close, and all it took was one last rough smack, the sting of his palm causing you to shatter, crying out as the pleasure swept through you.

Harwin followed right after, pulling out just in time to spill himself across your back, his breath ragged. You collapsed onto the bed, your skin flushed and tingling from the mix of pleasure and pain.

After a moment, he leaned over, wiping his release off your back with a rag. His touch was surprisingly gentle now, a contrast to the rawness of the encounter.

"That was lovely, my lady," he said, pressing a kiss against the small of your back. "Are you alright?"

You turned, propping yourself up on your elbows, giving him a lazy smile. "Quite,"

"Good." He grinned, his eyes trailing over your form. "I shall fetch us some wine, and then we can continue our celebrations, if that suits you."

You laughed, nodding. "It certainly does."

"How much for you to stay all night?" he asked, reaching for his coin purse.

"No charge, my lord," you purred, leaning into his touch. "After all, you're the champion tonight."

He smiled, his gaze darkening with lust. "Indeed, I am.”

{<- kinktober masterlist}

[desb3ar]

You’re Not Helping

Summary: Being funny at the wrong time.

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara and Co. x Spidervariant!Reader

A/N: PLATONIC READER!! You’re pretty much the life of the party <3. This is gonna be stupidly goofy because im in that mood LMFAO. This is veeeeeery low effort because it was a simple idea

——————

There had always been a dangerous flaw that seems to be unchecked. A problematic talent that will always leave your fellow colleagues in harms way with the commotion you’d cause with the insufferable antics you presented on the table. The thing that always happens during any mission, especially when things are quiet and dull. It was your way of keeping the energy and spirits high. What am I trying to say?

You are funny as FUCK.

You always had your way of making quips, like any other spider-being could, but something about your comedy always left people with hurting abs from the constant barrage of funny jokes you’d gunned them down with. It was a relentless attack, friendly fire if you will, because it always ended up with someone laughing too loud and compromising their position. As self-sabotaging as that may be, you wouldn’t do what you did if you couldn’t handle what came next.

Often times, you’ve received heavy critiques from the society’s leader, Miguel O’Hara, for putting people in danger because of your lack of professionalism. Jessica Drew would back him up, sometimes. However, she had never been happier when you joined, your jokes being a highlight of her day. You remembered when Jess and you were supposed to be doing a stakeout, scoping out for an anomaly. You had the villain’s file on hand and started to make the most ab shredding roasts that had Jess shed a tear.

“Lookin’ like a whole bottle of what the fuck.” You’d say.

Jess cuts you a lot of slack because of your high skill in the spider-arts. She takes great pleasure in being paired with you on missions because she always knew it was gonna be a successful and absolutely hilarious one.

You loved working with Jess too, because you yourself are a fan of her sense of humor. You hoped you’d be able to work with her more and more because of the amazing chemistry you two had.

Another person you love to hang out with was Peter B. You and him had busted each other’s guts before when you ate lunch together. Spoke about silly stories that had your food run cold from how engaged you two were. Which was absolutely crazy since Peter chows down given the chance.

Today is different. You were on a mission with Miguel. Before you both went to the dimension where the anomaly was located, he made it abundantly clear he didn’t want the jokes and quips today.

“This is a serious matter and I don’t want you to twist it around to be some joke.” He lectured.

You gave him a thumbs up and complied. However, like the snake you are, fingers had been crossed.

The two of you were in the middle of searching for the anomaly, staking out to be sure that nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Miguel had told Lyla to scan the area, in which she did. She wouldn’t come back till it was done, which was odd for her. It never takes her long to do scans with how technically advanced she is.

So now, you and Miguel are practically playing hide and seek to dig up anything about where the anomaly could be. This dimension was a strange one, it was filled with tunnels… Very echoey… Not good. You two were spilt up to cover more ground, but no luck.

“Damn.” You whined, arms crossed as you kicked a rock. “Where the fffu-. Bro oughta be a D1 camouflager. Where’s Lyla?”

“Dunno’. It doesn’t take Lyla this long to make a scan.” He grumbled with slight annoyance. “Gotta run another test…”

The two of you continued to look endlessly for the villain, but as expected, yet again, no luck. This was frustrating Miguel, everything he planned didn’t fall into line like it was supposed to and he hated that.

It was then that the two of you decided to regroup. Reunited, you took five and leaned against the wall.

“I’m getting the suspicion that the signal is messing with Lyla’s functions… How though…” Miguel muttered to himself trying to figure the dilemma out.

Then, in the silence, you blew a raspberry. The noise bounced off the walls.

This earned you a peeved look from Miguel.

“What?” You asked innocently, holding back a grin.

Miguel somehow managed to roll his eyes despite his mask being up, and turned away from you.

Your comedic side began to surface… This mission is just too stale.

“… Hey.” You spoke up, grabbing his attention with him slightly turning his head to you. “… Knock, knock.”

“Don’t.”

“C’mon… Knock knock…” You pressed. Miguel sighed.

“…. Who’s there.”

“To.”

“… To who.“

“No,” You snickered, “to whom.”

Miguel had the most disappointed head shake known to man when you were trying not to laugh. You gain composure, only by the slightest.

“Okay that was wack- Uh- Oo Oo- What do you-”

“No no- No more.” He said in a hushed yet loud tone.

“What do you call a spider with 10 eyes?” You asked blatantly.

“What-” He said annoyed.

“A spi-i-i-i-i-i-der.”

Okay, that was good.

Miguel sighed heavily… He sounds like he’s smiling, but you didn’t wanna believe it. “Alright alright.”

“One more one more.” You said quickly as you thought up another one. “What… Do you call two Mexicans that play basketball?”

Oh BROTHER.

“… WhAt…” Miguel had to look away.

“Juan on Juan.”

Miguel had to take a deeeeep breath with that one.

“… Okay.” There was a hint of laughter. “You done?”

“How does the moon cut his hair? Eclipse it!” You couldn’t help but laugh. Miguel snickered slightly…

“I… Stop stop we-“ He takes another deep breath, not wanting to laugh. “We need to focus and figure out-“

“Aye aye- I asked how much a roof cost… He said it was on the house-”

“(Y/N). Shut UP.” Miguel was trying to be serious but you were weakening his ability to keep composure, so he demanded with a slight laugh. “We can’t- We gotta mission and you’re-”

“Why was Mrs. Clause unsatisfied with Santa Clause? Because he only comes once a year.”

Miguel nearly lost it, he quietly shouted. “YOU’RE NOT HELPING.”

“ONE MORE… PROMISE….”

“Fine go go go.”

“How do you get a Mexican uncle’s attention?”

Miguel has a feeling he knows where this is going… “How?”

“Tapatio on the shoulder.”

Got him.

He nearly yelled before he covered his mouth. He gave you a playful punch on the arm and it caused the both of you to laugh together.

Hearing him laugh was something you’ve never thought you needed. He had the most goofy laugh you heard, he even snorted, which caused an echo in the tunnels.

“I can’t take you no where.” Miguel said as he was trying to calm down.

It was then Lyla FINALLY comes back with a scan. However, she was holding her oversized phone. She had recorded the whole exchange. You and Miguel looked at her with shocked faces.

“Saving that for memories.” Lyla said as she did just that.

“Lyla? Where have you been? What took you so long?” Miguel said with a clear smile on his face because he hasn’t winded down yet.

“It didn’t take me long to do the scan, I was just wanting to see if they could get you to crack.”

“… LYLA-“

“You got a cute snort too, like a lil piglet-“

“LY-“

“Also the guy is headed this way.” Lyla explained, pointing down the tunnel, causing the both of you to get yourselves together so you can take the anomaly down.

———————

an extension of the goofy head cannons? yes.

[extra-stout-stories]

Full Moon

The couple from last year's Werewolf / Sweater Weather enjoys some bedroom fun on their favorite night of the month. (SSBBW, SSBHWW -- that's "big handsome werewolf." CW: The fine line between desire and fear; explicit sex, but mostly implied rather than descriptive.)

Here's my belated contribution to Day 10 of Feedist Kinktober '24. This one is a few weeks late, but as soon as I saw the "Full Moon" prompt I knew what was going to happen.

As long as @fatguarddog keeps giving us an annual list of Kinktober prompts, this fictional couple will keep making appearances. I might bring them back before the month is over, if I have the time to write.

Monsterfucking isn't a kink of mine, but using a monster character to think about some of the primordial forces that inspire our kink was an illuminating exercise. This one was a lot of fun to write. Reblog if you enjoy it.

--

He gets hungry when the change hits. Hungry for her cooking. Hungry for her.

Sometimes, on these nights, he'll leave the house to hunt. But sometimes, when the snow is piled up in meter-high drifts, he stays indoors.

She knows what to do then. For a few days beforehand, she'll cook and cook and bake and bake until every surface in the kitchen is covered with food. Meats, lots of them, beef and mutton and venison, roasted and grilled and fried, stewed and sizzled. Always rare, always tender and dripping.

Bread, loaves and loaves of it. Cakes. Cupcakes. Puddings.

The kitchen is right next to the bedroom, and she can hear him moving around, ravenous, devouring.

When the change hits his appetites seem even more bottomless than they already are.

--

She feels vulnerable then, in a way she rarely feels around him otherwise. He's as much beast as man when the moon is full, and sometimes he's more beast than man. When that happens she can see the struggle in his eyes, the struggle to hold both sides of himself in balance, to regard her as his lover as well as his prey. The beast is very different from the man, who is as unfailingly as tender as he is strong, unfailingly kind to her and others even when his strength would allow him to be cruel.

The beast is different. And she is so vulnerable.

She's just as fat as he is. Or maybe he's just as fat as her. They've made each other this fat.

But while his rolls of fat and quivering belly are layered on top of powerful muscle, hers are nothing but softness. It's not that she doesn't pull her weight. On an isolated homestead in the woods there are always chores to do, and not just the cooking. She stretches and even lifts light weights to stay mobile, mobile enough that she can get around the kitchen and the garden. But by the end of the day the effort has left her ready to beach herself in bed and eat and eat.

Like she's doing now. He's not the only one with a hunger. She lifts a forkful of blueberry pie to her lips. She can hear him in the kitchen, tearing through the beef stew and the chops and the pot roast. She can imagine the trails of grease dribbling down his chins, stubble and sweat, ferocity, appetite.

They've made each other this fat. If it were entirely up to him, if the duties of the real world didn't intrude, her fat would be nothing but an ocean of immobile softness. When the moon isn't full, when the change hasn't taken him, his lovemaking is kind, eager, attentive. Pampering. He loves to spoil her, to satisfy her. To see her grow and grow and grow, rolls folding over onto rolls, all for him.

Warm. Soft. Pampered. Endlessly inviting.

Tender. Easily winded.

Unable to run.

Prey.

--

She's made herself so vulnerable. There's a cold fear inside of her, dancing in circles with the heat of her excitement. She eats to still the fear and to stoke the excitement. I trust him, she tells herself. He can control the change. For me he can control the change.

Some people would think it was madness. To give up a career and a condominium and designer handbags to live in a cabin in the cold, dark forest, miles from the nearest town, hours from the nearest city. But she had known from the moment she first set eyes on him that she would do it if he asked.

He was so kind, so thoughtful. So fat and so hungry, for her cooking and for her.

He didn't ask her to move in with him until he had explained to her about the change.

And she still did it.

--

I've made myself so vulnerable, she thinks, shoveling the last of the blueberry pie past her lips, her own breath ragged with fullness. I'm not sure I could even get up from bed right now. The stuffing has pushed her over the edge; when she's this full, she feels as if she might lose her mobility entirely. The thought makes her burn with heat. The thought makes her freeze with fear.

So soft. So tender.

So appetizing.

--

When he crashes through the door, beast and man are one thing. His strength is supernatural now. It moves with the same rhythms of the full moon that move the tides, that pull great waves of force up from the depths of the ocean until entire coastlines, in places far away from their ice-cold forest, drown in a surge of water and heat.

She's drowning too. Her breathing, ragged with fullness, grows shallow with fear. Heat and moisture, sweat and desire, churn like the ocean around the cold knot of fear at the pit of her stomach as he crashes through the door, hunger in his eyes. His belly is swollen and taut underneath its softness, filled to the brim with the tender dishes she spent days preparing.

On another night she'd rub it gently, smile, run her fingers through the hair of his chest and nuzzle her face against his stubble until she felt the softness of his chins yielding to her kiss. On another night she might comfort him, tease him. Did my hungry boy eat too much?

But there's nothing boyish in him now. Not a boy and not a man, or not only a man. A man and a beast, two hungers at war with one another.

Looming over her.

--

"Can you really control the change?"

She had asked him that after seeing it happen for the first time. So frightening but so exciting, like something out of an old and terrible legend.

He nodded. "It's difficult but I can do it. It's like… I know I want you, but I have to remind myself why I want you. Does that make sense?"

She nodded. "I think so. It's scary to see you like that." She pulled him in closer, feeling the strength beneath his fat as he relaxed and let himself sink into her softness. "But it's also hot."

"I'm glad." He grinned and squeezed her. "A lot of girls would run away the first time they saw that."

She laughed, playfully shoving her belly against his. "Do I look like the kind of girl who runs?"

Now he laughed too. "Nope. You look like a girl who sits and eats. My kind of girl." He kissed her. "Don't worry. I can control the change. You're safe with me."

But she had been so much smaller then.

--

Beast and man are one thing now and his strength is supernatural. How many hundreds of her pounds does he shift with his sheer brute strength as he takes her and mounts her? He could throw me across the room if he really wanted to, she thinks. The thought is frightening. Exciting.

His belly spilling onto her back rolls, over the sides of her hips. His hands on her thighs, then her shoulders, then wrapping themselves in her hair, pulling her head back. His breath on her neck, ragged and fierce, a wordless growl.

Hunger.

Her heart is pounding. The beast has teeth, she thinks. He could tear my throat out. Tear me to shreads.

Then she cries out as he thrusts, a force beyond human penetrating deep inside her. Wet with sweat and excitement, her fat rolls shake and quiver, crash against him like tidal waves.

--

Half excitement, half terror. A night that seems to last forever. She wants it to end. She never wants it to end.

His grip growing stronger and stronger, his breath more and more of a growl. His thrusts more forceful. He takes her ferociously, as if he can barely control his desires, the appetites of the beast mixed with the urges of the man who knows every inch of her fat body by heart.

How much she trusted him. To come all this way. Miles from the nearest town, hours from the nearest city. To risk this danger.

To get so fat for him, so fat that she could never leave.

She screams. Half pleasure and half terror. His teeth are at her throat.

Maybe this will be their last night together. Maybe tonight the dam holding back his hunger will finally break and he'll lose the man entirely, lose the man and become the beast.

She screams again.

Can she trust him to control the change?

When she comes it's like wave after wave crashing across the coastline.

And when the sun rises, it's like the storm has passed and her languid body is the surface of the ocean grown placid.

--

The beast is gone from his face now, thin lines of sunlight giving a golden cast to his pleasantly fatigued smile. She reaches fat fingers for his face, strokes the softness of his chins beneath the stubble.

"Are you hungry, big boy?"

He laughs. "Yeah. I worked up an appetite. And I could use some coffee, too."

She grins. "I set the timer for five A.M. It should be ready by now. Put plenty of cream in mine."

He sticks out his tongue puckishly. "Plenty of cream." He grins back. "Got it. Big girl."

She can see satisfied exhaustion in the way he heaves himself up from the bed, rolls quivering beneath body hair, turning slowly towards the kitchen. "Breakfast's in the locked cabinet?"

"Yup. Just toast the waffles and pop the pancakes in the microwave. There's plenty of butter and maple syrup. I'll cook the bacon and sausages later."

He turns back and bends down to kiss her. "Breakfast in bed?"

She smiles. "Yeah. You wore me out. Once I'm full again I want to cuddle and nap."

"Sounds perfect." He squeezes her thigh and she watches appreciatively as he turns again, his naked body quivering as he moves.

He's all man now. The beast is elsewhere, somewhere beyond the tides.

But she can't wait until the next full moon.

[medra-gonbites]

Wounds of Love

A one shot chapter about Lae'zel's obsession for the wizard and her way of coping with it.

Pairing: Lae'zel x Gale

SFW - Fluff, Fighting

Words: 2028

She was truly thankful to have found Tav. That she would never admit either. Despite their lenience and their abhorrent preference for diplomacy over efficient offensive, they had proven time and time again to be an adequate leader. [...] Their traveling companions, however, were a liability to say the least. A bundle of weaklings, pernicious and lying to cover their own hind. Not a hint of bravery and battle prowess safe for the giant fiery Tiefling who despite her combat skills was too naive and kind for her own good. The worst of them being the wizard. Not able to lift a sword with his puny arms and constantly yapping about anything that flourished in his human head. It seemed to be flooded by never ending thoughts given how he would consistently share them with everyone. And yet that night, Lae’zel thoughts could not stray away from him.

Read the rest on A03 or below the cut!

I always thoughts that Gale and Lae'zel have great chemistry.

They talk a lot, ask each other questions. I think Lae'zel might be the only companion that does not roast him (might be wrong but if she does she does it significantly less). Gale is always very interested in her culture and curious to learn more.

I like to head canon that she initially despise him because of his gentle side and his tendency to yap endlessly but his power and intelligence won her over eventually (and she is mad about it!).

image source: my screenshot (they are so cuuuuuute).

Crèche K'liir was located in the darkness of the Realmspace floating among the tears of Selûne; this was an hostile and barren plane although not deprived of beauty. The rocky asteroids formed a constellation in its own way, a trail of coarse dust peppered across the void of the nightosphere. It was a brutal sight that awed anyone that could witness it.

Harsh. Unyielding. Magnificent. Lae’zel shared such traits with the environment she had evolved in.

She had followed a violent and unforgiving training that had seen most of her peers dead. She had herself slain several of her fellow trainees, githyanki warriors born from the same clutch of eggs as hers. “Siblings”? That’s how they would be referred to by the simple beings of Faerun. Tav had called them that. They had judged her for ending them. As it was some kind of immoral thing to do. It did not matter what they thought of her. Lae’zel did not expect such a fragile creature to understand the way of the Gith. She had unquestionably followed her schooling under the stern guidance and unwavering (“cruel”?) tutelage of her instructor and as a result had excelled.

Her thirst for knowledge only barely equaled her lust for blood and besides her intense and daily training, she found time and interest to roam her crèche’s library. She had read many books about the other planes, other races, other histories; there was no tomes left untouched, no page left unturned. By the time she had left her crèche she had been sure she knew enough about Ghaik, and the outside world to properly operate it.

She had been wrong; but no one would ever hear her admit to it.

She was truly thankful to have found Tav. That she would never admit either. Despite their lenience and their abhorrent preference for diplomacy over efficient offensive, they had proven time and time again to be an adequate leader. Without them, she would have probably struggled to navigate comfortably around the area. The tieflings would have been easy enough to handle but a waste of energy to deal with, especially given the presence of many other foes such as the goblins, gnolls and her own people who had turned on her.

Their traveling companions, however, were a liability to say the least. A bundle of weaklings, pernicious and lying to cover their own hind. Not a hint of bravery and battle prowess safe for the giant fiery Tiefling who despite her combat skills was too naive and kind for her own good.

The worst of them being the wizard. Not able to lift a sword with his puny arms and constantly yapping about anything that flourished in his human head. It seemed to be flooded by never ending thoughts given how he would consistently share them with everyone.

And yet that night, Lae’zel thoughts could not stray away from him.

She could not stop thinking about their last fight.

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

In the early hours of the morning, the group entered the shadow-cursed lands, a territory more dire than Lae’zel had anticipated. Their exploration of the area led them to a secluded corner. The terrain was difficult, the vegetation, untamed and arid creeping and piercing soles and skin. Lae’zel froze an instant. She thought she saw one of the bushes move.

She did.

Fast and ferocious, a horde of shambling mounds and needle blights ambushed them. Isolated from the rest of the group as she often was, walking in the front line, Lae’zel fell at the mercy of the thorny and poisonous vines. Before she could draw her sword, a knotty branch struck her across the cheek, missing her eye by only a few millimeters. The whip of a vine seized her wrist as she was reaching for the pommel of her weapon. With great force, she was pulled to the ground. She hit her head hard. Prone on the floor for a second too long, the sharp and unforgiving thistle of a cursed sapling hung above her head, ready to pierce through her skull.

A booming voice broke through the never ending night of the cursed land.

A massive fire ball flew across the air, brushing past her, warming her skin in its path, before crashing in the enemies, set ablaze, growling and withering into piles of charcoal and ashes.

Lae’zel turned to see Gale. Eyes sharp and focused, brow furrowed, sweat pearling on his temple, hands and arms tight, finger dancing in the air. Pulling strands of weave he summoned the elements from the void of inexistence. A lighting bolt smited the foes down with a crack of thunder as low as his voice.

Lae’zel could not take her eyes off the wizard, awed by this vision of raw power and ruthlessness.

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

The vision replayed in her head as she stirred in a bed roll. She tossed and turned until she couldn't take it any longer. She escaped the constraint of her sheets and furiously stomped towards the wizard’s tent. She entered the pavilion and paused to gaze at the man at her feet, his face serene, in deep slumber. How dared he sleep so peacefully when he had cast such a vicious spell on her.

She kneeled down and shook him indelicately. Gale woke up with a startled grunt and an alarmed expression etched on his face. His eyes darted around before they got used to the dark and settled on the githyanki bending over him.

“Lae’zel? What’s going on?” He asked puzzled, his voice hoarse from sleep.

“You have infected me wizard.” She hissed.

At these words Gale looked even more confused than a moment ago. Lae’zel enraged as he laid his brown, warm eyes on her. She wanted to strangle the fool; maybe then she could graze her hands against the soft brush of his beard.

“You have invaded my thoughts. More than the ghaik parasite prowling around in my skull. More than the lich queen Vlaakith who shaped my mind and soul. I close my eyes and it is you that I can only ever see. It is your face that appears to me when my mind wanders.”

Gale's breath itched. His chest heaved with audible sighs betraying an elation that she desperately shared. A pink shade flushed his cheek and his mouth stretched into the faintest of smiles as he stared at Lae’zel expectantly. She wanted to bite these grotesque lips of his; she wondered how they would look moist and glistening in blood.

“I wish nothing more than to cure myself of this affliction you caused in me.” She continues.

She suddenly stood up, she towered over the mage, fist around her sword, the white of her knuckles a telltale of her determination. Gale recoiled and murmured something to himself. In a flash, a gleaming golden halo enveloped his body. Whether he knew where this was going or not, his first reflex had been to protect himself. Good. That would prove smart for him.

“Up!” Lae’zel ordered.

Hesitant and refusing to move, Gale was scrutinizing her, attentive to the slightest movement, the smallest twitch that could start it all. He reminded her of a deer caught in the eyes of a wolf. That such a tender man was at the heart of her obsession. Revolting.

“What are we doing exactly?” He cautiously asked.

Lae’zel rolled her eyes. Talking, explaining, devising. He would never leave things unspoken. She would indulge him this time. If only to hear the sound of his pathetic voice: a music that made her stomach jump.

“We fight. I test you in battle. Bruise me so that you can possess me.” She snarled.

The pair remained immobile for a few seconds, not daring to move. The tension was growing tangible in the small tent. Gale squinted at her.

“Quite the predicament you’ve put me in tonight…” He whispered.

With a speed she did not foresee, he reached for his quarterstaff by the side of his bedroll and raised his hand in front of him. Lae’zel did not get the chance to move and was swept out of the tent by a wave of weave that sent her toppling to the ground outside.

The combat had started.

As she was collecting herself, the wizard ran out of the tent, flinging a firebolt at her. Back on her feet, Lae’zel dodged the fiery projectile and ran towards her target, her blade in hand held behind her to give it momentum. The blade swung in the empty air, cutting through a cloud of mist as Gale appeared a few feet behind her, already signing the next spell he was going to cast.

Before he could utter the necessary incantation, the warrior focused her psionic powers and sprung in the air. An extraordinary jump distracted the mage. In awe of such athletics he failed to realize the gap between had been bridged. Lae’zel struck him on the shoulder with the edge of her blade. Blood splattered on the floor. Gale dropped his staff and fell to his knees with a pained groan.

Lae’zel prepared to strike again. victory seemed to be hers.

She seized her sword with two hands and raised it high above her head. With a swift swing, the blade began its baneful descent towards the wizard. And then nothing happened. Despite all the might and will she could conjure, her arms hung in the air uselessly, her sword fixed mid-blow, never to finish the strike she had started. Incapable of moving the rest of her limbs nor her head, her eyes glanced to her feet with difficulty. A purple square was encasing her, shining a bright hue on the ground. Gale got back to his feet, wheezing, holding the gushing wound in an attempt to prevent blood from flowing out of it.

“Apologies, my love.” He breathed.

As he articulated the next spell, Lae’zel heart pounded, admiration and apprehension thumping in her core in unission. She braced herself and welcomed with tensed muscles the deflagration that engulfed her. The full force of the explosion hit her with a bone shattering impact yet could not make her budge out of her weave prison. She felt the flame lick her skin and the heat burn her lungs. Through the dancing red curtain she could see Gale, hand raised dousing the fire, a fine pellicule of snow leaving his palm and taming the flames.

As he released her from her magic trap, Lae’zel fell to the ground, exhausted, barely conscious. Gale quickly retrieved a healing potion from the camp storage chest nearby and rushed to her side. He uncorked the vial with his teeth while holding her up, and poured its content into her open mouth. Lae’zel felt her body mend itself from the wounds of her fight.

She reached out to the wizard arm and brushed a few fingers to the fabric of his clothes, damp with blood. She looked up to his eyes. His warmth was flooding her with joy. She knew she should feel ashamed from such a blatant defeat, yet she could not resist the surge of adoration that was filling her heart, threatening to explode in her chest.

“Are you ok?” He wearily inquired.

“You were incredible…” She replied.

Her finger trailed their way up from his blood-stained shoulder to find the soft threads of his beard. With the pad of her thumb she gently brushed his lower lip.

“ ‘You are mine’. Say the words.” She demanded.

Gale swallowed. He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, gently wiping the blood and sweat off her skin. He tucked a strand of her hair away. His fingers delicately traced the lines and curves of her ear.

“You are mine.” He whispered.

Their lips met, with a shudder of euphoria swelling from one to the other. Under the starless night of the shadow-cursed lands they sealed their promise. For the first time, shivering under the touch of her lover, Lae’zel felt more than a desire to dominate, more than greed, more than lust. In Gale’s arm she felt pleasure and warmth. Joy and affection. Safety and peace.

Is that what they called “love”?

[thevioletcaptain]

the ashes by imogenbynight

1.2k | mature | deancas

a 13.01 coda with dean scattering cas' ashes. technically this is canon compliant but i feel like i need to trigger warn for like… cannibalism? not really but. man. idk.

Dean sits with the ashes when they get back to the bunker. Sits with them and stares and goes a little insane with it, until he can’t stop imagining himself cracking open the lid and reaching his fingers inside.

Would Cas be soft? Chalky, velvety, like the white-charred remnants of driftwood after a bonfire? Would he be rough as his voice; as the sand his pyre had been built upon?

With a belly full of fire and whisky and desperate unease, he stares and stares as his thoughts spiral. As he thinks about pressing his damp index finger into the ash and raising it to his mouth. Swallowing it down and letting Cas become a part of him.

He could keep Cas forever that way; absorbed into his being.

Fuck, he can’t stop thinking about it.

Years ago, they worked a case where a young couple had been so frantic with love, intensified to the trillionth degree by the cruel touch of famine, that they'd eaten one another alive. Torn into each other's flesh with teeth as they clung together, ecstatic and bloody. Dean remembers feeling as confused as he was revolted by what had seemed to him a far-too-literal leap from desire to hunger.

Now, though, he kind of understands it.

Because it wasn't hunger, exactly, that lead to such a violent conclusion. It was need, followed through to its inevitable end. And he gets it now. Gets wanting to take the one you love into yourself and keep them there always. To hold them so wholly that they become a part of you, so you can never be parted again.

Of course, that's the thing that stops him, in the end. Not what should have stopped him--not the sick, visceral horror of what ultimately equates to eating his best friend's remains, no matter how he spins it--but the fact that tying Cas to himself in such an irreversible way feels like a betrayal. A punishment to Cas' spirit, however much of it still exists. He can't do that. Can't force whatever part of Cas' grace or soul might linger in the ash to endure however many years Dean has left as a part of him. Can't tether Cas so selfishly in death when Cas had never seemed to want to stay with him in life.

Cas might have been the love of Dean's miserable fucking life, but he's not under any illusions that the feeling ran both ways.

He learned early that it wasn't even possible--learned before he'd even fully slipped into loving Cas himself. Learned before he ever could have known how important it would be to him. Anna had told him, point blank, and he'd seen the difference in her. Human, feeling; angel, cold. And sure, Cas has come a long way -- had come along way by the end. He feels. Dean knows he feels, and feels for him, in particular. But his capacity for it is limited, and it's never been clearer than in his ability to leave Dean behind at a moment's notice. He's detached. Was detached.

So he can't force Cas to be a part of him. Would never forgive himself.

When he had eventually started falling, he'd hoped the knowledge that nothing could ever come of it would help keep him from toppling headfirst into something deeper than a fleeting infatuation. He hadn't been so lucky.

And now here he is, staring down a can labeled Cafe Bustelo Medium Roast and thinking the kind of thoughts that make his stomach turn in endlessly cycling fits of longing and revulsion, all because he fell in love.

It's half past five in the morning when he decides he can't keep the ashes in the bunker. Can't have the sick temptation. Less because he thinks he's actually going to do it, and more because he knows he won't be able to stop thinking about it whenever he sees the tin. So he scoops up the tin, and creeps down to the garage to the Impala, and drives west on US-36. 

Keeps driving until the rising sun starts turning the sky in his rearview a pale shade of pink, and he sees a few lonely lightning bugs blinking in and out of view on an quiet roadside near Phillipsburg.

He's pulled over before he's consciously decided to do so.

It's a pretty spot, is his first thought. Tall grass and scattered wildflowers spanning the open meadow which slopes down to a stream. A rusted old windmill stands vigil over the scene, slowly spinning in the gentle breeze.

Cas would like it here, is his second thought. Would gaze up at the windmill and make some observation about the ingenuity of human invention, and crouch down to watch the fireflies as they gently sink back into the grass at the arrival of the sun. 

The image is so clear in Dean's mind that he forgets, just for a second, that Cas is gone. Or-- he doesn't forget, exactly. He just isn't thinking about it so directly. Is so focused on the visual of Cas in the tall grass beside him, on the memory of his voice and the way his long fingers would look dipping between blade of grass that when he looks back down at his hands, at the coffee can he's holding with white-knuckled grip, the reminder of why he's here is harsh enough to leave him winded.

"I woulda brought you here," he says once he's caught his breath, like Cas can hear him, but it's a lie. They rarely had downtime, and whenever they did Cas almost always took off. Dean was lucky to get him to stick around long enough to watch a movie, most of the time. But he'd have wanted to bring him here. That much is true. He would have wanted to.

"I hope--" he starts, then stops, drawing his lip between his teeth and looking first to the sky, then to the ground, then just closing his eyes. Taking several deep breaths. "Man... Cas. Cas, I hope you're--"

Okay. Safe. Alright. Fuck, but all the words he has equate to alive, and with me, and whole, and underneath them all an unwavering current of coming home soon. Anything else feels like another lie. His throat clicks on a swallow.

"I hope you're happy," he says finally, and pries the can open. Stares down at the small cloud of ash that rises with it. "I'm gonna miss you for fucking ever, but wherever you are... I really hope you're happy."

With the windmill at his back, and the field of flowers spread out before him, he lets Cas' ashes run through his fingers as he gives him over to the earth, and he doesn't notice the texture at all. He's too busy thinking about how Cas' hand felt in his the last time he'd helped him to stand. How heavy he'd been, then. How light he is now.

It's not until he's preparing to return to his car, wrung out and cracked open and raw as an exposed nerve, that he notices the thin cut on his ring finger. He must have nicked it on the coffee can, or the fence, or the dry grass, and it doesn't hurt, but-- his blood is swelling from it in a bright red drop, and his hands are dusty with ash. His heart lurches at the sight of Cas' ash and his own blood mingling.

He raises his finger to his mouth.

Cas is holy on his tongue.

[also on ao3]

[aemondsquill]

Never Admit Defeat

Aemond Targaryen × Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Y/N is feeling frisky and she's making it Aemond's problem

Warnings: mostly fluff, a little fingering and suggestive language, but not full on smut, and wrestling but lmk if I should add any

Y/N could not pick a singular word to describe her mood on this night. Hyper? No, that wasn't it. How about excited? No, that wasn't quite the right word either. Whatever word it was made her feel antsy.

Sitting at the dinner table piled high was delectable meats, vegetables, and rich wines could not distract her from the droning conversations that never seemed to end. The banality of it all made her restless. Her husband, Aemond, the fearsome Dragon Prince himself, sat next to her with perfect practiced posture. He didn't seem to mind the humdrum of conversation that flowed endlessly amongst his family, contributing every so often when he was addressed.

Y/N felt his warm hand rest against hers, stilling her tapping fingers.

"Are you alright, wife?" He asked, concern etching onto his face. Y/N let out a breathy sigh and smiled politely, "Yes, I am quite alright, my Prince." Conversation between the couple still felt stilted and awkward, as they had only been wed for a couple of weeks. Y/N hated it. She wished she could just scrub away the awkwardness and at least speak like friends.

The Dowager Queen perked up at the voice of Aemond's wife. She also picked up on Y/N's odd mannerisms and frazzled eyes, much to the dismay of her good-daughter.

"Tell me about your day, dearest Y/N." The Queen spoke softly. Her eyes were warm and inviting and her smile was nothing less than motherly.

Y/N blinked, pondering the question for a minute. "My day was wonderful, your Majesty. The Princess Helaena made a wonderful companion in the gardens today. She found a lovely wisteria plant for me to hang in my chambers." The Queen seemed pleased at the praise for her darling daughter, Helaena. "I'm glad to hear it, my Lady."

Gods, how long is this blasted dinner going to last? It had been hours since the sun had fallen and Y/N wanted nothing more than to return to her chambers so she may think of a way to dissipate her nervous energy.

Her salvation came from the least likely source: Aegon. He was deep in his cups, so much so that his head was lolling back and forth and his eyes drooped with sleepiness.

"Motherrrrr....May I *hic* be esscused?" His words were heavily slurred and he looked to be on the verge of collapsing. Alicent huffed out a sigh before glaring at him. How dare he have the audacity to present himself in a manner that was utterly unbecoming in front of his new good-sister? She dismissed him quietly, glancing over at Ser Cole, who was already stalking over to the future king of the realm. With a heave, Aegon was slumped against the knight and the two stumbled out of the dining hall.

Aemond rolled his eyes at his brother's antics, yet he expected no less. Of course his brother would make a fool of himself in front of his new bride. He picked at the roasted vegetables on his plate for a moment before deciding that he had enough of this drab affair.

"Mother, Y/N and I should retire to our chambers. Thank you for hosting us at this dinner." Y/N shot up quickly from her seat and curtsied politely, excited at the prospect of finally leaving. Alicent sent them a small smile and allowed them to leave.

The heavy skirts of Y/N's dress swished around her legs as she walked through the endless corridors of the Red Keep, holding onto her husband's arm. Nerves fluttered in her chest at the realization that the two of them were completely alone. During the months of their betrothal a chaperone accompanied them everywhere to make sure neither engaged in unseemly behaviors before their marriage. Of course, Aemond and Y/N still managed to sneak a few chaste kisses every so often, but never anything more.

Y/N's mind wandered to the night of their wedding, only several days behind them. How cold the Prince had seemed at the ceremony and feast, as though it had been another one of his mother's tasks assigned to him. In a manner of thinking, one could say the whole marriage was exactly that: a duty and nothing more. But Y/N wanted more! Her own mother and father had a wonderful marriage! Laughter was no foreigner in the halls of her old home, and love was always abundant. She feared Aemond had only viewed her as an obligation and the thought prickled her spine. A shiver of frustration shot through her.

"Are you cold, my Lady? I can send for a chamber maid to bring you another blanket."

"No, thank you, my Prince, that will not be necessary." Y/N smiled gently. Beneath her practiced smile a storm was brewing. She didn't know how long she could keep herself together before she made a fool of herself.

Aemond eyed her warily. She had been acting so strange this night. Did she hate him that much? Perhaps. He knew that he hadn't been the most loving husband in the realm, but at least he wasn't cruel.

After several minutes in silence, the pair arrived at Y/N chambers. She halted for a moment, still feeling jittery, but now she had been trying to build up the courage to invite him in. Surely it was not improper for a woman to want to spend time with her husband! She took a breath and before Aemond released her arm she spoke quickly, "Would you care to join me, my Prince? Just for a moment?" His eye widened at her request. He had to be dreaming, right? To his embarrassment, he stuttered out his reply.

"Oh, um,y-yes of course, my Lady." Y/N grinned at him broadly, the nervous butterflies in her stomach coming to a stand still. She held his hand and led him inside.

Aemond surveyed the chambers carefully. It was tidy, mostly, and had a few touches of her personality: flowers hanging by the window, a portrait of her family above the fireplace, and an easel with an empty canvas.

"So, you enjoy painting, my Lady?"

"Oh yes, very much so, my Prince. My mother taught my brothers and I how to paint when we were very young. My father always wanted the boys to hunt or spar with him, but they favored the arts more so. Forgive my ramblings, my Prince, I miss them greatly." Aemond walked around the room, arms clasped behind his back as he took everything in before stopping in front of the roaring fire.

"Hmm. My sister seems to be taken with you. I appreciate that greatly, my Lady. Not many have the patience for her ramblings, certainly not my brother." He said briskly. Gods, how long will this wretched conversation continue? Y/N might as well be watching her paintings dry! At this thought she closed her eyes and let out a sigh more harshly than she intended. Aemond's head whipped around at the sound, slightly startled that she could be so rude.

"Have I done something to offend you, my Lady?" He asked incredulously. Y/N felt a flicker of fear, but it quickly turned into annoyance and the strange feral feeling she felt at dinner.

"Gods, my Prince, I cannot continue like this! Why must our conversations be such a bore?! Surely, there are more interesting things to talk about!" She all but shouted. She didn't feel angry, she just felt like her emotions were pent up. Y/N had spent months displaying a watered-down version of herself so as not to offend the royal family.

Y/N began to pace around the room, attempting to untie the lacings of her elaborate dress. "All we ever have are stilted conversations fit for old lords who don't give a shit about each other! I wish to speak freely with my husband, but no, my father said I had to be prim and proper to keep you happy. Well piss on that!" By this time, the outermost layer of the dress was gone, leaving Y/N in her cinched corset and chemise. Aemond could only watch her, feeling slightly scandalized at the vision before him. His words had failed him in his shock.

Y/N took a deep breath before removing the several pieces of jewelry that adorned her body and placing them on her dark wood vanity. She turned to look at her husband, a wild glaze in her eyes.

Aemond seemed to get his bearings. "Why are you looking at me like that, wife?" He snapped. In a million years, Aemond would have ever been able to guess what his wife would do next.

Y/N let out a roar as she charged at him with ferocity. The impact of her body against his sent them both clambering to the ground.

"What in the seven hells has possessed you, woman?!" Aemond shouted, baffled at the actions of his wife. He scrambled against her flailing limbs. How was she so strong for such a little thing? She pulled on his hair and he he groaned.

"I have been stifled for too long! I need you to see me for who I truly am, husband!" Y/N cackled like a woman crazed above him. She leaned down and bit as his neck and shoulder and he let out a series yelps at each sharp contact.

"You are nothing more than a wildling! I should have you shipped off to the North, vile woman!" Aemond, truly baffled, continued to grapple with his lady wife's arms before flipping them over so she was on her back. He took a second to breath, but that was a mistake. Y/N managed to slip out of his grasp and fling her arms around his neck and pull him down towards her.

Aemond huffed and puffed as Y/N slithered around to his back from underneath him, wrapping her legs around him and tightening her hold around his neck. His one hand gripped her forearm, while the other pushed against the floor. The whole time Y/N giggled madly, Aemond was left wondering what the hell his mother had gotten him into. This was not the same meek lady he had been betrothed to just weeks before. And he definitely enjoyed the newfound fire in his wife. Her giggles proved to be contagious as his own laughter filled the room.

The two still struggled against each other, Aemond now on top pinning Y/N down on her back. They slowed their movements as they gazed into each other's eyes, both alight with mirth. Aemond's soft lips inched closer and closer and Y/N's eyes started fluttering softly.

In a sudden movement, Aemond flipped Y/N onto her belly and held her hair so her head was gently lifted off the ground. She gasped in delight.

"Your insolence must come to an end, wife, I can tell your tiring out" he taunted at her. Y/N rolled her eyes and looked back at him.

"I will never bend to your will, husband, I am too fierce for you to handle!" She said indignantly. Aemond let out a chuckle before his palm struck her supple ass cheek. He watched it jiggle beneath her thin chemise, blood rushing to his crotch. Truthfully, he had been hard as a rock the entire time they had been wrestling, but this was the first time he really took in every curve of her body.

Slowly, his fingers trailed up the back of her thigh and under her chemise. Her breathing halted as his sped up. The thrill of touching his wife ignited his entire being.

She let out a gasp and she felt a slender finger prod at her slickness. She was embarrassingly wet after being so physical with her dear husband.

"Husband, please." She whimpered out while attempting to grind against his finger pathetically. Aemond, however, greatly enjoyed the sight of his wife so desperate and aching for him. The thought of it made his belly feel warm.

He clicked his tongue at her, "I thought you said you'd never been to my will, wife. I wouldn't want to make a liar out of you." Y/N let out a soft whimper as his finger traveled deeper into her causing her to arch her back slightly.

"I don't care, husband! Please, I just want more!" Hearing his wife begging beneath him nearly caused his own release. He was happy to oblige as he added a second finger, the additional stretch almost overwhelming his little wife below him. She moaned out as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of her, the wetness causing squelching noises.

"Get on the bed, little wife, I'm going to fill you with an heir tonight."

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Three:

The dining hall of House Wylde was adorned with flickering candles and the finest silverware as the family gathered for what would be Maera’s last dinner before departing for King's Landing. The tension in the air was palpable, and Maera knew it was bound to be an emotional evening, especially considering the contentious circumstances surrounding her departure.

At the heart of the hall stood the impressive dining table, a long and beautifully crafted masterpiece of rich, dark wood that seemed to stretch endlessly. The table was polished to a brilliant shine, reflecting the flickering light of candles and adding an extra touch of elegance to the space. Its surface was smooth, the result of years of meticulous care and attention.

The table was filling up quickly, six siblings already seated. The seven littlest of her younger siblings, as well as her nieces and nephews would not be in attendance, no doubt still in the nursery as it would not be suitable for them to be present at such an affair.

Most of her elder brothers were leading exciting lives, having achieved knighthoods or had travelled to Essos to see more of the world. Some had joined the citadel, others the military as commanders. It was hard to keep up with so many siblings. Her father was known was his virility, having caused the births of twenty nine children with his four wives. Maera often wondered why her father continued to marry given that his first wife had given him ten sons.

Born within the walls of Rain House, the number of Trueborn children born of her fathers wives that had not been taken by the stranger as of yet was twenty one. And with so many of her brothers away, the amount of Wylde children currently living at Rain House was fifteen, eight whom would be in attendance tonight. A smaller number, but a large family nonetheless.

Maera sat near the top end of the table on the right side, closest to the chair adorned with plush cushions and intricate designs for the head of the House. Opposite her seat were three brothers who had been born of her fathers first wife, a lady of house Selmy: Faran and Luthor, who were still smirking over their victory in the courtyard this morning, and Cedric, a quieter more studious young man. Besides Maera sat the Twins who has just celebrated their fifteenth nameday, her brother Gwyn and sister Wynni. And at the other end of the table was Sabine, three years Maera’s junior. The three younger siblings were produced by her fathers third wife, a lady of House Meadows.

Maera sat at the table smiling at her younger siblings and giving Wynni’s hand a squeeze when she was comfortable. All were present, apart from Guston, running late as usual. When he did finally arrive, he offered no apology or reason and simply sat down, ushering the servants to place the food in front of his family. The tantalizing scent of roasted meats, freshly baked bread, and a myriad of delectable desserts teased the senses.

As the meal commenced, the conversations remained light, but Maera sensed that Guston was itching for the news to be broken to their family. She could feel his gaze on her, scrutinizing her every move. Guston cleared his throat and addressed the family. "I have an important announcement to make," Guston began, his voice carrying an authoritative tone. "As some of you may already know, Maera has been selected to represent House Wylde at King's Landing." Maera's heart sank at the realization that Guston had revealed her plans without her consent. She had hoped to break the news to her other siblings herself, but it seemed her brother had other ideas.

Cedric looked at Maera with a mix of pride and concern. "Is this true, Maera? You're leaving us for King's Landing again? As I recall, your last experiences at court were not thought of fondly"

"I am not a girl anymore," Maera retorted, her voice steady. "I am a woman grown, capable of surviving in the capital”

“Woman or not, the realm is in ruin at this time. If the Princess Rhaenyra decides to attack King Aegon, that is where she will do it. You will be in harms way!” Cried Sabine before taking a long sip from her goblet.

“No normal woman, mind” said Faran, slicing into the meat on his plate. “Her skills with a sword and that sharp tongue, our dear sister will defend herself if needed, without a problem”

Guston slammed his fist on the table, causing the siblings to jump in their chairs. “Maera has been chosen to represent this family in Kings Landing. There will be no need for swords and sharp tongues” he glared in Farans direction.

The tension in the room was palpable, and Wynni tried to intervene, hoping to defuse the escalating argument. "Let us not quarrel on this important night. Who knows when we will all be together again" she pleaded. Maera cleared her throat, causing Guston to look at her. They held each others gaze before Guston finally sighed, his brow softening.

“It is a tremendous honor and I am sure Maera will do us proud” and he raised his glass in her direction. Maera exhibited an audible gasp. Did her eldesbrother actually just say something nice? Well, I suppose he probably won’t see me again after today, she thought. As she raised her goblet in turn to Guston, she spoke with sincerity. “It is thanks to the education received here at Rain House that I have been trained in diplomacy and politics in preparation for such a position at court. And I have learned much from you, dear brother, even if we have not always seen eye to eye"

Each sibling at the table toasted their cups to Maera and the opportunity that had found her at Kings Landing, a sense of calm washing over the room. Their farewell feast had been fraught with tension, but beneath it all, the love and bond between siblings remained unbroken. As the plates were cleared, Maera embraced her each one of her siblings, even Guston, feeling a mix of sadness and hope for the future.

Before retiring to her own Chambers, Maera made her way through the echoing halls of the castle, her steps muffled by the lush carpets that lined the corridors. Her destination was a series of smaller chambers where her seven younger siblings slept. One by one, she kissed their sleeping heads, breathing in each unique smell deeply, as if trying to burn them into her memory. With a heavy heart and a few tears shed, Maera made her way to her room

The candlelight danced across the walls of Lady Maera Wylde's chamber, casting a soft, golden glow that gently illuminated the room's opulent furnishings. The heavy brocade curtains swayed gently in the breeze, carrying with it the scent of the sea that lingered on the air. Lady Maera stood before her vanity, her dark hair cascading down her back in loose waves, as, Imelda carefully brushed and braided it for the night whilst Cristina laid out her bed clothes.

"Thank you, both of you," Lady Maera said, her voice tinged with exhaustion. "I fear tomorrow's journey to King's Landing will be a long and trying one."

“Indeed my Lady, it should take about a week to get from here to the capital” replied Cristina as she fluffed Maera’s pillows.

“But I have prepared everything for your departure” Imelda cut in. “Your gowns are packed, your carriage is ready, I have also packed your favourite books and a certain sword and dagger that I have not mentioned to Septa Mathilde." She winked at Lady Maera as she smiled back wearily, her reflection in the mirror showing a mix of excitement and apprehension.

As Imelda finished the last braid, Lady Maera stood and turned to face the women who had been by her side for as long as she could remember. She ushered Cristina to also stand next to her and held onto the women with each hand. "You have been both been steadfast companions. I don't know what I would do without you."

Cristina squeezed the hand of her lady. Tears glistened in Imeldas eyes as she curtsied. "It has been an honor and a privilege to serve you, milady." With a final embrace to the servants, the women parted for the night. Lady Maera slipped into her nightgown, the fine silk sliding over her skin like a caress. She walked over to the window and gazed out at the moonlit sea, its surface shimmering in the night. As she climbed into her sumptuous four-poster bed, Lady Maera couldn't help but feel a mixture of anticipation and trepidation that the morning would bring. And that night she dreamt of the events that had led to her first departure from the Capital

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Thank you

I, of course, respect democracy on this blog, so since the overwhelming majority voted for me to write this terrible, heavy angst, here you go <3

"Da-jiu, what did my mom look like?"

Wei Wuxian sighs, nostalgic, a distant ache throbbing behind an only slightly forced smile. "She was... beautiful, elegant. You got her eyes, you know? When we were children, we would always compare them to chocolate or roasted chestnuts... She had a very warm smile, a soft voice, but even so, she could be incredibly fierce when she wanted to..."

"How did she wear her hair?"

"In all sorts of ways, but she liked braids the most. She practiced on me and your jiujiu a lot."

A snort. "You probably looked ridiculous."

"I did! But it made your mom laugh, and that was more important than me getting made fun of!"

Wind rustles through the falling leaves of the forest trees, the chill warning that winter is a mere few weeks away. The moon shines bright, at its zenith, and wildlife howls and groans in the distance.

"Da-jiu..."

"Hm?"

"Do you think jiujiu will be mad at me?"

Wei Wuxian's smile trembles at the edges. "No, he's never actually mad at you. That's just how he is."

"But he will be mad at you, though..."

"He's always mad at me."

"He shouldn't be... And I shouldn't either."

"Jin Ling-"

"No, listen... Back then, my parents were collateral victims... at the wrong place, at the wrong time. I don't want to be too late telling you this, so... I forgive you. It wasn't your fault."

Wei Wuxian's eyes fill with tears as he reaches to move a few bloody strands away from the boy's face.

"And... I'm sorry I stabbed you back then. I was angry and didn't think..." Jin Ling takes a deep, painful breath. "This isn't your fault either."

Wei Wuxian's eyes try so hard not to trail over the mess of bloody, golden robes on his nephew's clothes, doesn't want to see the extent of the damage anymore. It's all too familiar.

"You... need to tell that dumbass Jingyi that I don't actually hate him." Jin Ling continued, his own eyes filling up, "And... and tell Sizhui that I'm sorry I've been so insufferable back then... I didn't really know what having friends was like and I was... an ass to him even if he only tried to help..."

He blinks, heavily, his eyes starting to glass over. "And... I owe Zizhen... 400 coins for the last book he sent me..."

Wei Wuxian brings the boy close, holds his body against his own, tears endlessly falling down his face as he feels the blood seep into his robes. Jin Ling's growing heavier in his hold, heavier and cold.

"I... really admire you...' His voice comes out as barely above a whisper, raspy and distant, almost like he's talking in his sleep, "...and Hanguang-Jun... and I'm thankful... for having met you..."

"A-Ling..."

"And... thank you... for..." a heaving, last breath, "...staying with me... I really... hate... being alone..."

Jin Ling slumps against Wei Wuxian, lifeless.

There is a smile on his face even so.

He looks so much like his mother.

[sirphillipcranestanaccount]

I have a Regency Headcannon I wanted to share with you.

On Eloises first visit to London after her marriage, she and her mother actually attend a flower arranging class.

Daphne and Penelope think it is the cutest thing that Eloise wants to impress phillip.

They also roast her endlessly!

Eloise Bridgerton taking a class to impress a man! Who would have thought!

What do you think!?

I love it. 🥹

Meanwhile Kate, Daphne, Penelope, and Sophie be like: Has Sir Phillip not already arranged your flowers sufficiently? 😏😏”

[skzstoryvault]

Erase and Rewind (angst, fluff, smut - Hyunjin - Part 3)

F!Reader

ex!Chan

good friend Hyunjin

multi chapter story

this chapter: light fluff

Chan broke up with reader

Reader is moving on

Hyunjin is being a supportive friend

Featuring insecurities, internalised misogyny and self-hate

This is in no way meant as a commentary on the real persons depicted here. They all deserve the world.

Please be kind.

Please do not report this post. If it's not your thing, just scroll away.

If you're underage, please scroll on, there is nothing for you here.

If you enjoy this story and are reading along, I would love to hear your comments in the replies, reblogs or DMs - however you feel most comfortable.

*** Part 2

It’s been a year. You lost a lot of yourself during this time - some select shit beliefs, the ability to give a fuck about other people’s feelings on your decisions, ten kilos of your weight.

You gained a lot, too. A new, wonderful home, closer to Hyunjin’s dorm and in a better part of the city. The will to keep it tidy and presentable. The zest for life. Abs and thighs of steel. And it’s all because Hyunjin invited himself into your life and forgot to leave. Or maybe, just maybe, he really likes you even after he discovered more of you. 

He has a way of being inspiring without being pushy, and close without it feeling creepy. He also chose you for a sort of casual intimacy you’ve only ever seen him display with Felix. The more you think of it, he’s given you a gift you thought was not in any human’s power: the elusive self-confidence you’ve been struggling to acquire since you were a teen. And he wasn’t direct or forceful about it - he just taught you how to dance like him. You remember the first time he dragged you into the practice room. You felt under pressure, because Hyunjin is a choreography god. But, unlike with Chan, who used to intimidate the living soul out of you in his capacity as an idol and a band leader, with Hyunjin you felt safe to goof off and weren’t afraid to mess up. The stakes were comfortably low and he created an atmosphere where it was expected to have fun first and be technical later. 

“Just follow my movements in the mirror,” he had said, and after a short time of getting used to him and the way he led, you found out you were way better at it than you thought. That was months ago. It was so much fun, that neither of you noticed the hours spent sweating together adding up. “What are you two doing in there? I hope nothing that requires an NDA.” Lee Know remarked at some point. “Hyunjin, you sound and look like you had a Spanish Fly milkshake, without fail.” “Not a word to her, everyone. If you have issues with how long we are in there and how often we hang out, address them to me.” Hyunjin said, unusually serious. “I mean it.” Usually, the members  roast one another endlessly, and Hyunjin is not excluded. But that one time, they listened and no one made a single remark since. Soon came the dance challenges - Hyunjin in the front, you at the back, both or just you with caps and masks and hoodies with the hood on. Some of the videos ended up on Hyunjin’s tiktok but no one batted an eye. You are halfway between Chan and Hyunjin, height-wise, and your recent pastime melted the fat off your hips and other areas. You easily pass for a guy in baggy clothing and everyone assumes you’re one of the backup dancers or some other idol from the same company who is just friends with Hyunjin - so that’s not even an issue. 

You discovered that dancing comes easily to you, especially when Hyunjin is choreographing. Most of the time it’s K-Pop songs, not just Stray Kids ones, and you like them just fine, but every now and then you bring a dirty trap song or an Afrobeats one that you vibe to privately and Hyunjin feels challenged to design a dance to go with the track that you like so much. On one of those days, he went to his notes, drawing more stick figures and annotating his sequence, leaving the song playing in a loop. You were feeling yourself and you were still in front of the mirror, so you busted your most carefree C-walk footwork and leaned into it. “Baby! What is that??? That’s awesome, where did you learn to do that?” Hyunjin said, looking up from his papers. “Oh? This? This is the C-walk, the C stands for Crip and rappers like Snoop Dogg and Blueface include these moves in their videos. There are people all over youtube doing improv with these steps… But they’re not complicated, I just default to this because it’s the most fun way to move. Plus it looks cool,” you explained. “Show me! Teach me, please. Slow it down first.” Hyunjin said, coming up to stand next to you. 

After that, he made sure to always bust a C-walk move or two in content for fans or in behind the scenes videos. He even told you he began feeling cooler and more laid back, not trying so hard and not living for approval. He leaned in one time and said “every time you see me happy, doing my little gangsta steps, it means I’m thinking of you!” 

You giggled, finding no words, delighted that you had something to give to the god who had everything. Looking back, you realise that in the past year plus, you forgot to be angry, hurt and ashamed about Chan breaking up with you. You saw Chan and his new girlfriend often at the dorm, but it was casual and it caused no reaction in you. Something strange also happened. Back before you began dating him and during that time, you used to think he was dizzyingly gorgeous and your body was frantically cycling through all the reactions it knew in response to how attractive you found him. Now you can tell that he’s a beautiful man who works out and cares about his appearance, and someone who is smart, brilliant and loyal as a friend - but your insides are not rioting about it. 

You’re not sure how you feel about the nothingness stretching out inside you. A part of you is questioning the lack of interest in potential partners, especially since you’re surrounded by some of the most beautiful guys in the world. Another part of you fiercely protects the scarred part of your soul which only knows the pain of having been abandoned. Because that was it, wasn’t it? You weren’t just blue because of a break-up, although that in itself had come as a blow for you. You were mourning the immediate withdrawal of Chan’s warmth towards you, like a punishment for choosing something he had not had time to accept. You were sure that he didn’t see it the same way, and maybe by now he was more assuredly childfree than back in the day. But you could not rule over Chan’s feelings, just your own.

Final part

[llliiinnnaaa]

Reprisal | Chapter Four | Part Two

coriolanus snow x gaul oc

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reblogged and liked, or even just read the previous chapters I’ve posted. It really means a lot!!!

Summary: Ten years after the Tenth Hunger Games, Coriolanus Snow is under Dr. Volumnia Gaul’s wing as a Gamemaker alongside her niece. Unbeknownst to either of them, they’re both being prepared for a much greater task.

Warning: This story will contain explicit violence against adults and children alike (I mean, it’s Dr. Gaul AND Snow) as well as explicit language, and sexual situations.

***This fic is in no way, shape, or form, me endorsing or co-signing the horrific shit Snow does, nor am I trying to romanticize it. Also, apathy and will be the main driving force of any remnants of a relationship between my OC and Snow’s character. So if you’re interested in something very romantic and fluffy…it’s not gonna be this.

Enjoy!

     Ma Plinth damn near shouts as she examines the apartment, commenting sweetly on every little thing she possibly can, acting as though it’s the grandest home she’s stepped foot in. 

Seeing Dyess Crane drink up her kindness makes Coriolanus sick. 

Tigris helps Tawny finish up the table before announcing, “Okay, everyone, dinner is served!” 

Moments later, the sound of scraping silver across the dinner plates is all that’s heard along with the sound of Tiberius and Strabo’s laughter as Mrs. Plinth smiles warmly at Tawny. 

“Mrs. Crane, you truly do have a lovely home. It’s beautiful.” She says after swallowing a bite of roast. 

Dyess cautiously keeps an eye on the exchange, paranoid Tawny will lose her manners and lash out rudely to their guest based off the fact she simply doesn’t like that the Plinths are district. 

But he’s been nice to Coriolanus, so if he can tolerate Snow, she can tolerate the Plinths. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Plinth.” She maintains her best behavior, grinning at the woman adorned in a floral printed dress.

“Please tell her it would be even more beautiful with the sound of little feet pitter-pattering down the halls.” Minerva adds, sipping the wine she’s clearly had too much of already. 

The focus quickly becomes Tawny as everyone absentmindedly looks at her. 

“Mini.” Tiberius says, raising his brows. 

“I’m just saying.” She replies, motioning to Dyess. “Dyess agrees with me.” 

Tawny snaps her head to her left to look at her husband who grins at his wife. 

This is quickly becoming a conversation their guests feel should not be heard by them, Tigris coming to the rescue to say, “This weather has been horrific,” referring to the downcast of rain that’s been hounding the Capitol endlessly. “We passed by three different vehicle accidents on the way over.”

“I know it. My hair was ruined this morning before we even got inside for breakfast.” Minerva states, rolling her eyes.

“That reminds me, we need to get a new set of tires, Sweetie. The tread’s damn near gone.” Dyess says to Tawny, to which she mutters, “Language, Dear,” while he continues, “We’ve probably worn it out with our back and forths to work lately.” 

“Do you two both still work at the Citadel?” Strabo asks, cutting into a carrot. 

“Yes.” Tawny says to him. 

“Oh, they are very accomplished scientists, aren’t you, Dear?” Tiberius asks his daughter, the pride radiating off of him. 

“If you say so, Dad.” She humbly retorts, earning a small wink from him as Dyess finishes off his drink and pipes, “Mr. Snow, that reminds me…” 

Coriolanus stops his eating, looking across from himself to stare at Dyess while Tawny’s breathing stops as the two men look at one another. 

“...I heard from a little birdy ,” He deliberately puts emphasis on “birdy”, Snow’s lip nearly curling, but he keeps himself together, “That Ravenstill is going to be honoring those whose cases are chosen to be presented in the Hunger Games with medals of Resilience.” 

“What?” Tawny’s now looking at Coriolanus, along with Livia, the two of them just as confused. 

Snow takes a sip of his drink after swallowing his food. 

“Your birdy is full of it.” He refutes the rumor – though it’s not a rumor in the slightest.

But it is confidential information. 

“Hmm.” Dyess hums flatly, wearing a smug smirk.

“That would be a handsome incentive, though.” Tawny’s mother states, earning a, “Oh, yes,” from Mrs. Plinth before the woman adds, “Do you all work together in a group?” 

“No.” The four of them all quickly state, everyone’s eyes looking to them as Ma says, “Oh…” 

“Ma, Dyess, Tawny, and Livia create the different mutations of animals and plants in the arena you see. It’s my job to sort through those and incorporate them into the Games.” Snow adds sweetly to the woman who is practically his adoptive mother. “Each Gamemaker is paired with at least one scientist to collaborate with each year the last few months leading up to the Games to examine their work and pick out what they would be interested in incorporating.” 

“If they have something worth incorporating.” Livia adds, eyes flickering to Tawny before Snow’s nudging his wife’s leg with his own, silently telling her to knock it off. 

“Oh, I see.” Ma nods. 

“And to think I tried to get her into finance.” Minerva chuckles, running a fingertip along a strand of her light brown hair to push it back in place. 

“Tawny’s gotten the pick of the litter, right, Snow?” Dyess asks next, Coriolanus raising his brows. 

“If you say so.” He doesn’t entertain whatever it is Dyess is trying to get at, feeling that he doesn’t mean it genuinely in any way, shape, or form. 

“He’s too humble, really. Everyone knows he’s the best Gamemaker we’ve got aside from Dr. Gaul.” Dyess goes on. “And Tawny gets him all to herself.” 

The way it’s worded sends a tick up the spines of both Snow and Tawny. 

“Isn’t that right, Dear?” He nudges his wife with his elbow while she takes a long drink of wine. 

“I’m very fortunate, yes.” She mutters. 

“What do you do with the creatures or plants you don’t use?” Tigris is quick to once more change the subject. 

“Put them down, file them away as a success so we can go back to it if we need to have the notes and instructions there to do it.” Dyess interrupts when Livia goes to speak. 

“That seems like a waste.” Minerva adds in. 

“ It is .” Tawny states, almost bitterly, recalling Snow tearing into her for wasting their time, money, and resources. “Is it not, Mr. Snow?”

“Yes, Dr. Crane, it certainly is.” He doesn’t miss a beat before replying, and she immediately avoids talking about it further when she looks to Tigris and asks, “What about work for you, Tigris, do you have any ideas yet?”

“I’ve always gotten ideas, Tawny. It’s getting the idea to translate in physical form the way I’d like it to that’s the difficult part.” She responds, lighting up when asked about her work. 

Tawny can heavily vouch for that frustration, but she doesn’t say a word more about her own work. 

“Dad, Tigris was the young girl who helped with my wedding gown, remember?” Tawny asks her father, realization coming to his face. 

“That was you?!” He asks, a wide smile on his features. 

“Yes, sir.” Tigris replies. “That was what got me the job working with Fabricia.” 

“I still won’t wear the suit she did for me. I’m scared to mess it up, it’s so fine.” Strabo jumps in, Tigris grinning as she replies, “I’m glad you like it, Mr. Plinth.” 

“So, you do fashion?” Minerva questions, trying to get a tipsy grasp of the conversation. 

“Tigris is the best designer we have in the Capitol, Mrs. Gaul. I can’t ever get myself put together for an event without her.” Coriolanus explains, giving his cousin a soft smile. 

“How much money do you make doing that, Miss Snow, if you don’t mind me asking?” Minerva questions, Tawny’s face falling in horror at her mother’s question, Tiberius going to speak but Tawny beats him to it. 

“Mother, don’t start badgering our guests about what their checks look like.” She doesn’t even try to hide the hiss in her tone, irritated beyond measure at this point. 

“It is a reasonable question as fashion is not as stable of a job as what the other four of you do.” She motions to Tawny, Dyess, Livia, and Coriolanus. “I hear that most designers struggled to make ends meet up until the last couple years. A lot of them had to sell themselves — ”

Tawny’s clattering fork against her plate as she drops it and interrupts her mother’s words that are slowly starting to slur. 

Awkward silence falls over the whole table, the air so thick and uncomfortable that Snow contemplates grabbing Livia and Tigris and getting out as soon as he can. 

“…Let’s change the subject, Mini, alright?” Tiberius patiently suggests to her, seeing the way she’s glaring at their daughter who is glaring right back at her. 

Mrs. Plinth looks at Coriolanus with worry in her eyes. 

“My wife meant no offense, Miss Snow.” Tawny’s father says politely to Tigris. 

“No offense is taken, Mr. Gaul, I assure you.” Tigris says gently, trying to help ease the tension. 

“My daughter is just easy to get spun up.” Minerva says, next. “It could be remedied with children as they make one’s heart more patient and kinder but she refuses.” 

Coriolanus keeps his mouth shut despite his confusion. 

Did Dr. Crane have a child or not? 

She said it’s the only reason they got married, but there is no kid between them, apparently. 

“Why would I want to create more targets for rebels to hit?” Her composure  has left her, sighing out the words with her brown eyes closed, dark eye makeup illuminating in the soft glow of the dining room light. 

“Tawny —” Dyess mutters only for her to cut him short. 

“—I did have daughter. A damn good one. And she was blown to smithereens. Though people can’t seem to remember that because they can’t quite place their finger on which Games it was exactly that she died before. Nor do they recall I didn’t want her to go anywhere near that arena in the first place but you insisted.” Tawny now looks at Dyess, her voice shaking with the threat of tears. 

Livia digs her nails into Snow’s leg as if begging him for them to please go home, but he can’t move out of his chair, memories flooding his mind. 

The tenth Hunger Games, the arena blowing up with him and his classmates, and tributes, in it. 

The scarring on his back from the burns that he’d told Tawny came from a terrible accident with the fireplace. 

It slowly trickles in that, yes, he does recall hearing something about one of Dr. Gaul’s family members getting fatally injured in the explosion, outside the arena looking around when it happened. 

He flinches. 

Tawny’s daughter had to have only been about four years old. 

“Tawny,” Dyess starts, Snow’s eyes finally looking at them instead of the table as everyone else has appeared to stop breathing, “It was a very horrible situation, an accident…can you please stop hanging it over my hea—”

“—Your stupidity got our daughter murdered !” She outbursts, she herself having too much to drink, clearly. 

She doesn’t give him time to get up before she’s forcing her chair back, screeching against the floor, as she hoarses out, “Excuse me,” to her guests, leaving the dining room and going to the guest bathroom off the hallway by the front door — the furthest place from her husband at the moment. 

     Tawny takes in heaps of fresh air, the tip-toes of her heels standing on the solid back of the toilet, elbows resting on the high window sill that almost touches her collar bone as smokes blows past her lips and into the Capitol night life. 

The rain has somewhat subsided for now, leaving a heavy haze of fog and humidity. 

Her hair is probably ruined with frizz but she doesn’t care.

She looked like a raccoon when she got in here, the tears that fell as soon as she left the prying eyes of guests smeared her makeup. 

Her goal is to stay in here until everyone leaves, anyway, so it’s not like anyone will be seeing her like the way she now does. 

Mortified doesn’t even begin to describe how she feels for her outburst. 

Apology cards will definitely have to go out. 

She doesn’t think herself mad or mentally unwell, truth be told she’s been doing much better than what she was when it first happened — or even better than she was a few years ago…or months ago.

Refusing to acknowledge that working with Snow had helped her, she shakes her head and takes another drag of her cigarette. 

Smoking was reserved strictly for emergencies — she hadn’t smoked one in over a year. 

This was an emergency. 

A faint knock at the door pulls her attention, more than likely Dyess or her mother. 

She’d throw herself from the window before opening it for either of them. 

“Dr. Crane.” She hears Coriolanus lowly, not bothering replying, but she does move from the toilet to tip-toe to the door. 

 A moment passes and she thinks perhaps he’s decided to leave her be, until he says, “ Tawny ,” in a rather stern whisper. 

Shit, she thinks to herself, unlocking the door and opening it as quietly as she can. 

They look at one another through the small silver of the open door, and he looks at her as it to say, “Really?” Unamused with her. 

She opens it enough for him to fit in, closing and locking it behind him before moving right back where she was, standing on the toilet, smoking out of the window. 

“You’re ridiculous.” He whispers it, trying not to laugh at the sight of her acting like a teenager trying not to get caught by her parents. 

She turns to look at him, plucking the cigarette from her mouth, extending it to him. 

She’s sure everyone in the apartment needs one right now. 

Snow declines her offer. 

“I don’t smoke.” He says, the smell of it wafting to his nose as smoke curls in the air. 

It reminds him of his father. 

“Have you read over the case I gave you?” He questions, seeing the muscles under the skin of her back tense for a moment. 

“Yes, I did.” She whispers back, blowing more smoke, looking at him. “It’s not going to work. Everything I touch goes to pot.” She reminds him. 

Everything you touch your husband fucks up , he wants to correct her but he can’t.  

“You won’t be doing it by yourself. I’ll personally keep an eye on it, so will Dr. Gaul. We really want you to be a part of these Games this year.” 

She finishes her cigarette, Snow extending his hand to help her down, and she glares at him. 

“I’m not doing anything.” He defends himself, honestly. “I’m just trying to be a gentleman and help you down.”

She sighs and grabs his hand, getting down, and leaning against the counter beside him. 

“I’m sorry about all this, Snow.” Tawny apologizes for tonight, humiliated with herself. “It was unwelcoming and embarrassing.” 

“Things happen when people have a little too much to drink.” He shrugs, glancing at her when she scoffs. 

“Don’t we know it?” She mumbles, staring off for a moment before Coriolanus is saying, “I’m sorry to hear about your daughter.” 

“My mother and my husband keep pressing me to have another.” She admits. “‘Your biological clock is just ticking away’,” she mimics her mother and he smiles just a little bit at how accurate she sounds. “Dyess just wants to screw me without a condom. He doesn’t care if I have another baby or not.”

Snow just looks at her, letting out a soft, “Hmm,” the corners of his mouth twitching to smile but he won’t. 

He can’t say he blames her husband for scouring for any excuse to have her fully. 

His expression practically shows what he’s thinking, eyes roaming over her as the wine she’d drank tonight starts to send her thoughts into a bad place to be. 

The last thing either of them need is Dyess or Livia trying to come in here and find the two of them together. 

“They’re all on the roof.” He tells her, as if reading her mind. “Everyone decided they needed fresh air so they’re having their after dinner drinks up there since the rain eased up.” 

“Oh.” 

She has to get out of this close space with him, they both have to, his hands staying to himself by his sheer willpower not to grab her. 

“Let me show you something.” She offers, walking to the door. 

They leave the bathroom, and he follows her to the hallway on the other side of the apartment that holds the bedrooms. 

Down the hall, the very last door that’s shut, she opens it and flicks on the light. 

The walls are a soft pink, shining gold accents scattered throughout the room in the form of  knickknacks and picture frames. 

Toys scatter the floor that’s covered with a fluffy cream-colored rug, the bed looks as if someone had rolled out of it without making it, the cream bedding appearing a very slight shade of yellow. 

He follows Tawny completely inside, glancing at the pictures on the rich wooden chest of drawers by the door. 

All of which contain pictures of Tawny —one of which has a younger Tawny holding a newborn baby, then another she’s got a toddler that’s seated in her lap, in front of a cake with two candles on top of it. 

Another shows where the same child is older, holding a rainbow colored snake with Tawny assisting her, crouched down beside her in her lab coat, a big smile on both of their faces. 

No, not just smiles. 

The picture had captured their laughter. 

He has to pull his eyes from the photo, recognizing the snakes all too well. 

Snow looks at her, studying her expression as she looks at the photos. 

“She died a couple days after that photo.” Tawny states. “Dyess had wanted to take her to look around the arena. It’s treated like a tourist attraction more times than not, as you know. I begged him not to, I didn’t want her to be around all of that…I didn’t particularly enjoy the Games themselves. I thought them to be cruel, but still necessary…” She trails off, taking in a breath. “He was off that day and had told me he wouldn’t take her,  but I felt like he was going to, anyway, so I just ignored it as best as I could.” She continues. “Next thing I know I have a Peacekeeper telling me that my child, Tullia, has been identified as one of the casualties of a rebel bombing at the arena.”

He looks at the floor. 

“If he would’ve been there when I first found out…” She adds, referring to Dyess, “…I probably would’ve killed him, Snow. I was so angry with him.” 

“Rebels killed my father, out in Twelve.” He states to try to ease the rage slowly starting to bubble in her. 

She looks at him and nods, saying, “I know. My dad lost half his leg trying to save him.” 

He hadn’t realized Tiberius served with his father, though he supposes it doesn’t come as a surprise. 

Dr. Gaul was so heavily interwoven with Crassus Snow, of course Tiberius knew him, too. 

“I thought he walked that way due to his age.” He adds, earning a smile from her.

He liked seeing her smile. 

She was pretty to look at. 

“No, no, there’s a chunk of prosthetic under those pleats.” She informs him. “He’s too proud to admit to himself, still, though.” 

“He seems like a good man.” He admits, taking a liking to the old man.

He carried himself well. 

“He is.” Tawny is fast to confirm it. “A very good man. A very, very, good man. He’s wonderful. He truly is.” She adds before saying, “I hope my mother didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

His eyes bulge and he scoffs.

“She’s…” He trails off, recalling those sharp green eyes staring at him hungrily.

“She really likes men.” She outright says it, no other way to put it than that. 

“Yeah.” He agrees, able to tell it without her confirming it to him. 

“She sold herself when dad was off fighting to make ends meet.” She confesses, swallowing the lump in her throat. 

Coriolanus thinks of Tigris…

“I didn’t judge her when I realized what she was doing. I couldn’t. Everyone was starving and scared and she did what she felt she had to do to keep me alive while dad and my brothers were away.” She explains. “Dad didn’t know about it, but then the war ended shortly after he got injured, and he got home, and she didn’t stop seeing other men — although by that point they didn’t pay for her anymore. She just wanted to be anywhere else but home with anyone else but my father.” Tawny rolls her jaw. “She’d stay gone for days at a time and we would go look for her.” 

“Why didn’t he leave?” Snow questions, furrowing his brows. “They would have granted him a Dissolution of Marriage on grounds of infidelity.” 

“He didn’t want to leave.” She shakes her head. “He told me, ‘War changes people…and it rarely changes them in ways we like. That’s just the order of things’.” She says. “I think he felt guilty that my brothers were killed, and he couldn’t be home to support her in her mourning. So he couldn’t leave her for being desperate to get her mind off of things.” 

He can’t imagine loving someone so much that he’d tolerate them embarrassing him in that way. 

He doesn’t know if it makes Tiberius a good man, or a fool. 

“My mother used to sleep with inappropriate men when she was stressed.” She says it as a realization, looking at him and he picks up on what she’s saying. 

“They do say the older women get, the more they turn into their mothers.” He states humorously. 

“Promise me you’ll kill me before that happens, please.” She says it in a half-laugh, half-serious tone. 

“I promise.” He assures her casually, not saying anything else as she looks up at him and expects him to keep speaking. 

She needs him to say something and fill the silent void because the longer they stare at one another, the heavier her breaths get, the more her chest heaves and catches his eyes, the more he wants to rip her top off of her…

“I, um, I need to clean up.”  She tells him, “They’ll probably be coming back inside soon.” 

She moves to leave the room, and he follows her, waiting patiently for her to shut the door and step in front of him to the dining room to help collect plates and clean off the table. 

“Thank you,” she says as he takes the last of the wine glasses to the sink. 

She wipes the table off and replaces the cloth on it, before she turns to head back to the kitchen only to be stopped when she sees him leaning against the door frame, staring at her. 

Perhaps it’s the little bit of wine that he had himself, or the sight of her leaning over the table as she smoothed out its cloth, or the sob stories she had confided in him earlier that makes him somewhat pity her more than he already had, but when she backs up to the table while he slowly steps to her, he has to fight against the urge to unbuckle his belt, undo his pants and have her. 

Instead he settles for her tongue mixing with his, her legs wrapped around her waist, grinding against the bulge in his pants as soft breaths sigh out in his ear, his lips leaving her own to trail along her neck. 

He wants to taste her, fumbling with the top of her silkie pants but she pushes his hand away, stopping him. 

“We can’t they’re—” she can’t speak, mouth falling open at the feeling of him between her legs, the two of them moving against each other desperately. 

She wants him inside of her, tired of picturing him when Dyess touches her, exhausted with trying to touch herself the way he does and being completely unsuccessful. 

She wants his hand around her throat, or in her hair, his spit in her mouth, his bite marks along her skin, his cock taking what he wants from her. 

His hand goes between her thighs, feeling the fabric is slick with her, the feeling making her hips buck into him, her head falling back as she relents,“Okay.” 

He rips at her pants, the button that had been secured with a small string falling to the floor but neither of them care. 

She has to bite her wrist when two of his fingers push past her skimpy panties and go into her, his jaw going slack with the way she tightens around the digits, his pants painfully strained. 

He has to be quick with this, so he is. 

She damn near crawls away from him when he sucks her clit into his mouth, fingers continuously hitting against that spot inside of her that has her wrist falling from her mouth, hand threading in his hair. 

“Fuck,” she whispers in a squeak, “ Coriolanus .”

He grins at the sound, no more professional “Mr. Snow,” or casual, “Snow.” 

Not when they do this. 

She grinds against his face, heels kicked off her feet as her back arches, tears at the corner of her eyes. 

Her mother was right. 

She is so easy to get spun up. 

She fists the lace table cloth in her hands to avoid messing up his hair, the less evidence of this atrocity the better. 

Her stomach knots up, painted toes curling as Snow twirls his tongue around her, pistoning his fingers in and out harshly, making her nearly see stars. 

“I —” she goes to speak but can’t, unable to breathe when he groans into her, more of her slick coating his tongue, making his own eyes roll back. 

Her legs shake, tensing up, her abdomen tightening along with her cunt. 

She hits her peak, nearly trying to push him off of her, it’s too much at one time, and it’s messy when she cums. 

Perhaps it is the thrill of the risk of being caught, perhaps it’s the fact her husband is just above them, but he keeps his fingers moving in her, allowing her to ride out her high on them as he captures her lips with his own, her tongue licking her own spend off of his tongue. 

“It feels so good,” She whispers to him in a whimper, his fingers still curling inside of her. 

“Does it?” He asks huskily, heaving out a breath when she palms at his cock through his pants. 

“I want more,” she begs, wanting to shove him on the floor and sink down onto him. 

“Not here.” He doesn’t want to go that far.

He digs his fingers against her walls once more, her eyes fluttering shut, forehead falling to his shoulder as she allows him to pull another orgasm from her. 

She clings to his shoulders, shaking and trying to control her noise level when she cums again. 

“We’re going to keep doing this .” He tells her, grabbing her chin, forcing her to look at him as blue eyes stare  down into brown. “Because I want to. And I’m going to keep looking at you because I like looking at you.” He adds. 

It doesn’t affect work, it doesn’t affect their marriages. It’s just them using one another to feel good. 

“Okay.” She nods, his lips pressing to hers before his teeth sink into her bottom lip, her gloved hands holding either side of his face gently. 

He pulls away after a moment, letting out a heavy breath as he calms down, noticing movement in the corner of his eye. 

Tigris’s blue eyes widen to the size of saucers at the sight of them tangled together, and all she can muster is a very quick and stuttery,  “Th-They’re coming back inside.” 

[bradshawsbaby]

Hi! For the ship ask game, would it be too much to ask for "How do they flirt? Who’s the worse flirt?" for the Bradshaws, Hannix, Rhett x Honeybee AND Bob x Peach? If so, choose whoever you'd like to talk about! I just love them all so much, you know? ❤️

Not too much! I’m so glad to know that you love all of them 🥰

Bradley & Mrs. Bradshaw

Bradley is definitely the more overt flirt. From the moment he first laid eyes on the future Mrs. Bradshaw, he knew she was the one for him and he was constantly trying to land in her orbit so that he could talk to her. Mrs. B, on the other hand, is much shyer and has never considered herself a very good flirt. She often jokes that she was only able to start flirting with Bradley after they’d been dating for months. Bradley is big on flirty texts and comments, while Mrs. Bradshaw flirts more with her body language—certain looks or gestures, brushing up against him or touching him in some way.

Hangman & Phoenix

I would say Hangman considers himself to be more of the flirt 😂 And he is a notorious one, at that. He’s very into the innuendos and suggestive comments because he loves trying to get Phoenix flustered, which is a nearly impossible feat. Phoenix’s flirting style looks more like roasting—she shows her love for Jake by making fun of him endlessly. So I suppose, in the traditional sense of the word, Phoenix would be the worse flirt 🤭

Rhett & Honeybee

Growing up, Honeybee was a bit more of a flirt. She was the one putting herself out there, whereas as Rhett was the quieter of the two. He would never have admitted it at the time, but it drove him crazy to watch her flirt with boys in their classes all throughout high school, just as it drove her crazy to watch all the girls that were drawn to Rhett like moths to a flame. There were moments in their younger years where things got a little flirty, but then they’d both panic and clam up, too afraid to cross that line. But once they get together, Rhett feels more confident to be more obvious in his affection. He’s very much into physical touch and loves whispering things in Honeybee’s ear to make her blush. Honeybee’s totally open to PDA, and there’s nothing that delights her more than leaving her cowboy at a loss for words.

Bob & Peach

Bob and Peach are both terrible flirts 🤣 It’s literally not in their vocabulary. They’re both so shy and terrified of overstepping. But that’s why they’re perfect for each other! And they’re getting better at it with each letter they write each other 😉

Ship Ask Game

[overheardatthecontinental]

Ooooouuuu for the fanfic writing asks because I'm both nosy & greedy -- #8 pleasseeee

😘😊

8. Post an out-of-context spoiler from a WIP

And because I adore you, I'll give you one from each of my active WIPs :)

Endlessly Dangerous

The phone vibrated again.

Helen: Nothing I can’t handle. When he went to the bar, Marcus and I started a new game where we take a drink every time Winston tries to speak in metaphors

Oh, that would not end well. He fired off a message quickly:

JW: Do not do that

Before sending a new message to Marcus:

JW: Do not let Helen play a Winston based drinking game

Marcus: The idea that you think I have any control over your girlfriend is hilarious

Endlessly Dangerous (Helen's Version)

Her fingers twitched.

Art was about transformation. She’d taken a story that held significance to her and created a replica. She’d conceptualized the piece before carefully planning exactly how she wanted it to look. Then, it was destroyed. Smashed into hundreds of pieces. John had taken one part of it and used it as a weapon.

It was no longer what it began as.

And she wanted it.

Endlessly Bitter

"What can I say?" Helen leans back in her seat, smiling flirtatiously. "I attract trouble."

John is not amused. "Yes, you do."

She laughs at him, leaning across the counter. John gives her a brief kiss in response, surprising Winston. The idea of the boogeyman giving any PDA is jarring.

"Do you want your usual?" she asks him.

"Yes, please."

"Okay, one dark roast and a Xanax, coming right up."

Criminally Insane

“Good morning, John,” she said, closing his door behind her. “I”m Doctor Kingston. I’ll be your psychiatrist.”

His eyes seemed to cut into her.

Helen was used to the different kind of looks she got from patients. There were looks of anger from patients who didn’t want to be hospitalized. There was paranoia from those whose brains had convinced them that she was evil or a cog in a system out to destroy them. There was the emptiness of those who couldn’t comprehend existence outside of their own emotions. This was different.

John was assessing her every movement, looking for something.

“Good morning,” he answered evenly, politely.

“How are you doing today?”

He raised his brow and dryly replied, “Phenomenal.”

Untitled Matrix fic

"I know," Tank bemoaned. "And I get it, but it means our shore leaves won't line up again which means we're now at five months without fucking."

Neo blinked, focusing again on his hand in a desperate attempt to not listen to Tank talk about his sex life. 

Distal phalange, medial phalange, proximal phalange.

"You still got two hands," Trinity replied without missing a beat and Neo barely held back a snort.

"Your empathy is astounding."

Matrix Redux

“What happened?” He bit out, trying to remove Morpheus’ arm from his.

“You had a seizure during the testing and--”

“To her?” It came out as a snarl. He didn’t recognize his own voice as he ripped his arm back from Morpheus and undid in quick succession, removed the two plugs violently.