#boots WITHOUT the fur (this time)

[68spidey]

We deserve more scruffy manly hairy trans men. Hairy as fuck. Moustaches and beards. Arm hair abundant. Big eyebrows that grow in a little funny. Big muscles, lithe muscles, growing muscles. Acne scarring. Hairlines that change and look a little weird for a while. Trans men who take charge and take names. Lumberjacks and cowboys and warriors and all the things I wish I could see myself in.

Gotta do everything myself, huh.

[bonestrouslingbones]

so with all the goings on i've been playing a metric fuck ton of sims lately and of course everybody i've made has been atbb-centered because i have to do it as cringe as possible but the thing i just realized is i have the main skeletons as like. mostly normal humans. because trying to make them all look like skeletons would turn out fucking ridiculous in this game and since they're the main ones i play i'd want them to look at least somewhat normal. but then when i make any other non-skeleton character i end up looking for more and more custom content to make them look more monstery

[bi-writes]

how would arguments go between simon and MOB? i imagine he would never dare raise his voice at her.

simon does not argue with his wife. if you are in danger or something is wrong, i could see him using a little bit of his lieutenant's voice just to get you to listen to him. to "get behind me" or "i'll take care of this, you go." otherwise, there's no resistance. none at all.

"you know, simon, i..." you stop at the door, swallowing. you rub a hand over your forehead, shaking your head. "i...i-i really don't want to go."

he shuffles in his boots, staring at you carefully. you're all dressed up; you've got a new dress on (that he bought you, eagerly), and you've done your makeup. you clutch your purse with clammy hands, and he narrows his eyes when he sees the tremble in your bottom lip. he clears his throat, taking his jacket off. he removes his boots quietly, scratching the back of his neck as he comes close to you to take your bag and hang it up by the door again.

"okay," simon murmurs. "then we won't go."

he doesn't tell you about the cancellation fee.

"'ello?"

"simon!"

he startles awake this time, holding the phone closer to his ear. the sheer anxiety in your voice cuts his gut sharp.

"wot? wot is it? wot happened?"

"i--i totally...i screwed up, simon--oh, god, i'm so sorry--"

"oi!" simon says firmly. "wot happened?"

"i...i'm at the shop, someone was going to back into me, so i swerved, and--"

"fuck," simon breathes. "are ya olright?"

"the car, it's--"

"not wot i asked," simon interrupts you. "are ya hurt?"

"w-what? i..." you sniffle. "no. i'm okay. just a little sore, i guess..."

simon lets out a deep breath, shaking his head.

"i'm coming," simon says lowly. "you stay there, baby. don't move."

"but, simon, the walk is--"

"i'll see ya in twenty."

"oh, no, no, no, no!" you gasp. the orange tabby's head perks up at the sound of your voice at the door. she's got one of simon's masks in her mouth, and even from this distance and without the lights turned on, you can tell the fabric is shredded to bits. it's all over the floor, scattered across the couch, flecks of lint in her fur.

"oh, god, how could you?!" you panic a little. she must have gotten into some kind of drawer or basket or the laundry, because as you start towards her, she darts away, leading you across the house where you can see shreds of more masks and simon's socks strewn about the house. "oh, no!"

the front door closes heavy. when you come into the living room, simon is there, dropping his gear onto the floor. he looks tired--his shoulders sag, and you can see his eyes half-lidded and barely opening.

"simon, i'm...i'm s-sorry, she--"

you're holding his tattered clothes, but before you can say anything more, he grabs you by the shoulders and hugs you so tight. you nearly lose your breath from how he crushes you to his chest, and you let out a quiet whimper when his knees buckle and he falls to the floor with you, cradling your head to his chest and kissing your forehead through the mask over and over.

you're here. you're real. you're alive.

you drop the shredded fabric and hug him back, closing your eyes as you breathe him in. he tips your head back finally, ripping his mask off and kissing you hard.

he doesn't care when he sees the orange cat take a bite of his thrown mask and run away with it.

he can buy a million masks. but his girls--he pulls back from your kiss to stare down at you, intense. he hasn't slept in days, and he hasn't had a decent meal in weeks, camping on different rooftops just to track a shipment, and when that bullet whizzed past his head, all he could think about was you. the cat-bitten plants. the warm food. the cherry dress. some things cannot be replaced.

some brides cannot be ordered again. they don't make them like you.

you are one of a kind.

[dark-moonlust]

Bound by the Rose Mark

This commission is owned by Kate Hart. As the original writer, I strictly forbid any form of reproduction, replication, or translation of my stories without my explicit consent.

Pairing: beast oc (Alaric) x f!reader

Summary: This is a story with Beauty and the Beast vibes. You live in a grand castle with a beast named Alaric. One day, you accidentally touch him and a glowing rose tattoo appears on your skin. Alaric explains that the tattoo is a sign of a curse that binds the two of you together. You can't get more than a few steps away from him without feeling pain and arousal. Forced to stay close, you both succumb to your feelings and the deep connection between you.

Warnings: 18+, mid-eighteenth century story, true love curse, beauty and the beast vibes, magic tattoo bonding, virgin reader, oral (fem receiving), foreplay and stimulation, p in v sex, big 🍆, belly bulge, knotting, lots of 💦.

I completely forgot to post this commission! Enjoy!!

Château d'Azay-le-Rideau, France - 1750

“Make it stop!” you groaned, wide eyes on the Beast, who stood calmly by the fire, his large, furred form casting long shadows over the walls. “Please, just… make it stop!”

“I cannot do that.” Came his voice, steady and infuriatingly husky.

The moonlight shone through the castle's grand windows, pouring glittering beams across your body as you paced back and forth, the tap of your boots echoing on the sleek floor. Your fingers moved nervously against the mark on your wrist, the delicate rose pattern twisting and developing, shimmering softly against your skin. With each passing second, the flower vines extended further up your arm, emitting a sweet warmth.

It all began a year ago with a professional agreement. The Beast was Lord of the Castle and needed someone to govern it. You were that person. You lived in his huge fortress and worked as his chamberlain. But what began as a rigid work agreement quickly turned into closeness. 

In the past months, you’d grown used to his company, you were after all, alone in a huge castle with no one but a few servants to talk. He’d gifted you his enormous library, a beautiful haven of literature. He also spent time with you every day, taking you on walks to the gardens, organizing big dinners, music nights, and theatrical nights. You’d been foolish to allow yourself to get comfortable, to hover close enough and be tempted to touch him.

But his fur had appeared so silky and inviting. What was one touch?

You'd succumbed to the temptation and touched him, curved your small palm over his massive arm. 

A moment later, all order unraveled. 

A weird tingling sensation had begun to emerge from your wrist, and as you looked down, a red rose began to light softly, its delicate petals winding up your wrist, its thorny vines snaking out, tracing your skin with intricate detail. The tattoo was enchanted and even now— it continued to spread on your arm.

Oh, how foolish and naive you had been! To approach him so carelessly, hovering so close that his mere presence seemed to draw you in. It was foolish to give in to your curiosity, reaching out to touch him despite the warnings. And now, this—this thing—was strangely connecting you to him in ways you couldn't fathom.

The Beast—no, Alaric, as he was once known—kept staring at you like an idiot, his sharp features unreadable. He didn’t even look troubled. Why would he be? For once, he wasn’t the one in trouble. He rather enjoyed it, wicked Frenchman that he was. Yet as you glanced at him, you felt another spark, a liquid warmth in your belly. His form, massive and imposing, stood out against the moonlight, making the entire hall feel smaller, more intimate.

Alaric had been cursed long long ago, cursed to find misery, coldness and no love. His face was no longer that of a beautiful Prince but of a beast with horns, sharp teeth and lion’s mane. He was massive and muscled, with strong legs and a wolf-like tail. His clothing was still royal, tailored to fit his form. He looked as elegant and well-groomed as possible.  

With an exasperated groan, you stroked your wrist harder, the glow intensifying with each stroke of your fingers. "Damn! Why doesn't it stop?! Please, stop it!"

He spoke with a long sigh, his voice low and rumbling. "I told you I cannot do that."

"You can't or you won't?"

"It's the mark of the curse…" His glance swept across your wrist. "There is no undoing it."

Your heart sunk at his words. You were aware of his curse but had no idea it could be transmitted through touch. Damnation! And damn the warmth of the mark, affecting your whole body. It felt warm and wet between your thighs as if a fire was spreading beneath your skin, connecting you to him. Every pulse of fire reminded you of your error.

“I… I didn’t ask for this!” you protested, rubbing at the mark as if you could wipe it away with sheer willpower. “I was just—just curious! I did not want to be cursed.”

“You touched me, therefore now you will pay. You are bound to me.”

You shot him a sharp look, waving your pulsing wrist in the air. “You could have warned me that I’d get cursed just by touching you!”

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “But I did warn you not to touch me, didn’t I? You were simply too curious.”

“I thought you were goading me, challenging me! You didn’t mention the part where I’d be magically tethered to you like a pet on a leash,” you snapped despite the lingering warmth in your chest. 

“You are wild and untamed. Always speaking back to me, always doing as you please. It’s your fault, little one.”

“Still…” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. “A little heads-up would’ve been nice.”

“Where would the fun in that be?”

“Oh, yes, this is so hilarious. I’m cursed with a pulsing tattoo— it glows like a freaking beacon by the way—and you’re not in the least concerned.”

“The mark will stop glowing once you accept it.”

“I’ll never accept it!”

Alaric sighed. “The curse cast upon me ensured I would never be loved. I was cursed to live as a beast, hated and feared... alone."

You gazed at him, the weight of his words hurting your heart. His formidable, imposing frame suddenly appeared fragile.

“However,” he continued, “there is a way… for the curse to wane. Not to break it entirely, but weaken its grasp. The curse weakens—forever— when I am touched by someone who genuinely loves me.”

“So… this mark…”

Alaric nodded. “It means you are the one fated to love me. And because of that, the curse has loosened its grip on me. Though I can never return to the man I once was, I can have love.”

Your eyes welled with emotion, but you refused to cry in front of him. “So… this is permanent?" 

Alaric hummed and stepped close, his towering frame suddenly feeling much too close. “I’m sorry… but you are now bonded to me, my thorny rose,” he purred. “Alas, you could have worse company, no? And the mark… I think it’s quite beautiful.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “Beautiful? It’s so big and so… damn hot!”

“That temper of yours…” he sighed softly, in a way a beast like him never would. “Of course it makes you hot. The closer we are, the more it will affect you. It’s a sign that our bond is… flourishing.”

You blinked, rubbing your thighs together at the effect of his deep voice, presence and scent. “Flourishing? My wrist isn’t a garden, Alaric. This is my skin. And I assure you, it’s not supposed to glow.”

“We are connected. The curse… it has tied our fates together. The more we fight it— both of us— the more painful it will become."

You swallowed hard. “And if I… don’t fight it? Will it stop and leave my skin?”

“No. Never, little one. The mark will just settle there, binding you to me, fully and irrevocably. But… I’m afraid we cannot stray far from one another without feeling pain.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

His lips curled, showing just the barest flash of sharp teeth. “Immensely.”

Stupefied, you spun around, intending to get some fresh air but the moment you moved away, a sudden, scorching pain went through your chest, making you gasp. He was there instantly, steadying you with a large, clawed hand. You curled into his body, sighing pleasantly at the feel of his fur against your skin. It felt so good, warm and inviting, his musky scent tantalizing your senses. You hadn’t realized it but your hands were buried in his forearms, holding him to you.

“Foolish one,” he muttered, his breath warm against your temples. “What did I just tell you?”

“Alaric…” you sighed, meeting his eyes with reluctant acceptance. “Make it stop, please, make this ache go away.”

A low chuckle escaped him as he rubbed your wrist, feeling the warmth pulsating beneath your skin and tracing the delicate rose mark. The rose's delicate vines had wrapped themselves around your forearm, growing faintly. You bit back a moan, despite everything, you felt the pull—the odd bond that bound you to him, pulling you nearer to him with each breath.

“Ah, yes… it can be intense. Every step you take away from me will only bring more pain, more desire pooling deep inside.”

“Deep inside?”

Alaric raised a brow, a glint in his eyes. “Hmm, deep inside your cunt. I can scent your sweet arousal. Always could scent your need for me.”

You looked away. His words made you wet. Tenderly, he turned your face back to him. There was no hiding your blush or emotions.

“The curse bound us together. Two halves meant to be one. And if we give in…” he trailed off, his huge palm framing your face. “Would it be that bad?”

The tension in the room shifted as he stood there, with you in his arms, the strange pull between you palpable. Were you truly the one for him? Your heart stuttered. The idea of being physically and emotionally bound to Alaric—a beast of both grace and power —was captivating.

And the more you thought about it, the more your heart and body betrayed you. Oh dear… Yes, you wanted him. You wanted him with every ounce of your soul. Right on cue, the tattoo—its once glowing petals and vines now settled into a permanent black design that curled up your forearm. Becoming a part of you.

You didn’t resist when Alaric scooped you up, carrying you through hallways to his private chamber— a huge, opulent bedroom with polished wood and velvet furnishings, tapestries hanging on the walls, and a stone fireplace crackling in the corner. The bed was the largest piece of furniture in the room; it had a dark purple canopy covered in silk and velvet covers making it appear incredibly soft and inviting.

Alaric lowered you on the plush bedding and he came to rest beside you, his body half-looming over you, massive yet tender and protective. His eyes, golden and intense, settled on you then down to the rose mark. His fingers, clawed but surprisingly gentle, traced the rose before his tongue brushed a petal of the tattoo, feather-light, sending a shiver of electricity racing up your spine.

You watched, breathless, as he nuzzled and licked every petal, every vine, every thorn, his muzzle soft against your skin. The heat of his breath warmed you as he worked his way up your forearm, his mouth following the intricate lines of the rose, savoring every inch of it. With each kiss, your pulse quickened, your body shamelessly hot, your pussy dripping slick.

“Alaric…” you said in a sultry voice you could hardly recognize.

“Easy. We’ll take it slow, my thorny rose.”

As he said that, his lips hovered just inches from your collarbone. His tongue darted out, tracing the delicate indentation at the base of your neck. A sweet gasp escaped you as he licked a slow, tortuous trail down the round tops of your breasts, pulled up by your corset and your bodice. The laces on your bodice came undone, the corset disposed of in seconds as he skillfully drew the fabric down your waist, exposing your breasts to the cool air and his hungry gaze.

Your body arched closer to his, your nipples hardening into tight, aching buds. His eyes locked onto yours before he bent down and let his tongue trace the underside of each mound. You whined, burning so fiercely with desire as he licked the around your areolas. Teasing and exploring. Never quite getting to your sensitive nipples.

“Alaric,” you warned, thrusting your chest to his mouth.

“How I love it when you call my name.”

And with that, he licked one tiny bud, causing your body to shiver with want. Your hands gripped his horns, keeping him in place as he lapped one nipple, sucking wetly, his saliva and scent mingling on your skin. He did the same with the other nipple, and your body melted into his, hips arching up, breasts thrust sweetly into his lips.

You were lost in passion and he was only touching you.

You craved more. You wanted to touch, feel, and own every part of him.

Boldly, your hands slid up to his jacket, tugging at the heavy fabric, feeling its weight between your fingertips. You dragged his jacket away and he helped you remove it along with his shirt, without quite taking his tongue and hands off your breasts. Furry broad shoulders were revealed and a powerful, sculpted chest and stomach.

Large hands encompassed your tits as he growled softly and angled his head, his tongue trailing the curve of your neck. His fingers pinched your nipples, careful of his claws. Your breath hitched and you tilted your head back, offering him more.

“Oh god… yesss,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Blindly, you brought his mouth to you, needing to feel his kiss. But he hesitated, pulling back slightly. His golden eyes met yours, darkened with desire but shadowed with worry.

“I’m afraid… of hurting you,” he drawled. “I have no lips and my teeth… they’re sharp. I don’t want to—”

“Use your tongue,” you whispered, breathless, gone was the shyness in you. “Please.”

For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, but then, as though unable to resist any longer, he surged forward. His mouth opened, and his tongue, hot and insistent, swept across your lips before plunging deeply. Deeper still. He tasted you, swallowed your breaths, and pressed his moist and burning tongue against yours, sending sparks of ecstasy shooting through you with each stroke. You gasped into his mouth, the sound drowned out by the sheer intensity of the kiss, your hands grabbing his shoulders.

The sound of fabric tearing and garments hitting the floor was the only indication of what was to come.

The flickering light in the room danced across your flesh, both naked and unashamed. His body enveloped yours, his weight pressing down on you, his thighs spreading your legs apart. The sheer size of him caused your pussy to clench. His shaft was a massive veined rod of flesh, long and thick, with a knot at the base. His cock throbbed and leaked moisture, and his balls thick and heavy, hung like ripe fruit.

You couldn't help but reach out, a little bashful as your fingers stroked the silky warmth of his shaft. It was both firm and tender, as hot as touching a blazing flame. Alaric snarled and watched your small hands. You trailed the protruding veins and bulbous head all the way down to the bulging sac. He growled, his entire body tense.

“Such soft gentle touches. But I can’t—little one. I need to taste you, have you.”

You opened your mouth to protest but whined instead when his tongue licked the delicate folds of your pussy. Your body ignited, waves of ecstasy crashing over you. Spine arching, you opened your legs obscenely wide, his head buried in between, wet tongue consuming your depths. He thrust his appendage inside, snarling primitively, and you sighed delightfully, your cunt pressing against his mouth as you shut your eyes tightly and surrendered to the passion.

“Mmmmm, so breathtaking,” he drawled, his tongue gracing your cunt. “I love the rose mark on your skin but even more so the petals on your wet cunt… so lovely and wet. I love to tease and lick them.”

Eyes holding your own, he hooked his large hands around your thighs, bringing them around his furred torso. His dick, massive and twitching, stroked against the wet petals of your cunt. He lubricated himself; you were soaked and ready to receive him. You wiggled and squirmed, impatiently attempting to guide him inside. Finally, with a gentle nudge, he growled, and the broad popped in.

Cupped your ass, he pushed inside, his cock gliding into you in one smooth thrust. You were incredibly tight, untouched and you gasped at the slight discomfort of the invasion. Despite his size, he somehow fit, his body seemingly designed to mold itself to yours. Your cunt was stretched wide, only his knot showing, and your belly bulged slightly, revealing the curve of his shaft beneath your skin.

Alaric caressed your belly lovingly as if marveling at the sight. “Yes, mine. It will be alright. I promise you. Does it hurt, little one?" 

You shook your head. “Not anymore. Please… hmmm—move. Need to feel you so desperately.”

“As you wish, my rose.”

His eyes never left yours as he thrust out of you, all the way out before slowly filling you up. This time there was no discomfort, only building intensity. His shaft slid in and out of you, the friction reigniting your desire. Your body flexed, your walls squeezing around his dick as he increased the pace. His thrusts became faster and more urgent, and you held him, rocking against him as his tongue stroked yours, making you dizzy with desire. 

Alaric was unstoppable, unrelenting and soon you were both shuddering in climax. He thrust one final time, bottomed out inside you till his swollen knot had popped inside. You whined, muscles contracting around him, your cunt snug around his knot, tying you together. You saw stars, thrashed wildly in little aftershocks as he released, a flood of cum filling you up. It didn’t help that he let out those delicious growls, tongue devouring your mouth.

Time seemed to stand still. You lay there, with him atop you, his dick still pulsing within you, his knot throbbing with a slow beat. It had been minutes and he was still spurting, though slower this time. You basked in the afterglow of your passion, felt so utterly at peace. Your bodies had become one and the tattoo on your wrist had never felt so right.

You were his, completely and utterly his.

“How are you feeling, my thorny rose?” he asked after he’d rolled over so you were draped over his chest, his knot still hard inside you.

“I feel loved,” you said as you rested over his chest feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath the fur. “I have never been kissed or loved by anyone like this before—have never felt anything like this before.”

“There is no going back now,” he said possessively. “You gave yourself to me. What I feel for you is raw, primal. It cannot be stopped or contained.”

You grinned. “So, what? I’m just stuck to you for the rest of eternity?”

“Figuratively and literally, I’m afraid,” he said, groaning at the feel of his knot tucked inside your warm cunt.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?”

Alaric’s eyes softened. “I will never be the charming Frenchman I once was. That man’s appearance is gone, replaced by this… beast.”

Smiling, you let your hand reach up to touch his face, tracing the firm lines of his jaw, his fur silky beneath your fingers. “The appearance might be gone,” you whispered, “but your heart isn’t. Besides, I think I’m past wishing for a handsome prince on a white horse. French or not.”

A low chuckle vibrated through his chest. “You’ve got a strange way of looking at things.”

“And you’ve got a strange way of doubting yourself,” you shot back teasingly. “You might not be the Prince you once were, but you’re more than enough for me.”

“Don’t you regret it?” he asked quietly after a few seconds. “Mating with me? That I’ll always be… like this?”

“Oh, I am surprised but this is so lovely,” you murmured, hands caressing his shoulder. “It’s so lovely because I always wanted you to be mine. I've always felt attracted to you but was frightened to admit it. I was also scared you would reject me heartlessly."

“Never. I could never do that.” He took your hand, kissed the rose tattoo on your wrist.

You smiled up at him, your heart swelling with love. “You are thoroughly mine, Alaric.“

For a moment, he stared at you and a soft, almost amused rumble escaped him. “You really are something,” he drawled, his free hand brushing the curve of your ass. “You’ve given me something I thought I could never have again." 

“I am yours,” you whispered. “I love you. All of you, my Beast.”

“I love you more, my thorny rose,” he said, his eyes dark with lust.

Smiling, you kissed and made love again —harder, hotter, and wetter.

THE END

[titan-senpai]

What the hell??

A young lady who was a model lived on earth ended in a tragic way.. and ended up in hell somehow? While she cant hurt a fly..

Part 2

I woke up on the cold streets in the middle of nowhere.. " Where am i.." Holding my head trying to stand up, taking a look around, seeing creatures everywhere. " What the.." I blinked a few times not believing my eyes. I turned my head and saw a shop with mirrors and took a look at my reflection.

shocked to see my own reflection.. White with red marks on my body.. then i turned around and asked a girl "Little girl can you tell me where i am?" The little girl just laughed. " You're new around here?" She took a drink of her milkshake. I just nodded.

" Wel.. Welcome to hell! " She laughed walking away from me " Goodluck newbie" I stood there in shock.

How did I end up here? Wat.. it was that bastard.. looking at my red spots indicating wounds. It's all his fault...I felt my knees get weak as I fell down on them next to the shop.

I don't know How many hours have passed by but out of nowhere a girl walked by me taking an interest in me. "let me guess.. your new?" She said chewing her gum looking at her phone.. she's probably addicted. I nodded.

" You've got good bone structure and a taste in fashion.." She cupped my face looking at it.. " You wanna work for me?" she let go letting me stand up. I took a look at her clothing and thought it must be an influencer or something.

" Whatcha say dear... I need a yes or no." She said firmly and I nodded without saying anything. "Follow me." As she walked away I followed her.

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

Walking into a building called VoxTech? Following her into the elevator as she presses the highest button and scans the card. "Names Velvette.." She checked her phone again, typing away.

"My name is Y/N." I fidgeted my hands anxiously. The elevator door opens revealing a room filled with Photos of her and 2 other guys.

"VOX VAL! get your asses here" She yelled into her phone. Dramatic much.

Seeing a spark out of a tv turn into a guy with a tv head while the other was nowhere to be found. "VAL NO JOKES!" She yelled as smoke entered the room. Turning into a man with 4 arms.

" This is the girl i was talking about.. take a look at her" she walked off sitting on the couch nearby checking her phone.

" And what do we have here.." taking a look at me while he checks me out breathing smoke into my shoulders feeling his breath giving me shivers, "your a pretty one aren't you.." feeling his breath closer to me M" Doll..." walking to his desk. "And what is your talent?" The TV headed guy asked me. "i.." Speechless as I left a shaky breath shivering.

"No time for chit chat.. I'll figure her talent out, follow me me newbie" velvette said walking to the room, opening the door revealing a whole wardrobe " FIrst let's get you dressed.. Cant have them see you with us wearing normie clothes can we.." She smirked, pushing me in the room. " Pick one.. I'll be outside." I looked at the clothes, feeling fine silky clothes. None of them caught my interest.

Looking in the mirror at the end of the room touching my clothes that I currently have on. Imagining the clothes i used to wear. and suddenly my hands start to glow. and they started to make the clothes i was thinking off. and soon I was holding them.

20 Minutes passed and I heard a knock " R you done yet dear.." I opened the door walking out in baggy jeans with a Crop top with a window revealing my cleavage a bit and a Jacket with fur. White boots to match the white bag.

" You look fabulous dear.. Where did you get these? I don't have these in my small closet.." I finally let go of her phone pointing at my clothes.

" I think i figured out my talent.." showing her my hands. " Welcome to the Vees my dear.." 

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[andreawritesit]

Hello! I hope I am not bothering you :) I was wondering if I could ask for a Cregan Stark x Reader where they have a busy day and cuddle under the furs for the night, sweet kisses and pillow talks and all this kinda stuff. Just a small drabble would be ok.

i adore fluffy so please make it as sweet as you can, thank you :(

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Reader

Words: 952

The arrival of winter was always a busy time in the North. As the Lord and Lady of Winterfell, Cregan and you had spent the entire day overseeing the preparations for the upcoming winter. The castle buzzed with activity as you both coordinated food storage for the harsh winter to come. It was your duty to make sure that the people of the North would be well-protected against the biting cold. You had assisted Cregan throughout the day, your presence a constant source of support and encouragement. Whether it was reviewing the storeroom inventory or ensuring that the workers were well-fed and rested, you had worked tirelessly alongside him.

As the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden glow over the snow-covered landscape, the fatigue of the day began to weigh heavily on you. You glanced at Cregan, who was engaged in a final discussion with his advisors. His strong and commanding presence never ceased to inspire you, but even he looked tired at the moment. Finally, he sent them on their way and walked over to where you were standing, a soft smile playing on his lips. "You must be tired, my love. Come, let's retire for the night." He held your hand and led you out of the hall.

You made your way to your chambers, the warmth of the castle a stark contrast to the icy chill outside. Cregan held your hand the entire way. You felt a sense of relief as you entered the cozy room, the flickering fire casting a comforting glow. Cregan closed the door behind him, and the day's burdens seemed to melt away. You let out a long sigh which elicited a soft laugh from your husband.

"What's so funny, my lord?" you asked him.

He shook his head and hugged you from behind. "Nothing. You truly are very tired. Forgive me, in between all the preparations for the winter, I perhaps didn't pay much attention to you today."

You turned around still in his embrace and wrapped your arms around his torso. He rested his chin atop your head and hugged you closer to himself. "Not at all, dear husband. You were doing your duty and so was I. I'm indeed tired but I'm also quite proud of how much we accomplished in just a day."

He kissed the top of your head and released you from his hold. A chill ran over you in the absence of his warmth. Without another word, Cregan began to shed his heavy cloak and boots. You followed suit. You both moved in a comfortable silence, the kind that comes from deep understanding and mutual affection. Once you were both in your nightclothes, Cregan pulled back the thick furs on the bed, inviting you to join him.

You put your clothes on the chair and walked over to him. He had already climbed under the warm furs. You quickly slipped beneath the furs, the soft, warm fabric enveloping you in a cocoon of comfort. Cregan immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. Snuggling against his chest, you could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

"You know what", his deep voice rang, sending shivers down your spine, "today was truly exhausting. It feels like there is a mountain on top of my head."

You tilted your head to look up at him, your eyes filled with care and love. "Does it ache a lot? I can call the maesters. There is no reason for you to suffer, my love."

Cregan shook his head slowly and he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "It's nothing I can't handle. Besides, you've tired yourself enough today. Now I want you to stay here and rest."

You reached up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over his skin. Cregan leaned in, capturing your lips in a tender, lingering kiss. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in your own little bubble of warmth and love. When you finally pulled away, Cregan rested his forehead against yours, your breaths mingling in the cool air.

You lay there for a while, wrapped in each other's arms, enjoying the quiet intimacy of the moment. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a gentle light over the room. Cregan's hand stroked your hair, his touch soothing and tender. You were just starting to fall asleep when Cregan suddenly asked, "Do you remember the first time we met?" a smile playing on his lips.

A sound somewhat between a sigh and a laugh left your lips. "How could I forget? You were so serious and intimidating. I thought I'd never get through to you." Cregan smiled, looking at you with love and admiration in his eyes.  "We've come a long way since then," he said softly. He leaned in to kiss you again, his lips soft and tender against yours.

"I love you, Cregan," you whispered, your voice filled with sincerity.

"I love you too," he replied, kissing you once more. "More than words can say."

As the night wore on, the soft crackling of the fire and Cregan's steady breathing played on like a lullaby, summoning you into the land of dreams. Eventually, your eyes grew heavy, and you nestled closer to Cregan, your head resting on his chest. Cregan held you close, his arms a protective cocoon around you. "Sleep, my love," he murmured, pressing a final kiss to your forehead. "I'll be here when you wake." You sighed contentedly, your eyes fluttering shut. "Goodnight, Cregan", you breathed out before falling asleep.

"Goodnight," Cregan replied softly, his own eyes closing as he held you close.

[galacticgraffiti]

✿⋅ Oh, to be Alone with You ⋅✿

NSFW ⋆ 18+ ⋆ Minors DNI

Rating: Explicit Wordcount: 2.6k Descriptors: I try my best to write inclusively. Reader uses she/her pronouns and is mentioned in her physicality but not described in detail. If anything escaped me, please let me know! Sorry I couldn't make this more gender neutral, but since this fic is a gift to @naariel I thought I'd use her pronouns. Warnings: dirty daydreams, yearning, lusting after someone, male masturbation, dirty talk, fantasy of PiV sex within the daydream, bath sex, this is written from Halsin's POV

⋆⋅ Inspired by this insane artwork by @naariel ⋅⋆

Author's note: I've been pondering, rotating and marinating this artwork in my mind for WEEKS. It haunts me in the best possible way and I am so happy Naariel gave me permission to reference her art! If you are not already following her, you definitely should - her skill and talent are infinite.

Masterlist ⋆ If you prefer AO3

───── ⋆⋅✿⋅⋆ ─────

Oh, to be Alone with You

Halsin sighs when he finally sits down, long limbs sprawling on the too-small chair that can barely contain him.

Chairs. What superfluous oddities, where a big tree stump might have sufficed. If one has to make them at all, why not at least make them comfortable? Why not sit in the meadows, why not find a place to lay where the sun has warmed a rock that has been washed and polished by the rain? But no, the rules of the city demand he be contained within four walls instead of roaming free, they demand he bathe in a wooden tub instead of out in the wilds, they demand he wear clothes and be polite to people even as they trample the Oak Father’s creations beneath their boots without even stopping to look and enjoy nature’s gifts.

Halsin shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose to stave off the oncoming headache. It has been a long day and he is so tired. A long week. A long few weeks, if he is being honest with himself. In all these centuries, times have been- well-  rough, to say the least. But whatever haunts the Sword Coast now… it’s different. Bigger than the invasions of Goblins across the land, bigger than the Shadow druids, bigger even than the Shadow Curse that has occupied Halsin’s every waking hour for nigh on one hundred years.

At least, Thaniel and Oliver have been reunited, some life returning to the lands as it always should have been. A victory, chased for so long, tasting sweet only for a moment before the stale urgency of the matter at hand had seeped back into Halsin’s mind: Mindflayers infecting innocents, magic-infused tadpoles, an Elder Brain… There are too many battles to be fought, and not one of them to be won.

Halsin presses his lips together and tries to banish the dark thoughts from his mind. There are some good things that have come out of this: They have not lost a fight yet, and his newfound companions are… stimulating, to say the least. Fighting alongside them has been a joy and a privilege - watching their blades sear, their magic erupt, their arrows pierce their targets as the bear Halsin rips through flesh and bone. The fighting is necessary, and his companions are more skilled than he could have ever wished for. This day may have been hard, but it was successful nonetheless, and now he is here, freshly bathed and ready to find some rest for the night. If only it could be under the stars, far outside the city walls, he would almost call himself happy. Instead, he must bed down alone, encased by  too many walls and a too-small bed frame.

Halsin misses the smell of grass that has not been trampled by hundreds of boot-clad feet, he misses the feeling of bark against his fur, he misses his wildshape and trodding through calm forests instead of bloodied battlefields. He misses air that is crisp and clean and doesn't smell of artificially molten metals. He misses the Grove, he misses Thaniel and he misses the woods. The city has been forsaken by Silvanus, and even if this place is a small oasis of nature, it is not the same as being out among the Oak Father’s creations.

He cracks his neck, his hair tickling his collarbones. Halsin curses quietly to himself, pushing a curl behind his ear. He needs to cut his hair - it’s getting too long. And he needs to braid it again, his plaits are all out of sorts. It might be a hassle to do it without a mirror- but maybe he could ask-

No.

Shaking his head as if to will the thought away, he slumps into the discomfort of the chair a little more.

No, he shouldn't ask her anything. Nothing that would involve her hands on him, at least. Certainly not her fingers buried in his hair, tugging softly, her voice gently commanding that he tilt his head a different way. He can’t ask for that. It would only lead to him asking for more:

More of her hands on him, more of her skin against his, more than innocent touches and whispered goodnights across the campfire. He would ask for everything: To bury himself inside her until the world fades away, to devour her until she is slick with sweat from the pleasure he brings her. To be the keeper of her heart, just as he yearns for her to be the keeper of his.

Halsin can feel the familiar tightness in his back as the golden shimmer of his wildshape travels up to his shoulder blades. One thought of her, and already the bear stirs.

He remembers everything that happened today, even as he tries so hard to think of something else:

He remembers the way she smells, of sweet berries, blood and leather. He remembers her looking up at him, as her fingers clutch her weapon tightly. He remembers the fire in her eyes after the slaughter, the glow in her cheeks when she turned around to look at him and found only the bear. He remembers how she smiled at him, even after all that violence, a smile like the sinking sun, bloodied and red, but more beautiful than he could ever have dreamed up.

And as the day progressed: Her arm bumping into his, her head tilting up when she asked him a question and wanted to read his expression. How her hands slipped around him to reach for some food at the campfire earlier when they rested. Her sweet breath on his face and a mumbled excuse when she walked into him, still drowsy with sleep. And all Halsin wanted to do was pull her into his lap and bury his nose in the crook of her neck and forget about the world, forget about everyone watching, and have her, right then, in that moment. Have her all to himself, make her his very own. To feel her around him, to show her the depth of his affection, the desperation of his desire, the magnitude of his commitment.

All he wanted in that moment - all he still wants - is to touch her, to feel her in ways that he cannot ask for because he is scared she will not want the same thing he does. Halsin wants to lick the sweat off her skin, he wants to be buried between her thighs whenever they can steal away, even for a few minutes, he wants her taste on his tongue when he fights, and to wrap himself around her when they sleep.

The force of his own thoughts makes Halsin shudder, glowing desire stirring deep in his belly.

Her tongue in his mouth, his hands on her skin: How soft she would be against him. How wonderful to hear her voice break when she cries out for him, how she would taste if he could lick her off his fingers, the honey of her thighs, the salt of her sweat. He would give anything to know the expression on her face when she is lost to mindless bliss- he would give everything to know that he is the cause of it.

A low moan escapes his throat then, and Halsin presses his lips together when his mind returns from memory and sweet imagination to this house in the midst of a bustling city. This is not nature, where he can do what pleases him when it pleases him. No, the city - ‘civilisation’ as they call it - comes with rules, expectations, limitations.

He is in someone else’s home, exhausted from the day, the blood barely washed off his skin. And yet, all he can think about is… her. All he can feel is the constriction of his clothing, the confinement of leather where he longs to be touched. He wants to shed like the bear sheds his fur after the winter, he wants to feel free again.

Halsin hums, breathing deeply, willing away the golden sparks of his wildshape that dance along his fingertips. He listens intently, fingers dancing across his thighs, drumming an impatient rhythm.

Nothing in the house stirs. Maybe they are all gone still, running their errands, finding bath houses, visiting old friends and merchants they used to know before they return here for a long night’s rest. Maybe Halsin can have a small pocket of time to himself. Time to dream himself away, to give in to the desire he has harboured for so long.

Maybe… he could use this opportunity to release some of that tension that has settled deep in his belly. Refocus his attention. Maybe it’ll be for the best- not to think of her constantly anymore, not of her smell, or the colour of her eyes, of the way her fingers linger on his for a moment too long whenever they touch, or how much he wished they could have bathed together when he sank into the tub earlier that night.

The city has many downsides, but baths are one of the few things to enjoy. Hot springs are wonderful, but few and far between. Nature provides: The bear does not mind the coldness of a stream in the woods, or the iciness of a mountain lake. But there is nothing like a steaming bath to help prevent the sore ache that settles in his bones after a fight.

If only it was acceptable to ask her if she would join him. If only it had been her hands washing dirt and grime and blood from his skin, brushing his hair, kneading tired muscles, her hands much smaller than his, but strong and determined. Loving.

Halsin lets his head fall back, spine cracking as he settles in the small, uncomfortable chair, spreading his legs to cup his hardening cock. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine it…

She glistens in the dim light, thin streams of water trickling down her skin when she emerges from the bath, her lashes stuck together as she beams at him.

“Mhh, we should have done this ages ago!”

“I could not agree more, my heart.” Halsin loves seeing her like this. She looks happy, like she has not a care in the world.

She crawls up into his lap, settling on him, her thighs bracketing his. Her hands run across his chest, lathering him in soap that smells of lavender and thyme. Halsin’s heart is beating in his throat when she leans in to kiss his collarbone, her lips soft, her hair smelling of smoke and flowers as it always does.

Desire surges inside him, crackling like lightning in his veins, and he sends the bear away, far away. This is a moment he wants for himself: Skin against skin, tongues exploring, hands intertwined. This is no place for fangs and claws, not tonight. Halsin unlaces his trousers with steady fingers, though even those few seconds seem unbearable to him. When his hand finally wraps around his cock, he breathes a sigh of relief, only to feel dissatisfied moments after. He wants her hands, her eyes on him, her voice dripping with lust. For now, his imagination will have to do.

He dreams himself back to the bath, thinking of all he could have had, if he had only had the courage to ask.

Her skin is burning hot against his, her fingers leave a flaming trail wherever she touches him.

“Is this alright, my love?” Her voice is full of concern and affection, as it always is when she asks about his comfort and well-being.

“More than alright.” Halsin’s breaths grow shaky when she moves her hips, shallowly grinding down against him. “Gods, I want to-”

“Mhhm?” There is a curious twinkle in her eye. “What is it you want? Tell me. I’m sure I could make your dreams come true.”

Halsin shifts when the wooden backing of the chair digs into his back as he bucks his hips, fucking into his hand that is wrapped around his cock - a poor substitution for what - for who - he really wants.

A growl rings out in the empty room when he closes his eyes and imagines her again.

Her thighs look so lovely, spread wide so he can fit between them. She smells of the bath salts and of herself, and her voice talks to him through the thick fog of his desire.

“I know what you want, don’t I, bear? I’ll take such good care of you if you let me. I’ll make sure you don’t even have to ask for it. I’ll let you taste me, whenever you want- wherever you want. I’ll help you focus- you can focus on me, can’t you? There you go…”

Halsin is panting, his hand moving faster.

She feels good, so good when she sinks down on him, wet with arousal and so willing to take him.

“You, little flower, are the jewel of nature’s creation,” he mumbles. “You are all I could ever want and more. I want to taste you on my tongue, always- for there to never be a day where I won’t know the way you drip for me- for you to never go a day without being satisfied, without feeling loved and cared for. Your happiness is all I want- your ecstasy all I desire. Let me take care of you.”

She moans, her head falling back as she starts to roll her hips, taking him deeper and deeper with each stroke.

“I’ll take care of you as you do of me,” she whispers. “I’ll make sure to provide for you all you could ever need or want. You give and give, let me give you everything I am in return. Be selfish, bear. Take what you want, swallow me whole, devour me without worrying whether it’s too much. I want you to. Mark me- make me yours. Tell the whole world I belong to you, whichever way you desire.”

Her movements are desperate now, her words only sighs and moans, breathless as she buries her head against his shoulder. Halsin inhales the scent of her hair, sinks into her words as the fog of lust that has settled on his brain grows thicker and heavier, until there is not a thought left on his mind but her.

“Halsin-” Gods, his name sounds so sweet off her tongue. “Halsin, I want you to fill me. Please- please, I want to feel full with you, today and every day you’ll fucking let me. I want to fight knowing you are still dripping down my thighs, I want to kiss you under the stars and know I’ll never be without you again.”

The curses that are falling from his lips are ungodly, but Halsin does not care. He is desperate now, mouth open as he calls her name and thinks of the words he wishes he could hear her say.

“Come for me, bear. Come inside me, lay claim to me as only you ever could- f-fuck- make me yours- please- Halsin, I’m yours, I’m yours and yours and yours, as long as you’ll have me- forever if you want to-”

With a cry of her name on his lips, Halsin gives in to pleasure and lets himself be overtaken by a wave of bliss. His thighs tremble as he spills over his hand, sticky warmth dripping from his fingers. He does not open his eyes. Not yet. He wants to stay in the fantasy just a moment longer.

“Halsin, I-”

His eyes open, blood rushing to his cheeks as he returns to the real world and finds her standing in the doorway.

I'm going fucking feral. Running into the woods hoping to find him there, who's with me -

@purgetrooperfox @ashotofspotchka @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @ulchabhangorm @queen--kenobi @samspenandsword @rescuethewretched @pinkiemme @baba-fett @witchklng @ladykatakuri @certified-anakinfucker @fanfiction-i-llike @voidinfernal @foxferret02 @rosieofcorona @savagemickey03 @perseny @margoisthemoon2 @shiiunn @saucyhedgehog @tonysoffice @pupshr00m @supercalifragilisticprincess @palpipeen @silly-gooseastarion @mila-bee @shit-i-say-throughout-the-day @idkwhatsgoingonwithme @aeryntheofficial @jekasha @gub @nogitsune-the @solarrexplosion @hexqueensupreme @unofficialavenger90 @frankiesghost @curtaincaramba

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[yaespook]

Run 4 - In Progress.

✧ Room Content: Dom! GN! Reader x Yan! Sub! Android! Wanderer, no gendered terms used for reader, no actual penetration, unhealthy obsessive and possessive relationship from Wanderer, memory manipulation. Leave a note if anything was missed out. ✧ Retrieved Notes: If possible, use the InteractiveFics extension to change the phrase “My name” (without the quotation marks) to the name given to your Wanderer.

There’s an unfamiliar android sitting atop your worktable.

You must have picked him up two or three weeks ago, when he was still worse for wear. In your memory, he was in pretty bad shape when the two of you first met, his main panel wrenched open leaving his circuitry a mess and rough scrapes all over his superficial layer.

Now, with your constant repairs, he’s been more lively, tailing you around the house as you go about your day. While fussing about, dusting off a muzzle laying on a fur pelt, you sense a presence lingering outside your room.

"You know, I don't recall androids being quite so clingy." In return, you get a light huff from behind the door frame. 

"And you’ve come across other androids? I didn’t know you run a junkyard here,” the eye roll in his tone is audible.

His feet pad into the room and his gaze hones in on the clerical collar placed on a nearby shelf, glaring at it. Clicking his tongue, he crosses his hands on his chest.

“Whatever, what you do is mostly up to you anyway. Do you think you’re almost done cleaning? I think there’s an internal problem again, I’ll wait for you at the worktable,” the android saunters off nonchalantly, throwing you a light wave over his shoulder.

Sighing, you quickly finish up your task at hand before complying to his request, briskly making your way over to the worktable where he's already perched smugly on, his gaze expectant. 

You easily go through the rehearsed motions of plugging him up to your computer, your muscle memory kicking in as you boot up the required softwares before gingerly prying the main panel located on the front of his torso to gain access to his internal workings. Over time, you've gradually figured out the parts that make up the android sitting before you, growing used to the sight of the lengths of wiring and cables running throughout his body, the faint low mechanical whirring of motors and cooling systems. 

Most importantly, you now understand how sensitive his central core is. Nestled securely in a latched transparent casing, his core is what powers and sustains him. It emits a constant turquoise light and is also reflected in the glowing markings that lay beneath his synthetic skin that occasionally activate. (Although, you haven't quite gotten an answer for what makes them light up yet.) 

“So what's your problem today?” You ask, tearing your eyes away from him as you go over to your computer to check if any bugs have been identified.

“I think that cable all the way at the back came undone and got tangled with the rest.” 

You shoot him a pointed look, “Again? Didn’t we just fix that same cable last week?” Shifting your chair so you’re seated before him, poised to conduct your repairs, you make a passing remark, “Maybe taking you to another mechanic might be the better choice, get everything checked out, you know?”

How long have you kept at your task of finally fixing him up to tiptop condition? It’s almost daily when he reports back to you with a new disconnected wire or another loose joint somewhere on him. Diligently, you’ve been trying to repair him but the android is like a never-ending to-do list. And it’s only natural to be concerned if the constant damage stems from a more serious underlying issue that you haven’t managed to discover. The only next logical step would be to get another pair of eyes to help discern the root cause in case anything takes a turn for the worse.

But the reaction you get from him is one unexpected. His head snaps to face you, a scowl evident on his face. 

“So you’re handing me off like an unfinished project to someone else now?”

You know how snippy he can get however, this is on a different level from his previous behaviour. Maybe something left over from the days before you found him. It’ll be a good idea to look into his past logs to diagnose any present problems, you make a mental note of it.

“I’m just worried for you, that’s all. What if there’s an urgent issue I can’t fix alone? And we both know I can’t leave you as is.”

His expression mellows to an annoyed pout, looking away as his core glows faintly along with the patterns under his skin, he mumbles, “I’ll be fine.” (“I just need you.”) (“I'm the only one for you.”) (“No one else deserves you.”)

He allows you to work without another complaint, silently watching as your hands venture into his chest, a focused air to you while you look for the problematic cable. He senses your touch when you make contact with it, sucking in a sharp breath as you grip it between your fingers, twisting it around to free it from the surrounding wires before you finally connect and plug it into its rightful place. 

“That’s it for your cable issue. Anything else?” He quickly shakes his head.

Giving it a few light cursory pulls to make sure it’s finally secured, (if you weren’t mistaken, his core brightened in time with your tugs), you spare the rest of his parts one last look over. Then, shutting the panel, you unplug him from the computer.

Immediately, he scampers off the worktable with a clipped “thank you” and runs into his room. You hear the door to his room close before its lock clicks. 

The next few days prove to be better, the repair requests for any troubles that seem to have cropped up overnight growing more and more infrequent. Perhaps, bit by bit, the end of the repairs start to come into sight. 

Although, you have noted that his internal temperatures have been hiking recently whenever you have his chest panel open to patch him up. 

This time, you have him lying on the worktable on his back to access the further areas in him. He’s positioned facing upwards but his eyes are darting everywhere, unable to meet your gaze. Once again, the programme open on your computer screen shows how his temperatures are quickly rising even though there are no obvious reasons for such a sudden change. It records the recurrence into its troubleshooting log like before, more times than you can remember.

He’s panting lightly, the android’s chest moving up and down as your ears pick up the sound of his inner fans whir louder, his pre-programmed functions activating to try to cool him down. With no clue as to what could cause this issue, you reach in to look for a fault. Yet, the more you poke and prod around, the higher the warmth within him rises. 

Left with more questions than answers, you turn to his core for a closer look. When your fingers brush against the transparent casing, a moan slips out from him, and instantly his head whips to look at you dumbfounded.

An artificial blush takes over his face, a low pink glow blooming from beneath the synthetic layer. A beat passes before he cracks his lips apart, voicebox working as he pleads.

“...Again.”

Gently, you let your fingertips dance over the clasp hinging the casing shut and his response is instant. A shudder rolls through him, as real as it can be, and a shaky exhale leaves him. The android’s back arches up slightly, hastily chasing after your touch when you remove your hand.

Your caress returns when your hand dips deeper into his circuitry, where you hook two fingers underneath his thicker cables, attentively stroking them between your thumb and fingers, before tugging on them forcefully enough to elicit a reaction from him. 

His eyes fly open at your ministrations, a greed for more overtaking his processors. You’ve always been so gentle with him when he’s opened up for you, when you have access to the deepest parts of him, when he’s at his most vulnerable. So, to have you toy around with him, show him the indulgence of human flesh, can you really fault him for falling for you?

The tips of your fingers ghost along the length of his metal spine, and the android keens from under you.

“Please, more, I can take it!”

Taking his cue, your hand encircles his spine, grinding the heel of your palm against the ridges of the sensitive metal elements as you pump up and down. 

“Sss- so good! Hah…!” He can’t control how he behaves when you treat him so well, like he’s the only one worthy of your attention. He shakes under your touch, trembling as the addictive pleasure overrides his programmed commands.

“No more blubbering, just focus on me.” Your other hand goes to cup his chin, and obediently, he parts his lips for you, allowing you to slip your thumb into his mouth. You can feel his tongue work and when you press down, he jolts suddenly. A gag reflex? In an android? How amusing.

When you stop stroking him, he whines pitifully, muffled moans and begging for you to continue but his complaints stop when he feels you unlatch the lid of his core casing.

“Would you let me?” And the flurry of nods from him confirms his enthusiasm.

With bated breath, he counts the seconds before you make contact with his core. And when he senses your caress on his glowing core in his exposed chest cavity, he breathes out a gasp, as if he requires the intake of air. None of this is written into the basis of his behaviour, not fed into the dataset that makes up how he’s supposed to act, so everything he feels for you must be real.

His eyes go unfocused as his neural network is flooded with the raw pleasure of being enveloped with love and lust down to his literal core. Desire burns within him, evident from the fans whirring even louder than before to bring down his temperatures. It’s just so much for the android’s computations to handle. Broken moans leave him as he tries to vocalise his love for you (as best as he can with his thumb in your mouth). 

And when you press a kiss to his unprotected core, his vision whites out.

Eyes wrenched shut, his whole mechanical body jerks upwards, back arching off the worktable as his body propels himself to sit up, his limbs trying to ensnare you in his embrace, to keep you with him as long as he can. Every command in his system is overwritten to hone in on all the sensations of you on him, your touch, your warmth.

The patterns under his skin glow with a pulse, akin to a human’s heartbeat and when his eyes open again, glimmering faux tears roll down his face. His chest heaves as you close the distance between the two of you, cupping his face with both your hands and kissing his tears away.

The android breaks the intimate silence as he quietly asks you, “Can you give me a name?”

When you whisper a name into his ear, he breaks into sobs in your hands.

The days pass by, uneventful, and the time for a final cursory check before deeming him fully repaired comes. He’s poised on the worktable like any other previous session, a bored expression on his face as you flit back and forth between him and the software on your computer.

“You really are a clingy case,” you say and get a huff in return, “But a welcome one.”

Remembering your mental note from before about accessing his past logs, you access it from your computer, pulling up the window with his stored recorded data. The log operates in the background constantly, one of the built-in functions of the android and a quick glance over just to make sure everything is in order should do.

However, the logs prove to be worrying in a completely different way.

[Log: Day 10 - Run 1 - Failed. Werewolf. They’re with that mangy mutt. I don’t know what they see in him. I still remember the care they showed me. There’s always the next run.]

[Log: Day 20 - Run 2 - Failed. It seems I’m too late this time around. That vile selkie captured them first. How irritating. I need to stop hesitating. It’s my love on the line after all.]

[Log: Day 30 - Run 3 - Failed. Incubus. That damn priest and incubus. I can feel my temper reaching its breaking point.]

[Log: Day ??? - Run 4 - In progress. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please.]

Your eyes rake across a multitude of grainy snapshots of yourself, all with different people that you can’t find the ability to recall, your mind pounding from the discovery. 

He’s gazing expectantly when you look back up at him from the screen. A grin twists its way across his face, canines glinting under the dizzying harsh lighting.

“So now you’ve seen how much I love you, even if you don’t remember it.” There’s a sick obsession dripping in his tone, an uncanny level of emotion that androids normally shouldn’t be able to replicate, one that sends a heavy uneasiness through your whole being, one that roots you to the ground. 

When he doesn’t get the adoring reaction from you he expects, the proud expression on his face falls instantly. 

He’s despondent, despairing as he tears the connecting cables off of him, launching himself off the worktable, lunging across for you, frenzied, pure scorching mania surging through him. 

“You… even after all these runs. You’ve always given me the same thing. My name. I thought this time- You-” 

Voice shaky, “It’s a shame this run didn’t work out either.” 

He steels himself, hand outstretched, “No matter.”

You blink.

There’s an unfamiliar android sitting atop your worktable.

Thank you kindly for reading. Consider supporting on kofi if you enjoyed this or visit the other doors.

[itsabouttimex2]

Y/N’s not the Beloved?

(At least, not at first)

Thinking so hard about Y/N just… not being the “beloved” in the yandere dynamics, and instead being the “neglected” party.

Just, like-

It’s not that Sun Wukong and Macaque don’t love you for being their precious adopted kiddo, but… you’re “just” a person, and you don’t have a tail or fur to groom like them. You can’t climb as well as they can, and you don’t have fangs. And you just aren’t strong enough to keep up.

So there’s this inherent disparity, and you feel sometimes more like a guest than a member of the family.

But then MK’s rock comes along! And then it hatches and there’s a new little monkey in the family for them dote on! They have a new baby, one that’s just like them!

In a way that you just… aren’t.

You just can’t compare. Sure, they still love you- you’re never hungry or cold, your clothes are plentiful, and they still support your interests, but…

They just don’t love you like they love him.

Because MK gets the nicest things, in all the ways you didn’t. He gets brand new clothes just right for a growing boy with a true form that fractures in and out of existence. But many of your “new” clothes have to be hastily sewn up because they’re hand-me-downs from Papa, and they had ear and tail slits- they were made for Mystic Monkeys, after all!

(And you aren’t one of them, no matter how hard you try to be.)

And MK gets his favorite foods and snacks whenever he asks, no matter how far Baba has to travel or how many stores his clones have to trawl to find those illusive treats. And when he digs in, you think of the times Papa taught you to “appreciate” his hard work in the kitchen by making you eat every bite of a meal he made, even if you gagged and coughed through it… but MK gets full impunity to have sides replaced whenever he decides a food is “yucky” without even trying it.

You got gifts for being well-behaved or accomplishing goals, but MK gets them for simply asking. You got money by doing extra chores or babysitting the mountain monkeys. MK is given it because your dads are in a good mood.

Not to mention how many of your hobbies and free days are undermined because you “need” to babysit the favorite child.

So on, and so forth.

And then one day it all grinds to a peak and you can’t take the favoritism anymore, so you eventually have the quietest messy breakdown known to man in the ungodly hours of the morning. When you finally manage to pull yourself together, the decision is promptly made- with a tightly-packed bag in tow, you sneak out through a window, clamber down the house walls, and disappear beyond the horizon.

And Macaque and Wukong are devastated, obviously. Sure, you aren’t the “beloved”, which is clearly MK, but you’re still their baby!

BUT! It gets even worse, because for all the worry in their hearts, MK is even worse!

He throws tantrums and rejects food and has uncontrollable fits where he bites bloody marks into his arms through hysteric tears. And even when the kiddo isn’t screaming his bloodied little mouth off, it’s only to scream for you to come back.

So, while they would’ve always made an honest effort to bring you back home (this is your home, even if it doesn’t always feel like it), having their “beloved” child start to genuinely harm himself over your absence only ramps up the efforts to get their first kid back.

“Open the door,” comes your papa’s tempered voice, barely second after you’ve registered the knock. “C’mon, kiddo. We need to talk.”

His foot meets the wooden door, tapping and testing the strength- not that there was really any question he could clear the flimsy barrier.

Tap. Tap.

At the pause, you drop everything and scramble into the closet, right as Macaque kicks through the door with a huff. The leather of his boot catches the light with a dark gleam, but he retracts it and readies for another blow.

“You in, Mac?”

“Not yet- I missed.”

His next strike lands true, shredding the cheap doorknob out of place so forcefully that it tears through the glass window behind it and disappears into the bushes behind the hotel, entirely flattened into a copper disk.

“Not bad,” cheers Wukong, peering into the wrecked room. “Not bad at all, bud!”

With a hand clasped over your mouth to muffle the sound of shallow breathing, you hunker down and wait- with a bitter thought at how casual they are about all this.

Didn’t they realize how badly hurt you were by the unabashed favoritism, the constant coming in second, the unending isolation?

How could they treat this like a casual outing?

“Alright, bud- pack your bags and put on something warm! We’re heading home!

Just barely you manage to bite back a cry of frustration over this miserable circumstance, expected to return to a home that had essentially shunted you aside.

“C’mon, brat. Did you really think we’d let you spend any more time in this hellhole? The mountain is a lot safer, anyways.”

You don’t even realize that Macaque is reaching into the closet until he has your upper arm in his hold, pulling until you’ve cleared the wooden threshold molding between your sanctuary and the living space.

Barely even on your feet, Wukong is upon you with a scarf, wrapping it tight and finishing with a neat bow.

“You know, MK really missed you,” he sighs, thinking of tantrums that spanned hours and the smell of mold in the kitchen when food the child flung had spilled under the counter and gone unnoticed for far too long.

Why should you care that their baby was suffering?

But whether you care or not (and they’re certainly not waiting for your opinion), they’re going to take you “home”.

With Wukong’s hand to wrap around your shoulders and Macaque’s to grip your wrist, they slowly march the way back to the precious little Mystic Monkey that you’ve come to hate.

And though your heart turns over at the sight of MK wailing on the floor, there’s this strange discomfort that arises when they call it that:

“Y/N is back!”

and it prompts an immediate end of his formerly hysterical waterworks?

Because he runs to you and throws both of his chubby little arms around your legs, demanding that you “never ever leave again!” and both of your dads are right behind him, because their son gets whatever he wants, when he wants it-

And what MK wants is you.

[backwzzds]

ೃ⁀➷ domesticity, könig

könig got off to watching you be a mother.

könig hated to admit it. the way he inevitably got turned on whenever he came home from long missions. the way whenever he’d walk through the front door of your home, muddy and dirty boots immediately being taken off by the welcome mat so he didn’t stain the innocence of your home with his trauma and duties from work—the bludge in his pants grew at the sight of how you lived such a domestic life.

he was sure his view was a sight that nearly every man wished for at some point in their life. he felt blessed. blessed that no one else at his base had the privilege to come home to this. with you holding a chubby baby full of fiery strawberry blonde curls—undoubtedly belonging to him—on your wide hips, so full from giving birth no more than two years ago.

your daughter was a bit on the paler side despite having beautiful brown skin, and you always wondered if your genes even fucking tried to show out for you when creating her. she looked and acted so much like her father, the only way to probe that she was yours were your shared lips and her having your hair texture. everything else belonged to könig.

“papa wird bald zu hause sein, kleine liebe,” you reassure your daughter of her father’s return home soon as she began to grow cranky, a daily sign of her missing him. you had just finished breastfeeding her, and that was evident in the way the majority of your tits stuck out like a sore thumb from one of your man’s thin wife beater shirts. hey, you were home alone with nothing but pretty trees and bush surrounding you.

könig couldn’t help but smile at the back of your head as you hummed her a little song as you stirred your pot of food. the way your braids were tied down in a bright pink bonnet, the way the fat of your grown woman body hung out of your booty shorts that did nothing to hide the swallow of your ass, and how your white painted toes filled themselves in your fur slippers. the primal hormones in him filled with testosterone practically rushed to the blood of his dick as he watched you dance around the kitchen with your pretty baby.

this how you got pregnant in the first place.

every day he was grateful he decided to snatch you up and take you back to his home country with him. the way you adapted to his culture the way he did yours—you made sure to teach your baby her two native languages, english and german.

no one knew where you were, and könig liked it that way. you three could play house in peace for the next few months, at least until his next deployment. it was the safest option for you. to take you both out the states where his personal life could possibly be exploited.

no one knew where in austria exactly könig was from, making it harder for anyone to possibly track down his pretty little family. you were able to work in peace without having to worry about someone finding about your husband’s real job and eventually figuring out where your daughter went to daycare. it was peaceful for you in austria. as far as the neighbors knew, your husband was in the military occasionally on long deployment missions.

not exactly a lie.

he was never 100% at ease leaving his two girls anywhere, but he knew that if you were at least living in a place that he knew like the back of his fucking hand, his anxiety would calm down just a bit while on missions.

you fall completely deaf to the sound around you as your daughter babbles in your ear while you cooked. the delicious aroma of your wonderful food fills your husband’s nostrils as he finally decides its time for him to finally come out the shadows.

your baby continued to babble things in german-english as you began to plate food only for yourself like you’d done for the past six months, completely unbeknownst to the masculine presence behind you.

“my pretty wife always manages to make such delicious meals,” the hoarse voice manages to startle you to the point where you drop your pot spoon on the floor. “been starved for a plate, lover.”

your daughter turns her head before you do, and immediately fights to be put down from your arms. at the sight of her father, she gives a bright two-toothed grin and opens her arms. “daddy daddy!”

könig wastes no time in ripping off his mask and plastering a big kiss on his baby’s cheeks. “meine hübsche prinzessin,” he greets, engulfing “been a good girl for mommy, yeah?” the ice blue eyes question as they falter over to you. you’re still standing in shock that könig chuckles at the innocence on your face. the same one he’s been in love with for years now.

he didn’t blame you though, you didn’t expect him back for at least another two months.

könig wastes no time in walking over to you, and of course the first place his hands touch are your wide hips. his pink lips smash onto your brown ones and he wastes no time in engulfing all of you into him.

he doesn’t miss the way that small tears fill his shirt. he knows you’ve been alone in a secluded area, in an almost foreign place where you hardly knew anyone. he knew how lonely you must of felt having to do all this by yourself. he was here for you now.

god, he missed you. his good, pretty little wife.

[hamsterclaw]

Yoongi’s a murder detective fighting burnout when he’s assigned the case that you and your former partner fucked up.

Paring: Yoongi x f! Reader

Genre: Detectives!Yoongi and reader

Rating: 18+

Word count: 6.6k

Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of murder, bloodshed and assault, sex, depression and burnout, mentions of guns

The flashing blue lights in Yoongi’s window are followed by the wail of sirens cutting through the early evening bustle.

Yoongi looks out the window. He’s three floors up from street level, there’s raindrops tracking along the dirty glass, the faint smell of mildew that accompanies any rainfall in this filthy city.

Under the table, his good leather shoes, the ones he saves for weddings and funerals, have rubbed a hole in the skin over his achilles. Yoongi had worn them for his disciplinary hearing today, the part of him that still wants to be a cop temporarily winning over the part of him that doesn’t.

He wonders if this is what burnout feels like.

His superior, Kim Namjoon, had called him into his office after the hearing to tell him he was on probation, to clean up his act because he wouldn’t be so lucky as to get off next time.

The truth is, Yoongi had known while he was pressing the suspect’s face into gravel with his booted foot that it would come back to bite him on the ass.

He’d done it anyway.

Yoongi’s never been kind to scum who exploit children, but his partner, Jung Hoseok, had seen something in Yoongi’s face that day that had made him report Yoongi.

Yoongi doesn’t blame him. Hoseok has been his partner on and off for five years and he’s as sterling as they come. His moral compass is as strong as it was the day they graduated from the academy, despite all the fucked up shit they’ve seen.

Unlike Yoongi.

Yoongi was never black and white to begin with and now he’s so far into the grey he scares himself sometimes. It’s never been his goal to be the kind of cop who metes out his own justice.

Only madness lies that way.

Anyway now Hoseok’s been reassigned temporarily to narcotics, supposedly a break from homicide, and Yoongi’s partnerless.

Probably not for long, there’s always some hungry rookie wanting the credibility of working homicide.

Yoongi sighs, closes the file he’d been skimming. It’s well past seven, there aren’t any open cases that need his immediate attention and he figures he might as well go home to his apartment and his cat, Kenzo.

The pavement’s slippery under the smooth soles of his good shoes, Yoongi pulls his coat tighter against the early autumn chill as he walks the five blocks to his apartment.

The smell of fried wontons fills his nostrils as he passes a conduit street in the back end of Little China, Yoongi’s tempted to stop and pick up dinner.

He’s tempted every time and succumbed yesterday so he soldiers on, not without a pang of regret. He regrets food choices because he’d rather that, than think about his actual regrets.

The bang of a gunshot when he’d been two minutes too late to what then became a crime scene.

Fucking some girl with a cute face because he hadn’t been man enough to treat Mara the way she deserved.

Choosing to stay in homicide even after it had become clear to him that he had plumbed the depths of human depravity. Scarring his psyche repeatedly because it’s easier than making the active choice to request a transfer.

Yoongi unlocks his door, toes his shoes off, hangs up his coat.

There’s a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye, a flash of grey fur as Kenzo skitters across the entryway, close but not touching him.

It’s the kind of greeting Yoongi can get behind.

He pours out a serving of dry food into Kenzo’s dish, heads to the fridge to reheat yesterday’s wontons.

Eats standing at the tiny kitchen island, cracks open a beer to wash it all down.

He catches sight of his face, pinched in the scowl it seems to fall into more often than not these days.

Jesus, is he getting old?

Yoongi avoids looking at his reflection again as he showers. Changes into the same t-shirt he’s been wearing for weeks, contemplates watching porn just to take the edge off, but decides he can’t be bothered.

He falls into sleep, deep and dreamless, wakes up with an almighty crick in his neck just before dawn from the way he’d been huddled in a tight ball under the covers.

He knows he’s not right, but he’s been not right for so long Yoongi wouldn’t even know where to start putting himself together again.

***

Redemption comes in odd packages, Yoongi thinks, as he looks up a case he worked on six months ago, a shady businessman on the fringe of organised crime who’d got high as a kite and beat a sex worker to death.

He’d been killed on the way to serving out his sentence in the cushy prison in Busan his fancy lawyer had managed to negotiate, crushed in the back of the transport vehicle when it had been t-boned by a lorry.

Apparently a freak accident, Yoongi doubts it but he’s also not going to look too closely, it’s out of his jurisdiction and he’s too jaded to mourn the loss of another brutal asshole. They’d had to identify the sex worker by her dental records and DNA, her face had been unrecognisable.

There’s a knock on the frosted glass panel on his office door, Yoongi looks up as Kim Namjoon walks in, followed by the latest hungry rookie angling for a stint in homicide.

‘Min Yoongi, this is Y/N L/N,’ Namjoon says. ‘She’s a new transfer in from the Seoul branch.’

Yoongi doesn’t have to fake his disinterest as he nods politely at you.

‘What’s the case?’ he asks.

Namjoon looks pointedly at the crime scene photo blown up on Yoongi’s screen.

Yoongi waits.

He can feel your gaze on him, but he’ll get to that later.

The anticipation of a new case never gets old, he’s been in homicide since he graduated off the beat ten years ago and he no longer thinks it’s sick of him to get excited about another murder.

It’s the thrill of the hunt that he lives for, the translation of nebulous facts and witness statements into a puzzle that he can solve.

Yoongi’s damn good at his job. It almost makes the sacrifices in the rest of his so-called life worth it.

Namjoon hands Yoongi a case file, crisp, sharp edges waiting to razor his fingertips open. Flat.

Inside, the standard cover page, then a note that makes Yoongi sit up straight out of his slouch.

He looks at Namjoon to find Namjoon’s already looking at him.

‘The reaper of Seoul?’

Yoongi realises as he says the words out loud how it sounds.

The capture and subsequent conviction of the serial killer who’d terrorised the citizens of Seoul for three years had made headlines nationwide.

Last year.

‘Yeah,’ Namjoon says, the tension in his jaw evident now that Yoongi’s looking at him properly.

Namjoon glances at you. ‘It would seem he never left.’

You shift your weight and your eyes meet Yoongi’s.

‘My partner and I broke the case,’ you say. There’s a brittle smoothness to your voice that Yoongi recognises as a paper thin facade over the hauntedness underneath. ‘Turns out we didn’t.’

***

The note in the case file is a single sheet of letter paper, lined in blue.

The handwriting is precise, neat between the lines.

Oh dear.

Better luck this time?

Best regards from your neighbourhood Reaper.

Yoongi looks at you, sitting across the room at the desk Hoseok’s temporarily vacated.

You’re staring at your screen, face backlit in blue, expression unreadable. You’re in black, nondescript knitwear, your hair pushed back from your face, eyes narrowed.

He clears his throat. ‘You worked the case with your partner.’

It’s a statement you answer to like a question.

‘It was the first case I picked up when I joined homicide,’ you say, turning to Yoongi. ‘It started with -‘

‘Kim Seulgi,’ Yoongi says.

You nod, almost grimacing at the name of the Seoul Reaper’s first high profile victim.

‘Her family wanted answers.’

Kim Seulgi had been born of Seoul’s elite, an architect with her grandfather’s firm who had picked up a number of accolades for her work on the National Opera House.

She’d been engaged to an equally accomplished classical pianist, Jeong Minho, and had been the only offspring of her wealthy parents.

She’d disappeared three days before her wedding, only to turn up on her wedding day, floating in the Hangang, dressed in the clothes she’d disappeared in.

You say, ‘She was an ambitious first target.’

‘Was she the first?’ Yoongi asks.

The flicker in your eyes tells him this isn’t the first time you’ve considered this.

‘My partner Kiho.’ There’s strain in your voice. You start again. ‘My partner, Kiho, and I thought he’d killed before.’

You shrug. ‘The captain felt we were wasting time looking back into his early years.’

Yoongi says, neutral, ‘Budgets are limited, your case must have passed the thresholds for plausible deniability.’

‘It seemed to fit,’ you agree.

Your eyes meet again. ‘Not all of it, though.’

Yoongi knows, intimately, what it’s like to not be certain. Sometimes all you have is your instinct. It’s one thing to build a case no reasonable person would doubt, but you’re also betting on your gut. You’re betting on being a good enough detective to know that the pieces fit, without forcing them to fit.

You’re betting on being honest with yourself, and Yoongi knows more than anyone how tempting the lies can be.

Now you’re the one watching him, taking the measure of him.

His email pings.

‘That’s the link to the full case file,’ you say.

You get up, carry a stack of notebooks to his desk.

‘Our notebooks,’ you say.

Yoongi looks at the stack.

Every cop’s got their own collection of notebooks, raw data and impressions that don’t always make it into official reports.

The equivalent of dirty underwear when you’re not expecting company versus lingerie when you’re down to fuck.

This close, he can smell your shampoo, bright and faintly floral.

You blink at him.

‘I need to sort something with human resources,’ you say. ‘I’ll see you later.’

In actual fact it’s 36 hours later when he next sees you, at 4am, at a crime scene.

***

The rain falling is more than a drizzle, enough that the tent around the victim is the first priority.

There’s an imprint of violence in the air, Yoongi knows you feel it too by the way your lips tighten as you duck under the yellow tape to join him.

You nod at him in greeting, then there’s silence as you enter the tent.

The victim’s on her front, face turned to the right, hand tucked under her cheek.

She hasn’t been dead long enough for livedo to set in, she would almost look asleep if it weren’t for the purple of her lips, the greyness to her complexion.

The bath of blood she’s lying in.

Yoongi can just see the edge of the gaping wound on her neck.

You wait until forensics turns her body over.

The top three buttons of her silk blouse are undone, her chest slick with blood.

Yoongi’s reading the crime scene like he’s reading you, and he knows what you’re going to say before you say it.

‘It’s him,’ you breathe. The devastation in your eyes makes it difficult for him to look at you. ‘Fuck, it’s him.’

***

You’re shivering visibly despite the hot coffee Yoongi’s poured you, despite the fact that he’s turned the heating in his ancient Hyundai up as far as it’ll go.

There are droplets of water in your hair, sparkling incongruously in the gloom.

You’re waiting till first light to knock on neighbourhood doors, the victim was found in a quiet cul-de-sac.

Two minutes from her own front door.

Not much chills Yoongi these days but that fact does make him pause.

The audacity of it.

He says, ‘I have a blanket in the trunk.’

You’re protesting but Yoongi gets back out in the rain anyway, grabs the blanket and gets back in.

Hands it to you, takes your cup as you drape the blanket around yourself.

‘It gets colder here than Seoul,’ Yoongi offers, handing you your coffee back.

‘We fucked it up,’ you say, and Yoongi knows that’s what you’ve been thinking since you saw the body.

He’s just been waiting for you to be ready to say it.

‘So make it right,’ he says, simple.

‘An innocent man’s in prison because Kiho and I fucked up,’ you say.

Yoongi doesn’t want to minimise it but he doubts the man you put away was completely innocent.

‘I read your notebooks,’ he says. ‘Who’s Jeon Bogyeol?’

There had been twelve murders before the arrest. All women in their late twenties to mid thirties, all living alone.

They’d all lived in the same part of Seoul, but apart from that there was nothing to link them that he could find.

You look at him warily. ‘He was a night watchman at the apartments of seven of the women.’

Yoongi waits.

‘We cross-referenced staff at all the addresses, and his name kept coming up. Like Jang Daeseong.’

You flinch at the name of the man convicted of the murders, as though it didn’t fall from your own lips.

You keep talking, though, your voice never faltering. ‘We never found any links between Jeon Bogyeol and the other five women.’

‘Did he have a history?’ Yoongi asks. He’s looking out the window at the first rays of sunrise, muted orange through the rain. His shoulder aches, an old injury he doesn’t think about except when he’s tired, and cold.

‘There was a neighbour,’ you say. You’re chewing on your bottom lip, a tell Yoongi’s noticed for the first time tonight.

‘She called the police once saying she’d seen Bogyeol taking a woman into his apartment against her will.’

You’re frowning. ‘The beat cops who responded to the call out said there was no sign of anyone else in his apartment. The neighbour moved away.’

‘Moved away?’ Yoongi asks, and you glance at him, understanding the sharpness in his tone.

‘I was going to look into it when the Chief shut us down,’ you say. It’s stated simply, like a fact, no sign of defensiveness.

Yoongi offers you more coffee from his flask.

‘Where’s Bogyeol now?’

‘When the new letter came in I looked him up,’ you say. The steam rising from your cup obscures part of your expression for a moment, but Yoongi can hear the tremor in your voice.

‘He’s less than fifty miles east of here.’

Dawn’s breaking, the rain’s finally starting to peter out, but Yoongi’s chilled anyway.

***

The morning sun is high in the sky by the time Yoongi and you finish interviewing the neighbours and the new victim’s friends and family.

Yoongi’s phone rings. It’s Namjoon.

‘Can you talk?’ Namjoon asks.

Yoongi mouths ‘Namjoon’ in response to your inquiring expression, puts some distance between you and him.

‘Yeah,’ he answers.

‘The post-mortem results are back, and the preliminary tox screen is negative. The ME’s put the cause of death as exsanguination.’

Yoongi processes this. ‘It’s the same MO as the previous Seoul reaper victims,’ he says.

Namjoon sighs. ‘Has anything new come out of your interviews?’

‘No,’ Yoongi says. The victim had been well-liked, none of the neighbours had seen or heard anything, and on the surface of it there were no conflicts he could see. Her boyfriend of two years had been away on a work trip, his location confirmed around the window of the crime.

Yoongi’s looking at you as you wait against the car, and when your name comes out of Namjoon’s mouth he’s already got an inkling of what Namjoon wants to know.

‘I reviewed the case,’ Namjoon says. ‘There are no obvious flaws or errors in their investigation.’

Yoongi grunts. ‘There was a lead that they didn’t follow up on.’

He fills Namjoon in.

‘I’ll follow it up.’

Namjoon says, thoughtfully, ‘I wonder where her partner’s working now.’

Yoongi’s surprised Namjoon doesn’t already know, to be honest, he’s always two steps ahead of Yoongi.

He flicks his gaze to you again. You’re still waiting against the car, and there’s a loneliness to your posture, a fatigued downturn to your mouth that makes him say, ‘Hey Joon, I’ll call you back, ok?’

He ends the call, unlocks the car.

‘We should get back and compare notes,’ Yoongi says. His voice has dropped the way it does when he’s tired, and shit, he is tired. He hasn’t slept well for a while.

‘Let me drive,’ you offer. You take his keys, and your fingers brush his for an instant.

The contact, brief though it is, makes Yoongi’s skin tingle.

He wonders if you notice his reaction, but you’re already sliding in, adjusting the seat, starting up the car.

***

Yoongi wakes when you’re parking the car, sits up, a little embarrassed.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, looking to gauge your reaction.

‘Don’t be,’ you reply. ‘I would have done the same if you’d driven.’

There’s a hint of mischief in the curve of your half-smile.

‘You mumble in your sleep.’

Yoongi rubs a hand over his face. ‘What’d I say?’

‘I couldn’t make out any words,’ you tell him, but there’s a twinkle in your eye that makes him wonder if that’s really true.

Mara is the only person who’s shared his bed in recent years, and she’d never mentioned anything.

You swipe your ID to get into the station, hit the lifts.

In the dire grey lighting you look almost as tired as he does.

‘Coffee?’ Yoongi offers, when you pass the vending machine on the way to the office.

‘Yeah,’ you say. You’re on your phone, frowning over a text.

Yoongi passes you a cup.

‘Problem?’ he asks.

‘Kiho,’ you say. You look at him. ‘My old partner. He wants to meet up.’

‘It’d be useful to talk through the case with him,’ Yoongi agrees.

Your expression is difficult to read. ‘He’s in a retreat a couple hours drive from here. He took time off after we closed the case.’

Yoongi gulps his coffee. ‘There isn’t anything else we can do here anyway, we’re waiting on leads.’

He reaches out his hand for the car keys. ‘I can drive.’

***

The retreat Kiho is staying in is set amongst the foothills of a mountain, rolling grounds all around, a view of the cliffs overlooking the sea.

It seems to Yoongi like a place only the very rich or the very damaged would live.

Unless you get better pay packets in Seoul he’s apprehensive about meeting Kiho.

You sign in at the front desk, the receptionist greets you warmly, like she’s met you a few times before.

You lead Yoongi through a huge lounge, through open patio doors and into a green. Yoongi’s looking around at the residents, scanning the area the way he does automatically whenever he’s in an unfamiliar place.

You’re waving a hand, and then you’re embracing a tall man tightly. Neither of you say anything but Yoongi can see the way your shoulders slump, like the tension’s draining out of you.

It’s only when the tall man looks up at Yoongi inquiringly that Yoongi notices the long scar running along his neck. Tracing the path of his jugular, vertical rather than horizontal.

Kiho extends a hand.

‘So you’re going to get our guy,’ he says.

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say to that.

‘We’re going to get him,’ he says, finally.

Kiho turns to you. ‘You haven’t told him,’ he says to you.

You’re looking at Yoongi.

‘We can tell him now.’

***

‘I started getting notes after Jang Daeseong was convicted,’ you say. You’re sitting in a gazebo with Yoongi and Kiho, mugs of coffee in front of you.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow.

You flick your eyes to his, then look away, unlock your phone.

Yoongi takes your phone, scrolls through a gallery of pictures.

Lined paper, handwriting he’s seen before.

Yoongi reads through the content, then returns your phone to you.

‘The originals are with forensics,’ you tell him. ‘The paper and ink are generic, impossible to trace. There’s no trace of DNA, not so much as a partial print.’

‘The notes stopped coming last month,’ you say. ‘Right around the time I moved.’

Kiho’s scratching his neck absently, Yoongi catches how your gaze drops to his scar.

The length of it’s longer than a stab wound, he thinks the surgeons might have had to extend the scar to repair the vessels beneath.

You turn to Yoongi.

‘We have to stop him,’ you say. ‘Use me to lure him out.’

‘He nearly killed me,’ Kiho says. His expression is sober, his tone flat.

He stops there, but Yoongi can hear his next words, loud and clear.

What’s he going to do to you?

‘We can’t let him keep going like this,’ you say, very gently.

Kiho meets Yoongi’s gaze.

Yoongi doesn’t falter.

‘He has to be stopped,’ he agrees.

***

The drive back to the police station goes quicker - there’s something about seeing your old partner that’s given you a bump of energy.

Yoongi can practically feel the adrenaline fizzing in your blood, coming off you in waves.

He’s worried about the crash when the adrenaline ebbs.

He sure as fuck hopes you can cope with the lows better than he can.

He’d put in a call before you left the retreat, Namjoon’s fast tracking a last known address on the neighbour of Jeon Bogyeol who’d moved away.

You’re typing an address into the satnav yourself, face drawn, eyes serious.

Yoongi doesn’t have to ask whose address it is.

‘Are you sure you’re up to this?’ he asks.

His voice is as neutral as he can make it but he already knows that you’ve made your decision.

It’s written all over you, in the way your shoulders are squared, in the tilt of your chin, in the way your hands are tensed into fists in your lap.

‘I need to see this through, Yoongi,’ you say.

Yoongi takes a moment.

‘What happened to Kiho?’ he asks.

‘He didn’t see who it was,’ you answer. Your eyes are fixed in front of you, jaw tensed.

‘He was heading home in between shifts and he got jumped in the car park under his apartment. If he hadn’t been found by the car park attendant —‘ you voice trails off, and you shiver.

‘He was lucky the car park attendant called for help right away. That his next door neighbour, fresh off a shift in the trauma department, arrived home when she did and was there to take over. That he lives five minutes on blue lights away from the best trauma centre in Seoul.’

You look at Yoongi. ‘Kiho’s damned lucky to be alive.’

‘It’s a different injury from the reaper’s usual MO,’ Yoongi says slowly.

You nod. ‘He was toying with us.’

‘You said you received notes from the Reaper,’ Yoongi says. He’s watching you carefully in the rearview. ‘What did they say?’

Your lips press together in a line, but your voice is steady when you answer.

‘He said he’d been watching me, and that he was coming for me. That I’d be his final kill.’

***

The address you’ve put in for Jeon Bogyeol is a house in a run down suburban neighbourhood, the type of place Yoongi grew up.

The houses are haphazardly arranged, like a careless scatter on a Monopoly board, connected by a warren of roads too narrow for more than one car to pass.

Yoongi can see you tensing up the closer you get to your destination, and after he parks and switches off the engine, he places his hand on your arm.

Your eyes are expressive, more so than your voice.

‘We haven’t got grounds yet for an arrest warrant,’ you say, flat.

‘We’re working the case,’ Yoongi replies. ‘And if it’s right, we’ll work it until it’s airtight.’

Your response is to stare at him a moment, then to push open the car door.

Yoongi notices that you’ve unzipped your jacket, making your holstered gun more visible.

His own gun presses against his hip, the weight of it reminding him that although he’s only drawn it a handful of times, each time has been with intent.

He sure as fuck hopes neither of you will have reason to draw your gun today.

***

The address is little more than a shack, a rickety door that looks like it’ll give under a strong kick, a boarded up window that’s visibly cracked.

Yoongi knocks, identifies you both.

Follows procedure because he’s determined to get it all right this time.

Get the monster locked up where he belongs.

You don’t have grounds to break down the door, at least not until you go round to the back and see the pink tricycle upended in the dirt, streamers splayed tendrils of pink and white.

There isn’t much that sends Yoongi into the grey as much as the suggestion that a child might be involved.

He doesn’t really recall looking at you to confirm, just knows that one minute he’s outside in the chill and the next he’s inside the shack, gun drawn, the metallic tang of blood in the back of his throat.

There’s nowhere to hide in the empty shack, Jeon Bogyeol is gone.

You do a cursory search but both of you know you aren’t going to find your answers here.

Then Yoongi must blank out, because the next thing he hears is your voice, firm, saying his name.

He’s panting, covered in sweat, back against a wall, your hands grabbing fistfuls of his jacket to keep him upright.

He blinks, and you snap into focus. There’s ringing in his ears.

Your mouth opens, and the ringing stops. He hears your voice.

‘Let’s go, Yoongi.’

He lets you lead him out, folds himself into the passenger seat of your car, notes distantly how you put your hand on the top of the doorframe like you’re worried he’s going to bang his head.

You start the engine and then you drive, and Yoongi’s grateful that you don’t say anything at all, don’t ask for an explanation of why a fucking tricycle sent him into a tailspin.

Yoongi looks down in his lap because he’s not ready to see if you’re looking at him differently now that you’ve seen him wig out.

You put the radio on after a few minutes, stop at a drive thru after an hour.

It’s only when you hand him a coffee, silently, that he’s moved to speak.

He clears his throat, and you’re the one who speaks, still looking straight ahead, out the windscreen.

‘You don’t have to tell me. I mean, I’ll listen if you do, but you don’t have to.’

Yoongi chews on that a moment.

‘Three years ago I worked what we thought was a murder in Busan. It turned out to be an abduction.’

Yoongi laughs. There’s no humour in it.

‘We found her. She was still warm. If we’d been ten minutes quicker at figuring it out, if her fucking dad had told us about the business deal he had that had gone sour sooner, if I’d even just tried harder…’

His voice trails off.

He risks a glance at you.

You’re still not looking at him.

‘I can’t speak to whether you could have prevented it, Yoongi. All I know is that none of us come to work to do a bad job.’

Your hand lands on his forearm briefly.

‘Some days are just bad days at the office.’

It’s not the first time Yoongi’s heard it, but it’s the first time it’s been said to him with no judgement that he can hear.

***

When you get back to the precinct, Namjoon’s waiting.

He hands Yoongi another case file.

‘I got Jimin to follow up on those leads we talked about,’ Namjoon says, no preamble.

‘We visited Jeon Bogyeol’s last known address,’ you say. ‘There’s no one there now, but it hasn’t been long since he moved out.’

Namjoon says, ‘Keep me informed.’

He nods to the case file. ‘There’s some interesting information in there.’

As Namjoon walks off, you turn to Yoongi.

‘I’m going down to visit someone I know in forensics, see if they can check the house.’

Yoongi heads for your joint office.

There’s a cleaning cart parked just outside the door, which opens just as Yoongi reaches for the doorknob.

The cleaner apologises and bows politely.

Yoongi steps aside to let her pass.

‘You forgot this,’ he says, spotting the dusting cloth left on your desk.

He hands it to her and places the file on his desk.

Outside, it’s raining again.

***

Yoongi wakes with a jolt.

You’re perched on the edge of his desk.

‘You should go home, get some sleep.’

‘In the middle of an active murder investigation?’ Yoongi mumbles.

‘I’m one of the potential targets, remember?’ you say, grimacing. ‘He might come to us.’

At Yoongi’s expression, you say, ‘We’ve been doing nothing but following up leads since the last murder. The last investigation took months, almost a year. What are you going to do, not sleep until he’s caught?’

‘I don’t sleep much anyway,’ Yoongi says, but he knows you’re right.

‘I know you don’t,’ you reply. There’s an empathy in your tone that reminds him you’re a homicide detective too.

You exchange a look, and then you both speak at the same time.

‘I should go —‘

‘Do you like wontons?’ Yoongi blurts out.

You raise an eyebrow. ‘Is this like inviting me in for ramen?’

‘What?’ Yoongi splutters. ‘No, not like that. There’s this place I go. They have—-‘

‘Wontons, I get it,’ you say. You get up. ‘Yeah. Let’s go.’

***

It’s been a while since Yoongi shared a meal with someone else, the last person was Hoseok, who could go straight from a crime scene to a steakhouse without turning a hair.

You’re chasing a wonton around your plate, fatigue lining the corners of your mouth.

Yoongi asks, ‘Where do you live?’

‘The other side of town,’ you tell him. ‘Near the financial district.’

‘Fancy,’ Yoongi muses.

‘More than I can afford,’ you say darkly. ‘If this case goes on for a while I’m going to need to move.’

You look up at him. ‘Where do you live?’

‘Close to here,’ Yoongi says.

‘Yeah?’

You put your chopsticks down. ‘I should —-‘

This time, Yoongi interrupts.

‘Do you want to come round for ramen?’

Your eyes meet, and there’s a beat of silence. Then a pulse of connection that sends heat through Yoongi’s veins.

Your knee brushes his under the table.

‘Yeah,’ you answer, deliberate. ‘Fuck, yeah.’

***

Yoongi’s always hated the preamble to a hookup, in his line of work uncertainty is a thing to be avoided.

You work the case until you get an explanation no reasonable person would doubt.

He finds himself waiting, though, now that you’re standing in his apartment.

You’re looking around, and he wonders if his existence seems as lonely on the outside as it feels on the inside.

He’s wondering if you’ve changed your mind, if you really did think he meant ramen, when you reach out and grasp the front of his shirt.

Slip the tips of your fingers just under, hold the placket as you use your other hand to unbutton. Start at his throat, work your way down, slowly.

His skin prickles under the warmth of your fingers.

You lean forward and press a kiss to the base of his neck.

Yoongi reaches up, slides a hand around the nape of your neck, and you tilt your face to his.

Close up, you’re soft.

Yoongi traces your bottom lip with his thumb, and your lips part.

You don’t say anything, though, and that’s ok, because Yoongi thinks you’re as talked out as he is.

It’s been a hell of a fucking day.

You’re kissing his neck again, instead of his mouth, and that’s ok, because this isn’t love, it’s comfort.

A human connection in a day filled with monsters.

Yoongi sighs as your hands slip over his bare chest, round to his back.

He helps you lift your top over your head, admires your breasts, nipples pressing against the fabric of your bra.

He cups the weight of them in his hands, and you moan.

Yoongi’s cock is filling out, and you’re undoing his belt like you want to see for yourself.

You drop to your knees in front of him, press your mouth onto the length of him over his boxer briefs, sigh with pleasure.

‘Not too much,’ Yoongi warns, ‘not if you want me to fuck you.’

You look up at him, hair mussed, a smile curving your lips.

You tug his boxer briefs down, and Yoongi curls a hand around himself so as not to hit you in the face.

‘Just let me —‘

You open your mouth to take him in, and Yoongi groans at the feel of your warmth.

When did he last —

His crown nudges the back of your throat, and you swallow, and he loses his train of thought.

He grabs your shoulder, tugs you up, kisses the smear of his own stickiness at the corner of your mouth.

The light slanting in through the window is hues of gold and orange, filling in the hollows of your face, outlining the curves of your body.

Yoongi has to stop looking at you because he doesn’t want to cry at how much he’s missed being close to someone like this.

‘Where do you want me?’ he asks, voice taut.

‘Anywhere,’ you say. ‘Just turn these fucking lights out.’

***

In the dark, Yoongi’s most enraptured by the warmth of you.

Your skin is smooth, so soft under his hands as he wraps his fingers around the curve of your hips.

His cock glides in and out of the heat between your legs, and your moans are beautiful but what really gets him are the hitches in your breathing as he moves.

He turns you over, onto your back, and you pull him to you. Your mouth opens on his shoulder in what would be a kiss if you weren’t biting down. Your tongue flicks over his bruised skin, an apology.

You haven’t spoken to each other in words in a while but Yoongi doesn’t think either of you need words right now.

At least he doesn’t.

You’re tightening around his cock now, your cries quickening until you gasp his name in a tone that makes him grunt and his hips jerk, taking him deep as he can go.

Even in his pleasure he makes sure not to crush you as he collapses next to you.

Then you’re up, walking over to the window, pulling up the sash, lighting a cigarette without asking if he’s ok with it.

Yoongi admires the outline of your profile against the glass.

‘I needed that,’ you say, taking a drag, hunching a little to blow smoke out of his window.

‘Me too,’ Yoongi says, honestly.

He ties off the condom, gets up to toss it in the trash on top of yesterday’s takeout.

Pours you a glass of water on his way back to bed.

He half expects you to be dressed, and you are, but in his clothes, not your own, an old t-shirt he’d tossed on the chair by the bed yesterday morning before he left for work.

He can’t see your face clearly in the dark. It makes it easy to find his voice.

‘You should stay,’ he says. ‘We can get coffee in the morning.’

You’re quiet. ‘I want to.’

Yoongi climbs into bed, and after a moment you slide in next to him.

Your bodies aren’t touching at all, but somehow having you there with him is enough.

Yoongi means to check on you, but he’s asleep so quickly he doesn’t get a chance to.

***

There’s a basketball hoop set into the wall in the back end of the station, a concrete square with a chain-link fence.

The building opposite is a block of offices, as is the building next to it.

Yoongi makes the shot, and you grab the ball on its first bounce.

You say, ‘Forensics got nothing from Jeon Bogyeol’s shack. He bleached the shit out of the place before he left.’

Yoongi grunts, watches you point and shoot.

He’d read through the file Namjoon gave him on the neighbour - it’s incomplete but she was last seen alive twelve weeks ago in a coastal town.

There’s something niggling at the back of his brain, he’d suggested shooting hoops in the hopes that the activity might shake the thought loose so his conscious mind can make the connection.

His phone vibrates in his pocket.

Namjoon.

‘I’m going up to see Namjoon,’ he says. ‘You coming?’

‘I’ll stay here for a bit,’ you say. ‘I’ll be up in a sec.’

Yoongi shrugs, lets himself back in.

Takes the stairs up to Namjoon’s office on the third floor.

There’s a cleaning cart parked next to the staff kitchen as he rounds the corner.

Yoongi’s about to knock on Namjoon’s door when his scattered thoughts crystallise.

The case file Namjoon had given him had a grainy photo of Jeon Bogyeol’s neighbour, the one who’d reported him and then disappeared.

He’s seen her face before, and recently.

Coming out of your office.

‘Fuck,’ he swears.

He grabs his phone out of his pocket, dials your number.

Your phone rings, and rings.

Yoongi takes off, down the stairs, back the way he came.

By the time he bursts out of the back door of the station, gun drawn, his heart’s thumping triple speed, but his hand is steady as he aims it at the man with a knife standing over you.

His finger goes from trigger guard to trigger.

‘Fucking drop it,’ Yoongi warns.

He doesn’t, so Yoongi shoots.

***

Jeon Bogyeol’s neighbour who had reported him was called Seo Hyerin.

She was in her early forties, an ex-teacher who he’d coerced into helping him by turning up at her new place even after she’d moved to get away from him.

She’d been too scared to disobey him, but in forcing her to help him, Jeon Bogyeol had given her access to enough information to clinch the case against him.

Once she’d found out he’d been shot and was likely to go straight from hospital to prison, she’d shared all that information with Yoongi and you.

The pieces fell into place so easily there was no need to make any of it fit.

And now Yoongi’s sitting in the kitchen of your apartment, watching as you pack things up.

He’d been right. Your place was fancy.

You were being transferred back to Seoul to finish up, see things through with the case.

He realises you’re looking at him.

‘My new place is a couple hours drive from here,’ you say.

‘Yeah?’ Yoongi says, like he hadn’t already looked it up.

He’d also looked up timed automated cat food dispensers, just because it was one thing to have a neighbour drop in and feed Kenzo if he’s stuck with a case occasionally, but it’s another thing if he’s regularly going to be driving down to see you.

If he’s regularly going to be spending the night away.

It’s uncharacteristic, for him, but he’s hopeful.

‘I slept pretty well that time,’ you say, looking down into your box.

You look up at him, and the curve of your lips makes Yoongi think to himself that he’d like to kiss you, sometime.

‘In your apartment,’ you clarify, like he wouldn’t already know.

‘I make good ramen,’ Yoongi says. ‘I can make it again for you, you know.’

You laugh, and the sound makes Yoongi feel warm.

He realises that he’s smiling.

Fuck, it’s been a while.

[annie-writesstuff]

Come here, kitty, kitty! - Sylus

Summary: The Evol cats have had enough of Sylus and his mistreatment, so this time, instead of giving him cat ears and a tail, the punishment goes further as he is completely turned into a Caracal cat.

Warnings: Long fic. Cat puns. Fluff - Literally and figuratively lol. Reader literally adopts a lynx for one night :p. Reader is economically poor (I'm sorry.) Reader is not MC. If anyone ever reads this, I sure hope you enjoy :3!

Part Two

This was simply... Catastrophic.

Sylus feels a hint of regret because his actions led him to that position right then. Pawing and hissing at the Meow's Café door.

It doesn't budge an inch.

Not even his Energy manipulation Evol was going to be useful, simply because it had been supressed whenever those evil Evol cats had turned him into that... creature.

He doesn't have access to his phone either, not in that form, and therefore has not contacted either Luke and Kieran or Miss Hunter.

Sylus feels, perhaps for the second time in his life, helpless. He is aware his fur would protect him from the cold, but that does not mean he wants to be alone and out during the approaching snow storm.

He sits down in front of the double glass doors. Someone is bound to go in or out anytime soon, right?

Right?

It seems his calculations were wrong.

How long had he been sitting there? It must have been close to an hour. Why are there no clients?

He stands up, unconsciously stretching, before looking around. Well, he wasn´t going to get anywhere if he simply sat and waited.

His paws quickly take him down the road. It is uncomfortable. He isn't used to the frozen sidewalk, but he pushes through, until he finally sees a person standing in front of a food cart.

Whatever they are selling smells absolutely delicious. Since he hasn't eaten in hours, his normally luxury palate is craving for whatever this person is selling.

Slowly, he approaches, and lightly paws at your black snow boots.

¨Hm?¨ You look down, your half eaten chicken skewer in your hand as you spot a... very unique looking cat. "Oh! Hi there!" You smile, crouching down and gently booping his nose with your index finger. "Are you hungry?"

Sylus hesitates.

What the hell is he doing? He is no stray cat.

But... he is indeed hungry, so he simply looks at your hand expectantly, his vermilion eyes not moving away from the juicy looking meat.

Your giggle reaches his ears, and he bristles in response.

How... irksome.

Carefully, you take one piece, blowing on it a few times, before offering it to him on your palm.

His nose makes quick work, and after a few sniffs, he easily devours the entire piece. Not bad.

He looks at you, awaiting another piece.

To his surprise, your oblige, feeding him until only the stick of the skewer was left. He licks his snout and whiskers.

He jumps away when your hand comes closer. Now, just what do you think you are doing?

Immediately, you retreat. "Sorry." You say, as you stand up. You pay the vendor, before waving at the cute cat.

Wait.

Where are you going?

Sylus immediately follows. He was not going to be outside during that snow storm. You had fed him. He is now your responsibility, and he isn't about to let you leave without him.

So naturally, he stalks after you.

You stop, and turn. A soft smile adorns your lips. "Ah. Coming back for more?" You tease playfully.

If cats could look annoyed, this cat sure does.

Chuckling, you bend down, offering your hand palm up and letting him smell you.

Fine. Just because it seemed you were his only ticket out of this situation. He moves closer, looking as dejected as his feline features allow him as you gently pet his head.

He couldn't say he hated the sensation. Unlike some other people he had encountered earlier when he had first transformed, you are actually being mindful of how sensitive his ears are.

For a brief moment, he allows himself to feel at ease. Not that he is ever going to admit it, but he is enjoying the attention, if anything by the purrs leaving the very back of his throat as he nuzzles into your hand. It's warm and soft.

When you stop petting him and continue walking, he follows again.

You look up at the sky as you hasten your pace. Snow is starting to fall... You don't want to be caught in it. So you jog down the street.

The pitter patter of paws makes you turn again.

Before the cat could react, you scoop him up, tucking him inside your coat, zipping it up so only his head is visible. You smile at the somewhat dumbfounded look the cat gives you. But he doesn't protest nor tries to escape.

This is a bit embarrassing. He had never been caught so off guard before!

He can feel the erratic beating of your heart agaisnt his small body as you hurry towards where he supposes is where you live.

His red eyes scan the dilapidated building you are approaching.

This has... got to be a joke.

Purrhaps he has chosen the wrong human to take care of him.

It is too late anyway, as you walk inside. The walls look like they had seen better days, as you go up the stairs, a lot slower than your brisk walk earlier.

There isn't even an elevator?

Pathethic.

You huff and pant, and his eyes scann the state of this floor. Yeah, it looks equally old.

You fumble to get your keys out, and push open the door. "Home at last!"

You throw the keys over a bowl, though you miss and instead hit the table. Not that you care much as you get rid of your boots and snow-covered coat, gently placing your newly found freind on the floor.

Sylus looks around curiously. He is used to luxury and opulence wherever he visits, so this is a new for him. How can you live in such... place?

The fake wooden floor creaks under your every step, the wall´s paint is falling off, and it is almost as cold here as it is outside!

You approach a small sized screen, which Sylus soon realizes is actually a heater when you press a button to turn it on. A fake image of a fireplace shows on the screen as the small machine starts to work.

You must've been sleeping in front of that heater. He can see a sleeping bag, blankets and some plush toys placed in front of it.

He can only assume that the apartment heating is no longer working. That isn't surprising considering the state of it.

The sound of pans and clatter of utensils catch his attention, and he quickly rushes to the kitchen. He sits at the entrance, wondering if you are cooking something.

You had given him the thing you had been eating earlier, and that makes him feel a bit guilty.

In his defense, he was hungry, and although he could've hunted something, he was still at the heart of Linkon city. It would've been very troublesome to try to get food for himself.

The smell of meat and spices reach his nose. His whiskers move as he smells the air.

Well damn, the aroma was delicious. He is still hungry.

He watches as you sing whilist you mix whatever food you are cooking - he guesses meat and veggies?

This is an atipical sight for him. And he can't help but observe, his heightened senses glued to your every carefree move.

Many questions run through his head. What led to this? Why are you living in that old apartment?

Are you happy?

That last question catches him by surprise. It isn't normal for him to care about someone he just literally met. He guesses being in such a vulnerable position makes him see things differently.

He is used to every interaction being an exchange. He never works for free - nobody he knows does.

Yet... you had fed him and brought him to your home... in exchange of what?

He can't give you money or power. Not while he is a cat, at least... But you don't know who he really is, so it is obvious you aren't looking for something akin.

¨C'mon. Let's eat together!" You call as you walk towards your makeshift room in front of the heater.

His legs quickly carry him to you. He settles comfortably over the sleeping bag and the numerous blankets, the gentle light coming from the heater screen makes him feel... cozy.

"I read that Caracal cats are carnivores". You say, as you grab some meat strips from your bowl and place them in a smaller plate you had brought from the kitchen with you. "And you also eat veggies. They say carrots are good for your vision, so I cooked you some!"

That is very... Thoughtful.

He looks at the plate of food.

It isn't a five star meal, but... You made it for him, and he isn't going to let it go to waste.

He eats with gusto, his tail unconsciosly swaying.

After you return from the kitchen after taking the dishes to the sink, he wonders what kind of routines you have.

He would've called you boring every other time, but he finds it fascinating just how simple your lifestyle is.

You don't live in a castle or mansion, but you give him such pretty smiles, he could've been easily fooled.

You spend a few minutes in the bathroom, and come out wearing your pajamas. He can see they are a bit old, the color of the fabric is fading, and there are a couple holes in it. But they are clean and fresh. He can still smell the lingering scent of laundry detergent and softener.

You sit down on the sleeping bag, and yawn once, twice. You put your phone over a small holder, and put on some cartoons while it charges. "Ready for bed, Red?"

Red?

Is that his 'new' name?

Ah. The color of his eyes. That must be it.

He huffs as you pick him up and crarefully craddle him against your chest.

"Oh? You have a scar? What happened to your eye?" You ask softly, your thumb gently skimming over it.

As a reaction, he hisses, biting you hard enough to draw blood. His fur standing up as he meows threateningly.

And when he calms down, he looks at you, his small chest heaving up and down as he realizes what he did.

He hadn't meant to...

Sylus half expects you to kick him out, let him go.

But instead, you hug him closer. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

Your voice is so sweet and gentle, and he doesn't understand your reaction at all. He looks at you, his vermillion eyes searching for any hint of dishonesty.

But he finds none.

Guilt revolves in his stomach as he looks at your finger, the clear mark of his fangs marking your skin. He licks at the small puncture wounds, silently apologizing.

The scar in his eye is a touchy subject for him. He's aware he overreacted - or better said, instinctively reacted, but that was no excuse. He never wanted to hurt you.

Your eyes stare at him, and once again you smile. "It's okay. You don't have to apologize. I shouldn't have been so careless."

You lie down on your sleeping bag, and tug the blankets around your body, still hugging the Caracal to you. "I hope you are comfortable." Your grip on him is loose, so that if he wants to move, he can.

"Have a goodnight, kitty." You press a tiny kiss to his wet nose, before easily drifting off to sleep.

He remains awake for a couple more minutes. He takes in your features now that he has you so close. You're not wearing make up, but there's a light blush on your cheeks. And your slightly messy [h/c] hair cascades over the side of your face. Overall you look peaceful.

Sylus wishes... he can feel like that too.

He curls closer to your chest, hoping to see if he can steal a bit of normalcy from your life and bring it into his.

He sleeps so soundly, that he doesn't realize is daytime... and the cat's Evol has worn off - majority of it, at least.

He still conserves his cat ears and tail, but he's defeinitely back to his human form.

When he wakes up, he immediately notices what has happened. You look a lot tinier than you did last night, and the sleeping bag doesn't fit all of him anymore. "Hm."

He wonders how you'll react once you wake up and see that you have a naked man-cat (Cat-man?) holding you.

A deep chuckle escapes his lips. "This will be very interesting, won't it, Kitten?"

[wing-ed-thing]

Rainy Day (Crocodile x Reader)

Synopsis: You find yourself caught in the rain with a pirate.

Word Count: 1.5k

Tags/Warnings: No Reader Pronouns, Fluff

Notes: *blub blub*

“I guess you don’t like the rain either?”

Crocodile wasn’t expecting you to speak, let alone with the light laugh you held in your voice. It threw him off acutely, causing him to raise a slight brow as he regarded you from his periphery. 

You pulled your thin sweater across your chest, still holding your light grocery shopping in one hand. Your sorry excuse for a jacket looked completely drenched through, which didn’t surprise Crocodile in the face of the downpour just a few feet before you. 

You sought refuge under the same storefront canopy, watching enviously as people ran by with umbrellas and sporting dry-looking rain boots. But the streets quickly vacated, leaving you and Crocodile stranded in the only spot of semi-dry cover. Water rushed the street, leaving a river about ankle-deep in its wake. The drains weren’t formidable enough to stop the backup, causing little whirlpools to swirl on the roads. Even where the both of you stood, rain rushed in a thin layer under your shoes. 

“I should have known I wouldn’t be able to make it back in time, but—” You glanced at Crocodile with a smile. —“You don’t look like you’re from around here, huh? No one probably told you about the downpours.”

It was the second time you’d regarded him so casually, and Crocodile wasn’t used to anyone speaking to him in such a blasé way. No one had ever tried to make inane chitchat about the weather with him before, especially not at his towering height and with the jagged facial scar he sported with menacing pride. He had a hook for a hand, and you were talking to him without an ounce of hesitation.

“Hasn’t anyone taught you not to talk to strangers?” Crocodile gruffed, avoiding your gaze as he scanned the environment outside your canopy. The rain was falling in sheets without sign of letting up anytime soon. You laughed again.

“Maybe when I was a kid, but as an adult, wouldn’t that make us both strangers?” 

“That doesn’t make a lot of sense.” 

“No, I guess not.”

Crocodile barely listened as he dug into his jacket breast pocket to fish out a cigar. He placed one between his lips before toying with his lighter. It took a few strokes for it to ignite, but Crocodile was eventually able to take a long drag of his cigar. And as he released a massive cloud of smoke from his lungs, he hoped it would be enough of a deterrent for you to stop your chatter. 

There was a pause as the pitter-patter of raindrops hit the ground. 

“Is that Al Fakher—?”

—“Fucking hell—” Crocodile turned to face you fully, ripping his cigar from his lips as he threw his hook up in vexation. But even as he scowled at you, your expression didn’t change. “Do you not have any survival instinct? Any at all? For all you know, I could be a pirate here to pillage your village—”

“Oh, you most certainly are,” you hummed with a nod, and the singular action took Crocodile aback. 

His words stopped on his lips instantly as he scrutinized you, forehead knitted together as he took another drag of his cigar in contemplation. His weight shifted to his back leg, his scowl deepening by the second. 

“What makes you say that?” 

He noted your three-point glance. 

“You’re kidding, right?” 

Crocodile’s brows bounced on his forehead as he took another puff. He crossed his arms over his chest. He wore his usual heavy fur coat, which usually did the trick regarding light sprinkles. If it were any heavier, Crocodile might have braved the dismal downpour just a few feet ahead. 

The rain on this island came often, and when it rained, it poured. Although, the rain was typically unaccompanied by other characteristics of a storm. Lightning was absent from the grey clouds above, and thunder hardly rang out over the skies. It was all just rain.

“You’re an odd one, I’ll give you that,” Crocodile muttered. Smoke continued to take up the space under the canopy, dispersing into the muggy atmosphere. He had been weighing braving the downpour in the face of your talk, but the rushing water became less appealing as he puffed on his cigar. Crocodile eyed you from his peripheral. “You’re not scared or nothin’.”

It was equally a question as it was a musing.

“Oh… should I be?”

And just like that, the rain stopped. It dropped in one final sheet like someone switched off a lever. The pool of water on the ground slowly swirled into the sewer grates, and the clouds above remained grey and dark. 

“Yeah,” he answered, taking his cigar between his fingers. Crocodile’s hook glinted in the low light. “You should.” 

He turned to face you fully. His towering shadow engulfed you in the changing light. You stepped out onto the sidewalk, your head tilted upward and your palm extended as you checked for lingering sprinkles. And once the skies had been vetted for rain, you turned to look back at Crocodile with a cheeky smile.

“Why should I be scared when I have you to protect me?” 

The cigar nearly fell out of Crocodile’s mouth as you turned to walk down the road, your words only stalling him for a moment before he stormed after you. His long coat whipped in his wake. 

“Now, wait a goddamn minute,” he gruffed. You continued to make your way down the road. Crocodile walked closely, almost diagonally, behind you as he positioned himself in your peripheral. “I don’t play bodyguard, especially not to some random villager when my bounty—”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s very high,” you hummed, glancing at him briefly out of the corner of your eye. Crocodile scowled as he narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t like the way you said that…” His hand shot out to grab you by the back of your shirt, stopping you in your tracks with little resistance. Crocodile hasn’t expected to have to fight to still you, but you seemed to immediately stop the moment he grabbed you. That oddity alone was enough for him to recoil his touch slowly. 

You turned, pivoting slightly on your heel to meet his gaze.

“I wasn’t being sarcastic by any means. I can only imagine how powerful a pirate you must be,” you sighed, glancing off to the side in thought with a shrug before meeting his stare once more. “I don’t know anything about that kind of stuff, but even I can see that… But you don’t seem that bad.” 

And just like before, you began to walk off. Crocodile followed as you took a turn down a side street. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I suppose it means that I don’t think you seem like a, uh… bad guy, I guess?” You splashed through a puddle with your knee-high boots, paying no mind to the ankle, deep water as Crocodile stood on the significantly dryer sidewalk. He glowered as tiny droplets flew onto the ankle of his slacks. 

“You’d be wrong about that,” he huffed as you returned to the sidewalk, now walking next to him as you trailed water on the ground below. Your footsteps grew dryer as you went. 

“You’re gonna fight me about being a bad guy? Isn’t that a little cartoonish? Childish?” You walked up a flight of stairs with Crocodile following alongside you. For every two steps you had to make, Crocodile made one before you stopped at the landing.

Crocodile let out a boisterous laugh, paying little actual attention to you as he regarded you incredulously. 

“You’re one to talk!” 

“You can disagree, I guess. But I don’t think a bad guy would walk me all the way home,” you hummed, placing your key in the lock to your front door. 

You didn’t seem to bother even to catch Crocodile’s violent recoil. He jerked back, gaze immediately flying to the front of the building he found himself standing in front of. It was a modest stone front with identical ones sandwiched on either side. Each boasted a set of stone steps leading up to deep-green colored doors. Romantic street lamps illuminated the road below.

You opened the door, and before he knew it, you had one foot inside as you turned to Crocodile.

“Did you want to come in?”

“You’ve lost your mind.”

You turned back to the dark entrance hall, flicking on the light just inside the doorway with a shrug.

“Well, if you change your mind, just knock, I guess.” And before Crocodile could say a word, the door shut behind you, and the latch of the lock clicked firmly. 

Crocodile turned with a sigh, still trying to wrap his head around what just happened as he moved to take a step down the stone staircase. But in an ironic twist of fate, thunder cracked above, and the sheets of rain dropped from the clouds with force. No canopy could save him from the elements this time. Crocodile took one last puff of his cigar before the onslaught of raindrops put it out, leaving his hair soaked and water dropping off his nose. 

[lm-tomatito]

Espilver week day 1: Invisible

Satbk au (Espio is a dragon and a poet)

Big thanks to @seaweedraindraws for this au idea✨

Sir Lancelot sends his son, Galahad, to take down his first dragon, but the silvery knight wants to save this mysterious creature instead. He decides to go and warn them, which becomes a difficult task with how hard it is to find their cave. Fortunately, someone seems to be guiding him along the way. But who..?

All that was surrounding the youngest knight of the roundtable was nature. Tall trees and bushes painting the place with different shades of green and brown, some of their fallen leaves and the yellowish grass beneath him making a crunchy noise when his heavy boots stepped on them, birds chirping in the distance with the company of some bugs and the calming rustling of the wind against anything it touched… A beautiful scenery Galahad would've happily enjoyed if he wasn't in his current situation, holding the map with notes scribbled to the side his father gave him early in the morning.

“The day has come. You must finish your training today.” Sir Lancelot had said to him, a serious voice as usual tinged with a bit of eagerness only him and King Arthur were able to notice with ease. He knew his father was expecting him to accomplish his mission, he knew he could. He was correct, yes, the young knight had trained with him for a long time now.

But… Slaying a dragon? Lancelot was known for being the best at it, protecting the king and the people from them all the time. He had told him how dangerous dragons were since he was found as a small child.

And yet, he couldn't help but question why they had to do it. Surely there were nice dragons? What exactly made them so different from themselves? Was it just their large size and them being able to breathe fire?

Galahad sighed with a mix of worry and frustration. He knew his decision to warn and hopefully befriend this creature would disappoint his father, make him go mad even. He let out a soft little laugh. Lancelot could be very intimidating, he had experienced that, but just thinking about him showing a strong emotion like anger was still amusing to the light furred hedgehog.

His anxious expression rushed back to his face once that image was over. He wasn't even sure if he would be successful in his own mission. Because with the now tranquil ambience around him, a sign that the birds once lively chatting were now sleeping, and the orange and purple hues adorning the sky made him realize just how much time simply finding the cave the creature was seen at had been wasted. The sun slowly taking cover behind the mountains made things worse since, without the sunlight, reading his father's handwriting would be almost impossible, and he'd be forced to find a a place to rest.

He definitely didn't want to be vulnerable though. Not with the feeling of someone watching him.

The uneasy feeling of someone or something just staring at him had been present for a while now, a part of his mind focusing on finding where it came from while the rest of him was discussing his decision and how annoying the whole situation was being. But the knight couldn't find anything, not even with his full attention on it now. His frustration almost made him just shout to whatever was watching him when he noticed something on the ground.

A single red rose.

The hedgehog had almost stepped on it by accident. He kneeled down taking it in his hand, inspecting it with intrigue, alert in case it might be a trap. There was nothing though, it was just an innocent beautiful flower. As pretty as it was, it still unnerved him a bit. Why was this here? There weren't rose bushes, or a flower seller passing by, not even a rebellious young girl making rose arrangements at such late hours.

Nothing but an almost unnoticeable trail of rose petals. They were scattered in a way others would simply ignore it and not think of it as a path to follow. But he knew what it was, and quickly considered if he should follow it or not. Clearly someone was trying to get him to go this specific direction, but why? And who?

Without realizing it, he just started walking through the adorned ground, avoiding the delicate petals. For some reason, just thinking about accidentally stepping on them made him feel bad. If this was a trap or not, he didn't know, curiosity had already won in any case, and he didn't want to seem like an easily afraid or insecure knight to whoever was watching him.

After a while, he dropped his guard for a bit when he found himself in front of the cave he was supposedly trying to find. Did… Did someone guide him? Or was this actually a trap? He'd definitely think of the latter if the cave was dark, big, and intimidating. But that wasn't the case. Instead, the cave looked… Calm and inviting, like someone lived here. There was no sound, yet it felt lively, with nice plants adorning the outside next to what seemed like miniature trees. And there was the slight recognizable smell of tea.

Strange. Maybe he was mistaken? Why was he guided to someone's home?

“You have arrived at last.”

The young knight didn't want to admit how he almost let out an exclamation of surprise. He was hardly scared like that, him getting used to his father's teachings and the king's pranks, but the bizarre circumstances made him lower his guard.

Quickly composing himself, he looked behind him where he heard the hush and somewhat elegant voice. Looking at the other's attire only made him return to his confused state.

A poet. Here? Was he the one living in this place? He seemed so serene and proper, definitely because of the way he stood, relaxed but elegant, his bright colored scales contrasted with dark hued clothes and a long cape adorned with gold, expected from someone used to moving people with rhymes, agile words and songs. Why was he..?

A small cough brought him back from his thoughts. As calm as the other appeared to be, he could notice the reddish color in his cheeks and scales, realizing he had been admiring the poet for a while, which made the knight feel embarrassed too.

“I assume you are in search of the dragon. I apologize for the confusion. It's probable you thought of this as a trap.”

“It isn't?” The hedgehog asked bluntly and with a tinge of innocence. This surprised his current companion. Galahad secretly reprimanded himself and hoped the other didn't think of him as an inexperienced adventurer. The slight smile he gave to him made him feel calm again almost instantly.

“I assure you it is not. I simply wished for you to not get lost following the wrong path.” Seeing the puzzled face on the youngest one, the poet spoke again “The path you were following. I purposefully mislead others from finding me. Letting my home be known by everyone would be quite troublesome. You do not seem to have any intentions to cause harm, so I decided to aid you in your search. Would you perhaps be interested in enjoying some tea?”

With how amicable and peaceful the ambience felt around the poet, Galahad just nodded and followed the other inside. Just as he was about to enter the… House, he supposed he should refer to the place instead of calling it a cave, he understood the words the other had said before.

“Purposefully mislead… Your home… Are you..?” He stood in surprise, a rush of embarrassment invading him almost instantly. The poet simply smiled with amusement, a special glint in his yellow eyes. This knight was very endearing.

[lxvvie]

On today's episode of Simps-R-Us: A Guy and his... pet(s), or You, Your Faves, and your fur/feathered/fin-babies:

Capt. John Price - Standing ten toes down on this: Price would have two small, cute dogs, one named Sir Peabody and the other named Lady Marie. You two spoil them something fierce and they have a pile of little doggy hats that match their beloved papa's... much to his chagrin.

Gaz - Gaz said he'd surprise you and surprise you he did. He came home with a cockatoo. A damn cockatoo. Jokes on him, though, because your bird baby absolutely loves to prank the shit out of Gaz, too, by mimicking your voice when you're away and making him jump. Jokes on both of you now, because Soap has taught him how to curse and that's all he does now, Scottish accent and all. You have a picture saved of the bird (named Buttercup) on top of Gaz's head.

Alex Keller - Has the most gremlin Donskoy (named Brunswick) to ever gremlin, complete with the wide stormy eyes, which is funny because Keller can sometimes make a face that's very much gremlin-esque and the two greatly resemble each other. Can usually be found making biscuits on Alex's head.

Soap - Has a Labrador named Whiskey that he absolutely adores. Whiskey has also put you two in the most adorable of love triangles where you don't know whose affection you're playfully fighting for on any given day. Also has a tendency to take Soap's socks and he has to chase him throughout the house. Well, he and Whiskey are chasing each other throughout the house just about constantly.

Ghost - You guys talked about it but he surprised you one day by bringing home a Belgian Mal puppers who didn't make the unit. His name? Pup. Pup Riley. And Pup Riley is a ball of energy. Bloody hell. He always assumes he's going for a walk whenever you two make ready to leave. He also won't let Simon leave without him and so Simon usually has to create a diversion just to walk out the front door. It's also not uncommon for Pup to jump on his Papa whenever he gets home, too. Oh, did we also talk about the fact that Simon has to fight with Pup for his side of the bed whenever he's home or that Pup wakes him up early in the damn morning to take him out for his first walk of the day?

Roach - Found a stray kitten and brought her home. Her name's Oatmeal. Oatmeal is now the chonkiest, cutest loaf (you send Roach various pictures of her Loafiness). You two also bought her a set of those pet buttons just for shits and giggles and Oatmeal's really caught on to them. She uses "Dad", "Mad", and "Food" a lot even though she stays fed lmao.

Keegan - To everyone's surprise (and his own), has a husky named Balto who ignores the concept of personal space, loves to put his paw right in the middle of Keegan's face, and has pissed on Keegan's boots more than once because Balto felt slighted (you had to go to the groomer's, buddy, you rolled in mud). You and Keegan have also lost count of the number of times you've had to carry Balto into the house because he refuses to come inside, especially when it’s cold.

Alejandro - You two adopted a senior dog named Mojo who is the most peaceful little angel. Can usually be found lying near yours or Alejo's feet as you're working or something of that nature.

Rudy - You two have this huge ass tank full of fish that run the gamut of the rainbow and you remember all their names. The brooding one is named Alejandro and his namesake was not amused lmao.

König - You two have a small but floofy cat. She's black with a grey undercoat that he calls his "little Prinzessin" and she always looks like she's in a constant state of surprise. Whenever she blinks or closes her eyes, she becomes a floofy void. Her Highness prefers to be carried like a baby, thank you very much.

Phillip Graves - You two are the proud parents of a Bulldog named Bubba who thinks he has his humans trained (spoiler alert: he kinda does). Bubba Graves makes your day with the way he silently judges his parents, throws a tantrum when he doesn't get more food or pets, and usually has Philip sigh facetiously and go, "Now, son, why can't you behave for your old man, huh?"

[just-some-random-blogger]

Yeti

Cregan Stark x Martell!Reader

Summary: Cregan takes you hunting with him and, you get caught up in a snowstorm. Needless to say, the cold is a formidable adversary to your Dornish self.

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: fem!reader, wife!reader, mentions/depictions of violence/gore/horror, smut (pwp tbh, semi-public sex, breeding kink, cunninglingus, vaginal penetration, dirty talk, praise kink), cregan 'don't fuckin scare my wife' stark, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: haha head. no thoughts. only wolf hubbie. and ok just roll with the folklore i added just just Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx

"WHAT?" I quip, breath condensing with the cold air.

The men around me let out deep, hearty chuckles upon hearing my concerned exclamation. Cregan chuckles under his breath and shakes his head. The fire in the middle of our group crackles.

"Aye, I saw it with my own two eyes," the oldest of the men in the hunting party says, "twas the biggest beast I'd ever seen." He scratches his white beard. A shiver runs down my spine. It wasn't just because of the wind.

"Lord Stark," a voice calls from behind, "we've finished setting up the tent."

Cregan turns to the approaching men and nods, "very good. Thank you."

"When mi cousin went missing," I turn to the man by my right as he speaks, "mi aunt saw a seer to ask if they could get 'is body back if 'e was dead," he says, "and, by the gods, instead, that night, there was a loud screech and claw marks on the trees. In the end, they erected a stone for mi cousin without 'is body."

I shudder and wrap myself tighter into my coat.

"D'ya know the story about the headless, lady?"

My expression twists, along with my insides. I shake my head.

"Well," the man continues, "long story short, an entire heard of sheep slowly started losing their heads and there were large footprints that trailed off the farm every time it happened."

I clench my jaw, "... how horrible."

"Aye. Yetis feed messily. They say that if you find sheep organs in the snow, you ought to run cause a Yeti left that there."

Cregan rolls his eyes but then catches the way my face continues to contort.

"Didn't all of the sheep on that farm have their guts gushing out of their necks?"

"I think it also happened to the cows-"

"That's enough," Cregan shakes his head, leaning on his knees, "I will not hear another word of the kills of snow figments while we're out in the snow."

"But it's not a figment."

"Milord, you know that even your father had an encounter with the Yeti-"

"The Yeti kill mi dog-"

"Enough, I said!" Cregan blurts louder than the rest. He stands from his spot, and in turn, his cloak, which he had wrapped around me, is pulled off my body. He stills, having forgotten he'd done that, and looks down at me, reaching hand, "in the tent with you."

I do not take his hand. I instead grip my furs tighter as I slowly stand. He does not fault me for it, though he does let out a grunt.

The men share another laugh. They watch as I struggle to move from my spot, as I was practically twice my size with all of the layers I had on. Cregan had even given me his outer coat, leaving him one layer less, yet still, he was unfazed where I was practically rigid with frost.

"Poor Dornish cub," one of the men mutter.

Cregan presses his lips together and adjusts the woolen hat on me. He wipes the snowflakes off my lashes before placing a hand on the brown bear fur on my back, "waddle quicker then."

I do not snark back at his remark.

One crunch in the snow after the other, my boots finally take me to the tiny, makeshift tent.

Cregan reaches out to me again, making me look back at him with wide, inquisitive eyes. When I do nothing but stare, he mutters, "the coat, love."

I furrow my brows at him like he called bloody murder, "but I'm cold!"

Cregan blinks then shakes his head, "I'm only going to dust the snow off."

I shake my head and shudder, breath condensing in the air.

He purses his lips and grabs me not unlike a rag doll. I squeak and just let it happen. He brushes the snow off me, muttering something under his breath as he did, then guides me into the tent.

When he kneels down by the makeshift bed on the ground, he and takes off his cloak, "will you be sleeping with the whole wardrobe on you?"

I plop down next to him gracelessly and pant, "if you wish for me to survive through the night."

He draws out a deep breath. It looks as though smoke left his lungs. Cregan makes a pillow out of his cloak and motions to it.

I gratefully lie down, although with all the layers on me, the cloak-pillow was a bit too low. Still, I fluff it up and it suffices well enough.

"Will your men be alright outside?" I mutter as I gaze upon the blanket and fur tent they built.

He grunts as he stands, "there've been worse winters, sunshine." He then begins to walk off.

"Wait," I knit my brows, "where are you going?!"

Cregan turns back and places his hands on his hips, "I wouldn't want to intrude on you and your fur. There's barely enough room for the two of you."

"Cregan."

"Oh, Hush, hush," he waves his gloved hand and moves to close the tent's opening, "I'm keeping watch so my bear cub doesn't get eaten by a Yeti."

"That's not funny."

I hear the sound of his boots stomping away.

It was bad enough that I was shivering intermittently in my sleep, thus why I kept waking up, but then I had an awful nightmare about the gargantuan, white-furred snow monster. Now all I could do was pray to R'hllor that I remain strong enough to get through this storm.

I further solidify when I hear a deep cry from a distance.

... no... not a Yeti. That's simply my mind playing tricks on me.

And yet my heavy eyes are now wide open.

I roll on my back and sit down as I listen to the wisp of the storm, anticipating another shriek.

I sniffle and shudder as dread bubbles in my belly.

"I am not waiting for the Yeti to creep in my tent, gods no," I mutter to myself as I crawl out of my tent on all fours.

As I emerge out of the warm cocoon, I yelp when I look up and find myself faced with a snow covered man laid back on a tree truck. He looked as though he was dead. I let out louder yelp when I realize the man was Cregan.

I run to him, no longer caring that cold was seeping through my fur and quickly brush the snow off him. Because of this, Cregan groans and finds consciousness.

"W-"

"ARE YOU ALRIGHT?" I rub Cregan's face with my hands.

He scowls at me, "is it morning?"

"W-what?"

He groans as he sits up, "dammit, girl, I was sleeping."

"WELL HOW COULD I HAVE KNOWN THAT!" I quip, "you look like you were about to make friends with the Stranger."

Cregan grabs my arms as his face slowly contorts, "I'll have you know I am the vision of health, bride."

I let out a sound as he leans in and wraps his arms around me, bringing his face into my neck. The feel of his cold nose against my skin makes me gasp. He mumbles, "so warm."

"Cregan," I brush the building snow on him, "let's go into the tent."

And so we did. Or at least as much as the Stark lord could fit inside.

Once we were situated in the tent, I laid next to Cregan, who kept moving because of his legs that were sticking out. After a while, he began shifting me as well. He pulls me into his chest and claws my coat off, "away with these furs, dammit."

"Cregan, I'm cold."

My words and my attempts to keep myself warm are futile as my hulking husband rips the source of his ire off me, "I can warm you better."

"Cregan, please," I grab his hands when he tries to undo more of my clothes, "it's too cold for this."

I am wholly defenseless when he shifts on his knees and shoves me on my back. He situates himself between my legs and pulls his gloves off, "I'll leave you sweating."

I whimper when I feel cold begin to seep through as he pushes my skirts up, "Cregan-"

"Shh, shh, shh," he digs his finger into my hips, " 'm just going to warm my face. You felt how cold I was."

With a rip, my pants and smallclothes were down. The yelp that leaves me is repeated when I feel Cregan's frosty lips on me.

Cregan sinks down and throws my legs over his shoulders. At this point, his bottom half was sticking outside the tent. That, added to the sounds I was making through my glove-muffled mouth, made for the most obviously obscene act you would ever witness in the woods amidst a storm.

"Come now, pretty girl," he mutters between kisses, "no one will hear you through the wind."

I whimper when he swirls his tongue around my nub.

"And even if they do, they'll know to blame it on the Yeti."

True enough, I begin to grow warmer and warmer, and louder and louder.

"Mmm, fuck, Cregan," I reach down from him and dig my fingers into his hair, "I feel warmer now. So warm."

He hums against me, eliciting a moan from my lips. He sighs hotly on my core then nips at my thigh, "so sweet and soft, and all for me."

I whimper and arch against him as he continues to lap at my increasing wetness. I bite down on my lips as the sound of his feasting fills my ears.

"Cregan," I sigh as I pull on his roots, "need more."

He barely lifts his head and whispers against me, "not warm enough?" His one brow quirks.

"Need you inside me," I mutter, seeing my breath fog up in front of my face.

Cregan chuckles then sigh, "see, you woke me up," he retorts, rubbing his cheek against my thigh, "I'm going to need you to beg for forgiveness first."

I grunt when he sinks back down on me, "please, husband. Forgive me. I'm begging you. I need you."

Cregan chuckles louder, "how wanton, not even putting up a fight--"

"Please," I pull his hair again, "please."

He shakes his head, so very clearly meaning to rub me with his nose, "I'm enjoying this enough already."

"My love, please. I want you in me," I pant."

With that, he sinks down darts his tongue into my folds, making me squeal. He continues at it then makes me yelp when he grazes my flesh. He croons, "like that, pretty girl?"

I whine helplessly as he continues. I can practically feel his grin against me. I scrape his scalp with my fingers, "Cregan."

He chuckles and relents, lifting his head, "oh, what now?"

"I need your cock in my cunt."

He laughs then clicks his tongue, "my, my, Lady Stark. How uncouth. Is how they raise the ladies in Sunspear?"

I let out a whimper when the cold bites my exposed flesh after Cregan pulls away. He presses his fingers into my thighs, "what would you give me if I fucked you, wife?"

I answer exactly as I know he wants, "an heir."

He huffs heavily through his nose and gets on his knees, "just one?" He brings both my legs into one arm as his other works on undoing his trousers.

"As many as you want, my lord."

He hums and eventually frees himself. I sound leaves me when I feel how cold but hard he is, "good girl."

Our groans mix as he sinks into me and pushes my knees into my chest. I feel warm slick on him as he rubs into my chilled cheek. "Fuck. You're so cold," he mutters. He proceeds to pepper kisses all over my face, "let me take care of you."

I reach for his face and begin to grunt when he bucks into me. If it weren't for all of the clothes still on my back, I'd surely have my skin gashed by the end of this.

"Fucking gods," he growls against my temple, "so tight and hot."

He pushes his hands behind my knees and picks up the pace.

I throw my head back and helplessly whine as he slaps into me. He pushes down on me and pins me in place. He pants against my ear, "this warm enough for you?"

"Mmm, gods, yes-"

"Gonna fill you up. Burn my come into you. Make you carry my pups," he licks my skin then nips at me, "make you heavy with my seed. Put so many pretty babes into my pretty bride."

My fingers dig into his hair as his mouth trails down my neck. He asks, "you want that don't you?"

"Yes, wolf."

He gruffs and snaps his hips rough, "good. Good."

I grow warmer as he moves quicker. Soon enough both our bodies are warm to the touch. I peck his cheek and bask in the feel of him. At a point, his movements become erratic and aggressive.

"My pretty cunt. Mine, mine mine."

"Cregan-"

"Yes, darling. I'm here," he sighs, "fucking my pups into your soft belly and warming you up. Feels better than all those fucking pelts right? Warmer. Warmer. Warmer. So fucking warm."

I squeal as I feel myself get pushed on the edge.

"Come on, love, give it up to me."

I whine erratically.

"Come on, pretty girl. Milk my cock and take my cum. Fuck, just like that. Come on. Don't be difficult. Come on, my little-- oh, that's it."

Cregan's movements do not relent as I come undone and spasm beneath him. The knot inside me breaks into a thousand pieces and I'm sure if there was a Yeti out there, they'd be running the other way after hearing me.

A few moments later, he, himself, twitches and fucks all of the smug comments he meant to say out of his system.

His movements grow increasingly languid until he comes to a stop.

He breathes against my neck and finally releases his clutch on my legs. He adjusts his hold on my thighs and makes a cushion out of me, not that I mind. In fact as I catch my breath and wrap my legs around him, I warn in between breaths, "don't you dare pull away, Stark."

He presses his lips on the top of my head, "never, Stark."