#by hounds-of-love on ao3 i think

[dilfsuzanneyk]

thinking about that one fic where pat and the captain are teachers and they go on a field trip and they both speak french. thinking about the captain being a sort of malewife. thinking about how if he speaks both french and is a malewife then he is kind of like gomez addams. thinking about gomez's line where he says "you know what it does to me when you speak french" to morticia.

[pedgito]

𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐘 | Joel Miller x reader

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summary | you've got an issue and joel's willing to solve it. after all, what are neighbors for?

author's note | this was a prompt from a meet-weird thing i saw ages ago that was originally supposed to be javi, but jo (@undercoverpena) gave me the beautiful idea of making it joel and it spurred this monster.

content warning | established friendship, caught during sex, does the apocalypse having working appliances? probably not, but for the sake of this fic distend belief i beg. oral (eating out from the back), unprotected piv, subtly cocky!joel miller, he's a good ass neighbor, okay?, unbeta'd.

word count — 5.6k

Joel’s fixed this damn machine seven times, convincing himself every time that it was the last time. Shocker, it wasn’t. This time didn’t even last a month. He’s desperate now.

He would usually haul the load all the way to the communal laundry house closer to the group of joined townhomes that housed most of the younger adults—the spry and bright-faced ones who sprung up at the mention of patrol or work, any prospect of toting a gun around with any sense of leadership. They were eager, he couldn’t say the same for himself.

He was old, weathered—years of routine he had created to get the job done and get the hell home.

And truthfully, as he tapped the wrench against the metal machine, chin tucked into his palm as he scratched at his beard, he almost complied with the idea that he would just have to tough it out. Scrounging for parts was nearly impossible—dumb luck, really. In the past several years they’ve picked this town clean, bone-dry.

He’s elbow deep inside the barrel of the dryer when he hears the knock at his door, bumping his head against the rim of it as he exits and cursing under his breath as he pushes to stand, joints creaking and popping in disapproval. 

He can smell you before he sees you, the familiar scent of fresh-baked goods following you everywhere—Joel couldn’t feel guilt for being one of the folks addicted to your cooking. 

Grains had been hard to come by since the epidemic hit, everything was tainted on a global level. It took years and years of Jackson growing its own stock of wheat for things like pie or a nice, gooey cinnamon roll to even be plausible anymore. But, they were managing well so far.

“Saved ‘em for you and Ellie,” You tell him, a small plate of still hot brownies covered with parchment paper, dawning that trademark smile that Joel has come to love, tapping his fingers against the door frame as he passes the plate off to a quickly approaching Ellie.

“Girl’s got the nose of a basset hound,” Joel looks on in amused bewilderment as Ellie throws a mouth-stuffed thanks over her shoulder, “sorry ‘bout her.”

You wave her off whole-heartedly, taking in his sweaty appearance and casual attire. You were used to him in jeans and thick flannels, not a graphic tee and pair of sleep pants. He’s almost always dressed like he had to run at a moment's notice, you weren’t even sure he owned anything different until now.

“Everything good?” You question him, a small laugh escaping your throat.

“Damn washer and dryer is out again,” Joel explains, throwing a hand vaguely over his shoulder.

“Both of them this time?” You ask, “Damn.”

“I can fix ‘em, just a matter of finding the right parts,” Joel tells you, “ looks like I’m gonna have to hand wash again.”

Joel was a friend. You helped friends. It seemed like a no-brainer really, opening your mouth without thinking it through, the kindness tumbling out despite yourself.

“Oh, you’re welcome to load yours up at mine,” You offer and Joel looks immediately apprehensive, the southern charm and well-mannered tone gearing to creep up on you.

“Now, I don’t mean to make you feel like you have to—”

“Joel, I wouldn’t offer it if I didn’t feel comfortable with it,” You remind him, “seriously—anytime, just try and bring your own detergent—and for the love of god, empty your pockets before you put ‘em in.”

Joel chuckles tiredly at that, rolling his eyes as he nods in agreement.

“Got it, of course, sweetheart.”

“I leave an extra key under the rug, so if I’m ever not home just come in,” Given that Joel was Tommy’s brother, you knew he wouldn’t be up to any trouble, “sound good?”

“Yep. Anytime—just make myself at home.” Joel confirms and you nod with an even wider smile, waving a pleasant goodbye as you trailed down the stairs and made your way to the house you inhabited next door.

Right, anytime.

Unfortunately, Joel took that a little too literally.

-

Joel managed to scrounge up the courage a day later, tumbling into his house on tired legs after a lengthy patrol up at the cabin lookout, scooping the basket up in his arms and heading out his front door, taking the short walk to your house.

The lights were off, but that wasn’t unusual. Joel knew you liked to stay late nights in the town’s mess hall, often working on prep for the following morning to make the load a little lighter and sleep in a while longer, so when he fishes under the doormat for the key he thinks nothing of it.

And as the door swings open, it is still fairly quiet. Though, he can hear your own dryer running upstairs. He’s got the layout down too, having shared more than a few nightcaps with you. Friend to friend and nothing more, even if you had always felt a little more strongly toward being affectionate. A hug or a kiss on the cheek from time to time, he never pushed you away. Joel never seemed like the type of man who openly showed affection, even toward a friend. But, he was good, reliable–most of the time.

He reaches the stairs with trepidation as the sounds grow louder and part of him wonders if by some uncanny coincidence your dryer might be growling and rumbling on its own final leg. 

The moment his hand reaches that doorknob and turns he realizes he’s made a mistake.

He’s caught you at a…bad time. Head thrown back with your mouth hung wide, whatever noise you’re making was mostly drowned out by the nagging sound of the dryer as it tore through the spin cycle but he hears the tailend of it, a soft moan of pleasure from the man who’s buried inside of you right now, both of you naked from the waist down but your breasts on full display with your shirt tucked under your neck.

“Benny?” Joel asks, slightly amused.

You lift your head at the sound and spot him, your feet nearly slipping out from under you as you scramble to push Benny away, who perks with an even more perplexed, “Joel?”

“Goddamn it, Joel,” You curse behind gritted teeth, furiously readjusting yourself, pulling your sweats back on and over your ass and your shirt down, “What are you doing here?”

Joel looks down at the basket still clinging to his hip before back up at you, wordlessly.

You sigh through your nose with a tight lipped frown, cheeks puffing out as you brushed your fingers through your hair and down—Benny was still scrambling to redress behind you, unable to pull his gaze away from Joel.

“Benny?” Joel mouths at you quietly, eyebrows raised curiously.

You walk toward the now open door slowly as Benny buttons his pants and you shoot Joel daggers with your stern gaze.

Cut it out.

Joel smirks slightly, cheek dimpling with the action as he side-steps Benny, who leans around you and kisses your cheek—it was a kind gesture but given the situation, in horrible taste. You force a polite smile and once Benny is a far enough distance you hit Joel firmly in the arm as he passes by you and into the laundry room.

You walk Benny to the door with a million thoughts racing through your head, offering a distracted goodbye before you’re locking the door and racing back upstairs with determined footsteps and Joel has already loaded his clothes in the washer, turning the knob to set the load size and time.

“Benny?” He echoes his earlier questions, “Really?”

“What? Are you judging me?”

“No—just, that kid’s had quite an obsession with you for some time now. Just…surprised is all.”

Your lips pull together in a disapproving but nonchalant frown, taking his words for the bullshit they are.

“When I said anytime that did not extend to the middle of the night, Joel.”

“You’re usually still at work,” He supplies—and really, he’s not wrong, “M’sorry. I mean that.”

“Well, now I’ve gotta deal with the fact you’ve seen me naked,” You cross your arms over your chest and lean against the doorframe and Joel’s eyes track you for a moment, smiling with amusement at the thought.

“What? You want a fair trade?” Joel teases, “‘Cause, darlin’. I don’t mind—but it was an accident. Besides, ain’t nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”

He means it in a broader sense, but you can’t help the eye roll it induces. 

“No, no,” You chew at your bottom lip, watching Joel place the empty basket on top of the washer, “I can finish that up if you want to get some sleep. I know you had a long patrol today.”

“Oh, did you?”

He’s teasing you.

“Don’t push it, old man,” Joel shakes his head at that jab and chuckles, “Ellie clued me in when she picked up some sandwiches for her and Dina earlier.

He’s not going to pass on the offer, though. He nods, rubbing a hand over his tired face.

“Jesus—just…Benny?” Joel reiterates again, “Didn’t think the kid had it in ‘em.”

“Out,” You say with an over-pronunciation as you drag his slow and progressive steps further out of your laundry room and into the hall, “or you’re off my dessert list for a month, Miller.”

Joel smiles at you knowingly, “You wouldn’t dare,” He retorts, knowing you too well.

You wouldn’t make him suffer like that. Or Ellie, who wouldn’t hesitate to murder Joel if he robbed her of that pleasure. Not literally…but, she would carry a few choice words for him.

“Seriously, though, thank you,” He nods, leaning down to press a kiss into the crown of your head—an often familiar gesture when you parted after a long night of nonsensical talk and a couple glasses of wine or whiskey, depending on how hard the day had been, “I appreciate it, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, yeah—”

“And I do apologize for…not knocking and showin’ up at such a weird time.”

You shrug, “You’re forgiven. Just…don’t give Benny a hard time. He’s a good guy.”

“You’ve got my word, darlin’.”

Joel was determined to be on his best behavior, clearly.

-

It takes Joel a couple weeks to find the parts he needs and luckily there are no more run-ins on your midnight sex-scapades, still feeling the embarrassment from the first one. Joel doesn’t even seem to remember it after a couple days, thankfully. He was bypassing it for your own benefit, truthfully. And you knew that.

Selfishly, you're glad to have your appliances back to yourself. 

They’re good, solid, reliable—until they aren’t.

Your washer shits itself mid-load and you can hear it from downstairs. A loud screeching noise before an even louder pop that has you groaning loudly because you know. You can feel it.

You can’t even bring yourself to go check, peering through the window of your kitchen and catching a fresh pot of coffee in the house across from yours, a man coming into view and his stark white shirt contrasting the black coffee cup in his hands. He catches you out of the corner of his eye and looks at you with a quizzical amusement, smile tugging at his face.

Joel was always up before the sun rose, so with the sun just creeping into the sky you’re sure that’s his third or fourth cup of coffee. He reaches over his sink and fiddles with the latch on his window before heaving it up, watching as you struggled to do that same but eventually managed.

“You run outta coffee again?” He asks, sipping at the bitter, black coffee in his mug.

“No,” You reply quickly, slightly exasperated as you chew at your bottom lip, debating how to pop the question and feeling nervous under Joel’s intense gaze, curiously wondering if he’s still picturing you naked. He’s never explicitly mentioned it since, but you have caught him in the act.

Wandering eyes, gazes catching when your back is turned for half a second as you bend down or move in a way that exposes too much skin.

“My washer broke,” You cut to the chase and Joel chuckles at how comical it is, in hindsight.

Was this karma? It was definitely karma. 

You’ve never asked Joel for anything—despite your often bouts of kindness toward him you never expected anything in return, not even a favor.

“Doors open,” Joel nods toward his front door out of view, an invitation like you offered him.

You didn’t even hesitate, pushing the window close and bounding up the stairs.

-

You’re already loading your things into his washer before he appears around the corner, peeking his head in, coffee cup still in hand as he takes a few more steps and leans against the wall beside the washing machine and your eyes glance at him briefly before you continue moving the clothes, watching him watch you from behind the rim of his mug.

“I can start them and come back,” You tell him, “so I won’t be lingering around here all day.”

“No Benny?”

You stand up as you close the washer, deadpan stare pointed in his direction.

“You can be such a nosy neighbor, you know that?”

Joel shrugs, a smug smile covered behind his sip of coffee.

“It was just a few times. Besides he’s…too much for me.”

You turn the dial to start the load and it rumbles to life with a simple press of a button.

“You wanna talk about it?”

It wasn’t completely unnatural for you two—you knew quite a bit about Joel now: his life before, his work, his daughter…all things that come with trust and time. He’s waited patiently for you and you’ve given him peeks into your life, but nothing like this.

“It’s a long story, Joel.”

“Got time,” He smiles slightly, “I’ll go grab you a cup of coffee—sit down.”

You look around briefly, not a chair in sight. So, you raise yourself up just enough that you can slide your ass over the top of the washer, bare feet dangling off the floor and you wait, the subtle and quiet shake from the beginning of the load process keeping the awkward silence at bay.

Joel turns the corner a few minutes later with your cup, made up just to your liking and you nod with a gentle smile, taking the cup from his hand and allowing yourself a few generous sips.

“So—that night, you caught us,” You can laugh at the instances now, so you do in a soft, clipped manner, “it wasn’t the first—it had been a month by that point and he just caught me by surprise, showed up that night and things just got a little out of hand.”

Joel’s eyebrows raise in interest but he urges you to continue, leaning against the wall in front of you now, resting his mug on the shelf just above his head as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“He’s a good guy, don’t get me wrong—but I don’t do serious…I can’t, now with how things are. And I know a lot of people think the opposite, seize the moment and all that shit,” You sigh, a deep and heavy sound that expands and releases from your chest, “he was already talking about moving in, the idea of us having kids—so that night I just tried to distract him.”

“With sex? Seems a little…counter-productive, don’t you think?”

“Don’t judge me, Joel,” You warn him but it’s edged with a playfulness that Joel recognizes. You didn’t have a mean, deceptive bone in your body and Joel knew that from the first conversation he had with you.

“I needed him to shut up,” You groan at the thought of the conversation as it replays in your mind, “I’m trying to wash my clothes, he’s talking to me about babies. I do not want kids, Joel. Ever. At least none that are biologically mine. Who would want to bring a kid into this world?”

Well…Tommy. The thought comes to you after the words have already left your mouth and your heart sinks into your stomach, looking at Joel apologetically.

“Sweetheart, don’t even try to apologize. Ain’t nothing wrong with it.”

“It makes me sound horrible, I know but—”

“I’ve done my time—it’s none of my business how others choose to live. Besides, I’m pushing sixty, I don’t have to worry about all that…sorry, I’m not trying to be crude here.”

You nod knowingly with a smirk tugging at your lips, taking another sip of coffee before handing the mug off for him to place it next to his own, ready to slide off of the washer before Joel interjects with another question that catches you off guard.

“He treat you right, at least?”

You tilt your head with that same knowing smirk, pushing Joel away at his hip with your foot as he leans up from his position against the wall—Joel’s never flirted, always promptly skirted around the issue and went about it more gentlemanly. He’s not abrasive and straightforward like most of the men in Jackson, but damn did he know how to make you feel special.

Undivided attention, constant subtle compliments, giving up some much-needed sleep for a simple late night drink with you—part of you was too terrified to make your own move and make it clear just how badly you wanted just a small taste of him.

You’ve heard whispering, minimal talk from a few of the women in town. Joel didn’t often make his rounds but when he did, he left an impression. And you had every right to be jealous, because with him standing in front of you now—you knew it would be easy to say no and he would fix you right up, finally crossing that line that he’s been carefully dancing around for a few years.

“He’s a bit…timid,” You shrug, “and he doesn’t really…”

The air lingers and the side of Joel’s mouth pulls up—you don’t have to say it.

“Joel, don’t do that,” You shove at his shoulder as he approaches you, his hands pressing into the contraption you’re on, curled around the metal, “—he’s just…eager, but not in a good way.”

There’s a glint in Joel’s eye that leads you to believe he’s not thinking about Benny’s less than experienced sex life, feeling the sudden jitteriness from the coffee as your chest rises with a deep, shaky breath and Joel eyes the time over your shoulder.

Forty-five minutes and some change, plus the time to dry because Joel already knows you aren’t going to trouble yourself with walking the damp laundry through this cold, muggy weather.

“So, no then?” Joel asks.

He could have treated you better, sure. But, he wasn’t the worst.

But, the way Joel is staring at you knows makes everything and everyone dull in comparison.

You shake your head in agreement, chewing at the inside of your bottom lip as your hands fall to your lap, his hands ncreasingly closer to the tights covering your legs, suddenly feeling his thumb graze your hip. You both glance down at the action and your breathing halts, watching as his right hand slowly engulfs your thigh, fingers digging into the soft material and dimpling your skin underneath, his thumb only a few centimeters from dipping into the inside of your thigh.

They part on their own, welcoming Joel in wordlessly and his left hand echoes the other. His face is level with your own, staring down at your lips briefly before meeting your eyes and you’ve seen that look before—the adoration when he thought you weren’t watching, secretly you had become good at catching those glances, but Joel wasn’t trying to hide it now.

And it quickly dawns on you in the moment—he was jealous. Of Benny. Or really, any man that had come before him. But, he was using him as the scapegoat.

Honestly, you couldn’t even care.

“You want someone to treat you right?” He speaks softly and if you weren’t so close you wouldn’t have heard him, “I got you, sweetheart. I swear.”

He’s not looking at you anymore, eyes dragging down the bridge of your nose to your lips again. But, you are looking at him, flooded with that tricky feeling that creeps up on you when you want things you know you shouldn’t.

“Joel, I told you—I don’t do serious,” And you hold your breath for the response, wondering if that would send this moment crumbling to dust, but Joel doesn’t miss a step.

“Good for you,” Joel dotes, “neither do I.”

Then he’s on you, the press of his lips in a heated kiss sends you tumbling back, caught by the warm slide of his palm over your back to pull you in, throwing your arms over his shoulders as he pulls back briefly, just enough for you to open your mouth to speak, but his tongue finds its way inside and the words fade away.

Just friendly, my ass—you think.

If you had known he kissed like this—you would’ve jumped at the opportunity months ago; a night spent drinking too many glasses of wine and laughing over some movie far before your time, but not his. 

He was so entranced, giving you all the details, but you couldn’t help giggling over it, too touchy to be considered friendly.

You’d both cut it short quickly when Ellie popped in halfway through the movie, and beyond that, it never grew.

Until now.

“Sweet,” Joel notes with a subtle smile, his hand dwarfing the size of your neck as his fingers wrapped around the column of your throat, holding you firmly in place as he maneuvered you toward and away from the kiss as he pleased, swallowing every tiny moan that escaped your lips when his other hand squeezed at your thigh just a little too hard.

“All that sugar,” In your coffee, the taste lingering on your lips and he licks around them teasingly, pulling away briefly to look at you, your eyebrows raising in question as the gears turn in his head, “—you still with me?”

“I’m just wonderin’ if you’re okay with this,” Joel speaks candidly, his eyes trained on his thumb as it rubs against the middle of your throat, traveling up under your chin and tipping your head up slightly, watching as you swallowed, “before I take this further, jus’ need to know.”

You nod jerkily, not even a second of hesitation. 

“You would have known the moment you kissed me, Joel.”

In turn, Joel nods slowly before he speaks, stealing the air from your chest.

“Alright then, pull these down for me,” He tugs gently at the material clinging to your thighs before both of his hands find the spot behind your knees and tug until your feet hit the floor, “and push that pretty little ass out for me.”

The absurdity of this language on his tongue makes you giggle but abide in an instant, struggling slightly as the material bunches at your ankles and Joel helps you the rest of the way, tossing your pants aside before he’s kneeling despite how his body protests, too eager to give you a taste of the pleasure you deserve and he’s grabbing the cheeks of your ass and squeezing them between his hands before he’s leaning up to bite playful at the soft flesh.

He groans quietly against your skin, the press of his aquiline nose against your ass as his fingers fold around the string of your underwear and pull, dropping them down to your ankles and off and then his tongue is flat against the seam of your cunt, gasping as you fall forward and your own fingers clawing against nothing.

“Joel!” You squeak out as his fingers dig hard into your ass, forcing you up on your tiptoes as devours, licking into your cunt as it quivers around his tongue. 

Your hand pressed against the wall in front of you to keep your chest from hitting the washer, feeling your pussy tighten around the finger that enters alongside his expert tongue, a soft groan erupting out of him from behind you. That smug motherfucker was attempting a teasing huh under his breath as he busied himself with the task of eating you out from the back and you couldn’t even think straight. 

‘C’mon, baby,” He coos between his alternating licks and slurps of the heady slick that dripped from your cunt, “come all over my mouth, let me taste that sugar.”

It’s absurd, the way he’s speaking to you now. Your eyes squeeze shut as his thumb finds your clit amongst the chaos of his tongue and fingers, face heating up at how noisy your cunt sounded over the dull shake of the washer and Joel’s satisfied moans, occasionally massaging at the back of your thigh when your legs shake with the creeping feeling of your impending orgasm.

“Oh,” You squeal, reaching behind you to dig your fingers into his hair, panting out in desperation, “—fuck, don’t stop! Joel, right—right there,” and then glance you take back at him, his eyes peeking open from his position below, on his knees and dutiful to you and you alone, well…

It sends you tumbling over the edge as his thumb rubs over your clit quickly, soothing you through the aftermath as he laps up the mess you’ve made all over yourself, dragging his tongue along the inside of your thigh because if you knew anything about Joel, he didn’t waste a meal. 

And you were just about the finest he’s tasted.

You clear your throat as you rest your feet flat on the floor, feeling the faint quake in your legs as Joel rises slowly, forcing you to swallow down a giggle as he winces and he can see it on your face.

“Worth it,” He excuses himself, “don’t look at me like that.”

“No old man jokes?” You sound sad and Joel can’t believe it.

He shakes his head.

But, the smile that breaks out on your face quickly diminishes any comeback he has.

You begin to push him away with a hand gripped in his shirt, carefully avoiding the obvious bulge in his sweats as you reach for your tights, ready to redress and drop to your own knees as a favor but his fingers are wrapping around your wrist, pulling your attention back to him.

“I meant it,” Joel tells you, tilting his head to catch your gaze.

You smile wide and tilt your head to mirror him, “I think you proved your point—Benny is a pathetic man who doesn’t know how to make me come, blah blah…”

“My job ain’t done if you’re still thinkin’ about him, darlin’.”

His eyebrows raise in challenge.

Okay, you’re game.

Wordlessly you allow the hands at your hip that guide you toward the front of the joined appliances, his fingers sliding under your top until you get the hint to pull it off, your breasts bouncing free from the shirt—the few bras you had were already in the wash, big deal.

Joel chuckles and stops for a moment, admiring the sight of your breasts for the second time that month, albeit more openly this time. He reaches forward and rubs his thumb along your nipple, watching the nub harden under his touch and you bite at your bottom lip, eye fluttering closed at how sensitive they were to touch, something other men never took the time to notice.

“You like that?” Joel asks with a creeping grin.

You nod, watching as he squeezed your tits in his hands, showing your nipples ample attention as he circled them with his thumb before leaning down slightly and swiping his tongue over the hardened nubs, sucking your breast into his mouth and his eyes peer up, gauging your reaction which quickly developed from a soft giggle to a loud moan.

“Clothes,” You breath out, “off—if you still have a point to prove.”

A point that you wanted proven. Hard.

Joel pulls away and yanks his shirt over his head, allowing you an unobscured view of the mix of muscled shoulders and his softened stomach, running your hand over the patch of hair at the center of his chest and down, right along his hips until his own fingers hook around the fabric and pull his sweats and boxers down in one motion, his cock catching against the edge of his waistband before it bobs back up toward his stomach.

You find yourself smiling despite yourself, forgetting for a moment that Joel was standing there and watching you, feeling your mouth water at the sight of him hard and leaking at how just getting a small taste of you had turned him on that much, precum leaking slowly from the tip and he wraps his hand around himself, other hand tapping at your chin to drag your attention back up to his face, reminding you he was still there.

“Got somethin’ on your mind, sweetheart?”

You shake your head furiously, “No, no—no, nothing. Just, uh—”

“I’ll start slow,” He tells you and with the size of him, thick and girthy in ways you’ve only imagined or pictured in your head, it’s daunting, “are you still alright with all of this?”

Your face softens and you nod, appreciating the repeated check-ins, the need for confirmation, but it pulls at your heart as you wonder why he feels the need to ask so much. As if he was fearful you would change your mind on a dime—Joel was fine with that, but he was more worried about the change in dynamic. Thankfully, you were determined for that not to be the case.

“I’m pretty tough,” You shrug, a playful smile gracing your face.

Joel nods absently as his fingers drag along your waist before catching behind your knee and pulling it up over his hip, both of your eyes dragging down to his cock as he tugged at himself a few times, his brow furrowed as he spread your lips apart with the head, dipping his hips down slightly to catch against your hole before he pushes in slow, one solid stroke that steals the sound from your throat and transfers to his own. Joel groans out softly as he pushes into you, his hands gravitating toward your face and wrapping around the sides of your neck, tilting your head back to mouth at your skin, his tongue dragging along your collarbone before sucking and nipping gently at your skin.

“Don’t I know it,” Joel responds after a while, “find something to hold onto.”

Your soft giggle of excitement shoots down to your core and your fingers wrap around the edges of the washer and Joel pulls back swiftly before he’s snapping his hips back into you before repeating the process several times, the jolt of the machine hitting the concrete wall behind you drowned out by your loud moans, quickly swallowed up by Joel’s lips as he pulls your mouth to his, breathing into it with every sharp snap of his hips.

“Harder,” You beg, biting at his bottom lip as he groans, using his fingers intertwined into the hair at the nape of your neck now to pull your head back and he pulls his hips back quick, bottoming himself out inside of you so forcefully you feel like your legs might give out, his cock rubbing against your already too sensitive g-spot and continuously finding a way to bring you closer and closer to the edge, “fuck��yes, yes. Joel, oh my god—”

“Yeah,” Joel goads you, his eyes drawn closed as he tries to keep his own orgasm at bay, “give it to me, baby—wanna watch you make a mess on my cock, alright?”

Easy, you laugh airily and feel the instinctive squeeze of your walls around Joel’s cock as he pulls your face to his, foreheads pressed against each other as he angles his hips back and slams into you one last time before you come undone, head falling back in a similar position to how he caught you a few weeks ago, this time for him. 

Your grab for his shoulders suddenly, blunt fingernails digging into his skin and he takes a few harsh breaths through his nose before he’s pulling out, hand grasping his cock as he jerked himself a few seconds before he comes in thick, short spurts against your stomach, squeezing at the head of his cock as he drags it through the mess he’s made.

His expression is nothing short of mesmerizing, mouth hung open just enough that his tongue can drag over his bottom lip before his teeth are taking its place, eyes drawn to your skin.

Wordlessly, he pulls away on his own pair of shaky legs as he reaches for his wrinkled, worn shirt and brings it to your stomach, cleaning up the mess with a faint smile on his face.

“You know, I think it might take me a bit to fix my washer,” You tease, “so—I might be over here bothering you for a while.”

Joel peers up at you, his head still tucked down as he wiped at your stomach.

“Fine with me.”

Then he’s peering over your shoulder, watching as the washer time inched toward zero, dinging behind you. You turn around, letting your leg fall from his hip finally, ass brush against him in the process and Joel can’t help the way his eyes refuse to leave the sight of it.

Only feeling slightly guilty when you catch him this time, not giving him the pass you usually do.

“We’ve still got about an hour left if I dry them here,” You tell him, “anything else you wanna prove?”

Joel’s tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek, eyes dragging up toward the upper level of his house before flicking back toward you, a smile plastered on your face.

“I can think of a few things.”

divider creds: @/cafekitsune

[spookyrea]

... Though I'm Not That Flexible

(part 2 following You Can Wrap Me 'Round Your Finger)

You prepare to tell Loki you love him. Much to his embarrassment, Loki has to tell you something, too.

(aka - frost giant biology is weird and Loki has to suffer the consequences) (and you're kinda into it) (oops)

Chapter 2 / 2 -- read it on AO3 here

Word count: ~9k

Warnings: 18+ !! fem reader; courtship/nesting behaviour, smut (and I mean... smut)

You watched Steve haul himself into the boxing ring, internally groaning at the thought of going toe-to-toe with the Man with a Plan himself. 

Loki hovered at your shoulder looking decidedly out of place in a button-down and trousers; he was off the training roster for the week after Bucky had benched him for his ‘poor attitude’. The only people currently brave (or stupid) enough to spar with him were Steve and Thor, the latter of whom was banned from sparring with Loki indoors because of, to quote Pepper, the 'Thor-And-Loki Event' in June.

Privately, you agreed with Bucky’s assessment – Loki had been acting strange lately. Clingy, extra affectionate but equally as moody. Any time you tried to pry you were met with the same response – that Loki was “fine” and “had complete control” over the situation.

Sometimes the best option with Loki was to let him come to you. His desire for absolute control was multi-faceted, but it usually worked out best if he could ask for help and feel like he had an explanation as to why. You knew from experience that hounding him could dig up raw insecurities about worth and ability. So - you made the most of it; if Loki was going to be clingy, he could at least be useful and clingy. 

“Hold these, please.” You pushed your towel and water bottle into his hand. Loki accepted them with only minor complaint, tucking them under his arm to make room for everything else you were sure to pile onto him.

Steve rattled the ropes fencing him inside the boxing ring. “Come on, soldier. Don’t keep an old man waiting.”

Loki stretched to hide his sparkling fingertips; you knew his seidr well enough by now to recognize how Steve’s shoelaces unraveled with a mind of their own.

With his arms raised like that, there was no denying Loki’s ‘growth-spurt’ – the buttons on his shirt strained to stay in their buttonholes, gaping a little across his chest. You fought back a grin, watching a young intern (definitely part of Tony’s university pipeline program) spill water down her front while admiring the pull of yet another too-small shirt. A few of her friends giggled, their faces downcast but their gazes teasing, peering up through their eyelashes every few seconds.

“What?” Loki glanced over his shoulder in the direction you were looking.

“Nothing. Some kids are staring at you, that’s all.” You honestly weren’t offended - you remembered what it was like to want Loki from afar, and you weren’t blind. You knew passersby were going to gawk and shoot him longing stares. Loki, however, seemed uncharacteristically upset. His eyes narrowed, upper lip curled slightly in dissatisfaction, and he turned back to you with his shoulders drawn taut. He hooked his fingers in the pocket of your hoodie – Loki’s hoodie, actually, since yours seemed to have mysteriously disappeared – and tugged you into his chest, pressing a firm, dry kiss to your mouth.

You blinked dazedly at him once he’d slunk back. “Is this one of those ‘obviously not interested’ moments?”

He shrugged. “Something like that.”

“People stare all the time. It’s nothing new.”

“I know.” A pretty pink blush was creeping up his cheeks, warming his pale complexion. “I just thought it pertinent to make my intentions crystal clear.” Then, after a beat- “Do you think anyone would notice if I locked the changing room doors and had my way with you?”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course they would. Now– help me up. I have a senior citizen to cream.”

If anyone was getting creamed, it was you.

You circled the boxing ring on shaky feet, watching Steve round on you with that quiet cockiness of his. He flicked his stupidly perfect bangs out of his stupidly beautiful eyes and mimed a one-two punch combo while you considered giving into the universe and letting your limbs turn to oatmeal. Bucky sat in a folding chair on the sidelines, picking your scrimmage apart with his stupidly brilliant and equally beautiful eyes.

You hated them.

Bucky picked up on details you would never have noticed – your uneven stance, the angle of your elbow when you raised your fists – and, while helpful on paper, it only served to raise your blood pressure by a few degrees. Not helped by the fact that Bucky seemed to know what moves Steve was going to make before he did, so could comment on your form before you’d even finished a move.

PAL whistled encouragement when you just barely blocked a left hook. Tony had set him in Bucky’s lap so he could watch you and Steve train. (“He’s so little. He can’t see over anything.”) At least PAL liked you, even if he was out for blood.

“I agree with the pest, darling. You should wring his neck,” Loki offered from the sidelines. He leant his head on his forearms where they were draped over the ropes, his bored expression betrayed only by the way his brow furrowed whenever Steve got too close to landing a hit.

(You were admittedly not very good at hand-to-hand combat. As a telekinetic, your fists were usually a last resort in the field.)

“This would all be so much easier if you stopped - hey! - swinging so much.” You swept the back of your hand across your eyes, hoping to clear the sweat pouring into them. “Also, has your stuff been going missing lately?”

“Kind of defeats the whole purpose of combat training.” Steve frowned, then threw his body weight into a kick to your chest, which you only barely dodged. He stumbled but quickly corrected, spinning to catch your right hook effortlessly. “But no, nothing’s gone missing lately. Well, my veggie straws have been disappearing but I buy those because Bucky insists he doesn’t like them and then sneaks them from my cupboard. Has he been breaking into yours too?”

You squirmed, planting your feet and leveraging your upper body to try and pry out of his hold. Unfortunately for you, Steve was two hundred and seventy pounds of solid steel pretending to be flesh, so you might as well have been a leaf trapped under a fourteen-wheeler. “No. My pillows keep disappearing.”

Your feet briefly left the ground when Steve lifted you by the wrists. He dumped you unceremoniously on the padded floor of the boxing ring and proceeded to loom over you, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and fatherly rage. “Someone’s been perving on you?”

You pushed yourself upright, wincing when you felt your muscles protest the movement. “I don’t know!”

“Weird. Maybe you have a secret admirer. Loki!” Steve mimed an elbow drop but pulled his weight at the last second; he rolled to the side and sprawled out, all six-feet-four-inches of him laid out next to you without having broken a sweat. “Keep an eye on your girl, ya’ hear?”

Loki visibly preened at the idea of you being his girl. You felt a whisper of seidr across your cheek, a sparkling green kiss so fleeting it could have been a trick.

Steve squinted up at him from the floor of the boxing ring. “Are you bigger?”

“You’ve gotta start throwing punches, kid.” Bucky interrupted from the sidelines. PAL bobbed his head in agreement. “Look, I was just like you. A sharp shooter–”

“I’m telekinetic.”

“My point still stands. I did all my best work from a hundred yards away. But sometimes, in the field, you’re gonna have some guy get in your space and wail on you, and I need to know you won’t just fold like a deck of cards when that happens.”

“I’m sorry I’m not built like a tank, Bucky.” You swiped the edge of your shirt over your forehead, grimacing when the already-wet material slid over your damp brow. 

“I’m not saying you have to put on a hundred pounds of muscle. Just-” Bucky slipped under the rope and into your personal space, rounding on you from behind to wrap his flesh arm around your throat. His other hand shot out and circled your wrist, holding it at an awkward angle so that your muscles locked uncomfortably. “Just play dirty. If I get this close, I will kill you. So what are you going to do about it?”

You hissed, jerking under his metal hand. “Ow, Bucky, I get it–”

It took all three of you a moment to register that the noise rumbling through the air was coming from Loki. The fluorescents overhead flickered in waves, darkness ebbing and flowing from a point above Loki’s head. They buzzed and crackled unnaturally with displeasure. Bucky’s arms dropped away to put a bit of space between your bodies. Loki’s eyebrows drew tight in the middle, a scowl twisting his pretty face.

“Hey, My Chemical Mischief,” Tony yelled from across the gym. “Cool it with the dick measuring contest, will you? We get it, she’s a kept woman - I don’t think Barnes wants any of that.”

Thor laughed. Racking his barbells, he straddled his padded bench and flicked sparks of electricity from his fingertips, a strange side-effect that manifested whenever he strained himself. He taunted something to Loki in their mother tongue and the effect was instantaneous; Loki gaped at his brother, his growling cut short, and hurled something – an insult? – back. 

With a few words they reduced the other to adolescents. Though none of you mortals could even hope to dissect their twisting language, it was clear that the two of them were rehashing centuries of arguments all at once.

Loki reeled back when Thor, his nose tilted to the ceiling, punctuated a sentence with a nod in your direction. “You will do nothing of the sort,” Loki snapped in English.

“Loki.” Exasperation dripped from Thor’s tone, mingling with the kind of joy that came from lecturing a younger sibling. He folded his arms and shot Loki a smarmy do-as-I-say glare. ”This is only going to end in disaster.”

Loki’s jaw snapped shut with a click. His pinched expression seemed to push Thor to hysterics. Thor goaded him on, wagging a callused finger; Loki’s hand fisted at his side as he moved to strangle his brother.

They must have been terrible pests on Asgard.

In English, Thor continued: “I have never been happier that you were adopted. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. You’re preening. ”

Loki crossed the gym in a few long strides, a veritable storm cloud brewing over his head. The air crackled, ozone heavy in the air; the difference in pressure caused the open changing room door to slam shut, as if a draft had kicked up. Tony hopped to his feet, pointing between the two brothers. “Nuh uh. You guys take it outside. I am filled with too much scrap metal for you two to be throwing thunderstorms around inside. Again. ”

Loki grabbed his brother by the scruff of his neck. Thor stumbled, still laughing, and tucked his shoulder into Loki’s chest as if to throw him over it. Loki hissed something unintelligible - Tony hollered something unrepeatable - and then the two brothers blinked out of sight in a flash of bright green.

You ran into them in the lobby on your way back from the corner store that evening. Both of them were soaking wet, their plainclothes plastered to their skin. Loki brushed by you with a stormy expression, anger rolling off of him in palpable waves; Thor followed a few feet behind, decidedly more jovial. Loki called over his shoulder: “do not say anything, Thor. I’m handling this.”

They left a trail of rainwater in their wake, their shoes squeaking across the marble floor. Thor clapped you on the shoulder as you passed and, through the widest grin you’d ever seen, said: “my darling friend – make sure you use protection.”

A flash of green sizzled across Thor’s knuckles; he yanked his hand away with a shout, raising his hand to examine a line of fresh, pink welts. Loki hissed at him; Thor cast you a sideways look, then winked. To his brother, he called: “I am always right, am I not?”

Loki snapped his fingers, calling Thor to attention like a master might call their dog to heel. Except Thor was the oldest, and had a petty streak longer than the continental United States, and his younger brother’s displeasure clearly brought him unbridled joy, so Thor slung one arm around your shoulder and gave you a squeeze, rubbing his prickly cheek against yours for good measure.

You squirmed under his arm. “Is this another Asgardian thing?”

Thor answered “no” at the same time that Loki answered “yes”.

Loki stormed back to your side and wrenched his brother away, speaking in a low tone. Fixing his brother with a scathing stare, Loki rubbed his thumb over your jaw, then rode his hand down the curve of your neck to sit on your shoulder, as if to wipe the physical evidence of his brother’s touch from your skin. 

Thor sidled up behind Loki and scrubbed a hand over your cheek; Loki, hackles raised, elbowed his brother in the side, setting off a chain reaction of flying fists and snapping teeth. 

Your groceries were definitely melting. “I’m gonna go. Uh, Loki, you can… You can come upstairs when you’re… done…”

Loki, who was trapped in a headlock by his older brother, nodded jerkily to you. “Of course, dear– Thor. You foul–” 

You watched as your boyfriend transformed into a glossy black snake. He fell to the marble with a sad, wet slap and played dead, lolled tongue and all.

Luckily, your ice cream was mostly salvageable.

The shower was hot. Maybe a bit too hot. Steam cloyed, clouding your periphery and leaving you feeling flushed. You contemplated switching the tap a half an inch toward to the right, but then you risked overshooting and being too cold. 

“I’m being called away,” Loki said by way of greeting. He was still a bit damp; his hair had just begun to curl around the ends. The steam, its attention caught by the open door, billowed around him on its escape path. “I was going to tell you earlier, but my brother had other plans.”

“Oh, that’s not fair. Close the door, please?”

“Right. Sorry.” The door slipped shut with a click. Loki hoisted himself onto your bathroom counter, his hands clasped loosely between his knees while he watched you rinse the last suds from your legs. “Believe me, darling, I don’t want to leave you, but it seems that Fury wants my head on a stake.”

“Thor, too. What was that about?”

Loki waved a hand. “Brotherly taunts. Now would you hurry up? I want to ravish you before I’m a decrepit, thank you very much.”

“Give me a minute.” You turned your back to him for a better angle under the shower head. You heard the shower door slide open – you assumed so that Loki could ogle you properly – then startled when his shadow crossed over you.

“Loki!” You shrieked, cringing when wet cotton slid over your belly as he wound his arms around your waist. “You’re fully dressed! You can’t– bad! Naughty!”

“I was already wet. Now I’m warm and wet.” He tsked, rubbing his cheek against the curve of your shoulder with an arrogance only a prince could muster. “I just couldn’t resist.”

“You’re going to regret this.”

“Truthfully, pet, I don’t think I’ve ever felt less remorse in my life.” His wet fingers fumbled with the top button on his shirt. The plastic was slippery and the buttons small, so it took more than a few tries to get the first one out; by the time he had wrenched the third free, he was cursing. “Ok,” he said around a laugh. “Maybe I’m a little remorseful. But this is your fault, let it be known.”

“My fault?”

“Yes.” Two more buttons down. Loki growled, then tore the rest of them out with a firm jerk of the button placket. They scattered, bouncing off the tile with tiny sounds, and Loki struggled to pull the sleeves off his skin. “You’re so beguiling. I’m– I can hardly tear myself away.” He threw the shirt through the open shower doors, then considered his trousers. “Oh, nevermind.” With a flick of his wrist, the last of his clothing melted away. “Why do I even bother, honestly?”

You tipped your head back against the shower wall and hummed, enjoying the simple pleasure of Loki’s nearness. He was a vision under the spray, dark hair plastered and curling over pale skin and pink lips parted, glossy with water. When his fingers crept over your hip to tease the skin under your ribs, your chest soared, the hollow space between your lungs aching ice cold. 

(You loved him). 

(You promised yourself you would tell him when he returned from whatever mission Fury had assigned, come hell or high water - and you almost believed it.)

When you opened your eyes, you found Loki to be looking at you with the most peculiar hunger. “What?”

“I can’t look at you?”

“I wouldn’t call that ‘looking’. I would say you’re eating me with your eyes.” You rolled your shoulders, then reached around him for the tap. “I’m starting to feel a bit dizzy. Let’s dry off and you can tell me all about why Fury is taking you away from me.”

“You mean you let me suffer through that whole ordeal for naught?”

“I didn’t ask you to climb in here fully clothed. Now– chop chop, loverboy. You’re closest to the towels.”

He left in the early morning. It seemed to take a great deal of physical effort for him to extricate himself from your bed, even greater than it did on Sunday. By the time he had slipped into his last piece of armour, his breath was short and tense, and his mouth turned down in a harsh curve.

“Are you okay, sweetheart? You don’t seem yourself.”

“I’m fine. Just don’t… Just wait for me, okay?”

You were a couple seconds behind, your brain still heavy with the early hour. “What do you mean, honey?”

Loki shook his head. He leaned his weight on the edge of the bed and curled over you, pressing a dry kiss to your cheek. “Don’t worry yourself. Go back to bed.”

“I can help–”

“I have it all under control. I’ll be back in a few days.” He said the last part like he was trying to convince himself more than he was you.

Only three days later and you were going a little stir-crazy. Maybe whatever clinginess-disease he had had rubbed off on you.

You couldn’t take it anymore – you missed your boyfriend. He had been scheduled to return that morning but another impromptu snowstorm had pushed his arrival back by a day, leaving you with an empty afternoon to putter. But once your laundry was done and your shower scrubbed, there wasn’t much left to do besides twiddle your thumbs and marathon episodes of Forensic Files. 

You took the elevator to his floor and let yourself in with a spare key. Your shoulders dropped, an unregistered tension draining as you breathed in the familiar smell of Loki’s cologne and lavender incense. There was a certain comfort in the menial reminders of him – his shoes by the door, his coat on the rack. You tossed your keys on the kitchen counter. “So much for man-eating wolves.”

You half expected his fridge to be barren, considering how much time he had spent over the last week in your apartment, but you were pleasantly surprised to find it well stocked – too well stocked. Whatever occasion he was preparing for was unknown to you, but he seemed to be anticipating an apocalypse or city-wide shortage of seasonal fruits and vegetables. You helped yourself to some from a pre-cut container and shuffled toward his bedroom to take a nap.

You stopped dead in your tracks under the threshold.

“You are the pillow thief.”

Fabric was draped languorously from every surface - a stack of quilts over his desk chair, pillowcases folded neatly on his dresser. The curtains were drawn tightly, two or three panels layered on top of each other to block out as much natural light as possible. He appeared to have gathered every pillow in his apartment - and a few of yours - and piled them in a semi-circle against the headboard. A few had fallen to the wayside, at the foot of the bed or scattered across the carpet, and a great spread of throw blankets was draped across the comforter. You could just make out the corner of one of your t-shirts peeking out from his pillows.

There was a decidedly two person-sized divot in the centre of it all, like you were meant to burrow in together.

“What have you been up to, my darling boy?”

You crawled across the covers and peeled them back, layer by layer. More of your shirts tumbled out, as well as a hoodie and a cashmere scarf. It was bewildering to say the least, but not entirely out of the norm for Loki. (He once spent two weeks meticulously replacing all of your cutlery with a mismatched charity shop set, so what was a little blanket theft, really?) You just couldn’t quite put your finger on why he had chosen this prank, nor why he would bother to build a veritable nest out of his spoils.

Tired and more than a little giggly, you tucked yourself between two comforters and curled up on your side. You’d have to ask him when he got home.

(In his defense, it was really comfy).

You blinked awake to the sound of your phone vibrating. It took you a moment to find it among the layers of blankets and pillows but eventually you wrenched it free and swiped accept. “Hello?”

Loki’s voice carried through the little speaker. “Where are you? You’re not in your apartment.”

You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. “That’s because I’m in yours.”

There was a long, drawn out silence. Then, “you’re what?”

“I’m in your apartment. Which– you have so much explaining to do.” You pushed yourself out of his bed. Through the phone, you heard FRIDAY greet him and a familiar jingle when Loki punched the button for his floor. 

“I… You weren’t supposed to see that.”

You laughed. You could hear him struggling to find his keys, his anxiety palpable even through the phone. “Loki, was this some sort of prank to keep me from refusing to sleep over?”

“No, it…” His keys ground in the lock. “It was…”

You pulled the door open for him. He blinked owlishly at you, his phone pinched between his shoulder and his cheek.

“Hi,” you said, and your voice echoed through his phone.

He ended the call. “Hi.”

The two of you walked together, Loki on tentative feet while you guided him, pulling on one of his harness straps until you were through the threshold. His bag slid from his shoulder with a thud; he was still wearing his armour, which you smoothed your fingers under and began to unclasp piece by piece, setting it on the table by the door.

“Loki,” you glanced up at him through your eyelashes. “Do you want to explain the nest in your bedroom?”

His shoulders tensed. “Thor, you bastard.”

You worked one of his leather straps free, tossing it aside. “What?”

“Just - ignore this,” he said. “Go back to your apartment. I have to go kill my brother, and then burn everything I own, and then maybe I’ll be able to scrounge up the dignity to see you before sunrise.”

He made an aborted movement to turn out from your arms, but you reached out with your mind and slid the deadbolt in place before he could slip through the door. “Nuh uh. What does Thor have to do with this? Is this about your fight? I haven’t spoken to him since I ran into you two in the hall.”

“Wait.” It was your turn to face Loki’s ire, it seemed, because he whirled on you, his finger raised accusingly. “How did you know about the nesting then?”

“I was joking.” You pulled the final knife sheath free, leaving him in his leather breastplate and heavy wool trousers. “I mean, you piled all of our collective pillows into a queen-sized bed. Do you mean to tell me you’re actually nesting? Is this another Asgardian courtship thing I should know about?”

“I-” Loki looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him up whole. A familiar curl of self-consciousness had begun to spoil his expression. He turned his cheek and spit out a curse. “Nevermind.”

“Loki, please.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Fine,” you huffed. “If you tell me your secret, I’ll tell you one in return.”

If there was one thing Loki loved more than self-pity, it was being let in on a secret. His eyes bolted up from glaring a hole into the hardwood to catch yours, assessing your deal. “Do not make bets you cannot pay, darling.” 

“I already have the perfect secret picked out. Explain.”

He watched you for a long time. Eventually, with a very careful, measured tone, he opened his mouth to speak. “I’ve never… Oh, this is humiliating.” Loki scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Asgardians know very little about Jotun customs. It’s… We didn’t have much need to study them, outside of battle. But it’s common knowledge that frost giants… mate for life. They pick someone to bond with and when they’re serious… In the spring… ”

 “Loki,” you cooed. “Humor me.”

He groaned and slunk to his knees before you. His forehead pressed against your hip while both his hands curled around your calves to steady himself. He mumbled something unintelligible against your leg.

You ran your fingers through his hair. “What was that?”

Loki sighed. “When they find a suitable mate they try... I’m… My biology is trying to entice you to tie yourself to me. Forever.”

“So the nesting thing? And the um… the clinginess?”

He toyed with the edge of your t-shirt. “Yes. I… I get quite upset when you don’t respond favorably to my… advances .”

“I picked up on that. Wait,” you pinched the meat of his bicep. “Is this why you’re getting bigger?”

“It appears that my glamours are failing, yes.”

“So what you’re telling me is that you’re growing in some new plumage to woo me with?” You trailed your finger along a featherlight path over his jaw. Lowering your voice, you couldn’t help but tease him a little. “Are you going to sing for me next?”

A scowl twisted his expression into something mean. “You forget who you’re speaking to, mortal.”

His tone did nothing to dissuade you. So rarely were you the one with the power to tease and you intended to take advantage. “Anything else I should know?”

“Well, if I’m already speaking candidly…” It came out bitingly, Loki’s voice laced with a burning mix of self-deprecation and frustration. “I can hardly think about anything else other than bending you over every available piece of furniture and fucking you until one of us passes out.”

“Loki,” you warned as his fingers wormed their way under the waistband of your pants. “We’re finishing this conversation.”

“Later, darling.” He pushed them down an inch and pressed his mouth to your hip. “Let us at least enjoy my biology for a little while.”

“Loki.” The air crackled, seidr whispering across your skin where the two of you connected as he considered testing your resolve. You felt the phantom impression of hands around your wrists, which you shook off with a glare. “Down.”

His lip curled in displeasure but he obeyed, sitting back on his heels. “It’s infuriating. Let’s just pretend it’s not happening.”

You joined him on the floor, drawing your knees up to your chest. “What does it mean to… ‘mate’?”

Loki’s shoulders rounded and bowed; he tilted his face away from you, hiding his expression behind a wall of thick, black hair. “You just… are. You’re partners for life. A family. I’m not sure there are words in any mortal language to explain the breadth of it.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “It seems my biology has decided that you’re a good match for… that.”

“Loki…”

“I love you.” He said it so plainly, as if he was commenting on the weather. Your heartbeat turned hot and dizzy as you watched his long fingers trace the floorboard, his words rattling around in the space between your ears – I love you, I love you, I love– “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You’re wearing my ring, and my knives, and my clothes. You smell like me–”

“Wait–”

“I built you a nest. I’m not human. Your priorities are in desperate need of reassessment if that’s the part you’re uncomfortable with.” Loki rolled his eyes, that bit of familiar petulance peeking through his foul mood. “Anyway. It makes sense that my body would choose you. That I would… would want to convince you...”

“You know you don’t have to convince me.”

Loki picked at a knot in the wood, a loathsome smile curling the corners of his mouth. “Oh, but I do.”

You couldn’t bear the distance any longer; you crawled the last couple of feet to wrap your arms around his chest. He tipped into you, pressing his cheek against your shoulder and drawing in a deep, shuddering breath. Yet, despite his pain, a part of you sang as you stroked a line down his cheek. You were loved and in love – what greater joy was there than that?

Not for the first time in your relationship, guilt welled up in your chest. Being in love with Loki felt a little like learning a new language; he was so capricious, so aloof, that you sometimes felt like you were left out of a joke when he teased you, or flirted, or sidled up to touch you. It often wasn’t until afterward that you became aware of the fact that he was being sincere, that his teasing was earnestness wrapped up in a barbed tongue. 

His fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt. You might not have always understood his advances, but you would try to. For him, you would always try.

“Is there some sort of ritual involved? Do I have to cover myself in runes or something?”

He shook his head against your chest. “I think it just… happens. I’m not sure. There are very few intricacies about frost giant habits with which I’m familiar. But based on how my body is responding, I would assume it boils down to ravishing you on every surface available to me.”

You hummed. “And what will happen if we ignore it?”

Loki, turned mute by anxiety, drew a line down your arm with his knuckle. Finally, he mumbled, “I’ll be fine. I’ll just be very… sad. For the next few days.”

“Sad?”

“I know logically that you’re not, but it feels… Like you’re rejecting me.” 

“And how do you want me to respond?”

He sneered again and ducked his head, dragging a hand over his face frustratedly. “I want you to bare your throat to me.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up inside of you. “What?”

The glare Loki shot you was bitterly cold. “Do not pretend that you misheard me.”

“No, no, Loki,” you reached out and twined your fingers together. “I mean, surely there’s more than that, right? You want me to do the same things for you? To- to nest? I’m not going to hunt a stag or something for you but I can definitely, like, go to the butcher and get you a prize cut.”

Loki shook his head. “I just want you to accept. To accept me .”

“And the throat…?”

“I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You ran your finger along the edge of your t-shirt, where it sat snugly against your collarbone, and watched his pupils dilate. Wordlessly you tugged on his hand, drawing it up to your neck, and placed it there loosely. “That’s it?”

His hand tightened, fingernails catching ever so gently against your skin. “You heard the part where I said that frost giants mate for life, yes?”

You nodded. “Mhmm.”

As if possessed, Loki leaned forward to nose at your pulse point. “So you understand that this… this is forever.”

“And ever and ever?”

“Brat.” His teeth scraped across your skin. “I’ve grown tired of this one-sided vulnerability. I believe you promised me a secret, pet.”

“I did.” You took a deep breath. “I love you, too.”

His fingers stilled around your throat. He seemed to not even breathe as he considered your confession. With a calculated effort, Loki peeled his hands off your neck and his voice, deep and rumbling with restraint, cut through the silence. “You should run.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Unless you want me to fuck you here on this cold, hard floor, I suggest that you run back to that pretty little nest I made you.”

A hot flush washed over you, starting in your cheeks and pooling in the pit of your belly. Loki leaned forward and sweetly kissed your collarbone, then reached up and tore your t-shirt down the middle.

“Loki!”

He smiled against your cheek. “I wasn’t joking, my love.” He sat back on his haunches and folded his hands in his lap, his gaze simmering with something molten hot. Though he moved slowly, projecting a characteristic aloofness, you could see the tendons in his neck straining as he worked against instinct to hold still. He grinned, all teeth, and jerked his chin toward his bedroom. “Run.”

You scrambled to your feet. The hardwood was slippery under your socks. You took a couple tentative steps backwards, watching the way Loki’s eyes raked over you like a butcher pulled pork. Your skin buzzed under his gaze as if you were standing under a powerline, electrified by a well of energy crackling overhead. 

His control was crumbling by the second. The faucet was leaking– Tony had promised he’d have someone over within the week to fix it – and the water beading on its edge began to sizzle and pop, blinking out of existence in green bursts. The microwave display went black as Loki’s seidr overwhelmed the kitchen’s circuit breaker; the hum of the refrigerator died with it, plunging the room into an unnatural silence, so heavy that you could hear your own breath catching in your chest. Loki shifted his weight to his knees.

Your heart thrilled.

You broke in unison; you started to run at the same time that Loki sprang to his feet. A laugh bubbled up out of your chest; you reached out with your mind and swept the cushions off the couch, pelting Loki with them before he could reach you. He swore, and a tongue of emerald light crackled at your ankles, nearly tripping you. You stumbled but managed to make it over the threshold of his bedroom door. Something collided heavily with the wall behind you, followed by the sound of debris coming loose and littering the floor.

You landed with a bounce in the center of the bed, sending a cascade of pillows tumbling to the ground. Loki appeared moments later, breathing heavily and bracketing the door with his arms. He must have tripped during the chase; dust and bits of drywall covered his left arm. His irises had disappeared, carved to mere slivers by his blown pupils. Your breath caught in your chest when you noticed the line of his cock, hard and wanting, straining against his pants.

You shrugged out of your ruined shirt while Loki stalked across the small bedroom, still dressed for battle. He swatted a discarded pillow out of the air when you used your powers to raise it, then shredded another one in an eruption of light and feathers when you tried to catch him from behind. A low purr rumbled through him, melting into the hum of his seidr as it thrummed through the air.

Sensing he would tear through every scrap of fabric you managed to throw up between yourselves, you yielded slowly, tipping your chin back, drawing his attention to your throat.

Loki’s body hit the bed with a muffled thump. He crawled up the length of you on shaky limbs, pressing a grateful, sloppy kiss to your mouth before moving down to your pulse point. Burying his face there, Loki dropped his full weight on top of you. “You really should not indulge me. I might never let you leave.”

“I’ve always been terrible at saying no to you.”

He laved at a spot on your neck. His hips pinned yours against the mattress, shifting against you aimlessly as his arousal heightened. Experimentally, you pressed your leg into him; a groan tumbled from his mouth before he closed one hand around your thigh and rutted up a little more purposefully. “Love. My little love.”

Loki pushed up to his knees and pulled on the strap holding his breastplate in place. You sat up on one elbow and pinched your bra clasp with the other hand. It had only just come undone when Loki worked his hands under the band and tugged it off of you roughly. You tsked in retaliation, then pulled his armour over his head. Just as soon as it hit the floor, Loki was crawling backwards, sliding his hands down your thighs with a heavy reverence.

Your pyjama pants joined the scattered mix of armour and plainclothes on the floor. Now that you were completely bare, Loki slunk up to admire you, leaving a wet trail of kisses over your body until he reached the thin skin over your pulse. One of his hands pushed your knees apart to draw featherlight circles across your inner thighs. 

You tugged on his hair, trying to convince him to lean up and kiss you properly. Loki grumbled but did not concede; his left hand slipped from between your legs and took your wrist, jamming it against the headboard before returning to run circles around your clit. When you pulled, you found your arm immobilized; a tangle of green light pinned it in place above your head.

“Rude,” you gasped. Loki smiled against your neck, dragging his chin through a trail of his own spit.

“Evil,” he agreed.

“Can you at least- at least take your pants off?”

The air shifted; when you glanced down, you were pleased to find that Loki had magically done away with the rest of his clothing, giving you an unobstructed view of his lithe body. You hummed, satisfied, and slid your free hand down his back to palm his ass.

Loki lazily drew his middle two fingers up and down your slit, toying with you in a display of casual dominance. Occasionally he would dip into you, pressing only far enough to leave you wanting before retreating to trace an intricate pattern of knots between your thighs. Despite the hard weight of him, nestled in the cradle of your hips and burning hot with desire, he seemed determined to take his time tangling with you. You rocked your hips, seeking some sort of pressure or friction, and were met with a haughty grin against your breast instead.

You babbled. You begged. The fingers between your thighs patronized you, pressing but never breaching, circling but never stroking. 

Finally, though you suspected it was due to his own neediness and not the way you were pleading, he raised his head to kiss you, sliding his tongue, hot and possessive, over yours. Between the teasing pressure at your cunt and the burning weight of his cock against your hip, a desperation paced in the space between your ribs that left you aching, left you wanting. You tugged a little more firmly at your restraint. When that didn’t budge, you worked your free hand under him to run your fingers up and down the underside of his cock.

The bedside lamp buzzed and flared. Loki nipped at your bottom lip. “I’ll take away your other hand if I have to.”

And yet, despite his warning, Loki slid his fingers inside of you, a little deeper, curling slightly, and pressed at that soft spot you needed him to touch. A smug curl of delight rose in your belly, that you could make him so docile with a touch. You closed your hand around his cock and pumped him slowly, testing your sway. 

“Pet,” he pleaded. “Just let me take my time with you.”

You bit back a sigh when he sat up, blinking wide cow-eyes down at you with an expression bordering on insecurity. “Please, Loki. My love.”

He choked out a whine. His eyes shut tightly for a heartbeat, eyebrows creased deeply in the middle. Your hand slipped free from the headboard – victory – but before you could really enjoy your freedom, Loki flipped you over on all fours.

“If all it took to domesticate you was a four letter word, I would have said something sooner.” One of his hands came down in a warning tap against the side of your thigh. You gasped out a laugh, turning your cheek to catch a glimpse of him. His fingers were splayed over his eyes, partially obscured by his wild hair, and his mouth had turned up in a grin, his usual cool demeanour betrayed by a giddy kind of anticipation. You pressed back against him. “Is this the part where you fuck me?”

He tugged you upwards, manhandling you onto your knees in front of him. You felt his chest mould to your back as he shuffled closer to slot his cock between your thighs, tauntingly, sliding through slick, heated skin, his cockhead bumping against your clit with every pass when his hips met the plush of your ass. “Oh, I’m not going to fuck you, darling.” 

You reached between your legs to guide him inside you, but Loki snatched your hand by the wrist and held it there, so his cock glided just along your fingertips, occasionally catching at your entrance only to pull away at the last second.

“I’m going to lay claim to you. I’m going to breed you,” he panted against the shell of your ear. Your thighs clenched tight when Loki pressed the heel of your hand against the lip of your mound, applying pressure to your aching clit. “I’m going to ply you until you are limp and then I’m going to fill you until you are dripping, understand? I’m going to mark you so thoroughly that you will never be rid of me.”

He pressed even harder, rolling your hand by the wrist. His eyelashes brushed the heated skin of your cheek as he pressed his face to yours, drinking in the closeness of your body. “And when all is said and we’re sated, I’ll make love to you. And that’s a promise.”

Your eyes squeezed shut. You whimpered, your back arching into him while he worked you higher and higher. Loki murmured praise against your skin. “Okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

He smiled against your shoulder. “Excellent.”

One of his arms hooked under your breasts, holding you up and flush against his chest. The other tilted your hips back, so you were nearly sat in his lap.

“Can you…” Loki huffed out a laugh against your skin. In a small voice he asked, “Tell me you love me again?”

There was no universe where you could deny him that. “I love you. Loki, I love you. Loki–”

Your eyes squeezed shut as he fed you his cock, inch by delicious inch, until you were fully seated against him. He swore, then growled out another stuttering laugh. A hot breath washed over the shell of your ear as he tucked his chin against your shoulder, and an experimental roll of his hips had you jolting in his arms, your toes curling when he slid over that spongy, sensitive spot inside of you.

“God,” you gasped.

He hummed in agreement, slipping his free hand between your legs to apply a firm pressure to your clit. His head rolled against your shoulder as he started a slow, teasing pace. “Pretty thing,” he cooed.

You felt his eyebrows furrow against your back. His mouth dropped open, panting hot air across your shoulder blades. Your hands shook, fisting in the bedsheets; you felt tears well behind your eyes as sensations overwhelmed you, a bit of pleasure and a bit of pain. You choked out a moan, a gasp, his name cut short.

“Loki. Please. I can’t.”

“You can,” he said against your shoulder. The hand between your legs grew a little desperate, sliding in tight circles while the rest of him worked you at his mercy up and down his cock. “You’re going to be good for me, aren’t you? My pretty little mate,” he continued. “You are, I know you are. You’re going to come for me, and then you’re going to take what I have to give you. You’re going to let your mate fill that little cunt of yours and you’re going to be grateful, hmm?”

You gasped, squeezing your eyes shut. You were teetering on the edge of a knife, a knot in your belly drawn tight but threatening to unravel at any moment. A gasp tore from your chest when Loki changed angles, pulling you down with more force while leveraging his body weight to thrust into your harder. Your head tipped back onto his shoulder and you squealed, one hand flying behind you to anchor yourself against his hip.

“Yes,” Loki gasped. “Yes, that’s it darling.”

Relief washed over you for a heartbeat, a small coil shattered as Loki worked himself into you. You rocked back against him, writhing in his iron grip. The pressure on your clit eased away for a moment before doubling down, his middle two fingers burning molten pleasure in their wake as seidr sparked over your skin from his fingertips. Chasing relief in your body, he mouthed at your shoulder a little mindlessly. Your name tumbled from his lips, a plea, for what you weren’t sure.

Small sounds were punched out of your chest with every thrust, growing in volume as he went on and your body buzzed with overstimulation.

“Please,” you begged. One of your hands curled around his forearm, gripping him tightly, while the other fisted in one of the long-forgotten pillows. “Please. Please, Loki.”

Your legs clamped shut when your orgasm finally crested. Loki swore, tumbling, stuttering to his own edge before plummeting; he tugged you down and held you there, spilling inside you with a shaky groan.

Finally, he lifted you off his lap and slid out of you. You tried to turn over in his arms, but he tipped the two of you onto your sides and held you in an iron grip against his chest. He mumbled something foreign in your ear, intercut by the occasional sigh or a press of his mouth to your sweat-slick skin.

You tried again to turn around but Loki held you still. “Give me a minute,” he panted.

You squirmed. “But I want to kiss you.”

Loki leaned over your shoulder and kissed you, his eyes squeezed shut. Hardly satisfied, you tried to hold him in place, but your exhausted limbs were no match for him; he slunk back out of sight only a moment later.

“Loki,” you whined. His arms tightened.

“I’m not… myself right now.”

Slowly, you rolled over in his arms to face him and soothed your hands up his chest. An attractive flush coloured his pale skin, spreading from the top of his stomach to the highest points of his cheeks. You picked a flake of drywall out of his hair. 

His eyes were downcast, shuttered and turned away so you couldn’t see into them. “I don’t want to frighten you,” he mumbled.

You tilted his face up; his eyes had changed, the irises gone red. They weren’t quite gemstones, or cherries, or robins or cardinals. The same red as poppies, maybe. Startling against his pale skin, framed by thick, dark lashes, but so deeply endearing, swimming with emotion as they flickered back and forth over your face.

You must have been quiet too long; Loki huffed and buried his face in his pillow.

“No, wait,” you said. “Come back. Let me look at you.”

“No. I can’t bear it.”

“Stop being dramatic. Let me look at my pretty boyfriend.”

“Your pretty boyfriend is out of commission, I’m afraid.” His voice was muffled. He patted the bed until he found the comforter, which he then pulled over his head petulantly. “He can’t seem to control himself right now. He’ll come out later.”

You wormed your hands under the blanket and pulled it back from his face. Loki sighed and peered up at you from behind his pillow, his eyes barely open to slits to glare at you. You pushed a curl off his forehead, followed by a dry kiss to his cheek. “You know your eyes change colour all the time, right?”

“But the green is handsome. Intimidating,” he grumbled. “This is…”

“Gorgeous.”

“Horrifying,” he countered.

You pouted. “That’s my mate you’re talking about.”

That seemed to break the spell he’d fallen under. You felt the gentle brush of his fingers first, then the smooth slide of his hand down your side to hook around your hip. He drew you into his chest so he could press a sweet kiss to your shoulder. “Hi.”

You returned his smile. “Hi.”

“You’re really not afraid?”

You pushed a stray pillow off the bed, trying and failing to extricate one of the blankets to drape over your bodies. Loki had been right about one thing - it was freakishly cold this week, and the chill was beginning to needle your sweat-damp skin unpleasantly. “Honestly, I’m more worried about the food in your freezer going bad. You blew a fuse in there.”

“Midgardians. You have no sense of self-preservation.” Loki reached out to help tuck you in. 

“Mhm… Coming from the guy whose favourite schtick is ‘pretend to grovel until you think up a better plan’.”

“That is, by definition, self-preserving.”

“Whatever. You blew a fuse. And maybe fixed the leak?”

“I also punched a hole through the wall.”

“Tony is gonna be so mad at you.” You scraped your fingernails across Loki’s scalp, drawing a deep rumble from his chest. “Ok, five more minutes and then we need to get cleaned up.”

“I think you’re mistaken, pet. We’re not leaving this bed for the rest of the week.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not risking a UTI for that.”

Loki groaned. He pulled his mouth from your neck just long enough to kiss you. “Fine. Shower?”

“Yes, but we’re just showering. I don’t want to get waterboarded like last time.”

“Of course, darling. Not in the shower.” He kissed you again, slowly this time, coaxing your lips apart with a thumb on your jaw. When he finally pulled away it was with a hiss and a sticky, wet sound. “Although I do intend to bend you over the sink so you can watch yourself fall apart first.”

“Oh?”

His red eyes found yours. They narrowed, sparkling with mirth, as he gathered you up in his arms. “Tell me again,” he purred, “how much you love me. I might just have mercy.”

You did.

He didn’t.

Not that you minded.

[peachsukii]

stitched muses ꒰ tangled hearts series - kiribaku x fem!reader ꒱ ⇢ bakugo's stumped on inspiration for his upcoming fashion line, the deadline fast approaching as he's working day and night to meet it. he's frustrated at his lack of ideas, stuck in his home office while you and kirishima are enjoying your weekly movie night. he's pacing the house, putting too much pressure on himself to excel. little did you know you'd be the solution to his temporary dead-end creativity.

꒰ content ꒱ bakugo's a grumpy goose, fluffy domestic goodness, bakugo has that little "eureka!" moment, kirishima is cute & cuddly, mitsuki asks reader to lunch cross posted to ao3 // wc; ~1.4k ✿ tangled hearts masterlist ✿ ↶ | previous entry (sweet like honey) ↷ | next entry (one-way ticket)

The rain pattered against the Bakugo-Kirishima household, echoing as the droplets bounced of the roof in an off beat rhythm. Spring has truly sprung, the rainy season coming in full force over the course of the week.

“Goddammit!”

Bakugo’s frustration traveled from his office and through out the house, accompanied by the sound of his chair forcefully retreating from his desk. He despised the rain, the miserable storm only adding an unnecessary layer of irritation to his long work day. He trudged out of his office, shoulders slumped as he makes his way into the kitchen.

Kirishima and yourself are sitting on the living room couch, snuggled under a blanket and watching a romcom on tv for your weekly movie night. Bakugo was supposed to join you two, but he’s been shackled to his laptop all day long. He’d step away for a minute, thinking he could take a break, and then shuffle right back to his desk to pace like a caged animal.

“I’m gonna check on him,” you whisper to Kirishima, giving him a quick peck on the cheek as you peel the blanket from your lap.

Sauntering into the kitchen, you see Bakugo making himself tea, silently staring at the countertop and tapping his fingers against the laminate. His gaze shifts sluggishly from the tea kettle to you when you approach his side.

“Hey sweetheart,” he sighs, turning to pull you into his chest. “Sorry for workin’ late. I know you and Ei have been waitin’ for me.”

“It’s okay, Kats, we know you're working hard. Here,” You break away from his embrace and take his mug from the counter, using your hip to playfully bump him out of your way. “Let me finish this and make you something to eat.”

"S'fine, baby, I can—"

"Katsuki," you interrupt sternly, followed by a sweet smile to soften the bite in your tone. "I made dinner for all of us earlier, I'll get you a plate with your tea and bring it to you."

Bakugo grumbles under his breath, not having it in him to fight your stubbornness. He leans down and meets your lips for a brief kiss before moving to the living room, hovering behind the couch for a moment.

"Hey babe," Kirishima says, flashing his toothy grin backwards toward him. "Try and call it a night soon, yeah?"

Bakugo bends over the couch, cradling Kirishima’s jaw in his hands and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. “M’tryin’. This deadline is killing me.”

“Mom hounding ya again?”

Hearing Kirishima call Mitsuki “mom” made your heart flutter from the kitchen, such a simple sentiment making you melt. Watching your boyfriend’s love for one another naturally flow will never get old, even though they’ve been married for years, it still was new to you to witness casually.

Bakugo rolls his eyes. “She’s been bitchin’ at me all week.”

“She loves ya and knows she can push your buttons to get you to succeed,” Kirishima assures, kissing the tip of Bakugo’s nose. “Anythin’ we can do to help?”

He releases Kirishima’s face from his grasp and steps back from the couch, shaking his head with a frown on his face. “Unless you suddenly have a knack for fabric and textiles, don’t think so.”

You round the corner of the island in the kitchen, a plate in one hand and cup of hot tea in the other, making your way to Bakugo’s office. Kirishima sighs contently as he watches your silhouette disappear down the hallway.

“That woman is a damn goddess,” he swoons, deflating back into the couch cushions. “Go eat and wrap up. We can start another movie when you're done.”

Bakugo nods his head and turns to head back to the office. He peers in the doorway to find you mesmerized by the designs scattered across his desk - multiple sketches of clothes, scribbled notes about fabric choices and design suggestions on every page. You glance toward the door, catching him staring.

"These all look great, love. What's got you stumped?" you ponder aloud while organizing the papers back into their proper piles.

Bakugo crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe. "It's too bland, shit's been done a thousand times. Need somethin' that'll be versatile."

"Maybe you're thinking too much into it."

He blankly stares at you for a moment - you can see the wheels turning in his head while he processes your statement.

"...Do y'know who you're talking to?"

You can't help but laugh, walking around his desk and to the doorway. "I do, hotshot. You're an incredible designer, but not everything needs to be fashion week quality. Most people would just walk around in a t-shirt if they had the option."

Something in his mind clicks the moment you mention 't-shirt,' immediately sending him bolting upstairs and to the bedroom without another word. Bakugo comes barreling back down the stairs with a few t-shirts in hand moments later, tossing all but one onto the back of his office chair.

"Strip," he demands, hands on his hips impatiently.

You quirk your eyebrow at him, but discard your sleep shirt and sweatpants as ordered. Once you do, he shoves the shirt he grabbed over your head, threading your arms through the sleeves and taking a step back to analyze it in full.

"...this is one of your shirts? What does that—"

"Gimmie a sec to think."

The t-shirt is worn out, heavily loved over the years with a faded band logo over the chest and spotted with bleach stains. It was slightly too big for you, cascading over your figure and ending around your mid-thigh area.

Bakugo clicks his tongue while pushing up his glasses back into place. "Turn around."

You obey, turning your back to him. He cinches the back of the shirt with one hand and pulls at the hem by your thigh with the other, as if he's fitting you into his imaginary garment.

"Think ya just solved my problem, sweets," Bakugo says with excitement, letting the t-shirt fall back into its natural state before scooting past you and sliding into his office chair. He turns to the screen, opening a new e-mail and begins furiously typing, paragraphs flowing from his fingers in the matter of minutes.

"Don't forget your dinner and tea," you remind him, turning on your heel to head back to the living room. "I'll leave you be."

"Don't let Ei finish the popcorn without me."

Returning to the couch, you plop down next to Kirishima and fold your head into his lap. He looks at the shirt your wearing, noticing it's definitely not the one you were in 15 minutes ago. And that you're not wearing pants.

"Ah, so he needed that kinda motivation," he snickers, ruffling a hand through your hair.

You chuckle and wiggle in his lap. "No babe, not this time. He should be done soon."

Half an hour later, Bakugo comes into the living room, sighing dramatically as he falls onto the couch, head landing on Kirishima's thighs.

"Made it with three days to spare," he rasps, putting up a victory fist with exhaustion. "Ma approved it, too. S'goin' to be expedited to production tomorrow."

"Way to go, superstar!" You exclaim, bending down to kiss his forehead. "Knew you could do it."

"Good work, Kats! What did you end up going with?" Kirishima asks, a hand massaging Bakugo's shoulder to help him relax.

"She was right, I was thinkin' too hard about it. You'll see it when it's released next month."

"Aw, you're not even gonna tell us after all that?!"

Bakugo snickers, turning to face the TV. "Nah, you two can wait like everyone else. S'nothin' out of this world, but I'm proud of it."

───

Later that night, your phone pings a few times with multiple messages while you're getting ready for bed back in your apartment - they're from Mitsuki.

How did she even get your number?

"Hey sweetie, it's Mitsuki. Thanks for being patient with my brat. Even at 30 he's still a pain in the ass sometimes! He's lucky to have one, let alone two, people tolerate him long enough to stick around." "Are you free for lunch sometime? I'd love to get to know you better. Katsuki and Eijiro talk about you a lot."

Mitsuki wants to meet for lunch? You've met her a handful of times, but she doesn't...know about you guys yet.

Right?

You respond with a simple "Sure, I'd love to!" and leave it at that.

You're not sure why, but there's a bundle of nerves knotting in your stomach over the thought of having to impress Katsuki's mother.

No, it's not like that...yet.

mitsuki's always been perceptive...you think she knows about you and the boys? and what'll happen when you celebrate katsuki's new fashion line with friends in a few weeks and you tag along? 😉 ⇢  wildflowers; @maddietries @smolbeanzzz @camila2201 @lik0 @pixel4ffecti0n @moonlight-dreamer04 @lumi-cent @pastelbakugou @hannahk @camryn-ciel67 @c4prisuna @perfectsukii @screechingpeachdelusion @lightsgore @cuntpiercedprincess @aphrodite-xoxo

[boolger]

A lapdog at a farm - chapter 2

<-former chapter ~ AO3 link I will block any ageless blogs. Call of duty. Explicit, 18+, minors do not interact. read the tags. wc: 6181.

Farmer!John Price x Hybrid!Reader, hybrid! Kyle Gaz Garrick x hybrid! Johnny Soap MacTavish x hybrid! Simon Ghost, John Price x Nikolai.

tags: Rape/non-con elements, dub-con, dog!hybrid!people being kept as pets, alternative universe - farm, dark, farmer!John Price, working-dogs, punishments, mating cycles/rut/heat (no omegaverse), the dove isn't dead but its dying, reader is a brat, knotting, animal tails and ears, mentions of trauma, violence, angst, hurt/comfort, collars, rough sex, breeding kink, biting, threesome, foursome, everyone is fucking your honor, enemies to lovers, chubby reader, reader has a pussy

Author's note: reminder that reader is kinda a bitch at some points, thinking mean, unjustified things about our 141 once in a while. Unreliable narrators, my sinner. Apologies for any grammatical errors , the bad russian and such. So uh, this got waaay longer than intended so here you go. It will be a couple of days before the next chapter, so enjoy this snack for u all, my sinners.

chapter 2: Delivery from the Hybrid's Den!

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“I have a friend coming over for a while,” John softly said next morning, hand resting on your head, fingers stroking your long ears now and again,, “to help us with getting the boys settled.”

You were on the floor, half way beneath the kitchen table, snuggled up against Price’s leg, feeling much more needy, knowing the ‘boys’ as your owner called them, would be delivered later today or tomorrow. They needed to be chipped and Price had asked for a full health check from his vet, as well as vaccinations and dental care. John was a caring owner; the mere fact that he did this from the get go was proof of that. He had done the same when getting you, made sure that any recent wounds or scarring were taken care of - getting your teeth fixed and your nails checked.

You didn’t have much of your fangs left when he got you; your earlier owners had taken those, the memories still haunting you once in a while. They had done it without anesthesia, not even by professionals. Same with your claws, that wasn’t beneath your nails anymore, thanks to former owners as well. Price had gotten the wounds cleaned and fixed up; they had almost grown closed by now. For most of the time that you lived with John, he had made sure your nails were always done nicely, however you wanted them.

John was a good master. You loved him, more than you knew you should, desperate for his attention, acknowledgment and praise. You didn’t want to share him, not with these hounds he had decided to get…

… not with this apparent friend.

You didn’t answer with anything but a displeased sound, tightening your grip on Price’s pants; when he offered you another piece of sausage you were quick to eat it, licking at his fingers while he chuckled. For a moment your tail wagged, eating the food and pressing against his hand.

He couldn’t be serious - abruptly changing so many things? and you were just supposed to accept it? Finally, you replied.

“Do I know your friend?” You didn’t bother to seem excited in any way, your skepticism seeping into your voice like poison. Price took another sip of his tea, not commenting on it.

“You’ve met him before but it’s been years. First year I had you, I reckon. Remember Nikolai?” 

Nikolai. Nikolai. Different faces flashed for your eyes, trying to pinpoint who you had met that bore that name. 

“No,” you finally admitted.

“Can’t blame you, lass. You were a little mess when you met him.”

You let out a huff at his words, embarrassment making your toes curl. It was true, your mind was muddled when it came to the first half year or so together with Price. You had been wary of every single person, desperately acting out and having to wear a muzzle, slowly getting used to the gentleness and rules of John. How he was fair and didn’t change his rules, didn’t punish you without reason.

You heard the front door open, ears peeking up a little, a small bark leaving you on instinct.

“‘Morning,” Laswell called out, making you settle again with a huff. While Laswell was strict and sometimes a meanie, she wasn’t a threat. Only to you and John’s private time.

“Good morning,” John called out, “I’ve made coffee.”

“Ugh if I wasn’t a lesbian I would marry you,” Kate groaned happily, by now so comfortable with John that she simply moved to take a cup in the cupboard, helping herself to the coffee and some food. They had known each other when younger, that was all you knew. Their stories always changed when you asked.

“Morning puppy,” she greeted, leaning over to give you a small pat that you leaned into, tail wagging once more, “are you going to misbehave again today?”

“Hopefully not,” John hummed, picking up his tea cup once more, “Nikolai is arriving in a couple of hours.”

“Ah, your old crush,” Laswell mused happily as she sat down across the table, once again making you wonder how long they had known each other, “going to pull yourself together this time?”

Wait. Crush… crush? Your head whipped up to look at your owner and oh fucking hell, John fucking Price was blushing. You huffed, clearly not pleased at all with this new knowledge.

Wonderful, wasn’t that just fucking wonderful? Now he was going to abandon you fully, to run around being a lovesick puppy and playing with the new hybrids.

“Don’t tease me,” John answered, clearly embarrassed, a rare sight indeed, “that’s none of your business.”

Kate just laughed. You let out a grumble, trying to snuggle even closer to Price, practically clinging to his leg by now. Price returned his hand to your head, petting you once more, looking down at you. You returned his gaze, doing your best puppy eyes, letting out a little whine. He smiled at you, his other hand scratching you beneath your chin.

“It’s been years,” he mused and you were pretty sure that he wasn’t even talking to you, “he had to return to Russia. His mother passed away.”

Russia? A memory appeared in your mind. A small party. Champagne, treats. Praise from Price’s friends and colleagues, attention and love that you had basked in. Other hybrids that sent you longing and lustful looks. A tall, broad man with a loud laugh and a strong accent. Wearing a gold chain. Long hair, rough hands when he scratched you. He would almost make your owner shy with his teasing but he would shower you in love.

“Did I meet him at a party once?” You asked, “big guy, strong accent ? Wearing a gold chain?”

John laughed, “yes, that would indeed be Nikolai.”

Huh. It was not much you could remember about him. You remembered liking him, but despite that, you weren’t really interested in him getting here.

“He is going to help with Soap, Ghost and Gaz,” John then said, almost as if to convince himself that was why he was here. You rolled your eyes at their names. Not that you had any say, you were usually just called different pet names, but you no longer bore the name your mother had once given you. It wasn’t unusual for pets to get their names changed with every new owner. Your legal hybrid name, with John, was Daisy, even though the man rarely ever called you that. He called you so many other names, Princess, Darling, Sweetheart, Birdie and so on. But apparently he had decided not to change these working dogs’ names.

“Sure,” Kate answered with amusement in her voice, taking another sip of the coffee before adding, “whatever you say.”

Price didn’t answer with anything but an annoyed grumble.

“Those are stupid names,” you muttered. A sharp tug on your ear made you yelp, one of your hands grabbing onto his wrist to get him to let go of your furry ear. 

“Be nice, Princess. You’re going to behave, am I understood?” You didn’t meet his eyes, a little whine merely escaped from you.

“She just needs to be shown her place,” Laswell carefully said, John not letting go of your ear, much to your dismay, but he didn’t tug on it - just kept it there as a warning, “maybe they’re better at that.”

“Hopefully they’ll be better at it than me,” he muttered and you whined - the grip didn’t loosen and he didn’t look down at you.

“Nikolai is going to help with that too?” 

“He had ideas, at least.”

Fucking wonderful.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Nikolai was the first of the four men that you already hated, to arrive. 

You stayed inside the house, watching John appear from one of the stables, almost lighting up at the sight of the man who exited the car.

He still looked like the old memory you had of him; big, long black hair and a grin on his face. He was taller than John but not by much, Almost seeming completely opposite to your owner. While John wore working clothes, a grey T-shirt beneath his blue flannel, dirt on his pants, Nikolai was wearing a pair of blue jeans, white T-shirt and leather jacket.

Even inside the house, you could hear the booming man that was Nikolai - he greeted your owner with a loud “John!”, before hugging him, even spinning him around. You couldn’t help but stare; John was far from small but the other man had swung him around like he had been a teenage girl. 

John was blushing like one too. The sight made you curious - just like you wondered how he and Kate met, you wondered how this Nikolai met your owner.

You couldn’t help but wag your tail at how happy they looked. Despite how you hated the idea of the man staying here, even just for a little while, you liked seeing John happy like this.

Then two pairs of eyes suddenly looked directly into the window, both staring at you. It made your ears tip back a little. Your tail kept wagging, eating up the attention. 

When they moved, you moved too - rushing towards the entrance, stopping in the doorframe to the living room. 

“My my, if it isn’t the famous puppy,” Nikolai mused, his Russian accent strong, eyes almost twinkling as he looked you up and down, “up to trouble, da?”

You huffed, crossing your arms, though you felt your tail betray you by wagging a little, “I’m never up to trouble.”

Both of the men laughed, making you growl a little. 

“Unruly - just like last time I met you!” Nikolai mused, looking over at John by his side, “you gave up on training?”

John shook his head, “don’t even get me started, mate.”

“You told enough over phone,” Nikolai answered, waving his hand at John while pushing his shoes off with his feet.

Ah. So he had talked about you with Nikolai already? The fact made you scrunch your nose a little. Maybe Nikolai was just as stupid as John when it came to realizing why you were upset.

Nikolai stepped into your personal sphere with no warning, almost backing you up against the door frame, making you panic and growl a little. Tail no longer wagging - you could see John tense up in the corner of your eye, but you were too distracted by the stranger.

“Nik—“

A part of you expected him to hit you - you had met plenty of strangers with your former owners, who didn’t even let you sniff their hand or anything. Some hurting you and —

He offered his hand. It didn’t hit you, but raised to your nose instead. You squinted at him, before taking a couple of sniffs, still not quite sure what to make of him.

“Don’t like you,” you growled in warning, showing your teeth a little, not even attempting to be polite. 

“You don’t like farm life yet, puppy?” He asked, tipping his head to the side, voice demeaning, stupid smile still on his face. You wanted to slap it off his face. “Stupid little puppy.”

Instead you chomped down on his hand, Price instantly scolding out your name, moving to drag you away. But Nikolai didn’t even flinch - didn't move besides laughing again. 

It made both you and John confused.

“If you want to hurt me, you would have to bite harder, Princess,” Nikolai crooned, “now let go.”

You wanted to piss in his shoes and rip his socks to pieces. Maybe scratch up that leather jacket of his. Yet you found yourself letting go of him, your teeth barely even having made a dent in his skin.

“Get your ass into your room,” John hissed, a redness in his skin that you weren’t sure came from embarrassment or anger from your action.

“No harm done, John,” Nikolai laughed; he scratched you behind your right ear, just a tad to the left and it was like your brain melted for a couple of seconds, your body reacted on its own, tail wagging and right leg moving as well, “she just attempt to be dangerous no?”

John let out a small sound that you weren’t sure  what to make of before he grabbed you by the collar and dragged you away from Nikolai, “and that’s the kind of behaviour I don’t want.”

“He was being mean,” you whined in self defense, unable to not follow the hand dragging you into the living room, “he almost dared me to!”

Perhaps an overstatement, but you already knew what was going to happen the moment that Price pushed you over the armrest of the couch, “I bit him to defend myself!”

“You will not, and I repeat myself, not bite my guests,” he pulled up your skirt and down your panties with such a quick movement that you didn’t get to point out that you didn’t care, one hand grabbing your tail; his other hand collided with your ass cheeks, once, twice and then a third time, before he snapped out, “got it?”

A defiant bark left you, because while you knew it was bad behavior, you also wanted to prove that you weren’t afraid of this Nikolai. You twisted a little, knowing your ass and pussy was basically on display for both men. 

The grip on your tail tightened making you cringe with pain, jaw tensing.

“Apologise.”

You shook your head in defiance, ears hitting your face. Price leant over you a little, hissing out, “I would advise you to apologize, princess. Now.”

A part of you knew he was upset because he liked Nikolai. If he actually had feelings for him, as Kate had pointed out and several things pointed towards, you knew he wouldn’t like being embarrassed too much. Your ass still stung a little.

You were the actual victim here, weren’t you? It wasn’t your fault he decided to change everything you loved and then accept that he had his lost love over, who immediately tried to push your buttons.

“‘m sorry,” you mumbled after two seconds.

“Louder.” John demanded, straightening up, so that you were no longer hidden.

"I'm sorry."

There was silence for a moment - then the sound of a lighter and as you dared to glance over at the bigger man, who was leaning against the door frame, you saw him staring right back at you, a lit cigarette now between his lips.

“Is okay, Lapochka.” He said, stupid smile still on his face.

With that John finally let go off your tail, pulling up your underwear and your skirt down, ignoring your whine. He didn’t even touch your pussy! Didn’t even give you some love!

You pouted as you looked over at them, sliding down from the armrest of the couch, hands going beneath your skirt to rest against your warm skin on your cheeks.

“Sorry Nik,” John once again apologized - as if it was him who John had just spanked! The audacity! You let out a little displeased bark.

“She usually doesn’t bite people,” he continued as he ushered Nikolai as if you weren’t right there, needing love and attention.

“Is okay,” Nikolai answered with a shrug, casting one last glance over at you, smirking for just a second, “some of it was my fault - wanted to see what she would do.”

Asshole.

“Room, princess - now.”

“But he literally ju—“

“I said now.”

“You’re being so fucking mea—“

“Crate then.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” You might have slammed the door to your room, growling as you plopped down on your big fuzzy dog bed. 

It was about 30 minutes later than you dared to wander from the room to the kitchen again, standing in the doorway, watching the two men talk. Eyes moved to watch you again, as you whined and got on your knees. crawling to the two men, shamefully settling between Price’s legs on your knees - tail carefully wagging, sending your owner a pitiful glance.

“‘m sorry,” you whimpered, knowing John was easy to sweeten up, “‘m sorry, sir.”

A hand moved down to scratch you, though it wasn’t John’s-  you carefully licked his hand, a pleased rumble leaving the guest.

“Smart one,” he muttered, giving your cheek a little pinch, “knows how to be sweet, da?”

“Always,” John answered, looking down at you with his usual loving eyes, “soft lass is hard  to stay mad at.”

“Perhaps you need some more company,” Nikolai pointed out, “I worked with military pets before, they’re much different than you, milaya.”

“We don’t need them,” you whined, having no idea what Nikolai had just called you, “John will forget about me, will be too busy, he –”

John’s foot ever so gently pushed against your stomach, “don’t start that again.”

“Just insecure,” Nikolai suggested, making you huff.

“Am not,” you argued, but you still nuzzled closer to John, starting to move your hands to his inner thighs, moving to look up the best you could, looking from under the edge of the table, sweetening your voice a little, “It’s just a mistake, that’s all.”

“Spoiled, that’s what you are, darling,” John pointed out, but he still reached out to gently pat your head, “however, the boys will be here in a couple of hours and there is nothing you can do about it.”

You whined pitifully at his words, upset that your clear dissatisfaction with them joining the farm wasn’t clear. It was like John didn’t want to realize at all that he didn’t need to stay out on this farm. He needed to go back to the city, to the fancy penthouse apartment, to the parties that lasted out to the late hours of the night, where you could gossip with all the other hybrids.

“Milaya,” Nikolai repeated again, rustling with something in his jacket that hung over the back of the chair he was currently sitting on, pulling a little package from it. You watched curiously, though trying to seem disinterested. That was until he opened it and the most wonderful, mouthwatering scent you had smelled in a while appeared and you instantly moved from between John’s legs to Nikolai’s, making your owner chuckle.

The piece of jerky looking meat that Nikolai held in between his thumb and pointer finger, looked simple but oh the smell of it made it known that it was good.

“You behave and let us look through papers now, da?” 

“Yes,” you said, unable to look away or stop your tail from wagging, “I’ll behave.” 

The moment Nikolai offered you the piece, you were on it, barely missing his fingers with your teeth as you stole it from his grip. Nikolai was chuckling, putting the bag back into his jacket, while you chewed, a pleased moan leaving you as you settled beneath the table. 

Hopefully these mutts would prove themselves too difficult - so that John would send them away again. You would happily wave goodbye to them. 

With the sweet aftertaste of the meat in your mouth and their soft voices discussing fences, you closed your eyes.

You weren’t going to help with the pack settling in - that was for sure.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

You barely got used to your owner’s crush, before there were once again new things happening. Kate appeared, greeting Nikolai like an old friend as well. You hadn’t figured out much about the man, other than he had worked with a lot of hybrids throughout the years. And with helicopters. However that all fit together, you didn’t know… didn’t really care.

The big truck that arrived a couple of hours later, stood out against the farm houses; a colorful logo was painted on the otherwise steel gray vehicle.

THE HYBRID’S DEN! helping owners find their perfect hybrid pet since 1960!

You remembered seeing their logos everywhere when you were sold to the auction, years ago. The auction houses and facilities had often felt like an intermission from your former life to your new; never knowing what was going to happen, treated with the minimal care, but kept healthy enough for the auctions. 

The staff wore the colorful logo on their black uniforms, exciting the truck a few moments later. You almost wanted to tell them to ‘get the fuck back into that truck and drive off’ again, but you figured it wouldn’t result in them actually doing so.

You kept your distance, standing on the steps of the front door - strategically keeping Nikolai between you and the closed metal crates that were inside the truck. There were nothing more than a few air holes in the boxes, from where some different sounds appeared. Barks and a growl or two, though they all sounded a little slurred. Nikolai moved, giving you a better look at them, as he joined John who was nodding along to some of the information, while looking through and signing some papers. Though you were mostly distracted by the crates, you could hear some of their conversation, catching words like sedated, muzzles, stressed. Your own trip hadn’t been nice either but a part of you wanted to point out to your owner that this only proved your point of this being a bad idea.

Some of the auction workers helped move the crates to one of the bigger empty sheds that Price had apparently been renovating without your knowledge. So apparently not so empty any longer. Not that it had been hard to do that, you ignored most of the different renovating and building jobs that both John and the helpers did.

Still… he could have told you. God, did your master tell you nothing anymore? It didn’t really help your mood, your growing annoyance clearly amusing for Nikolai if his smiles back at you were anything to go by.

Despite your repeated frustration with this entire situation and these new hybrids’ mere existence, you followed along inside the shed. It was nice… Isolated, with a tiny bathroom, an area padded with mattresses, which was clearly for them to sleep together, pillows, blankets… you wanted that too. Sure, you had loads, but this only made you want more, want more from Price, so that he could prove he still loved you. 

There was a radiator, several windows, lamps and electricity outlets. You scrunch your nose with displeasure. They didn’t deserve that. At least they weren’t inside the main house. 

There was a little notch in the other corner opposite the bed area, almost like a tiny expansion, another door next to it; it was almost like a small horse stall - a deep layer of hay covered the floor. You didn’t even step into the place, but you knew the hay would itch.

You wanted it. Not the itching of the hay, but the entire place, simply for the sake of having it, so that they couldn’t. Speaking of them, you watched from the main entrance as the metal boxes were opened.

The Belgian malinois and German Shepherd mix was the first one to stumble out of the box; he fell two steps later, directly into the hay, a deep sigh leaving him, eyes darting around. You could barely see him from the amount of people inside the stall. 

“It’s alright, Gaz,” Price comforted, while you stayed in the door, keeping his distance to the hybrid, “You’re okay, boy.”

Gaz didn’t answer, just panted a little, ears tipped backwards - his eyes looked a little blown from what you could see.

“When will the sedatives wear off?” Laswell asked one of the workers, but you didn’t look at them, eyes instead at the other hybrid. 

When you had arrived, you had been scared and angry, drugged as well. But you had been alone. While you grew up with your parents, in a nice enough place, you hadn’t seen them for years - and while you had befriended a lot of other hybrids throughout the years, you had never been a part of a “pack”. You were alone — but this Gaz wasn’t and a part of you envied him, even for that.

“In an hour or two,” the worker replied, pulling you from your deeper thoughts, “they weren’t too happy to settle down before we left. It was necessary.”

A small bark left the man in the hay. It was answered by the two other hybrids, who still hadn’t come out of their respective boxes. Nikolai gently tapped on the top of one of the boxes with a knuckle.

“Come join your friend,” the Russian suggested, voice not as loud as earlier.

A moment later the border collie mix, Soap, crawled out of his box, eyes instantly on Gaz, letting himself lay halfway on top of the other. A little growl leaving him, muffled from behind the mask. Not even a second later, Ghost got out of the last crate. The Great Pyrenees almost got on his legs, growling despite the muzzle and swaying from the drugs.

You watched the staff pull back the metal boxes, letting the hybrids get some space. Ghost didn’t stay on his legs for too long, eventually sitting down next to his pack mates, the lower half of his face hidden from view as he looked around the shed.

His gaze stopped at you; you were unable to sense the reaction from seeing you again, if there even was any.

“We’ll let you have some minutes, okay? Then we’ll take the muzzles off.” John gently offered, pulling the giant from the moment, so that he looked away, giving Price a small nod. Your owner was at the edge of the hay filled area but he didn’t step into it.

You stepped back, letting the staff members from the auction pull away the boxes, Laswell and another farm worker helping them. Nikolai looked from the pack, then over his shoulder at you, barely even trying to hide a smile.

Then he winked. You sent him an unimpressed look back, tipping your chin up a little, looking away from the three hybrids in the hay, pretending you weren’t curious about them.

Some more rustling in the hay and then a half croaked, “mah held hurts,” left Soap, voice a little slurred - you couldn’t help but look over at him. His accent was weird. His ears were tipped down, some hay already stuck in his hair. With the pathetic look on his face you didn’t understand how he was supposed to be a big bad soldier.

You weren’t being petty at all.

“It’s the sedatives,” John calmly answered the hybrid, who let out a big breath from behind the muzzle.

“If I take the muzzle off, will you behave?”

“We have water for you,” Nikolai added, keeping his distance - you kept him in between you and the dogs, not risking anything. You trusted the men to be able to defend themselves. But with no claws or fangs, you weren’t a fighter - more a runner. Even if you didn’t like running.

The two muzzled ones, Soap and Ghost, sent each other a look - but it was Gaz, half hidden beneath Soap, who let out a tired “please.”

Ghost gave a small nod then. John stepped into the hay, unhurried as to not spook them, and it was Ghost who tipped his head down first to let Price open the lock with a small key. The moment he was free, he smacked his cracked and dry looking lips. 

Clearly, the man had never heard of chapstick.

Though, much more apparent, where the colony of scars on his lower half of the face. Trailing from around the lips, one over the nose as well - cheeks and chin. As he smacked his lips, you saw he had lost a fang in the bottom of his mouth. It wasn’t just sanded down like yours, the tooth was fully missing.

Price repeated the action with Soap, the hybrid instantly opening his mouth wide with a yawn, his jaw even making a popping wound.

Nikolai appeared with three bottles of water from a little cooler in the shed - you didn’t have your own cooler, which meant you would be demanding one… not that you needed it but still — giving the hybrids each one, that was always immediately opened. Gaz pushed Soap away and sat up too, while John backed away.

“My name is John Price -we met shortly at the auction. I’m the owner of the farm and you will all answer to me. Got it?”

“Yes sir.” For a moment you were impressed with the three hybrids’ synchronized answers. Only a short moment however. They were probably just beasts trained to answer like that. Yeah, yeah, you could do that too, if you wanted. But you didn’t.

“This is Nikolai, my friend, he will stay with me for a while, helping you all to settle in properly. You will follow his orders too - as well as a mean looking woman, Kate Laswell, who will appear at some point.” Humour tipped into the last part making Soap snort and Gaz give out a half-slurred giggle, while Ghost just let out a grunt.

“And this,” Price suddenly turned over to you, looking a little amused from the distance you kept between all of them, “is my pet, Daisy.” 

“Well hellooo, bonnie lass,” Soap said, his tail immediately wagging, grinning at you, as he slurred, “aren’t ye a sight for sore eyes.”

Nikolai and John dared to laugh at his words, his rather pathetic attempt at being charming, while you growled, watching Soap get an elbow in the side from Gaz, while Simon just stared, almost differently than the scot, like a hungry beast. If you were fully inside the shed, you might be able to smell if they were turned on. Disgusting. 

“Come’ere, sweetheart,” John crooned, clearly pleased with the reactions from the men, while you scrunch your nose, tipping your chin up a little - giving it a shake to reject the command.

“Do not be like that, milaya,” Nikolai suggested, “thought you were going to behave, no?”

You just growled a little again, unable to help your tail go between your legs a little; you didn’t really want to be spanked again, but you didn’t really want to become acquainted with these hybrids either.

“My princess isn’t too pleased with you lot being here,” John calmly explained without taking his eyes off you - they were still all staring at you - as John raised a hand, making a ‘come-hither’ motion that had you swallowing some spit, “but she isn’t going to chase away any wolves, are ye, pet?”

You huffed, crossing your arms before stepping inside the shed. The scent in there was nice and clean, even with the vague scent of the newcomers, and you walked to John, stopping halfway hidden by him.

However, as John’s arm snaked around your soft waist in a strong grip, you whimpered as you were pulled forward a little, unable to hide behind him. Both Gaz and Soap were wagging their tails at you, while you tried ignoring the scent of the room the best you can.

“I’m expecting you all to get along - and not hurt each other too badly, understood?”

While the others answered in agreement you just hid your face in his shoulder, twisting a little in his grip.

“No playin’ too rough,” Nikolai added, “Puppy isn’t used to other hybrids.”

“I am!” you snapped, “Just not…”

The shed was quiet for a moment as you mulled over your next words. What to call them. Military dogs. Strays. Mutts, un –

“Not what?” Nikolai almost seemed entertained by your declaration and you looked away, before finally mumbling.

“... working dogs.”

Simon huffed. You shot him a sharp look that he didn’t really seem to be affected by, in any way.

“I’m sure you all will get along,” John just mused, before looking down at his watch, “A certain princess has become too bored now we’re no longer in the city -” he ignored your mutter of ‘have not’, “- and I can’t entertain her all the time. Mentally or sexually.” 

You whined with embarrassment, a little angry growl seeping into it, but Price didn’t really react, barely moved as you twisted in his grip, ignoring the grin of the several males in the house. 

“ - Now, I will leave you three to get acclimated a little. But, there are a couple of rules that I expect you all to follow, if not there will be punishments.”

Synchronized nods. You still twisted, digging your fingers into his arm to no avail - then a hand snagged onto your collar from behind, choking you shortly as you were pulled back, Nikolai pressing against your back. Now free, Price pointed to a little map over the area, that you hadn’t noticed on the wall.

“Your jobs will essentially be to help keep the place safe. We have had problems with wolves and foxes, and so has the neighbors, since there lives a bunch in the area. You three will help keeping them away and Soap will help around my sheeps and goats in particular, given you’re a herding dog–”

Soap nodded, tail wagging, all three dogs staring at the map intensely.

“- I will find other things for the two of you to help with as well, but your main focus will be on keeping the animals - and the rest of us - safe. One of the neighbors got some horses stolen not too long ago. I would like to avoid that as well.”

You didn’t even know that. What you did know, however, was the heat of Nikolai’s body behind you, keeping you close and tethered so that you couldn’t run off.

“Most of the wildlife will go away if intimidated, but at times you might need to attack them. I am not going to give you any firearms yet though,” John looked over at them, his voice  firmer than you usually heard it, “That will come along the way, if needed. We can discuss other weapons later on.”

The mere idea of John giving them any kinds of weapon made you want to throw up - or throw a fit. Had he gone fuckin’ mad?? giving them guns? They were going to shoot everyone, going to kill John and you. You really didn’t want to die.

“My farm includes these - and these fields. You will not and I repeat not, leave my land without a valid reason. There will be punishments if you do - you will all be given collars like another certain puppy–” all eyes watched you for a moment and though, you wanted to hide  your face in your hands, you didn’t, merely crossed your arms, ignoring the low laughter from Nikolai behind you, “that are fitted with trackers, so I will know if you do.”

Great. So hoping for them to run off wasn’t a possibility for now.

“Biting or attacking my staff in any way will result in severe punishments. You will lose privileges if you don’t do as told, without a valid reason. Is that understood?”

“Yessir.” 

“Good boys. Now, these upcoming days you will most likely be following me or Laswell around, while we get you in on all these. All dinners will be eaten in the main house and you will be given keys once I get them made one of these upcoming days. I will give you a couple of hours now –” Price looked down at his wrist watch, “Then call you in, an hour or two before dinner, so that you all can shower. Any injuries, allergies or anything that the Hybrids’ Den didn’t write down, that I need to know?”

They all shook their heads, behaving like synchronized swimmers in your opinion. 

“Good. You’re all free to relax here or explore the farm if you wish so, when the drugs wear off.” 

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

As you entered the farm house, you shrugged off your jacket and abandoned your shoes in the entrance, not caring to clean up after you, ignoring John’s irked huff.

“Insane!” you declared, walking further into the house, “You’ve gone insane! You’re all going to forget about me and those horny knotted mutts will be all up in my business!”

You flopped down on the couch, face first, continuing your ranting into the fabric.

“I might as well barricade myself inside my room - Because I dont have a tiny house!! but guns! SURE ! give them guns!” Your voice was muffled, but you were, perhaps a tad dramatically, loud in your ranting. You could just make out whispering between the two men but you didn’t care… not until you were forced to, quite literally.

“Little puppy,” Nikolai’s accent was heavy - his body even heavier as he settled on the back of your thighs, a fist coming to rest next to your head, that kept his full body weight from you, “Throwing a fit again, da?” 

You could feel the slight bulge against your fat ass, making you swallow - and tail wag, hitting Nikolai against the thighs, making the man chuckle. John as well, who settled down with a cigar in one of the arm chairs opposite the couch. You didn’t even need to look to know that he watched as Nikolai tugged at your skirt.

[soap-ify]

nsfw , minors dni.

YOU'RE AN ANGEL, I'M A DOG | simon riley x reader | a series.

MASTERLIST — ao3

synopsis — sweet things like you aren't meant for dirty dogs like him. simon always knew that, yet he still indulged.

tags / cw — smut 18+, angst, unrequited feelings (or is it?), situationship at first, simon is a bit of an asshole (a bit more than 'a bit'), reader has bad anxiety, simon's mental state (i think it should be in the tags), hurt/no comfort, the comfort will come slowly, graphic violence, mentions of simon's past . . more tags will be added as the fic progresses.

☆ reader written with afab anatomy but gender neutral terms. also there won't be any taglists since i don't do taglists!

CHAPS.

01 — or you're a dog and i'm your man. (20.12)

02 — you believe me like a god, i destroy you like i am. (23.12)

03 — i'm sorry i'm the one you love. (04.01)

04 — so when you leave me, i should die. (22.01)

05 — i'll meet the judgement by the hounds. (21.02)

06 — you believe me like a god, i betray you likea man.

(more will be added)

EXTRA.

panties shopping with simon.

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

Hi! If possible is would you write a fanfic about Daryl and reader (preferably fem) live in a cabin with dog in the woods after being together for awhile, when Daryl goes to Alexandria to visit, Carol and Rosita ask questions about her?

༉‧₊˚. 𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 || 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧

― pairings: daryl dixon x plus size!reader

― era: s10/mid whisperers era

― summary: as much as you love domestic life with daryl, you wanted him to go see his family, and he basically gets a pat down when he does.

― warnings: literally nothing besides fluff!!

― wc: 925

⋆ a/n: i have nothing much to say besides this has been sitting in my drafts for a while and i apologize that i have taken so long to actually answer this.

masterlist | AO3

Going back to visit Daryl’s family was your idea. 

“It’s been awhile, you know?” You had said whilst running your fingers through his hair, his head rested on your chest as he listened to your heart beat rhythmically. 

He had grunted in agreement, though he wasn’t really putting any thought to your words. His hands were busy with a sleepy Dog who had been resting as well, the archer running petting the hound sweetly. Daryl hadn’t really wanted to think about it if he was being honest. Of course he missed his family, but he was rather content basking in this extremely domestic moment with you.

When he’d gone to look for Rick, he was alone; but then came Dog… and then you. It was an aggressive first meeting he must admit, the two of you wrestling under the guise that the other meant harm, but after quite the tiring rumble, both of you had gotten acquainted and even became neighbors. After that, the rest of your love story was history.

“I mean it, D.” You pressed, much to Daryl’s tired irritation. He remained silent on the matter, but you knew he was beginning to ponder your words. “Just think about it, okay?” Drawing his face up to place a gentle – convincing – kiss against his lips. “Okay.” He whispered.

Now with his bags packed for a few planned days away, he was chewing on his thumbnail nervously at the thought of leaving you and Dog alone.

“Are ya sure ya’ll’l be alrigh’?” He asked. 

You smiled softly at him, wrapping your arms around his neck to look him in the eye, his large hands settling on your plush hips. “We’ll be okay, hun. You know we can take care of ourselves.” He still didn’t look convinced. “C’mon, it’ll be fun! Plus, you’ll get to see Judith and RJ, Carol, Michonne.” You had only ever really heard stories of the people you had mentioned, but you knew they were important to Daryl, so if you had to use them as a selling point, then so be it. 

You could see a longing look settle over his face at the mention of the names.

“You miss them, so go see them! Don’t stay behind on my account. You know I was just fine living on my own before I had met you, so you’re aware that I can hold my own.” He knew you were right, and with a designated sigh, he relented, his tensed body relaxing. “Yeah, I know. I jus’... I’ll miss ya too.” You laughed at his boyish confession, kissing his lips in delight. 

“I know you will, and I’ll miss you too. I’m sure Dog will as well.” The boy yipped happily, brushing his nose along Daryl’s pant leg. A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, and you knew you had won. 

“Ya promise to try and radio me if anythin’ happens?” You nodded. “Yes, D.”

“Ya remember how to work it? Hell, why don’cha jus’ come with me?” You shook your head. “Not right now. I’d rather them have you to themselves before I’m added to the mix.” He knew that you were right and nibbled on his bottom lip.

“Go before I make you.” You said half serious, half joking. “Alrigh’ alrigh’, no need’ta threaten me.” He said with a small smile of his own.

The drive to Alexandria was long but familiar, and as he had approached the gates, he hadn’t expected to be ambushed by Carol and Rosita.

“Daryl!” Carol had cheered at the sight of him, pulling him into a tight hug. It was clear that she was elated by the sight of her best friend’s return. “Hey there stranger.” Rosita had said with a grin before pulling him into a hug of her own.

When they pulled away, Carol had given Daryl a slow once over, making the poor man shift in his place uncomfortably. “Wha’?” Her cheerful smile turned shit eating at her revelation. “You look different.” Carol teases.

“Yeah, he does.” Rosita only serves as an instigator, looking at him through playfully narrowed eyes.

“Is tha’ good or bad?” Daryl inquired unsurely, shifting back and forth on his feet at their piercing gazes. “Last time I visited your camp, I had to cut your hair myself. Now, it seems like it’s been neatly trimmed.” Carol says.“And his clothes have been patched up too.” Rosita added. “So, who is she?” She asked with a drawn out ‘so.’

“Don’t tell me you got a girlfriend out there, tarzan.” Rosita continued playfully.

“Wha’s it to you.” Daryl asked, sucking his teeth with a slight ‘mmcht’ sound.

“Oh nothing, I’m just surprised you decided to settle down, but you know, stranger things have happened.” Says Carol.

“Pfft, whatever.” But the red tips of his ears gave him away.

“So who is she? How’d you meet?” Rosita bombards.

“I dunno,” He shrugs, “The woods I guess.”

“And then we can guess she never left.” 

“Obviously. I mean what’s the love story there?”

“Ain’t no love story. Jus’ met her digging around my camp and offered to share some of my food ‘s all.”

“I guess.” He didn’t want to continue to entertain the women’s ribbing, but they were right. 

When you had first met, you were nothing short of feral, digging through his stuff in hopes of finding something - anything - to arm and feed yourself with. Daryl of course raised his crossbow at you and the rest was history.

But they didn’t need to know that.

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[just-some-random-blogger]

Safe Keeping | 6

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

What say you, lady? Don't you think the Hound would make a fine husband? He would protect you, yes, and you would bear him many babes." I curtsy again but this time, my voice falters when I speak, "I- I think he would," I turn to my left, "Lord Sandor would make a fine husband... a fine father."

Sandor Clegane x Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, forced marriage, smut (piv, emotional sex, praise kink), enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, miscommunication, baby fever, fluff!, typos, etc.

A/N: i said i'd end this on p5 but i think i'll be ending at p7 HAHHAH lol. originally posted on ao3 but felt like posting it on here

Tagging: @otteropera @poisonsage808 @glitterandgoldfinds @the-queen-of-sorrows @minttea07 @fluffpudel @j3nn-1 @jelsasnowflakes1

"My lady," followed by high pitched barking made me turn around from where I sat in the garden.

Maester Yannick was walking over to me, with three puppies on his trail. He lifts his robe when he feels one of the critters nip at it. He hisses at them and tells them not to bite. Rose barks and takes it as a challenge.

I chuckle and shush her, raising a finger as I bend down to reinforce the discipline.

Rose looks at me then scurries off.

I straighten up on the bench as Yannick sits beside me. We both then turn to the soldiers in the making, training across the grounds of Brown Wood.

The Hound barks at them when they get their positions wrong.

"He is lovely today," Yannick tells me.

I turn to him and chuckle, but nod nonetheless.

He continues observing my husband, "he's been training long, hasn't he?"

"Mmm. Perhaps a couple hours," I look back at Sandor, "why? Do you think it is bad for his wounds?"

"I think it is bad for you," he looks at me.

I pull my head back, "me?"

The maester stands, "you are wasting precious time. Both of you are in good conditions," he links his hands together, "for the good of your house, it would be wise for you to be more... vigilant about producing heirs."

I feel my face drop and burn.

"As you know, my lady, the herbs I make for you are not cheap. It would be a shame to put them to waste due to a lack of effort."

I clear my throat and turn away from him.

Maester Yannick nods, "which reminds me, I will go and fetch you some tea right now."

I watch him walk away.

Once he was gone, my attention is averted back to Sandor. In truth, now more than ever has his hound persona been more apparent to me. Besides his fierceness, his snarling, his grit, the way he bared his teeth and howled at everyone, I could see his loyalty, his need to do good by the people in his life, his protectiveness, especially when it came to fighting, and his warmth.

I begin to think about Daisy. I turn to my side and watch as the pups begin to wreck the garden with their paws.

I find myself thinking about that night... that night when he said he loved me.

I rub my belly, not liking the way my stomach churned at my string of thoughts.

I watch as Sandor straightens up a boy, who was about to fall flat on his face, with one hand. He shakes his head at the child and says he can't fight if he's fighting himself too.

I imagine him speaking the same way to our son.

It was a horrible mistake. As quickly as I thought of it, I then remember telling him to give me a child by another woman.

I've set him free. He does not belong to me; in truth, he never did.

I quickly stand and wipe my face.

This was no longer leisure, this was torture.

I quickly run inside, retreating to my bedroom. Once I am there, I takes my shoes off, plop on my bed, and stare up at my ceiling. I look at the cobwebs in the distant corners and I wonder why I felt like crying but had no tears to shed. I lie there in silence, wishing nothing but to waste away.

I lift my head up from the sheets and turn to the door when I hear it open. I immediately stand and brush my skirts, "Sandor."

The feel of the cold floor on my bare feet send a shiver down my spine.

Sandor cautiously looks at me, "is everything alright?"

"Mmm?" I raise my brows, "what- why do you ask?"

"You ran inside and left your babes in the garden"

My lips part at his words. My hand instinctively comes to my belly.

"Pups," he raises a hand, "I meant pups. I didn't mean--"

Sandor is cut off by the voice of maester Yannick calling my name as he knocked on my door. Sandor opens the door for him and the old man enters, smiling when he sees the two of us. He is about to hand me the tea but then decides otherwise and puts it on my vanity.

He turns to Sandor, "I am pleased you decided to attend to your wife. Her fertility herbs are slowly being depleted. I was beginning to fear it would be for naught."

I grow frigid.

With that, the maester nods and exits, "please do enjoy each other's company."

The sound of the door closing leaves me red in the face. I lock eyes with Sandor then look away, clearing my throat. I flinch when he calls out my name.

I turn back and rub my arms, "yes... husband?"

"I didn't come here for that," he mutters, raising a hand cautiously.

My chest tightens. Of course not. I open my mouth, but he cuts me off before I could make a sound.

"I came to check if you're alright," he slowly steps forward.

I tense and nod, "I am well."

I feel my heart race when he takes another step towards me.

"Y-you needn't worry about me."

"I always worry about you," he mutters as he walks closer.

My words catch in my throat, "what?"

"Let me help you," he speaks, now only a few steps away from me.

My heart is pounding. I step back slowly, "h-help?"

"In the way only a man can," he lets out a heavy breath.

My calves hit the bed. I stop in my tracks and stand frozen. The Hound is now looking down at me. I am too overwhelmed by his presence to do anything else but stare.

The next thing I know, my gaze is drawn downward as he sits on the bed and peers up at my form.

"If you want a child from me," he whispers, "I'll give you one by no other woman but you." 

I look at him, heart in my mouth, body burning. I scratch my fingers and nod at his words.

Sandor sighs, "I need to hear you say it."

"I-" I shakily speak, "I want a child," I face him, "a child by you... my lord."

His brows knit.

My breath hitches when he touches my waist.

I can hear his heavy breathing as he whispers, "Sandor. Please."

I gulp as his palm rubs slowly across my belly. The action makes my skin prickle with goosebumps. My hand comes atop his. I oblige, "Sandor."

He gently tugs me in between his legs and my breath nearly escapes me. He rests his hands on my hips then pulls me in, sinking his face into my side. My ribs rattle with how quick my pulse was.

Sandor inhales deeply, "gods, you smell good."

I feel my body burn, "i-it's lavender oil."

I squeak when he pulls me down onto his lap. He cages me against him, my back flush against his chest. He sinks his face into my neck and slowly draws in a breath. His arms snake around me as he hotly speaks, "it's you, my pretty squirrel."

I feel his hands slowly lift my skirts up. My hands latch onto his arm that was still around my belly.

"Be calm, my wife, I cleaned up before coming here, in case I had to wipe your tears."

I make a sound as he knocks his nose into my jaw and exposes one of my legs to him. 

"I don't like it when you're upset."

My breath hitches, "I-I'm not upset."

"Good."

Sandor feels the goosebumps on my skin when his hand makes contact with my bare thigh. He shushes me as he rubs and kneads my flesh. I whimper and begin to squirm when his hand hikes up my inner thigh.

His fingers touch my clothed center. He breathes hotly against the pulse of my neck, "I'm going to take this off, mmm?"

I gulp and nod slowly at his words.

I maneuver with him when his hands come under my skirts to rid me of my smallclothes. He doesn't like the space that is created between us and rips me back into him. He ruts his hips into mine to add to his point.

I whine when Sandor's right hand rubs into my heat.

"Fuck," he hisses, "you've worked yourself up over nothing."

I make a louder noise when he prods his fingers into my pulsing entrance. I can feel his fingers slide with ease against my warm folds. I instinctively grip his arm when he sinks into me.

Sandor's other arm, in turn, tightens around me, "you can take it. You've taken more than my fingers, beautiful."

I whimper when he sinks another finger into me and begins to pump in and out. My breathing grows heavier and I throw my head back on his shoulder as he moves into me.

I feel his beard scratch into my neck. I feel his teeth graze lightly into my skin. His fingers languidly move in and out of me, even as I clench my thighs together. He makes no move to part them, and in truth, it doesn't hinder his movements at all.

I feel his tongue dart out on my neck, "I want to taste you."

I slowly lift my head from his shoulder just as he pulls his hand away from my thighs and brings his fingers into his mouth. I feel sobered by his action, taken aback by how filthy it was yet how eagerly he did it.

The next thing I know, he pulls back and lets my body fall in a space between his thighs. He quickly undoes his trousers. After, he pushes me onto my feet, and grips my hips. He rather impatiently rips up my skirts and I feel my thighs shake when he grips my bare flesh.

He pulls me back down on him, and I mewl when I feel his hardened length slip clumsily between my thighs, not yet entering me. I settle on him; the sensation of his clothes on my skin makes my belly roll.

"Fuck," he growls, as my thighs instinctively clamp around him. Sandor is unable to withhold the bucking of his hips.

When he does this, pleasure, crackling like embers, tingle up my body.

"Open up," he hisses, one hand coming between my legs, "I have to be inside you. I have to come inside, have to come inside your weeping cunny."

"Sandor," I whine as I slowly part my legs.

"I know, pretty squirrel. You're so worked up, for me," he breathes against my ear then nips at my lobe, "so fucking eager."

A drawn out whine escapes my lips when he sheathes himself into me.

He wastes no time in moving. I end up squeaking as he braces me against him and firmly thrusts upward into me.

My cries grow louder as his arms tighten beneath my breasts. I feel his hand knead one breast, but it doesn't last very long.

I am throttled onto my chest and pressed down on the sheets. Sandor lifted me up like I was nothing and adjusted me on the edge of the bed.

I'm barely on my tiptoes, as most of my weight was shifted on my spine from of how my husband was hoisting me up to cater to himself.

His movements quickly pick up the pace, and our position becomes reminiscent of the time he had me like this once before, only this time, his one hand was rubbing my scarred hip and he was much more vocal.

"Look at you, all bent over and mine," he groans.

I nails dig into the sheets.

"I'm gonna fill you up. You're going to be so fucking full of me."

I squeal into the sheets. The idea drives me wild. I plead into the bed but I don't think he hears it.

Just as I felt something begin to build in me, he slows.

I open my eyes, not realizing I had closed them as Sandor drops one of my hips. I squeak when I feel him grab my shoulder and slowly turn me on my back.

My jaw drops; I breathe heavily through my mouth. Sandor looks down on me as his hands grip my sides. He pushes me upward and presses my legs by my ribs

He slowly thrusts into me, hands working their way across my body. He rubs my thighs, my belly, my breasts. His brows furrow, "fuck. So fucking soft and warm."

He massages my breasts then works his way up to my shoulders. His one hand rubs my neck before clutching my jaw. His other hand slides back down my hips. I whine when his thumb rubs circles around my sensitive nub. It makes my toes curl.

He sighs, "so fucking beautiful."

I whimper when his other thumb swipes my lips. I find myself licking at it. It makes him groan and buck into me faster.

I push my head back and arch my spine, "fuck- Sandor."

Both his hands land on my hips. He digs his nails into my flesh and begins to move deeper. Eventually, he sinks one hand down by the side of my head for support. My hands latch onto his hips.

"Come for me, pretty girl," he groans, "I'm not gonna last much longer."

I tug at his clothes.

"Be a good girl and come all over my cock, mmm. I want to feel you tighten around me-- get all messy and wet and loud and," he gives deliberate thrusts, "so fucking beautiful."

I whine, "Sandor, I want- I want to-"

I begin to tighten and shake against him. My legs wrap around him and my hands cling onto him for dear life. I find it futile to conceal my sounds, as I cannot find the strength to shut my mouth as I ride the feeling of bliss.

With a loud cuss, Sandor rams into me as deeply as he can. His movements are rough and slow. Both of his hands secured on my waist as he spills his seed into me.

I can feel him throb and can feel myself dripping with warmth.

Sandor takes his time, really drawing out the feeling before slowly coming to a halt. He lets out a final moan when he does stop then takes a deep breath.

I look at him as he closes his eyes and straightens up. My body burns when he looks down at me through hooded eyes and rubs my body again. He enjoys rubbing my breasts the most.

My hands come to his arms, and that seems to stop him.

I am about to tell him not to stop, but he speaks before I can, "wrap your legs round me."

In truth, I didn't have to do anything as he wraps my legs around himself and picks me up in his arms. I hook my feet around each other and am careful not to touch his blistered back as my hands go to his shoulders.

Sandor crawls up the bed with me clinging onto him; I feel the strength in his muscles as he moves. He sets me down on the pillows. He arranges one under my head and brings one beside me.

He looks at me for a moment then whispers, "I'm going to pull away now."

He waits for me to respond before doing anything.

In truth, the thought of him pulling away from me makes my body ache with sadness, but I slowly nod anyway.

I close my eyes as Sandor gently draws away from me. My emotions immediately overcome me in my vulnerable state. I rub my eyes when I feel tears build behind my lids. Sandor fixes my skirt and gathers my legs together. I feel him take the pillow beside me and stuff if bellow my bum.

"This will help keep my spend from dripping out."

His explanation makes my body burn.

I feel Sandor shuffle beside the bed and I hear him fixing his clothing.

I clench my jaw, dreading what I knew exactly was to come next.

I open my eyes when he calls my name. I look at him pathetically, noticing how his skin glowed with sweat, the last evidence that he was ever in me beyond his untucked shirt.

He reaches out to me and I really don't want to take his hand knowing he'll leave me after, so I don't.

I have no idea why he still grabs my hand. The action feels like a betrayal. He rubs my knuckles before kissing them. I chew my lip, feeling wronged over the fact he has never kissed my lips and probably never will.

"I will be leaving now," he mutters.

His words gut me, as always. 

I rip my hand out of his and turn away from him, "very well."

Sandor knits his brows at the sharp withdrawal. He was gentle was he not? Still, he's being turned away.

His mouth goes dry. He slowly steps back, "I..."

I turn my body away from him. I draw in a deep breath and try to make my voice as even as possible, "thank you, Sandor."

Sandor flinches. He steps back some more, "I-I'll bring your dogs here for company."

I chuckle dryly. Company. My voice breaks, "I'm tired."

Sandor's mouth twitches. He backs all the way up to the door, "I'll let you rest then."

I cover my face with my arm and hum in agreement, not trusting myself to speak anymore.

The moment I hear the click of the door, I begin to sob. I whine as his words replay in my head. How could he tell me such things, call me beautiful and say he wants me, then leave me right after? How could he touch me like that then want nothing to do with me?

I pull the pillow from underneath my head and wail into it.

Sandor, who couldn't find it in himself to step away from the door, decides not to walk back in when he hears the crying. His belly curdles with self-loathing. He feels like he's going to choke because of how hurt the noise sounded, nevermind how lovely it was seconds ago; it meant for nothing.

He walks away trying to figure out where he went wrong. He relives every touch, every sound in his memory. His eyes water when he comes to the dreadful realization it must have been horrible being with him. He forced his wretched looks onto an unwilling witness.

He gulps as he sniffles and wipes his face in frustration. He feels like walking into the forest, never to be seen again, but then he steps out to the garden and hears small barking sounds. He looks at the three pups, playing with the boys, who should have been training, and feels his heart twist.

He finds himself imagining what the scene would've been like if Daisy was here... if his pretty squirrel-- he shuts the thought away.

I knock on Sandor's office door and enter when he tells me to come in.

He looks up, does a double take, then immediately stops doing whatever it was he was doing. He clears his throat, "Lady Clegane."

His words pierce through me. He's never called me that before. I close the door and walk towards him, "Lord husband. Good morrow to you. Where is Andrew?"

His shoulders tense, "he... should be here any minute."

I nod as I halt in front of his desk, "he has gotten good enough at reading and balancing coin, I hope?"

Sandor sighs, "yes."

I notice the crumbs on his beard, then I notice a plate on his desk. He must have broken fast here. I fidget with my fingers and wipe my chin, hoping he would get the message. He doesn't. I decide not to note on it and simply get to the point, "maester Yannick said your wounds have dried up, and that if you liked, you could go on your rounds again."

Sandor nods and straightens in his chair, "I think I'll start once I'm confident in the bloke balancing our coin."

I nod slowly and link my hands together, "alright," I shift in my spot and turn to the door.

I look back at him and feel my body burn under his scrutiny. I offer a smile, "that is all I wanted to say," I rub my hands together, "-wanted to check on you."

I gasp when he jumps out of his chair.

I clutch my chest and stare at him. He had an arm raised and reached out to me. It dawns on me he said something but it was too quick for me to catch.

I release a breath, "pardon?"

Sandor lowers his hand, rolls his shoulders back, and clears his throat, "I... I asked how you're doing."

It takes me a few moments to realize the meaning of his words. I shift and my spot and rub my chest. I feel my neck burn when he further clarifies his question.

"Yesterday, when we... bedded, I didn't hurt you, did I?"

I draw out a deep breath and smile softly, "you were... gentle with your touches."

Sandor is unsatisfied.

I aimlessly look around, "and, anyway, I am not as fragile as you think."

He purses his lips and tilts his head. He takes a moment before speaking, and when he does, he does so hesitantly, "I was afraid I made my pretty wife weep again."

I instinctively let out a laugh, but it was clearly unamused and pained. I feel like I was being scorched alive when I look at him looking at me. I shake my hands, suddenly in denial, "no, I was quite satisfied!"

Sandor's eyes widen a fraction.

Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. What am I saying?

He blinks twice and wipes his mouth. Finally his crumbs fall off. He mutters, "that's... good."

I release my final chuckle. He turns to his desk, fixes some things, then looks back to me. He looks like he means to smile but he doesn't, "I'm glad."

He slowly sits down afterwards.

I feel like I'm being weighed down by anchor.

That was it. That was the conversation.

Sandor is no longer looking at me. He shuffles the paper into a file and I slowly begin to feel the air around us thicken.

He sets the parchment down and darts his eyes to me. He purses his lips again and I catch the way his face twitches. He opens his mouth and slowly points to the door, "if that's all... I would not keep you."

I don't know why I laugh again, but I do. It's not even funny. I feel like being stabbed would have been better, more amusing at this point. I curtsy at him and shuffle backwards, "of course. I do not mean to keep you either."

Sandor feels sick. He clenches his fists and turns to his desk. He breathes in deeply, trying not to rile himself up any more than he already was. Gods knew he would use all his strength to keep this room locked.

I walk towards the door and turn the knob. I feel a wave of tears threatening to spill, and I slap my mouth when a squeak leaves me.

Sandor is immediately alerted. He looks up and pushes himself on the edge of the seat, "what?"

I turn to the ground and wipe my face. I take two seconds for myself then turn to him. I cover up with a chuckle, "I said... y-your beard."

Sandor immediately rubs his beard.

I chuckle louder, trying to convince myself that I actually found it funny, "you have crumbs on your beard."

Sandor looks at me like I grew another head.

I laugh enough that I actually start laughing at myself.

When I stop, the silence is loud.

Sandor clears his throat and cautiously asks, "you find that funny?"

My stomach drops when I see the red tinge of his ears. I walk up to his side and shake my head, "wait, no- I- I didn't mean it like that."

Sandor shakes his head and offers me a quick and small smile, "it's fine. I just wasn't expecting that from you," he looks back to his desk, "anyway, I'm used to it."

I feel like my entrails were being grinded.

A line forms in his brows, "I don't think I've ever heard you laugh before."

"I wasn't laughing at you!" I whimper under my breath. The air in my lungs begin to catch in my throat as I exhale, "I was just- I ju-"

Sandor turns to me, face slipping when he catches my teary eyes.

He stands and takes my shoulders.

I blink my tears away and smile in an attempt to calm myself. I am glad I do not shed a tear. I speak through a loud breath, "I'm just nervous when I'm around you!"

Sandor immediately releases me. He sighs through his nostrils, "scared, you mean."

I shake my head and take his shoulders, "nervous."

The Hound seizes up like there was a knife to his neck. I take a moment to look at him and pull back.

I cannot deny it hurt when he immediately steps away from me.

I really should have left at this point, but my mouth had a mind of its own. I furrow my brows and give him an earnest look, "I can trim your beard for you."

He steps back one last time, then looks at me as if I now had three heads.

I realize my mistake, "if-if you want me to. I'm not saying you should, I'm just offering to-"

"You want to do that for me?"

I turn to stone. I look around nervously, "mmm... o-only if you'd have it... ... my lord."

Sandor's face twitches. He sighs and slumps forward. He furrows his brows, "you'd be staring at my face the whole time."

I watch him as he rummages through his things.

My stomach rolls again and I step back, "ah... I see."

Sandor stops to look at me.

"If you do not feel comfortable, I will not..."

My words run dry when he pulls out shears. I watch him as he straightens up. He grips the tool in his hand, "it's you I'm worried about."

I look up at him, not knowing what to say.

"I don't mean to scare yo-"

"I'm not scared of you," I mutter.

Sandor stares at me. After a moment, he slowly takes my hand and hands me the shears, "maybe you should be."

My chest pounds at fleeting touch.

I cut his beard in the garden, as I didn't want to make a mess in his office.

He sits on the bench there.

The breeze blows at both our hair.

"You needn't touch me so gently, girl," he says, "it will take a lot of you to hurt me."

I do not change the manner in which I touch his cheek. I can feel Sandor looking at me, but I do not avert my attention away from his beard, "just because you do not hurt easily doesn't mean I cannot be gentle with you, Hound."

The Hound reaches out to my thighs when my foot rolls on a rock. I barely even fidget, but, still, he holds me in place to keep me from a potential fall. He does not release me. I gulp when I feel his thumb rub my skirt.

"You can hurt me if you like," he says.

I pull back and furrow my brows, "would you like that?"

He grinds his lower lip in his teeth. He debates for a moment and I decide to snip his mustache. I shush him when he tries to speak. He purses his lips tightly.

A moment passes with just the sound of cutting.

"I wouldn't want to cut your lips off," I shift in front of him, still ever so aware of his touch of my thighs, "you still need them to kiss."

I pull away to check if his mustache was straight. I notice his expression, dumbfounded, and continue snipping. I sigh, "that was a jest."

I pull away and again and move to the other side. Sandor still keeps his hands on me. He looks at me as I gently move his head.

I add, "I'm quite funny actually."

He chuckles lowly.

It makes my heart flutter.

He smiles, "oh, I don't doubt it, little girl."

I flatten my lips into a line, unsure if he was serious or not. I trim the hair by his jaw.

"You must like kissing then."

I freeze in my spot. I stop what I was doing, then continue, "what do you mean?"

He pulls his hands away. I watch him link them together and rest them on his lap. He shrugs, "you thought of kissing."

"Do you like kissing?"

I place a hand on my hip. He turns to me and shrugs again, "s'fine."

I furrow my brows and mimic his shrug, "well, you've never kissed me, so I wouldn't really know, would I?"

"You've never kissed a man before?"

"No," I impatiently respond, "I've kissed you, but you did not kiss me back," I take a few last cuts off his beard, "on our wedding day, remember?"

I see Sandor's look of disbelief when I finish and brush him off. Specks of hair fly off with the wind.

"You never kissed a little lord in secret as a little girl?"

"Only a big lord," I make a face, "as according to you I still am a little girl."

He stands from where he sat and peers down at me.

I purse my lips and cross my arms. I shrug, "point taken."

His brown eyes glimmer with confusion. I find myself raising my brows. Just as he is about to speak-

"MILORD, MILADY!"

We turn to the three young men walking over to us. I recognize them as Sandor's training apprentices. They push each other as I turn and smile at them.

"Good morn', lady!" Harry says, bowing exaggeratedly at me, "your dress is very rambunctious."

I furrow my brows at his words and find myself chuckling, "uhhh, thank you?"

Sandor raises his brows and curls his lips.

Daniel slaps Harry behind the head, "YOU MUG, D'YA KNOW WHAT YOU SAID, EVEN?"

Harry hisses and shoves Daniel, "DON'T HIT ME!"

Daniel gets shoved again when he incidentally elbows Richard, "OI, WATCH IT!"

The boys begin to quarrel. 

I step back before they can accidentally hit me, in turn, knocking my back into Sandor's.

"Enough!" the Hound barks, making the three brothers, or at least they acted like that, stop and turn to him.

My eyes widen at the sound of the Hound telling the boys off. I watch each of them tense as their Lord Clegane goes on a whole speech about biting off more than they can chew, and that, "if you lot want to act all tough around me, know I'll knock all three of your egg-heads with my hands tied."

I turn to the Hound, "Sandor."

He lets out a deep breath then eyes the three before him, "fuck off."

The boys immediately scram.

I bend over and grip my hips as I catch my breath. Lucy laughs at me as she beckons the puppies over with a stick. They come running over then she throws the stick for them to chase.

I huff, "these pups will be the death of me."

Lucy snorts, "and here I thought you wanted children."

I glare at her as the three small dark furred creatures begin to chase her around the garden as she runs. I call out in offence, "I do!"

Lucy runs over to me, "well, don't you know babes are far worse that this!" 

She giggles when she grabs my shoulders and uses me as a shield for the dogs. Though I was still winded, I laugh with her as the puppies prance around me. I grab Lucy's arm and begin to wrangle with her, "at least my babes will learn to speak. These pups know no sense!"

Lucy pushes me forward, encouraging me, "no, no, go on, s'your time to run, milady!"

I whine, "I really can't, Lucy."

"Oh, come on, lovie, you used to be full of energy! You're actin' as old as maester Yannick."

I hold back a laugh and shoot Lucy a look.

She shoots one back, "what? Did I lie?"

"Girls."

Lucy and I stop and turn to whom spoke. Sandor looks at us the way he always did, scrutinizing and serious.

I straighten up and nod in regard, "my lord."

Sandor sighs and looks away with annoyance. Wind blows his hair, adding effect to his expression. He looks down when the puppies begin to run towards him. They stand on their hind legs, pant, and bark. I swear I saw his exterior break into fondness.

But then he looks at me and it's all gone, "this came for you." He holds out a letter to me between his fingers, "I don't recognize the house sigil."

I walk up to him, smoothening my skirt out, then take the letter. I look at the wax seal for only a second then open the letter.

Sandor watches me raise my brows. He chuckles.

Lucy watches Sandor smile softly before purposefully frowning.

I look up at my husband, "it's from house Alistair."

Sandor's face scrunches up, "never heard of it."

I huff and delay my response to stop the puppies from chewing at the Hound's trousers. Sandor watches as I do this and gently shakes the puppies away. He takes my arm, preventing me from bending down, "I don't mind. They're just pups."

I give him a look, "if I don't stop them now when they're tiny, nothing will stop them when they're big."

Sandor watches as I sternly tell off the puppies and shoo them away. He chuckles at it, but then freezes when Lucy chuckles as well. The two make eye contact. Sandor doesn't have time to react.

"Cedric."

He turns to me, face contorting, "what?"

The puppies run off and Lucy runs along with them. I continue to explain, "Cedric is from House Alistair. You know, the lord that gave us a place to stay. You called him pretty bo-"

"I remember the fucker," he snaps.

I tense.

The Hound's nostrils flare, "what does he want?"

Suddenly, the letter in my hand feels heavy. I shrug, "he's invited us to his nameday celebration."

Sandor scoffs, "you mean he's invited you."

I release a frustrated huff when he begins to walk away. I follow after him and open the letter. I clear my throat and read aloud, "Fair greetings to Brown Wood, the home of House Clegane. May this letter find you in good spirits and health."

Sandor rolls his eyes as he walks back inside. He makes no haste, but I do, in order to keep up with him. I continue, "Seven days from now, I, Cedric Alistair, will be celebrating my--"

"I don't fucking care, little girl," he stops in his tracks and turns to me.

I nearly collide with him, but I gladly don't. I purse my lips and continue anyway, skipping to the part that holds my point, "if the Lord and Lady Clegane be so courteous in taking time out of their day to attend my feast, I would gladly-"

"Do you want to go, squirrel?"

I look up at him, blinking at the sight of his stern expression. I have to say, the omission of the word pretty for his petname made it feel... wrong. I clutch the letter by my belly, "he hosted us, me, Lucy... Daisy, even you, when we had nowhere to go. I think it only proper to attend his nameday to show appreciation and respect."

Sandor's eye twitches. He looks away and sighs.

I chew my lower lip, "he was kind to us, Sandor. I only mean to-"

"Fine," he cuts me off, "but if he touches you," he walks off, "I'm going to kill him."

His statement make my stomach churn. I cannot for the life of me understand what the intent of his words are. I chase after him again, "what if he asks me to dance with him?"

Sandor chuckles dryly, "a fine reason to chop him up."

He stops when I grab his arm. He looks at my hand on his bicep then gives me a look as I say, "you cannot kill him."

Sandor places his hand atop mine, "then don't fucking dance with him."

He squeezes my hand but it is not rough at all. It's gentle and extremely warm. He doesn't even try to pry my grip off, in fact, it's like he was tightening it on hm. My lips part and my body begins to burn.

I then realize when he was close enough for me to feel his breathing that he had been leaning in. I catch the way his eyes dart down to my mouth. I find myself slowly pressing my lips together.

I close my eyes when Sandor comes close to my cheek. I swear I felt my heart leap into my mouth when he pressed his face against mine.

He draws in a deep breath then sighs, "have you ever seen a hound share?"

The silence between us is deafening.

"Hmm?" he hums.

I open my mouth but nothing but mindless sounds leave me.

"I don't even think your pups do that."

My breath catches in my throat when he I feel his beard and his lips press gently against the crook of my neck.

Then the next moment, he releases me and pulls away like nothing happened.

We stare at each other for the longest second of my life. I feel like I'm on fire. What's worse is that I don't think he realizes just how affected I am, or actually... maybe it was good he couldn't tell I was dying inside.

"Still," he nods, "a dog is a dog and I will do as my master commands."

I feel light headed when he walks away.

I clutch my belly and walk to the nearest surface for support. I rub my neck, wondering if that really just happened.

[krypticcafe]

May I request call of duty boys with an autistic s/o? As an autistic person I think they’d all be very helpful with their partner and their needs. Their partner is having a bit of a rough day and they’ve gone nonverbal and just need the comfort of a safe person so they can unmask. (I totally hc Ghost as autistic so maybe he and his partner just vibe in silence together)

COD:MW boys w/an autistic partner

rating: general

character(s): GN!Reader, John Price, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo Parra, König, Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin, Hound

word count: ~5.2k

warning(s): possible inaccuracies, mentions of autism symptoms, mentions of masking, lotsa comfort 'n fluff

a/n: as per usual, feel free to tell me if I've misrepresented or misinformed. I'm undiagnosed, but extremely certain that I'm ND so I've included experiences I found that I share with autism symptoms :] On the other hand, idgaf about realistic military limits on medical issues and medication, this is literally fanfiction and not that deep.

beta reader: ChordataUtopia on ao3

Price

I'd like to think with his time in the military, he's probably had acquaintances, friends, or subordinates who are on the spectrum, so at the very least, he knows what to expect and has a few mental notes on it.

So it's not a problem for him when he sees it on your file.

It's when you become a thing that he actually starts researching about it, and really in-depth, the same way he would when doing background checks.

He's a pretty fast talker, so you have trouble keeping up with all the info he throws at you sometimes. At first, he thought you weren't paying attention, but then he realized you just had issues trying to process so much at once, which is vastly different when compared to how he can take in a bunch at a time. He's learned to be more concise, and surprisingly, it's helped some of the others on the team, too.

One of the perks of dating a captain is getting to know the plans and schedules ahead of everyone and being one of the first to know about any last-minute alterations.

Whenever you're starting to feel overstimulated on base, Price has an eye out for you and calls you to his office. It's a subtle and easy way for him to take you out of a situation and pull you somewhere safe. After all, no one bothers to question the captain's orders.

Although the military doesn't really have quiet rooms, the two of you found that his office is the only place aside from your shared quarters where you can feel safe and sound. Everyone respects Price's office space, so it's always nice and tranquil there. He's used to this one-on-one time so he keeps your favorite drink in a mini-fridge, something for you to fidget with quietly, and an extra comfy chair for you, along with medication if you need any.

Turns out, the voice of a captain is also helpful for keeping you grounded. It isn't aggressive, it isn't demanding, it's firm. He helps keep you in the moment when you feel your mind drift from your body, whether in private or on a mission. He's also direct and doesn't beat around the bush, so misunderstandings are rare.

If you take medication, it used to be difficult for you to get it restocked. Healthcare system and all its perks. But now, after dating John, strangely enough, it seems you get it on time almost always and hand-delivered by him. Hm.

His favorite thing to do is to listen to your rambles while he does his paperwork. You're worried you're bothering him, but he just responds with, "Not at all, love. I wouldn't trade this moment for the world," and tells you to continue discussing whatever you are particularly interested or fascinated about.

John doesn't tell you, but he sometimes wishes he had more paperwork just to spend more time with you in the office.

Gaz

Probably has had neurodivergent friends or family, and doesn't know a lot about the matter, but he's open-minded from the start.

He's a quick learner, too. Not just in combat but with your relationship. He notices your little habits, what makes you tick, and what keeps you in the zone.

And thank whatever being above that you were blessed with such a patient man. If you're having difficulties wrapping your head around a concept or directions, he'll explain it in a way you can understand. Sometimes, people talk too fast, too quietly, or too vague. Gaz finds that there's no shame in it.

One of the things he notices is that sometimes you mimic how he talks, like certain phrases or words. Especially if you're non-UK. Some of your repeated phrases are "oh my days", "cheers", or "takin' the piss". Fluent accent and all. He doesn't find it insulting or strange, he thinks it's actually pretty cute and doesn't poke fun at you for it.

Usually, he's not a fan of when people get too chatty with him, but it's you. He can't find himself getting irritated when you're talking so passionately about your special interest, latest hyper fixation, or whatever got to you because he knows you're being your genuine self and not talking out of your ass.

Your eyes light up, you're no longer using the tone of a soldier with all its formalities, yet you articulate the more and more you converse with him. Your hands even start to fidget and flap when you get deep in discussion.

"Keep going, love. I'm listening." He smiles at you from the corner of his eye, reorganizing his locker. It's meaningful to him, being the one person you trust to listen and engage when you need a break from masking.

He's got an eye for when you're having an out-of-body experience, helping you keep your head in missions without belittling you for feeling elsewhere.

Overstimulated or overwhelmed? Don't worry, he's got you. Kyle has his headphones on him a lot of the time whenever he can. When he sees your eyes looking in the distance or darting around while you feel your skin itch and your mind's a blur, he pops them on you and turns up a playlist he's made with your favorites.

In other cases, he's either scouting a spot for you to retreat to or verbally guiding you until you can unwind.

Sometimes when he can't immediately stick to your side or assist you, he'll take his cap and put it on you with a gentle smile. It's his way of saying that he notices you and to hang on just a bit, he'll be right there as soon as he's done, love.

Ghost

Autistic Ghost truther right here!!

I like to think Ghost always suspected he wasn't neurotypical, and would eventually get diagnosed. But ever since meeting you, it's only sped up his realization. Especially when he saw the difference between whether you're masking or not. It really hit him like a barrel of trucks that day.

He came to you first about it, trying to play it off as curiosity and just wanting to be more informed, but even if you aren't well-versed with body language or small cues, you could just tell that the gears were starting to turn in his head.

While you knew numerous factors led to your blossoming relationship, you like to think the trust you two built after you helped him come to terms with his autism kickstarted it all.

You quickly realized how much of it has gone unnoticed, how eerily good he was at masking himself. He claimed he was more comfortable with the 141 and that outside of that, he was just fulfilling his role as lieutenan- oh my god, you're right.

He gets ticked off when there's a change in plans if a last-minute decision is made but he bites his tongue about it, despises it when people aren't straightforward, prefers bluntness, sits in the far and darker corners of the mess hall where it's calmer, or just avoids it altogether and eats in his room, doesn't understand when people think he's being rude or mean, the list goes on.

There is... a lot to uncover.

But it's all worth it for the little things.

Like when you two created a subtle way to tell each other "I love you" when the words won't come out, three little taps on the inside of the wrist.

Or when you both need to unwind after a particularly triggering mission and you just can't articulate yourselves. No one else notices it and passes it off as you two just being quieter than you usually are, but the two of you catch onto each other like wildfire.

You'll retreat into your quarters and sit on the bed, back-to-back in the dark, where Simon can pull off the mask to just breathe and you can just feel. A comfortable silence lingers in the air while your hearts sync until one of you breaks the silence.

"Absolute trainwreck that one was, huh?" One of you dryly chuckles.

And the other mutters back, "You can say that again."

There's this one particular memory he has of when you surprised him with a gift one day. He wasn't much of a taker than a giver, but seeing how giddy you were, he couldn't decline.

Opening it, he was surprised with a custom butterfly knife, an obsidian-black handle with silver engravings of skulls, thorns, and roses, along with his initials on the blade. You remembered his interest in knives and how he tended to mess with them as a stim, so you bought him a knife he could flip around smoothly and quietly while still keeping up appearances.

With the way he looked at it, someone would've assumed you just proposed to him with a diamond ring or something.

You expected him to put it in his collection, but he uses it a lot in his spare time.

He keeps it in top condition and never leaves it unless he has to.

Soap

He's heard of it, met people with it, though he doesn't quite understand it yet. Johnny's tried to look into it but finds most sources sound contradicting to each other or just don't make sense compared to the experiences you describe and the ones that others have.

You tell him it's fine, you appreciate the effort, and it's okay if he occasionally asks questions when appropriate.

If there's one thing about him, it's that he's quick and creative when it comes to accommodating you. He carries extra earplugs with him on missions and comes up with signals for you to use when you have trouble expressing, so it's easier for him to figure out what you need (turns out he's a visual learner, too).

He makes it ridiculously easy to unmask, too, always so happy to see you, to listen, to talk—he just loves you so much. Something about his energy and how he can slowly and gently open you up like a treasured, well-kept, and well-loved book with just that sweet tone of his.

Sometimes when you're stuck in your head, he pretends he's performing surgery to remove your brain or something, making little silly little noises and tracing your forehead like he's cutting it, a little pop! and he's all "Now you cannae think 'bout anythin'", and it's so stupid but works.

You find the best thing he can do is just hold you. He's got this firm hold that makes you feel like you're wrapped in a warm blanket and a strong heartbeat that reverberates through you. You'd tend to count the beats in your head and just allow yourself to be absorbed in his embrace.

It's all just a few of the numerous things he's done to improve your relationship.

But you have to be real with him for a moment.

You guys know that one tiktok audio? The one that's like:

"I ain't sure what HD is but the doctor said I got 80 of them bitches! WOOO—"

Yeah, Johnny, don't think we haven't noticed.

One day, he lightheartedly jokes that he relates to some of what you go through and that maybe he's autistic, too.

"Well... you're not too far off."

"Haha, what?"

So turns out the MacTavish family has a whole history of ADHD and ADD. His family's always had an inkling, but Soap's natural personality just really blurred the lines.

To be honest, it was so obvious. The way the two of you would parrot each other and your teammates, how he banged his fists on tables whenever he got really excited or antsy, couldn't stand still when he'd constantly be shifting his weight between his feet, popped his lips to break silence, all the impulses that get him in trouble a lot of the time, random bouts of eery calmness, his hyperfocus when working on a new project, the time you caught him unconsciously imitating the sound of the heart monitor after he nearly blew himself up in an accident, you get the idea.

Soap's love language, from physical affection and words of affirmation, is gift-giving! The moment he sees something that reminds him of you, what you like, or something you've been talking about a lot lately, he gets so excited to see your reaction when he surprises you with it and is practically bouncing with anticipation.

Definitely made you cute little cue cards with silly doodles, and even some with Scottish slang. He was especially proud of these.

Roach

He gets you. He really, really, really gets you.

Roach, are you perhaps neurodivergent?

You wouldn't be surprised. You figured he was ever since he explained how he wasn't Deaf or completely mute. He just said he felt nonverbal a lot of the time, selectively mute. That was something that really clicked with you.

In fact, you found he was the easiest to talk to about it. He didn't have many questions other than asking what made you uncomfortable and if you wanted him to teach you some ASL.

You said yes, of course.

Before you were a couple, you were best friends. Practically inseparable with energies complimenting each other. No one was surprised when you guys became public, much to your own surprise.

Learning ASL has been one of the most helpful things Roach has done for your guys' relationship; you don't feel as isolated in your nonverbal state. It also helps clear up misunderstandings with the rest of the team sometimes when one of you can communicate on the other's part. You still struggle with some expressions periodically, but you're pretty fluent!

There is so much open communication in your relationship, it's just a fresh breath of air, holy shit. But the negative part to that is when there is a misunderstanding, it can get a little messy, not horrible, but just kind of overwhelming for the both of you where you need to take a breather and just tune out in your heads for a bit before you can approach each other again.

Overstimulation comes more easily to you than it does to Roach, so you often find yourself either going to him or him leading you somewhere more private where you can quietly wind down.

On a more positive note, you guys have the most energetic of conversations. You'll both be spewing out hyperfixes, random thoughts, and interests, some of Roach's being random facts about zoology or history facts (his favorite are the world wars, unsurprisingly).

"The Egyptians believed that the most significant thing you could do with your life was die."

"Sick."

You two jump from subject to subject, then return to one only to forget what you were supposed to talk about, then move on to something else before remembering what was supposed to be said, and then dropping the conversation altogether like nothing happened.

The entirety of Task Force 141 and SpecGru has given up on trying to interrupt these moments for any reason besides work, it's been proven fruitless. You guys are simply too far in the deep end, there is no saving from hyperfix hell.

Gary's also like a crow, he memorized your interests and whenever he sees something related to that, like a trinket when he's out and about, he'll buy it for you. You two do this to the point where it's kinda getting cluttered in your quarters...

Alejandro

Yeah, I'm afraid he's a little undereducated about it, growing up in an environment with a stigma over mental health issues type of deal.

Don't worry, he's not bigoted by any means, just confused about what it's exactly about because of how much misinformation is out there. I think there was a time when he might've believed in some stereotypes and acted rudely about it, except that was when he was really young and dumb.

When he told you this, it broke your heart, but for a different reason. You told him it wasn't his fault, he was raised in an environment that provided little awareness on the issue, that's just how many people are raised. As much as you hate to admit it, that's just how the majority of the world is. What matters is that he acknowledged he was wrong, and that he was just a kid.

"You're too kind, mi sol," He murmurs, pressing a kiss on your knuckles.

"And you're too hard on yourself, love." You respond, cradling the side of his face with a smile.

Unintentionally or not, meeting you led him to realize he might have his own difficulties with his mental health. After all, being colonel would take a toll on anyone, and after the events involving the Shadows? He needs a break above anyone else in the Vaqueros.

Much like Price, he's learned to create as much of a supportive environment for you and the rest of his soldiers with a general no-tolerance policy on ableist bullshit.

Sometimes, it can be a little challenging for him to reach out to you or vice versa, largely because of his busy schedule and job as commander. He can't indulge you as much as he wishes. Patience was something the two of you had to learn and overcome in your relationship.

But if you really need him, or if you're having a difficult time while he's preoccupied, you give him a few taps on the shoulder, and he gives you a nod mid-conversation with a subordinate. At the end of the day, he comes and finds you, and asks you a few questions you can answer with a simple nod or shake of your head. You trace a heart into his palm, a straightforward reminder, and he smiles and kisses your forehead.

It takes a while, but he carefully unravels you with gentle comfort, just holding you, and taking your time. He's not the most patient man, but for you, he certainly tries. When you finally start returning to yourself, no longer the soldier or the "different one". Just you. He greets you with a kiss and listens to whatever you say for the rest of the night.

It's worth the wait, so long as you're in his arms.

Rodolfo

Rudy has a similar situation to Alejandro. The only difference is that it never quite sat right with him as a kid. Ultimately, it led him to educate himself and seek out actual resources.

He could never understand the stigma, too naive as a child only to find out the truth when he was older. Somehow, it hurt him too, maybe because of how he shared some qualities.

He figured he wasn't autistic, but he knew he wasn't neurotypical either, tiny impulses here and there constantly proving him right, ways that he didn't connect with other people. Meeting you had only confirmed it for himself.

At first, he never noticed it, you were usually masking in front of them all anyway. But when he started to spend more time with you in between missions and get to know the real you, he started to see how vastly different you were when he first met you.

The comment slips out and he apologizes, but you laugh it off as his friend and closest confidant. It's hard to really put it into words, but he understands, he always does. You learn that early on in your relationship.

Instead of words, he uses gestures to console you. Acts of service is his kind of love language. Helping you with your work, doing all the chores you couldn't bring yourself to do that day, the simple things. Mugs of warm drinks, a little mazapán or gansito, a treat to quell your mind a little. A small nostalgic snack break always helps him in hard times between all the work, so he hopes you enjoy them, too. Expect him to join you whenever he's feeling a little out of it.

You worry that it feels like an excuse to hog him to yourself when it isn't. He's always willing—even if it was a ploy, he wouldn't mind it all that much. Seeing you ease up makes him come out of his shell, too. It's something good for both of you.

"Need a refill, cariño?"

You shake your head, "No, just... stay? Please?"

"Of course." He beams in a way that has your heart nearly skipping a beat despite how long you've been together. Maybe you should marry him on the spot.

There are moments when he holds you that you hear him humming his favorite songs. You tell him he has a wonderful voice, but he bashfully denies it. However, it doesn't stop him from humming, not when it helps bring you back down to earth or get a compliment out of you after some silence.

König

Doesn't exactly know what it is, thought it was like a bad trait or something because someone called him autistic once as a kid, but in a derogatory way. Made you go 'yikes' and explain the whole thing. He apologized for his initial shock when you told him you were autistic and felt disgusted when he realized why he was called that back then.

He's quick to pick up on your cues, mood differences, or how you process things. After all, he gave himself a trained eye from all that sniper training.

The first time you were nonverbal around him, he was slightly worried. It was after an arduous mission that had you completely knackered, mentally and physically. He thought you were in a state of shock or something, and he was about to call a medic before you dragged him away and had to physically force him not to. Later, you had to explain to him what happened again, but he was still a little concerned for your wellbeing.

You're well aware and so is he that he probably has ADHD and social anxiety, but to be honest, you wouldn't actually doubt the idea that he could be autistic either.

You both noticed it when you were ranting about how annoying some of your habits were, whether it be an inability to properly express emotions, an inability to understand social cues, the need to mask around others, or how much certain sensations bothered you when they shouldn't because it's so stupid that they do. He'd often respond with, "Oh, I do that too!" or "Yeah, I have that sometimes." At first, you thought he related to some of the lighter symptoms shared with people in general, but then it came to a point where he related a bit too much that you had to let yourself think about whether your boyfriend just happened to have the double whammy of ADHD and autism.

Chances were likely.

One thing that surprised König when you two discussed how he could help comfort you is lying on top of you.

"But Schatz, I'm too big, I would crush you, like a weight or something."

"Oh sweetheart... that's the point."

Genuinely, he's a wonderful makeshift weighted blanket with the great addition of being your boyfriend. It's the perfect distraction for your mind to focus on something and someone else—the weight of his body weight distributed on yours, your breathing synced with his, his heartbeat against your chest, and just having someone to hold.

Loves it when you start parroting and picking up some of his phrases, especially the German ones. He'll ignore the pronunciations if they're bad, but he's just gleaming with pride when he sees you taking out an enemy and spitting German curses at them the same way he does. Practically makes goo-goo eyes on the battlefield.

Horangi

Same thing about being brought up in an environment that isn't the most informed nor supportive about neurodivergence. He's not the proudest of his younger self, and he knows he's made some mean remarks about it as a dumb kid, but he's long since moved on. Getting out into the world has taught him to grow more tolerant and understanding, but he's still ashamed of the ignorant stuff he did.

He worries that you'll hate him for it, despite it being ages ago. He's used to being reminded of his mistakes and failures, such as his gambling addiction and delinquency.

What he struggles with most is trying to find a way to comfort you or help you unwind. He's not great with words since he's worried about screwing something up, so the most he can do is pull you somewhere the two of you can be alone and give you space.

But that doesn't mean he doesn't try. He tries several things, like keeping your favorite snacks on hand, doodling on your skin with his markers to distract you, getting some music playing, earplugs on hand, and stuff that he knows he can't royally fuck up.

You propose that he creates some cute cue cards for you so that it helps him figure out your needs, and you don't miss how he tries to hide his eagerness. He presents you with the cards all connected on a metal ring, red, blue, and black doodles with words in both English and Korean, acting like he just did it on a whim when the amount of care and love put into it is obvious.

One of the cards only has a single phrase on it in Korean, and you already knew it. You still asked.

"Hong-jin, what does this say?"

"Ah- uh... 사랑해요 (saranghaeyo)."

"Mind telling me?"

"... good job?"

"Uh-huh... so why are there so many hearts?"

"Because you think I did a really good job..?"

Again, he's not great with words. That includes letting you know that he wants to be told "I love you" more.

Lightheartedly calls you a nerd once when you ramble about your hyperfixations or special interest, only for you to fire back with a comment about his K-pop collection of albums, signatures, fancams, photocards, lightsticks...

"That's not the sam- no... dammit, no."

Face the music, Horangi. Your special interest is K-pop and each new album is just another hyperfix. You're just as much of a nerd.

Hound

Autism? Okay, but the fuck does that have to do with you blasting the enemy with an RPG right now?

Honestly, he thought you just had some strange quirks and issues. Maybe you were like him. He figured he was just "broken" in some way, that they were "weaknesses" of his. The more he spent time with you, the more he questioned why he is the way he is.

Yet he doesn't judge you because he most likely knows how it feels to be in that position, and he wants to be the support he doesn't have but wishes he had.

Actually, that's the real glue of your relationship—how easily Hound adapts to your structures and needs without question. If it conflicts with theirs, they won't hesitate to directly address it and work it out with you. You return the same energy and reassure him he's not alone in feeling this way. Hell, you make him feel normal for once.

Both of you have issues verbalizing, so you'll be tracing hearts, question marks, checks, and x's on each others' palms. They even teach you Morse code to tap little phrases. You never need to worry about miscommunication if you're direct with them. They're always direct with you, and they hate when people aren't specific.

Hound's not much of a talker, but they're definitely a listener, and they could honestly listen to you talk for days. If someone dares to interrupt you or criticize you for talking too much because he "seems like he's not interested" and you're "taking up his time", he shoots them a glare to fuck off.

Most likely, your interests will become his interests, too.

You notice they mask almost constantly but act much more natural, tender, and less structured when they're around you, showing a side of themselves with a variety of emotions no one else would ever see either. More human, and less war dog.

You both like to be alone, but alone together. Hound used to ask you to leave him alone whenever he needed to self-isolate but started to let you stick around when they needed a moment. The two of you are much more physically affectionate and even more talkative, and you both value the trust you grant each other to show the more vulnerable side of yourselves. You guys are woven like thread; the moment one unravels, so does the other.

Sometimes, all it takes is a weak smile from you or his hands interlocking with yours to find the calm in the storm.

a/n 2: I'm back, teehee :3

[spacebarbarianweird]

Happy holidays! It's your Secret Santa recipient! Can I get Astarion/Tav gentle vampire paladin who broke her vows, a good dose of angst and comfort please. Thank you! ^^

So, I finally got to your request! It's not a Secret Santa, coz we've discussed everything with you in DM. Buuut - I like what we've made up! And it's my first fic about someone else's Tav who is neither generic nor Tiriel.

When The Light is Gone

Synopsis: You used to be many things. You used to be a Paladin of Lathander. You used to be Astarion's only love. You used to be mortal. You used to be free. Now, you are just a vampire spawn in the hands of an evil and cruel vampire lady - and no one hears your prayers anymore.

TW: Tav is put through the same things Astarion was put by Cazador (including tortures and SA). They aren't written in details, but those things are mentioned.

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

You pray, but no one listens.

Your bones are broken, and your flesh is flayed. As far as you can see through the piercing pain, there is no skin left on your body. It's all ripped from you like rags.

The vampire regeneration brings it back in a second. No wounds, no bruises. The skin looks like day you died.

Frozen in time.

"I see you are back!" your master laughs, and her voice echoes through the dungeon.

No, please, not again.

The vampire lady approaches you with a terrible elegance. She moves through the place of torture as if it were a ballroom.

"My dear little spawn, why do you upset me so much? Am I not kind to you? Am I not forgiving?"

She chuckles studying your face. Your tears have long dried. The red eyes glow in anticipation.

"And you still dare to disobey me- you've run! Is this the gratitude for giving you immortality?"

You are silent. You are so exhausted you can't speak. The hunger is so overwhelming, you can't think about anything. You would eat a flea if it meant getting at least a drop of blood.

"Answer me, girl."

Your mouth moves against your will. A spawn is a mere puppet in the arms of its master.

"I am sorry, Meerah."

The vampire licks her lips. She is beautiful, your master. Black hair, pale skin. Once she was a human. But it was centuries ago. Was she tortured like that by her master? Or was she a vampire bride, a privileged slave? It doesn’t matter what she was. It matters what she is now.

Cruel.

Sadistic.

Perversive.

"What to do with you, my dear sweet paladin?" she touches your breasts and then goes lower with her cold fingers. "Regeneration is so sweet - I like seeing skin growing back and bones mending."

Meerah takes out a dagger, brushing its tip on your stomach.

"Pity, you didn't experience the pleasure of getting out of that grave. A vampire must find its own way to the surface once it wakes in a coffin. And that stupid vampire... What was his name? Astarion?"

You sniff. You have nightmares. Сonstantly. But sometimes you see worse things - you dream that Astarion saves you. That it's him making love to you, not Lum or someone else Meerah decided to reward. You hear his voice, sense his touch. Only to wake up in chains.

Or in someone else's bed.

"He dug you from your grave. With his hands. So desperate he was as if he hoped you would still be mortal when he found you. How you clung to him with your eyes glowing red! But he left. He ran!"

No, it wasn’t like that!

Your body didn't listen to you anymore. You stood up and approached your new master, your slave owner. Astarion was standing there near your grave surrounded by Meerah’s spawns.

She gave him a choice - he goes and never returns. Or you would be left to meet the sun.

Meerah can always make news spawns, but Astarion wouldn't find another Tav.

I will find the way! I will kill her the same way we killed Cazador!

And he disappeared. The spawns chased him like hounds chasIng prey.

He will save you. He will find you.

"Dear, dear. How long have you been here? Let me think. Twenty years! And he has never shown up!"

The dagger plunges into your stomach and even though your senses are dulled you cry in pain.

"You know the harsh truth. Vampires never get along. We love mortals to warm our beds because our bodies are so cold. We love drinking the blood of people we like. But two vampires... You can't give anything to each other. I know you still cry for him. Lum told me - you wake up in tears calling out for Astarion because you thought he'd finally come for you. But he left. He will never return"

She stabs you with the dagger.

And again.

And again.

It's a perfect torture because you can't die. You are already dead, she killed you twenty years ago condemning you to the existence of her personal toy.

"O Lord of Light, illuminating the path" you whisper, coughing blood. " Saving us from the darkness beckoning wrath"

But the Morninglord doesn't hear you.

He is the enemy of the undead.

And you are among them.

**

Meerah finally gets tired of torturing you. She unchains you and you fall to the dirty floor. The wounds immediately heal.

I want blood. I need to eat.

Meerah doesn't feed you often. She gives you enough to keep you sane and "good-looking". But it never satiates you.

"Stand up"

Your body obeys.

Lum stands from the shadows and you shiver - it was him who caught you and brought you back. He, the lover of the powerful vampire, wasn't afraid of the mere spawn.

"She is yours for the night. Do whatever you want."

Lum licks his lips studying your body. No, not him. Not again. His touches burn like acid and he is even more violent than Meerah. It's his release after submitting to his lady.

"I know you have a thing for women of gods. Spawn! Follow him to the bedroom and please him. Beg him for more, until he gets tired of you"

***

Dissociation is a gift.

It's not you.

It’s someone else performing in bed for this vile man. Someone else is getting fucked, someone else is used for pleasure. Your mind wanders away as your mouth moans and begs.

You try to think about Astarion. To remember him. How good it was with him. How gentle he always was.

But it's been twenty years and you realize you've forgotten his face.

***

You lie on the floor. Lum ordered you not to move. He doesn't possess the master's voice, he is a mere human, who was promised to be given eternal life. But the master's voice ordered you to obey him so you do.

Your body is numb because of the cold and humiliation. Maybe, you should find a way to step into the sun. To let the god of dawn take you. You tried once but were caught and were impaled for a year.

Astarion made it somehow for two centuries. Through tortures, through pain, through rapes, through hunger. You can do it, too.

But you aren't so sure anymore.

Intrusive thoughts invade your mind. "He left you, knowing perfectly well what would happen to you. He left you to be ripped, torn, used, ruined, destroyed. He isn't coming back. He's forgotten."

No, no! This isn't true!

"Your god has forsaken you. Remember how many things you did for Lathander? Deeds, prayers... Nothing matters. He forsook you the moment you were turned into a vampire."

You cry in silence. You've learned this skill too - to weep and grieve without a sound.

WAKE UP

The master's voice forces you to jump on your feet.

TO THE DUNGEON

You go. Your feet are bare and the only piece of clothes you wear is a pair of trousers and an old shirt. Too big for you but at least you aren't naked.

QUICK YOU STUPID BITCH!

You rush. Something is wrong. Someone has come to challenge your master and now all the spawns will have to fight for her.

When you arrive at the dungeon there is a fight. You see at least three spawns are dead and their bodies slowly turn to ashes.

Meerah is scared.

And so are you.

There are three intruders. And two of them are dhampirs.

Two young men, identical and tall, kill vampire spawns as if they are just rabid dogs. The worst vampire nightmare - someone who is immune to vampirism and feels the presence of vampires.

There is a third person among them, another hooded figure.

"I told you not to come!" Meerah yells. "I told you I would force her to see the sun!"

The hooded figure steps forward.

Astarion.

These twenty years didn't change him. He looks the same.

He recognizes you and there is grief in his perfect face.

KILL HIM

You try to disobey but you are less than a puppet.

You rush to him with your fangs and claws but in a moment you are paralyzed.

One of the dhampirs used "Hold Undead".

You are motionless. Weak. But you can't break the chains - and this is a blessing.

"You think you can kill me?! You, a masterless spawn and two half-deads?!"

Meerah is scared. For the first time in her undead life.

When the vampire dies, you feel the pain, and the invisible strings burn and fall into the darkness.

***

You wake up in a dark room. It was all a dream. You dream of your master's death. Of Astarion. Of freedom.

Of course, it's not true. It couldn't happen.

The hunger tortures you, forcing your guts to wrench.

You catch the scent of a living person. Blood, fresh blood. Living blood.

So desirable. So unreachable.

You sit up, staring into the dark, and see Lum, your rapist.

He is tied up. His bones are broken and his mouth is gagged. He muffles something but you can't understand anything.

And you feel emptiness in the part of your mind that has always been occupied by your master.

You hear steps. A familiar scent.

"Woke up, darling?"

You stare at Astarion in disbelief. Twenty years. Twenty years! And yet...

He is here.

You rush to him crying and cursing and he hugs you with his strong arms.

"Shh, it's ok. It's over. You are free. No one will ever hurt you. I will never leave you. We will always be together."

"Why? Why twenty years? Where have you been?" you sniff.

"Was looking for a way to kill that bitch and not lose you in the process. But I was always looking, I have never stopped. I give you my word"

The hunger becomes unbearable and you look at Lum. He is scared to death. He has never thought it was possible to outlive his master.

"Has she ever let you drink human blood?"

Rats. Stray dogs. Birds. Your only food. But she usually starved you, sometimes not feeding for years, locking you inside a cell.

"Drink his blood. Don't stop yourself. Drink till the last drop"

"But I-"

"She is dead. Eat."

And you rush to the body as a feral animal. Sinking your fangs into the warm flesh.

Blood.

Real human flood.

You rip Lum's throat trying to cause as much pain as possible. And you drink and drink

Till nothing is left.

Your mind becomes clear. You've never felt so good since you were turned. You even have something in your chest as if your undead heart could beat.

Astarion picks you up and carries you away from the dead body.

***

The surface feels nice. It's early night and it smells like freedom.

Dhampir brothers approach you and you sense the fear. The dhampirs. The death of the vampires.

"Well, I suppose here we part ways, Uncle"

"Call me uncle once again and I will test my ability to fight a dhampir!"

The twins laugh. "Our mother considers you her brother. It makes 

you our uncle. Who knows when you will need our help again."

"But beware" the other one adds. "You are responsible for Tav. If she can't control her hunger, she will become our prey. And so will you"

The twins bow simultaneously and disappear in the night. Astarion grabs your hand.

"Why do they call you uncle?"

"They are Dalyria's sons. Apparently, she still considers me her brother. I haven't decided if I like it or not. Come on, let's get out of here. There is a town nearby and the innkeepers accidentally invited me to the tavern some time ago."

You walk in silence. There is so much you want to tell him. There is so much you want to cry about. But you are quiet.

By the sunrise, you finally reach the inn. Astarion orders a bath and locks the wooden door.

"Do you want me to stay or to go?" he carefully asks.

You don't know what to do. You feel cold. You feel dirty. You feel dead even though you are satiated with blood.

Astarion sighs. "I will be in our room in case you need anything."

"No!" You finally manage to say. "Stay"

He nods. You try to undress but it feels like the fabric sticks to your skin. Astarion doesn't dare touch you.

Of course.

He remembers himself. How he snapped at you for touching him. How it took him years before he started feeling comfortable in his own skin.

But you are not like that. Similar experience. Different results.

"Touch me. Please. Makes me forget. I feel hollow. There was a place in my heart for Lathander but he forgot me. Then, it was my master's voice. Now there is nothing. Just nothing. Please, make me forget."

Astarion undresses you and gently places you in the hot water.

He washes you, rubbing your pale skin. He murmurs the words of love and care but you see pain in his eyes. He avoids touching your bite mark but you grab his hand and force him to touch it.

"What are we going to do now?" you ask.

"I don't know. I've spent some time in the Underdark with my... siblings. You are one of us now, you will be safe. Maybe we could search for a cure. Besides, you were a paladin. Maybe your god will pay for your service."

You let out a bitter laugh.

"He forgot me. He abandoned me. When he needed me I was always there. When I needed him, he was nowhere. And where was he when you were trying to rescue me?"

"So, no paladin anymore?"

"No, I will still be one. Think how many Keleths and Cazadors there are. How many... Tavs and Astarions are in their hands. I don't belong to the realm of light anymore. But it doesn't mean I can't live up to my... beliefs."

Astarion gently kisses your forehead and you feel like crying.

"You know, it took me so long before I finally found the strength in me to think about anything else but myself. And you are barely free and are already up to wearing your shining armor."

"It was twenty years, not two hundred."

"It doesn't matter. Enslavement, tortures. It's all the same. You suffered no less than me. But I am here," he kisses your cold lips. "I will be with you throughout your nightmares, fears, and disgust. The same way you were there for me. And then - we will kill other vampire lords!”

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96

[dawneternal]

The Benevolent | Eris x Healer OC | Four

☁︎ notes: these dummies are so smitten

☁︎ warnings: usual talk of injuries and Beron's abuse. Injured animal (he's okay though)

☁︎ word count: 2.2k

☁︎ AO3 Link / Masterlist

☁︎ tags: @cauldronblssd @teddyhoneybear @imma-too-many-fandoms @tele86 @mybestfriendmademe @allyjoe755 @milswrites @shadowdaddies @zenkindoflove @landofpetrichor

The next summon interrupted Aya’s day off. Her promised day of nothingness; no lessons, no jobs, no meetings, and no Court dinners. She planned to curl up in a corner of the green house and read, surrounded by the scent of healing herbs and flowers. Until that infernal ring began to glow once more. She could not ignore it, but she could grumble to herself all she wanted about how talented the Heir of Autumn was at collecting near-death experiences. 

She was still silently complaining while she winnowed, while the world righted itself, and while Edana’s garden appeared before her eyes. What finally stopped the chain of complaints was the sight of Eris standing before her. 

Hands in his pockets, head tilted to the side, he smiled as her gaze met his. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled, eyes bright and unclouded by pain or alcohol. The sunlight gilded his copper hair and kissed every freckle. 

Aya found herself unable to remember what she had been thinking about. No memory of her difficult weeks, her reluctance to return to this land of cunning and deception. She was lost in his smile. Something in it made her feel like she knew everything and nothing all at once. 

Eris watched her eyes flick over his form, still struggling to focus after winnowing, and he took the time to study her in turn. Her height surprised him, the top of her head barely level with his shoulder. She had lovely curves, hugged by flowy, pastel fabrics as per the Dawn Court fashion. Her ears were lined with piercings, a gold ring with a gem dangling from her septum. Her wings were a soft glimmering gold dappled with darker brown, feathers rustling in the light breeze. She kept them tucked in tight to her body. And her eyes-

He thought of the sun rising, the blue fading into the orange and leaving that strange greyed-out tone in between. Somewhere in that softly painted sky was the color of her eyes. A brilliant silver, not quite blue, hints of orange. Purple in some lights. Somehow conveying all the loveliness of a misty dawn. Perhaps he had not appreciated the sunrise as much as he should in his five hundred and something years alive. 

In short, they spent entirely too long staring at each other. 

“At last, I meet my savior,” Eris broke the silence.

“I’d hardly call myself a savior,” Aya said, clutching her bag a little tighter. Her voice was as soft and melodic as he remembered from his dream. 

“You deserve countless thanks, nonetheless,” He smiled, and Aya admired the way his freckles moved and dipped to make way for his dimples. 

The crisp air combined with her thin clothes pulled a shiver from her. She had begun to wonder if he had called her there just to thank her when he swept an arm toward the door to Edana’s rooms. 

“One of my hounds is injured,” He said, his expression slipping into something more solemn, “I’m sure you’ll be glad to know it’s nothing serious. If you’ll follow me.” 

In the daylight, she could see more details of Edana’s rooms. The trim, doorways, and furniture were cut from the same dark wood as the rest of the Forest House, but the Lady had her walls painted light colors. Her decorations ventured outside of the familiar autumn color palette, a few daring shades of blue scattered throughout. 

Aya also noticed for the first time that the door to the stone hallway was different from the rest. Aside from being situated in a strange place, it was older, warped and scratched. It had been left slightly ajar, and she could see from its faint purple glow that it was enchanted. When the door was shut, it would disappear from the wall entirely. 

She followed him through the doorway, watching the fae-lights in the dim hall illuminate his muscled shoulders and well tailored shirt. As the ever present silence of the stone hallway wrapped around them, it finally hit her that they were alone. 

“This is a private passage?” She asked softly, “There’s never anyone here.”

“Yes,” He answered, his voice strangely tense, “It’s an old passageway either unknown or forgotten by my father.”

He did not elaborate and she did not pry any further. It bothered Eris that she had been here twice before and he had not been conscious of it. He had no idea what she had seen and heard and learned. Things he should have been there to shield her from, no doubt.

When she stepped through the doorway, Aya shivered, her wings ruffling. Eris’s brows knit together. He had never seen anyone react to wards that way before. He watched as she scanned the room and locked in on the hound laying on his bed, needing no instruction. When she approached, she offered him the back of her fist to sniff, and he seemed to have no qualms with her coming closer. She soothed him before moving to his wound, smoothing down his dark fur and massaging his ears, all the while murmuring kind words and praise. 

Eris almost smiled, wondering if she understood how ferocious that beast could be. He had seen the same dog with eyes hollow and hungry, blood dripping from his jaw. Not many would go near him. On his feet, he probably stood almost to her shoulder. And here she was, turning him to putty with her pets and kind words. His tail wagged as she spoke to him and he didn’t protest when she finally began to clean and dress his wound. 

“What happened?” Aya asked, eyes remaining focused on the work before her. He admired the dance of her hands, swift and coordinated. 

“He tumbled near the river bank, silly beast,” Eris answered. 

Aya noted the affection in his voice and the embroidered collar around the dog’s neck. A thought also prickled at the back of her mind that Eris was not telling her the real story. Why have her come all of this way if the cause was not something that Beron must not know? But it did not matter, because she wasn’t supposed to sleuth. 

“He has a name, doesn’t he?” She said instead, smiling. 

“Juno,” Eris admitted, a bit sheepishly. Embarrassment crept up the back of his neck, the feeling of being caught at something he tried to hide. Her smile was too knowing, she definitely recognized it as another figure from mythology. 

“I wish I could give you something to thank you properly,” He continued. 

“Well you did interrupt my day off,” She flashed a sly smirk, eyes still on her hands.

“Oh, did I?” His eyebrows raised, lips twitching up into a smile. Something sparked in his veins at her playful tone. “I suppose I’ll have to figure out something special then.”

“If you think that’s fair,” She let out an exaggerated sigh, eyes glittering. 

Eris was distracted by a golden glimmer, catching the light as she worked. It was the ring on her forefinger, a simple gold band that fit snug against her skin. His stomach dropped. 

“My mother bound you?” He whispered, and from his tone she could practically see the embers burning in his throat.. Aya paused and looked up at him, the color draining from his face. 

“Yes,” Her brows furrowed. She thought he would have known that. “Her contract seemed fair. I asked for a written copy.” 

A muscle twitched in his jaw and he said in that same quiet fury, “Will you please send me a copy?” 

“Of course,” Aya said, gaze still stuck on his as she searched his face for answers. It was almost too long before she turned back to the hound, who had begun to whine for her attention. The silence in the room had begun to squeeze.

“I understand that this situation is…delicate,” She continued after a moment, swallowing hard. It was always too quiet here, sounds of arguing and pain the only things to interrupt it. It was unnerving, like balancing a glass ball on each shoulder. 

“I wish she would not have dragged you into it,” He whispered through his teeth. He stood with his arms crossed, looking a little taller than before. This was closer to the image of the Heir she had heard stories about. Though he was certainly less intimidating since she had seen him drunk and smitten with a fictional angel. 

“I can handle it,” Aya said, giving Juno one last pat before rearranging the supplies in her worn leather satchel. 

“You shouldn’t have to.” 

She faced him, bag in hand, tilting her head back to look at him fully. Eris drew in a deep breath, trying not to stare at the reflection of the light on her long glossy curls, in her misty eyes.

“Thesan gave me a talisman,” She pulled up one sleeve to reveal a tattoo on her bicep. A stylized, swirling cloud. “It will give me protection against magic if your father tried to use any against me.” 

The sight of it did strange things to Eris’s heart. He felt the relief of her protection. She was not another liability, another piece on his chessboard that he must keep under his watch at all times. But there was another feeling there, too. Like he resented this thing that separated her from him. That ugly desire to control and protect everything he felt a fondness for reared its head. She belonged to the Dawn Court. She was Thesan’s creature. She may be Eris’s healer, bound to his mother by that horrible ring, but she was not his. She was not loyal to him. Unless she chose to be. And nobody ever chose Eris of their own accord. 

“Good,” Eris said, in another tone that Aya couldn’t read. 

“Oh,” She said, in an attempt to avoid another awkward lull, fishing a corked bottle of green tablets and holding it out to him. “Juno can have these for the pain. They’re mostly herbs so they’re very safe for him.” 

“You’re very kind,” Eris smiled, his voice softened by the kindness she had shown his beloved pet. It was, of course,  a risk to show any affection for his hounds. They were meant to be ruthless weapons. Just like the seven sons. 

“What are your mother’s guards names?” She asked suddenly, brows drawing together. 

“Why?” He swallowed an urge to reach out and smooth the wrinkles between her eyebrows with his thumb, swiping away whatever worried her just to see her smile again.

“I just think I should know. It seems to rude to refer to them as anything else. They’re not my guards.” 

So she must not know about Thesan’s order for Eris to protect her while she was present in the Autumn Court. He had extended that order to the guards. 

“The older one with dark hair is Caspian, and Asher is blond and bearded,” Eris answered. Aya nodded, and he could practically see her tucking the information away in her mind.

Against the dark wood and warm colors of his room, he thought she looked like a sparkling gemstone. Vibrant Amethyst among common stones. They watched each other in silence for the third time until, reluctantly, he led her back to the winnow spot and let her return to her world. 

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ 

The next morning, Aya was pulled from her sleep by a knock on the door. A courier waited on the other side with an envelope and package wrapped in brown paper and string. She thanked him and returned to her bed, holding the parcel in her lap. The paper and string fell forgotten to the floor as she opened it eagerly. 

Inside was a new leather satchel, the same shape and size as her old one. The sides and edges had been dyed a rich mulberry, the leather carved and tooled into an interlocking, curving design. The golden clasp, shaped like a leaf, gleamed in the morning sun. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of it, so lovely and new compared to the one she had carried daily for years now. The leather had been worn so thoroughly that it drooped and sagged.

Aya opened the bag, finding it lined with pockets and sections the perfect sizes for bandages and vials. There was also an envelope nestled inside, her name scrawled on the front in curly script. She opened it gingerly, planning to add the paper to the box of ephemera under her bed. Mail was a rare treat. 

Aya,

Thank you again for your help. Juno is doing much better and I suspect you have made a friend of him. I hope this gift will be of use to you.

As for retribution for your missed day off, you may also find that your instructors received a strongly worded letter from some anonymous busybody complaining about the state of cleanliness in the healer’s wing. I believe the buildings are being deep-cleaned over the next few days. Enjoy your long weekend. 

Eris

Aya buried her face in her hands, covering her silly, involuntary smile and burning cheeks. She finally bothered to open the other envelope, finding Eris to be truthful. The head of the school had sent a note announcing that classes had been canceled, though they did include a list of assignments to complete and log in the meantime. Assignments that she could complete in the greenhouse, between dozing off and basking in the sunshine the green, herbal scent. Somehow, against all the odds she battled with, Aya had made a friend.

[kimberbohwrites]

Can't believe I hit 150 Followers that fast. Thank you. I wrote my little heart out to get this done in time.

Do I Wanna Know?

Featuring a prompt from @sorceresssundries who handed out song-based prompts and assigned me: "Do I Wanna Know?" by: The Arctic Monkeys. Rated: Explicit, MDNI, 18+ (Smut) Word Count: 3,165 Kudos/Comment on AO3

The air was thick and humid, it hung heavy on the city, clinging in all the worst ways — like a wet blanket. It had been like this for days now, with nary a breeze to grant them even a moment’s solace from the oppressive heat. Children ran down to splash in the Chionthar, while adults lounged in the shadiest spaces they could find and fanned themselves — hoping for a moment of reprieve from the sun. Baldur’s Gate ground to a halt in the face of a sustained heatwave, filling the long summer days with an unusually lazy energy for such a bustling city.

It wasn’t the temperature that agitated the grouchy tiefling as he sat in his desk chair, a different heat had been consuming his body and soul. It had been weeks since the final battle and he hadn’t seen or heard from Tav. Sure, he had heard of her survival through the paper and the gossip on the streets. But that wasn’t the same.

The last time he’d seen her things had been awkward to say the very least. She had defeated, with his assistance, his abusive former master and the mantle of the Archwizard of Baldur’s Gate had suddenly fallen to him. Every moment since then had been filled with the constant demand from his new responsibilities but in the back of his mind, Tav constantly lingered. It had taken him too long to realize his obvious feelings. It wasn’t until just before the final battle, when he considered losing her for the first time, that he became fully aware. He hadn’t slept in the days that followed that, not until he was sure she had survived.

And yet, she hadn’t stopped by to see him, there was so much to do he knew, rebuilding and resting, but her absence still hounded him like an itch gone unscratched. When his eyes closed at night, she was always waiting for him. He let himself dream of a reality where it was her, in the flesh, waiting for him in his bed each night. Hours of sleep were lost to imagining how she would feel against him, under him — imagining her taste or how she might sound as she cried out for him.

He’d felt a twinge of guilt in the pit of his stomach when he’d started touching himself to these thoughts. Trying to turn his mind elsewhere had failed and the first time he’d come to the thought of her he had almost passed out from the pleasure. There was no turning back for him now and like a dehydrated sailor at sea who drinks saltwater, it had only worsened the problem and drove him to seek release to his fantasies of her more often.

He’d become desperate for her, and he felt a little pathetic.

The worst part was the constant wondering. Could she ever feel the same? Did he even want to know the answer? Would he ever see her again? These damned questions nagged at him more than any heat could. After a few evening glasses of Arabellen Dry, he’d found he could think of nothing else and letting his questions consume him. It made him feel better to imagine that she was doing the same, in her cups and thinking of him. 

In his imagination and even in his dreams, she comes bounding to his door to confess her love, all flushed cheeks and bleary eyes. Lately there seemed to be no escape from her hold over him.

His siblings had been nothing but helpful, always picking on his pining for her and the fact that he never acted on it. They had tried to take his mind off things, and he’d gone out with them, only for them to point out attractive people he might approach. He’d even tried to be a good sport, tried to chat up whomever they pointed out, tried to find them interesting but there was never any spark. Before long he’d realized the problem was that in his mind, he was already Tav’s. Tears had brimmed in his eyes and a heaviness had set in his heart when he realized that even if he never saw her again, he’d always be hers.

It wasn’t fair.

Surely, she had done some trick, some cheat to make him feel this way? How else could he explain this constant longing that he felt. He was an arch mage, for gods sake, he was resigned to pull himself together. Every time he thought he’d managed to banish the obsession he was humbled by failure once more, most recently by a street performer out in front of the shop.

He’d been closing up after a long, steaming day and as he’d gone to lock the doors he spotted the buskers setting up to ply their trade for the evening. Even a city as lively at night as The Gate can fall victim to an influx of evening debauchery when the days had proven to be too warm for life’s pleasures. So, the performers in the heatwave had taken to setting up after sundown, better to catch a paying audience on these busy, sinful summer nights.

The musician was inconsequential to Rolan. It was the opening ballad he’d strummed that Rolan had overheard as he locked up that caught his attention. The opening notes stopped him in his tracks before he’d closed the doors, the song was one of the ones Alfira had played that night at the Emerald Grove, when they’d spent the evening under the stars in celebration of their continued survival. He’d spent the night trying to work up the courage to talk to her, not understanding then that the anxiety he felt in his gut was the beginning of all of this.

Finally, after some liquid courage, a few dazzling spells, and her adoring applause he’d approached her just as Alfira had struck up this very song.

“I love this one,” she’d said

He’d barely heard her, distracted by her eyes in firelight, how could he have not known then?

“Beautiful,” he’d said before he realized his mouth was moving.

“It is, isn’t it?” She’d agreed

In hindsight he was almost positive he wasn’t talking about the song, but he had been grateful for the easy out. As his mind drifted back from the memory of her breathtaking eyes, the bard had finished the song and Rolan strode out with a hand fishing in his pocket for coins.

“Play it again”

The coins plunked into the case as the bard grinned at the handsome tip and began the song over. Rolan strode away slowly back to the tower, letting the melody hold him in that beautiful memory once more. In truth he’d have paid the musician a small fortune to play the song over and over until he’d drifted off to sleep if he was sure that Cal and Lia wouldn’t have caught him. He’d fallen asleep to thoughts of her and dreamed of her that night, and every night following that tenday.

The hot days continued, growing to an intolerable level. Maybe that was why he’d agreed to go out again with his siblings. This time instead of the Blushing Mermaid they were hitting up the Elfsong Tavern to visit Alfira and Lakrissa, Dammon, and the rest of the group. Alfira had reserved the rooftop for a special sundown party in the small but lovely space.

As the sun went down a cool breeze began to blow off the Sea of Swords for the first time since the start of the heatwave. It picked up the strands of his hair and lightly tossed them as the wind kissed his sweat soaked skin, finally cooling him off for the first time in days. He was already one glass of wine in when he spotted her coming up from the ladder that led to the roof.

Tav was here.

He tried not to notice her, instead engrossing himself deeper in his talk with Dammon about some ore or another — to be honest he hadn’t been listening but was content to nod along. Out of the corner of his eye he watched her be greeted by their hosts, who were clearly thrilled to see her. She looked beautiful. It didn’t matter if he’d noted a few new minor scars on her skin, likely from the final battle — she was a vision of beauty regardless. Her bright smile seemed to radiate light even after sundown. Her laughter, the very same sweet melody that haunted him. 

When she finally approached him after a few minutes, he was already fighting to play it cool.

“It feels like it might rain,” she said casually to him as a greeting, her bright smile forcing his heart to skip a beat or two.

“Preposterous, it’s been bone dry for weeks”

“Then I suppose it’s high time for some rain, huh?”

He didn’t respond. Thinking carefully about his words.

His eyes swept up and down her frame, admiring the curves and the toned muscle displayed in the minimal sundress she’d worn against the heat. Gods he wanted her so bad and here she was, just a few inches away. But there was no way that she would want him too, he’d already convinced himself of that fact.

“You haven’t visited,”

“Did you miss me, Rolan?”

The blush that crept across his cheeks was only disguised by the evening as he glanced away to compose himself. Even though the rooftop was filled with at least a dozen other people he knew, whenever he spoke with Tav it felt like they were the only two people around. When he turned his attention back to her, he couldn’t help but flick his gaze down to her lips for the briefest second. Gods how he felt the constant urge to put his lips on hers, threatening to plunge him into madness.

“Cal and Lia miss you, is all”

Before she could respond, a single fat rain drop plopped down on her cheek and she glanced up. After a moment a few more heavy drops of rain followed and people began to flee the roof to protect their drinks and fine clothes. The temperature dropped quickly but Rolan didn’t move, maintaining eye contact with Tav as the roof cleared. All around them steam hissed up from the quenched streets and stonework. He’d waited too long to see her, and he wasn’t wasting this moment.

The rain had charged the air between them, or maybe it was the fact that they were alone — but something had shifted the atmosphere.

“Rolan—“

“Quiet.”

She looked shocked, almost stricken until he blurted the rest out.

“Can I kiss you?”

The shock lingered on her face only a moment longer, replaced by a coy smile as she nodded in agreement.

He was on her in a moment, lips pressed to hers, fingers in her wet hair. The drinks they’d been holding crashed to the ground as they lunged at each other with an unrestrained passion. He felt her tongue on his lips and opened up to her, angling her face to deepen their kiss as the rain came down around them.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

He panted out the truth when they finally broke only for oxygen.

“Me too”

He pushed her up against a stone column on the roof with a sudden movement at her confession, claiming her lips with his once more.

“Rolan —“She gasped out, “Are you sure? We shouldn’t do this if you aren’t sure.”

He broke away and pressed his forehead against hers.

“I have dreamed of you, of this, every night for longer than I care to admit. Tav I missed you, not Cal, not Lia — I missed you. So much so that had I known where you were I would have crawled to be there by your side. I- I love you, Tav.”

The storm, the rain, it all faded away when he heard her breathe out her next five words with tears in her beautiful eyes.

“I love you too, Rolan.”

He kissed her hard, wrapping her legs around his waist as his tail coiled around her ankles to hold her there. She tasted like wine and fresh summer rain. Deceptively strong, Rolan lifted her easily from against the wall and carried her to the only slight shelter available on the roof. It was a small, covered area, safely out of sight of any onlookers or would-be voyeurs on the ground. 

“Mine” he growled between kisses as he gently lowered her to the ground with him on top, supporting his weight on his forearms. His body caging hers against the elements.

“Yours” she murmured sweetly in agreement.

Her hands eagerly shot up to begin stripping the wet clothes from his body, her soft fingers tracing the ridges on any exposed skin she could find. He groaned into the hot kisses he laved down her neck and ground his hard length against her core. She was so openly eager for him, and it drove him to the brink of a feral lust. She moaned as she felt his tail coil up and around her leg, up the skirt of her dress. Before long she’d worked off his robes and his top, their lips never leaving each other’s skin as her fingers traced down his ridged torso. When she began to untie the laces of his trousers, a wry laugh escaped him as pretended to chastise her.

“My, my, greedy as always, aren’t we?”

She bit her lip and groaned in response, his words having the desired effect. At the same time the spade of his tail made contact with her dripping cunt and Rolan was surprised to discover it was bare. A low moan of need followed her groan as she felt his tail begin to stroke at her folds.

“Rolan,” she gasped

He covered her mouth with hers once more with another bruising kiss, still too eager for her and caught up in the moment. His tail gently teased at her entrance, swirling around and preparing her while his hands lowered her dress and exposed her breasts to him. Moving down to tongue at an exposed nipple while gently rolling the other between his claws, ever cautious of his horns at this angle.

Her hands stroked his hardened cock from the moment she freed it from his pants, applying a gentle but firm pressure as she worked him in her fist. He was groaning into her skin as he licked and sucked at every exposed part he could find. Meanwhile his tail pushed into her, slowly working in and out of her warmth as he prepared her. No longer could she contain her pleasure in small sounds, if not for the rain her moans would be heard clearly from the ground. 

Surely the heatwave had driven him to madness over the previous weeks or he’d died of a related affliction and hadn’t realized it. It seemed impossible that he could be on top of the Tav, fucking her with his tail while she jerked him off and screamed for more. But when he opened his eyes, she was still there, now begging for him.

“Please, please Rolan” she moaned as he worked her to her first climax with his tail, hands, and mouth.

“First,” He stopped and slowly licked from her belly button up to her sternum, tasting the fresh rainwater from on her supple skin, “cum on my tail, Tav.”

That was all it took. He felt her walls clench and flutter around him, as she called his name and drenched his tail with her desire. It had been lucky that in her pleasure she’d let go of his cock. Otherwise, he was sure he would have finished just from her hand and the sound of his name on her lips as she came undone just for him.

Gently removing his tail, he lined himself up with her entrance, now better prepared for his size. He may have been shy about the many tiefling traits he’d inherited but he’d never complained about his size. Nor had he ever heard a complaint from any lover, for that matter. Leaning up to kiss her, he looked deeply into her eyes, finally not afraid to let his unabashed love show through — with a silent question he searched to be sure he wasn’t going too far.

“Rolan,” she mewled desperately

He plunged into her, gritting his teeth to keep from cumming on the spot. They moaned in tandem at the sensation, their bodies fitting together in a way that left them lightheaded.

“Gods you feel perfect” he ground out

“Fuck,” she moaned, “You’re huge”

He remained motionless, allowing her time to adjust to his size and fighting the growing urge to claim her roughly on the ground like an animal. Next time he’d have her in his bed and he’d fuck her through the mattress. But not on the hard roof of the Elfsong, and thus he fought against his instincts.

Once she nodded for him to continue, he began to rock in and out of her gently. Even with taking his tail first she was still tight around him, and he could feel the ridges of his cock drag against her walls deep within. He cursed himself for pining after her for so long as he began to fuck into her deeper, he already knew he wouldn’t last long now that he was inside her. Determined to prove himself in body, he needed to make her scream for him at once more before he could finish for himself.

He dropped to put her knees on his shoulders, using his tail to hold them together behind his neck as he adjusted his angle to pound deeper into her. Gently, as to avoid his claws, he used the pads of his fingers to rub her clit — eliciting cries of pleasure from her that were so sinfully perfect, he knew they’d fill his dreams until his last day.

“Rolannnn,” She nearly wailed his name as her cunt began to clench and flutter around his cock.  

“That’s it Tav, do it for me, cum for me, you’re mine.”

He coached her over the edge into bliss and watched her eyes roll back in her head as she screamed his name and came all over his cock. That was it for him, he buried himself deep within her and came with a grunt. Filling her as he ground his hips into hers, he dropped her legs and kissed her again. Breathless from their collective ecstasy, only the sound of their pants and the delicate evening rain hung between them.

“I want this,” He finally broke the silence, feeling bolder with her in his arms.

“Me too, we could be together, if you wanted to.” Rolan couldn’t help but smile into the next kiss he gave hers. After all this time of being hers, finally she was his too.

[fieldofdaisiies]

In canon. Azriel finds himself utterly bored as he is lounging on the couch in Eris' office, waiting for his mate to finally be done with High Lord's business and so he comes up with an idea... for @azrisweek | azrisweek masterlist | read on ao3 | no warnings

“Eriiiiiiiiis,” Azriel whines. The High Lord ignores him.

With a loud and dramatic sigh, Azriel then throws his head back. “Eris….” he moans a little louder, hoping to somehow catch his mate‘s attention, but the High Lord has the audacity to only grumble a few incomprehensible words, not even deigning the shadowsinger with a look.

Is he truly ignoring me? Azriel thinks and furrows his brow The shadowsinger exhales another loud sigh, letting his head fall back, now hanging over the side of the couch he is lounging on.

He intensely stares at his mate’s back, hoping that Eris can somehow feel it. But still no reaction from the High Lord. Not even when Azriel tugs at the bond. Not even when he tugs many times, and hard. Not even when he lets Eris feel how deeply the absolute agony of the other's betrayal affects him he is going through (namely getting ignored and desperately wanting his mate) through the bond.

The High Lord of Autumn continues to scribble something down on a piece of paper, one hand holding the pen, the other braced atop at least ten books and pieces of parchment.

“Eris, I am bored and I want you!” 

“You‘ll have me later,” Eris answers matter-of-factly, not turning to look over his shoulder. He keeps staring at the paper in front of him. 

Azriel’s eyes widen in disbelief, and he throws his arms up in exasperation, shadows shifting with the movement.

“I want you now!” Azriel grumbles and once again receives no answer. He isn’t really mad about Eris and his indifference — he is the new High Lord, has a lot to do and Azriel didn’t announce his visit. He is just there and needs his mate, but Eris is busy. He had spent a little time with his mate in the morning, they ate together, went for a walk and made love in the forest, when they returned Azriel fell asleep in Eris arms but woke up to find an empty bed. And since this morning —it’s now late afternoon— Eris has been working nonstop and has had no time for his mate.

Azriel rather starts to worry about Eris. He is working so much – too much probably, and Azriel is afraid that it might become overwhelming for his mate.

“And you are working too much.” Azriel shifts his gaze to one shadow curling and swirling around his stretched out arm, quickly glancing sideways to his mate and then back at his hand.

“I have a lot of work, my love.”

A silly grin appears on Azriel’s face at the nickname. He wants to wipe it off his face, trying so hard right now to be angry at his mate. But he can’t. He just can’t be mad at him. Not when Eris says things like my love.

Azriel folds a hand over his mouth, hoping for the grin to disappear so he can glower at his mate again. “When will you be done?”

“If you stopped distracting me, I would be done much faster.” Eris’ tone edges on annoyance and it hurts Azriel a little. It also disappoints him. He doesn’t like it when Eris threatens to fall back into old patterns and talks to him like this. But instead of confronting Eris, the shadowsinger decides to really shut his mouth and keep calm.

He flips onto his side, careful of his wings of course, and his eyes land on Ares, Eris‘ youngest greyhound, casually stretched out on the luxurious carpet in front of the couch. The animal‘s gaze is fully focused on him and Azriel smiles, but then realises—

The hound is not looking at him, or at least not directly. Ares is ogling the shadow that is curled around his arm, and that with a predatory gaze.

The corner of Azriel’s mouth quirks up, and an idea sparks in his mind. His lips form a happy, and slightly mischievous grin, and he pushes up on his elbow, resting his chin in his palm.

“You want to play?” This draws Ares‘ attention to his face, and the hound meets his gaze, ears twitching. His tongue pokes out and he begins to pant, looking like he is about to jump up and dart into Azriel’s direction.

A big grin spreads over the shadowsinger’s face, and a devilish idea forms in his mind. He allows the shadow to slide down his arm, down his hand until it is only connected to the tips of his fingers, and then he says, or rather commands, “Go!”

The shadow darts ahead, swirling over the ground and Ares after it. The shadow is fast and so is Ares, but whenever his paw reaches for it, it is nothing more than black mist he touches, not able to catch it. 

Azriel loves this, laughing from the bottom of his heart while he directs his shadow and allows his precious hound to run after it. Ares is relentless, and fast, blazing through the entire office, and somehow Eris still manages to ignore them. 

Azriel’s annoyance grows, and his brows bunch. He allows Ares to chase the shadow for a few more rounds and then he gets another idea. An idea that sounds absolutely brilliant in his mind and one that he knows will make his mate finally focus on something else than work. 

He commands the shadow to change course, now slithering over the ground, right into the direction of the chair Eris is sitting atop. Ares follows, his paws padding loudly on the floor. His snout is pressed against the cool stones, his tail wiggling excitedly. 

The shadow reaches Eris' chair, climbing upwards until curls around his arm and slides onto the parchments he is currently reading through. 

“What–Ares!?”

The large hound lands on top of Eris‘ desk and work and half on top of Eris who yelps in shock. Ares' weight almost makes Eris fall backwards and he now has to hold onto the hound and the desk, hoping to not tumble and really fall to the ground. “AZRIEL!”

The shadowsinger has to laugh so hard, he is bending over, eventually tumbling onto the floor, after seeing how the large greyhound jumped onto its owner and hearing his mate shriek in horror.

“Azriel!” Eris shouts, his voice sounding furious. He knows exactly whose doing it was. Who the culprit was! It must have been his mate. Ares wouldn’t do something just like that, Eris knows this, so it had to be his mate’s brilliant idea.

He somehow manages to help Ares back to the ground, staring at him for a moment before his gaze returns to the crumbled papers in front of him. Rolling his eyes, he smooths his hand over the paper, and then has to crack a smile.

He wishes he could be mad at his mate for what he has done, but damn, does he fail miserably. Azriel is just…he is a menace, but he loves him just too much and maybe he has truly been a little inattentive. 

“Ares,” Eris lifts a hand. “Be a good boy and play outside.” Waving his hand, Eris magically opens the door, allowing the greyhound to blaze outside, following his owner’s command. With another flick of his wrist, the door closes after him.

Slowly, Eris shoves the pieces of paper, now crumbled and messy, back on the table, placing a pile of books atop them.

“Now to you!” Slowly, the High Lord rises and then turns to his mate, a frown on his face. “You are impossible.” He approaches Azriel with long and slow steps, staring down at him from above.

“And yet you love me.” Azriel beams, his cheeks rosy, his grin reaching from one ear to the other.

“I guess I‘ll have to reconsider…I had important business to do.”

Azriel shrugs a casual shoulder, allowing one of his shadows to curl around Eris‘ leg, slowly climbing upwards until it reaches his head, softly brushing his ear and the side of his face.

“Well, I think you‘ll have important business to do with me as well.”

This elicits a low and breathy chuckle from Eris, and slowly he steps into his mate, crouching down so they are on eye-level. “Is that so, Shadowsinger?”

Azriel straightens his posture which allows him to almost touch Eris mouth with his lips. “I need you.”

Eris leans in as well, gaze dropping to his mate’s lips. He can feel Azriel’s desire through the bond, the raw carnal need, and has been feeling it for the past hours. 

“Yes, you do,” Eris breathes. “I guess the letters can wait a little.”

general Azris tag list (please let me know if you want to be added/removed): @azrielsbabyg @lady-riel @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @ladyelain @banasheefan56 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @ofduskanddreams @acourtofladydeath @secret-third-thing @born-to-riot @chunkypossum

thank you so much for beta reading @queercontrarian and @born-to-riot 💛

[erisweekofficial]

Tonight we're highlighting @surielstea! They are an Eris x Reader creator with sooo many fics for you to enjoy!

All of them are so good, but we have a few to start you off with! The Best I Ever Had is our first choice and @surielstea talks more about her fic under the cut! 🔥

We also love love love Ballroom Secrets! It's got everything you'd want: Ballroom dancing, clandestine meet-ups, family angst, and Nesta being an A+ best friend💃

And if you want the latest and greatest! Please check out A Fatherly Fear! We love dad!Eris stories and this is no exception. 😭

Read on to learn more about @surielstea's favorite fan theory about Eris as well as what she's going to do to prevent Eris from reading allllll our fics about him.

What’s your favorite Eris fic that you’ve written and Why?

My favorite Eris fic that I’ve written has to be “The Best I Ever Had” It’s one of my longer fics and I can remember being so excited to write it when I got the request, and when I’m passionate on what I’m writing, I tend to get carried away. (Which explains why it’s nearly 8k words.) But it also all came really easy to me, and I believe that was the fic that pulled me out of a horrible writers block.

How do you decide what scenarios to write about for your Eris fics?

So most of my scenarios come from requests, whether it be detailed or not they’re always inspired by what’s in my inbox. But I like to keep to Eris’s playful yet arrogant attitude (and let’s be honest, awfully sexy), which is why most of my Eris fics take place in a ballroom or the bedroom.

What are some of your favorite fan theories about Eris?

One of my favorite fan theories (a smaller one) is that Eris has the ability to suck the warmth from a room the same way he can heighten the temperature. I love the idea of him being able to walk into a room full of his enemies and void it of its warmth, keeping it all to himself. I think it aligns perfectly with how, despite his appearance, he is often cold towards people he doesn’t trust.

What do you think is Eris's most defining moment in the series so far?

Eris’s most defining moment for me is 100% the talk between him and Cassian towards the end of ACOSF when Cassian tells him “I think you might even be a good male, you’re just too much of a coward to act like one.” And I just thought that sentence perfectly encapsulates who Eris is truly, because he is good, but he lives with a monster who most likely tortures him and his mother for sport, which means he cannot make any move aside from telling others on the outside how to destroy Beron

Quick, Eris is threatening to go on ao3/tumblr and read all these fics about him, how do you distract him?

I don’t distract him, I let him read all of it and then we can recreate his all favorites 😻🙏

Please give us a name for one of Eris's brothers

I believe that in some of my fics I have Kyden and possibly a Vaughn? Something victorian or fire-related, because you can’t have men in billowing white sleeves and not give them a vampiric name. But I’d say officially, I love the idea of having a Conleth Vanserra.

Please name one of Eris's hounds!

Ok. I’ve thought long and hard about this (probably too much tbh) and decided that the Shadow Hound that leads the pack is a female, and I see her name being something similarly related to fire, so for female I think Hestia, but alternately for male I think Haco as an old dogs name is adorable.

[daliasmay]

Eris' dogs are the treasure of the Autumn Court.

I've read some works on the AO3 with Eris, where he gives one of his ghost hound puppies to Nyx as a birthday present. It is very-very cute and all that, but it is so...not in his character?

I mean Eris isn't that kind and warmheart strange man who could give one of the most rare dogs, the treasure of his Court to someone from Rhysand's family...

Or to someone else who IS NOT HIS family, that what I want to say. I even don't believe that one of his brothers has his own ghost hound lol.

The same with Helion and his pegasi, which population Amarantha almost erased. His dogs are the same treasure as Helion's wing horses not only for the entire Court, but also personally for him I think.

BUT! I'm sitting on the two chairs and don't think so in the case with Lucien and his future family!🙈

I love the headcanon where Eris, in the name of his reunion with Lucien, gives him one or two of his newborn puppies on the Solstice in very elegant basket, after many years of their conflict and long distance in relationships. Without any words, silently, he holds out one of his most favorite creatures to Lucien, to his little brother🥹

And later, he will give the one as a present to his his first nephew on his twelfth birthday. He knows that his brother probably won't stop at one child, and Eris knows and feels how stressful life could really be for older siblings in any family. Every elder child needs a friend like this, so his nephew won't be alone, he always will be with the most loyal friend ever, who will always be with him and will his best companion in the life wherever he goes.

Of course, Eris is a cunning uncle, he's also earning himself love points in the family unspoken competition between two grandparents, other uncles and aunties. And he will win it and take the prize👑🧡

I just love this dog lover from character debut and I can't wait to see him more in the future books. I hope that SJM won't kill him, because Eris' mission is to rebuild the Autumn Court, and in particular to eradicate its wild tradition of fratricide.

[soap-ify]

mdni.

YOU'RE AN ANGEL, I'M A DOG | simon 'ghost' riley x reader

05 — i'll meet the judgement by the hounds.

chapter summary — a fool and a coward, that's the realisation you had come to.

tags / cw — no smut, fluff, a bit domestic honestly, basically reader's drunk and simon takes care of you, bittersweet, simon opens up... a bit, angst, suicidal thoughts, very subtle religious references if they even count as one, simon's in denial and reader is on the verge of losing it all. [4k words]

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Simon had come to the conclusion that you were a snake, and your love was your poison. Maybe he really was a coward for being afraid to let your venom drown into his veins.

“Remind me to never take you out for drinking again.”

If it weren’t for Simon holding you carefully against him and walking through the street, you’d surely have collapsed on the ground all drunk and worse, thrown up by now.

It was a little mistake. One drink became two, and then three. You had forgotten about your tolerance, and here you were now. It’s all because of Simon. That’s what your excuse was, blaming it all on him. Which was true in all honesty, you had gotten too excited about this little hangout.

“You’ll never go out with me again?” Completely mishearing his words, you looked up at him with wide eyes, tears already approaching. Yeah, you were completely drunk. Simon froze, his heart tearing at the sight of your incoming tears, even if they were just due to your emotions being all over the place now. Emotions that had always been there, hidden deep within.

His first instinct was to ignore your words and just keep walking, his heart begging for him to comfort you. But again, how does a killer comfort an angel? How would the moon comfort the ocean, while being so far away?

“I didn’t say that.” He gruffly replied and continued to look ahead, not daring to meet your eyes anymore.

O Angel, let me fall on my knees, kiss your fingers, and weep for forgiveness. So you may hold my absolution, and make me man again.

“C’mon, we gotta take you home.” Simon internally cursed himself for not taking you both to the bar in a car. He hadn’t considered the possibility of you being a drunk mess. Do I ever consider anything?

“No!” Your loud whine echoed in the empty pavement, and he could barely hold in a chuckle, deciding to bite his bottom lip beneath his mask. “Can’t we spend more time together, Si?”

I’d spend a lifetime with you. But god forbid he ever said those words. Not to you, not to anyone. “S’not like m’gonna die or somethin’, or that you’ll never see me again.” Simon grumbled and tightened his hand around your waist, accommodating your wobbly body, guiding you.

Simon wished he could take your hands and sway around with you, let both of you move into a sweet dance, with the stars praising you. A performance for the cosmos. He wished he could hold you when you throw yourself over him, to let you never escape his embrace. Lovers forever tangled.

He wished.

He wondered what something like that even would look like. His dad never danced with his mother. He remembers his mother looking at him, holding in her tears and forcing a smile. “I promise your dad loves me, just as much as I love him. He's just… exhausted nowadays.” He wished his mother didn’t consider him a naive — a child.

Simon doesn’t think he was ever a child. A child is innocent, his very first cry was a sin.

“Simon?” Your voice snapped him out of the reminiscence he was trapped in. He let out a soft grunt, urging you to continue.

“Have you… Have you ever seen a ghost?” You burst into laughter at your own poor attempt at the joke, a rapid change of emotion, though in your defence, it’s definitely very funny. Your free hand tried to wipe the tears as you continued laughing, and Simon swore that this was truly the angels’ hymn eliciting from your mouth.

“Do I count?” He grinned behind his mask, the side of his eyes crinkling a bit. You quickly shook your head and stared at him with determined eyes, fully set on your question. “In that case, no. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one, love. But if I do, I’ll make sure to tell ‘em you said hello.”

If it was someone else like Kyle or Johnny who would be laughing about this joke, Simon was sure that he would have said something snarky or just straight up ignored them. But not with you, never with you.

“You’re the best.” You beamed, his heart squeezed painfully.

“We’re almost there.”

Upon arriving at your apartment complex, he dropped you off outside your apartment’s front door, the only thing in mind being to flee quickly so your sweet smile doesn’t taunt him anymore. Though he simply couldn’t, your fingers not letting go off his forearm at all. Too exhausted to figure out if it was intentional or not, he sighed under his breath and turned over to face you, brown eyes having a slight shine in them due to the hallway’s light.

“C’mon, you gotta go in and rest.” He couldn’t figure out why his breathing was falling short. Was it the alcohol? He barely drank anything.

You, on the other hand, tried your best to not look up at him and meet his eyes, knowing that it would shut you up. Like the intimidating gaze of a god, a warrior. You had to speak your mind, had to know about something, to ease the storm in your head.

“Are you getting bored of me?” These words slipped out of your lips as a meek whisper, forbidden.

It was a sickening feeling that ensued within Simon after that, as if something was grabbing his heart and trying to rip it out of his chest. Inhale, exhale. He didn’t know what exactly horrified him. Probably the fact that he knew what had caused you to think like that. The perfume.

O Angel, let me carve my heart out with a knife and hand it to you as an offering — apology. So may your hands embrace it and take me home, with thee. So may your fingers caress my cheek once again, and let my blood paint my skin.

“No.” He was embarrassingly quick to reply, fingers curling up into fists by his sides as he inhaled sharply. How could he put such thoughts into your head? How could I? Only a devil, the most evil being, could commit such atrocity.

You paused at his words, not knowing what else to say. No? Then why was that perfume there? You didn’t want him to think you were dumb enough to not notice that. “You’re lying…” Your voice cracked, and it was no longer the alcohol playing you like a puppet. It was you now. You felt like your own marionette. Stop speaking, fucking stop. “I am not dumb, Si. I saw that p-perfume on your couch the other day. Is that why you got mad at me?” God, stop talking please. “You could have just… said that you prefer other girls. Am I… Am I making a fucking fool out of myself here?” It terrified you, your own emotions terrified you. Your voice was rising just a bit, and all your feelings had their hands wrapped around your throat. Controlling you. You didn’t want to speak, didn’t want to say it out loud. You weren’t used to being so open about your mind, and now you felt like nothing but a cat shivering under the rain — alone and abandoned. Vulnerable, naked.

Maybe you and Simon weren’t so different after all. Vulnerability — just why did it terrify humans? Were the angels and the gods just as opposed to vulnerability?

“Oh, l-” Love. It almost slipped off his tongue, and he didn’t know if you even wanted him to call you that right now. The thought alone made him shudder uncomfortably. He didn’t know what to do — stuck in between two roads. Should he lie? Or tell you the truth? — That it was just one time, a drunken act that is nothing but lamentable to him.

Why were you both even acting like an actual couple right now?

He swallowed the lump that threatened to torture his throat, exhaling softly. “I was drunk, and it happened. She probably left her perfume accidentally.” He spilled the truth out. Just the way a mature person would. Don’t be fucking daft, Riley. His eyes assessed the subtle twitch of your brows at that, your lips quivering. He wished he could just lean in and kiss all the tears away, despite them not having landed on your cheeks. Hopefully they won’t.

“Oh…” Your response was too short, unsure and reluctant. It made Simon feel as if he had sinned once again, chains threatening to drag him into the darkest depths of Hell. Home — the one he was familiar with.

You swallowed nervously and looked down at your feet, your hand long having stopped holding his arm. Instead, your fingers were fiddling with one another anxiously. Why did you feel as if you were betrayed? A desperate cry for love, you wished you could say it to him. To his face, sob and scream about what you felt. He was the only one who understood, who was willing to understand. He was the only one who ever was, and who ever will be.

The agreement. It was no longer just fucking, it never was. Not since the day you saw him with Kyle, not since the day he talked with you after Kyle gestured at you. Never. Could he also see it all the way you did?

Your silence was a clear indicator of the fact that you were lost in your thoughts now. Simon’s eyes softened up, and before he could think rationally, his body reacted on its own and embraced you tightly against his chest, strong arms wrapping around you protectively.

“Fuck…” He cussed under his breath, despising how his voice was thickening up with emotion. He hugged you like an old dog messily giving affection to its owner. My angel, my angel. I sinned, I have sinned. I am sorry.

He pulled you impossibly close, as if wanting to mold his body into yours, to become one. He could be with you forever in that way, to be your breathing and you his heartbeat.

You didn’t even feel confused at his rapid action at all. Just broken, so broken. He was the hammer that had finally hit the dam, and broke it. “W-Why?” Your voice wavered and mixed into a sob, your hands tightened holding onto him, fingers threatening to dig deeper as you let your head rest against him, tears tickling your skin. “I am so tired… So tired, Si. I hate you…”

“Do you want me to leave?” His hold tightened despite his words.

“No.” Your words came out a bit more forcefully than you had intended, too anxious to let him go. You felt his right hand leaving your back, a soft whimper leaving your lips once you felt his lips, bare and real, pressing a soft kiss on the top of your head, soon realising that he had taken his mask off. Too shy and messy in tears, you made no effort to look up at him and instead continued to cry, emotions desperate to keep pouring out and leave the imprisonment of your body. His hand continued to rub the back of your head while his other held your lower back, both of you unknowingly taking a few steps back and forth together, unable to stay still. It was as if you both were dancing slowly, like lovers.

“Alright. Hand me the keys, love.” You tentatively grabbed your keys from where you had kept it and handed it to him, your hands quickly latching onto him again. He carefully unlocked the front door of your apartment and led you inside, being extra cautious so he doesn’t accidentally step onto your feet. Closing the door by kicking it gently with one leg, he gently guided you towards the living room, easing you down onto the couch.

“Do you remember that creepy guy that came into the cafe?” Your voice was still shaky from crying, eyes all glossy as you finally looked at him, heart skipping a beat. Despite already having seen his face the last time, you still weren't used to it. Were you blessed?

He silently nodded and took a seat beside you, his arms leaving your sides so his large hands could cradle your face, thumbs tenderly wiping the drying up tears away while you talked, eyes looking everywhere but at him due to the sudden proximity. He didn't mind it at all, simply adored your sudden sheepishness.

“I still get scared at the thought of him… I don't want anyone like that to visit the cafe again. I-I don't think I can handle it.” Your voice gradually got quieter by the end, nibbling on your bottom lip. Oh, dear. Simon hadn’t told you that he had already beat that creep up. Now he somewhat wished that he had killed him instead. Surely Price would back him up if he made up some reason, yeah?

Your shoulders visibly eased up at that, your mind clearing a bit. Probably sobering up? You were sure that you weren't going to pick up a bottle of alcohol after this. Leaning into him, you decided to rest your head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat. Expecting a soft, calm rhythm — you were instead met with a fast thump, your brows furrowing though you decided not to comment on it.

“He wouldn't. No one will ever treat you like that again, love.” As long as I am here. Possessive yet guilty. He was vaguely promising to be by your side while always avoiding you, protecting you from himself. From the ugliness within him. No angel must spare a glance at a stray, especially not one used to violence.

His hands were playing with the fabric of your shirt now, mindlessly toying with it, feeling the texture under his skin as he gently tugged onto it. It felt oddly comforting, both of you not mentioning what happened outside the apartment a few minutes ago.

You looked up at him again, your eyes falling onto his lips this time. A bit chapped with a small scar adorning the side of his upper lip. You couldn't help but smile at the sight, leaning forward to place a bashful kiss on top of it. Simon let out a soft grumble at that, tilting his head to the side so he could kiss your lips properly, eyes fluttering shut alongside yours. He could taste some hints of your salty tears, his hands holding your waist while your hands held the back of his neck, letting his lips devour yours.

He held onto you gently, not wanting to be tight despite every fiber within him wanting to hold you fully against him once more, like a hound too eager to please.

Once he pulled away from the kiss, his heart skipped at the sight of your lips being all glossy. Ethereal. Your lips twitched into a giddy smile, and he could swear that he felt the heat radiating off you once it crept up onto your face. It felt soft, everything felt too soft and warm. The gentleness threatened to suffocate him once more, a mocking reminder of him being undeserving of such tranquility. He was supposed to be wed to the war, to violence. To the bloodshed that haunted his dreams. Not whatever this was.

But he refused to get up, not wanting to see any more of your tears. “We have to get you to bed. You need sleep.” He spoke quietly, a soft sigh leaving his lips once he felt your forehead pressing against his, letting you lean into him.

“Will you join me?” You normally would have never asked something like that, but the way he was holding you almost made you believe that he was willing to warm up a bit more with you.

Simon frowned at that, pulling his head back slightly. “We can't, you're drunk.”

Realising that he misunderstood you, blood rushed to your cheeks and you looked away in embarrassment, your voice getting timid. “No… I meant sleeping together. Nothing else.”

He paused, eyes softening up as the implication dawned on him. Sleeping together. Innocently domestic — something you both had never touched. He wanted to reject, to say that it’d be better for him to just leave. That could have been the better option anyways. Though he couldn't bring himself to refuse you, too enamoured, as if trapped in some spell by you.

“Fine.” He clicked his tongue in a poor attempt to appear reluctant, masking his inner eagerness. Helping you off the couch, he led you towards the bathroom first, opening the tap. “Let's wash your face first, yeah?”

He did everything — getting you in comfortable pajamas once he finished helping you clean up, even helping you in preparing the bed. Everything. It made you feel as if you were cared for, as if he was the warmth you had ached for throughout your life. The felicity had long spreaded within you once you laid down on bed, watching him lay down beside you.

He was tense, visibly so. You tentatively scooted towards him, a hand reaching out to settle onto his chest, to feel his heartbeat once again. Maybe in this way, you could sync your heart with his, build your own little bubble. Or was that too much to hope for?

“Thank you…” It just slipped out of your mouth like a soft prayer — a hidden whisper to be close to him so more.

“S'nothing.” His eyes looked over at you, taking in the contentment etched onto your face. He wanted to wrap his arms around you and hold you against him, to let you melt in his embrace while you slept. No. That's too much, that's crossing a line. A line made up in his head.

You're building your own grave, Simon. He despised his own mind for mocking him like this, for littering his head with unwanted thoughts. Just one night.

“Sleep now, love.” He whispered quietly, watching you reach over to turn the lamp off. You shuffled besides him again, letting the blanket cover you up.

Simon doesn’t remember the last time he had slept so nicely, your soft breathing his lullaby.

Upon waking up alone on your bed, a heavy feeling of dread settled on you alongside a throbbint headache. Had he left? Wasn't it just getting better?

Holding your heart together from cracking it with every strength you had, you tried to take a few deep breaths. Don’t panic, don't-

The sudden clinking sound from outside your bedroom made you jolt, and only now could you notice the pleasant aroma of something cooking. Sheepishly, you slid off the bed and tiptoed over to the door, poking your head out to look around. Able to make out some of Simon's figure through the open door of the kitchen, relief flooded deep within you. He's here.

“Good morning, Si…” You greeted him once you entered the kitchen, standing besides him, rubbing the weariness off your eyes. He gave a soft grunt of acknowledgement, focusing on cooking some breakfast.

“Your whole kitchen needs some restocking.” He mumbled, sparing a small glance over at you. You stayed quiet, a bit embarrassed by his observance. You were planning on restocking it soon, anyways.

The morning went by like a pleasant breeze, your mood ever so joyous today. You felt light, as if floating on the clouds and reaching the stars, as if becoming one of them, alongside Simon. He hadn't mentioned much about last night at all, even gave you some pills and an offer for a head massage. You had declined it, mostly because you didn't want to show how greatly affected you were by the subtle signs of care laced in his actions, despite it being already evident all over you.

You didn't know what had driven you to act in the way you did in the afternoon. Maybe you shouldn't have opened your mouth, just kept it shut and complied.

“Si, I um… I want to talk to you about something.” You paused the monotonous movie literally none of you were actually focusing on, turning over the couch to face him, your fingers tightly curled on your lap, digging into your flesh.

Maybe it was just your heart acting out, feeling as if things had changed. Foolishly clinging onto the thin strong of hope, never learning. Never learning that touching stray dogs was bad, they had fleas. Fleas that had already infected you, threatening to devour you.

“I think… Uh- I was wondering- I just-” Fumbling over your words, all you could hear was the loud beating of your own heart, each nerve of yours set on fire. Anxious, too anxious. You wanted to throw up. “I wanted to tell you that I really… like you, and-” Your words drowned into heavy silence once you took note of just how silent Simon was, how he was frowning.

A fool. A fool who dreamt too much, who was too lost amidst the heavenly clouds of tranquility. A fool who did everything to avoid reality — that's what you felt like.

“No.” His reply was rather abrupt, clear. The subtle smile on your lips fell, and Simon wished to do nothing more than drown into a river. “You don't like me.”

“I-I do!” Unbelievable, did he not believe that you like him? Even love him.

“You shouldn't.” That came out more roughly than he had intended to, a little snarl escaping his throat. “We've already discussed it, this is nothing.’

You should have shut up at that, should have somehow sewed your lips together and quieted down. You couldn't, instead growing more agitated, more on edge. “You can't say that, Si! D-Don't you see whatever it is that we're doing?” You whimpered in exasperation, trying to keep your voice from trembling, miserably failing. “I care for you! I do, and you care for me too. I can see it…” Vision progressively growing blurrier with incoming tears, you looked away and tried to ignore the sting in your eyes, your breath shuddering. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Simon was at a loss of words himself, his heart aching to kiss your tears away and plead for forgiveness. He was a cruel, cruel man. Cruel for being so terrified, cruel for being so persistent.

O Angel, forgive me for I can't let you love me, for light should never kiss the shadow.

“You shouldn't…” He repeated his words again, his voice quieter, weaker. A plea, a request. You shook your head, a sob erupting from your throat as you tried to reach out for him.

He pulled away just as quick, your hand never meeting his. An ocean that could never touch the moon, a man that could never touch a star.

“I need to leave.” Hastily he turned around and walked out of your apartment, leaving you speechless, hand still shamefully held out. Frozen and alone, unloved.

Simon Riley was a coward.

Simon had lost count of how many bottles he had drank by now. Feeling horribly, horribly similar to his father. A drunkard, disgusting. He thought the alcohol could wash his emotions away, drown them hopefully — all it did was make him even more vulnerable, his glossy eyes staring off at a distance.

Weak. Ironically enough, this brute was nothing but weak. Everyone should be laughing at him, you should be laughing at him. Laugh at him for not knowing how to love properly, for being so quick to run away.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing, making him click his tongue in irritation that soon melted away once he noticed the caller ID.

Price.

He picked it up and listened to his captain's words, each syllable both a stab and a blessing.

A deployment again, finally.

notes — i apologise for uploading it after A WHOLE MONTH. blaming it on the writerphew, a deployment! this could mean many things. also a heads up that either chapter 6 or chapter 7 will be the last one (made some changes to my plan!)