#oc x canon warm and soft

[jacey-spacey]

some idiots in love bc god knows I need the serotonin today.

[sugarsweetvirgo]

🌸Them🌸

[serendippertyy]

I really love your sona x Bernard ship. It’s so cute, and I adore them so much. Please draw more of them in the future, okay? Thank you so much. Happy belated Valentine’s Day.

i would be more than happy to haha especially with the weather where I live finally being cold during this time of year so it makes me feel oddly christmassy !! 😅💗💗

[countxcrimson]

Winter Nerdshipping!!!

[happiguyy]

i like when his button up is a little undone

[moonsaver]

hesperus

The evening star calls home. Ruin is your saving grace.

Tw/Cw; Suggestive/explicit scene, gender neutral reader, implications of religious themes (not great), dubious morals(?), reader is a COUGARRRR (implied), Sunday loves older authority figures (guilty), just guess at this point. Also reader is implied to be like a parental figure to Firefly. OOC because i love making canon characters my own ocs.

Pairings: Stellaron Hunter!Reader x Sunday (romantic), (hinted) Firefly x tb, (platonic) Firefly x reader.

A/n: 5.8k words, i hate this fic, enjoy whatever whatever.

——

“Will you be okay?”

The small girl looks up at you - trepidation and concern visible in her eyes.

“I should be asking you that, lovely.” You smile, gently tugging a strand of hair behind her ear. Her hair was beautiful, in your opinion. You often verbalized how beautiful it looked, mentioning it as silver under a blue moon.

Firefly still had concern in her eyes, dampened by your words, her hand clasped over the middle of her collarbone.

“I'll make it.. I think.” Her determination made way through uncertainty. You hum, smiling at her.

“You will, as shall I. If you ever need, I will be there.”

You wink, making the young girl smile a bit. The small, almost sad smile, still breaks through her worry.

“I've heard they've been on the lookout for us. I'm..”

She didn't have to continue. You already knew. Your hand comes up and pats her head, gently.

“We'll be fine. Go on, my sweet.”

You smile, softly. It seems to melt away the rest of her trepidation.

She takes a moment. Then nods. Worry and uncertainty now embers as determination fires through her eyes.

You wave her off, as she makes her way.

You are being watched. But you are aware.

–———

You hum, swirling the champagne glass in your fingers, watching the bubbles rise to the top, and stick to the edges in clusters.

“Interrupting your break, am I?”

The man beside you laughs, softly. Almost forced. He doesn't respond further.

“I'm guessing your weekends are spent tending to your white coat.”

You tilt your head, looking at him, a small smile playing on your lips. He doesn't bother acknowledging you.

“I give it to the dry cleaners, actually.”

“Ah, busy man. I suppose I should leave you be.”

“..I have an inkling you won't.”

His wings bristle slightly. His halo shines beautifully – a sort of warning that hangs over his head. Sharp edges, blinding gold. Angels crafted to deter the evil.

But you aren't phased. Perhaps it is the alcohol.

“There was a story, I remember. If you're up for it, of course. It's quite old.”

“Ah, an anecdote from your life?”

“I'm not an ancient tablet.”

“I wasn't aware.”

You chuckle, setting your glass down, the glass base clinking as you do.

You take a brief moment; simply to compose and immerse into the present moment. You look over at the man, allowing yourself to shamelessly scan him despite the unreturned glancing or staring.

“Owls and Ravens were once friends. And both had snow-like feathers. As pristine as white clouds on the expanse of a sky.”

His hair is soft, blue and hazy under the warm light of the bar, shimmering the slightest bit. He shifts in his seat, perhaps to get more comfortable.

“They decided, then, to paint each other, since nothing else was there to do. The Raven painted the Owl diligently, in patterns and dots. And the Owl sat patiently through the process.”

His eyes are piercing, golden, yet they rest, conserved and distant.

The alcohol hazed your vision, smoothing out the edges like a loving artist's strokes against the canvas of his visage.

Your fingers circle the rim of your glass, returning your gaze, watching the bubbles clear.

“But when the Raven's turn came, it never sat still. And as the Owl painted, it painted over the Raven entirely, marring it's feathers as black as obsidian.”

“What a shame.”

Your foot playfully taps the side of his, making his leg stop jittering up and down.

“Indeed.”

He hums, his gaze temporarily flitting from your foot to your hand, placed on your knee. He almost acknowledges you.

The background is a warm blur against your view of him, almost as though he's the sole performer on a podium – the light seemed to belong to him, and him only. 

“You have a daughter, am I correct to assume?”

His fingers tap, rhythmically, like patters of rain.

“No, just.. a friend. But I consider her as such.”

“She left in quite a hurry.”

“She did, didn't she?”

“has the dream not been to her liking? In the case something has gone awry, The Family hopes–”

“Oh, you know, kids these days. They see someone they like and skitter like a fool.”

He doesn't seem to take your words in stride. But you smile.

“I see.”

You stretch, spinning in the small loveseat, planting your feet down as you rise,

“See someone you like?”

“Already got a view.”

Sunday finally acknowledges you - his eyes trailing your form as you walk away.

——–

“I love you!”

The voice crackles from the plush toy's broken voice box, as Sunday peers down at it. He doesn't move – idly looking at it, and yet not bothering to pick it up.

He stares, for a few more moments, noting the grime and the tears at the seams. The small stains of probably candy or something sweet sticking to its “paws”. The bear had worn down inexplicably from love. The very love it spoke at every press. And from abandonment. He found himself wondering at the fleeting childhood passing by like a reeling ribbon from a child's hands, as if the bear had been dropped unwillingly, and had not been allowed to reunite with it's owner again. A strange dilemma – not alive, yet full of the most humanly feeling. So full, infact, the cotton burst at the seams, and it's button nose was dull. 

With careful movements, Sunday picks it up, by its collar behind its “neck” [if you could even say it had one]. His hand holds it at a bit of a distance.

“A fan of soft toys, Mr. Dreammaster?’

Your voice teases him. You watch his arm slightly falter, imagining a plethora of emotions on his face you'd love to pull at like strings of a tapestry falling apart.

“..I am the Head, of The Family. The Dreammaster would be–”

“It's alright. I was joking.”

“I wasn't.”

His voice is still, flat. There is no semblance of emotion.

“Feisty, today. Was your toy missing for a long time? Sour about how it looks, hm?”

Sunday breathes out; an amicable replacement for a drawn out sigh. He turns to you, still holding the bear at a distance, staying quiet.

“Now, that is no way to hold a gentleman.” 

You walk forward, and gently grasp the bear in both of your hands. Sunday's eyes flicker to your gloved hands, as though in his own curiosity of your lack of concern in terms of hygiene.

“There. Better. You ought to be respectful to your elders.”

“Ah, yes. My apologies. I should have bowed when you spoke to me.”

He bows slightly in jest, his hand on his heart,

“Hm, that's right.”

Sunday smiles, looking up at you from his bowed state. You seem to pay more mind to the bear in your hands, an array of similar thoughts in your head as you process it's appearance.

“Do you want to take it with you? Who knows, you might come to like it.”

“Please, that's no way to ask someone to get rid of it.”

You eye his non-faltering, feigned innocent smile. He simply closes his eyes and continues smiling.

“Well, turns out it has a nametag. It won't hurt to stitch it up a bit and return it back.”

He hums, watching you fix the bear's little dishevelled bowtie.

And then he clears his throat, catching your attention.

You tilt your head, curiously looking at him.

“Yes?”

Sunday points to his own tie, slightly miffed. You chuckle,

“Well, now. Whoever shall fix that?”

“Perhaps an elder. They know better than I.”

You roll your eyes, setting the bear down gently onto the side, removing your gloves and fixing his tie.

———

“Cozy, cozy.”

Kafka purrs into the phone, the rasp of her voice not blurred by the digital medium, as you stare in the distance at the blue-haired halovian.

“Kafka, I'm gonna have to call you back soon.”

“Just when things were about to get interesting..”

You roll your eyes – she can't see it, but she chuckles, knowing what your silence meant.

“Alright, goodluck. Looks like you'll need it.”

You hang up before she has anything else to say, pulling out a compact mirror, and adjusting your appearance. Just as you snap it shut, a small creak of the loveseat beside you indicates his occasional arrival.

“You're late. And I hoped a man of your stature was more punctual than that.”

You tease, watching his eyes never meet yours. Only this time – you catch it. He swallows, rather thickly, watching his adam's apple bob as he does. 

“I don't recall having scheduled any meetings with you.”

“Oh?”

His reply is curt, almost condescending if you weren't the type to brush it off.

“Seems my last story hasn't melted the ice yet.”

“Not an inch.”

“D'aw, alright. Wanna hear more, lovely?”

His wings – not his ears – twitch slightly at the pet name. You notice the faint rush of blood to the tip of his ears.

He doesn't answer, choosing to be chaste in silence. You huff out a chuckle,

“Alright, drink's on me then. I'll tell you something interesting.”

——

In your travels as a stellaron hunter, you've assorted many into repulsions and desires that draw you in.

To fast thrills, versus the indignancy of a dragging present. You find yourself drawn to the bright lights of a night bar, versus the blinding array of a scorching sun. To shallow connections in lieu of heavy and complex relationships. Attachment would be your downfall. Ruin is your saving grace.

However, you find yourself looking for your repulsions.

The grey haired girl stands in front of you once again, shuffling from foot to foot, her eyes low and shy as her hands fiddle with a stray lock of her own hair. You eye her for a moment, before humming, and gently coax  her to face you by placing an index finger under her chin and raising it up.

“Little bug, what's on your mind?”

“Um..”

“Script not to your liking?”

You watch her mumble under her breath, her face slightly tilting down as she resists the urge to tuck it away again. As she does, you gaze from over the top of her head; a familiar blue haired man walking into the distance, followed by panicked coworkers. It seems he will be amiss once again, for today.

“I couldn't.. tell them.”

“The trailblazer?”

She hums, nodding.

You huff out a chuckle, patting her head.

“You have your chances, do you not? Rest easy, your time will come.”

She visibly relaxes, her shoulders slightly dropping, and her hands leaving the lock of hair to return to her sides. Her eyes are still low, as though scanning the pavement under your feet, as she contemplates. You watch her bite the inside of her cheek before she raises her face again and nod.

There is a fire in her eyes.

It is almost like the Sun.

You are almost afraid of it.

“I'll do it. As many times as I need to.”

You smile, leaning back onto the cold wall behind you.

“We should go shopping after your next attempt.”

You find your jaw clenching after the words slip from your mouth. Your repulsions are your weakness. Yet you still seem to subconsciously seek them out. It's a testament to your human nature.

She nods, smiling at you. She stays in her place for a moment, before she speaks again,

“I could.. ask Kafka to go with you if I don't make it.”

You turn and glance back at your usual spot at the open bar‐empty without you and the man you've been missing lately. Your smile only widens at her perception. Clever girl.

“No need. I'd like some silence anyways.”

She seems a bit unconvinced, as she continues to gaze at you for a brief moment more, scanning you for any deception. Out of worry than any ulterior motives, unlike the woman she mentioned a while ago.

Truthfully, you were lonely. This is what your ruin does to you, regardless of how it saves you. A few conversations lure you into a false sense of companionship, regardless of however brief it must have been, even encouraging you to divulge more than necessary if desperate enough. You find your eyes flitting at anything the colour of pale blue. At anything that glows gold under a light.

You chuckle and wave,

“I'll be fine, honeybee. Go, be on your way, now.”

She nods, smiling at the pet name. 

You find your repulsions carry you elsewhere, the bar fading into the background as you walk the opposite direction, once all spying eyes have cleared. You find your eyes flitting to find him. However, no matter how blessed your vision may be, the absence left behind can only be described, not pointed to. Ultimately, it is your mind that hinges on the assessment of what you have lost, or gained. 

But it seems this time your heart has taken the hit – a burrowing feeling between the slats and the depths of your ribs as though an animal had sprung from it, and left it behind as a husk of what it once was. 

–——

Sunday tuts, his fingers taking a bold graze of your hair, sliding and gently tugging out a lock.

“You ought to take better care of your hair.”

You stay silent for a brief moment, and it's apparent to him aswell that you hadn't expected him to do something so.. casual, considering his formalities. He takes his time to address it in your period of silence.

“I simply noticed and commented on it, no need to look like a deer caught in headlights.”

His eyes flicker to yours for a moment, and avert immediately. You watch his hand fall to his side, his fingers slightly shaking. You can't tease him on it – it would be hypocritical. A slight, excited sort of feeling sparks in your stomach.

You lick your lips, and take a sip of your beverage, feeling your senses dry up a bit. The liquid instead burns at the dryness of your throat.

“You're into haircare, hm?”

You reply, ignoring the brief silence and the tension it carried.

“Often. It comes with taking care of my wings.”

“Ah, I see.”

Silence once again. Unlike the pleasant one you two usually shared, this felt different; it felt electric. Thick, a bit suffocating. 

“I like your piercings.”

His hand, previously resting on the counter, subconsciously raises up to fiddle with his earring,

“Thank you.”

You stay silent again, almost inviting in the tension that causes him to graze his teeth against the inside of his cheek, a step away from chewing on the sides of it.

You break the ice first.

“Do you prefer gold or silver?”

“Silver.”

He stays silent for a moment. He's often found his mind wandering when it comes to you – wondering how various adornments would suit you.

“Really? Didn't take you as a silver type.’

“Ah, about me?”

“Who else?”

He felt silver suited you; more than your complexion, he simply felt.. drawn to it. Like the faint glimmering of a moon's reflection on a lake. You were someone who's depths were mysterious, almost alluring to him.

You stay silent, too. The question hangs in the air for a brief moment.

You watch his shaky fingers rub slightly at his nose. You've noticed a lot of things about him. The tips of his nose and ears that turns red a bit too easily. The faint fluttering of his ghostly blue lashes. The twinkle of gold – not just of his halo, but the various imprints of it on him; jewellery, and the woven golden threads of his pristine suit.

His eyes follow to your hand, on the bar's countertop, swallowing thickly again.

It seems despite everything, he's still a fool in the grasp of his shame.

He looks away,

“I prefer gold.”

——

Sentience is a curse, he thinks.

His fingers tap and circle the perimeter of the frail glass, a clink accompanying each one. Waves form on the surface of the shimmery liquid from the small force.

Morality is a cruel beast. Because it is unrecognisable. And it knows you.

It follows you, through your ages. A small, ghastly and putrid thing, akin to a shameful, big animal. Hunched over, following you like a chore. Like a lost, stubborn child. It grows with you. It becomes bolder. It becomes aware. It has your voice. Soon, the mind caves and buckles into the grasp of the dastardly beast, that grows like uncontrolled weed on a substrate. It grows and envelops. And it tells you – can you truly allow yourself to do this? And the answer is never yes. Morality is a curse. A big ugly thing, unafraid to show it's face. It fills the room when silence staves arguments in the form of chastened tension.

Yet he finds himself, almost seeking it out. Searching the cruel shackle of his morality, almost wanting it to shame him into hiding. 

Your place is empty. He notes. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, fluttering lashes coming to a halt. He envisions the faint waft of your perfume, the dainty clicking of your fingers over the rim of the glass, the cheeky tap against his agitated foot. Sunday would find himself already ashamed, if he'd outright admitted he'd actually been staring at you, from his periphery. You overshadow the ugly beast, drawing out a sort of soft, beautiful serenity with a hollow voice, and an elusive persona. 

Angels are, by design, made to stave evil. Somehow, however, it seems he has attracted one. A devil in the form of you. And yet, like a man yet to feel the cold relief of forgiveness on his lips, he wanders aimlessly in his mind, as though in search of you. Sin is unbeknownst, ignorance is plaguing, and yet he revels in it. Even for a moment.

He huffs out a laugh. A novel turn of events. Its his turn to wait for you, isn't it?

Yet it seems easy to do, simply imagining your form beside him once again, telling him another strange tale, either for your own amusement or to reel him in. He disregards the source. His weary face finds an ache, a pleasant one, as it pulls into a faint smile. 

As sentience drives a being to deviate from instinct, his awareness has driven him to exhaustion. Yet you are a double edged sword – a balm for his exhaustion yet endlessly pushing him to caution.

——

“You've been gone too long, haven't you?”

You croon, a cheeky smile on your face, Sunday bashfully keeping his eyes locked to his drink. Despite everything, he cannot meet your eyes.

“I have.”

For the first time, the pastor is of the guilty. The devil has come to exorcise him. But exorcism does not mean erasure of sins, neither does it mean cleanly cutting off the strings that attach one to them. You may as well weave more of these strings, and craftily ground him to you.

“How will you make it up to me?’

You drawl, leaning on the palm of your hand, speech slightly slurred from the alcohol.

“..How would you like me to?”

His gaze is trained on his hand – gripping the fragile neck of the glass with a bit too much force. 

You hum, twirling your own glass, watching the liquid rush and bubble at the edges.

“Tell me a secret.”

He swallows. 

A secret?

“Is that.. truly what you desire?”

“Mhm.”

You take a sip of your beverage. Sunday is relieved, yet almost disappointed.

“..very well.”

He breathes in, and takes a moment to compose himself. His eyes flit to you, a small flicker of boldness somehow making him hover over a line he dares not cross. His gaze wanders to your lips, the slight crinkle beside your eyes, the squish of your cheek against your palm. He eyes your clothing. 

A stellaron hunter.

It was as though he was placing himself as the bait in a trap. As though he was the one caught in the trap. What else could he complain about? Except for that of which he can't admit – his unbecoming is his fault.

His fault for unreeling like a ribbon under your daft fingers. He finds himself wanting to spill like an ink bottle, the surface tension of the liquid keeping it from just flowing over the thick, glass borders.

And he breathes in your perfume. He breathes in the expanse of the night's air. And he spills. He spills so cautiously, so quietly, as though he is afraid of staining his own lips with the tenacity of his words.

He has many secrets. Most of which were handed to him, more akin to an heirloom than an actual personal matter. More akin to a treacherous contract than whispered confessions. How he wishes this was a confession to you, than an unveiling over his disgusting innards.

But you listen, unwavering. A lazy smile still gracing your lips, stained with grapes and understanding. It is as though you were stained in so many ways, his words are unflinchingly simple to you. It becomes a confession, rather than a revelation at the altar of the cartilage shell of your ear.

And you keep it. You keep it like a lost prayer. Like a silent vow. 

“..want me to whisper it to you?”

You return the sentiment, offering a request. It seems you are no guiltier than he innocent. 

———

“Can't convince you, can I?”

“Not at all.” Please don't try, anyway. He lets those words die on his tongue.

You huff out a laugh, a bit forceful, as you look away from him, folding your arms.

“Shit, you don't pull any punches, huh?”

A pang of guilt hits him at the slight hurt in your forced laugh. But he can't be deterred.

Not that you were going to, considering Elio's script. It's on you, really. But you didn't expect it to actually hurt.

You watch the empty audience seats, his back turned to it.

“It's a pity. I wish I could have seen this theatre when it was filled to the brim with people.”

“..it would have been an extraordinary view. It always is.”

“You look forward to it?”

…

“Not anymore.”

You hum, your teeth nipping at the skin of your lips. The quietness of the theatre is exemplified at the rustle of your clothes, as you turn to look at his back. The light of the podium makes him look beautiful. His halo is almost blinding. He looks like the Sun. You'll be lead to your death, at this rate. Wasn't Ruin supposed to be your saving grace? Here you are – disguised as both Icarus and the blinding Sun.

Sunday stands still, a cleancut form, unable to face you. You can stare at his back all day. But the pain resounding in your chest from your heart hurting strings you back into the present. You breathe deeply, and sigh,

“Alright. Goodluck, then.”

With one step forward, you disappear as quietly as you came. It's a trick familiar to your group; as Sunday knows. But even then, he braces himself to greet the empty space you leave behind, his heart sinking further at the loss of your presence. 

———

Sunday finds the shackles of punishment more liberating than death on his knees.

He learns this in isolation. He learns many things in isolation.

He learns how to miss you.

Phantoms and taunts of your words echoing the empty expanse of his empty mind, wafting through the many whispers of the stellaron that plagued his mind. 

His finger twitches upwards, when his lifeless eyes imagine the faint illusion of your affection, grazing fingertips over his knuckles. You hadn't actually ever gotten so physically close to him, but he indulges himself. He imagine the soft sensations of your lips on his jaw, trailing up to ghost the shell of his.

“Miss me, Mr. Dreammaster?”

He shivers at the illusion. Your voice is close yet far; reverberating in the hollow wasteland of his mind like a single thread of gold.

A lot. He wants to say. He swallows the words, and for the second time, the fruit lodges in his throat. To admit is to acknowledge the sin.

“Make it up to me, Mr. Dreammaster?"

A knock. Your phantom, agonisingly so, vanishes like a mist casted away by a gush of wind. But the interruption is far from divine.

Jade, from the IPC. 

——

Like gently settling fog, rumours stagnate over a crowd. The whispers and the hushed words are not elusive to your ears.

Your phone buzzes, but you ignore it. Firefly is accompanied by Silver wolf, you wouldn't have to worry.

As much as your thrills lure you to the lavish party to celebrate the Nameless, your repulsions seem stronger. 

You sip your beverage, tipping the glass up, but your eyes stay on your phonescreen. You hadn't ever texted Sunday, and neither had he texted you. You two hadn't even called. There was no history. It would be as though you could keep your phone open for hours and no one would bat an eye. Even for the most prestigious of those in stature would have to occasionally practise patience when it came to him. Who would you be? The vague, elusive stellaron hunter who's suspected of causing trouble wherever they go? Like a stray piece of pebble that's easy to disregard and kick away, who is he to ever glance at you?

And so you stare, measuring in silence, the strange stirring of feelings in your stomach. You could blame it on your beverage, but you hadn't drank enough really, mainly because you couldn't even bother keeping it down.

Buzz

You blink, watching a notification pop up, and promptly retreat as you click on Sunday's contact again.

He messaged you?

No, it couldn't be. It must be one of The Family's members.

You push yourself off of the wall you'd been warming with your back, and take a small step forward in contemplation, your eyebrows knitted as you stared.

Why would they send you to his office's location?

——

Sunday breathes in, the cool, familiar air of his office hitting the back of his throat as he does.

There is a certain pleasure in ordinary things. 

The patience of a ceramic cup that stays warm with coffee. The smooth crafting of the surface of a wooden desk. The ambience of the air conditioner accompanying the steady scribbling of a pointed tip on paper. The comfort in reclining back in a cushioned office chair. Things he may as well soon never come across again.

He swallows, his eyelids doing little to shield the overhead lighting of his office, but still keeping them closed to simply savor the feeling.

A shadow emerges, obscuring the light from his eyes, casting a shade on his face. It's soon accompanied by the faint wafting of perfume.

“Miss me, Mr. Sunday?”

This wasn't Ena's dream. But for a moment, he could have considered it.

You're leaned over from behind him, watching down at his face as he opens his eyes. He opens his mouth, but decides to stay silent.

Your hand comes up to gently cup the side of his face, your palm pressing beside his eye, fingers reaching the bottom of his chin. Your thumb lingers around the edge of his mouth. You both stare at each other, simply noticing the dilation of each other's pupils.

“It's just Sunday.”

He tells you. There is no animosity, no hostility in his voice. It's almost a whisper, as though he's unsure if you are real. His own hand reaches up, and cautiously, his fingers graze the side of your face.

Your skin is warm. Your relaxed smile widens as he does so. He shivers.

“Savouring your final moments?”

He smiles.

“I am.”

You stay that way for a moment, before slowly leaning back and standing up straight. Sunday gets up from his chair and moves to stand across you.

“Couldn't let me know where you were a little earlier?”

You tease him, but he can sense the slight irk in your voice.

“My deepest apologies. How can I make it up to you?”

You hum, spinning on your heel and walking around his office, fingers grazing the edge of his desk as you walk beside it, and to the front. You turn, leaning on it, your back facing him.

“A secret won't be enough this time, y'know?”

He watches your hand fiddle with a few trinkets on his desk, your other hand supporting you. He makes his way to you again, rounding the desk, and stands in front of you,

“What may help?”

You hum again, but he knows better. You're feigning your contemplation.

You smile, still leaned back against his desk.

“I wouldn't know. Something special before we depart?”

“Hm.. is that so?”

He steps closer, his hands placing themselves right beside your waist on the desk behind you, caging you in. His eyes never leave yours.

“Mhm.”

You smile, looking at him.

He leans in, eyes falling lower, on your lips, as he asks,

“Now, what shall I do?”

His warm breath fans over the lower half of your face, and the small exposed bits of your collarbone.

“Perhaps do as your seniors advise you.”

“Hm? Who?”

You grab him by the collar of his shirt, push off of the table and swerve him, pushing him against the desk as you lean in,

“You can listen, can't you?”

He breathes in, slightly winded at the switched positions.

“I might need guidance.”

You huff out a laugh,

“I'll guide you, so listen well.”

You lean in, your lips almost brushing his, but pull away when you sense he might lean in, his lips stay slightly parted as he watches you.

“You need to be patient, okay?”

He almost doesn't hear you, swallowing as he eyes your lips, his abdomen constricting, feeling something tighten and coil.

“I will.”

You smile. And lean in, testing his resolve,

“Do as I say, alright?”

His lips twitch, and his breath hitches. He waits, agonisingly, as your lips brush against his, but don't press. He whispers out,

“I will.”

.

“Good.”

You finally press your lips against his, and it's as though a river rushes through his veins, as he eagerly kisses you back. His breathing is heavy, his hands unsure as they hold onto your waist, but you're made aware of his desperation as his nails unconsciously dig into your flesh, through the thin fabric of your shirt. You suck in a breath at the feeling, and he almost moans, his wings bristling and tensing as he desperately tries to deepen the kiss, almost panting into it as your tongue brushes against his lower lip, eagerly parting them open.

Sunday can taste the alcohol mixed with your sweet saliva, causing his head to spin a bit, but instead he presses further, his tongue eagerly lapping at every inch of your mouth. You pull away for a moment, but his mouth follows close, kissing the side of your mouth and trailing them down the column of your throat. You breathe in, shivering as you close your eyes for a moment, each wet kiss electrifying and going straight down to your core. 

He mumbles your name against your skin, his tongue laving at a spot before his teeth nip at it, causing you to gasp. Your hands crawl up to the base of his head, one pushing into his fluffy hair and fingers entangling within the strands.

“It's okay.”

You breathe out, but he shakes his head slightly.

His tongue presses against the base of your throat, and drags up all the way to the corner of your mouth, before his lips envelop yours again in a heated kiss. He parts, panting,

“I wanted to see you. Every second I spent there..”

His hands run up and down your sides, feverish at the contact they'd been restrained from,

“I know.” You say, looking at his dishevelled state, your hands coming to rest on his chest.

"I wanted to return to you."

You feel his hands slide down and rest on your hips, his knee nudging between yours, before he slides up further and pushes his thigh at your core, making you jolt for a moment at the contact. His hands stay firm on your hips, almost pressing you down onto his thigh. Your hands clench at the fabric of his shirt as the contact shoots up your spine, making you arch slightly into him.

He breathes in, leaning down, his lips graze the shell of your ear, hot breath coming out in puffs as he whispers,

“I'm yours, aren't I? So go ahead and prove it.”

You smile.

“Alright, then.”

–——

“[Name]!”

Firefly's voice calls out to you, and you smile, looking over her winded appearance.

But you weren't in the state to complain. You looked similar, if not even worse. Your shirt was slightly wrinkly, tie askew, your hair patted down in a rush. You hope no one noticed you wobble.

“are you okay?”

Firefly would be more worried instead of confused if not for the wide smile you've donned. She glances over her shoulder at the bustling crowd, her eyes almost searching for someone, before returning to you.

“I'm alright. Your hair.. seems exciting.”

You comment, and Firefly blushes, patting down her own hair.

“I'll tell you what happened later, but.. we should leave now.”

You nod,

“Silverwolf?”

Her hologram appears without a second's delay, her annoyed resting face almost lovingly familiar to you.

“Yeah, yeah, I heard.”

You both chuckle slightly at her.

The party ends on a positive note.

———

“Quite a pleasant surprise.”

“Greetings, to you too.”

You smile, your virtual form glitching slightly. Although Himeko doesn't disregard you as she does Kafka, she's still wary of you, as are the rest of the crew.

“Settling in well, chicken boy?”

Himeko cuts in,

“What do the Stellaron hunters need now?”

You chuckle, softly,

“Miss Himeko, it's been a while, hasn't it? Regardless, I sincerely apologise, but these questions are solely for Mr. Sunday here.”

Her face shifts, almost unnoticeable, clearly displeased by your words. She sighs, and glances back at the new recruit. The rest of the crew follow her suit.

Mr. Yang's voice flows in,

“Perhaps there remains any unfinished business with the stellaron hunters? It would be wise to address it sooner than later.”

“None of the sort, Mr. Yang.” You reassure, hands neatly folded, as you smile,

“Just a few, simple questions. Think of it as a.. survey, of sorts.”

“A survey?”

Sunday steps forward, facing your hologram directly. You would have blushed if it wasn't virtual.

“3 questions. That is all.”

“..alright.”

You sense his hesitation, slowly melding into trust as his thoughts process. Although relationships between your factors are complex and messy, it is you that's asking him.

“What is your name?”

“..I am Sunday.”

“Where are you stationed?”

“The Astral Express.”

“Are you happy?”

The question makes him hesitate, words stuck in his throat like a grape seed for only a moment.

“..yes. i am.”

You smile. Sunday faintly returns the expression. After a brief moment, you turn to Himeko,

“Kafka will speak to you shortly, Ms. Himeko.”

And you vanish. Just as mysteriously as you'd come into his life.

[bl00dlight]

Maiden

Aemond Targaryen x OC lyseni brothel worker {NSFW} {RQ}

Warnings ● Misogyny, Classic harmful Westerosi male bullshit, canon Aemond incelness, smut, not proof read, mother issues, general woman issues, awkward ass vibes, mentions of violence, UNEDITED, etc etc

Word count ● 5.6k

Author's Note • This isn't QUITE the same as the request, but after ep3... well let's just say it's pretty clear Aemond really ain't the type to uh, treat sex workers with respect. I mean he never was... but this really plays into the whole incel book thing. Sorry y'all. Enjoy the fucked upness. Also sorry for any typos.

Masterlist

The few nights that Aemond Targaryen had spent visiting Madame Sylvie, were indeed - strange ones.

He had never thought he might return here; never thought he'd stomach the sight of the woman whom his brother had coaxed him to lay with all those years ago. It seemed as though Aemond could remember that fateful day, his thirteenth name day; down to the very last detail. What he had eaten to break his fast that morning, the feeling of his mother's weary smile beaming down at him softly, the bitter taste of the ale his brother had poured down his throat before pulling him towards the seedy streets of flea bottom.

He could remember all, but the memory of entering into Cock Inn, meeting the Madam. That, he'd somehow forgotten, only the knowledge that it had happened remained.

Yet, the first night he returned to Cock Inn, suddenly all returned. The aching saccharine scent of the perfumed air, the soft flesh of bare whores dancing and of course, the peaked eyes of the Madam as she looked upon him.

All were things that seemed to bring him back forcefully to the night Aegon had first brought him here, the night he first lay with a woman. There was still a hardened ache of disgust and humiliation in his chest regarding the matter, for it had not been an experience Aemond enjoyed. Even now, upon returning, he wasn't particularly certain he enjoyed fucking the Madame as he thought he should.

For he hadn't touched a woman since his name day, and strictly returned to the Madam for she felt familiar, known to him.

The prince rather preferred taking comfort from the older woman, laying upon her soft lap, the thick flesh of her arms and thighs cradling his bare body, her hands stroking his hair. She was soothing, understanding - of course only in a way a whore could be. Afterall, Prince Aemond was no fool to think the Madam's affections extended beyond the coin he paid her. Though it was clear she held some level of care - which for Aemond was more than enough to warrant his actions.

He needed to be soothed, cared for - especially after what happened with Lucerys. Especially since he could not bear to see the glimmer of disgust in his own mother's eyes. After all, Aemond had done for her, the sacrifice he had made in honour of duty. After all the years Alicent had willingly chosen Aegon to give attention to over himself. He had been starved of love, starved of affection. So, he sought it in the one place he knew he could get it: Sylvie.

He sighed, laying his head gently upon her lap, her fingers grazing his scalp. For a moment Aemond pretended the Madam was Alicent, that it was she who cooed and praised him softly. Who's touch was soft like silk upon his taut flesh.

Aemond closed an eye, taking in the warmth as the two lay upon a large circular bed, in which candles draped all around the stone ledge behind it. Despite the fact, he knew the brothel's surroundings to be the mastery of artificial comfort, lulling drunken men even further into depravity - he still could not help to take comfort in it. It was a welcome change from the often dreary halls of the Red Keep - which seemed more like the Sept these days.

The prince coiled himself even further upon the Madam, cuddling into her so that he might feel the plushness of her belly upon the back of his head. She felt warm, safe - in an odd way. She made him feel as though he was allowed to rip off the mask of strength he had so thoroughly integrated onto himself. Sylvie looked down upon him, slightly bewildered yet pitying the young man before her.

It was not until the familiar sounds of her protégé entered the room did her eyes wander from Aemond's silver hair. She looked up, noting the tray the young woman held. Upon it a small copper cup in which she had carefully begun to pour milk within its confines. Sylvie gave her a nod, watching as the young woman filed in, placing the tray near the bed.

The Madam rarely took in women and girls to mentor into the trade; however, her current protégé was undoubtedly one which was most promising. The day she had been bought by the Madame was a most memorable one as it was the first time she had ventured to Lys to select girls of a more prestige history - in order to attract patrons of noble birth.

She had remembered laying eyes upon the girl, Sierra, she was called, a girl of ten and two - born in a Lysene pillow house to one of the women who serviced there. She was a strange thing, soft spoken - unsure. She even looked particularly peculiar given the Valerian appearance of most Lysene citizens. Sierra did not bare the silver hair nor purple or pale blue eyes of those whom she lived amongst- instead her hair like aged gold and her eyes stormy.

The girl was odd indeed, not quite as lush or alluring as most Lysene, but rather moony. However, she was prized possession, most commonly sought by older noble men or the sons of Lords recently betrothed. Sierra was easily controlled, unintimidating, so in that way she seemed more like a Lady of the court that a brazen a brothel worker. Sylvie often sent her to men who wished to fuck a maiden and Sierra was most perfect for such desires as in all sense she truly seemed to be one. In that way she was perfect for Aemond, unthreatening as so many young whores could be – and most importantly would not remind him of whatever depravities he stifled down within himself.

“Come.” Sylvie gestured to Sierra, hailing for her to bring the prince the cup.

As she approached the two upon the bed, the prince peaked his head upwards, slowly sitting up and taking the cup from the young woman’s hand. Aemond had remembered her from his name day, remembered her wide eyes observing him and the Madam for a moment before ducking behind the silken drapes. He had always wondered what such a young girl had been doing in a brothel, remembered the coils of her golden curls flickering in the candlelight. Now, as he looked upon her after all those years, it was a reminder of how much he had grown too. She was a woman now, though still seemed just as uncertain of herself he remembered her to be.

Aemond downed half of the milk, his eye scanning her as he placed it back upon the tray, he caught the way Sierra averted his bare body. As he settled back upon the Madam, he rested his head right on her breasts, taking in the comfort of her warm flesh.

As he did so, Sylvie caught note of another worker peak her head through the silken curtains, her eyes wide as if to signal there was trouble that needed to be attended to, the Madam nodded and then caught the gaze of Sierra who approached the intruding brothel worker. Sylvie watched as the two young women were caught in a brief exchange, and it seemed that Sierra had been passed a small note – which soon made its way into the free hand of the Madam.

Patron trouble. Girl left bloodied, after a refusal of payment.

Sylvie then gave a nod to the waiting brothel worker, sighing softly as she knew this would be no easy task. The known rule of Cock Inn was for no harm to befall her girls, lest there be a tax placed upon any patron for the coin she would be unable to make in her recovery.  Though it wasn’t uncommon for patrons to become… unruly with her girls, and such behaviour was not tolerated at the Cock Inn as it was to be one of the finer establishments – meant for pleasure, not outright degeneracy.  For the most part the tax alone dissuaded most men from harming the workers, though for the ones that did – it was an arduous task getting them to meet the agreement of the tax.

Aemond closed his eye when he felt the warmth of Sylvie’s hand come to his chin, guiding his eye to meet hers.

“My prince…” Her voice soft, cooing, “It seems I must attend a rather urgent matter regarding one of the girls. I shall see to it that some of your coin is returned.” The Madam lowered her head, shifting away from him as Aemond raised his brow in curiosity.

He sat up, then, extended back to lean upon the stone ledge, “Hm, I shall wait your return.”

The Madam shook her head, rising up to her feet as she readjusted her robe, “This particular matter shall not be easily solved, I fear. I may not return for quite a time.”

Her head turned to meet the gaze of the waiting brothel worker, she then found herself pondering upon Sierra. Who meekly awaited the Madam’s next instruction, she cleared her throat before speaking to the prince once more, “Very well then… please allow for Sierra to amuse you in the meantime. She is particularly popular amongst many noble men as yourself.”

He shook his head, averting his gaze, “I’ve no use for her in that manner.”

“Indeed…” A small smirk came upon Sylvie’s face, she lowered her head, raising her brow as she chuckled briefly, “I mean for her to take my place... to satisfy such particular tastes of yours as you would have me?”

Aemond met Sylvie’s gaze, almost like a boy stubbornly resisting his mother’s advice, the Madam tilted her head, moving over to Sierra who stood; wide eyed and unsure. The Madam gripped Sierra’s arm, leading her closer to the bed, “She is most gentle.”

His eye narrowed and Aemond took a deep breath in, his chest raising in apprehension as he scanned the young woman before him. Her cherubic face, slightly trembling demeanour. He gritted his teeth and nodded, “Very well.”

With that Sylvie gave him a small nod of approval, before gently grazing Sierra’s lower back as she left. As the older woman made her way through the drapes, Sierra quickly followed; gripping her forearm softly causing the Madam to snap her head towards her. The young whore stuttered as she whispered, meeting the concerned eyes of her mentor, “Madam I…”

Sylvie sighed and brought Sierra closer, whispering firmly, “Just hold the boy. Do as you’ve seen me. Go, girl.”  She pulled herself way, giving the other worker a subtle nod as she was led away.

Sierra turned, taking a deep breath in to centre herself. She had never been with a man as powerful as the prince, never known such fear which coursed through her at the thought of what might happened to her if she was to displease him. Her hear thumped as she took that fateful step back through the haze of silken drapes, as she entered she felt the harsh gaze of that lonesome eye upon her, scanning her.

Aemond sat up freely, leaning back upon the stone ledge – uncaring that he was completely exposed before her. He let himself take her in, her willowing form which held a peculiar softness to it. The roundness of her breasts and hips which clung to the silk robe draping her form – the familiar flicker of her flock of curls which had turned a rich gold with age, a few bronzed and silvery strands peppered through them. He watched as her fingers delicately began to disrobe herself but her looked away. “Don’t.” The prince muttered.

As Sierra heard the smooth sound of his voice ring, she froze slowly looking up to him as she thought how odd he was to refuse her bare. Instead, he merely signalled awkwardly for her to join him upon the bed, in which she obliged.

She sat carefully upon the end, feeling the gaze of him boring into her back, Sierra lowered her head, “Do I displease you?” A soft tinge of her Lysene accent still lingering.

A small sigh left the prince as he shook his head and mumbled once more, “No.”

“You… you wish for the Madam.” Her voice soft as she turned her head to look upon him.

“We share a history.” Aemond spoke plainly, his eye narrowing as he gazed upon the young woman before him.

The soft flush to her cheeks, her skin plump and face still retaining the kiss of girlhood upon it, there was no mistaking the difference in her appearance to the Madam. He had noticed how despite the womanly graces Lady’s his own age possessed, they hardly appeared as grown at all in comparison to the older counterparts. There was something distinctively different to a mature woman, the way her cheeks sunk in a tad, or her skin would be softened with lotions to mask the tautness that comes with age. How their voices are deeper and eyes brimming with confidence, as if they know you all too well. In a way it was a comfort for Aemond, to have a woman understand his desire – to have seen so many men before that harboured similar needs, that for once, he did not feel so different in his depravity. The Madam knew just how to sooth and ease him, without judgement that so many younger women may possess. Indeed, there was no mistaking how Sierra was likely no older than himself.

He suddenly spoke, “What age are you?”

Instantly she felt her cheeks go red, her voice soft, girlish, “Eight and Ten, I believe.”

The prince raised his brow at this, slightly shocked at her coyness. He had never seen a whore blush before, it almost seemed like a jest, “You believe? You do not know how old you are?”

She let out a gentle breath before shaking her head, beginning to turn away before a sudden fierce grip clutched at her wrist. Seirra turned upon the bed, her eyes wide.

“Do not look away. Speak.” Aemond commanded softly, though a slight unease filled him at the sight of her uncertainty.

“I… I do not know of my name day?” She replied.

He tilted his head, once again shocked by her flustered appearance, and of course that she would not know of her name day. “You do not know?”

Sienna felt the soft satiny texture of the sheets below her, her eyes drifting downwards as she spoke, remembering her fractured girlhood, “I was born in a pillow house… my prince. My mother perished but a few years into my youth, I remember little.”

He bit his cheeks, studying her, “Hm, and your father?”

The whore looked up, her voice soft, “A mystery.”

As Aemond continued to scan her, he noted the way she altered herself in his presence – making herself appear small, less intimidating. A strange, amused look fell upon him as it found it both titillating and frustrating.  He spoke sternly again, changing the subject, “Your accent…tis strange.”

“I am from Lys.” Sierra replied.

The prince hummed, seemingly surprised, “The Valerian freehold? You appear more like a Lannister than Lysene.” He watched her as he shrugged, and he hummed again, “Hm.”

The energy in the air was rife with tension, not to mention a cloying awkwardness Sierra had seldom felt with other patrons. As though he was waiting for her to be the one to approach him, and that he was.

Fed up with his inaction she moved closer to him, noting the flicker of discomfort in his gaze – still the young whore pushed forward, positioning herself beside him. Aemond gave her awkward glance before slowly sitting up, looking out onto the lewd paintings on the chamber walls. He couldn’t help but feel a sudden nervousness, he had never been with anyone but the Madam, never touched a younger woman. He felt a vulnerability like none other, his face hardening as he began to withdraw back into himself.

“My prince?” Her voice faltered, exhaustion over the situation making her voice all the meeker, she didn’t wish to pursue him if he was to be like this. It was too much, she risked too much – the mere throughout of displeasing him and what he might do was enough to have her tense. But the mere fact it was he who seemed nervous, he who seemed unsure of himself – made the matter all the worse.

She reached out, attempting to draw him back, her hand brushing his shoulder.

“Don’t.” Aemond shifted, refusing to meet her gaze as he felt the touch of her fingers.

Another silence bloomed, and Sierra moved back, contemplating on what seemingly had set him off in such a manner. However, the thought soon occurred to her that she had never once seen the prince with any other but the Madam recently, that never once had she noticed or even heard of the King’s younger brother gracing the Street of Silk. It had only been that night all those years ago, a slight pity bloomed as she understood he was likely uncertain of how to even engage with a woman of his own age, so stifled by his own propriety, “You have been with no other… haven’t you?”

Aemond did not respond to this of course, only growing more angered and overwhelmed by the situation he found himself within. In fact, he began to regret even returning to Sylvie, he ought to have dealt with his feelings as a man would, focus on the war, on sharpening his mind and training his body. Readying himself to lead forces to take Harrenhal, not simpering like a boy in the arms of a woman… not even just a woman… a whore in fact. His thoughts were broken by Sierra’s silvery voice, “It would bring me much disgrace if I were unable to please you. The Madam would not have asked this of me, if she did not think me… fit.. for you.”

Her words though, seemed to tempt him once more and though he wished to resist it, he also feared the idea of her finding him so weak to be unable to face both his desire and lack of experience. With a small puff of his chest and stretch of his neck, he found his gaze hardening and mummering lowly, “Move.”

The younger woman followed his command, moving herself to the position in which Sylvie usually encompassed upon the bed, Aemond turned his head gazing over her swiftly before he moved to lay upon her hesitantly. Sierra looked down, her mind reeling as she had never seen a man behave in this way towards her… it was odd, though not displeasing. Slowly she brought her hand to his silver locks, gently threading through them, attempting to mimic what she had seen Sylvie do upon him. As the prince laid his head upon her chest, he felt himself unable to find the same kind of comfort as he usually did, his eye remaining open, the thought of giving in to such vulnerability in front of a woman such as she, seemed unthinkable. He couldn’t relax, shifting and readjusting himself endless and Sierra could sense as such as she cringed internally at the sheer gracelessness of it all.

As the prince finally settled upon her lap, he had managed to find a semblance of relief from the tension that made him restless. It was the familiar softness of her thighs, that same sweet and musky perfumed skin that it seemed all the whores, the Madam included doused on their skin. Gradually he had managed to close his eye, letting himself be taken by her hand making contact once more with his scalp.

“I… remember you.” She whispered.

Instantly his muscled stiffened at her words, Aemond didn’t reply, he only opened his eye.

“From all those years ago… and yet never again since.” Sierra whispered again, her voice sweet and girlish as she looked down upon the gleam of his silver strands.

The prince cleared his throat quietly, “Hm. I had no need to return.”

“And now?” She countered, though the prince did not reply, he closed his eye once more, ignoring her and focusing on the soothing pleasure of her fingers against his scalp.

“You have only been with the Madam-” Sierra began again before being swiftly interrupted.

His head turned upwards slightly, Aemond suddenly gripped her wrist, forcing her hand from his hair as he snapped, “I do not pay to have my intentions dissected freely.”

Sierra found herself suddenly stammering as she nodded fiercely, feeling his grip loosen upon her wrist as she slowly brought it back to his hair. Aemond gave her a warning glare before turning his head back, nestling his head further into her lap before he closed his eye. Silence bloomed… and awkward one at that.

As the prince lay there, awaiting for her to further such affections upon him he huffed, “You may do more.” He mumbled.

The young whore looked down upon him, unsure of how exactly to approach furthering her touch, nonetheless she lowered her head, her head turning slowly to look up to her. Sierra cupped his jaw and forced herself closer, straining her body slightly from the awkward positioning. Gently she let her lips kiss at his forehead and cheek, her hands moving his face slightly awkward and soon the prince himself shifted his frame to a more accessible position. His head now once again resting upon her chest, tilted upwards as she gazed upon his softly, he noted the way her eyes flickered as they lingered upon his sapphire eye.

Sierra went to kiss him away, but Aemond suddenly grew discomforted – feeling a particular sting of insecurity of his face. He had never been so close to a woman of his age. Never been touched by skin which was plump with youth. His jaw clenched as he pulled away slightly, but the feeling of her cool hand came to his face once more drawing him near, “You are unsure.” She read him.

“No.” Aemond replied firmly, though it was a lie.

Sierra shook her head, scanning him carefully, “Do you not think I might know when a man might feel…tentative? You have not known the touch of others; I do not blame- “

“I am not some simpering boy who has not fucked a woman. Do not presume to know the reason behind my hesitation.” The prince snapped in response, his temper flaring as her words struck a chord so exact it made him reel, for he knew she was right. Knew that he had indeed never been with another but the Madam, and even that had been a affair spurred on by recent events. The Madam felt easiest to approach, easiest to reveal himself to. She had already seen him at his weakest, frozen with fear and disgust as a young boy. Spurred on by the taunting of his brother. Who else was he supposed to turn to with such desires, who else would give him comfort in the way he needed?

He stiffened attempting to regain the well curated mask of infallibility though he could not stifle that familiar nervous restlessness which dawned upon him again the wake of her silence.

Sierra let her gaze fall, seemingly thinking on his words. Though she ignored them all together knowing they were merely the deflections of a young man who felt his ego wavering at the notion of his inexperience. The young whore looked up softly and before she could stop herself, “I wish to show you.”

Prince Aemond merely blinked at her, shocked by her sudden request. The two shared what felt like an eternity in stillness and like that he nodded, no other words being exchanged.  

Sierra almost couldn’t believe he had agreed so… easily? There was a small moment of uncertainty between them as their bodies shifted once more, Aemond sitting upwards gazing at her expectantly as she disrobed herself. His eye couldn’t help but scan her tender form, the peaks of her breasts, the blooming swell of her soon to be developed hips; a young maid’s body – not yet enhanced by motherhood.

She settled back into her spot where he could coil upon her again and that he did. Her gaze lowered as she noted how his soft strands felt upon her bare skin. Slowly she brought his hand into hers, guiding it to her breast, letting him knead the soft flesh. Aemond found himself unable to fight against his desire carefully watching the way his fingers grazed the bud of her breast. A soft moan escaped her, making him buzz with desire, he did not resist when feeling her other hand guide his head closer, he wet his lips before leaning in further to clasp them upon her nipple, suckling softly.

The young whore let out a soft whimper, moving his hand lower, “You may please… a woman by touching her.” She guided his hand between her wet folds, letting his fingers graze her clit.

The soft mewls which left her lips set off a fire in him, the feeling of her wetness on his finger made him want to work to pleasure her more. His lips clasped her nipple harder, his soft suckling intensifying as his fingers rubbed quickly, inching to stick themselves inside her. Sierra grabbed his silver hair gently, pulling him away, her eyes meeting his lonesome one.

Aemond felt his cock stiffening greatly and slowly she let her hands come to his chest, his body shifting as he cradled himself against her. Sierra found herself grasping at the length between him, stroking it gentle to gauge his reaction – which was all but enamoured with pleasure as he shut his eye, burying his head in the crook of her neck.

Her hand moved, stroking at him feeling the softness of his skin in her palm – as she did so, her lips peppered small kisses upon his forehead. Sierra was gentle with him, despite the lewdness of the act – her touch and tenderness was a comfort the prince was indulging in. He raised his head up; a soft groan left him as he forced his lips into hers. For a moment he would pretend she weren’t just a whore, but a woman who’s feelings were that of true care. As her hand increased its speed, Aemond let out a low whimper into their kiss, moving to force his lips on her neck.

Sierra tilted her head, closing her eyes as she too found herself letting go to the heady feeling between them. He was much different than the usual man who might use her, he seemed less interested in fucking her and more interested in being tended to. So that’s what she did; slowly Sierra pulled her hand from his length, a soft muttering of protest leaving him.

“Lie back.” She whispered, and Aemond obliged.

His eye was narrowed with need as he gazed upon her, watching as her soft frame now hovered over his own. Slowly he raised a hand to her cheek, feeling the smooth skin that flushed pink upon his touch. He watched her with a keen eye as she lowered herself down further, settling between his legs. Aemond shuddered a breath, his eye growing wide as he felt his heart thump wildly; suddenly he felt like a boy again – struck by an awkward inability to verbalise his desire. Though Sierra already knew, as she lowered her head, kissing softly upon his hip as her hand wrapped around his length once more.

The sight of her doing such a thing made him furrow his brow, her lips pressing so gently into his taut muscle made him feel a tad unmanned; mainly because he enjoyed it. Aemond brought a hesitant hand to her hair, deciding that he would indeed take control for once, that if he were going to let a whore take him – he would attempt to assert his desire.

As his fingers laced his spindly fingers into her curls, forcing her head lower until he felt her lips graze against his aching tip. “Take me.” He grumbled.

Her eyes looked up to his as her mouth came to clasp his tip, swirling her tongue upon him; the fleshy, yet salty taste that dripped from him filling her mouth. Aemond’s own mouth dropped, his jaw slightly slack as his head tilted back, he felt his fingers tightened their grip in her curls, slowly moving her mouth to take more of him. The prince opened his eye, looking down as a strange satisfaction brewed from the sight of it, her mouth taking as much as he wished it to.

Another groan left him as she moved her lips up and down him, gaining traction as the moments passed, his hips now bucking – fucking himself into her mouth. He forced her head upon him faster, and Sierra let him as she hollowed her cheeks – siphoning him to the point where his moans turned to pants. Her own sounds falling from her as she too felt a strange enjoyment from seeing him take so much pleasure.

He kept pushing, his cock now an ache in which he needed relief from, Aemond’s mouth hung once more as he mumbled, “Faster.”  To which the golden haired whore before him did so, her hand now enveloped around the tail end of the base of his cock, stroking it so that the orchis’ which hung between him were grazed – sending him into a further frenzy.  Thoughts of wanting to push himself between her thighs filled him, a fantasy of what she may feel like around him, how her arms would wrap around him, cradle him; it all made him huff. The pressure that built in him felt more than pleasurable, it felt like a burning flame had been set off in his loins; at this point he could hardly care about the comfort Madam Sylvie brought him, now all he could think of was how he longed to see his seed force its way into Sierra’s mouth.

 Then a tinge of anger filled him, frustration as his grip intensified as he fucked himself into her mouth – edging at his release. He felt like his brother, depraved, hungry with a force he had stifled for so long. But the thought of a whore striking such feelings in him suddenly left him feeling slightly conflicted, almost angered by the sight of her bringing him such pleasure. Aemond’s hand tugged harshly upon her hair making her wince and she looked back, confused by the sudden streak of aggression, to which in her uncertainty she began to pull away.

“Keep going.”  The prince choked out, his voice low and soft… yet, oddly threatening.

Aemond reeled at feeling small snaps of her curls break in his hand. Sierra slowly finding her mouth back upon him, siphoning him as quickly as possible though she began to tremble slightly. Afterall, this was no common patron, she could not warn him of the brothel’s code of conduct – for he could very well burn the place to a fucking cinder or worse, have their heads for an accused treason… or in an effort to purge Kings Landing of its sin. The Gods know it would not be the first time whores were blamed for the depravity of men’s desires.

It filled him with a familiar streak of satisfaction as he watched her buckle beneath him. Glory flooding him as the pleasure of her mouth brough him finally to his peak and the events of recent flashing through his mind as he rode out his long awaited release. That flash of fear upon his face reminded him of who he was, and what he was capable of. Afterall even his uncle… The Rogue Prince himself had sought for him to be slayed in his sleep.

 Daemon feared him, his mother feared him, his grandsire… the Blacks…and now the whore between him feared him. They should. He thought.

The sentiment lingered as he felt his peak slash through him, spilling into Sierra’s now hot mouth. He looked down, satisfied though disgruntled. He was quick to force her off of him, interrupting her as she went to speak. It was clear Aemond did not wish to hear what she had to say.

Uncaringly, he rose to his feet, his cock still stiff and buzzing, he reached to dress himself – feeling the soft, unsure gaze of the whore who still sat upon the bed boring into his bare back. He ignored her, unwilling to admit the pleasure he had brought her, or the vulnerability that had been seen of him. It was gone, just like that. Done away with.

As he felt himself calm, a focus coming over him as the blood rushed from his length. Without another word he abandoned her, sauntering through the Cock Inn, the sounds of passing moans flooding his ears and perfumed air attacking his senses. Clarity. Is what he thought.

Clarity that he did not need to bury himself in a whore like his brother. He had greater control; he was indeed a man of finer stock. What need did he have to give in to not only a young woman… but a whore. Born so lowly she was conceived and birthed in a pillow house. No, Aemond would take the pleasure and comfort he had gotten and focus his mind elsewhere.

At least until such desires demanded easing again.

[the-fiction-witch]

I Love This Maiden

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Aegon Targaryen Couple - Aegon X Reader Reader - (OC) Ellisa Rating - 18 + Mommy kink / breast play / breast sucking / bread feeding / milk drinking / comfort kink Word Count - 1234

Requested -

AEGON! AEGON! AEGON! AEGON! AEGON! AEGON! AEGON! AEGON! AEGON!AEGON! AEGON! AEGON!AEGON! AEGON! AEGON!

I AM BEGGING FOR THE OTHER PART OF THE BREASTFEEDING AEGON PLEEEEAAAASSSEEEE

I submitted a request/idea like this to another writer but I will not keep this like head canon idea type thing to myself........ Aegon is 100% the type to love his girl breastfeeding him... him being all stressed and angry or sad from the council not listening to him and Alicent being cruel and everything and he just wants to lay his head in her lap and latch his mouth onto her nipple and drink in her sweet milk... it makes him feel at peace... makes him feel wanted and loved and special

Aegon had already been drinking before the night had even come to pass, the wine had been warming his stomach since breakfast with his wife. But now that night had fallen over Kings Landing, he had gathered his regular companions and gone down the usual route. Stopping by, a few inns and taverns all graciously serving the king before, of course, ending the night in one of the brothels down the street of silk. Aegon almost always went to this brothel, he liked the owner's prices and he liked the many sorts of girls who worked there.

One more than others,

Ellisa sat on her bed lounging in the candlelight, dressed in her sheet blue gown with two high slits for her legs, the top of the dress wrapped around the choker at her neck, her long hair cascading down her back.

Laughter erupted from outside in the hallway and the curtain was pulled open revealing Aegon and his companions arm in arm and falling over each other drunk,

“Ah!” Aegon smiled raising his glass, “Ellisa, there you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” he stumbled over falling to his knees on her bed,

“I’ve been here,” She shrugged, “as I always am,”

“Indeed,” he cooed, moving closer and rubbing the tip of his nose against hers,

“You’re grace, are you sure you do not wish for me to find you-” One of his companion boys came closer,

Aegon wrapped his arm around the boy's shoulder and tapped his hand against the boy's tender cheek, “Fuck off Marcello,” He chuckled,

“Yes your grace,” Marcello nodded leaving the room and taking the other of Aegon’s companions with him leaving Aegon and Ellisa alone,

“... Gods know how I have missed you,” He cooed, a tone of clarity even though his drunkenness,

“As have I you, your grace,” She smiled,

He grimaced, “No…” he shook his head, “Not here, not with you.”

“Of course, Forgive me.”

“You always are.” He smiled kissing her cheek,

She nodded, “Come here then my sweet boy,” She cooed opening her arms,

He happily moved closer and curled up in her arms, his legs over her lap, his head resting against her shoulder, a soft and gentle smile across his lips as she wrapped her arms around him in a gentle and caring embrace,

“So tell me, what has my sweet boy been up to these last few days?” she cooed,

“Well, I attended my royal coronation,” He sighed,

“I saw, you were very handsome,” she smiled stroking his back,

“I was?” he looked up with hope in his eyes,

“Very handsome,” she nodded, “I was very proud of you,”

His tears began to well up in his eyes, “Proud of me…” he muttered,

“I’m always proud of you sweet boy,” she smiled,

“...Thank you, Mommy,” He whispered,

“You’re welcome,” She cooed, “Now, what else have you been up to?”

“Humm… been attending a whole bunch of small council meetings,”

“Ohh, council meetings,”

“It’s all just preparations and precautions with my half-sister and all.” he sighed running his fingers gently through her hair,

“Yes, of course, very important matters to attend to,” she nodded, “Still all very big business for such a sweet boy,” she smiled kissing his forehead,

“You take such good care of me,” He cooed, “My sweet mommy,”

“I know what will cheer you up,” she smiled, “How about… we get you nice and relaxed? Would you like that my sweet boy?” She softly stroked his cheek,

He nodded,

“Use your words, you're a big boy now Aegon.”

“Yes please Mommy,” He nodded,

“Perfect,” She cooed, giving his cheek a little pinch before she moved her hands away and untied the dress from around her choker, the dress slowly fell to her waist revealing her skin in the warmth of the candlelight, her large bare breasts exposed to the air,

“Which side may I mommy?”

“The left today, sweet boy,”

He nodded and softly prepared gentle kisses down her neck, leaving tender bites against her throat, slowly he moved down her chest before reaching the nipple of her left breast, he softly kissed it a few times, pressing kisses around the nipple. He gently and slowly flicked his tounge against her nipple to harden it before finally he locked his lips around the nipple and began his gentle and slow sucks,

“Not too quickly now, we don’t want you to get hiccups.” She reminds,

But he didn’t respond, his eyes fluttering shut as he gently sucked until he let out a soft groan as he tasted her milk, he quickly swallowed and began to suck harder.

“Such a sweet boy, being so soft and gentle for Mommy,” she cooed stroking his cheek,

He nodded as he continued to suckle, his hands around her waist playing with her hair looping and knotting it around his fingers as he drank,

Ellisa only smiled wrapping her arms around him and gently rocking them both back and forth like you would a newborn as they feed, and softly she began to sing,

“I loved a maid as sweet as spring, with flowers in her hair. I loved a maid as fair as summer, with sunlight in her hair. I loved a maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair. I loved a maid as white as winter, with moonglow in her hair.”

Aegon softly pulled away from her nipple and rested his head against her chest smiling up at her, “But I love this maiden most of all, for she is as sweet as springtime flowers. As far as the summer sun. She is better than a sunset sea and of Moonglow Moore. I love this maiden in my arms, and I shall until I fall.” he softly sang, “And I do… I do truly love you Ellisa,”

“As I you, Aegon,” she cooed giving his lips a soft and tender kiss, “You should get back to the keep sweet boy, they will wonder where you are.”

He sighed but nodded, slowly sitting up and fixing his clothes a little. “I wish I could keep you in my arms for all time, you are far kinder to me than you have any need to be. Even my own mother is not as kind to me as you,”

“Well, I’m always here if you need me, no matter what.”

“I need you.” He said taking her hand, “I need you always.”

“You must go your grace,” she reminds,

“I must…” he sighed, “I will be back to visit again soon,”

“I look forward to it,” she smiled squeezing his hand before he got to his feet,

But he turned back before their hands broke apart, “If anything is coming, anything is to happen. I will send word as soon as I know, I will send men and they will protect you. Take you far from danger. I swear this to you Ellisa.” He said falling to his knees at her bedside,

“Sweet boy,” She cooed stroking his cheek, “My place is here, with you. And I will stay here by your side until the long night claims us all,”

“You mean it?”

“I do,” she nodded,

“You have… alot of faith in me.”

“Of course I do sweet boy,” she smiled kissing his forehead, “I have nothing but faith in you.”

He smiled and softly kissed her hand before kissing her lips once more, “I’ll see you soon,”

“I’ll see you soon,” she nodded,

Before Aegon sighed, got to his feet and left to head back to the Keep. 

[moonlitdesertdreams]

Thankful

A/N: Everyone wanted more soft Astarion, so how's traumatized instead? Tags: Astarion Ancunin, Astarion, BG3 Astarion, BG3 Imagines, Astarion x OC, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Reader WARNINGS: Canon-typical blood, mentions of grieving/loss. ACT III/ 'THE PALE ELF' QUEST SPOILERS Summary: You comfort Astarion and talk about emotions after the events at Szarr Palace.

Word count: 2.1k+ (GIF credit to @silverformymonsters)

Leaving Szarr Palace is both a weight off your shoulders and the biggest burden you’ve carried since this adventure started. Cazador is dead, and Astarion is free as last. No master, and no more being used as a means to an end.

 But it’s never that simple, is it?

Shadowheart and Lae’zel, mercifully, take Astarion’s second wave of heart-wrenching wails, after all the spawn were set free, as their cue to leave. You give him space as he cries and wait until it’s only a soft whimper to approach. He’s on his knees at that point, Cazador’s bloody body inches from his. The daggers still sticks out of the vampire lord’s chest, begging to be used once again. 

You come to a stop behind Astarion’s left shoulder and let your fingers barely brush his skin. For once he feels warm, filled with anger, denial, fear and vulnerability. When he doesn’t brush you off, you press more firmly, moving to the front of his body. Astarion’s hands creep up to your hips and use them as leverage to stagger to his feet. It isn’t until he’s upright that he makes eye contact and breaks your heart into two. 

Blood runs in macabre trails down his skin and clothes, puddling on the floors around him and his fallen master. His eyes, normally alight with mischief and mirth, are downcast, swollen and dripping with tears. The pain is apparent, tied together with confusion and grief for the end of an era, even if it was depraved and lonesome. 

“... I should be happy.” He whispers, pinching his eyes shut. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Oh, Astarion.” You murmur, reaching to envelop him in your arms. 

Your vampire crumbles, arms wrapping tight around you to the point you’re fairly certain you’re not getting enough oxygen. Astarion clings to your clothes, to any concrete fragment of reality that can ground him from what he’s been through. His face buries itself into the crook of your neck, hiding the tears from your prying eyes. One hand comes up to cup the back of his head and strokes his blood-stained curls. 

“I-I… I feel numb. Empty.”

Keeping him close is the only thought in your mind. It’s not the time to delve into the implications of grieving an abuser. You decide it’s best to get back to your lodgings above the Elfsong Tavern to let him have privacy instead of being surrounded by the exact place causing him so much pain. 

And a long journey it is. Past the Gur leader Ulma waiting at the dais, and through the bustling streets of Baldur’ Gate.

Astarion barely makes it into the washroom before he collapses, and you just do your best to keep him on his feet. 

“Here, here. Sit down and I’ll draw you a bath, yeah?”

Astarion drops on the floor where you’re lowering him. You think he nods, but don’t stay long enough to confirm it. The other members of your rag tag team are dotted about the lounge area when you walk in and beeline straight towards Astarion’s chest of clothing. 

Karlach is the only one brave enough to approach you, tapping long talons nervously against her leg. 

“Well? How’s he doin’?” 

“As well as can be expected…” You sigh and sit on his bed, fresh clothes in one hand. “It’s a complicated situation. He hated Cazador, but the man was also some of the only constant interaction Astarion had in damn near two centuries.”

“Sometimes I fell empty, not having orders and all. Not having something constant that tells you where to go and what to do.” Karlach rubs her arms and shrugs. “Then I remember freedom and how much that means. I’m done being bound to some wretched leader. But there’s still a spot that feels empty. It’s healing, but it takes time. Hells, mine’s gotten better just having all of you around.”

Her words kick your brain into gear. “Yeah, that makes sense. Thanks, Karlach.”

Much to your surprise, Astarion’s already in a warm bath upon your return. You close the door behind you and slide the lock over, ensuring privacy for you both. The vampire’s eyelids only lift slightly when you drop his clothes onto the fireplace hearth and drag a wooden chair close. 

“That was fast.” You observe and nod towards the water. 

“Mhm. I caught Gale on his way up from supper. He waved his fingers around and made it work.”

You’re thankful for Gale’s presence and quiet affinity for the vampire, as it would’ve taken you twice as long manually. 

“You don’t have to sit here, you know. I’ll be alright.” Astarion says quietly. 

“Is that you nicely asking me to leave?”

His answer comes quickly. “No. I just don’t want to be a burden.”

The words are like a shot through the heart. “You could never burden me. No matter what.”

Astarion opens his eyes then. “Not even with a century of fucked up emotions? Trauma, as I’m sure you’re thinking?”

Ah, he needs the direct approach. You begin undressing, tossing your belongings in a messy pile on the floor. 

“Fuck off and move over.”

Astarion stares at you and blinks comically before sliding over. 

Once naked, you climb into the still-steaming water. There’s not an over-abundance of room in the tub, but enough that you can both put your backs against opposite sides and face each other. His long legs stretch to either side of your bum while yours remain crossed beneath. With both of you inside, the water easily rises above your chest, licking gently at sensitive collarbones instead.

“Talk.”

He sulks, but you can see the redness in his eyes and the swelling beneath. “And what should I talk about? How I’m not feeling as free as I should despite killing my slave-driver? I don’t need a psychic to tell me something is wrong with me.”

Astarion’s anger is familiar and raw, defending the vulnerable emotions swirling like a whirlpool in his gut. You don’t flich at its bite, nor retreat from its bark. It only rolls off your shoulders, dripping like rain right back into the bathwater. 

“Yes, exactly that. You’re allowed to be upset. To be sad. Cazador and his necromancied skeleton guard were the only constants in your life for a long time. And now they’re gone. You’re allowed to grieve that loss. Even if it feels wrong.”

He draws in a breath, water rippling around his bare chest. “It feels atrocious. After everything he’s done - I’ve done- killing him should be a relief. Joyous, even. And instead I feel like this.”

You reach a hand onto the table to grab soap. Its smell is a pleasant break from blood and gore, and you start towards Astarion with it in hand. 

“You’re still in shock. Everything we saw and did in that dungeon, all those people you knew. It’s natural to be sad and feel guilty.” You lather up your hands and bring them up to his neck, starting a slow and cautious massage. “Releasing them into the Underdark was the best chance they had to survive… and the best way to redeem the sins forced upon you.”

He leans into your hands as they rub the soap into his chest and shoulders. “I suppose it was.”

“Turn.” You tell him softly. He complies, drawing his legs to sit cross legged and face away from you. 

Knowing it might be easier to hear your sentimental words while facing away, you lean into his ear. “No matter what, I’m proud of you. You’re a hundred times the man Cazador ever was.”

Astarion heaves a breath at your words, scarred back rising into your hands as you continue to spread the lather across his skin. You pretend the horrific rune isn’t there, doing your best to prevent another angry outburst His shoulders hitch when you start scrubbing at his hair and gently cupping water to wet his curls. 

“I think I’m glad it’s over. I just….” He’s at a loss for words and flounders. One hand waves aimlessly in the air. 

“Need time?” You supply, gliding your hands across his trapezius. 

One of his strikes upwards like lightning, grabbing onto yours and squeezing. “Yeah. Time.”

You use a small cup from the tray to rinse his snowy curls without getting soap in his eyes. He hums at the warm water rolling down his scalp, and spins to face you as soon as you’re finished. 

“Tav?”

You’re leaning to grab the soap when you pause to look at him. “Astarion?”

“Will you come to bed with me tonight?” Astarion stops and corrects himself. “Just to keep me company.”

“Of course I will.” 

Much to your surprise, Astarion pushes himself through the water until you’re chest-to-chest. The liquid swirls and sloshes, splashing onto the floor and no doubt dripping onto a table at the tavern below. He draws your close, arms winding around your waist and pulling you into his lap. 

You smile and wrap your legs around his middle, ignoring the discomfort due to limited space. Astarion’s head finds its place on your shoulder, nose brushing against the delicate side of your neck. His cool skin is a reprieve against the steamy bathroom. You nuzzle his damp curls and rub his back softly. 

“I’m glad you didn’t stick to your original plan when we slept together that first night.” You hum, “You’ve become quite important to me on this journey.” 

“How could I have? You’re too perfect.” Astarion’s breath sends goosebumps shooting in all directions from the joint of your shoulder. The feeling is similar to that of his bite, but less intense. 

It hits you that he’s probably famished, not having fed on you the night before and being partially drained by Cazador’s profane ritual. Not to mention the amount of strain that’s been put on him both emotionally and physically in the last few hours.

You brush your hair away from your neck. “You need to feed,”

Astarion lifts his head. “That wasn’t what I was-”

“I know. But you’ve been through a lot.” You insist, rolling your head to the side. “Humor me.”

“I suppose I could be tempted.” Astarion’s eyes darken, and he shift back in towards your neck

His cool breath washes over your skin, and combined with the water it’s so chilly that it’s almost numb while he prepares to sink his teeth in. You feel his nose brush your skin, seeking out the delicate vein carrying the liquid he needs so desperately. He marks his target with a gentle kiss, and one hand holds your hip as he bites down. 

Ice shoots through your veins, spreading slowly from collarbones to belly button, and eventually your toes as he drinks. The freezing quickly turns to ecstasy, shooting arousal into every corner of your body though you know it's not the time. Your hand knots in Astarion’s hair, unconsciously encouraging him to keep going. Somewhere in your brain, you realize this is how people fall so easily to vampires. With a blissful numb that rivals the best Opium and a feather-light sensation overtaking all your limbs, what wouldn’t someone fall for?

But luckily, your vampire would never let you fall.

Astarion’s fangs pull away from your skin but his mouth remains on your neck, lapping at the weeping blood until it stops. You’re woozy for sure, and allow yourself a few moments to be dead weight in his embrace. 

“I apologize, darling. I got carried away.”

You shake your head and press a kiss to his chin. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Are you going to be able to navigate back to bed?” He asks, tipping his chin towards the shared space. “While you understand me, I’m not sure the others will be so friendly about my choice of dinner.”

“I’m willing to pay the barkeep for the private room across the hall for tonight.” 

And you do, without thought. Anything that provides Astarion with comfort is worth the price for you. So you both trek across the hallway, leaving the bathroom mess for morning. Exhaustion has completely taken over after Astarion’s bite, and you take a moment to wrestle with the sheets until you’re able to climb under them.

“Comfortable, darling?” Astarion asks as he lays down. 

“Delightful.” You reply, “Now get some rest.”

Astarion does as you say, but keeps you within arms reach at all times. He might be having trouble with his feelings towards Cazador and the missed opportunity for power, but he’s thankful. 

Thankful for his choice, and thankful for you.

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Masterlist | Send me ideas

[worldstarz]

saving kaeya after his fight with diluc

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

pairing: kaeya alberich x fem!knight!reader

summary: after his fight with diluc, kaeya is thrown out of the manor to fend for himself. stumbling, bleeding, and on the verge of death, he finds you.

tags: hurt + comfort ; some angst ; mutual (?) feelings ; tbh could also be seen as platonic ; pre-storyline ; not proofread ; prolly ooc i’m so sorry

cw: blood ; injuries ; mentions of violence

notes: going through my notes app that is filled to the BRIM with oc x canon pairings. i haven’t played genshin in over a year (and this blurb was originally written like two years ago lmao) but i still love my flirty slutty cryo man! anyways i altered it so it’s reader x kaeya and removed some oc stuff, but idk how to fit in an explanation on why you’re in the forest… let your imagination run wild!!!

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

kaeya stumbled out of the winery, hand trembling over his bleeding eye.

'it's fine... everything will be fine.' thoughts raced through his head. his whole entire body was throbbing in pain. it’s not like he could go back inside the winery to rest—not after a fight as nasty as that.

"diluc will be running over to some maid any second now. ha, lucky bastard," kaeya muttered.

diluc had a team of servants that he could go to. kaeya only had diluc, emphasis on had.

at the dead of night, there was no way he could get care at the cathedral. he couldn't hold in a chuckle, realizing the situation he was in. he had no one, huh? though popular, kaeya didn’t have any particularly close friends who he could spend the night with.

with that, he knew he had no choice but to pitifully limp to the favonius headquarters—a long, long walk away.

he barely made it into the forest before he fell to the ground, wheezing against a tree. his ears were ringing, but he could hear footsteps cautiously approaching him. he didn't even have the energy to lift his head.

"kaeya? what the hell are you doing out here this late?" whose voice was that...? was it an angel’s? oh, wait. angels wouldn’t swear. it was your voice.

in the state he was in, he could only muster a grunt in response. you kneeled down in front of him, and gasped at the sight of his collapsed body. "just what have you gotten yourself into this time?" you muttered. "can't stand up anymore, huh?"

you tilted his chin up, and both of you wince—him as a result of pain, you due to getting a clear view of his injuries. his blue hair, usually tied into a low ponytail, cascaded down his shoulders, caked in blood. his crimson-soaked chest rose and fell rapidly. "ooh, that is nasty. come on, lean on me. we're going to headquarters." you kneeled down to wrap your arm around his torso, gingerly lifting him up.

"well, would you look at that. that’s exactly where i was heading,” he chuckled, leaning against your body. typically, he would never accept support from another. but, with this arguably being the lowest point of his life, his pride was the least of his concerns. plus, you were just so undeniably warm. if he’s on the verge of death, then maybe being by your side wouldn’t be so bad for a final memory.

you don’t respond, your pace slower from his weight and for his comfort. silence follows. you obviously had a million questions for him—what the hell happened? did he get in a fight with an abyss mage? why was he out so late?—but you could tell he was beyond exhausted, and from the sight of his gushing wounds, getting answers was far from a priority.

the two of you arrived in the city, streets barren in the pitch black of night. the tavern was closed, so, thankfully, no drunkards were hanging about near the path.

the inside of the headquarters was equally empty. the soft glow of lanterns lit the way up the stairs to the barracks. "kaeya, where is your room?" you asked, your voiced barely above a whisper as to not wake the other knights.

"all the way at the end of the hall. but... i forgot my keys," he whispered. you could tell he was smirking.

"how sly of you. if i didn't know any better, i would've thought this was another trick of yours to be close to a lady," you responded, though there wasn’t a hint of accusation in your voice.

"ha, you know me so well."

"to my room we go." you walked further up the steps.

after a moment of silence, you mumbled, "i know you're not the type of person to sneak into a lady's room."

"i'm grateful you understand me so well."

"zip it. i don't even know your favorite color."

unlocking your door, you gently set kaeya down on your bed. you immediately get to work, removing his coat and shoes. usually, his slick tongue would say something suggestive, but tonight, he had no choice but to refrain.

even with your limited knowledge of first aid, you knew just a damp rag would do nothing to help. "i have no tools with me," you say, beginning to walk away. "i'll go grab so-"

kaeya suddenly grabbed your arm, effectively stopping both you and your sentence. he looked so... pained. "please don't go,” he whispered. you never could have expected this level of venerability from him.

"...kaeya?" you whispered, turning to face him. "i have to find a way to tend to your injuries. you're in pain, aren't you?"

his hand slacked.

after coming back with medical supplies, the two of you were silent as you tended to his wounds. he gazed at the ceiling, the silence occasionally broken by you asking for permission for actions such as unbuttoning his shirt. you don’t comment on the new cryo vision in his pocket.

deep gashes littered his body, most notably a diagonal one across his chest. as you applied pressure against the gaping wound in an effort to stanch the bleeding, kaeya couldn’t help but hiss in pain. “sorry, sorry, i’m trying to be gentle,” you whispered hurried apologies, using one hand to continue applying pressure and the other to hold his hand.

his grip tightened, and the poor boy whispered, “i know, i trust you. or, well, i’m trying to.”

all you could do regarding his eye was wrap it in bandages to get it checked out in the morning. the basic first aid lessons you were required to take to become a knight did not cover an injury like that.

once you finished, you sat on the floor, leaning against the bed frame. he was still holding onto your hand.

"what happened?" you asked softly.

"..."

"was it an ambush?"

"..."

"i'll report it in the mor-"

"don't. please, don't," he whispered. “i swear i’ll explain everything to you one day.”

you grimaced. "fine. just... promise not to do anything stupid like that again, alright? i was worried."

kaeya didn't respond, going over your words in his head. you were worried? you didn't seem worried. but... you were worried. why would you so willingly take care of him like this? how would you react if you knew who he really was? would you still be worried?

he couldn't hold back his tears and restrained sobs. you lifted your head in surprise, leaning in closer to scan his expression.

"...kaeya?"

"my apologies," he tried to smile, covering his face with his free arm in embarrassment. no one has seen him like this before, and it was far too foreign for him. "especially when you let me use your room."

in response, you squeezed his hand, whispering, “it’s fine. i don’t think of you any differently.”

how do you always know exactly what to say? to grant him at least a little bit of privacy, you turn away as he quietly sobbed into his forearm.

after a while, he sniffles, saying, “i apologize. i don’t know what came over me.” trying to get some humor out of the situation, he adds, “well, i guess we are bonded for eternity now, aren’t we?”

you turned your head to face him, the furrow of your brows causing him to chuckle. “archons, you’re going to be the death of me,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“seeing how you saved me from death, that wouldn’t be fair, would it?” his foxy grin made you let out yet another exasperated sigh, but you still couldn’t help but smile slightly. it was obvious he was trying to act tough for you, but for now, you would follow along with his fantasy.

“alright, whatever. get some sleep.”

“and what about your sleeping arrangements?”

“i’ll manage. i’ve slept on the forest floor for missions, i can handle a hardwood floor.”

“oh? i couldn’t possibly let my savior sleep in such horrible conditions,” he teased. “won’t you join me in bed?”

“barbatos, give me strength,” you muttered.

he laughs softly, and you can feel your stomach tighten at the sound. even during such a rough moment, kaeya can still manage to put up a charming appearance. his single eye twinkled in the low dim of the candlelight, and you realized your falling for his sly tricks. “please, [name], won’t you grant a poor, injured man his dying wish?”

with a groan, you let go of his hand and climb into the bed beside him, careful not to touch him to avoid any unnecessary pain.

“i knew you were a saint!” he gives you a triumphant smile as you lay on your side to look at him. his tanned skin, though scratched, still was as enchanting as ever in the moonlight. the deep blue of his eye pulled you in deeper, and once again, you realized you were a victim of his charm. but, this was different—though he would never admit it, with your tender care of his wounds and unwavering support, he has unknowingly fell victim to your charm, too. his hand seeks out yours once again, intertwining your fingers.

neither of you commented on the continuation of the hand-holding, nor would you ever.

only then, as you two shared the cramped bed space, does kaeya come to a realization—he had you.

his grip on your hand tightened.

he has you.

[tsukimefuku]

THE FOODIES & GOODIES EVENT MASTERLIST — JUJUTSU KAISEN

Bento Box Blunder (by @pmpmyread) Pairing/Characters: Kento Nanami x f!Reader Tags/cw: None, barring the gratuitous mentions of food. Summary: You’d always admired Kento Nanami from a distance, even harbouring a small crush on him, sentiments you’d only allowed yourself to indulge within the safe sanctuary of your discretion. Then one day, you stole his lunch.

-

Tuna Mayo (by @redlikerozez) Pairing/characters: Inumaki Toge x gn!Reader Tags/cw: Canon typical descriptions of violence, dealing with loss of limb, probably inaccurate description of making rice balls. Summary: Inumaki Toge tries to make rice balls in the aftermath of Shibuya. Reader helps him out. Or an Inumaki Toge-centric fic about dealing with the events of Shibuya while also being absolutely whipped for GN!Reader.

-

Get that bread, Sir (by @rahuratna) Characters: Nanami Kento. Ijichi Kiyotaka. Tags/cw: fluff, comedy. Summary: One assistant. One sandwich. One ruthless adversary in the quest for quality bread.

-

Love you a latte (by @kentocalls) Pairing/characters: Fushiguro Toji x f!Reader Tags/cw: Fluff. Summary: Lazy mornings with Toji and a passion for coffee.

-

Lollipop kiss (by @tsukimefuku) Pairing/characters: Kusakabe Atsuya x gn!Reader Tags/cw: comedy, fluff, this man is completely clueless but reader isn’t making things any easier. making out and happy ending. there is a bartender very invested in the drama. a little suggestive if you squint. Summary: your workplace crush, kusakabe, is pretty dense when it comes to romance, so you try to ease things out with a bag of lollipops.

-

My Cinnamon Girl (by @actuallysaiyan) Pairing/characters: Nanami Kento x f!Reader Tags/cw: smoking, general fluff Summary: Kento is your regular customer and one night when he really needs you, he ends up finding you outside smoking and you offer him some pastries.

-

Love you a waffle lot, you know? (by @senseifupa) Pairing/characters: Higuruma Hiromi x f!Reader Tags/cw: sfw with smoochin, fluff, established relationship, soft Hiromi. Summary: Hiromi and you share warm moments over waffles.

-

My "Batter" Half (by @seireiteihellbutterfly) Pairing/characters: Nanami x f!Reader Tags/cw: saw, fluff, cuteness. Summary: You decide to make one of your favorite South Indian recipes while accompanied by Nanami.

-

Good Enough to Eat (by @fattybattysblog) Pairing/characters: Mahito x Female Original Character Tags/cw: Smut, inappropriate use of food and cursed techniques, temperature play, Mahito is his own content warning. Summary: "Can't I just visit a friend?" he asked slyly. "We'd have to be friends first," she grumbled. Mahito's laughter echoed through the room, a sound that made Hairi's skin prickle. He sat upright and rested his arm on his knee. "Touché," he said, licking another drip of ice cream. "But, you know, we're not so different. We could be friends." Hairi raised an eyebrow. "Friends don't usually show up unannounced and uninvited." "Isn't spontaneity the spice of life?" he leaned forward, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Besides, I think we both know there's more between us than just animosity." She scoffed, taking a defiant bite of her own cone. "In your dreams." "Actually... in yours," he purred, his gaze lingering on her lips.

-

Egg Fried Rice (by @tiny-wooden-robot-fics) Pairing/characters: Geto Suguru x Original Female Character Tags/cw: Fluff, Mentions of food and alcohol, Flirting, Pre-established friendship, Geto and OC are roommates, There is some suggestiveness near the end, This is part of a series Summary: “I was,” she admits, “but I realized I didn’t feel like working out tonight and decided to make greasy food instead.” She raises an eyebrow, taking his spoon from him and helping herself to his bowl of fried rice. “And anyway, I’m allowed to eat and drink whatever I want, Suguru.” “The point of cooking enough for both of us is so we can each have our own… is it not?” He looks pointedly at the spoon in her hand.  “It tastes better when I take it from you,” she laughs. She holds a spoonful of rice up to his mouth. He hesitates only for a moment before letting her feed him.  “You’re definitely different,” he chuckles once he’s done chewing. He doesn’t realize he’s said the words aloud until she goes quiet, her brown eyes wide and staring. 

[redfoxwritesstuff]

For Eternity, Chapter 8 (Alastor x Isa)

Alastor x Angel!Wife Oc (Isabel) Rated: Adult - this fic contains content inappropriate for minors. Chapter Warnings: Canon typical discussions of violence and murder

@impulsivethoughtsat2am Was darling enough to beta <3 Many thanks, Dearheart.

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord. And my friend runs a Hazbin Fic Community

Masterlist AO3 KoFi

Warm fingers caressed her thighs, just above her knees as he waited with his breath locked in his chest. Seconds ticked on as he continued to wait, caressing, while she trembled under his touch. There was nothing he wanted more than to chase away the storm he couldn’t read in her eyes. 

“I guess that’s a valid reason to be sent to Hell,” she finally said, hand slipping from where it had rested atop his head to cradle his cheek. “I won’t pretend I understand or that I approve, that it doesn’t scare me-”

“I would have never hurt you,” Alastor was quick to soothe her fears, though he could only hope that it worked, “I would have kept you safe.”

“I believe you,” and she did, though she was terrified of this hidden side of her husband. Her mind struggled to wrap itself around the fact that her husband, soft brown eyes, fluffy hair and radiating kindness in life had been taking lives easily while she slept. Guilt washed over her. She struggled with knowing that because of her inability to bring their child into the world sucessfully, she sentenced not just herself and their child to death but countless physicians and others as he fell into a madness. 

“Why did Vox know you? Why was he so obsessed with you?”

“I’m not anymore innocent here,” Alastor admitted. “Vox and I had been friendly at a time before we had a falling out of sorts. He didn’t take it well. From there, we’ve fought for territory and battled for power.” 

“Territory? Power?” Such politics were not a part of life in Heaven. They were earthly concepts that were left behind. 

“I hold a rather sizeable amount of both, as do he and his cohorts. The logistics don’t matter. It’s not safe for you to be here regardless, my darling. You’d have a target on your back every time you left this hotel without me.”

“I’m not going back,” tears gathered in her eyes, “I worked so hard to get here. I can’t go back, even if they would take me back. I don’t want to.” 

Leaning up, he rose higher on his knees as he pulled her knees apart, slotting his torso between them. His hands inched higher, caressing the exposed skin as he pushed the shorter hem of the front of her dress higher along her thighs. 

“I need you safe,” he said, closing the gap between them more and more with each breath they took. “If you’re there, you’re safe. Tonight, we’ll be together again, if you’ll have me. Then we’ll find a way for you to go back and you’ll never have to think of the sins of your husband again. You can move on.” 

“Would you?” She struggled to speak around her breaking heart. 

“Never,” He admitted, fingers caressing higher. 

She should stop his hands. They were not in private. Someone could come out and her skirt was resting so high on her thighs. She didn’t want to stop his hands, however. It felt good to be caressed by the loving hands of her husband again, even if his hands were now claw tipped and stained black by blood.

“Then why must I?”

“Because I need you to be happy and safe,” she could feel Alastor’s breath on her as he softly spoke, “That’s all I’ve ever needed.” 

“And if I can’t be?” She whispered as his hands reached her hips. She realized, when he had changed her clothes, he hadn’t granted her any undergarments to replace those Valentino dressed her in. The only thing keeping anyone from seeing the exposed skin was his arms and body.

“It’s Heaven,” Alastor was so close now, she struggled to pay attention to his words instead of thinking about what it would be like to kiss his new ever smiling face. “How could you not be happy once you let go of me? Just one more night. That’s all we need. One more night to say goodbye.” 

Alastor looked down as he pulled her hips to the edge of the bench. He wanted to see her, to watch her thighs wrap around his hips as he convinced her, but something that shouldn’t have been on her thighs caught his eyes. 

Yellow and green marking on her skin left by fingertips that didn’t belong to him. The air of seduction shattered as he leaned closer to look at the exposed marks, eyes no longer hot with want. The look had turned cutting and sharp. Green and yellow meant the marks were over a week old. 

“How long have you been here?” He asked, voice sharper. 

“Since the battle. Vox called it an extermination.” She couldn’t meet his eyes, knowing full well what he was looking at.

“These are too old.” He shoved her skirt higher, paying no mind to how he fully exposed her as he searched for more marks. “Vox didn’t do this. This didn’t happen here. What happened? Who did this to you?”

“It’s not-”

He snagged her chin in his fingers, still flaky with dried blood as he forced her to look at him. “What happened?” 

“Adam- the first man, Adam.” She hated the way her eyes welled up again. It seemed too silly to cry so easily while sitting on a bench in hell. “He wanted to court me.” A bitter laugh surprised her as it fell from her lips at the words she picked. “No, he wanted to have me. There was no courting to it. I turned him down, again and again. He-”

The snarl in Alastor’s voice sent a shiver down Isabel’s spine. “Did he force himself upon you?” 

“I swear, I took no one willingly to my bed.” 

“Did he force himself?” The tears that fell from her eyes told him all he needed to know.

Static filled the air as he pulled the skirt of her dress down to her knees and stood to his full, imposing height. While her protests of her innocence and fear of rejection fell from her lips along with the tears from her eyes, he simply held out a hand for her. Rage burned in his red eyes. 

When she failed to take his hand, he leaned down and plucked hers from where she clutched at her chest, pulling her to her feet. She stumbled as he swiftly walked with her down a path leading to what looked to be like trash and ruins. 

“Where are you taking me?” This was the first time Isabel had ever felt fear in Alastor’s presence. Not even as he knelt, head down and confessing to a mountain of bodies staining his hands with blood, had she felt fear of her husband. 

He took her to a wide swath of recently disturbed dirt. Yanking her, pushing her with another hand, he brought her to stand in front of him, wrapping his arms around her waist tightly. 

“What is-” 

Alastor cut her off, “This is where we buried the felled angels from the battle. First, the cannibals stripped the flesh from their bones and took what they wanted. What little was left, we buried here.”

“Cannibals?” She was shaking like a leaf in his arms as his dark words washed over her, spoken softly right into her ear, dripping with pride she recognized from when he’d spoken of his radio show in life. 

“We gathered their weapons, of course, for our future defense- should Heaven wish to send another army. Many exorcists are buried here as well as the commander of their army. My Darling, do you know who the commander was?” 

“Adam,” she breathed his name, emotions warring in her heart. “Did you-?”

“Kill him?” Alastor laughed, “Heavens no, I did battle with him for a time, however. I deeply regret having wasted time playing with him now, knowing that he touched what belongs to me and me alone, without invitation. If I could relive that battle again, I’d take great satisfaction in ending his life painfully slow, ripping his soul from his chest and playing his agonized screams on my broadcasts for anyone who dares to take what belongs to the Radio Demon.” 

“Are you going to hurt me?” Isabel was terrified of voicing the question. He had said he wouldn’t have hurt her in life, but this man was in many ways someone she had never known. Never in her life had she seen Alastor’s mood so volatile. Sure, he had been a bit of a moody man, in his own way, but he generally kept in fairly good spirits. 

“Never.” The venom in his voice seemed to dissipate instantly as he spun her to face him, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her to his chest. “Never will I hurt you.” 

She could feel the pounding of his heart in his chest as she braced her hands against him. A hot breeze kicked up the air, ruffling his hair and her wings. Isabel realized that this was the side of Alastor she had never known in life but had always been there, hidden. This was the man that hunted men and ended their lives for reasons she couldn’t understand. 

This was a man plagued by fickle madness he had somehow kept well hidden during their marriage. What did it say about her? She still loved him, of that she knew even as she struggled to understand what everything meant for her, for them. 

“It appears, however,” Alastor’s tone changed again, returning to the chirpy voice she had known from his broadcasts in life, “I cannot count on Heaven to keep you safe after all. What a shame! And, as you had said, they would likely have not welcomed back an angel who left willingly, anyway. You’ll just have to stay here, with me, after all!” 

It had been what she wanted and now she struggled, unsure and struggling to keep up with his decisions. “Did you enjoy killing them?” Numb lips whispered the words. She was terrified of the potential answer. 

“The angels?” Alastor’s head cocked to the side, an extreme mockery of the way he had a habit of doing so in life, “Oh, very much so! They came to my territory to wreak havoc on what I have built up. I simply cannot have that! Ha! What would papers say!?” 

Had she made a mistake in coming to find him? Was it better to have loved the idea of him while missing the man she had known and at the same time never know? “And before? Before you died?” 

“Oh yes,” Alastor’s smile tamed some, losing the touch of madness. “My little hobby scratched a particular itch, you can say.”

Looking down at her, he took in the fear in her eyes. While death had changed him into a grotesque character of a man, it had been far kinder to his love. He caressed her hair, running the pads of his fingers over her cheek. Flakes of dried blood dotted her skin. 

“Do you wish to leave me?” He asked the question that had been running rampant through his brain, “Now that you know, do you no longer want me? Do you regret waiting for me? Decades spent pining for a monster of a man?” 

As her eyes filled with tears and shuttering breaths puffed from her lungs, he ran his hand down her bare arm and around her waist. The smoothe fabric, warmed by her body, felt good under his hand as he ran it over her lower back, inching up between her wings. 

“Now that your idea of me has been shattered, do you wish to go back and face what heaven may have for you in Adam’s absence? Say something, my Darling.” He pleaded only to continue before she had a chance to. “Perhaps with Adam gone, you’d be safe? How could I ever trust them to protect you though, after they’ve allowed him to lay his hands on you?” 

As he rambled, his hand between her shoulder blades spread, fingers curling into the plush feathers from where the dress buttoned around her wings. 

“Did you kill? Back at the studio, did you kill them? Is that why your hands were bloody? You didn’t just hurt them, did you?” 

“Ha! But of course,” He smoothed down the small feathers that gathered where her wings erupted from her back. “But don’t worry- their death isn’t final. They’ll reform in time.”

“Did you kill Vox?” She didn’t like the man. He had been terrifyingly obsessed with her, but that didn’t mean he needed to die, even if it was temporary. 

“No,” Alastor sighed, “He ran with his cord between his legs before I could do much more than crack his screen. I didn’t wish to leave you, even if you had Angel with you. Would you like me to?” 

“No!” She jerked toward him with the force of her protest.

“Very well.” Alastor said, smoothing his hand over her wings, taking in the feel of the sleek feathers over strong muscle. “So, my dear, now that you’ve given up heaven for me, do you regret it? Was it worth it?”

“Does it matter?” Isabel whispered, “I gave up everything for you, Alastor. I can’t go back. Heaven won’t take me back. I threw their gift away to be with you again. I’m not- I can’t say I’m okay with what you’ve done or still do, but I’m here, with you. I knew if I had to come here to be with you there would be something.” 

Tag List: @preciousbabypeter, @catticora, @alastor-simp, @alastorthirsty, @bufaunfu

[sugarsweetvirgo]

Do they sleep in the same bed or separate, maybe seto fears he’ll crush her in his sleep 😭

They sleep in the same bed, but it took a really long time for them to be comfortable enough to do that ^^'

Originally Eve stayed in a guest room, and had help from Kaiba's maids to get around and such, mainly because she hates miniatures so much she refused to live in a more scaled down room (She thinks miniatures are really insulting, essentially like calling her a toy or a collectable. It's why a lot of her stuff is custom made)

But after she and Kaiba started dating, and that took months to even get to, they tried to shift her room over to his. Obviously they had the same fear of Kaiba accidentally squishing her in the night, but thankfully Kaiba's a very still sleeper, and Eve tends to sleep near his head/on the pillow ( ︶｡︶✽)

[certainlynotasimp]

Grumpy Kitty, Soft Kitty

((Miguel O’Hara x Female Reader))

A/N: Two Miggy and Sunny fics in one day?! I’m on a role lol. This one wasn’t requested, but the discord gave me a huge inspiration for this so I had to write it. I still haven’t seen the movie lol.

A/N: This takes place before ‘To Love and Hold’, this can kinda serve as an explaination as to why Sunny wants a cat. This is a short little fanfic, but if you wanna see more, check out the Masterlist, and feel free to join the discord, the inspiration for this oneshot.

Warnings: Grumpy x Sunshine, Female Reader/Female Pronouns, No use of (Y/N) ((Sunny is their nickname not their name/ not an OC)), Grumpy Cat x Sweet Kitty, The young spider team messing with shit, and Miles being attacked.

~~~~~~~~~~~

It was meant to be a harmless prank.

After the events of Miles being chased down by Miguel and the anomaly was fixed, Pavitr thought it would be hilarious to use one of his villains’ gadgets to mess with Miguel as payback.

Hobie and Gwen agreed without second thought while Miles hesitated a bit. The trauma from being attacked for trying to do what was right was still fresh in his mind, so imagining what would happen if he messed with Miguel was absolutely mortifying.

Hobie decided to take one for the team and initiated the plan. It was suppose to be real simple. Turn Miguel into a harmless cat for a while and change him right back. Nothing too physically painful and with four spidermen against one cat, the consequences shouldn’t be too bad, right?

They were so wrong.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So how’s things going with Miguel?” Jessica asks with a teasing smile. “Finally convinced him to let you move in?”

The small spider blushes as Peter laughs at the women. She mumbles under her breath, “No, Miggy says that he has to make sure me leaving the Headquarters won’t alter with the canon…”

Peter tuts as the three enter through the portal and back to The Lobby as he muses, “That sounds like someone is afraid of commitment.”

“I-I don’t think he’s-!” The trio is interrupted by a bright yellow Ai appearing before them looking like she just had the best laugh of her life. Her virtual hair was a mess while she was wiping her nonexistent tears away with a breath of relief.

“You guys. You literally need to come to the Survaliance room.” She urges with a giggle emerging. “The greatest thing is happening right now.”

Jessica and Peter look at the Ai suspiciously as the small spider tilts her head in confusion.

“What is it?” The ball of sunshine asks before a look of concern flashes over her face. “Is Miguel alright?”

“He’s certainly not.” The Ai screeches in laughter as a distinct yell can be heard. A flash of black and red runs by them as a ball of dark brown fur follows behind. The sound of Miles pleaing for help while an array of hisses and growls follows causes the small spider to swing after them.

“Hey!” She yells as she uses her web to catch the raging ball of fur, only to realize what it was.

A large Maine Coone cat with a deep rich brown coat ruffles under the sticky web as his nearly red eyes focus on Miles in rage. His little growls as he tries to wrangle free from the web come to a halt when an excited squeal cuts him off.

“IT’S KITTY!!” The cat looks up in fright as his huge frame is lift up into the familiar warm arms of the cheert SpiderWoman.

The woman’s own frame was barely bigger than the long frame of the cat as she coos at the now sedated feline. Instead of reacting violent like he was meet minutes ago, he begins to purr as her nails run through fur.

Jessica and Peter look at Miles as he slowly approaches the woman with a cautionary eye as he mumbles. “I’m so sorry, Mr. O’Hara, I didn’t mean to-!”

A low growl comes from the cat as his large tail ruffles up again at the teenager. Peter breaks into laughter as he realizes what happened as Jessica looks horrified. Sunny’s smile brightens even more as she realizes the truth of why this adorable ball of anger reminded her so much of someone.

Miguel O’Hara was turned into a cat.

“Miggy~!” She coos at the cat as she scratches under his chin. “You’re such a handsome Gatito!” She kisses his furry head as he head butts her mouth affectionately. His purrs now out loud as he enjoys being pampered after all the stress he had just went through.

Hobie and Pavitr swing on down with a guilty look on their face as Gwen follows, holding a broken device. Jessica crosses her arms as she glares at each one of the kids.

“Talk. now.” She demands as Peter continues to laugh his ass off.

“Well…” Gwen starts. “We thought that since Miguel went kinda hard on Miles during that whole canon event mess, we decided to play a harmless prank…”

“Harmless?” Jessica quirks an eyebrow as her dark eyes narrow.

Hobie even starts the sweat a little as he stutters. “We were gonna turn him right back after a couple of pictures. Then he went all mad and he jumped us.”

Pavitr gets defensive as he grabs the device from Gwen and waves it around as he emphasizes his point. “And he broke the device! Now how am I gonna explain to Gayatri why get dad’s evidence is-!”

His thumb brushes against a button as the shattered gadget lights up and shoots a beam right at the cooing woman on the ground.

To everyone’s horror, the woman disappears in a flash of smoke, leaving only the now enraged Miguel and a small rag doll cat who was meowing.

The smaller feline meows as she looks around her before the larger Maine coone growls as he glares at Pavitr.

The device was now a melted piece of goo as the teenager’s fate was now sealed.

“Lyla…” Pavitr backs away slowly as an angry cat approaches him. “Can you fix this?…”

“I can.” Lyla admits as she tries not to laugh at the gentle cat waltzes over to Jessica and flop on her back, exposing her stomach for belly rubs. “But it’s gonna take a couple of hours.”

With that, Pavitr books it as the large feline chases him. Jessica laughs as she picks up the small mewling cat and rubs her fur, “When are these two ever gonna catch a break?”

Peter scratches Sunny’s ear as she purs. “Probably never.” He chuckles.

~~~~~~~~~

Hours later, Lyla finally manages to recreate the device as the exhausted teens lay on the floor. Each one covered in scratch marks from either trying to escape Miguel or from trying to interact with Sunny.

Lyla laughs as the hero’s groan. “It’s finished. You guys act like cat sitting is hard or something.” She teases as she approaches the couch where the two cats were asleep curled around each other, exhausted from their wild day as cats. A symphony of purrs fill the room as smaller crème colored cat was surrounded by the larger chocolate colored cat. The AI fires the device at the pair and smiles when the sleeping couple returns to normal. However, the purring unexpectedly continued as the sleeping woman snuggles deeper into the rumbling chest of her lover.

Lyla definitely had something to hold over Miguel’s head now.

~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist ((Closed))):

@ameliadraws @tojisrightnut @whyareyoubored @silly-lovestruck-em @luvil1y @chims-kookies @himesuedi @22carolina08 @chaoticevilbakugo @boredwithlifeatthispoint @hoshhoshh @isaidoop @pheroineux @rosiepetalss @aniya7 @savannahlynnes @boldlypessimistic @dilfaddiction @xsuvs @bunnybopug01 @tanakaslastbraincell @brivers @mistermouseshideyhole @paranoiac-666 @reypolaris @beeframon @sofiahowland376 @bby-lupin @thesrtuggleisveryreal @arminarmout15 @mintellaine @maddsunn @sleepyamaya @meshuao @scaraza @nobarasgfriend @kurxxmi @lemoonandlestars @pix-stuff @galaxieshearme @sunshiines-stuff @iytatsworld @corpsebridenightamare @p-rspective @almostjollypizza @celestiayxl @christinaatyourservice92 @marisolpusheen @hereliespumpkin @lordelvr @shadowlover321 @internal-soundtrack @lotustv @0sftom0 @whosace16 @namjoons-crabssss @baefys-world @namioom @20forty9 @cicithemess2000 @hailssss222 @cityofvoldemort-blog @snow30285 @serenssuga @miguelluvrinnit @sammywammy1 @dameronshandholder @moonlight-fox @miwagila @alexthebootyeater420 @mariaatp @10-jiku2 @uselsshuman @cookiezxx @randomhumans-blog @mothsicn @gingerdissapointment @outspokenmatters @cookieshakr @alex-river1 @mellowstatesmanhandsempath @luna-usagi-chan @icantsleeplol809 @tiredweeb7 @4ishere @i-heart-marvel @mooomeadows @king-julian6201 @local-mr-frog @superbjealousy @wonwuz @lokisnumber1whore @deloe18 @all4koo @gothicgay14 @perrins161 @ghost-with-a-teacup @addictedtothefictionalworld @stevenknightmarc @loxbbg @some-lovely-day @thisisanaccountokaydus @keepingitlokiii @stevenknightmarc @maxi-ride @juneonhoth @fa1rybubbl3z @strxngegirl @iytatsworld @dilfrs @stfugenderfuck @ben-is-a-hoe @coralineyouareinterribledanger @fallinallinmendes @im-sure-its-fine @mirophobic

[toxicbrothel]

river of dreams.

2k, noncanon raider!joel x f!reader x carter (oc)

mood board does not depict reader. ty @patti7dc for the pic

summary: you have a dream where you fall into a river and joel and carter have to warm you up. warnings: I8+, MFM, p in v intercourse, grinding, cream pie, cum play, cum eating, oral f receiving kind of, kinda dubcon for Carter? He's following orders at first, Joel carries reader. unedited - prying myself away in hopes I'll write something real. a/n: something possessed me to expound on the non-canonical camping dream in depth: what if you have the dream again, and you don't wake up until it's over?

You drink a special tea, and when you drift off to sleep, you have an absurdly detailed dream. In the dream, you're traveling with Joel and Carter. It's winter and you're crossing a river when you slip and fall into it. The water is nearly freezing. It's only a few seconds before Joel pulls you out, but your clothes are soaked. Once you get onto dry land, you're so cold you can barely move enough to walk. Joel has to carry you.  Joel sees a clearing ahead and tells Carter, "Go. Make a fire. Go!" 

Carter runs ahead and makes the fire. He sets up camp as quickly as possible, unrolling your sleeping bag while Joel strips you down. Carter lays your wet clothes and shoes on a log near the fire to dry, then boils some water.  Joel is trying everything to warm you up. He takes his own shirt off his back and puts it on you. His socks too. He wraps you in a blanket. You're still shivering. 

Carter is going through your pack looking for dry clothes, then he sees how desperate Joel is looking at you and suggests "you should get in the bag.  Naked, she needs your body heat." 

"Yeah," Joel agrees hesitantly. 

In the sleeping bag, you're facing Joel. You wrap an arm over him and he hugs you tight with your tits pressed against his chest. He puts a leg over yours. You're still shivering. Joel keeps saying "gonna be okay, sweet pea" and rubbing your arms. His cock is warm and hardens against you, but he ignores it and stays focused on your warmth. 

Joel hugs you for a few minutes, then Carter brings over a cup of boiled water for you. He tastes it himself to make sure it isn't too hot, then crouches down by the sleeping bag. You roll onto your stomach and prop yourself up on your elbows. Joel does too and takes the cup. He brings it to your lips. Carter tries not to look at your tits. Instead he looks at Joel, and how concerned he is. You try to take the cup from Joel to finish the water yourself but your hands are still too numb and you can't grip it. In desperation, Joel looks at Carter, tugs the zipper, and says, "get in here." 

Carter hesitates.

"Now.  She needs the heat." 

Carter puts down the cup, takes off his shoes, and starts to get in, then Joel says "take your clothes off, ya said it yourself." 

"Joel, i–"

"Just do it, Carter." 

Carter takes off his shirt, then crouches down trying to get in view of your face. He looks at you and asks, "do you want-"

Joel cuts him off- "I said now."

You nod to reassure Carter. Carter glances at you a few times as he takes his pants off. He starts to get into the bag in his boxers and Joel says, "everything."

"Y-you sure, Joel?" He asks as he follows the orders. Joel nudges the bag's zipper down as an answer. The air is cold on your back for a moment until Carter gets in and zips the double bag again. 

"C'mere," Joel beckons him, reaching over you to pull Carter closer by his shoulder. Carter presses his chest against your back. It's warm and soft. Joel's hand moves to Carter's tricep and puts Carter's arm over you. Carter awkwardly drapes his wrist over Joel's waist. 

Carter is keeping his crotch a respectful inch or two away from you, but Joel pulls him closer.  That's when the warm shape of Carter's dick presses against your ass and his soft curls brush your skin. You and Carter both flinch. He settles in against you. He's not hard, not yet. But after a minute, you suppose he can't help it, his body pressed all the way against yours. He clears his throat as his cock swells against your crack. It makes you wet and you feel guilty.  It feels strange, having Carter hug you like Joel does every night. 

"Can I turn around?" You ask Joel."

"Can ya turn around?"

"He's in your spot," you whine. 

"Ok, sweet pea." Joel backs up enough for you to turn over and face Carter. You and Carter exchange a glance. His lips look red and swollen in the firelight. His cheeks are flushed. Maybe this wasn't the best idea. You didn't think it through. You put your arms in front of your chest but Joel takes your top hand and drapes it over Carter's waist before bringing Carter's arm over you again and pulling him tight. "Keep your chest warm," Joel whispers into your hair. 

Carter's cock presses against your mound and you gasp through your nose. He pulls his hips back. His heart pounds against you. You push your ass back into Joel and Joel returns the push with his hard cock. Then Joel wedges his hand between you and Carter and covers your mound. 

Carter's breath falters as his erection hits Joel's cool knuckles. Joel freezes. For a moment no one moves.  Then Joel acts like it's not even there. Joel lightly rubs your clit which makes the back of his hand graze Carter's hard dick. 

"Uh," Carter searches for words. "I should. . ." 

"S'okay " Joel whispers into your hair, unclear about who he's talking to. 

"Sorry," Carter stumbles.  

Joel shushes him, then asks, “you ok sweet pea?" 

"y-yeah," you whisper, more than okay, but you could never say that. 

You shiver, not in cold but in pleasure. Joel grinds his cock against your ass and slides his hand down further to tease your moist hole with his middle finger, bringing some of your ample slick up to your clit.  They hold you like that for a minute and you can barely take the tension. 

Your hips tilt, and Joel murmurs, "good girl, you're okay." Joel brings his hand back behind you to put his cock between your legs. Carter's hard dick rests against your mound and lower belly for a moment until he pulls his hips back and Joel returns his hand to your front. Joel thrusts forward, wedging his cock between your thighs, sliding against your dripping folds. Your nipples harden with a rush of arousal. Joel slides his cock against you a few times. You're wetter and wetter with the head of his cock rubbing against your clit and meeting his hand on the other side. Then he uses his fingers to nudge the head into your entrance. With Joel's tip nestled just inside, you twitch in anticipation and can't help but push back.

Joel holds onto Carter's back for leverage and pushes into you with a deep sigh muffled in your hair. You bite your lip to try to keep from moaning as you're filled with Joel's rigid cock, and your hard nipples lightly drag an inch or two up Carter's chest from the force.  You glance up and Carter's eyes are pinched shut. His arousal twitches against your clit and you whimper, "Joel," tilting your head back against him as he slowly withdraws half his length. 

“Mmm,” he fills you up again. He stays mostly inside and fucks you in short pulses, with his  tip dragging against a special spot inside you and Carter's cock pressing against your clit and mound. You imagine their balls are touching when Joel bottoms out. 

It's ethereal and overwhelming. You’re in the sleeping bag, nestled between Carter and Joel with all three of your bodies growing sweaty. 

Joel's thick cock moves at a slow rhythm, drafting thickly inside you, and he brings his hand to your thigh. Your hips are rocking into Carter at the same rhythm. Carter puts a hand on your hip, squeezing you as you grind against his cock. He breathes heavily.  Joel has killed men for much less, but in this realm, there are no rules.  You're just three bodies in a sleeping bag, and the lining is growing damp with sweat and steam. By now, you're warmer than warm. Your chest, breasts, and cheeks are on fire. 

The fire crackles and pops, under the rhythmic squelch of Joel's cock inside you and the heavy breaths from all three of you. Carter lets out soft grunts as you move against him. He's so erect it must be painful, pressed against your skin. Your skin is smooth and slippery with sweat.  Their muscular bodies hug your curves. Joel's sounds are quiet but deep and primal as he fucks you from behind. You can picture his nose twitching with his eyes pinched shut as his hips move, burying his cock deep inside you where it belongs. 

They both hold you still, but Joel's thrusts are still sending you up, and the higher you grind against Carter's shaft, the closer his tip gets, until it's right there against your clit. Your walls spasm and Joel growls, "good girl," in your ear.  

Carter shudders with a tattered sigh. He cums against you, coating your mound and clit with his warm spend. Each pulse nudges your clit, drawing your own climax out longer. 

Joel breathes heavily into your ear and whispers, "Feel so good, sweet pea," still fucking you. As Carter finishes, his cum trickles down your clit to Joel's cock. 

You sigh, and finally Joel can't hold off any longer. He groans as he bottoms out, then pulses. Carter winces as your clit pulses against his oversensitive cock. Joel grabs your breast, the back of his hand flush with Carter's chest. Joel gropes you and fills you up, fucking some of Carter's cum into you as he does it. You moan as you flutter around Joel's cock, and the moment seems to last forever -- you can feel every beat of Joel's heart, every little pulse of every vein of his cock. And you can feel Carter's heartbeat, too, and his cock and cum against your skin.

Joel stays inside when he's finished. 

-

With his cock still inside you, Joel begins to wrap his arm around you, wedging his hand between you and Carter. Right away, his fingers graze the sticky mess on your skin and he inhales sharply. Joel props himself up on his elbow, then grips Carter's jaw, making his mouth open.  Carter waits, frozen.  Joel presses his thumb between Carter's lips and down onto his tongue, wiping his cum onto it. 

"Clean up your mess," Joel commands, then releases his mouth. 

Carter nudges the zipper of the bag down to make room. Joel has one arm under you and his forearm crossing your breasts. He holds you against himself and with his other hand, nudges Carter's head down.  Carter obediently moves down so his head is below your abdomen. He's curled over on his knees and Joel is holding you mostly face up for him. He glances up at Joel, then dips his tongue into his cum on your mound.  He laps it up slowly and thoroughly, planting his lips and sucking from below your belly button down to your clit, making you twitch around Joel's cock as you feel a other one building. His tongue swirls and presses hard against your skin until he's gotten as much as he can. He licks along the side of your clit, finding some of his cum in the crevasse, then you whine, "Joel," feeling yourself on the edge again. 

Carter pulls his head back as Joel reaches down to cup your mound. His hips push him a little deeper inside you and his fingers rest firm on your clit as your body jerks and you cum on his cock again.  You whimper through your waves of pleasure and Joel whispers, "good girl."

When you're finished, the three of you lie there and Joel asks, "you warm?"

"Mm-hm," you nod. 

"I'll start dinner," Carter offers and Joel lets him out of the bag. 

While Carter gets dressed, Joel holds you for another minute then slides out of you.

—--

Joel dresses you, and he gets dressed, too. Carter makes dinner and you eat in silence around the fire. 

When Joel goes to piss, Carter waits until he's out of earshot and lowers his voice. “Ya know, I never woulda–if Joel hadn’t–".

“Don’t hafta talk about it,” you interrupt. 

Carter looks at you. You can see he’s trying to make eye contact, but you don’t.  He swallows and nods. “Right." He gets even quieter. "Okay.”

After a moment of silence, he opens his mouth like he's going to say something, but doesn't. You finally look at him, and he whispers, "thing is–" and the way he's looking at you, you know what he's about to say. "I kinda–"

"-Carter-"

"-Liked it."  He raises his brows for a moment, then looks down and scratches the back of his neck.  "And if I act like I didn't, it's 'cause-"

"I get it." 

Carter nods, you nod, and there's a silent agreement.

—-

Then you wake up. 

------

Later in the same hypothetical universe: Stinger

------

Thank you for reading and compartmentalizing. It's a fic of a fic of a fic.

[crystallizsch]

The First Kiss (?)

yuusha tala x jamil viper (oc x canon) word count: 800+ cw: pure angst

(awajkjfsdkjl omg some writing reveal about their relationship dynamic? 😳 ALSO THIS ENDED UP BEING LONGER THAN INTENDED AAHH and there are bound to be typos in here but uhhh anyways—)

At last, they found themselves alone, wrapped in each other's arms, savoring the calm evening air.

Yuu smiled and raised her bare hands to cup Jamil’s cheeks gently. It was rare for the prefect to have her gloves off. So Jamil’s face heated up at the touch.

“Haha. Your face is warm, Jamil.”

“Whose fault is that I wonder?”

“Couldn’t be me.”

They joked, feeling their breathy giggles against one another and realizing their lips were almost touching.

Was this… Was this finally the moment?

Sure, she was already incredibly lax with him before — being affectionately touchy with him and constantly giving him quick and casual kisses on the cheek (as she does with basically her closest friends). But they seemed to have become close in a way that was more than Yuu’s “overly friendly” nature.

So what about a kiss on the lips?

A sudden wave of uncertainty hit the magicless prefect. Her hands dejectedly slid back down Jamil’s chest as they curled into fists.

The implications of a first kiss on the lips felt a lot heavier on her than she thought.

They have both been dancing around their feelings about one another. They both knew what they felt about one another and even made a show of teasing each other for it. But neither explicitly stated what those feelings even were.

Yuu felt much more guilty in that regard, considering her more than a flagrant expression of that affection toward him. One would think she was leading him on, but that was never the case.

And she really, truly liked him but—

Jamil tightened his arms around her waist when he felt the hesitation in her body. This subtle move caused Yuu to look deep into Jamil’s eyes again. Her heart squeezed at the sight of a soft and gentle look as she looked back with a distinctly sorry expression on her face.

It was bizarre that these were once the dangerous eyes that brought her pure hatred toward him. Now that they looked so kind and genuine, they admittedly felt more dangerous. How unfair.

“…..We don’t have to, you know,” Jamil said in a low voice. It sounded vague enough that even he did not know if he was only referring to them sharing a kiss or having a relationship overall. He also tried to be reassuring, but he was aware of the slightly sad and disappointed tone he let slip in his voice.

Yuu gulped and then felt her breath hitch in her throat. It was as if Jamil had read her mind.

Damn you, she wanted to say to him. At this point, she did not know what to say. Yuu felt like she was caught in a lie and wanted to prove him wrong. But she can’t. It wasn’t that she felt anything less for him; she simply felt conflicted about finally sealing her feelings with a kiss. The prefect just wasn’t ready. She doesn’t know when she will be. And she did not want to admit that.

Meanwhile, Jamil was relatively ready to receive that kiss. Of course, he would not say that out loud. From his perspective, Yuu would have to act first if there was truly something more to their relationship. But it seems like today was still not that day.

“I’m sorry…” Yuu whispered under her breath.

Jamil did not answer. Instead, he gave a quick peck on the prefect’s nose, which caused her face to flush. She quickly buried her face on his shoulder with a shaky sigh, her hands gripping his clothing. The vice housewarden half-heartedly laughed at her reaction as he snaked his hands higher around Yuu’s back, giving her a gentle hug instead.

There were no words exchanged between them for a period of time. They simply rested in each other’s embrace.

Still, this indeterminate name to their relationship weighed heavily on both of them.

Jamil couldn’t even say that he would wait for her. Because that would be a lie. As painful as that realization may be, he knows he wouldn’t. Why would he? Yuu repeatedly expressed her homesickness anyway.

Besides, Jamil was used to it. All good things were never permanent. That was what he was telling himself at least... Somehow this time, it was getting harder and harder to convince himself that he could simply accept losing something — her specifically.

And for Yuu’s part, she was also aware of this — that she knows she’ll be leaving all of this behind one day. The prefect had her own plans for the future, and she assumed that the vice housewarden would have his own.

There was no point in committing to anything. Because if they dare even act upon their true feelings, or heavens forbid say it out loud, it will make the inevitable separation even harder.

this was the vibe when i was writing this btw hgffjhklj