#prowl with cat ears...
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catthepillarr · 3 days ago
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My brother pitched an idea to me
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As he puts it, "if you draw prowl with cat ears, people on tumblr would go feral", so I'm testing his hypothesis..
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emptyfie1ds · 2 years ago
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beast mode
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catmomjudy · 2 months ago
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My ao3 icon:
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3.06 'Monsters' | 8.05 'Masks' ↳ return of maddie's cat ears
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furuu · 2 months ago
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∘ ◟♡ ˒ ʾʾ You hear the tapping on the glass again, and this time it’s unmistakable. Sukuna sits perched just outside the sliding door, his crimson eyes focused with laser intensity on you. Draped in morning sunlight, his fluffy face is utterly blank, but the bright colorful bird in his mouth is hard to miss, and he watches you like he’s expecting some grand reaction.
With a sigh, you slide the door open, and Sukuna pads in without hesitation, holding his “gift” with careful precision. He sits down, tails swishing in slow, deliberate arcs as he places the small bird at your feet, staring up with an unreadable expression. To anyone else, it might look like nothing more than a blank stare, but you know the slight twitch of his ears, the ever-so-slight narrowing of his eyes; he’s awaiting approval, maybe even the smallest hint of admiration.
“Kitty...” you say softly, doing your best to keep your tone gentle as you crouch down. “You can’t just go around killing birds. Poor thing…”
He doesn’t even blink, instead leaning forward to nudge the bird a little closer to your feet, his expression unchanging. It’s obvious that to him, he’s just presented you with the finest treasure in the world, and his eyes watch you intently, as if to say, Look. I brought this for you.
You chuckle softly, reaching out to give him a light scratch behind his ears. “Alright,” you murmur, smiling. “Thank you, Sukuna. I appreciate the thought.”
His ear flicks, but he keeps his gaze resolutely fixed on something in the corner, clearly trying to play off his satisfaction with a haughty air. But the tell-tale rumble that vibrates from his chest gives him away, and the second pair of his eyes flutter closed in contentment, clearly soaking up the affection even as he tries to pretend otherwise.
Just when you think he’s done, he prowls around the room, circling, casting occasional glances your way like he’s assessing whether his “gift” has truly pleased you. And each time he looks over, you feel a warm flicker of affection. In his own strange, sometimes intense way, Sukuna’s just trying to show he cares—just as any other cat might with an unfortunate, feathery offering.
Finally, he stops, tails flicking with contentment as he settles at your feet, looking rather smug, as if his job here is complete. And despite the unusual nature of his gesture, you can’t help but feel a warm gratitude, reaching down to pat his head.
“Thank you, tiger,” you say again, and he gives a tiny, almost invisible nod before closing his eyes, sinking comfortably beside you, his massive form nearly curled protectively around you.
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dilemmaontwolegs · 10 months ago
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You Came, You Called || LN4
Summary: when strangers follow you from the nightclub there’s only one person you want to call.
Warnings: angst, threatening behaviour, fluff
WC: 2.4K
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Lando stirred at the sound of his phone ringing on the bedside table. There were few people who could get past the ‘do not disturb’ setting that came into effect after midnight. With bleary eyes he reached for the phone and cringed at the bright light in his face but the sight of your name chased away his exhaustion.
It had been 162 days since you last spoke to him. It had been 162 days since he had ruined everything. He regretted his foolishness for every single one of those days and his stomach flipped at the thought of hearing your voice.
“Hey,” he answered, a flinch following as his voice cracked from lack of use while he slept. He quickly cleared it before trying again. “Hey.”
“Hey, baby.”
Alarm bells rang in his head and he sat up straight. Had you called the wrong man? That thought soured in his mouth.
“I’m on my way home.”
It wasn’t your unsteady voice he was focused on but the male voices that sounded far too close for his liking. “Aw, don’t call your boyfriend. We only want to talk.”
“Where are you?” Lando was already pulling on a pair of sweatpants and grabbing the first shirt he came across. “Are you okay?”
“No,” you whispered with a tremble in your tone. “I miss you.”
“Tell me where you are, sweetheart. I’m on my way.”
“Come on, gorgeous, it’s just a bit of fun,” a man called out and Lando saw red when he heard you choke back a sob. He knew the sound because he had been the reason for it before, and it had haunted him ever since. “He doesn’t have to know.”
“I’m heading towards Chocolat Boutique, please hurry.”
“I’m coming, sweetheart. I’m on my way.” Lando was already racing down to the garage and jumping in his McLaren. The engine roared loudly in the underground space before he tore out onto the street. “Keep talking to me, okay?”
The small store would have closed hours ago, but it was down the street from Jimmyz nightclub which was where you probably had been. He didn’t even know you were in town, and he didn’t have a right to know your whereabouts anymore.
“I’m scared, Lan.” The pain echoed around him as his phone connected to the car and played in surround sound.
“I know you are, but it’s going to be okay. I’m almost there, I promise.” He didn’t care about speeding tickets or running red lights. He flew through the narrow streets as he was forced to listen to the cat calls.
“I didn’t know who to call,” you admitted as you tried to walk faster but your heels hindered any escape. The three men were getting closer but they were in no hurry as they prowled both sides of the street to herd you along.
“You can always call me, love,” Lando swore, taking the last turn fast enough for the tires to squeal in protest. “And I’ll always answer.”
He found you on the footpath clutching your phone to your ear, hand cupped over the microphone as you spoke to him. Fear had widened your eyes and your normal stature cowered under the gaze of the men behind you.
Twisting the steering wheel, Lando skidded to a halt beside you and threw the door open. You had seen him angry before, when races don’t go his way, but this was beyond anger. Waves of rage rolled off him as you leapt into his arms, your trembling form finding itself molding perfectly back into his body. Two puzzle pieces slotting back together.
“I got you, sweetheart,” he soothed as he cradled the back of your head and glared over your shoulder. “You’re safe now.”
He might not have been the most imposing figure but you knew Lando was strong and regularly had boxing lessons for training. You had no doubt that if anything escalated he would use every lesson to protect you, but the cowards shrank back into the shadows of the shops.
“Let’s get you home.”
You were in such a state of shock that you didn’t see Lando wince at his mistake. You hadn’t called his apartment home for 162 days, not since you packed your bags and left. But right now you longed for that place where you had felt so safe and secure, tangled in his sheets and he curled his body around yours.
He opened the passenger door and reluctantly stepped out of your embrace to guide you into the seat. The doors locked as he started the engine and you exhaled a heavy breath of relief when the street was left behind.
Tearing your eyes away from the tinted window, you looked at Lando properly and saw his disheveled appearance. “I’m sorry for waking you.”
“I’m not.” He took his eyes off the road for a second before reaching over to take your hand. “You’re freezing.”
He couldn’t tell if you were shaking because you were cold or if it was the adrenaline leading to shock. Dropping your hand he reached behind your seat to grab a hoodie that was always left in the car. The material was soft and smelled like him as you pulled on, inhaling deeply at the familiarity of the scent.
“I miss stealing these,” you whispered as you buried your cold hands into the front pocket.
Lando chuckled at the admission. He missed seeing his hoodies on you and asking if you knew where his favourite ones were. You would lie and he would smile at how terrible the attempt was.
“You can steal that one, if you want. I have too many now that they don’t mysteriously disappear.”
The car pulled into the garage and you found the space where your car used to park now filled with a pretty Lamborghini. A new sense of sadness hit that of course everything could be upgraded and replaced. “You can take me to my hotel. I wasn’t thinking clearly, you probably have company.”
His lips turned down at the thought and he shook his head. Lando understood why you would assume that, after all it was the reason you had left. What he had thought was harmless flirting had wrought destruction on his relationship with you. He knew he should’ve deleted the messages as soon as they were received but a moment of weakness when he was away from you led him to reply.
He betrayed your trust and he had regretted it ever since.
“There isn’t anyone,” he said as he parked. “There isn’t anyone ever, just to be clear.”
You mulled over his words as you stepped out of the car and accepted his hand, trading the warmth of the pocket for his palm. You kept hearing the insinuation echo with each step in the empty garage.
“Did you go out alone tonight?”
You shook your head. “Ana felt sick so she left. I should have gone with her.”
“So why did you stay?”
You weren’t ready to admit there was a slight hope you would see him so you just shrugged. It was Saturday night in Monaco and Jimmyz was the place to be - especially for a handsome, single man like Lando. You hadn’t wanted it to be this way though.
“I stopped going there after…a couple of months ago,” he said as he unlocked his door.
“Why? You loved that place.”
“I loved going with you,” he corrected. “I got to hold you and dance, show you off to everyone. When I went back, everyone just wanted to use me.”
You could imagine the women fawning over him and the men trying to be his next best friend. Sex or money, it was all they wanted from him.
“I’m sorry, Lan.”
“Lan,” he chuckled, following the light down the hall to his bedroom. The blanket was tossed aside and his charging cord was half hanging from the wall, a testament to how quickly he had left his bed to rescue you. “No one else calls me that anymore. It’s always Lando Norris, full name, so fucking weird. It’s Lando Norris getting out of his car. Oh, look, it’s Lando Norris scratching his nose.”
You laughed at his impersonation and sat at the edge of the bed. It was such an innocent thing but it brought back a million memories made in this room and he was seeing them all too as he stood frozen.
“Are you going to stand there all night, Lando Norris?”
His eyes traced your lips that mocked him before he shook his head of the thought that entered his head. Going to his wardrobe, he grabbed a loose shirt and tossed it to you before turning his back. “That’ll be more comfortable to sleep in than your dress.”
You laughed to yourself as he turned away, despite intimately knowing every inch of your body, until you found his eyes in the reflection of the mirror. His tortured eyes dared you to tell him to look away, but they begged you all the same. Maybe you were feeling grateful for the rescue, or maybe it was just an old habit that you held his gaze as you rose to your feet and let your dress fall to the floor with his hoodie.
His eyes darkened and he groaned, but the sound woke him up from his stupor. “I’ll go sleep on the couch.”
“Wait.” You took a step towards him as he stepped towards the door. “Please stay.”
He heard the fragility in your tone and the residual fear from the evening creeping back. He knew it was a bad idea but he couldn’t find the words to voice them as he gripped the door handle.
You watched his fingers release their tight hold before he nodded. “But please put the shirt on,” he pleaded as you tested his self restraint.
It was summer and the air still held warmth despite the early hour, but you dutifully pulled it over your head and climbed into the sheets. Lando waited until you were completely covered before he walked around to his side of the bed and curled up at the edge.
You both lay in silence, back to back, watching the shadows on the wall as the minutes ticked away. Lando was like a heat seeking missile and he was fighting an internal battle to keep from rolling over and curling his body around yours. You had always loved physical contact, it was comforting to be wrapped in his arms.
You knew he was awake and uncomfortable.
He knew you were awake and uncomfortable.
A few more minutes passed and you could no longer pretend he didn’t exist, or that you didn’t want the comfort he could give. “Lan?”
“Yeah?” His response was instant and you felt the bed shift as he rolled onto his back.
“Stop being weird and just cuddle me so we can get some sleep.”
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
You giggled and reached blindly for him. “I am already.”
Your hand found his arm and he shimmied across the space until it curled around your waist. His knees tucked behind yours and his breath warmed your neck as he whispered, “I’m sorry. For everything. I know you hate me, but-”
“I don’t,” you interjected, twisting your neck to look at him in the dim light. “I did, I really did. But I don’t anymore.”
“You should. I hurt you so bad. I deserve your hate.”
You swallowed down the lump in your throat and looked away as you admitted aloud what you had known for a while. “I can’t hate you, Lan, not when I still love you.”
Lando froze still behind you and you weren’t sure if he was even breathing. “You still love me?” Disbelief, wonder, hope - it was so saturated in that question.
“I thought something terrible was going to happen to me tonight so I called you in case it was the last time I could. I didn’t want ‘I hate you’ to be my last words to you.”
Lando’s gut clenched at the thought and his arms tightened around you, crushing your back to his chest. “I wish you called sooner, I would come day or night to get you.”
“I know.”
“I don’t think you do,” he said sadly. “Every weekend for the past five months I wonder if you are out drinking and clubbing. I know it’s not my place, and I lost all right to know where you are, but I need to know you safe, sweetheart. It kills me to think that there might be someone else looking out for you, because that was my job. It should still be my job, to protect you, because I love you too. I never stopped loving you.”
You squirmed in his arms but they were too tight to move. “Lan, I need you to let go of me,” you murmured.
“I’ve tried, but I can’t. I can’t give up on us.”
“Lan.”
His breath was shaky but he released his tight grip on you, despite his desire to keep you close. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said any of that.”
He started to pull away but you finally had room to move and followed. “Lando! Come back, you muppet. I just wanted to see your face without breaking my neck,” you laughed.
He paused, a little from appearing between his brows. “Let go…oh…” His eyes lit up even in the dark room and he bundled you back into his arms. “Muppet is my word.”
You nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck and inhaled his scent. “I stole it too, like your hoodies.”
“I was a muppet so you can have it this time.” He pulled back so he could find your eyes. “Where does this leave us?”
“You broke my trust.” You felt him deflate at the words. “But when I needed you, you came.”
“You called.”
Your chest felt light with emotion those two words brought and you combed your fingers into his dark curls. “I don’t know where this leaves us but what I do know is that I really want you to kiss me.”
His eyes widened in surprise. “Now? Are you sure? It might just be the adrena-”
“Shut up and kiss me, Lan.”
He didn’t need to be told a third time.
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nyursi · 1 year ago
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𝐂𝐀𝐓 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐑!ㅤpart one.
꒰ † ੭‎ㅤNSFW 18+ㅤ(MDNI)...  in a series of successful heists, the infamous cat burglar is finally caught and is left with the mercy of his victims to decide his fate.ㅤノㅤnot proofread.
ᡴꪫ‎ TODAY'S SPECIAL!ㅤdiluc, zhongli, heizou, (here, part one) alhaitham, dottore, and wriothesley (part two)!
WOULD YOU LIKE SPRINKLES? (っω=`)ㅤm!rdr, degradation, tummy bulge, biting, breeding, impact play, petnames, hair-pulling, public sex, and more.
                 ㅤ ⏝꒷۰꒷⏝꒷۰꒷⏝꒷۰꒷⏝
THE DARK NIGHT HERO'S NEW QUOTA...
featuring impact play, hair pulling, exhibitionism, (semi) public sex, and diluc.
killing slimes and dealing with drunkards both day and night quickly became a boring routine for diluc. but he finds such creatures easier to deal with more than a certian eye-patch wearing man.
so when he hears of the burglar who causes trouble nation after nation, finally arrived in mondstadt, diluc can't deny his curiosity.
the name he made for himself was quite odd, never actually thinking a cat burglar would come to life. but life has its ways. and in the nature of life, it's only normal to take hold of this situation. diluc deserves a break anyway.
and now here he is; thrusting relentlessy into the warm heat of the damned 'cat burglar' who attempted to rob him. wanton whines of different octaves escaped your drooling lips, and claws extracted to find purchase on the cobble walls of diluc's manor.
"dumb boy, who were you trying to fool?" your sensitive ears twitched when diluc spoke so close—even more when he grazed his teeth light as a feather against them. "n- no one!" you whined, wiggling your hips.
a tip too tempting to ignore was given to you a while back, claiming that the house ragnvindr had riches to spare for little ol' you. too bad that mister diluc had a tip himself, though much more eye catching and valueable. as half of the mondstadt ladies would fume with jealousy, wishing it was them being split apart by diluc's cock. and not some nimble cat eared boy.
your eyes welled with tears when a stern hand yanked on the hair from your scalp, eliciting a humiliating moan.
god, everything about him is so... big!
from diluc's reputation, wealth, to his physical attributes, diluc as a whole was domineering.
cheeks flushed an embarassing red when your eyes met his, and your tail swished out of your control. "pl- please... 'm close!" such desperate pleads fell on deaf ears, as diluc had no intention to listen to your words.
he counted mentally, giving you time to shut up. and when you didn't stop your dumb begging?
"ahn!~" your eyes widened when a harsh smack landed on your ass, causing your whole body to jolt forward. diluc took ahold of your temporary weakness, and forced your chest to meet the cold stone wall.
with your hard nipples and swollen cock rubbing on such an odd texture, the pleasure of it all caused you to near an orgasm. "you moan so sweetly," diluc grunted, planting his hands on your hips roughly.
"it could compete with the grapes in this yard."
oh yes. was it too embarassing to mention that you never managed to sneak in his manor at all? what was a stupid kitty like you doing anyway, wearing a suspicious cloak and prowling about diluc's courtyard.
he seized you then and there.
it's too bad a 'skilled' burglar like you was caught before your plan was in action.
"but unless you want to get caught, i suggest you tone it down." your eyes fogged with lust as diluc shoved his fingers down your throat, coating them with your saliva.
then you came. harshly. your cum splat against the wall, and rubbed against your skin as diluc went faster. course, your little cock was still between your body and the stone, forcing you to take the pleasure that hurt.
diluc soon followed, covering your insides with a creamy white, one that you wanted inside you forever.
one thing you knew now; no money in diluc's manor would ever compare to the treasure below his belt.
                 ㅤ ⏝꒷۰꒷⏝꒷۰꒷⏝꒷۰꒷⏝
RE-AWAKENING OF THE GEO ARCHON...
featuring biting, breeding, double penetration, frottage(?), and zhongli (but morax).
it was no secret that the geo archon was the scariest of all. but with his charming looks, you somehow thought a similar personality would follow.
oh how wrong you were.
"please morax, have mercy on me!" you landed on your knees, body quivering as you felt morax's cold stare upon you.
he tsked, shaking his head. "weak mortals like you shouldn't be making the decision here." morax cooed at you with pity, running his rough palms over the top of your head.
an accident it was, really. for you to stumble upon his abode—and bask your greedy eyes to the glory of his shining hoarde. a large pile of gold and other trinkets was enough for you to trudge forward and grab an armful of wealth.
with your mind focused on the heavy riches you were carrying, your feline ears couldn't hear the heavy footsteps of this hoard's owner.
you were one of the unlucky few, as this den was ruled by the geo archon himself. morax.
"are you defective? surely these little ears of yours are much more sensitive than that of a humans." he mused, eyeing your trembling body.
an uncontrolled whimper broke your silence. morax was scary, definitely! but he was far too mean for your liking. but you had no choice other than to pray that he would forgive you.
"well," he started. anticipation built every second, and you were hung on his every word. "there is one way you could repent."
and here you were; laid limp in his arms. boneless as you eyed his large dicks, both erect and leaking. rubbing against your hole. you attempted to look away, but morax quickly took ahold of your jaw.  "don't look away, this is your own doing, boy."
morax nipped on your ear, making you yelp. "oh don't whine, that was nothing compared to this."
in a split second, one had slid in entirely, leaving not a single inch uncovered. he was buried to the hilt. and you were full. morax wasted no time and quickly began to find rhythm, while you haven't even adjusted to his size.
"a-ah! wait please!-" it was an odd yet pleasing sensation, morax's cock rubbed against places you've never touched before, making you see celestia. "m-moraaaaaaax!~"
uncontrollable tears dripped down your red cheeks when his other dick was forced against yours. he wrapped his hand against both, and began moving it up and down. squeezing your heats within his palm.
the size difference between you two made him laugh; saying something about 'it barely counted as a cock, and how it resembles a pathetic pussy instead.'
your hips twitched, mind reeling. mouth wide open yet no sound escaped when you felt air breeze on your leaking tip once again, as well as the similar pressure against your hole.
morax bit your shoulder, and at the same time he sunk you down on both of his cocks. "i knew it, a boy like you was made for this."
he plowed upwards and his hands brought you downwards, kissing your prostate in a harsh and quick manner, like he wanted you to orgasm quickly. "gh!- gonna... gonna cum!"
eyes squeezed shut and toes curled, cum spurted out and landed on your face. but morax didn't stop. not until he fucked you full.
"you're gonna be a pretty kitty knocked up," he said, taking an arm beneath your knees and forcing them to your ears. "pregnant with my eggs."
"i'll breed you again and again," morax grunted, in a final thrust his cum quickly flooded your insides. "until you learn not to steal."
it's a shame you can't get pregnant. but no worries, morax will make you feel like you could!
                 ㅤ ⏝꒷۰꒷⏝꒷۰꒷⏝꒷۰꒷⏝
A DETECTIVE'S LUCKY LEAD...
featuring orgasm denial/ruined orgasm, dry humping, face fucking, and heizou.
you were a bit too confident in your abilities. it's not your fault! all of your previous heists were succesful, but it did make you believe you were untouchable.
so you didn't think twice sending a hint of your location to inazumas detective. not like he was gonna find you anyway.
that's what you believed.
and how wrong you were.
"what? didn't think i'd believe your little trick? with a slimy cat like you as my target, i have to take every given opportunity." heizou sighed, as if he was disappointed in you.
currently, he had you pinned with your back to the wall of some random abandoned building.
"you really had me stressed, you know? what do you have to say for yourself, kitty?" he looked into your eyes, smirking when you couldn't answer.
you were ashamed. even more so when shikanonin had begun to grind against you, your clothed cocks twitching with pleasure from the friction. "mmngh..." your eyes averted to the ground.
heizou grabbed you by the thighs, bringing you up. in a quick reaction, you quickly wrapped your legs around his waist. this allowed him to grind i to you harsher, hips moving in a tandem. "i can feel a wet patch down there, what a slut you are. i bet you dreamed of getting caught!"
"no! i-i didn't!" you shook your head violently, tearing up from both his mean words and thrusting. to prevent any moans to leak out—you bit your lip.
with every second that passed by, your erection quickly fought against the tightness of your pants. "aww, you're hard?" heizou cooed, flicking the tip of your cock.
"ahn!~" you flinched when he continued his assault on your dick, non-stop flicking and slapping, causing your back to arch from the wall. "he-heizoou! nooo!" mindless babbles with tears in your eyes from the painful pleasure, a shiver of pleasure ran down your spine.
but as quick as that feeling came, it quickly went as well. you were left heaving from the ruined orgasm, tail curling around heizou's arm.
"stop whining, naughty cat burglars like you don't deserve to cum." you heard the sound of a zipper being undone, as well as fabric falling to the floor. "but if you're really thaaat desperate,"
he paused.
the detective grabbed the top of your head, and forced your face against his bulge. "then suck, like a good kitty."
with a determined fevor— you suckled on the delicious bulge through his boxers. soon taking his hung cock out, and wasting no time taking it into your mouth.
you slurped, and hollowed out your cheeks, using your tongue to trace every vein down heizou's impressive shaft. but he was too big. you had barely taken in half of it! and that wouldn't do.
"you really are useless, aren't you?" heizou sighed and took matters into his own hands (literally.) he grabbed the back of your head, and pushed his hips forward. making you swallow the whole thing.
"mngh!" the both of you grunted, heizou sighed out in pleasure, feeling his cock head reach the back of your throat.
the waterworks flooded when he began to thrust in and out. you felt the heaviness of his dick on your tongue everytime he moved, and archons was it amazing. hearing heizou moan and even whimper because of your mouth sent butterflies to your stomach, and you wanted more.
so despite the trouble you had breathing, you pushed on to bring the detective to his orgasm.
work hard to get the delicious, savory, creamy, and rich milk from heizou! it'll cure your sore throat right away.
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vanillaclaws 2024.ㅤdo not repost.
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placeinthemiddleofnowhere · 3 months ago
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Reign Down on Me - Part 10
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Pairing: Ghost x Hybrid!reader (eventual poly!141)
No use of y/n or mention of gender/race
Summary: Reader is a wolf hybrid in a world that treats them like second class citizens, given a horrible start in life after being thrown into the military with no preparation. After years of struggle, they're finally taken away from their base by Ghost, now a permanent member of taskforce 141 reader struggles to come to terms with the fact that perhaps there's a life there for them - if only they reach out and accept it.
Warnings: hurt/comfort, Angst, abuse mentions, self doubt, violent scenes
A/N: sorry this took so long, but i hope y'all enjoy! Can't wait to hear what you think of it 💕
-🐺-
“Gaz.”
You pretended to still be watching the TV while you called on the sergeant. Up till that point he’d been scrolling mindlessly on his phone, but out of the corner of your eyes you could see him look up. Meanwhile the couple that had been on the screen were still locked in a passionate embrace - giving you a perfect excuse for your question. 
“You’ve had like…girlfriends or boyfriends or whatever while you’ve been serving, right?”
At first he snorted. 
Finally you turned around and met his gaze properly, steeling yourself against the grin that was threatening to break out on his face. He quirked his lips for a moment while his eyes remained fixed on you, alight and shining at the idea of you wanting to talk about relationships. It froze you in place for a moment, tense at the idea he’d see right through your reason for asking or had overheard you and Rudy talking throughout the week. 
“I have. Why you askin’?” He finally said, actually turning his body fully into the conversation. 
“I just wondered if it was difficult. You know - to maintain a relationship.” 
“It’s not easy. Our jobs make us unreliable, not present - even if we’re in the same place sometimes, tired, grumpy. I reckon my exes could write a book with things to moan about,” he laughed. “To be fair though I could’ve tried harder with em. I think I’m just a bit too deep in the job right now to make something properly work outside of all this, you know?”
“So none of them were other soldiers then?” You asked, tilting your head. 
“Nah. That’d be a fuckin nightmare! Imagine trying to find time for each other while you’ve got two different fucked schedules, then there’s having to make sure you’re not in the same units so you don’t get hit with punishments for fraternisation and all that shit.”
You instantly turned away and nodded, zoning back in on the TV again. The couple were trading sly smiles while they passed by each other at work, the fuzzy music played softly and sent your ears flicking at the sound. It was your hope that the subject would be dropped then, but even you weren’t stupid enough to think that would be that. 
“Why the sudden interest in relationships then?” Gaz asked, leaning his arm against the couch and propping his head on his hand. 
It didn’t matter how much you pretended to love whatever the show was, or how far forward you sat, you couldn’t evade Gaz’s sites. He was there in the corner of your eyes, filling the space like a prowling jungle cat. The only way you were getting out was through the conversation. 
“Well…I’ve never really been in a relationship or had the chance to be in one. None of us hybrids really got on that well at Branhaven and I sure as shit wasn’t gonna shack up with any of the handlers. Now that I live with you guys though, I thought maybe I’d have a shot at having…something someday,” you said quietly, giving him a brief glance back.
“And I’ve just shat all over your parade,” Gaz said, raising his eyebrows. 
“Pretty much,” you answered with a faux huff. “Dick.”
Gaz’s breathy laugh brushed past your ears. It forced you to turn back to him fully, so that you could properly behold the soft brown hues of his creasing eyes. Even in the dingy space that made up the los vaqueros rec room, his eyes were so warm. 
“Have you really never been with anyone?” He asked, letting a hint of a frown settle on his face. 
“Nope,” you shrugged. 
“Ever kissed anyone?”
“Hm…does kissing someone on the cheek in nursery count?”
“Hell no,” Gaz laughed. “Who were you kissing in nursery anyway you little Casanova?”
“His name was Shawn. His family was moving away and he was the only other hybrid in my class, so he was the only one I really played with. We both gave each other a kiss on the cheek goodbye. I was far from a ‘Casanova’,” you said indignantly, already crossing your arms in protest. 
“I’m sure it was very sweet, but that’s definitely not a real kiss,” he shrugged.
“Didn’t realise you were the arbiter of kisses.”
“I don’t need to be the arbiter to say you gotta do it like them,” he said, signalling at the lovers on the TV, “to have it really count.”
“Well shit, I’ve never had that happen at my job.”
The couple were now fucking quite ferociously in the supply cupboard at their work. Paper and trays were flying and shelves were being rocked, but nevertheless they faced no interruption despite the storm they were creating. Even just breathing as heavily as they were would’ve had them kicked out in real life, you thought. 
“So you’ve never fucked anyone either then? You’re like a full proper virgin, apart from your Shawn love affair of course.”
You rolled your eyes at him. 
“Didn’t say that,” you shrugged.
“What?”
“What do you mean ‘what’?”
“You shagged someone, but you never kissed?”
“It wasn’t like we were doing it because we really liked each other,” you supplied. “We both just agreed we’d scratch a mutual itch and go our separate ways after.”
It went almost exactly as clinically as how it sounded too. Even thinking back to that night where you’d both snuck off to the bathroom together, you could only remember the giddy joy you felt at actually getting off with someone else instead of feeling anything for the other hybrid. Which was a good thing too because it wasn’t like you’d ever seen him afterward. You’d never been sent back to Norway again. 
He’d shucked off his clothes and told you to do the same, confirming you still wanted to do it. He’d so nicely asked “you still want to fuck, yes?” And barely said a word more, only a few “harder”s or “no, like this”. You’d both been pressed up against that cold concrete corner, hands grasping through the dark, and trembling bodies quietly drinking in each others attentions while making sure to stay as quiet as possible in fear of waking up your superiors. He’d been more experienced, so he’d gotten you off first and then he finished, only taking a moment's breath before wiping himself off and putting his clothes back on. He’d left you alone to collect yourself soon after. 
“Well that shouldn’t count either,” Gaz said, after you’d given him an overview of your experience. 
“What? But we actually did it! We both came and everything.”
“Came and then went! Sounds shite,” Gaz groaned. “Shaggin’s meant to be fun. Not just ticking each others boxes and then walking off.” 
“Damn, you’re really not letting me have anything here,” you smirked, refolding your arms again. 
“Because you’re supposed to really want it off the person you’re with, like be able to kiss them and talk and laugh and stuff. If I’d had someone bark instructions at me and then leave me straight after I’d feel like it was part of our job or something.”
“Almost my whole life’s been this job, it’s not like I ever thought I’d get anything like you’ve probably had. When I finally got old enough to even have sex I’d already been working for years. Sex like that is the only way I get to get off with someone,” you explained, trailing off a little at the end when you thought back to Rudy revealing more about he and Alejandro. 
So what you were saying wasn’t strictly true. However it wasn’t like you were going to reveal to Gaz that you’d been picturing you and various match ups in the 141 to a degree where you were struggling to concentrate at least daily now. Every interaction with Price and Gaz had felt charged with a thousand volts of electricity where it hadn’t necessarily been before. 
Price could be shifting you out the way while he walked by you, putting his hand against your back and you’d practically melt into it. Gaz had ruffled your hair condescendingly after you’d gotten the all clear for your hip from the doctor and your scalp had tingled for the rest of the day after. Then there was the phone call you’d had with Ghost…hearing his voice rumbling down the line made your stomach do weird little flips and had your tail wagging the whole time even while he was chastising you for losing control. 
You blamed it all squarely on big stupid Rudy. Rudy who had been training with you on the matts the day before, targeting your sore hip the whole time while divulging little details of he and Alejandro’s relationship.
He’d told you about how they grew up together on the same street. Trained together. Fought together. One day Rudy had almost been killed, trying to protect Alejandro so fiercely he’d jumped in front of a bullet for him. Then after he’d had his shoulder patched up, he’d apparently gotten tired of Alejandro’s lecturing and found a creative way to shut him up. 
When Rudy had suggested you try something similar with your team, now that you were constantly getting heat for your injury, you’d gotten as hot as a lava rock before tumbling off the edge of the matt. Your distraction had been fully taken advantage of by your smarmy wise-ass opponent who’d decided to throw you from the fight. 
“So now that you’re with us, you think you’ll be able to find someone to fuck you properly then?” Gaz asked, pulling you back into the room so hard you were left blinking back at him without response. 
You tried to respond to that with anything other than a high pitched whine. Though you decided to stay silent when you realised that was impossible. 
“Jesus, your face. You’re getting all embarrassed just at the thought. You’re such a virgin.”
“I am not embarrassed! And I’m not a virgin!”
“Yeah you are, you’re doing that thing with your ears!” Gaz grinned. 
“What thing with my ears?” You whined.
“They always go lopsided when you’re embarrassed, one always points up and the other one folds back all awkwardly. Juuust like that,” Gaz said, quickly snapping a picture with his phone. 
“Hey!”
Gaz turned the phone so that you could see. The ear situation was exactly as he described, while your mouth slanted into a displeasured frown and your eyes were set hard into the screen. 
You smacked his phone from his hand so that it landed on the couch. From there you used the opportunity to snatch it up, quickly scrabbling against the old material to prize it up. Just before you could delete it however Gaz dove on top of you, easily overpowering you and prying the phone from your clawing hands. Your back was pressed flat onto the couch cushions, your body straining as his full weight sat on top of you, angled so that he could fend of your legs with his body, hold back your hands with one arm and use his one free hand to secure his phone. 
“Gaz, get off! I’ll bite you!” You protested, voice going squeaky as he kept you pinned underneath him. 
“You wouldn’t dare,” he laughed, holding his phone high above your head. “Price would go mental at you.”
“What are you doing?” You huffed, almost getting a bit of leverage over his forearm until he shunted it back fully into place and squashed your arms in the process.
“Taking some lovely pictures for Ghost. The man’s been desperate for  updates while we’ve been away, you know,” Gaz said, clearly typing something while he still fended you off. 
“Don’t send him pictures! Ah, Gaz! That’s it, I’m going nuclear.” 
You flung your head up and licked all down the length of his arm, slobbering down the full bulk of it and sending him recoiling. A satisfied grin lit your face when his phone fell down the back of the cushions. You then twisted your body, managing to use the nasty surprise and the momentum so that you could reverse the position, landing on top of him while he was squashed to the couch. Though you almost faltered when you saw him below you, you still kept a good drip. You managed to hold him there a moment, looking down at him with all your mixed feelings twisting their way through your gut. 
“That’s fighting dirty, Pup,” Gaz huffed, not bothering to struggle now that you were on top.
Both of you breathed heavily, you could feel Gaz’s heartbeat rattling quickly below you. It was pounding heavily against your legs from where you sat above him. Your own heartbeat hammered erratically, growing more wild at the compromised position. 
“I’m a hybrid! I need the element of surprise to have the upper hand,” you said, trying desperately to keep to the topic at hand. 
“Colour me surprised then.”
“And me. What the fuck are you two playing at then, eh?”
Both you and Gaz whipped your heads round at the same time, meeting the irate eyes of Price. You felt your ears lower immediately and clambered off of Gaz, awkwardly looking away while you fixed yourself. Gaz’s smile had dropped, but he didn’t worry about looking sorry. He flipped himself up and tilted his head. 
“Nothin’, just messing around. What’s up, Cap?” 
“I’ll thank you both to not get yourselves injured doing anything stupid, please,” he said sternly.
“Sorry, Sir,” you mumbled, ears still laying flat against your head. 
“None of that,” Price grunted. “I need to send you both off today. I’ve got some contacts I’m going to get in touch with, but I trust that you two can manage some reconnaissance without me. That alright?”
“Course, Sir,” Gaz answered.
You nodded along with him. 
“Good. Go get something to eat and get ready to head out.”
“Is it just the two of us going?” Gaz asked. 
“No. Your company is waiting in the canteen for you,” he said, a sly smile beginning to form across his lips. 
Immediately you got a sense that you were going to like the group you were going out with. Your tail twitched and your ears perked up, Gaz and Price couldn’t help but laugh at your reaction. Though when you shot Price a look to confirm your suspicions he leaned back and sobered, nodding his head at you as if to answer your question. 
It’s him. You thought. 
You raced up from the couch and away from the booming laughter, who’s echoes followed you down the hallway. After bolting like a wild stallion and flying past multiple shocked people you burst into the little canteen and looked around slowly until your eyes zeroed in on your target. 
It didn’t take long for you to find the black balaclava, the familiar scarred mouth below revealed so that he could eat the steaming rice and vegetables on his plate. His big body was angled away from you, talking to his mohawked companion and blissfully unaware of the presence about to attack him. 
“Ghost,” You whispered to yourself. 
You couldn’t hold yourself back. As conscious as you felt of all the other people spread throughout the room, you weren’t able to let them stop you from running up to Ghost and wrapping your arms around him and whining.  
“I’m gonna assume that’s you, Pup. Otherwise Rudy’s gotten awfully sweet on me.”
Hearing the low timbre of his voice was enough to get your tail into a frenzy. He was really there and you were getting to hug him. Even better - he soon stood up and brought you round to his front so that you could snuggle up under his chin. His scent filled your whole body, your lungs burned with him. 
“You’re here,” you sighed, adjusting into the bulk of him. 
“Jeez, I’m feelin a bit left out, Pup. I’m here too,” Soap said from behind you. 
“You don't appreciate my hugs, MacTavish.”
“Says who?” Soap said, a smile evident in his voice. “Get over here, you wee shite.”
He grabbed you then, forcing you from Ghost and wrapping his big stupid barrel arms around your body. Even while being crushed you had to admit that you loved the attention. It also meant you got to face Ghost, even if you had a silly grin plastered all over your face and a wag in your tail that wouldn’t leave. Nothing got you more excited than seeing the coy smile he wore just for you. 
“Missed you too, Pup,” Ghost said, angling his head toward your tail. 
“Really?”
“Mhmm,” he murmured, his voice silky smooth in your ears. “Been lonely walking around without my little shadow.”
“Then you should’ve come sooner,” you huffed, finally breaking free of Soap’s arms. 
Soap flashed you a cheeky smile, his eyes glimmering brightly at you as if all his past fears had been allayed. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder, huh. Though you didn’t get to dwell on that for long.
Soon enough you were yanked back onto Ghost by the collar, forced to sit astride his massive lap and face him directly in the eyes. The fact the top half of his balaclava was still secured only made his stare more intense, the bright pools of his eyes practically spitting off heat they focused so hard. No matter how hard you scrabbled against him, he kept you like that, pinned onto him with no other choice but to face him down. 
“You shouldn’t have taken yourself off to the kennels, naughty Pup,” Ghost said lowly, breath hot on your cheek. “The reason I wasn’t here sooner was because I was busy undoing Price’s mess these past few days. You don’t ever make decisions like that without me there again. You’re my responsibility, mine to look after - not Price’s, not Gaz’s, not anyone else's. Do you understand?”
Your mouth went dry, you were still actively squirming in place. You didn’t understand the sudden shift in his demeanour. He’d never treated you like that before. He’d never grabbed you or spoken to you with such a menacing tone. Nevertheless it felt like he was holding your collar like he was about to stick a gun to your head.
Your ears had flattened and your tail had calmed, nervously twitching as it dangled to the ground. After taking a nervous gulp, you nodded. Mood thoroughly soured.
“I just thought it’d be better if I got it over with… Price tried so many ways to get me out, I thought they’d make it worse if I fought it.”
“Yeah? Well I've Sorted it now, I was never gonna leave you in that little prick’s care so that he could hurt you and do whatever he wanted just to prove a point. This,” he said, jingling your handler tag, “means that I have a duty to you, and you have a duty to me. We look out for each other - we’re legally bound together for as long as we live. Part of that means that you don’t go off taking orders from whoever slings their rank around. Okay? Don’t put yourself in a position to get hurt just because you’re used to assuming that’s the right thing to do.”
“Ok,” you said meekly, nodding hard despite the grip Ghost still had on your tag. 
He huffed out a breath, finally exhaling after his tirade and releasing you. All the heat in his eyes died and suddenly they were back to crinkling jewels. You had to blink back at them just to know that you weren’t seeing things. He’d looked so angry…no,that wasn’t really it, was it? He was hurt, annoyed maybe. The way he’d been speaking was desperate, in only the way Ghost could sound desperate. Making sure that his point hammered home. 
Your shoulders sagged and you let your ears cautiously spring to a neutral position, finally summoning the courage to look away from him. The noise of all the other diners floated back to you, forcing you to look around to see if anyone had paid much attention to your scolding. Apparently not, Ghost had been quiet enough so as not to attract much attention beyond a few stray stares. 
“Hey,” Soap said, reminding you that he was still sitting across from you. “You know he’s only getting on at you because he was running around like a mother goose tryna keep you from those wankers in 104.”
You turned to him, grateful for an excuse for someone else to look at. Even while remaining heavy hearted at upsetting, his words had perked you up a little. You could feel your ears raise a little more above your head. 
“Mother goose?” you repeated back, a smile rising on your lips.
“Oh yeah, he was flapping around like crazy. Giving it ‘If anything happens to Pup, I’ll shoot the fucker responsible. I don’t care if its just a hair out of place, mark my words, Johnny. They’ll be bloody unidentifiable!’,” Soap said, doing one of his dreadful Ghost impressions. 
It made you laugh if nothing else. Ghost groaned from behind you, but pulled you further into him, and further into his scent. You breathed him in and sighed, nuzzling underneath his chin and into your favourite spot. Even if he had just told you off like a bad dog, you couldn’t hold it against him. All that mattered was that you were back together again and he had somehow managed to solve your little situation. 
Which did make you wonder…how the hell did he manage to pull that off? And how lastingly mad was Ghost going to be. 
“Ghost?” you mumbled into his collarbone.
“Mm?”
“How long are you going to be angry with me?”
Most important question comes first naturally. 
“I’m not angry with you. I just needed to get my point across. Somehow I’ve got to look after you, but you make it really bloody difficult when you’re always off flying into trouble,” he grunted. “First I’ve got to deal with the kennel debacle and then I’m getting a call from Price telling me you got yourself shot. Feel like I’ve hardly had a minute to breathe with everything going on.”
“Not to mention you’ve got that fuckin’ parade thing to look forward to now,” Soap snorted, pointing his fork in Ghost’s direction.
“Parade thing? What?” 
Ghost was about to explain, but Gaz and Price turned up before he could open his mouth. Gaz took his place next to Soap, setting his tray down on the table before bumping his shoulder. Price sat between you all and smiled to himself when he saw you curled into your handler. He handed you a tray of steaming hot chicken and rice after he’d set his own in front of him. 
“Happy now?” Price asked. 
“Mm, almost,” you dead panned. “Apparently Ghost has to go marching off to some parade though.”
“That’s a negative. We have to go marching off to the parade and demonstration day, Pup. Both of us.”
Your ears dropped back again and you drew back from Ghost’s side just so that you could eye him directly. What did he just say? You couldn’t work out why on earth anyone would want you in a military parade. Your tail was broken. You were awful at drilling. How on earth was this going to work? 
“Uh…say what now?”
“Time to polish up your dancin’ shoes, sparky,” Soap grinned. “Face left! Forward! Stop! Find your center!” 
Soap’s drill sergeant impression, complete with leg movements, landed like a lead balloon. Gaz elbowing him did very little to relieve its weight. You breathed out a bone weary sigh and collapsed against Ghost. 
“Just leave me in the kennels to rot.”
“Now, now, Pup. That’s not the attitude,” Ghost chuckled. “Where’s my - ‘oh thank you Ghost, you’re my hero’ speech?”
“I musta left it behind in my non-parade trousers,” you glowered. 
Price laughed a rich laugh, luckily just in-between eating. The others all sported smiles that did nothing to make up for the annoyance that was plastered all over your face. 
“What’s the big deal? All you gotta do is a little frog marching and a bit of demo on how you work?” Gaz said, trying to reassure you. 
“The ‘big deal’ is that I don’t wanna be a spectacle for the general public to gawk at,” you said sourly. “Ive seen parades, because I’m usually too beat up to be called into them mind you, and they suck for hybrids! We have to dress up all fancy in those silly little harnesses and dumb berets and then we get dragged around like animals on stupid gold rope leashes. Then as if that’s not embarrassing enough they’re gonna make me growl and bark in front of everyone to show off the ‘fearlessness of our fair British troupe in the face of agression’ - no thanks.”
“I hate the growlin’ thing,” Soap muttered, sticking a forkful of chicken in his mouth.
“Well it’s still better than getting beat up by the 104 for a week, Pup,” Price said, directing his fork toward you. 
“You say that, but i bet if you were in my shoes and after doing all that drilling had a bunch of stinking civvy kids tryna touch your tail and their dumb parents tryna ruffle your ears - you’d say something different.”
“I won’t let anyone touch you, Pup. I promise,” Ghost soothed. “We just need to get through the day and then I’ll get us out of there.” 
“And how are you even gonna be in the parade when you can’t show your face?” You asked, throwing up your hands at his balaclava. 
“They’re permitting me a neck gaiter.”
“You allowed to wear a skull one?” Soap asked, his lips curling into a bemused smile
“Unfortunately not, I was told it had to be plain,” Ghost shrugged. 
“Of course you asked,” you said, rollling your eyes but smiling despite everything. 
“Well it’s only down to me asking that got you this replacement gig in the first place,” Ghost reminded you before shunting you onto a spare seat. “Now eat your lunch and stop your whining. If I have to hear anymore complaints I’ll make you wear a muzzle. I’ll find a pink sparkly one with charms on it and all.” 
You folded your ears back at that, mouth gaping at the threat. He wouldn’t dare! Or would he? You looked between him and Price and huffed when they gave nothing away behind their serious expressions. 
Only when you started shovelling food in your mouth did they both start laughing and shaking their heads between each other. It made your cheeks burn, but you kept quiet and busied yourself with the delicious canteen food that you were sure to miss on your return home. It was better to focus on that than earning yourself a telling off for glaring at your superiors over your plate. 
“I’m surprised they let you off with a little parade instead of sacrificing Pup for the week,” Gaz said thoughtfully. “Who’d you have to go asking to get that kind of trade off, LT?”
“Well it wasn’t just the parade, I was supposed to go apologise to the father and do a little grovelling too.” 
“And how’d you worm your way out of that one, ay?” Price asked, already groaning before hearing the answer. 
“Who said I wormed out?”
“You said ‘supposed to’ Ghost.”
“Well you see, Captain - the benefit of never showing my face is that no one really has any way of telling that it’s really me when I ‘reveal’ myself,” Ghost said smoothly, a smile apparent in his voice alone. “Ergo, doesn’t necessarily need to be me that turns up to apologise.”
“Oh, you bastard,” Price chuckled. “I’m not covering for you if they work out what you did.”
“No need, I got a message to say it’s all handled.”
-🐺-
The light was just starting to drain from the land, the orange glow of the sun smattered the ground with withdrawing tendrils of light. They washed across the pale dirt, stroking it with their warmth before retreating somewhere behind the darkness. Slowly and then all at once the sky went from orange to black. 
“I assume you’re excited to go home now that you’re not going back to the kennels,” Rudy said, breaking the easy silence that had fallen between you. 
You nodded an answer, but didn’t say anything back. 
The other hybrid had been relatively quiet since you’d arrived, apart from asking what the news was from Soap and Ghost, he hadn’t said much else. He’d instead made a point of exaggerating just how tired he’d been from the night before, only showing you the hickey that flamed up around his collar bone as he yawned and stretched. 
He’d been sleeping for most of the rest of the journey to the watch point. After being out and actively looking for the target for a few hours however, the two of you had gotten more restless, fidgeting and shifting how you sat every few minutes. 
Still, you kept your eyes across the horizon and your ears pinned forward. You didn’t want to mess up anything else after everything you’d been called out for so much already. You were especially aware of the fact that Ghost and Soap were only a few meters from you both as well. This was the last situation you wanted Rudy baiting you in. 
“You ever been in a parade before?”
“No,” you answered, shifting the leg you were sitting on and flicking your eyes out over the ground. 
“They’re not too bad. The ones here anyway, you do a little showing off and then you get some free food..” 
“Do they make you guys walk on a harness and bark at the men too?” You asked dryly. 
Rudy threw his head back and laughed. The sound caused a small smile to break out on your face and you shook your head at him for the disturbance. Nevertheless the smile stayed on your face while you continued to keep watch. 
“You British hybrids have to put up with a lot, hm?”
“You don’t know the half of it,” you said sourly. 
“I know enough…” Rudy replied, seemingly trailing off as he spoke. 
You looked away from the spot you’d been boring a hole into with your eyes only to glance at Rudy’s face. It took on that serious hard look again, his lips stony and his eyes cast far away. 
“You’ve worked with a lot of us then?”
“A decent amount.”
“Take it you’ve not met anyone half as charming as me, yknow - since you were all grumpy about working with me the first time.” 
He snorted at that.
“None of them have been anything like you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You have some life about you, it’s a good thing,” you saw him shrugging in your peripherals. “Most of them are quiet, angsty. Half of them look like they’re glad to die when their superiors send them off just to protect themselves. The other half just seem dead already.”
His words stole anymore words from coming to your lips. You knew exactly what he meant - that used to be you after all. The old you would never have done anything like you’d done on your last mission for any of your previous superiors, would never have let the beast inside you rage. You had to be clear enough to protect yourself. You spited them too much to be willfully suicidal, you’d rather see them die instead of you. 
Now that had all changed. Ghost had only just reprimanded you because you put yourself in harms way, but even still you knew you’d rather die for any of your team than have them go instead. With that thought in mind, your back prickled with a chill that shivered through your whole nervous system. 
“You don’t have to tear yourself apart just to be a good soldier, Pup. I hope being with the 141 for any amount of time has taught you that all that doesn’t even matter. We get to have lives too, you know? Get your job done and keep yourself and your boys alive, fight so that you get to come home and actually live. Find out what makes you happy and do things that you like because there’s so many of us hybrids that are used like bullets and so many humans that are so happy to discard us once we’ve hit our targets. Fuck anyone that tells you you’re disposable. We have just as much right to be here as anyone - remember that.” 
You blinked back at him. A faint buzzing rang through your ears, a shrill little hum that tried to force tears from your eyes while it snatched at your heart. A low growl threatened to loose from your throat, bark at the enemy, fend off those pesky emotions. 
No, he wasn’t attacking you. He was just speaking the truth. 
“Do you wanna take over as my therapist?” You muttered, having to clear the lump from your throat before you could spit even a word out. 
He laughed wryly at that and muttered something under his breath.  “I’m just saying… you could’ve ended up like anyone else you got trained up with, but you didn’t. Don’t waste your new life stuck on what things were like. Make something good out of it.”
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brbsoulnomming · 26 days ago
Text
Heart On Your Sleeve Part 2
Part 1
written for steddiebigbang2024 and belatedly posting here!
---
"Hey, look, if this is some kind of Halloween prank-"
"It's not a prank!" Dustin insists. "Look-"
He fumbles at his chest, and Steve realizes what he's doing just before he pulls his heart out.
"Woah, hey, hey, don't go bringing that out with cat eating lizards around!" Steve tells him.
"It's not a lizard!" Dustin says.
It's dark, and Steve can't see the details of his heart all that well, but he can see the way it beats - racing a little, from the danger, but still steady. No hint of deception.
"See? Not a lizard, not a prank. It's one of those things again, Steve, only a baby one. A demodog."
Great.
"All right, I believe you, now just - put that away before it gets eaten."
Somewhat to Steve's surprise, Dustin obeys, tucking his heart back inside his chest.
"Now you," Dustin says.
"What? No way."
"Come on!" Dustin whines. "I showed you mine."
"Yeah, cause you're the one with something to prove," Steve reminds him. "I'm the one you suckered into this, and there's no way I'm taking my heart out with a demodog lurking around. Just stay up here, okay? I'll go take care of this."
Max Mayfield has her heart securely inside her chest even before she believes any of them about the Upside Down.
There's not that many reasons kids that young wouldn't wear their hearts pinned to their shirts, or poking out of one pocket or another, but Steve can think of a few.
He hadn't expected to get saddled with another kid when he let Dustin into his car, but she slides right in like she was one of them the whole time.
And if he makes sure he doesn't ask what she's doing here, if he just starts working on shoring up the bus and treats her like she belongs there right from the start, that's between him and her.
When she asks him if he's really fought one of these things before, for a moment he thinks about pulling his own heart out so she can see for herself.
But there's a monster prowling around outside, and getting caught with his heart out isn't going to help him protect these kids.
Besides, when he makes sure the demodogs target him, when he throws himself in front of the kids - he hopes that's more of an indication of who he is, who he wants to be, than his slightly battered heart could ever show.
If Steve's honest, he's not entirely sure how they get back to the Byers’ from the tunnels. He knows he drives, knows Max complains in his ear the whole time about how he drives like a grandma, knows every time he glances over at her there's a sullen, almost fearful expression on her face, like she's afraid he's going to yell at her or keel over and pass out in the middle of the road.
He's not ruling out the second one.
But they make it, and they beat everyone else back. Billy's still unconscious in the living room, and the house is eerily silent for about a minute before Steve catches himself.
“Hands washed, everyone,” he calls out. “Hands and arms and any exposed skin. And make sure you gargle with mouthwash.”
Mike rolls his eyes. “Mouthwash?”
Steve points at him. “Mouthwash has alcohol in it, you little shit, it might kill any gross Upside Down bacteria you breathed in. But hey, you want to be tasting that place for a week, be my guest.”
There's a moment of silence, then everyone scurries to fight over one of the sinks.
Steve waits until they're all done before following his own advice, then finally sinks down onto the couch with a groan.
Dustin hands him a bag of mostly still frozen vegetables, probably picked up from the kitchen where they'd dumped everything to put the demodog in the freezer. Steve grimaces at the thought of Mrs. Byers coming home to that, but slaps the bag on his head anyway.
It helps, a little.
There's an argument about what to do with Billy that Steve only half listens to. Max apparently threatened him with Steve's bat after she snuck up and stabbed him with the syringe, which - shit, good for her. Steve's guessing that'll make Billy think twice before he messes with her.
He stays out of the argument, though. He already knows the only answer is going to be let Hopper deal with it.
Admittedly, when Hopper and everyone else does come back, Steve's a little out of it. He's on his feet at the sound of cars approaching, baseball bat in his hand and urgently gesturing for the gremlins to stay the fuck behind him.
If his reflexes were any less dulled by the aching pain at the back of his head, he might have taken a swing when the door opened before he realized who it was.
But fortunately, he just sags with relief, and returns to his spot on the couch with the bat resting against his knee.
It's only when he hears the kids all trying to talk over each other that he realizes someone must have asked them what happened.
Steve pries his eyes open - unsure when he even closed them, shit - to find Mrs. Byers staring at him, clearly concerned. He jolts with the surprise of seeing her so close, and doesn't quite manage to hide his wince of pain, judging by her expression.
“Steve, honey?” she asks.
It sounds like a prompt to answer the question he didn't hear, and he grimaces.
“I'm the babysitter,” is what manages to make its way out of his mouth. “Nothing is getting at those little gremlins without going through me.”
Mrs. Byers looks at him in a way he doesn't really recognize, something between soft and sad and - proud, maybe? Like maybe he did something right, even though it makes her sad.
She holds out her hands, and helps pull him to his feet when he takes them.
“Let's get you patched up,” she says, leading him back to the master bedroom.
He sits on the bed while she gets a first aid kit from the bathroom, watching her through a faint, blurry haze as she takes a closer look at him.
“I didn't win,” he says, feeling a little bit ashamed.
Her eyes go a little bit wet, and she makes a soft tsk noise. “Oh, honey. Winning doesn't matter.”
That throws him so badly that he just stares up at her.
“It doesn't?” he asks, once he's accepted that he's probably not going to get his thoughts in any kind of order.
“That sounds like your father talking,” she says, but her voice is gentle as she starts cleaning up the blood on his face.
“You don't think he's right? That I should be more like him?” The question is out before Steve really realizes - out before he really thinks about it, out before he can admit that he doesn't want to know the answer.
Mrs. Byers pulls back a little, looking at him. “Can I see your heart?”
His hands are at his chest so quick that he fumbles with it, and by the time he pulls it out - it's the same dark red as always, despite the deep, jagged crack running through it, and it pulses unsteadily with his uncertainty.
“No one's asked to see it in a long time,” he says, awkwardly trying to explain away the wobbly beat of his heart in his hands.
She looks sad again, for a moment, then she pulls her own out. It's a slightly paler red, lined with thin silver scars, and it's beating a little fast - adrenaline, he thinks - but it's steady, and it's redder than any adult he's ever seen.
“What happened tonight, Steve?” she asks softly.
“They were in danger,” he replies, because it's the simplest, truest explanation.
“And you protected them.” It's half a statement, half a question, and he tears his gaze away from her heart to find her still looking at him, her eyes dark and warm.
“Yeah,” he says, his heart starting to pump a little more steady against his palms.
Like he said to Nancy - he might have been a shitty boyfriend, but he's a damn good babysitter. Those kids are his.
“Might not be much,” he admits, fully aware she's just coming back from fighting some being from an alternate dimension trying to get her son, and there's a whole girl with super powers out there getting dog piled by her friends. “But it's me between them and anything else, Upside Down or whatever. All of them.”
Just in case she wasn't sure if that included Will or not.
Her eyes drop down to his heart, beating steady and sure - and then she leans in, pressing their foreheads together for a moment before she pulls back.
“You're a good kid,” she says, and her heart beats strong, saying true, true, true. “You're as much like your father as Jonathan is like his, and that's a good thing.”
His heart spasms in his hands, and he curls his fingers in a little like he can hide it, though he doesn't even attempt to put it away.
“I was mean to him,” he admits in a rush. “Last year.”
Mrs. Byers snorts. “You were sixteen,” she informs him. She tucks her heart back into her chest, and gets back to work on patching him up. “He said you apologized, and he's forgiven you.”
Steve doesn't stop her, still doesn't try to put his heart back in his chest. “I didn't finish apologizing, though. It doesn't mean anything if you just say you're sorry, and you don't say what for.”
He knows, because before his dad stopped apologizing at all - he'd always say he was sorry, but he'd never say why. Like he knew his mom or Steve were upset at him, and he knew he had to apologize to get them to not be upset, but he didn't actually give enough of a shit to figure out the why.
Or to stop doing it, but at least Steve managed that one.
“I think your actions were a little more important to him than your words,” Mrs. Byers says, like she can read his mind.
Steve doesn't know what to say to that, so he just lets her finish patching him up.
“Kids say Billy Hargrove put his hands on Lucas first,” Hopper says.
Steve scoffs. “Yeah, that's one way of putting it.”
Hopper looks at him, long enough that Steve feels his stomach start to squirm a little. “What's your way of putting it, then?”
“Hargrove's a piece of shit,” Steve says bluntly, too tired and in pain to care. “Come on, Hopper, you know exactly why he targeted Lucas out of all of them.”
Hopper's jaw sets. “I do. And Lucas doesn't want to press charges. So. How do we convince Hargrove to stay the hell away?”
Steve opens his mouth, closes it again, and swallows roughly. ���You want me to help figure it out? Why?”
Hopper raises his eyebrows at him. “Seems like you've already been doing a pretty good job at it.”
It's a good thing he'd put his heart back in his chest, because Steve wouldn't want Hopper to see the way it beats a little quicker.
It's strange, having this much adult attention on him. Having people who ask to see his heart, who tell him that he did a good job, who give a shit, even if it's only because Steve's gotten himself involved in all of this mess.
He likes it, he thinks. He likes being seen as someone who can be counted on, someone who can help protect the kids, more than he'd ever liked being seen as popular.
“I could arrest him, easy,” Hopper says. “But something tells me he's used to getting in trouble with the police, and it'll just make him more pissed off.”
“We don't want to get him in trouble,” Steve says slowly, thinking it over. “We want to make sure he knows we're the only reason he's not in trouble.”
Hopper grunts, looking at him expectantly, and Steve realizes it's a silent encouragement to continue.
“If it seems like you're going to arrest both of us, he'll be more willing to work with me on something that'll keep us both out of trouble. He knows I won't want it to get back to my dad or to Coach, but he won't want it to get back to his dad even more. We just have to make sure he knows he has just a little bit more to lose than I do.”
Hopper's looking at him still, in a way that Steve can't figure out.
“It's high school,” he says, feeling the need to - to offer some kind of explanation, some kind of excuse for why he knows how to do this.
“It's politics,” Hopper says, a little wry, a little bitter.
“It's bullshit,” Steve spits out, the word tasting like a chewed up rubber band.
“Damn straight it is,” Hopper agrees. “But it's reality. Sometimes - sometimes you have to play by other people's rules, do things you know are bullshit, make some deals.”
His eyes flicker, back towards the living room, and Steve wonders what deals he's had to make to keep the government off their backs, to keep El hidden and safe.
“I hate it,” Steve says, soft and raw.
He's never admitted that to anyone else, and he has no idea why he says it now, but it makes Hopper's mouth twist a little, something like understanding in his eyes.
“Me too, kid. Me too.”
That's why it's him and Hopper out here, Steve thinks. Sometimes you have to do things you don't want to, sometimes you have to play their bullshit game to get what you want. Something slides a little bit into place - knowing that he isn't alone, that what he wants isn't any of the pointless things he used to do this for.
It's to protect this weird little group that, somehow, have become the most important people in his life.
“You're our babysitter now, right?” Hopper asks after a few minutes. “Make sure he knows that. Knows it's my kid that he's messing with if he comes after them or you again.”
“Yeah,” Steve says with a nod. “Yeah, that'll work.”
Billy wakes up next to him in the backseat of Hopper's car, hands cuffed behind him. It takes him a minute to clock onto where he is, and a minute longer to realize that Steve's next to him, also in cuffs.
“Who the fuck called the cops?” he hisses at Steve.
Steve shrugs. “How the hell should I know? Neither of us were exactly conscious at the time, thanks to you.”
Billy sneers at him. Steve can see him trying to collect himself through the haze of the sedative wearing off. “Here's how this is going to go. You want to keep it from happening again, you do exactly what I-”
Steve laughs at him. “Dude. They did a drug test already. Where did you even get the stuff you were on?”
Billy goes still. It sets Steve's teeth on edge - it's the same still he'd felt sitting in the junkyard, waiting for Dart. But he knows what he has to do now just as much as he did then, and he lets himself sulk as he leans back against the seat and watches Billy think.
If he says Max drugged him against his will - one, he's admitting to the fact that a thirteen year old girl got the best of him, and two, he has to be smart enough to know that Max would never admit to that, and the kids would all back her up. Billy was the one who showed up looking for a fight, Billy was the one who threw the first punch, Billy was the one who smashed a plate over Steve's head - no way in hell the cops believe him over the kids.
Billy scoffs. “Guess I better spread the word that the Freak is lacing his shit with who the fuck knows what.”
Shit, of course that's where Billy goes. Steve scrambles for a moment, then fixes him with an unimpressed look.
He can salvage this. Munson is pretty much the only supplier around, most of the guys aren't willing to mess with him too much - and if Billy does try to spread it around, it won't be too hard to add onto the rumor that it's just because Billy did something to piss Munson off.
“Maybe you should be nicer to him,” he says with a snort. “Munson always gives me the good stuff.”
Billy just snarls at him. It's clear he's got his story, and he's going to go with it.
Steve shrugs - or as best as he can, with his injuries and his hands cuffed behind his back. “Your funeral, man.”
“The fuck are you talking about,” Billy grumbles.
“You're going to tell the cops that you bought shitty drugs from the Freak, went on a bender, tried to attack some little kids, and beat the shit out of a teammate?” Steve asks.
“Shut your fucking mouth, Harrington, I'm going to-” he pauses, and Steve sees the moment that he clocks what Steve is saying.
It doesn't matter how Billy tries to phrase it to the cops to make himself look better - that isn't the story that's going to get around.
“You breathe one word of that around school, and you're dead,” Billy says.
Steve takes it back. This is nothing like that junkyard - Billy may actually try to kill him, but he has nothing on demogorgons and demodogs. Steve isn't scared of him.
“Yeah, because that won't prove any of it true.” Steve smirks, unconcerned that it makes his lip split open. “You put one hand on me and it just backs it all up.”
“Can't exactly gloat about that from a hospital bed. You'll be the one taking a beating that makes this seem like a walk in the park,” Billy replies, his tone low and menacing.
Steve thinks of the sound of the kids screaming on that bus, the sound of flesh splitting open when the demodog peeled its face apart, the endless fangs dripping saliva as it shrieked at him. He meets Billy's gaze and holds it. “I look like I give a shit, Hargrove?”
Billy looks at him - really looks, and Steve sees a flicker of something in his eyes. It isn't jealousy, it isn't recognition, it isn't fear, it isn't hate, it isn't want - Or maybe it is, maybe it's all of them. Maybe Steve is too tired and far too concussed for this.
Maybe his lack of ability to give a single fucking shit about Billy Hargrove and his threats is what gets him through this.
“So what's the play?” Billy asks, biting the words out as though it physically pains him to say them.
“We were blowing off steam, got a little too carried away. But it's all good now. You and me, we're square.”
Billy considers that, and he looks - comfortable. He looks like this is something he's done before, and briefly Steve wonders how many times Billy's gotten into fights, gone way too far, and had to hash out something like this to keep from getting busted.
“Yeah, all right,” Billy says. “Stay out of my way, I'll stay out of yours.”
“And stay the fuck away from the little shits I babysit,” Steve says. “I hear from any of them that you've been giving them trouble, and the deal's off.”
Billy sneers at him again. “No one told me King Steve spends his free time babysitting.”
Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, bet no one told you that one of them belongs to the chief of police, either.”
Billy's eyes narrow. “You're watching Hopper's kid?”
Steve shrugs, nonchalant in a way that he knows will work better than trying to lie.
“Fine,” Billy says, sounding pissed as hell about it. You've got a deal.”
Billy gets released and peels out in his Camaro, loud music already blaring from the window.
Steve, on the other hand, gets a ride home from Hopper himself.
He doesn't hate it.
“Second time in less than two years that I've seen you with a busted up lip.”
Steve's got a hell of a lot more than a busted up lip right now, but he's not gonna say that. “Yeah, well. I deserved the one last year.”
Hopper raises his eyebrows at him.
Steve resists the urge to slouch in his seat. “I was angry, and hurt, so I got mean. I wanted Jonathan to fight me.”
Hopper snorts something that sounds like teenagers.
It's quiet for a moment, then Steve says, “But I don't want to do that anymore. I don't want to be mean when I'm angry.”
Hopper's looking at him in a way Steve can't make out, not in just the muted light of the streetlamp. That seems to be a theme for the night - Steve'd thought he was a little off last year when Jonathan socked him in the face, but apparently that has nothing on a concussion like this.
“So… I'm trying,” Steve adds softly.
Hopper shakes his head. “If I'd have figured that out when I was your age, who knows where I'd be?”
He sounds - proud, or something like it. He sounds like Steve's favorite coach, when Steve'd done well.
“Maybe,” Steve says. “But I think we all like you right here.”
Hopper snorts. “Jesus, kid, get out of here. Go put something better on that head than a bag of half frozen peas.”
This is already written, and my plan is to post one part a day until it's all up here!
-----
Part 3
Taglist (always happy to add more to this if anyone wants): @fairytalesreality @lostonceandneverfound @wheneverfeasible @awkwardgravity1 @theintrovertedintrovert
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orionremastered · 8 months ago
Note
Are there another part for shapeshifter golden tiger reader :D i appreciate your writing so much! 💕
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I've gotten another ask regarding a shifter!reader, so Imma just pile em up into one big AU. Send more shifter requests to have them added to the list! Even outside of gotham with other dc heroes would be cool. Like they've all got connections with other shifters online or sumin
shifter gang
?
Masterlist
Part One
Golden Pt. 2
It's been a few days since you last saw the pair, and maybe you're okay with that. Nights have been quiet yet cold, and you're getting excited about the temperature change that comes with spring.
Night patrols have been close to uneventful; save a kid or two there, maul a criminal of two here- the usual, in other words.
You're expecting the usual again tonight, just quiet patrolling and nothing extreme-
Look, you haven't been here for long, okay? Optimism, got it?
You're on the prowl for a missing girl, one that the bats no doubt have on their radar too, but you never know- you might get to her first. You went to the apartment where she lives and are confident that you could pinpoint her on her scent alone.
It's been an hour or two since you started looking and finally, you catch a whiff of the little girl's scent. You draw closer to an abandoned building, sneaking through structures to hide from the unforgiving street lights that flicker, forgotten by the city.
You jump onto a dumpster and into a broken window above it, landing quietly on the dusty floorboards. You can hear crying and the little girl's scent gets stronger.
Someone snaps at her as you draw closer, creeping up the stairs to the second floor. Thankful that the floor doesn't creak, you continue through the corridor of apartments, the number of each room fading from their painted places upon doors.
The screaming gets louder until you stop at a door, slightly ajar. You nudge it open with your nose and- you've luck- it's silent too.
"Shut the fuck up, dammit, you'll-"
The man doesn't get much more out of his mouth before you pounce, toppling both of you to the floor. Your fangs lock around his wrist, making him cry out in pain as you reach for the gun in his hand and throw it to the farthest corner of the room.
"Get-"
You snarl, pushing a set of sharp claws into the top of his spine. He yells curses that one should not around a child.
The window shatters beside you and two figures gracefully land in the room, one larger and one smaller by the sound of the thuds. You turn your head to glare, teeth bared and gleaming before you realise it's Robin and Batman- the duo one only fears if they're a criminal in the light of justice.
The man continues screaming, but not after giving one threatening snarl, deeper than any other you ever have.
"Leave the rest of this to us," Robin says calmly, and you're certain you like him more than the brooding knight in the corner near the gun.
He's allergic to those things anyway, so it's not like you're worried.
You step off the man's back and slowly approach the girl. She scrambles back and you remember you have blood still on your fangs. Still, you lower your head and attempt to look as harmless as a big cat can.
You can't grin when she reaches out to pet your head in case she sees your bloodied teeth. Once she realises you won't do her any harm, she scratches your neck and ears. Purring, you nudge her gently and lower yourself to the floor.
She's small enough to climb onto your back without it being too much of a struggle to stand and walk- she must be only five. She giggles, eyes red with tears, but she finds comfort in the warmth of your fur.
"GCPD has been called," the Bat says, glaring down at the criminal. You and Robin do the same. "Would you like us to take the girl to a hospital?"
You raise your head to look at him and flash your fangs, a solid 'no'.
"Whatever you think is best," Robin says, the Bat looking at him with a stare only a father could give to his son. "But wait, before you go-"
Robin smooths the short furs of your head and scratches underneath your ear. It takes you by surprise at first, but you don't snarl or bare your fangs at him, so he continues until he feels as though his father's glare has gone on long enough. "I told my siblings I'd pat you first. It's a bet, the only one I have participated in so far-" Batman snorts- "And I have won. As expected, I have succeeded."
You make a sound of amusement.
"Perhaps we shall work together again," the older of the two says. You huff, knowing you did all of this yourself, but nod anyway.
Perhaps it's time to make some friends -ones that aren't drowning in coffee and assignments, anyway.
Taglist: @veunho, @chevysstuffs, @carewerff, @xxrougefangxx, @yorkeylover
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surielstea · 2 months ago
Text
Trick or Treat
Selected: Treat
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Pairings: Rhysand, Azriel, Cassian, Eris, and Lucien x Fem!Reader (Separately)
Summary: A series of SFW one shots all pertaining to a very cozy Halloween.
Warnings: None. All fluffy goodness!
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Rhysand
"Come on, all the candy is gonna be gone!" Nyx's voice rang through the house, his little legs bounding down the hallway as I tried my best to finish zipping up his costume. At four years old, my son was bursting with excitement to finally go trick-or-treating. The big event had been all he could talk about for weeks.
"Hold still, sweetheart," I said gently, trying not to laugh as Nyx wriggled, barely containing his energy. He was dressed as a tiny bat, his little wings on his back fluttering as he moved. His eyes, the same color as mine, shone with uncontrollable excitement.
"I am holding still." he declared, though he was clearly doing the exact opposite. "We have to go get candy, Momma!"
I smiled, managing to get the zipper up at last. "There we go, all done. Now go show your father how handsome you look."
With a squeal of excitement, Nyx darted out of the room, his wings flapping, propelling him slightly as he raced toward Rhysand, who was waiting at the front door.
I glanced at my reflection in the mirror for a final check of my own costume—a black cat, with fuzzy ears perched on top of my head and a matching tail pinned to the back of my fighting leathers. Rhys had been insistent that I dressed up, and this was the easiest thing I could come up with.
"Dad, look!" Nyx exclaimed, skidding to a halt in front of Rhys. "I'm a bat!"
Rhys knelt down to his level, his eyes gleaming with pride and affection. "A very scary bat," he said, playing along as he ruffled Nyx's dark hair. "You look perfect."
Nyx beamed, clutching his pumpkin-shaped candy bucket, but Rhys's eyes shifted toward me as I approached, taking in my costume with a smirk. "And you, you look perfect too," he teased, rising to his feet. "I don't know if I'll survive trick-or-treating with such a stunning feline on the prowl."
I rolled my eyes playfully, but my heart fluttered at the way Rhys was looking at me. "Don't forget the scary bat that's going to protect us," I said, nodding toward Nyx.
"I'm a very scary bat," Nyx chimed in, his wings flapping as if to prove his point.
"Yes, you are," Rhys agreed, scooping him up with ease and spinning him around, much to Nyx's delight. "The scariest."
Rhys set him back down, offering me his arm as we followed our son out into the crisp autumn evening. "Shall we, darling?"
I slid my arm through his, giving him a soft smile. "We shall."
Halloween was a prized holiday in the night court, aside from solstice, it was the only holiday that truly belonged to us. The streets were alive with children in costumes, laughter, and chatter filling the air as families moved from house to house. Nyx's wings flapped excitedly as he skipped ahead, his small hand occasionally reaching back for ours to guide him along.
"Look, Momma! Pumpkins!" Nyx pointed to a house decorated with glowing jack-o-lanterns, his eyes wide with wonder.
"They're spooky, aren't they?" I asked, squeezing his hand as we made our way up the path to the front door.
Nyx nodded eagerly, still staring at them as he rang the doorbell. The door creaked open, revealing an older woman with a smile on her face.
"Well, aren't you the cutest bat I've ever seen," she exclaimed.
Nyx puffed out his chest proudly. "Trick or treat!"
She dropped a few pieces of candy into his bucket, and he grinned up at her. "Thank you," He said with a wild grin, not noticing the way the older female now stared at me and Rhys in shock, the High Lord and Lady on her doorstep.
"C'mon, we've got more houses," Rhys said, grabbing Nyx's hand, either he didn't notice either or he was too unbothered to care.
As we walked back down the path, Nyx peeked into his bucket, clearly pleased with his growing candy collection. "This is the best night ever!" he declared.
Rhys chuckled, slipping his arm around my waist as we strolled behind him. "I think he's enjoying this more than I expected."
"I think you're enjoying this more than you expected," I teased, nudging him gently.
He raised a brow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "What gave me away?"
"The way you keep sneaking glances at him like he's the only person in the world," I replied softly, my heart swelling as I watched Rhys's gaze soften again.
"Well," Rhys said, his voice warm and intimate, "He's one of the best things that's ever happened to me."
I leaned into him, my heart full. "And the other?"
Rhys glanced down at me, his violet eyes sparkling in the fading light. "You, of course. Though I have to admit," he added, slipping his hand lower, his fingers toying with the tail of my costume, "this might be my favorite version of you yet."
I gave him a playful swat, though I couldn't suppress the grin spreading across my face. "Behave yourself. We've got a little bat to take care of."
On queue, Nyx turned around with a spring in his step. "Come on, more houses!"
We continued through the neighborhood, stopping at each house as Nyx eagerly rang doorbells, shouted his "trick or treat," and ran back to us with his ever-growing stash of candy. At one point, he paused, looking up at me with wide eyes.
"Momma, can we eat some now?" he asked, holding up a candy bar.
"Not yet, sweetheart," I said, kneeling down to his level. "Let's wait until we get home. Then we can all have some together, okay?"
Nyx pouted for a moment but quickly brightened when Rhys chimed in, "I'll make us some hot chocolate to go with it."
"Hot chocolate and candy?" Nyx's eyes lit up. "That sounds yummy!" It sounded like a sugar high that would have him bouncing off the walls.
We finally made our way to the final house, but by the time we reached the doorstep, Nyx's wings were drooping a little, Rhys using his magic to ensure they didn't drag on the ground, the boy's energy starting to wane after the excitement of the evening.
Rhys glanced at me, a knowing smile on his lips. "I think our little bat is running out of steam."
I chuckled tiredly. "It's about time."
Nyx rang the doorbell one last time, his voice quieter now as he called out his trick-or-treat. The male at the door smiled, dropping the last handful of candy in her bowl, into his bucket.
"Thank you," Nyx said, his voice sleepy but happy nonetheless.
As we turned to head home, I could feel Rhys's hand slide into mine, his fingers warm and reassuring. "You know," he said softly, his voice just for me, "I think this is the most perfect night I could have asked for."
I squeezed his hand, leaning my head against his shoulder as we walked. "Me too."
When we arrived back at the house, Nyx was barely awake, his candy bucket clutched tightly in his small hands. Rhys scooped him up, carrying him inside as I held the door open.
"I think someone needs to go to bed," I said, smiling down at our son as his eyelids fluttered.
"But, hot chocolate," Nyx mumbled, already half asleep.
Rhys chuckled, pressing a kiss to Nyx's forehead. "Maybe tomorrow, little bat."
We tucked Nyx into bed, his costume still on as he snuggled into his blankets. As I brushed a kiss against his forehead, I whispered, "Sweet dreams, my love."
Azriel
The cool autumn air nipped at my cheeks as I glanced around the yard, admiring the cascade of orange and yellow leaves fluttering in the breeze. A blanket of fallen leaves covered the grass, and the pumpkins scattered across the porch stood out like bright little beacons of autumn.
Today was pumpkin carving day—a long-awaited tradition for me, and a newly introduced one for Azriel.
I eyed him from where I sat, sitting cross-legged on the porch steps, my tools laid out beside me. Azriel was already at work on his pumpkin, and to my utter amusement, he'd chosen a tool I hadn't expected: Truth Teller.
The revered blade gleamed in the waning light, slicing into the pumpkin's tough skin with effortless precision. I had to bite my lip to stifle my laughter as I watched the way he wielded it with all the seriousness of a seasoned warrior. Carving pumpkins with a sacred blade? Of course, Azriel would make even this casual activity into an art form.
"Are you sure you want to use that?" I asked, grinning as I gestured to Truth Teller. "I don't think the pumpkin is a worthy opponent."
Azriel glanced up, his golden eyes crinkling with amusement. "It's handling the job just fine."
I couldn't help but snicker. "Are you going to take it into battle next? I can see it now—Azriel, the Pumpkin Slayer."
He paused, tilting his head as if considering the idea. "It would certainly be a new addition to my title."
"The Spymaster with a penchant for gourd warfare?" I teased, wiping a bit of pumpkin guts off my hands. "Sounds very intimidating."
"Don't mock the artistry, love," he said with a smirk, twirling Truth Teller in his hand before driving it back into the pumpkin with a flourish. "This requires precision."
"Oh, I can see that," I agreed, my eyes drifting to the intricate pattern he was already working on. "But why not use, I don't know, an actual pumpkin carving knife?"
"Where's the challenge in that?" he replied his voice light but laced with that cool, unwavering confidence he always had.
I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. "I think you're overcomplicating things."
Azriel just raised an eyebrow at me before returning to his masterpiece. Despite my playful banter, I had to admit his carving was impressive—lines smooth and clean, the pumpkin yielding to his every cut as if it knew better than to resist.
I dug into my own pumpkin with the decidedly less sacred and far more ordinary knife I had in hand. "So, are you going for something spooky? Classic jack-o'-lantern?"
Azriel hesitated for a moment, his fingers still wrapped around Truth Teller's hilt. "I haven't decided yet. What do you think?"
I pretended to ponder it seriously, tapping my chin. "What about the night sky?" I suggest. "Moons, stars, the whole shebang."
"The night sky?" His lips twitched in amusement.
"Yeah, it's shadowy and brooding—just like you."
His laugh was soft, the sound warming me from the inside out. "I'm not that brooding."
"Mhmm." I shot him a playful look, wiping my hands on a towel. "I'll believe that when you wear something other than black."
He shook his head, the smallest of smiles playing at the corner of his mouth. "I'll consider it. When you stop insisting on decorating everything in orange."
I gasped dramatically, placing a hand over my heart. "Orange is the essence of fall. It's a tradition."
"Tradition or not, our entire living room looks like it's been overtaken by pumpkins and leaves."
"Well, it's either that or I break out the glitter for winter," I warned, smirking as I saw him visibly flinch at the word "glitter."
"No glitter," he said quickly, the mirth in his voice unmistakable. "Anything but that."
"Then you'll endure the pumpkins," I said sweetly, before turning back to my carving. "Besides, I happen to think they look adorable."
Azriel said nothing, but when I glanced over, I caught him watching me—his eyes warm, his usual guarded expression softened by the easy comfort we'd found in each other. There was something about these quiet moments with him, something grounding about the way we could tease and laugh and exist together, free of the weight that usually clung to him.
"You're staring," I teased softly, meeting his gaze.
"I can't help it," he murmured, his voice dropping to that hushed tone that sent shivers down my spine. "You're beautiful."
My cheeks warmed, and I nudged a piece of pumpkin in his direction to cover my flustered smile. "Flattery won't distract me from the fact that you're taking forever to carve your pumpkin."
"Perfection takes time," he said with mock solemnity, earning a giggle from me.
"So modest, too," I quipped.
Cassian
The glow from the TV casts eerie shadows on the walls, and I already regret my decision to let Cassian pick the movie. I clutch the edge of the blanket, biting my lip as the creepy soundtrack builds up.
"You're not scared, are you?" Cassian's deep voice rumbles next to me, amusement clear in his tone. His arm rests lazily across the back of the couch, but I can feel the heat of his body beside mine.
I scoff, trying to appear unbothered. "Please. It's just a movie." My voice is steady, but my heart isn't. Not when there's a shadowy figure creeping across the screen, ready to jump out and—
I yelp as the creature lunges, squeezing my eyes shut and instinctively burrowing into Cassian's chest, which rumbles with a low chuckle, and I feel his arm tighten around me, pulling me closer.
"Uh-huh," he teases, his lips quirking up in a smirk I can practically feel. "You sure you're not scared?"
I peek up at him, glaring. "I'm not," I protest weakly, though my body betrays me by staying firmly pressed against his side.
Cassian shifts, wrapping his arm fully around my shoulders, his other hand settling on my knee as he pulls the blanket over both of us. "If you say so," he murmurs, his voice soft now, but there's still that teasing lilt.
The movie continues, and every jump scare has me sinking deeper into Cassian's hold, my fingers clutching his shirt. He doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he seems to enjoy it a little too much, his thumb drawing lazy circles on my shoulder, grounding me in a way that distracts me from the terror on the screen.
"You're so cute in my arms like this," he whispers in my ear after another jump scare, his breath hot against my skin.
"Shut up," I grumble, though I can't help the warmth spreading through my chest at the sound of his teasing.
He grins, clearly enjoying himself. "You know, I could turn it off if it's too much for you," he offers, though we both know he's only half-serious.
"No way," I say stubbornly, forcing myself to focus on the screen again. "I can handle it."
Cassian chuckles, shifting us so that I'm practically curled up in his lap now. "Sure you can, sweetheart. But I'll keep you safe. Promise."
His words send a different kind of shiver through me, and I lean into him more, letting his warmth chase away the fear. Maybe scary movies aren't so bad—if it means I get to stay in Cassian's arms like this.
Eris Vanserra
The meadow stretched wide before me, its golden grasses swaying in the crisp autumn breeze. The trees on the outskirts were ablaze with hues of orange, red, and yellow, their leaves tumbling through the air like a promise of something magical. I breathed in the scent of damp earth and the unmistakable fragrance of apples that wafted from the orchard in the distance. It was a perfect autumn day.
But nothing compared to the sight of Eris Vanserra.
He sat atop his white stallion with the kind of grace and confidence only he could command, his billowy shirt rippling in the wind. The fabric, loose and white, tugged at his broad chest and arms as he adjusted his hold on the reins, the tall riding boots fitted perfectly to his legs. His red-gold hair, untamed and flowing like wildfire, caught the light, making him look every bit the regal and untouchable prince of autumn.
"You're staring," he said, a sly grin creeping up his face as his sharp eyes caught mine.
"Can you blame me?" I shot back, trying to sound more confident than I felt. The truth was, no matter how many times I saw him like this—so effortlessly captivating—my heart still skipped a beat.
With a quick click of his tongue, Eris urged his stallion forward. The rhythm of the horses' hooves on the forest floor is soothing, and soon, the world falls away, leaving just the two of us wrapped in the embrace of autumn.
"I think you love this time of year more than I do," Eris teases, his voice carrying through the wind.
"I just like seeing you in your element," I say, smiling softly. "You belong here."
Eris looks over at me, a tendril of fire curling around my wrist, up my arm. "I belong with you," he murmurs, his voice low and full of warmth as he looks back to where his horse was leading him.
My heart flutters, even though I know how busy he is, and how much responsibility weighs on his shoulders as the heir to the Autumn Court, he never fails to remind me that I am his constant, his sanctuary.
We ride in comfortable silence for a while, letting the serenity of the forest envelop us. The trees around us seem to glow under the setting sun, their leaves casting a golden light across our path. The smell of damp earth and pine fills the air, and I close my eyes for a moment, soaking it all in.
"Look," Eris says softly, and I open my eyes to see him gesturing toward a small grove of apple trees, their branches heavy with ripe fruit. I smile at the sight.
Without hesitation, we guide our horses toward the grove. Eris dismounts first, his movements swift and effortless, and then offers me a hand as I climb down from my mare. His touch lingers for just a second longer than necessary, his fingers trailing down my arm the way his fire had before he lets go. I step closer to one of the trees, reaching up to pluck an apple from the branch. It's cool in my hand, its skin glossy under the fading light.
"I remember the first time you took me apple picking," I say, biting into the fruit, its sweet juice spilling over my lips. "You were so serious about it," I mumble through a mouthful
Eris chuckles, leaning closer and wiping the juice from the apple off my chin, watching me with that familiar look of amusement. "It's tradition," he says, his voice rich with nostalgia. "And I wanted you to enjoy every part of it."
"Well, you certainly made it memorable," I reply, staring up at him with a love-sick kind of smile. "Especially when you tried to out-pick me."
"I wasn't about to lose to you," he says, crossing his arms with a smirk. "Even if you were unfairly distracting."
I roll my eyes, stepping closer to him. "You're lucky I love you."
"Very lucky, indeed." He tilts his head down at me, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, then cradling my jaw with a reverent touch.
I rise onto my toes and place a gentle kiss on his lips, one of my hands on his chest for support. A warmth settles over me that has nothing to do with the setting sun. It's the kind of warmth that only Eris ever made me feel, and that warmth didn't so much as flicker as a cold breeze breezed past us.
Lucien Vanserra
I had just slid the last tray of buttery pastries from the oven when the bell over the bakery door chimed, letting in the cool autumn breeze. I didn't need to look up to know who it was, Lucien always carried that earthy, slightly smoky scent no matter where he ventured.
"Evening, love," My mate said whilst hanging up his coat.
"Hi Honey," I smiled up at him while taking my oven mitts off and tossing them onto the counter.
It was late, shopkeepers closing up for the night and silently making their way home on the cobblestones of Velaris. Tomorrow was the debut of my Autumn Menu that I had been developing and revising for the past few months, I had been so stressed about getting everything together that I had completely forgotten about me and Lucien's date night last week, he had told me it was fine, that I shouldn't be worried about him when I was so busy with the bakery, so this was a compromise, I could finish the pastries while Lucien kept me company—and as my official taste tester.
Lucien leaned against the counter, watching me intently as I arranged the freshly baked pastries on a display tray. His golden eye gleamed in the warm glow of the bakery lights, and he was as familiar in my little shop as the scent of vanilla and caramelized sugar. He reached for one of the pastries, his fingers hovering over the flakiest, most tempting treat of the batch, but I swatted his hand away with a laugh.
"No," I teased, drawing the word out and raising a brow. "They just came out, they're too hot."
He frowned, feigning an expression of utter betrayal. "Fire runs in my veins, I think I can handle it." He smirked. "But you already know that, don't you?" He added in a tone that made my heart flutter and my eyes roll.
The humor faded, replaced by a soft sincerity that warmed me more than the oven ever could. "I've missed this—just us here, the world quiet outside." He confessed.
I finished arranging the pastries and brushed the flour off my hands before sliding around the counter to stand in front of him. "Me too," I murmured. "It's been such a crazy week. But I couldn't do this without you." I say as I watch him push off the counter, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me into a warm embrace. For a moment, I just melted into him, letting myself relax for the first time in what felt like days. "I'm proud of you," he said softly, his voice a comforting rumble against my ear. "Tomorrow, everyone in Velaris will be lining up to try your autumn creations, and they'll be back every week until the trays are empty. I can feel it."
I couldn't help but smile, drawing strength from his confidence. Lucien always had a way of grounding me, reminding me why I loved what I did, even when the pressure was high. I tipped my head back to look at him, brushing a kiss along his jaw. "Thanks, Lu. But you know," I added with a mischievous grin, "if you're so set on getting a taste, I suppose I could make a little exception."
His eyes lit up as I turned back toward the tray, picking the perfect pastry. I held it up to his lips, watching as he took a careful bite, his eyes fluttering closed as he savored it.
When he opened them again, a look of pure bliss had settled over his face. "Amazing," he declared. "Absolutely perfect."
I felt a sense of relief and joy bubble up within me. "Really?"
"Really," he assured me, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to my lips. I tasted the buttery, delicate sweetness of the pastry mingled with his warmth, and my heart gave a little flutter. It was moments like these that reminded me how grateful I was to have him as my mate, my support, my everything.
Read the NSFW version here -> Link
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blushstories · 5 months ago
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hello !!!! can we get an astarion blurb where tav is a druid who frequently wild shapes into a cat and (lovingly) annoys astarion? externally astarion is all >:( but internally he’s bigggg heart eyes and like let’s cat tav sleep on him and stuff
yes we absolutely can!
He's sitting by the campfire, staring into the flames with a faraway stare in his eyes. You're sitting on top of someone's nearby tent – your wild shape as a cat comes with balance privileges. Astarion hasn't moved for a few minutes, appearing to be a statue whose clothes continue to be nudged by the gentle breeze of the night. You hop down, prowling towards the fire, slinking around Astarion until you're stood in his line of sight.
His ears seem to prick up at the sight of you. "Oh. It's you," he says flatly. You mew indignantly, and sit to face the fire, its heat wrapping around you. "Oh, don't be like that! We've all had a hard day."
You spot some firewood sticking out of the flames, and stick your paw out to hit one of them back in. "What are you doing?!" Astarion says quickly, eyes wide and mouth agape. You don't respond and hit another; it doesn't hurt one bit, but you're enjoying stressing him out for a minute. "Stop!" He hisses, and two hands are picking you up.
Instinctively, you scrabble to escape his grasp, but he is swift and his grip is strong; "Do not go near that fire," he's a little breathless, and doesn't let you go until you agree. As much as you can, anyway – you're a cat.
You gracefully land next to his foot, and make your way into his lap. "Do you have to sit there? It's just..." he trails off as you make yourself comfortable, only to feel a hand on the top of your head, stroking to the base of your neck. The movements are slow and repetitive, adding weight to your eyelids until the night escapes you, and you meet your dreams.
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itsphoenix0724 · 11 months ago
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All Things Vile (Eris x Reader)
Summary: A recon mission to the Autumn Court gets more heated than you intended. They say Autumn males fuck like they have fire in their veins-you guess you're about to find out.
Warnings: ROUGH SMUT (this is pure filth and I'm not sorry), kind of dark, oral (m!receiving) choking, bondage
Word Count: 2.7k
A/N: It's been a while since I wrote for him, been a while since I wrote in general since I'm adjusting back into my school life. Chapter 3 of MMOTI is drafted and will hopefully be released soon! But anyway here's a smutty Eris fic for all of you <3
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The Autumn Court was ablaze in moonlit revelry. The scent of spiced cider and ale consumed the grove along with the smell of the blazing campfire. Fog weaved in and out of the shadow-drenched woods, urging the partygoers to follow its trail into the darkness. You could make out bodies against trees, males and females losing themselves in one another, as you jumped silently along the oak’s branches. It was a simple mission; Get in and get out, that’s what Rhys had said, and that’s what you fully intended on doing. Cloaked in darkness, mask pulled up to hide everything but your eyes, you found your target. 
A drunken blush stained his pale cheeks, and the blood-red silk shirt he wore was unbuttoned so obscenely low you could see the dappling of freckles along his chest in the firelight. His auburn hair was unruly; the waves held down only by the circlet of gold leaves that marked him as the firstborn son of Autumn. His lips were stained from the wine he was sipping and his eyes had taken on a seductive half-lid as he somehow fixed his burning gaze straight onto you. 
Fuck, Rhys was going to kill you. 
Eris stood from his chair in one smooth motion, prowling towards your spot hidden in the woods like a mountain cat, amber eyes burning. You jump down from your tree, weaving through the branches like smoke to try to lose the lordling who’s hot on your tail. Nothing but the sound of your labored breathing and the sounds of footfalls echo through the dark wood. You just need to get to the border, Eris won’t have the gall to cross after you. You can see the green grass of Spring, the pastel pink of the cherry blossoms grotesquely clashing with the russet hues of the forest that currently surrounds you.
You can almost smell the sickly sweet air when a hand encircles your wrist like a hot brand.
The world tips and falls, the grass slipping out from under your feet as you’re dropped into a room, landing on all fours against a hardwood floor. Bands of fire wrap around your wrists and ankles, pinning you to the ground, not burning but holding you there. The tell-tale wave of nausea that means you’ve been winnowed somewhere quickly overwhelms you as you try not to heave onto the plush burgundy rug infront of you.
Eris has taken you to his room at Fir Hall, his private estate away from his life wrapped in court politics, you’re familiar with the home after many spy missions here. Your eyes fix on the Autumn Prince with a burning ferocity, and he does nothing but glare back down at you from where he looms above you.
“Well, well what has fallen into my trap,” He fixes you with a wolfish smile as he pulls down your mask, and your lips peel back into a snarl. “Hello Sweetheart,” he purrs as he tucks a loose hair behind your ears. “I’ve missed you, it’s very nice to see you again.” He tries to run a thumb over your bottom lip, but you snap your teeth in his direction like a feral animal and he wisely pulls his hand away. 
“Bite me,” you growl out as Eris crouches down until he’s at eye level with you. A hound cornering a wild fox, it seemed the hunter had won tonight as he lets out a laugh that leaves a burning caress down your spine. 
“Oh, I intend to.” He promises, stroking his hand along the back of your hair, pulling out the hair tie, and letting it fall around your face. “Now will you mind your manners?” He raises a copper brow, eyes dancing with amusement. The bond buried deep in your chest tries to wiggle free of its restraints, begging you to let it play with the other half of your soul. 
“Never,” you vow to him even as the mischief in his eyes turns to longing. This is torture denying yourself of him. 
But how could you not? 
Beron is still High Lord, if you were to tie yourself to him you would have to abide by his rules. You would rather claw your own eyes out. And if your family ever found out, if Mor ever found out, the shame and guilt would burn more than the roaring fire in the hearth. 
So you have this, you take every mission you can to Autumn and collect all the broken pieces and scraps that you can get. This is what you will allow yourself.
“I thought that would be the case,” Eris gets up and languidly strolls away from you, plucking the bottle of bourbon from the cabinet and pouring himself a drink. You watch with adept interest as his ring-clad fingers tighten around the crystalline glass, he strolls over to his bookshelf and plucks a well-loved novel off the dark shelf. 
Then the bastard settles himself into one of the plush armchairs and starts to fucking read. He ignores you as though you’re nothing more than a potted plant in the corner, he doesn’t even so much as glance at you, fully enraptured in his novel. A few minutes pass when you clear your throat. Eris deigns to look bored as he lazily turns his head toward you. 
“Yes?” He asks, propping the book against one knee and taking another sip of his whiskey. Your eyes track the movement of his throat involuntarily. 
“Aren’t you going to do something?” You push, urging him with your eyes as you lift your head through the curtain of your hair. You hope your gaze communicates everything you cannot bring yourself to voice, fearing your body will refuse to allow you air if you try. 
I love you, please don’t ignore me, I need you, play with me
He chuckles a dark sound and picks up his book again, pointedly flicking a page as the rubies on his hands glint in the firelight. 
“I’m not in the business of playing with unwilling toys,” Eris supplies, purposely staring at the fire instead of you. “Perhaps I should call Rhysand to collect you and tell him I don’t appreciate being spied on. Perhaps, he will never send you back here.” His brows scrunch in frustration but you both know that the threat is empty. It seems he is tired of your games. 
“What do you want?” You barely grind out, still refusing to relent to the signing inside your soul. “Do you want me to beg? Is that it? Princely bastard.” You practically spit, and faster than the blink of an eye Eris is in front of you, fisting your hair in one hand and tilting your chin to meet his smoldering gaze. 
“Are you ashamed of me?” He questions, and you can see the vulnerability dancing in his eyes. You shake your head as the fire binding your wrists recedes and you move into a more comfortable kneeling position, hands now bound in front of you. He soothes his hand along your cheek again as your brows knit together. You thought that the two of you had a kind of understanding. You had no idea where this was coming from. “I tire of this ruse, my love.” If Eris notices the mournful look in your eyes he says nothing. He strokes a warm hand through your hair, admiring your eyes in the firelight. “Why don’t you show me how much you missed me huh?” The wolfish grin is back and you hum your agreement as he runs his thumb along your bottom lip again, pleased at your cooperation as he slides his finger into your mouth. He thrusts it into your mouth and as you teasingly run your tongue over the pad he lets out a moan that shoots straight to your core. 
He undoes the belt at his waist, pulling his cock out with his hand, and your mouth waters at the sheer size of him. 
“I’m going to fuck your mouth now,” he rumbles, pure authority and power radiating off of him. A glimpse at the future ruler he will become one day. You nod your enthusiastic consent as he grips the back of your head and thrusts into your mouth at a merciless pace. Your head empties as he hits the back of your throat, the hand cupping the back of your hair surprisingly gentle compared to the way he was brutalizing your mouth. “That’s a good girl, take me down your throat.” It spills out of his mouth like he can’t even control it as your eyes roll back in your head at his praise. Eris pushes your mouth all the way down to the base of his dick and holds you there for a few seconds as your nose connects with his pelvic bone. He’s relentless as he uses you for his pleasure and you think that he might bruise your vocal cords. 
He spills down your throat as your binds dissolve into nothing, leaving behind a warm tingling sensation where the fire licked at your limbs. 
You swallow what he gave you, opening your mouth in emphasis as whiskey eyes blow wide with lust. You’re drenched at the sight of his cock already stiffening again. He walks to the mountainous bed in front of you, making himself comfortable against the pillows. 
“Come here pet.” He growls fisting his cock in his hand and crooking his fingers with the other. You start to rise to your legs on sore knees, but you freeze when Eris tuts–holding his hand out to stop you. “No. I want you to crawl to me.” The order wraps around you like warm silk, voice sliding against your bones. You lower yourself back down to the floor, humiliation burning hot on your cheeks as you sway your hips in what you hope to be enticing. He stops you quickly and you look up at him from under fluttering lashes. “Strip. Slowly.” Your face burns even hotter and Eris can’t take his eyes off you as you rise, slowly undoing every single buckle on your leathers and letting them fall to the floor, leaving you entirely exposed to him before climbing onto the bed. His body is so warm against your skin as he draws your mouth to his, the burning taste of cinnamon whiskey floods your mouth. He dominates you even here, claiming you as his tongue wrestles with yours. The moan that slips out of you comes out scratchy from the abuse of your throat, and in a flash, you’re below him as he grinds his hips into yours. 
“Eris,” you whimper as his cock brushes against your folds. You need him to fill you to the brim, wanting him as close as possible. He shushes you gently as he bites at your pulse point, the only goal in his mind is to claim as he sucks dark marks into your neck. 
You’ll surely be wearing only turtle necks for a few weeks after this. 
His warm hands skate down your body, pulling and prodding at your sensitive nipples, letting out a dark chuckle as you whine at his ministrations. Eris mocks your moans as he rubs a finger at your center, rolling the sensitive bundle of nerves between his fingers. Finally, he slips a finger inside of you rubbing at the spot that makes you see stars. He knows exactly where to touch to get you to dissolve, his beautiful mate bending to him like water running through his fingertips. That ring-clad hand curls around your throat, cold metal contrasting with his warm hands, and you keen as the pleasant dizzy feeling takes over your whole body. 
That feeling combined with the addition of another finger in your core sends you hurtling through gold-flecked oblivion.
He pulls his fingers out of you, sucking them into his mouth and moaning as he relishes the taste of you on his tongue. Staring down at your shaking form with smugness in his eyes as he circles the skin of your inner thigh, enjoying the way the muscles quiver under his touch. Eris sinks himself into you, inch by tortuous inch until you can’t tell where your body ends and he begins. He strokes slowly and deliberately, bruising you with his intensity as your vision goes white with searing pleasure every time he moves his hips.
You want him to leave his imprint everywhere on your body, that unanswered bond begging you to never leave this bed again. Eris must feel it too, that golden thread wrapping around his heart begging him to keep you, to never let another male so much as look at you. That makes something ugly twist in his chest and he almost snarls at even the thought of another male near you as his instincts take over and he draws your legs over his shoulders to hit an even deeper part inside of you. Your walls are clenching and fluttering around him as his pace turns ravenous, all you can do is try to hold on as your nails scrape jagged lines down his back. Eris scrapes his teeth over your neck, then he moves down to your nipple biting down as you scream his name before giving the other one equal attention. 
“Who do you belong to pet?” He murmurs in your ear in time with a thrust that's so deep your eyes roll back in your head. “Who’s the only one that can make you feel like this?” You can barely give him anything but a whimper as he devastates your body, pinching your clit in a way that elicits a pleasure-soaked sob. “Scream it for me,” he punctuates it with a slap against the apex of your thighs. 
“Yours Eris, I’m all yours!” You scream as you orgasm, tears running down your flushed cheeks, Eris follows soon after you spilling himself deep inside of you.
He pulls out, disappears into the bathroom, and returns with a clean rag to wipe up the mess he made between your thighs. He collapses onto the mattress next to you and pulls you to his chest, warming his hands with his power as he rubs slow circles into the small of your back. You look up at him and he’s taken aback at the vulnerability in your eyes. “Eris I-” you choke, unable to force the words you so desperately want to say past your lips. He shushes you with a kiss against your forehead. 
“I know,” he mutters into your hairline “I know.” You hold him tighter, blinking back tears as you lock the bond back down in its obsidian shackles,“I’ll wait an eternity for you.” It’s the last thing you hear before closing your eyes as you let him soothe you to sleep.
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
“I trust everything went well?” Rhys asks, raising a dark brow at your form where you stand across from his desk. You subconsciously pull the dark turtleneck further up, the deep purple marks burning like a brand. You scrubbed yourself raw as soon as you winnowed yourself to your apartment, and you’re praying to the Mother that Rhys doesn’t even catch a whiff of Eris or the frankly copious amounts of sex. The thought of Eris enjoying it this morning, pressing his nose against the crook of your neck to make sure it really stuck, before crawling his way down your body to settle in between your thighs makes you triple-check that the steel of your mental shields was still in place.
“Nothing to report,” You rasp, voice destroyed after last night's events. The attempts to clear your throat are doing nothing to help you
“Are you alright?” Rhys questions, wringing his hands together on his desk as he shoots a concerned look. 
“Must just be a chill I caught in Autumn, those woods get cold at night.” You supply and he hums his agreement. 
“Well go rest, you’ve earned it. Perhaps you should see Madja for something to soothe your throat.” Rhys says and you nod your agreement, taking the cue for your dismissal. You wait until his office door clicks shut behind you to let out your sigh of relief, thinking of nothing but soft sheets and warm hands. 
You can only hope you get another mission there soon.
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777heavengirl · 4 months ago
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AM - Chapter 2
No. 1 Party Anthem
Sirius Black x reader Chapter 2/3 Warnings: angst?, smoking, suggestive themes, fwb to lovers word count: 4,294  masterlist
Currently playing: No. 1 Party Anthem by the Arctic Monkeys
Chapters i, ii, iii
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        Sirius Black was not a somber man. He was known for being loud, rambunctious, insufferable, incorrigible. His voice echoed and his eyes shone when he laughed. He did not wallow nor turn gloomy. He had suffered too much in his life for that. But you had turned his life blue. Your absence left a hole in his heart. It had been three months. Three arduous months of a game of cat and mouse. You avoided him at any cost, clinging off of your boyfriend's arm more often than not. Sirius seemed to always be searching for you. 
He felt the rush of adrenaline as he finished his drink in one gulp, it had tasted horribly bitter at the beginning of the night. Now he couldn't taste it at all. He had been on the prowl the whole night. For you, just to catch a peek of you would be enough. To hear your laughter would soothe his growing anxiety and the paranoia that you were out of his life for good. He'd do anything for a glimpse of you. He wondered if you had come and left already. The thought settled in his heart like a pile of rocks. 
Sirius could feel the beat of the music in his chest it overpowered the beat of his own heart and the ringing in his ears wouldn't stop. Between the lights on the floor and the sweat that seemed to permeate the walls. He felt like he was searching for his soul, tumbling between people, staring too hard to see if it was you through the darkness. It kept slipping from his fingers. You kept slipping. 
He hated this point of getting drunk. He hated the way he knew there was no way back from this threshold. No matter how much water he drank or bread Peter fed him there was no way back. He hated that he still had the itch to get more because he might as well be completely pissed. He'd feel sick regardless. He felt his heart beating in his ears as he finally laid eyes on you. A cigarette hanging from your lips even indoors. You had been smoking a lot more. He had found and monitored the pile of cigarette butts in a corner of the astronomy tower. The only trace of you he could ever find these days.
He wondered if you were happy.
The fun-colored drink in your hand swished and swirled as you laughed, the blond gripping your hip. He could see James across from you, laughing and chatting spiritedly. No doubt recounting some dumb story, Lily shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. They had finally gotten together. Or so he thought. He felt like a terrible friend. He couldn't think straight. He caught James's eye, he hoped he'd come get him. 
Sirius felt like his feet were slowly being cemented into the ground. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, the only grounding force as the mass of people around him overtook his senses. 
"Let's go Padfoot, you need a walk," Remus whispered into his ear, worry seeping through his skin, his demeanor. Sirius felt the beat and the melancholic lyrics that were starting to resonate through the charmed speakers clutched his heart with an iron grip. He shook his head furiously, he couldn't go. Not when he had just found you. Just when he had finally seen the light. It had been like catching a glimpse of a star in the middle of a stormy night. 
"Come on Moony-" Sirius moaned out, his eyes barely open, barely registering the scarred boy's figure. "Before she's gone before the moments gone-"
Remus dragged Sirius away regardless. He wasn't going to be making much sense if he spoke to you anyway. Remus felt bad, sometimes he'd hear Sirius mumble your name in his sleep. It was fleeting and slurred but after the third time it happened, his wand illuminating only the page of the book he was reading, Remus knew it was indeed your name. 
The Ravenclaw common room entrance was directly connected to a staircase, Sirius's head lulled to the side colliding with Remus's shoulder. Neither of them dared actually to go down the stairs. 
"Up, come on pads,” Remus finally got Sirius upright but turned as the door opened once again, the chatter and music from inside spilling into the hall briefly.
"Is he good?" James shut the door behind him,
"I'm doing great Prongs I just need a smoke," Sirius had wandered over to the small stone window, breathing in the fresh night air. He briefly thought of throwing up. 
Remus sighed offering Sirius a cigarette, rolling his eyes as James's lips resembled an 'o' in surprise. 
"I thought we were all collectively quitting?" James put out his hand, fingertips tingling with excitement. Lily didn't like it. James had quit way before they got together anyway.
One wouldn't kill him. Remus placed it on his palm. 
"Where's Wormtail?" Sirius turned to look at the two other men, a, now lit, cigarette hanging from each of their lips.
"Last I saw, chatting up Dorcas Meadowes," James chuckled as he blew out some smoke,
"I reckon he doesn't know she's a wee lesbian" Remus mumbled from between his cigarette
The other two broke out in a roar of laughter, they loved Peter dearly but he could be a bit clueless sometimes. 
"Marls is going to kill him," James clutched his stomach as he laughed. Sirius threw his head back as he continued to laugh, his forearms supporting him as they leaned on the window ledge. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes as he continued to laugh. The world still spun around him. But the sound of his friend’s laughter grounded him. He hadn't felt like this in a while. 
As they all calmed down again, snorts and chuckles still bouncing every so often, they continued to take drags of smoke. 
"What's been going on with you lately?" James's voice was low, a heavier tone than the one that usually laced his tone. Brows furrowed in concern and his free hand was tucked into the pocket of his jeans. Remus stomped out his cig with his chucks, crossing his arms as he looked in between the two other men. He could feel the air become thick, as Sirius mulled over the question and continued to hang his head out the window, letting the air blow at his short curls. They reached a little under cheekbones now, he was relieved.
Remus felt his knit sweater was going to suffocate him. 
James thought of repeating his question.
"Is she happy?" Sirius finally broke the silence, taking the last drag of his cig before he also stomped it out. The ashes and the rocky floor grinding under his heavy boot. He was starting to regret wearing only a black shirt to cover his torso, the short sleeves had been cuffed and he could feel the cold night air pick at the skin of his arms. 
"I don't think it's fair for you to question that," James mumbled. He loved Sirius. He did. He was his brother, his closest confidant. He’d been trying to convince him to run away and stay with him. His mother had a room prepared already. He'd do anything for the boy. 
But brothers or not. Sirius was a fool. He had been for a while now. He could see the look on Sirius’s face. The look of love.
“Do you think it’s too late-“ 
“That’s even more unfair,” Remus thought of lighting a second cigarette. He didn’t.
”I need a drink,” Sirius stood upright again, his forearms marked and itched with the stamp of the edge of the window. 
Before either Remus or James could deny Sirius his itch, the door to the Ravenclaw common room opened again, this time with Peter stumbling out.
”Did we know Dorcas was a lesbian?” 
-
You didn't care that Sirius was ignoring you. You didn't care that he never glanced your way, or that he left when you came. You didn't care that you had seen a girl coming out of their dorm two weeks ago. You didn't care about him. You had a boyfriend now, a boy who cared about you and made you smile and blush. Someone who wanted you for more than just sex. Jacob was sweet, he brought you daisies and taffy. Even if you didn't adore either of those things. He always put his arm around your waist and he had started dragging you to be with his friends more often than not. You suspected he had realized he wasn't exactly popular around yours. 
You wondered sometimes, between cigarettes, if you were happy.
You hated smoking.
Jacob hated you smoking too. You pondered the psychology of your actions as you pulled one out of your pocket. He flicked your arm when he saw the stick between your fingers. If only he knew how many packs you had been running through. You ignored his glare, opting for lighting it, even if you were inside. Not like anyone would notice in the overcrowded, obscure Ravenclaw common room. Bastards had the best spot, couldn't hear anything coming from the common room for at least two flights of stairs. Horrendous to go up or down when intoxicated, however.
Lily smiled pleasantly while hanging from James's arm. They were cute, you were delighted they finally got together. It was almost like it was meant to be. You couldn't help but feel your stomach churn when she spoke of the fireworks and butterflies that lived in her chest from his look alone. Lately, life had been feeling like a pile of rocks had settled in your stomach. The dread that came with every touch and every kiss. You wondered if there was something wrong with you. You felt vaguely bored. You pushed down the thought, hoping it wouldn't crawl out again.
You weren't listening much to James, the story he had dug up to entertain his new girlfriend, and your new boyfriend was something you had lived alongside him. No point in tuning in, he had it covered.
You felt Jacob squeeze your hip. Your eyes searched the crowd, you knew what, or well who, you were looking for but you were afraid to even acknowledge it to yourself. The cold glass of your drink made your fingers numb and tingly. You wondered if he had even come tonight.
You laughed as your boyfriend did, as if on cue. You glanced at James, whose eyes flickered to someone in the crowd. You saw his smile falter.
"Y/N how about you finish the story," He finally focused back, handing Lily his drink with a kiss on her head. He left, his body weaving in and out of the crowd, without much of an excuse. You smiled awkwardly at the two people in front of you. You wanted nothing more than to hand Jacob your drink and cig to follow James out. Well, maybe not the cig.
"Flippant man isn't he?" Jacob directed a small smile towards you. You offered a very wobbly one back. You thanked the heavens as Lily left, mumbling something about Marlene having Peter by the scruff of his collar. 
Jacob’s face flashed with recognition, his hand going up as to call someone's attention. He grabbed your waist with a simple let's go and dragged you around the crowd like a rag doll. You finished your drink, the shimmery liquid burning at the back of your throat and your glass sat forgotten on some piece of furniture for someone else to find. Your now smushed cigarette sat at the bottom of the glass. You greeted Jacob's friends warmly, a small shy small playing on your lips.
You tried, you truly did but either the alcohol or the knowledge of your friends being outside wouldn't let you focus on the conversation. Jacob's friends weren't bad, just not your type of crowd. You caught a glimpse of three out of the four marauders coming back in. James immediately made a beeline for Lily, a very sweaty Peter under his arm as he noted Marlene's presence. Remus trailed slowly behind the two. Sirius was nowhere in sight.
"I'll be right back, I gotta go to the loo," you knew your lie had reached the blond as he let go of your waist with a small smile. You pushed through the crowd, avoiding your group of friends. The door was all you could focus on. The man who was possibly on the other side. You weren’t sure he was even there. You didn’t know if you were hoping he was. So you went, the cold night air immediately forcing your lungs to expand. The hall smelled like cigarette smoke. The door closed behind you and it was finally silent.
"Don't I know you from somewhere?" Sirius looked at you through his dark lashes, a small smirk on his face. 
"I thought we said we'd quit," your mumbled statement was meant as a joke, both of you just trying to break the icy barrier you had built between you. There wasn't a cigarette in sight.
"Your pile on the astronomy tower says otherwise" you winced, "does your little boyfriend know? I reckon he doesn't like the thought of his pretty girl frying her lungs with a cig"
You stared at him silently, your teeth biting at the inside of your cheek. You regretted finishing your drink. You pulled out the box of Player's No. 6 instinctively. 
"If you don't put it away, I'm going to throw it out the window," Sirius was drunk, he made sense but he felt like he couldn't look at you straight. He closed his eyes briefly. He sort of felt like was melting into the wall. The pack silently went into your pocket again.
"You know it's not like I'm falling in love," you didn't know why you said that.
"I didn't ask that love," you wondered if you were drunk. You observed Sirius, the way his jaw clenched, his tongue running over his teeth as he went deep in thought, eyes still closed. You trudged closer to him, forearms resting against the windowsill. You wanted to kiss him. You felt sick.
"I hate you," you mumbled as he laughed and shuffled closer. Shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. You looked out the window, he stared at the door, body leaning against the stone wall. 
"The same way you hate cigarettes?" He whispered this, his head turning towards yours. He didn't know what he hoped to hear. You were mere inches apart, his warmth mixing with yours, you wondered if you'd get a shock if you touched him. He fought the urge to press his lips against yours. 
"Yes, the same way" You felt the words scratch at your throat. He felt closer than ever, he moved a bit, and you held your breath. His lips pressed against your cheekbone. Right next to a little beauty mark. Soft and light but enough to tie a knot in your throat. You didn't want to cry in front of him again. You felt intoxicated.
"He won't be happy if he sees us," he parted a bit after he whispered this fact, his eyes darting to the closed door. He pressed another kiss to your cheek, this one closer to the corner of your lips. You pushed him playfully with your shoulder. You missed him.
"Do you think he'll break up with me?" you felt as pathetic as when you asked the opposite question three months ago. you frowned. It squeezed Sirius's heart in hope, he didn't answer though. But he didn't have to, you laughed and soon he did too. You laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. You clutched your stomach and stumbled a bit, laughter spilling from your lips like a river. He hoped to hear you laugh like this forever. He’d never get tired of the sound. 
You discovered that Sirius found it equally as hilarious. Tears gathered in his eyes as he laughed, he laughed endlessly, his usual chuckles or boisterous laugh missing. No, this was unfiltered, his sides hurt and he snorted sending the two of you into another fit. 
Your body ached in laughter. Your heart ached for him. You wondered if he thought of you. 
You thought of him every day.
You swallowed the lump in your throat as you slowly stopped laughing. 
"You're no good Sirius Black," he could feel his heart flip as your lips said the syllables of his name "You'll do me no good." He pressed his shoulder into yours, turning to kiss the top of your head. It felt like an apology. Like an I'm sorry love, for every time he pretended not to want you, for every time he took you for granted, for letting it get this far, for not remembering or caring or loving. 
You didn't know what he actually meant with it. The door opened again, and the first thing you noticed was the frown on his face. Then the angry red of his cheeks as your boyfriend stomped closer to you. You had never noticed how Sirius was a bit taller.
"I've been looking for you everywhere," his grip on your arm was asphyxiating. You felt like your heart was plummeting down to your stomach. 
"I'm sorry I got distracted," your mumble was blue and laced with regret. Sirius considered taking the swing he'd been pondering about for months. He refrained.
"Let's just go" Jacob pulled you along, down the stairs. Not without sending Sirius a glare over his shoulder. He could hear how the boy talked about him the whole way down, shooting question after question, the why were you there with him's, and the can't even take my eyes off of you's not letting you speak. He hoped you'd look back.
You didn't. You couldn't.
You'd cry if you did.
You wondered if you were supposed to feel this way. Like the sheets were the only thing that could save you. You felt like your bed was stuck on you.
Lily was a sea of worry.
"He's outside the common room he won't stop asking Marls where you are and why you aren't coming down," she sat at the side of your bed. It had been about five days since the party. Since you laughed with Sirius. Since you concluded that you wouldn't. No, that you couldn't be happy without him. "You know how she gets, she's already exasperated."
You've been avoiding your boyfriend like the plague and your heartstrings pulled against your will. You felt bad, you thought you could just forget about Sirius, forget his looks, his touches, his kisses. You felt like the worst person on the planet. You had turned your once kind, sweet boyfriend into a jealous mess. He wasn’t the nicest anymore but you couldn’t blame him. Because it was obvious. More than you had thought. How often your thoughts strayed, how often you thought of Sirius. You knew the real reason your friends didn't exactly love him was because he wasn't Sirius. Because every person on the planet except the bastard himself could tell you were in love with Sirius Black.
Sirius didn't want you though, did he?
"Sweetie, what do you want me to tell him?" Lily in all her caring nature brushed her fingers through your hair. 
"Just tell him I'm really sick and that I'll send an owl or something Lils," you sighed "Just get rid of him before Marls says something insensitive"
Lily laughed "I'm afraid that's already happened but I'll see what I can do.”
As Lily left you thought about Sirius. About what your non-relationship was before. How you lounged around his bed for hours on weekends. Mostly naked as a baby, you would talk for hours. You’d always have sex of course and you’d hardly spend the night, but you would sneak over earlier rather than later, so 'we get the whole day love'. Sirius wouldn’t let you go until dinner was being served and you whined about hunger.
The way he’d kissed you the first time, slow and steady with his hands cupping the back of your head. you were bordering on tipsy. he said he had been wildly drunk but you knew from Remus he had only really had one or two drinks. This was one of the things that made the uneasiness start to prey on you. The way he would subtly kick you out, asking you if you wanted to go to dinner or leaving with you just for you to end up going different ways at the end of the night. The way he’d only kiss you on your lips every so often. The way it was a badly kept secret but a secret nonetheless.
You wondered what was missing from you. Was it something about the way you looked? or worse your personality? You had agonized over your appearance for months. You asked Lily about the trendy muggle workout videos. She had laughed as if you had said something silly.
At first, you thought why Sirius, it would’ve been anyone really. Insecurity was a wild beast, hard to satiate and even worse when it was something as transactional as sex with seemingly no meaning beyond pleasure. why did you decide to kiss him that night? had he kissed you first? you honestly couldn’t remember anymore. 
You stared daggers into the bracelet on your wrist. what had he given your other friends? you wondered about the price as if it would help the urge to feel wanted.
You missed Sirius Black because you were in love with him. Because he was one of your closest friends. You missed his stupid smirks and teases. The way he used to tuck a stray hair behind your ear and kiss the corner of your mouth. You missed sitting next to him at breakfast with his hand always touching your thigh in some way and the way he always saved you your favorite foods. Sneaking into the kitchens because you had missed dinner. He always refused to let you leave his bed until he decided it was enough.
But his body betrayed him until his eyes were droopy with sleep and he’d have to find some force to get up so you wouldn’t end up falling asleep together. 
You missed the way his fingers traced your naked back and the way he’d whisper secrets in French. He always refused to tell you what they meant.
You felt your cheeks dampened and wondered when you had started crying. You were tired of this, you needed everything to stop. Marlene and Lily came bursting into the room, bickering about Marlene’s temper. 
“Well he deserved it-“ Marlene grumbled and a small smile formed on your lips.
”Why is that Marls?” your pleasant smile faltered as the two girls looked at each other nervously. 
“Well it might be best if you talk to him-“
”Oh sod off Lillian she deserves to know,” Lily scowled at the name as Marlene went on “Your boyfriend's a wanker, he got all hot and flustered and had the balls to get in my face” 
You scowled, Jacob didn’t seem like the type. He was sweet and quiet most of the time. You wondered where he had been hiding this temper. You felt the guilt start to bite at your fingertips. Marlene continued,
”He kept talking about how you were probably with Sirius, he kept screaming can you believe it? He was screaming!” Marlene spoke so fast you felt like you couldn’t keep up. “He kept screaming about how you were hiding out in his room, and how you were a- well”
“I think that’s enough Marlene”
“and James well… he came out,” Marlene ignored Lily, but opted for omitting what your very upset boyfriend had rambled on about. Probably for the best, you thought.
”Oh Merlin,”
”He punched him!” You jumped from your bed, eyes wide as Marlene started to giggle but she quickly stopped as you gestured for her to explain. Lily glared at her and Marlene suppressed a smile. 
Lily turned to you, “I just think you need to talk to him directly, he’s in the hospital wing”
”Where’s James?” they both looked at each other, worry in their eyes. Marlene fidgeted with her ring.
“Slughorn took him, we’re hoping McGonagall will get involved at least,” Lily chewed on her lip nervously “It might help”
You sighed as you flopped back down to your bed. Everything was falling apart. You felt like you were falling apart. James wouldn't have gotten physical unless it was needed. He was always so relaxed, sure he always had a witty comment on the tip of his tongue, always some smart bullshit to spew. But to get physical? You couldn't help but still be grateful for him. For whatever the reason was.
Your thoughts strayed to Sirius,
You felt your eyes water again, hot with tears. You couldn’t help but laugh at the idea of it all.
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Tags ! (lmk if they don’t work or if u wanna be added) :
@beekeepingageissome,
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barrenclan · 7 months ago
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Rereading some issues and i just realized that in issue #4, when rainhaze and pinekit talk about what happens when you die, pinepaw says that whatever happened to rainhaze, he hopes it felt like falling asleep. and the drawing of rainhaze at the bottom shows him with a torn ear. which he didn't have at all in the flashback, or, any of the flashbacks, actually... mostly, because Hacksaw is the one who gave him the torn ear the first time him, her, and ranger met. Oh my god. oh my god...... it was all basically there.... The Whole Time ........
Yes indeed!
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That was indeed a reference to Prowl, yes. :) As Cormorantpaw associates wolves with threat, even though BarrenClan cats don't know what they are.
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morgana-ren · 6 months ago
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Throwing out the idea that Astarion furiously masturbates over your sleeping body while he drinks your blood. Your blood is the first he’s ever drank in 200 years, it also dosn’t help that you keep being so nice to him. He can’t help it.
I am sorta back after months of medical troubles and I am announcing it in my normal fashion: with a reprehensible smut piece.
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Warning: Extreme sexual content, vulgar language, thoughts of noncon, references to noncon, semi-dark Astarion, things that could be interpreted as sexual violence and regular violence, blood and the works.
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The skulking has him feeling like more of a lowly rat than usual. He slinks quietly through the fauna like a cat stalking a canary, sneaking across the camp where he has made his own nest, his eyes darting about at every slight flicker of light and every unexpected noise. His comrades-in-arms sleep peacefully, strewn about the ground and various makeshift tents, blissfully unaware that a monster lurks within their midsts, and he fully intends to keep it that way.
As dastardly and lowly as he feels, an unknown feeling courses through him. Something that leaves him feeling strong– predatory. The weak blood of rodents and livestock thrums through his veins, every synapse sparking alive, the string and sinew of his body singing to his limbs in anticipation. Anxiety sends his thoughts racing, and yet, he is giddy as a child with mischief on the mind.
A long-denied truth demands acknowledgement, and so he finally acknowledges it. He is vampire. And he is hunting. 
Even a spawn possesses fangs sharp enough to rend flesh from bone and claws of steel, honed to a fine point. His senses so keen that he is aware of the deer that scamper in the forest and the birds coupled away in the branches of trees on the outskirts of the meadow. The pulsing of blood that rings a siren’s song in his ears, awakening the long-dead glands nestled alongside his teeth.
He finds that, for once, he is not the victim in the arrangement. No, he isn't. In fact, he is the horror, looming over his vulnerable and slumbering mark, their body entirely at his mercy— His right to his to sink deep fang and claw and anything else he might deem fit, helpless to stop him. For once, his true self shines through in the dim firelight of camp, and he is not the Astarion he has been browbeaten into seeing himself as. He is not unmolded clay, ready to be shaped at will by clutching hands and eager thoughts. He is not malleable and he shall not bend. 
He is not Astarion the spawn; Astarion the mongrel; Astarion the Honeypot; Astarion the tool to be used and discarded. He is not the meek, or the charming, or whatever else his prey finds need of. He is power and gluttonous greed incarnate. He is the prowling shadow over the unsuspecting sweet and he will take what he needs. 
He is Astarion the Vampire– and he is ravenous.
The gentle toe-tip-toe through the grass to where his prey lies ignorant, sleeping so terribly peacefully, his silken shoes making nary a sound as he creeps ever closer. Feet light as air, graceful as a swan. Even the wind seems to disregard his presence, passing over him with hardly a fuss through his silver curls.
They suspect not a thing. Even the warrioress Lae’zel, her sharpened senses whetted like a blade, keeps her eyes sheathed shut, her breath even and her body unmoving. There is no cry of anger or protest as he approaches the clutch of blankets where you have made your rest, leering over your slumbering form, feeling all parts pure need as he observes.
Saliva slicks his ivory teeth like a slavering mutt, his hands almost shaking as he kneels on bended knee to witness the gently pulsing column of your exposed throat. It calls to him, sings to his senses, and every ounce of his being begs him to shred hungrily into his meal like a carnivore– like a beaten animal starved of nourishment. Like a dog offered scraps of offal.
But he is not an animal, and you are useful to him yet. He is dignified, but more than that, he is in control of himself. He is in control of his words and actions, and for one time in his all-too-long life, he will not yield to the whims of another, even the dark voice in the back of his mind that urges him to rip and tear and maul like the wretched thing he is. 
No, his first meal will not be one of viscera and terror and screaming, even as the idea appeals to the baser parts of him. It shall be quiet and quick as a rogue in the night, and though he would expect disappointment from the revelation, he finds that this moment shared privately with himself and only himself is something he intends to treasure. 
He has named you for his mark for this most special of occasions. Even as he knows you likely wouldn’t feel honored by such a thing, he feels a quiet sense of pride on your behalf. You are his first taste of true life. A place of high honor in the triumvirate of freedom:
His first glimpse of the sun; his first venture into the world; his first true meal. 
Gentle as a lover, he kneels over you, teeth bared, scarlet eyes flashing in the firelight. A calm hand on your shoulder to steady you, the other splayed across the grass to anchor himself. His fingers quake in both eagerness and anxiety, his hearing hypersensitive to every rustle and sigh that does not belong to the chorus of nature in the evening hours. He has committed himself to this, but to be caught is to condemn himself red-handed to the stake– a fate he’d rather avoid. 
As he leans, his teeth gliding gently across delicate, slightly dampened skin, he believes it worth the risk. 
The tang of sweat and flesh hits his taste buds as he softly glides his tongue across the pulse-point of your throat. He licks where he intends to find his feast, savoring the flavor of his intended prey. Many times he had caught himself staring, wondering what it might be like; what you might be like, and he fully intends to satiate the curiosity that had been building in his brain for weeks on end.
As he indulges himself in the thought, he finds he can no longer wait. He tells himself he cannot stall– cannot draw this out as he might’ve liked to– but the nagging churning in his gut rings above all else. He is starved and he must sate it. He does not join in the argument between the two warring forces in his mind, and instead resorts to pure instinct to settle the matter. 
His fangs dimple tender flesh at first, and then, soft as a whisper, sink inside. Lifeblood floods his mouth like a symphony of rapture, the taste of ecstasy on his tongue, and his lips clamp like a viper on your throat, eager and yearning for more. It is as liquid fire as it slides down his throat, your soft whimpering spurring in tandem with the  glory that branches through his every quivering limb and sets his mind alight. His eyes, vigilant at first, now flutter shut, allowing himself to fall into the velvet-cloaked abyss.
The thousand-year fog lifts from his brain as he drinks and for the first time since breath still filled his lungs, he feels right. 
Raw strength almost seems to inflate his lean muscle, plucking a harpsichord on his tendons. The pounding drum of your rabbiting heart beneath your ribs plays in tandem with the rush of blood in his ears. The deafening cacophony of the cold, miserable years is blasted away and finally stitches together in unison with an ethereal orchestra of utter intoxication. A preternaturally beautiful song that lulls him into the first sense of peace he has felt in years– perhaps that he has ever felt. A tune he shall never forget for as long as he lives.
His senses soar so high that he swears, beneath the deafening chorus of euphoria, he can hear the revelry as far as Baldur’s Gate. In his mind’s eye, the unsuspecting citizens of the Jewel are celebrating the birth of a new man born under the silvery spears of moonlight miles away. These many long years, he has been truly dead, and only now, he is resurrected in the swaddling shroud of blood and dark. He has been truly reborn. At one with himself at last, he thinks. At one with you. 
The blood falls easily down his throat, pooling warmly in his gut in glorious fulfillment. The delirium tendrils outward, gently coaxing bliss and promise where it caresses. His legs buckle, pale cheeks hot and flushed, some unknown sensation taking hold like a fist as he suckles and refusing to relinquish the iron grip. The low of his abdomen tingles, drawing in life like a vacuum to a place once desolate and lifeless. 
It is a feeling he cannot place at first. Something dusted and forgotten and placed far and away in his mind, out of reach. And yet, as the delectable warmth floods every inch of his body anew, he experiences it as plainly as when his heart still beat in his chest and youth was as inevitable as the rising sun. The needle-thin hairs of his body stand on end, palms beginning to sweat against your shoulder. A primal need swells in his stomach, a gentle throbbing between his thighs that translates into pain as he strains against the leather of his breeches. 
Arousal. 
Desire bleeds into itself, separate colors swirling together to become one enthralling splash on the rapacious canvas of his brain. The scalding hot bliss of the feed and the tiny, breathy mewls of your still-sleeping form. You have given him what he so desperately coveted, and now, it seems, his nature demands he take more– everything you hold dear in its entirety offered up at the altar of his superior strength and cunning and existence. 
The inherent eroticism of feeding is not lost on him, but it has never held any meaning until this moment. Lust is a cruel stranger that he has opted to spurn. Something wielded against him as a weapon– a barbed whip that has flogged and scarred him into conditioned disgust. It is unfamiliar at first, and yet it screams now with the same familiarity as every other function and twice as demanding. 
Pale lashes flutter open, doubled vision focusing in almost too sharply on your strained features: the soft furrow of your brow, the scrunch of your still-closed eyes, the soft pout of your petal-pink lips, slick with moisture from your unconscious whines of pain. He has noticed you, yes, in the way another might notice a dagger or a halberd or a stocky shield to wield. Your appearance is just one in a long line of defenses he intended to harvest for his own gain, and yet now, as he hazily stares at the shadow of your profile that flickers in the flames, he feels the unmistakable curl and coil of a different kind of need. 
Something steely clamps onto his consciousness beyond the haze of unreason. He cannot. That is too far, and something distant and shrill in his mind knows it. As desperate as he is to crawl atop and mount you, leaving you breathless and hoarse in his wake, he cannot. Some things can never be forgiven, and he has already crossed that line for his own well-being. Ravaging you as you lie vulnerable and helpless– trusting– serves no purpose in keeping him alive.
He tells himself this, his suckling receding to a temperate drawl, laving tongue and teeth across the puncture wounds. The baser parts of him cry protest, the pulsing becoming more insistent with each passing second, until it leaves him knock-kneed and clutching at the grass for purchase against the cresting tide of want. All variety of debased scenarios fly through his mind, each one more debauched than the last. 
Control and lust, two things unfamiliar with each other before now due to the cruel nature of his existence, fold in perfectly as one and sharpen into a vengeful blade he craves to use. How he longs to leave a wound as deep as the one he carries day after day, unrelenting and open as the day it was wrought. He wants to lash out, to strike, to take as he pleases as the world has taken so from him–
A wound not meant for you, he must remind himself through the hot-pink haze, even as it defies him. 
No. It is a line he will not cross. He is a monster, but he is a monster of a different breed. You have given him everything, even as you do not know it. More pragmatically, he will not give his life for one brief, violent encounter of forcefully obliged desire. He is worth more than such vile things, he tells himself, and strangely, he finds as he ponders it, so too are you. 
He repeats it in his head as a mantra, over and over, practically yelling it over the tidal wave of instinctual impulse that threatens to drag him undertow. He is his own man, and he shall not be controlled ever again; not by Cazador, and certainly not by the more wretched pieces of himself, even as they screech and claw at the cell where he has locked them away, howling their dreadful, unspeakable demands.
It does not abate. The insistent pulse of blood that brings long forgotten life to his appetite, the mortifyingly genuine urge that begs him to touch you, feel you, taste you in the ways he has not craved in eons. It frightens him, and yet, even as he longs to pull himself away, to run and run and run into the darkness where neither you nor this horrible need can find him, he does not. He sits still as a marble statue, almost as if carved in some grotesque form of this heinous moment captured in one rotten, eternal exhibit: half atop your sleeping body, clutching and panting in need, and half splayed absurdly in the dirt, straining and desperately trying to conceal his shame from some invisible force that mocks him.
He cannot have you. Even as he yearns and craves it with a fire that singes and burns his overactive nerves and imagination, he cannot. Yet, his body will not relent, demanding release from the torment that plagues both his mind and his nethers in equal form, paralyzing him in a dangerous inactivity. You won’t awaken– he has taken too much and your weakness is apparent– but the others might and he must act. Compromise is a risk he cannot take–
And still he must. 
And so, even as he should withdraw and return to the pitiful, empty loneliness of his tent, he does not. Instead, he realigns himself, as quiet and swift as the wind, still half-perched over you, but with a newly freed hand to his disposal for a contemptible purpose. It snakes the length of his torso to the waist of his breeches, his dexterous fingers undoing the laces with desperate speed and agility, his expression equal parts humiliation, shame, and anxious desire. He slides the waistband down enough that his long-neglected cock springs free, his muscles bracing and tensed as his newly blood-warmed flesh is chilled in the cool night air. Pinprick pores betray his discomfort at the crisp evening gale, but the rest of himself is otherwise occupied, consumed by his present task. 
One of his sharply tipped fangs worries at the swell of his plush lower lip as he wiggles his pants further down, both internally cursing and praising the newly unlocked spectrum of his vampiric grace that make such conspicuous actions effortless and reticent. Even as he is agile and practiced, each urgent movement feels fluid and natural. Silent as the grave and insignificant against the sounds of nature that envelop their surroundings. He does not fumble or falter, smooth as satin and with steely resolve as his palm finds his shaft and a shiver runs the length of his spine, settling readily in his abdomen.
In his previous encounters, he could put himself into working order, but nothing like this. It was a job– something that must be done, no matter how distasteful or degrading. What he feels now, it’s almost foreign to him; his cock strangely hot and pulsing with a heartbeat of its own. Heavy as sin in his hand and just as demanding, just as cruel in its insistence. Stiff and throbbing, a compass point dogged and unrelenting as it seeks to nestle between your wet, silky thighs and burrow there. It shrieks in his head, unsatisfied and wailing at his refusal to acquiesce. 
He ignores it, testing with one brusque stroke with his palm. It twitches, pleasure blooming upward through his gut even at the slightest of contact. Again, he tightens his fingers around his girth, pumping slowly as the sepulcher where he had locked away all dead semblance of lustful craving and fervor comes to life once more. As he thumbs the top, he feels the thin, sticky fluid leak from the tip, betraying his eagerness even as he pretends composure– as much composure as he can pretend in this unbelievably humiliating debacle. 
He will have to worry about that later. 
His eyes sweep over your face once more, peaceful now that his teeth no longer injure your tender neck. Your lips slightly agape, eyelashes fluttering softly as you sweetly dream once more. He imagines how different it might look if he were to uncage his urges– to allow himself the forbidden pleasure of sinking himself inside of you twice in one night. How your eyes might fly open in horror, your lips ready to shriek, little fists balled in defense, only to gasp as he pushes his length between your splayed thighs, enveloping himself in your tight, wet heat. White-hot. Exquisite. Immaculate.
The companions are gone– no, they don’t exist. It is only you and him now, you sprawled beneath him, half shock and half horror, and he– the predator that has stalked you from the shadows, the vampire in the night– taking as he pleases, as is his right. He feels your velvet walls flutter around him, trying to adjust to the cruel new thickness bullying inside them, squeezing him in the most delicious way. Your mouth is still open in a wordless cry as he plunges his tongue between your teeth, tasting a different part of you now, swallowing the desperate sounds you begin to make. 
His cock throbs against the calloused flesh of his palm as he strokes himself, teeth gritting to quiet the noise that bubbles in his throat from the blossoming pleasure that takes root and begins to grow rapidly out of control. The fantasy plays in perfect form in his head, and it almost feels real as he gathers the precum in the crook of his thumb and slicks it over the shaft with firm fingers, pretending it’s your body that wets and grips him.
You would fight and struggle– he knows you would– but you are nothing in the face of his sheer strength and dominance. Pinned by the deceptively strong muscle of his lean body, you have no choice but to follow his lead, thighs forced wider to accommodate his narrow hips, back pressed firmly against the ground by his weight. Your tits, warm and soft beneath the thin fabric of your nightshirt and begging to be squeezed, squashed against him with the frantic rise and fall of your chest.
The squeal his first thrust would rip from you would be heavenly. High-pitched and pathetic, and yet almost drowned out by the equally sweet clench of your body around his. So tight that it almost aches him, unaccustomed to the intrusion and compelled to yield to him, moulding itself to the shape of him inside of you. He slides out slow, almost callous and so terribly casual in his malice, making you feel every inch of him drag against the supple walls of your cunt before slamming in again, vicious in his impact. Your body jumps beneath him from the force, whining into his mouth. Your blunt nails digging into his arms and tearing at his frigid, stone flesh. It is futile– he can barely even feel it, and the slight sting he can is laced with pleasure and the reminder that you are at his mercy now.
He is panting, breath coming in ragged staccato bursts even as it is unnecessary to him. Pure instinct has a hold of him now, his hand working in unfailing rhythm between his thighs as he loses himself in the vision. Your injury weeps ever so slightly, and he cannot help the flick of his tongue along the twin-pocked bitemarks, leaving a thinly shining trail of blood-streaked saliva in his wake. He aches to touch you; to slip the delicate sleeve of your nightwear down and indulge himself in the softness of your body. 
He is not so subtle in his mind. He simply tears the garment, ripping it from your body with terrible ease. One hand busies itself with containing yours above your head, squeezing at the wrist to keep you captive even as you thrash, the other luckier still as it gropes and pinches your breast. Warm in his hand, he can feel your pulse skyrocketing in fear or perhaps excitement– whichever suits him most– as he reels back and cants his hips forward again. 
His hips slap against your thighs with bruising strength, your body beginning to respond to his in kind. He feels your wetness slick over his cock and lubricate his next few thrusts, heightening his pleasure. You mewl against his tongue, body arching into his, perhaps against your own will, fingers flexing and furling fruitlessly in his grasp. He settles into rhythm, cruel but precise, hips grinding with every punctuating impetus. It takes an absurd amount of mental discipline not to simply take you in furious, animalistic fashion as he longs, but he manages through the impulse, lower body moving in circular rhythm, his pelvic bone stimulating you with each contact. 
Your panicked breaths become heaving pants, flittering eyes glazing over and becoming heavy, the muscles that are pulled so tautly in defense waver and eventually flop, accepting your defeat at his hands. Perhaps you are betrayed and hurt and hateful, but you desire him. He is beautiful in the moonlight, pale as a ghost but alive and burning with unhinged need and that same fire kindles between your legs and winds and winds tighter like a top before the spin. He releases your swollen, puffy lips only for his fangs to find your throat and your cry is desperate and howling, your blood sweeter than the finest wine as it touches his tongue. 
You cannot formulate words– neither of encouragement nor protest– as he fucks you relentlessly into the ground, helping himself to your body and your blood. Only nasally, frantic cries can make it past your throat, your hands grasping at him, pleading and desperate. He hooks your thigh around his waist, fingers digging into the flesh with bruising strength, and you clamp it there, almost as if clinging to him for purchase as he bucks and snaps, snarling like a beast perched to pounce.
You are helpless and small and defenseless and vulnerable in the face of him, and he is strong and virile and predatory and fearsome. He has no need of your protection; he is the ruthless power of the night and the fear the lurks in the dark. He ravages you with no regard to the future, knowing only that he holds it in his palm, and if he wants you, he shall take you. He does not walk in shadow and skulk in fear, but boldly in the open, the world and you ripe for the plucking. 
He cannot help it. His hand is not enough. Ecstasy builds in his apex, building and bubbling at his fantasy, but he needs to feel. The hand not currently stroking himself in frantic need finds a way under the loose opening of your shirt, defying his mental mantra. The curve of your breast coaxes his skin, swelling and warm against his flesh as his insubordinate fingers find their way lower and lower under your blouse. Your nipple peaks as he gently rolls it in his careful, ghostlike fingertips, squeezing at your chest with an inhuman tenderness that only has him craving harder, more– 
Your cries would come in unison with his own, yours wailing and pathetic and squealing, and his rugged and husky and snarling. You would bare yourself to him– all of you– acquiescing to his unrelenting power. He would take you there, on the ground like an animal how he pleased and for as long as he pleased. Now you are the clay for him to shape and play with and use as he pleases, existing only for him and his wants. Your blood is in no short supply, and he sups and dines as he pleases while he uses your body to pleasure his cock and the baser parts of himself that have reignited inside of your core. You are powerless to fight him, so you give yourself over completely to him, debasing yourself for him, crawling for him, needing him. 
You’d beg for him, body and soul, so eager and ready. Desperate and pathetic. He’d fuck you until your whines became higher and higher, eventually spilling into the night in humiliating urgency as you came undone beneath him. Your legs quivering and shaking, senses gone and inhibition nonexistent. Your fluttering walls would tighten and squeeze and damn near strangle him, the absurd sound of your wetness utterly mortifying if you had your wits about you, but music to his ears. 
Harder and faster with no regard for your overstimulated crooning, he’d take you, working himself to his peak, almost rabid in his unhinged, disjointed movements. His rhythm would fail, becoming more convulsive and urgent with every plunge of his hips. He’d chase his end inside of you, the blissful heat of your body, the cadence of your moans, and snug, velveteen swaddling of your sopping cunt the closest taste of the divines he’ll ever have– that he’ll ever want. 
He’d cum inside of you, burying himself so deep that he’d be certain you could taste it. It would spill out of you as he milked himself to completion with your pliant body, heaving against your bloody neck, a hand in your hair to rip your head back and drag down against him. Bruised inside and out in the shape of him, his hands, his teeth, his cock all leaving their permanent mark. It won’t heal, it won’t ever heal, he’ll make sure of it–
It’s his– it’s his– it’s all for him and no one else. Not even the Gods could wrestle this away from him. There isn’t a force in the planes that could pry him from atop you– you belong to him, your body, your mind, your tongue, your taste, your cunt–
His cock throbs furiously in his hand, gritted pants and strangled noises escaping his throat. It is only through sheer supernatural ability that he is able to withdraw his hand from your shirt and catch himself before he slumps completely atop you, no doubt waking you with the force of it. The ecstasy spills over, unfettered bliss exploding outward from his core and sparking fire throughout every inch of his body. His eyes roll backward, head slooping forward as he works his pulsing cock, every last ounce of self-control in his ancient body holding back a howling cry. 
He spills into his palm, carelessly covering his shaft in the sticky, gossamer fluid as he milks clean the very last remnants of pleasure from himself with the fervor of a man starved of it. His toes curl in his shoes, teeth gritting to the point of pain as he withholds a sigh of euphoria. His extremities tingle as his body sags, muscles exhausted and screaming from the exertion, and he almost collapses as it fades from him as quickly as it approached, still singing beautiful contentment somewhere deep inside of him.
Sagging completely into the dirt, he lies there, bare and open to the sky: Hand defiled and dripping with the seed of his shame, sweat wetting the delicate white curls behind his ears, breeches pulled cleanly to his akimbo knees. It takes a moment for the world to settle into his foggy brain once more, but shame cuts as cleanly as a knife as the clouds of desire split and the light of reality once again illuminates the situation. 
Frantic fear takes hold of his stomach, and his head swivels towards where you sleep, calmed only by the fact that you still sleep soundly with no inkling or inclination as to what he has just done. As he glances around, the rest of the camp is equally unaware, each person neatly in their place, unmoving and unalert. His secret is his and no one elses.
He allows himself a few moments to catch the breath he does not need, wiping the evidence of the encounter into the grass with a sense of disgust and indignity as he does. He feels remarkable– alive for the first time in centuries– and yet it is marred by the yoke of scandal he feels having been bested by such an absurd thing. Overwhelming desire he has not felt since he was a young, handsome elf brimming with potential and swarming with suitors, back when his chest still beat with blood and his skin was flushed and warm rather than pale and pallor. 
It’s unfamiliar to him, and he bares his teeth at the thought. Sex is something filthy and cursed– and yet it didn’t feel so in the moment. Even now, his fingertips tingle at the thought of your puckered peak gently caressed, the soft sound of your sighs, the vulnerability you show him. He’d barely touched you and yet you sent his senses alight like a bonfire. The taste of you still lingers on his tongue, and he cannot help but savor it. As he hikes the band of his pants back up his hips, he feels shame, yes, but also something different. Something oceans away from the helpless misery he usually feels after the degrading act. 
He feels at peace. He feels satisfaction. He feels right. He does not feel debased, but empowered– almost giggly as a schoolboy at the wrongness of it all.
He chose this. For the first time he can remember, he chose this. He took control and his pleasure did not come at his own expense. It came at yours, yes, but he doesn’t like to make a habit of grappling with fragile, banal things such as morality. He is a libertine, and where he finds pleasure, he shall take it, because he knows all too well what it is to be starved of it and all that makes life worth living. 
Besides, you seem fine. Sleeping deep as a babe in the cradle, none the wiser. As he sits right and dabs potion at the wounds at your neck so as to not leave a trace of his crime, he allows himself one quiet, satisfied sigh. It disconcerts him that as he studies your slumbering body and slack face, he feels pinpricks in his core once again, whispering remnants of that desire that had unhinged him so before, but he will have to unpack that later. 
He is no fool. Something has changed, and it isn’t the strength that flows through him free as a fountain that was once clogged and stunted, nor the heightened attunement of his mind to damn near everything around him to the point of absurdity. He feels right for the first time with the blood he has stolen away with, and smug at getting away with something so risky as he often does, but more than that. 
He is a vampire fully satisfied in more ways than one, and the fulfillment and delight he feels overrides the shame and wrestles it into the quiet. 
You are something to him, though he isn’t sure what. He had not questioned why he’d picked you before, but the question begs itself now. He does not allow himself the indulgence of touching you once more. He doesn’t taste you or feel your skin. He only withdraws as silently as he came, backing off and away from the light of the fire that burns low, dying embers spitting against charred, ashen logs, his shadow stretching long before disappearing into the dark of the night. 
As he moves back to his tent, he stalks the shadows, but he does so with head held high, back straight as a bow, graceful and the very picture of pride. There’s an unmistakable grin on his reddened lips and a flush to his face not wholly attributed to the blood that now courses through him. Pieces of himself unlocked after so many years of servitude. He feels himself again, and the world feels his oyster once more. What your role is in that world, he doesn’t know yet. 
But he has a feeling he’ll figure it out soon enough.
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gortash-did-nothing-wrong · 7 months ago
Text
Feral
Reader has a cat and Feyd isn't a fan. Or so he says.
When his betrothed moves to Giedi Prime, she brings many things with her. Clothing, of course. Bedding as well, apparently she has sensitive skin. Two ladies maids, as none of the Harkonnen servants knew how to style hair. And one thing that seemed entirely unnecessary to Feyd. A cat.
A horridly behaved, near feral Tom cat to be specific. He looked nothing like the well groomed pets noble ladies kept. His fur tended to look unkept and dirty. He had white fur on his belly, and whenever he slivered back inside of the palace after sneaking away for a few hours, his white belly fur looked grey from all the dirt.
Friz, the cat was called. Fitting, you would think, if you saw his crooked whiskers and the mats that tended to form behind his ears. His betrothed, Y/N, tried to keep him from matting too much by brushing his fur a bit each day. Y/N had told him once that, "Friz is just at that age where cats tend to get a bit lazy with their personal hygiene."
Friz got dirtier and dirtier every day until Y/N took to bathing him three times a week to keep him clean. She often returned from that task with angry red marks down her arms. Deep scratches that Feyd would grumble about as he disinfected them for her. "Can't you declaw that wretched thing? People are going to think I'm hurting you."
She chuckled, then winced at the sting of the disinfectant he spread on her cuts. "Not a chance. That's basically cutting off half of his toe. It gives them arthritis and makes them depressed."
Feyd grunted, choosing not to mention how the cat probably already had arthritis and was always angry.
Honestly, he didn't mind his wife having a pet, he really didn't. But one would think that the point of having a pet was to either train it to do a task, or for it to provide companionship. Feyd thought the point of cats was for them to kill rodents and cuddle up to their owners. But not only would Friz not cuddle, he barely let anyone ever touch him. Even Y/N.
If Friz wasn't in the mood to be touched, anyone trying to pet him would get bitten, clawed, and pissed on in that order. Feyd nearly wanted to kill the mangy thing when it pissed in his boots. But Y/N fretting over him and insisting on cleaning his boots for him, and even shining his boots for him cooked his temper. As did her kissing him afterwards.
Fritz was lucky the boots weren't new.
It wasn't until one day, when he and Y/N both fell ill with a pesky cold that confined them both to bed that he began to appreciate Friz.
The tomcat seemed to sense there was something wrong with them, and diligently prowled around their bed for half an hour before jumping up to join them. At first he hesitantly crouched near the foot of the bed, but cautiously made his way up to sit on Y\Ns chest. Feyd opened his mouth to make a joke about Friz preparing to eat them, but was cut off by the shocking sound of purring. The grumpy old crusty cat was purring!
Feyd's amazement only increased when Friz eventually migrated to lay on his chest, kneading at his flym filled chest with his grubby paws in a comforting pattern and purring.
Feyd cautiously lifted his hand, barely touching Friz before the cat sank his teeth into Feyd's hand.
Feyd coughed while Y/N laughed. "He's all business today, no petting allowed."
Feyd smiled, despite himself. The purring was nice. A soothing rhythm that had him on the edge of sleep, sinking into it's embrace in no time at all.
Maybe he could come to appreciate the feral beast.
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