#she did not turn into the god of fear and hunger

[moonmarbled]

Puppy

[drgnflyteabox]

red ochre [2]

series masterlist previous || part two -> woad and weld || part three -> tbd

pairing: viking goap x fem! nun reader summary: you recover from the boat, and wonder why you were taken w.c: 3.9k tags/warnings: pain, caretaking, food, stomach issues, threats, mean simon, fears of rape (doesn't happen), viking-typical slavery, unwanted cuddling / massage / touching, alcohol, scars, violence, hunting, laswell hello!, reader has some puritanical attitudes / assumptions but she was a nun so, power imbalance, dubcon comfort, crying, religious themes (dldr)

You're a stone sunk to the bottom of the ocean, pulled under by exhaustion and turmoil. It's the sleep of the dead, dreamless and unreachable.

Vaguely, in moments of semi-consciousness, you hear voices and feel softness against your skin, warmth all around you. The brush of fingers against your cheeks.

When you do wake, it's like crossing between different worlds, with a head full of cotton and fog. Your sense of smell comes alive before anything else, the smell of food permeating the air around you.

Fish. Cream. Something herbaceous, something earthy. A fire crackles closeby, warming the air, warming you. You can feel fur touching your arms and legs, draped over you and flat underneath you.

It only serves to soften to blow of pain, overwhelming pain. True awareness comes then, waking you with a gasp that alerts-

"Did she just-"

"Sh!" Simon's voice, coming closer. "You awake?" his face comes into view above - you only recognize him by voice.

He's scarred, big and small, but the most eye-catching one bisects his face, splitting it into two from his cheekbone to his jaw on the other side. It's deep, raised, angry even if you can tell it's healed.

You scream.

It's a weak sound, the cry of somebody that knows it's pointless and yet can't help but shout into the void and hope that something will answer.

Before, that would have been god. You'd have prayed, lived as a hermit, sequestered yourself to a cave and live as one of the great ascetic saints. A life even further dedicated than nunhood.

Since he had refused to answer you on the boat, you turn away, and whimper like an injured dog when that scarred face turns to a mask of stone.

"Ha!" Johnny doesn't pick up on the tension that's rising, slowly, as you tremble under Simons gaze. Or maybe he does, and he doesn't care. "Havnae seen his ugly mug yet, have ye? Dinnae worry, lamb."

Guilt curls in your belly, dampening your fear. Simon doesn't look shamed, but you weren't afraid of his scars - truly, you were disoriented, barely clothed and towered over by the same man that took you.

"He won't bite," Johnny continues. He walks over and lays a hand on Simons waist, fingers curling in the off-white fabric. "Well, not ye."

A wink.

"Hush!" Simon barks. "Get her up, she needs to eat."

There's no hesitation. Johnny leans down to you, pulling you until you sit up with a wince. You bite your lips to keep from crying out again, pain lancing through your muscles. You're seized by muscle spasms, by the fiery hot pain of your chafed wrists and a gnawing, deep hunger in your stomach.

"How-" you choke, throat dry and voice unused. Johnny pauses helping you up to listen. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Few days, lass. It's the evening," he grins. "Ye should thank us. Kept ye warm, washed, slipped ye broth into that lovely mouth-"

Simon puts a wooden bowl down onto the table, louder than necessary. There's a grumble from Johnny, but he gets you up and waits while your legs get used to weight on them again.

You're half-dragged, mostly carried to the table. All you're wearing is that shirt, nipples pebbled against the front from the cold. Hard to care too much when your muscles scream even holding yourself sitting up.

You lean on Johnny as Simon ladles soup into bowls, hunched over the kitchen hearth, silent as the grave.

"Eat slowly," is all he says.

It smells good, herby and warm. Your stomach groans and gurgles and begs you to eat, but you're weary. Afraid. Only when the men eat that you pick up a carved wooden spoon and hesitantly slurp.

Heat. Satisfaction. Eating is incredible, and you discover the wonderous ingredients loaded into the soap; salmon, potatoes, a green herb that tastes like sharp, citrussy grass.

Then your stomach cramps, and you tilt with nausea.

"Too fast?" Johnny coos, rubbing a big palm up and down your back. "Awe."

"That's enough, then," Simon goes to take your bowl, but you're too fast. You pull it close to your chest, spilling a little onto the table and drops soak into your shirt. "You can have some later. I said that's enough."

You hold fast. Your stomach hurts, but you're desperate for some form of control. All the terror and all the uncertainty rises, rushing through your finally conscious brain into a battle of strength. You took me but I have agency! it says. You took me but I can take this!

He's too strong.

The wood bowl clatters against the ground with a crack, hot soup spilling on the floor. You heave with the force of your breathing, afraid and too-aware of your predicament.

Taken, snatched, at the mercy of men whose intentions are unclear.

You're too slow to cower when Simon's arm shoots forward and grabs your jaw, hard and mean, giving you a squeeze.

"Now we've been nice to you," he starts. His voice is as solid as his arm. You start to shake. "But I can just as easily put you over my knee. That what you want?"

You shake your head.

"That's what I thought."

Johnny leaves after the soup is cleaned and you're tucked back into the bed again, muscles trembling still with the exertion of your first meal. Small, electric spasms make you wince every one in a while. Your wrists are bruised and scabbed, but healing. They feel hot and itchy, but Simon tells you as he rubs an ointment into the wound that they're healing well.

You try to shy away, hide yourself, when he notices your grimace and reaches for a calf. The look he gives you stops you, takes your breath, until he shakes his head and starts rubbing deep circles into the tenderest spot of your muscle.

"God!" you should. A wonder how badly you can hurt from just laying in bed. He snorts. "Ow!"

"Don't be dramatic," his thumb presses deeply, moving down, then back up. Squeezing. The bed dips with his weight as he scoots closer to you.

You take a moment to look around you. The cabin is made of wood, warmed by the fire, and is full to the brim. Clay pots, furs, tools, a couple barrels- they're everywhere, unorganized. Makes you wonder about the sacred items they'd stolen from your convent.

"Why did you take me?" someone bolder has possessed you. Your mouth twists when Simon's eyes find yours.

His hands don't stop moving. They switch legs, pulling the finished one onto his big thigh. It does feel better, relaxed and tender in a good sort of way, pain not so unbearable anymore.

"You're our spoils," he moves down, digging into your arch. You almost yelp. "D'you know what we gave up for you?"

Something in your chest squeezes, something scared and unpleasant. You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

"That's alright," Simon murmurs. Your anxiety fights against the comfort he's giving you. "You'll be alright."

He flits his gaze downwards, eyeing you. Your breath catches when you realize that the position has left your legs open, shirt ridden up, and he's looking right at your bare cunt.

"Ah!" you pull your knees shut, hands finding where you're exposed and folding over, cupping yourself, face ablaze. Tears prick at your eyes again, fear winning over comfort.

Simon doesn't let you panic for long.

"I won't force myself on you, pet," he grunts. "We won't."

There isn't much choice but to hang on to his words for dear life, to believe that he won't force you. The hope is fragile, but it's there. You take the chance to pull a soft, worn blanket over your body.

"Am I to be your slave?" your voice wavers.

"No," he says simply.

For a long time, you watch him. He putters about, moving things, unloading boxes no doubt full of supplies used for raids. You wonder if that means he doesn't intend to go on another one, then wonder what they'll do with you if they do leave.

Johnny comes back flushed, smiling. You smell sweetness under his sweat, something you can't recognize. His eyes crinkle when he sees you.

"Two nights," he breathes, looking at you but talking to Simon. "They'll celebrate in two nights."

Your stomach tenses, roiling, eyes fluttering with the effort to stay awake. Even a short time is much for you after your journey.

"Price's back?" Simon asks. He's pulling a sealskin from a burlap bag, smoothing it out with his hands onto the table. The silvery, spotted skin reflects the fireplace.

"Tomorrow," Johnny pulls leather boots off his feet, then thick socks. He wipes himself down with a rag from a tub, shuffling to the bed when he finishes. "Then we feast."

Your eyes are heavy slits, mouth open. You hardly move even when Johnny sits next to you and brushes a thumb over your cheek, smiling toothily down at you.

"Awe, she's precious," he says, lowering his voice. "Go to sleep now, little lamb."

You wake the same way as before. A tilt of one world into the next, sliding down into consciousness as slow as thick porridge.

Only this time, you're surrounded by a warmth not brought by thick furs. It's skin, all around you, boxing you in. On your face you feel hair, prickly and soft, comforting and frightening all at once.

Behind you, a chest breaths against your back. Your eyes open, alarm cutting through grogginess.

Johnnys big hand is clutching your breast, squeezing every few moments, snuffling into your neck like a sleepy animal.

You try to extricate yourself, lifting yourself to find Simon looking down at you, eyes half lidded but aware. There's warning there, but there's also contentment. Scars big and small litter his skin, pocked and torn and scraped, all shapes and sizes. Some are silvery while others are such a deep red you'd think they were still fresh.

He looks past you at Johnny, and turns to his side.

"Weren't planning on running, where you?" his voice is low, so as to not wake the other man.

"No," you whisper. Johnny shuffles behind you, sliding a thigh between your legs. "Please help me." you wiggle, trying to move.

Simon sighs, sitting up. He shuffles to the edge of the bed, then reaches to peel Johnnys hands off you. His hand slides against the soft spring of your breast, hands sliding under Johnnys to pull, brushing your nipple on the way up.

"Thank you," you're still whispering, not wanting to wake Johnny up lest it irritate Simon. You roll until you're out of his grasp, body feeling less pained than it did the day before.

"Hungry?" Simon moves towards the kitchen. "Got one more day to relax."

The feast, you think. The divide, the celebration. Frissons climb your skin until your scalp prickles.

"Yes, please," you sit up, weary of Johnny finding your heat in the bed.

The smell of animal fat and the sound of sizzling fills the cottage then. You look around, noting an improvement for the clutter. The sealskin is gone, replaced by two standing up boots.

"They're yours," Johnny says. You startle, almost leap, but he catches you by the hips and puts his face into your hair. "Simon stayed up all night."

"Gets cold," he dismisses. Eggs jump in the pan in front of him, popping in the hot tallow.

You have to be helped again to the table, but it's not so bad this time. You arm goes around Johnnys waist, his under yours, fingers barely brushing the underside of your breast.

Breakfast is good. Fried eggs, seasoned by the fat, over gruel. It fills you with an internal sense of strength, and you can actually finish it all today.

"Good girl!" Johnny claps your back. "Gonnae be choppin all our wood for winter, eh?"

After, Simon has you change into a simple brown wool dress. You try to ignore them looking at your nakedness as you drop the other shirt, but the wool is nice and warm and there's even a soft pale shift to go underneath it.

Then he slips pants on your legs, tied at the waist under the dress, and wraps wool around your calves.

"You're gonna run errands with me," Simon says. He wraps your feet again in wool, securing them with leather twine. "Get your strength up."

His eyes find yours where he's kneeling, squinting at you, expression turning stormy.

"I don't want to re-injure your wrists," he motions to them, and you look at the healing scabs. "But if you try to run, I'll drag you back by your hair n' tie 'em back up. You pick."

Outside, you wince against the light. Simon holds you by the elbow, walking at your weak pace. It's a tight village, houses clumped together, shops close. It's a wonder you haven't heard anyone from inside Johnny and Simons home, until you see how thickly the walls are built when the door opens.

The street is wet with mud, and you're grateful for the footwraps. They're warm against the chill, sliding through the mud beneath you when you lose your footing, legs feeling as new as a fawn.

"Here," Simon leads you to a market-like stall. Dried meats hang from the ceiling in bunches. The smell is pungent.

"Nik!" He shouts. A huge, burly man steps out.

They talk like they've known each other a long time, though not quite friends. An image of two great bears crosses your imagination, both big and still respecting the other. A rare alliance.

Simon hangs a bag off of you, a salty-smelling bag full of cured and fermented meats. The man looks down at you and grins as you leave, laughing lowly.

You bristle, but follow - what else is there to do?

The next stop is a real shop, only you can see a homestead behind a wooden counter.

It's a girl this time, lovely and soft. She smiles at Simon, wordlessly fetching another man from the homestead behind the store.

"Big man!" it's one of the raiders - the young one. Gaz. "And the nun." his brown eyes find yours, friendlier than the last time you saw him.

They talk, too, more amicably than the other man. Gaz folds his forearms over the counter and laughs, peeking at you every once in a while with intense eyes.

"Right," he claps his hands together. "I won't keep you."

You're starting to feel tired, overexerted.

Gaz comes back out with a wrapped package, the soft girl from before on his arm. The apples of her cheeks are high with a smile.

"See you!" she sits back down on her stool, wide hips wiggling until she's comfortable.

"See ya around," Gaz says. He winks at you.

Simon carries this package himself, not looking at you as he leads you further into the village.

People make way for him, not in fear, but because of his size. He's bigger than most, even some of the other men.

The third and final place has you panting, hunched with the effort of keeping yourself up.

It's a house not unlike Simon and Johnny's, just bigger. A wide, squat wooden house with a wide open door and goats bleating from a pen closeby.

Simon glances at you out of the corner of his eye, putting his hand on your lower back as somebody steps out of the doorway.

"Hello again, Simon," it's Price. The leader, or perhaps the chief. It would make sense - his authority, his size, the number of scars on his skin. Nearly as many as Simon. "You bring your end of the bargain?"

Straight to the point then. Price doesn't look at you once, which doesn't do much to assuage the fear that you're the end of the bargain.

"If you've got yours," Simon leaves you behind to follow him inside, where you can hear them talking. Jovial, like old friends.

By the time you get back home, you're wiped. Exhaustion pulls at you like invisible strings dragging you to the bed. Even Johnny with his smarmy expression and his patting the mattress doesn't stop you from crashing.

The men have brought you to a celebration. After letting you sleep a majority of the day after your errands, Simon dressed you in the same wool dress and wrapped a thick cape around your shoulders to ward off the chill.

It's a welcome home. Simon had been the first to see Price at his home - he and a band of fledgling warriors had sailed right past the village and gone hunting.

Price is not the chief, as you had assumed. He is a leader, an explorer, the ambitious spearhead of overseas raids. Nodding heads and a sense of respect, of deference, follows him wherever he goes. Even as an outsider you can see it.

The chief is a woman. It's not something you expected, not with the sheer size of the men around you, not with the brutality in which they regale their exploits. Many of them have wives that trail them, welcome them, carry their children on their hips, or are welcomed as fellow warriors.

These are the fledglings?

You're in a wild, barbaric place.

When you reach the longhouse, a building as short as all the others but stretched much farther and lit orange with light and the smell of honey, you're bathed in warmth.

No, not honey. Alcohol, sweet and cloying on the breath of each viking. Their depravity seems to know no bounds. It's the same sweet smell you'd smelled on Johnny that night he'd left - presumably to speak to the chief.

Laswell, they call her. The chief. She stands on a raised dais with Price, murmuring between themselves, nodding toward Simon and Johnny when they take their seats.

"Right here," Simon spreads his thighs. There are no other spaces on the bench.

"I don't mind standing," you try. He pinches the back of your knee until you buckle into him, tucked into the cradle of his arms. Your heart pounds in your chest.

"Not lettin' ye sit apart from us," Johnny brushes your cheek, and you look past him to the rest of the people gathered.

Decorated, scarred, hardened warriors. Price joins the group, taking a heavy seat by the man from before - Nik - and exchanging claps on the back. Gaz, a woman with dark hair, but Gaz's soft girl is nowhere to be found.

"Welcome!" Laswell shouts. The hall goes silent. "Drink, eat - celebrate a job well done by our boys."

Eruption; noise all around. She's a carefully controlled, steady woman, yet she's inspired this group of a few hundred into the loudest cacophony you've ever heard.

Simon cups his hands over your ears. You try not to be grateful.

Debauchery. You witness debauchery- drinking beyond your most twisted imagination, dancing surely enough to summon a demon, maybe the devil himself. It's enough to make you pray under your breath, turning away from public displays of affection.

Above you, in front of you, conversation. It doesn't slip your mind how high up on the table Simon and Johnny are, right across from Price and Gaz and next to Laswell at the head of the table.

Even she laughs, imbibes, discusses the distribution of goods with a content sort of smile.

"And the nun?" eyes turn to you. Laswell has focused her gaze on you, sharper than before. "You're satisfied with just her?"

Johnny takes a long pull of his mead, before pressing his shoulder to Simons.

"Thas'right!" he only slurs a little. "Found ourselves a proper little wife, we did."

A chill moves through you. A slow freezing. You tense in Simons lap, spine rigid, heart flipping in your chest. Carefully, you try not to show a reaction.

Wife?

"Och! Sorry, lamb," he turns to you and takes your hands. "Didnae mean to ruin the surprise."

"Quite the surprise," Gaz chirps. His girl has found him, and he's made a place for her beside him. You're jealous of her autonomy, especially now. Taken as prisoner, as spoils, and now?

"You promised," you mumble. "You said you wouldn't."

"What's that, love?" Gaz again, but you aren't listening. Blood rushes through your ears.

"You said you wouldn't force me," you look up now, at Simon and his deeply scarred face. He betrays nothing. "Why lie?"

"Didn't lie," he grunts. "Now be quiet."

"When's that, then?" Price asks.

"Before winter."

The walk back is silent except for the wet slaps of your feet against the mud. The chill is worse at night, biting at your nose and your fingers. At least your future husband - husbands - don't want you to freeze.

The thought hits you like a boulder, heavy and immovable. You stop walking, drawing the attention of the observant men.

"Too tired?" Johnny asks.

You run.

Or try to, as fast as you can.

It's hard in this terrain, slippery and with the cold burning your cheeks. You have no direction in mind, only obeying the mindless terror coursing through your blood, unleashed by this night of truths.

Simon is the one to catch up to you not ten feet from where you started, grabbing the back of your cape and pulling hard until you fall on your butt.

It hurts, the ground has slowly been freezing with the onset of fall and Simon is not nice as he captures you back.

"Ow," you sniffle, fingers wet and muddy.

"Yeah I bet that hurt," his voice has gone hard. "Where did you think you were going?" a laugh, harsh and grating.

"Didnae mean to scare ye," Johnny says. He helps Simon in dragging you back to to cottage.

"In!" Simon barks when you reach the door. You plant your feet, frustrated tears prickling hot and then falling down your cheeks in heavy droplets. "Stupid girl- get inside."

The insult adds salt to the wound as you stumble onto your hands and knees. Pain lances up your wrists.

"Did'ya think you'd be able to what, survive by yourself?" he scoffs. Johnny helps, but mostly just acts as if you're a doll, in removing your cape and sodden woolen dress.

The shift is wet, too. Less muddy than the dress, but still wet. Johnny slips it over your head and you cross your arms to hide your nakedness, still crying.

"Hey," Simon crouches. He puts his face close to yours, noses touching, eyes deadly. "I didn't lie. We won't force you, you'll come to us."

"You'll go to hell," you're upset now, but it only serves to make them shake their heads and laugh breathily, silently. "You stole me."

"Aye, we did," you're wiped dry by big hands. "And you'll be our wife."

Another slip goes over your head, thin and rough on your skin, well-worn.

"Get in bed."

Johnny listens and brings you with him, wiping the tears from your face as he lays you down. You're as helpless as a lamb.

"If I have any choice," you start. "I won't be your wife, and I won't-"

"Wheesht!" Johnny pulls you to him, hand over your mouth, making room for Simon. His other hand goes over your stomach, squeezing. Warmth surrounds you. "You're overexcited, ye need some rest."

God help you, you're so tired you do.

[kifkay]

I love when magic has an effect on the body & soul of its caster. like!! you don’t get to be a reality-bending demi-god and walk away with no strings attached. there’s always a price.

Bloom’s dragon fire consumes her from the inside, leaving lightning-like tissues of scars along her limbs - be careful, rumbles the Great Dragon from within, don’t let your emotions consume you. Bloom wails from the pain and clutches whoever is in the vicinity - but cannot fully stop it. just prevent it or treat the aftermath.

Musa gets migraines. Stella becomes ill when she doesn’t get her daily dose of sunshine. Aisha’s senses get muddy sometimes, almost as if she’s submerged underwater. Nabu experiences uncontrollable tremors in his arms, when he creates too many of his phantoms. all of those are - yes, horrible to experience but manageable enough for the school (and the Magic community at large) to tell them to just suck it up and weather through.

once you get your enchantix though, you start developing… unique abilities. almost like, in achieving the final fairy form, you became one with your brand of magic.

Bloom starts producing smoke. Like - she snorts at something funny Riven or Sky say, and literal puffs of smoke emerge from her nose. It’s jarring at first (“Bloom Peters, when did you start smoking? do you know that it kills??”) but quickly becomes endearing once they realise it’s not life-threatening in any way (after speed-running through like fifteen Magix apothecaries). Among her other ‘oddities’: too hot to cuddle with (only Stella can stand the high temperature, since she has a resistance to heat), becomes strangely overprotective and a little possessive, her eyes sometimes become a startling orange hue as if she’s embodied by the great dragon himself (it’s just a party trick).

Stella becomes more ethereal. In certain lights, her skin looks translucent - like a mirage weaved with moonlight. Her hair glints in the sun, almost too bright to like at; her touch feels phantom-like. She becomes even more beautiful, but less - human, earth-bound, Stella-esque. A curse and a blessing, that one.

Musa’s hearing gets really fucking good. She has a steadily growing dossier of blackmail on every student in Alfea - simply because shut doors or longer distances are no longer obstacles for her. It’s annoying too, because she can’t exactly turn it off - and now she gets to hear all the things people say about her, behind her. but here’s a consolation - she can influence other creature’s emotions through the melodies she hums! like how in canon, she pacified the bird Roc and brought mirth to the arguing fairies.

Flora gets much sturdier. Her skin harder than bark; her body able to withstand thirst and hunger for much longer than the rest. It’s honestly so intimidating. Here’s this sweet young woman — known to cry for trampled flowers and cut weeds!! — absolutely bodying a sharp ass ice shard that Icy attacked her with. It just — crumbles upon colliding with Flora’s body. insane and frankly so so hot for others to see.

As per the negatives… I like the idea of Flora being able to connect to the memories of nature around her and literally absorb the pain/fear/anguish of whatever she witnessed.

Aisha and Bloom are similar, in a sense that both of them are vessels to primordial divinities of their universe — Bloom is the holder of the Dragon Flame, and Aisha is the child of the Infinite Ocean. therefore, both experience a more extreme transformation than their girl friends. like, Aisha’s dreams are infiltrated by visions of past and future; memories of those who were lost to the Ocean. she dreams of Politea, of Tritanus, of her mer cousins and ancestors, and even those who were not yet born. if Aisha was not so mentally wilful, she might’ve folded under the weight of those prophesies.

Aisha can also breathe under water and her body gets the musculature it needs to be on par with her mer cousins while swimming, because why the fuck not?

Tecna - I frankly have no ideas for and would love to hear suggestions!

[achaoticeternal]

a presentation

word count: 750 summary: finding aemond admiring the throne once more, you tell him of your wish to simply be his wife again a/n: just a quick drabble to get some writing going again. not proofread. this is based off the song the greatest by billie eilish

All my love and patience Unappreciated You said your heart was jaded You couldn't even break it

The mass of swords welded together to form the Iron Throne loomed over the Throne Room. Its' magnificence was equally spectacular yet terrifying. An item that represented unity and obedience melded together by fire and death.

It was a seat many had craved over time. Yet she saw the jagged edges that had nicked King Viserys, then Aegon... and soon Aemond would be subjected to it. She had dreamed of it only nights prior.

Her husband ascends the Throne before a mass of nobles and common folk alike. A wolfish smile invades the faces of those surrounding them. Yet when he took his seat with the Conqueror's crown high on his silken hair, an undulled sword from the arm of the chair would slice his palm open. The princess had felt it an omen, an even darker one after Meleys had been carted through the street. The dream was the only thing to replay in her mind as she approached where Aemond now stood. His eyes flickered our the steel of swords stuck together permanently. She always sensed his hunger for power and prayed that his thirst did not come at the cost of blood or their marriage. But the gods paid little favor to them. "It is late," She called out to him, "We should be sleeping." Aemond hummed, acknowledging her comment. He cocked his head to the side, not quite looking at her as his eye remained fixated on the Throne, "We shall be standing up there tomorrow."

The princess swallowed, only to take another step forward as she responded, "You. You will be up there tomorrow. I will be perched next to your mother or Helaena. Either hearing prayers for Aegon's ailments or your ascension." A small, playful smirk painted his lips, "I'm sure I could order a seat to be placed near my feet. So that I may present to the court all my prizes: the Throne, the Crown, the perfect Wife."

Her lips tugged downward, disgust lining her stomach, "Will you dress me and braid my hair too? Paint my face to make my skill look porcelain?"

The Prince Regent finally turned to face her, "Do not use such a tone with me, wife. You have nothing to complain about as I have built you a perfect life." The air between them went stagnant as her eyes remained fixed on them. You face betrayed nothing of what you felt which shocked your husband. He had always been able to read you so plainly, it was something he even enjoyed in your relationship.

"A perfect life?" The princess repeated her words, "Will you put me in a glass display and title it 'A Perfect Life?'?

Aemond's jaw tightened and he took a great step toward her, "I have proven myself to be the greatest Targaryen since Maegor himself and yet you look at me like a villain. This will make people see. This will make people fear me and regret their spineless actions. Now they have no choice but to love and respect their new King."

"And yet I did all of that when you were just Aemond," She barked back at him, her own hurt and anger slipping through, "I respected you, I listened to you, I loved you... for just being a prince- no, just being a boy." "Wife, I-" He attempted to interject.

"I am not finished," The princess stopped him, "I have played the part of your wife, perfectly. I provided you with love, comfort, hospitality, my spirit, my body. I never asked for you to give more of yourself than you could because I knew what a fragile heart you keep locked away. But I am not some pet or doll to be displayed as another prize of your ambition. I am your wife, and you could at least let me enjoy that duty. I only ever wanted to show you love."

At her speech, Aemond had fallen silent. His hands rested behind hs back, silently fidgeting with his leather cuffs. All was still.

"It is late," Aemond finally spoke, "You should get some rest. I will join you in our chambers when I have wrapped up my duties for the evening."

"Very well," The princess swallowed back her pain, once more feeling powerless. She turned on her heels and exited.

I shouldn't have to say it You could've been the greatest

[sugoi-writes]

Can I be 🦇 anon? For some reason I’ve always been obsessed with the flexing part of an arm? I don’t know the technical term but I can’t see Demon Al doing this as much as his human counterpart would sooooooooo human Alastor with his sweetheart who has never EVER soon for him like woman usually do I mean he has ladies fainting LMAOA HOWEVER one day when he’s cutting idk wood or something she sees his arm flex she’s like a puddle I mean full fangirling giggling and screaming and he’s like huh??? Until he realizes and then boom from then on he’s flexing any time he can to pull a scream from her

🦇Anon? Love it! I'm a big fan of bats! This ask was too adorable. I just KNEW I could cook something up!

It does get a liiiiittle suggestive in parts, but otherwise stays perfectly appropriate! FEAST, my dearies!!!

"Love? The fire is going out! We'll need more firewood!" You call from inside. You make your way to the door, your top half hovering just outside as you searched for your darling beau. You've always enjoyed your time with him at his family's cabin, a piece of his inheritance that was used quite often. And, of course, it was highly appreciated by the both of you.

Your eyes dart about until you heard a distinct CHOP, eyes finding Alastor with his axe buried into an old tree stump. His smile widens when he sees you, wiping the sweat from his brow. You feel your pulse race, surprised to see his bare chest gleaming in the sunlight. The humid, thick air that permeated in the South could not be helped, and so, Alastor worked without a shirt on. Even with this simple and understandable notion, you found yourself fond of (and shocked by) the rare sight. You try to make your face pleasantly neutral and wave, trying to save face.

"No worries, dear. 'Already mending that problem!"

You chuckle, leaning fully into the door frame as Alastor positions a new log to cleave through. The Summer was good for one thing, you reasoned; seeing Alastor's chest, bared for only you to see, heaving steadily as he worked. Better yet, you could practically feel the gaze he gave back to you, his knowing smile making you beam every time you saw it. While you weren't like most others, not being overly doting or frivolous about his appearance, you still appreciated and treasured it deeply.

When Alastor returned to his work, your eyes fixated on his hands, then his arms. Indeed, you were very familiar with how powerful they were. They did wonders for and to you. But then: you see a flex. A jut and shift of his bicep has your mouth watering lecherously. As his grip relaxed on the axe, his body bending down to grab another log, you watched the muscles in his arm relax and re-fire. This set of motions repeated for a time, much to your enjoyment. As an extra treat, sometimes a vein in his neck would pop out at the same time his forearms and triceps strained, making your pupils bloom and shrink with hunger.

It was, without a doubt, an extremely alluring sight. Each time the axe raised over his head, your eyes followed, forcing you to stiffle a nervous chuckle. God, he was too beautiful for his own good. He was too strong for you to handle, and far too beautiful to be a called simple, minimalist man. His body was the work of a master craftsman, thank God.

As another piece of firewood was cut, you covered you mouth, stifling a squeal as he brought a towel to his forehead, huffing from his efforts. When he heard your little noises, he turned to you, his smile drooping slightly," Anything the matter, dear?" You were quick to shrink back, waving his concern off with a nervous laugh.

"Ha-ha, NO! No, I'm fine! Don't worry about me! I-I'll start working on dinner, okay?" Alastor doesn't seem convinced, squinting in your direction. His glasses were cast aside earlier, in fear they may fall off and become a victim of his labor," If you say so, dear. I'll be inside in a moment to help with the potatoes, mon cherie." You nod and turn to go inside, your face still boiling hot as you try to distract yourself. Your body starts to go through the motions, chopping veggies that were freshly harvested to use in your stew. You try to focus on the task at hand, your mind lingering on images of Alastor's physique. You had failed at your task stupendously. You felt no remorse!

You couldn't help but squirm at the mental images: veins and muscles shifting from physical effort. That devilishly handsome smile and toned body... it made your heart race! You wondered what his arms must've looked like when he was hovering above you... Your grip was tightening as you chopped the veggies faster, your safety disregarded. You giggle to yourself, eyes closing momentarily to focus on the pleasant thought of Alastor caging you with his muscular arms until--

"FUCK-- shit!"

No sooner did you wail was Alastor at the door, slamming it open," What happened??? What did--"

Alastor's eyes were wide, pupils shrunken to mere pinpricks as he took in your form. You held your bleeding finger, huffing.

"I-It's fine, it's fine! I'm fine!" You reassure, grabbing a handtowel to press to your wound. Alastor strode over to you, tongue clicking at your carelessness. As he went to put his axe down, your eyes caught his arms again, yelping as you turn away hastily. Your sudden movement left your partner clueless.

Alastor pauses again, a brow raising," My love, what's gotten into you? You've never been this careless before..."

You shuddered as Alastor came behind you, hands resting on the counter on either side of your hips," Are you sure you're quite alright?"

He leaned in to kiss your cheek, coaxing you into looking his way. You began yelping again, your mouth slamming shut as you tear your eyes away from his body. Alastor grumbles, slightly annoyed with your silence," Sweetheart, I can't help you if you don't use your words--"

One hand snatches you by the hip, spinning you quickly around while the other takes your wounded hand.

You eyes are blown wide, unable to make eye contact as they stare down at Alastor's arms," I-Im fine, really just-- just got lost in my thoughts! I promise!"

Between Al's proximity, his partial nudity, and those arms trapping you, you felt like your face blazed hotter than the fucking Sun. Alastor seemed to catch on, watching as your legs squeezed, shifting your weight uncomfortably. He leans closer to you, the muscles in his torso expanding and contracting with his movements. You sigh shakily, stifling a blissful squeak. Ahh. So it was him that was causing you to fret...

Alastor began to chuckle slowly at first, before laughing heartily. You stammered as a large hand came to your shoulder to steady himself, your lips blubbering pathetically. He was laughing fairly hard, causing his abdominals to flex and seize (a sight too delicious to behold). You were whining, on the verge of squealing as you weakly pushed against him again.

"A-Alastor, if you don't back up, I just might NOT be okay!!!" Alastor couldn't help himself, working himself into short bursts of stitches as he calms down, eyes watering.

"Ohhh, dearest... honestly, was I really that distracting to you?" His voice was low and flirtatious as you felt yourself being pressed into the counter, his hips holding you in place. You nearly shrieked as Alastor's hands gripped the counter harshly, knuckles white. Your mouth fell agape with a silent moan as the muscles in his upper arms and pecs stirred once more. You push against him once more, feeling as though you would pop like a balloon.

"A-Al, this isn't cute!!! Stop it, please!" You practically whine as Alastor just leaned, kissing your bright, heated cheeks.

"Well, I suppose I could go chop more wood, if the space could offer you some reprieve..."

You gasp as your chin is pulled forward, forcing you to make eye contact with him. If you weren't in your prime, you'd fear having a stroke at the sight of his almond colored eyes staring back into yours with a tumultuous energy.

"But, I think we both know you'd prefer that I stay rii~iiight here, don't you?" He teased, his lips dangerously close to your own. Your own lips quivered at the relentless pestering, your eyes struggling to make contact again," W-Well, I-- you know I-- uugghhh, if you keep teasing me, dinner is going to be late!!!"

"That's fiiiine by me!" Alastor says in a sing-song tone, and to your horror, you are lifted and placed onto the counter with minimal effort. Your eyes become transfixed on him, unable to clench your legs closed. Alastor knew exactly what he was doing, and he wasn't going to let you off the hook so easily. Your partner moved to be between your thighs, his voice a husky gravel; his tone was JUST loud enough for you to process.

"How about we start with dessert first, hmm~?"

[kaisers-house-of-desires]

I just wanna say I have notifications on for this blog, AND DID NOT GET THEM. Ahem, anyway, may I ask for a part two of the Muzan x reader fluff where he turns the reader into a demon? 👀 — H

Of course~ Some fluff coming right up~

Title: Meant to Be (Continuation of In Sickness and in Health)

Characters: Muzan x m!Reader

Contains: fluff, pet names (love, dear), blood, death (Demons are...well, demons. While there is fluff, there will be blood and death of extrememly minor characters. Be warned when reading.)

Fandom: Demon Slayer

Full request below the cut

All characters are 18+

MINORS, FEM ALIGNED, AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DNI (This may not be smut, but I still want the above to be followed)

Reblogs > likes

A nearby village was no match for your carnivorous rage.

Homes were destroyed, and bodies were scattered about the roads. Faint words rang in your mind as your carnage continued.

Eat to your heart's content.

And eat you did, leaving the village with nearly nothing left. It was a small village, one with not too many people. Anyone who ran by you or attempted to kill you would be your primary target, costing them their lives. Though the ones in hiding wouldn't be spared either, as you would hunt them down like prey, blood dripping from your mouth as you would scout out your next meal.

Within the hour, the village was no more. Families were wiped and structures demolished. You stood at the center of the land, panting heavily as your claws and mouth were soaked with the blood of various villagers. You couldn't tell if you were satisfied, but the nagging feeling in your gut tempted you to hunt for more.

The presence behind you felt appetizing.

Though upon turning around you were met with a tall man with dark wavy hair, his white hat surprisingly clean despite being in a land of viscera and death. You immediately changed your tune, your predatory nature giving way to something softer.

"Muzan, darling!"

He was the only thing you could remember when you woke up. Your memories were nearly erased with the transformation, only leaving the relationship you two shared.

Upon seeing his beloved, Muzan gave you a smile. You didn't realize it before, but now that you had a moment to process, you notice he held a terrified villager in one arm. She was held firmly, Muzan's hand pressing against it so she wouldn't scream. She was afraid, eyes wide as they darted between the two of you.

"I caught this one attempting to run from the village," Muzan explained, gazing down at the woman. "What do you think we should do with her?"

Hunger shot to your mind again, and you stepped toward the trembling woman. Her still wide eyes were now fixated on you rather than flicking back and forth. Her life was quite literally in someone else's hands.

You thought about her fate for a moment, a teasing response following. "Love, have I ever told you I wanted a pet~?"

That answer didn't sit well with the woman, and she began to squirm. Her screams were muffled by Muzan's hand with no way of calling out. Her feet futilely kicked in the air, as if she was already trying to run.

Muzan wasn't happy about her response, and with this position, he forced her head back, exposing her neck. "Are you sure about this one? She's quite loud."

You were so glad he played along.

"Hmm...you're right. I have another idea instead." Staring at the woman, who was frozen in fear from her new position, you simply uttered, "Let her go."

Without question, Muzan dropped the woman to the ground. She was unable to meet either of your gazes.

"Well?" You knelt down to her, your voice teasing. "Run~"

As if thinking she was blessed by the gods, she took you at your order, bolting the moment she heard the word. She screamed into the air, calling for anyone to help her, to help her village.

"Are you really about to let her get away?" Muzan asked, a brow quirked.

Your answer was a simple one.

With your newfound speed, the woman would never reach the end of the village. Your teeth would sink deep into her neck, silencing her for good as you indulged in your final meal of the night.

---

Having returned home, you were covered in the dry blood of your feast. Muzan offered to help clean you, to which you didn't refuse. He simply asked you to wait in the bathroom as he set everything up, from gathering your lounging clothes to setting up the tub with heated water. Once the tub was set and you were free of your dirtied clothes, you settled yourself in the tub, some of the water splashing out in the process.

Undeterred by this, Muzan went to work. Despite his title of King of Demons, he treated you as if you were the very thing he was, along with extra care. The way he'd hold your arm was that of a porcelain doll. The sponge carefully swiped along your skin, soap suds cleansing away the dirt and blood that speckled it. As you soaked, and as Muzan carried his actions, the water would tinge color, becoming a translucent red.

As Muzan finished his self assigned duties, he would take note of this sight, and a rush of admiration would wash over him. Thoughts of you bathing in the blood of your adversaries set his body a flame.

For once in his millennia of life, he was the one that did not feel worthy to be in someone's presence.

This feeling would remain as he would assist you out of the tub, a spot with a towel all prepared for you to sit upon as he dried off your freshly cleaned skin. You were the only creature that would ever see him like this, kneeling before a lesser demon, assiting them in such a menial task.

You'd tease him, but in reality you adored how gentle he was with you, and why would you tease that? Sure he was a king, but even a king can be gentle.

With your body dry, he clothed you with a luxurious silk robe that complimented your new reddened eye color. You weren't sure when he had gotten this, but you weren't complaining. It felt lovely on your skin, and you were grateful for his assitance.

Muzan would stand, carefully taking your hand to urge you to stand as well. In doing so, he would carefully kiss the ridge of your knuckles, gazing at you with such soft eyes. You wanted to return the gesture, so you then in turn pulled his hand holding yours close, turning your hand to expose his and return the kiss.

You would never remember who you were, but one thing was for certain: this is where you were meant to be and who you were meant to be with.

[kiame-sama]

Results on the poll are in and the majority wanted Romantic Yandere Zestial with a rival. (I was honestly surprised, but seeing as romantic and platonic were so close, I'll make it platonic to slow burn romantic)

Warnings; Yandere temper, Yandere behavior, Yandere relationship, yandere v yandere, Sin Eater reader, Gender Neutral Reader, slow burn platonic to romantic yandere, rival yandere, surprise rival yandere, violence, blasphemy, reader gets one hell of a backbone (only for a bit), God, yelling in the presence of God, brief surprise guest appearances, lucifer and others call reader young/kid (mostly affectionately),

~~~~~~~~

Zestial felt a small playful grin tug at the corners of his mouth as he watched his wayward charge curiously poke around his home. The halls of his manor had been rather quiet and the change to having company was certainly a welcome one. Despite his long life and the many lovers he had entertained in the past, he felt a true connection to the Sin Eater whose very soul he held claim over. They were not only a novelty in their soul's unfortunate proclivity to violence towards sinners but they did not immediately fear or despise him upon meeting.

"(Y/n), thy curiosity is truly an endearing quality."

His grin only widened as he noticed the way you startled at his sudden presence. Though he didn't wish harm or misfortune upon you, he was still a sadistic overlord who adored the fearful looks others gave him. You looked up at the tall arachnid that loomed over you, relaxing when you realized it was just Zestial poking fun.

"Hi, Zestial. I was just-"

"Being the curious nymph thou oft remind me of."

"I guess? Anyway, Carmilla wanted me to come over and talk to her about the exterminations. Apparently during the last one, the angels were looking for a Sin Eater down here."

This made a deep frown pull at Zestial's lips, feeling a kind of anger take over his being at the idea of an exorcist getting their hands on you. His change in temper was easy for you to notice as Zestial often seemed pleasantly aloof excepting for when he was angry. Zestial was certainly unhappy at that moment.

"I see... And, did Carmilla share with thou the intent of this angel?"

"No. I think that's what she wants to talk with me about."

"I shall accompany thou in thy to visit Carmilla. I, too, would like to know how oft these angels seek thy presence. The attentions of Exorcists are oft a negative omen."

"Okay. I'm sure Carmilla would like to see you too. She always seems more comfortable when you are there with me."

Zestial hummed at this, well aware that his presence often put Carmilla at ease whenever she interacted with you. She still didn't trust you because of the many unfortunate interactions she has had with Sin Eaters, so having Zestial nearby calmed her. So long as you are still on Zestial's leash, she trusted you wouldn't act out of turn. She figured she could always call upon him should your hunger get out of hand while nearby. The deal you had with Zestial also kept you safe from Carmilla as she would not dare try to slay a soul he had claimed.

~~~~~~~~

"Wait, so I was supposed to die when they threw me into Hell, but now they want me back? How does that fit in with Heaven's logic?"

"I'm not an angel. I wouldn't know."

You frowned and pondered what you had been told. It was confusing, but it did make it easier knowing that though Carmilla may dislike you, she didn't like the angels talking about you. According to Carmilla, the angels expected you to be slain shortly after throwing you into Hell. The fact you were still alive upset and irritated them.

"If Carmilla's informant is correct, it twould seem they shall be searching for (y/n) specifically. I refuse to be one to allow these feathered nuisances to harm a hair atop thy head. They shan't have you."

You noticed the way Carmilla slightly frowned, glancing to the side as Zestial swore to protect you. Her clear respect and somewhat attraction to Zestial had been weighing on you as you didn't want to drive a wedge between the two seeing as they obviously had gone through quite a lot together. The most you could do was hope that Carmilla didn't dislike you for befriending Zestial even though she clearly disliked that you were a Sin Eater.

"Ms. Carmine? Though I know you likely told me this for Zestial's benefit, I still appreciate you letting me know about all of this. Thank you."

Carmilla seemed surprised at first before her eyes somewhat softened from her typical hard glare to a gentle expression. You had only seen her use that expression when talking to her two daughters.

"Don't be so quick to trust anyone in Hell, Sin Eater. If you weren't Zestial's soul, I would have killed you myself."

"I know. That doesn't mean I can't be thankful to you for your help."

The smallest of smiles pulled at Carmilla's lips for just a moment before she returned to the hardened expression she usually wore.

"Take care, (Y/n). I can see why you were sent to Heaven first before they betrayed you and sent you here. Heaven may want you dead, but I won't let them have their way."

~~~~~~~~

Extermination day was a brutal yearly event in Hell that always seemed to be more violent than the year before it. Zestial insisted you remain inside his estate with the curtains drawn while he left to an overlord meeting, making it clear he wanted you nowhere near the angels. You weren't keen to argue seeing as the angels were likely going to be gunning for you the moment they noticed your presence.

What you hadn't expected was the frantic knocking at the manor doors. Desperate souls in hell trying to escape the extermination going on outside. They were willingly to do anything, even sell their souls to the ancient being Zestial just to have a chance at escaping the angels.

Though you wanted to open the doors to let the poor sinners in, Zestial had been more than clear that you were to leave the doors sealed. However, those on the other side of the door did not take kindly to you not offering them sanctuary as the door suddenly caved in, a large axe blade sticking out of the door.

The body of a sinner fell into the doorway and a frighteningly familiar figure entered in. His large horns and dark mask looked identical to when you saw him at the gates of Heaven. He sneered as he removed the axe from the poor sinner he hunted down.

"How d'ya like that, demon bitch? Try and fucking run from me and I still got you!"

It was while he was taking in his surroundings he realized you were standing there, your gaze filled with terror and confusion. He didn't seem to recognize you at first before his smile became manic and sadistic.

"Found you. Did you know, you are one tough unlucky fucker to find. But Sera heard you survived, so I gotta drag your ass back to Heaven. Just had to screw up your one job, right? Now the Big Man wants your ass in His office, so You're gonna be a good little bitch and don't fight."

The fear coursing through you set you on edge as you took a step back from the man. His mask covering his face made him seem like more of a monster and set actual fear into your heart. You did the only thing you could think of, hoping beyond hope that he would answer you even if he was in a meeting with other overlords.

"Zestial, please... Please help me!"

Your plea seemed to be unanswered for a moment as the man reached towards you with a grin of triumph. Right as it seemed his hand was about to grab you, you found yourself suddenly stumbling to the side and into a pair of arms.

"Woah there! You alright?"

You looked up at the sinner holding you only to pause in confusion. The person you saw looked far more human despite his pale white skin and bright red clownish cheeks. He watched you in confusion even as he steadied you on your feet and let you lean on him to find your footing.

The room you found yourself in was not where you had been only moments ago. It seemed like you were somewhere high up as you could look down at a fair portion of The Pentagram from the windows nearby. None of it looked familiar.

"Where's Ze-?"

You were cut off by a bright light that drew your attention to the windows on the far side of the room. Several overlords- Zestial included- and even a few rather intimidating looking sinners you didn't recognize were present in what seemed to be a meeting room. In the open space before the windows was a blinding light that faded only slightly as a being emerged from the light. The being was humanoid in shape, but you couldn't make out what their face looked like as light continued to shine brightly enough to obscure them.

"Come, Sin Eater. It is not ideal that I had to retrieve you myself, but I shall do what I must."

"Who-?"

"You may call me Father, Creator, or God. Whichever you feel has enough reverence."

"You're-?"

"The one creator of all things, Damned and Heavenly souls included. And you, young Sin Eater, have defied your odds to exist to this point. Now, come and we shall discuss your afterlife."

You watched in silence for a moment, feeling anxiety racing through you as you looked at this intimidating figure before you. There was a part of you that wanted to do whatever the intimidating man told you to, but another far stronger part wanted you to yell.

You wanted to yell for the injustice of it all. To yell for being thrown into Hell with no warning. To yell for the clear suffering so many other sinners endured. To yell at the cause of all this suffering and senseless slaughter.

You needed to yell.

"No."

"Excuse you?"

"I said 'no'. If you want me to go with you I need a few things first."

The Man scoffed slightly in an incredulous manner, folding His ethereal arms over His chest. Though you couldn't see His face, you could tell He was scowling to some degree.

"A bit big in your own shoes, eh? Fine. What is it you believe you can ask of God?"

"Save them."

"Who?"

"The sinners screaming outside, being slaughtered and cut down at your behest. Save them first, or you are nothing but talk."

"They made their choice. They are reaping the rewards for sinful life."

"Really? Then what was my time down here? What do you call it when you kick someone out of Heaven and send them straight to Hell? Is that not an injustice? Is that not an undeserved fate? I went to Heaven first, and this is what I got instead."

"And I am taking you back to Heaven, is that not forgiving of me?"

You frowned deeply, feeling anger bubble up in your chest as you slowly walked forward. Step by step you approached the Heavenly being that claimed to be God Himself.

"Forgiving for what? What did I do that needs to be forgiven?"

"..."

"You claim to be the Creator of All, yet you turn a deaf ear to those begging you for mercy. You claim to be loving and forgiving, yet my only crime was an affliction I did not put upon myself and I was still thrown into Hell. You claim to be all of these things yet you refuse to save those that need it most."

He slightly dipped His head, as if He were refusing to meet your gaze and your blood only burned hotter. This Man stood before you claiming to be divine and forgiving, yet He couldn't do anything you asked of Him. He may not see it, but as far as you were concerned, He owed you a bit of grace.

"No. I will not go with you. Until you can open your arms to the damned and forgotten, I will not go with you. Until you uphold the morals you claim to purvey, I will not go with you. Until Hell itself is empty and I am the last one standing, I will not go with you."

"You belong in Heaven."

"Not any more. Those here showed me more kindness than your supposed 'angels' ever did! These damned sinners showed me mercy when I didn't deserve any from them! I belong here. And until you can prove to me that you are more than just talk, I will go nowhere with you. I'll even spit in your face if I have to, to prove I belong here!"

The Man was silent for a long moment, your anxious nerves sparking wildly as you stood before your Creator and told Him to go fuck Himself. The words spilled from your mouth like water from the head of a river, flowing forward with no regard to the end destination. All you felt was rage.

"You may have me when you earn me. Until then, find someone else to preach to."

The silence was near deafening as He stood, letting your words soak in even as you glared into the blinding light that emanated from Him. No one spoke until the sudden crack of what could have been thunder, and with a pop He was gone from view.

It was then your nerves hit you, making your knees buckle and your body sink downwards as all you had said and done weighed in your mind. At the least, you forfeited your one ticket into Heaven and a peaceful afterlife. At most, you pissed off God Himself and made it clear that His words could never reach you despite His efforts. You were forsaken regardless.

"Well, holy fucking Hell. I sure as shit didn't expect that!"

The gruff voice of one of the strangers present drew you from your downward spiral. He had a heavy Aussie accent and seemed to be some kind of abomination cross between a jester and a Christmas tree. His greenish-yellow eyes were wide with surprise, as were the eyes of the rest that were present. Even Zestial seemed surprised.

A hand rest on your shoulder and you sharply looked up to see that same man from before watching you with a gentle gaze and warm smile. His red eyes seemed so full of understanding and compassion that you could scarcely believe he was likely a sinner.

"Not bad, kid. Not bad at all. Honestly, I'm surprised He didn't strike you down for what you said, but I can definitely say that I am proud of you."

"Thank you... I think? I just- I couldn't stand how he was so happy to let others suffer yet he still thought he was the merciful one. I- I'm sorry, I don't even know who you are and I'm putting all of this on you. I'm (Y/n) (L/n). I'm a-"

"A Sin Eater. Yes, I could tell by your soul. Not many of your kind down here, but hey, Hell has plenty of room for all. Lucifer Morningstar, pleasure to meet you, (Y/n)."

"... Morningstar..? Oh. Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry, Sir! I didn't mean to be rude, or intrude, or not bow. I was just calling for Zestial's help because that one angel who sent me here broke in and- I- I'm sorry, I'm rambling. I-"

"Take a breath there," Lucifer chuckled in a good-natured way, "to think, you'll spit in the face of God with no trouble but you apologize to me for not bowing when you didn't even know who I was. You've got some moxy, kiddo. I'll give you that."

He stood up again, holding a hand out to you which you gratefully accepted. It still felt like you were in an emotional limbo state given all that happened, yet you still found a bit of comfort and happiness bloom in your chest. Who knew Lucifer was such a chill guy?

"Gotta love a sinner who can stand up for themselves. Mmm. Takes guts."

A beautiful and deep baritone voice grabbed your attention and drew it to the owner of such high-quality brass pipes. Sitting with their legs crossed appeared to be a humanoid that was some kind of cross between a rooster and a Lion with three faces. They wore a finely decorated suit that seemed to glow in the low light as if they held some kind of light within.

"Guts? Talk about bringing the fire baby! Where you been hiding, Cutie? No way you've been anywhere near the other sinners with a soul that unique."

A female figured humanoid spoke up with a feminine voice, her figure much like a bee mixed with a fennec fox. Her stomach reminded you of a lava-lamp as the pink and blue colors within moved in a fluid maner. The group she sat among being the many you did not recognize.

Your eyes scanned the rest of the room where you had seen the various overlords prior, quickly finding Zestial among the faces. The relief you felt was quickly taken over with a sudden and fierce hunger.

Something about the way you or your soul looked must have changed because the overlords and even Lucifer reacted to the difference. There was something wrong with this hunger that made it different from your typical drive to consume sin. It was a deeper, more primal craving that seemed to only get worse with every passing second as you doubled over in pain from the crippling hunger.

"Damn Him! Of course He wouldn't let something like that slide. They're gonna turn feral unless they feed."

"Allow me to bare this load, your Highness. (Y/n) is still one of the souls I consider to be mine. The duty to feed should fall to me."

Zestial now stood, coming over to your side with several contracts in hand with the intention of curbing your hunger before it got too far. Before he could summon forth the sinners to feed you, another sensation overcame you that soothed the hunger significantly. A faint glow seemed to increase for only a second from Lucifer before fading back down.

"No need, already took care of it. Knowing Him it wouldn't have been a simple thing to quell. If anything, I would guess He made their sin-consuming affliction worse for talking back to him. It's possible that only a Sin can help them now. No offense."

"... None taken."

"Well, guess that just means I'll be seeing more of you, (Y/n)! I can tell we're going to get along just fine."

[agentrouka-blog]

"There was hunger in his(Tyrion) green eye, it seemed to her, and fury in the black. Sansa did not know which scared her more."- Sansa(ASOS).

"He wanted something from her, but Sansa did not know what it was. He looks like a starving child, but I have no food to give him."- Sansa(ASOS).

Sansa compared Tyrion lust for her with him hungry for food.

"The Vale of Arryn was famously fertile and had gone untouched during the fighting. Jon wondered how Lady Catelyn's sister would feel about feeding Ned Stark's bastard." - Jon(ADWD)

"He have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade. A hunger . . . he could feel it."- Jon(ASOS).

In first quote Jon was thinking about food supply from Vale and in later he was thinking about he wanted to become lord of WF and have a family but feels guilty.

Do you think it's about Jonsa?

Great obervation, please-dot! <3

There's another language parallel involving Tyrion and Sansa and Winterfell that mirrors Jon's thoughts in Winterfell.

I want her, he realized. I want Winterfell, yes, but I want her as well, child or woman or whatever she is. I want to comfort her. I want to hear her laugh. I want her to come to me willingly, to bring me her joys and her sorrows and her lust. His mouth twisted in a bitter smile. Yes, and I want to be tall as Jaime and as strong as Ser Gregor the Mountain too, for all the bloody good it does. (ASOS, Tyrion IV)

It compares well with the quote you used above.

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade. A hunger . . . he could feel it. It was food he needed, prey, a red deer that stank of fear or a great elk proud and defiant. He needed to kill and fill his belly with fresh meat and hot dark blood. His mouth began to water with the thought. (ASOS, Jon XII)

When Tyrion and Sansa do eat together, the food is distasteful, or their appetites incompatible.

Another thematic link would be Sansa refusing the offer of a pomegranate from Littlefinger, where the Hades-Persephone symbolism underlines her rejection of him. The closest he gets to her appetite is the giant lemon cake model of the Eyrie served up at the feast for the upcoming tourney, and yet her thoughts revolve around Harry and she is never seen eating of it.

Jon's relationship with food also turns impersonal. What meals he has aren't joyful, they even congeal uneaten. Long forgotten are the days of sweet summerwine and honeyed chicken, or the celebratory meals taken with his new black brothers. Everything revolves around food but Jon becomes divorced from the joy of eating.

Catelyn voices that connection very well.

I am become a sour woman, Catelyn thought. I take no joy in mead nor meat, and song and laughter have become suspicious strangers to me. I am a creature of grief and dust and bitter longings. There is an empty place within me where my heart was once. (ACOK, Catelyn VII)

The connection to the food stores of the Eyrie becomes doubly interesting in that context. GRRM specifically phrased it as feeding Jon himself.

I strongly suspect that when Jon and Sansa meet again, food will take on as symbolic a role as gifts of clothing or mutual offers of protection. There's a very unnecessary, almost random paragraph during Joffrey's wedding that has never left my mind:

And there was one woman, sitting almost at the foot of the third table on the left . . . the wife of one of the Fossoways, he thought, and heavy with his child. Her delicate beauty was in no way diminished by her belly, nor was her pleasure in the food and frolics. Tyrion watched as her husband fed her morsels off his plate. They drank from the same cup, and would kiss often and unpredictably. Whenever they did, his hand would gently rest upon her stomach, a tender and protective gesture. (ASOS, Tyrion VIII)

It's one of the sweetest interactions of any couple depicted in the series, and it revolves around the simple worldly pleasures of food and drink, affection and new life. They eat together, joyfully. The contrast to Tyrion's empty hunger, and to the stilted tension surrounding food that has crept into so many abusive relationships is evident.

So, yes, I think that repeated imagery is very intentional and will return when it is time to feast, metaphorically.

[moonythejedi394]

nobody asked for this snippet and nobody deserves it either

The pups start to settle. Steve is distracted by his hunger and weariness and the weight of his season blooming, however. As he's tucking in one of the two-year-olds, a draft comes through the nursery.

Steve looks up and sees the door open.

"Oh, no," he whispers.

He quickly runs outside. He sees small footprints heading towards the center of the village. Steve shuts the door behind him, making sure it latches, and then hastens in the wake of the footprints.

One of the five-year-olds has reached the edge of the party and is trying to sneak food. Steve runs up behind them and snatches them up.

"No!" they wail. "Mama!"

"You're going to get us both in so much trouble!" Steve snaps at the pup, who begins to cry.

Steve tries to get away before the noise attracts attention, but he never has good luck.

"Oh, gods, no," Peggy gasps as she sees them, "Steven! You ungrateful little wench, what do you think you're doing?!"

"I –” Steve tries to begin.

"The dragon is going to see you!" Jasper snaps, hurrying up to usher Steve away. "You'll ruin everything!"

"It's not my fault!" Steve says desperately.

"Liar!" Dolores accuses, snatching the wailing child from his arms. "I'll take the poor thing to their mama."

"They ran out!" Steve insists.

"Get back to the nursery!" Peggy snaps at him.

A shadow falls over Steve and the two irate Omegas. Steve turns slowly towards the fire and his eyes go wide.

The dragon stands before them, his face darkened around the eyes with black paint. He is still shirtless and now Steve can see that he is also barefoot; he wears only a heavy fur tasset and wide belt and braces on his forearms and calves. He stands head and shoulders above the Omegas and Steve barely sees Chief Alpha Garrett and Alpha Rumlow standing behind him, their eyes just barely on level with his shoulders.

Steve just blinks up at the dragon. The top of his head barely matches the dragon’s solar plexus.

"My apologies, good sir," Chief Alpha Garrett says as he hastens to stand between Steve and the dragon. "This child is an orphan, rescued from another pack. He's meant to be resting in our nursery with the other pups."

The dragon pushes Chief Alpha Garrett aside. Garrett stumbles from the force of the dragon's hand. Jasper and Peggy shrink away, their eyes wide. Steve is frozen where he stands, hands gripped close to his chest.

"There you are," the dragon murmurs in a deep, gravely voice. “Finally.”

Steve can only blink and gawk.

"My friend," Garrett starts.

The dragon throws up a hand, immediately causing Garrett to fall silent. The dragon takes another step nearer to Steve, coming so close that there's hardly a finger's length between them and Steve has to crane his neck to look up at him. The dragon stares down at him and somehow, Steve can see the fire reflected in his eyes.

"Do you know how long I've been looking for you, little one?" the dragon says softly.

The dragon touches Steve's face with a gentle hand. Steve sucks in a gasp, his whole body shuddering at once. Not from fear or even arousal, but at the sheer heat emanating from the dragon's hand and how utterly chilled to the bone Steve is. He impulsively grabs the dragon's wrist, clinging to him to hold him in place. His eyes are wide as he looks up at the dragon.

"You can call me Bucky, sweet boy," the dragon says. "What is your name?"

Steve jolts; he starts to stammer, unsure how to respond as his brain starts whizzing with want and need and cold and so hungry just at being called sweet. No one has ever called him something so nice.

"What is his name?" the dragon – Bucky – says to Chief Alpha Garrettt.

"His name is not important," Garrettt says hastily. "Sir, I assure you, this is not the one you are looking for, this child is infertile, defective. He isn't truly an Omega."

"Did I ask what you think of him?" Bucky growls. "I asked what his name is."

"It's Steve," Steve whispers.

Bucky's eyes snap back to his. Steve is frozen in place still, heart hammering in surprise at the sound of his own voice. Bucky smiles, lips curling away from his teeth to show sharp fangs, longer and more pointed than any wolf's.

"What a pretty name for a pretty Omega, Steve," Bucky murmurs. 

Bucky takes Steve's hands, then. He lifts them and tucks his nose into Steve's wrists. He inhales deeply and Steve gasps, ears and cheeks flaming hot as his body responds with immediate need in his lower belly.

"It seems I've arrived just in time," Bucky says in nearly a growl. "Don't worry, my pet, it won't take long to reach my mountain. You should pack your things now."

"What?" Alpha Rumlow snaps as Steve’s eyes widen. "Barnes, you can't possibly be serious! Don't you see what he is!"

"I see that he is beautiful," Bucky says in an abrupt snarl as he twists around to look at Rumlow. "I see that he is perfect in every single way the gods could have intended. And I can damn well also see that he's fucking starving! Go fetch him something to eat!"

Rumlow gulps and looks to Garrett. Steve also looks to Garrett, positively mortified. Garrett clears his throat.

"My Lord," Garrett says with great humility, a tone Steve's never heard from him, and Bucky turns to look at him. "Not that I doubt your senses, but perhaps you are tired. You have been traveling a very long time, after all. Possibly the treasure you've been tracking is simply near Steve?"

"It sounds like you doubt my senses," Bucky snaps. "Do you think I would be able to follow a scent trail across ten thousand miles and then not be able to pinpoint it once it is right under my nose?!"

Steve looks hopelessly to Peggy, silently begging her to explain to him what's happening. Peggy doesn't even notice him.

"You're tired," Garrett tries again.

Bucky growls at him. Garrett shuts his mouth with a snap, his face going red. He looks like an Alpha pup that's been snapped at with his sire's Alpha voice. Steve is amazed.

Bucky turns his gaze back on Steve. He tucks both of Steve's hands into one of his, easily covering both with his large palm, and once again brushes a gentle hand against Steve's cheek. Steve gulps.

"I'll have them give you something to tide you over for the flight home," he says. "I can imagine you will have no fond memories of this place, yes?"

"Um," Steve whispers, his voice barely leaving his throat.

"What is it, sweetheart?" Bucky asks.

"I –” Steve begins. "I'm –”

He stops again, just shaking his head. Bucky cups his chin. Steve feels the cold all over the rest of his body and then he feels a strong urge to dive into Bucky's arms. He's sure it will feel like in his dreams. Bucky puts out heat like a fire. And of course, he does. He's a dragon.

"Yes, baby?" Bucky prompts.

Steve shakes his head jerkily. "I don't understand," he croaks out.

"What don't you understand?" Bucky asks calmly.

Steve blinks several times. He glances over at Chief Alpha Garrett, but he's never gotten help from him before and has no idea why he anticipates it now. He looks back to Bucky, who is frowning.

"Do you have a chosen Alpha already?" Bucky asks, his voice nearly begging for Steve to answer no.

"Of course not," Steve blurts. "Why –? Why are you asking that?"

Bucky relaxes into a smile and he chuckles. He steps even nearer and Steve sucks in a breath. Bucky bends low at the waist and tucks his forehead against Steve's. Steve struggles to control his breathing, but now all he can smell is Bucky; a rich, sweet smoke and enticing Alpha musk and sweat. Steve feels lightheaded.

"I would hate for my treasure to be promised to another Alpha," Bucky murmurs to him. "That would be… Unpleasant."

"Treasure?" Steve repeats in a whisper.

"Yes," Bucky answers. "Your pack chief tells me that your people call their treasures their mates instead."

Steve's eyes go very wide. 

"No," he whispers. "No, no, I'm dreaming. This is a cruel, awful dream!"

"It's not a dream, honey," Bucky says quickly, his hand now moving around Steve's back, enveloping him in such warmth. "I'm here, I'm really here, baby, I promise."

Steve just shakes his head. Bucky frowns down at him.

"My Lord," Garrett cuts in. "I'm very sorry to tell you this, but Steven – Steven is a runt, he cannot be mated!"

"Did anyone ask you?" Bucky snarls at Garrett, flashing his teeth at him as his eyes glow orange. "Is this how you've treated my treasure all these years? Starving him, insulting him, demeaning him!"

"Certainly not!" Garrett answers with some aggression, though it seems childish in the face of Bucky's. "He is our nursery-maid, we keep him well and we care for him like one of our own!"

Steve feels tears pricking at his eyes. So this is how Garrett will save the pack from losing the opportunity to have dragons born into it. Convincing the dragon that Steve is some abandoned child from far away rather than born in the same village as everyone else.

Bucky whips around, ignoring Garrett, and he lets out a soft coo as he looks into Steve's eyes. Steve sucks in a shaking breath, trying to control himself.

"Don't cry, my sweet, don't cry," Bucky whispers to him. "I'm going to take you away from these horrible people, you'll never hear a harsh word spoken against you ever again."

Steve shakes his head with a jerk. Bucky frowns and he draws Steve in closer, pressing him against his chest with firm hands at the small of his back, and Steve feels so warm.

"Why do you shake your head like that, darling?" Bucky asks, stroking Steve's cheek. "What's wrong? Do you not want to leave?"

"Of course I do," Steve admits in a hoarse voice. "But – But my chief is right! I'm just a runt, I can't be mated!"

"That's a filthy lie," Bucky says, a growl nearing his voice. "I'll take you to my mountain and show you just how easy it will be for me to bond with you. I can prove it tonight."

"You can't!" Steve insists.

"I can," Bucky says, now actually growling. "What other disgusting lies have they been feeding you? Is that all they've been feeding you? Where's that damn brat with your meal?" he adds, turning around.

Rumlow is still standing behind them.

"I told you to get him something to eat," Bucky growls.

Rumlow jerks and hurries off, like a little mouse. Steve shakes his head.

"Please, lord, you must be making a mistake!" Garrett tries again. "Surely there are other, better Omegas –”

"If I hear you say one more word about my treasure I will cook you where you stand," Bucky snarls at Garrett, smoke even trailing from his lips.

Garrett backs off. He looks defeated.

"He's right!" Steve tries desperately. "You – You must be looking for a different Omega! I can't be your mate!"

Bucky fixes him with a gentle look. Steve feels very brittle all over, like the second Bucky puts him down he will simply shatter into a million pieces.

"I have been tracking your scent for three years," Bucky says softly. "I know exactly who my treasure is, and it's you."

Steve shakes his head. Three years, he thinks. He’d only just presented three years ago. How could Bucky have picked up the scent of your first heat. cups his cheek and touches their foreheads together again.

"My sweet boy," Bucky murmurs, "you've been so badly mistreated. I'm so sorry it took me so long to find you, precious."

"I –” Steve whispers uselessly.

"Your scent is like cinnamon and vanilla and allspice," Bucky murmurs to him. "When you're sad or frightened, it turns into a scent like vodka, like it is now. When you're happy, it's rich and spicy. When you're needy, it's so sweet. I know exactly who you are, Stevie."

Steve blinks away tears. Bucky's hands go to Steve's waist and then he's lifting Steve off his feet. Steve's stomach flips upside down and then he's being tucked into Bucky's firm chest, a beautiful heat wrapping around him and settling into his very blood. Steve shivers anyway. His stomach grumbles in hunger.

"Rumlow!" Bucky calls out. "Hurry up!"

Bucky carries Steve in his arms up to the bonfire, to a bench in front of a large, polished table. Rumlow puts a plate of rabbit stew and bread down in front of Bucky and backs off. Steve looks down at it in awe, not even touching it.

Bucky picks up the bread and offers it to him. Steve's hands tremble as he takes it. He hesitates, however. He knows once Bucky leaves, he will be in so much trouble for taking advantage of this situation. He might be denied food for weeks. They might finally banish him.

Steve has a sudden thought. So what if Bucky is confused by who his mate really is? If he can hold up the pretense long enough for Bucky to take him away, perhaps he'll be allowed to serve in Bucky's household once he finds his true mate.

Steve digs into the bread with abandon. It's so delicious he can't help but groan in appreciation. He can feel every eye of his packmates on him, staring with hatred. He doesn't care. He hates them, too.

"There, pet," Bucky says. "You have some supper and then we can collect your things and leave."

"I don't have anything that belongs to me," Steve tells Bucky, his mouth partially full still. "Not even these clothes, really."

"Don't you have a nest?" Bucky asks.

Steve swallows, feeling shame grip his belly.

"Runts don't nest," he tells Bucky.

"Ridiculous," Bucky answers, however. "I can smell it on you, you've been nesting for weeks, your heat is barely a day away."

"Runts don't have heats," Steve insists, mortified.

Bucky suddenly presses his face into Steve's neck, making him drop the bread as he gasps. Bucky growls softly and Steve feels himself shiver internally.

"You're going into heat, sweetling," Bucky says firmly. "Whether these pieces of shit say you can or not."

Steve, trembling, picks up the bread. He resumes eating it, not wanting to really answer Bucky. He quickly finishes it, but his stomach growls still.

"Here," Bucky says, picking up the plate of stew.

Steve looks at it for a moment, surprised. 

"What are you waiting for?" Bucky prompts.

Steve goes to take it, but his hands are shaking so badly he nearly spills all of it. He whines and draws back, pressing into a Bucky's chest and hiding his face.

"Aw, baby, it's alright," Bucky murmurs. "Here."

Bucky puts the plate down, but lifts a spoon and tucks it into the rich stew. He raises it and holds it near Steve's face. Steve slowly lifts his head, then glances at Bucky, eyes wide again.

"Go on," Bucky encourages him.

Steve looks back to the spoon, then grasps Bucky's wrist and opens his mouth, leaning in. Bucky tucks the spoon past his lips and Steve closes them, taking the portion of stew from the spoon and beginning to chew. He moans again, his mouth overwhelmed by the rich flavor of it.

"You sure are hungry," Bucky says with a chuckle.

Steve swallows quickly. "I can stop," he whispers.

"No, no, you don't have to," Bucky answers, cupping Steve's chin again. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, I didn't mean like that. I just meant you must like the stew."

Steve glances at Bucky's face, then away and nods. Bucky leans in and rests his forehead against his temple.

“Eat your stew,” Bucky says softly. “Then, you can get anything that is yours and we can go.”

Steve shakes his head. “Nothing is mine,” he repeats.

Bucky casts a glance over at Alpha Garrett, his lips pressed thinly together. “Well,” he says. “You will want for nothing from now on.”

Steve looks down into the bowl, not sure how to answer. He just eats.

When the bowl is empty, Bucky stands up, still holding Steve.

“Bring me a thick cloak,” he tells Garrett. “We will be leaving now.”

“Please, my lord,” Garrett tries one more time, “at least speak with our unmated Omegas one more time, perhaps –”

“I have found my treasure and I will leave with him,” Bucky snaps. “Bring me a cloak.”

Garrett deflates. If Steve weren’t so worried about what will happen to him once Bucky realizes he can’t be his mate, he’d laugh. Garrett waves to someone, who hurries off. They return with a large, thick cloak a moment later, which Bucky takes.

“Wrap in this, my sweet,” he says. “Then I will pick you up and we’ll leave.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for morning?” Steve asks.

“My home isn’t far by wing,” Bucky says with a smile. “Five or six hours. Get some sleep if you’d like.”

Steve’s eyes widen and he quickly dons the cloak. People begin to back up and Bucky moves into a more open space among the tables. He shakes himself, then cracks his neck. Steve watches, his mouth open in awe, as Bucky exhales a heavy plume of smoke from his nose. His body then begins to shift. A wolf shifts in just a tremble of the body, but Bucky shifts with a roar and a quake that shakes everyone from their footing. His body stretches and extends, his limbs become black and scaled, wings unfold behind him, a massive tail whips out and wolves jump out of the way in fright. The dragon lands on his front feet and growls, looking around.

Steve takes in a deep breath as Bucky approaches, his eyes glowing a light blue. He huffs out smoke and bumps his muzzle into Steve’s shoulder.

Steve reaches out and puts a hand on his snout. Heat comes from him, even more than when he wore skin. Bucky’s gaze meets his and Steve feels almost pinned.

“And you said you couldn’t be my treasure,” Bucky says in a deep voice.

It resonates from inside his chest. Steve almost jumps back.

“Only another dragon or my treasure could hear me like this,” Bucky then says. “Put up your hood, then hold still, little one.”

Bucky rears up onto his hind legs again. Steve quickly puts up his hood and closes his cloak, just in time for Bucky to grab Steve with his claws and launch from the ground. 

Steve shouts as they cut into the air. He clings to Bucky’s claws, afraid of falling and the cold, but heat still seeps from Bucky’s limb into Steve, and his claws are cinched tight around him. 

Below them, the dim ground speeds by. In seconds, Steve sees the lights of the neighboring village pass underneath, and they’re passing it and then another village.

Steve ducks his head against the biting wind, holding onto Bucky’s large claws. His heart is pounding in his ribs, then he laughs, exhilarated.

He feels Bucky rumbling and figures he’s laughing, too.

[bluemantics]

do u have any fics u think are like REALLY funny

Oh my gosh absolutely I do have humor tagged fics. When I write fanfics I try to make them funny, so when I read, I definitely look for the same! I put stars next to my faves.

If you want to check out my romcom klance fics and support me, they're here (coffee shop au) & here (hsm-ish au) /nf.

1. skin hunger by hiuythn

Canonverse | T+ | 12.5K

Keith is touch-starved to the point of stupidity. Lance helps. Lance tries to help. Lance tries.

2. the meaning of donuts by Katranga

Canonverse | T+ | 14.7K

The next few days were filled with Lance informing everyone, multiple times, of their “new” friendship. “We’re friends now, did you hear? Keith and I are friends.” Over and over, big smile, loud voice. Looking between Keith and whoever he was telling like he expected a round of applause. Or confetti. Or a parade. What he usually got was somebody making a crack about bonding moments, which prompted a tight, put-upon sigh on Keith’s end. And Lance would look at him fondly, and Keith would have to bite his cheek to distract himself from how much he wanted Lance to lean over and kiss him.

3. The Open Space of Desire by Prevalent_Masters *

Modern AU (river giuide x climber) | E | 44.8K

Keith’s doing just fine, thanks. So maybe he dropped out of college and maybe he doesn’t have what one might call “direction” in his life, but so what? He’s got a job he doesn’t hate, he’s got enough friends for his liking, he’s got Shiro, he’s got climbing on the weekends, he’s got the hookups with closeted college boys every once in awhile, and he’s fine. Happy. He doesn’t need anything to change.

That is, until he almost accidentally gets into a bar fight with an infuriatingly attractive river guide and then starts seeing said river guide everywhere and it turns out he's less infuriating but still definitely attractive, and, well—maybe Keith hasn’t been doing that fine. Maybe one thing can change.

4. Eyes So Pretty by stormie2817

Canonverse | T+ | 2.8K

When the paladins and their friends gather for a night of drinking and relaxing, Lance indulges a little too much and says some rather interesting things about a certain paladin....

5. The Loverboy Trials by PM_Writes

Canonverse | M | 20.8K

He can tell Shiro is struggling to remain collected. “And why do you think Keith is your…sex…god?” And geez, that would be so much funnier if this wasn’t so disturbing.

The representative leads them to the back of the council room where she pulls aside a large curtain. Behind it, a huge mural stretches to the ceiling.

It looks exactly like Keith.

6. you’re lucky that’s what I like by zencetera

College AU | T+ | 4K

Lance rescues a hamster from certain doom.

or, Lance has Keith wrapped around his little finger and doesn’t even realize it.

7. Billy Ray is my boyfriend by VertigoReader101

Youtuber AU | G | 6K

It was moments like these that made Lance forget about his fears of telling everyone about his boyfriend. It was moments like these that he wanted to whip out his camera and share the love of his life with the world.

8. A Keithmas Carol by YouAreInAComaWakeUp (Nikanaiko) *

Bluemantics commentary: I adore Nikanaiko's writing more than literally any other klance author's. While I didn't laugh out loud while reading many fics, I always lose my shit for their work, SO PLEASE CHECK IT OUT.

Christmas Carol AU | T+ | 28.5K

Keith has read A Christmas Carol. Keith knows how A Christmas Carol is supposed to go.

This is not how A Christmas Carol is supposed to go.

9. suite on you by adelfie

College AU | T+ | 12K

Accident-prone Lance McClain learns that his grumpy suitemate, Keith, has one rule: to leave him alone. Lance would really like to follow that rule. Really. But his clumsiness has other plans.

10. It Never Rains on Saturday by TheLegendOfChel *

Video Game AU | T+ | 22.7K

In the magical kingdom of Altea lies an ominous tower filled with monsters. Every day, adventurers battle through the tower’s levels in a never-ending quest to slay the Demon King who lives at the very top.

Lance, a talented archer, is one such adventurer. However, Lance doesn’t want to kill the Demon King.

Lance wants to marry him.

11. Keith Kogane Tries to Keep Up With a Professional Chef | Back-to-Back Chef | Bon Appétit by eggyeggplant *

Bluemantics commentary: I'm in shock this one isn't more popular since it is one of the funniest fics I've EVER read for ANY fandom. If you read this one, please give the author extra love, comments, kudos, etc.

Youtube AU | G | 3.5K

Actor Keith Kogane appears in a YouTube video with an old friend Lance McClain in an episode of Back-to-Back Chef where they attempt to make simple carbonara but they keep getting distracted by flirting with each other.

Hope these make you laugh anon!

[kdogreads]

My Savior

Chibs Telford x reader (minors DNI)

Warnings: implied kidnapping, injuries described, disassociation due to trauma, death (only the bad guys), nothing too graphic overall but please be gentle to yourself and skip this one if it will make you uncomfortable ❤️

AN: idk why I am so in my feels lately but I just love this man 😭

Check out my masterlist for more Chibs content 😍

Your head hung low as the fatigue of hunger, exhaustion, and fear weighed on your body. There was commotion outside the bolted door to your back and you prepared for more abuse to ravage your body and mind. You shut your eyes and willed yourself to go somewhere else in your mind, anywhere else.

You floated to an unlikely oasis, the Sons’ clubhouse. The smells flooded your senses: booze, cigarettes, weed, even the slight fragrance of sex brought you comfort, silly as it was, because it smelled like safety to you. You tried to place yourself at the bar top, surrounded by the laughter, arguing, chatting of the guys. Next to you and all around you, like a blanket of safety, you felt his arms around your waist, hands pressing into the small of your back in a comforting embrace; Filip.

Baby, you heard in your head, his voice washing over you like a summer breeze.

Baby.

“Christ, baby. Come back to me, love, please,” A desperate plea caused you to tense your body, “I’m gonna take ya home, lass, come on.” The familiar accent you loved so much sounded like it was right in front of your battered face.

You fluttered your eyes open, daring to leave your dreamscape just for the slim chance your mind wasn’t lying to you.

“There ya are, love, tha’s it,” You shuddered as a calloused, gentle hand brushed against your cheek, “Oh, lass, ‘m so sorry, my love. Come on, I’m gettin’ you outta here.”

You started to believe what you were seeing, close enough for you to touch. He was here.

Your Filip was here, right in front of you, reaching out to hold you, to wrap you in that warm embrace you so desperately willed yourself to imagine.

“Filip?” You croaked, your voice breaking as the realization finally sank in that he found you. He saved you.

“Aye, M'annsachd (my blessing), ‘m here,” He cooed to you, staring deep into your bruised eyes as you reached out to cling to the black cotton of his plain sweatshirt, “Put yer arms around me, lass. Come on.”

You did as he said, not thinking, just giving yourself over wholly to Filip, your savior.

He slid one arm around your back and the other under your bent knees, grasping you as gently as he could as to not cause you any more pain. Like you weighed nothing at all, he lifted you from the cold, hard concrete you’d lived on for god knows how many hours, maybe days. Exhausted and relieved beyond measure, your head fell to his broad shoulder as you slipped back and forth between awareness and unconsciousness.

You felt the heaviness of the room change as Filip carried you through the doorway, into one hallway, and turning down another.

“Oh Christ, sweetheart,” Another familiar voice filled your ears; Tig. “Is she alright?”

“Aye, for now. Let’s go,” Filip answered as you felt Tig’s hand brush over your hair affectionately.

Your eyes fluttered open and shut as Filip carried you through some rooms and up a flight or two of stairs. You caught a glimpse of who you could only assume used to be your captors. Their bodies slumped in an unnatural way, blood dripping down the wall behind them. Filip would tell you what they’d done to them if you asked, but you decided right then that you didn’t care. All that mattered is they found you, and those monsters got what they deserved.

A heavy door swung open and you felt the warmth of the sunshine beaming onto your skin for the first time in days. It washed a relief onto you that was only amplified when you saw the faces of more of the guys fleeting past you. Bobby, Opie, Jax, Happy, and Juice came into your view as Chibs kept walking towards the van, each with a look of despair or sympathy on their faces. Half-Sack sat up in the driver’s seat and turned the engine over as you got closer, his eyes widened.

You knew you must be looking worse for wear, but it must be worse than you thought given the looks each of the men gave you.

Filip settled you into his lap as the guys filed into the van and headed off towards home. Your bones began to ache as the shock wore off and the reality of your condition set in.

“Sleep, lass. We’ll get you home,” Chibs cooed into your ear, his hand brushing over your bloodied hair in the most comforting touch you’d ever felt.

You weren’t sure how long you were in the van, but you heard murmurs here and there as you faded in and out of sleep.

“Aye, she’ll be alrigh’, she’s gonna need all of us to get through it,” Filip spoke quietly during one of your short periods of awareness.

“We’re here both of you, brother,” Jax responded first.

“For anything, bro,” Bobby added warmly.

A chorus of mmhmm’s and yep’s followed the sentiments, undoubtedly accompanied by nods.

The next several hours went by in a blur. You were vaguely aware of the familiar voices coming and going, offering sweet encouragement and reassurances. You lost count of everyone who was there, but you made a note to thank every one of them for being there for you.

When you finally came to for more than a moment, the comfortable weight of a broad, calloused hand in yours pulled you fully into the waking world.

“Baby?” You croaked as best you could, throat dry from being under for so long.

“There’s my girl,” Filip smiled as he brought your hand to his lips, “Back wi’ the livin’”

“Thanks to you, Filip,” You weakly reached for his face, fingers gliding through the scruff on his chin, “You saved me.”

He leaned into your touch, pressing another sweet kiss to your knuckles, careful not to pressure on the bruises blossoming there.

“Aye, lass, maybe so,” He stood up to wrap you in his arms as best as he could over the rails of the hospital bed, “But you saved me long, long ago just by bein’ you, my angel.”

[barry-j-blupjeans]

There was not much that could scare Edward and Lydia anymore. In fact, Edward could count the things he feared on one hand.

The Reaper— or rather, The Raven Queen. Becoming liches hadn't been a hasty decision. They had known full well what they were doing, what laws they were breaking, and they had broken them anyway. The Raven Queen did not take kindly to those who played the line with life and death, but unfortunately for her, that was Edward and Lydia's preferred line of work. Even so, it would be rather foolish of them not to fear the wrath of a god, or her little soldiers, either.

The End Of All Things. This one was rather simple. Or, well, Edward could pretend it was, until it arrived. But somewhere out there, maybe not in their Planarverse, but out there nonetheless was a world-ending destructive force. It had been described as the Hunger, and although he felt a level of kinship with the idea (who wouldn't when your life was fueled by the very same things that the Hunger was made of), the fear overrid his other emotions.

And being separated from Lydia, of course. After all they had been through with Keats, it was rather hard to not be afraid of losing her, too. But of all his fears, Edward would admit this one was the most unrealistic. There was no Edward without Lydia anymore. If one of them went, well… Edward wouldn’t have to fear much, after that.

Even so, Edward's relationship with fear was far from the norm. His fears? Unnecessary, at this point. Annoying, even. Other people's, though? Ohoho, Edward lived, quite literally, for other people's fears.

The traction Wonderland had gained when the Animus Bell had first fallen into their hands was starting to die down. Edward and Lydia were masters of stretching a life to its thinnest, of course— why kill off anybody in the first act when the second could turn out so much better? But even with these carefully toned tactics, Wonderland seemed to have hit a wall. And it didn't take long to figure out why.

The world had forgotten all about the Animus Bell. And thus, the world had forgotten all about Wonderland.

They had been through worse, of course. And sure, all it took was a few changes here and there— stop advertising the Animus Bell so directly, start up with the classics again: Fame, glory, money. Who in the world wouldn't kill for any of those? But it was frustrating, to have your main source of business cut off without any sort of explanation. Edward personally felt a little cheated. The Animus Bell was supposed to have lasted much longer. They had been promised business and success, only for it to be cut off all at once.

So when the woman responsible for all their recent failures waltzed into the building? Well, Edward and Lydia had no such reason to go easy on her. After all, Lucretia had taken everything from them— all the delicious pain and suffering suddenly gone in an instant. It was only fair she made up for it.

Read the rest on Ao3!

[sunlightmurdock]

My Future in You | 2.3 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: Bradley’s twenty-two years old and not where he’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to be out of the academy by now. Instead, he’s retaking his senior year of college and praying to god that he gets into flight school. Mav’s gone, his mom’s gone. He’s mad at the world. Then, a hook up at a Halloween party changes his future even more than he could have imagined.

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, references to abortion in a few chapters, angst, will be fluff eventually, enemies to lovers kinda thing, mentions of pregnancy / birth complications, mentions of not eating frequently, lack of hunger

…

The drive home in silence just gives Bradley’s anger time to multiply, growing until he’s so restless that his car door is open before the engine is even off. He slams it behind him, knuckles white around the strap of his bag as he walks around to the front door. That slams too.

It startles you, making you flinch and almost drop the mug in your hand. The now lukewarm coffee that you’ve been trying to sip at for an hour spills down onto the white of your sweater. It’s just a small mark, easy enough to ignore.

His brows knit together slightly as he catches sight of your face from the other end of your open living space. The whole way here, it had felt like he practically had steam coming out of his ears. His palms are still reddish and warm from how tightly he was grabbing the wheel. But, he sees it in the way you’re looking at him and knows that his thing — all of the anger, resentment, blinding rage that Mav brings up in him — it doesn’t matter.

Immediately, he lets his bag, and everything that seeing Mav had just stirred up within him, go.

“What’s wrong?” He’s already rushing forwards, heading for you.

You had promised yourself that you wouldn’t do this and that you wouldn’t freak him out by crying. It just happens. A soft, heartbroken squeak as he reaches you and you throw yourself against his chest.

“Did something happen at the appointment?” He breathes out, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing.

“It’s — it’s not that bad, but he…” You have to pull back and force yourself to breathe to even attempt at the words. “He’s smaller than he should be, and the doctor gave me this pamphlet, and I’ve just been freaking out all day.”

Bradley secures you against him with one arm and turns his attention to the little orange leaflet on the counter with a smiling baby girl with glasses on the front of it. He presses his lips softly to the top of your head. With his free hand, he cautiously opens up the front page.

Your hands curl into the fabric of his khakis, breathing him in, pulling him closer to you. It takes him a few moments, to read what it says and to process it. He never once lets you go.

Just giving a small shake of his head, he exhales and squeezes you closer. “Okay. What did the doctor say we need to do?”

“I need to go for a blood test on Friday and another ultrasound on Tuesday. She said that I should be eating healthy, and more frequently, um — eight hours of sleep, rest. If it’s fetal growth restriction then he could have issues during birth or even after.”

Bradley cups your face in his hands and nods slowly. You can feel his heartbeat in his chest and it just doesn’t make sense that he’s able to appear so calm when you know that he isn’t.

“Okay,” He nods, his voice low. “Alright. When was the last time you ate?”

“I had a sandwich for lunch but I just don’t feel hungry, I’ve been crying all day.” You mumble out as he presses closer to you, smoothing a large palm down your back. You nuzzle your cheek against his shirt, exhaling slowly.

Both of you stand in the kitchen, holding each other close, shit scared of what this means. This future that you have committed absolutely everything to, this little thing that you’re so ready to love, and the fear that there could be absolutely no way of protecting it.

Bradley closes his eyes and turns his face towards yours, hugging you closer. His memories of his dad are fuzzy. His memories of his mother back then are fuzzy too. He doesn’t remember her crying much. He remembers them laughing a lot. Standing here, he wishes he had at least one clear memory left — just so that he’d know what to do now.

Most people probably get to share these worries with their parents, to ask them these questions. You’ve just got each other.

He doesn’t know what to do. The silence is setting in and the orange on that pamphlet feels like it’s becoming more obnoxious by the second.

“Well, I’ll cook tonight, and I’ll be really offended if you don’t finish what I make you.” It’s half playful, he presses his lips to your cheek and pulls back to look at you, fingers trembling against your sides, “It’s just been a stressful couple of months, you just need to relax these last few weeks. ‘M gonna take care of you.”

Crowded against the kitchen counter, you take a few seconds to just be held by him, tucking yourself back in against his chest.

You imagine your mother, probably staring at those six missed calls and feeling smug with herself — knowing that you’d have come crawling back for help eventually. You’re an idiot for thinking that she would’ve been able to help. You tug Bradley closer and press your face into his shoulder. Maybe she’s not really doing that. Maybe she’s sitting there and wondering if she should call you back. Either way, it doesn’t matter.

Everything you’ve given up and gone through, this new family that you’ve scraped together, it’s all that you need.

“You wanna come to the store with me or you wanna take a nap?” Bradley asks you, smoothing his hands down along your middle.

Your answer is immediate, filling the air before silence has a chance to set in.

“I don’t want to be on my own.” You admit, exhaling softly into the warmth of his chest. Bradley nods and kisses your temple. He keeps it to himself that he’s pleased with your answer. After the mood he was in and the day that you’ve had, he just wants you where he can see you.

So, the two of you take your car. It’s easier to get into than trying to haul yourself up into the bronco these days. It’s more of a family car. It’s crazy, actually, how much you’re starting to look like a family. Him, in his uniform and an arm draped around you, your hand resting on your swollen stomach.

He drives with his hand on your thigh, your arm looped through his. Then, once you’re in the store, he pushes the cart with you at his side.

“I could ask you what you want, or I could surprise you. What are you two in the mood for?” Bradley asks, leaning down to kiss the top of your head as you hug his arm.

“I’m not hungry, I don’t know.” You shake your head softly.

“Surprise it is.” Bradley decides, taking his arm out from the loop you’re holding it in and draping it around your shoulders instead. He pulls you in against his side and presses his palm over both of your eyes, covering your vision with a sudden darkness.

“Bradley, I’m seriously going to fall break my face!” You gasp, grabbing at his hand. You don’t even notice it. He beams with pride as you smile, finally.

He nudges you in front of him, between him and the cart, laughing softly as he guides you forwards, blind. “Have a little faith in me, I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. Just can’t risk you seeing my ingredients and ruining my surprise.”

“You’re an idiot,” You giggle, grabbing tightly onto the cart to steady yourself. He grins, kissing your cheek. “I’m so scared right now.”

“Scared? — C’mon, Mama, you’ve gotta start trusting me. I’ve got you.” Bradley teases, pressing his mouth to you jaw, pressing his chest into your back and making your laugh harder. He slows you, then stops. “Stay there, I’m grabbing something. Don’t open your eyes.”

Your heart flutters as his hands briefly leave you. There’s a chill in the supermarket without his body crowding around you to keep you warm. He’s back quickly anyway, something clatters into the cart.

“What a beautiful family you are!” The voice is soft, pleasant sounding. An older lady. You peek one eye open and find her beaming at you from a few feet away.

“Thank you.” Bradley answers, surging with pride as he puts a polite amount of space between you and him, still close enough to keep you bracketed between him and the cart.

“You’ll do just fine, making each other laugh like that,” Her eyes as crinkling at the corners, a smile spreading across her aged face. She looks fondly between the two of you, then nods. “Congratulations on the little one. How lovely. Your first?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Bradley answers. You almost sigh in relief that he’s not choosing now to try to make funny jokes.

“How lucky they will be, to have parents so in love.” She smiles. Bradley’s hand covers yours over the top of the cart, knitting his fingers through yours. Neither one of you says a word, at first. You’ve not said that yet. Technically, you’ve only been together for a few weeks. “You two have a lovely day.”

“You too, thank you.” Bradley remains polite, smiling at her softly. She looks the two of you over, fondly, almost reminiscent, and then she walks away.

Bradley catches you off guard, tearing you back away from your own thoughts as he covers your eyes once more. His lips press to your earlobe as he growls playfully, “You better not have checked out my ingredients, Seresin.”

“You’re paranoid.” You tell him, blinded under his palm, grinning dumbly as you let him guide you forwards again.

He hums playfully, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck, “Mm, I just know what Seresins are like.”

“Your baby’s going to be one,” You point out. He chuckled behind you. “You’re gonna be outnumbered.”

He uses his hold on your face to turn your head, leaning over your shoulder and kissing your lips. “Can’t wait.”

So, like the love-sick fool that you are, you let him lead you blindly around the grocery store, whispering jokes into your ear and planting playful kisses onto your neck. Your heart’s swollen and you’re so confused about how it could ever have been hurt by this same person.

Finally, after making you promise not to look several times, he uncovers your eyes and hands you the keys. Your feet are sore and there’s no point waiting in the checkout line with him. He watches you waddle out of the store with a dumb grin on his face.

It makes him want to grin as big as he can, watching the changes that come with your pregnancy. Not being able to tie your shoe laces anymore, knocking things off of the bathroom counter with your belly — waddling is a new one. It’s a special type of adorable, he’s certain that he’ll never grow tired of seeing it.

Loading your items onto the checkout, he pulls his phone from his pocket and waits, unaware of the eyes on him.

It was made abundantly clear earlier, that Bradley had no desire to speak to Maverick. He had turned, looked, and swiftly walked away. That familiar red flush covering his face and neck. He’s had that since he was in diapers, blushing a deep shade of pink whenever he was upset about something.

But now, for Maverick to be standing in a grocery store, staring at the kid that he hasn’t seen in almost two years, for the second time in the same day — it feels like fate.

He drops his items down onto a random shelf and silently walks towards the checkout as Bradley loads his groceries back into the cart.

“Bradley?”

Bradley looks up, finding Pete staring at him again. His face goes blank, and he straightens up like a cat raising its heckles. Pete doesn’t move. Bradley turns swiftly and walks out of the store without a word.

You get out of the car as you see him coming, your smile fading slightly as you notice the look on his face. That hardened, terracotta flushed look.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, let’s just go home.” Bradley practically tears open the trunk. Your brows draw together as you watch him load the groceries into it.

There’s a feeling, something in your peripheral that makes you turn your head. There’s a man standing by the edge of the parking lot, the colour drained from his face, staring right at you.

Pete’s head spins, heat flooding his nerves.

Looking at Bradley already feels like he’s got to be eye-to-eye with a ghost. Now, he’s standing there and suddenly it’s the summer of 1984, and his best friend’s about to have a kid. The picture’s fuzzy now, as it sits in Pete’s wallet, but it’s clear as day in his mind. Goose and Carole on the end of the Santa Monica boardwalk. She’s so pregnant that she could barely walk, but she was beaming — she had demanded to go to the beach that day.

He studies the crystal clear image before him now. Bradley in his khakis from work. The pregnant girl who’s smile has just faded, staring back at him.

Bradley takes one look at your face and then turns, following your gaze.

“Do you know that guy?” You ask gently, glancing up at Bradley.

“Wait in the car for me.” He answers you, slamming the trunk shut and turning. His pace is purposeful, storming across the parking lot until he’s almost nose-to-nose with Pete.

“What do you want?” Bradley spits.

“You… You’re having a kid?” Pete breathes out, confused, shaking his head. The reality of it hasn’t quite set in yet.

“I said: what do you want?” The same angry kid as he knew before stands in front of him again. Pete shakes his head again.

“You’re not ready to be a parent.”

“Just like I wasn’t ready to be a pilot?” Bradley answers back. You watch from beside the car as he steps closer to the older man, squaring his shoulders like he’s about to hit him.

“Think about your future! I mean — have you even thought this throu—“

“Don’t talk to me about my future after what you did.” He barks, loud enough for you to hear finally, eyes ablaze, shoulders squared. Maverick always forgets how much Bradley has grown. He looks up slightly as Bradley walks closer to him.

Maverick looks now to you, with one hand on your stomach and a confused look on your face.

“This isn’t what I wanted for you.” Maverick admits quietly. He’s not sure what makes him say it, it’s already too late, you look pretty far along. But, he says it anyway. When it comes to Bradley, there’s this intense need to do the right thing that usually propels him into doing the wrong thing.

“I didn’t mean — I shouldn’t have —“ Maverick stutters, shaking his head. It always ends like this. He always does the wrong thing. He sees the worry in your eyes. He always upsets Bradley without meaning to. “I’m sorry. Can we talk about this?”

“I don’t give a shit what you want, Mav,” Bradley shakes his head, disbelief. He stops walking finally and points a finger into Pete’s chest, deadly serious — less emotional than last time. “Stay the fuck away from me, stay the fuck away from my family.”

Blue eyes widened, serious, Maverick stares back at the boy before him. Bradley’s always had a temper, that’s nothing new. The sincerity in his tone is. He’s serious about you, it seems.

“Bradley?”

Both of them turn their heads to look at you at the same time. You swallow. His mouth sets into a hard line and it almost makes you wince. You’ve seen this before; it almost always winds up with you getting hurt.

It’s growing colder now that the sun has set. After the day you’ve had, you miss the days when you could take a hot bath. Going home and crawling under your covers would be enough at this point.

“I’m serious,” Bradley says slowly, giving his uncle a quick once over, and then taking a step back with a shake of his head. “You will never be family to me. Leave me alone.”

Without giving the man who had raised him time to argue, Bradley turns and walks back to the car, grinding his jaw.

“Who was that?” You frown.

“Come on,” Bradley sighs, shaking his head as he tugs open the passenger side door and motions for you to get in. “I’ll tell you later. I just want to go.”

You’ve seen Bradley angry — you’ve seen him being an asshole just for the sake of it. This isn’t that. You’ve never seen him rattled like this. So, you get in the car and you let him take you home, pretending not to see the way that the dark haired man watches you car pull out of the lot.

You let him cook for you and tell you about his week. You eat everything he makes you and he grins, proud of himself. After that, he insists that you spend the rest of the evening in bed. So, you do.

You spend it laying sideways with your head resting on his stomach and your legs dangling over the edge, his fingers toying with stands of your hair.

“So, who was that guy?” You ask finally.

And so, he tells you about Pete Mitchell for the first time. The man who raised him. Uncle Pete who let him stay up late and eat pizza, who came over on the days that Bradley’s mom just couldn’t stop crying. Uncle Pete who sometimes forgot that he promised to come to baseball games or pissed off an admiral and wound up in the middle of the ocean for a couple of months, so couldn’t come to that birthday party anymore.

The let downs and the wonderful memories weigh each other out. For every upside, there’s a downside with Maverick. And then it gets to Bradley’s senior year of high school, when Mav betrayed him. They hadn’t spoken since, other than at Carole’s funeral, briefly. That had gone worse than today had.

You squeeze his hand softly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Bradley says quietly. He smooths his hand down across my stomach. “I’m sorry that I did that in front of you. I’ve been trying to—“

You turn your head, pressing your lips gently to his knuckles. “I know.”

He exhales slowly. You know exactly how hard he had been trying for you.

“I love you.” You decide finally, leaning your head back so that you can look at him. Bradley raises his eyebrows. He’s had a couple of girls say it to him before, he’s never felt inclined to say it back. He would’ve never told them about Maverick, about his mother. He wouldn’t have ever been lying here with them, like this.

“I love you too.” He takes his hand away from your hair and strokes it along your jaw instead. You push yourself up, turning slowly towards him, kissing his lips chastely.

“We’re going to be alright. Right?” You ask quietly, resting your hand against his bare chest. His eyes soften just slightly as he gives you a calm nod.

…

@chaoticweirdogeek @alanadetigy @itsmytimetoodream @oldnatgwenaccount @khaylin27 @bioodforbiood @luckyladycreator2 @mizzzpink @cherrycola27 @unordinare @shanimallina87 @marvel-f1-and-more @heli991113 @pauv-0414 @ghxst-heart @momc95 @asteria33 @lilyevanswhore @diamond-3 @galaxy-moon @jostyriggslover96 @forgiveliv @shawnsblue @little-wiseone @lovemesomevesey @alm334 @averyhotchner @diorrfairy @thedroneranger @batdanceq @wkndwlff @littlemissobsessedwitholdermen @sunflowerziva @cassiemitchell @himbos-on-ice @bradshawseresinbabe @damrlovq @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @slutfordw

[torisabitgay]

Stoned (Doctor Edition)

TWs: Use of weed

You finally attend a medical conference with Amelia. Little do you know that one muffin later, you will wreak absolute havoc during a presentation.

(F/F, Amelia Shepherd x femreader, they are together but it’s not stated, straight up comedy, 2K words)

You and Amelia were at a medical conference in New York. You hadn’t attended many of these (thanks to your short attention span) but you didn’t want Amelia to leave you for a weekend so you begrudgingly decided to tag along.

There was a presentation on new and improved diagnostic techniques that you were both going to attend. You sipped your coffee, sat at a table in the massive lounging area of the building. Amelia sat next to you, sipping her coffee and finishing up her sandwich. Your stomach rumbled in response and you huffed quietly. Amused, Amelia looked up, “I did ask if you wanted to eat something.”

You rolled your eyes, taking another sip of coffee hoping the bitter taste would quench your appetite. “I wasn’t hungry before.”

Almost on cue, a friendly looking man approached with a decorated box. Your curiosity was instantly piqued and you turned to him.

“Muffin?” He offered.

Amelia gave you a bit of a cautious look. Now, you were smart. You were a surgeon, god damn it. So what possessed you to take a muffin from a stranger, you’ll never know. Perhaps it was the hunger. Perhaps it was the need for adventure. Whatever it was, it ended with a smile and a nod. “Thank you.” Graciously, you took one and he smiled innocently enough and walked off.

Amelia looked at you, concerned. “You aren’t about to eat that, are you?”

Oh but the way the chocolate muffin glistened in the light, you could see chunks of dark, white, and milk chocolate baked into the batter. Pressing the muffin, you could tell the texture was perfectly fudgey and smooth.

You were salivating like a dog.

“[First Name], would you have taken that muffin if he was balding, overweight, with missing teeth?” Amelia said, looking at you like at a person about to jump off a bridge.

She had a point. Pretty privilege in society was a very real thing. But the man didn’t have bad VIBES, and this was a conference for doctors only, so he had to be a doctor. So according to the Hippocratic oath, he wasn’t allowed to do harm.

You shrugged. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Oh boy.

I’ll hand it to you, the muffin was delicious. And under different circumstances, it might’ve been a fun adventure. Not today though. Oh god, not today.

You threw away your empty coffee cup, before you and Amelia made your way into the presentation hall. It was a massive hall. With a lot of seats. And a lot of people. You could not imagine being the host. You and Amelia managed to find some seats in the middle of the hall, sat side by side. You still had some time before the presentation actually began, so you figured you’d get comfortable and make light conversation. “So how long is this thing anyway?”

She shrugged, as she scrolled through her phone. “Oh like 4 hours, not too bad.”

Your eyes widened in horror, shock, dread, maybe even fear. Four hours? Of sitting still? And listening? Oh. God. “You’re kidding right?”

“Yes, I’m kidding, idiot. It’s like 2 hours tops.” She rolled her eyes and looked over at you with an affectionate and playful smirk.

You never felt such relief. “Oh thank god. I would’ve actually died.”

She chuckled, and the lights dimmed to signify the start of the presentation. She whispered over to you one last time. “You’ll be fine, it’ll be interesting, just watch.”

And watch you did.

The host began talking about current diagnostic procedures and tests, sharing his take on why some of them suck and how they could be improved. Then about half an hour in, he started introducing cool new techniques that he and other doctors and researches had developed.

You gasped in fascination.

You gasped. In fascination.

You. Gasped.

A lot of people started to look around at who on earth just gasped in pure delight in the middle of a presentation. People around you turned to look at you. Amelia included. She had a look of horror mixed with a slight tinge of concern.

“Sorry.” You mouthed to the people around you, and sunk back into your seat, slumping down in a weak attempt to hide.

Okay. Weird. But whatever. Everyone moved on. Well, nearly.

Amelia leaned in to you and whispered. “What the hell was that?”

You looked over to her and shrugged. Honestly, you had no idea what that was. You were just so captivated by the talk and reacted on instinct. Maybe. God, your head felt fuzzy. Has it always felt this fuzzy? Why did the air feel fuzzy? You shook your head, trying to shake off the fuzziness. It only made it worse.

Amelia leaned back, eyeing you for a couple of moments before her gaze returned to the presentation.

So did yours. Except, focusing on the presentation was pretty difficult when your mouth felt… strangely empty. Like really empty. Like a black hole sort of emptiness. Are black holes empty? Black holes are cool. Maybe you’re in a black hole. What? What’s happening? You shook your head again and sipped your coffee.

Amelia’s head pretty much darted in your direction. You looked back over at her, a slightly fearful look on your face. Did you drink too loud? No. Surely not. You barely drank it.

“Whose coffee is that?” Amelia whispered as she pointed to the cup.

You looked down at your coffee cup.

…

“That’s not your coffee. You threw your coffee out. Whose coffee are you drinking?” Amelia whispered again.

You looked back over to her, your mouth slightly open with a confused and slightly dazed expression on your face. It took you a few moments before you replied in a whisper. “What coffee?”

Amelia’s eyebrows knitted in bewilderment, eyes widening a little. She pointed to your coffee cup. “THAT.”

You looked down at your coffee cup. What? Since when did you have a coffee cup? You didn’t even remember drinking it.

“[First Name], what the hell is going on with you?” Amelia whispered again, slightly sharper.

You. Had. No. Idea.

You looked back up at her. You should say something right? You haven’t spoken in a while. “Nothing.”

She raised an eyebrow as if to say ‘yeah right’, before shaking her head, and looking back to the presentation, glancing over at you every so often to make sure you weren’t having a stroke or something.

You leaned back in your seat again and suddenly felt a coffee cup in your hand. What? Whose coffee was this? You looked over to the guy sat next to you and whispered. “Hey. Hey. Sorry.” He looked apprehensive. “Hi, is this your coffee?” He nodded hesitantly. “Okay, one sec.” You took another sip of the coffee to fill the void in your mouth, before holding it out to him. He politely declined and pushed the cup away. What? Why? “You don’t want it?” He shook his head. “Oh okay.” You sat back.

Amelia watched the entire exchange with a hand pressed to her face in disappointment. You noticed her expression and decided to try focus on the movie playing.

After a couple of minutes of concentration, you whispered to Amelia. “This is a really good movie.”

Her concern grew. She stared at you. “Movie? What movie? We’re… watching a presentation.” She sat up a little, body angled towards you.

A presentation? Okay that made more sense. You wondered why the movie was so 3D. You nodded. “Right, right, yeah. Presentation.”

Oh but she wasn’t letting it go so easily. Something was wrong. You were acting delusional. “[First Name], you’re scaring me.” Amelia spoke, her whisper firm.

“But this isn’t a horror movie.” You turned your attention to her.

If her eyes widened even more, you’re sure her eyelids would snap. “What the actual fuck are you talking about?” She whispered yelled.

You furrowed your brows. “Who?”

“You.” She said, starting to get frustrated.

“You?”

“No, YOU.”

“Me.”

“Yes, you.”

“… what?” At that response, she leaned back in her chair with a defeated thump. A part of her was convinced you were being annoying on purpose, while another part was concerned that something deeper was going on. “Sorry, [First Name].” You whispered to her.

She picked up her head again and looked at you. “Huh? Did you just call me [First Name]?”

“…”

Another part of her was starting to get concerned that SHE was the one having a stroke or something. “You’re [First Name]. I’m Amelia.”

You nodded. “Nice to meet you, I’m Amelia.”

Amelia very nearly threw her hands up in frustration. “NO. I’M Amelia. You’re not Amelia!”

Your eyes widened and you whispered back. “WHAT?”

“[First Name], I SWEAR TO GOD.” She raised her voice. People turned around again.

Amelia’s face instantly flushed and her gaze flicked to the ground. People whispered and gave her disapproving looks but eventually everyone turned back around. You looked apologetically over to Amelia, but you couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped your lips. She looked up slowly. If looks could kill… it wouldn’t look great for you.

And somehow, this made you giggle more.

“[First Name].”

You were giggling as quietly as possible, with small hiccups of breath in between silent chuckles.

She shook her head and clenched her jaw, looking back at the presentation. Only an hour in, and you were already driving her insane.

You managed to collect yourself. Mostly. Maybe a sip of coffee would help you calm down?

Yeah, no.

The second your mouth filled with coffee, it was already out. All over you. All over the poor woman in front. And you were giggling uncontrollably again. This was officially the worst day of Amelia’s life (and she’s had A LOT of bad days). She stared in absolute horror. Disbelief. Outrage.

The woman in front of you turned to look at what was going on. She was not happy. Thank god she wore a black sweater to the conference. You, however, weren’t as lucky. Your fancy, new light-coloured outfit was covered in coffee.

And Amelia couldn’t take it anymore. She apologised profusely on your behalf to the woman in front, and then grabbed your arm harshly, but not painfully. Everyone stared as the two of you made your way out of the presentation hall, Amelia looking at the ground in shame as you giggled behind.

Woah, standing up made the fuzziness a lot worse. You couldn’t walk actually. You felt like you were swimming instead. And, oops…

Your leg got caught on one of the chairs and you went flying into some poor elderly man. Amelia wanted to die right then and there. She pulled you off of him, as you laughed so hard you had tears in your eyes, and she dragged you out of that hall as if her life depended on it.

Once the two of you were out in the hallway, she stared at you in… concern? Anger? Fear?

“[First Name]… what the hell was that?”

You giggled as you looked over at her and spoke. “What?”

She continued to stare incredulously.

You looked at her. In this light, your dopey smile and red eyes looked… familiar.

The gears started to turn as her face dropped in realisation. “The muffin.”

You nearly barked out a laugh. “What???” You asked again.

“The muffin you ate, idiot.” She said slowly. “You’re high as a kite right now! It was laced!”

Oh. Oh yeah. Oh yeah, you were STONED. Now it made sense.

You snickered some more. She groaned. “No, [First Name], this isn’t funny, this is…” She couldn’t help but start to smirk at your intoxicated giggles. “Stop laughing. Do you know how dangerous this is?“ She said, but she started to grin herself.

Maybe because of the absurdity of the situation.

Maybe because it all made sense now.

Or maybe because you were absolutely blitzed out of your mind.

Whatever it was, it sure made for a funny story to reminisce on. Needless to say you don’t take muffins from strangers anymore.

[katiemay-025]

Cabin in the Woods

~~~~~

Summary: After the rebellion you decide to move to District 7 to be with Johanna and help her through her hydrophobia.

wc: 1.7k

warnings: y/n/n = your nickname, mdni, mentions of hydrophobia, swearing, brief nudity, blood. a/n: getting tired of searching tumblr for Johanna Mason fics and not finding any new ones so I wrote one myself.

~~~~~

The train pulled into the station and when the doors open, you’re greeted by the fresh smell of pine and the thick misty clouds. It had been a months since Katniss shot Coin and the victor’s were whisked away back to their district. You were from District 10, and used to live and breathe on the farm where you raised the cattle and horses. After months without a caretaker, some of them hopped the fence but most of them died.

There wasn’t much to rebuild in District 10 so you decided a change of scenery would be nice. More than anything, you wanted to see Johanna in District 7. You wanted to see how she was doing considering she refused any more help from the doctors. So here you were standing at the District 7 platform with a small pack of clothes on your back.

Finnick gave you her address and directions to her house since he’d been there for the victory tour as the mentor for the 72nd Hunger Games. When you had won during the 66th year, Johanna hadn’t had a house yet in Victor’s Village.

Making your way through the town was easy, most people far and wide had gone to The Capitol to see Snow’s execution, they were all still trickling back. The almost ghost town didn’t bother you, but a ghost house did. At first you weren’t sure if you had the right house but then you saw the horse figurine half carved from its stake and the many other figurines. As far as you knew none of the other victors had their talent as woodcarvings.

This was definitely Johanna’s house but it was as barren as when you had came home to your house. Musty and a layer of dust caking everything. Unsure of where she could have gone, you went back to the town where a few people were moving the logs around to help with the rebuilding. Someone must know where she went so you asked around. “Hey have you seen Johanna Mason? She’s a few inches taller than me, with brown spikey hair and brown eyes. She also permanently glares at everything.”

“Oh yeah the victor, she comes into town twice a week for food supplies.”

“She’s not at her house?”

“No she’s out west past the tree farms doing god knows what.”

“Okay thank you.”

All you had to go off of was Johanna was past the tree farms. The farms looked bad, the ground was uneven, the trees were uprooted and some of them had a chunk of the trunk blasted out, District 7 must’ve rebelled here, mirroring District 10 and the main work places.

At the end of the grid of trees, there was a trail between the bushes, at the start you found tracks that led further into the forest. It took another 30 minutes before you heard wooden logs tapping against each other.

Johanna was 10 feet in the air hanging with her legs wrapped around the tree and using the back end of her axe to hammer in the final frame log for her… whatever she’s building.

“So this is where Johanna goes after the war.” You say grabbing her attention.

“You know damn well why, I fucking hate that mansion.” she said swinging down to the roof of the cabin she built below the platform. “How did you find me?”

“Oh you know, I asked for directions and the guy sent me this way to follow angry gremlin tracks.”

Johanna rolled her eyes. “I have an axe in my hand right now.”

“You’re not a threat to me Mason. I can spit on you and you’d go into shock.”

“Shut the fuck up.” She scoffed. It was mean yes, using her fears against her but Johanna needs the reality check and from experience, she takes you more seriously when you don’t coddle her.

“No. You can’t sweep it under the rug Johanna. Not this time, I won’t let you. It starts just like this, not showering, avoiding the rain. Soon it’ll turn to you not staying hydrated and I’m not letting you die.”

“So what? You’re going to stay here until I get better?”

“If that’s what it takes.” You felt it first, the cold drop of water on your hand. “Let’s go inside, you can give me a tour.” You offer your hand towards Johanna and she pushes it out of the way as she walks around the cabin to the front door. You see the hair on her neck stand followed by heavy breathing. Without a second thought, she sprinted towards the door tripping on the steps of her porch and ramming into the door.

You winced watching her in pain so you moved to help her. As soon as you touched her shoulder she knocked it away again. “I’m fine!” She shouted. You could hear the pitter patter as the rain hit the leaves above you. You felt more drops on your head and looked up to feel them on your face. You loved the rain and if Johanna wasn’t going to accept your help, you’d at least enjoy it.

You reached your arm towards the sky smiling at the cool misty air. You hopped from the porch and ran circles around the tree spinning through the forest like a fairy. In the floor, you collected the pine needles and threw them into the air with a giggle, but you quickly turned your head to Johanna who sat with her back towards the door and her knees pressed to her chest.

The rain wasn’t getting to her because of the overhang but you saw the glistening under her eyes. Blood ran down her nose as well and watching her was like that 17 year old girl who cried through her reaping and her interview. Only this time it was real. You quickly stopped your dance and walked over to her, ignoring the squelching in your shoes. You crouched down out of arms reach from her. You wanted to hold her but you knew it would send her into a deeper madness because of your wet clothes.

“Are you okay?”

“It’s not fair! It’s not fair that you get to go out and dance in the rain and I can’t.” She whined. “District 7 is a rain forest, it rains majority of the days here and I can’t even step off my porch.”

“You’re right it’s not fair, but like I said, I’ll be here and I’ll help you every step of the way. One day we’ll be able to dance together in the rain.”

“It’s stupid. I know you’re fine but I-“

You waited for her to continue but her voice died out. “It’s not stupid Johanna. It’s completely understandable.” You reached your hand out to catch the rain and held it out towards Johanna. “Baby steps. If you wanna poke the water, go ahead. If not I’ll just sit here.”

This was a tactic to get the horses to trust you with a brush, holding the item in your hand and letting them feel the bristles of the brush for themselves before you grooming their hair. Johanna crawled to sit next to you. You heard her sniffling and saw her fingers shake when she brought it up. You never moved letting her dip her finger in the pool of your palms. “I can do this. It can’t hurt me.” She said to herself before plunging her finger in the water.

Johanna looked up at you like a child looking for approval and you returned a beaming smile. Your cheekbones rose high to turn your eyes into crescent moons. In all honesty you were proud she at least retained some things the doctor in District 13 taught her, like positive self motivation.

It seemed to click for Johanna that she actually touched water from the first time since The Block. “It’s a start. I’m proud of you.” You said.

Johanna let out a sigh she didn’t know she was holding as she looked into your eyes. If you weren’t here, she’d have hid under her bed until who knows when, but in your presence, it was like a protection. Through everything you had gone through, you were still the same caring and patient y/n she knew.

“I’m going to change before I start catching a cold.” You stood up stripping off your jacket. The cold water seeping down your back and you left it next to the door.

“If I see any water inside I’m strangling you.”

You shook your head as you stripped off the rest of your clothes turning to an all too smug Johanna. “Happy?”

“Very.” She said checking you up and down. “It’s like your horses and the apples you give them when they do a good job. I touch water and you get naked as a reward.

You laugh at her comparison. You couldn’t even be mad at her, after all, you did treat her like a horse a couple minutes ago. If this was going to help her then you wouldn’t mind.

“Okay. I can do that only in private though. I am not getting naked at the market, when you run your hand through the produce sprinklers.”

“That’s better for me then. I get you to myself.” She opened the door and let you go in. As you stepped into her cabin in the woods, you felt a hand squeeze the skin on your butt and snapped your head towards her, her name on the tip of your tongue. Johanna threw her head back laughing at your reaction before walking past you and bumping her hip with yours. "Make yourself some tea, I've got tea bags and pine needles. Collect your own water though. I'll get you some towels and clothes to dry off."

What a day, from being on a train to getting naked in the middle of the forest. No matter what though, you were glad that the day was ending in the presence of Johanna Mason. After putting on her clothes, because you stupidly left your pack in the rain, the two of you cuddled under a blanket and enjoyed the warmth of the crackling fire.

[endlessnightlock]

If you feel inspired, #10 “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.” from the random prompt list <3

Her dad's guitar takes up a fair amount of space in Katniss's lap, boxy but lightweight, with room to hide behind when her nerves get the better of her. Slightly battered and smooth from use, the balsawood is cool to the touch when she picks its strings and makes it sing. But she's getting antsy, so she puts her guitar in its case and wanders over to the corner of the stage. She's careful to stay hidden behind the heavy velvet curtain. Ms. Trinkett will give her the devil if she catches her peeking out.

People are trickling into the high school auditorium: classmates, a few teachers, and a smattering of parents. She sees Gale and the rest of her cousins file into a row near the stage with Hazelle. Prim and her parents have been here for a while. Katniss hopes the auditorium won't be too full when Principal Flickerman starts the show. She's not a confident performer. Singing and playing are more of a compulsion for her, a hunger she has to feed rather than a bid for attention.

When the clock ticks down to zero (performance time! Ms. Trinkett brightly states), she's waiting for her turn to go on stage with the guitar strapped to her chest.

Madge starts the show with a classical piece. The school's piano is out of tune, but her best friend makes it work. Katniss can't keep the smile off her face. Madge is the shyest person she knows, and she's proud of her friend for getting over that fear to play tonight.

"Wow. Did you know she could play like that?" Peeta Mellark asks. Somehow he'd wandered away from the group he was standing with and up to her side.

Katniss gives a sharp nod, surprised he said anything at all. Not that he doesn't talk. He's popular, friendly, and always hanging out with one group or another. He just never talks to her.

"I mean, of course you do," he laughs at himself. "Is that why you're such good friends? Shared talent?"

She shrugs. "Maybe." She's never considered that before, but he might be on to something.

"Nothing like twenty questions before we go onstage. I'm just a little nervous. Talk too much when that happens."

"No, it's okay," she says. A strain of nervousness makes her insides tight, too. She decides she likes talking to Peeta. He says what he's thinking, but in a more thought-out way than she can pull off. Words stumble across her lips, leaving her embarrassed more often than not. "You can talk. It's not too much."

Peeta grins at her.

"Um, what are you doing?" she asks. "Not like, life in general. For the show."

"Comedy. Going to try getting laughs out of my dumb jokes."

"Oh. I didn't know you did that."

"Me neither, until two weeks ago when they posted the sign-up sheet. I had to find a way to get into the show."

"I was dragged here kicking and screaming. That's brave of you to try something new."

"Or stupid. We'll see." Peeta says. "I know you have a beautiful singing voice, but I didn't know you played."

"My dad taught me. This is his, actually." She pats the fretboard, keeping her eyes on the strings, feeling shy at the compliment. "I didn't know you'd heard me sing."

"I think it was your first public appearance. Kindergarten. Mrs. Paylor asked if anyone knew The Valley Song. Your hand shot up, and when you stood on your chair and sang, my fragile 5-year-old heart was lost," he says.

"That didn't happen," she says.

"Swear to god. You had on a red checkered dress, and your hair was in two long braids. I like your hair tonight, too. It's really pretty."

"Thank you," she murmurs. Katniss pats the braided, pinned updo her mother did for her. She likes the old-fashioned style because it feels in keeping with her mountain heritage.

Vague memories of that red and white dress invade her mind. She does her hair in a single braid most days because it's long and gets everywhere if she doesn't, and she did wear it in two as a child.

"You have an incredible memory."

Peeta shrugs, smiling down at the tips of his shoes.

"Peeta, you're next dear," Ms. Tinkett says, bringing Katniss back to herself. Madge's song was over three students ago in the rotation, and she hadn't even noticed.

"Wish me luck?" Peeta asks her quietly.

"Good luck," she says, kind of dumbfounded by their conversation. She'd caught Peeta looking her way when he thought she didn't notice but never considered what that meant.

She couldn't hear most of Peeta's stand-up routine, but she caught amused laughter from the audience. When it was her turn to go onstage and stand in the spotlight, their conversation was still in the forefront of her mind, and she found her fingers moving over the strings, playing The Valley Song and remembering the little curly blond headed boy from kindergarten.