#so she reaches up with her little paws so they will again

[oddwalkerduckarts]

Grassland Romance AU: Winter Winds

Summary: You've been slowly falling in love with Sylus, a strange outsider who joined your tribe some time ago. You haven't been able to pluck up the courage to say anything. However, when you are caught alone in the fiercest blizzard anyone can remember, it might not be up to you anymore.

AO3

CW: AFAB reader, no use of y/n, pet names (sweetie, little huntress), blizzard, hypothermia, hunting, nude spooning, 90% fluff by volume, sexual themes (but no sex), not proofread, melodrama (god so much melodrama).

Word count: 8k

Notes: poor Luke and Kieran have to be dogs in this AU.

“Don’t be stupid,” you scoff, “how can lemmings foretell the weather? Their brains are the size of grass seeds!” The bay mare you’re sitting astride shakes her head, before pawing through the watery, heavy snow on the ground to reach the hidden grasses underneath.

Today, as with most days, you are minding the herds with your friend Cota. The two of you are practically sisters, as her family had raised you after your parents perished when you were a young child.

“I’m not the one who said it!” She protests, leaning back to aim a kick at your foot succeeding at knocking it out of your stirrup. “I’m just telling you what Elder Shikigur said, and he said, ‘There’s too many lemmings moving, there will be a large storm coming.’”

You groan. Blizzards are a continual hazard of grassland winters. Harsh winds are able to scream across the treeless landscape with terrifying fury, tearing through even thick winter deels, and whirling snow into a blinding haze. Preparing for one means rounding up the flocks, reinforcing yurts to hold against wind and snowfall, and digging out of the yurts once the storm is through. They’re critical jobs that need to be done. That is, when the weather actually calls for it.

“It’s practically spring!” You argue, gesturing wildly to the half-melted pasture around the two of you, “It’s so damn warm, that I couldn’t even wear my thickest deel today! I would’ve been covered in sweat!”

Cota shrugs, “I’m just telling you what the elders were gossiping about.”

“Well, regardless of what they say, I’m not taking out my winter deel again until next winter.”

“I bet you would if Sylus asked you to.”

You feel the color rise in your cheeks at the sing-song tease, and the mention of his name.

You aim a return kick at Cota’s leg, but she reins her mare to the side in time to evade you. “I would not! And besides, he’s out with some of the others hunting pheasant, anyway.”

Cota’s smile grows wider, “Oh ho, so you’ve been keeping track of which hunting parties he goes with, huh?”

An irritated groan leaves your throat as your friend laughs. “Aren't you supposed to be heading back about now? I'll tell the elders you've been slacking to sit around and gossip.”

“Aw, don't pout! It's cute, all your pining. You're going to have to do something soon though, otherwise some other girl is going to catch his eye at a festival, and then what will you do?”

“I’m pretty sure you're supposed to be helping with cooking right now, aren't you?”

Cota makes her own irritated groan, “No one likes when I cook anyway!”

“Better that than you sitting here and teasing me.”

She makes a rude gesture at you, and you return it.

"Fine,” she grumbles, “but keep an eye on the weather, okay?”

“Of course, I'll let you know if the lemmings are oracles or not.”

Cota rolls her eyes with a scoff, before reining her horse around and trotting back to the village. It’s good timing, you notice the right side of the herd has started to splinter a bit, and needs to be rounded back in.

As you go about your job, you can’t stop your mind from pondering over your relationship with the strange man.

Sylus had come to the tribe as an outsider a few years ago. Strong and skilled in both riding and archery, he’d been welcomed into the fold immediately, seemingly to his own surprise. His striking appearance had immediately caught many eyes; tall, broad and strong in the chest, with eyes the color of freshly-spilled blood set in a devastatingly handsome face. The one criticism you heard of him was of his curt, reticent nature, that meant he constantly had a severe expression on his face.

Well, almost-constantly.

Within a month after joining the tribe, there had begun to be problems with a particular wolf picking off sheep in the night. It had always seemed to know where to attack, far enough away from any of the herders that it was impossible to reach him in time. It even managed to evade the vigilant Bankhar dogs, who kept constant watch on their flock, and rarely let a wolf’s presence go unpunished. The predator managed to evade everyone. Everyone except Sylus.

It had only taken two nights of Sylus on guard, before he returned in the early morning light, with the giant, tawny corpse of the wolf thrown over one shoulder. He’d managed to kill it, in the dark, with a single arrow to its skull. The entire tribe had celebrated that night; an end to the nights of doubled watches in the dark and lost sheep. Wine and kumis had run freely that night, along with music and dancing in the center of the temporary village.

The wolf’s body had been set aside, to be skinned for the fur and used as linings and blankets to guard against the frigid winter months. Even in death, it still looked fierce, its fur sleek and body corded with lean muscle that reminded you of its killer. You had bent down to examine the bared teeth, sharp and white against the pale flesh of the gums. You reached out to draw your finger over one of the fangs, curious to see if it would be sharp like a knife, or blunt like one of the Bankhar dogs.

“Disturbing the dead?”

The deep voice, close enough to feel against the back of your neck, had you stumbling backwards, and gracelessly falling on your ass. A throaty chuckle came from above your head, and you had looked up to see Sylus, his face smug and scarlet eyes dancing with laughter.

“It doesn’t count if it’s a wolf,” You grumbled, pulling yourself off the ground, “ass.”

His head was cocked to the side as you rose, finger tapping his cheek in mock-thought, “I thought a wolf was supposed to be the father of the first herdsmen? Wouldn’t that make this creature here your cousin?”

“That’s an old story, no one believes that.”

His answering smile was sharp, eyes darkening into a sneer. “Is that so?” He drew closer, close enough that you could feel his breath on your face, and feel the fabric of his deel brushing against yours. The gaze he cast down made you realize what a cornered sheep must feel like in the moments before jaws close around its throat. “I think there’s more of wolves in people than you realize.” His growl was just as deep as the dogs when they scented a threat.

A part of you wanted to shrink down in your boots, make your excuses, and flee. But, a much larger, louder part of you was indignant. How dare this man sneak up on you in the dark, make you fall over in surprise, then have the audacity to growl at you like a beast?

So you had tipped your chin up defiantly, “Better be careful. Apparently even the cleverest wolves get arrows in their heads.”

He had stared at you for a moment. Made a single blink. Then a strange, amused smile curled across his face. “Are you going to be the one to fire it, little huntress?”

“If you don’t back up, maybe I will.”

Sylus chuckled then, backing up a few steps. You released a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, body thrumming with… anxiety? Excitement? Both? You couldn’t tell. To distract yourself, you turned your attention back to the kill.

“It’s kind of a shame, really. It’s a pretty creature.”

His head cocked to the side again, though the curiosity in his eyes seemed to be genuine this time. “Feeling bad for the predator?”

“He was just trying to live.”

He huffs a small laugh through his nose. “You’re cute.”

“Excuse me?” You look at him, deeply irritated at his patronizing tone.

“Most animals that steal livestock are weak. They’re sick, or injured. Otherwise it just isn’t worth risking the tangle with dogs or people. This one,” he gives the corpse a nudge, “was perfectly healthy. Strong. But instead of using its smarts to take on saiga, or capercaille, it decided to take the easy way out. It never would have stopped, once it knew that it could fool the shepherds.”

You had sighed a little, knowing that in this instance, he was right. “I know. It still seems like a shame. But at least we’ll stop losing so many sheep.”

You had looked up then to find Sylus staring at you with such intensity that you had taken a step backwards. “What?”

He blinked, the intensity dissipating as quickly as a strike of lightning. “Nothing, sweetie.”

“Sweetie?” Your nose wrinkled at the childish nickname.

He gave a small laugh, a mischievous glint coming to his blood red eye, “You feel pity for a predator that would have snapped you up in an instant. It’s very sweet, if maybe a bit naïve.”

“It sounds like something you’d call a toddler.”

“I suppose it does,” the glint was quickly accompanied by an equally mischievous curl to his smirk, “I suppose I’ll have to call you that when you’re acting like a toddler, sweetie.”

“Ugh. Ass.” You’d turned on your heel to return to the fire, trailed by the sound of deep, smug chuckling.

Since then, Sylus always seemed to show up near you, whether you wanted him there or not. And, at least at first, you certainly leaned more towards the former. He had a talent for approaching silently, getting that smugly pleased look from startling you into stumbling or squeaking. He also began to challenge you, goading you into contests or archery, or riding, or throwing knuckle bones. He was nearly impossible to beat, and even on the rare occasions that you won, he had the gall to look completely unbothered by your triumph.

Really, after a few months, you should have hated him.

But in between all of the needling and teasing and challenges, you began to learn more about Sylus. You learned that he enjoyed being out hunting or riding far more than he enjoyed being surrounded by people, even if they were praising him. You learned the long-limbed black stallion he rode when he first encountered your tribe had been declared untamable before Sylus had taken him. When one of the livestock dogs died shortly after having two pups, you even learned that (if he wanted to be) he could be downright gentle. He’d done so well in helping care for the pair, that as they grew, they followed him everywhere and obeyed his every command. All of this new familiarity, so at odds with your first impression of him, had cultivated a quiet companionship between the two of you.

Even more surprising were the moments of softness, startlingly close to affection. When Sylus had sat drinking kumis with you on the new year, and you’d excitedly shared your hopes for what was to come, he listened with a quiet smile. He’d brought you the furs from the wolf he’d killed when you caught a particularly nasty winter cold, and had even insisted you keep it after you recovered. When you met other tribes for trade, he often found you afterwards, giving you some ornament or silk from beyond the grasslands. Despite the fact he’d never admitted to it, you knew that when his two dogs accompanied you out into the grasses to watch the flocks, he’d commanded them to do so.

Maybe most importantly, he’d specifically sought you out to show you a den where wolf cubs were playing in the summer, knowing you’d like to see them tussle.

They’d been adorable, large paws and ears far too big for their fluffy bodies. The two of you had left your horses some yards away and sat down a bit distant from the pups, down wind and silent so as not to give your presence away. For a while you couldn't take your eyes off their energetic forms, tussling in the dust in front of the den, chewing on each others’ ears, yelping and licking when it became too rough. Eventually you'd looked to Sylus to ask him something, but your eyes had fallen on the short, recurve bow at his side.

“You're not going to kill them, are you?” You'd whispered

He raised an eyebrow at you in a wordless question.

You checked quickly to make sure the pups hadn't heard you. Fortunately, they still seemed to be involved in their own games.

“I mean. I know they're wolves. They might eat our flocks when they get older. But, they're just babies.”

He blinked at you, with an odd, expression you couldn't place. He rose soon after, walking silently away from the den. You'd followed him, confused.

“Hey,” you hissed, “What are you doing now?”

“Leaving. One parent or the other would've been back soon to feed them. Then I would've actually had to use this.” He tapped the bow that was now slung over his shoulder.

“Oh.” You murmured, realization dawning, “Is that what you brought it for? If one of the parents came back?”

“I certainly wouldn't have needed it to kill a fragile little pup.” He scoffed. “Besides, there's no use in killing something weak and defenseless. Though it's nice to know just how highly you think of me, sweetie.”

“That's not-” a frustrated noise had escaped you as you struggled for words, “I don't think that of you. It just… others would have done that. To make sure they didn't grow up to prey on our animals.”

He turned to you then, with a gaze that seemed to be searching you, trying to find the truth of something. “And I'm ‘others’ to you?”

“Of course not!”

He arched an eyebrow for the second time that day at the vehemence in your voice.

"You're the strongest warrior we have. And an infuriating opponent. But you're also the person who protects orphaned dogs. And brings me extra furs when I'm sick. And-” you stopped yourself before you could incriminate yourself further, taking a small breath to collect yourself. “You're Sylus. Not… Others.”

There was a small silence between the two of you for a moment, as you walked over the flowing grasses together. The only sound was the occasional waves of wind across the landscape.

It was broken, only slightly, by Sylus repeating those words. “Not others.” He said them quietly, slowly, as though testing out strange words in a new language. When you turned to look at him, you caught a glimpse of a small, soft smile on his face. A look so deeply genuine, and beautifully content, it made your breath catch in your chest.

Things had begun to change after the day with the wolves. You were beginning to come familiar with the slight curve of his smile, his real smile. Instead of your usual irritation, the glint that so often came to his eye when he was planning mischief fanned a wave of warmth in you. You began craving the slight huff of breath he gave when amused with something you’d done. The deep chuckle he sometimes gave when his body drew close to yours made something strange and molten coil in your gut. When he was out hunting saiga, you found yourself unusually sullen and snappish. And when you heard people whooping and clamoring at the return of the hunting parties, you’d be jostling to the front of the small crowd to see him.

You’d started to notice things though, in this time. The gossip among the elders as they cooked about when Sylus would marry, and whose granddaughter would be the lucky catch. The gaggles of women that followed him when he’d practice archery or spectate his races, giggling and blushing. Some of the bolder women would even bring him wine at the fireside and try to curl against him (you wished sometimes that he’d respond with more than amused chuckles at their ridiculousness, though it did produce a gratifying amount of insult in the rejected ladies). Last year at the games, you noticed he’d received pouches from women of every tribe. The smug look he gave you when he’d noticed you glaring at them had been insufferable, and you couldn’t quite force yourself to congratulate him on the numerous offers.

And yet, Sylus remained alone. You didn’t even notice other women entering his yurt (though you’d die before you admitted to watching for such). You didn’t know what you’d do if he did take an interest in someone. The thought of someone else being transfixed by that soft smile in the quiet hours of the night made bile rise in your throat. But there was always the chance that he simply valued his freedom; and being rejected in favor of an ideal you could never match seemed just as nauseating.

You mull over these thoughts as you and your mare round the goats back to the group. Or, at least, attempt to. One of the damn things stubbornly refuses to rejoin the group. You can swear you see defiance in its eyes when it looks at you. Challenging you. Mocking, even. Every time you have it going the right direction, it turns and bolts in a random direction, leaving you and your bay sliding in the slush. You then have to catch back up to it, and start herding it back once more.

You’re an excellent shepherdess, with a keen eye and a skilled hand with a bow. You've rarely lost an animal on your watch, and certainly never on purpose. But at this point, even you are beginning to think that losing one goat would really not be all that bad if it means this one wouldn’t be part of the herd anymore. Besides, a wind is beginning to rise, a cold one that cuts through the previously-warm day like a freshly-sharpened knife. You’re beginning to wonder if maybe the lemmings were smarter than you’d thought.

After one more, particularly long chase, you give in.

“Fine then!” You yell at the animal, which stood watching you with unaffected eyes as it chewed grass, “you want to deal with a blizzard alone? Go ahead! I’ll laugh when you end up as a goat-cicle! Laugh!”

With a huff, you turn your horse about, ready to gallop back to the herd, and start moving them to a more sheltered part of the pasture. The animals, however, have moved further away on their own. You can see the large dark mass of them in the distance, and you feel a slight unease in your gut. You're not sure how much you believe about oracle lemmings, but you know livestock well; They instinctively group up close when bad weather is imminent, and it seems that they are bracing for a storm now.

Even more worrying is the wall of iron-gray clouds you see blowing in. They're advancing rapidly, overtaking the sky at a pace you've rarely seen before. The wind, too, is beginning to blow so furiously it all but screams, whipping any unmelted snow up into the air.

You again feel that unease in your gut. The village is even further than the herd from where you are at the moment. Thanks to the previously warm weather, you're woefully unprepared to weather a blizzard alone. But both your other options are bleak; either try to make it to the village and hope there's not enough falling snow to make you lose your way, or try your luck with the herd and hope their bodies keep you warm enough to make it through. At least if you make it to the village, your survival is guaranteed. The same can't be said of the herd.

You rein your mare toward the direction of the village, just as the first volley of fresh snowflakes batter your face and hands. And despite your own dire situation, you can't help but think of Sylus, out with the other hunters. They may have arrived home already, and even if they haven’t, their chances are good; the men should be able to find protection from the wind and cold in a group. Nevertheless, your gut twists with anxiety. Hunters rarely stay completely together. And even in the few minutes you’ve been galloping towards the village, visibility is worsening. The gusts of wind have turned into blasts, ripping through your deel and chilling you to your bones. The blasts are also heaving the already-fallen snowflakes up to rejoin the fresh ones in the air, and creating moments where the landscape is inscrutable.

Between the moments of furious wind, you can see the outline of the village. Even as your heart pounds with hope at the sight, a needling numbness begins to take hold in your hands, making it difficult to keep hold of the reins. You try to switch hands; tucking one into the overlapping fold of your deel in an effort to keep it warm, before switching to the other. The biting wind, though, is so vicious and unforgiving, that it takes a mere few seconds for whatever warmth one hand has gained to be lost. At the same time, the numbness has taken hold in your feet, making it impossible to distribute your weight properly. The violent shivers as your body tries to warm itself are a further complication.

It only takes one misstep from your mare. One hoof landing on some uneven ground, causing her to stumble. And despite the high-backed saddle, and your best efforts, it’s impossible to keep your seat. You land hard in the snow. It’s soft enough, at least, that you’re pretty sure nothing is broken. Not that it matters much. Lost and alone in the screaming wind, and featureless white storm, you are as good as dead.

It feels like an eternity that you lie there in the snow, body wracked by violent shivers in a last-ditch attempt to survive. Logically you know it can’t have been more than a handful of minutes, since you are still alive and conscious, but time loses its meaning in a situation like this. Everything ceases to exist, save for the horrible wind and the bone-deep, soul-leaching cold. The snow is falling fast, fast enough that it’s already covered you as you try to huddle for a semblance of warmth. You’ve been buried alive, waiting to die as the world around you slowly quiets and darkens.

A morbid part of you wonders if the tribe will find you, once the snow begins to melt. You imagine Cota will insist they stay long enough to find your remains. You hope she doesn’t feel guilty; neither of you could’ve known the storm would come on so fast. Your mind wanders to Sylus, too. Did the hunters make it back home before the storm hit? You pray they did; or at least they were together when the snow began to fall. The thought of Sylus in the same situation as yourself seems impossible. You have to believe it’s impossible. Entertaining any other idea strikes a dread into your heart as cold as your little tomb. You pray instead that he’s made it back, that he is safe, and warm. And, if you’re able to be a little idealistic, perhaps wondering where you are.

Quite suddenly, a sound shatters your quiet morbidity. Stark against the background of shrieking wind, there is a deep bark. Then another, closer. Soon, there is a constant barrage of the noises.

Hope burns bright in your heart. Maybe, just maybe, all is not yet lost.

You try to shift under the snow, trying to claw your way out of your icy grave. But your limbs are trembling so hard, so frequently, that controlling them is near impossible. Worse, your muscles are becoming weak. Soon they’ll be too exhausted to even shiver, much less move the heavy snow that entombs you. Nevertheless, you have to try. You must try. Because if you don’t, your last hope of warmth will move on, and then you will truly be as good as dead.

Your efforts come to a halt when a startlingly loud crunching begins in the snow above and around you. It doesn’t take long before the blanket of snow is lifted from your head, and a warm puff of air greets your face.

You open your eyes. And instead of a blinding white storm, your vision is filled with deep brown eyes set in a furry face as black as night. The same face that Sylus has sent to accompany you on night watches and sunny days alike. You smile at the familiar creature, despite the chattering of your teeth.

“H-hey, boy.” You whisper, your numb hand reaching up to sink into the dog’s deep fur. You can still hear his brother nearby, barking furiously above the wind.

Though Sylus knows them at a glance, you've never been particularly good at telling the two dogs apart by looks. They're both black, with intelligent eyes and powerful frames. In behavior though, they are slightly different. Gerel is louder, and more playful. Khar, though quieter, is definitely the smarter of the two. He's likely the one blocking your body from the worst of the wind, now.

You try to call Gerel over as his brother curls himself around your quivering body, but it’s too hard to draw a deep breath. Instead, you lean against the one lying on you, burying your face and hands against the one reprieve from the cold. You can think of nothing else but how good the slight amount of warmth feels, even as your fingers begin to burn slightly from the frostbite. It is a promising pain, one that feels of returning life rather than looming nothingness. You doubt it will be enough to truly save you, but at least you have some source of comfort now.

Eventually Gerel goes quiet, and you begin to worry he's become lost in the storm as well. You lift your face from Khar's fur, and try again to call his brother, but fail. Khar perks up, though, his massive tail wagging a fan-shaped dent in the snow. Perhaps he can smell his brother on the fierce wind?

A few moments later, you hear it. A deep, commanding voice that cuts through the shrieking wind like a blade, calling your name.

Sylus.

You don’t know why he’s here, or if he’s even real. It may be an illusion conjured by your failing mind and body. It does not matter. Real or not, you must go to him.

You try to draw yourself up, try to call his name, but Khar remains a dead weight on you. You try to shove him, but your muscles are still shaking uncontrollably, making any efforts to dislodge Khar useless.

Please, you think desperately, please, I need to go to him. I need him, I need Sylus.

In the midst of your struggle with the animal laying on you, you very nearly miss the crunching of snow approaching you. Gerel soon appears, fur nearly white with the coating of heavy, wet snow that clings to him. And directly behind him is a sight that would make you weep if you had the breath for it.

It's Sylus. He's battered by the wind and ice as he wades through the fresh snow, only a step behind Gerel. His face bears a sharp, unwavering determination and ferocity that puts even this storm to shame as he wades through the drifts. His eyes, bright scarlet amidst the daunting white, lock onto yours. Only when his master is a single step away from you does Khar finally wiggle himself off of you. The wind immediately rips away all the warmth the dog has lent you. But you feel the loss only for a moment, as in the next breath, Sylus has yanked you bodily out of the snow and crushed you against himself.

“Found you,” his deep voice is quiet, heavy with an emotion you can’t name. And oh, oh, even if this is a dream sent to ease your last moments, you do not care. There is no one you’d rather imagine at your side right now.

He releases you, only slightly, to tug off his own gloves and put them on your trembling hands. The heat that envelopes them makes your skin burn, and a whine that is half-choked by shivers bubble out of your throat.

“Bear with it,” he murmurs, wrapping a thicker, warm deel over your current one, “You won’t be able to beat me at archery if you lose your fingers, little huntress.”

Normally, you would call him an ass, berate him for worrying about losing his archery competitor as he gave you a smug smile for taking his bait. But you can’t. Your mind is foggy, and all you can do is curl into him as he sweeps you up into his arms. You notice briefly that his eyes have narrowed again. He looks… irritated maybe? Angry? You aren’t sure. Before you can think about it for very long, though, you are distracted by a sharp whistle from Sylus, shrill and sharp even over the unending wind. It’s followed by a whinny, as his tall, powerful horse wades through the snow with a determination identical to his master’s.

Sylus walks to meet the horse halfway. He says something, and then suddenly his arm drops out from under your legs. You stumble slightly, knees buckling under your own weight as your boots drop through the knee-high snow. You are strangely surprised when you don't hit the ground, and it takes you a moment to realize that Sylus has a hold on your waist, steadying you.

Oh. He was going to set you down. That's what he had said. Of course.

You look up at him, and find a hard expression on his face. Why does he look angry now? You don’t understand.

His bright eyes bore into your own, cutting through the confusion for a moment. When his voice comes, it is a command, not a request.

“Stay with me.”

You're not sure why he's saying this. It's not like you're going anywhere. All you want right now is to just curl up and sleep, back in his arms, if possible. But you nod anyway.

Sylus swings himself up onto his horse, settling himself behind the canticle. This again confuses you. You're supposed to sit on the seat. Not behind it. But before you can continue puzzling over this, Sylus has bent half-over, wrapped an arm around you once more, and hauled you up against the side of the horse. The pressure of it is uncomfortable, and you try to squirm out of the grasp. Sylus's hold is sure, though, and before you can break it, he's hooked the other arm under your knee, and lifted you up into the seat of the saddle.

You try to brace your legs, to keep your seat as the stallion begins to move beneath you, but your vicious shivers make it difficult to control your limbs, even for an action as instinctive to you as walking. Before you can falter though, Sylus’s arm wraps around you, holding you safe and steady against him.

You do your best to keep your eyes open against the biting wind and freezing snow. But the scant amount of warmth you can feel through the thickness of both your clothes, paired with the movements of the stallion slowed by the snow, is almost hypnotic. And you are tired, oh, so tired.

“You lost this game,” he says, in that damn smug voice that always makes you want to punch his arm.

“Game?”

He gives an affirmative hum. “Hide and seek. I found you, didn't I? That's another victory for me.”

You give a grunt of disgust, still not sure what he's talking about, but irritated by the condescension in his voice all the same.

“Don't be such a sore loser, sweetie.”

You don't know why you're even sitting on the same horse as him.

“A-ass,” you hiss around the waves of shivers. “Sh-should. P-push off.”

The dark chuckle behind you is as alluring as it is infuriating. “I'd love to see you try.”

You do try, for a moment, pushing against his hold. But you are soon frustrated by how clumsy your movements are, and exhausted by the effort. Sylus's tight grip is immovable anyway.

“Seems I'm still on the horse, sweetie.” Comes the singsong mocking from behind you.

You give a grunt in response. You can't be bothered to be angry. All you can feel is the heavy tiredness dulling all your senses.

Sylus says your name, sharply. There's an odd tone to it. You don't care enough to think about why.

You're vaguely aware of being jostled. And then, for a while, you are senseless.

The damn shivering is what wakes you. It's so violent and pervasive that it drives the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping between the waves of trembling to try and regain it. On instinct, you try to curl into yourself, but are unable to. In fact, apart from the tremors, you can’t move your body at all. You seem to be surrounded by some sort of heavy mass, pressing on every inch of you. You struggle, pushing against the weight near your face to get some breathing room. The mass grunts, then moves away for a moment, freeing your head and upper body. You have only a moment of reprieve from the claustrophobia before…

Something warm, wet, and slimy drags across your face.

“Ur-rgh!” You bring a quivering arm up to rub away the slime.

A deep chuckle rumbles behind you, the breath of it close enough to make warmth fan across the back of your skull, “Is that how you thank Khar for helping to save your life, sweetie?”

Your eyes snap open at the familiar voice; although instead of the carmine eyes and seductive smirk you expect, your vision is filled (for the second time today) by pitch-dark fur and smiling brown eyes set in a distinctly canine face. Right as that same face applies another sloppy lick to yours.

“Kh-khar!” You squeak, bringing your now-free arms up to protect your face from the onslaught of affection. “Th-thanks, but s-stop!”

Khar obediently jumps down from where you’re laying, though he gives you a pathetic whine. A further weight is removed from your lower half when Gerel reluctantly hefts himself off of you to join his brother on the floor, giving you a similarly dejected look.

Without Khar laying on you, you can see more of your surroundings. It’s clear that you’re in a yurt, one that is unfamiliar to you. The only light source is the barely-visible fire crackling complacently in the small stove at the center, leaving much of the place in shadow. Is it night, then? Why are you here? And why do your hands and feet feel like they are burning?

You flex your hands between shivers in an attempt to stop the strange, tingling heat. If anything, that seems to make the feeling sharper, more biting in its ferocity. Shifting them out from underneath a heavy woolen blanket and furs to inspect them gives no answers, given the dim light.

“Can you still feel them?” Sylus’s voice, humorless this time, cuts through the slowly-lifting fog of unconsciousness and confusion.

“H-hurts.”

“Good, that means there’s still life in them. Better than losing such pretty fingers to frostbite.” Memories come to you at the word ‘frostbite’. They are hazy, as though recalling a dream several hours after waking; the dogs finding you in the snow, warming you and guiding Sylus to you through the blinding storm, Sylus carrying you in his arms, and keeping you upright in the saddle before you drifted into unconsciousness.

“Syl-” Your words are cut short. In trying to turn to face him, you realize that his powerful arm is curled around your waist.

Your naked waist. And at your back, you do not feel the rough texture of clothes; but instead the heated, sticky kind of softness of skin on bare skin.

Your body stills in shock; suddenly, you are horribly, wonderfully conscious of every inch Sylus has pressed against you: The firmness of his chest, the sharp jut of his hips, the tangle of his legs around and between yours, and (both the most enticing and mortifying of all) the warm, heavy weight of what must be his cock nestled against your ass.

That damned smug chuckle comes again, “I was wondering how long it would take you to notice. It took you a while; maybe I should be more worried about your head than your fingers, hm?”

You stutter a few times, as your mind comes to terms with your situation, before blurting in a rush, “Where are my clothes, Sylus!? Where are yours!?”

“Ah, you mean our freezing, sopping wet clothes?” His tone is almost sing-song in its blithe news, and bereft of any shame, “I took the liberty of removing them so that you didn't continue freezing to death.”

Somehow, his complete lack of any embarrassment heightens your own, as though your mind has determined to make up the difference between the pair of you. The heated panic in combination with exhaustion, confusion, and desire collide in a nerve-wracking swirl. You scramble wildly to get up, get away from this source of searing, tumultuous emotions. But the movement of your hands makes them burn as you try to gain purchase In the blankets and furs, and his arm around you is immovable as stone. “You- I- Couldn’t you have just thrown a blanket on me or- or something!? Gods, let go!”

He gives a derisive snort. “You would have just frozen to death under a blanket instead of snow. You didn’t have any heat left to trap, so I lent you some of mine. And no.”

“No what?”

“I just risked my life in a blizzard hunting for you, and I’m not about to let all my effort go to waste when I’ve already caught my prize. So, no, I will not be letting you go.”

“This isn’t- Can’t you just put on some damned pants, at least?”

“Hm, I could… but are you sure you want me to?”

“Sylus!!”

He gives a full laugh at your flustered squeak, “Once I’m sure that you’ve completely warmed up, I will. Until then, I suggest you stay still. Unless you’d like me to warm you up a different way. But I’d suggest waiting until your hands have healed.”

He must be teasing, surely. Delighting in your embarrassment as always. Still, a tiny, idiotically hopeful part of you can’t help but wonder… if you were able to see his face right now, would you see a small glimmer of want for you underneath the inscrutable mask? You dismiss the thought quickly. Even if you were able to see his face, you’d only see that damn self-satisfied smirk that makes your stomach twist.

“The elders are going to be insufferable about this,” You mutter, desperate you lay those thoughts to rest. Well, as best as you can, considering Sylus is curled around you.

“So what? Let them talk.”

“Easy for you to say. They won’t say anything to you; you’re the one half of them are looking to marry their daughters off to.” You’re only aware of the venom in your last few words after they’ve already left your mouth. You pray Sylus doesn’t notice.

But of course he does.

“Jealous, little huntress?” You can hear the smile in his voice

“You’re an ass, do you know that?”

“I’m hurt sweetie. I run out into a storm to find my poor, lost huntress, and in return she calls me an ass.”

He gives a mock-sigh, but something in his words raises a question in your mind. Sylus had been out with the other hunters just before the storm hit. You hadn’t even been sure he would make it back to the village in time, but somehow he managed to find you?

“How did you even know I was out there?”

Sylus pauses for a moment. His voice, once he does speak, is startlingly somber. “Some of the hunting group saw the cloud wall rolling in. We rode back as fast as possible. Even so, if we’d had further to go, the wind would’ve outpaced us. I’ve never seen clouds that heavy and fast, outside of summer storms.”

“I tried to ride back too, when I saw them. But with the cold, I couldn’t feel my hands, and the rough ground…” You trail off, fully prepared to be teased about your riding skills. Instead, you feel an ever-so-slight tightening of his arm around you. You wonder if he’s even aware of his own movement.

Sylus continues, “When we arrived, people came out to greet us and help get everything secured before the worst of the storm. I didn’t see you throwing people out of the way like usual.”

“I do not throw people out of the way,” You mutter.

“If you say so, little huntress.” You can hear the smile in his voice for a moment, though it disappears when he continues, “I found Cota, and asked where you were. When she said you were out shepherding, I knew you wouldn’t make it back before the snow came. So, I took Khar and Gerel, and had them track you.”

“Was anyone else missing?”

“We’ll find out after the storm.”

The two of you are quiet for a moment, as you process his response. He didn’t notice anyone else was gone. He didn’t ask to see if any others were lost. He didn’t bother to try and search for anyone else in the snow.

He noticed you were missing.

He asked where you were.

He went into the storm for you.

“You… Sylus, were you out in that storm, just to find me?”

A small, humorless huff of laughter fans across the back of your skull again. “I wasn’t out there just taking a stroll, sweetie.”

“You could’ve lost Gerel and Khar. And your horse. And your life.”

“Worried about me, hm?”

Of course you were. Sylus is a strong, clever man. Perhaps the greatest warrior and hunter your tribe has known; but even the greatest of mortals are brought to their knees by the forces of nature and the whims of chance. You want to tell him all this, tell him that the thought of him standing alone amidst the howling winds, searching for the path to safety… even just thinking about it makes your chest feel as empty and cold as the storm still raging outside. Your breath catches, and you cannot force the words, glutted with feelings as they are, out of your throat.

So instead you reply, “It’s a big risk to take.”

“Maybe.” His tone is nonchalant, as though he is talking about what he’d brought home from hunting, rather than the act of risking his dearest possessions and life trying to save you in near-hopeless conditions. “But I don’t gamble unless the prize is worth the risk.”

It takes you a moment to digest the words, heart caught in your throat, hardly daring to believe that you’ve understood him correctly. A fragile but brilliant hope lights in your chest. You had been aware of the friendship that had begun to form between you and Sylus, and you had been aware of your desire to be something more to him, to be someone he wanted. But you hadn’t dared to imagine occupying a position of such value to him.

“You think I’m worth all that…?”

You don’t mean to say the words aloud, but the exhaustion loosens your lips just enough for them to spill out. Immediately your stomach lurches at a strange, shifting fear. Perhaps speaking the thought aloud has crossed some sort of line, daring the universe to snuff out your hope just as it had been lit.

A soft, teasing lilt returns to his voice as he speaks, “I believe that’s what I just said, little huntress. Hm, maybe I should be more concerned about your head.” The hand that isn’t curled around your middle gives the top of your head a soft tap, tap, tap.

A small, breathless laugh bubbles up out of your chest, the hope within you flaring bright and making your heart race. You don’t know how he manages to do it; to convey something as heartfelt as ‘you are worth risking my life and all I hold dear’, while simultaneously sounding like it’s the most simple thing in the world. Something that should be obvious even to a small child.

It’s a special talent you’ve noticed in Sylus ever since that day with the wolf pups; he makes you want to throttle him one moment, and in the next breath he’ll speak with such sincere simplicity that it utterly disarms you. He somehow manages to walk that fine line between keeping you on your toes with bantering, and keeping you grounded with his forthrightness. It's addictive. It's comforting. You're not even sure if it's something he tries to do, or if his natural state of being is just something that draws your soul in effortlessly.

You need to face him.

You turn in his grasp to look at him, trying to ignore the burst of prickling heat in your hands. It's worth the pain. Sylus is a striking picture in the low light; all silvery tousled hair, gold skin, and sanguine eyes, graced by a rare look of surprise for just a moment.

And then his face relaxes into a soft look, one you've started to see more and more, but never fails to make your heart race faster than a horse galloping over the grass sea.

“There you are,” he murmurs, voice rough and low. And you simply cannot help it. Frostbite be damned. You might die if you don't kiss him, and you've come close enough to that today already. You have to kiss him.

The press of your lips against his is insistent, but chaste. At least, at first. Sylus takes in a sharp breath, and for a fraction of a second you wonder if you've misread, if you've pushed too far. And then, his mouth becomes soft, and pliant, and something in your chest melts when the arm he has around you slides up your spine to press at the nape of your neck, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. A pleased sigh escapes you, unbidden. Before you are quite aware of your own movements, your hand is at his jaw, cupping his face, trying to pull him closer.

A new flare of pain sears your hand at the pressure, and you reflexively pull away with a hiss.

You open your eyes (when did they close?) to see Sylus, pupils blown wide, looking at you with that same sort of ferocity and determination you saw in him earlier, when your eyes met his in the storm. And for a moment, caught in that unwavering intensity, you swear your heart forgets how to beat.

His eyes remain fixed on your own as he takes your wrist and gently (too gently) moves it away from his face, which has settled back into its usual near-arrogant smirk. Reality crashes in on you then. You are in Sylus's yurt, kissing him, sharing a bed, naked. The realization is followed by a disorienting mix of embarrassment, pride, shame, and excitement. You've just kissed him for the first time, and you know if it weren't for the pain in your hands you would have taken as much as he would give you. Begged for it, maybe. What does he think of you now? How much would he let you take? What would you tell everyone once you left here?

But as usual, when your mind threatens to whirl itself into chaos, Sylus cuts through it.

“I'll have to collect on that part of my prize later, little huntress,” He murmurs, and you wonder if it is merely your imagination, or if he is actually as breathless as you are. His thumb strokes across the soft skin at the underside of your wrist, across the vein where your pulse is thrumming like a caught hare's. “I want to see what those pretty hands can do to me when they're all healed.”

Hearing him say it out loud makes the embarrassment resurface with a vengeance, and the barely-leashed heat in Sylus's gaze makes it unbearable. Breaking the stare, you take your hand back and shuffle under the blankets once more, until the hem falls across your cheek.

Sylus's amused chuckle earns him a glare from you, but your indignation is quickly soothed over as he drags his fingers through your hair, across your scalp, gently untangling the strands. After a few minutes, the gentle scratching opens the door for a wave of exhaustion, heightened by the warm darkness and the muffled howling of the winter winds outside.

You wonder, vaguely, if the touch was meant in apology, or to make you drowsy. You're not sure it matters. Sylus is here, looking at you with that affectionate, soft smile, as your lips begin to flutter.

“Sleep, shevonica,” is the last thing you hear before drifting into unconsciousness. This time, in the safety and warmth of Sylus’s hold.

[rui-ayaki-lower5]

*Shadow reaches up and boops him on the nose and meows softly. Even the cat's paw smells clean if a little dusty. Sugar than chatters at you and starts mime-ing something at you like an impromptu game of charades, she holds up three "fingers", closes her hand, holds up one "finger", closes it again and then points at kanae. So she is directing this specifically to kanae or is referring to her*

*One quiet night you happen to get the feeling that you are being observed from somewhere by someone with a strong sense of curiosity. Rui was perched in the branches of a nearby tree, watching you. He had yet to actually even see the infamous flower hashira even through his spiders and had only heard about her from other demons that had only caught fleeting glimpses, which on one hand was a good thing he supposed but on the other it had gotten him a bit more curious that usual and had been bothering him like an unreachable itch. He was already quite terrified of the insect hashira after the last raid and getting so deep into her territory was unnerving enough, but from what Rui could tell, Kanae actually seemed rather nice.*

She listened around for the demon that she felt nearby. She didn’t notice any malicious intent so she hoped that she’d be able to redeem and save it. She quietly wandered through the forest before vanishing and appearing next to Rui. “Hello there little on. Are you looking for me?” She smiles kindly at the young boy and inspects his appearance. He didn’t look too strong but looks can be deceiving.

[redux-iterum]

Charred Legacy: Chapter Thirty-Five

(AO3 counterpart here.)

The Clan said their goodbyes, and when the sky lightened the young toms were carried out and buried in the woods. The snow was thankfully loose enough, making the burying a little easier. When they were done, they packed snow over the freshly-dug ground in the hopes that the dogs would not smell them and dig them back up. Fireheart was too tired to scrounge up any idealistic notions about that.

Frostfur and her sons did not join their Clanmates in their dens. They curled up in a bundle around Brightpaw under the meeting stump, carefully tucking in her paws themselves to imitate sleep. Fireheart spotted Mousefur and Cinderpaw sitting together and whispering something that sounded like a prayer before Mousefur eventually went to bed. Cinderpaw rested outside of the ferns behind the stump—probably to keep an eye on her friend.

Early in the next evening, Fireheart was jolted awake by an elated cry from Brackenpaw.

“She’s awake!”

The warriors jumped up in unison and hurried out of the den, the apprentices swiftly following. Goldenflower popped her head out of the nursery just as Fireheart came to stand with Greystripe by Snowpaw, who was tip-tapping in place in excitement.

Brightpaw did not look excited. Her wounds had scabbed up during the day, but it wasn’t a comforting sight; if anything, it made her torn-apart face even more gruesome. Her right ear and eye were completely gone, the massive black scabs reaching down nearly to the end of her muzzle. Scattered around her body were more dark marks of recovery, and the fur that remained was stiff with dried blood. She looked half-dead, save her remaining green eye, which was pale with fright.

“Brighty!” Cinderpaw limped over to her and licked her ear with a loud purr. “Stars above, we were so afraid you were going to die. How do you feel?”

Delayed, Brightpaw turned her head and looked up at Cinderpaw. She opened her mouth, her chin trembling, and visibly fought to get anything out. “Are they gone?”

Cinderpaw’s cheer halted. “Who?”

“The…” Brightpaw shivered. “The dogs.”

“Ah…” Cinderpaw looked at Frostfur for help. “Well…”

Frostfur pressed her head against her daughter’s untouched cheek. “They can’t get you here, love. They ran for the Houses. You’re in camp, with your whole Clan.”

“…Oh.”

The single word was sucked dry of any of her usual energy. By the way she heaved it out, it took everything she had to say it. Greystripe and Fireheart looked at each other in concern.

Mousefur approached, sniffing the wounds on her apprentice’s head. “What happened, chrii?”

The tips of Brightpaw’s fur shuddered, followed swiftly by her whiskers and then her entire body. Her voice, if it was possible, got even more quiet.

“Me… me and Ashpaw…” She wavered. “We thought we could find where the dogs were and… a-and report it to the Clan. We…” A violent shudder. “We found them, and they heard us… A-Ashpaw wanted to fight them, and they grabbed him in their mouths, and…”

She breathed out shakily, a whining, weeping sound. Her voice raised, drowned in grief.

“And I tried to get them to let him go, but one got me…” Her eyes went wet. “I saw… I saw two of them pulling on him, and then… and then…”

Brightpaw cut herself off with a whimper, burying her face between her paws, shaking all over.

“Okay,” Frostfur said softly, hurrying to nose her daughter’s forehead. “It’s okay.”

Fireheart’s chest ached in empathy. He fought back the urge to rush to Brightpaw and try to soothe her. That wasn’t for him to do. He simply stood and watched as Brightpaw’s family gathered more tightly around her, carefully placing their paws or chins on spots that weren’t torn to shreds.

The Clan was silent for a long time, the tension and grief palpable. Even Whitecloud looked heartbroken.

Finally, Brightpaw looked up again, swallowing a large lump in her throat. She managed, “Did you find him too?”

“We did,” Mousefur said quietly. “We buried him. And Swifttail.”

Brightpaw flinched and stared at her mentor in horror. “Swifttail?”

“He died trying to find you,” Cinderpaw explained, her face strained with grief. “They broke his neck.”

Fireheart was sure that if Brightpaw had the energy, she would have wailed, or shouted, something like that. As it was, all she did was hang her head and continue trembling.

Frostfur looked up at the Clan and flicked her ear. Somehow, they all understood the signal and cleared out, walking to get food or gathering together to talk among themselves. Fireheart took the opportunity to find a mouse and bring it to Brightpaw, since her loved ones had not moved from their spots.

“Here,” he said, low but friendly. He placed the mouse down at her front paws. “I know you probably don’t feel like eating right now, but you’ve got this when you want it.”

Frostfur gave Fireheart a grateful blink. He blinked back, then looked at Brightpaw and asked, “Do you need anything?”

Brightpaw didn’t answer at first. She slowly looked up at him, silent for a long time before finally saying, “My face hurts.”

Fireheart nodded. “I imagine it would. You’re pretty badly beaten up.”

“Oh…” Brightpaw turned her head around, her shivering slowly receding. “Is my right eye okay? I can’t… see out of it. It’s really hurting, too.”

“Er…” Fireheart looked at Frostfur, who seemed to be biting the inside of her cheek. To Brightpaw, he said, “Well, actually, it’s gone. So is your right ear.”

Brightpaw dropped her mouth open, staring at him in shock.

“You have a lot of marks all over you,” he continued, honest but kind. “But your face was hurt the worst.”

Snowpaw scooted closer and started grooming his sister’s head, purring his quiet little purr. She didn’t respond, just hung her head again.

“You’ll be okay,” Cinderpaw said with a pathetic attempt at cheerfulness. “You just need to heal, and then you can go back out into the woods.”

Brightpaw shook her head, still looking down. “I don’t want to go out there ever again.” Her voice pitched up and wobbled. “Please don’t make me.”

Fireheart felt his heart crack in half; by the look on Mousefur’s face, she had the same sensation. Frostfur stared at her daughter in surprised grief. Even Thornpaw’s frown sagged worriedly, to say nothing of Brackenpaw, who looked lost and deeply troubled. Snowpaw kept grooming her, as if determined to calm her down. But his purr was gone.

---

Nights passed, and Brightpaw slowly healed. Her wounds were meticulously kept clean by Cinderpaw and her brothers, Frostfur and Mousefur sticking close to her when they were in camp. It didn’t seem to matter; Brightpaw’s jubilant vibrancy had been ripped out of her, replaced by a dead-like state where she hardly moved, only looking around with her eye, which was either lifeless or stretched wide in terror at something only she could see. She adamantly refused to go back outside almost entirely, only creeping out to make dirt before rushing back in, stiff and limping, and curling up under the stump, or in the apprentice’s den.

“I don’t know what to do,” Mousefur admitted to Fireheart on a hunting patrol. “She only talks when we prompt her, only moves if she has to. I can’t even get her to eat, sometimes. She’s just… someone else now.”

Fireheart nodded sympathetically, his tone gentle but serious. “She just went through a horror we can’t possibly imagine, and two cats are dead from it. She’s no doubt feeling a lot of guilt about that, even if she’s not saying it, and even though it’s not her fault. Your job isn’t to fix her; it’s to support her through however long it takes for her to recover.”

Mousefur gave a harsh sigh and turned her head. “…I know. You’re right. I just hate seeing her like this. I used to barely be able to keep up with her, you know? And now…” Her voice dropped in volume. “And now my Brightpaw’s gone. Those dogs ripped her apart and left us nothing to work with.”

Fireheart stopped walking and used a paw to nudge her so she’d look back at him. He kept eye contact to enunciate. “Don’t think like that. It’s not forever. It may be a long time, but she’ll come back someday. Her wounds haven’t even closed up yet—of course she’s broken apart right now.” Mousefur’s face turned worried, so he softened his voice. “We can’t rush her on this. She needs to heal in body and mind before she can move on. Until then, we’re there for her to lean on and be comforted by.”

Mousefur gazed at him for a moment, contemplative, before breaking eye contact and sighing again, this time like she was letting out a heavy weight in the form of air. When she looked back at him, her body and face were more relaxed.

“You’re right,” she said again. “Thanks.”

Fireheart gave her a friendly tap with his tail. The pair moved on with the rest of the patrol cats ahead.

As he had said, the Clan hovered around Frostfur and her family when they were inside, offering to get prey or to watch Brightpaw so Frostfur could rest. Ravenwing murmured stories to her when she was awake—tales of Mernatha’s pranks, mostly—and one of her brothers would sit with her and groom her when she was trying to sleep, something that she seemed to be struggling with. Mousefur gradually calmed down and Cinderpaw was more at ease, watching Brightpaw’s gashes slowly close up and scabs falling off a speck at a time.

One cat that didn’t visit her very often, weirdly, was Cloudpaw. When he did, he stayed with her and talked for a long time, but these visits were few and far between. If she was in the apprentice’s den, he slept by her nest, but sometimes he wouldn’t even speak to her, just cast uneasy glances her way.

He seemed more tired in general, too, often excusing himself to take a nap when he wasn’t training. His steps were clumsier and he was more easily distracted; Fireheart had to repeat what he said quite a bit.

At first, Fireheart worried that he was sick. Then, one night, he caught the faintest whiff of a familiar scent—something that reminded him of warm beds and clipped grass. Cloudpaw scooted past him before he could really investigate, but suspicion started brewing in his mind.

Following a guess, he woke up early one afternoon, before anyone else was up, and crept around his Clanmates, making his way to the apprentice’s den. When he poked his head in, everyone was sleeping.

Cloudpaw was gone.

Fireheart’s initial reaction was fear, but his suspicions growled in his chest. He kept himself calm with slow breaths and headed out of camp, sitting down in front of the entrance and waiting.

Sure enough, through the fallen snow and thick mist, a fluffy white-and-ginger form trudged into view. Cloudpaw didn’t notice Fireheart until he was several body-lengths away, and he jumped in place, tail puffed out.

“Good to see you’re safe,” Fireheart said coolly.

“Um—” Cloudpaw looked around wildly, like someone was going to save him. “I– um– I just– I went to make dirt, and– uh—”

Fireheart held up a paw, and his nephew fell silent, fidgeting nervously. He kept his voice calm. “Why are you going to the Houses?”

“I’m not!” Cloudpaw blustered. “I’m just– I just went to make dirt, I swear—”

Fireheart blinked slowly, still calm. “Are you visiting Rosy?”

Cloudpaw must have realized there was no getting out of this, because he looked down shamefully and said nothing. Fireheart sighed, stood up and walked up to him, sitting back down in the snow in front of him.

“Just tell me what’s going on,” he said, fine-tuning his voice to be easing while still giving an order.

A long, long pause, before his nephew looked up at him. Fireheart was caught off-guard by just how sad he looked.

“I miss mi,” he said. “And I miss Ashpaw, and I know I have you and Aspenpaw, but… but I want all my family back.” His face turned pleading. “I went to see Rosy, because I was scared, and she’s nice, and safe, and there’s no dogs around to hurt her or me.”

Fireheart said nothing. After a moment, as if he had been anticipating shouting or an interruption, Cloudpaw continued.

“And she’s not Mi, I know, and Ashpaw won’t be there, but I can see her and I can be outside and not be scared,” he said. “And she’s got a warm house, and she’s always got food, and, well…”

Fireheart narrowed his eyes unconsciously. “Have you been eating kittypet food?”

Cloudpaw shuffled his paws, the answer on his face.

Fireheart sighed. “Cloudpaw—”

“Is being a kittypet really that bad?” Cloudpaw burst out. “Is it wrong to be fed like that? Rosy never goes hungry, and she doesn’t have to walk around in snow. And her humans are nice—” He balked at something in Fireheart’s expression. “I haven’t let them pet me, I swear! But they’re nice to me—they share food, good food, that I don’t have to hunt for. And Rosy’s neighbors are really friendly and fun! Kittypets aren’t that awful, are they? They can’t be!”

He caught his breath, waiting on Fireheart’s reaction. Fireheart took a long moment to formulate his thoughts into a response, because, truthfully, a part of him didn’t disagree. But he needed to discourage this. The Clan would be furious if they found out about this, and the last thing he wanted was for Cloudpaw to be even more encouraged to seek out Rosy—perhaps stay forever, if Fireheart wasn’t careful.

Finally, he spoke, slowly and carefully. “Kittypets aren’t bad, no. The Clans think of them as lesser, but they’re cats like our warriors, just with a different lifestyle. We’re both kittypets, and we fit in with the Clan fine.”

“Then—” started Cloudpaw.

“I’m not finished,” Fireheart said, and Cloudpaw shut his mouth quickly. “The reason we don’t go to the Houses and eat kittypet food and sleep in a bed given to us by humans is because it isn’t fair.”

Cloudpaw blinked. “Fair?”

“Fair,” Fireheart repeated. “It’s not fair to the cats out here who need every one of us to support them. Our queens can’t eat that kibble we’re getting fat on, and we can’t carry it back here to them. Our elders can’t defend themselves if a badger crashes into their den with all of our warriors in the Houses. And cats like Brightpaw, and Cinderpaw, and Yellowfang, who are hurt and disabled, they can’t make that trek to the Houses constantly to eat. And…” He laser-focused on meeting Cloudpaw’s eyes. “It’s not fair to the kittypets who already live there, and rely on their own humans to take care of them, because they can’t fight back against us if we bully them away from their bowls, stealing what’s theirs. And it’s not fair to yourself, because you’re better than a selfish thief.” He tilted his head, speaking gently. “Are you a selfish thief?”

Cloudpaw bristled. “Of course not!”

“But you’re taking food and you’re not sharing it with your Clanmates.” Fireheart kept his tone calm and soft. “I think that’s pretty selfish, personally. And a cat like that, some would say they don’t belong in a Clan.”

Cloudpaw moved his mouth multiple times, like he wanted to argue back, but he just shot a glare at the ground beside him. “…I belong in a Clan.”

“You do,” said Fireheart. “But not a lot of other cats are going to think that if you act like a kittypet.” He waited until Cloudpaw looked back up at him before continuing. “I know it’s safe and easy, but we’re Clan cats. We don’t do ‘safe and easy’, as much as we want to. We take care of each other first, and that’s always going to be harder than taking care of ourselves, but it’s the right thing to do. Right?”

Reluctantly, Cloudpaw gave a slow nod.

“And one more thing.” Fireheart shifted into a more serious tone. “The dogs are most likely near the Houses right now. Even if you haven’t scented them, that doesn’t mean it’s safe to walk around in the open, where they could smell and see you. You’re putting yourself and Rosy in danger by doing that.”

He expected a sullen response, but going by the uncertainty and alarm on his nephew’s face, he hadn’t considered that before.

“I’m not going to get you in trouble right now,” Fireheart said, standing up. “But I want you to wait to visit her until I give the okay and come with you. Going in the middle of the day is dangerous, and you’ve been breaking a lot of rules with everything you’ve done. If you stop seeing her now, I won’t say anything to anyone else. We can pretend that this never happened. Sound fair?”

Cloudpaw hesitated, long enough that Fireheart nearly asked his question again, before unhappily nodding. “Sounds fair.”

“Good.” Fireheart cocked his head towards some untrodden snow. “Now roll around in that. You’ve got the stink of house all over you.”

[jellyskink]

A fish out of water. (Idk I wanted to make the title reference Stan's Cipher Zodiac symbol but I couldn't think of a witty way how. Is it even a fish?? Idk I see a fish lol.)

("Wherever we go, we go together alright bro?")

Light filled the room as Stan flipped the lightswitch to his condo. Soft white light filled the room, a mixture of trash and trinkets littered the room in front him.

(Right... I forgot I've been needin' to take care of that. Eh I'll get to it tomorrow. The twins won't be back here until a couple of days.)

Reaching up to scratch his chin, a sharp pain registered as his hand scratched his chin and lower lip.

(OW Ffff-french toast... Figures I'd forget about the number that guy did on the old kisser.)

Earlier that day another jerk had mistaken him for his twin. The usual routine, of course he made sure to return the favor with interest though. There's no way that guy would be seein' anything with his left eye for a good while after the mark he left on it.

(Welp, better get to trying to fix this up. Mabel and Ford'll definitely worry even more than usual if this gets infected.)

Saying that, the old man shuffled over to his bathroom, dodging the miscellaneous items that covered the floor.

(Aight let's get this over with...)

The bathroom was a little disorganized, but everything was more or less the same as it usually was. Still, it was a bit of an adjustment to get used to having Mabel (and to an extent Dipper's) stuff in the sink cabinet along with his own.

Searching through the wave of clutter in the cabinet, Stan eventually found the peroxide he was searching for, to his dismay he did find he was out of normal band-aids, so he was forced to use the box of band-aids covered with designs of puppies, kittens, and narwhals.

(Really hope Mabel doesn't mind I'm usin' one of her band-aids...)

Stan knew she wouldn't, heck she'd insist he use them, but Stan couldn't help but feel at least a little bit guilty for needing to ask for handouts from her, a kid.

Cleaning up the wound was about as fun as it could be, but it wasn't the worst. God knows he's had to clean up way worse.

After quickly slapping a kitten band-aid with the words "Paw-Sum Dude!" onto his wound, he found himself staring at his reflection in the mirror.

(Geez, I guess I'll never escape bein' pointdexter's shadow sometimes huh?)

It was to be expected with being a twin right? Especially if one was more famous than the other.

Although these days that "popularity" was more negative than positive.

(At least it wasn't the dog treats n' cat biscuits thing this time. I HATE when they do that.)

Geez what would Pa think with how they turned out, what would MA think?

Times like these he really wished he could literally beat some sense into people. If he could only make people understand Ford like he did, or at least, like he THOUGHT he did.

(Shoot, he started thinking like this again.)

Like a slideshow in science class, bits and pieces of memories of his youth flashed by in a blink of an eye.

Fond memories of their times on the beach, their first day of school, to the awkward start of learning to box.

To the less wonderful times, the fights between their parents or the family in general, times the two got hurt defending themselves from bullies, to all of the times the two fought.

...

"This was no accident, Stan; you did this! You did this because you couldn't handle me going to college on my own!"

(Crap, I'm dwellin' on this again? Why? It's been years since that dumb mistake!)

And yet it wasn't just a dumb mistake was it? It was THE dumb mistake. The one that cost Ford his dream college, the one that ruined their relationship for so many years, the one one that got Stanley kicked out onto the streets by their Father and was forced to survive all those years on his own.

(If only I had manned up and had told the truth about that dumb machine earlier, we probably could've fixed it. I could've prevented all of the junk that I caused to the family, I probably could've PREVENTED Ford from ever getting involved with that dumb triangle!)

But... was their any truth to that? In a perfect world where Stan didn't screw up once again, could he confidently say things would've been better?

(Why didn't he say anything that day? Why didn't he stand up against Pa that day? Did I screw up so much he hated me that much?)

The funniest part about that was he could'nt even ask Ford about it. If he did, Ford got this distant look on his face while havin' a 50/50 shot of either spacing out for a good while or freakin' out for what felt like AGES.

Stan began to feel a tight feeling in his chest, his throat starting to close as it started to become harder to breathe.

The very same man who had carried so much pride in himself and his work, that he was willing to leave Stan out to dry when Stan had screwed up his chances at getting into his dream school, was now a shell of his former self.

(You threw everything away for... for... some dumb triangle with an eye! Your self respect, your family, you gave it all up for what??)

Tears began to flow down Stanley's cheeks.

(Damnit, I shouldn't be crying. A man ain't supposed to cry over something as small as this!)

As Stan tried his best to try and rebottle his emotions again, something caught his eye as he looked out in front of him.

It was Ford. His spitting image stared back at him, looking just as upset as he was while wearing the same things as he did.

His previous sadness soon began to blossom into rage as Stan found himself grabbing the baseball bat he kept in the bathroom for emergencies.

"Y-YOU JUST HAD TO HAVE EVERYTHING DIDN'T YOU!"

*Crack*

"AND STILL YA GAVE UP EVERYTHING TA BE WITH SOMETHIN' THAT DOESN'T TREAT YA BETTER THAN A STRAY DOG!!"

*Shatter*

"I-I"

The words "Hate you" hung on the edge of this tongue. He wanted to say those words so BADLY. Wanted to believe em' too. And yet he couldn't.

The mirror in front of him was shattered beyond repair, pieces of it still hanging onto it's frame as the rest collected into the sink below it.

From those pieces, Stan was able to see the ball of anger that stood in front of him. Ford's reflection wasn't there anymore, it was him again, yet with the way he looked in the mirror, he also saw his Father's stern look staring back at him, his rage filled eyes reflecting back at him in the triangular piece of mirror that stubbornly held on to the mirror's frame despite what a majority of the other pieces did by just breaking off from it.

("All you ever do is lie and cheat, and ride on your brother's coattails.")

*Clunk*

The bat fell to the ground as Stan felt himself fall to his knees, tears flowing even stronger as he found his body doing the opposite of what his mind told it to do.

A bloodcurdling roar filled the night, similar to a hurt angry bear, the sound afterwards followed by sobs.

Stan would eventually get to collecting himself enough to clean up the mess in the bathroom, afterwards falling asleep at his armchair with the tv on as whitenoise. The framed pictures of his family watching over him as his only companions that night.

It was going to be "fun" to think up a lie to tell the neighbors the next day about the noise coming from his condo, but he was too exhausted to worry about that right now. Right now, he just wanted to sleep, hoping the cravings for certain substances would leave in the morning, he made so much progress for the twins already, he didn't want to lose all of it due to some "hysterical episode" of his.

Of course, when Mabel and Dipper called the next morning they'd be none the wiser of what ailed their Great Uncle, he'd be matching their excited energy as they told them what mischief they've gotten into lately.

Ford would still be none the wiser as he embraced his brother when they metup that afternoon, although he would find it strange Stanley had trouble looking him in the eye that day, although he'd be quickly brushed off when he'd ask Stan if anything was wrong and if he and his Muse could help with anything.

Stanley was going to make sure that nobody was going to see or know the fragile side to him.

Nobody was going to know that "Stanley Screwup Pines" was struggling with personal issue.

If luck wasn't on your side you kept trying until it was, even if you had to cheat your way to winning.

You didn't just accept defeat when you're knocked down.

If there was something wrong with a performance you just continued onwards, winging it and acting like nothing was wrong because the show must go on.

He wasn't ever going to cry in front of anyone.

Cause especially if he cried,

SHE would cry along with him.

And he wasn't ever going to let that happen as long as his lived.

In a way you could say this was the greatest con Stanley Pines ever did.

Convincing everyone, even himself, that he was infact, fine.

(HEY BESTIES! I totally lost some sleep writing this but after seeing the latest post my Jellyskink about Stan I knew I had to try writing some fanfiction for Stan!

The 14 year old girl that possessed me is happy to say it was fun to try writing more angsty fanfiction, especially since that's a specialty for the Gravity Falls Fandom when it isn't being silly or comforting lol.

I hope this turned out decently! As I writing this I was thinking of two Marina songs to recommend but I couldn't decide on one so I thought I'd share both of them.

"The Family Jewels"

"Teen Idle"

Both by Marina.

I hope I kinda captured Stan's essence! I always kinda thought he gave off the "Bruiser with a soft side" trope and stuff!

He's so bbg, I hope everyone enjoys the very girlypop and slaytastic fanfic I wrote for him! Geez I'm having too much fun talking like this lmao!)

THIS IS SO SADDD I LOVE IT 💔💔💔 POOR STAN!!!

(Pictured above: Ford's obliviousness has only gotten worse in his isolation from other humans)

(Also pictured above: the young twins are currently holding the family brain cells)

[hauntingblue]

NAMI NEEDS TO GO UP THERE AND FIGHT BIG MOM I AM SO SERIOUS!!! THIS IS A BATTLE FOR THE ROMANCE DOWN TRIO!! SANJI DO NOT DARE TAKE HER SPOT!!!

[monstersholygrail]

While at first your owners were overjoyed about the fact that you, a Mouse Hybrid, and your mate, a Cat Hybrid were getting along so much better than before, their concern quickly grew. They began to wonder if you two were getting along too well, not knowing how far your relationship had already progressed.

They worried that their silly little cat was playing too rough with you. Having seen the way he would tackle you, his hips pinning you in place so he can paw at your body. Or the way his sharp teeth nip along the fold of your neck, leaving dark claiming marks in their place.

They got you for him so he could have a friend but they didn’t want him bothering your cute self too much if you were unable to fight back when the intensity rose.

And as his heat got closer and closer to starting they only began worrying more. They knew he’d become even more rough and raunchy. The last thing they wanted was for their precious plump mouse to get scared or hurt.

So, for your safety, they decided to set up their cat hybrid with their friend’s cat hybrid. With an agreement from both owners she would come stay over at the house so they could mate in peace. Only until his heat had passed and he was able to control himself as usual; if only they knew.

Your big mouse cheeks puff up in anger as the female cat walks into the house. Parading into your territory. Your mate didn’t even notice, too busy loudly purring while licking at his marks on your neck and making sure they stayed dark. Something he was doing more of recently with his heat coming up.

When your bf’s heat fully started, it began to affect all the hybrids in the house. Your bf kept clinging to you, taking every chance he could to get away and take you somewhere he can relieve the heat you cause to burn inside him even hotter.

The other cat hybrid could smell his alluring scent and it grew harder to resist despite being scared off by your scent always mixed so deeply with his.

For you, your bf’s heat only heightened your need to claim him in every way possible.

The tension was growing thicker and thicker the longer things went on without you properly laying claim on your mate. Especially now as the other hybrid eyes your mate from the other side of the living room.

Your bf, too caught up in the consuming lust of his heat to notice anything else, still only ever has his hands on you. Sensing her eyes on you, you finally decide to settle this one and for all.

You straddle your bf and he immediately sighs in relief, already needing to have you all over again. You rub against his hardening cock, letting him know you need him now too.

In the blink of an eye he’s flipping you onto your belly, ass high up in the air. His body molding against your own, his loud purring rumbling in your ear.

“Look at you, such a good mate. Taking care of me when I need you so bad,” he coos.

Your eyes flash as you look at the other hybrid. Your tail intertwines with your bf’s and you reach back, rocking back against his aching cock and sinking your claws into him to keep him close. He growls, pawing at your clothes so he can get to you. Your unusual behavior not going unnoticed by him but it only gets him more hot and bothered.

His eyes follow your line of the sigh to the strange hybrid leaving the room in a frenzy and he growls. The heat within him threatening to explode as he realizes what you’re doing.

With a swipe of his paw he shreds the rest of your clothes off. The sight of your glistening fat cunt has his mind spinning. He yanks you closer and sinks his length deep inside you in a long smooth stroke, stretching you out till your insides are burning just as his are.

“And staking claim on your mate too. Such a good girl f’me. Now let me take care of you,” he growls, wanting to properly reward you for showing another Hybrid what’s yours.

You still have your claws in him, keeping close as he desperately fucks his cock into you. The close proximity forcing his thick tip to slam against that soft spot deep inside of you with every hard snap of his hips. You can feel every inch of him against you and it helps soothe the feelings controlling you.

Loud moans and cries of pleasure echo throughout the house form you both. Ensuring the other hybrid can hear. His ribbed length rubs along your gummy walls. The friction has your toes curling and your back arching into him as you meet every thrust.

Every inch of your form shakes as the pleasure he gives you doubles over. Your body practically seizing as he has you coming hard in his cock. But just when you think he might start slowing down, he quickly pins your wrists over your head and rams his length into you.

“I don’t know if she’s gotten the message, little mouse. Might need to make it a little more clear,” he says, a feral glint in his eye.

He fucks you until you forget another hybrid was ever here to begin with. He makes you forget everything besides his name as he forces you to scream it each time he brings you to release.

When his heat ends not longer after, the other hybrid leaves to go back home to her family. You and your bf watch her from afar, his frame hovering on top of yours as your owners happily chat away.

As soon as goodbyes are shared and the door closes, your bf rolls over to pin you against the couch. That look in his eye making you wonder if some of his heat hasn’t totally gone away just yet.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for getting upset when my mom insists on clipping my nails?

I (adult male) still live with my mother because of finances/personal situations that make me unable to earn my own living. For the most part, this is fine. However, there's one thing that bugs me: she insists on trimming my nails for me.

I know it sounds weird, and it is. She's been trimming my nails since I was little, and I've always hated it. But now I'm an adult, and I don't need her to trim my nails for me, but every two weeks or so, she insists on doing it anyway. I'll admit that I have coordination issues that make things like that difficult for me to accomplish on my own, and hygiene isn't my strong suit either. But I don't need (or want) her to keep trimming my nails for me. How do I tell her to stop?

I've tried to explain it to her, but it's like I'm speaking another language or something. I've tried more direct methods, like pulling my hand away when she tries to bring out the clippers, but then she just says I'm being childish and it'll be over faster if I just let her do it, and that her dogs (she has two, they both hate me) are more well-behaved than I am. And then she trims my nails anyway, no matter how many times I tell her I hate it!

So yesterday, I finally got fed up. And right as she grabbed my hand and tried to come in with the clippers, I pulled my hand away and jabbed her with my quills! And then I curled up in a ball, so she couldn't get to my paws at all. She tried to reach for my paws, but I just poked her again.

My mom got annoyed, and said we'll have to try again tomorrow since clearly I'm in a bad mood. She seemed upset, and I feel a little bad for poking her so much since usually we have a good relationship. So tumblr, am I the asshole?

Pic of me so you can see that I'm a grown man that doesn't need his nails trimmed!

What are these acronyms?

[kateschi]

where pride meets love

synopsis: in a u.a. highschool reunion, your husband is up next in introducing his family.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: inspired by @call-memissbrightside

the gymnasium at u.a. is alive with activity, filled with faculty, students, and heroes from all walks of life.

katsuki’s standing near the back, holding your baby girl in his arms, her tiny hands clutching at the fabric of his hero uniform, her eyes wide as she takes in everything around her.

his expression is a mix of annoyance—because honestly, this whole “family introduction” thing is a bit much—and tenderness, which only those closest to him will ever notice.

you stand beside him, your hand resting on his arm, and for a split second, you catch a glimpse of something different in his usual scowl—something soft.

you’ve seen it before, but only in moments like this, when he’s looking at the little life in his arms or the family he’s built.

principal nezu steps forward with a polite clap of his paws.

“thank you all for coming! we’re glad to have so many wonderful alumni here today. if anyone with families would like to introduce them, now’s your chance.”

the crowd goes quiet, waiting for someone to step up. katsuki glares around, crossing his arms over his chest, but it’s obvious he’s trying to look disinterested in the attention he’s about to receive.

it doesn’t work, though. he feels all eyes on him, even before nezu directs them that way.

you give him a small smile, teasing him with a gentle nudge to his side. “you ready to show your family off?”

he scoffs but doesn’t pull away. instead, his gaze softens just a little when he looks down at your daughter, who smiles up at him with those same bright eyes you both adore so much.

his chest swells, and despite his usual gruffness, his pride is impossible to hide.

you feel it too—the silent understanding between the two of you, the knowledge that this moment, in front of everyone, is just another reflection of how far your life together has come.

with a sigh, katsuki straightens his back, shoulders broadening as he stands a little taller. “alright, fine. let’s get this over with,” he mutters under his breath. but then he clears his throat, lifting his chin just a bit.

he shifts his daughter against his shoulder, gently adjusting her so she’s more comfortable in his arms, and with a look at you that says, here we go, he raises his voice for everyone to hear.

“this—” he gestures to your baby, her tiny hands reaching for him in her usual, curious way—“this is my kickass baby.”

he flashes a rare smile down at her, the kind that could melt the hardest of hearts, before pulling you into him with his free arm, draping it over your shoulders.

“and this here,” he says, puffing his chest out slightly, “this is my kickass wife, y/n. the best damn woman in the world.”

you catch his eye, and for a brief moment, it feels like the whole room has faded away. there’s only the two of you, standing side by side, as he proudly introduces you to everyone in his own way.

a few of the students near the front start whispering to each other, smiles on their faces. kirishima, always the supportive friend, claps katsuki on the back, his grin wide.

"man, you really went all out with the family introduction, huh?" kirishima laughs, his voice loud enough for katsuki to hear.

katsuki looks over at him, narrowing his eyes, but there’s no malice in his gaze.

instead, it’s just the usual katsuki way of pretending to be annoyed. “shut it,” he growls, but his hand tightens around yours.

kirishima raises his hands in mock surrender, still chuckling. “I’m just saying, you’re looking like a proud family man.”

“damn right I am,” katsuki mutters, his gaze falling back on your daughter, who is now gripping his finger as she babbles in her own little way.

his eyes soften again, a rare, unguarded moment that no one else seems to notice, but you do.

you always do.

as the buzz in the room continues around them, katsuki’s gaze remains fixed on your daughter, his lips pulling into the smallest of smiles as he watches her reach for his hand.

she’s talking—if you can call it that—her baby words tumbling out like she’s already got something important to say.

you can hear the quiet adoration in katsuki’s voice when he responds to her, low and soft, “yeah, yeah, I hear ya, kid.”

you lean into his side, the warmth of his arm around your shoulders feeling like home. it’s one of those moments where everything feels right.

amid the chaos, in front of so many people, katsuki looks just like the dad you always knew he’d be—strong, protective, and completely head over heels for the tiny person in his arms.

the crowd slowly starts to disperse, some students moving towards the refreshment table, others chatting amongst themselves.

katsuki stays still, barely noticing the shift in the room. his eyes stay locked on your baby, a tiny, content smile playing at the edges of his lips.

“want me to take her?” you ask, nudging him gently with your elbow. “you look like you could use a break.”

katsuki looks down at your daughter, his arms tightening ever so slightly around her. she stares up at him, her big eyes soft and trusting, and for a brief second, it seems like time stands still.

then, just as quickly, he shakes his head, but the fondness in his gaze remains.

“nah,” he mutters gruffly. “she’s good here. I’m fine.”

you let out a small chuckle and settle against him, your hand resting gently on his arm as you watch your daughter settle down against his chest, a soft yawn escaping her lips.

katsuki pulls her a little closer, his other arm winding around you, bringing you both in.

the way his grip tightens around both of you, the way his hand moves just a little bit to the back of your neck, drawing you in closer.

you rest your cheek against his shoulder, and the sound of the crowd fades to the background.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[bi-writes]

Since he won't have MOB lift a finger in their home and given how he reacted when she came out in her lingerie, I like to imagine Simon gets a little flustered whenever he's doing the laundry and he's got to sort out her underwear from the rest of the clothes

mail-order bride

it's quiet this afternoon. it's cold outside again (what a surprise), and there's rain pattering gently against the windows. there's a stew in the oven, but it still needs a few hours to get that perfect tender texture. nevertheless, the house is filled with a warm smell, something hearty and wonderful.

something like home.

when simon walks into the living room, he sees you there. you're curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, head resting on a throw pillow as you watch a movie. there's a mug of tea in front of you, steam rising from it, and simon comes over to greet you.

you turn your head, looking up at him towering over you, and you smile up at him as you snuggle a little further into the pillow. you hold out your hand for him.

"wanna watch with me?" you ask, and he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. he takes your hand anyways, and you swallow hard as he presses your knuckles to his lips, giving them a light kiss before letting go.

"doin' the laundry. can't find yours."

you go to sit up, but simon frowns, visibly upset that you're moving from your spot.

"don't get up," he tells you, tucking the blanket back over you. "just tell me where it is."

you bite your lip.

"uhm...it's in the closet. there's...a bag there."

simon hums, thumbing over your jaw before making his way into the bedroom. he flicks the light on in the closet, moving hangers around until he spots a canvas bag on the floor there, stuffed to the brim with your dirty clothes. he picks it up, cursing a little from how heavy it is, and he carries it with him to the washroom. when he passes the living room, he stops for a moment.

"oi," he calls out to you, and you turn your head, smiling at him, and he points to the bag. "you put y'r clothes with mine from now on, yeah?"

you tuck your face behind the blanket a little more to hide your growing smile. you nod anyways, and he huffs a little before continuing. he puts his basket of laundry on top of the dryer, opening the lid of the washer, and he lifts your little bag up next to the basket. after he sets it down, he steps back when the bag starts to move.

"oi! wot the fuck?!"

at the shout, you scramble off the couch, hurrying towards where he is.

"what? what?! what happened?"

"bag's fuckin' movin'!" simon huffs, but when you try to come further into the room, simon puts a hand on your chest gently, pushing you backwards and behind him. he blocks you completely with his body, and you still can barely see as you stand on your toes and try and look over his shoulder.

"simon--" you sigh. "simon! wait--let me see!"

"fuck no," he snarls, "stay there."

he pushes the bag over so that it tips over, falling onto its side. your clothes tumble out, spilling onto the dryer and onto the floor, and simon reaches around him and wraps one big hand around your waist protectively to hold you back as he cranes his neck to see.

"what is it? simon!" you hiss, and simon holds his breath as the bag continues to move. there's a wiggle of a shape under the canvas before a familiar little head pokes itself out from the opening, one of your shirt sleeves framing their face and hiding their ears.

simon groans audibly, relaxing immediately.

"fuckin' hell," he mutters, letting you push him aside, and you hold onto his bicep as you try and hide your laugh. the cat wriggles its way through your shirt sleeve before shaking, fluffing her hair back up before she takes a seat on the edge of the dryer lid and starts to lick her little paw. "'ow did it fuckin' breathe in there, eh?"

you step past him and reach for her, picking her up off the dryer and tucking her into the crook of your arm. she lays her little head on your arm, blinking slowly up at you, and you tap her nose gently before looking back and up at simon.

"sorry she scared you, big man," you giggle, and he scrunches his nose a bit as he glares at the cat.

"wasn't scared," he huffs, and he brings you closer with a hand on your jaw, drawing you nearer. he runs his tongue over his teeth, looking down at you, and you swear his gaze lingers on your lips for just a second too long. "got precious cargo in m'house. couldn't let anythin' happen ta 'er."

you blink up at him, opening your mouth to say something, but you sputter, laughing, looking away from him. you shrug him off with a roll of your eyes, but you look back at him just as you're about to turn the corner and leave. he's already back to picking up your clothes that have fallen onto the floor, and you nearly choke when he's got one big hand wrapped around bright red lace.

he holds up the edges of it for a moment to inspect it, and he swallows when he realizes it's a pair of your panties.

your favorite panties.

when he looks over his shoulder, your eyes lock, and you squeak as you hide behind the doorway, shutting your eyes as you cringe at yourself for reacting so silly.

for fuck's sake, it's your husband--husbands wash their wives undergarments, right?

you poke your head back into the doorway, just enough for your eyes to get simon in view again. he's putting the rest of the clothes in the washer, putting a small amount of soap into it before shutting the top and putting the water on cold. you hide again when he turns around, flattening your back against the wall, and when he comes out, he's got a hint of a smirk on his face, knowing, because he knows he's caught you.

when he passes by you, you go half-lidded and slack when his hand finds your face again, thumb against your bottom lip. his eyes are so dark; beautiful, pupils blown wide, a magnet that draws you closer, up onto your toes until his thumb is nearly touching your tongue and your lips are nearly brushing against his.

simon takes your breath away when he leaves. you follow him hoping to get it back.

[wildgirllz]

I'm not sure if you are familiar with the "mating press" position, but the little horny voice inside my head says that Tommy would absolutely love it. Just imagine reader having her legs on his shoulders while he pins her down to the bed because he needed to let off steam. Of course, this is completely consensual! Reader is willingly helping her husband out like the sweet housewife she is <3 Would you be up to write something like that? Sorry for being so disgustingly horny about him... (⁠´⁠-⁠﹏⁠-⁠`⁠；⁠)

Omg i love this request!! HAPPY 1K MY BEAUTIES!!!

Mating press with Tommy <3

Warnings: unprotected sex, SIZE KINK OML (I'm sorry I couldn't help myself) pnv, afab reader, he cums inside because he's a loving husband, overall just porn with a little plot

It was a sunny day, the warm Texan breeze on your shoulders as you washed dishes from breakfast. A hefty pile of dishes, Tommy was not a small man to feed. As the warm water eroded the bacon grease from your castiron, you heard some stomping from the yard. You smile, you can imagine how he was looking at that very moment; his mask covering half of his sweaty face, hair stuck to his forehead, shoulders wide and casting a big shadow over whatever he was blocking. His tall frame was delicious, his arms, his hands that held the majority of your torso already made you hot on the back of your neck.

Lost in a trance of your thoughts, you feel the warm water over your hands' sudden absence. You don't need to turn your head to identify the reason. You can already hear his little huffs behind his mask and his big meaty hands pawing at your hips.

“I missed you, Tommy.” You turn and raise your arms to place your hands on his broad chest. His fingers fidget with the red trim of your sundress, one of his favorites. “You like my dress honey? I like this one too, I wear it to ensure you stay grateful for this pretty little wife you got.” You giggle and cover his hands with your own, but only manage to shade a finger or two. 

“I made you pie again Tommy, peach crumble! It's right on the counter. Lemme cut you a slice.” You smile warmly before turning to walk to the countertop to your right, but you don't manage. Tommys' hands are glued to your hips, keeping you grounded like a statue on the floor. “You don't want pie, baby?” You ask, sweetly of course. You knew Tommy wasn’t focused on your pie right now, you knew from the second you heard his feet shuffling outside that he had some steam he needed to release, and you’d be damned before you said you didn't want him to take it out on you.

You look up at his lust-filled eyes and reach to untie his sweaty mask. You didn't like that he always felt he had to cover himself up, but you understood it brought more comfort to his everyday life. As the mask fell, you could hear his shaky breaths practically calling for you. You got up on your tiptoes and pursed your lips, so he reciprocated, bending his head downward and capturing you in a warm, desperate kiss.

His hands on your hips lifted your body off of the ground, unconsciously, making your face line up with his. You wrap your legs around his waist, not making it all the way, but you were stable as his hands moved down to cup your ass. You whimper into his mouth, grinding your little hips against his big tummy, and running your fingers through his messy hair.

He lets out a single huff before turning on his heels and taking you to the bedroom. After storming through the doorway, he tosses your body onto your’ neatly made bed and begins to undress. You take his cue and do the same, unzipping your flowy dress and slipping off your white panties. Leaning back in your bed, you take in Tommys' body, how the veins in his hands bulge as he unbuttons his shirt, and how tight his pants look on his thick thighs.

Once he's fully bare, he slowly stalks around the bed, looking you up and down like a piece of meat he’s longing to devour. Suddenly, he yanks you down by the ankles, making you lay flat on the bed. He pushes himself to his knees at the end of the bed, settled between your now parted legs. He shuffles forward a bit, then pulls you by the knees until your legs wrap around his hips. 

He bends forward, towering over your frame. He takes your legs and pulls your feet over each one of his shoulders. Your thighs are pressed to your stomach as he settles an arm on both sides of your head. His hair falls around your face, and you reach up to kiss his pretty pink lips. You feel his girth slipping over your slit, and you reach your hand down to press his throbbing cock to your little bud. He groans at the touch of your hand and you begin to rock your hips back and forth, covering his length with your slick.

Not long after, he begins to rock his hips against yours in tandem. His forehead touches yours and you can feel his warm breaths covering your face. On one of his slower thrusts, the tip of his cock caught on the rim of your hole, making you take a sharp breath in. Tommy looks at you to make sure you’re okay, then slowly slides his fat member into you without warning.

“Tommy! Jesus, baby slow down.” You whimper out. The intrusion makes your lips quiver and hands grip the sheets, so he takes your arms in one of his hands and moves them to wrap around his neck, immediately latching onto his hair. As he settles his hefty body on top of yours, his tummy pressing down tightly on yours, he pushes even further forward, trying to get as deep as possible.

Your moans turn into choked-out groans as he slowly pounds into you. Your toes curling and heels digging into his damp back. He lets out deep groans and uses his hand to wipe hair from your face. He cups your cheek and kisses you, a distraction from the ache of your stretched hole, struggling to accept his large cock. 

His thrusts pick up in pace, and he buries his face into your neck. His hands slide down to grip your hips, and he maneuvers your body to slam down on his cock in time with his thrusts. In a state of complete cock-drunk bliss, you struggle to let out a whine as you feel your peak approaching. Rolling your eyes back, you grip his hair between your fingers and give it a little tug, before feeling the warmth of your orgasm explode through your body in ripples of pleasure.

Your back arches and your legs shake, the feeling of your pussy clenching over his length makes him whimper, and his thrusts become fast and shallow. You whine at the feeling of him abusing your overstimulated warmth, and Tommy leans down to bury his face in your breasts and grips your hips almost bruisingly in his hands, quickly reaching his orgasm himself. 

He wraps his arms around your back and pulls you as close to him as possible before letting out one more deep thrust and filling you to the brim with his seed. He groans and flips over on his back, taking you with him. You lay over his body, feeling his cock softening inside you as his spend drips out. You both catch your breath and relax, his hands rubbing gently over your back. 

You close your eyes and let the cool air of night take you both to sleep.

feel free to leave requests! (get FILTHY.) <3

[norrisleclercf1]

Since you wanted more Lando requests 🙊

Could you maybe write something about her surprising Lando by adopting the puppy that chose Lando as a nap spot during the Battersea video? 🥺

A/N: Lando would dieeee

"Thank you so much for doing this," You giggle grabbing the puppy happily and holding it close as it just whined a little bit before settling down, snuggling close. "Ugh, adorable, do he have a name?" The nice lady smiles and nods her head no.

"No, they're young, we just gave them certain collard colors," She says and reaches over and rubs the little one's head. You smile happily and bounce the little one who yawns and paws your fingers. "Such a cutie, going to have to name you," You mumble as you load everything up.

"He's going to Monaco, yes?" You turn placing him in his carrier as you only flew from Monaco to pick up this little baby. "He is, I'm getting him for Lando Norris," The woman's face lights up, "Oh, Lando, the baby here loved him so much and we really tried to convince him, but he said it wouldn't be smart with him traveling so much and said he would need a girlfriend," She eyes you and you smile.

"Yeah, he lies about that part, he couldn't shup up about the dog when he got home, he's been staring at the adoption page for days," The woman smiles, "yeah people tend to think they pick the animal, but really the animal picks the person," You nod as you move hugging her. "Thank you,"

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

Lando sighs loudly, staring at his phone as Oscar rolls his eyes and snatches his phone. "What the hell are you sighing at?" and looks at the phone and stares at the little puppy that says adopted. "Oh, I'm sorry man, but hey at least the puppy probably went to a good home," Oscar says and hands the phone back as their lunch arrives.

"Yeah, just, I really liked him, even picked out a name an all," He mumbles staring at the photo before clicking his phone off, thanking the waitress. "You picked out a name for a puppy you don't even own?" Lando sulks and pushes around his fancy, healthy salad grumbling as Oscar bites into salmon happily.

"Spots," Oscar freezes halfway through a bite and stars at Lando. "Spots? You were going to name the dog....Spots?" Lando nods, "Yeah it's a normal dog name and the dog had spots," He shrugs eating his salad sadly. "You're weird," Oscar giggles and Lando just smiles taking another bite smiling brightly.

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

"Home!" Lando calls and slides his shoes off sighing and trudging into the living room eyes half closed and falls face first into the couch, and groans into a pillow. He hears your feet but doesn't move just wallowing in despair at his puppy being adopted.

Lando groans feeling something wet touch his face and turns opening his eyes and blinks slowly. "Spots?" The dog moves and slowly licks his face and Lando shoots up. "Spots!" He gently picks up the dog and holds him close as the dog yet again quickly settles in his arms.

Your boyfriend looks up, stars in his eyes and moves kissing you softly. "You adopted him for me?" Lando asks and you nod your head. "Yeah, I watched you fall in love, and you've had his adoption page saved on your phone for weeks," You explain and Lando squeals and holds the puppy up to his face. "Hello, my baby Spots," Lando giggles and lowers him back down cradling him to his chest.

"Come on, let me show you where you'll sleep," You roll your eyes, knowing that dog was going to sleep in your bed.

[lynxgriffin]

Eldritchrune - A Messy Fight

Story Setup Eldritchrune Masterpost

On their way to face Queen, Kris and the Fun Gang run into Tasque Manager, who demands impossible standards of order. Her criticisms might feel a little too familiar to Kris...but at least the rest of the Fun Gang have their back!

YAY, it's nice to finally get another comic all finished! This one obviously had to go on hold for awhile from my wrist injury. While I'm working on recovering, things are still going to be slow for awhile (probably the rest of the year), so it may be another wait before the next scene.

Alt text for these pages under the read more:

Page 1

Panel 1 - Kris, Ralsei, Susie and Noelle walk down a long, uniform stone hallway. Eyeless porcelain gargoyles shaped like big cats stand watch from atop pillars in the hallway. As they walk, Ralsei says, “We’re getting closer to Queen’s chambers. Stay on the alert, Kris!”

Panel 2 - Kris responds with a quick “I am.” As the Fun Gang continues down the hallway, one of the porcelain gargoyles turns its head to follow them.

Panel 3 - Im a medium shot, Lancer pops up from within Susie’s hair, and waves at Kris. He says, “Hey human person, is it hard to stay alert with all that hair in your eyes?” Susie grins, and sticks out her tongue in joking agreement. “Yeah, it’s gettin’ even messier.” Unbeknownst to the Fun Gang, in the background, one of the gargoyles starts to climb down the pillar.

Panel 4 - Closeup on Kris as they brush their long and messy hair out of their face. “I can see just fine,” they respond.

Panel 5 - Two of the gargoyles land on the ground, the panel’s focus on their clawed paws tapping against the stones.

Page 2 Panel 1 - Noelle turns her head, one ear perked up to listen to what’s behind them. She says, “Wait. I hear something…”

Panel 2 - Closeup on the clawed paws of the gargoyles as they charge forward.

Panel 3 - Closeup on Kris as they turn at the sound, reaching for their sword.

Panel 4 - Wide shot of the Fun Gang. They suddenly find themselves surrounded on all sides by four porcelain big cats, all snarling as they circle them. Susie glares back.

Panel 5 - Susie turns back to Lancer, still poking out of her hair. She says, “Uugh, more jerks! Better hide again.” Lancer responds with a disappointed “Aw man…” but does as he’s asked.

Panel 6 - “What are these things?” Kris asks, eyeing a gargoyle circling them, and keeping one hand on their sword hilt. “They’re tasques!” replies Ralsei.

Page 3

Panel 1 - Ralsei turns expectantly, looking ahead. “That means that their *manager* must be near…”

Panel 2 - Closeup on an armored boot as it steps into the middle of the hall. 

Panel 3 - The boot belongs to Tasque Manager. She appears as an armored knight with impeccably polished plate armor, decorated with sharp V-shaped emblems. She appears human in stature, except for her head, which is the bleached skull of a big cat, and with pointed ears. She wields a flail with seven spiked spheres on the end of a collection of cords. She holds up her hand, and says, “Halt, interlopers! I will not permit you to approach the Queen!”

Panel 4 - The Fun Gang remain surrounded by the gargoyles, but Kris still looks ready to fight. Susie sneers at Tasque Manager, and says, “Since when do we need *your* permission?” She responds, “I maintain *order* and *cleanliness* in this dwelling.”

Panel 5 - Straight on shot of Tasque Manager’s face, emphasizing her symmetry and sense of order. “Do you truly think you are worthy…of Queen’s presence in your disorderly state?”

Page 4

Panel 1 - Full shot of the Fun Gang just staring back. They all look pretty haggard, unkempt and gross in their own ways.

Panel 2 - Same shot as previous, although now Noelle tilts her head to the side. “Um…yes?” she offers quietly.

Ralsei helpfully gestures to Kris beside him. “Certainly! Kris even bathed just two weeks ago.”

Panel 3 - Tasque Manager is not having it, and yells back at the group: “LIES!! I can see the *filth* all over you, human! I can smell your STENCH!”

Panel 4 - She continues, “You’re unfit for these halls…you belong in the wastes that you reek of!” The insults are especially focused on Kris.

Panel 5 - Kris shuts their eyes, remembering something from their past…

Panel 6 - A series of flashback images, to when Kris was just a little kid, living as an orphan on the streets. They try to sneak around the back of a food stand in the market, looking for something to eat, when they’re spotted by an empire soldier in armor.

The soldier yanks them up roughly by the shirt and yells in their face: “What’re you doing around here, you filthy urchin?! This is a *nice* place!”

The soldier then throws Kris down into the gutter, splashing street water all over them. “Go stink up a gutter where you belong!” the soldier screams. 

Page 5

Panel 1 - Kris opens their eyes again, grimacing. This is clearly an unpleasant memory for them.

Panel 2 - They pull out their sword, and point it towards Tasque Manager. “Maybe my stench will give your dull and tasteless halls some character,” they say.

Panel 3 - Extreme close up on Tasque Manager’s unnaturally sharp teeth. “Human…”

Panel 4 - “I’ll flay your filthy skin from your bones!” she shrieks, and pulls the flail tight in front of her, ready to fight.

Panel 5 - Ralsei immediately teleports out of the range of battle with a burst of flame and smoke. Kris and the beasts eye the gargoyles as they begin to close in on them.

Panel 6 - “Susie! Noelle!” Kris begins the fight by giving them the ACT command. 

Panel 7 - Closeup on Noelle as she opens her mouth and uses her icy breath attack, aiming at one of the gargoyles.

Pavel 8 - However, the gargoyle runs just out of range of the incoming frost, and sprints towards Susie’s unprotected right side.

Page 6

Panel 1 - Closeup as the gargoyle leaps onto Susie and sinks its large teeth into her side, latching on like a lamprey eel. 

Panel 2 - Susie roars in pain and anger at the gargoyle, even as another one coming in from her left bites down into an empty space on her chest.

Panel 3 - Wide shot as the beasts struggle to shake off the gargoyles, but they’re too hard to reach. One more bites into Noelle’s flank, while the last circles, looking for another opening. In the foreground, Kris faces Tasque Manager in one on one combat.

Panel 4 - Kris, being less skilled at swordfighting, only manages to block incoming hits from the flail. All the while, Tasque Manager yells at them: “You humans are so *irrational! Unorderly!*” 

Panel 5 - Tasque Manager flings the flail at Kris’s face as she continues: “Wretched, chaotic creatures…it’s horrid how the gods and demons here desire your souls!”

Panel 6 - Kris remains face to face with Tasque Manager, the flail partially wrapped around their sword…way too close to their face. Still, they are curious about her statement. “Horrid? Never come across a human soul pure enough for you?” they ask.

Page 7

Panel 1 - Tasque Manager leans in to grab the flail, as Kris struggles to keep appropriate space between them. “Never. There is no such thing as a pure human soul,” she replies. 

Panel 2 - Noelle runs in a circle with the gargoyle still attached to her flank. Behind her, Susie lashes her tail angrily, trying to shake off the two biting into her own hide.

Panel 3 - In a fit of desperation, Susie finally rolls onto her side, trying to crush the gargoyle against the stone floor. A sound like breaking glass is heard.

Panel 4 - When she raises up again, the gargoyle is now in shattered porcelain pieces on the floor, although it did leave a nasty wound behind.

Panel 5 - Noelle turns her head, noticing the shattered remains. “Oh, Susie! They break like stone!”

Panel 6 - Susie also takes note of the shattered gargoyle, and gets an idea.

Panel 7 - Thinking fast, she goes and snaps her jaws around the gargoyle on Noelle’s flank, and tears it free.

Panel 8 - Still with one more gargoyle hanging from her neck, she swings her head around in a wide arc and tosses the gargoyle in her jaws at the far wall.

Page 8

Panel 1 - The gargoyle hits a pillar by the far wall, and shatters like porcelain.

Panel 2 - Tasque Manager is momentarily drawn away from Kris as she notices her shattered minions’ remains cluttering up the pristine floor. She shakes with rage. “You’re all making…”

Panel 3 - “SUCH A HORRIBLE MESS!” she screams, and rears back to attack Kris with her flail again.

Panels 4-5 - Kris is momentarily struck by another memory, and they wince in anticipation.

Panel 6 - In a flashback scene. Kris has somehow knocked over a cart full of fruits, and they lay scattered across the cobblestones, broken and smashed. An angry vendor stands nearby. 

Meanwhile, another empire soldier is already there, and grabs Kris by the hair. “LOOK AT THIS MESS YOU’VE MADE!” he screams, shaking Kris. 

Panel 7 - Tasque Manager charges forward, the flail coming in fast at Kris…

Panel 8 - And hits home, striking the, in the head, above their eye. Blood bursts from the head wound.

Page 9

Panel 1 - “KRIS!!” Closeup on Ralsei as he yells in alarm, his eyes wide.

Panel 2 - Kris staggers backward, shaking, and pressing their left hand to their temple.

Panel 3 - Closeup as Kris pulls their hand away, and finds it covered in blood.

Panel 4 -  Meanwhile, Susie rolls onto her chest again, crushing the gargoyle on her neck against the floor. It crunches into pieces like the others.

Panel 5 - In the background, Susie gets up and brushes the remaining shards off her neck. In the foreground, Noelle stomps the remaining gargoyle into pieces with her hooves.

Panel 6 - Kris turns and looks up at Tasque Manager. She raises her flail to strike once again. 

Panel 7 - Despite the fact that Kris is bleeding considerably from the head wound, they smile with realization, and charge in towards Tasque Manager. “The best part about human messes…”

Panel 8 - Tasque Manager takes a wide swing with her flail, but Kris swiftly ducks under it, and slides in close to her. 

Page 10

Panel 1 - Kris finishes, “Is that you can *always* make them worse!” Kris leaps up in front of Tasque Manager, and smears the blood on their hand across her polished breastplate. 

Panel 2 - Tasque Manager pulls back and shrieks in horror at the bloody stain on her armor, both arms raised.

Panel 3 - Kris pulls back, their head still bleeding, and points decisively at Tasque Manager. Noelle and Susie are standing ready behind them, and they give the [FIGHT] command.

Panel 4 - Tasque Manager tries in vain to wipe the blood off her armor, temporarily distracted…

Panel 5 - Which is enough time for Susie to come in from above and snap her jaws around Tasque Manager. She screams, and drops her flail.

Panel 6 - In a wider shot, Kris and Noelle look on as Noelle violently shakes her head with Tasque Manager in her jaws, like a dog shaking a chew toy. Pieces of her armor fly out as she’s tossed back and forth.

Page 11

Panel 1 - Finished with her attack, Susie spits out Tasque Manager, now a complete disassembled mess of armor and bone. Her pieces scatter across the stone floor.

Panel 2 - Noelle opens her mouth wide, and uses her frost breath again…

Panel 3 - …And her icy breath freezes the scattered pieces to the floor, leaving no chance of an easy reforming. Kris watches as the cat skull head skids free of the rest of the mess…

Panel 4 - And slides to a stop by their feet. Although broken up and frozen, Tasque Manager’s severed head can still speak, albeit weakly. “So disordered…scattered…filthy…”

Panel 5 - Low angle shot at the skull glares up at Kris with contempt. Kris has won, but she still has last insults to get in: “No wonder…you were discarded…”

Panel 6 - Kris closes their eyes again, another flashback coming back…

Panel 7 - Another series of flashback images to a younger, orphan Kris. They’re hiding in a pile of trash behind some boxes, shivering, terrified of encountering another soldier. Someone else can be seen approaching.

“Hey…” Kris looks up from their hiding position at the sound of a calmer voice. They see a hand being extended to them.

The hand belongs to a younger Asriel, reaching down to help them up. “Are you okay?” he asks.

Page 12 Panel 1 - Back in the present, Ralsei approaches Kris again, putting a reassuring hand on their shoulder. He smiles down at them. “Well done, Kris! We’re that much closer to Queen now.”

Panel 2 - Higher shot as the Fun Gang begins to regroup ans start back down the hall again. Susie leans back towards the frozen and broken Tasque Manager with a taunt: “Good luck cleaning *that* up, you stupid snob!”

Panel 3 - Lancer pops back out of Susie’s hair, one hand raised to his head to look around. “Did we win?” he asks.

“Obviously!” Susie replies with a grin.

Panel 4 - Lancer turns to Kris, who is walking at the head of the party. “Wow! I guess you really *can* see through that string bean hair!” Kris is still injured and messy, but doesn’t seem to mind. “Well enough.”

Panel 5 - A shot from behind the Fun Gang as they continue down the dark hall, heading towards the Queen. Behind them lies a giant mess of shattered porcelain, frozen armor pieces and broken bones. “You know…” Kris says, “I think I will let it grow wild and ugly for the foreseeable future.”

[charliemwrites]

Men At Work - Part 3

I know this has been a little slow to start, but things should progress a little more quickly from here. I wanted to establish some of the groundwork for this weird dynamic they all have but unfortunately, these men don't know the meaning of slow, even in my own head.

No Content Warnings

“How are the repairs going?” you ask.

It’s just Nikto today, returning your Tupperware from dinner the other night. He’s covered head to toe once again, all that’s visible are those glass blue eyes. One way mirrors - hiding everything beneath the surface.

They remind you of… something. 

Hmm. When you figure it out, they’re sure to make an appearance in your next novel.

“On track,” he answers in that sharp, staccato way you’re learning is just his way.

Unfortunately for him, that just makes you more curious. You know it’s a bit obnoxious - you’re not entitled to information, you know that. And most of the time you curb the inquiries tapping at the back of your teeth. But he’s in your house, snuggling your traumatized cat. If he’s got a problem answering casual questions, you’re certain he’ll have no problem letting you know.

“You’re redoing the whole thing?”

“Most of it. Foundation is good. The rest - дерьмо.”

You don’t know a lick of Russian, but you can guess.

“Good bones,” you hum in understanding. As if you know anything about construction. “That helps. When do you think it will be done?”

He shifts, sharp eyes flicking between your busy hands, the door, and Rasputin holding him lovingly hostage.

Little guy is currently perched on your shoulder, face buried against your collar in abject despair that his bestest friend hasn’t come to visit. Shithead is poaching (or attempting to, anyway) the sandwiches you’re assembling. So far, she’s only swishing her tail, biding her time. You’re keeping an eye on her.

“Two months. Three if any of us are called.”

You hum, reach for the tomatoes. It’s only because you’re looking at him that you notice the slightest twitch around his eyes. Beneath his mask, you’d bet he’s scrunching his nose.

“No?”

“I will eat.”

You leave the tomatoes off. Guy mews sadly, you tilt your head to press a kiss to his little ear.

“So, two or three months. Krueger said you’ll move in then.”

“Da.”

You top the sandwiches with a final slice of bread and turn to the oven. Spin back just in time to catch Shithead’s paw reaching for Krueger’s designated sandwich. Nikto eyes the plate of brownies in your free hand; you bite the corner of your mouth to keep from grinning.

“What about the yard?”

Nikto tilts his head. If he didn’t give the impression of a particularly large predator, you’d call it cute. As it is, even spiders and snakes endear themselves to you somehow.

“What about yard?”

“Any plans for it?” You sneak an extra brownie onto Nikto’s plate. Reward and apology for wrenching conversation out of him. “Grass? Trees? Flowers?”

He blinks. Just once. Some sort of intuition tells you that even that behavioral tic is a big social step for him.

“No.”

“Oh, uh… gravel then?”

“We mean no plans,” he corrects.

“Oh! Alright, I suppose that’s a long way off anyway. There’s still so much work to do on the inside.”

But it does get you thinking. What even goes into fixing a house? And how do they know all this stuff? The electric, the insulation, the… whatever else goes into a home. Is it just Weird Things they picked up from the military?

You stare contemplatively at the house’s exterior as you walk the plates across the street with Nikto. (Ras is riding on his shoulder and Guy refused to detach his claws from yours. You fear for the state of your home with Shithead left behind, but neither you nor Nikto had a spare hand to wrangle her with.)

Nikto practically kicks the door in, shouting for the others as he goes. Guy chooses that moment to start crying - uncanny sense for appearing pathetic as possible.

Konig must hear him halfway down the stairs, because the steady boot steps get faster after a moment.

“Oh, bubchen! Why are you sad? What has happened?” Konig coos, nearly running to your side.

Of course, now that he’s gotten what he wanted, Guy’s volume lowers. He makes a pleased little “mrow” and slinks off your shoulder and into Konig’s reaching hands. You’d call him a traitor but you’re a damn sucker for a big man with a cute animal. 

“You two are ridiculous,” you laugh, setting the plates on the counter.

It’s already been replaced since last you saw it. Black granite, very sleek. You like it. (Which of them installed it? Nikto? You usually catch glimpses of him on the ground floor.)

“He is a baby, Biene,” Konig protests, “he must be treated like one.”

“He’s already five!” You reply, like you don’t have a papoose for when your hands are too full to snuggle him.

“Did I stutter? I do not think so. This is a baby.”

You have to turn away to hide your laughter, pretending that taking the foil off the lunches requires your full attention.

Krueger steps up behind you while you’re not looking. The heat of him is what alerts you, the only reason you don’t jump when his rough voice comes by your head.

“Where is the Shithead.”

“Hello to you too, Krueger. How is your day?”

He grunts and reaches past you, trying to snatch up a brownie. Without a thought, you slap at his hand - balk at the sharp whack sound it makes. He jerks his hand back in shock.

“You deny me my dearest friend and you attack me in my own home.”

You spin on your heel, mouth already open. False start as you realize he’s even closer than you expected. The height difference doesn’t seem like much until you’re eye level with his neck. You untangle your tongue and ignore the smirk growing at the corner of his scarred mouth.

“This is barely a house, never mind a home,” you scoff.

He snorts - that smirk turns to a full blown grin. A little crazed. Unfortunately, that makes it more attractive. (And the bastard probably knows it too.)

“You insult me too, now.”

“Sure, but I brought you food.”

He flicks his eyes to the plate behind you and arches a brow.

“Bring me the little Sheisskerl and I will forgive you.”

You tilt your head to the side. “Go get her yourself.”

What the hell did you just say? Inviting a man into your house unaccompanied?! You may not be a true crime writer, but you know better.

You still don’t take it back.

He locks eyes with you, gives the distinct impression that he knows exactly what you just thought and he’s amused by your obstinance.

“Fine.” He reaches past your hip. Smells like sweat and something that reminds you of heat. Solder? Certainly not anything you’re used to. “Behave, eh? Konig is easy to take advantage of.”

You snort and glance at Konig over his shoulder, who’s glaring now. (Somehow no less intimidating even with Guy nuzzling at his mask.)

As Krueger turns, he takes a big bite of brownie, humming appreciatively under his breath. You shake your head, then turn to Konig.

“If you want to steal one of his sandwiches, I’ll look the other way.”

Konig barks a short, sharp laugh of surprise. It startles you a bit, but not enough to wipe the grin from your face. You know he really means it when he sounds like that.

“How are the bathroom repairs going?” you ask.

“They are going well!” he answers. Then launches into an in-depth explanation of all the ongoing projects. Replacing walls, rewirings, outlet and light installations. What doesn’t go over your head is almost too fast to understand as his accent thickens with excitement. You nod along anyway, because you asked, and he’s stupidly endearing - big muscular man getting a bit squeaky while he rambles about pipes.

He barely even notices Guy’s little paw reaching until it’s shoved into his open mouth. He sputters as you burst into laughter, gently tucking Guy’s arm against his chest.

“Why would you do this?!” he asks, only to receive a slow blink in response.

“He’s saying you need to eat,” you giggle, nudging Konig’s plate.

“Oh, that’s right! Thank you for the lunch!”

Barely a couple bites in and you hear the door open again. Krueger stomps in with Shithead bundled in his arms, one hand under her bottom, the other around her tummy. She’s got her head tilted all the way back to chirp and chitter at him.

“Why are you carrying her like that?” you ask, choking back a giggle. 

“It is how she wishes to be carried.”

You blink at her - but sure as shit, she’s perfectly content being held like a child’s toy.

“Well good luck eating like that.”

“You won’t feed me?” he leers.

“I don’t want rabies if you bite me.”

His laughter is even harsher than Konig’s. You like it instantly.

All that’s left is to hear Nikto’s.

Agatha is outside when Nikto walks you back home.

(Krueger huffed that he had too much work to do for the day, but he would see you for dinner. While you were still blinking in shock at his self-invite, Konig transitioned Little Guy back into your arms. All the while grumbling at Krueger’s impatient German.)

She scowls as she notices your two-person parade. Nikto’s juggling Little Guy and Rasputin; you’ve got a firm grip on Shithead and the stack of dirty plates. You snort a bit just thinking of her paranoid comments about them being bad men. Sure, they might be in some ways, but it’s a hard sell when Ras is trying to lick at the edge of the mask around Nikto’s eyes.

“Afternoon, Agatha,” you call, just to be petty.

“When is your fiance coming by again?” she calls back. “Such a lovely young man.”

Your mirth dries up in an instant. “I broke up with my boyfriend four months ago. I thought I told you.”

You did. You know you did. Because she’s a nosy pain in the ass that was asking about your Easter plans with him (trying to invite you to church once again) when you told her that you left him. She’d even fussed about it at the time, saying that there’s hardly anything that can’t be healed with time and understanding.

(It was only your commitment to your own privacy that kept you from asking how much time it takes to smooth over someone cheating with your cousin.)

At your side, Nikto grunts. You glance sideways at him, wondering what he must think.

But his eyes are on Agatha. Even Rasputin has paused the grooming routine to narrow his one eye at her.

“Is this the one that looks in mailbox?” he asks, louder than you’ve ever heard.

Loud enough that she hears. And flushes redder than the poppies in your flowerboxes.

“That’s her husband, actually,” you answer. She sputters, and an incredibly immature bolt of satisfaction suffuses you.

He grunts again. Eyes her up and down. “Maybe we leave surprise for him next time, da?”

You press your lips together, but it does nothing to prevent you from grinning. He’s deadly serious, though, which somehow makes it even funnier to you.

“Maybe!” you reply in a tone that really means absolutely.

Nikto shuts the door on her face before Agath can get out a threat to call the police.

“You’ve got a petty streak,” you say, grinning at him.

He tilts his head. “You like.” He doesn’t even sound sure if it’s a question or a statement.

“Yeah,” you giggle, “I like it.”

He grunts and takes the plates from your hand. “We wash. You think about dinner and revenge. Da?”

You plop yourself onto a stool by the kitchen counter. “Da.”

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Masterlist

[suguwu]

kita and his baby girl who brings him all the frogs she catches in the paddies. she scoops them up with her bare hands and cups them between her little palms. the frog belts out a worried note and makes a bid for freedom; she shuts her hands around it.

"gentle," kita reminds her, closing his big hands around hers so he can loosen her grip a bit. "like with the ducks, remember?"

her brow furrows, her dark eyebrows pinching together. "gentle," she repeats.

"s'right, baby. we're gentle with animals."

"and people!"

kita nods. "and people too."

"no biting."

he coughs out a laugh, glad you're not here to see the way her smile widens. "no biting," he agrees. "and no frogs in the house. c'mon, it's time to let frog-san go."

"but i wanna keep 'im."

"but then you can't catch 'im again."

she pauses, considering. she raises her hands to peek between them; the frog ribbits sadly. "bye frog-san."

kita helps her return the frog to the paddy gently. it hops away quickly, disappearing into the murky water.

"what're we gonna do when we get home?" he asks.

"wash our paws!"

"s'right," he says. she reaches for him and he scoops her up, settling her onto his hip as he starts to walk back to his old truck. "and then what?"

"dinner! so we can get big and strong an' catch more frogs!"

a smile unfurls on kita's lips. "so we can catch more frogs," he agrees. "as many as you want."

she squints up at him. "promise?"

"yeah, baby," he says, pressing a kiss to her hair, as gray as the moon. "i promise."

[vivwritesfics]

Little Terrors

Lando Norris wants to jump his wife's bones. She has to remind him of the consequences of unprotected sex

Dad!Lando

God, his wife looked so sexy. After three kids, she still had it. But that wasn't a surprise to him, he knew she was damn sexy, and she always would be.

Even when she wasn't trying.

No, she was just sitting on the bed, reading her book. (Faerie smut, she'd read chapter fifty-five to him and he'd been horrified. That was what his wife was into?)

Her old pyjamas, stretched out and slipping down her body, not hiding much at all, looked so damn sexy on her. It had him crawling across the bed towards her.

He pushed her book away and pressed tender kisses to her lips. "Can I?" He whispered, pawing at her pyjamas like a horny teenager.

She giggled at him and let him pull her pyjama top over her head. Immediately, he kissed down her chest, hips desperately grinding against the bed sheets. "Lan," she laughed, hands moving through his curls. "Go and get a condom."

He pulled away from her to search through his bedside table for the packet of condoms. The empty packet of condoms. "Shit," He mumbled as he sat back.

She took the box from his hands, checking to see if it really was empty. "Oh, baby," she mumbled as she tugged at his curls again. "We can get some and try again tomorrow night."

But then his eyes lit up and he grinned. "Or we could just not use any protection," he suggested and attached his lips to her neck, trying to convince her.

The laugh that escaped her lips couldn't be considered pretty, but Lando still loved it. "Are you joking me?" She asked as she pushed him away. "You really want another child? Did you forget about the three devil spawns we already have?"

The Personal Massager

"Dad?"

Lando hummed as he drank his coffee. "What do you want, Wy?" He asked his six year old son and oldest child.

He sat back in his seat and turned his attention to Wyatt Norris. He had his dads same curls but, other than that, he was almost the spitting image of his mother.

He was damn cute and could probably get away with murder.

When Lando looked up and saw what Wyatt had in his hands, his face fell. "Do you think mum would mind if I borrowed her massager?" He asked so damn innocently.

Lando's face paled. "Yeah, Wy. She'd be very upset if you borrowed her massager," he said and tried to snatch it away from his son.

But Wyatt saw the way his father's expression changed. And now it was time for some fun.

He held it behind his back, away from his father. "Are you sure?" He asked. "I don't think she'll mind. Can you call her so I can ask her?"

"No, Wyatt! Give it here!" He tried again to reach for it, but Wyatt went running through the house. Forgetting his coffee, Lando chased after him.

It was all just fun and games to little Wyatt Norris. He didn't realise what he had in his hands, didn't know that he had to put it down! "Wyatt! Come back here!" His father roared as he chased him up the stairs.

Wyatt giggled as he tried to shut himself in his bedroom. But Lando caught the door and threw it open. Wyatt looked at his father, ready to laugh at him, but the look on his face had him falling quiet. His dad was the good cop, the one that didn't get angry. But, right now, Wyatt knew he was in for it.

"Give it," Lando said, holding out his hand.

Wyatt placed the... massager in his fathers hands and awaited his punishment. "Grounded," Lando said, immediately.

"Why?" He asked, but Lando didn't answer, didn't get stuck in that loop. One response to why, and it was all Lando was going to be hearing for the rest of the way.

The Paddock

Lando's little princess could do no wrong. She was the youngest of three, barely old enough to talk, but she already knew she had her father wrapped around her little finger.

Lando loved taking his kids to the track. His boys holding onto him in some way while he carried Arabella to the McLaren garage. His fellow drivers stopped the three of them to say hello to the boys and coo at just how cute Ari Norris was.

She really was cute, but that was what made her so damn dangerous.

For once, the boys were on their best behaviour as Lando took them into the McLaren garage. He almost couldn't believe it, but he stayed quiet. The moment he was to say something, they would have been running around, out of control.

He sat the boys in his drivers room with something to read while he carried Arabella around the garage on his hip.

"There she is," Oscar called as he grinned across the garage. Oscar Piastri loved Arabella Norris. But Arabella Norris did not love Oscar Piastri.

He cooed as he approached and Arabella giggled as she reached towards him. Acting as though she loved him. Nobody was ready for what was to come.

As soon as Ari was settled in her Uncle Oscar's arms, her face went red, screwed up, and she started screaming. Her cries were so damn loud, echoing through the garage.

It was an awful, horrible sound. Oscar's eyes went wide as he stared at the screaming child in his arms. "Lando!" He called, but not much could be heard over Ari's screaming.

But, the moment Lando heard his daughter screaming, he was making his way back across the garage. "C'mon, Ari," he mumbled as he took her and kissed the top of her head. "It's just your Uncle Osc." But there was no way she could hear him.

Sighing, Lando took her back to his drivers room. He bounced her until she calmed enough to fall asleep against him.

Arabella Norris wanted attention from her father and nobody else. The moment somebody that wasn't her father was holding her (with the occasional exception of her mother), she was screaming the house down for him.

The Broken Stuff

Hugo Norris was the clumsiest child in the world.

"Are you sure you've got it?" His mother asked as he began walking out of the kitchen with a glass of lemonade in his hands.

Hugo rolled his eyes. But the second he had done it, his face was flushing and he was full of regret. He should not have done that. "I got it, mama," he said and walked out of the kitchen.

For a little while, everything was fine. Mrs Norris listened out for the unmistakable sound of glass shattering as she cleaned up from lunch. But it never came, and she released a relieved breath.

But then she heard it. The unmistakable sound of glass shattering. "Oops," came Hugo's voice. His mother didn't hear it, though. She grabbed the dustpan and brush and went rushing to the room her middle child had disappeared into.

"Oh, Hugo," she mumbled.

Hugo didn't even have socks on. Placing the dustpan and brush down, she grabbed her child and carried him out of the room, placing him in the hallway. "I'll get you another drink in a minute, Hugs," she said and sent him up to his room (he wasn't in trouble, she just needed a moment to clean up.)

While she cleared up the shattered glass, things were quiet. Wyatt was reading in his room, Arabella was down for a nap, and Hugo was waiting for her to bring him a drink in a plastic cup. She loved her clumsy child, even if he was a little exhausting sometimes.

She didn't hear the second crash over the sound of the hoover, collecting up the tiny bits of glass that she couldn't see with her naked eye. Didn't realise anything had been broken until she headed upstairs with another drink for Hugo.

One of Lando's trophies was in several pieces on the floor. "Oh, Hugo," she mumbled for the second time that day. She walked a little further down the hall and knocked on Hugo's door.

When she pushed the door open, Hugo was hiding beneath his blankets. "Baby," she said as she sat on the end of the bed and placed the water on his bedside table. "Tell me honestly, did you break your fathers trophy?"

He sniffled. "He's gonna be so mad," He cried.

She shook her head. "No, baby. He'll understand and we can always get it fixed. You know, your father used to break trophies back in the day."

Hugo pulled the blanket away from his head. "He did?"

She laughed and launched into the story.

Back to the bedroom

The Norris's laughed as they recounted the stories of their little terrors. "Okay," Lando said, tossing the empty box of condoms to the floor. "Maybe we could do with one more," he said as he rested his body on top of her own. "What do you say mamas? Wanna make another?"

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. "One more couldn't hurt, I suppose," she giggled and kissed him.

That night, and every night for the next few weeks, was what led to her pregnancy. But it was expected and it was what they had wanted. Just one more baby.

Just. The. One.

At her twelve week scan, they found out they were having twins. Oh, she was going to kill her husband.

[seresinhangmanjake]

Don't Touch What’s His

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

Summary: Feyd's harpies attack you while you're both asleep in his bed and he gets real mad.

Notes/Warnings: mention of blood and mutilation, inflicted wounds, and possessiveness. Related to the fic titled His, but this can be read alone. Typos (just being real)

Words: 1100

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

You’re screaming for him before you’re even fully awake, shrieking his name before you can begin to grasp what’s happening to you. All you know is that you’re no longer warm, no longer safe as you’re yanked from his arms and dragged to the bottom edge of the bed. Claws are digging into your calf as primal grumbles and growls and the distinct sound of lips smacking in anticipation reach your ears. Your body is being pulled further and further away, and no pawing at the sheets helps to keep you on the mattress.

Another plea for him is on the tip of your tongue, but then a hand wraps around your arm, engaging in a tug-of-war with whatever monster has a hold on you. Scrapes make lines down your leg as you dig your heels into the bed and back yourself away from the clawed being. You take a few deep breaths and blink, your eyes adjusting to the darkness.

“I told you she’s off limits!” Feyd shouts in a terrifying tone. A tone most commonly reserved for those who inconvenience him: servants and prisoners and his brother. It’s not his low timbre; it’s much more powerful. So powerful that you half-expect a crack to split open the floor.

You blink again and crane your neck to peer over the foot of the bed at who he scolds. Feyd’s harpies are on their hands and knees, staring a hole into your head. It’s a daring choice. When Feyd speaks, those around must be attentive with eyes and ears, but the harpies don’t so much as glance in his direction. They’re here for you, they want you, and clearly nothing else.

“But she looks so yummy,” one of them says, a pout forming on her lips.

“And she smells even better,” the second adds. Her tongue swipes over a sharpened fang.

All three of them begin to crawl across the floor until they’re at your side of the bed. Feyd’s fingers tighten around your arm, his eyes narrowing, and you lean back against his chest just in case they get the idea to lunge at you.

“We won’t eat very much of her,” the third purrs as her hand slithers over the silky sheets, inching toward your body. “Just a few little bites. Plenty left over for our lord na-baron to enjoy.”

When her pointed nails graze your ankle, Feyd leans around you, grabs her wrist, and sharply twists until there's a snap. She yelps. Your body jolts. Tears build in the corners of her eyes. Your jaw drops.

Immediately, they appear to sober up. Their hunger, if still there, doesn’t lust for you so intensely now that fear has taken over.

“You will not sink your filthy fangs into her,” Feyd spits, baring his teeth. “She’s mine. Her flesh, her blood, all of her—mine.” The other two harpies shrink and skitter away from their injured sister. “If I wanted to share, I would have.”

Feyd releases his harpy. She cradles her broken wrist, whimpers emitting from her throat as she scoots back to join the others. They feel safer in a pack. Though you don’t think that will aid them in this case.

“W-We just thought she wouldn’t matter to you,” one of them mutters, her chin tucked to her chest. “We thought you could find another plaything.”

Feyd’s face darkens. The icy blue of his glare wavers under the force of a burning red. As he moves to stand, he jerks you to his side of the bed, separating you from the beastly women by a few more feet.

“What did you just say to me?” he grits out, rounding the mattress and stopping in front of them.

The harpies glance at each other in panic before looking back at their master. “W-We didn't mean–”

“It appears I’ve treated you too well,” he says decisively. “If you’re bold enough to defy my orders, then perhaps you need to be reminded of your place.”

You gulp. You’ve heard that tone. You’ve heard those words. But you have a feeling Feyd’s threats toward his harpies are not as empty as the ones he throws at you, and it makes your stomach squeeze.

Your presence in Giedi Prime’s fortress being the indirect cause of their harm is nothing less than unjust. It’s not their fault their master brought fresh meat home. They cannot control what they are, and Feyd routinely encourages their behavior, excluding only you from the list of bodies they are allowed to feast upon. If anything, this is his fault.

“Get up!” he shouts, and they scramble to their feet.

You rise up on your knees as he turns and yanks open the bedroom door. “Feyd, wait, you don’t have to–”

“Stay!” he snaps, pointing a finger at you.

Your mouth snaps shut and you sit, watching as his harpies obediently follow him out the door. Within the minute, you hear the screams and squeals of pain, and you wince, pressing your hands over your ears.

You don’t know how long you stay in that position. It’s Feyd’s touch that jolts you back into the present.

You look up.

Red is speckled across his torso. You feel a slickness on your face from where he is cupping your cheek, and when he pulls his hand away, you notice the rivers of blood running through the spaces between his fingers.

Without a word, Feyd pushes you down onto the bed, rearranges the covers so they drape appropriately across your body, and crawls under the sheets to settle in beside you.

“What did you do to them?” you ask.

His eyes are already closed by the time the question fully leaves your lips. He blows out a heavy breath through his nose and turns on his side to wrap his arm around your waist. “Removed a few fingers,” he says. “Now go back to sleep.”

“But–”

“Go. To. Sleep,” he grumbles in demand. “Unless you’d rather I change my mind and toss you into their feeding pit…”

It's one of those empty threats, but you don’t press him further. Not for tonight. Tonight he is tired and grumpy and nothing about you pushing him will do you any good. So instead, you allow him to do as he wants. And what he wants is to tuck your head under his chin, eliminate all space between you, and hold you in a grip that is just short of suffocating.