#why would they do a cover of what does the fox say

[oceanwithinsblog]

s5 has been so messy so far 😭 i think i'm starting to understand why nobody voted for it as their fav season in my previous poll jskjsk

actually the Muppets segment was kinda cute and enjoyable though very weird

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Cannibals [Chapter 4: Foxes and Sailfish]

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), awkward interactions on a boat, making friends in the Vale, references to war-related violence, Aemond flashbacks haunt the narrative, Red and Jace share an exciting new experience!

Word count: 5.8k

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Tagging: @themoonofthesun @chattylurker @moonfllowerr @ecstaticactus @mrs-starkgaryen, more in comments 🥰

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The fireplace crackles, there’s smoke in the air. The shards of seashells take shape on the board as you affix them with paste made of boiled bones, unloved bodies you’ve scavenged: rabbits, foxes, deer, weasels, squirrels, snakes, turtles, birds. Sometimes Criston will find you searching for carcasses in the garden or the Godswood—a basket full of skulls and ribs, hands covered with dirt—and beg you to go back to Maegor’s Holdfast where you belong. He says: Please, princess, let me do that for you. I’ll bring you all the bones you need. This is too grisly a task for young ladies. And then, when you try to refuse him: Red, it hurts your mother when you’re like this. And so you accept his offer and surrender your basket, knowing that being the daughter Mother wishes you were will always require pretending.

Aemond is in bed, freshly rid of his left eye and floating in a silent, pearlescent lake of milk of the poppy. He is unconscious for now, but he can only have a dose every six hours, and when it begins to wear off he becomes feverish and fearful. You can’t leave him. Aemond is a year older than you, always just a little bit wiser, always quicker and steadier on his feet; you have never known a world without him in it. But now he is the one who needs you. This is a strange feeling.

Mother, Criston, Helaena, and Maester Orwyle are always gliding in and out of the room—whispering, grim-faced ghosts—but at the moment you are alone with Aemond. A shadow appears in the doorway. It’s Aegon, and his face is marred too: there’s a bruise on his cheekbone from where someone hit him, Grandsire or Mother. He is slumped against the doorframe with a goblet of wine in his hand. He takes a slurp and uses his cup to gesture to where Aemond is sleeping. It’s a question.

“He’s alright, Aegon,” you say. “He’s resting. He’s healing.”

He licks his lips and skims his fingerprint around the rim of the goblet, pensive. “I wasn’t there.”

“None of us were.”

“Does he blame me for what happened?”

“He hasn’t said anything.”

“But you would know if he felt it.”

Would I? Sometimes you don’t believe you know Aemond as well as they imagine you do. There have always been things he doesn’t tell you. You didn’t know he was planning to claim Vhagar. He is unpredictable, he is a deep reservoir of secrets; he taunts you, he guards you, he ignores you, he comes rushing back. You say to Aegon: “I don’t think he blames you.”

Aegon exhales, drunken exhausted relief. “Good.”

Beneath blankets that Helaena has embroidered with legends from the Age of Heroes, Aemond stirs. His remaining eye—glazed, drugged, an empty anemic blue—flutters opens and drifts to you. “Now we know why you don’t have a dragon,” he says, weak and raspy. “The price has gone up. They cost an eye each.”

You paint a sliver of a cerulean-colored shell with glue. “I’d pay that if I knew it would work.”

Aemond asks, as if it has been weighing on him: “Do I horrify you?”

You smile softly. “No more than you did before.”

From where he still loiters in the doorway nursing his wine, Aegon snickers. Aemond grins, then winces from the pain it causes him. “What are you making?”

“It’s Symeon Star-Eyes,” you say, tilting up the mosaic so he can see it better. “You read us that story, remember? He was a knight who used a staff with blades at both ends to cut down his enemies. He was blinded in combat, so he replaced his eyes with sapphires.”

“Sapphires,” Aemond mumbles drowsily.

“Yes.”

“Blue.”

“Like you,” you say, thinking of his game piece: the blue wolf, a mournful color, a beast that kills.

“Hm,” he murmurs to himself as he sinks back into sleep; and it’s not until Aemond’s wound has healed that you learn of the idea you’ve given him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Vermax is not an especially imposing dragon, a drab sort of green and smaller than Sunfyre, but he is frightening enough when he bares his teeth. He snarls and snaps at you, unloosed fire roiling up in his throat. You stand perhaps ten paces away from him, flinching away from the heat that refracts the air and puts ripples in it like disturbed water. Jace is attempting to soothe Vermax, a palm pressed to the beast’s scales. Rhaenyra and Daemon are watching, confounded.

“Mother wasn’t exaggerating,” you tell them. You are crestfallen; this is a humiliation. You have silver hair and undisputed parentage, and yet Jace is the one whose egg hatched. So who is the true Targaryen?

“Very, very peculiar,” Daemon muses, scratching his chin. He turns to Rhaenyra. “Make her get closer, let’s see what happens.”

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra says impatiently. In the light of day, you can observe her face more clearly. There are dark semicircles under her eyes, and lines that didn’t exist before Luke was killed. She is ten years closer to the grave than she was the night her father died.

You cannot see the riots from where you’re standing in the castle courtyard, but you can hear them, the ambient rumbling of people rejecting Rhaenyra’s rule. They decry the slaughter of Jaehaerys. They shout demands of proof that the imprisoned Greens are alive and well: Mother, Helaena, Jaehaera, Maelor, you. Fear of Rhaenyra’s soldiers and her dragons may delay their wrath, but you don’t believe she can quell it. High overhead, Sheepstealer sails past the Red Keep, casting a massive shadow. Rhaenyra’s frown deepens. Daemon pretends not to notice.

“Very well,” Rhaenyra sighs, summoning Jace to return to her and abandon his attempts to quiet Vermax. Dutifully—though perhaps not without resentment—he acquiesces. Vermax is still growling at you. You glower back, wishing that Vhagar was here to eat him. “There are other ways to get to Heart’s Home. A ship will take longer, ten days or two weeks depending on the wind. The journey should be safe. The Sea Snake’s blockade controls Blackwater Bay, and the Greens have no navy.” Rhaenyra looks to you. “That’s still correct, isn’t it? The usurper was refused by the Greyjoys?”

“I don’t know,” you lie.

She gives you a disapproving glare and then turns her attention back to Jace. “Alyn of Hull can take you to the Vale in his ship. I’m sure Corlys can manage without him for a matter as important as this. I’ve sent a raven ahead to the Corbrays. They’ll be expecting you, and you’ll be married upon your arrival, with Lord and Lady Corbray serving as witnesses. You have until then to get accustomed to each other.”

Jace begins to mutter a protest, low enough that you can’t hear. Rhaenyra shushes him. Vermax takes flight and soars out towards the ocean. You step closer to the castle wall and listen to the clamor of the crowds, willing them to rise up and free your family, to destroy Rhaenyra’s. Daemon stalks you around the courtyard, unsheathing Dark Sister and whistling so you know how near he is. You refuse to acknowledge him.

Rhaenyra is telling Jace: “When the war is won, the Greens’ surviving loyalists will accept you as my heir if you are married to her and father her children.”

“What about Aegon? What if Aemond and Criston manage to smuggle him into hiding somewhere, and then one day he reappears and—?”

“Aegon won’t live,” Rhaenyra says confidently. “From what we’ve heard, his burns must be dreadful. He will succumb to them, hopefully slowly and with great pain, and in the meantime Aemond and Vhagar will be pinned down in the eastern Crownlands tending to him. And even once Aemond is unincumbered, he will not want to fly into battle against Caraxes and Sheepstealer together. Vhagar is fearsome, but she is old and slow. Aemond is cunning. He knows this.”

“You told Alicent we’d pardon him,” Jace says, and his tone is accusatory. How could you? How dare you?

“I said I’d spare him if he’s still alive when the war is over,” Rhaenyra replies with a sharp glance. “So let’s make sure he isn’t.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Dinner is sailfish, which you’ve never eaten before. All afternoon you saw them zipping through the water as Alyn of Hull’s ship cruised out of King’s Landing and towards the Gullet, their sapphire dorsal fins cutting up through the surf. Then the crew caught some and hauled them up onto the deck—large bulging eyes, toothless mouths agape as they suffocated in open air—and you watched as the fish were gutted and their scales and organs scrubbed from the planks with seawater that turned rosy with blood. Refuse washed back into the ocean: bones, fins, disembodied eyeballs dragging tails of optic nerves.

Alyn is a bastard of Corlys Velaryon, you’ve gathered; he is young to have been entrusted with his own vessel, and the resemblance is undeniable. He is chivalrous but very strict. You are not permitted in the room where several caged ravens are kept in case Alyn has to send a message back to the capital. You are not permitted to stand too close to the ship’s railing. You are not permitted to handle anything that could be used as a weapon. You are not permitted to converse with the crew. In truth, you are allowed to do almost nothing.

Now you are below deck, you and Jace seated at opposite ends of a long wooden table and alone except for two guards posted by the door. Tall white candles flicker, wobbling in their brass stands as the ship rocks. You drink too much wine and pick at your sailfish, pinkish lumps of meat seasoned with garlic and lemon juice. Jace pushes roasted parsnips and green beans around aimlessly on his plate. You can’t stop thinking of the family you’ve left behind: Mother and Helaena in a dungeon, Jaehaera and Maelor taken hostage by Rhaenyra, Daeron at war in the Reach, Aegon horrifically burned, Aemond and Criston battling to save him.

I shouldn’t be safe while they’re suffering. It’s wrong, it’s treasonous. I’m the least worthy of us. I’ve done nothing to help us win this war. I haven’t saved anyone.

You keep hoping for a vision of what Aemond is doing, what he is feeling, but you’ve never had any control over the glimpses you get into his mind. They are random, and brief, and fragmented. You don’t know if Aegon is still alive. You don’t know if Aemond is thinking of you.

“So that’s why you don’t have a dragon,” Jace says suddenly, and you look up at him, startled. He’s staring at you from beneath the dark curls that have fallen over his face, the mark of House Strong. He’s not entirely unappealing, if you don’t judge him as a Valyrian, an enemy combatant, a traitor. You can’t tell if Jace is being smug or sincere; you barely know him. “Because they hate you.”

Mother’s words resurface in your skull like sailfish dredged up from the waves: If you care for Aemond, as I know you do, you will give him a chance if he and Criston cannot win on the battlefield. You will earn Jace’s affection and convince him to spare us.

You aren’t sure how to earn anybody’s affection. With everyone you’ve known before you either had it or you didn’t, and that never seemed like something you could change.

“It’s not for lack of trying,” you say, fidgeting uneasily with your wine cup. “I tried to claim Vermithor when I was a child. He nearly killed me.”

Jace’s dark eyebrows go up. “Did he? On Dragonstone?”

You nod. “Grandsire arranged for us to visit the island while your family was travelling elsewhere. Driftmark, maybe, I don’t remember. I had always wanted Vermithor, and I felt…I knew that if I found him he would bond to me and let me ride him. I followed him all over Dragonstone for days, but he kept moving, and then…when I finally got close enough…” You’d outrun Criston and the other guards, but Aemond had been there to pull you out of the path of Vermithor’s flames; yet you don’t think Jace will want to hear this. It feels impossible to extricate Aemond from your memories. You’ve never known a life he was not intrinsically entwined with. “The Bronze Fury made his discontentment clear.”

Jace narrows his eyes and gives you an ironic smile, as if he’s thinking: Too bad you lived. “So you gave up.”

“Oh no, I tormented the others too. Silverwing, Grey Ghost, Seasmoke, none of them were very welcoming. I don’t recall Sheepstealer being there at the time…maybe he was feeding elsewhere in the Crownlands. I’d know if I’d seen him before, I think.”

“Sheepstealer is very…unique in appearance.”

You smile at the memory of Grandsire calling him hideous, then go somber when you remember he’s dead. “Grey Ghost was sweet, though. He didn’t attempt to burn me, he just flew away.”

“You’ve tried all of those dragons?” Now Jace seems genuinely intrigued. “Just…one after the other?”

You shrug and swig your wine. Jace gives you a disapproving glance; you put the cup down and begin eating instead. “I wanted a beast for myself. Everyone else had theirs, it seemed inevitable that I would find mine if I searched long enough. I even approached the Cannibal.”

“The Cannibal.” Jace shakes his head and forks sailfish into his mouth; it’s the first bite he’s taken tonight. “You were desperate. Or stupid.”

You smirk. “Or both.”

“What color are his flames? Green, like his eyes?”

“No,” you say softly, remembering the massive black dragon covered in spines like the stalagmites of a cave. “No, the Cannibal’s dragonfire is red.”

“Do you think yourself to be…” Jace gestures vaguely with his fork. “Lacking in some way? Less capable than Helaena or your brothers?”

This is a rude question. “It doesn’t matter what I think. I must be inadequate, or I would have a dragon.”

Jace seems to contemplate this as he eats.

“Why do you ask?” you provoke him, before recalling you’re supposed to be winning his affection, if such a thing is possible, and you very much doubt it. “Are you concerned I’ll pass this fault on to my children?”

“Well, it’s an interest of mine,” Jace says. “Locating dragonriders. What makes someone alluring to the beasts, as well as what doesn’t. This war will be won by dragons, I’m sure each side aspires to have more of them.”

You study him, taking nibbles of your sailfish. Recruiting dragonriders outside of the immediate family is not something Aemond would ever consider; he would not trust them, he would view them as supplanters of the natural order. But a bastard himself… “Was it your idea to find someone to ride Sheepstealer?”

Jace grins, cagey and teasing. He spears green beans with his fork. “I’m not going to tell you that.”

Because I can’t be trusted with the Blacks’ strategies. Just with birthing their heirs. “I didn’t know you had ideas.”

“Yes, well, Mother and Daemon try very hard not to notice them.” He points to your braid with his knife. “Do you wear your hair like that because of Visenya?”

You touch it self-consciously. You’re surprised he noticed. “Yes.”

“She married her brother,” Jace says, and this sounds like an accusation.

“She was also fearless, and dangerous, and she had a dragon.”

“Unlike you.”

“Right.”

Jace chuckles to himself. Now he is certainly being smug. Somewhere out in the night, Vermax is trailing the ship and will reunite with Jace once you’ve docked at Heart’s Home. You keep listening for Vhagar, imagining that Aemond will sense it as you sail near where he and Criston are tending to Aegon at Rook’s Rest, and he will fly to you and torch this ship and bring you home like he’s always promised. But perhaps Aemond is forgetting you. Perhaps he resents that you cannot help him win the war; perhaps he is beginning to hate you. Oblivious, Jace eats his sailfish.

“I had a bat named Sailfish,” you say.

Jace is puzzled. “A bat? Like…?” He makes flapping motions with his hands.

You smile and nod. “I kept bats.”

“Why?”

“Because I enjoyed them,” you say, and again you must stop yourself from mentioning Aemond. He cared for them because I did. “They horrified most people, but the children thought they were adorable. I’d teach them how to hold the bats and feed them bugs and fruit, and Jaehaerys couldn’t stop laughing when they licked honey off his fingers…” Then you shudder and go quiet, because you cannot think of Jaehaerys without seeing his hemorrhaging, headless body in Aegon’s arms.

Jace frowns down at the table. The wooden beams of the ship groan; the candlelight flickers. “Just as Mother and Daemon do not often heed my suggestions,” he says carefully after a while. “They do not share many of their plans with me. I knew nothing of what my stepfather arranged to happen that night. And if I had known, I would not have allowed it.”

I don’t believe you can control Daemon at all, you think. But instead you reply hoarsely: “I’m glad you recognize it for the atrocity that it was.”

“I know I’ve spoken harshly in the past. But if you are truly to be my wife, I wish for us to be in harmony as much as possible. I hope you feel the same way.”

“I do.” You don’t have much of a choice. How can you sleep with a man who hates you, who you hate in equal measure? “And Jace…I didn’t know what was going to happen to Luke or Baela. I had no part in either of their deaths.”

“I can’t…” His voice breaks; he swipes at his dark glistening eyes, like flecks of onyx. “I can’t talk about them.”

You are alarmed. “Jace—”

“Goodnight,” he says as he leaves, already halfway across the room.

~~~~~~~~~~

The first time you’re together—at your vanity, late for dinner—Aemond doesn’t try to put his fingers inside you, and he doesn’t the second time either, or the third, or even the fourth. And this is just fine as far as you’re concerned, because the way Mother has mentioned the duty of a wife implies that there is a great deal of sacrifice involved for the woman, discomfort, pain, even harm, and what you have with Aemond—despite its many peculiarities—has never been painful, and you don’t want to ruin it. You don’t want to find out what other women mean when they talk about boredom and dread and blood.

Then one day you are in the garden, and you and Helaena are trying to teach the children how to play the game with the animal pieces, but they must not be quite old enough because they won’t listen. Jaehaera pokes Jaehaerys with Helaena’s yellow butterfly, Maelor chomps indifferently on Daeron’s purple shadowcat. You and Helaena laugh and give up the attempt as maids swoop in to corral the children.

“We’ll try again in a few months,” you say. “Perhaps they’ll be more tame by then.”

Helaena begins to gather up the game pieces. “We should ask Aegon to carve new animals for the children. Jaehaerys likes seals…” Then her hands go still and she stares at someone who’s standing behind you.

Before you can turn, Aemond leans down to where you’re kneeling on the cobblestones, grabs your braid, and wraps it around his fist. “Follow me,” he whispers into your ear.

“Why? Where?”

“Follow me,” he says again, more forcefully now. “I’m not asking.” Then he releases you with a rough shove and walks away.

You rise from the cobblestones and go after him, weaving through the paths of the garden, fountains trickling and flowers blooming and bees droning in the air. Aemond glances back to make sure you’re in pursuit, then disappears into an arbor grown over with roses, a tunnel of red blossoms and snagging thorns. Aemond sits on a stone bench that is draped in shadows and hidden from view; no one will see you unless they enter the tunnel. You can hear the distant sound of the ocean waves, and gulls and bluejays and the red-tailed hawks the noblemen hunt with. You take a seat beside Aemond, and immediately he lifts your legs so they rest across his lap, reaches beneath the hem of your maroon gown with his right hand, skims his way up the inside of your thigh as you pretend to fight him, all the while smiling and needing him closer, all your blood and muscles screaming for him, your bones aching like fractures that must be set.

“Look at me,” Aemond commands, catching your jaw in his left hand and holding you still, the transparent blue of his eye fixed on your face, where he reads every line and movement like a dead language, like the High Valyrian almost no one left can understand. “I want to know if I’m hurting you.”

Beneath your gown, his fingers are stroking you, waiting for you to be wet and relaxed enough, parting your lips.

“Are you afraid?” Aemond asks.

“No.” Maybe you should be, but you aren’t.

There is an unfamiliar fullness, strange but not unpleasant, and then when Aemond’s fingers begin to move inside you, you moan softly and close your eyes, breaking the spell. He lets go of your jaw and his palm shifts to cradle the side of your face, to bring you in closer, to hold you against him. And now you know that when he finally takes you, as a husband does a wife, it will be painless; and it will never be something you warn your silver-haired children about with dark resignation in your voice.

“What if they won’t let us marry?” you whisper against the warmth of his throat, dreading this more than anything. You don’t know that Targaryens and their dragons will soon be dying. “What if they send me away to wed some lord in the Reach or the Westerlands or the Vale?”

“Then I’ll find you,” Aemond says. “And I’ll burn down his castle, and I’ll bring you home.”

“You’re a monster,” you purr; but there’s a grin on your lips as he kisses you, something scalding and primordial like magma flowing beneath the earth.

~~~~~~~~~~

Heart’s Home is a small grey castle in a vast grey world, the shadows of mountains filling the horizon, the sky overcast and bleak and the air tasting like metal. The last time you were in the Vale was as a girl, when Aemond pushed you into a frigid stream and you caught a chill that almost killed you, and he never apologized but he slept on your floor like a dog so he could be there to climb into bed and hold you when you shivered, and surely that is a greater sort of repentance than two vanishingly small words that anyone could say and perhaps not even mean.

You and Jace disembark from Alyn of Hull’s ship on the banks of where an inland river meets the saltwater of the Narrow Sea. Outside the castle walls, Heart’s Home has a stable and a sizable field, surely green and fertile in the summer, that is surrounded on three sides by a thick forest of coniferous trees. Cawing ravens perch on the branches; a hunting party emerges from the pines accompanied by braying hounds and carrying corpses of foxes to be skinned. You are greeted warmly by Lord Leowyn Corbray—who is tall and ancient, over seventy years old—and his wife Lady Carolei, around fifty and very round, with dark hair and pale skin that the harsh mountain wind rubs pink. While her husband fawns over Jace—“We were so honored by the queen’s request,” “We will ensure that your every need is attended to, Prince Jacaerys”—Lady Carolei Corbray watches you with an amused little smile, as if there are many questions she is impatient to ask you. Then you and your betrothed are ushered into the castle and served mutton pie full of gravy and vegetables, dark bread slathered with butter, blackberry oatcakes for dessert. You drink too much wine, because you know what will happen next. Jace does not reprove you this time; he’s drinking a good amount of ale himself.

The people of the Vale worship the Seven, and for all you know Jace does too, because there is no mention of a Valyrian wedding with fire and blood. Instead you exchange your vows in a tiny sept with plain glass windows and cold slate stones. A weathered, bony septon presides over the ceremony, and Lord Corbray stands in for your dead father. Even if Viserys was still alive, he wouldn’t feel like much less of a stranger. You are covered with a maiden’s cloak of your house—Lady Corbray announces proudly that it was sewn especially for this occasion—but it’s wrong, because they’ve used the old black and red sigil of House Targaryen rather than Aegon’s banner, a golden dragon on a green background. But you suppose it’s fitting because Jace’s cloak isn’t right either, as it depicts the seahorse of House Velaryon rather than the tri-colored flag of House Strong.

At the septon’s direction, Lord Corbray removes your cloak from your shoulders and Jace covers you with his own. And once you’ve exchanged the requisite words and Jace kisses you—him swift and uneasy, you trying not to flinch away—you realize that this is the first time you can remember him touching you. On the journey northward, Jace would sometimes find you pacing the ship’s deck and ask you silted, shallow questions: What kind of weather do you like best? What are your favorite desserts? Do you prefer swimming or horseback riding? What colors do you favor? Your nightly ritual was trying not to discuss your murdered relatives over dinner.

You are put to bed in a grand chamber at the top of one of the castle’s towers. There is a fireplace where logs snap and hiss, and a rug made of a shadowcat’s pelt; a chandelier of lit candles hangs from the ceiling. Through the window, you can see a silvery full moon obscured by clouds. You and Jace—freshly bathed and wearing loose, cotton nightclothes—wait in the quiet once your hosts have left, the blankets pulled up to your waists. All the bedlinens are white, you realize; you don’t think this is by accident.

They want to know if I’m truly a maiden. They want to know if I bleed.

You have no idea if you will or not. Nothing that Aemond has ever done to you has resulted in blood.

I don’t want it to hurt, you think with abrupt panic. You look around for a jar of oil, olive or rose or peppermint, something to help him enter you. You open the drawers of your nightstand and are disappointed to find them empty.

“What are you doing?” Jace asks.

“Nothing.” You can’t explain without revealing you know more than a virgin should.

Jace turns to you. “You really haven’t done this before?”

Your nervousness must be evident. Surely no whore who had already been defiled by her monstrous brother would be sitting here wringing her trembling hands. “No.”

“Okay.” Jace takes a deep breath. He seems resolved to be brave for both of you; that is a husband’s burden, after all. “I haven’t either.”

“But you’ve…I mean, you’re a man, it’s different for you. You have experience of some sort, I assume…?” With Baela? With anyone?

Jace blushes and can’t meet your eyes. “I’m not above temptation. We kissed a few times.”

This is not reassuring. “Do you think you’ll be able to…? With me?” The daughter and sister of enemies?

He nods and smiles faintly. “Oh yeah, I think it’ll all work as it should.” Then he looks at you, dark eyes, dark curls, not ugly but not who you’ve ever imagined you would give yourself to. His gaze settles on your braid. “Here,” he says, and then he gently begins to unravel it.

You aren’t sure what to do. You’re not going to hit Jace, or fight him, or shove him or grab him or scratch him, and so you don’t know where you should put your hands. Once your hair is loose, you sink down to the soft feather mattress until you are lying flat on your back. Jace yanks off his shirt and tosses it to the floor, then he leans towards you, gesturing to your nightgown.

“Is it okay if I…?”

“Sure,” you say, and help him pull it off you. Even beneath the blankets, your bare skin feels the chill of the night air, and with the apprehension and fear there is something else too, a longing, a craving that has gone unsatiated. It’s crude to think, but it’s true: you’re used to being fed, and you haven’t been since Aemond went away.

Unexpectedly, Jace’s eyes don’t go to your breasts or lower; instead, they catch on the scar that cuts down from your left collarbone. He touches it with careful, weightless fingerprints. His voice is tender. “What happened here?”

“An assassin’s blade,” you say. “The night Jaehaerys died.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Here—in bed, in the firelight—he is not Rhaenyra’s eldest son and someone you are supposed to hate, someone who is a threat to your life, someone who once played a part in Aemond losing his eye. Here Jace is just a man, and you are naked, and beneath the blankets he is taking off his cotton trousers and then positioning himself between your legs. You are a little wet already, you can feel it, but you know you need more, you know he needs to make you ready with his fingers and his mouth, but Jace isn’t aware of this and you can’t tell him.

You gasp as he starts to push himself inside you, overwhelming burning pressure. “Jace, I’m afraid.”

He stops and looks down at you with seeking, sympathetic eyes. His skin is flushed, his breathing quick. If you could read his face, you’d think it says: What do you want me to do? I’ll do anything. “We can stop.”

“No, just…just please go slowly, okay? Please don’t hurt me.” No more than you have to.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs, and then—perhaps because he doesn’t know what else to do—he kisses you, and at first it is formal and unnatural like it was in the sept, but then Jace’s lips begin to move with yours and the kiss glows warm like embers. Your fingers go to his hair—not a Targaryen’s, a Strong’s—and tangle in his curls. His hands explore your breasts, grazing and circling your nipples with his fingertips. You wrap your legs around Jace as his tongue darts into your mouth, wanting this, maybe even wanting him.

Jace thrusts into you, and there is a moment of blinding pain that makes you cry out; and for everything that has been said about Aemond—a monster, a murderer, violent and arrogant and wicked—nothing he has ever done to you has hurt like this. Immediately, Jace moves to pull away, but you stop him. “Don’t.”

He shakes his head. “But you’re hurt—”

You hold his face in your hands to make him listen. “I’m alright, I promise. Just wait here, just give me a moment.”

“Okay,” Jace sighs into your throat that’s damp with perspiration. He kisses you there, tasting your salt, fear that has turned to lust. “Okay, okay…”

Already the pain is fading, and your muscles are relaxing, and you are slick with wetness to ease the razored friction. And it’s nothing like the way Aemond knew how to touch you—you are nowhere near a climax—but still, there is something pleasurable about it, there is something nice about being tangled up with a man this way again.

“Go on,” you tell Jace; and he rests his forehead against yours as he thrusts into you, very slowly, and he’s shaking all over, and between breathless kisses he is moaning, in shock that a feeling this good exists, in mindless ecstasy, and then he spills himself inside you and collapses onto your chest, still kissing you, thanking you, asking if you’re alright. Before you can answer, he throws back the blankets and examines the sheets. When you look down, you can see that between your legs is a stain of pale pink, a miniscule amount of blood.

Is that all? you think, relieved. It wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t so good either, but it was tolerable. And it will get better.

“No, no, no,” Jace murmurs, kissing the inside of your thigh. He is distressed, he is repentant. “I wounded you. I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll be alright, Jace,” you say, rather amused.

He crawls back to you and lies down beside you on the bed. He is struggling to keep his eyes open. “You weren’t lying. You’ve never done that before.”

“No.”

“I won’t hurt you again.” He kisses your cheek. “My wife. My princess.” And then he rests his head on his pillow and within a minute he is snoring softly.

“My prince,” you whisper, trying it out. It doesn’t feel right yet, but maybe one day it will. You have to clean yourself off; Jace doesn’t know this about women, but you do. You climb out of bed, and Jace stirs as you leave.

“I love you,” he says, like it’s a reflex he’s repeated a thousand times, like it takes no thought at all. You stare bewildered at him. Jace’s eyes are still closed. And you think of Aemond—suddenly, with great clarity, as Jace sleeps in your shared bed—and you will yourself to be able to see where is and what he’s thinking. But there is nothing: only silence and firelight and the full moon hovering in the overcast, indigo sky outside.

Is he thinking of me? Does he feel lost too?

You have the maids draw a hot bath and you wash it all away, the sweat and the blood and the wetness and Jace’s seed that might give you a child with the unruly dark hair of the Strongs, and still you cannot stop thinking of Aemond.

Did he love me then? Does he love me now?

Back in your bedchamber, you gaze into the flames of the fireplace and try to remember the sound of Aemond’s voice, but you can’t. It keeps bleeding into the words of other people: Aegon, Daeron, Maelor, Jace.

[floshav]

part 2 to my last rodrick fic which u can read here !

part 3 out now !

summary: Rodrick proves his likeness for y/n through a spontaneous kiss leaving her smitten and dazed. However, thoughts of Heather still lingered in her mind, constantly being reminded of the blonde girl whenever she passed by. "Does Rodrick still like her?" "Does he even like me?" What happens when Heather suddenly takes interest in Rodrick after ignoring him for years just because she can't let y/n get what she wants.

wc: 2k plus

warnings: allusions to smut, heavy make out

2 weeks later...

the kiss, no not just the kiss but the two kisses rodrick and y/n shared that night resulted in their relationship. She had been left smitten and the feeling was one of those that even if you wanted to forget, you couldn't. The heart racing, blush inducing feeling of getting kissed on by rodrick the boy she'd been crushing on for years, with his rough boy lips which still managed to be soft and plush because well, he was Rodrick after all.

It was now a plain old Monday and she was lost daydreaming in her Calculus class, or was it english? She couldn't bother to take notice.

"Alright, take out your calculators and flip to page 56. We'll be grinding through the workbook today class!" Ms. Smith yelled whilst her big buggy glasses fell down the tip of her nose bridge, stopped by her finger which shoved them back in place. Y/n couldn't care less. Her mind was swarmed with what happened 2 weeks ago.

His lips grazed hers one more time, this time softer and one might say more lovingly if she was in a state of delirium. She felt his slender hand creep up the side of her hip brushing it against her shirt so so gently. He broke off the kiss and his face was so close to hers she felt as if she might faint right then and there. The boy who was rough, impatient and borderline rude crumbled in-front of her. She'd never seen Rodrick like this before. Each freckle, each fine line, each perfect imperfection visible to her now. She'd imagined this image thousands of times before, but never had she imagined it to come true. Rodrick hesitated before saying his next words "I- I really like you y/n. And- and i just want to set that clear before you try showing up to my house drunk silly again. You were being so wreck less you know that?" He chuckled dorky-ly ever so slightly which made her heart pound just a little harder. Her heart fluttered at how he cared for her.

"M'sorry I-i just, m'just so jealous." She slurred as her eyes began to tear up with a mix of happiness, jealousy, anger and most of all, sadness. "Why? You know i'm here for you and you only, stupid." Rodrick whispered so softly against her lips but y/n's mind swarmed with confusion. "B-but you always *hiccup* talk about Heather." She sighed as she let herself fall into her hands. "Makes it *hiccup* hard to believe" She said again. "I-" He moves further back and a familiar ache rises to her chest, one of abandonment. "She was just someone I was infatuated in. Nothing more. Fuck. If i really liked her, would i have kissed you back? Let alone kiss you again?" He said making eye contact this time. He looked absolutely illegal. The way his hair was his usual mess, his blown out eyeliner smudged beneath his fox eyes. His puffy lips. Everything about him made her feel unreasonably hot in the cool weather. "S-so no more feelings for her?" "No. no more." he said so seriously it made her scared. "In fact, she's an asshole and i don't want any part of her in my life." He said whilst memories of what Heather did earlier fled his mind. Rodrick plants a kiss at the corner of y/n's lips and this time she knows it was meant lovingly. Still, at the back of her mind, the one aching question lingered, didn't he say he loved her?

"Y/n?" "Ms y/n?" She blinked and the memory was interrupted by an annoying voice. "Do you care to open your workbook? Or do you intend on staring at the cover for the next hour?" Ms Smith's breath tickled the hairs on the back of her neck waking her from her daydreams of what happened that hazy night.

"Yea, sorry ms smith." She smiled tightly before flipping to page 66 or 57 the page number was was a blur to her, but an open book would do.

He planted a soft kiss at the crook of her neck.

suddenly her mind wandered to what happened later that night.

Hand riding up under her shirt. "is this okay?" His voice was earnest and soft against the skin of her neck.

her thighs clenched together unintentionally and she felt ashamed for imaging such lewd things. She'd been daydreaming about that night for the past few weeks. Each week making her crave for more until she felt sick. Rodrick hadn't made a move like that on her ever since, and she was just too shy to even ask so images in her mind would do for now.

He unclasped her bra in one swift motion and it made her question if he'd done this before, with... Heather? No, can't be, she doesn't even care for him. Right?

The kissing started to turn into making out and y/n felt his breathing falter when she brushed her pinky against his crotch by accident.

"Fuck do you even know what you're doing right now-"

"Ms. y/l/n!" Just as quickly as it started, her daydreaming had come to a halt.

"I've been calling your name for the past 5 minutes. Care to share your answer to the whole class? I assume you didn't even hear the question number i gave you. Number 5! Now." Ms. Smith tried to hush her yelling down to be more precarious.

"Sorry Ms." Y/n sighed before making her way to the black board with a dumb empty mind filled with Rodrick.

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

The same could be said about Rodrick. His usual sleepiness that was met with classes vanished ever since that night. Instead of sleeping, he was putting his pretty dumb brain to use by thinking. Thinking about y/n. Every night, everyday, every moment. He'd be lying if he said that she was the only girl he'd ever gained feelings for, because Heather Hills did exist. But it was true when he said he didn't like her anymore.

"Mmm- Aaah- R-rodrick p-please not my neck."

"Shhh, just one more kiss y/n, please."

"F-fuck!"

"FUCK FUCK FUCK FUC-"

Before Rodrick's dream could get any steamier he was awoken to the sound of Heather cursing just beside him, clearly to get someone's attention.

"FUCK! how am i going to do this!!!" Heathers voice was painfully exaggerated and Rodrick couldn't help but cringe. Was this the girl he was smitten by before?

"Oh- Hey Roddy!" Heather smirked as she twisted her body to face him.

Rodrick's head was rested on his arm and he couldn't help but look at her with dead eyes, clearly annoyed.

"You.... you play the drums right?"

"Mmm" Rodrick groaned as he scratched his temple, he was surprised at how much he didn't care for THE Heathers presence anymore.

"Was wondering if.... You'd wanna play a gig at my birthday party?"

Rodrick's eyes lit up. A gig? That was a once in a blue moon occasion to rodrick's ears. But reality struck him when he remembered it was Heather who was asking.

"Mmm sorry Heather, don't think i can." Though it ached him to decline the gig, he knew you wouldn't like it so he sucked it up. Rodrick felt a sense of pride when he realised he didn't stumble over his words around her anymore.

"Awwww but why! I'll pay you 50 bucks an hour, and you know my parties last long." She feigned a girly voice as she batted her long eyelashes which icked Rodrick out.

50 bucks an hour..... The offer was tempting but, you were even more tempting.

Before Rodrick could answer, you walked in the class with a goofy smile, ready to see your Rodrick with..... Heather.

Heather shot back daggers through a fake soft smile. The type she'd give to a teacher after almost being caught doing something.

"Oh... Hello there y/n! Sorry, Rodrick was just telling me about how he'd love to play drums at my party. Isn't that right Rodrick?"

"Wh- No?" Rodrick scoffed out, eyes squinting at the mischievous blue eyed blonde.

"Oh c'mon, don't lie to y/n just because you pity her! You're a man! Act like one." Heather said as she got up from her chair slightly agitated at the fact Rodrick didn't play along.

"See you there Roddy." Heather said before smirking and popping out her ass dramatically.

roddy... That nickname made y/n's blood boil and she never wanted to hear it again.

"I swear! I-I did not agree to any of the shit she just yapped about." Rodrick panicked whilst stumbling over his words like a nervous teenager, that familiar feeling rising again but this time towards y/n.

"Hard to believe Rodrick. Or should i say Roddy... God! i shouldnt have been so naive. I'm so stupid! I thought you were over her." Y/n lashed out before storming out the classroom in a hurry, not thinking straight.

"Wait! Fuck. That fucking bitch Heather." Rodrick sighed out as he reached for the class door.

You found yourself slanting against a crusty brick wall beside a half broken vending machine. You don't know why you overreacted so fast without even bothering to hear Rodrick's explanation but maybe it was because you were so stupidly insecure. You quickly fumbled around your pants pockets to find an old packet of ciggs you remembered you left there. There were 2 left so you lit one up and breathed in the pure comfort. It felt nice to not care just for a second with the cigarette around. When it could have gotten more peaceful you heard a set of obnoxious dorky feet approach you.

"Hey." Rodrick said lightly as he squatted down to your eye level, lanky hands hanging by each sides of his knees.

It made you jump a little and your facade of wanting to remain mad slowly revealed itself. You couldn't help but suppress a tight smile from leaking out.

"What" You said as you blew a whiff of smoke away from his face. His heart fluttered at the small gesture.

"I really did not agree to what Heather told you." He said seriously which was a rare look on Rodrick.

"Are you sure? Cuz it seems like you two are getting along just fine" Y/n sighed as she pushed her hair back, Rodrick's heart beat pounding harder by the second.

"Please, believe me I- I really did not agree to anything, I-I really want you to believe me please." Rodrick was pleading which was something she only saw when he was lovesick. At that moment she knew he couldn't harm her emotionally.

"Alright. Fine, I believe you." Y/n said with a tired voice, though deep down she was glad she could read Rodrick like an open book.

"Im so sorry." Rodrick sighs before nuzzling his head in the crook of her neck, still a nervous wreck whenever he handled her.

She releases her cig and reaches in to hug him back tightly and lovingly before breathing in the intoxicating scent of him. Far better than a cig.

Just around the corner was a cheeky little Heather, listening in to every single decibel of the convo. Heather tightly rolled her eyes and scoffed before it turned into a smirk. Something clicked in her head. She knew what she had to do.

She was going to fake it till she made it.

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

lol i feel like this story deserves a pt3 so if this does well i will continue it! I know this has been a long times worth of progress but i've been procrastinating writing like crazy lately and i've only started getting back into it. Anyway please do request because i'm always bored and free !

[shirefantasies]

Hello! I love your work so much, I hope you're doing well! I have an ask for you, whenever you get around to it 🥰 Could I please see the elves react to a reader that just tends to draw wildlife to them? Almost Disney princess style, maybe they just have a calming sort of aura about them. Thanks so much!

The Elves When You Attract Wildlife

Thranduil

The elven king is simply watching you as you stroll through the forest, his eyes following your movements idly. Until, that is, he sees the way you slow. A smile spreads across your face as you excitedly wave him forward, stepping along gently with a flat, inviting hand extended. Its recipient? A slender, graceful white deer lowering its head slowly your way. Such hinds are rare to the forest, revealing themselves most often to elven royalty, and yet here this one was wholeheartedly embracing your presence. Thranduil is reminded all over again how blessed your relationship is as he watches your effortless commune.

Feren

His steps slowed on patrol the first time he caught sight of a bird lighting on your finger, bringing a grin to your face. He sheathed his blade to approach you, each footfall near silent. Head tilting with gentle curiosity, you reached up to stroke its feathers, and it was Feren’s turn to smile, gaping faded in favor of pure admiration. “The forest does not give up its secrets lightly,” Feren told you. You started, but quickly shifted back to a smile upon sight of him, and the way his heart flipped told him everything he needed to know: no discipline would come your way from your distraction. Not when his feelings were growing so strong.

Legolas

Running effortlessly on the snow, Legolas typically does not look back, but the lack of footsteps crunching at his side brings him pause and has him turning around. When he does, his brows raise at the sight a distance behind him. There you are knelt in the snow, seemingly unbothered by the way its cold seeps into your legs, extending a hand. Its recipient? A short distance a way curls a snow-white fox, its form opening as it tentatively steps your way. Smiling, Legolas moves and short distance away, crouching and watching as the fox even lets you stroke its pale fur. Your gentle treatment of animals is exactly why he loves you. Perhaps he should tell you such…

Haldir

The night is cold, wind rushing past your form and whipping through every loose article of your clothing, fabric rapidly brushing skin. Your head is covered with a hood, through which wind whistles into your ears. At your side runs your companion, large furred figure loping against the rush. You do not stop until a voice manages to cut through the wind. "What is that?" Haldir. "I told you I had friends in these woods," you whirled around, answering with a grin. "So I was wrong in taking that to mean allies?" "Only because you haven't seen him hunting," you replied, venturing a tentative stroke of the wolf's head. You had been taming him for some time since you saved him from a trap, so he had grown used to your touch- not quite like a pet. Not yet. "How?" He asked, shaking his head. "How do you do it?" "How I try to do anything, Haldir. With kindness." At that, Haldir's stoicism dropped, finally giving way to a smile.

Galadriel

Seeing you knelt upon the dirt, the Lady of Lórien creeps closer, bare feet making next to no noise as one inches before the other. Tilting her head, Galadriel reaches out a hand, but she never gets a chance to as you turn around. Turn around, in fact, with a small, dark-scaled snake curling up your bared arm. Her lips arced slowly upward. Gradually. Galadriel's face does not often betray her thoughts, but you know her well. She is less guarded with you, so the surprise is clear enough for your own face to fall, to hesitate. "I know some find this strange," you say. Quickly, though, she closes the gap between you, stopping you with a finger to your lips. "All life has a purpose. Your appreciation of it is dear."

Lindir

A tree stump serves as Lindir's seat as he softly plays his flute, eyelids fluttering open to peek at his audience of one: you. There you stand, hands clasped and lips curved in a smile of joyful serenity, as you take in Lindir's composition. Notes flutter on the wind, but that is not all. Your grin widens as a little brown bird dances in the air, flapping closer to you as you extend a hand, one finger out. You are not expecting much, but to your delight and surprise the bird proves you wrong, lighting on your finger. Your eyes only lifted from this unexpected gift and its tiny taloned grip on you when the sound of music faded away; looking up, your eyes met Lindir's, which were looking at you with such adoration as to bring a flush to your cheeks.

Elrond

"Where are you, meleth nîn?" Soft words alert you to the presence of another emerging at your back, but you do not turn, do not alarm the approaching set of hooves. Soft eyes flutter at you from below, where the deer remains with lowered head and tentative stance. Beckoning with your hand, you keep your eyes forward and offer promise of grain. Elrond's hand falls upon your shoulder, lightly, affectionately, and there he stands in comfortable silence until the deer has nibbled its fill from your palm. "I love it here," you whisper, eyes finally rising from their fix upon the woods to meet a pair of warm blue ones. "And I love you," Elrond replies with a soft smile.

Arwen

"So this is where you go to hide away?" Arwen teases, hand gently squeezing the one you lead her by. For your part, you simply giggle and guide her further along the little-worn dirt path. Its end culminating in a pond dancing in the sunlight and lined with rocks and cattails. "Are we hunting for frogs, then?" "No," you grin and shake your head, "Watch this." Cupping your hands in the cool, clear water, you hold them out and wait. Wait and feel Arwen's hand gently upon your waist, holding you in anticipation. Anticipation gratified by the slowing of glassy wings and lighting of a thin red figure upon the edge of your hands. Drinking slowly and rubbing its arms together, the dragonfly looks away from you and drifts through the air to the cattails. A blue one emerges some time later, follows a similar process. Blue, green, and red dance in the air as they dart over the water, sometimes to that which you hold for them. Turning back to face Arwen, you feel yourself flush at the awe alight in her blue eyes. "Care to try?" As soon as she nods and cups her hands, you hold them in yours, plunging all four of them back into the glistening water.

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @kilibaggins @filiswingman @ibabblealot @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia @datglutengoblin @letmelickyoureyeballs @mossyskinn @wordbunch @tiny-and-witchy @th3-st4r-gur1 @fleurdemiel-145 @mistresskayla-blog1 @misabelle717 @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @evattude @kpopgirlbtssvt @rivendell-poet | Reply/Message/Ask to join 🖤

[xviiperr]

Detailed Headcanons: Yandere Sonic

TW: Stalking, possessiveness, murder, mentions of past trauma, manipulation, clingyness, blatant lying.

Is it proof read? Sorta...but I really just wanted to get this post out here cuz it's been on my mind man, I gotta share it!

Lemme know what you guys think! Feel free to comment, like, reblog, whatever! Thanks 🫡

Sonic wouldn’t be the most possessive guy out there, I’d say a score of 50/50. With a reputation like his and ego to accompany, he doesn’t feel the need to hoard you away from others entirely. Sonic lets you hang out with your friends and his alike. However, that doesn’t mean that he’s going to let you go Scott free, Sonic’s been through a lot. There will definitely be times where he has to know where you are, what you’re doing, what you eat, who you are talking with and..and..why you are hanging out with them…? Sonic cannot lose you to another catastrophic event. Even so, Sonic understands that regardless of his feelings, he cannot limit your friendships! And he also understands, to his own justification, you are prone to getting hurt by a crazy scientist (Eggman).

That's what makes Sonic a mastermind at disguising whatever disdain he holds for others in your presence, masking his anger or frustration with a quick smile or a joke. Whenever he’s in battle with much stronger foes that strike terror into his heart, Sonic usually covers this up with masked confidence or making a few jokes to comfort himself and others. Sonic does this in both the games and the comics. If you are a keen observer, you will notice the amount of times Sonic’s eye has twitched, others mistaking it for a wink or Sonic just being plain impatient. His eyes, feet and hand motions are what you need to pay attention to the most. The more Sonic taps his foot and waves his hand, the more agitated he gets and the closer to lashing out, especially if his eyes narrow and he brandishes a sneer. Sonic then makes it a point to get in front of you, as if he is shielding you from the perpetrator.

While Sonic tries to not display his possessiveness in public, he usually fails and displays his need to “subtly” let others know you're with him, openly with physical touch, covering it up as a comforting manner. His hand is usually hovered too close to yours, almost ready to grasp it at a given chance and Sonic has to stand close to your general area. Sonic likes to feel the warmth radiating from your hand, to know that you’re still here for him; if he’s involved with you romantically, he’s going to try to hold your hand or rest his hand on your shoulder as many times as he can. Platonic, his hand will hover the majority of the time, maybe give you a fist bump or a high five. Sonic wants others to know that you are with him, friend or partner. This goes hand in hand with Tails, caring for his brother by playfully teasing him and giving lots of fist bumps. A platonic involvement with Sonic would be similar to his brotherly relationship with Tails, except Sonic is way more protective.

In the Archie comics, Sonic treated Tails like the same little boy he knew when he was growing up. Tails looked up to Sonic like he was a hero, believing that his big brother figure knew everything this world had to offer. But it was when Sonic went with his motto in the Archie comics of living in the moment, doing what he felt was right at the time, shielding Tails from Fiona Fox and ending up dating her. In the long run, this helped Sonic’s and Tails’ bond strengthen, Tails becoming more than a sidekick but an equal. Tails expressed his disdain for how Sonic sheltered him from Fiona; Tails had a major crush on her. Sonic had assumed that his little brother had gotten over it but when it came down to a confrontation, the truth was revealed. Tails yelled at Sonic, stating that he hated him for what he did, especially with Fiona.

I personally believe that Sonic has a bad habit of assuming others want to go along with his plan, especially in this au. He understands that others have their own ways about going through difficult tasks, relenting and letting them take over the missions, (.i.e Rouge, Tails, Knuckles, Archie & IDW series) sometimes, but with you, he thinks that since he is such a dashing hero, you’d automatically want to follow along with whatever he has planned. Sonic’s done this for years! Why wouldn't you trust his superior thinking and quick-witted remarks? Don’t worry, you still get some say in what you think is a good idea and what is not but, don’t expect Sonic to completely place his trust in you once he’s this smitten. He’s seen terrible things happen and he hasn't been able to save everyone that he loves. Sonic believes he has a right to be paranoid, (in a way he does and TOTALLY uses this to his advantage) overriding your decisions in favor of his.

Walk away if you want to, run even, you cannot escape Sonic. You tell him to give you space, to leave you alone, he’ll say, “Alright, alright. I get it, I've been up in your grill, I’m sorry,” (he's not too sorry). He’ll give you that space, if only for a little while. Then, Sonic’s anxious thoughts kick in and he cannot bear the thought of you getting hurt by some crazy event, (cough cough Eggman). Sonic tries to keep himself in check, tries to not crowd you but, he ends up watching you from behind. As soon as you turn your back, he dashes out of the scene. “Didn't say anything ‘bout watching,” Sonic justifies. He knows that he has broken his word. Sonic also knows that this is wrong, stalking you and violating your wishes isn't the right thing to do. And he does it anyway because he loves you, Sonic loves you more than anyone ever will.

When beating up badnicks, Sonic in this AU doesn’t hold back his punches. It’s either them or you, and he’d rather keep you alive so he can dash on by daily, forget the plans you made specifically for yourself. He will join in almost any activity you do, Sonic doesn’t want to be away from you and needs to be a part of your life. If you have a strong resolve and refuse every time, Sonic will resort to stalking you so he can still be with you, (as stated before). What about murder? Now, it's quite rare for Sonic to be driven to murder. He values the excitement around him, including Eggman and his friends. That also includes interdimensional bad guys who seriously need to lighten up. “He-hey! Lighten up chuckles! Someone had a real bad hair day;” Sonic loves his puns and mocking his foes. But, as soon as your life is in danger by the same cause, multiple times…maybe it is just better to get rid of a fun problem.

“Hey Sonic, you took a little longer getting here, is everything okay?” It's not like you need to know. Sonic totally didn't take that one idiotic Mobian villain of the week behind closed doors and showed them how fast he can actually throw punches. Or that he knew how to cut a few limbs off with just a knife. And was so clever with hiding the body where no one could find it; there was a reason Sonic liked water every now and then. He was real glad he knew how to pilot a ship and get rid of the mess. “Yeah! Everything’s fine. Remembered that I had to take care of cleaning up something back at my place, no biggie,” Sonic replies back with a smirking shrug, dismissing your concern. Man, his shoes look a little darker than usual, almost brown. Must've gotten into some mud? Probably. Smells pretty bad, he should wash his shoes.

[blimpintime]

jar of wind part three

Wynnie Lara is a fairy that was saved from a jar from Amarantha's reign of terror, but is soon figuring out that her time of peace is coming to a end.

warnings: angst, light gore, unedited

word count: 2.1k

eventual eris x oc

The wind helps me reach The Night Court in record time even though it was fighting me the entire way, my satchel holds mine and Eris’s gift for Nyx. A stuffed fox and a hand-crafted wooden play tea set. The weather when I get here is cooler than it was when I left, which makes sense considering Summer has come to an end. However, something seems off in the air and I can’t place what it is. Shrugging my shoulders and letting out the breath I was holding, I just blamed it on the nerves of being back here. 

When I finally get to the River House I notice some slight changes; like the wind chimes I had placed had been taken down or the sun catchers that were hanging are now lying in the dirt half haphazardly covered in soil. I roll my eyes and sigh. I grip my satchel a little tighter and fold my glowing wings behind my back. My pink glow has turned into a warm purple matching the sunset in the sky that is covering Velaris.

A sinking feeling coats me when I am about to knock on the door, hearing sounds of laughter and excitement escape through the small cracks of the door. I suddenly wish Eris was with me but shake off the thought. He is a High Lord now, he has more important things to worry about than you. I think to myself. My hand was hovering over the door for an awkward amount of time before I just decided to rip off the bandage and knock. 

A breath releases from me when it is Elain who answers the door and not someone else. Her face brightens with a huge grin and she practically tackles me with a hug. 

“Wynn!” She shouts, and I am wondering if she has had just a little bit to drink. I grin back and say her name in a quieter tone. 

She pulls me into the warm house, her pale pink dress fluttering around her as she moves. She was always so naturally welcoming to me. When she had first discovered me lying in the sun on one of her flowers she almost had a heart attack but quickly after that, we became close friends. I doubt I would have met the rest of the inner circle if it weren’t for Elain. So maybe that’s why I always felt like an imposter here. 

“You and I have so much to catch up on!” She tells me. I shoot her back a grin.

“As if we weren’t sending letters back and forth weekly?” I say with a teasing smile. 

“It is simply not the same, I must see your reaction.” She responds in a whisper as though she doesn’t want anyone else to hear. 

“Ahh. I understand.” I whisper back in the same joking tone. We arrived where everyone else had been sitting and a silence went over the room. I internally wince at the awkwardness, but luckily it does not last long when Feyre and Nesta stand to greet me. 

“Wynnie Lara!” Nesta says she and Feyre pull me into a hug, Nesta in a gray dress and Feyre in a dark blue one. I look over their shoulder to see Azriel avoiding eye contact with where we are standing, and Cassian and Rhys both have guilty smiles on their faces. It seems I arrived a little too late and Nyx was put to sleep already. 

When the sisters pull away from their hug I am left there standing awkwardly with Elain hanging off of my shoulder. She’s keeping my body warm and relaxed even though I would rather be anywhere else right now. 

Rhys clears his throat, “Wynn I want to apologize for how things were left the last time you were here.” I give a stiff nod in acknowledgment before saying,

“Is that really how you feel or is that what your wife told you to say?” and the room responds in a thick silence. “Because I do not think I can trust any words that leave your mouth High Lord.” 

He gives a wince, “I deserve that.” Nesta coughs and takes a sip of her drink muttering something under her breath. 

“Did you come here to throw a pity party or did you come here to celebrate?” Azriel butts in as if he is bored of this whole show.

“I don’t know Azriel, what poor girl do you have feeding your hero complex to make you so relaxed?” I bite back. “Just a forewarning, she probably won’t stick around once she realizes how much of a little bitch you are.” He stands up abruptly and Rhys raises his hand as a warning and someone snorts in the background. 

“Wynn,” Rhys says shocked. I look at him and my glow turns pink and I mutter out a weak, “Sorry.” I’m not. 

“I actually do have a gift for little Nyx,” I say and reach into my satchel. Elain’s face is still tucked into my neck, and she whispers “You smell like clove and nutmeg.” 

I grin a little knowing that is the Autumn Courts doing, and my mood goes melancholy when I realize I miss it. When I pull out the little toys, Feyre’s face lights up and before she walks over Rhys puts a hand out in front of her to stop her. 

“Wynn.” He says, “Where were you for the past few months?” He asks although I suspect he already knows the answer.

“Home, High Lord,” I respond sharply.  “The Autumn Court. Eris sends his regards.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Azriel shouts out. “You’re a traitor Wynnie Lara.” I roll my eyes. 

“Oh to the Mother. No, I am not.” I breathe before continuing, “If any of you actually took the time to get to know me, you would have already known that is where I am from. I mean the girls already knew and to be honest the only one who has a right to be upset is Mor and she is not.” I take notice that Mor was not here which was weird considering it was Nyx’s birthday but that tells me she is probably on an important mission. 

“My kind also has a tragic backstory, just like you guys. My people, my species were hunted for sport centuries ago. Humans, fae, it didn’t matter it was a game. So when it was eventually outlawed across Prythian we had already borderline gone extinct.” I say with a shaking voice. I look to see horror across everyone’s face and it fills me with some sick satisfaction that they regret how they’ve been treating me.

“Wynn-” Elain starts but I pat her hand to let me continue. 

“The worst time though, was not the hunting. No, it was Amarantha. Yes I know I was stuck in a jar. But I watched her terrorize the rest of my people for fun, ripping them in half and plucking their wings off their backs as if they were nothing but gnats. All I have seen for my kind is gruesome bloodshed.” I have tears streaming down my face as I continue. 

“The only one to ever show me kindness during all of that was Eris. That is because he and I grew up together. When I found the Autumn Court there was a children’s shelter that I made my home for years. He and I found each other in the woods in our youth, he was the one to break me out of that damn jar when everything was over. Without him, I would have been stuck in the jar or worse.

Because of his father’s cruel reign, once I was healed enough Eris sent me here for sanctuary. I did not know any of you really besides Feyre and that was only because she was the Cursebreaker.” I managed to get out. Elain wrapped me up in her arms whispering words of encouragement while swaying us both. Feyre had tears streaming down her face. Nesta had a hand covering her mouth in dread and Cassian rubbing her back with the same grim look on his face.

Azriel is wrapped in shame and Rhysand looks horrified. He stands up and walks towards me, gently takes the gifts out of my hands, and offers me a hug. And for a moment I don’t return it, but when I do, I feel a weight taken off my shoulders. 

“Wynn if we would have known.” Rhys starts but I interrupt. 

“You would have what? Treated me better? Do I not just deserve your kindness as is? Or do people have to have some sort of traumatic backstory to earn your respect?” I clear my throat and nose once I pull back, “I did not tell you guys that to pity me, I am telling you because just because I am kind and small does not mean I am weak or some pushover. If you do not want me here that’s fine I will leave. But do not take whatever feelings you are struggling with, out on me.” I make it a point to hold eye contact with Azriel for that last part. 

“I think we all owe you a huge apology for how you have been treated since arriving in Velaris. This city was built to be and stay a sanctuary, so the fact that you have been behaved towards so unfairly is embarrassing, to say the least.” Rhysand says standing sternly next to me.

“I am sorry the most. I have no real reason to have treated you the way I have.” Azriel speaks softly.  “Please forgive me.” I look at him and give him a once-over. He is slouching in the chair he is sitting in, hands rubbing his face as the shadows around him twirl. 

“I do forgive you but I do not think I could ever trust you,” I respond in the same tone, he winces and nods. Everyone gives their condolences to me, even Elain but I think that’s because she is tipsy and her emotions are just heightened. 

After the tense moment is over I let the group know that I will be leaving. The three sisters all looked shocked. 

“I really do wish I could stay longer but I have work to do back in Autumn, plus something is wrong. Or is about to be wrong, I am not sure.” I say with a furrow of my brows grabbing my arms and wrapping them around myself.  My wings glow and twitch as I think about the shifting of the wind. And my hue finally changes back to its normal orange-pink. 

“What do you mean?” Cassian finally speaks up with a questioning look on his face. 

“I have a hard time trying to describe it in words, but I am connected to the wind as you all know. And it’s shifting weirdly and in abnormal patterns. I can normally predict how the weather is going to be based on it and I have been wrong little to none because of being able to read the wind. Recently though it is like I have never interacted with the wind at all.” I utter all at once. 

“I am not sure though. I have to get back to my research and experiments to figure more out. Once I do, I will make sure to write.” I let out with a soft smile.

I am sensing because of the heavy conversation and the lateness of the evening that the party is over. I give my goodbyes, hug Elain, and make sure she will still write to me weekly.  With that, I take off back into the night sky and head home. 

While gliding through the air I had almost reached the Autumn Court when the wind around me went frigid and midflight I dropped towards the ground. Once my wings regain their sense of balance I spin in the sky looking for a threat, and as expected I come up empty. As I am about to continue my flight home a hard spike goes through my left hand. A yelp leaves my throat and I look to see an arrow, piercing my hand. I yell as I start to fall, my wings having a hard time opening. I get shot with another arrow through my right thigh, I let an agonizing scream out and close my eyes once I hit the cold ground with a hard thud. 

Bleary-eyed trying to stand I feel warm blood coming out of my hand and leg, I see a figure walking towards me and I try to crawl away leaving a trail of fresh blood following me, “No, leave me alone.” I grunt out. Once they reach me I pray to the Mother that my death be swift, and then it goes dark. 

a/n: soooooo what did yall think?

i do not own any of sarah j mass's characters.

taglist: @cazrielsfairygf @buckyloki888 @litnerdwrites @the-fandom-ness @booksbypisces @nerdyalmondlawyerauthor @fatimam6 @lees-chaotic-brain @love-bookprincess @paleidiot @slytherintaco @lilah-asteria @rcarbo1 @esposadomd

[purple-writer8]

I Know Places - ACOTAR

Rhysand x Vanserra!Reader

“They are the hunters, we are the foxes. And we run.”

warnings: abused eris, autumn court shenanigans, mentioned abuse (verbal and physical), talks of violence, forbidden love, beron being beron, beron being abusive, physical abuse, angst, sexism, the autumn court brothers, angst, beron slander (as he deserves)

1.1k words

Part Two to But Daddy I Love Him

Masterlist :)

Your father had struck you across your face. He killed you. Killed you and killed your happiness. You thought he would understand, that he would let you marry Rhysand and you would be happy. What a fool you were to think Beron would ever allow you free will. “I’m sorry, darling,” your mother had been comforting you for hours now. 

 Your head rested on her lap as she weaved her fingers through your dirty blonde hair. “How can he be like this? Why doesn’t he want me to be happy?” You cried softly, your hands gripping your mother’s skirts with a white-knuckle grip. 

 “He… well, he loves you… he means well…” she trembled as she spoke, and you knew that she did not mean that. “How can you say that, mother? Means well? He struck me three times…” you sobbed unto her lap, your heart aching for one person— your lover. 

“Darling, I know he is… unorthodox in his ways, but he cares about your future.” You sat up from your stance when she spoke those words, rage flaring inside your body at her claims. "Cares about my future?! How can you say that after what he did?" You spat angrily, your hands burning with your fire that was just begging to be let out. 

"Rhysand is a bad man... his court... it's a nightmare. There are no morals there. He is a cruel, wicked man, just like his father," your mother contested. You could tell that she was distressed, just like you could tell how abused she was by your father, how she feared him even when he was not around. 

"Do you think I am daft, mother?" You asked quietly. 

"No, honey. You are just youn-" You cut her off. 

"Do you think I don't know, mother? You think I haven't seen how beaten he leaves Eris after he makes a small mistake? You think I haven't seen how he eggs Fenix on to compete with Eris constantly? How he beats each of my brothers into oblivion? You think I don't know what happened to Jesminda and Lucien?" You were erratic, trying to get her to understand that you were no longer a child. 

Your eyes drifted to her arms, covered by her long sleeved dress, "you think I don't know what he does to you?" 

The Lady of Autumn stilled, her face falling as she stared at you solemnly. "I have tried to protect you... Eris has tried. Even Beron has tried. Our reality is not perfect, but your father loves you, and he wants to protect you." 

"I don't need protection, mother. I am not a child anymore... I am a female grown... and I want Rhys, and he wants me." You stated in an unwavering manner. 

"You must understand that Rhysand is not a good man, honey. The Night Court is the worst place to be, the fae there are deranged and depraved," your mother countered. 

You knew there was darkness in the Night Court, but you also knew there was light. So much light. You saw it, Rhys had shown you. But you could never say that, you had promised to keep Velaris a secret, and you would. "There must be good there, mother. I know there must," you stated softly. 

When she did not answer, you said, "he loves me and he would never hurt me. I deserve him, and he deserves me. I wish to be happy." 

She blinked and wiped her hands on her skirts, shaking her head, "your father has made up his mind, it is time you come to terms with that. We are Vanserras, it is the hand we were dealt." With that, the Lady of Autumn left your chambers, sending you further into despair. So, just because you were a Vanserra you had to deal with abuse and unhappiness? 

You would let your family say what they wanted, but you wouldn't hear it. Loose lips sunk ships all the time, but not this time. Left to your own devices, you decided you wouldn't put up with your father's abuse. You rushed to your vanity and rummaged through the cabinet that held all of your trinkets until you found it. 

A mirror.  A beautiful sapphire encrusted mirror given to you by Rhys a few months back. You reached for your red tube of lipstick and wrote on the glass, Come and get me. It was an enchanted mirror, made for the two of you to communicate through it, since he could not reach you in Autumn. You set the mirror down and waited, hoping that your lover hadn't shoved his own mirror in a drawer and forgotten about it. 

You spent the day pacing back and forth in your chambers, hands trembling as you constantly checked the mirror for a reply back. Rhys, please, you pleaded in your mind. 

"I love it when you beg," you let out a happy shriek when your lover appeared in the middle of your room, having winnowed in suddenly. You jumped into Rhys's arms, snaking your own over his neck and pulling him in. His arms slithered around your waist, holding you steady as you held on to him for dear life. 

"Thank the Cauldron," you cried happy tears, ready for him to take you away from this cage. Rhys pulled away and inspected your figure, his violet eyes turning dark, his thumb grazing over the bruising on your cheek as he growled, "Beron." 

A tear slipped down your cheek, a tear he collected with his thumb, "you won't ever suffer under your father again." 

"I just want to go with you," you sniffed, leaning your head against his hand as he cupped your cheek. The door to your chambers opened swiftly, "sister, I've brought you suppe-" 

Eris dropped the plate when he saw the High Lord of Night holding you close, his expression turning into steel. You yelped and clung to Rhys for dear life as your older brother sent fire bolts his way-- bolts that bounced off the shield Rhysand had put up around the two of you. "It doesn't have to be like this," Rhysand told your brother in a sing-song voice. 

"Let her go! This is a breach! This means war, Rhysand." Eris growled and you could only shake your head. "I'm sorry," was what you said before Rhys winnowed the two of you away. 

As you were winnowed into a manor-- in the Night Court, you assumed-- you fell to your knees, loud sobs leaving your body. Rhys was quick to kneel with you, taking your trembling hands in his. "This is what you want?" He asked in a soft tone. 

You nodded, "for me it's always you. It's only you, but... I'll miss Eris."

"I know, lovely. But this is the only way." 

"I know." You said, standing up with his help. 

A feline smile spread on his face as he motioned to the starry and gorgeous view outside the balcony he had winnowed into, "Welcome to the Night Court." 

-

Author’s note:

Part three of her meeting th IC and fluff? ALSO THANK YOU SM FOR THE COMMENTS ON PART ONEEEEE i am bursting with love

General Taglist: @mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria @sheblogs @x-reader-x @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @circe143

Series Taglist: @minaethrym @cherry-cin @acourtofimagines @slytherintaco @mp-littlebit @misskennygirl @umgatochamadopercyval @nayaniasworld @tenaciousperfectionunknown

[laviechuchu]

Omfgffggff I js found u through the nerd guy fic and I'm obsessed!!!

Ik we are all not so sane here so,,,

If I can request a silly rebellious reader and stepdad punishing the reader for hanging out with good for nothing guy friends with skimpy outfits

:3 Thanks!!! ( You don't need to do ... this is straight up crazy ik lol )

Author’s note: AHH HELLOOO IM SO HAPPY!!! AND OFC SORRY FOR MAKING YOU WAIT!

Content below: use of y/n, AFAB reader, brat taming, punishment, use of nicknames such as babygirl, pet, cheating?, stepcest, minor writing smut, bratty reader, cigars, reader is 18+, dubcon.

Proceed to read..

“Ugh i told you, pick me up tomorrow. My stepdad is coming and i wanna act long enough so i can take some money from him. Then you and cain and me can have some fun! You bring the alcohol!” You giggle as you lay down in your very pink and girly room. The teddy bear your stepfather gave you for your birthday just slumping onto your pillows

You giggle as your best friend starts to ramble about how fun tomorrow will be and starts to ask the real questions “your stepdad is hot! Not gonna lie, i mean! Hes a silver fox!” She squeals as you gag “yuck no! Live with him for a day and you’ll see how controlling and bossy he is�� you mumble.

The laptop was still on video call as you roll around on your bed. You sigh as suddenly you hear a doorbell “shit! Be right back!” You yell and slam your laptop closed.

Your feet scramble to the door and open the wood separating you and your money machine.

“Daddy! Welcome home” you giggle and hug him. Ugh disgusting…he smells like his cologne and smoke. He looks at you with disinterest and lets out a low hum. His eyes looking at your perked nipples from your lack of bra.

“Have you been studying? As i told you? I gave you two weeks” he says, pulling away from the hug. What the fuck? Does he have a stick up his ass or something?

Oh yeah about that “ah… yup!” You say with a lopsided grin, batting your eyelashes at the older man. He seems to see right through you but you dont really care, all you need is a few hours and his money and then you can meet your friends-

“Yeah? Ill be testing you tonight.” He says bluntly and starts to head to the kitchen to get dinner for himself.

“Well… im heading out cain and nicole” you say, a little more happily then you mean to. He takes out a cigar and looks at you dead in the eyes. “No.” He states bluntly “wearing a skirt that short? Thigh highs? And what is this..” he comes closer to you your chest almost just almost reaching his. He pinches at your left nipple “a flimsy piece of cloth, that you little ones call a top.”

You yelp and cover your chest “why the hell were you looking?”

“Im your father, and you are not going out like that, with your so called boyfriend who only wants you for your body” he states. Grabbing the back of your top like a cat would.

He goes to his office and throws you on the chair and locks the door

“Question one, look at the fucking paper. A, B, C or D?” He loosens his tie and undoes his pants. Sitting you on his lap “the faster you finish the faster ill let you go” he says putting his cigar down.

“Fuck! I dont know? B?” You say, you feel something warm against your cunt. You unconsciously grind on the feeling “bad girl” he says as he pulls your panties aside and shoves the tip inside. You feel the slight burn and you tear up. Sick motherfucker is gonna rape you?

He grabs your waist and shoves everything inside in one go. No lube no nothing. Just raw fucking cock.

You yell and cry “fuck you! You sick piece of shit” you attempt to get off his lap when he pushes you on your chest. His heavy balls against your clit.

“Its okay babygirl.. you dont need to use your smooth brain anymore” he whispers in your ear. Slowly moving in and out of you “you can be my personal pet from now on” his fingers gently rubbing circles on your clit. You moan gently, your eyes tearing up at the smell of your stepdad the one you used to love but now.. you’re not sure anymore

“Daddy…d-daddy” you mumble dumbly, his cock slipping in and out of you. Your feet barely touch the floor “im sorry baby, this is your punishment” he says before his pace becomes faster and faster. You squeal and try to hold on to him. Your pussy squelches and pulses. Your ass connecting to his hips.

“D-daddy!” You cry. The swirls on your clit becoming faster yet precise “becoming a dumb little girl already? Poor thing… must have been so pent up” he coos, your brain is turning into mush as your legs shake from the pounding. Your cunny fluttering around him, be groans “ah fuck…”

His hand that was once on your clit, now on your nipple. Tweaking them just painful enough for you to keep your sanity in check. “Need a new piercing on your nipples now. Maybe my initials?” He teases.

“I-im gonna cum” you manage to mumble out. The wet skin slapping is making your brain fuzzy “daddy.. i need your cum” you say your tongue lolling out, awaiting his tongue.

He smirks at your now dumb form and gives a few more thrusts but pulls out at the last second.

“Maybe after you get the questions right” he says his gentle smile making you feel warmer.

(SORRY THIS IS BAD ILL WORK ON IT BETTER SOON ENOUGH, I WAS MEANT TO PUT THIS IS DRAFTS BUT ACCIDENTALLY POSTED IT)

[cecilysass]

Honest Man (1/3)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter One

He almost never goes out to bars in Alexandria, and when he does, he’s typically in some kind of despairing mood. But Mulder isn’t despairing tonight. He’s hopeful.

It’s hope tempered with some reservation, of course. He’s not stupid—the other shoe can always drop—but there’s definitely a feeling that there could be less troubled paths ahead. If all goes well.

The pub is crowded, so he stands in the entrance scanning the room for her, feeling strangely awkward, like an adolescent boy. He jogged a little to get here at the time they arranged, and Mulder’s uncomfortably sweating now in his work clothes. He loosens his collar and tie.

She’s sitting with stately posture at a side booth, a menu propped in front of her. She spots him and raises a single hand.

He eagerly makes his way across the room, ducking in between the people making their way to get a drink at the bar, and slips into the seat across from her. “Hi,” he says. “Sorry I’m late.”

“I’m used to it, Fox,” she says, coolly amused. Diana slides him a menu. “It’s given me plenty of time to look over the culinary options here at the Honest Man Pub.” She draws out the name of the bar in an affected way, a little mockingly.

He smirks at her. “Come on. Who doesn’t like an Honest Man, Diana?”

“Who indeed.” She smiles tightly. “As it happens, I remember your taste in restaurants, so I’m not surprised.”

“Mozzarella sticks,” he says, pointing a finger at the menu enthusiastically. “You want to share some? I’m starving.”

“No thanks. I ordered a negroni.”

“Look,” Mulder gestures towards a woodcut illustration of Abraham Lincoln on the cover of the menu. “It’s Honest Abe, Diana. Trustworthy. You sure you don’t want a burger or something?”

“I’m really not hungry,” she says. But she, too, flips the menu over to look at it. She traces Lincoln’s face with her fingertip. “You think it’s supposed to be a reference to that story about chopping down the cherry tree?”

“That was George Washington.” Mulder sets the menu down and gives her a mildly admonishing look.

“What? I’m no historian,” she says dismissively. “And what politician has the luxury of honesty anyway?”

Diana’s not wearing her work clothes, he notices in surprise. Unless she wears a form-fitting black dress to work, and he doesn’t think she does. He chews his lip, wondering why she bothered to go home to change, especially because he’s pretty sure she lives in DC.

After the server passes by, and Mulder orders his beer and mozzarella sticks, he turns his attention back to her. “Well? What’s up?” He folds his hands on the table. “You made it sound like good news.”

Her cocktail is placed directly in front of her, and she murmurs a polite thanks to the server. “Potentially it is,” she says. “I need your help on a case, and I think if you do well, it could be … a step in the right direction.”

He tries to play it cool, even though this is exactly what he hoped. “My help? Did Kersh have a personality transplant or something?”

“This would be outside of official channels,” she explains. “At first, anyway.”

There are several cardboard coasters on the table with quotes printed on them in homey, old-fashioned typeface. The one nearest Mulder reads: “An honest man is always a child. - Socrates.” He pushes the coaster around the table with his fingertip, nodding slowly. “I’m listening.”

“There have been a series of credible sightings of unusual crafts flying low outside of Groom Lake,” she says in a low voice. She sips her drink, meeting his eyes. “I know you’ve probably been following it. Kersh doesn’t want Jeffrey and I to spend too much time there. But you could go.”

“Under what auspices?”

“It would have to be extracurricular.” She shrugs, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly. “You’ve done this sort of thing before, Fox.”

“Shiner Bock,” the server says cheerfully, setting a bottle down in front of Mulder. “Your mozzarella sticks should be out soon.”

“Thanks,” says Mulder. As the server darts off, he takes a slow sip, mulling over Diana’s words. “How would this be a step in the right direction?”

Diana leans towards him, her glass resting against her cheek. “Jeffrey and I have received some information about experimental craft at Groom Lake,” she says softly. “If we could put that together with your field work—and what you already have in the files—then we could have a report they’d have to take seriously.”

Mulder can’t help but feel excited, but he takes pains to mask it, chuckling cynically. “I’ve been down this road before, Diana.” He shrugs. “It never amounts to much. Plus, Kersh is already looking for any reason to chuck me out of the Bureau. This could easily be it.”

She reaches across the table and clasps his hand tight. “Not if I have your back.”

He frowns a little, confused by her meaning. She’s much more open to this than he expected. Still, his whole soul cries out to get back to working on the X-files. It’s almost all he thinks about these days. If there is a way forward here, he needs to hear all of it.

“We’ve always made a good team,” Diana points out. “We could be again. And this is your life’s work. You’re wasted in the bullpen.”

“Yeah,” Mulder says uneasily, “but what would—”

“I knew it.” interrupts a booming voice startlingly close to their table.

Mulder looks up blankly, and it takes him a half second to place the tall, pink-faced man towering angrily over them.

He knows Bill Scully’s face very well—associates it with some of his most emotionally vulnerable moments, in fact—but seeing it here in this Virginia bar, out of context, gives him a moment’s pause.

“I just knew it,” repeats Bill, his eyes narrowing. He squints down at Mulder murderously. “You’re not even worth … one of her goddamn pinky toes, you no good son of a bitch.”

“Bill,” Mulder murmurs, staring back. The man seems to be swaying slightly from side to side as he spits words out, as though he’s insulting Mulder on rough seas. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

Bill leans over, placing a palm flat on the table, and Mulder can distinctly smell whiskey on his breath.

“You have some nerve,” Bill hisses. “This is how you treat her? After everything you’ve done? Now you’re just out … on some date?”

Diana gives him a significant, questioning look, and Mulder straightens in his seat, his eyes scanning behind Bill’s back for a sign of who might be accompanying him. “I think you‘ve had a few too many tonight,” Mulder attempts genially. “You’re not making much sense. Why don’t I—”

“Why don’t you shut your damn mouth for once in your life?” Bill bellows. The group of young people at the next table looks over, watching them now, their expressions half interested and half alarmed.

Bill turns his attention to Diana, pointing one of his large fingers at her like a scolding father, even though Mulder is pretty sure Diana is at least Bill’s age, if not older. “What do you know about this guy, miss?” His words are definitely slurring. “How much did he tell you? Did you know he’s a dangerous sonofabitch?”

Diana smiles stiffly. “I’m safe, thank you.”

“Well, when he asked you out,” Bill says to her, gesturing sloppily, “did he mention he’s been fucking my sister for years? Destroying her life? Breaking her heart?”

He knows Bill’s drunk, and he knows Bill doesn’t have his facts right, but Mulder can’t help feeling the sting of shame over what he’s being accused of. Part of it, anyway. He hears himself inhale sharply by reflex.

Diana’s eyebrows have arched in surprise. She looks pointedly at Mulder. “Oh? Is that right? Who’s your sister?”

“My sister Dana,” Bill spits out, slamming his hand on the table for emphasis. “My baby sister.”

“Ah,” Diana responds conversationally. “You’re Agent Scully’s brother.” She seems unfazed by this information. “We both work with her, actually. Why don’t you join us for a moment?”

She scoots over in her seat, gesturing calmly to the spot next to her. Mulder doesn’t move, paralyzed with horror at the way this is unfolding.

Bill looks at Diana a moment, his jaw clenched, and then, to Mulder’s shock, slides in next to her in the booth, turning to direct his glare at Mulder.

For a moment Mulder just stares, slack-jawed, back into the man’s furious face. Bill seems to be waiting for something—for Mulder to explain himself, probably.

“This … isn’t a date,” Mulder begins, pointing between Diana and himself. “It’s work. And you need to understand that your sister and I aren’t in a romantic relationship either. Or a, uh, sexual relationship.”

Bill chuckles, shaking his head slowly, then abruptly changes mood, pounding his fist loudly and suddenly on the table and causing both Diana and Mulder to startle.

“Then why?” he demands, meeting Mulder’s eyes intensely in a way that reminds him, unsettlingly, of Scully. “Why does she do it? Why does she put up with you?”

“I … really don’t know,” Mulder admits miserably. “You’d have to ask her.”

“I know my sister,” Bill says, his features softening a little. “There are only … a few reasons why she would do it.” His tone goes cold. “Does she know you’re on a date?”

“No,” Mulder answers quickly, “but it’s not a—”

“I hate you,” Bill leans forward to whisper to him. “I hate you for what you’ve put her through. Now you’re cheating. On a fucking date. Jesus.”

“Yo, Scully,” comes a masculine voice from the bar. “Where’d you go?” Mulder looks around nervously, half expecting to see his partner, but of course the voice is calling for Bill. A group of men in their 30s and 40s, all with square shoulders and military haircuts, seem to be looking in this direction. Bill doesn’t even look back at them.

“You don’t understand,” Mulder says. He feels panicky and anxious. “It’s not a date. And Scully’s my partner, not my—”

“Jesus, shut the fuck up,” Bill groans. He slides out of the booth. “Don’t you ever get tired of your annoying-ass voice?”

He does, actually, more often than one might think.

“Bill, wait, are you—” Mulder stops suddenly.

He realizes what he was about to ask—are you going to tell Scully that you saw us here?—sounds completely at odds with what he has been telling Bill, what he has been telling himself. That question doesn’t make him sound like a partner out talking about work with a colleague.

It makes him sound like he thinks he’s doing something wrong, something he needs to hide.

The truth is that he does think Scully would be angry to know he’d met Diana here. She would be angry for a whole snarl of tangled reasons—and yeah, hurt, like Bill says. He doesn’t especially want her to know.

“Am I what?” Bill sneers, turning back around jerkily.

“Are you … okay to get home?” Mulder mumbles. “You have a ride?”

Bill gives him a look of withering contempt. “That’s none of your fucking business.” He turns and staggers back towards the bar.

Mulder watches him go, trying to swallow back his self-loathing. He realizes after a second that his fists are clenched.

“Fox,” Diana says in concern. “Are you all right?”

He says nothing for a beat, making a game attempt to pull himself back together.

“Yeah,” he says to Diana. He takes a fast swig of beer. “That guy—he, uh, just really hates me.”

“I gathered,” Diana says. She looks at Mulder appraisingly. “You seem to be taking what he says awfully seriously.”

“Well,” Mulder says grimly into his beer, “it’s just he’s not entirely wrong.”

Diana leans back in the booth, lifts her glass to her beautiful lips, and takes a careful sip. “No,” she says coolly, “he’s not.”

Mulder exhales raggedly. “Gee, Diana,” he says, “don’t hold back how you feel on my account.”

“He’s wrong about plenty,” she breathes. “He underestimates you, like most people do. But he’s not wrong that your work has hurt Agent Scully.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” he snaps at her. He pauses to compose himself. “I don’t want Scully to be hurt,” he says in a more controlled voice. “I never have. Her choices are her own.”

“And your choices are your own,” Diana says. Her eyes are dark and shining. “You know, Fox, I hope that if all goes well with this initial foray at Groom Lake, we might all be a little more ambitious in our choices.”

Mulder shakes his head rapidly, still rattled by the encounter with Bill. “Ambitious in our choices how?”

“Well,” she says. “Thinking longer term, I don’t know if Jeffrey is working out on the X-files. I think he might prefer to be elsewhere at the Bureau. And if he does… then I’d be asked for my preference in a partner.”

Mulder looks up quickly. “And you’d … want to work with me?”

“Of course,” she says, giving him an inviting look. “Who else would I want?”

There’s an uncomfortable pause. Mulder toys with a coaster on the table idly.

“Do you think they’d even listen to you?” he wonders. “They’re really not my biggest fans right now. Kersh in particular.”

She fishes an ice cube out of her drink, sucks on it a little. Then she meets his eyes, and there is a dangerous spark. “I can be very persuasive, Fox.”

Mulder’s fingertip worries the corner of the cardboard coaster back and forth, back and forth. He hasn’t asked the biggest question. “And what about Scully?”

“What about her?”

“I couldn’t … leave Scully behind in the bullpen.”

“Without you,” Diana says, sipping her drink, “she wouldn’t be in the bullpen for very long. They would give her a better placement in no time. She’s only stuck there because of you.”

Mulder’s eyes remain on the scuffed tabletop as he considers the truth of this statement. Scully certainly is only being punished because of her links to the X-files. Were she cut free from him, she probably would be given a fresh start.

“I don’t know,” he says bleakly. “I don’t know if I could even do it without her.”

Diana makes an exasperated hiss. “Fox,” she says. “Of course you could. What is this codependency you’ve developed? You weren’t like this before.”

Mulder rubs the bridge of his nose. “Diana, I–”

“Mozzarella sticks,” announces their server, his voice surreally peppy as he places the basket on the table. Mulder nods and smiles miserably, his eyes down on the fried cheese.

As the server walks away, Diana reaches over and places her hand over his. It’s light and soft as silk. “I could be the partner you need, Fox,” she says softly. “If you give me a chance.”

Her fingers now are caressing his hand lightly. Mulder’s taken aback. “I remember … how to calm you down,” she adds, almost a whisper. “How to reduce your stress.” She runs her fingertip down the back of his hand, a subtle but effective gesture. “And I’m not someone who is easily hurt.”

As opposed to Scully? he wonders. Is that what Scully is? Easily hurt? Is that why I’ve hurt her so much?

Somewhere to Mulder’s left there is a loud discussion at the bar. Despite Diana’s surprising advances, Mulder finds his attention drifting over there. He recognizes Bill’s voice, speaking loudly to the bartender, and looks for him in the crowd.

“I’ll tell you what,” Diana adds, reaching out with her finger to gently direct his chin back towards her. “Come over tonight.” Under the table he feels her foot brush against his calf, ostensibly accidentally, and she’s successfully got his full attention back. “We can discuss your Groom Lake fieldwork more privately. I can … convince you of everything else.”

Mulder closely watches her face, every nuance of her expression. “Oh yeah?” he says guardedly.

“Hey folks, you doing all right here? Need ketchup or anything?” The energetic server is suddenly smiling broadly next to the table, hands on his hips, and Mulder can sense Diana’s annoyance from across the table.

“We’re fine,” Mulder says, still staring at Diana, “but I’m going to need to get these mozzarella sticks to go. And our checks, please.”

“Coming right up.” The server obligingly darts away.

Diana’s foot brushes up his calf again, this time with less pretense of accident. “Is that a yes, then?” she says, the barest hint of a smile.

In the background, Mulder is aware of a flurry of activity at the bar—the bartender’s voice firmly declaring something about someone not being served any more.

He looks back at Diana, who looks very beautiful, curvy and enticing in the dress he now realizes was strategically chosen to showcase her body for him.

Then his eyes fall down to one of the coasters on the table. He reads it, then reaches down and picks it up impulsively, sliding it in his pocket.

“Diana,” he says, suddenly sounding more certain than he expects, “I’m going to have to get back to you.”

***

[ninyard]

Oh my, would you mind writing about the date or truth Kevin interview if you want ? I feel like you would nail it

This is literally so silly and not as dramatic as it could be but I was picturing it a little like this; Kevin, the interviewer, the researcher and his publicist/manager/agent or whatever have already had a conversation about which questions are totally off limits - they can’t ask about the perfect court, or Riko. They can’t ask about the Ravens, and a couple other things. They clear a few that are going to be bait questions - ones he’s not going to answer, but will allow them to ask for viewership and engagement’s sake.

It’s an interviewer Kevin clicks quite well with, not a completely obligatory interview on a long and exhausting press run, but a half-relief of a pit stop in between the other obligations. It’s for a late night talk show, of some sort, one that’s known for showing the funnier side of celebrities because the host is so good at their job. So the rehearsals go fine, the audience fill into their seats, and Kevin is backstage with hair and makeup.

“Did they tell you what’s in the glasses?” He asks, the makeup artist touching him up with some powder on his forehead.

His publicist shakes her head. “Only that they’re gross. How’s your stomach?”

Kevin knows it’s likely he’ll get sick if there’s anything texturally disgusting put in front of him - he can handle most of the typically gross foods, but anything liquidy and unexpectedly chunky and he’s done for.

He gets his time warnings from the different runners and then he’s off to the left of the stage, and the host is introducing him with far too much flattery like he’s a real superstar - “Ladies and Gentlemen, let’s give a warm welcome to the Son of Exy, Kevin Day!”

Kevin steps onto the stage with that shining bright smile and a hand in the air, eyes on the crowd as if he’s waving at anyone in particular. The crowd goes wild.

The initial nterview is mostly boring press stuff - how’s the season? Excited for the future? Heard you got signed back on to the National Team this year, how does that feel? How are the Foxes? Tell us what’s in store for you next.

Then the host introduces the game section, and he’s brought over to a round table with a lazy Susan in the centre and a number of covered dishes along the edge.

“Have you ever played our little game of Truth or Drink before? Because I don’t think you have.” The host smiles as they sit down across from him, cards of questions in their hands.

“If I say I have, does that mean I don’t have to do it?” He looks out towards the audience like they can save him, playing up to the cameras around him. The crowd laugh like he’s the funniest person they’ve ever witnessed. It helps that the floor manager encourages them from the stage floor.

“So here’s how it goes, we spin our little table here and you’ll end up with a drink or a snack in front of you,” The host explains. The audience know there’s more to it than that. “I’ll ask you a question, and you have a choice - you can answer that question, Kevin, or you can have whatever is on that plate in front of you. Got it?”

“Sounds easy to me,” Kevin nods and then purses his lips as if he doesn’t know what he’s signed up for. “Maybe too easy.”

“Definitely too easy,” The host agrees, and spins the table until a dish stops in front of Kevin. “So why don’t you lift up that cover there and tell us what’s in front of you?”

Kevin lifts the chrome covering - it’s a small shot glass of some thick white substance. It looks like mayonnaise, and then he lifts the identifying card to read it; It’s a shot glass full of pure mayo. Easy enough.

“Not a good start,” he holds up the card so the cameras can find it and frowns. “But something tells me it’s not the worst.”

“Who’s to say?” The crowd are prompted to laugh. “So, first question, we know that you were the person who made the decision to sign Neil Josten to the Foxes last year. Did you know who he was when you signed him?”

The crowd ooh at the question and Kevin feels his heart stutter for just a second. Were they supposed to mark Neil as a no-go topic? Did they forget? He laughs instead, and places the cover next to the shot glass.

“No, no, I didn’t.” He shakes his head, and shrugs his shoulders. “Unfortunately it didn’t come up on his background check.” He mocks pulling on his collar like the whole Neil situation is a yikes topic. The words leave his mouth through a false awkward smile and the audience eat it up with laughter and applause.

“Would you have signed him if you knew?” The host asks, and Kevin points a finger at them in mock warning.

“Isn’t that a second question?” The crowd love it. He knows how to work an interview, having fun with an audience that love even the simplest of jokes.

“Okay, okay, playing by the rules, I see,” The host turns the table until another covered dish lands in front of Kevin. “And our next dish is…”

Another shot glass. This time full of cold baked beans. Kevin grimaces as he inspects the glass. “I’m beginning to think this interview was a bad idea...” He laughs.

“Hey, no take backs!” The host flips their stack of cards to a question Kevin knows is one he’s not supposed to answer. Gross, he thinks, but it’s not the worst thing on the table - that, he’s sure of. “Our next question tonight, is one I’m personally interested in…” The host riles up the audiences curiosity. They point to his cheek. “Kevin, what’s the real meaning behind the Queen piece?”

It’s an obvious answer - everyone knows it’s because Riko was the so-called King of Exy, but saying that out loud would just confirm it, and it’d be the first time he’d have said it on record. People have been itching for him to confirm it since he’d had the number covered up, but he’d refused to, in order to avoid the stirring up of unnecessary drama. It was a 75% harmless question, but still good enough to get some speculation and buzz online about the show and Kevin’s interview.

“And if I say it’s my favourite chess piece, can we move on?” Kevin pokes fun at the question with half a grimace, half a smile. The host laughs and covers their face with the cards.

“No, no, we’re looking for the real reason Kevin,” They raise their eyebrows and use the cards to point at the glass in front of him. “Or you can always take a drink.”

Kevin pretends to hesitate before he holds his nose and knocks back half of the shot. The gag he can’t hold back isn’t quite pretend, but he covers his mouth to swallow, before shaking his head. “That’s… disgusting.”

“It’s protein?” The host offers.

“Not enough to be worth it.” He retorts, and the audience laughs again. He washes it down with the glass of water that had been left by his side. He shakes his head again before clearing his throat. “Next one, please.”

The same as before, a spin of the table, and suddenly Kevin is sat in front of some other gross concoction, and a supposedly online-drama inspired question is asked. It’s something he doesn’t mind answering, and so he does. The game moves forward; blended fish guts. The audience grimaces with him. There’s no way he’s drinking that. There’s absolutely no way.

“This is torture,” he holds back a retch and tries not to smell the wafting fishy odour from the awful looking drink. “I think you should be put in prison for this.”

“You wouldn’t be the first,” the host laughs. They line up their cards by tapping them on the table. “Okay, are you ready for this one?”

“Go easy on me,” Kevin turns away from the glass to stop himself from looking at it. “I won’t ever come back.”

“I don’t know…” They tease. “So instead of drinking that delicious drink, Kevin, why don’t you tell us how you really broke your hand?”

The question is out before anyone can stop it. Not that they would’ve been able to, anyway, but he could’ve sworn he’d put that on a list of do-not-asks. But maybe he had been stupid enough to believe that he’d been back in the public eye long enough after all that controversy that they wouldn’t care anymore. He let the crowd drink in the question as his careful-not-to-falter eyes caught his publicist standing off the side of the stage. He watches her turn to a crew member with pure rage on her face.

Kevin hides his head between his legs in an over-dramatic reaction, as the audience continue to go wild for much longer than necessary. He pretends to laugh as he catches his breath and considers if there is any possibly way out of this one. He could lie, maybe, but he doesn’t have anything on the tip of his tongue that would be good enough. It’s only likely to get him in far more trouble than it’s worth, anyway, if such a lie were to start spiralling.

“Fish guts?!” He swallows down his beating heart and exclaims. “That’s the question you ask when I have fish guts in front of me?!”

He’s certain he can see fear flash over the hosts face as they laugh. They know this is an off-limits question, even if they hadn’t been told.

“I’ll go easy on you,” they hold out their hands, and the crowd boo as they’re dying for the answer. “You don’t have to drink the whole thing. Or you can answer the question…” they push.

Kevin looks at the grey pink liquid. This wasn’t in his PR training. But not once does his million dollar smile fall from his lips, not once does his face give anything away. Smile, laugh, give the audience what they want. They love you. Remind them why.

He lifts the glass to smell it. A bad idea, in retrospect, as he’s retching before it’s barely an inch or two off the table. For a moment he half considers telling the truth, but that is never a serious option. He hopes the Moriyama’s can see his dedication, that these are the lines he’s willing to cross to keep their little secret.

“I miss when these shows were boring,” Kevin beats a hand on the table, and the crowd slows down, save for a few still pushing for him to answer the question. “They didn’t have this kind of thing on Larry King.”

He gets a laugh for that one. He tries to lift the glass once more and retches again. The host covers their face again to laugh, but Kevin can see the fear beneath branded card stock.

“Remind me never to come back here again,” The audience erupts as the glass reaches his lips, and as quick as its there, its in the trash bin that the production team has left beside him. He can’t help but vomit up a mixture baked beans, water, and whatever else sat in his stomach. Dedication and loyalty, he reminds himself, as he thinks of the clips that are going to surface online after this one.

The interviewer is quick to wrap up the segment, thanking a now pale Kevin for his appearance, and the call is made that the show is at commercials. On-Air and Mic-Live lights switch off, but Kevin doesn’t let his smile fall until he’s out of view of the crowd who applaud him off the stage well into the ads. He barely comprehends the words his publicist is saying to him as he is handed some flavoured carbonated drink. It doesn’t matter that it’s against his rules of things to drink, he chugs half of the bottle down anyway. It doesn’t do much anyway; He’s sure he’s going to be tasting fish for weeks.

Note, he thinks, pushing open the door for his private dressing room. There’s nobody there, and he heads straight to the toilet to retch again.

Add how I broke my hand to the list of things that interviewers are NOT allowed to ask about.

[mysumeow]

My ears! Why won't you pet them? 1/2❜

Summary: Tighnari is used to the attention his fox features bring to him. Your apparent indifference to them makes him wonder: why's that?

Warnings: Tighnari calls reader a lummox once? Could that be considered some warning? IDK. All fluff. Gender neutral for body and pronouns.

a/n: writing this healed my soul. thinking of fennec boi heals my soul. btw asks and requests are open ^^

NEXT PART

Tighnari is aware of how much his ears stand out.

And it's a no-brainer, they're long and are one of the first things people notice about him, if not the first one.

They're irresistible, he knows, and that's why as long as there is some level of trust, and is asked, he'll allow friends to pet his ears.

He's just wary of fingers straying too close to the tips, he's considerate enough to either request them to stop or move his ears away in a manner that will deliver the message.

Long story short, he wonders why won't you pet them too.

"Looking pretty grumpy right there. Is something wrong?" Collei asked as she opened a window to let some air in.

Already used to Tighnari's mannerisms and whatnot when he's in a bad mood, Collei caught up on it in no time.

"Not at all." if he didn't end it with a drawn out sigh, his lie would've been believable.

"Does it have a anything to do with...you know who?" Collei covered her smile with her hand, but a small giggle still made it through.

Ears as sensitive as the Lead Forest Watcher's would definitely catch on the sound.

"Collei... don't start doing that. You're of a certain age to not act like that–"

"I was joking, okay? Anyway, your favorite–" Collei retracted once she saw the tiny annoyed look Tighnari sent her. "Ahem, your colleague asked me to tell you that they're already in Gandharva Ville and would soon stop by here. To continue...technical research related stuff or whatever you elders have to do."

Tighnari paid no mind to the fact that his subordinate was calling him a fossil and instead began to go through a mental checklist of all tasks that he compromised himself to have ready by the time you came back.

"Uhg. It seems like I have to go back to my office. Some folders are missing. Ah. Collei, did you remember to place the specimens inside the cabinet?" he ran to said cabinet to retrieve the last batch of abnormal floral caused by the remnants of the Withering and set them on the desk. "Wait, I think one's missing," his tail swished relentlessly and his ears twitched.

Unbeknownst to him, the sight of watching him run from one side to another was an amusing one.

"How many times do I have to tell that...lummox to communicate in time before coming."

"Uhm, Master–"

Thanks to Collei, Tighnari was reminded to take a deep breath.

"Yes, what is it?"

"There's a…"

"Sorry to interrupt you, but I think I have to go outside." he was pretty sure that he heard your voice, the distinct manner in which you walk.

Humans don't pay attention to details as small as that one, but his hearing capabilities have shown him that not everyone walks the same. And without meaning to, he has learnt yours.

You were about to knock on the door before Tighnari beat you to it by opening it.

"Hi there. Look who decided to show up." he greeted you and stepped aside.

"Mhm, nice to see you again." whatever you were going to say next vaporized into the humid air of the Avidya Forest once you saw a funny detail on Tighnari's appearance. You tried to stifle your laugh, but it was too late; the observant Forest Watcher noticed it.

"Why are you snickering?" he deadpanned.

"Don't you feel some...extra weight on your head?"

"Extra weight? What do you mean?"

"I tried to tell you before. There's a golden finch perched atop your head."

Deciding to oh, have mercy on this soul, despite still snickering, you reach towards the little bird and try to carry it outside.

Expectedly, before you could do so, the creature flew away.

Not only did you tease him about it for the rest of the day, Collei joined you! So much for wanting to make sure everything was in order for your arrival.

From now on, I'll always listen to what Collei has to say. No exceptions. No interrupting.

He groaned into his pillow, recalling the embarrassment from you seeing him like that.

At the very instance he was about to fall asleep, what felt like an electric shock tensed his body at the realization of your hands proximity to his ears.

They were so close.

He rolled over to the side and hugged his pillow.

He then shook his head.

Come on, why are you giving it so much importance? Get yourself together.

Thankfully, the next morning, he had no recollection of his dream. Otherwise, he would be sheepish at the fact that he dreamt of your fingers caressing his ears, your face nuzzling against his cheek and the soft, tickling sensation that caused.

The day of your arrival was productive for how unanticipated it was. Today, however, research would be delayed as a quick trip to Sumeru City was needed. Some old tools required imperative replacement.

"Are we ready to go back?"

"Everything's in order."

"And why are you heading the opposite direction?"

"I want to visit the Grand Bazaar. I'm craving some biryani. I think it's lunch already anyways."

"Oh. Grand Bazaar," Tighnari's ears lowered. "I wouldn't mind going with you, but my ears are delicate to loud sounds. Grand Bazaar has a nice atmosphere, but I don't think I will be able to stand the noise there,"

"I can cover your ears." you quipped with a smile.

He opened his mouth to answer, then closed it, almost giving in to the suggestion.

"It would be uncomfortable to walk around like that."

"You could carry me on your back," you replied in a playful manner. "That way, I could cover your ears without stepping on your heels,"

"Oh, how thoughtful of you." he jested.

Tighnari assumed you would enter the Bazaar on your own, so he didn't add anything about the topic.

"Here. Have this." you handed him some... noise canceling earmuffs? Specially designed for non-human ears like his?

He tried them on and indeed the noise was more manageable.

That same day, when you both headed back to Gandharva Ville, the other forest watchers wondered why their lead one was in such a great mood.

They saw you walking with him and, without further inquiry, the answer was clear.

[speedartist-skyliner]

Sparking charcoal au

Sparking charcoal au This is inspired by fanart from @rolyat-insonia for the charcoal rivers by aglobzzy.  And I was inspired to put the haf Fox makes on Genya by @chichiriyarts fox mask nezuko AU. and the watermelon draw was in inspired @mjtheartist04

This is an au were after the shinazugawa's demon insadent. And genya was left to fend for himself Tanjiro's mother adopted him in the kamado house. genya shinazugawa/kamado he uses ether last name interchangeably or combines them on paper work. He never wants to give up ether family ties. Becomes the demon out of the 3 survivors of Kamado's house-holed. Due to how Genya's jeans would allow him to eat demons and become partially demon to gain their strength. His body would eventually adapt to being a demon better. I think when he gains his sense of self again. He has more control over himself. plus his diet of eating demons. This leads him away from the desire of wanting to eat humans. The smell of human blood smells wrong after a while. He still does have the temptation earlier on in the story that's why he has the muzzle and now his mask. but around the red light district ark, he's nearly lost any temptation of humans. P.S. Genya over the years helping Nezuko and their -kamado- mother has learned how to do hairstyles but basic ones. But still knows enough to do Nezuko's and Tanjiro's hair. they both keep their hair long enough so Genya can mess with it. it is one of the bonding things they do to relax.

for more details of the beginning of the story under the cut.

Genya Shinazugawa/kamado is the eldest son -by 4 months~- adopted into the Kamado family. Even so, on the most front, Tanjiro acts as the family's eldest son. Genya doesn't mind too much due to him already having an older brother. Genya is more used to being more of a supporter anyway. Genya and Nezuko tag team taking care of the younger siblings to help their Mom. Genya likes to make warning stories about demons in the dead of night to prevent the younger siblings from getting eaten. Nezuko normally has to wack him on the head to stop him from scaring them too much. Tanjiro finds the stories pretty fun and doesn't take them too seriously.

the day that Tanjiro left to sell charcoal. Genya felt that something was off and tried to get Nezuko to go with Tanjiro but she refused pointing out that there was too much work left to be done at the home. Genya didn't push it -he wished he did-. 

When Tanjiro got back he saw the massacre of the Kamado family, his family. He was devastated but then he heard something he heard crying.   

Tanjiro nearly fell over running to the sound he saw Nezuko crying over Genya's body. when Tanjiro was sleeping in Mister Saburo's house. Genya was outside the house looking at where the stars were supposed to be. The cloudy night hiding most of them. He was a bit far from the Kamado house trying to see if Tanjiro was coming. Nezuko wandered out with a blanket for Genya knowing he might stay out a little longer waiting for Tanjiro. Genya thanks Nezuko before both of them hear a torrent of screams coming from their home. Genya quickly covers Nezuko in the white blanket telling her to hide while he goes to the house to see what's going on. Nezuko tried to protest but Genya wasn't hearing it.He hid her and went back home. Nezuko waiting nearly leaves her hiding spot before feeling a force of fear running down her back like ice water. The smell of blood fills the air. The creature's presence overwhelming and crushing her. Even though it wasn't near. made Nezuko pass out.

 leading to now. Nezuko was in shock. But when she saw Tanjiro she cried for help saying "Genya's body was still warm."

the confrontation with Giyuu more or less stays the same. Genya becomes the demon instead. and the fun Begins. the confrontation with Giyuu more or less stays the same. Genya becomes the demon instead. and the fun Begins.

[blixabargelds]

fanfic cutting room floor

What didn't make it into your fic? Tell us about a scene, a character, a plot point, a theme - anything (!) that didn't make it into your fic and why, and tag up to three people who might want to take part, too.

tagged by @swifty-fox this is sooo fun thank u lmao this one is ROGUEEEE i mean it was very much cut because we decided decidedly that gale would never cheat on john ever lmfao so immediately the idea went out the window and this scene goes incredibly differently in superstar canon way more shouting zero dry humping. however i did carry on writing this evil version just for my own enjoyment jhfkfhfkf this is gna get zero attention bc everyone hates a cheat and bc rarepair that doesn’t even Happen in this au at all, all this very much does NOT happen however. it’s sexy to me lmaoo galerosie crying and grinding anyone ?

He moves down against Rosie, wishing they had less clothes on. He can’t quite find the balance between moaning and breaking. Rosie tangles his fingers in Gale’s short hair, thrusting up against him. Gale’s moving to meet him so fast it’s like they’re fucking. Rosie reaches around to the waistband of Gale’s jeans, but Gale bats his hand away.

“Don’t,” he gasps out. He drags himself forward, hips flush with Rosie’s hips again. “We can’t.”

“Okay,” Rosie says, just as breathless. “It’s okay. We aren’t doing anything. This is okay.”

“Yeah,” Gale says, choking on it. “This is okay.”

“Buck,” Rosie says.

Gale coughs. A dam is trying to break. He squeezes his eyes shut, tears fighting their way out. Rosie swipes them away as they come, and they keep coming, Gale shaking with the effort of holding himself together. He has to stop kissing Rosie to catch his breath. He presses his palms to his eyes, feels them slicking fast with the force of his quiet crying. He’s still hard. There’s a damp patch in his underwear. He laughs like a whimper, hitching his pelvis up, gasping with the drop back against Rosie’s clothed cock. He’s digging his fingernails above his eyebrows as he covers his face, into the stitches fresh enough he’s only causing more damage, so Rosie wraps his hands around his wrists, pulls them down.

Gale sees then, in his expression, exactly what he’s thinking. It’s not okay. None of this, from the moment Gale didn’t run from the car, has been okay.

Rosie goes for his waistband again, and Gale doesn’t stop him.

tagginggg @irregularcollapse @feyd-meowtha @joeyalohadream

[horuslupercal]

got asked on the Guilliman post so

How Primarchs Cry (To Me)

Lion: represses and represses and represses and then hides away in a closet squished into the corner like a cat on its deathbed but otherwise cries pretty normally. do not point it out to him. gets defensive if you point it out

Fulgrim: gets headaches from crying so hard. keeps a handkerchief nearby because his face gets all gross. at some point in every hardcore crying session he verbally says, "enough." because it annoys him

Perturabo: trying everything in his power to give off the vibe that he never cries. takes every breath very carefully to make sure it's silent, confidently strides off away from this shit (hides away), etc

Khan: is fine, is fine, is fine, and then he's laying in bed and suddenly has to bolt upright to cry into his hands because holy shit that's sure a wave of emotion. it's okay, it'll pass, but hooooly shit at this exact moment it hurts. doesn't want to be seen but it's not the worst thing in the world if he is

Russ: crawls under Freki and Geri like when they were pups and cries for a good while. at some point he rolls over and runs his hand over his face and then grabs one of his brothers around the neck for a wrestle session and he's either fine or he's fine enough to keep on keeping on

Dorn: goes to a private room, does the "I am in control of my emotions" like Spock in that one TOS episode, and then spins around and puts his fist through the wall. opens the door with a hole in the wall and his hair no longer perfectly coiffed and his face blotchy and red and tells you he wasn't crying

Konrad: either silently weeping or wailing like a banshee. never in between. he doesn't choose which.

Sanguinius: the only primarch who can pretty cry but only up to a certain level. at some point he starts screaming and wailing like a fox caught in a bear trap and doubling over in pain and his hair gets all stuck to his face

Ferrus: throws tantrums. doesn't collapse to the floor like a toddler but does start breaking things. makes fun of the reason for his upset -- the mid-funeral roast session in some au where Fulgrim dies pre-heresy would get him cancelled on twitter because it's the only way he can deal with something that shattering. I'm pretty sure I got that headcanon from @luwupercal actually

Angron: cries for all sorts of reasons. sometimes the nails make him cry, not because they hurt or because he hates them but just because they're directly fucking with his brain chemistry. that's the kind of passive cry where he's crying but it's not an event, it's just his tear ducts doing their thing. used to seek out comfort from his siblings in the pit when he was crying from emotion, now he flips tables and screams

Guilliman: an asthmatic pug caught in a plastic ring. gasping for air, sounds like he's being strangled, the works. sounds like he's dying

Mortarion: also sounds asthmatic, on account of the asthma. his tear ducts don't work right so he doesn't really "cry" so much as hyperventilate and occasionally dry heave

Magnus: the crying is what it is, the psychic crying is the real event. his aura gets real sticky and slow and sad, like syrup, and has a tendency to kind of. contaminate other people with his grief unless he specifically stops it from doing that. I feel like he cries when he's mad, too

Horus: sits down and covers his mouth with his hand and puts his elbow on his knee and cries like that. for some reason I feel like it's especially weird for the luna wolves to see him cry -- it's always weird to see your parent cry, but it's extra weird for them and I'm not sure why. horus sitting on a couch crying with his head in his hands and two luna wolves sending panicked looks at each other 👍

Lorgar: compresses/hugs himself so hard he can't breathe, digs his nails into his skin, etc. we saw in the first heretic that he makes himself physically uncomfortable about grief and that's really stuck with me tbh. doesn't really.... know how to cry without also being in physical pain about it

Vulkan: bows his head and weeps, standing right where he is. weirdly bad at being okay with his own grief specifically -- he'll comfort a brother without issue, but his own makes him feel on edge and sedentary and he needs to move and do something and not stand here being sad, he needs to take action, he can't let it be sticky and slow

Corvus: repression king. he can't cry right now he's too BUSY. fuck this shit. and then there's a trigger and he shatters like a popsicle bridge with too much weight on it. the year of isolation before his departure definitely involved a blanket burrito

Alpharius Omegon: how do they need to cry for this scenario?

[pommpuriinn]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪. 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉’𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝑒, 𝑒𝓈𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈𝑜 3

｡𖦹°‧ pairing ｡𖦹°‧ - idol!yeonjun x superstar!oc x idol!jungkook

｡𖦹°‧ synopsis ｡𖦹°‧ - a love triangle between Hollywood’s sweetheart, Korea’s golden maknae, and Gen Z’s IT boy. Estrella is a very busy woman never had time dating with all her photoshoots, movie offers, recording sessions, dance practices, and public appearances. As she’s doing a little world tour promotions for her latest mini album ‘You & Me’, and let’s just say that stop last a little longer and it becomes a little too interesting.

｡𖦹°‧ a/n ｡𖦹°‧ - yj enters the chat (੭˃ᴗ˂)੭

Italics = korean

It’s 6am and the whole team has made it to their dressing room where Sana and Daya are doing Estrella’s hair and makeup. “Ok first will be the ‘You & Me’ stage, but before that you have an interview with the three mcs txt’s Yeonjun, Park Jihu, and Woonhak.” Megan explains. “They will basically ask about your song and what’s the charming point in the dance along with how is your time in Korea so far?” Megan was giving the basic run down. “I’m nervous~” the four girls giggle at Estrella’s cute pronunciation. All morning Estrella has been practicing her little speech making sure she doesn’t stutters or mumble her words.

“You got this Estrella.” Daya boops her nose affectionately. Estrella smiles, “thanks.” Both Sana and Daya were done doing Estrella’s hair and makeup, so it was now time to change her into her first stage outfit. “So pretty!” Sana gasps at the sight of Estrella. “Custom by Chanel, and they did so good.” Megan covers her mouth trying to hold back her squeals. “Thank you Chanel gods.” Estrella prayed. “Ok let’s get going. Your call time is soon and it’s better to do a little small talk with the mcs, so you can get a bit more comfortable.” Megan opens the door for Estrella. “Ok.” She sighs, still a bit nervous. “Fighting!” Sana holds her fist up encouraging Estrella. “Yeah fighting our little star!” Daya follows Sana’s hand motions. “We’ll be watching on the tv.” Sana points at the tv mounted on the wall. “Thanks, I’ll do my best.” Estrella sent kisses before leaving.

Megan walked Estrella through the halls and as they were walking many staff would whisper how pretty Estrella is, and some would try and hold their excitement since they’re fans of her. As they made it to the stage a staff member was explaining to Megan that Estrella will look into the main camera and stand right in between the two mcs. “Oh my god, I feel like I’m dropping off my child on her first day of school.” Megan snicker at herself kinda feeling emotional. “Why do I feel the same though?” Estrella laughs, trying to calm down her nerves. “Again don’t feel nervous. You done this plenty of times, and plus I’ll be waiting right down the steps so you’re good.” Megan squeezes Estrella’s arms comforting her. “I know.” Estrella pouts. “Fighting!” Megan whisper yells before hugging Estrella and walking off the little stage.

Estrella was currently the only one there which gave her time to practice what she was going to say while fixing her ear-in that helps her translate. “Eleven is about-“

“Hello~” the three MCs greeted Estrella. Estrella got startled, but quickly got over it and said ‘hello’ back while giving them little bows. “Oh, she’s pretty!” Jihu gasps making the two guys chuckle. Estrella took a second to process what Jihu said to her. “I’m pretty? You’re pretty too.” Jihu instantly got shy and shakes her head ‘no’. “I’m Jihu, nice to meet you.” She’s embarrassedly introduced herself. “I’m Woonhak.” One of the male mcs bow towards Estrella. As Estrella eyes left Woonhak and moves on to the next person it was like the whole room went silent, and all she could hear was her own heart beating. He towered over his partners and his fox like eyes met her doe ones. “I’m Yeonjun.” Estrella didn’t show her instantly attraction towards him.

‘Ah, this is what Megan must have meant last night. But I can’t help myself’ Estrella bit her lip. “I’m Estrella Blue, and please guide me.” Everyone was a bit shock at Estrella’s little Korean. “That was good!” Woonhak praises Estrella. Estrella was getting shy with all the compliments causing her to hide a bit behind Yeonjun. “Cute~” Yeonjun coos. Estrella looks up at him with boba eyes hearing him calling her cute. She was trying so hard not to kick her feet and giggle. The staff started counting down before going live and Yeonjun guides Estrella back into position by him ghostly placing his hand on the small of her back.

“Everyone we have a really special guest with us that flew from the States to Korea!” Jihu starts the segment. “Really?! Who must it be?” Woonhak acts curious, making Estrella hold in her laughter. “Come on, how do you not know Woonhak-ssi?” Yeonjun acts offended. “Ta da!” Estrella pops in frame. The mcs act surprised making it harder to not laugh, but Estrella kept it together. “Hi I’m Estrella Blue~” waves at the camera cutely. “It’s a honor to have you here today Estrella-ssi.” Jihu smiles at Estrella. “Thank you I’m so happy to be here and perform.” Estrella mentally pats her head for not stuttering. “Right! Your song ‘Eleven’ is so popular here in Korea much like all over the world. Can you tells us more about ‘Eleven’?” Woonhak asks. This is all Estrella was practicing all morning, it’s her big moment. “Yes!” Estrella nods. Estrella grips the mic with both hands already feeling nervous again. “Um…’Eleven’ is a dance pop song that expressive romantic feelings for someone, and basically saying you make me feel more than a ten, you make me feel like an eleven.” As the camera shows the two other MCs clapping for Estrella’s little speech, and as she was paying attention to them she didn’t notice that Yeonjun snake his arm behind her and pats her back. It was like a ‘you did a good job’ but it still sent Estrella butterflies.

“How about you show us the charming point of the dance?” Yeonjun asks, looking down on Estrella. Estrella hums, “sure.” The music cue and starts playing the chorus. All three of them started hyping Estrella up making her chuckle before getting to the hip part of the dance which she quickly changed serious. The audience couldn’t help but cheer seeing Estrella’s facial expressions. “Wow, wow!” The mcs clapped for Estrella. “Thank you~” Estrella claps for herself. “Maybe you should teach Yeonjun hyung!” Woonhak suggests.

‘This wasn’t apart of the script in my head!’ Estrella hears the translator speak in her ear-in, as she was freaking out. “I just need a little help on the hip part of the dance.” Yeonjun speaks in English. “You know the dance?” Estrella asks in shock. “I had too, you’re our special guest.” Yeonjun doesn’t know where all this confidence came from. He was equaling if not more nervous than Estrella, but not from having to speak more because his idol and crush is right in front of him. Pictures and videos do not do Estrella justice with how beautiful she looks in person and Yeonjun is in ‘awe’.

Did he not listen to a word that Estrella was saying while giving him the quickest tutorial on the hip move because he already knew. He was practicing the choreo in his waiting room the whole time. He did spend the 2 minutes trying to see every little detail on her and just was admiring her. “Yeonjun hyung you got it right?” Woonhak snaps Yeonjun out of the trace. “Of course I got it.” Yeonjun confidently answers while getting into position. “Ok music cue! Please~” Estrella calls to the staff. Estrella was surprised by Yeonjun’s dancing, she smiles at him as they made eye contact which almost messed up Yeonjun. “You were so good.” Estrella places her hand on Yeonjun’s arm along with giving him a thumbs up.

‘What are we?’ Yeonjun thinks while looking back at Estrella basically giving her heart eyes.

⭒˚‧ ︵‿⭒ཐིཋྀ ཐིཋྀ⭒‿︵ ‧˚⭒

Next is finally performing the first song ‘You & Me’, and as Estrella walked up the stage she was surprised with the stage design. “It’s so pretty!” She squeals making her fans laugh at her cuteness. “Let me introduce myself,” Estrella clears her throat. “Hi I’m Estrella please cheer loudly for me starrys!” The audience cheers while waving their lightsticks. Estrella then remembers about yesterday and how she met Heemin. “Oh is Heemin here today?” A loud scream coming from the left side caught Estrella’s attention. There stood Heemin waving her lightstick frantically, “there you are. See I remembered, thank you for coming Heemin.” Estrella blew kisses at Heemin’s direction.

Once she saw her dancers go up on the stage with her, she knew it was time to get in position. “Please cheer loudly starrys!” Estrella quickly said before the music started. (Song and dance)

⭒˚‧ ︵‿⭒ཐིཋྀ ཐིཋྀ⭒‿︵ ‧˚⭒

“Excuse me, sorry excuse me.” Yeonjun raced to his dressing room just so he can watch Estrella perform. “Wah~ she’s too gorgeous.” Yeonjun looks up at the tv seeing Estrella little winks and flirty smiles. It felt like she was singing to only him and no one else. Maybe he is a little delusional, but who isn’t nowadays. “Are you going to try and talk to her?” One of his male staff members asks. Yeonjun looks at him with eyebrows raised and wide eyes, “are you crazy?” Making the staff member laugh. “She’s way out of my league.”

Yeonjun continues to watch the performance and feeling envy of the male dancer that was dancing with Estrella, wishing it was him instead. “I mean you’re handsome. You might have a shot?” The staff member shrugs. “You’re not helping me or my thoughts.” Yeonjun huffs, and throws himself on the couch while groaning. Yeonjun was thankfully that Inkigayo kept Estrella being the special guest a secret otherwise Yeonjun would’ve been freaking out the day leading up. ‘Wait special guest? Why does that sound so familiar? Like I heard it before-‘

“Estrella is coming to the Hybe building?!” Yeonjun scares everyone in the room. “Oh…we forgot to tell you.” Another staff member speaks. “Yeah, Jungkook is suppose to show her around.” Yeonjun stops his eye from twitching from hearing the news. Instead he grabs the nearest pillow and slaps it over his face and yells into it. “I feel better now.” He acts like nothing happened.

⭒˚‧ ︵‿⭒ཐིཋྀ ཐིཋྀ⭒‿︵ ‧˚⭒

“Did it look good?” Estrella is now back in the dressing room getting ready to perform ‘Eleven’. “You looked amazing!” Sana squeals, while doing her makeup again. “The stage was on point too.” Daya compliments, as she’s putting Estrella’s hair in a ponytail. “Thank you guys. You both did so well too.” Estrella thanked her girls.

“Since Megan isn’t in the room right now. What’s up with you making those lovey dovey eyes at mister mc.” Daya couldn’t help herself. While Sana and her were watching the interview through the tv they both gave each other the ‘look’ while watching Estrella interact with Yeonjun. “Stop! I was literally thinking about what Megan was telling yesterday and he just popped up.” Estrella whines. “He’s just so tall and cute–i can’t!” Estrella shakes her head, making the girls laugh.

It was finally time to perform ‘Eleven’ and once again Megan walks Estrella to a newly themed stage. “Once you finish performing don’t leave the stage because everyone is going to come back in and then they’re going to do the award ceremony.” Megan explains while checking Estrella mic pack and soothing her outfit. “Award?” Estrella questions. “Mm, every music program here gives an award to the group with the most votes. It’s pretty important here to the idols.” Megan gives a briefing. “Ah ok.” Estrella gives the ‘ok’ sign making Megan chuckles.

⭒˚‧ ︵‿⭒ཐིཋྀ ཐིཋྀ⭒‿︵ ‧˚⭒

The second Estrella steps on the stage cheers erupted shocking Estrella. “Oh my gosh,” she smiles big. “Thank you starrys~” Estrella waves at everyone. “You give me lots of strength.” Starrys gave loud cheers making Estrella pout trying not to get emotional. “Stand by.” The staff speaks through the mic. Estrella and her dancers get in position, “we got this everyone.” She whispers to her female dancers. Everyone could see how much Estrella loves the stage with the way she carries herself within the performance, and how effortlessly she sings and dances, along with her animated facial expressions. All the idols were watching from the sidelines amazed and instantly getting inspired by watching such a big admirable artist perform right in front of them.

As the performance came to an end Estrella did heart cheek pose causing everyone to scream, even the idols caught themselves slipping while cheering. The cameras briefing cut so the idols can get back on the stage to start the award ceremony. Estrella didn’t know where she had to stand, so she went all the way to the left side away from the cameras. Many idols were bowing at her which she of course bowed back, but it was funny because once Estrella bows back at them they would freak out with excitement making her giggle at them.

“Estrella-ssi please move to the center.” The staff member came to Estrella guiding her to stand next to Woonhak. Right after the mcs start reading their little script which Estrella was just scanning the audience giving little waves at them. Honestly, Estrella wasn’t really paying attention because in her head she knows that she not going to win, she just got there plus she doesn’t know who’s the most popular groups here. That is until she saw her face being a nominee, “huh?” Estrella is surprised. She watch as all the numbers max out on every category crowning her the winner. The confetti canons scared her causing her let out a little scream making everyone laugh at her reaction. Jihu passes the little award to Estrella while Yeonjun passes the big flower bouquet to her. “You were great, congratulations.” Yeonjun smiles at her. Estrella thanked them before grabbing the mic Woonhak had for her. “T-thank you, I’m really surprised right now. I literally just got here yesterday and I’m very thankful for all the support I have been receiving. I will be sure to repay all this support with even better music and even better performances, thank you starrys~”

Estrella was about to walk off before Megan stopped her and quickly explained that she had to do an encore stage. Estrella pulled her dancers back up and they all sang and danced to ‘Eleven’. Estrella even made a fan sing the chorus while jumping around touching her fans hands and blowing kisses.

Just before heading out of the broadcast station Estrella filmed about 6 TikToks with different groups. Estrella instantly changed back to her regular clothes before the whole team made their way out to the car. Many fans waited for Estrella to tell her how well she did, to make sure to rest, and to hand her more fan letters. Estrella and her team made it safely to their car while accepting the letters from starrys. “Thank you again starrys. Get home safely and eat lots.” Estrella gave a couple of poses before rolling up her window.

Estrella lets out a big yawn and rests her head against the window. “I’m going to take the fattest nap.” Estrella got herself comfortable. “You find Yeonjun attractive huh?” Megan crossing her arms. “What?!”

You & Me album

Eleven(title track) originally IVE

You & Me originally JENNIE

Don’t blink originally AESPA

Hard to love originally ROSÉ

Holy moly originally IVE

Looking at me originally SABRINA CARPENTER

All night originally IVE

taglist»-♡→ @iveivory @jjkluver7 @lively-potter @angie-x3

[thatone-brightstar]

The Bear & The Fox (Carmy Berzatto x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 6: The Fantastic Mrs. Fox pt. 2

Words: 5 k

Summary: Your two families meet and Carmy sees a different side of you.

a/n:Thank you all so much for the support and sweet messages! Also, new trailer just dropped and know that I'll need 2-3 business days to recover because ohmygodddd . Enjoy! xx

PS. Reader is Latina in this but I don’t specify from where so you can just fill in the blanks (it’s also why it’s all over the place lol)

PS2. The movie I’m referring to is The Fantastic Mr. Fox by Wes Anderson and it’s an absolute gem, you gotta watch it!!

WARNINGS: Smut ahead, oral sex (female receiving), p in v, dirty talk, reader is on birth control but isn't mentioned (wrap it up IRL tho), minors DNI but you'll do what you want so don't say I didn't warn you

“Can you please be careful with that, Jesus!” Carmy shouted from the wheel of Richie’s car, looking through the rearview mirror at the backseat where his three workers sat smushed together, one carefully balancing the delicate pastry.

“Why does Richie get the front seat?” Fak questioned with half his thigh against the right door.

“Cause it’s my car, now shut the hell up before I kick your ass out!” He fought back.

Sweeps began to argue on why Richie couldn’t carry the cake if he was sitting shotgun and how that was stupid because it was, again, ’my car and I can do what I want!’

“Is it still far? I think some of the gelée is starting to leak…” Marcus asked from the middle seat, moving his leg further out to not stain his pants with the syrupy liquid. 

“Nah, like two more blocks.” Carmy answered.

Soon enough, he found a parking space as close as he could to your building, then killed the engine. He climbed out first to help Marcus with the heavy box, which was in fact leaking slightly from one of the corners and he placed it on the roof of the car. He almost unconsciously wiped his hands on the back of his jeans, but immediately stopped when he remembered he swapped his usual dark jeans for a pair of clean deep blue ones. He had also added a beige short sleeve button up over the usual white T that covered him and a few rings to his fingers, hoping he was decent enough for the occasion. 

They could hear the buzz of rhythmic music and voices as they moved closer to the side of the building where he saw an opening in the fence. He gave the cake to Fak and pulled out his phone to double check your message to make sure they weren’t crashing a random person’s party, but before he could unlock it, he felt Richie elbow him continuously on his side. He looked up to him in annoyance, then he saw who his cousin was gawking at and the air in his lungs left in a shaky exhale.

Ravishing was the only word he felt could do you justice. Stunning, captivating and beautifully breathtaking were up on the list, but none seemed to be enough to describe how the slick red fabric accentuated every one of his favorite features on you. Your olive skin glowed under the afternoon sunlight as you walked towards them, dark curls held up with a soft ribbon that bounced with each of your steps. The frills on the hemline of your dress caressed your mid thigh as you moved, making him envious of a piece of cloth for the first time in his life. 

“Carmy, you lucky son of a bitch.” Richie whispered beside him, but he was more concerned on how he would keep his hands to himself during the whole evening when you looked like that.

“You guys made it!” You said excitedly once you reached them by the entrance.

You pulled each one into a quick hug, offering a welcome kiss on the cheek. You hugged Carmy for unperceivably longer than the rest, your citrus perfume invading his nostrils and engraving itself in his memories.

“What’s in the box?” You asked Marcus with a confused grin.

“Well you always bring stuff for us so we wanted to pay the favor back” He said with a wide smile. “I made it and Carmy helped decorate it.” He shrugged.

Your eyes danced between both men in admiration, the tears glossing them over  and a big smile taking up half your face.

“You guys are the best.” You whispered and threw your arms around them again. 

“Ugh- sorry I'm a bit tipsy-” You said to yourself once you let them go and chuckled, fanning your hands in front of your face to dry the upcoming tears. “I can take that to the table so you guys can enjoy yourselves… where’re the others?”

“Oh they took an uber behind us, they should be here in a bit.” Carmen answered, still dumbfounded like a moth to a bright light.

“Awesome, well the drinks are on the right and the food’s on the left so… enjoy!” You said taking the heavy box from Marcus, who clapped Sweeps on the back as they moved towards the drinks.

You rolled your tinted lip between your teeth staring up at Carmy for a second, before saying “Can you give me a hand… with this?”

“Wha- Oh, yeah, yeah sure.” He took it from your hands and followed you towards the food table, hearing a ‘Guess you're stuck with me’ from Richie to Fak as he walked away.

He followed mindlessly behind you, too enticed by how the dress accentuated the curve of your hips. You could have been leading him to his death and he would gladly follow with anticipation. He could feel himself grow slightly hard at the racing images flying through his head and he was glad that the shirt he decided to wear was long enough to cover his groin.

He reached the table after you, placing the package in a small space you had cleared in the center, then undid the latches at the top and took a butter knife to cut the cardboard down the side. A small gasp escaped your lips and you grasped his forearm at the sight of the gleaming pastry.

“Carm, it’s beautiful” 

“You think so?”

“Of course.. It kinda reminds me of the-”

He pulled up the picture saved on his phone and your eyebrows knitted together at the sight of the bright image.

“I kinda ripped off your design.” He confessed through a breathy laugh, scratching the back of his head.

“I think you made it better” You responded, then you hand slid from his arm to cup under his palm. “Thank you, it truly means a lot.”

Carmy swallowed dryly when your eyes flicked down to his lips momentarily and for a brief second he wanted to see what would happen if he leaned down and kissed you in front of all these people… but a voice shouting your name from behind made you lose grasp on his hand and step away instantly.

“Carmen, you came!” Your mother called excitedly, walking towards you by the arm of a tall older gentleman who he assumed was your grandfather.

“Hola, señora” He spoke carefully. He had been practicing some words with the teasing help of Syd, but unfortunately, that had been as far as the lessons had gone.

“Ay, muy bien!” She cheered and his ears reached a new shade of red. “Have you met my father yet?”

“No uh, w-we just got here.”

Carmy reached his hand out to the man, who swept his appearance then reached out slowly to clasp his hand with a firm grip. Your mother turned to her father and explained something in a quick spanish that was impossible for him to understand. What he did understand was the universal language of an embarrassed child, as your eyes grew wide and you let out a sharp ‘Mama!’ through gritted teeth.

“What?” He asked you amused.

“She told him you’re his next grandson-in-law” And when he looked down at you, a soft blush dusted your cheeks and your hand rubbed at the bottom of your nose to hide the shy smile.

“My Fox?” He heard the deep voice come from your grandfather and was more confused about the nickname than your mother’s statement.

“D’you want some Sangria?” You interrupted.

He nodded with a nice smile and you walked off to the drinks table with your mother behind you. He was about to follow behind, but the man beside him placed a gentle hand over his shoulder to stop him. 

“Carmy, yes?” He spoke with a slight crack in his pronunciation.

Carmy gulped and nodded.

“What is it that you do, Carmy?”

“I, uhm.. I own a restaurant.” ‘More like a burning shithole’ the voice in his head added.

The older man hummed in contemplation. “You know hard work, then?”

Carmy let out a nervous laugh then answered “Yeah, I-I do.” That would be an understatement.

“Good, good.” He patted Carmy’s back, the intimidating facade slipping when he turned to look at you laughing beside Syd and Marcus while you served two drinks. “She's been through a lot this year y'know... and I want only the best for my little Fox.” He turned back to him “Are you the best?”

Carmy’s eyes stayed glued on your figure, his heart warming at how you swayed naturally with the upbeat music, reminding him of vibrant hibiscus flowers in the breeze. “I want to be… yeah.” He confessed wholeheartedly.

A smile that reached your grandad’s eyes appeared before him, leaning to his side and whispering. “Good answer.”

“Can I ask you something?” He asked the man after a few silence filled seconds and took the small grunt as a sign to continue. “Why do you call her that? Fox?”

He heard the man’s booming laughter above the music before he began to speak.

“Do you know that fox movie? Where he steals all the chickens and lives in a tree?” Carmy shook his head. “She does, seen it a hundred times or more. When she was little, she walked around wearing fox ears her grandma made her and would chase the chickens around in my other daughter’s house. So she’s been my little fox since.”

A grin appeared slightly at the picture of a little you running around with cloth fox ears pinned to your hair. He wanted to ask about your grandmother, but before he had the chance, a woman in a tight blue dress tackled her arms around the older man. He only understood her excitement and giggles, then she signaled to someone across the area and the man moved with open arms to new arriving guests.

“Hi” She turned to him, stretching a well manicured hand towards him. “I’m Sarah.”

“Uh… Carmy.” He gave her hand a single shake, a little taken back by the light scratch of her nails on his skin.

“Oh yeah, my aunt told me about you.” She batted her long lashes at him and he readjusted his weight on his legs under her heavy gaze. “You’re the chef that works with my little cousin, no?”

Carmy nodded and swallowed nervously, assuming this was the cousin your mother wanted to set him up with.

“Cooking is such a hard job, with all the heavy lifting you do, I’m sure you don’t even need to work out.” She gave him a breathy laugh and he tried to hide his lack of comfort under a chuckle, his eyes scanning the space for you or any other person that he knew could pull him out of the situation.

“Maybe you can come over one day and cook for m-”

“Babe, d’you think you can help me with something?”

The sound of your voice hit him the way soft ocean breeze hits the rocks after a crashing wave and he unconsciously stepped further away from your cousin.

“Babe?” They both asked in surprise.

He raised his brows at the pet name, a slow fluttering sensation filling his insides because you had never called him anything other than by a variation of his name, or chef, in your whole time of knowing each other, yet now that it slipped past your cherry tinted lips, he could not ignore the shaking sensation the two syllable word had unearthed in him.

Your brows raised, expecting an answer from his parted lips. All he could do was nod slowly and take a few steps in your direction. You smiled softly up at him then turned to your cousin.

“Your mom’s looking for you. I think your kid knocked his tooth out again.”

Then you turned towards the door that led to the stairway with him following right behind.

You didn’t say a word as you made your way up the multiple floors and his hands developed a thin layer of sweat at the idea that maybe he had done something wrong. He was about to ask what it was you needed help with when you reached the door, but the moment he stepped into the dim hallway, your hands grabbed the two sides of his shirt and pulled him down to your awaiting lips. It caught him off guard, but the breathy sigh that left your chest  had him pressing himself closer to you. Carmy groaned into the kiss, the floral taste of red wine exploting his senses. His hands instinctively reached up to cup the sides of your face to deepen the action, tongue lapping at yours trying to get more of the intoxicating flavor. He felt your fingers circle around the loops of his jeans and pull him forward as you took small steps back down the hallway.

“You have no idea… how much I’ve wanted to do that.. today.” You managed to say between peppered kisses while pulling him deeper into the room.

One of his hands moved to the dip between your back and ass while the other extended long digits under your chin. In a second of bravery, he wrapped it tentatively, applying light pressure to the sides and causing a hefty gasp to rip from your chest. His smile unraveled at the melodious sound, dick now pressing hard against the material of his jeans.

“Just that?” He asked in a whisper then left your mouth to plant wet kisses along the edge of your lips and down to the valley of your jaw. He could feel your pulse quicken at his actions and your grip grow tighter on his jeans.

He felt the hand on your lower back hit the hard edge of the kitchen counter and he pressed himself flush against you. You shook your head at his question, attention trained at his lowering head now reaching your chest. Sultry kisses rose small bumps on the tender skin of your upper breast as your hand flew up to tangle in between golden strands. You pushed your head back to allow him an open access.

“More than that..” You whispered through difficult breaths.

“Yeah?” He asked, withdrawing from your skin and rising back up to your face. His nose rubbed along yours as his hands fell from their grip, down past your waist and to your hips. Fingers clawed at the fabric of your dress and bunched it up into high fists.

A low shiver left your lips at the contact of his hot skin against your thighs, fingernails raking along the sensitive area. Your hands rested on his shoulders, gripping tightly when skilled thumbs feathered over the thin hem of your underwear.

You hummed in affirmation, eyes wide and bright staring hungirly up at him through hooded lids. Your lips twitched up and you bit it slightly before speaking. 

“Y’know…” you whispered to Carmy, lips brushing over his with every word. “I chose the dress knowing how much you’d wanna fuck me in it.”

The breath he had struggled to take was forcefully knocked out by your admission. A groan moved past his  lungs, because fuck were you right. He felt like a mad man, unable to control himself from the moment your skin touched his. 

Without thought, he dropped to his knees, face buried in the material of your dress.

“Fuck, Carm-” Escaped your lips in heavy breaths. 

He looked up to find you a beautiful mess of shaky breaths and blushed cheeks. The golden necklace around your neck was disarranged and your exposed skin glistened from his wet kisses. He smiled at your glowing physique. 

Carmy never considered himself religious. He grew up catholic from his parents but never bought into the whole idea of an ever present being creating everything around him. In that moment, however, with the glowing rays of sunshine filtering through the windows and cascading over your form- red fabric bunched at your hips like an impending fire- he undoubtedly confirmed the existence of the godly being he wanted to spend all his mortal life worshiping. You had him like silly putty in your lovely little hands and he was too far gone in the moment to rationalize if he was fucked for good or not.

He hooked his index fingers on the band of your underwear and pulled it down torturously slow, following the drag of the fabric with his teeth. He didn’t want to waste the little time you had, considering you were also in the middle of your kitchen and anyone could walk in at any moment. But god did he want to slurp you up and bottle every last one of your desperate sighs, make you feel so good until the only word you remembered how to pronounce was his name. 

When the flimsy piece of clothing was finally down to your ankles and you had stepped out of it, his palms pushed the fabric up once more and he was greeted by the wonderful image of your glistening pussy. He swallowed down the sudden rush of saliva that invaded his mouth, a usual reaction from his body when he’s been starving for so long and is graciously presented with an appetizing dish.

He breathed out delicately above it, a clear pearl of slick forming on your folds, taunting him. He looked up at your aroused expression through hooded brows and without losing contact, stuck out his index finger  and swiped it over the tender flesh to collect the juices, then popped it in his mouth. The tangy taste of you on his tongue was all he needed to lose the last grips of control left in him. 

Carmy gripped firmly at your hips then pushed his face deep into your folds, tongue first. The force and the surprise of his actions had you losing your balance over him and holding on to his shoulder for support, mouth ajar. He used one hand over your stomach to keep you and the dress still against the counter, while the other held on to the supple bend behind your knee, raising it to rest on his ample shoulder and granting him greater access to you.

A mixture between a moan and a whimper invaded his ears, fueling the blaze of his actions and speeding up his attack on your cunt. He used his index and ring fingers to part at your labia, lapping with his flat tongue around the whole area. With blown eyes he looked up at your disheveled face, head thrown back as you tried to control your erratic breathing and he smiled to himself at how responsive you were to his touch.

He had learnt this like he had everything else, through technique, observation and a shit ton of practice. Everyone around him always assumed that just because he had never had a girlfriend before, that meant he had never had sex either. But they’d be surprised at what having your face and name linked to the top twenty best chefs in the country could do for your sex life in a supercilious city like New York. This was probably one of the few good things that he gotten out of it. Seeing you tremble through his actions over his mental stability seemed like a fair trade.

As he saw you fall into a breathless mess above him, a proudness flourished inside him. To know that it was he who turned you into a heap of mumbles and praises with just his skilled mouth.

“Shi-t, babe- so good. So so good…” You were too far gone to be able to say anything else.

He used his fingers to spread you open again and a high pitched cry vibrated in your throat when he wrapped his lips to suck on your clit. You pushed on his shoulder at the intense sensation and he let it go with a ‘pop’ of his mouth, kissing the velvet skin on your thigh and giving you some time to breathe. He took a few seconds to calm his racing heart and his cock jerking inside his jeans.

“As much..” You could barely speak between breaths “as I want you to make me come with your mouth- and I do-" your leg unhooked from his shoulder and you pulled him up by the collar of his shirt. “I really want you to fuck me right now.”

You didn’t give him time for an answer, only sealing your lips above his and groaning when you tasted yourself on his tongue. Your hands flew to the buttons on his jeans, undoing them with practiced ease, but before you could pull his stiff member from its confinement, Carmy grabbed at your hips and turned you towards the counter. On the wall across from the counter, by the door to your room, rested a tall mirror, long enough where you both could see your heaving upper bodies.

 His hand slid to the front to massage at your aching clit, chest pressed tightly to your back.

“God, you’re fuckin’ gorgeous, look at you.” He used his free hand to wrap around your neck and tilt your head to the mirror. “My pretty, pretty girl.” He whispered near your ear.

He had no idea what came over him when it came to having sex with you. The way your body responded to his touch caressed a part of his ego he thought dormant so long ago. Yet her you were, all doe eyes and shaky moans, ready for him to fuck you in your kitchen with your family only a few floors down. He really was a lucky son of a bitch.

Carmy used his slick covered hand to wrap around his cock, then gave a few taunting jerks on himself before aligning with your entrance; all while maintaining eye contact with you through your reflection. You gave him a little nod in the mirror, your hand covering over his inked one around your throat, then he pushed slowly into you until he felt your warmth swallow him completely. 

Your hands fell flat on the cold counter, the metal clink of your rings hitting the surface as you tried to scratch at something to hold on to. He kept his grasp on your neck steady and his eyes fixed on yours as he quickened his snaps on your hips. He could see your tits bounce in the mirror at his brutal force and it only made him want to go faster.

“I’m not gonna-fuck baby- not gonna last l-longer” You uttered in gasps.

Your back arched towards him when he hit that particular spot he had learned you liked, then he did it again and again until the strength from your legs disappeared completely, folding you over the counter. The fluttering around his cock signaled to him you were almost close and with the way his movements stuttered lightly, he could feel it too. 

He closed his hand around your neck again and pulled you to him. A mess of curls and reddened cheeks stared back at him, a pleased smile tattooed across your face.

He whispered filthy praises into your ear. “Look how good you look taking my cock.” He accentuated the words with a deep thrust. “You like lookin’ at yourself while I fuck you?”

You nodded frantically, pulling one of your hands up to grab at the back of his head.

“I like looking at you fuck me.” You answered back in shrill breaths. Your puffs blew on the sweat covered strands around your face, some clinging to the surface of your hot cheeks.

Your answer had him chuckling in delight and he picked up the pace one last time, heavy thrusts creating ripples on the tender skin of your ass cheeks. He circled his free arm around your waist and rubbed on your bundle of nerves until he felt you shiver with an upcoming orgasm, then he skillfully rolled the nub between his fingers and that was enough to have you break under him with a strong moan. Your cunt clung with breathtaking strength around his twitching cock, allowing him three more thrusts before he found his own release inside you. 

He took several large puffs above you, the lavender shampoo from your hair calming the erratic beats of his heart. Carmy pulled out slowly out of you and you let out a sensitive whine. He looked down at your tinted skin, attention fully on the drops of creamy white beginning to slip out of you with every involuntary spasm and it surprised him to feel the need to be inside you again.

He kissed your naked shoulder and smiled towards your reflection, the disarrangement of dark curls framing pink cheeks and kiss swollen lips had him clutching at his heart. You could have been there for an eternity, both afraid to break the bubble you had so cautiously created around you, but knowing you had to. 

“Is that what you needed help with?” He asked with a grin, reaching for a paper towel and running it under warm water before helping you clean up the mess he had gladly partaken in between your legs. "You coulda just asked..."

A relaxed laugh escaped your lips as you retied the ribbon in your hair and asked him to pass your discarded underwear, then brushed your hands around the ruffles of your dress to make it less wrinkled.

“Honestly I just wanted to get you away from my cousin.” You confessed, then walked towards him and combed your fingers through his hair while he readjusted his jeans.

“Guess I should make you jealous more often then, huh?” He asked and you stopped rubbing the lipstick off his cheek, giving him a glare. “I’m just joking!” Then he pulled you in for a tender kiss.

“C’mon, they’re probably looking for us.” 

“Let ‘em look, I don’t fuckin’ care right now.” He whispered back, catching your lips into another sweet long kiss.

“No, seriously. We gotta go.” You managed to say in between kisses and laughs. He planted his lips by your ear and inhaled your perfume.

You smiled, then intertwined your fingers with his and began your hefty walk back down stairs, a mild ache in his abdomen that would keep your escapade present in his mind.

“What the hell?” You faintly said.

A sudden rush of trumpets and string instruments reached your ears the moment you crossed the heavy metal door back into the courtyard. He could see all the guests crowded in a semi circle around a group of men belting out the lyrics to an unfamiliar but attractive song. Your hand held tighter around his and you turned to him with a confused grin.

“Was this you?” You asked above the overpowering music.

He shook his head ‘no’ and turned back to the Mariachi band, only to see Richie walking to them with extended arms, like an orchestra director but with a beer in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other.

“Whatup fuckos! You missed the whole surprise!” He yelled through the noise. 

“This was you?!”

He shrugged, taking a sip from his beer and turning towards the band.

“I felt kinda bad that you quit cause of me, so hope this makes up for it.”

Your hand released Carmy’s as you walked a couple of steps towards his cousin, circling as much as you could around his waist with your arms. Richie stayed frozen in his spot with his gaze down on you, then he looked up to Carmy who just stayed with raised brows. He moved his slender arms around you to hug you back, chin resting down on your head.

He cleared his throat after a few seconds and let you go.

“Okay, enough of that mushy shit.” Richie took another swig.

Someone called your name from the crowd and you turned to Carmy promising you’d be back in a bit, then ran to Syd, who took your hand and spun you around to the beat of the music. 

Richie strutted to his cousin’s side and offered him the burning cig. 

“That was nice of you. The Mariachi.” He clarified while taking a drag.

“Was nothin’.” He shrugged again. “The fucker owed me a favor.”

Carmy nodded slowly. Riche’s eyes flickered towards him then raised the bottle to his lips.

“She’s..uh… She’s good for you. Try not to fuck it up.” He stated simply, then added “Also you both reek of sex.” and this pulled a soft laugh from Carmy.

They both watched the crowd move rhythmically in silence for a long while, maybe three or more songs, until the musicians stopped and an uproar of clapping and cheers began.

People dispersed into their seats around the long table and you waved Richie and Carmy over to the empty seats around you and the other guys. 

As the sun hid behind the skyline and the lights under the trees casted a soft yellow glow around everything, he allowed himself to enjoy the moment away from his looming responsibilities. He ate everything you or your aunts offered him to taste, to the point where both his stomach and his heart felt like they could burst. He then downed it with glasses of Sangria and the constant beers Richie threw at him so he could show off his skill at opening them with a lighter, the only party trick he knew. 

At some point, his arm rested on the back of your chair and you leaned your back to rest on his chest, head nestled in the crook of his neck as your grandfather entertained their end of table with the romantic story on how he had met your passed grandmother. It was a beautiful story of ‘the old homeland’ as he called it and as he skimmed the back of his fingers on your smooth arm, Carmy listened attentively. He felt brave enough to let his guard down and plant a single kiss on the crown of your head, but didn’t notice the lingering stares and multiple hidden smiles from both families surrounding you. 

Your grandfather’s words swam peacefully in the light haze of his mind, both from the alcohol and the warmth radiating from your palm mindlessly tracing figures on his thigh.

‘Her father pointed a rifle at my head when I asked for her hand. I was not afraid because I knew she would say yes. And if she didn’t? Why would I ever want to live in a world without her by my side?’

Chapter 7.

Taglist: @pearlstiare @teteminne and that’s it lmao