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God I love your bb fic and it’s probably the aromantic in me but terrance n bb interactions have my heart. they’re so cute! reminds me of my social lab teaching fosters/rescues from all sorts of backgrounds how to play
people who joined me around the start of BB series might not know this but i’ve actually always lowkey liked writing platonic relationships even more than romantic ones 😭 there’s genuinely been series I’ve written in the past where platonic dynamics have been just as popular as the main ships, if not more so (Corinthian/Wanderer 🚬🚬🚬 V/The Four 🚬🚬🚬)
so I’m genuinely so happy to hear you enjoy Terrence and BB’s interactions as they’re genuinely so much fun to write. I love themmmm. Terrence and mr kitty are always my go to to write when I need to escape from The HorrorsTM of the main verse.
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the thought of playfighting with bb 🤤🤤🤤 he seems so serious about attacking entities and it’s such a job for him that i think he’d adoreee getting all silly and touchy with companion 🙏 and imagining it after he’s been chasing her too !!!
the first time you shove him he doesn’t move. obviously.
you put both hands on his chest and push and he just stands there, blinking at you with that confused furrow. because you’ve applied force to him, and the force was not effective and he’s now concerned you might be malfunctioning.
“fight me,” you demand.
“…no?”
“BB. fight me.”
“I don’t want to fight you.” genuinely distressed now. his eyes scan you for injuries, for signs of possession, for any reason his beloved might be requesting combat. “are you—is something—“
and you have to explain. it takes a minute. you have to walk an ancient predator through the concept of roughhousing. play. physical affection disguised as aggression. like pack animals.
you shove him again for emphasis and bb’s hands come up automatically to catch your wrists and you grin at him, and go “see? like that” and something clicks behind the blue eyes.
and then he loves it.
because you’re so cute. that’s the core of it, really. you’re slapping at his chest and biting his arm, squirming in his grip like you could actually get free if you tried hard enough and you can’t (you absolutely can’t) he could hold you still with one hand and a passing thought. but your face is scrunched up with real effort, and you’re growling at him, you’re actually growling, and his chest is so full of adoration he could choke on it.
you catch on fast that you can weaponise this.
you learn where the line is between play and play, and you get mean with it on purpose.
you bite harder. you scratch. you lean up and hiss something sharp against his ear, a taunt, a challenge, and you feel it happen… the shift. that low rumble replacing the purr. the frequency dropping from amused to older and heavier, the vibration changing texture in his chest. and the loving softness melts off his expression like frost off a window and underneath it is that predator shine, that flat black-edged stare, the grin pulling too wide.
there you are, you think, and it thrills you. every time.
you two wrestle through the nest like animals. blankets everywhere. pillows destroyed. he lets you win for a few seconds at a time, lets you pin his wrist or straddle his chest, crow about your victory smugly before he flips you like you weigh nothing and pins you flat with both wrists above your head, his body heavy on yours. his face is inches away. and the mockery on his tongue is soft, that low, amused murmur: “oh, you almost had me that time. so close. very scary.”
and you lift your chin. wrists pinned, chest heaving, completely trapped. and you stretch up and press the softest, sweetest kiss to his mouth. barely a brush. just your lips on his and the grin dissolves and the black bleeds out of his eyes and BB flooding back in, all warmth and want. that needy, desperate rush of tenderness crashing through the predator like a wave through a sandcastle.
his grip on your wrists goes slack. his breath stutters. his whole body softens against yours because you kissed him and the kissing is always his undoing, every single time, the gentleness after the roughness short-circuiting every ancient instinct he has. because you’re his love, and your mouth makes all the loving, protective instincts flare to life.
and in that half-second of melted composure you twist free. roll out from under him. hit the floor running top speed.
you’re through the apartment door and sprinting down the corridor barefoot, cackling before he’s even lifted his head, and behind you there’s a beat of silence, just one, and then that low, dark chuckle rolling down the hallway after you like smoke. pleased. impressed. delighted.
“oh,” he says, and you can hear the grin in it. “oh, that was good.”
his footsteps start. slow. unhurried. that casual lethal stroll.
you’re not going to make it far. you never do. but the chase is the whole point and you both know it, and somewhere in the nest behind you there’s a pile of destroyed blankets and a dent where you were pinned and this, this, this stupid silly reckless game of bite and shove and run and catch…. this is the happiest he’s ever been.
not the quiet adoration or the worship. this. you choosing to play with the thing in the dark. you teaching it that teeth can be gentle and fighting can be a love language and the corridor doesn’t always have to end in fear and death.
he’s going to catch you in about thirty seconds and the catching is going to involve pinning you to the nearest wall and kissing you until your knees give out, then he’s going to carry you back to the nest like his greatest prize.
Kat I used to be too shy to ask for this even on anon but life is short so…
Aerion eating his own cum out of LS but from his POV 👀👀👀👀👀👀
no shame in this household. life is too short for that shit ‼️ 18+ mdni. aerion is nasty (nothing new there). oral (f receiving). cum eating. stark!reader. tt!au.
Two weeks.
Fourteen days of you at college, you in your dorm room with your textbooks and your future and your perfect little life that has nothing to do with him.
Fourteen days of his hand on his cock in the dark of his trailer thinking about the sound you make when he bottoms out, and it’s never enough. His own hand is a fucking insult. A rehearsal for a show that never opens.
You get back on a Friday evening, drive straight to his lot without stopping home first, and Aerion knows what that means. Knows it in the animal part of his brain that tracks you like prey even when you’re six hours away.
You missed him badly enough to skip the shower, the unpacking, the performance of arriving home to the Stark house. Skipped being the good princess for an hour before driving to the bad side of town.
You’re barely through the door before he has you.
He fucks you on the mattress with the fitted sheet half pulled off the corner because Aerion hasn’t made the bed in a week. No point. You’re the only reason he bothers. His knees dig into the thin mattress, and your legs are locked around his back, heels pressing into the base of his spine.
You’re still in your skirt. Aerion didn’t take it off, just shoved it up around your hips because he couldn’t wait, couldn’t make himself do the civilised thing and undress you properly.
Fourteen fucking days. He’d been counting. Fucking pathetic.
He comes inside you hard enough that his vision whites out at the edges, his mouth gaping open against your neck, your name chewed up between his teeth.
You follow him few breaths later, clenching around him so tight it hurts. Your nails rake four bright lines down his back that he’ll feel under his shirt at work on Monday, and think about until he has to excuse himself to the bathroom.
For a minute Aerion just stays there. Hips flush against yours, softening inside you, his forehead pressed to the damp curve of your throat. Your fingers are still threaded through his hair, and he hates how good it feels. Hates that he’s panting like he ran a marathon. Hates even more that his hands are shaking where they grip the sheets on either side of your head. Because sex with you is always cataclysmic and he can’t find his way back to anything else after having you.
Clenching his jaw, he pulls out, and watches the glossy length of him slip out.
His cum leaks out of you. The slow, obscene spill of it, pearly white gushing from your swollen cunt, pooling on the ruined sheet beneath you. His. That’s his. Inside you for six hours on the highway, you were thinking of this, and now here it is. Evidence. Proof that you came back. That you always come back. That for all your college friends and your bright future and your Stark name, you still drive six hours to let him ruin you on a shitty mattress with no headboard.
Something hooks behind his ribs. Greed so thick it sits on his tongue like an after taste.
He kicks back and drops between your thighs.
You make a sound. A startled, bitten-off thing that rumbles at the back of your throat, your hand flying to his shoulder. “Aerion, you don’t have to—”
“Shut up.” He snarls it with his mouth an inch from your cunt, his breath ghosting over the mess he left. “I want to.”
He licks into you and the taste hits him like a fist to the throat
Salt and copper and you, the dark sweetness he’d know blindfolded, and underneath it, threaded through, himself. His come mixed with your slick, smeared across his tongue, filling his mouth. It should be disgusting. It is disgusting, objectively, by the standards of anyone who isn’t Aerion Targaryen at ten p.m. on a Friday with his face buried in the cunt of the only woman he has ever loved.
He groans against your heat. A real sound, pulled from somewhere low and primitive inside him. The vibration makes you jolt, your fingers fisting in his hair, and he feels your thighs twitch against his ears.
You’re oversensitive because you just came. Every lick makes you flinch and gasp and try to close your legs. He holds you open with both hands, thumbs pressed into the crease of your thighs, forcing you open, and keeps going.
He’s greedy about it, lapping at you sloppy and wet, his tongue dragging through the mess of them both, and the taste gets thicker the deeper he pushes. Aerion fucks his tongue into you, and feels the slick heat of his own come coat his chin. Pulls back and sees it glistening on his mouth and doesn’t wipe it off.
You’re peering down at him. Mouth parted, swollen. Your hand is still in his hair, gripping hard enough to sting, and your chest is heaving. The skirt is bunched around your waist. One shoe is still on. You look like a wrecked perfect princess, so very expensive, and completely fucking his.
“You’re disgusting,” you breathe, a laugh rumbling in your throat.
Aerion grins against your cunt, sucking your clit into his mouth and hollows his cheeks around it until you arch off the mattress, a sharp cry punched out of you.
Yeah. He is.
He’s disgusting and he’s starving and you taste like coming home, and the thing about him is that he’s never known when to stop.
Not with pills, not with fights, not with you. Especially not with you. He slides two fingers back into you alongside his tongue and crooks them forward, and the sound you make is close to a snarl.
Good. He wants the snarl. He wants you leaking and so overstimulated you forget your own name. He wants to lick every trace of himself out of you and swallow it down and then fuck you again so he can do it twice.
The closed circuit of it is what gets him.
His come, your cunt, his mouth. The ouroboros of it, the consuming.
He put himself inside you and now he’s taking it back and the taste will live on his tongue for days. He’ll be under a car on Monday licking his lips and tasting you still, tasting you both, and no one will know. The mechanics, the customers, the whole decent world going about its business. And him walking through it with the taste of his own come and your in his mouth like communion wine.
You come a second time with a sound he’ll replay until he’s dead. A broken, shuddering thing, your back bowed, both hands in his hair pulling hard enough that his eyes water.
Your cunt pulses against his tongue, and he tastes the fresh wave of you, sharper now, headier, less of him and more of you. Aerion chases it with his mouth until you’re pushing at his forehead, gasping stop, stop, I can’t—
He doesn’t stop. He gives you one more lick, slow and hungry, root to clit, sucking, and feels your whole body shudder.
Only then does he pull back. Wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Glances at you.
You’re destroyed. Boneless against his pillow, eyes glassy, skin shining with sweat. Your skirt is still scrunched up around your hips. The shoe finally fell off at some point. There’s a bite mark on your thigh he doesn’t remember leaving and a bruise forming on your hip from his thumb.
Aerion crawls up your body, settles his weight on you, pins you beneath him. Drops his mouth to your ear.
“Miss me?” he murmurs, hot breath tickling your ear.
You laugh. Weak, breathless, almost fond. Your arms come around his neck, fingernails scratching at the nape of his neck.
“You’re vile,” you tell him.
He kisses you. Deep and open, letting you taste it. Both of you. The whole filthy circuit on his tongue, pushed into your mouth, and you kiss him back without hesitating, equally as starved. Your tongue slides against his, one hand against his face, and you taste what he tastes and neither of you flinches.
“Yeah,” he breathes against your lips, voice rough, leaning down to press his open mouth against yours. “missed you too, princess.”
unfortunately i don't read often with LS since she's an oc but the pieces that i did were so good, you are an amazing writer indeed, is seriously captivating!!
thank you so much for saying so, means a lot to me!!! 🥰
I still treat LS as reader personally because her appearances are never mentioned and I try my best to be inclusive. her mother is also never named, so she could literally be anyone, from anywhere. so being a stark doesn’t necessarily mean she’s white etc!!!
the way I’ve been writing on and off that LS!sick fic on my phone for last few days trying to finish it because I needed comfort but lowkey if anyone sends in any ideas/prompts I might try to force the brain because I’ve been heavily them pilled last few days.
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girrrrrl let me tell you summ, ok? ur aerion + valarr works? chefs kisses. stark!reader? what a fucking baddie. bless u for giving us a bad bitch, dom-leaning reader and destroying those pretty twinks. i'll take another twenty, chef! 👨🍳
kit kat!!!! want to know the real tea if you have a moment: what horoscope sign(s) do you see the boys having? aerion, valarr, bobby and bb pls!!! and bonus round if you're so inclined: same question for oc vers of lady stark and companion? 👀
i’m genuinely a horoscope nerd and gave this way too much thought/tried to justify my reasons. obviously still one of many possible combinations. let’s get into it.
tt!aerion — Scorpio (Aries moon, Scorpio rising).
it had to be Scorpio. it was NEVER going to be anything else for this freak 😭 his intensity alone, all that feeling locked behind a flat affect, the crosswiring of pain and want, the loyalty that genuinely looks like resentment until you realise it isn’t. the Aries moon is the cruelty/temper. the fists, the sharp tongue, the reflexive violence, the fury that has nowhere to go until you put your hand on his neck. Scorpio rising because Aerion steps into a room and feel the threat before he’s said a word. he’d deny being a Scorpio while also doing the single most Scorpio thing imaginable, which is refusing to admit anything while feeling everything.
that damn composure. the control. the six-business-days processing time. this man is a Capricorn to his marrow. duty-bound, self-contained, carries the weight without complaint, built his whole personality around discipline because the alternative was falling apart. but the Cancer moon is his dirty little secret. that’s the crack. that’s the part that wants to be wanted past all reason, that bares his throat, that goes pink and needs you close. Capricorns run cold on the surface and catastrophically warm underneath and valarr is the poster child. Virgo rising for his precision/more obsessive nature. the cataloguers memory, the way he notices everything, the impeccable presentation covering a man quietly unravelling. a Capricorn in love is the most devoted creature alive so. him. entirely him.
bobby — Leo (Sagittarius moon, Leo rising).
OBVIOUSLY. the crop tops. the low shorts. the “like something you see, baby?” the fact that he gets dressed specifically to be looked at. Leo sun, Leo rising, double the warmth and double the showing-off. Leos love being adored and adore right back with their whole chest. genuinely generous, sunny, physical, zero shame. the Sagittarius moon is the “huh, why not” of it all. the appetite for experience, the curiosity, the man who’ll try anything once and twice if it’s fun. Leos are ruled by the heart and the ego in equal measure which what makes Bobby so magnetic but also difficult to get close to.
bb — Pisces (Pisces moon, Cancer rising) but also, technically, ageless and outside the wheel entirely.
so bb technically doesn’t have a birthday because bb doesn’t have a birth on any calendar we can track it on. but if you forced the vast old thing behind the shape into a sign (or if we’re talking Brendan), it’s Pisces and it’s not even close. the boundarylessness. the way he dissolves into devotion. the sensory-fixation. the fact that he loves you the way the ocean loves the shore. total, no line between where he ends and you begin. Pisces is the sign of merging, of surrender, of love as a spiritual condition rather than an emotion, and that’s honestly bb’s entire existence to me. the double Pisces (sun and moon) is the depth. he feels at a frequency humans can’t sustain. Cancer rising for the way he presents himself around you: soft, watchful, protective, home-shaped. a Pisces builds a house out of longing.
oc!girlies (putting undercut so those curious can peep & those who wanna keep their own hdcs can without breaking immersion 🥰)
lady stark — Capricorn (Scorpio moon, Capricorn rising).
she had to be a Capricorn and it had to be a double-earth-adjacent nightmare 😭 the coldbloodedness. the lone-wolf self-sufficiency. the immaculate control that never once cracks in public. Capricorns are the sign of the wall you can’t get over. self-contained, disciplined, allergic to needing anyone. that’s LS on the surface, but the Scorpio moon is where she gets genuinely terrifying. because that’s the fierce love and loyalty running underneath. the thing that will do literal crimes for the few people she cherishes. Capricorn sun gathers the receipts; Scorpio moon burns the house down for you. she’s not warm. she’s not soft, either. but the depth of what she feels for the people inside her walls is bottomless and vengeful and absolute. she’d rather die than let you see it until she’s chosen you though. Capricorn rising because the first thing you notice when she enters a room is that she’s untouchable. she likes it that way. it’s armour, sure, but it’s also true.
companion — Cancer (Aries moon, Pisces rising).
this is a fun one because on paper Cancer reads soft, and companion is soft. she’s not inherently mean at all, genuinely kind, the nice person in the room. that’s the Cancer sun to a T: nurturing, warm, deeply feeling, home-shaped, the one who takes care of things. BUT. Cancers are ruled by the moon and they are a cardinal sign, which means underneath the softness is a spine of iron and a claw that comes out when the shell is threatened. a Cancer pushed past their breaking point isn’t just angry. they’re genuinely dangerous, protective, near apocalyptic, because you didn’t just hurt them, you made the safe person unsafe and now there are no rules. the Aries moon is the feral side itself. the survival instinct that kicks in hot and fast and violent when cornered. and the Pisces rising is why everyone underestimates her: she reads as gentle, harmless, easy to overlook. right up until she isn’t. and like I said yesterday, a nice person’s rage is scarier than a scary person’s because no one saw it coming and most of the time neither does she.
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hello my lovely kat !!!!! this is not a question about anything writing-wise... i think i remember you saying you game a lot/are a gamer!!
now im so curious about your fav games you've played or just fav games in general!! if you've responded to something like this before, ignore this!
i loooove games and hearing people talk about them, and im noooosy so i wanna know!!
i hope u feel better soon bby!! sending you all the love and good vibes again!! < 3
nene my love!!!!
i'm not the biggest gamer girl ever born tbh (mostly because I suck at games actually!!! but love is love). some of my faves would have to include:
the last of us, baldur's gate 3 (durge my beloved <3), 7 days to die (my comfort game with besties), valkyrie profile: lenneth (first game baby kat ever finished by herself on her old psp, lives were changed), dragon age games, far cry 3 & 5 (5 being the goat), outlast (2 is ok, but 1 is still the goat... walrider.... #would), life is strange, red dead redemption 2 (oh man, remember when I wrote for arthur? good old days), escape the backrooms, abzu, my time at sandrock, batman: arkham games (started with knight and worked my way back, was also my first introduction to jason todd woof).
games I love playing with friends: the forest/sons of the forest (nothing like being stuck on cannibal infested island am I right?), r.e.p.o, phasmophobia, planet crafter, valheim, content warning (can feel sniper shots from my besties lining up because i'm this game's biggest dick rider while they don't like it lmao), crime stimulator.
games i'm currently in the middle of that might join faves list: the outer worlds.
problematic for one reason or another but still had their grip on me before I knew better: detroit become human, heavy rain.
Classifying BB's predator drive from the hunter/prey smut drabble as cuteness aggression is changing my DNA in real time holy shit. You're running and he wants you but its also adorable. Adoooorable that you're running from him. His girl in his hallways that he could catch in 0.2 seconds if he wanted. But he's pacing her for funsies. Clawing at the walls rn.
he's not chasing you because he's threatened. he's not hunting because he's angry. he's chasing you because you are so adorable he could eat you alive, and honestly, by the end of this, he might.
because you're running in his corridors. in the hallways he owns down to the last fibre of damp carpet, and your bare feet are slapping against the floor and your breathing is loud and panicked and your heartbeat is hammering so hard he can hear it three turns away and he is having the time of his life. hands in his pockets. whistling. actual whistling. a jaunty little tune bouncing off the yellow walls while he strolls after you at a pace that could generously be called a saunter. he could close the gap in half a breath. he could literally blink and be in front of you. instead he's pacing you. matching your frantic sprint with a casual walk because the gap between your effort and his is the funniest thing that's ever happened to him.
and your arousal is flooding through the seven and he's drinking it down like honey. the fear and the want all tangled together, indistinguishable, every spike of adrenaline when his footsteps echo too close feeding back into the heat pooling low in your belly, and he can taste all of it. every last drop.
“sweetheart,” he calls out, and his voice carries like the walls are shaping it for him. because they are, bouncing it around corners so it sounds like he's everywhere at once. tender. almost mockingly gentle. the voice you'd use to coax a kitten out from under the bed. “where'd you go, pretty baby?”
and your pace picks up and he grins so wide it nearly splits the Bobby-face.
and then, god help you, you get brave. you duck around a corner and press your back to the wall, and when bb passes you call out something teasing. something utterly, wonderfully reckless. some taunt thrown at the back of the oldest predator in existence by a girl with no shoes on and a death wish dressed up as flirting.
and the whistling stops.
the hallway goes very, very quiet.
and when he finds you (because he always does, you didn’t think you can escape, did you?), he pins you against the wall with a thud that knocks the breath out of your lungs and his grin is feral. all teeth and black eyes and delighted disbelief because you just taunted him. you. his little love. with your racing pulse and your glazed eyes and your trembling thighs. you really thought you could play games with him.
“oh,” he breathes, and his mouth is at your ear and his hands have your wrists locked above your head, his hips pressing you flat against the wallpaper. “oh, that was cute.”
and then he's kissing your cheek. your temple. the tip of your nose. sweet little pecks, so gentle, so fond, while he's simultaneously hiking your thigh up around his hip, and grinding his ridged cock against you. you're moaning from the sheer roughness of it, and bb’s pressing his predatory, pleased grin into your skin and isn't this just the prettiest sound you make? isn't it just the best thing he's ever heard? his favourite girl, the love of his existence, in his favourite hallway making his favourite noise just for him?
he adores you. he adores you so much he's stuffing you full against the wall of Level 0 and keeping you there as long as he wants, pressing butterfly kisses to your forehead between thrusts and laughing, softly, warmly, into the curve of your neck because you ran from him. you actually ran. on your little human legs in his infinite hallways.
cutest thing he's ever seen. he's going to let you try again next week for sure.
