#galloping rhythms

[musicianfiend]

Play It: Iron Maiden's "The Writing On The Wall"

To achieve the guitar tone for Iron Maiden’s “The Writing on the Wall,” you’ll want to capture Maiden’s signature sound, which combines a mix of clean and distorted tones. Here’s a breakdown of the gear and settings you can use to get close to that tone. Guitar Iron Maiden’s guitarist, Adrian Smith, often uses Fender Stratocasters and Jackson guitars. For this song, a Stratocaster with…

[lighthouseborn]

i have 100% said this before, but who knows how long ago that was, and maybe it bears repeating so like. even though i'm so familiar with this particular track and its source that i know where a bunch of the action beats from the movie go in relation to it, i still have such aggressive insistence in some part of my brain that goes [THIS IS A HENRY TRACK] it's really funny. the whole thing yes absolutely but in particular [when it picks up around here] and !!!! also gosh just the way it takes those turns around determined -> mischievous -> triumphant -> SOARING and back through them and over itself and it's ! just !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[tricornonthecob]

I had the best day riding horses so far. I'm crediting it to the fact I had raunchy French folk music stuck in my head. The secret to good equitation is apparently to channel the energy of a sassy French slut between the 15th and 20th centuries. Do with this information what you will, mutuals.

[zstartrixxx]

𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐈𝐍’ 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐍’ (𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑻𝑨𝑲𝑬 𝑬𝑨𝑺𝒀!)

ʳᵒʸ ᵍᵒᵒᵈᵉ ˣ ᶠᵉᵐꜝʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓: 𝐘𝐄𝐒 | 𝐍𝐎

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: [...] "Nuh-uh. Shut up. Let me ride you real nice, but shut up." You smirked, retrieving the discarded bandana and tying it over his mouth like a gag. [...] or To show your unwavering support for this cowboy, you decide to gently demonstrate just why he's the best damn rider in La Belle—hell, in the whole damn territory. 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: so, this request was extra special 'cause i’ve been dying to write roy goode fanfic for ages—he’s yet another one of those fascinating characters from jackie: sweet, shy, even though he’s a goddamn gunslinger, somehow still manages to be a soft, angelic little weirdo doing his own thing—AAAAARGH *bites fingers while kicking feet*. if you haven’t watched GODLESS, let me just say: WATCH IT!!! it’s on netflix, the plot is addictive, the female characters steal the show, and goode is so goddamn perfect it HURTS!!! 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: +18 ADULT CONTENT. a lil' of fluffy and smut: fingering, cowgirl (trad & reverse), dirty talk, kind!roy, kinda a dom!reader. (i'm really bad to tagging, i'm learning how to does this properly ;) 𝐖𝐂: 2.6k for whoever is going to read it, a great read! <3 likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated :)

ROY GOODE PLAYLIST (not yet) | 𝖬𝖠𝖲𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖳

"you say it's big, but you take it! ride cowgirl, but your love ain't free no more, baby." (pyramids, frank ocean)

A thick trail of dust followed the heavy gallop of the black steed. Gripping the brushed leather reins tightly in his hands as he rode hard over the sheepskin-covered saddle, Roy Goode kept his bloodshot, tear-filled eyes fixed on the road ahead—the blood radiating the adrenaline coursing through his body, the tears those of sheer exhaustion. He'd been tracking Griffin for at least two, nearly three weeks now, trying to drive him away from La Belle and its outskirts, terrified the worst might happen: not just the devastation and carnage that always followed his false father, but the imminent danger of you becoming that bastard's target.

Even though you'd learned to shoot and ride better than him, his protective instincts—coupled with the trauma of facing loneliness again in this godless world—compelled him to take the reins of his horse, give you one long farewell kiss, leave a handwritten letter filled with all the affection and vocabulary he'd gleaned from the almanacs and books you'd lent him (tucked beneath your pillow), grab his black-handled pistol, and hunt down his tormentor.

Roy wore a red bandana around his face—a gift from you—covering half of it, the other half hidden beneath his black hat, velvet with a leather strap at its base. Dressed head to toe in black, he carried that mysterious, dangerous aura people judged him for having. He let out a scornful chuckle beneath the fabric, its edges fluttering with his horse's rhythm as its pace began to slow, stopping at the entrance of the small town where, by dusk, most residents had already retreated into their homes.

Winn crossed Roy's path, bringing him to a halt. He gave a nod, his pistols on full display, grinning smugly:

"Goode. Any news on those outlaws? Managed to shoot 'em in the ass yet?"

"All I can say is we're safe for now, Winn..." Roy hissed from behind the bandana, tipping his hat at the young man, who mirrored the gesture before patting his horse.

"Alright, Goode. You did right coming back. Folks've missed you somethin' fierce..." He shot an amused glance toward the schoolhouse you'd taken over after Callie Dunne left for a quieter life away from La Belle's chaos—same as Mary Agnes, who'd packed her bags for New York.

Roy, grinning just as smugly, tried to deflect:

"Bill back yet?"

"Nah... Still holed up at Mrs. Fletcher's ranch," Winn shrugged, stepping back with hands on his narrow waist. "Ain't nobody can tame a lovestruck man's heart, Goode."

"I got my doubts," Roy snorted, nudging his stirrups and making his horse let out an agitated whinny as it trotted ahead, leaving the deputy sheriff eating dust.

Roy stopped near the schoolhouse entrance, where the last of the children were leaving, greeting "Mr. Goode" with excited giggles, thrilled to see him after weeks without a trace. He returned their enthusiasm with touches to his hat brim. Dismounting, he led his horse to the small pen with a makeshift stable he'd built behind the house—just big enough for his horses—and found his gray gelding resting in its corner. He gave it an affectionate pat before heading back to the door, his pulse quickening at the thought of seeing you again. Pausing before the double doors, he could hear soft humming through the wood. He dusted off his shoulders before stepping inside, already removing his hat but leaving the bandana out of habit.

You'd heard the door open and then be locked. Thinking it was a child who'd forgotten something, wondering why he heard her being locked, perhaps by mistake, you walked in with a gentle smile—only to freeze in shock at the sight of the man clad head to toe in black, the crimson bandana the only splash of color on him, staring at you. And just by his gaze, you knew everything he wanted to say. Roy smiled beneath the fabric, opening his arms for an embrace full of passion and longing. You leapt into him, wrapping your legs around his waist, exclaiming:

"Roy! You're finally back! God, I was starting to worry..." You cupped his face, your oceanic eyes searching his up close.

"Missed you like hell, darlin'—" His voice was muffled, making you laugh.

"Let's get this off..." You tugged the bandana down, exposing Goode's perfectly shaped lips, then held his face—the same hand that had just unmasked him—and kissed him tenderly. Roy carried you in his arms, bumping into a table leg, nearly tripping over a stray book on the floor—you both laughed at the clumsiness—before finally collapsing onto the purple velvet sofa. You settled atop his hips, palms flat against his narrow shoulders as Roy let out a long sigh against your lips, tilting his head back against the couch and tossing his hat aside.

"What's wrong, cowboy? How'd the hunt for that bastard go?"

"Went fine... I just—" He hesitated, shyly avoiding your hungry gaze. His large, calloused hands—worn from hard labor—rested on your waist. He smelled pleasantly of soap and fresh breath—likely stopped at an inn to clean up before coming to you, wanting to return presentable.

"You just...?" You encouraged, fingers tracing every detail of his face: the forehead creases beneath his fringe, the strong, upturned nose, the Cupid's bow lips that always made you feel struck by his arrows, the stubble pricking your skin, the warmth in his drained eyes.

"I... shit. I'm just... tired of this life, y'know? This endless chase after murderous outlaws, keepin' up this damn gunslinger legend, never knowin' if I'll make it back to you. It's messin' with my head, darlin'. Bad. Really fucking bad…"

You bit your lower lip, sudden pity swelling at his soft, accented voice—so unlike the man you knew. Adjusting yourself on his lap (your light pink cotton dress bunching around your hips), you cupped his face firmly:

"Roy Goode, you're the baddest sonuvabitch in this territory. Don't you dare feed me that defeated talk."

"It's just... ever since I lost my shot at Griffin and started patrolin' La Belle, promisin' folks freedom... I'm worn out, sweetheart. Real worn out." He closed his eyes again, lips twisting. You sighed, stroking his cheeks before pressing your forehead to his, whispering against his mouth:

"You'll kill that bastard yet. And that ain't a promise—it's fate. But even so, Roy, you're the goddamn best gunslinger in this whole damn town! The best!" You bounced slightly for emphasis, the movement making him groan beneath you. "In all these godless lands! And if there's one thing I can show you right now—besides makin' up for all this missin' you..." Your hands slid down his shoulders, intentions crystal clear in your hungry gaze and wicked smile. "...it's how much this cowboy here needs a good ride. Just to remind you you're this town's goddamn hero."

"Mhmm, that so?" he murmured, leaning into your touch. You grinned, already grinding against him, feeling his cock harden between your thighs.

"Yep. My favorite cowboy to ride." You laughed at your own silliness, earning a rough groan from him.

He was still fully dressed—pistols heavy in their holsters, leather belt digging into your thighs—but you couldn't care less, attacking his lips with desperate kisses, pouring weeks of longing into every movement. Roy matched your intensity, his calloused hands roaming your body with tenderness before sliding under your skirt to grip your thighs. Breaking the kiss, you smiled dopily at him before stripping off his coat, unbuckling his gun belt, and letting it drop with a metallic thud. Roy's eyes widened, and you just giggled:

"Oops!" You kissed him again, unbuttoning his black shirt while grinding against his deliciously hard cock. Roy voiced his need for you, guiding your hips into a slow, deliberate rhythm, letting you feel every inch of him as your wetness soaked through your panties.

"Think we oughta lose the rest of these clothes, hm?" you murmured against his lips. He nodded, both of you laughing at your fumbling—his hands flew to the buttons of your dress, impatiently tugging them free before showering your exposed chest with kisses, cupping your breasts like it was the first time, kneading them greedily, sucking your nipples until you arched into him with a wanton moan.

"L-let's get these off, baby," you stammered, reluctant to pull him away. Laughing, you both managed to undress between messy kisses and clumsy hops—you stepped out of your dress, now naked before him, then knelt to tug off his boots and pants.

Roy was left in only his half-unbuttoned shirt, his cock throbbing and begging for you.

"Goddamn, Roy. You're a sight." You couldn't help yourself, climbing back onto his thighs, positioning yourself over him. His hands found your waist, your eyes locked—and with a slow, deliberate motion, you sank onto him, taking him inch by inch with a long, sweet moan. Roy melted into the couch, watching you through half-lidded eyes, lips parted.

"What?"

"Just thinkin' you're missin' somethin'..." He grinned, reaching for his discarded hat and plopping it onto your head. "There. Now you're ready to ride me proper." He gave your ass a playful smack, making you gasp before bracing your hands on his shirt-covered shoulders. Roy shifted beneath you, finally shrugging off the last of his clothes—but you still felt something was missing.

"Hey, what—?" he started, but you clenched around him, drawing a ragged groan from his throat. You grabbed his black coat, shoving it at him.

"Put this on. No questions. Just obey, cowboy." You laughed at his confused pout. Roy groaned as you deliberately tightened around him while he struggled into the coat—finally dressed, he opened his mouth to complain about the wait, but you silenced him with two fingers against his lips.

"Nuh-uh. Shut up. Let me ride you real nice, but shut up." You smirked, retrieving the discarded bandana and tying it over his mouth like a gag. His expression darkened, but when you gripped the coat's lapels like reins and picked up the pace, he seemed to understand. Relaxing. Letting you take control, setting the rhythm as you rose and fell on his cock, milking him with each movement.

His hands gripped your hips, thrusting up to meet you, sweat beading on both your bodies—Roy panted, his gaze never leaving yours, full of desire. One hand slid to your throat as you threw your head back, lost in the feeling of him filling you completely. He wanted to whisper filth in your ear, but the bandana muffled his growls, drool soaking the fabric as he marveled at how perfectly your pussy fit around him. Slick, sweaty, fucking you hard. Your moans were music to his ears, your body moving in perfect sync, sweat glistening between your breasts, hair sticking to your face... God, Roy Goode was the luckiest man in the territory.

You slowly opened your eyes, his grip on your throat loosening as he focused on your ride. Gently, you tugged the bandana down, brushing your fingers over his lips, smiling lovingly as you slowed to a stop. Foreheads pressed together, sweat-slick and breathless, you kissed him softly. Roy tangled a hand in your hair, tilting your head to kiss your neck, his stubble scratching deliciously:

"Wanna feel you ride me from behind, darlin'..."

"Mmm, sounds so good..." you purred. With some effort, you turned around, his hands guiding you back onto his cock. "C'mon, sit that pretty pussy down on me," he rasped, making your legs tremble.

You resumed riding him, using his thighs for leverage, one of his hands on your waist while the other gripped your neck possessively.

"You're so big, Roy, so good—"

"That's it, ride me just like that..." His voice was wrecked, barely holding back. You bounced so perfectly, your ass slapping against his balls, it was a miracle he hadn't spilled inside you already. Suddenly, he hooked his arms under your knees, lifting you effortlessly (those hard labor muscles paying off) before slamming you back down, fucking into you with deep, punishing strokes. His breath was ragged against your back as he growled:

"Gonna fill you up, darlin'. Gonna put a baby in you. That alright?"

You choked on a moan, stars bursting behind your eyelids as he hammered that sweet spot. Roy laughed darkly, repeating:

"I asked you a question, sweetheart..." He stilled, making you whimper.

"Why'd you stop!?"

"Folks say I ain't no good. Just provin' 'em wrong—" He smirked at your desperate squirming, holding you still with a firm grip. "—if you want me to fuck you proper, answer me: you want me to breed this pretty cunt or not?"

"Yes, goddamnit, Roy, yes!"

Roy smiled beneath you, victorious. He grabbed your other leg again, adjusting himself beneath your body, sliding back into you slowly—in and out, holding himself deep inside you for seconds at a time, drawing whimpers from your lips as you scrambled for purchase with your hands. He repeated the motion once, twice, three times… so many times you lost count.

Then Goode thrust up hard, his own rough groan building as he shuddered beneath you, spilling—hot pulses of cum filling you up. He stayed buried inside you for long seconds, both of you panting, your own climax still coiled tight and throbbing low in your belly. He knew you hadn’t come yet, but that wasn’t a problem.

When he rolled you onto your side, slipping out of you—still half-hard from the thorough fucking he’d given you—he pulled you close, kissing you hungrily, his tongue sliding against yours as he pushed two fingers into you without warning. Just like that. He laughed against your lips at your startled gasp, his hat now tilted sideways on his head, his bandana loose around his neck. His fingers worked into you with the same ruthless precision as his cock had, hitting that same sweet spot until you were squirming, grinding down against his hand, helpless to the pleasure building—and the inevitable orgasm you’d been denied earlier.

When you least expected it, your body locked up, a full-body shudder wracking through you as electric pleasure shot from where he touched you all the way to your fingertips. You cried out, gripping his wrist to push him away, eyes wide, legs trembling uncontrollably.

Trembling, gasping, nails digging into his shoulders as electricity shot through you. Roy looked smug, bringing his fingers to his lips with a satisfied lick.

"Delicious. As always."

"Jerk," you huffed, both of you now tangled together on the sofa, sweaty and spent. His hand traced lazy circles on your back as you nuzzled into his chest, breathing in his scent—musky, natural, oddly comforting.

You glanced up. Roy looked thoughtful.

"And now...?"

"And now what?" you teased. He rolled his eyes, shifting beneath you.

"Now you convinced yet that you're one hell of a cowboy? A hero?"

Roy raised an eyebrow. Outside, night had fallen, La Belle's streets empty—as if the two of you were the only souls left in this lawless world. He pulled you into another searing kiss, murmuring against your lips:

"If this is how you prove I'm a hero... darlin', I'll need convincin' every damn day."

Playful, you could already feel his cock throbbing between your pressed pelvises, casting him a look full of intentions, love, and longing.

Roy raised his arms to the sides in an amused gesture of surrender, commenting:

"I was told earlier today that no one can tame the heart of a man in love..."

"Oh really?" you retorted, your mischievous hands already sliding down his torso toward the hardened length between you. Goode swallowed dryly:

"Yeah..."

"And what did you say?" You paused dangerously close to his cock. Roy made a pleading expression, silently begging you to keep exploring him with your hands. He gazed at you deeply, pupils dilating as they met yours:

"That I seriously doubted it... since mine is completely tamed by you."

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒: i have this fanfic to write with him, now i only have a good amount of time to focus on writing with this man, because just like Jackie's other characters, he deserves all the spotlight!

[thebibliosphere]

Chronic illness really skews your perception of normal. I just did my morning heart rate check and was alarmed to find it sitting in the low 70s and immediately panicked thinking something was wrong because my “normal” resting heart rate for the last few months has been 110bpm.

For those also on the chronic illness spectrum whose view of normal might be skewed: the 70bpm at resting is a normal resting heart rate for healthy people (technically “normal” is between 60-100).

I’m just so used to the dysfunctional rhythm of my heart that not being able to feel my heart galloping in my chest the moment I sat up made me panic before I realized this is what normal is supposed to feel like.

Crazy.

[attapullman]

Bob From Stats | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: College is a wild time, but absolutely nothing could prepare you for the quiet guy from Stats riding around campus as a cowboy. Or what a good kisser he is.

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: f!reader, smut, 18+ ONLY as always, dry humping, alcohol, drunken party games, mentions of studying because that gives me PTSD, semi-exaggerated Greek life for theatrical reasons

A Note From Mo: Somehow my frat!Bob, drunk Bob is Rhett, and 7 minutes in heaven ideas all rolled into one fic - wild! Massive shoutout to everyone who listened to me talk about Stats Bob (who is now officially my #2 Bob, I love him) and for supporting this here lil blog. May you find a hobby-horse-wielding future WSO to sweep you off your feet too!

If you liked this, you may also enjoy on our syllabus Bob From Pi Kapp.

“I hate this. I’m going to quit school and become a stripper.”

Anna gives you a wry look. “That joke was only funny the first time you said it.”

“So you admit I’m funny!”

The two of you have been spread out in the library the majority of the evening. Textbooks, snacks, and highlighters littering the glossy dark wood. You’re on hour five of assignments and your brain is pounding against the front of your skull. Your other classes aren’t too bad, a bit time consuming, but Statistics is a foreign language. Thinking in probable numbers? It was one thing when the nice guy who sat behind you helped explain concepts, but Anna does not have quite the same analytical mind.

The sky outside is an inky black and the library is quiet except for your frustrated huffs. It’s Saturday night. The rest of campus is indulging in cheap beers at Barney’s, slinking along Greek Row, or enjoying tonight’s episode of Saturday Night Live. It’s time to get out of here and crawl into your soft bed. Torturing yourself with Stats homework will be just as painful on Sunday.

“If I buy us a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough, can we blow this off and hang out back at the dorms?” Anna is nodding before you’ve even finished. Stuffing notebooks into backpacks and capping pens low on ink, you’re strolling down the library stairs not even five minutes later.

As the balmy evening campus air hits your face, you already feel fresher. Campus is quiet, late enough that most people are settled into their Saturday night plans. As the two of you near Greek Row, there’s a comfortable silence as you appreciate the breeze through the trees and the warm glow of campus housing windows.

That is, until a low whoop rings out. An undercurrent of boisterous cheering and what sounds like stomping feet. You exchange eyes with your roommate. What is that?

As if summoned, a group comes galloping through the neatly trimmed cypress trees around the corner. They’re stomping their feet in a rhythm, hands held mid-air to imitate holding reigns. Drunken laughs ring out between cries of “Whoa!” and “Steady there, Lucky!” To round it off, the leader of their horse play (literally) is full-on cosplaying as a cowboy, his jeans tucked into boots and a Stetson perched atop his head. 

Wait, is he holding a hobby horse? It’s been decades since you’ve seen those horse heads stuck on a stick. The stuffed felt Appaloosa head is reigned in the cowboy’s hands, where he pretends to spur it back into action. 

Just when you think you’ve seen it all.

The group continues its way toward you and you’re equally secondhand embarrassed and amused. As they grow closer you recognize a few guys from the Pi Kapp house and wave. But it’s Anna who makes the most shocking discovery when Mr. Cowboy tilts his brim up.

"Is that Bob from Stats?" 

It takes a second to look past the brown felt hat and the hobby horse he's taking for a spin, but that's definitely the same pink-cheeked Bob Floyd who has lent you a pencil all semester. 

“Howdy, ladies.” He tips his hat to you, all toothy grin and droopy drunk eyes. "Can I offer you a ride?"

You stare open-mouthed. Shocked. That slow rancher drawl is new. The unbridled confidence is new. Actually, the entire getup is new. For nine weeks you’ve seen him in the same trucker hat and sweatshirt combo while going over homework answers together. What is going on?

He’s clearly in the middle of his house party crawl, bright blue eyes half open behind his metal frames. Just as gorgeous as ever as a tendril of sandy hair curls against his forehead. Normally your reaction to him is tender, a puppy dog crush. But this wild, inebriated version of him? You’re hot under the collar.

“You think there’s room on your horse?” Ever since that first Stats class he’s made your brain feel like it’s on RedBull. The way he noticed you missing a writing utensil and offering you his extra. His kind smile when you get a homework answer completely wrong. Anna hasn’t noticed your crush, but it feels obvious with the way you can barely keep eye contact with him yet are unable to look away. Especially with that stupid cowboy hat on.

He bites his lip, considering your response, and his buddies all razz him as he drawls out, “There will be if we squeeze in.”

The wink makes your mouth dry.

Someone from the back of the group complains of the cold and the group prepares their steeds to head back to Pi Kapp. Anna explains you’re headed back to the dorms, tone deaf to the sexual tension, and Bob nods with his brow furrowed. 

“Another time then.” His white tshirt practically glows in the moonlight. “Have a good night, chickadees. Get home safe!”

With another tip of his Stetson to you, Bob Floyd gallops away toward another keg. 

You’re sprinting across campus, cursing how late your meeting with your advisor went. There was ten minutes to get across campus and he had spent four of those questioning whether you really needed another semester of French. You make it into the lecture hall with a minute to spare, finding your preferred spot in the lower rows where you can actually see the board. Right in front of Bob.

“What? No cowboy hat for class?” His cheeks flame red, the hope you’ve forgotten about his Saturday antics lost. He looks like himself today, his signature trucker cap keeping the hair off his face. Those friendly ultramarine eyes shyly focusing on his notebook because god forbid he makes eye contact after you’ve seen him gallop across campus on a fake horse. 

He rubs the back of his neck over his soft-looking crewneck, an awkward smile playing on his lips. “It’s at the cleaners.”

You give him an amused grin before settling yourself into one of the classically uncomfortable lecture seats. Anna waves to you from where she’s rushing in, historically always late. The professor is shuffling notes at the podium as she collapses into the seat next to you, nodding her head in greeting to you and to Bob. She raises her eyebrows to you, a “remember when Bob was dressed as a cowboy” gesture, and your lips twist happily. 

“Alright, class, who’s ready to talk probability?” The collective groans and hollers mark the start of lecture. You flip open your notebook and start digging around for a writing instrument in your bag. Like usual, you seem to be missing a pen or pencil when you need one most.

A tap on your shoulder. You turn and lock eyes with the frat boy-turned-cowboy with the shy smile. He holds out a pencil to you. Taking it sheepishly, you mouth a thank you and turn back to lecture. After nine weeks it shouldn’t be this embarrassing, but every week he’s given you a pencil since you whispered shoot! a little too loud on Week 1.

Risking a quick glance back at him, engrossed in the Empirical Law of Averages while he twirls his pencil, you’re not sure you can survive the rest of the semester.

By the end of the Stats lecture on Thursday, you have one brain cell to your name and seven pages of notes. What a brutal class. Midterms were quickly approaching and not a single professor had any mercy. As you pack up your stuff - including the borrowed pencil that would promptly disappear before next class - you make a study plan with Anna for that evening. She brings the chips, you’ll supply the vodka.

“Are you two not hitting the houses tonight?” He looks uncomfortable having interrupted the two of you.

Bob shifts his backpack to his other shoulder, adjusting the collar of his navy blue sweatshirt. Other than when he’s kindly exchanged homework answers before class - or been drunkenly galloping across campus - the two of you don’t speak much. The odd quip here and there, but overall the two of you exist in pencil-sharing quiet. “Everyone’s having pre-midterm parties before buckling down to study.”

“Oh, that sounds fun!” You look at Anna encouragingly. As needed as a vodka-infused study session was, one night out couldn’t hurt. And it was Thursday. No classes tomorrow meant you had three days to buckle down and attempt to understand anything you’ve learned this semester. 

She eyes you warily, but agrees that Greek Row sounds like a better option than highlighting textbooks. Bob flashes you his timid smile beneath the brim of his cap. “It’ll be a fun night. Maybe I’ll see you? If not, have a good weekend!” 

As he starts to walk out, a feeling takes over you. “Bob?” You watch him slow down and turn, wide blue eyes watching you from behind those unconventionally cute glasses. “You’ll be at the Pi Kapp house, yeah?” He nods. “Cool. See you around!”

Despite standing next to it the entire conversation, neither of you notice the pencil sitting on the desk, left behind as you head out for your respective weekends.

“What did you say?” You’re practically yelling to be heard over the EDM that Sigma Chi is blaring. They’ve turned their house into a rave with glow sticks, body paint, and music so loud your eardrums must be burst. The beer is warm, your arm has supernaturally purple paint smeared across it, and Anna has been unsuccessfully telling you a story for ten minutes.

Huffing, she grabs your arm and drags you toward the entrance, tossing your cups onto a random hallway table where a heated makeout session is taking place. They move out of the way just enough so the two of you can slip out of the old colonial house and out into the cool night. The ringing in your ears subsides slowly as you lean against the columns of the front porch. 

“House number three? Also sucked. Three strikes and you’re out? Can we go home?” Anna grabs your wrist and pouts. She wanted movie night with vodka and a pizza from Pietro’s. You wanted to blow off steam.

But Alpha Sig had mostly been freshman and Phi Delt, while not a terrible party, had the most smarmy men on campus. The bleeding eardrums of Sigma Chi was preferable to pushing off men in polos just to grab another drink. You just wanted a semi-decently flavored alcoholic beverage - maybe three - while chatting with some friends. You weren’t asking for much.

Allowing Anna to drag you in the direction of the dorms, ready to admit defeat, you slow to a stop seeing the bricked entrance to Pi Kappa Phi. Bob’s fraternity. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt, right?

It takes a little convincing, but soon you’re in the warmly lit foyer of the Pi Kapp house. The vibe is more relaxed than Sigma Chi, with a keg in the corner, an array of liquor bottles in the kitchen, and hip-hop softly filling the house. You’re impressed they’ve even gone the extra mile with multi-colored string lights across every surface to brighten up the otherwise dark house. 

“Yooooo, how’s it going?” A drunken loaf of snapback and Deep Eddy envelopes you in a hug. It’s Tyler, one of your freshman seminar PK friends. Exchanging pleasantries - the best you can with someone that far gone - he drags you further into the house. Miscellaneous groups of Greek and geed litter the hallways. Anna sees her friends from Delta Gamma and ditches you, promising to get home safe. Tyler continues on his mission to god knows where.

At least he’s considerate enough to stop in the kitchen so you can grab a whiskey lemonade to sip.

Eventually you’re spat into a sitting room of sorts, groups crowding the ring of sofas while drunkenly jeering at the game. You set yourself on the arm of one, trying to make sense of the theatrics. The latest victim laughs out a “Truth!” before everyone giggles wickedly. Are they playing truth or dare? 

Your eyes gloss over the group, trying to figure out who else you know. A few PK’s you recognize, a girl who smiles but looks unfamiliar, and…a cowboy hat that is a dead giveaway.

Standing up and walking around the group, you tap him on the shoulder. The biggest blue eyes meet yours, a surprised smile splitting his face. 

“You made it!” That deep drawl is back and that tingle reappears on your spine. Bob jumps up from the couch, beer bottle dwarfed in his hand, and comes to stand with you. “You having a good night?”

Ironically, your night is much better now that you’ve found him. He’s back in his cowboy gear, a worn denim shirt tucked into his jeans and those same cowboy boots scuff against the hardwood. You’re tempted to steal the felt hat from his head just so he looks a little bit more like Bob from Stats. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, letting the alcohol be an excuse, you succumb to the obvious question. “I need to know - what’s with the…cowboy?” You gesture up and down, drawing a chuckle from him.

He blushes under the felt brim. “You know I have a slight accent, yeah?” You attempt to stifle your laugh as he incidentally talks in a thicker accent. “When I was a pledge they started calling me cowboy. Saw the hat while I was in town one week, ended up leaning into the joke.”

“And the hobby horse?”

He beckons you closer, bringing his lips to your ear. “Stolen from my little sister over summer break.”

There’s that wink again making your knees weak. He pushes his glasses back up his nose and takes another sip from his beer. Despite the party raging around you, nothing else seems to exist past him asking about your night and if you want another drink. You’re wrapped in the warmth of his words, itching to snuggle into his broad chest. 

The spell is broken when “Cowboy Bob!” rings out from the crowd. The entire room is turned to you two. “Truth or dare, man?”

In the background of your intimate conversation with Bob, the truths and dares have reached full raunchiness. People have been stripped of clothes and dirty secrets. A bead of sweat gathers at Bob’s collar, aware that neither option is safe. 

His worried gaze flits to you, as if you hold the correct answer, before tipping his hat back and exhaling, “Dare?” 

It’s gutsy, but if there’s one thing you’re learning about the quiet guy from Stats, he’s full of surprises. The crowd bubbles with excitement, anticipating what dare will be dealt out. Next to you, the wannabe cowboy looks more annoyed than anything. He was enjoying talking to you not in a classroom and with a little liquid courage.

An evil smile crosses the dare-dealer’s face. He knows Bob and isn’t blind to what’s going on. He’s gonna help his buddy out on this one.

His arm stretches out and he points (with the red plastic cup in his hand) to the coat closet at the end of the hall. “Hmmmmm, I dare you to, hmm, play Seven Minutes in Heaven with…” It’s no surprise when the cup-turned-pointer lands on you.

Ice water down your back wouldn’t be as panic inducing. It’s hard to tell who swallows harder, you or Cowboy Bob. Every instinct is telling you to run, but that little voice in the back of your head wins out. As Bob starts to tell you it’s okay, they’re joking, you don’t have to, you grab his thick wrist and give him a nervous smile. You don’t even care what the punishment is for not completing a dare, this stupid drunken game has given you an opportunity.

The dealer of the dare follows the two of you down the hallway, leading the whoops and wolf whistles. Bob’s cheeks flame scarlet in the low light. You keep your chin high and eyes forward. He can definitely feel the way you’re trembling around his wrist.

Whether in anxiety or excitement it’s hard to tell.

The inside of the closet is dark, the faint light under the door casting only the faintest of shadows. Your heart is pounding, blood pulsing through your ears. Bob rubs his lips together nervously. It’s all you can do to not run your tongue along them. 

“We don’t have to do anything, we can just talk.” The way he prioritizes your comfort makes heat pool between your legs. The brim of his hat is as far back as it can go, his eyes tracing the lines of your face as he gauges your emotions. He’s welcome to figure them out, you’re unsure of them yourself. 

His large, warm hand rubs your forearm comfortingly, your skin too cold without his touch. You’re suffocating under his sweat-and-bergamot scent, citrusy and warm.

You bite the bullet. “What if I want to?”

His breath stops. Fingers find yours in the dark, interlocking on either side of your hips. Eyes you know are the deepest blue lock onto your gaze, a million emotions passing behind his irises. Face descending upon the space between you, tentatively showing his intentions. You meet him in the middle, caution out the window.

The kiss is gentle, puzzle pieces slotting together for the first time. He tastes like malt sugar and peppermint. Mouth warm and soft, enveloping you fully in his comfort. It’s even better than what you’ve imagined for the past nine weeks.

Bob begins to pull away, ever the gentleman. Your hand finds his collar, holding him in place. “Not yet, we still have, like, five and a half minutes.”

Despite the low light, his smile lights up the closet.

His lips return to yours in a rush, swallowing your mouth in a passionate heat. The press of his body to yours is delicious. Hands previously at your side meet your hips, lightly squeezing as you moan into his mouth. You reach up and hold the back of his neck, bringing him even closer as your lips toy with the tiniest bit of stubble along his jaw.

“You know,” he starts, holding the moan in the back of his throat. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since September.”

You pull back momentarily, a crinkle upon your brow. “Bob, we didn’t start Stats until January.”

He kisses the confusion from your face, his hands wrapping further around your body. “And you looked very pretty in that green dress at the homecoming barbecue.”

Bless your love of school spirit and free food. “Why didn’t you? Kiss me?”

“I don’t normally make a habit of kissing girls I don’t know. And clearly it takes an entire fraternity for me to get you alone.” The way his chuckle bounces against your skin has you squirming. Your schoolgirl crush on him wasn’t one-sided, and suddenly you’re hot for teacher. 

You capture him in another kiss, tongue searching the seam of his lips for entrance. He obliges immediately, groaning as you explore his taste. Four hands roam skin, finding purchase in anything and everything. Your body has a mind of its own as you press against him, chest heaving with your passion. The right shift of fabric on fabric reveals that he’s equally as affected by the chemistry.

Reluctantly, he pulls away once more, threading his fingers across the back of your neck. Takes a moment to capture his breath as he sees the lust in your eyes. A deep breath. “As much as I like you, I don’t want to do anything if you’re drunk.”

Soft fingers follow the line of his arm to where it wraps around your waist. How is he this impossibly sweet? Thoughtful, respectful, and looking hot as sin with swollen lips. It’s unfair.

“I promise I’m not.” You stroke the back of his hand. “Please kiss me?”

His large hands unwrap from your waist and travel down, shifting behind your legs and pulling you up, resting your back against the wall. You tangle your legs around his waist as best you can in the small space, relishing his firm body pressed deliciously close, warm and solid. Kisses smeared across lips and jaws as noises crescendo. You’re panting as you trail down to his impossibly long neck, desperate to cover it in affection.

You’ve barely explored the expanse of skin when the door flies open, the boisterous party sounds flooding in. Reality strikes like a slap across the face. The truth-or-dare ringleader takes you in - legs wrapped around Bob and hands creeping toward your ass - and whoops in delight. Who knew Cowboy Bob had it in him!

“Time’s up, lovebirds!” He crows and reaches forward to slug Bob lightly on the shoulder. 

Not skipping a beat, Bob shoves his friend back and throws up his middle finger. “Fuck off, Milburn.” 

The closet door slams shut, blanketing you again in the intimacy of the moment. You’re looking at him with unsure eyes and he’s praying the moment hasn’t been ruined. He’s waited seven calendar months for this opportunity and his fingers are so close to enjoying the plump squeeze of your ass.

“We can go back to the party if you want?” Your voice is so small, nervous outside of those bold seven minutes. Tentative breaths exist between you. 

In lieu of an answer, he bows his head to give you a searing yet gentle kiss.

That cramped coat closet suddenly is an inferno, his tongue slipping inside your mouth and groaning at the burning sweetness of your taste. Your hands grip his shoulders as you fight for dominance, fingers tangling in denim. Hips brushing together, still clinging to the idea of this being innocent. 

An innocence immediately lost when Bob strikes up the courage and palms your ass. Soft and pliable and perfect to squeeze in his palms. He remembers the exact day you came to class in the tightest jeans known to man (laundry day) and the way he had dug his pencil in his palm to avoid a semi as your curved ass met the lecture seat. Something unavoidable now as you squirm against him, moaning your pleasure against the pulse in his neck.

Nothing has ever felt as good as rubbing against Bob Floyd’s clothed bulge. One glance down and you’re dizzy with arousal. Rutting yourself against him as best you can with your limited mobility, sloppy kisses exchanged as the two of you can barely keep your mouths closed. It feels so good, too good. 

Lost in the moment, one hand slips below the hem of your skirt, warm skin on skin. Any noise from outside the closet dims to a hum. Two hearts beating rapidly as desire fully consumes, directing lips to too hot exposed skin. You murmur your need in his ear. You don’t care where you are, you need him.

Bob tucks a finger under your thong, feeling the slick coating your folds. The whine that leaves him is desperate and gruff. He groans against your throat. “Shit, I don’t have a condom.”

Undeterred, your lip catches between your teeth, core muscles contracting as you grind your hips forward. “Doesn’t mean I can’t go for a ride.”

He’s immediately on board, teasing you briefly before extricating his hand to support you better against the wall. His hands practically swallow your ass, flooding you with lust. You thrust your chest against him, desperate to touch every spot on his handsome body as your hips begin to grind. 

His hands are sweltering as they trail down, effortlessly clutching the back of your thighs to give you leverage. Your clit finds friction against his jeans and your mouth hangs open as you buck frantically into him.

“Look at you move, cowgirl,” he breathes out, infatuated. The nickname spurrs you on, whimpering against his lips.

One hand clutching his bicep, holding on for desperate life, while the other snakes its way atop the damned cowboy hat that’s stayed on the entire encounter. Gripping the top of it and holding fast as you ride his clothed bulge with everything you’ve got. Denim and lace against your clit, rubbing deliciously as your brain fuzzes. His hot mouth focused at the hinge of your jaw, sucking soft bruises into the skin; moaning when you brush him just right. 

“I’m close,” you whisper against his cheek. Time has stood still, but it’s embarrassing how close he’s gotten you to orgasm with just his clothed cock and strong hands. 

He ruts his hips forward, meeting your thrusts in heavenly synchronization. You’re panting as the pressure on your clit catapults you, so close to the ultimate prize. Whispers of you can do it, cowgirl, cum for me, doing so good riding me, just a bit more, cowgirl fizzle your senses. 

“O-oh!”

It’s intense, the blinding pleasure coursing through your body. Prolonged by the thick bulge still rutting against you, ready to burst itself. Lips tickling your ear as he praises you. You want to live in this perfect moment of bliss. A moment only perfected when Bob’s fingers grip too hard and his hips stutter up into yours. His all-consuming orgasm only muffled by the skin of your shoulder as he rides it out. 

The rhythmic slowing of your breaths is all you can focus on. You breathe in, he breathes out. Small smiles and a blush barely visible in the low light. 

Delicately, like he knows you might break, he releases you back to the ground; taking his time to smooth down your skirt and straight out your top. Your own hands reach up to his chest, fixing the fabric that had bunched up in your passion. Adjusting his fogged glasses to look into his beautiful eyes.

It doesn’t matter how much you clean up, one look at you two and anyone would comment you’ve been ridden hard and put away wet.

With one final kiss to your lips, you feel something land on your head. The brown cowboy hat with the rip along the edge. Cowboy Bob showing off his cowgirl.

You tentatively open the closet door, eyes adjusting to the normal light. Painfully aware of the wet splotch on the obvious front of his jeans, Bob holds your body against him as a human shield. The party is still going strong - your antics have not interrupted anything - and you slip toward the front door without notice. Well…mostly, as a few wolf whistles reach your ears.

“It’s not that late, you want to go back to mine? I’m just off Thornton. It’s quiet since everyone is here.” His eyes are so hopeful in the dark night. So desperate for you to say yes. For you to be his cowgirl beyond tonight.

You wrap your arms around him and pull him close, careful to avoid the spot where your bodily fluids have drenched his jeans. “I’m in.” Your smile is blinding. “We have about nine weeks of Stats to make up.”

The brick is uncomfortable behind your back, but it’s hard to care when his lips feel so good. Broad shoulders shielding you from the hallway, trucker hat turned around and glasses in his pocket so there’s not an inch between your faces. Agreeing to meet outside before lecture was such a good idea.

Despite spending most of the time between Thursday night and Tuesday afternoon in Bob’s apartment trying every position in the book (with teasing hollers from his Pi Kapp roommates adding to the soundtrack) you can’t help but steal these five minutes. He looks so cute, to not kiss him would be a crime.

Bob squeezes your hips, lips trailing down your jaw. “What’s on your mind, cowgirl?”

“I’m trying very hard to convince myself that we pay a lot of money to attend this school and should go learn about statistics. Even though I really only want to head back to my dorm and see how sturdy that loft bed is.”

From where his nose traces your ear, a guttural whine leaves him. “You can’t say something like that and expect me to go to class.”

You pull back to look at him, fingers tickling the close cropped hair at his neck. God, he makes it so hard to want to be responsible.

“Let’s make a deal, okay? We’ll go to class, learn, and tonight you come over and for every study guide question you get right I’ll take off a piece of clothing. Sound good?” He’s practically panting as he smothers your mouth in another kiss. He’s really good at Stats. A steady stream of students files past Bob’s back, a sign that class is about to start.

You press another kiss to his lips. “Let’s go or we’ll miss out on seats. Plus I need to dig through my bag for a pencil.”

“Do you think you actually have one today?” He smirks, amused. The eighteen pencils he’s lent you say otherwise.

Your cheeks are hot under where he kisses them. “Uh…if I don’t can I borrow one? If you have one, that is.”

He lets out a soft chuckle and holds you closer, rubbing your noses softly.

“You do realize I’ve been buying pencils all semester just to give to you, right?”

Turning his cap around - insides fully melted - you know you’re in this rodeo for the long run.

Want more Frat Cowboy Bob? Hang out with Bob From Pi Kapp!

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[slytherinshua]

SHUT YOUR PRETTY MOUTH

genre. fluff. warnings. eric's yapping abt furry stuff 😟 reader hates on furries. slight make out. not proofread pairing. eric x fem!reader. wc. 951. request. no. a/n. @hursheys i hope this fulfills your eric delusions ☝️ i kinda hate the ending but whatever we're gonna roll with it. net. @deoboyznet

“So then he was like ‘well that’s totally furry behaviour’, and, obviously, I took offense to that. Cause, like, hello that’s absurd! I’m not a furry. I just bark occasionally—”

You were all too familiar with Eric’s chronic insomnia. Much like a toddler, if he didn’t do enough during the day to exhaust his endless energy, he could easily stay up all night with no sense of time or how tired other people (you) were. You closed your eyes, still half-listening to your boyfriend’s rambling, although you had lost the context of it a long time ago. If you were lucky, you might even be able to fall asleep to his yapping…

As if.

“So I was like, ‘dude, I have a girlfriend, why would you even suggest that’!? They went without me— good riddance— and I blocked them too, so there’s no need to worry. Maybe this is what Kevin meant when he warned me to stop hanging out with random people I meet on the streets. But, I met you on the streets too, so I can’t trust anything Kevin says anymore. Imagine if I hadn’t stopped to get your number at the crosswalk? My life would be so boring now!” Eric continued animatedly, drumming his fingers against the pillow that rested in his lap, picking out the rhythm to one of The Boyz’s songs.

“And I might actually be able to get some sleep…” You interjected with a tired whisper, rolling on your side to face your boyfriend. You opened your eyes with a pointed glare, and Eric’s let out a small “oh”.

“Right. Sorry, baby. You should sleep.” He said quickly, plopping down next to you and planting a quick kiss to your forehead. He was quiet for around 3 minutes, before you heard a small whisper close to your face.

“You don’t ever regret taking my number, do you?” You opened one eye to find Eric staring at you, his eyes wide like a puppy’s. 

“No, I don’t regret it.” You said truthfully, a yawn coming in at the end of your response. Eric smiled slightly, his brain telling him that he should let you finally sleep, but it seemed his mouth had other ideas.

“What if I was a furry? Would you still date me?” You had to hold back a laugh at the question, assuming that it was a reference to his earlier rambling. Although you couldn’t recall how the full conversation had gone, you were pretty sure that even if you did, it wouldn’t help you understand Eric’s brain.

“Who said you weren’t already?” You asked sarcastically, earning a pout from the boy that was almost impossible to resist kissing. 

“What if instead of talking to you I just barked in response?” 

You raised an eyebrow at him, silently judging his train of thought that was getting increasingly more unhinged with every minute that went by. You being extremely tired didn’t help with your patience for his incessant questions. You loved your boyfriend, you really did. But sometimes you just wanted him to shut up and let you sleep.

“What if instead of walking—”

Eric thankfully was not able to finish his sentence, which you could only assume had something to do with crawling on all fours or galloping around like a pony, because you had finally given in to your thoughts and shut up his rambling with your lips. He was shocked at first, frozen in place from your sudden movement. But kissing you was as natural as breathing to him, so he quickly found his rhythm, pulling you closer by your waist and kissing you deeply. 

“Was that a yes?” Came Eric’s first words when you broke off for air. 

“If you mean breaking up if you became a furry, then definitely yes. Now shut your pretty mouth.” You stated clearly before crashing your lips onto his again, giving him no opportunity to protest.

It was surprising how easy it was to get lost in the kiss even when you were exhausted. With Eric eagerly leading, it was simple enough to just let him do most of the work. You tangled your fingers in his blonde hair as he squeezed your waist, letting his tongue slip past your lips gently. 

It seemed your kissing idea worked wonders to exhaust your boyfriend’s energy, as when he broke it off and fell back onto the pillow, he wrapped you up in his arms and let his eyes fall close. You could feel his heart racing, your ear resting over his chest. His cheeks were flushed a pretty pink colour and his lips slightly swollen from the prolonged kiss. As his heartbeat slowed to a regular speed, you naturally matched your breathing with it, and the repetition lulled you to sleep quickly.

Eric held you tightly in his arms, listening to your steady breathing. He was tired, but his mind still raced with thoughts. Rather than meaningless questions he loved to throw at you, they all shifted to thoughts of you. He didn’t deserve your patience at the best of times, and was forever thankful that you truly loved him for himself. 

He knew he could be overbearing and exhausting at times, but he tried his best to balance it with the soft romantic moments that you and him both loved. You were quite similar to each other, the more Eric thought about. Although you were definitely more subdued, which balanced his exuberant energy quite well.

He sniffed, not having realized until now that his eyes had welled up with tears from his thoughts. He sheepishly blinked them away and held you a little closer in his arms, falling into his dreamland with you.

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[writinginatree]

Paul x reader - Vampires Will Never Hurt You

Summary: Paul reveals his true nature to you when he has to save you from an attacker, and immediately panics about how you'll react.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, blood & murder

Santa Carla is not a safe place to walk alone at night, everyone knows that. You have never felt particularly unsafe being out late despite that, used to the night life thanks to your boyfriend and his brothers, who have the worst sleeping rhythm imaginable and a bad enough reputation to scare off any possible threats, but now, as you walk along the beach to where you're supposed to meet Paul, a chill creeps down your spine.

You fight the urge to look back over your shoulder again. The surf nazi that has been following you since the boardwalk will still be there if you look, you're sure, and you're not willing to let him see how much he's scaring you.

You've almost reached the meeting spot, and the sun is just disappearing into the ocean, which means you're right on time. Paul will be there any moment.

You cling to that thought, walking faster.

Only a small rise of the ground separates you from where you hope Paul is already waiting, when the sound of footsteps alerts you to the fact that the distance to your pursuer is growing ever smaller.

No amount of telling yourself you'll be safe with Paul in just a minute can help against the feeling that a hand will close around the back of your neck any moment. You try to just keep walking, but the tension becomes too much. You need to know what to expect, what your pursuer is up to, so you whirl around to face him, wishing you had some kind of weapon in case you have to defend yourself.

The shock of just how close he is has you staggering a step backwards, your own galloping heartbeat drowning out all other sounds as a glinting switchblade appears in his hand. In the falling darkness, you can just barely make out the surfer's cruel features, crazed hatred shining in his eyes. The conflict between Paul's group and these people is nothing new — anyone who spends enough time on the boardwalk can witness it — but now you realize with growing terror that you may have underestimated just how far it goes. This guy is fully prepared to kill you just to get to Paul.

He says as much, crossing the remaining distance between you with two huge steps as you stand frozen in fear.

Scream. You should scream. If Paul is already close-by — and he should be, if he's on time — he'll hear and come help you. But you can't seem to make a sound, or move at all.

Your eyes are glued to the knife. That's your mistake, because he doesn't use it yet. Instead his free hand grabs for your throat.

Finally breaking from your stupor, you jump back with a yelp.

Now he does lift the knife, and as you lift your arms in a weak attempt to protect yourself, you promise yourself to learn some self-defense techniques if you live to see the morning.

He's almost upon you when a blur of movement behind the attacker catches your eye. Looking over his shoulder, you recognize the blond mess of your boyfriend's hair, but his face is different — all glowing eyes and sharp teeth. He rips the surfer away from you, moving so fast your eyes can barely follow the movement. All you can see is flailing limbs and spurting blood, and the next thing you know, there's a body laying at your feet, the whole thing over before you can even begin to comprehend what happened.

When Paul turns around to you, his face looks just like always. If it wasn't for the blood smeared all over his face and the disfigured corpse sprawled on the sand, you might be inclined to think you had only imagined it.

Shock keeps you frozen in place, too stunned to say anything — not that you have to, what with Paul rushing to your side, his hands digging into your shoulders as his panicked gaze roams your form for any injuries. His voice trembles as he asks if you're alright, at which you manage a silent nod.

By the time Paul has assured himself you're unharmed, you have finally regained enough of your composure to ask him what the fuck just happened. He only now seems to realize what he just let you witness, that he revealed what you assume was supposed to remain a well-protected secret. Fresh panic flares in his eyes, and for a moment you wonder if he'll kill you now. Whatever just went on with him, can he risk letting you get away and potentially giving him away to others? Ha! As if anyone would believe you if you told them what you just saw. Besides, he went berserk to protect you.

That thought gives you the courage to touch Paul — who is staring at you with that look that you know means there's a hundred thoughts racing through his head at once — on his arm, and ask again. "Paul, what was that? You— You killed that guy. And your face—"

You're not sure what else to say.

Neither is Paul, it seems. He winces, opens his mouth to speak, closes it again. Twice he starts a sentence and breaks off after the first word, frustratedly shaking his head. "I'm a vampire," he finally blurts out, words coming out so fast he stumbles over them. "Me and the boys all are. This— this isn't how I wanted you to find out but I— that guy— I just had to protect you."

For a moment, you can only stare at him, wide-eyed and unmoving as your brain tries to process that information. Vampire. A fucking vampire?

"You... are a vampire," you repeat. It's not really a question — you understood his words perfectly well, and you know what you saw. After that, it's easy enough to believe, also explaining why you only ever get to see Paul and his brothers at night. Even so, the word gives you the unreasonable urge to laugh as you can't help but imagine Paul as one of the little bloodsuckers from a cartoon you used to watch. As you just witnessed, real vampires are nothing like the ones they show on the TV for children, and the lingering smell of blood in the air makes it easy to bite down the threatening laugh, but a feeling of unreality remains. The fact that vampires exist would have been enough of a shock on it's own, but that Paul of all people is one... You're not really sure how to cope with that.

How the hell is one supposed to react when finding out one's boyfriend is secretly a vampire?! Should you be scared? You suppose any sane person would be, when faced with such a bloodthirsty killer. But... bloodsucker or not, it's still Paul. Your sweet, dorky, chaotic and extremely loving Paulie. You just can't bring yourself to see him as a monster, even as you watch the blood continue to drip from his chin. He killed the surfer, sure, but he did that to save you. He wouldn't hurt you, right?

While all these thoughts race through your head, Paul nods and rushes to explain that he doesn't pose any danger to you. You barely listen. You aren't scared of him, you realize. A little disturbed, sure. The events of the last few minutes are too strange and horrifying to really think about without losing your mind, but you know in your bones that Paul would never harm you.

Coming to this realization, you take his bloodstained hand in yours and interrupt his rambling. "I know. I know you're not dangerous to me. I love you, even if you're a vampire — which I'll definitely need some time to wrap my head around, but—"

You're interrupted as Paul breathes a huge sigh of relief and pulls you into his arms, which you're pretty sure he's only held back from doing before because he was scared of scaring you. You hug back, bringing one hand up to pet his hair when you feel him trembling.

"It's okay, Paul. I'm okay. Everything's okay."

When he can finally bring himself to pull away from the hug, Paul tries to give you a kiss, but you quickly take a step back, immediately feeling bad about the hurt look on his face.

"Nuh-uh, I'm sorry, but I'm not kissing you when you have blood on your mouth," you say nonetheless, putting a hand on his chest to keep him at distance.

"Oh c'mon," he whines. "Please, babe!"

The little pout on his lips and the puppy-eyes he's giving you make it almost impossible to resist, and so with a sigh you pull your sleeve down over your hand and use it to wipe away the worst of the blood on his face. Then you allow him to kiss you — and almost immediately regret it, when the taste of blood still clinging to his lips hits you.

You suppose you'll have to get used to it. Now that you know about Paul's true nature, seeing — and kissing — him while he's covered in blood will probably become a common occurrence, whether you like it or not.

[inkedinshadows]

The Beauty of Prythian

Pairing: Lucien x human!reader

Summary: Lucien takes you to Prythian to show you the wonderful landscapes, but the view is not the only thing you have your eyes on.

Warnings: none

Word count: 2k

A/N: I love horses and riding, but I'm most definitely not an expert and it's been years since I last got to do it. This is to say, forgive me if there are some imperfections <3

Main Masterlist | Week Masterlist | Lucien Masterlist | AO3

@sjmxreaderweek

In the village, you walked everywhere you needed to go. Everything was within reach, and an hour was about the longest time it would take you to get to your gestation. You had no reason to leave, so it had been years since you last rode a horse.

You had forgotten how much it could hurt.

But at least you weren't alone.

Lucien's arms held you upright in front of him, slender fingers gripping the reins. His chest was a solid wall against your back, providing a warmth that seeped through the layers of your clothes, chasing away the morning chill. His breath—steady and unhurried—brushed against your ear every so often as he leaned forward to adjust the reins or simply shifted in the saddle.

You couldn't quite decide if it was comforting or utterly distracting. Maybe both.

“Will you tell me where we’re going now?” you asked for what was probably the third time. But it had been at least ten minutes since you last asked.

“You’re incredibly curious, you know that?”

Even without seeing him, you knew he had rolled his eyes, but a small smirk was already playing on his lips.

“I know,” you replied, shrugging one shoulder. “I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t.”

Living so close to the border with Prythian, you had always wondered whether the stories and legends about Fae and magical creatures were true or not. When the wall separating them from you came down, you were thrilled. It meant you could explore those lands. But everyone else around you was only worried about it, and you were too scared to venture there alone.

Then you’d heard the rumors. About a High Fae male living in the mortal lands with General Jurian and Queen Vassa. About how he would sometimes accompany Jurian when he came to the village.

So you waited patiently, and when you finally caught a glimpse of the beautiful red-haired man—male, he always corrected you—you couldn’t stop yourself. You approached him.

And here you were, a few weeks later, on the back of a horse while he showed you his world.

“Just a few more minutes, and we’ll be there,” Lucien assured you. “But I’m still not telling you what it is.”

“Why not?”

“Because it defeats the whole purpose of a surprise?”

“Fine.” You sighed dramatically. “But can we at least go faster? My tailbone is killing me, so I’d like to arrive.”

Lucien chuckled, and the sound reverberated down your spine.

“As you wish.”

He clicked his tongue twice, and the horse picked up the pace, first shifting from a walk into a trot. When Lucien did it again, the horse broke into a canter.

Caught off guard by the sudden speed, you bumped back against his chest with a little yelp. He only tightened his arms around you, securing you in place as he clicked his tongue again and the canter smoothly became a gallop.

“Lucien!”

He only laughed, his grip on you steady and unyielding as the horse surged forward, its hooves pounding against the earth in a steady rhythm. The landscape blurred at the edges, forcing you to focus solely on the path ahead. Your heart thundered with every stride, a mix of exhilaration and sheer terror bubbling up in your chest.

“What?” Lucien called over the wind, voice smug and far too pleased with himself. “You said faster!”

“I meant a little faster! Not—” A bump in the trail jolted you upward, but Lucien’s arm around your waist held you firmly in place. “Not this fast!”

“You didn’t specify!” he retorted, and you could practically hear the grin in his voice.

You barely had the breath to reply, laughter and adrenaline stealing the air from your lungs. Your fingers dug into the edge of the saddle, holding onto it so tightly that your knuckles turned white. But slowly, fear morphed into something akin to freedom. The wind whipped against your cheeks, tangling through your hair, and you found yourself leaning into the movement—trusting Lucien’s hold, trusting the rhythm of the horse beneath you.

The pain in your lower back was still there, a constant throb that demanded your attention, but as you began to enjoy the ride, you could almost forget about it. At least for now.

The path began to climb, winding upward along the side of a hill. The trees grew sparser, revealing the warm, unfiltered morning sunlight. With every stride, the air grew crisper, sharper, the scent of pine and damp earth filling your lungs.

Just as your legs began to truly ache, Lucien eased back on the reins, his arm still wrapped around you. The horse slowed to a steady trot, then a walk, its sides heaving as steam curled off its coat. You caught your breath, your pulse racing faster than ever before.

“We’re here,” Lucien murmured in your ear. Despite his heavy breathing, his voice was softer now, almost expectant, as if he couldn’t wait to see your reaction to whatever his surprise was.

You finally took a look around as Lucien reined the horse to a stop at the top of the hill.

The trees had given way to a small clearing that stretched out toward the horizon, but beyond that…

You gasped, eyes widening as you took in the view.

When you crossed the border into Prythian, even without the wall, you had felt a change—a sizzle of energy along your skin. But you had also seen the difference: the colors were more vibrant, the trees taller, even the flowers seemed larger. It was the magic of the land, Lucien had told you, especially there in the Spring Court.

If the beauty had struck you from the first moment, what you were seeing now was simply breathtaking.

Rolling hills, lush and verdant, stretched as far as the eye could see. A sparkling river wound its way between them, the gentle gurgling of water reaching your ears even from a distance.

Lucien swung off the horse with effortless grace, his boots hitting the ground almost silently before he turned back to you, offering his hand.

“Come on,” he said, his metal eye glimmering under the morning sun. “Your poor tailbone deserves some rest.”

You took his hand and slid from the saddle with a wince as your legs protested. He caught you easily, his hands on your waist steadying you until you found your balance. Yet his hands lingered, and for a second, you even forgot about the view.

But then he stepped back and let his hands fall back to his sides. You swallowed, then turned to admire the landscape once more.

“It’s so beautiful,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“I thought you might like it,” he said quietly. There was something raw and unguarded in his voice, something you couldn’t quite place. “It’s the first place that came to my mind.”

You looked at him, but he was busy removing the horse's bridle. The animal blew softly, and Lucien patted its neck with a soothing murmur before securing the bridle to the saddle.

You frowned. “Is that safe?”

Lucien glanced at you. “He never wanders too far,” he replied, watching as the horse immediately began grazing. “This way, he can relax too. We'll be staying for a while.”

Curious, you watched him slide the satchel off his shoulder. He pulled out a blanket you hadn't even noticed he'd brought and spread it over the grass. You moved to help him, making sure that the spot he'd chosen wouldn't crush too many of the colorful flowers dotting the clearing.

“I'll admit it,” you said, settling onto the blanket once it was positioned. “I'm glad you kept this a surprise.”

Lucien joined you, sitting down next to you. He laid back on his hands, stretching his long legs in front of him, basking in the sunlight.

“Yeah?” He glanced at you. “And why's that?”

You gestured toward the view. “Words wouldn't be enough to describe this.”

He flashed you a smile. “Since you like it so much, does this mean I’m forgiven for the little gallop thing?”

There was nothing to forgive, actually. But you’d found that Lucien was the perfect partner to banter with. He always matched your jokes and teasing with his own, even when others might consider it a bit too much.

So you said, “That depends on what you’re willing to do to be forgiven.”

“Oh?” He narrowed his eyes at you, his expression amused. “Let’s say I’d do anything. What would you ask for?”

Despite your playful grin, you weren’t entirely joking as you answered.

“A kiss.”

Lucien went still. Something flickered in his eyes, but just like before, you couldn’t figure out what it was. He stared at you for a long moment, and the silence grew so heavy that you were about to apologize. But then he leaned forward with a roguish smile.

“A kiss?” he repeated. He was so close to you now, his breath fanning over your face. “A kiss where?”

Your heart thundered as his mouth brushed your jaw.

“Here?” he murmured.

His lips trailed down to your neck, sending tingling shivers down your spine.

“Or maybe here?”

You trembled, struggling to contain your emotions, to force your head to think straight. But his kisses at your pulse point were as soft as butterfly wings, and you couldn’t take much more teasing.

“My mouth, Lucien,” you specified, impatience threading through your voice. “A real kiss.”

He lifted his head from your neck. As your eyes met, a sparkle passed between you, and his smile widened into a grin.

“As you wish.”

A second later, his lips were on yours.

You had expected passion, roughness, a hunger you would struggle to match. You weren’t sure why. But Lucien was gentle and soft, his lips warm like the sunlight kissing your skin, his touch tentative as he cupped your cheek.

The only wild thing about the kiss were the butterflies in your stomach.

When you pulled apart, you could hardly believe he had actually kissed you. If you had known all it would take was simply asking him, you would have done it a long time ago.

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, Lucien spoke first.

“I think I should forgive you for all the questions you asked on our way here,” he said, his eyes still locked onto yours. “Perhaps I deserve a kiss for enduring them. We can… call it even?”

You didn’t really care about the why. You only cared that Lucien wanted another kiss, and you were more than happy to give him one.

You pulled him closer, fingers tangled in fiery hair, and kissed him again.

This time, it was more passionate. Your lips parted and your tongues met, dancing together for what felt like hours before the kiss finally broke.

Breathless and heavy-lidded, you looked up at him.You didn’t want it to end. You craved more—to kiss him until both your lips were swollen, until you were addicted to each other.

“Maybe you should give me another one,” you began. “I think—”

“I don’t care about the reason,” he interrupted, his voice husky. “I just want to kiss you.”

His other hand came up to cup your face, and you groaned softly against his mouth. He leaned forward over you, gently pressing you back until you were lying beneath him on the blanket.

Your hands roamed over his back as if searching for a way to pull him even closer, fingers twisting the fabric of his tunic. The heat between you only grew, desire stirring deep inside you, and suddenly his kisses weren’t enough anymore.

It had taken almost two hours to get here, and now you were already focused on something entirely different from the view you’d come for. But the landscape was still clear in your mind, like a picture you would always carry with you. A few minutes had been enough to fall in love with Prythian.

You looked up at Lucien—at his caramel skin, at the long red hair, at the wicked scar and the smirk on his lips as he pulled back.

Maybe Prythian’s beauty wasn’t just in its nature.

And its nature certainly wasn’t the only thing you’d fallen for.

*lovely divider by @slytherin-pen

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @lilah-asteria @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @ivy-34 @yesiamthatwierd @lreadsstuff @littlest-w01f

[alternate-real-ities]

Change me from lean muscle to bulky muscular features based on various regions such as Latino,black,etc

Quick to the point, huh. Well, let me see what I can find that satisfies your bulking needs. :)

First stop, a reality where you've been blessed with African blood:

In this world, your toned physique has taken on rich, dark hues and a powerful, chiseled form reminiscent of an Adonis from the motherland. Every muscle is a work of art, etched into your skin like the lines of a master sculptor's finest creation.

As a part-time model in this alternate reality, you're no stranger to the spotlight. With each confident stride, every flex of your huge biceps or bounce of your pecs, you exude an aura of raw masculinity that leaves men weak in the knees and women aching with desire.

Here's another angle to appreciate your sculpted glory. That bulge isn't going to take care of itself. Lucky for you, what ain't missing is the amount of twinks that beg to touch your body every day on insta. Perhaps you'll tell one of them to come meet you and show him your real African heritage. :)

Now, let's move on to another realm where your muscular build takes on a distinctly Asian flair...

In this alternate universe, your physique has taken on a sturdy, softer form - not exactly lean muscle, but built for power and endurance like a well-oiled machine. You're no ordinary man here; you're an elite sumo wrestler, renowned across Japan for your brute strength and unstoppable force in the ring.

Just look at those round pecs. Your huge body is full from consuming copious amounts of chankonabe to fuel your training sessions! And don't even get me started on those tree trunk thighs - built for crushing opponents into submission. When you're not busy defeating rivals or preparing for the next tournament, which lucky fan will be tempted for a private demonstration of sumo moves? Maybe one brave soul will even try to squeeze into your loincloth…

Last but certainly not least, let's saddle up and gallop into a reality where your Hispanic heritage has given birth to an unforgettable stud of a man.

In this reality, you're a proud Latino stud born and raised in the heartland of America - a rugged cowboy at heart with a soft spot for the boys back home. Your muscular physique boasts a perfect balance of hard work and natural charm, from your broad shoulders to your chiseled abs and tree-trunk thighs.

In the heart of the Midwest, you own and operate a popular cowboy-themed bar, where patrons come not just for drinks but to catch a glimpse of the hunky Latino owner who likes to don a cowboy hat and vest. Your muscular frame is more defined than in the previous reality, with broad shoulders and huge daddy milkers that get all your patrons drooling for some action.

But it's not just your body that turns heads - when you're dolled up in cowboy duds at your popular nightspot, every detail screams pure machismo. Just imagine strolling through the bar, hips swaying to the rhythm, as thirsty gringos and Latino cuties alike can't help but drool over your irresistible charm. Who knows how many eager bottoms you'll have riding your horse tonight? Better saddle up and prepare for a wild ride. :)

I guess this is it. I really liked your latino version, maybe someday we'll be able to pay him a visit. 😏

[ichore]

FRISSON | SNAKE (VINLAND SAGA)

synopsis: upon hearing the news of you becoming single, snake takes it upon himself to comfort you pairing: snake x fem!reader wc: est. 2.1k tags, warnings: smut, cunnilingus, unprotected p -> v, snake is obsessed with you, this fic is lowkey self-indulgent | @rottiens

Snake wasn’t one to meddle in his men’s personal lives, but the furrow between his brows deepened as he overheard his subordinates consoling their comrade with promises of a barrel of wine and a new girl to ease the sting of his parting from you. It was a mutual decision, the man claimed. Snake clicked his tongue against his teeth, unable to stomach any more of their foolish chatter.

His thoughts drifted instead to you — your hands deftly slicing vegetables as you prepared him dinner, the seagrass basket brimming with crops resting effortlessly against the curve of your hips. He wondered if your work on the farm ever left accidental bruises on your skin, and how sweet it would feel to kiss each one, tasting you as he soothed them away. No — he could never agree to leave you. 

With a swift kick of his heel, he urged his horse to gallop faster, putting distance between himself and the fool who had once been your lover. “You lot keep patrolling this area. I’m heading that way,” he barked to his men before veering off on his own. The closer he got to your house, the more impatient he became, each passing second only deepening his need to see you.

By the time he stood before your door, night had fallen. The moon hung high on the iron-hued sky, and the flicker of firelight glowed softly through the cracks in the wooden frame. The aroma of freshly made supper wafted out, but for once, his hunger had nothing to do with food. All he wanted was to see your face.

When the door creaked open, his heart sank at the sight of your tear-streaked lashes, your eyes rimmed with red sorrow, your chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm. His fists clenched at the thought of your former lover finding solace in another woman’s arms while you sat here, weeping above the meal you had lovingly prepared for him.

“What brings you here, Snake?” you asked, your voice shaky, barely above a whisper.

“Heard the news. Thought you might need some company,” he replied, his tone gruff, an attempt to mask the ache your sad smile stirred in his chest.

“Come in,” you said softly.

As he stepped inside, his broad frame seemed to fill the room, the firelight casting shadows across his sharp features. He set his sword down as you poured him a bowl of soup, your hands trembling slightly.

“How come you came here and didn’t tag along with the others?” you asked. You knew very well how the guards console their heartbroken comrades, and given Snake’s reputation as a gallivant, it surprised you to see him at your table.

“I’m more interested in how you’re doing,” he said, his emerald gaze steady on you. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me. It’s about time I returned the favor.”

“Well, I was fine during the day. Work had my mind occupied a little, but I'm afraid the silence and the lonely night will break my heart in two at times. But it's just a part of life. You're a smart man, you know that,” you sat ahead of him, your tears pouring as you watched the steam curl above his bowl.

“Look at you,” he pushed the food to the side to be able to reach across the table and place his calloused hands on yours, his thumbs caressing the back of your gentle hands. “You're going through so much pain and you still find a way to flatter me. You deserve better than him. No sane man would leave a woman like you,”

“I hardly believe he's been viewing me as a woman in a long while, but … I shouldn't tell you this, you're his boss.”

Snake's hold tightened on your skin, his emerald stare studying your cheeks that you turned away in shame until he realized just what you meant by your words. “How long since…?”

“It's been months.” you took your hands out of his hold to wipe away your tears began to swell faster and played drums against the wooden table. You rested your face against your palms as you began to sob uncontrollably, your body trembling ahead of him.

This sight of you painfully clawed at his heart and set his soul into a flickering ember of rage. To think one of his men dared to make you think less of yourself by not worshiping your body every night angered him.

He was searching for you in every girl he chased after on Ketil's farm ever since he first laid eyes on you; your hair shining in the afternoon sunlight, the curve of your brows, the kind light in your eyes and the gentle simper sitting on your lips whenever you greeted him. No matter how many women moaned under him, he always wished it was your laughter vibrating against his lips. And to think he respected his subordinate's relationship with you to find out he took you for granted, “What an idiot,” Snake mumbled as he stood up and made his way over to you. “Come here.”

His shadow loomed over you before he sat down next to you, his palm finding the curve of your nape to lead your face to his shoulder as his other hand caressed across the length of your back. He smelled of horse sweat and leather, the frostbitten mud stench of wind still lingering on his shirt as your tears wetted the material. His warmth wrapped around you as his stubble tickled the sensitive skin of your temple, and his fingers massaged the back of your head and his other hand found the small of your back to pull you closer against him. “You deserve better than him. Someone who worships every inch of your perfect being, who thanks the Gods they get to wake up right beside you and the first thing they see is your beautiful face. Someone who yearns to have your pretty lips moan their name like a mantra every night.”

“Snake…” you whispered breathlessly as his words became hot against your sensitive neck, forcing you to hold your thighs together tightly while the liquid luster began to dwell in between them. You let go of his back, placing your arms between you and him to be able to pull away and look at his face. His dark locks framed his desire filled face, his eyes dark with wanton that threw your heart into a burning ache and need to taste his lips. But for a second, you hesitated. “So you're just a man, after all,” you whispered with a trembling voice. “Thought I'd entertain you tonight? After having my heart broken? I'm nothing but an easy prey to you.”

“There's nothing ‘just’ about the way I've been feeling about you. Had your love for another man not blinded you, you would've realized it a long time ago,” he smoothed his knuckles against the soft of your tear-streaked cheeks before his palms cupped your face, his thumbs wiping away the remnants of your lament. Your lips trembled, parting instinctively as he claimed them for his own that night; he tasted of dried meat and cheap, red wine as his tongue deepened the kiss with a fervor that made your breath hitch. “Your kiss is even sweeter than I've ever imagined,” he whispers, his fingers tangled in your hair at the back of your head to gingerly tug at it and open your neck for his trail of kisses.

Your heart was pounding against your ribcage with guilt and excitement; to make love with your past lover's boss in the same bed you adored him in for years on the same night you two parted ways. Yet, Snake's words and touches made such eager moans bubble in your chest. Heat rises to your cheeks as you notice the bulge tenting on his lap, a wet spot expanding on his pants while the tip of his tongue rushed across your collarbone.

“Don't think of him,” he whispered, sensing your hesitation from the way your moans got stuck at your throat. “Think of me. Only me. I'll show you how beautiful you are. Will you allow me? Yes?”

It was strange to see him like this - always so composed and calculated, now so eager, almost pleading, just for a taste of you. You nodded, and in an instant, his strong arms lifted you effortlessly. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you, laying you gently across the bed beside the flickering glow of the fireplace.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as he began to expertly remove your clothes, his movements precise yet reverent. His gaze swept over you, drinking in every inch of your revealed skin, his dark eyes heavy with desire that made your heart race as his face was between your thighs.

“I can't believe I finally get to taste you, gorgeous, and you're so wet for me already,” he took his pointing and middle fingers to spread your folds, rushing his fingerpads across while the thumb of his other hand found your clit. “Soaking fucking wet, dripping.”

“Oh, gods,” your cheeks flushed into crimson at his words and the way he never broke eye contact with you, not even when his upper lip teased your clit and his tongue sheathed into your gummy walls as two of fingers massaged them inside. It made your back arch and your face turn away as a sharp peak of pleasure was building at the pit of your stomach.

“Don't look away from me, sweetest,” he got on his knees to have his palm on your nape, gently forcing you to look into his eyes as his fingers took you to your first orgasm and tears of pleasure swollen in your eyes. Your wetness overflowed, traveling down on your body and pooling under you by the time he was done and he was licking his fingers while his thighs spread your legs open. The mix of your liquid desire and his saliva coated the tip of his dick while he rushed it across your folds. “I'll fuck that bastard right out of your pretty your head, okay? You want it?”

“Yes, Roald, please,” the sound of his real name falling from your lips, the eager arch of your pack to have his cock inside you immediately made him stop with any teasing and he slowly pushed himself in. His jaw hung low as he felt himself stretching you out, the vehement pulsing in your walls massaging his dick. His size snuffed the air out of you, making your brows furrow as the two of you watched him push the last inch in until his dark pubic hair was right against your clit. 

“You feel like you were made just for me, sweetest,” Snake placed his elbow right next to you, his naked chest resting against your breasts as he brushed your hair out of your face before he kissed you. “I love that you remember my name even though I told you about it once in a fleeting moment. Now, I want you to scream it to your heart's content. Don't hold back.”

As he began to move, his pace fast and measured, your nails raked across his back. Each thrust drew out a new whimper or moan against his groans, making you tightly wrap your legs around him as his hands rested on your shoulder blades to keep you in space. You felt your body reaching the heavens over and over again underneath him, your throat was dry from screaming the syllables of his name and your lips were raw from his kisses and love bites.

“Cum with me, gorgeous.” he groaned against your ear as his rhythm became uneven, but harder and faster. You felt the tip of his dick harden and throb before his seeds filled you up. His dark locks fell onto your face as he left gentle pecks all over your forehead, nose, eyelids and jawline while he kept cumming inside you. You whimpered each time his dick twitched with its last drop, and you moaned as he slowly pulled himself out.

“I made quite the mess here, darling,” Snake chuckled to himself as he found his subordinate's shirt to wipe you clean before he found a blanket to cover you with. Your gaze followed him as he put his clothes back on, your heart already aching at the thought that perhaps every word he told you that night was a lie.

As if he could read your thoughts, he sat right beside you and pressed his lips against your forehead. “I'm still on duty and I have to check on Gramps. I'll come back as soon as I can. I want you to rest now, sweetest.”

[lsdchris]

cowboy!matt likes the way you look when you ride… a horse.

the sun beamed down on the dusty corral, buzzing cicadas creating a sort of musical ambience. you shifted your weight on the saddle, leather creaking beneath you, your body tensing as you gripped the reigns far too tight.

“loosen up,” matt finally speaks up, his worn brown boots crunching against the dry dirt as he takes a few steps close enough to rest his hand on your bare thigh, pinching it tenderly, “she can feel all that tension, ain’t doin’ nothin’ but freakin the poor lady out.”

you take a deep breath before doing what he says, allowing yourself to relax a bit. the beautiful black fox trotter immediately responds, letting out a soft snort of appreciation when you slack the reigns. “there ya go,” matt drawls, slow and rich like molasses, “gotta dance with her, sugar, not wrangle the poor thing into submission — let ‘r lead.”

a redness creeped over your face at his words, and it wasn’t from the hardly bareable southern heat. “m’sorry,” you mumbled, embarrassed by your own hastiness.

“ain’t nothin’ t’be sorry about,” matt assured you, his eyes wandering down your body. he liked the pretty white sundress you wore, a stark contrast from the horses coat beneath you; so modest, giving just enough up for matt’s imagination to fill in the blanks. he could feel his jeans tightening, the thick denim brushing against the hardness beneath his boxers. “specially when yer up there lookin’ pertty like that.”

you couldn’t hold back your smile at his smooth compliment, burning up like you were left in the sun without any sunscreen. his hand creeps a little higher up your thigh, just enough to prove the respect he has for you still remains, even in times like these when his mind reeled with dirty thoughts of you. then, his hand fell. “well, go on an’ move then,” he says, cutting through the thickness in the air as he pats the horse on its hind leg.

she starts walking, and suddenly, you’re riding—not bouncing or holding on for dear life, but flowing with the rhythm. matt chuckles at the sight, finding humor in the way you seemed so nervous for no reason. “you’re a natural, darlin’,” he calls out from across the shut in, the horse still galloping at an easy pace as a large smile pulls at your lips.

matt’s hands rested on his hips, dipping his head to hide the smirk that appeared on his face. his large, scuffed up cowboy hat casted a shadow on his face, keeping it cool as he bit his cheek to stifle the string of chuckles that threatened to come out. “ain’t never seen nobody ride my horse like that before. at least not this quick.”

author’s note. an anon requested this and i hadda get to it asap.

[entitled-fangirl]

hey so i actually think i need fatherhood pt. 2 immediately?? (respectfully, ofc🩷)

Because you were so respectful, you get a coupon for one (1) teaser :)

.....................................

"A horse," she grinned as she tapped the wooden horse on the ground as if it was galloping. "It's a mighty horse, isn't it? Very strong. Much like your papa's."

Rickon moved to his small chest of toys and pulled out another wooden thing, quickly moving to sit by her and do the same thing with his own toy.

"A direwolf? Horses gallop. See?" She replicated her motion. "But direwolves run. Here." She held her hand over his and lightly moved it to tap at a smoother and lighter rhythm. "Horses move with their mind. Wolves move with their hearts. That's what makes them predators."

Rickon tries to replicate the motion she made. It was sloppy, but it was clear that he got the idea. 

"That's wonderful. You're a clever boy," she preened at him.

"Clever as his father?" Cregan grinned from the doorway.

She gasped and turned, not expecting to see him while she was seated on the cold stone floor. "Cregan-"

He walked further in and knelt on the other side of them. "What have we here? A hungry wolf? Or is he friendly?"

She laughed. "All of our animals are friendly. Aren't they, Rickon?" When he nodded, she continued. "Wolves aren't hungry within these walls, Cregan."

His eyes were glued to hers, an obvious heat moving through his body. "Perhaps there is one."

.........................................

[sherewrytes]

No letting Go, Connie x Black fem reader

Reader is Black Caribbean living in the US. So Caribbean themes are mentioned.

Song Inspo: No letting go - Wayne Wonder

The evening was alive with laughter, the dining table was crowded with platters of food—a mix of roasted turkey and baked ham alongside macaroni pie, callaloo, collard greens, the whole nine yards and then some. Y/N leaned against the doorframe, watching the scene unfold as Connie sat at the all fours table with her uncles. They were deep in the game of all fours, cards slapping onto the table, and voices raised in competitive banter.

Connie had been holding his own pretty well, but her Uncle George was relentless. “You sure you know how to play, young man?” he teased, eyebrows raised in challenge. “Ain’t no mercy on this table, yuh know.”

Connie shot back a grin, eyes gleaming with determination. “I’m from Chicago, Uncle George—I think I can handle a little heat,” he replied, playing his card with a dramatic flourish.

“Look at this one eh, all this big talk!” another uncle laughed, shaking his head, but even Y/N could tell they were warming up to him. She hid a smile as she saw her cousin’s kid tugging at Connie’s arm, wide-eyed.

“Uncle Connie, you playing games like an old man!” one little cousin giggled, arms crossed. “When yuh done losing, gimme a piggyback!”

The kids swarmed him, nearly tipping him off balance as they clamored for a ride, the uncles’ game momentarily forgotten as they chuckled at the commotion.

“Hold on, hold on, I got y’all!” Connie laughed, setting down his cards and lifting the youngest one onto his back. He was soon parading around with a line of laughing kids, doing playful spins and ‘galloping’ around like a makeshift horse. Y/N couldn’t hold back her laughter as she watched him be surrounded, completely at ease in the midst of her big, boisterous family.

Meanwhile, her aunties had been giving Y/N sly looks all evening, observing her and Connie from across the room. Eventually, Aunt Marcia sidled up beside her, nudging her with a playful smile. “So… this is the boyfriend, eh?” she whispered, eyes twinkling. “He’s handsome, I’ll give you that.”

Y/N tried to play it cool, shrugging nonchalantly. “Yeah, he’s alright,” she teased, though her grin betrayed her.

“Alright? Girl, please!” Auntie Pam chimed in, fanning herself a little too dramatically. “That boy is good-looking, polite, and clearly gets along with the family. He ever been to church with you? We got space in the pew for him.”

Y/N chuckled, trying to keep her tone casual. “We’ll see, Auntie Candice. One step at a time.”

Just then, as if sensing their attention, Connie looked over at her, catching her eye with that smile that had won her over the first time they met. Her aunties noticed and began nudging each other, a chorus of “ohhhs” and “mmmhmms” echoing as they shared amused glances. Y/N felt her cheeks heat up, giving them a playful glare.

As Connie returned to the spades table, Auntie Marsha lowered her voice. “Don’t lose that one, baby girl. He looks like the type that’ll stick by you.”

The conversation was cut short by the sound of music shifting in the background, and then that song started playing. The opening notes filled the air, and Y/N’s heart skipped as she felt a thrill of recognition.

Connie turned his head, his face lighting up as the beat hit, the unmistakable rhythm of Wayne Wonder’s “No Letting Go” drifting through the room. His grin widened as he looked at her, and without a word, he pushed his chair back and made his way over.

He reached for her hand, his eyes warm and mischievous. “Alright now,” he murmured, pulling her toward the makeshift dance floor in the center of the living room, his voice barely above a whisper. “So… what you know about this song?”

She let out a laugh, feigning innocence. “Maybe enough to know you don’t have the moves to back it up,” she teased.

“Oh, is that so?” He tugged her close, hands settling firmly on her waist. “Guess we’ll just have to see about that.”

The crowd parted a little, and Y/N’s family watched as he began to sway to the rhythm with her, guiding her hips to meet his, their bodies moving in perfect sync. His fingers slipped down her sides, holding her just tight enough to keep her anchored to him as he leaned in, lips brushing her ear as he sang the words to her.

“No letting go, no holding back… because you are my lady,” he crooned, his voice low and steady, each word wrapped in a confidence that made her heart race. The way he looked at her, like no one else in the room mattered, sent a warmth spreading through her chest.

The family watched, amusement and approval clear in their eyes as they cheered him on, encouraging every movement. “Alright now, Connie!” one of her cousins called out, fanning themselves as if the moment was too hot to handle. “Don’t get carried away, it’s Thanksgiving!”

Connie chuckled, the sound vibrating against her as he tightened his grip, leaning closer until their foreheads almost touched. “Not makin’ any promises,” he whispered with a wink.

Y/N laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck, feeling the energy of the song pulse through both of them. The world faded away as he sang along with the lyrics, his hands moving to guide her hips as they moved together, lost in their own rhythm.

“Really appreciate you loving me, after all that we’ve been through,” he sang, voice soft yet full of meaning as he gazed down at her. She felt her cheeks warm, her chest tight with emotion, unable to look away. His smile softened, eyes reflecting that unspoken promise of his, something deeper than she could put into words.

The lyrics hit their final verse, and Connie pulled her in, his hand trailing up her back as he sang, “Girl, I am so glad we’ve dated… no letting go, no holding back…”

Their family’s cheers and whistles echoed around them as the song ended, but Connie held her a moment longer, his forehead resting against hers. The way he looked at her, his eyes warm and full of something she couldn’t quite name, made her feel like she was glowing from the inside out.

“Alright now, alright!” Uncle Leroy’s voice cut through, bringing them back to the moment. Connie pulled back, grinning sheepishly as her family’s laughter filled the room, but Y/N could see it—the way his smile lingered just a bit longer than usual, like he’d had just as much trouble as she did leave the dance floor.

Connie finally stepped back, but not without giving her waist a playful squeeze and a whispered, “You really didn’t think I’d show out like that?”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Maybe I underestimated you.”

“Well,” he replied, pulling her close one more time, his voice low and teasing. “Guess I’ll just have to keep proving you wrong.”

[heavenbloom]

🇵🇸 BEFORE YOU READ: DONATE, BOYCOTT TLOU, DAILY CLICK, STREAM THIS SONG TO DONATE

⚰︎ — 𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆!𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

song: valse sentimentale, op. 51, no. 6 - tchaikovsky

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut and slight angst, oral (r!receiving), sexual tension, afab reader, extensive descriptions of blood, blood drinking, bloody kisses, minor descriptions of pain, set in the unspecified past, omission of abby’s true identity until near the end, eventual breakdown then comfort, loosely dracula-esque, not proofread

a/n: wanted this to be a fully fleshed out oneshot but i didn’t have time😔 happy halloween from me nonetheless <3

vampire!abby, who shares an uncanny resemblance to the portraits that line her opulent walls. they gaze down at you with the same set jaw and stern brow, the same shock of golden waves. her family tree, she says, but it seems off… you have yet to lay eyes on any family. it’s as if she were a phantom that tore herself away from the constraints of oil and varnish and who is now playing the part of flesh and bone.

vampire!abby whose hospitality knows no bounds. even if her eyes glow a little too azure in the flickering flame of the hearth. even if her body is too still, her chest frozen with the lack of the in-out-in-out animal rhythm of breath. it matters not, because she has opened her home, and her heart, to you in a time of need. these little oddities don’t outweigh her charms.

and oh, how charming she is. vampire!abby has a way with words, a honeyed tongue that drags heat from within to the apples of your cheeks. the things she finds to compliment you on are never ending, all with a charismatic smile to top it off. she doesn’t dangle her affections and beckon, she lays it out flat on her palm for the taking.

vampire!abby, who you only see when the sun sets. it would have been strange, if not for the way she thrummed with a liveliness, a natural gift for conversation and entertainment that instantaneously vanished all growing doubts. she tells you stories of her adventures, spoken with the fondness of a distant memory. she shows you rare books that lay thick and dusty in your palms. the smell of worn leather and aged paper and her infiltrates your senses as she leans over your shoulder. frankincense, lavender and something unplaceable that crackles in the air. she looks at you as she flips the brittle pages gently, as if she’s read it, memorised it, a hundred times over…

vampire!abby, who keeps her restraint under control by the skin of her teeth. the sound of your pace racing rapidly beneath the thin sheet of your skin each time she comes near and the way your eyes dilate. not to mention the heady smell of your blood that fills the air night and day… she could eat you alive. oh, how she wants to, but she’s found herself growing fonder of your presence each day. she’s forgotten how lonely she has become, in this manor-shaped grave. burial site no longer, your mortal warmth makes it almost feel like a home again.

vampire!abby, who, finding herself unable to prey on you, decides to lavish you with affection instead. waltzes in the strong, soothing frame of her arms, in a ballroom so desolate the marble floor blurs as she spins and swivels you around. custom-made attire of the finest silks and velvets, all for you. then the gentler moments; the slow drag of fingertips as she buttons up your blouse, a gloved thumb trailing its way down the slope of your neck. fabric, the only thing separating the much wanted feel of skin-on-skin.

vampire!abby, who is the one to cut the suspended rope of tension between the two of you. she admits her feelings for you so sweetly, a choral my love, my love, mine. she asks you if these feelings also plague you, though she knows the answer before your lips part, with the telltale gallop of your heartbeat beneath your ribs. yes.

vampire!abby, whose lovemaking feels eternal because she knows that these moments with you are fleeting, your little mortal life a single dot in the long-drawn pages of her immortality. her lips ghost over every searing inch of skin, pressing openmouthed kisses wherever she can. she spends hours between your sprawled thighs, licking strokes between the puffy, silky lips of your cunt, nose pressed to your soaked warmth as she savours your saccharine taste slowly until your legs tremble around her head. all the while, she ignores the boiling fingers of hunger that dig into her guts. skin, sweat, essence. she swears these are the only parts of you that she will ever taste. she could never, she would never…

but vampire!abby cannot fight the nocturnal nature that calls to her like a siren song. the closer you get, the more time she spends revering your body, the less she has a grasp on her beastly temperament. she wants you, all of you. all that plagues her mind are the shivering veins that entangle through your body, the richness that lingers just beneath the surface. she thinks and thinks and thinks until the chord within her snaps.

vampire!abby, who confesses her true nature to you keeled over on the floor through heaving breaths. her fingers claw at the fabric covering your knees, not out of malice but out of desperation. her too-bright eyes are wide moons that hang over the ocean, and her brows are drawn together in pleading. this is the defiling, monstrous truth, she whispers through quivering lips. please love me as i am. i cannot bear another loss, but if you desire to leave… no harm will come to you. but i beg you, stay.

vampire!abby, who is stunned when you gather the heap of her broad, icy body into your arms. tears slip down the curve of her cheeks as you whisper soothing promises into the silken pile of her hair. you were a fool for staying, for pitying this hellish creature, but she was still the same person who had captured your heart, who clung to you now with the ferocity of somebody begging for proximity, for compassion, for companionship. you realised, just as shocked, that you would give her all these things and more.

vampire!abby, who doesn’t ask for your blood, but you offer it to her anyway, tugging down your collar and baring your craned neck to her. there is silence before you feel the velvet of her tongue gliding down the smooth expanse of skin, her fingers rubbing circles along your waist to calm any lingering nerves. her mouth travels upwards until it stops abruptly, pausing on the steadiness of your pulse beneath. she presses a feather-light kiss to the spot before you hear her the click of her expanding jaw, then the piercing, bright-burning feeling of her canines sinking deep.

vampire!abby, whose bite feels tender when the searing pain gives way to a weakening, otherworldly bliss. you melt like chocolate in sunlight when liquid ecstasy encompasses you at the feeling of fangs reaching the innermost parts of you. and she is enraptured with the taste of you, sticky ambrosia dripping thickly down her throat and seeping out the corners of her lips when greed overwhelms her. droplets spill onto her snowy collar and the silky blue cravat laced around her throat. warbling moans tickle against your skin as she savours each note, each shifting depth that reveals itself with each gulp.

vampire!abby, who licks the remnants clean. the puncture at your neck, her lips, her fingers, the valley between your breasts where stray droplets lay. not before peppering you with bloody, breathy kisses though, the tang of copper sharp on your tongue.

vampire!abby, who then bites you rarely. she could never get sick of it, but she wants this to remain a delicacy to her, something done in the intimate hours entwined together. each time, you offer a different part of your body, and she can hear the anticipatory quickening of your heartbeat. you’ve both acquired new tastes, palates that harmonise with one another and have forged a bond like no other. she can only hope that, one day, it will be forevermore.

[gardenladysworld]

Starbound hearts

Status: I'm working on it

Pairings: Neteyam x human!f!reader

Aged up characters!

Genre/Warnings: fluff, slow burn, oblivious characters, light angst, hurt/comfort, pining

Summary: In the breathtaking, untamed beauty of Pandora, two souls from different worlds find themselves drawn together against all odds. Neteyam, the dutiful future olo'eyktan of the Omaticaya clan, is bound by the expectations of his people and the traditions of his ancestors. She, a human scientist with a love for Pandora’s wonders, sees herself as an outsider, unworthy of the connection she craves.

Tags: @nerdylawyerbanditprofessor-blog, @ratchetprime211, @poppyseed1031, @redflashoftheleaf

Part 11: To ask

Part 12: To feel

The distant sound of wings slicing through the night still echoed faintly in your ears, long after Neteyam and his ikran had disappeared into the starry sky. You stood there, frozen in place, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as if to hold yourself together. The cool night air pressed against your skin, but your face burned, a betraying heat crawling up your neck and settling in your cheeks.

You could still feel the ghost of his touch—the brief, fleeting graze of his hand as he took the bag from yours. The warmth of his skin, the steadiness of his presence, lingered like a soft ache in your chest, a longing you didn’t know how to name. Your gaze was still fixed on the spot where he’d disappeared, your heart fluttering in a chaotic rhythm you couldn’t calm.

Behind you, Kate’s voice shattered the fragile silence.

“Wow,” Kate’s voice broke through the haze of your thoughts, her teasing tone slicing through the night air like a playful arrow. “I mean, I’ve seen people look lovesick before, but you’re taking it to a whole new level.”

Your head whipped toward her, heat rushing to your cheeks so fast you swore your face might catch fire. “What?” you sputtered, your voice higher-pitched than you intended. “I’m not— I wasn’t—”

She raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. “You looked like a character from one of those old romance vids. All soft eyes and dreamy sighs, like he just galloped away on a white horse instead of flying off on a giant, terrifying death-bird.”

“I—what? No, I didn’t,” you stammered, feeling your cheeks grow impossibly hotter. “I was just... watching him leave. That’s all.”

Kate laughed, the sound bright and merciless. “Uh-huh. Sure. Watching him leave. With literal stars in your eyes. Girl, you are gone.”

Brian smirked, giving a small shake of his head. „You’re standing there like he just flew off to war and might never come back.”

Max didn’t say a word, but the twitch of his lips spoke volumes. Norm raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking between you and the distant sky as if to say, Really?

You groaned, turning back toward the outpost to avoid their prying eyes. “I was just... making sure he took off safely. That’s all.”

Kate let out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, okay. And I’m Eywa reincarnated. Sweetheart, you might as well have hearts floating around your head.”

“I hate you,” you muttered, your face burning.

“Oh, you love me,” Kate shot back, her grin widening. “But not as much as you love a certain tall, blue warrior, huh?”

You whipped around, your mortification growing. “Kate!”

Kate rolled her eyes, stepping closer with a theatrical sigh. “Listen, I get it,” she said, placing a hand dramatically over her chest. “He’s tall, blue, and brooding. It’s like the ultimate forbidden romance package. But girl...” She reached out and flicked your forehead gently. “Do you honestly not see how obvious it is?”

Your mouth opened, then closed. Words failed you, and all you could do was stare at her like she’d just grown a second head. “I—no, it’s not like that!” you sputtered finally, waving your hands. “He’s just—he’s just kind and helpful, that’s all.”

Kate groaned loudly, throwing her head back in mock despair. “Oh, Eywa, give me strength. She doesn’t even know she’s in love.”

Your stomach twisted, and your cheeks burned hotter. “Kate,” you hissed, glancing nervously at the others. “Could you not—”

Brian chuckled from behind her, his grin annoyingly wide. “She’s got a point. You looked ready to swoon.”

Norm shook his head, but there was a knowing smile tugging at his lips. Even Max, usually the most reserved, glanced at you with an amused look before turning back to the equipment.

“Guys,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Can we not make this a thing?”

Kate rolled her eyes so hard you thought they might fall out of her head. “Oh, please. You’re not fooling anyone, least of all yourself. You’re not just worried about him—you’re in love with him.”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. “I’m not,” you said weakly, but even you could hear the lack of conviction in your voice.

“Yeah, you are,” Kate said bluntly, stepping closer. “And honestly? It’s written all over your face.”

“I—” You faltered, your heart pounding. “Even if I was, it doesn’t matter. It’s not like he could ever feel the same way.”

Kate groaned loudly, dragging her hand down her face in exasperation. “Are you serious right now? He literally just volunteered to fly into the middle of nowhere at night, for you. If that’s not a guy screaming ‘I care about you,’ then I don’t know what is.”

“That’s who he is. He helps people. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Doesn’t mean anything?” Kate repeated, her voice rising. “Girl, have you seen the way he looks at you? The way he always makes sure you’re okay, or how he just happens to show up wherever you are? That man is smitten, and you’re too busy overthinking to see it.” Kate’s voice softened, but her determination didn’t waver. “You’re scared,” she said simply.

You froze, her words striking too close to home.

“You’re scared that if you tell him, he’ll pull away,” Kate continued, stepping beside you. “That it’ll change things, and you’ll lose him completely. But keeping this bottled up isn’t doing you any favors either.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “I can’t risk it, Kate,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I can’t lose him. Not even as a friend.”

Kate sighed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I get it,” she said softly. “But you’re also risking losing something amazing by staying quiet. You think he doesn’t already know? He’s probably just waiting for you to give him a sign.”

Your throat tightened, and you shook your head. “And what if he doesn’t feel the same? What if I tell him, and it ruins everything?”

Kate hesitated, her voice gentler now. “Then at least you’ll know. At least you won’t spend the rest of your life wondering what could’ve been.”

The weight of her words settled heavily in your chest, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. The others had gone quiet, their knowing smiles fading into something softer, more understanding.

Your thoughts swirled in a chaotic mess of doubt and longing. Could Neteyam ever love you back? Did he already? Or were you just fooling yourself, letting your heart get carried away with something that could never be?

And yet, as you stood there, staring at the horizon where he’d disappeared, a small, rebellious part of you dared to hope.

Because no matter how much you tried to deny it, you couldn’t stop loving him. You couldn’t stop wanting more than stolen glances and fleeting touches.

But could you ever be brave enough to tell him?

“I don’t know, Kate,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I don’t know if I can.”

Kate gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t have to decide right now,” she said. “But promise me you’ll at least think about it. Because I’ve seen the way you look at him, and trust me—he’s worth it.”

You nodded slowly, your gaze still fixed on the sky, though your heart was far from ready to face the truth. And yet, deep down, you knew Kate was right. It was only a matter of time before your feelings couldn’t be denied any longer.

The night air was crisp as Neteyam guided his ikran, Tawkami, through the skies. The twin moons cast a silvery glow over Pandora, illuminating the floating Hallelujah Mountains in the distance. The towering cliffs suspended in midair, connected by tendrils of glowing vines, looked almost unreal—a sight that never failed to stir awe, even in someone who had seen them countless times.

But tonight, Neteyam’s mind wasn’t focused on the beauty of his surroundings. His thoughts were firmly tethered to you.

He had barely thought before agreeing to your request. When you had looked at him, your wide eyes filled with that mix of nervousness and hope, the word "yes" had come out of his mouth before he could even consider the implications. And when you smiled—no, beamed—at him afterward, he felt like he’d been struck by lightning. Then there was the hug. Eywa, the hug. You had wrapped your arms around his neck, your tiny human frame pressing against him in a gesture so pure and joyful that it had completely unraveled him.

How could I have said no?

Tawkami let out a low trill, bringing him back to the present. Neteyam reached down, stroking the ikran’s neck reassuringly. “I know, girl. We’re almost there,” he murmured.

It’s for the research, he reminded himself, though the thought felt hollow. You had been careful to phrase it that way, to make it sound like this was about the team’s work and not about him doing something just for you. But Neteyam knew better. He had seen the nervous flicker in your gaze, the way your fingers twisted together as you waited for his answer. You didn’t want to burden him, but even if you had, he wouldn’t have cared. He would have done it anyway—because it was you.

When Lo’ak had found him preparing to leave the kelku at before midnight, his younger brother had been full of questions.

“Where are you going?” Lo’ak had asked, his tone teasing but curious. “Off to rescue the sky girl?”

Neteyam had ignored the jab, tightening the strap of his hunting knife around his waist. “I have something to do.”

Lo’ak had raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the doorway. “Something? At midnight? Let me guess—it has to do with her.”

Neteyam had shot him a warning look, but it only made Lo’ak grin wider. “You don’t even deny it anymore,” Lo’ak had said, his voice low but amused. “You’ve got it bad, big bro. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

Neteyam hadn’t replied, turning to leave instead. But Lo’ak’s words had lingered, echoing in his mind as he mounted Tawkami and took off into the night.

Now, as he approached the cliffs where the rare flower bloomed, his thoughts shifted back to the moment you hugged him. He hadn’t been prepared for it—the way you threw your arms around his neck, your smaller frame pressing against his as if he were the only safe place in the world. The warmth of your touch had spread through him like wildfire, leaving him rooted in place, unsure how to respond.

His arms had hovered awkwardly at first, his mind racing with questions. Should he hug you back? Would it be inappropriate? Would you think he was taking advantage? But then you’d squeezed him tighter, your joy spilling out in a way that felt so unguarded, so pure. It had undone him. Without thinking, his arms had wrapped around you, pulling you closer, his chest tightening with something he couldn’t name.

It had been... overwhelming. A rush of emotions he wasn’t prepared for. He could still feel the faint press of your fingers against his neck, the soft weight of your body leaning into his. The memory sent a flicker of warmth through him, one that he quickly tried to suppress.

The flight to the Hallelujah Mountains was long but uneventful, the familiar terrain passing beneath him like a living map. As he approached the floating peaks, his ikran let out a soft, eager chirp, its connection to him through tsaheylu buzzing faintly in his mind. Neteyam reached out, running a hand along the creature’s neck in silent reassurance.

The Hallelujah Mountains were breathtaking, even to him. He had flown through these peaks countless times, yet their beauty never failed to strike him. The floating islands were wreathed in mist, their sheer cliffs adorned with glowing plants that shimmered like stars in the moonlight. It was here, amidst this wonder, that the elusive ulo’ateya bloomed.

Neteyam’s gaze swept the landscape, searching for the faint glow of the flower you had described. Ulo’ateya, or Midnight Bloom you had called it, your voice soft with reverence as you explained its importance. It only bloomed at one night, its pale blue petals shimmering like liquid moonlight. It grew in the crevices of the cliffs, hidden from the sun’s harsh rays.

Finally, his sharp eyes caught a faint glow near the edge of a jagged rock formation. “There,” he murmured to Tawkami, guiding her toward the spot. She landed gracefully, her claws gripping the rocky surface with ease.

Neteyam dismounted, his movements fluid as he approached the glowing flower. It was smaller than he’d expected, its delicate petals unfurling like a star against the dark rock. He crouched low, his hands hovering over it as he tried to remember everything he had seen you do.

Neteyam had watched you work countless times over the past year, your focus unwavering as you handled your strange human tools. He had often wondered how you could be so meticulous, so patient, even when the forest around you hummed with life and distraction. Now, as he reached for the tools in the pack you had prepared for him, he realized just how foreign it all felt.

The sampling tray was awkwardly small in his hands, and the fine-tipped tool you’d included felt like it might snap under his grip. He frowned, his ears flicking back slightly as he tried to mimic the movements he had seen you perform. His large fingers struggled with the tiny instrument, and for a moment, frustration bubbled in his chest.

But then he thought of you—your careful instructions, the way your eyes lit up when you talked about the plants you studied. You had trusted him to do this. That thought steadied him, and he took a slow breath, adjusting his grip.

“Okay,” he muttered, carefully pulling out a pair of tweezers. They felt ridiculous in his hands, like trying to hold water with a net. But he adjusted his grip, focusing on the flower before him. He reached out, the tweezers clinking softly against the stem as he pinched it gently and clipped it free.

The flower was lighter than he expected, its glow pulsing faintly in the darkness. He placed it into one of the small containers, securing the lid with careful precision.

He repeated the process, moving from flower to flower, collecting samples with a focus he usually reserved for tracking prey. It was... strange, this work. It wasn’t like hunting or crafting, the skills he had mastered as a warrior. But it mattered to her.

How do you do this so easily? he wondered, his brow furrowing in concentration.

He gently clipped one of the flowers, placing it in the sample tray with as much care as he could manage. His hands felt too big, too rough for the task, but he pushed through, determined not to damage the fragile specimens. With each movement, he thought of you—how your hands moved so gracefully, how your focus was always unwavering. He had spent more time than he cared to admit watching you work, captivated by the way you seemed to lose yourself in the process.

Neteyam gathered several samples, ensuring they were secure before standing. He looked down at the glowing flowers for a moment, a small smile tugging at his lips. He had done it. It wasn’t perfect—he knew you would have done it better—but it would be enough.

The cool grass beneath you was damp with dew, but you hardly noticed. The blanket draped around your shoulders was meant to ward off the chill of the night, but it was more a comfort than a necessity. You sat cross-legged, gazing up at the vast expanse of the Pandoran sky, its twin moons casting soft light over the clearing. Stars blinked faintly, their light woven into the bioluminescent glow of the forest around you.

The outpost hummed faintly in the background, its lights a stark contrast to the natural beauty that surrounded it. But your attention was far from the familiar structure. You were waiting—for him. The team was already back in the outpost. You bet Norm and Max was already in the quarter, Brian in the rec room already sleeping and Kate is in the canteen trying to get a decent amount of coffee. Every passing minute stretched out, your thoughts tangled with equal parts excitement and worry.

He’ll be fine, you told yourself for what felt like the hundredth time. Neteyam knows the forest better than anyone. He’s careful, skilled. He promised he’d come back.

But the unease lingered. Your fingers toyed with the edge of the blanket, twisting it absently as your mind conjured scenarios you didn’t want to entertain. What if something happened? What if the forest’s dangers, no matter how familiar to him, caught him off guard? The thought made your chest tighten, and you exhaled slowly, trying to calm the storm of your thoughts.

The faint screech of wings snapped you out of your reverie, and your heart leapt as your eyes darted toward the sky. A shadow moved against the moons’ glow, growing larger as it descended. You rose to your feet instinctively, clutching the blanket around you, as Neteyam’s ikran came into view. Its sleek, powerful form glided effortlessly through the air, its patterns shimmering faintly in the dim light.

Relief flooded through you as they landed, the ikran’s claws gripping the earth with practiced ease. Neteyam dismounted in one fluid motion, his movements graceful even after what must have been an exhausting journey. The satchel holding the ulo’ateya samples hung securely at the ikran’s side, but it wasn’t the sight of the precious plant that made your chest swell with emotion—it was him. He was safe, unscathed, his golden eyes sharp and alert as they scanned the clearing before landing on you.

The blanket slipping slightly from your shoulders as you crossed the short distance to meet them. The ikran tilted its head, watching you with intelligent eyes, and let out a low, melodic chirp as you approached.

“You did such a good job,” you cooed softly, reaching out to stroke the ikran’s scaled neck. Its skin was cool and smooth under your fingers, and it leaned into your touch, letting out another pleased sound that made your heart swell. “Thank you for keeping him safe.”

Neteyam’s lips twitched into a faint grin as he watched the interaction, his tail swaying behind him.

“You’re back,” you breathed, a smile breaking across your face as you stepped closer.

Neteyam’s lips quirked into a small, tired smile. “I told you I would be.”

Your eyes flicked to the satchel, your heart lightening further. “You got the ulo’ateya,” you said, unable to hide the excitement in your voice. “That’s incredible.”

He nodded, glancing briefly at the bag. “It was difficult, but manageable.”

Relief and gratitude swirled within you, and you reached for the bag but hesitated, your gaze meeting his. “I don’t know how to thank you for this,” you said softly, your voice trembling with sincerity. “I can never repay you, but I’ll try.”

Neteyam tilted his head slightly, his ears flicking in a way you’d come to recognize as quiet amusement. “There is no debt between us,” he said simply, his tone gentle but firm.

You looked up at him, the weight of his words settling over you. There was a sincerity in his gaze that made your chest ache, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the words to respond. The blanket slipped further down your shoulders as you stood there, caught in the warmth of his presence.

Neteyam’s expression shifted slightly, his ears twitching as he noticed your shivering. Without a word, he crouched down in front of you, his large frame folding with ease. His long fingers reached for the blanket, pulling it snugly around you with a tenderness that left you breathless.

“You shouldn’t be outside at night,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “It’s cold.”

He reached for the blanket you’d let slip earlier, wrapping it around your shoulders with a care that made your heart ache. His hands lingered briefly, adjusting the fabric to ensure you were covered.

“There,” he said softly, his gaze meeting yours. “Better.”

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but the words caught in your throat as he reached for your hand. His large, warm fingers engulfed your smaller palm, his touch gentle as he held it between his own. Your breath hitched as he brushed his thumb over your knuckles, the motion slow and deliberate.

“You worry too much, tanhì,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The word—tanhì—sent a shiver through you. It was the first time he had called you anything in Na’vi other than your name, and the endearment hung in the air between you, warm and intimate. Your eyes widened, searching his face for any hint of what he meant, but all you found was a quiet tenderness that made your heart ache.

“Neteyam...” you began, your voice trembling slightly, but you didn’t know how to finish. The intensity of his gaze, the warmth of his hand holding yours, left you feeling exposed, as though he could see every thought, every feeling you’d tried so hard to hide.

He tilted his head, his thumb still tracing slow circles over your knuckles. “What is it?” he asked, his voice soft, almost coaxing.

You shook your head, a small, shaky smile tugging at your lips. “Nothing,” you said, though your eyes betrayed you. They lingered on his, filled with a depth of emotion you couldn’t put into words.

His own gaze softened further, and for a moment, it felt as though the world around you had fallen away, leaving only the two of you in the quiet glow of Pandora’s night.

Neteyam guided Tawkami, through the cool night air, his sharp eyes scanning the clearing below as they neared the outpost. The twin moons bathed Pandora in silver light, illuminating the familiar structure nestled amidst the forest. The journey had been long, and his muscles ached from the tension of navigating the cliffs, but none of that mattered now. His focus, as it so often was these days, was on you.

The faint figure sitting near the edge of the clearing grew clearer as he descended, and his heart stirred at the sight of you. You were clutching a blanket around your shoulders, your face turned skyward, your eyes filled with anticipation. You were waiting for him.

His ikran landed gracefully, its claws digging into the earth with a practiced ease. Neteyam dismounted in one smooth motion, his movements quiet despite his fatigue. The satchel of ulo’ateya samples swung at Tawkami's side, a tangible reminder of the reason for this trip, but his thoughts were far from the delicate flowers he’d risked retrieving. His gaze fixed on you, and for a fleeting moment, the weight of his responsibilities, and the countless expectations placed upon him faded into the background. All he could see was you, your form glowing softly in the moonlight.

You crossed the short distance to meet him, the blanket slipping slightly from your shoulders. His ikran tilted its head, letting out a low, content chirp as you approached, and Neteyam’s lips curved into a faint grin. You cooed softly to the creature, your hand reaching out to stroke its scaled neck with such tenderness that it made something in Neteyam’s chest tighten.

“You did such a good job,” you murmured to Tawkami, your voice filled with genuine gratitude. “Thank you for keeping him safe.”

He watched as you soothed his ikran, your voice gentle and sincere. How was it that even his ikran, a creature that trusted only him, seemed to find comfort in your presence? Neteyam’s tail swayed unconsciously, a subtle sign of his own contentment as he took in the scene before him.

“You’re back,” you breathed, your voice carrying a smile that made his chest feel light, as if Eywa herself had blessed him in this moment.

“I told you I would be,” he replied softly, his voice steady despite the quiet storm inside him. His gaze flicked to the satchel at the side, and he nodded slightly. “It was difficult, but manageable.”

When your eyes lit up at the mention of the ulo’ateya, he felt a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the effort of his journey. You looked at him with such trust, such admiration, that it made the ache in his muscles vanish. How could he think of anything else—his place in the clan, his duties, his future—when you were standing before him, your sparkling eyes drawing him in like the light of the forest?

“I don’t know how to thank you for this,” you said, your voice trembling with sincerity. “I can never repay you, but I’ll try.”

Neteyam tilted his head slightly, his ears twitching as a small smile tugged at his lips. “There is no debt between us,” he said simply, his voice soft but firm. He meant it. You could ask him to climb every cliff in Pandora, to face every storm, and he would do so without hesitation. Not because of duty, not because of obligation, but because it was you. You trusted him enough to ask, and that trust was worth more to him than anything else.

As you looked up at him, the moonlight catching the faint glimmer in your eyes, he felt the familiar yearning settle deep in his chest. He wanted to tell you—to hold you and confess that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for you. That he didn’t care about the expectations placed on him, the traditions that dictated his future. But he couldn’t. The words caught in his throat, weighed down by the impossibility of it all. Instead, he watched you, memorizing every detail—the curve of your lips, the way the blanket framed your figure, the quiet strength in your gaze.

When he noticed the blanket slipping from your shoulders, he frowned slightly. The nights on Pandora could be cold, and though he knew you were stronger than you looked, he couldn’t stand the thought of you being uncomfortable. Without thinking, he crouched down in front of you, his large hands reaching for the fabric.

“You shouldn’t be outside at night,” he said, his tone gentle but with a hint of reprimand. “It’s cold.”

As he wrapped the blanket around you, his fingers brushed against your shoulders, and he lingered for a moment longer than necessary, adjusting the fabric to ensure you were fully covered. The softness of your skin beneath his touch sent a quiet thrill through him, but he forced himself to focus on the task, to keep his movements steady.

“There,” he said softly, his gaze meeting yours. “Better.”

You looked at him then, your eyes wide and filled with something he couldn’t quite name. Vulnerability, perhaps, or maybe gratitude. Whatever it was, it made him want to pull you closer, to shield you from every danger this world had to offer. But he held himself back, his hands retreating as he straightened.

Then, almost without realizing it, he reached for your hand. Your smaller palm fit so perfectly in his, and the warmth of your skin against his sent his heart racing. His thumb brushed over your knuckles in slow, deliberate circles, a motion he wasn’t sure was for your comfort or his own.

“You worry too much, tanhì,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

The word—tanhì—slipped out before he could stop it, and for a moment, he froze. It was a word he’d never used before, not for anyone. It meant "star" in Na’vi, a term of endearment reserved for someone who brought light into one’s life. And that’s what you were to him—his tanhì, his guiding star.

Your eyes widened, and he saw the question in them, the unspoken uncertainty. Did you know what it meant? Did you understand how much weight that single word carried?

“Neteyam...” you began, your voice trembling slightly, but you didn’t finish. Instead, you looked at him, your gaze filled with something so raw, so vulnerable, that it nearly undid him.

“What is it?” he asked, his thumb still tracing soft circles over your knuckles. He wanted to coax the words from you, to hear whatever was on your mind. But more than that, he wanted to hold this moment, to stretch it into forever.

You shook your head, a small, shaky smile tugging at your lips. “Nothing,” you said softly, though your eyes betrayed you. They lingered on his, filled with an emotion he dared not name but couldn’t ignore.

For a moment, the world around them fell away. The hum of the outpost, the distant sounds of the forest—everything faded, leaving only the two of them standing together under the twin moons. Neteyam couldn’t think of his responsibilities, his place in the clan, or the expectations that weighed on him. Not when you were here, looking at him like he was something more than just a warrior or a leader.

Not when you were looking at him like he was everything.

Part 13: To kiss