#this concludes the hot spring bit

[angeart]

hhau mimic arc rambles - part IV: the inbetween (hopewards)

(~12,5 k words) // other parts & au masterpost here

we start the next morning, so expect brief mention of their last night's debauchery and grian’s resulting bruising, some naked skin (their legs are bare) and some teasing. just for a tiny bit. nothing explicit here at all though! a lot of this is actually them being giddy and stupidly in love. enjoy! <3

—

Even though they should be used to it by now, waking up in a different place keeps being disorienting. And this time, it hits worse. Because for the first time in a long while, they were actually able to relax. Sleep curled into each other. 

Grian stirs first, waking up to barely-lit surroundings, the fire reduced to nothing but faintly glowing embers. The walls of their little shelter don’t let through any light that might betray the time of day. There’s a warm body underneath him, rising and falling in the rhythm of calm breaths.

He wants to stay here, pressed against Scar. He thinks of closing his eyes and going back to sleep.

But the wind is whistling outside something horrible, and the space around him is dark and dizzyingly unfamiliar, and— The moment he moves, his body shoots back with pain.

A confused, pained yelp escapes him, the memories of last night still not rearranged properly in his dazed mind. He slips off Scar, coming to sit up on his bare legs, looking at the darkness with wide, unseeing eyes as his earwings flutter, trying to catch any noise that might hint at a coming threat. One of his wings is still slumped over Scar, a fact that's not quite registering in his mind as it tries to reboot to full alertness.

Scar is snapped out of his pleasant lull of sleep the moment Grian moves, and he's sat up as well the instant he hears Grian yelp, eyes darting around looking for danger—a trained reaction at this point. His glowing tail shoots out on instinct to provide some sort of light when the fire isn't doing it for him. 

But when all he sees is Grian, he visibly untenses, his ears dropping back down from where they were rapidly flicking around to listen for unseen threats. "What in the world?" he says with a half-nervous, half-relieved sigh. "You scared me— you alright, G?"

Grian’s gaze anchors on Scar. "I—" He sits perfectly still, save from the rapid tempo of his chest as something akin to panic teases at his bloodstream. His wing stays draped over Scar's lap. His body hurts. His legs are cold. There's a— 

There's a feather behind Scar's ear? 

Grian stares. "I thought—" He can't get the words out. His fingers curl, arms coming to wrap around his abdomen only for a flare up of pain to burn under his careless touch, an injury on his side hidden by a sweater and forgotten about by his still jumbled mind. He takes a sharp breath, a pained whimper slicing through it. 

Scar shimmies out of the feathery blanket he's been given in order to get right to Grian's side, gently reaching out to touch his cheek and his waist, knowing exactly which side to avoid. "Oh, shoot, hey, heyyy—" Scar moves so his face it's in front of Grian, filling his vision with his only slightly illuminated smile, soft and gentle. "Take it easy. You okay?"

The instant response from Scar and his ceaseless attentiveness help put Grian slightly at ease, enough to reclaim his breath and hopefully maybe start slotting things together in his mind. His gaze jumps between Scar's eyes, hopelessly needing grounding that Scar so readily provides. 

Instead of wrapping his arms around himself, his hands reach out, coming to grab at the edges of Scar's still-open shirt. "I... thought we're home?" he manages to finally say, voice incredibly small and wobbly, sounding a little as if he was about to cry. 

They're not home. They'll never be home again. It sears through his chest, the sliver of comfort so viciously yanked from him for the second time. 

Scar is so ready to help, to set Grian's mind at ease, but oh. Oh, that hurts. He can't help with that at all. Home is so impossibly out of reach here.

"We're... safe," Scar tries anyway, vaguely nodding at the walls they constructed. 

He truthfully understands how Grian could confuse things. He doesn't remember the last time he woke up feeling warm and secure, in his boxers of all things, too. And to have that illusion torn away so instantly? 

Scar's heart aches and he mournfully presses a kiss to Grian's temple. " 'm sorry..."

Grian sniffles, inconsolable, but he tips forward into the offered affection, desperate for every sliver of comfort he can get. His heart tears itself apart behind his ribs, a hot-white, grief-stricken pain that feels like it might kill him.

"We're safe," Grian repeats, his voice raw and so miserably tear-filled, there's no salvaging it and pretending this isn't painful. "We're— I still have you." His fingers clutch at the fabric, desperately tugging at Scar, needing him right here.

It's painful to Scar to see Grian so clearly distressed, though the determination to remedy that and soothe his partner's nerves thankfully overwrites any of his own sorrow for the time being. He graciously wraps Grian up in his arms and pulls him close to his still bare chest, nuzzling his head in.

"Of course," he says. That much is obvious. That much is always true. "I'm here. You're here." That's all we need, right? goes unsaid, only heard through the rapid rythym of Scar's heart.

A choked sob gets pressed against the collar of Scar's shirt as Grian burrows into the hug. "You're here," he repeats, needing those words like a lifeline. "You're here you're here you're he–re." His voice cracks and fails, and he's shaking, but Scar is here, and that matters immensely, more than anything.

Grian swallows thickly, trying to push down the quivery emotions that make him fray at the seams, at least enough to be able to speak again.

His forehead nuzzles against Scar as he sniffles again. "Please don't ever leave. Don't leave me." Not again.

Scar's mouth goes dry as he tries to swallow, all stability rapidly crumbling away. "... Shit— Grian, no. Not leaving." He wants to say never because god does he mean it, but he really can't, can he? And that's what arguably hurts the most. Makes him feel like a failure. 

Scar has so much more he wants to say. He can imagine the words, he feels the sentiment, but nothing is forming. He feels so broken.

So he buries his head into Grian's shoulder, fully slumped over the avian and wrapping him in close. "I—I said... yours," he forces out, choked and forcing back tears. 

He needs to be strong right now. Needs to, needs to, needs to.

Then he pulls away, just enough, trying to offer his best attempt at a smile and a small tilt of his head in the direction of the feather, his mind leaping to awareness of it. Clinging to it. "Yours, remember?"

Not leaving. Yours.

The words echo through Grian, an endless ricochet looking for purchase, for somewhere to sink into. He wants to keep them bouncing. Alive and on constant replay. 

Scar is pulling him closer and then pulling away, leaving Grian with a bewildered whiplash. He just wants to burrow in. He wants Scar to be his nest. His home. He is— He's his everything and Grian is terrified to let go, he needs to hold on, he needs to cling—

But Scar puts distance between them, and it's not even really distance, it's just enough for them to be able to have eye contact. And yet Grian still can't help but feel destabilised. His eyes trace over Scar's features, desperately trying to reassure himself with the familiarity of them, mapping out the weak, barely-there smile as if he was trying to memorise it all for the inevitable loss.

(No, no, no, he can't think about that. He can't—) 

(He remembers how it felt. Deep in the woods, all alone, not knowing if Scar is alive.) (Not knowing if he will survive another hour.) (No hands to hold. No arms to burrow into. Nobody there to build a feeble safety net underneath his exhausted, wobbly legs.) 

Scar tips Grian's attention to the feather and, obediently, Grian's attention goes, catching on the bright spot of violet. It makes his heart trip, fear and affection crashing violently into each other. One of his hands unlatches from Scar's shirt and reaches up, going for the feather. "Mine," he mutters unsteadily under his choked breath.

Scar tilts his entire head into Grian's hand, offering not just that portion of him marked with Grian's feather, but all of himself, desperately hoping the sentiment is understood. "Yours, always yours," he confirms, something like a croak breaking into his voice. 

At least that statement can ring true. It's always been true from the moment they found each other in this world. 

He absently nuzzles into the touch like a touch-starved cat since he may as well commit to the animalistic instincts at this point, silly as they may be. 

Scar wants to apologize, even if he's not completely sure what for. He's already apologized a thousand times over for leaving Grian, and he doubts that's something Grian actually wants from him right now. No, apologies would only be for his own sake, wouldn't they? Craving forgiveness and comfort from his own dreadful shame. That's not going to help Grian right now at all.

"Safe, I promise," he says, somewhat weak. It's not home, but— "Nothing bad here."

Grian listens to the promise. To Scar’s reassuring voice. 

They're in a small dark box, surrounded by walls. It smells like smoke, but feels all too cold. 

It's not a place for an avian.

"Okay," Grian relents anyway, voice small. Because it doesn't matter where he is as long as Scar is there with him.

With careful gentleness, Scar coaxes Grian to lie down again and rest a bit more while he gets the fire going. Obligingly, Grian curls up in a loose ball, draping a wing over himself—something he wouldn’t usually do so freely, his feathers on full display, vulnerable and bared. Still, he dips underneath, warmed by some fuzzy instinct descending over him, and he falls silent while Scar works.

Scar dutifully moves to relight the fire, trained at maximizing the effectiveness of limited kindling at this point, then starts gathering a few things for an almost proper meal, because he feels like taking the extra time. 

It’s the gentleman-y thing to do, surely? To make a nice breakfast for his partner? 

Either way, he wants to, so he gets out the basic clay mixing bowl they have and starts throwing in all the decent-tasting stuff they’d been saving— mushrooms, a few of the more bitter berries that taste better fried, their little jar of foraged herbs, and even the suspicious looking potato they’ve been hesitant to eat. Now’s as good of a time as any to check that it’s good.

It’s the smell of food permeating the air that lures Grian to peek out from his dozing pile. The fire is crackling, warm and bright, and Scar is fixing them some food over it.

For a moment, Grian watches, barely peeking over his wing, just his messy hair and dark eyes visible. He seems curious and cautious alike, but mostly, he's just endeared. He takes in Scar's features as the warm glow of the fire dances over them, the way his hands move, the way he prepares the meal from the measly scraps they have, and— oh.

Oh, he's so horribly in love.

Every bite and scratch and bruise on his skin makes so much sense. Just looking at Scar fills him with good kind of tingling, something that tells him he'd give himself over to him willingly. He'd give him everything. 

He finds, all of a sudden, that he doesn't regret any of last night. Even if he feels exhausted still, his body fragile and in pain. He's glad it happened. He wants to protect it, that insane wildness they showed for each other, an unsatiable craving stitched through with madness and blood and an assembly of all-too-private sounds, fully knowing there's softness and care to follow.

He's silent for a moment longer, sneakily observing. And then he says, quiet and out of nowhere: "Would you do it again?"

Alarm rings through Scar at the sudden sound (even though reasonably he knows it’s just him and Grian here), making his tail go almost comically rigid as he catches the bowl that practically leapt from his hands. To his credit, however, he doesn’t yelp in surprise like he normally would.

A muffled laugh escapes Grian, eyes flitting to Scar’s rigid tail. It's a wonderful sight, only because Grian knows they're safe and there's nothing to be afraid of. It allows him to bask in it, innocently startling Scar out of focus and reminding him that he's here with him. 

The answer to Grian’s question comes so easily to Scar. He admits almost instantly: “Yes.” Then softer, more hesitant and cautiously optimistic, “That is, if you— … would you?”

Because that’s the real question, isn’t it? Grian is the one with bruises to show from their little escape from reality. It’s Grian who really put himself out there with his wings on display and body for ravaging— 

Scar feels his cheeks heat up slightly, causing him to fumble over his words some more before even waiting for an answer, flustered and a little apprehensive. “Y–y'know, with or without the whole, um, foreplay.”

His ears burn.

Grian's eyes brighten at Scar's answer, but he continues hiding in his wings. He can tell Scar shifts from an instant answer to hesitation, and then dips straight from that to a flustered mess, and god, Grian wants to kiss him. 

"Yeah." It's painfully audible that he's grinning, even as his expression continues to be shielded by feathers. And it surprises him how much he means it, too. How easy it is to admit.

He watches Scar's fluster, and it makes him want to tease him more. It's adorable. 

His wing shifts, dragging up in an arch, revealing all of Grian that was tucked underneath—especially the cheeky smile, and the still-bare legs, bruised and scratched. He slightly uncurls, a process that just makes him show more skin, all the vulnerable bits of it there for Scar to see. The held-up wing seems almost like an invitation. "Yes, Scar. All of it," he reinstates, his eyes never leaving Scar's, watching for reaction.

Up until this point, Scar was basically talking at the fire, a little too nervous to look Grian in the eye and still focused on his task. But when Grian also agrees? Scar can’t help but shift himself, to turn around and chase after the sight of that smile he can hear pierce Grian’s words. 

He gets much more than a smile when he looks Grian’s way. 

Oh if his ears weren’t burning already, they are now.

He’s tempted to look away, not wanting to stare and further embarrass himself but… another part of him very much wants to ogle his mate. Because he can. Because Grian is his as much as he is Grian’s. And because he knows Grian likes it when he gives him attention. 

So he allows himself to stare. His eyes wander from the beautiful, cleaned, outstretched wings to Grian’s legs, bare and bruised and occasionally bitten, and— yeah, Scar finds he doesn’t regret a damn thing either. 

He also finds that he overwhelmingly wants to pounce, something primal as well as impassioned. Entranced by that invitation, eager to accept. 

All of it.

His tail has begun a low swoop, like a predator watching its prey, and wow Scar needs to hide that thing so it stops giving away his already incredibly obvious motives. He swallows hard, then, without even realizing, breathes out a small wisp of blue. 

Finally, Scar clears his throat loudly, face flushed, and turns his attention painfully back to the food, which is luckily basically done. “Ahem, um. G-good. Yep. Good.” He laughs at himself freely, amused. “… Food’s almost ready.”

[a little extra scene here - suggestive, preyplay, no explicit sex]

Even when they’re ready to eat, Grian finds himself struggling, body too weak—after months of barely any rest, and last night’s activities, and the ever-curdling hunger—but Scar’s all too ready to offer to carry him, despite his own weariness. 

"What'd'you make?" Grian murmurs as he weakly holds onto Scar, suddenly curious about the food, now that he's secure that Scar isn't leaving his proximity. "It smelled nice."

"Why, my famous... potato berry mushroom scramble? ... Patent pending." Scar settles next to the fire, keeping his little bird snugly in his lap. "Believe me, I outdid myself on this one," he cheers, grinning with satisfaction.

Grian presses a giggle to the base of Scar's throat at the description of the food, complete with a pending patent. It sounds like Scar's used just about anything good they had and threw it all together, but Grian can't fault him for it. Not now. Now he wants domesticity, and a little bit of play-pretend. He wants to ease into something that might be more living than surviving. So he's happy to indulge this.

When they settle down, Grian’s eyes are drawn to Scar, and he's rewarded with a delightful grin, and goddammit he really can't control himself—

He kisses Scar. Again, just a quick steal. Just a short, soft thing. A quiet trill pressed against Scar's lips. "Sounds wonderful." Laughter rings in his voice, heavy with tiredness and contentment, the earlier distress easily forgotten.

Scar's grin grows even wider, and he attempts to reciprocate the trill, a happy little sound passing through his toothy smile. "You're wonderful," he replies, giggling at the corniness. 

"Wah!" Grian sputters in protest, face flushing instantly. "You— big goof. You silly— You—" He can't come up with anything good enough that'd sit right on his tongue, but he feels the need to let Scar know he's a ridiculous, cheesy idiot, and anyway. He tips forward and bites at Scar's jaw in revenge.

It's the softest thing. It's barely anything, so horribly harmless it's laughable as a threat.

Scar snickers, unashamed of his goofy response. "No, no, you eat the food, not me, Grian."

Grian giggles against Scar's skin, remaining pressed close to him. "But I want you." 

Just as thoughtlessly, Scar replies, "Well you can have me for dessert then." Then, without registering at all what he just said, he gently nudges Grian to turn around. "You should grab some food before it gets cold." 

"You're ridiculous," Grian lets him know, flustered and amused and fond. He edges saying something similarly corny in response, but for the sake of his dignity, he swallows it down, glancing instead towards the bowl of food. And he still manages to say something horribly embarrassing. "Aren't you going to feed me?"

 “Oh, is that what you want?” Scar chuckles, a teasing fire alight in his eyes as well. “Want me to feed it to you like a baby bird?” He presses his snickering lips right up to Grian’s in an annoyingly sloppy kiss.

A dissatisfied grumble leaves Grian, even as he allows the kiss. Only to bite at Scar's lip. "Not a baby bird," he protests, as if that was the important part. He entirely fails to dismiss the rest of it. But he makes a big show of huffing and turning his face away.

Scar laughs again, but he nods somberly, as if agreeing to his very grave error. "Of course, right," he says, but he reaches for the food anyway. "Then, you want me to feed you like a lovely, doting boyfriend?" 

And oh, it's very silly, the way his face flushes at the word boyfriend, because it's not really a word they get much use of in this environment. It seems to carry a bit too much innocence and domesticity for the intensity of the bond they've cemented here, but— Scar smiles shyly. He thinks he likes the way it tastes on his tongue in this moment.

Grian's about to protest again when he hears Scar going on about feeding him—it was just silly, Grian didn't really plan on it being a thing—but then Scar drops the word boyfriend and Grian's whole mind screeches to a halt.

His eyes widen, gaze snapping back to Scar. 

Painfully slowly, his mind restarts, but it comes out still wrong, haywire. His whole body tingles, electric and staticky. "You— What—" He stammers, eyes roaming Scar's entire face, searching for something. "Say it again."

"I—uhh—" Scar's face heats up further under the careful scrutiny of Grian's attention. He feels his ears flick anxiously and almost groans out loud because he's so undeniably caught being embarrassed. "Like... a doting boyfriend?" he practically squeaks, growing more nervous the longer Grian stares at him with those big, dark eyes.

A slightly manic, uncontrollable smile grows unbidden on Grian's lips. All of a sudden, he feels immensely giddy, restless.

A simple word shouldn't do that to him. Not here. Not in a world where it's meaningless, it changes nothing, it's just the two of them like it's always been.

And yet—

And yet.

Grian's eyes squint a little, in a happy grin. "A boyfriend, you say?" It comes out teasing, but the joy is undeniable in it. 

In an instant, that anxiety is gone and Scar's beaming right back at Grian, smile full and wobbly. "I mean—" he starts, letting laughter spill out as his nerves relax, but he shifts straight into being teasing as well. "I've never really been the type of guy for one-night stands, soooo..."

Grian's expression shifts into a toothy smirk. He raises an eyebrow, playfully questioning. That hovering implication that Grian could've been a one night stand prickles around Grian's spine, even though he knows it's impossible. "You wouldn't dare." 

Briefly, he thinks of waking up in the morning after all of that—after all of giving himself over, after all of marks Scar left on him—only for Scar to say it was a one-off thing. 

Teasing disappears from his expression, replaced by something almost troubled. He's playing with his own thoughts, dispelled what-ifs that didn't even occur to him until now. It's nothing to get upset about, certainly.

He can feel the aches echo through his body, fresh enough to easily remind him of everything he's given over to Scar without asking for any sort of commitment. And yet Scar is here, offering it anyway. (Or at least, Grian thinks that's what's happening?) 

Scar watches Grian's face, how it morphs into a playful smirk, but then fades into something slightly fragile. It's a subtle thing, almost missable, but Scar catches it easily. He hums thoughtfully as he leans further into their little wordplay, eyeing Grian's lips, the tilt of his head, every miniscule gesture he's grown so accustomed to. 

"I think I'd be a darn fool to let you pass me by," he says, very purposely flipping the narrative to one where Grian is holding that power, of Grian being the one that Scar is fumbling to tie down in their simplistic, more whimsical portrayal of events. And when Scar smiles, it's small, but incredibly authentic, because in reality, that is the version of events he's intimately familiar with— a story of a hermit pining hopelessly after his neighbour, and now that he actually has him, Scar has no intention of ever letting go.

Grian chuckles weakly. He wants to play along. He wants to, really. 

But the reality is pushing down on him, insistent and as present as the dark corners of their small shelter. His heart is so tired and yet it beats so fast in his chest, unerringly stumbling as it aches for more of Scar, more love, more of those ridiculous promises he so tenderly weaves around Grian like a bed of petals to sink into.

"I really don't think you'd be a fool for that," he says, and it comes out hoarse. Like speaking past a lump, throat dry.

Because Grian is still just a beacon in this world. And Scar would be better off passing him by and choosing someone else.

That's a slippery slope of thoughts.

Grian finds he can't quite meet Scar's eyes.

Scar stops glancing over Grian’s face, just staring for a moment as he blinks in utter confusion. He feels as if he needs to kickstart his brain with how unexpected that comment was to him. Honestly needs to kickstart his lungs as well.

“What?” he manages to say, still baffled. After a few more slow blinks, Scar looks Grian over, wondering if this is some kind of joke that he’s missing the punchline for, but now Grian won’t even look at him. 

Nervousness sets in at the pure bafflement Scar displays. Grian isn't sure what to make of it. He didn't say anything that strange, did he?

“Are you kidding?” Scar asks, though it’s rhetorical. “Grian, I’ve—“ Say it again echoes though his head and Scar swallows past the lump in his own throat as he continues, “—I’ve wanted to be your boyfriend for like an embarrassingly long time.”

Grian can't help but let out a small squeak. He's still not meeting his gaze, and his face is burning, even as everything in his chest continues to tangle and trip, a complicated mess.

Scar's words carry an implication of a lost past possibility. If they were braver—less idiots, really—they could've had it all. Beds and homecooked meals and domesticity. The full package.

Instead, Scar has him now, when Grian is nothing but an express ticket to Scar's permanent death. 

Even though Scar's words are nice, Grian can't stop the hitch in his breath and a fresh dose of tears. His wings finally slot tightly at his back, where they belong. Emotions come too easily to him now, everything in him frayed and fragile. He can't hold back a sniffle, staring down but not really seeing anything. No words form through the messy nonsense of his thoughts. 

It hurts Scar when Grian doesn’t respond. It hurts even worse to hear him begin to cry. 

Scar can’t help but wonder where exactly he fumbled. At what point did he say something that tipped the scales in favour of tears over laughter? 

He thinks he ought to cry as well, but unfortunately all he feels is a festering numbness settling under his skin, leading him to wonder why his words never seem to be enough.

(Why can’t he ever be enough?)

“I still do,” Scar whispers, perhaps a bit uselessly, but it feels so, so important to say. And the words keep tumbling out. “I— feel stronger when I’m with you? Maybe that’s silly, but… I… know you’re always there to catch me when I fall?” A mirthless chuckle, but he does break a smile. “Which is a lot. And… you’ve never doubted me either? You never treated me like a burden or like I can’t carry my own weight, which… I don’t know, that’s… that means a lot to me.” He sighs softly, trying to lower his face so Grian will look at him. 

Please, please look at me. Scar wants to say.

“Please say something before I keep talking myself into an embarrassing little hole?” he says instead.

Grian's mind stumbles to unlatch from the storm of its own thoughts, fumbling to shift focus to Scar's words. He tries to understand. All the things Scar lists for why he wants him. Why this is good. Why it matters, maybe now more than ever.

Grian isn't sure he can process it right here, right now, like this. Maybe he'll ask him sometime to say all that again. When his mind is slower and more ready to accept it.

When Scar begs him to speak, Grian closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath. "I wanted—" No. No, it isn't working. His voice falters. Runs away from him like a startled rabbit. He has to go and find it again.

He takes another breath, deliberate. His fingers slide over Scar's shirt, trying to find the contact with the warmed, worn fabric grounding.

"I wanted to live with you," he finally says—chokes out—confesses. "Wanted to share a bed. Wake up next to you—" His voice gives out again.

In a way he has those things now. Sans the bed. But it is forced by horrible circumstances. It has nothing of the soft, warm domesticity of the fantasy.

He sobs and his hands leave Scar, in favour of pressing at his own, tear-streaked face.

"Wanted you to b— to be happy with me."

Another choked laugh escapes Scar at the small confession, something fragile and almost broken. “I wanted that, too,” he admits, voice hoarse.

He’s relieved Grian responded, not only that, but with something so sweet, because the fear of Grian entirely shutting down was there. And Scar isn’t sure he could handle the despondency right now.

It hurts horribly in Grian's heart, knowing that Scar wanted the same thing, and yet they never had it. They never allowed themselves to cross that imaginary line they thought was there. It tastes thick and raw like grief, to know it was never there at all and they could've had it all along. 

And they'll never have it now.

Grian chokes on heaved breaths, drowning on sobs, but Scar keeps talking.

“And… I am happy with you, Grian,” Scar continues, slow, carefully considering his every word now. “I think I would have gone mad by now if it weren’t for you. You’re— like… the only good thing in this stupid world. I feel like joy shouldn’t even be allowed here, yet I feel it with you.” 

The words feel slippery to Grian; he tries to hold onto them, but knows this is something he will need to be told again, once his mind stops being so rampant. Once his bruised heart tears at itself less. He wants them spoken to him in a quiet moment, serene maybe, if such a thing exists. He wants Scar's hands to gently trace his skin and he wants to hear him say it again; that Grian makes him happy, even in a place as wretched as this.

Scar’s face reddens again as he thinks of all kinds of cheesy things he could say here. You make me so happy. You are my joy. My darling. Light of my life.

Yet somehow, despite the embarrassment, he grows bold with his words in an another way entirely. 

“And maybe it’s not the same, but… we’ll have it all someday! A ridiculously over-the-top home, a full kitchen, a fluffy bed, way too many cats… I’ll even finish the backside for us.” 

It’s been so long since Scar last spoke of promises of going home. After so many months, that spark of hope had long since been extinguished, but Scar feels resolute in his statement this time. 

Because this time he means something else.

He reaches for his satchel, pulling out a compass he nabbed from the last hunter that crossed their paths. It’s scratched and the arrow points at a slightly off-angle, but it shines like an absolute treasure under the light of the fire.

He presses it to Grian’s chest, offering it to him.

“We’ll keep going north. North until we’re so far from civilization that no one can ever bother us. And…” Scar pauses, using his free hand to brush away some of Grian’s tears, his fingers lingering at his jaw as he tries to urge him to look up into his eyes. “… it can be just me and you, like it should have been a long time ago.”

Beffudedly bewildered, Grian blinks through tears, looking down, mind sparking at the offer of promise, a held out hope. Both of his hands come to meet that faint pressure, brushing against Scar's skin before they come into contact with the small object. His fingers shake as he takes it, tries so very hard not to instantly drop it as he shifts it and processes what it is. (He does it with one hand; his second one stays loosely around Scar's wrist, greedy for the warmth of that contact. His own skin is cold, fingertips wet from tears.)

The compass catches the glint of the fire. It feels precious and rare, a little bit like it could break at any second, as Grian keeps his shaky grip on it. 

He sniffles, unable to resist the tug of Scar's gentle touch on his jaw. He blinks through more tears, tips his head up, finally meeting Scar's gaze through the hot, blurry haze. 

North. Just me and you.

The idea trips through Grian.

Scar is extending a promise—a hope—a future, and Grian desperately grasps at it, wanting it to nest in his heart. It feels immensely brittle. It feels incredibly necessary.

He takes a less aborted breath, trying to let Scar's voice stich him back together.

"We— Can we—" His words fall apart, but he keeps trying. "We can have that?" His voice cracks, breaks completely, hitches into a sob as more tears flood his vision.

He brings the compass to his stomach, holds it against himself. His other hand lightly and harmlessly claws at Scar's forearm, looking for something to hold onto, something to ground all these loud, overwhelming emotions. 

"You'll—" A small, off-kilter chuckle breaks through the more miserable noises. It's tiny. It's wet and broken. And yet it's such a bright sound amidst it all. "You'll finish the back?"

Scar’s heart threatens to break at the broken little sob that escapes Grian’s throat, but instead he feels those stitches solidify and strengthen his resolve even further as Grian also grasps onto the promise, however weak his words may be. 

“Yes,” Scar confirms— to all of it. “We… we can bring home here.”

Because if they can’t go home, they’ll do this instead. They’ll make it work. It can be enough. As long as they’re together, maybe it can be enough.

The word home stings but simultaneously, it feels like velvet. Like something impossibly soft to sink into. Like warmth and protection and good things. 

Grian wants it.

He wants a home again.

He wants a home with Scar.

Wordlessly, Scar tilts Grian’s head up just a bit, kisses his forehead, wipes away a few tears. He’s so entirely serious about this, so very determined to make it true. He hopes that’s evident on his face, how his eyes flicker with purpose and truth.

The kiss feels like a seal of the promise; Grian whines weakly, leaning into it. He thinks his heart hurts less. He thinks— Maybe there's something at the end of all of this. Something they can have. Something they can share. Something theirs.

"Promise?" Even though it already feels like a promise, Grian still needs to hear it. His voice is wobbly and small and so achingly hopeful. He sniffles and in a rush, he tacks on: "I— I want that. Please, Scar."

“Yes,” Scar says again, nodding resolutely. “Absolutely. Promise.” He squeezes at the compass and the hand that Grian is holding onto. He presses another kiss to Grian’s brow. “It’ll be the most beautiful base this stupid world has ever seen. Or rather, never will see, preferably.” He smiles brightly, confident in everything he says. Truly confident.

It’s that confidence that really helps settle all the on-fire nerves under Grian's skin. It guides him to follow, to trust, to believe. 

They're stubborn. They're going to persevere. They'll do it. They will.

"I'll hold you to that," Grian warns with a small laugh, still skewed towards broken, rather than carrying any signs of cheer, but it's something. 

He finds himself leaning forward, tipping towards Scar, wanting to bury himself against his chest. One of Grian's hands remains trapped to his stomach, pressing the compass closely to himself, but his other hand wraps around Scar, needing to hold him, to tuck him close to himself. 

"I mean." He sniffles, but he's no longer crying. No longer choking on his breaths. "I'll help."

“Oh, I should hope so. I’m gonna need that special Grian touch,” Scar hums. He leans down to also burrow himself into Grian, right into his hair, his own special spot. “… I’d love to build a home with you,” he adds, spoken softly into the curls.

I'd love to build a home with you. 

Grian's  breath hitches, but not like he's going to cry. Not like he's in pain. There's something else entirely swirling within him, a deep, raw, fond emotion that knows no bounds when it comes to Scar.

"Can you—" This is the second time he's asking this in a short while, but he can't help himself. His words are muffled, slightly embarrassed and very needy, pleading. "Scar? Say that again?"

Scar’s briefly worried when Grian’s breath hitches, but he quickly exhales a soft laugh when he realizes why. “Mmm,” he hums against the top of Grian’s head, a cheeky grin spreading across his lips. “I’d love to build a home with you, my boyfrieeeend.”

Grian tenses and squawks, feeling his face get hot. This was unfair. This was an attack! An ambush! He wanted to hear it again, sure, but not like this. He huffs and groans and he doesn't know what other noise to make to show Scar just how unfair this was.

"I'll bite you," he warns gruffly.

But actually, he's very happy. He's pleased. His feathers give him away, puffing up a little to show off, wings unfolding slightly more, happily presenting themselves to his mate. He nuzzles against Scar's collarbone, a small, deliriously giddy giggle traitorously escaping his lips.

“That’d only be fair, really,” Scar continues to tease, making a little biting sound by clacking his teeth together, but he nuzzles back afterward, unable to help expressing his boundless adoration.

Grian lets out a string of completely incoherent, flustered noises. He keeps pressing himself close to Scar, hiding his flushed face. His wings bend forward and swoop, partially encapsuling them in a loose half-circle, feathers trusting and within reach. 

Scar chuckles, pleased with himself, and so, so grateful for the mood shift. It feels like he did something right, and the fact that it was just him speaking from his heart makes it so much better. “Hmmm, you won’t bite me if I call you precious, will you? Because you’re precious,” he purrs, keeping his face buried in Grian’s hair as a defense mechanism.

Grian's grip on Scar tightens in protest. He squirms a little and makes a growly noise, although he's not very good at making it sound threatening. Certainly not now, with how flustered he is. "I will." 

Instead of biting, it's one of his wings that swoops closer, lightly smacking Scar's shoulder. An action that'd be unthinkable under normal circumstances. And yet Grian isn't even thinking about it now—his instincts aren't even thinking about it—he just does it, playfully grumpy.

Scar makes a surprised gawking noise, completely caught off guard because frankly he forgot Grian could retaliate using his wings at all. He sputters a bit, shocked, before breaking into a fit of tiny giggles, something so incredibly familiar about the gesture, something he hasn’t had happen in ages.

The surprised noise delights Grian to no end. The giggles feel wonderful afterwards. But—

Scar says it: “… Precious.”

He says it and Grian is going to jump out of his skin from how his face burns. "Scar!" he chastises, then delves into some more incoherent noises as his wings lift and spread, filling up the space around them, trying to be a threat. They flap in indignation. "You're the worst," he accuses, but it's clear he doesn't mean it.

Scar peeks up from the safety of Grian’s hair, unable to help himself when he hears the wings expand, smiling up at the gorgeous display. Grian’s a fool if he thinks that’s intimidating to him. It arguably makes him even more precious. 

“Is that any way to speak to your lovely, doting boyfriend? I mean gosh, I even made breakfast!” He can’t help but keep pushing. It’s fun and fun is hard to come by in this world. (Although not so hard as long as Grian is here.)

The noises Grian makes shift into theatrically miserable. His wings droop a little, some fight draining out of them.

And then there's a pause. 

Scar's holding him, and Grian can hear the smile in his voice, and it is true he made breakfast, and actually, he's done so much for Grian. The little teasing notwithstanding. (And oh, the word boyfriend still sounds so wonderful on Scar's lips, even if it's used as a tease.) 

Eventually, Grian burrows into Scar’s shoulder, mumbling something, too quiet to catch when it's muffled into Scar's shirt.

“What’s that, darling?” Scar croons, lifting his head in preparation for being whacked again. Unfair, really, because all he’s doing is speaking freely.

Instead of delivering another whack, Grian pulls away when Scar lifts his head. Not fully, not properly. Just to look up. His face is flushed, eyes glowing dimly with unknown intensity. His eyes trail the curve of Scar's neck, wondering if maybe he should deliver on his threat and bite him. 

Scar is instantly so ridiculously enamored by Grian’s lovely reddened face, always pleased with how the colour trickles across his freckles and melds into the purples of his feathered ears. He watches, entranced in a daze, devoted to any fate Grian’d weave for him.

Grian opts for a different kind of retaliation—he lets go of Scar's back and instead shifts until he can reach and— His fingertips meet Scar's ear and brush over it. 

Scar squeaks at the touch, fighting his urge to duck away, because he’s happy to allow this form of retaliation. “Hey— you—“ 

But Grian speaks first—despite his bashful fluster, he takes a breath and repeats the unheard sentence: "You're wonderful." 

Scar instantly goes silent, lips perking up into a goofy smile. “… You’re sweet,” he finishes instead of whatever he was originally going to say, darting his head to one side to uselessly hide his blush. He knows his ears are giving him away anyway. 

Grian traces the ears again, featherlight touch, and he hums musingly. They flick underneath his fingertips, skin warm. A grin spreads on Grian’s face, completely endeared to the sight, feeling enamoured and triumphant. "You're blushing," he notes—a ridiculous thing to say when his own face is still flushed, too. 

“Noooo…!” Scar protests, snickering. “I’m a very serious man! Never done such a thing.” But he’s giggling to himself as Grian further torments his ears, letting them twitch either which way happily.

Grian's grin doesn't disappear; it's only his flush that slightly fades, as he's settling into this. Into laughter and touching Scar, into something easy and soul-warming, a balm to all the wounds and aches. "And your ears are twitchy," he continues his observations, just to prod, just to hear Scar try to defend himself some more.

“They’re ticklish!” Scar whimpers, making literally no effort to move away. “And sensitive, I’ll have you know.” 

(He knows Grian knows.)

(He knows Grian is a little shit and loves it.)

Grian just giggles, giddy and free. His hands don't move away. "I know." (He knows Scar knows he knows.)

“Peskyyyyy—“ Scar whines, finally ducking away and cackling into Grian’s shoulder. “I am sooo nice to you and this is how you repay me!” It’s clear from his voice that he adores this attention, however, his complaints all for show.

Grian laughs, not minding that label one bit. He lets go of Scar's ears and wraps his arms around him. The compass is left in Grian's lap; he can still feel its weight, the sense of it a comfort, but most of him is focused solely on Scar right now. He wants to hold him and tug him closer. 

"You know what you've gotten into." Fond amusement laces Grian’s voice as he nuzzles against Scar's hair. A purr-like coo makes it way out of him, an odd sound that's all too content. "You wanna be my boyfriend? You get peskiness. That's the deal." He puts nothing else on the table, nothing to entice Scar into wanting to stay his boyfriend.

He knows Scar will take the bait anyway.

Scar grins, flicking his ears a few more times to adjust, then moves both of his own arms to wrap around Grian’s waist. “Ahh, well…” He clicks his tongue a few times, like he’s considering it. “Yeah, I can deal with that.” And he tries to copy the sound, as he often does, and while he nails the purr, the coo comes out silly and broken.

Grian chuckles, low and soft and warm. It does feel a bit precarious, but he tucks that away. "Okay. If you're sure." He dips his own head, melting into their hug, bringing his wings in around them, feathers softly and carefully slotting against Scar's back. "...This okay?" Grian asks quietly, almost nervous.

It’s more than okay, if anything it should be Scar asking that. He swallows a tad nervously, adoring the feeling of feathers tickling against some of his bare skin. They’re soft and they feel so lovely— the significance of the gesture is not lost on Scar at all.

“Mhm, yes, very okay.” He gives Grian a gentle squeeze through the embrace. “I like this.” A happy little hum. “I like you.”

Scar likes this. Scar likes this.

Grian's head turns into staticky mush for a moment, his bird instincts immensely pleased. He perks up, in a way that Scar is bound to feel, and his wings press a bit more tightly against Scar. 

It's weird. It's— There's that part of him that wants to be loud with warnings. That wants to overload him with all the sensations firing away from his feathers. All the pressure, the brush against something solid; he can feel each of Scar's breaths like this. And yet. And yet there's a wholly different part of him that's winning, shutting it out. Pushing it away. (He needs to.) (He has to.) (He can't ruin this again.) 

A sliver of anxiety slips through, but it only results in his wings tugging at Scar, demanding closeness.

And yet it's so fragile. Grian doesn't know if his brain won't short circuit the moment Scar moves too sharply or unexpectedly. But he doesn't know how to tell him, especially since that warning thought is so slippery right now—he's content and happy and warm. Pleased. Sickly in love.

He coos, the softest little sound. And then: "I like you too." He nuzzles against Scar, kisses the side of his head. "Love you." It's a very deliberate wording, and he thought he'd struggle, but it comes past his lips easily, a silky truth wrapping around them like his feathers.

Scar melts into his new feathery cocoon and briefly wonders if this is similar to what Grian feels like when he carries him— light, warm, secure. He keeps himself so still, trying to respect the fragility of this situation, careful not to tip the scales again, but—

His ears flick up rapidly, twitching as he confirms what he just heard, processes it, slowly and stupefied. “Hah— you—“ He tries so hard not to tremble, to squeeze, to do something rash and excitable like he so, so wants to. “You do??” he says stupidly, lifting his head to reveal his bright, practically twinkling eyes. “Like, really?” 

He can hear his tail whip onto the floor like it’s legitimately wagging, and he’s tempted to groan, but he doesn’t care. He’s absolutely beaming.

Nervousness settles like fire in Grian's stomach as Scar stutters and asks for confirmation—even though he can tell he's beaming, he's so overjoyed, and yet. Now that he has the full intensity of Scar's attention, it feels harder to repeat. A soft thumping noise lets him know Scar's tail is doing things, and oh that's adorable, and Grian tries really hard to soak in the fact that he is the one who made Scar this happy. 

It didn't even take that much. Just a little bit of vulnerable honesty.

An incredulous, nervousness-laced chuckle falls out of him. "'Course I do." He says as if it was obvious. As if it was the most sure thing in the whole wide world. 

But he thinks maybe that's not good enough. And he— Gosh. This is hard. 

He moves his hands to Scar's face, cupping it, even as his wings stay slumped across Scar's back. He wants to look into his eyes and make sure Scar understands.

His fingers brush Scar's cheeks, and Grian's breath stutters for a second. Grasping, he tries to regain control. His stomach flutters. He knows there's no smidge of rejection on the other end of this, and yet it feels so scary to say with no hint of doubt, putting it all out there. Baring his heart.

Still, he does it. Anything for him.

"Scar. I love you insanely much."

And oh, Scar can’t escape when heat spreads across his face, not with Grian holding him steady. But Grian’s eyes are so big and wide, so genuine, and Scar finds he doesn’t want to escape at all. Grian can see him flush. Grian can see how his ears flutter as if he was the one with earwings. Grian can witness how he wags his spectral tail and lets out a joyous purr as he presses his forehead close to his, breathing in shakily as he threatens to cry from happiness. 

It's mesmerising to see Scar’s reaction—all the subtle ways Scar's expression shifts, softens, brightens. The way his face flushes and his ears flick, the eagerness with which he leans forwards.

Grian loves him. Hopelessly, utterly, irredeemably loves him.

His stomach still flutters as he thinks that if hearing this makes Scar so happy, maybe he ought to tell him more often. Maybe he should slot this little phrase into his daily dictionary. Make sure it gets said.

“I thought— you, you said something last night and I wasn’t sure if I heard you right, but I hoped I had, because it made me so unbelievably happy and—“ Scar stops, blinking a few times as he mentally resets, almost laughing out loud as he registers just how far ahead of himself he’s gotten. “Wait, oh my gosh, I love you, too. I— I love you so much, Grian.” 

Grian’s thoughts jump to blankness as he hears the confession. He has just enough time to process and reset before Scar is saying it again and— For a hot second, Grian doesn't know how to exist. His breath catches in his throat and he holds it in as the fluttering in his stomach gets worse in all the right ways. 

Scar's giggling, nuzzling at his cheek, and it finally pushes a breath out of Grian, lined with a delirious, giddy laugh. It sounds wondrous and bright, if a little unsteady. (He wonders if this'll make him cry again, in a completely different way.) 

He wraps his arms back around Scar's shoulders and squeezes at him, needing that extra hold, just to seal this moment. To entrap them in it. His heart is beating wildly in his chest, ready to burst, as he lets the words bounce around in his head. 

And then he tips the giggles into a chuckle, sliding from delirium to something more controlled, loving but playful, just a touch amused and a whole lot fond: "My doting boyfriend loves me." And he giggles again, stupidly and freely and oh-so-very brightly. 

“I do!!” Scar cheers, thrilled and unabashed. Grian’s laughter fills Scar with absolute joy and he feels his fingers twitch and twinkle as a fresh surge of ecstatic magic thrums through his veins. He giggles just as brightly and happily, and he catches the puff of blue that escapes him just as sheer excess— there’s simply too much giddiness for him to contain. “And you love me,” he sing-songs, meaning it as a goofy tease, but it comes out all too eager and genuine. He can’t help it. That fact is absolutely incredible to him, even if it’s something he ought to have known— he did know, but to have it said out loud? To admit it freely and without fear?

It only further cements his decision, eyes flicking down to where the compass lies in Grian’s lap.

A home. Safety. Something real. Something worth holding onto.

Love.

Love.

Grian's tone shifts at Scar’s half-tease as he replies: "I do." Although some of the laughter still rings in his voice, this is different. This is more tender than anything else. A cottony reassurance, undeniably genuine.

Scar resists the full-body shudder his excitable magic shoots through him, but it still results in a buzzing thrill dancing across his skin, undoubtedly felt by them both. 

A staticky warmth runs across Grian's skin, a confusing and electrifying sensation that, once it reaches his wings, makes his feathers puff up in thrill. It's a strange but not unwelcome feeling, and Grian's pretty certain it comes from Scar's magic. He purringly coos against it, appreciative and happy with it.

“Now I’m absolutely feeding you,” Scar says, pressing each word against Grian’s skin in the form of a kiss, entirely over the top with each. “Man, not fair, I wish I could make dessert. A massage maybe? I could wash your hair again?” He grins wide against Grian’s lips after a particularly accented kiss. “I love you.”

Quietly, Grian laughs against the kisses. "I thought I was meant to be the dessert," he remarks, because he can't help the little tease to slip in. But Scar keeps distracting him with kisses, forcing another small giggle out of Grian as he confesses again. And, honestly, Grian doesn't want him to stop. Ever.

He pulls away just a little bit, just to be able to grin at Scar, eyes twinkling with far more warmth and joy than mischief. "So what you're saying is... You're going to spoil me?"

“I’m going to spoil you rotten,” Scar corrects with a cheeky smirk before reaching over to grab their very neglected food. He practically has to drape himself over Grian to do so, but it’s silly and he loves it because it’s more contact, more, more. Scar swears he’s on fire and he’s gladly basking in the flames.

"I should've done this a long time ago then. You mean I could've gotten spoiled this whole time?" Grian jokes lightly, even though he knows Scar always gave him so much in this world. Attentive, gentle, protective Scar.

A pit in Grian's stomach tells him how despairing it was without Scar, and how much he needs him in more ways than one. His expression shifts into something more quiet and somber as the memories threaten to crowd him.

He swallows thickly, pushing those thoughts out as he's being jostled by Scar. Instead, he anchors his attention on this: on Scar leaning over him, happy and content and in love with him, reaching for the food. He's so close and so warm and— And Grian cranes his neck and kisses Scar's ear. 

Words line on his tongue, more feelings than anything coherent, and he's probably about to say something sappy again, but his stomach saves him. (By growling loudly, demanding that food.) Grian sputters, hangs his head to hide it in Scar's shoulder. "You didn't hear that," he lets him know, feeling the burn of embarrassment slink over his skin again. 

Scar giggles as he pulls himself back to a proper sitting position, even if he’s just as hungry as Grian. “A lesser Scar may have brought attention to that, but I’m your doting boyfriend, so I heard nothing,” he says with a big goofy smile, offering a bite to Grian and resisting about half a dozen baby bird jokes.

Grian's eyes are wide as the food is presented to him and before he can catch himself, he chirps.

His face burns. Stupid avian instincts. He has a troubling thought that they might be a little bit more present now that they've established this whole boyfriend thing. (Scar's his mate. His flock. And in many ways, he already was before, but Grian feels it so much more acutely now—) 

He clears his throat, squints at Scar almost as if he was chastising him from luring that sound out of him—and yet he can feel the twitch of his lips as they want to grin, happy fuzzy feelings gathering behind his ribcage. 

He thinks he could indulge Scar. Solely because of the way Scar's beaming at him. (Who could resist?) He tells himself this is playful. Scar's being so endearing and excited to play his newly confirmed role of a doting boyfriend, and who is Grian to deny him this joy? 

So he takes a breath and discards his pride. It's surprisingly easy, even if it leaves a nervous tingling in its wake, making him feel oddly vulnerable as he leans in and opens his mouth to eat the offered food.

(It isn't the first time Scar's fed him; he did it when Grian was too sick, feverish enough not to really remember it, but he knows it happened.) (This is different.) (This is so very different.)

Scar has to press his lips together so, so tightly in order to stop himself from laughing. That sound was positively adorable and Scar would smack himself eternally if he were to scare future instances away by giggling. It's not even that it's funny, it's just the obvious unintentional nature of the chirp and the way Grian's face flushes red stirs something warm in Scar that just can't help bubble to the surface in the form of unbridled laughter. 

But he will resist.

Instead he grins wide in response to Grian's muted smile, delighted and amused, and pops the food into Grian's mouth with only the tiniest chuckle. 

So many things he has to resist right now. Giggling. Ridiculous nicknames. Kissing Grian. Buzzing his lips together to imitate an airplane. Kissing Grian.

He deserves an award for his restraint, truly.

As soon as the food is in his mouth, Grian pulls away slightly and finally allows his earwings to slink partially in front of his face, to cover up the fluster that's so clearly reflected across his skin. 

It's so magnificently telling, that this meal was made using their best ingredients. Maybe it wouldn't pass on hermitcraft, but here? After months of surviving off scraps? This is actually a treat. 

Grian's eyes twinkle over the fireglow-warmed violet of his earwings as they roam across Scar's face, finding anchor in the green of his irises. He wants another bite. He's not asking for it. No way.

"You—" He starts, and finds his voice hoarse. (A bird noise wants to fall out of his throat instead, and he has to fight it back.) His eyes flit away for a second, a fragment of a moment to regather himself, before they're inevitably drawn back to Scar. "You should eat, too," he murmurs quietly.

"Oh, of course, right," Scar says, grabbing a piece for himself. "I probably should have taste tested this first! But I got a little...carried away." He grins and tilts his head in a sort of apology before trying his concoction himself. 

It's not bad. He's certainly made much better breakfasts in his lifetime, but it might be up there with his best meals on this particular server. And, well, if they're going to settle down somewhere eventually (hopefully), then he's going to have to get a lot better at scavenging for good ingredients. 

"What do you think?" Scar asks, already picking up another bite and tapping it to Grian's lips like a menace.

Grian huffs, making sure to look troubled, even as he doesn't really mean it. In fact, he very happily obliges the tapping, biting down on the provided food.

"—think it's amazing," he replies with his mouth still full, contently chewing. He waits until he swallows to regard Scar, his whole expression softening. "Good job." And then he leans in and oh so very softly kisses scar's cheek. "Thank you." 

Scar's face brightens up again, pleased and lovestruck even from the tiniest affection. "Anything for you," he croons, then takes another bite so he can distract himself from how entirely genuine that sentiment is. 

Grian’s mind catches on the words. Lets them echo through him, nestle and root deep behind his ribs, gently seeping into his bloodstream:

Anything for you.

A part of him wants to do something silly—demand him to show it, by some absolutely ridiculous means. It wants to twist it into joke, into a playful amusement, into theatrics. A different part of him wants to just sink in, as if the words were cotton; he craves to willingly drown in them.

A wholly another part wants to protest and beg him to take it back.

"Anything?" Grian asks, his voice suddenly fragile, so very small. 

He barely has the time to let that word out before Scar's touching him, fingers tracing a tender, aching spot on Grian's neck. There's nothing that could stop him from shuddering at that touch; nothing that could stop him from closing his eyes and tilting his head slightly—baring his abused neck to Scar's roaming fingertips. 

"Mhm." The sentiment weighs a little too heavy for Scar’s liking, even if it's true, so he adds, even with his mouth full: "I think we deserved a treat. Rough night for some reason." He brushes his fingers over the bruising bite on Grian's neck before offering him another chunk of food. "...Crazy."

A timid coo escapes Grian’s lips before it merges into a laugh. "Crazy," he echoes. Maybe it's strange that this interaction grounds him, but he feels more sure afterwards, brightness returning to his expression until it morphs into something positively cheeky, promising trouble. "Maybe I like it rough."

A choked, aborted laugh escapes Scar's throat. He did not expect those words from Grian, so openly suggestive with that pesky smile on his face. "No kidding," he manages to say, grinning back with all of his pointed teeth as he chuckles at their absurdity. But he still offers another spot of food to Grian, because as rough as they both seem to like things, gentleness and care feel equally as important right now.

Grian laughs, openly and wildly. It's such a delightful sound, filled to the brim with life and amusement. Briefly, he ignores the offered food in favour of pushing it gently aside so that he could kiss Scar's lips—a chaste little thing, laced with pure endearment and none of the roughness he just spoke of. "I love you." The words are pressed against Scar's lips for him to breathe them in, before Grian pulls away and with a satisfied smile tips to collect his food.

"Yeah, I'm not gonna get over that fact," Scar says, ducking his head down in soft embarrassment, cheeks almost hurting from smiling. "I love you, too," he murmurs, suddenly a little timid.

Grian's smile widens even as he chews food, giddiness ceaselessly strumming at his heartstrings. He chuckles quietly, mouth closed, tipping his head slightly to catch Scar's gaze. "You know—" he pauses, just enough to swallow, allowing his smile to grow. "I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing that." And then, after a beat, smile morphing into a grin once again: "My doting boyfriend." He giggles, his tease filled with fondness. And he doesn't stop himself this time either—he leans in and kisses Scar's nose. Just because he can.

Scar has to power through the intense endearment he's feeling just to get words out at all, but he pulls away dramatically, tutting at Grian. "Hey now, dessert is for later." But he steals a kiss on Grian's nose as well, because it's only fair.

The affection feels wonderful, so good it lets Grian forget where they are in its entirely. He hums, playfully pensive, and his hands abandon their position on Scar's shoulders. They drape more over him, reaching back, one hand tracing a path up the back of Scar's neck, fingertips gently raking the skin and delving into hair. "Yeah?" He teases, pesky, just because he is insanely curious for Scar's reaction.

Scar keeps his composure for the most part, but that spur of energy that shoots through him from his magic makes him shudder regardless. “Mhmm…” he says slowly, restrained. He presses another bite of food to Grian’s mouth in an attempt to save himself. “L–later.”

A small laugh slips past Grian's throat. He pulls slightly away, but his hands remain; the touch softens, turning to soft caress through Scar’s loose stands. "Promise?" he asks, just as cheeky and bright as before, and seamlessly shifts his attention to eat the offered food. (It tastes so good on his tongue, prepared with careful, thoughtful love)

Scar can’t help it. With that adoring touch threading through his hair, tempting him to slip into those deep purrs he only lets out on rare occasion (more often lately), he breathes out slow and heavy, drawn forward just a tad. His eyes are focused on Grian’s lips, shamelessly, and he leans in further before he speaks. 

“Anything for you,” he repeats, letting that purr slip through as he draws out his words. And then promptly takes a bite of food instead of acting on his growing urges.

Grian basks in the attention, and every subtle way in which Scar moves or breathes. It's wonderful to see, eyes roaming across Scar's features unabashedly, freely, taking it all in.

"Anything," Grian repeats again, still musingly, but this time it isn't a question.

He swallows the food and a wholly mischievous grin spreads across his lips, toothy and threatening, as he plays with the idea of saying something dirty to make Scar absolutely flustered. (The thrilling curiosity tingles down his spine. His feathers shudder, brushing against Scar's back.) 

His eyes shift towards the food instead, and he tips his head, obediently awaiting delivery.

That smile spells trouble and Scar knows it, tickled by the feeling of feathers at his back. Oh, he is far too weak for anything Grian could pull, so he’s thankful when Grian leans in for more food and happily obliges.

“You heard me,” Scar still says, because he’s also made of trouble and loves to tempt fate.

As he's chewing the food, Grian chuckles quietly, nothing but a huff of air through his nose, but so very clearly amused. He didn't think it was possible to smile this much while eating, and yet here he is.

His wings move again, brushing, tightening their little space and making it smaller. As he swallows, he leans in, face lightly nuzzling over Scar's cheek and temple before his lips end up hovering over his ear. "Mkay," he purrs, a sound verging on a coo. It still has those mulling tones, but it also spells a plan made entirely of mischief and daring. 

He doesn't actually voice it; Scar didn't ask. He presses a small kiss to the edge of Scar's jaw as he pulls back away, wings shifting and loosening too (although still staying put on Scar's back, oddly and unexpectedly relishing that sensation), without giving anything away. His eyes twinkle, and he's still smiling like he's made of trouble, just waiting for Scar to crack. (He knows Scar's curious.) (He's tempting him as much as they're both also playing with fate in this very moment.) 

"I heard ya," Grian reassures, faux-nonchalantly, and tilts himself for more food.

Scar splits the rest of the food evenly between them, although the task is difficult when Grian is so clearly hinting at something and Scar is far too curious for his own good. It's going to doom him entirely. 

(And so will the feeling of Grian's breath on his ear)

He offers another bit of food, but his eyes are narrowed, suspicious of that falsely innocent tone. He knows better than anyone that innocence and Grian do not belong together. "Do I dare ask what I may have just agreed to?" he questions, too dazed by the miniscule affections and how much of an effect they have on him to reconsider asking.

Grian bites off the offered food and then he abruptly pulls back—only with his upper half—dragging his wings up along Scar's back until they ruffle his hair as Grian laughs around his food. The wings come away, only briefly, flapping at the air before they settle around Scar's shoulder like a feathery cloak, giving Grian a moment to chew and swallow the food.

He looks at Scar and it's so clear the innocence has nothing to do on his face, and yet it's so stubbornly woven into his expression. Brightness wars with mischief in his grin. "Oh, Scar." That's all he says, and it verges on playfully pitying, but mostly cheerful. 

He's laughing around his words, only for his hands to pull back and cup Scar's face, thumbs fondly brushing across Scar's cheek as Grian's gaze softens. (Damn. He wants to tell him again.) (He's drunk on the fondness that swells in his chest.)

Scar was going to eat the last bite of food, but the feathery cloak offered to him completely short-circuits his brain and he drops it right back into the bowl. He can't even process the teasingly condescending tone Grian speaks to him with (which he'd normally dramatically pout about), because there are beautiful wings curled around him and suddenly his cheeks rival the red hues of the deeper violets in the end feathers draped over his shoulders.

His attention gets pulled back when Grian strokes his face and, gosh, he had to have been staring. He can't help it. He's in awe right now, like he's somewhere else entirely, somewhere where Grian willingly slots his wings around him, pulls him close like he's something so very dear to him. 

"You," Grian breathes out, his tone shifting entirely, into something mesmerised and bewildered and impossibly smitten.

"Wha... uhh," Scar sputters uselessly, dazed in the happiest way. "You... you have me." He blinks, somewhat confused in his haze of adoration. His words are spoken like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Because it is, really. The words slide out all too easily.

Grian giggles at Scar's dazed expression and words, but it also warms him immensely, in the softest, safest way. He almost slots his cheeky words away, because Scar fragments something in him, stuffs the edges with cotton, makes all of him softer and more harmless and—

All of a sudden, Grian doesn't know how to be.

He whines softly, a questioning little sound.

Scar says he has him. He? Has Scar? 

His hands still, thumbs pressing the lightest pressure against Scar's cheeks as he tips his head, confused. 

This shouldn't be confusing. But— 

Something about it keeps tugging at Grian and pulling him in.

He takes a ragged breath, and he remains a touch bewildered as he looks down. "You didn't finish the meal." And then, still looking down, he adds: "You can't have desert without finishing first." It's not cheeky. His tone has shifted entirely. It's laced with the tiniest bit of confusion as he wrangles with something unspoken.

Scar closes his eyes for a moment, really taking in the feeling of Grian’s hands on his face and feathers on his skin and relishing in it. He can hear that shift in tone, how softness nestles in between Grian’s words as he speaks, matching the gentle affections. Scar feels light, each point of contact a tiny spark. 

“Right,” Scar says, but he sounds so distant, almost delirious. He smiles as he opens his eyes, then shifts himself so he can press a kiss to one of Grian’s palms, because surely he’s still allowed a taste of his treat.

The kiss against Grian’s palm tingles, something wonderful and stitched with promises. Warmth spreads from that point of contact through Grian, and he shudders lightly; Scar can surely tell, because it reaches all the way to his wings.

Scar quickly pops the last piece of food into his mouth and sets the bowl aside so he can reach out to take hold of Grian’s chin, tilting his head back up so he can view his partner’s face. “Better?” he asks, still smiling, eyes still glossed over with boundless adoration.

Grian traces the path of the bowl as it is set aside, and it sparks something uncertain but pleasant in his guts. His eyes find Scar's, needing grounding; then Scar's hands are on his chin, and he's as captivated as he's captured, gently, tenderly, lovingly. 

"Mm." Grian takes in Scar's question, and only then it slots in that, yeah, actually, eating did make him feel better. But he also feels oddly off balance now. And he isn't sure how to express it.

He was going to tease Scar, once he finished eating. He was going to be pesky and curious, and push. But now he's left staring into Scar's eyes, searching for something that even he can't name. His hands slide down to Scar's front, palms resting on his chest, feeling his breaths.

"Better," he echoes in reply, but it doesn't sound quite sure. It doesn't feel quite anchored.

Both of Scar’s hands make their way to Grian’s face as soon as he has the chance. His thumb brushes over Grian’s chin, gently caressing now that he’s looking Scar’s way. The other rests against his cheek, fingers flitting over his freckles and those tiny feathers leading toward his ear.

“So I’m pampering you, right?” Scar asks with a bright twinkle in his eye, easing into a fantasy where they have time for such frivolous things. Because, right now, maybe they do. Enclosed in their own little world, bellies and hearts full, they truly might. “Spoiling you rotten?”

The touch makes Grian positively melt against it, leaning in without any defenses. Especially when Scar's fingertips reach the tiny feathers that lead to Grian's earwings, he's doomed. He closes his eyes, tips his head into the touch, and coos. (It feels so good. So right.) 

Scar asks some questions, and it takes a moment for Grian to catch up. When he does, he hums an affirmative, still leaning blindly into the touch.

Scar watches with deep endearment as Grian leans into the touch, mouthing a silent ”precious” in response when Grian coos so sweetly. He very carefully navigates around the scar across Grian’s face, tracing over the skin softly before placing a kiss there as well. 

Then he perks up, humming happily as he lightly rocks their bodies to either side to suggest they move. “C’mon then, I have some ideas.” And he tilts his head toward the water again.

Scar coaxes Grian towards the hotspring pond, offering not only a bath, but also a massage—a boundless sense of care as he works through Grian’s aching muscles, avoiding all the bruises and injured spots with deft fingers, showing his boyfriend what his hands are actually good for (Scar’s words, not mine). Making Grian melt into a groaning puddle, spoiled with the little they have, allowed to rest and recover and, for once, not be afraid.

For once hopeful. 

Indulgently, they decide to stay one more night, before inevitability forces them to move on: they need to scavenge and hunt for more food and resources. But decisively, they know a direction to go in:

North.

Towards their future.

[faun-the-fawn77]

GHOST

"Want them wearing leather begging, let me be your taste test."

Shadow x F!Human!Reader Word Count: 3.3k Warnings: SMUT, oral sex(f receiving), squirting, fingering, Shadow is the king of aftercare Desc: Living next to your older brother wasn't always ideal, considering the three chaos bringers he brought in decided to bug you at any given moment. Doesn't help that on the latest "Save the world" mission had them bringing along a new member to the chaotic household. And damnit, is he one handsome alien.

Notes will be at the end!

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MDNI!!!! I won't hesitate to go and block y'all! Any blog with no age verification will be blocked!

ALSO!!! Shadow is a sentient alien! He knows what he's doing! He isn't an animal but, in fact, an alien! You also have the option of reading this with a mobian reader should that feel more comfortable for you!

Don't like? Don't read!

Today was a lot cooler in temperature. Fall was beginning to creep its way into the current season with temperature drops in the evening and the leaves starting to turn. You'd think living in Montana would be hell with the hot summers but the autumn and spring seasons made it worth the stay.

Plus, you get to live next to your older brother, Tom Wachowski. You thought you would be the only chaos in his and his wife's, Maddie, life. You were always up to some prank. Painting their house bright yellow, wrapping their car in saran wrap, or coloring their lawn neon pink.

Prank wars seemed to happen quite often between the two of you, so when Sonic crashed into Tom and Maddie's life, the chaos seemed to never end. Outnumbered and down a super-sonic alien, you called it quits. Tom never let you live it down.

Soon enough, your brother took in another two, who were now Sonic's brothers. Tails seemed to always be there for your tech problems and Knuckles was the best to help lift whatever needed lifting.

The kids were the best things to happen to the town. Always helping the community in one way or another. Their quirks and confidence infecting the residents of Green Hills, Montana.

When the latest mission had concluded, with the heart attack that was your brother ending up in the hospital, you didn't expect another stray to end up with your brother's growing family. You had prepared Sonic's 'Bearthday' party for the others that were coming back from the hospital. They had left on such short notice, you decided to be a 'good sister' for once and set up the party.

Humming to yourself while decorating the cake, you didn't expect a tap on your back. Whipping around to face the person, you looked to see a hedgehog you've never met before. He was black from head to toe with blood red highlights in his quills and around his eyelids. He was a bit less bulky than Knuckles but buffer than Sonic. And very, weirdly hot.

"Oh! You startled me! I- uh, how can I help you?" The frosting tube in your hand was leaking slowly, the blue treat threatening to drop onto the white tiled floor of the kitchen.

He looked you dead in the eye, his lips twitching in amusement. His eyes were a mesmerizing shade of burnt umber. They were full of curiosity and a bit of smugness. Probably because he managed to startle you.

"Sonic wished for me to introduce myself to you. I am Shadow." His voice was smooth like the richest of milk chocolate. If you could, you would bottle up the voice and have it replay in your head forever.

You held out your free hand to him, saying, "I'm (Y/N)! It's nice to meet you! Sorry that Sonic forced you to come introduce yourself to me. He is a little pushy but I've learned to deal with it, only because I know he cares deeply for his family."

He hummed, taking your small hand in his gloved one. Your heart was pounding a million miles a minute. Despite the gloves, he held your hand like it was the most fragile thing on this planet.

"I've noticed. He also failed to mention how beautiful you are," he spoke with a low voice. Your cheeks ignited in heat, the feeling creeping throughout your entire body. You could practically feel the smugness radiating from the dark hedgehog. Your hand was shaking in his hold, having failed to let his hand go.

A lump seemed to be stuck in your throat as you spoke, "I-um, thank you! You're very ho- handsome! Very handsome." Your voice was shaking. You weren't used to someone being this bold yet gentlemanly.

Now, Shadow was not a very bold or direct hedgehog when it came to feelings. In fact, romantic or sexual feelings were something he has never felt. Maria was his best friend and any female working at the horrid lab was always a sour sight. When he had first shown up with the strange family, he didn't expect Sonic to get excited and push the dark hedgehog to meet this '(Y/N)'. He honestly thought that this person was just as stupid and, perhaps, brave as the rest of them.

Walking into the brightly lit kitchen, he quietly took in the sound of her voice humming to a song he didn't know. Her back was to him so he could only see the curve of her hips and the curls of her hair crawling down her back. She was rather short for an adult human, especially compared to how tall Tom was.

He truly didn't mean to startle her but, the look of shock and the little gasp from her throat had the corners of his mouth twitching into a faint smirk. She was absolutely breath-taking. Her hair framed her rounded face perfectly. Eyes were bright and such a pretty shade of (E/C). And, oh her lips. Her bottom lip was a bit puffy from biting down on it while trying to frost the cake and they were shining in the fluorescent lights from licking them.

He knew what he was feeling was arousal. While Maria did show him the romantic comedies, Shadow sought out for more books or movies lying around in the lab. Some of those incompetent workers seemed to have good taste in literature. '50 Shades of Grey' was definitely one of the more interesting finds in the lab.

His flirting was subpar at best. Everything he knew was based from movies and books. Considering he also didn't have a grasp on human emotions or even his own, he couldn't tell right away how his words and voice were affecting the poor woman.

The smell of her arousal was what hit him first. His gaze snapped onto hers, seeing her pupils dilate. Her hands were sweating and shaking. Actually, her whole body was shaking.

"How about we go somewhere more private?"

Your bed couldn't have been further away at this point. The walk to your house would have been a long one but, luckily for you, Shadow can just teleport. A dizzying experience but very much worth it for what was about to happen.

Never, in your 20 something years of living, did you think you would be in bed with an alien who was definitely old enough to be your dad. While no man has ever seemed to catch your interest, you honestly wondered if it was time to give up on the whole dating thing. Tom had wanted you to find someone as well, especially now that he and Maria are married. you know he just wants you to be happy and not so alone all the time but, you were just fine with your life as is.

Looking at Shadow, who was now looking around your bedroom with interest at the posters and knick knacks you had, you could feel a smile creeping its way onto your face. Maybe, just maybe, this was a sign that fate didn't hate you. That you truly will not be alone for the rest of your life. You didn't even notice Shadow looking at you now, his gaze looking you up and down with a smile tugging at his own lips as well.

"Interesting room. I've always thought you woman preferred a more feminine touch to what's yours but, seeing how different you all are is truly a wonder. Maria had her room full of gadgets and dresses. Yours feels more...homely," his voice wavered at the mention of Maria. You didn't know who that was but you also knew that he or Sonic would explain it to you at some point.

You smile and walk over to the record player he was looking at with hidden curiosity. Gesturing him over, you flipped the lid open. The disc that was in previously was a Sabrina Carpenter album.

"Pick whatever seems interesting to you. We can play it while we...talk," your voice lowering at the end. Shadow looked from you to the records in the space under the table. Running a gloved hand over the cases, he finally chose a Chase Atlantic album.

You quickly put the record in and carefully laid the needle on the disc. The first few notes of 'Swim' came from the speakers. You grabbed the hedgehogs hand and pulled him to your queen-sized bed.

"Interesting choice of music, Shadow. Are you sure all you want to do is talk?" You were still holding his hand, your other now rested on his shoulder and slowly inching towards the back of his neck.

A shudder ran down his spine at the sensual touch. You could practically hear his heart pounding in his furry chest. Leaning your head by his, you whispered in his ear, "Or, would you rather try something new?"

And suddenly a flip was switched. Shadow had you on your back in seconds, his hands cupping your heated cheeks and kissing the life out of you. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you brought him closer, pressing him more into you and reciprocating the heated kiss. You dragged your tongue along his bottom lip, the piercing in it causing a hum to purr through his chest.

Grinding hips together, arousal pooled in your panties. You didn't have time to feel embarrassed that you were dressed in sweats and an old t-shirt covered in years worth of different hair dye colors. Your underwear was at least cute enough for this. A lacy black thong and a black bra covered in a spider web design.

His hands made their way down your body, caressing you with such a gentle touch. It was almost like he was afraid to hurt you. His gloves were scratchy, preventing him from being able to feel just how soft your skin was. They were on your hips under your baggy shirt, lifting it slowly to reveal what you had hidden.

You grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back a bit. A bit winded from nonstop kissing, you gently led your hands down to meet his. Looking into his eyes, you murmured softly, "Can you take these off?" You tugged on his gloves. He seemed to still for a moment, thinking.

He sat back on your thighs, taking his gloves off. His hands were very paw-like with the pads on his fingertips and the palm of his hands. His claws were black with fading red nail polish, pointed and dangerous like him.

You grabbed his hands softly, feeling the fur, and putting them back on your hips which put him hovering over you again.

"Don't think too hard about this, Shadow. Do what you feel is right and I'll help." With that, he crashed his lips back onto yours. His hands, now uncovered, were roaming around your midsection and slowly going up towards your breasts. Lips trailed down from your mouth, to your jaw, to the crook of your neck. Love bites started to bloom in the areas he was nipping at. Moans escaped your throat at the thought of his marks being left in places for everyone to see for the next few days. His canines were grazing cautiously against your soft skin with each kiss and lick to your neck and collarbone.

Clenching a fist in his quills, you urged him towards your neck more, wanting him to pierce the flesh with his fangs. You didn't think he'd pick up the message but, boy were you wrong. He licked a little stripe in the spot a bit under your ear on your neck before sinking his canines into it. You shot a hand up to cover the borderline pornographic moan that just escaped your mouth. Shadow was quick to grab your wrist and remove your hand, wanting to hear the beautiful sounds you were making.

Running his tongue along the punctures, he pulled away and grumbled out lowly, "Don't even think about doing that shit again. I want to hear just how good I'm making you feel, sweetheart." And with that, he went back down, trailing his kisses from your sternum to right above the waistline of your sweats. His fingers curled around the edges of them, teasingly pulling at them.

You groaned, "Shadow, please."

He smirked, finally yanking down the baggy pants to reveal the sluttiest pair of panties he had ever laid eyes on. He stared for a second before, quite literally, ripping the raggedy shirt you had on to see you had a matching bra to go with. Never has he been this aroused, even during his ruts. You were breath-takingly gorgeous. You could've fooled him into thinking you were a goddess and not a human.

You watched as his umber eyes seemed to sparkle with awe at the sight of you. You never put much thought into your appearance, thinking you were just as average as every other 20-something year old woman on the planet. Apparently, Shadow thought much more about how you looked, muttering to himself about how you were a goddess and absolutely otherworldly.

Heat rushed to your cheeks at his staring. His hands finally decided to fall back on your hips, thumbs rubbing little circles on your skin. He leaned back down with his lips being dangerously close to the string of your thong.

His eyes locked onto yours, baring his teeth with a smirk and proceeding to grab hold of the lacy underwear to pull them down enough for access to your dripping pussy. The string of arousal connecting you to your underwear caused the heat from your chest to your cheeks to rise in temperature. His hands moved from your hips down to your thighs, gripping them hard enough for his claws to leave indents. He pried them open and immediately had his muzzle in front of your sensitive heat. His nose nudged against your throbbing clit eliciting another moan from your throat. Your hands grappled for his quills or ears or something to hold onto.

Just when you thought you were ready, his tongue licked a stripe from your opening up to your clit. Your hips went to lift up when he quickly moved an arm to hold you down. He made sure you weren't gonna move before he went back to slurping and lick at your dripping cunt like a man starved. This was definitely the best head you have ever gotten in your life. Lifting your hands shakily, you ran your fingers around his pinned ears, listening and feeling his purrs vibrate through him. The feeling made your incoming orgasm hit almost right then and there. Moans were leaving your lips like a prayer, his name being most of what Shadow could make out.

The hand that was still gripping one of your thighs had wandered up closer to your entrance, experimentally dipping a finger in. The moan from your mouth and the tugging on his ears seemed to be the response he was looking for. His lips moved up your clit, sucking and swiping his tongue around in motions that had you seeing stars. His index finger entered your drooling pussy with ease. He pumped it in and out slowly before adding his middle finger. The stretch was a a bit painful, more of a burning feeling, before it turned into pure pleasure. His mouth paired with his surprisingly skilled fingers had you gripping the ruined sheets beneath you.

You gasped at the feeling threatening to burst in your lower belly, moaning out, "Shadow, wait- I'm gonna-!"

He didn't even remove his muzzle from between you when your pussy squirted out it's juices from the intense orgasm you just had. Your thighs had him pinned in place from the best ending you've had in years. His hands were clutching onto the plush of your thighs, tongue still working you through your orgasm.

Your broken moans seemed to snap him from his pussy-drunk state. He lifted his head up, looking at you with lidded eyes and a mouth covered in your fluids. His tongue swiped along his lower lip with deliberate slowness.

You fell back on your bed, bringing a hand to your heaving chest. It almost feels like you ran a marathon in 100 degree weather with hoe burned your lungs were.

Shadow watched as you tried to catch your breath. His eyes darted from your glistening lips, to your chest greedily sucking in oxygen, to your ruined pussy. While he only learned this from reading the books the adults at the lab had lying around, he knew better than to leave you laying in your own pleasure.

It was a bit tricky trying to find what he needed considering he's never been to your house before this, he brought back a damp wash cloth and a glass of cold water. He was gentle with cleaning up your oversensitive areas, making sure you were clean enough that he could move you over a bit to gather the sheets and blankets. The pile of ruined cloth ended up in a heep by the overflowing dirty clothes basket at the door to your room. Shadow was lucky that you had some clean ones sitting in the chair by your vanity that he could use to cover you.

Your body seemed to calm down from the high you just experienced, now wanting to just sleep. You turned your head over to face the dark anthropomorphic alien and just watching as he took care of you.

"Shadow," he looked over at you. You gestured him over and lifted the blanket so he could cuddle up beside you if he wanted. The flicker of doubt in his eyes made you tense. Maybe he wanted this to be a on and done thing? Before your thoughts could start to spiral to worst case scenarios, he shuffled over and crawled up into your open arms. His head was smooshed into the crook of your neck, an arm under yours and around you.

A smile broke out on your lips, lowering your arm holding the blanket to settle around your cuddle buddy. His breath soon evened out as sleep , or exhaustion, had over come him. Pulling him in closer, you curled your naked from around him, tangling your legs with his.

Maybe, just maybe, this is what fate was saving for you.

"Hey, Tails? Knuckles? Have you seen Shadow? Or (Y/N)?" Sonic asked his brothers. The echidna shook his head while Tails just shrugged.

"Didn't you tell him to go meet her? Maybe Shadow locked himself in his room and (Y/N) forgot something for your party." Sonic didn't seem to convinced with Tails hypothesis. Before the blue blur could race off to find the missing members, Tom and Maddie came out the back door with s'more making ingredients.

"Who wants s'mores?!" Maddie gestured with the pan holding the stuff, walking up to the three kids only to see them with frowns on their faces.

Maddie set the pan down and knelt in front of Sonic, asking, "What's wrong, honey?"

Sonic turned away and muttered, "Where's (Y/N/N)? I don't wanna start without her."

Sucking in a breath, Maddie explained vaguely that you weren't going to be able to show up till tomorrow. When Tom and Maddie made it inside their house, Sonic's half-finished cake and the tube of frosting dropped on the kitchen floor let them know that you were gonna be gone for the night.

Tom was happy you found someone yet, with Shadow being that someone seemed to worry him to no end. It took Maddie having to calm him down and tell him that Shadow was definitely one of the better options for you that let him relax.

Sonic sagged at the fact that his favourite person wasn't gonna be able to attend his party. That's when he stilled and his brows furrowed. He turned to Maddie again, this time with a question that Maddie and Tom weren't gonna be able to explain.

"Well, then where's Shadow?"

Guys...I fell victim to the emo hedgehog. I have not stopped watching the hundreds of edits of this man on my fyp and its eating at my brain. this was just a scratch i had to itch. its all i could think about, day or night. I'm at work and its all i can think about.

He has me in a chokehold. Anyway! Im editing the fourth chapter of my series 'ceilings' when possible! Hopefully i can get a chapter out soon!

Thanks for reading! Here's the link to my Masterlist of all masterlists!

[fillinforlater]

Eleven to One: Smart Submission

Male Reader x Kim Minju, Kim Chaewon

Length: 3196 words

Tags: Daddy kink, sensual blowjob, stand and carry, sex against the wall, making out, Breeding kink, Breeding talk, rough sex, hate sex, degradation, cursing riding, cowgirl, doggy, spanking, anal, anal doggy, sex toys, obedient!Minju, obedient?Chaewon

TW: the usual for this series, rough sex, degradation, cursing at idols, extreme Daddy kink

Inspiration: Chaewon's Smart fancams, Minju's Sequence fancams

(A/N: Fuck, it's been a while. I lost a bunch of progress and had to pivot, hope you like this though. More fics coming up, hopefully deep into April. Can't promise anything for May though. It's gonna be a stressful time.)

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. I need you, Daddy.” Send by Yujin

You put down your phone with a smile of satisfaction and excitement. It’s a rather odd mix of emotions; there should not be satisfaction when the excitement still makes you yearn for something, but at the same time, it's this yearning that makes you feel at ease. 

Yujin is on your phone, countless pictures of her incredible stage outfit which you will have to tear off her body again, not caring about the costs or the annoyed company staff. Yujin is also on the hotel room TV in the form of fancams. You put on a playlist to kill some time before the evening can begin and seeing her look so confident, thrilled and sexy has you bothered and ready.

“Oh, so that’s why I heard Kitsch on repeat.” You turn your head towards the bathroom door of this, for your standards, humble yet cozy hotel room. Minju has just walked out, a cloud of steam still behind her, a rather loose towel around her body as she dries her hair. “Our daeng-daeng is really pretty.”

“That’s true, very true,” you say with a sigh and look back at the TV where Yujin’s charisma jumps at you in the form of a wink. Suddenly, Minju’s hands are at your shoulders, rubbing, going down to your chest and rubbing a bit more.

“Minmin knows what Daddy is thinking.” She did not need to sound that sultry and tempting. A moment where her cuteness and klutziness is gone and Minju becomes a vixen, comparable to Yujin, maybe Eunbi. She learned from watching them, her admiration has let her to now drop the adorable person you so love about her—luckily, she also drops her towel, so you cannot complain about her boldness.

“So what am I thinking about, Minju?” Play hard to get, because that’s exactly what you’re going to teach her: no matter how hot or irresistible she may seem, you can be absolutely out of reach. It is after all always up to you.

“Daddy always thinks about sex.” Minju walks over, kneels on the couch and bends down towards your crotch, never breaking eye contact. A strain of wet hair tucked behind her ear, she whispers. “Daddy is always hard, especially because of Yujinnie~”

“Go check for yourself,” you challenge her and unzip your jeans (been a while since you wore something this leisurely). Minju eagerly gets them down until she expects your hard shaft to spring out and hit her cheek, but to her surprise, you are not hard. 

“Wow, Daddy is this big even now~”

“You want to suck it?” More of an observation than a question as Minju’s lips already approach your tip.

“Can Minmin suck it, kiss it, put it in her mouth?”

“Go ahead, I’ll give you a reward if you get me hard.” She is too cute again. A nod and she is eager to give your cock all the kisses. Of course she starts off with the head, makes sure to run her tongue past her lips and along your slit, then she moves down the underside while resting it on her face. Minju’s dedication to worshiping her favorite cock is unmatched, her hums and moans spread in between all the licks and kisses sound like impure devotion. 

You put a hand in her messy hazelnut strands and gently comb through them. In the background yet another fancam concludes with Yujin oozing all her stage presence and sex appeal into the camera. You turn down the volume to hear Minju’s blowjob better, but the visual distraction stays. Now it’s a Minju fancam, Sequence, legendary. The former idol tilts her head when she notices it while simultaneously taking your inches down her throat. Amazing bliss, you twitch.

“You looked very hot back then, so fucking tight,” you groan. “Unbelievable that you’re even sexier now.”

“It’s all because of Daddy and Yujin—you never stop and I have to keep up. It’s endless training, every day. Maybe this is eternal youth.” She bops her head up and down and you don’t know if she really said those words. Too much wisdom for someone who is back at your balls with her lips while she gags around the stiffening snake. Give her hips a good squeeze to check if it’s still the same Minju—yup, no doubt. 

“Your hips were so wide back then, but I think they have grown more since you moved in.” You give her a congratulatory smack and Minju giggles around your length. She looks divine with one hand on your base and every part of your face magnetically drawn to where she wants to get your baby batter out. Though you never relinquished control, she still has you in a semi-hard state and your mind in the depths of impurity. “Get up.”

“O-okay, Daddy.” Minju does as told and you marvel at her nude body for a second.

“That was brilliant, don’t get me wrong,” you tell her and reach for her curvy, milky, freshly cleaned thighs. “But I want something else wrapped around me.”

As if she can read your mind, Minju jumps up and her arms and legs embrace your upper body. All you need to do is carry her on her petite ass cheeks which fill out your hands nicely. The miniscule weight of hers is easily lifted so you two are face to face. Before your lips connect, you quickly get hold of your dick and press it against her moist folds. Moist is an understatement: Minju is drenched in excitement and takes you easily.

“Oh God,” Minju moans and her eyes disappear for a moment in the back of her head where you know is nothing but the endless feeling of joy your cock brings her. A few thrusts and she will be mindless, the dumb, breedable klutz she so often seems to be. Her legs choke your hips against hers and soon after, you two engage in a kiss that sets you on fire.

Upwards is the way, the hardest way, the best way. Minju is split open time and time again, her whole body enthusiastically shaking on every impact or at the mere prospect of another. Whenever you’re not tongue fucking her mouth, the fucking of her cunt leaves her breathless, whiny, and groaning like a madman. She is mad, crazy for you and with the intoxicating smell of her shampoo, her sweat, her sex, you’re going crazy as well.

“Fuck, Minju, you’re pussy is so warm,” you mumble and stumble forward. You press Minju against the wall next to the TV where you both listen to her verse from Panorama with the sound of loud skin slapping against skin being an obnoxious, yet welcome interruption. Minju’s hands have left your nape and start to crawl up the wall as if she tries to get higher. She wants to crash down harder on your cock, wants you to go rougher, her end is nye. The constant hits against her cervix bring one thought to the forefront—and it is not the potential people on the other side of the wall who are surely enraged.

“One day,” you whisper, leaning into Minju’s ear, covered by ruined hair that she has to wash again tonight. “I’m going to cum inside your pussy without protection.” Minju gasps, almost at her peak. You slam her back hard against the wall, fingers tearing at the skin of her ass. “I will breed you, over and over again, and we will have many beautiful children. Minju, you will be bred, pregnant all the time, so I want you to love this.”

A chaotic thrust up, against every inhibition she might have, past the final strings that hold together her sanity, her reasoning. Minju orgasms with a booming scream and her cunt does everything in its power to suck the fertile batter out of you. The seed you promised, she needs it at this very moment. Only a quick pullout can save you, Minju’s power and will to be bred leaving you stunned. 

She takes deep breaths in your arms as you carry her back to the couch, her eyes sparkle though you cannot make out if it is because of happiness or disappointment. “Why did Daddy pull out? We need to train, Minmin needs to be filled many, many times.”

“Sorry, but not tonight.” You free her forehead of her hair, some of which looks like it exploded all over her face. “I promised someone else my biggest load of today. We have to wait for her though—”

Suddenly, as if you spoke a spell to summon someone, a knock can be heard. 

“Come on in!” you shout, but all you hear is a disgusted shriek. Well, it’s certainly not Yujin nor any of your other usual guests. It’s someone that is on the fringes though, not ready to admit that she is addicted to you. The thrill brings her back, the pleasure will make her stay, but for now it’s this excuse that makes her wait for you to open the door.

“Ugh, you—wait, the fuck, put on some clothes!”

“Why don’t you get rid of yours, Chaewon,” you quickly respond and just as swiftly pull her into the hotel room. Chaewon is wrapped in a basic yet effective outfit to hide her identity. A large black overcoat, sunglasses, a mask, basic sweatpants. With a groan she reveals the excitement that is below them: a stage outfit from her recent comeback stages, along with a surprising lack of pants and most exciting of all: golden blonde hair. 

“Don’t stare at me you perv,” Chaewon barks and folds her arms in front of her chest. You notice her gaze dropping down to your cock again and you wish she would just drop to her knees and clean Minju’s nectar off of you (she would in a heartbeat if you told her about why it’s glistening like that), but you instead walk back over to Minju and lean down to kiss her. “What do you thi—Mi-Minju, you’re here?!”

“Oh, Chaewon-unnie, I’m always with Daddy, don’t you know?”

“B-but you could also stay somewhere else, like, like with your parents or with m-me…”

“Yeah, Minju,” you add cynically, only focused on the loyal girl below you clinging to your lips and your back. You make your way down her cheek, her jaw to her neck. “You could stay in the LE SSERAFIM dorm with Chaewon, so why are you still here?”

“Minmin wants to stay with Daddy! Minmin needs to be ready for when the time is right.”

Chaewon raises an eyebrow as sweat pours down her face. Her thighs are awfully close to one another, rubbing, her core is in heat as she watches Minju melt under your tongue. The ‘fearless’ group leader does not need to ask, because Minju spills the beans when you push her further down into the couch.

“Daddy, I need to be around Daddy when he wants to breed me, make me a pregnant woman, I don’t want to miss it.”

“That’s fucking enough!”

The stinging pain of your hair getting pulled makes you hiss almost triumphantly. Chaewon has been set off again and she drags you away from Minju’s delicious body and positions her own on top of you. A short, half-hearted wrestle later and she sits on your crotch, the panties below her colorful outfit already caressing your tip. One of her hands is still in your hair, the other pushes your chest against the back of the couch. She is livid.

“Oh, so you want to fight for her again.”

“Shut up.”

“You know that you failed miserably the last time, right? There is no reason to believe that you’ve gotten any better at making me—”

“Shut up!”

“You tiny thing, you’re talking big game for so—”

“Shut the fuck up!” Chaewon pulls her panties to the side, you reach for her hips and get a good hold onto them. “I’ll make you shut up, you perverted bastard!”

Chaewon sinks down on your cock and not only do you notice the wetness all over her pussy walls, you also find that she is needy for this cock. A ripple of satisfaction roams her body and in a moment of carelessness, Chaewon tilts her head back. You know that she is just enjoying the feeling and could take advantage of that. Instead, you have another taunt lined up for her.

“Oh no, I can already feel my mouth being sealed. I can barely speak.”

“Soon enough,” Chaewon groans and starts to gyrate her hips. Unlike the first time she challenged you over Minju, Chaewon feels significantly better. Wetness, tightness, texture—you can’t yet pinpoint why or how, but it has definitely improved. However, with Chaewon so cock-drunk and unable to slam herself down, this is a laughable effort. A pathetic little hop here, a loose hand on your neck, undeniable desire to be fucked in her eyes—Chaewon’s body is already admitting it.

“Hm, I love it… wh-when your quiet,” she moans, tries to search the submission in your gaze. A futile effort and you expose her with both hands on her back. “What are you doing?”

“Chaewon, you’re embarrassing. To think this would get me close—” Without warning, you tear her outfit apart. A tilt of your head and Minju helps out and gets Chaewon out of the mess of tatters you leave. Chaewon looks confused, also helpless and when you spank her ass, she knows she has to move to the stage of acceptance fast. “Let me show you how to break someone.”

“Wait, I—” 

She falls apart in your lap. Really, it’s only a few harsh thrusts, and Chaewon hits your chest. She is a ragdoll that can whine and moan but otherwise is only a sextoy you have to move on your own. Both feet firmly on the ground, you push all your energy in those lower muscles to repeat this motion of rough fucking endlessly. Chaewon should feel that your power never runs out, that you can fuck her as hard and as much as you want. 

“You dumb cumdump!” Smack her ass again, then grab her long strands of gold-colored hair. “Your body knows it, your mind might too—now I need your silly mouth to admit it.”

Chaewon moans and her moan reaches a new pitch when you pull apart her asscheeks to pick her up and drop her down on your shaft. She is coating your crotch with her horny juice, drools over your chest, sweats on the hotel room couch. Chaewon is a dirty girl, so you will sully her more; more accurately, you will show her dirtiness to her beloved Minju. 

“Kneel on the couch, slut! Show me your ass.” Little resistance only. You quickly get behind her, adjust her towards Minju and rub your cock against her asshole. “Look at her. Can you even focus your blurry eyes on her?”

“I-I can…”

“Really?” Push your tip against her hole and feel her flinch in your arms. If she’d really want to, she could flee or at least fight back. Needless to say, she does not. “At least resist me, because your ass doesn’t. Just a bit of force—”

“Oh God!”

“—and I’m inside.” 

You grab Chaewon’s tits and treat these soft hills very not-softly. Your thumb and index pinch her nipples, the groping is hard, though nothing compared to the ass fucking she receives. Her anal cavity, which should be incredibly tight, gapes for you easily. 

Apart from groans, screams and the occasional expletive, Chaewon does not speak anymore. She must know that the next thing she says will betray her fundamentals, oh, those silly fundamentals: never giving up, always fighting for Minju, beating you after becoming better. Now, she is another one of your sluts, who bends over for you, spreads her ass for you and produces silly sounds from all her openings.

“The decision is so easy.

“You don’t make it look easy.

“You’re not smart, Chaewon.

“Stop resisting me.

“Say it.”

Suddenly, Chaewon is trapped between you and Minju. She could rest her head on the younger girl’s bosom, but she does not dare to. The thought of failure and losing this battle so decisively leaves her shattered. This state does not last for long however, as she sees how happy Minju’s eyes glisten in the warm light of the hotel room. It’s fine to lose, it’s good to lose.

“I-I’m yours, Daddy.”

“Do you fucking mean it, whore?”

“Yes, Daddy. I’m your s-slutty whore.”

“Fantastic. Minju, bring me the bag of those from the bedroom. We need to celebrate that Chaewon is finally honest with herself.”

You move back to your original position with Chaewon on your lap, cock still balls deep in her asshole. She sniffles a bit, hisses when you nibble at her neck and play with all three of her sensitive nubs quickly. A new toy must be checked properly and this is definitely something that you can work with later. Minju returns with the bag and you reach into it. 

“Your ass is already pretty wide, so this should fit.” You pull out a large, shiny butt plug with a diamond that will decorate her sore butt cheeks perfectly. “Make sure to keep yourself spread when I pull out.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

You slowly drag your cock out. Instead of immediately filling her hole, you instead inspect how it gapes wide, then clenches around nothing. Chaewon shivers on your lap. You order Minju to check it out as well, which almost makes Chaewon cry from embarrassment. 

“No need to feel ashamed,” you laugh. “I think Minju likes it as much as I do.”

“It looks very hot, Unnie, I think Daddy can fuck it many times.”

“D-don’t say it like that,” Chaewon faintly whispers. You push the butt plug inside her and feel her breathe a sigh of relief when she doesn’t have to show herself off anymore. The three of you get up from the couch.

“Minju, make sure to securely tie your friends arms, while I get this ready.” This is a see through dildo, almost as big as your cock and still very much dry. To get it well-lubricated for Chaewon’s pussy, you shove it into her mouth and make sure she has to deepthroat it. Chaewon might have dodged you if it weren’t for Minju, who has tied ropes around her wrists and lower arms. Only when tears leave her eyes, you pull the dildo out and place it on the small living room table in front of the couch. 

“Sit down on it, but don’t move. No fucking yourself. This will be your first real punishment.” Before Chaewon can protest (or maybe she opened her mouth to accept it and praise you) you force a ball gag into her mouth and watch her shout inaudible things as her pussy is split open again. 

“Now, you can watch Minju and I make out until the next person—”

A knock on the hotel room door, again. 

“Speak of the devil.”

[unequivocallyreid]

Do You Get It Yet?

hi guys!! this is one day late, but i literally fell asleep trying to proof read last night, so… you win some you lose some.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: Spencer Reid is your professor and you really, really need help. If only he wasn’t so distracting.

warnings: smut, little bit of fluff, professor/student relationship, unprotected sex w/ talk of contraceptives, age gap (both parties of age), breeding kink, choking, and some light degradation

this is a fun one guys! let me know what you think!

You swear you aren’t stupid. Really, honestly you aren’t. You’ve done well in school your whole life, not always outstanding, but you’ve always done well.

Right now however, you feel completely dumb. You’re in you third year of university, and up to this point, you’ve done good. Your classes are challenging but rewarding, and you have a wonderful group of people in your life. You have a cat and an apartment to yourself. You have wonderful friends, Lena and Eden, who’ve been with you since your freshman year and who you loved like sisters. Everything in your life was going right, except for your stupid, stupid criminal psychology class.

You should love it. You’ve taken classes like it before and they really weren’t a problem for you, but for whatever reason, you can’t wrap your head around the subject matter at all. Everything you learn seems to morph together and you can’t get it to sort itself out. Your teacher, Dr. Reid, is incredible. He is a genuine genius, member of the BAU (your dream job), and to top it off, he is incredibly attractive. Not just to you either! Half the class is auditing, which probably contributes to your troubles. It’s hard to focus when everyone around you is constantly whispering about how fucking hot the teacher is.

You try to avoid it. You sit at the front of the room, not the first row, but still front and center. Even so, right behind you are two or three girls who will not stop talking about him. Sure, they’re saying what you’re thinking, but good god does it get annoying. You’ve tried pointed looks, a few aggressive hair flips and humphs, and even a few well timed shushings, but they will not let up. You’d move seats but the class is full and everyone has seemed to have already found a place.

So, really, your lack of understanding was not only on you. Dr. Reid us distractingly hot, the girls behind you will not shut up, and the subject matter is just plain tricky. All of this leads you to spend a big chunk of your free time in your professors office hours, which always seem to be full.

You get it. Girls, and some boys, show up looking their best and asking all sorts of questions, and honestly if you were in a different position you’d probably do the same thing. But, you aren’t, and you really need help. You go to his room completely disheveled with a notebook full of questions that for the most part stayed unanswered. You’re lucky to get five minutes of his undivided attention. Again, you get it, those minutes are the highlights of you week, but, your grade is starting to slip.

Finally, it gets to be too much, and you find yourself spending nearly the whole class building up the courage to ask to speak with him privately. Right when he concludes his lecture you spring up out of your seat and go straight to him, surely annoying some of your other classmates.

“Dr. Reid?”

He looks up from his desk, “Hi! Ms.?”

“Y/n. Or Y/l/n, I guess. I was hoping to talk to you privately if you had time?”

“Oh! Um, sure, of course. Let me just wrap up here. You can wait in the seats.”

This has already gone better than you thought it would. Half of you expected the only thing that would come out of your mouth would be gibberish.

“Thank you so much.”

You hurry off to take a seat and wait, and wait, and wait. Around five other people stay around to try and speak with him, and while you catch him anxiously glancing over at you, each conversation still seems to stretch on and on. Finally, after close to 15 minutes, the final student leaves and it’s just you and Dr. Reid left in the room.

He looks over at you and motions for you to join him at his desk, “I’m so sorry that took so long. People tend to have a lot of questions after my lectures.”

You take a seat in front of him, “It’s no worries. That was actually part of what I wanted to speak to you about.”

You pause, wondering how you should word what you want to say. He looks at you, waiting for you to go on, but he doesn’t seem impatient.

“I’ve come to all your office hours, and it helps, I’m just still struggling and I, uh, I just feel like it’s not enough time to get my questions answered, I guess?”

You’re looking at anything but him at this point, “I’m sorry I’m just kinda out of my element. I love this subject and normally it clicks for me, but it’s just won’t. I have a notebook full of questions and I’m worried I won’t be able to figure anything out. Sorry, I think I’m just rambling at this point.”

“No, don’t apologize, I understand. This class is challenging, and a lot of the subject matter is hard to research.”

He stops to laugh, “My office hours do tend to be pretty full. I’m, well to be honest I’m not sure why. A lot of the questions people have tend to be things I explained in my lectures.”

Without thinking, you cut him off, “I think people just want to be around you.”

He looks surprised at your words, and you are as well. You didn’t mean to say that at all.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry. It’s just with a teacher that looks like you, god, no. I mean with a teacher like you-“

Your cheeks grow hotter by the second, “You know what, I think I can figure this out on my own! I’m sorry for-“

He stops you before you can finish, “Y/n, I’ve taught this class before. Half the people are auditing. I’ve gathered what that means.”

He cracks a smile at that and you feel your heart flutter.

“I meant I’m not sure why people would waste their time trying to, uh, impress me at office hours. They’re meant for students like you.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.”

“Unfortunately, there isn’t much I can do on that front. My hours are open to anyone.”

Your shoulders deflate a bit at that, worrying you’ve wasted your time and his for nothing. He doesn’t let you stay like that for long though.

“I want to help you though. Truly. I know reaching out for help is hard and I’m glad you did.”

You look up at him then, “I can set aside some time for you once a week if you’re comfortable? We can review everything you’re not sure on until you’re up to speed.”

You were not expecting that. You thought he’d look over your questions and give you some articles and journals to review at best.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

“You aren’t. I’m offering, Y/n.”

“Then I think yes, I’d like that a lot.”

“Great! Email me some times that work for you and we’ll get started.”

~

This is all, admittedly, a bit above your pay grade.

Despite your best efforts, you are not a chill girl. You’re not very cool. There’s nothing wrong with that usually! You’re shy, but still manage to talk people’s ear off. It’s normally a non-issue: that’s just how you are. Today however, you are meeting with Dr. Reid and you are so not chill about it.

You had his class yesterday, and while you feel better knowing you’ll finally have help, you couldn’t focus on anything but today, so you retained nothing. All you can think about is saying something stupid or off putting and having him start to despise you.

You know you shouldn’t worry this much. He’s a professional, you’re trying to be, it should all go smoothly. They’re just the issue of the colony of butterflies who have taken up residence in your stomach. You’re nervous, so nervous, and you are not the type to get this crazy over some guy. Yes, Dr. Reid is probably the hottest person you’ve ever met, but he’s still human! You think… the fact that he’s some sort of super genius with multiple (multiple!) phds does not help to calm you.

Your entire walk to Dr. Reid’s office is spent worrying over all of this. In fact, you’re so caught in your head you find yourself barreling into someone’s back as you walk through the door of the psychology department.

You rush to squeak out an apology while picking up your notebook, but are stopped short when you look up. It’s Dr. Reid. Of course it’s Dr. Reid. You seem unable to be in the same vicinity of him without making a fool of yourself, so why would today be any different. You’d hoped to be able to manage yourself for the better part of an hour, but your professors unbelievably solid back has literally knocked you on your ass.

You do notice a ghost of a smile on his face when you look up, and you’d like to think he’s admiring you clumsiness, but it’s not likely.

“Hi,” you manage to say after a near excruciatingly long silence.

“I’m really sorry, I clearly wasn’t looking at where I was walking.”

He laughs a bit, “It’s no problem honestly. You were the one knocked off your feet, so I really can’t be upset aside from the fact you may have hurt yourself.”

This makes you breath hitch a bit. Maybe you are incredibly starved for attention from the male gender, but the slight affection of his words made you blush.

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

If you were any more articulate you’d be a public speaker, but at least you always seem to make the man in front of you laugh.

“I was on my way to my office to meet with you, but since I already have, you can walk with me.”

You nod, pushing yourself off the ground, then blush again when you realize you had this entire conversation on the ground.

The walk is silent, and you’re sure it’s more uncomfortable for you than it is for him. Any question you had has completely exited your mind, and all you can think about is how good he looks in a suit, and how much staring you can reasonably get away with.

Your first session is sweet. You manage to hold it together in Dr. Reid’s presence. He is incredibly helpful one on one, and you feel more confident about the class than you have in weeks. Before you finish, he asks if you’d like to meet again.

“Yeah, if that’s alright. This helped so much, but I think I still probably need to do some more catch up work.”

“That’s perfectly fine, Y/n, I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”

He pauses for a moment, like he’s considering something, before going on.

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to give you my cell. I want you to be able to reach me if you need to reschedule, especially if we continue meeting, and it’s a bit easier than email.”

You’re a bit stunned but manage to reply, “Of course! But, um, is that allowed? I don’t want to over step.”

He looks away from you for a moment before replying, “I’m honestly not sure. Maybe we just don’t tell anyone?”

You have to bite back a grin, but you nod nonetheless and exchange numbers.

Although you know you shouldn’t be, you’re giddy the entire walk home.

~

So far, you’ve met with Dr. Reid three times and haven’t had to use his number once. Not that you’d been looking for an opportunity to though! It just hasn’t come up at all until today.

It’s been raining all morning, which normally you wouldn’t mind, but you’re slightly under the weather and the thought of walking to campus and risking getting more sick doesn’t sound appealing in the slightest. Though it’s not normally an issue, moments like this make you really wish you had a car.

You’ve asked everyone you knew for a ride, but they were all busy.

Currently, you were on the phone with Lena, listening as she tries to calm you down.

“He gave you his number, Y/n. Just text him and say you’re sick and can’t make it.”

“It’s the day of though! I don’t want to come off as unprofessional.”

“Babe, again, you have his number. Your relationship isn’t exactly the most profesh in the first place.”

“It’s not like that, Lena.”

“Just text him. Over explain everything like you know you want to. He’ll probably think it’s cute, maybe he’ll even offer to come take care of you.”

You can hear the teasing lilt in her voice, but, still, you rush to defend him.

“You know it’s not like that.”

“Whatever you say, babe. I gotta go, but text him. It’ll be fine.”

You say your goodbyes, and deep down you know she’s right. About texting him, not the shy sort of seduction act she thinks you have.

After contemplating for a few more minutes, you type out your message and hit send.

You: Hi, Dr. Reid. This is Y/n from your criminal psych class. I know we’re supposed to meet today, but I’m feeling like I have a bit of a cold coming on and don’t want to risk walking in the rain.

You: I’m sorry it’s late notice, if I could get there I would, scout’s honor.

You were never in girl scouts. You don’t actually know why you said that at all, but it’s too late to take it back now.

As much as you try not to, you watch your phone screen, waiting for a response.

Luckily, you don’t have to wait long. You see a typing bubble pop up, then disappear, then pop up again, before finally two messages come through.

Dr. Reid: I completely understand. Don’t worry.

Dr. Reid: I could come to you? If you’re comfortable.

When you read that, you feel your stomach drop to your ass. You decidedly not expect him to offer anything like that. A few things fly through your mind, but mainly that Lena may have been right, and having your professor come to your apartment is, at least, frowned up by admin. Still, the image of him in front of you, in your home, with your cat, is too much to resist.

With shaking fingers, you text him back.

You: That would be wonderful if you’re sure you’re okay with it.

You: Friendly warning, I have a very affectionate cat.

Dr. Reid: Good to know. Is 4 still alright?

You shoot him back a quick yes and your address, and then get to cleaning every square inch of your apartment.

~

Dr. Reid is an angel on Earth.

When you hear a knock at your door, you have to stop before answering to regulate your breathing. When you finally do, you see your professor in front of you in a cardigan (a fucking cardigan) and togo cup of tea that he immediately hands to you.

It’s all like a hopeless romantics wet dream. Hot professor, in the rain, at your house, who clearly cares about you in some way? It’s like he’s trying to kill you.

You step aside to let him in and move to your couch, “You really didn’t have to do this.”

He stands for a moment before sitting at the opposite end and saying through a laugh,“The tea or coming over?”

“Both, I guess? I just feel bad that Ive take up so much of your time. I feel like a bit of an inconvenience.”

“Y/n, please stop worrying so much over this. I want to help you learn, it’s not an inconvenience or a both or unnecessary.”

You really look at him then, trying to read whether or not he’s being genuinely. He just seems too good to be true, like he’s a fiction character made just for you. Well, not just for you, but in your fantasies that’s how you’ll think about it.

The next couple hours are spent reviewing material you are sure he taught weeks ago and stealing glancing at his mouth when you are sure he is not looking. Your kitty makes a few appearances too, and seems to have formed an instant attachment to the doctor. You are not as sly with your staring as you’d like to think, and get caught a few too many times. Honestly, you are trying desperately not to think about anything but academia, but he makes it so unbelievably hard. Not to put the blame on him for your insatiability, but jesus fuck. Intelligence has always been incredibly sexy to you, and it oozes from him

Despite the distraction, you’ve been doing good in terms of building your understanding. Now however, you are on the verge of tears, chocking down a knot in your throat as you try to make sense of anything coming out of Dr. Reid’s mouth. This has to be the third time he’d tried to explain it to you, and while this is the entire point of these meetings, you feel like a failure.

The doctor is lost in his own world, trying desperately to explain the concept in a digestible way, so he doesn’t notice your state. That is, until you sniffle, just slightly, and immediately avert your gaze.

He cuts himself off, “Y/n? Are, are you okay? What’s wrong.”

It’s too much, so too much. What kind of dick asks something like that, with that much care in his voice. You can’t help the tears starting to fall.

“I’m so sorry. I just, I can’t understand it.”

He looks at you with his beautiful eyes and says, “Y/n, it’s okay-“

“No. God, you must think I’m a fucking idiot. No, not fucking, I didn’t mean to say fuck in front of you. God this is terrible.”

You’re fully crying at this point, and you can’t bear to look at Dr. Reid.

He stays silent for a moment, before you feel movement on the couch and look up to see he is much closer to you.

“You’re incredibly intelligent, Y/n. I, I would never judge you for needing help.”

You bury your face in your palms, and, very eloquently, try to speak through them.

“Sir, you really don’t need to say that. I know I should have been able to grasp this weeks ago, all of this.”

“Spencer.”

You look up, “What?”

“My name is Spencer. You don’t have to call me sir or Dr. Reid. I’d like for you to call me Spencer.”

“Well, Spencer then. I’m sorry for wasting your time. I really don’t know why I thought any of this would help, clearly there’s something seriously wrong with-“

You’re cut off by a hand on your jaw, guiding you to look up. Dr. Reid’s hand. Spencer’s hand, and it’s gentle and he’s staring at you, and you feel like your skin is on fire underneath his palm.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Y/n. You’re one of the most capable, intelligent people I’ve ever met. I’m breaking nearly 20 different codes of contact by being here, but I can’t help it.”

You feel all your words caught in your throat, and all you can fucking think about is his hand and his eyes and his lips. You don’t know what else to do, so, in an act of unusual bravery, you push forward and press your lips to his.

The response is immediate. All thoughts in your head are gone and replaced by a mantra of Spencer’s name. You feel his hands move to the nape of your neck, holding you to him, and his lips pressing yours open so he can glide his tongue over yours. You’re breathless and ruined, and when he pulls back you’re too struck by him to speak.

“You have no idea what you do to me, Y/n. I’ve never wanted anyone like this before”

Your forehead is pressed to his and you breath out, “Show me.”

The hand on you tightens its grip, but the man before you pulls back a bit, and it becomes your only point of contact.

“I, I can’t. I’m your teacher, I’m nearly 20 years older than you. I shouldn’t have even kissed you.”

“I kissed you. I want you, this. I want whatever you’ll give me.”

“It’s wrong, Y/n.”

“I don’t care. I want you, Spencer.”

Hearing you say his name must break his resolve, because in a moment his lips find yours again, and he’s pulling you into his lap.

To recap, you’re in your home, on your couch, straddling the hottest man you’ve ever seen, and his lips are trailing down your neck and over your clavicle. You put your arms around his neck, threading your hands through his hair and experimentally rolling your hips against his.

His hands grab your hips, stilling your movement, and breaks from his assault on your neck to say, “I won’t be able to control myself if you do that, Y/n. I need to know what you want.”

“I want all of it, doctor.”

The honorific must do something for him, because he growls low in his throat before once again connecting with your lips. The same hands that just stilled your movement now guide your hips to press into him harder. You feel his length beneath you and moan into his mouth.

You’d fantasized about this for months, but now it’s actually happening and it’s so much better than you could have ever imagined. You feel him every where, and he knows exactly what to do and whisper in your ear to drive you fucking crazy.

You move your hands from his hair and break from his lips to pull your shirt off. You make eye contact with him and then reach behind your back to unclasp your bra, leaving that part of yourself entirely exposed to him.

“Fuck, Y/n.”

The expletive takes you by surprise for a moment, but you snap out of it quickly, taking one of his hands and bringing it to your chest. He moves quickly from that point, cupping your breast in his hand and toying with your nipple. Your lips find his again, and you feel him move to flip you, but you stop him before he can.

“Bedroom, Spencer. Please.”

He nods and you climb from his lap. On your way to the room, he discards his shirt. You can’t help but ogle his frame. He’s slender and sinewy, but you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. The angles and curves of his frame fit

together to create the perfect portrait of a man. He has scars littered over his arms and torso, but they don’t phase you.

You’re under him on the bed now, your core raising to meet his desperately.

“You’re so beautiful. So beautiful, I’m so lucky.”

His words cause a blush to form on your cheeks, which you can barely focus on as his hands are in the process of pulling your shorts and panties down your legs.

“God, Y/n, you’re soaked.”

You whine as his fingers make contact with where you need him most.

“Is this all for me, Y/n? Tell me.”

“You. Only you.”

“Jesus, Y/n.”

If someone had asked hours ago you what you thought your professor would be like in bed, this was the last thing you would’ve said. Not that anyone would ask… but still. He’s nerdy and adorable, and while his looks are literally to die for, he doesn’t scream ‘I’m gonna fuck your brains out’.

His fingers pick up their pace on your clit as you find yourself trying to undo his belt. You’re desperate to see him as bare as you are. He stops to help you get his pants down, and when you see him in his full glory you feel a little faint.

“You’re so big.”

He lets a little whine slip through, “Yeah? Biggest you’ve had?”

You blush a little at his tone. As much as you’re trying to fake it, you don’t have as much experience in this field as one might expect for a girl your age.

“I’ve only been with one other person, so yeah.”

Your candor is decidedly not sexy, and you really have no clue why you would say that right now. The man above you does not seem deterred though, if anything it spurs him on.

“Fuck, Y/n. Didn’t know you were so innocent.”

You blush again, but reach to grab him, trying to prove how good you can be. He’s heavy in your hand, and part of you worries how he’ll fit. You know you’re programmed to accommodate, but the thought is daunting.

He must sense your concern when he says, “Don’t worry, love. Gonna stretch you out for me.”

With that, his fingers resume their previous task, and he slowly moves down to trace your entrance with his middle finger. The sensation has you spinning, and let breathless moans leave your body he slowly starts to open you up. His fingers are long and precise in their movements. Every time he thrusts into you, they graze a spot that sends sparks of pleasure straight to your core.

“You’re doing so good for me, Y/n. So, so good for me.”

You can barely breathe, and your climax comes closer with every passing second. When his thumb moves to press over your clit and his other hand presses firmly on your lower stomach, you’re done for.

“Good girl, Y/n. Coming so pretty on my hand.”

Your orgasm is stupefying, and all you can think or say is Spencer’s name. You grab at him, desperate to find something to ground you, and you hear him moan as your nails dig into his back. He doesn’t stop for a moment, continuing to press into you and riding you through your high.

Once you come down, though you can still feel your legs shaking, you want more. You want all of him. You take him in your hand again, pumping up and down his shaft at a lazy pace.

“Spencer, I need you to fuck me.”

He laughs, his hand still on your core, “Ask nicely, Y/n. You come on my fingers and all of a sudden your manners disappear?“

You didn’t want to admit it, but he’s right.

“Please, Spencer. Please fuck me, I need it.”

“Good girl,” he takes your wrist and leads your hand to your mouth. “Spit.”

You aren’t exactly sure what he’s doing. You think he might be teasing you more, letting you work him over until you beg, but he answers all your questions quickly.

He guide your hand back to grab him, helping you jerk him off before he grabs himself and lines up with your entrance.

In his first Dr. Reid like moment in the last hour he stops and asks, “Fuck do you have a condom? I obviously didn’t think we’d do this, so I don’t have anything on me.”

You’re panting with anticipation at this point, but still manage to get out, “I’m on the pill and I’m clean. I trust you.”

His eyes go soft for a moment, before he continues his previous mission. He lines up again with you, before teasing your slit with the head of his cock. If you didn’t want him so bad, you could’ve come like this, but you are desperate. You push your hips up, hoping he gets the point, and he does.

“I could play with you all day if you’d let me, Y/n.”

You want to protest, and tell him to get on with it, but you don’t have to. You feel his tip

slowly pushing into you as he lets out a groan.

“You’re so fucking tight.”

He’s slow and careful, and you can’t remember sex ever feeling this good. You know he isn’t all the way in, but you already feel so full. When he does reach the hilt, you let out a low moan at the feeling. He’s completely inside of you, filling you in a way that is unbelievably good. He stays still for a moment before slowly pulling back and thrusting into you.

You can tell he’s being gentle, but hard enough and fast enough to have your legs start shaking more heavily again. You already feel a pit in your stomach, and you know you’re going to come, for a second time, embarrassingly fast.

“Fuck yes. So good for me, Y/n.”

The way your name sounds in his mouth drives you crazy. The only thing you can think about is how badly you want this moment to go on forever. Everything about him is perfect. Even now, while fucking your brains out (literally, you could make yourself say a word even if you wanted to), he’s cupping your head in his hand and telling you how beautiful you are.

Now that you’re more accustomed to the size of him, he takes your thigh, pushing it up to your chest, and starts too fuck into you faster and harder. His pelvis rubs over your clit with every thrust, driving you crazy. Your hands are in his hair and down his back, grabbing and clawing at him.

“You love taking this cock, huh baby? Can’t even talk, huh?”

His words go straight to your core, but you know what you need to come again. You guide his hand up near your sternum and manage to cry out a few words.

“Please, need it. Need you.”

He takes your request to heart and moves his hand to your neck, squeezing the sides. You feel yourself get light headed in the most incredible way. Tears are forming in your eyes. The feeling is so intense.

“So perfect for me. Such a smart girl and you’re just gonna let me fuck you dumb?”

You’re close, and you can feel the pit in your stomach start to spread and take over. Spencer’s hand on your throat tightens slightly, and it only take a few more thrusts before you’re coming on him.

“Coming. Fuck, Spence you’re making me come.”

“That’s right. Come all over me. Show me how good I make you feel.”

Your vision is going white at the edges and you feel like your whole body is shaking.

“Fuck, gonna come just watching you. Gotta pull out, baby.”

You grab him before he can, “No! Want it inside me.”

He groans above you and you feel his hips stutter.

“Fucking Jesus. Want me to fill you? Make this you mine?”

You nod, the tears now falling down the sides of your face.

“Gonna come, baby.”

You can feel when he does. His dick is pulsing in you, filling you completely, just like he said he would.

When he comes down, he pushes his lips to yours, kissing you with an intensity you’ve never felt before. For a while, he just lays there, kissing you.

“Gonna pull out now. Gotta clean you up.”

You whine, but nod regardless. You feel empty at the loss of him, but you don’t have much time to think about it before you feel a warm towel wipe around your centre.

“You gotta go pee, Y/n. Don’t want to develop a UTI.”

Five minutes ago this man was coming inside of you, and now he’s back to being the man who came to your house in the rain with tea. You do know he’s right though, so you pull yourself out of your bed on shaking legs and make your way to your bathroom.

When you come back in, you find Spencer with his pants back on. Your heart breaks a little.

In a small voice you ask, “Are you leaving?”

He looks up at you then, “Do you want me to stay?”

You don’t know why you wouldn’t.

“If you don’t want to you don’t have to.”

You can feel tears welling up again, but these are different from before; he notices immediately.

“Baby, baby don’t worry. I don’t want to go, I just didn’t want to over step.”

You laugh a little at that, wiping your eyes, “I think we’ve gotten over all the steps, Spencer. I, I want - Just please stay.”

He nods and moves to take off his pants before sliding into place next to you. His arm wraps around your waist and you feel a tingle in the spots where he touches you.

“I don’t want to have this be a one time thing,” you blurt out.

You feel him hold you a little tighter then.

“I was never planning that, Y/n. Now, sleep. We can talk about how much I’ve come to adore you tomorrow.”

END!! i hope you all love it!

tag list! (leave me comment if you want to join and i’ll add you): @sabage101

[spicyclover]

The Racer's Victory

Y/n awaits her boyfriend Max and their desire ignites. In his private room, she undresses, teases herself, and welcomes his touch. Their sexual tension explodes in a powerful, intimate union.

Hope you’ll enjoy it. Let me know in the comment section.

Thank you! :)

Lots of love, xxx Spicy Clover

Y/n's heart was racing, her anticipation building as she awaited the arrival of her boyfriend, Max. The young woman, with her vibrant hair, piercing blue eyes, and a smattering of freckles across her nose, had spent the entire day at the race track, but her mind hadn't been solely focused on the competition. All she could think about was Max, his strong physique encased in his racing suit, and the promise of his muscular body against hers.

As the trophy ceremony concluded, signaling Max's victory in the race, Y/n made her way to his designated driver's room, a private sanctuary amidst the bustling track. The room was dimly lit, with a subtle scent of motor oil lingering in the air. She knew Max would be brimming with adrenaline and excitement, and she intended to channel that energy into something far more intimate.

She couldn't wait any longer. The anticipation was killing her. With a mischievous smile, Y/n approached the massage table, her eyes scanning the room to ensure she was alone. Her hands trailed along the smooth surface of the table, her fingers tracing the edges as she imagined Max's powerful hands working on her body.

Slipping out of her dress, she revealed her curvaceous figure, her skin flushed with desire. She climbed onto the table, her bare skin caressing the soft surface. Her hands roamed over her body, cupping her full breasts, pinching her pink nipples until they hardened further. She let out a soft moan, her fingers dipping lower, sliding through her moist curls to find her throbbing clit.

Y/n began to rub herself against the table, her hips moving in a slow, sensual rhythm. Her fingers worked their magic, circling her clit, applying just the right amount of pressure. She bit her lip, her breath coming in short gasps as pleasure coursed through her body. Her moans filled the room, a mixture of desire and frustration as she longed for Max's touch.

Just as her pleasure peaked, she heard the door open. It was Max, his face still flushed with victory, his dark eyes sparkling with desire as he took in the sight before him. Y/n made no move to hide herself, instead spreading her legs wider, inviting him to join her.

Max wasted no time. He strode across the room, his race suit still on, and placed his hand firmly on her pussy, feeling the heat radiating from her. He growled softly, his voice hoarse with need. "You've been waiting for me, haven't you, baby?"

Y/n nodded, her eyes locked on his. "I need you, Max. I've been dying to feel your dick inside me all day."

With swift movements, Max unzipped his suit, revealing his broad chest and toned abs. He lowered his fireproof underwear, his thick cock springing free, already hard and straining towards her. He positioned himself between her thighs, his hands gripping her hips as he guided himself into her wet heat.

He thrust into her with one powerful stroke, filling her completely. Y/n cried out, her back arching off the table as she welcomed him inside. Max pounded into her, his hips moving in a relentless rhythm, the table creaking beneath them. His breath came in hot pants, his lips brushing her neck, his beard tickling her sensitive skin.

"You feel so fucking good," he grunted, his voice raw with passion. "I love hearing you moan, Y/n."

Y/n's hands clutched at his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as she matched his rhythm. She could feel her orgasm building, each thrust bringing her closer to the edge. Max's lips found her ear, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine. "Come for me, baby. Let me feel that tight pussy squeezing my cock."

His words sent her over the edge. Y/n's body trembled as she climaxed, her pussy clenching around him, milking his cock. Max groaned, his own release building as he thrust harder, faster, until he buried himself deep within her.

As their hearts slowed and their breathing returned to normal, Max gently disengaged from her, his cock sliding out with a wet sound. He helped Y/n off the table, his hands roaming over her body, caressing her curves. "Let's take this to the couch," he whispered, his eyes dark with desire.

Y/n smiled, her body still buzzing with post-orgasmic bliss. She led him to the small couch in the corner of the room, her movements graceful despite her wobbly knees. She straddled him, her hands resting on his broad shoulders as she lowered herself onto his hard shaft.

This time, Y/n was in control. She set a slow, teasing pace, rising and falling on his cock, her pussy gripping him tightly. Max's hands moved to her hips, guiding her movements, but she set the rhythm, her eyes never leaving his. She leaned forward, her breasts brushing his chest, her lips finding his in a passionate kiss.

As she felt his cock twitch within her, signaling his impending release, Y/n had a playful idea. She tightened her thighs around him, locking him in place, and stopped moving. Max's eyes flew open, his breath catching in his throat. "What...?" he managed to ask, his voice hoarse.

"Shh..." Y/n whispered, her lips close to his ear. "I want to feel you beg for it."

Max's eyes widened, his cock throbbing inside her. "Please... baby, please move," he begged, his pride momentarily forgotten. "I need to cum so bad."

Y/n smiled, her pussy muscles clenching and releasing around his sensitive cock. "Do you like that? Feeling my pussy pull on your dick?" She whispered, her breath hot against his neck.

"Fuck, yes!" Max groaned, his hands gripping her thighs, his body trembling with the effort to hold back. "I love it... Oh, god, Y/n..."

Unable to resist any longer, Y/n began to move again, her hips rolling in slow circles, driving him wild. Max's hands found her breasts, squeezing and kneading them as he thrust up to meet her. With a final, desperate growl, he climaxed, his cock pulsating as he filled her with his hot cum.

Feeling his release, Y/n's own orgasm crashed over her. She cried out, her body shaking as waves of pleasure rippled through her. She collapsed onto his chest, their sweat-slicked bodies pressed together, their hearts pounding in unison.

Max chuckled softly, his hands stroking her hair. "That was incredible, but I'm not done with you yet," he whispered, his lips brushing her forehead. "I promise to take you well tonight, baby."

With a final, lingering kiss, Max stood, his cock slipping out of her with a satisfying pop. He grabbed a towel, gently cleaning her up, his touch tender and loving. "I'll be back soon," he said, his eyes holding hers. "I just need to take care of a few things."

Y/n smiled, her body sated and satisfied, as Max left the room, already planning their next passionate encounter.

[enoughtotemptme]

a year and a day

Everyone knows that if you want to make a deal, you go to Eddie Munson.

Desperate to be rid of Jason once and for all, Chrissy makes a deal with the local demon. The consequences are…not what she expected. A story of friendship, love, and paying one’s debts.

Chapters: 10/13 Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Relationship: Chrissy Cunningham/Eddie Munson Tags: Alternate Universe - No Upside Down, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Demon Deals, POV Chrissy Cunningham, Friendship, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Romance, Found Family, Roommates, Domestic Fluff, 1990s, Caretaking, Pining

Chapter Ten: March

On the first day of March, Chrissy wakes just after dawn to the sound of Eddie snoring in her ear.

They’re not delicate little snores, either. They’re deep, reverberating, mannish and annoying, and unfortunately, Chrissy concludes, she must be in love with him because instead of evaporating her crush, those mannish and annoying snores—snores that ripped her out of slumber on her one weekday she gets to sleep in until spring break, no less—just make her heart roll over in her chest like a dog with a single trick. 

Yesterday’s ordeal must have really done him in. As much as she teases him, he almost never sounds like this when he sleeps—though she supposes it could run in the family, perhaps a thing that comes with age, given his uncle’s resemblance to a freight train. 

His knees are tucked into the bend of her own, his hand splayed over her belly. The vague, sleepy thought about what part of him might be pressed up against her backside evaporates as she realizes all of a sudden it’s his bare hand against her bare skin. Her nightgown rode up in the night, up her thighs and hips until a sleeping Eddie’s hand found purchase on the softest part of her stomach.

Just then, his grip tightens on her, snores tapering off into snuffles as he slowly wakes. His fingertips press harder into her skin, and it takes everything in her not to squirm as the contact inspires fuzzy, fluttery feelings just below here he touches. That part of her body spent years as one of her least favorites, but he’s holding it—her—like he covets it, like it’s the teddy bear he’d teased her about being. 

“Sorry.” His voice is groggy; he unconsciously nuzzles his face into her hair, then yawns. “Didn’t mean to get grabby.” 

“I don’t mind.” Perhaps It’s fine would have been a less-conspicuously in-love-with-him way to respond, but his hand is big and warm, and despite the apology, still holding her with a possessive intent she’s not sure he’s cognizant of.

His hand is very warm, she realizes, and a quick rush of relief swoops through her belly. She thinks he must be completely back up to his normal temp.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, just in case.

Another unconscious nuzzle into her hair. “Right as rain, Cunningham.” 

Chrissy lets out a breath. “Good.” 

She shifts a little, just trying to stretch her legs after a long, hard sleep, but her movement seems to be what finally makes Eddie realize he’s still clutching her. His hand spasms, then slides away abruptly, just shy of the speed with which one takes one’s hand away from a hot skillet.

She allows herself only a brief moment to mourn the loss of his touch, then twists around under the covers until her body is facing his, their heads on opposite pillows.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey.” His eyes are hooded, likely still sleepy. She should probably leave him, let him sleep a bit longer, but looking at him like this—it makes all the emotion of yesterday well up her throat until she nearly feels like she’s drowning in it.

[click here to read the rest of chapter ten on ao3]

[pushing500]

Against all odds, asexual Buckeye and reduced-fertility-gene Magic Man have managed to make a baby! However, because Buckeye is Animakin, she needs to plant the baby in soil... And there is no soil in the ocular forest where Monster's Basin is. Only red sand and red dirt and other nasty red stuff, which apparently doesn't count.

So, we have unexpectedly had to up and move in order to give this new baby the best possible chance of survival! We were hoping to be able to prepare a bit more first, but desperate times call for desperate measures. We'll leave everything behind for the sake of one of our own if we must.

However, moving means it's time for another (rather rushed, I'm afraid) colony tour! Presenting: Monster's Basin!!

Here's the whole thing from above. If I had to describe it in one word, I would say "red".

Here is the central room, the kitchen/dining/ritual room. Next to it, we have two bathrooms and our freezer. Magic Man is already packing some of our human leather kneel sheets, as you can see.

Some bedrooms: Top left is Vasso and Laursen's room, top right is Euclid and Socks' room, bottom left is Dire Wolf and Pro (and formerly Bella's) room, and bottom left is Magic Man, Buckeye, and Dopey the razorjack's bedroom.

We also have a small, utilitarian hospital.

Up above the bedrooms and the main room are our dinosaur museum (we can't go without a dinosaur museum) and our research laboratory. Also a better view of the freezer.

Our farms and a huge stack of red bricks that we'll never get to use.

Here's a nutrient-paste barn that we got from a prefab some traders sold us. Mostly so we could see what it was, but our animals seemed to appreciate it.

Bella's room that she was given when she grew up into an adult, the sauna, and Blackdragon, Duchess, and Night Stalker's room.

The wardrobe, the chemfuel room, the miscellaneous devices room, the hot spring, and the small place where we attempted to plant Buckeye's sapling child before we realised it didn't work in this biome.

Finally, our animal pen/archery range. We were very fond of the moose named All-Powerful (she fell out of the sky), but we'll probably release her into the wild (along with a self-tamed hare and three baby wolfchickens some traders gave us) to help us conserve food on our abrupt journey.

And that concludes the tour of Monster's Basin! I wonder where our caravan will take us. Hopefully, somewhere with plenty of fertile soil for a growing sapling child...

First | Next | Previous

[xxnghtclls]

Permission

Chapter 13

(Chapter 12; Chapter 14)

Rating: Explicit

Warning: Graphic Depiction Of Violence

Please see Chapter 1 for tags!

Today‘s Arrival

Achoo!

You sneeze as you arrive in your chambers. Feeling cold, you hurry to dry yourself and putting on your kimono. The one from the hot springs was laying in the dirt for a whole day, you can‘t put that one on. The other one is still a bit damp, but mostly dry.

After you put on your clothing, you make your way down the halls to fulfil your duties. You get your bucket and soap and as you walk into the garden to fetch some water, you pause for a moment and inspect if there’s any work for you there as well. You conclude that your garden work is finished for this year. The trees and bushes are perfectly trimmed and ready to bloom next spring. They kind of grew on you. Working and caring for them for over a month, it’s only natural. Smiling to yourself, knowing you’ve accomplished something that you’re proud of, you hear footsteps. The sound comes from the direction where Sukuna‘s private entrance to the garden is located. It‘s still open. You look into his chambers from the outside and soon, your King walks into your vision. He’s naked, only pressing a piece of cloth onto his dicks, probably dried himself with it. Sukuna catches your glance, as he comes to a halt in the doorway, eyeing at you in an arrogant way.

A pause.

“Help me dress.” he orders.

“She is supposed to clean the halls for today’s arrival, Master Sukuna.” Uraumes voice appears behind you, before you can answer.

Arrival?

Turning around, you both bow your head to each other. You look back to Sukuna, seeing his face being not too pleased with Uraume’s comment, even notice him clenching his jaw.

“She’s going to accompany me today during this event. Find someone else.” he says annoyed, while turning around, walking into his chambers. Your face heats up, before you turn to Uraume, seeing them bowing their head at him.

“As you wish.” they say, before they lock eyes with you, motioning you to him. Nervous about this spontaneous decision, you walk to the door of his chambers. Soap and bucket still in your hands.

You feel a tap on your shoulder.

“You won’t need that in there.” Uraume says in a calm voice. You laugh nervously, as you hand them the bucket.

The sound of a door sliding shut.

Not letting go of the door, you realise something. You were never alone with him, except during…

dinner time.

It feels different. You’re nervous, gently chewing on the inside of your cheeks.

What’s this arrival event?

Taking a deep breath, you stand up and turn around, only to see your king standing right in front of you. You jump, didn’t expect him to be there at all.

He has his kiseru in his right hand. Red orbs looking down at you, his gaze threatening.

“Don’t do that again.” he orders.

“My apologies, my King” you bow your head to him, not having an idea what he means.

“Good.” you hear him say, taking a puff of the kiseru after. “Now get my clothes.”

As specific as ever.

Sukuna turns around and sits down on the edge of his bed. He leans forward, elbows on his thighs, relaxing his face on his left hand, occasionally taking a puff. You look around, seeing no kind of dresser anywhere. Not knowing if this is some kind of game for him, having you looking around for his clothes and him watching you while you do it, you decide to go into the other room. Through the dark corridor you go, looking to your left, there is a dresser. It looks pretty, mahogany wood. You decide to go for the bottom drawer.

No. He’s tall. His poor back, you think sarcastically.

You reach for the upper drawer. It’s about the height of your eye level, so you have to be on your tiptoes to actually see what’s in it.

You’re right.

His poor back.

Walking proudly back into the bedroom with his kimono in his hands, you briefly see him being lost in thought, brushing over the tip of his nose with the index finger of the hand he’s resting his face on. As he notices you’re back, a smirk grows on his face.

“You’re quick.” he says as he stands up.

So proud.

You want to place his kimono on the bed, but you notice his bed being in an awful condition. Well. It’s kind of your fault anyways. Last night was eventful. You hesitate, before the armchair right next to the bed is the target of your choice. Placing the kimono on the armchair, you’re ready.

Ready to make his bed.

You tidy up the sheets, covers and pillows. Being completely lost in your routine of cleaning and tidying, you kind of forget why you are in his chambers in the first place.

You finish up the bed and turn around to get the kimono.

Now you carefully lay it on the edge of the bed.

You turn around and exhale sharply to signal him that you’re ready to help him dress. Sukuna is leaning against the wall to your left, his arms crossed. He looks so amused, watching you.

“What?” you blurt out.

“Careful.” he smirks, however, still manages to sound intimidating.

“What’s the matter, my King?” you correct yourself, trying hard not to sound sarcastic.

He starts walking towards you.

“Such a hard working kitten.” he takes a puff.

You blush.

Even harder, after you realise, that he’s still naked. Sukuna drops his kiseru into your hands, you have to catch it, before he walks past you, to put on the pants he’s wearing underneath his kimono.

“What is this event today, my King?” you ask, as you sniff on the pipe two times. The stinging smell of tobacco hits your nose.

Achoo!

You sneeze.

He chuckles, not giving you an answer, as he comes back, taking it out of your hand again and putting it on its stand on a small cupboard right next to the fireplace.

Wordlessly he walks back in front of you, turning around and spreading his arms. All four of them, making the muscles on his back move and flex. After briefly admiring the sight in front of you, as well as the tattoos that spread there on his shoulders and neck, you just stand there, tiny as you are compared to him, wiggling on your tiptoes a few times.

How am I supposed to help him?

“My King?”

“Mh?” he purrs.

“Permission to move you”

His head turns, a serious gaze falls over his shoulder right into your eyes. Not waiting for an audible answer, you carefully lay your hands on his sides.

He’s so warm.

Ignoring his threatening eyes and the feeling his firm muscles beneath your hands give you, you softly tug on him. He doesn’t move.

“Please, my King.” you whisper.

He lowers his head a bit and as you’re tugging again, he gives in. You walk backwards and turn to your left, moving that tree of a man in front of his bed. Delicate feet step on the soft surface. Now that you stand elevated, you’re more able to actually help him dress. The space between his shoulder blades now in your vision, you can’t help but to trace your fingertips along the edges of his tattoos. You notice that it gives him a hint of a goosebump.

“Your tattoos are special. They suit you.” you whisper. Sukuna turns his head to eye you once again. Not threatening this time, more thoughtful. Your eyes meet for a brief second, before your turn and pick up his robe.

The fabric is soft in your fingertips. It feels special for you, to touch the clothes that belong to him. You straighten your back, notice him turning his head forward again and sliding both pair of his arms through either side. You lean closer to him, gentle fingers correct the fabric at his neck, patting it smooth, making it sit correctly. Eyes fixed on the fabric and your hands working on it, you notice his head turning slightly back towards you.

“Please turn around, my King.” you ask him, without looking at his face. He does as you say, without complaining. You continue your work at the front, fixing the fabric, folding it neatly in front of his chest. As you’re busy with his fabric, you can feel his eyes stare at you. Luckily he’s done this a few times already and luckily you have a task right now, so you’re not instantly melting into a puddle. You fight hard, not to look up to him, though. His energy softly tickling at your chin. It makes your tummy feel weird. Nervous.

You sigh, turning to your right again to pick up his obi. Holding it in front of him, you motion it to him. Sukuna understands and takes the fabric between his index and remaining fingers of his upper pair of hands.

“Please hold it there.” you whisper, as you cross the robe in front of him. His bottom pair of hands find their way to the spot and hold it in place. You shoot him a soft smile, before you jump off the bed and walk behind him. Soft fingers finding his strong ones, before you tug at the obi, push it against his front, let your fingers glide through the fabric and make a tight bow tie at the small of his back.

“I think…” you say, while fumbling at the ends of the bow tie, thinking it must be the prettiest bow tie you’ve ever tied.

“Mhh?” he purrs.

You take a step back, observing your work, before you jump on the bed again, taking a step and being back in front of him.

“Oh!”

His scarf!

You pick up his scarf, thats still laying on the edge of the bed and carefully hold it out for him, to slip his head through. Fingertips softly brushing against his face in the process.

“Now we’re done.” you say proudly, while you pick and pat on some parts to make it look extra neat. Looking up into his face, you blush, as you catch him staring at you.

This feeling.

“I-I hope you’re satisfied, my King?” you ask carefully, fighting against his stare.

“Not in the slightest” he coos. His bottom pair of arms find their way to your ass. Being surprised at his actions, you squeal, as he pushes your pelvis against him, making you feel his bulge beneath his robe.

He’s hard.

Your breath hitches, asking yourself what you did to him that made him horny. He chuckles, looking at your confused, blushing face. Sukuna grinds softly against you, making you gasp in arousal. A growl is his response, his eyes turning black.

“Keep looking at me like that and I will-“

Knock

Knock

Knock

His lips turn into a smirk, before his gaze turns serious again.

“It’s time to go.” he lets go of you and straightens his back. The loss of his touch makes you whimper.

It’s only been two nights with him and you grow more and more addicted to his touch. To him. It doesn’t even feel like you’ve talked to him, became intimate with him, only for a couple of times. It already feels like an eternity for you. For some reason, he makes you feel safe with him, makes you feel wanted. Despite him acting like a monster sometimes. Maybe that’s even the addicting thing about him. The thrill, the fear. You don’t understand why, but he ignites feelings in you, your heart, your tummy, that are not… bad. In fact, the opposite. After all those years of being alone, getting addicted to someone who makes you actually feel something, you conclude that it must be… natural.

You jump off the edge of his bed, while he turns around and walks to the door of his chambers, your small feet tapping next to his big ones.

Achoo!

Sukuna turns around at your sneeze and looks at you confused.

“My apologies.” you mumble, while you sniff your nose.

Feeling a bit dizzy.

Both of you walk out of his chambers, meeting another maiden outside. You’re puzzled.

The bitch.

Sukuna walks past her without saying a word. Your eyes meet hers briefly, before you look away fast, trying to avoid her gaze. She stays silent. Luckily.

Both of you follow your King, find your place right next to him. You to his left, the bitch to his right.

Why is she here?

As the three of you make your way through the halls, your nose keeps swelling and you feel a headache approaching. The lack of sleep also knocks at your eyelids.

You feel like his bottom pair of eyes pierce into your small figure, every time you sniff your nose or clear your throat. It’s making you nervous. All three of you walk in silence through the halls. It’s uncomfortable. As you approach the door to the throne room, you quickly peek at the bitch. She has a worried look on her face.

What kind of event is this?

Heavy doors open in front of you and you walk into his throne room. It’s glowing so red, it’s foggy too. Not helpful with your sickness arriving. Not at all.

Dizzy.

You walk in, along the path, to his throne. Some other maidens are there too, sitting on the pile of bones.

You’ve seen this before. You were there.

Wait.

Your pulse quickens, as you arrive the stairs to his throne. This whole situation didn’t leave a good feeling on you last time. You hesitate. A hand on the small of your back. Sukuna gently pushes you, pushes you to walk up with them. You look up to him, seeing him not looking at you at all.

Taking a deep breath, you start walking. It feels hard taking these steps and you don’t know if it’s because of your dizzy head or because you got a bad feeling about this whole thing.

Arriving at the top, your lungs give in a bit and you start to cough. Sukuna sits down, the bitch kneels down right next to him. You decide to kneel down to his left, softly leaning against his leg.

You’re not well. Not at all.

Breathing becomes harder, head is aching.

It’s silent in the room. You feel like your ragged breathing is the only thing audible and it’s making you uncomfortable. You look up to Sukuna, he sits on his throne with crossed legs and his face resting on his left hand, looking bored. His bottom pair of eyes catch the worried look on your face, before they look to the front again, ignoring the state you’re in.

The doors open.

Your eyes shoot down to the entrance. A young man walks in, probably being only slightly older than you. Sukuna‘s nails are tapping impatiently on his armrests. You’re confused.

“King Sukuna” the man says, kneeling down. “I am here to negotiate the terms of war against the leader of the stone village in the south. They are still threatening our people. Unfortunately my father did not return from his mission, to seek help from you, my King. It’s been over a month. We’re in danger. What are your terms?”

You watch this man intently, begging for his people, begging your King for help. Somehow, you feel proud to be able to sit at someones feet, that holds this much power and you can’t help to let this proud feeling shine through your facial features. You turn to Sukuna, to watch what his reaction will be, only to find him already staring down at you. His gaze crawling over the knuckles of the hand he‘s resting his face on, it‘s serious, angry almost. Sukuna blinks and returns his attention back to the man. He sighs.

“Your father fed the crows well.” he says bored. “His daughter was my condition to protect this village.” his nails scratching on the armrest.

His daughter.

Your heart drops at his answer.

“My sister is dead, my King. She was murdered by the people who are threatening my village.”

Sukuna huffs, rolling his eyes. A pause. The man grows desperate, searching for words.

“M-My wife is pregnant.” the man finally says. Your eyes widen, shocked, looking back to Sukuna. A sadistic smirk grows on his face.

“It’ll be born in a month or two.” he sounds so desperate. Sukuna smacks his lips.

“Deal.” he growls, flaring his red eyes.

The man exhales loudly.

“When can we expect your help?” the man asks, while Sukuna shifts a little in his seat, nodding to two maidens down the stairs. They get up and start to push the man towards the entrance, to throw him out.

“In a month or two.” Sukuna laughs.

What?

You look back to your King, a worried look on your face. You sniff. His bottom pair of eyes look back to you and suddenly his lower left hand rises up to grab your neck from behind, his thumb gently caressing the side of your neck. It soothes you.

Once again, you’re reminded that he’s a monster. And yet you’re here. Sitting at his feet. Getting weak at his every touch. Blushing at every little thing he does to you. Getting this weird feeling in your heart and stomach when you’re alone with him. Letting him fuck you. Want him to fuck you.

You’re his.

Maybe, I’m becoming a monster, too.

You feel Sukuna’s hand retreat as soon as the door opens another time. Skin feeling so empty without the warmth, that his fingers embrace you in. In comes Uraume, accompanied by a girl, same age as you.

Your pulse quickens, as you remember your exact same situation, not too long ago. The girl slowly steps forward. She’s pretty. You muster her, how she’s looking around the whole place. It reminds you of yourself. As soon as she sees Sukuna, she lowers her head. A pause.

You wonder where the girl is, that sat up here with him and the bitch when you were standing down there, looking up to them. Then your train of thought gets interrupted.

“What do you want?” Sukuna’s deep, loud voice suddenly fills the room.

“I need shelter. Let me stay and I will serve you, Master Sukuna.” she says.

Anxiety fills your heart.

I am his.

You sniff your nose. Head aching badly. Heart, too.

“Is that so?” you hear the smirk in his voice and it hurts.

“Yes, Master Sukuna.” she answers. His foot that’s hanging over his left leg wiggles two times, before he shifts in his seat, leaning forward.

“Come up.” he orders.

No.

The girl starts to climb up the stairs. Your hand unconsciously finds its way around his ankle and starts squeezing it. The time until she arrives at the top feels like an eternity for you. An eternity of stress.

“Permission to look, Master Sukuna.” she asks as she arrives in front of you.

“Do it.” he whispers.

Do it.

Your ears hurt, hearing the words he told you in your most intimate moments. Looking over to the bitch, you see her looking at the girl.

She looks sad. Hurt.

Just like you.

You turn to Sukuna, who’s staring at the new girl. The smirk you heard being plastered on his face.

“My King” you whisper to him, panic in your eyes. He turns his gaze to you and drops his smirk. He doesn’t look amused. He looks threatening, in fact. Red orbs glowing into yours.

And you? You feel your heartbeat in your throat.

Your dumb little mind forgot it’s place again. Forgot that you’re not the first and only one who devoted yourself to him. Yet, you don’t want him to treat her like you. Don’t want him to embrace her with his energy, make her bring him his dinner, make her want to fu-

He turns back to the girl and leans towards her, even places his fingers on her chin. You see his smirk returning, the wrinkles on his eyelids. You hate, that you know this look on his face. Know it so well.

It hurts.

You look over to the bitch again. She looks back to you. Her eyes are wet with tears, angry tears and you understand that these are not meant for you.

She just feels the same, as you. And she already had to endure this more than one time.

Air is thin, oxygen is rare. Looking back to the new girl, you watch her being captivated by your King, just like you were. Your small fingers are still pressing into his ankle and you don’t even notice it. His thumb grazes her bottom lip. Inner panic starts to poke into your lungs. You don’t want to know what his eyes are doing to her and where they wander, don’t even dare to look at him. He inhales through his nose.

No!

“You are allowed to stay.” he finally says.

Achoo!

Your sneeze echoes through the air. Now, you feel the fever coming, feel Sukuna‘s and the girl’s eyes, which are boring into the back your head. You don’t dare to look up and just mumble a quiet apology.

You’re angry at yourself helping him to dress perfectly this morning. Angry at yourself for complimenting him. Angry at yourself for being in lo-

No.

You fight with your thoughts, not listening to any of the remaining dialogue between Sukuna and the girl.

I just want this to end.

Your hand at his ankles trembles. The fever and lack of sleep is making this whole situation worse. You feel more and more dizzy, consciousness crumbling.

Black. Out.

[arachnixe]

How Could I Ever Forget You?

(Part 5 of The New Goddess - Previous: Past The Limits Of Worship)

It’s spring, and I’m seated near father as he introduces to his court a new magician. It is considered auspicious to time announcements of major changes with the Feast of Augury, and so it is the first time most of the assembled guests hear the news that old Magister Lange has passed.

Magistra Velle immediately captures my attention with the way her personality seems to dominate the room. She is tall and aloof. Her exotic black dress shimmers, catching the light with rainbow hues like I’ve never seen before—father will later deny my request for one just like it—and I am captivated by the way her lips are painted black—again I will be denied—in defiance of all courtly norms of fashion. I watch the way she moves through the formal proceedings, cordial without a trace of warmth, greeting each member of the court with a just-so bow and a polite smile that never touches her eyes. They are intimidated by her, I realize, ill at ease with her manner.

It feels odd that I should not feel the same way. Though I’m acknowledged as an adult, I wield no authority that doesn’t come from my father. Velle is significantly older than me, fully in possession of her own arcane power. With a snap of her fingers, she could end my life. It would be wise to fear her, but it isn’t fear that quickens my pulse as I watch her.

The ceremony concludes with me, the royal heir, receiving her formal greeting.

“Princess Natalia.” Velle moves to offer her customary bow, but I preempt her by extending my hand. It’s an unusual gesture for this ceremony, but not altogether unprecedented, and to her credit, Velle hesitates for only an instant before taking my hand and pressing lips to it. The look she gives me afterward is unreadable, and it isn’t until she turns away that I exhale a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

I slip away as the attention of the court shifts to the food our servants lay out for the feast. My heart pounds in my chest, so anxious am I about being witnessed as I find an unoccupied room to duck into. When I’m sure I’m alone, I lift my hand to admire the faint mark left behind. Velle’s lip color. I press my own lips to it, lingering far longer than the kiss she offered, until fear gets the better of me and I scrub my hand clean with furious urgency, returning to the feast with an uncontrollable flush in my face.

I remain unaware of the dark smudge on my lips until I retire to my room that night and see myself in the mirror.

---

Some years later and half a continent away, a young mortal woman pours me tea while her husband distracts their children from showing too much curiosity to this oddly dressed stranger in their midst.

“So what brings you to Tassica Village?” There’s no subterfuge in her thoughts, no ulterior motives lurking anywhere in her mind. These people are simply content to offer shelter to a weary traveler—as they assume I must be—as her journey takes her through their town.

“I’m here on a spiritual quest of sorts.” I sip from the steaming cup. The tea tastes like its components, but I feel gratitude toward the generosity that inspired it. “I’m making a pilgrimage to Mount Ossen, which I believe to be the final resting place of one of the old gods.”

My host raises her eyebrows in surprise, glancing out her window at the sleeping volcano that dominates the view. She assumes me to be a cultist of the old pantheon but doesn’t want to offend by telling me I don’t act as unpleasantly morbid as that type tends to be. With quick thinking, she saves herself from appearing rude by directing her commentary toward the tea. “They must like it hot where you’re from, yeah? I have to let mine cool down a bit still or I’ll be suffering from a burnt tongue for days.”

I smile warmly. “No, I confess I’m a bit unusual in my ability to tolerate heat.”

“Well, don’t be in too much of a rush to finish. I’d love to hear more about the kingdom you hail from. What was it called again?”

“Rutennia,” I repeat for her. “Far to the south of here, across the sea.”

“Wow! I’ve never met anyone from such a long way away. Will you stay for dinner and tell us of your home?”

I follow the local custom of declining the initial offer so as not to burden my host, then accepting when she and her husband team up to insist. These sorts of detours among mortals make for a welcome distraction from the pursuit of my ambitions. Someday a great many people like this will know who I am and bow down in worship, and time among them helps remind me why the worship of humans is a worthwhile prize.

---

I scream into my pillow until I go hoarse. They tell me I am an adult when it comes to matters of betrothal and marriage, but when I ask to have Magistra Velle give me private lessons in her craft, I’m suddenly just a teenage girl for whom it’s wildly inappropriate to study black magic. Sure, and when I’m no longer a teenager in a few years, the issue will be that I’m too old to begin studying, and I’m a princess besides, so really I should be focusing on other matters. I know an excuse when I hear one.

I bet Velle got started when she was just a child. She’s probably been practicing her whole life to be as cool-headed and powerful as she is today. I wish I could be like that.

Maybe I should accept my father’s compromise and let Haeland Marta teach me “a few healing spells.” I guess that must be okay because it’s not “magic for war.” Ugh.

But… now that I’m considering it, maybe it’s not so bad. I don’t get to spend more time with Velle like I want, but having magic that complements hers has its appeal. Imagine the two of us together… she throwing lightning bolts at our enemies while I cast a protective barrier to shield her from harm. But then someone gets past my defenses and shoots her with an arrow! She tells me she’s fine, but I know she’s just playing it cool like she always does.

Then I have to take her back home and tend to her wounds, and she resists, telling me “princess, I cannot rest while your enemies are still at the gates!”

And then I go, “but what about you?” with tears in my eyes.

“Who cares about me?” she says. “I’m just a court magician, and you’re royalty!”

And I say “I care! I care about you!”

And then she looks at me and realizes that there’s one person in this world who isn’t afraid of her, and, and…

Ohhh… I can’t let anyone know I’m thinking these kinds of things.

I scrub at my face with my hands. What’s wrong with me?

---

Another tremor. Laying down at the peak, I can feel the volcano threatening to erupt, pulsing and twitching, building to another surge soon. My hand strokes the earth, coaxing it further. I don’t care to wait a century for this one’s next scheduled eruption, nor even longer for the next truly major one. I hunger for what’s inside.

Before long I get what I want. A distant rumble builds into an explosive climax, flinging stone, filling the sky with ash, and flooding this whole slope with a surge of molten rock.

More.

A second eruption washes over me, burying me deeper in lava. I’d be dead in at least four different ways if I were still mortal, but instead I remain dissatisfied. I plunge my senses deeper underground, wrap a hand of invisible force around the source of all this beautiful pyroclastic flow and squeeze until I get another, more powerful than the first two combined.

There we go.

I guide the lava’s flow to ensure it flows over me and past my body, the heat no more than a pleasurable caress that does not distract me from the prize it carries upward from deep under the earth into arms reach at last. I clasp a mummified hand and heave myself and the body up and out of the molten rock.

Here it is, the corpse of another god, unusually intact considering the conditions of its burial. Who were you that you had to be buried so inaccessible a place? How powerful were you in life that I could feel your energy calling to me with such mouthwatering might?

Most of the body is ready to crumble into dust, but I delicately unfurl brittle skin, push aside shriveled lumps of former organs, and find a perfectly preserved liver, still moist and quivering. It tries to jerk out of my grasp as soon as I lay hands on it, resisting me, forcing me to wrestle it into my mouth and fighting my efforts to rip it apart with my teeth and choke it down.

The power of every god wants a vessel, but they don’t like to share. No single god should wield the power of many. What I am doing is blasphemy.

Good.

---

Haeland Marta insists I help prepare Magister Lange’s body for the funeral ceremony. This has absolutely nothing to do with my studies and everything to do with the fact that she’s old and wants someone younger than her to do all the bending and moving that she can’t handle anymore.

Bleh. Some healer she is if she can’t even fix her own joints. I hear Istow’s are the best in the world, but despite them being our neighbor and ally, my father won’t pay to send for a real expert to tutor me. “Marta’s fine to teach enough of the basics to satisfy you.” He has no idea what I need to satisfy me. I could strangle him.

The old woman mutters to herself while passing a hand over the dead magician. “That’s not right…”

“What’s wrong, Haeland?”

She ignores my question, consulting the massive tome she has to lug around because she barely remembers her own training anymore. At last she stabs her finger at a page, clucks her tongue, and sighs. “That’s the one. Still remnants of it in his body. Poison. Ah, Your Highness, I should have checked before.”

I peer over her shoulder at the diagram of a familiar flower. Icy fingers grip my chest, and my breath hitches. I’ve seen some just like this once before: the day I snuck into Magistra Velle’s private rooms. Oh no. This is bad. If Marta tells someone, they might search the palace, and they might find the same poison that killed Magister Lange in Velle’s room, and… then she’ll be gone.

Maybe I can prevent that from happening. There probably won’t be another chance. I can do this. I have to cast the spell I’ve been practicing, but with just the right mistake. Haeland Marta told me how dangerous healing can be if you err in certain ways, and…

I put my hand on the old woman’s shoulder and heal her exactly wrong. Her heart is weak, and it doesn’t take much of a nudge to stop it altogether.

Oh. Oh no. Did I really just…? This was a mistake. This was a huge mistake. I bite my tongue hard to prevent myself from freaking out and screaming. I can undo it, right?

I cast the spell again, but correctly this time, and… nothing. I try again. And again and again. “You can’t bring someone back from the dead, girlie,” Haeland Marta once told me, and she’s wrong because she’s old and stupid and not as good as the healers from Istow, and…

I sob into my hands. What have I done? I… I…

I helped Velle. That’s what’s important, right? And, and, and now they’ll have to send for someone to replace Haeland Marta. Maybe one of the real experts. So this could be a good thing. Good for both of us.

Someday I’ll learn how to resurrect the dead. I’ll learn how to fix my mistakes. And this, this is a mistake, even if turns out for the best. I mustn’t make a habit of solving my problems this way.

---

Panting, sweating, heaving, spasming. This one is too much. It’s much too much. The power of fully three gods inside me. Three gods! Hahahahaha!

It’s too much.

No, no, no, damn it all, no. I will not surrender. I will have it all. There are many more powers to consume after this. This world is littered with them, and I can feel every last one calling out to me.

More like screaming my name in fear.

Whatever dwindling will lingers in each one, they hate that a human has elevated herself above them. Hahahahaha, let them hate. They are lost without me. They are dead and food to me.

A sickening pop inside me curls my body into the fetal position. Blood bursts from my pores, oozing like sweat. Maybe no human is really capable of containing this much power. I feel it threatening to split me open on a spiritual level. This could kill me.

I refuse. My soul is unconquerable. I will grow to accommodate my hungers.

I gave Nina the body she always ached for. I sculpted a palace in the sky for her and Jay to live the lives they deserve. I can do anything, except… No, I can’t die before taming her, can I?

Deep breaths. I just need to expand my sense of self. If a human soul cannot contain this much power, then I will evolve beyond human limits. Monster or dragon or demon, whatever it takes to devour all the gods and all the powers that died on this world, I will become what I must.

---

“Natalia’s aptitude for healing is remarkable, Your Highness, and she’s shown such enthusiasm for the topic as well.” Haeland Moore takes a moment to smile at me with pride. “I would be happy to accept her proposal. I daresay in two more years she’ll earn the title Haeland herself.”

“Her title is already Princess,” my father grumbles. “There are few higher aside from my own.”

“Quite so. It’s just that, ah, in Istow, as you know, one of our most revered monarchs was…”

“You would have me send my only daughter away to study healing magic.” He openly sneers at the idea.

Magistra Velle chimes in. “I say let her go. You have a rebellion to squash, and moving your heir farther from the front lines is a prudent choice.”

The king rubs his temple with two fingers in frustration. “After your most recent blunder, Magistra, I’m much less inclined to trust your judgment—oh, how I wish Lange were still with us—but you may have a point. And after the last two promising suitors turned out to have such weak constitutions,” he sighs, “and the unexpected death of that tutor from Melland as well… perhaps we should let our little bad luck charm be someone else’s problem for a while. If she happens to learn enough to keep her next suitor alive for more than a few weeks in her company, so much the better.”

This might be the first time I’ve heard those three mentioned in connection with me as the common thread before. Perhaps it’s the same for Velle, as some unreadable expression crosses her face, and she shifts her gaze to me appraisingly. I blush, as I always do when she pays attention to me, returning her look with a shy smile. I hope she understands we’re on the same team here.

Haeland Moore ignores everything except his opening. “She will learn how to do that much and more. You have my word, Your Majesty.”

“I’ll take your word, and to that I’ll add a knight to accompany her. Someone not too important, in case her bad luck strikes again. Maybe Count Warren’s boy?” He waves a hand. “Go, make the arrangements before I change my mind.”

I mouth the words “wait for me,” to Magistra Velle, who makes no movement to acknowledge them. I’ll be back for you. I promise.

I have no way of knowing it will be nearly five years before I return, and by then Velle, stripped of her title, will have vowed revenge on the royal family, setting out on a quest to ascend to godhood.

---

I’m stable. Stable enough, at least. Warped and deformed by swallowing something far larger than I should have, but I live. It still fights, but with effort perhaps I can mold my body back into something that appears familiar to others.

I cast my eyes about my surroundings, examining the devastation around the volcano. The lava appears to have mostly cooled already. How much time have I spent wrestling with the digestion process? I really should return home.

Wait, that spot over there. That’s where Tassica was, wasn’t it? Funny how it never even occurred to me to warn anyone that I was planning on provoking this eruption, and that Tassica would be wiped out.

I float down to the spot where kind people showed me uncomplicated hospitality. I pity them, but I feel no particular attachment to them. Mortals die all too easily, right? Does it even matter?

Should I choose to be a merciful god? Would it mean anything in the long run? No, these are the wrong questions. I am a god. I have more power coursing through me than has anyone who ever walked the world. I can do anything. All that matters is what it pleases me to do.

Today I think it would please me to offer magnanimity. It suits me to reward these people for their hospitality. Like puppies, mortals must be conditioned with suitable rewards that encourage behaviors I approve of. I’ve performed a resurrection once before, what’s a few more?

Carve an opening in the cooled lava with a wave of my hand. Restore the plants, the homes, everything burnt to ash, including animals and human bodies. Trace the souls and pull them back. My divine energy is still erratic, it still wants to fight me, but even so this is a shockingly easy task—no not a “task,” I am performing divine miracles, and I laugh with pleasure as I continue.

I can do better than restoring a piece of this flawed world to itself, though, can’t I? I can make it better. Let the land be more fertile, the crops more robust, the buildings sturdier, the people stronger and healthier. I’ll nudge the atmostpheric currents such that these people will never see another typhoon nor dry season. Even that is a trifle.

I do my best to pull my body back into human shape, but the struggle to contain everything is profound. I hardly even notice that the sun has set because right now I am pure daylight, and the one thing that feels beyond me now is to appear as I did when I first arrived. Almost in unison, the villagers awaken, and they are drawn to me like moths. As is only natural, they fall to their knees and heap prayers upon me. It’s beyond anything I ever imagined. One man reaches toward me—oh, the husband who hosted me earlier—and drunk on worship, I permit a finger to gently graze one of his.

He collapses into convulsions, his mind flooded with tiny, chaotic shards of my own sight. He babbles uncontrollably with fragments of phrases almost like truths and—

Ah, I seem to have broken him. That’s… exciting, actually. Terribly exciting. Maybe it’s the intoxication of so much worship, or maybe it’s the wild divine might pushing me to the ragged edge of self control, but I like what that did to him, and I will not undo it.

I shall inspire the understanding that contact with me has gifted him divine visions, and these people will venerate him as a prophet or oracle. Let them gather around and admire the beauty of a mind shattered by contact with the new goddess of this world.

---

Home again, I rest. I grant my little bird a boon.

I digest. My pet princess and I have a date.

I remember self-control. By the time I visit Velle I’m downright stable.

“I hope you’re ready to be tamed.” I speak the words with such profound gentleness that her ears don’t even rupture.

[noiriarti]

The Arrangement: Armitage Hux x Reader (College AU) Ch. 4

Summary: A cuddle-buddies-to-lovers college AU.

Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, [Ch. 4], Ch. 5, Ch. 6

Chapter 4: Sugar

You tried to make a habit of not dating your friends. It always made things messy. When you had first met Armitage, you were a little bit nervous around your weirdly hot stranger of a roommate, but Gwen assured you that he was good people. You'd met Gwen freshman year, in your Calc III class, and she was terrifying. She was absorbing the material at a pace even you couldn't match, but she was unfailingly helpful when you didn't understand something. She was a history major--a history major--taking the hardest freshman math course, just because she wanted to see if she could. Your study sessions turned into gossip sessions, and you found yourself becoming fast friends with her, even though she could be hard-headed and prickly sometimes. It was part of the charm.

Then, you met Kylo, her water-polo-playing roommate, who she had lunch with most days. You would have thought Kylo was hot, and, objectively, he was, but it was never really like that between the two of you. He wasn't your type, anyway, but he had a ton of good stories, and all the best party invites. There was no one you'd rather get drunk at a party with, or play Smash Bros with. He was the bench warmer for the university water polo team, but he soon became left wing. By sophomore year, he was point. Junior year, he was center, and captain of the team at an astonishingly young age. Based on how the year was going, they'd probably see their first championship victory before spring.

During freshman spring, Gwen invited you to come cheer with her at the first game that Kylo would be playing. You dragged yourself, distressingly early, to the athletic center's pool, where you found Gwen at the top of the stands, reading over her latest piece for the college newspaper. She would make editor the next semester, and both of you knew it. Sitting next to her was one of the most handsome men you had seen. His strong jaw and high cheekbones framed his features. Full, sweet lips and a strong browbone that hid two intense green eyes. You had the sudden urge to run your fingers through his light red hair. The bangs swept over his forehead were probably so soft. He was lean, but cut an imposing figure, even when sitting down. You bet if he stood up and stretched out, he'd be almost as tall as Kylo. The stranger was wearing a button-up and cardigan, a crazy choice in the muggy pool.

"This is Armitage, our third roommate," Gwen said, and Armitage looked up at you with a tiny wisp of a smile, which only made him more attractive. God, those dimples. He said it was nice to meet you with a lilting accent, and your mouth was suddenly full of cotton. Great. You had the hots for your friend's roommate. How cliche could you get?

During the game, you were supposed to be drooling over the guys in speedos by the pool, but you kept finding your eyes drifting toward Armitage. Little did you know, he was doing the same thing. He was alternating between watching the game intently and reading the next chapter of his textbook, some boring tome on chemistry, sneaking glances at you where he could. Gwen noticed, and rolled her eyes. 

Eventually, you became acquaintances. You found him to be bookish, driven, and whip-smart, though he was awkward as all get-out. He started joining you on library trips with Gwen, and became a fixture at your lunches. Over time, the fact that he was staggeringly hot started making you less and less nervous, and you two finally relaxed around one another. You found that the thing you most appreciated about him was his reliability. If you invited him somewhere, he'd be there right on time. He'd bring snacks to the games, without fail. Even late at night, he would never leave you alone in the library. You concluded that he'd make some girl very happy one day. (You did not, of course, give any mental energy to the thorny feeling that hit you at idea of him dating someone else.)

It didn't surprise you when Gwen asked if you wanted to become their roommate, and so you accepted. You'd secretly been hoping for it. It wasn't long from then that you began your arrangement with Armitage. Honestly, it started out with the simple desire for touch. Nothing more. But, over time, when you got to know him, you couldn't deny that if he asked you out, you'd say yes in a heartbeat. You trusted him with your full heart, whispering about your day and what you were nervous about. If you texted him asking for something, he'd unfailingly deliver. He was driven, but so hard on himself. You got the sense that he didn't understand how incredible he really was. Late at night, when his face relaxed and he slipped off to sleep, you felt a magnetic pull to kiss him on the cheek or forehead.

It was platonic. Really.

You were almost caught one time. Gwen was up unusually late, and saw you walking down the hall to his room, and asked what you were doing. You froze, babbled out something about leaving the Lysol in the guys' bathroom, and dashed off to find it. Reliable old Armitage, of course, had Lysol stocked in his bathroom. When you retreated to your room after pretending to clean your bathroom for 20 minutes, you texted Armitage to apologize and explain. It was too close for comfort. What would Gwen think about you spending so much time with her friend? Would she judge you? Those thoughts were promptly erased when you entered his room, and crawled into his bed as usual. 

A couple weeks later, Gwen dropped a bomb on you both.

"I know someone who has a crush on you." There was a moment of silence, and then chaos erupted. Kylo started cackling and Armitage choked on his food. You immediately began interrogating Gwen--who, what, when, where, why. The questions distracted you from the light of hope in your chest that she meant Armitage.

"I heard this guy sitting in front of me in my gened, who I sometimes get notes from, and his friend was telling him he should ask this girl out. This girl he liked. And then he said your name. But I didn't realize it was you, until you said something about your friend Dopheld, which is a weird enough name that there's probably not two of them. So, congratulations, Dopheld Mitaka has a crush on you," Gwen said smugly. It wasn't an invention, she genuinely overheard them talking about you, and was planning on telling you sometime soon. The opportunity with Armitage was too good to miss, though. Maybe it would kick him into actually *doing something* about his feelings, which were obvious to everyone but the two of you.

You were, needless to say, shocked. Dopheld was sweet, smart, and kind. Always nice in class, and not bad to look at either. Then why did you feel sad?

"Dopheld? He's nice, I guess," you conceded, a bit absent. Gwen rolled her eyes and changed the topic, certain that her meddling had achieved its goal.

Armitage, meanwhile, was having some sort of aneurysm. Of course someone liked you. You were great. And, frankly, objectively hot. The more he had gotten to know you, the more he realized how good of a girlfriend you would be. To someone else, that is. He felt like he'd been punched in the stomach, rushing all the air out of him. There wasn't any oxygen left in the room for him to breathe. The image of you holding someone's hand, or, oh God, cuddling with them the way you did with him made his throat burn. Rage gripped him. No. That was not possible. The napkin he was holding in his left hand was crushed by his fist, and he was white-knuckling the table with his right. Absolutely fucking not.

That evening, you were on his bed again, his head in your lap as he did flashcards. You had one hand buried in his hair while you watched Pride and Prejudice as code ran in the background. You weren't really paying attention to the movie, God knows you had seen it enough times before to recite it word for word. His hair turned out to be just as soft as you had imagined it would be. Millie was cuddled up by his stomach, purring contentedly. He didn't remember the last time he was this happy. It made the MCAT bearable. Your hands running through his hair sent pleasant shivers down his spine as he clicked C. Tryptophan. The last card in his pack. The analytics were about to display, and he was dreading the low score he probably got. He was averaging 92%, and was terribly upset about it. He winced to avoid his score, trying to anticipate the bitter sting of failure.

100%. His first perfect score. You both celebrated with a Lofthouse cookie in the kitchen, quietly opening the package and giggling to yourselves as you got frosting and crumbs everywhere.

Sugar-addled, in the kitchen, he finally admitted it to himself. He had feelings for you.

He found himself surprisingly okay with it.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

AN: i am considering making the final chapter a bonus nsfw chap, so lmk if you'd enjoy that, or if you'd prefer it be kept sfw! inbox open :)

[dalhyp]

Naked HypnoCon 2023

This year, HypnoCon was located in Palm Springs, California. Friday we first gathered at The Toolshed Bar which was incredibly packed with men. Everyone was eventually found and we sat outside for a few drinks as friends and new attendants met. After that, we went to dinner at Grand Central. Then some of the people went to other bars, the rest decided to stay at resort, the El Mirasol Resort, a clothing-optional resort with a hot tub and a couple of pools. I thought I would be self-conscious about it, however THAT quickly went away.

Saturday morning, we met at the LBGT Community Center. And for introductions we gave the name we preferred to be called, how many HypnoCon’s we’ve attended, and if we were a hypnotist, subject, or switch. There were a few new faces. The learning session began at the very beginning, hypnosis 101. From Pre-talk, to Induction, to Deepening, to Suggestion, to Reentry, to Post-talk, each step of a typical hypnosis session for recreational purposes was discussed and demonstrated. Some very good subjects sat in the front of the group and experienced each part firsthand. I did deepening, which included convincers. I ran out of different deepening techniques, so I made a new one – silence. 

            The group moved on to some of the history of HypnoCon, how it started, and the reason it keeps moving around. From the @gayhypnosis channel in the past, a few names stood out as pillars of that channel. One of those people was Hypnojob (his handle now) AKA EnTranceU (his handle in the @gayhypnosis channel). He talked about those days and moving to newer forms of electronic communication such as Discord and Skype. He does have a Skype Hypnosis Chat Room. I just joined it and it does bring back memories of the @gayhypnosis channel. If you want to explore, first be very interested in hypnosis, and second reach out to @Hypnojob on Skype to request an invitation to the group. Some great questions regarding the typical session and recreational hypnosis in general flew as we concluded, took the “wish you were here” photo, and then went to lunch. Most of us went to Denny’s – this was not a high point. 

            HypnoCon continued after lunch with an exercise to demonstrate fractionation. People who want to experience fractionation as a subject sat in a circle facing outward. The people that wanted to show fractionation as a hypnotist proceeded to induce trance and then fractionation. Since we had about 30 people, the process took a bit of time, however, there were some people who experienced deep trance. I got to be the subject for a demonstration of the “Yes” induction method. I think I got through seven or eight “yeses” before collapsing into a deep trance and then being brought out of the trance way too quickly! Some toys that hypnotists can use are shown next from pendulums to pocket watches, to a “mind machine” that uses flashing LED lights at specific frequency of flashes to bring trance. Some of the participants played with the toys. We then departed to get ready for dinner, which was at Billy Reeds. Dinner tasted wonderful and we then disbanded for the evening. I personally took more naked time at the hot tub where a couple of fun things happened. First, I got into a staring contest with a fellow hypnotist. I started to wonder who the hypnotist was, until he said, ���You are getting very relaxed.” 

            “Oh, I guess, I’m the subject.” I thought and proceeded to go into a nice deep trance where the water relaxed me even more. The other wonderful thing is that a subject proceeded to be hypnotized by me using a non-verbal induction for the first time. That was quite the ego boost!

            The next morning, we ate brunch at Sherman’s Deli. We, and by “we,” I mean most of the people who organized this event, decided to forgo the usual discussion on which city to go next and opted instead for a different approach. Searching cruise vacations, we found the from Boston, a cruise that travels north so that people can watch the foliage turn colors, departs the Sunday of Hypnocon. So, the proposal became that HypnoCon goes to Boston next year, and have the usual Friday and Saturday. On Sunday though, the gathering continues as it does with an informal group setting at the host hotel so that more specialized topics can be discussed and shown in small groups or begin the above-mentioned cruise. The idea was ratified by a general proclamation (nobody complained too loudly), and we then went back to the resort for some small group discussion and generally be laid back and, of course, naked. 

            Now I come to you dear reader, if you are interested in helping organize the next HypnoCon in Boston, please let me know by emailing me at Dalhyp@yahoo.com. HypnoCon has an operating budget of zero dollars, assistance in contacting venues for dinners and entertainment, asking people of interest to come to the gathering, and fresh ideas are greatly appreciated!

[blessyourhondahurley]

Suptober day 8 - Memories Are Made of This

As the screen goes all wiggly after How Could I Forget? we cut to a high school flashback. Will our star-crossed lovers beat the odds?

Suptober prompt: Satanic Panic Flufftober prompt: Rainy Day

(Read on AO3)

“Dean. Hey. Dude, are you drooling?”

Charlie's voice cuts through his gauzy daydream like a hot scalpel. He shakes himself alert, blinking rapidly as his eyes and his mind struggle to refocus on his dreary surroundings. Third period biochem. Rainy day. Middle of nowhere, Kansas. Ugh.

His bestie continues to lay into him in a hissed whisper. “You need to wake up! You haven't been paying attention to anything Mr. Singer has written on the board, and he already told us it's all gonna be on the test next week!! Where's your head today?” She narrows her eyes and gives him the look that always makes him feel like she's corkscrewing right into his brain. “You're not still thinking about that Novak kid, are you?”

He tries. He really does. He doesn't flinch, doesn't fidget, doesn't drop his eyes. “Nah,” he drawls, putting what he hopes is the exact right amount of casual disinterest into that single lying syllable.

She doesn't buy his act for a second. “Bull. Shit,” she replies, smacking him on the shoulder. “You are. Dean! I told you, that one is not for you! Between your Led Zep shirts and our weekend D&D games, his parents would call an exorcist if they found out he was even talking to you!”

“Oh come on, Red,” he protests weakly. “The Satanic Panic died out in the 80's.”

Charlie gives him a dark look. “Not in the Novak household, it didn't. I'm serious, Dean. Those blue eyes may be super dreamy, but he is more trouble than he's worth. Trust and believe. Now settle down, focus, and catch up!” She points furiously up at the whiteboard, which Mr. Singer is continuing to fill with blocky, crabbed lettering, and then down at his blank notebook.

Dean sighs and picks up his pen.

~~~~~~~~

Everybody at the school knows about the Novaks, Lawrence High's very own pack of homegrown Cullens. They're an unwieldy gaggle of siblings, almost too many to count. Well-dressed, God-fearing, condescending little pricks, the lot of 'em. They keep themselves to themselves, and everyone else appreciates the favor. Nobody in their right mind would ever try to date one of them.

Except.

Except...

Except Castiel Novak, the baby of the family, with his eyes as blue as the sky and his messy black hair and his voice like a rake being dragged across concrete? He smiles at Dean, laughs at his jokes. They sit side-by-side in fifth period study hall now, and Dean's grades have dropped almost half a point since the new seating charts were drawn up, because he doesn't get a damn bit of studying done in that hour.

He's completely fucking smitten, is the thing. It's disgusting. But Charlie's right: he doesn't have a chance with someone like Castiel. The Novaks are bible study, violin lessons, honor roll. Dean's cheeseburgers, greasy carburetors, ripped jeans. So what if they have a blast hanging out every afternoon when they're supposed to be doing their homework? So what if Dean shakes sometimes with how much he wants to take Cas's hand, kiss his lips, touch his skin? It'll never happen, and that's a fact.

And then one Friday in March, just as they're all gathering up their books and backpacks to head to sixth period, Cas hands him a folded-up piece of notebook paper and runs out of the room. When Dean opens it up, he sees the question that will determine the course of the rest of his life:

DO YOU WANT TO GO TO SPRING FORMAL WITH ME

YES          NO

This fic concludes here...

[aladaylessecondblog]

fhw but omegaverse AU AU

Author's Note: yeah like I need more fucking AUs right? This is basically one where she didn't get sick at the hot springs. Torovan will be the one suffering. There will be sads here. :(

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

Sadrith thought there'd be pain of SOME kind at the realization Torovan would rather take care of his rut needs himself rather than indulge in her at all, but there wasn't. There was a sort of sadness that was more pronounced in the evenings, as the skooma was wearing off. But the outright pain she'd read that there could be when a bond was rejected? Nothing. A wriggling feeling of wrongness in her gut as she ignored the urge to go over and give her alpha what he needed - that was the thing that persisted. His scent only bothered her if she came too close - but she didn't anymore.

He didn't want her, and she would not beg only to be slapped away again as she had when she reached for his arm in Riverwood. She continued to cover her own scent glands in that pine scented mixture she'd gotten off Lucan, and thought of offering Torovan some, but in the end thought better of it.

His rut ended a few days later, and though he was a bit sluggish she thought nothing much of it. Something similar happened the one time they encountered a Thalmor patrol - he blasted the one she missed before he could get away, with some fireball smaller than his usual. She felt the urge to see if he was well, to ask if something was wrong, but again it was ignored. To do so wouldn't do either of them any good.

Remembering how nicely he'd cared for her at Helgen wouldn't either. She kept her eyes ahead, on the road - the one time Torovan had caught her looking at him he'd glared.

What was he so angry about? Why was he so determined not to make use of her? Most alphas (that she knew, anyway) seemed eager to claim an omega, even if they'd already taken one. But he had none, and apparently wanted to keep it that way.

Riften was reached with less than ten words said between them, (some of them being Torovan's complaint of a headache that wouldn't go away) but once they got there she finally HAD to speak to him. There was the nagging want to hear his voice - an eagerness she hated. It made her feel like a dog - hopefully looking up to her master, eager for a kind word or a pat on the head and getting nothing for the effort but a sore neck.

There was nothing, though, that the skooma could not banish.

"The face sculptor is in the Ragged Flagon," Sadrith said when the door of Honeyside closed behind them, "Which we will need to go through the Ratway to get to. I could ask her to come up here, if you'd prefer."

"It doesn't matter," Torovan replied. "I would rather not trudge through a disgusting sewer, but..."

He waved a hand absently. To be so...un-picky, it wasn't like him.

"We can go tomorrow morning then, before the sun rises. By the time she's done it'll be nightfall and you'll be--" She paused, already fearing an insult from his lips. So she concluded quickly, "Nevermind. I have things to do in Riften, I'm going out."

There wasn't an answer. Torovan went into the other room and all but collapsed into the bed that was hers, barely bothering to cover himself before (at least appearing so) falling asleep.

A feeling of wrongness. She left anyway.

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

Sadrith stopped first at Balimund's, to sell a few of the elven daggers she'd gotten off the Thalmor in Ivarstead, then to Brand-Shei to sell off a few pairs of gloves. It was him that spotted the mark on her neck, gave a slight smile, and a "Congratulations on the bite."

"Don't...don't congratulate me," Sadrith said in a quiet tone, "I didn't know what I was, and he didn't know what I was..."

"Still, to have an alpha--"

"He doesn't want me." There was a pause. "Have you ever heard of undoing a bond?"

"Heard of people trying and failing. You might ask Dinya Balu up at the Temple." There was a pause, "Don't know why anyone would ever deny you, but some folk have no sense. You're not having any...unpleasant side effects?"

"Skooma helps. I...have a little supply of it in case I need to stay awake on the road."

"Huh..."

She bid him good day and after a stop at the orphanage to hand off some of the gold she'd made, Sadrith headed to the Temple of Mara. Luckily, Dinya Balu was up front.

"I...need to ask your advice," Sadrith said. "Specifically you, I mean."

"Oh?"

Sadrith tugged down the collar of her armor to expose the bite in its entirety.

"Oh, I didn't know you were an omega!" Dinya Balu said.

"Neither did I," came the reply, "He...bit, and...and..."

A deep breath.

"He doesn't want me...there was a point where I was ill where he cared for me, but before and after it was nothing but glares and the feeling I'm inconveniencing him simply by existing near him."

"What does he say of your scent? Does he find it unpleasant?"

"He didn't say anything. I've been covering up the scent glands with a pine mixture for a while now."

"And you haven't fallen ill?" Dinya came forward, and nodded at the claiming bite. "May I?"

"I haven't," Sadrith said, giving a nod, "I was--"

The second Dinya's hand touched the claiming bite she recoiled. Merely having it touched sent a bolt of terrible pain through her body and she stepped back, cringing.

"That's--" Dinya paused, "That's not supposed to happen. There's certainly no infection. Perhaps some discomfort from not wanting anyone but your alpha touching it...but it's not supposed to pain you. I'm sorry to ask, but...you touch it, see if perhaps it's not merely someone else doing it? Be gentle with it."

Sadrith, not really knowing what else to do, obeyed. She tried to stroke over the claiming bite and while there wasn't the agony that there had been when Dinya touched it, she felt still felt a stinging pain.

"It's supposed to feel good when you touch it. Pleasurable, even...how soon did your--did the one to put this bite there reject you?"

"Immediately," she replied, "He got angry that I didn't tell him I was an omega - I didn't even know it, but he acted as though I'd deceived him on purpose."

Sadrith took a deep breath.

"Is there something wrong with me?"

"Of course not," Dinya said, "Your alpha--"

(The words felt like nothing in her head. My alpha...she repeated them silently when the other woman paused, thought of Torovan, thought of him as hers - and there was simply nothing.)

"--your alpha simply does not see what is before him. Is...he doing well?"

"He seems to be just slightly weaker. And sleepier - the last time I saw him, anyway." She didn't want to hint that it was Torovan. Given the way he acted she would likely never see him again after he returned to Winterhold. It was best not to spread his name around in connection to hers.

"The one to reject the bond is usually the one to suffer more greatly, but a malformed bond, one not reinforced can cause...many more issues. What do you feel from it?"

Sadrith reached for the bond. It was thin, and there was the slight urge to go back to see him as he didn't seem to be doing well, but as far as emotion...

"Nothing. I can feel he's unwell, but...is there nothing I can do to stop this? To cut us off from each other?"

"I'm so sorry," Dinya said, "I don't personally know of the way myself. My work is to join hearts, not divide them. I would say more but that would require your scent to be stronger to see what I might guess from it, and...I can't tell anything...it's as if you don't have one, and I can't scent your alpha on you either."

"Thank you anyway."

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

Sadrith made another few stops, but her last was at the Bee & Barb, to have a bottle of Blackbriar Mead and think. The skooma was wearing off, but she couldn't take another dose. Not if she wanted to sleep that night...and she needed to be up early.

No way to sever the bond right now, no way out of this. So she would simply have to keep taking the skooma - at least it was easy to get. She took another swig, but then felt a wave of revulsion in her stomach.

Someone took a seat beside her.

"Well, well, look who's back in town!"

"Marcurio," she gave a slight smile, "Looking for work again, are we?"

Sadrith looked up at the imperial alpha, not really understanding why that revulsion continued. She knew him well enough, hired him a few times, even spent a rut or two with him when he needed it. A sudden catch of his winter-and-wine scent and she realized.

"Well, well, someone needs help again, do they?"

"I could simply get a whore, but..."

"But you know me, is that it?" Sadrith gave a slight laugh. "Do I really look that easy?"

"Easy, no...but we know each other..." Marcurio leaned closer, and then suddenly back. "Ah, I didn't realize you were an omega...much less that you'd been claimed."

"No, it doesn't matter," she said, "The bastard doesn't want me."

"What kind of an alpha doesn't WANT any omegas? Has he taken a vow of chastity?"

"Oblivion if I know." Sadrith shrugged. "He bit me, yelled that I deceived him, and that was that."

Then as Marcurio leaned in again she started to add something.

"Maybe you shouldn't touch it--"

"If he wants to be upset, he shouldn't have abandoned you." The slightest kiss on her neck, and then, the briefest touch of one of his canines against her skin an inch away from the bite...

Pain.

Pain, and danger.

It was what had happened when Dinya touched her claiming bite but worse. A bolt of pain that shot through her body, along with the sudden feeling that she was in danger of - something.

"Shit, I'm sorry--" Marcurio stopped her from falling off her stool, "Are you alright?"

"No," Sadrith said, "No, it's just--that hurt, I'm sorry, I'm--I'm going to head out. I've got to--"

Instinct that had seemed dead had roared suddenly to life. She hated it, wanted to ignore it as she had everything else - but this, this refused to be swept away. This is not your alpha, it said, and he will harm you!

It was a damned lie but the feeling in her gut wouldn't go away.

She went back to Honeyside in an entirely ruined mood, and would have gone straight downstairs to avoid Torovan if he hadn't called out to her.

"What do you want?" she asked, on walking over. His scent, that spice and musk - she had the sudden conflicted feeling of both craving and fearing it. "You look terrible."

And then she caught something else.

"I feel terrible," he said, "But it's of my own design."

Distress. The urge to see what was wrong, to care for him, reared up once more and at the moment she simply didn't have the oomph to resist it.

She took a seat on the edge of her bed, and one of Torovan's long fingered hands shot forward to grab at her own.

"Your scent is -- feels wrong," he said a bit weakly, "Did something happen?"

"Nothing important. An imperial alpha friend of mine tried to get close--"

"An imperial dog--" Torovan tried to rise up in anger, but only fell back again and cursed when his head hit the pillow again. "--when I've recovered, I'll--"

"He didn't do anything wrong," she said, "I've spent his ruts with him before, but...he got close enough to almost nip at my bite and..."

"And?"

"It hurt, worse than...well a lot of things. It doesn't matter though, it passed. I'm fine."

"Of course it matters. You cannot simply have a bonded omega nearly get bitten by a second alpha without...problems."

"Bonded." Sadrith snorted. "It won't happen again...even when I touch it, it's painful."

"The claiming bites aren't supposed to...they're supposed to feel good when you touch them. I've known omegas who got off simply by stroking the bite enough." Torovan rambled, and then he went silent.

"I won't be one of them." She paused, and feeling a sudden resurgence in that need to care for him asked, "Have you eaten?"

"Not all day. I've been too tired for it..." He gave a rueful laugh. "My body is punishing me for rejecting you. How you have not been suffering also, I know not."

"Skooma," she said, "I take it to fix certain things...and considering how you reacted to finding out what I was, and then afterwards how you treated things, I had to keep taking it."

She rummaged through his bag and retrieved one of his potions of blood for him. He lifted his hands to take it from her, but they were shaking. And having no other ideas she moved up and put one hand under his head and tilted the potion to feed him herself.

Not until she was coming back from putting the empty bottle aside did she speak again.

"You know," he said weakly, "Usually it's the omega who needs taking care of."

"I know. I've read a hundred or more romance novels that say as much." There was a pause. "The priestess at the Temple tells me there is a way to cut the bond, but she doesn't know how to do it...so we'll have to figure it out later."

"You talked to others about this?"

"I never mentioned your name," Sadrith said, "All I did was say my alpha didn't want me - I had to, when they saw the bite and kept wanting to congratulate me."

Torovan stopped for a moment. "And the imperial?"

"What about him?"

"Why an imperial?"

"I've fucked him before, to get him through his ruts," she said, "He's a friend."

"And you would have fucked him today, had you not been in pain?"

"Why does it matter to you?" Sadrith looked away. "You don't want me. You made that clear. The only reason you're acting like this now is because your body's punishing you for rejecting the bond, however that works...I can give you some skooma to take care of it. It'll block the bond almost entirely."

Another pause.

"This is just going to be like Helgen again," she said, "But I'll do what must be done to take care of you. Do you think you will be well enough for the trip in the morning or should I call the face sculptor here?"

"Perhaps call her here," he said, stroking her hand.

Sadrith tried not to enjoy it, fought the hopeful feeling in her chest, the bloom of good feeling from contact with her alpha.

No, he is not my alpha, he doesn't want to be, you simply CAN'T enjoy this.

But until they found a way to break the bond she would simply have to bear with it.

[kithpendragon]

My friend @eaglehorn has asked me to help her make some already-awesome game pieces even more exciting! We'll be painting this tray of minis together and I figured I'd take the opportunity to post a step-by-step of the process for anybody who wants to personalize their own board game minis for the first time. We'll keep everything beginner-friendly and bring all these models to a tabletop standard with lots of photos along the way. I'll tag all the posts in this series #KP2023SCY to make them easy to find, and I'll create an Index post that links to all of the others when the series concludes. If there's a part of the process you'd like to see specifically, hit me up in the comments and I'll do my best to cover that topic!

Preparing to Paint

These are from Scythe, and look at all those rivets! These are beautifully sculpted and molded figures with no obvious mold lines, so we can skip the step where we use an old hobby knife or sandpaper to grind away the extra plastic that we don't want.

The packaging also protected them well during shipping, so the deformations are few and slight. We could straighten out any badly bent parts if we needed by applying some heat. I use some hot water - about 50C (100F) is hot enough to soften the plastic but not so hot as to burn the skin. Hold the bent part in the water for 20-30 seconds, then bend it just slightly past where you want it. I find most minis spring back slightly over the first few days after this treatment. You'll need to hold the part in place as it cools, and this bit can be made faster with some cold water if you like.

Next, I give all the figures a bath in cool soapy water followed by a rinse in clean water and a light scrub with some isopropyl alcohol. I use dishwashing soap because it gives a very clean rinse. We're making sure we get any hand oils, dirt, plastic dust, and left over manufacturing residues off of the surface. This helps the paint to stick better and keeps the finished minis looking amazing for much longer.

Next step: Priming (goes live 2023NOV21)

[boysplanetrecaps]

Boys Planet Main Post

Welcome to my Boys Planet recaps! Whether you're watching for the first time, or watching again, and whether you just like seeing what other people have to say or whether you need a bit of help understanding who is who and what the heck is going on, I got 'chu!

Since the episodes are so long, I can't fit my recap of each episode in one post, and Tumblr isn't really designed for what I'm using it for so let this post be your guide through the posts!

Entrances and Auditions Episode 1, Part 1 Entrances and some auditions Episode 1, Part 2 More Auditions Episode 2, Part 1 More Auditions Episode 2, Part 2 Concluding Auditions Side note: Unaired, unaddressed auditions Signal Song and First Challenge Mission Side note: MNET's Tenor Obsession Episode 3, Part 1 Signal Song Performance, Hanging out, beginning of challenge mission Episode 3, Part 2 + Episode 4 Main Recap for the Challenge Mission, with individual side posts for each performance Episode 3-4: Very Nice Episode 3-4: Kill This Love Episode 3-4: Love Me Right Episode 3-4: Burn It Up Episode 3-4: Danger Episode 3-4: Back Door Episode 3-4: Hot Sauce First vote off Episode 5 Second Challenge Mission - Episodes 6 and 7 Episode 6, Part 1 Gang and Zoom Home and Love Killa Law and Man in Love Rush Hour Limousine Feel Special Not Spring, Love, or Cherry Blossoms Butterfly Tomboy

Second Vote off Episode 8, Part 1 Episode 8 Part 2 Third Challenge Mission -- Original Songs Episode 9, general post Episode 10, general post Supercharger En Garde Switch some more thoughts about Switch Say My Name Over Me

Episode 11 Recap

I never really wrote a recap about Episode 12. I just blogged "Too sad today, maybe tomorrow" and that was it for a while. But Episode 12 is just the final ceremony, and if you know who made the top 9, you're good!

Thanks for reading!

[via-l0ve]

hii can i please request a 🎃for spn? Thanks!!

So im 5 foot (and a half inch 😭), dark brown eyes and hair (2c wavy its not long but its not medium either) big eyes, babyface so im percieved as cute, i'm a bit tan, skinny, strawberry legs, ear piercings (2 imma get another one soon hehehe) and uhh yeah thats it for physical

Now personality, bubbly, caring,kind,sweet, ambivert, sensitive, hate conflicts, very lovergirl vibe, sunshine in human form with a little bit of chaos sprinkled in there as concluded by my friends, softspoken, think before speaking (overthinking tbh), i love dancing (ive learned kathak a little and can do other dance forms easily too like contemp., freestyle, bollywood, salsa and folk dances from india), reading books, sketching, photography, watching bollywood movies, dressing up (especially in traditional wear) id describe my aesthetic as very cottagecore + coquette+ softcore+ desi glam like cutesy clothes (but sometimes i do be feeling like a baddie)

My fave artists are lana del rey, abba, phoebe bridgers, hozier, green day, boygenius, sufjan stevens, mazzy star, marina, red hot chili peppers, sharon van etten, cigs after sex, arctic monkeys, the cranberries. And some hindi music artists.

Im fluent in 2 languages and can understand and speak broken urdu, sanskrit and punjabi

My fave seasons are fall, summer and spring, im an aquarius and bisexual, eldest daughter, desi (indian) im a chai person, hate coffee and street food is my absolute reason for living, im really into fashion and wanna be a fashion stylist

Ok idk what else to say 😭

YOURE SO COOL!

hope you enjoy this mashup darling!!!

I ship you with Sam Winchester!

PLEASEEE he will beg you to speak in your languages and maybe even teach him some! he will religiously listen to Cigs after sex, red hot chilli peppers and Arctic monkeys with you. please annoy dean together he will have the time of his life.

he would love to meet your family and younger siblings. he treats them as his own family and loves it so much!!