#Except it backs up to a huge forest

[sophieswundergarten]

People talk about SQ going on a villain arc, but personally I've always thought he'd be more likely to just shut himself away for a while

He'd fall off the map, become a recluse not because he's trying to hide from his father, or his uncle for that matter, but because he's so confused and mixed up and lost he isn't thinking clearly

He finds an empty old house, one in a little town somewhere in the middle of nowhere, that he can live in. It's in much worse condition than Mr. Benedict's, and he gets to stay because he does farm chores for the nearby people who own the property

A quiet town. No one questions why this boy appeared, and as he keeps to himself no one bothers him

He comes into the general store sometimes, or maybe the hardware store. Buying basic necessities, repair materials, and asking sometimes strange questions with obvious answers in an embarrassed way

Every now and again, he stops by the pet store. Buying a small bird or two and an obscene amount of birdseed

He becomes known as a lonely artist, a mysterious figure the adults ignore for the most part and the children whisper about. He doesn't pay either reaction any mind

SQ's house is full of art

Colour splashed across the floor, tiny vines and butterflies covering the shutters, vibrant shades all over the fan blades. He etches painstakingly accurate bird footprints on every windowsill, sketches large diagrams of feathers and bird wings across most of the walls, because, who's there to tell him no?

He tries to teach himself to whittle, and there are many mishapen lumps of woods that vaguely resemble birds lined up on the back porch. (He knows they're terrible, but he can't bring himself to throw them away. He feels too guilty, after all, he's the one who brought them into existence. If he won't love them, who will?)

And he has a lot of birds. Some were wild ones he befriended, leaving food and nesting material out until they felt comfortable enough to rest in the rafters, flying in and out of the near-always open windows. Some were bird he saw, either sitting in a cage when they had no business to be, or wandering the park looking half frightened and confused. Birds that people had captured from their natural homes and probably smuggled, hoping to pass them off in a small enough town where no one would notice. Some were birds that had been "released" by their previous owners; left to wander an environment that was not their own and to fend for themselves when they'd been raised domesticated

It's these last few he feels for the most. It's not fair, he thinks. There's no one to take care of them, and it isn't their fault they were forced into a situation like this. At some point, someone had hurt them. Had taken advantage of their innocent nature, and it left some scarred.l

Some physically, like the ones who needed their wings splinted, or had lasting limps, or sometimes were even half blind. And sometimes mentally, like those that still shrank back from his touch after months of rehabilitation, or had missing patches of feathers, or would hiss instead of sing

And so he became known as sort of a wild artist. Someone who seemed to know everything about art and birds and the forest, but occasionally could be seen asking how microwaves worked or whether he would have to pay for checking books out of the small local library (He always returned them in perfect condition)

And, eventually, after he's had some time to think, he calls his uncle. He isn't sure how to contact his dad, but he isn't really surprised to hear the two are living together again. They're twins, after all

And so he tells them where he is, tells them that he wants to talk, wants to understand. And to his surprise, they come to him. And they offer apologies, and answers both

While the kids marvel at the birds and his art and the small collection of poetry and naturalist books he's been slowly building up as he shows them around, the adults confer on what it best to do

And he thinks that, if it's offered, he'd like to go back with them. But he isn't sure. And he's still caught off guard when they ask

[zooophagous]

So why do you hate the advertising industry?

Hokay so.

Let me preface this with some personal history. It's not relevant to the sins of the advertising industry perse but it illustrates how I started to grow to hate it.

I wanted to be a veterinarian growing up, but to be a vet you basically have to be good enough to get into medical school. I do not have the math chops or discipline to make it in medical school. I went into art instead, and in a desperate attempt to find some commercial viability that didn't involve moving to California, I went into graphic design.

I've been a graphic designer for about seven or eight years now and I've worn a lot of hats. One of them was working in a print shop. Now, the print shop had a lot of corporate customers who had various ad campaigns. One of them was Gate City Bank, which had a bigass stack of postcards ordered every couple months to mail to their customers.

Now, paper comes from Dakota Paper, and they make their paper the usual way. Somewhere far, far from our treeless plain there is a forest of tall trees. These trees are cut down and put on big fossil fuel burning trucks and hauled to a paper mill that turns them into pulp while spewing the most fowl odors imaginable over the neighboring town and loads the pulp up with bleach to give it a nice white color.

Then the paper is put on yet another big truck and hauled off to the local paper depot, then put on another big truck and delivered to my print shop, where I turned the paper into postcards telling people to go even deeper into debt to buy a boat because it's almost summer. The inks used are a type of nasty heat sensitive plastic that is melted to the surface of the paper with heat. Then the postcards are put on yet ANOTHER truck and sent to the bank, which puts them on ANOTHER truck and finally into the hands of their customers, who open their mail and take one look at the post card and immediately discard it.

Heaps and heaps and literal hundreds of pounds of literal garbage created at the whim of the marketing team several times a year. And thats just one bank in one city.

I came to realize very quickly that graphic design was the delicate art of turning trees into junk mail.

And wouldn't you know it there are a TON of companies that basically only do junk mail. Many of them operate under the guise of a "charity," sending you pictures of suffering children or animals and begging for handouts and when they get those handouts the executives take a nice fat cut, give some small token amount to whatever cause they pay lip service to, and then put the rest of the cash right back into making more mailers. "Direct mail marketing" they call it.

Oh but maybe it's not so bad, you can advertise online after all. Now that there's decent ad blocker out there and better anti-virus ads usually don't destroy your computer anymore just by existing.

Except now when I search for the exact business I want on Google it's buried under three or four different "promoted search items" tricking me into clicking on them only to shoot themselves in the foot because I searched for the specific result I wanted for a reason and couldn't use those other websites even if I felt like it.

And now we have advertising on YouTube and on every streaming service, forcing more and more eyes onto the ad for the brand new Buick Envision that parks itself because you're too stupid to do it on your own.

Oh thats ok maybe I'll get Spotify premium and go ad free and listen to some podcasts- SIKE we have the hosts of your show doing the song and dance now. Are you depressed and paranoid from listening to my true crime podcast about murdered and mutilated teenagers? That's ok, my sponsor Better Help can keep you sane enough to stay alive and spend more money.

It's gotten so terrible that now you have content farms, huge hubs of shell companies that crank out video after video to get more and more precious clicks. Which if the videos were innocuous maybe that wouldn't be so awful except now you have cooking hacks that can actually burn your house down and craft hacks that can electrocute you being flung into your eyes at the speed of mach fuck so some slimy internet clickbait jockey doesn't need to get a real job.

It of course goes without saying that animals are also relentlessly exploited by clickbait companies that will put them in compromising situations on purpose to create a fake fishing hack video or even just straight up killing them for sport by feeding small animals to a pufferfish that rips them apart for the camera.

And all of this, ALL of this doesn't even touch how adveritising is the death of art in general. Queer topics, any kind of interesting art, any kind of sex or substance use topics are scrubbed clean and hidden at the behest of advertisers.

Sex education, a nude statue, topics such as racism or sexism or bigotry in general have tags purged or hidden from search, even life saving information about SDTs or drug use, because if someone saw that and complained then Verizon might sell fewer tablets and we can't fucking have that.

Conservative talking heads often bitch and moan that they're being censored on social media. The stupid part is, they're right! They are being censored! But it's not by a woke mob, it's by ATT and Coca Cola not wanting their adspace sharing screen time with their stupid fucking opinions.

However, they won't ever figure that out, because the talking heads they get their marching orders from like Tucker and Jones ALSO rely on the sweet milk flowing from the sponsorship teat and they aren't about to turn on their meal ticket so they have to come up with even stupider shit to say for the train to continue rolling.

I managed to rant this far without even getting into the ads I see for the beauty industry. The other day a botox ad described wrinkles as "moderate to severe crows feet" as if wrinkles are a symptom of a fucking serious disease! Like having a flaw in your skin is a medical problem that you need thousands of dollars of literal botulism toxin to fix! I was incandescent with anger.

Advertising is a polluting, censoring, anti educational and anti art industry at it's very core. It destroys human connections, suppresses human thought and makes us hate our own bodies. It ads no value, actively detracts from value, and serves no real purpose and I believe it should be almost if not entirely banned.

[anxiousbabybird]

Love and Deepspace men x fem!reader slightly unhinged HCs

I started Love and Deepspace yesterday so please have my slightly unhinged HCs for the men so far. And minors don’t you dare interact

Part 2

Rafayel

He’s a biter. Leaves you covered in marks from your neck all the way down your thighs.

Plans a date where he’s laid out a huge canvas on the floor of his studio, puts your fave color paint on your hands and his favorite color on his hands, plus several globs of the two colors across the canvas, and then proceeds to have the wildest three rounds of sex on that canvas as it gets progressively more covered in paint. Sells the painting for 6 figures a few weeks later and uses it as an excuse that you need to make more of them.

Tells you his best masterpiece is painting your body with his cum—got really into it once and dipped the paint brush into your cunt to collect his cum and then painted it across your breasts

Has a secret sketch book that’s nothing but pictures of you. Lots of them are of you sleeping when he can study your features but there’s still quite a few he drew from memory.

Made you lay down naked with your legs spread and be still so he could draw the most detailed image of your pussy you could possibly imagine. It’s his personal fave that no one besides him will ever see.

Sees shibari as a beautiful art form and likes to practice with you—has a whole album in his phone just of pics of you tied up all pretty for him

Rarely gets soft in a serious way, he much prefers the teasing back and forth you two usually have.

Xavier

He’s definitely broken into your room Edward Cullen style and watched you sleep

His favorite dates are taking you into the forest at night to watch the stars and moon together. Bonus points if you come across a wanderer and get to fight together.

Clingy after you become his, always wants to be touching you and doesn’t let you out of his sight (and yes that means sometimes he’s following you but it’s just because you’re brave and reckless and he worries)

When he eats you out, he holds both your hands in his for you to hold on to and does it with no hands—makes you cum more times on his tongue than you could fathom (and yes, he’s eating you for his pleasure)

Downloaded a tracker into your watch so he can know where you are at all times

Gets horny when he watches you fight and has def pulled you aside during a mission for a quickie in which you end up having your cunt stuffed with cum for the remainder of the mission

Such a cuddler but like a cat where he only wants to cuddle if he wants to—falls asleep nearly instantly in your arms like the cute sleepyhead he is

Zayne

Finds it so cute the first time he comes to your apartment and sees all the little snow creatures he’d made you sitting in a windowsill together. Makes you so many more after that. Sends you a bouquet of flowers made from his ice too (#Elsa)

Has food delivered to you at lunch on days he knows you’re super busy so you don’t forget to eat since you often forget to take care of yourself (he doesn’t mind too much since he likes that you let him take care of you)

Prefers kisses over hugs, except when he’s sad because of a patient (then he likes the warm comfort of your hugs)

Moves his glasses to the top of his head and rubs the bridge of his nose when he gets really stressed

Brings you a mild painkiller after blowing your back out, a smug but tiny smile on his lips, and tells you, “I was a bit rough so humor me and take this medicine. I don’t want you in excess pain because of me.”

Loves when you want to lay on his chest when he’s reading through cases and medical journals at night. He’ll read them out loud until you fall asleep and then finish them quietly as you snore softly into his chest

Calls you before a difficult surgery because your voice instantly calms him down

Into bondage—specifically he likes to tie you up so you can’t escape when he starts to overstimulate you. He really can’t help it, you just make such pretty noises for him when he gets you to that point that he has to keep going

Tags: @adaurielle @luffysprincess @seraphofthesimps

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Throwback

Male Triceratops Hybrid Alpha Yandere x Gender Neutral Capybara Hybrid Omega Reader

CW: Noncon, painful to pleasureable sex, mild violence (not towards reader), time travel, sexism, breeding, impregnation, pheromones, a/b/o, musk, scent marking, scent kink, sucking on dem big man titters, biting, bite marking, claiming, exceptionally huge dick, reader inflated with copious cum, knotting

Word Count: 1.9k

(Sometimes I get stuck on WIPs and have to do something new to write again. I wrote this in two days. Hope y'all like it! Please feed me with comments ❤️)

You were an omega demi-human. Part capybara, though the only evidence of this was your soft ears. More importantly, you were a quantum physicist. Currently, you were studying and recreating what you thought to be a time travel device. Your thoughts and theories had been dismissed entirely by your peers. It didn't help at all that you were an omega. Omegas working in academia were almost universally harassed, derided, and treated with condescension. As if their omega brains couldn't work at the same level as betas and alphas.

But even if it wasn't some type of device for traveling through time it was certainly alien to the time period from which it originated. It was made of advanced alloys and components that had been flattened, buried, and heavily corroded over time. The rock in which it was embedded in was older than any ancient society.

You had been working on manufacturing a functional copy of the artifact for years. Shmoozing up eccentric rich fucks, getting help from the exceedingly few colleagues who would help you in any way, slowly analyzing every detail and carefully bringing it all together. And at long last it was complete. The zenith of your career was at hand. And after some cautious testing that you conducted privately, it was ready to show to others.

You managed to get a spot at a small conference, though you had lied about the subject on which you would be speaking, and by the time it was your turn most of the audience had left. Not many academics cared what an omega had to say. Let alone one with a reputation for being a crackpot. But there were still enough of your fellow scientists and this would all be on video.

Instead of introducing the topic of your presentation, which would be a surefire way to lose what people were still watching, you opted for wheeling out your machine onto the stage and stepping in. With a deep breath, you booted it up and the entire contraption disappeared with a flash.

When you exited the machine there was an immediate problem. You stepped out of the machine into a forest with giant trees and flowers. You had only intended to go back a minute to when your presentation started but had made an error. You turned around to step back in but something pulled you backwards by your rear. You fell back and saw before you a humongous man charging at your time machine. He wore only a ragged fur loincloth and swung a massive club. He looked human except for his size, thick tail, scaled arms, and three horns on his head. One large horn from each temple and a small one extending from my nose.

You looked on in horror as he swung a mighty club down upon your only way back to your own time, repeatedly smashing it down until it resembled the exact shape of the artifact that had been excavated in your time. The relic that you had fashioned your own machine after. That wasn't what your attention was on, however. You were much more focused on getting away from the raging beast of a man who could flatten metal so easily.

Though with his task of destroying the frightening affront to nature that had appeared from nowhere now complete, he turned his attention to you. He shouted at you in a language you didn't understand, though his intent was clear. He had a massive erection sticking out from his loincloth and aggressively sniffing at your neck after picking you up with unexpected care.

With exertion of great willpower, the trike-man managed to not breed you silly right there in the forest. Your pheromones were driving him nearly feral. Modern-day omega pheromones were many times more potent than any prehistoric omega. They had evolved through millennia to pique the interest of choosy alphas despite the steep competition, an evolutionary arms race to try to snag an alpha.

That wasn't the only appealing trait. You were exotic, had cute little furry ears on your head, and you were so small, couldn't fight back and act all defiant like the omegas from his time.

You did struggle though. You had seen his arousal and could still smell it. Almost anything would be better than being violated in such a manner by such a hulking brute. He chuckled at your struggles, they were successful only in tiring you out. On the long way to his lair, between your squirming, kicking, and punching, you had gathered that his name was Orryg. At least you thought it was. He did not speak English, but he gestured at himself and seemed to be trying to give you his name.

He found your struggles kinda cute, mistaking them for an eagerness to escape his grasp and get on with taking his cock already. Omegas were so silly.

"Don't worry. Going to breed you plenty. Better in a secluded place."

You had no idea what he said, but his voice was deep and sounded angry so you could only assume it was something in annoyance at your struggles so you went limp. The giant man could snap you like a twig if he wanted to, best not to make him too upset. And honestly, even if you did escape, where the fuck would you go? What if Orryg wasn't the worst thing prowling about in the time period?

The walk went on for a while, with Orryg giving you an occasional lick or mumbling out some words you didn't have any hope of understanding. After a fair amount of time, Orryg stopped to sniff the air. Suddenly there was a roar from behind.

Orryg turned the two of you around just in time for him to take his club and smack it into a man who was every bit as huge as he was. Swatting him away easily despite being similar in size and build.

This one had sharp teeth and clawed fingers. He spat blood and growled. Orryg regarded him with a scowl.

"Udvik! You know this is trike territory!!"

"Omega smells good, not claimed yet. Thought I'd try..."

"Go before I smash you! This is MINE!"

Udvik spat again and hobbled off. But your suspicions had been confirmed, there were definitely things other than Orryg to be worried about in this time period. You were pretty shaken up seeing a half-dino man jumping at you and watching your captor fight him off. With those teeth it had clearly been no herbivore, it probably would have slaughtered you. Your fear must have been evident in your scent because Orryg held you tighter and nuzzled you.

"That battle got my blood flowing, really need to fuck you. Sorry if it scared you, I'll breed you all better. Almost home."

You continued to have zero idea what the hell he was saying. But you figured with the nuzzling it was something comforting. Though your ability to figure anything out was pretty absent by this point. Your brain was soup. All the anxiety and adrenaline and alpha pheromones had finally gotten to you. You looked at the ground in a stupor as he continued to carry you over his shoulder.

The next thing you were consciously aware of was him entering the cave with you and placing his club at the entrance. He laid down on a slab of stone covered in thick layers of soft furs and placed you on top of his muscled body. Before you had any chance to react he began administering attention to your sensitive neck. You squirmed involuntarily, writhing in pleasure on top of him from the neck stimulation alone.

If that wasn't enough, you were practically drowning in his musk. You had been since you entered his dwelling, the cave was saturated in it, but now he was forcing your head under his arm and making you drink it all in. Smearing your face with it and marking you with his smell. Slick was leaking out of your needy hole and pooling on his abs.

"I knew this would make you feel better."

The trance you were in was only partially broken once you felt the blunt head of his much too-large member press against your hole.

"W-wait! I don-"

But he had no idea what you were saying, and even if he did he knew you'd love his dick so much that you wouldn't protest for long. At this point, you were going to be his... no matter what.

You yelped in pain as he pressed into you, spreading you like none of your toys ever had. He swallowed your shout by pressing his mouth into yours, trying to distract you from the pain with a sloppy kiss before attending to your neck again. Despite every instinct telling him to just ram in and ravage you he restrained himself knowing that doing otherwise could seriously injure you.

"Ah!"

Even with his care it still hurt as he slowly eased his prick all the way into you, he rubbed the outline of his cock through your tummy. Lucky for you omegas were extremely stretchy and pliant.

Orryg slowly thrust back and forth inside you as he hungrily took in your scent. As more precum dribbled into you and mixed with your slick you took him easier and the pain slowly began to ebb away and was eventually replaced almost entirely by pleasure. You moaned softly into his chest as you bit at his pec and sucked his nipple while he kept digging his cock into you.

Your whole body shook and spasmed for a solid minute as you came more intensely than you ever had before. Orryg grunted as the feeling of your body convulsing around him brought him nearly to his climax. The trike man upped the pace just a bit, his heavy balls smacking into you before he started knotting inside you and pumping you full of his virile spunk. One small mercy was that his knot was only a bit thicker than the rest of his cock, not over two times as wide like a modern alpha.

The volume of semen was such that it made you look heavy with child, which you certainly would be after lovemaking like this.

Now that you had been well and truly fucked there was only one thing left for your brand new "husband" to do to really seal the deal. He, with great caution, buried his fangs into your neck to mark you permanently as his to everyone who might see you. Which would be more than you might expect. This was Orryg's outpost, he stayed there while on patrol, but he usually lived with his herd.

It would be a hard adjustment for you to make. You would constantly be under Orryg's watchful gaze or the guard of his tribemates when he went to go hunt or if he went to do things too dangerous for you to be with him. You'd never be alone. Even in the safety of the herd, Orryg would obsessively treat you like something fragile. You would have to adjust your diet to what they ate, mostly fruit and vegetables though they ate meat too, though nothing was familiar to you. You would have to slowly learn their language so you could eventually communicate with the new society that "adopted" you.

But it was okay if it took you a while to get settled, you had all the time in the world.

[wholoveseggs]

Small Victories

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Daemon Targaryen X Reader} After a tourney in which Daemon places second, he seeks solace from his loss and finds it in his little northern maid.

♡♡ Hello darlings! I'm branching out slightly and writing about a new character {Don't worry, I'm still writing Elijah} xoxo ♡♡

5.3k words - Warnings: smutt, size!kink, rough sex, dom!daemon, slight choking, virgin!reader, northern!reader, servant!reader, pre-dance Daemon, huge power imbalance...

♡♡ Hey! I didn't tag anyone because I'm unsure if you want to read Daemon content. If you wish to be tagged in future Daemon let me know ♡♡

You didn't like the Red Keep, it was too grand for your liking. Even with all of the people in it you still felt alone. At night, you could hear voices echoing throughout the halls, sometimes they were singing or laughing and other times they were screaming or moaning.

You could never tell where the sounds were coming from, it gave the place an odd feeling of being haunted. Ghosts weren't something you put your faith in, but that didn't stop the hair from standing up on the back of your neck whenever you heard a strange sound.

If it was up to you, you wouldn't live here. You would be back in the little cottage you grew up in, far into the north and as far away from King's landing as you could possibly be. It was a funny contradiction, that such a grand place in a warm environment could feel so cold, while a small house in the cold north could feel so full of warmth.

The last thing your mother said to you, was that you should be grateful. That your place in the Red Keep was the highest honor your family could ever hope to receive, and that you should do anything to stay here. To be a lady's maid to the queen, was the highest achievement a low born could achieve.

You tried to be, even though your heart yearned for the snowy landscape of your childhood. You wanted to be happy, you were thankful, but you couldn't help the way you missed the north.

So to try and capture just a bit of personal freedom, you would walk the halls at night. It was the only time you could pretend to be somewhere else, even if it was only for a moment. You would close your eyes and imagine yourself somewhere new and exciting, and when you opened them you would be reminded of where you really were.

Tonight you were in a particularly adventurous mood, there was a tourney the next day for Prince Viserys and his wife Aemma to celebrate their wedding. The Red Keep would be full of guests and it would be loud and full of life, you were sure to be very busy, and so you decided to stay up late and postpone sleep for a few more hours.

There was a room in the library that had a view of the city, one you liked to frequent often. It had a large window and a balcony that was rarely used. It was a nice place to go to clear your mind and think about home.

When you entered, nobody was around except for a cat that was perched on the windowsill. She was a lovely thing with black fur and bright green eyes, the perfect color of a dark forest at night.

"Hello, beautiful." You greeted her with a smile and a light stroke along her back. You looked out the window with her at your side, watching the moon reflect off the ocean and the waves crashing against the shore.

The sound of footsteps behind you made you look over your shoulder, your eyes landing on a man with a face that made you stand up straight and bow your head.

"Prince Daemon." You greeted him, not looking up from the floor.

"Young maidens like yourself shouldn't be out so late." He said, stepping closer to you. You didn't dare move or even breathe, his presence made you feel like you were caught doing something wrong.

"I couldn't sleep, my lord," You answered, not meeting his eyes. This was your first real meeting with the prince, but you knew the rumors that surrounded him.

He didn't respond to your answer, instead, he turned his attention towards the view. Leaning against the window, his posture was dismissive, as though you weren't there. He gave you a side glance that read, 'leave,' and so you did, not wanting to get in his way.

"I apologize, I didn't mean to intrude." You said, walking past him, heading towards the doorway.

"You are from the north," he spoke, still looking out into the water.

"Yes, my lord," You answered, stopping when he started speaking.

"How did you find yourself as a maid in the south?" He asked, looking at you, his eyes piercing through you.

The truth of the matter made you feel shameful, even though it was beyond your control. So you decided to tell him what you've been telling everyone.

"I was given as a gift for our new queen," You said, looking down at the floor.

"Is that what they call it?" Daemon laughed, his laugh was as harsh as his voice, the kind of laugh that could cut you open if you let it. "I heard you were given away as payment for a debt."

Your cheeks reddened and you looked at the ground, your throat closing up at the mention of your family's failure. Pride wasn't something you could afford anymore, but you couldn't stop the words that came out of your mouth.

"I didn't realize that princes were so fond of gossip." You said, meeting his eyes, your words were meant to cut, and they did.

He stood up straight, his expression unreadable as he closed the distance between the two of you, towering over you.

"Ahh, so they did sell you." He smirked, looking down at you. "Whoring can make you better coin… recover a debt quicker."

Your hands balled up into fists and you took a step closer, a defiant glare on your face.

He chuckled and tilted his head, he reached out and touched your chin, his hand was soft but firm as he turned your face to look at him.

"With a pretty face like yours, I'm sure you would make quite a bit of coin," His voice was a purr, a seductive growl that made your insides feel tight. "I could show you a better use for those lips."

His words were shockingly vulgar, his voice was rough and commanding and his eyes were hungry, but you didn't move away, you stayed still. You knew the dragon prince was a scandalous man, but you didn't think he would ever be so bold.

"There is no honor in a whore's coin." You answered, pushing his hand away from your face.

"Is there honor in emptying the queen's chamber pot?" He retorted, grinning slightly at how red your cheeks had become.

"Not all of us have the opportunity to choose what sort of honor we can acquire,” You said, standing your ground as best as you could.

He towered over you, his tall frame casting a shadow that almost completely covered you. He wasn't like the king or queen, who were kind and generous. There was something dark and malicious about him, as though the great beasts of his house lurked just below his skin, waiting to come out.

"You have a smart mouth, little northerner." He mused, his eyes drifting down to your lips. "It's a wonder that the queen has not put a gag in it."

"It's a poor quality I have yet to overcome." You responded, pulling away from him and putting some distance between the two of you.

He watched you move away, his eyes following your movements and the shape of your body, making you feel hot.

"I will think of you when I win the tourney tomorrow." He said, his tone smug and confident. "A sweet northern flower to bring back with me."

"You will be bringing back nothing, prince Daemon." You said, your voice a warning.

He laughed and looked at you, his eyes dancing with mischief.

"We'll see about that."

And with those final words, he left the room. You felt flustered and annoyed, a strange mixture of feelings that confused and angered you. You didn't like the prince, but he made your heart race, his voice and his eyes made you feel a strange sense of heat.

You wanted to be disgusted, and yet all you could think about was seeing him again.

It was a hectic morning, with all the knights and guests arriving, and you were late. Your tardiness had earned you a sharp reprimand from your head maid, but you were too distracted by the upcoming event to care.

The prospect of seeing the prince again was something you weren't sure you wanted, but couldn't stop thinking about.

You didn't like the way his eyes lingered on you, or how he made you feel things that shouldn't be felt. The rogue prince was indeed a fitting title, he was a scoundrel and a liar, a man of dishonor.

You thought that maybe he was the sort of person that the south created, perhaps they took people like you and turned them into someone like him. But then again, he wasn't really a southerner, no, he was a dragon.

The sound of cheers and laughter outside made your ears perk up. The queen was already seated with the other royals in their viewing box, and you were in a nearby tent, preparing more wine and food.

The tourney had just begun, and so far the knights had all performed well. You had only been paying a bit of attention, trying to do your job and keep out of the way.

The head maid was a cruel, vindictive woman, and she had been taking out her frustration on you all day. Her temper was short and her hands were rough, she was the kind of woman that would slap your hands or pull your hair if she was upset. But today she decided to simply make your life miserable with her words.

She gave you the worst jobs and the heaviest items to carry, and when she did allow you to stand and rest, she would hit your feet with her broom and tell you to get back to work.

"Once you are finished pouring wine, I want you to go to the prince's tent and serve him." She ordered, her eyes were sharp and her words were harsh.

"The prince has a squire to serve him." You protested, the idea of facing Daemon again made your cheeks turn red.

"The prince requested a woman's company,” She smiled, her eyes looking at you with an almost wicked satisfaction.

"I believe what the prince is looking for can be found on the street of silk, not among the ladies maids." You countered, hoping to change her mind.

"It's an honor to serve the prince, and he has specifically asked for a northern girl." The head maid was adamant, not willing to let this go.

You clenched your jaw and took a deep breath, biting your tongue as you looked at the floor.

"Very well, madam."

You held back tears as you climbed the stairs to the viewing box, pouring wine into the cups. Keeping your eyes low and only lifting them when absolutely necessary as you made your way down the line of royals.

Everyone began to stir and chat as the final round was announced. You turned to face the arena, watching as the prince mounted his horse, the sight of him made your heart flutter.

He was a handsome man, there was no denying that, his long blonde hair was braided and tied back, and his purple eyes were focused and determined.

His horse was a massive stallion, black as night, and he rode him as though they were one. He moved with a grace and confidence that was captivating.

The final round began, the two men charging at each other. You were nervous and excited, not knowing what to expect.

The clash of steel was the only sound in the air, it echoed throughout the entire arena. The crowd was silent, their eyes locked on the scene before them.

The two men passed each other, once, twice, three times. The tension building with each near miss, until finally the two knights clashed again.

Daemon's opponent had a slight edge over him, being bigger and stronger, but Daemon was quicker. But on the fourth pass, his opponent managed to catch him off guard, sending him flying into the dirt.

The crowd gasped, their hands covering their mouths as the prince's horse bucked and ran, leaving him in the dust.

You winced at the sight, it wasn't a good fall. He landed on his back, hard, and he lay still for a moment, his eyes squeezed shut as he caught his breath.

Only when the head maid cleared her throat did you realize you had been holding your breath.

"You are needed in the prince's tent, girl." she commanded, grabbing the jug from your hands and giving you a stern look.

You nodded, taking the tray of food and wine from the table and heading out of the box. Your heart was racing and your palms were sweaty, the thought of seeing Daemon after such a public humiliation was not something you were looking forward to.

The air was alive with the roar of the people, and the thumping of their feet sounded like thunder. They were chanting for the champion, something that would surely upset Daemon even more.

When you got to his tent, you hesitated, taking a moment to calm your nerves. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, letting the noise of the crowd fade away.

You stepped inside, finding him sitting in a chair, his shirt was off and his squire was cleaning a nasty gash on his arm.

"I'm sorry for intruding, Prince Daemon." You said, placing the tray of food on the table and pouring a cup of wine.

"Leave," he barked at his squire, his voice was gruff and his jaw was clenched.

"But my prince-" his squire protested, looking up from the wound he was treating.

"Now."

The boy left quickly, leaving you alone with the brooding prince.

"Would you like some wine, my lord?" You asked, your voice soft and timid, the last thing you wanted was to make him even more upset.

"No," he hissed, his voice sharp as a knife. "Bring me a new shirt."

You did as he asked, walking over to the large chest in the corner. It was full of clothes, the colors and fabrics were fine and beautiful. You selected a clean white shirt and brought it over to him, your eyes focused on the ground.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice was quiet, but it was a demand, not a request.

You lifted your eyes, meeting his gaze. His eyes were cold, the same shade of violet that had captivated you was now a glare.

You did very well, my lord," You tried to reassure him, your voice soft and comforting.

"Is that meant to be comforting?" He asked, his tone was harsh and his expression was a scowl.

"Fine. I have never seen a worse display than the one you put on today," you said, the words slipping from your mouth before you could stop them.

He smiled, then laughed, his shoulders shaking as his amusement grew. Only his brother the king would ever talk to him this way, and here you were, a young low born northerner, mocking him. He didn't know why he enjoyed it coming from you, perhaps it was because your words meant nothing. You were no one, and he was the prince, and yet he found himself intrigued.

"That was quite a show, wasn't it?" He chuckled, the sound was hollow, not at all humorous.

"It was humiliating," you answered, the words escaping before you could stop them.

"Careful," he warned, his eyes narrowing. "You're lucky I find your insolence amusing."

"I thought it was why you had asked for me," you retorted, setting the shirt on the table and taking a step back.

He stood up from the chair, closing the space between the two of you. The air was thick with tension, his eyes boring into yours, his face was inches from yours.

"I didn't lose the tourney," he stated, his voice a low growl.

"You didn't win either," you countered, your cheeks flushed red, your heart racing in your chest.

He smiled, the gesture was almost predatory, he reached out and grabbed your face, his hands were rough and his grip was tight.

"You are quite the mouthy little wench," his words were a harsh whisper, his breath hot against your skin.

You didn't answer, afraid of what he would do if you spoke. He seemed to be enjoying himself, his eyes dancing with amusement as he stared at you.

"On your knees," he ordered, his tone demanding.

"My lord, I-" you protested, trying to pull away.

"Kneel," his voice was louder this time, and you knew that he was not going to repeat himself.

You hesitated for a moment, but he was the prince, and you couldn't disobey him. So you lowered yourself onto your knees, looking up at him, waiting for him to tell you what to do next.

"Is it true that northern girls can take a cock better than southern ones?" He asked, his hand still holding onto your chin.

You didn't know how to respond, his words making your cheeks burn. You could only stare at him, your mind reeling as you tried to figure out what he wanted.

He smiled, and the look in his eyes made your heart race. "Open your mouth, little northerner."

You did as he commanded, your eyes never leaving his. He pushed his thumb past your lips and slowly pressed down onto your tongue, rubbing it in circles before slowly dragging it out.

Your lips parted and your breathing became heavier as he traced his wet thumb across your bottom lip, his eyes fixated on the movement.

"Beautiful." He whispered before sliding his thumb back into your mouth, pushing it all the way into your throat, causing you to gag.

He pulled his thumb from your mouth and wiped the spit off on your cheek before grabbing you by the arms and lifting you up, turning you around and pushing you face first into the table.

"My lord," you gasped, struggling against his strong grip.

Daemon laughed at the look of shock on your face, his cock growing harder at the sight. "See? I knew you would make a great whore," he smirked, his words bringing a flush to your face.

He pulled your dress up, exposing your ass and legs. His hands were rough as he groped you, squeezing your thighs and your cheeks.

You pushed against him, trying to free yourself, but his grip was too strong. He pushed your thighs apart, his hand trailing up to your cunt, his fingers stroking your entrance, teasing you.

He softened at your defiance, a smirk crossing his lips. "I enjoy you, little northerner. Perhaps I should keep you," he mused.

He slid his finger into your cunt, his touch gentle and slow. You whimpered, pushing against him again.

"You would be my little northern flower," he murmured, his finger moving in and out of your cunt, the pace becoming quicker. "A blue rose in my garden."

You were ashamed of how aroused you were, the prince's touch was intoxicating, and you couldn't stop yourself from grinding your hips against his hand. You had never been with a man before and the pleasure he was giving you was beyond anything you had ever felt.

He slid another finger inside of you, his movements quick and rough. You moaned, biting your lip as you felt yourself getting closer to release.

He suddenly pulled away, the sudden absence of his touch made you whimper. He spun you around, knocking objects off the table and pinning you against it. Your hands went to his chest, pushing him back, but his grip was too strong, his eyes filled with lust.

"You're a feisty one," he whispered, his lips trailing down your neck, his hands gripping your ass, lifting you up and pressing you against his hips. "I guess it's true that the fires always burn hotter in the north,"

You shivered as he sucked and bit at the skin on your neck, his teeth scraping across your sensitive flesh, leaving red marks behind. You couldn't help but moan, the feeling was so intense, and the sounds were so sinful.

"My prince... I..." You stuttered, trying to find the words, but he cut you off with a kiss.

The feel of his hands on your body, his lips on yours, his cock hard against you, was intoxicating. You had never felt this way before, this desire, this want. He made you feel like you were drowning in the fire of his touch. He was a dragon, and he would take what he wanted.

You couldn't resist, you gave in, kissing him back, letting his tongue explore your mouth. He smelled of blood, dirt and sweat, a combination that shouldn't have been appealing, but was.

You could taste his lust on your lips, and it made you hungry for more. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pressing yourself closer to him, and he moaned, the sound rumbling in his chest. He was so much larger than you, so much stronger, and you felt so small in his arms.

His hand trailed down your chest, slowly untying the strings that held up your dress, his fingers tracing over the fabric, teasing you.

"Sweet little northern girl," he teased, his voice a low growl. "Are you going to give yourself to me?"

"Yes," you whispered, your cheeks flushed pink.

He kissed you again, his lips rough and demanding, his hand pushing your dress down, exposing your breasts. "You've never touched yourself before, have you?”

"No, my Prince," you whispered, your little hands curled into his chest, your nails digging into his skin.

"That's alright, I'll show you how it's done."

His hands slid down to your thighs, his fingers trailing up, his touch light and teasing. You let out a gasp as his fingers brushed over your cunt, touching a spot that made your body tremble.

"This little spot right here," he said, rubbing his thumb against it, "is the most sensitive part of your body. The more pressure, the better."

You nodded, gasping and moaning as he pressed his thumb against it, circling it. You could feel the heat rising within you, the pleasure building.

"Feels good doesn't it?" He whispered, his voice husky, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Y-yes," you stuttered, your hips moving, grinding against his hand.

He chuckled, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

"Do you like being my little whore, hmm?" He asked, his lips trailing down your neck, his kisses hot and wet.

"N-no," you moaned, pushing him back, trying to fight against him.

He laughed, his teeth nipping at your collarbone. "Liar," he whispered, his tongue licking over the marks he'd made.

His hands reaching down to his waist, undoing his breeches and pulling them off, his cock springing free. You gasped, your eyes wide as you took in the size of him.

He took your hand and placed it on his cock, his eyes burning into yours. "Go on, feel it," he whispered.

Your fingers curled around his cock, your small hand barely able to fit around him. You moved your hand, sliding it down the length of his shaft, his cock thick and pulsing in your hand. His skin was so warm and smooth, his breathing deepening as you began to move your hand up and down, stroking him slowly.

You could see the scars from battle stretched across his chest and torso. Small claw-like marks around his pectoral and a deep line that stretched down the left side of his rib cage. He was a hardened warrior, and you could tell by his scars, he had been through much to get where he was now.

You squeezed his cock, moving your hand up and down, his breathing deepening and his eyes growing hazy. He watched you, his gaze following every movement you made. You were starting to get more comfortable, taking pleasure in watching him, in making him feel good. You found the nerve to press the pad of your thumb against the tip, feeling the moisture leaking from him.

"Good girl," he praised, his voice low and husky.

You felt a wave of pride, knowing that you were pleasing him, that he liked the way you were touching him. You continued to stroke him, squeezing and pulling at his cock, watching his face, seeing the pleasure on his features.

He groaned, his eyes closing and his head tilting back, his breath catching. You could feel his cock throbbing in your hand, and you knew that he was getting close.

He let out a low growl and grabbed your wrist, halting your movements. "If you keep that up, I'm going to spill my seed all over this pretty little dress of yours," he said, his eyes full of heat.

"Is that so, my lord?" You asked, unable to hide the hint of amusement in your voice.

He grabbed your hips and pulled you under him, his body caging you, trapping you beneath him. He was breathing hard, his face flushed, his cock hard and resting on your stomach. His eyes burned into yours, his gaze intense, his hands gripping your hips, holding you steady.

You weren't talking back anymore, he could see the fear in your eyes, the hesitance, and that only made him want you more. His hand went to your throat, applying gentle pressure, a silent warning.

He could feel you trembling beneath him, and he tightened his grip, a primal, possessive urge rising within him. Your small hands pushing into his chest, clutching at his heated flesh.

"Open for me," he growled, his eyes fixed on yours.

You parted your thighs, allowing him to press closer to you. He growled, lifting your legs and wrapping them around his waist, his cock brushing against your cunt. He felt you tighten, your eyes widening with trepidation.

He chuckled, loving how terrified and eager you were at the same time. He gave you a moment, and then he slowly pushed into you. You whimpered, your nails digging into his back, your eyes closed, your face twisted in pain.

"Breathe," he said, rubbing his thumb against your cheek, "it will hurt for a just moment and then I will make you feel good,"

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you felt his cock hit your maidenhead.

"Are you ready, little northerner?" He whispered.

You gripped his forearms and nodded.

He pushed in slowly, breaking through your barrier. You cried out, the pain was intense and immediate. He groaned, the feel of your tight cunt was intoxicating.

He stayed still, giving you time to adjust. Your nails dug into his arms, leaving deep scratches in his flesh.

"Such a pretty, tight little cunt," he growled, nipping at your neck.

You kept your eyes closed, trying to focus on his words and not the pain. He began to move with slow, deep strokes, his cock stretching you, filling you. He was bigger than he felt in your hands, and you swore you could feel him everywhere.

He moaned, his hips rocking into you, his hand still on your throat, making you feel lightheaded. You looked up at him with wide eyes, your lips parted, your cheeks flushed. You felt so full of him, stretched open, the pain and pleasure mixing into one.

He watched your reaction with a smirk, amused by your shocked, satisfied expression. He was moving slowly, enjoying your warmth and the feel of your cunt clenching around him. He knew you were enjoying it, too, your eyes half-closed, a soft moan escaping your lip. Your small frame was arched to his body, your hands holding on to his neck.

You were surprised at his gentleness. You'd heard that the dragon prince liked to rough up women, but he was being as careful as if you were made of spun sugar. You felt so small and helpless underneath him, his large body nearly engulfing yours, and yet he wasn't hurting you. His touch was delicate, reverent. The way he spoke to you, calling you pet names, made your heart skip a beat.

You arched against him, a soft cry leaving your lips as his strokes got faster, deeper, hitting a place inside you that sent a sharp, hot pleasure through you.

"Does my little northerner like her prince's cock?" He said, a laugh in his voice, he began to pick up the pace, pounding into you.

You squeaked and pushed on his chest, the sensations becoming too much. He grabbed your hips and held you still, fucking you hard and fast, his eyes full of fire.

You felt your release rising up inside you, the tension in your body winding tighter and tighter. You could feel yourself clamping down on his cock, the pleasure almost too much, the sweet pain sending you over the edge.

He groaned at the sight of you coming undone, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as you shattered around him. He could feel the tension in your muscles as your climax tore through you. He slowed his movements, easing out the last waves of pleasure, drawing it out until you were a shuddering, moaning mess.

He was close behind, his thrusts erratic, his breathing harsh. He pulled out and spilled his seed across your stomach, his hips bucking. He pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, a contented sigh leaving his lips. At least he had one victory today.

Your face was hot with shame, your mind unable to comprehend what just happened. The prince's seed was cooling on your stomach and chest, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. Your hands went to your face, covering it as tears came to your eyes, you had never felt so good and so embarrassed at once.

He moved off of you, his eyes locked on yours, a smirk crossing his lips. He looked satisfied, his gaze wandering over your body, lingering on the wetness between your legs, the mess he'd made of you. He tossed you a cloth to clean yourself with. You wiped his seed off your skin, watching him dress, his blonde hair still braided back, his purple eyes full of lust and desire. He was a warrior, a dragon, he was beauty and strength, power and masculinity. He was everything you wanted and feared, a beast who could destroy you.

He gave you a side glance, his eyes full of amusement. "You may go," he said, shooing you away with a hand.

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, as you took a shaky breath. You stood up, gathering the pieces of your dress and your underclothes. Your legs were wobbly, and you felt weak, sore, and full of shame.

"Yes, my prince," you said quietly, looking at the floor, unable to meet his eyes.

He chuckled, the sound of his voice making you shiver. "Don't be so timid, little northerner. This is the beginning, not the end," he said, his words sending a jolt of fear and excitement through you.

He was right, this was only the beginning. You were his servant, and he could do with you as he pleased. He would have you come to him whenever he chose, on the warmest summer nights and the coldest winter days. He would take what he wanted, when he wanted.

He was a dragon, and his will was as strong as his blood.

And deep down, you knew you would enjoy it. He was the perfect thing to distract you from the mundanity of your life, the endless monotony of serving others.

Perhaps the Red Keep wouldn't be so terrible, not if it meant serving him.

[aerynwrites]

It's About The Chase

Halsin x Fem!Reader

A/N: FINALLY finished this halsin pic I've been working on for the past like month lmao. a huge shout out to @princessbatears @hdlynnslibraryand @maybegefor being the pushes I needed to finish it! I hope you all enjoy! <3

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, SMUT! Hunter/Prey Kink, halsin is chasing reader through the forest lol, P in V sex, cream pie, cock warming, marking, biting, rough sex, soft sex, fluff, slight aftercare, cuddling.

Summary: You and Halsin have been together for sometime now, so when Halsin approaches you and asks you to partake in a Ritual custom of his people to further your relationship...who are you to deny him?

Orange embers add to the number of stars in the night sky before flickering out of existence against the blanket of night.

The fire roars fierce before you; orange, yellow, and red tangling together in a dangerous dance to the euphony of songs around you.  Your heart races, blood thrumming through your veins like a raging river.  The heat from the flames only adds to the heat bubbling beneath your skin, making the fingers dragging across its surface seem startlingly cool in contrast. 

You look down at your friend, Avella, as she drags her fingers down the length of your arm in mesmerizing patterns, leaving a shimmering trail of golden paint in their wake. You watch in fascination as the liquid coats her finger tips, dripping in a glimmering trail down the back of her hand before she moves to retrieve more from the bowl at her feet. 

You’ve only ever bared witness to this ritual once, Halsin wanting you to see it before committing to it with him, and while you remember it being just as intriguing, it feels…different, now. 

Now that it’s happening to you. 

Avella, one of your closest friends, had helped you prepare for the ritual just earlier. The golden paths she is painting now, are a continuation of the ones that snake beneath the simple white dress adorning your body.  

You look across from you to see Halsin garnering the same treatment, except the paint adorning his skin is a crimson red, appropriately matching the tattoos inked into him. The only thing that separates you from one another are the flames, making him flicker in and out of view as the fire laps at each new log added to it. 

But even from this distance you can see the way he looks at you. See the way his eyes darken with hunger. The way his shoulders tense and his fists clench from where they rest at his sides. 

He’s ready to pounce. A predator with his prey in sight but just out of reach. 

At least for now. 

You can feel your breathing speed up,  becoming shallow, chest rising and falling quicker as Avella finishes her artwork and the harmony of songs and drums alike come to a complete stop around you.

One of the elders, a druid you’ve only met on occasion, comes to stand in front of the fire, between you and Halsin. He speaks in an old language, one you don’t understand before slipping back into common. Yet, even then, the words do not reach you. 

The elder speaks eloquently about tonight's ritual, describing everything Halsin had already prepared you for. 

This ritual is a sacred one, that you know. Halsin, like many druids, believed that life, like nature, is a fluid thing. Not to be bound to one person or place or thing in one's life. Yet, this very practice seemed to contradict that very principle. You still had lingering questions, one that Halsin promised would be answered come the end of tonight. 

Because, by the end of the night you would be Halsin’s, and he would be yours. Completely and wholly, under the watchful eye of Silvanus himself, you and Halsin would become one with the natural world he holds so dear, cementing one another as an inseparable part of each other's existence. 

You only realize the elder had ended his prayers by the low blow of a horn, and the steady reverberation of the drums picking up once more. Your eyes dart from where you had been staring off, to your partner across the fire, his brows drawn in slight concern at your hesitance. 

That’s right…you must run. 

And so you do.

Turning on your heel, you take off into the forest behind you, the moss and fallen leaves surprisingly springy beneath your bare feet as you dash deeper into the trees embrace. 

The singing grows louder behind you at the start of your retreat, but as you put distance between yourself and the others, the sounds grow softer, quieter – muffled by nature until the only thing you can hear is your own breathing, the blood rushing in your ears, and the rustle of foliage beneath your feet. 

Only then do you pause, not knowing how far you’ve gone or where you’re even going. It’s then that Halsin’s words echo in your mind, your eyes slipping close as you try to reign in in your excitement, your panic. 

“You mustn’t let your mind get the better of you. It will be dark, unfamiliar, but you know where to go. Find the tree.”

You wring your hands together nervously, worry evident in your features. “What if I can’t find it? What if – what if I fail?”

Halsin smiles softly, reaching out to take your hands in his own, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. 

“You will not fail. Even if you cannot find the tree…the oak father will guide you.”

With a deep breath, you open your eyes once more, taking in your surroundings as quickly, but as efficiently as possible. Halsin was right, this place is utterly unfamiliar to you. A forest he’s lived in for most of his life, yet you have never truly seen before. Yet another advantage in his favor. 

Another breath. 

He believes in you, he trusts you. You wouldn’t be here otherwise. So, with one last steadying breath you turn slowly in place – listening, looking, feeling…until you see it. 

It would have been almost impossible to see just moments ago, dark clouds shrouding the moon’s light. But just as you turn, there is a break in the sky, the celestial light making the silvery underbellies of oak leaves that sprout from branches that tower above the rest, glint at you.

“The heart of the forest. That is your goal,” Halsin’s voice rings in your ears again. 

You smile, heart leaping with triumph as you take off at a sprint once more, all while sending up a silent prayer to Silvanus for guiding your way. 

– – – – – – – – – – 

Despite seeming to know the way you need to go, you continuously doubt yourself. The forest all looks the same, the trees too similar, the sounds never changing, and it feels like you’ve not made any progress towards the heart of the forest. 

The branches whip past you, brushing against your face and arms, surely leaving behind evidence of their assault, but you couldn’t care less. Despite the rush of anxiety and primal flight coursing through you, there’s also...a thrill. A thrill like you’ve never felt before. A thrill that makes you giddy as you continue your race. And it only seems to intensify as you hear the distance sounds of a pursuer in the distance. 

The chase has begun.

Without thought, you move faster. Feet digging into the earth beneath you, arms pumping faster, breathing harder. You will succeed. You will not fail. Not tonight.

And once again, as if the Oak Father himself heard your earlier prayers, the forest around you changes for what feels like the first time. Endless trees give way to a small clearing; an iridescent, bubbling stream running through it, separating you from more forest on the other side. 

You come to a pause at the stream's edge, mind racing with what to do. But each second matters. Each breath matters. 

One. 

Your mind races with information that Halsin has told you about his hunts. 

Two.

A branch cracks in the distance as your eyes scan the water. 

Three.

Goosebumps rise on your skin as you step into the stream, the water splashing around your ankles. 

Four. 

Tracks…you have to leave tracks. 

Five.

The mud squishes between your toes as you emerge on the other side of the river. One step, another, and another -

Six. 

You hear footsteps now, clear as day as the massive bulk of your partner crashes through the woods. 

Seven. 

Quickly, you dart back into the stream, rushing in the opposite direction of the heart of the forest before moving to crouch behind a large boulder in the water, your dress tugging at you with the movement of the current. 

Eight.

This breath you don’t release, as Halsin burst from the tree line, pausing at the edge of the stream just as you had. 

You watch silently, blood rushing in your ears as you peer around the edge of your hiding place. Halsin is breathing just as hard as you were, and even from here you can see the sheen of sweat adoring his skin, the moonlight reflecting off him. His eyes scan the water before they pause. Quickly, he makes his way through the water, kneeling on the other side where you exited the water. He follows them with his gaze carefully until they disappear back into the water in the opposite direction. From this distance, you can’t be sure, but you think you catch him smiling. 

“Using the water to hide your tracks…” his voice is almost lost to the bubbling stream, but you manage to hear him. “Clever, girl.”

His words send a pang of arousal through you, and you have to cling to the boulder to fight the urge to reveal yourself, but you manage. You stay in place and watch as Halsin stands to his full height once more and takes off jogging upstream, until he’s out of sight within the trees. 

You wait a few moments longer, and then just a moment more before leaving your hiding place and darting out of the water and back into the forest’s sanctuary. You see the towering top of the sacred tree, closer now than you ever hoped, and you know - you know, you’re going to make it. 

And you do. 

Somehow this last push to the end feels quicker than the rest. The forest doesn’t feel endless, time doesn’t feel like it’s dragging on. In fact, the closer you get, it feels as if a warmth flows through you, a calm you haven’t felt since the night started. And as if on cue, you burst from the trees once more into an awe-inspiring sanctuary. 

You understand now, why this place is called the heart of the forest - a huge clearing cut naturally in the middle of this vast place. The air is cooler here, a light breeze rustling the fabric of your simple gown as you come to a stop at the edge of the trees, your breath coming in quick deep breaths as you are finally able to stop running. If just for a moment. 

Your eyes trail over the space, catching instantly on the fireflies dancing through the air, blinking in and out of existence as they fly. With slow reverent steps, you make your way closer to your goal, standing tall and unmoving at the center of the clearing. 

The Sacred Tree. 

It stands silhouetted against the night sky, a looming presence that towers hundreds of feet above you, its base thick and imposing as roots sprawl out in a vast network from its center. 

With as much care and reverence you are able, you pick your way over the roots, trying to memorize every detail of this magnificent place. After a moment you even notice another stream bubbling steadily into a small pool at the base of the tree, sparkling with moonlight and calling to you. 

Soon, you kneel next to the pool, hands dipping into the water, dissipating your reflection on the surface. You lean down, bringing your cupped hands up to your lips as you take small sips. You nearly moan at the cool liquid cascading over your tongue, quenching the intense thirst you didn’t even know you had. It even tastes…sweet, like fresh honeysuckles in spring, or the faint sweetness of honeydew. 

You stay at the edge of the pool for a long few moments, taking slow sips and deep breaths before finally standing back to your feet. As you do, your eyes trail over yourself, astonished to find that the paint adorning you has stayed intact, not even the dirt or branches rubbing it off.  

Your dress is another matter however, the garment showing clear evidence of your traipse through the woods. Tugging at the hem of the piece of cloth, you send a small smile to the tree above you. 

“I suppose it’s a reasonable sacrifice, a dress for…”

For what exactly?

While Halsin had told you the basics of the ritual, and the things that were to come, you can’t help but feel like you still don't understand the cultural importance of this sacred rite. 

And you don’t have time to wonder, for just as you step closer to the tree, the world around you spins uncontrollably as familiar strong arms wrap around you and rough bark meets your back as you are pressed up against the imposing trunk. 

You didn’t even hear him approach, his steps surprisingly silent for a man of his size. But he’s here now - he’s here and wasting no time as his lips capture yours in a bruising kiss, his hands gripping you wherever he can. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hips as he presses you further into the tree behind you, fisting the delicate white fabric of your dress in his need to get impossibly closer to you.

“Halsin-” his name leaves your lips in a gasp, barely able to pull away from him before he’s dominating you once more. 

Your mind cannot even keep pace with what’s happening, Halsin’s presence cutting off any and all logical thought you may have. The only reprieve you get is when his lips leave your own only to leave a trail of messy kiss down your jaw and lower, one of his hands sliding up to cradle your jaw and expose the line of your neck to him as he continues to explore you. 

Blunt teeth nip at the delicate skin of your neck and you can’t stop the whimper that slips past your lips, your hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders as he continues his assault. You’re so absorbed in him, in the way he presses against you and mouths at your skin that you don’t even notice his hands as they move to take hold of the gauzy neckline of your dress.

You’re only able to utter a gasp of his name as he tears the thin fabric clean down the center. The threads rip easily under his grip, snapping and popping until it hands In tatter remains on your shoulders. You’re barely able to take in another breath, before calloused palms cradle your cheeks, and for the first time since he’s found you are you able to truly see him.

The sight nearly takes you to your knees. 

He towers over you, pupils blown wide with lust as he drinks you in. His shoulders heave with labored breaths, sweat damp skin glistening in the light of the moon. He looks like a god, cut and carved from stone before you. 

Halsin has always been an attentive lover, and at times you would even describe him as tame. Always doting on you, putting your pleasure first and handling you with the delicacy of a newly blossoming rose petal.

Not now. 

The man that stands before you, clutching you in his hands, fingers pressing into the base of your skull, is nothing more than the beast he always tries to contain. yet, even now you can sense a moment of hesitation in him, restraint. A moment you know won’t last - nor do you want it too. 

“I’ve found you, my heart,” he says, voice nothing but a low rumble in his chest. “I’ve found you, and I intend to make you mine. Wholly and completely with no one but Silvanus as witness and I…I cannot promise gentleness. Not tonight.”

He didn’t ask, not out right - but you know he’s asking. As much as he wants this - wants you - you know he would back down if you so much as hesitated. He would take his hands from you and walk away and never hold any ill-intent towards you. 

But you want this. You want this more than you ever could have imagined. Halsin unrestrained and untempered…

You want him to devour you.

You nod resolutely, hands sliding up his arms to rest upon his wrists. 

“You’ve found me,” you tell him, voice but a whisper as you squeeze his wrists, inviting him imperceptibly closer. “So, claim your prize.”

The only response Halsin offers is a growl as he dives back in, his lips crashing against yours in a mess of teeth and tongue and you don’t dare refuse him when he pushes past the seam of your lips to explore you further. 

Halsin makes quick work of the remnants of your dress, tugging the tattered fabric from your shoulders to let it pool at your feet. Once free from it, you reach up and cling to his shoulders as he divests himself of his own clothing before his hands come to grip at your thighs lifting you up into his arms as if you weighed nothing. 

From this position, you can feel the heat of him against your inner thigh, hard and just as eager as you are. A fact he is more than aware of as he brushes up against you, groaning into your mouth as he feels your wetness against him. 

“I knew you would be ready for me,” Halsin says, his lips brushing against your jaw as he moves to press faint kisses to the skin there. “I could smell you even back at the stream.”

You pause at his words, surprise coloring your pleasure and Halsin laughs, breath warm against your sweat damp skin. 

“Oh, yes,” he whispers, “I knew you were there. placing fake tracks, hiding…”

He presses you further back into the tree, the bark bringing a pleasant sting of pain to the pleasure building in your belly as he lines himself up. 

“Why…” you trail off, words choked out into a whimper as he finally - finally - presses into you, inch by agonizing inch.

Halsin lets out sinful sounds of his own, grunts and sighs that make you quiver in his hold as he continues to fill you until his hips are flush against you own and you feel so full that you might burst. 

“Because,” he breaths, nipping quickly at the juncture of your shoulder and neck, “It’s about the chase. The hunter and his prey-” he grinds his hips into you, eliciting a moan from you that would have made yo blush in any other circumstance. “It’s the catch that makes it worth it.”

Halsin emphasizes his words with one swift movement, pulling out of you before thrusting forward to the hilt once more, as stars burst behind your eyelids. No more words are said as he sets a devastating pace. Anything you do try to say slipping from your mind like warm honey as he drives into you. 

With Halsin, there’s usually build up. He’s a man who loves to play with you, wring out your pleasure in the most torturously pleasurable way he knows how. Tonight, however, there is none of that. And you thank the gods above that you found the chase itself so exhilarating, because even with how ready you were, how eager you are for him - the size of him is bordering on overwhelming. 

Yet you can’t find it in you to truly care. 

All you can do is clutch helplessly at his shoulders and back, nails digging into taut skin as your legs wrap around his waist in an effort to pull him even deeper inside you. 

It feels as if he just started touching you and you can already feel that familiar tug deep in your belly, arousal burning bright as he continues his furious pace. But you also notice a falter in his rhythm, his hips stuttering ever so slightly as you assume his own end approaches. 

“Halsin-” his name falls from your lips in a whimper, hands moving to tangle in his hair as he comes back up to claim your lips once more. 

You expect him to acknowledge your silent plea or agree and tell you he’s close too, but you should know to not expect anything tonight. instead, your surroundings blur around you. Your back leaves the rough bark of the tree in a blink and soon, up becomes down and cool moss meets your knees as warm hands meet your back and before you can even take another breath Halsin has you on your hands and knees before him as he presses into you once more. 

You can’t stop the cry that falls from your lips, this position letting Halsin even deeper into you, allowing him to touch places that make it feel like magma runs through your veins. 

“Oh, gods…”  you moan, eyes squeezing shut as your fingers dig helplessly into the soft ground beneath you. 

“No,” Halsin growls, one hand sliding up your back to tangle in your hair as he moves to lean over you, surrounding you in him. “There are no gods here, not now.”

His words and the combination of his cock buried so deep inside you at this new angle catapults you over the edge. You come with a cry of Halsin’s name on your tongue. 

Your lover helps you through your high, his thrusts growing more erratic until he too finishes with animalistic grunts as he spills himself inside of you. 

You still struggle for air beneath him, chest heaving in the aftermath of your orgasm, that it takes you a moment too long to realize that warm hands are tugging at your hips. A small whine slips past your lips when Halsin pulls himself from you, and it’s then as he rolls you onto your back and leans down to capture your lips in a much more tender kiss than before, that you realize he’s still hard. His release doing nothing to satiate the need coursing through him. 

“I love you, my heart,” Halsin says as he pulls away from you to nose at your temple. “You have given me a gift, this night - a gift I do not think I will ever have words enough to repay you.”

Then, for the first time tonight do you truly seem him. He’s pull away from you slightly, just enough so he is able to look upon your face, and you can seem him clearly. His eyes glisten with emotion, vulnerability and utter devotion swimming in pools of hazel. You take this instant to take your lover in, commit this reverent moment to memory as your eyes flit over his face and lower. From the scars cutting through his brow to his tousled hair. To the paint that adorns him - the paint that now lies muddled against his bronze skin, red mixing with your gold. A visual representation to anyone who sees that you two are bound to one another. 

Your hands slide up his arms, fingers dancing across his shoulder before finally coming to cradle his face - your heart fluttering when he leans into your touch. 

“Then show me,” you whisper, puling him into another searing kiss.

His lips are hot against your own, yet despite the sureness of his movements there’s just a hint of tenderness there. A familiar warmth that encompasses you as he touches you once more. 

His hands are firm against your skin, squeezing and gripping and pulling you tighter to him, but gone is the pure urgency that was just moments ago.  Halsin is all consuming - he always is - but now it’s as if he is taking up every part of your existence. 

Solid arms wrap around you, holding you to him as he slots himself in the cradle of your hips. The familiar scent of him seems to envelop you whole as he presses himself further against you - sandalwood, sage and  moist earth after a spring rain. He breaks away from your lips only to nose at your temple, and you take this moment to breath him in, your hands sliding up his back in an effort to pull him closer. 

Halsin sighs against you, warm breath ghosting over your ear as he shifts his hips, pressing into you once more. He moves to kiss you once again as you take him, swallowing the moans that bubble from your chest until his hips meet yours.

He stops, then, breaking the kiss to rest his forehead against your own, as he allows you both pauses to bask in one another completely. You, for one, are grateful for the small reprieve, the moment becoming completely overwhelming in a new way. 

You and Halsin have lain together more times than you’re able to count, each time never ceasing to take you to new heights, but this…this feels as if you’re seeing him for the first time - being with him for the first time. 

He holds you to him in a reverence you never thought possible from a man, cradling you with a delicacy that makes your chest tight with emotion. He presses featherlight kisses to your brow and then your lips once more before he finally moves. 

And it’s as if the heavens open up above you. 

Ecstasy burns through your veins with each push and pull of his hips, as if you can feel every vein and ridge of him inside you. He sets a steady pace, but nothing like the hurried fucking he gave you earlier. No…this was slower, more measured, as if he never wants this night to end. 

“I love you.”

The words are a mere whisper against your cheek as Halsin moves, his hips pressing deep into you forcing you into the soft moss beneath you as he tries to mold himself further into you. 

“I love you, my heart,” he says again, voice strained. “I have never felt…” he trails off voice going soft before he picks up again. “I am bound to you, body and soul. And by the Oak Fathers grace I will never be parted from you. Not if…If you’ll have me.”

His words make your heart flutter, tears burning at the back of your eyes as you turn your head to look at him, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair once more. 

“I would have no one else,” you tell him solemnly, pressing a slow kiss to his lips. “I love you, too.”

At your acceptance, your reciprocation of his vow, Halsin shudders in pleasure above you. With one arm still wrapped snugly around you, his other hand trails down, over your hip coming to rest at the back of your knee only to tug it quickly over his hip, changing the angle and allowing him to slide deeper inside you. 

The cry that falls from your lips in nothing short of erotic, his name falling from your lips in a jumbled prayer as his pace speeds up, bring you both closer to the climax you feel burning in your belly. 

Gone are the sounds of nature that greeted you when you first entered this sacred place. Now the only sounds that meet your ears are your lovers groans of pleasure in your ear and the blood raring in your veins. His skin slides against your own, damp with sweat and swirled in gold and red as the paint so delicately applied to you both now mixes together. 

Halsin’s thrusts become erratic, and a wave of golden light washes over him as he ruts against you. He pulls your hips closer to him, and you wrap your legs around him obediently as the hand that was supporting you comes up to cup your jaw, titling your head up and away, presenting the delicate expanse of your throat to him.

You catch the familiar flash of druidic magic in his eyes through your lashes, and you know he’s fighting the beast, holding it back as he lowers his head down, lips brushing the underside of your jaw as he thrusts into you again, harsher this time. 

“You are mine,” he growls, voice octaves lower than his usual deep timbre. 

“Yours,” You relent, voice a whispered plea into the night air. 

The only warning you receive is another harsh thrust of his hips, this one making him reach so deep inside of you that you see stars as his teeth sink into the flesh of your neck, breaking skin and sending you to another plane of euphoria you’ve never experienced before. Moans and cry of pleasure spill from your lips as you come, nearly sobbing as Halsin follows you over the precipice once again, pressing himself into you fully as he fills you. 

With ears ringing and heart racing, you almost don’t hear the soft call of your name, Halsin’s lips placing delicate kisses to your cheeks and lips, drawing you closer to coherency as gently as he can. 

He has not separated from you - the forest floor still at your back as he presses his weight comfortingly against your front, brushing errant strands of hair from your face.

“I love you,” you finally say, voice raw. 

When you speak, Halsin lifts himself from you slightly, bringing one hadn’t up to stroke at your hair affectionately, eyes brimming with emotions you can’t yet place. 

“And I you,” he says, leaning down to capture your lips in a slow, tender kiss. 

After a few quiet moments, Halsin takes you into his arms once more and rolls so he is on his back with you resting against his chest, never separating himself from you in the process. 

His heart beats strong beneath your ear, his chest rising and falling in long even breaths, and if it weren’t for his fingers tracing patterns up and down your spine, you’d think he’d fallen asleep. 

Neither of you speak for a long while, using the silence to bask in one another’s presence, your mind still reeling from your experience. the silence is only broken when you hear the faint call of song birds and you see the barely there streaks of grey tinting the horizon beyond the trees. 

You sit up turning your head and wincing at the tinge of pain that accompanies the movement. a hand comes up to touch the spot at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, and your suddenly reminded of the mark Halsin left behind. 

His hand comes up to cover your own, calloused fingertips tracing over the bite gently, and you look down to see concern tugging as his brow. 

“I’m sorry, my heart, I lost myself-”

“Will it scar?” You cut him off, turning your hand to lace your fingers with his own. 

Halsin pauses at your question, lips tugging downward. “I can make sure it will not-”

You shake your head, leaning down to capture his lips in a quick kiss, pulling back to stare into familiar hazel eyes. 

“Don’t.” you say. “Leave it. I…like the idea of it. But I…” you trail off, your courage waning. 

Halsin’s other hand comes up to card through your hair, urging you to face him again.

“Speak freely here,” he encourages. 

You nod, sliding one hand up to run your fingers over the spot on his neck that mirrors your own.

“I’d like you to bear a similar mark.”

Halsin smiles, pulling you down to him so your lips are a mere hairsbreadth away.

“You are mine just as much as I am yours, my heart.”

You smile.

You could get used to that. 

[e-vay]

SONIC’S MOM (in my AU)

I’ve spent a really long time working on Sonic’s mom for my AU but I’m finally ready to share her with you!

I wrote this out in text form below the cut for those of you who need to translate it:

Domino was a free-spirited, independent hedgehog. Despite being dealt some rough cards in life, she always had an upbeat attitude and could find the silver lining to almost any situation. Domino had to get by with just the clothes on her back, so she quickly learned to be very resourceful. She was adamantly against material things, except for her one gold earring that she treasured. Her lack of funds led to a nomadic lifestyle, but this gave her a greater appreciation for the planet and she ended up loving her minimalist way of life.

A one-time tryst led to Domino being pregnant with Sonic at a relatively young age. Though she knew nothing about being a mom, she loved him instantly. She couldn’t offer him much, so she did her best to teach him how to make the most out of what little they had and to appreciate all the wonderful things the planet has to offer. Sonic was able to crawl, walk and soon run faster than most babies, so he was very quick to fend for himself. This made Domino’s life easier and more challenging at the same time!

PHLOX: Sonic’s biological father. He and Domino met while they were both passing through the same village and had instant chemistry. She wasn’t one to stay in one place for long, so she took off after one night together. He never knew about Sonic.

Being a young, single mom is tough enough. When your baby has the ability to run at super speeds, it gets even more complicated. Domino was constantly repairing Sonic’s baby shoes when he repeatedly wore the rubber off, but eventually even her trusty roll of duct tape wasn’t enough to cut it. She ended up giving up her solid gold earring to buy him a pair of durable shoes that could withstand his speed.

Domino had a bad habit of telling tall tales. She didn’t do this to be malicious; she just liked to make her life sound more interesting than it was. This tended to get her into trouble, but made for excellent bedtime stories!

One unfortunate night, a terrible storm rolled in and caused a flash flood in the forest where Domino and Sonic were occupying. Domino knew Sonic would be able to outrun it, so she urged him to get away and leave her behind. Domino did not survive.

This traumatic event had a huge impact on toddler Sonic and is not only the reason he’s afraid of water, but why he stopped talking for several years when he was little. With time, he forgets this event and even forgets Domino, and he finds his voice again.

[midnightorchids]

I am kinda curious

What would Jason be like if the coffee Cafe owner!reader built in a small library in her Cafe just for him,like she saw he liked reading and went like 'yup. I am building a small library for him'

This is such a fun idea, but omg please forgive me, I went a little overboard. Once I figured out what to write, I couldn’t stop. I apologize for how long it is. Also, this is completely gender neutral, so anyone can read!

But omg also, I was literally kicking my feet and giggling writing the end lol, Anyways enjoy!

Owning a cafe was a difficult job, there was always much to do— customers to attend to, drinks to make, and maintenance to do. You were always busy, but you loved your job.

You had spent a lot of time curating the perfect atmosphere for your beloved customers. The lighting was warm, with fairy lights and lanterns dangling from the ceiling. There was wooden furniture and two old couches that sat by the glass windows. The tiny space smelled of freshly brewed coffee and sweet bread. The cafe was always inviting. 

You had many regulars at the coffee shop, each one with their own story, a different purpose.

For the past six months, twice a week, every Thursday and Saturday morning, a tall man walked in. Jason, you recalled his name from the many times you prepared his drinks. He’d order the same thing every time, a small London fog and a walnut banana bread.

He’d sit at the table nearest to the entrance, his back never towards the door.

Every morning, he’d come in with a new book. You had seen him read Franz Kafka, Oscar Wilde and Jane Austen; he’d read a lot of Austen.

He was a mystery and you wanted to know more. 

You found Jason quite handsome. His skin was scattered with scars and you often found yourself staring at the permanent wound near his lips. You wanted to run your fingers along it, to trace it, to kiss it. 

His eyes were always kind, a deep shade of green, forest-like you’d think to yourself. 

He spoke with kindness. His voice velvety and rich, much like the espresso you’d brew everyday, except his voice was never bitter, almost always doused with honey. 

Sometimes you’d catch him looking over at the counter, at you, you’d hoped. 

Your coworkers were afraid of him, telling you to stay away, but you couldn’t help yourself. He was like an enticing book, waiting to be read. They’d warn you, “do not engage in too much conversation with the strange man.” But it was as if they were talking to a small child, their words would go in one ear and out the other.

“Strange,” you would never use that word to describe him.

From the small talk you had with him, to his choice in books, to even his taste in tea, you’d never describe him as strange.

Gentle was the word you’d choose.

He was huge, all height and muscle, terrifying to most, however to you, he was everything but that. You saw an angel and you didn’t even know him… yet, you’d tell yourself.

There were days, where you almost gained the courage to ask for his number, maybe ask for small detail, perhaps get a glimpse of his life. But each attempt was futile. Why was it so hard to speak to him for more than five minutes, you’d curse your inability to speak to attractive men.

-

You were beginning to give up on your dreams of getting to know the beautiful stranger, when he walked in through door.

The conversation began as per usual.

“Morning Jason, what can I grab you today,” you asked politely. He smiled softly in return and you stare at the scar by his lip as he begins to speak.

“Uhh surprise me,” you look at him confused, he’s never done that before and he finds himself smiling harder. “Just kidding, I’ll just the take the usual please,” he says as he places his copy of Jane Eyre on the counter to take out his wallet.

“Brontë, why am I not surprised,” you reply, gazing at the book. You take the cash from his hands and your heart drops. Shades of purple and crimson coat his skin. They’re bruised, again.

“What can I say, I’m a man of taste,” he smirks. You roll your eyes and giggle.

“Now who told you that,” and he shrugs. Then there’s a lull, you don’t know what to say now. It isn’t awkward, but you find yourself starting feeling a little uneasy. God, if you only you could come up with something else to say. You shake your head slightly and begin to warm up his banana bread.

You turn around and wait for him to leave, but he doesn’t walk away to his usual table this time, instead he takes a seat next to the counter. Odd, you thought.

Jason’s gaze doesn’t leave you for a second, he watches you in admiration, you don’t quite catch on.

If you thought Jason was handsome, then he thought you belonged in a museum. You were a work of art in his eyes. The kind of beauty they wrote poetry about. Absolutely stunning.

He wanted to get to know you, speak to you, but he was afraid. If you didn’t reciprocate his feelings, then he may never be able to see you again. The trips to the cafe would no longer be necessary and he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

However today, Jason pushes his fears aside, he feels bold. He finds his confidence and he speaks.

“Do you read much,” he asks suddenly. You place his cup of tea and bread in front of him, and nod your head.

“I do, but not what you read,” you reply and he stares into your eyes, curious. “I mostly read magazines, you know Vogue and stuff,” his smile drops a little, he’s trying really hard to not look judgemental. Cute, you think. “Kidding, I read fantasy mostly,” and his face lights up again.

“So like J.K. Rowling,” he questions.

“No, Harry Potter’s good, but I’m not really a fan of her, you know as a person. I’ve been reading a lot Neil Gaiman recently though,” you say.

“Oh fuck, yeah, she’s said some pretty crazy stuff huh,” and you nod again. “Gaiman though, I don’t think I’ve ever read his stuff before, he any good,” he asks and your eyes go wide, you’re excited.

You spend the next hour of his visit speaking to him about books, about the things that you both like.

You only part from the conversation when there was a customer.

You’ve never felt this way before, all the assumptions you made about him were true. He was an angel, a kind and gentle one.

-

A month goes by and you notice your relationship with Jason change. Now, instead of sitting by the entrance of the cafe, he sits near you, back against the door. A sign of trust, you assumed. He smiled more, he showed his teeth and he laughed, hard. You loved the sound of his laugh. His eyes looked brighter, greener, emerald-like. He still walked in with a new book, but when the conversation began, it was long forgotten.

You watched his bruises heal and you watched new ones appear, you were always curious, but never had the courage to ask. He’d tell you when he was ready.

As time went by, you found yourself wanting to do something for him, you wanted him to know that you cared. You thought that if your words were going to fail you, then maybe your actions would prove otherwise.

-

Working a closing shift at the cafe on a gloomy Tuesday evening, you find yourself thinking of different gestures you could do.

Ideas came and left, nothing felt good enough. He deserved the best. Trying to busy your mind elsewhere, you begin to sweep the floors and that’s when inspiration hits you.

There, in the coffee shop, lies an empty corner. An odd spot, not necessarily small, but also not large enough either.

A perfect fit for a decently sized bookshelf. A library, for the community, but most importantly for Jason. You smile to yourself, proud at the thought. He’d love this, you knew he would.

The next morning you find yourself drilling holes into the pale walls of the cafe, trying attach the large shelf you lugged down to the shop.

Once everything was fixed into its rightful place, you begin adding the books, by genre and then by the authors’ last names. You add many of Jason’s favourites, multiple copies of Austen. You add children’s books, comics and something for yourself.

The shelf fits right into the ambiance of the cafe, elevating it honestly. The corner looked cosy and you found yourself wanting to sit by one of the couches with a book and a cup of hot chocolate.

You stare at the shelf once more, proud. Now, you just had to wait.

-

Jason walks into the cafe the next day, he’s late. He arrives near closing time. It’s just you and him in the cafe, most of your staff left for the day and not many people stayed this late. It’s quiet, the only sound coming from the machines on your side of the counter. He’s holding another book in his hand, but he has no intention of reading tonight.

His hair is slicked back, and there’s a small cut on his forehead. He’s dressed in a white dress shirt and black pants. He looks like he’s coming back from a big event or maybe he’s going to one later. Either way, he looks pretty like this, his arms look more defined and you can make out the muscles on his back when he walks around the room, waiting for his drink.

His eyes wander around the cafe before settling on the bookshelf nestled in the odd corner. His eyes soften, he’s never noticed that before, it must be new, he thinks.

“When’d you get this,” he asks, his fingers running along the spines of the books. He’s smiling, there’s so many books.

“Yesterday, it’s for you,” you say, holding your breath. This is it, the moment you’ve been preparing for.

“For me,” he looks over at you as you settle his tea on the counter. You begin walking over to his side, slowly, riddled with nerves.

“Yes, since you’re always here, I thought you’d like having a book shelf here. It’s like a library, you take a book and then you-“ he cuts you off suddenly.

“You made a library for me in your cafe, are you serious,” he’s trying to hold back a smile, you can tell. His scar gets more prominent when he does that. “Why,” he as asks, his voice is soft, it feels like warm milk with honey, comforting.

“You’re gonna make me say it,” you can’t see your face, but it feels hot, you can tell you’re blushing.

“Yeah, say it. Why is there a library in your cafe for me,” he says, enunciating the words “your” and “for me.” He’s smirking now. He knows the answer, he just wants to hear it from you.

The point of the library was to not have to say anything, for your actions to speak for you, but here you are. Ears burning and palms clammy.

“I…,” you trail off, you look around the room, anywhere but his face. He notices and walks closer, his hands gently make their way around your waist.

“Say it,” he exclaims, it’s not forceful, he’s smiling and shades of pink dust his cheeks.

You close your eyes shut, fuck, you’re going to have to say it.

“I really like you jas-,” and with that, his lips find their way to your own. You move in harmony, much like matcha and oat milk. His lips are sweet, he tastes like the banana bread, he decided to eat while pacing around the cafe. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, you pull back and smile. You peck his lips. Once where the scar is and once more on the centre. He grins.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear that from you,” he mumbles against your lips, waiting for you to kiss him again.

And you do, you kiss him again and again.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [4.6K]

THE TIMELINE

"Oh, won't you stay, just a little bit longer. Please let me hear, you say that you will, Say you will."

- Stay By Maurice Williams and The Zodiacs

IV. MOUNTAIN LAKE, VIRGINA: 1963

The man in front of you was not part of your vacation plans. He was half naked, sweaty, annoyed and scowling. The man in front of you was a stranger. 

Except he wasn’t. 

Was he?

You knew his name by now, something you’d only learnt on Monday, or perhaps the day before. Steve, Steve Herringbone or Barrington or something. He didn’t like it when you called him Steven and he certainly didn’t like it when you argued back. 

But this was supposed to be a getaway, a small summer break where you could maybe sneak a smoke by the lake when everyone had returned to their cabins and the geriatric morning yoga was done. Except your dad knew the owner of the summer retreat, a huge house settled in the Virginia countryside, the forest greener than it was back home. Bauman’s Mountain House was host to many golf courses, a fencing team, seventeen rowboats, an archery club, the best water aerobics in the state and an award winning dance show. 

The very latter included the man in front of you. 

Tall, broad shouldered and tanned from the summer, Steve Harrington was handsome and painstakingly so. Brown hair that he always tried to tame by pushing his hand through it, brown eyes and too many freckles to count. He wore a gold chain around his throat, black slacks and a leather jacket on his days off, driving around the resort in a BMW that made too much noise, but he didn’t seem to care. 

He cared even less about his bad reputation and loud ways when his partner broke her foot weeks before the final show, a tiny girl called Nancy that you were unreasonably jealous of at first sight. You watched them both on your first night, sat between your mother and father as they took to the stage, dancing flawlessly, fluidly, like they were one whole person. You watched the way she touched him, an easy familiarity that had your stomach feeling unsettled and something inside of you burned when her hand brushed the man’s neck, holding onto him as he dipped her low, her fingers trapping two little moles and hiding them from sight. 

You’d blamed the cheap cocktails and called it a night. 

But then your father found him arguing with Mr Bauman about the show and suddenly you were volunteered against your own volition, your parents talking loudly and proudly about talent shows and dance lessons when you were much younger, boldly exaggerating about how must’ve been a dancer in another life as you shook your head and tried to escape back to the gazebo by the shoreline.

Now you were left spending your evenings with Steve Harrington and his tight trousers in a cabin that was much smaller than your own. There was a leak in the corner, a consistent drip from a missing nail in the roof and rainwater splashed against the wooden floor as if it were counting down the seconds. 

As if it were counting down to— something. 

It had rained every night since you had started seeing Steve, the stifling afternoons giving way to humid evenings that always started to smell like rain by six o’clock, sweet tea and lemonade taken over by the scent of a new downpour. There had been threats of storms, chattering of it during breakfast in the main dining hall, grumbles of it from groundskeepers during bowling on the green. 

But nothing wild, not yet. 

Steve had scowled the entire time he was with you, minutes and hours spent with a frown on his face as he did his best to avoid touching you, mumbling something about getting the timings right, about learning the steps and the footwork before putting it all together. It was tedious now, repetitive and too warm in his small room and even with the bed pushed to the wall, there was barely space to avoid brushing up against him when you moved. 

You were flushed, skin shining with a thin layer of sweat and the same sheen made Steve’s lips look glossy, his hair sticking to his forehead in curls and flicks. You rolled your eyes when he hit rewind on the tape deck, a silent order for you to take it from the top. But you didn’t move as he made quick work on his buttons, undoing them one by one until his short sleeved shirt hung open, showing off far too much skin. Lean muscle and a smattering of hair across his pecs, more skating down the line of his navel and you sucked in a breath, pretending you hadn’t stood on your own foot. 

“It’s too fuckin’ warm,” he complained, circling you as he spoke, watching you for more errors, inspecting your footwork, your posture, the way your held your head up and squared off your shoulders. 

“No shit,” you couldn’t help but bite back. “How’d you think I feel?”

You wore denim shorts to his black slacks, but your cotton T-shirt was sticking to your torso now, the baby pink material too heavy and restricting for the heat inside the cabin. You pressed your lips together and moved, eyes on the wall ahead of you, your right foot moving in front of your left before you twisted your hips half a turn and—

“Take it off, then.”

You blinked, your framework going slack as you dropped both your arms and your jaw. You were hardly prudish, but something about this man had set you on edge since you’d first seen him. An electrical buzz every time you looked at him, fizzing through your bones, an invisible string tied to your insides pulling and pulling and pulling you closer. You’d ignored it until these dance practices, always turning in the other direction, putting the entire resort between you both. 

But now… now?

He was standing all of three feet away, cheeks flushed from the heat and his chest on show, his hands behind his head and his fingers buried in his hair in frustration as he stared at you. Like he was challenging you. The muscles in his arms were flexed, taut cords and lines that showed off how hard he work at his job and you couldn’t help but stare. 

“What?” You demanded it, a bite of an answer. 

“Your shirt,” Steve nodded to the pink material, brows raised like it were obvious. He almost rolled his eyes. “Take it off.”

Above you, the rain outside fell a little harder, a consistent din against the thin roof. 

You didn’t say anything. You just hoped you didn’t lose your cool as you reached for the hem of your t-shirt, untucking it from your shorts. The cotton stuck to you uncomfortably, dragging against your skin as you raised it up and over your head, the brief second where your eyesight was blinded a terrifying prospect. 

Was he looking? At you? Was he watching? Did he care?

By the time you’d balled up the offending fabric and tossed it in the corner, Steve had turned his back to you, pressing some buttons on the tape deck until the song - some kind of mambo - played for the beginning again. You couldn’t see his face but you wondered if he’d caught sight of your bra, as plain as it may have been. White cotton, thin with scalloped edges and a tiny pink bow between the cups. Hardly sexy, nothing near scandalous, but there was certainly a lot more skin showing now. 

Slick, damp skin that you wondered if he’d touch. It was like he wasn’t allowed to, the way he skirted around you all of the time, his hands shoved into his pockets when he wasn’t demonstrating the next step, a fist pressed to his chin as he watched you repeat his instructions, a wide palm always hovering just out of reach of your lower back when he scolded you for slouching, like he’d went to put his hands on you - only to pull catch himself at the last second. 

“You gotta loosen your hips,” Steve’s voice interrupted your thoughts as he turned back around. His eyes were on the floor before he finally dragged them up your legs and over your bare stomach. He sucked in a breath. “You’re too rigid.”

“You told me to hold my shoulders,” you retorted, knowing fine well that he’d bitched about your ‘noodle arms’ for days. 

“Yeah, your upper body needs to be squared off. Hold yourself tight from here up,” Steve gestured to your waist with the side of his hand. He didn’t touch you, but you could feel the heat radiate from him. “But from here?” He tapped at the button on your shorts. 

You froze. 

“From here down, you need to put a bit of swing in the hips, alright?” He spun, putting himself behind you but you could see him in the mirror that leant against the cabin wall, an old looking thing that was too ornate to be here. Once gold, it had carvings of cherubs on the frame, tiny wreaths and rosettes intertwined with ancient style busts. “It’s a mambo, sweetheart, put a little heat into it.”

The tape begun again and Steve leant against a dresser, arms folded across his bare chest, his open shirt plastered to his skin. He watched you, waiting. The intro played and you counted the beats, nodding your head to each note and before you could hit the mark. Thunder rumbled somewhere outside and you were suddenly reminded of a man that looked like Steve, standing and watching you like that in a room much smaller than this, lit by firelight, dressed like a fighter. 

“You missed the count,” Steve sighed, exasperated. 

His hair had been longer, his face bruised and bleeding, but it looked just like him. A familiar scene, like you’d maybe seen it in a movie, but it felt more like a dream you didn’t recall having. You looked down at your feet, chest heaving, lips parted in confusion and you were only more dazed when you saw your bare legs and not the long skirts you expected. Your body didn’t feel like yours, not really. 

Like it was borrowed, or broken. 

You turned, facing Steve as if you expected him to be dressed differently, in leathers and studs and pleats, but he was still the same, just looking at you as if you’d suddenly fallen ill. Maybe you had. 

“Drink some water,” he ordered, and yes, that sounded like a really good idea. “Then we’ll go again.”

You chugged the bottle, the water tepid and hard to swallow but you gulped it down greedily, praying against heat stroke or whatever else it could be that could be plaguing you with such hallucinations. You swiped at your lips and closed your eyes before you turned back to the boy and when you did, he looked the same as he always did. 

Annoyed, tired, pretty. 

“C’mere,” Steve said briskly, crooking a finger at you. You stepped towards him, unsure of what he was asking you, lingering awkwardly with a few feet of space between you. Steve huffed and rolled his eyes. “Jesus, I mean— here.”

He touched you then, his hand reaching out to grasp your own as he pulled you forward, closer than you’d ever been. There was barely space for a prayer between you both. 

You thought that his hand in yours would’ve made you feel something, a spark, a fizz, that buzz that you felt in your bones around him. But something else settled over you instead, a strange familiarity, a longing for a home you didn’t know or didn’t remember, like Steve touching you was hardly anything new. His touch made you think of the sea, of vast gardens, of islands and storms and great wars, ruby wine and promises that seemed impossible to keep. 

From the unsettled look in Steve’s eye as he stared down at you, you thought that maybe he felt the same thing. 

But then he was fussing, moving his feet into the right position and mumbling about your stance. His hand took you with him as he moved, less than an inch separating your bare stomach from his and you let him direct you as he pleased, waiting for the song to reply from the top. The drums began, a cacophony of instruments you’d never be able to name joining in. 

And then Steve was counting, his eyes suddenly fixed on yours as he nodded to the beat. “And five, six, seven—”

Steve’s other hand was on your waist. 

His palm felt huge, big enough to envelop your side and his thumb was pressed into the soft of your belly, just below your ribcage. His fingers were splayed out over your bare back, his skin warm against your own and you’d never felt so completely consumed by just one touch. You were reminded of white sheets and hazy mornings, the taste of fresh bread and an open window that looked out to blue skies and you could hear a fountain spraying water. 

But you were moving before you could consider it, what it meant, what it was, if it was possible to have someone else’s memories trapped in your head. Steve moved and you followed, your feet chasing his step by step as he walked you back and forth, his hips turning into yours on each beat, his shoulders set and his chin held high, ever the professional. 

“Don’t look at your feet,” he murmured, barely heard over the music. “Chin up. Look at me.”

You didn’t know how to tell him it hurt to do so, how looking into his eyes this close felt like giving in, it felt like being stitched back together without any medication. You had never been aware of any wounds in your body, but this man you barely knew seemed to fill the space very well. 

So you did, holding your breath until your chest burned, your eyes meeting Steve’s as you clasped his hand in your own and gripped his shoulder, letting him lead you around the cabin floor. The storm raged on, louder than before, more threatening now, like it was arguing, fighting, scolding. 

The rain poured harder and what little evening light there had been was now dampened, the setting sun hidden behind navy and violet coloured clouds - but the heat was just as oppressive. Steve turned you, a twist of his body that led into yours as you spun on your toes, and when he caught you— when he caught you, his hand moved lower, slipping down your overheated skin until his fingers grazed the denim waistband of your shorts. 

Maybe he saw you falter, maybe he saw your lips part, but Steve sucked in a breath and kept moving, his chest brushing your own as you stepped into his space as he danced into yours, torso meeting, separating, meeting, separating, meeting—

“Keep count,” he reminded you. “Keep counting the beats.” 

You nodded, Steve’s face startlingly closer than before, as if he’d forgotten his boundaries, the box he created with strong arms, the one that kept him professional as a dancer, standing tall and strong. Now his elbows were bent, his hand falling from yours so both of his palms could bracket your hips and it was too much, it was everything you’d ever wanted, it was something you felt like you’d once had. 

You just couldn’t remember who had taken it away from you. 

Lightning lit the cabin, the storm over the resort, the sky black. 

“Remember your hips,” he whispered, and god, god, his forehead was almost touching yours, his nose drawing a line against your own as his eyelids dropped and his lashes fanned his pink cheeks. His hands guided your waist, moving you from side to side, following the rhythm. “Listen to the beat.”  

You were sure he meant the music, but it was impossible to ignore the thud of his heart against your own chest. You could feel yours even more so, a constant drumming that seemed to seep into your bones, making them crack at the edges, something blooming between them, something new and old and familiar and exciting. 

Like driving into your street after a long vacation, like falling into your own bed after too many weeks away, smelling the laundry detergent that clung to everyone else that you loved. It felt hopeful, like the beginning of the morning when the only thing that had entered your thoughts was the way the sun looked in the sky, how pink it was, how the clouds seemed softer than the day before. 

Steve pushed at your hips, holding them as you swayed from side to side, your hands leaving the safety of his shoulders to slip up, holding the sides of his neck, the heat of his skin scalding your palms and he nodded, pupils blown wide and lips parted as he stared down at you in amazement, like he was seeing you for the very first time. 

Like he was seeing you for the first time after a very long time apart. 

“Good,” he told you softly, like he was still teaching you, like this was still professional. Like he hadn’t put his hand on your lower back and obliterated whatever wall someone else had built between you. Something that had once seemed so strong was knocked down so easily, like not even a god could keep it between you. “Good. Like that, just like that—”

He swore when you moved closer, emboldened by his pretty eyes and the way his gaze tracked down your chest, down your bare stomach. His fingers flexed on your hips, blunt nails tattooing your skin and you hoped the marks would stay there, you hoped they’d be there tomorrow so you could remember that this wasn’t a dream. 

His leg found its way between yours, the song finally slowing to the last few drumbeats and you knew this was the time where you were supposed to spin in Steve’s arms and raise your hand in a grand finish. But Steve tucked your hips close to his instead and let his thigh push into the seam of your denim shorts. 

The song that came on next was slower, lazier, languid. 

The singer had a deeper voice, the drums rolling with a dirtier beat and this wasn’t the mambo, this wasn’t a salsa and it certainly wasn’t anything you’d do in a ballroom never mind on stage in front of others. You’d seen this kind of dancing once before, the night after you first arrived at Bauman’s. You hadn’t meant it, but a walk along the lake after the sun had set had led you to a larger cabin at the back of the resort, where the lights were on and the music was loud. 

Music like this. 

A guy at the door with long curls and an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips had appraised you, one eyebrow lifted at your little white summer dress and tennis shoes. 

“You work here?” He’d asked and you had shaken your head, ready to walk back the way you came. “You a snitch?” He asked after a pause. 

Again, you shook your head ‘no’ and listened as the music inside got louder. The man, who you were sure you’d seen on stage during dinner, playing the guitar for the dining  guests, just shrugged. He’d nodded to a stack of beer crates at the side of the building.

“Grab a case and keep your mouth shut, alright?” He’d opened the door for you, the music louder than ever, the smell of smoke and weed and sweat pouring out. You remember how’d he grinned at you as you took in the sight. “Have fun, princess.”

It’s where you’d seen Steve for the second time, in the middle of a makeshift dance floor with the bow tie and dinner jacket he’d worn during his evening performance long gone. Moving with a girl with his shirt buttons open, his hair a mess, grinding and manhandling her in a way you weren’t sure you would even call dancing. Everyone was doing the same, hips gyrating, skirts too short, men’s chests bare, the smiles meeting in an almost kiss.

It was nothing short of scandalous. 

You’d left, dumping the beer on a table beside a watermelon that almost rolled to the ground in your panic, turning from the crowd and walking out the way you’d came. The curly haired man had snorted at the sight of your wide eyes, calling out a goodbye between laughs. 

And here you were, not even two weeks later, doing the same, if not worse. Why worse? You and Steve were alone. 

Thunder cracked again, louder than before. 

It didn’t feel wrong to be doing this. In fact, for as much trouble as you’d be in if your father had had to catch you, everything about it felt right, like you’d done it before, like this man was yours to touch. But something that felt like danger lingered in the air, a threat far more serious than your dad or Mr Bauman. 

But still, you let your body move with Steve’s, a slow grind of your hips into his and when your hand found the nape of his neck and your fingers twisted into his hair, Steve’s palm cupped your ass, pulling you into him, making you feel how affected he was. 

It should’ve scared you. How this man was touching you, this person you barely knew, alone in a cabin and who you were so sure had hated you only a mere ten minutes before. But Steve looked as gone as you felt, eyes filled with longing, a passion that was visible, his brows knitted together as he stared down at you hungrily, lovingly, adoringly. 

It was almost too much to bear. So you let your head fall back, body slack as you kept dancing, trusting the man to keep you upright and against his own chest and you heard Steve let out a breath at the sight of your exposed neck, the long line of it offered to him like a sacrifice. 

“That’s it,” you heard him murmur. “You feel the beat now?” His words fell on your throat, your bare skin, the top of his nose drawing a line from the base of it to your jaw, his mouth following and you were so sure he wasn’t talking about the music anymore. 

But you nodded, clinging to him when he dipped you backwards, his hands holding you like you were precious, like you were made of marble and gold and suddenly you felt like Steve could’ve been. Like someone had taken a piece of the earth and grown this man from it, just for you. Like he had something ancient in his bones, like whatever he was made of you, you were created from the same thing too. 

When he pulled you back up, effortless and graceful, you were closer than before, impossibly so. Chests meeting in the middle as you both panted into each other's parted lips, noses meeting and foreheads touching. Steve’s hands were curled around your waist, fingers splayed across your naked back as if he couldn’t bear not to touch every part of you. Your hand was on his neck, your fingers brushing over two moles on his tanned skin, the ones you’d watched Nancy touch before you. 

But as you pressed your fingertips to them, your lips buzzed and Steve let out a sigh, like you’d unravelled a knot in his spine, like you’d found a magic button that fixed him. Like you’d touched a place that you’d once touched before. 

“You’ve never touched me before,” you whispered, voice cracking on each syllable because it suddenly was too much. 

Steve looked pained, lashes fluttering as his gaze dropped to your lips and he struggled to find the right words to give you. “I— I shouldn’t be doing it now,” he murmured. “I’m not allowed.”

“Why? Because of your boss? My dad?” 

He grinned, a smirk that faltered too quickly and he shook his head, still not moving from you, his nose nudging yours as he struggled to keep himself from shifting closer still. “You’d think that should’ve been enough to keep me away.” Steve licked his lips and you tracked the movement, so sure that he’d taste like summer and salt and the peach tea from the diner. “Not even the threat of losing my damn job and house can keep me away from you.”

His words had an effect on you, breath hitching, chest aching. “Then who said you’re not allowed?”

The song was still going, a lazy beat that was easy to sway to, Steve’s leg still wedged between your thighs and his hands were wandering, sensual and slow, a whole other kind of dance over your skin. Fingers gripped at your waist before one hand trailed down your hip, over your bare thigh, ghosting over the line of your torn off shorts. He brought your thigh to his hip, hitching your leg high, pressing you both together until you could feel him all, until he could feel all of you.

Laid bare enough for you to feel like he could take the very soul of you from your body.

You found that you didn’t mind the idea of it at all.

“You’ll laugh at me,” Steve murmured but he didn’t sound embarrassed at all, like he didn’t actually believe that you would.

You shook your head, nose brushing against the tip of his and if you moved another inch, just one, you could’ve been kissing him, mouth slotting against his. “I won’t,” you promised.

“I started having dreams when you came,” Steve told you. “Dreams where it always rained and the sky was always dark. And there was a man there, a thing, maybe. But he felt ancient, older than the fucking world and he told me to stay away, to keep away from you.”

You didn’t laugh. No. No, in fact, you didn’t say a damn thing.

Steve laughed, breathless and without any humour, and his hand trailed back up your thigh as your leg dropped slowly to the floor. He spun you both, lazy and languid, but the world around you both still blurred. The cabin faded away, a mix of the low lights and the colours of his quilt on the bed. 

You could barely hear the storm, but god, it was the loudest it had been.

“I want to do ungodly things with you,” Steve confessed and he sounded pained, his throat tight with the same kind of emotion you felt, like you were both sharing the same heart. “I want to do ungodly things to you.”

“Steve--”

“I know it sounds crazy, but there’s somethin’-- somethin’ in the sky or in the goddamn cracks of the earth that’s telling me I shouldn’t.” His bottom lip grazed your top one, an almost kiss, a whisper of one, a mere idea of it. Hardly a touch. “That something real bad will happen if we do.”

You couldn’t explain it, just like you couldn’t explain your sudden proximity to the man, the achingly familiar closeness you felt. But you knew, somehow, some way, Steve was right. 

Tears stung your eyes, a fiery nip that you tried to blink away and when the music slowed to a stop and the next song began, Steve kept moving, your body melted to his, no space between either of you to be able to determine where you ended and he began.

Your voice cracked when you spoke. “What should we do?”

Steve took a breath before he answered, one hand coming up to push against your hairline, his palm coasting down your cheek, holding you, cherishing you. His touch was hot with adoration. 

“We can keep dancing.”

[copperbadge]

Routing the El

@mbta-unofficial recently "routed" the T in Boston, riding through every T stop in the city in a single day. I love public transit and random fuckery so this appealed to me instantly, but even @mbta-unofficial admitted they didn't know how they'd route the El here in Chicago. I know nothing about routing and very little about certain parts of the El even after living here as long as I have, but I'm willing to take a swing.

The first question is one of simple logistics: are we riding every stop, or every train that passes through a stop?

In other words, there are many stops that multiple lines pass through, and the question is whether it's enough to pass through each stop on a train, or do I need to ride the entirety of the line, then backtrack and hit the same stations on a different line? This wouldn't be such a big deal if it weren't for the purple line, which is an express from Evanston that covers much of the northern red line branch and a huge whack of the brown line as well. If I'm covering lines, I almost certainly need to start with purple.

Moreover, do I include the yellow line, which is an extension built to serve basically a single suburb? It feels snobbish to ignore it; it is outside of Chicago proper but then so are several stops on the blue and green. But it also feels very Chicagoan not to acknowledge it, and it is going to be a massive pain in the ass to include because there's nothing near it. I would just be riding out to the Dempster-Skokie stop and back, or starting at Dempster-Skokie and then having to backtrack up the purple line.

Which leads to the next question: where to begin? @mbta-unofficial's route began at one of the termini, Braintree, which they traveled to get to, so in theory one could, and probably should, begin at an endpoint, but the T also isn't structured exactly like the El; there is a central exchange, but nothing as cohesive as the Loop, around which almost every line circulates and which every line at least touches except the yellow. But living downtown, I could also begin at a Loop station, or a red or blue line station that touches the Loop.

So let's set some rules for the initial run, and once that's accomplished, we'll see about adding complications.

Every station, not every line. As long as I touch every station while on a train, it counts.

However, if the stations are discrete, I have to hit them twice -- in other words, I have to touch Monroe and Jackson twice, once on the Red and once on the Blue, because the platforms are accessible to each other but separated by a passageway several blocks long. I'll have to touch Lake twice, once on the Red, because it's both elevated and underground.

I'm going to disqualify the Yellow not because it's suburban but because it doesn't touch the Loop. This is the rule I'd most likely revisit if I was going to attempt this several times.

I am also going to disqualify the purple line, not via the "loop exception" but because it will knock almost half the red line off the map for me in about a third of the time it would otherwise take, but even so having to start at Linden kind of fucks me. Given the purple line's extremely limited running time, there's an argument for disqualification, but this is another rule I'd revisit on a second attempt.

Removing the purple line makes routing a lot easier. And I think the starting point then becomes both obvious and poetic: we start at O'Hare, where it costs double to board the train.

O'Hare blue line all the way to Forest Park is an easy first leap, and from there I think it's most rational to bus to the green at Harlem/Lake and ride it all the way to Cottage Grove. From Cottage Grove, backtrack to Garfield to cover the Ashland-63rd leg of the green line, and then again back to Garfield to disembark and walk to the Garfield red line, which I can take south to 95th/Dan Ryan, then north again to Roosevelt (another two-touch stop). I can catch the Orange at Roosevelt south to Midway and back north again unless there's a fast bus to 54th/Cermak; presuming there's not, depending on stop times I can either take the Orange line back to hit any missing loop station or transfer to the Pink and then take that out to 54th/Cermak. Either way I need to get back into the Loop and catch the Brown out to Kimball, then back to Belmont (or Montrose and bus to Wilson), north to Howard, then south to Harrison on the Red line. Convenient to end at my home station -- I didn't plan it around that, but it's a nice touch.

If I really wanted to get ADHD about this I could sit down with timetables and work out ways to catch trains within the loop to shave minutes off, but El timetables are essentially worthless these days.

I think that's a functional plan. Working off my base knowledge of the trains and also with the reminder that I'm pretty time-blind, I'm estimating:

Blue line O'Hare to Forest Park: 2hrs

Bus to Harlem/Lake: The 318 picks up every 15 minutes and takes 8 minutes, so guesstimate 30 minutes to be on the safe side.

Green Line Harlem/Lake to Cottage Grove: 1.5hrs

Cottage Grove back up to Garfield and down to Ashland/63rd: Again no idea, but probably at least 30 minutes

Ashland/63rd to Garfield and transfer to Red Line Garfield: 30 minutes?

Red Line Garfield to 95th/Dan Ryan and back to Roosevelt: 1.5hrs

Orange Line Roosevelt to Midway: 30 minutes

The 54B bus comes every 20 minutes and take 40 minutes to get from Midway to 54th/Cermak, which is still I thiiiink faster than doing Orange back to Washington/Wells and then Pink out and back. Mulling this one still. Either way, Pink line gets me to Clark/Lake

Walk to Washington/Wells, Brown Line around the loop to hit the missing Loop stations, to Kimball: 1hr

Kimball to Belmont: 30mins

Belmont Red Line to Howard: 1hr (Red line to Howard is HIGHLY variable, I've had it take anywhere from 40-90 minutes from Harrison)

Howard to Harrison: 1hr

About 13 hours in total, let's say my time to beat is 15 hours.

I can't do it this coming weekend; I have all-day events both days. I can't take a day off next week either, I'm going to be slammed at work ahead of an event. So my best bet is either Saturday or Sunday the 20th/21st, or taking Wednesday the 24th off...

Or this Friday. I could call in sick with few ramifications.

Well, I'll keep prepping for now -- find the bus I need from Forest Park to Harlem/Lake, then maybe run the whole route through Google Maps to see what it thinks the timing estimate would be. It might even have some ways to shave time off -- still looking at that Pink-Orange transfer and wondering.

And I need to find places around transfer points to take bathroom breaks since the El doesn't have public restrooms. I can probably get to a bathroom at Midway and back in the 12-minute delay time between arrival and departure...

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

3.7k / 38 / post-apocalypse au, part 2

...

You emerge deep in the city. Deeper than you should be.

You traveled on foot via the drainage tunnels connecting Amsterdam to the forest. This city was busy and beautiful once, the way unpolished amber is beautiful, but now it's overgrown and empty except for the undead roving the streets.

Staying underground is the best way to avoid the undead. Especially in the daytime. So when you creep through the streets in the open nighttime air, you know you have to be fast. You must find what you came here for.

You stick to the buildings and skulk in the shadows to take advantage of their poor eyesight to buy as much time as you can. You move in the shadows, turning corners to break line of sight and keeping yourself moving away from the few that see or smell you. But the undead—zombies, runners, biters, muties, whatever they’re called—will catch your scent eventually. And they do. Soon, too many lurch after you in mindless pursuit. They begin to stagger in your direction, stumbling over one another. Their howling voices echo off the walls of the abandoned buildings around you.

As you try to evade them, a few stragglers—those less decayed, those who can catch sight of you more easily and stumble in your direction to feast—begin to give chase. The city is so much more crowded than you feared, and you're quickly overwhelmed with nowhere else to run besides the open streets.

Running in the open is a death sentence. You have to get back underground. With your pumping heartbeat shooting adrenaline through you, you can't remember exactly which way leads back to the forest.

You get the horrible feeling that this city will become your tomb before morning comes. No, focus. You need to keep moving until you find a drainage tunnel. They all lead out of the city. Just go where the rain would go, you tell yourself.

You snake through the streets until you glimpse another stone-walled drainage ditch cutting between the street and walkways. You drop in, pressing yourself to the wall. You try to hide your tracks, hoping against hope that the undead might not realize you've slipped away and lurch off elsewhere, but no. No such luck. The undead are on you already.

You curse and take off in what you hope is the right direction. You push your panic into your legs as you try to outpace the zeds on your tail, but they're as fast as you are even in their undead state. They're not tiring the way you are as your body screams for rest. Your throat burns. You can't outpace them for much longer. They're persistence predators.

When you see the drainage ditch veer and dip into what looks like an underground spillway, your heart soars. The undead can't navigate sewers as well as you can. If you can just make it underground, you can slip away--

Then it comes into view and your heart drops. The spillway is blocked by the remains of a collapse. Piles of concrete and rubble block the way. It's a dead end. You're trapped.

The infected, though unintelligent and uncoordinated, are relentless and ravenous. And they're closing in on you fast.

You don't stop. You can't. You grip at the sharp concrete edges of the rubble blindly, pulling yourself up. The chunks of concrete are huge and ragged, overgrown with grass and slick with dew.

There's no time for fear as you try to claw your way to an exit you hope desperately isn't blocked. It's a small hope, but right now it's all you have.

The infected come up behind you, screeching and howling in pursuit. They're coming.

You climb as high as you can. Sure enough, there's no way through to the other side of the tunnel. Not that you can fit through, not with zeds at your back. On both sides, the walls of the drainage ditch loom over you. The railing at the top is almost high enough for you to climb, but when you try to get closer, stepping over the broken concrete, a loose piece slips and almost takes you with it. It rolls down the pile of debris and knocks past one screaming runner’s shoulder as it goes.

The undead aren't coordinated enough to climb as easily, but it’s only a matter of time. With the sheer number of them and a little more luck, they’ll reach you soon. Or you’ll step on a loose rock or slippery patch of grass and slide right back down into their clutches.

With nowhere to go and no exit in sight, your only option is to either fight, or wait out a slow descent into madness and death like everyone else.

You pull out Soap's gun and load it.

…

Dawn is breaking by the time Soap and his team make it to you, following the sounds of your gunfire.

Soap whistles—a signal to you. The piercing sound makes you flinch through your adrenaline high. You clamp your shaking fingers around your—his—gun. There are still dozens of undead, many now with bullet holes and arrow shafts sticking crookedly out of them. Your quiver is empty. You’re crouched, gun in hand, aiming at one as it draws closer. You don’t have the bullets to waste otherwise—not with your wounded arm.

It lurches forward.

But it’s not your bullet that strikes it through the head—it’s his, and it's a clean shot. The runner's head splits like a peach, chunks of bone and brain flying across broken stone. You turn your eyes up to see Soap lining up a third shot atop a nearby building, and you glimpse his squadmates heading toward you. God damn are you happy to see him. Before another zed can take the mulched one’s place, Soap fires again, reloads, and again. He takes out another with his second bullet before lining up a third shot.

A shout interrupts your line of thought. You look up and see a man stretching his hand toward you, startlingly close, bridging the gap between the safety of the railing and where you stand. One of Soap’s teammates—a man with a black scarf wrapped around his nose and mouth. Ghost, you think his name is. You grab his hand.

Something else catches your attention in the rubble, too—long swaths, claws marks, carved under the mass of something much bigger than you or the undead. They disappear into the rubble and, conceivably, into the tunnel behind.

This is the lead you’ve been searching for all these days in this godforsaken place.

“Distance and cover!” Soap shouts, all focus.

You hear him. But if you withdraw now, you might not be able to follow those claw marks and search the tunnel. Half the undead in the city will be here before long, following the gunfire and howling. If you make the plunge back down into the depths, you might be able to find what you came for and get out intact before the undead get there forst. This could be your only chance.

Before you can move, Ghost yanks you by the hand, dragging you almost entirely up the sheer rocky wall. You bite down on a gasp, scrambling to keep your footing as he hauls you up and over the railing.

Soap’s rifle cracks again. Another biter, this one now trying to scale the wall after you, drops. Its upper torso explodes with a wet thwack.

You double back almost before you know what you’re doing and boost yourself back over the railing. You need to get into that tunnel.

Ghost grabs your arm again before you can jump. “Are you mad?”

“Let go!” you bark.

“I don’t fuckin’ think so.”

God damn it. There’s no time to explain. Or maybe there is, but the adrenaline running through you makes it impossible to find the words.

When it’s clear he won’t back off, you bite him. Just sink your teeth into his hand hard enough to make him let go. He curses and rips his hand away, more in surprise than pain. You take off, vaulting over the railing, rushing to the very middle of the heap. The top of the tunnel. Loose chunks of stone roll under your feet. With Soap’s squad focused on taking out the zeds, you can focus for the first time on breaking your way through these stones.

You wedge your bow under the loosest, topmost piece and wrench it up as if wielding a crowbar. The rock tumbles. You do it again, and again, and again until you feel a steady stream of warm air rise from underneath. You follow it, ignoring the chaos behind you, until you’ve torn open a big enough gap to slip through.

You tuck into a slide, letting gravity take you down into the darkness and out of view.

“Bloody animal—get back here!” echoes after you.

…

You find what you’re looking for within minutes. Roach—he’s alive, but caught in what looks like a trap. A man-made trap. Your heart clenches when he sees you and his tail thumps in a weak greeting.

You’re at his side in moments. “Easy, busy. Don’t move. I’m right here.”

It doesn’t take long for Ghost and Soap to catch up to you.

The scathing words on Ghost’s tongue die at the sight of you crouched next to Roach. They can only stare in shock. Saying Roach is a dog would be an understatement. Roach is massive. Megafauna. He might have been shaped like a wolfhound breed except for his massive, maned shoulders and elongated muzzle full of too-large teeth. You’re on your knees under the huge beast’s jaw, dagger sawing at the contraption holding him. Even laying on his belly, he towers over you.

Roach locks eyes with Ghost and Soap. They stop, standing completely still.

Ghost glances over his shoulder. “Think the big mutt can take care of himself,” he tells you, scanning for encroaching zeds in the dark.

“I’ve got you,” you murmur to Roach, totally ignoring Ghost. You’re still trying to soothe him, but your voice is frantic. “Almost got you out. Just stay still—”

The trap groans under your knife, but it holds fast. Then Roach growls—a loud, deeply unsettling sound that vibrates through the cave walls. His yellow eyes don’t leave the men behind you.

You hear Soap’s voice. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ. Is this what you were looking for when you…” He shakes his head and walks toward you. From his belt, he pulls out a large hunting knife. “Let me.”

“You should stay back,” you call over your shoulder. “He doesn’t know you. Don’t make him feel cornered.”

“Sound advice,” Ghost says.

Roach stares at Soap intently. Roach shifts a paw closer to you.

“Leave the dog alone, Johnny,” Ghost says. “It’s tryin’ to protect her. Doesn’t matter if you think you’re not a threat. You’re as good as dog chow.”

But Soap hesitates. “It’s our trap,” he admits. “If you’d let me help, I could show you how to free him quicker. We need to move.”

As if in response, Roach growls again.

You shoot a frustrated look over your shoulder. “It’s your trap? Why the fuck would you have a—"

There’s a loud crack and the trap splits under your knife. Roach lurches free. Instantly, he limps around you, getting between you and the two men.

“Easy!” you cry. “Roach, heel.” You bury your hands in the fur on his flank. He’s enormous. Your head doesn’t even reach his shoulder. You can’t stop him physically. You need him to listen to you.

Roach steps closer to Soap, staring him down. His breath blows Soap’s hair back.

Soap doesn’t back down just yet. He’s not a threat, right? He proved it to you, now he can prove it to your dog. He hates dogs. Goddamn hates them. Why’d it have to be a dog you were looking for? Big fucking bastard of a dog.

Ghost speaks quietly from just over Soap’s shoulder. “No sudden moves.”

“Easy,” Soap says, raising his hands slowly in what he hopes is a peacemaking gesture. The rifle is slung over his shoulder, out of sight as it can get, and he tries to relax his posture.

You duck around Roach and stand between him and Soap. “Calm down, Roach,” you say again, like you’re talking to a misbehaving terrier instead of staring up at an animal three times your size. “They’re friends. See?”

You grab Soap’s arm and lace your fingers together with his. He tenses in surprise, but you ignore it. Roach goes quiet and looks at you, cocking his head. You hold your joined hands up to his nose to sniff.

Soap looks from you to the dog and back to you. Underneath the tension laced through his whole body, he’s impressed.

Roach sniffs Soap's fingers with yours and seems to relax. You reach up and scratch the fur under Roach��s chin—or as close as you can reach, standing on your toes—and you bring Soap’s hand up to do the same.

"Looks like you're approved,” you say with a little too much surprise in your voice.

Soap swallows as he touches his fingers to Roach's tangled fur, trying not to think about those stories of dogs being able to smell fear. But he forces himself to unclench, just a bit. He's glad you're both okay. And glad he's not about to get snapped in half by a giant fuckoff hellhound.

Roach takes another massive, curious sniff of your hands. Then he moves on to sniffing the top of Soap's head. Then he lowers his enormous maw and licks Soap with a giant tongue.

Soap grimaces. He looks more grossed out than defensive, at least. You smirk.

Ghost makes no move to join the handholding circle. "Not the strangest travelers we've seen, but close," he says. He glances over his shoulder, shifting his rifle impatiently. The others are cleaning up the group of zeds, but the quicker they can get out of here, the better. It’s never a good idea to be out in the city for too long. Especially not somewhere any shambling creature could wander up in the dark.

Soap shoots Ghost a look before glancing back at you. You're still standing close. He lets go of your hand. It's calloused, he notes, like his. It wasn’t like that before. "You've got a way with beasts."

You walk down Roach’s flank, checking for injuries. “He’s not a beast. He’s my dog. You’ve seen what the mutagen does to animals, right? The ones it doesn’t kill. Changes them.” You pat Roach’s flank fondly. “But I adopted him before all this started, back when he was just a normal dog.”

"No one gets to be normal anymore," Ghost mutters.

Soap chuckles. "Well, he's a bloody tank now, isn't he? Big lad. How the hell you keepin' him fed?"

Ghost examines the bite mark you left on his hand. "Got a hunch.”

"I'd apologize, but you shouldn't grab people who don't want to be grabbed," you tell Ghost. "You're lucky I didn't go for my knife instead.

Ghost gives you a flat look. “I’d say you’re the lucky one for deciding against it.”

“Easy, LT.”

Ghost scoffs. "She's just much a beast as the hound.”

You finish your inspection and find nothing major. Just scrapes and bruises. Nothing bleeding. No open wounds to attract more zeds, thankfully. Relieved, you return to Soap and Ghost again, giving Roach another scratch under the chin. Then you notice blood on Soap’s leg, soaking into his jeans. “Is that blood yours?” you ask him.

Soap glances down. "Aye. Took a swipe from one of those undead bastards. It's nothin’.”

"Doesn't look like nothing," Ghost says.

"It's just a little blood. I'm fine," Soap says. He steps away, but staggers on his injured leg. Ghost appears instantly to support him at the shoulder.

You step back, grimacing. Open wounds are risky. There's always risk of infection. Worse, the smell of blood attracts muties.

"I said it's fine," Soap says, but his voice is strained. He's in more pain than he wants to let on.

"Let me see that." Ghost kneels and pulls Soap's pant leg up to examine it. Then he grunts and stands back up. "It's a bad gash, but it's not life-threatening."

"Mm," Soap agrees, obviously trying not to cause more worry for his teammate. "I'm fine. Just gotta walk it off. Be peachy tomorrow." Blood drips around his boot heel.

"You'd better get going," you tell them. "Sun's coming up."

"You'd better find somewhere safe yourself, hen," Soap says. "It's a horror show out here in the daytime. Runners clusterin’ in packs--"

"She'll be fine," Ghost mutters. "Take care of the log in your own eye before you worry about the splinter in hers."

You pat Roach. "Found what I came for. Thanks for that, ah... for your help, Soap."

"Aye. You're a scrapper, that's for sure. Good to know you've got a lot more muscle with that one backing you up." He nods at Roach.

Ghost helps him stand up straight. The three of you make your way back to the entrance of the tunnel. By now, Soap’s crew has cleared away enough that they can help Soap out as Ghost boosts him up. They offer the same to you, but you refuse. They hurry out of the way as Roach shoulders his way through the comparatively tiny passageway. He squeezes through, widening it, and you follow easily. More soldiers than you expect—all dressed and outfitted like Soap and Ghost, armed and armored to the teeth—watch from behind buildings and over rooftops. You get the feeling that they have eyes on every zed in this half of the city. Several of the soldiers converge on you, moving like shadows, to help Ghost heft Soap along.

You tread with the group until you reach the edge of the city. Or maybe it’s the edge of the forest. The tree line half-swallows the streets and homes.

“Look after yourself out there,” Soap calls over his shoulder. You salute wordlessly in reply, and his eyes linger.

You watch them make their way out of the city, disappearing into the enormous trees and tall grass. Once they’re gone from view, Roach nudges you gently.

"I know, I know," you mumble.

He sits on his haunches to let you to climb up and take your seat on his back. You take off running to the east, leaving them behind.

That would have been the end of it. Except it's not long before pass by more runners—more than two dozen of them. They don't bother with Roach, smelling the mutagen affecting him and missing your smell completely smothered in his—but the direction they're heading, they'll run head-on into Soap’s party for sure. And with Soap injured, the smell of blood, being outnumbered...

Dread and guilt coil in your stomach. It doesn't matter how good they are. They'll be overwhelmed.

But it doesn't matter, right? You have what you came for. You should keep going. Mind your business. Stay alive.

Roach paws at the ground, agitated, and you realize you’ve unconsciously pulled him to a stop. You glance up, checking the sun’s distance from the horizon. You owe them. They helped you. Wouldn’t you be dead without them?

You let out a long, irritated groan. Then you nudge Roach to turn around. “Let’s go get them,” you mutter.

Roach bounds off into the trees, his nose leading you both back to Soap, Ghost, and the others once again.

A few of the men almost jump out of their skin when they see the shape and size of Roach bounding toward them.

Roach pulls up beside them in a flurry of grass and dirt clods. “There’s a group of maybe thirty zeds heading this way,” you say, looking at Soap from your high mount. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world for you to be doing. “You’d better hurry or they’ll swarm you.”

Soap and Ghost exchange a look. “We’re moving as fast as we can,” Ghost says. “If they catch up, we fight like we always do.”

“You won’t be able to fight them all. Not without a few of you getting picked off.”

“We won’t abandon your own.”

“She’s just tellin’ us what she’s seen,” Soap says. “Wouldn’t have come back otherwise. Best to leave me out here and hustle back to camp. Easier to hide one person than a whole group. Can’t have you all dying just because I was a right idiot and got myself hurt."

Ghost glares at him. "That's not up for debate.”

Soap smirks back. "You sayin' I can't handle myself?"

"No one's leaving you here. You're coming with us, one way or another.”

"Hell," Soap mutters. He groans from the pain. "Amnae riskin' the team over my injury."

You listen to them bicker, shifting as you try to calculate how much time they have before the muties get here. Not long.

You should just leave now, right? You told them what was coming, which is more than they'd usually get. They can fend for themselves, right? They've done it before. A hundred times, probably. And if you stay, you're putting Roach at risk too.

But Soap's leg... that happened to him because he was helping you. God dammit. You can't just let this go. That's another favor you owe him.

You have Roach lay down and hop off him.

"Hey," you bark over their arguing. "Get on. Hurry."

They both pause. Soap narrows his eyes at you. Getting sniffed at by that big bastard is one thing. But riding him? He gives Roach a very wary look.

Ghost picks up on your plan immediately. He jerks his chin at Soap. "Get on."

...

part 1 / [part 2] / part 3

more Soap / masterlist

[hyukassubi]

Sorry, The Food Is Cold...

Pairing : Husband!Beomgyu x Wife!Reader

Genre : Angst around the middle, bittersweet fluff at the end

Warnings : Aside from Beomgyu getting a little lonely, none!

Synopsis : Beomgyu waits patiently for his wife to return home from work. The clock keeps ticking, and the food is getting cold...

Content : Beomgyu being lonely for like 60% of the whole fic *sob sob*

Wc : 1.2k words

Tag : @itzzz-yerin

The store-bought gyoza sizzles on the pan. Beads of of sweat trickle down Beomgyu's forehead on this cold night, wiping them off with the back of his arm, sleeves pulled up to his elbows.

The only reason he'd pan-fry the entire bag is because he wanted to have someone to share his dinner with- his lover.

You.

And while flipping the wedges of gyoza-goodness, all he could think about was: 'this would go well with some tea'.

The thing is, you weren't even home.

These past couple of days, work had just been piling up on you. It didn't matter how much you enjoyed your work, too much of a good thing is never really a good thing.

But it paid your bills, and all you wanted for you and your husband was a comfy home the both of you could live in for the time being. So, night after night, the hours grew longer, and the longer it took for you to arrive home.

Beomgyu got used to skipping 'golden hour cafe dates' with you, or snuggling up on the couch talking about your work while crocheting that huge floral blanket of yours— you fiddled and played with the wool, he played and kissed your hair. Even hearing the trickle of water as you shower in the bathroom, humming a foreign melody, and he'd smile everytime he heard your voice.

But here he was, at home, couch empty, the only tunes available being the sizzling of oil on the pan and a couple arguing upstairs, and then, a ping on his phone—

A ping on his phone.

Beomgyu jolted to the sink, washing his hands way too fast before wiping them dry and then reaching to his phone and—

An hour had gone by.

Beomgyu finally stood up, skittering into the kitchen. Upon his five-minute search, he scavanged a hoard of tissues, neatly placing them over the dishes. Beomgyu checked his phone again for the first time in a while, only to receive two missed calls from… his high school dance club friends.

He chuckled, walking to… he didn’t know where.

The kitchen? He grabbed a tupperware full of orange slices and walked out.

The living room? The empty couch made without a body to hold to lay on his chest and hair to play with made the apartment seem all the more spacey.

The bedroom? Same reason as the couch, except instead of a couch sits a king sized bed that is empty, not to mention the lingering smell of fresh laundry and flower gardens coming from your closet full of your clothes that have your scent making Beomgyu remember flashes of you.

Beomgyu stood there, in a hall, in the middle of his apartment— your apartment—contemplating.

The balcony it is.

Two hours had gone by.

The thing about Beomgyu was that his voice box never dies out, even after a two hour talkathon with the boys, arguing about how rat infestations in Soobin’s apartment makes his place banned for boys night sleepovers because Beomgyu might just turn his entire kitchen into the korean Ratatouille live action no one asked for but didn’t know they needed.

An intriguing conversation indeed over muscats under the shining stars. Beomgyu settled down for the time being,tracing out figures of kitchenware and forest animals in the sky. Not long after, a semi-cold feeling brushes past him like a wailing ghost in search of heaven in mid-air.

He was lonely.

Beomgyu pressed his lips together, leaning forward from his seat. He thought, maybe if he looked closely enough, somewhere down there, he’d spot a tiny white car planted in the middle of the road, glued in place in that rat trap of traffic.

Except he does see that familiar tiny white car on the road.

Beomgyu’s eyes widened.

My wife!, he thought.

… Although it could just be someone else’s car-

The table started vibrating.

Beomgyu snapped out of his train of thoughts, clinging onto his phone.

“Beomgyu, darling,” that familiar voice that itched the right spots in Beomgyu’s brain flowed into his ears like honey, “I swear, I’m on my way home, it’s just— the traffic is absolutely horrendous right now.” You went on rambling about some sort of traffic light malfunction, a delay at work, bitter coffee that didn’t sit right with your tastebuds and Beomgyu continued to listen , phone pressed to his ears, eyes on the road below simply watching that tiny… little white car.

He didn’t know how long it took until, at some point during all that rambling, he cut your yapping short. “Sweetheart, give me ten minutes—”

“—Wait what do you mean ten min—”

Beomgyu hung up.

He raced to the kitchen, swaddling up two sets of cutlery inside cherry patterned napkins and a tupperware.

If you could drive into the sewers underground sprouting out of the pipes into your apartment, you… wouldn’t because water bills aren’t cheap, not in this economy.

Your forehead slams onto the steering wheel, a loud wail of your horn blaring for ten whole seconds. Home is literally a street-or-two-and-an-additional-U-turn away, you could’ve been home hours ago in the welcoming embrace of your husband, eating his simplistic yet mouth-watering store-bought dishes… holding each other closely while talking about… the future? Life?… Kids? That was still a mile or two hundred away into the future but… it wasn’t impossible now wasn’t it?

Your head fell onto the steering wheel once more.

And when you lifted it back up… Beomgyu???

What… What’s your husband doing on the sidewalk? Waving manically, bookmarking into the tight spaces between car after car.

“Open the roof.” He insisted, he yelled, he- Oh my God, he’s really gonna climb through there???

You felt— What did you feel? How did you feel about this? Is this even real? Your eyes fell on Beomgyu’s left hand, holding onto a small bag.

The roof of the car slid open.

And so did Beomgyu.

Smooth as silk, he dropped into the car.

The roof closed shut.

“What the hell are you doing?” Your question came out confused and flustered all at the same time.

Beomgyu crawled into the passenger seat, unknotting the cloth of the bag. “Thought I’d get some fresh air and make a small delivery!” he passed a fogged up tuperware your way.

For a moment, all you could do is blink. You just blinked. And then, in the next moment, Beomgyu’s tuperware wasn’t clutched in his hand anymore. “This is why I love you so much.” You opened the tuperware, that salty-sweet scent of sauce looming in the congested air.

Beomgyu chuckled. “Because I cook passable food?” Another chuckle, more awkward than the last. “Sorry, the food is cold.”

“Well… you’re thoughtful.” You started slow, swirling a piece of gyoza around the sea of soy sauce. “You’re loving, you’re you. You’re all I want.”

It definitely wasn’t the trick of a million headlights surrounding the happy couple— Choi Beomgyu was blushing, ever so faintly, looking away.

You placed a hand on Beomgyu’s jaw, plopping a piece into his mouth. “Eat up.”

A/n: I had a friend group later in my highschool days whom I thought of as my girl gang once. I've matured since then once I realized how lonely and misunderstood they made me felt, not because they were bad people in any way, but we had different love languages and communication styles the more we grew older *starts playing 'drama' by txt*. I wanted to encapsulate this lonely feeling in the form of a fanfiction, though it is neither of the two parties faults. I wanted to write something that didn't make making a bold/first move feel like walking over eggshells.

🫶 Reblog and review if you like my work 🫶

[carlsangel]

HICKEYS

carl grimes x fem!reader

(carl accidentally leaves a mark.)

tags: make out sesh!!!! slight smut.

masterlist here!

You and Carl always planned to wait for somewhere safe for you guys to properly establish your relationship. You wanted somewhere where you could be normal, to have a normal relationship. While that took quite a while, you two having met just after the prison fell, Alexandria was perfect. It was the exact kind of normal you wanted.

Being that your family had left you at the start of it all, the group was your new family. You stayed with Glenn and Maggie, you bonded a bit while on the road, especially with Maggie. You helped her feel better after losing Beth. Also while on the road, you spent a lot of time with Carl. He found you interesting, you remained the person you were after the turn. You were a normal girl.

You weren’t normal in the wrong ways, you were actually quite far from it except the apocalypse didn’t affect your personality in any way. You made it seem like dealing with walkers is just another boring part of your day. You made survival seem easy. He was practically infatuated by you. He loved how you focused primarily on what made you happy, it gave him hope.

He was always so sweet to you on the road as well, he talked to you when you were bored and stayed silent when you were tired. When you guys stopped to eat or find water, he’d drag you off into the forest where he kissed you for the first time. He’d only be affectionate towards you while you were away from the group, you guys decided that you wouldn’t have a relationship yet, you didn’t need any questions about it until it was the right time.

In your guys’ situation it seemed sort of inappropriate. Always on the run, scavenging, looking for water. You were worried no one would see your relationship out. Even then, you weren’t sure you wanted one. Being on the road was dangerous, you’d lost people before and you didn’t want to feel a huge loss.

Anyway back at Alexandria you two were ecstatic. Your activities consisted of reading at Carl’s house, swimming in the pond, or harassing people. Your favorite to harass was Tara, especially when she was on watch. “You guys are so weird, why don’t you go away and make out somewhere?” She teases. Your laughter sort of dies down as you think about that. She notices and looks at you oddly. “I was kidding…unless you guys actually have a thing for each other. I’d rather not know actually.”

So you ended up leaving her alone and going on a walk instead. No one expected the two of you to be dating, they actually felt the exact opposite. It’s not that they never wanted you to be together, it was more that you guys had protested every single time you were asked about it. But you thought that if you were together, it’d be just wrong. So you continued to keep quiet, you didn’t want any trouble.

Later that day, you two had been hanging out in Carl’s room and things slightly got carried away, maybe because Tara had eluded to it but you both had thought about it for a while. It started with the two of you just sitting on his bed, sat across from each other and leaned forward to give small and short kisses, slight smiles in between each one. It eventually led to him leaning all the way over to you, making the kisses longer and deeper. Then, he jammed his tongue in your mouth. By that point you were laid back and he was over you, running his hand up and down your side all while his tongue massaged yours in your mouth.

It got very heated, his kisses got sloppier and he sucked on your tongue quite urgently, letting small moans into your mouth that you could only reciprocate. He decided to move on and he pressed kisses to the side of your mouth and chin, along your jaw and down your neck. That was the first time he’d gotten that far along your body and he loved it. He loved kissing your neck, once he started he couldn’t stop. It was like a fresh obsession. The kisses were soft, although this hand trailed down and you could feel his fingers hook into your jeans where the button was. It’s like he was making out with your neck at this point.

You can feel his tongue and lips assault at your neck, there’s a small smile on your face, your eyes are closed and you just lay back and enjoy the feeling.

Eventually a knock at the door scared both of you into stillness, Carl’s hand quickly moving away from your jeans.The voice on the other side of the door was bright, it was Maggie who was over for dinner. Right, you were having a family dinner.

“Are you both in there?” She asked politely. You responded with a yes, she refrained from intruding so she stayed outside the room. “Dinners just about ready if y’all wanna come down in a minute.” She replied. “Yeah we’ll be down.”

He rested his forehead against your neck and sighed in frustration. He then decided he wanted to get one more in before you headed downstairs. So he pressed his lips to the center of your neck, although he started to suck at your skin, sort of harshly. At the time, he didn’t think of what marks he could leave on you, he’d completely forgotten he could even leave a mark. He simply just wanted to suck at your neck a little longer. “What’re you doing?” You ask, sort of giggling. He obviously didn’t respond but he tapped the side of your hips. After a moment he pulled back with a grin on his face, wiping the saliva off your neck with his hand.

“Was that necessary?” You inquire jokingly. He nods. “Yeah it was.” You roll your eyes at him and get up, pulling him with you. The two of you head downstairs, hand in hand and Carl helps with setting the table while you help with bringing the food over. The feeling of his lips on your neck lingered and you smiled at the thought. Eventually you were all sat and settled in. You served yourself and began to dine when Maggie cleared her throat. “Darlin?” She spoke gently, trying not to alarm you. You were chewing but you looked at her. “Hm?”

She gestured at her own neck, looking at yours and your eyebrows furrow in confusion. You swallow your food and place your fork down to press your neck, feeling a bit of sensitivity where Carl had sucked at you earlier. Carl looks over at your neck, mid-chew when he spotted the red mark on your neck. Everyone was silent and all the attention was on you. She gestured to another area of her neck and you pressed it, feeling more sensitivity.

“Um…” You say lowly, full of embarrassment. Glenn out of all people chimes in. “Are those…”

“Hickeys.” Rick speaks.

Everyone’s body language made it seem like some sort of interrogation. Maybe you owed them an explanation. Apology? If only someone would say something so you would know which one to give. “I heard about this from Tara.” Michonne states. You both look at her and immediately think back to the conversation you had earlier that day. Snitch.

“How long?” Michonne questions, the two of you look at each other nervously, then back at the adults. “Since the road. After the hospital. Didn’t start dating till we got here..” You reply, somewhat ashamed considering the events that happened at the hospital and the devastation that followed, meanwhile the two of you were distracted by each other. “You’ve kept it from us this whole time?”

“Given the circumstances there was never really a right time…we’re really sorry-”

Rick cuts you off. “Sorry? What’re you apologizin’ for? We already sorta knew.” He smiles a bit and your’s and Carl’s expressions are quite puzzled. “Well, we weren’t sure but…we had an inkling.”

You both just sat there unsure of how to continue the conversation. “So you knew and didn’t say anything?” Carl retorts, frustrated he’d put in so much effort to be sneaky.

“It’s not like it wasn’t obvious.”

a/n: hihiiii i hope ur all well, if you didn’t see my msg this is the last fic i’ll post before i get out my last match up! (prob tmr)

from there, i’ll be writing and posting a short series called ghost in the woods, that’s a fem!reader and i like the idea, i have the plot points all written out but idk how long that’ll take, ill be getting requests out as well throughout that!

anyway ily bye!!!

tag list: @zomb-1-egutzz @lunarnightt @ilikestrawberriesandwomen @hiro--aoki @h00d-tr4sh @callsignwidow

[buckets-and-trees]

Devour: ACID

Fandom: MCU Collection: Devour Title: ACID Characters/Pairings: Mob Boss!Bucky x f!Chef!Reader Word Count: 5.1k

Summary: A month since SALT and three weeks since FAT, your situation with the mob boss who bought your restaurant is still evolving in unexpected ways - including an unexpected episode after work tonight.

Content Warnings: explicit smut, oral: female receiving, analingus: female receiving, vaginal penetration/fucking, some light drinking, mob boss Bucky is kind of dom

Logistical Notes: I had planned for this to punch the ticket for week 10 of my Hot Bucky Summer 2023 collection for the prompt "Long day at work?" and so this is late for the @buckybarnesevents event itself, but I'm a completionist and am marking it off on my personal list for my own satisfaction. Also ticking off the U3: "Kink: Concubine" square of my Bucky Barnes Bingo, Round Five card for @buckybarnesbingo.

Additional Notes: @mlibbydp and @goldylions were so benevolent in doing some beta work on this so HUGE AMOUNTS OF LOVE TO THEM for what they both contributed to the piece and to me personally. This chapter is much longer than the previous two and just as part two evolved their relationship, part three makes some more significant moves and ... I needed the notes on making sure this still felt like Devour. Also... @biteofcherry you might see something interesting in here that's definitely included because of a throwaway comment you made earlier this summer.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

When you walked out into the garage, there was a black luxury SUV idling near the exit with Sam Wilson leaned up against it. Seeing you, he slipped his phone into his pocket and pushed off the side of the vehicle.

“Hey, Chef,” he greeted you with a grin.

“Really?” you sighed. “Now?”

He shrugged. “Please?”

“And is that you asking nicely, or him?”

“You know I just do what he says.”

You huffed. “You don’t always do what he says, but he knows you’re the most charming one and I wouldn’t refuse you.”

Sam laughed as he opened the door to the backseat. “Don’t let the charm fool you, honey, if you said no, I’d throw you in the back regardless, it would just be less fun for you.”

You knew that, too, which is why you simply got in without a fuss. Bucky, Sam, the rest of his men? They were all mobsters running mob business, dangerous beneath the surface.

As the door closed behind you, you looked to the front to see who was driving, then clucked your tongue. “He sent both of you?”

Steve smirked. “Buckle up. And of course he sent us. You don’t think he trusts just anyone with his girl, do you?”

Oh. You bit your bottom lip and looked away and out the window, a small warmth stirring in your belly. As inconveniently annoying as this ordeal seemed to you in this moment, there was that piece. Being his. You were starting to feel it.

You had told Bucky that second night in the restaurant that you needed more than gifts and sex.

He had taken your word seriously.

There had been walks in the park, an auction, brunch on his yacht, a gallery opening, a rooftop wine tasting, even a dinner party at Sam’s place where he ended up proposing to his girl. You had enjoyed all of them, but except for the night at Sam’s, the time with Bucky had been last minute – sometimes there was a text, but most times it was him showing up or – like tonight – someone sent to fetch you without notice. He seemed all too aware of your schedule, so none of these instances were logistically inconvenient, but with it happening once more again tonight, you couldn’t help but notice this pattern of behavior was clearly becoming a habit – being summoned. In general, you didn’t mind, you saw that he was demonstrating that he wanted to spend time with you, but if you were his girl, you didn’t want to be treated  like one of the droves of people who were at his beck and call and certainly not like a concubine kept solely for his whims.

The SUV slowed and pulled up to the curb of an incredibly unremarkable building that spoke to money for how unremarkable it was – the kind of money that demanded magnificence but privacy. You’d never stepped in a place of residence quite like this before – you hadn’t even stepped out of the car yet, but even in the darkness you already knew.

Both men slipped out of the front seat. Sam opened your door and offered his hand to pull you to the sidewalk. “No frowns needed tonight,” he said.

“Says you.” You didn’t realize you were frowning.

Sam grinned, then headed around to take the driver’s seat just as Steve appeared at your side.

“I’ll walk you up,” Steve gestured for you to enter the building with him.

“This is his place?”

“One of them,” Steve responded.

You took a deep breath and followed him in.

Sharp looking doormen, green marble floors, golden elevators.

Chatting with Steve was always easy, and it was no different on the fifteen-floor ride up to the penthouse at the top of the building. However, you did feel a touch of nerves as this was your first time at Bucky’s place. You weren’t quite sure what to expect but were keen to learn more about this enigma of a man by seeing where he lived.

And there he was, ready to meet you as the doors of the elevator opened, hands in his pockets, tired smile on his face, but his blue eyes dancing with excitement, and that stirred the storm of butterflies immediately in your stomach. He reached out a hand to pull you into him.

“Thanks, Steve,” he said, though he didn’t take his eyes off you.

“Sure thing, Buck.”

Once the elevator closed, Bucky brushed his fingers over your cheek, cradled your head in his hand to tilt your jaw up, and then his lips were on yours, your back pressed up against the wall. Within moments you were breathless.

In the intervening weeks since seeing him at the restaurant he’d also kept his physical contact minimal, only a few light touches, an arm around you when it seemed natural for the occasion, except for two lingering kisses. One of those instances was after a walk in the park when he’d kissed you full on in the afternoon daylight, then deposited you into the car he’d arranged to take you directly to work, where his heated kiss had distracted you throughout your shift. The second was three nights ago, the last time you saw him, and that had been only a ghosting of his lips against your ear, along your jaw, and then a soft kiss pressed to your mouth before withdrawing and leaving you at your door, but it had gotten your whole body humming for him and haunted you as you went to sleep and in your dreams.

This, after so long, so much wanting, was like a wave crashing over you. You moaned softly, you let him pull you in, melting against him, and you nearly let him sweep you away, but then you pressed insistently against his chest.

“James.”

“Yes?” he did move back, but only enough to look into your face fully.

“What is this?”

“I wanted to see you.”

“So, you just summon me?”

You knew he didn’t miss the tenor of agitation in your tone because he dipped his head into the crook of your neck, and you could feel the smirk before he pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the juncture at your shoulder. “I was hungry for you,” he said, completely undeterred. And as his lips moved solely along your throat, your core begged you to forget the conversation you were attempting to have.

“Why?” you barely managed to ask.

“You know why.”

“Do I?”

Bucky pulled back again, frowning this time, but you put your hand on his face to soften his reaction. “Steve and Sam said I’m your girl, but…”

“I told you you were mine. Surely over the past few weeks, you can’t doubt that.” His stare into your eyes was steady, straight.

You didn’t doubt him.

You did need to hear those words said just that way though. You didn’t know how much you had needed to hear them.

It gave you the surety to say what you needed to say to him. “I’m not just another girl. No more summoning me, Barnes. I’m not one of your people, I’m not your plaything.” With your hand now resting on his chest, you let your fingers brush soft strokes up and down over his heart. “If you want me, want all of me.”

He hadn’t interrupted your statement. He’d let you finish without argument. You could see the way his face changed, and the shift of the intensity in his eyes made your breath catch. He drew you in closer, encircling his arms around your waist. “Oh, I want everything, don’t doubt that.” He brushed his lips softly on your forehead. “I was only waiting for you to want this.” 

Your chest tightened at those words, but the next moment you couldn’t think because then he kissed you again.

And that kiss, though brief, was thick with heat, and when he pulled back he said, “I see your point about the summoning. Just know that I was eager to have you around at any opportunity.”

You smiled because he smiled. “I can forgive you for that – I guess I can be a bit irresistible,” you teased. Somehow his confidence made you feel steady enough with him to be direct, to be flirtatious, to simply be around him.

He brought a hand to your cheek again. “I’ll mend my ways, but let’s be honest… a little bit of you likes it – the spontaneity of it.” His smile turned to a truly wolfish grin.

You sighed but rolled your eyes playfully. “Maybe a little.”

He stepped away, taking your hand. “Come. You can have a tour later.”

Rather than asking where you were going, you simply let him lead you through the grand apartment. You didn’t take in every detail, but it was big without being too big. Rich and luxurious without being cold or opulent. There were sleek lines, but also elements of warm and comfort folded into the power that was also clearly on display. But your focus was on the way he held your hand and led you through his domain. He had no question that you would follow.

Were you so easily his?

No.

Your mind wasn’t made up.

You weren’t all in, but you weren’t reeling to run away.

He stopped in front of a mahogany door and looked over his shoulder at you. You arched your brow.

“Close your eyes,” he said.

“Alright.” And you did.

He opened it, and you let him lead you inside, through a room, clearly walking you past some furniture. You heard the sound of a fire in a fireplace, then you heard another door opening, and he ushered you in front of him and through that door. “Take your time,” he said softly, lips against your ear. “I’ll be waiting.” He pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, and then he was gone, shutting the door behind you.

You opened your eyes to the sight of a large jade green-tiled shower enclosed with glass and four gleaming gold showerheads. Turning around, you couldn’t help a soft giggle falling from your lips. The lavish bathroom was sheer perfection. Showering after your shifts at the restaurant was ritual for you. You toed off your shoes and began peeling off your clothes. Off to the side of the palatial shower, there was a gorgeous clawfoot tub, and next to that a plush navy settee with what looked like some silky things set out for you. After inspecting the knobs and heads of the shower, you got them running, adjusting them to the perfect water temperature easily, and stepped under the streams, a sigh falling immediately from your lips.

One of the shelves was stocked with some of the skin and haircare products you used, some you hadn’t but certainly knew the name and reputation of (but hadn’t indulged in for yourself), and the other shelf was stocked with men’s products. It reminded you of the significance of where you were – in his home – and the element of intimacy it evoked, being naked where he had been and would frequently be again. Where he likely would be naked with you. You bit your lip. You pulled down the bottle of his shower gel, popped the top open, and inhaled. You hated how much you already loved that smell.

No, you didn’t.

You inhaled deeply again, then set it back on the shelf.

After that, you set to reveling in the flow of the water over your body, and got to washing, unsure of the time, only focused on the smooth feel of the soap and textures over your skin, feeling more and more relaxed, and ultimately refreshed and clean.

Once you had shut off all four showerheads, you reached for towels more plush than any you had ever used in your life and dried yourself off before wrapping the large bath sheet around your torso. You padded over to the settee to discover a short black silk robe waiting for you.

And nothing else.

You shook your head but grinned. “Audacious bastard,” you whispered.

But you didn’t bother with anything else.

At the vanity there were more hair, face, and body care products and tools clearly stocked for you – again some familiar and some you’d only dreamed of, none of this really a shock given your experience with this man. You weren’t certain how long you’d taken in the shower, having lost track of time, but here you suddenly did find yourself trying to take more time, a small fluttering of nerves in your stomach, because though he'd had his way with you in the kitchen of the restaurant and discreetly pulled an orgasm from you at the table in the dining room, this would be different.

Tonight, your body would be his, no restrictions. There was no worry for privacy, no limited amount of time.

There were also emotions now.

You had set the terms – that you needed to be more than a body to him – and he’d met them, courting the rest of you these past weeks, and putting the physical on the back burner.

He had made his intentions for tonight expressly clear.

And you wanted him, too.

But you were still nervous.

When you put your hand on the doorknob, you closed your eyes for a moment, taking one deep breath to steady yourself. Then you stepped out and into the next room, which – to no surprise – was a grand and spacious bedroom. Bucky was sitting on a couch in front of the fireplace you’d heard earlier, but immediately set a book aside and stood when he heard you. You were happy – and feeling a little more heat in your core – to see he was out of his earlier clothes and down to only a pair of silk pajama bottoms.

“How was your shower?” he asked, standing up and beckoning you over.

“The shower was glorious. You’re a bit wicked to only leave me a robe, though, aren’t you?”

He placed a kiss to your forehead and motioned to get comfortable on the couch while he moved over to a small bar cart nearby to get you a drink. He shot a smug over his shoulder. “I plan to get lucky.”

You snorted. “You brought me here late at night, kissed me like you did earlier, sent me to shower, left me only a very slinky silk robe to wear, and then greet me again looking like this,” you gesture at him, “fixing me a drink, and you call that ‘planning to get lucky?’”

He shrugged, his smug grin only growing. “Do you think there’s any way in hell I’d be where I am if I hadn’t strategically hedged my bets? Absolutely I plan to get lucky. I make sure I don’t give luck any reason not to go my way.”

You didn’t need alcohol. He was beyond intoxicating. He had been from that first night.

“And I’m assuming I don’t get a choice of drink tonight, either?”

He looked at you again. “I let you choose a lot of things, but I want you to try this. I think you’ll like it.”

You bit your lip and tucked your legs up under you, draping an arm over the back of the couch and facing him as well as where he would return to sit once finished mixing your drinks. His back was to you now, and you were not surprised he seemed to want to keep his preparation a mystery at least for a few more moments.

“Long day at work?”

“Work?” You weren’t expecting such a normal inquiry about it.

“Yes,” he chuckled, “work, my beautiful, talented chef.”

He handed you a wine glass with clear liquids over ice, garnished with fresh mint and slices of lemon, while he had what looked to be a whiskey smash in his other hand. You took an experimental sip as he sat close to you, angling his body to face you, resting his arm over the back of the couch as well. The citrus and mint blended with something floral and…

You swished the contents of your drink in your glass before taking another sip. It was bright and refreshing and not quite the evening night cap you would have expected.

He watched your face, gaging your assessment as he sipped his own drink.

“What is this?” you asked.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes,” you countered, “but what is it, James?”

Your name on his lips ticked the corner up in a half smile. “It’s a Hugo cocktail.”

“It’s not a predictable choice for the middle of the night.”

“It wasn’t my intention to bring you hear and tuck you in straight away.”

You laughed. “There’s no question what your intentions were. We established that.”

He tilted his head slightly. “You’re not picking up on all my intentions.”

Your brow furrowed. Then you let out a little yip of surprise as he pulled you closer, you clutching your wine glass to keep from spilling the drink.

He had already positioned himself close to you, but this was even more intimate. You were nearly in his lap, and he did pull your legs up to drape across his thighs.

“Now tell me about your day.”

“Oh, you were serious.”

His hand settled on one of your bare thighs, just next to your knee.

“If I didn’t want all of you, I would’ve fucked you in the foyer and let you go home. I want this, too. Now talk.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but you smiled. This really was him – demanding but not inflexible, and certainly giving you more than you expected.

So, you did talk, just as you had been really starting to the more he had brought you around to spend the time with him these last weeks. However, there was no getting around that this was more intimate. No others around, no distractions, no functionality of a thing you were doing together, only the two of you.

His line of inquiry was genuine, and he listened intently.

Almost too intently.

You were his singular fixation, and you knew he was thinking of nothing but you as you spoke.

And his fingers brushed idly over your thigh as you conversed.

The soft, repetitive motion wasn’t distracting at first, but it wasn’t long before it was an overwhelming tease of what wasn’t happening.

The physical touch you hadn’t experienced at his hand in weeks.

He was asking questions about how some of the new members of your kitchen staff were integrating, and all you wanted him to do was glide that hand down between your thighs.

You sipped at your drink, and as you continued to talk, you let your other hand drift to rest on his arm still draped over the back of the couch, and your fingers traced along a vein on his forearm. Although it was difficult not to let your eyes drop to his bare chest, you kept his gaze. If he was going to continue talking like this proximity and the lack of clothing between you both wasn’t affecting him, you were determined to match him.

Finally, he moved his hand from your thigh, but it went straight to your waist to curl just above your hip. “Kiss me,” he said.

You leaned forward and pressed your lips hungrily to his without hesitation. He set his drink to the side, then grabbed yours to do the same. With both your hands free, neither of you wasted another moment. Your hands went to his neck while one of his hands traveled slowly up your spine, the other holding your face. As impatient as you were for him, both of you kissed to savor, but there was no rush to it. His lips moved against yours, your tongues explored together, tracing, memorizing, exploring. It wasn’t enough, the tenor moving from savoring to consuming, and you shifted, moving into his lap.

He broke off the kiss briefly, turning his head to the side, but his left hand remained firmly against your back, keeping you close, and you rested your forehead against his temple. His other hand reached to the side table, and he plucked one of the slices of lemon and some mint from your drink. Curious, you lifted your head away. He brought the mint leaf to your mouth first, pressing it along your bottom lip. Then he pinched the fruit against your lip. The mint played with the acid of the citrus deliciously as he kissed you again, this time each of you nipping and licking intermittently through the kisses. Your hands explored the broad planes of his chest now, and his hands raked up and down your sides, thumbs skimming over the side swells of your breasts.

Keen for more, you pressed your body closer to him, pushing your core directly against the hardness of his cock. Rocking your hips, you drew a debauched moan from him that made you swell with pride and made your pussy ache even more for him. You needed him, each moment driving that need exponentially now.

The thick arms and broad chest you were getting to explore freely for the first time held only some of the rippling muscles that made it seemingly easy to push up off the couch while still holding you close with one arm, and it made a broken whine escape the back of your throat. You wrapped your legs around his torso, and his other hand squeezed and held your ass against him as he moved you from the seating area across the room to the bed. He tossed you down on the mattress, then pushed the silky robe – which was naturally already askew – off your body and flung it away. You pushed yourself back a bit more on the bed, and he was only a half second behind crawling up after you.

He pushed your legs wide open, and dove immediately for your dripping cunt. You laughed, a little flushed, but also more than ready for him to bury his face between your thighs. You let your head fall back against the soft bedding, closing your eyes. Then you yelped as there was a sharp slap to your pussy instead of his lips on your folds. You jerked up to look at him, and the devilish grin on his face, the darkening of his eyes made your heart stutter.

“Don’t laugh, Chef, I told you I was hungry for you. Keep your eyes on me,” he said.

You took a deep breath, leaned back on your elbows, and gave him a solemn nod.

He pressed kisses slowly along your inner thigh, his deep blue eyes locked on yours. The fluttering in your stomach rose steadily, your pussy desperate for his attention. When he planted his lips in the crease of your thigh, he left his mouth there. A broken whimper leapt from your throat, and you pushed your hips up. 

He pushed your hips back down with one of his large hands and moved his mouth the opposite direction and bit at the tender flesh of your inner thigh, making you yelp.

“Please,” you murmured.

“Eager for me?”

“Yes,” you answered without hesitation.

“Good.”

And then he worshiped your cunt, kissing it with as much fervor as he had kissed your mouth, and you moaned openly, no worries over anyone but him hearing you here. You didn’t look away, completely captivated because this was also a new level of intimacy that you felt both ready and unprepared for. Receiving oral sex from other partners had never felt so purposeful. This man in this moment was so avid in the way he was pleasing you, making you watch him, you brain was having a hard time recalling if sex with anyone before him had ever been so intense. You didn’t think it had – that first night when he’d demanded it from you in the kitchen, the next time he’d coaxed you into a few moments of pleasure in the dining room, and now inviting you here to have you without restraint – each encounter had been unlike anything before.

The pleasure was overwhelming as his lips and tongue licked, sucked, flicked your clit, delved into your folds, and he kept a keen eye on your every reaction. You began to feel lightheaded with the mounting waves of bliss, your toes curling, breaths coming in short gasps until your head fell back because you simply couldn’t look at him anymore, couldn’t do anything but feel, ready to fall over the edge because of him again.

But then he pulled his face away, jerking you back from that edge of ecstasy and you would have whined, but he was already manhandling your hips to flip you over. One of his rough palms smoothed slowly and firmly up your spine, applying delicious pressure, but you still felt the lack from the orgasm he’d dangled then withdrawn. “James,” you moaned. “James, please.”

He drew his palm slowly back down your spine. “You’ll have me, Chef, don’t doubt that.”

You whined again, but he pushed your thighs apart and slotted himself again between them, holding you splayed open for him with his broad shoulders. It was a little uncomfortable, stretching your legs, but you settled and breathed through it anticipating what was coming next.

His tongue teased at your clit for a moment, then slowly licked up and between your folds to dive into your cunt, lapping inside, and you shivered. But then one of his hands pushed at your ass cheek and his tongue continued moving up, and you gasped and tried to move away when the tip of his tongue teased your tight, puckered hole.

“Easy,” he said softly but firmly, his other hand moving beneath you and hooking at the juncture of your thigh to pull your hips back flush against him. He pressed a kiss to your round ass cheek.

“I’ve never,” you admitted enough, he knew what you meant. He kissed the same spot on your ass cheek, but then he shifted, and you felt him moving up over your back, his body pressing lightly against you until he was up at your shoulder. He pressed a kiss there, and then looked at you.  

“Then I won’t give you more than my tongue tonight, but you know I’ll make you feel good, don’t you?”

You nodded.

He smiled, then left the ghost of a kiss to your temple and slipped back down behind you.

Resuming his exact same positioning, his left hand curling under to anchor at the juncture of your leg, his right pressing you open to expose your ass, you pressed your cheek into the pillow and took a deep breath. You reached your left hand down to meet his, and he twined his fingers reassuringly with yours as they sought him. Then his mouth pressed in, and his tongue darted out, swiping over the tight ring of muscle.

“Just relax and feel,” he instructed.

You concentrated on breathing and then the new sensation. Unexpected. Then a different kind of pressure, then pleasure. It wasn’t awful as had always been insinuated. It was debauched more than anything else, and he soon had you moaning and panting and wriggling back against his tongue which alternated between lapping at the hole and teasing in and out. It was when you pushed hard back against him that he pressed a kiss again there and pulled back.

“I know what you like.”

It wasn’t a brag; it was a statement of possession that sent a shiver through your body. Because he was right, and you couldn’t deny that.

“Now come here,” he said, pulling you by your hips up to kneel, presenting for him. “Such pretty folds.” His fingers circled your clit, then slipped briefly inside your cunt, drawing a happy gasp from you.

He grabbed his thick member and brushed the tip up and down over your sensitive parts a few times as you pushed up on your elbows, your back arched in a beautiful bow for him. When you looked over your shoulder at him, he finally sunk his cock into you. His hips pushed forward against you slowly until he was completely buried inside you, filling you, pressing so intimately into you. Fully sheathed, he stayed there for a moment, and he ran his hands over your hips and your lower back, caressing, relishing in the fill. He pulled back slowly, but only a couple of inches, then pushed back in, clearly wanting to relish in this for a moment. You had no desire to rush him either.

When his hands gripped your hips, you dropped your forehead to rest your forearm on the mattress, and then he began to fuck you, building a steady rhythm. He built up bit by bit, and you both let words and sounds fall out of your mouths as the physical feelings increased in intensity. Having been so close twice, when he finally moved a hand to rub expert circles into your throbbing clit, your body quickly responded in releasing your orgasm, and your spasming walls pulled him right along with you, and he came with a shout over your moans, a stuttered thrust, and then he continued a few more pushes, his hot spend coating your walls.

He wrapped an arm around your stomach and pressed kisses into your back, and you curled up into him with a hum of contentment.

When he pulled out, he reached over to the bedside table to retrieve a waiting damp hand towel – you shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d prepared to this detail – and then cleaned you up and then him before tossing it away. He stroked your back once more, then scooped you to your side, and pulled your naked and spent body to him so he could spoon up against you. You put your arm over his, and he nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

“Stay?” he murmured simply into your ear.

This you didn’t answer immediately. You let your chest fill and empty with a few breaths, weighing your answer between your head and your heart. But neither of them fought to leave.

“Okay,” you finally breathed.

He settled in even closer, then reached for the sheets to pull up over the both of you. “I told you that first night that you would warm my bed.”

“Don’t be smug,” you protested.

“I’m not,” he insisted, and pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, “I’m only pleased I’ve finally got you here.”

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

next part: HEAT

[candycandy00]

Forest Guide - A Toji x Reader Fanfic

Smut. 18+. Toji x Fem Reader. Rough sex. Virgin reader. Size difference. Breeding. Monster fucking. Non-con! Dividers by @benkeibear!

Part of CandyCandy’s 2k Followers Event! Any feedback whatsoever would be adored! For @idk1375.

When you heard the rumors of a werewolf stalking the woods in the next town over, you figured it would be a great topic for your supernatural themed podcast. So you packed up your gear and headed on over. You put a post on a local forum asking for a guide to take you into the forest, explaining that you were investigating the werewolf rumors, and a man named Toji volunteered. He didn’t even ask to be paid. 

So now you find yourself standing in front of the man as he introduces himself. The first thing you notice is that he’s huge, so much taller than you that you have to crane your neck to look up at his face. He’s ruggedly handsome, with dark hair and the kind of physique men spend years in the gym trying to obtain. All of this combined with his deep voice makes him the kind of man you want to call “Daddy”.

You follow him into the woods, thinking to yourself that he could probably fight off a werewolf with his bare hands. He makes friendly conversation along the way, telling you about some of the rumors you’ve heard, but seeming to have more information about each incident than you read online. Probably because he’s a local. 

He leads you so deeply into the forest that the sun is almost completely blotted out by the trees, making it seem much later and darker than it actually is. It looks like night has fallen, though you know it’s only the afternoon. 

Toji stops in a clearing, surrounded on all sides by towering trees, and turns to look at you. 

“This is the werewolf’s favorite spot to take his victims and feed,” he tells you, a lazy smile on his lips. 

Huh? How does he know that? Wait…

You turn to run back out the way you came, not wanting to wait and find out if your terrible assumption is correct. Either he’s a serial killer pretending to be a werewolf, or…

An ear splitting howl assaults your ears as you reach the tree line, and you hear the sound of fabric ripping. You can’t resist. Two years of running a podcast dedicated to exactly this sort of thing has made you too curious, so you find yourself looking back, even though the logical part of your brain is telling you not to. 

Charging straight for you is Toji, his shirt completely ripped off and his pants shredded. He’s at least nine feet tall now, and the outer edges of his body are covered in a thin layer of black shiny fur. His chest and abdomen, trailing down until his pants cover the rest, are bare, like the reverse of a normal hairy man. 

He catches you in an instant, forcing you to the forest floor on your back, the claws on his hands digging into your shoulders and drawing blood. He leans over you, and you can see that his face has remained nearly unchanged, except for glowing red eyes and a full set of razor sharp teeth.

“You were lookin’ for a werewolf,” he says, his voice even deeper than before, “well you found one, girlie!”

You shriek in terror, thrashing about wildly beneath him. But it’s no use. He’s far too big, too heavy, too strong, for you to budge even an inch. 

“Please don’t kill me!” you cry pitifully, tears streaming down your face as your body goes limp. 

He grins, showing off his teeth. “Now why would I do that to a cute little thing like you?”

With that, he rips off your T-shirt with one swipe, as if it’s made of tissue paper. Next go your shorts, and even your panties, leaving you stunned and completely exposed. 

You scream again, clamping your legs shut, a renewed vigor in your struggle as you realize what he intends to do. 

“I could smell it on you the moment we met,” he says, pinning your bare arms above your head. “You’re untouched by a man.”

You freeze, your eyes widening and your skin burning with embarrassment. He knows you’re a virgin, from scent alone?

He draws back slightly and lets his red eyes roam over your nude body, settling on the spot you’re trying to hard to protect with your pressed thighs. 

“I could smell something else too,” he adds, a low rumbling chuckle escaping his wide mouth. 

He leaves one large hand to hold your wrists together, and lets the other slide down, effortlessly parting your thighs despite your best efforts to keep them closed. You flinch as you feel a clawed finger glide up your slit, then he holds the finger up so that you can see the sticky, glistening fluid dripping off it. 

“I could smell this.”

You close your eyes and turn your face away, too humiliated and horrified to look at him. But he grips your face and turns it back to him. “Don’t go closin’ your eyes, girlie. You’ll wanna see what’s coming.”

You open your eyes and watch, petrified, as he rips the shredded remains of his pants off. And there, between his muscular, fur-covered legs, is a gigantic erection. You’ve heard the term “monster cock” before, but you never imagined even a real, literal monster cock would be this huge. You scream, trying again to close your legs, but he’s already positioned himself between them. 

“Please, no! That thing will kill me!”

He leans his face down close to yours. “I think you can take it,” he says. Then he closes his mouth over yours, plunging his tongue into you, just as he shoves his entire, giant cock into your virgin pussy. 

You scream into his mouth, the sound muffled by his lips, as your body jerks with pain. He gives a few deep, ripping thrusts before he breaks the kiss, grinning down at your sobbing face. “Don’t pass out,” he tells you as your vision starts to go fuzzy. He releases your wrists, knowing there’s nothing you can do regardless, and slowly rakes his claws down your chest. It’s not enough pressure to draw blood, but enough to make you snap to attention at the possibility. 

He fucks into you, so hard and deep that you have no idea how you’re still alive and not bleeding out. He watches your face, making sure you’re awake and aware, eventually moving one hand down to where your bodies meet. Again, you feel a clawed finger in your slick folds, but this time he finds your clit, stroking it and then gently scraping his claw across it. 

You jolt, the unexpected pleasure hitting you like a truck. And then his mouth is on yours again, absorbing the pitiful moans you can’t suppress. 

When you cum, even you are shocked, staring up at him with a stunned, tear-streaked face as your body trembles. 

He laughs again. “Look at you! Cummin’ on my cock even though it’s your first time gettin’ fucked! This little pussy feels so good, I might just put a pup in you!”

You shake your head frantically. “No no no!”

But it’s too late. He shoves in as deeply as he can, and you feel his thick, hot cum filling your womb all the way up. 

He stays that way, buried completely inside you, until he’s sure he’s emptied himself. Then he pulls out. You look down, see that his cock is covered in blood and cum, and you fall back against the ground, exhausted. 

He stands up, and as he does so, reverts to his handsome human form. “If you survive, I’m gonna make you my bride,” he says. You don’t have the energy to respond. He bends down and picks your sore, twitching body up from the ground. “But first, let me take you back to my place and lick your wounds.”

Heat floods your face at those words. You reflexively curl against his strong chest, wondering if you’re now living a nightmare, or a dream. 

[catholic-character-tournament]

Round 1 - Side B

firestar art by @kudos-si-do

Propaganda below ⬇️

Kirei

He fucked up so many people's lives so badly in just one decade (not on purpose) that the universe put him in the summoning pool of all world influencing souls. He doesnt really have any special powers but he does serve as a vessel for rasputin at one point. He's the guy who says "people die when they are killed"

please please please there's literally a type moon character in the gif on the top of this form so it's typemoonphobic if none of them get in but it shouldn't be her it should be kirei bc he's 50x funnier & more iconic than jeanne. funny lil murder priest who's fucking THE gilgamesh (from the epic of) in the church basement and dies in a knife fight w a 17 year old whose dad he wanted to fuck back in '94 before realizing that he was actually kinda lame and he's been bitter abt it ever since. he has an orphan torture factory in his basement but he's also canonically good at being a priest. he's so funny you should def try his mapo tofu i swear it's totally safe for human consumption and not made with any california reapers. did i mention he's a deadbeat dad.

Priest claims to be Pro Life to make Sakura Matou the most miserable girl on the planet, but he dies anyway.

bro became a catholic because he loves suffering

He’s a priest. Kind of. Not a very good priest obviously. There is something seriously wrong and fucked up with that man. It’s so entertaining.

he's gotta be one of the most insane catholic men ever with a very in-depth and interesting relationship with his religion and his relationship with god also he's the sexiest man ever to be conceptualized in the known universe and all of time

Will never forget the 40+ minute monologue in heavens feel being a thinly veiled metaphor for abortion

he wants to torment churchgoers and make them face their failures and suffering but all he ends up doing is motivate them to improve themselves. cringefail moment for him

he's absolutely insane. the coldhearted mercenary that barely reacts to anything is terrified of kirei. he's super fucked up. his ult in stay night is literally him channeling divine power into something called kyrie eleison. he's the vessel of rasputin (on account of being a priest with a huge....no i shant say) the biblical beast in grand order among other things. he gets drunk with and tops gilgamesh from the epic of gilgamesh in the church basement after gilgamesh from the epic of gilgamesh bats his eyes a little too hard at kirei in some of the horniest shot scenes ive ever seen. he also used to be a heretical "fixer" for the church, cleaning up scenes that would expose shit to the public. uhh what else. he holds cool swords between his fingers like a kid pretending to be wolverine but in my favorite route he just squares the hell up with the protagonist and they fight to the death outside planned parenthood

Firestar

Kitty jesus, he believes in starclan which is the kitty version of heaven/god and yea. All the warrior cats characters except those outside the clans or those that are atheist believe in the kitty heaven and would irl be bri-ish and christian as hell so. The authors are all older british christian women and so the way starclan is written is like undoubtedly that.

The main religion in the series is extremely catholic coded. Most clan cats believe in Starclan and the Dark Forest(or heaven and hell). There is a set of rule they must uphold and follow, where following them leads to heaven and breaking them leads to hell. Their religious leaders are sworn to celibacy, and the punishments that "code breakers"(or cats who break the rules) face are extremely similar to situations people with religious trauma have gone through.

OP notes: apparently converted to avoid getting his balls cut?? Idk. The discord yet wild for firestar so I had to include him because it's hilarious hehehe