#also a sliced thumb but worth it

[its-yashas-strong-arms]

time for another weird kitbash, this time to facilitate our rhino-headed Warforged druid's mini!

[blujayonthewing]

thinkin about the time my mom said 'how SHARP is that KNIFE???' from the other room when I was slicing tomatoes and thinking about how using knives at her house ranges from 'annoying' to 'actively nerve-wrecking' because they're so fucking dull and also thinking about how many times she's fucking lacerated her own hand while cooking

[deus-ex-mona]

nacchan attending an aizo solo live so true~~ second lip w h o—

[dirtytomatoedwrites]

Preludes and Nocturnes - Part 3

Paring: Rafe Cameron x InnocentPogue!Reader

Summary: Rafe discovers your hidden talent and now he has seen it, you have his full attention.

PART 1 / PART 2

Warnings:  18+ Smut. Darkish!Rafe. Virgin!Reader. Romance, Angst, Dub-Con, Oral (w receiving) hand job (m receiving). Not Proof-Read so mistakes are my own.

Word Count: 6K

Author Note: Sorry it's taken me long to update we've had a death in the family and it's been a lot to deal with. Writing was the last thing on my mind at the moment. I'm just putting part 3 out there but once things are settled I'll write part 4. I'd like to think there'll be more parts than 4 because the story is now starting to pick up. But it depends on how well this part does. 🧡❤️🧡

Also, I changed part 2 slightly so it may be worth re-reading before reading part 3. 🧡

For those who asked to be tagged. Thank you so much for reading and sticking with the story.  Much love and take care. ❤️

Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Please don’t steal or copy bits of my writing or any writing from other writers cause karma will get ya.

Curled up on the sofa beneath a cozy blanket, you slowly blinked open your eyes, adjusting to the room's muted glow. Rafe's voice, a deep murmur, sliced through the quiet ambiance. He was sitting on the edge of an armchair, his phone held to his ear while his other hand absentmindedly glided over his buzzcut.

"Why are they stalling?" his voice barely above a whisper was undeniably firm.

"And their counteroffer? No. Not for a piece of that size. They're well aware of its rarity, right? The clarity? They stand to gain at least 40% profit once it's resold. They know it. I know it. Ninety, and that's me being generous." His fingers stilled their exploration, and his thumb wandered down to his bottom lip, hinting at the storm just beneath the surface. "No, it's non-negotiable. Look, I'm trying to be nice here, alright? But if they keep fucking around with the number, they'll soon find out I’m not so accommodating after all. No more games. I'm done with their shit—Ninety. Final offer."

Your heart pounded, every beat magnifying the gravity of Rafe's words. This was clearly far more than just ninety dollars; it hinted at an intricate web of dealings far beyond your understanding. While whispers of his dubious associations had always floated around town, hearing Rafe speak with such authority was jarring. The sheer force he wielded and the unmistakable power resonating in every syllable revealed that he wasn't just a small player in whatever this game was. He was at its very epicenter, a dominant force controlling the strings. And as this realization washed over you, a sinking sensation set in: you barely knew him at all.

"Now, about that other forty. I want it. Today." He let the words hang for a moment, his tone colder "You keeping office hours now? What the fuck do you mean 'after six'?" His voice tightened with irritation. "Nah, I don't want to hear that shit." he spat. "It's either you have it or you don't, and you should have it since you had one job yesterday; to collect."

Despite trying to stay unnoticed, your numbing arm forced you to shift slightly on the couch, catching Rafe's discerning eye. Rafe's penetrating gaze bore into you, suspending the world in a split second. Amidst the pitter-patter of raindrops against the windows, the weight of the silence pressed in until Rafe finally looked away. "I'll be there in an hour," he murmured, his voice suddenly calmer. "I have some things to take care of first."

As he disconnected the call, you swallowed.

"Is everything okay?" You asked, your voice trembled as you propped yourself up on an elbow.

Rafe approached, confidence exuding with each step. "Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about," he reassured, leaning in for a gentle kiss on your lips.

"How long was I out?"

"About an hour, give or take," Rafe responded, his thumb brushed away a stray eyelash from your cheek. The simple, tender gesture contrasted starkly with the side of him you had just heard on the phone.

You hesitated, your curiosity getting the better of you. "Did you manage to get much done while I was asleep?" Hoping for some insight into his earlier phone conversation.

Rafe's smirk held many layers. "Yeah, handled some business, made a few calls, and I might've watched you a little...."

"Watched me? You mean you just sat there and watched me sleep?"

He moved closer, his warm breath brushing against your skin. "Not often do I see you so… relaxed around me. So yeah, I indulged a little." He murmured, pressing his lips to your cheek. "Besides, I like knowing I can make you feel good. Make you cum til you pass out. It’s up there with watching you squirt,” he grinned.

The change in topic, from shady dealings to fevered intimacy, was a dizzying experience, and you found yourself taking a deep breath to steady yourself.

"Listen," he suddenly said, leaning back to look you in the eye. “I have some business I need to wrap up. I could also do with a shower and a change of clothes." His gaze slipped down to his attire; he had changed back into his shirt, now less damp but very wrinkled. “What's your plan for dinner?

"Dinner?" You tried to keep up, the rapid change in topics leaving your thoughts scrambled. “Uh... Leftovers, I guess.”

“Wanna come over? Eat at mine instead?”

The invitation caught you off guard. The unexpectedness of it made you feel like you were navigating through a dense fog, with every step bringing a new, unanticipated revelation. But you nodded, despite the uncertainty coiling within.

Rafe's expression softened, picking up on your hesitation. He leaned in, his lips brushed against your ear. “You do know what this means, right? You'll have to deal with my company a bit longer. Think you can handle that without making a run for it?"

You tried to muster a playful retort, but his lips captured yours before you could speak, a deep, overwhelming kiss that made you weak.

Pulling back, he smiled, "I'll pick you up around six, yeah?"

“Okay.” Your voice was but a whisper.

As he moved toward the exit, the shadow of his phone call loomed over your thoughts. Only when you heard his truck roar to life did you finally exhale, sinking deeper into the sofa. Your mind was a whirl with questions you didn't know how to begin to ask, let alone answer.

By the time the clock struck 6, you were already fresh from a shower and dressed in jeans paired with a simple white vest top and an oversized cardigan. Right on cue, the low hum of Rafe's truck resonated outside, its headlights casting a gentle glow on your porch. After ensuring you had your phone and keys, you gave yourself a quick glance in the mirror and then headed out to meet him.

Suave as ever, Rafe leaned across his truck to push the door open for you. Offering his hand for support, he helped you up into the seat. A warm smile naturally bloomed on your face, and with a soft "Hey," you acknowledged his chivalry.

"Hey," he echoed, the familiar gravelly timbre warm and inviting. Without another word, he leaned in, capturing your lips with a kiss. As you pulled away for a breath, your gaze wandered over him, taking in every detail. He smelt amazing, something rich and woodsy, while the crisp black shirt and jeans he wore accentuated his toned physique. It gave him that distinct, effortless style he carried so naturally — the very essence of a kook.

As you settled beside him, a wave of self-consciousness washed over you. It wasn't a lack of confidence in your appearance—Rafe had always been vocal about how beautiful he found you. He had a candid manner of complimenting, and today's earlier affectionate proclamations were just another testament to his feelings. Yet, a nagging voice inside you questioned why someone as polished and affluent as Rafe would be into someone like you when he could easily have anyone from his own elite circle.

As the journey began, the ambiance in the truck was tranquil, but underlined by a tension you couldn't ignore. Rafe seemed to be miles away, his eyes barely leaving the road ahead and memories of his earlier phone conversation played on repeat in your head. Could his aloofness be about the business deal you overheard? Did something go wrong? The only breaks in the silence were his occasional clearing of his throat or sniff, causing you to swallow hard and stare out of your passenger window to calm your nerves.

When you exited the vehicle at Tannyhill a rush of nostalgia hit, interwoven with memories that weren’t as endearing. It was weird being there now for pleasure rather than work and at the behest of Rafe not Rose. Possibly sensing your hesitation, Rafe gently grasped your hand, leading you toward the entrance. As he swung the front door open, an overwhelming quiet enveloped the surroundings.

"Is Rose and Mr. C around?" you asked, noting the dimly illuminated hallway that stretched toward the kitchen and beyond.

"Nah, they're in the Bahamas. Business trip. They'll be there for a while." Rafe replied, his voice echoing in the quiet expanse of the house.

"What about Wheezie?"

"She's with them.”

"And Sarah?"

Rafe's face twitched slightly. "Don't know, don't care. Haven't seen her in, what, three weeks? She could be in a ditch for all I care—" His gaze met yours, "I'm kidding," he smiled. Yet, a flicker of something shadowy behind his eyes made you think otherwise.

"So, it's just the two of us tonight?" you asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

Rafe gave a nonchalant shrug, "Looks like it."

Entering the kitchen, your eyes flitted to the island, noticing several neatly stacked pizza boxes. "Planning a feast or what?"

His grin broadened, revealing the playful side you always adored. "Thought you'd be hungry after your day. Vegan, pepperoni, or drowned in cheese. Take your pick."

Laughing, you approached, your finger tracing the edge of the closest box. "Always one step ahead, aren't you?"

Rafe pulled you closer, warmth radiating from him. "Well, yeah. Gotta keep my girl happy and fed,” his voice husky as he leaned in for a kiss.

After devouring slice after slice and transitioning from the kitchen to the cozy ambiance of the living room, you and Rafe settled in, surrounded by plush cushions and the soft glow of the floor lamps. As conversations ebbed and flowed Rafe's gaze followed yours, landing on the Steinway.

"Do you want to play something?" Rafe asked lips curling into a small smile.

"Oh no you don't.” you said with a shake of your head. “I'm not falling for that, again.”

Rafe leaned in, his grin widening. "What do you mean?" he prodded, matching your playful tone.

"Every time I play, we end up..." You left the sentence hanging, heat creeping up your neck.

Rafe leaned in closer, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. "We end up doing what?" he asked with faux innocence.

You gave him a knowing look, your eyes saying everything that words didn't need to. Really, Rafe?

"I like when you play." he said slowly with a shrug.

"I know you do... a little too much," you replied, your voice laced with humor and a touch of fond exasperation.

“Alright, don’t play.” He said with a sly smile as he patted the space beside him on the sofa. You found yourself irresistibly drawn to him, nestling close, the comfort of his warmth enveloping you.

Lost in a dance of gentle touches and lingering glances, Rafe pulled you closer. With each soft, deliberate kiss, the world outside faded away. His fingers toyed with the collar of your cardigan, his middle finger hooking the fabric, gently sliding it off your shoulder, as he peppered your skin with slow soft kisses.

"I think... yeah, this is the least clothing I've seen you in, not including earlier today," he murmured against your skin. "I like it. I like being able to have access to you."

As he spoke, his fingers ventured under the back of your vest, soft digits skimming upwards past your bra strap to your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. His affectionate kisses stirred a profound desire within you, compelling you to cradle his face and initiate a fevered kiss of your own, a blend of lips and intertwining tongues.

"Stay," he murmured, his words a gentle plea brushing against the corner of your lips. "Stay with me," he whispered, his eyes locking onto yours.

"Tonight?" you questioned quietly, a hint of uncertainty tinging your voice.

"Tonight, tomorrow, as long as you like," he shrugged, his tone revealing a deep yearning. His candidness took you aback, causing your heart to flutter.

"I have a class in the morning," you responded, your hesitation evident.

"Of course, you'd have class on a Saturday. Who takes a class on a Saturday?"

"It's for extra credit," you playfully huffed.

"I'm sure it is, you lil freak.” Rafe remarked with an amused smile as he bit down on your shoulder. You hissed in response to the sudden, sharp pain. He immediately soothed the area with his tongue, a slow and sensual gesture that had you pressing your thighs together.

"What time?" he murmured against your skin.

"Hm?" you managed to reply, your mind struggling to focus.

"What time is your class?" he repeated, his lips still dangerously close to your neck.

"Ten," you answered, regaining some semblance of coherence.

"Okay," Rafe said, his voice low and husky as he made plans. "I’ll drive you home, you grab your stuff, and then I'll take you to class…" His words trailed off as his lips grazed the soft skin of your neck once more. He paused, pulling back slightly to search your face, his gaze filled with understanding. "But it's not just about your class, is it?" There was a knowing look in his eyes, a hint that he comprehended some of your apprehension, even though it remained unspoken.

"Don't…" you began as you licked your lips. "Don't you think we might be moving a bit fast?" you whispered. The pace of things had taken a sharp turn; just yesterday, you were literally hiding from him, and today, not only had you let him finger you into a coma you now found yourself wrapped around him like a scarf, his hand exploring beneath your clothes like he owned you. It was only natural to worry that things were progressing way too rapidly, burning too brightly, and possibly destined to fizzle out just as quickly as it had started.

"Nah, I don't." Rafe drawled as his nose brushed against your shoulder, inhaling your scent. “If we were moving fast, I would have fucked you a long time ago.”

You jerked your head away, staring at him with wide eyes while Rafe smiled, clearly enjoying your worried expression.

"What?" you asked softly.

“Oh, yeah.” Rafe nodded, “In fact, I would have fucked you quite a few times by now, in every position I could think of.” he said nonchalantly. A deep chuckle escaped him as he relished your deer-in-the-headlights expression. “But I also get that all of this is new for you, so..." his fingers traced your jaw. "We’ll take it slow. Until I can't hold back any longer."

"Rafe!" you breathed, and he threw his head back with a hearty laugh.

"I'm kidding," he laughed, his eyes sweeping over your features like a tender caress. "I'm kidding."

"So if I stay over..." you began, shifting nervously in his embrace. "We’re not..."

"Nah, we won't," he assured, understanding your apprehension. “But I can't promise to keep my hands or mouth off of you. It’s only fair, right? After all the stress you’ve put me through.” He murmured. 

“Stress! I give you stress-”

“So much fucking stress” You could feel the smile on his lips as he pressed them against your cheek, and you wondered if he could tell you were blushing. “Stay,” he said again, his tone resolute, treating it as the final word on the matter.

"Alright... I'll stay."

As the night wore on, the comforting cadence of your conversation intertwined with the weight of the day, gradually lulling you into a drowsy state. Feeling your eyelids grow heavy, Rafe kissed your temple softly. "Come on," he whispered, wrapping his fingers around yours and leading you up the winding stairs to his room.

Stepping into Rafe's bedroom for the first time, you were taken aback. The space was pristine, a stark contrast to the wild, chaotic tales of mayhem that accompanied him. Everything had its place, from the perfectly aligned books on his desk to the immaculately ironed shirts in his open closet.

Rummaging through his belongings for a brief moment, he emerged with an old jersey and a pair of shorts. "Here, try these” he suggested, handing them to you.

"In just one day, we've exchanged a lot of clothes” you said with a soft chuckle.

Rafe's eyes danced with mischief. "Well, if you want, I'm happy for us to ditch the clothes altogether."

Rolling your eyes playfully, you retorted, "Keep dreaming, Cameron."

His response was accompanied by a sly, teasing grin, "Oh, I already have." As he began to methodically unbutton his shirt, his captivating eyes held yours in a magnetic pull. Although you had already seen him shirtless. Tonight, the ambiance carried a different weight. There was an intimacy in the air that made your cheeks flush, causing you to divert your gaze to the wooden floor.

"I'll just… uh, freshen up before bed," you stammered, trying to find an escape from the mounting tension.

"Sure," he said, pointing towards a door on the side. "Bathroom's right there. There's a pack of toothbrush heads in the cabinet; help yourself."

"Thanks," you replied with a grateful smile, seizing the opportunity to step out just as the sound of his belt buckle being opened reached your ears.

In the dimly lit bathroom, you sank to the edge of the tub, your hand pressing hard into the porcelain, feeling its cold, smooth surface beneath your fingertips.

Sharing a bed with Rafe wasn’t just a simple act of two people sleeping side-by-side. It symbolized a budding intimacy, a fragile trust slowly unfurling between the two of you. And yet, the weight of his weird phone call pressed heavily on your chest. Could you really trust someone whose life seemed tangled in webs of secrets, lurking just beneath the surface? Could you willingly let yourself be drawn into his world, knowing full well it could be dangerous?

Biting your lip, you pushed those turbulent thoughts to the back of your mind, you changed into the clothes he had lent you and brushed your teeth. After a lingering glance in the mirror, searching for some kind of assurance, and taking a deep, steadying breath, you braced yourself for the night ahead and headed back to the bedroom.

Rafe was already cozied up in bed, the soft light from his phone casting a glow on his face. He had changed into a pyjama pants his chest bare.

"I haven't even left the room for two minutes and you're already sliding into some girl's DMs?" you teased.

As Rafe met your gaze, warmth filled his eyes as he admired your appearance, clearly liking the way you looked in his clothes. “The only DMs I'd ever slide into are yours, but I've already got the real thing." he casually remarked, his voice carrying a hint of affection.

You couldn't help but laugh, your nose scrunching up at his comment. "Damn, that's some next-level cheesiness. You're quite the cheeseball, you know that?" you teased.

A mischievous twinkle sparkled in his eyes. "Only 'cause you're a sucker for cheesy romantic gestures. That shit gets you wet." he replied with a small smirk.

Mouth agape you looked at him flabbergasted only for Rafe to downright smile his pearly white teeth on full display.

“Rafe! You really can't go five minutes without turning something sweet into something, just--" You playfully tossed a pillow at him which he caught. Pulling you to him Rafe planted a quick kiss to your lips before heading to the bathroom.

With Rafe momentarily out of sight, you took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The reality of sharing a bed with him was nerve-wracking. Sliding beneath the soft covers, you felt the smooth sheets against your skin, their coolness momentarily providing a reprieve from the weight of your racing thoughts.

The bed, although large and spacious, suddenly felt like a confining space. Each moment of hesitation, every heartbeat, every fleeting memory of your past interactions echoed loudly in the silence of the room. Sharing a bed with someone was always an intimate act, but with Rafe, the stakes felt higher. It was more than just physical proximity; it was about letting him into the vulnerable spaces you had never shared with anyone including your heart.

As you laid there in the soft glow of his side lamp, you tried to focus on the present. You reminded yourself that Rafe said you'll take it slow. Tonight was about simply connecting, not necessarily about taking a step further.

The bathroom door opened, and you saw Rafe's silhouette framed by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. He approached the bed, his movements careful, perhaps sensing your apprehension.

"Everything okay?" he asked softly.

You took a deep breath, "Yeah, just...thinking."

Rafe sat down beside you, his hand gently caressing your arm. "If you're not comfortable, we can figure something else out."

You shook your head, mustering a small smile. "No, it's not that. It's just as you said... It's all new. But I want to be here. With you."

Rafe leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Alright we'll take it one step at a time, yeah?"

With that assurance, you snuggled closer to him, feeling the warmth and security of his embrace. "One step at a time" you repeated softly.

As your eyes flutter open, the silhouette before you takes shape, dominating your field of vision. Gradually, your gaze adjusts, revealing the familiar features of Rafe as you shake off the remnants of a deep dream. The surroundings come into focus bit by bit. The early hour is apparent; it's so early that the outside remains cloaked in darkness, illuminated by a luminous full moon.

You had drifted to sleep cradled in Rafe's embrace but now he's beside you. His touch is a gentle caress, his thumb tracing the smooth curve of your jaw. He regards you openly, his gaze intense enough to cause warmth to spread across your skin, prompting you to look away. You wondered how long he had been staring at you... touching you...

"What time is it?" Your voice is a soft murmur, barely breaking the tranquility of the moment.

"Four thirty"

"Can't sleep?" you asked softly.

Rafe shook his head no. "Can't sleep, either huh?" he asked his words tender.

You manage a small smile, "I think I'm just not used to sleeping in someone else's bed."

Rafe nodded in understanding. "Maybe I can help with that, hmm? It worked pretty well last time.” Gently Rafe turned your face towards him and leaned in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. Your heart flutters as his kiss lingers, his tongue delicately exploring yours.

Sheets thrown back, your jersey inches upwards, as Rafe moves on top of you, his lips creating a scorching trail down your neck and further south. Each feather-light kiss ignites a tingle, intensifying as his tongue meets your nipple. His lips move lower, soft kisses meet your sternum while his fingers brush the edge of your shorts and underwear, prompting your hands to instinctively stop him.

"We won't go all the way," he promises in a voice thick with longing while lust blown eyes stare up at you. “I just want a taste. One little taste. I deserve it, for being patient.” His lips linger around your navel, and you grant him a hesitant nod. Gently, he removed your shorts and underwear, leaving you vulnerable and exposed.

Despite your urge to shield yourself, Rafe, ever-so-gently, parts your legs, positioning himself in the intimate space between. His lips graze your hip, making your skin flutter. "Ever had a guy go down on you before?" His voice is an alluring mix of curiosity and yearning.

With a deep breath and a gentle shake of your head, you whispered “No”

Rafe smiles at your answer, his lips brushing your skin again. "So many firsts," he murmurs seductively.

His attention returns between your thighs, teasing and exploring, with soft kisses leading to your mound. His head drops lower and he slowly swipes his tongue over your clit. The sensation is a mix of ticklish delight and sinful pleasure prompting a soft gasp from your lips.

Rafe licks you slowly, teasingly, humming in approval with every wet swipe of his tongue. The swirl of his tongue between your folds begins to overwhelm you, and you try to pull away only for Rafe to firmly yank you back, his grasp keeping you anchored to him and your legs spread.

His tongue stops its gentle caressing and probes deeper, his lips nestling against your sex while his tongue hungrily delves within.

“Ooh—” you whimpered, tremors shooting throughout your body with each stroke of his tongue. His enthusiasm grows as he drinks in your reactions, his own moans blending with yours in a symphony of pleasure.

“Too much- too much- ah-” you squirm when his tongue began to flick at your clit.

Pulling away from your wet centre Rafe licked and sucked on your inner thigh. “No- you’re fine.” Rafe commanded, his determined gaze pinning you in place. “You’re fine. Just relax...”

He guides your hand to his buzzcut and as your fingers move hesitantly over his head, he returned to lapping skilfully at your pussy.

“Oh, my god, Rafe-" you whimper, your fingers scratching at his scalp as you buck underneath him.

Wrapping his arms around your legs, Rafe continued to lick your wet centre until you’re shuddering. He pulls his head back slightly. You could see his mouth shiny with your arousal, a smile curling his lips.

“Fuck, you taste sweet. Like honey.” his voice is like gravel, raw with pent desire. “Nah, sweeter than honey...” He muses. His fingers part your soaked pussy lips exposing your swollen clit and his tongue lovingly suckles it while his fingers tease around the entrance of your tight hole.

“Ohmygod, ohplease…"

"Yeah? This what you want? Want me to finger your sweet little cunt?” he chuckled teasingly.

"Please… please…” you beg, until finally he sinks his middle finger in you. You let out a cry as he slowly worked his finger back and forth within you, stoking your walls and coaxing your orgasm to the surface.

The feel of his tongue lashing at your clit, his finger twisting deliciously, along with the unrelenting focus of his gaze, hunger blazing in his eyes, has you moaning in abandon.

Your back involuntarily bows off the bed, a strangled cry leaving your lips as your fingers curled the back of his head.

It’s glorious when you cum.

A kaleidoscope of colour appears behind your closed eyes, created by the vibrations of Rafe groaning in approval and the succulent swirl of his lips and tongue.

Rafe removed his finger and his tongue quickly replaced it, delving deep into your creaming pussy. His nose pressed against your clit as he noisily slurped and lapped at you. The explicit, wet sounds of him devouring your pussy so raw and unashamed create a beautiful symphony that fills the room.

“Holy shit ha—“ you gasped with a smile. Sudden, swipes at your clit with his tongue had you oversensitive, your hips twitching with aftershocks.

Your eyes open, landing on Rafe still positioned between your thighs. With a tenderness that belies the moment's raw passion, he places soft wet kisses on your inner thighs, grounding you in the present. The weight of what has transpired gradually dawns on you – the unexpected progression from kissing to oral, something you hadn't anticipated, let alone think you'd enjoy as much as you did washes over you.

Before you can overthink, you lean in, initiating a passionate kiss, fueled by a desperate hunger intensified by the taste of yourself on his lips.

Rafe's fervor shows no signs of waning. He pushes you back against the pillows and then crawls over you, his desire unmistakable. Bracing himself near your head, he slowly lowers his pajama pants, causing your eyes to widen as you gaze downward.

He's big.

Big, long and thick.

Suddenly, his cockiness and confidence makes perfect sense. All that big dick energy. Naturally, you find yourself yearning to feel his raw power. Want to feel him thrusting inside you. Yet amidst this desire, a sudden thought emerges—a fear that you might not be able to handle all of him. You might not be able to please him fully when the time comes.

Rafe takes your hand in his, guiding it along his already weeping cock, and you feel him tense up and take a sharp breath as your fingers make contact. Encouraged by this reaction, your other hand wanders over his body, feeling the hardness of his abdomen. Both hands exploring him curiously, hesitantly.

"Like this…" he murmurs. With his hand over your own, holding his cock, Rafe sets a pace which brings forth soft moans from his lips. He moves his hand away to watch you carry on without him, completely entranced by the sight before him. The sight of you working his thick cock.

Clear pearls of pre-cum bead at the tip as an indication of how turned on he is by your touch. Rafe leans in to kiss you passionately while taking your hand once again and leading it up to his sensitive tip.

“Right. Here," he breathes into your mouth as he tells you to focus there. Your fingers instinctively curl tightly around the mushroom tip, fisting it as you become more confident, eliciting groans from Rafe's lips.

His hand moves from your fingers, finding its way to your throat. It curls around your neck in a possessive grip, while his lips reconnect with yours. His moans escalate in intensity, his desire palpable, and his voice becomes choppy. 'Keep going... keep going... just like that, baby. Just like that...."

Closely following his gestures and facial expressions. Your gaze remains fixated on his captivating face, magnetized by the range of emotions playing across it — the awe knitting in his brows, the quickening pace of his breath, and the roped corded muscles of his neck as his body became rigid.

"Fuck....” He releases a long sigh, color creeping up his chest, throat, and cheeks. “Long strokes- long strokes…” He commands his voice cracking. You obey, your hand stroking his length from root to tip. Your fingers glide easily, lubricated by his pre-cum.

Rafe's eyes rolled to the back of his head as he muttered something inaudible, but soon they found yours again.

"I want to fuck you so bad. I’m tryin to be patient. I’m tryin, but god I want to fuck you… I need to fuck you...” His voice trailed off into a desperate whimper, deep from the very core of him. His hips swayed to the rhythm of your hand as he fucked into it, each thrust quickening in pace.

"How?" you find yourself whispering in awe, astounded by the shift in power between you. You've heard him bark orders over the phone, full of confidence and dominance, yet here he was wrecked and vulnerable just from your touch. You would be lying if you said you didn't relish your newfound power. "How would you do it, Rafe? How would you fuck me?"

Rafe stared into your eyes, cock twitching in your grasp.

"I want to watch you ride my dick... watch you scream while you squirt all over it..." His confession hangs heavy in the air as he bares all before you.

"What else, Rafe? What else do you want?" you whisper, your fingers gently circling your clit while your other hand worked his cock.

"I wanna fuck your mouth. Want to fill your soft, pretty mouth with my cum. Watch you swallow it." His fingers softly brush against your lips, his middle and index finger pressed at its entrance. Entranced, you twirl your tongue around his digits before greedily sucking them into your mouth. Rafe utters a throaty groan before removing his fingers, his lips crashing onto yours in a crude kiss.

"What else?" you moaned, rubbing your clit and stroking his cock faster.

"Want to fuck your ass," he whispered through gritted teeth. "Have you on all fours - make you fucking take it.”

"Oh god, Rafe-" you whimpered, eyes wide with shock. You’ve never had a guy talk about doing sexual things to you let alone anything so vulgar. And yet- you could feel your orgasm on the brink of flooding your senses just from his words.

“I want to fuck and fill every part of you and I know you’ll let me. I just know you will…” Rafe repeated softly, confidently, "Do you know why? Hm? Why you'll take whatever I choose to give you? Why in the end you'll let me fuck you however I want?” He whispered his eyes boring into your own. “Because you're hungry for this just as much as I am. You want me. Just as much as I want you.”

His dark words sent you spiraling into a chaotic climax. Crying out in pleasure, waves of euphoria washed over you, causing your hips to involuntarily jerk and thrust up off the bed.

In harmony with your climax, Rafe reached his own. Droplets of his thick white cum painted your bare stomach and thighs. His body trembled with pleasure, his breathing stuttered, while his throbbing cock continued to pulse in your grasp.

His moans, raw and desperate, are tinged with a clear sense of relief. It's the relief that comes from finally having his pleasure reciprocated by you, even if only through the gentle touch of your hands, and the utter bliss that this brings.

Breathless Rafe collapses back against the pillows, his hand trembling with pleasure found yours once more, and together you slowed the rhythm of your stroking, savouring the final drops of cum from his spent cock.

Exhausted but utterly content, Rafe closes his eyes for a moment. When they open again, his dilated blue pupils are fixated on you. He cracks a satisfied grin.

He doesn't take his gaze away as you observe your hand. It's covered in his cum, an indicator of his pent up desire for you. Without uttering a word, your hand moves towards your lips, and curiously, your tongue tentatively darts out, brushing against your fingertips.

The taste is unlike anything you've ever experienced before, earthy and slightly salty and yet uniquely him. You moan as your tongue continues its exploration, carefully cleaning each digit.

"Fuckkk..." Rafe groans before pulling you in for a desperate kiss.

The gentle morning light filtered through the curtains, illuminating your face and the figure beside you in a soft, dappled glow. But the tranquility was abruptly interrupted by a glance at the time on your phone.

You were late.

Terribly late.

For someone who valued being on time, the day was already spiraling out of control. Scrambling into your jeans, you noticed Rafe stirring, his sleepy eyes meeting the clock, then your frenzied actions. Silently, with a steadiness you envied, he started dressing.

Your vest and cardigan from the previous night lay draped over a chair. Snatching them up, you slipped them on in a rush.

Rafe's offer to drive you to class was a godsend. Ten minutes later, freshened up and emerging from his bedroom, you expressed your gratitude with a beaming smile. As you walked past him, Rafe playfully swatted your butt, eyes twinkling with mischief. You let out a playful yelp, your laughter blending with his soft chuckle as you admonished him, promising to get him back later.

At your house, you grabbed your bag, textbook and notes in a flurry. You considered changing outfits but ditched the idea after another anxious glance at the time. It was only a two-hour class anyway and wasn’t worth the additional stress.  As you darted to his truck, a realization hit – your dad was coming home today. Another night at Rafe's was certainly out of the question. 

During the drive, you explained the situation to Rafe, expecting, perhaps even bracing for, a hint of disappointment. But instead, he simply nodded. Now, as the silence stretched between you, you were wrestling with the idea of revisiting the words he'd uttered last night. But decided it wasn't worth mentioning. They were merely fantasies after all—desperate things said in the heat of the moment, just to intensify the experience... Right?

As he pulled up in front of your building he leaned in to kiss you. You cut it short with an apologetic smile promising to call him later.

No sooner had you settled into your seat in class did your phone vibrate. It was a message from Rafe.

"Friend's having a party tomorrow night. Think your dad would be cool with it?"

A pause ensued as you deliberated, finally responding. "Should be. But I don't have anything to wear. Is it a bonfire type of thing?"

His reply was swift. "Don't worry about it. Shopping later. My treat."

A surge of conflicting emotions threatened to spill over as you absorbed his words, your fingers quivering slightly over the screen. "Rafe that's too generous. I can't."

But his resolution was clear even in text. "Why? You're with me. Right?"

You paused, chewing on your lip. It wasn’t lost on you what his words meant. What they implied. "Yes. But are you sure?"

He sent back a single word, filled with resolve: "Always."

—————————————————————————————

Thank you for reading. I hope you've enjoyed it. Thanks for liking, commenting and reblogging. 🧡🧡🧡 Part 4 coming soon

MASTERLIST

[alphabetboyluvr]

HUSH | MYG - SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: rockstar!yoongi x female reader | mutual disdain - lovers (but also strangers - lovers? kinda?)

Welcome to Hush. We're the dating app that brings it all back; Y2K style. Forget catfishes, filters, and facetune - It's all about 'ASL?', character limits, and screaming into your pillow at 4am, after finaaaaally sending that goodnight text to your crush. Hush is the place to share your secrets. You're anonymous until you choose not to be - so what are you waiting for?! Go forth and multiply, Hush hottie! And by multiply, we mean your Hush crushes, of course! Hush users that match your preferences will automatically be added to your very own Secret Circle. We do the hard work for you (you're welcome), but it's up to you to turn your Hush crush into a secret worth keeping. Our lips are sealed, so yours don't have to be.

genre / tropes: okay, where to start with this one lmao, sexting! and i mean... a lot of sexting (so much sexting oc will probably get early-onset arthritis in her thumbs), yoongi is a dick, he also hates nepotism, and in turn, you. oh yeah, you're jin's sister, you work with the band on tour. jin, yoongi, tae, jk and joon are in The Scouts aka the hottest band since sliced bread. jimin is their tour manager, hobi works up in the head office (he's sleazy and i love him). slight love triangle, one-near-footjob (and counting!), eventual smut, a little angst, dating app that is exclusively for celebrities / people in the public eye, one incredibly inconvenient pairing, yoongi calls the oc clementine / clemmie and it's cuter than it sounds, idk how else to explain this, mistaken identity i guess? although not really? look, just read it lol. smut warnings will be on chapters individually!!

wordcount: x (will be somewhere between 80-120k)

soundtrack: x

start date: 2023.08.31 (originally posted early 2022)

minors dni // originally posted to wattpad

NOTE FROM HOLLY // hush is uploaded to wattpad in shorter chapters that i then combine for updates on tumblr (as are most of my fics!!)

CONTEXT // pls read these before the story

THE SCOUTS - meet the band HUSH - meet the app

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

[luveline]

hi jade <3 was wondering if you’d write smth about bau reader getting injured or smth and hotch being all over her in the hospital:)

hope this is okay baby! ♥︎ fem!bau!reader tw car accident injuries

You wake up to Hotch kissing the back of your hand. You know it's him, but you're desperate to be funny. 

"Spence, I don't think we're at this point in our friendship," you mumble lethargically.

Hotch doesn't laugh. You frown and open your eyes slowly, so slowly it feels as though your eyelashes are coming apart one at a time. You blink against the burning ache of the white walls, floors, and curtains surrounding you. Even the window broadcasts the snow-heavy branches of a pine tree. 

Hotch is sitting ramrod straight in a vinyl chair beside your bed. You wonder why he's so low down, before realising you're high up. Your hospital bed is elevated. 

"What's wrong?" you ask in concern. 

He looks like he hasn't slept properly for a long time, his under eyes puffy and his face more stubbly than you're used to. 

Hotch stands up from his chair, your hand still held delicately in his, and kisses your cheek. He rests his forehead against the kiss print a second later, sighing from the very depth of his chest. 

"You have a broken collar bone," he says quietly. "That's what's wrong." 

"With you, I mean." 

"It's the same answer." He squeezes your hand and pulls away. "You also had a bad concussion, but that shouldn't be bothering you anymore. Tell me if it is." 

"I… crashed the SUV." 

"You did." 

"Did I go through the windshield?" 

Hotch's hand slides up your arm, from wrist to elbow to upper arm. His thumb rubs the soft fat there sweetly. "No. You hit the steering wheel very hard." 

"And you got the unsub?"

"We got the unsub." 

You know what Hotch is thinking. He wants to ask you, maybe tell you, to never take a risk like that again. That your life is worth more than catching an unsub. But sometimes it doesn't feel true — you'll take the concussion and the broken collarbone ten times over if it means you can catch a child killer. And plus, you can't remember any of it. Thank you, brain. 

"How many days?" am I missing?

He stands up tall. "Only two. You're lucky, they gave you the good stuff."

You try to hug him and gasp — your arm doesn't want to move, and when you force it the pain slices through. "Can't be that good," you gasp, looking down at yourself. Your left arm is in a sling that leaves little room for grabbing him. 

"Your collarbone is still broken," he says. 

You burst out laughing and it stings with every jostle of your shoulder. His deadpan delivery has the power to make you laugh no matter the circumstance, including your awful dry mouth and your aching collar. 

"Don't move around," he pleads. 

You tip your head away from him. "Will you hug me?" 

Thank earth that even Hotch knows when professionalism is out the window. He eases your shoulders forward to slide his arm between you and the bed, cautious not to hurt you but hugging startlingly tight at the same time. 

"Sorry if I smell bad," you murmur. 

He rubs his cheek against your ear, says, with true humour this time, "They've been giving you sponge baths." 

"That is so embarrassing." 

He dips back to kiss your cheek. You lose count of them, and you savour each one. Who needs morphine?

[chikaras-garden]

Mean Streak (reader's version)

Osamu is the world’s most perfect boyfriend: Sweet, doting, protective. He’d give you the world—but what happens when you ask him to be mean to you?

Pairing: dom!Osamu x sub!fem!reader

Words: 4.6k

Contains: soft! to mean!dom!Osamu, brat!reader, light breathplay, dumbification, dacryphilia, praise kink, degradation, oral sex (f!receiving), overstimulation, piv sex, ruined orgasm, desk sex, chair sex, roughness, spanking, mention of a safeword, little hint of size difference, O calls R “baby girl,” “baby,” “little girl,” “dumb girl,” “good girl,” yes this was a wild ride

Notes: 18+ or you’ll be blocked, Yachi’s version on ao3. Couldn’t decide if I wanted this to be x Yachi or x reader, so…I did both.

You’re pretty sure your boyfriend has a mean streak. He is Miya Atsumu’s twin brother, after all. They’re cut from the same cloth, mixed from the same pool of genes, but his temper is slower to rise than his brother’s. Even when he’s mad, he has a level of self-control unlike anyone else’s.

Instead of yelling at the toro supplier that’s actively trying to screw him over, he chokes down his words under a frustrated, throaty growl.

Instead of snapping at the customer trying to claim her food isn’t fresh, he smiles and offers a coupon while slicing a cucumber with so much force that the veins in his arm bulge.

Instead of putting Atsumu in his place before he starts getting annoying, your boyfriend just waits for his twin to make a fool of himself before calling him a few names that cut him straight to the core.

But, when you try to get him to be mean to you, all he does is raise his brow at you and pull you closer to his chest.

It’s hardly fair.

“You can have all the attention you want,” he chuckles every time you ask. Tucked in his lap, pressed up against his chest, the kindness in his words brings a pout to your lips. “I’ll spoil you until you cry—but baby, I can’t be mean to you.”

An idea forms while you’re waiting for Osamu to lock up the onigiri shop. Bored after finishing your last college class of the day, you’re just twiddling your thumbs while Osamu counts cash in his office. 

The first thing he did when you emerged through the shop door was vent about his day. First, there were more customers than he planned for, each one more impatient than the last that their onigiri had to be made fresh instead of grab-and-go. Then, one of the cashiers forgot that they had a dentist appointment and had to leave in the middle of the lunch rush. And, topping it all off, it’s Friday, which means that he has to close out the week’s worth of cash, and he keeps coming up with a different total every time he counts the bills.

Osamu is stressed. You would like to help him fix that.

You perch on his desk chair—stolen from in front of his computer—in the middle of the kitchen. It gives you a perfect view of Osamu, standing in front of his desk, framed by the bright white molding surrounding the back office door. But also, it means that he’s far away—at least, far enough that he’s not in arm’s reach, and that just won’t do.

Normally, you’d get up and drag the chair into his office to lean against him, or even give yourself a power nap snuggled up in the corner, under the ultra-coze industrial heat vent. But this time, you have a plan.

“Osamu,” you call, “aren’t you done yet?”

He sighs. It’s not at you (he would never), but at the fact that he just got pulled out of counting again. He drops the bills on the desk, sighs a second time, and picks them back up to start over. “I’ll be ready to go in a minute.”

A small part of you feels bad for provoking him, but you’re so curious, so needy for a side of Osamu that you never get to see—that you keep up the pressure. You whine, draping your arms on the prep table in front of you and pressing your cheek against your bicep. This time, Osamu slams the bills down, all but crushing the stack of paper under his hand. 

You imagine white-hot stings that turn to red marks, then pretty purple bruises. You think the sound of skin on skin would be much nicer than skin on paper, and the idea makes heat crawl up the back of your neck.

“For the love of,” your boyfriend says, starting to sound perturbed. “Baby, what?”

Honestly, how well this is going comes as a surprise. All you have to do is sniff, turn your nose up at Osamu’s baffled face, and give him your best pout, jutting your lip out so he can see the glimmer of saliva atop kissable skin.

You imagine him grabbing you by the back of your neck, forcing your lips open, and shoving his cock into your mouth to wipe the pout off your face. It’s a good thing the shop is chilly: you don’t have to hide the shiver that electrifies your core.

Then, you see him raise an eyebrow.

He holds up an arm, palm facing the ceiling, fingers outstretched. He’s so muscular, so invitingly warm in a dark blue t-shirt. It’s a soft one; it’s one of your favorites because of the color, the way it feels against your cheek, and the way it skims his arms.

Arms that can carry several restaurant-size bags of rice.

Arms that you wish were carrying you right now.

“C’mere.” His voice is like sugar. The sound of him beckoning you makes your face run hot, and you feel yourself almost giving in right then and there. He speaks gently, without judgment; like he understands you completely, like your acting up is a symptom, not a cause. 

You don't expect punishment when he talks to you like this. So, you swallow, remembering what you set out to do. You fidget, knees knocking together, and find stability in gripping the cool metal of Onigiri Miya’s prep counter. 

“No.”

Osamu looks at you like you just slapped him. His arm drops to his side while he, slack-jawed, tilts his head. “What did you just say?”

It’s a chance to change your mind, to whine and fall into your boyfriend’s loving arms so he can caress your cheeks and fuck the bad mood out of you. You could choose to let him spoil you with the attention you crave until you’re teary-eyed and babbling, giggling with the joy of having your needs answered with a loving touch.

But then, you see the tightness in Osamu’s jaw. Your legs feel hot.

“I said no,” you huff.

Osamu stares at you for a beat, studying you while the air in between you thickens, growing warm and sticky with tension. You try to hold still and steady so he doesn’t come to the conclusion that you don't really want this.

“Come over here and let me look at you.” 

You sit still for a second too long, because he adds, “Now, baby.”

As soon as you’re within arm’s reach, he seizes you by the waist and yanks you into him. You stumble forward, crashing into his chest with a soft thump. With his free hand, he grabs your chin, balancing your face between his thumb and forefinger to force you to look at him. He licks his lips while he observes you, and you wriggles because he’s so close, his skin is so warm, you want his tongue on you—

He squeezes your hip hard enough to make you whine. “Stop.”

Osamu backs you up until your thighs brush against his desk. He nudges you, lowering his palm until he gets a stable grip to lift you onto its surface, now with stacks of bills tucked hastily back into the cash register drawer. “Are you going to tell me why you’re being such a brat?”

He strokes a thumb across your lower lip. Spurred on by your own tingling desire, you open your mouth to invite his finger in. When he presses his thumb down on your tongue, making you drool and whine against his finger, he sighs; it’s shuddering, a messy blend of disappointment, relief, and lust. 

“Was this all you wanted, baby girl? My attention?” His soft tone draws you in. Your head tips forward until he catches you with his other hand, now stroking your cheek. He’s chuckling, now, and uses his hold on your mouth to make your nod. It’s a sign, symbolic of the fact that he always knows what you want, even if you don’t. 

You whine around his thumb, and he instantly shushes you. Gently, so gently, too gently, he cradles your head and guides you to rest against his shoulder. His muscles betray him; though his voice and the touches he’s controlling are soft, the subconscious tension in his arms is tight like a loaded spring.

Releasing his thumb, you mumble, “Want you to be mean.”

He coos, tutting at you as if you’re a toddler demanding a unicorn for your birthday. “You know I can’t do that. Besides, I don’t think that’s what you actually want.”

You blink up at him, eyes already glassy. You see the face of a man in love and drunk on it; he smiles sweetly, with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, but there’s something else. A flash of cruelty in his eyes, a tension in his neck.

“‘Mean’ means that I leave you like this,” he continues, nonchalant. “‘Mean’ means that I take you back to your dorm for you to take care of this all by yourself.”

He gives your cheek a squeeze, then slides his thumb right back into your mouth, hooking it inside your cheek. “You don’t want that, do you, baby?”

You were going to shake your head anyway, but he tilts his wrist to do it for you. Again, he chuckles, and your chest fills with warmth at the velvet sound of your boyfriend sounding so pleased. With every word, you feel fuzzier and softer, pliant to anything he says you want.

Then, he pulls his thumb out of your mouth, leaving a pout behind. He stoops a little, crouching closer to your eye level. “I’m gonna give you what you actually want, okay? Need a real answer out of you, with words.”

Fuzzy as you may feel, you’re still (reasonably) coherent. You want Osamu, want whatever he has in mind, want to feel the results of your behavior as deeply as he’ll give. You’re teetering on the edge of your (and his) favorite headspace, a few perfect touches away from being blissed out and subby, all for him.

“Okay,” you murmur.

“Okay, who?”

“Okay, sir.”

“And your safeword?”

“Onigiri.”

“That’s right,” he coos. “That’s my girl.”

Osamu looks like a man wrestling with himself. He strokes your hips with gentle hands, sliding his fingers up under your shirt. But his arms, big and broad, strain. You can count the veins bulging under his skin, see how tight his muscles are, and oh, what you would give to be wrapped up in those arms for the rest of your life.

“Hey,” he interrupts. You look up and see the eyes of a worried lover. “I’ll never hurt you in ways you don’t like. Tell me as soon as anything’s too much, and I’ll go softer, understand?”

You nod.

“Yes or no, baby girl?”

“Yes, sir,” you insist. You lean forward slightly, entranced by the stern look on his face. He is the picture of control, looking at you in a way that conveys the internal calculations going on in his head. You think you’d like to help him let go of that, do what feels right instead of what he thinks is right.

You reach for the collar of his shirt, entwining your fingers in the soft fabric and tugging. “Please fuck me, sir.”

A low sound, thick with want, vibrates out of his throat. Those words went right to his cock, intensifying the growing bulge between his legs. You’re certain it’s making it harder and harder (pun intended) for him to concentrate; good, you think.

“Sit tight for a second.” He pats your hips and presses a kiss to your forehead. The gesture lasts one, two, three seconds, during which you can’t breathe. When he steps away, he’s biting his lip, hiding a grin—and then he winks.

You do not hide your grin from him. Instead, you let the flutter in your stomach inspire your feet to swing from your perch on Osamu’s desk.

After just a few seconds, he’s in front of you again, this time with the desk chair. He doesn’t wheel it, no; he picks it up, making it look weightless, and it looks like he’s flexing his arms on purpose to make you giggle.

It works.

“Thank everythin’ you’re wearing a skirt.” He grins wildly while he, with one hand on your waist and the other hand tightly gripping your fingers, helps you off the desk. Sure, you could do it herself, they both know, but you’d both much rather let Osamu handle everything. Falling into him and surrendering to trust feels good, and who are you to deny things that make your body sing?

Osamu flips up the bottom of your skirt and pulls, just slightly, so it’s hiked up around the top of your thighs. He gives you a look, and you quickly nod, which leads to him sliding your panties down your legs. Then, he nudges you to sit, and cool faux leather meets bare, burning skin.

You sigh, closing your eyes to stop yourself from shaking with anticipation. “I did it on purpose.”

“Of course you did.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Falling to his knees at your feet, Osamu looks at you with love: nothing more, nothing less.

He lays kisses all over your legs. Starting playfully, dotting your shins and knees with little pecks that make you giggle, he ends up open-mouthed, sucking shades of mauve, raspberry, and plum into the soft, sweet skin of your thighs. 

“So pretty for me,” he murmurs before kissing the juncture of your thigh and your hip. “You’re so beautiful. Like a work of art”

Then, his lips latch onto your clit, and he begins to suckle on your bundle of nerves like a man that hasn’t seen water for days, and a secret oasis resides between your legs.

Every time you moan, he sucks harder, creating a vicious cycle of action and reaction where his role and yours blur together. He makes you whimper with need, and he answers every one of your calls; he sets metaphorical fire to your trembling bud, and sounds of ecstasy erupt from your lips. 

Frustratingly, his tongue doesn’t go near your folds, never strays from your clit, treats this like an appetizer before tasting the sweet, wet fruit of his labor.

And then, he leans back on his heels.

You gasp at the loss of contact. Cold, artificial air rushes your clit, feeling like ice against his left-behind saliva, and your wriggle against the chair, not sure if you want to be closer or farther away from him. “S-Samu—S-Sir!”

“That was mean,” he tells you. You know—your mind and body feel the realization with agony, his teasing slicing through you like a sharpened blade. His bait-and-switch is unfair, so unfair that the lonely ache in your pussy hurts, leaving you shuddering and weak in the knees while he looks at you with a patronizing stare.

Not one to torture you for long, though, he leans forward again, brushing his nose up against your sex. You whine, throwing your legs over his shoulders to pull him closer, closer, until his lips ghost along the slick edges of your core. He sighs, blowing warm air into you in a way that makes you keen.

You reach and grab a fist of his hair, at which he grunts; with trembling lips, you resign to begging, “Please, please, sir.”

You get the raised brow again, a little gesture that makes you want to throw yout head back and cry out in frustration. “Thought you wanted mean?”

“‘M sorry, sir, I-I—”

“That’s right,” he cuts you off in a tone that’s over-the-top condescending, hinting that he doesn’t really mean it. You recognize the sound of Osamu’s voice when he’s electric, on fire with adrenaline. Every word is laced with a wicked degree of lust that makes your heart pound, makes you struggle closer to him. “My girl’s too dumb to know what she wants.”

Osamu runs his hands up and down your legs, then he grips your knees, wrapping your thighs snugly around his broad shoulders. When he speaks, his voice is quiet, caring, and full of love, but his smirk mocks the way you’re falling apart in his hands. “‘S okay, though. That’s why I’m here. You need me to take care of you, don’t you, baby girl?”

You rush to agree, nodding as you sniffle and press one of your thighs closer to Osamu’s mouth. “I-I can’t…I need you, s-sir.”

“I know, baby; I know.” To soothe you—because he can’t help himself—he presses an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh, then bites down until you squeal. You, unaware of what your body is doing to him, reward him with a sudden tug to the fistful of his hair you’re holding onto for dear life. He lets you lead him even though he’s fully aware that you’re not coherent enough to realize it; when you pull, he presses his nose above your sex, grazing his teeth along the flesh of your mound until he reaches the top of your folds.

“Fuckin’ delicious,” he growls, right before he dives back in for seconds, tongue flat against your core.

He slides his tongue down from your clit to your weeping hole, dipping just the tip inside. For himself, he wants to savor your saccharine taste; for you, he wants to draw out your pleasure as long as possible, to hold you over the edge of bliss until you’re breathless because of him.

While he slides his tongue in and out of you, lapping from the bottom of your folds up to your clit, he swirls his tongue around your pert bundle of nerves, then angles his chin so his nose bumps against your clit with every downward stroke of his tongue. A waterfall of moans spills out of your lips, any word other than please completely forgotten from your vocabulary. He loves his girl, his polite baby, and as such, the ministrations of his tongue start to quicken, to become rushed and ragged because he, too, needs more.

Your vision starts to blur with pleasure, with tears. You’re close, so close, and you feel knots tying themselves in your stomach and your groin. Wordlessly, thrusting shallowly forward, you beg him not to pull away again; you were wrong, you want to cry, you don’t want him to be mean.

You chase the building high, follow the white hot light building in your vision all the way to your peak. Hips rocking forward, meeting his tongue with no rhythm whatsoever and knocking your clit against his teeth. Legs squeezing, pressing his warm cheeks into you until his 5 o’clock shadow scrapes angry marks into your thighs.

Right before your orgasm crashes over you, he pulls away again.

The sound you make is somewhere between a moan and a sob, and fat tears finally break free from your eyes as your blubber, choking and gasping on your ruined orgasm “N-No, sir, please.”

You don't get very long to cry, though, as he rushes to stand over you. His hands grab both of your cheeks and pull you into him, kissing you so deeply that your ability to think finally melts away completely. His tongue is in your mouth. You taste yourself on him: salty, sweet, musky. His fingers are as cold as ice against your burning skin, heat radiating from your cheeks, to your chest, to your stomach, to your groin. You fidget, but that makes him hold you tighter, pinning your soft cheeks between his calloused hands.

Whimpering, mewling against his lips, you paw at his chest. Broad muscle meets weak fingers, and you tug at the fabric in your way. You need him, need to feel him, need him to hold you now before all of your pieces fall apart.

Osamu pulls his tongue out of your mouth, but you’re too dazed to speak. He presses kisses down your throat, pausing only to suck on your collarbone while quick fingers make easy work of your sweater’s buttons. He glances up at you through half-lidded eyes, grinning as he presses feather-light kisses to the top of your chest. “What’re you crying for, pretty girl? This is what you asked for.”

You take a deep breath, arch your back, push your chest closer to his face. “P-Please, I want…”

When your voice falls off, too weak to finish your sentence, he gives you a fox-like grin. “You want?”

You whine, kicking your feet out behind him. One leg wraps around his waist, the other tangles behind his thigh. Your hands find stability in grabbing his forearms, and you fleetingly think that’s a mistake because he’s so strong and thick that your middle finger and thumb aren’t even close to touching.

“Good girls ask for what they want,” he breathes, letting go of one side of your face to brush his fingers down your throat. He admires you like a fine work of art, but there’s a determination in his touch. A plan, something he knows that you don't.

Asking for what you want is easier said than done when you’re fully clothed, let alone when you’re halfway to the best orgasm of your life. You know he just needs a few words, that you want to be good, and that he likes his good girl, but you struggle to breathe around the words while he, one-handed, unclasps your bra and starts caressing your breast.

“Did you hear me, baby?”

You blinked up at him, nodding feverishly.

He presses his thumb against the side of your neck. Your breach catches under the pad of his finger. “Then tell me what you want.”

His pace grinds to an almost total stop; just one hand keeps massaging your breast. You lick your lips, rock forward, and press your sticky forehead to Osamu’s arm. You sniffle, hot tears rolling off your cheek and into the crook of his elbow.

“I can’t,” you babble, barely louder than a whisper. “‘M sorry, I-I can’t.”

“Oh baby, it’s okay. You don’t have to apologize for being my dumb little girl.” At that, at the gentle tone he mocks you with, something snaps in your chest. You feel as if you needed to be broken apart to feel whole again; when your pride shatters, you cry more freely, face blotchy and wet with tears while you cling to Osamu for dear life. Underneath the cracked surface, though, you feel bright and new, shining bright from the trust you give him, and the safety he gives you in return.

Osamu pulls you up by your throat and you yelp, raising your head to stare at him with bleary eyes. 

“You’re fucking perfect, just like this,” he assures you. Then, he kisses you slowly, loops his arms around you to make you turn around, then presses you face-first against his desk. You close your eyes and let out a shaky sigh; your knees tremble and your hands buzz, not quite feeling the desk’s smooth surface under the electricity coursing through your veins.

And then Osamu spanks you.

It’s just one slap, and you cry out more in surprise than out of pain. Heat rushes to your ass while you whine, feeling the impact turn into liquid arousal dripping between your slick folds. 

“You liked that, didn’t you?”

You nod with all the vigor you can gather. To that, he spanks the other cheek.

“Yes or no, baby?”

“Yes, sir!” you blurt. You squeeze your eyes shut, ready, hoping for another impact that never comes. Instead, you hear a quiet, metallic clink, then ruffling fabric, then the sound of thin plastic tearing.

All signs point to being seconds away from getting your boyfriend’s cock, and your heart stutters with want.

He runs a hand up and down your spine, and you can’t help but note how heavy his grip feels, how he commands you with the lightest of touches. His other hand grabs your hip, holding you steady once he chooses the right position, lines himself up, and pushes into you with ease.

A throaty growl reaches your ears. You feel his day’s frustration melt away with every inch he stretches you open with, feel tension leave his body as soon as the tip of his cock brushes your cervix. All that’s left behind is his hunger, which he chases by picking up the pace as soon as he’s fully stuffed inside you.

Frustration is replaced with an insatiable desire that has him pounding you so hard that his thighs slap against the backs of yours, your ass slams into his hips, and you’re seeing stars. Your lips hang open while you gasp for air, and tears stream down your face, but your head spins, revolving around the bright moon that fills your sky: Osamu, Osamu, Osamu.

You aren’t sure just how many times he spanks you; you’re not counting beats to see if he’s keeping time with the unfair pace of his thrust. All you know is the feeling of clenching hard at every impact, making him groan every time his hand comes down on your ass, and you hear skin on skin, huffs of breath, and feral growls—all behind you.

Osamu.

“Too fucked out—shit—to think, huh baby girl?” He stutters through his words, barely able to form a complete thought of his own while he reaches forward, under your belly to find your clit from above. 

As soon as he touches you, you choke on a sob. You register a few words in his voice, but you can’t tell if they’re real, or you’re imagining them. 

“It’s—’s okay. I’ll think for ya.”

So fucking tight. 

Is this what you wanted, baby? 

Wanted to make—make me take out all my anger on you?

My perfect little f-fuckdoll.

Good—good girl. Good fucking girl.

Come, baby girl; come for me right now.

And, because Osamu knows what you want best of all, you do. You snap like a pair of chopsticks, splintering, messy, coming undone in a way that permanently changes your very structure. You feel different, made new, changed into something useful for him to satisfy his hunger.

Your orgasm ripples through you in waves that have you heaving. Warm skin, glassy eyes, wet cheeks, hips pressing back into Osamu to swallow him more. You clamp down on him hard, pussy spasming, sucking him dry, pulling an orgasm from him that has him draped over you: slick with sweat, biting down on your shoulder, hand tangled tightly with yours.

“Fuck,” he whines. Afterglow bubbles in your stomach, leaving you delirious and woozy; all you can do in response is whimper.

“‘Ve gotcha,” he slurs. After massaging his hands into your shoulders and down your sides, he winds his arms around your waist and hoists you up as if you weigh nothing. He balances your head on his shoulder and, in spite of his own wobbly, uneven gait, carries you to sit in his office chair, where you curl up in his lap.

“Sir,” you murmur, reaching to smooth your hands over his chest. 

He catches one, presses a kiss to every finger, your palm, and your wrist. “You did so good, baby girl. ‘S over now—you’re safe.”

You bury your face in his neck, too tired to do anything else. But, you do have the fleeting thought that, with him, no matter what you beg him to do to you, “safe” is what you’ll always be.

[thetrashywritingwitch]

Random midnight "Need and Want" snippet...

Figuring things out was hard. This whole 'dating each other and there's three of us' thing, plus adding his daughter into it... But they could do it.

And rather than wing it or tough it out with zero experience, you actually did some research and found some books and articles that came highly recommended.

"A book? Is this some self help shit?" Katsuki narrowed his eyes as he pulled the book out of the bag you handed him.

"I think we all should read it," you retorted while holding your own copy. Eijirou stood between you and flipped through the pages looking skeptical. "It's highly recommended from the forums and stuff I looked at for poly and nonmonogamous relationships."

It was still weird to hear what they were referred to with proper terms, like it was too formal for just saying dating each other. An unfamiliar, scientific name for a new favorite dish with conventional ingredients.

Eijirou grunted. "I mean, do we really need to read a book on it though? We've been doing ok so far, right? And it's not like we're unfamiliar with relationships in general."

"Did you already forget about when you got jealous and upset last month?" He immediately looked bashful as his thumb paused in the middle of a random page.

Katsuki still wasn't convinced. "What does a random author know about us and what we might need? One bit of advice doesn't fit every scenario." He didn't want to read about things that didn't apply to them or problems they could fix on their own. Yeah, he was far from perfect in regards to communication, but like everything else, he was working on it.

"So you think we can't learn a single thing from someone else?" You figured Katsuki would get defensive about this, but it seemed worth it to at least try.

"That ain't what I said-"

Eijirou sliced the air between the two of you with his book trying to literally cut the tension. "I don't wanna argue about this stuff... I think we can all agree that none of us are perfect and... " He sighed. "Maybe we've got weak spots that aren't easy to see. And I mean, we wanna set good examples for Hatsuki, right?"

At the mention of Katsuki's daughter, the chill left the room. Yeah, of course he did. She was his everything. Setting a bad example for her wasn't something he ever wanted to do. If he could read books on parenting, then maybe doing the same for their new relationship was the right step. He'd always set his pride aside for Hatsuki, and you and Eijirou now, too.

A week later, Katsuki sat up in bed with the damn book and his reading glasses while Hatsuki was asleep. Two chapters in and he hated how much he thought he knew, but details slowly became obvious the more he read. It also sucked feeling vulnerable, but that was also something he was working on.

His bedroom door creaked opened, light spilling in as a sleepy Hatsuki stumbled and rubbed her eyes before climbing into his bed.

"You're supposed to be asleep, firecracker," he said, shutting the book to rub at her hair.

Ignoring his implied question, she mumbled, "what are you reading?"

"A book," he answered flatly. Now was not the time for this conversation at all.

"Can you read me some?" She held her stuffed bunny and snuggled under the covers like she belonged there.

"No. This ain't a book for you. It's for grown ups."

Yawn. "Oh." A beat of silence. "So it's about taxes?"

.....

"Yep. It's about taxes."

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Know What You Are

Pairing: Ettore (High Life) x f!reader Warnings: Allusions to trauma, oral sex (m receiving), smut Word count: ~1k

Summary: Ettore explores the boundaries of consensual touch, and finds he isn't ready to relinquish control just yet.

Author's note: A little addition to The Hand that Feeds but can also be read as a standalone. Day three of the Smuffmas prompts - "in nature and deep throating". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She loves the garden. It’s the only place aboard the ship that doesn’t feel sterile and bathed in artificial light. Digging her fingers into the softness of the soil, allowing the rich, earthy scent to fill her nostrils, she can forget that she’s a prisoner. Every brush of soft green leaves against her skin is like a fleeting taste of freedom.

Her place on board is not undeserved. To some, taking revenge on the man who has raped you would be seen as wholly justified. To a jury, however, the violence of such an act was considered despicable. But it had felt good to watch the way his eyes had gouged from their sockets, to feel the way the knife had sliced through his flesh like butter, all the way to the bone. If she closes her eyes she can still smell the coppery tang of arterial blood. It makes her mouth water. She had enjoyed it, and to derive such pleasure from such depravity is well worth where she finds herself now. She’d do it a thousand times over.

Getting acquainted with fellow inmate, Ettore, has made her time here infinitely more interesting. She had noticed him straight away. Without confirming what he was here for, she’d been able to hazard a guess, it was obvious in how he carried himself. And more than apparent that she’d caught his eye too, he was always watching her.

She ought to be disgusted by him, knowing what he is, what he’s probably done, but there is something lurking beneath the surface that draws her to him, an invisible string that tugs them both together. It has only grown stronger since their first tryst in the Box; him spilling himself onto her stomach with his face pressed between her tits.

He doesn’t allow her to touch him, but despite this she knows she’s the one in control. His desperation for her makes him vulnerable, and she enjoys toying with that, seeing how far she can push him. It’s been days since his hips had rutted against hers, taking her roughly from behind in a storage cupboard, so she knows he’ll be back soon. The Box can’t satisfy him like she can.

She senses him before she sees him, as if the mere occurrence of him entering her thoughts has summoned him to her. His approach is always silent, she never hears him coming, but she can feel his presence. He looms over her, casting a shadow over her prone form as she kneels in the soil, plucking away the browning leaves of a fern.

“Did you want something, or you just lurking?” She asks, not looking up from what she’s doing.

“Tchemy in here with you?” Ettore asks, his tone nonchalant.

“You know he’s not, or you wouldn’t be in here,” she says, ridding herself of her gardening gloves and turning to look up at him.

She begins to rise, preparing to stand, when he holds out a hand to halt her.

“Don’t,” he says abruptly. “Just…don’t. Let me just look at you for a bit.”

She drops back to her knees, staring up at him, watching the way his eyes darken as he looks down at her. It makes her core throb with want.

His throat bobs as he reaches out a hand, fingertips dragging with light pressure over her jaw, before falling to her throat, squeezing experimentally. She allows it for a moment, before pulling back.

“Stop that,” she scolds softly, narrowing her eyes in angry warning. “You don’t need to do that with me. Use your words. Tell me what you want.”

He blinks, huffing through his nose, before bringing his hand back to her face, pulling down her bottom lip with his thumb, before letting it go. “This,” he utters, “want your mouth.”

“Good boy,” she purrs, “go on then.”

“Hands behind your back,” he orders, pulling down his scrubs and freeing his already half hard cock.

She does as she’s told, parting her lips to allow him to slide into the warmth of her mouth. He is tangy against her tongue, the head of him pressing heavily against the wet muscle as he gives a few shallow, tentative thrusts, rousing himself fully.

Breathing through her nose, she inhales the heady scent of him, faint sweat mixed with the ship’s standard issue soap. It’s utterly debasing in a way, yet it has arousal wetting her underwear just the same.

Drool gathers at the corners of her mouth as he picks up the pace, and she suppresses the urge to gag as he repeatedly knocks the back of her throat.

His brows are knitted together, eyes glassy and jaw slack as he gathers a fistful of her hair at the back of her head, using it as leverage to propel himself faster and harder. She relaxes, allowing him to push down further and moans around him, causing him to groan and throw his head back.

Pushing himself all the way into the hilt, Ettore’s grasp on her hair is so tight it tugs at her roots, and he holds himself there, pubic bone grazing the tip of her nose. She looks up at him with glassy eyes, stray tears trickling down her cheeks as she watches his predatory expression, but he is unmoving.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Finally he pulls back, all the way out, a string of her saliva connecting his hardened length to her lips, and she gasps and splutters for air momentarily, before he’s pushing back in.

His thrusts are shallower, salty precome and the pulsating of him in her mouth letting her know he’s nearing his end. When he finally climaxes it’s accompanied by a strangled cry and she quickly swallows, barely registering the viscous taste of him as it slides down her throat.

Releasing her, he tucks himself away and is breathless as he drops to his knees beside her. She wipes her mouth with the back one hand and swipes at her teary eyes with the other.

“I really…really want to hurt you,” he whispers, not looking at her. “But I can’t bring myself to do it.”

“I get that,” she says gently, “really, I do.”

“You’ve seen me,” he says, looking into her eyes. The emotion she sees reflected back at her makes her heart lurch.

“Yeah,” she replies, “and you’ve seen me.”

[heartseungs-archive]

chartreuse | l.dh

word count: 1.7k | genre: haechan x fem! reader, established relationship, slice of life, fluff | warnings: none

Green’s a good colour.

At least, that’s what Donghyuck thinks. It’s the colour of the trees in spring, and makes up the majority of the banknotes in his wallet.

It’s also the hue of envy, and it seems that most things he does these days are motivated more by the fear of losing out than motivation itself. Like how he obtained a perfect score on that lab project because his teacher said he couldn’t, or when he climbed that cobbled wall because his older brother did too.

That stunt gave him a sprained ankle, but the look on Minhyung’s face was worth it.

Green means Donghyuck’s world is going round, and that everything is right.

“I can’t believe you actually sold your car.”

“Why not? I barely drive anyways.”

He hands the keys to the man at the counter, a wiry twenty-something-year-old who looks like he hasn’t seen the sun in years. There’s a note of finality as the key descends into a jar full of other ones just like it.

He’s tempted to grab the jar and shake everything out until he finds his, but what’s done is done. The dense stack of bills that he’s handed feels cool in his palm. “Dinner’s on me,” he declares.

You’d be a fool to oppose, even if you think the boy opposite you is too hasty in everything he does. “I can’t believe you get a thousand dollars and start acting up.” Donghyuck just grins at your words, flicking his thumb over the notes as he quickly counts them and relishes the extra weight they add to his wallet.

It’s obnoxious, the way he does it, but at the same time in a way that’s so characteristically him. Which is why you don’t mind, waiting patiently at the garage door.

“Okay, done. Let’s go.” Donghyuck loops his arm through yours effortlessly, barely looking before pulling you along with him. The denim jacket he’s wearing is soft from how many washes he’s put it through, and you wonder if he’ll get a new one with the money he has.

Or maybe you’ll buy him one, with the tips you made from waitressing. You don’t know.

“Okay, hold on, give me a second- Donghyuck!” You burst into a fit of giggles as the boy pulls away from you for a few brief seconds, but you’re breathless. Each exhale you let out forms a puff of mist, temporarily clouding his features. His eyes dart down when you lick your lips, and you smile, barely visible in the poor lighting.

There are still traces of your lip gloss on Donghyuck’s lips, and you wipe them away absentmindedly with the tip of your thumb. Until he loops his fingers around your wrist, a silent request for you to follow him.

The both of you barely make it out of the convenience store, cheeks reddened from both the alcohol and the cold.

Iit isn’t the wisest idea for a university to make such indulgences readily available close to campus, but you’re grateful for it on nights like these. It seems Donghyuck’s patience runs even thinner than yours, however.

He’s insatiable as he backs you up against the cool brick wall of the dorm building and leans in, placing a searing kiss on your mouth. Donghyuck tastes like cider and artificial cherry, and the combination is enough to make your head spin.

When he finally pulls away to allow you some air, you loop your arms around his neck reflexively to draw him back in.

“Hey,” he mutters when he’s barely a finger’s breadth away from your face. “Hey to you too,” you reply, and this time, you can’t hide your grin. His eyes are like warm pools of honey as they look at you, imploring you to just melt into his embrace and forget everything around you. “I left marks on your jacket,” you say softly, inspecting the blue dye crusted under your fingernails. He casts a bemused glance at the collar of his jacket, with faint streaks that can be seen under the light, before placing another quick kiss on your lips, which have unconsciously settled into a pout.

“It’s fine. Everything will fade to the same colour soon enough.” His assurance is enough, and you extricate yourself from his grasp, making your way towards the glass doors.

“I’d love to continue this, but it’s fucking freezing out here,” you mutter, rubbing your hands together.

Donghyuck’s laugh escapes freely this time, loud and unrestrained.

Your job is methodical, and that’s what you like the most about it. Preparing the pastries to be put on display and preheating the coffee machine before opening, and then clearing the display counter and removing the coffee grounds once the clock hits six.

It’s like a book you’ve read a dozen times, already familiar with which events come in at which pages.

At six-fifteen, you grab the washcloth and squeeze bottle, moving around the tables. “We’re closed!” you remind when you hear the bell at the door ring sharply, not even looking up. Until a pair of black Vans appear in your peripheral vision, little yellow suns doodled on them with a waterproof marker.

“Oh, it’s you,” you realise, already hearing the complaint he has ready at your apparent lack of enthusiasm. You wipe your hands against your apron as you walk over to the fridge, grabbing a drink and placing it in his hands. His eyes immediately light up, glancing at you like a child being given a present.

“For me?” He asks, and you scoff lightly, nodding. Donghyuck takes a sip, but makes an expression of disdain right after, crinkling his nose. That earns him a swat on the back from you. Nevertheless, he holds on to the coffee, almost done with it by the time you turn off the lights in the cafe.

“Tired?” He asks, voice light but with an undercurrent of concern. You shake your head, and the answer seems to satisfy him. He strolls in front of you, humming a song that you recognise the melody of but not the title. It’s something that happens rather often, considering you hear Donghyuck sing more often than you listen to actual music.

“This is a different route home than usual,” you point out, speeding your footsteps up to match his pace. Donghyuck looks down at you, smiling. “I wanted to try something new.”

Something about that spontaneity and unpredictability is very distinctly him, and it reminds you that Donghyuck is a question you don’t have all the answers to yet. He’s the independent variable in your life, the sentence that seems strangely new in a chapter you know by heart.

You sneak your hands into his jacket pocket, but not subtly enough for Donghyuck to ignore. There’s a teasing mirth in his eyes, but he doesn’t comment on it as he intertwines his fingers with yours.

The jacket stretching across his shoulders is shiny black leather, the inside lined with velvet to protect from the autumnal wind. You wonder if the denim jackets are still sitting forgotten, in the back of his closet in the dorm buildings.

Four years is enough to change anyone sufficiently, and the discrepancy in his clothing preferences is just one of many.

“You should take a break, and close the cafe for a bit. We could go on a road trip,” Donghyuck suggests, hair mussed from the breeze.

“It’s my cafe, Donghyuck. I can’t just close it and go on a holiday, you know?” You reply, but the thought of it is nice. To drop everything and just disappear to somewhere where no one knows your name, other than the boy beside you.

You’ve been escaping with Donghyuck for a long time. Until it feels less like running away, and more like making a new home.

He smooths out the furrow between your eyebrows, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Don’t do that. You’ll get wrinkles.”

“We’re all going to get wrinkles one day. You included. I’m going to watch as your hair turns white,” you retort, but there’s little bite in it, especially when you think about what it implies. It seems Donghyuck has the same thoughts as you, because he remains silent, the corners of his lips tilted up higher than before.

“Besides, you don’t even have a car anymore. How are we going to go on a road trip?” You question, and Donghyuck shrugs nonchalantly. “We’ll figure that out somehow. Where would you want to go, though?”

He’s always adept at changing the topic, but you humour him anyways. “Somewhere in nature, with a lot of animals and pretty scenery and plants,” you start. Donghyuck pays careful attention to your words, storing them away. “And a lot of greenery. I like green,” you add, and he nods.

“Yeah, I know. Just in case you didn’t realise, all the clothes you buy me are green-”

You roll your eyes then, huffing slightly at his teasing. However, you can’t hide the quiet fondness in your features as you look at Donghyuck, a small smile on your face.

He likes seeing you happy. He’s liked it ever since your teacher made both of you seatmates in homeroom.

There are the small grins you offer him when you’re amused at a joke, or when you smile with your teeth while getting good news. The times when the corners stretch wide, however, and your eyes crinkle at the edges, are when you’re truly, undoubtedly full of joy.

And if you like green, then green’s a good colour.

If you like him, then…Donghyuck supposes he’s pretty alright too.

You’re Donghyuck’s green, and the only one he wants to walk with.

[idyllic-ghost]

title: A Whisper from the Forest pairing: lumberjack!Jihoon x dryad(tree nymph)!reader genre: fantasy/magical realism, romance/fluff, smut, angst warnings: slight angst, smut, penetration, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, body worship synopsis: When two lonely hearts meet, even under the strangest of circumstances, they bond with each other in a unique way. And as the weather grows cold, and as we seek warmth in the form of another’s embrace, we tend to seek those bonds out with more desperation. So when Jihoon - a solitary lumberjack living on the outskirts of a small town - finds himself enthralled with a fairytale creature of the forest, he doesn’t hesitate to let himself be held and loved. And who are you to deny him that love when it is all you want as well? wordcount: 11k tagging: @gyuwoncheol, @enhacolor, @shuabby1994, @junhui-recs, @dkakapizzaboy, @just-here-to-read-01, @loviehan, @userjunhuii, @novalpha, @bubblymoon, @aaniag

a/n: this is a collab with @svthub ! see the Fall-ing For You Collab here!! this will also be the last thing i post before i go on my indefinite hiatus!

join my taglist

MDNI

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Take a moment. Breathe in the cold air, smell the trees and the wet moss. Put your hand in the icy water of the river, and feel it thread through your fingers - trying to pull you with the stream. Take a moment, and clear your head. Whisper out a silent prayer for good luck for the rest of the day. Jihoon always takes everything day by day. Each morning is the same, but he would never think to do it differently. He stands up from where he was crouching by the river, looking up to the tops of the pine trees surrounding him. They seem to reach an abnormal length from where he was standing, but he knows better than to not let his mind be tricked by a single perspective. The sky was still tinted pink and orange from the sunrise. Waking up in the early hours of the morning was worth it for these small moments. 

The barking coming from his family’s old cabin signals that Duke is ready for breakfast. An involuntary smile spread across his lips as he trudged towards the house. Without having to look down, Jihoon knew where to step and where to avoid putting his feet. After all these years he knew where the trees spread their roots and where the ground tended to turn softer after rainfall. The barking continued, sometimes followed by a howl, and Jihoon’s steps quickened. Making his way up the stone steps, which he put down himself, he could hear the pitter-patter of eager paws walking on the wooden patio. Duke had managed to open the door by himself again and was now running down the stairs to meet his owner. The brown labrador had his mouth wide open, in what almost looked like a smile, and his ears flopping back on his head due to the speed he had managed to pick up. When they collided, Jihoon let out a loud groan. Not even this was unusual to his daily routine, and he managed to stay stable despite the sixty-pound canine throwing himself at him. 

“Are you hungry, bud?” Jihoon scratched the dog behind his ear, which satisfied him enough to stand still for a while. “Let’s make some breakfast, alright?”

Most of the trees outside of Jihoon’s, now fogged-up, windows were pine. There were a few leafy trees here and there, sticking out like a sore thumb due to their red and orange color, but his main source of wood was pine. Which is why his fireplace always had the faint smell of it. The steam coming from his pan was making the entire kitchen stuffy, and he was reminded once again that he had to fix his hood fan. And while the issue could be temporarily fixed by opening a window, it wasn’t ideal as the season grew colder. 

Duke was eating his kibble but was temporarily interrupted by Jihoon putting a slice of bacon in his bowl as well. He didn’t seem to mind the interruption and happily continued while Jihoon went to sit down at the table. It was a small mahogany table, perfect for one. The carvings on the legs were uneven, a show of his craftsmanship. On the table laid the morning newspaper, which he had picked up before getting to making breakfast. It wasn’t incredibly interesting, but it was nice to keep up with the things that happened in the town. Jihoon lived right on the outskirts, like a hermit of sorts, and only drove his truck into town when he had to make a delivery or get something for himself. He had a small garden behind the cabin and if it was necessary he could go out into the forest and hunt, although he would rather not, so he didn’t visit many times. Maybe once a month for deliveries and to stock up on food. Most of the time he was alone right by the mountainside, in the middle of the woods. He didn’t mind being alone, and seeing as he had Duke he wasn’t necessarily lonely. Being in the town made him feel more lonely than ever. He could see his old classmates with new friends, random strangers going on dates, or families gathering together in mom-and-pop restaurants. Avoiding the town made him feel less lonely. Sometimes he’d think about what life would have looked like if he had followed his parents’ advice, to not take over the family business and try to get out in the world instead. For his own sake. But he felt a certain pride for the cabin, and the woods surrounding it. 

The feeling of Duke licking his leg brought him out of his thoughts. Jihoon bent down and petted his dog’s head. 

“At least I have you.” Jihoon sighed.

Duke gave him a look that seemed sympathetic, and although he knew that the dog couldn’t understand him it still gave Jihoon an ounce of comfort. He looked out of the window again. The sun had started rising above the trees now. It was time to start work.

Just as every other day, he went out into the woods with Duke and marked trees that needed to be cut down. These trees were on their way to wither away, or it was the town that had asked him to cut them down to create an easy access path. Jihoon didn’t like to cut down young trees, or trees that had no reason to be cut down. It felt like he was stealing from the forest and the wildlife. Maybe he wasn’t entirely cut out for this line of work. He usually disregarded those thoughts and kept doing it his way. Jihoon would also frequently plant new trees. As soon as the ground had thawed and turned soft after winter, he would buy new saplings to plant. That’s why you could see a lot of different trees in this forest, which otherwise was only pine. He, and the people before him, had planted them there. 

After marking the trees with orange paint, he would go back to the cabin and cut up trees that he had already collected. A pile of empty tree trunks lay beside the cabin. Jihoon always cut off the twigs and branches and gathered them in bundles to use as firewood. This was the thing he made the most sales on. The bundles of twigs and branches were cheaper than the full logs. Even though the logs lasted longer in the fireplace, people would rather buy more of something cheap than invest in the logs. Jihoon didn’t mind - the money he got from those twigs put food on his table. But it was irritating at times when people refused to see that they could be much better off. Then again, maybe it was just irritating that no one asked for his opinion on the one thing that he knew anything about. 

Towards the end of the afternoon, Duke was aching to go out on another walk. And as they always did, they picked a random direction to walk in and started their exploring. The forest was mapped out, of course, but it was a lot different to explore it with your own two feet - and Jihoon was sure that he still hadn’t walked in every place of the forest, even though he grew up in it. South of the cabin laid a small river, which he knew very well but hadn’t spent much time walking with. He had crossed the river and explored the edge of the mountain on the other side, but he hadn’t walked upstream. Duke seemed happy enough about the choice, wagging his tail and frolicking across the rocks and fallen trees.

The river wasn’t frozen, but it certainly felt like it when Jihoon put his hand in the water, and pulled it out quickly. He pulled his jacket tighter around him and tried to hide his hands in his sleeves. He should have brought gloves, it always came as an afterthought at this time of year - no matter how many times he had experienced it. The tip of his nose was numb, but his feet were sweating in the thick pair of socks he was wearing. It didn’t help that he had brought out his winter boots. Jihoon wondered how it could be that Duke didn’t seem cold at all. His fur wasn’t very thick, yet he didn’t have a problem with dipping his paw in the freezing river and walking on. Of course, he knew better than to jump in, which he didn’t do as a puppy. But over the years, Duke came to understand that if he jumped in the water when it was cold outside it meant that playtime was over. He had yet to learn about running off whenever he saw something interesting.

Jihoon knows that he should keep his dog on a leash when exploring new areas. Duke was well-behaved when he was in a familiar climate, but he always got too excited when seeing something new. So when he ran away from the river, in a random direction, it shouldn’t have surprised Jihoon as much as it did. The owner followed his happy dog to a glade that he had yet to see. The glade was of monumental size, and it bewildered Jihoon that he hadn’t found this yet. In the middle of this open space, stood an old apple tree. He wasn’t knowledgeable about different kinds of apple trees, but Jihoon did know that a few kinds of apples didn’t ripen until late autumn. Duke hurried to the tree, and Jihoon followed with long strides.

“Stop!” he shouted out in vain.

There was something about the tree that had Duke transfixed. Jihoon couldn’t blame him, even though he was mesmerized by the tree. He hadn’t seen any fruit trees in the forest before. Although he had planned on planting some outside his house, he had never gotten around to it. The grand space surrounding the apple tree was strange as well. You would think that this space would be filled with tree saplings by now. Even more strange, Jihoon couldn’t remember a large glade such as this one on any map he had ever studied of the forest. 

Duke was running around the tree trunk and rolling around on the flourishing grass. Jihoon closed in on the tree with weary steps. The tree wasn’t long, but it was thick and its branches spread out wide. It was the kind of tree that every child would want to climb on, so despite its old age, it felt youthful. The bark mirrored the river in its flowing motions. He had the urge to reach out his hand and trace the ridges but held himself back. The leaves were bright and green, and the fruit sat in clumps on the branches - weighing them down to hang lower than they otherwise would. Jihoon could reach out and grab a shiny red apple if he so pleased, but he decided not to. They looked delicious, mostly red with a few green splotches, and although he didn’t have much knowledge about apples, Jihoon knew that they were ripe for harvesting. 

It was hard to leave the glade, something pulled Jihoon back into its warm embrace. But he knew that he had to get home and feed Duke - let alone himself. Duke had problems leaving too, but his stomach also seemed to push him over the edge eventually. When Jihoon looked back at the tree, it almost looked like it had turned and reached out for him. But he knew that that would be impossible.

That night Jihoon dreamt of the glade. The forest around him was a blur, and all he could see was the apple tree. It beckoned him in a swaying motion, calling his name. He walked slowly to the tree, but despite his leisurely steps he still ended up by the tree within seconds. The wind was calm, barely there even - he couldn’t quite tell where his skin ended and the air began. He reached out and touched the bark. The rough-looking bark felt smooth under his calloused palms. It was damp as if it had just been raining, but not in the way that water could make wood feel almost slimy. It just felt fresh. Jihoon closed the distance between himself and the tree, putting his cheek against the bark. With his ear against the tree, he could hear a faint heartbeat. He took a shaky breath and looked up at the crown of the tree. Right above him hung a red apple - he had never seen an apple so ruby red, so perfectly shaped and colored. On instinct, he reached for it, plucked it, and brought it to his lips without hesitation. His hot breath fogged up the shiny apple. Was he allowed to take a bite? Jihoon could hear the heartbeat from the tree without even leaning against it. It was beating faster. His lips parted slowly, and his teeth dug into the skin of the fruit. Juices flooded his mouth, sweet and heavenly, and dripped down his chin. The juice from the apple dribbled down his jaw, down his torso - it felt like a finger tracing his skin, and it left a trail of goosebumps down his body. The flesh of the fruit tasted like honey, and when he had taken one bite he couldn’t stop himself from taking another. His teeth dug into the apple like a hungry animal that had finally caught its prey. Suddenly, Jihoon could feel a pair of hands rubbing his back. The person’s breath fanned against his neck.

“Come back to me.” It was a woman’s voice, as sweet as the apple Jihoon just ate.

In mere seconds, everything was taken away from him. The taste of the apple, the feeling of the tree, the woman’s voice - they, and even the memory of them, were all gone when Jihoon woke up. All that was left from the dream was an innate longing to go back to the glade. He thought about it all day. His body went on auto-pilot to commit to all of his chores, but his mind was in the glade. There was something special about the place, it felt like it had taken a part of him and kept it as hostage. So when the time came for Duke’s afternoon walk, Jihoon took the lead and walked the same path they had the day before. And much like the day before, his dog ran off at a random point during the walk. However, today it seemed to be in a different area altogether and yet Jihoon ended up in that same glade. 

The apple tree stood tall, its apples almost golden in the light of the sun. Jihoon hurried over, tripping over roots and other such things on the way. It didn’t matter if he fell, there was something about the tree that made dirtying his clothes and scraping his knees worth it. As he approached the tree, it welcomed him. It looked like it took a sigh of relief when it could feel his presence again. In bits and pieces, the dream came back to him. Jihoon pressed his ear to the tree, but he couldn’t hear a heartbeat. He felt a little foolish and backed away from the tree. Duke had laid down beside it, putting his head on one of its large roots, and looked at Jihoon judgingly. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Jihoon huffed and turned back to the tree. “Dreams make people do weird things sometimes.”

As Jihoon looked a little closer at the tree, it started changing. Twisting and turning its body, as if it was stretching after sitting down for long, and moving its branches, like someone moving their joints. The leaves rustled and a few apples fell. Right in front of his eyes, the tree was turning into a woman. As the tree kept turning and bending in all kinds of ways, it was also changing its very form. The body was shaped with curves and edges, the leaves turned into hair, and the bark turned into skin. The woman groaned as her transformation was complete - taking a single step before falling to the ground. Jihoon hurried to her side, kneeling to see that she was alright. She wasn’t all human, her body still looked like it was made of bark and leaves in most places of her body, but she definitely wasn’t just a tree anymore. Without so much as an explanation as to what she was, the tree-woman sat up and wiggled around her limbs - like someone trying to get life back in their foot after it had fallen asleep.

“Are you alright?” Jihoon stuttered out.

“I think so.” The tree-woman looked up at him with a smile. “I’m glad you came back.”

She stood up and walked over to Duke, who usually growled at strangers but was now as happy as ever. Jihoon watched her interact with his dog, petting him and talking to him - not in a baby voice like most people do with dogs, but in a tone that indicated that Duke was talking back. 

“I’ll tell him.” She nodded, stood up from where she was crouching, and turned to Jihoon. “He says it’s time to go home, he’s hungry.”

“Uhm…” Jihoon looked between the tree-woman and his dog. “Okay.”

Duke ran up to his side happily, and the tree-woman looked content. She walked over to where her tree once stood and picked up one of the apples that had fallen to the ground. When she handed it to him, Jihoon took the apple with little to no hesitation.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I’ve been called a lot of things…” She pondered for some time before adding. “You can call me Y/N.”

Jihoon nodded. He didn’t feel like he needed to tell her his name, something told him that she already knew. Without another word, she wandered off in a random direction. Despite seemingly choosing at random, she also looked like she knew exactly where she was going. Jihoon headed in the opposite direction, back home.

The journey back home was faster than yesterday, and yet when he arrived he saw the tree-woman standing beside his house. She was looking at the piles of lumber in Jihoon’s backyard. When she saw that he had arrived, he expected her to look angry. However, his assumptions were incorrect, as she smiled instead. 

“How did you…”

“Welcome home,” she said.

“Thank you?” Jihoon looked around himself, trying to find a way that this woman could get to his house before him. “How did you get here so fast?”

She ignored his question and began walking up the stairs, looking down at him expectantly with every other step. Duke didn’t hesitate to follow her to the front door of the house. Jihoon eventually followed and, even though it went against all of his instincts, let the woman inside his house. A trail of leaves and small pieces of bark trailed behind her as she walked toward the couch. She laid down and closed her eyes, not uttering a single excuse as to what she was doing there. Jihoon draped a blanket around her. The apple she had given him was placed on the kitchen counter, going untouched for the rest of the day.

Jihoon couldn’t fall asleep that night. Partially because there was a stranger in his house, which he couldn’t bring himself to kick out, but also because of an excitement that was growing in his chest - a feeling that not even the most skilled of stoics could deny. There was something about this woman, about Y/N, that had his body completely tensed up and intoxicated. Like a kid before Christmas morning, Jihoon couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried, go to sleep. He laid in bed, tossing and turning, trying to drown out his own thoughts by forcing himself to think about other things. These feelings were entirely too embarrassing for him to feel, was what Jihoon had convinced himself had to be the truth.

That morning, when Jihoon walked into his kitchen, he caught a glimpse of the tree-woman’s naked figure - barely draped in the blanket that Jihoon had given her last night. There were no signs of her being a tree anymore. Her skin was cleared from patches of bark, and her hair didn’t have leaves stuck in it. The only reason Jihoon knew that he hadn’t dreamt the entire thing, was the piles of leaves and tree remains on his carpet. It reminded him of when Duke started shedding more than usual, the way it seemed to stick to every surface of the room. Y/N noticed him and turned her body towards him, not caring that the blanket covered absolutely nothing. Jihoon quickly turned around in a flustered frenzy. 

“Sorry-” He coughed to try to cover the crack in his voice.

“It’s okay,” she hummed. “I don’t mind.”

She sounded almost surprised at his reaction, as if it was normal of her to walk around naked and for others to see her like that. Jihoon heard shuffling behind him, slow and careful movements. 

“I’ll cover up if it makes you uncomfortable,” she said.

Jihoon turned slowly to look at her again. The blanket was wrapped over her head and tightly around her frame, hiding every inch of her skin except her face. She looked at him expectantly, but he wasn’t sure what she was expecting. Maybe a thank you or for him to assure her that it was alright. But no words left Jihoon’s lips, he just stared into her eyes. He had to force himself to look away.

“I should get you clothes…” He walked back towards his bedroom. “Wait here.”

The two of them ate breakfast together - Jihoon ate a non-meat breakfast for the first time since he could remember, just in case it would somehow offend her if he didn’t. Y/N kept her eyes on the window, watching the rain fall heavily on the mossy ground, but Jihoon couldn’t get his eyes off of her. It was scary how normal she looked, when she had just barely twelve hours ago looked like an actual tree. It was like something out of the fantasy books he used to read when he was young. Just twelve hours ago she was covered in colorful leaves and bumpy bark, and now she looked like any other woman - wearing one of his flannel shirts. The only reason he knew that he hadn’t been dreaming was the trail of her old self covering all of the living room. Instead of dwelling too much on it, Jihoon simply welcomed her company - despite the rational part of his brain screaming at him that this was not normal.

It seemed like it was never going to stop raining. Although rain had never stopped Jihoon before, he decided that it meant that he had to stay home with Y/N. After breakfast, she sat down on the living room floor and played with Duke. She had a strange instant connection with him, which Jihoon had never seen Duke have with anyone else. While the two of them played, Jihoon did the dishes - occasionally stopping to look back at the adorable scene playing out just as he had imagined before. He hadn’t imagined it with Y/N, of course, but just with someone. He had dreamed of bringing someone home and living a domestic life with them in this cabin. As mundane as it sounded, Jihoon longed to get to make breakfast for someone and wash their dishes - he wanted to hand them a cup of coffee in the morning, just as they got out of bed, and kiss their cheek as a silent way to say “good morning”. Jihoon smiled to himself as he pictured it in front of him, now with you as that someone. The thoughts quickly disappeared as he felt a tapping on his shoulder. Y/N and Duke were standing right behind him, both of them looking at him expectantly. It reminded him of how Duke would sit quietly beside him as soon as he started rustling with plastic.

“Duke says that he wants to play outside,” she said.

“What?”

“Can we?” she asks as if she needed his permission to do so. “I won’t take him out too far- and we’ll be back soon.”

Jihoon looked at her, and then out the window. It was still raining. When he looked down at Duke, he was still sitting perfectly still with a pleading look in his eye. He looked back at Y/N, who had the same look in her eyes.

“But it’s raining.” Jihoon pointed at the window.

“Rain is not a bad thing,” she said, “And definitely not a reason to stay inside.”

Duke barked, gaining Jihoon’s attention again. They both looked set in their decision. How could Jihoon say no to that?

“I mean, sure.” Jihoon looked between the two of them. “I’ll finish the dishes.”

Jihoon watched them run around like fools from his window. She was building up piles of leaves for Duke to jump in, and throwing sticks for him to fetch. Duke was normally a reserved dog around strangers, but she seemed to have him wrapped around her little finger. Where she ran, he followed. They were both soaked when they came back inside - but Y/N was still smiling and Duke’s tail was still wagging back and forth. Jihoon handed Y/N a towel, before helping Duke dry off.

“I’m freezing…” Y/N giggled through chattering teeth.

“I could make a fire,” Jihoon suggested cautiously. “If that’s… okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because…” Jihoon had no idea how to phrase it. “The wood?”

“I have no connection to trees that have died, if that’s what you’re asking.” She shrugged off the, now wet, flannel shirt, making Jihoon look away from her quickly. “I know that you only take the trees that have already died, you know? You don’t have to be nervous… Do you have another one of these that I can wear?”

“... closet,” Jihoon mumbled, his ears glowing red.

She thanked him before leaving. Jihoon felt like a teenager again. He shouldn’t get this flustered by the silhouette of a naked woman in the corner of his eyes. Duke whined, and Jihoon realized that he had stopped drying him off. He muttered an apology to the dog, and continued drying him off.

Y/N came back out of his room just a few minutes later with new clothes on - an old sweatshirt and a pair of pajama pants - and holding a book in her hands. It was dusty from sitting on his bookshelf for ages. She showed him the cover, it was a book about forest creatures.

“What’s this?”

“A book from my childhood,” he hummed and took the book from her hands. “I forgot that I still had this.”

She sat down on the couch and patted on the place beside her. The fire was already burning in the fireplace, so Jihoon did as she wanted and sat down. Although Duke wasn’t normally allowed on the couch, he jumped up and laid his head in Y/N’s lap. 

“Read to me,” she said.

Jihoon opened the book. The text was big, and there were lots of pictures, so it wasn’t a long read. And yet, they sat there for hours. Y/N was pointing at things, either laughing or explaining what the creatures really looked like. It surprised Jihoon that all of his childhood fantasies were true. The amount of times he had gone into the woods looking for these creatures, and they might have actually been there right under his nose. Not all of it was real, but the fact that any of it, even such a small portion, was real was enough for him. When they got to the page about dryads, tree nymphes, she went quiet. Jihoon cleared his throat and kept reading.

“Dryad…” He paused before reading the next sentence. “A nymph or nature spirit who lives in trees and takes the form of a beautiful young woman.”

Y/N looked at the picture, tracing the drawing’s figure with her fingers. Jihoon studied her expression, trying to find even the smallest inkling to what she was thinking. Her face was a blank canvas.

“Do you think I look like that?” she asked.

“Not really… they’ve got a few things right, I suppose.” He looked closer at the picture.

“... am I beautiful?”

Her words took the air out of his lungs. How was he supposed to answer that? He immediately started overthinking, and having her stare at his flustered face didn’t help. When he faced her, his mouth dried out. She was looking at him with big glittering eyes, her eyebrows slightly furrowed.

“I think you’re beautiful,” he said.

She smiled, pleased with his answer, and turned to focus on the book again. Jihoon kept his eyes on her as she flipped the page, laughing at the next picture as soon as she laid eyes on it. His heart flipped in his ribcage, and he began nervously fidgeting with the corner of the book.

“Read this one!”

The next morning, the rain had stopped. There was a slight chill in the air, but not enough to create frost and not enough to keep Jihoon inside yet another day. He took Duke out for his walk, and Y/N followed. She was wrapped up in Jihoon’s winter coat, as he had insisted. Duke was running ahead of them, even though he had seen this part of the forest at least a hundred times already, and Jihoon and Y/N took their time strolling down the path. Questions were itching in the back of Jihoon’s mind, and walking in silence didn’t help. So, even though he knew that he maybe shouldn’t, he asked.

“Could I ask a few questions?” he asked, and quickly added, “About you?”

“Go ahead.”

She didn’t look at him, but she was smiling. It was as if she had expected it to happen at this particular moment.

“How…” Jihoon had a million questions running through his mind all at once, and just had to settle on one. “How do you know me?”

“You work in the forest,” she said. “So do I.”

“... and what is it that you do?”

“I keep it alive.” She finally turned to him. “I keep it in harmony. This forest is me, just as much as I am it. I have to protect it.”

“From people like me?”

“Not exactly…” She sighed and turned away from him again, slowing down her steps. “Humans are also a part of the forest, if we take people like you out of it then we can’t have harmony. It is the people who go out of their way to disrespect my home that I have to be cautious of.”

Jihoon nodded. He understood, he had seen the trash laying in bushes and the people who try to hunt even when it’s not the season. A feeling of relief washed over him when he understood that she wasn’t there to haunt him in some way.

“I thought that you’d remember me,” she murmured.

“Remember you?”

“I met you many years ago. You were… tiny.” Her eyebrows were furrowed in confusion. “I had only just taken over the forest, and I found you crying. You were lost, so I helped you back.”

Jihoon had a faint memory of getting lost for the first time. Despite his parents having told him to stay still and hug a tree, he couldn’t help but follow the tiny whirlwind of leaves that eventually led him out of the forest. He didn’t mention this to Y/N, he wasn’t sure how to. 

“You’re bigger now,” she commented. “It feels a bit strange to see.”

“What? That I’ve grown up?”

“Yeah… to be fair, I wasn’t very big then either but…” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I thought you’d stay tiny.”

Jihoon let out a choked laugh, which made her smile. He loved to make her smile, it felt like seeing the sun peak out of the clouds after a heavy storm. 

Jihoon started spending more and more time with Y/N. The only time he wasn’t with her was when he was making deliveries, or out getting food. Being isolated for so long made even the strangest companions welcome. He had made a temporary home for her in his room, opting to sleep on a spare bed that he used to give to guests. It was creaky and uncomfortable, so it was out of the question for him to give it to her. She was practically a goddess, he couldn’t give her an old guest bed. Every day was filled with laughter, something that Jihoon hadn’t experienced in a while. His face would light up every time she walked into his line of vision, and he was sure she noticed. 

One day, during their afternoon walk, Jihoon found himself walking the same path that he had about a week ago - when he first saw the glade. He didn’t think much of it, he was just following Duke. But even when his dog wanted to go in a different direction, his legs insisted on following the familiar route. Y/N didn’t say anything. Her arm was wrapped around his, looking at the ground to make sure that she didn’t step on something. It was only when they had entered the glade that she acknowledged it.

“We’re back here?” She hummed in slight surprise.

The glade looked the same, except there was no apple tree anymore. In the place where she had stood was a spot where no grass would grow. You could say that the grass wouldn’t grow because it was nearing winter, but Jihoon knew that even if it was a warm summer day there wouldn’t grow any grass on that patch.

“I guess we are…” Jihoon looked around. “Do you want to leave?”

“No,” she said. “Let’s go sit down.”

They sat down on the grass, right in front of the bare patch. The ground was cold, and Jihoon wished that he had brought along a blanket to lay down under them. Y/N didn’t seem to mind.

“I’m glad that Duke helped you find this place,” she said, “Otherwise I don’t think I’d ever meet you.”

Jihoon looked over at Duke, who was running around the glade. 

“He helped me here?”

“I called on him, yes.” She put her hand on his knee. “I wanted to see you.”

Jihoon thought about the dream, and if she could possibly have anything to do with it. He looked at her, watched her lean her head against his shoulder, and decided that he had to ask - he needed to know.

“I had a dream that night…” he started and turned his head away from her. “After I had been here the first time.”

“Hm?”

“I dreamt that I was in the glade, and I ate an apple.” Jihoon could feel her staring at him. “And I think you called out to me… to come back.”

“You ate the apple?” She said it in a tone that Jihoon couldn’t quite place, he didn’t know if she was sad, or angry, or just surprised.

“Yeah… was that bad?”

“No! No, not at all.” She laughed, Jihoon was yet again reminded of silverbells. “Before I became the protector of this forest, I lived with other dryads… they would always tell a story about fruit trees, that those who ate our fruit had promised themselves to us in some way… it’s a silly story, but to some it’s seen as a promise of devotion.”

“Devotion?”

“It’s stupid, isn’t it?” She turned to look at him with a smile, which faded when she saw his serious expression.

“No, I don’t think so.”

A million thoughts were racing through Jihoon’s head, but they all quieted down when Y/N moved closer to him. He could feel her breath against his lips. His eyes drifted down to her lips, his hand moved to cup her cheek. As he moved even closer her eyes fluttered shut. Their lips met; it was a short kiss. Her lips were soft, and the feeling of them lingered on Jihoon’s lips. In his stomach, butterflies started flying around. Her skin was so soft under his calloused palm. Her hands reached for the back of his head, and pulled him in for another kiss. Their lips locked, and Jihoon began feeling warm all over - forgetting about how he had just complained about the cold ground. Her fingers were in his hair, gently caressing his scalp. She tasted like honey, reminding him of how the apple in his dream had tasted. He grew greedy, trying to get closer to her. However, his attempt failed and they both fell to the ground - him on top of her. 

“Shit, I’m sorry-”

She was laughing. His face turned red, before realizing that she wasn’t laughing at him. He let out a faint chuckle, which was followed by more laughter. Once he had gotten up, he helped her up as well - she was still giggling, but he had a feeling that it was more from excitement rather than the fact that they fell over.

“I’m sorry for laughing,” she said.

“You don’t have to apologize.” Jihoon took her hand, and she quickly intertwined her fingers with his.

“Are you ready to head home?”

That night, Y/N asked him if he would sleep in the bed with her. Her reasoning was that she knew the guest bed was uncomfortable, but Jihoon didn’t care about explanations or excuses. He welcomed spending a night holding her, even when his arm grew numb from being under her for so long. Nothing more than sleeping happened, but Jihoon still woke up with the feeling that he had crossed a line that he couldn’t go back from. 

Y/N was still sleeping when Jihoon got out of bed. He went into the kitchen, prepared to make something for the both of them. The apple that she had given to him the first day she met was hiding behind his kettle. He must have forgotten that it was there. Despite it having gone a week since then, the apple looked the same. It hadn’t aged at all. Jihoon looked back at the closed door to the bedroom, and thought about what Y/N had said. Devotion. Jihoon brought his lips to the apple and took a bite. It was as sweet as he remembered.

Another couple days had passed since they kissed. Neither of them talked about it, or repeated the action, but the air around them had changed. Every accidental touch held much more weight than it used to. Everytime her fingers would brush over his, it would leave his hand with a burning sensation. Everytime he glanced at her lips, his ears would turn red. It was no secret that he had fallen in love with her, and not acknowledging it was making it worse. 

It was getting dark outside, partly because of the sun going down but also because of the rainclouds that were coming their way. Duke had taken his place in Jihoon’s bedroom, refusing to come out of his fluffy dog bed. It was no surprise, since he had been running around in the cold all day. But with him absent, it made the air between Jihoon and Y/N even thicker. When it started raining, Jihoon was relieved to hear Y/N suggest that they go outside. Maybe a bit of cold rain was just what he needed. The two of them ran outside, not bothering with putting on coats or better clothes. Y/N ran around on the cold grass, but Jihoon looked up at the sky. He closed his eyes and let the rain just fall on him. He only looked around himself when he heard laughter - silver bells.

“What?” he asked.

“You always look so stoic.” She grinned. “You should have more fun, you know?”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

A wide grin appeared on Jihoon’s face, and he began chasing her. She ran as fast as she could on the slippery grass, letting out a shrill scream as he captured her. His strong arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her up.

“Is this what you mean by fun?” he huffed.

She only laughed in response, kicking to try to get him to put her down. When he did, they took a moment to breathe. They were both panting, completely soaked through from the rain, and couldn’t break eye contact with each other. As their laughter died down, Jihoon wrapped his arms around her again - now more gentle.

“You ate the apple.” She put her hands on his chest.

Jihoon went quiet, but nodded. He wouldn’t lie to her. She must have been the one that put it behind the kettle - maybe a way to see if he would take it.

“Why?” she asked.

“I don’t know…” He sighed. “I thought about what you said… about devotion.”

“And?”

“And I couldn’t stop thinking about how I would do anything for you.” Any rational thinking had escaped him, he needed to speak his mind. “I want to be… I am devoted to you. I haven’t felt this strongly about anything in years.”

Y/N’s hands creeped up his chest and her arms wrapped around his neck. She leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek… then to his other cheek. Her nose brushed his, waiting for him to take the final step to kiss her. He looked at her, studied the lustful look in her eyes, and brought his lips to his forehead. A soft peck.

“Will you have me?” he asked carefully.

“Yes,” she said, “I want you.”

“Good.” He pressed his lips to hers, just as quickly as he had kissed her forehead. “Let’s go back inside. I’ll make a fire.”

They got a change of clothes, and Jihoon prepared the fireplace. She didn’t seem too happy about leaving their moment so quickly, but Jihoon didn’t blame her - he wouldn’t be very happy about it either. He needed to be sure that it was what she wanted, then he would give her everything and more. Despite his attempts, Jihoon wasn’t the type to have a quick fling. He needed this to be special, not something he would regret, or wish that he had done differently. So he made up a fire, and put down blankets and pillows on the floor for the two of them to warm up. The fire lit up her face in the most celestial way. She was mesmerized by the flame, but he was devoted to only looking at her. When she gave him the honor of meeting his gaze, his heart skipped a beat. She reached for his hand, quietly picking it up to bring to her lips. They were soft against his rough skin. How she could touch him so delicately, he would never understand. 

“Thank you,” she said, “For taking me in. It’s been so long since I've gotten to be with someone like this.”

Jihoon brought her hand to his chest, pushing her palm flat right on top of where his heart was rapidly beating. She smiled at him and moved closer. Her one hand stayed on his chest, while the other caressed the area where his neck met his shoulder. The sparkle in her eye when she felt his heartbeat quicken made him all the more eager to please her. She was the only thing that mattered right now, she was the only person in the world for him. Y/N toyed with the hair on the nape of his neck, then letting her hand slip down the back of his shirt - just slightly letting her fingertips grace the top of his broad back.

“I couldn’t bring myself to leave you,” he murmured, “Not for a second.”

Her smile widened. She was pleased. Jihoon let out a soft sigh as he stared at her lovingly. Y/N shuffled around to straddle his lap, pressing her core against his crotch. Slowly, she began rocking her hips back and forth. Jihoon, who had been aching for all this time, couldn’t help but moan at the slight movements.

“Do you want to please me?” she asked.

“More than anything,” Jihoon whined.

He put his head in the nape of her neck, breathing in her scent. Jihoon could get high on her scent, in a way that no other drug could ever possibly live up to. Y/N started grinding down harder on him, her hands wandering to gently pull on his hair. Jihoon didn’t know what to do with himself, the sensation was too overwhelming, and he could only think of wrapping his arms around her to pull her in closer. He began leaving open-mouthed kisses along her clavicle and up her neck, gracing his death against her skin ever so slightly. Even through his clothes, her movements felt divine - Jihoon could only imagine what it would feel like being inside her.

“Look at me.” She pulled on his hair to get him to stop sucking bruises on her neck. “Do you feel desperate, Jihoon?”

“Yes.”

“I can see that.” She grinned. “You’ll do anything for me, right?”

“Anything.”

“Take off your clothes and lay down.”

Y/N stood up from her place on his lap, and Jihoon hurried to rip off his clothes. Just as he had pulled off his shirt, and was about to take off his belt, she bent over to pull off her underwear. In the light of the fire, he could see her pussy glistening. With immense self-control, he pulled off his pants and laid down as she had told him - instead of licking up every drop that was running down her legs. Like a man starved waiting for his first meal in ages, Jihoon felt his mouth watering at the thought of having her - impatiently waiting for her to let him ravage her. His wishes were granted as she took her place on top of his face. Jihoon was almost too quick to grab her hips and pull her down to meet his mouth. His tongue laid flat against her pussy, drinking her up as if she was the fountain of youth. When she began grinding on his face, he knew he was a goner. There was a big mess all over his face at this point, probably on the floor as well, but he didn’t care. Jihoon moaned against her, trying to push her further down - not caring if he was suffocated in the process.

“Don’t stop- you’re going to make me cum,” she moaned, and it only egged him on further.

With the same pace and rigor, he devoured her whole. Wet, messy noises could be heard throughout the cabin, along with their combined moans and groans. Her cum was as sweet as nectar, and if she hadn’t pulled away he would’ve continued eating her out well past overstimulation. She was his drug. Jihoon leaned on his elbows and watched her ribcage rise and fall. Y/N was back on his lap again, dangerously close to his, painfully hard, cock.

“You’re such a good boy for me,” she breathed out. “Thank you.”

Her words whirred around in his head over and over again. He needed to please her, he needed to hear her say that again.

“More,” he rasped.

Before she could think to respond, Jihoon had pounced on her. Her body still limp from her orgasm, she laid beneath him spread out for him to enjoy. But Jihoon didn’t kiss her until she had given him a small nod. Teeth were clashing, the mess they had already made was being spread around, and clammy hands were gripping at whatever body parts were the closest. Jihoon kissed down her body, wanting to taste her again. 

“You’re a goddess,” he murmured against her skin, “Let me worship you. Please.”

His face was in between her legs again, looking up at her with sparkling eyes. She put out her hand to gently caress his cheek, making him close his eyes and lean into her touch. Maybe he could ignore his own needs - as long as she would let him have her.

“You’ve proven yourself to me,” she whispered. “I want to repay you.”

She sat up and pushed him to lay down again. Now that they were in the same position as before, instead of approaching his face, she leaned down to press kisses on his abdomen. Slowly, her lips traveled south. Jihoon leaned on his elbows again, trying to take her all in despite the urge to shut his eyes tight in pure bliss. Her velvet tongue licked a stripe up his shaft before enclosing her lips around his cock. His mouth fell open and his eyes wandered to the back of his head as she took him deeper and deeper down her throat. She looked up at him, her eyes big and teary from gagging. Pulling herself up, her mouth let go of his head with a pop. Her hand wrapped around his aching cock and slowly stroked it.

“You’re heaven,” he moaned. “You’re-... you’re surreal…”

“I’m yours,” she corrected. “I’ll let you do with me as you please.”

With that said, she wrapped her lips around him again and began bobbing her head up and down. Jihoon’s hips stuttered up, which he quickly apologized for. But the moan that escaped her, and vibrated against him, made him take his apology back. He thought about what she had said, and laid down flat again so that he could intertwine his fingers in her hair. She hummed in approval, and Jihoon began guiding her movements. At first he was soft and gentle, but as he grew more impatient so did his movements.

“Fuck, your mouth feels so good around me,” he hissed.

As he fucked her throat, she became a gagging, moaning mess. Looking up at him with lustful eyes, she silently begged him to continue. Watching her fall apart like this - all because of him - made his eyes roll to the back of his head and, without thinking, he came down her throat. Jihoon watched her take it all and swallow once she had removed her mouth from him. She leaned over him and kissed him again, desperate to stay as close as possible.

“I’m burning for you,” she whined when she pulled away from his lips. “Please help me.”

Jihoon held her face in his palms, bringing her in for another kiss. His lips moved slowly against hers, as they changed positions yet again. Only when he was on top of her - her legs spread wide for him - did he break the kiss. His lips traveled down her jaw and neck, down to the valley of her breast. He watched her writhe beneath him as his hand massaged one of her breasts, letting his mouth wrap around the nipple of the other. Her eyes were shut and her mouth wide open, not hiding any noises she made. With his free hand, he began toying with her sensitive clit. Her eyes opened in shock, clearly not expecting this to be the direction for him to go in. But he knew that he’d have to prep her before he could be inside her. So, once his fingers were coated in her slick, he pushed two fingers inside her. With gentle movements, he curled his fingers with each pull. His thumb found her clit again - applying pressure to the bud made her clench around him. Her hands reached for his shoulders, digging her nails into his skin. At the pressure of her nails, Jihoon lifted his head from her body and shifted his attention to her face. Her face was scrunched up in pleasure, and her eyes opened only when Jihoon pulled out his fingers. She didn’t have time to protest before his slick fingers were in her mouth. Enclosing her lips around them, she let out a soft hum.

“Do you taste how sweet you are?” he murmured, and took out his fingers from her mouth. 

Y/N lifted up her hands and cupped Jihoon’s face softly, guiding him to kiss her again. His eyes fluttered shut as he enjoyed the moment of peace amidst the impassioned energy surrounding them. At the sound of her laughter, like the sound of silver bells, he let them open again.

“You looked so blissful.” She brushed a few hairs out his face.

“I am blissful, darling.”

They let their eyes linger, looking deep into the windows of their souls. The once awkward and somewhat cold man was now bearing his heart for her, and she wanted to drink it all up. After pressing a kiss to his cheek, she gave him a nod - which he understood immediately. As much as he enjoyed the peace, he could not ignore the aching sensation in his lower abdomen any longer. He hadn’t longed for someone this much before. Lining up his cock with her entrance, he slowly pushed inside of her. A string of curses left his lips, he was still sensitive from his previous orgasm. Y/N hushed his words with another kiss until he had bottomed out inside her.

“You’re so good to me,” she whispered against his lips. “And so beautiful…”

Jihoon’s face turned red. She was studying his features, all while trying to fight back the urge to close her eyes in pleasure. Being watched wasn’t something that Jihoon was used to, no less admired. Instead of answering, he started moving - which forced her to finally shut her eyes. A guttural moan left her lips as he seemed to have found the spot inside her that could make her eyes roll into the back of her head. Her hands gripped his shoulders tightly, urging him silently to keep going. With the arm that wasn’t holding him up, Jihoon moved Y/N’s legs even further apart - gripping the flesh of her thighs. His head dipped down to her neck, placing soft kisses to her collar bone area.

“Mine,” he murmured against her skin.

Her hands moved to hold his back, letting her fingernails sink into his skin.

“All yours,” she whispered into his ear and let her nails drag down his back. “You're mine too, aren’t you?”

Jihoon groaned out a yes, his hips faltering as he lost his focus. Y/N leaned her head up, giving him more access to leave colorful marks on her neck. She locked her legs around his hips, enclosing him completely.

“Will you cum inside me, then?” 

Jihoon’s movements stopped completely, unsure if he had heard her right. He moved to look at her, and he was met with a sweet smile - which definitely didn’t match what she had just asked of him. Her limbs wrapped around him tighter.

“Do you want that?” he asked.

“I want all of you,” she hummed, and leaned up to place a dulcet kiss on his lips. “Will you let me?”

“I’ll do anything for you,” he murmured and started moving again.

His forehead leaned against hers, trying to keep his eyes open to hold her gaze. Her eyes kept shifting to his lips, and fluttering close whenever he found her spot. Soft sighs and whimpers echoed through the room - along with choked moans and groans. Both tired, but neither wanted to stop. Their lips met in a clash, desperately needing to close the distance. As their bodies moved in unison, something was building up in them - yearning to break free.

“I’m close,” he murmured against her lips.

“Me too… just a little more, please, baby,” she whined.

Jihoon couldn’t deny her when she sounded like that. He couldn’t find it in himself to deny her anything at all. With sloppy movements, they continued until Jihoon felt like he was going to burst. A string of curse words escaped his lips.

“It’s okay, baby,” she moaned, “You can cum- cum inside me. Please, give it all to me.”

She kept urging him; telling him not to stop, that she was so close, and begging him to release himself inside her. He wouldn’t - couldn’t - deny her command. With a soft moan, he reached his orgasm. Despite the overstimulation, he kept moving until her hips were spasming. Both of them were heaving, unable to move. Jihoon stayed on top of her, his head having dipped into the crook of Y/N’s neck from his muscles exhaustion. He doesn’t put all of his weight on her, he wouldn’t dream of it. Her limbs are still wrapped around him, but just barely hanging there instead of gripping him tightly like she had before. After pressing a soft kiss to her neck, he mustered the strength to get up. He sat on his knees, watching her figure. Her eyes were still closed, her mouth slightly agape. 

“Did you fall asleep?” he asked, mostly as a joke.

“No…” she mumbled in a way that made it seem like she’d fall asleep at any second.

“I’ll get something to clean you up,” he said, “I won’t be gone for long. Just wait here for me.”

The last bit was maybe redundant. She couldn’t move, let alone leave the room. But she just nodded in agreement, turning slightly to get closer to the still glowing fireplace. Since she wasn’t looking, Jihoon took a moment to stare before he left. He looked at the curve of her hip, letting his eyes travel to her chest and up to her clavicle. A sheen layer of sweat covered her. His eyes stayed looking at her face for a while. She wore a slight smile. It might have been a trick of the light, but Jihoon decided that he’d still let himself believe that she was smiling.

After cleaning Y/N up with a warm towel, Jihoon wrapped her up in blankets and laid down next to her. She had fallen asleep, probably too tired to stay awake any longer. The fire was burning bright again, as he had just put in an extra log in the furnace. More importantly, she was warm. Her back faced him, and being protected from her gaze made him more confident. Jihoon wrapped his arms around her waist and put his head by her shoulder. If he stayed very still, he could hear her soft breathing. Wrapping his arms even tighter around her in an attempt to pull her even closer, he pressed his nose against her neck. She smelled like a summer morning, when the air is slightly chilly and dewy - like the flowers had woken up from a nap and decided to share their fragrance with the rest of the world. Jihoon felt at home here. He was so lost in her that he hadn’t realized that she was stirring awake.

“You’re squeezing me,” she mumbled.

Jihoon’s grip immediately loosened, and he muttered out a shy apology. Y/N turned in his arms, now facing him. Her arms snaked up his shoulders and wrapped around his neck. As if it was in his nature, his head fell back into the crook of her neck. He could hear her chuckle, he could feel the vibrations from it in her chest. She didn’t comment on it, only threading her fingers through his hair.

“When was the last time you had a haircut?” she asked.

“Too long ago…” He sighed and looked up at her again. “Do you not like it?”

She took a good look at it, studying his hair like it was a rare artifact locked away in a museum. When she reached out to him, he immediately closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. With careful fingers, she brushed a few strands of hairs out of his face.

“I like it,” she said. “I think that short hair would suit you too, though… then again, I wouldn’t have as much to play with if it was short.”

“So?” He opened his eyes a crack. “Should I keep it long?”

“I think so.”

“Then I will.”

Her hand was cupping his cheek, and Jihoon put his own hand on top of it. Turning his head slightly, he kissed her palm before closing his eyes again. Y/N put her head under his chin, wrapping her arms around his torso. Jihoon drew small figures on her back with his fingers until they both fell asleep.

Jihoon woke up with a stiff back from sleeping on the floor. But he couldn’t find it in himself to complain when he saw Y/N still laying in his arms. He pulled her closer as much as he could without waking her. His fingers brushed against something on her back… it felt like tree bark. Jihoon shuffled around as carefully as he could, and turned Y/N to lay on her back. A spot of tree bark had formed on her back.

“Jihoon?” she mumbled. “What is it?”

“... your back. It’s…”

He paused, and Y/N brought her hand to her back. A sad sigh escaped her lips. She stretched and sat up, bringin the blanket up to cover her chest. When she wouldn’t look at him, Jihoon knew that something was wrong.

“This always happens when I don’t want it to.” She paused, and found the courage to look at him. “I can’t keep my human form forever.”

Jihoon’s heart sank. He reached out to hold her hand, but she pulled it back - looking closer at it, he could see that there was tree bark forming there too.

“What will happen to you?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“I’ll go back to my glade, and turn back into a tree… and you’ll stay here and continue your life until the next time you get to see me.”

“And how long will that be?”

“I don’t know… it’s been a while since I’ve been able to make myself visible to humans,” she explained, “I can take a mobile form without turning human, but I will only look like a gust of wind to humans. Something happened when I met you in the glade, something that hasn’t happened in a while.”

Jihoon didn’t know what to say. She’d be able to wander around in this second dimension that she was speaking of, being able to see but not be seen. He put his hand on top of hers, not caring about the patches of bark steadily growing there.

“Take me with you,” he said.

“What?”

“I want to join you, help you watch over the forest.”

A plan was set in motion - a hasty plan, but it was all that they had time for. They would go back to the glade, and Jihoon would hold Y/N’s hand as she went through her transformation. It wasn’t just a physical transformation, but a spiritual one as well. The hope was that Jihoon would follow her to her spiritual realm, where he would be able to stay with her. Duke was supposed to stay with one of Jihoon’s distant friends, but when the time came to leave he refused to get into the car. It was clear that Duke was ready to go with them.

There was not much time. They only brought the clothes on their backs, and hurried to the glade. Y/N sat on Jihoon’s back, too stiff to make any quick movements, and Duke was running ahead of them. The forest was lenient, letting them pass through without any roots or bushes in their way. Jihoon had always felt welcomed by the forest, but now it felt like he was a part of it. 

The glade looked the same as it did the first time he was there. In the familiar surroundings, Jihoon let his shoulders drop and his muscles relax. He brought Y/N to the spot where no grass would grow, her feet already starting to change. Duke rested against her legs, and Jihoon grabbed her hand.

“You’ll really stay with me?” she asked.

“Forever,” he answered. 

Her hand was warm and clammy, gripping his tightly. Jihoon closed his eyes. Take a moment. Breathe in the cold air, smell the trees and the wet moss. This is home. Take a moment, and clear your head. Whisper out a silent prayer for good luck for the rest of your life.

When Jihoon opened his eyes again, Y/N was still standing in front of him and Duke was still by his feet. She hadn’t turned into a tree, neither had he. But when she moved to embrace him, he saw an apple tree standing behind him. Jihoon held his hand out in front of him. If he looked closely, his skin was slightly sheer. Looking at Duke, he could see the same sheer effect on his fur. It hadn’t felt like anything at all, as if he was completely embraced by the forest even before he took her hand. Y/N’s grip around him loosened, and he turned from her to look around himself. It was the same forest he had lived in all this time. The trees looked the same, the red leaves on the ground looked the same, but everything was different. He could hear every sound of the forest - the growing and the dying - and he came to understand how everything was in constant movement, yet simultaneously completely still.

“Welcome home,” she said.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

No one ever figured out what happened to Lee Jihoon. Some say that he just moved, but the truck in his driveway and his things still where he left them says otherwise. The first few weeks there were search parties in the woods, but people soon realized that he hadn’t gotten lost either. It was a mystery that was just accepted.

As time moved on, his disappearance became more of a legend than anything else. A children’s tale to make sure that your kids didn’t get lost in the woods, or disrespect the forest. For if you ever dare do something that you shouldn’t, don’t be surprised if you hear the howl of a big dog as dark as the midnight sky. And if you ever get lost, look for the wind that seems to blow even in the densest parts of the forest. If you ask nicely, the protectors of the forest will take you in as well - but don’t think they’ll show you mercy if you try to cause even the slightest harm to their woods.

[feinv]

John Wick x fem!reader please? 🥺

john wick x f!reader. hurt/comfort (?). reader has abandonment issues. also her hair can be tucked. fluffy fluff.

combined w this ask. and a gif to better understand what’s going on. <3

john felt a warm sense of contentment wash over him as you settled in his lap, your head resting on the pillows underneath his shoulder as you curled up into a ball. he ran his fingers through you hair, gently massaging your scalp as he spoke. "comfortable?" he asked, his baritone voice so affectionate towards you.

you weakly nodded your head, your hands finding his arm and wrapping themselves tightly around it, holding onto it for dear life.

he could tell you were feeling weak and vulnerable, in need of comfort and reassurance. it wasn’t unlike you, but like every other human being, you had your moments too, and he made sure not to leave you in solitude during those.

john felt a pang of concern as you squeezed his arm, your grip tight and tremulous. something was definitely bothering you. "is everything alright, sweetheart?" he questioned, voice laced with worry as his other hand rubbed at your hip.

you buried your nose in the sleeve of his shirt, your fingers tangling with his own before you whispered. “please. don’t ever leave me.”

john's heart ached at your words, the vulnerability in your voice slicing through him like a literal knife. is this the kind of pain his enemies felt when he stabbed them? no. this was undoubtedly so much worse.

"wha- why would i ever leave you?" his tone a mix of confusion and sadness. “darling- hey. look at me.” his free hand tilted your head so he could look down at you, his thumb soothing the soft skin of your cheek, his warm brown eyes staring into your teary ones.

“i…you are the only one worth living. i can’t imagine my life without you. nor do i want to.” he said firmly, his voice rough but at the same time soo so gentle with emotion.

his fingers brushed some strands of your hair, tucking them behind your ear gently as your tears finally broke free from your eyes, to which john’s arms protectively encircled your body close to him, his calloused palm on the back of your head burying you into his chest, as you wrapped your hands around his neck.

he patted your hair while you dampened his shirt, his other hand finding his way under your shirt and rubbing gentle circles on the warm nude skin of your lower back. all while whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

"you know i will always take care of you, sweetheart. in every possible way.” he said fiercely, voice filled with conviction. he leaned your body back slightly, your puffy lips and red eyes shattering his heart yet again. he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment as he spoke.

“i know you don’t like hearing about it but…i would kill for you.” his thumb tracing over the outline of your lips. the lips he so loved kissing every day. “and i would sooner die than hurt you, darlin’. you are my priority.” whispering the last word. “always."

your voice was quivering as you looked up to him, batting your wet eyelashes. “promise?”

“pinky promise.” the seriousness of his tone made you giggle as you squinted your eyes, the last hot tears running down your waterline, the corner of his lips turning upwards as he cheered you up at least in some way.

he captured your mouth in a sweet and loving kiss, his lips moving so soft and tender against yours as if trying to tell you to never doubt his love ever again. all your worries vanished when his tilted your chin up with his thumb and index finger to deepen the kiss, muttering a sincere i love you in between. <3

[gotham--fc]

Pumpkin Carving Gone Wrong - An Emily Sonnett Imagine

Hello I'm back! The first of 2 (two!!) Halloween fics. I know most of you voted jflem for this but the idea I had just fit Sonnett I really had no choice

Summary: Basically what the title says. Sonnett and R try to carve pumpkins and it all goes awry

TW: Blood mention

Y/N loves Halloween. It’s arguably her most favourite holiday of the year, the costumes, the candy, the whole vibe, she loves it. It’s great for her that her girlfriend, one Emily Sonnett, loves Halloween too. Halloween provides such a great atmosphere for pranking and scaring their friends, so naturally, Sonnett gets really into Halloween.

“You still wanna carve pumpkins this weekend babe?” Y/N asks.

“Of course I do, I wanna carve something funny on mine.”

“Like what?” Y/N asks. She walks over to where Sonnett is frying up a tortilla.

“It’s a surprise,” Sonnett says.

No matter how much Y/N asks, Sonnett won’t tell. As curious as she is, she knows her girlfriend is twice as stubborn and won’t say a word until she wants to. So Y/N knows she has to wait until this weekend to know what Sonnett is planning on carving onto her pumpkin.

Finally, when the weekend arrives, Y/N is doubly excited. Not only does she get to carve a pumpkin, which she loves, she also gets to finally find out what her girlfriend is planning. They go to the store and pick out two pumpkins, one each. Y/N’s is fairly normally pumpkin shaped, but Sonnett picked the most disformed, oddly shaped one they had. Typical.

They get home and start carving. Y/N splits her focus between her own pumpkin and trying to decipher what Sonnett is carving. Then Sonnett looks up and notices Y/N’s interest.

“Hey! Focus on your own pumpkin,” Sonnett says, “Let me work in peace.”

“I just wanna know what you’re carving!”

“You’ll find out when I’m done!”

“Please,” Y/N whines, “Just tell me!”

“No!”

Y/N leans over and tries to look at the front of Sonnett’s pumpkin. Sonnett laughs and pushes Y/N away. They struggle for a few moments before a sharp pain makes Y/N stop. She looks down and notices her own knife, which she set down before trying to look at Sonnett’s pumpkin was closer than she remembered, and that she accidentally dropped her hand on top of it. She sees a few inches long slice down her thumb and blood beginning to drip from the cut.

“Oh shit.”

“What? Did you mess up your pumpkin?” Sonnett asks. She looks over when Y/N doesn’t respond and her face pales when she sees the cut.

“Oh fuck.”

Sonnett scrambles to her feet and returns with a large amount of paper towel which she presses to Y/N’s hand. It’s entirely too much for how large the cut actually is, but Y/N doesn’t have time to say anything about it until Sonnett starts panic rambling.

“What do we do? Does it hurt? Do you feel dizzy? Do we need to go to the hospital? We should go to the hospital. We definitely should because it probably needs stitches and you could bleed out and oh god what if you bleed out–”

“Emily Sonnett!” Y/N says loudly. Sonnett’s head snaps to Y/N. “Take a deep breath. I’m not bleeding out.” Y/N looks down at the paper towel which is slowly turning red. “I probably need stitches, but I am not bleeding out. Calm down.”

“Okay. Okay. So what do we… What do we do?”

One long hospital trip and five stitches later, they’re on their way back home. Sonnett stayed with Y/N the whole time they waited for a doctor and the whole time they put the stitches in, even if she gagged a little when they were putting them in. They come back and see the pumpkins still waiting on the kitchen floor.

“Will you tell me now what you were carving?” Y/N asks.

“I suppose since you were willing to cut your own thumb off to know,” Sonnett says, “I was gonna do a ghost and then say it was Rose because she’s so pale.”

Y/N laughs, she can’t help it.

“Honestly, stitches and all, it was worth it to make you tell me before you were finished.”

[juststoriesintheend]

II. The Lesson

Pairing: Master Sol x gn!Reader

Chapter Content: some light Jedi philosophy, lightsaber sparring, mutual pining, first kiss

Word Count: 2.7k

《 [series masterlist] 》 《 I 》

In an attempt to remain as cool, calm, and casual as possible, you’ve left your cloak in your room. You’d only have to take it off in the training room anyway, so you’re saving yourself the extra time and effort. Not that you’re overthinking things. At all. You’ve only re-layered your tunics and tabard half a dozen times, adjusted your belt twice that, and very nearly stepped out with only one boot. Whatever spell you had been under in Sol’s presence yesterday has completely worn off.

You arrive an hour earlier than you normally do, which is about fifteen minutes before Sol comes in with Jecki. If you remember right, Sol is done teaching the younglings by now and is off doing whatever it is he does in his spare hour between duties. While you’re a little deflated not seeing him right away, it’s for the best because his absence allows you focus and control. You can concentrate better on the saber, on your hands, on the slicing of air and the humming of the Force without him distracting you.

After some quick stretches, you unclip your saber and ignite it. The floor and nearby pillars reflect the light back to you, as well as a distorted image of your silhouette. A lifetime’s worth of muscle memory kicks in and your body is alive, thrumming with energy as your wrist twists, then your elbow, then your torso tilts and the saber swings in front, in back, in front again. Your wrist flicks and the saber swirls above your head, down behind your back, and finishes with a flourish at your side.

It feels like coming home.

Switching the saber from one hand to the other, you warm up your other side, copying your previous moments as precisely as possible even though it’s definitely your weaker side. This is the freedom you’ve been missing. You’ve been so fixated on Sol that it’s kept you away from the calm that saber work has always brought you – the repetition of the familiar, the Force as it flows through you, the shadows and highlights cast upon the walls as your saber arcs. Nothing could ever compare to this.

The saber flies into the air after you toss it. This is one of the fancier tricks you’ve seen some of the younger Knights and Padawans practicing, and you can already tell you won’t be able to catch this one properly, not without hurting yourself, so you jump back and flick the blade off with the Force. You fully expect it to clatter on the stone floor, and you’re hoping the fall doesn’t damage the casing or the kyber, but instead it… hovers.

It takes a millisecond to search the room for the source, and another to turn your head. Sol stands near the doorway with his arm outstretched, both eyes open and his face lightly furrowed in concentration. His attention flickers to you before refocusing on your saber, and it unexpectedly flies across the room into his open palm in the second it takes for you to catch your breath.

There’s something remarkably intimate about him holding this piece of you, something so vital to your being as a Jedi that you feel empty without it at your side. Still, if there were anyone you trusted to hold your saber, your very life, in their hands, you think it would be Sol. It just so happens that you also like to watch him hold it, whatever that means to the secret, affectionate creature that lives inside you.

“I’ve never seen you try that before,” he finally says. He starts for the center of the room, his gaze still focused on your saber as he rubs his thumb over the hilt.

You’re strangely breathless and you can’t understand why. “I was feeling adventurous. Saw some of the Padawans trying it the other day and, very foolishly, thought I should try it too.”

The corner of Sol’s mouth dimples into a crooked smile.

Wait, did he just say he’d never seen you try that before? He’s aware of the type of saber work you usually do? Heat blazes across your face at the realization, but Sol is too occupied to take notice, thank the Force. He continues to turn your saber over in his hand, though you’re not sure why. It isn’t so remarkably different from any other saber.

“Why did you think you would disappoint me?”

Your saber is returned, and you clip it back to your belt just to have something to do. “Well, I’m not a Master, for one thing. If I’m going to be sparring with you, I’d like to at least look like I know what I’m doing.”

“It certainly appeared that you did.”

You duck your head the moment he makes eye contact with you. Now that he’s finally here, your confidence wavers, and you know that your concentration will do the same the moment he begins to fight.

“What is it that makes you so unsure of yourself?” he asks with all the gentleness of a man who senses discouragement and knows it like the back of his own hand. “You are an accomplished dueler.”

If only he knew the magnitude of his question, he might choose to ask you something else. Huffing a breath out the side of your mouth, you start with a lazy, “Well, I–”

The air around you seems to vibrate, then electrify as Sol summons his own weapon into his hand and ignites it. He bears down upon you, and you know deep in your heart that he would never hurt you, but this knowledge does not override instinct. Your saber is in your hand without conscious thought, brandished and burning as his blade lands near the hilt. The junction where they touch burns white-hot, so starkly bright that it hurts to even look.

What are you doing? you mean to ask, but the words never come. You’re too enraptured by the flame of blue-white light reflected in his pupils to speak. How long have you spent watching him from afar, marveling at his skill, and now you find yourself on the receiving end of it? It feels unreal. It feels jagged and raw in the same way a cold wind off the sea does, exhilarating in some forbidden sense.

He retreats and you stumble back a step as your lightsaber comes to hang by your leg, still ignited but out of the way. It’s not proper form, but you’re too dazed to care. Sol spots this and advances again, giving you only the slightest margin for error as your blade comes screaming back into position to block him once, twice, three times before he backs up again.

“You react with instinct.” He begins to circle you with his blade extended toward your face. “Good.”

You feel a flash of irritation in your chest at this. While you’re certain (at least, you hope) he means well, this feels more like a Master testing his Padawan than a fellow Jedi electing to spar with you. You are not Sol’s Padawan and you’ve already fought to make your mark as a Knight, you don’t like feeling like a child again and certainly not at his hands. That’s not the kind of feeling you want from him.

“I don’t need a lesson,” you say as politely as you can, which isn’t very much at all currently.

Sol’s head tilts slightly in the way it always does when he’s considering something. “Then why am I here?”

Electric blue flashes across your vision as he slashes his way forward and you parry away. He’s not even giving you time to answer, let alone think, and you know it’s on purpose. Your Master’s used this trick on you several times, but that doesn’t mean you have to like it.

“Why am I here?” he repeats. He doesn’t even react when your blade swings past his shoulder and misses. “Why did you accept my offer?”

You swing again, agitated, and miss a second time, only to be pushed aside by an invisible hand so strong that it nearly knocks your breath from you.

“Because!”

Now that there’s some distance between you, you have a moment to think, to assess yourself, the questions he’s asking, and the answers you want to give. Sol, however, chooses not to give you that time. His arm extends, fingers splayed and palm open as that same invisible hand grasps you by the tabard and pulls. His wrist twists and you come flying into his hand like your saber had mere minutes ago. Instinct and fear kicks in again, and you find yourself forced to choose between freedom with no saber and close quarters defense in the amount of time it takes to decide to breathe.

Your saber drops to the floor, the blade disappearing into itself as you summon the Force to instead push yourself away from Sol and out of his grasp. The resulting blow is strong enough to knock you both off your feet, though you have just enough forewarning to brace yourself for impact. Cold, hard stone meets shins and knees, but you’re already up and recovering your saber. Sol isn’t far behind, but he’s clearly startled. Startled enough to have dropped his saber.

You are no Jar’Kai prodigy, and indeed, it’s been years since you’ve attempted to dual wield with any amount of seriousness, but you try now. It makes sense. It feels right. Sol’s saber is heavy in your hand, heavier and wider than yours, but it doesn’t fight you when you brandish it. His kyber sings a peculiar harmony with your own, as if they were exchanging greetings, embracing each other through the Force. It tickles in the back of your brain like a shot of spotchka.

Sol’s hand meets your wrist when you bring his blade down. The leather glove creaks under the weight of your blow, but his arm remains firm. Your other arm remains frozen mid-air as it quivers with the effort of resisting his Force. He’s got you pinned and while he can’t release you without putting himself back in danger, you can no longer land a blow on him without losing any ground. It’s a stalemate in its truest form.

You’re closer to him now than you ever have been before. His breath fans out across your face as it comes and goes in quick exhalations, and you find yourself wondering if you should’ve brushed your teeth again after lunch. If you’d known he’d be so close to you now, you would have.

“Why?” he grits through his bared teeth. “Why did you accept my offer?”

Something hotter than ice burns from your shoulder down to your wrist with the effort of fighting him. “Because I can’t focus,” you gasp. You won’t be able to hold on much longer. “Keep. Making mistakes.”

He presses his advantage until your arm shudders with enough strength to completely collapse. The saber is snagged from your hand as it drops and quickly redirected to spark somewhere near the column of your neck. There’s no real threat behind it. Sol is moments away from winning this round and your body is already tired.

“Let your instinct guide you,” he instructs, and though it burns to admit it, you know he’s right. “Don’t think. Feel.”

But that’s exactly what you don’t want to do, what you can’t do. Because to feel would mean to let the sin of your affection for him seep deeper and deeper into your bones until you can no longer draw it out like poison from a wound. To feel would be the most beautiful agony imaginable. To feel would be to dream of possibilities that can never be. You would rather not feel it at all, than to feel it and lose it in the end.

You shake your head. “I can’t.”

Sol frowns. He looks so beautiful bathed in the light of his kyber. “What are you afraid of?”

The blue saber deactivates, then your own, and the training room returns to normal, but your wrist remains trapped in the palm of Sol’s glove. He’s close enough now that the voluminous lower half of his robes fall around your knees, brushing your ankles as he adjusts his stance and leans further into you. Is this not everything you ever wanted?

“Tell me.”

And it’s the gentleness of this prompt that finally cleaves through your heart. You are, quite honestly, tired. Your heart and mind are exhausted from the burden of your guilt, from the knowledge that you are already so attached to a man you hardly know. You want to fight his inquisition, but more than that, you want to give in if only to find relief from the torment of not knowing.

With closed eyes and a trembling voice, you finally relinquish your secret. “Rejection. Abandonment.” Half-concocted visions of a future without the Jedi, without the Order or your Master or the life you’ve worked so hard to build, materialize behind your lids. All this because you tend to fall in love a little too fast? How is that fair? “Myself. I’m afraid of myself and what I could do to destroy my own life.”

Something knocks at the door to your mind. It is a familiar sensation, like the sound of boots on stone or a guiding command given between the sparking of saber blades, it burns golden-brown like the sun and the tunic on his chest, and it smells like incense from a far away planet, the incense you sometimes smell on his cloak when he passes you by. You let him in.

You think, at first, that sharing your mind with someone is a bit like a kiss. A gentle nudging of one mind against the other until both become one, pressing thoughts and feelings and vague ideas together like a mouth or tongue might go against your own. You think that it feels like the kind of intimacy you’ve always yearned for but feared you would never know. Then you realize that Sol is actually kissing you.

Shock ripples through you fast and hard enough to make your stomach simultaneously drop to the floor and catch in your throat. You can’t breathe, you can’t move, there’s only Sol and his lips and the blazing freedom of peace cutting through the noise that usually clouds your thoughts.

He withdraws far too soon, and it leaves your mouth tingling and bruised. Your eyes flutter open and are unsurprisingly met with the umber-blackened hue of his pupils. So close. So real. His chest heaves with the effort of… what, exactly? Does he suffer from the same strange side effect as you, the unimaginable urge to kiss him again and delve even deeper? Is he fighting to restrain himself as much as you are?

“I feel it, too,” he whispers, and his eyes drop to your tongue as it darts across the seam of your mouth.

“What?” You don’t even dare to dream, but what if…?

Sol swallows heavily. “The pull. You feel it like I do?”

The hand not grasping his lightsaber drops lazily against his sternum as you both shuffle awkwardly into more normal, non-battle stances. “I do,” you reply. “I have. For a long time.”

There is a soft rustling of fabric and breath as Sol takes a moment to clip your saber back to your belt – the feel of his fingers, even through his gloves, lingering on your belt will stick with you forever – and to gently pry his from your hand. Then he reaches for your shoulder and lays his hand there, his thumb rubbing a semi-circle into your collarbone.

“Is this what you were afraid of? That I would not return your feelings?”

The ease with which he sees through your carefully constructed walls before completely blowing them to pieces is startling. Not even your Master is quite this forward with you. It’s different, to be sure, yet oddly refreshing.

“Among other things,” is your bashful response, half murmured to the space above his shoulder.

“We must have the courage to say what we want, even if we are afraid.” His hand resettles upon your cheek and your breath rushes out of you in an instant. All you can think is Sol Sol Sol Sol Sol, the only prayer you’ll ever need. “Are you afraid now?”

“No.”

“Then… I would like to kiss you again.”

When he smiles, you feel it curling up around your heart, a string that ties you to him, first knotted when he summoned your saber into his hand and now finished with a kiss.

taglist: @wolffegirlsunite

[dootznbootz]

Worth the Mess Ch. 1

...Tada! :'D I've decided to make that "Odysseus gives baby Telemachus a lemon" fanfic split into chapters instead! As it'll probably be around 25,000 words if I keep doing what I do. Anyways! It's fluffy and self-indulgent as hell and I had fun! :D Hope y'all like it! I will say it's more ODYSSEY INSPIRED as I got really indulgent. I keep to mostly everything but I also have a shitton of fun. Warnings: Vomiting as Penelope has magic food poisoning, Penelope is also a young mom and they're both parents so that'll come more eventually. Words: 6000+ Shout out to all my lovely friends for helping out and being so amazing! I love you all so much!!!

Odysseus looked at the pile of flowers he had in his hand, then back to the single bloom held in the other. A light blue, mostly small buds that have yet to open. Looking at the bundle, one side had more white than the rest and decided that’s where the new one should be placed. That’s what his father always told him. Something about the colors. He gently tucked it among the rest, careful of the petals.

The wind suddenly picked up, whistling past his ears and causing some strands of his hair that weren’t being held in it’s tie to blow in his face. He pulled his purple cloak tighter around him and waited for it to pass. A curl caught on his lip, annoying him. As the chill stopped, he pushed the hair back behind his ear. 

He looked at the pitiful bundle of flowers in his hands, making sure none were lost. It had only just become spring and he had to make do with what he could find. His collection had started earlier that day as he walked around the markets. A few blooms taken from there as well. 

Odysseus scratched as his shoulder, all the while searching once more against the plants for more to pick. Sharp gray eyes spotted a little white one with two flowers on the stem and he reached for it. 

He shifted his knees beneath him as he leaned forward and winced as the sharp gravel underneath stabbed at them. Squatting now, he grumbled and brushed the jagged pebbles that still stuck to his skin. He knew he didn’t need to do this himself. He was a king; he didn’t have to do anything he did not want to. 

…He reached again. 

Despite his strength, the smooth stem simply slipped through his grasp. Trying again, he gritted his teeth and pulled at the deeply rooted flower. Realizing that it would not budge, he took the small dagger he had with him and pressed his thumb against it, the stem in between. 

A smooth cut. Too smooth, as he then felt a sting of pain and a yelp burst from him as he pressed too hard and moved too quickly. Having dropped the dagger and the flower, he hissed as he pressed his now bleeding thumb to the red outer skirt he was wearing.

A long tongue licked at his cheek. He laughed and leaned away from Argo's cold little puffs as he sniffed around his face. “I’m fine, boy. Your master is just not using his head at the moment.” 

Argos made a noise that sounded like a sneeze before shoving his head under Odysseus’ arm for pets. The king smiled as he watched his dog’s tail wag when he started to scratch behind his ears. His fur soft and sleek under his fingers.

Good boy.

It was only the two of them right now, having sent the slaves that came with him away with a nice oak log that he planned to use for carving. He also wished to meet the naiads by himself, especially as this was a more personal visit.

He looked at the cut on his thumb, and was thankful it no longer oozed blood. If Penelope were here it would be completely healed, leaving no trace of his mistake… He huffed. For now just be happy you didn’t slice your thumb off… She’s resting now and that’s what she needs, he thought. 

At least now he could use both hands to scratch both his dog’s ears. Argos’ eyes closing and letting out a low content sound and leaning against Odysseus who turned his head towards the palace where his love remained. 

They usually went together while doing the rounds about their properties, as queen and king. Their palace watched over by his parents during their absence. Sometimes their son in their arms or strapped against them if they only planned to walk. Looking over their orchards, pastures, going on a hunt, a run, a swim, visiting friends… 

It was strange how ever since they met his mind was filled with thoughts of “Oh, she’d like this.” and “I’ll have to tell Penelope this later.” Being separated made him feel like he only had half his mind. Functioning like a dull carving knife would; usable but needed more effort to make something out of it. Even now he was picking flowers for her. Seashells he found on the shore and bought at the market today clinking in a pouch at his hip. Stories brewing in his head to tell her… It would’ve been better if he could give it all to her right now.

Four days ago, his Penelope had simply gone to the river naiads, something she did often. Odysseus usually went with her as well, but there were messages and disputes to attend to so she went alone. Their son also remaining with Odysseus as well, thankfully, as the nymphs had taken down a huge catfish that day. Not an uncommon occurrence, the naiads taking matters into their own hands when they felt something was out of balance in their environment. 

Odysseus was proud of her. He always was. He adored his powerful, little wife. She’s recovered so well since giving birth and he knew how much it meant to her to do what she did before. To feel like herself again.

The catfish was a beast. Three people were killed in it's rampage. While it wasn’t the largest creature Penelope has fought, as in Sparta there was more space, it was still longer than he was tall and it’s mouth could swallow his waist, making it even larger than her in comparison. It also had sharp, thin teeth unlike the usually gummy toothless maw catfish were known for. And as water nymphs do, they ate their kill in victory. 

Penelope was the one to deal the final blow to it’s skull, using the rivers current to force the beast hard into a dead tree that fell over the the water. Letting the sharp branches do the job for her rather than her blade. Her victory meant she got to take the first bite. The cheeks, her favorite.

He did not know that she was battling the beast at first so he was concerned with how late it was getting, as she usually let him know if she planned to stay the night with the nymphs. Telemachus asleep for his final nap, as they were trying to have him sleep in the night better. A messenger told him of the catfish however and that eased his worry. He knew the nymphs took care of each other. 

Soon later, she leapt from the pool he had built right outside their bedroom. He smiled as he put aside the records he was looking through and went to go meet her. 

What had been excitement turned to concern as he watched her, meeting her halfway. He was at first afraid she was possibly wounded. Looking at her somewhat ripped dress. As a naiad-born, she had the ability to heal with her water but he knew how stubborn she was. (Wouldn’t be the first time) While her sharp teeth gleamed with pride as she told him her story, she moved slowly and she was deathly pale. Her usually cold skin felt warm as she pulled him down to kiss his cheeks. She had even forgotten to use her ability to dry herself off, dripping water onto their floor before he reminded her. No, she wasn’t wounded, she was sick .

“I’m fine, dear Joy,” she had told him when he asked if a physician should be summoned. She smiled weakly as he guided her to their bed. With their son asleep, she thankfully didn’t argue with Odysseus about seeing him. “I’m only tired. I just had a scuffle with a beast you know. I’m more angry about that dress that got ruined…”-she shook her head only to stop when she realized it made her nauseous-“It…It was bad, but I stopped as soon as I knew there was something wrong with it and told the others. I definitely didn’t have enough of that monster to get sick from it. Telemachus gave worse stomachaches when I was pregnant.” 

He shook his head, tipping her chin towards him to look him in the eye. “Darling, you’re as pale as bone-”

“I’m always pale and you always worry.”

“Penelope-”

“Odysseus,” she tossed back, smiling. When she saw his worried face, she realized this was no time for banter. She softened and kissed his palm . “I am fine … Rest will make it better, you’ll see…If I do get sick, it…it probably will be short. Definitely wasn’t cursed, as that fish was causing problems anyways. I’ll be okay.”

He couldn’t sleep. He curled around her, as they always did, and just watched. She did not face him. He rubbed her back, tracing the constellation of birthmarks and smattering of scales that were placed upon her pale skin. Their legs tangled together. The little black cat she brought from Sparta, Anthos, slept by her torso. All he could think about was his wife’s stomach rumbling and her breathing throughout the short time she was asleep. He ordered maids to be at the ready outside their room. 

Strange woman, what sort of trouble did you get yourself into now?

Just as she seemed to finally get restful sleep, making him finally believe that she was right and that she was fine, she wretched his arms off her before her stomach purged itself over the side of their bed. The maids rushed in with buckets and rags as he sat beside her. 

Three days. Three days of wiping her lips and face. Of wiping her body down of sweat. Of just waiting . He watched over her most of the time, others only taking over when he couldn’t. Only truly leaving to be with their son, who he gained some comfort from, and for a few bad disputes his parents needed help with. He didn’t leave the palace.

He asked for the physician. Had prayers and a goat sacrificed to both Asclepius and Hygenia. Nothing changed.

Two days in he realized this wasn’t like when she was pregnant or the occasional illness. Whatever was in that wretched fish was causing this. He asked Goddess Athena for an answer, if Penelope had truly been cursed. All she said was she would live, which gave them both relief but he was still frightened and she was still in pain. 

She couldn’t even keep water down, the very thing ingrained into her very being. What she lived and breathed in. They made sure to have her dipped in the waters often, to keep her scales from peeling and to bathe her. He had to carry her to the warm bath where he and the maids would wash her. When she wasn’t throwing up, she was exhausted and slept, only to suddenly wake up and vomit once more. Since she could not consume anything, it got to the point where her body was heaving nothing until she started to cry… So dehydrated there weren’t even tears. All he could do was clean and hold her while she shivered in his arms.

“Tel…Telemachus-” she sputtered as he rinsed her neck and chest with a damp cloth. Odysseus quickly pulling his arm back as she began retching once more into the pot in front of her. 

Of course, at her worst, she thinks of their son. Odysseus’ heart ached for his wife. The physician (and Lady Athena) said to ‘wait it out. Let her body get rid of the toxins’. But neither the king or queen were good at patience. And Odysseus hated feeling so helpless. 

He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat as he waited for her to finish before he comforted her. “Our son is fine, I go play with him when I can. His nurses are feeding and taking care of him right now. He misses you too but you’ll be better and can see him soon.”

He gently wiped at her nose, lips, and chin with a damp rag as she gasped for breath, her hand resting upon her sternum. She shifted. He thought she needed him to move but she whined and shuffled against him. She rested her head against his shoulder and he pulled his arms around her, taking the damp rag to rest against some scales on her collarbone. He rested his chin against her sweaty head, hoping she could not see him grimace at the smell. He waited, watching Actoris replace the pot with a new one.

“Hurts…”

He bit his lip and blinked a few times but put on a smile and squeezed her. “You did just win a fight against a monster fish, love…” 

She giggled and looked at him with a tired but sly grin, with some mess still on her lower lip. Gods, he loved her. “Did I really if I’m left like this?”

“Yes,” he pressed a kiss on the side of her head. 

She smiled, a good sign but she still trembled against him. Then her mouth twisted and a sob came from her burning throat. “I’m so reckless…should’ve known. It had teeth, Odysseus. That’s not normal for a catfish.” 

His lip curled before furrowing his brow and moving his head to look her in the eye. If he had it his way, catfish would no longer be seen on Ithaca. “None of that. The other naiads are just at fault as you are. They didn’t notice either. Aristomache is older than all of us and should’ve known better. Do you blame her? Do you blame them? ”

Penelope, already knowing what her husband was getting at, remained silent. She sniffled once and closed her eyes, exhausted. “...Do you know if they’re okay?”

He huffed, trying to keep some of the annoyance out of his voice. “They’re fine. A messenger was sent to all waterways and all the naiads are fine.”

She curled further into him, not responding. He sighed. “I’m not mad…Not at you at least,” he muttered. He used the back of his knuckle to stroke at the apple of her cheek. “Be gentle to yourself. You’ve recovered so well and are so strong…None of the others are mothers, and you’re the one who killed that thing. You’re doing better than most.” 

She looked at him with those silver eyes, before looking back at her hands. His words didn’t necessarily take all those feelings away but she could admit to herself that he was right. He took that as a win regardless.

“I still feel like shit.” She grumbled before leaning over and spitting some phlegm into the new pot. He rolled his eyes at her and wiped at her face again until she reached up to touch his cheek, where dark circles sat upon. Her tired face lined with concern. “Have you…You have rested as well, yes?” 

“I have,” he reassured, taking her clammy hand and kissing her wrist. 

“You could take another room if you can’t rest while here.”

“I sleep in our nest with you or outside on the dirt.”

She couldn’t help but smile at his bluntness. It was selfish but it brought her great comfort that whenever she was sick, usually within seconds she would feel those warm, rough hands rubbing her back. And if he wasn’t there, she was told he was with their son.

A strand of Penelope’s raven hair fell over her face, tickling her nose. He gently pushed the soft strand back behind a pointed ear. He called to Eurynome from where she was gathering new rags to help redo it. Eurynome braided her hair before tying it up in a wrap around her head, Odysseus keeping Penelope upright.

He picked her up and began to lay her down on their bed only for her to raise her hand and grab his wrist, her grip was weak. She wasn’t completely asleep like they thought. He placed his other hand over hers and leaned closer to hear her. She whispered, “What do those tablets say?” 

The king was taken aback, looking where her gaze was pointed. A pile of clay slabs that were resting upon the small table on his side of their nest. Someone must have left them there for him earlier, as she was in no condition to correspond. “I don’t know yet. I will look at them once I know you’re resting-”

“Did Linus respond? I need to know.” She was sitting up now, swaying a bit. Even sick, Penelope’s silver gaze was fierce. 

Odysseus gently pushed her back onto the sheets. She didn’t fight him, thankfully, though she still looked at him with demand. His heart warmed. Her stubborn determination was simply one of the reasons he loved her after all. “Dear Wife,” he began softly, rubbing softly at her shoulders with his thumbs. “I don’t need to see those slabs to know that you got the ten oxen you wanted. You would still be there at his house right now demanding him if you hadn’t.” 

He took a cool rag to wipe her forehead of sweat. Going under her chin and chest as well, careful of her sensitive breasts. He placed a different warm cloth given to him by Eurynome over top of them to help with the swelling. As she could not feed Telemachus in her condition, and despite her lack of food, they had to make sure infection or mastitis didn’t take root. When she winced, he murmured an apology. 

He pulled the blankets over her. She looked up at him, her sharp teeth shined at him. Bright as always. “I want that man ruined, Odysseus. If he thinks he can have some of Ithaca’s finest craftsmanship for just five oxen, then he has no idea who he’s dealing with…”

“I know. He already knows if you ripped into him as you do,” He kissed her forehead. “Now rest, silly woman.”

When he pulled back, she was looking above them where the canopy of their nest was. Odysseus raised a brow before raising his head to see a small gray owl, hiding among the branches.

Athena must have spoken with her, as she looked back at him, sighed and fell asleep. He looked up again and bowed his head in thank you. If all Athena could do was help his wife get some peace then he was grateful nonetheless. 

Odysseus pulled Argos closer and rested his head against him. His fur was soft. He traced spirals in his coat. The dog sniffed the wind, lost in his own little world just as his master was.

 He had summoned a physician again on the third day, worried about how to get the food she needed. She gave her a mixture that only ended up purged later. A waste of time and of the fine wine he gave as payment.

In the evening, Athena appeared. Telling him the Naiads wished to speak to him. As his Penelope was sleeping, he had Euryclea and Actoris watch over her while he sprinted to see what the nymphs had to say. Aristomache, the oldest of the naiads and often spoke on behalf of all the younger ones, waited on the edge of river bank for him. 

She was strangely more formal, having become what he would call mother-in-law figure for him with Penelope’s family so far away. While most would have to supplicate and bring many offerings to their nymphs, they had become a second family to him. Offerings were gifts now. Ithaca had never been so close to it’s nymphs until his new bride came with him almost eight years ago.

She was blunt in her instructions and gave him a strange plant. One with little pearls instead of leaves. Telling him that Penelope must have one pearl and to give them news when she is better again. He asked if this was punishment for his queen. If they had to do more to sate whatever was causing this. 

Aristomache gripped his hands tightly and forced him to look at her. “You will not do anything. Penelope was wronged…This is to make up for it.” She gave him a look, her deep blue eyes seeming to cut into him. He simply nodded. 

She said nothing more before she sank into the river. 

He decided not to question it despite how strange it was as he remained hopeful that this would be what finally helped his wife. He raced back to the palace, the plant in hand. He pulled off a pearl for Penelope as he was told. She had a hard time swallowing it at first. A short moment passed, everyone waiting to see what would happen. 

The queen retched up a small black glob that went into the pot with a splat, only to then disappear in a mist. She was exhausted and sank back into the cushions before sleeping once more, frightening him at first, but she was still breathing. He had the room and her be purified while she slept.

She still hasn’t woken up yet. 

“Master, she probably needs rest. More now most likely as she was fighting that ailment. She’ll be awake and better soon,” Euryclea had told him, wrinkled hands on his broad shoulder. 

He didn’t move. It’s been three days. Three days of her not being able to eat or drink. That…thing might be out of her now, but what of the damage it’s caused? 

“It would be best if you rested-”

“Get out,” he muttered, his lip twitching. He whipped around to look at them. “Now! Get out! I want you all out!”

Euryclea jumped back, she knew her king had a temper. “Now My King, she will still need help when she wakes-”

“And?! She’s sleeping now. She and the room have been purified. There is nothing more to be done. So you will get out !” He swallowed and inhaled deeply through his nose. “Check on our son while you’re gone... You will be called upon when she wakes but you will be out of our chamber until then.” 

He turned his head back towards their bed once he heard the whispering of the maids and the quick shuffling of feet. One tried to pick up her supplies. “Leave it!” he shouted without looking at her.

She stopped, startled, but did as he ordered and followed the other slaves. The room was empty now. 

Tension left his body as he sat on the bed, looking at his sleeping wife.  Her cheeks were red and were warm, and her breathing was deep. 

His vision blurred, and his eyes burned and so did his throat. A sob escaped him and he lowered his head into his hands. He let the curtain of his thick hair drape over him to hide his face, the ends of it laying against the blanket that covered her body. This wasn’t the first time he wept over her condition and he knew he shouldn’t expect her to bounce up and out after that but… She still looked sick. She hasn’t eaten or drank in days. Even if that sludge was out of her, what if the damage had already been done? 

He felt a cold gust against his back, causing a shiver up his spine. He didn’t have to look up to know who it was. He waited for her to speak.

He heard Athena in his mind like usual. Her deep voice echoed in his head with a chuckle. Penelope is asleep and could not hear her right now it seems. “You know, kicking them all out wasn’t necessary.”

He sniffled, tossing his head to throw the auburn locks bouncing once more against his back so he could look at the owl with his red-rimmed eyes. He grabbed a rag and wiped his own face now. And blowing his nose. “Well, they aren’t necessary either.”

“Really? Are you planning to stay up the whole time to watch her when you’re in such a state yourself?”

He glared up at her. She was resting on a branch that came out from their nest. He hated that she seemed to be smiling. And that she was right. He was exhausted as well. Stress, taking care of her, trying to remain relaxed while visiting and playing with Telemachus, half-assing being a king. It was all adding up and his head felt like fog.

“Sleep,” She was suddenly in the form of a young girl. Sitting at the end of their nest. “I’ll make sure she’s well. I knew her before I knew you, you know.” 

He couldn’t say no even if he wanted to. His eyes were shutting and he was now the one swaying. He went to the other side of the bed and crawled under the covers. “Wake me when she does, please.”

Athena nodded. He curled up to his wife, resting his head on her shoulder, resting his nose under her jaw… We need a bath , he thought before sweet sleep fell over him.

It was in the middle of night when he woke up, Athena brushing her feathers against his face to wake him before nodding once in Penelope’s direction and taking flight. This time he stayed awake and lit the oil lamp that rested in it’s special nook on their living bed he made. 

He looked at Penelope and hope filled him when he noticed the change. She no longer felt so hot under his touch, her skin going back to it’s familiar coolness. Color started to come back to her face. Her breathing no longer sounded so labored. Anthos laid upon her belly, so he scooped up the cat and placed her to the side. He then looked over her body, checking her scales once for peeling before settling for scratching under Anthos’ chin as he waited.

Penelope was laying on her back when she suddenly sat up and belched loudly. The warm damp cloth that had been laid over her breast fell into her lap. 

“Oh, gods-” she said before she covered her mouth. It would’ve been humorous in any other situation. 

Odysseus immediately sat up as well, pushing the blankets off himself to kneel on the bed facing her. Her silver eyes bright. She let her hand fall from her mouth as she felt her husband's rough hands cup her face. She blinked, her thick lashes fluttering once.

She watched as her husband’s stormy eyes scanned her with a worried brow and pursed lips. She chuckled at how his hair decided to wake. Parted too far to the right and weirdly flattened on one side.

Odysseus was taken aback by how she looked as she almost looked as though she had never been sick. The bags under her eyes were gone, her skin almost seemed to glow, and her silvery eyes were bright and focused. Tears no longer filled them. 

She waited, breathing deeply, reveling in her body working with her again. She opened her mouth slightly, relieved that nothing seemed to buildup just below her throat. 

She grinned at her husband, who was now looking over where some of her scales were, having memorized their placement. His hand now brushing over the scattering of some on her left hip once again. He looked back up at her wide-eyed, when she hummed lowly, her throat still burning from the bile of the last few days. 

“I think at this point you just want an excuse to look at me…” she rasped.

He snorted. “Since when have I needed an excuse?” 

He rested his forehead against hers, her pushing back a slight bit with her own, and he whispered, “How are you feeling? The pearls worked, yes?”

She nodded, then kissed his nose, “I think they worked, my Joy… I think I’ll be okay.” 

“Oh, praise the gods! Penelope!” He exhaled and pulled her close.

He placed a few soft kisses on the once sweaty and pale forehead that he would push her hair away from. As she giggled and turned away, he cupped her other cheek, pulling her face closer to his own to continue his affection. The kisses only stopped momentarily as he could not hold back his grin as he squished his nose into her cheekbone, no longer red from fever but from joy. Her sharp teeth glinted as she squirmed. Her body was sore and moving so much hurt her ribs but she couldn’t bring herself to push him away. She leaned away from him, as his hair was tickling her; it only left her neck vulnerable. He nuzzled himself on the pulse point, the same spot he desperately felt during the past few days. Her laughter, although still hoarse, was his goal; she truly meant it when she said she was feeling better.

He shifted, trying to pull her tighter to him when she winced and pushed him back, “Odysseus, my breasts hurt. Not so tightly!” 

“Forgive me, I forgot.” He still smiled, giggling himself as he took her freezing hand, a good sign for Penelope, and kissed her calloused fingertips.

Penelope shook her head and took a deep breath, wincing. She took the rag that was in her lap and wiped at the milk that had dribbled out on her. “My ribs definitely hurt as well”-she coughed- “and my throat…Maybe I’m not fully well yet actually.” 

He stopped his affections, face suddenly serious. “You don’t think you’ll be sick again, right? You said the pearls helped.”

 “Oh, they definitely did. I’ll be fine eventually. Just thisty and hungry and sore,” she said, her usually gorgeous voice hoarse. She swallowed thickly but smiled at him. He was clearly worried and she wanted to give her husband some peace. She rustled his hair so it wasn’t such a mess with her other hand. “But I actually feel pretty good. Though I did just wake up.” She gave him the rag to clean the droplets she left on his own chest.

“Good,” He said, tossing the cloth back when he was done and gave one final kiss on her cool cheek before shuffling off the bed, losing balance as he got tangled up in the blankets before taking off to call back the maids. “We’ll get you something to eat. That’s the only way to test if you’re better.” 

He looked out the doorway, somewhat regretting having yelled at the maids to leave earlier. Euryclea was nearby thankfully. Stubborn old woman. 

“She’s awake. Bring some food. Let’s try some fruits and bread for now, pomegranates, of course. And bring more water. Wake up the other maids when you finish bringing them. Go.”

He whirled back around and jogged back to where she sat. She was petting Anthos’ black fur as she drank from the little cup that was beside their bed. “Slow down, don’t overdo it…” 

She rolled her eyes. To “overdo water” was a silly concept to her as a naiad, but she did drink more slowly. He crawled back on their bed. He started to retie her hair which had fallen out while sleeping. She flicked her wrist and water hopped out of the pitcher once more into the small cup. Anthos curling up beside her.

He began combing her through her soft black hair, running into some of the knots with his fingers and gently undoing them. Going through it more times for his own comfort. She didn’t need anything fancy right now, especially as she should bathe soon. “How’s your stomach? Not feeling sick, right? You haven’t been able to have anything in days…”

“No, Odysseus, I don’t feel sick. I’ll be okay…” He finished tying her hair up with a leather cord and pulled her into his lap. She shifted a slight bit to sit more comfortably before suddenly her eyes got wide. “Th-the council! What day is it?!”

He scoffed and shook his head. He placed his hand over hers. “Rescheduled. Neither of us were in a state where we can go.” 

She wrinkled her nose but didn’t argue as he was right. Again. 

She squeezed herself up tighter into his strong arms. She had always enjoyed his warmth, always running colder than most mortals with her ancestry; they met in the middle. She traced some freckles on collarbone with her unoccupied hand.

She took another sip from her cup before turning her head and placed a kiss on his collarbone. “Thank you for taking care of me…I know the reason I got better is because of your care.”

“There is no reason to thank me,” he murmured. “I missed you so much.”

She smiled,“I don’t know if a man who barely left my side can say that.” 

“This man will say it no matter where he’s been.”

She snorted. “Speaking of which, I know I need a bath. When was the last time you’ve taken one?”

“Since you last had one,” He smirked at the way she wrinkled her nose. “We can take one after you eat.”

She gasped. “TELEMACHUS!” she started to turn away before she grabbed her left side and groaned. 

“Just my ribs! Calm down,” She grunted, reassuring him as he reached out towards her. She caught her breath and slowly brought herself back to curl back up against him. Anthos’ head now up looking at them. “I will see Telemachus.”

“You need to eat-”

“Then while we bathe! It’s not like our son isn’t capable of worse smells himself.”

He couldn’t argue with that. 

The pitcher was empty by the time Euryclea came in. The plate was soon empty as well. But her stomach remained full.  

Odysseus smiled as he sat with Argos now, playing with his floppy ears. That had been this morning. And it was why he was on his own. He told her what the Naiads told him and as always, she immediately was making plans as to what to do. He wanted her to rest and gain her strength back, she wanted him to “do his royal duties”. He was simply keeping his promise to her… 

That doesn’t mean that she still wasn’t on his mind. Or that he didn’t sneak in the castle at noon and was reassured by his Euryclea that she hadn’t snuck out or was doing anything too strenous. 

“King Odysseus! You’ve been sitting there for a while! Are you well?!” 

Argos answered before Odysseus could. His dog, who had been lulled to sleep by his master’s petting, stood up quick and began to bark at the sheep herder. The shepard’s own dogs rising to attention at the possible threat. The sheep surrounding him shuffled about in fear. 

Odysseus placed his hand upon the dog’s chest, Argos looking at him before looking back at the other man and his own herding dogs and growling. “Hush Argos, that’s no stranger and you know that,” Odysseus looked back up at Alkaios before grabbing the pile of flowers from the ground. “I’m well! Just lost in my thoughts. Is that the young lamb that you are so worried about resting on your shoulders?” 

Alkaios smiled and raised his hand to pat at little lambs head that he was carrying. “Yes, she’s getting strong though! She’ll catch up with the others and I’m sure soon I won’t have to worry about her anymore. And you won’t need to worry about your queen much now that I hear she’s getting better… I’m happy the sheep left you some flowers for your collection there.” 

“Yes, I am too,” Odysseus smiled back and couldn’t help but shake his head at the little faces that were crowding around the herder, as though they knew they were being talked about. “Would hate to go back to Penelope empty handed! I’m actually on my way to thank the Naiads for their help.” 

“I won’t keep you then! Have a good evening, my king!”

Odysseus nodded as he watched the shepard go over the hill, his flock following close behind. He was happy knowing his sheep were being watched over by Alkaios, always the dutiful shepard. 

He held the flowers and tried to reach into his pouch for a leather cord to keep them together and grumbled when he couldn’t find one. Of course, he forgot. He pulled on the cord that piled his hair on his head, releasing the thick spiraling curls over his shoulders and back. It was getting cold with the evening air so having another layer of ‘wool’ was helpful.

He had just finished the knot around the flowers, when he heard Argos whimpering. He whipped his head in his direction, worried his faithful companion was in danger, only to start grinning when he saw the actual problem. “You silly dog, you want it that bad? It’s too big for you!”

His hound was bouncing around a couple of rocks, a large stick sticking out of them. He looked back to his master, tail wagging and pleading with him to pull it out. 

Odysseus shook his head but walked over to it. He looked around the stones before he pushed one boulder with his leg and heaved the large stick out. He threw it in the grass where Argos picked it up and started to gnaw on the stick, much too large for him. His head leaning to the side from it’s weight. It was hard to believe that this was the same dog that was capable of taking down good game. 

But that’s why Odysseus liked him so much. 

“Good dog…Enough dallying. It’s getting late, and I must speak to the nymphs.” 

Argos simply crunched on his stick some more.

~~~

Let me know what y'all think! (also if there are spelling errors!) :D I know I have her being stubborn but know that Odysseus behaves the exact same way when sick. They're Likeminded and they behave basically the same in every way.

[chierafied]

Jily Microfic March 26: Revolted

@jilymicrofics, 300 words. On AO3. 🦡💛 Also for @mppmaraudergirl’s Alight with happiness fest Day 4: Our Little Family

The sight and scent of James’ full English breakfast make Lily’s queasy stomach heave. She groans, closes her eyes, and breathes slowly in and out until the nausea resides. It’s been a week of misery and she’s already over it. Thankfully, she has only thrown up twice so far, and she’s aiming to keep both the number and her food down throughout this unfortunate gestational period.  

She opens her eyes when James speaks and meets his soft gaze.

“All right, Mrs Potter?”  

“I will be. In a bit.”  

“Do you want me to use that Charm Mum recommended?”  

Lily shakes her head – and instantly regrets it as her stomach roils. “No. It was great for a while but after it faded, I felt even worse.”  

Case in point: vomit number two.  

“Can you eat?” The worry is evident in both his voice and the frown he’s regarding her with.  

“I can.” She glances down at her plate of fruit and the small bowl of plain yogurt. “In a bit. But maybe you could choose oatmeal for breakfast tomorrow.”  

James lowers his fork and its bit of sausage and grimaces. “Sorry. I had a hankering and didn’t think.”  

“It’s okay. I don’t want to spoil your breakfast, too. Maybe I should brew an anti-emetic potion today. If I can stomach the fumes.” Lily picks up a slice of apple and bites in.  

“That’s worth a try.” He smiles at her from across the table and reaches for her hand; runs his thumb over her knuckles before interlacing his fingers with hers. “I can help if you want,” he offers.  

Lily briefly rests her other hand on the slight swell of her belly and smiles back at James. Despite the nausea and the fatigue and overall feeling poorly, she’s never been happier.