#ferns are very protective

[caffeine-and-spells]

My Recipe for Black Salt

Salt

Burned incense ashes / cauldron ashes from positive workings — I personally use ashes from old matches and from burning loose juniper and lavender in my cauldron

Dirt from a fern plant

[ask-gale]

Since the day she discovered the "True Lovers' Embrace" within the pages of their shared diary, thoughts of its potential consumed her. Gale had always managed to keep a safe distance from harm, but what if, one day, fate turned its gaze upon him? The shadowlands, to her, were nothing more than a morose graveyard. It whispered chilling conjectures into her thoughts, leaving her sleepless and consumed by dread. Late one night, unable to resist the allure of possibilities, she visited his tent with matching rings in hand. Uncertain of his feelings, despite a recent compliment, she hesitated before showing him the rings.

"Gale, I've got something for you," she said, her gaze briefly meeting his. "You don't have to wear it, but... it would give me great comfort knowing you do..."

Gale greets her with a warm smile, eyeing the ring she's holding towards him.

"What's this? One of the rings you found earlier?"

He grabs the ring, inspecting it closer.

"If it would bring you comfort, then of course I'll gladly wear it. Although I am curious as to what it does."

[poorly-drawn-puppet-history]

Very curious. Have any ( if substitute) was redeemed headcanons.

Also love you’re art and blog

HI!!! thank u !!!

There's some things i want to draw w the substitute, but they're very Ambitious bc i believe he (& the professor) Deserve The Good Stuff. the rendering. the effects. da big colors. i tend not to post my headcanons/ideas Without art because if it Does have a picture it's more likely to get attention/will be less annoying. ANYWAY,

I think it will Not be easy for the Substitute Redemption Arc to happen, as much as i'd be into it. Like he's so fucked up in So many ways, it'll take A Lot of work. ESPECIALLY now that the real professor is back. he's going to Know he's obsolete. It makes me kind of sad because he was Angry before and now he's going to be angry And scared. he's literally like a feral cat.

I do not think it would be easy for him to get better, nor would it be without its Downs; he's exactly like the Professor, isn't he? Has all his memories and Looks exactly the same? So why wasn't he good enough? And now the Professor is back again, and better than ever- now he's got parents, he's made up with Ryan, he's even gotten bigger! What's the point of being around at all? At the very start he wasn't good enough for the puppets at the funeral, and they sent him away. I think the regular Professor already has problems with being left alone, but this is a completely new flavor of that.

He's clearly very bitter toward them for their initial reaction to him, so he won't be glad to go back there (he's just going to be forgotten in the excitement of the Professor's return anyway!) if he's somehow destroyed. he's very fucked up about his state and seems to blame it partly on them and God; i find it fascinating he sounds so derogatory when he talks about God when the actual Professor has always said "he's a great guy" and has a literal line directly to him. I think that reveals a lot about his mental state- he's suffering a lot, so it's easy to blame it on others, especially if they're in higher places.

It sort of feels like he's lashing out on purpose, maybe even to Avoid more of that abandonment? Like, you're not the one being Left if you do the leaving. You cut the ties Yourself and it makes you feel more in control. If he tries to come around to the 'good' side he'll be reminded at every turn of what he's Not, and he'll always feel a little ostracized. So why not just go all in? In for a penny, in for a pound. My life will never be whole or happy so neither will yours.

all this to say that we can hope and theorize all we want, but i don't know if it'll have a happy ending. I know the S5 finale end was a generally 'happy' one, but I wouldn't be surprised if the Substitute's is a story of an enemy who tries to go out and take as many people with him as possible, or of someone who tries and tries but meets their end without ever getting 'better'. They might prove us wrong, though! I hope they do.

[no-passaran]

Genocide experts warn that India is about to genocide the Shompen people

Who are the Shompen?

The Shompen are an indigenous culture that lives in the Great Nicobar Island, which is nowadays owned by India. The Shompen and their ancestors are believed to have been living in this island for around 10,000 years. Like other tribes in the nearby islands, the Shompen are isolated from the rest of the world, as they chose to be left alone, with the exception of a few members who occasionally take part in exchanges with foreigners and go on quarantine before returning to their tribe. There are between 100 and 400 Shompen people, who are hunter-gatherers and nomadic agricultors and rely on their island's rainforest for survival.

Why is there risk of genocide?

India has announced a huge construction mega-project that will completely change the Great Nicobar Island to turn it into "the Hong Kong of India".

Nowadays, the island has 8,500 inhabitants, and over 95% of its surface is made up of national parks, protected forests and tribal reserve areas. Much of the island is covered by the Great Nicobar Biosphere Reserve, described by UNESCO as covering “unique and threatened tropical evergreen forest ecosystems. It is home to very rich ecosystems, including 650 species of angiosperms, ferns, gymnosperms, and bryophytes, among others. In terms of fauna, there are over 1800 species, some of which are endemic to this area. It has one of the best-preserved tropical rain forests in the world.”

The Indian project aims to destroy this natural environment to create an international shipping terminal with the capacity to handle 14.2 million TEUs (unit of cargo capacity), an international airport that will handle a peak hour traffic of 4,000 passengers and that will be used as a joint civilian-military airport under the control of the Indian Navy, a gas and solar power plant, a military base, an industrial park, and townships aimed at bringing in tourism, including commercial, industrial and residential zones as well as other tourism-related activities.

This project means the destruction of the island's pristine rainforests, as it involves cutting down over 852,000 trees and endangers the local fauna such as leatherback turtles, saltwater crocodiles, Nicobar crab-eating macaque and migratory birds. The erosion resulting from deforestation will be huge in this highly-seismic area. Experts also warn about the effects that this project will have on local flora and fauna as a result of pollution from the terminal project, coastal surface runoff, ballasts from ships, physical collisions with ships, coastal construction, oil spills, etc.

The indigenous people are not only affected because their environment and food source will be destroyed. On top of this, the demographic change will be a catastrophe for them. After the creation of this project, the Great Nicobar Island -which now has 8,500 inhabitants- will receive a population of 650,000 settlers. Remember that the Shompen and Nicobarese people who live on this island are isolated, which means they do not have an immune system that can resist outsider illnesses. Academics believe they could die of disease if they come in contact with outsiders (think of the arrival of Europeans to the Americas after Christopher Columbus and the way that common European illnesses were lethal for indigenous Americans with no immunization against them).

And on top of all of this, the project might destroy the environment and the indigenous people just to turn out to be useless and sooner or later be abandoned. The naturalist Uday Mondal explains that “after all the destruction, the financial viability of the project remains questionable as all the construction material will have to be shipped to this remote island and it will have to compete with already well-established ports.” However, this project is important to India because they want to use the island as a military and commercial post to stop China's expansion in the region, since the Nicobar islands are located on one of the world's busiest sea routes.

Last year, 70 former government officials and ambassadors wrote to the Indian president saying the project would “virtually destroy the unique ecology of this island and the habitat of vulnerable tribal groups”. India's response has been to say that the indigenous tribes will be relocated "if needed", but that doesn't solve the problem. As a spokesperson for human rights group Survival International said: “The Shompen are nomadic and have clearly defined territories. Four of their semi-permanent settlements are set to be directly devastated by the project, along with their southern hunting and foraging territories. The Shompen will undoubtedly try to move away from the area destroyed, but there will be little space for them to go. To avoid a genocide, this deadly mega-project must be scrapped.”

On 7 February 2024, 39 scholars from 13 countries published an open letter to the Indian president warning that “If the project goes ahead, even in a limited form, we believe it will be a death sentence for the Shompen, tantamount to the international crime of genocide.”

How to help

The NGO Survival International has launched this campaign:

From this site, you just need to add your name and email and you will send an email to India's Tribal Affairs Minister and to the companies currently vying to build the first stage of the project.

Share it with your friends and acquittances and on social media.

Sources:

India’s plan for untouched Nicobar isles will be ‘death sentence’ for isolated tribe, 7 Feb 2024. The Guardian.

‘It will destroy them’: Indian mega-development could cause ‘genocide’ and ‘ecocide’, says charity, 8 Feb 2024. Geographical.

Genocide experts call on India's government to scrap the Great Nicobar mega-project, Feb 2024. Survival International.

The container terminal that could sink the Great Nicobar Island, 20 July 2022. Mongabay.

[Maps] Environmental path cleared for Great Nicobar mega project, 10 Oct 2022. Mongabay.

[anthurak]

Something I’ve often found really compelling in Adventure Time is how The Grass Sword/Grass Demon/Fern found up becoming one of the most prominent and disturbing antagonists of the series pretty much by complete accident.

Like it’s easy to forget after Fern has become such a prominent character both in the show and fandom, but the ‘curse’ of the Grass Longsword started out and spent much of the show entirely benign. All it really did was cause the sword to stick to Finn. If anything, the sword/curse was quite beneficial to Finn, providing him with a prosthetic arm and activating on several instances to protect him. Really, the entire point of the original Blade of Grass episode was that the sword was actually pretty useful.

It was only AFTER stabbing and later merging with the Finn Sword to create Fern that the ‘curse’ started becoming actively malicious.

In hindsight, I think it’s pretty clear that while the Grass Spider/Octopus/Demon ‘curse’ entity within the Grass Sword may have been malicious, for the longest time it had no way of actually controlling or otherwise influencing Finn. The sword may have bonded to Finn’s body, but NOT to his mind, or more importantly his soul. This left Finn free to use the sword, and later even the grass-prosthetic freely without any danger or corruption from the curse.

But then Finn accidentally used it to stab the Finn Sword. As we see in Two Swords, this for the first time gave the Grass Demon/Curse direct access to a soul, the soul of the alternate Finn within the Finn Sword. A soul that it was able to corrupt and influence and ultimately merge with to create Fern.

This is one of those things that I think a lot of the fandom seems to miss: Fern isn’t some quirky doppelganger or a ‘brother’ to Finn. He is straight up a distorted, corrupted version OF Finn (the alternate iteration of him within the Finn Sword) manifested by the CURSE of the Grass Sword.

As in, basically EVERYTHING Fern does that deviates from the ‘norm’ that is Finn can be considered the work OF the curse. From more overt stuff like his tendency to ‘stab first, ask questions later’ or the times he ‘flips out’, to more subtle things like his brooding or just the fact that he has a noticeably different voice (the voice of the Grass Demon mind you), ALL of these are the product of the Curse.

And it’s this fact which makes Fern a truly tragic character. Because he was effectively doomed from the very start. Despite Fern’s attempts to do good and Finn’s and Jake’s attempts to accept him as his own person, Fern simply could not escape the curse’s influence. Because that curse was the very thing that created and maintained his physical body. It WAS his body. And this curse wanted nothing but to subvert, influence and ultimately CONTROL him for its own ends.

I think we can very easily assume that all of Fern’s failures, all his insecurities, everything that drove him to turning on Finn and trying to kill him and becoming the Green Knight in the final season, ALL of that was the result of the curse’s influence. Trying to whittle and break down Fern’s will so that it could mold him into whatever it wanted. And there was NOTHING Fern could do to stop this. Because the curse made itself a core part of what he was.

When Finn and Fern finally enter his mental world and destroy the Grass Demon in Come Along With Me, we see Fern as he truly is: simply another version of Finn who has been corrupted by the curse.

And with the Grass Demon dead, there is nothing to maintain Fern’s physical body, causing him to soon fade away. In order for this alternate Finn to be saved, he couldn’t exist as ‘Fern’.

Of course this also means that ‘Fern’ didn’t actually DIE at the end of the series. He simply reverted back to his true form: The Finn Sword.

And what I find so compelling and tragic about all this is that NONE of it had to actually happen. The Finn within the Finn Sword didn’t need to be put through all this suffering. Like it seems pretty clear that the Finn that become the Finn Sword was perfectly content being a sword. He didn’t need to be corrupted and spend the last two and half seasons being manipulated by a grass octopus demon.

Because when you think about it, ALL of this happened by accident. If Finn hadn’t lost the Finn Sword to Bandit Princess, or if he’d been able to simply avoid stabbing it with the Grass Sword during his fight with her, NONE of this would have happened. Finn would still have the Finn Sword and the Grass Sword would have likely remained benign and helpful to him. Heck, given how Finn seems to fully regain the use of the Grass Sword in his fight with Bandit Princess, he probably would have been able to duel-wield the Grass Sword and Finn Sword together.

This is really what I find to be the tragedy of Fern: That two of Finn’s greatest tools wound up becoming one of his most dangerous adversaries, and even worse that the Finn who became the Finn Sword was tortured and corrupted for no real reason, all essentially by accident.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hiii, how about our fav 141 men with to a very clumsy reader? Like e.g. I'm someone who keeps accidentally bumping into people while walking because apparently I can't walk a straight line???

Is that something you'd write?:3

Is this something I'd write? Absolutely. This prompt is so cute and the perfect opportunity to write a few drabbles. Thank you for sending it in, and thank you for your patience as I work through all the requests.

Find the Imagines & What If Masterlist HERE

Content & Warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, canon-typical cursing

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price:

“I’m doing it.”

“No. You’re not.”

You raise the hammer.

“Put it down,” says Price pointing at the ground.

“I’m fully capable.”

“Yes,” admits Price, slowly. “But you always hurt yourself.”

Your husband isn’t wrong. Everything you’ve ever hung on the walls has resulted in a throbbing thumb.

“It’ll be different this time.”

Price shrugs. “Go on then.”

With tongue between teeth, you come down on the nail, striking thumb instead of metal. You turn to him, tears in your eyes.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. “Come here.”

“Don’t say ‘I told you so.’”

“Wouldn’t dare,” laughs Price, cradling your hand.

Simon "Ghost" Riley:

“We need to—”

“The milk—”

“It’s—”

Simon tugs you to the right and you growl in frustration. “Stop pulling on me.”

Simon glances down and you know he’s smirking behind the black balaclava. “You don’t know how to walk in a straight fucking line.”

“What?”

He nods toward an elderly couple. “Nearly ran them down, love.”

You roll your eyes. You’re yanked backward against Simon’s chest. He places both hands on either side of you against the cart.

“Gotta protect the elderly.”

“Fuck off,” you mutter.

Simon presses his lips to the top of your head, grinning.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick:

“Let me see, love.”

“It doesn’t hurt.”

Kyle grabs your wrist and inspects the nasty slice. You were in the kitchen preparing dinner and the knife slipped.

“At least the knife wasn’t dull,” murmurs Kyle as he rinses the wound under cold water. He gently washes it with soap, drying it afterward.

“You need to be more careful,” he says softly.

“You say that every time.”

“I mean it every time. I’m not interested in taking you to the hospital.”

Kyle rotates your wrist, covering the wound with a bandage, and places a soft kiss against the wrappings.

“All done.”

John "Soap" MacTavish:

“Can we—”

“Nope,” says John, shaking his head. “Focus.” He places his hands on your shoulders, urging you forward.

“You don’t need to do that.”

John twists you to the side as you almost collide with an antique tea set.

“Oh, aye. I do,” he mutters, gaze darting everywhere, looking for the next victim.

You’re the hazard. Last time the two of you went antique shopping, John had to hand over most of his cash because you kept knocking things over.

“They pack these places on purpose.”

He kisses the top of your head. “No. It’s just you, love.”

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @spicyspicyliving @tiredmetalenthusiast @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @pearljamislife @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @jade1605 @miaraei @contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez @gingergirl06 @kidd3ath @leed-bbg @blackhawkfanatic @suhmie

[spicycinnabun]

“Steve, something is wrong with Christofern!” Eddie entered Steve’s room, cradling the potted plant in his arms.

He’d come home after work, ready to greet his bud-dy, but one look at him had made Eddie gasp. His leaves were shriveled up like sad little green raisins. Usually, they were puffed up like oversized Rice Krispies.

Christofern had been Robin’s, originally. It had been in a very sorry state on her windowsill before she’d left for college—a lot worse than it looked now, under Eddie’s care, thank you—and she’d told him, “I honestly can’t stand the thing. You keep it. It sheds worse than my aunt’s Great Pyrenees, and I’m tired of vacuuming. Just don’t throw it out, or Steve might murder you.”

And that had been that.

Christofern didn’t look like a typical house plant. He wasn’t a fern, which Steve kept reminding him. Steve was more practical. He didn’t give his plants names but called them by their designated labels.

Christofern was a Donkey’s Tail, or sedum morganianum, part of the succulent family. That term meant absolutely nothing to Eddie unless it was referring to a big bowl of pasta—he had no idea there was a whole plant category called delicious.

“But maybe he wants to be a fern, Steven,” he’d argued. “Ever thought of that? He doesn’t have to be a succulent just because he was assigned so at birth.”

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” had been Steve’s reply.

At first, Eddie had enlisted Steve’s help purely because he’d wanted his attention, and talking about plants was an easy as hell way to get Steve’s attention. Steve was a very passionate plant dad. But later, Eddie grew to love Christofern, and the trials and tribulations of learning how to care for him were almost like raising his own child.

Christofern had not just one but seven long, thickly spiked green tails. Seven tails. He reminded Eddie of a mutated dragon. He was adorable but occasionally grumpy and high-maintenance, like a certain someone Eddie knew. (Perhaps Christofern was more of a prince than a dragon—a dragon prince?)

If he didn’t get enough sunlight, his leaves shed, and he wilted. If he wasn’t rotated daily, he got yellow and sunburnt. And if he didn’t get enough water…

“I swear I watered him... uh, recently.” When had Eddie last watered him? Not the day before, but maybe Wednesday? Or had it been Tuesday? Shit. Eddie pouted. “I just gave him a drink now, anyway. It’s not too late, is it, Doctor Steve?”

He clasped his hands and watched Steve’s attentive eyes rove over his plant, waiting for the diagnosis.

“Eddie, how could you neglect Christofern like this? I should call Plant Protective Services.” Steve grabbed his hand, startling Eddie and his overactive heartbeat.

He took Eddie’s index finger and pushed it into Christofern’s soil right down to his second knuckle. It felt inappropriate. Eddie made a noise, appalled. “Steven, why are you making me violate Christofern?”

Steve ignored him. “What do you feel? The soil is soaked down there, isn’t it?”

Eddie wiggled his finger. It felt goopy. “Yes,” he admitted.

“You’ve overwatered it,” Steve chastised. “Now, the leaves might rot instead of rehydrating themselves. You’ve got to make sure you don’t drown it. Christofern only needs a moderate amount of water every two weeks, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie said meekly. “I’m sorry, Christofern.”

Steve pulled his finger out of the soil and gave him a look bordering on amusement. “Leave him with me for a few days, and I’ll get him back to where he should be.”

“Thank you, Doctor Steve. How can I ever repay you?” Eddie imagined repaying Steve with his mouth, his tongue, his hands (after he washed the soil off)…

“You can clean the bathroom,” Steve said.

Eddie’s fantasy shattered. He whined. “Does it have to be that?”

“Yup.”

“Damn it, Steve, just make me suck your dick next time,” Eddie grumbled on his way out.

He missed the way Steve’s jaw dropped.

[munsons-maiden]

𝐒𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐘𝐨𝐮

Here's a little oneshot for you, lovelies! I hope you enjoy 🖤

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Eddie Munson x female reader (no physical descriptions, though)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | Based on this request: could i request maybe eddie brings reader to a deal but wants her to stay in the van so she’s safe but the people he’s dealing to see her because she walked out to tell eddie something and it doesn’t go so well. and after the situation eddie and her argue but eddie’s upset and just what’s to protect her 🥺 but ofc it ends well🫡

- I hope you like it, dear!🖤

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 | fights turning into love confessions, angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 3k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | angst with a happy ending, attempted (sexual) assault

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝🖤

You can barely make out your surroundings, the little dirt path leading you deeper into the woods, in the darkness between the trees as you slowly draw closer – the moon and stars have vanished behind the clouds as if they’ve gone into hiding, and the taste of a summer storm already laces the stuffy air.

In all these years of being Eddie Munson’s friend, there’s been one simple rule when it comes to him meeting his customers for a drug deal:

Stay in the car.

The customers are harmless. It’s the cops I’m worried about, he tells you, expression stern, whenever you crack a joke about him being scared you could scare away a customer.

It’s tiny little Hawkins, and the deals gone wrong that sometimes make it into the TV news or newspaper headlines are over coke and heroin and all the hard stuff Eddie would never sell, not over something as harmless as weed or the occasional pill of ketamine.

Tonight has been no different.

It was supposed to be a quick deal on your way to the Carnival two towns over at Sycamore where you’re supposed to meet the rest of Hellfire.

Some new customer sent by Reefer Rick.

But the longer you’ve been sitting in Eddie’s van, in the dark, in the middle of the lonely road that cuts through the woods surrounding Hawkins…this nagging feeling started to grow in your chest. First into worry, then into outright panic when you’d watched the clock on the old van’s display tick, one minute turning into five, and five into ten.

What if something went wrong?

What if something horrible happened to him?

What if Eddie needs your help?

You wanted to tell him, tonight at the fair, beneath the see of glittering lights of the Ferris wheel. That you’re in love with him. That you’ve been, for a very long time. That even if he doesn’t feel the same, you need to say it out loud, how you first fell for all the tiny little pieces that make him Eddie and then wholly and utterly and completely.

When ten minutes bled into fifteen, and your mind had come up with the most horrid scenarios fueled by news coverage of drug deals breaking into violence, conjuring up gruesome images of Eddie bleeding out between the ferns and brambles covering the forest floor, blood soaking the moss, you couldn’t stay cooped up in the confines of his old van a second longer.

You broke Eddie’s one rule. You left the car and went looking for him.

As you’re now traipsing along the small dirt path cutting through the brambles and ferns, the fabric of your summer dress you’ve spent an entire weekend picking out at the mall just so Eddie might finally start seeing you as something else as his friend, sticking to your sweaty skin and thorns scratching at your legs, you realize that even if Eddie needs your help…how the fuck would you even be able to help him?

It’s not like you’re carrying a gun in the little bag you’re clutching at your side.

The sound of voices startles you out of your thoughts, and in the dark, your eyes lock on the two silhouettes in the little clearing ahead of you.

You recognize Eddie first – you’d recognize him everywhere.

He’s standing with his back to you. Even with the remaining distance between the two of you, the darkness of the woods, you can tell that his shoulders are tense.

His whole body is holding a kind of tension you’ve only ever seen on him once before, a few years ago, when his deadbeat father had shown up at the trailer park drunken and shouting curses into the wind before Eddie had dragged you into the safety Wayne’s trailer.

A twig snaps beneath your sneakers, and both Eddie and his customer whirl around to you.

And you realize you’ve made a huge mistake.

The guy in front of Eddie is no nervous classmate, not one of the chill stoner guys always hanging around beneath the bleachers. No friendly family dad or stressed housewife looking for a little relaxation or piece of rebellion.

The guy’s buzzcut does nothing to soften the harsh angles of his face, the lines around his mouth formed by the frown that seems to be engraved there.

There’s something menacing in his eyes as they lock on you.

Something evil and predatory.

The guy licks his lips, and his mouth curls into a lewd smirk, a twisted mirror to the abysmal panic in Eddie’s wide eyes as he stares at you.

You can read them like the pages of an open book.

What the fuck are you doing here? I told you to stay in the car!

The guy slaps a meaty hand on Eddie’s shoulder, hard enough to make Eddie sway a little on his feet with the impact. And contrary to what the jocks at Hawkins High believe, Eddie is strong.

“And at first I thought you’d brought the cops,” the guy laughs – but it’s not a friendly laugh. It doesn’t reach his eyes, either. He’s got muscles. A lot of them, flexing beneath his skin as he lets his arm sink from Eddie’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t do that to your old friend though, would you? Instead, you brought me a present.”

There’s an eagle tattooed across the guy’s throat, wings spread wide. It’s fitting, this bird of prey marking him. You feel like a tiny little robin beneath his gaze.

Eddie’s eyes haven’t left you for a single second.

“I told you to stay in the car.” His voice is strained with barely suppressed fury and, above all else…panic.

“Nah, we’re good,” the guy grins, letting his eyes roam over you.

Making you wish you were wearing something other than a short little summer dress.

“Come on closer, little birdie,” he drawls, “Don’t be shy now.”

“Go back to the car,” Eddie says, louder, the vehemence of his tone flashing in his panicked eyes. His voice is trembling. “Now.”

“What, you don’t want to introduce us?” The man drawls. The threat in his own voice is as clear and tangible as the panic in Eddie’s umber eyes as he shakes his head, the movement subtle, barely visible. Go, he mouths. Now.

At the guy, he adds, “I thought we were here to talk about business.”

“You want me to focus on business when you brought your pretty girl with you, boy?” The guy makes a beckoning motion at you, still frozen like a deer in the headlights, rooted to your spot only feet away from him and Eddie. “Come closer, doll. Don’t be shy now.”

“No,” Eddie interjects, fervor smoothing his voice as it cuts through the rain-laced air of the clearing, despair flashing out beneath the panic, “She’s not part of this.”

You’re scared out of your mind.

But hell will freeze over before you leave Eddie alone with this man.

So you do what the guy told you.

You step closer, coming to stand beside Eddie.

“Tell you what, boy,” the man purrs, tearing his eyes off of you to meet Eddie’s, a flash of yellowed teeth in diffuse moonlight, as his smirk grows into a grin so devilish you wouldn’t have been surprised had they been pointed, “I’m gonna give you a few more bucks and you’re gonna give me a few minutes with your lovely lady here.”

Beside you, Eddie inches closer to you, shifting to place himself between the guy and you.

Trying to shield you with his own body, you realize.

Eddie Munson, who always swore he was no hero outside of D&D, is becoming your hero right now.

“I’ll give you everything I got with me right now, and you leave,” Eddie counters, voice hard.

A desperate attempt to get you out of this situation.

Almost completely hidden from the guy’s field of vision with Eddie having placed himself in front of you, his muscles taut and ready to fight, your hands slowly dive into the bag slung over your shoulder, fingertips carefully feeling for something, anything, to use to protect him, to protect both of you –

“Or,” the man drawls, taking a step closer, with the ease of a predator rounding in on a wounded fawn, “I’ll just take whatever you got and have some fun with your pretty lady.”

It happens too fast to see it coming.

There’s a snapping sound as the flick-knife the guy must have been holding, concealed in his meaty fist and the dark of night, is flipped open, the jagged blade flashing in the obscure beams of moonlight filtering through the clouds and the foliage of trees above your heads – and Eddie pushes you farther behind him.

Placing yourself between you and the knife’s path as he snaps, voice vibrating, “Stay the fuck away from her.”

The man lets out a low, rumbling chuckle. “And what are you gonna do, hm?”

There. Your fingers wrap around something smooth and cool nestled at the bottom of your bag.

And not a second too soon.

Before the guy can let the knife in his fist soar down to hurt Eddie, you duck around your friend, your own hand flying up as you press your index finger down in the spray bottle in your sweaty grip, sending a blast of hair spray straight into the guy’s face.

He screams, hands flying up to cover his eyes as he stumbles backwards, and the flick-knife lands between the ferns.

Eddie doesn’t waste a single second.

His hand finding yours, he pulls you away from the screaming, staggering man and pushes you towards the path that leads back to the road and the van and safety. Together, you break into a run.

You don’t notice the thorns of the brambles cutting your legs, the burn of your lungs, your muscles, because it all fades to white noise beneath the roaring of blood in your ears, the wild pounding of your heart, Eddie’s own racing steps behind you.

Only at the edges of your panic-addled mind you realize that he’s staying behind you to make sure you’ll get away, first.

The van comes up in the distance, a flash of white among the leaves and branches, and you feel the first tender burst of relief wash through you at the sight.

Eddie rips the driver’s side door open, all but shoving you inside and onto the passenger seat as he climbs in after you, and the old engine comes to life with a sputtering roar. The van jerks forwards with screeching tires as your hands shoot out to grab the door’s handle to avoid toppling over into the footwell.

As the vehicle bolts down the country road leading out of the woods, silence descends upon you, heavy and loud even beneath the roar of the engine, your own panting breaths slowly calming.

You cast Eddie a careful sideways glance.

He doesn’t look at you.

His eyes are glued to the road the way his foot is glued to the gas pedal, jaw set, and his knuckles clamped around the wheel are white.

You’ve never seen him so angry in all the time you’ve known him.

You’ve never felt so angry in all the time you’ve known him, either.

When the van emerges from the woods and lights of the carnival come into sight, the twinkling form of the Ferris wheel rising over the rolling fields of wheat covering the landscape, Eddie steers the vehicle to the side of the road.

By the time he cuts off the engine and pushes the driver’s door open with a force that makes you fear it’ll just rip off its hinges, he still hasn’t uttered a single word.

You reach for the latch in your own door, but before you can open it, Eddie has already rounded the hood, and the door is ripped open to reveal his face, unreadable and void of all the usual humor and goofiness.

“Are you okay?” It sounds strangely hollow, the way he says it.

“Eddie –“

“Are you okay?” It’s nearly a shout, but not an angry one. Only scared. So fucking scared that it makes his voice shake as much as his hands coming up to rake through his curls while his dark eyes roam over you in the diffuse moonlight over the field, the dim glow of the lights inside the van, scanning the tiny cuts decorating your face and arms and legs where the brambles and branches of the woods have left their marks during your flight.

You give a tentative nod.

The breath he seems to have been holding leaves in a sharp exhale as he rakes his hand through his dark curls once more, sending stray leaves falling out as he starts pacing at the edge of the road.

You climb out of the car.

And the storm that’s been building the past few minutes breaks lose – not in the sky, but down beneath it.

“I TOLD YOU TO STAY IN THE FUCKING CAR!”

Eddie has never shouted at you.

You’ve never shouted at him, either, but it breaks out of you like a flood-wave.

“ME?! THIS IS MY FAULT?!”

“YES! FUCKING HELL YES IT IS! SHIT. IF YOU HAD, JUST FOR ONCE, LISTENED –“

“ME?! I’M NOT THE ONE MEETING FUCKING KILLERS IN THE WOODS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT!”

“THAT’S WHY I TOLD YOU TO STAY –“

“IF I’D STAYED IN THE CAR, YOU’D BE DEAD ON THE FOREST FLOOR NOW!” The thought of it, of Eddie, bleeding out between the ferns, scared and alone and in pain, makes the tears spill over and your voice shatter as you choke out the rest of the sentence in a miserable little whisper. “You’d be fucking dead!” Saying it aloud brings back the fury at him for being so fucking careless. “HE WAS ABOUT TO HURT YOU!”

“AND THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN WAY BETTER THAN IF HE’D HURT YOU! I CAN’T LOSE YOU, I FUCKING LOVE YOU!”

Eddie’s words shut you up.

They ring through the night, mingle with the soft summer breeze that ruffles the stalks of wheat in the nearby field, the rustling too loud in the shellshocked silence.

The tears which have been glittering in his dark eyes have started running down his pale cheeks.

For a few wild heartbeats, you just stare at each other in the moonlight piercing through the passing clouds, the glow of colorful lights of the fair at the edge of the field sending flares into the night, the stuffy summer night’s air pressing down on the two of you.

In a few quick strides, both of you cross the small distance between the two of you, meeting in the middle.

And then, you’re kissing.

And the world stills, heartbeat accelerating as panic and adrenaline bleed into something entirely else, something that’s been trapped within you for so long it takes a second to realize this, right now, is truly happening.

Eddie’s lips, soft and hot against yours, his palms cradling your face, the metal of his rings warm with the heat of his body as they press gently against your skin.

He kisses you like he’s been waiting for this moment just as long as you have.

He kisses you like he really, truly means it.

Because I fucking love you.

It’s better, so much better than even your wildest daydreams.

You know you’ll never want to kiss anyone else after this.

You know you don’t ever want this kiss to end.

It does, eventually. Eddie pulls away, wide-eyed and panting, lips slightly apart in a gape and curls in a tangled mess – from his own hands raking through it or yours right now, you can’t tell. Even in the half-dark of the night, you can see the blush dusting his cheeks.

“I – I’m sorry,” he breathes, the kiss-dazed gleam in his eyes making room for an appalled expression. “God, fuck, I’m – I didn’t think. I didn’t even ask –“

“I’ve been waiting for you to do this for a very long time,” you say quietly, giving him a soft smile.

For a moment, Eddie just stares at you, as if he’s contemplating whether his mind is playing tricks on him. “You, uh. You did?”

“Yeah,” you whisper into the few inches of between the two of you. “And now I’ll be waiting for you to do it again.”

He does. Not a single beat of hesitation.

This time, when Eddie’s lips meet yours, it’s softer, slower, yet just as intoxicating and feverish as that first kiss.

His hands snake up to cup your cheeks and angle your head as he slowly walks you backwards, until your back meets the side of the van, the metal still warm from the day and the sweltering night air, and butterflies flood your belly, your entire body, a colorful swarm of them making your skin tingle in all the places his body brushes against yours. His chest against yours, one of his knees between yours, his calloused fingertips gently trailing down the column of your throat.

Kissing Eddie Munson is as easy as breathing.

“I meant it,” he breathes into the kiss, before resting his forehead against yours, the curls of his bangs tickling you, “What I said. I’m so fucking sorry I dragged you into this mess. I’m so fucking sorry I put you in danger.” He swallows. “And I’m so fucking much in love with you.”

“I love you, too,” you whisper, placing a kiss to the corner of his lips, feeling his smile. “I’ve been loving you for a very long time, Eddie.”

You place your hands over his, still holding your face.

“I was so fucking scared,” Eddie murmurs, voice trembling again with new tears. “Fuck. I was so stupid –“

“We’re okay,” you whisper, fingers squeezing his, “We’re safe. You saved me.”

“Shit, you saved me. What even was that? Pepper spray?”

You chuckle. “Farah Fawcett hair spray.”

Eddie blinks, before he gives a breathless little laugh, as if he’s not sure he’d rather laugh or cry. Probably both. “Pretty fucking metal.”

“I wanted to look pretty for you tonight,” you amend, and Eddie’s expression grows serious again.

“You always look pretty, sweetheart. I’ve been having a pretty hard time not ogling you every second we’re together.”

“You need to promise me you’ll never ever meet clients in the middle of the woods. Not at night. Not by day either. And –“

“I promise,” Eddie interrupts, voice sincere. “I’m gonna stick to the clients I know. No expanding the business.”

“Good,” you breathe, letting your hands fall away from his to lock them at the nape of his neck, fingertips playing with his dark curls.

“Your hair is really soft,” you breathe, lips not an inch from his, feeling stupid all of a sudden for saying it out loud, but Eddie replies with an adorable little giggle that makes your heart soar and race and squeeze with love all at the same time.

“Thanks. It’s…uh. Don’t laugh. It’s Farah Fawcett conditioner.”

Your own soft laugh fades into the night as Eddie’s lips find yours again, the summer storm brewing over your heads and the glittering lights of the carnival in the distance and the moment of terror in the woods blurring against the radiant joy of knowing the one you love loves you back just as much.

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝🖤

Requests for angst/smangst remain open. If you want to check out my works in progress, here's the list🖤

[tamurilofrivendell]

Arranged | Thranduil x Reader

Read on AO3

Pairing: Thranduil x Female Reader

Summary: The Mirkwood courts having successfully pushed Thranduil into accepting a new queen through an arranged marriage. However, he cannot seem to help comparing them to his former wife. When tensions run high and reader calls the whole thing off, Thranduil realises the error of his ways.

Content etc: Thranduil being a little bit of an ass I guess. Angst. Fluff.

Prompt: number 32 & 39 on this list

requested by anonymous (I’m sorry this took literally forever and I’m sorry if it isn’t exactly what you wanted!)

word count: 4.6k

tags: @firelightinferno​​, @achromaticerebus​​, @coopsgirl​​, @birbixo0912​​, @desert-fern​​, @ancient-rime​​, @lady-of-imladris​​​, @weepingdreammarvel​​​, @asianbutnotjapanese​​​, @deadlymistletoe​​​

“This is wrong.” Thranduil’s voice snapped you out of your tangled thoughts and you lifted your head with a confused frown, looking back at him.

"What is?" You asked, not even having had any clue as to what it was that he was working on over there on the sprawling couch of his large private library.

Thranduil looked up and met your gaze. "The guards you have picked." He gestured to the paper in his hands as if it should be obvious. "They are not of a high enough level to guard the Queen." 

“Oh.” You gave him a quizzical look, tilting your head. You weren’t entirely sure about levels and the like. Nobody had said anything yesterday. Nobody had even really told you much at all, in all honesty, you had been sort of left to fend for yourself. “I... didn’t know anything about that. I just had to watch them fight and pick, you said. They appeared good enough for me. I think they would do just fine.”

The Elvenking blinked at you for a moment, his thoughts more critical than he would have liked. If you had not been sure, why had you not asked? Deep down, he knew that you could not possibly have known to ask because he had not told you that you could, or should. He’d told you to pick your own guards and then left you in the training grounds to attend a council meeting. However, Thranduil had simply assumed you would have asked for help or clarification if you had needed it. And clearly you had if this list was anything to go by. As it was, you had not wanted to cause a fuss, or look foolish, or add more work to the king’s heavy load. The soldiers showing off their skills had seemed capable enough and that had been all you’d thought you needed to look for. Besides, how would you know anything about their levels? You still did not yet know everybody here.

Thranduil’s silence was uncomfortable but then he simply tsk'd and lowered his gaze again. He shrugged, almost to himself, but he did not sign off on the document. He simply scored something out before setting it to one side to go back to later. He would pick, he decided. If he let you choose low levelled guards, how would they protect you?

She would have chosen better, he thought, though it was there and gone again so quickly that he did not notice he’d thought it at all.

You eyed him for another long moment before you moved to leave the library, heading away down the corridor. He had been in a fairly strange mood all day and you supposed you should leave him to it. Not bad, exactly, just... distracted, perhaps.

Most likely he was still struggling a little with this entire situation and you couldn't really blame him for that because it was still so very strange for you too. To have wound up in an arranged marriage with the King of Mirkwood. You yourself were from Lothlórien, daughter of an important elf in the Lord and Lady's court.

While unexpected, you could see the positives in such an arrangement and, truthfully, you liked Thranduil. He had been kind to you, at least when you first met and agreed to this. However, now that you had actually moved here, it seemed a little like he had been taking offence to every single decision you made. He’d give you things to do and then seem unsatisfied with the way you had done them. It was frustrating but you could only assume he was stressed and that he would soon relax.

You went to sleep that night hopeful that tomorrow he would be in a better mood.

You found him in his study the following afternoon and felt relief when he looked up and smiled at you. "I hope you slept well. Are you prepared for the feast tonight?" He asked, holding his hand out to bid you closer.

"Mostly. I just have to decide what to wear." You told him, moving into the room and seating yourself beside him. “It is still between two dresses.”

He sat there looking at you with an expression that you couldn’t quite decipher and it was almost as if he was studying something in your very soul. “Oh? You are not... set by now?” It seemed far too late to not have the entire outfit prepared.

You shrugged, always having been a bit more carefree and lazy in your decision making. You were a bit of a procrastinator and did not altogether mind if you left things to the last minute. Sometimes this was simply because you just... forgot. A far cry from the King beside you, of course. Also unbeknownst to you, a far cry from the Queen who had come before.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow but said nothing more. His displeasure, however, radiated from him in waves in the silence that followed as he looked back down at the paperwork on the desk before him.

"Thranduil?"

"What?" He did not look up.

“Something troubles you.”

He responded with a non-committal grunt and you frowned at him, watching as he pretended to read whatever was on the desk but you could tell his mind was now elsewhere. You sighed and stood to leave the room. 

As you turned, Thranduil’s hand suddenly reached out and grasped your own. You turned to find him looking at you, a soft smile on his lips once more. “You will look beautiful whatever you wear.”

Returning his smile, you ducked your head to hide the blush you could feel about to spread over your cheeks, and quickly took your leave.

Thranduil watched you go and then leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. He liked you, he always had, but you were not quite what he had expected when he had finally relented to the pushing of his court to take a new Queen.

He had obviously agreed you would be a good choice. Your station in Lothlórien, your family tree, put you in a very good position to knowing how things worked... yet not entirely, it seemed. Something was a little... off now that you were actually here in Mirkwood with him.

Oh, you were beautiful, there was no doubt about that. You made him laugh. He enjoyed your company. There was simply something niggling at him in the back of his mind, something he couldn’t quite figure out.

The feast came quickly, too quickly for you as the time just flew past. You had gotten caught up doing something completely unrelated and frowned when a maid rushed in to find you. Her relief was palpable but you didn’t understand it until you realised the time and she had ushered you back to your room to get ready.

Thranduil was irritated. There had been a delay - nobody had been able to find you - and you were not ready for the feast. You were not here, and it took so long that he had to walk into the room alone and act as though nothing were amiss. He had promptly sat down and thrown back a rather large gulp of strong wine, irritated by the hold up.

When you entered the room - finally - you were a vision. He took in your hair, the ornamentation in it and around your neck, and the royal blue dress with pleased eyes that did much to allay his frustration.

Then, you went and tripped over the hem of the damned thing because you had not bothered to see that it had been properly fitted.

Luckily, you were close enough to the table at this point for him to grab you by the arm and keep you upright, but his irritation only grew at the scene that your little stumble had caused. The attention you caught was not the type he wished for, nor were the titters of laughter around the room.

She would never have left the fit of the dress to chance, nor would she have embarrassed him as such.

This time, Thranduil did catch the thought, but he quickly dismissed it as a simple stray musing that did not mean anything.

“Are you alright?” He asked, a little tersely, as he refilled his glass of wine.

You nodded, hardly noticing his tone yet as you willed the embarrassed flush in your cheeks to go away. You felt like the entire room had seen that and you cursed yourself for not even thinking that the dress might need proper attention. It just had not occurred to you.

“Yes. Thank you.”

He grunted and you finally looked up at him and noticed the frustration he was trying to bury shining in his eyes. You frowned, feeling even worse. He could not be... angry at you? Could he?

After picking at the food on your plate and watching one dance (you dare not join in with your dress!), you rose and made your way from the table out of the room without a word. You were not in the mood now. Reaching up, you tore the circlet from your head as you walked down the hallway as quickly as you could.

“Where are you going?” Thranduil’s voice came from the door you had just exited and you realised that he had followed you out.

Turning, you eyed him cautiously for a moment, trying to ascertain his mood, but once more he was quite the mask. “I am tired, Thranduil. I am going to bed.”

He nodded, moving closer. His gaze dropped to the circlet in your hands. “You could not have waited until you were behind a closed door?”

“What does it matter?” You asked, shrugging at him.

Thranduil didn’t respond but his brow creased just the slightest bit. Did it matter? He began to walk down the hallway and you turned to walk with him since it seemed that he was heading in the same direction you were anyway. 

“Are you upset?” You ventured after a while, watching him come to a halt as your question reached his ears.

Thranduil blinked. Was he upset? He supposed that he was feeling frustrated. Annoyed. Angry, perhaps. Why? He turned his head to look at you, a soft frown of confusion on his face as he shrugged. “I suppose I am. A little.”

“What’s the matter?”

He didn’t answer right away because, truthfully, Thranduil could not fully put into words what his problem was. What had gotten him so riled up over something that, logically, he told himself did not truly matter. Thranduil shook his head. “I am not rightly sure.” He offered his arm then. “Come, I will escort you to your room.”

But you would not be shut down quite so easily, and you shook your head. “You must know what is wrong.” You insisted. “How can I help you if you do not tell me?”

Thranduil frowned at you, his frustration growing once more. “I do not need your help.” He stated firmly, moving his arm closer so you would take it, but you still did not take it.

“Well, you need something. You-”

“Stop. Please.” He snapped lightly, dropping his arm since it had become clear that you were not going to take it. He turned around and took a step away, not wishing to engage in this right now.

“Thranduil!” Was he truly going to just turn away and leave? In the middle of a conversation? You could not quite believe it. “Just tell me what is wrong! Tell me!”

“She would not behave thus!” He thundered as he spun back to face you, and then immediately fell silent. Horror seemed to fill him as he realised what he had just said.

You frowned softly back at him, shaking your head. “Who-” Your mouth snapped shut as you stared back at him, suddenly understanding with a sick sort of certainty.

She. Her. His deceased wife.

She would not behave in this manner. She would not behave how you were behaving. She would do things ‘the right’ way. She would do better.

You could not hide the hurt that bled across your face as the two of you stared back at each other in the long, deathly silence that followed. Thranduil seemed to be frozen, utterly stricken, but you did not see it past your own dismay. Then, you were gone. Turning and fleeing from him, away down the corridor towards your own rooms.

Thranduil did not see you for two days. 

He tried to seek you out that same night but he had not been able to find you and, so, retired to his chamber to wait until you were ready to talk. However, it seemed that you were not willing to talk at all as, two days later, he received word that you had been seen sneaking into the stables with a bag full of your things.

Had it not been for you carrying your own belongings, Thranduil might have dismissed it and told them to simply follow you from a safe distance to keep you safe. As it was, he was immediately up from his chair and out of the door before the guard who reported to him could blink.

He rushed to the stables, finding you still trying to attach a bag to your horse, clearly frustrated that you could not get it secure. The animal, too, seemed unamused with your attention - blowing air through its nostrils and scuffing its feet.

“Going somewhere?” He asked quietly from the doorway, causing you to jump because you had not even heard him arrive, too focused on your irritation.

You stared at him for a second and found that looking at him hurt. You did not respond, you just turned your attention back to the horse and continued fiddling with the bag but nothing would attach the damn thing to the animal so you eventually huffed in exasperation and let it drop to the floor of the stall.

A silence followed.

You could feel Thranduil’s eyes on you but you did not look up at him.

“I never meant to hurt you” Thranduil said softly after another moment and you could hear the regret in his voice but you still didn’t look up at him.

Instead, you shrugged. “But you did.”

“Yes.” He agreed quietly, sighing. “I did.”

Of course, you did not resent him thinking of his wife. How could you ever? She had been a good Queen and an even better wife from all that you had heard of her. You had never met her, not even on a trip she’d taken with the King long ago to Lothlórien. But you had heard a lot about her and she sounded amazing. She was the love of his life, the mother of his only son, and you truly had never expected to replace her but to have him compare you in such a way... it had hurt, you could not deny that.

You were so different, you understood that, but... you were two completely different people and it did not feel fair for Thranduil to hold you to this standard that you had not even realised you had to meet. Yes, you were to be a queen and yes, you had a lot still to learn especially about Mirkwood and its own politics... but you were trying. You really were! All you needed was his help, not criticism. How could he not see that?

“Please just talk to me.” He said, his voice full of obvious unhappiness. His eyes dropped to the bag on the ground. “Where are you going?”

You held in a sharp comeback about why you should be expected to talk to him when he did not wish to do the same two nights ago. At his question, your gaze turned to the bag and you sighed, shaking your head. You bent down to pick it back up and began once more attempting to fasten it securely to the horse. “Home.” You said.

Thranduil blinked. “This is home.”

You frowned and your head snapped up to look at him. “This is your home... and clearly I am not welcome in it.” You hated how your voice shook just a little. You wanted to sound brave and firm, not like a hurt little girl. “I am returning to Lothlórien. You can call off all the arrangements.”

Thranduil stared at you then, watching while you struggled with the bag, as the reality hit him. You were going home, you were... calling off the wedding?

His arm shot out and he took hold of the bag, wrenching it gently but firmly from your grip. You gave a sigh and lifted your eyes to his face. Gods, why did he have to be so handsome? You shook your head at him, throwing your hands up in a defeated manner.

“Do not leave.” He said, his voice quieter than he would have liked. He was certain it shook a little... but you did not notice.

“Why?” Was all you could ask, scoffing a little as you shook your head again. “Why should I stay here, Thranduil? I did not come here because I have no other options, I came here because I... I like you and I trust you and...” You trailed off, lowering your gaze for a moment, one of your shoes (which were absolutely not suitable for riding a horse in the first place) kicking at the straw covered ground. “I will not... settle for a life where I am never good enough, where I am always second best. A life in the shadow of a memory. A beautiful memory, do not misunderstand, and one I would never want you to forget... but I am not her, Thranduil! I am not her and I never will be and I am sorry but... I cannot stay here, not like this.”

Another silence filled the stable. 

You looked away, at the horse, running your fingers through its mane. The animal was no longer in a mood now that you had stopped messing with the bag. You watched as it lazily chewed on some hay. Thranduil still had your bag in his hands, his fingers anxiously fiddling with the strap, his eyes on his hands. He felt ashamed and for a long moment he could not speak.

“You were never second place to me.” He whispered eventually, his eyes filling up with tears as he realised just what he had done. What he had made you feel. What he had made you think. “Never. You are not. I...” He faltered, grasping for the right words but he could not find them. “I know... what I said, what I have done, it was wrong. I cannot excuse myself, I do not even know why I...” He paused, frowning. 

You didn’t look up, though you could see him in your peripheral vision. He seemed to be struggling. He was not always good with words when it was not about politics or battle.

“I did not realise I was doing it at first,” he continued after gathering his thoughts once more. “There is no excuse and I do not say this to make one. I simply... she is the only queen to have ever graced my rule. I was thrust onto the throne so quickly... and I was grieving and she had to... truthfully, she had no choice but to take control of many things until I was more... present.” More in the moment after watching his father die, after that dreadful day, after suddenly becoming a king. “My mother died long before I even began to pay real, proper attention to anything... royal. I... my wife was the only queen I have ever known here, I remember how she did everything, I grew used to it. I forgot that you... do not know and I did not help you properly when I know that I should have. So I compared you to her and it was not fair of me. You did nothing wrong. I am sorry. So, so sorry.” He did not really expect forgiveness, he did not feel that he deserved it, he did not feel that he should receive it. To have hurt you... it pained him. “I love you.”

You turned your head from the horse to Thranduil’s face, the shock evident as you stared back at him for a few very long minutes. Had you heard that correctly? Did he... did he say...? 

Over this time, you had developed your own feelings towards the king. He was not perfect, though to outsiders he may look it, but that was probably part of why you’d fallen for him in the first place. You had not been able to help yourself. 

In the beginning, after he had approached you and your father with the idea from his council of an arranged marriage, it was not something either of you had rushed into. He had spent some time getting to know you better, for he did not wish to wed somebody he did not at least get along with. He’d been clear on that with his councillors and advisors. He’d written you letters after he returned to Mirkwood, he arranged visits for you to come and spend time with him. He showed up in Lórien once with no other reason than to offer you a bouquet of wildflowers he had picked himself, then he took you on a walk through the forest and the two of you just... talked. After all of that, it had been so easy. To say yes. To agree. Though you had known, you had known, that he would never love you. He cared for you enough, you knew that, but as a friend. He would never love you as he loved her. At least that’s what you had presumed.

“You...?” Was all you could say, still staring at him in absolute shock.

Thranduil nodded, the tears in his eyes that he’d managed to keep at bay finally beginning to spill down his cheeks as he blinked. He glanced down, embarrassed, lifting his thumb to his face and swiping away a tear. “Yes.” He whispered. “I... I should have said it before, I should have... shown it better. I am so sorry... but please.” He lifted his head again, his eyes wide as he looked at you quite desperately. “Stay. Please... do not leave me.”

You were staring at him, frozen for what felt like a long time, and Thranduil began to lose hope. You would leave and he would never see you again all because of his own stupidity. He knew you did not love him that way, that you had agreed to this as his friend, but he needed you to stay here, he could not bear to lose you.

When your voice finally came, it was but a whisper, and there were now tears in your own eyes to match Thranduil’s. “...I love you too.”

Now it was Thranduil’s turn to stare at you. He looked like he could not comprehend what had just come out of your mouth. He looked like he did not dare believe it. You stepped towards him, your hand dropping from the horse as you reached for the bag in his hands. He let you take it and you swung it up onto your shoulder out of the way, taking one of his hands in yours. You were still hurt but you could not believe this had happened... and maybe this was just something you both had needed to go through, to be able to get past it. Something his mind had needed to work through.

“I love you.” You said again, a little louder. You felt his hand squeeze yours and you lifted your free one to his face, wiping away his tears. He looked like he dared not even hope that what you had just said was true. 

“You do?” He asked then, his eyes softening as he gazed down at you while you wiped his tears away. His heart was threatening to burst out of his chest as he looked back at you. He was not fully sure he had even entirely admitted to himself that he loved you until right now. He’d felt it, he’d been aware of how fond he was growing of you despite those other thoughts, but he hadn’t fully come to terms with his feelings - he had not felt such love in a thousand years.

You nodded, your anger fading away, leaving both your hurt and your love behind. “Yes... I do.” You confirmed, sighing as you took his other hand. You heard his breath catch in his throat and you gave him a sad little smile. “I’m sor-”

“Don’t.” Thranduil said immediately, shaking his head firmly as he cut you off. “Do not. You have nothing to apologise for, you did absolutely nothing wrong. I am the one who was in the wrong. You will make a good queen. I should have told you this... I should not have gotten upset over such trivial things. Dresses...” He scoffed at himself. “None of that matters.” He said, glancing down shamefully. “I do not want you to think that I... that I do not appreciate you for who you are or that I wish you to be somebody else... because I do not.” He shook his head. “I love who you are, I love everything about you. I am so sorry.”

You could practically feel your heart soaring to the heavens. You simply could not believe that Thranduil felt this way about you and, despite your hurt over his words, you were quite overjoyed. You finally smiled and Thranduil took a steadying breath before he moved. He leaned towards you, slowly so you could turn or pull away if you did not wish it, but you stayed perfectly still and waited for him to kiss you.

When he finally did, it was like electricity. It was like something you had been missing your whole life suddenly clicked into place and you removed your hands from his to loop your arms around his neck and pull him closer. His own tentatively moved to hold you gently by the waist. When he broke the kiss and you opened your eyes again, you could tell by his expression that he truly felt the same, that he was floored by all of this, and you could see how deeply he regretted hurting you, making you feel inferior, second best.

“You will stay?” He asked then, still sounding a little uncertain, despite the fact you had kissed him and admitted you felt the same way. He was worried he might have ruined everything before he even got the chance.

You gazed up at him and you nodded. “Yes... I will stay. Of course I will.” 

There was still a sadness in your eyes that broke Thranduil’s heart to know that he was the one who put it there and he vowed to do everything in his power to make up for what he had done.

“I will never make you feel that way again.” Thranduil told you, his voice extremely firm, his gaze sharp but loving. He lifted a hand to your face, cupping your cheek. “I promise.”

You smiled and he kissed you once more before he took your hand, leading you from the stables and back into the palace, back to the future with you that he was more grateful than he could ever express to have not forever ruined.

[astroph1les]

ellie x reader where ellie is very protective of reader and is like “who did this to you? where are they ?!” after seeing readers nose is all busted up but it’s cause readers real clumsy and tried opening a door by pulling it but it was a push

bumps and bruises [e.w]

summary: you hit your nose while passing by a classroom. ellie, being the protective girlfriend she is, is determined to know who had harmed you.

pairing: ellie williams x fem! reader

contains: mature language, established relationship, mentions of homophobia (the word ‘queer’) , college au, quiet!reader, protective!ellie, mentions of dealer!ellie.

word count: 1K

a/n: i’m so sorry that i changed the request just a bit. i hope you all enjoy anyways. i really enjoy writing writing ellie so keep it coming with these requests babes :)

You examine the bruising at the bridge of your nose in the bathroom mirror, mumbling curses to yourself as the pressure aches. It was still faint but there were hints of yellow and purple slightly on the sides along with the bridge of your nose.

It had happened all too quickly. You were passing by a lecture room yesterday on your way to the bathroom when a student slammed the door open, hitting you right in the middle of your face. She, of course, apologized profusely to you after she heard a loud thump coming from behind the door.

But here you were with a bruised nose and Ellie was on her way to your dorm room.

Your roommate, Dina, reassured you that it would heal rather quickly and your nose was going to be just fine. That wasn’t what you were worried about.

When you heard the familiar knock on your dorm room, you muttered curses to yourself as you quickly smoothed out your frizzy hair and wiped underneath your eyes from the slightly smudged mascara from the day.

“Coming!” You call out to Ellie as you rush over to the door, gripping the handle to prepare for her reaction.

Once you unlocked the door and twisted the silver handle, you tugged the heavy wood open to see Ellie standing there with her signature gray hoodie and black skinny jeans with those Converse that had been through hell and back. She refused to let them go.

“Hey, I’m sorry I’m late, baby. Some frat douchebag didn’t have the right…” Her light green eyes flicker across your face about to lean in to kiss you but just as you thought, she locked her gaze on the bruising.

Her cold hands gripped onto either side of your face, tugging your face closer to hers.

“What fucking happened to your nose?” She seethed, examining the deep bruising.

“Els, it’s really nothing.” You try to reassure her, placing one of your warm palms onto her wrist.

“Who did it?” She released your warming face.

You frown at her words and grab ahold of her arm to tug her inside your dorm room. You shut the door and lock it, looking back at Ellie who had her hands on her hips. She seemed like she was waiting for an answer.

“Was it those fuckers who called you a ‘queer’ and said all that stupid shit about not belonging here?” Ellie was already pissed and there was no coming back from that.

About a week ago, there might have been these girls — whom you shared a course with — who had seen you and Ellie walking to the library holding hands. They later ambushed you once Ellie had to leave for a deal across campus. Their tones were so condescending and degrading when they told you; ‘you know, we knew you were weird but we didn't think it was because you were a queer.’

You didn't understand why they found you so weird. You were quiet in class, did not participate often, and more importantly; never once interacted with them.

“No, Els. They haven’t—“

“Did they do this? That one with the uh—“ She motioned with her fern-tattooed arm as she tried to remember what they all looked like. “— Goddamn Barbie’s hair— did she do this? I’ll fucking rip those extensions right out of her fucking head.”

You chuckled at her rage, covering your mouth as you let her rant on about these immature girls. As dramatic as Ellie is, especially when it comes to people who are one; homophobic, and two; mess with you, it warmed your heart to know she cared this much about you. Her intense eyes notice you holding back laughter, furrowing her brows.

“Why are you laughing?” Her tone is both confused and frustrated.

“Els, baby,” you walk over to her with a smile, taking her cold— seriously, you couldn’t understand how they were sub-zero freezing all the time — hands into yours. “Someone accidentally hit my nose with the door while leaving class. It was nobody’s fault but mine.”

Ellie’s eyes eased slightly as she was unsure if you were telling the truth or not. You lean up to kiss her gently, being wary of your nose and hoping that she will relax a bit more. Just as you hoped, one of her hands released yours to lightly hold at your waist.

Ellie pulls away ever so lightly so her lips are ghosting over yours to whisper; “You’re serious?”

You nod without another word before kissing her once again, accidentally pushing too into her. Your nose pressed into hers causing you to wince and pull away to pinch at the bridge.

“Fuck, babe,” Ellie groaned as she cupped your cheek to examine your face. “That door really fucked you up. You’re not, like, concussed or anything like that, right?”

“No. I-I mean I don’t think so.” You shake your head as you don’t believe you’re experiencing symptoms of having a concussion.

Ellie’s brows were still set in concern, her lengthy fingers carefully tracing your skin.

“Will you beat up the door for me?” You joke with a chuckle.

“I’ll fuck up that door for hitting you,” Ellie replies with an attractive smirk, her thumb lightly grazing over the slight bruising.

“I think the door’s gonna win, babe.” You respond as you tilt your head to look at her, running a hand up and down her inked forearm.

Ellie seemed visibly hurt by your comment before scoffing: “I’ll rip it off its hinges.”

How romantic.

“You know, I’d like to see that actually.” You hum with a nod.

“Let’s go. Right now.” Ellie jerked her head towards the door, a few strands falling out of her half-up, half-down hairstyle.

“Okay, but if we leave, you’re taking me to go and get ice cream after you rip the door off its hinges.” You grin and peck her lips.

“How about I just…” Ellie’s hands rest at your waist before giving your hips a gentle squeeze. Her eyes were raking over you rather hungrily and you knew what you would be in for sooner or later. “Take my girl out for ice cream and save the door ripping for another day?”

And yeah, you flushed at her calling you ‘her girl’. She loved acting like a hard-ass and stubborn in her everyday life but the minute she would come into your presence, she let down her guard— not by much, but just enough for you to be let in.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

taglist: @uraesthete @lightmywayout @imjustapearl @pinkblossomtreesun @marianeski @bellaramslover

[keikikait]

ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ (ɢᴏᴊᴏ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

this is part 2 of my previous fic, which you can find here

for my other gojo smut, click here!

pairing: gojo x f!reader (not au, gojo is 29, reader is early-mid 20’s)

word count: 2.5k

summary: you’re home from your teacher retreat to nikko, ready for the new term. what you’re not ready for? gojo to come home to you. 

warnings: (FOR THIS PART) SMUT - 18+ ONLY! MDNI, dom!gojo and sub!reader, protected sex (pill, not mentioned but its there) degrading (he uses the word slut), hair pulling, nipple play, spitplay (bye….), light edging, finger/thumb sucking (don’t look at me), use of the words [cock, cunt, and tits], slight oral (f receiving), a bit of angst & a bit of mean gojo, nickname use [baby, pretty girl, doll], no use of y/n

a note: i know i said this would be out next week but it was my day off so i wrote it all today. this is less angst, more smut, but i can’t help myself so there is some angst. also, im sorry i made gojo such an asshole, i promise that he will get better! part 3 will be out soon my loves.

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

Your eyes are already open when your alarm goes off. 

You didn’t sleep at all. There was no point, even after you finished crying your head hurt too much to sleep, even with some painkillers. You laid there, wide awake all night thinking about Gojo. Did he think of you, too? You turn the alarm off and slide out of bed, your slipper-covered feet shuffling as you make your way around your apartment. 

You brush your teeth and look in the mirror. Your eyes are puffy and swollen, mascara smeared down your cheeks. You pop some spoons in the freezer to cool as you clean yourself up and get dressed. Your phone sits untouched on the bedside table, still plugged in.

You sit on the side of your bed, pressing the now cold spoons against your swollen eyes. You take deep breaths, trying to relax. You had every right to be upset, after all. Gojo has no reason to string you along, whispering sweet nothings in your ear at night about how you’re his girl, his doll, his everything. But that’s exactly what that was. Nothing. Maybe, you think, this is some kind of karma. Some sort of punishment for your arrogance, for thinking you could have what everyone else wants, Gojo, and here—at last—it was.

You put on some de-puffing undereye patches that you keep in the fridge and clean your entire apartment spotless to distract yourself, music blasting from the phone in your back pocket. You finally throw out that dead fern you got as a gift from the school board when you first started, and you finally clean out your fridge of the now moldy condiments you tried once on a whim. You’re washing dishes when the front door opens and, suddenly, Gojo steps inside. He had opted for his dark blue circular sunglasses today, an odd choice for the winter but you didn’t mind it. “Hi,” you say, surprised, pulling off the bright marigold gloves and setting them on the side of the sink to dry. For a second, you think about the absolute state of your eyes. The swelling and puffiness had gone down, and even though he had never seen you cry, you think about the fact that even if he noticed your eyes he wouldn’t care enough to ask questions.

“Hey,” is all Gojo says in response. You wait to see if he says anything else, or if he is going to try to explain himself, but he doesn’t, and eventually moves across your apartment to head to the bathroom. You hesitate before you make your way after him, passing his duffel bag on the floor of your closet, which was unzipped and filled with enough clothes that it was clear that he was going to stay for a while.

You feel pathetic admitting it to yourself but having Gojo there — not just in your apartment, but in your room — feels nice. He doesn’t speak to you yet, but his very presence steadies and refocuses you. As grateful as you are that he came back to you, you are also a little disappointed in yourself, by how dependent you are, how weak. Who were you without him?

Eventually, he faces you, peering at you over the top of his glasses. “Hey, pretty girl.”

You swallow hard, willing yourself to be strong, to finally confront him about all of the false promises and the date with Himiko, but you can’t. Not yet. “Hi, Gojo.”

He smiles, reaching you with just one step and collecting you in his arms, wrapping them tightly around your hips. He leans down and kisses you, for the first time in almost nine days, and you feel yourself giving up, giving all power to him.

After a few seconds, he pulls away, smirking. “I missed you. I’m sorry that I didn’t come home last night…I got carried away.”

You’ve noticed over the past eleven months (yes, you kept track) of your situationship that he uses that term a lot; carried away. He uses it when he gets a little too handsy during the free periods at work and when he stares at you a bit too long during staff meetings. He uses it when he forgets to call or text you and when it seems like you’re the last thing on his mind. Maybe you are. 

You smile, shrugging. “Don’t worry about it, baby. I’m just glad you’re here now.”

He grins, gently running his hands up your back, lightly scratching his nails against you, making you shiver. “Of course. I always come back home to you.” He bends at the knees and picks you up, carrying you the short distance to your bed before laying you down and climbing on top of you. Excitement fills your body as he leans down and starts placing soft kisses along your neck. You arch into him, whining and tugging on his sleeves, and he chuckles. “Relax, doll. Quit acting so desperate. You’re not in charge here, remember?”

You feel drool pool in your mouth and you quickly swallow it. “I’m sorry, Gojo, it’s just that —”

He interrupts you, sliding his thumb into your mouth to shut you up. “I know, baby, I know. You went eight whole days without my touch and now you’re acting like a desperate little slut,” You nod, hoping he won’t tease you this time. He smirks at the dumb look on your face before saying, “Open.” You do, opening your mouth wide and sticking your tongue out a little. He pulls his thumb away and draws back briefly before spitting into your open mouth. You swallow it without his command. You know what he likes.

He grins, kissing your lips once more before kissing down your chin and neck, slowly sliding off your t-shirt. You whine and squirm under him, and after he pulls your shirt off he clamps his hand over your mouth. “Shut up. If you keep whining, I won’t fuck you at all. Is that what you want?” You shake your head vigorously, that’s the last thing you want. He removes his hand before continuing, “Good. Don’t speak unless I tell you to,” You nod, relaxing into your sheets as he kisses down your chest. He pushes your bra up over your tits, groaning as he squeezes them in his hands. “Fuck. I missed my girls.” You would normally scold him for objectifying you, but at this moment you didn’t care. You wanted his hands on you, and you wanted his dick inside of you as soon as possible.

He takes the sunglasses off and brings one of your nipples to his mouth, lightly brushing his lips against it to tease you. He sticks his tongue out and drags it along your nipple in circles, loving the way your thighs fall open and the little sounds you make. He finally, finally sucks your nipple into his mouth, pinching the other one hard just to feel you squirm. He rolls your bare nipple between his fingers while he lightly nibbles on the one in his mouth. Your head is spinning, and all you can do is tug on his hair as he teases you. He lets go of your nipple with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting it to his lips. He picks it up on his finger and rubs it on your face just to humiliate you.

He kisses down your torso, tugging down your pyjama bottoms and tossing them onto the floor. He kisses your thighs as he pushes them up and against your chest so you’re nice and spread out for him, just as he likes. He notices the wet spot on your plain blue cotton underwear and smirks, rubbing at it with his thumb. “Someone’s eager, aren’t they?”

You take it you can respond to him now. “Fuck, Gojo, please! Please stop teasing me, I already went eight days without you.” The whine in your voice makes him feel so big, so powerful. He barely touches you and you’re already crumbling at his feet. Maybe he should keep you there.

He makes that condescending tsk tsk tsk sound that normally annoys you, but now you can’t help it and you whine and squirm even more. “You’re so desperate, baby. You can’t even handle a little teasing?” He presses his thumb right against your clit, the wet spot spreads even more. “I guess you do have a point, though. I haven’t made you cum since we left for Nikko.” He kisses right above the hem of your underwear before pulling it down, the blue fabric now dangling around your ankle. He moans, pushing your legs back even further and spreading your cunt. 

He spits directly onto your pink little hole, watching as it mixes with your juices. In this moment, you’re his. You’re his everything, his girl, his doll. In this moment you actually mean something to him, when you’re spread out and begging for his attention. He runs his pointer finger down your slit, collecting some spit before dragging it back up to your clit and lightly circling it.

You almost cum on the spot. Days of pent-up horniness and teasing and you’re as sensitive as ever. You bite your lip, looking over at him with nothing but love and affection in your gaze. “Please, Gojo. Please don’t tease me. I don’t know if I can handle it.”

He gets comfortable, moving your thighs over his shoulders as he lays down on the bed. “You’ll take what I give you. Don’t disappoint me.” He circles your clit with his finger one last time before leaning down and sucking it into his mouth. You arch your back, your hands finding solace in his hair as you writhe and moan. He moans at your taste, gripping your hips hard as he gets lost in your cute little cunt. You grind against his face, and he lets you, loving the feeling of your clit against his tongue. He teases your hole with his fingers, sliding his thumb in as he swirls his tongue around your clit in circles. You clench up tight, mumbling praises along with I’m gonna cum! Please let me cum! before he pulls away completely. He laughs at the noise you make, and at the way your face contorts and tears well in your eyes. He slaps the inside of your thigh before standing up and unbuttoning his pants. “Oh, come on. Be a good girl for me, okay?”

You move up on the bed, your back supported by your pillows as he climbs over you. You’ve seen his dick a lot, more times than you can count, but the sheer size of it always surprises you. Thick and long, slightly curved to the left, with a pretty pink tip to match. His balls are big, too, full of cum and practically begging to be in your mouth, which waters as soon as you see it. 

Gojo looms over you, pushing you onto the bed as he slides in between your legs and gets comfortable. He rubs his tip against you, getting it nice and wet so you don’t struggle with the size as he fucks you, at least not too much. In a moment of pure intimacy, he reaches his hand up and rubs his thumb against your cheek, looking at you with an almost adoring gaze. You go to say something to him but all words escape your throat as he pushes his cock into you. You both moan in unison as he slides in and out slowly.

“God,” he groans, leaning down on his elbows and getting right in your face. “I missed you so much, baby. I know I’m such a dick to you, I just can’t help it, you look so cute when you’re angry…fuck, you feel so good.” He isn’t vocal in bed very often, and your heart swells as you get to watch him come undone and make such pretty noises as he does. 

In the heat of the moment, you forgive him. You know you’ll probably regret it, but you can’t stay mad at him when he’s looking at you like you’re the only woman in the world for him. Your smile is cut short by your moan as you manage to say, “It’s okay, Gojo. Please just stay here. Stay here with me.”

Gojo nods, propping himself up on one flat palm as his hips pick up speed. Normally he loves foreplay, he can tease you and edge you for hours, but the time spent without you in his arms and without you wrapped around his cock was too much to bare for him. He knows he fucked up, but he can’t take it back. He’s Satoru Gojo, and he has a reputation he needs to uphold. He’s all run, and you’re all fight, and that’s part of the reason why he feels so drawn to you.

He looks at you, moving to his elbows and reaching up to grab your face and pull you into a kiss. He pulls away and presses his forehead against yours, biting his lip as his hips move even faster. He drops back down to his elbows, your chests pressed together as he shakily moans, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, doll, I’m gonna cum.”

You nod, pulling at the hair at the nape of his neck as you cum around him, clenching down on his cock. He buries his face in your neck as he cums after you, cumming inside of you, like he always does. His breathing is ragged as he lays there, his cock twitching inside of you as his cum spills inside. Gojo eventually moves away from your neck, some of his hair matted to his forehead, slick with sweat. You push the hair back and smile at him, kissing his forehead gently. Even if he didn’t love you, you still loved him. And you think you always will.

He pulls out, immediately getting you a towel splashed with some warm water as he cleans you up. He’s gentle with his aftercare, making sure you’re comfortable, and collecting your water bottle from the living room. You pee before getting dressed, laying with him on the bed. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, pressing your face into his chest, and sliding his hand into your hair. He holds you there for a while, your breathing in sync before he leans down and kisses your forehead. 

Gojo puts on a cooking show to watch on your TV, setting the remote aside as he holds you close. He strokes your hair, and your mind starts to drift, and you wonder if he cares about you in the same way you care about him. Are you not good enough for him? Is there something wrong with you? Are you not what he wants? Are you not what he needs? You wake up every morning, hopeful for what’s to come with him, but you spend most of your time thinking about what you’ve already had and what he’s already said to you. You’re missing all these memories—maybe they were never even yours. 

Nothing hurts like he does.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

part 3 is here

[hope-drunk]

- thoroughfare | e. williams

| on the way to seattle, you decide to play a small game with ellie.

| content warning: f!reader, bottom!reader, top!ellie, oral (r receiving), pet names (baby, princess, pretty girl), implies ellie is taller than reader, reader takes dina’s role in the game (sorry dina), hunter and prey kink but not really, barely proofread and i hate this <3

Traveling through the woods with Ellie was more fun than you’d thought it would be. The long stretches on horseback felt like nothing when it was just you two talking. After you had found Jackson, albeit on accident, two years ago, you and Ellie became friends very quickly. 

You two tried not to talk about the trip you were taking. Once she came to you with a location, there was no question in your mind about whether or not you would go with her. So, here you are now. Arms wrapped along Ellie’s torso, enjoying the scenery, and giggling like a maniac at some pun she’s said.

Once the laughter dies down, Ellie helps you off Shimmer, then puts her by a stream.

“We should stop for the night. Get some rest.” she says, taking out her sleeping bag, and a shotgun.

“Okay, yeah.”  you say, following in her stride and getting your own sleeping bag out.

You were in a comfortable silence, setting up everything you needed to have a successful night.

“Do you want first or second shift?”  you asked her.

“I’ll do both, just sleep.”

You scoff at her, “Ellie, if you’re the one getting us to Seattle I think it’s important you get some rest.” She shakes her head at you. “Please, for me.”

Ellie can’t deny the look you give her, your eyes are laced with genuine concern for her well being. It hasn’t been easy for her, and you know she doesn’t like sleeping because it just brings back the memories, but you figure something is better than nothing.

“Alright, I’ll take first shift.” she says, knowing she’ll “accidentally” let you sleep longer than you intend to.

She’s standing now, and your once worried eyes are now crinkled by a smile. 

“Thank you, Ellie.”

“Whatever gets you there safely.” she replies, rubbing the inked fern covering her forearm.

“I’m gonna go look around while there’s still daylight, I need to stretch my legs.” you say, already starting to wander.

Ellie nods her head at you.

You don’t plan to go far, just enough to look at the different wildlife that lives out here. You walk around for about twenty minutes before Ellie calls your name.

“It’s getting too dark, come back.” she says. 

“Why don’t you come and find me?” you yell back to her.

You hear her grumble to herself, and let out a sigh, then you hear the crunch of leaves under her beaten up shoes. This is your sign to scramble. You run behind a tree, one with a large trunk and sagging branches. Peeking out from behind, you find Ellie’s face through the branches. Her head was whipping around for any sign of you. You put your hands over your face, having to stifle your laugh, trying not to give yourself away. When you removed the digits from your eyes, Ellie was gone.

Now it was your turn to whip your head around. Your heart was suddenly racing. You knew she wasn’t in danger, but you didn’t know the reaction she would have to your impromptu game of hide and seek.

You felt hands on your shoulders. “Got ya.” Ellie whispers in your ear.

You gasp and she whips you around to face her. Usually, Ellie had a face that would comfort you. Right now? You were a bit intimidated by her. It felt like she had grown six inches since you saw her moments before. Her eyes even looked darker in this light. You try to back away from her, but you don't get far before you hit the tree that was once protecting you from her. 

“Oh, first you’re hiding from me, now you’re trying t’run?” she says, moving impossibly closer to you. 

The game wasn’t funny to you anymore. Actually, it was incredibly serious, and that was proven by the wetness that you felt pooling in your panties.

“Just wanted to play a game, Ells.” you say, suddenly finding your shoes very interesting.

Grabbing your chin, she says, “Don’t tell me you’re all shy now.” She follows your eyes every time that you try to look away.

For a second, just a second, you thought she was actually mad. But you could see her lips fighting a smile. Leaning down towards you, her nose brushes against yours.

“Tell me you want this.” Ellie says, whispering like you were in a room full of people. 

“I want it.” 

Her lips are on yours as soon as you finish the sentence. The hand that was holding your chin has now moved to your cheek, thumb caressing your face tenderly. Your hips move to meet hers, back arching off the tree. Ellie gets the hint, and uses her spare hand to reach down between your bodies. She undoes your pant button with ease, and shoves her hand into your jeans. You gasp as she begins to rub your clit over your underwear. 

“Oh, Ellie.” you say while she moves her kisses to your neck.

“Don’t know why I’ve been waiting to do this.” she mumbles on your skin.

Stopping her assault on your neck, her hands smooth down your body before she practically rips your jeans and panties down to the ground. Her foot kicks your legs further apart before she drops to her knees in front of you. She runs a finger through your slick folds, humming in approval before diving in to taste you.

She sucks hard on your clit, causing your hand to move to her auburn hair, trying to steady yourself. Ellie sneaks a large hand up your shirt, toying with your nipple. You didn’t think you’d ever be this happy at forgetting to put a bra on. Her tongue was moving quickly through your folds. You look down at her, only to be met by her eyes. 

The moan you let out is almost pornagraphic, and you swear you can feel Ellie smirk into your cunt. Her position on the ground made it feel like she was praying to you, she was worshipping your cunt. 

Ellie comes up for a breath, thumb moving to rub your clit. “Taste so sweet, baby. Does it feel good?”

Your head nods on its own, which only causes Ellie to laugh. 

“Feels s’good. Wanted this for so long.” you say, breathless.

“Yeah? Wanted me to fuck you? How many times did you think about me eating your cute little pussy like this while we were talking, hm? Did you go t’sleep every night with wet panties?”

You let out a moan at her words and nod your head again, but that’s not enough for her. She gives your thigh a quick smack.

“Yes! Yes, thought about it all the time. Oh please, Ellie, wanna cum so bad.”

She moves her head back towards your cunt, eating you out impossibly faster. Your legs start to shake, signaling your approaching orgasm. You’re practically grinding on Ellie’s face at this point, and she doesn’t mind one bit. While you use her tongue to get yourself off, she thinks this may be the peak of her life.

“I’m– gonna…” you try to finish your phrase, but it’s no use. Ellie moans into your pussy, and that sends you flying. 

You’re sure your moans were loud enough to scare any wildlife away from you, and it took you awhile to even regain consciousness. When you did, Ellie was now standing in front of you again, trying to keep you propped up. You slouch into her chest while she rubs a hand up and down your back under your shirt.

“Shh… you’re alright, you’re alright pretty girl.” she coos. 

She pulls your pants up, figuring she’ll have something to clean you up with back with all your stuff. Ellie basically carries you back to your sleeping bag, and makes sure you’re all clean before tucking you in.

“Ellie.” you whine out, feeling her presence move away from you.

“I’ve got first shift, remember? Go to bed, baby. I’ll wake you up.”

You mumble what she thinks is a complaint, before turning over and curling into yourself. It’s not long before she hears your breaths get deeper. Rubbing a hand over her face, she grabs her gun of choice before standing guard not far from your sleeping body.

Of course, Ellie doesn’t wake you up till the morning. 

“I was supposed to take second shift!” you argue.

“You didn’t really seem in the position to keep watch, princess. Swear your legs were gonna give out if you had to stand for longer than ten seconds.” Ellie laughs out.

You turn red and let out a huff.

“C’mon, get on the horse. We can argue on the way.”

[blackhairedjjun]

the forest of you

pairing: choi soobin x gn reader | genre / tropes: fluff, cottagecore au, fantasy au, prince!soobin x witch!reader, mutual pining, just very soft vibes | word count: 1.9k | warnings: none, just a little (friendly) teasing

summary: prince soobin lives undercover as a commoner as part of a royal tradition, and you are the local potion-maker tasked with caring for him and magically maintaining his disguise. you take him to the forest one day to forage for ingredients, and you start to realize just how much you need him with you.

author's notes: i wrote this after binge-listening to soobin's forest cover, it was just soooo comforting and beautiful 🥰🥰 this fic isn't that overtly romantic since i mostly focused on recreating the comforting vibes and message of the original cover, but the pining is still there (i hope). the premise of this story is based on an idea i had some time ago but never turned into a fic, i do have ideas for fics in the same setting though!

(support by reblogging banner by @/cafekitsune)

“y’know, soobin, you’ve become less scared of the forest since you got here,” you say, swinging your herb basket back and forth as you walk.

“oh really?” the prince stares at you, his mouth agape at first before morphing into his familiar dimpled smile. cute. “i suppose that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“it’s a very good thing. having company with me is nice.”

soobin trails behind you as you trudge down the worn dirt paths of the forest, trees on all sides towering over you. you hum as you walk, eyes on the lookout for anything of use in your potions: flowers, berries, mushrooms, seeds, leaves, even fallen bird feathers. from time to time you turn back to glance at your ward, who follows at a comfortable pace while gazing at the canopy above him.

he stops in his tracks and points at a patch of mushrooms growing on the bark of a tree. the mushrooms are at his eye level, above your head. “wait, these are the ones you use for my disguise potion, right?”

“that’s right! i missed that 一 thank goodness i’ve got a tall person helping me out.”

soobin pries the mushrooms from the bark hands it to you, a proud grin on his face. you can’t help but smile yourself in admiration, and your smile only grows when his hands brush yours while he places them in your basket. “thank you,” you whisper.

now you walk side-by-side through the forest, and you much prefer it this way. even with his princely nature hidden, you find something reassuring about his presence: soobin towers over you, but he moves slowly, deliberately matching his stride to yours, even the swinging of his arms in sync. he stays close by you, as if protecting you from anything that might leap out of the forest, and your arms nearly brush his a few times.

every now and then you stop to take something from the forest: a cluster of deep red berries, a yellow-green fern growing in swirling patterns, a flower so white it practically shines on the forest floor. soobin gazes at you intently as you do your job, and you’re so engrossed in your work that you miss the soft smile that crosses his face while he observes.

“did you really do all this by yourself before i came here?” he asks as you step through a narrow space between two gnarled trees. in the distance some birds begin to caw, but you don’t even flinch at the sound.

“pretty much. i’m used to it, i guess.”

“and you weren’t lonely or scared? that’s really cool, y/n.”

“i wasn’t always like this,” you say as you pry another mushroom from some tree bark for soobin’s disguise potion. “the first time i went on my own, i wanted to prove to my parents that i could forage by myself. y’know, be a real witch and everything. but i was shaking the whole time... and i missed my parents so much. they used to point out the different birds to me while they foraged, or they’d just look at me all excited if they found a rare ingredient. and that’s what i missed the most, just having someone to be with.”

soobin presses his lips together as he listens to you. you’ve been foraging on your own for years, and though you tell yourself that you’re used to it, your heart aches at the memory. you turn to face him and your eyes meet. 

“i get what you mean,” he says. “when i first came here for my incognito period, i remember missing everyone a lot. my parents and all the palace staff... kai, beomgyu... your cottage was so quiet in comparison. not that it’s a bad place, it’s just...”

“not home?”

soobin nods, his gaze falling to the dried leaves on the forest floor. the two of you continue walking through the forest, stopping only a few minutes later so that you can collect a few wild berries from a bush.

“it feels more like home now, though,” soobin says as he crouches down to help you. “i like the smell of the herbs from your garden and how toasty the cauldron room is. and helping you is, ah, it’s fun... you care about your potions so much and i like watching you work.”

you laugh softly to yourself, turning away as you feel a warmth spread through your cheeks. “it’s... well, i’m used to it. and having you around has helped a lot.”

“sometimes i feel more like a bother than a help. you work so fast!”

“don’t say that, you’re plenty helpful. look at you right now, i would have missed some of the berries hidden here if it weren’t for you.”

with the berries collected and placed in your basket, you stand up at the same time. you don’t realize at first how close soobin is standing to you, but your eyes meet his and you can’t bring it in yourself to look away. the prince gazes at you as if trying to speak without words, as if telling you from his presence alone that everything will be alright.

he reminds you of the forest too, you think: tall and quiet and seemingly stern, but filled with a cool comfort all his own. 

your mutual reverie is broken by the cawing of a nearby flock of birds. soobin jumps and nearly falls; you grab onto his hand and you both wobble before he finds his balance.

“sorry...”

“it’s一it’s fine.” your hand is still holding onto his, and your cheeks feel hot. “we should keep moving.”

the two of you continue through the forest, taking care not to travel too deep but stay at the periphery. soobin stays close to you, and you thread your arm through his 一 this will slow your pace, but you don’t mind.

“by the way, i changed the measurements of the disguise potion a bit,” you say as soobin crouches down to pick some flowerbuds. “i’m not sure if you felt any difference.”

“oh really? it felt the same to me.” he shrugs and places the flowerbuds in your basket. “i always feel... disoriented when i use it.”

“i know, that’s why i was trying to change it...”

“don’t worry about it too much.” soobin glances up at a tree branch right above him, and a cool breeze blows down on both of you. “it’s just... when i’m a prince, i feel shy from all the people watching me, but when i’m disguised, it feels odd not being recognized, as if no one cares about me. does that make sense?”

you’re quiet for a few moments. you glance up at the canopy, then back at soobin; prince or not, there’s something about him that feels right at home here. 

“i see what you mean... being around others is exhausting, but being by yourself is lonely. right?”

“yeah, exactly.”

“what about being with me?” you give him a teasing grin. “do you ever get sick of me?”

he grins right back at you, even rolling his eyes for dramatic effect. “yeah, i get totally sick of you. when i become prince again i’m banishing you so that i never see you again.”

“you could never do that, i bet. who’s going to make the potions of soothing to help you fall asleep, huh?”

“i’ve been stuck with you long enough that i could make it myself!”

you elbow him gently and you both laugh. the sound rings through the forest, and it makes the place seem smaller and warmer than it is.

you’ve often wondered what will happen when soobin’s incognito period ends and he goes back to his princely role. when the royal family first approached you to help with their son’s journey 一 apparently an old tradition to help future monarchs stay in touch with the common folk 一 you didn’t think much of it. you’d get an apprentice, make a few extra potions of disguise for him, then collect a hefty royal commission after eighteen months. at first, it had been nothing more than a chance to get an extra pair of hands and supplement your income as a potion-making witch.

but as you walk through the forest, arm in arm with soobin, you realize that you like the new routine you’ve established. the young prince helps you sell potions and make bread for meals, and more than once you’ve caught him giving harsh glares at rude customers who want to use your potions for nefarious purposes. and though his accompaniment to your weekly forages were originally nothing more than an excuse to get some help, you now find it impossible to imagine going on them without him.

soobin and the forest and you: in your mind they all fit together.

you’re so lost in your thoughts that he has to move in front of you to catch your attention. “y/n?”

“oh 一 sorry!”

“you know i was just kidding, right?”

“huh...?”

“about banishing you, i mean,” he says. “i like being around you too much.”

“ah 一 yeah! d-don’t worry, i know,” you say, and now even your ears are warm together with your cheeks. “and um, thank you.”

you blink a few times and glance around. the trees have become more gnarled and more densely packed together. you realize that the two of you are starting to approach the heart of the forest; go any deeper and things will get dangerous, not just from wild animals but also from wild magic. “uh, we should... go back...”

soobin nods and waits for you to lead the way before falling in beside you. again he offers his arm, and you thread yours around it. with his free hand he offers to carry your basket for you; it has gotten heavier from the foraging you’ve been doing. you shake your head and give him a polite smile, letting him know that you can carry it just fine, but the gesture opens up a lightness in your heart.

the walk back to the main road is quiet, but not awkwardly so. such moments of silence are not uncommon with soobin, but they have a comfort all their own; the prince smiles to himself as he walks, taking the time to admire the lush green canopy above or the carpet of flowers and ferns growing in between the tree roots. you find yourself sneaking glances at him and following his gaze to whatever plant has caught his attention 一 you’re so used to forest forages that you’ve forgotten how to stop and admire the scenery.

can you really imagine the forest without him? you feel his arm wound around yours, anchoring you, and it reminds you of the tree roots beneath your feet.

by the time you reach the edge of the forest, the sun has started to set and the sky has turned orange. rays of yellow light peek through the remains of the canopy. you put your free hand up to your face to block out the most blinding rays, and soobin tightens his grip around your arm. 

“let’s go home?” he says. 

you turn to him and smile. he looks radiant in this light.

“let’s go home.”

[blueywrites]

out to play

part one of the cottage: a beastly collection

werewolf!eddie x fem!satyr!oc, 8k

collection tags: all installments will feature monsterfucking unless otherwise noted. 18+ only.

story tags: 18+. established relationship, primal play, rough consensual sex, unprotected sex, scratching, biting, blood, pain, overstimulation, knot emergence, aftercare. 1st person pov. includes physical descriptions of the OC named Juniper/Junie.

here it is - my little writing break passion project! while this will not become a full-blown fic, I do have another nonsequential part already planned, and I am very open to contributing more to the monsterfucking universe 😌. If you have any ideas, let me know!

enjoy 🥰

In the wood, about a three-quarter mile by meandering path from the nearest village, there is a cottage. It is nestled among the alders, having been fitted into a small clearing like a creature smooths and flattens the ground to establish its resting place. This resting place is fringed on all sides by wild bramble, tall goldenrod, and soft ferns, which insulate it from any who may wander its way without being meant to. 

The cottage is quaint. It has four walls made from large stones of varied shapes and colors, a mish-mash of protection borne by the earth. Its windows are shut up tight by wooden shutters, and it is topped by a thick thatched roof to keep out the bitter wind. Its chimney is cold now; firewood lies in a dwindled pile near the modest garden out front, ready to be stored away for the season. In the small clearing where the cottage dwells and in the forest beyond, all is still quiet— the honeybees are sleeping, and the birds have not yet returned from their migration south. But the clover is beginning to emerge again. Dew has replaced the frost. And today, the air is sweet with the promise of springtime. 

We are out to play.

Only the barest rustle gives me away as I weave between the alders, step delicately over ferns, and skirt the thorny brambles with equal parts caution and swiftness. My hooves skip lightly over low brush, nearly silent; I take care not to be noticed as I pick along, weaving a meandering path through the wood for some time. I continue drawing farther from my cottage and its clearing until, guided by some intuition, I allow myself to slow and pause near a felled tree. 

My soft ears flick, searching for tell-tale sounds. I scan the awakening forest, trying to catch a tell-tale glimpse of that which I’m evading. Yet, all is still. For some long moments, it is just me and my breath alone in the wood, and the prickling awareness that keeps me wide-eyed and alert to every sight and sound begins to wane. I relax; my bunched muscles ease, no longer ready to flee at the merest suggestion of danger. It is safe here now.

I take stock of myself. My bangs are mussed, and a blind attempt to tame them yields what is most likely lackluster results. Still, as I lift my thick braid from my shoulder, examining what I can see of its end, it seems to have held its shape. This consolation is quickly overshadowed as I move down my body and realize something with my dress doesn’t feel right. I smooth my hands down the linen, frowning lightly as I try to figure out why it is pinched and pulled uncomfortably around my midsection. That mystery is quickly solved when I reach behind me, unwedging the hem where it has bunched above my tail. 

In my escapade through the wood, my furry rump has, apparently, been exposed for all around to see. I am bare beneath the dress, having donned it only for modesty’s sake in case I were to encounter someone unexpected here— perhaps a villager who’d wandered too far from the road, or some curious children following the stream too deep into the forest. Though, since I’d chosen a frock short enough to keep me unencumbered as I run, I’m now realizing that it might be more trouble than it’s worth. Maybe I won’t bother with the dress next time. What’s the point? No one ever comes this far in, anyway—

There’s a subtle crackle nearby, and instantly, my prey-mind overwhelms me.

With a squeal of fearful delight, I take off at once, bounding into the brush. Knowing he’s been exposed, my hunter abandons stealth, and his pursuit becomes obvious now. Pounding feet race over old, crumbling leaves. Branches rustle and snap as they’re pushed hastily aside, almost close enough to brush me. When a familiar raspy cackle kisses the end of my braid, adrenaline bursts like goosebumps along my skin. I squeal again, but the sound subsides into a girlish giggle as I feint from him and dart to the left. With great commotion, the sounds of Eddie’s pursuit falter as he scrambles to adapt and continue after me. 

Bits of my hair fall free from the braid. No longer neat, they feather my cheeks, blowing in the wind I create with my escape. I feel that wind lift my hair and ruffle the hem of my dress; I feel the ferns and the grass crush under my hooves, and I grin. My heart throbs as I race through the wood, thumping wildly with the euphoria of the chase.

In the winter months, we could not indulge in this game of predator and prey. The snow was too harsh on the soles of Eddie’s feet, and he always refuses to wear shoes, only relenting when I insist he wear them on our forays into town. Even with his tough skin, the threat of frostbite is daunting. Plus, though I am sure-footed, Eddie is more so; and as I would make every attempt to escape him, there’s always a chance my hooves would skid on hidden ice. I did not want his feet to freeze, and he did not want to risk me hurting myself. With these concerns in mind, we spent the winter occupying ourselves with other activities. But now that the ground has thawed and spring is here — on this, the warmest day in many months, sweet and fragrant with that new emergent growth and pregnant with supple dew instead of biting frost— I begged Eddie to play chase with me once again. 

He’d seemed hesitant at first to oblige my request. His hand had cupped my cheek, broad and callused, his fingers tipped with blunt nails I always file short for him. “Full moon’s tomorrow, Junie,” he reminded me, searching my face. “You sure you want me to chase you?” 

I nodded, my eyes bright and eager, and he relented quickly. Being cooped up without the release of the chase had been difficult for both of us. Eddie was too pent-up to put up an earnest argument, and I was too aflame with the promise of play to care about what time of the month it happened to be, though I knew that Eddie would likely be rougher than normal because of it. Eddie always gets a little wolfier in the days leading up to the full moon, something he and his friends jokingly refer to as ‘pre-lycanthropic syndrome.’ I know that he is more easily excitable, more feral, when his transformation is imminent. Today, as he pursues me with the intent to capture, the thought of that is quite thrilling.

That thrill spurs me on now as I redouble my efforts to escape. No longer do I try to be silent as I flee— the only priority now is to evade my mate for as long as possible, to fuel the stirring in his blood and mine. But at this first test of true exertion, I find my joints are stiff, still creaky from disuse. I had, after all, spent most of my time curled up within our cottage this winter, tangled in blankets with Eddie near the fire. Reading, dozing, fucking, nuzzling, murmuring, grazing, only to doze again and repeat the process day after day. We did this all within the comfortable nest we’d made for ourselves, wiling away our time until the spring finally returned. 

I know I will become more limber the more I frolic; I need only to warm to it. But being what he is, Eddie needs less time to adjust after a long, lazy winter. From the corner of my eye, I see one of his broad hands sweep towards me, tipped with wicked claws longer than they typically are when playing this game. Those claws snag and tear through the side of my dress, and though I do not slow, the scratch blooms like a chilly sting across my ribs. 

That pain only excites me more. I feel my arousal stir, mixing with the impulse to flee from that which is chasing me. I gasp for breath, my muscles burning as my body chooses which way to go in a flickering haze of instinct. My eyes dart over rocks and logs, ferns and bushes, moving only a split second faster than my hooves follow. 

I don’t think too hard about where I am running. There is no way to evade Eddie forever; the chase always ends the same way.

And end it does. In a field of blooming heather, Eddie finally catches me. There’s a sudden heavy weight upon my back, a lurch, and then firm arms snatching me tight around the waist as I careen toward the ground. The impact dazes me, and I lay limp as we roll. The landscape becomes a blur of purple-tipped stalks until Eddie pins me down by my shoulders, looming over me. 

When my doubled vision clears, all I see is him. 

Eddie’s curls brush my clavicle, tickling my sweat-dewed skin, mixing with my braid which has finally fallen entirely to disarray— dark oak on pale wheat. My breath burns ragged in my lungs as I gulp deep breaths of air, staring up at my captor. I can see his gaze is fixed on my throat, where he my pulse is pounding beneath the thin skin there. Hungrily, he eyes me, panting out his exertion, revelling in the sight of his prey beneath him. And now that I am caught, there is no thought of escape— instead, I melt beneath him, laying pliant as I drink in each beloved feature of the one who has won me. 

Eddie’s handsome face betrays his arousal— dark eyes wide, pupils entirely dilated, nose scrunched, mouth open in a grimace of feral delight. He is wolfier than usual, as he warned me he might be. His ears are pointier, tufted with fur; his teeth are longer, especially his canines. Both the top and bottom sets look wickedly sharp where they frame his deep pink tongue, which wags with each heaving breath— not quite lolling from his mouth, but close to it. I can see that it, too, is rougher and longer than it typically is when we play chase. The thought of what he might do with it now that he has caught me makes a wicked thrill bloom low in my belly.

Eagerly, I devour more of my mate. I trace reverent eyes over his corded neck, his broad shoulders, his heaving chest, his nipples tight from excitement, the sparse hair between his pecs, which is denser now with his partial transformation. My breath begins to quicken as my gaze sweeps over lean, angular limbs, a soft belly that conceals a powerful core, and a trail of thick, dark hair leading down from his navel beneath his britches. Those are tented impressively, and I shiver at the sight. Unconsciously, I draw my tongue along my bottom lip. I throb between my legs as I anticipate the reveal of his straining cock.

As the sight and scent of my arousal grow more apparent, Eddie becomes evermore excited, descending further into the animal part of his nature. With muscles coiled and quivering with tension, he wraps large hands around my bare shoulders, pressing me down to the earth and squeezing, as if urging me to stay there. His claws begin to dig into my skin. I can feel the cold sting intensify as his grip tightens enough to make blood well up around each sharp tip. 

But the bloodletting is not frightening. It just makes me submit further to him. My eyes remain wide and doe-like as I gaze up at him adoringly, and my plump lips part just slightly. My mouth pools with saliva as I imagine him slipping in there— his thumb, his tongue, his cock, anything would do. My soft, fuzzy ears flick with anticipation at the thought, and my thighs press together, an ineffectual attempt to soothe the ache inside until Eddie takes care of me. I am his prey: helpless, docile. Entirely at his mercy, and so utterly happy to be so.

Typically, Eddie would now divest me of my clothing, perhaps by shimmying the hem of my dress up my body, or by untying the bows atop my shoulders and letting the dress fall away. 

Today, our play is not typical. 

Eddie rises up onto his knees, towering over me as the sun glints off his wild curls, casting an auburn halo at their edges. A small sound escapes me at the sight of him— proud, powerful, imposing for the wicked smirk that crooks his plush lips and the white tips of savage fangs that peek from between them. He would be a terrifying sight to behold if not for his eyes. Even when he is overcome with lust, and Eddie’s eyes are wide, frenzied, pitch-black with his desire, when he looks upon me, there is a softness in their corners, never overtaken by the violence he is capable of. 

That softness is there when he pins my legs with his powerful calves, pressing tight so I will stay still and flat beneath him. When I do not resist, Eddie takes up the bottom hem of my dress and begins to rend it apart, exposing my flesh for him. I keep my arms curled in the heather above my head, watching as his claws make quick work of my clothing. It does not bother me to have my dress destroyed; the sacrifice is worth it to see how Eddie relishes in the sight of me pliant and obedient beneath him, allowing him to destroy my clothing. 

The fabric tears unevenly, parting in jagged strips. I hold perfectly still as the fur of my legs is revealed up to the top of my pelvis, midway between my mons and my navel, where it transitions into skin. He continues up my body, and the ripped fabric flutters down like the kiss of a bird’s wings on my skin. Rip, and my navel is exposed. Rip, and my ribcage emerges. Rip, and my breasts fall free, with little pink nipples the color of ripe watermelon. Cool spring air kisses them puckered, and the sight pulls a low rumble from Eddie’s throat. It is clear from the gleam in his eye that the sight has tantalized him, reminding him of the other place on my body that is so brightly-colored. 

I know before it happens what the sight will have him do.

Sure enough, Eddie’s warm knees are suddenly no longer crowding the outside of my thighs. I look down the plane of my body to find him discarding his britches with impatience, and then all at once, Eddie seizes me with needy roughness. My bare back drags against heather flowers made abrasive by the sudden motion. The feeling is unpleasant, as my skin is far more sensitive than my fur. Yet I do not dwell on it, more arrested by the way Eddie is parting my legs as he hefts me onto his lap, lifting my lower body easily, tilting me up until only my shoulder blades are pressed to the ground. My inner thighs stretch tight around his waist as he pulls me close to him. He plants me there, with my ass resting on his muscled thighs. His broad, clawed hands squeeze at the rolls of tender fat that mound up at the outer juncture of my hip and thigh, covered by soft, bristly fur. I sigh at the feeling, thinking about how Eddie often draws his nails through my fur. Whether blunt or sharp, I relish in the feeling of my mate doting on me that way. And I know he loves the breathy sounds of contentment I make when he strokes up and down my legs, scratching lightly as I stretch and preen and lilt into his loving touch.

But Eddie is not interested in tantalizing me with light, delicate touches today. Instead, his gaze is locked on the place between my legs where my fur parts to reveal bare flesh. It’s the deep, watermelon pink of my pussy— the same color as my nipples, but soft like the skin at my inner elbow, puffy and supple. 

I feel a familiar rush of pride at the way Eddie’s panting mouth waters, tantalized by my sex. Drool glistens, gathering underneath his tongue as he salivates at the sight of me. I feel the rough pads of his fingers carefully spread my sticky lower lips, angled to keep his claws from catching my delicate flesh. I hope that he will lift me high and swipe that hot rough tongue through my folds. My fingers crawl along the grass in anticipation, reaching for the strong knobs of his knees. I want to hold them, to squeeze them in my grip when he buries his face in my pussy, ravenous for the sweet taste of my arousal.

But Eddie surprises me. Instead of lifting me to his mouth, he slots the underside of his hot cock against my heat. Pinching my plump lips closed with his thumb and index finger, he creates a tight space where he can rut along the length of my pussy without entering me. 

I gasp at the first thrust along my slick, sensitive flesh, and Eddie grunts in satisfaction to hear it, rumbling deep in his chest. He is being quieter than usual— that is, he typically talks more than this, but it seems that with his transformation so close, he’s caught in the haze of his baser nature. He is communicating with his body and his sounds, and so, I decide, will I. I tip my chin and hum happily for him as he drags his cock along my hot slick pussy with one long, slow thrust, and he rumbles back in reply. Again, he drags himself along my heat, and my hips squirm in his lap; he answers with one more slow thrust, as if he’s savoring the feeling of teasing my body in this way. And then Eddie begins to grind against my sex with a rough, staccato rhythm, rutting with sharp jerks of his hips that have me throwing my head back against the soil, moaning out my pleasure. He gathers my slick with his fat cockhead and catches my clit every time he ruts forward— there’s a spark of fire at the end of each thrust, and I whimper as that delicious feeling begins to build in my lower belly, enough so that my tail begins to twitch, a tell-tale sign of my pleasure. 

The little brushes of my tail against his hairy thighs show him how good he’s making me feel, and as I think about how it must look, him using my body like this, it flicks even harder, more insistently. But my mate does not indulge in what I can only imagine, though he could easily watch himself rut in and out of my pink lips if he were to tip his chin. Eddie does not look down to see the way his cock grows sticky with my gathering arousal. Instead, his wide, dark eyes remain fixed on my face, taking in every detailof my expression, feasting on my enjoyment. It’s as if the only sustenance he could ever need can be gained by the sight of me beneath him— my lower lip clamped between my teeth, my glazed eyes locked on his face, my expression so clearly transfixed by him, so entirely enamored with him. 

Eddie sees the way I’m looking at him, and the corners of his eyes soften even more. He grins down at me fondly, but the movement of his body does not soften with it. It only intensifies. Each inhale becomes a huff, each exhale a grunt as he ruts harder along my heat, hard enough that his hairy balls start to slap against my ass. He maintains this faster speed only briefly before I feel his grip falter and his cock lose traction in the increasing slickness. But Eddie adjusts quickly. He finally looks down at the place we are nearly joined and watches as he pinches my slick, puffy lips tighter around his slippery cock, adjusting the angle of his hips to compensate. And once he regains his pace, Eddie ensures that it will not happen again. He abandons his grip on my hip to reach higher up, grasping handfuls of the flesh at my waist to pull me up against him. 

It’s a commanding hold that ensures our slick, heated bodies remain pressed together tightly, as tight as can be without one of us being inside the other. Eddie grinds himself against my pussy, undulating his hips in a slow roll he is clearly enjoying, and I’m enjoying it too— enjoying the teasing pleasure of his cockhead catching against my clit, enjoying the sensual scratch of his wiry bush rubbing against the soft fur between my thighs, enjoying the way he gnaws his bottom lip and regards me through his eyelashes, his stare unwavering. I’m relishing in all of these things, yet before long, it is no longer enough for me. I begin to yearn for his next thrust to catch his head on the rim of my entrance. I want his cockhead to snag there, to pause for a moment as it threatens to breach me. Until all that is needed is the slightest cant of Eddie’s hips for his cock to ease right into my aching hole and stretch me open at last.

My pussy flutters at the thought, as if trying to entice him with the promise of its grip. When he doesn’t seem to notice, I begin to coax him with a slight rocking of my hips, biting my lip to try and stay my protestations, to resist the petulance rising within me. But when he ignores the language of my body, I am forced to make myself known. 

My whine is a high, needy thing, quiet at first, then repeated with increasing strength and desperation until he cannot escape me.

This Eddie cannot ignore, and his eyes flick up to mine. His face is beautiful and rugged, his expression animalistic. That plush top lip is half caught in a snarl and those dark eyes are half-lidded, with eyelashes that almost flutter as he works his cock with my soft body. As my whining increases in pitch, I watch a flicker pass across those dark eyes— smugness, or knowing, perhaps, though Eddie doesn’t yet acquiesce to my request. 

But I have caught his attention now, and having caught it, I know he will yield to me. Eddie may be the predator between us, but I have learned that what he truly desires is to give me what I want. Even if Eddie winds me up for his own amusement, in the end, he is too soft, too devoted to deny me for long. 

So I play into my strengths. My brow pinches pleadingly; my lower lip quivers, pouting out for him, flushed darker from having been bitten and chewed on as I tried to maintain patience. I look up at him, doe-eyed and weak as I sniff and wriggle, whimper and whine. Please, I implore him with my eyes, still neglecting speech. Please fuck me.

That flicker of smugness in Eddie’s eyes is replaced by a deepening of umber to gold, accompanied by a gradual flush that raises high on Eddie’s cheekbones. He is moved by watching me beg for his cock, and there’s no way for him to deny it. 

As soon as that understanding passes between us, it’s as if a string has snapped. Without warning, Eddie wraps his massive hands around my hips and, with an ease that is equally startling and arousing, he flips me over. 

Ever conscientious, Eddie continues holding me around the middle to keep my chin and shoulders from slamming into the ground too hard. But I wouldn’t have cared. Not even if he’d been too far gone and I’d found my teeth scraping fresh, fragrant grass. My moan of anticipation is almost a bleat as my hands press the heather flat beneath me. When I feel Eddie nudge at the inside of my knobby knees with the outside of his, I scramble to assume a position he can mount me in. I arch my back and spread my knees, sticking my ass high in the air. The breeze caresses me between my legs, a cool kiss against overheated flesh, though even that brings little relief when I’m aching this way. 

When that slight breeze is suddenly interrupted, I know that Eddie has moved to kneel tall behind me. His claws bite into my furry hips as he grasps me, his grip tighter than it has been yet today. The ache inside lessens as flutters of anticipation replace it; my heart throbs the whisper I hold back from voicing. Finally. Finally. Finally. 

Imagine, if you will, the nature of my mate. Roguish, playful, and so mischievous, I sometimes can’t decide whether to kiss or smack him. I know this— I relish in his wild cackle and his manic grins, most of the time. So perhaps it should not have surprised me when Eddie’s cockhead presses against the thin skin below my entrance, sliding down, down, down with even pressure before skating right past my entrance and pressing against my sensitive clit instead. 

Despite the promise of this new position, despite the way I’m arched and ready for him, Eddie chooses to rut himself along my pussy again, teasing me more. From this angle, he has more to reach, too, in his efforts to torment me. He slides up, up, up again, and I feel his cockhead slip between my asscheeks; the underside of his thick cock rubs along just the rim of my entrance and over my puckered hole in slow strokes that do not satisfy me. 

Of course, I whine again. The sound is more rough, less sensual, almost a growl of frustration as if in some pale imitation of Eddie himself. And Eddie has the gall to chuckle. It’s a rumble in his chest, but lilted, almost a purr until it breaks at the end into the familiar sound of Eddie’s raspy laughter. My tail is wagging now— not in desire, but in impatience, with jerky flicks that convey my displeasure. I dig my blunt nails into the earth, trying to endure my mate’s teasing, but I am quickly passing desperation, approaching feralness.

I will need to play dirty.

I coordinate my plan with the slow withdrawal of Eddie’s cock. When his cockhead lifts from my lips, I widen my knees, lowering my ass slightly in preparation for what I will do. And then my next shift comes all at once— exaggerating the curve of my spine, pressing my shoulders flat to the ground as I reach behind me. Stretching my arms as far back as they’ll go. Grabbing handfuls of my inner thighs, inching my fingers inward, searching for flesh beyond the fur. When I find that smoothness, I turn my head. And with my cheek smushed to the heather, as the flowers smear the apple purple, I look back at Eddie, arresting his attention to my hole as it stretches when I pull my sticky lips apart to entice him. “Eddie,” I whimper, high and throaty and sweetly feminine, abandoning my attempt to match him in wordlessness. “Please, baby, I need you.” I tighten my fingers. Divots form as my plumpness mounds up around them, and I stretch open my hole a little farther. “Need your cock, Eddie. Please.”

Rough, quick, filthy, more wolf, more man, any which way— I don’t care how Eddie takes me, as long as he takes me now.

When his powerful thighs press to mine so immediately, I let go of my pussy lips, quickly raising my hips and tucking my hands under me again. I can’t see his face anymore, but this is it. I know it. And it’s such a relief to be stretched, to be split open when he enters me at last. We both whine simultaneously as we feel my pussy yield to him, welcoming him in with a lewd squelch, hugging him tightly. 

So tight, and wet, and warm, only for my Eddie. 

I hear him rattle a sigh of relief as his cockhead pops in. I imagine the way his face looks— eyes closed, lashes brushing his cheeks, head tilted, neck stretched, wild curls dipping down his powerful back. Eddie is finally fucking me open with short, shallow strokes, growing slowly deeper until at last he’s plunging all the way in, nudging up against the end of me. And now that he’s seated fully inside, I want it hard and rough— I want so badly for him to beat into me until my brain is fuzzy and my legs are trembling. In my wanting, I begin to rock back into him, moving myself on his cock in defiance again of the dynamic we have set for our play today. 

Eddie allows me to assert myself for a short time before squeezing my hips again, holding me tight with a warning growl low in his throat. I’ve let you have your fun, that rumble seems to say. Let me fuck you now.

I am eager for Eddie to take the lead. Perhaps overly eager as I show my earnest submission, whimpering and humming as my hips jerk to a stop halfway sunk down on his cock. There, I hold still, turning my face and smushing my cheek to the crushed flowers again. I want Eddie to see my thoroughly docile expression, my innocent eyes, my downturned ears. My small tail falls slack, and if he were closer— if he were pressed all the way up inside me— I would trace a soothing pattern with its tip along his soft belly, hoping he would accept the gesture.

Eddie smiles, a slow grin full of heat and satisfaction, and I uncrick my neck as I see that he is not upset with me. The relief mixes headily with my arousal, and I press back into his touch as he grabs palmfuls of my ass, fanning his fingers in my soft fur. I feel him spread my cheeks, hear him hiss as he sees the evidence of my desire for him. He plays with me— pushing himself slowly in to watch my cream gather thick around my entrance. I can feel it beginning to mat the hair that frames my bright pink lips, and I imagine my arousal dragging sticky along his thickness, coating the hot flush of his skin and his throbbing veins as he inches out and back in, over and over. I know he will do this for as long as he likes. I am happy to let him, to be the plaything he has caught, stretched out on his thick cock. 

And almost better than the way Eddie is making me feel is the evidence of his own enjoyment. Little absent sounds of satisfaction murmured under his breath. His claw-tipped fingers flexing, grabbing, groping. The increasing desperation behind his thrusts as his pace begins to quicken. The brush of his soft belly against my tail as he begins to curl his body over me, seeking more leverage. Lost in the feeling of my squeezing heat.

Those little sounds soon subside to panting, and I lose myself in my own pleasure until something wet and warm drips onto my spine. One drop. Another, catching the first. Combined, they crawl down the slope of my back, slipping toward the nape of my neck. As they dampen my hair, I feel them chased by a new drop— a third, and then a fourth. 

I realize what it must be: Eddie’s drool, dripping from his open jaw onto my back.

The feeling of his spit— the knowledge that I have him so drunk on my pussy that his mouth is just hanging open in absent enjoyment— makes me flush warm with giddy pleasure. A warm spread of happiness in my chest; a sparkling, tightening heat low in my belly, like embers of a flame. I seek to grow that burn; unconsciously, I roll my hips, rubbing Eddie’s tip inside me.

As if in a coordinated effort, Eddie juts into me sharply just as I roll my hips. The effect is is startling— he ends up slamming in to the hilt so roughly that I feel his balls squish up tight against my inner thighs. It’s almost painful, but in the best way as I’m wracked with a sudden burst of intense pleasure. The feeling is dizzying, overwhelming, as if I’d been shot through with electricity, hoof to head. It punches a moan out of me, one loud enough to stir the wood around us; my pussy flexes and flutters on his hardness, my puckered hole winks, and my tail stiffens straight up, quivering from base to tip. 

Such a visceral reaction from his mate must speak to the beast inside Eddie. He crowds me into the ground, belting his arm around my waist, squeezing me to his chest. His heavy warmth envelops me— tight, tight, so tight and sticky with his sweat and mine. The hold presses the breath from my lungs, which I regain quickly as I gasp as bright pain blooms in near the base of my neck— Eddie’s curls spill across my upper back, barely a warning before his sharp teeth sink into my shoulder.

I cry out, squealing a broken sound as he begins to rut hard and fast into my cunt. Suddenly, all I am is sensation, every nerve awakened as I flood with adrenaline and arousal. I feel all of it at once, and somehow each sensation so distinctly: Eddie’s balls slapping against my furry mound, beating an even rhythm. His corded throat rumbling as he hums around my flesh in his mouth. His warm breath fanning me as he huffs through his nose. And then the feelings converge into the sharp, cold agony of his teeth in my shoulder and the hot sparkling pleasure of his cock plunging into me. 

The potent combination drives me quickly to overstimulation. I reach back and fist my hand in his wild mane of curls. And even though, as Eddie rocks his body into mine, each tug makes his teeth dig a little more into my shoulder, my fist just tightens as I endure the onslaught of sensation. 

Tugging so viciously on Eddie’s hair isn’t meant as a complaint, but his decision to bite me was clearly impulsive, and perhaps he interprets it as such. He releases me quickly, and there’s both relief and disappointment in the loss of his teeth. Relief and disappointment in my conscious mind, but at this juncture— so overwhelmed by sensation— instinct takes over. By instinct, my body drives my actions. It hunches my back to lower my hips, which retract and squirm away from the intensity of that stimulation, afraid of my coming orgasm as much as it yearns for it. 

I act on instinct, and so does Eddie; as I shift away, his predator-brain activates. I hear him growl— an intimidating sound meant to make prey freeze. I do. And I find my tail snatched in a commanding hold and tugged hard.

My furry knees drag against the crushed heather as I’m pulled back into the curve of Eddie’s muscular body. In one motion, before I can make a sound, he uses my tail to lift up my hips and sink his cock into my gaping cunt. I gasp again, and it chokes off into a pained moan as Eddie sinks his teeth back into my shoulder. 

Eddie might be consumed by his predator-brain, but he does not rip through the muscle. The action is not to devour, to consume, but instead to keep me still, to take my pleasure no matter how overstimulating it might be. He holds me there with his teeth in the meat my shoulder and his hand fisted around my tail, fucking with feral, single-minded intent into my cunt. He wants me to fall apart beneath him; he wants to possess me entirely, to work my body to the point of shattering pleasure. 

And Eddie will get what he wants. My heart pounds as he bullies my cunt, unrelenting in pursuit of my orgasm. My breath puffs out in little vocal squeaks, which grow more and more desperate and broken until the feeling finally surges up, powerful and dizzying and utterly unstoppable as it overtakes me.

It’s a euphoric release from a build-up so intense it had been approaching agony. I shudder, jerking as it crests and breaks inside me, and then pleasure is all I know. 

In the moment, I am not conscious of it, but my cunt clamps down on him, squeezing hard— almost possessively— around Eddie’s cock. Almost instantly, his grip on my tail eases, softening when he feels it twitch and quiver erratically as I begin to cum. His teeth release me, and he growls again, but this time it is warm— possessive, satisfied as I writhe beneath him, caught in the throes of the blinding pleasure he has given me. My brain is blank, fuzzed completely stupid as I cum. 

Slowly, I come back to myself. Eddie is still draped over my back, and I’m beginning to bow under his weight, my muscles weak and slack in the aftermath. Sensing my exhaustion, Eddie pulls out and turns me over, and I remain limp as he manipulates me onto my back. My chest is heaving, my body shaking, my cheeks hot, my eyes heavy-lidded. Dazed and absent, in a state of total bliss. I only realize I’d been screaming out my ecstasy when I swallow, and my throat feels raw. 

With as much gentleness as he can muster, Eddie folds me in half. My legs fit into the crooks of his shoulders as he bends forward over me, bracing his palms in the dirt alongside my shoulders as my hooves hover in the air, tickled by the soft fur that tufts his ears. Eddie is a sight— wild, sweat-drenched curls, pink chest, a vein popping in his forehead. There’s desperation in his brow, the darkness of his eyes, and the pinch of his plush lips. I whimper as he enters me again, still achingly hard; I stare into his eyes as he begins to fuck into my sopping cunt, squelching into me with audibly lewd strokes. He fucks me slowly now, savoring the way my pussy hugs and grips him, the way she sucks him in greedily every time his hips draw back. I can’t help but stare up at him with such utter, mindless devotion, and that devotion is mirrored in his expression. Despite his need, Eddie clearly wants to relish in the feeling of me pressed beneath him as long as possible, and I can see how he’s fighting himself as his nostrils flare, his lips press pale and thin, and his brow begins to twitch, that vein throbbing now as he stubbornly tries to hold back. 

Eventually, though, even that Munson stubbornness isn’t enough to prevent Eddie’s aching balls from their release. He’s pressed in deep, and I feel them brush against me as they jump and tighten. Instantly, Eddie is pulling out of me, dipping down, leaning all his weight on one elbow as he fists his cock desperately with his free hand. I look into his fluttering eyes, feeling his cum begin to paint my lower lips as he shudders and bucks into his own touch. When I cup his face, Eddie rolls his cheek into my palm, and then he whines. Confused, I watch as his eyes scrunch tightly shut; he keeps bucking until his chest is heaving and he’s panting fast, grunting on each exhale. A curious feeling blooms in my chest as he trembles, still fucking his fist; I stroke back his hair, concern turning to fascination as he tears from my grip and abruptly sits up, towering over me and throwing his head back in a strangled howl. I drop my aching legs and prop up on my elbows, reeling as I look down my body to see the swelling at the base of Eddie’s cock, so bulbous it’s visible behind his fist as he strokes himself. And then his hand grips my thigh tight as his howl turns to a long, low groan of relief; he nestles his fat cockhead between my puffy lips to cum on me again.

I realize that this must also be because of his imminent transformation— his knot, this second release. His hot mushroom head pulses as he paints my clit with hot spurts of his cum. Eddie cums, and he keeps cumming, enough so that I can feel his spend drip down my entrance, collect in the rim, and then spill over onto my fur on its crawling path toward the ground. It’s the messiest we have ever been. I can feel how matted my fur is around my entrance, tacky and coated in his spend and mine. He’s still stroking his cock slowly, and I can see that the motion is inadvertently spreading some of his cum over his shaft, thick and slightly opaque as it sticks to his flushed skin.

Eventually— after quite a bit longer than usual when he only cums once, which apparently is not always the case, I realize with a little thrill of excitement— Eddie stops cumming. He sighs in relief, his shoulders sagging. And in the aftermath, I want to scramble to my knees and take him into my mouth, to explore that new aspect of his body revealed to me.

But Eddie has other plans. 

Despite his clear fatigue, he lifts my hips carefully before I can make any moves to get up; my knees spread as he bumps one gently with his temple. As I give him access, Eddie leans down until his mouth meets the juncture of my spread thighs and begins licking my fur clean of his seed and my slick. 

I am a little envious that he gets to taste that mixture of us, but after a few strokes of his tongue, I sigh, relaxing bonelessly in his hold. It soothes me how gently he licks me, and it feels so nice that I don’t even mind waiting to explore his knot. I hum contentedly as his rough tongue drags warm and wet over my fur in long, gentle strokes. And once my fur is clean, he licks between my lips, all over my puffy pussy, dipping into my entrance too. His chest rumbles as he tastes my sweetness mixed with his tang, and I can feel the vibrations in the backs of my thighs as he enjoys cleaning me. My tail quivers happily, and he smiles, pressing a kiss to my mound before setting me down again.

As soon as he lets me down, I right myself in a sprawl of limbs so I can crawl over to him. Eddie must think I am looking to cuddle as I usually do after we make love, because he lounges back with easy confidence, propping himself up with an elbow and opening his other arm in invitation. But I am not ready to cuddle; instead, I want to explore his knot. 

I climb over his leg and settle to his side near his hip, ducking my head, my eyes fixed between his thighs. Cautiously, with a twitching nose and flicking ears, I draw close to his slowly-flagging erection, looking at his swollen base with unfiltered, wide-eyed curiosity. He huffs tiredly in amusement, and spreads his hairy thighs further, allowing me to sate that curiosity. 

It is hot and sticky— I can tell without even touching it. Eddie’s body always runs hot, but the heat radiating from this new emergence is more potent than I’ve felt from him before. Timidly, I begin to touch his knot with light brushes of my fingertips, ready to flinch back should it make any sudden moves. It feels stiff like his hardness, just as unyielding, though mounded up in a supple curve rather than a hard line. 

His thighs tense when I lick it, and I realize it must be sensitive. But though he grunts and his muscles draw taut, Eddie holds still, letting me lick up the vague tang of his cum from his velvet skin until I’m satisfied. When I have had my fill of his taste, I rest my cheek on his wiry bush, looking up at him. His brown eyes are warm, the line of his brow eased as he meets my gaze, and with fond gentleness, Eddie strokes my hair. He draws his fingers through the strands, lightly scratching my scalp as I hum. But when his fingers skim the base of my throat, pushing back the hair there, they freeze at the same time I register an ache. It’s the bite I am only just starting to remember as my post-orgasmic daze begins to fade.

Eddie whines, high and distressed, his eyes no longer hazy but now sharp with concern. “Junie,” he croaks, and my name is the first word he’s said since we left the cottage. He reaches for me, and I let him pull me onto his naked lap so he can examine my wound. He prods around it lightly with his fingertips, and I feel my skin is sticky with blood. I scrunch my neck, tipping my chin to try to look, but it’s too close for me to see, and that just makes it hurt more. Eddie grunts in protest, and I sigh when he takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger, directing my face away from the mark. 

I stare up at the alders, letting him fuss over me. I know he’s done when Eddie whines again and nuzzles me, pressing his nose against my neck in contrition. 

“Told you I’d be too rough, baby,” he whimpers. “I’m so sorry—” 

The words are mumbled into my skin, but nonetheless, I frown to hear how Eddie sounds almost beside himself. I take his face, stroking his cheeks and then his ears, rubbing them lightly between my pinched fingers in the way I know he likes. “I’m okay, Eddie,” I say quietly, letting him tend to me. Carefully, so carefully, I feel Eddie’s tongue brush over the punctures, and I keep rubbing his ears as he begins to lick the wound he left on my shoulder. 

I am not concerned the way Eddie is; I know it will heal, and faster now that he’s coated me so thoroughly with his saliva. But Eddie still insists on carrying me back to our cottage. He leaves his britches and my tattered dress discarded in the heather. I rest my head on his chest, listening to his strong and steady heartbeat, which lulls me into hazy contentment until I crack my eyes and see stone walls and a thatched roof— our familiar resting place. I let my eyes slip closed again, and even so, I sense the moment he crosses the threshold.

Inside is warm, smelling of fresh herbs and our combined musk. I am filled with peace as he lays me in our bed, curling around me, keeping me safe with the heat of his body. My wolf and I are thoroughly worn, thoroughly sated. For now, at least. I am eager for what more we can get up to as the weather grows fair, and the birds and bees return.

thanks for reading! please let me know if you enjoyed it! 💙

[broomsick]

Herbalism and personal gnosis regarding Freyr

Herbs I've come to associate with him, and which I now incorporate in my practice surrounding him

I hope you all are having a good winter season! I pray that those who experience seasonal depression at this time may soon find solace in the return of the sun. As for me, I'm quite excited to plant my garden again, and begin the cycle anew! Although, it is still far from the right time. It's still around -10 to -20 degrees Celsius here at this time of year, and the windows are still halfway barricaded with snow. And yet I feel the King of Kings' presence nonetheless! For this reason, I've gathered up a few quick pieces of UPG related to herbs and Freyr.

Pine! Not a herb, I know, but I simply couldn't leave it unmentioned. It is a strong and solid tree, but one which inspires tranquility and peace of mind. In my area, it grows high on mountains! Seeing it gently sway in the wind brings Freyr to mind. In fact, one of the first devotional items I owned was a bundle of pine-scented incense sticks, which I used in his worship.

Fern! This plant was pointed out to me by Freyr, or so I believe, as one that he held in high regard. It is so ancient that it predates seeds in the natural world, and its lore overlaps a lot with Freyr’s general domain: it’s said to help with acquiring wealth and luck, and its often used by modern witches to summon rain! For this reason, I often incorporate it in rituals to ask Freyr to help my garden grow.

Flowers, all of them! I love to decorate for May Eve using flowers. Crafting flower wreathes, going wildflower picking and making bouquets and garlands are personal favorites. These crafts are more often than not done in honor of Freyr and Freyja, the Lord and Lady of spring.

Rosemary! Much like pine, its particular gentle smell has always reminded me of him. Its a herb I personally associate with protection and safety, as well as spiritual matters in general. When I use it in rituals, it feels like I’m acknowledging Freyr’s protection.

Moss! In the wild, it's proof of a rich, healthy soil, and of clean air. To me, it's the very symbol of the beauty that the earth has to offer. There are so many different varieties of moss, and its very individuals are as diverse as humans themselves. Moss reflects the many gifts of Freyr, all in one go!

[foursaints]

what do you think regulus' relationship with all the skittles is like. ik he and barty are the secret thurd thing but i am extremely curious about his interactions with the twins. do he and pandora exchange resigned looks whenever rosekiller is being their Very peculiar brand of Rosekiller? and also evan and regulus. ?? i always imagined regulus (if he met the twins in his childhood) as slightly protective of them in a older sibling type of way. i think that might be from my own need to protect my friends (especially as a child). like i used to be desperate to show someone love the way my sister showed me. so yeah im absolutely bestowed with your regulus and i do wonder if you have headcanons abt his interactions with the other skittles<333

i was discussing this ask with @fernhelm socratic-seminar style and ive compiled the results for you...

regulus is a fundamentally selfish person but he's selfish on behalf of the skittles. he's folded them into his life & his care, and part of that is finding excuses for every ugly thing they could possibly do. in his eyes they (the twins, barty) fundamentally just deserve to do whatever they need to

fern said thesis of the skittles is this terry pratchett quote: "All witches are selfish, the Queen had said. But Tiffany’s Third Thoughts said: Then turn selfishness into a weapon! Make all things yours! Make other lives and dreams and hopes yours! Protect them! Save them! Bring them into the sheepfold! Walk the gale for them! Keep away the wolf! My dreams! My brother! My family! My land! My world! How dare you try to take these things, because they are mine! I have a duty!"

pandora is his best friend. he is capable of understanding her in a way that he doesn't understand the rest of them. if regulus is something cold hiding something warm, she's the inverse. part of their mutual understanding is the fact that they ultimately ended up on the same side in the war.

regulus only understands evan through pandora. they're close but not super close to me!! pandora is a warmer, brighter, more expansive version of evan & that is more accessible to reg... i think regulus fronts like he's cold & unfeeling but evan actually Is That and that fact is alienating

anything i could say about barty and regulus's friendship warrants its own post but genuinely to me they have a greg & rodrick heffley type dynamic and i stand by that

i see the skittles relationship as quiet & abiding. they are all using the friendship to self-soothe in their own ways and it makes it codependent but in a gentle sense... layers of caretaking. the weird kids who eat lunch on the picnic bench and don't seem to talk much but are never seen apart. they don't banter loudly like the marauders but they're all holding hands under the table