#they speak even slower when they’re emotional I think. whichever way around

[tragedykery]

trying to figure out character voices for my ocs and I think the one I have the clearest picture of rn is taituk. they speak…not quite stiffly maybe but definitely a tad formal. more connective words & full sentences than most people use when speaking. they’ve got the admirable habit of just letting silence fall until they’ve thought of the right thing to say, very little uhming or use of other filler words. they tend to be overly specific rather than vague—e.g., instead of saying something is rare or common, they might try to give a numeric indication of how rare or common it is. they talk quite slowly and quietly, but can make themself heard if so desired. absolutely hate shouting. they prefer to speak calmly, and if they’re in an emotional situation they will wait to compose themself until they know their voice will be level. because of this they can seem emotionless to the untrained eye, but they’re just good at hiding/repressing them lol

[ficforce]

Benimaru Relationship Alphabet

A- Activity (What is their favourite activity to do with Y/N.) Quiet Reader: Benimaru enjoys napping with his head on her lap, Y/N is good with her hands, if he’s lucky she’ll stop whichever craft she’s doing and massage his scalp. There’s a sunny spot on the porch at the back of the Guardhouse with a mat and a soft cushion laid out, She didn’t like him sleeping on the bare wood and Benimaru didn’t like that she got a sore back - once he was asleep she didn’t like to move in case she woke him up. Loud Reader: Sparring with her is always fun, Y/N practices the same discipline as he does but she started much later in life. She offers him enough of a challenge that he really has to think about his next moves. It usually ends up with them rolling around in the dirt kissing, putting out a fire Y/N accidentally started or deciding to go take a nap. B- Beginnings (How do they act in the beginning of a relationship) Quiet Reader: Y/N is a quiet, almost shy woman, she first spoke to Benimaru when he turned up to put out a fire he had started whilst dealing with an Infernal. He would usually let the regular Hikeshi deal with it but he had literally been above it. She hadn’t realised he was there until after she had taken control of the fire and put it out with ease. Benimaru had been impressed and then he had found some amusement in how she panicked just at the sight of him. Y/N had an interesting heat signature and he had been curious to see her use her ability again - she would be too nervous to show him and either not be able to form a flame or burn him by accident. Her flames were the hottest recorded in Asakusa. At first, he was too gentle with her, treating her like a fragile flower that could wilt at any moment but then he witnessed her get angry once and wasn’t as careful: she was strong. Once he was more like himself she liked him more and was told him so. People find it amusing that he can get rowdy and pick fights whilst Y/N watches from the background with a fond smile on her lips. They compliment each other rather well. Loud Reader: They met during a bar fight. Y/N had started it after a drunk got a little too handsy with her. What started off as a one on one fight had turned into a brawl - once it had gotten out of hand she headed outside and that’s where she found Benimaru. He smiled at her, apparently a side effect of sake, and offered her a cup. He had been amused by the trouble her one uppercut had caused. Then not so amused when they ended up arguing and ended up throwing fireballs at each other. Their relationship could be described as passionate, they were quick to become lovers and slower to get to know each other. Every argument brought them closer and they’re not as explosive as they used to be.

C- Communication (Are they good communicators? How do they normally talk about their problems or solve issues)

Quiet Reader: Benimaru doesn’t like to talk about his feelings, he doesn’t like to share his problems with just anyone and even if he’s just complaining he hates when someone tries to fix his problems for him. Y/N is very good at calming him down and getting him to lower his defences enough to talk to her, she always seems to offer him good advice. Y/N is like an open book, if something is worrying her then she can’t hide it, her face always gives her away. Benimaru doesn’t like to see her upset and will ask her outright, she’ll try to tell him not to worry and that it’s not important but he won’t give up. Benimaru’s usual advice is that he can go and punch the problem - This always makes Y/N smile and she’ll figure out what to do as he hears her out. Loud Reader: She isn’t good at sharing a problem, she either tries to punch it or will let it fester inside, at first it won’t be noticeable but then suddenly she’ll burst and Benimaru struggles to calm her down at first. He’ll feel bad that he didn’t see her suffering sooner and hold her until she’s calm enough to speak to him. She just needs to rant sometimes - she’s not the type to hold onto things. Y/N is very similar to the Quiet Reader in that she’ll hear him out. She’s pretty good at reading his micro-expressions and can tell the difference between a frown and a frown. She’ll bug him until he cracks and tells her what’s going on… her advice isn’t always so good. D- Drunk (What are they like when they’re drunk) Quiet Reader: Y/N is quiet and sweet, she barely ever raises her voice but when she drinks more than one cup of sake - she turns into a different person. She will fight you. This includes Benimaru and after last time Konro keeps a count on her drinks. Loud Reader: She’s a happy drunk. Unless someone starts on her or touches her in the wrong way (If Benimaru doesn’t break their fingers first), then she’ll get rowdy. Y/N will find everything funny and likes to cuddle up to someone, if Konro is there she tends to want to cuddle him more as he’s bigger and easier to fall asleep on. Benimaru gets a little jealous. We all know what Benimaru is like when he drinks. E- Emergency (How are they in emergency situations? Y/N gets hurt, they get hurt, someone is dying etc..) Quiet Reader: Y/N can usually keep a calm head on her shoulders, she’ll help out as much as she can and tends to worry about others before herself. She knows that Benimaru puts himself in danger to protect their Town and it makes her worry but he’s so strong… so, he’ll always come back to her, right? Benimaru is used to chaos and emergencies, it’s in his job description. When it comes to Y/N though, he wants to know where she is, he wants to know her exact location so he can keep danger away from her. If anything happened to her… Loud Reader: She’s the first one to get people moving. Although she’s not an official member of Company 7 she helps out where she can, making sure civilians are out of the way and ready to defend them if needed. Y/N likes to keep tabs on Benimaru - he’s not invincible and he does dumb stuff sometimes. He wishes she wouldn’t linger so close. Benimaru knows she can hold her own and he doesn’t need to worry because she’s a strong fighter. He knows she can take a hit or two but he’ll personally incinerate anyone who hurts her. F- Free Spot (I’ll give you any headcanon I come up with) Quiet Reader: Y/N is a very good crafter, writing, drawing, knitting, sewing, felting and much much more. She can’t cook though. It’s a disaster. She set fire to water and the Guardhouse kitchen was out of commission for three days. Loud Reader: Y/N can form animals with her flames. Serpents and dragons are her main focus but when she tries something else it always looks a little odd and everyone makes fun of them. G- Gifts (What kind of gifts do they give? What kind of gifts do they get?) Quiet Reader: She gives him handmade gifts. In the winter she makes him scarves - even though they don’t need them because they’re both walking furnaces. Benimaru likes that she

sews little emblems into the inside of his coat collar, they’re their little secret. Benimaru will often commission skilled people to make the tools that she needs for her hobbies. Loud Reader: She’s not very creative so most often she’ll buy him food from his favourite vendors. Benimaru enjoys long baths and he has a private one at the Guardhouse big enough for two, she’ll often buy him relaxing salts. Benimaru treats her whenever they’re together, he’s not one for grand gestures but she once got mad because he bought her an expensive bracelet. She loves it but thinks its too much… H- Hugs (How do they show affection/cuddle) Quiet Reader: Y/N loves to hold Benimaru’s hand when they’re out walking, they can be found close together most times and he’s not shy about showing his affection with little gestures. Only if Y/N is comfortable with it - He would hate to embarrass her. Loud Reader: She’s usually holding onto his arm and will nuzzle him in public if he’s not paying attention. They’re both pretty open but they keep it light as they don’t need the whole Town knowing their business. I- Irritation (What is something that irritates them? How do they show their irritation?) Quiet Reader: Y/N has a strong sense of justice, she can’t stand it when someone is getting away with victimising another person. She particularly hates bullies and despite her quiet demeanour will always stand up for others. The air around Y/N gets a huge spike of heat and most people know to get out of the way. The easiest way to tell her mood is by temperature and her inability to hide anything. Loud Reader: She doesn’t have a huge amount of patience for idiots. If someone is being stupid - on purpose - she will have no time for them. Also, people who walk too slow drive her mad. There’s a huge street and you are taking up all the room - move!! She’s pretty straight forward in telling people when they’re annoying her. And if Benimaru ‘Tch’s her one more time… J- Jackpot (How would they spend their winnings if they won the lottery?) Quiet Reader: Y/N would use it for the Town, she’s got all she needs and likes a simple life. There’s a roof over her head, food on the table and she has people she loves - maybe she would splash out a little on a new kimono for the festival? Loud Reader: She’s never really had money and where she grew up in Asakusa was a little rougher. It’s a much better place now but she remembers being unhappy when she was small and there was no neighbourhood watch looking out for the Town - Only selfish gangs. She’d want to set up a place in Town for kids to come to if they needed somewhere safe - God help Benimaru if he hits it with one of his matois. Benimaru has everything he needs and doesn’t care about money. K- Kryptonite (What is their ultimate weakness?) Quiet Reader: Her control over her emotions. Y/N can’t control herself if she gets angry, she loses control of her flames and because they’re hotter than most they consume things faster than the Hikeshi can put them out. She’s terrified of causing that kind of damage again and tries to stay calm. Loud Reader: Y/N might seem rough and ready for a fight but she’ll sacrifice herself without hesitation. She would rather get hurt than allow anyone else to and this is dangerous for Benimaru as not only does it make her potential bait but he wouldn’t cope with her getting hurt badly. Benimaru has so much emotional investment in Y/N (both) that if anything happened to either one of them he would be at a loss. If they died… he can’t even bear to think about it. L- Laughter (What makes them laugh?) Quiet Reader: The twins make her laugh when they’re picking on Benimaru or just plotting their next prank within hearing distance. Konro’s facial expressions when Benimaru is being unreasonable amuse her. Benimaru knows that her neck is ticklish, unless they’re being intimate, and likes to try and press kisses there to watch her squirm and try to wriggle away. Loud Reader: If she’s drunk - everything is funny. She usually laughs the most at meal

times because the Hikeshilike to eat together, it’s noisy but she likes that it feels like a huge family. Making Benimaru laugh is what makes her the happiest, he only does it in front of his closest people. M- Morning ( How do they wake up in the morning? Are they a morning person or a morning grouch?) Quiet Reader: She will stay in bed as long as there’s someone to cuddle up to. Benimaru will sometimes lay awake for a while so that she can keep sleeping as she tends to get up once she’s awake. Y/N is a little drowsy first thing and she’s clumsy but after an hour she’s wide awake and busy with getting the twins hair just right. Loud Reader: She’s a monster. Do not wake her up unless you absolutely have to. Y/N stays up too late and always suffers for it the next morning. Give her her morning beverage and stand clear until she speaks to you first. Benimaru gets up first thing, he doesn’t get a full night’s sleep but he takes catnaps during the day. Morning is the best time to pester him because he’s too dazed to get mad. N- Needy (When do they feel particularly needy? How do they show it?) Quiet Reader:  Y/N tries not to be needy, she tries to get by on her own and not be a burden but she often feels vulnerable when she’s caused trouble, accidentally or by losing control.

Sometimes she’s not sure what’s upset her but she’ll go to Benimaru and simply pinch the bottom of his Banten, holding onto it as a little kid would. It’s enough for Benimaru to know she needs him and he’ll drop what he’s doing to comfort her.

She does the same for him so he really doesn’t mind it.

Loud Reader: She’s not used to having someone who will spoil her. She mostly keeps things hidden but when she’s feeling ill - that’s it. She needs attention and will openly ask for it. This can be something as simple as asking Benimaru to stroke her hair or make her tea. When she inevitably makes him ill she’ll return the favour. O- Oasis (Where is their happy place? Where would they go if they didn’t have anything holding them back?) Quiet Reader: There’s a small clearing by the river that Y/N loves, in the summer it’s shaded by a large tree and it’s far enough away from other things that she hopes it never gets hit by Benimaru’s flames. It’s another place Benimaru likes to take a nap with his head on her lap but it’s where he first kissed her. Loud Reader: Y/N has never been outside of Asakusa. One day she would like to see what’s beyond the gates and experience what a City is like. She’s a proto-nationalist so she doesn’t care too much for their views or customs but even if it were to go and see Company 8’s dump - she’d like to go. P- Pain (How do they handle pain? How do they handle when Y/N are in pain?) Quiet Reader: She’s not a person who complains so if she says something hurts then Benimaru knows it’s serious. She slipped in the snow one year and hurt her ankle. At first, she tried to brush it off and limp home but after only a few steps she fell. One of Company 7 had been passing at the time and carried her home, when Benimaru saw her he took her from the other man and pressed a kiss to her temple - he could see she was holding back tears and it broke his heart. Benimaru called a doctor and made sure that she got plenty of rest, he sat her down on his lap and held her until the painkillers made her fall asleep. Loud Reader: Benimaru gets mad at Y/N because she’ll ignore the pain until she physically can’t take it anymore. He’s known her to ignore broken ribs before and it wasn’t until he hugged her that she nearly collapsed in agony. He’s sweet to her once she admits she’s hurting, it’s similar to when she’s sick and needy - she just wants him to fuss over her and stay close. Q- Quote (What’s a quote that fits them and your relationship) Quiet Reader: Just because you took longer than others doesn’t mean you failed. Remember that. - Unknown Loud Reader: I care. I always care. That is my problem. - Unknown R- Reunion (How do they celebrate seeing Y/N after a long time of being apart) Benimaru is going to shower them with affection and take them to bed. The first orgasm is going to be from a slow, intimate love making. After that - well, whatever they like. You will not see either of them until the next day. S- Stress (What stresses them out? How do deal with stress and how do they relieve it?) Quiet Reader: She doesn’t get stressed too easily but if people are getting hurt or if she feels like she is failing at something she gets stressed out. Y/N’s first reaction when she feels like this is to start crying over the dumbest little thing and try to hide somewhere she can try to calm down. Once she’s taken a moment to evaluate everything she puts on her brave face and gets back to it. If Benimaru is around he’ll wait for her outside the room, he doesn’t want to crowd her or make her feel like she can’t cope without him. Loud Reader: Because she lets things build up over time, Y/N can become stressed very quickly and this usually ends up in what seems like a tantrum. She’ll go out to practice her fighting and if she’s lucky Benimaru will join her. Once all that pent up stress is gone she’ll be back to normal… if just a little bit moody. T- Terror (What are they afraid of?) Quiet Reader: As mentioned before, Y/N can’t control her ability if she gets angry. It’s only anger that blinds her with rage and she’s terrified that one day she’ll kill someone by accident. She’s terrified that it’ll be Benimaru because she’s burned him before. Loud Reader: Y/N likes to think that nothing scares her and spent her life trying not to be scared of anything. But sometimes, after an

argument with Benimaru, she’s terrified he might not come back after they’ve walked away from each other. Of course, he always comes back first. U- Unique (What is a quirk that is unique to them?) Quiet Reader: She can only produce blue flames and they’re the hottest recorded. Loud Reader: She can eat six takoyaki balls in under one minute - freshly made. It’s her best party trick. V- Violence (Do they fight a lot? Are they a good fighter? What is their fighting style?) Quiet Reader: Y/N doesn’t like to fight and doesn’t know how. Benimaru and Konro have tried to teach her some basic defence moves but that’s about as much as she’s done. If push ever came to shove she could just superheat the air around her to make it impossible to get close. Loud Reader: She’s not a violent person but she loves to fight. Her style is the same as Benimaru’s but she’s a few years behind so isn’t as good as him yet. Her advantage over him is her strategic mind. Y/N is vulnerable to body blows and once she goes down she struggles to get her advantage back. W- Wow (What does Y/N do that really surprises them? What do they do that Y/N really likes?) Quiet Reader: The first time Y/N stood up to a guy twice her size and demanded he apologise and pay the storekeeper they had just stolen from, Benimaru had been taken aback. The quiet, shy girl he was so careful around had an aura so dangerous that even he had to think about whether he wanted to even approach. The man had laughed at her and made to leave - luckily he had been a third-generation and only his clothes were burnt to a crisp. Benimaru wasn’t so careful with her from then on. Y/N was surprised by how gentle Benimaru was when they were alone. He’s very soft and childlike… unless he’s after something a little more grown-up. Loud Reader: Benimaru hadn’t thought someone as boisterous as Y/N would like children. She adores them, she always has time for kids and gets especially soft around babies. Y/N doesn’t just like them but she’s very good with little kids and he’s surprised how motherly she is. Y/N really likes when Benimaru feels her looking at her and instead of asking what she wants, he gives her a gentle smile. It always makes her feel happy. X- (Explicit headcanon. For all you degenerates) Quiet Reader: Y/N is shy when it comes to sex but she’s not inexperienced. Benimaru was a little too gentle with her the first few times - which was mind-blowing and completely satisfying but she really wanted to see him lose his cool. Y/N got so frustrated that she pushed him onto the futon and ravaged him. After that, Benimaru does what he likes providing it doesn’t hurt her and they both get off on it. Technically Benimaru initiates sex but Y/N will drop some pretty heavy hints that she wants him. Loud Reader: The first few times they were rough with each other and that was enough to keep them coming back to each other. But as they got to know each other Benimaru became a little slower, a little gentler and it really threw her off. Eventually, she told Benimaru that it made her uncomfortable and he found out that her previous boyfriends had been pretty selfish. They didn’t always satisfy her or make her feel loved. It took some effort and patience but now she knows that sex can be good at any pace. Y- Yucky (Is there something that grosses them out so badly that they can’t deal with it?) They’re both pretty good with most things, plenty grosses them out but nothing that they just simply wouldn’t be able to stand. Z- ZZZ’s (What are their sleeping habits? Both with and without Y/N) Quiet Reader: Y/N is usually in bed by midnight, if she’s out at a festival or the bar with Benimaru then two in the morning seems to be her limit - after that, she’ll sleep anywhere. Before bed she likes to take a bath and have something warm to drink, she’ll do a little reading or speak with the others before heading to bed. If Benimaru is home he’ll usually follow her timing or join her an hour later. They spoon. Y/N fits so well against him and they usually fall asleep

whilst talking about little things - always with their fingers entwined. If Benimaru is out patrolling then she’ll steal his pillow to cuddle. Loud Reader: She’ll often be awake until three in the morning, she struggles to sleep normal hours because she sleeps in so late. Y/N has tried to go to sleep earlier but really struggles. She’ll brush her teeth, brush her hair and grab a drink before heading to bed as she prefers to wash in the mornings/whenever she gets up. If Benimaru isn’t home then she’ll keep herself busy until she finally falls asleep, she takes up most of the futon and Benimaru has a hell of a time getting in with her when he gets back. When he is there, he’s usually fallen asleep before her. Benimaru tends to sleep on his side with his arm over her middle and his face nestled into her neck whilst she’s on her back. Sometimes being unable to sleep gives her the rare opportunity to fall in love with Benimaru’s sleeping face. He’s rather beautiful when he’s not sulking.

[yuta-nakamots]

Beautiful Time - h.rj ; Part 1 of 6

Pairing - Vampire!Renjun x Reader

Genre - Fluff? (with a tiny bit of angst)

Warnings - Mentions of blood

Summary - Vampires are creatures forced to walk upon the earth for longer than humans could possibly imagine. One would think it gets boring after a while, but not to Renjun, the foreign exchange student who seems to know a little too much about the early twentieth century.

Word Count - 2.5k

A/N - this chapter was a littler shorter and slower than I expected but I promise things will really start to pick up in the next chapter

It was your last first day of high school. Your day couldn’t get any better, having returned from summer break ready to see all your friends again. You were happy with your schedule along with the people in your classes, you knew your senior year was going to go just fine.

By the time lunch came around, you were already starting to feel exhausted from meeting your new teachers and keeping track of the assignments they had already given out, but you still had one more class left to attend which was history. World history from the early 1900s to be exact.

You sit in the middle of the room next to your friends, you guys ending your conversation as the teacher begins introductions. About halfway through, your teacher is interrupted by the door opening followed by the entrance of a boy who you presume to be one of your new classmates. The neatly ironed school uniform looking very flattering on his body, the dark maroon color of it complimenting his bleached blonde hair.

“Oh! Sorry for interrupting! My name is Huang Renjun, I’m an exchange student from Seoul, South Korea. Nice to meet you all.” His voice sounded so soothing and his pronunciation was so natural, you wouldn’t even have thought he was a foreign student. You didn’t miss the way his gaze held yours as he scanned the room for a place to sit down, the only seats being the few that were open on the far side of the room, next to you and your friends.

Ever since that first day, Renjun has continued to sit next to your group of friends and they grew to like him and included him in any group assignments that were given out. You noticed that Renjun wasn’t a talker though he liked to spout little interesting history facts and details every so often, like how the First Lady of the United States had 80 Japanese cherry trees planted alongside the Potomac River in 1912. You didn’t think much of it since the class itself was about history, you only assumed that Renjun had a special knack for it.

The first time you really get to speak to him is during a class field trip to the museum. You wanted to go look at the Renaissance paintings for both humor and educational reasons, however, your friends would rather stay in the gift shop. You weren’t allowed to go off on your own so you pouted and tried to reason with one of them to go with you, almost giving up until you felt someone tap your shoulder. “Y/n I can go with you if you want.” You turn around, finding Renjun standing behind you wearing a large pink hoodie with black jeans, sipping on the drink he was holding. You give him a grateful smile before telling your friends that you’d be leaving the gift shop.

“So tell me why you wanted to go look at Renaissance paintings so badly” Renjun said, letting out a slight laugh as he looked at The Creation of Adam.

You rolled your eyes before responding, “they’re funny...that and the fact that you can see a lot of emotion and stories being portrayed behind them, especially during such an odd era of time. Some of them are also just nice to look at” you told him, gesturing at the Girl With A Pearl Earring.

“I may not know much about the Renaissance but I’ve always heard that it was the start of modern art so I guess I’m quite thankful for it” he said, his words trailing off towards the end.

You nodded to show your agreement. “It really is interesting to see where modern art originated from and how much it’s changed from its start” you mused, a smile appearing on your face as you walked over to The Last Supper.

“Time truly is a beautiful thing” Renjun remarked as he followed you.

“It is, isn’t it?” You looked over at Renjun who was busy posing as the different people in the paintings, both of you laughing as you quickly chose a person as well, joining Renjun and his antics.

As the semester went by, you and Renjun often found yourselves working on projects together. After the day at the museum, you had started talking to him a lot more during class and found that he was actually pretty funny. When it came to your projects, he was always responsible, making sure to do his part while also making sure you did yours. He had some of the most interesting ideas like when he proposed making your own historical-looking marble bust and you laughed at him saying that it would take far too long while he gave you a questioning look back as if daring you to bet on it.

Eventually, the time came for the large final project of the semester, which you were glad was a group project as well, eagerly agreeing with Renjun when he asked if you’d like to be his partner. You and Renjun had decided that your topic would be various art forms throughout World War II and spent a whole lot of time going through different resources to find images of paintings, old written letters and poems, newspapers, recordings of songs, and anything of the sort. Finding that this project was going to be a lot more complicated than expected, you ask if you could possibly meet up somewhere to work on it together. Renjun suggests a cute cafe that both of you enjoy going to and you arrive there around 5pm. Luckily, it’s Friday so that means you can stay out a little later and continue to work on your project, but what you don’t expect is for time to go by so quickly. “Oh wow, it’s already dark out” you observed as you leaned back to stretch in your seat.

Renjun looked up from his laptop, only just noticing the darkness as well, “It is winter so I guess it makes sense for it to be getting dark sooner” he reasoned. “Do you want to go to your house to continue working on this? We can go to my place too if you want, I just don’t want to keep you out too late because I know it can get a little sketch at night.”

“Whichever one of our places is closer is fine” you say, not wanting to have to walk further than you have to. The two of you playfully bicker, trying to figure out who lives closer to the cafe until Renjun gives up and plugs both of your addresses into the maps app, showing that Renjun does indeed live closer to the cafe than you.

The walk to Renjun’s place was surprisingly pleasant. The weather was comfortably warm and the sky was clear, the sun having just set, coloring it a warm orange hue. Your conversation with Renjun flowed easily like the breeze blowing through the tree leaves.

“What’s it like to live alone in a foreign country?”

“Ah, it’s really nice here, I enjoy being away from home. It’s like a breath of fresh air,” he told you, “I don’t live alone though, I have one other roommate who’s in the same transfer program as me though he goes to a different school.”

“Oh? Are you close to him or were you just assigned to live together?”

“I guess you can say we’re pretty close,” he said, guiding you into the lobby of a tall apartment complex, “He spends more time together with his friends from school rather than with me, but I don’t mind. I like our school.”

His apartment was surprisingly clean for housing two boys and it was well decorated too, various paintings adorning the walls along with succulents sitting on shelves nicely spaced out around the main room. You and Renjun settle down on opposite ends of the couch in the living room, continuing the work you were doing at the cafe. Another two hours pass in almost near silence, only broken when the two of you are discussing details about your project or when Renjun asks how you’ll be getting home.

“I called my mom to pick me up around 9, don’t worry about it” you told him, thanking him for his thoughtfulness.

“Oh, it’s almost 9 already though. We should start wrapping up” he said, going through the open tabs on his computer, making sure all your work was saved. You repacked your belongings, standing up to leave. Renjun follows you, wanting to walk you down and wait with you until your mother arrives, though before either of you can reach the door, it opens, revealing the purple-haired boy who opened it.

You froze, taking in the appearance of the stranger, looking almost normal if it weren’t for his bright red lips and the fangs protruding from his smile. You backed up, bumping into Renjun as the stranger took a step inside.

“Haechan, what are you doing?” Renjun exclaimed, his arm wrapping around your shoulders protectively.

“Introducing myself to the pretty lady,” the purple-haired boy said before turning to you, “hi princess, my name’s Haechan, don’t forget it.” You swore you could see red in Haechan’s eyes but you looked down out of fear and you shrink further into Renjun’s hold, your shaking hand coming up to grip the back of his shirt. “So is she your little snack or what?” You were utterly mortified, the smell of blood reaching your nose the longer Haechan stood in front of you.

You looked up at Renjun, almost screaming when you saw he too suddenly had the same fangs Haechan did, though you didn’t dare look into his eyes. All of your instincts telling you to run, but your legs were too weak, you felt rooted to the floor, not wanting to believe the sight before you. “No, Haechan, she is not a snack. This is y/n, and you will leave her alone” he said, putting extra emphasis on the ‘will’ as if giving Haechan a command.

“Ah, so this is that girl you keep talking about, the one that’s your-”

“Haechan!” Renjun exclaimed, his grip on your shoulder becoming tighter.

Haechan raised his hands in defense, “Hey, hey, I’m just trying to get things moving, lover boy.” The smell of blood reaching your nose the longer Haechan was in front of you.

Renjun scoffs before telling Haechan to leave, to which he whines, “but what if I want to get to know her too?”

“There will be another time and place for that, but not right now Haechan” Renjun said, practically seething with irritation.

Haechan pouts before leaning against the doorframe. “Jaemin went nuts after feeding so he’s staying at my place and needs a change of clothes.”

Renjun groaned out of frustration before allowing Haechan in, not moving as Haechan walked past the two of you down the hallway, opening the door of what you presume to be Renjun's roommate, Jaemin’s room.

You had practically smashed your entire body against Renjun’s out of fear, not noticing how tightly you were clinging onto him until Haechan was out of sight. Renjun brought himself to stand in front of you with his head down, his hands resting on the sides of your shoulders, lightly squeezing them to calm you down. When he brings his head up to meet your gaze, you expected to see the same red-tinted eyes accompanied by the fangs you saw now too long ago, but instead, you’re greeted by a pair of dark brown eyes and an apologetic fangless smile.

“Y/n, I’m really sorry about that. I know it’s a lot to process right now, but please promise me you won’t run off until I tell you everything” Renjun said, looking into your eyes for a sign of affirmation. You slowly nod, not knowing how this situation could get any worse.

Renjun let out a sigh and squeezed your shoulders again before starting, “I think you already know, but...I’m...not human, and what Haechan said earlier about you...you’re special to me...You’re my, uh, mate...I know it’s a lot to take in all at once and I’m sorry I had to tell you like this. If only Haechan didn’t show up, I was planning to wait a little longer and tell you differently, I’m so so so sorry, just please don’t run away from me y/n” Renjun said, his words coming at you faster than you could process them.

You stared at him in shock, not knowing what to say or how to respond at all. Renjun was your classmate that you barely knew much about. Yes, he was your friend who you worked on many projects with, but aside from that, you knew nothing about him. You stood there, unmoving and you tried to piece together sentences in your head before responding to him, eventually giving up and just letting your thoughts come out.

“Look, Renjun, thank you for not trying to kill me yet, but I’m just...really overwhelmed right now. I don’t know what to say to you or how to react to being your mate, I don’t even know if I can believe that or not, I don’t even know if I can believe that vampires are real-”

“Y/n, I can show you-”

“No Renjun, I don’t want to see anything right now. I just want to go home. I need time to think...But for now, we are only classmates. I don’t want to talk to you unless it’s about the project. I’m sorry but please just respect me this once and give me time.” You couldn’t bring yourself to look at Renjun, too shaken up from all the information he had just thrown at you.

“Okay, I understand. Can I at least make sure you get picked up safely?” he asked, his hands leaving your shoulders. You nod, not trusting yourself to speak anymore.

You let yourself out of his apartment, Renjun only following you like a shadow. He keeps at least an arm’s length of space between the two of you at all times and he doesn’t take his sight off of you until you’re in your mom’s car, putting on your seatbelt. Once you’re gone, Renjun makes his way back to his unit, his thoughts going wild in his head, running at a thousand miles per hour.

He’s worried about you and what you’re thinking, not knowing whether you’ll come back to him or not, he’s beyond upset at Haechan for barging in and creating this whole mess, but he’s disappointed at himself for not being able to control the situation better.

He walks into his apartment to Haechan waiting for him on the couch, “guessing it didn’t go too well, huh” he says to Renjun.

Renjun only groans out of pure anger and frustration, heading to his room and slamming the door, but not before telling Haechan to “get the fuck out.”

A/N - this chapter was a littler shorter and slower than I expected but I promise things will really start to pick up in the next chapter

@nct-writers​

[peachyteabuck]

saints can’t help me now

summary:  I will tell you the mystery of the woman and of the beast that carries her, whose name has not been written in the book of life from the foundation of the world. Kings give their power and authority to the beast, and those who are with him are the called and chosen and faithful. 

pairing: forest god!thor x reader

words: 4,642

trigger warnings: dub con, attempted sexual assault, vague biblical allusions that seem quite out of place in such a pagan context

notes/other: this was done for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor ‘s in the dark challenge + my prompt was “shh, it’s okay. it’ll only hurt a little.” this is also a part of @spacelabrathor‘s forest god anthology bc te amo forest god thor.

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

There are drops of truth in every legend, however flimsy or warped. A lie doesn’t come from nowhere, lore isn’t rolled off tongues without pretext. Little children don’t lie in their sleep, in the middle of the night; they don’t lie without purpose (or the illusion of one). Behind every threat is certainty, behind every falseness a reality.

You’re smart enough to understand this, to trace the oaks back to their roots. When a villager begged for refuge from a storm and whispered to you to heed warning about some deity that had been cast away from his throne, you listened – and never traveled too deep into the deep woods. Gods are never meant to roam such an unholy place as this, which its ravenous terrain and its isolating nature and its punishing climate. Gods prefer the busy cities, the lovelier farms, perhaps even their own homes on a planet you don’t know of. An almighty being? In a space such as this? You merely laugh at the thought. Such an image is not one that inspires hope or wisdom or rebirth, rather one of a spirit thrown from its rightful place, rightful palace. Such a spirit would be vengeful, vindictive, deceitful, despiteful, unprincipled, unforgiving.

When a merchant took your money and told you of a divine man who hunted without care, you listened – and kept your cat in whenever the sun was not at her highest. Woodland creatures you rehabilitated and travelers looking for rest were sequestered within your walls until you felt it was safe. If you had to leave your home (as you often did) you refused to travel alone, preferring to starve than die at the hands of some ruthless beast. The light of day, the heat from a fire, the illumination from a torch – you trusted it all to keep you from a harm you felt was preventable.

When a fortune teller read your cards and spoke of a demiurge who threatened the peace of your home, you listened – and used every moment of every step as a way to prevent conflict. You gave what you could of whichever soul asked for it, you never disturbed the ground, you kept to yourself. Your voice remained undersized, your movements diminutive. A camp four miles away called you wee, the fortune teller called you cautious, you called it survival.

But none of that, nothing you had done or prepared or pushed to the forefront of your mind seemed to matter as you were being chased through the thickest set of trees you’d ever seen by a pack of wolves (werewolves, no less) who had spotted a way to broaden their gene pool and stalked you til dusk. Each press of your bare feet to the hardened ground forced bits of bark and bone into the callous flesh; normally you’d wail at such anguish, but the blood pumping in your ears drowns out any of your nerve’s attempts at reaching your bran. While you wince at each point of contact, the pain never seems to come.

From behind you their howls of laughter hit the trees and then your eardrums, a reminder that for them this is a game. Their idea of said game going poorly is if they do not catch you, if they cannot drag you back to their settlement as a token of their hard work.

It seems as quickly as your hunt for food had gone sour you’re plucked from the freezing ground and tossed into a barren field, slammed into the ground as your shoulders continue to rise and while your heart continues to beat at a rabbit’s pace, your eyes moving faster than the organ as they take in the scene in front of them.

Your thoughts are quick, like the blood in your veins.

Rolling hills. Crops. Yellow Crops. Deep yellow crops. Corn? Dead crops. Still cold. No snow. Yes ice. Stones, under you. Small stones. Broken stones. Bad dirt. Bad crops. Bad yield. No settlements. Sky dark. Feet hurt. Still cold. Feet really hurt.

The distinct sound of a boot digging into the ground makes you turn around, knife in your corset drawn with a shaking, aching hand.

In front of you, a man. A man in shoes meant for winter. A man dressed in dark clothes. A man with a large chest that rises slowly, slowling, slower. A man with golden skin, as deep as the flora around you. long, dirty beard. A man with long, dirty hair. A man with a set of horns that curl like a ram but peak like the blade in your palm. A man who towers over you. A man who looks less like a man as your eyes focus, but his form doesn’t become clearer.

The man is the first to speak, his lips thick and turned up into a sinister looking smile.

“What’s a little thing like you strolling alone in these woods?” His voice flows like honey with each step of gravel as he circles you. You’ve seen vultures spot prey with less purpose as his gruff laughs bring thick clouds of condensation, which fill the air between you and him. “Big, mean wolves prowl these very woods, looking for cute little things like you to prey on.”

You try to swallow what little spit remains in your dry mouth, but it seems the only thing in your throat is a thick knot of fear. Stuck in place from terror alone, each cell that makes up your body is more frozen than the ice hanging from the bare branches above you.

“I- “you’re momentarily distracted by a twig snapping in the distance. “I’m not that small!” The man (if he even is a man) laughs, loud enough to make you flinch (of course that’s all I can do, you curse yourself. Can’t run away, but can flinch at some fucking laughter.) “In these forests you are. You’re a pretty little toy for all the packs that try to stake their claim here. It’s useless, they’ll never succeed, but that sure doesn’t stop them from trying.”

Your heart beats faster than you’ve ever felt before, each painful expansion of your ribcage syncing with the blood pounding in your ears. “Wh-what happened to them?” He cocks an eyebrow. “What happened to who?”

You speak again, a little louder. “What happened to the packs, why haven’t they laid claim to this territory?”

His broad chest shakes as he chuckles at your insolence. “Because I already have.”

Your heart quickens again. “But you’re only one man,” another twig snap, another sound ignored as a different kind of fear rises in your abdomen. “How can you overpower those powerful packs, they’ve formed a coalition – the village hasn’t stopped talking about it – there’s at least a hundred of them altogether, I-”

An answer comes after a beat of heavy silence, though the tension of waiting seems better than the truth that comes all too quickly. “Because yappy puppies can’t usurp a god,” he hisses.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck.

Thor, the god you’ve been petrified of since you were a child, has been the guard of this forest and everything in it for a millennium. In like fashion to other sprawling hills and tall trees, he beckons in the seasons and calms the bears into hibernation and tells the snow when to melt. Thor is the life of the forest, attuned to the air every living breathes day in and day out. Yet he’s incomparable to his benevolent siblings, hungrier and more desperate and willing to throw away his duties to sink his jowls into anything unpardonable. This god is jaded, exhausted of the mind-numbing monotonous work of running the home of so many creatures; like knife dropped in the dirt, he threatens even the ones who step careful as marksmen watch their targets.

For a few moments you think your mouth will release a quip, a sarcastic response that would get you killed, or worse. Somehow your lips stay still, warming as each pant releases hot, white puffs into the cold night air.

There’s fear in your eyes and it permeates the air around you. The god’s nostrils flare as the pheromones hit his nose.  In a far corner of your brain you wonder what it smells like – such a strong emotion. Is it thick and sweet? Does it coat his tongue the same of when you bake fresh bread? Or is it deep and revolting – the smell of one’s soul decomposing before the corresponding body’s gone cold.

He steps closer.

You wince. “Please- “

He laughs like he’s watched a child fall to the ground in a field. “What? Are you scared?”

The word leaves his lips much slower than the others, like thick syrup in his mouth. Guess your fear is a much sweeter scent than expected.

“Should I not be?” The defiance in your voice comes like the wolf that bursts through the thinning trees behind you.

With the air knocked out of your lungs and each muscle stunned into inertness, there’s not much you can do but watch the god as you’re dragged away while two wolves trail behind you.

The grey sunlight fades as the flora becomes thicker, and for a hundred or so yards you feel as if your life is crumbling around you. But soon with the shadows from the trees comes the realization of familiarity.

Their faces – their snouts, eyes, ears, fur – they’re one you’d seen before. They’re the same ones from the small fairy circle down the way from your cabin, where you’d been trying to find something to eat besides dry mint leaves and crunchy bread.

These aren’t the wolves from the coalition near the village, these aren’t those nasty wolves who steal and plunder and take without end, these aren’t the wolves who chased you into the arms of the god who previously stood before you.

This is something worse…so much worse.

You’ve housed some of them, their yellow eyes and pink snouts have been fixtures of your spare room – you’ve stitched their paws and rubbed salve into their poison ivy rashes and brushed matts from their thick fur.

As one of them jumps on top of you – one you recognize from the scar you’d helped heal after a hawk had attempted to take out his eye – you can feel another pry your arms flat above you and two others hold your legs apart.

His long, wet tongue traces from your shoulder to your temple, his snout breathing hot air onto your feverish skin.

“I’ve been waiting to do this,” his voice is muffled, as if you’re talking to a person resting at the bottom of the sea. “Oh, I’ve been waiting to do this since I saw you and your brow furrowed with worry at that wound the wicked bird left upon me.”

He nudges under your jaw, grazing his sharp teeth across the fragile skin above your jugular as he pants.

If your hands were free, if your lips could move, you’d push him away and call him some mutt in heat, spit in his face and kick him away and run until you could not see the wretched creatures and they could not see you and the distance would make you forget everything that had and would happen and you never would have to think of their paws clawing at your body again and…

And…

“Stay the fuck away from her,” the god from before snarls from behind his teeth. The wolves, now thrown more than a hundred yards away from you, are nearly frozen in fear and realization that their plan has taken a toll for the worst. Your hands dig into the earth in an attempt to gain footing, but you can barely hold yourself up on your elbow as your vision spins. “If I find you again I will rip your heart from your thoracic cavity and leave you all to be found by the rest of your pitiful kind, do you understand?”

The wolves do not nod, but they also do not stay. Within an instant, you find yourself blessedly alone and then cursedly close to the very thing you fear the most.

“Why don’t I take you back home?” Thor whispers, watchful as you finally pick yourself up from the mud and moss. Bits of twigs and leaves and crushed bugs litter the light fabric, but you make no effort to remove it from your person – none of that matters when he locks eyes with you, blown pupils glittering with something you can’t place.

Still, with chest heaving and hands shaking, you lead him back to your homestead.

It’s not a long trek through the woods, yet Thor’s breath is audible like a deer sprinting from a pack of canids. You question nothing, though, absolutely nothing as you lead him on the winding, invisible path that leads you less than a stone’s throw away from the entrance.

You don’t say anything as you pull away, not a promise nor gratitude nor acknowledgement of his actions. The silence from you is met with Thor tugging your back to his front and wrapping your arms around you.

“I think you should thank me,” he coos. In the window of your dwelling is your cat, eyes wide in fear as she paces. She knows something is wrong, something bad is happening. But she doesn’t know how to fix it. “For protecting you.”

Some parts of you – maybe a few ribs, the bottom of your spine, your dry mouth – know what he wants. Behind your eyes you see images of you, him, your large bed. Of your small, begotten frame under his large form as he takes what he desires.

Some part of your brain, the logical side, knows you should feel fearful at this massive beast laying you down onto your worn, soft sheets. The other part, though, feels a particular heat flood your center and between your legs.

“And what is it that comprises such appreciation?” you ask, still facing your home as the god lingers behind you. Your breath – already shaky and shallow – hitches as one of his clawed fingers pushes aside your thick hair to expose the smooth skin of your neck. He places such small, light kisses there that for a moment you believe it was simply whispers of wind from the night, but once sharpened teeth graze your heartbeat you’re aware of the affections being his.

“Oh, little pet,” at his words your eyes shut on their own accord, and your bottom lip finds itself between your top and bottom teeth in the same fashion. “We both know what I want.”

You gulp, trying to find verbal footing as he begins to kiss down the back of your neck to the top of your spine. For a moment you try to speak, but it seems with each attempted sentence his hands move closer and closer to undoing the ties that keep your shift from falling off of you.

The god leads you into your home with a large hand pressed into the small of your back, and into your bedroom as if he had been there before, as if he had memorized the hallways in your home from years of spending time there; as if he was some constant fixture of your household.

The yards and yards worth of fabric from blankets and pillows alike have only ever smelled like you; pockets of your pesky familiar here and there maybe, but nothing that cannot be overpowered by a good night’s rest. It’s a comfort after a long day, something familiar and comforting.

As Thor lowers himself onto the edge of your bed you fear the stench of him will never leave you. A candle of doubt in you wonders if this is a bad thing.

With no hardship he pulls you to him, like a suitor inviting a debutante to be a partner in a waltz – though, this feels less like a dance as each second passes, your heavy breathing akin to a kidnapping than some public displays unadulterated affection.

“It’s cold out here in these woods,” he whispers to you. His hot breath sends shivers down your spine as his hands pet over your shaking form. “I must admit, it would be nice to have a toasty little thing like you to help keep me warm in such a chill.”

You shiver, hoping this behemoth does not mean what you think he means. Alas, as he pushes your long, wild hair to the side to expose the tender skin of your neck – your wildest fears bubble to the surface of your flesh. It’s his hands, so calloused they feel like bark, that manhandle you in the gentlest way possible into a position that makes your face burn hotter than a bonfire.

You’re in his lap now, spine pressed to sternum with him towering over you. For a moment you feel safe in his embrace, his larger-than-life stature making you feel like some protected child. It isn’t until he’s tearing at your clothes with a loud rrrrrrrip that you understand how little this creature truly cares for you. Still, it’s hard not to feel like some fragile, blown-glass vase from the village beyond the mountains, where boys with similarly rough, burnt hands create the most beautiful little sculptures you wish you could afford; an object of which is revered and magnificent, but an object of which holds neither agency nor uniqueness to the rest of the pretty things surrounding it.

It doesn’t occur, in that very moment, that there is no way this god would be cold in the thick of winter – not with heat radiating from him akin to your cat’s fur after being warmed by a particularly warm beam of sunlight. But the deity doesn’t have much need for the truth, not when he’s got your soaked cunt free from its increasingly uncomfortable confines and is tracing the slick up and down the lips between your trembling thighs.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he coos like a mother lying to her child while pulling a rose thorn from a tiny, smooth foot. “It’ll only hurt a little"

Thor’s hands are huge already, but now they seem omnipresent as he pets over your form. Part of you – the sensible part, the part that guided you through being banished from your family and made you carve out a piece of this expansive, soul-crushing forest – that wants to, or at least wants to try to, push him away; tell him no, stop, please, I’ll do anything.

But nothing, nothing but desperate whimpers, ones you wish were from displeasure, leave your lips.

“You know, gods can still starve,” you gulp as the short, wiry hair that patterns his jaw rubs against the skin of your neck and shoulders. “The fish from rivers and boars from the deeper parts of my forest quiet the growling in my gut, but there is another hunger I need satiated.”

You remain silent as before, fearful a protest would make your periled situation that much worse for pitiful little you.

He grips between your legs, palm flat against the hottest part of you, his own hand rough against your own silky folds. As you squeak from the contact Thor laughs deep in his broad chest, leaning down to nibble at the edge of your hot ear. “This piece of fruit will do,” you gasp as a single, thick finger enters your dripping heat. “I love a good juicy peach. You’re absolutely dripping for me, aren’t you?”

Again, he is met with silence. Never one to be deterred, he slips another finger into you. “Humans are so cute,” he purrs. “You all think you’re so strong, always fighting wars that never end and death that always comes. It seems the things you can never resist are a good fight, a good fuck,” a pregnant pause fills your bedroom as he crooks his fingers just right, soliciting the desperate whimper he’s wanted since he spotted you in the woods all those hours ago. “And me.”

He fucks his digits in and out you with slow motions, ones that drive you to the brink of madness. You’ve never been one to coo and moan so unabashedly, to let yourself fall apart so easily for someone who holds so much pure power over you. If you weren’t already vulnerable, you would be now – for as assuredly that the sun rises in the East and you wake up soaked in blood every some thirty days, this man, this god will look down on you and understand how little you can do to fend him, his advances, his charm, from your trembling body.

Thor lays down on your sea of blankets, leaving you feeling empty without his touch. A smug look paints his face as he waits for you to climb up his chest, but you do not move, simply peering at him with a heaving chest and feverish cheeks. Your mind wavers, wondering if his horns will tear into the fabric that paints your bed – but you do not have much time for such frivolous thoughts before they are interrupted once again.

“I wasn’t asking,” he tells you pointedly. “Now, come provide me with the sustenance I so desire.”

Sans your dress, moving up the length of his body is relatively easy. As he grips your hips and lowers you down to his mouth you wish you had some sort of obstruction, some reason to resist the god below you.

No such luck. As before, you are unimaginably vulnerable to Thor and his ways.

He begins with light kisses on the inside of your thighs, still tense and desperate to run away. Thor seems to notice this but does nothing to soothe you and your resistance – he understands much better than you how much he holds above your foolish head.

It doesn’t take long for you to forget your plan of escape, the path of freedom dissipating in the pleasure pooling from your scalp to the nailbeds of your toes. This god is nothing if not skilled, wide strokes of his tongue and nips at your innermost thigh and kisses on your sensitive nub soon having you rutting against his face like a dog in heat, like the wolves from before. Your hands try to find purchase in his wild hair, but with the horns in the way it’s easier to wrap your own fingers around the keratin masses than dig your fingernails into the scalp of the man below you.

You wonder if you’d have considered them less such wild beasts if you knew this was the pleasure they were chasing. Would have not run so quickly if you, too, understood the magic building in your core as you balance yourself against the wall your bed leans against. When Thor leaves you, would the animals accept your contrition and give you the same pleasure this god is? Or would you be left to chase a high no mortal could gift you?

It’s trail of thought cut short by him bullying three of his fingers into you as his lips suck at you, your screams filling every empty bit of air in your homestead. As your own yelps of pleasure fill your ears you cannot sort what is babble and what is tongues, what are incoherent syllables and what are pleas to celestial beings to never leave you.

These, too, are soon muffled, Thor making quick work of your mute state to flip you onto your stomach and propping your ass up toward him. “You know,” he says mostly to himself, knowing his words will fall on ears deaf from ringing. “The Christians who pass through my forest often speak of how the original woman was tempted with an apple and I never believed their silly tales.”

He pauses a moment to trace his fingertips up the ridges of your spine before grabbing at the base of your hair. You yelp, but he ignores you.

“But now…” his unoccupied hand comes down to SMACK at your ass, eliciting another squeak. “Now I feel able to comprehend how such a person could be tempted by the prospect of such delicious sin.”

Too far gone to be ashamed now, you push back against him in hopes of reprieve from your suffering. Without much further wait Thor enters you slow and steady, the one hand still in your hair while the other grips your hip. Thor’s bigger, much bigger than your fingers or the occasional drifter, and your walls and scream the unfamiliar girth.

The man behind you does nothing to soothe you, merely hissing into the cold night air. “God, you little witch,” he grunts behind grit teeth. “Maybe it was worthwhile saving you from those wretched wolves.”

Your mouth hangs open and your lips remain mute, your hands grasping at the sheets until they become impossible to open up again. Nothing, not a single sound of yours, bounces form the walls – merely Thor’s loud grunts and the sound of his skin slapping against yours. It isn’t until his fingers release your hair and move to your neglected clit that you begin to sing for him, screams out of tune and sharp but still smooth music to his ears.

“Yes,” he moans, feeling you contract around him. “Yes you temptress, cum on my cock, fuck let me bring you to your peak.”

How could anyone refuse that? Certainly not you, the spell-caster who was saved by this magnificent, sympathetic creature with a heart of gold and pure intentions. The tight coil in your organs releases with a shout from you and a deep groan from Thor, who continues to fuck into you as you collapse and become limp under his touch. He reaches he peak quickly, stilling for a moment before flipping you over again.

You move easily under his touch, dead weight instead of some feisty, feral little lamb with too much fight in her. On your back, he spreads your legs once again, moving to revere your swollen cunt and his thick seed dripping out of you.

It reminds you of when the artists in the villages step back when they’re finished with their works, admiring their handiwork and talent. You recognize that same affection of progress and of a finished piece in Thor’s eyes, the focused, blown pupils trained on the white trailing down to your sheets and the corners of his mouth turning up into a small, satiated smile. He’s some paragon of silent pride, one hand moving up and down your folds before pushing his seed back into you.

“Beautiful,” Thor whispers, kissing where you are most sensitive once more before moving to lay beside you. The world spins around you as he pulls you into his broad chest, his heart thumping dull in the ear pressed to his heaving ribs.

You say nothing to the contrary, succumbing to sleep like a babe after a long feeding.

orThor disappears just as he entered, confidently and without much fuss. You wake up alone, more alone than you did that morning, surrounded by the very scent of him. Somehow, as the sun comes over the horizon, it’s enough.

Over the next few weeks, everything mostly returns to normal. You go through the ebb and flow of your routine; watching over your territory, eyeing the dark of the night each time the wind made the trees move like children listening to songs around a bonfire. Sometimes the swaying calms you as you clutch a cup of mint tea in your trembling hands, but others it mirrors the churning of your stomach.

Tonight, it feels like both. And tonight, you bury your face in the last of him left with you while hoping you never have to see the god again.

[oghoneytryst]

missing piece.

request: a sweet encounter between harry and y/n, a foreign and artistic contemporary dancer

or

where harry is in search of a muse and is running out of time

a/n: the only experience I have with dance is doing spotlight for dance shows so I apologize if anything is off. the request included specific characteristics but I wanted to avoid that so that everyone could enjoy, but still made sure y/n was foreign. thanks for reading <3

x the song i used was Talk Me Down by Troye Sivan x

Harry adores the summertime. It is something in the way the insects wander cynically on the victims of fresh and delicate skin; something in the way the schoolchildren skip across the concrete sidewalks with a step in their toes; something in the way the two lovers resting amongst the protruded roots of a healthy tree begin to frolic through the busy streets, hand-in-hand, in spite of London’s scorching heat...

It excites him. It is around this time, surrounded by these elements, where the inspiration stuck inside of his soul is usually eager to spill out, taking on the form of his well-recognized art.

Harry ponders on the leather seats of his luxurious sports car, a teasing sweat trailing down his plain and pricey t-shirt. It has only been a month or so since his legendary world tour came to a close. His friends have been caring enough to remind him that 30 days is not nearly enough time to have completely rested up from the constant months of traveling.

Regardless, he has been incapable of sitting still in the aftermath of the tour.

There has been no progress in his songwriting. Harry fears that he lacks the inspiration that is necessary for his second album, though his caring friends have also mentioned to him that he is in no rush to release anything new. He should not consider himself to be in a frustrating slump, but does so anyway, playing the role of his own worst critic while his mind becomes a rambled mess.

And yet, from Modena to Toronto, there is not a single muse in sight until he watches her move across that stage.

The hours-long program has fascinated Harry thus far.

Toddlers in bright and spiffy tutus have opened the show with their precious prancing across the stage. Harry senses relief in the lighthearted ambience that showers over the audience. He feels happy.

Teenage boys clad in only their nude tights take over mid-show, portraying their own expression of contemporary dance. Harry feels a strange and overwhelming sense of pride take control of him. His green eyes glisten with tears 

She appears during the closing piece of the show, and it is then he realizes that she is who captivates him entirely. She is who radiates brighter than the scorching sun and stands taller than the trunk of the lovers’ tree. It is her it is her it is her! 

His pezzo mancante. His pieza perdida, manke moso, peça faltante — whichever language he chooses to express it in does not matter. It is her who has brought the light back in his eyes and curiosity burns alive in his soul because he needs to know her name. 

“Right, well, I’ve got a cousin from me mum’s side, who’s got a friend, who owns a dance studio in London. She was lovely enough to send me an email about the summer show they’re putting on for today only and she insisted that I attend and bring along a friend.”

Harry leans forward in the driver’s seat to hide behind the steering wheel. This is not the first time that Nick has brought him somewhere without his knowledge of the destination. He only wishes that he could have been given a heads up before driving his car into the crowded parking lot and sticking out like a sore thumb.

“A dance show?” Harry questions, scanning over the creamy exterior of the auditorium.

“You’re going t’need these,” Grimmy advises, reaching into his tote to pull out an overused hat-and-sunglasses disguise. “Don’t want to steal away the attention from all the little girls, eh?”

In another life, Harry is not famous. Harry Styles is not a household name. He does not perform to sold out arenas, nor does he travel across the careless oceans. He does not have the privilege of crossing paths with incredible people and build connections with those who serve a great impact on his heavy heart and teach him many wisely lessons.

He does not do a great many things in another life that is far, far away.

Yet, it is in this one where he has discovered the world and all of its darling beauties. He has marveled at the runways of fashion shows; he has educated himself in abstract art galleries; he has cried during soul-gripping concerts that have taken place in venues he now has the honor of performing in himself.

So why it is that in all of his 24 years of life, he has never once been to a dance show?

‘I want to sleep next to you, but that’s all I wanna do right now...’

Harry recognizes the maturity of this final piece. Its dozen or so dancers are attentive to the cues of their music, long and whimsical skirts swaying with every synchronized movement. There is a range between them—tall to short, slim to plump, nervous to at ease—and he is impressed with how their distinctions complement each other and shape them into a single working entity.

 A minute into the song is when the dancers break away from their collective choreography to perform their own individual dynamics. Harry is awestruck by the mix of arches, lunges, contractions, and so forth. There are no two dancers who replicate the same movements at the same time and yet everything still looks so wonderfully put together.

‘If you don’t mind, I’ll walk that line, stuck in the bridge between us...’

These dancers then disappear in the blink of an eye. There is a gracefulness in the way they storm off behind the curtains, out of sight from the audience, leaving one of their own in the spotlight. 

She who remains is an illustrious fragment who portrays her emotions so elegantly through the flow of her dance. This is the first time that Harry sees her; he decides then that it is his favorite part of the show. 

“Maybe from this you can get the gears in your brain turnin’ again,” Nick tells him from their seats in the back row, waiting patiently for the show to start. “Find your muse or somethin’. Get to creatin’.”

“And if I don’t?” Harry retaliates with a cheeky grin.

“It’s still a lovely show, Harold.”

Harry is so intrigued by this woman. He finds it impossible to tear his eyes away from the stage in fear that he might miss even a second of her poise. The applause that erupts at her frozen, heavy-breathing figure is what escapes him from his trance. The music softly fades away as the auditorium turns to a mystical darkness.

Harry thinks to himself: that was not long enough. He has not satisfied himself enough with her artistry.

 The lights turn on. The audience are settling back into their seats and the stage reveals itself vacant of her presence. Harry begins to shortly panic. He skims through his glossy program to read over the limited information provided about that wonderful piece that he has experienced in this life only.

Talk Me Down – Contemporary Sunday Class, 2 pm with Ms. Y/n

“D’ya think I can meet her?” Harry asks Nick after the final bow with all of the teachers and students. His pale hands have gone red from the applause he has given in support of the lovely lady smiling off to the side. “That girl from the last dance, Ms. Y/n or somethin’ like that.” 

Nick grins knowingly at his friend, settling back into his seat while the rest of the audience shuffles out into the lobby with their colorful bouquets. “I think she’s more of a woman, Harry, but yeah, I’m sure that can be arranged. We’ll just have to wait until it cools down in here.”

15 minutes have never gone by slower. Harry had to force himself to sit impatiently in the backrow, smiling at the people who gave him a nice wave on their way out. He even took pictures with those who were courteous enough to ask.

“Junie! What a lovely show that was,” Nick greets the woman backstage, his cousin’s friend, who quite simply is his friend as well.

“Thank you so much for coming, darling. I hope you two enjoyed yourselves.”

“Absolutely,” Harry says, stretching his arms out to her for a welcoming hug. His vision sneakily wanders around the area, catching sight of wide-eyed, star struck females, yet none of them are her. “I must say, that last piece was absolutely amazing.” 

“Oh!” Junie exclaims, jolting out of Harry’s embrace. “Y/n’s class! D’you know what? I am so glad that she decided to move here. She’s proven to be such an important part of this journey.”

Harry repeats her name, “Y/n ... sounds lovely,” and nods to himself. He can already imagine his tongue getting used to those sweet syllables of hers, his lips giving the vibrations a little kiss on their way out.

“D’ya happen to know where she is?” Nick asks nonchalantly, throwing his arm around Junie’s shoulders. “I mean, Harry just adored that dance of hers. Absolutely adored. Perhaps even inspired him, or summat?”

“Thank you, Nicholas,” the younger man stops him, politely clasping his hands in front of him. He’s not one for violence, but he practically wants to slap that shit-eating grin off of his chiseled face.

Junie chuckles at their interaction. “Well, speak of the devil and she shall appear.”

The dance instructor nods her head in the direction behind Harry, and he can see the wiggle in her eyebrows before turning around with such quick desperation.

Speak of the angel and she shall appear. She shall walk through the double doors and crash upon your life without so much as a warning.

His heart drops down to his tummy, cradled by the ferns on his lower hips.

Y/n has taken it upon herself to change out of the costume that once hugged her body. She now suits a comfortable pair of sweats, the hem of a loose tank barely cascading over the thick waistband. There is a quickness in her mindless step, multitasking as she stuffs her belongings into the duffle bag draped over her shoulder. 

Harry hums contentedly and turns back to the pair. “Thank you, Junie,” he says, ignoring their teasing smirks as he begins to walk backwards. “It was lovely talking to you, but if you don’t mind—shit! 

Crash! The angel shall walk and crash upon your life, metaphorically and literally.

Harry covers his sinful lips, embarrassed that the mothers around him are probably scolding him for his foul language. He hears an item drop in the collision, and after he has balanced himself back on his own two feet, he turns around to apologize to the startled woman.

“Um...” Harry breathes out, shaking his head. Y/n looks even more alluring up close. “I’m ... ‘m sorry, y/n, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no, it’s fine!”

“I shouldn’t have been walking—”

“It’s okay, I promise.”

“Jesus, ‘m so clumsy...”

Their sentences mix together, no single word being quite coherent to any pesky eavesdroppers. Harry has become exasperated with himself, spotting the frail book that has fallen from y/n’s hands. He does not hesitate to pick it up for her, a string of apologies continuously flowing from his lips.

Then he stops. He reads the title in blue.

BURNING IN WATER DROWNING IN FLAME. Charles Bukowski.

A poet from before his time that he has found himself infatuated in. A collection of written works that have inspired him since his discovery of them. These are some of the stanzas most precious to his heart, found in her possessions as well. 

“Can I ... can I have it back please?”

Harry raises his head to look at her. He doesn’t think it is possible to be even more intrigued with her existence, but the thick accent she swiftly carries makes it obvious to him that she is not from London, but rather someplace alien that he now has the desire to explore.

Her voice is what he imagines the clouds to sound like; he suddenly grows envious of the angels she kisses.

“Right, ‘f course,” he mumbles, smitten by the kind smile that paints her face when he returns her book. “That’s a good read there. Interesting choice.”

Y/n tilts her head. She looks down at the beaten copy, skimming through it as the pages flip against her thumb. “Thank you,” she says genuinely, “it helps me with my ideas.”

“Your ideas?” Harry raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “For your dances?”

Y/n nods, biting the inside of her cheek. “Yes. It is something about the words that ... motivate me. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“I know what y’mean,” Harry assures her. “Inspiration, right?” 

“Right...” she agrees, the two sharing a quiet laugh. “Um, can I ask how you know my name?”

Her question suddenly throws him off. Harry closes his eyes and curses himself for muttering out her name in the midst of his rambling.

“Uh ... it’s in the program,” he answers, raising the glossy booklet as evidence for her to see. “And Junie, she’s, she said it was you. I was just really blown away by your performance. Wonderful song choice, such incredible taste. I’m Harry, by the way.”

Y/n laughs, her shoulders pushing forward as she looks to the ground. He cannot think of a more melodious gift than her laugh 

“Thank you, Harry,” she says, dropping her poetry book into her duffle bag. She does not notice the way he swallows dryly when she says his name. “I love the song, too.”

There is a brief second in which a strange silence creeps up on the two. Harry doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like the awkward background noise of the dancers shuffling around them.

“Did you, um,” he starts, refusing to let the conversation die. “Did you choreograph that piece all by yourself? Junie said it was your class, so I was jus’ wonderin’. 

“I had some help from the students. They were the ones who thought of the solo at the end.”

“Wow, yes, the solo. It was certainly, uh, fantastic. I really, really enjoyed—” 

“Harry?” she abruptly interrupts him, causing his lips to seal in anticipation.

“Hmm?”

The squint in y/n’s eyes makes Harry nervous. He feels like a barcode by the way she scans him up and down. He takes the moment to observe his overall appearance with that of everyone else. The people around him are dressed head-to-toe in a loose-fitting, affordable clothing, whereas Harry has decided to sport a more expensive look: a white Saint Laurent t-shirt, yellow Adidas track pants, and creamy colored Gucci loafers.

This is the first time his clothes have ever made him feel self-conscious.

Y/n, however, does not comment on his designer clothing. She seems to not even notice it when mentioning to him, “You look familiar.” There is perplexity in the way her eyes scream why have I seen these features of his before? “Have I met you before, maybe somewhere else?”

Harry lets out a relieved chuckle and runs a hand through his bouncy curls. “Well, it’s funny that you ask...”

“Are you coming to the after party, y/n?”

Junie interrupts the innocent conversation that has been spread out for almost an hour. Most of the people that once filled the backstage area are now gone. Harry can’t recall when it had become just him and y/n, but he likes this idea of her. She makes his fear of time falter; she even makes him forget.

“It sounds fun,” y/n gushes, hugging her friend goodbye. “But I think I am just going to pass time at the studio, if that’s alright with you?”

“Boo!” Nick suddenly appears, earning a laugh from Junie as she gives the key to the dancer. “What about you?” he asks Harry, nudging him on the arm. “What are you goin’ to do?”

Harry shrugs, stuffing his hands warm inside his pockets. He doesn’t want to go to this so-called after party if y/n isn’t going, but he also doesn’t want to seem rude and reject their invitation.

“You can join me at the studio, Harry,” y/n speaks up, swinging the keychain around a single finger. “If you’re not doing anything else...”

“‘m so sorry, y/n,” Harry apologizes when they enter the studio. “Someone must’ve posted a picture or something,” he realizes, shaking his head at the paparazzi that swarmed them upon leaving the auditorium. “They’ve probably followed us all the way here.”

“Harry,” y/n murmurs with a grin. “It’s fine. They’ll go away eventually. Besides, it is a good way for the word to get out about the studio.”

Harry raises his head, playfully scoffing at the teasing smile she is giving him. “Oh, is that all I’m good for then?”

“Of course not! You’re also excellent company.”

“Sure, I had to see for myself where the magic happens.” Harry stretches his arms out to his side, circling around the area with the large mirror for a wall and breathing in the open space. “I bet it’s got really sick acoustics, huh?”

“A little.” Y/n shrugs. “I like it here, when no one else is around. It’s ... quiet. Gives me a space to think, to dance, sometimes both at the same time.”

“Sounds lovely,” Harry says, adoring the way she looks into the mirror and gives a little twirl after she speaks.

“Can I ask you something, Harry?” she says, changing the topic of conversation with the snap of her fingers. “What is your dream? Something that you desire, and it makes you happy?”

“My ... dream?” he questions, once again thrown off by her questions. She is inquisitive, which makes her all the more intriguing. “My dream, well ... ‘m livin’ it.” 

Y/n scoffs, lowering her arms until they make a slap against her sides. “Besides that,” she says, little space left between them when she walks over to him. “Something else. You accomplished that dream at such a young age, you must have another, right?”

Harry blinks in a pensive manner. He’s trying to control his heartbeat, but at this close proximity, he can practically inhale her soft scent. “Um, I just want ... people to be kind to each other. I think that would be nice. Other than that, I don’t know. Maybe ‘m still trying t’figure it out.”

“You have plenty of time. Something will inspire that dream of yours soon, Harry.”

“Alright.” He laughs, nodding in agreement. “And yours? What’s your dream, y/n?”

The room seems to illuminate when he asks her that question. Perhaps it is because of the way she beams when she thinks of her dream, but Harry can’t recall when that grin of hers had ever left her face. 

“I want to be like Junie,” she answers, but is quick to explain. “I want to open up a studio like this. Dance until I can’t dance anymore. It’s going to take a lot of work, but I think that’ll make me very happy. Don’t you think?” 

Harry is so smitten. The dimples beside his smirk is enough of a hint, and he finds himself crossing his arms across his chest to keep from pulling this imaginative woman any closer.

“Yeah,” he whispers, though he doesn’t think he is in the right position to decide what will make y/n happy or not. Still, he has to agree with her. She’s clearly got a passion. “Um, about the cameras outside, you are aware that it may be hours before they leave?”

“Wow ... okay then.” Y/n exhales, the air flowing past her pursed lips which makes them flap against each other in a silly manner. She pensively tilts her head from side to side, but gasps as she suggests, “Maybe I can show you some techniques in the meantime? If you want to, you don’t have to.”

“Y/n.” Harry reaches down, enveloping her left hand in both of his. “I would love to.”

Harry doesn’t know how long it has been before he’s driving y/n home. He has been caught up in the dances she has performed for him, telling him to follow her movements because “it’s not hard, Harry!” He has even sung her a couple songs, the acoustics in the room proving to be more than exceptional. In a mix of their constant giggles, they’re unsure about when exactly the paparazzi have left them in their privacy.

In fact, the only certainty that Harry has when he drives himself back home is the powerful array of words storming in his mind. He’s practically aching to write them down.