#traipsing under the sun

[peachdues]

IN THE NETHERWOOD

PART II

KINKTOBER 2023 ♤ WEREWOLF!SANEMI X RED RIDING HOOD!READER

PART I HERE

A/N: I would apologize for the utter lack of plot, but we all know why you're here. You can have plot later; for now, enjoy some 9.5k words of pure monster porn. 13.4k words total.

CW: explicit sexual content • MDNI • werewolf fucking x F!Reader • knotting/mating • breeding • tummy bulging • so many creampies • like a concerning amount of cum • Sanemi half-transforms and has fangs/claws • slight blood mention • spit kink • oral sex (F!receiving) • Reader gets fucked stupid tbh • mildly violent/potentially upsetting content at the end but I don’t want to give anything away

You awoke the next morning not upon a bed of pine needles or curled against an overlarge piece of driftwood but cushioned against warm skin and rocky muscle.

Your eyes fluttered open, squinting against the watery light of morning, having not seen the sun since you’d first entered the Netherwood more than a week earlier. But the clearing by the river Sanemi had led you to the previous night meant fewer trees, and so, the dull gray of morning was visible above your heads where you’d slept curled atop the Huntsman’s broad chest.

You rolled your head against his sternum, peering up at the soundly sleeping Woodsman, admiring the peaceful serenity of his slumbering face.

His chest rose and fell steadily as he dreamed, and you could not stop yourself from allowing your hands to wander, to explore this Wolf who was to be your mate.

Your fingers began at his forehead, brushing his silvery strands back and exposing the cross-crossed scars lanced across his forehead. You traced each one, marveling at the shiny, smooth texture beneath your fingertips.

You danced your fingers over and down the features of his face and to the hollow of this throat. You then ventured lower, grazing over the thick scars rippling across the exposed portion his chest.

With a hard swallow, you allowed your hand to drop lower, teasingly traipsing down the ridges of his abdomen until you came to the waistband of his breeches.

Your eyes lowered to the seam of his pants, breath lodging in your throat at the rigid bulge that had formed at his groin.

You held your breath as your hand graced lower, your curiosity a tug in your gut not capable of being ignored.

Before you could brush your hand against the bulge, a warm hand snagged around your wrist, halting it in mid-air.

“Lamb,” Sanemi’s voice was thick with sleep but full of warning. “May I ask what you’re doing?”

Feeling bold, you threw a leg over Sanemi’s hips, rolling yourself atop him and pressing your groin flush against his, breath hitching as the rigid formation in his pants brushed against the sensitive spot between your legs.

“Wolf,” You mocked his tone, though your breaths were jerky and short. “Touch me again.”

A low growl reverberated from Sanemi’s throat, his fingers digging into the plush of your thigh, though you could not tell whether it was out of his wavering restraint or mounting desire.

When he did not move his hands, you bucked your hips against his, pushing against his groin in impatient demand.

Your name fell from his lips, choked and guttural. “If you keep doing that,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “I will not be able to stop myself.”

You leaned forward, lips grazing the vein protruding in his neck, savoring the way it thrummed under your touch. The blunt tips of Sanemi’s nails bit into your skin as he snarled against your neck.

You only smirked at his fraying restraint. “Then don’t.”

Sanemi gently but reluctantly pushed you off him, though his hands lingered against your waist, his fingers tracing circles.

“Didn’t your grandmother warn you never to provoke a hungry beast?”

“She may have, once,” you conceded with a sly grin, your fingers slipping below the waist of Sanemi’s breeches to tug him forward so that his hips were pressed against yours once more. “But I was never particularly good at listening.”

“A bad habit you’ve carried with you into the Wood, it seems,” the Huntsman agreed. “And you’ve made me quite ravenous, little Lamb.”

You squeaked as Sanemi’s hands braced around your waist and he promptly lifted you off him and plopped you unceremoniously on the pebbled shore beside him.

“But I, unlike you, possess a morsel of self-control.” He shot you a sly grin. “I can wait until we get to my den.”

“You certainly had no compunctions when it came to tasting me last night.” You grumbled.

Sanemi lifted an eyebrow as his lips quirked up in a smirk of his own. “And taste you again I shall,” he purred, sitting up. “But I want you spread out across across the floor of my den — not here, in the open.”

Sanemi rose to his feet and swiftly began gathering your supplies, preparing for the trek ahead.

“How is your wound?” He called conversationally as he fastened his traveling cloak around his shoulders.

You’d not given much thought to the gash Kaigaku had inflicted upon you the day before, and your stomach dipped at the thought of your skin stretching around the tender flesh.

Only, to your slight confusion, you really felt no pain at all; none of that burning, sharp aching you’d felt all the previous night until Sanemi had distracted you with his wicked fingers and even more wicked tongue.

“My leg!” You gasped, your skirts bunched in your hands as you pulled them back, damning propriety as you exposed its bare length to the Huntsman.

To your shock, all that remained of the wound inflicted by Kaigaku’s knife was a thin, reddish scar, as though the injury was several weeks old as opposed to mere hours.

You pressed the tips of your fingers against the thin stripe of skin, testing it. “It does not hurt, either!”

You looked back to Sanemi though he seemed nonplussed in contrast to your wide-eyed bewilderment.

“At least I won’t have to carry you anymore,” the Huntsman’s tone was teasing as he fastened his worn traveling cloak around his shoulders. “You constantly grabbing fistfuls of my fur was starting to get annoying. I thought you were going to leave behind bald patches.”

You gaped at him. “Does it not concern you that my wound magically healed itself overnight without a drop of medicine?”

“Not particularly, no,” Sanemi held out a hand to help bring you to your feet. “Not when it’s my mark you bear upon your skin.” He said with a naughty wink.

You accepted his assistance with a huff, secretly marveling over the calloused, steady warmth of his touch as you righted yourself. “It’s humbling to know that, despite you spending the evening with your head between my legs, you continue to be as vague and elusive as you were when we first began this journey.”

Sanemi, who had turned away to adjust the various knives he kept strapped on his belt and in his pouch whipped back around to you. He frowned at the bemused yet vexed expression you wore.

“I don’t mean to be withholding,” he said after a moment. “I am just — unaccustomed to this,” the Huntsman motioned back and forth between you.

You returned his frown. “Talking?”

“Ye — no,” Sanemi ground his teeth for a moment, struggling for his words. “It is not the conversation part I find difficult. That part has been easy — with you, at least.”

Your cheeks warmed as the Huntsman continued. “It’s the…intimacy of it.” He scrunched his eyebrows in thought. “Sharing the details of what I am with someone who does not already know them.”

Your irritation melted into something lighter, as a slow grin spread across your face.

“What?” He snapped.

“How serendipitous,” you said coyly. “You once found yourself irritated by my questions and now it seems you’re in need of them.”

Sanemi shook his head, muttering softly to himself as he secured his satchel around his shoulders and turned back, waiting for you to follow him back into the Wood. “Trust you to find amusement when I try to be serious.”

You only smiled as the pair of you set off, shoulder to shoulder, to begin your trek not towards any human village resting on the other side of the Netherwood, but to Sanemi’s den.

“What is a den anyway?” You kicked a small pebble, sending it skittering off into the brush. “Is it a literal wolf’s den?”

“A cave,” Sanemi’s tone was relaxed even as his eyes remained sharp, his nostrils flaring every so often to scent out any potential threat hidden in the shadows. “I s’ppose it is pretty close to what you think of when you consider wolves’ dens. We use them for mating, or for our heats.”

“You can go into heat without mating?”

“Aye,” he answered. “Our heats don’t happen often — maybe once or twice a year.” Sanemi looked back to you in thought. “I do find it ironic that our paths crossed right before a Blood Moon.”

You frowned. “And what is a Blood Moon?”

“Simply put, it is an eclipse,” Sanemi’s fingers moved to brush your cheek. “One that makes the moon appear crimson. But for wolves — cursed like me and those born — it is a time when our strength is at its peak; but we are also more unstable. Wild.”

You felt an excited chill pass over your skin. “But what does that have to do with your heat?”

The Huntsman only shrugged. “Blood moons can trigger heats behind the usual cycle; they can be stronger. More intense.”

“Which is why,” Sanemi reached over where you walked beside him and flicked your nose. “Your cloak is important, Lamb.”

“Speaking of that, you once warned me about the color of my cloak,” you frowned, pinching the fabric between your fingers. “You said red can symbolize many different things.”

“Aye, it can,” Sanemi held out a hand to help you over a particularly rocky bit of terrain, not letting go until he’d ensured you reached even ground. “I am surprised your Grandmother did not warn you of that.”

You felt slightly defensive of the old woman. “She may not have known. It’s an old cloak. It was an heirloom.”

“I highly doubt she did not know its import,” Sanemi disagreed, casting a sidelong glance your direction. “I told you it was enchanted. It has been acting as a ward against those in the Wood that would do you harm.”

“Cloaks like that are not just made and sold to unsuspecting villagers. Those who desire them, do so for specific reasons.”

You frowned, thumbing the fabric. “And what of the color? You’ve yet to tell me what the red means.”

Sanemi’s cheeks pinkened. “Red is an important color to wolves like me. It is the only color we can see.”

Your head whipped towards him with a soft gasp. “You mean — you cannot see other colors?”

The Huntsman shook his head, his eyes roaming the path before you. “Only the red of your cloak.”

“And its meaning?” You pressed.

Sanemi hesitated. “Red has been understood to be a mating signal. A declaration that one is unmarked but willing.”

You gaped at him. “So that day — the day we met,” you managed, your cheeks warming. “You thought I was — that I was offering myself to you?”

Rather than flush further, Sanemi laughed — a rich, velvety sound that filled you with warmth.

“No Lamb,” he said affectionately. “I didn’t think a scared little thing like you even knew what that cloak meant. Especially when you looked half-ready to pass out when you saw me.”

You crossed your arms self-consciously in front of your chest. “I’d been running for over a day, and the Wood is terrifying.”

The Huntsman’s hand found yours and he laced your fingers with his. “And yet you found me all the same. Perhaps the cloak worked.”

He lifted a hand to your shoulder, where his mark sat below the heavy fabric of the crimson hood. “After all, I am no longer taking you to another human village; I’m taking you somewhere so I can utterly defile you.”

Your thighs clenched together, his words sending excitement, coarse and hot, cascading through your veins. “It is not defilement when I am begging for your touch, Wolf.”

Sanemi tugged on your hand, pulling you against his chest and surprising you with a soft kiss, his thumb stroking your chin.

“Beg you shall, my darling Lamb.” He murmured against your lips. “So let us speed up our step so I can hear those sweet pleas.”

You giggled as Sanemi led you deeper into the Wood by your hand, your cheeks flushed pink and your stomach tittering with excitement at the prospect of what the moonrise would bring.

—-

It was late afternoon when Sanemi slowed to a stop.

You slowed beside him and followed his line of sight, looking down a small valley to see a series of small, interconnected rocky formations peppered throughout the ravine.

You exhaled softly. “Is that—?”

Sanemi nodded. “My den is just over there,” he pointed to a mass of moss-covered rock about halfway down the valley. “Though you  cannot tell from this distance, it’s fairly deep on the inside.” He glanced down at you, eyes softening at the exhilaration upon your face. “We will not be disturbed.”

You tore your eyes away from the peaceful spread of land, the soft slopes of the mountainous terrain appearing so out of place with the murky darkness of the Netherwood. “And this is where you go every time you go into heat?”

“Aye, when wolves are unmated, it’s best for us to be alone,” Sanemi blushed slightly, a hand jumping to rub at the back of his neck. “To weather it alone, that is.”

Your hand found his and squeezed gently. “You won’t have to any longer.”

The Huntsman’s answering smile was warm as he tucked you into his side, kissing your hair.

“Come,” he said. “Let us get set up for the night.”

———

Sanemi had spoken the truth; though the cave had appeared small and unassuming from the outside, once he parted the thick ivy curtain which obscured the entrance from the sight of any wandering passerbys, you could see the mouth of the stone gave way to a comfortably large, rocky alcove.

The wall was set back about twenty feet from the cave’s entry. On one side, you spied a series of unevenly spaced ledges that Sanemi appeared to use as shelves, a cluster of odd-shaped packages wrapped in cloths of various fabrics resting upon the sediment.

Across from the little storage area was a thick pile of animal furs, soft and in pristine condition. Each was piled atop the other, creating a pad several inches thick that would serve as a barrier against the dirt-rock floor of the den.

Your eyes lingered on the pelts before you turned to Sanemi, head cocked in question.

Sanemi’s gaze darkened as it flitted between you and the furs. “A nest,” he explained, his voice turning to gravel. “To make the heat more comfortable.”

He paused for a moment. “Had I known I’d be finding myself a mate, I would have brought more. I was expecting to endure my heat alone —“

“It’s perfect,” you cut him off, hand covering his in assurance. “It’s all perfect.”

Sanemi brushed your hair back, hand caressing your face. He nodded towards the makeshift shelves on the opposite side of the nest. “Provisions,” he said. “I came here just before you found me to stock up on dried meat and fruits — and water.”

He nudged your foot shyly with his own. “And trust when I say you will need your sustenance.”

The suggestion in his tone was enough to make you step into him, heat pooling sensually in the depths of your stomach.

“Sanemi,” you whispered, and the Huntsman’s breath quickened. “Kiss me.”

Soft lips moved softly against your own, but it was not enough. With an eager gasp, you pressed forward, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, your teeth tugging at his bottom lip in silent request.

Sanemi opened, and your tongues melded together, both of you sighing deeply into the other as you breathed him in.

You walked him back, Sanemi allowing himself to be led to the edge of his nest. You pushed lightly on his chest, and he lowered himself, the Huntsman’s hands sliding down your waist and to your hips, tugging you down with him to straddle his lap.

Your legs wrapped around his waist as you rest against him. As the two of you settled against the soft furs of the den nest, the Huntsman’s hardening length pushing against the sensitive spot between your legs, causing you both to gasp.

The Wolf’s chest rose hard and quick as you pushed your hips down against his once more.

Sanemi was panting against your mouth as you ground down once more against his crotch, mewling at the way his hardening bulge connected with that spot between your legs that made your toes curl.

“You must keep your cloak on,” he managed to whisper against your throat as he nuzzled against your skin.

At the first sound of the whimper building in your throat, Sanemi pushed your hips down against him, rolling his clothed groin up into yours. “I will still remove your dress, little lamb,” He huffed a quiet laugh skimming your jaw with his nose. “But the cloak is for your safety.”

“I do not wish for you to take me safely,” you whined, “I want you to take me as your mate.”

The declaration that you intended to accept the bond made the huntsman groan, his grip on your hips tightening as the fabric of your dress gathered beneath his palms.

“Be careful what you wish for, woman,” he warned, nipping at the tender spot beneath your ear.

“I will mate you, little lamb, but you are human.” Sanemi pulled back to face you, a warm hand coming to rest against your face as he gently, but firmly, forced you to meet his eyes. “And it is the full moon; it will be hard enough to restrain myself from transforming while I take you, even with your cloak on.”

Sanemi’s eyes shut tightly and for a moment, it looked as though he was in pain. “But were I to shift while claiming you right now, I couldn’t guarantee that I wouldn’t harm you. It is a risk I will not take, lamb.”

A warmth spread through your chest at the consideration and care the roughened man continued to show you, even as his heat only continued to heighten, evidenced by the ever-growing swell beneath his trousers.

The flutter in your stomach was tempered as your mind processed his words. “But you will shift while taking me? One day?”

Sanemi hesitated for a moment before nodding, and it was a struggle for you to refrain from clenching your thighs together. The wolf’s eyes were concerned, if not timid, as they searched yours. “Does that frighten you?”

The only thing that frightened you was how excited you felt at the prospect of Sanemi fully transforming into his fearsome, powerful wolf form as he pressed you into the pelts of his bed, but you weren’t about to confess that to him right then.

So you only shook your head, your fingers rising to gently caress the scar jutting across his cheek. “No, my wolf; that does not scare me at all.”

A pale eyebrow quirked up as a small smirk pulled at Sanemi’s lips. “So I am your wolf now, little lamb?”

“If I am to be yours, then you are to be mine, no?” You kissed him again, moaning softly at the soft fullness of his lips as they moved easily against yours. “Doesn’t the mating bond go both ways?”

Sanemi’s eyes were full of wonder as they roamed your face. “It does,” he whispered. “What you feel, I shall also, and likewise.”

“Then that makes you, my wolf.” You answered simply, smiling slyly. You leaned down to kiss him once more, your arms winding around his neck. The Huntsman groaned, his hands roaming the curves of your body, until they came to rest against your chest.

“Allow me,” Sanemi said gently, fingers coming to unlace the stays on your outer corset. “I’d prefer for you to be undressed before the moon rises.”

You grinned. “You just want to see me bare.”

“Aye, that’s true,” the Wolf chuckled, the sound sending goosebumps over your skin as his fingers deftly unwinding the cords keeping the garment secured. “But I also don’t want you trying to skin me for having destroyed your only set of clothing in my haste to have you my way.”

You mocked a pout. “But the cloak must stay?”

“Yes, you seductive little thing; your cloak stays for your protection.”

You groaned, huffing in annoyance as Sanemi finally undid the last lace of your corset and cast it aside. He pushed you back to sit against the pelts, kneeling before you to unlace your boots.

Once he’d set aside the worn leather shoes, the Huntsman focused his attention on the pair of long wool socks that went just over your knees. You tried to keep from squirming as his warm hands brushed against the bare skin above the tops of your socks, but the Wolf seemed intent on teasing you as much as possible. As he worked each sock slowly down your leg, he allowed his fingers to teasingly drag along the sensitive skin of your upper thighs.

You fought the urge to clench them together, your teeth gnashing together as you willed yourself not to shiver beneath his tantalizing touch. But you could not control the rush of arousal which flooded you, and your cheeks turned scarlet at the way Sanemi’s nostrils flared slightly, scenting you, a cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“So eager, little Lamb,” he simpered, allowing his fingers to drop to the space above one of your newly exposed ankle and massaging it. “So enticing.”

You glowered at him. “You know precisely what you’re doing, and I won’t fall for your little game.”

It was a lie, and you knew it as well as he, for all it took was a quick press of his lips against the crease between your shin and knee to have you whimpering, hips involuntarily bucking as you grew desperate for him to continue.

“It would not take much for me to have you begging, Lamb,” Sanemi warned, eliciting a gasp from you as he nipped the sensitive skin of your thigh. “Be grateful I will be in no mood to tease once the moon rises.”

You whined as Sanemi’s hands removed  your skirts one at a time, and then your shift, slowly peeling back each of your layers until you were bare beneath him.

He pulled away once, to remove his cloak and the billowy linen shirt he wore, and then his boots. Left in nothing but his breeches, he knelt before you on the pelts, covering your trembling body with his warm solid form.

Your fingers jumped to the ties on his breeches, but Sanemi jerked his hips out of the way. At your small whine, he chuckled, his lips beginning a descent down your body from your neck.

“I first need to taste you,” he said simply between the soft nips he trailed down your torso, breaking up each prick of his teeth with alternating licks of his warm tongue.

Your small pout was quickly chased away by the electrifying sensation of Sanemi’s lips drifting closer and closer to where you wanted him most and you settled back against the furs, a tiny smile tugging at your mouth.

You spread your legs wider to accommodate his mass, so lean yet so solid, the muscles on his chest looking as though they’d been carved from the finest stone by only the most skilled of masons. Against the flickering light of the small fire he’d lit inside the cave, Sanemi’s hair was reminiscent of starlight, and his eyes, locked steadily with yours, glimmered like two, precious stones.

His mouth trailed lower, sweeping across your hipbones as he drew nearer to your core, Sanemi groaning softly as he scented your arousal where it pooled between your legs.

Your hands drifted to your naked breasts, your fingers pinching and tugging at your soft peaks as you nudged your hips forward, silently begging Sanemi to bestow upon you the same pleasure he’d given you the night before.

The Huntsman did not need a great deal of convincing. Hands wrapping around your thighs to hold you wide open, he surged forward and latched his mouth to your eager cunt.

Sanemi devoured you like a man starved.

He was sloppy; his face was pressed firmly against your center, jaw working furiously as his tongue lapped between your folds before dipping inside of your entrance, savoring the way your tight walls cinched around the wet appendage, before he pulled out and repeated the movement. The sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs could not rest, not between alternating brushes of the tip of his nose and the graze of his teeth as feasted.

Every so often, he would pull back, leaving only the tip of his tongue flicking against your bead, his face shiny with your slick, as he watched your face, the way your eyebrows knit and how your lips parted to let loose your breathy, desperate whimpers and pleas for more. But that brief moment of respite as he observed you rarely lasted more than a few thunderous beats of your heart before the Huntsman swooped down upon you once more, thrusting his tongue deep into your entrance and curling up, brushing against a spot within you that had you screaming his name.

One hand gripped your thigh harshly, his nails digging into the soft inner skin as he pulled you harder against his mouth, groaning between lewd slurps and smacks against your cunt. The other made its way towards your entrance, his fingers dragging lightly over the soft, fatty underside of your backside before settling at your opening, teasingly circling it.

“I can see you clenching,” he muttered between harsh sucks at your pearl. “Do you long to be filled, Lamb?”

Speech was difficult, but you managed to nod desperately your throat remembered how to make sound. “Y-yes!” You could hardly hear yourself over the roar in your ears as you chased that ascendant feeling building steadily in your gut. “P-please, Sanemi — I feel so…s-so empty —“

The Wolf seemed to be in a charitable mood, for he swiftly plunged two of his fingers into your core, burying them right down to the joint. Half a beat later, and Sanemi crooked those thick, calloused digits, fingertips massaging your inner walls until your thighs vibrated around his head, and his name left your mouth in a small shriek.

The Huntsman’s lips latched around your sensitive nub, alternating between sucking and licking, making you writhe against the furred pelts of the nest. The thumb of the hand working steadily at your entrance stretched up the length of your cunt, pressing firmly against your pearl and rotating in small circles, so he could continue to stimulate you even during those brief few seconds when his mouth would pull away from you so that he could swallow your juices like it was the finest nectar.

Your cries bounced off the walls of the cave den, the coil in your cut winding tight, your entire body shaking beneath the furious ministrations of Sanemi’s mouth against your cunt.

Sanemi’s head dipped down to plunge his tongue into your opening, right alongside his fingers and you came undone, the soft pelts beneath you disappearing as your body ascended high through the clouds of your pleasure.

Sanemi moaned as he drank from you, his free hand moving from your thigh to your hips to help you grind against his face, his eyes rolling back slightly as he savored your sweet taste.

Your dizzying high gradually guttered out, letting you drift softly back down against the pelts, your skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

The Huntsman imparted two, final licks against your hyper-sensitive folds before drawing back, his tongue running over his lips to collect the last traces of your juices that still lingered around his mouth.

“When we get home,” Sanemi’s voice was husky, as he brought the fingers he’d hand inside you to his mouth, his tongue carefully cleaning your essence from his digits. “You are to spend an entire day sitting upon my face while I feast. You will not move until I’ve had my fill.”

His vow made your stomach flutter and your mouth go dry. “You mean that was not enough?”

Sanemi’s answering grin was wolfish. “Not in the slightest, Lamb. You provoke a hunger in me that I fear cannot be sated.”

He leaned down over you, hand firmly cupping your jaw to part your lips as he slotted his mouth over you. His tongue slid into your mouth to caress yours, and you moaned at the musky, sweet taste of yourself still on his lips.

He broke the kiss with a wet smack. “So we shall start with a day and see how well you please me. If I am still unhappy, then you shall have to remain there until I am otherwise satisfied.”

“And what of my satisfaction, Wolf?” Sanemi’s grin only widened at your challenge. “So far, I’ve heard talk of only yours.”

The Huntsman’s fingers grazed your dampened slit, still so sensitive from what he’d done with his mouth that you hissed lightly, as he covered your body with his own.

“Have I not pleased you enough, sweetling? My sincerest apologies.” He mocked, rolling his clothed groin against your bare one. He dipped his head low, sucking one of your breasts into his mouth before kissing his way up your neck to your chin, stopping to let his lips just hover above yours. “We shall see if you’re still feeling so cheated once my cock is buried inside you, hm?”

The reminder of what was about to transpire in a matter of minutes as the sun dipped lower and lower below the horizon outside the cave stilled you, momentarily breaking through the lusty haze in your mind.

“Sanemi,” the seriousness in your tone drew the Huntsman to a halt, his eyes flicking to yours, his hands stilling.

You gulped. “It will hurt, will it not?”

Sanemi’s eyes softened, and his fingers began rubbing soothing circles into your skin, his touch gentle. “It will at first, yes.”

You nodded. “Do you think — can we start before moonrise?” Your hands found his and squeezed, pleadingly. “If it is going to hurt, I would prefer to do it before your heat sets in.”

Sanemi’s hand pulled away from your grasp to hold the side of your face, tilting your head until you had to meet his gaze.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Sanemi’s fingers were delicate as they caressed the curve of your cheek. “You do not owe me anything; I would not dream of asking you to do anything you did not want.”

You parroted his touch by stroking a thumb softly over the scar that crossed his cheek. “I am certain that I want you, Wolf.” You leaned in and pressed your lips gently against his before pulling back. “I ask only because I want that moment to belong to you. Not as my mate, but as the man I’ve chosen to spend my days beside.”

“So please,” you entreated, pressing yourself closer against your Huntsman, your other hand toying with the faint trail of silver hair that spread across his bared pectorals. “Before you claim me as your mate, make me yours, Sanemi.”

The Huntsman’s breath was ragged. “All right, then,” one warm hand wrapped around your waist, its heat somehow burning through the layers of your skirts and shifts. “As you wish, Y/N.”

There was a beat as Sanemi nuzzled your nose with his. “But the cloak stays on.”

He chuckled at your small harrumph, quieting you with the sweetest of kisses, his thumb stroking your cheek. “Nice try,” he murmured against your lips, before rolling you beneath him.

Sanemi kissed his way down your body, a low growl vibrating in his chest as he neared your waiting core, but he held back, pulling off you to raise up on his feet, his hands coming to rest against the front laces of his breeches.

The Huntsman held your heated gaze as he slowly unlaced the leather cord securing his breeches. Without breaking the connection, Sanemi leisurely worked the soft deer hide down his hips and over his thighs, unveiling his toned lower abdominals and strong, muscular thighs.

Your eyes traced over every ridge and dip of the Huntsman’s nude body, cheeks growing hotter and hotter as your gaze dipped down lower.

There was that faint, silvery trail of hair that began just below his navel that had first made you view the Huntsman in a different light, all those days ago. That trail led down past his hips, right where the evidence of his desire stood proud, and waiting.

Sanemi’s manhood was thick and long, its tip level with his navel. It was a few shades darker than the rest of his skin, the head a pinkish color that seemed to grow deeper the longer you stared, as though sensing the events about to unfold and eager to move them along.

You’d seen him nude before, but this time was different. For now, Sanemi’s nakedness was about to belong to you as much as yours was to belong to him.

Sanemi turned slightly to the side to discard his breeches, placing them atop the many layers of your skirts and shift. From that angle, you spied a faint hump near the base of his length, almost imperceptible in the orange, flickering light of the cave, that you nearly mistook it for a trick of the shadows.

“Is that —?” Your voice faltered with your blush.

Sanemi’s answering smirk set off a flurry of butterflies in your stomach. Though you’d seen him in a far more compromising position between your thighs, his beauty still had a habit of catching you off guard.

“Aye,” his voice was both silky and rough as he drew closer to you. “That will be my knot, once it fully forms.”

The Huntsman knelt down beside you on the soft pelts covering the den nest, lowering himself to graze his lips against yours. “But don’t worry about that right now, sweetling.” Sanemi then shifted so that he was hovering over you, a knee wedging between yours to help guide your legs open as he settled into the cradle of your thighs.

His lips ghosted against the side of your neck. “Just focus on me.”

You nodded, breath catching in your throat as his warm weight settled against you. You hissed at the feeling of the tip of his manhood brushing against your slick folds, a spark of pleasure jolting through you like a lightening bolt.

Above you, Sanemi ground his teeth, a tendon popping in his neck as he exhaled sharply. “Christ,” he ground out, repeating the sliding movement of his velvety head against your core. “I pray your cloak is enough, sweet girl. Because I don’t know how I’m going to hold back when you already feel this good.”

The mark on your neck pulsed with a simmering heat that only sent another gush of fluid between your legs. You mewled for him, fingers tugging lightly at his silver locks as you bucked your hips upwards, your body nearly thrumming with your need to be filled by the thick, searing length tracing up and down your folds.

Sanemi moaned. “Alright,” he said, exasperated but his voice shook. “Needy little thing.”

One hand skirted down the length of your thigh, gripping behind your knee to wrap your leg around his hips. The Huntsman’s other hand moved to grip the base of his manhood, lining it up with your entrance. Sanemi’s eyes lifted once to yours in silent question, and anticipation fluttered in your gut.

“Please,” was all you could say, breathy and desperate. “Please.”

As the head of his cock pushed into you, Sanemi rattled out a gasp, his eyes screwing tightly shut as he panted hard above you.

“L-lamb,” he stuttered even as he continued to breach your walls. “You’re so soft…so warm.”

You cried out at the way pleasure and a faint discomfort blended together into a pinching pressure as the Huntsman worked himself into you, his muscles trembling.  The thick, blunt tip of his cock pushed against an inner barrier within you, and your belly clenched in anticipation as Sanemi paused the sinking of his hips into yours. His head dipped to the crook of your neck, right where he’d seared his claim into you, and he began to brush his lips against it, caressing the raised skin with his tongue.

The stimulation of your mark sent a flood of warmth trickling through you, relaxing your tensed limbs and allowing your body to open up to him — this Wolf, who was committed to making you his for good.

Your cry of discomfort melted into a deep moan of desire as your head tilted to the side, exposing more of your neck to the Wolf’s feverish mouth. With a growl of approval, Sanemi surged his hips forward and finally pushed past that thin, inner barrier, embedding himself to the hilt within your spasming walls. The flash of pain from his breach caused you to tense for a breath, your core pulsing at the intrusion. But then Sanemi’s fingers were there, working the nub between your legs to chase away any lingering discomfort as he pressed open-mouthed kisses against your neck, murmuring soft praises.

Pleasure bloomed beneath Sanemi’s skillful touch as the last of the burning subsided. Your breath eased as you relaxed in his embrace, shyly rolling your hips against his to signal you were ready for more.

He pulled back, eyes searching yours. “Are you alright, sweetling?”

Your hands clawed at his back, trying to press the Huntsman closer to you, despite the way your bodies were pressed flush together. “Y-yes,” you managed, your breath stuttering as Sanemi shifted above you, the movement stimulating a spark of heat between your legs.

“M-more, Sanemi,” you moaned, fingers digging into the grooves of the muscles of his shoulders. “Please, more.”

He nodded with a groan, an arm shifting to wrap around your waist to hold you up against him. With his face buried in the crook of your neck, Sanemi began to move, his hips rolling into yours and pushing his manhood deeper and deeper into you.

“Lie back, sweet Lamb,” he murmured in your ear as he rolled into you once more. “Let me make you feel good.”

You couldn’t imagine how much better the Wolf was capable of making you feel than he was at that moment, with every lurid push of his length into your tight heat, but you weren’t about to question his abilities. With a quiet moan, you fell back away from him and against the soft pelts of the den nest, your arms dropping from his shoulders and coming to rest above you, against the furs.

“Fuck, just like that,” Sanemi’s gaze darkened as he beheld the way your position arched your lower back slightly, raising your peaked breasts higher up, your nipples stiff and desperate for stimulation. “You’re so good, little Lamb. So good for me.”

The Huntsman’s gentle praises made your thighs clench and warmth pool in your lower belly. Sanemi leaned forward with a sigh, running a hand up the length of your arm to grip one of your wrists to press it down into the nest. The other returned to your hip, angling you slightly in a way that allowed him to sink even deeper into your syrupy heat.

He lowered his head to wrap his lips around one of the sensitive buds of your breast, tugging it lightly between his teeth. “Gods, Lamb, you’ve no idea what you do to me,” he groaned. “It’s taking — fuck — everything in me not to tear this cloak off you and rut into you like the beast I am.”

You nearly whined at that, drawing upon every ounce of self control within you to not admit that was exactly what you wanted — Sanemi, unrestrained and utterly wild. You locked your ankles against his backside and used all the strength in your legs to push him into you, bucking your hips in tandem with his. “Sanemi, please, I need more —“

He answered with a pointed thrust of his hips, choking you off with a gasp.

“Is that so?” Sanemi’s breath was hot against your ear, and a shiver jolted down your spine at the faint growl that tinged his words. He shifted your legs so that they were wrapped higher around his hips, the fat of your backside resting against his sturdy thighs. “Then you better hold on tight, little Lamb.”

The Huntsman locked a muscled arm around your waist and moved his hand to grip both your wrists, pinning them above your head.

His lips crashed down against yours as Sanemi began to thrust into you with a steady rhythm, each push of his length into your spasming core as precise and fluid as the Huntsman had proved himself to be in the Wood. Only now, he was not faced with an opponent, but with something far more tantalizing — something he desired far more to dominate.

You.

And you were only happy to give into him, what with the way his cock charted previously unexplored places deep inside you, repeatedly brushing against spots that had your mouth falling open and stars appearing in the corners of your eyes.

Sanemi’s tongue slid into your mouth as his hands moved to arch your back further, your legs rising higher on his waist until they were locked just under his ribcage, the Huntsman bearing more of his weight down upon you and pressing you harder into his nest.

You pulled away from his lips, your breath ragged. “I - I f-feel,” you tried to babble, though your mouth struggled to form coherent words against the symphony of moans and whimpers that each push of Sanemi’s length into you dragged out.

Sanemi’s lips moved down your neck and danced across your throat. “How do you feel, Lamb?” He cooed, the tip of his incisor brushing against the hollow of your throat, his pace only increasing with every deep plunge of his length into your silken cavern.

Your eyes fluttered shut even as your eyebrows knit together, the knowledge of how to properly speak nothing more than a distant memory.

“F-full,” you managed to pant after a moment. “So — ah — full, Sanemi.”

Amidst the sounds of your breathy moans and Sanemi’s rugged pants and snarls, a pointed, wet schlick began to echo off the walls of the cave den as Sanemi continued to build his rhythm, his cock nearly pulling all the way out of your honeyed heat before he plunged it right back in, hitting you so deep, you wondered whether he might be able to touch your very soul.

Your moans grew louder as that familiar coil began to tighten behind your navel, just above where you felt the tip of Sanemi’s length begin to twitch within you.

Sanemi stuttered out a broken groan of your name. “My sweet, sweet girl —“

“I love you!” you gasped, the thick, pleasured fog in your head unable to keep the words from tumbling out of your mouth. “Ngh — I love you — fuck, Sanemi!”

The Huntsman only growled in response, his hands digging into your hips to pull you to meet his thrusts, his hips snapping faster against you.

Just outside the mouth of the den, the clouds parted and the moon’s silvery rays filtered through the small cracks in the earthen wall of the cave.

Sanemi’s thrusts stuttered as his body suddenly seized. His head was thrown back, the tendons and muscles in his neck rigid with strain, while his chest heaved, struggling to take a breath.

The fingers digging into your hips tightened and you cried out at the sharp prick of nails sinking into your soft flesh. At the sound of your voice, Sanemi’s hands pulled away to reveal fingers now with long, curved nails.

His claws.

A choked, strangled noise that was somewhere between a groan and a howl ripped from Sanemi’s throat as he shuddered violently above you. The tremors sent faint vibrations right to where the two of you were connected, sparking new yet short-lived waves of pleasure rippling through your core. you mewled at the loss of stimulation as the huntsman stilled once more, desperately wanting him to start moving again to ease the burgeoning friction between your legs.

Your hips involuntarily twitched up against his and Sanemi’s head snapped down, his attention now wholly focused on you, writhing below him.

The first thing you noticed were his eyes.

No longer did they reflect the soft lilac that you’d come to find comfort in; that regarded you with a curious gentleness that often contrasted with Sanemi’s gruff and scarred countenance.

Now, the eyes that watched you from above had faded to a startling silver that glowed nearly as bright as the fat moon which hung just outside the mouth of the den.

But his eyes were nothing compared to the fangs that had formed on both his upper and bottom rows of teeth.

Sanemi’s incisors had lengthened, the upper pair extending nearly to his lower lip. The teeth tapered out to sharp points, glistening in the moonlight with a promise of violence to anyone who might find themselves at their mercy.

He had warned you that it would be difficult to keep himself from shifting while he mated you, but you’d assumed that the presence of your cloak would keep him in his human form. It seemed, however, that the magical protection afforded by the Ruby red wool draped around your shoulders, still could not fully temper the beast within.

Especially when that beast was in the thick of his heat and claiming you as his mate.

Still embedded deep within your heat, apparently oblivious to the growing friction that caused you to squirm, Sanemi’s nostrils flared and his eyes dropped to the sides of your hips. His pupils contracted, a deadly glint igniting within his silver pools, as he beheld the thin rivulets of blood which had gathered and crested beneath the marks left behind by his claws.

A growl, low and dangerous built in his throat at the sight of the crimson, but the arm wrapped around your waist tightened in silent apology.

His free hand rose to cup your jaw and he squeezed, forcing your mouth to fall open. Sanemi leaned over you, his tongue falling out of his mouth where you could see he’d gathered some of his saliva, and he let it drip past your parted lips. You accepted the fluid, warm and slightly sweet, as it pooled in your mouth until all that connected his lips with yours was a single, clear string of saliva that broke as Sanemi spoke once more.

“Swallow,” his voice was gruff and tinged with an animalistic snarl.

You obeyed, and Sanemi huffed in approval, his eyes lowering once more to your sides, waiting.

The skin around the marks left behind by Sanemi’s claws grew warm and then tingled before the sensation quickly faded away.  Curious, your hand fluttered to the outer curve of your right hip, fingers seeking out the tender, bleeding skin. With a soft gasp, you realized all that remained on your flesh were drying flakes of your blood.

Your eyes flew to Sanemi’s in surprise, and the wolf nodded.

His half-shifted form was apparently only able to speak a single word at a time. “Healed,” he confirmed, tongue darting out from between his lips to lick alongside your neck. “Healed.”

 The huntsman’s nose moved to press flush against the soft spot beneath your ear, inhaling deeply. Your breath hitched at the sudden, light graze of his fangs against the curve of your collar bone, accompanied by a distinct wetness that pooled just beneath it.

Sanemi breathed into you again, his corresponding groan deep and possessive, and it occurred to you that in this half-shifted form, he was scenting you, needing to confirm that you were the one he’d marked; the one who was accepting his mating bond.

And your scent was making him drool.

“Mate,” he growled, dragging his nose down your neck to the hollow of your throat where your pulse thrummed. Your breath caught in your throat as the tip of one of his fangs grazed the delicate skin, and you realized it would take no effort for the wolf above you to pierce your neck and claim your life.

It would’ve frightened you, had you not realized that Sanemi was continuing to hold still above you. He remained that way, even though it was likely every instinct he had was screaming at him to move, to mark to, to claim you, especially when he was already sheathed deep within the sanctity of your walls. His restraint was palpable, given how he trembled, even as you felt his cock twitch within you, desperately seeking to fill and breed.

“Mate?” Came his snarl once more tinged by the faintest uncertainty as he awaited your response.

If you wanted him to stop, you had no doubt his will would overcome his base instincts, and he would pull away.

But you didn’t, and so you merely breathed, “Yes, wolf. I am your mate.”

A dark hum of approval rippled from Sanemi’s chest and he answered with a deep push of his hips. You gasped, hitching your legs higher on his waist and you swore it felt as though his cock had somehow grown hotter, thicker, as he began his rut.

But Sanemi in heat did not want your legs wrapped around him; he wanted you submissive, utterly at his mercy as he claimed you as his mate, and so, he flipped you to your hands and knees with a supernatural dexterity that left you breathless.

Clawed hands came to rest on your hips and dragged you back to him, carefully folding the hem of your cloak up and back to expose your rear end to the Wolf’s hungry gaze. One hand left to push against your upper back, pressing you into the soft pelts of the mating nest, while the other tilted your hips until your backside was in the air.

Your stomach clenched at the hot exhale of air that blew against your cunt, thighs squeezing together at the sound of Sanemi scenting you with a deep intake of breath.

“Pretty,” Sanemi marveled, the calloused pad of his index finger swiping along the slick folds of your core, causing your muscles to clench, desperate to be filled once more.

His voice took on a darker edge. “Mine.” He growled, and your head fell forward with a throaty moan as Sanemi’s tongue flattened against your folds for a strong lick.

His mouth only caused your essence to gush once more, and this pleased him, given the contented humming that sent vibrations rocking through you, loosening a desperate cry from your throat.

The sound of your desperation seemed to spark something in the wolf at your back, for Sanemi suddenly tore his mouth away from you and rose to his knees. You were about to turn to beg him to touch you again, when you felt the hot, leaking tip of his cock press into your entrance, slipping past that first ring of muscle before stilling.

Sanemi left his clawed hands on your hips and shifted his weight to let his knees knock your thighs together. Tilting your hips even more, Sanemi then rose up, the head of his cock still tucked safely inside you, and planted one foot on either side of your knees, coming to a squat.

And then, Sanemi began to fuck you once more.

Your thighs trembled beneath you as Sanemi’s cock stretched and filled you, reducing you to no more than a quivering puddle of your own arousal and desperate need to be claimed.

With every relentless push of his cock, with every pointed slap of his groin against your backside, you were reminded that at the end of this, there would be no part of you that remained wholly yours. Sanemi fucked himself into every crevice, every nerve that made up you, his cock chasing away anything that could not be marked by him.

You did not exist for yourself; you existed only for his pleasure and to take his knot.

“Mine,” Sanemi growled, over and over, with every bruising thrust into you, as the swelling base of his cock pressed closer and closer to your entrance.

He was too fast; Sanemi fucked into you at a pace so brutal, it was all you could do to continue holding your hips up, fingers desperately digging into the soft pelted blankets for purchase as every drive of the wolf’s hips made you bounce.

“Mine, mine, mine,” Sanemi chanted, each reminder punctuated by the possessive thrust of his cock into your drooling cunt, so forceful that you struggled to take a breath.

It felt like heaven.

“Yes,” you half-groaned, half-screamed into the fur below you. “Y-yours! Your mate!”

Your words only seemed to make him grow more feral and desperate, his hips snapping even harder against you as his engorged cock threatened to tear you apart from the inside, out.

One of his hands left your hip and you nearly whined, needing to feel him everywhere you couldn’t touch. You chanced a glance over your shoulder, just in time to see Sanemi raise his thumb to his mouth to bite the long, thick curved tip of his claw clean off. His thumb now resembling that of an ordinary man’s, Sanemi brought it right between your legs, pressing down against the series of nerves at the apex of your thighs that made you howl.

Even in the thick of his heat, your pleasure was his priority.

“Oh gods, oh gods,” your voice trembled in time with your body as the pressure in your navel built, much faster than it had before, the walls of your cunt fluttering harder around the thick, bulbous length of the wolf bent over your back. “Sanemi!”

The wolf’s thumb swirled around your bud more insistently, his cock throbbing as he shoved it deeper and deeper into you. From your position on your knees, chest firmly smushed against the pelts of the den nest, you began to feel the soft furs lightly graze against the skin of your stomach, though the lower half of your body was largely still suspended above the ground.

Not even your mind-numbing pleasure could stymie your curiosity as your hand drifted down your abdomen until it met a hard, bulging lump that throbbed just below your navel.

A lump that pulsed in time with every vicious thrust of the wolf’s hips against your backside. With a strangled gasp you pressed down, palm cupping around the thick, protruding head of Sanemi’s cock from the outside as it battered you from within.

The pressure made Sanemi tip his head back, a pleasured snarl rumbling from deep within his chest. His hips stuttered once, causing his heavy, full balls to slap right against your swollen bead and you came undone.

The walls of your core seized around the Wolf’s cock with a dizzying force, your limbs locking up as a euphoric scream tore your throat raw, and tears sprang into your eyes. Your cunt pulsed around his length, a gush of your sticky pleasure surging forth to cost him and his groin, the scent mixing with the heady, thick musk that permeated the air of the den.

Your eyes strained as they rolled deeply back into your head, your brain only vaguely registering the way Sanemi inhaled deeply behind you, a cross between a whine and a groan falling from his lips.

Sanemi’s hips gave one final, mighty push of his cock deep into your womb before you felt a sudden explosion of hot, sticky warmth flood you as Sanemi’s own climax ruptured.

You felt his seed fill you, a stray bead just managing to eke out from where the two of you were joined to trickle teasingly down your inner thigh. You wouldn’t have paid it any mind, but Sanemi growled lowly at it, as though the single drop of his milky pleasure managing to evade capture within your tight warmth was something to mourn.

Several moments passed, and yet Sanemi’s length remained rigid and spurting inside you, only prolonging your own release. As he spilled, Sanemi’s hips lurched forward once more, somehow pushing his cock deeper into your core as it spasmed around him with the last fading waves of your pleasure. But that pleasure was quickly replaced by a burning stretch as something hot and hard and thick bumped up against your entrance.

With a grunt, Sanemi nudged it forward and the hardened gland slipped into your hole, eliciting a mix between a scream and a moan from you that was only muffled by the fur against which you’d buried your face.

His knot, you realized, as your walls tried to rebel against the intrusion and push it out. Your swollen, aching cunt, however, was no match against the heavy, bulbous weight of the plug determined to keep every bit of the hot seed still spurting from Sanemi’s cock locked deep within you.

Several more moments passed as you remained pinned beneath the Wolf, his knot locked snugly within your cunt as he sighed and mewled above you, his lips grazing the back of your neck and shoulders. As your womb began to feel slightly bloated from the volume of hot, viscous seed with which Sanemi filled you, you began to finally feel his cock soften, and the burning stretch of your walls around his knot started to lessen as it slowly shrunk.

As his knot finally ebbed, Sanemi’s cock slipped out, only a small trail of his seed behind it, trickling lightly down your thigh.

His chest pressed harder into your back and you both fell forward, collapsing against the soft pelts cushioning the floor of his den, panting.

Your cheeks were flushed a bright red and your eyes were glassy, every inch of you trembling from the intensity of your joining. To quiet the thunderous beat of your heart against your sternum, you concentrated on on the feeling of his seed, thick and heavy, as it sloshed within your womb.

Soft lips grazed your still-burning mating mark before they moved softly down your spine as Sanemi’s weight lifted from your back. Warm, gentle hands gripped your hips and eased you flat against the nest before turning you over, your body boneless beneath his touch.

Sanemi’s fingers brushed your hair from your face, his eyes full of concern as his hand caressed your cheek. “Are you okay, my lamb?”

It took a surprising amount of effort to remember how to nod your head, and enough time passed that Sanemi lurched over you, his eyes wide as a worried call of your name echoed over the roar in your ears.

“I’m fine,” you managed after a moment, your voice a faint warble as your hands searched for him, needing the warmth of his skin to bring you back down to earth. “I promise I’m okay.”

You took a deep breath and allowed your eyes to slide shut, your face turning to nuzzle deeper into his palm as it rest against your temple. Sanemi’s fingers continued to brush your hairline, over and over, in an effort to soothe you.

When you opened your eyes again, you felt steadier; more grounded. You finally met his worried gaze, his irises having faded back to that delicate lilac hue you loved rather than the glowing silver they’d been during your rut.

But as you shifted beneath him, you felt another gush of his seed leak out of you, and the way it trickled down the curve of your ass before pooling on the fur beneath you made your core pulse once more.

Sanemi’s eyes flickered silver as the embers of your arousal caught once more, and your thighs clenched in anticipation.

Your hand found the back of his neck and gripped it firm, tugging his head back down towards you until your lips nearly touched. Sanemi’s breath was warm and sweet as it fanned over your face. Slowly, your other hand trailed down his chest, savoring the way his muscles rippled and tensed beneath your soft caress.

Your fingers found his still-stiffened member and they closed around it, giving him one, strong pump.

“Again.” You ordered, and your thighs fell open, the full scent of your arousal mixed with the muskiness of his seed making Sanemi’s nostrils flare, his pupils narrowing to slits as he growled in reply.

—————

Hours passed, and the sun had long since risen and begun its descent in the west, but Sanemi’s heat had still not subsided.

The periods of Sanemi’s lucidity gradually grew in length with every small break between his knot finally subsiding and his heat reigniting. The last break had lasted long enough for Sanemi to bring you several strips of dried meat and a handful of dried fruit, along with a skien of water that he had to help hold to your lips as you slurped greedy mouthfuls of the cool, spring water. You hadn’t had much of an appetite, given the way your stomach seemed to bulge slightly from the amount of seed he’d already given you, but the Hunstman insisted, lecturing you briefly about the need to keep your energy — and stamina — at a consistent level.

You’d begrudgingly accepted his offerings, less so out of hunger and more so because of the way he’d pulled you against the sweat-slicked skin of his chest while you ate, his fingers tracing delicately up and down your spine as his lips peppered your forehead in gentle, reverent kisses.

But that had been at least two hours prior, and you were right back where you started: head thrown back and nonsensical babbling lilting from your mouth as Sanemi impaled you on his monstrous length, over and over, until you could not remember where you ended and he began.

To his credit, even Sanemi in heat tried to feed you his knot in new positions, still committed to ensuring that you got as much pleasure from the experience as he. The current position was the most toe-curling one yet, one that had Sanemi resting on his haunches, his back straight as he kept you perched atop his cock like a throne.

One clawed hand was splayed across your lower back, keeping you upright as the other stretched across your lower abdomen, hand pressing down against your navel so you could feel the bulbous head of his engorged cock rub against that spot at the front of your wall that made you forget your own name, even if you could not seem to forget his.

This position also allowed him to guide you up and down his length in time with his lurid, frenzied thrusts, which you supposed was a good thing, considering your legs had long since been reduced to jelly and were utterly useless.

You felt yourself growing more and more lightheaded the harder Sanemi continued to fuck himself into you, the pleasure wrought by each frantic, deep stroke of the Wolf’s thick length in and out threatening to overtake you entirely.

His seed was steadily squelching out of you with each impassioned thrust, running down your thighs and dampening the furs below you. you’d lost count of how many times he’d already given you his knot. Truthfully, you’d stopped counting around the third or fourth time, your body too concentrated on trying to simply keep up with the Huntsman’s insatiable stamina. Still, despite the exhaustion, your mouth managed to form only a single, coherent plea for more, a command the Wolf was only too happy to oblige

You were getting closer to that pinnacle again, a slew of whimpers falling from your mouth in time with each harsh drive of the wolf’s cock into your cunt. But despite the number of times Sanemi had brought you over the edge since this dance had begun, you felt as though this time, it would be different; more extreme. How could you not, given the way your own juices slid down your thighs, mixing with his essence as he fucked it both into and out of you?

Sanemi’s length was hardly pulling out of your sopping heat, so you felt the swelling at his base steadily growing larger and larger, and you knew  his release was imminent. You tried to tighten your arms around his neck, a high-pitched whine keening from your throat as your head fell back.

The Wolf bent low and sucked one of your aching breasts into his mouth, his teeth adding new reddish-purple marks to the fatty flesh that his tongue worked to quickly soothe. A graze of his fangs against your nipple sent another gush of fluid rushing from your core, followed by a wanton moan as you arced your back, pressing your breasts harder into his face.

You felt your walls begin to tighten around his rocky length once more, and your pearl brushed against the swollen hub of the enlarged gland at the base of his cock.

With a final jolt of his hips upwards, Sanemi’s knot pressed flush against the apex of your thighs and sent you catapulting into the burning fire of your climax once more, your body seizing as your vision faded white. There was only a faint ringing in your ears as you felt yourself floating along clouds that matched the precise hue of your Huntsman’s hair, and you let yourself be utterly lost among the pleasure that was Sanemi.

You were content to remain amidst that departed bliss, your body weightless and your mind empty, but the Wolf still embedded deep within your cunt was not.

Your rapture was disrupted by a faint pressure between your thighs, just against that nub Sanemi had shown you was sacred to him. That pressure grew, your limbs no longer floating but stiffening, tensing as something warm and calloused pinched more insistently at your pearl.

With a keening cry, you plummeted out of the clouds of mindless bliss you’d ascended to and right back down to earth, to that cave den where Sanemi had you draped over his thighs, one clawed hand supporting the middle of your back to keep you upright as the other furiously worked between your legs.

Tears of pleasure so intense leaked from the corners of your eyes as you deduced that the Wolf rutting into you had forced you back to consciousness with yet another climax, this one just as powerful as the previous. Though, now, instead of your vision fading to white, a rush of your own fluids surged forth and coated the Huntsman’s groin, wetting down the coarse, silvery hairs that surrounded his cock.

Sanemi’s nostrils flared at the scent of your pleasure as it soaked him. With something more akin to a roar than a groan or a shout, Sanemi’s cock erupted within you, his hot seed shooting so deep, you swore you could taste it — him — at the back of your throat.

Had you been capable of speech, you would have tried to tell him you could not possibly be expected to hold anymore of his pleasure — not when you’d already taken more loads of it than you could count, not when it felt as though his seed had replaced every trace of blood within your body, so coating everything inside that made you you to instead make his. But you weren’t; not when your tongue was half-lolled out of your mouth, not when your eyes had rolled so far back into your skull, you’d wondered whether they might become stuck there.

And even if you could have spoken, it wouldn’t have mattered. For the moment Sanemi’s cock ceased twitching inside you once more, you felt felt his hips surge up and in, felt that hard, bulbous knot slip right into your core with far more ease than it had earlier in the night, ensuring that not a single drop of Sanemi’s pleasure could leak out of where he’d just unloaded it within you once more.

Not that you would want it to be anywhere else, anyways; not when it was so warm, so comforting as it sloshed around inside your womb, making you feel a fullness not even the most decadent of meals could impart.

Somehow, still, you wanted more; needed it. Needed him.

You continued to float as you took the Wolf’s knot twice more, your brain little more than liquid and your senses too dull to perceive anything that wasn’t him. Distantly, you felt him tense and heard his soft groan, quieter than any noise he’d made since first claiming you all those hours ago, and his dwindling knot lodged into your entrance one final time.

The two of you breathed heavily for a moment, you folded half against the cave wall, sandwiched between cool rock and Sanemi’s solid warmth. Dazedly, you realized Sanemi had called your name, his voice barely a hoarse whisper.

Blinking, your eyes blearily opened to meet a pair of lilac — not silver — irises hovering above your own.

Sanemi’s face was flushed, but his human features had returned, with not a trace of those elongated fangs or pointed ears left.

A sheen of sweat coated his skin, dampening the ends of his snowy hair to a dark silver. Sanemi kept himself braced above you, his muscles rippling in the dim, fading light of the small fire feebly flickering within the cave. From your spot below him on the pelts, your eyes traced a bead of sweat that rolled down his neck and over one of his scarred pectorals.

“You cannot possibly take anything more from me.” He panted, and to your amusement, he almost looked alarmed as his eyes roamed your equally flushed and  sweaty form spread out below him.

You smiled serenely up at the Huntsman — your mate.

“I can take whatever it is you want to  give me, Wolf.”

Sanemi groaned loudly as he pulled out of you, both of you wincing at the loss of warmth.

“I have nothing left to give you, woman. My heat has ended,” his eyebrows raised. “Even if yours, apparently, hasn’t.”

Between your legs felt sticky and gooey with the remnants of Sanemi’s heat slowly leaking forth and mixing with the fluid drying on your thighs.  But despite the slightly uncomfortable sensation of the Huntsman’s copious seed beginning to dry where it crusted on your skin, you smirked at him nonetheless as he laid out beside you with a heavy sigh.

“So I am a Wolf, then? If you think I am in heat, that is.”

“I think you are the most insatiable devil ever to grace the Wood,” Sanemi countered exasperatedly. “And I think you may be the death of me.”

You giggled as the Huntsman helped ease you down from where he’d pinned you against the wall, his hands gently guiding you to your side against him as the two of you laid down upon the furs.

Your head nestled into the crevice in the middle of his chest, your cheek pressed flush against his sternum, the steady beat of his heart a lullaby that threatened to bring sleep fast and soon.

“You said something earlier,” Sanemi said gently. “Just before I —“

Your eyes flew open, a faint blush of embarrassment staining your cheeks as you recalled your words, cried out just before the moon had triggered Sanemi’s partial transformation.

I love you!

“Where are you going?” Warm fingers caught you beneath your chin, preventing you from burying your face against his chest in your effort to hide away.

Your head was turned up, and your eyes  met that warm, lilac gaze. “Don’t hide from me, my Lamb.”

“Pretend I said nothing,” you squeaked, eyes dropping. “It does not have to mean anything.”

Sanemi’s other hand dropped to the mark branded into the juncture of your neck. At the first brush of his gentle yet strong fingers against the mark’s curvature, a warmth flooded through you, your teeth sinking into your lip to prevent you from purring at the contact.

“I did mark you, you know,” he smiled softly. “Bound myself to you for life, even if you decided to reject me.”

His smile faded slightly, his eyes earnest. “I would not have done that if I didn’t care for you — deeply.”

Sanemi’s lips pursed in thought. “If I did not love you, too.”

And though you had just spent the last day and a half allowing him to bend and twist you into positions that had you sobbing for him, the Huntsman’s words made your heart flutter like a bird.

“From this day forward,” you whispered, taking Sanemi’s hand in yours and pressing the tips of his fingers against your lips. “Wherever you go, I wish to follow.”

“You say that as though there was a chance you wouldn’t; as though you’d ever willingly leave me in peace.” He brushed a kiss against the top of your nose and his voice quieted. “As though I’d have it any other way.”

You answered his soft smile with one of your own, leaning up to slant your mouth over his. Sanemi’s lips parted easily for yours, your tongue sliding into his mouth to languidly dance with his, your hand snaking up his chest to hold the side of his neck.

The Huntsman growled softly into your kiss, an arm tightening around your waist as he pressed your nude body flush against his own.

“My heat may be over,” he said huskily against your mouth as he broke away to catch his breath. “But the fire you’ve lit within me still rages hot, little Lamb.”

You mewled as you traced your lips down, gliding over a scarred pectoral to take his pert little nipple into your mouth, your tongue swirling softly around it as Sanemi moaned.

“You’ve taken me as a wolf, Hunstman,” you purred, your hand sliding down his chiseled torso to where his cock had begun to stir once more. “Now I want you to take me as a man.”

With a low growl, Sanemi’s hands seized around your waist and flipped you over, laying you out on your back atop him, body pressed flush against his.

“Who am I to deny my mate?” His teeth grazed the shell of your ear, and one hand snaked around to your front to gently squeeze the sides of your throat.

“But since I’m taking you as a man, then I suppose you are no longer a Lamb, which means you no longer need this.” Sanemi’s fingers dropped to the collar of your cloak where it was still draped around your shoulders.

“And as fond as I am of your little red riding hood, I’m no longer concerned with being held back, sweetling.”

He flung the ruby cloak into a far corner of the cave before sliding his hand under you to position his cock between your legs, his tip already leaking as it pressed against your entrance.

His other arm looped through yours, pulling them back and pinning them against his chest, before he gave a great thrust up, sheathing himself to the hilt within your ready and eager walls.

You moaned, loud and unrestrained as Sanemi nipped at the side of your neck, your thighs spreading wider to accommodate his thrusts up from below.

“Let’s see how much more of me you can take now, little Red.”

—

SOMEWHERE IN THE NETHERWOOD

The silent, still trees of the Netherwood were helpless against the icy mist that rolled in from the foothills of the tiny, isolated village at its borders.

Though the forest had always been a void where sound and sunlight went to die, the mist heralded forth an unnerving stillness, so that not even a brave little songbird risked fluttering its wings. Even the shadows seemed to recoil as the source of the mist slunk through the ancient Wood, the most fearsome of its residents cowering away from the sinister intruder.

A figure emerged from the icy fog. Though the sun had long since set, the traveler needed no lantern or torch; his eyes, an unsettling kaleidoscope of colors, saw easily through the dark, the Wood unable to keep its secrets hidden from his hungry gaze.

It was quite a lovely night, the figure mused. A cool, late autumn evening with air so crisp it could only mean snow was imminent.

And snow made it much easier to track his prey.

Not that he was having much difficulty to begin with; after all, the girl’s noble attempt to muddy her own scent only made the chase that much more fun for the creature prowling through the Netherwood. Especially since the girl’s actions would lead him to a far bigger — far tastier, prize.

He smiled fondly to himself. He hadn’t imagined that the scrappy village girl would have ever made this game of his so interesting, and he certainly hadn’t expected her to be capable of serving him the feast he now tracked through the Wood.

He would still dispose of her the same way as the others, just as he planned. It did not matter to him that she’d already tainted herself by allowing a Wolf to mate her. In fact, the figure mused as he licked the remaining blood from his last his meal from his fingers, he hoped that the Wolf’s attempt to breed the succulent little human had been successful.

Mortal women and girls were far more satisfying than any other prey, with the way their bodies stored fat and held onto nutrients in preparation for child bearing. But a human woman carrying a Wolf’s pups? His mouth watered at the thought as he shuddered with delight.

But even if she was not carrying the fruits of the Wolf’s seed, it wouldn’t matter; she would still sate both his appetites.

And then there was the Wolf himself.

For the Wolf was the creature’s true target; the fat goose he hadn’t expected to find when he broke into the hen’s house in search for a new bride to claim.

The creature suppressed the primal, longing growl that bubbled up in his chest as he imagined how it would feel to sink his teeth into the furred flesh of the cursed Wolf, and how it would feel to swallow his mouthfuls of power and boundless strength.

His stomach growled at the thought, though he’d just feasted on a little girl he’d snatched from her parents’ bed as he’d waded into the Netherwood. She’d been bony and small, likely barely pubescent, but he’d been in need of nourishment before embarking on the long journey ahead. And, she’d been unbroken, and while he was not someone to care as much about such trivial matters, he couldn’t deny that it did feel so much better when they were untouched and untainted.

But she would do for now, as she rested in his belly. She could hold him over until he decided it was time to set his plan in motion, and his daring, rebellious little Y/N led him straight to the wolves’ den.

And Lord Douma knew how to be patient. And so, he would wait.

[forlix]

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀・741 / 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴・chan x gn!reader / 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲𝘀・fluff, hurt/comfort, suggestive themes so mdni / 𝗮/𝗻・inspired by our beautiful boy's bbl texts about the nylon shoot. he is so loved. i hope he knows it ♡

𝟬𝟵:𝟬𝟵 — Chan is nervous.

He doesn’t say so out loud. He doesn’t say anything out loud, actually, simply appearing in the kitchen to pluck a slice of toast off the counter. Damp curls dripping into the towel slung around his neck, brushing against your cheek when he leaves a good morning kiss there.

But there’s a squareness in his shoulders. A muted glaze over the brown of his eyes and a tightness in the smile he gives you as he pulls away. The images linger in your vision after he disappears back down the hallway, presumably to get ready for the big day ahead.

Words. There are times when they embrace Chan like orchestral musicians awaiting their conductor’s cue, like sunflowers swiveling eastward in the halcyon morning—but there are other times when they haunt him, like the faceless sea of spectators instead of the hopeful performers, like the shadows that comprise the fathomless night rather than the rays of sun that follow.

You rise out of your seat, a quiet sigh leaving your lips. Chan needs the sun, today.

Inside your bedroom, Chan’s towel sits atop your duvet, right beside the white material of the T-shirt he slept in. The bathroom door is ajar and spilling yellow light onto the hardwood. You nudge it open further.

Free to roam after the towel’s removal, transparent waterdrops pave silvery trails down the sides of Chan’s neck, over the gentle incline of his collarbones and the naked hills of his chest. His palms are pressed flat on either side of the sink, his eyes glued to the mirror before him, his jaw set as squarely in his reflection as it is on his person.

He jumps when your reflection joins his. Parts his lips, prepares to speak. But his whole vernacular evaporates when your hands find his waist, when your breath hits the nape of his neck. 

“Baby,” he breathes.

There’s a question embedded in the word. The only answer you give him is the quiet drag of your fingertips down the center of his back. He expels an involuntary shudder, and with it the muscles beneath your touch shift like fields of marigolds tousled by a kindred breeze.

You kiss the highest ridge of his spine, letting your lips linger against the smooth skin for a few moments before doing the same, just below his ear. 

“What—” He pauses, swallows. “What are you doing, angel?”

When your hands return to his hips, they request something this time. He complies, lets you turn him around, his lower back meeting the marble with a soft bump.

You bring yourself close to him. Close enough to gauge his blushing cheeks and trembling breath and brown, brown eyes, crossed from trying to look at you. Close enough that you only need slightly dip your head to mould your lips to the hollow right under his jaw.

He moans, the sound melodic and low and quickly muffled by the lower lip he bites down upon. You suck lightly, careful not to leave a mark yet entirely fine with the alternative, then graze your teeth over the tender skin, pull away. You don’t go far, though, as your next destination is his Adam’s apple, which you reach not by boat or by plane but by short, wet kisses that resound in the silent bathroom, that draw from Chan’s throat another gorgeous whine.

As you progress in this fashion, traipsing across the plane of his clavicle, the valley of his pectorals, you want to tell him that he’s beautiful.

He’s beautiful when he laughs so hard that his smile turns boxy and his voice gets all squeaky. He’s beautiful when he’s trying not to cry and his eyes look like mirror pools because he’s failing. He’s beautiful in front of the cameras; he’s beautiful away from them. He’s beautiful always, your Chan, your Chris.

That is what you want to tell him.

But you don’t. Not even when his back hits the mattress moments later and he looks like your every wildest dream come to life underneath you: pupils blown so wide that they’ve swallowed his irises, lips glistening and quivering and inconceivably kissable as he sighs your name, chiseled upper body rippling when he props himself up on his elbows. Straining to look at you as you lower your mouth to his navel, undo the knot of his sweatpants with a gentle tug.

You’ll show him instead.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・@automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten・@newhope8・@weedforthoughtz・@hyunverse

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

[lilacmingi]

ANTLERS AND ALL

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works. And please don’t spam-like!

Pairing: Deer hybrid!Yeosang x fem reader

Word count: 12,820

Note: This has been months in the making. I’ve been wanting to write deer hybrid Yeo for years 🥹

Birds were chirping, creating a little melody in the atmosphere, the breeze was blowing, softly rustling the leaves on the trees, the golden sun casting rays of light through the foliage. It was a beautiful day and one you took advantage of by setting off into the outdoors.

The dried leaves beneath your thick-soled boots crunched under your weight as you made your way down the narrow nature-made trail in the woods. You'd been walking it for a couple years and the trail had only gotten more noticeable thanks to how often it was followed. One might assume you were an outdoorsy type, but you weren't. Most of your days were spent indoors or at work, going about your daily life, however, you did make it a habit to get out and traipse the trail, as it was always a good mood-booster. Besides, a little fresh air never hurt anybody.

Every so often you'd stop to examine and admire a unique mushroom for wild flower with an eye-catching hue, sometimes snapping a photo before moving on.

A small meadow laid ahead, the sight taking your breath away even from the distance you were at. Usually you stayed on the trail, but this sight was one to behold and you wanted nothing more than to go check it out. So, you strayed from the path and made your way through clusters of dried leaves and tangled roots until you arrived at the clearing. The sight was breathtaking and looked like a fantastical place that a fairy might roam. Tall wisps of grass that reached your shins covered the entirety of the clearing with clusters of white wildflowers dotted about. The direction at which the sun shone down on the meadow through the clouds cast almost angelic beams down on the earth. It was when your eyes skimmed along the land that you spotted something out of the ordinary, a head of reddish brown hair amidst the blades of grass and ivory blossoms. Your gaze traveled up, following something sticking out from the top of his head, your eyes widening when you realized it was a set of antlers. A hybrid.

You took a tentative step forward, the light crunch of a leaf under your shoe might as well have been a twig with how quickly the man's head jerked in your direction. Your body stiffened and you opened your mouth to speak, but before a single word could be uttered, the hybrid took off.

Startled by his sudden and swift exit, you were frozen for a few seconds before naively chasing after him, while calling out, "Hey, wait!"

The knee-high grass whipped past your legs as you took off through the field after the hybrid boy. He was already way ahead of you, but you shouted again in hopes that he'd hear you and stop.

"I won't hurt you!"

He kept running, moving through the trees with grace and agility, leaping over branches and tree roots. It was futile to even attempt to catch up, he was nearly out of sight, so you slowed to a jog and stopped, hunching over to rest your hands on your knees. He was gone.

All you could do was stare at the spot you'd last seen him, left in a bit of a daze after your abrupt encounter. A sigh of defeat expelled from your lips and you took a few steps back before reluctantly turning around, heading back across the meadow, returning to the trail you were walking.

It didn't sit right with you that he just got away. You couldn't pinpoint why you were so concerned for the hybrid boy, but knowing he was running the woods alone made your stomach twist a little in discomfort. Where was he going? Did he have somewhere to stay? Would he be okay? And most importantly, would you see him again?

Worrying about a complete and total stranger was a bit ridiculous, but you couldn't help it. Hybrids didn't always get treated well and were still being accepted as members of society, so naturally you were concerned.

The antlered boy is what kept you coming back to the forest more often than usual. There was a part of you that hoped you'd see him again, then maybe the worry that had made itself at home in the pit of your stomach would go away after finding out he was okay.

You returned to the woods almost every day, stopping by the meadow you'd seen him in. Every walk you took you ended up returning home with no results.

It had been a few days since you stepped foot on the trail in the woods not far behind your home due to weather. Despite that, you hadn't given up hope, stepping back out into the thicket as soon as you possibly could, lacing up your hiking boots and taking off.

You followed the worn dirt path, still slightly damp from last night's rain, the soles of your shoes leaving faint prints in the earth. The undergrowth and wild plants had a fresh green look to them, the natural aroma of petrichor in the air. Your steps slowed to a stop, your eyes drifting over to the meadow in the distance, lingering for a moment too long as you hoped to spot the deer hybrid again. The chances he'd be in the meadow again after you'd previously spotted him were highly unlikely, but you looked anyway, searching for a pair of antlers amongst the blades of grass.

Just like all the other times you went out searching for the hybrid, you found nothing and headed further into the woods until you arrived at the place where you would normally circle back and head home. For some reason, you decided to keep going, abandoning the familiar trail and searching further this time. It was harder to navigate due to the large clusters of wild plants covering the ground and no trail to follow. You mentally marked your spot by choosing a tree with a unique moss pattern growing on it as your returning point. You ducked under small trees and stepped over clusters of briars, wincing when they got caught on the fabric of your pants.

You didn't want to stray too far from the path and lose your way back, so you tried to only walk straight, moving a little deeper into the woods. Everywhere you looked, you only saw trees and wilderness. Just when you were considering turning back and giving up for the day, you spotted something, your eyes widening at the sight that greeted you. The deer hybrid that you'd been searching for was on the ground a few feet away, letting out small noises of distress, a net tangled around his antlers.

You couldn't believe it, it was him. You didn't think you'd see him again.

Without thinking, you started moving forward, making sure not to approach too fast so as not to startle him like last time. The light crunch of small twigs under your feet announced your presence as you approached, alerting the boy.

The man's head jerked up towards you, his eyes wide with fear as he scrambled to his feet only to trip due to the large net, which he stepped on.

"It's okay. It's okay." You held your hands up in a placating manner where he could see you weren't holding anything that might cause him harm, making sure to keep your tone gentle as you spoke.

He stilled, his frightened gaze still locked on you, unsure of your intentions.

"I'm gonna help you." You said, coming to crouch beside him.

When he didn't try to bolt off, you started working to maneuver the netting around the blunt points of his antlers. His wide eyes followed your every move while you worked diligently to untangle the rope around his deer-like appendage. He was terrified and it made your chest ache.

It took a while, but the moment he was freed, he scrambled away from you, putting some distance between you both.

"It'a okay." You assured him. "I'm Y/n. What's your name?"

He blinked, his chest heaving up and down with short, rapid breaths. He was too scared to speak and you knew you wouldn't be getting a name from him.

"Do you have a home?"

He hesitated before shaking his head a little, if you weren't paying attention you would've missed it. His clothes were dirty and slightly tattered, his hair mussed. It was obvious he'd been roaming the woods for a while.

There was no way you could leave him out in the woods after knowing he didn't have a home, it would just tear you to pieces.

"Do you want to come with me?" You asked tentatively, staying put where you were so as not to make the hybrid run off.

His round eyes stared unblinking at you.

"I have food and a bed. You'll be safe."

Though he was scared out of his wits, you could tell he was trying to discern wether or not you were a threat and you could only hope that saving him helped him realize you meant him no harm.

The air was silent, save for the occasional rustle of the leaves in the breeze as you waited for what felt like minutes for a response. Finally, the man nodded, albeit slowly while getting to his feet, never taking his eyes off you.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips and you gave him a gentle smile. "Come on, then."

You started heading back the way you came, moving forward a few paces before you realized you didn't hear a second pair of feet behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, you saw the deer hybrid standing in the same spot, looking unsure even though he agreed to come with you.

"It's okay." You told him. "This way."

After that, you could hear his quiet footfalls behind you. He trailed along silently, keeping a sizable gap between the both of you, clearly still wary, and that was perfectly fine. If he was most comfortable keeping his distance, you'd let him.

You made it back to the mossy tree you'd passed earlier, returning to the familiar trail. Part of you was relieved you didn't lose your way, thankful you had a path to follow now. You threw a glance behind you every once in a while at the hybrid to make sure he was still following along.

"I didn't mean to startle you that day when you were in the meadow." You spoke up, feeling the need to fill the heavy silence in the air.

As expected, you received no response, which prompted you to continue talking.

"I walk this trail often. I like to enjoy nature."

You assumed talking about yourself would help build some trust between the both of you and put the hybrid at ease, but every time you glanced back at him, he looked anxious as ever. That's when you gave up on talking for the remainder of the walk.

"Here we are." You announced when you emerged from the tree line, gesturing to your home.

You approached the front door and stepped inside, waiting for your new houseguest to follow, which he did. The door was gently pushed closed as the boy made his way around the living room, taking in everything.

"You can sit down." You gestured to the couch, which he examined for a moment before taking a seat.

He looked so uncomfortable and on edge, his posture stiff and rigid. You hated that he felt like he needed to be alert at all times and it made you wonder what he'd gone through to make him that way. The knot in your stomach worsened at the thought of how he might've been treated by humans, especially being a deer hybrid.

You circled around to the front of the sofa, making sure not to get too close to him, keeping a safe distance in order to keep him as comfortable as possible. His large brown eyes darted around the unfamiliar environment before landing on a bowl of chocolate bars you had on the coffee table that sat between the both of you.

"You want one?" You asked him, picking one of the fun size candy bars from the bowl. "It's chocolate."

He flinched back when you reached over and held the sweet out, but brought his hand up to take it from you. He fiddled with the wrapper for a moment, finally getting it open and taking a small bite. There was a spark of happiness in your chest when you saw a flicker of pleasant surprise on his face.

"I'm sure you're hungry." You mentioned, unsure of how long he'd gone without food. "Stay here and I'll make you something."

You scurried off to the kitchen, scouring the pantry for something quick to make for your guest. Your searching gaze landed on a can of soup. That would have to do. It's the quickest thing you could make.

You poured the contents of the can into a bowl and stuck in in the microwave for a couple minutes, watching the numbers slowly count down. Every so often, your eyes drifted to peer into the living room, checking on the nameless hybrid seated on the sofa.

The microwave beeped, bringing you back to the task at hand. You removed the steaming bowl of soup and placed it on a hot pad to prevent any burns, sliding a spoon into the savory broth.

As soon as you reentered the room, the man's head jerked in your direction.

"It's just me." You announced, watching his eyes track your movements. "I brought you soup, I hope that's okay."

The bowl was cautiously passed to the man.

"Careful, it's hot." You warned, shuffling back to sit in a chair, observing him.

He stared at the soup, lifting it to his nose to give it a sniff, taking in its aroma before he took the spoon, scooping up a bite and bringing it up to his lips.

He blew on it, giving the broth a little taste, going back for a few more spoonfuls, his rigid shoulders relaxing just a fraction.

"You think you could tell me your name now?" You asked in a subdued tone.

He swallowed a mouthful of broth, licking his lips before answering in a barely audible voice, "Yeosang."

You breathed out a little sigh, smiling faintly.

"Yeosang." You echoed. "It's nice to meet you."

After he finished his soup, he lowered the empty bowl down to the coffee table and discreetly slid it towards you to show that he was finished.

"Would you like more?" You asked, taking the bowl.

He shook his head, the movement so slight you almost missed it. There was a part of you that felt like he should have more food, but it was very likely he didn't have much of an appetite due to being so nervous, so you accepted his answer and went to the kitchen to wash his dirty dishes.

When you returned to the living room, Yeosang was messing with a hole in the leg of his dark jeans.

"Would you like to bathe? I have a shower and hot water." You offered.

He sat there in silence, not giving you any response except for that same wary expression that was almost constant.

"You'll have the bathroom to yourself." You added. "I won't bother you."

He shifted in his seat before giving a tiny nod.

You led Yeosang to the bathroom down the hall, showing him how to turn on the shower in case he didn't know how, letting him know he could use your shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. You laid out a towel and tossed a washcloth into the shower, making sure everything was prepped and ready for him.

"I'll let you have your privacy now, but if you need anything just let me know." You told him. "I'll go find you some fresh clothes while you shower."

With that, you exited the bathroom, closing the door behind you and leaving Yeosang to himself.

The deer hybrid turned around, getting a look at the bathroom. It had been so long since he last bathed, never in a shower though. His eyes moved to the mirror to meet his reflection, the sight that greeted him making him pause. He was filthy. His hair was unkempt, his entire face lightly smudged with dirt, and his clothes were stained and ripped in different places. How long had he looked that way?

Tearing his eyes away, he started removing his clothes, tossing the soiled garments into a pile on the floor before turning on the shower and checking the water temperature to make sure he turned the correct knob. Once satisfied, he stepped inside, sighing as soon as the steaming water hit his body, his muscles relaxing immediately under the warm stream. He stood still for a few minutes just to relish in the new and unfamiliar feeling of the water hitting his back. Yeosang had never had a shower before, but being able to control the temperature of the water was unimaginable.

He leaned his head back to get his hair wet, careful not to let his antlers bump anything. He washed his hair, gently massaging his ears with the bubbles, the scent of the shampoo and conditioner being rather pleasant. He'd never used that stuff either. He picked up the washcloth and put some body wash on it, scrubbing his body and ridding himself of the outdoor residue that clung to his skin.

The steam that had built up inside the shower escaped in billows when Yeosang pulled back the curtain and stepped out. His little tail flicked behind him a couple times, flinging small droplets of water. A pleasant sigh of relief expelled from his nostrils. He'd forgotten what it was like to be clean. He retrieved the towel from where it laid on the toilet lid and used it to dry himself off, feeling like a new person.

Yeosang opened the bathroom door and stuck his head out into the hall, letting out a small noise when his antlers bumped the doorframe by accident. He didn't see you in the hallway, his eyes dropping down to the pile of neatly-folded clothes on the floor. He leaned down and picked them up, bringing them into the bathroom to change into.

He didn't know why you were being so kind to him. Maybe it was a different method to make him feel comfortable so you could take his antlers. His hand instinctively reached up to brush along the relatively small growths coming from the top of his head. Sure, they'd regrow if they were ever removed, but the thought of having them sawed off to be displayed on a plaque made Yeosang's skin crawl.

Deer hybrids didn't have massive sets of antlers due to it being an inconvenience in day-to-day life, which should be enough to avoid being a target, but to some, deer hybrid antlers were special due to them coming from a half human half animal. It wasn't legal to do so, but a handful of sick people were willing to break that law and unfortunately, Yeosang had encountered a couple of them.

Yeosang's head jerked towards the bathroom door when he heard a faint sound coming his way. He watched as a shadow moved in front of the door, coming to a stop just outside. It was you. He could tell by your scent.

He still wasn't sure wether to trust you or not. You were being awfully kind to him—suspiciously kind. Though no one had treated him the way you had, he wondered what your angle was, if you had a motive, and what your true intentions were.

Even though the soup and shower were nice, he was still wary and on edge, ready to bolt the moment things started going south.

You were stood outside the bathroom, the shower no longer running. You had your ear pressed to the door to see if you could hear anything, hoping your houseguest was alright. Just as you were about to announce your presence and check on him, the door opened and made you flinch, stumbling back a little.

"Oh!" You blinked, taking in Yeosang's appearance.

His reddish brown hair was damp and the fresh scent of body wash hit your nostrils. Past the wet tendrils of hair, by Yeosang’s right eye, was a couple of pink splotches on his otherwise blemish-free skin. The marks were pretty and unique, adding to his already stunning appearance. The large t-shirt you'd found for him looked cozy and thankfully the sweatpants didn't seem to be too short. You'd given him the biggest size you owned.

"Look at you." You smiled. "You look nice."

Yeosang just stood there, his eyes glued to the floor. He was still uncomfortable and you couldn't blame him for it. Offering him soup and letting him have a shower wouldn't be enough to earn his trust.

That night, you set up the couch nicely for Yeosang, giving him one of your softest pillows and a large fuzzy throw blanket. You lingered for a moment to make sure he settled in before slowly inching away.

"Goodnight, Yeosang. As always, if you need anything, just let me know." You extended the offer once more before reluctantly turning to head down the hallway.

The room was cloaked in a dim light from the moon outside the window. It had been about fifteen minutes since you left the living room and you couldn't stop thinking about the deer hybrid, worried that he might not be able to sleep. You tried to justify your actions of bringing him into an unfamiliar environment, telling yourself over and over again that he was in danger out in the woods all alone, and he willingly came home with you. So even though he didn't speak and was skittish, him following you back showed some semblance of trust, which was a relief.

The following morning, you got up and slowly walked into the living room, your bare feet shuffling against the floor. A faint smile of relief settled onto your features when you saw Yeosang sleeping peacefully on the couch. It was a welcomed sight and one that brought you some solace. You silently snuck into the kitchen to prepare breakfast, hoping your guest woke up with an appetite. You did your best to keep the noise to a minimum, mixing up pancake batter and getting the pan hot.

It wasn't until the four four similarly-sized cakes you'd spooned out started cooking that you heard the faint sound of footsteps. Glancing over, you saw a head of reddish brown hair and one eye peeking around the corner into the kitchen. When you spotted Yeosang, he ducked back around the corner.

"It's okay." You chuckled faintly. "Are you hungry?"

His antlers poked out, followed by the upper half of his head, one of his deer ears twitching slightly. At the question, he shuffled out and started heading over to the stove, coming to a stop a safe distance away while trying to get a look at what you were cooking.

"Have you ever had pancakes?"

His eyes met yours before moving back down to the pan and he nodded.

"Would you like anything in them?"

The expression on his face could only be described as surprised confusion.

"I can add stuff to the batter. Blueberries, bananas, chocolate chips."

At the mention of sweet chocolate, his eyes widened.

"You want chocolate chips?"

He nodded, almost as if he wasn't sure he was allowed to customize his breakfast despite you offering it. You promptly sprinkled some chocolate chips into the bowl of batter, returning to the partially cooked plain pancakes in the pan and flipping them over.

Yeosang stood by and watched your every move, looking on in interest as you spooned out batter and created somewhat circular pancakes.

You finished up the rest of the batter and plated the pancakes, giving three chocolate chip ones to Yeosang and then serving yourself, heading into the dining room.

"What would you like to drink? Apple juice, orange juice, milk, water?"

You had to watch Yeosang and wait for him to nod when you listed a particular beverage, getting the signal when you said milk.

"Good choice." You smiled.

When you came back with a glass of milk for him and your own drink of choice, you brought along a bottle of syrup for the pancakes. Yeosang was quick to reach out and discreetly take the bottle from where you set it, popping the cap and drizzling it over his pancakes.

As you ate, your gaze flickered up to look across the table at Yeosang who'd forked a small bite of his chocolate chip pancakes. You watched in silent anticipation as he raised the fluffy hotcake to his lips and took a bite, chewing it for a moment. His eyes brightened and a barely audible gasp could be heard from where you were seated, observing as he took another bite. Seeing him enjoy the things he ate brought you a sense of comfort and warmth, especially after knowing he'd been roaming the woods alone with little to no food.

You suppressed a giggle when you noticed Yeosang's lips smeared and speckled with melted chocolate from the pancakes.

His head jerked up at the sound, his wide brown eyes staring at you. You discreetly gestured to your own lips and he was quick to lick away the chocolate and grab a nearby napkin, wiping over his mouth for good measure.

"I'm glad you like it." You commented.

After a couple days, you decided Yeosang needed clothes, ones that weren't borrowed. Thankfully, after he showered that first time, you went to get his torn, stained garments and peeked at the tags to get his size before tossing them into the trash.

Yeosang's always vigilant and wide eyes followed you across the living room as you tossed your bag over your shoulder.

"I need to go buy you some new clothes." You told him, absentmindedly fiddling with your keys. "Are you going to be okay staying home alone for an hour?"

He stared at you, a response you often got any time you asked him something. He still wasn't talking.

"I'll lock the door when I leave." You mentioned.

Finally, Yeosang gave a little half nod.

"You can watch TV." You gestured.

His gaze followed the direction you pointed to, staring at the black screen. You could see that he didn't seem to know how to work the TV even though you'd watched it with him the day before, if you could even call it watching, he stayed pressed against the opposite side of the couch the whole time you were in the room.

"Here." You moved to turn on the TV, the last channel you were watching flashing up on the screen. You pressed a button and pulled up the massive list of channels. "You can watch whatever you want. Just pick one and press this big OK button." You demonstrated, placing the remote on the coffee table in front of him. "And you can have more chocolate bars if you want, just don't eat too many or you'll get sick."

Yeosang looked almost overwhelmed at everything and you didn't know if it was from all the information you were giving him or the freedom.

"I'll try to be back soon. Don't answer the door for anyone except me, okay?"

He nodded, his attention locked on you until you stepped out the door.

The house was quiet, save for whatever was playing on the TV. Yeosang glanced around the room, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he had your entire home to himself. He let whatever was already on continue playing, his foot tapping against the floor. He wasn't really watching it, his mind wandering as well as his eyes that drifted away from the images on the television and to the decor in your living room. He never really got a good look at it, too afraid to do so.

He finally got to his feet and headed over to a bookshelf beside the TV. It had a photo of you and who he assumed were your family placed on one of the upper shelves. He was able to pick you out right away. His fingertips traced the shape of the frame, looking at your gleaming grin. Other items on the shelf were pretty vases and little decorative geometrical sculptures. He slowly made his way around the room, looking at all the items and personalized pieces you had sitting about, familiarizing himself with the space.

Eventually, his curiosity led him to your bedroom, his bare feet padding across the hardwood towards your open door. There were many things that caught his eye when he entered, one being your little wall shelves with tiny items lined along them. He shuffled over to get a better look, liking how the fuzzy rug on your floor felt against his feet. There were cute little trinkets of all sorts and even pretty rocks placed neatly along the shelf. Amongst the tchotchkes were a couple framed photos of you and other people. You looked so happy in all of them. On the walls were posters and colorful pictures depicting different things, photos and cutouts, each one different but somehow having a cohesive appearance. Everything was fairly neat, your nightstand was a little piled up and your desk area had a few stationery supplies strewn along it, but besides that, your room was tidy.

As Yeosang looked around the space, he noticed something—you didn't have any dangerous things in your room. No weapons or plaques with animal heads or horns on them. Everything in your room was cozy and sweet... just like you.

Yeosang meandered around the rest of the house, biding his time by familiarizing himself with the place and sorting out how he felt about his current situation. He still didn't feel comfortable in this new environment, however, he did feel safer, even if he was a little scared. At least he didn't have to worry about hiding anymore or wondering where he was going to sleep.

Then there was you. Your behavior was the complete opposite of the other humans he'd encountered, and yet, he and his family were already betrayed once by people he trusted. He didn't want that to happen again, but it was difficult to keep his guard up when you were so caring.

Yeosang slowly picked up the remote and pressed the menu button, scrolling through the channels, trying to figure out what he wanted to watch. He wasn't familiar with TV shows or movies, only hearing about them, so he didn't know what he wanted to see. He clicked on a few different channels, moving on to another when he wasn't interested. His browsing came to a halt when he saw a man and a woman kissing. He gasped softly, his eyes glued to the screen. His heart thumped in his chest at the sight displayed before his wide-eyed gaze. He'd never kissed anyone before due to living a sheltered life in the woods, but he always imagined what it might be like. Yeosang absentmindedly licked his lips, wondering how yours might feel on his.

A noise outside snapped Yeosang out of his daze and he jumped to his feet, scurrying over to the window when he heard the sound of a car. His body went rigid when he saw a man get out and make his way up to the front door with something in his hands. Yeosang stepped away from the window so he couldn't be seen, backing up further when heavy footsteps thudded on the front porch and a couple quick knocks were given to the door.

Your words about not answering the door for anyone echoed in his mind. Yeosang froze up for a few seconds, listening carefully, his ears twitching. Then, slowly, he creeped back to the window to see the man getting back into his vehicle and driving off down the road.

Yeosang spent the rest of his time running back and forth from the couch to the living room window, jumping at every little noise he heard, thinking it was that man coming back, but it never was. He attempted to distract himself with whatever he found on TV that caught his interest.

After what felt like hours, the sound of the lock clicking announced your presence before you even stepped inside the house. Your arms were laden with multiple shopping bags and you had a small box in your hand.

"I'm back." You announced, not missing the way Yeosang seemed to perk up at your return. "I found a package on the porch. I hope the mailman didn't startle you while I was gone."

Yeosang blinked in realization. The mailman. He didn't get mail back home, so he didn't know that's who that man was and immediately assumed he was there to harm him.

"Anyway, I got you clothes." You smiled, setting the bags down on the coffee table. "You wanna take a look?"

Yeosang leaned forward, his eyes meeting yours, then dropping down to the plastic shopping bags and carefully reaching inside one of them. He pulled out a plain-colored t-shirt, a black tank top, and two pairs of sweatpants, one black, one gray. He proceeded to the second bag and found a couple pairs of jeans and three more shirts, one of them long sleeved. Finally, in the last bag were socks, boxers, and a simple pair of shoes.

"I just got you the necessities." You murmured, hoping you didn't go overboard. "And I didn't know what style of clothes you liked so I kept it simple. I hope that's okay."

It was more than okay. Yeosang was only expecting an extra set of clothes, maybe two. He felt like he didn't deserve it, but he knew he couldn't decline, especially not when you were staring at him with expectant eyes glimmering with hope.

"Do you want to shower and change into a fresh set of clothes?" You asked, making him glance down at the borrowed garments he currently had on.

He nodded and chose what he wanted to wear, following you towards the bathroom where you got him out a towel and washcloth like last time.

"If you ever want to shower, you can. This bathroom is yours just as much as it is mine." You told him.

He set his fresh clothes on the closed toilet lid with his towel, trying to imagine coming into the bathroom whenever he wanted to bathe.

"I'll leave you to it." You excused yourself, pulling the door shut behind you.

You went back to the living room and removed the rest of Yeosang's new clothes from their bags, tossing them into the washing machine, busying yourself by washing dishes from breakfast earlier that day. One thing you'd learned about the skittish deer hybrid in the last four days was that he loved chocolate. You weren't sure what his living situation was like prior to you finding him, but it was obvious he wasn't familiar with most foods or technology. This led you to believe he'd lived away from society for most of his life, though if that was the case, how did he get clothes?

As you pondered explanations, you didn't notice Yeosang enter the room.

You flinched after spotting him in your peripherals, your hand coming up to clutch your chest.

"You startled me." You exhaled, taking in his appearance, your already racing heart jumping into your throat.

Yeosang was wearing the black tank top, the fabric clinging to him and accentuating the shape of his body as well as showing off his incredibly muscular arms. On the upper parts of his shoulders and biceps were speckles of white, like those on a baby deer; that little detail was enough to lessen the shock that his physique caused, but you still couldn't tear your eyes away. His face definitely didn't match his body.

"The clothes look nice." You finally managed to speak, realizing you'd been staring for too long. "I'm glad they fit."

Yeosang nodded and tugged his gray sweatpants up a bit, glancing down at the outfit, one of his deer ears twitching slightly, still damp from his shower.

"Do you like them?"

He gave a little nod in response, making a sense of pride fill your chest.

A week passed and Yeosang still wasn’t speaking. He only communicated with nods or shakes of his head. He'd flinch away sometimes when you held something towards him and continued to keep his distance for the most part, only standing near you when you were cooking. He seemed to be interested in that.

You were laid in bed, snuggled into your pillow with the covers pulled up and bunched around your neck, just how you liked it. Slow and relaxed breaths slipped past your parted lips as you slept, unaware of what was transpiring in the living room.

While you rested peacefully, Yeosang was the complete opposite. He'd woken up with a start, his chest heaving up and down, sweat perspiring along his forehead. His hands trembled as he recalled vivid images of the two humans that tried to hunt him down, the haunting images flashing in his mind. His heart thudded violently against his rib cage, his entire body riddled with panic as a tiny whimper slipped out of him.

He sat upright, grabbing his pillow and getting off the couch, his feet moving on their own down the hall. He stopped just outside your bedroom, staring into it.

If you need anything, just let me know. Those were the words you said to him every night before you went to bed, telling him to come get you if anything was wrong. Without thinking twice, he entered your room and stood by your bed, reaching out to gently tap your shoulder. You stirred in your slumber and he tapped you once more for good measure. Your eyes opened and you were greeted by the sight of Yeosang standing at your bedside clutching his pillow, his eyes wide, brows pulled together in an anxious manner, and his entire body trembling like a leaf.

"Yeosang?" You uttered hoarsely. "Are you okay?"

He shook his head vigorously and your heart sank. The covers on the opposite side of your bed were pulled back and you beckoned Yeosang over.

"Come on."

He stared at you for only a moment before skittering over and placing his pillow on the bed, sliding underneath the covers. In order to keep him comfortable, you stayed put on your side of the bed, even though every part of you was screaming to hold the poor guy and comfort him.

"Did you have a bad dream?" You inquired softly.

In the dim lighting, you saw him nod.

"I'm sorry." You paused, chewing your lip. If you knew what it was he dreamt about, you'd be able to console him, but for now you'd have to assume it was about something he experienced prior to you rescuing him. "Whatever it was, it wasn't real. It was just a dream, maybe something that stemmed from a bad experience. You're okay though. You're safe. No one's gonna hurt you. I won't hurt you."

Yeosang swallowed thickly, the light from the moon outside catching on his glossy eyes and you weren't sure if he was tearing up because of your words or the fear coursing through him.

"Everything's okay." You soothed, your hand moving towards him only to freeze, reminding yourself to keep a distance. "Whatever happened in your nightmare wasn't real."

He released a shaky exhale, his hands gripping the covers to ground himself to reality. You laid there watching him for minutes, wishing you could hug him or something.

"You gonna be okay?" You inquired faintly.

He let out a little hum and nodded. He'd never hummed in acknowledgement before.

You awoke the next morning to find Yeosang sleeping peacefully beside you and it appeared that he was closer than what you remembered. He was laid on his side, one of his ears twitching softly in his slumber. His hair was slightly messy, his head turned slightly in a way that his antlers didn't press into the pillow. You had the urge to reach out and touch them, but pushed it down, knowing he'd hate it.

Instead of waking him, you decided to get up and make breakfast in hopes to cheer him up after the rough night he had. As you slid discreetly out of the bed, Yeosang woke up, his breath hitching sharply as his head abruptly lifted up from the pillow. He had a look of panic in his eyes, his hand only halfway moving towards you, almost as if to stop you.

"Are you okay?"

He nodded.

"I didn't mean to startle you. I was just going to make breakfast."

His round eyes drifted back to your spot on the bed, his hand retracting as he gave a single nod.

That first night wasn't the only time Yeosang came to your room. He slept on the couch the following night and seemed fine, but ended up shuffling through your bedroom doorway the night after with a pillow clutched in his arms. It surprised you when he willingly showed up a second time, especially since he still displayed skittish behaviors with you. When you asked if he had another bad dream, he shook his head.

"You just can't sleep?" You had asked him, to which he nodded.

Of course, you allowed him to join you once more, still keeping your distance to accommodate him.

The third time it happened, you were telling him goodnight and making sure he was settled in, but he wouldn't lie down. He just kept sitting, like he was hesitant to even attempt to get comfortable. That's when you offered to share your bed again. To your astonishment, he agreed. Since then, he started sleeping with you regularly, no longer comfortable on the couch.

On one hand, you worried that he'd been uncomfortable on the sofa the whole time and didn't say anything about it, but on the other, his willingness to sleep in the same bed as you meant you'd finally built some trust with him, which was a good sign.

Yeosang shimmed underneath the sheets and covers, adjusting himself to where he could rest comfortably. It was a pattern you started to become accustomed to.

"I'm sorry if the couch wasn't comfortable. I could've made you a pallet on my floor with blankets if you would've preferred."

He was quick to shake his head dismissively, bringing you a bit of relief knowing he wasn't uncomfortable on the sofa. That meant he preferred sleeping in your bed, which made your chest warm.

You gave him a brief closed-mouth smile, turning your head back to stare at the ceiling.

"I know it's only been a couple weeks now, but I'm glad you're starting to trust me—or at least I hope you are." You closed your eyes, letting out a relaxed sigh. "Goodnight."

Yeosang hummed in response, shifting just a little before going still.

You were abruptly awoken from your deep slumber a couple hours after drifting off by small sounds of distress coming from the opposite side of the bed. You instantly turned to check on Yeosang, only to find him tossing his head back and forth, his expression twisted in anguish. He was having another bad dream.

You reached over to gently tap his arm, not wanting to startle him awake.

"Yeosang." You whispered.

Another tiny noise left him and he flinched.

"Yeosang, wake up."

You placed your hand on his arm, giving him a gentle shake. At the light touch of your hand, his eyes flew open and he sat bolt upright, chest rising and falling quickly as his breathing started to become panicky. He looked around the room with wide, fearful eyes, trying to make out his surroundings.

"It's okay." You soothed in an attempt to steady his breathing. "You're okay. It was just another bad dream."

His frantic eyes met yours, his breathing slowing just a fraction at your words. Still, it was clear he was dealing with the remnants of his nightmare and a faint whimper escaped him, the sound making your chest ache.

Without giving it a second thought, you opened your arms to him, unable to let him go through this again without comforting him. The first time, you were mindful of his distrust towards you, but this time all you cared about was making sure he was alright.

"Come here." You beckoned gently.

His breathing was still ragged, ears tilted down slightly in a fearful and submissive manner. As soon as he processed your open arms, he dove in and wrapped his own around you, tucking his face into the crook of your neck, being sure to avoid poking you with his antlers. His entire body trembled as he clung to you, making your heart squeeze with a bitter mix of pity and sympathy.

"It's okay." You cooed, cautiously sliding your arms around him, rubbing his back in a soothing manner. "You're okay. I'm here."

A choked noise left Yeosang, his nose pressing further against your neck. A lump formed in your throat and you had to swallow it down, fighting back tears that threatened to well up in your misty eyes. Just what kind of horrible things did he experience that caused him to be plagued with nightmares?

You tugged the comforter up a little higher to make sure it was covering Yeosang before proceeding with your gentle and calming ministrations. His breathing had evened out a little at that point, but you didn't dare stop comforting him. Your hand moved up his back and into his hair, only combing through the back of it, steering clear of his ears and antlers, assuming it might make him uncomfortable if you touched them.

When you tried to readjust your position to get more comfortable, Yeosang's hold on you tightened and his body tensed in panic, making your heart shatter.

"I'm not leaving." You assured him. "Just readjusting."

With your reassurance, his hold loosened just enough for you to get situated. You let out a faint sigh, closing your eyes and continuing to card your fingers through his soft locks, listening to his breathing even out. Knowing he was beginning to calm down diminished your worries and you could only hope that he'd be able to rest easy now.

Your gentle caresses along Yeosang's back and through his hair slowed as you started drifting off back to sleep, your movements stopping completely after some time.

It was the warm rays of sun that stirred you from your slumber the following morning and a comforting weight on your chest that reminded you of what took place the night before. Your bleary eyes peeled open, squinting at the golden streams of sunlight illuminating your bedroom, blinking a few times to adjust to it before trailing down to the hybrid sleeping on you. Yeosang looked so tranquil, his eyes closed, lashes resting delicately on his cheeks as slow and deep breaths pushed past his slightly parted lips, that pretty birthmark on full display. He was breathtaking and it wasn't something you were just noticing. From day one, you found Yeosang to be mesmerizingly beautiful, his facial features almost too perfect, something you could only categorize as angelic or ethereal.

As if he sensed you were staring, his lids opened, his gentle chocolatey irises landing on you. You smiled at him in greeting, your eyes crinkling slightly.

"Pretty." Yeosang uttered softly under his breath.

The word barely reached your ears and your brows raised in astonishment, but instead of being shocked that he spoke, you were more focused on the heat that made its way to your cheeks in response to that single word.

"Thank you."

Yeosang blinked, visibly surprised that you heard him, both of you slightly flustered in your own ways.

"Did you rest well?" You asked, changing the subject, your voice hoarse from sleeping.

He nodded.

"Good. I was worried about you." You spoke softly. "I can go make breakfast if you're hungry."

The expression on his face let you know he was open to that.

"Anything specific you want? You seem to love chocolate chip pancakes."

At the mention of the sweet hot cakes, Yeosang nodded eagerly, not trying to conceal or downplay his enthusiasm for once.

"I'll go get started. You can stay in bed if you want or you can come watch. It's up to you."

As you left the room and rounded the corner, the faint shuffling of bare feet followed behind you, the edges of your mouth twitching upward into a half smile. Even if he didn't show it, Yeosang liked being near you, or at the very least in the same space as you, especially lately.

He watched from a few feet away as you mixed up the pancake batter, dropping chocolate chips into it. You pushed the bag of sweet morsels towards him in a silent offering. His eyes met yours as if to ask permission, to which you nodded. He cupped his hand and let you shake out a few from the bag for him. As you flipped the pancakes, you couldn't help but let your eyes steal glances at Yeosang while he ate the chocolate chips in an adorably discreetly manner. You allowed him to snack a little while you cooked, piling up three warm pancakes onto a plate for him.

You sat by Yeosang at the dining table, eating your own breakfast that you prepared for yourself, watching him chew a small bite of pancake, smudges of chocolate on his pretty lips.

"Yesoang." You chuckled softly, taking a napkin and wiping the corner of his mouth without giving it a second thought.

He flinched at your touch, gasping soundlessly and freezing up.

"Oh." You pulled your hand away. "Sorry. You had some chocolate on your face."

His human ears turned a faint rosy hue along with the apples of his cheeks as he averted his gaze and continued to eat in silence. You were left to simmer in your embarrassment and self-chastising, knowing you overstepped by getting in his personal space. You shifted awkwardly in your chair, taking a sip of your drink in hopes that it would wash away your humiliation.

"I... really like the indoor rain." Yeosang spoke suddenly, staring down at his plate, cutting up the remainder of his pancakes.

It was the first time you'd been able to properly hear his voice. He was soft-spoken, but the timbre was low and smooth like silk, almost melodic in a way.

"Indoor rain?" You echoed his words in confusion, blinking out of the little daze you were put in by his mesmerizing voice. "Oh. The shower."

He nodded.

"So you haven't used a shower before?"

He shook his head, answering softly, "We used the stream."

We. So he did have a family, or had, and he did live in the woods.

"The stream." You parroted, nodding.

This was a huge breakthrough. Yeosang was talking. Not only that, but he was giving you little fragments of his life.

The rest of breakfast was quiet, which was fine. You didn't expect Yeosang to immediately start chattering right away and was willing to give him time to fully open up.

A few days passed and Yeosang spoke a little here and there, muttering one or two word responses in an indistinct tone. He didn't divulge any more information about himself, which only confirmed your assumption that he would only share when comfortable.

It was a relaxed Friday evening and you were stood in front of the stove cooking chicken for dinner, some vegetables roasting in another pan.

"I used to have this a lot." He spoke up, taking you by surprise.

"This? In the woods?"

He nodded.

This information caused questions to form in your mind, piling up with the other ones.

"So you had a garden?"

He hummed, giving a single nod of his head, watching the meat sizzle in the pan.

"And the chicken? Where'd that come from?"

"Outside." Was all he said.

"Outside?"

He didn't elaborate on that, so you decided to let it go for now. Yeosang had already said everything he wanted to and you weren't going to push it.

Dinner was mostly quiet, save for Yeosang's small hums of appreciation as he ate. Afterwards, you cleaned up the kitchen and washed the dishes while Yeosang sat in the living room watching TV, hugging a pillow to his chest. Every so often you'd glance out into the area to check on him, happy to see that he was comfortably seated and not sitting stiffly like he was for the first week he was here.

You stepped into the living room, wiping your hands on your sweatpants before dropping onto the couch with a huff.

"Alright. Kitchen's clean." You announced, your eyes drifting to the TV where a Korean drama played, something he watched often when he was left in the living room. "You sure do like these shows."

Yeosang's deer ears lowered slightly in embarrassment.

"I can't say I blame you. They're addicting." You chuckled. "A little cheesy sometimes, but there's something about it that keeps you hooked. Ah. Here's one now."

Yeosang turned back to the screen, watching one of those "cheesy scenes" you spoke about where the female lead was in a bedroom with the male, the atmosphere romantic, but the both of them not acting on anything. Naturally, the girl stumbled backwards and ended up on the bed with the man collapsing on top because she grabbed him for stability.

Yeosang's eyes became rounder, his ears flicking and twitching as a rosy hue painted his cheeks.

The male lead hovered over the female, their gazes locked on one another as the space between their faces slowly diminished. Then, just when their lips were about to touch, the female's phone rang, causing the two to scramble away from each other.

Yeosang gripped the pillow tighter in his arms, letting out a noise of protest which made you start giggling.

"I knew that was gonna happen. It always does." You huffed out.

Yeosang turned to you with brows tugged together in shock.

"Yeah. That happens a lot." You told him.

He whined a little, dropping his face into the pillow.

Commercials started playing and the sound of a female voice narrating an ad for vacation homes filled the room.

"Maybe you'd like an island paradise at a luxurious beach resort, or maybe you'd prefer a relaxing stay in a cozy woodland cabin."

Yeosang's head raised from the pillow, watching the television screen where a mother, father, and their son were sitting by a campfire in front of the cabin. You noticed his attention glued to the TV, a look of longing in his eyes.

"I miss home" He uttered, his soft voice coming out quietly.

His words squeezed your chest, making your heart ache dully.

"Did you have a house?"

"A cottage. I lived with my parents. I was happy there."

You frowned, waiting to see if he would continue.

"We had friends, human ones. They'd bring us stuff from town so we didn't have to leave home. That's how we got chicken."

Now you knew what he meant when he said "outside" earlier.

"Why didn't you want to leave? Hybrids are accepted into society now."

"My parents didn't trust them, but we trusted our friends." He shook his head, making a knot form in the pit of your stomach.

"They betrayed you—didn't they?" You asked faintly, sendsing that things were about to take a sour turn.

He nodded. "Mean hunters found us. They wanted my antlers... wanted my dad's antlers."

You pressed your lips together, sighing heavily through your nostrils.

"We were so scared." He murmured, clutching the pillow tightly in his arms. "They told me to run."

"Who told you to run?" You inquired gently, hoping to coax an answer out of him.

"My parents."

"And are they..." You trailed off, hesitant to ask such a sensitive question.

"They were trapped."

"So you don't know if they're..." Your sentence went unfinished again and he shrugged.

"I'm sorry." You whispered. "I'm so sorry. That's cruel and twisted."

Yeosang swallowed thickly, adjusting his hold on the throw pillow still hugged tightly to his chest.

"If it's any consolation, most humans would never treat a hybrid like an animal. I know that's probably hard for you to believe, especially since you've had bad experiences with humans, but there are good people out there."

His gentle gaze met yours. "Like you?"

A strong emotion you couldn't put a name to rose in your throat, your face getting warm.

"Y-yeah... like me." You nodded.

Somehow, you ended up back in the kitchen, baking a chocolate cake. You needed something to take your mind off Yeosang's flustering words, and yet, he was the one you were making the cake for, thinking he needed a mood-booster after discussing his traumatic experiences. Naturally, the smell attracted him to the kitchen, luring him in like a moth to a flame. He squatted in front of the oven, staring inside, his little tail flicking in fascination behind him. You suppressed a chortle, leaning against the cabinets.

"You've never had cake before, have you?"

He glanced over his shoulder at you before turning back to observe the sweet treat, shaking his head in response.

"You love chocolate, so you'll love cake, especially this one."

He stayed in the kitchen with you for the remainder of the wait time and even watched you ice the cake.

"Would you like to try?" You asked, holding out the butter knife.

Yeosang slowly reached out to take it, following the steps he'd seen you carry out, scooping out some chocolate icing and slathering it on the cake. His eyes were focused, his lips pursed in concentration as he spread the sugary substance messily across the surface of the dessert.

A fond smile graced your lips. "Good job."

He flushed at your praise, struggling to finish icing the cake before stepping away with a faint but proud grin.

Just as the sun began to set, you stepped out on the back patio, sitting on the concrete stones that made up the platform, a fresh slice of cake in hand. Your conversation with Yeosang played on repeat in your head as you took a bite, chewing quietly. You finally got his story, or most of it, at least. It was heart-wrenching and you didn't even hear the details. Whatever you assumed had happened to Yeosang was so much worse. He was told to run and he did, hiding out in the woods for who knows how long. He never said.

The faint creak of the back door opening caused you to turn your head. Yeosang stepped out onto the patio, outside for the first time in three weeks. He lowered himself to sit beside you, crossing his legs and staring up at the blue and purple-streaked sky.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" You uttered softly.

Yeosang nodded, taking in a deep breath of fresh air, letting it fill his lungs.

"How's the cake?" You asked, gesturing to his sizable slice which already had a chunk taken out of it.

He smiled softly and nodded. "Good."

It was nice to have him respond verbally instead of silently, reminding you of the progress that had been made.

As usual, Yeosang got a little messy with the cake, chocolate icing clinging to the corners of his lips in the most endearing way.

"You've got a little something here." You gestured to your own mouth to indicate that he had food stuck there.

He blinked at you with his large eyes and leaned forward a bit, a look of expectance on his face. That's when you realized he was waiting for you to clean it for him. That awareness was enough to make your cheeks warm, but you ignored it and reached for a napkin you brought outside, using it to gently wipe the edges of his mouth. He smiled shyly afterwards, going back to eating his cake in silence.

Minutes later, your empty plates sat idly on the concrete patio, both yours and Yeosang's gazes on the sky, which was now streaked with vibrant hues of purple, blue, and pink. As stunning as the sight was, your attention drifted elsewhere, your eyes slowly moving to Yeosang, roving over his captivating side profile and antlers. He seemed to pick up on your staring, his head turning a fraction in your direction.

"Sorry." You muttered an apology. "I didn't mean to stare."

Something in the air between you two shifted after that and no matter how much you tried to ignore your feelings or push them away, they were there. You spent the rest of the evening suppressing those unfamiliar emotions swirling in your chest. It didn't help that Yeosang had gotten cuddlier at night, opting to snuggle as close as he could to you. You brought a hand up to caress his hair, your fingers barely brushed one of his ears which twitched in response.

"Oh. Sorry."

Instead of pulling away, he responded by nuzzling closer, silently encouraging you to continue. You carefully let your fingertips rub at the base of his ears, a sigh leaving Yeosang's lips in response, letting you know it felt nice.

Little by little, your hand migrated up towards the base of his antlers. You knew you were probably pushing it, but you wanted to see how far he'd let you go. With the faintest touch, you brushed your fingertips along the smooth bone of his antlers, tracing up from where they emerged from his hair. He tensed imperceptibly before relaxing again.

"They're very pretty." You uttered faintly, tracing the shape of his antlers. "And they belong right where they are."

You couldn't see it, but Yeosang smiled, letting out a short huff of laughter, your words causing an uptick in his pulse, your touch lulling him to sleep.

"Cake again?" You asked with a small grin, joining Yeosang on the couch.

Since baking the confection the day before, he'd helped himself to it, already on his third slice.

He nodded, licking icing off his lips.

"I'm glad you like it." You said with a pleased smile. "Just don't eat too much. You'll get a stomachache."

He hummed in acknowledgement and took another bite, closing his eyes in bliss.

Yeosang finished the rest of his treat, moving to set his empty plate down, which you were quick to take from him, going to the kitchen to wash it. When you returned, you dropped back onto the couch cushions, chuckling at the sight of Yesoang rubbing his stomach.

"Full?"

He nodded with the faintest hint of a smile.

You settled against the back of the sofa and watched the TV contently, happy to be able to sit like this with Yeosang.

It wasn't until you felt a hand tentatively placed on yours that your attention pulled away from whatever was on the screen. Yeosang was chewing his bottom lip, his cheeks painted with a touch of blush, fingers curling around yours. Your gaze flickered down to your joined hands, a swirl of something pleasant flaring in your gut at the sensation it brought on.

"Thank you." He uttered softly. "I never said it."

"You didn't have to." You shook your head.

"I wanted to." He murmured. "You've done so much for me."

"You deserve it. You've been through a lot."

His gaze softened at your kind words, his gentle eyes moving over your features, lingering on your lips for a fleeting moment. That alone made your heart jump, the air suddenly charged with tension as you stole a glance at his lips in return. As if he was hesitant about his own actions, he leaned in a fraction, but stopped.

"It's okay." Your voice lowered to a whisper.

As the space between your faces diminished, Yeosang's eyes darted down to your phone sitting idly at your side. He was quick to snag it and shove it between the couch cushions.

You chuckled amusedly at his actions.

"Don't worry." You assured him. "That won't interrupt us."

His face moved closer to yours, inch by inch until his soft lips finally laid themselves upon yours. The sensation that followed had your breath hitching softly, his lips like velvet against your own, kissing tentatively. You brought your free hand up to his cheek to cup it lovingly, the touch making Yeosang hum and lean closer. His hand released yours only to hover in the air, his actions full of uncertainty.

You parted ways long enough to gently take his wrist and guide his hand to cup the back of your neck, moving the other to your hip.

"Here." You told him.

He smiled softly. "I've never done this."

"It's okay." You whispered, leaning back in to kiss him, this time with more passion and confidence.

His hold on you tightened and he scooted closer, craving the proximity. A cluster of butterflies tickled your stomach, a flurry of sensations overwhelming you in the best way possible. Kissing Yeosang was quite the experience and you didn't want to stop, both hands sliding into his hair, brushing past the base of his ears, eliciting a deep sigh from him, his warm breath fanning your lips, adding to the array of pleasant sensations you were experiencing. Deciding to push the envelope a bit, you applied pressure to the base of Yeosang's ears, massaging them as you kissed him. A low noise escaped the back of his throat, vibrating against your lips, his hold on your waist tightening.

You parted ways with him, your breaths coming out in short bursts, mingling with Yeosang's.

"Wow." You breathed out.

"Are you... my girlfriend now?" Yeosang asked softly.

The innocence in his tone made you giggle.

"Yes. I suppose I am—if you want me to be."

He was already nodding eagerly before you could get the sentence out. You beamed giddily, cupping his cheek. The Yeosang before you was a far cry from the one you found in the woods trapped in a net.

"And I'm your boyfriend?" He inquired tentatively.

"Yes. Yes, you are."

"I'm heading to the grocery store. Would you like anything?" You asked, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

Yeosang shifted in his spot on the couch, wrapped in a fuzzy throw blanket, pursing his lips in thought.

"More chocolate chips?" He asked, chewing his lip bashfully.

"Noted." You chuckled. "I'll be back soon."

As you twisted the doorknob, you paused.

"You sure you don't wanna tag along?"

He shook his head. "Not ready."

You understood, nodding. "Alright. I'll be back soon."

The grocery store trip would be brief, as you didn't have many things to pick up. Some instant ramen, snack foods, and the chocolate chips Yeosang wanted more of—he'd been snacking on those a lot. You were about to get in line to check out when you spotted a candy bar display, reminding you that you'd run out of them recently, as that was another thing Yeosang liked to eat. You took a few off the display, your attention drawn to a bulletin board on the wall above the candy rack. An array of papers and fliers were pinned to the board, including one in particular that grabbed your attention. A hybrid rescue facility. You didn't have any groceries that needed to be put into the fridge or freezer, so you made a mental note to stop by on the way home.

Your car rolled to a gradual halt at the curb and you stepped out onto the street, approaching the hybrid rescue facility, bold letters announcing the company's name plastered on the windows of the storefront. You were only there to check it out and see how legitimate the business was, stepping inside to take a look around. By the entrance was a display holding brochures. As you were reading over an informational pamphlet, the sound of fretful voices grabbed your attention. You raised your head and glanced over your shoulder to see who was speaking. Standing just a few feet away was a male deer hybrid with partially grown antlers and a female deer hybrid beside him, they were both speaking frantically with an employee from the facility, but you couldn't make out what was being said. Both hybrids were wearing clothes that were ripped and stained, indicating they'd been in a pretty bad situation before their arrival here.

Your eyes widened in disbelief, your heart leaping into your throat. Could it be?

"Excuse me." You spoke up, cautiously approaching the two hybrids who turned towards you with curious expressions.

"I don't mean to bother you, but would either of you happen to know a deer hybrid named Yeosang?"

The man and woman's eyes widened.

"Yeosang? You know our Yeosang?" The woman asked, her tone carrying a mix of relief and panic.

"Yes." You nodded. "I rescued him from the woods a month ago. He's at my house right now."

"A month ago?" The man echoed in surprise.

"Yes. I can take you to him right now."

"I'm sorry, but they need to stay here and be processed." The employee cut in.

"Then I'll bring him to you." You promised the parents, heading towards the door.

Yeosang was startled by your abrupt entrance and the way you rushed inside, tossing the groceries haphazardly onto the kitchen counter.

"I know you said you weren't ready to leave the house yet, but you have to come with me." You told him.

"Why?"

"I found your parents."

His expression fell into one of utter disbelief.

"They're... they're okay?"

You nodded. "They're at a hybrid rescue facility in town."

Yeosang wiggled his way out of the blanket burrito he was in, shoving the fabric aside as he got to his feet, fumbling to slide on his shoes. He followed you out to your car, which you had to help him with since he hadn't been in one before. You started the engine and took off back towards town.

"How did you find them?" He asked, staring ahead at the road.

"I was at the grocery store and saw a flier for a hybrid rescue facility. I was curious, so I decided to stop by and when I went inside, they were there. It seemed like they were just rescued."

"How did they look?"

"Frantic, but unharmed."

He sighed in relief, swallowing down the lump that rose up in his throat, he was feeling so many emotions at once.

You hardly had time to park at the facility before Yeosang was wrestling with his seatbelt, trying to get out.

"I got you." You assured, clicking the buckle out of place for him.

As soon as he was freed, he started trying to open the door, his hand moving over the inside. You unbuckled yourself and hopped out of the car to help him, hurrying after the hybrid as he took off ahead of you and entered the building. Scrambling in behind him, you saw the way his frantic eyes scanned over the lobby, landing on his parents who were now seated off to the side wrapped in blankets and speaking to the same employee you saw earlier.

"Yesoang." His mother cried out, rushing forward to embrace him in a hug.

His father did the same, his arms wrapping tightly around his son.

You were overcome with emotion at the touching reunion, watching as they clung to one another. You kept your distance, letting them have their moment, talking amongst themselves and catching up after being apart.

"What happened to you guys?" Yeosang asked them.

"After you ran off, I made a deal with the hunters." His dad said. "I'd give them my antlers if they didn't harm your mother."

Yeosang's tearful eyes met those of his father, traveling up to his antlers that were in the process of growing back. "How did you get out?"

"Employees from the facility were searching the woods for hybrids living off the grid. They found your father and I in the shed those hunters kept us in." His mom's gaze became distant, a frown etching onto her features. "We were treated like animals, barely fed and kept around just so they could saw off your father's antlers and sell them."

Overhearing the conversation, you frowned, broken by his mother's recollection of events.

"The nice people here saved us though." His father added. "They called authorities and got those hunters locked away. We've been speaking with a lady and she's assured us that the facility is going to help us get back to normal life."

Yeosang smiled. "That's great." His gaze then moved to you.

He stepped away from his parents, gently taking your arm and bringing you over.

"This is Y/n. She saved me." He chewed his bottom lip, his fingers finding yours and sliding into your palm, curling around it. "She means a lot to me."

Yeosang's parents smiled warmly.

"Thank you for bringing him to us and taking care of him." The gratitude in his mom's voice was palpable and made your heart swell, a feeling of gratification warming your chest.

You returned the grin. "Of course. It was the right thing to do."

"So," You began, turning to address Yeosang now. "I guess this means you'll be moving back to the woods?"

That familiar look of panic flashed across his features and he shook his head, squeezing your hand. "I wanna stay with you." He muttered before turning to his parents with pleading eyes.

Having Yeosang continue living with you was all you wanted, but it depended on his parents and how they felt about that.

His dad laughed. "Your mom and I will be fine on our own. You don't have to worry about us."

Yeosang beamed brightly, his eyes glimmering with unadulterated joy, vowing to visit them often and check in from time to time.

The sun was shining brightly, warming your skin with its brilliant rays. You shielded your eyes and stared out at the tree line patiently, standing out on your back patio. The man you'd been waiting for emerged from the clusters of evergreens, carrying a basket over his arm.

"Hello." You greeted.

"Hi, pretty." Yeosang responded, his cheeks dusted pink at his own use of the pet name. He was a little shy about it, but wanted to try out something new. "Mom really liked those chocolate chips you sent. She wanted me to bring some muffins back. She's been learning new recipes."

"How sweet." You grinned, heading inside.

Two weeks had passed since Yeosang was reunited with his parents. They were taken back to their old home in the woods and were provided assistance from the rescue facility to return to their old life. They even went into town on their own to get groceries. Yeosang had changed a lot too. He was now having full conversations with you, still a little on the bashful side at times, but making progress.

"How are your parents?" You asked, stepping inside the house.

"They're good. They're happy to be back home again."

"That's great news."

"Oh. Mom said she'd like for you to come visit next time." Yeosang told you, placing the basket of muffins on the kitchen counter.

"I'd like that a lot. I'm curious to see where you used to live."

He chuckled and came up to wrap his arms around you, gently nuzzling his nose into your hair. "Thank you again for everything. I don't know where I'd be if you hadn't rescued me."

A warm rush of adoration spread throughout your chest at his grateful words.

"You know, after I saw you in the meadow for the first time, I kept coming back to look for you."

He raised his head, his widening eyes met yours, rounded with surprise, but full of reverence.

"I'm sorry I ran away." He apologized.

"There's no reason to be sorry. You were wary of humans and rightfully so."

"If you weren't so persistent in finding me, I would've never met you. Thank you."

You smiled, turning your head to press a kiss to his cheek, your lips lingering on his skin. "And I'd do it all over again."

Masterlist ᝰ — enjoyed this imagine? reblogs & comments are very much appreciated!

DO NOT steal, plagiarize, copy, repost, alter, or translate my works in any way

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[hcneymooners]

IDK IF MY OG ASK GOT SENT BUT it my bday today hehe i would rlly love an sfw fic w ambessa.. any trope/storyline would be great cus i love anything u write hehehehehehe

⋆ let me see you and stay.

wife!ambessa x wife!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: it's your birthday, which means it's the most important day of your life—and ambessa's. after all, this is the day that the love of her life was born.

cw: age difference, older woman/younger woman, soft!ambessa, fluff, modern au! this is a drabble. notes: happy (belated) birthday to you, my angel girl. i love capricorns so much, and i adore you in general. this is short, but i didn't want to make you wait any longer! i hope this fills with you all the love and warmth you deserve. giving you a million kisses and a huge hug. i hope your day was perfect, mama.

your birthday had never been something you held many expectations for. you simply woke up, blinked gently into the new day, and found that you were older.  

this meant that, to celebrate you, ambessa had to plan carefully. you were a clever, meticulous thing and would’ve told her that it was all too much. but she also knew you needed it. too often, you were torn away from her and the people you loved, your feet traipsing across the globe with barely a moment to rest.  

it didn’t help that your birthday fell during the busiest season of the year. people became trapped in the suffocating whirlwind of the holidays, and by the time your day arrived, they were tired, forgetful, slow. messages trickled in around noon, long after the morning had already left you sad. you’d learned to cope by sleeping late, letting the hours pass you by until the world remembered.  

but with ambessa, it would be different.

she had decided this from the moment she met you—that evening at an art gallery, when you’d mentioned in passing that you’d tucked another year under your belt and had decided to take yourself out. the way you glanced at her, wide-eyed and melting into your opulent evening gown, had stayed with her ever since. she’d known two things then: that she would only ever love you this deeply for the rest of your life, and that she would do anything to please you.  

the past few weeks had been a headache of coordination, a collaboration with only the best. the grand celebration was set for later that evening, but the morning was hers alone to give you. your phone sat in her office, plugged into its charger and safely away from your anxious hands. she didn’t want you repeating the ritual of tapping the screen awake only to meet the stillness of time and belated notifications.  

the sun crept into the room silently, like a child sneaking into bed with their parents. ambessa hadn’t opened the curtains fully, letting the light filter in gauzily through the fabric. beside her, your body rose and fell in soft rhythm, your hair pillowed around you, errant curls kissing at your cheeks and mouth.  

she turned toward you carefully, her movements measured. leaning in, she began to press soft kisses wherever she could reach—your forehead, the nape of your neck, the delicate line of your spine, the tender curve of your chest. your body stirred beneath her affection, and she watched your eyelashes flutter like birds as you slowly began to wake. 

she didn’t rush you, only gathered you into her lap as she leaned back against the headboard.  

you were beautiful, curled into her, your hands in loose fists near your chest. younger than her by far—a scandal she had endured with unflinching resolve—but now she could see time leaving its marks on you. the faint stretch of skin along your hips, the softening of your nose, the deepening lines near your eyes. she adored all of it.  

you had upended her life, burrowed into her heart so completely that she knew she could never purge you. as if she would ever want to. to kiss your mouth, to feel your skin, to hear your voice—it had renewed her faith in life, in people, in the possibility of a beautiful life.  

a low groan escaped your lips, breaking her reverie. you stretched lazily, kicking out your feet, and she bit back a laugh. the bed was large enough to save the cake on your nightstand from disaster—a towering confection of pink and cream, its two tiers bedecked with the finest details.  

you blinked up at her, your semi-nakedness a casual thing. it wasn’t sexual—just a preference for sleep, one that let your skin breathe and your body rest.  

“good morning, sweet girl,” she murmured.  

you smiled, all teeth, and she felt her resolve crack, the force of your joy like a hammer against stone. she would surrender time and time again, if that meant you would always be happy. 

leaning down, she kissed you softly, as if afraid you might break. you deepened it, pulling her closer, and when you finally parted, she nuzzled your cheek.  

“happy birthday, baby.”  

you bit your lip, bashful but pleased.  

“thank you, bessa.”  

your gaze shifted to the cake and the sea of gifts below it, piled in a messy, extravagant display.  

“ambessa…”  

“quiet,” she interrupted, her voice firm but teasing. “you can’t send anything back. half of these are from mel, and the rest are from me. kino baked the cake.”  

“you are devious,” you teased, pushing gently at her shoulder.  

“yes,” she agreed without hesitation.  

your laugh filled the room, bright and free, and she descended on you with a playful vengeance, her hands finding your stomach and feet. you squealed beneath her tickling, helpless and gleaming with joy. eventually, she relented, shifting you carefully as she moved to retrieve the cake. setting it between you, she watched as you took it in with wide eyes.  

“it’s perfect,” you whispered, the candles casting soft shadows on your face.  “thank you, baby.”

she drew you close, her lips brushing against your hair as you leaned forward to blow them out. the flames wavered and died, leaving only the faint scent of smoke curling into the air.  

“what did you wish for?” she asked, her voice low.  

your gaze found hers, bright and glittering like jewels.  

“what i always do. i only want to always be your girl.”  

silence fell between you. in the distance, your phone began to ring, but ambessa made no move to retrieve it. her eyes shone, suspiciously wet, and her hand tightened on your hip.  

“i don’t know how i lived before you,” she said softly, “or what i would do after—if—”  

you cut her off, dipping a finger into the cake and pressing it to her lips.  

“you know what?” you murmured, your voice like velvet. “i used to be scared too. but not anymore. what’s the point?”  

she offered you a piece in return, and you took it, savoring the sweetness. your eyes fell on the ring on her finger, the one that matched yours in size and shape. 

“you and me?” you said after swallowing. you gazed at her, and the love within it was relentless. “we’re it, honey.”  

© hcneymooners.

[1800titz]

HI BESTIES. Trivia!Harry x Shy!Reader part 1 ((based on THIS post))

The one where Harry hosts trivia at a small town bar every Thursday and you just can’t seem to shut up.

WC: 3.7K

This is part one of a patreon exclusive series — the rest will only be accessible through my patreon. You can already find part 2 up on my patreon (✿◠‿◠)

You take a long drink. It tastes like kismet and carbonated nothingness.

(Retrospect will tell you that it's meant to be— tiny town, diminutive ambitions, hulking potential. But now, the twinge of an uncomfortable fever crawls up from your collar and makes you want to squirm in your seat.)

“Alright, alright, alright.”

And the smooth baritone against the head of a microphone makes your insides squeeze. Close. Real close— his mouth is pink, hovering millimeters, and that brass is the kind that seeps over your nape, under your skin. Molasses-heavy, slinking the gaps in the meshed grill caging. You blink up at the portable four-by-eight platform.

It's the kind of squeeze along your guts, the heat simmering in your face the longer you stare, that'll taunt you in the ridges of the night. Boxed into this— tonight, under a parapet— comfort zone hovering beyond your periphery, in the nook of the living room you left behind to wrack your head and stare at sin-in-bulk on a mobile stage.

The lively chatter dulls as heads turn, and then swells in eager increments. 

“Alright,” he says, a set of green eyes flickering from the monitor he’s settled over a rejigged high top, bounding sharply to whoever’s just given an overly enthusiastic cry of yes from the horde.

A peal of sparse, scattered laughter blooms in the throng. His mouth quirks.

“Very enthusiastic. How are you?” 

His cresting gaze climbs from the glowy screen, casting light and carving shadow over the sultry features of his visage; an evenly straight slope of a nose, cheekbones feathered by long lashes, a bit of curl that traipses over his forehead. 

His chin swivels to his left, somewhere closer to the platform where a woman leans over the table— her designated team. The corners of his lips curl in response to whatever she’s said. He smiles. Nods. He tips his chin. Makes a creased face like something playful. Says something else, laughs softly, and turns back, shaking his head. 

You tuck the straw into your mouth and take another, long slow sip.  

In the heft of his hand, the stem of the mic nearly resembles a toy. A maquette between the thick of his fingers.

“Hope everyone’s having a lovely Thursday. M’Harry, I’ll be leading the trivia— as I do— so if you’re sitting there going, who is this obnoxious cock, talking into the mic the whole night? Hi, Hello. That’s me— I do trivia.”

You get it now. The infamous cynosure is fit. 

At first, you had been dubious to desert your romcom reruns and your cross-stitch project mid-way (despite the fact that your thumb now resembles a pin cushion) when your friends had swept you off into their regularly scheduled, mysteriously niche Thursday night schemes. Now, you get it. 

The destination— The Black Horse— is a fuggy little space that smells like spilt Michelob and fusty, weathered oak. There’s a no smoking sign pasted in a spare crevice of the backbar, but someone in the far right corner exhales a plume of vapor like they’ve hit their elfbar in the most nonchalantly covert manner imaginable. Shamelessly. It’s a small town— an islet in the heart of an archipelago— and you think you can make out your seventh grade swim team rival perched somewhere off in the front row. 

The Black Horse is nothing special. It sells cheap draughts by the pitcher and parallels a barbershop in the crux of the town, two blocks off the boardwalk, which is arguably the chiseled, shiny musgravite of Treah’s core— a roaring green sea that eats away at the borders of the isle, shrouding vibrantly hued cays, glimmering under the beam of the sun. The majority of the holm’s economy is dependent on tourism (a simultaneous bane— said tourists enjoy uprooting foliage, building infrastructures, and partaking in chunks of housing buyouts), but you can tell that The Black Horse has been …preserved to say the least. It’s four stone walls sewn into a plaza with three other natively owned businesses and looks like something straight out of a cinematic piece set in a rural village, planted into Treah long before you had her first wiggly tooth. 

The Black Horse isn’t what makes attendance worth it. It’s him—

“We’ve got a crowd tonight. If you haven’t played trivia with me here at The Black Horse before, welcome. S’a little different than your typical trivia, though, because it’s…”

The crowd hollers back, as if scripted, “Dirty trivia!” 

“Dirty Trivia,” Harry echoes, and when the edges of his lips crook, dimples burrow beside the corners, “Right, Dirty Trivia. This one’s rated R, so if you’re not old enough to be here, I dunno how you got here, but this is going to be your cue to head out. Any— any children in here tonight? …No? Wonderful.” 

He huffs into the mic, shaking his head and jostling his halo of curls. A jaundiced, warm beam catches on them. “I know that sounds ridiculous, but m’not even joking— a couple of weeks ago someone was sitting in here with, like, a little kid.” 

It’s Harry, with the divots burrowing into his cheeks, the croon into the mic, lighting the crowd alive on an introduction. Incandescent (speckled in stars, spelled out— you don't get that bit, yet.)

You cross your legs. Your friend raises her eyebrows from across the teak table top and says it with her eyes. Told you so; Trivia Man is a cream dream. 

“Yeah,” Harry confirms over the dispersed, appalled eruption of laughter, nodding down at someone seated at a table closer to the stage, “I was, like, …shit,” he blinks back up and motions out, a slow sweep with his free hand, “Friendly reminder, this is not a form of sex ed.” 

Pausing, (lips twitchy over the sown mirth), he brings the microphone back with a newfound seriousness and tacks on, nodding slowly, “…That kid won it for the whole team.” 

He smiles. It's a lopsided spall of a ruddy seam that shows teeth, and that's when you recognize the heinous, gurgling froth of a new addiction. Incipient, blooming along your shimmery, star-struck eyes.

“No, m’joking,” he clears his throat. “M’gonna pass out a sheet and some little note pads for your answers. You’re gonna use one of those little notes to jot down a clever team name, do the same in that team name spot of the sheet, and then pass the note up to me.”

Pussy Posse. A pre-established moniker you have had no jurisdiction over, merely perched as an addition to a settled cadre. Still, you gnaw into your cheek when you watch a friend beside you scribble in the title with a ballpoint. 

“I’ll be coming around between questions to pick those answers up, have a chat, whatever. We’re all here to have fun, yes?” 

You swear he sweeps you with his eyes, like a passing tide gliding the sea. Probably just the way the green in his sockets meets everyone else in the throng, but the moment it happens your molars chew in harder.

“On the topic of fun, let’s keep it nice and fair, yeah? Phones put away— no cheating— you’ll have plenty of time to check those when we have our break midway.”

It feels ignoble to eye-fuck him from behind the sheathes of your empty irises as he paces the stage— after all, this is just a wholesomely clad, virtuously upstanding guy leading trivia, but. The gears behind your skull are mottled with the amalgam of a fawning affliction— cerebrospinal fluid and sticky tar. It leaves you in a goop of thoughtless ogling that renders your head empty. Even when he makes his way to the bar-height table your team curls around, when his eyes linger on you— “A new face.”— you just...

Mindlessly stare. 

Dirty trivia, you learn, is dirty.

It hits you when Harry quips (dare you note, mischievously), “Hoo-hoo-hoo. Starting off strong with the first one.” 

He states, talc flickering from the LED display ahead to the bevy of trivia-players, “What country,” and pauses for emphasis, “has—“ pits grub at the smooth of his cheeks, beside the grin that splinters to show ivory teeth, “the highest average, in the world, for penis size?” 

There’s no source of entertainment like that of trivia held, on a Thursday, on a remote islet, in a poky bar that smells like stale beer and dust-coated, chipping leather. Evidently. 

“I actually don’t know this one,” Harry chimes, raising a wry shoulder, “So it’s trivia for me, as well.” 

“England,” Marina stamps a blow that the teak hasn’t warranted, whisper-shouting over the staggering peals of guffaw and chatter, “He’s hung, I bet you.”

“He’s not going to fuck you for writing in England,” Beth’s chortles clash with your scorned, “Marina.”

“That’s not even an answer,” Bee waves towards the flatscreen framed over the man’s head.

Senegal, Haiti, Ecuador, and Gambia. 

“Where the fuck is Gambia—”

You settle on Gambia. 

You watch Beth scribble it in and dot the i with an open sphere. The edges don’t meet. When Harry winds the rows of tables, plucking answer cards and making small-talk, you cast your inkpools into your glass, pyrexia across the bridge of your nose, brain-rotted with the insinuation of him being …hung.

“Lots of Haiti, lots of Senegal,” Harry states, once he’s smoothed the cards out with his colossal, ringed paws, and looked them over. 

You stare at the bob of his throat as he swallows, directing the mic back to his lips.

“Big reveal?” He pauses, as if for cataclysmic emphasis, riling the crowd enough for you to note restive shoulders and juddering feet. 

“Patience,” Harry says softly into the microphone, raising his eyebrows. It's a muted word that clicks in the speaker with a thump. Throbs between your ribs, under your cold hands.

With paltry warning, he reveals, “Ecuador! At,” squinting at the blue-toned LED, “—a whopping 6-point-nine-three. Solid for the average. Do we have any Ecuadorian men in the audience tonight? Anybody who’s added to that average? Congratulations. You beat us. You beat everyone.” 

There’s a dissonant slurry of responses, some ripostes flung along tables, some bouts of clapping, hollering over the rows, sloshing mugs raised in triumph. 

Harry’s deltoids climb in a shrug, and his head wags from side to side, “Some valiant contenders, those Ecuadorians.” 

“I told you it wasn’t Gambia—“

You ogles the way Harry tilts over the platform towards a table, brows kinked as if trying to pick up something audible he’d missed. In your periphery, Marina prods into Beth’s direction with a palmful of something claret in a pellucid martini glass. 

“What was that?” Harry coaxes into the microphone. 

The corners of his mouth have caved up, and by the time the majority of the trivia-players sink into a piqued lull, he’s slanted over toward the table. A brunette with long, shiny hair arches up out of her seat into her directions, braced to the teak high-top with planted, elbow-locked arms. 

“Where do you fall?” is undeniable the second time. 

Harry blinks. His mouth paints over with a smile. 

“Where do I fall?”

He blatantly bridles a sputter when he winds toward the laptop he’s set up, culls his glass of a golden, pale straw beer that’s lost its layer of foam, and takes a long drink. Clears his throat. “Wouldn’t you like to know. Very forward. Take me out to dinner first.” 

You discover that, despite the ubiquitously crude sexualizing, Harry is sort of like a bird. An Indian Peafowl, preening with its neatly arranged plume— he likes it. The flattery. His tongue peeks out and swipes along as he stares down at the screen. Little dimples pit when it tucks back in— ones he blatantly can’t contain. 

He chuckles and states into the microphone, “…Below. Don’t worry about it.” 

Somehow, you doubt it.  -

-

-

-

You plait yourself into the Thursday Fawn Sessions as a regular attendee, curling up at the same high top to ogle the same man pace a platform with a microphone. Watch him make jesting comments and ask things like, “Axillism is the act of using what strange body part during sex?” 

You find yourself learning a thing or two from each session, and you find that the emeralds seated in his sockets linger on you, sometimes— this absolute clam shell taking up a spot in the bar and chugging fizzy water (ogling his frame in lull every time he approaches your table), too. Pussy Posse is no good at the trivia, more often than not wheedling in second-to-last, but you find yourself much too entertained to mind. 

Franks is a self-explanatory hot dog cart. It stands midway on the boardwalk and operates through sunny mizzles and borderline hurricane cloudbursts, when the green salt chuck is choppy. High tiding. Those are the days you stand out in your jaundiced poncho, salty rain spittle beating at your cheeks, and watch the waves eat at the ipe in a nasty, wet hunger, no customers in sight. 

Midsummer afternoons, though, are good. Busy. When Treah morphs industrious and bustling — tourists like Franks on the boardwalk. 

It’s a slow coda for June. The sea is planate, swaying over steel supports mantled by barnacles. Gulls chortle, gliding low in the ether— it oozes yellow, something balmy like the goo of an egg yolk. You've sold two hot dogs, tallied three joggers (one eager speedwalker), and noted one couple pushing a baby in a stroller, who offered tight-lipped smiles and veganism. You don't entirely mind a slow day, because setting shop on the boardwalk means spending the day on the boardwalk. Breathing the sea until your lungs are full of salt and your eardrums reverberate the crash of the water behind your skull. You taste it at the back of your throat— something like home as home could get.  

There’s another jogger loping— a moving blip of skin color in chiaroscuro against wood paneling. In the distance. Drawing closer. You imagine him passing the cart, the soles of his trainers padding over the row of planks until he’s just another form of lines and shading, faced away. You check your phone. 

The jogger is still a good bit away. You swipe open Wordle. You're on your third attempt of elucidating something that goes blank, I, blank, E, blank (with a P that doesn’t quite fit where you've slotted it)—

“Hi.”

Your eyes crest. 

Treah is a really small town. Not in a prudishly, bible-bashing form of a pastoral village, sheathed in a bosky, wooded moat of thicket and then plains of nothingness for hundreds of miles. But it is an island enveloped by the sea from all sides, sequestered without a boat or a little plane, whose wheels bumpily kiss the asphalt of anearly comically small airport. Even the tourists lodging up in their summer homes, all the same months like annual clockwork, make reappearances. The faces are, nearly always, the same, and you see the same faces often. It was only a (limited) matter of time before you'd coalesced beyond the borders skirting The Black Horse.

In hindsight, you didn’t envisage that you'd be wearing a baseball cap emblematized with a weenie when it happened. Or that his tits would be out and about. 

“Have you got water?”

He’s panting. Casually slippery; coated in sweat that glimmers in the sun and carves the well-toned sinews of his torso, with sunglasses tucked up over his curls like a makeshift headband. He ogles expectantly with a set of jade that puts the hues of the lapping, green sea behind him to shame. A parted mouth, sculpted and cushiony, sucks in breaths from the liminal space divvying their atoms while your own become clogged, somewhere midway an esophageal prison, in limbo toward your lungs. A shaded lepidoptera scored over his tummy flutters, batting its wings in the swell and sink of his diaphragm expanding. 

His shorts are teeny. Tiny, little things. Cobalt. Mirroring laurels carving alongside his V-line peek from the waistband, and a happy trail climbs to kiss his navel. 

You blink. “Yes. Yeah. We do. Yes. …Is bottled okay?” 

“Bottled is perfect.”

He sticks a hand into his pocket, eyes flickering to your face, away, back. Slow-like. You trace the wisps in the sky with your eyes, heat searing up your neck and pooling in the flesh of your face. It’s a sudden, unforeseen stuffiness sweltering for such a beautiful day. You recognize your horrid blunder in his next words. 

“Do I know you from somewhere?” 

You should have ducked your chin, tucked the visor lower, and hoped for the best. Instead, now, you blink, dazed and wide-eyed like a Red brocket saturated by blinding headlights.  

“Oh. I’m not sure. Um. Small …town— maybe?” 

“You come to, uh—“ a nudge with his chin in your direction as you arduously regulate the stuttery pace of your respiration. The jitter in your fingers, like a lovesick school girl. You cache them behind the cart and let them judder. “—trivia nights. At The Black Horse, yeah? I couldn’t forget a face like yours.” 

Harry grins, the way he does. Lopsided, so the left corner turns up a little higher— dimpled with a long flash of teeth. Except now, he’s slippery and half-naked. 

Folie. Miscalculated gaffe in a weenie cap. Your smile is tight.

“Oh—“ again, “…Yeah.” 

“Right,” Harry nods. Smiley. Lingering, looking you over. He buries an enormous hand back into his pocket then, brows creasing like he’s remembered something, and pulls out a little rectangle in cardboard paper. “Hey, actually. I’ve got this coupon here. S’what I do all the other days of the week, ah—“

He extends it out. 

Harve-y a free drink, on us! 

“M’a bartender over at Harvey’s. S’close to The Black Horse, if you’re in that area. Monday and Saturday mornings. Wednesday and Friday nights. If you come by, I’ll fix you up with a drink.” 

It feels impolite to leave him hanging, so you swipe out at the offering, cradling it with slow fingertips. 

“We can do some one on one trivia. Train you up,” Harry tacks on.

You swallow. Harry is an attractive man. His allure is apodictic— a sort of conventional, objective quality that leaves your throat parched when it becomes paired with his unfaltering eye contact. You're not a virgin, and you're an adept swimmer, but his presence feels like viridian saltwater that’s waiting to swallow her whole. The nerves that bubble, a fizz of chagrin, remind you why exactly you enjoy fawning from a distance. Because he makes you feel nervous, and when you're nervous, the dialogue spumes like miasmic word vomit. 

He’s got a thin sheathe of sweat that glimmers in the seat of his cupid’s bow, but it’s not in a gross way. In fact, it reminds you that the rest of him, his denuded skin, is slick, because he’s been jogging along the boardwalk. It reminds you how hard it is not to openly ogle the tattoos he’s got on show. You should have called out from your weenie gig, and you should have refilled her alprazolam prescription weeks ago. 

“Oh,” you tell him, slowly, face creasing, “I don’t— I don’t drink.”

Harry blinks. It’s a weird confession, considering you're a Thursday night regular at a bar that’s really only good for anything that has enough alcohol to shroud the stale taste perfuming the air. Still, nothing beyond open expectancy erupts along his features, and that’s worse. You feel them crawling up your throat, clambering up the back of your tongue like the words have knobby joints. They meet the backs of your teeth, waiting to spew. 

“—Not because I’m a recovering alcoholic or anything, I just don’t like the way it makes me feel. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Or drinking. I actually think it’s so admirable. You know? Like, to be brave… and… and a lot of times those people will attend support groups—“

Harry blinks again. 

“—And they talk about it. I can’t imagine sharing something like that— not that there’s anything wrong with it! But. Um. I always get virgin cocktails at The Black Horse. Or club soda. Or juice.”

Her lips seal over. You entrap the rest behind your traitorous teeth — a drawbridge that never should’ve sunk open. Despite your overly candid, overstated explanation, you don't stick the coupon back out in his direction. You harbor it in your hand, blinking slowly and gnawing into your cheek. 

“…S’okay. We do orange juice, too,” Harry tells her, entirely casual despite your discomfited speech, raising his brows. 

There’s the curbed efforts of a bemusedly mirthy grin at the corners of his mouth, and his nonchalant bearing only makes your face hotter. You feels like you're broiling under the shade of the awning. 

“And club soda.” 

“…Cool,” You settle on, tightly. 

“Sick.”

“…It’s, uh… two dollars,” you tell him when the reticence starts to suffocate you. 

You're going to go home and ram your head through a window. 

“Oh,” Harry casts his gaze to the water (it has the average, entirely typical proportions of a water bottle, but in his hand, it’s nearly miniature), as if he’s forgotten the chilly source of condensation coating his palm. That he’s in arrears. He sticks his free hand into the same pocket where the coupon was stuffed, “Right. I think I’ve got two dollars in here, somewhere.” 

Instead, when he stretches a bill out towards you, it’s worth ten. You avoid eye contact. You reach for the cash box tucked below, and you pry the lid up to delegate his change. 

“Oh,” Harry echoes, raising his enormous hand in effort of halting you, “S’alright. S’yours.”  

“Oh. I… can’t take tips. It’s, like. Against the code of conduct.” 

“Code of conduct at a …hot dog stand?” 

As if you needed to be reminded that you're donning a silly cap with an animated frank, standing on a boardwalk that’s practically empty of prospective patrons. The chagrin churns in your stomach and surfaces in the set line of your mouth. 

“…Yes.” 

Harry pauses, brows kinked like he’s ruminating, and then he inhales and decides, “Well. It’s not a tip, yeah? It’s just… you break it up, put two in the box, and then put the rest in your pocket.” 

“Oh. No. You— you’ve already given me the coupon—“ you argue, frenziedly waving out a mismatched wad of cash.

He raises his hands and ambles in one suavely, lengthy step back. “I’m going now.” 

“No!” 

He’s three away that would fit five or six of your own gait when he declares, “Yes! I hope to see you for that orange juice. On the house. Have a good one.” 

This is a patreon exclusive series. If you'd like to read more, part 2 is already up on my patreon! <3

[pinkrelish]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲 | 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶A deleted scene from chapter twelve where receptionist!reader acts like a bimbo in front of Eddie just to rile him up. Written very tongue-in-cheek at the beginning.✶

NSFW — sexual themes, handjob, unresolved sexual tension, 18+

↳ start the story here to catch up!

[wc: 2.1k]

Heeding your checklist of chores, you idled at the workbench against the far corner of the wall. There were a few of the usual things you organized: placing nuts and bolts in drawers, facing products with their labels out, tidying small boxes, folding the end of the paper towel roll so it didn’t unfurl itself in the turbulent path of the oscillating fan. You bent over to toss cellophane wrappers into the waste paper bin, and took your time musing if the liner should be changed despite the little amount of balled up paper weighing down the bottom. Standing, you swept off the unsanded tabletop with your hands, and worked a crusty rag over an oil streak, making a mental note to call the laundry service to swing by a day early.

As you stepped away, you knocked a pencil to the floor. Its bright yellow body was impossible to miss, along with its excruciatingly long hexagonal roll carried by your elbow to the very edge, but you managed. You knelt to your hands and knees to retrieve the writing utensil, inspecting its broken tip. The graphite was missing completely, leaving behind an empty hole where it once was. An unfortunate accident. You rotated it a few times looking for other flaws—an honorable way to spend your time.

“You doin’ this on purpose?” gruffed out an annoyed voice behind you.

No need to check, you heard the amused twist at the corner of his lips. His left canine was probably on show, too. Not in a hurry to confirm, you gripped the pencil in your fist, and leaned forward, stretching in search of the missing lead before it was stomped into dust and potentially transferred from someone’s boot sole into a wealthy client’s car. You were thinking of them, really.

The floor was a rewarding oasis in the noonday sun baking through the warehouse windows. Your flat splayed hands and knuckles worked over the grit of dirt to inch your pursuit closer to the wall, drinking in the chill of the epoxy coated concrete cooling you down better than a 50 cent clear plastic cup of Kool Aid at a kid’s misspelled lemonaide stand. Though, the unforgiving flooring bit into your joints, and indented your knees with the netting of your pantyhose. But Eddie’s study did not sway to your shoe slipping off your heel. No, he was a gentleman. And as a gentleman, he praised the wealth of curves you put on display.

He used the heels of his heavy boots to drag himself from under a Mustang, thumping up beside you, wheels on the creeper rolling along the slick floor.

The lower you dipped your chest, the higher your skirt hem tickled the back of your thighs. In total innocence—truly giving your best effort to find the missing pencil tip—you tilted your hips to unimaginable degrees, presenting your ass to the point even your lower back side-eyed your act.

Smooth backs of fingers lifted the hem more. Eddie curled his index under your skirt, and assisted it to the crease of your cheek, following the change in nylon with his rough thumbprint as it wove denser around your thighs to hold you in. Tummy Control, it was advertised as. To a man who had seldom encounters with women, this meant very little to him, as did the change in texture. Though, curiously, he rubbed at it with interest.

“You’re something else, you know that?” But his voice was too playful to shame you, hardly traipsing through his throat to chastise. “I’m out here working my ass off, and you’re struttin’ around the garage in this lil’ piece.” The little piece in question was your corporate approved pencil skirt from a long forgotten temp job when your apartment lost two roommates in a breakup, and rent was past due.

Pandering to your audience of one, you shuffled two of the tiniest inches backwards, and steadied your hand on his outstretched leg. You bent at the hips, filling his large palm with a handful of your ass, and he admired you in a brush of fingertips near the innermost valley of your thigh, licking a divine chill up your spine. Playing along, you pretended to just notice him, assuming a sinless gasp, and following it with many airheaded inflections, “Oh! Didn’t see you there, handsome. Am I distracting you?”

The standing fan swung its head in your direction, sweeping Eddie’s bangs off his forehead in a brief burst.

You’d been on hundreds of dates, and not once had you been so deeply complimented by someone’s gaze.

Eddie dwelled in the distraction. He stroked his thumb over the fat, and traced his pinky along the hypersensitive crease before the swell which had your muscles tightening in a squirm. He was so close to the middle seam of the pantyhose. Perhaps he knew this as well, but didn’t care—he was just happy to be touching you. Laid out in the neon orange creeper, sun glancing off the packed garage, casting a glow across his puffy face. Sleepy eyes, messy hair, unbearably adorable grin—the type of candid expression showing how honored he was to look at you, so forthcoming and open. A trap, if there ever was one, luring you into picturing him twisted amongst your bedding on a late morning.

As he tracked his gaze over your backside, an aching reminder moseyed its way into his consciousness. Setting into a glare, he forced his way through any pleasantness lingering in his chest to tell you plainly, “Sweetheart, you’re fucking torturing me here.” You giggled, and he broke, falling victim to the squinch at his crow’s feet.

“You think I’m not torturing myself, too?”

“Dunno.” He craned his head back to check underneath the car for where each pair of boots were moving, and you peeped through the driver’s side window to keep tabs on the seated customers in the lobby. Once you both ensured there was no danger of being caught, he turned his attention to you fully. “You’re not wearing my favorite pair, so I couldn’t tell.” In case you weren’t sure, he wrung his hand around your leg, and drummed his fingers where there should be an easily accessible hole in your tights, where he could drag his fingers through your slick truth. His sorry features were tainted with remorse when your plush thighs weren't spilling out from the nylon; however, he drew his eyebrows in mock sympathy, and traced the area. “Could make these my new favorite pair, though.”

You about melted into a puddle of dumbstruck glee at his first foray into initiating dirty talk. “Yeah?” you stressed the word like he would—big smile and all. You raised the placement of your grip on his leg up, further, still going until the inside of your thumb threatened to assist what laid fat and heavy towards his hip. Car exhaust, pungent motor oil, and fumes swam in your head. Mind dizzy, you skimmed your nails over his heavy sack pressed tight against the seam of his coveralls. An implied line was drawn along your heat by his featherlight touch. You leaned over him, real close, chest over chest, knees spread because his hand encouraged you to do so. Mouth to mouth, considering kissing the dirt from his lips. “Wanna rip ‘em, and have me on top while you’re on this thing?”

Eddie moaned, and it wasn’t shy in the loud garage. “Want it so fucking bad, baby.”

A single ding from the bell atop your desk drew your attention.

Bodies paused, you both existed in the indecision of what to do. Eddie’s forehead wrinkled from his high brows driving his attention backwards, peering under the car again. The other employees of David’s Auto Repair shuffled around a Studebaker. There was no one inside to help the customer. What a shame.

Eddie lowered his chin in long clockticks, seeking you behind his heavy lashes and heavier gaze. His nose met the side of yours in an unrefined graze, dragging his chapped lips wherever he felt your smile. He kissed you hungry. Needy, desperate to fit the magnitude of his palm at the back of your head, and dirty your mouth with noses mashed together. He wanted you messy, he wanted you catching your balance on the creeper for the same reason his held sigh became your next breath, taking a pinch of your pantyhose over your pussy and twisting it around his fist to demonstrate his annoyance, as if the dull ache of your bottom lip against his teeth wasn’t illustrative enough. The peak of your whine and his approving hum tethered the snap of your tights and the squeeze he left on your thigh. Filthy warmth blanketed the top of your hand. Stifling hot, calluses running rough over your knuckles as he cupped your palm over his hard length, and curled your fingers around himself, kicking his hips up to really stretch the limits of your grip. Together, he guided you in a few teasing pumps along the base, ego growing at the pretty sound hitched in your throat.

“Hey, Ed!” Mr. Moore’s yell burst the bubble you two surrounded yourselves in. “C’mere, ‘nd look at this.”

It wasn’t an emergency. It could wait. There were enough mechanics on duty, they could figure out what they were gawking at, or admiring, or whatever it was they were doing. That was the justification behind your shared look with Eddie, and the tension holding you two apart faded within seconds. If anything it spurred you on. You raked your fingers through his hair, mussing the roots at the crown of his head, covering the side of his body with yours, stroking his cock. The consequences didn’t matter. He increased the pressure and showed you how he liked it when you looped your thumb and index around the edge of his fat tip and pumped him faster—

Ding, ding, ding.

The kiss slowed from the distraction, but you tried to keep going, staying in the moment with Eddie’s praise burning your cheeks. He was eager, he was close. He was whispering, “Feels fucking good when you—yeah—like that,” when you added the twist of your wrist to the end of motion.

“Ed!” Mr. Moore’s voice ruined the moment. “Where’d he… And wasn’t she at her desk a second ago?”

Ding, ding ding!

Your foreheads crashed together in a defeated groan.

Eddie sagged completely limp on the creeper. “Why do you do this to me?” He dropped his arms in a big shrug, kicking his legs out flat, throbbing hard in your palm. You curbed the urge to keep going and dragged your fingers away.

“Hey, you’re the one who started this,” you sniffed, sitting back to fan your face in effort to make yourself presentable while he considered rolling under the car for the next eternity to hide his blazing red cheeks.

“I was a good worker before you came along,” he argued, pointing at you with a nail outlined in grime. He did it with such vigor his shoulders curled off the creeper, sitting up to give you a real good talkin’ to. “I never did this sorta shit with anyone before you showed up. You’re bad for me. You drive me crazy.” Not an ounce of anger dared enter his tone, not even having strength to control his smile from going lopsided, dimpling, nose scrunching in a badly contained laugh. Never would he want you to think he was mad at you, even as a joke. He was soft like that.

Eddie broke first, and that’s all you needed to kiss him against the black Mustang door, thud on the metal deadened by his nervous hand coming up to brush his curls flat.

“You drive me crazy too,” you promised against his lips. “Now, try not to cum your pants when I bend over to get this trash, and have fun explaining to the guys why you can’t stand up for the next few minutes.” You cocked your head, and smacked your tongue in a hard, “‘Kay?”

He glared at your smugness. Glared at your backside, too. Scowled at his grip formed around the swollen length rising so obvious no matter how he fixed his legs, and surrendered to the humiliation of laying back on the creeper, summoning enough dignity to roll himself to the other side where a gaggle of boots scuffed the ground in search for him, and give some excuse that he was very busy fixing something and wouldn’t be available for the foreseeable future.

originally thursday's section in chapter twelve was split into three separate scenes. i was almost finished writing the first two when i took the section in a different direction and mashed all the important elements into the scene in the breakroom which did make the cut. truthfully i had only written to eddie's line of "wanting it so badly" and they would've gotten interrupted at that point (before any touching), but since this isn't exactly canon, i went ahead and had fun and made it a little spicier.

you might also recognize some imagery, lines of prose, or descriptions i salvaged from this piece and put into the final one!

[m4rv3l-girl]

Mind Games

Erik x Y/N

Erik didn’t know she was telepath. He has a very active imagination…

Requests Open!

Warnings: Mentions of sexual themes

Only a few weeks had passed since the introduction of Erik Lehnsherr to Y/N. The introduction had been brief but left an aura of lingering tension between them. Y/N couldn't help but notice how Erik's eyes find their way toward her in a room full of people. What Erik didn't know, however, was that every thought in his head was available to her like an open book.

Y/N's mutant ability? She could read minds, and Erik's was a particularly loud one-borderline inappropriate most of the time, to say the least. He thought he was subtle, but his inner monologue told her otherwise.

Tonight they were in the kitchen, alone. The others had all gone off to bed and only the two of them were left behind in the silent space bathed in the soft, indirect light from above. Erik stood by the counter, drinking his coffee without really tasting it while Y/N leaned against the island, stirring a cup of tea.

They spoke of everything under the sun but his mind was elsewhere.

"She's beautiful." "She probably doesn't even like me, though." "God, what I wouldn’t give to kiss her-”

Y/N stifled a smile. She'd gotten used to the whirling chaos of Erik's thoughts, full of admiration and compliments with the stray thought that, more times than not, could have turned the kitchen ten degrees hotter. Tonight, though, was different, and Y/N could feel it even before Erik's next thought echoed in her head.

“She has such gorgeous lips. I bet they’re soft…bet they’re good at-..No, no don’t think that.”

“But, then again….she’d look good on her knees. Looking up at me. Her mouth around my-”

Y/N's spoon clattered onto the counter, breaking the silence. Erik's eyes snapped up to hers in surprise.

"Sorry," she muttered, tucking back a laugh. She looked at him and saw the faintest flush on his cheeks. He hadn't any idea she'd just heard his most intimate thought.

She'd been playing this game, concealing her skills from Erik for weeks now. She found it amusements-end that, with quite a frequency, his mind veered off in dangerous directions. It wasn't that she didn't like him- quite the opposite. He was magnetic, charming in a brooding sort of way. There was attraction between them, mutual in its forging, though only Y/N was cognizant of both sides.

But standing here, her mind traipsing further down a road she probably shouldn't follow, Y/N knew it was time to show her hand. "Erik," she said, breaking the comfortable silence. He raised an eyebrow, setting his coffee cup down. "What is it, darling?" She hedged, watching his response closely. His brow furrowed with concern, probably misreading the seriousness in her expression.

Y/N took a deep breath. "I'm a mutant, like you," she blurted out, and he nodded, expecting her to continue. "But my ability… is that I can hear people's thoughts."

Erik blinked at her, bewildered at first, then realization dawned on him. His mouth opened, though nothing was heard coming from it. She could practically see gears turning in his head. All that stuff he had been thinking for the last couple of weeks piled onto him in one second.

"She heard. everything?!" "Oh God, shit. Oh, hell."

His face flushed red as he stared at her, mortified. "You- you've been,” "Listening to you?" Y/N finished for him with her lips twitching into a grin. "Yeah, I have."

Erik groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Dear God, I thought I was being subtle." "Not even a little, Erik." Y/N couldn't help it and burst out laughing. It was a rare sight, the ever-composed Erik flustered like that.

He peeked at her between his fingers. "And you've heard…. Everything I've been thinking?" "Mm-hmm," Y/N replied nonchalantly, taking a sip of her tea like this was the most normal conversation in the world. "You've had some pretty interesting thoughts, Erik." Erik looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. "Darling-”

Y/N stepped closer, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Relax. It's not like I didn't already know how you felt."

He blinked at her again, this time less with embarrassment, more with curiosity. "You did?"

"I've known since the first time you walked into the room," she admitted, softer then. "And, for the record, I don't mind your thoughts. I kinda like them."

A small smile turned up the corners of Erik's lips; his embarrassment was quickly replaced with one of more confidence. He closed the space between them, stepping closer to her. "You could've told me sooner, love."

Y/N shrugged, placing her cup on the counter. "Where's the fun in that?”

Erik laughed, his hands tenderly reaching out to lay on her hips. "I just can't believe I spent weeks making a fool of myself inside of my own head."

"Oh, you were doing just fine out loud too," Y/N teased, grinning back up at him.”

He smirked, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair away from her face. "Well, since you already know what I've been thinking, there's no point in hiding it anymore, is there?"

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat as he leaned in, his voice dropping lower. "You've been driving me insane, darling. Every time I see you.”

Y/N's breath caught, her mind buzzing with the proximity. "You could have said something." "I'm saying it now," Erik murmured, his lips inches from hers. "Unless you've changed your mind?" "Not at all, dear," Y/N whispered, closing the distance.

Their lips met in a slow, heated kiss, and for once, Erik didn't have to say a word. But Y/N was more than happy to hear every single, dirty thought running through his mind.  She knew it was going to be a hell of a lot more fun now that the game was out in the open.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Where I'll Follow

Requested Here!

Pairing: UTRH!Jason Todd x fem!reader

Summary: You follow your best friend to Bosnia, learn his secrets, share your own, and promise that wherever he goes, that's where you'll follow.

Warnings: angst, torture, death, spoilers for Batman: Under the Red Hood

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

Masterlist | DC/Jason Todd Masterlist | Request Info

“Again?” you ask, rubbing your hands against your coat sleeves.

“I’m afraid so, Miss,” Alfred Pennyworth replies. “Master Jason is quite busy these days, isn’t he? Could I make you a warm cup of tea before you return home?”

“No, thanks, Alfred,” you reply softly. “Could I come by tomorrow and see if he can hang out then?”

Alfred frowns before he explains, “Master Wayne and Jason will be travelling to Bosnia tomorrow. I’m unsure when they plan to return from the family trip.”

“Bosnia?”

“Yes, ma’am. Are you sure about that tea?”

You don’t answer as you shove your hands into your coat pockets and turn away from Wayne Manor. The winter cold has settled over Gotham, and as you stumble through the thin layer of powdery snow building on the ground, you wonder. Jason has had less and less time for you over the past few months, going on more trips with Bruce and disappearing without a word. But he’s your best friend, so rather than think about all the things he could be doing without you, you wonder why he didn’t ask for help. Jason Todd is many things, but he’s not a liar and does not desert the people he cares about after everything he’s been through. So, as you leave Wayne Manor in the fog, you turn toward the bank. You need to make a withdrawal and save your future.

Less than an hour later, you have used a sizeable chunk of your college savings account to purchase a round-trip ticket to Bosnia. If the account holders are alerted to the withdrawal when the bank opens tomorrow, you will be somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. You know you should talk to Jason and try to find him or Bruce on the plane, but if you let them know you’re following, they’ll find a way to send you home. So, you find your place in the shadows, watching where you step and seeking the truth about why Jason has distanced himself from you.

After landing in Bosnia, you stay close to Jason and Bruce. Because of the time difference, it’s the middle of the night when they check into a hotel, witnessed clearly as you stand behind a streetlamp pole and watch. You know you can’t afford to stay there, so you look around the street until you see a dirty motel sitting across the street from your best friend’s temporary home. After check-in, you sit before the window to watch for Bruce and Jason. Bosnia isn’t a holiday destination, and you’re nearly as suspicious as you are concerned about Jason. After Bruce took him in, he had a hard time adjusting, but he’s made so much progress that you can’t bear to see him go back. Sometime after the sun rises, just after midnight back home, Bruce leads Jason out of the front of the hotel. Bundled in your heaviest jacket and thickest coat, you traipse through the snow-covered streets of Sarajevo to follow them.

“There’s more at stake here, Jason,” Bruce says as they enter a dim alley.

You peek around the corner and your eyes widen as they remove their coats and expose the uniforms beneath them. My best friend is Robin, you realize. Bruce Wayne is Batman!

“C’mon,” Jason complains, even though he’s smiling. “We’re Batman and Robin, crime fighting extraordinaire duo and worldwide sensations!”

“This isn’t Gotham, Jason,” Bruce argues. “If things go wrong, we can’t plead with the embassy, they won’t understand.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason concedes. “But if it’s such a big deal, why don’t they care that Joker’s here?”

“With Ra’s al Ghul bombing banks, Joker is the least of their concerns.”

“Then we should split up. You go after Ra’s, and I’ll go after Joker.”

“Absolutely not,” Bruce replies as you whisper, “No.”

“We stay together,” Bruce reiterates.

You can tell Jason wants to say more, he wants to push Bruce, but he agrees. You smile as you wonder how long it will last, wonder how much they’ll accomplish before Jason splits off from Bruce to do his own thing.

In the shadows of the laboratory, you press your palm over your mouth to silence your fear and surprise. Batman and Robin fight Joker and his goons, and you’re terrified for Jason. The employees are gone, now nothing but blank stares and creepy smiles reminiscent of the monster that took everything from them. So, when Jason launches himself over a masked man to follow the Joker, you don’t hesitate to follow him. You run through the dark hallway until you reach the snow, where you hope no one will notice a missing snowmobile.

Inside the abandoned warehouse, you sob silently into your hands as you watch the Joker beat Jason. There is nothing you can do to help, so you must wait until you can get Jason out without raising suspicion or exposing yourself to the Joker. He swings the crowbar again, likely shattering Jason’s jaw, and you force your eyes closed as Jason groans.

“Wow, that looked like it really hurt,” Joker taunts.

Jason’s grunts fill the warehouse, and you open your eyes, blaming yourself and flinching each time the crowbar touches Jason. When Joker raises his crowbar to decide what hurts more, you jump up from behind the crate you’ve been hiding behind.

“Stop!” you call, hoping that the moment of respite will help Jason somehow.

Joker freezes, the crowbar suspended in the air as he turns slowly toward you. A smile stretches across his face as he asks, “Well, who do we have here?”

“Leave him alone,” you demand, weaker than you intended as you step back.

“Robin, you didn’t tell me you brought a friend, pumpkin,” Joker calls, his eyes still on you.

Your gaze drops, and you see Jason, bloodied, bruised, and curled in on himself, yet his eyes are open and focused on you. You whisper an apology, but Joker silences it.

“Ah, ah, ah!” he exclaims, pointing the tool-turned-weapon toward you. “This is twice as nice. Come here.”

You don’t move, frozen in place as your mind races. Your plan was nonexistent. You couldn’t watch anymore, and now you’ve shifted attention from Jason but beckoned the Joker toward yourself.

“I said come here,” Joker repeats. “I mean now.”

You step back, and Joker lunges forward. You scream as he hooks the crowbar behind your arm and wrenches you forward. With your arms out, you fall to the concrete floor, your knees taking the brunt of your weight as you land.

“Help him up,” Joker demands, wiping Jason’s blood from the crowbar.

You realize with horror that Jason’s blood is smeared across your skin now, too. Joker repeats himself, and you wrap your arms around Jason to pull him into a sitting position.

“What are you doing here?” he whispers, his lips barely moving.

“I wanted to help,” you reply quietly, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

“How’d you-“ Jason interrupts himself with a cough before repeating, “How’d you know I’d be here?"

“We’re best friends.”

Jason tries to smile, and you laugh once as your vision grows blurry with tears. Joker tells you to sit beside Jason, and you sit on your hands so Joker can’t see them shake.

“You two make quite the picture,” Joker says, bouncing the crowbar against his side. “Perhaps I should make you match- oh no, I know! I’ll draw a picture that lines up on each of you!”

You shift closer to Jason, hoping to block him from any more injury, but the movement makes Joker smile.

“He’s a vigilante, he’ll never love you back,” he points out.

“Shut up,” you demand. “Don’t touch him.”

“Oh, you got it.”

You don’t have time to brace yourself before Joker swings. The crowbar hits your side forcefully, knocking you over as your breath is forced out of your lungs. As you struggle to breathe, you are sure he broke one of your ribs, but it’s one more hit Jason doesn’t have to endure.

“Did he tell you he was Robin?” Joker inquires before bringing the crowbar down in a wide arc, landing a hit against your trapezius, where your neck and shoulder meet, which makes you scream in agony. “Oh, he didn’t? Someone’s been a bad little birdy.”

Joker steps toward Jason, and you force yourself onto your knees to block him.

“All of this for a street rat who lied to you?” Joker inquires.

Joker raises his foot, presses his toe against your bloody and painful shoulder, and kicks you backward. You fall beside Jason, crying at the pain in your arm, then tell yourself to get up.

“Matching it is,” Joker decides, smiling as he stands over you.

The crowbar hits Jason again, and you cry more at his pain than at your own. Each hit hurts worse than the last, and as Joker tries to make your bruises and shattered bones match, he belittles you and tells you that you’ll never have Jason back, but your only focus is the boy beside you. Your best friend needs your help, and even if the world is ending, you wanna be next to him.

“Which hurts more?” Joker asks. “Forehand?” he hits Jason’s back, then turns to you and asks, “Or backhand?” before aiming at the same spot.

You pant against the bloody floor beneath you, and Jason mumbles something that makes Joker lean toward him to hear.

“I think you have a collapsed lung,” Joker says. “That always impedes the oratory."

You turn your head just as Jason spits in Joker’s face, a mix of blood and saliva that causes Joker’s nostrils to flare in anger before he grips Jason’s hair and smashes his face into the concrete floor.

“Now that was rude. The first boy blunder had some manners,” Joker says as he wipes his face.

You lock eyes with Jason, and he smiles at Joker before nodding to you. The deep exhale you release hurts, but you trust Jason. Now, you have to trust yourself to get him out of here as soon as you have an opportunity.

“I suppose I’m going to have to teach you a lesson so you can better follow in his footsteps.” Joker contemplates this idea, then decides, “No, I’m just gonna keep beating you with crowbar.”

You’ve given up on bracing for the hits, and you hold Jason’s gaze as Joker presses his foot against Jason’s shoulder. Each moment alone with the Joker makes you more scared that you won’t be able to save Jason from the permanent damage to his body and not when you’d have to travel through miles of snow.

Joker stops suddenly, sets the crowbar aside, and puts on his coat. In the open doorway, his back to the howling wind, he says, “Okay, kiddos, I gotta go. It’s been fun though, right? Well, maybe a smidge more fun for me than you. I’m just guessing since you’re being awful quiet.”

At that, you stretch to look at Jason, shaking as you see his unmoving back.

“Anyway, be a good boy and a good girl. Finish your homework and be in bed by 9:00. Oh… please tell the big man I said, ‘Hello.’”

Joker cackles before he slams the door, and you will the tired, aching muscles in your arms to get you closer to Jason. It hurts. You tamp down screams and cries to reach him. Once you reach his side, you see his eyes are closed and allow your tears to run freely across your bruised and cut face once more.

“Jason,” you whisper brokenly.

One of Jason’s eyes opens slowly, the other red and swollen shut. He doesn’t speak but groans as he rolls his legs over his head and steps through his restraints. With his hands before him, he attempts to stand up, pushing his weight onto his legs before collapsing again.

“Jason, Jason, stop,” you beg.

He moves his arms out before him, prepared to drag himself to the door on the other side of the warehouse. After a deep breath, you copy Jason’s movements and roll to move your hands before you. One of your shoulders is dislocated, but you can extend your arms to match his.

“I’m going to get us out of here,” Jason says.

You nod and crawl to his side. “I’m so sorry,” you cry. You repeat the sentiment every few feet, knowing it means nothing at this moment, in this warehouse.

When you slow down, Jason looks over his shoulder at you. “You have to stay with me.”

“It’s my fault, Jason, I’m so sorry.”

Jason shakes his head and tells you to follow him. When you reach the door, Jason pushes himself up enough to grasp the knob, then pulls on it to stand. The knob doesn’t turn, so he shakes it and tries again before collapsing to the floor with his back against the heavy metal door.

“Jay,” you call, staring at the red analog clock resting against a crate.

He follows your line of sight and then closes his eyes as the bomb counts down. Unable or unwilling to hold himself up any longer, he slides down the door and lies on the floor. With less than a minute to live, you place your hand on the floor beside Jason, yelling at the pain shooting through the nerves in your shoulder as you move your weight over Jason.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his speech slurring more than before.

“I followed you here because I was terrified,” you admit. “You’re my best friend, but I’d do anything for you because I care about you so much. I’ve wanted to be more than friends for years, Jason, and I hate myself for falling for you and risking what we have almost as much as I love you.”

Jason’s swollen eye opens as he stares at you, listens to your confession, and sees that you’re protecting him. Even after everything you’ve been through, you’re still willing to sacrifice your happiness, your own life, for his. The clock ticks down, and Jason doesn’t have the words to say. It’s okay because the look in his eyes and the promise to get you out of here are more than enough.

With less than ten seconds on the clock, you drop your head toward his and whisper, “Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow,” smiling as the wind picks up, pushing you closer to Jason before the entire world goes white as snow.

Jason roars as he rises from the green liquid rippling around him. His lungs burn, but his mind is painfully clear. He looks around for you, expecting you to be where you belong, at his side, and then he remembers that you were his protection, his guardian angel, and now he’s left to drag himself through the pits of hell by himself.

Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow, he remembers. Jason escapes into the night with only one thing on his mind: that he lived and he wants to hold you just for a while and he’d die again with a smile next to you.

[lokisgoodgirl]

A Cunning Plan: The Lakes [Loki x Reader]

The Lakes Masterlist / Regular Masterlist Summary: (5) Loki has been doing some heavy mulling. Something's brewing, and it isn't tea. Warnings: Minors DNI. Language. Smut references. Mild angst. Humour. Pining. Ex-Loki. Satchelnanigans. Cunning plans. (w/c 4.7k) Recommended Folklore Track: The Lakes

The night before had passed with an unnerving air of normalcy.

Loki didn’t speak much, but you could feel the unmistakable weight of him absorbing everything as it unfolded around him. He maintained a quiet distance. Marinating a monologue, perhaps.

You had a feeling it would come to harvest, eventually.

Something hung in the air among the domestic clink of cutlery and quiet apologies as the men squeezed around each other in the cottage. The rabbits were stewed, and much to Steve’s reluctant admission– were delicious. Loki had even taken a substantial loss in Monopoly that evening with uncharacteristic good grace. He and Thor hadn’t even fought over the little dog. And then, he had turned in early. What had passed between you that day – the rescue, the kiss, the supermarket…

His silence, you came to realise, was a blessing. A gift. If one which was grudgingly given. You had heard the low creak of his footsteps above in the living room as Steve diligently packed each playing card away face down.

He’s putting the condoms on Steve’s pillow, you thought with a wry smile. The captain looked up, oblivious.

“What’s got you in high-cotton?” Steve had asked curiously.

“Nothing,” you’d lied, scooting closer to the fire.

When the three of you had traipsed upstairs in single file and bid goodnight – Loki’s door had been closed. But you had heard his low, self-satisfied chuckle through the wall as the captain’s exasperated protestations travelled.

You wondered if Loki could hear your chuckle too. You hoped he could. When the four of you next met the chilled dawn air with bundled scarves and thick gloves, the sun was shining. Crisp, brilliant blue skies made the shade of Loki’s dark halo pop against the increasingly auburn skyline. When you had returned from your lesson, fingers numb and cheeks pink from the morning’s foraging, Loki ambled at the back of the group as usual.

You watched from ahead, seeing Thor and Steve huddled together whispering. They had been twitchy all morning, secretive smiles and hurried glances punctuating otherwise unremarkable commentary about mushrooms.

Loki was ten paces behind, a small basket slung over his arm. He walked slowly, picking up each specimen from his haul and inspecting it like a jewel. Checking every one twice. The Barbour jacket rustled around his thighs, waxed material creasing thickly as he drifted up the steep hill with effortless grace.

And now, the coats were hung on their usual pegs, a chirp of ‘don’t get too comfortable’ from Rogers making the hour break until the afternoon session shorten immeasurably. You closed your eyes, leaning against the kitchen door-frame while a couple of hunks of firewood fit snug under your arm. “Can I get you anything?” Loki murmured from the kitchen sink. You hadn’t noticed him standing there, hands in his pockets. The green scarf still hung around his neck, askew from where he’d yanked it.

In the following silence, his eyes ran questioningly over your features; the ghost of his question haunting the air. Only you, “No, thanks.” you offered weakly, beginning to un-loop your scarf before thinking better of it. “It’s colder in here,” he noted, followed by a sad smile. It pinched his dimples, but didn’t reach his eyes. “Lo-” you started. He turned back to the window. Sighing, you shuffled into the living room where Steve and Thor stood shoulder to shoulder by the fireplace. The scratch of a pen on paper was crisp over their hushed voices. Something told you it wasn’t sharing notes for the orienteering course this afternoon. The captain gave a cautious glance over his shoulder, jumping and nudging his accomplice in the ribs.

Thor coughed, hand flying to his mouth. He turned just as the final scrunched rag of paper sucked between his lips.

He chewed, smiling. “Hurr-oh Agen’” he mouthed, oblivious to Steve’s adjacent frown. Swallowing with difficulty, he leant back against the fireplace with zero finesse. “I didn’t see you there.” “What are you two up to?” you asked warily, crossing the room and emptying the bundle of wood in your arms to the scuttle. Steve’s eyes darted to the ceiling, avoiding Thor’s grin which spread at alarming speed. You decided that under the circumstances, you didn’t want to know.

The markers you’d set up were supposed to take four hours to complete, but between intermittent downpours and Thor’s affinity for one-sided conversations with wildlife – it had taken six. The team had done well, and you had tried to let them make their own way as much as possible over steep inclines and thick forest.

Squabbling had inevitably ensued. By the time the beleaguered band piled back into the cottage, flopping on sofas and armchairs and the ancient, creaking recliner – all you wanted to do was sleep for the rest of the trip. “Why don’t we start a fire outside?” Steve announced loudly. You groaned. The sun’s last licks of light flooded through the window, illuminating the cottage lounge in an amber shroud. Loki’s forearm draped over his eyes, punctuating the sentiment with a bitter sigh of discontent. “Why must you always be doing something, Rogers?” he lamented.

To your surprise, Thor snapped up on the seat– eyes bright. “Yes! Yes! We can use the...the..” he and Steve pointed to each other dramatically.

“The groove technique!” they quipped in sync. You and Loki’s sceptical eyes met. His peered beneath a thick jumper sleeve; yours only visible above the worn blanket. For some reason, it smelled of him. “How’s this?” Loki postured slowly as he stretched his ridiculously long legs over the armrest. They dangled. “You two, go make us proud outside...and we will recuperate the energy necessary to deal with the result.”

This seemed to please everyone. Out the window, you enjoyed the unfolding show of the super soldier and the god arguing as they managed to whittle the tools required. “They forgot the moss,” you sighed to yourself, as dark smoke began to waft from the stick between Steve’s thighs. “Norns, the moss!” Thor boomed seconds later, panicked limbs flapping as he ran to the outshed.

To your side, the radio began to play soft jazz of its own accord. “I cannot summon the strength to get up. Don’t tell them,” Loki murmured. His arm was still draped over his eyes.

“It was only walking,” you cooed playfully, craning to see if there was the hint of a smile. There wasn’t. “Not that kind of tired,” he replied quietly, tapping the tip of his cheekbone with one curled finger. Biting your lip, you realised you hovered on the precipice of another early night for the god. And, you found, you didn’t want that at all. It was dark outside, now. “You’re allowed to use magic, you know” you said cheerfully, attempting to shift the mood as you snuggled deeper into the thin blanket. The once familiar scent of myrrh and smoked pine needles filled your nostrils. Really, it was uncanny how much this blanket smelled like-

Loki scoffed. “I suppose. It just feels wrong here, somehow. Like I’m sullying something.” You frowned, holding the ragged edge of the blanket out in front of your eyeline. “Loki, did you use this blanket?” His head tilted to the side, suspicious gaze peering beneath the curl of his fingers. “Yes.” was the strained response. “I draped myself in it when I slept down here the night that I...well-” You couldn’t help the giggle which escaped. In all the years you’d known him, Loki wouldn’t be caught dead using something so unconducive to utter pleasure. The very idea was absurd. Furs and pelts and material so soft it made your fingertips tingle when you touched it. Bedsheets so luxuriously sensual that the sensation of them against the back of your thighs was foreplay. The rooms you shared together had been no different, aside from the occasional cushion cover you’d managed to sneak in – inevitably met with distaste and eventual disappearance from the rotation.

Not even Stark’s voluminous fleece blankets during movie night had been acceptable, Loki always had his own magical stash, much to the envy of the others.

You would snuggle into his chest beneath the weight of it, cushioned at every angle with the heavenly material and his safe hands wrapped tightly beneath. They worked their way beneath your sweaters, each feather-light graze of his fingertip against your skin a promise of what was to come. You shivered. “Is that funny?” he frowned. Hurt bubbled behind his irises, frothing. You shook your head.

“I just wouldn’t have thought…” you said quietly, pursing your lips as the god’s stormy demeanour slipped once more beneath his hand.

The vintage clock on the wall ticked.

“I’m going to check on the guys” you muttered.

Even the bitter chill of darkness which waited outside the cottage door, you had a feeling, would be warmer than this.

Nudged by your encouragement, the sparks created by Steve and Thor had become a healthy blaze.

Flame and smoke twisted upwards to the endless starry night, a miraculous lack of cloud making deep-rooted constellations sparkle.

The three of you perched on a tree trunk the blonde god had heaved over from the edge of the forest. Your chin rested on Thor’s shoulder as you gazed up at the navy sky. After a time, the cottage door slammed. Slow, purposeful footsteps announced Loki’s delayed arrival crunching over the path. Their beat made your heart quicken, its thump soaking into Thor’s puffer jacket.

He walked in front of you all, warming his hands on the fire. They rubbed together, long fingers twisting and locking before he held them up, palms outward. How they glowed, that fair skin luminescent in the fire’s kiss. “Would you give us a moment?” he said.

You could feel the shift on either side of your body as Thor and Steve looked at each other over your head. “Please,” he added coldly, absorbed in the flames. It wasn’t a request. Thor’s jacket hissed as he shuffled from the log, unwinding his arm from your shoulders.

“Yes, well - I have some...business to attend to,” he rumbled – casting another glance at Rogers. Even under the glow of firelight, you were sure the captain was blushing. “Right,” Steve said as he slapped his hands on his thighs. “I’ve been meaning to change the batteries in the ol’...flashlight. They’ve been on the blinkeroo.” With an awkward frown at their efforts, you continued to stare at the back of Loki’s head.

His hair was half tucked into the emerald scarf, dark wisps of wild curl spilling over the curve of his collar. His silhouette was breath-taking; legs wide, triangular and imposing in the caress of flame. If he had any inkling of the captain and his brother’s disappearance into the night, he didn’t show it.

Seconds passed at a crawl.

Sparks jumped and burst from the fire, crackling outward before sinking into darkness. Loki turned, wordlessly seating himself beside you on the tree trunk. You took a moment to look at him. Really look at him. The god pressed each of his fingertips in turn while his gaze was transfixed on the fire. His pupils followed the twisting flames that danced and licked against the night. The shapes pulsed against his cheekbones, a stray thread of hair blowing gently against his jaw. “I’m glad I brought this scarf,” he said quietly, staring ahead. Your eyes fell to the material wound around his neck that had barely left it since you’d arrived. You opened your mouth to speak, before closing it again. “I am sorry that I did not appreciate it-” he swallowed lightly, eyes flickering quickly to yours before looking away, “-when you gave it to me.” You rested a hand on his shoulder, patting gently. Even through the thick wax jacket, and the knitted jumper beneath; you could feel every curve of the muscle you once knew so well. Words turned to nothing in your mind, and somehow – you didn’t need them.

You let the hand fall, looking back to the fire. “Have I ever told you of the cabin?” he murmured, curling the rogue strand behind his ear.

You shook your head. He released a wry chuckle. “No, I suspected as much. I had forgotten it myself until my brother reminded me.” His eyes met yours, alive for the first time since yesterday at the supermarket. They swam with starlight, reflected galaxies spiralling in the smouldering darkness. “My father, well...Odin- built the Asgardian Palace, you know” he mused, running his hands down his thighs with a sigh. “But before that, few people know of where he and my mother resided.”

His voice was gentle, a story-tell lilt replacing the superior twang you had come to associate with his tales of Asgard. This one felt different.

Fighting the urge to tangle your fingers in his hair and mount him, you dug your hands further into your pockets.

“There was a cabin on Midgard. In Tromsø, or what would become Tromsø. It could not be seen other than when the midnight sun shone down beneath two clouds of red, and only the water whispered of it as it travelled through the land. Spoken of in hushed tones around great halls and campfires such as this. Some claimed to have seen it.”

He paused, letting the fire crackle. “Perhaps, some did,” he added quietly. Loki looked up at the exact moment you realised you were staring at him, a dreamy smile spread across your features.

“Before they became what they are to everyone else, they were…” Loki paused, licking his lips. “Different. They hunted, they foraged, they cast magic and made beautiful things for this realm with their kin under the cover of folklore and dreamscapes. They fell in love with each other, with everything. Before they were gods.” “Before?” you gasped quietly. Loki nodded. “All things have a beginning” he murmured, looking back to the flames.

“After the wars, and the taking of Asgard – there was a necessity to leave the cabin-that-had-no-place. And when Thor and I were young, they took us back every Asgardian summer, letting us run in long grass and wear rags and be free on the fjords and hillsides. We had no airs or graces, we played with local children – even flirted a little when we were of that age.” He smiled mischievously. It faded. “But those were different times. A different person, perhaps.”

Loki paused, brows peaking as he stared at the fire. “Or perhaps not.”

You blinked several times, looking away. Flames twisted and blew together as one. “Father gave us these hunting knives when we were sixteen, in your years” he said, an outstretched palm holding the blade. “The summer before our ceremonial inaugurations.”

It glinted in the fire’s glow.

“Uten røtter gjenstår ingenting” you chanted, running the pads of your fingertips over the blade’s inscription.

“Without roots, nothing remains” Loki hummed. “Ironic, considering all it transpired my father covered up. But not entirely without its merit.”

Your brow scrunched, wondering if you should say what you were thinking. “Yes?” he whispered. “Why are you telling me this?” Loki’s eyes tracked down the skim of your cheekbone, falling to your lips before swinging to the crackling fire. He grabbed a stick from the ground, poking the base.

“If I was that boy, once” he said thoughtfully, “then perhaps, there is hope for me. It felt important that I tell you that.” He twirled the stick between his fingers, catching a rogue ember between his tips before it landed on your lap. “I had forgotten him,” he murmured, rubbing the ash between his thumb and index finger. “I liked him.”

You leant your head silently on Loki’s shoulder, feeling his spine soften into the touch. His temple pressed against your hair.

“The thought of you and Thor chatting up poor local Norwegian girls is sending me a bit, you know” you muttered playfully. Loki’s quiet laugh was brighter than the fire.

You stayed like that, flames crackling.

Suddenly something caught your eye to the side, random flashes of white light which flickered on and off about fifty paces to the right.

You frowned, squinting into the darkness. Steve?

The light flickered again. Only the round of the captain’s pert ass was visible behind the tree. You were about to notify Loki to the strange sight when the sky lit up, an almighty crack shaking the air. Instinctively Loki covered your body with his, pressing you down into his lap. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for impact or sirens or the cries of a thousand rallying foes.

The god’s chest lay flush against your back, his breathing heavy as your mouth panted open against his thigh. You turned your head instinctually towards his body, cheek meeting the titanic bulge in his worn jeans. He pressed down further, caging you pressed between his thick trunk and thick-

“NORNS, DID YOU SEE THAT?” The thunder of Thor’s boots sounded against the stone path.

Loki’s breath fanned you ear as he rose, the feeling of his weight leaving bringing you back to reality. Turning, you saw thick smoke billowing into the night sky from the cottage, white against black. Loki jumped to his feet, clenching and unclenching his fists as Thor drew closer. He raked a hand through his hair, observing the unexpected scene with incredulity. Steve appeared, sidestepping closer to the muster as he spoke. “Oh gee, a lightening strike-” he said with unconvincing surprise. “I guess it happens! Thank goodness no one was inside.” The only sound was the crick of Loki’s neck as he edged it one side to another. “Brother,” he growled menacingly.

Thor laughed. “I know what you infer, but I do not know the origin of every strike of lightening. That is preposterous!” His eyes darted to the side, before falling guiltily back to Loki. “Global warming.” he added confidently while Steve nodded sagely beside him. The captain looked down at the flashlight in his hand, hiding it quickly behind his back.

Suddenly your eyes widened. “I think it hit my room.” Before you knew it, you were sprinting towards the cottage with the cries of the three men behind you. Their squabbling was white noise as you threw open the door and barrelled up the stairs. Everything you could see was eerily calm. Undisturbed.

The door to your bedroom swung open beneath cautious fingers. Your breath hitched.

The ceiling was open to the sky, a choking arid smell dissipating in the air. Tiles and smouldering ivy lay scattered around the room’s edge.

Your clothes? Sparse personal effects? Bed? Gone. Ash.

There was an unnatural circular hole in the floor where the lightening had landed, showing the far corner of the living room below.

“My chair!” Thor wailed from downstairs.

His plea was clean and crisp through the gaping hole in the floor. You heard his knees hit the carpet, followed by another thump you could only assume was his forehead.

“My chair,” he whined, quieter this time. “Oh, well done.” came Loki’s scathing response.

“So not only have you decimated one bedroom, but the common room too” Loki muttered venomously, pacing a tight circle in the hall. The lounge window was blown open, shards of glass decorating the floor which held the smoking black outlines of the furniture. “Lightening hath struck the cottage brother,” Thor exclaimed on his knees with theatrical indignation. “Tis’ a natural phenomenon-” “-You’re a natural cretin.” Loki snapped.

“Alright boys let’s just take a beat,” Steve said. “We don’t know what happened here, but suffice to say we’ll deal with the consequences like gentleman.” Loki shook his head, a dry chuckle making his brother flinch.

“Don’t...don’t know what happened, Rogers?!” he quipped with feigned surprise. “Why! Let me just...try to use my magic to un-fuck this mess, shall I?” Thor smirked. Seidr glowed in Loki’s palms, spreading out to the living room. It sloshed upwards like water on a glass dome. “How odd, brother” Loki purred sarcastically. He didn’t even have to look at it. Thor swallowed as Steve’s brows rose. The dark god turned to the captain with a flourish of his wrist.

“My magic doesn’t work on another god’s mischief, you see” he said bluntly. “I suspect I would not be able to locate the whereabouts of your unmentionables, either. But I might start with the crisper if I were you. An old favourite of his.” Thor flushed pink. “Now see here, brother-”

He was cut off by your slow traipse down the stairs. You peeked into the living room; face falling as the three men huddled closer together out of your path. Loki’s mind was afizz. He watched despair cut across your features that not five minutes ago had been resting safely on his shoulder. The memory of that moment, Loki was sure, would sustain him through whatever farce his brother had in store.

“Where am I going to sleep?” you said weakly, looking at Steve. The captain’s lips formed a wide O, eyes vacant. Loki quickly calculated the options. “You can sleep in my room,” he said.

All eyes fell on him. “I will rest...somewhere else. In my brother’s bed as penance for his incredible stupidity.” "What's he got to do with this?" you asked, falling on deaf ears. “And where am I to bed?” Thor huffed. “In the car,” came Loki’s snap response. “Well actually uh-” Steve inhaled deeply, exhaling though his nose. “That won’t be possible. Thor and I need to stay in our assigned lodgings.” “What!?” “Our assigned lodgings.” Loki rolled his eyes.

“Yes, brother. Rogers and I have some important...business to discuss later.” Thor’s eyes flickered to Steve, who nodded. But he didn’t look happy about it. “Assigned lodgings.” he repeated. “I’ll just sleep in the bath,” you said with finality. Loki could tell the tension smothering the hallway was too much. Steve nodded once, clapping you on the shoulder. He gestured for Thor to go first up the stairs. He did, with a final shifty glance backwards.

Loki observed every single step up to the landing with infinite mistrust, hearing their door close with a soft click. Muttering ensued. “You are not sleeping in the bath, Agent. You’ll freeze to death” he spat, running an anxious hand through his hair as he kicked shards of glass from the lounge window further inside the room.

You groaned, resting your forehead against the door-frame. Loki straightened, clasping his hands behind his back. “Take my room.” he uttered, laden with ceremony. “I am a Prince of Asgard, I insist. My word is law. Obey me or face the consequences.” Your face titled towards him, your mouth twitching in a reluctant smile. Loki returned it. “I feel awful,” you whined, biting your lip.

How Loki wished you hadn’t bit your lip. Suddenly, your eyes lit. “Sleep in the room with me. This is dire straights and with those two being weirdos about it-” “-I couldn’t possibly.” he said quickly, catching what he thought might be disappointment in your eyes. The god’s feet shuffled on the floor, seconds ticking loudly. Even a blast of lightening couldn't destroy vintage clocks, apparently.

“On the floor...perhaps.” Loki said. “You could conjure a nice blanket?” you probed. “Some fancy pillows? A treat. No shitty blankets.” Loki nodded, hoping it looked reluctant. Despite it being a terrible idea, excitement twisted in his stomach. “You go ahead,” he said softly. “I’ll be right up.”

He savoured the shape of them on his tongue. It had been a long time, Loki thought wistfully as he watched you go, since he’d said those words.

You flicked the light on, before turning it off again.

Best to just go to sleep, and then...it will be morning. No chatting. Next door, in Thor and Steve’s room, a floorboard creaked.

You looked around the small space, bigger than yours. But the layout was roughly the same, Loki’s single bed slightly off-centre, near to the wall. A small wardrobe sat sadly in the corner, his collection of outdoor-wear hanging neatly. It was hard to place the feeling bubbling in your chest.

Nerves. Anticipation? You hadn’t been this nervous since the night you and Loki had first had sex. You smiled, remembering how the knowledge that lingerie sat snug beneath your casual clothes made you wish the night away before you finally fell into his bed. It had been the best night of your life. Until that point, anyway. We’re not having sex, you chided silently as you quickly pulled off your clothes and left them in a pile by the bed. We’re not.

But for a second, you couldn’t remember why.

Naked, you suddenly recalled that your nightdress was ash next door.

Fuck, you thought; before hearing the low creak of Loki’s ascent up the stairs. You briefly considered displaying yourself nude and draped over the bedpost with your legs spread. But you decided your ego couldn't take that kind of knock right now - not when a kiss had been too far. You darted to the wardrobe, grabbing something and shoving it over your head before leaping to the bed. Fighting the folds of his tightly packed blankets, you shimmied between the thin sheets. He knocked gently, twice. “Come in,” you said casually.

The sound of low gasps and girlish whispers echoed from next door. Or maybe it was the wind. Loki’s hand appeared on the doorknob, pushing at arm’s length. Tentatively, his face came into view, averting his gaze to the door jam. The sight made you want to scream.

“Are you decent?” he murmured formally. At your confirmation, his gaze found you on the bed, knees curled to your chest and one of his t-shirts hanging loose around your body. Casual. Totally casual. “Ah, I’m glad you found something suitable,” he said gingerly as he made his way quietly to the window and pulled the curtains.

A plump comforter unfurled from green light on the floor, one silken pillow at its top. Magic rolled over his body, revealing the pyjama bottoms he’d been wearing all week. The ones that clung to his ass, shifting like water as he moved.

You swallowed.

“This is all I have in the closet, I’m afraid” he murmured half-apologetically as he patted his heart.

His eye twitched, fighting a wink.

Deep valleys of his stomach muscle clenched as he breathed, the V of his hips carved and beautiful above the hem of the loose trousers. The bulge of his cock shifted in moonlight as he dropped to his haunches, arranging the pillow. You cleared your throat, straightening your legs. “It’s fine, thank you for...this.” He offered a curt nod as he quickly arranged himself beneath the blanket. Rolling onto your side, your fingers slid up your temple through your hair. "You think that Thor made lightening hit the cottage?" "Yes." Your nose wrinkled. "Why would he do that?" Loki snorted derisively as he fluffed his luxurious pillow. Goose down, from the sound of it. "He's trying to be mischievous," he said gruffly. "It doesn't suit him." You rolled back on the bed with a squeak, mind working.

“Goodnight,” Loki whispered in the darkness. The salutation seemed unfinished, somehow.

What felt like hours passed.

The god's breathing was steady, but he shifted every so often with a breathy moan you were sure was intentional. You curled deeper on your side, facing away from him. It was freezing, the usual chill of the cottage not helped by the gaping hole in the roof next door no doubt. Was he facing away from you too? You decided to indulge yourself, rolling over beneath a rustle of bedsheets. Loki lay on his side, facing towards the bed. Dark curls were strewn over his forehead, one hand under the pillow while the other rested by his stomach. The blanket was pushed down to his waist, moonlight illuminating the shadowed carvings of his body. “Can’t sleep?” he purred groggily.

You closed your eyes quickly. “I’m cold, that’s all.” you said, hoping your voice didn’t betray the thundering of your sex. Just being in the same room, half-clothed, sleeping – the evidence of your desire for him slid uncomfortably between your thighs. “How rude, I should have given you my blanket-” There was silence, as Loki considered his words. “Do you want this blanket?” he asked quietly. You put all your mortal strength into making your teeth chatter. “N-n-n-no, you’ve already given me your b-b-bed-” “-You know, you’re making this very difficult for me, Agent” Loki chided from the floor. “The only other option is my-” he paused, making your heart stop. “Body heat” he finished.

“Both?” you whispered, half-hoping he wouldn’t hear it.

It hung between you. You opened one eye, catching the glimpse of his milk-slick silhouette rising silently, cast against the moonlight. The blanket hung from one fist, fingers clenching and unclenching. “Heat,” Loki mumbled quietly.

You wondered if he knew he’d done it.

He paced once, stopping at the bed’s edge. Your eyes met, the set of his jaw only softened by lightly parted lips. Lust burned in dark pupils, the energy making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Curls fell around his shoulders, the natural scent of his crotch lingering tantalisingly in the air above your nose. God, how you missed that. You shuffled over in the single mattress, realising at once that it would be a very tight fit. He cast a glance to the foot of the bed, and back again.

“Perhaps my brother is still awake, I should make my lodgings there,” he murmured regretfully. Your eyes widened. “But-” “Wait here,” he said firmly.

On his way to the door, he turned and threw the blanket to rest with a flourish over the bed. No sooner had his fingers wrapped around the doorknob and pulled, Thor’s voice came through the wall. Muffled, but unmistakable. ‘Good gods, Rogers...don’t stop,” the voice groaned. “Where did you learn to do that with your argh-f-fingers?’ ‘The army,’ came the abrupt response.

There was another fetid moan. Loki released the door-handle like hot coal while you covered your mouth with your hands. The god hung his head, tendrils of dark hair clouding his expression from view. “Alright...” he breathed stoically to himself before turning to the bed.

Each pace was measured as he drew closer, every creak of the floorboards making you ache for him with every fibre of your being.

“You are cold,” he said slowly, penitently, as his knuckles sank into the mattress.

One knee followed suit.

He tilted his head, biting his lip as his brows knitted with some unsaid thought.

“I can help with that, at least,” he murmured to the darkness.

Continued in Darkest Night, Brightest Day

A/N - If you're not screaming at the wall right now then I haven't done my job. Ps. If anyone can identify, in full, the actual cunning plan, you will win a prize. Tags @lokischambermaid @meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @holdmytesseract @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @fandxmslxt69 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @thenotoriouserg @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @liminalpebble @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @kellatron55 @mrs-illyrian-baby @icytrickster17 @multifandom-worlds @muddyorbs @buttercupcookies-blog @megschaef98

[thetriumphantpanda]

in his healing hands | joel miller

Summary | You come back from patrol with a broken body - knees and feet aching with age and the physical toll of the world. Joel knows exactly how to help you, putting his hands (and mouth) to good use.

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word count | 1.8K

Warnings | Foot massage (not in a fetish way), knee massage, soft!Joel, oral sex (f receiving), Jackson-era, no use of y/n, no explicit reference to age but reader does say the line 'I'm getting too old for this' so make of that what you will (I’m 28 and I say this, so make her whatever age you wish!), nothing else, just porn without much plot tbh.

Authors note | So, I did a 25km charity trek yesterday and when I tell you my body is wrecked? My body is wrecked. My knees are shot, my feet have never known pain like it, my lower back is screaming at me. So, naturally, Joel massaging my aches and pains and then eating my pussy was the natural thing for my brain to come up with. Slight shoutout to @mvtthewmurdvck for the massage oil idea here... I couldn't resist. Enjoy - this was written and edited on my phone in about 3 hours so be kind.

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

You’re too old for this. You’d been on your feet for what felt like a lifetime, though it hadn’t been more than twelve hours. Still, it was enough for the new boots Tommy had given you to cause blisters on the balls of your feet, and for your knees to feel like they had shattered under your skin. You had to speak to him, you think, as you hand your rifle back to the weapon store. Tommy needed to find a job for you that didn’t require you traipsing through the forest, up and down hills, otherwise your body was seriously going to give up on you. 

One foot in front of the other, it’s slow moving to his house. To your house. That’s still something you’re getting used to, the fact that your belongings, though they are few and far between, are now entangled with his. Your boots sit next to his by the door, your clothes hang alongside his in the wardrobe, you have a bedside table on your side of the bed. It’s strangely domestic, but you wouldn’t be without him, without Joel. He is what keeps your feet moving, no matter how much you want to collapse onto the ground and cry from the pain. 

The sun is setting, the slow pace back down your final hill and into the gun store mean you’re later than usual. When you push the door open, Joel is stood in the kitchen, his back to you, broad and straining against his t-shirt. You think you could watch him from behind forever. Immediately, you feel the stress you’d been holding in your shoulders dissipate from your body. The pain is still there though. 

Joel turns around slowly, smiling at you gently, his hands are clutching two steaming mugs of coffee. You’re still scared to ask what exactly he traded for it, but you’re grateful for it none-the-less when it’s pressed into your hand, and he’s kissing your forehead, pushing a gentle hand on your back, driving you towards the couch. He sits down, his own age showing in the way his knees audibly creak as he sits. 

You follow suit, a sharp gasp of pain leaving your lips as you sink into the couch cushions, legs sticking out straight because you can’t bare to bend them anymore. Joel is sitting up, concern across his face, because you never let on when you’re hurting, so for you to audibly wince when you try and get comfortable, he knows it must be bad. 

“Where are ya hurtin’, baby?” He asks, setting his coffee cup down on the table. 

“Backs of my knees,” You grumble, tipping your head back in pain as you try and shift into a comfortable position, “And my feet.” 

Joel slowly moves off the couch, sinking to his knees in front of you. His deft hands are unlacing your boots, pulling them off your feet, peeling off your socks after them. He has his hand wrapped around one of your ankles, tilting your foot to look at it, “What did I tell ya about breakin’ these in?” He scolds, head tilting to the boots on the floor, “Told ya you’d get blisters.” 

“The only place I ever go is on patrol Joel, I can only wear them in on patrol.” You shoot back, frustration in your voice. 

“Alright baby.” He lets this one go, realising you don’t need chastising, just helping. 

He takes your left foot in his hand and presses him thumb into the arch of your foot and you moan. You actually moan in relief as he works his thumb up to the ball of your foot, avoiding the blister that’s built there, pressing a thumb into the skin next to it. 

“Jesus fuck, Miller,” You groan, starting to press your foot into the pressure of his thumb, “Do the other one.” You ask, gesturing your hand to your other foot. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

He shifts his hand, repeating the same movements as before, thumbs digging into the arch of your foot, moving upwards slowly, until he presses slightly too hard into the ball of this foot, making you hiss instead of groan. He squeezes your ankle, knowing that he’s probably now causing more pain than anything else. 

“How’s about I run you a bath?” He murmurs from his knees, “Then we can get you nice and comfy in bed.” 

The warm water had gone some way to soothing you, but as you hobble from the bathroom down to your bedroom, the searing ache in your kneecaps is causing small tears to bloom at the edge of your vision. In the bedroom, Joel is already propped up against his pillows, glasses perched on the end of his nose with a book in his lap. It’s still warm, so he’s not put a sleep shirt on, he looks positively delicious and if your whole body wasn’t pain, you’d straddle his hips and show him just how much you needed him. 

He looks up from his book when he hears your heavy footsteps coming towards the bed, “Hot water help?” He asks, chuckling slightly when you flop, unceremoniously, down onto the bed, face-first, groaning in relief at the weight finally being off your body. 

“Will you…” You mumble into the sheets under your mouth, turning your head to him to he can hear you properly, “Will you do the backs of my knees?” You ask, “Just massage them a bit and see if it’ll help?” 

He shuts his book and drags his glasses off his face, setting them both down on his bedside table, pushing the sheets back from his lap, moving himself up on his knees next to you. He reaches over and sinks his fingers under the edge of the towel you’ve got wrapped around you, pulling it out from under you to drop it to the floor, leaving your backside naked to him. 

He runs his hands down your back, wide palms skimming over your warm skin, he stops to squeeze the globes of your ass as his hands continue their path down the backs of your thighs, all the way down to the crook of your knee. He leans over you, body pressed gently to yours as he fishes around in the bedside drawer for a moment, pulling out the small vial of oil he keeps there. 

Tommy had given it to him months ago, during the winter, when Joel’s joints seized up with the cold – you’d been the one massaging his back and his shoulders then – with the rosemary scented oil that someone in town cooked up, meaning the hard-to-find pills stayed in the hospital for emergencies only. 

You listen as he squeezes a tiny amount of oil into his palms, rubbing them together to warm and loosen the oil, before he’s got those palms wrapped around one of your knees, pads of his thumbs gently pressing into the aching muscle there. 

“You tell me if I’m too hard, okay?” He speaks softly behind you, a pattern of dragging one thumb, and then the other, across the plane of skin there, swapping between each knee until you’re a mouldable mess of a human. 

“Feels good,” You breathe out, head pillowed on your arm, “I ever tell you how good you are with your hands?” 

Joel laughs now, “Feelin’ better, huh?” He speaks, oily hands leaving the backs of your knees to trail back up to your ass, giving you another squeeze to see if you’re going to tell him to fuck off or not. 

He leans forward, lips pressing a soft kiss to the bottom of your back, “Think you told me once or twice,” He comments, answering your earlier question about his hands, “But, if I remember correctly, you think I’m better with my mouth.” 

His lips press a kiss to one of the cheeks of your ass, then the other, before he’s gripping the meat of you in his hands, squeezing and spreading you open for him, he notices you tense a little, and that simply won’t do, “Relax, will ya?” He encourages, “Promise I’m gonna make you feel real good, baby.” 

He knows that he can’t shift you up onto your knees, or bend them much as all, but God he has to taste you. He shifts himself a little, from straddling your legs, to shifting them open a little so he can rest between them. You’re still led on your front, head resting on your arms, tilted round gently to look at him as much as you can. 

He settles in between your thighs, body spread out much like yours is, with his mouth just inches from your weeping core, that’s been gradually gathering slick since he started touching you downstairs on the couch. His hands are back gripping the meat of your ass, using them to spread you apart so he can finally see you already dripping for him. 

“Can you lift up a little, baby?” He asks, watching with satisfaction as you move a little so he can finally get his mouth on you. 

He dips his tongue into your aching cunt first, using his tongue to lap up the delicious slick he’s already drawn from you. It’s already obscene, the sounds of his slurping, the way he literally drinks from you, tasting every part of you. Then, from his place behind you, he moves his head so he’s lapping at your clit. Soft, gentle flicks with the tip of his tongue, swirling the mix of his saliva and your slick over the little bundle of nerves in such a way that you’re crying out for him already. 

“Easy baby,” He grins into your cunt, “You that worked up, huh?” He pulls away slightly, “Do I need to make you come? Will that make everythin’ better?” 

You push yourself back onto his mouth and he obliges, because he can never deny you, especially when you’re this delicate and pliable, all from his hands helping to stop you hurting. He’s giving you wider, longer swipes of his tongue across your clit now, alternating when he wants back to those tight circles with the tip of his tongue until you are literally a quivering mess, teetering on the edge, waiting for him to tip you over. 

“Joel,” You whimper, hips chasing at his tongue as it sweeps across your swollen clit, “Make me come, please.” 

He doesn’t even bother to reply, just latches his lips around your clit, sucking for pressure, but still driving his tongue over it, until you finally let go, body shaking and a chorus of his name and pleas for him not to stop echoing through the room. And he doesn’t, not until he’s sure that his tongue has worked every ounce of your orgasm from you. He pulls away from you, wiping the slick from his face onto the back of your thigh before he collapses down on the bed next to you. 

He rolls you gently onto your side, pulling your body into his. His hand pulls at your knee gently, bringing one of your legs across his body to rest on him, hand staying warm and solid on your still painful knee, as his other arm snaked under your neck and around your shoulders to anchor you to him. 

He is still in awe, as you fall asleep against him, with his hands wide against your clammy skin, that these were once the same hands that killed people, tortured some of them even, the same hands that cradled his dying daughter all those years ago, now used to ease someone else’s pain, to make someone else feel better. He uses those hands now, running gentle patterns across your skin as you fall asleep, hoping that when you wake up, it’s made all the difference, even though he knows if you’re still hurting, he would stay here forever, running those hands over your aches and pains to heal you. 

[bvtbxtch]

Don't it Make You Feel | E.M X Fem!Reader Part 3

Series Summary: The state championships for the battle of the bands brings in new opportunities for your Fort Wayne band Head Case. Things flip on their head when you meet who you'll be competing against...

Part 1

Part 2

Songs in this part are inspired by:

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Series Warnings: NSFW! Minors DNI!, Smut, Fluff, Angst (would it be a bvtbxtch fanfic without all three?), mentions of abusive relationships, p in v sex, oral sex, kissing, cuddling, violence, mention of drugs and alcohol, being drunk, romance under the influence. By clicking the read more, you are confirming you are over the age of 18!

**This part contains material that discusses emotionally and physically abusive relationships. If you or someone you know is struggling in an abusive relationships, please reach out to local services**

Word Count: ~10.5k

Author's Note: Remember when I said that the next part wasn't going to take a month?? I am really sorry. In personal news, I have been acting professionally for the past couple months and that has been such a time suck. I am so so sorry but I am so happy to bring this little story back.

You sprawled across your unmade hotel bed, the now setting sun a memory behind the small Indianapolis skyline. A neglected, cold pizza stared back at you from your night stand, illuminated by the ad playing on the dingy motel TV. As much as you tried to envelop yourself in sleep, your restless brain would not let you. The moment you tried to close your eyes, Eddie’s pleading face invaded the darkness. You rolled out of bed and peered through the large window out into the dark Indiana evening. You wondered where he was right now, if he was struggling with sleep as much as you were. Your whole body yearned for him, as much as you hated to admit it. You wish you had his phone number, or just knew where he was. Was he feeling the cool spot on his bed, wishing your body was there? You closed the curtains to your room and shook Eddie out of your thoughts. You threw your oversized tee off of your body and toed out of your shorts. On your way to the small bathroom, you threw open the mini fridge nestled by the TV and found three small bottles of Jagermeister. You cracked one open and let the licorice filled liquid fall down your throat with a wince, and traipsed back towards the stark white tiled bathroom. You cranked the faucet until a scalding stream of water cascaded from the shower head. You squeezed your eyes shut and felt the warmth and fuzziness of the water and alcohol consume you. You inadvertently began to hum the melody of the song that you so desperately wanted to scrub from your mind. Suddenly, your eyes shot open and you hurriedly shut off the water and scampered to your bed and to your notepad; leaving a trail of puddles across your hotel room.

Eddie paced back and forth through the studio’s production booth. The headphones tethered to the mixing table long ditched on the ground. His hands fisted at his hair in frustration. Your heavenly sighs and moans had filled his ears for the past three hours, the rest of the band already retiring for the evening. He had shooed everyone out until he had added your vocals and roughly mixed them. The vision of your dark eyes haunted him and he couldn’t stand subjecting you to more embarrassment from letting anyone else listen to the file of the two of you. To his surprise, he heard himself let out small whimpers as well. His cheeks had heated up, partially in embarrassment, but also for longing. He wished you didn’t run away. He wished that he pulled you out of the elevator and held you close. But now he sat, cold, alone and anxious. He picked the headphones back up and slid them over his ears for the last time that night. He hastily pressed play on his track and listened closely. He nodded closely, and couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face at his creation. He saved his work and shut off the lights in the studio. He grabbed his keys and left the record label slightly happier than he was 10 minutes ago. He was content, but knew that he was returning to an empty trailer and a cold bed, wishing your rhythmic breathing was lulling him to sleep.

“What the hell is up, Munson? You get out of your funk last night?” Gareth teased as the four boys stood in the ascending elevator. Three snickers rang out, but Eddie remained quiet. 

“Yeah, you better get a hold of yourself, Ed. You’re gonna scare Y/N away again.” Doug added, Eddie shot him a pointed look. The boys’ laughter ceded and the air thickened. 

“Things are okay though, right Eddie?” Jeff hushed. Eddie bit his lip and tightly nodded his head. 

“Y-yeah I mean, I think so. We got some good shit done yesterday, so…” The elevator dinged and the metalheads shuffled out and back into the swanky studio. “I have some ideas for a second verse-” Eddie’s voice died in his throat as he heard your voice giggling through the sound system. The men could hear the technician's muffled voice and your acknowledgements crystal clear through the speakers. 

Gareth opened the door as the producer asked you to take the verse one more time. The track boomed through your headphones, as well as throughout the studio. You took a deep breath in and projected into the mic. The four boys stood behind the sound table in awe, watching your figure bop slowly in time to your intoxicating lyrics.

I was in your shower getting wasted

I woke up in hell

And I’m still naked

And Sedated And they drove it through my heart

I swear the hardest part

Is watching worlds dissolve

If I could change it all

I’d make it out alive.

Eddie’s heart was in his throat. Your voice rang out throughout his ears and he could barely stand to look at you. He felt like he was going to combust. He felt a sharp elbow in his side. 

“Almost better than all the shit you’ve written, Munson,” Jeff joked. Gareth let out an amazed chuckle.

“She sounds fucking amazing.”

“I know, dude,” Eddie mumbled, his thumbnail making purchase with his mouth. He bit down in a desperate attempt to ground himself, and hide the thumping of his heart and the smile threatening to split his face. 

The track cut and you opened your eyes with a smile. You were immediately greeted by four extra pairs of eyes staring back at you. Your smile fell and you immediately threw off the headphones.

“I was just fucking around it- I was just- It didn’t mean anything, I just thought-”

You barrelled through the door into the studio, cheeks flushed and chest puffing. 

Eddie held out a hand to stop you with a dry smirk. He eyed you up and down slowly. 

“Where did you pull that verse out of?” Doug oozed, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. Gareth and Jeff joined in with praise, babbling about how great the song was going to sound. Their voices muffled as you locked eyes with Eddie. He was biting his lower lip and his eyes narrowed on your frame; but there was a glint of excitement in his eyes. 

“Yeah, Y/N. Where did that verse come from?” Eddie pressed. “You left pretty late last night, and apparently Stu called your room and couldn’t reach you. He thought you had just gone to sleep.”

Eddie saw you inverting like you did last night. He couldn’t help but feel satisfied. You had given him nothing - not even a word, since you walked out on him last night; and although he was incredibly impressed with your verse, he couldn’t help but feel dejected that you left him and seemingly used him as inspiration. 

“It was a long day, I wrote it taking advantage of the mini bar in my room, if I’m being honest” you giggled nervously. 

“Metal, dude. That sounded amazing.” Jeff clapped you on the shoulder. “Alright, brother. What’s next?” He turned to the producer and the rest of the band trailed behind him, into the recording booth, excitedly chattering. You were left alone with Eddie, the room becoming uncomfortably hot and crammed. 

“Eddie, we don’t have to use-” Eddie stopped you again with a short snort. 

“We have to use it. It sounded amazing.” Your brows furrowed in confusion.

“I thought-”

“Yeah, I know. At first I was a little pissed that you were holding gems out like that on me..Fuck, I can’t even write shit that good in that short of time, Can I hire you for your services?” Eddie’s grin turned shit eating. You rolled your eyes and tried to turn away from him. He caught your shoulder with a small, almost pleading ‘wait’. You huffed, half in tension, half in exasperation. 

“I didn’t tell anyone what happened last night.” His pupils dilated and it seemed like they were going to absorb your whole world into their darkness. You bit down on your tongue as you nodded slowly. Suddenly, the scuffs on the toe caps of your converse were very interesting. Eddie’s head bent lower to entice you back to looking at him. 

“And for what it’s worth, the song sounds fucking amazing, and your verse fits it perfectly. I really mean it.” You tried to stop the smile that spread across your face, and Eddie’s lips mirrored yours. “I also edited the recordings from last night so no one needs to know…” Eddie cleared his throat and took his turn to eye the floor. 

You flashed Eddie a tight smile.You so desperately wanted to reach out and touch him, to feel close to him again, but you stopped yourself. 

“Okay, Eddie. What’s next on the schedule?”

-

The five of you took Round Table Records by storm. You sang your hearts out and jammed out in awe as Corroded Coffin showed you really how talented they were. Eddie eyed you proudly when you weren’t looking. You had blossomed in front of the mic, fully belting your own lyrics and harmonizing with him perfectly. He wanted to believe it was him that had helped you, not being able to help the butterflies in his stomach when he heard your moans over the playback. There was a small pang in his heart knowing that you were just that talented on your own.

-

You worked throughout the whole day and into the evening to finish Fake My Death - that’s what Gareth had decided you should call the track. The night ended at the bar on the second floor of the building. Stu had given you all full reign of the liquor on his tab to celebrate the completion of the newly improved Corroded Coffin’s first track. You let the bitter mixes of alcohol pour down your throat, sharing laughs with your new bandmates.

“So, Y/L/N, how long are you staying in town for?” Gareth asked.

“Yeah, who’s waiting for you back in Fort Wayne?” Jeff added. Eddie shot the fresh whiskey he had just ordered in one gulp and felt his cheeks flushed. He hoped no one would be. 

“I, umm. I’m gonna go back on Monday, I think. I dunno, what should I do? I feel like I have to move down here I guess?” you giggled nervously, inhibitions blurred from your intoxication. “But, yeah, I guess I do have to go home and sort my life out before I do that.” Two days ago, you never thought you would be leaving your dad’s basement for good - saying goodbye to your old bandmates and setting off in a new direction, but you couldn’t lie, it was exciting to be wanted; the possibility of becoming someone totally different in a new place was refreshing. After today, you had decided that you would commit to the band, and if that meant moving south, so be it. Your face suddenly wound up in surprise. 

“Oh, god. I guess, I should say, I’d move here if you’ll have me in the band.”

The boys all let out hearty laughs, except for Eddie who eyed you carefully. 

“Are you fucking crazy?” Gareth wrapped an arm around you. “We’d be honored. We haven’t had that great of a recording session in like - forever. Kid you’re going places; please, take us with you!” You blushed hard and wrapped yourself into Gareth’s chest with a shy laugh. Eddie tightened his grip around the beer bottle he was nursing. His heart pounded in his chest looking at how naturally you fit underneath his arm. He couldn’t help but notice you didn’t answer Jeff’s question. Was Joey waiting for you at home? Did you call him last night, is that why you didn’t answer Stu’s call? Did you write your verse about Joey and not him? He assumed you wrote about what happened last night - I mean, that’s what he felt through your singing… His inebriation made the intrusive thoughts flow like a river. His brain fogged and although he smiled at you through another toast, this one dedicated to you (‘the brand new face of Corroded Coffin’ coined Doug), Eddie’s eyes were clouded. You looked at him quizzically, but couldn’t read what he was thinking. You squeezed your eyes shut and downed another vodka soda. 

You spread yourself out on a leather couch, watching Jeff and Gareth scrimmage over the sleek foosball table while Doug leaned over to watch. Giggles erupted from the table every so often and you couldn’t help but laugh along with them. You let your mind drift into the excitement of what your new normal could look like. You had let your head lean back towards the arm of the couch, legs up on the other cushion. Suddenly, you felt a calloused hand on your crossed ankles, gently lifting your legs to shimmy under them. Your hot blood ran cold as you looked to see Eddie sitting beside you. His eyes still looked dark and clouded. He shot you a curt smile and turned his head to watch the foosball battle. 

“How are you guys getting home, Eddie? It’s already like 1 am.” you asked. 

“Oh, uh Stu put us up in the hotel you’re at for the night, you know. To celebrate” he tipped his refilled drink to you and took a sip before letting out a small ‘mmm’ and reaching to the small coffee table beside him. He handed you a glass full of clear liquid. You shook your head at him

“Nah, I am cutting myself off, I can barely feel my feet”

“It’s water, sweetheart.” Eddie retorted with an adorable chuckle. Fuck. The nickname threw your heart into your stomach. You tried not to smile at him, to let him know how close he was to infiltrating your heart. “Actually, I was thinking of calling myself a cab. I’m beat. You ready to go?” His eyes were pleading like they were the night before: full of want, and fear that you were going to disappear in front of his very eyes. You nodded your head and Eddie pulled you up off the couch. Your legs felt like jello underneath you and you both giggled as you stumbled into his chest. His hands instinctively went to your waist to steady you and both of your laughs died in your chest. Eddie let you go and turned to the metalheads now bickering about guitar riffs. 

“Hey team, I’m ready to head ‘er. Y’all gonna stay or come back to the hotel with us?”

“As much as I hate third wheeling,” Doug chided, “I’ll hop in with you guys. If I don’t slow down, I’m gonna puke.” Doug made his way to the elevator.

“Jeff? Gareth?” Eddie called as the two of you followed Doug out. 

“Yeah we’ll catch up with you.” The two barely looked up from the table. “Don’t fuck up our band already, Munson.” Jeff giggled. Eddie rolled his eyes and led you to the elevator. He didn’t realize how drunk he was, because his legs seemed to get caught underneath him as well. You both giggled as you stumbled to the front door together and outside into the fresh air. 

“Dude, what a great day.” Doug exclaimed, weight rocking excitedly. “The song sounds bitching and like, having a beautiful girl as our frontwoman - are you kidding?-”

“Dude, Doug.” Eddie warned.

“Man what? If you’re not going to say it I will. Y/N is smoking. It’s gonna do so much for our image. You literally wouldn’t stop talking about how pretty she was at our practice after the finals-”

“DOUG.” Eddie yelped. If he wasn’t holding you up he would have lunged at his bandmate. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the boys standing in front of you. Doug looked exasperated while Eddie’s pale complexion turned a bashful pink and his brows furrowed. Finally the cab rolled next to your bodies. Doug filed into the front seat while Eddie opened the back door for you, his hand hovering as you slid into the seat in case you lost your balance. 

You shivered at the Midwestern wind. Your shorts and jean jacket were not doing much to protect you from the breeze. You pulled your knees to your chest and let out a small sigh. Eddie eyed you.

“You cold?”

“Yeah” you chuckled, “a little.”

“Well, come here.” Eddie offered quietly, scared to talk too loudly and scare you away. He lifted up his arm and pulled you closer to him. You didn’t know if it was an invisible tether, or the loss of your rational thinking, but you melted into Eddie’s side like you were made to fit there. His warmth radiated through your body and you felt his pounding heartbeat against your cheek. You nestled in with a content sigh. Eddie couldn’t help but smile, as Doug continued to banter with the cab driver in the front. 

The ride to the hotel was only about 10 minutes, but both you and Eddie wished it lasted forever. The warmth and steady beat of Eddie’s heart lulled you into an almost sleep. You had wrapped your arm around Eddie’s lithe torso and felt a small buzzing in your core when you ran your hand over the soft definition of his abdominal muscles. You wished you could spend the rest of your life like this - totally content and no worries for what was to come. 

You felt a soft jolt as the cab halted in front of the hotel. Eddie’s calloused fingertips shook your head softly. 

“Hey sleepyhead, we’re here.” Eddie cooed softly. You let out a small sigh and Eddie thought his heart might explode. Begrudgingly, he opened the door and slid his body away from yours and into the unforgivable cold. He grabbed for your hands as he helped you back out of the cab. You gave him a small thank you before the two of you joined Doug in the elevator. You parted ways with Doug in the hallway of the third floor. Eddie stood reluctantly, unwilling to leave you. He felt like a magnet, attached at your side. 

“Walk me to my room?” you peeped. Eddie’s heart soared and a shy smile spread across his face. 

“I never thought you’d ask.”

The two of you faced the pale white door, it acting as a forcefield to forgotten inhibitions. You turned to Eddie, before your brain could catch up, you blurted an invitation for Eddie to join you inside. He quietly nodded. 

The room was dark, the few pieces of clothing you had in your duffel bag were strewn about the room. You flicked on the fluorescent light in the bathroom and winced at your reflection. Eddie sauntered into your room and sat at the edge of your bed. 

“Swanky abode, rockstar. Man, Stu really didn’t spare any expense, eh?” Eddie chortled. You giggled as you followed him into the room, sitting beside him. 

“This is the nicest room I’ve ever been in. It’s even nicer than my place at home.”

“Yeah,” Eddie nudged your leg with his. “About home…” You had already thought of your place in Fort Wayne as a distant memory. One you were willing to forget easily. The mediocre life you had set up for yourself there was a gateway. You tasted the greatness in Indianapolis with these four strangers that were drifting awfully close to being friends. You felt a pang of melancholy with the realization of where you were. You were making music with four complete strangers yesterday, and now you thought of them as friends? Potentially the closest friends you had? How sad. You gave Eddie a sad smile. 

“I noticed you didn’t answer Jeff’s question earlier.” Eddie’s growly voice was barely above a whisper. His brown eyes studied you carefully. God, even in the low light of the hotel room, your eye makeup slightly smudged under your eyes, and the natural flush from all the alcohol; you were the most gorgeous person he had ever set eyes on. It took everything in his power to not scoop you up in his arms and show you how much he liked you. It was perplexing to think that before this weekend, he couldn’t stand to be in the same room as you, but now he would do almost anything to spend all his time with you. The thought of you going home made him sick, even if he knew you were coming back. Hesitantly, he brought his hand to the side of your face to tuck a rogue curl behind your ear. You flinched, but quickly leaned into Eddie’s hand. He could feel the heat radiating off your face. He bit his lower lip. “Is there anyone waiting for you at home?” 

The air was charged. One wrong movement and the two of you would have exploded. You shook your head at him, lidded eyes never leaving his. You could see Eddie’s chest audibly heave. His hand that had once been in your hair found purchase on your cheek. You moved into him with baited breath. Before you could let yourself go, your world started crashing. You pictured your relationship with the band if you slept with Eddie. God, what if they found out about the recording? Were you just another conquest? Was this whole idea to spite Head Case? To mock you? You felt Eddie’s warm breath fanning on your face and you felt suffocated. You couldn’t help but let your mind drift to what Eddie said to you the first time you met. He thought you were a groupie and nothing more. You pulled your head back from Eddie’s and looked up at him with wet eyes. Eddie’s brows furrowed in confusion and anxiety, his perfect lips parted in an O. 

“Sweetheart I-”

“Eddie, Just wait, okay?” you pleaded softly.

“I’m sorry I really want to kiss you.”

“I want you to as well.” Eddie shook his head in hurt confusion “But is this real?” 

“Of course it is I- I really like you.”

“But we just met, Eddie. A-and this feels like a bad idea if we’re going to be bandmates.” He cupped both your cheeks in desperation.

“Look, I understand what you’re saying, but I really like you. I think you’re talented and a great addition to the band, and I really want to get to know you better.” You gently placed your hands around Eddie’s wrists and removed them from your face, your lips twisted into a conflicted frown.

“I want you to kiss me Eddie. Fuck, it might be the alcohol talking, but I want you to do more than just kiss me. But I think that would be a mistake that we would both regret. Get to know me better, please. I don’t know if I could handle it if you didn’t” Suddenly, the room felt cold and although you could feel Eddie’s thigh touching, you felt miles away. You wanted to let go of your will and jump into his lap and fall asleep in his arms. But easy wasn’t always the right choice. Eddie nodded solemnly. He felt like his throat was caving in on him. The last thing he wanted to do was to make you uncomfortable, or take advantage of you.

“You’re right.” Eddie flashed you a sincere smile. He took your hand and kissed the top of it, eliciting a giggle from you that Eddie wished he could bottle. “I look forward to getting to know you better.” Eddie stood up and rubbed his palms against his jeans “But you should be careful. The other guys know me pretty well and they say I suck.” Another giggle, and Eddie couldn’t help but smile. Eddie winced as he looked at the alarm clock on your nightstand. 4:46 am. 

“Well, I’m gonna retire and get some sleep.” You followed him to your hotel room door. “How about I pick you up here in the morning and we take full advantage of the swanky continental breakfast before you hit the road?” Eddie cleared his throat. “As friends, of course.” You opened the door for him.

“I’d really like that, Eddie.” You leaned your body on the door. He stayed watching you, like he needed to say something else. Suddenly, he bit his lip and turned away.

“Great! I’ll see you at 10!” He was halfway down the hallway as he finished his sentence. You closed the door, cupping your head in your hand, and a stupid smile on your face. You sat in the darkness, cursing your restraint, but already romanticizing the night that had just passed. You couldn’t believe what had happened, so you threatened to whisper your thoughts into your cupped hands. 

“I like Eddie Munson” You let a small giggle escape. You were jolted off the door as you felt a sharp knock behind you. You opened the door in bewilderment to see the mopheaded man jittering in front of you. He was biting his thumb and stood at alert when you said his name. 

“Hey, I’m so sorry, but can we please make a mistake that I know I’m not going to regret?” Eddie’s lithe frame leaned into the doorway. You shot him an enthusiastic nod of your head. Before you could take a breath, Eddie Munson - the man you thought you would never be able to stand - was kissing you. His lips were soft and although he tasted like beer and whisky, he tasted more delectable and intoxicating than the alcohol you drank throughout the night. His lips melded perfectly with yours and the soft huffs from his nose made your knees weak. His calloused thumb traced across your jawline. Your hands migrated to Eddie’s belt loops and you felt him sigh into you. 

It felt like all the time in the world had passed, as well as just a blink. Eddie pulled away from you, eyes dark with desire. He had told you without words how much he liked you. How serious he took you. You looked up to him with a lovesick smile. Eddie’s smile spread across his blushing cheeks as he stepped away from your door. 

“See you in the morning, friend.” He chirped. You couldn’t help but watch him recede down the hallway and around the corner to the elevator, fingers running over your lips in an attempt to seal the feeling of Eddie Munson’s lips on yours. 

While Corroded Coffin slinged drinks on the second floor bar, Stu sat in his penthouse office, on the phone with any record company on both the east and west coast that would listen at the late hour. The bumbling man paced back and forth across the marble tile looking out to the sleepy lights of downtown Indiana. 

“You don’t understand, Rich. These kids got something. I think we might be sitting on a gold mine.” There was a staticy sigh. Richard Beaucanon, owner of RTR  pinched his nose out of exasperation. “How many times have you told me this, Stu? I need real shit. Radio shit. Some appeal.”

“Trust me. These kids got that spark. You’ll want as many execs on the phone as you can grab.” Stu pressed the end call hastily, before Richard could protest. 

“God Damn it” Richard responded to the dial tone on the other end.

Stu tucked himself into his studio apartment bed at 6:20 am, and slept soundly for the two hours he had to sleep, knowing that Corroded Coffin was going to be his next cash cow. 

Jeff and Gareth sat and played foosball for 40 more minutes before they tired themselves out. They stumbled into a cab to crawl back to their respective rooms. 

“I like her.” Gareth slurred. “I think she’s gonna do good things with us.”

“I’m worried about Munson” Jeff’s gaze hardened out the window. “The man is flashing her heart eyes all over the place.” 

“I thought he hated her. He was all pissy during finals, especially after she left.”

“Gareth, my good friend.” Jeff clapped the mop head’s knee. “One form of passion always leads to another.” Jeff snickered coldly. 

“What, you think they’re gonna be fuck buddies or something?” 

“All I’m saying is this little fling better not fuck it up for us.”

Eddie was up at 9:45, even though he tossed and turned all night, your voice ringing through his dreams. He realized how much you affected him when he stretched in bed and felt a wet patch in his underwear. 

“Fuck.” Eddie Mumbled as he waddled to the bathroom to disrobe. He rinsed the perspiration on his body and even attempted to scrunch conditioner into his tresses. He hopped out of the shower and looked at his dripping face. There were small purple crescents under his eyes, and his cheeks, normally a soft pink, were pale. For the first time in his life he wished he felt hungover rather than looked it. He slapped his face before removing his towel and toeing through his hotel room to the small backpack he had packed. He slipped on some fresh clothes, brushed his teeth and walked (unnaturally fast) to your hotel room.

You woke up in a daze, head and heart both pounding. Now that the alcohol was out of your system, the reality of where you were hit. You swung your legs out of bed and peeped at the blue skies radiating through the crack in the window curtains. You massaged your temples lightly as a wave of anxiety and nausea wracked through your body. The weekend was magical, but you had to go home. You had to deal with the reality that you won’t be making music with the boys until you had the funds to drive up again - fuck. You needed a place to stay. You needed to tell your dad (not that he would be too interested anyway) and your old bandmates. The euphoric feeling of your old life drifting away was drowned by Fort Wayne’s shadow looming behind you. You were honest when you told Eddie that there was no one waiting for you at home. But was there truly anyone else, except for your bandmates, that were excited for you to be in Indianapolis? The inhibitions of alcohol made the facade of starting a new life glamorous; but in the morning, while you are left with the actual reality, things felt cold and lonely. You went to the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth. You grimaced at the remnants of mascara left on your cheeks, and the lip liner smudged by your chin. You raked your fingers through your tousled curls and threw your locks into a loose ponytail. You slipped on your favorite Champion sweater and a pair of jeans. You were finishing swiping a coat of mascara on your lashes when you heard three knocks at your door. You looked at the alarm clock blinking on the nightstand and it was 10:00 on the dot. You threw the last of your belongings into your duffle bag and opened the door. 

“Hey, Superstar” Eddie chirped. His face was almost grey from the hangover, but his eyes twinkled at you. You could punch him, he was so cheery; but instead you let out a huff, rolled your eyes and smiled as you reached for your hotel key and shut the door. 

“How’d you sleep?” His smile split his face as the two of you trudged towards the elevator. 

“Not well enough. I’m fucking beat.” You sighed and dropped your duffle on the ground as you waited for the elevator doors to open. Eddie grabbed the strap from you and swung it over his shoulder. 

“Lot’s on your mind?” Eddie’s voice lowered. You punched him in the arm and both yours and Eddie’s cheeks flushed hot red. 

“No, you dick. Lot’s in my system.” You tried your best to sound annoyed but you couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped you as you loaded into the elevator. 

“What time is Stu’s crew coming to pick you up?” Eddie ran his fingers through his manicured curls and leaned against the elevator wall. He didn’t want you to go, and the sinking in his heart got stronger the more he looked at you. 

“I was told to be in the hotel lobby at 11:00 sharp,” you said. The insecurities still nattered in the back of your head, but the only thing you could think about was how little you wanted to go home. You wanted to make music, share ideas, get to know everyone. You felt like Cinderella. This weekend was a complete fairytale, and now time was up and everyone had to go back to their regular life. You and Eddie filed into the modest cafe that was set up for breakfast. You were greeted by three other mop heads, looking just as ill, if not worse, than you and Eddie did. They gingerly picked at their eggs and pancakes, but their smiles grew when they saw you and Eddie slide into the chairs next to them. 

“Rough night?” you giggled at Doug, who had now resorted to holding the weight of his head in his clammy hands above his plate. He responded with a groan.

“How you feeling?” Jeff asked you.

“Honestly? Shredded. I don’t know what feels worse. My head or my stomach.”

“What about you, Munson? Where did you end up sleeping last night” Jeff pressed. Gareth snorted loudly, but was silenced by Eddie’s shoe kicking into his shin. His lips pursed tight in a silent threat. You let out a nervous laugh and excused yourself to fill up a plastic plate full of breakfast. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Emerson?” Eddie leaned across the table and hissed. 

“His question is valid, Munson. Did y’all bone last night or what? You were making googly eyes at each other all night. What is up with that?” Jeff defended.

“Dude, no.” Eddie rubbed at the back of his neck. He couldn’t tell if it was the hangover or the smell of stale coffee that was making him more irritable, but he felt like he was going to jump over the table at the two sitting across from him. 

“He’s right, Ed.” Doug offered from beside Eddie. His voice muffled from his own hands. “We were all good as a team, but now you’ve gone all soft on us.” Doug looked up at Eddie with bloodshot eyes “Don’t throw the whole band away for some pussy.”

“Are you guys serious?” Eddie gritted. “You really think I would just throw away the one thing we have worked so hard on for a girl? I would never. And did you hear the song we all made? Or am I dreaming? Because that’s the best song that we’ve made in a long time, maybe ever.” The boys looked down at their picked over plates. “I don’t know about you, but I think we signed with one of the best fucking musical artists we’ve come across.” Eddie scooted out his chair and stood up. “And since your curiosities seem to have control over you,” Eddie sneered “I walked her back to her room, we chatted for a while and I went to my own fucking room.” 

The remainder of your breakfast was friendly, but there was an unacknowledged tension between Eddie and the other boys. You told them about growing up in Fort Wayne, and they told you about Hawkins, the seemingly southern twin to your hometown. They talked of bullies, and jocks, and the time Eddie buzzed his hair. Gareth told you about the first car he ever got (his mom’s shitbox ‘73 Grand Am that he would shove his drum kit into if they had gigs). How Doug and Jeff grew up on the same street and formed Corroded Coffin before they even had a name. Within the hour that you talked and laughed, your belly felt as warm as it did when you were sat next to Eddie drunkenly watching foosball the night before. You pitched song ideas and talked about how cool it would be to see Metallica live. It made it harder to fight the tears in your eyes when a man in a suit tapped you on the shoulder to tell you a car was waiting to take you home. The warmth of new friendships and new beginnings was replaced by lonely ice flowing through your heart. The men stood with you, as you grabbed your duffel and slung it over your shoulder. Jeff and Gareth gave you swift side hugs, and Doug lifted you off your feet as he hugged you goodbye with a laugh. Eddie flashed you a sad smile before wrapping his arms around you. You peeped a hushed thank you into his ear. 

“Are you kidding me?” his breath tickled your ear. “Thank you.” He pulled away and rubbed your shoulders with a big smile. “We’re gonna be fucking stars.”

You filed into the leather back seat of the swanky black Buick parked along the tarry pavement. You watched Indianapolis fly past you in a blur of colours. The wetness staining your cheeks matched the condensation on the car window. You pulled your bag onto your lap and clutched it closely. 

This was just the beginning.

It took you 1 day to call Stu, confirming one last time if you really should move all of your belongings to Indianapolis (he said you really should). And it took him 4 days after that to call you and tell you that he needed Corroded Coffin in the studio that weekend to record your covers from the battle of the bands. There were exactly 37 missed calls from Joey and 8 from Dave. Your dad had threatened to unplug the phone if you didn’t call them back, but you couldn’t bring yourself to see them. You had dropped a note off at Dave’s house, detailing your departure from Head Case and how as much as you wished them well, you didn’t want to hear from them again. You felt cold, but you knew that cutting your old bandmates off - at least for now- was the best decision. It was like sucking the venom out of a snake bite.

You decided to leave Fort Wayne with the few boxes of possessions you had in the back of your ‘new’ rusted Pinto Friday night, the day after you dropped off the note. You had said a weepy goodbye to your father, who reminded you to send your first check back to cover for all the money you had cost him (‘You know how hard it was to raise you? You can at least pay me back for all the trouble you caused me’). You shut the dinky hatch with a satisfied smile. You felt melancholy leaving your hometown, but it was refreshing, knowing that all you had was with you and you could just restart. You were hopeful it would make you a better musician, better bandmate, better friend and maybe a better girlfriend… if fate would be so kind to you. You were snapped from your daydreams by a gruff but quiet call of your name. You turned and your blood ran cold.

“Joey. What-”

“I was hoping Dave made that note up, that someone else wrote it. But you’re really leaving…” His eyes were bloodshot and you could smell the beer on his breath when he stalked towards you. You felt suffocated as he invaded your space. You could feel his hot breath on your cheeks as he leaned into you, caging you between him and your car.

“Yeah, yeah… I have to go. Round Table wants me around to do more recording with Corr-” Joey’s fist pounded into the metal beside your head, making your ears ring. Your knees turned to jello.

“So you fucking ditch us the second you get something better, huh?” He pushed away from the car with a sniffle but you were pinned to the spot on your gravel driveway. “You always thought you were too fucking good for us. For me!” He boomed. His baritone rattled through your chest and took the air out of your lungs.

“Joey, please.”

“Is this about that fucking Munson guy? You fuck his brains out? Now he wants you to move closer so he’s got someone to keep his bed warm? Remember what he said. He thinks you’re just a fucking slut.”

“Enough! Please!”

“I love you, you know that?” Your eyes locked with Joey’s in disgust. He pulled himself into you, wrapping his hands around your waist like a boa constricting, preparing for the kill. You wished you were anywhere but here, fuck, you wished you were in the lobby having breakfast with your new bandmates. You wished you were drunk and asleep in the back of a cab. You needed to get out of here. You pried Joey’s arms off of you and pushed him away in pure desperation.

“Enough, Joey! You don’t mean that!” you huffed.

“Oh. no? I’ve always loved you. I’d fucking die for you, Y/N. I’d do anything for you. I started this whole fucking band for you!” The air was thick as he stared at you. “I’d kill for you.” Your head went fuzzy. Joey’s eyes gleamed with something unreadable, something unpredictable. You were too frozen in fear to move. “But you don’t even appreciate what is right fucking here.” He shook the car behind you, face flushed and lips quivering.

“Joey, I’m leaving. You’re scaring me.” With the last ounce of bravery you could muster, you turned and lunged towards the driver’s seat of your car, but the broad man grabbed you by the bicep with bruising force. His face was inches from yours, red and hot. A vein in his forehead pulsed.

“Did you fuck Eddie Munson? Did you want to?”

“That’s none of your business, Joe.” He shook your arm and you yelped in pain.

“Answer me! Did he get you going? Leaving you wanting more? Did you take it like a good girl? Huh? Did he sleep in your bed after?”

“No! Jesus! I didn’t and I’m not interested in fucking him, Joey! I got offered a goddamn job!” Tears of pain pricked your eyes. Joey snickered at you as he threw you back against the car. You instinctively rubbed at your tender arm. 

“Fine. Go to them and let them fuck your life up. I’ll be here waiting when they burn you.” He stepped closer, and you flinched. “I’ll be here to spit in your fucking face. Because let’s face it babe. You can leave Fort Wayne, but we’ll never leave you. This is where you belong. Small town trash like the rest of us.” He backed away and spat at your feet. You stood, as if you were made of stone, in front of your door until Joey’s retreating figure disappeared around the street corner. You clambered into the driver's seat, shakily started the ignition and sobbed all the way to a new city that you were determined to call home.

Eddie kept himself awake that Sunday, kicking himself for not asking for your phone number; but he would never have asked in front of the rest of the guys. He wanted to kiss you one more time, to make sure you didn’t forget him. Sunday night bled into Monday morning and all he could do was aimlessly strum his guitar and puff on the smouldering blunt in his ashtray. By the time 9:00 hit - the time Eddie’s alarm clock blared for him to get up for work -  he had slept a total of 45 minutes. He slapped his face with some cold water, wrangled his tresses into a low bun, and stormed out the door. 

Hawkins rush hour consisted of 4 pickup trucks, a small barrage of preschool children, and a public bus bustling through the small mainstreet area. Eddie pulled his van into a rundown alley and next to a small brick building. He clambered out of his seat and unlocked the steel door that led into a shabby record store. Normally, this place felt like home to him; he could play whatever music he wanted, discuss bands and tours with customers, and snag new merchandise before it hit the floor. But the warmth of his sanctuary felt cold and dull when he thought of you. He daydreamed about you strolling in while he was working. How you would smile at him and wrap your delicate arms around his neck. How he would sit you atop of the counter and show you new records that he just got shipped. You would bring him coffee with him and stand outside with him when he took a smoke break. Then years down the road, you would come back to Hawkins, look through the record selection and see your gleaming faces looking back at you. Subconsciously, he fingered through the “C” and found the pale record with four men posed and looking back at him. He looked at Chilliwack scrawled in bold lettering and slid the record out of its sleeve. He walked the record back to the large turntable and slid it into place. He plopped the needle gently onto the slick vinyl. Eddie unlocked the front doors and began sweeping when Bill Henderson’s voice brought haunting images of your body, your lips, how well you slid into his embrace in the cab…

Whatcha gonna do when I’m gone? Whatcha gonna do?

I know you’ll wait for how long

Whatcha gonna do when I’m gone?

Luckily the shop wasn’t busy. Eddie had granted himself permission to keep daydreaming about you. His cheeks flushed an hour later when the familiar drum beat of Don’t It Make You Feel broke through his daze. He hastily sorted pins by the front counter to busy his hands. All he could envision is you in your shorts and tank top. You strutting on the stage like you owned it. You sitting at the bar, smelling of mint and tequila - laughing, smiling… moaning. His lips burned as the guitar shredded, its rhythm reminding him of the gasps he pulled out of you at the recording studio. He felt a tension growing in his abdomen and his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. Fuck. He was drunk on you without you even being there. 

“Damnit” Eddie grunted. He slammed his palms down on the concrete counter and trudged to the turntable. The store was thrown into silence after a scratch. Chest heaving, Eddie held the record between white knuckles. He wanted to snap it over his knee. He didn’t realize how hard it would be to continue life like the weekend hadn’t happened.

He was snapped out of his trance by a snot-nosed kid from Hawkins Secondary. 

“Hey, dude. I asked you a question,” he sneered. Eddie turned around, and his obnoxiously large eye bags and rosy cheeks made the kid flinch.

“What do you want, dweeb?”

“I said, where the hell do you keep the CDs?” Eddie rolled his eyes. 

“We’re a record store, wastoid. We have records and cassettes. That’s it.” He watched with gritted teeth as the chubby boy huffed and spun on his heels to leave. As he turned out of the store, he flashed Eddie his middle finger, his chubby cheeks spun into a grimace.

“Nice.” Eddie grumbled. He slid the once threatened record back into its sleeve and spun an Iron Maiden record to try to drown out his thoughts. 

Waiting for Stu to call was going to be the death of him. 

The call came Friday evening, after a week of working, rehearsing and trying not to pull his own hair out, a week of barely sleeping and feeling too anxious to eat. Band practices were dull without you, and the fate of the band seemingly resting on Stu’s fat hands, everyone felt unsure. No one had heard from you, and Round Table was seemingly dodging Eddie’s flurry of calls. He finally got a response Friday evening. He thought he was going to fall over the table as he picked the yellowing phone receiver, he huffed out your name in want.

“No, but close!” Cheered Stu on the other line. Eddie’s heart still picked up its pace; he was technically the second person he wanted to hear from.

“Sorry, Stu. It’s been a week.”

“I can tell” Eddie could feel Stu’s sly grin through the phone. Eddie rolled his eyes. “So! You big boys better get out of whatever shit you’re doing in buttfuck Hawkins! We need you in the studio this weekend. You’re recording for Richard. He wants to send your cover of your songs from battle of the bands to Al Ramirez. Eddie froze, his eyes doubling in size. 

“Like UMG Al Ramirez?”

“You betcha, champ. Richard and I think you really got something here, kiddo. Now get your asses up here so we can get rolling.”

“Wait, you said songs…”

“You better figure out how to play Chilliwack!” Stu exclaimed “I barely knew who they were…” He mumbled.

“Wait so is-”

“Yes, she’s here.” Stu sighed. “And it sounds like she’s staying for good. Hey, tell me, any shitholes for sale in Hawkins? We need a place for Y/N to stay, and honestly, it’s better for me and for the band if you’re all in the same spot.” Eddie tried to laugh nonchalantly, but the knot in his throat permitted him to emit a small croak.

“You got it boss.”

“Great. You have until Monday to find her a place to stay. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. I want you here at 8am, sharp. Got it?” Stu didn’t wait for Eddie to respond, there was just a short click of the line going dead to bid him farewell. 

Eddie slammed the phone and shrugged his jacket over his shoulders. His keys jingled as his trailer door groaned shut. He was off to nab the classifieds of every Hawkins newspaper he could get his hands on before setting off for Indianapolis, the music blaring over his pounding heart.

Your breath was shaky as your headlights illuminated the plaster of the hotel you had gotten familiar with last weekend. This was your home now… well, for the next two days, then the pockets of Round Table Records shallowed out and you were on your own. Your keys jangled at the hotel door that felt 10 times more lonely than before. It was laid out similarly to your last, but there was a coldness to the room that the alcohol and Eddie helped combat before. Did he even know you were in town? Did he care? As you threw your overnight bag to the floor and collapsed into the neatly made bed, you wondered where Eddie was. Was he at home? Or was he at someone else’s house - a girl’s house? You shook the idea out of your head. You faced the popcorned ceiling and closed your eyes. Your arm was pulsing with Joey’s touch and it made you want to cry. You imagined what Eddie’s room would look like. You envisioned clothes decorating his floor and posters littering his walls. He didn’t strike you as the type to make his bed, but you knew it would be comfy. You imagined waking up in his room, roused by the smell of a lit cigarette and the soft strumming of a guitar. Eddie would turn to you, his curly hair perched in a halo, beams of sunlight catching his marble skin. He would drop his guitar and rush to you the second you awoke, you thought. His chest would feel like it did that night in the cab, warm, like home, but his skin would bring a softness that you yearned for knowing; you would trace circles around his toned chest and he would hum softly in content. His slow breathing would lull you both back into a lazy sleep. You thought it could be the best sleep you’d ever have. There would be black coffee and records playing and laughter. You wanted to have that life. You wanted to feel warm and adored and secure. Instead you had the bland, cold walls of a room that would never be your own. You had the throbbing of your arm and the fear that Joey would be waiting for you behind every corner. You had the uncertainty of Eddie, of your new so-called friends - the anxious excitement of being on a creative breakthrough, but not knowing if it would come to fruition. You let a rogue tear trickle down your cheek. You rolled over to your side and reached for the boxy TV remote. Maybe someone else’s voice would drown out your own. 

The impeding alarm clock blared the numbers 10:24 back to you once you sat yourself up to get ready for bed. You sighed as you looked at your lonely bag stationed on the gaudy carpet. You zipped open the bag and shuffled your things around to find your toiletries and an old, oversized tee shirt from your dad’s old auto body shop. You winced as you flicked on the bright white light in the bathroom. Your eyes were bloodshot from crying and mascara smudged on your lash line. You huffed as you slid off your clothes and tied up your hair. You frowned at the pink band that had formed around your bicep. You traced around where you could see Joey’s hand had grabbed you. With a small sigh, you turned yourself away from the mirror and stepped into a warm shower. You have to admit, the shower felt better than you were expecting; steam opening up and draining all the melancholy, the smell of Joey’s breath, the pain out of each of your pores. Tomorrow was the start of forever. It was the beginning of the new and improved you: artist - musician, friend, Indianapolis resident. You combed through your hair and tucked yourself into bed, with the track of old Match Game reruns lulling you to unconsciousness. 

You were pulled from your bed by a knock on the door. You cautiously approached the door and looked through the peephole. Your eyes doubled in size when you saw a flushed, angular face staring through the door. Eddie bit his lower lip and bounced on his heels waiting for any response. You couldn’t help but take a step back from the peep hole and rub your eyes. Were you dreaming? You squinted back up to the hole and saw the metalhead still anxiously standing in front of your room, his head bobbing side to side in hopes that he was at the right door. You hastily untangled the chain lock from its hilt and threw the door open in excited awe. As the door flung open, Eddie’s cheeks grew more red, and his eyes sparkled at you. Neither of you could help the grins that made both of your cheeks ache. 

“I’m sorry to bother you, I just-” Before Eddie could finish his sentence, you pulled him through the doorway by the lapels on his jean jacket. Once his body was pressed against the closed door, you allowed yourself to collapse into his arms. A sob unwillingly wracked through you. You burrowed into Eddie’s chest, and you heard the ruffle of papers fall to the ground as Eddie’s hands made purchase around your back. He whispered small ‘hey’s’ of comfort into the top of your head. He couldn’t help but rest his lips against your hair and purse a kiss into you. You pulled away to look at him in bewilderment. 

“Are you okay?” Eddie studied your face. You had been crying. You waved him off with your hand. It didn’t matter right now.

“How did you?-”

“Stu” he answered, seemingly reading your mind. His eyes softened as he finally got to drink you in. Fuck, he had missed you and it had only been a week. “He let me know that you were coming down, so I had a good idea of where to find you.”

Your eyes fell to the floor where a crumple of newspapers and flyers laid. You looked to Eddie quizzically.

“What are-” Eddie quickly squatted to retrieve the bundle from the ground.

“Well if you’re sticking around, we’re gonna have to find you a place to stay, no?” Eddie’s smile got impossibly wider as he glided past you and plopped the papers onto the bed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out two red pens. 

“So, since all of us live in Hawkins, the record label thought it might be cool if you found a spot to crash there so we can all practice together… I mean, plus, it’s cheaper than Indianapolis, and I’m sure we can get you a part time job somewhere, and I mean, I’ll be happy to have you closer - “ Eddie’s cheeks flushed and he cleared his throat. “So, I thought I would grab some papers and look at some of the leasing offices in Hawkins and we could go through some of them.” Eddie could barely finish his sentence before your arms wrapped around his waist again.

“Thank you, Eddie.” your voice wavered. You pulled away and looked at him fondly “This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me”. You both felt the magnet pull, his lips to yours; The undying need to be next to each other, connected. Luckily Eddie was the one that resisted the pull, as you were unsure if you were strong enough to do so. 

“Well, you should tell that to the real estate office on Main Street. Gordon is pretty mad that I took like half of his rental posters off the front window. Chased me down with a bat and everything.” he smirked. You shook your head as you sat down on the foot of the bed, picking up the newspaper perched on top of the pile. The Hawkins Post kindly peered back at you. The front page was littered with neat black and white snapshots of a community that was soon to become your home. You turned to the classified section and grabbed a red pen from Eddie, who had joined you on the other side of the paper mountain. 

It was 1:09am and Eddie let out a small oop as he circled another cozy apartment on the residential side of downtown Hawkins. He selfishly hoped that you would choose a closer house, or even a trailer for rent at the same park he lived in, so he placed this new find in the ‘yes’ pile, but at the bottom. When Eddie didn’t hear a retort from you, he turned towards the head of the bed where you had slowly migrated. You had crumpled yourself against the pillows, newspaper still in hand. Eddie couldn’t help but watch your chest rise and fall rhythmically. He carefully rose off the bed and to the side of your bed. He leaned over you and gently kissed the side of your head. He tiptoed back to the end of the bed to pick up the crumpled discards of your search. You stirred when Eddie pushed the overflowing paper into the trash can. You mumbled out his name and Eddie winced in reaction. He hated to wake you, especially when you looked so peaceful. 

“Hey, doll. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake you” he said, sitting back beside you on the bed.

“Eddie” you mumbled again, you looked at him with hooded eyes, barely able to keep them open. The man leaned in to listen to your sighs. “Stay… please?” you peeped. Eddie licked his lips. His eyes were wide with content surprise. He nodded his head slowly, excitedly. He made his way to the other side of the bed as you tucked yourself under the covers. You sighed in contempt as Eddie sloughed off his jacket and laid down beside you. He stayed over the covers and propped himself up on his elbow to look at you. His dimples highlighted his rosy cheeks and his eyes looked like pools of gold. You didn’t care if you shouldn’t, but the irresistible urge to not feel as lonely took over and you nuzzled yourself into the metalhead’s body. You hummed in content as you felt the pounding of Eddie’s heart and the warmth of his arm wrapping around you. You peered up to him and felt like you could melt into him forever. His hand migrated to your cheek and you felt your insides become molten.

“Eddie…” you whispered. 

“Hmm?” his thumb rubbed soothing circles onto your cheek. 

“I really want you to kiss me.”  You purred. Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest. Eddie’s brows furrowed, and you couldn’t help but match his expression.

“Y/N… I need you to believe me when I say I would literally love nothing more…” Eddie’s voice was barely above a whisper. You could feel his words rumble in his chest. “But we said that we shouldn’t do this.”

Your lip began to tremble as you nodded in solemn agreement. He leaned down and placed a peck to your forehead.

“But I’m not going anywhere,” he smiled at you. “And we have a big weekend. So let’s get some sleep so we can go rock Round Table’s ass tomorrow.” You nodded again and flashed Eddie a tired smile as you nestled back into his embrace to fall asleep. Eddie hit the lamp on the nightstand to engulf you both in comfortable darkness. 

“Eddie?” your voice sliced through the silence.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want to push, but I know sleeping in jeans isn’t very comfortable.. A-and you can get under the covers if you want”. It took Eddie a moment to move, to grapple with his conscience. He knew the implications of sleeping under the covers in the same bed with you. Would he be able to control himself? He told himself that he had to contain himself, even if it meant he didn’t sleep. He lifted his hips and shimmied his pants off his legs. You pulled away from him as he pulled the blankets up and curled inside them. He felt warm and almost too comfortable, but he still reached for your hips to pull you closer. Eddie listened to your breath slow and your chest heave against his. Slowly, he drifted to sleep and dreamt about giving into temptation and kissing you.

Part 4 Soon

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[definegodliness]

10-12-2024

First line. Complete poem under the cut.

Dream

She sleeps with her eyes open. Came barging in with that Cocky grin, scintillating, 'back again and Both you and I exactly know why I came.' No sugar On her violent lips And clashing hips, Paroxysmic at the fabric's rip. Pushed, toppled, pulled, folded backward; Tongues, achingly searching; tasting, when Hers turns to Holy Water. Deus ex machina; My mouthful. She, liquid inside, Shudders, shook In her shell, whereat I, the blamed, At her pointed finger, chuckle: she — Did this to her.

Now, frail, little; Featherweight, the empty husk, In my arms, rocked and cradled. That I know how much I want her, At how I want to Protect and reinvigorate her, though I fear her, Now she soundly sleeps with Eyes wide open. Pools of North Sea darting REM, Unequivocally scanning For the paralyzing headhaunters Assembling armies, Trying to enter and assail, this, our Happenstance established Dreamsprung limbo, From whichever Otherworldly Dimension. Yet No kindred Horror Overcomes her statuesque presence. She maintains the peace, albeit eerily, Embodying the silence before a storm, That, solely by her decree, Will never come. That, I see, And I make sure Her half-here does not suffer my what ifs Anymore.

She wakes Seemingly crystal on Newborn-foal legs, with a nightshade smile. Dynamics have changed, and she reaches A hand for me to take. We traipse, in unison, To openness; my meadow, cleared By her eye of the storm, Softly glows under Mist-gowned Sun. Idyllic at Razor-blade's edge, As Armageddon still brews, precarious. When it comes For a taste, or a whiff of scent, I offer the sportsmen some chitchat, Whereas she pets The Pointers that used to chase her. Those who could easily escalate, maintain The status quo of our limbo, enraptured by A shared longing to Continuate the existence of one Who has outlived the great plan; Too alive to fade, Too fragile to be Animate.

When, ultimately, the nightly veil tears, Her chrysalis starts to crack and break. Commences dawn. That, we cannot escape. She must leave, as I — Must wake.

A blink.

A blip.

Exchanged, she is For two separate female figures. One dark, one bland; both, not of my interest. Maybe they still can bend in ways Chrysalises are unable; Maybe they can Entertain At Puppet Master's strings, But they remain but pawns In Nightmare's Scheme.

They cannot live; They cannot die, And they most certainly cannot turn into A dream.

--- 10-12-2024, M.A. Tempels ©

[urbaebarnes]

christmas eve

summary: all bucky needs to have a good christmas is you

bucky barnes x fem avenger reader

warnings: use of pet names (sugar, doll, etc), reader uses she/her pronouns, no use of y/n

it isn't christmas and hasn't been in a hot minute there's literally no excuse for me to be writing this

word count: 2.0k words

I can’t get the image of Bucky and you on your first christmas out of my mind. Not even your first Christmas- your first Christmas Eve. Like, you hadn’t been together super long, maybe a few months max- at least that’s when Bucky managed to pluck up the courage to ask you. He’d been pining for at least a year, practically following you around, traipsing behind you with hearts in his eyes.

Anyway, the point is that Bucky’s been with a few people since he got back. NOne of them meant anything, and nothing ever happened by the time the sun came up the next day, but you were different. You were his, and all of a sudden, every single thing he'd told himself he’d never get, like a wife and kids, a big house in the countryside, it all became much more real. Hence why he’s taken it slow, holding your hand, sweet dates and even sweeter kisses.

It’s not as if he didn’t think about you in that way, because obviously he did, but he wanted this to last, he wanted your first time together to be memorable, perfect. The only time he’d been around you past midnight was when you both fell asleep on the couch, your head on his shoulder.

He’d scolded himself immensely for that, the fact that he couldn’t even stay awake just for a little while, just so he could see your pretty face on his shoulder, just so he could stroke his hands through your hair. But instead, he gently shook you awake, pressing a peck to your forehead and carrying you back to your room, tucking you in under the covers as you grumbled something in passing as he left.

He longed for the days he could lie down next to you, pull the blanket over your bodies, pull you close to him, call you his, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you fell asleep. But for now, he took it slow, playing by his own, stupid rules.

But this was different. You’d been practically buzzing around the compound all day on Christmas Eve, you’d baked cookies in the shape of christmas trees and enforced watching Christmas movies for the entire team. It was your favorite holiday, he knew that, and so could everybody else as you stayed in your Christmas pyjamas all day, little red candy canes adorning your clothes along with the massive fluffy socks, one of which resembled a reindeer and the other a snowman.

The smile on your face was something he knew he would remember forever, and as he sat there and stared at you, head tilted as he tasted batter from the wooden spoon, moaning at the sweet taste. You’d grinned triumphantly at his display of affection, leaning over the counter to press a kiss to his lips. 

Sam, per usual, was being an annoying shit about it- in Bucky’s opinion. Any time he’d see the two of you, he’d pluck some mistletoe from God knows where and dangle in between the two of you. Or, with the sole purpose of pissing the 100-something year old off, he’d tilt his head and pout as your soft displays of affection, “Oh, come on sugarplum, where’s my kiss?”

You’d giggle every time, handing him a teaspoon of cookie batter with a scrunch of your nose and the promise of ‘finding him a girl by valentines’. Bucky, however, couldn’t help but grind his teeth at the exchange.

You weren’t Sam’s sugarplum, you were his. His fairy, his sugar, his doll, his girl, his. 

Sam would hold up his hands at Bucky’s lethal stare, seeing his eyes squint, “All in good fun, my friend.” He’d laugh after thanking you for your generous promise.

“You’re not my friend.” He’d say grumpily, standing from his seat and wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close to him, watching as Sam went to pull out the mistletoe. 

He shook his head, smiling faintly at the two of you before making some excuse about helping hsi fish decorate its stocking, leaving the two of you in peace. You smiled, seeing his pouty lips and pressed yours to his, running your thumb across his lower lip as they curved upwards. “Tomorrow’s Christmas.” You grinned, kissing the curve of his shoulder. “I hope you like the gifty I got you.”

“You’re the only thing I could possibly want, doll.” He smiled, letting his thumb stroke over your cheek as you lent into his touch. “Just wanna wake up with you in my arms…” He trailed off, biting his lip as he realised the words that just slipped out. 

He searched your face for any change, any hint of disgust. Sure, he’d wanted you close all the time, he was clingy and seemingly, you loved that, but maybe this was a step too far. You hadn’t spoken about sleeping together, in either sense, and part of him didn’t really believe you’d want to share a bed with a man who’d done so much wrong.

“You’d want that?” You questioned quietly, lips staying parted as you watched him carefully, almost pleading with him for an answer, but he wasn’t sure with one. Bucky swallowed thickly as he nodded, almost ashamed, although you couldn't quite work out why. “Okay then.” You nodded, “I do wake up early though, especially on Christmas-”

“Wait, wait, wait.” He shook his head, licking over his lips as he pulled you closer to him. “You’d… you’d want that?”

“Obviously.” You could laugh, why wouldn’t you? He was perfect, and he wasn’t the only one who felt the need to be around the other 24/7. “Let me put the cookies in the oven real quick?” You said, tilting your head to press a kiss to his palm before you looked back to him, still frozen, just staring at you, lips curved and parted. “Bucky?”

He snapped back to reality quickly, shaking his head before kissing the top of your head and nodding, “Right, sure, just let me-” He shifted so he’d sit back down as you took the tray of uncooked cookies and placed them in the oven.

The rest of the day passed and Bucky couldn’t quite process what you’d agreed to, instead finding himself in a lovestruck daze. You on the other hand moved on with your day, only bringing it up after dinner.

“You wanna sleep in your room or mine?” You whispered to him as the rest chatted, the Christmas spirit seemingly making everybody beyond happy, even Tony who’s usual complaints and sarcasm was replaced with laughter.

He shook his head, shrugging. It was beyond himself how he hadn't thought of this before that moment. He’d spent hours and hours thinking about how he would hold you, how your face would look as he fell asleep on the pillow beside his, but the details, well, they were always a little blurry. “Wherever you want.”

“I’ll come to yours?” You suggested as he nodded, pecking the skin beside your eye. His nose scrunched as a smirk made its way onto his face, “What are you plotting?” You laughed, poking his nose with your forefinger, his ‘scheming face’ as you called it a dead giveaway.

“I’m not plotting anything pretty girl.” He teased, lips ghosting your ear as he lent close. “I was just thinking, since it’s such an early morning tomorrow, we should probably get to bed around now.”

You laughed as he kissed your earlobe before making his way across your face with a flurry of tiny kisses. “Bucky, Buck!” You squealed breathlessly, “It’s only eight o’clock, we can’t go to bed yet!”

He pulled away, cupping your face as he pouted, bottom lip popping out as he sulked, “But we’ve already watched all your favourite Christmas movies, and I’m sooo tired, please doll?” He watched as your eyes drifted over his shoulder and as he glanced, he found Sam and Steve in a small huddle around Sam’s phone, which he was using to record the entire interaction. “What are you doing?” He squinted, straightening his posture.

“We had to get evidence of this on camera.” Steve smirked, pointing between the two of you.

“Please doll, I'm so tired.” Sam mocked.

“Yeah pretty girl I-” Steve got cut off my Sam who had bent over laughing, causing Steve too to burst into laughter. 

“Well now I’m tired and looking for an excuse to hide from them.” He huffed under his breath as you let your head rest on his body.

“Come on then.” You smiled, holding back your own giggle, “Suddenly, I’m just sooo tired too.” You pulled on his arm as he flipped the still recording camera off, letting you pull him away. “You go back to your room and I’ll just brush my teeth.” You said quietly, grin never leaving your face as you left him by the door of his room, disappearing into your own across the hallway.

Bucky had got changed into some seasonal pajamas you’d gifted him and by the time you knocked, he was sitting on the side of his bed, fiddling with the white sheets between his thumb and middle finger. “Can I come in?” You asked through the door and he smiled at your politeness, shaking his head as he got up to open the door for you.

“You could burst into my room and I’d thank you, sugar.” He grinned as he faced your figure, “My room’s your room.”

“Right back at you Barnes.” You smiled, stepping into his room as he made room for you, “So…”

He grinned at your slight awkwardness, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into his chest. “I’m so tired.” He fake yawned, pulling you closer and closer to the bed until your legs were pressed up against the bed frame, “Oh look, it’s a bed!” He fake gasped, picking you up and placing you on one side.

You squealed and giggled as he placed you down, pulling back the duvet so you could wriggle under before practically jumping around to his side. He hesitated before getting in, pausing, “Are you sure you’re okay with-”

You cut him off as you rolled your eyes, “If I don’t get to cuddle with my boyfriend in the next thirty seconds, I’m gonna punch someone.”

He laughed at that, finally laying down next to you as you shifted until your face was rested in his chest, grinning like an idiot. “So violent.” He smirked, trying to cover up the pink flush that graced his cheeks at you being so close, at the fact you wanted him this close.

You simply hummed, snuggling into him until your voice was muffled. “Bucky?”

He repeated your name back with a smile, pressing his lips to the crown of your head.

“Thank you.”

He frowned deeply, eyebrows furrowing together, he should surely be the one thanking you for being here, for letting him hold you. “For what?”

You lifted your head a little, resting your chin on his torso, “For making this the best Christmas ever.”

“It hasn’t even struck midnight yet.” He laughed, “It’s a little preemptive don’t you think?”

You shook your head, “I have you, and you’ve already made this ten times better than last year.” Bucky had never thanked the room for being dark before, but now that his cheeks were bright red, he couldn’t help but thank whichever one of Thor’s friends or foes that controlled darkness.

His hands felt around for your hips, rolling you over onto your other side as his metal arm stayed under you, wrapping around you as he pulled you right into his chest, hsi other hand draping across your body, pulling you tight to him like a teddy bear. As you alternated between laughing and squealing, he kissed your shoulder, tightening his grip around you, “You can’t just say things like that and expect me to act normal about it. Needed you closer.” He practically whined.

“You’re lucky it’s Christmas.” You joked softly, letting your head nuzzle into his metal arm, getting comfy.

“I’m lucky all year round now I’ve got you.”

[optiwashere]

Opti! 11 pls, I could use some fluffy ☺️

Thank you so much for requesting this one! 💜

I already did one rendition of it here, but Shadowheart deserves more than just a little joy, right? Right.

11. A kiss in joy.

---

A rush of cool air brushed through Shadowheart’s hair, trailing a loose lock across her cheek. Not unlike the icy whispers of Shar in her ear, it was enough to startle her awake in the room at the Elfsong. The door and window were both flung open, and panic roared in her chest.

Almost as soon as it came upon her, the feeling died when she spotted the intruder.

“I tried to be quiet,” said Asheera, slipping a muddy boot off as stealthily as if she were wearing her plate armor. “Guess I messed that one up.”

“I suppose you did,” Shadowheart said, yawning. As she stretched, she could not help but notice Asheera keeping something close to her chest. “Where were you? Off traipsing to the tavern for a morning meal?”

“Wasn’t hungry.” Asheera tried to angle herself to keep her back to Shadowheart as she removed her other boot. “I was… um. Busy.”

“Busy. Right. What do you have there?”

Asheera glanced over her shoulder, fighting back a smile against her tusks. “Am I that obvious?”

“Not a master of secrecy, no.” Shadowheart bunched the covers up around her and dragged herself beside her lover.

To her surprise, Asheera held in her hand a flower. The vibrant green of the stem contrasted against a layered, round array of pink petals. She twirled it between her fingers and caught Shadowheart watching her as she made another full rotation between her thumb and forefinger.

“So much for the surprise,” she said with a chuckle.

“Is that a peony?” Shadowheart tilted her head to the side to consider when, if ever, she had mentioned them to Asheera. “Not exactly my favorite, but they’re quite pretty. The color’s incredible this time of year, isn’t it?”

“Exactly. And… hang on.” Turning to face her, Asheera tucked Shadowheart’s loose hair over one shoulder and placed the stem of the flower over her ear. “There we go.”

It wasn’t large enough for the petals to be obnoxious, and in a way, it was extremely silly. She could imagine herself in the mirror now, bedraggled and sleep heavy under her eyes, with the brightest, most eye-catching flower stuck in her hair. Surely, it was a joke.

But Asheera didn’t laugh at her. In fact, all she did was stare. Gaze flickering up to her eyes, then back to the flower, all while a grin broke across her features. In the wavering, fresh light of the morning sun, her ruddy brown eyes glowed like embers of a fire while they roved all over her body. Wandered yet always returned to the peony in her hair.

“Was this your surprise?” Shadowheart asked, unsure why it was so hard to ask that. After everything they had been through together, through life and death, this was nothing more than a gift of a flower. “You didn’t have to sneak out to go find one of these, you know.”

“I know,” said Asheera with a nod, “but I woke up early. Had to do something with the time.”

“Plucking peonies from gardens another pastime of yours?”

“No.” Asheera slid closer, resting a hand on Shadowheart’s naked hip. The other spread a broad palm against the side of her neck, fingers reaching up to touch the stem resting on her ear. “More like, I was busy finding a way to somehow make you even prettier. Don’t know if I succeeded, but I’m not sure if it’s even possible. I wanted to find something colorful for you, at least.”

How silly. How romantic. How foolish, rote, and… and heat bloomed along Shadowheart’s throat, climbing her neck before it reached her face. The sudden rush of that indescribable feeling was not the flower, not really.

Not long ago, she told Asheera that the last thing she wanted was more darkness in her life. The draw of a startlingly bright colors — within and without — grew too strong to ignore, and she wanted it. She believed all she might have of that promise, of a brighter future, was Asheera’s word, the cracked amulet hanging from a leather band, and their bond that felt unbreakable at this point.

Yet there she was, somehow finding a way to make good on her promise already. Though there were still battles ahead of them, Asheera found time for this moment.

The slice of time where all that mattered was finding that brief splash of color to bring into her life. Into their lives.

It was all too much. Shadowheart moved, and it seemed Asheera noticed as well because they both found one another in a kiss that deepened beyond a mere chaste peck on the lips. One that lasted long enough that they would have to claim that they decided to sleep for a while longer than usual.

[midsummer-semantics]

under the dancing lights

Small break while I do a million other things but here's *checks calendar* day 16 of @steddieangstyaugust.

Prompt: Halloween

Rating: Teen and Up

Tags: Underage Drinking, Cemeteries, Canon Complaint (question mark???), Ambiguous Ending

divider by @steddiecameraroll-graphics

He isn’t sure why he’s out here. It’s not like there’s anything left, anything calling him to action. The kids are old enough to trick-or-treat without supervision, Robin is with Vicky at a party he didn’t want to third-wheel to, and everyone else…

The point is, traipsing through Roane County cemetery on Halloween night seemed like a good idea when Steve is three Jack and Coke’s deep and unsure of where he fits into the regular world. He bought a dozen flowers on the way here just before the shop closed for the evening, like he couldn’t risk showing up to the cemetery empty-handed for some reason. 

Barb’s grave is overrun with flowers 365 days a year, three years running. Steve leaves several of the carnations in the bundle he carries at the tombstone, begging forgiveness as he does every few months. He hasn’t told Nancy what he does, even when he’s accompanied her a few times. He simply stays silent, lets Nancy grieve, and returns a few weeks later to replace the dead ones when no one is paying attention.

Next is Bob Newby, whom he didn’t know, but the kids did, so he drops a couple of flowers off out of perfunctory expectation.

Billy is the one of the hardest, his grave near Steve’s dad’s grandparents’ joint plot. He tends to spend a little more time here, aware of how the plot feels under his knees, remembering how Max looked as she lifted in the air under Vecna’s influence. Sometimes, Steve comes just to sit, to stare at Billy’s name and curse his existence, even if it brought him Max. Other times, Steve sits and talks, tells his rival how his step-sister is doing, how Steve learned to plant his feet, how regardless of what a piece of shit he was, no one deserved to deal with the bullshit the Upside Down had to offer. He leaves one flower out of obligation, but he doesn’t linger like he normally would.

He leaves a few at Chrissy’s grave, not just because she died, but because he knew her, even vaguely because she was a cheerleader while he was still on the basketball team. And because Eddie would want him to.

He flips off Jason’s grave as he passes it.

Three years — less than, technically— since the first death. Almost three years since Steve took Jonathan’s nail bat and made it his weapon of choice against the monsters that lurk beneath their feet. 

Over half a year since Max went into a coma that doctors — UD connected or otherwise — or Eleven haven't been able to wake her up from. 

Seven months since Eddie Munson was added to the list of people Steve couldn’t save.

The sun has dipped well past the treeline on the edges of the cemetery by the time he reaches Eddie’s grave. There’s no one else around, thankfully, but Steve knows it’s only a matter of time before some idiot high school kids make their way to the cemetery to get trashed and try to see a ghost or fuck near one of the graves. He should know, he was one of those idiot kids not too long ago.

There’s writing on Eddie’s headstone, scrawling letters spelling out MURDERER in red spray paint. One of the R’s is backward, Steve notes, rolling his eyes, a gesture that makes his vision swim a little. It’s not the worst thing that’s been blasted across the headstone since it was placed, but it’s by far the dumbest. He sets the remaining flowers down at his feet as he crouches to examine the writing closer. It’s dry, but it can’t have been there for more than a few days considering he was just here for Eddie’s birthday and had cleaned the last slur himself. He should have brought a bucket and brush instead of the stupid flowers, but he’s a little wobbly from the alcohol and the idea of going back to his car for any reason other than to go home and pass out alone sounds terrible. He’ll come back tomorrow and clean it, plus whatever gets done to it tonight probably. Maybe he should have brought his nail bat. Camped out next to Eddie’s grave and waited to see who exactly is doing it so he can make sure they know never to do it again.

Steve loses his precarious balance, falling back on his ass in the cold, damp grass with a soft “oof!” The flask in his back pocket digs into one cheek, and he shuffles around until he can extract it, then leans back on one hand while the other holds the cool metal.

“Probably stupid to drink more, but I doubt you’d give me shit about it,” Steve says to the grave, holding the flask up like he’s making a toast before closing his eyes and taking a swig. He actually hates whiskey, but it was all that was in the house since it’s his dad’s favorite, and beggars can’t be choosers.

Still, he coughs a bit as the straight liquor burns a path down his throat — he really should have brought some kind of chaser with him, but hindsight and all that — and then lays back on the grass as soon as it clears.

He keeps his eyes closed, breathing through the slight roil in his stomach, and imagines what it would be like if he simply sank into the ground beneath him. Not like if vines were to spring up and drag him under, but if he just slowly melted into the earth the way one feels like they’re melting on a really plush mattress.

It’s only a slight comfort that the grave he’s lying on is empty. Otherwise, his vision of being swallowed by the earth might come with the extra twist of Eddie’s hands dragging him down Evil Dead-style. 

He snorts to himself, his head lolling back and forth a bit. Eddie would have loved that reference, he knows it. He may not have known him for long before. . . before, but he’s sure of it regardless.

After a moment, he brings his hands up to rub the heels into his eyes, waiting until he sees stars before he opens them. The stars continue to blink for a few seconds as his eyes adjust to the inky black sky.

Wait.

No.

There are stars dancing. Little lights swaying to and fro in front of his face, with more popping up around him. He turns his head in awkward directions against the grass, knowing he’s getting foliage in his hair the whole time, watching as more blink to life.

He shuts his eyes again as he sits up, but when he reopens them, they’re still there. It’s too late in the year for fireflies, too cold this late at night at the end of October, and yet the lights dance regardless. 

“Whoa,” he breathes, feeling a distinct sense of deja vu to when he was blitzed out of his mind on Russian truth serum and staring at the ceiling of Starcourt.

One of the stars comes close to him, wisping against his cheek like a tickling feather before flying away. Another does it to his left arm where he’s holding himself up, another to his hip where his shirt has ridden up slightly under his windbreaker. Steve giggles uncontrollably as another brushes his forehead and he turns his head to follow them. There’s another, and another, and another, and as he reaches out to catch one—

“Having a good night, big boy?”

[xxlady-lunaxx]

It was winter when Tengen realized that he was in love. For his wives, it was hard to remember when he’d truly grown fond of them. Given that their marriage had been for the clan, initially, he hadn’t loved them immediately. It was a gradual process, and he couldn’t recall exactly when it hit him that he loved them. But somehow, it was easy to tell for Kyojuro.

For one thing, Kyojuro had always been very sudden, in a way. Bright and cheery, so optimistic. In the way that made it feel like the world didn’t deserve someone as sweet as him. He was good at catching people off guard unintentionally because of how easy it was to relax around him. Equally, he’d popped into Tengen’s life seemingly out of nowhere.

Admittedly, Tengen had been expecting Kyojuro to be something like his father. For a brief time, Tengen, Gyomei, and Shinjuro had all worked as the sole Hashira before others began popping up. But he was proven wrong with Kyojuro’s stronger determination and energy full of smiles and laughter. The sunshine amongst the layers of shadows threatening to bury the Hashira under. As much as Sanemi might hate it, Kyojuro’s optimism was most admirable. It wasn’t something many Demon Slayers could muster. (Tengen included).

Easily, Tengen and Kyojuro got along. Two peas in a pod. Tengen could’ve called Kyojuro his best friend, at this point. Even if he’d known Gyomei for longer, Kyojuro still managed to become his closest friend amongst the Hashira. And he wasn’t complaining.

Unbeknownst to either of them, Tengen was beginning to see Kyojuro in a new light. There were practically stars in his eyes when he saw the man, now, and he couldn’t understand himself for it. Same sex relationships weren’t the most common in Japan, and Tengen was only really vaguely aware of them. Which was why it took him until a day in the snow to realize that the feelings akin to the ones he loved his wives with was, truly, love.

Kyojuro had always loved every type weather. The coldest snowed-in days of winter were no exception. Therefore he was undeterred by the three feet of snow and dragged Tengen along giddily. Clouds obscured the sun from the sky, and they would likely have to get to their missions soon. But they allowed themselves a moment of content (somehow, despite the freezing temperature), wrapping up in scarves and hats and gloves to trudge around outside.

Understandably, Hinatsuru, Suma, and Makio refrained from following them out. But Kyojuro was insistent Tengen followed him and, simply because Kyojuro appeared like the most excited little puppy, he complied.

It was hard not to shiver as they traipsed into the snow, and Tengen was already in half mind bundling back inside. But then Kyojuro stopped, a wide grin spread over his face that enunciated the flush of his nose and cheeks from the cold as he waved his hands in a ‘ta-da’ motion.

Tengen peered at the blindingly white sheets of snow before realizing that it was now a blindingly white lopsided pile of snow. He cocked his head to the side, curious as to what he was looking at. Noticing his puzzlement, Kyojuro followed his gaze. Almost instantly, his smile turned into a pout and he hurried forward, moving to and fro trying to fix what he’d intended to show. When he turned back, triumphant with his quick fix, he did the waving-hand movement again.

It was some sort of snowman, melting ice barely keeping the not quite compact enough snow together into two spheres. There were two sticks lodged into either side of the torso, meant as arms, but one of them was in too far and the other was on the brink of falling out. Kyojuro’s hasty makeovers on the failed snowman were loud and clear and made Tengen laugh. Kyojuro huffed, telling Tengen to stop mocking him. As Tengen went to reply, starting to deny such thing, his eyes flickered from the snowman, to Kyojuro, to the smile the fire-colored man was trying to suppress. And his words faltered, eyes widening a fraction as it hit him. Oh, fuck. Tengen loved him.

A bit concerned over the sudden mood swing, Kyojuro went to console him. But then, behind him, the snowman gave out and collapsed into a heap of snow and (two) branches. Kyojuro yelped as some of the snow decided to seep into his clothing and Tengen recovered, grinning as he tried to help stop the slushy ice from soaking Kyojuro and only succeeding in making it worse. They clambered back inside with the reassurance that they could try and make another snowman later, comforted with the warm tea Hinatsuru provided them and the change of clothes Suma offered. With the promise of no missions that day, from crows that arrived, and the little bit of free time they could gain from that, Kyojuro bed his goodbyes, assuring them that he’d be back another day. And still, Tengen was stuck on that single thought.

He went through the motions of changing and seeing Kyojuro out and drinking tea with his wives, but his mind blanked from his revelation.

It was winter when he realized he was in love with Kyojuro.