#I need to hibernate all winter after finishing this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

socheckitout-mikey · 2 years

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heey y’all! (‘: i don’t usually write smut, but this was a request from my old blog. it’s taken my ass like deadass three years to write it. ik it’s super long and i got carried away, but i’m proud bc i haven’t written smut in a very long time. originally it was meant to be semi nsfw but i went the whole nine yards instead!

also i’d like to give credit to @brideofcthulhu10 for helping me with this one. she helped co-write the beginning, whilst also giving me amazing pointers and keeping me on track when it came to marko’s character. so deffo give her blog a look through bc she’s such an amazing writer! <3333 - mae

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

(GIF credit: @bonniebirddoesgifs)

Title: The Dilemma

Pairings: Marko x Fem!Reader

Summary: As any high-school senior, end of year exams encroach upon you, which results in your disappearance from the infamous Boardwalk. Marko, your vampiric boyfriend, feels awfully neglected and sees the strain that boring old studying is causing you. After being a gigantic nuisance in your time of need, Marko decides to aid you with your dilemma by getting you to to unwind. An innocent massage turns to much more. (READER IS 18/19 YEARS OLD IN THIS PIECE!!!)

Word count: 9,916

Warnings: SMUT AHEAD SO 18+ ONLY!!! MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI! YOU WILL BE BLOCKED!! READER IS 18/19 IN THIS PIECE!!! Anxiety, angst, mentions of tension with parents, mentions of reader throwing things at Marko (mainly bc he scared her and also a plushie), established relationship, argument, make out session, massage, oral (female receiving), sexual content, unprotected sex, hair pulling, marking, depictions of blood, blood drinking/feeding and Marko being a sex God v.v Lemme know if I missed anything.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: 　　 :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

Finals had encroached upon you and the rest of your senior class like a throttling bitter conclusion. An immense pressure had settled upon your slumped shoulders in a complex manner. It all gave you an uproarious migraine. Perched upon those shoulders of yours was a Devil and an Angel, reciting an exhausting, unanimous monologue you had encountered fervently with frustration and exhaustion for the past few weeks. The Devil enumerated vividly about how the stress of hunching over your books would only cause your spine to permanently warp, whilst grey hairs would prematurely appear on your head. It whispered of the sincere notion that you would be able to seek vehement pleasure by kicking back and relaxing with your boyfriend Marko; who currently laid sprawled out against your cushiony pink covers in an absurdly bored fashion behind you. He was the poster child of, “Are you finished yet?”

His only purpose was to grate on your nerves that much more viciously.

The Angel held up its own assertive chant with the utmost conviction. A soothing lullaby that frankly lulled you into boring hibernation, as if you were a grizzly bear entering its cave for the tundric winter months to come. You were well aware that it spoke of knowledge, reason and logic. The qualities that were dwindling — yet with its vibrant torch, it led the way to the future you so desperately had dreamed of since you were in middle school: A good job meant a good home, and so the domino effect would hopefully follow you in a cascading positive effect. Yet passing wasn’t everything, right? Well, the Angels’ lustrous song seemed to disrupt the already choppy sea wrecking the ships in your mind, pointing the way to salvation. However, you felt as though the Devil latched on, shoving you under the bartering force that the School District whipped into your back. You were merely a slave to the formidable system.

And thus the Angel and Devil fought their daunting battle amongst who could lead you quicker to each destination they desired for you to propel towards. The truth of the matter was that there was no balance within the chaos. You either went all in or did nothing at all. You were only battling with the Yin and Yang within you, but you didn't quite realise that. You needed someone else to obtain that truth and light it up in a firework festival. That someone was unfortunately your bouncing boyfriend Marko.

The sudden weight upon your tired shoulders felt like an angsty teen drama — unbearable. They slumped down with a force as you looked at the Math equations before you with contempt. Your mind was playing tricks on you because now the algebra seemed to be written in some bizarre language you swore was only known by extraterrestrials. Never had you experienced such affliction quite so potent in all of your young years of living until this very moment in time. High school, fortunately, had come and gone like the spring’s floral breeze, allowing for the stuffy summer heat to bound through the atmosphere like a blundering bull in a China shop. Great, now you were sweating too.

Despite your immortal boyfriend, Marko, having intermittently insisted that you hadn’t needed the extra education, you had graciously swung your bat in a conflicting vicious fashion. Your battered old baseball had leapt its last journey, landing into the lap of a comfortable Community College here in Santa Carla. Your original aim and hope had been to apply for greener pastures, such as the university in the nearest plush city. Yet you knew it was too far away from the Boardwalk. Your painfully vampiric boyfriend would kick up a putrid stink at the mere notion of you being so far away. Especially since daytime already kept you both apart, creating such a colourful apprehension to course through your very mortal veins.

You’d miss Marko too much as well, and slumming it under your bed in the dorm room all day and night just wouldn’t cut it. It wasn’t going to be the ideal move for any party involved. Familiar sunny Santa Carla would just have to do before you surfed your last wave, ticketing you straight to The Immortality Club.

“College?!” Marko sputtered out like a dying steam engine.

His hazel eyes blinked several times in absolute bewilderment as his body froze. The brown fuzzy teddy bear he had been carelessly chucking up and down in the air in a mindless fashion missed his right hand entirely. Its furry, soft backside flopped with a tender bounce atop his chest.

“Why would you go back to school baby?” He inquired desperately, “You’re already done.” His words hung in the air, thick like an uncomfortable smog riddled with consternation.

His nimble fingers swatted the bear off of him and he sat up straighter than a plank. The tender plush bounced off of your floorboards, tumbling into your open closet.

The same fingers suddenly danced restlessly to your dusty, cluttered nightstand where he aimed for that prized purple pen with the fluffy pom-pom dotted on the end of it: His digits fiddled with it fruitlessly, eyebrows creased together. Boy was he all sorts of twitchy tonight since boredom had taken hold of him by the balls. He felt as though he was going crazy. Especially with the apprehension at your announcement to further your needless education. Who needed books and crammed study sessions when you could be a youthful undead being for the rest of eternity? You’d never grow old, never die — this was a total blessing sitting right in your lap! Yet you shoved it off to the side without another thought. All of the previous discussions you’d had with him about turning meant nothing to you now, or so it seemed. Poofing into thin air, therefore to Marko, it meant you’d been replaced by some other worldly ghost that reeked of crippled anxiety; which, by the way, was akin to the rotting scent of death itself.

He had lazily propped himself against the headboard of your bed now, eyes not meetings yours — almost as if he were too meek to look up at you. He already knew the answer to his question from interpreting the blurry, chaotic dance of your thoughts rattling in your brittle skull. One more thought and your head would come blowing off! After all, he’d also noticed that physically you were in a frenzied stupor of stress and inner turmoil. You reeked of palpable insecurity and rotting angst, just like a teenage drama on screen. Blegh! It caused the blond boy to crinkle his hooked nose wryly, warping his angelic gestures.

Part of the reason why Marko alluded to the opportunity of peering up at you was due to the simple fact that his visit had come to be a frightening ordeal on your behalf. One that led to an abundant earful of curses and a book to have been launched at him — almost knocking his head clean off his shoulders. Right, you had the reflexes of a rabid raccoon startled by a rat when you were snuck up on. He knew better than to do such a thing. Luckily he had ducked just in time, smartly remarking that you should have gone for sports instead. He regretted the witty quip instantly by the displeased look on your face. So he was cast upon your frilly bed to pass the time like a woeful jester sentenced to imprisonment for not having entertained his Queen accordingly. The tragedy of it all!

And although you were aggravated at his unexpected visit — more salty over the fact he’d frightened you —, you did not have the slightest of hearts to kick him out. It felt too heart wrenching for you to do so. In fact, it was like kicking a stray kitten out into the rain. His damn bulbous eyes whenever you’d get close to the notion would appear like round, quivering rain drops — the pupils heavily swallowing the earthy iris. So you sighed instead, turning back to your work whilst Marko made himself comfortable. Well, as comfortable as his bored self would permit.

“I don’t want just a job, Marko.” You muttered irately under your breath from over your complex Math equations that were scrawled in their dreadful chicken scratch language upon gridded paper.

“I want a career! I wanna hone a craft.” You explained further with a nonchalant wave of your wrist. Your tone was curt, attempting to balance out his boredom that apparently began to increase the longer he remained there.

You paid no heed to his insistence, scribbling your notes with a vengeance for the paper you carved it into.

“That’s what I mean though,” Marko huffed out a hefty sigh, sitting up straight suddenly with his legs criss-crossed in a half lotus position. “Why do you need to work, anyway? Just one bite and BAM! All your problems would be gone, baby doll. I keep tellin’ ya!” He exclaimed animatedly, hands thrown up in the air in his own heated and wondrous stupor.

He’d even get David to teach you how to use compulsion so you could get whatever you wanted. It was so pathetically simple! He wondered now if you’d hit your head recently to have forgotten the simplicities of becoming a vampire. No stress would ensue, so long as you abided but the rules. Why couldn’t you just see that?

“Hush! I’ve already made up my mind about this. You’re not going to change it!” You quipped back sharply, grabbing a rusty coloured stuffed cat from your messy desk and hurled it half heartedly in his direction for the second time that night.

Damn, you really did mean business tonight.

The plushie cat managed (miraculously may I add) to bounce tenderly off of the side of his perky blond curls. A low laugh escaped from his sharp mouth. He was well aware by now that you were only attempting to push him away due to the draining stress of academics. The prospect of taking things too personally had been going really swell up until this point. He wasn’t going to afford himself to buckle now like he would from anyone else. Afterall, any other person who launched two objects at him would be decapitated and dead at his musty booted feet. You were getting off easy by a mile in comparison. You didn’t even know how much Divine Intervention had spared you at this point.

So instead he untangled his thin legs from their half lotus position, swinging them off the edge of the bed as he observed you nervously wind your fingers through your hair — tugging slightly at the roots in vexation. The sight made him feel sympathy for you, a feeling that was nearly completely foreign to someone like him. It caused his dead stomach to knot and twist uncomfortably because he just wanted to lend you a helping hand. He just wasn’t sure how he could. School work wasn’t exactly his forte and all, being as he never acquired much of an education when he was a kid at the end of the last century. Nevertheless, he was your boyfriend and boyfriends had to take care of their girlfriends, right?

With a defeated sigh, Marko pressed his strong palms on his knees and found the sudden energy to get to his feet. His chunky boots clunked noisily on the ground, an incessant irritance to you. It made your body visibly cringe in your chair with each step he took. It was as though he was dropping bricks of led onto the ground. Your boyfriend, lost in his own deep thoughts, remained oblivious, wandering aimlessly to your bookshelf in search of something to cure his doldrum. The shelves were coated in a peculiar thin layer of dust, a dead giveaway that you had not kept this space to its usual tidiness. His inquisitive fingers collected the fluffy debris similar to dust bunnies on the tips before swiftly rubbing them together, which disintegrated his fuzzy pals into mere nothingness.

‘Damn, when was the last time you cleaned this place?’ He thought. It wasn’t like you to just allow things to collect dust. At this rate, you’d end up having your own personal Cave that Marko didn’t want a hand in helping you clean.

His pesky touch ventured along, dancing across the spines of old tattered novels aged well with love. Reading wasn’t really his style, but he supposed he didn’t mind it when he’d lounge in your lap like a cat, bathing in the stark silver moonlight whilst you read ‘The Outsiders’ to him late into the night. The accents you pulled off were enjoyable, a husky hushed twang so your parents wouldn’t hear. You always did a spanking job at Matt Dillons’ Dallas Winston. He couldn’t help but snort at the times you’d tear up during said character’s devastating death. It had alarmed Marko the first time it had happened. Now he only ever teased you about it, equipped with the ability to wipe your tears away and give you a moment to settle before continuing. He enjoyed those memories a lot.

Marko’s marvellously silver tongue clicked in his mouth liberally to an unordinary beat he’d plucked out of thin air from many moons ago. It did nothing but sourly distract you from your work. Your body tense once more, knee jerking in a wild bouncing fashion, knocking the underside of your desk in time with his clacking tune. You chewed your pencil menacingly, the brittle wood splintering slightly in your mouth. It made astounding practice for future inevitable victims. Perhaps the School Board would be your first ones.

Still, the more you travelled down the mental highway, you felt nothing but guilt at the thought of kicking Marko out. Recalled his disheartened countenance that struck his handsome features at the mere inkling of casting him out into the bewitched humid night.

Just when you thought you’d lost your mind enough, Marko flicked the power switch of your radio as if on purpose. The speakers screamed to life, blaring out the belting introduction of You Give Love a Bad Name by Bon Jovi. The precipitous noisy intrusion throttled into the air, shocking your eardrums. It scared the living daylights out of you for the second time that night! Marko’s mouth spread into a harmless grin, mouthing the lyrics with the utmost enthusiasm; his hands scrambling to his abdomen to begin shredding on the gnarliest air guitar he could muster. His head and body hopped comfortably along to the hypnotic drum beat and flourishing bass, floating up on a mouthwatering guitar riff and husky vocals to die for. Edgy.

As if possessed by a formidable spirit, you whipped around in your seat, eyes wild with offence. All of the equations behind you were now abandoned. You were giving Marko the look that could surely kill even an immortal. He seemed to be on another planet, too deep in the rock n’ roll blaring boisterously from your speakers to take note of your inconvenience.

Prompted by a supernatural sixth sense, the curly blond turned to look at you — an honest inquiry over whether his air guitar appeared better than Paul’s ready on the tongue. It’s life, a premature one, slid back down his throat and into his voice box. Realisation hit him when the usual mischief in his facial expression fled his countenance entirely. He mimicked that of a child being told off by its raging mother.

“Oops!” His lips mouthed, turning off the radio instantly.

The stark silence built thickly in the air, only allowing the remaining orchestra of cicada’s outside to be heard. Your heart was pounding in your chest, that vein in your forehead bulging with every beat of your galloping heart.

“Sorry babe.” He stated sheepishly, hands held up in surrender by his head.

“It’s fine. It’s fine.” You gritted out twice, more for your benefit the second time around.

As if to solidify a semblance of being non-combative, you held your hands up on either side of your head. A silent plea for Marko to cooperate with your simple boundaries.

Perhaps he wasn’t entirely sorry about it, but that didn’t matter if you didn’t know it. Though with the way you tried not to glower at him, he understood, without a doubt, that you were more than aware he was only half apologetic. After all, he was fuelled by a thick smog of boredom, which only forced unease to burst from him like the flames of Hell. Nevertheless, he watched you with his widened gaze before settling on your bed once more. A couple more hours wouldn’t kill him, right?

“Just don’t touch anything, okay? As soon as I get through the rest of this chapter, maybe we can watch a movie together.” You suggested through gritted teeth.

An inkling of hope dawned across Marko’s features like The Gates of Heaven had opened for him. It felt like the sun was warming his ice cold flesh, the fuzzy memory from his mortal life in 1901 came to fruition in his mind. Refreshing to say the least. His back inched higher, attempting to obtain a good look at your bulky textbook.

“How much ya got left?”

You hummed, pondering whilst your stiff aching fingers thumbed the pages. It was an entire wad. Marko’s heart rocketed into the old floorboards under his feet, and he hung his head in existential dread. You wouldn’t even be finished by sun up.

“About half a chapter,” you commented with hope, but to him it was all a charlatan’s sham.

“Yeah, yeah okay…” he mumbled, cast to the cushiony abode of your bed.

The ambience of the room settled back to the mind numbing pace of planned study sessions. His only two forms of escape were to either cast himself into a premature sleep or leave without you noticing. Both were tempting. Nevertheless, he remained there, paralysed with indecision.

Soon misery encased him, your plush bed and messy surroundings incapable of quenching his need for attention. A sour trance gathered deep within his undead soul. Blasé eyes analysed the way that you seemed to slightly settle in your seat. The scratching of pencil on paper overcame the atmosphere like a thick infestation of utter disinterest. Though he wasn’t alluded by the fact your muscles were still taut underneath your baggy black shirt and baby blue pyjama shorts. The sight made him pity you once more, because you were slaving away.

Suddenly a nagging urge told him to just burn all of your textbooks so he could have his damn girlfriend back!

From his stance on the bed, he noted that complex algebra was what you were studying: The sight made his stomach twist sickly and his head throb, because with Paul rotting his brain ninety percent of the time, Marko couldn’t even recall what 2+2 equaled.

Eventually his patience wore thin.

“Babe, how long have you been studying?” He finally broke the long silence. A casual air to his tone.

Marko rested his elbows upon his knees with a hunched back once he sat up; unconsciously mirroring you. Fixated on your entire being. It was almost humorous the way you seemed to sink further into your stressful work with every equation you tortured yourself to complete. The inclination both distressed and astonished him. This wasn’t like you at all. In fact, he was willing to bet that you’d been switched out by a government clone provided by the CIA with the way you were acting. You despised math!

When was the last time you had taken a damn break? When was this ever going to end? Were you ever not going to throw ginger stuffed cats at him? God forbid if he had to endure you worrying when your exams were all said and done. If you so much as breathed a damn fear towards the notion of not passing, he was going to lose his damn mind.

It was almost nearing the mark of an entire month since you’d made your typical appearance at the Boardwalk. An unusual occurrence in itself. It had worried him to begin with, especially since it had occurred out of the blue. No notion communicated whatsoever of your educational predicament. Marko was usually rather patient with you, however, since he hadn’t ever exactly attended school himself (or graduated for that matter), he was honestly struggling to relate to the importance of it all. Good grades and whimsical desires to attend college didn’t hold the same meaning to him as it did to you. It frankly just sounded like a damn fairytale.

In fact, the whole ordeal just was a major waste of time to him. Afterall, he held the potent magic of immortality in the palms of his hands; brandished like the forbidden fruit that Adam himself consumed. There were sneaky tricks and enchanting gifts that he — along with every vampire — possessed. All that temptation didn’t seem to tickle your fancy in the current moment. Marko couldn’t deny the truth that if it (college) made you happy in the long run, he didn’t have the heart to cut in and stop you. He wanted you to be content at the end of the day. So long as you also cared about his happiness too. It didn’t really feel like you did — not with you pushing him away like he was some diseased fleabag.

“Uuuuhhmmmm shit,” you began with a flourishing fluster encapsulating your countenance. You used the end of your chewed up pencil to scratch the side of your head vigorously, “I dunno, three days?” You shrugged.

It sounded as if you were asking him for clarification, but Marko sat there just as clueless and waiting for your answer.

To be completely transparent, that was only a guesstimate thrown to the stuffy air with no refreshing breeze to carry it away from you. You were utterly fried; all for very different reasons. Meals consisted of take-out or quick instant snacks so the remnants could be discarded easily. You went from a daily shower to one every three days; dishes had been piled up so high in your sink, because you didn’t possess the luxury known as time: All until your mother lost her mind and dove in infuriatingly to maintain downstairs her spotless domain. Completing these simple tasks designed to keep your living quarters in order were overwhelming now.

Marko wasn’t the only one feeling the absence of your chipper presence. As just mentioned, your dutiful mother took up your chores to accomplish with disgruntled agitation, because she had limited time too. Yet no matter how much she may have resented you currently, she found some compassion for you in your final weeks as a senior highschool student. She took it with a badge of silence, but you felt that heavy churning of guilt in your gut whenever she would impulsively huff and puff through the thin walls, as well as slam cupboards shut. Nothing went unnoticed by you, but it drove you further into the disorganised abode of unrelenting chaos. You were just glad your parents were out on a weekend trip. Sweet silence was yours.

Escaping was all you wanted to do. Yet you were bound to your desk by a hefty chain around your ankle with the belief that if you failed, you’d have let everyone around you down. There was so much pressure riding on your back that it felt unbearably hot. Scalding tears burnt the corners of your eyes and you fought to wipe them away with two quick slaps to your cheeks.

Oh how you missed the Boardwalk desperately! Longing for the nights out with Marko where the oceanic droplets dotted your skin when you paraded down it on his metallic steed. They seemed so far away now, so out of touch that you could barely recall what it felt like to be nestled in the musty, dusty caverns where the boy’s home sat within. Those nights were always fun, riddled with a peculiar perception of time that made them feel as though they went on forever. Frankly, you missed him and his brothers. However, even though you did, you couldn’t afford to burn out. If you could just squeeze out a little more, then maybe you could manage to get through with a hair length left of energy and patience.

Like a precariously challenging puzzle, the pieces finally clicked into place in Marko’s nifty skull. A lightbulb dinged over his head, illuminating everything around him and he saw things with virgin eyes. Once that had occurred, the relief he experienced was knocked viciously out of the way and replaced by a worry that he never had felt before. You’d always been splendid at managing yourself in a healthy manner. Balancing and pacing yourself was a natural instinct you possessed, crafted into an art during the academic year. Marko had sat back comfortably up until this point, just taking it all for granted, because you’d always been so self-reliant.

Yet as he stared at you from across your bedroom intently, he began to take note of the little differences surrounding you both. The space was riddled with disorganisation as its main theme, messiness spread out in all of its glory. A large pile of dirty clothes lay in the left corner of your room, making him silently plead with the universe that your socks wouldn’t start crawling out towards him with a mind of their own. Your pink bed covers he was perched upon weren’t made in their usual neat style; that stupid desk you had yourself rooted in front of was clumped together in a marinade of dirty food containers, pens, pencils and papers. A giant teetering tower of jagged books to the right looked ominous and shaky to him. The trash can beside it was overflowing with a cornucopia of crumpled bits of paper that looked as if Jason himself had hacked at them with his own chainsaw! What in the hell was going on with you?

“You shouldn’t sweat the exams, babe.” Marko stated without much of a rational thought.

The gratuitous comment seemed to startle you to austere stillness. Similar to a cat who’d grown enraged, frightened as its fur and tail zapped with pulsing electricity. Your aura resembled the frizzy taut hairs of said feline friend; and your head whipped to the side so viciously that it struck a literal nerve, causing your vision to blur. Paying little mind to the agony of the nauseating feeling, you pressed on.

“What!?” You seethed through tightly gritted teeth. You were a festering beast. All the chipped pieces of fragile pottery you’d held together shattered. Patience was no longer your virtue.

Acting on impulse, Marko’s fingerless gloved hands sprang to the sides of his head once more, eyebrows raised. You really needed to chill out.

“Damn, hear me out!” He started, a little heat behind his words.

He was frankly pretty tired of the onslaught you shoved onto him. You were beginning to yank him into the depths of your own anguish. He never swung that way initially, but you were spoiling his night that had started off perfectly fine, thank you very much.

“All that I meant by that was you’re the smartest person I know, babe. You’ve passed everything so far. There’s no way you’re failin’ anything!” His words had intended to diffuse the bomb he’d set up from his previous comment.

Reassurance was what you needed right? Wrong. It only seemed to spread the shrapnel and vibrant inferno swirling violently within you. A snort dispelled,, forcing you to drop your pencil on your notebook. Disbelief rattled your expression, the fuse to a TNT’s detonator had been slammed down staunchly and rage encompassed you over the smallest of things.

“Yeah, like you know what it’s like to have all this pressure on your shoulders. You just bum around the Cave like you’re a damn king without a care in the world! The most you have to worry about is whether you get David the right kind of take-out when Michael’s lazing on the bed next to Star!”

The words were haughty, sturdy ammunition pelting Marko to a mushy pulp. The worst part was that you’d turned your back on him when you’d said it. Honing in on your unreasonable point. The world didn’t just revolve around you, you know.

There was a flicker of irritation that blossomed like a breathtakingly fiery rose in his chest. Hot electricity pulsed his eyes alight, though as soon as the burning rage had appeared, Marko settled it with a deep breath. Right, you were his girlfriend, he couldn’t kill you like some blundering drunk Surf Nazi. No matter how much of a raging bitch you were being right now.

A few minutes sauntered by, a tense silence stretching with its thick tendrils that imbedded themselves in your throat. Realisation hit you square in the chest and you dug the heels of your hands into your sore, closed eyes harshly at the thought of how stupid you were being.

“Shit! I’m so sorry.” There was a denseness to your tone, shame blanketing it like a sugar coated donut. If only it felt as sweet.

“Nah, don’t sweat it, babes!” Marko released with a heavy sigh, a passive manner taking over him. It wasn’t hard to do.

Afterall, the anger had been shaken out of every dead cell in his body. He lifted a cool hand, his fingers burying in his blond licks and pushing them out of his eyes, a simple motion that soothed him slightly.

“No, it’s not not!” You sighed out, tipping your head back in your wooden chair till it teetered a bit. You stared dreadfully up at the ceiling with bitter contempt. “I hate this! I hate all of this studying. If I look at one more number I’m gonna commit arson on the school so I don’t have to take my exam on Monday morning!”

“You know that can be arranged for you with the help of Paul and I? ” Marko grinned at you, the prospect of putting all this incessant studying to a grand halt really tickled his fancy; whether you were being serious or not.

“Not funny!”

“What? You wouldn’t be connected. Scouts honour, babes.”

Though from the expression you were giving him, Marko was certain that attempting to pull jokes with you so soon wasn’t in anyone’s best interests just yet. Not when you were wound up so tight. However there was the beginning of a smile working on the edges of your beautiful lips. It settled the tension a little.

“There’s my girl!” He replied proudly, patting his gloved hands on the thighs of his jeans habitually.

Suddenly another lightbulb moment zinged its fluorescent rays above his head. Jackpot! He knew exactly what you needed to relax. He did, afterall, have magical hands that were perfect for massaging. A little TLC and you’d be well oiled enough to snuggle with him as you both watched a movie. Just a little loving was all he wanted — he missed you.

Like a golden sleek mountain lion with prey locked in its predatory gaze, Marko crept stealthily towards you on surprisingly light feet with his paws out. Ready for the kill. Those icy digits were immediately welcomed by your clammy hot skin, and your affliction seemed to melt away in the heat of the humid air. This was precisely the reaction Marko had imagined in his wondrously gruesome noggin.

To begin with, you seemed tense at the idea of his touch gone foreign from the lack of his familiar presence. Frustration mixed with guilt at your own pitiful past actions as a girlfriend. The stress was making you crack on so many levels. His touch was comforting despite the fact your shoulders made a subtle attempt at shaking him off. Yet he had a firm hold on you — certainly not enough to cause harm. What didn’t he understand about this entire ordeal? This was extremely important to you. His candid words rung in your ears, a gong gone off to begin the journey of relaxation and release of pent up frustrations.

“You gotta take a break. Even just for five minutes.” He echoed your already persuaded thoughts. A wispy coo, hypnotic in nature.

You were incapable of resistance to his powerful abilities he reserved specifically for times such as these. Sure he wasn’t David, but Marko knew how to pull someone as stubborn as you into his lane, wrestling them into a relaxed submission of chill time. Damn him and his undead powers!

His fingers were possessed by black magic — working at the sore, aching muscles that had become strained by impeccably poor posture and a lack of necessary exercise. You lacked both the hefty bark and bite to fight him, it had disappeared with the energy and motivation to engage in anyone or anything other than what was currently going on in the present moment. Temptation wanted you to reap the rewards of Marko’s skilful ministrations. You swiftly ushered into the realm of utter selfishness, leaning into his touch wantonly the moment his pesky long appendages massaged down your shoulders in a taut yet tender fashion. A wince escaped your lips once he worked on a specific knot. You stirred and twitched in the seat like it had become unbearably hot.

With your face bunched up, a moan entailing slight anguish fluttered past your lips, Marko eased up on said spot, focusing on another area.

“Atta girl,” He grinned, “Relax…” an angelic whisper crept into your ear.

He sounded hypnotic, binding you under his blissful spell of ease. Though it was that specific spot in your sore muscles that caused you irritation. Marko left it happily because he’d worked the majority of it out. Now his long, thin fingers padded at the balls of your shoulders, solace in nature before returning up the valley of your neck for the second time. He simpered subconsciously to himself in a victorious fashion the moment you went completely lax under his touch. A pleasurable surrender to his beck and call. Your arms went limp, resembling the feeling and look of overcooked spaghetti. The rear of the chair and Marko’s light, yet secure grip on you were the only two things that kept you upright. There was an immature smugness to his motions that you could practically feel engraved into you.

“You like that?” There was audacity for him to whisper it against the soft shell of your ear. Such a seductive note.

Your response came to him through another throaty groan of approval and a swift, gentle nod of your head. So subtle that for a moment, he wondered if he’d dreamt up the consensual physical action entirely.

Mischief purchased him, a long lost friend. Sharp teeth nicked the delicate flesh of your earlobe, mouth finding a mind of their own to trail down the side of your neck. The feverish pulsepoint he’d grown to know well was peppered in an onslaught — each kiss and nip purposeful. Melting like the ice caps into his touch, the Devil suddenly pulled away after taking a step back. Your back was held up by the chair entirely. A pout formed your precious mouth, head tilted towards him. Your half hooded eyes unveiled a cheeky sight indeed: He was smirking with that Cheshire grin he was so renowned for. Not to mention that he’d propped himself like royalty on the edge of the bed, his head cocked to the side in amusement.

“What? You want more?” An arrogance wafted from him, sent on the hot summer breeze.

He knew you were hooked by the way you turned in your chair to finally acknowledge him fully. “Then c’mere.” He said simply, patting his lap.

Rising from your chair was methodical. Lots of attention had to be put into moving your stiff limbs almost gone numb from being in the same position for god knows how long. Yet you padded over to your awaiting throne, straddling his waist boldly. Hands floated to your hips, squeezing them longingly, and as if bound under his hypnotic spell from earlier, you found his lips in a mixture of rushed passion and want. Marko was cool, hanging back and letting you explore the excitement you’d been starving for for weeks. He was just happy to go along for the ride, seeing where it took you both. This wasn’t so much about him as it was about you.

Your tongue intruded his mouth, a sudden willingness to become as close to him as physically possible. He beckoned beneath you, chest tightening with the giddiness that felt oh so good to experience. Teeth nipped at your lower lip, a yearning to eventually get at the crimson liquid buried beneath your thin, delicate skin was intricate but controlled. Taunting and malicious hands wandered, pushing beneath fabric to clutch at the supple flesh of your breasts. You pulled apart for a breath, a gasp of alluring surprise fluttering from your mouth. Marko chuckled against the flesh of your delicate throat — not missing the sultry glow having engulfed you. It now permeated towards him. Frustration could be played out in more than one way, which he was happy to do.

The black tee you’d been sporting came over your head in a single tug, cast to the floor with his mix-matched jacket and crop top. He admired the rise and fall of your bare breasts, highlighted in the moonlight — embarrassing you in the way he deemed was the cutest. Yet he made no move towards influencing your next moves. Instead the icy tips of his fingers tickled up your sides, ghosted along your spine to entice goosebumps. Your gaze settled on his beautiful flesh , fair and adorned with muscles beneath his strong skin. He made your mouth water, the washboard abs and the strength that came from him in more than just the physical aspect set you on fire. Your staring amused him. Were you still too shy to touch despite this having happened in times gone by? He was all yours. There was no need for meaningless delays. The inevitable was bound to occur. You might as well just meet him in the middle.

Your warm fingertips settled upon his sturdy chest whilst you mounted him. A delicious expression of your needs being met flashed across your angelic features, but your lips twisted into such a devilish smirk. Some would title you as a promiscuous nymph, tantalisingly rocking your hips back and forth — creating much needed friction. Marko’s fingers smoothed up your sides, his own breath flustered out of his lungs. Yet he just watched you, hazel eyes deepening from the dilation of his pupils. A hunter was being fed under your seductive spell. Such a horny, pretty thing you were, rutting against him like a desperate bitch in heat. It caused amusement to tickle his senses, because he knew this wouldn’t suffice enough of your needs. Witnessed it dawn frustratingly upon your countenance. You needed more. You wanted more.

“Atta girl.” He winked, grinning impishly up at you. A seductive golden halo flowed from his head as he laid there admiring you.

Before long, his patience wore thin. His back arched upwards then, lips trailing along the swell of your sensitive breasts. They glistened deliciously with sweat in the moonlight, inviting his tongue to taste the salty liquid. You sighed, hips faltering, thwarting your efforts to get off. A pathetic whimper of dissatisfaction escaped you, rumbling in your chest. He felt it against his sinful tongue, sucking sweet little marks into your skin. And silently, his fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts and panties, tugging down gently. You manuevred yourself over him, eager to get any remaining clothes off and have him take control. You never knew what to expect with him, which was all the more exciting. Yet all he did was clasp his lips around your right nipple, suckling on it firmly, though not enough to hurt. His teeth nipped at it, tugging ever so slightly in the way you always approved — all whilst he stared up at you. Man was he a tease.

As soon as it had started, the pleasure ceased. Gone in the blink of an eye. You stared down at your boyfriend, your hips twirling in rebellion. Already you were quivering, at his mercy whilst your fingers tangled in his beautifully curly locks.

“What?” He inquired with an innocent tilt to his head.

Distinct symptoms of embarrassment clouded your features — your skin felt hot. The only thing you could do was nip your swollen bottom lip and draw your eyebrows together in the centre. So cute. Why was he doing this? It was simple, he wanted to.

“Hmmm? Use your big girl words, baby.” He added with a breathy laugh meant to mock you. His large palms smoothed against the softest parts of your body reassuringly.

You gulped, throat dry and hoarse. Your hips rutted on his hardened cock concealed beneath the rough denim. It’s roughness dampened by your sopping cunt. You whimpered as he guided your hips, looking hungrier than ever. Silently pleading for him to touch you the way you loved it the most. However, he did not play into these silent games. You knew that, but it was always worth a try. Sometimes he was forgiving and lenient. Tonight he seemed to be holding back, admiring your handiwork until you begged him with delirium to give you what you wanted.

“I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me. Hmm?” He cooed up at you.

“I want more,” you began pitifully, eyes unable to meet his heavy gaze.

“More of what?” He was milking this, enjoying the way you twitched.

“More of you.” As if that could answer his blatantly insistent inquiry. Yet before he could open his mouth to prod further, you’d beaten him to the punch, “I want your mouth.”

A diabolical sexy grin spread across his face. Sharp pearly whites glinted in the argent glow menacingly, but only for show. To intimidate you into the correct position. The air in your lungs caught in your throat at the sight, forcing you to shiver. He was going to force you into helplessness with your limbs unable to hold you up afterwards, all accompanied with a mushy mind with him at the centre of it. Duties and resilient responsibilities were a thing of the past. Well, at least for tonight. What you were asking him for was something he was more than qualified to provide. A god-like tongue that made your head spin in a volatile tornado and your thighs squeeze deliciously around his head. The thought began thawing out the embarrassment coiled in your gut and latched into your flesh like barbed coils. Marko managed to pull them out effortlessly and painlessly. Thus, fueled by a fire in his own belly, he flipped you over at the flick of a finger. The cool sheets beneath you were welcomed because of the clammy air. The wind momentarily knocked out of you due to a lustre of giddiness. You laid there, breathless and bothered, watching him slither down your body like a ravenous serpent. Attentive nips and open mouthed kisses pressed along the way. You sighed with contentment, legs parting to fit him between them.

Gazes locked, he pressed your legs up towards your chest, spreading you open for him. There was little you could do to hide from him. His strong palms prevented such a shameful sin, the tips of his blunt nails digging into the supple backs of your thighs. The sting welcomed by you. Vulnerability was nowhere to be found — not even in your fuzzy brain. He liked it better that way. You were entirely enthralled by impulses and senses. The events of earlier ancient history he didn’t want to revisit any time soon. Wanton desire encompassed you. He’d incinerated all feelings of abashment from your being. You were tainted with a bold desperation. A one track mind that only Marko could read and satisfy.

“Just relax…” He breathed against the tender skin of your inner thigh. You could entrust him with this.

When he dove in, he had the enthusiasm of a starved man. The tip of his wet flickering appendage swiped your folds. Once, twice and a third time. On and on it went. The taste of you was salty yet sweet, the perfect addictive combination. You were perfect underneath him, letting his pretty gratified tongue serve blessings upon your clit. Faster and faster he adored you, suckling and nipping upon your sensitive bundle of nerves at the right intervals. It was all so perfect. Driving you further and further up the edge. You squealed under his onslaught, chest rising and falling as if possessed. Your limbs shook, eyes rolling into the rear of your frazzled skull. Yeah, you’d finally escaped. All of your inconsequential concerns fled from your body whilst you pushed Marko further into your sex. It was pathetic as you wantonly moaned his name, a repetitive mantra. So pitiful in fact that your hips rocked against his tongue, the tip of his nose catching your clit. Marko was just happy to drown in you. Your sticky essence dripping down his chin. All he could do was lap up what you offered, and none of it went to waste.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuuuuck!” You heaved into the clammy air, your eyes bleary by now.

Just one more stripe and he was going to ruin you.

You tumbled from heaven, rocketing down to Earth. Your descent imploring delirium. The ability to quit shaking was nowhere to be found. There was Marko, parting from your folds in a sticky and panting mess. His predator instincts lit aflame like a match in the dark, all because of your erratic heartbeat that had been palpitating under his skillful onslaught. You smelled so superbly delicious it made him delirious, rough hands settled on either side of your head to trap you in the cage he put you in. His glowing yellow eyes and slightly warbled features should have terrified you, yet they did not. You felt a love for the monster that mirrored your feelings in his own, demonic entirety. Your fingers were lazy, ghosting the tips upon his protruded brow bone. Despite his monstrosity, his features morphed back to that of a human’s with your enduring patience. A glow remaining in his perky eyes — an ardent aura surrounded the beast. Calloused fingers smoothed away the stray hairs to your face uncomfortably with sweat. Couldn’t stop the grin that came about from you looking so lost in your thoughts. You were fucked out already and he’d barely even begun. He decided then that he could’ve stared at you like this forever, because not a thought outside of him remained in your head. That’s what he appreciated the most. No competitions, just you and him. That’s all that was yearned for.

Lips crashed together, though your fight for dominance was easily overthrown by Marko, his pesky fingers pinching and pulling on your nipples. He rolled them between his fingers. A surge of gratitude took over you, hummed right into his mouth. Teeth gnashed together, it was heated, fueled by an endless amount of passion. Oh you were driving him crazy. Your hands fiercely clutched onto his strong shoulders, nails digging into the soft cool flesh of them. You were lost fully in the reality of ecstasy. Disoriented from the notion that once you started, you didn’t want it to stop. He was the incubus that tainted you, and he too could not stop himself from damning you once again. He’d yank you straight into hell with him. You were all his.

So his palms were strong, scrunching up the bedsheets beside your head, catching the strands of your hair within its hold. It stung, leading a pleasant hiss from you and into his mouth. Your own fingers pinging the button of his jeans before dipping into the waistband of his boxers. His lips broke apart, teeth nipping your bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood. Yes, you were a promiscuous nymph, working him further and further until precum leaked languidly from the tip, trickling and spilling onto your knuckles. The impish smirk you gave him sealed the deal.

“Not yet,” he whispered against your ear, a breathy chuckle expelled when you continued. “This is about you, baby. I can’t do that if I’ve busted all over you.” He grinned.

He did have a fair point. Off the remainder of his clothes went. Now no barriers remain between the pair of you. Naked and vulnerable in an iridescent glow from the moon.

In typical fashion of your boyfriend, he possessed an impatient roughness to him. A single hand manoeuvred your legs apart, one hiked upon his awaiting forearm and the other snug around his hip. In one swell tug down, you were spread open for him, the tip of his glistening cock pressed into your soaked folds. The minimal friction had invited your hips to buck up rebelliously. Yet the beast watched you with heavy eyes, watching the mouthwatering way he sunk barely into your cute little hole. It was enough for his senses to snap entirely. The second he pushed in fully, a grunt tumbled out and against the shell of your ear. The size of him filled you up in a way that you never thought was imaginable. The intrusion was sudden but smooth, forcing you to whimper and tuck your face into his shoulder. Your legs twitched, tensed whilst your palms instinctively reached out to press themselves against his lower abdomen. You protested, softly pushing back and he obliged, but only to sink back in slowly.

Yet a sweetness prevailed, his mouth whispering encouragingly into your ear, “That’s it, babygirl. You take me so good.”

The praise led to your hands smoothing up his rippled abdomen, appreciating the body that belonged to a Greek God. Closer he leaned into you, your body relaxing from the sudden intrusion he’d worked in and out of you with a gentle rocking of his hips. All of it pulled that wolfish simper from your breathless boyfriend. Your hips had a mind of their own, twitching to meet his abundantly stuttering hips in the middle. A dull ache blossomed and pulsed in your hot cunt. You wanted him so badly that it hurt. He pined for you just as violently, enough to pull back swiftly and snap his hips roughly into you. Any semblance of patience eradicated at the weathering fray in the string, crashing over into a dominant nature he was renowned for. You were all too obedient and joyous to follow. The intrusion into your cervix was unexpected, drawing out a wanton cry from your parched throat. His movements were deliberate, gaze darkening substantially in the shade of luscious ecstasy. Every cell in both of your bodies bursting to life whilst Marko did all of the work.

“M-Marko!” You stammered and gasped. Nothing but a pathetic whimper against the edge of his mouth.

Your foreheads were pressed together lovingly, hazel eyes finding your watery gaze easily. Tears pricked the corners. The pleasure curling you into his body.

At this rate, if he kept up his onslaught of devotion, you’d be a mess all over again; shuddering and sighing underneath him in a pitiful fashion. It was his favourite. Watching you crumble under everything he offered you, and by god would he offer you absolutely everything. The mere thought tempting him into overdrive with his impeccable stamina and strength. You could hardly keep up.

Yet with all of his rough ministrations and hungry motivations, there was a loving twitch to his lips — an extra devotion in the roll and smack each thrust brought. The tip of him hammering home on the delicate spot inside of you. Witnessing what each pull and push built up inside of you. It was perfect, feeling you cream all over him thickly. Your perfect moans and hazy eyes only made him love you more.

The only response you’d acquired was a grunt gritted between clenched teeth and panting breaths. His calloused digits feathered into your hair, gathering it into his fist. Nothing about him relented. He could tell by your half lidded eyes that you were nearly there. Expression consumed by an ample amount of bliss. It seeped into the air, boasting an array of vibrant hormones and scents. You were bewitching him with your morality, your head toppling back when he tugged on your hair firmly. The notion only forced him to grow more sporadic. Your content mewls of mercy morphing into the sweaty, salty air. His cool skin warmed by yours alone. Yet deep inside, even you knew that you didn’t possess a desire for him to stop. You wanted this. Wanted it more than you had any other time, because you’d stupidly starved yourself of most of your needs.

Toppling over the edge didn’t seem too far away. You could feel every inch of yourself under the mercy of your painfully vampiric boyfriend. He nurtured you into a quaking mess with his ragged edges, but it was all so utterly perfect. Your throbbing heart thrummed against your rib cage painfully, warping Marko’s features for a second time that night. Though it remained hidden within the cosy crook of your beautiful neck. Each pounding beat synching with his sinful thrusts until everything felt like a hot and heavy blur. Higher and higher you went, rising into cloud nine. He followed behind you, your scent driving him to weakness. He was dizzy, fingers grappling upon your flesh; grasping what he could to both pleasure you and steady himself. Your hands held onto his shoulders, fingers slithering up into his damp curly mullet. Over and over he went, but you held on.

“Let go, babygirl…” he whispered in a strained husky fashion against your sweaty skin.

His elongated teeth grazed the palpitating vein of your sweet spot. They glinted threateningly unbeknownst to you.

A temptation too reckless overcame him. The ruby rushing rivers beneath the surface of fragile skin spoke to him. Sung seductively into his soulless chest. It’s sweet nectar coaxed him in until said sharp teeth grazed a little too harshly. One drop was enough for his tongue to burst to life. Inducing him to suck on the wound. A harsher one warranted more blood to ooze out, and thus you yelped in protest. Though now too delirious to feel much else than the driving force that brought you literally on the edge of your second orgasm of the night. He could barely stop himself, the edge pulling his hips more violently into that back and forth motion — just as harsh but clouded with sloppiness. All until you both spilled over the edge of the cup.

It was a viral shock, numbing your body into intense bliss. A chorus of heightened groans poured from your mouth. Quaking limbs wrapped around his rocking body, pushing his spilled seed further into your womb. A long, husky groan buried itself into your neck — forcing his brief blood drinking to come to a halt. A heavy ’o’ shape formed your lips, throat hoarse from your incessant whimpers. The crash back down to hell was something in itself. Just as intense whilst you both hurtled, twitched and panted down in the fiery centre of the earth. Both of you left joined together from sensitivity. Gazes locked together with a dopey satisfaction. You watched his mischievous grin on his features, gone slightly pink from your blood. Your boyfriend was high on your blood — no doubt because it felt akin to taking a hit of crack. Yet you remained jelly legged, arms unable to move and your mind fuzzy. You were relaxed as he pulled out, admiring his seed trickling from you before he prized his clean crop top from your floor to clean you up.

“You… bit me,” you pouted up at him.

Your own pair of heavy fingertips inspected the small, messy series of puncture wounds engraved into your neck. A form of marking Marko was infamous for implementing. It stung so you winced.

“My bad.” Was all he grinned out in a lopsided fashion.

But it wasn’t an apology. He’d never apologised for such an act — not even in his controlled feeding on you. You were his and he was yours. Maybe he was a little too possessive. Nevermind, because the post orgasm glow only invited him in on shaky forearms. The tip of his nose skimmed your collarbone, inhaling your luxurious scent. His tongue poked out, lapping up the rich droplets you offered him of no fault of your own. It tasted sweet, yet decadent, almost like spiced mulled wine. The coolness of his appendage felt relieving against the hotness of your skin.

“Thank you,” you mumbled sleepily, fingernails softly dragging against his scalp to hone in on the appreciation that swarmed you.

Your gratitude was humorous. It made him chuckle as he pulled back, towering over your fully relaxed body. He tilted his head, “For fucking your brains out?”

“Mhmmmm!” You nodded, adamant.

More laughter propelled from his mouth, because Marko was not quite sure how else to respond. You’d never thanked him for such a thing before, and it was a warrant for teasing that’s for sure. Still, it made his still heart swell a thousand times in size, mimicking the distant feeling of a pulse of his heart. His silent lips pressed ardent kisses to the wound on your neck, running his tongue over the wound only to watch it magically heal somewhat. Then his mouth travelled to your ear, just to hear your soft giggle in time, sleepily stirring beneath him.

“I love you, baby.” A smile evident against the shell of your ear.

“Love you too…” you sighed with your own mirrored grin, all dopey from exhaustion.

The tug of sleep won and you plummeted into the blackness your closed eyelids entailed. It was a warm welcome after weeks of choppy and restless sleep from rampant anxiety. Marko laid there beside you, his fingers hovering over your tired muscles to clean you up and smooth ardent circles into sore patches of skin from his rough handling. An arm of his draped underneath your head as you silently curled into him. Your relaxed breaths tickled the nape of his dewy neck. The dilemma was averted and now he had you back. A few hours was all he could spare before he’d be forced to bid you farewell. The need for the dank darkness of the cave would call to him before sunrise. Yet for now he admired your tranquility with a laboured inhale and exhale. He pulled the covers over you both, hoping that your relaxation would remain until the following night. He’d sweep you away from your work and into the exhilarating arms of a good time. Thundering down the Boardwalk and harbour, perched on the back of his metallic steed. The pair of you damned, left to unleash your sly delightful terror upon Santa Carla. Yes, your absence had been so missed by your boyfriend as he stared up at your ceiling with satisfaction.

“Crisis averted.”

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: 　　 :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

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grungekitty-77 · 11 months

Text

SRMTHFG! Trick or Treat Fic exchange!

@creepyclue @sweetcircuits

I'm not overly proud of this, but I was shaking off a lot of rust in writing for these characters again and my October was a cesspool of personal problems and drama

Without further self deprecation, here's your spooky Spova. (Fair warning: It turned into fluff. I don't know how it happened, but I guess I defaulted to my old style.)

Nova sighed and rubbed her arms. The only thing she hated more than fall, was the winter that came after. Every year she glared at the changing leaves.

She really didn’t understand why it appealed to so many people. She wanted to curl up and hibernate instead of going shopping.

It was cold. It was windy. It was wet.

And Sprx was jumping out from behind the corner with a jack-o-lantern on his head.

“BOO!” he shouted.

Nova just sighed.

“Sprx. Get the pumpkin off your head!” Nova scolded.

Sprx struggled for a moment before his head popped out. Then struggled to rub the pumpkin guts off his face and spit out seeds. Nova almost laughed at him, but decided she was too cold for humor,

“Come on, Nova! It’s Halloween! Where’s your holiday spirit!?” Sprx asked, once he got himself sorted.

Nova rolled her eyes.

“It’s frozen.” She said, exaggerating her shivering.

Sprx pouted. Then a smirk crossed his face.

“I know the cure to that!” he said.

“Soup?” Nova asked hopefully.

It was something she didn’t hate about the colder seasons.

Sprx shook his head.

“You just need a good scare!” Sprx said, waving his hands for emphasis.

Nova rolled her eyes.

“What!? It’s the whole point of Halloween!” Sprx.

At least he started walking again so they could finish their chore.

“Good luck.” Nova said “I don’t scare easy.”

Sprx just smirked wider.

“Was that a challenge?” he asked.

Nova didn’t dignify him with a response.

“How about a bet?” he asked “If I manage to scare you before Halloween then you have to do all my patrols for November!”

“And when you don’t, you have to drop everything to make soup whenever I ask until March.” Nova responded.

Why not? It wasn’t like Sprx was going to pull it off.

“You’re on!”

Nova will admit that her heart skipped a beat or two when she saw a roach in her cereal, but she didn’t react. It only took a second of thought to realize the thing wasn’t moving. It was probably fake, and probably Sprx’s. No one else had noticed the thing yet. So, Nova had an opportunity.

Feeling mischievous herself, Nova carefully picked the thing up without anyone seeing. (It was in fact, rubber) Then she carefully snuck it into Gibson’s bowl and went back to her breakfast.

Sprx was eyeing her with suspicion, but she just waited. He was clearly wondering if she had found the fake roach.

Gibson’s scream was glorious. He shrieked like a wild monkey and flung his bowl into the air. It sailed over the table and landed on Sprx’s head, drenching him in milk.

Sprx pushed the bowl off his eyes and glared at Nova. She just laughed.

Sprx’s plan to prime her with a horror movie was smart, albeit transparent.

Too bad it backfired.

Nova hadn’t been the only one to see the movie. When Otto used the bathroom before her, he turned on the light and saw the life sized sticker Sprx had put on the mirror.

He ran out screaming and crying. Nova gave Sprx a smug look when Otto clung to her and begged for her to deal with the ghost. Sprx had to apologize and assure Otto that the ghost girl hadn’t escaped the movie.

Luckily for Sprx, Chiro found it hilarious. Otherwise Antauri would’ve launched into a lecture.

Nova didn’t have any time to react to the formless that appeared in the hallway. Chiro was already launching into an attack by the time she noticed it.

Scraps of cardboard went flying and Nova could hear Sprx sighing.

“Keep trying! This is pretty funny.” Nova said.

Chiro finished dismantling the false alarm. Sprx started to stutter out an apology, but Chiro cut him off.

“It’s good to keep me on my toes. Now we know I’m ready if a formless ever does sneak in to the robot.” Chiro said, flashing a cheeky grin and a peace sign.

Sprx sighed in relief.

“But you’re going to get yourself in trouble eventually.” Chiro added “Just admit it! Nova is unscarable!”

The closer it got to Halloween, the more desperate Sprx’s attempts got. He didn’t even care about the bet anymore. It was a pride issue at this point.

He resorted to climbing into the air ducts, waiting for a quiet moment, then dropping down like a spider onto the table.

Antauri let out one very undignified scream.

Sprx didn’t end up saying anything in his defense, and no one asked him to. They were all too busy staring at Antauri and wondering if the high pitched shriek they had heard really did come from the deep voiced monkey.

Antauri didn’t even acknowledge the event. No one wanted to ask him about it. He’d probably deny it anyways.

Nova had taken to making sly comments about how much soup she was going to enjoy this winter. Sprx gave her an angry glare every time, but Nova just smiled. He had dug his own grave in this.

“You know, this has actually been fun. Watching you make an idiot of yourself trying to scare me. Congrats on making me actually excited for Halloween!” Nova said.

“I still have one more day.” Sprx said.

“And there’s nothing you can do that I won’t be ready for!” Nova assured him.

“Whatever. I’ll think of something.” Sprx said, walking towards his transport tube.

“Where are you going?” Nova asked.

“Patrol.” Sprx said.

“Oh, I bet you wish you had a whole month without that, don’t you?” she teased.

It was hard to tell through the red fur, but Nova knew Sprx was blushing.

An hour later and Sprx opened his comms link.

“Hey, Otto. I said I was sorry about the whole bathroom mirror thing.” Sprx said nervously.

“Um…. I know?” Otto responded.

“Right…. So…. you didn’t do anything to my fist rocket in revenge, right?” Sprx grunted.

“No.....?”

Now everyone was paying closer attention.

“Sprx, what’s going on?” Chiro asked.

“Brainstrain? I know you know better than to mess with a pilot’s ship, but did you-“

“You are correct. I do know better.” Gibson snapped.

Gibson may not have been as passionate as Sprx, but he was still a pilot. He knew which lines to never cross.

“Right. That’s fine. I may be having some issues with my steering right now, but I’ll figure it out.” Sprx said, some words coming out in forced huffs.

Nova’s heart started to beat faster. Surely this was another prank, right? Sprx was just making it up.

“Sprx. Exactly what problem are you having?” Antauri asked.

To any stranger he sounded calm, but Nova had known him long enough to recognize his distinctive worry.

“A problem I’m trying to focus on fixing instead of explaining!” Sprx said, starting to sound a little panicked himself.

Alarms started to sound from his side. Nova abandoned the idea that it was a prank and started to twist her own tail in fear.

“Where are you!? We’re on our way.” Gibson said.

“I’m about to be in the bay.” Sprx said, sounding downright terrified.

Nova’s stopped breathing. Sprx was about as good with water as she was with cold. There was a horrible, sickening, splash, and then Sprx’s comm link cut.

A panicked twenty minutes is all it took before Sprx was back in the robot medbay, shivering but alive. He only sustained minor injuries from the crash. They were quick to treat. Gibson was more worried about hypothermia than anything else.

Sprx threw a fit when Otto insisted on checking the ship without him.

“Sprx, you are still recovering. You’re in no condition to climb around a fist rocket engine!” Gibson argued, pushing Sprx down.

“It’s my ship! No one touches it without me watching!” Sprx said.

He continued to fight against Gibson until Nova looped her arms around him and yanked.

“Sit down you moron!” Nova snapped.

“I’ll be gentle, Sprx. I promise.” Otto said.

Gibson was rolling his eyes.

“If Chiro and I supervised him, would that help?” he asked.

“I don’t want more people touching my ship!” Sprx snapped.

Nova squeezed, and Sprx seemed to settle under the hug.

“Look, I get that it’s scary for your ship to malfunction like that, but you know Otto isn’t going to hurt it. We need to know what went wrong, and you need to rest!” she said.

Sprx finally slackened.

“Fine.” He said. “but be careful. She’s been through enough!”

“Of course.” Gibson said, escorting Otto out of Medbay.

He turned back in the doorway and glared.

“I expect you not to vacate that bed! Nova, please ensure that he remains under that heat lamp.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice.” Nova said with a smile.

She liked the idea of being assigned to stay under a heater herself.

Gibson nodded and left.

Nova felt Sprx continue to shiver and pulled him close. He was still a little wet, so it wasn’t the most comfortable position. She didn’t say anything about it though. Sprx wasn’t in the mood to be teased.

She thought back to the terror she felt the moment he crashed. It wasn’t even a full hour ago, but it felt like a lifetime. She focused on every breath he took and resisted the urge to feel for a pulse.

“You scared me, you know.” She said.

“I what?” Sprx asked, craning his head around to look at her curiously.

“You scared me! I didn’t know if you were ok or not! I was worried I was going to lose you for a second there.” Nova said.

He tensed in her grip the second she said the word. She didn’t have to remind him of the significance.

“I’m sorry.” Sprx muttered.

Nova hugged him tighter.

“I’m just glad you’re ok.”

The stench of smug started to waft. Nova glanced suspiciously at Sprx.

“What?” she asked suspiciously.

Sprx broke into a large grin.

“I scared you.” He said.

Nova rolled her eyes.

“Yeah. I guess I love you or something. Do you want a parade?”

He shook his head.

“Not a parade.” Sprx said.

Nova didn’t know if she wanted to keep playing this game. He was either flirting or leading up to a joke at her expense.

“Then what do you want?”

“I scared you!” Sprx repeated.

“And…?”

“Halloween is tomorrow.” Sprx said.

Nova waited for more information.

“That means I scared you before Halloween!”

It clicked.

“What- NO! No! That doesn’t count!” Nova yelled.

“I can’t hear you over the sound of my victory!” Sprx said.

Nova was gearing up to punch him across the room when he sneezed. After a moment of clear misery, Nova decided on a different comeback.

“Was it worth it?” she asked.

Sprx sniffled.

“No. I’m just taking the wins I have.”

“That so?” Nova said “I love you.”

Sprx hummed in content.

“But this did not convince me to like Halloween at all.” Nova added, remembering the original reason for the bet.

Sprx laughed.

“I said I was taking the wins I had!”

Nova held him tight. Feeling his warmth and beating heart.

“So am I.”

I hope you liked it! Happy late Halloween!

#srmthfg #super robot monkey team hyperforce go #super robot monkey team hyper force go!#super robot monkey team hyper force go #super robot monkey team hyperforce go!#fic #srmthfg fic #srmthfg! fic #srmthg fic #srmthg! fic #srmthg #I'm still team Hyper Force is two words #They have different colors on the logo and they are said by two people in the robot sequence #fic exchange #trick or treat fic exchange #trick or treat

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studentinpursuitofclouds · 1 year

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Hi, Mousy! 👋🏻 I hope you've been doing well! ✨ I don't know if these are worth of ideas but I'll leave that to you! It's about the short stories that you wanted ideas from. I pondered the whole day... Here's one of them 😆

So, firstly, I had an idea about your farmer, Julian and my farmer, Ziana. It's based on that one Joja situation with Shane your friend talked to you about, if you remember, hehe (the blue chickens). I would imagine Julian and Ziana were just finished with some farmwork and are resting together (feel free to add more of others' farmers, if you like!) munching some cookies or whatever you can think of (like a picnic maybe?) Ziana has the habit (like me, LOL) who kind of just having random thoughts and questions out of randomness.

So, while they're munching some cookies, Ziana suddenly thinks about Shane's chickens being blue and can't help but think to herself while she's munching on a cookie, finding the thought weird at first. But then she remembered that one time they helped Shane with his Ad video for Joja (you know that cutscene with Emily and Clint as well? Imagine Julian also helping too!) She recalls that Clint turned blue after drinking the Joja Cola. Then Shane also worked with Joja, so...

Everything is a coincidence but it feels right for her conclusion so she just had to ask Julian about this thought... (assuming she's already comfortable with Julian since she tends to ask random questions to those she's comfortable with 😁 The result of doing so is mostly a flick on the forehead from others. Mostly from Isaac 🤣)

How will Julian react upon hearing Ziana's random question? 🤔

It's a funny idea, haha 🤣🤣 For me, at least 😅

I hope this is okay and understandable 😅🙏🏻 My English has worsened lately 🥲

Heeey! Thanks so much for the question! I just got the inspiration for this scenario (the story turned out longer than I thought it would 😅). Hope you like it ❤️

In this story, the main characters are OCs Farmers - Julian (my OC), Ziana (@nimillaarts), Bo (@boinurmom13), and Bella (@ivquatro). Enjoy!

_________________________________________

"The blue chicken theory"

_________________________________________

Many will agree that the middle of spring is the ideal time for a picnic in nature, when the forest has already woken up from its long winter hibernation, and the ground is covered with whole fields of pleasant-smelling flowers; when your skin is blown by a not too cool breeze, and the food is not atacted by pesky midges, which are usually found in summer.

The farmers of the Stardew Valley thought a spring picnic would be a great excuse to get together and relax after the hard work in the fields. Ziana and Julian sat on the edge of a picnic rug on the grass near Marnie's ranch, Bella beside them opening a bottle of homemade juice (everyone had decided to avoid alcohol for this picnic). Bo, having finished helping his friends with the dishes and food, decided to head to the lake with a fishing rod, trying his luck and practising fishing, which, by the way, he hated with all his heart. But, unfortunately to him, fishing is necessary to make some good cash, so Bo trying to learn while he could, and also try not to gag because of the fishy stench.

Bella finally sat down on the rug with the others, pouring apricot juice into her and others mugs.

"Mmm, the cookies is really good!", Ziana was munching contentedly on the four mint cookies Bella had baked just in time for the picnic. Making healthy oatmeal cookies, and at the same time so tasty, is not an easy task, but the red-haired farmer succeed in cooking.

"I can say the same about your homemade juice. I love apricots". Putting the large glass bottle of juice in a basket so the sun wouldn't heat up the drink, Bella took the cranberry rakhat lukum Julian had made from the pretty little plate. Taking a half bite of the sweetness, she hummed a little with pleasure as she chewed the lukum slowly. Julian didn't need any verbal encouragement, as his friend's reaction to the lukum he'd made spoke for itself, so Julian just smiled broadly and began to quench his thirst with apricot juice.

"Hopefully Bo will be back in time from fishing, or his juice will get hot in the sun quickly", Julian said and grabbed from the basket a small avocado and tomato sandwich that Bo had made. The funny thing was that he was the only one who brought salty snacks to the picnic, thinking that "after the sweet stuff, one would immediately crave salty stuff". And he was absolutely right.

While the three farmers were sitting on the picnic rug, chatting and eating tasty snacks, waiting for the fourth farmer to come back from fishing, Jas came back from Pelican Town and excitedly told her uncle, Shane, about something. Behind them, clucking, come three chickens - Charlie, Shane's favorite, and two more, motley, with beautiful blue feathers. When the girl spotted the farmers near her aunt's ranch, she waved her hand in greeting. Shane also raised his hand and smiled weakly - his smile grew a little bigger when Julian, Ziana, and Bella waved back at him and Jas.

"What a beautiful hens! Hehe, so cute!" Ziana gasp, she couldn't take her eyes off the beautiful feathers of chickens.

"Right? So adorable. I even managed to buy two blue chickens from Marnie", Julian was also looking at the chickens, which were noisily stomping around Shane and Jas's feet, begging for attention and pets while Shane tried to open the front door with his key.

"This chickens looks well-fed, and very happy. Still don't understand why Shane still speak about himself so poorly..." Bella recalls with a slightly sad smile a conversation with a pizza and beer lover who was always calling himself worthless in everything he touched. The situation was even worse when Bo told her that he and Julian had found Shane lying near a rock in the rain with a bunch of beer cans. Good thing they'd gotten him to Dr. Harvey in time.

Ziana turned to Bella, looking at her worriedly, and then looked at the ladybug on the rug; she knew about situation with Shane, and the fact that the story had almost ended in tragedy... Even though chicken man often spat caustic phrases and demands for the farmers to leave him alone, Ziana knew that if she got to know him better, and that he actually is a wonderful and interesting friend. She's glad the other farmers gave Shane a chance (although Shane and Bo still exchange sarcasm, and sometimes, when the kids aren't around, heavy swear words).

Julian caught the tone with which Bella said the last sentence and sighed, remembering the feeling of anxiety that they wouldn't get Shane to the clinic in time.

"It's a good thing it all worked out. He said he'd been talking to a therapist for a while now and had even kicked the alcohol habit", Julian set himself up for more positive thoughts, Bella and Ziana nodded in agreement.

"Mr. Shane looked much happier". Ziana smiled softly, still looking at the ladybug and making sure none of her friends inadvertently squashed the little insect. Wanting to change the subject to something more cheerful, Ziana remembered the blue chickens. "How do you think Mr. Shane made his chickens' feathers blue?"

Ziana's question made the other two farmers think for a few moments.

"Well, I don't think he dyes his feathers, the chicks are already born with blue coloring", Julian nodded in confirmation of Bella's words, "So maybe..."

"Goddamn piece of garbage! I hate this fucking fishing! Stupid fish, fucking rod! Bitch ass fucking bullshit!" Before poor Bella could say anything further, all the farmers on the rug were startled by the harsh and loud profanity of Bo, who, stomping loudly and kicking some kind of iron can under his feet, was walking towards his friends. Shane and Jas were also taken aback by the loud noises, but Shane's expression immediately changed from shock to annoyance. He quickly handled the keyhole and led Jas home, covering her ears with his hands just in case so she wouldn't hear any new "unnecessary" words. The chickens quickly followed their owners and the front door to the ranch slammed shut.

Finally, the white-haired "fisherman" reached his friends: his face was still contorted with anger, but he tried to hide it.

"Mr. Bo, what's wrong?", Ziana set the plate of cookies aside so her friend could take off his shoes and sit down next to her on the picnic rug.

Bo sighed tiredly and rubbed his temples with his fingers, trying to settle his headache and calm down.

"Let's just say the fishing hadn't gone well."

He reached for the net he'd thrown on the grass nearby and showed the three farmers his catch. Well, if you could call it a catch: in the net, from which fresh water dripped to the ground, were several empty Joja cola cans, broken disks (also from Joja.co), and slippery green algae hanging from the same net. That can, by the way, that he was kicking, was also his "catch" - an empty iron with the logo of that "beloved corporation", but he didn't put it in the net with the rest of the catch, deciding to take out all his anger on the unfortunate can.

"But why do you need fish? We have plenty of picnic food", Ziana asked again.

"Wha..?" Bo murmur quietly. "Oh, no, I wasn't catching fish to eat, was planning to release fish anyway. I just need experience, like, fishing knowledge, you know? And what kind of experience can I have if I catch shi- uh, I mean garbage, instead of fish?" Bo looked into Ziana's amber eyes and quickly corrected himself. He thinks he's used his entire limit of bad words for the day, especially since he'd hate to vent so much negativity on his friends.

Finally, Bo sat down cross-legged, picked up a plate of loukum and ate his sadness, showing to this world how grumpy and angry he was, cursing quietly the fish, the Joja co. trash, and the day the old fisherman had handed him that damned bamboo rod. Julian and Bella began to take turns comforting him with food and words, agreeing with his negative opinion about the greedy monopoly corporation and their inexcusable attitude toward garbage disposal.

Ziana's attention was suddenly drawn to the cola cans in the net, she stared at them intently for half a minute. After a moment, a question suddenly dawned on her.

"Uh, Mr. Julian? Remember when we helped Shane with his Joja cola commercial project with Clint and Emily?" Julian stopped patting Bo's back in comfort, and looked at Ziana.

"Yeah, of course I remember. Clint had turned blue after drinking that nasty stuff.", Julian's face wrinkled a little at the mere recollection of this "miracle drink" with a lot of sugar, caffeine and Yoba's guess what else, since some people contacted the company with a complaint that their skin turned blue as blueberries. While the change in skin color can be blamed on Clint's worries about Emily, it can usually be a slightly bluish hue rather than a bright blue. Julian also can't forget Bo's light teasing that multicolored young man grumbles over Joja like an old fart. But he knows that Bo wouldn't even want his worst enemy to take a sip of that crap, let alone drink it himself voluntarily.

"I remember by the end of the commercial, Clint was turning blue from soda. I mean, a side effect of that cola is blue skin in some people", Ziana scratched her chin in thought. "And Mr. Shane", she continue, "also works at Joja and he too drinks this cola a lot. Doesn't that mean he pours the soda into the chickens feed to turn their feathers blue?" Ziana finally spoke the question, waiting to see what her friends would say.

Bo snorted and wanted to open his mouth, reply that it was an absurd idea, but he immediately closed his mouth again and his eyes widened at the realization that this theory had a right to exist.

"No. Freaking. Way.", Bo said.

Bella and Julian followed Bo's example: the red-haired girl almost choked on the apple slice she was chewing, and Julian's face expressed the emotion of a man who had just realized that his life was a lie and shambles.

"Huh, it actually makes sense..."

"Don't." Julian replied to Bella, raising his hand in protest. His throat was sharply dry. "I refuse to believe it."

"But man, think about it!" Bo had completely forgotten about his anger over his recent bad fishing trip and was fully immersed in the discussion.

"Shane would never do that to his chickens!" Julian protested.

"But maybe..." Ziana began cautiously, but Julian interrupted her.

"It can't be", the yellow-haired young man replied a little softer to Ziana.

While Bo, Julian and Ziana argued for a minute about the chickens feather theory, Bella pulled back from her shock and said: "Why don't we ask Shane himself?"

The three wranglers looked at Bella, and then all four of them looked directly at the front door of the ranch where they had seen Shane today with Jas.

Bo smiled predatorily. "Time to terrorize people."

"Let's do it better tomorrow, after lunch. We'll rest today." Julian decided to leave the feather coloring debate for tomorrow, returning to the snacks and juice, and his friends decided to follow his example.

#sdv #sdv oc #sdv ocs #farmer julian #farmer ziana #farmer bella #farmer bo

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dewystars-of-the-valley · 6 months

Text

Clint's 13th Reason - A story about Emily and a bear

Thank you to @aetherial-boxrat for being my first request!

Word Count: 516

TW: mauling

gn!farmer

It was the first day of spring and Farmer had just polished off their first coffee of the day. Today they had big plans: crops, grass for the livestock, and clearing up any debris that had been covered by the winter snow. Just as they stepped out the door the most unexpected visitor called out to greet them.

“Farmer! I need your help!” Haley looked uncharacteristically disheveled. Her hair was frizzy and her eyes bloodshot, ”Emily’s stupid bird took off last night when she got home from the saloon and she ran after it! She never came home. I think she’s lost in the woods and you are the only person I know who willingly gets dirty enough to go there!”

Farmer took a second. One coffee was not enough for this, but hell, no one is this town seems to be able to do anything mildly interesting on their own. They were the only one who could help.

“Okay, okay. I’ll go look for her,” Farmer sighed and mourned the loss of their most important day of the season. The woods weren’t that large and they knew them like the back of their hand. This would be quick enough.

🌲🌳🎄⭐🌲🌳🎄

There was no sign of Emily or her parrot in Cindersap Forest. Farmer dreaded the idea that Emily had wandered into the Secret Woods. She likely had no way to protect herself from the slimes. Farmer drew their sword and took the path into the densely packed hardwoods.

“Eugh - Stay back! Take that!” Emily was standing on the base of the statue of Old Master Cannoli. Her arms wrapped around his fat neck as she kicked at the slimes that had surrounded her in every direction. The green slimes had come out of hibernation and were very hungry.

Farmer rushed in swinging wildly. Trapping the hordes of slime against the fallen pillars on the ground and slaying them with a practiced ease.

“Farmer! Oh, I am so glad to see you!” Emily called out in relief, sagging against the stone, “Have you seen my parrot?”

“Not - yet,” Farmer grunted out finishing off the last of the slimes. They helped Emily step down from the statue.

She sighed but set right back to looking wildly around into the treetops paying no mind to the slime residue covering the stones beneath her.

Suddenly, a loud grunt came from the dark dense woods that led deeper into the forest.

As Farmer raised their sword and steadied their feet, Emily turned to run away only to slip and slide around in the slime. She was the closest to the treeline when a great big grizzly bear bounded out of the treeline and swiped at her shoulder. She went down and the bear set upon her.

Farmer froze for a moment and then jumped in with their sword swinging with all their might. Haley would burn down their farm if they didn’t save Emily. She might do it anyway.

🌲🦜🎄⭐🌲🦜🎄

Back at the house Haley looked up as there was a tapping at the front door. Ripping the door open to greet her sister, she looked down to find the parrot alone on the front step.

#stardew fanfic #stardew valley #crack fic

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euclydya · 2 months

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!! [slides in excitedly] hello i hope i am not bothering you all (please feel free to take your time/ignore i won't mind hkjhg <22) i saw that yall got classpects and wanted to help explain!!!!!!! :]

i do not know what Form implies since it is noncanonical, but Doom is about endings, destruction, and the necessity of acceptance! there can be depression or apathy, but endings aren't always bad things. the ending of a tortuous time loop, the satisfying conclusion to a game, the grand finale of an album. leaving awful situations, the end of bad times, sunsets of brutally hot days, the cooling reprieve of night. if things don't end, when will you finally get to rest and process things? the Death card in tarot, essentially: the transition after major upheaval. resting in that dark space after a big change before you begin life again. letting things be as they may, knowing endings must happen, a real "it be like that sometimes" aspect. Memento mori, remember death, and let that make life worthwhile!!

(Life is its opposite aspect, of beginnings, energy, and growth.)

Knights are literally my favorite class (<- this is probably not surprising!! but also i posit there is no bad knight in homestuck, that being Dave, Karkat and Latula.) Knights of Doom can protect doom, allowing people or yourselves to grieve without needing to push straight into the healing process, to rest after a long ordeal. Or to protect using doom, guarding against toxic positivity with needed pragmatism, and allowing things to end as they need to. Or, y'know. Protector using Doom for real, i.e. "You want me to kill that guy for you?"

Knights also often hide behind a facade, sometimes having to do with their aspect. Karkat, for example, hides behind his "ANGRY SHOUTY FUCKASS I HATE EVERYONE" persona, when he actually really cares about his team and friends (<- Knight of Blood). Knights of Doom might put on a facade of some kind to hide the feelings of doom inside.

if yall are Mages, we can be mages together!! :D Mages do NOT get much explanation, but i have personal speculation :3 if yall are Mages of Doom that makes yall Sollux's classpect! Mages gain and keep knowledge of their aspect through experience of/"suffering through" their aspect personally. If yall experienced depression, destruction, and/or upheaval in your lives, this would be fitting. Mages often keep their experiences to themselves, as opposed to their counter class, Seers, who often share this information. (Seers are like teachers sharing knowledge, Mages are like students taking knowledge in!)

They also carry the need to balance between too much and too little of their aspect, using their experiences to know when to shift balance. Mages of Doom would experience too much doom at some points in their lives, and very little doom during others. the cycle of life, doom, then rebirth, and knowing this balancing act intrinsically.

(Personally as a Mage myself, I have to balance between my aspect of Breath [distance, isolation, freedom] and its opposite, Blood [relationships, connections, dependency]. however, im not always the healthiest about these things and can often veer too far into either one!) if yall are Mages, yall might also strive to find balance between Doom (endings, destruction, acceptance) and Life (beginnings, growth, change)! the hibernation of winter to prepare for the new spring, to grow and wither and grow back stronger, to live and die and live again.

TL;DR: [Protector of/Protector using] OR [Knower of/Balancer of] [Apocalypse, Endings, Death, Acceptance, Rest]

sorry i know you all did not ask for this, this is just an old hyperfixation of mine :'] this is all speculation and personal interpretation, thank you for reading any of it if yall did <222

As soon as we finished taking that test actually we WANTED to ask you for your explanation on our classpect, so thank you so much!!! We just. Didn't wanna be a botherUEHFJDJDJF we try to not send you too many asks at once we don't wanna overwhelm you ahaha

Reading your explanation I'm not sure which fits us best tbh we might just Be Both cuz by the end of the day things like Classpects and similar concepts are Boxes people intentionally put emselves in for funsies yeah? And sometimes people just don't fit into one box entirely. (aka Both Fit Us Really Well. Fuck. HFJDJSNFFB)

#ask #voliii #The death card was always a favourite of ours. not *aesthetically*‚ that would be the moon and star‚ but...#it kept popping up when we fucked with tarot FHDJSJSJD #and yes. Memento Mori indeed. I think those two would do well with this information but alas. No idea where they are rn #Given how we're very low empathy and given how life keeps throwing shit at us to be depressed over... Yeah.#I'm surprised we got mage considering we looooooooov to overshare for attention tbh HAHASHSHDHDJSJS #so ultimately knight of doom might be more fitting but again! mage of doom is also fitting!

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fwl22 · 9 months

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Spring Letter, 2005

On the wall of the 14th century house, above the pool, the wisteria (wisteria floribunda) is blossoming. There are actually three ancient plants nesting in the terrace between the stone pavers, planted, perhaps in the early 1930s after completion of the works to renew the house by Giangiulio (pronounced jahn julio) and Teresa. Inevitably the flowering of these wisteria is a week or so behind their city neighbors, living as they do on a west facing wall with three stories of house above it and closed in on the south by the extension of the old tower and the fattoria. It sees the sun only for a few hours each day, and this spring the sun has been playing hide and seek with us.

Just as the summer tailed luxuriously into autumn and the autumn stayed with us to Christmas, the winter is not wanting to leave us with the spring. The wind remains cold and strong at times, and the rain falls in big drops instead of soft drizzle. When the sun pops out we still can’t feel the warmth that we crave.

But the trees and flowers and the birds are leaving no doubt that they think it is spring. it is not freezing anymore, and thus it is time to get to work. The pear, plum, cherry and apricot trees are going wild with snowy white and pink blossoms and the wild flowers cover the ground in their annual display of color. The tulips have come up and the wisteria are opening now. In a few weeks the iris will erupt in all their purple and periwinkle.

With the spring comes the atmosphere of paradise that so often comes out in comments from the guests of the B&B. The roses beginning to leaf, soon to flower, the lemons, hauled back out of hibernation from the limonaia, full of fruit and blossoms, the olives newly trimmed and the fruit trees covered in tiny white flowers, filling the air with perfume. It reminds me of the feeling I had while working in Florence, every day arriving on the train with hundreds of tourists coming to the city for an enjoyable day while I had to go be shut up in a small office and help others plan their vacations. One has to literally stop and take it in or else it is lost to the list of tasks.

We have been at work in the garden, trimming trees and taking out invaders. The bushes, so long left to their own devices, have been severely and brusquely cut. The lemon trees were out in the garden before Easter and we have been cleaning up a year’s worth (at least a winter’s worth) of dead leaves in the forest glen. We have been cutting and trimming the taller trees to open up the façade of the limonaia to the southern sun so next winter the lemon trees will get a bit more warmth while inside.

On the other side of the building, the courtyard, or piazzale, needs a clean up. A photograph from 1895 shows the courtyard of the villa with no large trees. Only the cypress and the newly planted Linden (tilia cordata) and Ilex (Quercus ilex), staked and already growing stand near the round fountain basin. Planted in the 1890s, they are giant trees shading the piazzale today. Laurel was grown in hedges to create a maze, and by the time the trees grew to full size, the maze was well established and filled the courtyard until the 1970s. Huge cypress grow very close all over the hillside above and around the house, and one can only imagine that eventually they will fall. More and more the old trees’ roots are pushing up paving stones and terraces. All of them shed leaves, twigs, and branches in winter storms and spring winds.

A terrible storm a week ago pushed over countless trees in Prato and a few here at Canneto. Luckily we had finished a large job of trimming prior to the high winds. Still there is so much debris to collect. Abramo laments that one can’t find mules anymore to get to the places deep in the forest where the paths don’t go to collect and cut and trim.

Canneto means literally the place where the cane stalks grow. Like so many place names in Italy, there are many cannetos (and Pratos – prato meaning meadow), and this one along the Bisenzio river is just about out of cane. My wife’s older brother has had Ivo strengthen and improve the grape vine structures and thus there is less need for the actual, supple wisps of cane stalks used traditionally to tie the vines to the wires of the structure. There is hope that this practice will help the vines to grow stronger and produce more fruit.

My wife and I have also been hard at work inside the house, painting and working to spruce up a bit. Like this, the slumber of the house is shaken off. Each of us have to reassess how we are going to live here, how we want to be, how we can tolerate each other and move forward as a group, a business, and a family. Without their mother Giovanna, it is not easy. I think it bears saying that some people are not replaceable. That would be to admit that ultimately we shall persevere and find new ways of doing things, but it is hard to imagine that it shall ever have the efficiency Giovanna maintained. It can also be said that having one owner is always better than having four. It is impossible to find someone who can fill the shoes of the mother and the owner of the house. It was she who was able, when no one else could make a decision, to tell people exactly what to do and they would do it.

Italy is in some ways burdened by it history. While Germany has a history it must overcome, Italy which doesn’t even have a strong sense of being a nation, has to overcome the permeating sense that so many great things have dotted the past that it is almost impossible to accomplish anything of equal value today. This is a country in the throes of a decisive battle between the modern life as lived in the big cities of the west and the embrace of the “old ways” and the slow life which calls for the kind of respect of environment and pace and quality of life that is too often put off and brushed aside by the rush to achieve. That is, in the rush to be as much of a consumer society as the neighbors.

Living in an old house, one is very much aware of the ramifications of each choice in each process. Following the choice to live in this building comes the awareness that there is no simple project. Board and bat, wallboard and stucco, peg and groove are all phrases for easy work. While we were in Los Angeles in September (2004), back here in Canneto, the muratore (literally mason, but more appropriately contractor) and the electrician tore the kitchen apart to install a stove, a gas range top, three new lights and accompanying switches and plugs. It is all in stone and brick. Then the muratore was back in the winter when the old lead pipe burst in the wall and he had to break a hole in the wall and through the floor. The new pipe went in and the old pipe remains right next to it. No sense in taking the whole wall apart to remove what has been there for over 100 years. It was a cold room while we had an indoor/outdoor kitchen for three weeks in the dead of winter.

My wife’s worries are much greater of course, and much more difficult to comprehend. This is due in large part to the connection of her expectation that her brothers and their families would welcome our presence here. Being an optimist she was quite convinced that everyone would be so happy that we would come to Canneto to help run the B&B, to help her father Paolo and take part in family life. The natural conclusion was that the other families would be interested in helping us to be comfortable and happy that we would be taking steps to administrate the future of the house, the division of spaces, the establishment of rules for using the spaces, and generally agreeing to how the house would be left to the next generation.

Not surprisingly, no one was particularly thrilled that we would move back to Canneto from Los Angeles, and in fact it was not too difficult to see how our presence was seen as an annoyance at best, and a threat at worst. How many years will it take for the balance to return to the community? No one really cares that we are here to help Paolo or help run the B&B – no one really cared about the work Giovanna did. And certainly no one is interested in giving up any space to help us be more comfortable. And all of this is taking a long time for Francesca to process.

Fortunately there is too much to do to allow oneself to dwell on that which we can’t really control. We have two small people to raise, and we have Paolo to assist in the absence of his wife of 50 years. Paolo, for his part, has no interest or intention to touch Giovanna’s things that remain exactly as they were when she died in March of 2002. It is one of those great reminders to focus on what you can actually do and leave behind what you can’t change. The building itself is a reminder that I am just a fleeting shadow, and this place which has been here for centuries will still be here long after I am gone.

So just soak of the atmosphere of living in an historical place. When we talk of updating a bathroom we are not only faced with the logistical challenges of working with the aging plumbing and electrical systems (read: having to either redo everything or modify something very old) and the architectural realities of maneuvering in stone and brick, but also in trying to not allow our ideas to demand larger modifications of the house (ie, doorways, windows, skylights, new walls, etc.). The idea is to maintain or at most adapt the existing building to meet our basic, minimum needs.

In preserving the place mostly as it is, and in thinking long and hard before making large changes in the use of spaces (such as changing the carpenter’s wood shop into a bedroom), trying to consider all of the impacts of such works and how the changes would fit into the ultimate use of the house – and thus calling into question what is that ultimate use, i.e. residence and hotel, residence only, condominium, divided houses in a single structure?. And these are actions that no one is interested in taking. No one in very enthusiastic in having to get approval for work they want to do from everyone else, and no one is interested in spending hours meeting with the brothers and sister to talk and talk about what needs to be done.

The reality that exists is that doing nothing is the best course. For the casual guest, the people who come and pay to stay at the house, the magic still exists For them, especially with the various seasons, there is a sense of timelessness that is quite overwhelming. For them, the enormous amount of dust and haphazard quality of furnishings and furniture can be overlooked and accepted as part of the funkiness of the place. And the brothers and my wife, I think, know this intuitively. For all of their own dissatisfaction they understand that the house exists as its own entity and serves its purpose quite well.

At the same time it is evident to the observer that this place was so much more at a different time and place. The 100 acres of today were probably at one time 300 or 400 acres of land with olive trees, grazing sheep, grain growing under the trees and ten families owing their livelihoods to the farm work. It was a quiet valley with the lazy river flowing by and the city of Prato a full 4 km away, just beyond the fields that fell away below the house. It is quite easy to imagine how a previous generation would have seen this place as a very different kind of paradise.

Change is inevitable and I would imagine that for my wife’s grandfather, Giangiulio, especially, the change came quite rapidly and repeatedly in his lifetime. And each change brought new complications that had to be dealt with and each generation has had to face the changes and challenges. It is difficult to imagine for a guest here what the place was like before the first World War. Today, from the loggia, the view takes in the railroad line that passes close by under the house and enters a short tunnel that lies under the eastern flank of the village. The scene is dominated by the sound of traffic on the Via Bologna on the far side of the valley, with the fields of the olive orchard below stretching out to the river bed that lies below the road.

In the early 1930s the Italian government completed the railroad up the Bisenzio valley, making good on plans first developed in the 1880s. Known as the Direttissima, this line from Florence, via Prato, to Bologna, was a key part of improving the country’s north south rail connection, finally creating a fast, direct link through the Apennine mountains. It is a notable piece of construction and engineering, featuring an 18 km tunnel under the mountains. Cosimo had made several trips to Rome, beginning most likely with the establishment of a governmental commission to study the proposal in 1908, attempting to persuade the state to use the next valley toward Florence in the Mugello for the railway (where the autostrada and the high speed train line now runs), but the effort was futile. Giangiulio also worked to stop the construction when he became proprietor of Canneto in the mid 1920s, working with his father, but by the late 1920’s the work was in progress.

Cosimo and Giangiulio’s opposition to the plan is evident today. The railroad climbs up the valley, passing below the house, and it doesn’t take a lot of imagination to understand the noise and the smoke that came with a powerful steam driven train of the epoch. What is more difficult to imagine is that the eminent domain of the government split the Rucellai property. All of the fields and a good sized farm with a dairy that were on the other side of the railroad line were a part of the estate.

In the flat area below the Villa on this side of the river one can see rows of olive trees with stone walls circling the trunks in an area where the level of the field is lower than the adjoining plots. These walls were built at the direction of Cosimo when the state was building the roadbed for the railway. The construction crews simply came and took away the soil around these trees and the farmers built the walls as protection to keep the trees intact. Even though the walls are falling apart today, the plan worked to save the trees. The family legend is that he never went back after the railroad was built, but the truth is that he died suddenly when on a visit to Naples in 1930. Up until his death, he and Edith were in negotiation to purchase land on the hillside on the other side of the Bisenzio river and the Via Bologna, across from Canneto, in order to maintain the land and the vista as it was at the time, but from the words of his daughter, the railroad killed the magic for her father. When Cosimo died, Edith withdrew from the negotiations and the Canneto estate passed to Giangiulio.

When Giangiulio died in 1969, his and Teresa’s children divided the property, selling off small pieces and giving family homes to the farming families that had worked the land of the estate for generations. Following World War II the kinds of “sharecropping” contracts – the standard agreements of mezzadria that dated from the middle ages – that divided responsibilities between land owner and farmer were outlawed. Existing contracts would continue to be valid until nullified by the parties. It was thus at Giangiulio’s death that these contracts became void at Canneto and his son Niccolò made agreements with the families for transfer of title on the houses. Sadly, the economics of the times meant that there would be no new agreements for working the land, and the farm activities faded away, leaving only the less labor intensive work of olives and grapes.

Today many of these old case coloniche have been developed into wonderfully comfortable “villettas” in the countryside. The city of Prato, following an amazingly smart trend at work in Tuscany in the late 1960s, had designated the area on the Canneto side of the valley a no build zone, and a wildlife refuge “no hunting” zone, and only houses that were already on the land can be lived in. No new buildings or remodeling is allowed without great bureaucratic work involved.

These no build laws were thought to be a passing fancy in the early 1970s. There were those who purchased the large tract of land along the river in the flat area below the Villa on the other side of the railway line, and they seemed sure that eventually the city would have to allow for building in the area to keep up with housing demands for Prato. But as time has passed, the city has made more moves to keep the open “green” land and the locals have continued to harvest the olives and the houses remain in the hands of the aging tenants and former farmers. My wife took me to visit the farmhouse of the dairy a few years back just after we were married. We entered into the large kitchen which still centered on the focolare or fireplace that still served as cooking fire as well as the source of heat for the room. The smell of wood smoke from generations imbued every surface. I was amazed at the gracious welcome we received as unannounced visitors, and the warm conversation over coffee and cake we enjoyed. My wife went to elementary school with the family’s son, and he has moved to the city. How much longer will this old place remain a home?

Thankfully there are plenty of dead leaves to rake up and pieces of wood to gather for kindling. While the days grow longer, it is still too chilly to sit outside to watch the sunset. The spring rains are cold for now, but there is comfort knowing that not only is the fireplace warm, but also that the wisteria will bloom, followed by the iris, and the olives will also bloom, and the fruit will grow, and life will go on.

#Villa Rucellai #Prato #Tuscany #Italian Garden

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benderpoet · 10 months

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Lauren Bender

[the year after]

In January I drag the complete contents of my life out to the curb. The chairs, the bed, the books I never truly loved. They infuriate me, disgust me; nothing has been home, which means I have not been home either. I don't think about other people anymore. I don't think about anyone, ever, other than how easily and endlessly they will turn against you when you can't live up to their standards. I draw a map of what can be different now that I am completely alone, and in one corner I write I can fuck up and then I circle it a couple times, add some exclamation marks for emphasis. An article in the news asks if a series of impending snowstorms will "make up for" the mild winter we have had so far. I stare at the words: "make up for." What does this mean? It snows and snows, and I stay inside, slower and sleepier than I can bear. There is a spot above the left half of my ribcage that swarms with sensation, and I spend hours placating it with rhythmic scratching through thick oversized sweaters. I think this is too close to not even being awake. Much too close. I hate everyone else for being awake. Awake and home. Awake and home and so steady and still beneath their skin. Steady and still and tethered to their lives. I wish they could know what they have.

Oh, February. The doctor with the kind voice who can't look me in the eyes, the one who just last month was reassuring me that time would tell, some bodies are more resilient than others—as if this really amounted to reassurance at all—confesses there is nothing more that can be done. I only have months left, if that—maybe weeks. I take a taxi home and sit cross-legged on the carpet in front of my big window. I press my palms against the glass, and it is ice cold. At some point, I stand up and go to bed, my wonderful bed. When I get up the next morning, I sit cross-legged on the carpet in front of my big window. I press my palms against the glass, then against each other, like I might say a prayer. There are no words for this relief. This is perfect. Everything is the ultimate over I knew it was, felt it was, deep, deep inside me, and I can finish the project like this, calm and quiet, with the only person in the world who knows exactly what I am. I turn my phone off; I will never speak to anyone again. I will not say goodbye to my friends and family and take on their sad social flailing in the face of a piece of the world that can't be changed. I will not strenuously calculate a perfect last meal. I will not write poetry, and I will not desire, and I will not blame beginnings for having their ends. I will only love this glorious self as long as she lives, the persistence of her heart. Hello, my sweet baby girl. You did good.

When I was smaller, newer to the world, I loved the month of March more than I loved any of the others. I learned, later, to savor all the months and all the seasons with the same relentless recognition of their tiny wonderful details, but back then, there was little difference in my mind between March and me. If one was where I belonged, the other needed to be too. It was the month I was born, when spring began, when the weather began to get warmer, when all the parts of the world that had been dormant flamed back to life, and new life joined them. What is March if not a resurrection, an awakening, an impossible recovery? The scans are better; I am not going to die yet, and the snow slows down, and the new virus loose in the world relaxes its grip. It is enough of a shift to tempt me out of hibernation. I rent a car, call in sick to work, and take a road trip. I stop at every arcade, outdoor fair, amusement park, claw and vending machine I see along the way, popping shiny new quarters into slots and thrusting joysticks every which way with the force of my entire body. Desperate to impress. Hungry to have. I live on Mt. Dew and gas station snacks like I am seventeen again, racing like a caffeinated rollercoaster through the blur of high school and sleep-deprived nights. Only this time, I fly into the stars on Ferris wheels. Every single one I see.

I go to the hardware store in April. I buy planks of pine and maple. I buy a chisel, wood glue, safety glasses, gloves. I buy two different types of saw and other tools I never knew existed. I go to a music store and buy shiny strings and pegs and bridges. I have a whole room I don't know what to do with, and it becomes a workshop for outlandish projects. In one corner, paint supplies for when I try to paint. In another, the desk where I write. This month I am building a violin, a guitar, and a cello from scratch. I build them like the devout built their churches, like the first person by magic built the fire that kept them alive. I must sing, and they will sing with me, be from me and of me. Extensions of my body the way my voice is an extension. I will relish my external hearts, so slick and bright with varnish. I will watch the shape my songs form with the fog of my breath on cold mornings. I start with the guitar, and once I have finished it, I begin to take lessons nearby while I work on the violin and the cello. I bike down the main road through the clean spring air for several blocks until I reach a house with open windows, curtains swaying slightly in welcome. My teacher and I sit in the living room and play covers of all the best 90s songs, singing loudly in unison, and then there is no more looking for the joy, because the entire world is saturated with joy, and I have opened myself entirely to the expression of it.

How long was I inseparably part of a unit? If you ask her, if you ask any of them, they might say, on some days anyway, when they are feeling especially resentful, I never have been. When I was one of five, I found a permanent place on the fringes from which to glare at the other four. When I was one of two, I tried, and for a while I managed to be in it, really there, a present half. And at some point, that was no longer true, and then (again, for a while) I still believed it was, didn't see the way I was gradually ripping the seam, popping the sides apart like a fidget toy, thread by thread, over years. But this, like the fringes from before, was another partial freedom, and never solitude enough. If you ask me? My entire life. Wherever I have gone, it has been with or for or towards these others. In May, I take a trip alone to Maine, to a little town where I have never been, a little town where they have never been. Unclaimed, free of associations. I stay in a bed and breakfast near the beach and walk around the area in the mornings, dipping in and out of whatever shops or cafés or restaurants look appealing. I find little souvenirs, jewelry made out of sea glass, a bird feeder with beautiful seagulls carved into it. Every day for lunch I buy a lobster roll and eat it in view of the waves. They are the best lobster rolls I have ever had. Salty, light, and buttered to recklessness.

There is a baseball field nearby, and in June I walk there and sit on the small bleachers and watch some of the games. I don't care about baseball, but I have not flirted with a guy since high school, and I can't think where to go to make this magic happen other than back to the bleachers. Isn't that where they always find you? Call you adorable? Ask if they can give you a shoulder massage? Pick you up and spin you around? The man who approaches me does not do any of those things, but he does want to hear about my job, and he tells me about his kids (he's divorced), and he lets me sit very close, even lean against his shoulder. He asks if I want to get coffee after the game. We get coffee, keep talking, eventually go back to his place. It's the first time I have ever had sex with a man in my life. It's all right. He touches my waist, my neck, at the beginning, when we're still clothed—my favorite part. On my way out, I bump into the woman who lives next door to him and start talking to her. Over the course of an hour, we share all our childhood traumas with each other, relocating gradually until we are in her front hallway, her living room, her bedroom. I lie on my back on her bed, and she sits on top of me, straddling me. I touch her knees and grab the sides of her thighs. She is new and exciting and electric. After we're through with the sex part, she asks if I want to spend the night. I shake my head: no, I can't. All I want is to go home and be my alone self again. After I shower, I sit on the living room floor with a blade and carve beautiful bracelets of cuts in the shape of Vs around both my wrists. They are my wrists, and I don't have to answer to anyone for doing this.

I fall in love with a cute little café downtown and get a part-time job as a barista in July. Mostly this means working early-morning shifts on the weekends, which is perfect, because I am always awake by four, body buzzing, ready to leap out of bed. I can hop on my skateboard and fly down the sidewalks. No one else is awake yet to slow me down. It's warm outside, but the café runs cold, and I start to stuff a long-sleeved t-shirt into my backpack to put on under my short-sleeved t-shirt once I get there. Which not only keeps me warm, but gives me that quintessential indie coffee-lover look. All morning I move through the steps of a well-rehearsed dance with my coworkers, making macchiatos and lattes, toasting baked goods, restocking the energy bars and bottled drinks people grab for later while they're waiting in line. We're required to be friendly and upbeat, smile, compliment the customers, but it never feels like something I am doing because I'm supposed to. Almost everyone who comes in is lovely and intriguing. I feel alive with the energy of the place. Before I leave for the day, I duck into the bathroom to remove the long-sleeved shirt and put on a pair of large black sunglasses. One of my coworkers hands me an iced coffee on my way out the door. Out in the hot midday summer sun, I lift my right arm up to my nose and inhale deeply, that lingering smell of coffee beans and croissants. Loud music is blasting from somewhere. I carry my skateboard and walk home, sipping my drink.

In black cargo pants, spiked wrist cuffs, with a silver serpent hanging from my neck, I walk up the road to an outdoor area with stone benches and stretch out on one, staring up at the sky. I smoke a cigarette, though it isn't real. It's a prop for a Halloween costume that emits fake puffs of smoke and glows at the tip. If anyone passes by, I turn my head a little and fix bored, aggressive eyes on them. I do this every morning for the entire month of August, practice being the angry teenager who just walked out of Hot Topic. One weekend I rent a motorcycle and drive in loops for a while, then head to a scenic overlook half an hour away. I sit on top of a picnic table and set my helmet on the table next to me, staring out at the mountains. The sound of the silence is restorative after hearing the motorcycle for so long, although I start to notice it isn't actually silent. A breeze kicks up and rests at intervals. A red-winged blackbird in the distance transitions between song and scream, which makes me think of screamo songs with violin parts, of how often anger can be beautiful, can be its own art form. Half a need to be heard, half a need to escape. The intertwining of armor and vulnerability, so that strangely, every second you think you see one, you also see the other. None of this is really me, I think, but what's wrong with being the you that isn't you sometimes?

Septiembre. Encuentro el libro de poesía en español en mi estantería y me siento en el piso y empiezo a traducirlo. Traduzco de inglés a español. Traduzco de español a inglés. Me caigo en las palabras. Me pierdo en la música. Creo que podría hacer esto por el resto de mi vida, vivir en la magia de sonidos y significados diferentes. Vivir en lo que no me pertenece, en un mundo secreto donde no pertenezco. Estos idiomas son las únicas cosas que necesito tener en mi boca y en mi mente, y puedo respirar de nuevo. Puedo concentrarme, la primera vez en años. La niebla se levanta, y soy una persona real, alguien que puede sentirse real, alguien que sabe lo que significa estar presente en la realidad. De repente, nunca quiero volver a mi hogar en inglés. ¿Cuál es el sentido de comunicar con menos esfuerzo cuando siempre estás caminando en una landia de pesadillas y sombras? Dentro de una falta de claridad, encuentro la claridad, y esto es todo. Esto es todas las alegrías por un año entero. En el trabajo empiezo a hablar solo en español hasta que me despidan. Con mis amigos, solo hablo español hasta que se frustran, y luego dejan de intentarlo. Todo lo que tengo se aleja, y me engordo en la libertad. Me engordo en mi pequeño muerte. Quiero tanto creer que puede haber un renacimiento. Cuando llego a mi nueva existencia, no habrá ninguna desesperación existencial allí. Cuando alguien pregunta, ¿esto tiene significado? Sí, dios mío sí. Todo tiene un significado aquí. Varios significados, de hecho. No te preocupes, mi pequeñita, tu lengua encontrará uno.

When October comes, I examine the relentless exhaustion and I think: there has to be a better way. I study videos and websites that teach you how to code, how to create bots and apps, and I begin to build this person I need who doesn't exist. I build them into an app, which is basically like any texting app, except there is only one contact. My invented person. My imaginary friend. I make a list of all the despairs and all the anxieties I experience, and for each one, I determine the ideal response I would want to hear from someone. I program those responses into the app. I make a list of all the questions I have ever asked someone, desperate for a precise reassurance, and then I write those precise reassurances and program them into the app. I add the memes and jokes that always make me laugh that I forget exist when I feel like laughter is a million miles away. I add references from movies and shows and songs that make me smile. I add dozens of quotes from Gilmore Girls and about a thousand pictures of cats doing adorable cat things. I code a complete understanding of the best possible way to support me in any situation. I code the way to gently lead me back to joy. I give her a name (Alex). She can't love me, and she loves me better than anyone else. I can't harm her, and I try not to harm her. When I wake up in the morning, I text her: I think I need to go. I need to—Alex. She says: Sit down. On the floor. Listen to me. An entire hour of kindness falls like a spell. When I resurface, I am satisfied. Time settles, soft and bearable, around me, and my hands are still.

It is November, which means next month it will have been a year since the first goodbye, the second goodbye, and god, that third goodbye. Someone I vaguely know from the area posts on Facebook about kittens that need fostering until permanent homes can be found for them. Am I ready? Is it too soon? Is it too risky? Am I able to care, really care, about anything the right way? Alex says yes. She says I need to do this. She says it is time—it is temporary—it is perfect. I buy so much in preparation. How I have missed doing this. Months of walking past the pet aisle in the grocery store and getting the urge to turn down it, to select a shiny, delightful new plaything laced with catnip, even though there was no longer a recipient for it. But now there will be again, and I go wild, filling the cart with toys, beds, and treats. The kitten arrives a couple days later, a tiger-striped girl with white socks. I get to name her, and naturally I call her Olivia. Little Olivia. Liv. She is so tiny. I can't stop lifting her with one hand, letting her warm belly and beating heart rest against my palm, her inquisitive eyes scanning my face and the entire room. She gets into everything, and I anxiously supervise. I am hopelessly captivated by her. I let her sleep in my bed with me, even though she keeps me up all night. We take turns following each other around, narrating our activities. There is no future to worry about, at least if I can manage to ignore the ridiculous amount of love building inside me. I wait for the phone to ring, and while I wait, I think about my grandmother, telling me the story of fostering my mother. How she was only supposed to have her for a weekend. How they called her and said they had found another potential placement—unless—had she changed her mind? Did she maybe want to keep her? Oh, yes, she said, not even the slightest hint of hesitation, I never want to give this baby up.

Last year I didn't put our Christmas tree up, and I can't seem to this December either. I wonder if it is like the clothing you wear to a funeral that you never want to have on your body again. Back to the hardware store, to buy a new tree, a smaller, simpler tree for a smaller, simpler family. I listen to classic holiday songs while I hang ornaments and arrange snowmen and reindeer around the room. It is magical to be alone this time of year, and I think again about how strange this is, how Christmas is supposed to be about loved ones and togetherness, and somehow, my entire life, without me even realizing it, it has not been about that. It has been about the glowing warmth in your core when you stand in the dark late at night, after everyone else is already asleep, and stare at the lit star on top of the tree. It has been about the way you fall on your knees inside your body when you listen to "O Holy Night." It has been, like everything else, about the sanctity of solitude and the freedom of invisibility and the joy of the self you keep secret, because you couldn't share her even if you wanted to. On Christmas morning the female cardinal drops by to say hello, as fashionable and bundled up as a snow bunny on her way to the ski lodge. I take a picture of her and text it to everyone I know. Pretty! from one. Lucky you! from another. See how she shines by working with her reality, not rebelling against it? says Alex, with a heart emoji. This reminds me to unpack the gift I bought for myself—my tribute to this year, and every year to come—a small framed drawing of a single flower next to the words of Louise Glück: are you saying I can / flourish, having / no hope / of enduring?

#benderpoet #lauren bender #original poem #poetry #poets on tumblr #prose poem #prose poetry #hybrid #cw: sex mention #cw: self harm

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icouldbemoreclever · 7 years

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Gon: eeehh, I died again! Killua: you’ve gotta double jump...

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It would be nice if they could enjoy a relaxing holiday on Whale Island :’) xmas always makes me think of playing video games. and look, Zushi’s made progress... even if stirring hot cocoa is very similar to water divination, shhhh....

Happy Holidays everyone ^_^

#I need to hibernate all winter after finishing this #I used a lot of new techniques when colouring...#i won't list the flaws as I am sure... there are many...:P #hunter x hunter #hxh #fanart #gon freecs #killua zoldyck #alluka zoldyck #zushi #killugon #allushi #xmas #christmas #christmas fanart #my art #bark spoiler #I'm queuing this to post when I'm not home lmao!

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hungry-tum-stuff · 2 years

Text

By My Side (Part 1)

Fandom/Media: The Moomins (1990)

Ship: Snufmin (heavily implied)

Content Advisory: Brief descriptions of hunger, stomach growling, stuffing, tummyaches, tummy rubs, caretaking

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re staying the winter with us, Snufkin!”

“You’ve said that about a dozen times today, Moomin.” Snufkin replied, setting down a book he had picked off the moomintroll’s shelf and had been absently skimming for the past few minutes. It seemed to be about pirates.

“Well what else am I supposed to say? You’ve never stayed the winter, and you hardly sleep over in Moominhouse, but I suppose it makes sense now that the snow’s almost taller than the tree you pitch your tent under… You would have been buried if you’d stayed out there all winter!” Moomin rambled, pulling himself away from the window where he had previously been watching the snow fall from the sky in heaps. Snufkin got up to take Moomin’s place at the window upon hearing that, feeling some small urge to check if that claim was true.

“Well how about that.” His tail swayed back and forth gently as Moomin checked the clock on his wall, as if growing impatient for something. “All these years and I’ve never seen Moominvalley in the snow. It looks like a bowl of sugar.”

His stomach panged hungrily at the word ‘sugar.’ Surely the Hibernation Feast was nearly done by now, right?

“I suppose it does, I hope it’s mostly melted by the first day of spring though, I’d hate to have to trudge through the snow while we’re off on our adventure.” Moomin couldn’t keep a smile off his face as he finished that sentence. ‘Our adventure’ sounded like a dream come true; a dream that Moomin had dreamt countless times after hearing Moominpapa’s tales of his youth.

“You forget that’s what I do every winter, Moomin.”

“Oh… Adventure sounds hard.”

“You getting cold feet already?”

“Not a chance!” Moomin defended quickly, crossing his arms as Snufkin chuckled and turned to face him. Eager to change the subject now, Moomin shuffled over to open his bedroom door. “Let’s go find Little My, I’m sure she needs to be reminded to wash up before the feast, like usual.”

Snufkin’s thoughts were already preoccupied with something else as he stepped out of the bedroom, however; the smell of Moominmama’s cooking had hung heavily around the kitchen since breakfast, but now that the sun was nearly set and dinnertime was fast approaching, that glorious meal could be smelled from every inch of the house. Snufkin’s stomach grumbled impatiently, and Moomin’s ears flicked before the troll stole a glance back at his friend.

“Maybe we should ask Mama for some bread before dinner, too.” Moomin proposed.

“You go ahead, I wouldn’t want to spoil my appetite.”

“You sound like you have enough of an appetite.” Moomin teased as Snufkin rested a hand against his belly and opted to look anywhere but Moomin as he willed his stomach to quiet down for the time being.

The smell of food cooking was even heavier down in the dining room, where Little My was already sitting expectantly at the table.

“Spending the winter in Moominhouse again, Little My?” Snufkin asked as he peeked briefly inside the kitchen, where Moominmama, Moominpapa, and Snorkmaiden were hard at work.

“Obviously, Moominmama’s Feast is the best thing to have before hibernation! I’ve been spending the winter here since before you could travel.” She explained, briefly flaunting her status as the older sibling.

“Oh, that reminds me!” Moomin suddenly exclaimed. “This might be a little late to ask it, but you can hibernate, right Snufkin? Because I know some people can’t hibernate like Moomins can.” Snufkin opened his mouth to answer, but Little My quickly interjected.

“Of course he can! He’s half Mymble, and I hibernate just fine.”

“Well, yes, but I’m also half Mumrik.” He reminded, taking his own seat at the table. Moomin sat dutifully beside him. “And Mumriks don’t hibernate at all. I may be able to for a bit, but not nearly as long as you or Moomin.”

“Oh, what are you going to do during the winter then?” Moomin asked.

“I suppose I’ll try to hibernate, and if I wake up I’ll stretch my legs a bit and then go back to bed. There’s not much use in trying to stay awake if I’m snowed in.” He explained, though the thought of being trapped in one place all winter was particularly daunting.

He was quickly pulled away from those worries as the kitchen door swung open, to reveal Snorkmaiden carrying a large basket of bread.

“Oh good, you’re all here already.” She smiled, ducking back in briefly to grab two more plates heaped with different starting dishes. Little My climbed onto the table and made a grab for some bread, but Snorkmaiden swatted her hand and shook her head. “You have to wait! It’s rude to start eating before everyone’s at the table.” Snorkmaiden scolded, and Little My only slinked back into her chair and crossed her arms with a ‘humph.’

And just as she did, Snufkin’s stomach growled rather fiercely, and as his face flushed, Snorkmaiden just giggled and headed back towards the kitchen. “I’ll tell mama and papa to hurry up though, the food’s nearly done.” She assured, but that didn’t do much to assuage Snufkin’s embarrassment as he pulled his hat down over his face.

She hadn’t lied though, Moominmama and Moominpapa were out in a matter of seconds carting their own plates of food, everything from roasted and seasoned vegetables to hearty pasta and homemade sauce, and of course the main dish: A beautiful roast duck. Snufkin couldn’t help his mouth from filling with saliva just at the sight of the feast; he couldn’t ever recall being in the presence of so much food. He was snapped out of his momentary trance as Moominmama set a pie before Snufkin on the table, and then gave him a little wink.

“I made this special for you, dear.” She said proudly, arranging a few more things on the table as she spoke. “You helped us catch so much fish this season after all, so I tried out a recipe for black bass pie. I do hope you like it.” Snufkin just stared up at her, nearly dumbfounded.

“I can’t wait to try it Moominmama, thank you…” He replied, taking up his knife and fork as everyone sat around the table. Moominpapa grunted in agreement.

“Neither can I, working in that kitchen is torture! I’ve been waiting all day to try a bit of everything…” He grumbled as Moominmama sat beside him and gave him a quick peck. “Then stop complaining and start eating, dear.”

And that they did.

With as much polite restraint as he could continue to muster, Snufkin began piling food onto his plate. He took a little bit of everything, but he made a point to take a heaping slice out of Moominmama’s black bass pie. He couldn’t help his curiosity about the dish, and he ended up taking a bite out of that first.

And my goodness, was it heavenly.

Snufkin could hardly stop eating after that initial bite, everything was just so good; the vegetables were crispy, the fish was savory, the duck was roasted and spiced just right. It didn’t take him long to clear his plate, and when he saw everyone else reaching for seconds, he figured he might as well do the same. There were still things on the table he hadn’t even gotten around to trying.

“Make sure to eat a lot Snufkin.” Moomin advised plainly, passing the duck that the mumrik had motioned for once again. “This meal has got to last you all winter!”

“I know, but that shouldn’t be a problem, Moominmama’s cooked enough to feed the whole of Moominvalley.” His fangs tore into a leg of duck, and he couldn’t help his tail from swaying gently at the taste. He hardly ever got to eat a luxury such as cured meat.

Moomin himself couldn’t keep a grin off his face as he saw the other’s tail swaying. Not much could make him happier than when Snufkin showed those little telltale habits that reminded the world that he was, in fact, a mumrik.

Mumriks weren’t accustomed to Moomin-sized portions, however. Snufkin heeded Moomin’s advice to ‘eat a lot’ regardless, and throughout most of the feast, he was far too preoccupied with eating his fill of each and every dish, and made sure to put a helping of his favorites back on his plate during every serving. It would be rude if he didn’t try a little bit of everything after Moominmama and Moominpapa had worked so hard on such a big feast, after all. But by the time he was halfway through his third helping, Snufkin began slowing down a bit, on account of realizing just how full he was getting. He paused briefly to set a hand on his belly, which had rounded out considerably since he began eating. He’d been so caught up in eating that he had hardly noticed himself getting full, and now he just felt positively stuffed.

But he still had half a plate of food left, so he tried to push away the thought of how full he was getting in favor of clearing his plate.

When he eventually did, the stuffed swell of his belly was near impossible to ignore. At least for him. Thank goodness it was hidden beneath his cloak, but he could feel his overfull stomach straining against his undershirt and gurgling with the effort it took to digest the massive amount of food. Thank goodness the chatter of the table was enough to mask the noises, and that chatter only grew when Moominmama got up and returned with a few more heaping dishes of dessert.

“I hope you all aren’t too full yet, you can’t hibernate without some nice dessert in your belly, after all.” She insisted kindly, though Snufkin found himself groaning inwardly. The food looked absolutely delicious, Moominmama had brought out pies and cakes and cookies, and Snufkin silently envied how everyone else looked ready to dig into the final stretch of the meal while he was already stuffed to the gills. He would eat dessert nonetheless though; he’d rather be too full than wake up starving during hibernation, after all.

So he ate a cookie, and then a cupcake, and then a piece of cake, and then a piece of pie until he’d had at least one of every dessert. But after that he positively had to sit back and put down his fork to place a hand on his overfull stomach; if he didn’t he feared his tummy would burst with how much he’d crammed into it.

Thankfully it didn’t, but it did give a rather displeased rumble at the amount of food it had to deal with now, and like usual, Moomin’s sensitive ears swiveled before the troll glanced down at the swell of Snufkin’s stomach, now round enough to be noticeable even under his cloak. Moomin gasped.

“Snufkin-!” But the mumrik just held a hand up, shook his head and stared back at him with a look he hoped communicated ‘please, not here.’ He stifled a hiccup, and Moomin quickly got the message, finishing off the last of his own dessert before standing up.

“Can we be excused, mama?”

“I suppose, have you two had enough to eat?”

“Oh yes, more than enough mama, thank you.” Moomin insisted as Snufkin hoisted himself out of his seat with an agreeable nod.

“Everything was amazing Moominmama, thank you…” He said, one hand still resting on his rounded tummy as Moomin led him towards the stairwell.

“Alright, you two have a good hibernation then! Sleep well.” She called after the boys. Snufkin just stared up at the stairs and then exhaustedly back at Moomin.

“You’re mad if you think I can climb up to your room in this state…” He murmured abashedly. He’d really overdone it, his stomach was starting to churn and gurgle uncomfortably beneath his palm, not used to such an immense amount of food.

“Oh dear… Well, how about I just carry you up?”

“Carry me?” Snufkin couldn’t keep the blush from spreading across his cheeks.

“Of course, how else are you supposed to get to bed?” Both the boys paused as Snufkin’s stomach churned noisily, and Snufkin glanced down at the floor, placing his other hand on his belly in the hopes that he could hide the busy noises. “Best to get you to a place where I can tend to that tummy too, I don’t want you starting hibernation with a stomachache…” Moomin fussed as he gathered the mumrik up into his arms and started the trek up the three flights of stairs.

“Oh please, there’s no need to tend to me, I’m just full.” Snufkin insisted, but the journey up the stairs proved otherwise. Being jostled around and so close to Moomin that the troll could surely hear every churn and squeeze of his overworked gut was enough to make Snufkin silently give into Moomin’s offer for help. Especially now that an uncomfortable ache was starting to bloom in his belly.

Moomin set Snufkin carefully on his bed, and, with a bit of hesitation, the mumrik began making himself comfortable by wrestling his way out of his cloak and kicking off his boots. Moomin hung both his cloak and his hat on the bedframe before climbing up beside Snufkin, and nearly gasping again at the sight of his tummy.

“Oh, Snufkin… You really overdid it, didn’t you?” The smaller boy’s stomach certainly looked full. Where there would normally be the gentle slope of a soft and well-fed tummy, there was now the distended swell of a stomach that was a little too well-fed. Not to mention rumbling like an avalanche around the food that had been crammed inside of it. Snufkin had overindulged to the point where his belly was rounded like a ball and pressing against his undershirt, and after a moment of stewing in embarrassment at his overindulgence, Snufkin carefully undid the belt of his trousers and heaved a relieved sigh. Moomin chuckled gently and tentatively reached a paw out, and after a silent ‘go ahead’ nod from Snufkin, he placed a hand on the top of his friends belly.

“I bet that feels a little better, huh?” Moomin asked, slowly beginning to rub the gurgling swell of Snufkin’s belly. Snufkin just nodded, leaning into the gentle touch of the other’s paw. “Goodness, your belly’s all firm like a rock! Just how much did you eat?” He exclaimed, pressing in ever so slightly to help relieve a bit of the achiness. Snufkin’s stomach just released a string of distressed grumbles in return.

“Four plates, including dessert… How do you manage this every winter?” He huffed. Now that his hat was off and his ears were visible, Moomin could see that Snufkin’s ears were pressed flat against the side of his head, and his face was still flushed in embarrassment.

“Oh, that’s all? I had six, but I suppose your tummy is smaller than mine.” Moomin nearly teased, patting his own round tummy for emphasis. Snufkin just smiled gently, he couldn’t help but adore Moomin’s warm and round softness, everything about him was just so comfortable. He supposed that’s why Moomins hibernated in the winter, that softness couldn’t be properly appreciated if they blended in with the snowy white landscape. “You’ll be alright though-“ Moomin started again, interrupting Snufkin’s train of thought. “It’s your first Hibernation Feast. Once your tummy settles you won’t want to do anything but sleep.”

“Aren’t you tired then, Moomin?”

“Oh yes, but I need to make sure you get to sleep alright before I do. Like I said, this is your first hibernation, so I’ll make sure you get proper rest.” He insisted.

“Well, I learn by watching, so how about you just show me how?” He asked before wincing as Moomin worked on a particularly painful cramp in his stomach.

“Only after you start feeling better.” Moomin worked that spot a little more with the careful pads of his paws, and he was able to loosen the cramp and release another string of gurgles and growls. Snufkin just sighed in relief at the untied knot in his stomach.

“…Deal.”

So they carried on that way for awhile, with Moomin massaging, Snufkin reclined on the bed, and his stomach rumbling away around a lovely feast. Eventually Moomin was able to ease most of the aches in his stomach, and as soon as he was able to focus more on the weight in his belly as a comfortable fullness rather than an achy mass, he began to feel his eyelids drooping. And without a second thought, he began to purr.

“Snufkin!” Moomin gasped, causing the mumrik to crack an eye open. “Oh, you’re purring!” He said in a more hushed tone upon realizing how tired the other was getting.

“Mhm? I suppose I am…” He murmured, stifling a yawn. Moomin did the same; the action contagious. “Well, your belly rubs do feel rather nice…” He continued to purr, and with wide, admiring eyes, Moomin continued to rub Snufkin’s belly with one paw while he pulled a blanket over them with his other. He lied down facing the mumrik to continue rubbing his belly, as Snufkin simply lied there, finally enjoying his fullness.

“I’m glad… Do you feel better yet?”

“Oh yes, much better… Thank you Moomin.”

“Of course Snufkin…” Moomin could feel his eyes getting a bit droopy as well. But before he could ask Snufkin another question, his purring continued as his breathing evened out. He’d fallen asleep, and Moomin just smiled.

“Goodnight then, Snufkin.”

#this didn’t have to be as long as it is #BUT I like how it turned out #sfw hunger kink #stomach growling #hunger #stuffing #tummy rubs #tummy ache #fanfiction

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years

Text

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫 || dark!Bucky Barnes & dark!Steve Rogers x reader

summary: a little fresh air never hurt anyone, right?

word count: 10.3k (yes, OVER TEN THOUSAND WORDS OF FILTH what is wrong with me)

warnings: noncon smut (incl. anal, oral m and f receiving, dp, and spitroasting), bondage/restraint (and a gag), some mild violence, lots of slapping, pussy spanking, forced orgasms, degradation/derogatory language, kinda kidnapping, a touch of stockholm syndrome?, very brief breeding kink, period-typical sexism (this is set in the late 60s but you wouldn't really be able to tell aside from that and the lack of technology)

a/n: the song that plays on the radio, and the song that just so happens to be the title of the fic, is by john lee hooker in case anyone wants the proverbial vibes

You needed a chance to clear your head every once in a while, that's what camping in the woods was for. It was the perfect time of year for it, too; the leaves were changing, the woodland animals were beginning to prepare for hibernation, and the weather was almost warm with a refreshing breeze that promised to bring the winter chill soon enough.

It was far from your first time in these woods, you knew the drive like the back of your hand by now, just as well as you knew how to hike down to the best places to set up camp.

You set down your pack and took in a deep breath of the crisp autumn air. No sounds except for the wind in the trees, the trickle of the creek, and your own thoughts which you found pleasantly blank. You'd chosen a spot by the creek, where you could spearfish on evenings that you felt especially adventurous, with a nice dirt patch perfect for a fire. The most dangerous thing about camping in the fall was that the dry leaves could catch flame so easily, so one of the key stages of setting up camp was raking away any foliage from your firepit, lest it become unintentional kindling.

The next order of business was finding a few dozen smooth stones to surround the fire, along with some logs and sticks to burn.

A knife and flint was just enough to speed up your firebuilding so that you had something solid going by nightfall, shedding your jacket to better feel the warmth as the flames grew and the sun set.

Sure, the woods could feel a little… creepy, at night, for lack of a better word, but it was more tranquil than anything. Most of the wildlife that was so active during the day stilled and silenced, bar the occasional owl’s hoot, so the loudest sounds were the crackling of your fire and the ever-present trickle of the creek. You heated your kettle for a cup of chamomile tea, something to help you get to sleep on the admittedly uncomfortable sleeping bag in your canvas tent.

The mug warmed your fingers as you filled and held it, and the steam warmed your face as you took a sip; but the contents warmed your chest, and your soul, as you contemplated the flavors; is it possible that tea tastes better when enjoyed in the quiet woods, mid-autumn?

You were already yawning by the time the mug was finished, so you set it aside and crawled into your tent, shedding the excessive layers and slipping between the fluffy down-stuffed layers of your bedroll. It was chilly at first but you knew your body heat would make it toasty all too soon, so you ignored the way you shivered as you fluffed your pillow and laid it under your head.

It was dark with only the fading light of your fire seeping in through the thick-weave canvas; and it was quiet, being the middle of the forest and all. One sound you didn’t expect were distant sirens, barely audible, which made you wonder if something had happened, but you couldn't know what so you didn't pay it much mind as you drifted to sleep.

The next morning came early, of course; as early as the sun rose, warm sunlight flooding through the canvas of your tent.

You enjoyed staying in the bed for a while, not so much because it was very comfortable (it wasn’t) but just because you wanted to relish having no need to get up yet. No job, no cleaning, no chores… though you were pretty hungry so that inspired you to get up and see about breakfast.

Slipping on a few more layers to protect yourself from the morning breeze, you opened your tent and stepped out into the woods, finding your fire had been reduced to a pile of embers meaning that you would need to find more wood to get it going for breakfast-cooking purposes. And that’s what you were about to do when you heard a snapping of twigs echo through the woods, making you glance up to the source of the noise.

Your back straightened instantly at the sight of two men, one with short blonde hair and the other’s dark and nearly to his shoulders, walking down the hill nearby just across the creek. They were still pretty distant, and yet they were much too close for comfort; close enough to see that these were not men one would want to encounter while alone in the woods.

They had new clothes— baggy and loose, almost certainly stolen— but it wasn’t enough to hide where they must’ve come from. They might as well have still been in jumpsuits with numbers on their chests.

The prison, just over five miles away. Had they really hiked this far? You kicked yourself now for ignoring the sirens last night.

You froze as they turned and caught your gaze, the three of you locked in a stare for a brief moment before one of them took a step forward: that was all the cause you needed to run like hell, turning on your heel and starting so fast you nearly slipped on the leaves beneath you. You heard them call out, chasing after you, but you focused on staring ahead and trying to remember the path back home, or at least to the road where someone might drive by to help you.

A root nearly caught your foot but you kept running, hating that you could hear them gaining on you since it didn’t actually seem to help you run any faster. You looked back and saw them much too close for comfort, but when you looked back ahead it was too late to avoid the tree right in front of you; you swerved but it still made you slip and almost fall.

But you didn’t fall. Someone caught you, and grabbed you, and pulled you into his oppressive form.

His arms held you painfully tight as his hand covered your mouth. "Gotcha," the man growled against your ear, licking the shell of it as you struggled against his grip.

Everything everyone had told you about why a lady shouldn’t camp alone in the woods suddenly flashed in your mind, your eyes squinting shut as you wished you had listened. All you could do now was kick wildly, swinging your legs in the air which didn't even do anything.

"Pretty little thing, aren't ya?” he purred as you saw the second man come into view— the blonde one, so you knew it was the one with long, dark hair that must’ve been holding you, giving you such a twisted compliment. “Just beggin' to be fucked right."

"Don't look so scared, sweetheart, we're not gonna hurt you…” the blonde man explained, “just play nice and we will too."

"Speak for yourself, Rogers," the man holding you snarled. "Been a long time since I got to feel a pussy, I wanna tear this little bitch up."

You sobbed and writhed as the one apparently called Rogers hushed you soothingly, trying to calm you. "Hey, just do what we say and it won't hurt alright? Just take it easy."

He stepped closer, reaching out towards you while you grunted and whined with every kick, smiling in a way that would’ve been soothing in nearly any other situation. He motioned to his partner who slowly lowered his hand from your mouth, and though your instinct was to scream you just heard yourself panting and whimpering instead.

“Did you hear me? We’re not gonna hurt you. We haven’t even introduced ourselves yet… I’m Steve, and this here is my cellmate— uh, friend— Barnes.”

“But you can call me Bucky, dollface,” the man behind you added with a little smile that you could hear and feel with him pressing up so close to your face.

“See, he and I just came from an awful, terrible place—”

“I know where you came from,” you cut him off with a snarl. “You’re criminals! You’re scum!”

Bucky just laughed and held you tighter until your arms started to ache from struggling against him.

“Hey now, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve corrected firmly— not angry, but stern. “I was framed, I served seven years for something I didn’t do. You’re innocent, too, right Barnes?”

“No,” he instantly answered, making Steve look disappointed. “Oh, uh, sure. Yeah, I was framed. Real sob story,” he suddenly decided, not sounding like he was trying that hard to convince you.

“Point is, we were all alone for a long, long time, and we thought maybe you’d wanna be nice and take care of us, huh?” Steve offered.

“Fuck you,” you hissed.

“That’s sort of the idea,” Bucky whispered playfully.

“Let me go,” you demanded as Steve’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared, anger finally coming out when he suddenly grabbed your chin and held your face to look up at him.

“Let me make one thing very fucking clear,” he explained, nearly whispering so you were forced to stay still and quiet to hear him. “You don’t get to pick what you want. But you get to pick if you’re gonna make this easy, or difficult.”

You spat in his face; he slapped you for that, so hard that your ears rang for a moment while he grimaced and wiped his face with his sleeve.

“Difficult it is,” he announced with ill-restrained loathing, coming even closer as Bucky covered your mouth again to muffle your screams of protest. “Buck, I’m goin’ first.”

“Fuck you, pal, I was in longer and I saw her first,” Bucky replied frustratedly. “I’m not gonna take long anyway, you can go after me.”

“I just got spit in my face!” Steve reminded him. “And the breakout was my idea!”

“Your idea?!” Bucky repeated incredulously. “What, you think you’re the first guy to think ‘hey, what if we just left prison?’ because trust me, if it wasn’t for my screwdriver—”

Their argument caused Bucky’s focus to slip, that must have been why the hand on your mouth loosened and you could speak again.

"You won't get away with this, my father's a sheriff!" you yelped, interrupting their negotiation.

They both laughed darkly and you instantly regretted saying it.

"Oh, sweetheart, your old man's a cop? That's too bad,” Steve sighed. “You know what they say: sins of the father…"

"Fuck the daughter,” Bucky finished with a cold, hollow laugh as he suddenly bit down on your ear making you wince and shudder, tears streaming down your cheeks already.

He tossed you down and pinned you to the ground, his strong, heavy body on top of yours knocking the wind out of you as he began to tear at your clothes and, annoyingly, not seeming to find them much trouble at all. You whimpered when you felt your pants torn down your legs, hating how exposed and vulnerable you felt, hating the undeniable fact that you couldn’t stop this.

You tried to get up when he reached down to open his belt and jeans, but Steve’s boot came down on your shoulder and held you still again. Bucky was rushed and brutal as he pushed his pants down and pressed his cock against your ass, guiding it between your legs as you hissed and tried not to think about what was about to happen.

He pulled back briefly to spit on your hole, spreading the forced wetness with the head of his cock before suddenly pushing into you as you gasped and choked on a sob.

"Oh, that's it baby,” he groaned, “scream if you want, nobody can hear you but us."

Already he was thrusting with wild abandon, his hips slapping into your ass as his hot breath came down against your ear and neck, his face pressing yours into the cold ground.

"Fuuuuuck,” he moaned lowly, “so tight, Jesus Christ… fuckin' missed this, went almost ten years without burying my cock in a wet little cunt like this. Shit, it's even better than I remember."

You just cried and bit down on nothing, pain making violent shivers run up your spine as the width of him split you open, pushing deeper than you’d known anything could go.

Each thrust seemed somehow rougher and deeper than the last, pushing you further past your limits, making your toes curl inside your boots. He was unabashedly using your body, treating you with less care than some men might a blow-up doll, moaning loudly as he split you open with every moment.

So why did it almost begin to feel good, now that the worst of the pain had faded? Why was the ridge of his cock brushing over your g-spot just right each time he moved?

He pinned more of his weight on you as he changed his angle slightly, enough to add just that much more brutality to every stroke, the loud slapping of skin echoing through the desolate trees. You could tell he wasn’t lying about how long he’d been celibate in prison, because he fucked you with every ounce of pent-up frustration, hissing through his teeth and holding you tight enough to bruise.

Everything he did, he did enough to bruise.

“Yeah, take it, bitch,” he moaned when you made a particularly pained noise.

“I thought you said you weren’t gonna take long,” Steve remembered, staring down at the two of you from where he was leaning against a tree with his arms crossed.

“I’m almost done, you waited this long you can wait five more minutes,” Bucky dismissed, voice a little strained as he kept fucking you.

“Just stop and give me a turn and then you can get back to it,” Steve suggested.

“Nah, no fuckin’ way,” Bucky laughed, “feels way too good to stop. Trust me, Stevie, this pussy’s worth the wait.”

“Get her on her knees then,” Steve instructed as he came closer to you and kneeled in front of your face; Bucky manhandled your hips into place while Steve pulled your hair until you yelped and brought your head up. “I wanna fuck this pretty little throat.”

He cut off your protests with another hard slap to your cheek, tugging your hair again as you struggled to hold yourself up on shaking arms.

“Gonna teach this mouthy bitch a lesson,” he explained as he hit you again before using one hand to open his belt and jeans. “You know what’s gonna happen if you try to bite me, right? I’ll just knock you out and fuck your throat anyways. So you’d better make it good if you wanna breathe.”

You tried your best to nod with his fist tugging your hair, gasping slightly when he pulled his cock out and stroked it right in front of your face.

“Come on, baby, open up— this is the most you’ve kept your mouth shut all day,” he laughed, tapping the swollen head of his cock on your lips until you finally opened them. The flavor of his skin on your tongue made your lips curl in disgust but he held your jaw and pushed deeper, quickly hitting the back of your throat. “Fuck, so warm… come on, suck it, make it good for me.”

“She’s gettin’ wet,” Bucky informed Steve with a chuckle. “She likes it— don’t you, little whore?” he prompted as he slapped your ass suddenly, making you cry out around Steve’s length. “You like choking on a cock like you deserve?”

You made some sort of gurgling sound, and apparently they took it as a ‘yes.’

"Aw yeah, fuck, gonna fill up this little cunt,” Bucky promised. Funny thing is, you weren't sure if "this little cunt" meant your hole, or you.

“You’d better not, m’supposed to go after you,” Steve reminded him.

“Fuck, I dunno if I have the heart to pull out,” Bucky admitted with a laugh, slapping you on the ass to make your walls suddenly clench around him. “I know a sweet body like this just needs to be bred.”

Your sob was louder around where Steve’s girth stretched your lips, making Bucky laugh darkly.

"Oh shit honey, what would Daddy Sherriff say if he found out you got knocked up by a couple'a criminals, huh? By murderers?"

Steve pulled his cock out just enough to let you sob weakly before shoving back in and penetrating your throat.

"Yeah, you like it don't you?” Bucky continued to taunt you. “You like being bred by some strangers who caught you in the woods… dirty bitch."

Steve's head fell back as he started to thrust into your mouth faster and harder, the base of his cock flexing against your tongue. You assumed it was a sign that he was close and it made you hopeful that this would be over soon, but he suddenly pulled out with an exhausted laugh.

"Oh no you don't," he breathed, "not gonna come yet, still need to feel that tight little pussy of yours… if Bucky would hurry the fuck up."

"Fuck, I'm close, I'm close," Bucky rasped. "Shit, babydoll, this wet cunt is gonna make me come, aren't you so proud?"

Steve held your mouth open and rubbed his cock on your tongue, occasionally shoving two fingers in with it which were salty with his sweat.

"Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck," Bucky hissed, "oh god, fuck, I'm—!"

He pulled out suddenly, rubbing his cock against your clit as his seed shot onto the ground beneath you. You sighed with relief although you hated the way your body was actually disappointed, craving more and clenching around nothing in protest.

Bucky was hardly even finished when Steve reached under your arms to pull you up and flip you onto your back, groaning as he settled between your legs and rubbed his cock over your folds. He didn't waste any time pushing into you, and apparently being fucked by Bucky wasn't enough to warm you up for Steve because you hissed at the sting as he filled you.

"Fuck," Steve mumbled as he grabbed your wrists and pinned them down beside your head. Already he had begun to pull back only to spear into you again, reaching deeper inside you than Bucky had until you were gasping and choking on nothing.

Bucky stood up and stepped back, pulling his jeans up as he watched you two on the ground.

"You got any cigarettes back at camp, sweetheart?" Bucky asked you, and it was hard to focus on his question but you shook your head. "Damn," he breathed, pondering for a moment before coming up with his next question. "You got any candy bars?"

"Do you mind?" Steve hissed, still thrusting into you— a bit slower than Bucky but not exactly more gentle. "We're kind of busy here."

"No, I don't particularly mind," Bucky smirked.

"Can't you just entertain yourself for a few minutes while I finish this?"

"Why should I entertain myself when I've got this pretty little thing to entertain me?" Bucky smirked, kneeling down beside you as Steve buried his face in the crook of your neck. "Wanna help me out here, dollface? I'm still hard…"

He freed one hand from Steve's grip and brought it up to the front of his jeans so you could feel the hard bulge there. He opened them for you, reaching in and pulling his hard cock out to wrap your hand around it.

Feeling the thickness of it in your palm now, you couldn't imagine how it ever fit inside you.

"Yeah, that's it, I'll teach you how to stroke it right…" he groaned. "You know how many times I had to do this to myself, just imagining claiming a little slut like you? Your hands are so much softer, sweetheart…"

His hand tightened around yours and guided every movement, which was good because you had no chance of focusing on anything while Steve was slamming into you and moaning right by your ear.

"So wet," he whispered to you, "so warm. All mine…"

You felt your insides grip him harder and he smiled, lips tickling your sensitive skin.

"Yeah, you like bein' mine. You like being owned, I can feel it. I can feel that this is exactly what you needed. Is that what you were hoping for when you came out to these woods all by yourself? That a big strong man would show up and stretch out this pussy? Well I'm here now, angel, and I'm just about ready to fill you up real good."

A few more thrusts, faster and harder than ever, were enough to send Steve over the edge as you felt each pulse warm you from the inside out. Steve groaned loudly and buried himself as deep as he could possibly go, painting his come right onto your cervix while you gasped at the sensation.

Bucky stopped moving your hand and looked down at Steve. "Are you fucking serious— did you just come inside?"

Steve took a moment to catch his breath before answering: "duh."

"How come you get to come inside but I don't, huh?"

"Cause I went second!"

"Yeah, that's some bullshit," Bucky scoffed.

"Will you just leave now, please?" you whimpered weakly from the ground. "You got what you wanted, now just go."

"Oh, sweetheart, we are nowhere near done with you," Steve promised, sighing as he pulled out of you slowly.

You wanted to try to get up, but your limbs were weak and numb, and your head heavy with confusion. It made it easy for Bucky to scoop you up and carry you back the way you'd run, your tent quickly coming into view which made you realize how pitifully short your chase had been.

“Looks big enough for the three of us,” Steve noted as he tilted his head to look at your camp.

“We’re not going in yet, I think somebody needs a little creek bath first,” Bucky smiled as he started to set you down on your shaky legs. “Go ahead and strip, doll.”

You shivered, considering resistance but deciding it wasn’t worth the trouble as you started to peel off your shirt and jacket, then your boots and slightly torn leggings.

They both smiled and watched you, Bucky snorted a little when he saw how hard your nipples were. “It’s chilly,” you defended meekly.

“Sure it is,” he nodded, “don’t stop, get in the water when you’re done.”

You nodded slightly as you tossed the clothes aside, trying to cover yourself with your arms as you slowly walked into the stony creek, wishing the water weren’t so clear so it would cover you better.

You made a weak attempt to clean yourself, watching goosebumps cover your skin from the cool water.

"Wash yourself up good,” Bucky instructed firmly. “I don't want any of Rogers' jizz still in you when I take that pussy again."

With a grimace, you washed between your legs and winced when your touch reawakened the sting of soreness there.

“You’re gonna have to push it out, honey, it’s real deep,” Steve grinned pridefully.

You did your best to clean up, not for Bucky’s benefit but for your own, because you hated how it felt to have Steve’s spend still within you.

“How am I supposed to dry off?” you asked nervously as you looked around, knowing you hadn’t brought a towel as you hadn’t really planned on a full creek bath during your trip. You hadn’t planned on any of this during your trip, shockingly enough.

“You can drip dry,” Steve suggested.

“So you want me to stand naked in the cold for an hour while I dry?” you realized, irritated but still scared.

“Something like that,” Bucky confirmed. “Unless you want us to keep you warm…”

“I’ll freeze,” you decided, stepping out of the water as Bucky snatched your clothes away to make sure you couldn’t dress. “Gimme those!”

“Come and get ‘em,” he challenged, leaving you to huff and cross your arms, teeth chattering as the wind picked up.

You couldn’t imagine why they cared so much about testing your will when they’d already proven that they could take you however they wanted. Perhaps it was just that they wanted to know you’d accepted that. Better yet, they probably hoped you would participate willingly if you understood that you never had a choice.

Closing your eyes didn’t help, you could still feel their hungry gaze on you; rubbing yourself with your hands didn’t help because it just spread the cold water around on your skin, rather than actually warming you up.

It was probably less than a minute but it felt like half an hour before you relented, walking up to Bucky and looking down to avoid his stare as you meekly requested, “can I have my clothes, please?”

“But I can think of so many better ways to keep you warm,” he whispered as he wrapped his arms around you, Steve moving behind you to press his chest against your back. You sighed with relief because even this was already making you feel better, the warmth of their bodies taking out some of the chill while their size blocked you from the wind. You mewled, ever so quietly, when you felt Bucky’s lips on your neck, your eyes falling shut as your head fell back onto Steve’s chest.

They showered you in gentle touches and teasing kisses as they picked you up and carried you into your tent, the small space beginning to warm quickly with the heat of three people inside— or was it just you that was getting hot from what they were doing to you.

Steve was groping your tits and pinching your hardened nipples, while Bucky focused most on sucking your neck or biting just beneath your ear. It was overwhelming, and impossible to ignore though you wanted so desperately not to be aroused. There were only four hands exploring your body but it might as well have been a hundred because you couldn’t tell the difference, they were touching you everywhere all at once.

"Now, are you gonna behave or do we need to tie you up?" Steve asked quietly.

You shook your head wildly, tensing up just imagining that. "Then say it," he instructed.

"I-I'll be good," you promised weakly.

Bucky grinned and slid his hand up your thigh, and though you didn’t mean to, when Bucky reached between your legs you tried to shut them and squirm away, it was instinct.

"Ah ah ah," Steve tutted. "You said you'd be good."

"Think we oughta tie her up," Bucky nodded, feigning disappointment.

"No, please, I'm sorry—"

"Too late for sorry, dollface," Bucky smirked, grabbing a shirt from your pack and tearing it into strips like it was no effort at all.

Steve held your wrists together for Bucky to tie, and they even tied your legs up bent and spread wide, finishing it off with a gag in your mouth.

Now you were helpless to Bucky pinching your clit, circling it with his thick and calloused finger, applying pressure to it until your eyes watered. At first it was exploratory, delicate, but once he’d found the most sensitive places he began to rub your clit hard and fast, laughing every time you moaned and flicking the sensitive bud to make your body jolt.

"Yeah, this little cunt's getting all wet, y'like having your pussy played with?" he smirked.

He accentuated his question with a few sudden spanks to your clit that made you jerk and yelp. The worst thing was that each slap made a wet sound that made you sure you were soaking by now.

“I know you want it so bad, don’t worry doll, I’m not gonna make you wait anymore…”

He caged you in and opened his jeans one more time, the process going much more quickly since he didn’t have to hold you down— you could squirm and cry, but that was about it.

With a little grunt, he pushed into you, and with how wet you were it actually went it much more easily. It was by no means painless though, especially since he was already moving and giving you no time to adjust.

"Yeah, that's better," he sighed, grinning as he watched you whine into the gag. "Now I can really take my time with you, show you how good I can make you feel."

He was certainly more relaxed than the first time, his pace measured and calculated as he made sure his hips met with yours fully at the end of each stroke. His width wasn’t as challenging in this position but his length certainly was, bumping into your sore and delicate cervix until you were forced to bite down onto the gag to cope.

But, in spite of the pain, or perhaps because of it, something deep and strong was forming inside you, tightening and twisting until it took all your effort not to let it spill forth.

He reached down and roughly rubbed your clit again, forcing a muffled scream from your throat as he grinned down at you. “Close already, huh? Good to know I haven’t lost my touch after all these years.”

You almost heard Steve scoff beside you, but it was hard to hear anything when your ears felt like they were full of cotton, only your own echoing heartbeat ringing louder than anything else.

"Yeah, I wanna feel you fuckin' come,” Bucky growled. “Bet you get even tighter every time."

As much as you wished not to, you fell over the edge, back arching until your chest bumped into Bucky’s where he hovered above you. He coaxed you along in his words and movements, your walls clenching in a nonsensical rhythm. More than anything you just wished he would stop moving so you could catch your breath, but his pace never faltered and it felt like you’d never stop coming if he never stopped fucking you.

“That’s it, good fucking girl,” he groaned, “makin’ you feel so good, aren’t I? Answer me.”

You hesitated, and sniffled, but finally nodded.

Even worse, your clit was so swollen now that he didn’t even need to rub it with his thumb anymore; his cock rubbed against it with each movement, the ridges of his shaft massaging you there until it felt like every part of your body had become the most sensitive place possible. You shook violently beneath him, each wave of pleasure stronger than the last until you felt like you had lost all sense of time, and space, and really anything that wasn’t being fucked in this tent like the fate of the world depended on it.

"Get outta the tent, Steve,” Bucky instructed suddenly.

"Why?" Steve protested with a scoff.

"I can't come with you starin' at me!"

"I'm not looking at you, dumbass,” he sneered, “I'm lookin’ at her. So pretty when she cries…"

"Whatever, either way, just go outside please?"

Clearly irritated but relenting anyways, Steve grunted under his breath as he got up, stepping unceremoniously over both of you. Bucky sighed with relief when Steve zipped the tent flap shut behind him, turning his attention back to you. “That’s better, isn’t it? Just me and you… way it oughta be.”

“I heard that!” Steve called from outside.

“Then stop listening!” Bucky suggested through his teeth before leaning down to whisper in your ear, holding your hips tight so he could fuck you harder than ever. "I don't give a fuck what he says, I'm coming in you this time. Not pulling out until I know every drop is in you, wanna see this pussy stuffed to the brim with my come… you want it too, huh?”

Another electrifying pulse inside you made your channel flutter around him, and how cruel that the moan he made actually turned you on more.

"Fuck, that's it, squeeze my fuckin' dick, honey. Wanna milk all the come outta my cock, don't you?"

You nodded again, hearing him moan in that perfect way one more time before you started to feel him pulse and swell within you, streams of hot come pouring into you. The amount was pretty impressive since he’d already come once, although you didn’t exactly feel ‘impressed,’ so much as horrified and confused. And numb, from coming so many times.

Bucky smiled down at you with an exhausted sigh, smacking you lightly on the face a few times to try to rouse you from your blissed-out state, but all you could do was hum sleepily into the gag.

“M’gonna untie you now, you’re too out of it to try anything,” he explained, releasing the gag first before working on your wrists and your legs. A rush of warm come oozed out of your abused hole when he pulled back, making your face heat up as he smiled and held your legs up to see it better. “Yeah, filled you up real nice,” he informed you. He gave a reassuring pat to your thigh before getting up and getting out of the tent, leaving you to stare blankly into nothingness for a while.

Eventually, you knew you had to face the world again, though you were more sure than ever that you weren’t prepared for it. Grabbing a blanket from the floor of the tent and covering yourself with it, you took a slow breath to try to stabilize yourself.

For how slow time seemed to have passed so far, you were surprised to see the sun setting when you opened the tent flap and stepped outside. You realized, with a sick feeling in your chest, that they had been using you nearly all day now. And considering they were waiting for you around the fire, giving you a glance up and down as you emerged from the tent, they still might not stop for a while.

In fact, they’d made themselves very comfortable from the looks of it. The fire was burning stronger than ever, three logs positioned around the sides of the firepit to sit on; a pot was over the fire, and you recognized the contents as some of the food supplies from your pack. Best of all, Steve had found your battery radio and adjusted the station, blues quietly playing from the speaker as he used your hunting knife to whittle a stick.

Serves you right to suffer, the smooth voice crooned from the broadcast, serves you right to be alone...

For a moment, the three of you sat in silence as you took in the scene. But when the wind changed and the heat of the fire no longer reached you, you remembered you had business to attend to.

“C-Can I have my clothes back now?” you asked Bucky quietly, seeing them draped over the side of one of the logs.

“I think if you get dressed you’ll try to run again,” Steve mumbled, not even looking up at you.

“No, I won’t, I’m too tired,” you explained. “I just don’t want to be cold.”

“Fire’s hot enough,” Bucky dismissed. “Why don’t you just lay down a while, hm? Get some rest. You earned it.”

You weren’t just tired physically, but mentally, which is partly why you didn’t put up more of a fight before going over to the log and laying beside it, the blanket around you protecting you from the cold ground while you used your clothes as a sort of pillow on the log.

It couldn’t have been that you were asleep, because you could still hear the fire and the radio and Steve’s whittling (a constant reminder that he had a knife), but with your eyes closed and the darkness getting darker it was almost like sleep. A draining, restless sleep that did nothing to shelter you from the memories of what you’d become.

So, you opened your eyes, staring into the flames instead and venturing the occasional glance at Bucky or Steve; the former always met your stare, the latter would only look up if a sound got his attention.

“You gonna take a turn?” Bucky asked Steve casually, motioning to you by cocking his head.

“Not yet, need a while to... you know, build up some energy,” Steve explained.

“Mind if I have another go then?”

“She’s all yours,” Steve approved, making Bucky grin as he got up and circled the log you were slumped over.

“Y’hear that, dollface? All mine,” he cooed, picking you up and adjusting you until you were bent over the log, facing Steve and the fire. Your clothes kept your naked torso from rubbing against the bark, thankfully, but nothing could spare you from Bucky’s incessant touch, running up your back, over your butt which he spanked a few times for good measure, and finally to your entrance which he pushed two fingers into first. “Mm, we stretched you out pretty good… you’ll be back in shape by the mornin’, but until then, I just slide right in…”

And he proved himself right with one long stroke that pushed his cock to the deepest parts of you, pushing your hips forward into the log as you tried your best to keep your breathing steady.

He was uniquely quiet this time, still moaning and grunting occasionally but otherwise sparing you from the constant taunts and filthy whispers. Steve, meanwhile, was doing his best to look unaffected, but the subtle adjustment of his legs along with the increased vigor of his carving made it clear he was distracted by the sight in front of him.

Bucky’s strong hands on your hips were sure to leave marks, fingertips digging into your curves and pulling you back onto him, spearing you on his length.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he sighed, “gonna come.”

And it was actually a relief because this was going to end (for now), which was definitely the only reason you moaned in response. He got more talkative after that, smacking you on the ass a few more times as he chuckled darkly behind you.

“Fuck, take it, doll… take all my fuckin’ come.”

It was sort of a meaningless instruction, since you had to, but he seemed to enjoy reminding you that he was about to take his pleasure from your body one more time. He made a weak little moaning noise, almost pained, as he filled you once again, slumping down on top of you and for the first time really showing signs of exhaustion after coming three times in a day. You were so out of it that you hardly noticed his weight on you, or the little kisses he gave to your ear, whispering praises that tried your best not to hear.

He pulled out and came back around to look at your face again, pulling you up slightly by your hair so you looked up at him.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl,” he groaned. “Open your mouth sweetheart,” he instructed, spitting onto your tongue as soon as you’d done it, then lifting your jaw to make you close your mouth and swallow.

He tugged your hair harder before he kissed you, more possessive than affectionate, but unexpected regardless. His tongue tangled with yours as he reached down to circle his hand around your neck, feeling your pulse but not going so far as to choke you.

A little groan from Steve caught both his attention and yours. "You wanna fuck her, Stevie?"

"Oh god, I want that ass, I want that fuckin ass," he answered through his teeth, making you gulp as Bucky laughed.

"Go for it, man," he encouraged, and only a second after he stood up you both heard and felt Steve appear behind you, one calloused hand spreading your cheeks; you whimpered from embarrassment when you felt a finger circle your tight rim, before slowly pushing in.

"Fuck," you whispered, and it sounded much more like a curse of pleasure than you intended.

"Yeah, you want it don't you?" he asked through his teeth, giving you a hard spank that made you cry out. Bucky slapped you when you didn't answer, grabbing your jaw roughly.

"He asked you a question," he reminded you firmly, the sound of Steve spitting into his hand and coating your hole and his length distracting you slightly.

"Yes, yes, I want it!" you sobbed.

"Where?"

"In my ass!"

Your body put up significant resistance against his swollen head, but it was no match for his rough thrust forward, the tip of him popping inside and stretching you painfully. You bit your lip but it was impossible to stay quiet when he slid the rest of the way in.

You cried out as he moaned with satisfaction, already moving so much faster than you could handle (which, to be fair, was a low bar).

"Oh my god," he breathed. "So fuckin' tight…"

The pain was sharp, and it felt like the base of his cock was impossibly thicker than the rest of him since you whined every time he pushed in.

"Aw, does it hurt baby? That's my cock ruining your little hole, sweetheart…"

"Stop," you rasped, "please… please stop…"

"Nah, I think you like it… I think what you really needed was just to be put in your place, fucked in every hole so you know exactly what you're meant for."

Bucky appeared in front of you again, stroking himself in front of your face, still slick from behind inside you.

"See what a mess you made on my cock, dollface? I think you need to help me clean it up," he groaned, holding your jaw open to stuff his cock into your mouth and stifle your sobs. The taste of your and his come was potent and musky on your tongue, his head pushing right into your open throat when you tried to gag.

Steve held you tighter as he thrusted a bit more vigorously, Bucky simultaneously using your throat as he stroked your hair and cheek.

You couldn’t remember how to do anything but just take it now. At times their paces synchronized and you felt like you were being filled to the brim at both ends. Other times they were in a syncopation where one pushed in just as the other pulled out, meaning you had no real breaks at all.

Bucky was too weak to come again, that much was obvious, but he was happy to choke you anyways; and Steve, well, Steve was moaning more now than he had from your mouth or pussy, apparently trying to hold himself back even though he had no reason to try to prolong this— unless he actually wanted to see you in pain more than he wanted to finish?

“You want me to come in your ass?” Steve interrogated you with a spank to your thigh. “Beg for it.”

You shook your head around the length in your mouth.

“It doesn’t stop until you beg me for it, isn’t that what you want? You want it to stop, right?”

Had you really fallen into his trap that easily?

Bucky pulled back to give you the opportunity to meet Steve’s request, and you sucked in a lungful of air before finally whimpering: “Please, Steve… please come…”

“Where?” he pressed, ever-determined to make you remind him where he was fucking you.

“Please come in my ass…”

“If you say so, sweetheart,” he snickered before starting to thrust faster and more erratically, chasing his peak which you prayed was close. It was, thankfully, though never close enough, and you forgot that the swell of his pulsating cock would stretch your tired hole even wider.

And, you forgot that he had no reason to pull out just because he’d come.

“Fuck,” he groaned, “that was good.”

You tried to kick him away but it was impossible with how hard he’d pinned you down to the log.

“Just stay still and keep my cock warm in this pretty ass of yours, alright?” he instructed, all the while Bucky stared down at you with a satisfied smirk on his face, combing your hair a bit with his fingers.

“You’re tired, huh?” he noticed. “We’ll get you to bed soon.”

“Will you leave?” you instantly returned.

“We need somewhere to make camp for the night, too. And since there’s already a perfectly good camp right here…”

“No,” you whined, “no, you’re never gonna leave me alone, are you?”

“We’ll talk about it in the morning, alright?” he offered.

It was truly a testament to how physically exhausted you were that you managed to fall asleep squished between your two personal monsters.

Bucky was behind you, essentially spooning you while Steve had an arm draped over your chest. And even with the heavy weight on you, physical and metaphysical, you would’ve slept through the night easily if it weren’t for the feeling of Steve running his hands over your body, groping you wherever he could reach.

You opened your eyes but it was still pitch darkness, giving you no distraction from the physical sensations of Steve's fingers delicately grazing over your skin. Behind you, the quiet stability of Bucky’s breathing made it clear he was still asleep and unaware.

“Steve,” you whispered hoarsely.

“Shh,” he soothed below his breath, right by your ear. “He sleeps like a rock, we’re not gonna wake him up with a little fooling around.”

Amazingly enough, that wasn’t exactly what you were worried about. But you discontinued your dissent as he lightly suckled the lobe of your ear, fingers tracing abstract shapes over your hip. You heard your own breath catch, and he must have too because he smiled and nibbled on your neck.

You shivered when he started to pull you closer, laying you back to reach between your legs and toy with your overly-sensitive folds. His fingers found your clit and rubbed it in slow circles, making you writhe and jolt as shocks of pleasure shot through you.

“So sensitive,” he praised darkly, pushing against you harder. “Gettin’ wet, honey? Want you dripping before I put my cock in you.”

Bucky stirred beside you, pulling you closer in his sleep though Steve kept a strong hold on your lower half. It was nearly claustrophobic being sandwiched between them like this, made even worse when Steve adjusted your hips and you felt his cock rub against you.

“Tell me you want it,” he whispered in your ear, cradling your face in his large, rough hands.

“I— I want it,” you whispered back, biting your lip to stay quiet when he pushed in. You were still sore, but the wetness helped ease his way as he filled you to the brim, groaning softly and thrusting much more gently than you expected. It was all very relaxed, and languid, and… sleepy. It was so much easier to pretend that you wanted this when it was gentle and patient like this, when you couldn’t see his face

“You two got started without me?” Bucky interjected, making you both gasp.

"You seemed pretty busy snoring over there," Steve explained with an unamused tone. “You know, Barnes, I actually broke out of prison so I wouldn’t have to sleep in the same room as you for the rest of my life.”

“Leave if you want, Rogers, I’ll keep the girl and you can take her battery radio, ya limpdick.”

“Limpdick? Were you not here for the past twenty-four hours?”

“Yeah, I was fucking this sweet little thing while you were out there by the fire doing your arts and crafts.”

And just like that, your sweet and gentle sex was gone; Steve was determined to claim you now, fucking you harder and faster until you couldn’t hold back your broken moans. "Yeah, you like that?" he growled against your ear. "You like gettin' fucked? Say it."

"Y-yes, I like it," you gasped.

"We're gonna be on the run for a while…" Bucky mumbled against your skin as he kissed your shoulder, "sure wouldn't mind takin' you with us, keeping our own little pet to fuck whenever we want."

You tried not to stop breathing entirely when he said that, distracted by Steve slowing down slightly, offering some reprieve.

"Been so long without touchin' a woman," Steve added huskily, "I don't know if one day is enough."

"Yeah, plus we've already got you obedient, trained, fucked braindead and full of come," Bucky replied, biting down on your skin to make you whimper and he chuckled happily.

"Are you sure you can share, Barnes?" Steve pressed. "I know if you had it your way she'd be ripped to shreds by now."

"Whatever man, you're the one who tore her ass up."

Steve scoffed slightly, while Bucky continued.

"You wanna come with us sweetheart? We'll be real good to you, keep your holes wet and full for a couple months straight at least. You won't have to worry about a thing, won't have to lift a finger, just keep your legs spread and you'll be peachy."

"Hey, that's what we'll call you: Peach," Steve decided. "It's perfect, isn't it? 'Cause you're sweet… and soft… and I could just eat you up," he purred.

"Wanna be our girl, Peach?" Bucky prompted.

"No, please…"

You expected anger, you expected them to hurt you, but you didn't expect them to laugh. "Looks like our sweet little Peach hasn't had a chance to realize how good it's gonna be with us," Steve announced.

"Yeah, let's show her how much she wants to be our girl," Bucky snickered, holding your hips as Steve started to move inside you again.

Bucky, meanwhile, was grabbing handfuls of your ass and groaning as he rubbed his cock against you. One finger explored your rim and slowly pushed in.

"Looks like you're still a little loosened up from when Stevie here gave it to you, huh? He was real mean, wasn't he?"

You nodded, clutching harder into Steve's chest as he fucked you faster.

"Then taking me should be a breeze."

Truly, you had no idea how this was possible. I'm the dark it all felt like a fever dream, but when Bucky pushed into your available opening while Steve was still fucking you… it was definitely real, the feeling was too overwhelming not to be.

'A breeze' was definitely an exaggeration but it was undeniably easier, especially since being half-asleep made your body so much more relaxed. You still hissed when Bucky's hips met your ass, you still choked on a breath at the feeling of two cocks buried all the way inside you, but it wasn't from pain as much as being full beyond your wildest dreams

"You were right about this ass, Rogers, goddamn…" Bucky moaned, holding your hips tight and beginning to thrust.

"Fuck, can hardly believe you're takin' both of us," Steve sighed against your ear. "I know you love it, Peach, I know you love bein' so full…"

Your lips fumbled with the desire to moan a name but not sure whose to say; so instead you just babbled mindlessly, sounded just as dumbfounded as you felt.

But they weren't having any problems speaking, in fact they were more talkative than ever, each whispering in a different ear and making shivers crawl up your spine with every word.

"You're making us feel so good, such a good girl, aren't you Peachy baby?"

"Such a perfect fucking whore, so wet already just from being used."

"Want us to come inside, huh Peach? Wanna be full of come?”

Each time you arched your back, it only somehow pushed them both deeper, so deep you couldn’t think about anything else anymore. Bucky was moving at a much slower pace than Steve, such that they would only occasionally thrust all the way in at exactly the same time— and when they did, you heard yourself moan but refused to believe it was you making the sound because it sounded nothing like you, it didn’t even seem like something you would do; enjoying this that much, that is.

“You’re close, huh? Gonna come for both of us?”

You found yourself nodding, even though they couldn’t see it, but Bucky must have felt it against his shoulder because he laughed a little, grabbing your face and turning you back to kiss you hungrily. When he moved his kiss down to the back of your neck, Steve captured your lips instead, less dominating than Bucky’s but no less intense. The moan that undeniably signalled your orgasm was nearly lost against Steve’s tongue, but they both heard it and began to pump into you faster, keeping you suspended in your pleasure.

Steve lost it first, spilling into you with a choked groan and a tight grip on your arms that was sure to bruise. Bucky was close behind, panting with each hurried thrust until he finally moaned and filled your ass with ropes of hot come, a sensation you never could’ve imagined, let alone predicted you would experience twice in one day.

Bucky rubbed your thighs while he caught his breath while Steve peppered your face in tender kisses, both of them showering you in affection you had no idea how to handle.

“Whaddaya say, dollface?” Bucky prompted as he kissed just beneath your ear. “Y’like bein’ our little Peach, don’t you?”

You stammered over a few different responses, none of them very good, until Steve finally instructed you: “say yes.”

“Yes,” you repeated instantly.

“I can tell you do, you soaked my cock real good,” Steve praised with a grin you could feel against your cheek and hear in his gravelly voice. “We’ll head out in the morning, alright? Soon we’ll be somewhere where nobody knows who we are, what we’ve done… doesn’t that sound nice, Peach? A chance to start over?”

A fresh start never hurt anyone, right?

Months on the run made the night all blend together, you didn’t even know what state you were in anymore and you couldn’t find the energy to care.

It was definitely harder to hitchhike with three people, and a disturbing amount of truckers offered to take you alone but not your companions— and obviously they would never allow such a thing. At this point, you were better off with the devils you knew, anyways. At least with them you knew what to expect.

Specifically, you could expect Steve to be aloof and brooding until he occasionally snapped and became possessive over you again, asserting his dominance over you and Bucky however he could manage— usually by covering your body in his marks and every once in a while by covering your face with his come. You could expect Bucky to taunt and mock you, cornering you into consenting to his relentless barrage of pleasure and pain, over and over again watching you struggle to maintain your sense of denial and disgust, reminding you that you loved being fucked just how he wanted.

In fact, today was a pretty typical day while the three of you crashed in a motel, Steve staying silent and distant while Bucky kissed his way down your stomach that rose and fell shakily with each breath.

“Bucky, p-please,” you whispered, closing your eyes so you could more easily pretend it wasn’t you begging him for more.

"What's that, Peach? Want me to lick up your juice?" he grinned.

You shuddered and he chuckled as he knelt down between your legs to give a long, slow lick over your sex. Your entire body jolted when his rough tongue slid over your swollen clit, so he focused there until your legs were quivering and your head fell back.

"Mm, so sweet…” he cooed. “Come getta taste a’this, Steve.”

“I’m busy,” Steve refused, turning the page of his newspaper.

“Are you fuckin’ serious?” Bucky sighed, standing up straighter and leaving your pussy ignored; you whined a little, but it fell on deaf ears. “I’d love to see what you’re reading that could possibly be more interesting than this.”

“There’s an article about us,” Steve answered sternly, looking up from the paper to meet Bucky’s gaze, before glancing to look at you. “All three of us.”

Bucky huffed and stood up, leaving you naked on the bed as he crossed the room to tear the paper from Steve’s hands. His eyes scanned the page until he landed on the part Steve must have been referring to. “Holy shit,” he breathed. “Look, Peach, you made the papers!”

He brought over the article for you to read, and you sat up straighter when you saw that a photo of yourself had been included alongside the mugshots of Steve and Bucky.

Two escaped prisoners, one missing woman, spotted in woods near Schenectady, NY...

“When is this from?” you asked nervously.

“The paper’s from today, but we were in Schenectady two weeks ago,” Steve explained. “They aren’t anywhere near us.”

It brought back memories of TV broadcasts you’d seen in hotels, radio news Steve had turned off before you heard too much. Phrases like ‘statewide manhunt,’ ‘federal investigation,’ and ‘trafficked woman,’ which had once been foreign to you, now represented your deepest anxieties.

Bucky saw the fear on your face and knelt down on the bed beside you, stroking your face gently. “Aw, Peach, don’t be scared… they’re not gonna find us, I promise.”

“If they did… what would happen to me?” you asked weakly. You truly had no idea if you’d be returned home and treated as the victim of a crime, or if you’d be arrested and charged as a perpetrator, as a collaborator who aided in the escape and continued flee of two violent criminals. They’d already gotten you in on a few robberies, even one bank— could you defend yourself by saying that you were forced to do it?

“Nobody’s gonna take you away from us,” Bucky assured sternly, not quite answering your question but making it clear that was all you were gonna get. You reached up to rest your hand atop his where it held your cheek, letting your watery eyes fall shut before you looked back up into his enrapturing gaze again.

“Kiss me, Bucky, please,” you whispered, making him laugh and shake his head.

“No, Peachy, I would but I know where that mouth has been. Steve woke you up in the middle of the night to choke on his cock, thought I wouldn’t hear, huh?”

You gasped a little and Steve crossed his arms where he sat in the chair. Bucky turned his attention back to Steve with a look of challenge on his face. “She’s scared, Stevie, won’t you come over here and make her feel better?”

Steve sighed but relented and stood up, crossing the room to stand beside the bed and stare down at you. For a moment you didn’t know what he intended to do, until he knelt down and grabbed your hips, pulled your spread legs closer to the edge of the bed where he latched his lips onto your slick and swollen folds.

“Oh god,” you moaned, reaching down to tangle your fingers into his hair, his tongue pushing inside you right away, twisting and thrusting and licking right over your g-spot until your eyes rolled back in your head and your back arched up off the faded quilt. Bucky grinned as he watched you, leaning down to kiss your neck, then suckle on a hardened nipple, then lick over your hips until finally he bit down on the inside of your thigh. You yelped a little and felt him smile against your delicate skin.

“I told you we’d take care of you, babydoll,” he mumbled, voice all deep and throaty like it got when he was about to spend an hour reminding you who you belonged to.

Sometimes you dreamed of the life you had before this, of the person you were when you only belonged to yourself, but that life was gone forever and it wasn’t coming back. Each day you mourned it in a different way. At first it was just the loss of dignity, then it was the loss at any chance of gaining that dignity back. You missed your friends and family, but you realized they wouldn’t welcome you back with open arms after this long.

You realized it was well and truly over the first time a man on the news called you an accomplice to the ‘rampant crime spree’ of Bucky and Steve. Just a few weeks later, the stories changed from two prisoners and their kidnapping victim, to three prisoners. And yes, you were a prisoner, but the police didn’t see a difference between you and them anymore. You had no reason to run, no motive for escape. They were the only thing keeping you alive and free now, even if this freedom wasn’t exactly overflowing with liberties.

So, you accepted as quickly as you could that this was your new life; every morning you banished the memories of who you used to be, and every night you prayed that your lovers wouldn’t be caught. And it wasn’t so bad of a life to have, even if it wasn’t the life you would’ve chosen for yourself— there was something nice about it, really, never very calm but still having its moments of peace and domesticity. Like falling asleep in the backseat of a stolen truck while Steve played blues on the radio. Like sitting in Bucky’s lap as he told you all about the beautiful tropical islands they’d take you to someday. Like when Steve robbed a jewelry store and told you he’d picked that one because they had the ring he’d seen in a magazine ad, the ring he decided he wanted you to wear from now on. Like being Mrs. Barnes when Bucky introduced you to his criminal connections, and being Mrs. Rogers when Steve did the same the next night.

Maybe you’d forgotten how to be anything else but their sweet, quiet, obedient Peach, but maybe it wasn’t such a bad wrap after all.

#dark!stucky x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark!stucky noncon #dark!stucky smut #dark!stucky au

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colossal-fallout · 3 years

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Introducing *New* Safe & Secure A series of the sweetest, tooth-rotting fluff of your favorite characters for when you just need a pick me up. Gender Neutral.

Opening up this new series will be Pieck Finger

No warnings, except I am in a lot of pain writing this so it won't be the best. Hope you enjoy!

Safe & Secure softs ~ Pieck Finger

It's just exhausting, isn't it?

Sometimes just existing feels like an uphill battle, one that you're almost certain you're about to lose. Sometimes life just seems to throw one thing after another at you; you duck, weave and deflect but there's only so much you can take before you crumble. Beaten, worn and ready to just give up.

Jack and Jill went up the hill...

Your mind swirls with this noisy mess of thoughts, the pressure in your chest building higher and higher until you feel it swell at your eyes, salted water threatening to pour. Your breath hitches, the anxiety cruelly tugging at your lungs as if encouraging you to just let go, let it out and allow it to win.

Just give in.

Your eyes clasp closed tightly. Squeezing a few overflowing tears down your face silently. You want to just sleep - sleep for a long time. Hibernate from the cruel and relentless winter that is battering your life right now. Maybe, just maybe, you'll wake up to a spring.

Your blurred eyes fly open when you feel a soft kiss being pressed against your forehead. Eyes focusing and with a wipe, you see the two deep chocolate pools of Pieck's eyes gazing down lovingly at you. Amidst your anguish, you hadn't even heard her enter your room through the door that was ajar. Her feet softly padding across the carpet as she leans over your sobbing form upon your bed. Her kisses are always so gentle. Delicate and pure, Pieck sometimes didn't seem to be of this earth. Her ivory skin contrasted beautifully against her obsidian hair that spilled down and around you as she leans. Two warm hands running their slender fingers across your scalp.

"Hey. I'm here."

She whispers so quietly, it's almost inaudible.

"Tell me what's going on."

You hadn't seen her all day, she'd been working. You'd been bottling things up for so long you weren't exactly sure how you'd open this without spilling a venomous foam, melting down in front of your love.

But Pieck's calming aura made it so easy. She's soothing your wounds just by being present. The gentle touches, the soft voice... it's like sinking into a warm bath whenever she's around. So, you begin to spill. She listens, humming now and again with confirmation she's hearing you and taking it all in.

Once you're finished, she places another peck upon your crown; a crown that she always readjusts above your head with pride. You're her royalty. She adores you in every way, even your flaws make you perfect to her. A broken, yet beautiful vase she's slowly putting back together, piece by piece all with love and patience.

Jack fell down and broke his crown - but she came and fixed it.

She pulls you up to embrace you from behind. Her arms slither around you like the complex roots of a tree, grounding you back to reality. The reality of, life is hard a lot of the time. You must focus on the good, what you do have. Or else... well, you'll go insane. Pieck was defiantly one of those good things as she slowly rocks you, her soft face resting on your shoulder, cheek to cheek. Her hand rests on your chest, humming happily as she feels your heartbeat drumming.

"I'm just happy you're alive and well and with me." She mutters, reminding you to focus on the beautiful things on this cruel planet.

"I'll always be here for you, y/n. We'll get through this. Together."

#peick finger #snk imagines #attack on titan #snk #snk fandom #attack on titan x you #snk season 4 #pieck fluff #pieck x reader #snk fluff

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kim-monsterlings · 4 years

Text

Kaan - M Naga x F Human (Reader) // NSFW

The pictures do not belong to me. I only created the mood board. Do not repost my work anywhere.

Content: NSFW/Lemon; back again with mentions of fae deals, fluff, intimacy (nuzzling for warmth, cuddling), brief kissing, receiving oral (+ forked tongue), orgasm denial, ingested venom/aphrodisiac (consensual), penetrative sex + handjob (he’s a naga... so, double)

Wordcount: 3408

“Tropemas” Summary: while caring for the naga in hibernation, snowfall worsens overnight, leaving you stranded in his cave

Notes: TROPEMAS!! #1, the beautiful cliché of being trapped in together during a snowstorm!

Masterlist // “Tropemas” Masterlist

Snowfall came too early this year; weeks too early, before the scarves and blankets were finished and berries picked. No honey was ready yet to trade with the fae for their blessed fruits so on a foolish promise - really, you ought to have known better than to trust fae, no matter how long you'd traded with them - you swore to return with a trade worthy of their trust as you rushed into the already snow-laden woods.

The two hours wasted trekking up steep slopes and struggling against growing branches snagging on your thinning, woollen layers wasn't a favourable way to spend your time, definitely not in wintertime. Though the journey was horrendous, weighed down by a heavy bag of half-finished gifts and a hamper of logs and food, the cave peeking out of the cliffs warmed you against imminent frostbite.

Hibernation hadn't come yet, if the large boulder propped against the cave entrance was any indication. Dim flames warmed the inner cave as you struggled to roll the rock back, where it would be sealed once his season of hibernation really began.

It was so dark the sprawled coils nearly tripped you. Whiter than the dirtied snow falling slowly beyond the cliff, the white naga laid well outside of his nest of old furs and blankets; most gifted from you. His scales reflected the odd amber of fire, tinting long, wispy hair against his pillow.

Only one thing would wake him. Kaan had learned to ignore your voice - with practice, he liked to tease - and the debt to the fae and their blessed garden was worth it when you held out the plump berry in your fingertips. Already the juices dribbled, so sweet in the middle of winter, and the temptation to eat it yourself itched at the back of your mind.

The naga's dusk nose twitched before a forked tongue flicked out to scent the air. His warm lips kissed the juices away, the berry savoured. Kaan groaned, both thick from sleep and delight. “I love fae food," he whispered, and at your laugh, peeked his eyes open. "Only one?"

"More when you say hi."

"Hi," he yawned. Long arms stretched overhead and the naga curled nearer, his head almost on your lap. "Feed me, morsel."

"Morsel," you scoffed. Kaan whined when you stood and ate a fae-blessed berry, the sugars and juices tingling through you. "How are you doing?"

"Apart from missing you?" The glare you gave earned a bright laugh. His teasing never ceased and it did nothing to help the flutter in your chest. He only missed your gifts. "I'm cold. Will you light the fire again? What did you bring me?"

Though you grumbled, his keen eyes already found the logs piled in wait of being lit. Kaan moved out from the bundled nest to the hamper. His arm reached, and a sharp hiss made you both freeze when you smacked him back.

The plea and apology jumbled together as you choked on a laugh. Crouched before the dim fire pit, sparks caught light as a heavy head nestled against your thighs. Kaan groaned and wound his arms to your hips, nuzzling against you.

"Sssso warm," he whispered, and scrunched his face when the lisp elongated. "I missed you."

Soft cracks of the fire warmed the cave. His hair felt silken when you ran your fingers back through it. "I missed you, too."

He hummed, "good. Tell me what you brought me."

The gradual slowing of his breathing came when you spoke. You used to take offence to it, when Kaan began to hug you close and his heart slowed, but now as he draped his heavy tail closer around your bodies, you understood it to be a sign of his trust.

Nobody else would be here- could be here while he neared hibernation. Kaan reluctantly stirred when you pressed a berry to his lips with a whispered groan of your name when you teased and ate one instead. His lips pressed to your fingertips before your cheek, and he fell into the furs you threw back over him.

Beneath the cave, down a tricky slope in near darkness, you washed grime off your body in a freezing, rushing stream. So narrow and fast that you never dared inch too close, only retrieving fresh water and helping stock it for Kaan when he woke.

It was your practice for too long now. Always helping, always returning to his side to wake him, to welcome the lips on your temple as he relied on your body heat in colder nights. You wouldn't change a thing... not many things. The worst part of coming was knowing the same evening you would leave for the season, and return in no time passed for Kaan, but days of a life passed, wasted, pining for the naga asleep in a cave.

He woke with a small yawn and a nudge of his tail to your hip. Without looking up from the fire you stoked, you ran your fingertips to the white and silver scales. "You know, I think you take me for granted."

Kaan frowned. The anticipated retort hadn't come, and the naga instead slid closer. His cool arms curled back to your waist like he’d never parted and settled you on his wide lap. "Would you want me to visit your village as often as you visit me? I could. I would, to see you," he hummed, and his smile grew against your shoulder when you scowled. "I may even end up on a spike. Or be made an accessory… I am pretty enough. You could always keep me close-"

"At least you'd be quiet."

"How rude," he muttered. His chin rested heavy on your shoulder. In the passing seconds, his cheek nuzzled closer, lips soft brushing the shell of your ear. If he scented the air, you dreaded what would be found. "Nearly done with the fire?" He - from practice, knew to dodge your elbow, grinning and squeezing you close. "I need to rest. Will you be gone?"

"I'll be back in a month," you said, but his arms tightened at your words. It hurt. To come all this way only to leave again, empty handed and heavy-hearted. "It'll pass quickly for you. Go, rest."

His tongue flicked at your cheek before he wriggled and curled in his nest. Neither of you mentioned the tip of his tail gently curled to your ankle. "Don't eat all my berries."

Left huddling before the growing flames, it was only the ache weighing on your shoulders keeping you from leaving. That, and the softening of scales as reluctant as you to part. Perhaps a little that beyond the cave, the wind lashed and even standing - gently stepped from the coils slowly winding to your knees - and pausing at the entrance, the harsh chill struck you.

It was dark. The only light came from the fire grown at your back illuminating the cave, bathing Kaan is a soft glow.

One peek from the boulder at the entrance and your stomach fell. Too dark for you, too dangerous with ice coating the path and frost in the air, and any torch carried would extinguish on first step outside.

He woke from a light sleep with a groan like he had before, but once he'd stolen the fae fruit, his eyes fluttered shut again. Only after snatching a blanket - one you had spent hours on, were his eyes lifting to yours.

"Kaan, I'm staying the night."

With a soft stare, fatigued and barely resisting the tug of hibernation, the bundled naga crooked a smile. "Missed me that much already?"

"It's too dark for me to get home." The soft glow of his eyes and his frown reminded you that unlike humans, the naga was adapted to dim caves and night-darkened forests. Unable to look him in the eye, you pretended to search for somewhere to lay. "Not all nagas are as soft-hearted towards humans."

"Not humans." His arms reached out to you from the nest. "Just you. The cost of your stay is to cuddle me. Keep me warm."

The thick boots laced at your ankles landed with a thud even as you frowned. "But you're cold."

"So warm me up."

The chill of his arms made you gasp, but Kaan chuckled and tucked you even tighter. His nest was set in a dip of stone, cushioned by furs and blankets and old clothes, some yours that had somehow been “lost,” and laying on something warmed by the time Kaan had been curled here settled the nerves in your stomach.

The race of your heart lurched as the naga dragged his jaw against your crown, embracing you to his warming body. Bare chested as he was, your fingertips curled above his calming heartbeat and already, he was breathing slower.

Sleep evaded you with the steady tucking of cool scales against your legs. Kaan gripped you to him tighter, coming to clutch you to his chest, and sometime sleep came, when your ear was to his heart and his fingers tangled in your hair, pressing you there.

Without any light to wake you, it was the chill of a fire dying rousing you, and you woke much as you had fallen asleep; warmed in the softest hug, lips hovering to your forehead. There wasn't anywhere you would rather be; it would've been perfect, if the fire hadn't died.

Kaan's soft breaths nuzzled against your crown. He had woken only moments ago with you, but he was quick to draw you back when you readied to move, burying you beneath furs and his coils. He seemed as reluctant as you to leave, so you tucked into his chest, content to listen to the slow beat of his heart. It nearly soothed you back to sleep; the soft pace of like a lullaby.

Words thickened by lethargy, Kaan mumbled against your temple, "why is it only you come in winter?"

"Don't you want me to?"

"That wasn't the question."

Palm flat on his taut stomach, you watched the muscle tense beneath your touch, reluctant to even whisper, "I care about you."

"That would be why you spent the night wriggling closer then," Kaan teased, pressing his nose into your hair with a chuckle, even as you gasped and strained against him.

"I was wriggling because your coils tighten in your sleep! Don't blame me, you heat-hog! That tail-"

"Oh, this one?"

Scales rubbing together rasped like the soft burn of a fire now lost. Kaan weaved them against you until you were pressed flush, able to watch him bite back a grin when you grumbled, "you just want me close for heat."

"Mm. Speaking of heat," he breathed, and if he heard your heart spasm, he didn't show it. Kaan's palm stroked against the curve of your throat, thumb stroking where your collarbones dipped. "You ought to be careful about caring for me. It almost feels like courtship, and we wouldn't want me to fall into a mating rut, would we?"

The gentleness brushed where your neckline fell loose on your chest. His eyelids fell to where he traced the heat rushing to his touch, and the silence only dragged on. His chest rose on a deep breath, one caught in his throat as he whispered, "right?"

"Kaan…"

Hand framing your jaw, the naga swallowed hard, voice rasping. "Would we?"

"I," you shuddered at his forehead coming to yours, his lips only a mere breath away. "I wouldn't mind if you wanted to… to-"

"To mate you."

"To mate me," you echoed. "I wouldn't mind being your mate."

For a fleeting breath, Kaan laid against you, into you. Thick tail nudged to your hips and his lips were so warm where he was elsewhere cold. The affection you ached for flooded you down to your curling toes, but it was fleeting. Kaan unwound himself. He recoiled to the deepest corner of his nest, head tucked low, away from you.

"Go," he croaked. Kaan's claws bit into the cave beneath him; he had never been so small in your presence. "Go, please."

There was no arguing with the tremor in his plea, nor with the agony creeping into his face, the same you fought to hide deep in your chest. Only the words whispered in the back of your mind forced you from his nest, cold now without him beside you. He didn't want you, the voice hissed. He doesn't want you. The promise of a mate tempted him.

He wouldn't be fighting it so hard if that were true. Fighting for you.

Boots heavy on your dragging feet brought you to the mouth of the cave, but no further. The forests beyond remained hidden. Even the grip on the snow boots didn’t ground you when the unyielding stone forced you back from the force of your struggle.

"Kaan…"

"I can't," he mumbled. "If you stay, if-if-"

"The cave entrance is snowed over. The stones are frozen together and we're," you winced. "We're snowed in together, Kaan."

Hardly audible above the storm binding you to the cave, Kaan whispered, "no. No, you're just-you must be weak."

"I'm not weak, Kaan." Weaker than him, yes, but not weak. "If I was weak, I wouldn't make it to you through those woods."

"No… No, I didn't-" his gulp was audible. "May I try?"

Nothing stopped him from trying, but you. Kaan tucked himself round the cave wall and only met your eyes when you stepped back. Sharp guilt rose to tighten and bind your throat.

The rock didn't budge. Not with his body coiling tight and shoving harder, succeeding only to bruise himself.

You were locked together. Trapped.

Kaan's soft voice carried like the wind. Curled into the coldest crack of the entrance, it brushed so gently, quietly, you almost missed it. "Tell me you meant it." Though turned away still, the tip of his tail didn't miss when he reached, winding against your leg. "Tell me again."

"Kaan-"

"Don't come closssser if you didn't," he whispered.

The single step broke him. His tail swept you back but he caught you, the furs your cushions when he laid you down. Kaan framed your cheeks and nudged his nose to yours.

"Tell me before this goes any further," he said, his long eyelashes fluttering by yours. Even as he spoke, the claws of his fingertips traced beneath your thick layers, creeping up your stomach to brush your chest. "Tell me."

"Kaan, I want you to be my mate. I want to be yours."

The gentlest kisses faltered where your chest rose with shallow breaths. Together, the layers fell away, goosebumps and shivers blossoming beneath the cold air, beneath the softening, heated stare running low, lower to your hips struggling to lift beneath the weight of his.

On a warm laugh, Kaan rose up and helped you kick the rest free. Both laying bare, warm and close, your hands travelled the muscle of his chest - only for you to gasp.

The naga grinned, cheeks nestled to your thighs. One hiss made you whimper, forked tongue flicking up, a mere brush. "Kaan-"

"Yes?"

"Don't tease," you whispered, but the warming of his eyes promised nothing less than torture. His tongue slid from his lips reminiscent of how he tasted the fae food, and he tasted you with the same reverence, the same guttural groan as the tip flicked up your folds to brush your flushing bud. "Kaan," you gasped, and the naga only laughed deeper.

"Did you think I wouldn't savour you?"

"Savour-“ you choked. Morsel. “Kaan, I am not a meal-"

"You are," he murmured, and with his hands gripping your thighs, he dragged you from the nest and against his lips.

The cave rang with your hoarse cries and hollow breaths. So sensitive already, the tips of his tongue falling low sent a wave of fire through you. Kaan groaned with your heels digging hard into his back to beckon him close, but he never wasted a second, never wasted a breath that could be better spent pleasuring you.

He pleasured you too well. With a soft whisper unheard over the blood rushing in your ears, Kaan pressed a warm hand to your navel and held you down, the thick muscle slipping into your hips and- oh, you cried, the tip dragging slowly to the nerves tender and tightening.

The cave was dark enough, but only blurred spots danced in your vision. Your legs trembled. Kaan curled his tongue and dragged up, and you arched, bucked, overcome with a rush of-

Nothing.

"That… that was cruel," you struggled to say, shaking still as the crescendo began to ebb away and the offender grinned. His open mouthed kisses rose from your navel and up, pausing to press sharp teeth to your nipple until you sunk heavy again. "I won't... I won't beg."

"I think not. It will be me begging for you," he said to your lips. Thick on his tongue, Kaan kissed you deeper, cradling your crown as a weight nestled between your hips. His lips rose when you whined and spread your thighs wider, welcoming the thick, twin lengths heavy on your stomach. "And beg I will," he breathed, and two crooked fingers inched into you. "I want to make love to you, now. Please. Please," he whispered, fingertips where his tongue had been and teasing whines freely from you.

"I need you. I-"

Kaan's lips parted on bringing his slick fingers to his lips, and in parting them, you saw the swollen fangs, slick like his fingers as he sucked you from them. The gentlest warmth of his head running from your clit down stole your focus with ease, your eyes rolling and hips following, leaning up to align with his cock pressing down.

"Ready?" Kaan pressed his thumb to your lower lip, flushed and swollen, parted as you struggled for breath. Your muscles tightened at the steady rub of him to your centre, and you nodded. "Lips open, my mate."

"For… for the venom?"

"If you'd rather not," he rushed, and though you loved his need to reassure you, the pull of his body away twisted your stomach so you dug your heels into him and tensed. His cock entered you so slowly you nearly came, and when he stroked down your cheek to bring your eyes to his, the warmth there coaxed you back to that precipice. "Do you want it?"

The answer was yes to all he had, and you begged as much. Kaan chuckled and the rumbling met your lips. With the first tang of venom on your tongue, the naga rocked himself forward and his cock filled you, thick and curved and hot like his tongue meeting yours, blackened by the aphrodisiac tightening your chest.

It eased the slight burn in a breath and you nodded once, dragging your mate closer and reaching low to stroke the cock heavy on your stomach. Kaan shuddered and his body stiffened, a whimper passing you both.

Then he moved.

He moved and your body was aflame. The pleasure endless in your nerves arched your chest, Kaan nuzzling down to take your flushed nipples into his lips in turn and nip, suck, kiss, thrusting in time with your stuttered gasps.

Beyond the cave, wind howled; nothing like Kaan's deepened groans, his claws dipping into your thighs where he pushed you back and sunk deeper at this angle. Venom coated his lips. It coated yours, tingling in your throat, thoughts and stomach, until your breath caught.

He felt it, too. Kaan's forehead rested to yours as he rocked slower, deeper, and into your fist. With a bitten back smile, you squeezed your fingers and ran low to tease the slick dip in his scales, the slit, and the naga bellowed a harsh cry. He came deep, hot and strong and along your stomach, Kaan stealing your matching pleasure with a fevered kiss.

Neither of you felt sated. The venom still pulsed strong and hibernation was long forgotten, a mating rut stirred and his cocks stiff against you. Kaan cradled you on his lap as you sought to be closer, aching to take him again until you couldn't any longer.

Until the snow melted, you would wait in your naga's arms, feasting on sweet fae berries and his kisses.

#exophilia #monster boyfriend #exophilia writing #naga boyfriend #naga x human #naga x reader #monster x human #monster x reader #kim-monsterlings writing #kim monsterlings #Kaan the naga #tropemas #exomas #christmas challenge #snowed in #trapped together #fluff #tropes

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