#I should draw trunks more...

[smallsatyrz]

did the trend :D

[template]

[okanra]

The whole “Trunks and Goten in High school AU” webcomic is being soft-rebooting, more properly this time and not just a “fan art stuff”. This is more like an adaptation for an art assignment now, which is really nostalgic for me.

This webcomic series’s name is “The UNSPOKEN” anyway, it’s much shorter than its original name and much more concise ✌️

[steddieas-shegoes]

the perfect pair (of tits)

for @vecnuthy

Happy birthday Vec!!!! I genuinely lost track of my days so have this extremely silly and rushed fic that I wrote this afternoon/evening! Brought to you by the images shared of Joe Keery at the beach, tits out. I hope you’ve had a lovely day and can’t wait to see you at the Djour ♥️

rated e, 18+, minors dni | 1903 words | cw: unsafe piercing practice | tags: friends to lovers, getting together, chest hair, nipple licking, biting, coming in pants, coming untouched

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

“He’s got the perfect nipples, you know?” Eddie laments.

“Uh…no?” Robin replies.

She’s looking at him like he’s a pervert. Maybe he is. He’s definitely horny.

“I should take him to get them pierced,” he resolved. He stands to offer it, but Robin shoves him back into his seat. “What? He’d totally do it.”

“You’re drooling,” Robin says in response. “I can’t possibly listen to you say even nastier things about him if he gets a nipple pierced.”

“Not a nipple. Nipples, plural. Since he has both of his.”

Steve gets out of the pool and Eddie watches water drip down his hairy chest, down his even hairier legs, onto the pavement below. He wishes he could lay under him, between his legs, maybe he could lick the water from behind his knee or something. He’s had dreams of licking sweat off of him, but this might be the next best thing.

“Jesus,” Robin groans. “Did you hear me?”

“Obviously, I did not.”

“Hopeless. Disgusting and hopeless.”

“We should probably head in. Looks like a storm’s coming in,” Steve says as he drips water onto the chair Eddie’s sitting in.

Eddie slides his leg closer, sighs when a few drops fall on his knee. He’s too busy looking up at Steve to notice that there are some small drops of rain falling on the pavement a few feet away.

“I call the big shower,” Robin jumps up and rushes into the house. “See ya!”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling fondly as she races inside. After the sliding door closes, he looks back down at Eddie. He reaches a hand out.

“You wanna head in?” He asks.

“Sure,” Eddie says, taking his hand. He feels like a damsel in distress, a princess being led to her wedding chamber. “Lead the way, my prince.”

Steve’s neck is red and Eddie can’t look away. The rain gets heavier and he hears thunder rolling in the distance. He doesn’t remember the weatherman saying they were expecting rain today, but they’re never right anyway.

He kinda wants to stay out here, let the rain soak them both through. Steve’s already wet, and Eddie hasn’t completely dried off from his dip in the pool. It might be kinda fun.

But where there’s thunder, there’s lightning, and Steve’s a bit of a stickler for safety. It wouldn’t be smart to stay out in a storm.

“You ever thought about getting a piercing?” Eddie’s dumb mouth asks as soon as they’re inside. Steve’s toweling off his hair, sending more water droplets to the floor of his kitchen and Eddie’s body.

“Like what? Like what Hargrove had in his ear?” Steve starts to towel off his chest and Eddie can’t stop staring. God, he just keeps drawing attention to his perfect, stupid, hairy chest.

“No. Or, I guess, if you’d like that. I meant a body one,” Eddie manages to explain while his brain melts out of his eyes. “Not ears.”

“Oh, like a belly button ring?” Steve pokes at his bellybutton, pinches skin together like he’s imagining a piercing there.

Eddie’s going to have an aneurysm.

“Sure. Or your nipples.”

Steve looks up at him, brows drawn together. Clearly he hasn’t considered that. He is now, though.

He doesn’t break eye contact with Eddie as he brings his fingers up to one of his nipples, pinches it, then nods.

“Yeah, I guess I could see it,” he says, nonchalant.

Eddie feels as chalant as a person can. He’s going to pass out from lack of oxygen in his lungs and blood in his brain. His dick is rock hard in his borrowed swim trunks.

“You could?” Eddie squeaks.

“Yeah, man,” Steve pinches his other nipple, lets out a gasp. “I think having a hole in my body that I chose to be there would be kinda like therapy. Plus, I could get a shiny ring and it would look cool.”

“Yeah,” Eddie chokes out. “It would look super cool.”

Steve rubs at his own nipple, then his hand drops. “You know someone who could do them?”

Eddie’s still staring at his chest, unable to look away.

The hairs on his chest are dark, still wet. His nipples are hardened from his pinching and the air conditioning being turned much too low for their post-swim activities. Eddie wants to bite them.

“I mean, I could probably do them,” he offers.

He should not have said that. He has only ever done two piercings. One was his own nipple and he was high out of his mind when he did it, and the other was Frankie’s lip, which he ended up hating and taking out two days later. He has no training.

Also, he’s so in love with Steve, there’s no way he could focus on doing it right.

“Dude, really?” Steve’s eyes light up. “That would be sick.”

“Yeah. Sick.” Eddie steps closer. “But it does hurt a lot more than just a pinch.”

“Like how much more?” Steve steps closer.

“More like a bite.”

What is he doing? He’s standing so close to Steve, his shirt is almost brushing against his wet body, and there is no way Eddie can handle that.

“Like the bats?” Steve’s face falls.

“No!” Eddie rushes to explain. “Not like that. Like a person!”

Now, Steve just looks confused.

“No one’s ever bitten my nipples,” he says, and he sounds heartbroken. He looks heartbroken. “Or done much at all with them.”

Eddie’s hand flies up to his chest, rests against his heartbeat. What is he doing?

Steve looks down at where he’s touching him, then back up at his face. “Eddie?”

“Sorry!” Eddie’s hand drops, but Steve shakes his head. “What?”

“Show me what it’ll feel like.”

Eddie must’ve passed out earlier, hit his head on the floor. There’s no way he’s conscious. This is straight out of his fantasies.

“I…what?” He wouldn’t fumble this hard in a fantasy. He’s always so smooth, so charming in his dreams. “You want me to…”

“Bite them.”

Eddie nods, but still doesn’t understand.

“Right, right. With my teeth?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “How else would you bite them?”

Eddie doesn’t think Steve knows about nipple clamps. It’s probably for the best.

“Right. I’ll just…do that.”

He leans down and figures while he’s here, he might as well lick them, too. Just to get Steve ready for his fucking teeth.

They both let out moans when Eddie’s tongue connects with Steve’s nipple, circling the pointed bud a few times before he sucks it into his mouth. Steve nearly falls, but Eddie’s arm wraps around his waist and holds him up.

“Shit,” Steve whispers.

Eddie looks up. He’s red-faced, biting his lip, one hand tangled in his own hair.

“I can-“

“Don’t you dare stop.”

“Okay,” Eddie says as he lets out a breath.

He still thinks he’s dreaming, being this up close and personal with Steve’s chest.

He’s gentle when he takes him between his teeth, not applying much pressure, just keeping him there. Steve’s holding his breath, and Eddie swears he can hear his heart beating in his chest.

When he bites down, Steve whines so loud, he’s sure Robin’s gonna come downstairs to yell at them.

But then Steve’s hand is in his hair, grip so tight it’s making Eddie groan. It feels good, borderline too much.

He knows rolling Steve’s nipple between his teeth is more than what he needs to do. A piercing is over quick; A sharp, seconds-long pain and then a dull ache. Nothing like what he’s doing now.

Steve’s holding him in place. He couldn’t move if he wanted to.

“Shit, do the other one,” Steve says as he tugs him back and moves him over to the other nipple. Eddie’s not gonna argue. “God, that’s good.”

Eddie whimpers as his teeth tug on Steve’s nipple. He can feel himself leaking in the swim trunks that he will have to refuse to return until he’s washed them himself. This is not the point of this little experiment. This is only to prove to Steve that he can handle a fucking nipple piercing.

Clearly he can if he’s enjoying this.

Steve’s hips shift and Eddie realizes he’s just as hard as he is. He manages to pull away enough to look at him, watch his head tip back when Eddie’s hot breath cools the spit on his skin.

“No one’s ever done that to you?” He can’t believe how many girls have been in bed with Steve and just…not attached their mouths to his chest in any fashion. They must’ve been clueless as to what it looks like and feels like to have a beautiful boy helpless and wanting more because of them.

Steve shakes his head.

“Shame. You’re pretty when you’re feeling this good,” Eddie smirks before he latches back on.

He lets his hand run through the hair on his chest, groaning when Steve starts panting and whining, desperate for something. Eddie wants to convince him to let him suck him off right here in the kitchen, but he isn’t sure how to ask.

Biting and sucking a man’s nipple is one thing, choking on his dick in his kitchen is another.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Steve says as he frantically reaches down to put more space between Eddie’s body and his lower half. He gives a high-pitched moan. He stills. “Shit.”

Eddie stops what he was doing and pulls away.

He looks at Steve’s face, still red, but completely relaxed. He looks fucked. Well and truly fucked.

“Fuck me, Steve, did you just come?” Eddie can’t tell. His bathing suit is a bright floral print that Robin got him as a joke, and it’s already wet, so it’s hard to see a particularly dark spot.

Steve nods.

“I made you come just by playing with your nipples?” Eddie can’t believe it. He’s the luckiest man in the world. He wants to suck on Steve’s dick even more.

“Can you pierce them now?” He asks instead of answering.

“Are we gonna talk about how I just made you come from playing with your nipples after?” Eddie is a firm believer in communication.

Also, he wants to offer his dick sucking services.

“Yes. Definitely. How long will it take them to heal?” Steve sounds like he’s catching back up to what just happened, his breathing slowing back down to normal.

“You want the safe answer or the answer that’ll make you happy?”

“The safe one. I’m not trying to lose a nipple,” he gives Eddie a pointed look. “A week? A couple?”

“At least a few months,” Eddie says. “But you healed from the bats so quickly! Maybe you’ll heal faster.”

Eddie does the math on it. If they pierce them tonight, he should be good to have a mouth back on them by Christmas. Maybe even sooner if they’re extra careful and he doesn’t get them caught on anything or get an infection or-

“Do it again.”

Eddie’s a simple man. When a beautiful guy asks him to bite his nipples until he comes in his pants, he’s gonna do it.

And later that night, after Eddie’s successfully pierced Steve’s nipples, he holds ice packs to them while Steve sleeps. Robin’s in the guest room, mad at them for being so stupid. She’ll be over it by morning.

Eddie won’t be over any of it anytime soon.

[lvmimis]

cw: smut. dry humping under the influence. no penetration. semi-public sex-ish.

“Hey.”

Unsure of when exactly the two of you dozed off, you look over to Luffy, raising your head off of his chest, and gently shake his shoulder as he lays fast asleep, partially slumped against the trunk of a tree, one big enough to cast shade over both of you and your midday picnic. The sun still remains high in the sky, you glean through the leaves, so you cannot have drifted off for that long, but the fatigue on you is not exactly lifting in the normal way it does when you’re waking up from an impromptu nap, and you’re starting to get concerned.

“Luffy!”

Luffy rises not when you pat him on the face but rather at the sound of his name, eyes shooting wide open initially until he takes in your expression fully - frantic but unharmed - and his eyes go sleepy again.

“What?”

“Where exactly did you get those fruits?” You don’t know why you’re whispering or hissing in his ear, it’s not like there’s anyone around this clearing to see you except for the birds overhead and the wildlife that Luffy is a little too good at intimidating with a mere smile. You should have known better than to not question whatever Luffy presents to you without a second look, but you’ve learned to trust your captain and lover a little too implicitly, and now potentially you might be paying the price.

“Why, does your tummy hurt?” he asks with only a slight hint of alarm and more inquiry, still half-lidded and sleepy, the drawl of sleep on his tongue. He has yet to sit up completely, arms still raised and head rested on his palms. You on the other hand, are becoming somewhat diaphoretic - perhaps the hot sun was is making its way to you despite the cool shade generated by the swaying leaves, but more likely the fact that there’s a tingle through your body that’s beginning to spread from the tips of your toes and fingertips to your center and further just south of it which portends another problem entirely. 

“No, I just…”

You pause abruptly, finding yourself drawing in a breath all of a sudden and sighing out. Luffy’s eyes widen again and he finally does sit up, but you start to breathe out slowly, your eyes closing shut languidly as you lean forward over him, disoriented.

“Is everything okay?”

Barely able to hold your head up anymore, you finally tip forward onto his body, a lull suddenly washing over you and swaddling you tightly, and he lets you fall into him, pulling you onto his lap.

“I… I don’t know if it is…” you whimper but another odd sound escapes your lips, interrupting your own sentence, soft and yet guttural in nature, and your head starts to spin.

“___, what’s going on with-”

Luffy stops mid-sentence too, suddenly holding his breath. Whatever is coming over you has started to come over him too, and against his body, you can feel the sudden deep rise and fall of his chest, deeper, slower, fuller, breaths, a soft heave that makes both of your eyes roll into the back of your heads and threaten to stay there. You fingers curl and draw downward gently along the fabric of his shirt, a sudden desperate need overtaking you.

You whisper each other’s names in unison.

“Are you-,” you start but Luffy’s hands are already moving roughly up your body, slipping below your shirt but staying rested under your ribcage to move you properly, until you’re straddling him perfectly, and you maneuver your own lower body, a longing stare fixated at his unfocused one so that your the clothed crotch of your pants is just flush to his. You can feel that he’s growing hard and sensitive and the tiniest rock of your hips against his has the two of you gasping.

You have each other’s full attention now - Luffy is seated, back pressed and supported against hard bark, the rest of him tense and hot all over.

“Do you think it’s poison?” he asks, but he doesn’t wait for your answer before he leans in and nips at your lower lip, then sticks his tongue down your throat, and you take it mercifully, letting the taste of his tongue laving over yours help wash away the fire building inside your belly.

We’ll know if we pass out and don’t wake up, is a thought that passes through your mind fleetingly, but your heart is racing rather than slowing down and your arms don’t lock up or lose strength as you wrap them around his neck. You muster a shake of your head, lacking confidence but filled with desire.

You continue to kiss, your lower halves grinding against each other rhythmically, the words between you as a minimum as you swallow each other whole, want and saliva dripping and flowing between the two of you fluidly for what feels like far too long.

“Move more, I wanna feel you,” he insists, impatient as he huffs into your ear, but he does it instead, tightening his grip around you as he bucks his hips upwards, rough and desperate against the snap of grind of your own hips. No longer kissing you on your mouth, he finds solace in letting his teeth graze against the soft of your shoulder and the length of your neck.

Bite, lick, suck, grind, sigh… the friction with which the two of you writhe against each other could start a forest fire, and with further, unrelenting need, Luffy lays you back against the picnic blanket and pins you beneath him.

He stops for a moment, appraising you again hungrily but curiously like a wolf sizing up a particularly delicious appearing rabbit. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer to you.

“Don’t tease me.”

“Wasn’t trying to, I just…” he kisses you again, the bulge of his pants pressing hard against your restrictive, practically oppressive jeans.

“Clothes,” he pouts, but doesn’t stop rocking against your hips. Fingers curl around the hem of your jeans and you want him, you want more, you want skin to skin, but you think about the very full possibility that you may keep fucking like this until whatever’s come over you wears off and shake your head.

“Just like this… is fine.”

He may be groaning at your prudishness, cock straining against need and a wetter and wetter spot growing in your panties, but for now, mimicking sex, letting your bodies struggle a bit prior to release might be just enough.

And if the fruit’s effects don’t abate soon at all, you might just have to get the rest of whatever you started just now worked out through your bodies, somewhere else where the birds can’t tattletale and your bodies don’t imprint into the grass, and you can really let yourselves go.

[kleftiko]

❦ CHERRY SMOKE CLOUDS

“upon learning that your new plug is a virgin, you come up with a new way to pay for your weed”

cw: slight dubcon (sex under the influence), virginity loss (choso), car sex, corruption kink, unprotected sex, blowjobs

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

You met Choso through your little sister's friend.

Without knowing Megumi and Yuji were over, you started ranting to Nobara about how your plug was moving across the country, and it was a travesty. When she gave you edibles, she packed them in cute little heart baggies, and you were never gonna find another one as good as her.

It wasn't until you turned the corner that you saw her and her two friends lounging on the couch.

Luckily, Yuji spoke up, telling you his brother grows and you could get from him.

That got you his number, and having known Yuji, you expected his brother to be a much more enthusiastic texter. You hardly expected one- to two-word responses, absolutely no emojis, and a period at the end of a sentence.

But if it got you what you wanted, you were fine with that.

Most transactions were made through Yuji or Nobara, and despite the lack of customer service that you got from your old plug, his stuff was good, so you couldn't complain.

Then, one day, Yuji messaged you, saying he was having a party at his place and you should come meet his brother. You didn't see why not, so you and Nobara got dressed up together and went.

It was unsurprising that there were a lot of people—Yuji loved making friends, after all—so it took a minute to find him. But he had a wide smile when he saw you two, giving you hugs and telling you his brother was in the garage.

You didn't have to excuse yourself cause your sister was already gone by the time you turned back, so you made your way to the garage.

Inside, there was only one person. A taller man with longer hair who was taking stuff out of the trunk of a car, and when he turned to you, you noticed his tired eyes looking at you. He was cute.

"What?" He asked.

"Choso?" You asked, and he nodded. You smiled a bit and said, "Y/N."

A look of recognition flashed across his face.

"Yuji told me you'd be coming." He then lifted the box in his arms slightly, as if to show you the alcohol. "Leave it to my brother to think a six-pack would be enough for a party."

You couldn't help the amused hum that passed your lips as your gaze traced the strained muscles in his arms.

"Want some help?"

After the two of you brought in a couple cases of liquor, you followed him back to the garage. Besides your sister and her friends, you didn't know anyone, and you figured at least Choso would have some weed on him if nothing else.

He leaned against his car and fished a lighter out of his pocket before looking at you and holding it up as an invitation. You smiled and moved to stand in front of him as he took out a case from his other pocket, placing the joint from inside between his lips.

"You don't wanna hang out with your brother?" You asked as he lit it.

Choso just raised an eyebrow at you, blowing out the smoke slowly and drawing your eyes to his lips.

"You don't wanna hang out with your sister?" He retaliated casually, holding out the blunt for you.

With a couple puffs of your own, you shift your weight onto your other leg. Choso's soft gaze stays on you, waiting for you to continue.

"Why smoke out here?" You asked, and he shrugged.

"Not a fan of people." He explained, and you gave him a look. He shakes his head, "don't make it seem like I'm a loner; I just don't wanna hang out with my younger brother's friends."

"Not a fan of younger people?" You don't give him time to answer before you say, "pretty sure I'm younger than you."

"You're fine." It's casual in the way he says it, but it does something to you, and you end up shifting again when he hands you the blunt.

His eyes flicked down to your legs, taking notice of your movement. "Wanna sit?"

Choso patted the hood of the car beside him as an offer, and you looked at his fingers sitting on top of the metal. They were long and lanky, with prominent veins running through his hand and up his arm. It led you back to his face, which is waiting for your answer.

So you hopped on top of the hood, taking one more puff than is courteous, but Choso didn't say anything as he took it back.

It was a couple minutes of silence; the two of you smoked until it was just the filter, and Choso threw it away. You started to feel the familiar feeling of your head becoming heavier—or, you were just more aware of the weight of it—and you sank back onto your hands with contentment.

"So, were you just here for the weed?" Choso's voice was pretty monotone, but you could tell he was making a joke.

A small giggle escaped your lips as you noticed the red creeping up in his tired eyes.

"I mean, I won't say no if you wanna share another, but I think hanging out with you is fine by itself." You admitted, and he shook his head at you.

A couple blinks was all it took to remind you that he really did grow some good shit, and you grabbed the bottom of his shirt to tell him the compliment when you looked up at his face and forgot your train of thought.

Instead, you tugged on his shirt and coaxed him to stand in front of you as you tilted your head up at him.

"You don't look like what I thought you would." You drawled out.

"What'd you expect?" He prompted.

You pouted, "pink hair."

Choso let out a soft chuckle, and you almost melted at the sight of his smile. Unintentionally, you leaned closer to him, your eyes focused on the bridge of his nose, where you noticed a faint scar that ran across it. With your noses almost touching, you looked up into his eyes, admiring the way they locked onto you.

"You're hotter than I thought." You mumbled, and his eyebrows raised slightly.

Choso pulled back.

"If you think this'll get you free stuff, you're outta luck."

You giggled and let go of his shirt, leaning back onto your hands with a lazy smile.

"I'd tell you that even if you weren't my plug." You said. "Though, I'm sure a lot of your customers offer favours instead of money."

Once again, he shook his head at you, his smile mirroring yours. You let your head fall back, feeling the stretch in your neck as you stared at the ceiling.

"Wouldn't blame you, sex while high is incredible."

"I wouldn't know." He said and you snapped your head at him.

"You've never had sex after smoking?"

He raised an eyebrow at you, and you understand what he was saying.

"You've never had sex?" You clarified, and Choso shakes his head in agreement, unbothered by it.

"Never had the time." He explained, and at the back of your clouded mind, you recalled Nobara mentioning that Yuji was raised by his older brother.

You slid off the car, standing toe to toe with Choso as you looked up at him. He didn't move, and you could smell his cologne and soft hints of weed.

"Do you wanna know what it's like?" You whispered, gazing up at him through your lashes.

The thought that you could give this man everything made that small pulse of arousal that's been sitting between your legs light on fire. As you stared into Choso's eyes, a mischievous smile played on your lips. The anticipation of what you could do with him sent a rush of excitement through your body.

Instead of giving you a verbal answer, Choso bent down and attached his lips to yours.

He tasted smokey, but it didn't bother you as you brought your hands up into his messy hair. His large hands travelled down your sides and roughly pulled you closer to him. Your knee bumped between his legs, and he uttered a deep moan into your mouth.

Detaching yourself from him, you grabbed his shirt and tugged him to switch places with him, pushing his legs into the hood of his car and forcing him to sit atop it.

Your hands then moved to his jeans as you kissed him again, undoing the button and zipper as you bit his lips. Choso let out a little whine, shakey fingers grasping at your own shirt when you stuck your hand down his pants and cupped his half-hard cock. As you stroked him, you scattered kisses and bites down his neck and along his jaw, leaving nothing to catch the hisses he let out of his mouth in response to your attack. You could feel the heat radiating from his body as his breathing grew heavier. The intensity of the moment heightened as you whispered in his ear, teasing him with promises of what was to come.

Then you sank your knees onto the concrete floor between his legs, pulling down his jeans and boxers just enough to free his cock and balls, your mouth watering at the size.

As you looked up into his eyes, you gently licked his red tip and watched him shut his eyes in pleasure, his hand coming to the top of your head. Then you took him to the back of your throat, eliciting a loud and wanton moan from the man above you. Despite slapping his other hand over his mouth to muffle the sound, you felt a shiver at the noise, knowing that you were driving him wild with something so simple. With each movement of your mouth, you could feel his grip on your hair tighten, urging you to go deeper. The intensity of the moment consumed both of you as you lost yourself in the intoxicating pleasure of giving him ecstasy. His dick was slobbered with your spit, and besides the faint music coming from the house, the garage was filled with the disgusting sounds of you slurping and choking on his cock and Choso's beautiful stuttering noises of bliss.

Your eyes rolled back at the taste of him; the salty precum and weight of his dick on your tongue had you rocking your neglected pussy into your heel. When his moans and whimpers started to catch at the back of his throat, you cupped his heavy balls in your hands, gently massaging them as you continued to pleasure him. The intensity of the moment heightened as you felt his body tense and his breathing become more erratic, signalling that he was about to cum. With a mischievous smile, you increased the speed and pressure of your movements, determined to push him over the edge and make him lose control completely.

The grip on your hair tightened as he let out a guttural groan, his hips bucking uncontrollably against your touch. The raw desire in his eyes fueled your own excitement, and you revelled in the power you had over him in the moment. As he finally reached his climax, you continued to stroke him through his release, savouring the feeling of his pulse against your tongue and his cum running down your throat.

His tired eyes were glazed with lust when you popped him out and stood up. His chest was breathing heavily, but that didn't stop him from grabbing your face and pulling you into a searing kiss, licking up the drops of his cum that slipped from your lips. You moaned at his eagerness to clean his own grime from your face and ran your hands down his clothed body, fingernails scraping along his muscles as they twitched.

"Please," He begged between kisses. "Please fuck me."

You pulled away, looking at the man in front of you with hunger.

"Back seat." You commanded, and Choso listened to you.

The two of you stumbled to the car, pawing at each other as you removed your clothes. By the time you shut the door behind you, the two of you were in your underwear. Choso was hard once again as you mounted him.

Taking off your bra, his eyes locked onto your tits before eagerly going for them with his mouth. but you grabbed his hair and pulled him back. He nearly whimpered at the denial, but you were firm.

"I need to see your face when I take your virginity, baby." You told him.

Choso nodded his head and helped you two rid yourself of the last bit of clothing. Grabbing his cock, you lined it up with your soaking lips as Choso's fingers fluttered over your hips in anticipation. You looked at him, only to find his watery eyes locked on your pussy as he swallowed harshly. You were sure that if you led him on any longer, he would start crying.

"Choso," your sweet voice cooed.

When he locked eyes with yours, you sheathed yourself over his cock, watching firsthand as his mouth dropped open and his eyes rolled back as a broken moan pushed past his lips. It was filthy and erotic, and it made you lift your hips and slam back down onto him just to see his reaction again. His body trembled beneath you, his grip on your hips tightening as he surrendered to the pleasure coursing through him. The intensity of the moment fueled your own desire, igniting a primal need to dominate and explore every inch of his body.

"That feel good, baby?" You asked, knowing he couldn't answer. "Feel good to get fucked in the back of your car?"

Choso whimpered.

You leaned in closer, your breath hot against his ear, as you whispered, "You love being used like this for your first time, don't you?"

The sound of his desperate moans only fueled your attack further, pushing you to take him even harder.

"Your cock feels so good inside me, Choso." You continued to enjoy his reactive body. "so big, I don't think I can just fuck you once."

In his first bout of control, Choso grabbed the back of your head and shut you up with a kiss, hips lifting against yours in desperation.

"So fucking perfect." He managed to huff out, and you rewarded him with a squeeze of your pussy, making him lose the rhythm of his thrusts. The intensity of the moment heightened as Choso's grip tightened on your head, his kiss silencing your words. With each desperate thrust of his hips, he struggled to maintain the little bit of control he had.

He managed to gasp, overcome with the pleasure you were giving him, "You're absolutely incredible." The squeeze of your pussy caused him to lose his rhythm, further intensifying the passion between you.

You smiled wickedly and leaned in to whisper in his ear.

"Yea?" You asked. "Wanna cum inside me?"

It was as if a switch had been flipped. His eyes darkened with desire, and a primal growl escaped his lips. Without hesitation, he grasped your hips firmly and increased the pace, thrusting into you with an urgency that matched your own. The room filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, and you let out your own noises of pleasure at Choso's actions.

Feeling your climax near, you dug your nails into his bare chest, urging him on. The intensity of the moment consumed both of you as you reached the peak of pleasure together, lost in a whirlwind of ecstasy. Spurts of his cum painted the inside of you, making you moan at the feeling before collapsing against him, sweaty bodies entangling. For a long moment, heavy breathing was the only sound in the hot car. As the air slowly cooled, you both basked in the afterglow.

With a satisfied smile, Choso gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face and whispered, "That was incredible."

You breathed out a laugh, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and cuddling into him.

"Yea," you agreed. "We need to smoke together more often."

[zyafics]

BROTHER'S RIVAL | 03

MASTERLIST (Series)

Pairing — Rafe Cameron x Female Reader .ᐟ

Summary — You and your brother were born Pogues, but once your family made enough to move to Figure Eight, you became a Kook. Unfortunately, Rafe doesn't welcome Pogue-born Kooks. It doesn't help that your brother is determined to steal the 'King of Kook' title from him. So, if your brother is attempting to steal something from him, Rafe will return the favor.

Content — 18+, smut, angst, and usage of drugs.

Rafe: i don't like being ignored after giving u the best orgasm of ur life

You didn't expect to see that message flash on your screen. Especially since you're with your brother, helping him load all the shit he bought from Heyward's into the back of his truck. You didn't even know he got a truck.

Lowering your brightness, you type back a haste reply.

You: don't type that shit Dean sometimes reads my text

Rafe: but it's true

You: that's an overstatement

Rafe: how about you come over here and we'll test that?

You: no, thanks i'm with my brother

Rafe: maybe he should fuck off

You roll your eyes at the message, just as your brother calls your name. Slipping the phone into your back pocket, where you are positive Dean won't be able to reach, you turn back to see him standing on the trunk of his truck with his arms outstretched.

"Did you hear me? Bring me the next case." He declares, his tone chipped with semi-annoyance at your distraction. You were about the grab the box, but with his attitude, you decided to put your hand on your waist and stare him down instead.

"Do I look like a dog to you? Say it nicer."

Dean sighs but doesn't argue back. Rather, he prepares himself to lunge through the next few words. "My dearest sister, the light of my life, the only person in the world who I would kill for, can you pass me the goddamn beer?"

Close enough.

You reach for one of the cases of booze set near your feet and hand it off to Dean, who easily takes it off of you and stacks it in the back of his cargo bed with the rest.

"I still don't understand the plan here." You confess, picking up another box and starting a momentum. "You're going to host a party, so what? What does that gotta do with anything?"

Your brother decided that he wanted to start hosting parties at your house. Since now he's intersecting himself into more Kook spaces, he wants to also start stripping away the pride of certain members too. According to Dean, Rafe is the top host for the grandest parties on the island—his containing a multitude of wild nights and adventures, all oozed out of his all-expensive paid amenities.

But you, for the life of it, don't understand how this has anything to do with his goals. Dean confirmed, after your little encounter with Rafe on the golf course, that he did have plans on taking the title of Kook King from Rafe. That Rafe's hatred of him was not unwarranted. However, he didn't tell you why.

All you know is that for the duration of this summer, your brother is going to do everything he can to convince the rest of the Kooks to follow after him.

Dean sighs, approaching you at the far end of the tailgate, crouching down till his face is to your level. "It's simple. Kooks are superficial and flimsy. They are only loyal to the Camerons because they have money. So, we need to shift the tides."

You are not getting in the middle of this.

"We—" you gesture to yourself, then to your brother, "are not doing anything. You are trying to do something with something we don't have a lot of. AKA, money."

While your brother does have a cushy job that pays better than most living in The Cut, and your mother secured herself as a respectable accountant who works with several high-profile Kooks—your family is nowhere at the levels that the Camerons is.

Dean chuckles. He finds it humorous that you're trying to distance yourself from this ongoing rivalry, drawing a line that you would not cross. Though, he knows, you would choose his side if it came down to it. "I know," he agrees with a nod. "But that's not the only way we can even the playing field. We can get power elsewhere."

"You do realize that this is just a meaningless feud between the Kooks and the Pogues, right?" You remind your brother. You know that he's competitive and stubborn; when he sets his mind on something, nothing you can or do can change it. "That it's not going to matter in the long run?"

His jaw locks and it takes several beats before he answers. "It matters to me."

Your older brother pushes himself back up to his height, jumping off the trunk onto the ground, and starts carrying the boxes himself. Without your assistance. You feel like you pushed a button you didn't know existed, and step back timidly.

"Fine, tell me," you announce after a few minutes of unbearable silence, trying to retain Dean's attention. "How are you planning on getting power?"

"No, you don't care."

You grab your brother's arm before he hauls the next case onto the cargo bed. Finally, he turns to you. "But, you care," you rectify, in a small voice, "so that means I care too. What is your genius plan, Lucky?"

Dean lights up at the nickname you used. An inside joke between the two of you. When you were children, you two were obsessed with the film Lilo & Stitch—so much that you had adopted the nicknames as your own. However, for the better part of your childhood, you had a difficult time remembering it was Lilo. You kept calling it Lucky. In turn, you kept calling your brother 'Lucky.'

"Alright." He sets his current case on the tailgate, turning back to give you his full attention. "Y'know how Kook doesn't just party? They do a lot of other shit too. They smoke. They do drugs. They fuck one another on the off-chance that they could gain something from it—a job, an inside scoop, maybe even the life of a housewife."

You raise your brow at his example. "Men can't be the sluts?"

"Can you let me speak?"

You raise both your arms in surrender. He cuts you a playful annoyed look before continuing on his mastermind.

"So, that means, Kooks change loyalty based on whoever has most access to the things they want. The drugs, the alcohol, the parties. Everything. If I can take that away from Rafe, they will shift their loyalty."

You cross your arms, considering his words. "You can't honestly believe that's true. They have more loyalty than that."

"I don't think so," he shakes his head, the firmness in his voice makes you wonder how he's so confident about it. "They're not like Pogues. Loyalty isn't the only thing they have left."

You don't respond. Instead, you remember. You can't shake off the rising guilt in your gut, knowing what happened the other day with Rafe—your brother's enemy—and how your brother still doesn't know. While you don't consider yourself a Pogue anymore, you know you are loyal to one thing.

Dean.

Your family.

This, you are certain.

In that moment, you decided that you need to put some distance between yourself and Rafe. That whatever happened that night was a one-time thing, a flunk in the system, a brief moment of vulnerability.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket again and this time, you pull it out, expecting to see another text from Rafe.

Unknown: come on, don't ignore me

You swallow hard, clenching your phone in your palm. Dean has returned back to lodging his cases onto his trunk, picking up his own routine without you.

"Hey, Dean," you call out, to which your brother hums in response. "Have you talked to... him?"

It takes a moment for your brother to register who you are referring to, and his whole body goes rigid. "No," he says with gritted teeth, not bothering to hide his discontent. "I blocked that bastard months ago."

He glances down at your phone clutched in your hand. "Didn't you?"

You know you should. You know it would be better for you. But, something in you just doesn't allow it to happen. That you wonder, for a moment, if he would ever change and need help. To get back on his feet. To make amends. You couldn't let that happen without you.

"Yeah," you lie, "I was just curious."

—

The party is full of Kooks. You didn't expect this many people to show up, especially knowing that they're supposed to be resenting you and your brother, but somehow you were proven wrong. Perhaps it's because Dean went all-out that drove them, or because Kooks didn't like to miss out on something on their own street, but they're here.

You wonder, for a split moment, if what your brother said has some merit.

The party wasn't just Kooks. He invited the Pogues too. Unlike you, where your friends dropped you upon learning that you were moving to Figure Eight and you didn't care enough to keep in touch—Dean carefully kept in contact with his childhood buddies. Because, at heart, Dean still sees himself as a Pogue.

You didn't care. You took advantage of it. Dressed in your best party outfit—a skirt that barely covered anything, a top with such a large cut that practically revealed your cleavage—and a fuck-it attitude, you descended to the party and have fun.

You drank, danced, and even grind against a couple of guys on the dance floor.

That's when it hits you. Where is Dean? Usually, by the time the second guy got too handsy with you, he would appear out of nowhere to shove the guy off. An overprotective streak that you can't help but roll your eyes to, it's also a measured move that allows you to know when and where your brother is at all times.

Taking the final sip of your drink, the liquor of mixed fruits and vodka slipping down your throat with a burn, you separate from the guy to search for your brother. He wasn't outside, where most of everyone is, lounging around the lit pool; he wasn't on the roof, where Kooks were jumping off the ledge into the water below; he wasn't gone—his truck was still here. When you went inside, you searched the first floor to find him nowhere in sight. That's when you head upstairs. Opening the door to your room, you didn't find Dean.

You find Rafe instead.

"What the hell?" You exclaim, your words slightly slurred as you step into your bedroom and lock the door behind you. Rafe turns around, his previous attention paid to the various frames decorating your walls now pins onto you. "What—what are you doing here?"

"I heard there was a party," he shrugs, his demeanor completely casual while his hands rested inside the pockets of his khaki shorts. "Thought I'd check it out."

"The parties downstairs,"

"Huh," he hums, feigning innocence. "I must've gotten lost."

You aren't satisfied because, despite your intoxicated state, you can clearly see through his lies. Crossing your arms over your chest, you accuse, "thought you gave yourself a house tour the other night?"

"I did," he chuckles, closing the distance. His height towers over your own, and as he meets your gaze, a smirk rises over his face. "I got distracted."

You swallow hard, your heart skipping several beats knowing exactly what he's alluding to. It doesn't help that Rafe carries the same look behind his eyes—the same glint he had when he made you come.

"You know," Rafe begins, trailing down the length of your body, causing heat to bloom under your skin, before meeting your eyes again. "I talked to girls before and none of them has ever made me work as hard as you."

He's referring to the fact that, while you're replying to his texts, after your talk with Dean, they've been mostly monosyllabic answers. One-sided attempts at a conversation. You thought he would take the hint to leave you alone.

Once again, you're wrong.

You cross your arms and challenge him, "Go talk to one of your girls, then."

"Nah."

You don't know if it's the alcohol or his words, but your entire body is buzzing. You should leave, and go back to your search—what were you looking for again?—but something made you stay rooted in your spot. Rafe takes note of your internal battle and takes advantage of it.

Moving even closer, until he's nothing but a breath away, Rafe lowers himself to your level, his mouth right beside your ear. "You know what I can't stop thinking about?"

"How you can't seem to take no for an answer?"

"No," he chuckles, his breath fanning the crook of your exposed neck. "You and your little moans as you called out my name."

Your legs squeeze together, arousal stirring in the pit of your stomach as your mind flashes to the vivid memories of that night. Of Rafe touching you and making you come with the skillfulness of his hands. You can't help but imagine what he could do with his tongue.

Pulling together whatever little restraint you have left, you set a hand on his chest. "Well, cherish it. Because it's not going to happen again."

You're proud of how steady your voice sounds. It's almost believable.

But Rafe doesn't look completely convinced. A cocky smile forms on his face, his eyes diligently scanning your features, picking you apart under his scrutiny.

"You don't believe that."

"I—" You begin, stuttering. Goddammit. "I do. I'm serious."

His hand raises to cup the side of your profile, the pad of his thumb drags across the plump of your bottom lip and they part unconsciously. His smirk broadens.

"Look at you opening up for me. Showing me how much you want me."

You internally groan. He's so infuriating, hot, and obnoxious, that you can't believe you're falling for any of it. You need to do something. Flattening both hands on his firm chest, you give him a light shove, forcing him to release.

Turning, you head for the exit when Rafe captures your wrist, spins you around, and crashes his lips onto yours.

Everything zeros into this moment. All those nightly fantasies of Rafe kissing you finally come to life as he groans against the taste of you. His hand travels to the nape of your neck and holds it tight, using it to steady himself as he presses closer, pulling you in, needing to feel nothing but skin-on-skin.

And you allow it. You don't know if it's because of the vodka mixers you had, or because Rafe is just an incredible kisser, but the way he sucks the plump bottom of your lips draws out a breathy moan, and your skin buzzes with fervent heat. His free hand descends down to grab yours, before placing it against the hard bulge under his pants.

"Do you feel what you do to me, princess?" He murmurs against your vodka-stained lips. "I fucking need you."

Your eyes connect with his, but meet nothing but the pitch-black of his dilated pupils. "You're drunk," you say breathlessly.

His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, leaving tingles in its place, before he confesses, "Not enough."

Then, his mouth meets yours again.

Without breaking for air, Rafe steps forward, causing you to step back. It becomes a two-person dance, and it doesn't end until the back of your heels hits the frame of your bed, tumbling you onto the mattress.

Rafe is immediately on you. Your back flattens against the sheets, your heart thundering, as Rafe parts from the heavy kiss to lay wet ones on the side of your throat, teasingly, nibbling the tender skin until he leaves a mark, before moving down to the valley of your breasts.

Half of you wish you weren't wearing such revealing clothes. The other half wished they were already gone.

Your core aches as Rafe's hands fall between your legs, skimming the short skirt, until he feels the patch of your panties. "You're so gorgeous," he confesses, before chuckling at the slickness collecting on his fingertips, "and wet."

He tells you to lift your hips and you oblige. Removing your skirt, he toss it to the floor, and his eyes zoom into the red pair of panties you decided to wear tonight.

"Did you know red's my favorite color?" Rafe asks. You shake your head softly. "Do you know why?"

"Anger issues?"

He grins, his thumb gently stroking the drenched spot in a way that causes your hips to buck off the bed. But he pins you back down. "It's because it's a good color to fuck to."

"Never knew you were the type of guy to set the mood."

"Didn't need to. You did it all for me."

You open your mouth to retort when his thumb massages your clit in such a sensual manner, a moan rips from you. Rafe watches the way your eyes flutter from the ounce of pleasure, how easily stimulated you are by his touch, and he revels in that feeling.

"You want me," he murmurs, full of confirmation this time, but you don't answer. Rafe watches the way your teeth sink to your bottom lip, embarrassment flushing your face as you refuse to accept it. "Say it."

"You want me," you correct, changing the subject as you arch into his hand.

His fingers stop their magical strokes, and you whine. "No, princess, you want me. I want to hear you say it."

Desperation seeps. Your core aching, pleading for stimulation, and he is right there. You have half a mind to push him off and finish the yourself, voyeurism included. But, you don't. As your eyes connect with him, you breathe out with reluctance, "please make me come."

It isn't exactly what he wanted, but he takes it.

His fingers slip under the band of your panties, pulling them off and discarding them. You thought he would do the same methods as the other night, his fingers finding your sweet spot, but he surprises you when he lowers his mouth and finds your swollen nub.

"Shit," you whisper breathily, his mouth suctioning the clit in a manner that causes your back to arch. Your hands go to find his hair, threading your fingers through his roots as you grind on his face. "That feels so good."

"You taste so fucking good," Rafe growls, the vibration of his words causing your stomach to tighten. When he sees how responsive you are to him, he slips two fingers into your pussy, feeling your walls immediately fluttering around his digits.

He fingers you, as he sucks on your clit. The double stimulation causes your head to spin and your heart to hammer out of your chest, your stomach coils with the familiar pang of pleasure.

"Oh my god, Rafe," you moan, gripping his hair tighter. For a moment, you're afraid of hurting him, but it's quickly dismissed when he flattens his tongue against your slit.

"Say my name louder."

"Rafe."

"Would you do anything I say to come?" Rafe asks, taking the opportunity to get something from you. And you're willing.

"Yes," you whimper, tipping your head back against the bed. "Anything."

"Moan louder for me, baby."

You do.

"Play with your tits."

Your hands push up your top till your breasts are exposed, using a hand to grope the flesh, brushing your fingers through your perked nipples. Groaning from pleasure, it arouses Rafe further, his fingers penetrating deeper and faster into your cunt, while his mouth returns to your clit.

"Oh, god," you moan, chest rising and falling in rapid succession as your pleasure crescendos through your body. Your legs attempt to squeeze close from the sensitivity, to push Rafe out, but with one strong arm, he widens them instead. "Please don't stop."

Rafe doesn't respond but you can feel him grinning into your pussy, flattening his tongue across your slit as your core pulses around his digits. Nothing at this moment could be more perfect, the slow-burning building to your orgasm, the pleasure rippling through your veins.

Nothing can ruin it.

Until you hear your brother calling out your name.

"Shit," you swear, your heart rate spiking through the roof, and a hand slips between your thighs to push Rafe away. But he doesn't move. "Rafe—fuck," a clever roll of his tongue against your heat causes your mind to short-circuit, and you limp back onto the bed as Dean's voice grows louder.

Like he's outside your door.

"Rafe, please," you beg.

"Please what?" Rafe taunts, lifting his head from between your thighs, the lower half of his face dripping with your arousal, while his eyes gleamed that same mischief he had the other night. "Make you come? Or stop?"

You don't know what you want either, and it doesn't help that Rafe continues to stroke your cunt, his thumb rubbing your clit to make up for the absence of his hot mouth. Your legs twitch from the act, again, attempting to close around him, but he pushes them further apart.

Your door rattles. And Dean calls out your name again.

"Are you in there?" He asks, "are you okay?"

No, you want to rasp, but nothing comes out. Rafe grins devilishly, before lowering himself back onto your clit and sucks harder—quickening the arrival to your blinding climax.

"Rafe," you whisper roughly, your mind caught between two forces. The door continues to rattle as Dean tries to force the lock open, a protective trait of him needing to make sure you're okay, while Rafe has you in the most compromising position.

With the worst person.

"Go out with me."

"What?"

You think you heard him wrong, that Rafe definitely isn't asking you out while he's between your legs. But you didn't. Rafe lifts his head and repeats the question once more. "Go out with me."

"I—"

"Come on," Rafe soothes, his fingers fastening their strokes, your walls clenching around him. "Go out with me. Or else, your big brother's gonna come in and see you mid-orgasm."

"W–What do you mean?"

"I know you don't want me to stop," Rafe taunts with a smirk, "And I know your brother probably got some way of getting that door to open. So, you got two choices: either accept my date and come, or your big brother is gonna see me between your legs."

"I—" Your breath shudders as Rafe's signet cool ring presses against your heat. "You're despicable."

"Yet I'm here," Rafe lowers himself back on your clit, sucking languidly as if you don't have a threatening force outside your door, seconds from being let in. Your heart piercing out of your chest. "Come on, princess, go out with me."

Your mind is caught in a tailspin. Half of you want to tell him to fuck off, that you can't believe Rafe is using your moment of weakness to coerce you into a date, but the other part is wrapped in the absolute pleasure of your onslaught orgasm. The white-searing hot power that's coursing down your spine.

"Fuck," you say breathily, eyes fluttering shut from the way Rafe suctions on your clit. "Fuck, fuck, okay, okay. I–I'll go out with you."

You don't see it, but Rafe is grinning between your thighs. He goes faster, harder, pushing you over the edge as you slap a hand over your mouth to muffle the loud moans leaving your lips.

And just in that moment, the locks disengages.

With whatever mental capacity you have left, you quickly shove Rafe onto the floor and throw your blanket over your body. Dean barges into the room, blinking out his drunken haze, while his eyes scans the space for any disruptions.

"Did you hear me?" He asks with a subtle slur, scanning your face to see you comfortable in bed. He doesn’t know what got you here. "I've been calling out to you."

Your heart is hammering, and you pray that Dean doesn't approach the bedframe or look on the floor to find any semblance of his enemy hiding out. Rafe, thankfully, doesn't make a sound—though, you’d imagine he's hiding behind a cocky smile at the situation he's in.

"I—" you don't know how to answer him, "I was listening to music. Sorry."

"Oh," Dean says, taking the excuse as acceptable. He glances back at the door. "Why was your door locked?"

"It—it's a party," you explain, surprised at how easy the lie is flying off your tongue. "I didn't want drunk people to stumble up here and have sex on my bed."

"Right, right, smart," Dean nods, and he turns back around. "Alright. I'm going back down. Sleep tight."

You hum back in response as Dean stumbles out of your room, and you finally feel like you can expel a breath. The moment the lock clicks, Rafe lets out a rich laugh, straightening himself into a sitting position as he turns his head and connects his gaze with yours.

"Nice lie."

"Fuck off."

"Can't, you promised me a date," Rafe grins cheekily, pulling himself to his feet while he holds out something in his hand. "I think this belongs to you."

Your panties.

You snatch it from him, heat flushing your face as you want to nothing more than to bury yourself into your sheets. Well, you technically already did. Regardless, Rafe takes one final look around the room, at you, before he says, "I'll text you." And before he leaves, he gives you a sharp look and a reminder, "And actually respond."

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Navigation — Part 02 | Part 03 | Part 04

[the-fiction-witch]

Scream

Media - EPIC The Musical Saga Character - Prince Telemachus Of Ithaca Couple - Telemachus X Reader Reader - Princess Y/n (Betrothal) Rating - 18+ (Princess / Masturbation/ fingering/ lap sitting/ nudity) Word Count - 1621

Telemachus Art - Gigi

Telemachus wandered through the grand halls of the palace, his footsteps echoing softly against the marble floors as he sought to evade the boisterous suitors who had taken over his home. The golden rays of the setting sun spilt through the ornate windows, casting a warm, amber glow that bathed the rooms in a tranquil twilight. Shadows danced along the walls, creating an almost ethereal aura. Suddenly, he paused, his senses heightened as a sound broke the serenity, drawing his attention and igniting his curiosity.

“Telemachus!”

At first, he feared his mother needed his help because of the suitors, but he knew that wasn’t her voice. He knew that voice. That was the voice of the princess Y/n! Telemachus’ own betrothal. So of course, when he heard her voice shout for him he dropped any hesitation and began to run toward her chambers.

He reached the door, his heart pounding in his chest, and instead of knocking, he flung it open with a swift motion. In one fluid gesture, he drew his sword, as his gaze swiftly scanned the room for any signs of danger.

Y/n was sitting against the headboard of her bed, her wide eyes shimmering with fear. The clutter of her bags and trunks lay strewn across the room, remnants of her hasty arrival, untouched and waiting to be unpacked. The heavy curtains were drawn shut, casting shadows. She had curled her legs tightly against her chest, trying to shield herself, her breaths coming in shallow gasps.

Seeing her like this panicked Telemachus even more and he made a quick dash to the windows to check the printer. But then he turned to her, his face showing how worried he truly was for her safety, "Y/n! What happened? Are you hurt?"

"no… No ughh it ughh it's nothing…" She blushed,

His eyes softened, as he set his sword away and came to her bedside, "It wasn’t a nightmare, was it?"

"No. I - I promise it was nothing Telemachus … You - you didn't need to come and-"

Telemachus shook his head quickly, "Of course I came! I heard you scream and-"

"no! No I- I didn't… I didn't think you'd hear me." She nervously admitted,

Telemachus gave a long sigh, equal parts relief and frustration, and rubbed his hand across his brow before looking at her again, "Why did you scream then…?"

"…ughhh …." She blushed hard unsure if she should admit it,

A small smirk spread across Telemachus’ face. He scooted further onto the bed and moved so that he was sitting right next to her, “Come on. Just tell me.”

Y/n tried to put some space between them bundling her sheets around her waist tightly,

Telemachus noticed and leaned over, a playful smile on his face, "Don't tell me you're embarrassed. All you did was call out my name.”

Y/n met his eyes and her cheeks red. Her gaze gave more than words ever could.

His gaze pierced right through her. "Were you…saying my name…in pleasure?"

Y/n scoffed, "What? No no no of course i-" She tried to lie but his gaze meant he knew and she couldn't hide it anymore. "…yes."

Hearing her admit it, Telemachus leaned in even closer, "And what were you doing while you said my name, my Princess?"

"… I feel I don't need to answer that." She sighed,

Telemachus laughed softly and pulled her onto his lap.

She squealed at the sudden lift. Her face went red. She settled her hands onto his shoulders looking into his eyes,

He wrapped one arm around her waist and tilted her chin up with his free hand, "You're right. I do know what you were doing…" He leaned in, his lips just a whisper away from her ear "You were…imagining it was me touching you…" Telemachus’ hands ran up and down her body, as he held her tight. "You couldn’t help but imagine how it would feel to have my hands all over your body, could you…?"

She gulped and nodded,

Telemachus chuckled softly, a wicked gleam in his eye, "You imagined that it was me making you feel all sorts of things, didn't you…?"

She nodded again her face bright red,

Telemachus leaned in even closer, his lips brushing the side of her neck, his hands still roaming across her body, "And those little noises you were making…you were imagining me making you moan…"

“Yes…”

Telemachus hummed in satisfaction. She looked so sweet, sitting there in his lap in just her dress, face red and blushing. Telemachus’ hand moved to her thigh, sliding up under the fabric to her bare skin. "You were just having your fun by yourself, but you want it to be my hands on your body, don't you?"

"Yes …" Y/n blushed,

He traced circles on her inner thigh, inching higher and higher, "If you'd just told me, I could've been the one to make you feel good." He nipped her neck gently, "Instead of imagining it was me, you could've just taken the real thing."

"We- we shouldn't…" She said holding his wrist still before he went any higher, "We- we aren't wed yet…"

Telemachus chuckled, "Is that all? You let me inside your bedchambers, you let me onto your bed, you let me pull you into my lap…and suddenly you're concerned with what is proper?" He gripped her thigh, his fingers digging into her skin.

She gasped her eyes widening as she felt Telemachus move his hand higher regardless of her grip on his wrist. And begin to touch as she had. Almost immediately Y/n melted Into his arms her body slumping so perfectly into his,

Telemachus laughed in satisfaction as he felt her give herself to him. His hand moved ever higher under her dress and began to tease her in all the most sensitive places, stroking her lips and clit, "See, that’s a good girl…" He bit her shoulder, his other hand moving to push aside the fabric of her dress

She hummed and laid her head on his shoulder biting and sucking on his neck to muffle her moans,

His grip on her tightened and Telemachus let out a moan of his own. Her teeth on his neck, the feeling of her body in his arms, the sound of his name on her lips…it all felt so right to him. His hand moved even higher, rubbing hard on her clit continuing to pleasure her. He shifted, lifting her up with him so that she was fully straddling his lap, "You need to be quiet now. We wouldn't want any of those suitors to come and investigate all that noise coming from these chambers, do we, princess?"

She shook her head nervously,

"Good girl." His free hand went to the laces of her dress, tugging at them to loosen the fabric and expose more of her body to him,

She whined softly as quietly as she could trying not to make too much noise,

Telemachus smirked and continued to loosen her dress until it fell apart, leaving her naked. He took a moment to admire the sight before him, his hand pausing until he was satisfied, "You're so beautiful…I've wanted to see you like this for so so long…" He pushed her down onto the bed, straddling her. His hands pinned her wrists above her head as he leaned over her, his body pressing down onto hers. "You need to be quiet, remember? All these suitors around and you'd let them hear the sounds you make for me?"

She whined softly squirming in her bed kicking her feet a little as she danced on the very edge of pleasure,

His gaze was hungry as he looked down at her. The sounds she was making, the way she squirmed, it was doing all sorts of things to him. His face was so close to hers, that he could feel her heavy breathing on his skin. He leaned down and bit her neck, wanting to hear more as he increased his ministrations with his hand, "Hush now princess…you don't want the suitors outside wondering why you're making those noises, do you?"

She whined, her eyes rolling back as she whispered his name, "Telemachus…"

His name on her lips was like heaven to him. He nipped her neck again, his teeth just barely biting into her skin, "Good girl…say my name again princess…"

"Telemachus…" She whined a little louder,

His hand moved a little bit faster as if to reward her. He pressed his body down against hers to keep her quiet. "Shhh…not so loud princess…if the suitors hear you they'll know how good I make you feel…how much you're enjoying this…"

Before she could say another word it happened. She grabbed Telemachus by the hair and pulled his lips to hers, kissing him hard to muffle her moans as she came. Y/n then pulled back and collapsed down on the bed, her body falling on the sheets concealing nothing of her body. Her skin flushed, her breaths jagged and a dark wet spot on the sheets below her.

Telemachus groaned, He knelt, staring down at her with clear desire in his gaze. A sly smirk appeared on his face, his voice teasing, "Careful princess, now the sheets are all wet."

"I- I- I'm… sorry…"

Telemachus chuckled, "Don't apologize princess. You gave me a wonderful show. You're so beautiful, all laid out on your bed for me…" He traced his hand along her bare flesh, his touch trailing from her waist, up her stomach, to her chest. His gaze wandered, admiring the way the candlelight danced across the curves of her body, the way her skin looked flawless in the light. He leaned down and planted kisses along her neck.

She blushed and giggled a little, "Could you stay? For a little while my prince?"

Telemachus hummed in satisfaction at her words "Of course princess, I'm not done with you yet anyway." he growled before pulling her into an intense kiss,

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Squeak Clean 2

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: You start work as a maid but you’re not prepared for the mess your client brings with him. (maid AU – plus!reader)

Note: yeah…

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You’re about done. You just need to take the trash out to the bin and pack up the last of your things. As you wind the cord around your vacuum, a throat clears and draws your head around. You crane to see Steve watching you from the doorway to the kitchen. 

“Oh, just finishing up,” you say as you hook the cord to secure it and stand. 

“No problem. I was actually gonna ask if you wanted a snack,” he says, lifting his arm to lean his elbow on the doorway. You stop yourself from frame your hips, letting that knot in your lower back linger. 

A snack? You hesitate. You’re not bothered by your size or the assumptions people make about it. Still, you can’t help but be reminded of the extra cushion. You’re sure he didn’t mean it that way but it’s not really necessary for him to feed you. You bring your hands forward to fold them against your stomach. 

His eyes follow the movement and he blanches. His cheeks tinge pink and he blinks furiously, “wait, I only—I'm just being... nice. Sarah Rogers raised me right, you know? Not right to have someone in the house and not offer.” 

“It’s fine. I’m not a guest. I’m a cleaner,” you assure him and turn to grab the vacuum, dragging the wheels lightly off the carpet. 

“Sorry, if--” 

“No need. I’m not offended. Not hungry either.” You roll the vacuum to the front doorway and cross the room again. You approach him and slow, waiting for him to get out of the way, signalling with your eyes that you need to get past. “Excuse me.” 

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he drops his arm but brings it back up to comb his golden hair. “How about water?” 

“I keep a bottle in my kit.” You assure him as you search out the bucket.  

He stands awkwardly by the door as you heave it up and carry it through to the front room. You put it with the vacuum and return one last time to the kitchen. You open the bin with the pedal but before you can uncurl the edges of the liner, Steve is right there. 

“Here, it’s pretty full. I’ll take care of it.” 

You back up if only to get space. You don’t like how easily he crowds you. You can’t tell if he underestimates his own size or yours. 

“That’s what you hire me to do,” you say. 

“Sure, but it’s one thing,” he lifts the bag out and ties it. 

“Right,” you agree. “I suppose then, I’m done for the day.” 

He lowers the bag to hang from his hand. He smiles at you. “You did a great job.” 

You arch a brow, “thanks.” You’re not sure if it’s normal. Zuli said you wouldn’t have to deal with small talk, well, she was wrong. Figures she’d lie. She never really stops talking. Maybe she should take this one. “I’m going to go.” 

He nods, almost as if he’s disappointed. “I’ll walk you out.” 

“Sure,” you shrug. 

You spin and stride away. You haul up the bucket and latch onto the vacuum. He comes closer again and before you can dodge him, he has a hold of your kit. You want so badly to rip it away. Didn’t he pay for a cleaner? Why is he trying to do everything himself? 

You don’t react. You push it all down and head for the door. You put your shoes on and grab your sweater. You head outside and he follows you. You have to keep from running to your car. The weight of the vacuum helps slow you. 

You open the trunk and lift in the vacuum. Not quick enough. He puts the trash bag on the curb and comes up to place the kit in the trunk first. He then lifts the vacuum and angles it into the car. You suck in a sigh. 

It must be something programmed into him. He is a hero, after all. He can’t just sit back and let others do the dirty work. Even to a lowly cleaner, he needs to be a saviour. 

“Thanks,” you mutter again. 

“No, thank you,” he takes a step back and searches around, “uh, drive safe.” 

“Mhm,” you nod again. “I’ll try.” 

You turn and walk up the driver’s side. You feel him watching you. You’re not the most socially graceful creature on earth. Graceful in fact is not a trait you possess in any manner. Blunt would be a better descriptor. 

You get in the car and shut the door. It doesn’t help cool the heat on the nape of your neck. You buckle your seat belt and glance in the rearview mirror. He’s still there behind you. Watching.  

You want to assume there’s some logic behind his strange behaviour. He must not be used to having people in his space. If it was you, you’d rather just clean your own place than let someone else poke around. You’re sure you have a lot less to hide than Captain America. 

You turn the engine. The rumble seems to jolt him into action. He moves away and grabs the trash bag. You flip your signal on and check your blind spot. You try to see around the cars behind you. 

You peek over again as Steve nears the bins against the brick of the townhouse. He pauses as he drops it inside and waves at you with another grin. You wonder if he rehearses that suburban hero act. It can’t be real. 

You pull out and shake your head. A job isn’t supposed to be enjoyable and rarely is it easy. You can tell already that while the work itself isn’t complicated, dealing with your client will be anything but simple. 

[seoulmatez]

𝓈𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒸𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓎

the weather makes for a perfect pool day but nagi isn't so eager to join you.

nagi seishiro x reader ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ some suggestive bits

It’s a wonder, you think, to have gotten Nagi out in this weather.

It’s perfect; the sun shines without a cloud in the sky and it’s just warm enough for a dip in the pool to be refreshing. You’ve been enjoying swimming from end to end and leisurely floating about but Nagi hasn’t joined you, choosing to simply sit at the edge with his feet dangling in the crystal blue pool. The water only reaches his calves, though, he seems content lounging there with your shared bowl of fruit and his weekly issue of shonen jump.

You kick off the wall and paddle over to him, situating yourself between his legs. Your presence, or maybe your wet hands slipping under his trunks to rest on his thighs, pulls Nagi’s attention away from his manga and it instead turns to you. 

His powder-white hair looks even lighter under the sun, long strands brushing the tip of his nose as he stares down at you. It draws your focus to a smear of sunscreen that the man didn’t rub in all the way and you reach up to finish the job for him. The skin of his cheek is warm beneath your hand, much warmer than he usually is when he’s tucked into your side or splayed on top of you. 

“You doing okay over here?” you ask him, trying to brush the fluffy hair out of his face. Your attempts are for naught as the tufts continue to find their way back to his forehead.

Nagi hums and nods his head, setting his book to the side in favor of picking up the bowl of fruit the two of you had prepared earlier. He picks through the variety of colorful pieces in search of a grape, pulling one out and popping it into his mouth. One of his cheeks puffs out as he holds the fruit there before beginning to chew. Kindly, he picks up a cube of watermelon and holds it up to your lips.

You part them, letting nagi feed you the fruit, gently kissing the pad of his finger before he pulls away. It’s nice, taking a moment to relax with your lover somewhere other than in bed or on the couch. The only thing that could make the casual occasion better is if Nagi joined you in the pool. You swallow, squeezing his thighs with a smile. “You should get in. It feels really nice.”

The man takes a look at the barely there ripples in the water before his chocolatey eyes land on you once more. You can see the apprehension swimming in them before he even speaks. “I don’t know… it’s kind of cold.”

You breathe out a laugh, resting your chin on his knee. He has always preferred the heat of onsens or the warmth of your shared baths. “That’s kind of the point, babe. come on, it’ll warm up quicker than you think.”

His lips pout out like he doesn’t believe you. At this rate, you’ll spend all day trying to convince him to dip more than his toes in the water. An impish thought crosses your mind and it takes you only a second to commit to it. You lift your hands from his thighs to interlace his fingers with your own before pulling back and tugging the man into the water.

A large, noisy splash precedes Nagi’s plunge. He emerges quickly, a look of shock that you rarely have the opportunity to see painted on his face. His brown eyes are wide behind the wet, white hair sticking to his face and his mouth hangs open in disbelief. He looks like a drenched kitten. You laugh behind your hand at his reaction before closing the small gap between the two of you.

“You’re crazy,” Nagi says, pushing his hair back so that he can see clearly. It finally stays, though, a few pieces stick up haphazardly. The sight only makes you smile more.

Your hands come to sit on his hips, fingers fiddling with the elastic waistband of his trunks. You try to wipe the smile from your face but it lingers with your next words. “Sorry. desperate times, desperate measures.”

Nagi clicks his tongue but the annoyance usually associated with the action isn’t there—he can’t be upset when it’s you. What’s there to be bothered about if it means being close to you and seeing the smile he fell in love with?

A gust of wind makes him shiver and draws the single complaint he can muster up from his lips. “It’s freezing.”

Ever so dramatic. Although, you do feel a bit guilty considering you dragged him in so suddenly. He’s shuddering in your loose hold. It’ll only take a couple of minutes before he’s adjusted to the cool water but there’s no harm in speeding the process up and what you have in mind should be rather enjoyable for the both of you.

You clasp your hands at the back of his neck, beads of water dripping down Nagi's shoulders and chest before disappearing into the mass once again. This close and under the summer sun, you can see the sparse dusting of freckles tinting the bridge of his nose. You bump the tip of your nose against his, peering up at him through your eyelashes. “My poor baby. Want a kiss to warm you up?”

Nagi visibly perks up at your suggestion and nods, hands moving through the water to find a home on your waist. His thumbs brush your sides before he dips his head down to capture your lips in a kiss. 

As though your lips are sweeter than candy, Nagi moans into your mouth, tenderly squeezing your midsection as he drinks you in. It heats him up from the inside out, his skin warming with each second your soft lips are pressed against his. He’d kiss you forever if he could but he has to pull away to take a breath—what a pain.

“All better?” you inquire, letting your fingers run through his slowly drying hair.

“I think i need another one.” His hands slide down from your waist, over your hips, and to the back of your thighs. With a firm grip, he hoists you up. The unexpected motion elicits a surprised squeal from you but you easily wrap your legs around him as you’re sure he intended. He tips his head up to meet your eye, a sparkle of need glimmering in his own. “Or maybe two.”

A grin tugs at your lips. “Take all you need.”

sua here ( ≧ᗜ≦) thanks for reading! if u enjoyed, reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Cannibals [Chapter 10: Arteries and Rain] [Series Finale]

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), blood and violence and death, Alicent desperately trying to bond with her freak children.

Word count: 4.6k

❤️ All my writing can be found HERE! 💙

Tagging: @themoonofthesun @chattylurker @moonfllowerr @ecstaticactus @mrs-starkgaryen, more in comments 🥰

The same hand that once turned a key in the locks of closets and trunks, that moved his game piece across the board until it landed on the same space as yours and sent your bat hurtling back to the start, that shoved you into an ice-flecked stream in the Vale, that yanked you, bruised you, pushed you, trapped you, tore off your clothes, unraveled your braid, committed sins that others believe are beyond redemption; now you grasp for Aemond’s hand and it is not there.

I’ve lost him, you think, splintering like a shell struck with a mallet. I was too late.

Then the Cannibal dives and banks steeply, and your outstretched, searching fingers close around Aemond’s wrist.

He slams into the Cannibal’s side, grabs a jutting black spine with his other hand, and pulls himself upwards to where you are. The ground is closer, the field and the castle and the Gods Eye where the bones of Daemon and Caraxes and Vhagar will spend eternity in the sunless depths. The wind is cold and vicious, howling in your ears. From where the Cannibal torched the Northmen, dark smoke billows into the air and makes your eyes water, makes your lungs burn.

As the Cannibal descends, Aemond speaks to you only once that you can hear. He is still panting, trying to catch his breath from the fall he had believed would kill him. He shouts to you over the roar of the wind and the deafening whirr of dragon wings: “I always knew you were worthy.”

On the shore of the Gods Eye, Cregan Stark is down on his knees. He has surrendered to spare the lives of his remaining men; thousands of soldiers are flocking to yield with him, their empty hands held high in contrition, submitting to the orders of troops carrying Aegon’s banner. You recognize your uncle Gwayne Hightower among them. Criston looks up at you as he holds Cregan at the lakeshore, a blade to his throat. The Cannibal soars past a group of Northmen sprinting for the trees, deserters, cowards, and they are engulfed in flames. As one of the men burns, your dragon scoops him into his mouth and bites down, fangs impaling flesh, jaws crushing bones. There is a muffled scream and then nothing. You feel the Cannibal’s hunger being dulled like you’ve eaten something hot and bloody yourself, boar or venison dripping with grease.

You land near Criston and Cregan Stark, the gales from the Cannibal’s wings rocking the trees and making waves on the dark, enigmatic blue of the lake, a color that reminds you of Aegon’s eyes. The Cannibal is already impatient, lurching from side to side. He wants this stranger off of his back. He will tolerate no one but you.

“You should dismount,” you tell Aemond, and he promptly finds a path to the earth, scrambling down the onyx-black spines that protrude from the dragon’s thorax and taking several hurried strides away. The Cannibal glares at him and growls, steam rising from his flaring nostrils. But he can feel who Aemond is to you—ricochets of animal lust and episodic tenderness and doubt and surety and hatred and love—and so the Cannibal refrains from killing him.

You climb down from your dragon and walk to where Cregan Stark is kneeling. Criston is gaping at you, thunderstruck. Aemond steps closer to you and draws his sword. He carries the weapon that belonged to Aegon before he was burned at Rook’s Rest, the Conqueror’s sword Blackfyre. Aemond is watching you, and you have the impression he is trying to tell you something. You feel echoes of the wounds the past year has left in him: regret, shame, the most inescapable pain he’s ever known. He doesn’t want you to have to feel the same things.

You recall what Mother, standing defiantly behind the iron bars of her cell, once told Rhaenyra: Perhaps you imagine that you will kill every last Green, and all of our loyalists throughout the Seven Kingdoms, millions of people, and therefore you will have no use for bricks upon which to build a lasting peace. But I think that would be a mistake.

Cregan Stark, tall and rugged and with dark hair that runs to his broad shoulders, bows his head. He seems stoic, but his breathing is rapid and you can see his jugular pulsing madly in his throat. He has never met you before, but there’s only one person you could be. “Princess.”

Snowflakes and cinders fall from the sky. Escaped strands of your silver hair blow in the wind. I hate him, you think. But nothing I do now can raise the dead. And there must be a future for those of us who are left. You say to the Warden of the North: “Yield and you will live.”

“We yield,” Cregan Stark agrees immediately, placing his sword on the ground in front of him. It is Valyrian steel; it is called Ice. If he obeys, you will let him keep it. “We will return to the North at once.”

“No,” you say. “You will march south to pledge fealty to the king. And your men will help us rebuild, since their support emboldened Rhaenyra’s treason.”

Behind you, the Cannibal snarls and gnashes his teeth, stained with fresh blood and flecked with shreds of organs. He is the largest claimed dragon in the world. Vhagar is dead, and so are Caraxes and Syrax, Dreamfyre and Meleys, Moondancer, Seasmoke, Vermax, and Arrax. But there are some beasts left as well. Vermithor, Silverwing, and Tessarion are free. Nettles is somewhere far away with her mount Sheepstealer. Sunfyre is healing on Dragonstone. Little Joffrey Velaryon has the young creature Tyraxes, and his silver-haired brother Aegon has Stormcloud. The juvenile Shrykos was orphaned when Jaehaerys died, but Jaehaera still possesses Morghul. And so both the Targaryens and their dragons will live on for generations, and perhaps forever.

“Yes, princess,” Cregan Stark replies, gazing with thinly-veiled horror at the Cannibal, a monster that only someone who has known hatred could see beauty in.

You tell Aemond and Criston: “The Cannibal and I will escort you to King’s Landing to ensure your safety. I’ll keep him as far from your men as I can. I know he unnerves people. Believe me, he doesn’t want to be so close to you either. Not unless he intends to eat you.”

Criston is sheathing his sword. Aemond is smiling, faint and tentative but proud, so proud.

~~~~~~~~~~

When you arrive it is raining in King’s Landing, cold and misty and grey; soon there will be snow. Winter will last a year, or two, or five, but you will survive it. Aemond is already sending letters to Dorne and the Triarchy to forge trade agreements that will help supply the realm with food. He feels responsible for attending to this. His destruction in the Riverlands has endangered everyone. You rarely speak to Aemond, nothing beyond logistics. You are relieved that he survived, and your fury is waning like a crescent moon…but you don’t know what to say to him. Each time you try, you think of Luca and Jace and all the others, and your words crumble like bodies charred to ashes. Aemond gives you space and silence, but he watches you, and sometimes you overhear him telling the soldiers stories of the Conqueror’s wife Visenya, the same reverence in his voice he’s had since childhood.

At the gate of the Red Keep, Mother rushes out and embraces you first, collides with you, collapses and sobs into your shoulder as you hold her like a good daughter would. She is so thin you fear you will shatter her. Jaehaera and Maelor follow after Mother, so much older than you remember them. Jaehaera runs to embrace you too, but Maelor hesitates by the gate. His sister goes back for him, promises that everything will be okay now, and walks with him to where you are crumpled on the cobblestones with Mother. Jaehaera hugs you tightly, but Maelor is still frowning. Perhaps he does not remember the details, but he knows he has the sense that you once betrayed him.

“I’m so sorry, Maelor,” you whisper. “I would never hurt you. I would burn anyone who tried to.” And he relents and allows you to bundle him into your arms, and once he’s there he finds it feels like home.

Mother is weeping for Helaena and Daeron and Aegon. “Aegon is alive,” you say. “He is wounded, but he is safe and has been in hiding on Dragonstone. Aemond has arranged for a ship to bring him here. You will see him tomorrow or the day after.”

“Long live the king!” Criston shouts, you all echo him, Mother with an astonished smile and tears glistening in her large dark eyes. Her firstborn son is back from the dead. She will have the chance to try to learn to love him properly.

“My girl, my brave girl,” Mother says, touching your face and your hair. Your eyes are savage; you smell like smoke. “What’s happened to you? Rhaenyra told me that you’d given birth to a baby at Heart’s Home, that she and I shared a grandson, but…” She looks around, hoping that a maid will appear carrying an infant with Jace’s pug nose and unruly dark curls. And there is such a child, but not in the land of the living. You explain this, and Mother takes your hand and leads you to the sept, and for the first time in your life you join her without protest. Together you light candles for those who were lost, and a little more of your bitterness burns away as the wax melts into pools and cools like lava that runs into the sea.

The king returns to his city, and the smallfolk pour into the streets to welcome him. He is ashamed of his scars, his infirmity, the fact that he must be carried in a litter, but to them he is a man who has suffered just like they have—maimed and marooned and grieving martyred loved ones—and proved that there is hope for a different sort of future. That first day, Aegon spends ten hours on the Iron Throne listening to the stories of his people and learning what they need, you and Aemond standing on either side of him. Each time the Cannibal flies overhead, growling in a rumble like thunder and casting a vast shadow, they do not shrink away but beam up at him as their protector, their assurance that no further harm can befall King’s Landing. Women embroider him into their blankets and pillowcases. Children carve tiny wooden figurines of him. Cregan Stark and his Northmen bend the knee, as do representatives from scores of other treasonous houses. Aegon pardons them; but he grins wickedly when the Cannibal’s roars quake the Great Hall and battle-hardened warriors tremble.

You wait until Aegon is back to see Rhaenyra. You go to the dungeon with your brothers, Mother, and Criston, and you stand in the same place Rhaenyra did when she agreed to marry you to Jace. You were supposed to save her son. Instead, your love for Aemond condemned him.

What was our marriage for? What was any of this for?

The woman who once aspired to be queen and paid the price in blood is a ghost, hushed and weightless, hunched in a corner with her knees to her chest, her long unkempt silver hair thinning. When she sees you, she crawls to the door of her cell and grips the rusted iron bars with skeletal hands. Her watery eyes are frantic and darting like a trapped animal’s. “My children—”

“They are unharmed and still at the Eyrie with Rhaena,” you say, and Rhaenyra sobs in relief.

“Please let them live,” she begs you hoarsely. It is difficult to reach the Eyrie in the winter, but you could do it on the Cannibal. You could raze the fortress like Aemond burned Heart’s Home.

“Because you showed the same mercy to Helaena and Daeron?” Aegon seethes.

“They are helpless, they are blameless. It was my decision to go to war, not theirs.”

“And you shall atone for it,” Aegon taunts, leaning heavily on his walking stick. “I will take you to Dragonstone and Sunfyre will eat you alive. How do you like that, bitch? He’ll start at your feet and work his way up, and you will feel everything.”

“Jace would want her to be spared,” you say quietly.

“I’m not taking suggestions from the delegation of the dead.”

“I’m serious,” you say. Aegon’s scarred brow furrows, Criston is incredulous. Aemond is watching you thoughtfully, his right hand resting on Blackfyre’s hilt. Only Mother is not startled; instead she is studying Rhaenyra wearily, perhaps wondering if she can stomach the mercy the gods would want her to extend to even the most vile of sinners. “That’s why Jace married me,” you remind them. “So his family might survive even if the Blacks lost the war. And he swore to do the same in return. He was kind to me. When he traveled here to King’s Landing, he ensured that Helaena, Jaehaera, and Maelor were treated well. He would have protected Mother if our side had been defeated.”

“And so you’re proposing…what, that we free her?!” Aegon exclaims.

“Her dragon is gone. Her cause is hopeless. But half the realm fought for her, and if we are to earn their loyalty rather than merely compel it with force, we will need to offer concessions. We could give Driftmark to Joffrey—he is allegedly a Velaryon, after all—and allow Rhaenyra to reside there under guard. When her sons with Daemon are grown, we can marry them into the great houses that allied with us in the war. Both branches of the family will survive, and eventually they will grow back together through marriage, just as Jace and I learned to care for each other.”

“She’s a traitor.” Aegon glares hatefully at Rhaenyra. “She’s a murderer, she’s a monster.”

“She could make the same accusations against Aemond, or you, or me,” you say calmly. “Consider it. Take it to the council. You are the king, and it is your decision either way. But this war began with Targaryens devouring each other. And if we continue to succumb to this fury, this fire…then someday there will be none of us left, and our bloodlines and our dragons will be myths and nothing more.”

You turn to go, and Rhaenyra’s bony hand strikes out from between the bars of her cell and seizes your wrist. In a second, Aemond is there; but you shake your head and he retreats. You are not in danger. Rhaenyra cannot hurt you now.

“Where is Luca?” Rhaenyra asks you, pleading and pitiful, terrified of the answer. “Where’s the baby? No one has spoken of him, not the guards, not the maids. The people don’t seem to know he exists. Is he dead?” The tears that well up and glitter in your eyes reveal the truth before you can say it. Rhaenyra nods, weeping. “Aemond killed him when he burned Heart’s Home, didn’t he?”

Once you lied for Aemond on the night Luke died over Shipbreaker Bay: Luke was an enemy. He perished in combat. And now, just as instinctively, you refuse to disavow him. “No,” you say solemnly, agony choking your words, Aemond looking at you, racked with guilt and entirely mystified. “Luca died of fever three days before the attack. It wasn’t Aemond’s fault.”

“So Jace’s line has ended.” Rhaenyra has lost him all over again. She releases your hand and sinks to the stone floor, kneeling there despondently.

“Yes,” you say, briefly touching a palm to one of her jagged, waifish shoulders. And you feel a flicker of something you would have thought was impossible: sympathy, compassion, kinship. “But you still have Joffrey.” You still have a son of Harwin Strong.

You leave the drafty gloom of the dungeon and return to Maegor’s Holdfast, where life is beginning again. Maids are stripping away every vestige of Rhaenyra’s tenure here. A hundred cats, once brought to the Red Keep by Grandsire, trot lazily through the corridors and groom themselves on windowsills. You take Jaehaera and Maelor with you to collect seashells on the chilly, fog-swept beach and teach them how to make mosaics. You craft one depicting Vhagar for Aemond, and give it to him without a word. He brings you a new roost for bats, forget-me-nots painted onto the oak wood box, a deep blue velvet cover to blot out the daylight.

Each night your bed seems to grow bigger, more lonely, more unnaturally vacant. When you are here…think of me, Aemond once wrote to you; and gradually, like mountains are formed over eons, you do.

~~~~~~~~~~

Several weeks after you arrive home, you bleed for the first time since you gave birth to Luca, your body healed and replenished, your corporal almanac beginning again. Soon you will have another child. Soon your hatred and your grief will fade even further, never disappearing but becoming cool to the touch and clear like glass. The flow of blood is heavy, and your cramps are terrible; but you know what will relieve you.

You find Aemond in the small council chamber, where he spends so much of his time. Sometimes he is in meetings with Aegon and Criston and Mother and the rest of the king’s advisors, sometimes he is examining maps and making calculations. But often he is simply here alone and empty-handed, the weight of the past year mooring him like an anchor does a ship. He does not seem to hear you come in. He is sitting with his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together, his melancholic blue gaze on the floor. He is mourning Vhagar. He is mourning what he once had with you.

You sweep across the room to him, crimson gown, bare feet. You lift Aemond’s chin and say, soft and gentle: “Enough.”

He looks at you as if he’s not sure if this is real. Then after a moment, he smiles. “I missed you.”

“I know.” You flash a mischievous grin, taking several steps back from him. “If I ran, do you think you could catch me?”

“I do.”

“I’m very fast.”

“But you want to be caught.”

Aemond lunges for you; you snatch your hand away just as his fingernails are biting into the vulnerable flesh of your forearm. You bolt to the other side of the small council chamber, careening around the table. Aemond follows, his silver hair flowing behind him, his boots thumping against the floor. He grabs you, hurls you against the wall, pins you there with his hips as he rips off his black leather tunic and kisses you messily, deeply, gulping down all the time he’s lost. Your hair is torn from its braid. Your pulse is racing, low moans spilling from your lips. Aemond is not taken aback at all when he reaches under your scarlet gown to find a bundle of bloodied rags tucked between your thighs. He whisks them away and replaces them with his right hand, rough and forceful.

It’s been a year since he’s touched you this way, and you’ve had a child since then. You stop him, a palm pressed to his chest. Suddenly, you are self-conscious. You must warn him. “I don’t look the same as I used to. I don’t feel the same.”

“You’re still you,” Aemond says tenderly. His thumbprint traces the arc of your jaw, skims down the front of your throat, ghosts delicately over the scar that begins at your collarbone. This is where he mended you with a needle and thread; this is where he almost lost you. “You belong to me, you always will. Nothing can change that.” Then he kisses you again, and you are drunk in it, warm all over and melting into the forbidden ancient magic you share, the violence and the hatred and the devotion and the love, the insatiable hunger that thuds in your tangled arteries.

Aemond drags you to the table and throws you down onto it. You can feel bruises blooming like violets beneath your skin, the hot euphoric pressure of trapped blood. You try to crawl away from him, scratching your way across the table. Aemond grips your ankles and hauls you closer, wrenches you onto your back, pushes your thighs apart and buries his fingers in you—slick lust and clotted blood, muscles loosening with desperate need—and unlaces his trousers with his other hand so at last he can take you as a husband would. He leans down over the table and seizes your jaw to hold you still, watching your face as he pushes himself inside you, knowing that he’s not hurting you, knowing that you are whole again after a year of having pieces carved away.

Aemond thrusts carefully at first, and then hard and deep, and you hook your arms around his neck and pull yourself upright so you can taste him, whisper to him, moan and whimper into his sweat-damp throat. Aemond tugs down your bodice so he can stroke and bite at your breasts. And you feast on each other until you are both satiated and gasping for air, your blood staining his skin and trickling down his legs, the table painted with smudges of viscous red. Before you leave together for a bath murky with soap and steam, Aemond drags his tongue over the wood, drinking your copper and iron and youth and desire; and when he smiles at you with blood on his lips and chin, you lick his face clean.

Later that night in the hour of the wolf, his tasks of governance behind him, Aemond comes to your chambers and climbs into bed beside you. And he holds you like he did when you were a girl he had shoved into a frigid stream in the Vale, burning up with fever as The Stranger stood in your doorway.

~~~~~~~~~~

You are married on Dragonstone. You and Aemond ask for Aegon’s permission and no one else’s. You want Mother there even if you fear she will not be able to hide her disappointment, but she and Criston attend and make no complaints, standing together amidst the black volcanic rocks and the mist, murmuring back and forth about the many oddities of your house. You don’t mind; you are glad they have each other. It is very lonely to be surrounded by creatures so different from yourself.

Jaehaera and Maelor giggle as they chase minnows and skittering red crabs around the tidepools. Aegon watches them from where he is sprawled on the wet sand swigging his wine, smiling wistfully, effusively admiring the seashells they bring him, heaps overflowing in their tiny hands. When Vermithor roars from the other side of the island, Maelor looks up and gazes intently through the fog as if someone has called his name. Perhaps one day he will claim the Bronze Fury. When you return to Maegor’s Holdfast, you will give him the small oak dragon that Aegon once carved for you.

Afterwards you tell Mother, blood from the ancient Valyrian ceremony still drying on your lips: “You were right.”

She is puzzled, her brow crinkling as she dabs gingerly at your wound with her green handkerchief, embroidered with the Hightower of Oldtown. “About what, dear?”

“A year ago, I didn’t know anything besides how it had always been with Aemond. I didn’t really have a choice in the matter. But now I do.”

Mother distracts herself by tending to your lip, some infinitesimal way in which she can mend you. Her white hands are wrinkled and frail. Her coppery hair thrashes in the cruel wind. “You being happy brings me peace.”

Your voice goes quiet, somber, ashamed. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save Helaena and Daeron. I’m sorry I failed.”

“Oh, darling, it wasn’t your fault. We tried, didn’t we?” Mother says, smiling sadly and cradling your cheek. And then she tells you for the first time in your life: “I’m proud of you.”

During the short journey home, you sail past the island of Driftmark, where Rhaenyra, her three surviving sons, and Rhaena now reside with the council’s assent. As you peer over the side of the ship, you spy sapphire dorsal fins of sailfish rising up through the frothing surf, and you lift Maelor so he can see them too. In King’s Landing, there are statues being chiseled out of marble to be placed throughout the city, not just effigies of Jaehaerys and Helaena and Daeron but also Jace, Luke, Baela. The old wounds must be stitched closed. The realm must be united again. The Targaryens must not allow their hunger for fire and blood to turn inwards, lest the last of the Valyrians and all their dragons perish from the earth. Your first son will be named Lucerion after the child you lost; Aemond has already promised this. Jaehaera, sweet and benign like her dead mother, has been betrothed to Jace’s brother Joffrey.

When his wings have healed enough, Sunfyre flies home to King’s Landing to be with Aegon. When fragments of Vhagar’s bones and teeth wash up on the shore of the Gods Eye, Aemond has them brought south so he can burn them. The Cannibal does not slumber in the Dragonpit, nor does he seek you out for comfort or companionship. He ranges far and only comes to you when kindling threats make you hateful again. There are rebellions in the Riverlands where Aemond has made generations of enemies, but Harrenhal and its vassals are always loyal. Since the day you claimed the Cannibal, you are rarely ill. Your chills and fevers and headaches have vanished like a dead language no one is left to remember.

One day summer will return, and there will be roses and blue jays in the garden again, ladybugs and dragonflies and forget-me-nots. But tonight snow is falling outside, hushed and powdery, and you are reminded of when you were at Heart’s Home with Luca and Jace and Lady Caro. You miss being able to talk to Jace; you are grievously aware of the absence of Luca’s fledgling weight in your arms. Aemond knows this, and he understands that you are in need of a distraction.

On the floor of your bedchamber as a sweltering fire crackles in the hearth, the five of you are gathered around the board. Jaehaera and Maelor are finally old enough to play. Jaehaera has inherited Helaena’s yellow butterfly; Maelor’s game piece is Daeron’s purple shadowcat. Your new bats are scrabbling out of their roost and gliding through the window you’ve left open for them. Their names are Ocean, Sorrow, Stream, Winter, Dreams, Rain, Peace.

Presently, it is Jaehaera’s turn. She tosses the dice but they tumble too far, clattering across the room. Aegon helps her fetch them. Maelor asks if you will show him how to make a mosaic of Vermithor the Bronze Fury, and of course you agree.

“I love you,” you say to Maelor as you comb your fingers through his white-blonde hair, and he stares up at you, bewildered. Perhaps no one has ever told him this before. You say it again, smiling. “I love you.”

Now it’s Aemond’s turn. He rolls the dice, pretends to misread nine dots as ten, lands on Aegon’s space and sends his piece back to the start instead of yours.

[munsster]

lost in the woods

A/N: i literally couldnt resist getting my grubby hands on this brainrot song (gif creds: @longestwave)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader (Season 3)

Summary: You, the party, and Steve attend an annual winter festival while he's feeling utterly lost in the woods. 3.7k words

Warnings: fluff, everything is corny xoxo, slight angst/anxiety/embarrassment, pet names (sweetheart, honey), flashback, general party shenanigans, GODAWFUL PINING, kissing

Robin had slapped a flyer for Tippecanoe’s First Annual Winter Festival on the counter, and Steve knew he had to be there with you somehow. He just had to make it subtle enough not to seem desperate but obvious enough that you knew he wanted you there. Which was easier than he predicted when he handed the flyer to Dustin and his eyes lit up at the idea of a real festival with live music and gingerbread and carnival games and sledding.

So you and Steve caravanned the children and Robin in your cars. Of course, driving separately was not Steve's ideal situation as he loves having you in his passenger seat picking the music and humming softly to yourself. But you had suggested it since there were more bodies than could fit in your station wagon. Robin had begged to differ, insisting there was always more space with a nod to the trunk, which made you giggle and subsequently made Steve absolutely melt. He didn't usually have the patience for her antics, but he would do anything to hear you laugh even if it meant contorting himself into your trunk.

However, he knows that's not the only reason you suggested separate cars with separate drivers. Things had been tense since the last time he saw you, and the guilt weighs on him like a cold metal barbell crushing his chest.

Your fingers curl into the collar of his shirt, barely grasping, and you crane your neck towards him. You watch his honey eyes draw over your lips just before he leans in and kisses you.

His hand molds into your side, melting over the exposed skin like hot syrup. You press into his hold and smile with your fingers drawing up and across the back of his neck.

But the kiss short lived when he pulls away, shoving a hand through his ruffled hair.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Steve huffs, standing and backing away, "I don't know what I'm doing. I should go!"

He hadn't planned on rushing out of your house and into the snow without any of his belongings, but that's how it happened. It's the subject of most of his nightmares. The look on your face and the blaring sound the door made when it slammed. He had stood on your porch wringing his hands and exhaling puffs of hot air when he finally decided to go through with his running away.

But now he felt completely lost. And he could tell he was losing you, too.

Robin had thoroughly scolded him when he called her that night, telling him he's an idiot for walking out on you when you two were clearly and stupidly in love. He agreed and wallowed in self pity, listening to sappy love songs and soft rock until he eventually fell asleep.

This festival was his chance to make apologize. To fall for you all over again. If only he could get you alone without the squeaky voices of a handful of pestering teens.

El and Max drag you and Robin toward the steep hill carved out for sledding, and Steve follows with the group of boys hot on his trail. They coo taunting endearments at him, urging him to share a sled with you. Dustin hollers something or other about his probably fake girlfriend Suzie and how he officially has more game than Steve.

You look back at him sweetly and mouth 'sorry' before you plop down onto your sled. For all the trouble, you mean. You know the kids would be much calmer if they knew Steve didn't actually want you. And he clearly doesn't after the other night. And the way he seems so nonchalant. He shakes his head and mouths 'don't worry about it' as he shoves his jittery hands in his pockets. The wind whips at his hot face and he wishes he'd brought a scarf. Or some dignity.

"You have to win something for her," Lucas says once they reach the bottom of the hill, and Steve is hit with the realization that all of these twerps somehow got girlfriends before him. Although, Dustin's status is still questionable. He at least has the audacity to lie about his romantic endeavors.

"Yeah," Max agrees, pointing to the tip-a-jug stand lined with winter themed plushies, "Girls love stuffed animals. Plus, winning will be an excellent show of your strength."

"And generosity! The ladies love a charitable man," Mike adds. Steve rolls his eyes, worried you'll hear them from where you walk just a few paces ahead with Will and El. But maybe they have a point.

"I don't need advice from schoolchildren."

"You mean romantically successful schoolchildren!" Dustin chirps.

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose while they beg him to win you something good. Finally, he gives in, sifting a few singles from his wallet. Max calls you over to watch Steve win, and you chuckle weakly, knowing they forced him into it somehow.

The vendor hands him a basket of blue bean bags with snowmen painted on them. Steve's heart races when you step up next to him.

"Good luck," you huff. You both know these games are rigged from the moment the cash hits the counter. But he smiles at you and holds one of the bags in his palm. God, somehow you're even prettier with snowflakes in your hair and the warm fairy lights twinkling behind you.

He lasers in on the game, winding up that rubber arm like he's back in little league hoping for a strike out. The first few jugs clatter backwards. Suddenly, the kids are much more invested learning the possibility that he might actually win.

It's down to the final jug, and he takes a deep breath. In all honesty, he's never been this successful in any stupid carnival game. Why he is tonight is a mystery. Maybe next he'll be struck by lightning.

Except, the last bean bag thuds against the side of the apparatus, and the crowd groans. He perches his hands on his hips and bows his head.

"You did pretty good, kid. Why don't you pick one of the medium sized prizes?" The vendor asks, gesturing to the small stuffed animals halfway up the wall.

"Which one do you want, sweetheart?"

He turns back and his eyes lock with yours. He's hoping the kids were right. Maybe you'll be impressed or charmed. Or maybe you'll think he's being vain and trying needlessly to boost his ego. But you glance at him in surprise, eagerly stepping forward and tugging on his sleeve.

"Steve, I can't accept your prize. You won it fair and square."

"They begged me to play. I only did it because I love showing off," he teases, and it makes you giggle. Hallelujah. You point to the small polar bear plush, and the vendor hands it to you. Steve's heart flutters when you accept the bear so tenderly and thank him like you're shy. But he's never known you to be bashful. At least, not when it comes to teasing him.

Everyone, including Robin, coos and hoots and hollers at the two of you basking in the soft carnival game light. You whip around and tell them to shush.

"Quit it, I'm not afraid to send you all home right now," Steve says, pointing an accusatory finger. You hide your grin behind your plush when his hair bounces from his intensity.

The kids grumble, and Dustin says, "Yes, mom and dad," begrudgingly but with a shit eating grin on his face. It makes Steve blush more than it should.

You suggest stopping for gingerbread-flavored funnel cake and hot apple cider and face a hoard of suddenly starving children.

Dustin sighs dramatically, catching your attention. "This night is so beautiful, don't you think, Steve?"

"Careful, Henderson, I'm your ride home," Steve says.

"What? I’m just saying it would be a shame to waste such a romantic night." Dustin tries his hardest to wink subtly. "If only it weren't for Brad—"

"No, she dumped Brad," El helpfully suggests. The news lights up their eyes, and they bounce around excitedly.

"Who raised these kids?" Steve huffs, eyebrows raised and cringing at their blatant attempts at match making.

You roll your eyes, announcing, "You guys, Steve has more important things to worry about than a girlfriend."

Steve looks at you. You're trying to settle them down, but all it does is shatter his heart and make him their target. He knows it's in good fun and all but the wobble in your voice makes his knees buckle and his throat tighten. He needs to fix this and fast if he wants any chance at reconciliation.

Max stares him down. "What did you do?"

"Come on, Steve the King," Lucas sighs, "You're supposed to be working with us, not against us!"

Steve shakes his head and turns away from the slander. You follow his lead. You're staring straight ahead, pretending to look at the menu while he fiddles with the hem of his sleeve.

Then, El notices a small mistletoe hanging from the edge of the canopy. The kids giggle and nudge each other, and Robin's eyes go wide realizing the front of the line crosses through its path. And you and Steve are standing side by side.

So just as the line shuffles forward, Robin elbows her way between the two of you, earning a hearty grumble from Steve.

"Sorry, I—uh"—solid gameplan, Robin—"Lovely weather we're having."

You chuckle and look up at the way the snow seems to hover midair. Little specks of white illuminated by the festivities with a backdrop of darkness and starlight.

"Yeah, I guess so," you hum. Steve crosses his arms over his chest with a sour look when he spots the mistletoe dangling above the two of you.

"Oh, gosh! Would you look at that," Robin chirps, "Mistletoe! You know what that means."

"You cut the line just so you could kiss me?" you say, smile creeping onto your face. She shrugs, and you hold her jaw while you lean in and peck her cheek. Steve lets out a sigh of relief, but Robin is stirred, her cheeks blooming a rosy pink from more than just the cold.

"Satisfied?"

Robin nods, tugging on her hat and warbling about checking out the ice sculptures and how she'd be back in a second. Steve sheepishly reclaims his spot beside you.

"You want one, too?" you tease. His heart flutters considering it, but his silence has you recoiling and turning away. "Sorry. Just... kidding."

Of course, he wants to kiss you. And he doesn't want it to be an accident or a mistake or a regret. He's already messed up once, and the thought of messing it up with you again hurts like an icicle to the heart.

The kids bound towards the huge tree sprouting from the center of the fair grounds. An announcement had called for the first annual tree lighting at nine, and crowds had flocked to the base of the looming tree. Not Steve, though. He lingers just behind you while you order the funnel cake. He's a little embarrassed when you turn back around holding the plate to find yourselves deserted by your group.

"Where'd everyone go?"

"Distracted by the lights, I guess," he huffs, feeling the pang in his chest when you nod wearily. "Wanna sit down? I saw an open bench back there."

You grab an extra fork and follow him to the bench seated along the edge of the grounds. There's a perfect view of the grand tree with a couple minutes to spare. The bench is snug enough, your thigh pressed to his. It reminds you of that night in your living room and the way he looked at you like he really cared. Like he could have actually wanted you. Honestly, you think, who was he kidding.

But it's second nature the way you hand him a fork.

"Mmm, tastes like..." he hums while trying to decipher the distinct flavor but all he can muster is cinnamon and sugar.

"Gingerbread?" you tease. He ducks his head, grinning and reaching for another bite.

"That would make sense."

You laugh when powdered sugar kisses the tip of his nose. He's confused why you're staring at him like that and rubs his sleeve across his mouth, which makes you laugh harder.

"What?"

You try and wipe it way but miss by a long shot, swiping at his chin through your giggle fit. He finally wipes the tip of his nose. You take a deep breath in, calming your laughter.

"Sweetheart, what is it? What's on my face?"

"You got it." You shake your head. "Just some powdered sugar."

"All that for a little sugar," he teases, grinning from ear to ear when you stifle a laugh. You settle into the bench and he drapes his arm long the back of it. He likes having you so close. It makes him feel foolish and ecstatic and boyish. And he doesn't think he's ever felt so warm before.

You're about to say something when the tree lights up. A million tiny bulbs of green and red and yellow lead to the shining star on top. It illuminates his face, and you can really see the glimmer reflected in his brown eyes. Carolers sing holy night across the festival, but you can still hear them loud and clear. You want to tell Steve he's everything. You would if you could be sure it wouldn't scare him away. People clap and whistle. You're conflicted.

Is this how he felt before he ran away?

"I owe you an apology," he blurts. He turns to face you to find you're already looking him dead in the eyes. His stomach twists because that means it's real and he's not daydreaming. The hope makes him nervous.

You shake your head.

"No, Steve, you have nothing to apologize for. If anything, I should apologize. I still have all the blankets you left, and it's the middle of winter."

"Sweetheart, please, I'm the one who ran out on you," he huffs, "I was being a coward. I've liked you for so long, and I wanted to kiss you, and I know the kids are usually full of shit—and I can't believe I'm saying this—but they're right. I belong to you. I mean it, I'm yours. And as cheesy as it sounds, without you... I feel lost."

The air between you feels thick enough to carve with a butter knife. It's not snowing anymore, but still, something stirs and shimmers and wavers as his confession sets in. It gets a little harder to breathe and he can almost feel the altitude sickness from the flicker in your eye. Though, shortness of breath is nothing compared to the way you make him feel on top of the world with just a glance.

His heart sinks when you tear up and look away.

"Hey," he whispers, leaning in when you desperately press your mittens to your cheeks.

"Sorry. Sorry." You tilt your head back and squint your eyes shut to stop the hot flow of tears.

"It's okay. I didn't mean to make you cry," he says softly when you cover your face and chuckle dryly.

"I know. I just feel like..." you huff, feeling a little silly for crying when Steve rubs your back like he means every word he said. Like he's really sorry and all he wants is you. "It was never the right time for us."

He can't help the way his heart crumbles to pieces like forgotten pastry between your skilled fingers. You're trying not to cry, and it's his fault. You take a deep breath. He thinks he would buy you all the sweet things in the world to make you happy. Even if it meant you didn't need him anymore. It would be enough to know he could do something good for you.

Then you turn to him, and he's doe eyed and handsome and hopeful.

You whisper, "But, now—"

Suddenly, the hoard returns, stampeding and complaining about the cold and how Robin is flirting with the pretty exhibit curator and the tree lighting was so cool but now El wants to take pictures with her new camera and are you gonna eat that? Steve's still hanging onto your every word over the ruckus. Now?

You offer them the rest of the funnel cake which Mike and Dustin devour in seconds. You give Will your scarf when he shivers, and Steve offers his gloves to Lucas who gives one to Max so he can hold her other hand.

"Hey, remember when I told you you'd be cold?" you tease Will who shrugs shyly and Lucas who grumbles, squeezing Max's hand.

"But why would they wear proper clothing when they know you're too caring to refuse?" Max says, cocking a brow. You squint at her.

"Are you calling me a pushover?"

She giggles and kisses your cheek before skipping away with Lucas and shouting, "Only because I love you!"

El hooks her arm in yours and tugs you towards the string light tunnel near the exit. You glance back at Steve who listens to Dustin talk about all the old couples watching the tree lighting ceremony. He makes a point to tell Steve he'd like to come back every year.

Steve looks to you and agrees.

You think El's trying to win the record for most polaroids taken in ten seconds. She takes a few of Max and Lucas and a couple of all of the boys together. She's shouting at them to behave when you wander off towards Steve.

Your knuckles brush his, and you startle, but he's already holding your soft, gloved hand and biting back a grin. You tug him towards you and face him with a fierce look in your eye.

"Quit putting the moves on me, Harrington," you tease, but he sweeps your hair out of your face anyway. Oh, and he looks like he wants to kiss you. Just like before. Only this time, he's not going to run away. And you can tell when he gently cradles your neck that he’s gonna stick around for a long time.

But just as he leans in, a flash goes off and you look straight into El’s lens as the camera clacks and zips. You quickly let go of Steve’s hand and huff out a laugh when one of the kids wolf whistles. Steve chuckles and dips in to kiss your cheek. El skips over and hands you the polaroid, telling you to shake it until it develops.

Once it does, you’re already headed back to the parking lot. You hand it to Steve, and his face lights up.

The light tunnel frames the picture like a halo. Your eyes are wide, staring into the camera while the flash shines on your shocked face. But he’s still looking at you and waiting for his kiss, holding your face with your mitten tucked into his cold hand. You think he looks handsome. He knows that’s because he’s lovesick, and it shows

“I hope you know I’m keeping this,” he says, pinching the corner like it’ll fly away in a snow flurry. You giggle.

“Fine, but I want it on weekends.”

“Deal,” he teases. He plops into his driver’s seat, tucking the polaroid into his sun visor. You lean down and perch your forearms on the window.

“Drive safe, Stevie,” you whisper, glancing at his sweet smile and flushed face.

“I want to kiss you.”

You raise your eyebrows and peek into the back seat where Will, El, and Max giggle. And then to where Dustin is slumped in the passenger’s seat, his forehead rested against the glass.

“Dustin is gonna be furious when he finds out you said that, and he wasn’t awake to witness it,” you hum, but Steve couldn’t care less with you so close to him.

“Maybe it’ll teach him to mind his own damn business.” Steve says it so casually, it makes you smile.

“His meddling isn’t all bad,” you shrug, “It brought us together.”

Well, shit, Steve thinks. He’s never gonna hear the end of it from the kid.

“In that case, I owe him one,” he says, out of focus when you lean further into the car. “Or a couple.”

You smile against his mouth and he hums lowly. It’s gentle. Unhurried. Like it could stop the world from turning if only for a second. If the festival were any quieter, your heartbeats would be audible. You pull away with a small grin and smooth down the collar of his jacket. He holds your wrist, fingers lazily wrapping around the cuff of your mitten to keep your hand close to his chest.

Max pokes Dustin’s shoulder and he wakes with a loud startle. He orients himself to find the both of you staring back at him.

“What was that for? What did I miss?” he whines with a furrowed brow. Max rolls her eyes, tugging her headphones on.

“Dude,” she huffs. El giggles, shaking her head, and Will waves when you stand back from the window.

You pat Steve’s shoulder and say, “Seriously, please be careful. It’s slippery.”

Steve nods, giving you a little salute. You smile. He blushes.

“You, too, honey,” he coos, hoping you’ll linger by his window just a little longer. But Dustin snaps his fingers impatiently.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” he says, already nodding off again. You chuckle.

“I’ll follow you out,” you say with a nod, “Nighty night, Dusty.”

Dustin swats away the tease with a, “Yeah, yeah. Talk to me when you’re boyfriend-girlfriend.”

Steve cocks a brow and you laugh, shrugging. His engine revs to life and you back away further with a cute little wave when his headlights flicker on. He watches you open your car door and disappear inside before slowly creeping out of the parking spot. You shuck your mittens and set them in the cupholder, Robin grinning from beside you the entire time.

“We saw everything,” she says. Mike and Lucas share a knowing glance in the backseat, and you hold up one finger.

“Not a word.”

But you smile the whole way home.

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[papermonkeyism]

Very sorry if you've talked about this before, but how much do you focus on/care about making the plantlife in your Dinosaur Project Thingy accurate for the time and place?

Asking both because I'm generally very curious, and because personally, every time I make it past my anxieties about not knowing enough about dinosaurs to be "allowed" to draw them, I run right up against "oh shoot, if I draw a grass in the background, people are going to kill me."

Having a cartoonier art style helps! If your style is photorealistic, the style is going to require more details that also make errors way more present and visible, but like, the way I draw trees for example you can't really tell if I'm drawing an aspen, an oak or a basswood, you know? It's just a leaf blob with a trunk in the middle. There's no identifying that.

Also, like 99% of my audience who follows my art follows it for creatures and characters, not plant life, and those more well versed on plants aren't as likely to care. At least nobody has come to bark at me because of it this far!

Considering the amount of actual, professional palaeoartists who basically use memes in their art, I think it's okay and fine for hobbyists and cartoonists to not know everything, right?

(Seriously, the amount of artists who draw theropods with no soft tissue around the jawline is wild! You know that classic look where the entire face splits along the skull all the way to the back of the jaw joint, and drawing that pink skin flap at the corner of the mouth? That's the jaw muscles. Why would a giant land apex predator not have skin protecting its jaw muscles? [Also, is that really what jaw muscles look like? A skin flap? Come on.] I've seen some Actual Professional Artists draw these giant cavities inside the cheek area of things like T. rex, that's where the muscles should be! Where do you think the legendary bite force -which this specific animal is known for- comes from? I mean, it works for animatronics, like in Jurassic Park, because it's hard to give soft tissue to robots that would hold up, but it's less of a thing for art, I think.)

I have a field guide book for Hell Creek formation that I'm gonna reference from when needed. Years ago I backed this kickstarter for a dinosaur video game, specifically so that I could get my hands on the book for this exact reason. It has plants section!

Few rules of thumb:

Trees Big. No, bigger!

No grass (if very late Cretaceous, then maybe grass? but research first!)

No flowers, unless Cretaceous. Might be worth googling "Cretaceous flowers" for specifics

When in doubt, ferns and/or conifers.

Also, finally, this is just me, but it can help to set yourself a "target audience" (with quotes). Personally, I'm making my project for myself and maybe a handful of people I know IRL. I only aim for the joy of these specific bunch of friends and family. Anyone beyond that is just bonus, and while I am very glad there are great many more people who do enjoy my work, it's less important than if my friends like it. And if there's one of the extra bonus people who thinks this one plant on the background of my art ruins their enjoyment of my work and me as a person, then that's a them-problem, not a me-problem, if my friend Satu still thinks the drawing is cool.

(Honestly, knowing these specific people, I wouldn't even have to be as accurate as I am, but unfortunately I did include "myself" in my target audience, so here I am.)

[heretherebeturtles-comic]

Hello! Many people have said this but ill say it too, I LOVE YOUR COMIC SO MUCH ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

I really wanted to ask you about how you do the backgrounds? (Something i struggle with) whats the process? Like from start to finish, also, to do the rise backgrounds do you use reference from the show and generally real photo of ny? Or do you come up with them? And last question- The shadow and light on the background- Like HOW

i know it’s a lot of questions but i’m just so curious qwq and wanna learn to be better, thank you again in case you read this and respond, in case you don’t, i hope you have a nice day and a wonderful life uwu keep up the great work! (≧◡≦) ♡

Backgrounds are a really broad subject and I'm always a little overwhelmed when asked this question. Just like drawing the human body, backgrounds take time, repetition, and practice!

My answer got a bit long, so it's going under a read more :) but if you digest info better in video format I found this on youtube

It pretty much goes over everything I wanted to say, but in a much better way. I wish I had found it before writing all this out lol

ok, first of all, I'm not a teacher nor was I built to be one of those cool helpful art tutorial people who do a full coloured tutorial filled with illustrations. This is just going to be a messy "how I do backgrounds / environment layouts from start to finish." kinda thing.

... lets start with a sight tangent.

Sketch from Life!!!

If you want to get better at backgrounds I recommend doing some sketching out in the real world!

When I was first getting into doing backgrounds I went to cafes and parks to just sketch the buildings and objects. Sketch rocks, flowers, clumps of grass, garbage cans, bottles, tables, street signs, etc. If you are drawing a tree observe how the trunks twist, how the bark flows, or how the leaves are bunched.

If you can't leave the house the same still applies! Sketch the interiors of your house, the walls, or common objects like chairs and bookshelves. How are objects stacked? items on the floor?

If you aren't comfortable with drawing outside or in public you can take some photos to draw from! They are good for practice and you can use them again as references later. Alternatively you can find pictures online of buildings and objects to sketch as practice.

All spaces have objects in them, it becomes easier to draw those kinds of spaces when you already have spent time observing and sketching them.

ALSO! They don't have to be good sketches! It's just to build out your mental catalogue and strengthen your perception of perspective.

now the actual thing...

BACKGROUNDS

(the pictures used for this are my own. I dug them out of my 2022 folder)

Backgrounds have slightly different rules based on what you are making them for. Videogame Environment Concept Art vs Animation Layouts vs Comic Backgrounds vs Illustration backgrounds.

They all follow the same basics, which I will go over here, but the intention and function of those designs are going to be different. It's all about how you set up the scene and what it's purpose is!

Brainstorming and Thumbnailing

I like to think about a location as though it is a character. An abandoned old house with creaky sagging floorboards is very different from a futuristic space ship with sharp metal floor panels. A gas station has a very different feeling from a library.

I usually start by asking what is this location's story? Why was it built and for what purpose? What kinds of things does this room need to fulfill that purpose? You don’t need solid answers, but its good to be thinking about it while you are working.

Next, sketch some ideas for how this place is going to look. For me, this usually involves drawing the idea from multiple angles and then making lists & small sketches of the objects I think should be filling the space.

Example: The main character of my original work is a Wanderer. They collect a lot of things on their travels, but those items have to be small enough to be easily carried in a backpack. I wanted his room to be in the corner of an attic, walled off by curtains, and filled with trinkets. You can see some of my brainstorming above.

References

I only look for references after I've done some sketching and planning; this is to solidify my idea first so that I don't accidentally copy anyone else's work. I will make a moodboard with pictures of lighting, colours, items, rooms with specific ceiling beams, old chairs, etc. basically whatever I feel fits the vibe.

Honestly, I don't use references as much as I should. For ROTTMNT fanart I look at backgrounds and screenshots from the series to study the style. I also reference actual photos of NYC to get a feel for how Rise condenses the visual information.

In general, it's good to have references of real life objects/locations, because there are so many details like cracks in pavement, stickers on polls, crowning on buildings, fancy fencing, weird chair legs, etc. that you might not think of. It's the imperfect details that can make a location feel more alive.

Perspective

Once you have your chosen sketch we move to.... the infamous perspective boxes. Doing backgrounds is just learning to be comfortable drawing So Many boxes and carving items out of them.

Many better artists than myself have made videos on perspective, vanishing points, and all the technical bits. Videos like THIS ONE and THIS ONE are helpful (this post is great too!!). There are probably a lot of classes to be found on Skillshare or Schoolism. I learned a lot of this in my college art course, so I can't give you a specific video which helped me.

You can get by and be a good artist without learning this stuff. There are quite a few successful artists who have admitted they never bothered to learn perspective (one of these people even made a whole graphic novel series).

I personally avoided properly learning this stuff until I was in my 20s because I thought it would be boring and difficult to do. tbh I really wish I had learned it earlier because it's so much fun to make those silly little boxes imo. It looks scary and complicated but, just like drawing humans, it just takes time, repetition, and practice to develop the knowledge and skills.

Cleanup

You have your boxes and lines! Cool! Now to make a scene out of it. Fill in the details, get everything placed were you want it! Generally, the lines of each item will point back towards the horizon line, but they can have different perspective points.

Generally you would want to clean it up and get your room completely sketched before doing the lineart. I tend to combine the steps (not recommended)

Lineart

I've mentioned how I do this before. Closer objects have thicker lines and more detailed inside. Further objects have thinner lines and less detail. I didn't quite achieve that balance with the image below, but it's close enough.

Colours and Shading will have to be a separate post. In the meantime, I highly recommend the book "Color and Light" by James Gurney. I used to borrow it from my local library and a good chunk of my knowledge was learned from it :)

[fayes-fics]

A Welcome Intrusion

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: A drunken Bridgerton in the wrong room could be the start of something...

Warnings: none really... flirtatious drunken fluff, meet-cute.

Word Count: 1.3k

Authors Note: This idea has been lingering in my "wtf is this" pile of scenes I sometimes scribble down idly. I decided to add a little polish and make it a little one-shot, as I could not see it having a natural home in my other WIPs. I also have vague plans to do the same scene setup with Anthony as a character study of how their reactions would differ. Unbetaed. I hope you enjoy <3

You are sleeping fitfully - a stifling summer night makes even a thin cotton sheet too much to bear on your overheated skin - when your bedroom is rudely invaded. 

In your half-awake, bleary state, you are not even certain someone is in the room at first, your back being turned to the door. Indeed, it’s only when the mattress dips that you truly startle. You freeze, facing away, completely uncertain what to do with a stranger perched on the edge of your bed. 

Behind you, you hear someone undressing haphazardly, Clothing hitting the rug in soft whumps. Bile rises in your throat when the effort-filled grunt while doing so is decidedly male. 

There is a triumphant noise, and then a body flops back onto the mattress with a self-satisfied chuckle. After a few beats, all is still, and you steel yourself to speak.

“Kind sir,” you murmur, not daring to move, clinging to the far side, “please leave my room.”

There is a decidedly undignified squeal of shock, more akin to a young girl, him flipping over onto all fours next to you, the movement causing you to turn over in equal surprise.

You both stare at each other as if burned; you clutch the bedding high around your neck as he pants lightly, recovering from the apparent scare you gave him, his breath carrying the rich aroma of expensive brandy. In the shaft of moonlight leaking through the curtains, you see the curve of his cheekbone, the sharp line of his jaw. Whoever he is, he is very pretty. Very drunk, yes. But very pretty, too.

“What in god’s name are you doing in my bed?” he demands, sounding alarmed but mildly slurred with intoxication.

“You are in my bed!” you squeak back, knuckles tightening around the sheet you hold, even as your traitorous eyes roam lower, entirely without meaning to. A slice of lithe, freckled chest muscle flexing over ribs as he draws heavy breaths makes something deep inside you quake. You quickly dart your eyes back up to his face. 

“I think not! This has been my bedroom since I was three years old!” he attests with the blithe certainty alcohol provides.

Oh, so he must be a Bridgerton. That is perhaps an easy guess, seeing as you are staying at Aubrey Hall ahead of tomorrow’s midsummer Hearts and Flowers Ball.

“I don’t think they would assign a family bedroom to a guest,” you answer with a flare of sass.

“Yes, I quite agree. That’s why you should not be here,” he huffs indignantly. 

“I was shown here by the head housemaid. That is my trunk there, the footmen brought in,” you point out, gesturing across the room. 

He seems to ignore your argument but suddenly swings around almost violently, looking at the room.

“I don’t have that on my wall,” he frowns at a sizeable floral painting over a dresser.

“Maybe because this isn’t actually your bedroom?” you volley back with uncharacteristic brashness, likely a reaction to his presence affecting you the longer he remains.

He whips back and narrows his eyes at you. “Did Anthony put you up to this? Or Colin? Change my room around and hide you in my bed to fool me? Are you some doxy?” 

“How dare you, sir!!” you blanche, horrified at his coarse language and that he could think you are any sort of woman of such low morals.

“My sincerest apologies,” he immediately looks thoroughly contrite. “You do appear far too well-bred to be such. But it still does not explain your presence in my room.”

“No, it does not,” you answer through gritted teeth, annoyance flaring at his continued erroneous insistence. “And that is because this is not your room…. dunderhead!”

The ferocity with which you spit the last word has his face morphing into one of befuddled incredulity, a single eyebrow arching.

“Sorry, that was impertinent of me,” you flush, dropping your gaze ashamed.

No!” he rushes out, “I… I liked it,” the confession apparently takes him by surprise as much as it does you, judging by his confused frown at his own words.

But then he seems to shrug and nod decisively as if agreeing with himself before he looks back to you, shifting so the light colour of his eyes catches the moonbeam.

“Who are you?” he inquires, cocking his head to the side.

“Miss y/l/n,” you respond.

“I’m Benedict…”

“...BrIdgerton,” you finish for him. “I assume, based on the fact you have a childhood bedroom here.”

He laughs; a rich, resonant sound that makes your insides jolt.

“Indeed,” he smiles, the ivory of his teeth catching the light. Again, you are drawn to how pretty he seems to be. “I am… quite intoxicated, Miss y/l/n”, he confesses, clutching a hand to his chest as if holding a doffed cap, “‘tis entirely possible I am indeed not in the correct bedroom.”

“I would venture that to be the correct assessment,” you offer with a meek smile.

“I sincerely apologise, yet again,” his face contrite as he shuffles into a kneeling position, his palms resting upturned on his thighs as if seeking forgiveness. 

The problem is all your eyes can do is slide down his bare torso, lingering in places they shouldn’t—like the swell of his pectorals, the dip of his waist, and the pull of material at the junction of his thighs just a few inches above where his palms rest….

“I suppose it is only fair I let you look, seeing as I so rudely interrupted your sleep,” he comments dryly.

Your eyes jerk back to his face, met with a pointedly raised eyebrow and a knowing crooked smirk. You feel your cheeks aflame and bow your head, biting your lip, knowing you have been thoroughly caught in your ogling.

“I… I apologise, sir,” you mumble quietly, “I… I have not seen a man without a shirt before…” you admit in a whisper. 

“And do you like what you see?” he teases, tone etched with beguiling menace, his mouth twisted into an intrigued pout as you dare to raise your gaze again.

“I… I…,” you falter, knowing that admitting such would be scandalous.

“Your secret is safe with me, Miss y/l/n,” he winks, “and I hope I am forgiven.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” you bustle out, tugging the bedding high under your chin again, wanting desperately to conceal the flush you know is creeping over your skin with every second spent in his half-naked presence.

“I suppose I should take my leave,” he sighs, his cadence reluctant, perhaps hoping you will dispute his assessment.

“That would be… the most prudent course of action,” you nod even though your fingertips itch to grab his hand and ask him to stay for reasons you don’t entirely understand.

He slides off the bed and scoops up his discarded shirt, a moderately unsteady gait as he tugs it back onto his body. 

“Goodnight, Miss y/l/n,” he bows with a touch of comedic chivalry before he takes his leave. You cannot help but stare at his shapely rear as he walks towards the door.

“Goodnight, Mr Bridgerton,” you call softly, and before you can stop yourself, more words are spilling from your lips, something about this man making you daring. “I do so hope you will offer me a dance at the ball tomorrow to make amends for this intrusion.” 

Even you are astounded by your words. Benedict pauses, his hand frozen on the door handle as he turns back around slowly, his mien surprised.

“It would be my pleasure,” he rumbles after a pause, a tingle running through your being.

“Until tomorrow, Mr Bridgerton,” you offer, heart pounding. 

“Until tomorrow indeed, Miss y/l/n,” the velvet of his voice tickling your skin long after the door snicks closed behind him.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaa @urfavnoirette

[leighsartworks216]

Angel, Please

Zayne x gn!Reader

Went shopping with my roommate thinking it would be really quick, and then spent like an hour in there just pushing the cart for them and losing all energy and ability to think. This is the result of that

Title is from the song "Angel, Please" by Ra Ra Riot

Warnings: sensory overload, anxiety, avoiding a mental breakdown, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship

Word Count: 2,103

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You stare down at the shopping list in your hand, written in a mix of handwriting. Some items listed were written down by Zayne, others were added by you. A culmination of a week or so worth of groceries. It’s harder to read the words than it should be.

You have milk, cereal… You look back and forth between your cart and the list, but you can’t connect the dots. Nothing is clicking together.

Milk. Check.

Cereal. Check.

Your skin feels uncomfortably hot and itchy, but you don’t take off your sweatshirt and you don’t scratch. Your chest is tight, and you can’t seem to get a deep enough breath in. You zone out while staring at the list, urging your body to get a hold of itself.

“Excuse me,” someone scoffs as they invade your space to reach for something on the shelf behind you. They give you a look, judgemental and cruel, and walk away with a huff. Their basket bumps your cart with a clang that makes you twitch.

God, could they please turn the music down? The lights down? You just- You just need everyone to disappear. You just need to disappear.

You bite your cheek long enough to suffer through a self-checkout. You rapidly scan whatever you do have - more than just milk and cereal, but you don’t even process them anymore - and pay as quickly as possible, conscious of the eyes of other waiting customers trying to check out boring into you, judging you, urging you to just fucking move already.

The cool autumn air doesn’t soothe you enough. You throw everything into the trunk of your car. The pavement of the parking lot vibrates your hands as you push the cart to the nearest return. You rub them on your sweatshirt desperately.

You have to keep it together. You can’t break down in a parking lot at a grocery store just because all of your senses were freaking out. You are a Hunter! You fight Wanderers! You put your life on the line every single day! Why are you losing it here of all places?!

Your hands shake as you find Zayne’s number. It connects to the bluetooth in your car and you pull out of the parking space.

Are you really 100% fit to drive? No. But you need to get away from here as soon as possible. As tempting as it would be to ask to be picked up, you don’t want to be a burden.

“Hello?”

You swallow thickly. Your hands rub restlessly at the steering wheel. “H-Hey.” You clear your throat. “Hey. I’m heading home now.”

“Are you alright?” Zayne asks.

You want to put your head on the wheel and cry. You feel pathetic.

“Did something happen?” You picture his frown. The way his eyes sharpen when he tries to pick apart a little mystery. You want him with you right now. “Please answer me.”

“I-I’m fine,” you answer quickly, a knee-jerk reaction to the question. You know you’re trying to convince yourself. You know he doesn’t believe it for a second. “Just… Just stay on the phone with me until I get back. Can you…? Am I bothering you?”

He hushes you softly through the phone. “You’re not bothering me, darling. I’ll stay with you.” You sigh shakily. His voice sounds so nice right now. Your left leg bounces restlessly. “What do you want to talk about?”

You scramble to think of anything. You anxiously wait for traffic to clear enough to let you turn out of the parking lot. Your mind is taking in too much and too little information at the same time. Cars are just colored shapes, but you know where every single light source is around you. They keychains hanging from the key in the ignition rubs your leg like someone is drawing fire across your skin with a paintbrush. You try batting them away, but the jingle grates in your ears like it’s been amplified.

You pull into the flow of traffic, at last.

“Why don’t we talk about that show you enjoy so much?” he offers carefully. “The one with the girl caught in a love triangle? What was her Evol again?”

“She…” You swallow and check your speed. As badly as you want to get home, you don’t want to get pulled over either. “She can feel other people’s emotions. And, and in one episode she changes them, too.”

He hums thoughtfully. “Does she feel the attraction from the other characters? The men from the love triangle. What are their names?”

“Joseph and,” you turn on your blinker and wait at the stop light, “Damien. She can, but she feels bad because she’s not interested in either of them. So she pretends she doesn’t feel it.”

“So if she’s not interested in the prospective love interests, who does she like?”

You slowly pull up as a yellow arrow blinks, waiting for a gap in traffic to pull through. Once you’re driving steadily again, you answer. “She has a crush on her bed friend in the show, Melina. It’s really sweet, actually. But Melina has no clue, even though Therese, the main girl, keeps hinting at it, because Melina thinks Therese is interested in Damien.”

“That would be a tricky situation to be in. Who do you think she’ll end up with by the end?”

You laugh, but it’s slightly airy and strained, like someone punched it out of you. “I hope she gets with Melina, obviously!” You turn your blinker on again at a stop sign and turn after a second. This road doesn’t get too busy. “There’s actually some hints that Joseph and Damien will end up together. Everyone online thinks they’re competing for Therese’s love to try hiding their own feelings for each other.”

He doesn’t respond for a second. “Are you almost home, darling?”

You blink, and just like that, you’ve been snapped back into your body, aware once more of your surroundings. You’re in the middle of pulling into the apartment’s parking lot. You don’t even remember the drive to get there. “Y-Yeah. I’m here, actually,” you murmur.

“Okay. I’ll meet you down there. Do you need me to stay on the phone until then?”

You fiddle with the keychains, considering it. Everything doesn’t feel so itchy anymore. Your eyes hurt, but it feels more like the sting of exhaustion. Your head still thuds with a headache, but the noises that fueled it before feel more bearable now. “I think I’ll be okay.”

“Call me again if you need to. I’m on the way.”

The call ends and you turn off the car, pulling the keys from the ignition and holding them in your lap. You feel surreal, like your brain hasn’t quite caught up to your body now that it’s not screaming about every little thing. The parking lot outside your window doesn’t feel real. The bike you parked next to, your bike, feels out of place.

You groan and rest your head against the steering wheel, shutting your eyes tightly. Why can’t you just feel normal already?

A finger taps on the glass. You look up and watch as Zayne opens the door for you. “Are you alright?” he asks again.

You bite your tongue to avoid answering automatically. But the real answer eludes you. You don’t think you’re gonna freak out if your sweatshirt happens to brush your neck in a weird way, but you’re not exactly sure you could just calmly ignore it if it did happen either.

You slip out of the seat and out of the car. Zayne has that concerned look on his face, like you’ve just told him you haven’t slept for a week straight, but he doesn’t say anything, just shuts the door behind you.

He opens the trunk and begins gathering messily thrown-together bags of groceries. You grab one of the lighter ones that he leaves for you, and close the trunk. The car beeps when you hit the lock button on the fob.

Once you’re inside, you sit at the kitchen island and watch as he puts away everything you got. You find the crumpled list in your pocket. You have the clarity now to see just how many items you missed, including things you needed to make dinner tonight. You want to crumple yourself up into a ball like this paper.

Zayne’s hand comes into view as he slides the paper over to where he stands. He has a notepad and a pen, and he goes down the old list to write out what you missed.

“I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t answer until he finishes the list, clicking the pen and setting it down. Then, his full attention is on you. “Can you tell me what happened now?”

You can’t meet his eyes. It’s hard enough admitting actual health issues to him, let alone stupid shit like this. Logically, you know he’s seen this happen to you before, know he wouldn’t think it’s stupid like you do. But it’s still difficult.

“I just got overwhelmed,” you mutter. You trace shapes into the marble countertop. “Everything was so loud and bright and… And I panicked, that’s all.”

“How do you feel now?”

You sigh and cross your arms on the counter, resting your chin on them. “I’ve got a headache, and I’m tired. But I’m not? I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like I’m in a dream. Nothing feels real right now.”

He hums in understanding. “I can think of several treatment plans that may help.” You finally look at him and he shoots you a wry grin. “First, I suggest you take some pain medication for your headache, before it gets any worse. After that, you have a few options. You can go take a nap or spend some time alone to decompress. You can put on your noise-cancelling headphones and listen to music or a podcast. Or we can watch that show you told me about, and I can make you some tea.”

“That’s a lot of choices, doc.”

“It’s in the patient’s best interests to have a lot of options,” he says. “You’re not beholden to any one choice.”

You look away as you think about it. What do you want right now? What do you need? “Can I mix and match?”

He nods. “Of course you can.”

“Tea sounds nice,” you start. “I don’t want to sleep right now, but I can listen to music, I think. But I just want to be with you.” You look at him again. “Is that alright?”

He smiles, answering you without words. Instead, he moves around the kitchen to fill a kettle with water and sets it on the stove. He disappears down the hall to retrieve two pills and your headphones, setting both on the counter in front of you. He fills a glass with some water for you to take the meds. You grab the headphones and slip them on, and head over to the couch to get comfortable. They connect to your phone once you turn them on. You scroll through your playlists for a while, but the more you look, the more unappealing it sounds to you.

Zayne comes in with a steaming mug of tea, prepared how he knows you like it. You hesitantly take off your headphones. “Actually, will you read to me?”

“What would you like to hear?”

You shrug. “Anything. I just want to hear your voice right now.”

He browses the bookshelf nearby. You set your headphones down and blow on the tea to cool it down. He slips one of the books out and carries it over to the couch. You curl into his side the second he’s sitting down.

The book is one of your favorites. You’ve never seen him read it before, but he’s seen you pull it out lots of times ever since you moved in together. You smile. A comfortable warmth emanates from your heart.

The paper slides gently from one side to the next as he turns the pages. It’s not grating. It doesn’t send shocks of discomfort through your body. You cradle the mug close as you rest your head on his shoulder, letting your eyes relax as you skim the familiar words. His shirt on your cheek isn’t scratchy at all. It’s nice and soft.

He begins reading and you close your eyes. You breathe in deep the cool scent of his cologne, the fresh smell of his body wash, the slightly bitter, rich essence of the tea.

You can relax here. You can exist here. This feels real.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope

[mushroom-words]

Run, Little Rabbit, Run || Tyler Galpin

Fandom: Wednesday Pairing: Tyler Galpin x GN!Reader Words: 1415 Note: This has been rewritten and reposted from a previous blog. Warnings: Dark content. Violence. Possessive behavior. Predator and prey trope. Blood. Summary: You've stuck your nose in where it doesn't belong. Now Tyler has to make sure his secret is safe.

YOU WERE TOO curious for your own good. That’s what they would tell you anyway. People would warn you about how the cat fell prey to its own curiosity. They never remembered to mention how many lives the cat had to spare. You weren’t sure how many you had left, but you knew the supply had to be running short by now.

        Mud squelched beneath your feet and splattered up your legs. Rain showered down from the thunderous sky. The pelts of droplets whipped at you from all directions as it flew in harmony with the gusting wind.

        All sense of direction had been blurred and turned around by the churning storm. Everything around you looked the same bathed in the moonlight. A thick fog had begun to roll in and blanketed any potential path through the underbrush. It perfectly depicted a scene out of a horror movie. Right down to the girl running for her life.

        Tyler sang your name from somewhere behind you. “You can’t run forever, little rabbit.”

        He sounded much closer than he should have been. Much too close for comfort. The only solace you had to cling to was knowing he hadn’t transformed into the Hyde yet. Once he did, there would be no hope of escaping his clutches. You still stood a chance while he was human.

        Except he wasn’t exactly human. He was a beast masquerading as a teenage boy. A disguise that he had used to draw you in. Manipulate you into developing feelings for him. Tricking you into believing his act.

        It wasn’t his fault. Not entirely anyway. Tyler couldn’t help what he was or what he did. Hydes followed whatever orders their masters gave them. Someone was making him disembowel fellow outcasts. But knowing that only made the situation far more terrifying. Knowing there were two killers roaming around but not knowing who the mastermind was.

        You threw a precarious glance over your shoulder. He was nowhere to be seen. But you knew he had to be closing in and gaining on you.

        The toe of your shoe caught on something hidden in the underbrush. You cried out as your body pitched forward. You flung your hands out just in time to prevent you from face-planting the mud. Small rocks and broken twigs stabbed into your exposed skin. You ignored the pain as you scrambled back up to your feet. His laughter ran throughout the woods like he could see you struggling. Watching your hands and feet slip against the slick mud. It echoed around you, nearly impossible to hear which direction it came from in the roaring storm.

        “I can smell you, (Y/N),” he sang. “Your fear, it’s almost intoxicating. I bet you taste even sweeter.”

        He was too close. You ducked behind a large tree and slapped your hand over your mouth. Your breathing was ragged and too loud for you to think he wouldn’t be able to hear it. You needed time to think. Fear’s icy fingers had a choke-hold on your ability to properly think about your next moves. But you knew there wasn’t much you could do. You were in the middle of the woods at night with no way to defend yourself against the monster so dangerous and unpredictable that Nevermore had banned him from the campus.

        You felt your foot nudge something. Looking down to see a solid rock, you slowly slid down the trunk and picked it up. The jagged edges scraped against your palm. It was the closest thing to a weapon you could find out there.

        Letting loose a shaky breath, you peeked around the tree to check his whereabouts. You squinted through the downpour but still saw no sign of him. His absence put you more on edge. Not knowing where he was was worse than if you had come face to face with him.

        “Boo.”

        Crying out, you jerked back and let your arm swing with wild abandon. Tyler easily caught your wielded hand and immediately snatched you by the throat. He slammed you back against the tree. Your head knocked against the wood hard enough for stars to speckle your vision.

        He sighed as he looked at you. Just looked at you with eyes as dark as the secrets he held. You wished you were able to decipher the thoughts behind them. If you knew of his plans for you, knew what he planned to do with you now that he had you trapped, you might have been able to formulate a plan of escape. But even you knew that was wishful thinking. Even if you weren’t exhausted and disoriented, you doubted you would be able to see past the doors into his twisted mind.

        The rock slipped from your muddy fingers. He glanced down at it before giving you a disappointed look. Yet underneath that disappointment was a depraved amusement that contrasted sharply against his once inviting features. He shook his head at you and clicked his tongue.

        “Hasn’t anybody taught you not to run from a predator?” He leaned in with a smirk that twisted your stomach with tendrils of dread. “We enjoy the chase too much,” he said in a low voice.

        Tyler released your hand to touch your face. You resisted the urge to flinch away from his fingers. He stroked his thumb over your cheek with a gentleness that belied the circumstances. Shivers skittered up your spine in the same panic that strangled your mind. You shuddered.

        He chuckled at your body’s reaction to him. “The chase is over now, little rabbit.”

        Not much scared you. Even now, you weren’t sure if it was Tyler himself who scared you, or if it was the unknown of what he wanted with you. It might have been the possibility of your death looming over your head that terrified you—or maybe it was how your imagination ran amuck with ideas of what he was going to do to you if he didn’t kill you.

        You didn’t want to stick around to find out.

        You let the saliva pool on your tongue before spitting it out in his face. As soon as it landed, you brought your knee up sharply. The abrupt fight distracted him just enough for you to shove him away from you with a desperate cry. Just the thought of hurting Tyler churned your stomach, but you knew he would hurt you if you didn’t do what was necessary to get away.

        Your shaky legs could only carry you a few feet before a solid mass slammed into your back. You were tackled to the forest floor, the force knocking the wind from you. Tyler manhandled you onto your back and straddled your thighs. He pinned your wrists above your head with a single hand while you struggled to suck air down into your burning lungs.

        Tears mixed with the rain, blurring your watery eyes as you stared up at his enraged expression. “Tyler, please,” you choked out, the words broken between sobs. “I won’t tell anyone, I swear. Just please don’t… don’t hurt me.”

        The anger mingled with something akin to sympathy. Pity. Something that softened the edges of his gaze. But the twisted depravity glinted darker than the night. “Oh, baby,” he cooed mockingly. “I know you won’t tell anyone.”

        He shifted, and it was then you noticed the jagged rock in his hand. You cried and begged until your throat went hoarse and tears and snot slicked your already wet face. He held you down with no effort despite your desperate thrashing beneath him. Not willing to go out without a fight. If you were going down, it was going to be swinging.

        “You won’t tell anyone,” he repeated quietly once you’d exhausted yourself. “I’ll make sure of it.”

        Your scream died out as he brought the rock down with a grunt. Pain immediately exploded across your skull—throbbed as you felt your skin split, warmth trickling down your chilled face in bloody streaks. He slammed the rock into your temple this time. Black began to edge your watery vision. You grappled onto the slippery cliffs of your consciousness as best as you could, but you could feel your fingers losing their grip until you were tumbling from the precipice.

        Tyler leaned down and put his face in yours, making sure he was the last thing you saw before you were plunged into the darkness. “There’s nowhere left to run, little rabbit. You’re mine now.”