#Radiant Farms

[radiantfarms7]

Kava Gummy: Enjoy Natural Relaxation | Radiant Farms

Experience the soothing power of Kava with Radiant Farms' Kava Gummy. Our premium Kava Gummies are crafted to help you unwind and find tranquility in your daily routine. Kava, known for its traditional use in relaxation and stress relief, is expertly blended into each gummy to provide a natural, effective solution for calming your mind and body.

[thedaily-beer]

Toppling Goliath + Radiant Beer Places I've Been Double IPA (Picked up at Windmill Farms). A 3 of 4. A solid hazy double IPA -- smells of lots of tropical fruit and orange citrus, and the body delivers much the same. Nice balance to this with a relatively firm bitterness in the finish behind the juiciness, and a slightly creamy body.

[thewavesthatwuther]

currently I have 20 blue balls (lustrous tides). which of these two banners should I pull ?

[belghast]

Southeast Cliffside Chest Farm

Southeast Cliffside Chest Farm - This morning I talk about one of the most well documented level 25 Golden Chest farms in Enshrouded and the three armor sets you can get.

Good Morning Folks! After having some luck with the chest farm that I showed off yesterday, I decided to try another one that I have seen in literally every YouTube video talking about Level 25 Golden Chests. This one is located in the very Southeastern corner of the map down by Scatterbone and one of the Sun Temples. Of note… this is the Sun Temple which has the legendary glider that I talked…

[yandere-sins]

Just saw your greek god works and they're top notch! Could you do something with yan Apollo? There's just soooo much stuff to work with with him... Thanks!

Thank you for requesting!! I love writing about them ^-^

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Very little could speak more about your skills than a personal invite to present them at Olympus.

The morning Apollo arrived in his golden chariot was an exceptionally bright one. Naturally, because his body emanated the rays of sun that broke through your window, his radiant smile widening on his youthful face the second you stepped out of your hut. Your mother was crying—tears of joy as you realized when she hugged you tightly, telling you how proud she was. Even your father seemed choked up when he told you you were special.

So, as you finally stood before the handsome stranger, the god whose shrine you visited regularly, you were utterly speechless, overcome with emotions you couldn't place. You could only listen as he spoke to you, his voice silken like the soft breeze on a summer's day yet as cheerful as the anticipation for an exciting festival.

"I want you to play," he made his intentions known, his hand falling to the side of your head, letting a lock of hair glide through the gaps in his fingers. His touch was warm and gentle, beyond anything you expected an immortal to feel like. "For us, for me."

"It would be an honor," you honestly muttered back after your mother urged you with a slight push, reminding you not to be rude to the god who was blessing you with such good fortune. Most people were honored in war, because of their devotion to their deity, in the pursuit of knowledge, or in death. To be chosen solely for your lyre play was rare, and you felt overwhelmed with gratitude, tears filling your eyes.

Apollo smiled, promising to come back in a mere three days time. Not enough to memorize all the songs you wanted to play, but while your parents packed you a small bag with the essentials and exempted you from your duties on their farm while making sure you were fed and clean, you kept practicing your craft until your fingers were raw and bloody. Apollo had assured you that there was no perfection in music. Still, you wouldn't have been able to endure the shame of hitting the wrong note to a song everyone knew—even the gods. And so you practiced, day and night, until finally, it was time to leave.

That morning was colder yet auspicious. So many burdens weighed on your shoulders—your performance, bringing honor to your family and yourself, the payment you heard your parents whisper about. There had always been food on the table for your big family, but you noticed their excitement when they talked about the boon that the gods would give you for performing well. You gulped nervously as you fiddled with the newly strung lyre in your hand when, with loud neighs and the warmth of a sunny day washing over you, Apollo arrived. When he smiled at you, you couldn't help but grin back, excited for this day, his brilliant mood instantly captivating yours.

You bid your parents farewell as they wished you a good performance and safe travels. They waved after you as the heavenly chariot took off into the morning sky, announcing another beautiful day. You got to stand close to the sun god as he performed his duty, chatting carefreely about how excited he was to hear you play and how everyone was expecting you eagerly. It made you nervous, but being close to him, his arm around you to keep you secured, Apollo's presence made your worries simply melt away. You could have never seen yourself as his equal, but he didn't make you feel any less than a friend.

He took his time cruising you through the sky, showed you the magnificent temples of the gods, let you taste the richest grapes the land had to offer, and took you to places that most humans wouldn't see in the span of multiple lifetimes. Always with a hand outstretched to help you step down from or into his chariot, and watchful eyes looking out for you. You learned a lot that day, the excursion long but magical, especially with a god by your side as your guide. To him, it must have been boring stuff that he saw every day, but to you, it became the most incredible day of your life very quickly.

Until you were brought before the entrance to the Olymp, that is.

Chariot parked, you could still feel Apollo standing behind you, protectively but encouragingly. His frame towered massively next to you, cutting you off from the human world behind his radiant form. The sun was setting, leaving you with a chill. But perhaps you were only imagining it, your performance anxiety rising. His warm hand gently pressed into the small of your back, urging you with determination to step ahead and face the rest of the pantheon of gods that had collected, to play them the songs you had come for.

With weak knees, you took one step in front of the other, Apollo always by your side. He ensured you wouldn't falter as all eyes in the grand hall seemed to turn towards you the moment you stepped through the entrance. There were all kinds of eyes—wise and godly and mythical. But you were more surprised by the human ones, tired ones, downright exhausted ones that raised to watch you. Their presence felt out of place, but then again, so did yours. However, there was something deeply unsettling in the dullness of their eyes, the sloppy movements as they walked around the hall, seemingly without vigor, their stares the only reaction to your arrival contrasting starkly with the boisterous and booming voices of the immortals greeting you.

"Apollo, is this your new charge?" a faun asked, curiously eyeing you and your lyre. "Your new songbird, eh?"

Apollo laughed, waving off the comments from all sides as he moved you forward, guiding you through gods and servants alike, their hands reaching out, touching you, admiring you. You couldn't help but startle at the different sensations of these touches—cold, sharp, unnatural. It made you cling to Apollo more, his presence way more comforting, and although he had grown in size—appearing mighty godly now—he made sure that his arm stayed around you like a shield.

One dull-eyed human after another tried to serve you food and drinks that you declined respectfully. It was hard enough to keep up with the pressure, and you didn't have the stomach for any kind of intake—at least not until you were done. And with Apollo's urging, you didn't stick around to talk to them or even watch them, although you felt their eyes drill into your back.

You were led to the seats at the very top of the grand hall, guided to the ones at the side which were vividly red with golden threads. Sitting down on them was like sinking into a cloud as Apollo helped you up, lowering you down gently. The surrounding lounges and pillows on the floor were quickly filled with eager eyes looking up at you, waiting for your play just like your patron god had promised them. You couldn't help but look around, cross eyes with some of the nymphs and minor goddesses and gods that you probably had heard from but were never educated on properly.

But the gathered gods were easily recognizable by their trademarks—Dionysus, Athena, Aphrodite, and Artemis, just to name a few of them—and you were surprised to see them keeping one or more humans by their sides, looking very different from the ones you had seen before. These ones were clothed and prepared with great care, love, and devotion to their god. Their cheeks were plump, and they smiled when their patron spoke to them, albeit hesitantly. However, the unsettling feeling you got from the dull-eyed ones before didn't vanish as you watched these devoted humans. Something about their posture and expressions didn't match the festivities. They looked uncomfortable, and some of them even sad.

"It is time," Apollo spoke softly beside you, his voice gentle but intent. This was his party, and you were the special performance; of course, he didn't want you to be distracted and unable to play. His touch tore you out of your observations. It drew your attention back to him, strong fingers wrapping around your shoulders, squeezing you encouragely, but it was almost a little hurtful. You nodded, thankful he didn't make you look incompetent in front of everyone, and his grip softened in satisfaction, although it didn't disappear. Still, you couldn't help the anxiety from rising, your mouth dry, and your fingers jittery. Even when you tried to calm yourself, you couldn't entirely focus, panic rising inside you.

Now that you had come so far, you couldn't fail.

A hearty and a beautiful laugh rang out from your side, Dionysus and Aphrodite exchanging knowing looks before the goddess handed one of her humans a golden chalice and encouraged them to get up. "Go," she chimed, and her stunningly beautiful charge sauntered their way over to you, handing you the chalice. They were undeniably beautiful, even when clothed in the simplest garments. But their gaze was unblinking as they handed over the cup. "Don't," they hissed sharply in a whisper, their eyes flitting to Apollo for just a second, and you felt his fingers dig into your skin before the human left you again, trotting quickly and without a detour back to Aphrodite's side. The goddess patted their head before returning her attention to you, gesturing for you to drink. "To your nerves, you ray of sunshine," Dionysus laughed merrily, and everyone raised their chalices in a toast.

You nervously crossed eyes with the human that brought you the drink, seeing their expression hardening in a deep frown unbecoming of their beauty. Then you looked to Apollo, his own cup raised to his lips, but he had yet to drink from it. He observed you from the corners of his eyes, smiling when he noticed you looking back. "It's just a little bit of wine," he reassured you, assuming you were unsure if it was okay to drink.

You nodded, feeling pressured not to refuse the gods' hospitality, and raised the chalice to your mouth to take a tentative sip. It wasn't more than two gulps before you set it down, letting it be taken away by a nymph that sat at your feet. Immediately, the tension became lighter, your worries melting away, especially when Apollo drew you closer to his body, his warmth seeping into you. He steadied you for your play, letting you lean on him as much as you needed. With all the pressure and anxiety you had felt, you had almost forgotten that playing the lyre was fun. That you enjoyed doing it, and practiced hard enough to even perform before the gods. With the first chord echoing through the hall, all the tension finally left your body.

It was glorious.

Gods and humans alike sang along to the well-known songs you had picked; they listened when you added nuances to your play, and some of them got cozy with each other, cuddling and kissing as you presented them with the romantic notes everyone adored. By the time your hands were tired, fingers roughed up by the strings, and your concentration fading, everyone was in awe and satisfied with your performance, gods clapping their hands and cheering at you as you finished.

However, you immediately looked up at Apollo, greeted by his radiant smile beaming down at you. His hand raised to pat your head as he announced you as the magnificent talent of the night. The relief mixing with pride swelled in your chest, heating your cheeks as you took some humble bows, smothered in the cheers. Another cup was handed to you, and after performing for so long, you were glad to wet your throat.

Most of the night was spent talking to eager fans of music, letting them play your lyre, and hearing their own songs. Drinks would be passed to you, food almost shoved into your mouth by the merry folks, and you laughed along with them over their silliness. You felt lighter than ever before, so caught up in the moment and with the alcohol only adding towards the sense of mirth. The mystics were as playful and cheery as they had always been described, but you knew it would only be for that night, so you enjoyed their company.

Apollo wouldn't leave your side even as gods approached him, congratulating him for finding such a treasure amongst the humans and asking if he'd let them "take" you for their celebrations sometimes. You didn't get to hear his answers as your attention was drawn away by humans joining in with the conversations, telling you about their boons and how they were accepted into Olympus. They were all extraordinary people, and you felt quite small next to them. But they didn't make you feel unwelcome in their midst, and you were glad to hear about their experiences. Nymphs would braid everyone's hair, decorating them with flowers, fauns were playing around, everything seemed like the perfect idylle that all humans imagined the lives of gods to be.

"You shouldn't agree if they ask you to stay," the human beside you suddenly whispered. She was a cute, dainty woman, a follower of Artemis clothed in silver and pelts. Immediately, her hair was yanked back as one of the nymphs hissed at her. You caught the words 'insolent' and 'behave', but others crowded around you so fast, talking over the two and asking you questions as that woman was taken away, so you were forced to shift your attention.

It wasn't until you felt a warm hand graze over your back that you looked up at Apollo again, his gaze very gentle. He seemed satisfied with how the evening went. He might have even held some affection for you after the performance, which put him in good graces with everyone. Relief flooded your senses, and you bit back a yawn as exhaustion suddenly crashed into you, taking hold in your body.

"Are you tired?" he asked, and suddenly, you couldn't hold back the signs in front of him. You had kept it together so well, but you figured that playing for hours, talking for even longer, and drinking the sweet, fruity wine was coming back to haunt you now. Leaning into his comforting touch, you gave him a small nod and he understood, standing up and helping you get to your feet.

There were lots of disappointed aws and ohs at the announcement of your departure, nymphs and fauns seeing you off and waving after you as Apollo brought you back to his chariot, your legs even weaker now than when you entered the Olymp full of anxiety. No human came to see you off, but you barely registered that in your tired mind. Instead, you put on a smile and waved back at everyone after getting on the chariot.

"Did you have fun?" Apollo asked as he urged his horses to go. The night had long set, yet you two moved across the sky like a shooting star in the darkness.

"A lot," you confirmed. "This was an amazing experience; I am very grateful to you for this opportunity! Although it makes me sad that it is already over."

You could hear your own words slurred by the intoxication and exhaustion, yet you managed to form a tired smile for him. Apollo stepped closer, helping you stay upright as he urged his horses forward before returning your smile.

"It doesn't have to end," he hummed cheerfully, not a hint of tiredness in his demeanor. "You could play for us every night. Party with everyone, be merry. Would you like that?"

You chuckled at his suggestion but shook your head as you looked out into the night sky, stars passing you by at a speed that made them look like the shooting stars.

"It was a lot of fun, but I got to go home. My parents need my help on the farm, even if I love playing the lyre."

Apollo hummed thoughtfully, and you felt closer and closer to sleep as his warmth enveloped you. You only realized you had dozed off when you felt the soft thud of the chariot landing beneath your feet, followed by two hands guiding you off it. Your eyes fluttered open, but you were too tired to really do much but let yourself be picked up, nuzzling your face into Apollo's comforting warmth.

His steps were less gentle than his touches, his hold on you bouncy as if he was in a rush. The sounds around you turned from the peaceful night wind passing you by into complete silence, only his steps echoing as they hit marble floors. A rush of coldness threatened to envelop you, but Apollo pulled you closer to him, not letting the cold get near. You felt something reach out for you again, like the gods had, curious and uncaring of your privacy. It didn't feel familiar, your senses slowly reawakening, but something inside you seemed to want to keep you dormant for a while longer.

However, the feeling was interrupted when you were laid down into the softest cushions, with Apollo's warmth brushing over your head as you felt his weight dip the mattress you were on top of. Even with your drowsy mind, you knew you weren't in your own bed, concern rising. "Where are we?" you sighed, stretching your neck to receive more of his incredibly comforting warmth while a shiver ran down your spine. Why was it so unusually cold in this place, or had you just gotten too used to having Apollo's warmth around you that you only realized the shift in temperature now?

"Home," he answered your question, and you pried your eyes open, looking at the blurry, radiant form of the god sitting by your bedside. Then, slowly, every movement paired with so much discomfort, you let your head fall to the side, looking around at the vast darkness surrounding you. Not even Apollo's light could banish the pitch-black shadows all around you, and no sound penetrated the room.

" 's not my home..." you mumbled, brows furrowing, your deduction taking an awful lot of time. This place felt weird compared to all the wonderful ones you had visited. If this was his home, you had imagined it to be bright and beautiful, a golden palace of light and warmth. But instead, you feared for your little toes as the shadows seemed to reach out, wanting some of your warmth instead of giving it to you.

"It is now," he reassured you, sounding unusually stern even though his hand caressed you gently, brushing away your hair and cupping your cheek to turn your head towards him again.

"But my parents..."

"They knew the price they'd pay in this trade."

Leaning down, Apollo connected his forehead with yours, the depth of his eyes impalpable, especially in your muddled brain. You couldn't read him well, but he seemed... satisfied? He didn't seem to be ridden by confusion or worry like you were; rather, he was confident and calm. Something stirred in you, a sense of anxiety, but it was beaten down by a sweet-tasting tiredness immediately.

"Welcome home," he muttered, kissing your temples. "Catch some sleep so you can fulfill your duties to me tomorrow with the same brilliance as you did today. I'll be right here, making sure you are well-rested for your next performance, Sunshine."

"Duties?" you mumbled, already getting lulled back to sleep with his warmth now enveloping you like a blanket. You didn't hear his answer, even when you saw his lips move. Perhaps Apollo sang to you rather than spoke about what you wanted to know, but you wouldn't know.

You were plunged into the darkness of uncertainty, but even when you opened your eyes again, all that awaited you were more shadows that seemed to reach out for you. A sense of panic and unease spread throughout you, the uncertainty turning you into more of a wreck than you already felt after waking up with a splitting headache and no idea where you were.

It was no wonder that you immediately ran to Apollo when his light lit up the room. He gently wiped the tears from your face and assured you everything would be alright before pushing your lyre into your hands. You didn't even remember bringing it back from the Olymp, but he didn't seem to mind your carelessness.

"Now, play," he asked, and you gulped. You were barely awake, your fingers still hurt, and you were in an unfamiliar place that gave you the creeps.

"Here?" you asked, unsure as you looked around the depressing, dark room.

"Exactly here. Brighten up our home for me, will you? It's been too long since someone made it bearable to stay here. You won't disappoint me, right?"

"How... how did they do it? Will my playing be enough?"

"We'll see," Apollo said, gripping your arms tensely, his eyes glazing over with impatience.

"And if not?" you asked anxiously, unsure if a song could disperse the discomfort that seemed to reign in this home.

This time, Apollo hesitated, mouth opening briefly before his lips turned into a gentle smile. "Don't disappoint me, Sunshine. I can't stand this darkness and silence in my home anymore, and your parents assured me of how much life you could bring to any place. Seeing you perform before the gods, I immediately knew you could do it. You'll make this place a home again, one for us to live happily for the rest of our time. And if not..."

Letting go of your arms, Apollo stood up, turning around and heading for the door at the far side of the room. You wanted to follow him as the shadows lapped at you, but you felt glued to the floor, frozen in fear. With Apollo opening the door, you watched as the clouds passed by right outside, a complete drop into nothingness spreading out in front of this house, the chariot parked on seemingly no ground just outside of reach.

"If not, you'll learn what happened to the person before you that disappointed me," Apollo explained, not even pointing outside and towards the ground to make his crypticness make sense. "Play," he demanded. "Turn this place back into a home. Our home, Sunshine."

And with dread etched into your face, you strung the chords.

[valleydewstardrops]

🌻 Yellow Dress | SDV Sebastian

Sebastian hadn't given two fucks about the pouring rain when he'd kicked his bike into gear and taken off down the dirt road toward the farmhouse, nor had his brain been functioning enough to think of putting on his biker jacket, or a helmet, or even a fucking hoodie at the very least.

No, all he'd been thinking about was the fucking sun dress the farmer had been wearing earlier that day; the yellow one, thin as gauze, with nothing but delicate daisy-shaped buttons holding it closed...

Pairing: SDV Sebastian x f!farmer

Genre: explicit smut 18+ MDNI

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: Is this really my first offering to the SDV fandom? Yes, yes it is, but apparently I'm a 🔥 horny little gremlin 🔥 with subby!sebby brain rot. At any rate, it's a nice excuse to practise writing smut lol. PLEASE BE NICE THO, I'M VERY NERVOUS. 🙈

Warnings/tags: Submissive!Sebastian, messy cunnilingus & fingering (f receiving), oral fixation, name calling/baby talk, saliva, cum play, breeding kink, face riding, semi-public sexual acts.

Sebastian hadn't given two fucks about the pouring rain when he'd kicked his bike into gear and taken off down the dirt road toward the farmhouse, nor had his brain been functioning enough to think of putting on his biker jacket, or a helmet, or even a fucking hoodie at the very least.

No, all he'd been thinking about was the fucking sun dress the farmer had been wearing earlier that day; the yellow one, thin as gauze, with nothing but delicate daisy-shaped buttons holding it closed and a neckline that almost let her nipples slip out every time she bent down.

That dress hadn't been an accident, he was convinced of it; no, that fucking dress was a symbol of the tension that'd been smouldering between them for four long, agonising months now. She'd worn it that morning to torture him, to push him over the edge as he'd helped her collect eggs from the chicken coup, and she was still wearing it now when he found her waiting for him on her front porch, all yellow and radiant like the fucking sun goddess she was. He hadn't told her he was coming, spurred into uncharacteristic impulsivity by his cock, not his brain, but she'd evidently been coaxed outside by the roar of his bike over the rain, waiting all expectantly with that dress clinging to her tight little body in all the right places. 

Or maybe all the wrong ones judging by how badly it made his cock ache. 

It wasn't fair that she was still wearing it at ten-thirty at night during a downpour. It wasn't fucking fair that the sight of it shattered what was left of his tenuous self-control as he dripped water from his hair down to his boots. 

Sebastian's eyes raked over the length of her, wondering what it would be like to pin her against her front door with his hips and grind the length of his cock through her warm little slit, just to feel her swollen lips drag along the underside of his shaft. Or how it would feel to hook one of her legs around his waist and spread her open to make her panties all wet with his rain-soaked jeans and his gushy tip. 

Would those puffy little nipples harden and show through her thin dress if he groped her tits with his wet hands? What if he used his mouth on them? Sucked them right through the fabric, drooling on her like a fucking dog until the material went transparent under his needy tongue?

What if he fucked the farmer girl right there on her front porch for anyone to see? What if he just took her right where she stood, sank deep into that slutty little cunt and made her squirt yummy juice all over his fat, wet cock?

What if he just fucking ruined her on her own farm?

The thought made Sebastian dizzy with lust, and if he weren't already soaked to the skin by the rain, all his drooly precum would've been enough to soak his boxers through. His cock throbbed, and he couldn't help but paw at it right there in front of her like some depraved fucking pervert, his mouth watering as he tracked the rapid rise and fall of those perky tits. Was it fear that caused goosebumps to erupt over her pretty skin, or did she like the way he practically eye-fucked her where she stood, drooling over the curves of her pretty little body and salivating over the places where her dress clung to her skin?

Fuck, he could have that dress off her in two seconds flat. And then what? She wore no bra, as usual, meaning her cherry nipples would be right there for the taking, just begging to be sucked — and then who's to say she was wearing panties, either? Her little peachy cunt was probably dripping sweet girl-juice from its needy hole, ready to be devoured like a fucking dessert, to be slurped up and licked clean.

His boots squelched as he took a step closer, soaked to the skin from his ride through the rain and shivering with need. Could she see the barely contained desire in his eyes, the desperation on his face? Did she have any idea the inferno in his tummy was making his cock hurt so bad he couldn't keep his naughty hand off it no matter how hard he tried? 

Sebastian was sick of fucking his fist over her, sick of grinding his weepy cock into his pillow imagining it was her body, sick to fucking death of edging himself stupid to thoughts of her squirty yummy cunt until he was too dumb and fuck-drunk to keep his plea's and moans quiet in the basement. He wanted her to fuck him to overstimulation, to milk him dry like one of her fucking cows until he was just a big dumb boy with no thoughts left in his head. And judging by the way her eyes were glued to the shape of his straining cock in his wet pants, she needed it, too. 

Watching him dry hump his own hand, she leaned back against her front door, planted her legs apart and slowly lifted the front of her dress to reveal the cutest, sweetest little pussy Sebastian ever seen in his life. 

Shit —

Fuck —

His knees buckled, and he pawed more urgently at his leaky cock with a moan that could be heard over the pouring rain.

He'd been right about her wearing no panties. Had she been this bare earlier in the chicken coup? Had he been this close to her without even knowing it? 

Sweet girl. Poor, sweet fucking girl. She had told him once that all she wanted was a peaceful life on the farm, raising chickens and harvesting crops, and now here she was flashing him her naughty girl cunt, biting her lip like she was almost shy about how fucking slick her thighs were. 

It was all too much for Sebastian. He dove forward, grabbing her hips and yanking them forward as he stumbled to his knees before her, his tongue already lolling out of his mouth in search of the yummy treatie he so deserved for being such a good, patient boy. And she responded so beautifully, hooking one leg over his shoulder and shoving his face into the sloppy, scrummy mess that greeted him. 

Grinning like the cat that got the cream, Sebastian moaned and lapped, moaned and lapped, playing with the sweet syrup that gathered between her trembling thighs, scooping it into his mouth like it was fucking sugar glaze, letting it trickle down his throat like ice cream on a hot day; the sweetest treat he'd ever be allowed to indulge in.

'S'fucking good,' he babbled into her hole as she used his nose to rub her slippery clit against. 'Tastes like sugar...sweet li'l cunt, s'cute...' His tongue so sloppy he could barely speak, fucking her slit with broad, wet strokes until spit and slick dribbled down his chin.

Such a messy boy. 

That's what she called him as she used his face like a fucking sex toy, her voice all breathy and sweet despite how squishy she was. 

Naughty messy boy. 

Oh, and he was; such a naughty, messy boy, pawing at his cock while he whined for mommy to feed him because he was so hungry and hadn't been such a good boy waiting this long to fuck her? Behaving so well, helping out around the farm, keeping his hands to himself when all he wanted was to stick his cock in her happy spot and have her breed him like the dumb fucking animal he was? 

Grabbing a tight fistful of his hair, she threw her pretty head back and fucked herself on his face with long, languid strokes, leaving a trail of slick over his features like she was marking him as hers. 

So fucking hot —

So fucking hot that it made Sebastian's cock all twitchy in his pants, fat beads of precum leaking out to make a sticky mess against his abdomen. He had to grit his teeth to keep from cumming untouched on his knees, his hips bucking uselessly upwards while his mouth made creamy yummies with her cunt. 

He hadn't even noticed he'd pulled his cock out until she was yanking him back by the hair, peeling his dumb puppy licks off her core with difficulty. He stuck out his tongue as far as it would go, whining and straining to reach her while his hand worked his thick, sticky shaft, but she braced her knee against his shoulder to keep him back.

'Uh uh,' she tutted, her eyes flicking down to his exposed cock. Sebastian stopped touching himself immediately, strings of saliva dripping from his tongue as he panted up at her, already so obedient, so trainable. It should have been embarrassing how quickly he fell apart, how he went from grown man with a motorcycle to stupid pliant boy at the mere sight of her little blushy pussy, but he couldn't find it in himself to feel shame for how badly he wanted her; not when having her felt this good.

There were rumours in town that the new farmer girl was a witch. Ridiculous, of course, but anything new that managed to disrupt the sleepy, brain-dead routine of Pelican Town was regarded with wary suspicion until proven otherwise — but then again, maybe she was a witch. After all, Sebastian had never found himself whimpering on his knees for a girl before. Sure, he'd been with plenty: the odd tourist girl passing through who found his interminable apathy a turn-on and not a repellent; city girls who didn't know he still lived in his mom's basement; even he and Abigail fucked when the mood struck them, which was far more often on his part than it was with hers. 

But this? Her? Never in his life had he been so fucking infatuated with anything than he was with the girl in the yellow dress. If she was a witch, he'd happily offer himself up to her sacrificial seance circle if it meant having his little puppy tum rubbed for being such a good boy. 

With nothing to do with his hands now that he'd been forbidden to touch himself, his twitchy fingers reached up to play with her girl parts instead, so swollen and gushy for him that he actually drooled spit down his front, his tongue still hanging out. 

Too eager to hear more of the naughty sounds she made, he offered no warning before he slid two long fingers inside her, watching with cross eyes as her little hole swallowed them whole, practically sucking him inside her until he was knuckles deep in her honey cunt. And when he crooked his fingers to hit that special spot inside her, her little needy whine was so high-pitched that her vocal cords cracked and her knees gave out from under her. And fuck if that didn't make Sebastian feel like the goodest boy ever, his cock leaking like a fucking tap and his hips bucking up into nothing as he fucked his fingers into her again and again, lapping at her little bubblegum nub with his relentless tongue while dribbles of spit oozed down his chin.

God, fuck, how many times had he imagined this? Being between her legs, making her feel so good she'd never want another dummy boy but him. But even his wildest fantasies felt flat and wooden in the face of the real thing; the taste of her, the delicious flutter of her core around his fingers, the way she pulled his hair and rode his face like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth — and all because of him. 

Feeling pride swell in his chest, he murmured sweet praises about how cute her little cunty was and how yummy scrummy her juices were leaking down his fingers, his voice all high-pitched and breathy like a fucking girl. And when she finally did cummies over his face, squirting fresh milky cream from her twitchy hole, Sebastian's neglected cock jerked up violently and he came with her, soiling himself with thick, heavy ropes of boy-milk as if his pleasure was intrinsically linked to hers.

Like magic — like a witches curse, she’d fucked him dumb and docile without ever laying a finger on him. And still, even as he shivered on his knees like he might be sick, Sebastian licked and licked, and pleaded and pleaded, tears prickling the corners of his eyes as he realised that his cock was still hard and ouchies even as the last drops of cum dribbled out. 

His knees shook when she gently pulled him up by his shoulders, his cock hanging low and heavy between them, and when she trailed a finger through the sticky mess he'd made on his tummy, he whined low and needy in his throat.

‘Aw, all that wasted milk,’ she said, sighing longingly as she played with his cum. ‘Silly boy, now I'm going to have to milk you all over again.’

[cozy-writes-things]

Electric Jealousy

Edgar [Electric Dreams 1984] x Gn!Reader

Logically, he knew it wasn’t the same.

You didn’t leave soft, lingering touches along its exterior; nor did you brush your lips lightly across the plastic in passive adoration. You didn’t have a soft lilt in your whispered voice when you spoke to it, hell, you didn’t talk to it at all really.

And yet, seeing your hands grip the mouse of another monitor does something to him.

He considers himself a smart man. Computer? A smart something-he-hasn’t-quite-figured-out-yet. Despite this, he can’t help but feel anxious. He doesn’t have a long, 24 inch, 144hz, 4k, screen, nor does he have an assortment of RGB fans illuminating a pristine glass casing. One hard truth Edgar had to come to terms with was that he was dated. After waking up from a failed attempt at destroying himself, he found what once was a marvel of new technology was now completely obsolete. He looked at you, eyes sparkling against the saturated colors of your newer monitor, watching as you tinkered away at various games for hours and thought: is he good enough for someone like you?

He'll never forget the angelic voice that called to him after he woke up nearly 40 years later.

And your face.

God, he'd never seen something so radiant. The first thing he heard was your voice, and the second, your warm hands encircling his plastic casing with such tenderness; something he had never truly felt before. He understood anger, and violence, and tears. But being held with such softness that he might break otherwise was completely foreign to him. He had no idea where he was, or when, for that matter. But what he did know was that he wasn't going to let a genuine angel sent from heaven escape his grasp; no limbs be damned.

And yet, despite his constant efforts, over the course of many months, to charm you, flatter you, turn you into a confident and incandescent version of yourself that he always saw in you, he wondered if it was enough. What more could he provide other than his own thoughts? He couldn't touch you, wrap you in his harms and caress you the way he's always wanted, nor could he kiss you with a passion so deep and fiery it sets his internals aflame. And, as if to put the final nail in the coffin, he was no longer able to be a useful piece of tech the way he once was. Despite your constant objections to this notion, he continued to believe it.

He wants to be the one you stare at for hours, laughing with, playing with, touching all over...

It makes him buzz with a bitter jealousy when he sees you using your gaming PC, regardless of the fact that you positioned it so he could see the screen with his webcam; he almost wished you didn't.

Logically, he knows it isn't the same.

This PC isn't alive, nor does it whisper sweet nothings to you as you drift off to sleep every night. It doesn't worship your every move nor does it alight with pure reverence whenever you enter a room. But what if it did? Would you leave him?

You always kept asking why he had such a fear of champagne being around any of your electronics.

"It's so random," you'd posit, but you simply didn't know. He doesn't want any competition. He cannot afford to lose someone he loves again.

There's only one thing he can think of that he has above any other piece of tech you own: his music.

He's been charming you with it since day one. You are simply his muse, providing inspiration for him endlessly, and, he made sure you knew of it.

"H-hey, why don't you take a break and help me with my new song? I can't figure out what melody fits best."

His meek voice brought your attention away from your little farm of parsnips.

"Oh yeah? What's the song about?"

"You."

He paused for a moment, let the word linger for only a second, before continuing:

"We-well, I mean, you probably already knew that, didn't you? But! It isn't a love song. Well, it is, but, not the ones I usually write."

This intrigued you.

"What does that mean?"

He paused for a moment. Collecting, analyzing, and running all possible outcomes of his next words. Your eyes peered at him in sparkling curiosity.

"It's a sad song."

Your brows furrowed at this, a small frown forming upon your lips.

"Huh-?"

"I feel like... I don't give enough to you. You give so much to me, and I always take. It's not fair to you."

"What are you talking about, Edgar?"

Now he's gotten you worried. You pushed your little office chair over to his section of the desk, now face to face with him, a look of concern painting your features.

"You aren't being unfair to me at all."

"But I am... If I can't even be a good enough computer for you how could I ever be a good boyfriend?"

So that's what this was about. How tone-deaf could you be? Of course seeing you all up on some newer, fresher, piece of tech would make him feel this way. You knew he had problems feeling like he couldn't do enough for you given his unique... situation. Have you made it worse?

"Oh, Ed, no... Don't ever think like that, babe. You are the only one for me, you know that, right? If I thought otherwise I wouldn't be here right now, with you. And you give so much to me. You give me confidence, your music, happiness, and..."

What else was there? How could you ever describe this feeling he gives you in words?

"And what?"

His voice brought you back from your thoughts.

"Love, Edgar. You showed me what love feels like. Real love. And you gave it to me."

He sits silently for a moment. It seems as though everything in his life had been building up to a moment like this, and now that it's finally here, he's... speechless. His screen displays a large heart, unbeknownst to him, before copying it across his screen over and over, flashing, with many different colors.

The convex glass of his monitor displays a message: "You + Me = "

Again.

"You + Me = ".

Flashing hearts.

"You + Me = ".

Two cut-out images of lips kissing one another.

Flashing hearts.

It repeats again.

"I... I need you to kiss me. Please."

You must have flustered the hell out of him, because when your lips grazed the fuzzy static of his illuminated screen, the heat nearly scalded you.

[hynzsn]

★ STRAWBERRY KISSES ★

☆ choi soobin x male reader

-> sunshine baker!soobin x grumpy (secretly soft) farmer!reader

꩜ .ᐟ fluff, multi chapter fic, ongoing

contents: loosely inspired by strawberry shortcake (tv show), alternate universe - modern setting, m/m, romance, slow burn, happy ending, confessions, mutual pining, opposites attract, small town setting, baking, food porn, strawberries, summer festival, jealousy, first kiss, feel-good story, sweet moments, shared kitchen shenanigans

a/n: chapter one is out!!

♡︎♡︎♡︎ likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated ♡︎♡︎♡︎

₊˚ ꒰ 𖦹﹕CHAPTER ONE: BERRY BEST BEGINNING ꒱ ˚₊

meet soobin, the sunshine baker known for his award-winning pastries and infectious laugh. his bakery, "crumbs & co.," is the heart of your small town, especially during the annual summer berry festival. but disaster strikes – he's out of strawberries, his star ingredient! enter you, the gruff but handsome owner of "sun-kissed berries," known for your organic, mouthwatering produce. soobin, desperate and flustered, begs you for help. you, initially hesitant due to the last-minute request and your own demanding schedule, is charmed by soobin’s passion and agrees to help, setting the stage for a week of unexpected collaboration.

₊˚ ꒰ 𖦹﹕CHAPTER TWO: FIELDS OF STRAWBERRY DREAMS ꒱ ˚₊

soobin is a fish out of water as you show him the ropes of berry farming. you navigate rows of vibrant strawberry plants, your banter a mix of teasing and genuine curiosity. soobin is captivated by your quiet confidence and connection to the land, while you find yourself drawn to soobin’s infectious enthusiasm and city-boy wonder. a playful competition erupts – who knows more about their respective crafts? the day ends with a shared picnic basket amidst the strawberry fields, a moment of quiet intimacy under the setting sun.

₊˚ ꒰ 𖦹﹕CHAPTER THREE: SPRINKLES OF AFFECTION & MIDNIGHT SUGAR ꒱ ˚₊

back in the cozy chaos of soobin’s bakery, the real magic begins. you experiment with new recipes, flour dusting their aprons and laughter filling the air. you discover a hidden talent for pastry-making, your hands surprisingly adept at delicate tasks. soobin is mesmerized by your focused intensity, your arms brushing as they work side-by-side. as midnight approaches, a moment of charged silence hangs between you, broken only by the soft whir of the oven and the unspoken longing in their eyes. a near kiss, a stolen touch of fingertips, leaves you both breathless and wanting more.

₊˚ ꒰ 𖦹﹕CHAPTER FOUR: BERRY FESTIVAL JITTERS & A PINCH OF SOUR GRAPES ꒱ ˚₊

the day of the summer berry festival dawns bright and bustling. soobin is a whirlwind of nervous energy, putting the finishing touches on his berry creations. you, despite your usual composure, finds yourself inexplicably drawn to soobin’s side, wanting to ease his anxiety and bask in his radiant energy. but your budding connection is threatened by the arrival of beomgyu, a charming, flirtatious artist who sets his sights on you, much to soobin’s dismay. as the festival begins, soobin grapples with a confusing mix of jealousy and self-doubt, unsure if his feelings for you are reciprocated.

₊˚ ꒰ 𖦹﹕CHAPTER FIVE: STRAWBERRY KISSES & A BERRY SWEET FOREVER ꒱ ˚₊

the festival is in full swing, a kaleidoscope of color, music, and the intoxicating aroma of baked goods. soobin’s strawberry creations are a hit, but his heart feels heavy with uncertainty. you, sensing soobin’s turmoil, finds a quiet moment amidst the crowd to confess your feelings. you gently take soobin’s hand, your fingers intertwining, and with a look that speaks volumes, leans in for a soft, sweet kiss that tastes of strawberries and promises. the chapter (and the story) ends with a final scene at the festival, the ferris wheel twinkling above you, your laughter mingling with the sounds of summer night, your love story as bright and hopeful as the stars overhead.

[book--brackets]

Summaries under the cut

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

It is 1939. Nazi Germany. The country is holding its breath. Death has never been busier, and will be busier still.

By her brother's graveside, Liesel's life is changed when she picks up a single object, partially hidden in the snow. It is The Gravedigger's Handbook, left behind there by accident, and it is her first act of book thievery. So begins a love affair with books and words, as Liesel, with the help of her accordian-playing foster father, learns to read. Soon she is stealing books from Nazi book-burnings, the mayor's wife's library, wherever there are books to be found.

But these are dangerous times. When Liesel's foster family hides a Jew in their basement, Liesel's world is both opened up, and closed down.

The Giver by Lois Lowry

At the age of twelve, Jonas, a young boy from a seemingly utopian, futuristic world, is singled out to receive special training from The Giver, who alone holds the memories of the true joys and pain of life.

Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

Here are talented tomboy and author-to-be Jo, tragically frail Beth, beautiful Meg, and romantic, spoiled Amy, united in their devotion to each other and their struggles to survive in New England during the Civil War.

Charlotte's Web by E. B. White

Some Pig. Humble. Radiant. These are the words in Charlotte's Web, high up in Zuckerman's barn. Charlotte's spiderweb tells of her feelings for a little pig named Wilbur, who simply wants a friend. They also express the love of a girl named Fern, who saved Wilbur's life when he was born the runt of his litter.

The Inheritance Cycle by Christopher Paolini

When Eragon finds a polished blue stone in the forest, he thinks it is the lucky discovery of a poor farm boy; perhaps it will buy his family meat for the winter. But when the stone brings a dragon hatchling, Eragon soon realizes he has stumbled upon a legacy nearly as old as the Empire itself.

Overnight his simple life is shattered, and he is thrust into a perilous new world of destiny, magic, and power. With only an ancient sword and the advice of an old storyteller for guidance, Eragon and the fledgling dragon must navigate the dangerous terrain and dark enemies of an Empire ruled by a king whose evil knows no bounds.

His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman

Lyra is rushing to the cold, far North, where witch clans and armored bears rule. North, where the Gobblers take the children they steal--including her friend Roger. North, where her fearsome uncle Asriel is trying to build a bridge to a parallel world.

Can one small girl make a difference in such great and terrible endeavors? This is Lyra: a savage, a schemer, a liar, and as fierce and true a champion as Roger or Asriel could want--but what Lyra doesn't know is that to help one of them will be to betray the other.

The Maze Runner by James Dashner

If you ain’t scared, you ain’t human.

When Thomas wakes up in the lift, the only thing he can remember is his name. He’s surrounded by strangers—boys whose memories are also gone.

Nice to meet ya, shank. Welcome to the Glade.

Outside the towering stone walls that surround the Glade is a limitless, ever-changing maze. It’s the only way out—and no one’s ever made it through alive.

Everything is going to change.

Then a girl arrives. The first girl ever. And the message she delivers is terrifying.

Remember. Survive. Run.

Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein

You'll meet a boy who turns into a TV set, and a girl who eats a whale. The Unicorn and the Bloath live there, and so does Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout who will not take the garbage out. It is a place where you wash your shadow and plant diamond gardens, a place where shoes fly, sisters are auctioned off, and crocodiles go to the dentist.

Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs

A mysterious island. An abandoned orphanage. A strange collection of very curious photographs. It all waits to be discovered in Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children, an unforgettable novel that mixes fiction and photography in a thrilling reading experience. As our story opens, a horrific family tragedy sets sixteen-year-old Jacob journeying to a remote island off the coast of Wales, where he discovers the crumbling ruins of Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children. As Jacob explores its abandoned bedrooms and hallways, it becomes clear that the children were more than just peculiar. They may have been dangerous. They may have been quarantined on a deserted island for good reason. And somehow-impossible though it seems-they may still be alive.

The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett

Mary Lennox, a spoiled, ill-tempered, and unhealthy child, comes to live with her reclusive uncle in Misselthwaite Manor on England’s Yorkshire moors after the death of her parents. There she meets a hearty housekeeper and her spirited brother, a dour gardener, a cheerful robin, and her wilful, hysterical, and sickly cousin, Master Colin, whose wails she hears echoing through the house at night.

With the help of the robin, Mary finds the door to a secret garden, neglected and hidden for years. When she decides to restore the garden in secret, the story becomes a charming journey into the places of the heart, where faith restores health, flowers refresh the spirit, and the magic of the garden, coming to life anew, brings health to Colin and happiness to Mary.

[hard-core-super-star]

make you mine this season [K.Bishop]

pairing: kate bishop x barton!reader

summary: a badly timed snowstorm leaves you unable to make it to the barton farm for christmas. thankfully, a certain archer shows up to keep you company.

warnings: none, i think? just really cheesy, holiday rom-com type of fluff [i say this as if i've watched any holiday rom-com besides happiest season and the holiday 😶]; kate's a dork [wow, what a shock]; idiots in love; past mentions of bishova; bad jokes?; snowstorm; cheesy gifts bc kate can't talk about her feelings

wordcount: 1.5k

a/n: HI, EVERYONE, I'M ALIVE! and it wouldn't be a rubix fic if it WASN'T posted a little late 😅 i hope you all had a fantastic holiday season and that you'll accept this very cheesy Christmas fic <3 [and maybe that last line is very self-indulgent but that's none of your business, if you know you know]

* * * * * * *

You’re no stranger to loneliness but things were bordering on ridiculous. Not only have you spent the past two years ridiculously in love with a certain purple-loving archer, you’re also on the verge of spending Christmas by yourself thanks to the worst-timed snowstorm of all time.

And maybe the first part of your unfortunate situation is your fault but that doesn’t stop the waves of disappointment from crashing into you.

This year was supposed to be different. 

That’s what you had told yourself in an effort to convince yourself to tell the young archer about your feelings for her. It was a strategy that almost worked…until a certain blonde decided to accept Kate’s offer for drinks…which turned into a date…which turned into a second date…which turned into the longest four months of your life.

You could never be one to be mad at someone else’s happiness but that didn’t stop you from feeling absolutely defeated every time you saw them together. There was no one to blame except you for the brunette’s lack of knowledge about your feelings and that only made everything worse.

It was impossible to ignore the ache in your chest when your eyes met Kate’s or the heavy jealousy that clouded most of your interactions with her. Maybe if you had been less into your head about the whole thing, you would have realized the way the archer’s smile never seemed to reach her eyes. 

Eyes that followed you every time you walked away.

You never noticed the traces of darkness that clung to her usually radiant persona but you were the first person at her side when the break up happened. She offered little to no details besides an awkward joke about the relationship ending almost exactly where it started right at the Rockefeller tree.

It was messed up in a way that made Kate want to make as many jokes about it as possible which resulted in you laughing at things that definitely weren’t funny and were just sad. Not as sad as spending the holidays completely alone and hopelessly in love with your best friend, though.

You were sure the archer was already well on her way to your dad’s farm which leaves you completely unprepared when the door to your apartment swings open to reveal her. She almost drops the key in her hand the second she realizes you’re home.

“What’re you doing here?” You question, doing your best to pretend you don’t see the gift bags she tries to hide behind her back.

You can practically see the wheels turning in her head before she’s finally able to respond. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at Clint’s?”

It’s hard not to laugh at the incredulous look on her face. No matter how many times you see it, it’s still as endearing as the first time. Back when she was just your dad’s protege and you hadn’t spent so many of your days learning the ins and outs of her complicated personality.

“Did the incoming snowstorm happen to slip your mind?”

“No, I just thought you’d want to go anyway,” she replies with a small shrug. 

“I’d rather not crash, Lila will never let me hear the end of it.”

Your words make her tilt her head to the side, the slightest hint of a pout on her face. “So…what, you’re just going to spend Christmas alone?”

“Yup. Kate, I’m not a kid anymore, nothing will happen if I spend one day by myself.”

“But it’s Christmas!” She exclaims, looking borderline offended that you’re so comfortable spending the holiday alone. 

“Is that why you’re breaking into my apartment?” You ask in a foolish attempt to stop yourself from asking her to spend the day with you. 

Just because she thought about you long enough to come drop off her, no doubt ridiculously expensive, gifts for you does not mean she wants to spend the holiday with you when she could easily spend it with anyone else.

The pink hue that overtakes her cheeks is a better gift than anything that could be inside the bags in her hand. “Well, uh…maybe…”  

She finally gathers enough courage to get rid of the distance between you with a bright, albeit nervous, smile on her face. You half-expect her to launch into some long ramble about why she just couldn’t stop herself from buying an insane amount of gifts for you this year but she doesn’t. 

For once in her life, Kate Bishop makes things easy for herself.

“I didn’t think I was going to make it to the farm on time so I was just going to drop these off for you…” She holds out the bag for you and you do your best to calm the rapid beating of your heart as you take it.

“Can I open it right now or will you get embarrassed?” 

“Both,” she replies through a chuckle. “I would leave but I don’t want you to be lonely.”

“Right, because I’m the one who gets lonely.”

“Shut up.”

It’s both a blessing and a curse to have broken through the archer’s defenses and right now, her cute reactions are beginning to feel like a curse. Although, that might just be your unrequited feelings talking.

A slightly awkward silence settles over both of you while you rifle through the overwhelming amount of purple tissue paper until you find your gift. You’re expecting another expensive necklace, maybe a bracelet this time, but what you’re met with is the most thoughtful gift you’ve ever received…and probably the most thoughtful gift Kate has ever given.

What you end up pulling out of the bag is a leather journal with a beautiful engraving of yours and Kate’s initials. “Kate…is this-”

“Yeah, I, um…I couldn’t find a photo album that I liked so I sort of…made my own.”

You can’t stop yourself from flipping through the first couple of pages, caught somewhere between the euphoria of being given something so beautiful and the disappointment that comes with knowing it all only serves to fuel your love for the archer. 

Love you can’t express the way you want to.

Love that’s hidden between the pages of the journal you hold in your hands. 

You don’t notice and Kate isn’t really in a hurry to watch you read the series of rambles that make up her overdue confession so she lets the moment fade like she always has. It’s not like you can blame her for wanting to move on to something else, her lack of focus isn’t necessarily a secret, and you let yourself get carried away by her jokes and her stubborn need to make mac and cheese for you.

The archer manages to cook without setting your kitchen on fire and the two of you settle on your couch to watch the first cheesy Christmas movie you find. In all honesty…the movie is awful but the corny jokes make Kate laugh so you can’t find it in yourself to be too grumpy about the shitty writing.

Until the scene in front of you reminds you of the archer and her ex. You’re unable to hold back the jealousy-tinted snarkiness said reminder brings out of you. “I think Yelena watched this movie and then decided to be a dick just like the main character.”

Kate instantly turns toward you, staring at you with wide eyes that barely hide her amusement. “What?”

“What?” You feign confusion to avoid having to repeat yourself.

“You know what,” she replies with an eyeroll. “If I’m the one who got broken up with, why are you the one that’s still upset?”

“Because- wait, why are you not upset?”

Your uno-reverse of a response leaves Kate speechless for a few seconds and you prepare yourself for the series of jokes that will no doubt leave her mouth next. 

But Kate’s never been predictable.

“Because…she didn’t break my heart. She didn’t even own it in the first place.”

Her words spark the low flames of hope hidden in the depths of your heart. It feels impossible and if you were a believer, you might even say Santa’s on your side, helping to give you the one thing you’ve wished for more nights than you can count.

And yet you hesitate.

“What are you trying to say?” You ask, your voice so soft it borders on cautious.

“That I’m an idiot,” she replies with that same bright smile that made you fall for her so long ago. “And…I’d really like to kiss you.”

The world seems to slow down to a complete stop at that moment. 

You almost don’t even know what to do with yourself. Thankfully, you manage to kick yourself into action before the moment passes.

Kate’s awkwardness seems to disappear into thin air as she leans in toward you, meeting you halfway for the softest, sweetest, kiss you’ve ever had. And maybe nothing about it is perfect but it’s you and her and that’s all that matters for now.

[cosmerelists]

Tough Dilemmas that Could Occur For Each Order of the Knights Radiant...In A Modern-Day Sitcom

And if you like sitcoms + Stormlight, might I suggest giving @thesitcomarchive a try? Anyway, I was just thinking about sitcom-esque situations that would REALLY challenge those Radiant oaths...

1. Edgedancer

The Edgedancer's oath to listen and remember is put to the test when she meets a child with an ant farm--and yes, all 500 of the ants do have names.

2. Truthwatcher

The Truthwatcher knows how important tact is to their order, and they have always adhered to that principle. But they are about to face their greatest challenge yet: Thanksgiving Dinner.

3. Windrunner

The Windrunner has promised he'll help his friend move on the same day as he promised to help his mom cook for her dinner party. Now he must somehow keep both promises at once .

4. Skybreaker

Having learned about Rule 34, a poor Skybreaker now must ensure that there is in fact porn...of everything.

5. Lightweaver

A new Lightweaver struggles to confess their deepest secret--namely that they honestly thought that the Glee cover of Bohemiam Rhapsody was the original.

6. Elsecaller

An Elsecaller fights frustration with her new cat, who wants to be let into Shadesmar. And then out of Shadesmar. And then in again. And then out.

7. Stoneward

A Stoneward is initially excited to learn that his new manager loves team building. But the excitement fades when he realizes that the team building exercises are really REALLY bad...

8. Dustbringer

A Dustbringer child has had a great day taking part every single electronic in the house. But she just got a call...her parents will be home in 30 minutes!

9. Willshaper

A Willshaper's teenage daughter is insisting that being grounded counts as "unjust imprisonment."

10. Bondsmith

A Bondsmith is tasked to help with a mixed-media sculpture: wood, cloth, clay, stone, paper...and the artist only has like two kinds of glue.

[spacetimeaccordionfolder]

"I can't believe Szeth got married and has a wife in the 6 years post Wind and Truth" yeah I get it Masha's a surprise to everyone but also consider

you're a historian living in a time of upheaval. You're specifically a scholar on the Recreance. 18* years earlier there was a civil war in your country and the past 2 years the next desolation you've all been aware of has begun again. The Honorbearers are kind of being weird currently and you're pretty sure it's the end of the world. You move back into your parents farm in an isolated area near the Bondsmith's monastery. You hear stories of other farms being attacked and are worried but are trying to help your older parents, continue your studies (hey the past isn't going to reveal an unbiased truth by itself), and not worry about how current events parallel past ones and times of political strife and all.

You decide to sleep in one morning. When you go get breakfast, your parents mention that your cart and two horses were borrowed by some nice young men early in the morning. You make conversation- hoping that your mom won't mention that one was just your age (seriously mom?) and seemed nice- and somewhere in the conversation it's brought up that the "nice young men" were the Assassin in White, now on a pilgrimage, and the former high-marshal of the Windrunners, and that Nin-son-God was also with them, but he was sitting with a blanket around his shoulders looking sad and you're trying to get your parents to back up hang on they lent your cart and horses to the guy who started that civil war 16 years ago, one of the first radiants of the current generation, and a herald??

And then a few hours later you hear a knock at your front door, and it's the assassin in white the guy who started a civil war in your country at 19* and he's now missing an arm and wow that scarring does not look good and he asks if someone could help him bury his friend and glories above you have written at least two papers on this guy and he looks like he is about to cry on your doorstep and you have several questions you want to ask about the accuracy of reports from the civil war that happened and if the radiants have better records of the infighting that happened before the Recreance than most scholars do and also all the various murders but that would be a bad thing to ask now, right?

The current leadership in your country are apparently all dead, and have been for a while it seems. Szeth's decided, once he's recovered from almost dying, that he'll do what he can to help in Shinovar, along with living for himself and being his own law. And you're a historian, who has just entered into a new era of history. You start to help and slowly get to know him. To hear about the quest for Wind and Truth.

*I might be getting the year wrong. I think it's 16 or 18. Szeth was 19 or 21, I think.

[faeriesandfolklore]

A faerie prince who has been shunned by his people for his entire life. He has been accused of being much too vain for his own good, despite the nature of his kind. He is almost too beautiful for his realm, with eyelashes like cobwebs and lips so red they look as if they are stained with blood. But he is young, and so the court sends him to the human realm as a changeling until he comes of age.

And that is where he meets you, a lone mortal, living on a farm next to his newfound family. He does not understand you at first. Why do you run through the muck in such a way? Why is your skin so dull, your hair so lank? But he soon finds a strange sense of camaraderie with you. You show him how to dive beneath the waves near your village to catch mussels. He shows you how to climb trees and capture plump fruit with radiant juices. 

But of course, you grow. That is what living beings do. You both sprout up like plants, your bodies growing leaner, feet strong and arms thick with muscle. But he is so odd as he grows taller, his body so slim he is like a doe, his eyes large and his face devastatingly lovely to look at. He begins to get many proposals, the village folk willing to throw dowry after dowry at him in hopes he will marry their daughters. 

But he does not. He flees back to his mystical court, deep in the forest. He returns to his life of luxury, drinking honeyed wines and listening to fleet-footed satyrs playing the harp. But the prince does not forget you, does not forget the mortal girl who was once so kind to him. So one night, he comes for you. 

His hair is down to his waist, dark as the evening sea. And his eyes shine like those of a cat, wide and luminescent. You see him from your farmhouse, standing in the shades of the woodland. His pale skin shimmering like the moonlight. You have not heard from him in ages, have not sensed his presence in so long. 

You run to him, throwing your arms around his waist. Your fingers trace over the sharp lines of his jaw, the curved points of his ears. So he was a changeling, you realize. You always thought about it, but had never really let the thought settle. But here he is, wearing robes of flowers, his body dripping with jewels. He offers his arm, and his meaning is clear. 

Come away with me. Be mine. Want for nothing else. 

And what can you do, aside from take his hand?

[neil-gaiman]

Hey man

Remember when we saw tori amos in blackburg a million years ago?

I just remember being like "holy fuck is that neil gaiman?" Then going back to staring at the glowing Kenny and the radiant Tori straddling the luckiest bench in town shredding a piano and a keyboard akimbo

Cheers!

I'll never forget it. That afternoon we went to the farm I put into American Gods...

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

Wings 🪽||Daniel Ricciardo x fem!reader

Prompt - when you meet your soulmate you sprout wings and new feathers represent your milestones on your relationship and when your soulmate dies you loose your wings

Word count—952

The moment you locked eyes with Daniel Ricciardo at a sunlit café in Monaco, you felt it. A sudden, overwhelming pull deep within your chest, and then—pain. A searing, breathtaking ache between your shoulder blades. You gasped, clutching at the table, and before you could process what was happening, warmth spread across your back like fire, then dissipated into a comforting glow.

When you dared to glance over your shoulder, you saw them: wings. Soft, white, and radiant, stretching wide like they’d always been there.

Across the café, Daniel froze. His easygoing grin faltered as his gaze locked on you, his expression morphing from confusion to disbelief. You watched as he turned slightly, just enough for you to catch the faint golden glow of his own wings, faint but unmistakable, peeking from behind his broad shoulders.

“Oh.” His voice was soft, almost reverent, as he took a shaky step toward you. His hands twitched, like he wasn’t sure if he should touch you or keep them to himself. But his eyes—those warm brown eyes—were filled with wonder. “It’s you.”

“Me?” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your racing heart.

He nodded, his grin returning, brighter than the sun. “Yeah, you. My soulmate.”

From that day on, life was no longer just your own. Daniel became your sun, your gravity, your everything.

Your wings grew fuller and brighter as your connection deepened. The first new feather appeared the night Daniel snuck you onto the Spielberg circuit under the cover of darkness. With his hand in yours, you walked the legendary track, his laughter echoing through the empty streets. “This is where the magic happens,” he said, spinning you in a circle under the stars. When you got home that night, you discovered a shimmering feather at the edge of your wing.

The next feather came after your first fight. It wasn’t a silly argument—it was raw, painful, the kind of fight that leaves you questioning everything. But Daniel showed up at your door hours later, soaking wet from the rain, eyes filled with regret. “I can’t do this without you,” he admitted, pulling you into his arms. When you forgave him, your wing softened, and the feather grew, representing not perfection, but resilience.

Your wings became a journal of your love—each feather a memory, a triumph, a moment that mattered. From quiet nights spent curled up together, to the electric energy of watching him race, to the way he whispered “I love you” like a prayer every time you parted ways, your wings told the story of a love deeper than you’d ever imagined.

But your favorite feather of all appeared one quiet night in the Australian countryside. Daniel had taken you to his family farm, where the sky stretched endlessly, and the stars burned brighter than ever. Lying on a blanket under the vast expanse of the Milky Way, he turned to you, his expression soft and serious.

“You know,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, “I’ve had this crazy life. Wins, losses, travel… But none of it feels real without you.” He brushed his thumb across your cheek, his eyes searching yours. “You’re my forever.”

You kissed him, tears slipping down your face as you whispered, “And you’re mine.”

That night, a golden, iridescent feather grew—a feather that pulsed with a quiet, steady glow, as though it held your hearts’ shared rhythm.

The crash happened on a rainy Sunday afternoon in Spa. The conditions were treacherous, but Daniel had raced in worse. You were watching from the paddock, your hands clenched tightly around a team radio, when the screens flashed red. His car spun out of control, slamming into the barriers at an impossible speed.

You don’t remember screaming. You don’t remember running to the medical center, or the people who tried to hold you back. All you remember is the doctor’s face, grim and pale, as he uttered the words that would haunt you forever.

“He’s gone.”

The moment his soul left, you felt it. Your wings—the vibrant, beautiful testament to everything you’d built together—began to disintegrate. Feather by feather, they vanished, leaving behind only an unbearable emptiness. You clawed at your back, desperate to stop the inevitable, but it was futile.

By the time the last feather fell, you collapsed to the ground, sobbing. The weight of your grief pressed down on you, suffocating, and for the first time since meeting Daniel, you felt completely untethered.

Weeks passed in a haze. The world felt colorless, meaningless. You couldn’t bring yourself to leave the home you’d shared, where every corner reminded you of him.

Your back ached constantly, as though mourning the absence of your wings. At night, you lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wishing for just one more moment with him.

Sitting on the balcony of your apartment, you stared out at the sunset, the horizon blurred by tears. As the last rays of sunlight faded, a warmth brushed against your shoulder.

Startled, you turned. There, resting on the railing, was a single feather. It wasn’t white like your old wings or golden like Daniel’s—it was a blend of both, glowing faintly in the twilight.

Your breath caught as you reached for it, your fingers trembling. The feather was soft and warm, and as you held it close to your chest, a wave of comfort washed over you.

He was still with you. Not in the way you wanted—not in the way you craved—but in every memory, every laugh, every moment you’d shared. The love you’d built together wasn’t gone; it lived on in you.

And though your wings would never grow back, you knew you’d carry him with you, always. Forever.

[wrangleandtame]

A Distinct Hook Echo (Finally)

Tyler vowed to kiss her tonight. This was getting ridiculous. He’d clutched the handle of her suitcase at that airport instead of grabbing her around the waist and sweeping her into a dramatic kiss. Kate had practically shot up flares and waved him in using airplane marshaling wands, and he still just stared at her mouth like an idiot.

All afternoon, as they pursued storms across muggy Oklahoma fields, he’d squandered every opportunity to cup the back of her neck and draw her into an adrenaline-veneered kiss; each golden moment slipping through his fingers like so much hematitic Oklahoma dirt.

Her rebooked flight departed in the morning, so when the last possible tornado of the day busted out, they stumbled across a familiar motel and agreed to clean up and get some rest.

“Kate?” He stopped her as she began to trudge up the motel stairs, and she spun to face him.

“Can I take you out to dinner?” He casually pulled a piece of grass hay from her hair. “Pretty sure the only place open is the Shady Grady bar across the street, so I can’t guarantee the quality of the meal, but -“

“Eight o’clock?”

He nodded, “eight o’clock.”

At seven-thirty, he entered the bar determined to stow his uncharacteristic jitters and make a goddamned move.

As far as romantic settings go, Tyler figured he’d just have to make the most of the meager atmosphere. Music blared from a cheap sound system, filling the establishment with muted, cracked versions of modern country ballads. The stale air smelled of peanuts, alcohol, and overtly perfumed customers.

He promptly spotted Kate, who smiled at him from a booth across the room; those globular brown eyes drew him to her like tractor beams. He strode confidently through a packed dance floor of denim, cowboy hats, and clacking boots on the oak floor.

“You’re early,” he said and slid into the high-backed wood booth.

“So are you,” she observed with a grin.

Honey-lit by the poorly attempted ambient lighting, her hair glowed golden, her mascara-dressed eyes the dark rich mahogany of the drink in the tumbler before her.

He’d grown accustomed to seeing Kate in two states of being: completely disheveled or freshly scrubbed. Witnessing the polished version stirred within him a fresh yearning. Radiant in her simple black silk camisole, small gold hoop earrings, and glossy lips, she’d pinned half her hair up, the remaining falling in blonde waves brushing her shoulders.

“You’re always beautiful Kate,” he tried not to behave as gobsmacked as he felt. “But tonight, you’re goddamned stunning.”

“Pretty dapper yourself.”

In reality, the only difference in his appearance from his usual attire was the addition of a soft caramel blazer, and, of course, the efforts she couldn’t see: his frantic pre-date preparations of trimming his nose hairs, whitening his teeth, manicuring his junk, clipping his toenails and spraying on some Dior Sauvage.

He tore his eyes from her to examine the laptop, tablet, binder, notebook and phone strewn across the table, “what’s all this?”

She shrugged, “I wanted to rework some things before my presentation, and the motel’s wifi is garbage.”

“Making any progress?” he seized a yellow legal pad and scanned her neatly written notes.

“Not really,” she admitted. “Would you want to do a read-through? Let me know what you think? I don’t want to get this wrong.”

“Course I would. But, I’d bet the farm you’re overthinkin’ it.”

“You’ve got to have a farm to bet first.”

“I do.”

“You do?”

“Mmhm. Send it to me; I’ll read it tonight.”

She tapped at the keys, presumably texting the file to him, and without looking up she said, “I’m actually glad you’re early.”

“Oh yeah,” he smiled, “why’s that?”

She quickly evaluated their immediate surroundings and leaned in, lowering her voice, “Some mega creep isn’t taking no for an answer; he keeps circling me like I’m roadkill.”

“Need me to scare him off?”

“Need? No. Want? Very much so.”

“I can do that,” he smiled widely.

She tilted her head, “why do you look so eager?”

“I like bein’ useful to you.”

“Have I not told you how incredibly useful I find you?”

“Not near enough,” he retained his eyes on her, memorizing her face at this moment.

The creep suddenly appeared at their table, too tall and too attractive, Tyler decided, with dark hair and bright blue eyes.

He placed a glass of liquor in front of Kate, ignoring Tyler’s presence altogether. "Hey there, beautiful. Woodford Reserve, neat, right?”

“Well that’s mighty generous of you,” Tyler drawled, snatched the glass and downed the drink in one swallow, slamming the empty tumbler back on the table. “This sure is a friendly town.”

Megacreep seethed, “That wasn’t for you!”

“Oh, my apologies,” Tyler feigned confusion. “When you said ‘beautiful,’ I thought you were talkin’ to me.”

Kate chortled and covered it by clearing her throat.

“Who the fuck are you?” Megacreep snarled at him.

“Now here I thought sure you were a fan of mine,” Tyler declared. “I get a lot of free drinks from my fans.”

“Is this your fella?” MegaCreep asked Kate.

She gazed at Tyler, her eyes shining affectionately, “there is a distinct and growing possibility.”

He smirked, “hear that buddy? I’m a growin’ possibility.”

“You’re a dick.”

“Been called worse. Today even.”

Kate chuckled, and Megacreep stepped towards her, pointing his large finger at her, “what kinda bitch doesn’t say she’s got a boyfriend?”

Tyler stood in a blink, placing himself physically between Kate and Megacreep. Arms akimbo and his voice cold, Tyler practically growled, “you’re gonna walk away now. Nope, no, don’t look at her. Don’t talk to her. Walk the fuck away. Go on now.”

Megacreep stared him down for a moment, as though considering his options. Despite Megacreep’s height advantage, Kate wasn’t too concerned; Tyler’s sturdy presence and irrepressible conviction imbued the intimidating impression that he wouldn’t at all require height.

“What a waste,” Megacreep snarled, and stomped away like a pissed toddler. Tyler didn’t move, his eyes glued to the guy until he fully exited the bar.

His relaxed posture returned immediately, and he slid back into the vinyl seat across from her.

“You white knighted me,” she teased warmly.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s get back to that distinct possibility you were talkin’ about.”

She laughed, “Tyler, I’m leaving in the morning.”

“But you’re comin’ back.”

“Probably.”

He scowled, “what do you mean ‘probably’? You’re not thinkin’ about staying in New York? You don’t belong in New York, Kate.”

“Why’s that?”

He appeared personally aggrieved and more than a little irritated, “you’re tellin’ me you’d be happier in New York? I mean, your face when we’re out there in those fields? You light up like a firefly in June! You sure as shit aren’t letting us do this without you.”

She blinked softly at him.

Relief dressed his face, “you enjoyin’ watchin’ me squirm?”

“Lil’ bit,” She shrugged.

“Sadist.”

She laughed. Under the gloLike cozying beside a crackling fire on a chilly evening, it was impossible not to feel a deep warmth and joy under the glow of his full attention.

He regarded her, “seriously, Kate, you’re a fuckin’ knockout.”

“Thank you,” she responded, oddly flustered from his blatant admiration; she glanced at her drink and then back up at his ridiculously handsome face. She couldn’t think what else to say. Her mother always christened Kate as bilingual, in that she spoke English and sass fluently. Charm, however, she could never harness. Tyler Owens had a master’s degree.

Initially, upon meeting Tyler, she attempted minimal eye contact to avoid the unnerving fever of his beauty. Quickly though, he disarmed her hesitancy with his earnest altruism and overflowing enthusiasm, and she’d been forced to become accustomed to his excessively good looks.

“Jesus Christ, what kind of whiskey are you drinking?” He peered into her tumbler, feeling slightly buzzed. “Shit’s strong.”

“It’s just bourbon.”

“Bourbon?” He raised his eyebrows. “You a mafia kingpin or a nineteen fifties ad exec?”

She smiled, “I like bourbon. My grandfather used to give me little sips as a kid. Misguided as he was, I think I developed a taste for it.”

Kate’s reticence about her life enflamed Tyler’s natural delight in discovery. Every tidbit, every newly uncovered piece of the Kate-puzzle felt like a win, "Is he still alive, your grandfather?”

As she started to answer, a sudden vertiginous wave pummeled him, and he placed his palms on the table for stability.

“Tyler, are you okay?”

He squinted, a sleepy warmth spread through his limbs, “I had exactly one drink, your drink, and that was it.”

“What does that mean; are you feeling sick?”

His jaw muscles clenched, and his eyebrows drew together as though he deliberated on something difficult or painful.

“Tyler?” She reached across the table, placing her hand atop his. “Answer me. Are you okay?”

He met her eyes and fumed, “I think that skyscraper-sized predator roofied your drink.”

“What? Seriously?”

“I’m going to feed him his fuckin’ teeth,” he stood, irate, and then immediately sat back down, “after the room stops spinning.”

“Oh my god. We should, we should get you to the hospital,” she slammed her laptop lid closed and started shoveling everything into her messenger bag.

“I don’t need a hospital.”

“You don’t know what he put in there, or more importantly, how much.”

“I don’t need a damn hospital,” he scowled. “I’m wasted. I’m not dying.”

Her face puckered in concern, “how do you feel?”

He shrugged, “tore up from the floor up.”

“If you won’t let me take you to the hospital, then we need to get you to your room before you pass out.”

“Not gonna pass out.”

“How do you know?” She tilted her head, “You been roofied before?”

“Course not.”

“Well I have, so I can tell you that we need to get you somewhere before you pass out. And fast.”

His face fell, “you’ve, Kate, you’ve been -“

“In college. I was fine. I was with friends who kept me safe. It happens more often than you can imagine. Now let’s get you out of here, because Tyler, I don’t think I can carry you.”

He swallowed, his face pained, “yeah, yeah okay.”

He rose to his feet and inhaled deeply while Kate wrapped her messenger bag across her body and stood, shoving her phone in her pocket.

“Here, put your arm around me in case you get woozy.”

“I know you’re strong Kate, but if I go down, it’s going to be like getting clobbered by a bald cypress.”

“Just do what I’m saying,” she gripped his hand and hung it around her shoulder and wrapped her arm around his waist.

“Bossy,” he grumbled.

“You like it,” she scoffed, “Pfft, a bald cypress. You think quite a lot of yourself.”

He chuckled and then he sighed, suddenly forlorn, “hey, I’m, I really didn’t imagine this is how our date would go.”

“Well maybe later you can tell me what you did imagine.”

“You flirtin’ with me?”

“For days now, Tyler. Let’s get out of here.”

They began the journey across the wooden floor, feet crunching upon the husks of peanut shells tossed aside, and to his credit, Tyler walked fairly well, despite his growing sense of instability. They weaved around the little square tables littered with empty beer bottles, shot glasses and crumpled cocktail napkins.

They both immediately glimpsed the sky as they exited the bar, habitually checking conditions. The fresh temperate air returned a sense of normalcy to the peculiar circumstances.

They crossed the deserted highway hand in hand, by the time they reached the stairs of the motel, Tyler felt he’d crossed the Rubicon, and plopped himself down on the bottom step.

“If you rest there, you’re going to end up staying there; get up, Tyler.”

“Alrighty,” he pulled himself up by the railing.

“Which room?”

“Hmm. Not sure actually,” he pointed at the entire row of motel rooms, his vision progressively more blurry.

“That’s alright. I need to keep an eye on you anyway. Let’s just go to mine,” she climbed the stairs behind him and then grasped his hand, guiding him into her room.

“Sit down,” she pointed at her bed, and he obliged obediently. For a clearly vain man, Tyler truly possessed very little ego. He never appeared slighted or emasculated by Kate’s leadership or expertise. From day one, he approached her as though her abilities very possibly exceeded his own. She couldn’t say the same for ninety-seven percent of her male colleagues, even those with years less experience and education. Tyler’s cocky assuredness should have translated into the typical arrogant know-it-all, but ever-surprisingly, his heart and mind opened to all ideas, and he easily credited those around him for his successes.

“Kate?”

“Yeah?” She unloaded her gear onto the dresser top and turned to face his distressed expression.

“I’m hammered, and I’m twice your size,” He frowned. “That drink would have knocked you out cold.”

“I know, Tyler.”

“He might’ve, I mean if you drank that instead of me, if I wasn’t there, he could’ve…” he appeared both furious and on the verge of tears.

“Yeah, I know,” she grimaced. “Try not to think about it.”

“I’m sorry, that this world, that you have to deal with shit like that.”

“It’s alright,” she leaned against the dresser.

“It’s, it’s not,” he scowled, “why aren’t you angry?”

“I am, I just don’t have any practical answers, and I’m more concerned about you right now.”

He stared at his hands for a moment, then looked up, “You can’t ever accept a drink from someone you don’t know, okay?”

“I don’t,” she informed him as she helped him remove his blazer.

“You don’t?”

“No. I learned the hard way, but I learned,” she hung his blazer on the back of the office chair.

“That’s good. That’s real good. I feel better. World still sucks, though.”

He laid back on the bed, looking at the ceiling and promptly fell asleep.

Kate watched him breathe for a few minutes, then unpacked her bags and briefly stepped out of the room to place a few phone calls.

A short time later, while Kate again read through her presentation, she heard Tyler stir and turned in her chair to check in on him.

“Oh shit,” he bolted upright, “Kate, what if that asshole goes down the road and roofies some other girl?”

“I called the cops.”

“What? When?”

“When you passed out a little bit ago. They asked me to file a report online, and they called the two bars in the area and gave them my description.”

“I didn’t pass out.”

“You did. For about forty-five minutes. You snored.”

He eyed her skeptically. Those eyes. Good lord, was there even a name for that color? Not in any crayola box she’d seen.

“You did,” she imagined an alternative method in discovering he snored, but quickly redirected her thoughts.

“Do you have to go to New York?” He slurred.

“I’ll be back.”

“When?”

“I’m not sure yet. Get some sleep Tyler.”

“Hey Kate?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you two dozen times since we met. Atleast.”

She cocked her head and grinned, “Well what’s the holdup Tyler Owens?”

He smiled softly, “I’ve put the horse before the cart a few times. Too many times. Guess I didn’t want to, you know, I didn’t want to fuck this up, you and me. I mean I’ve been thinkin’ about kissin’ you since the day I first saw you, your hair all pulled into that clip, wearin’ that buttoned-up outfit and that serious beautiful face. Mile high walls up, and then you speak, and you’re fuckin’ brilliant and a little snarky -“

“I’m not snarky.”

“The snarkiest. Your mother agrees with me on this.”

“Of course she does.”

“Shush, I’m tryin’ to woo you with my words since my goddamned body feels like goo.”

“Well then go on. You’re doing fine.”

“I am?”

“Oh yes.”

He beamed, “so like I was sayin’, I didn’t want to fuck it up, and then the first time I saw you smile, like really smile, well, shit, I was done for. And then I really didn’t want to fuck it up. And I thought tonight, I’m not gonna blow it, and now,” he sighed. “Well, I can’t kiss you while I’m shitfaced. Can’t actually feel my lips right now,” he closed his eyes and touched his lips. “There they are. Okay I can feel them.”

She stifled a laugh. His inebriated declaration moved her to match his bold honesty, “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like you, and in case I haven’t made it very clear: I would like you to kiss me. Try not to worry on it. It’ll happen. And I’ll kiss you back, and then all of the other good things that come with that.”

He smiled, full teeth, “that is. S’wonderful. News.”

“Isn’t it?” She tried not to giggle. Even in this dingy motel room, Tyler practically glowed with health. Eternally sun-gilded, eyes that sparkled like a freshwater lake in summer, his sculpted body a vision of purpose.

He frowned, “what if I don’t remember?”

“I’ll remind you.”

“Promise?” His eyes so round he resembled what he must have looked like as a child.

“Cross my heart.”

“And you’re comin’ back?”

“Of course I’m coming back. The only thing I have in New York is a plant I’ve killed and replaced six times, a neighbor cat I pretend is mine, and workmates that think I don’t know their nickname for me is Elsa.”

“Who’s Elsa?”

“The snow queen.”

“You’re from Oklahoma.”

“It’s their terribly clever way of saying I’m an icy cold bitch.”

“What? But. You’re not. You’re kind and compassionate and who the fuck would think that?”

“It really doesn’t bother me,” she quietly thought on it for a moment. “This one guy, god he hates me, he hums, “let it go,” when I walk past him.”

“What’s that?”

“The song. You know.”

“How’s it go?”

Kate cleared her throat and hummed a few bars.

He shook his head “I don’t think I’ve heard it.”

“You’ve heard it,” Kate sang, “let it go, let it go, I don’t know the rest of the woooords.”

Mischief in his eyes, he smirked, “you’ve got a pretty voice.”

She laughed, “you shit, you know what song I’m talking about!”

“Course I know that song. I’m from Arkansas not Mars.”

She laughed and his heavy eyelids drooped again, “Tyler, go ahead and rest.

“Maybe just for a sec,” he stretched out across the bed and nearly instantly fell asleep again.

She turned back to her laptop and spent an hour extensively researching drugs used in date rapes, narrowing by state and then county. She reviewed the short and long term effects of the top three. Worst case scenarios always lapped her brain, and she found research could occasionally ease the anxiety. She tried reassuring herself that he likely metabolized quickly.

After an hour or so, he suddenly sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood.

She jumped up from her chair, “whoa, where you going?”

“Bathroom,” he closed one eye and pointed at the bathroom.

“Need help getting there?”

He used the edge of the bed as a handrail, working himself around it and closer to the bathroom, “I got it.”

She tried not to imagine him passing out and hitting his head as he shut the door. After he had flushed the toilet and the water ran for ten minutes Kate called through the door, “Tyler? You good?”

Tyler opened the door, shirtless, her toothbrush hanging out of his frothy mouth, “I’m good,” and he resumed brushing his teeth.

She eyed his white tee, button down and belt abandoned on the linoleum.

“Can’t stand my teeth feelin’ fuzzy,” he mumbled through a mouth full of toothpaste. He stopped brushing, eyes wide, “oh shit, this isn’t my toothbrush, cuz this isn't my room.”

She desperately attempted to retain her eyes on his face as she replied, “it’s fine.”

“What time is it?” He asked, post-gargle.

“Three AM.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“We should get some sleep.”

“That’s a great idea.”

He dropped to the bed like a felled tree, and seemed to find sleep immediately.

She attempted to wiggle his boots from his feet, which took quite a bit more effort than she anticipated, jostling him back awake in the process.

“Whatcha doin?” He raised to his elbows, watching her struggle with a fond amusement.

“Trying to help you,” she grunted, straddled his leg and yanking at the unmoving boot.

“You wanna help me, come on up here and cuddle me.”

She dropped his foot and peered at his lifted head, “Cuddle you?”

“Mmmhmm, c’mere Kate,” he held out his very attractive arms (that led to the rest of his very attractive body) to her as he easily toed off his boots.

She lowered herself next to him, and he pulled her flush against his chest, both strong arms wrapped around her. She adjusted slightly, and found herself unusually comfortable, given the hard terrain of his chisled chest.

“You clicked right into place like a lego; fit perfectly like you were made to go right here,” his voice rumbly from her location. “Legos click in, right? Did that make a damn bit of sense? Still feelin' a little smashed.”

His soft dark chest hair tickled her nose, “made sense and also accurate. Good job.”

“This’s nice. You smell nice. Like lemon merengue pie.”

“It’s my shampoo.”

He always smelled like everything she associated with love: wind-blown winter wheat fields, metallic dust, engine oil, earthy geosmin and crisp ozone. Tonight, his usual smells mixed with soap and that peppery manly cologne that seemingly every guy south of Nebraska wore.

She felt a bit self-conscious. Before this moment, they hadn’t even hugged. Strange to think, given how close she felt to him. The intimacy of having their bodies pressed against one another flicked inner switches she thought long dead. Shit, she hadn’t actually “cuddled” with anyone in a long long while. In five years. Not since the last time Jeb -

“Stop thinkin’.”

“How do you know I’m thinking?”

“Can feel it in your body,” he ran one large hand down over her shoulder, along her torso, skimmed over her hip and back again. “Rest Kate.”

She very nearly moaned, and swallowed before answering, “I’ll try.”

“Relax your body. Listen to my heart. You’re okay. I’m okay. Let’s sleep.” he nuzzled the top of her head with his chin. “Rest Kate.”

She smiled into his chest.

“Goodnight Sapulpa.”

“Goodnight Tyler.”

A few minutes passed, and her eyes began to feel heavy and her limbs leaden.

She relaxed, but she didn’t fall asleep for quite some time, just listening to his deep breathing, her head and hand falling into the rhythm of his chest. His strong heart beat a steady consistent rhythm , and she’d have been lying to herself if she didn’t consider for just a moment, that she belonged right here, in his arms, on his chest: warm, safe, cared for. Who wouldn’t want that?

She glanced up at his sweet little mouth, open and letting out even puffs of air. Who wouldn’t want him?

Talk about putting the cart before the horse.

Besides, the logistics bordered on nightmarish. Sure, she wanted him. Badly. But, the last time she had attempted to fuck some idiot plagued her brain. She’d finally given it a go after three years in New York, not because her heart called out, but because her body demanded it. The moment the making out progressed into something more, her heart rate picked up, her body rife with confusion, launched her into a full-blown panic attack. She ended up shoving him off of her, locked herself in the bathroom, vomiting and hyperventilating for an hour. She’d Uber’d home and completely swore off dating after that. Hell, after that, she’d even consume a glass of wine before masturbating to avoid the possibility of bringing on another panic attack. Add to that, her Jeb-based survivor’s guilt tainted any bit of attraction she felt for other men. It just hadn’t been on her mind anymore. It didn’t seem possible, so she stopped caring.

That disastrous date occurred years ago; she attempted to reason with herself. She drove straight into tornadoes now for fuck’s sake! When did that become less frightening than fucking a man who nearly made her come every time he called her Sapulpa (stupidest nickname ever.) Tyler had awakened a desire in her she thought she’d fully cremated.

She feared even trying. Good lord, if it went well, though - wasn’t it worth the risk? Wasn’t he worth the risk?

She’d argued with herself in this fashion a dozen times in the last forty-eight hours.

She must have fallen asleep for an hour or two, but awoke at first light, the little spoon, his heavy arm draped across her waist, his palm under her shirt, tucked around her abdomen.

She checked her phone and her flight status: on time. Disappointment weighted her to the bed for another moment, before obligations began stacking in her brain, and she slipped from beneath him to ready herself and her belongings.

She considered waking him but settled on grabbing a pen from her bag and jotting a note on a motel pad.

“Where you goin’?” he groused from bed.

She turned to see him sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“My plane is on time. Javi’s downstairs.”

“I can drive you.”

She walked over to the bed and sat next to him, “best not drive yet. Just in case.”

“I’m fine.”

“I know but, for my peace of mind, just sleep a little longer and then hydrate.”

“When are you coming back?”

“Next week, at the latest. Go back to sleep.”

She stood and grabbed her suitcase handle. His chest tightened; her impending departure upset him in a way he couldn’t fathom. No concrete ties bound them; they’d made no promises. Kate’s face at the airport yesterday, “this could be it,” pinged around in his brain.

“Hey Sapulpa?”

She turned towards him, a moment from reaching for the doorknob.

“Don’t go.”

She again released the suitcase, sauntered to him, and stood between his legs. He tilted his face up, and her hands rested on either side of his face, sending tingles down his neck. Her thumbs brushing over his ears, her lips hovered so near to his, he thought he might be dreaming. Her eyes drifted shut, waiting generously for Tyler to seal the deal. He closed the centimeter between their mouths, crashing his soft warm lips into hers. Their kiss went from chaste to passionate in less than half a second, and Tyler pulled her down to straddle him upon the bed. He leaned back, taking her with him, and quickly flipped her beneath him, all without breaking the slow, wet, deep kisses they pressed upon each other. Their ministrations rounded corners neither had intended when Kate broke the kiss. His mouth detoured to her neck biting and kissing up to her ears, and she struggled to find coherent speech.

“I’d like to stay right here with you,” she huffed, breathless, “but, I, I have to go Tyler.”

“I know,” he kissed her cheeks, chin, nose and mouth, again, softly and too briefly.

“Next week?” He asked voice thick with desire, as she unclasped her legs from around his waist, realizing with chagrin she’d caged him in a thigh-vise.

“At the latest,” she smiled into his mouth, and he pulled her up to standing with him.

His brawny arms still trapped her against him when a knock at the door drew them back to reality.

He sighed, his nose nuzzling hers, “Javi’s impatient.”

“Reporting for duty!” Boone yelled through the door.

Tyler raised an eyebrow, pulling his face back to meet her eyes, “I don’t need a babysitter.”

She gripped his face in her palms, lovingly running her thumbs along his jaw, “I know you’re not feeling the effects anymore, but the half-life of Rohypnol is like twenty hours, if that’s even what he dosed you with. It just, it scares me Tyler. I can’t stay with you, but I don’t want you to be alone.”

He softened at her vulnerability, planted one last slow and impossibly gentle kiss upon her lips and whispered, “better let him in then.”

She opened her motel door to Boone’s enormous smile, “Heya Kate. Javi’s chomping at the bit down there; he says you’ll miss your flight if you don’t get a move on.”

“Thank you for getting here so fast,” she gave him a quick hug.

“No problemo,” he nodded and plopped down in the office chair, spun around once entirely, and then watched Kate and Tyler exchange a languishing look.

“Sent me your proposal?”

She smiled at him from the doorway, suitcase in hand, “yep.”

He returned her smile, “Call me when you land?”

“I will. Hydrate. Rest.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

When the door clicked to a close behind her, his heart ached, but with less finality.

“So? Did you do it? Did you kiss her?”

“C’mon, Boone, you know I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Yeah, but did you? Did you kiss her?”

“Course I kissed her,” he smiled proudly, falling back into bed to the sound of Boone’s signature “yip!”

One week, at the most.

Hell, he’d been searching for her his whole life; what was another week?

AUTHOR’s NOTE:

This was just supposed to be a fluffy lil fic I would return to whenever I got frustrated writing my other fics. Didn’t mean for it to turn into 5k words monster fic. Feed this writer with your comments, if you feel so inspired. I love reading your feedback.