#but also sooooo kind
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Two grown men, just being adorably awkward all episode.
Then taking the cheesiest selfies together!
I CAN'T HANDLE THEM!
Just move in together and be the best damn dog parents to Frito and cook the best meals together and care for your garden AND LOVE EACH OTHER ALREADY!
There are ants in this show because THEY ARE SO SWEET!
#mr mitsuyas planned feeding#I can't with them#they are just so stinkin' cute together#they are nervous and awkward#but also sooooo kind#my heart is melting
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though the movie might be cancelled, yuri on ice will live forever in our hearts. thank you yoi fandom, it's been real âĄ
#yuri on ice#yoiedit#yoi#victuuri#ice adolescence#anime gif#*gifs#animangahive#dailyshounenai#userkarura#usergojoana#userhanyi#useralphonse#usertorichi#usermoonz#usericybtch#userheidi#usergokalp#userartless#homuras#himawaari#this is not goodbye this is still my house!!!#devastated but not surprised tbh but i still wanted to channel my emotions somehow and just. express how much this show means to me so here#this thank you goes out to u guys. the fandom#mappa can eat a brick btw <3#god i wish i could articulate just how special yoi is to me#it truly resonated with me like very few other pieces of media have (i can count them with one hand in fact)#it was sooooo revolutionary and ahead of its time not just in terms of queerness but also in terms of mental health#it truly changed me as a person and i just. really appreciate how earnest and kind it was above all#thank you yoi. you will be a part of me forever <3
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I don't want to regret the way I lived
#my art#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#fanart#jjk fanart#jujutsu kaisen fanart#yuji itadori#gojo satoru#nobara kugisaki#nanami kento#choso kamo#junpei yoshino#jjk leaks#jjk spoilers#jjk manga spoilers#this idea started as a 2 part series . then my braincells decided to spark and supplied 7 PAGES#'did you sleep hina' no#ws looking up mentally stable things like 'who has died in jjk' smh i love my hyperfixation media im sooooo glad so many ppl r DEAD#i *could* have included more ppl but i think this is a good crew. this is a yuuji emotional support crew#also Was gna include his grandpa final panel but i Did Not Want To#he is implied through th dialogue#side note i donot like how i cn see this scenario playing out . ..yuuji this isnt ur stop u r monopoly voice Just Visiting ok >:(#anyway I broke my own heart with this and ik i hyped it up a lot but i hope that its not just me...#hope i did not hype it up fr nothing and no one else finds it devastating :((((( that would b humbling in the worst way#pls ...join the happy party train.......i hate it here i suffered pls :<<<<#also !!!! colours in this !! i cooked i fear . adding th first bit of warm hitting yuuji's face after th first 2 panels....#ive never had that kind of experience while drawing before it was wild . painful ! but wild.#the whole transition from p 2->3 might b the most emotionally moving piece ive ever made to me#not 2 sing my own praises tho i will shut up ! i wil. nap
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getting the attention of the humanoid typhoon
#vashwood#vash the stampede#nicholas d wolfwood#trigun#trigun maximum#wolfwood menace arc#he also wouldnt know HOW obvious to make it so he's just ramping it up throughout the day#but vash is sooooo used to repressing but also experiencing this kind of want so strongly for the first time#makes him wear the most obvious expressions.... while wolfwood is ALSO not used to being wanted in this way so he would be none the wiser#to vash's obvious expressions -- does that make sense. theyre silly. theyre so silly its like an endless loop#and then wolfwood is like ok i guess im doing something wrong or maybe he just doesnt want me like that. whatever! we move on#vash: dying crumbling - wondering if ww is doing it on purpose but also too nervous to ask until he starts literally taking off layers#ruporas art
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I was housed by your warmth / thus, transformed
my manifesto on dean's relationship with love and faith and what it means to be saved <3
hozier // shrike - yt
#I would be remiss not to call out how much Grey disabled-dean helped with this project <3#this amv would not have happened without you!!! I appreciate your support and kind words and brainstorming so much <3#this is the best one I've made yet I think? and I'm sooooo deeply proud of it tbh#also! fun fact! the colors for the filter overlay were picked from casâs tie and trenchcoat in the barn scene#and deanâs jacket and lip during the confession <3#my amvs#my stuff#supernatural#destiel#deancas#supernatural amv#destiel amv#spnamvarchive#spncreatorsdaily#hoziernatural#1k
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me n moze say good morning to the world !!! á( âąÌ á âąÌ )á
art by @rabbbitseason of course <3
#đŠââŹđ .#<-#hehe i took inspo from kaiâs rb of my mb:>#MY FIRST MOEVIE COMM#this is queued#im asleep (at least i should be by the time this is posted) but itâs a mystery as to how i will fall asleep knowing i would have to#close my eyes and not actively stare at this for the rest of my life#full factory reset i really donât know what i would even say to this đ„č im just#things i would do for bitti : anything! i cannot think of something i wouldnât do for her#i gave her the most cursed ref known to mankind and she came up with this im so đ„č thank you so much ⊠your art blows me away every time âŠ.#i may pass out seeing him in your style ⊠the way you did his hands and heâs so big#this is me -> à»ê°àŸàœČ o̶̷̎̀ ÌŻo̶̷̎̀ ê±àŸàœČ১ at this HSJDNCN aaaaaa đ„č#i will also state the very obvious and say that bitti is such a pleasure to work with ajsnxnkck âŠ.. please im on my knees#when i saw this- my stomach literally flipped inside out and my ears were ringing .. and my heart was beating a million beats per second#if bittiâs comms were open for eternity & i won the lottery- i would commission so many mozes âŠ.. the world would be full of bittiâs mozes.#^ though that sounds terrible for bitti ⊠im so sorry#i swear that wonât happen i would never do that to you#he is sooooo yum in your style (severe & outrageous understatement)#but what i can do is stare at this all day#THANK YOU BITTI UEUEJJSJS đ„čđ„čđ„č I HOPE UR PILLOWS R ALWAYS COLD !!!#not even aventurineâs shield can protect me from the 100000000 damage i took from this /pos#such a shield doesnât exist in the hsr realm or the real world !!!#evie.ss#IM KIND OF ANGRY THAT I KNOW THERES NOTHING I CAN SAY TO EXPRESS HOW I FEEL !!!!! WHAT COULD I SAY >:#WHAT AN ODD FEELING WHERE I AM reduced to my knees but from positive emotions alone âŠ#im so dizzy /pos let me stop here this is already so long omg đ„č#edit: dude /gn my screen time is gonna skyrocket because im still staring with such a dopey smile on my face ahsndnxkc gosh im happy :â) th#thank you so much bitti âŠ. this means so much to me#i literally can not put into words how much this has made my entire year :â)) im so soft im so happy
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byler x jurassic park. thank you for your time.
#listen jurassic park is one of my Medias Of All Time#like. fundamental to understanding suni astrobi fr fr fr#i watched it for the millionth time on the plane a couple days ago and was thinking Such Thoughts#re: ellie will#bc they r both empathetic and sweet and nerdy but brave and will not take shit#and also paleobotanist will is so. SOOOOO.#and also re: alan mike#bc they r both a little grumpy and aloof and closed off at first interaction#but warm up to their loved ones and are protective and strategic and kind and also a huge fucking nerd#i canât get them out of my head#they r in there like a worm in my brain .#also re: the scene where ellie helps the triceratops#imagining will pausing to help it when itâs sick#internally gagging while shoving his arms into the poop pile bc itâs disgusting but Powering Through#hm.#this oneâs for thea btw my jurassic park loving partner in crime#she gets me. she rly gets me.#mike wheeler#will byers#byler#/astro draws
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DAY 96: trapped in a timeloop all by yourself, handsome?
#codacheetah#isat#loop isat#siffrin isat#isat spoilers#i'm not even tagging this as sifloop this just happens in the game#if loop hangout has a million fans im one of them#if loop hangout has 5 fans im one of them#if loop hangout has 1 fan that one is me#if loop hangout has no fans im no longer alive#loop hangout is sooooo. there's so many awesome little moments tucked in there and like. it's similar to twohats in a way#where the big spectacle of it leaves the Major impression. you remember loop hangout for the big ol eyes family dying sif screaming#but it's so!!!! it's so!!!!!!!!!!#aughhhh loop and sif being actually kind of genuine together and enjoying each other's company#and loop begins to let their walls down. talking abt how they understand how it feels to be trapped#before they catch themself and deflect. and blow sif a little kissy abt it lol#it's so great. i'd get all huffy abt ppl never remembering this part but i also did not remember a lot of the details of loop hangout until#i had to transcribe it. very underrated scene IMO
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Man I WISH the movies gave us more ensemble cast moments with the Company. Shoutout to the part in Mirkwood where they all en masse scuffle with one another in the most pathetic slap-fight way possible. Dori gets shoved into Kili, Ori gets mad at Fili, Nori tries to diffuse the situation while Kili seems perfectly willing to back up his brother in the fight. Meanwhile, Dwalin is arguing with Oin, then he stops to make a halfhearted attempt to pull Ori away, then goes right back to arguing. Bifur is trying to tell Gloin something but whatever it is dude isnt having it. All in the span of a few seconds. God I love those dwarves.
#also its a good demonstration of how Bofur isnt the kind of guy to pick a fight bc everyones shouting around him#and hes just standing there looking zonked out of his gourd and sooooo fuckin confused#DOS had soooooo many great character moments itll always lowkey be my fav of the three#the hobbit#desolation of smaug
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(almost) all instances of water in the official 4 minutes trailer
+ fire:
#4 minutes#4 minutes the series#bible wichapas#jes jespipat#loan.blr#loan.gif#loan.4mins#once again this was unnecessary. but im sooooo obsessed with it. what does it all meeeeean?#the imageryâą#okay so. its *almost* because:#(1) there is a 5 frame shot of a body of water#(2) 3 frame shot that is the same frame 3 times of water trickling on concrete maybe#(3) right after the second gif the scene transforms into them sitting in front of that... big ass window or whatever#and i wasn't a 100% percent sure it was the water reflecting them or just camera work#and also was not enough frames to make it stand on its#also you might argue that bible smoking is also kind of a fire.#but i digress.
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Masquerade
You've come to this masquerade ball to finally dispatch the man you've wanted dead for nearly ten years, but he's always ruining your plans, one way or another.
Contains: 2nd POV OC (sorry about all the blushing), werewolf MMC (sadly he doesn't do any fun werewolfy things he's just a guy with sharp teeth here), vague fantasy setting, murder attempts/reminiscence of murder attempts, a long and storied history only alluded to, what do you do when your bitter enemy turns out to be a silly little guy who just wants you to love him?, oral sex (w receiving), P in V sex, this spawned a whole ass novel and it's so so different but this lowkey holds up.
See end for Notes
~10k words - NSFW - 18+ MDNI
âMy, donât you look exquisite,â a voice purrs in your ear.
You freeze in place, glad that the mask hides the colour that springs to your cheeks. You feel like a naughty child caught with your hand in the cookie jar, an unwelcome guest at his masquerade. You thought you could escape notice, slip through the crowd of finely dressed nobles and plunge your knife into his chest at last. But he had managed to find you first. You werenât ready. You hadnât been to the garden to pick up your hidden cache of weapons, you had nothing but your silver hair-stick to dispatch him with.
His heavy hands land on your shoulders. âDonât muss up your pretty hairstyle just yet, darling,â he whispers in your ear, his voice rasping like sandpaper. Itâs as if he can read your thoughts. Or perhaps, after all these years, youâre simply predictable. âThere will be plenty of time for that later.â
You flinch at the cold press of his mask against your bare shoulder. You shouldnât have disguised yourself as a guest. You feel defenceless, wrapped in silk and sheer chiffon, a neat little morsel delivered straight into the wolfâs jaws. He could shift in a second and shred you into little pieces, like he had threatened to do so many times before. You try to still your frightened, thumping heart, and pull away, turning to face him at last. âIâm afraid Iâm not sure what you mean,â you say, because itâs worth a try at least, but heâs laughing before you can even finish, the smiling mouth of his gold wolf mask mocking you. His yellow eyes glitter from itâs depths, watching you.
âOh darling, I would recognize you anywhere. I hoped you would be unable to resist my invitation.â
âYour invitation?â
âYes, dearest. All of this was for you. I knew you could not resist the chance to get so close to me again.â
âTo kill you,â you remind him hoarsely.
He chuckles and takes your hand. âPerhaps. For now, a dance, I should think. You havenât danced all night.â
You dig in your heels, trying to resist his insistent pull, but he simply wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you closer. âI donât dance,â you tell him sharply. âLet go of me.â
âYouâre a liar,â he replies, spinning you into place, one hand on your lower back, pinning you against his chest, and the other still clasped around your wrist, sliding up to engulf your hand. He simply tugs you along with him as he moves, sweeping you along to the music, holding you so unbearably close. He could lift you off your feet with ease, if he chose to, and you donât have enough power to resist. His scent clouds your mind, cedar soap and clean, animal musk, one of many hints of the wolf that dog him even in his human shape. âYou forget, I knew you in your past life. Or have you forgotten that I once sat in your fatherâs halls? I have seen you dance.â
It was so long ago now, another life, before he was only the wolf to you, and before you were the thorn in his paw, that you almost had forgotten. You had hardly given him a second thought at first, he was just another visiting knight, here one day and gone the next, handsome, but beyond the concerns of the girl you once were. âYou failed to make an impression,â you tell him sharply, although itâs not true. You do remember his yellow eyes watching you one night, though he never asked you to to dance. He never spoke to you at all.
Not until after. He saved you, of course, from the bloodbath, because he had claimed you. He hadnât so much as said a word to you before he burst into your bedchamber, monstrous jaws dripping with your fathers blood, yellow eyes wild. You still remembered beating him back with the fire-placeâs iron poker, and jamming the tip into his chest before you ran for your life.
âI knew you were mine from the first,â he continues. He seems frighteningly aware of your thoughts, as if his own version of the memory is playing out behind his own eyes. âMy lioness, avenging her wicked father with a poker. I still bear your mark, just above my heart.â He presses your entwined hands to his chest for a moment. âIâm certain you remember that, at least.â
âUnfortunately.â
âThe only unfortunate part,â he says patiently. âIs that I did not take you as my mate that night.â
His words lance through you like lightning, burning everything in their path. Your knees nearly buckle, and if he were not holding you so securely, you would sink to the floor in a useless puddle of silk. How dare he make you weak, after everything heâs done to you? But anger gives you strength, reinforces your spine with steel, and you wrench away, glaring at him, wishing you could set him ablaze with your eyes.
The music falters. You look up, at the musicians gallery, then around the room. Everyone watches, pretending not to, jewelled masks concealing furtive eyes and whispered words. Your own mask feels insufficient, lightweight and flimsy under the wolfâs eyes when your eyes return to him. He takes your arm, his grip tight, but not bruising, and guides you out of the ballroom, into the cold night air. The dark gardens are just a little too far for you to jump down from the wide stone balcony, and there are no stairs leading down. If you jump, youâd probably break your leg, and then youâd be helpless.
âWhat do you think of our home?â he asks. âHave you snooped around yet, my darling? Planned all your exits and hidden away your weapons and armour? I made sure youâd have plenty of opportunity. I know how you love to prepare.â
âIâm surprised you havenât found them already.â
âI have been busy with other preparations,â he says mildly. âBut I thought I smelled something of you in the corridor by the library.â
You flinch, only confirming that you had in fact been there, hiding your leather armour inside a large vase. âPreparations for what?â
âYour homecoming. The king has made it clear that itâs time to reign you in, or he will have someone else deal with you.â He pulls the mask off at last, setting the golden wolf on the balcony. Sweat glimmers at his temples, catching light from the ballroom behind them. He offers you a wry smile, his sharp white teeth flashing. âIâve been too lenient with you.â
âLenient?â you ask, incredulous. âIâve been trying to kill you.â
âThose who attempt such things do not usually live long,â he reminds you. âI donât often show mercy. Iâve allowed you to live free, in the hopes that you would come to me willingly, in time. Now it seems I can no longer afford to continue our little game. You will stay with me, or someone else will be sent to arrest or kill you.â
You press your palms into the smooth railing, wishing desperately that you could absorb the cool, dependable steadiness of stone through your skin. You look at him for a moment while he stares out over the dark gardens, his yellow eyes tracking movement you canât see.
Heâs always dressed in black, like a man in mourning, his black curls cropped short around his slightly pointed ears, beard neatly trimmed. He wears little jewellery for a man of his station, just the yellow-gold signet ring with itâs heavy, dark blue sapphire on his finger, and the gleam of jet buttons down the front of his tunic. You were more used to seeing him in his armour. The heavy black plate suits his brutality better than black-embroidered silk.
Silk offers no protection, no shield over his wicked black heart.
You pull the hairpin from your own neatly arranged curls and move fast, striking at his chest, but he catches your hand easily, his amber eyes meeting your fury with amusement. âYou just canât help yourself, can you?â he asks. âStubborn creature.â
He plucks the pin from your hand and spins you around, pushing you into the railing with the oppressive weight of his presence. Your protests are weak and hardly noticed, but you fall silent when you feel the rough pads of his fingertips on the back of your neck. He gathers your hair up and pins it back in place, not as neatly as you had done earlier, but sufficiently.
âWhat are you doing?â you ask numbly.
He turns you around, still standing far too close. You stare forward, at the point where his skin meets the collar of his tunic, your eyes glued to his pulse. You wish for teeth as sharp as his own, so you could tear out his throat. His fingers curl under your chin, nudging your face up, forcing you to look him in the eye again. âJust returning your pin,â he says, smirking. âWhy do you seem so flustered, darling?â
âWhy donât you just kill me?â you ask. Your hand lifts up to knock his away, but you touch him instead, fingertips ghosting over his knuckles. You know heâs capable of crushing you with hardly a thought. Youâve spent the last ten years learning all you could about him, hunting him down again and again and again with a single-minded determination. He likely could have killed you a thousand times over, if youâd been just a little less careful, or he a little less eager to capture you instead. He should have killed you. You donât know how to stop anymore, you donât know how to let go of the terrible anger that burns you up every time you think of him. You want him to suffer, to lose everything, to hurt the way he hurt you. âIâll never stop.â
There is a flicker of sadness in his eyes, and it pings against your heart uncomfortably. âI never could,â he says, all traces of his smirking, superior air gone. His thumb strokes along your jaw. âI begged the king for your life. Your father may have been a traitor, but you were an innocent girl, and I do not enjoy killing innocents.â
âIâm not innocent anymore.â
âNo, I suppose not. But youâve committed no crimes that I cannot forgive.â
âI donât want your forgiveness.â Your voice is hardly more than a hoarse whisper. You want to shout, but his hand on your skin seems to leech all the power out of you.
âYou have it regardless,â he whispers back, low and intimate as a lover. He touches his forehead to your mask, his eyes boring into yours, twin suns scorching everything in their path. âAnd someday I will earn yours.â
âNever,â you hiss. You return to your senses and push his hands away, shoving hard against his chest. âI hate you. Iâll always hate you.â
He tugs your mask off and tosses it to the side, tired of pretense. âIf you hate me so much, why does your heart beat like that?â
âIâm afraid of you,â you snap.
He laughs harshly. âNo youâre not. Youâve never been afraid of anything, my darling. It is one of the things I love best about you.â He leans in closer, the tip of his nose just brushing yours. You can feel his breath on your skin, the sharp smells of whiskey and mint setting your nerves on edge. For a moment, you think heâs going to kiss you, and you freeze, heart pounding, face turned towards him, waiting for the axe to fall.
But he withdraws instead, leaving you to face the consequence of unrealized want. His words prick at you like the point of a sword. Love. As if he would know the first thing about it. As if he knew you.
But he does know you, you realize with a start. He made you. His actions had set you on your path, and his choice not to kill you, each time that he should have, had created the determined, single-minded, furious woman that you had become. The carefree girl who you had been was long gone, dead the first time the wolfâs jaws closed around your throat. It burns you to think that heâd shown you mercy all along, that you had escaped capture or death by his leave, rather than by your own cunning and skill.
His eyes remain on your face, reading your thoughts like youâre a book laying open, waiting for him to happen by and discover all your secrets. âYou have become worthy of me,â he continues ardently, pressing your hand to his chest again, anchoring it with both of his own. âI would have kept you like a bird in a cage if Iâd taken you then. A pretty thing to amuse me and adorn my halls. But you are no trophy, my love. You will not survive in captivity. Even now, with the kingâs sword hanging over your head, I will not force you to stay.â
âIs this some sort of trick?â
âI used to wonder the same thing. A cruel trick of fate, that my mate would hate me so fiercely.â
âYou killed my father,â you hiss at him. You yank your hand away, desperately stoking the anger that has kept him at bay all these years. Each time he calls you mate and darling and love your resolve quakes, and you have no sword in your hand to make him regret it, like you usually would.
âHe was a traitor. I had orders.â
âAnd what comfort will that be when your orders are to kill me?â you ask, sneering up at him. âWhat will you do when your orders are explicit and undeniable, and you are to kill me on sight?â
âIâll never see you again.â
You arenât sure what you expected, exactly, but it always trips you up when he speaks plainly. âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â you snap.
âWhat do you think it means?â He hurls the words back at you, his anger lighting from your own. âIt means I would pluck my own eyes out before Iâd kill you. If the king ordered me to hunt you down Iâd stay one step behind you until we reached the very ends of the earth. If he came outside this very moment and told me to snap your neckââ He shudders, shaking his head like a dog shakes off the rain, and when he looks back at you the anger is gone, hidden away again behind his steely resolve. âLoyalty only goes so far. He knows not to make an order I cannot follow. If he truly wants you dead, heâll ask another.â He glances over his shoulder, keen yellow eyes fixing on a point somewhere inside. âI hope it does not come to even that.â
âBut why?â
He lets go of your shoulders and turns around, stalks a few feet away, and turns again, pushing both of his hands through his hair in frustration. Because I love you!â he snarls. âYou had me the first day you tried to run me through. Oh I wanted you from the first moment I laid eyes on you, beautiful thing that you are, but it was the first moment that you tried to cut my heart out that I knew there could be no other. You have no idea what itâs like, to love such a stubborn, foolish, bitch of a woman? Do you understand what it will do to me, when you leave? But I have never been able to keep you by force.â
âBut you let me go,â you say numbly. âYou saidââ
âLet you go?â He laughs, striding back towards you. âOh my love, you misunderstand. Just because I couldnât kill you does not mean I didnât try to keep you. But you have slipped every chain Iâve placed upon you. Iâve never pulled my punches. I would not disrespect you so.â
âYou called it a gameââ
He inclines his head towards you. âI did. Perhaps I should not have. But it was easier to think of it as a game. A test of my own worthiness. I admit, I have always looked forward to your attempts on my life. Itâs good, I think, for a man to be beaten once in a while, to keep him sharp. Otherwise he forgets to be vigilant.â He sighs, touching the edge of an old, silvery scar on your shoulder, brushing a loose strand of your hair out of the way. âBesides. Weâve both made our marks upon the other.â
âIâve gotten you more times than you have me,â you say, lifting your chin imperiously. âTwo or three times I really thought Iâd finished you off.â
âAre you so certain of that?â
You think about it. âYes.â
âCare to make a wager, dearest? If youâve left more marks on me than I on you, you may ask anything of me.â
You draw in a steady breath. âAnd if I lose?â
He grins. âNot so confident now, are you? I only want what is freely given, so you neednât worry. You can name your own penalty.â
âHow magnanimous.â
âI can be,â he says. âNow, shall we inspect each other here, or would you prefer somewhere more private?â
The thought of being alone with the wolf makes you shiver, but itâs not revulsion that you feel, itâs something far worse. The dark, cold balcony seems a world away from the golden ballroom with all itâs legions of beautiful, elegant guests, but itâs only panes of glass that separates you from them, hazy from condensation, opaque enough that you doubt anyone can see through them. It makes no material difference, in the end, but itâs winter, and the cold seeps through your dress easily, your skin only warm where he touches you. âAh, yes,â you say nervously. âPerhaps somewhere more private.â
âAnd warmer,â he adds. âAs stunning as you look, I do not believe you are dressed for the weather.â
As if on cue, a snowflake descends from the dark sky. You reach out your hand, catching it against your palm. A moment later, the sky is thick with snow, fat, fluffy flakes catching the light and turning the world white. You look back at him. He looks softer, somehow, with that little dusting of snow catching in his thick curls, melting flakes glittering like diamonds on his shoulders. For the first time, youâre struck by how young he looks. He was a man grown at your first meeting, and you had always thought of him as much older, but you know now that he couldnât be ten years your senior. You suspect itâs much less than that.
It changes something in your perception of him. Softens him.
âWhy are you looking at me like that?â he asks, stepping in close again. Although youâve hardly moved an inch since you came out to the balcony, heâs full of restless energy, moving away and back again like heâs tethered to you by some invisible string. He tilts his head to the side, his keen predator eyes practically glowing in the soft light.
You were glad your face was already flushed from the cold. âI was just thinking. You look soâŠâ You trail off, thinking of the best way to phrase it.
âHandsome?â he suggested. âStrong? Irresistible?â He wiggles his thick black eyebrows, grinning wickedly, making you laugh despite yourself.
âI was going to say young, actually,â you say. âI was wondering what sort of boy you were.â
He holds a hand out to you. âIâm sure thereâs a portrait somewhere, if youâre curious. Now come along, pet, I donât want you catching a cold out here. I do have a wager to win.â
You hesitate. All the ancient, bitter anger and sadness wars with something new in your chest. Itâs been so long since you wanted anything more than vengeance. Ages since the last time you felt deep, aching want for someoneâs hands on you, if you ever even had. The obsession between you, at least, was mutual, and you had traded the excitement of romance for the thrill of the hunt, the clash of your sword against the wolfâs. His taunting sounded better than flowery poetry to your ears, and you could not help but seek him out every time the loneliness of your new life became too much to bear. He had been your focus, your centre, your reason for existing for so long that you can no longer deny what this is.
Love is not always kind. Between the two of you, itâs become a desperate, wretched thing, living on scraps of attention and hungry looks traded in battle.
His fingers close around yours, and you realize that youâve reached out and taken the offered hand. You look at him, and heâs smiling in a way you havenât seen before, half-hitched up on one side, almost shy.
He twines his fingers through yours and leads you back through the ballroom, slipping around the edges of the crowd like the wolf he is. No one seems to pay either of you any mind, although you feel curiously bare without your mask, as visible as a hare in a field to the eyes of a hawk. But your hunter is holding your hand, his thumb stroking over yours soothingly, like he can sense your unease.
Despite that small reassurance, youâre grateful when you step into a nearly empty corridor. A few well-dressed servants carrying trays bustle between the ballroom and the kitchens at the far end, but your wolf leads you the other way, through a few hallways littered with decorative items and portraits of long-dead nobles with eyes that seemed to follow you. You had been there only a few days earlier, but it looks different now. Perhaps itâs that you arenât on constant guard for the wolf. Heâs already here, holding your hand, pretending that heâs not watching you, just as you pretend to look at the portraits and statues and expensive looking vases you pass by, stealing glances at him only when you think you can get away with it.
The silence between you is almost comfortable, both of you too caught up in your individual tumble of thoughts to put anything to words. Itâs impossible to tell what heâs thinking. You wonder if he feels like heâs won already, but thereâs none of his usual taunting or his infuriatingly handsome smirk. He looks serious, black brows lowered in a sort of pensiveness that youâve never seen from him. Of course, you had only once gone so long in his company without attacking him physically, and you had been tied to a chair, at the time.
âDo you remember, a few years ago, the hunting lodge just above Lake Pym?â he asks.
You laugh. âI was just thinking about it. Why?â
He stops in front of a door and leans against the frame. âDo you think youâll be able to go as long without trying to stab me this time around?â
âThat depends on whether or not you tie me up again,â you quip back.
âDonât say such things,â he warns you, opening the door and holding it open, letting go of your hand for the first time in ages. Your fingers feel cold without his touch. âYouâll give me ideas.â
âYouâve made far too many confessions tonight for me to believe that you didnât already have ideas,â you tease. Funny how easily that comes, like youâre old friends and not enemies. A tidy little fire burns in the stone fireplace, with a cozy arrangement of rugs and furs laid out before it. A low table sits ready, carrying wine and glasses and a few plates of the sort of interesting finger-foods that they had been serving in the ballroom. Raising your eyebrows, you look back over your shoulder at him. He hadnât spoken to anyone on the way in, which meant that it had been all prearranged.
He closes the door behind himself and leans against it, grinning sheepishly. âI live in hope.â
The room - his room- is neat, a big bed with four posts carved like small trees, green-velvet curtains tied back neatly, is the first sign that he might actually like colour. You imagined him always in sombre black and white, dark hair, white teeth, dressed like the reaper and often so employed. But perhaps he isnât as stark as youâd always thought. His furniture is solid and well-made of warm-toned wood, and the bookshelves that flank the fireplace are stuffed with books, the odd space cleared out for knick-knacks and trophies. You had never considered that he might like to read. It isnât something that has ever come up before.
The wolf sits down on the furs and nudges a black lump by the fire. The shape uncurls into the biggest, fattest, blackest cat youâve ever seen and pads over to you, sniffing your skirts suspiciously.
âYou have a cat?â you ask, because it seems unlike the picture youâve built up of him over the years. Another thing you missed. You had been so focused on him as an enemy that you had hardly stopped to consider him as a man. You sit, and the cat drapes itself across your lap, purring already in anticipation of a good scratch.
âI donât have a cat,â he corrects you loftily. âSmudge is the matriarch of a proud line of excellent mousers, and she is a valued member of the household. One cannot own a cat, I have learned. One co-habituates with cats.â He leans over and gives the cat a little scratch under the chin, his knuckles just barely brushing your knee as he withdraws. âShe isnât usually very friendly, but she must recognize a fellow assassin when she sees one.â
âIâm not much of an assassin, Iâm afraid sheâd be terribly disappointed in me. Iâve failed to kill my only target, and I have been at it for quite some time.â You give the cat a scratch behind the ears. âIâm sure her record is much more impressive.â
He frowns and looked at you in a funny way. âHave you never taken a life?â
âIâve tried very hard to avoid it. Youâre the only person I ever wanted dead, and Iâ I wanted to be better than you. I wanted my hands to stay clean, so I could beat you and still keep my sense ofâŠâ You look down at the purring black puddle of fur in your lap rather than at the wolf. âOh I donât know. Righteousness, I suppose.â
âSo sweet that you wanted me to be your first,â he teases.
You know he means first kill, but you turn pink anyway, and there is no cold wind to blame for your rosy cheeks this time. There were many firsts that you had missed out on, in your bid for vengeance. âPerhaps I still do,â you snap, not thinking about the double meaning until after the words have left your mouth. You scramble to clarify. âMy first killâ Notâ Ugh.â He begins to laugh, and you cover your face with both hands, wishing the floor would open up beneath you and swallow you whole. âStop laughing!â Your voice is muffled by your hands, but there is no way that his keen wolfâs ears donât hear you perfectly. âThatâs not what I meant!â
He snorts. âI know, pet. Itâs a bit late for that, I should think.â
You peek at him between your fingers, and his eyebrows shoot up.
âDarling.â He leans over and gently takes hold of your wrists, prying your hands away. He is mercifully no longer laughing, but the look in his eyes only makes your face burn hotter. âPlease donât tell me that youâve never taken a lover.â
âThere was never a good time,â you manage to squeak out. It was half true. There had been offers, and moments when youâd been sorely tempted to share someoneâs bed for the night, but the few fumbling kisses youâd shared with young men had failed to thrill you the way that crossing swords with the wolf did.
He sits back with a groan. âYouâre always throwing wrenches into my plans.â
âHow on earth could that have anything to do with your plans?â you ask hotly.
âDarling, donât be so naive. My plans were obviously to seduce you into my bed so I could out-perform every man who had ever touched you, forcing you to admit to yourself that we belong together. But I suppose that would have been too easy.â
âToo easy!â
âI would never imply that you would be easily seduced, my love, only that I am fairly confident that you would have a harder time denying what we are if I were to employ my considerable athletic ability with the task of making you come undone.â He smiles ruefully. âBut seduction isnât fair if youâre a virgin. Iâll have to win your heart the old fashioned way.â
âThe old fashioned way?â You stare at him, incredulous. âWhat, youâre going to court me?â
âIâm certainly going to try,â he says, turning toward the table to pour you a glass of wine. âItâs the long road, but youâll find Iâm usually more than willing to take the scenic route.â
âYouâre insane,â you say weakly, accepting the offered glass. âYou must be.â
âMust I be? Like you said, Iâve made far too many confessions tonight, you must know that I do not mean this as some passing fancy. I think it would be a waste to continue this bloody crusade of yours. For both of us. I confess my bias in the matter, as I rather enjoy living.â He shrugs, looking at you over the rim of his own glass. âDo you? Has your life been all you wished for, these past ten years? Youâve forgone comfort, education, friends, romance, childrenâ Do you want none of those things?â
âOf course I doââ
âThen take them. Everything you want is yours if you stay.â He takes a sip of wine and winces, face screwing up like a child tasting something bitter. âUgh, I hate wine.â
âI know. I was wondering if you were going to drink from that glass youâve been waving around.â
âI just wanted to indicate that it wasnât poisoned.â He sets the glass to the side, still grimacing. âJust in case you were wondering if I was still trying to trick you.â
âIt had crossed my mind.â
âPerish the thought, my love.â He stretches out in front of the fire, propped up on one elbow. âIâve laid down my arms. If you must end this once and for all to free yourself, so be it. But I do think my alternative is better.â
You set your wine to the side as well and reach back to pull the silver hair-stick from your curls. You consider it, for a moment, pressing the point into your fingertip, not quite hard enough to draw blood. He watches with an inscrutable expression, making no move to disarm you. The cat slips out of your lap and stretches, moving off into the shadows again, either unaware or uncaring of the danger to her house mate. Or perhaps sheâs simply more aware than you that there is no longer any danger.
You reach out and place the make-shift weapon on the rug in front of him.
The crackle of the fire is the only sound for a long moment. The wolf was rarely rendered speechlessâ getting him to shut up was usually the more difficult task. But he simply looks at you, like youâve performed a miracle in front of his very eyes.
You slide one of the plates of food off the table and set it on the floor between you, something to hopefully distract his attention a little. You pick up one of the little triangle pastries and take a bite, catching crumbs with your other hand. You eat two more, realizing that you havenât eaten in hours, and wait for him to break the silence.
He sighs and rolls onto his back, tucking both hands under his head. Firelight dances over his skin, burnishing his features like well-polished bronze. Although you have known him a long time, youâve never studied him like this, while his eyes are closed and his usual grin is smoothed out into a peaceful smile. He looks noble, like a hero from the epics you used to read as a girl, more like you remembered from the days before everything changed.
âYouâre staring,â he says without cracking an eye.
âHow would you know? You havenât opened your eyes in ages.â
âAnd how would you know that, if you havenât been staring?â
He has you there. âAlright, fine. I suppose I was. I was just thinking about⊠about before.â
He opens his eyes. âHow long? We do have a rather storied history, donât we, love? I myself have been thinking of Lake Pym.â
You smirk. âI bet you have. I had a feeling you were rather enjoying yourself.â
âI was. It would have been more fun if you were a more willing guest, or if I at least didnât have to keep you tied to a chair the whole time.â
âYou wouldnât even let me feed myself,â you lament, though you canât help the traitorous note of amusement in your voice. âIt was terribly humiliating.â
âRevisionist drivel!â he snarls playfully. âI did untie you so you could feed yourself, and you tried to stab me. You forced my hand.â
You blink. âI suppose I did.â
He leans closer. âI suspected you just wanted me to take care of you. You were too proud to ask me for what you wanted, so you forced the situation. And snapped at my fingers the whole time like an absolute menace.â He holds up his right hand and displays a white mark around the first knuckle of his thumb. âThatâs one, by the way.â
âI only bit you because you stuck your finger in my mouth,â you reminded him.
âAh, I suppose I did get a bit carried away, didnât I? There was just this moment when I touched your lipâŠâ He reaches out as if he wants to repeat the remembered gesture, perhaps hoping for a better outcome, but he hesitates, dropping his hand. You almost wish he hadnât. âAre you still too proud, my love?â
âYes,â you whisper.
He senses your weakness. The way the answer drips with doubt like blood from a wound. âWill you let me kiss you?â He moves closer, anticipating your answer before it leaves your lips.
Your breath catches in your throat. âYes.â
At long last, he closes the distance between you, hands cradling each side of your face. He just barely brushes his lips against yours, and holds you back when you try to chase him, his familiar wolfish smile lighting up his face. âNot so fast, my darling. Youâll have to ask nicely, if you want a proper kiss.â He unbuttons the cuff of his black shirt only a moment later, his eyes dropping away from yours for a moment, and then rolls up his sleeves. âTwo and three, respectively,â he says, pointing out two more scars along his forearms. They were both from similar situations. Two times that you had disarmed him and made him bleed for it. You reach out and touch the silvery marks, feeling the smooth gap in his arm hair and the fully repaired muscle underneath the flawed skin. âYouâre a better swordsman than I,â he says, reaching up to unlace the top of his tunic. âI might have had the edge of experience, at the beginning, but you quickly caught up to me, didnât you? It was a good thing you were so scrupled about killing people other than me, or Iâd have lost far too many good men to your blade.â
âYouâre just trying to flatter me.â
âIs it working?â He pulls the tunic and shirt off in one go, baring his chest. There are a few scars there that you could not claim, and two that you can, although your eyes are drawn to one in particular. The ugly, uneven star right next to his heart, where you had run him through with the iron poker on the night of the wolf. âThis one is my favourite,â he tells you, pressing one of your hands to the scar. âThe first time you tried to kill me. Jon had to half-heal me himself, or I wouldnât have made it to a proper healer in time. Itâs partially why thereâs such a scar. Heâs always been terrible at the more subtle magics, but if you want something blown up, Jonâs your man.â
You laughed. âIâll keep that in mind.â
âMake sure you also note, in that treacherous little mind of yours, that he will not employ his considerable magical gift with the task of making me explode. He is still rather fond of me, even after all these years.â
âIt is good, I think, to have a king that is so well-versed in the art of restraint,â you say mildly.
âOh yes, I imagine it is.â
âSo is it really just the five scars?â you ask. âThatâs all?â Despite the truce the two of you had settled into, you felt strangely disappointed that your obsession with killing him over the last decade had resulted in only a handful of scars. It all felt like a waste. You try to console yourself with the knowledge that he heals more rapidly than most men. The scars you have left are despite that.
âThereâs one more, on my thigh, but I imagine you probably donât want me to take my pants off.â
You do want him to take his pants off. âYes, thatâs very thoughtful of you,â you say instead. âI suppose youâve won, anyway. I have a lot more than six scars from you.â You had expected that his life as a warrior would have marked him more significantly. Youâre covered in scars, faded and fresh alike, and there is no getting around the fact that you feel like youâve stitched yourself up so often that you look as worn down as your oldest, ugliest shirt.
The disappointment in his eyes is gone so quickly that you arenât entirely sure you hadnât imagined it. âWell, I suppose Iâll have to take your word for it, wonât I?â
âYouâre just trying to get me out of my dress,â you say hotly.
âObviously. You look very lovely in it, of course, but I have been hoping for the chance to peel it off of you.â
You shake your head. âI think youâll be a bit disappointed.â
âNever. What would possibly deter me at this point, darling? If stabbing me through the heart didnât erode my affections, what could?â
âOh I donât know,â you say thoughtfully. âI could have scales, or a tailââ
âI have a tail,â he reminds you. âAnd Iâm quite positive that youâre human, so Iâm not worried about scales. Or strange birth-marks or stretch-marks or scars, either, by the way.â
You take a deep breath and stand up, turning your back to him. âIt would help if you could undo all these buttons for me,â you say, sweeping your hair in front of your shoulder. âThere are so many of them.â
He jumps to his feet and scrambles to help. A few buttons plink to the floor, torn free in his haste. âIâll have it fixed,â he says hastily. âAnd Iâll buy you new gowns. As many as you can stand.â
You glance over your shoulder, nervous laughter stilling on your tongue when you see the look in his eyes. You turn forward again, sliding your arms through the sleeves and shimmying the gown to he floor. He gives you a hand to steady yourself as you step free. âIâ I donât wantâ I wonât stay.â
He hums in response, gathering up the gown and laying it over the back of a chair.
âI wonât,â you repeat yourself, as if the words will sound convincing the second time. They donât.
âI already told you, darling, I wonât make you stay. Itâs up to you.â
He draws you back to your seats in front of the fire, and you offer him your arms. Youâre riddled with fine scars, most of them faint, little nicks from his blade. His hands slide up to your shoulder and gently tug the capped sleeve of your chemise to the side, baring the imprint of his jaws. His thumb runs across the marks, his other hand landing on your knee.
âI wondered if Iâd bitten you that night.â He moves closer, his tongue moving over his sharp canines as he sighs. His fingers trail down your arm as his touch drops away. âYou never turned, so I wasnât sure.â
âIt doesnât always take,â you say, using his shoulder to help you back up to your feet. âI think it depends on the moon. New moon, that night. If you were any other wolf you never would have shifted.â
âI suppose that makes sense.â He settles back on his heels, looking up at you. âI canât say Iâve thought about why some bites take and some donât. Iâm not as observant as you, my love.â
Laughable, when his senses are many times greater than your own. Itâs not his observations that are the problem, itâs the connecting cause and effect, thinking about consequence for more than a moment. Heâs faced so few consequences in his life that it doesnât come naturally to him. You, on the other hand, are a mess of consequence, action and reaction measured and weighed, failures poured over until you can see every mistake youâve made, follow the tracks to how things could have been, if youâd done it all just a little differently.
You pull your skirt up so you can untie the ribbon that holds up your stocking, and he slides it down to your ankle. âThis oneâs only indirectly your fault,â you say, angling your leg so he can see the trail of pocked scars that wrap around your knee and up your thigh. âWhen I jumped down that ravine. Scraped myself up on the rocks.â
He tuts, hands reaching for these scars too. Itâs just an excuse to touch you, certainly, but you make no move to stop him. You just hold your skirt up, giving him unfettered access to your skin. His amber eyes flick up to your face, and he leans forward, pressing his lips to your knee.
Thereâs no halting the soft âOhâ that falls from your lips, but he would have heard even the softest catch of breath. Thereâs no hiding from him, and it terrifies you, leaves you so unsteady.
His eyes flutter shut for a moment, his exhale warm against your skin. âYou shouldnât show me any more,â he tells you. âI find myself wanting to kiss every inch of skin you show me, and I worry that you wonât stop me if I try.â
You sink back to his level and pull your stocking back up, tying the ribbon around your thigh again. âWould that be so bad?â
He groans and lays back on the furs, hands neatly folded on his stomach. âI am trying to be a good man for you, darling. You deserve more than I can give in one night. I need at least a few weeks to make you fall hopelessly in love with me before I can do anything that would tempt me to take you to bed.â
You run your palm over his stomach, feeling the soft pelt of hair over his warm skin, letting your curiosity guide your fingertips. You feel the expansion and contraction of muscle as he breathes in and out, tucking one hand under his head so he can watch you more easily, his eyes barely open.
You have to admit, he is handsome, especially relaxed like this. Only a few short hours ago you would have found the idea of him kissing any part of you abhorrent, but now you find yourself similarly compelled. You take his hand and kiss his knuckles, the tips of his fingers, the palm of his hand.
âCome here, you little minx,â he growls, trying to pull you down on top of him. You pull back, and he lets go, still worried about pushing you when youâve made so many overtures in such a short time.
You had expected him to hold on tightly, however, and overbalance, tipping over the other way with an inelegant little squeak. He laughs as he sits up, and you do too as he helps you back upright. He lays back again, and thereâs no resistance when he takes you with him this time. He tucks you into his side, and you look down at him, chin propped on your hand.
âI rescind my earlier statement,â he says.
âWhich one?â
âYou donât have to ask nicely for a kiss, darling. I worry that youâre too prideful to admit that you might like one, but if you can steal one whenever the mood strikes you, I might be lucky enough to receive a few impulsive ones that your good sense isnât fast enough to stop.â
You huff. âIs this your way of asking for another?â
âItâs my way of asking for as many as you might want to give me,â he says. âThere is, of course, a standing offer of anything you might like that is within my power to supply. I think it prudent to remind you.â
Heâs a ridiculous kind of man. Youâd always thought his tendency toward verbosity was just him grandstanding, but now you see it for what it really is. He wants to be understood by you so desperately that each sentence becomes overwrought, less clear for his efforts to imbue each word with meaning. Your own tendency toward blunt, inelegant language is an almost laughable counter. You say little, and hide everything you can, and he reads you plainly. He speaks like a poet, puts everything out in the open, and you misunderstand him on purpose.
Perhaps thatâs why you didnât see this for what it is a long time ago. If you were not so determined to make an enemy of him, perhaps you would have noticed the softness in his eyes, the way he looks at you as though youâre the sunrise and set, like youâre the moon and all the stars in the sky.
You kiss him, before he can open his mouth to speak again. Thereâs nothing lacklustre about the way your lips slide over his, the way your breath mingles, the way he makes little noises of satisfaction, unable to be quiet even with his tongue flicking over your top lip, encouraging you to open up for him. Angling your head to keep your noses from smushing together, you oblige, letting him lick into your mouth, his arms circling you, holding you tight against his body.
You can't put a name to the feeling that sparks between you, but it's the thing that's been missing from every kiss you've had before.
The heat, the need of it all burns away all that remains of your carefully maintained resolve. He loves you, fool that he is, and you're not sure you could survive without him now. Is that what love is? To mourn even the thought of their absence from you, to cling tightly and never let go? To sink into each other until you're one, two halves of the same whole?
He kisses you until you're breathless, lips swollen from the tug of his sharp teeth, jaw curiously sore from moving in a new way. You pull back first, braced on one arm as you look down on him. He's beautiful, more than human, wild-eyed and fey, but solid and warm beneath you in a way only a man could be. His imperfections make him dearer to you, not just the marks you've drawn on his skin, but the gap between his two front teeth, the way one brow arches a little more than the other, giving him that permanently skeptical look that had always made you feel he was making fun of you. The crooked smile, the notch in one ear.
You know his face more intimately than your own, but you still want to look at him, especially through this new lens.
âI donât think I want to wait,â you admit. Youâve waited long enough, havenât you?
âAre you certain?â he asks.
âI donât see what difference it makes, really.â
âIt makes a great deal of difference. Iâve taken enough from you, I donât want you to regret it.â He gazes up at you, tracing along your jaw with careful touch.
Your heart races rabbit-quick in your chest, and although you're the one looking down at him, you feel pinned in place by the wolf's eyes alone. "Then make sure I don't," you say softly. "I can even promise not to make another attempt on your life until the morning."
"DarlingâŠ"
"Please. I don't know how I'll feel tomorrow, but tonight I think I want your hands on me."
"You think?" His fingers catch around the back of your neck, as though he's waiting for some cue before he pulls you back into his arms.
âI know.â
He pulls you down for another kiss, rolling the two of you so his big body stretches over yours, your underskirts bunching up as he slots his thick thigh between yours, pressing against your core. He holds most of his weight off of you, but youâre still trapped beneath him. For the first time in a long while, there is no panic, no desire to fight furiously for freedom. You feel quite content where you are, especially when his thigh flexes, rubbing against you firmly, sending a shower of sparks through your belly. You gasp against his mouth, your hands skimming down his sides gingerly. When he does it again, you dig your fingers into the muscle of his back reflexively, murmuring apologies as his lips leave yours and slide down your bared throat.
âDonât,â he growls against your pulse, dragging his tongue roughly over your skin. âDonât apologize. You wonât hurt me.â
His teeth graze the slope of your shoulder, finding the older scar from his lupine jaws. You let out a shuddering gasp when he bites down lightly, not even hard enough to leave a mark. Thereâs a part of you that wants him to leave a mark, a bruise if not something more permanent, but youâre not sure youâll be able to convince him out of gentleness tonight.
He kisses down your chest, grinning up at you when he reaches the top edge of your corset. âYou are still wearing far too much clothing, my love. Come here.â He stands in a smooth movement, and youâre untethered without the weight of his body against yours, but only for a moment. He helps you to your feet and leads you to the bed, taking a seat on the edge and pulling you between his knees, turning you so he can loosen the laces of your corset.
You shed the garment as soon as youâre able, as well as the extra petticoats. Your chemise is thin, loose material, obscuring little, but you leave it on while you sit beside the wolf, toeing your heeled slippers off and nudging them under the bed and out of the way. Hands folded, you wait, heart beating like a drum. You feel so strange, almost outside your own body, watching him unlace his boots and tug them off impatiently.
He stands to strip off his trousers, and you quickly avert your gaze, looking down at your hands rather than see him in his fully undressed state. You have a rough idea of what youâd find, youâve been in the public baths more than a few times, and even doing your best to be respectful, itâs hard not to see something. But seeing something in a setting where everyone is minding their own business is a lot different than seeing something up close, especially when you might be expected to do more than just look.
âWe donât have to do this, love,â he says, kneeling in front of you, clasping his hands around yours. Your eyes fly back up, landing on his face. His chuckle makes your cheeks burn. âIf youâre nervousââ
âNo,â you say quickly. âI want to. Iâm justâ I hate not knowing what Iâm supposed to do.â
âI wouldnât worry about that darling. Itâs your first time, I should think the responsibility rests on my shoulders. All you have to do is tell me when you like something and when you donât.â He leans forward, forcing your thighs apart to accommodate the bulk of him, and kisses you, all sweetness. âAnd if you want to stop, we stop. Anything more than that can wait at least until the second or third time.â
It sounds so simple, put like that.
âBesides,â he adds, giving you a wicked grin as his hands move to your hips, the movement rucking your chemise up further on your thighs. âYouâve always been a quick study.â
Well, heâs right about that. His lips find your throat again, pressing languid kisses down your chest until he reaches the edge of your chemise. His eyes flick upwards, seeking permission before he goes further. You untie the simple knot with one hand, the other petting through his soft curls.
He noses aside the thin fabric to find your nipple, latching on with a contented hum. The act sends tremors down into your core, intensifying as his tongue flicks across. You pull in a shuddering breath, and your exhale becomes a whimper when his teeth nip at you, his other hand coming up to grope at your other breast, his touch warm and appreciative before his grip slides down to your hips and he tugs you to the edge of the mattress.
He pulls away from your breast and kisses you properly again. âDo you want more?â he asks. âCan I taste your pretty cunt, darling?â
The desire in his words sends a shiver down your spine. You nod, and he sits back on his heels and kisses all the way up your thigh, although he pauses and pulls back to your other knee, kissing his way up again, this time sinking his teeth into your inner thigh, not hard enough to really hurt, just enough to make you jolt, your pearl begging for any kind of friction. When he passes over your cunt to mouth at your other thigh, you whine, shifting even closer to the edge of the bed. You can feel your cunt dripping, the air strangely cool on your wet skin.
A pair of mischievous eyes glance up at you. Heâs doing this on purpose. He started all of this, and now he has the gall to tease you. Glaring in response, you grip him by the hair and pull him in, determined to put his clever mouth to better use than smirking and biting you when you need him elsewhere.
To his credit, he makes no complaint and does what heâs directed, slipping his tongue between your folds, lapping up the slick arousal. His big hands push your thighs up so he can get a better angle, and he kisses your cunt with as much passion as he did your lips, if not more.
The feeling is electric. His mouth scorches, sets you alight in ways youâd never imagined, the occasional scrape of his too sharp teeth against you thrilling. Itâs too good, has you fighting his grip even as your fingers are still tightly wound into his hair, holding him close. Itâs too much, but if he stopped it would be so much worse.
If he minds your writhing, he doesnât show it. You canât help the sounds he pulls from you, but heâs louder, as though this is more for himself than for you. He groans when your hips buck against his mouth, pants when he lifts himself away enough to breathe, his amber eyes gleaming, fixed on your face, except the few times they flutter closed, just for a moment, savouring your taste.
His nose nudges your pearl as his tongue presses inside you. You grip him so tightly to your core, your hips shaking so hard that youâre surprised you donât break his nose. The hot, molten cataclysm thatâs been pooling somewhere behind your belly button overtakes you, sweeping you away, limbs seized, unable to out-swim the current. You canât see past the stars in your eyes even after your legs relax and you force your hand to unclasp his hair, finger by finger, so you can lay back on the mattress, breathing hard.
He crawls up onto the bed and pulls you toward the centre, a self-satisfied grin on his face. His cock presses into your thigh, insistent for attention, the tip peeking out and leaking against your thigh. He ruts against you when he kisses you again, his close-cropped beard soaked with your arousal. You can taste yourself on his tongue, tangy and bitter-sweet.
You lay twined together, forehead pressed against his as you both catch your breath. One hand gently brushes up and down your spine, the other pulling your leg up over his hip. âHow was that?â he asked.
There may not be words for what you feel. Maybe there are, but theyâre beyond you right now, washed away with all the resistance in your body. You settle on nice, which makes him laugh.
âOnly nice, hm? I suppose Iâll have to work harder.â
âBetter than nice,â you assure him. âIâ I liked it a lot.â Itâs still insufficient, so you kiss him again, hoping he wonât ask any more questions.
He does, after a long moment. âAre you ready for more?â
âThereâs more?â you ask. âOrâ for you? Do you want me toââ
âNo, thereâs no need for you to do a thing, love. The next part is for both of us.â He rolls onto his back, taking you with him effortlessly. He reaches past you with one hand while he kisses you sweetly, tongue pushing into your mouth at the same moment you feel his cock slot against your entrance. He pushes in gently, halting when he meets resistance, fucking shallowly into you until you relax enough to let him bury himself deeper into your body.
You tuck your face down against his chest, focusing on the feeling of his cock stretching your cunt, so deep inside you that his presses against your womb. He tries to keep himself still, but his hips buck slightly, tearing a groan from your chest. Thereâs no stopping the way your cunt squeezes down on him in response, nor the way your hips grind against him. He makes a choked sound, breathing out shakily when you push yourself up to look at him.
The angle change nearly has you collapsing back down, but he takes pity on you and flips you both so he can take the lead. âHello, pretty thing,â he says, giving you another kiss and a firm grind into you before he starts moving his hips, slowly working himself in and out of your cunt, lips settling against your ear so he could tell you how well youâre taking him, how good you feel around his cock.
Any ability to respond is quickly fucked out of you, your breath punched out with every deep thrust, your world shrinking down to a handful of sensations: his lips on your ear, the weight of his body and the delicious drag of his cock against your inner walls.
He works his hand between you to rub at your pearl, the heel of his hand pressing down on your lower belly. The thought that he can feel himself inside you with your hand is one of the last fully formed ones that cross your mind, because he growls and picks up the pace, unrelenting until youâre shaking and babbling and clinging so tightly to him that youâre certain youâll leave permanent marks.
He drags you up another precipice and throws you over, his forehead pressed to yours, watching your face as you shake and cry out. He ruts into you, and you can feel him fill your cunt, his cock twitching, rooted firmly inside you. He doesnât pull away, just throws himself onto his back, holding you tight to his chest.
His heart beats like a drum under your ear, slowing gradually as he catches his breath. His cock slips free, and you stiffen slightly as his spend leaks from your swollen cunt, spilling onto his belly. He pops his head up as soon as you tense, and huffs out a laugh, kissing the tip of your nose.
âSex can be a bit messy. Come on, love. Letâs get cleaned up.â
Your legs wobble when you try to stand, but he happily slides a supportive arm around your waist, leading you into the adjoining tap room. Once youâre both cleaned up, he coaxes you out of your sweat-soaked chemise and wraps you in one of his shirts and you both sit back down in front of the fire.
You pick up your abandoned wine glass, holding it with both hands as you eye the wolf. He looks content, satiated, like heâs had his fill of you. Thereâs a little tremor of unease that settles in your belly. Now that the chase is over, will he still want you? Do you still want him to want you? At the beginning of the evening you had been determined to kill him, and nowâŠ
He looks back at you through half-closed eyes, and unfurls his arm. âYouâre too far away,â he tells you, voice a warm purr. âAnd youâre thinking too much.â
Itâs still unfair, how easily he reads you. An open book, pages left open for him to flip through at his leisure. Despite your trepidation, you walk forward on your knees and sit against him, knees tucked under his arm. His fingertips trail up your thigh, over your knee, down your calf, and back, over and over, as he waits for you to speak.
âWhat happens now?â you ask at last. âDo we go our separate ways?â
Hurt flashes across his face before he can hide it behind a neutral mask. âIf thatâs what you want.â His fingers continue retreading their path while silence builds between the two of you. At last, he pulls in a fortifying breath. âIs that what you want?â
Thereâs raw desire in his eyes, not tempered in the least by your coupling. He offers you everything so easily that it feels like it must be a trick, but he wouldnât work so hard to hide his feelings if he didnât care for you, if this were a trap. If you stay, it has to be your choice, not made because of his own want for you to remain by his side.
The anger that kept you warm in all your years out in the cold is gone. Killing him wonât bring your family back from the grave, it would just place another soul in one. The desire for revenge truly burned out a long while ago, and you couldnât admit that only embers remained. It was why you were so desperate to end it tonight, to close the chapter and look forward to something new.
Itâs so like your wolf to ruin your plans. This time, youâre not sure you mind.
âIâd like to stay,â you say at last.
Heâs on you so fast that you drop your wine glass, spilling red over the furs. Itâs hard to stop laughing enough to kiss him back, trying to point out the mess to him. He growls something about not giving a damn as he gives up trying to kiss you through your smile, and presses his lips to your pulse instead.
In the end, with all the history between the two of you, whatâs one more mess?
It's been almost five years since I started writing this short story, and I had fully expected not to finish it. I was caught up in the story in the peripherals, the potential history between Cat and Valter. This scene no longer fits in the overall narrative, even if there are still threads of it that remain unchanged, so I feel like it's safe to share. I'm working on the third draft of The Night of the Wolf, sorting out the mess of my second draft (so many changes it might as well be a second first draft) and I think there's a very real possibility that I can actually finish it, and that's in no small way thanks to all of you. I have been writing for a long time, but it's only been in the past year that I've shared my work with anyone, and it's been a really lovely experience. Thank you for reading my silly fanfictions, thank you for reading this, and I hope to share more bits of original work going forward, if there's any interest. (But don't worry, I'm still gonna finish the fanfictions. I show no signs of stopping yet)
C. T. Cutter
(Also, special thanks to my best human person @dragonnarrative-writes for making me finish this and being so so kind to me about my work and encouraging me always. I am bad at accepting compliments but I appreciate them all the same)
Image Credits: 1 - 2 ~ Dividers by @/cafekitsune
#Cave Writing#original works#enemies to lovers but in a you can't hate someone without also loving them way#in a âI keep my nemesis' picture in a locket around my neckâ way#Night of the Wolf#OC: Cat#OC: Valter#This is the sort of work that can happen when you dare to ask the question âWhat if Rahul Kohli was a hot werewolf?â#This is pretty much my one year writing and posting fanfiction-aversary! How time flies#I've written more this year than the previous 4 combined and it's been so much fun#And I've learned a lot#especially about putting myself out there#Writing other works definitely stretches a different muscle but fanfiction helps with dialogue and characters and writing sex lmao#I have sooooo many stories that stop right before a sex scene because I used to be so bad at writing it#But now? I'm all over it#Anyway these tags are not helpful to anyone I am just dithering to delay posting at this point#It's written in second POV because I was in the monster romance circles before the COD circles and it's popular there too#but I was never brave enough to post anything anyway lmao#Thanks for helping me be brave!#monster romance#but only kind of because when werewolves aren't actively shifted they're just some guy#He spends a lot more time being wolfy in the actual novel
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The Emperorâs New School || one gifset per episode âł Episode 04 âïž Empress Malina
#disney#the emperor's new school#disney channel#disneyedit#disneychanneledit#disneynetwork#usereasthigh#emperor's new groove#kuzco#yzma#kuzco x malina#kuzlina#<- kind of. malina isn't really here but he's trying to give up the kingdom for her sooooo#also does he even realize how insane of him that is like dude. yeah malina wouldn't be a bird anymore but YZMA would be EMPRESS?!?! đ#đ#my edits#gifs
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guys can we PLEASE stop shipping riz w people. honestly at this point i kind of donât even care if you yourself are also acespec/arospec/aspec.
yes, aspec people can be in relationships, etc etc, but riz specifically has expressed over and over and over again that that is something he personally has absolutely zero interest in.
heâs not just canonically aroace, he also canonically does not want a relationship.
âaroace people can be happy in romantic/sexual/queerplatonic relationshipsâ is a true statement. âpeople who do not want to be in any kind of monogamous committed relationship can be happy in a monogamous committed relationshipâ is quite a bit harder to argue.
iâm just so sick of it. iâm glad we all understand that thereâs nuance to aspec identities, and everyoneâs expressions of and experiences with their own aspec identities are going to be different and personal.
like, itâs not even just about the asexual/aromantic aspect anymore. itâs also just refusing to let him not want to be in a relationship. why are so many people so resistant to the idea that he does not want to be in a relationship. like genuinely, why can you not accept that there are people who just donât want that. who would just be unhappy in a relationship. why canât you wrap your head around the idea that wanting a relationship is not a thing that everyone secretly wants. like, No, he hasnât just not âmet the right personâ yet. because there is no right person. because heâs simply not interested.
this post is kind of rambly and not as effectively phrased as it could be i think but idc.
TL;DR: riz being aroace is not the only reason to not ship him. he also, explicitly and repeatedly, has stated he does not want to be in a relationship. âaspec people can be in relationshipsâ is completely irrelevant because regardless riz simply does not want a relationship. please just respect thag.
edit: plz donât like this is u wont rb. i wonât guilt you into rbing, itâs ur blog iâm not ur dad do what u want etc etc. itâs just irritating for me personally to see ppl interacting w this but not willing to actually put it on their blogs.
#sorry to keep this âââââââ discoure âââââââ alive#im just sooooo tired#i just donât understand how so many people can see this character have such a significant part of characterization be about how#he does not want to be in a Relationship at all and how that affects him and his relationships with the people in his life#and then go âwhat if he was in a Relationship with his best friendâ#like come on!!#i donât care how you define the Relationship. i donât care about your own personal identity.#i donât care about whatever reasons you come up with the justify why itâs actually totally fine#the bottom line is riz does not want that for himself and youâre deciding that thatâs not worth respecting#sorry fabriz enjoyers but i wish you guys would just stfu#dimension 20#fantasy high#riz gukgak#edit continued: ik itâs all just online fandom stuff. but itâs also representative of a larger issue#of people just being incapable of comprehending that some people donât want relationships. or even past that; that some people actively want#to Not be in relationships. itâs people coming into contact with a person (character) like that and believing that that just canât be true#that that person Must secretly actually want a relationship. even if they donât know it. they just havenât met the right person yet. etc etc#if you canât give up outting riz in any kind of relationship then you cannot accept that some people really truly do not want relationships#thatâs FINE. PLEASE just respect that
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On the subject of "why did Armand turn Daniel, if not out of spite?" My prediction is summed up perfectly by this quote from the movie Last Life in the Universe:
âThe lizard wakes up and finds heâs the last lizard alive. His family and friends are all gone. Those he didnât like, those who picked on him in school, are also gone. The lizard is all alone. He misses his family and friends. Even his enemies. Itâs better being with your enemies than being alone. Thatâs what he thought. Staring at the sunset, he thinks. 'What is the point in living⊠If I donât have anyone to talk to?'"
I do think at this point in the story there is genuine animosity between them (whether or not DM has already happened). But faced with the possibility of being alone - really truly alone - for the first time in 500+ years.... Armand decides that it's better to tie himself to a rival than to have no one at all.
#since we're talking armand-coded movies#one reviewer described llitu as 'random surrealist sex and violence' which is sooooo his style#armand#daniel molloy#dm#devil's minion#iwtv#interview with the vampire#also kind of the thesis of my 'hell is other people' post#garcin can't leave the room in 'no exit' because he needs other people to maintain a sense of self#and armand can't be on his own for the same reason#if someone hates you? well at least they're thinking about you#my post
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(Adam Dudaczyk) The fact that vampires drink blood to get that *meaningful hand-neck gesture* - you made that up? (Andrzej Sapkowski) Yes, I didn't model myself on anyone here, I don't know anyone who wrote before me about the fact that vampires drink blood not to satisfy their hunger, but to satisfy their thirst for⊠entertainment. Texts: the guys sent me to get blood, I was flying drunk⊠The fun was great.
as i reread this i couldn't stop thinking of this meme
#EDIT: see replies and asks right after this - hitting the side of the neck means drunk :D#i think the 'gesture' here must have been tilting your head back and lifting your hand to your lips mimicking throwing back a shot#but i don't know because nothing more is described in the writeup of the interview anyways#official translation of above texts: 'the boys sent me to the village to fetch some blood' 'i flew under the influence'#if those ring more bells#the witcher books#c: regis#because i wish to eat a third donut#interviews#andrzej sapkowski#this is why the regis enjoyment does not really extend to other vampires for me. well except wwdits vampires#i guess my rule is that: 'they have to be funny'#the thing is... yes regis can disappear into thin air and turn into a bat and bewitch with a gaze#but... his struggle... is mundane :p#he's... very normal. he sleeps in a bedroll and eats breakfast just with everyone else... idk regis with porridge is so funny to me#fantasy genre: so what is your idea for vampires? unholy demons? walking corpses? humanity in crisis of undeath? sexy aristocrats????#sapkowski: Alcoholism.#i will say though SOOOOO refreshing to have a vampire that's around humans and not struggling with the urge to 'feed' on them jfc#regis' urge to drink not being some inhuman clawing or some lustful thirst nonsense#but the desire to have a drink that comes from being socially awkward at a party...#and of course later... the kind of desire to have a drink that comes from when your life and everything in it has gone to shit#'... all fears linked to my vampiric nature are groundless. I wonât attack anybody...#... nor will I creep around at night trying to sink my teeth into somebodyâs neck.'#that milva and cahir (and likely also dandelion though he wouldn't admit to it in writing) checked their necks when they woke up LOL !#one for my fellow geregis enjoyers:#regis: don't worry i wont press my lips to your neck | dandelion milva cahir: wheeewww! | geralt: ... aw :T
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what if i said hal's mom called him "hally" specifically as a play on halley's comet, huh. what if i said she did that because she knew no matter how far he went, he'd always come back to her, hm. what then.
#and then he wasnt with her when she died FUCK#jessica jordan#they could never make me hate you#hal jordan#green lantern#empyrean posting#i do think it's extremely fucked up how they diminished and rotted her character post spectre. i actually hate it so much#i dont really mind the rewriting of martin as a /not/ absentee and abusive father (even though it cheapens the complex relationship hal had#with him what with the being his mirror image and wearing his jacket and becoming a pilot in spite of how martin treated him. constantly#seeking validation and love from a man who not only would never but then could never give it to him) but then going on to act as if jessica#wasnt his most important parent just by virtue of her being his only one for most of his life and going on to say she was actually kind of#bad because she wouldnt support him when she looked after three sons by herself and also begged the air force to take him back when he was#about to be dismissed is sooooo. god. it irks me so much. she was always there for him and she may not have been perfect but she did her#damn best and now they go around acting like martin was the only REAL figure in hal's life growing up because they understood each other on#some special cosmic level?? go to hell.#talking to myself sorry
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