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buckets-and-trees · 9 months ago

Note

I’m so happy to see you back on my feed 😍 An ask for your sleepover! Do Cedar Trees!Steve and his Queen have any ::ahem:: spring rituals*? 👀

*Make it dirty lollll.

Love That's Laid Beside Me

Characters/Pairings: King!Steve Rogers x Queen!Reader Word Count: 5k Summary: With the first spring equinox, Steve shares a tradition from his past before he was royal. You broach something that's been on your mind for your future.

Content & Warnings: royal au, discussion of children, explicit smut - NATURE/OUTDOOR SEX (bahaha YAY), nipple play, cock stroking, brief cock warming, vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal intercourse, slight dirty talk (it's still royal Steve, so...), breeding kink, potential pregnancy

Logistical Notes: I knew the second you dropped this in my askbox that I wanted outdoor sex for the spring equinox, and when I started it, it was timely, but I have worked on this installment of their story now for six or seven weeks. I've rewritten it a couple of times, wrestled with parts of the emotional journey. Steve surprised me in the middle portion by opening up with a lot more nostalgia than I knew was going to insert itself into the story. And then with the rest of their conversation for the final third of the story, I went back to the drawing board a few times. Thank you @biteofcherry and @stargazingfangirl18 for being instrumental in talking through what I was working on with Steve and his queen at vital points when I needed it!

Narrative Notes: Steve and his queen were married in June, and this takes place during their first spring together. To read previous pieces chronologically, refer to the masterlist of this collection's pieces.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You look up sharply at the sound of your name. “Mmm?”

“You seem distracted, my love,” Steve says, his brow furrowed in concern.

You shake your head slightly. “I am sorry, it was perhaps a longer day than I anticipated it would be.”

“We can dispense with the dessert course if you are too weary,” Steve suggests.

You scoff. “Dare not speak of such a thing!”

He chuckles, and you smile broadly at him. “I withdraw the proposition,” he says, his eyes sparkling with mirth for a moment.

But as you both savor the exquisite chocolate mousse presented a few minutes later, you notice his frequent gaze on you is more scrutinizing. You do your best to engage again in the conversation.

Truthfully, you have been distracted, but you did not wish to draw his concern. In part it is because you do not want him to worry about you, but more so you yourself do not want to dwell on the issue that has begun to encroach on the edges your thoughts these past weeks. But the exquisite taste of chocolate and his striking blue eyes do serve to draw you back into the moment.

You do your best to gracefully scrape every last bit of mousse from the small crystal goblet, and once the service is cleared away, Steve stands and extends his hand toward you. You stand and go to him. This is familiar now.

He draws your hand to his lips, presses a kiss to the backs of your fingers, then tucks your hand in the crook of his arm. “May I escort you to your chambers to retire for the evening?”

“Yes, of course, my king,” you respond warmly and fall into step with him, leaving the dining room behind.

You have fallen into certain routines after dinner, and while the two of you do not do the very same thing each night, you do spend nearly all your evenings together, the only exception if he must be away on royal business. This evening you read while he sketches before darkness seeps through the windows and you two begin to get ready for bed.

Once you’re both fully freed from the entrapments of your elaborate day wardrobes, you catch Steve studying you again through the reflection of the mirror as you stand in front of your vanity.

“What is that look?” you ask, frowning at him.

“You are very quiet tonight.”

“Again, I am sorry, I must be tired.”

You can see in his eyes that part of him wants to press you further, but he chooses not to. At least not about that.

“Too tired for a little adventure?” he asks.

You turn and fix him with a playfully scrutinizing look. “Pray tell what adventure a king thinks he can get up to in the twilight hour when he’s in his bedclothes?”

“Come with me and find out.”

His eyes are full of mischief, and there is no way you could resist him with that look on his face.

He picks up your velvet cloak and hands it to you before donning his own.

You reach for some boots.

“No,” he stops you, “no shoes.”

“Barefoot?”

“Slippers should do.”

He grins and reaches for your hand. The two of you go hand in hand as you sneak out of your chambers. Steve gives the men standing guard a look that says they are not to appear to know the two of you have left or which way you have gone unless the situation is dire. As king and queen, you can only be so discreet on this adventure as you pass enough guards and servants that your movements cannot in any way be a secret. But it is still a bit of a thrill to skirt through the castle swiftly in the dark, fingers twined together, escaping out onto the grounds. You wind through the gardens as dusk turns starts to turn to darkness, beyond the stables and more gardens, past the royal orchard, and across even more ground until you ultimately reach a thicket of trees. This, you know, is the south side of the royal grounds, and if not for an eventual stone wall to secure the castle, it could have been any common forest you were ambling into.

The moonlight is just beginning to cast its silvery glow across the night, and it only adds another layer to the novelty of the moment. The two of you follow an almost-path into the trees, and it continues further than you expect it to go. It is clear Steve is familiar with this path, his steps through the trees and the brush steady and sure.

As you move along, your steps hadn’t been rushed once you’d escaped the castle proper, but Steve starts to slow significantly, and you step closer to him with the relaxed pace, able to walk with him rather than follow through this part of the landscape that is new to you. Steve brings your hand up to press a kiss to the back of it and smiles down at you.

“When I was young, my ma used to try and find ways to lift our spirits. We were so poor, but she never wanted us to want for reasons to be happy. She thought it important to make any occasions special as they came our way with our own rituals and traditions.”

Married less than a year, you are still learning much about each other in this relationship – there were so many things in the present, you had spoken of some hopes for the future, and much of the vast troves of the past lay behind you to explore. You knew his father had been killed as a soldier in a war between kingdoms when he was still a toddling child, and his mother had been lost to a plague just before he’d come of age. The few times he’d spoken of his mother, it had always been with such warmth that it made your heart swell and grew your affection for him even more.

“I don’t remember how old I was when she started this tradition, but one night instead of having me get ready for bed, she bundled me up enough to keep me from catching cold in the March evening air, put on her own cloak, and we ventured out into the night, just outside of the village, and into the forest. It was the spring equinox, and she said if we walked into the clearing, left an offering, and made a wish, then the magic that came with the awakening of spring would make that wish come true.”

He'd stopped at some point during those words, and as you look around, you see you are in a very small break in the trees – not quite big enough to be called a clearing.

There weren’t big festivities and royal duties around the equinoxes in the kingdom as there were for the solstices, but there were still rituals and traditions in the days leading up to and following, so you knew the significance of this day, and tonight was the last night where darkness held equal balance with the day, and then daylight would take the reigns for its share of the year.

“I love that you’ve kept that tradition in her remembrance,” you say, running your other hand up and down his forearm. “What sort of offerings did you leave?”

“It would depend on the year,” he responds, plaintive in thought, “sometimes whatever small token we could scrounge, others perhaps a specially baked good or honey if we could spare it. When I began to draw in earnest, sometimes I would leave a sketch for those forest sprites, or fairies, or deities, whatever you would believe ruled the trees.”

“And your wishes came true?”

His gaze lifts to the starry sky for a moment, then he looks down into your face. “Perhaps one or two, but some of the wishes were too foolish and did not need to be granted.” He laughs softly, and you grin and press closer to him. He then turns fully toward you to envelop you in his arms. “I think her wishes probably came true – she always wanted more for me, happiness, a good life. I have so much of that now.”

You reach up and gently cup his face in your hands. “I never planned on an unhappy life, but I think fortune granted us more happiness than either of us anticipated.”

“Indeed,” he says resolutely, bowing his head to capture your lips with his.

You kiss him back fervently. One of his hands moves down your spine, coming to stop at the small of your back, pressing you into him. You hum into the kiss, relishing the closeness and connection between the two of you.

Steve draws his lips away just before you’re at the point of breathlessness, but he presses his forehead to yours, and you continue to breathe each other in.

“I think I have something that would work for an offering,” you pipe up after a few moments of the tranquility in his embrace.

He doesn’t say anything but loosens his hold as you shift your arms back down and tug at the silk ribbon at the cuff of one of your sleeves, drawing it out of its casing.

“A fine token from my beautiful bride,” he remarks.

“And what are you giving up to the wood?”

“A piece of my heart,” he says with a grin.

You tsk at him and roll your eyes, but you do feel a small rush of heat in your cheeks and the butterflies stir in your belly because even though his tone was playful, there’s an undeniable intention in his eyes.

“No, what did you really bring, husband? I know you well enough to know you came prepared.”

He draws a small, folded piece of parchment out of his breast pocket, holding it up before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Come,” he inclines his head over his left shoulder, turning and stepping toward one of the nearby cedar trees. One of the branches hangs near shoulder height to you. Steve places the folded drawing onto the branch, holding it in place, and you step up to tie it to the branch without him needing to explain.

“I don’t get to see what you drew?” you ask as you arrange the loops for a bow and work the silk with your nimble fingers.

“If you tell a wish – or show it in this case, then it might not come true.”

You know he is not one to believe in silly superstitions, but you have your own wish you hope this ritual might help along, so you just smile and nod. “Fair enough.”

The two of you step back, and you admire the simple beauty of the ribbon and think you could very well tie many more ribbons to this tree in the coming years together. You hope that is the case.

Steve takes another few steps back into the open space between the trees, draws his robe off his shoulders, and spreads it out over the ground. You pull off your own robe and join him as he lays back and holds his arm open for you. He assists as you drape your robe over your lower halves. The air is crisp but not cold, but the warmth of his body against yours is wonderful, and you nestle into him.

The stars dotting the heavens are bright skirting around a full moon, and as the two of you gaze up at the night sky, you twine your fingers with Steve’s at your shoulder. You have maintained who you are, who you were raised to be, strong and steady, noble, regal, with your own sense of purpose and fulfillment, but the wholeness you feel when you are with Steve enriches your soul. You are not empty without him, but more full with him. Laying with him right now is a balm you did not know you desperately needed tonight.

Steve begins to speak again. “After she passed, I kept the yearly tradition for the equinox, but especially after I inherited this kingdom.”

His voice was another comfort. You loved hearing more of what made up this man who held your heart.

“I never sought the crown,” he continues, “but after I suddenly found myself king, I held onto anything that kept me grounded. Bucky has been a constant, but I spent much time in these woods to clear my head, work out answers I needed to sort through on my own, or simply sit with feelings or difficulties I could not suffer in the palace in front of anyone else.”

Given that admission, the semblance of a path and his familiarity navigating to this glen in the trees made perfect sense.

This man was strong and stoic, and your husband had the heart of a lion, but you could only imagine what it must have been like to inherit a kingdom and all the royal duties of being its king overnight. You had grown up as the second-born in a royal family, able to learn and prepare, with parents, governesses, advisors, tutors, and your royal siblings being brought up alongside you to prepare for a life of duty and the unique difficulties it would present for the entirety of your life. Steve had been plucked out of obscurity by fate with no training, orphaned, only a soul who had always worked hard and possessed a deep-rooted a sense of duty and desire to serve those around him in any way he could.

He speaks again, an abundant warmth in his tone. “In you I have found yet another boon and have had fewer occasions where I needed to seek out the solace of this place.”

You shift to your side to lean up and look into his face. This was not a surprise revelation. His words and actions have demonstrated consistently how much he values you since that night you had pledged your true love and affection to each other so many months ago, but him vocalizing this sentiment still means so much and makes your heart soar because your relationship is still so new.

You move down to kiss him, and he lifts his head to meet you halfway. He holds your face in his hands, and his thumbs brush gently over your cheeks.

He pulls back, presses another brief kiss to your mouth, then traces a finger over your parted lips. His blue eyes connect again to yours.

“I don’t know if you are holding back the thoughts that trouble you because I’m king and you think I have royal matters to occupy my thoughts, but something is on your mind,” he says quietly.

Your heart stings a little at his accusation – but he is not wholly wrong.

“Please,” he presses, “we said we would be husband and wife to each other, we vowed a true and unfettered love. As your husband I can see it, I know it, and it’s eating at me that I can’t share whatever is burdening you. Do not hold matters so important and worrisome back from me.”

Your throat feels thick and though you are still unsure of the words and the feelings yourself, you cannot deny Steve’s fervent plea to open up to him, and you trust that the foundation you’ve been building together will guide the two of you through however this conversation will go.

Carefully, you settle back down against him, wanting to feel his closeness. You press the side of your face to his chest, over his heart, and drape your left arm over his torso. His hand trails up and down your arm tenderly, while his other arm holds you, patiently waiting.

You take a deep breath and then let your thoughts flow into words. “Are you at all worried that we have been married three-quarters of a year,” you begin, “time enough for me to be with child, and yet we have no heir on the way?”

He hums in thought, not immediately answering.

You know the silence is short, but it feels long because you anxiously await his thoughts.

“No,” he finally answers.

He does not elaborate, and though when Steve chooses to speak and when he chooses to keep his thoughts to himself is something you have noted and admired in his character as a king, on this matter you crave every word of his thoughts.

“No?”

He sits up and pulls you into his lap, arms encircling you entirely.

“I am realizing we have never spoken about this with each other,” he says.

“And?”

“And I imagine we have spoken about it or been spoken to about it with others before our union.”

You nod.

He furrows his brow slightly, studying your face.

“Steve,” it’s you ushering the conversation now.

“Is anyone pressing you on the matter?” he asks, tone serious.

“No,” you reply.

He raises an eyebrow.

“Truthfully,” you reassure him.

“Then truthfully, you asked if I am worried – but I had not realized so much time had already passed. The longer we are married, the more it feels as if I’ve known you for ages, but it also feels as if it has been no time at all.”

You nod. “I think that is one of the reasons I have been hesitant to broach the subject now since it has been many months and we had never once spoken on the matter. It had never crossed my mind, and I didn’t know if it had yours.”

You had wondered why. You wondered if it was a mark of selfishness, or merely a mark on how devoted the two of you had been in building your bonds as husband and wife in your time as newlyweds – newlyweds in a cordially arranged marriage that turned out to be a true love match.

He remains quiet for another moment, and you place your hand on his cheek, relishing the feel of his beard against your palm.

His tone is soft when he finally continues. “I want children, not heirs.”

Your melt into his embrace, heart skipping a beat. Why had you let yourself worry at all?

“But what do you want, my love?”

“I-“

His question gives you pause. You know the most vital duty of a queen is to produce an heir, but the way Steve looks at you in this moment, so intently, you want to give him the true answer, not merely the answer you were raised to give.

And it’s in those fervent blue eyes of his that you also seem to find the truth of it.

“I want to have children with you.”

He does not ask for you to clarify or repeat the sentiment because he knows you do not speak to placate him in any way, the same way you know he does not try to placate you now.

“You know that I was not raised to be a king or with all the expectations that come along with it. Since the time the crown was bestowed upon me, I did learn the import of all the duties that were suddenly expected. Bring peace and stability to the kingdom, serve the people, and much of that was tied to expectations that I take a wife to give the kingdom a queen, and ultimately produce an heir to secure the line of succession, so I can only imagine what the duties and obligations felt like if one had been shouldered with them from birth.”

You sigh. “I suppose it is a different kind of weight as it’s all I’ve ever known, and it wasn’t thrust upon me as it was you.”

“But that does not minimize its weight, nor am I saying it was an unbearable burden for either of us. But I did feel the weight of it for all the years I ruled alone before you, and yet I stood firmly against any pressure to rush me into matrimony. Call it patience or obstinance, but I was rewarded for my waiting beyond anything I hoped for in that wife being you, and I know I was not your first proposed marriage contract either.”

“You were not, but you were the first I felt confident in, even when it was an arrangement that was amicable, not one with romantic notions or intent.”

“With that,” Steve continues, “I can do nothing but trust that there is no need to rush fulfilment of any of our duties. If and when children come into our life, it will be precisely when providence deems they should.”

“How is it you always say such wonderful things?”

He tilts his head, and the look on his face turns so soft it makes your heart ache. “Your heart inspires my heart.”

You close the small gap between you and kiss him fiercely. This man continue to show he is more than you could ever have dreamed, worthy of anchoring your soul. Your tongue teases the seam of his lips, and he opens his mouth to you immediately.

His hands are a little cold, but you do not mind the chill of his fingers as one of his hands moves under the hem of your nightdress, lands on your knee, and begins to move purposely up your thigh.

“Now, we ought to give providence every opportunity to send a child our way, should we not?” he teases.

You laugh and tug at his shirt. “We should, my king.” He lifts his arms to allow you to pull off his garment. “My love,” you add more tenderly before kissing him again.

He eases back to the ground, pulling you with him, lips locked together. The sentiments shared between you, the always enticing closeness, the novelty of having Steve outdoors, the magic of the spring equinox, all of it comes together to drive the two of you quickly into a frenzy of immediate need and want. You shift to straddle Steve and reach down to tear at the front laces of his breeches. The places where your naked thighs tuck in on each side of his bare torso relish the warmth and the beauty of the skin-to-skin contact. He hitches up your nightdress and his hands caress up and down your thighs as you reach for his cock. Steve hisses at your cold fingers wrapping around his hard length but bucks up into your hand as you stroke him.

“Inside you,” he insists. “Need to be inside you, filling you, planting my seed inside the cunt of my queen.”

You gasp at his desperate words as he moves your hands away and lines up his cock with your entrance, slamming your hips down to take him in the space of one heartbeat. You were not as wet or prepared as he usually took care to take you, but both of you groan as he slots in to the hilt, and you throw your head back, a broken groan escaping your throat. The pain is surged with pleasure, and you rock eagerly against his pelvis. The friction sends a shiver down your spine, and you close your eyes.

Steve’s hands move from your thighs to gripping your hips. You lean back just enough to plant your hands on his sturdy thighs, as he drives your hips back and forth with more vigor. The grind as his cock shifts it angle inside your pussy has you panting quickly. He squeezes your hips. “Just like that, my love, take your pleasure, let me give you what you need.”

Your movement grows more frenzied, and you whimper, not quite able to achieve the release you crave. But he knows this, has made a study of your body since your wedding night, and he knows you need more. One of his hands moves up to palm your breast, while his other hand moves to your core, and his thumb quests for your clit, applying tight, insistent circles to the pulsing nub. The waves of pleasure build even more quickly now, and when your fingers curl against his thighs, he tweaks your nipple, pinching, and it pushes you over the edge. You cry out, and every muscle in your body seizes to absorb the ecstasy of your orgasm.

Steve smooths his hands up and down your sides, then moves them around to the small of your back and coaxes your body back down to his chest, his cock still inside of you. He presses kisses along your collar bone, up the column of your neck, and along your jaw, letting you catch your breath. His hands continue their sensual and soothing movements over the expanse of your back, and he cradles your shoulders in his hands when you finally adjust your head to meet his lips once more with your own.

When you suck on his bottom lip, his cock twitches inside of you, and you let out a shaky breath.

“Can I have more?” he murmurs against your lips.

You manage to nod and mewl in assent, rocking where you’re still joined together.

Using his gentle strength, Steve rolls you beneath him, keeping you on the plush velvet of his cloak, settling in the home he loves between your thighs. He cups the side of your face in his hands, and his kiss now demands, belying his eagerness. Though his lips move against yours, tongue licking into your mouth, entangling with yours, kissing, kissing, kissing until neither of you can breathe anymore, when he draws away, your mouth chases his. He grins, and his eyes dance with satisfaction as he presses his forehead to yours.

You’re his, you have been his, but the way he reverently gazes at you as he trails his hand down your neck, over your chest, cresting over your breast, down your ribcage, circling over your hip, and then coming to rest over your stomach, it’s filled with a fervent fire. His hand splays out fully over your womb, and he slowly draws his cock out halfway before giving an even slower thrust back in, clearly wanting you to feel every inch of his thick member and the action has him groaning and you keening beneath him.

“I’m going to fill this womb with my seed,” he vows with another thrust. “Going to keep you full as often as I can.”

“Please,” you beg.

He has never been shy with you, but neither spoken so directly of the physical or biological in your intimate moments as he has tonight, and it adds a new level of pleasure to the experience that fuels a primal part in your core. You thread your fingers in his hair and tug urgently as his thrusts begin to pick up speed. His kisses turn fierce bruising, and you welcome it. But when he can’t seem to keep kissing and breathing and thrusting inside you, he abandons your lips and buries his face in your neck, grunting as he presses on and on. The angle of his pelvis drags just perfectly across your clit as he adjusts and speeds up. Your walls flutter around him, and he rasps, “Go on, give me one more before I fill you up, my love.”

And his rough thrusts laced with his tender words, the way he grasps at your hip, his belabored breathing at your neck, it all overwhelms, and you release a debauched, shuddering moan when your second orgasm washes over you. Steve does not relent, and follows you over the edge with only a few more thrusts, the way your channel squeezes his cock giving him the final push, and he groans, satisfied, as he empties his hot spend inside of you. You don’t scratch, but you draw your fingers forcefully down his back, wanting to feel the tautness of his muscles. You knead his ass, holding him joined into you as he ruts slowly against you, wanting to deposit every last drop your insides milk from him in the aftershocks.

You feel deliciously spent and welcome his weight as he relaxes his body on top of you. He lays his head on your chest, and you hum and press a kiss to the top of his head, drawing your fingers back up to lightly stroke his hair, his shoulders. He caresses your sides, your legs where they are still wrapped around him, anywhere his fingers can reach, but now it’s all languid and soothing touches between you. The weight of him is so grounding in the afterglow, and it begins to lull you to sleep.

You are vaguely aware as somewhat later Steve lifts you up from the ground to carry you in his arms back to the castle. Your body was sated, and your mind as well. You have more to share with Steve soon. You should have had your monthly bleeding last week, and so the possibility that you were already with child before tonight was a very real prospect. Tonight served to quell any doubts you may have had about the prospect of you two becoming parents – that he wanted it, and so did you, and that you were both ready to pursue that journey – but you would wait a few more weeks to ensure it wasn’t a fluke before you told Steve.

And in the meantime, you knew there would continue to be more pleasurable opportunities to put a babe inside you if there wasn’t one already.

I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS NEW PIECE OF THEIR STORY!

READ THE NEXT PART: THE SILENCE OF THE HUSHED SUBLIME read more of the Cedar Trees AU

As ever, I'm always eager for any morsel of your thoughts as to what you thought and questions about where they may go next...

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

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#steve rogers #steve rogers smut #royal au #steve rogers x reader #royal steve rogers #aspen wrote something #cedar trees au #askpen

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rjzimmerman · 9 months ago

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Excerpt from this story from the New York Times:

At first glance, Dave Langston’s predicament seems similar to headaches facing homeowners in coastal states vulnerable to catastrophic hurricanes: As disasters have become more frequent and severe, his insurance company has been losing money. Then, it canceled his coverage and left the state.

But Mr. Langston lives in Iowa.

Relatively consistent weather once made Iowa a good bet for insurance companies. But now, as a warming planet makes events like hail and wind storms worse, insurers are fleeing.

Mr. Langston spent months trying to find another company to insure the townhouses, on a quiet cul-de-sac at the edge of Cedar Rapids, that belong to members of his homeowners association. Without coverage, “if we were to have damage that hit all 17 units, we’re looking at bankruptcy for all of us,” he said.

The insurance turmoil caused by climate change — which had been concentrated in Florida, California and Louisiana — is fast becoming a contagion, spreading to states like Iowa, Arkansas, Ohio, Utah and Washington. Even in the Northeast, where homeowners insurance was still generally profitable last year, the trends are worsening.

In 2023, insurers lost money on homeowners coverage in 18 states, more than a third of the country, according to a New York Times analysis of newly available financial data. That’s up from 12 states five years ago, and eight states in 2013. The result is that insurance companies are raising premiums by as much as 50 percent or more, cutting back on coverage or leaving entire states altogether. Nationally, over the last decade, insurers paid out more in claims than they received in premiums, according to the ratings firm Moody’s, and those losses are increasing.

The growing tumult is affecting people whose homes have never been damaged and who have dutifully paid their premiums, year after year. Cancellation notices have left them scrambling to find coverage to protect what is often their single biggest investment. As a last resort, many are ending up in high-risk insurance pools created by states that are backed by the public and offer less coverage than standard policies. By and large, state regulators lack strategies to restore stability to the market.

Insurers are still turning a profit from other lines of business, like commercial and life insurance policies. But many are dropping homeowners coverage because of losses.

Tracking the shifting insurance market is complicated by the fact it is not regulated by the federal government; attempts by the Treasury Department to simply gather data have been rebuffed by some state regulators.

The turmoil in insurance markets is a flashing red light for an American economy that is built on real property. Without insurance, banks won’t issue a mortgage; without a mortgage, most people can’t buy a home. With fewer buyers, real estate values are likely to decline, along with property tax revenues, leaving communities with less money for schools, police and other basic services.

And without sufficient insurance, people struggle to rebuild after disasters. Last year, storms, wildfires and other disasters pushed 2.5 million American adults out of their homes, according to census data, including at least 830,000 people who were displaced for six months or longer.

#home insurance #climate change

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frenchkisstheabyss · 1 year ago

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✶ Pendulum ✶

✶ Pairing: model!hyunjin x model!chubby!fem!reader

✶ Genre: fluff, angst, smut

✶ Summary: You visit Hyunjin on the night of his big art exhibit intent on closing this chapter of your life but he's not willing to let go that easily.

✶ Word Count: 1.2k-ish

✶ Warnings: Hyunjin's a lil bit possessive, fingering, nibbling, marking, and that's about it my loves

✶ A/N: This is part two of a Hyunjin/Minho love triangle fic that has come to emotionally wreck me but I love it and fingers crossed you will too! 🖤 part three is here 🖤

It’s been three weeks since Paris Fashion Week. Three weeks since you fell in love with Minho. Three weeks of falling asleep on FaceTime and sneaking little moments in with each other between your busy schedules. There was no way to anticipate that you’d come to mean this much to each other, your feelings deepening as the days go on.

Saying yes to that date with Minho opened the door to a new way of being cherished that only he can offer. But there remains a thread tied to the corner of your heart, tugging you back to your past. If you’re to step through the door that lies before you, you must first shut the one that lies behind...

And that’s what brings you here...

to an upscale art gallery a half hour before Hyunjin’s first exhibit. Crisp autumn leaves dance along the pavement, a ballet of deep reds and vibrant yellows, as you flee the chilly night air for the warmth of the sleek, rustic gallery. Matte black walls combine with polished cherry wood accents to give you the sense that you’re somewhere you can be comfortable. But not too comfortable.

You can already smell his cologne, cedar and spice, coasting through the air to greet you before he appears at the top of the stairs to your left. “You came,” he says, feigning indifference as he takes his time descending the stairs. After he broke your heart you insisted that he no longer held any power over you. The spell had been broken, or so you thought. So you hoped. But no such thing is true.

Hyunjin moves like a gazelle, his limbs long and graceful. He somehow manages to make the simple act of walking feel like a performance art piece. Tonight he’s pulled his hair back into a high ponytail, a few delicate strands left hanging to frame his now smiling face. Standing before you, he extends an arm, his hand patiently at your service. You slip out of your jacket, tossing it over his arm.

“Well, you said you wanted to talk so I’m here.” Hyunjin laughs, finding amusement in the way you’ve turned the tables. Pretending not to care when you both know you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. “I was going to take your hand—” he starts, his gaze trailing behind you as you journey deeper into the gallery.

You always thought it a shame that people could never seem to get past his physical appearance long enough to see what’s truly special about him. Surrounded by his art, drawings and paintings he’d once only been brave enough to reveal to you, you can’t help but feel proud of him. “Hwang Hyunjin, jack of all trades” you sigh, stopping to get a closer look at a watercolor painting of butterflies whose wings seemingly melt down the canvas.

Hyunjin joins you, ignoring the painting to admire your silk black dress.

“Jack of all trades, master of none, but I’m still, I guess, better than a master of one.”

“Mmm, I don’t know about that. What’s so bad about a master of one? Maybe the master of one just knows where his heart is.”

The back of his hand strokes your arm, sending an electric current through your body. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice that he’s moved closer. Close enough for the sensation of his breath on your neck to give you shivers when he asks, “Where’s yours?” “Where’s my what?” Your head snaps toward him, the accusatory tone of his voice triggering your defenses.

“Your heart. Do you know where it is?”

“You have no right to ask me that. Not when you broke it.” Every fiber of your being is telling you to run away and Hyunjin must sense it because his arms are around you before you can make your grand escape. “Don’t run from me” he pleads, “Just tell me what I can do to fix it.” You’ve never seen Hyunjin cry before but the moisture pooling in the corners of his eyes is a sure sign that you might.

Nothing can erase the pain that he made you feel yet you can’t deny what he’s done since to ease it. Showing up to Paris Fashion Week alone, refusing to arrive with any woman who wasn't you. Admitting where he went wrong when it came to being honest with you. Apologizing in every language he knows and in a few he doesn't. Professing his love for you openly among your social circle without a care for how sensitive they may think he is.

He’s stepped so far outside of his character that occasionally you had to pinch yourself to make sure his efforts weren’t all in your head. To ask more of him feels almost sadistic. “It’s not you” you admit, lifting some of the pressure from his shoulders, “I’m just, I don’t know. Afraid?”

“Afraid? Of what?”

“Of the piece of my heart that’s still here with you.” You love him still. And you can’t outrun it any more than you could the way your heart ached for Minho when he first touched your hand, comforting you before the red carpet all those nights ago. You hate yourself for it, wishing that you could make these feelings disappear, all the while surrendering to Hyunjin’s kiss.

He sweeps you into it without warning, no longer able to control the need to feel your tongue against his. Kissing him is that first bite of your favorite food after you’ve been deprived of it for far too long. Your senses are aflame, moisture creeping between your thighs as he presses your back to the wall. Hyunjin buries his face between your breasts, his tongue lashing and nibbling as they rise and fall with each bated breath you take.

Your fingers tangle with his hair, the tie that keeps his ponytail secure quickly slipping to the floor. “You have to be mine again,” he says, not asking but telling. Demanding. He raises one of your legs to straddle his hip, pushing a hand between you to knead your pillow soft thighs. “He can’t have you. I won’t let him.” Hyunjin kisses you all over, suckling at your sensitive skin to mark his territory.

Pushing his hips further between your legs, he teases the wetness of your panties, your clit already stiff enough to feel through the thin cotton. “Hyunjin, please—” you beg, not quite knowing what you’re begging for. Less? More? The arch of your back as his fingers dive into your core decides it’s ‘more’. He pulls back, his free hand reaching up to cup your cheek, “Say my name again.”

His fingers pick up speed, your walls spasming with each unforgiving twist of his wrist. “Hyunjin” you whine, gripping his shoulders to keep yourself from crumbling to the ground. He missed seeing you this way. Dressed up all pretty, lipstick smeared across your face, moaning his name. Your juices stream down his wrist, leaving tiny drops of your arousal on his sleeve. He welcomes it. Welcomes anything that’ll leave your scent behind for later. “Mine. Always mine” he repeats, circling your clit with his thumb.

You should’ve never come here. You should’ve stayed as far away from this man as possible. But there’s no use crying over spilled milk. The reality is that you didn’t stay away. Hyunjin called and you came now you’re coming around his fingers, allowing yourself to be claimed once more by the lust filled demons of your past. And, oh, what a glorious one he is.

#hyunjin x you #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin smut #hyunjin angst #chubby reader #stray kids x female reader #stray kids x chubby reader #stray kids x you #plus size reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut

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topknot32 · 8 months ago

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Girl Dad (2/2)

Rio/OFC

summary- Rio sees his pregnant ex-girlfriend out one night not long after their breakup. He seizes the opportunity, and tries to persuade her to let him be in his kid's life, and hers, too.

warnings- 18+. Smut below the cut

word count- 3.4K

CAMILA

The smell of cigarette smoke had always been a turn off for Camila, always. Until she met Rio. Now, the smell of menthol and cedar wood cologne were comforts. The combination was entirely Christopher, and she breathed it in as he held her in the middle of the restaurant without a care who saw them.

She could blame it on hormones all she wanted, but in truth, she missed him. The few weeks they spent being consumed by one another were some of the best she ever had. There were several moments in their affair when she believed it could be something real, that he might not be the stereotype she'd originally labeled him as.

But every time she opened her mouth to tell her friends and family, something held her back. It was the lifestyle. The unpredictable and dangerous way he lived his life when they weren't together. Christopher had never involved her in his business, but she wasn't stupid or naive.

Camila understood the money he earned to buy luxury vehicles and expensive jewelry wasn't brought in by honest means. That part didn't bother her, no. The part that did was the danger it posed to him. He'd been shot, he told her so, and she'd seen the scars. She was a nurse, she knew what the three healed wounds on his chest were before he even said the words. Getting attached to someone who could end up getting themselves killed was terrifying no matter how much she enjoyed his company and getting pregnant by him was equally so.

When she looked up as he held her, she forgot all of that. He stared down at her with the kind of intensity that made butterflies take flight in her stomach, and she chanced a glance down at his lips. When Christopher put all his attention on her, no one else existed.

"Sorry for the waterworks. I always thought pregnancy hormones were an over dramatization, but nope. They are, in fact, very real."

"You good?" he asked after brushing away the remaining tears from her cheeks. She nodded just as the waitress came over with her salad.

Camila straightened up, and Chris released her, but he didn't retreat. He stayed on her side of the booth while she ate, an arm thrown up behind her on the back of the seat.

The winds seemed to have shifted between them since his apology. She didn't feel as angry, and he didn't seem as arrogant or confrontational. It didn't feel awkward between the two, and a comfortable kind of silence settled over them.

When Camila was finished, Chris brushed a few fallen strands of hair behind her ear. "Come home with me," he said softly, sending a chill down her spine.

She avoided looking at him because the second she did, she'd cave. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

He looks irresistible, she thought. "It's just not."

"Please."

The way that one word left his lips pulled her gaze. She could get lost in his brown eyes, and she nearly did. He gave her one of those up and down glances that made her breathe quicken, the kind he snuck so quickly she wasn't even sure if she really saw it.

"I don't—"

"Don't fight me. We don't have to do anything. That's not what this is." He motioned between them with a silver ringed hand. "Let me take care of you. It's the least I can do."

"I have to work early," she tried, but he brushed that off before she'd barely gotten the words out.

"I'll have you tucked in before midnight. Come on."

Chris pulled out his wallet and threw down a few bills, then pulled out his beanie and slid it on. He was always a good tipper, having sympathy for people in the service industry. She admired him for it. Wealth hadn't made him selfish, at least not in that aspect.

He helped her out of the booth, holding her hand like a gentleman. His black SUV was parked on the street just a block away, and once they were inside, he turned up the heat for her sake, knowing how much she hated to be cold. It was a warm cocoon that smelled like him, enveloping her in a sense of calm and safety she hadn't felt since she ended their relationship.

Rap music played quietly, not too loud to interrupt a conversation if she wanted to start one, and it seemed like he was waiting for just that. His fingers tapped a soft beat on the steering wheel as he drove, and he glanced her way every so often.

"I don't want you to pay for things," she said after a while. Chris looked over, a frown forming. "You said you wanted to help, to pay for stuff for the baby."

“And that’s a problem?”

Camila took in a deep, shaky breath. "I don't want to be a single mom, to do all of this alone." She shifted a little in her seat to see him better. She could tell by the tension in his jawline he didn't like the words coming out of her mouth. "Did you mean what you said, about Beth?"

He laughed, a sarcastic kind of laugh. She hated it. "I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it. I figured you knew that by now."

"If she's nothing to you, then do this with me. I don't want your money, I can do that myself. I want you in it, too. All the way. Like, up all night, no sleep, covered in puke all the way."

The sarcastic humor vanished as he processed. He looked over at her, then back at the road. "You're serious?"

"I'm not saying I want to get back together, but I need you, Christopher."

"You have me," he said softly, reaching over to take her hand. "I promise."

Inside his apartment, Christopher pulled his jacket off, heading for the bedroom. Camila always loved his place. The open concept, the warm touches of wood and leather, the photographs.

"Strip," he said, dragging his sweatshirt off next. With his back to her, she admired the newly exposed tan skin, the muscles rippling as he moved. She loved the way his jeans hung on his hips.

She had to drag her eyes away from the lines of his hip bones. "I'm not sleeping with you."

He looked back over his shoulder, hands reaching for his belt buckle. "I'm a grown man, Camila. I can see you naked and not have to fuck. Do what I said."

He disappeared around the corner into the bathroom where she heard the sound of the shower turning on. Her stomach did a nervous flip, but she was happy to be here. She kicked off her shoes and pulled her own sweatshirt off, leaving her in jeans and a lace bralette in her favorite shade of lavender.

He was already in the shower by the time she came in. It was a massive glass box of smooth, black tile with two shower heads, one on each side. His back was to her as she unfastened her jeans and pushed them down along with her panties, then stripped off the bralette, leaving her naked. Next, Camila pulled the hair tie from her hair and let it fall. The steamy air in the bathroom felt like heaven on her skin, the tense muscles in her neck and shoulders already loosening.

When she stepped into the shower, Christopher glanced at her with heavy eyes, drinking her in slowly, like it was the first time, but he kept his distance. She liked the way he looked at her, like she was something rare and special to behold. He turned so he could see her better, but they stayed beneath their separate sprays.

While Camila washed her hair, she snuck a few glances at his perfectly tan, tattooed body. If he saw, he didn't make it known, or at least he didn't chastise her for it. She could admire him for hours and not get tired of the view. With an internal scolding, she turned so he was out of her line of sight.

She found her thoughts drifting to a very similar scene, but a different time. A series of many different times in this very room when there was no space between them, just skin on skin, his long fingers tangled in her hair, lips exploring every single inch of her body. When desire was the ruler of her emotions.

Fingertips brushing the wet hair off the back of her neck and over her shoulder yanked Camila back to now, and her heart nearly stopped. Christopher was standing beneath the spray just behind her. She'd been so wrapped up in her thoughts she hadn't even noticed him come over.

"Where you at?" he hummed, pressing his lips to the spot where her neck and shoulder connected.

Camila shivered, hyper aware of how close he was behind her, the heat of his body giving her goosebumps. His fingers ran down her arm where he laced them through hers, pulling her hand up to press a kiss to the center of her palm. The other hand slid around her waist, resting right over her abdomen.

"I was just thinking," she said softly, eyes fluttering closed.

"About what?"

The sound of his voice was enough to make her melt into him, and she found all rational thought disappearing.

"Us."

She felt him chuckle—a slow, sleepy sound as he kissed his way across her shoulder blade. "Quit makin' me ask and say what's on your mind."

Camila turned her head to see him better, and he looked down with half lidded eyes. He was irresistible, water dripping down his face, his focus entirely on her. Surprising even herself, she leaned up and connected their lips, answering his question without words.

Christopher didn't deny her. He kissed her back, deep and slow, eliciting feelings only he knew how to. It was a sensation she'd desperately missed. She tried to turn in his arms, but he held firm, keeping her right where she was. Keeping her under his control. When he pulled back, he released her hand and cupped her cheek.

"Stop it," he whispered, and she blushed, but kept eye contact.

It was a battle of wills. She waited to see if he would kiss her again, and he waited to see what she wanted, what she was thinking. She could feel his cock hardening, pressing into the small of her back, but he made no move to push her further.

"Tell me what you want, Camila," he said, ghosting his lips across hers, but pulling back when she tried to kiss him.

"Christopher—"

"No."

She bit her bottom lip, drawing his eyes down to the movement. Wanting him and asking for it were two different things. In her mind, she wanted him to let go of his restraints, for him to devour her like only he could, but she didn't know how to say that out loud.

Christopher waited patiently, holding her body tight to him, but there was that look in his eye that told her he wanted an answer.

"I want you," she finally whispered, feeling the heat of embarrassment spreading up from her chest.

He grinned. "You have me. All wrapped around your pretty finger."

“You know what I mean."

"You should be really clear because what I think you might mean, you told me wasn't gonna happen."

The hand on her abdomen slipped lower, and her heart jumped into her throat. His fingertips drew shapes just above where she wanted them. She shifted back, connecting their lower bodies firmly, making a sharp breath leave his chest. He was hard as a rock now. Heat pooled in her lower body that had nothing to do with the temperature of the shower.

"Please fuck me," she managed to get out, leaning up to kiss him again, the words vibrating against his mouth. He let her have it this time, slipping his tongue between her lips to tangle with her own.

He nudged her forward toward the shower wall just out of the spray. She nearly cried with relief. Christopher took her hand again, raising it to rest against the tile, his covering hers as his other finally dipped between her legs, brushing over her clit, making her shudder.

She pulled away from his lips, dropping her forehead and resting it against the tile. His fingers worked over her dripping pussy, mouth dropping to her shoulder, teeth grazing the skin there. It was everything she'd been daydreaming about, but everything she said she wouldn't do if she came here. And yet she needed it, needed him.

He moved his hand lower, slipping a finger inside her, and the groan that came from his lips could've made her come right on the spot. He added a second finger and pumped them slow and torturous. It felt like heaven, but it wasn't enough.

"Please," she begged, resting her other hand on the tile, lips parting when his fingers curled in a way that made her cry out.

"Fuck, Camila." He removed his fingers and used his knee to knock her thighs wider apart. The thought that he was as eager as she was made her body flush even more. He used his free hand to guide his cock to her entrance, and pushed inside.

She tried to pull her hand under his free from the wall, but he held her there, forcing the other one up, caging her in, sinking himself deeper inside her. He stayed like that for what felt like forever, letting her body adjust to him by just barely pulsing in and out of her as he kissed every inch of skin he could reach. After tormenting her for several agonizing moments, his hips moved quicker, body pressing flat against hers.

"Your pussy feels so goddamn good, baby," he whispered in her ear, making her legs turn to jelly as he fucked her. "I missed this, I missed you."

He finally let her hands go, running one up her body to squeeze one of her breasts, brushing over her nipple with his thumb. It sent shocks of electricity straight between her legs, and she gasped, chin dropping to her chest.

Christopher leaned forward and kissed her jaw, teeth nipping at the skin. "Did you miss me, too?"

"Yes." She could barely form words. His cock stroked magic along her walls, his thrusts forceful and fast enough to make her lose her breath.

His hand moved back down between her legs, circling her clit with expert precision. "Tell me."

"Yes, I missed you," she gasped, latching onto his forearm and digging her nails in hard enough to leave indents. A ball of pleasure had begun to form in her lower body.

"I want you to come for me, baby,"

She moaned his name, unable to hold it in at his encouragement, the sound of his hips snapping against hers making her tremble. He took her chin in his other hand and forced her to look up at him, to meet his gaze. She could feel herself falling apart, and by the way he stared down at her, he liked the mess he'd made. Her eyes fluttered closed as she reached the precipice, so close to tipping over the edge into sheer bliss.

"Look at me," he whispered, his own pleasure thick in his voice. She opened her eyes, her lips parting as the hunger in his voice made the ball of pleasure explode.

The orgasm took her breath away, snatching it right from her chest, but Christopher held her tight and fucked her through it, not giving her an inch of space to pull back. It went on for what felt like forever, sapping every ounce of energy from her, and she was grateful for his grip or she would've dropped like a stone.

Just as hers was dissipating, his hit him full force, and she gazed up at him with heavy, satiated eyes. She loved the way his own eyes closed, his mouth dropping open, breath hitching in his chest. When Christopher opened his eyes again, he stole a kiss, his cock softening inside her. He pulled out and rested his forehead against her shoulder to catch his breath.

The water was still running hot, and Camila had to thank whoever installed the water heater in his building. When her legs felt steady enough, she pulled out of his hold and moved back under the spray, washing away the sweat and come from her skin. Christopher watched her with a half smirk, looking satisfied.

He joined her under the spray, pressing a hand to the tiny bump of her abdomen, the other running up from her ass to the cradle back of her neck. "Boy or girl," he asked.

It was a question she'd pondered for hours and hours over the last few weeks. Who would this little life be?

"Girl," she finally said, leaning up to kiss him. "You've got 'girl dad' in your DNA."

Christopher laughed, the smile covering his entire face, and Camila couldn't help but be smitten. "Why would you wish that on me? A lifetime of ass beatings and threats."

"Come on, I'm getting wrinkly."

Camila stepped out of the shower on shaky legs, Christopher right behind. She slipped into a robe on the hook on the wall and brushed her fingers through her hair, looking herself over in the mirror. He came to stand behind her, a towel tied around his waist.

He watched her as she pulled bottles from the cabinets—facial serum and moisturizers she'd stocked here when they were together. It warmed her heart to find them right where she left them, completely untouched like he knew she would be back.

"So, a girl, huh?" he asked, and she met his gaze in the mirror.

"I hope so."

He smiled, but shook his head. "I guess I should start prayin' now. I got a lot of bad karma just waitin' to rain down on my head."

"Hey, it's going to be okay either way."

He took a step forward and hugged her from behind, squeezing her tight and pressing a kiss to her temple. "Yeah, we will."

Finally, while she was putting lotion on her legs, he walked out of the bathroom, leaving her to finish getting ready for bed in a peaceful silence. By the time she was finished, Christopher had changed into sweats and pulled down the covers on the bed. He was putting on deodorant when she came back in.

"Get in bed, mama," he said, turning out the lights, leaving them in near darkness except for the city lights shining in through the enormous windows.

Camila thought the way he demanded nearly everything in life would get under her skin and drive them apart, but after the last few weeks of work without him around, she relished the way she could turn her mind off. It made her feel cozy and warm inside.

She slid between the sheets on her side of the bed, and he followed after adjusting the thermostat and closing the door. They laid beside each other for a while without speaking until he broke the silence.

"See, tucked in before midnight," he said, and she could hear the smirk without even seeing his face.

"I do believe I said coming home with you was a bad idea, though, and I was right."

He laughed. "My intentions were pure, I promise. You were the poor influence."

She reached out and swatted at his chest. Christopher snatched her up by the wrist and dragged her into his chest. She wound her arms around his waist and pressed a kiss to one of the scars on his chest—the bullet wound that'd pierced through to his lung. The one that nearly killed him.

"I want you to fire her," Camila said softly.

"What?"

She sat up a little so she could see his face. "Beth. She almost killed you once. She should never get the chance to try again."

The wheels turned inside his head, she could see it as he held her gaze. "You gonna stick around this time?"

"I'm here aren't I?"

"You gonna keep me a secret?" One of his eyebrows cocked curiously. "I give a little, you give a little, sweetheart." He brushed a finger over her bottom lip.

"No, you won't be a secret."

Christopher kissed her softly. "Good."

#rio good girls #manny mayans #manny montana #beth boland #annie marks #netflix good girls #good girls fic #rio fic #Spotify

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ichig0tchi · 4 months ago

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southern utah facts for fnaf fans

ok so as a person who lives in utah and has been to southern utah many, many times, i thought id write some info for people who want to know what its actually like! sometimes i see fan content from people who don't know anything about it and i cant help but laugh a little because yall imagine all this cool stuff there and its just like. gas station.

its pronounced hurra-kihn with a short [ih] /ɪ/ sound, not hurriCANE like the actual word. don't ask me why i have no answers

the VAST majority of utah has a religious suburb vibe. ESPECIALLY central and southern utah. imagine the type of place thats juuuuust big enough to have some big box stores and a couple of chain restaurants. thats what hurricane is like. many smaller towns in central/southern utah are tiny farming communities with the population of a few hundred people (and probably double that in cows)

This is a picture of hurricane from google maps, this is the vibe for most places south of provo!

The cities closest to hurricane are st george, cedar city, las vegas, mesquite, and the general provo area.

-St george is a smallish sized city with things like a mall, many national chain businesses, local businesses, an amphitheater, and manyyyy retiree communities with golf courses. - Cedar city has an ~olde towne~ feel with many historical buildings and small businesses. -Vegas is about 2 hours from Hurricane and its not unusual to take a day trip there -Mesquite is a casino/golfing town about 40 minutes from st george. Its right on the border of NV/AZ and its pretty common for families to drive out for a couple days to mess around the casino and eat over priced buffet food. -Provo is about 3 hours north of hurricane and is very mormon in culture. Feels like the twilight zone if you arent white and/or mormon. they have good restaurants tho and a water park. mainly built around Brigham Young University (byu) which is a very strictly religious campus. Apparently its a really good school if you can handle the restrictions.

Southern utah generally never gets colder than 70 degrees and is often over 100 in the summer

I've seen some people refer to hurricane as "south west utah" which is..not wrong? but no one says that. nearly all of the south east of the state is national parks with extreme geography that people cant exactly live in. There are some towns, but they rely heavily on tourism for the national monuments and such and are still smaller in population. If you say you're from southern utah, people will just assume you are from the st george area.

Southern utah has some of, in my opinion, the most beautiful views on earth. Views like these are within 25 minutes of hurricane. (image of canyon junction bridge from visitutah.com)

People in southern utah tend to be very friendly. If you're not from around there, you'll probably get polite stares in the smaller towns. In bigger areas like st george, customer service is typically very good. LDS people tend to take acting like a boy scout and being over the top helpful pretty seriously. (you know the mormon missionary stereotypes lol theyre persistent folks).

Silver reef is mostly really nice expensive homes now! Definitely not a ghost town anymore. The museum there does tours of the old ruins and an extremely nice cowboy will tell you all about how the founder of the town discovered the titular silver vein, but got run out of town by crazy prospector type fighting over the land (i like to imagine there was much hootinany-ing and pickaxes afoot) They do have a single animatronic, its of a donkey in a fake mine shaft exhibit under the museum!

Most of the towns around here have a shit ton of hotels and are mainly tourist destinations. Hiking and sightseeing are sort of classic state pastimes, outdoor sports bring in a ton of money so its really encouraged. Peak tourism season for southern utah is late summer/early fall. Mid summer is too hot to visit, its genuinely dangerous to hike in that weather. So september/october when its temperate is very busy.

As you might imagine, most of utah is conservative. Salt lake is pretty left leaning and is actually a pretty good place for queer people, but most of the state kind of just ignores anything that goes against doctrine. definitely a lot of maga types, but overall not violent or especially bigoted outwardly. The worst i tend to see is confederate flags, which are popular in agricultural areas. Mormons tend to be quietly exclusionary rather than confronting the sorts of minorities they dont like.

Another thing about mormons, they LOVEEEE SODA. SO MUCH. Those drive thru soda/cookie/icecream chains are all over the place, including southern utah. The sodas are usually mixed with things like coffee creamer or flavored syrups. Mormons cant drink coffee, so they get their caffeine/sugary treat this way.

Feel free to ask any questions or add your own tidbits!!

#fnaf

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in-search-of-a-fallen-star · 1 year ago

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at the last stroke of midnight (pt. 5)

Pairing: Shouto Todoroki/Reader

WC: 2,195

Content warnings: aged up characters, everyone is in their 20s or older. fantasy au. no pronouns used for reader, but they are described to wear skirts and are referred to as ‘my lady’. brief descriptions of fantasy violence, brief mention of blood.

part 4 : part 5 (you are here) : part 6

It feels like you’re floating on clouds for the rest of the day. How could it not? You’ve been replaying his words in your head for hours- the open look in his beautiful grey and blue eyes, the smoky sound of his voice in your ear as he told you that he’d known from the first moment you spoke he’d wanted you to go with him. It feels like a dream, but the weight of the circlet in your hands reminds you that it was real.

Part of your brain is stubbornly waiting for a catch, for the other foot to drop, or something to burst the bubble you’re floating in. This feels altogether too good to be true, says the little voice in the back of your head. You choose to ignore it for now- this isn’t interfering with your duties, and Shouto’s words earlier had eased most of your doubts

Perhaps this isn’t just a passing fancy for him. He wants you, and he’d told you himself, not caring who heard. It’s hard not to feel giddy when you know how it feels to be the sole focus of that intense heterochromatic gaze.

The afternoon flys by. The palace is abuzz with activity, full of people setting up for the ball that’s taking place in just a few short hours. You’re kept busy, there are many tasks that require your attention, and you find yourself running around the palace, carrying messages, making deliveries, and overseeing decorations.

You’ve lost track of time, immersed in your current project when you feel a hand tap at your shoulder. A younger maid stands behind you, and curtsies to you when you stand up and dust your hands off.

“The queen requests your presence, my lady,” she says, indicating for you to follow her.

You hand your work over to one of the people who’d been helping you and get up to follow the maid to the queen’s quarters. You wince when you look out the window; the last rays of the setting sun are painting the western horizon in vivid colors and you realize that you’re very, very, late.

The maid stops at the doors and bobs her head to you before turning and walking back down the hallway. You sigh and push the doors open, ready to apologize to the queen. To your surprise, you find her already dressed and seated at the small table with her wire reading glasses on, a book in hand.

She looks up when you enter and smiles, tucking a ribbon between the pages of her book. “I’m glad you could make it,” she says, her voice gently teasing.

You sweep into a deep curtsy. “I apologize for my lateness, your majesty. How may I be of service?”

“I have a gift for you.” She stands from the table and walks to the wardrobe, opening the carved cedar doors to reveal a beautiful gown hanging inside. The kirtle is a beautiful cream plisse crepe, underneath a cream silk gown embroidered with gold and silver flowers. Pearls glimmer along the neckline and the cuffs, and the girdle is hammered gold, inlaid with river pearls and abalone.

When you stand in front of it, stricken speechless, the queen laughs. “I take it you like it,” she says, placing a cool hand on your shoulder.

It takes a moment for you to find the words. “Y-your majesty, this is too much. I can’t accept this.”

“It’s already been altered to your measurements,” she says. “I wanted you to have something nice to wear to your first ball here in the south.”

When you stay frozen in your spot, she nudges you forward with a gentle hand. “Come now, let’s get you dressed. We don’t want you to leave your knight hanging, do we?”

“You don’t have to do that, your majesty,” you protest as she pulls you to the mirror.

“I have not been queen for so long that I’ve forgotten how to dress,” she says, an amused smile pulling at her lips.

She helps you out of your working dress, leaving you in just your undergarments. First she pulls a fine cotton chemise over your head, then she sets down a pair of silver slippers for you to step into. The next layer is a petticoat, finely made and frilled with cream lace at the hem. Next comes the kirtle, which flows like water over your head. Finally, the gown settles on your shoulders. The gold and silver flowers shine under the candlelight.

The queen maneuvers you to her vanity, pushing you into the seat with a gentle hand. She puts your hair up with a few simple combs. “Now, for the circlet. Do you have it with you?”

“Yes, it’s in my pocket,” you say, turning to look for your work dress. She beats you to it, pulling the circlet out of your dress and returning to you. She directs you to look in the mirror before placing the circlet on your head, carefully centering it on your brow. She pins it in place with a few cleverly placed hairpins, and then steps back to look at her handiwork.

You take a moment to take yourself in. You glow in the warm candlelight, the gold and silver embroidery making you shine. You feel…beautiful.

In the distance, you hear trumpets sound. “I have to go,” the queen says, placing a hand on your shoulder. Her grey eyes meet yours in the mirror and she smiles, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You’re released from duty- the night is yours to spend however you wish. You can stay here as long as you need, you don’t have to come until you feel ready.”

She sweeps out the door in a swish of skirts, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You take a deep breath, looking at yourself in the mirror. Until yesterday, your only plan for tonight was to do your job and hopefully get well acquainted with the buffet table in between your duties. Now you’re faced with the very real prospect of having to dance, in front of a crowd of strangers no less.

You know the dances; when you’d arrived in the south you’d been put through a boot camp of court practices, including a grueling few weeks spent studying the steps of the courtly dances. However, you’ve never danced with anyone other than your instructor. The prospect of dancing with Shouto in a crowded ballroom of people is daunting, to say the least.

You hear the distant sounds of the heralds, and you know they’ve begun introducing the guests. Time to go, you decide, standing up from the vanity.

You don’t want to be late, after all. There’s someone waiting for you.

When you arrive at the doors, there’s a line of people waiting to be introduced. The heralds announce them by name and title; it’s rather a spectacle as each noble enters the ballroom in a flurry of silks. You begin to second guess yourself- you have no title or accomplishments to accompany your name. You look at the line, and then duck into an alcove. Perhaps it’s better if you sneak in at the end, with no announcement.

Finally, the line dwindles, and the heavy doors swing shut. You can hear music pick up from inside the ballroom, and decide to make your move. You pull the door open just enough to slip through, and enter the grand ballroom.

Everything inside glitters. The many candles on the chandeliers glitter off the strands of crystal drops, sending spangles of light skittering over the rainbow of silk and satin gowns in the room. The queen sits on her throne on the balcony across from you, surveying the people as they mingle. Princess Fuyumi and Prince Natsuo sit next to her, engaged in conversation.

Your eyes are drawn to the figure standing on the other side of the throne. Shouto looks dashing, his hair slicked back and dressed in a fine military uniform, decorated with medals. Your eyes meet over the crowded ballroom, and the sounds of the crowd drop away around you. He leans down to whisper something in the queen’s ear, and then leaves the dais to walk down towards the ballroom.

You curtsy to the throne, as is custom. You haven’t completely forgotten etiquette, even though Shouto is handsome enough that your brain goes a bit gooey. The crowd parts as Shouto approaches, the throngs of people stepping off the dance floor as he makes his way to the foot of the stairs.

He bows to you, low and with one hand clasped over his heart. He holds out a hand, offering his support to you as you descend the last few steps to the floor.

The two of you stand in silence for a moment, simply gazing at each other.

“Hi,” you say, feeling a bit bashful.

“Hello,” he says, voice low and warm. The band begins playing a song, a sweet melody ringing out over the quiet ballroom. “Would you do me the honor of sharing the first dance with me?”

You nod, not trusting your voice, and he pulls you out onto the dance floor. You can feel the warmth of his palm on the small of your back, even through the layers of your gown. He pulls you close, closer than what is technically socially acceptable, you know. The way he holds you is tender and gentle, but it also has a possessive edge to it as he leads you through the steps of the waltz.

“Why is everyone staring?” you whisper, looking up at him.

“They probably can’t take their eyes off you. I certainly can’t,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

You can’t help the blush that rises to your cheeks, choosing to turn your gaze to the line of his throat. This close, you can smell the scent of campfire and winter pine that clings to him. Around you, the music reaches a crescendo, and you feel both of Shouto’s hands at your waist before he lifts you effortlessly, spinning you before returning you to your feet. The action startles a laugh out of you, and you see an answering smile spread across his face.

He lifts you once more before the song ends, and you get a brief moment to look down at his face. He’s gorgeous like this, a few stray strands of hair dangling over his forehead, a slight flush to his cheeks, and a twinkle in his eyes.

The song ends, and the band starts playing another, a lively tune as other couples flood onto the dance floor. Shouto leads you into the dance, never taking his eyes off of your face. This dance is energetic and fun, and you find yourself laughing on the floor as Shouto twirls you around.

You do find yourself out of breath after that, so Shouto leads you off to the side for a moment of peace while the dancers continue. He fetches you a glass of cool water and you drink it gratefully, smiling up at him with flushed cheeks when you finish.

“You look stunning, my lady,” he leans down to murmur in your ear. A shiver runs down your spine at the feeling of his breath on your neck.

“You clean up pretty okay yourself,” you tell him, hiding your pleased smile behind the rim of your cup.

A new song starts playing, and he takes your hand. “Would you like to join me for another dance?”

“I can’t,” you say wistfully.

“Why not?”

“Isn’t it considered rude here to dance with the same partner for more than two songs?” you ask. “I’m sure there are many other ladies who’d like a dance with the tournament champion.”

“I don’t care,” he says, squeezing your hand. “You’re the only lady I want to dance with.”

“Are you sure you won’t get in trouble? I know you said you have responsibilities.”

He flashes you a smirk. That look on him should be considered a deadly weapon, with the way it instantly turns your knees to jelly. He looks like he’s about to say something, when you hear a voice from behind you.

“Your highness?” says a beautiful black haired woman, clad in a deep red gown. Shouto freezes, his playful expression dropping. “Ah Prince Shouto, I’m glad I caught you,” she smiles as she approaches.

Your head whirls. Prince Shouto? You look at him, and you feel stupid for not realizing it before. He looks like the queen, with the intense grey eye and the white hair. You can see the resemblance in his face, in the set of their mouths. You remember this morning- the same name as the prince, your ass. You should have known.

You pull your hand from his, taking a step back.

“Wait, please,” he begs, reaching for you. “I can explain-”

You don’t listen. You turn and run, pushing your way through the crowds. Somewhere behind you, you hear his voice calling your name. It’s the last thing you hear as you pull open the heavy doors, disappearing into the night.

#todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #shouto x reader #my hero x reader #todoroki shouto #my hero academia #ves.writes

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