#fancy entryway tables

[admiralandtea]

Mudroom - Traditional Entry Entryway - huge traditional medium tone wood floor entryway idea with beige walls and a glass front door

[katsu28]

comfort

pairing: george russell x reader

summary: bad days are inevitable. luckily, you've got george to come home to, who always knows just what to do to make those days a little bit better. (2k)

warnings: george is the sweetest boyfriend to ever exist, an ungodly amount of fluff. literally just pure fluff. i think i got a cavity writing this actually!

a/n: this one's for the lovely @postracehair, who has successfully converted me into a george girl <3

You should’ve known the kind of day you’d have when you slept right through your alarm this morning. 

From then on, the hits just kept on coming. No time for breakfast, morning rush hour traffic adding forty five minutes to your usual twenty minute commute, upcoming deadlines at work with projects nowhere near done and coworkers who can’t tell apples from oranges. 

By the time you manage to clock out of work and head home, you’re dead on your feet.

You drive home in complete silence, knuckles tight on the wheel, teeth digging into your bottom lip to keep the tears threatening to fall at bay. All you need to do is make it home in one piece, and then you can break down, if that’s what it’ll take to put the horrors of today behind you. 

The first thing you notice as you push open the front door when you finally get home is a pair of shoes tucked off to the side in the entryway, a set of keys in the bowl on the little table.

George is home early. 

Relief washes over you at the realization. After the shit day you’ve had, seeing George sooner than you thought you’d get to is your saving grace. 

You trudge further into the flat, towards the living room where you can hear something on TV.

Your boyfriend is sprawled out across the couch watching a rerun of some old football match, but pauses it to focus his attention on you as soon as he hears you moving around behind him. You toss your bag onto the floor, your phone on top of that, rounding the couch slowly. 

“Hey, you’re home!” He exclaims, smiling warmly. “I was just thinking of starting dinner, what d’you think of—” You flop on top of him before he can finish his sentence, face planting directly into his chest without a word. “Oh! Hello there.” 

Despite his surprise, George’s arms wrap around you without hesitation, cocooning you nicely in his warmth. 

He smells like the fancy fabric softener you keep on the top shelf of the laundry room, and body wash you think might be yours rather than his, fresh and clean and so achingly familiar it brings you some much needed comfort right now. You inhale deeply, letting yourself melt against George’s sturdy frame. 

“Bad day?” He asks, rubbing a hand up and down your back. 

You huff out a humorless chuckle. “The worst.” 

“Sorry to hear that, my love,” He murmurs. “What can I do to help?” 

“Build a time machine?” 

George’s chuckle vibrates through his chest. “I’m afraid that’s one thing I can’t do. But what I can do is make dinner while you wash up and change into something comfier. Sound good?” 

“Sounds perfect,” You mutter with a sigh. “In five minutes.” 

He laughs again and you scoot yourself a little higher up, finding that perfect cozy spot between the hard plane of his shoulder and the side of his neck for your chin to nestle in. George curls an ankle around yours, patting around for the remote to resume the match he has on. 

He’ll do his thing while you soak in his presence, that’s usually how things go on nights when you’re both home. 

Five minutes ends up turning into a lot longer, because by the time you manage to muster the energy to even think about getting up, the match is long over and the TV is off. George still lies perfectly content underneath you, long fingers stroking down your spine gently. 

“I stink,” You say bluntly. George snorts. 

“Do you? I didn’t even notice,” He muses, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“That’s such a lie.” 

He has the audacity to look completely and overdramatically bewildered. “What? I would never lie to you. You smell wonderful.” 

“Yeah, yeah, alright. I’m going to go shower now.” On your way up off him, you dot a kiss to his lips that takes him by surprise and makes him follow after you, chasing to keep that contact until you push him back down onto the couch with a gentle hand. Even then, he wraps his fingers around your wrist loosely to stop you leaving. “Try not to miss me too much?” 

“Darling, you’re asking the impossible of me,” He chides, letting his head tilt to the side. He looks up at you through his lashes, ocean eyes twinkling in a very enticing invitation for you to stay. 

As appealing as having another cuddle with your boyfriend sounds, a hot shower calls your name even more. You kiss his cheek this time. “Do your best, darling.” 

You don’t catch whatever George grumbles after you on your way to the bathroom, but knowing him, it isn’t anything outrageous. 

George’s self care collection sits meticulously organized on one side of the sink in the bathroom, a total juxtaposition to the mess of yours over on the other. In a way, you suppose it does well to describe the way you both are in real life. 

The stream of nearly scalding water does a wonderful job at starting to soothe the ache in your tense shoulders the moment you step under it, raining down on you like something heaven sent. You could stay in here forever if you wanted to. 

The bathroom door swings open while you’re washing the conditioner out of your hair, then you hear George’s voice. “Not looking! Not peeping in on you, just wanted to drop off a fresh towel.” 

“You’re allowed to look, you know,” You say from behind the wall of hot steam fogging up the glass doors. Through it, you can vaguely make out him with a hand over his eyes, blindly navigating where to put the towel with the other hand. It makes you laugh. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before!” 

George lets out something between an approving hum and a click of his tongue. Finally, his searching hand finds the bar of the door, carefully draping the fluffy material over it. “I popped it in the dryer for a bit. Should still be warm when you finish.” 

Something warm thrums in your chest at the thought of George taking enough care to go that one step further and make sure you have a warm, fresh towel waiting for you. 

“Love you!” You say gratefully. You can almost picture the happy little smile on his face at your words. 

“Love you. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything else.” He’s gone soon after that, but still lingers in your mind as you finish up. George is always on your mind. 

Once you’re out of the shower and wrapped in the toasty towel, you wander to find some clothes, beelining straight for George’s side of the closet to find your favorite jumper of his, the soft one he usually wears on long flights. It still smells like him when you put it on. 

You pull the sleeves over your hands on your way out to join him in the kitchen. Soft music pours from the speaker next to his phone, filling the flat with his easy listening playlist. He likes to play that one on flights too, sometimes so often that you’ve come to associate the songs with him. 

George hasn’t noticed you yet, and you take the opportunity to just watch him do his thing. 

He has that ‘Kiss the Chef’ apron you’d gotten him as a joke a few years ago tied around his waist, kitchen towel draped over his shoulder as he scoops whatever food he’s made into two bowls. His shoulders do a little shimmy along to the beat of the song like an absolute fool, and it makes you smile, because he’s your fool. 

You get to love him and all the things he does—big and small. Doing the most to make you feel better after a terrible day, and dancing terribly in the kitchen when nobody is watching. Both describe loving George Russell perfectly. 

It isn’t until he does a half turn for his big finish at the end of the song that he spots you leaned up against the wall and nearly jumps a foot into the air in surprise. 

“Blimey!” He exclaims, pressing a hand over his heart. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” 

“I wasn’t sneaking! You just didn’t see me.” 

“I ought to put a bell on you one of these days.” 

“You wouldn’t.”

“Eh, food for thought.” George shrugs, shedding his apron. “Speaking of food, dinner’s ready.” He pushes one of the bowls towards you.

At first, you’re not sure what you’re looking at. Then, slowly, realization dawns on you. 

He’s made your favorite meal from your childhood, the dish your mum used to make every time you needed that extra bit of comfort after a not so great day. 

There’s that feeling in your chest again, that gooey warmth spreading from behind your ribcage up your neck and to your cheeks at the thought of just how much George cares. About you, about the little things he can do to make you feel better.

He always takes care of you, even if you don't ask. You don't need to ask. George knows what you need without you even having to say a word. 

“Georgie, how…” You trail off, at a loss for words. “How’d you know?” 

“I got the recipe from your mum the last time we had dinner with your parents,” He admits sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “She said it was your favorite. That it always made you feel better when you were a kid. I thought it might come in handy for days like these.” 

“You asked my mum how to make my favorite meal.” It isn’t a question so much as a statement that confirms what’s already been said. It takes a second time for it to really sink in. 

“I did, yeah. It might not be exactly the way she makes it, but I gave it my best go. Give it a try, maybe? Tell me if I did good?” 

He watches you carefully as you take a bite, smiling hopefully as you chew. It tastes exactly the same as you remember, and for some reason, it draws up a lump in your throat.

“It’s perfect,” You say softly. 

George beams, looking thoroughly satisfied with himself. “Thought maybe we could eat and watch the sunset. I know how much you love the pretty ones.” He juts his chin over towards where your dining room table overlooks the Monte Carlo cityscape, and you follow his line of sight to see it already set up with place settings and candles. 

The sun is just starting to go down, blues and pinks and oranges all swirling together into a beautiful view over the water. George is right. You’re a total sucker for a good sunset, and this one is absolutely gorgeous. 

You don’t even notice the tears welling in your eyes until George does. 

“Oh goodness! Are you crying?” He asks, borderline frantic. He’s quick to fold you into another hug just in case he’s upset you, when in reality the opposite is true. These are happy tears, grateful tears, what did I ever do to deserve you tears. “It’s too much, isn’t it?” 

“No. No, it’s perfect,” You say again, smoothing your palms over his shoulders. He lets out a visible sigh of relief. “George Russell, you are such a cheesy romantic.” 

George laughs, something clear and bright, your favorite sound in the world. “What can I say? You just bring it out in me.” 

“I love you,” You murmur, voice muffled into the fabric of his sweater. His lips press into your hairline to drop a kiss there. “Thank you for all this.” 

“It’s the least I could do to put a smile back on that lovely face of yours.” 

“What, this old thing?” You joke, beaming up at him. You’re not looking for a kiss, but he gives you one anyway, and hey—who are you to deny either of yourselves the pleasure? 

“Prettiest face I’ve ever had the privilege of making smile again.” 

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[roosterr]

white flag ✹ interlude

note: this chapter is a lil shorter than usual, I just wanted to include a lil bonding moment for reader and ghost before the events of next chapter :)

pairing: ghost x gn!reader

wc: 1.7k

no use of y/n reader's callsign is 'stingray'

summary: you and ghost go people watching in the local park, plus a little heart to heart

warnings: just some much needed fluff :)

ao3

【prev】 || 【next】

one warm shower and a couple of ibuprofen later, you're feeling mostly human again with a manageable headache and a reasonable amount of regret for how pathetic you’d acted. with time you’d get over that, especially now that ghost had finally seen the light and started treating you with some decency. admittedly though, his change in attitude threw you off earlier; you were bracing for a stern lecture and he essentially brushed it off as though it didn't matter, but you’ve decided not to dwell on that fact.

small victories, as they say.

for the very first time, the pair of you were both sitting across from each other at the tiny kitchen table, in your own worlds; the radio was faintly playing some classic rock station in the background as ghost had his nose in his book and you played some mindless game on your phone. you’d honestly prefer to be reading a good book too, but your collection was currently ash in the wind, so this would have to do.

you're tempted to try starting a conversation, the quiet was giving you far too much room to think, but on the other hand the atmosphere is so peaceful it would be a shame to ruin it.

so you set your phone down on the table and turn your eyes to ghost, watching him scan the pages, his head tilted slightly in concentration. he's washed most of the paint from around his eyes – that was probably done yesterday, not that you noticed – so only a few smudges mark his skin. with the black paint gone, you notice the raised bumps of old scars around his eyes, something you'd never paid much attention to before. you know better than to ask, but you do wonder, in the back of your mind, the stories behind all of them. examining them gives you inexplicable urge to run your fingers over them, to soothe the ache having so many of them must cause.

his dark eyes are like black holes, drawing in your attention and refusing to let you escape their grasp. you're vaguely aware of how long you've been staring at his face, but you don't care to snap yourself out of it until he speaks up.

"what?" he grumbles, not bothering to look up from the page. you quickly look away, down to where your hands idly fiddle with your phone on the table.

"question."

"hm?" he hums in acknowledgement, but still doesn't look at you. normally you'd give up at this point, assuming he was completely uninterested in what you had to say, but this time you decide to push your luck.

"you fancy a walk to the park?"

finally, he meets your eyes, looking up through his light eyelashes and blinking once as he contemplates his answer. you resist the urge to break eye contact as he stares right through you.

"...alright." he says, wedging his bookmark between the pages and sets the book down on the table.

you weren't expecting him to say yes, but you're pleasantly surprised that he did; it felt slightly surreal that after all this time, you were finally becoming friends with ghost. your eyes follow him as he stands, leaving the room to, presumably, change his mask while you sit there with a bewildered look on your face.

a minute or so passes before you hear his voice again. "you comin'?" he calls from the entryway, bringing you back to the present.

"oh– yeah, one second!" you jump up from your chair and rush to get ready as well. the grin you wore as you rushed past him to fetch your jacket was unconscious, the feeling lighting up your features and overshadowing and lingering thoughts from the night before.

a few moments later you're tugging your boots on and you're both walking out the door together, side by side. for once it's actually a nice day, so the short walk to the park is a pleasant one under the blue sky and warm sunlight.

"sorry again, for last night. i think that's gonna haunt me for the rest of my life." you look over to ghost with an apologetic expression, and you can't help but feel that the expression he gives back is one of amusement despite not being able to see half his face.

"that's twice you've screamed at me now." he says, keeping pace with you for a change rather than marching ahead as he usually does.

"i didn't scream at you!" you attempt to defend yourself, but thinking back on it you change your mind. "alright, the second time maybe i did,"

"maybe."

"but the first time, i was very collected." you continue. "it was quite satisfying, to be honest."

"i suppose i deserved it." his gaze falls to the ground and, even though he's right – he did deserve it – you do feel a little bad.

"seriously, though," you continue, "thank you, for looking after me last night. you didn't have to, and i know you didn't want to, but i really appreciate it."

"anyone would'a done the same…" he mutters, bringing a hand up to scratch awkwardly at the back of his head. you get the feeling he's not used to people showing their appreciation for him, which only encourages you to carry on.

"and thanks for taking me in, i know having some random idiot in your house is the last thing you want." you give him a warm smile as he looks at you from the corner of his eye.

"well, you're not just any idiot, are you?" he says, earning a questioning tilt of your head. "you're sting. the idiot."

a genuine laugh escapes you, the first one in a long time, and you gently nudge ghost's arm with your elbow.

"oh, lovely, thanks mate." you chuckle, shaking your head in amusement. you see his eyes lift in a barely noticeable smile, the sight causing a warm feeling to bloom in your chest.

you arrive at the park fairly quickly, finding yourselves an out of the way bench to occupy under the partial shade of a nearby oak tree. you're enveloped by a comfortable silence as you both simply observe the beauty of nature and bask in the feeling of the sun on your face.

you're not sure how long the two of you sit there in each other's company, but you find yourself subconsciously drifting closer to him, close enough that your knees just about touch. you're sure he notices – there isn't much that gets by him – but he doesn't show it.

"did you hear they figured out how the fire started?" you keep your voice low to preserve the peaceful quiet, turning your head to look at him as you ask.

"oh yeah? how?"

"ugh…" you groan with the annoyance the memory bring up. "my stupid neighbour left a fucking candle burning all night, the twat."

"what a fuckin' idiot…" he glances briefly in your direction, a sympathetic frown on his face.

"i can never look at candles the same way again, they're tainted now." you drag a hand over your face and shake your head to rid yourself of the thought.

there's another pause in the conversation as you stare ahead, watching the trees sway in the breeze and all the people going about their lives, everything cast in a golden glow from sun.

you don't want it to end, the way the two of you are now. this is the most you've ever spoken to echother, outside of arguments, and you really want to make the most of it.

"nice weather today, right?" you try to keep him talking to you, and you're considering the fact that he hasn't told you to shut up yet as a good sign.

"hm." ghost hums and leans his head back, his eyes fluttering shut. "you gonna ask me what my favourite colour is again?"

"c'mon, throw me a bone here." you turn your body to face him more. "actually what is it, though?"

"...green."

"i knew it!" you exclaim, a triumphant grin pulling at your lips. "it makes sense, you just have 'dark green' vibes."

"i'll take your word for it."

it's difficult to know what to talk about with him, seeing as you've never actually been friendly before and you've already used the only small talk question you could think of.

"hmm…" your eyes roam over the park, looking for something to give you an idea. eventually you land on a scrappy little white dog, with possibly the worst haircut you've ever seen. "look at that woman's dog," you point it out to ghost, snickering at the way it was resisting its owner as she pulled it along. "i feel bad for the little guy."

"is that a dog? thought it was an oversized rat."

"oh my god!" you snort a laugh, covering your mouth with a hand and throwing your head back. you hear ghost chuckle lightly beside you, and when you turn your head to look back at him you find him already looking at you.

all other thoughts leave your mind when you see how his eyes glow a golden colour in the light of the sun. you feel the tips of your ears heating up and quickly face forward again before he has a chance to notice.

luckily another distraction presents itself almost immediately, in the form of a well-dressed office worker sprinting past you at full speed.

"wow," you mutter, your eyes following him as he disappears around a bend in the path, "he's not hangin' about."

"maybe he left a candle burnin'." ghost looks back to you, a playful glint in his eyes you're not sure you've ever seen on him.

you can't help the grin that pulls at your lips at his terrible joke. "aw, ghost," you groan, gently shoving him as he chuckles at your reaction, "you're wrong for that one."

ghost slouches into the bench as you both look back out across the park, shifting so his thigh presses against yours ever so slightly. you're careful not to react, afraid that he'd pull away if you draw attention to the gesture, and resolve to just enjoy the rare closeness of his presence.

eventually you'd have to head back, but for now you were more than content to sit here and watch the world go by with him.

taglist: @sofasoap , @siilvan , @mockerycrow , @i-love-ghost , @projectdreamwalker , @achelois-is-here , @adamsloverboy , @thatchickwiththecamera , @chickensandwich69 , @batmanunicorns523 , @tiny-kasper , @dezibou , @pampeop , @cumbermovels , @goth-boi-atlas , @berryjuicyy , @guiltgoreglory , @postmodernrevolutionist , @untoldshortsofthefandoms , @delilah-grimes , @sunflowerqueen1416 , @luvssemma , @ghostslittlegf , @imonmykneessir , @kenz-ee , @eistro-phobia , @rzmarona , @alanalanalanalanalanna , @cathnoneofyourbusiness , @geisterfvhrer , @lazyninjaphilosopher , @aliilium , @koi-feish , @chaoticgoblindev , @clear-your-mind-and-dream , @thrivig-n-jiving , @lesterous , @glitterypirateduck , @slu77ym4nw415ts , @livelaugh-light , @trulylavendedarling

if your name is crossed out, it means i can't tag you for whatever reason, sorry! ༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ

[literaryvein-reblogs]

hey!! i really love your posts and trust me when i say this but you're practically doing a work of charity by making all these synonym lists. 😩🫶

i was wondering if you could compile monument vocabulary. vocabulary to describe the intricate and exquisite designs inside historical buildings. tysm!

Some Historical Architecture & Interior Design Vocabulary

Acanthus Leaf - A leaf decoration often used on furniture, particularly on brackets and legs.

Acroterium - Originally an ornament on the roof corners of Greek temples. In classical furniture, similar ornaments applied to the top corners of secretaries, bookcases, highboys and other furniture.

Amorini - Cupid ornaments found on Italian Renaissance furniture.

Anthemion - A honeysuckle design from classical Greek decorative motifs. Term refers to any conventional flower or leaf design.

Antique - Could be anything ranging from a piece of furniture to art. The U.S. government considers any item over 100 years old to be an antique, whereas most collectors use 50 years as a benchmark.

Apothecary Chest - A low chest with small drawers that was originally used to store herbs for cooking and medicinal purposes.

Arabesque - Decorative scroll work or other intricate ornamentation consisting of foliage, vases, leaves and fruits, or fantastic human and animal figures.

Baroque - A highly ornate decorative style that originated in Italy in the 1600's. The style is characterized by irregular curves, twisted columns, elaborate scrolls and oversize moldings. The Italian equivalent of French "rococo".

Bibliotheque-Basse - A low cupboard with shelves for books. Doors are often of glass and sometimes fitted with grilles.

Bullate - Having the surface covered with irregular and slight elevations, giving a blistered appearance.

Cabriole leg - An ornamented furniture leg with a double curve structure.

Chevron - A 'zigzag' pattern characteristic of Romanesque decoration that is often carved around pillars, arches and doorways.

Chinoiserie - A European style of design that is meant to mimic elements of East Asian art.

Console table - A freestanding table, often found in the entryway of homes, that typically serves as a space for decorative elements.

Enfilade - A series of rooms that are connected via doorways that align with one another (commonplace in grand castles, like the Palace of Versailles, or even museums).

Etagere - A freestanding or hanging set of open shelves, designed to display trinkets or other decorative objects.

Gilding - A coating with a thin layer of gold or gold-like substance.

Klismos - Ancient Greek style of chair with saber shaped legs splayed at the front and back. The back legs continue up to support a shoulder-height curved back.

Laurelling - A decorative feature using the laurel leaf motif as its basis.

Lozenge - A diamond shaped decorative panel. Term comes from the Middle English word for stone.

Niche - A recess in a wall for displaying a sculpture or other accessory.

Ormulu - A metal resembling gold. Used as mounts and decorative effects on furniture.

Ovolo - A continuous ornament in the form of an egg which generally decorates the molding called the "quarter-round". Eggs are often separated from each other by pointed darts.

Passementerie - Fancy decorative trimmings such as tassels, tiebacks and ribbon.

Régence Style - This furniture style spanned from about 1715 to 1723, when France was ruled by a regent. This style of furniture design was a transition from massive straight lines to graceful curves.

Sconces - A type of light fixture that is fastened to a wall for support.

Swan-Neck Handle - A curved handle popular in the 1700's.

Trompe l’oeil - A technique used to trick the eye into thinking that something flat, like a wall, is actually three-dimensional. This is often achieved through photorealistic painting.

Victorian - An architectural style defined by highly ornamented design and grand, sweeping facades.

Wainscoting - A type of interior wall paneling that covers the lower portion of a wall.

"Traditional" Interior Design

When talking about traditional interior design, most are referencing a design style that originated in the 18th and 19th century throughout Europe. However, it’s worth noting that other cultures have their own versions of a traditional style that may not look the same as this more Western version.

Traditional Design Elements. Though not exhaustive, a traditional interior will often make use of the following elements: 

Emphasis on symmetry and order

Traditional architectural details such wainscoting and crown molding

Classic decor elements such as chandeliers and bookcases 

Neutral color schemes with pops of bold colors, often in jewel tones 

Upholstery and textiles tend to be subtler (cotton, velvet, or wool, for example)

Furniture pieces with traditional silhouettes, though they’re often updated with modern elements or finishes 

Layered window treatments and draperies; curtain valances aren’t used often

Classic patterns such as plaids, damask, or florals  

Flooring tends to make use of darker wood  

Sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Word Lists

Previous posts that include some related words you might find useful:

Some Architecture Vocabulary

Some European Renaissance Art Vocabulary

Some Medieval Art & Architecture Vocabulary: Part 1

Some Medieval Art & Architecture Vocabulary: Part 2

Some Roman Art Vocabulary

Thanks so much for your kind words, you're really sweet! I tried to include a wide range of terminology since you didn't specify which time period you were looking for. Do go through the sources if I wasn't able to include here what you need in your writing. Hope this helps <3

[pretend-theres-a-name-here]

Hide Your Heart pt. 1

New Steddie fic of mine, it’s Steve inner monologue centric because it’s about his parents (bad parent au)

Part 1 |

CW: bad parents I guess, there is physical abuse in a later chapter but I’ll put a warning then

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

If you told 16 year old Steve Harrington that he was 21, best friends and platonic soulmates with a lesbian, and boyfriend of Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson he would’ve laughed in your face. A meaner, crueler twist of the sound coming from his mouth now, pressed to the front door of his parents house.

“I have to get the door open.” He giggled against said boyfriend's lips.

Eddie just pulled away with a dramatic sigh, “If you insist.” He settled for grabbing Steve’s hand instead, twisting the ring that sat on his finger.

It was Eddie’s ring. Silver with black, swirling lines carved through the metal. He’d gotten down on one knee 6 months ago, yanked off one of the many rings that decorated his hand, and confessed his ‘hopelessly undying love’ for Steve. He had all of three seconds to process before he was fighting the stinging in his eyes and nodding like a crazy person. It wasn’t even a marriage proposal, they weren’t dating yet but nobody had done anything so heartfelt just for him. He hadn’t taken the ring off since. Steve couldn’t believe it had already been 6 months, he couldn’t remember the last time he was this happy for so long. 

“Pizza and a movie?” Steve asked, tossing his keys to the entryway table. He could hang them on the hook later. 

“You spoil me, Stevie. Really.” Eddie sighed dreamily.

“Well what do you suggest, then?” He shot back, no real malice behind the eye roll.

Eddie used their linked hands to pull them together, he didn’t need to, Steve would go willingly every time. There was a hand on his waist, cold metal raising goosebumps across his skin, and lips on his temple.

“Go sit, babe. I’ll get dinner.” Eddie peeled himself away from Steve, pushing him towards the couch and heading to the kitchen.

So Steve fell back to the couch, legs thrown over the armrest and using the other as a pillow. It was quite a small couch, his mother had never taken functionality into account when she redecorated. She wasn’t the one who had to live here, after all. As long as the neighbors knew they had fancy, expensive, useless furniture who cared about comfort. If his mom was here she’d smack his leg and tell him to sit like a man, she used to do it with a teasing smile but now she wasn’t even around to scold him with a frown. He wished she was here to ridicule him, was that fucked up? That he would rather endure shitty behavior than not have her around at all? His dad could stay gone though, never in his life had he heard one nice word come from his father’s mouth. 

“Pizza will be here in 20.” Eddie called, waltzing into the living room like he lived there. He did, most days, one perk of his parents being gone all the time was getting to have whoever he wanted over whenever he wanted.

“Did you get breadsticks?” Steve sat up slightly so Eddie could flop down on the couch with him.

It was such a domestic question it hurt. They’d been doing this, crashing on his uncomfortable couch with a box of pizza and watching whatever random selection of movies they found at Family Video that week, long before they’d started dating. Sure he liked doing anything at all with Eddie, going to the lake or bumping feet under their booth at the diner were fun, but this was routine. This was them choosing to spend a Friday night doing something so completely mundane together rather than not seeing each other.

“Do I ever forget them?” Eddie asked, smiling. Yeah, Steve could die a happy man if this was the rest of his life.

They picked a movie, it was Eddie’s turn to pick this time and to no surprise he brought A Nightmare On Elm’s Street. They settled into the couch, the only good part about the small love seat was that it meant being almost completely pressed together. That didn’t mean Steve wouldn’t still pretend to be scared, despite having seen this movie enough times to quote it, and huddle even closer. He jumped at all the jump scares and hid his face in Eddie’s shoulder and tried not to smile at the fact that he was finally on the receiving end of the infamous yawn and stretch move, tried not to grin when Eddie’s arm settled over his shoulders but he was sure the man felt it.

When the movie ended they were lying sideways across the couch, legs tangled over the armrest, Steve found himself sliding the pick on Eddie’s necklace up and down the chain absentmindedly. He felt a hand on his back and another moving through his hair. He could’ve fallen asleep right there, slipped into a dreamless coma and woken up in the exact same position, smile never dropping. He almost did, listening to the steady beating of Eddie’s heart and quiet breathing above his ear. Almost.

He knew the sound of the front door slamming open like the back of his hand. He heard it every Wednesday afternoon when Dustin came barreling through his house after Hellfire, Eddie in tow. He heard it when he stumbled into the house after swinging at demodogs all night and dragging himself to the bathroom to get cleaned up. Of course it was impossible to tell those times apart, impossible to know who was about to traipse into the house at that moment.

But Steve also knew the sound of his father’s Oxfords hitting the tile floor of the entrance.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

uh oh. Whatever will happen?? Side note, writing pet names feels so embarrassing but I gotta power through.

Fun fact: I was listening to frat mouse while I wrote this (specifically down the hall and dirty word)

Part 2

[hyukalyptus]

not at all — hueningkai x chubby!fem!reader. NSFW/MDNI!

cw. first date, chubby!reader, mention of eating and drinking, reader's a bit tipsy, pet names (cutie, pretty i think), tummy love obvi, nipple play obvi, marking, biting, tiddy fuck <3, oral (m. receiving), jiggle, unprotected sex, creampie, body worship? notes. this is self indulgent AF!!! reposted from me my old acct, didn't rly edit, smut under cut. wc. 2.2K

“Kai!” You smile when you open the door, greeted by the cutest Kai you’ve ever seen, all dressed up, holding a bouquet of pink peonies, smelling of cologne. It’s only the second time you’ve seen him, but you didn’t think he could get any cuter after meeting him at the bookstore the other day—cute nose in a book, wavy hair falling over his eyes, biting his lip in concentration. 

You’d caught him off guard approaching him, recommending another book based on what he was reading and ended up chatting for a while. 

“Just let me know if you need any other book recommendations once you finish that one.”

“Okay, will do.” He smiled softly, nodding awkwardly.

“I’m gonna go now…so just let me know, yeah?” Pressing his lips together, he nodded again. “Are you here a lot?”

“No, I’m not here too often,” he said, scratching the back of his head. 

“I’m trying to get you to ask me for my number.” 

“Oh! Right, right…phone numbers—ha.” 

You simply look stunning. Your gorgeous dress hugs you in all the right places, accentuating your chest perfectly. It’s a totally different look from the sweater and jeans you were wearing the other day. So seeing your chest like this gives him heart eyes. He’s just absolutely, positively giddy looking at you. It’s difficult for him to even say, “For you,” while he hands you the flowers. 

“Oh, wow, thank you. How’d you know these were my favorite?” You giggle, letting him in your apartment, but he doesn’t go past the front entryway. He simply watches in awe while you find a vase, rambling a bit to him, not even noticing him shyly standing across the room. “Come over here, silly. Make yourself at home,” you say. 

Nodding, he slowly makes his way closer to you, but he does make a point to look over your apartment—noticing little details about you. The quirky gallery wall above your couch, the fancy olive oils near your stovetop, that book you bought from that bookstore where you met resting on your coffee table. “You’re so cute,” you say, his ears turning red hot. “Just come over and have a seat.” You motion to the bar stool behind the kitchen counter. 

Remembering this is a date and he can flirt with you a bit, he says, “You look really pretty.” It might not have been the cheekiest of flirting, but it’s still flirting. 

“Thank you,” you smile. “You look really pretty tonight too.” And he really does—he’s so, so pretty, almost ethereal, like there’s a glow around him. “So, whatcha got planned for us this evening?” You ask, leaning over the counter, sparkly eyes blinking up at him, tits peeking out over the neckline of your dress. He tries—really, he does—maintaining eye contact, but you’re so, so pretty too, he can’t look at your eyes either. 

So he opts for checking his watch before saying, “I’ve got reservations for us in about a half hour. We should probably get going actually.”

“Oh, okay! Sure,” you smile, grabbing your bag and heading out the front door. 

It’s such a cute, cozy place. All the walls and decor are so warm, it’d make anyone want to cuddle, but for touchy-feely people like the two of you, you’re already all cuddled into each other. 

The two of you clicked as soon as you sat down. You haven’t stopped giggling, touching his arm, you’ve caught him glancing down at your lips more than a few times. And he just can’t get enough of you. You are the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. He truly believes that. 

After dinner and a few glasses of wine later, you ask him—with your best please eyes—to walk you back home. And it’s a good thing too, because he was planning to anyway.

Both of your arms wrapped around one of his, he drags you back to your apartment, having the best time walking down a quiet sidewalk together. You look up at him, his strong nose undeniably noticeable, his pink, plush lips curling into a smile while he laughs with you. 

Oh, how you wanted him. He was simply adorable in the way he joked with you, held the door open for you, and reached for the bill. The whole evening, he was dipped in sugar. And he seemed like this big, tall teddy bear waiting to be devoured by you. 

“You wanna come up for another drink?” You asked, silently begging him with your pretty eyes, long eyelashes batting up at him. You weren’t sure where he was with everything, to be honest. You’d never know what he was thinking about you. 

But oh, how he wanted you. It was torture sitting next you, but he’d never let you know that. The way your tits were pushed up by your dress, spilling over the top as you leaned closer and closer to him, how he could see the indent of your belly button under the silky fabric, your thighs spread across the booth. You looked…delicious. He couldn’t wait to get you out of that dress, writhing underneath him while he kissed and bit your tummy for a minimum of ten minutes before flicking his tongue over your clit and oh, you legs wrapped around his head, he had to stop himself before it was too noticeable. 

Following you inside, you start pouring some more wine for the two of you, soon joining him on the couch. And it’s more of the same—laughing, giggling, joking, just having fun in each other’s company. It feels so good and natural being together. Soon enough, you’re not sure if it’s the wine or what, but something comes over you. 

He’s way too polite to initiate anything on a first date, but you? You need him, but you don’t want to come on too strong. The wine isn’t helping though. 

Your hand grazes his thigh and he swears his heartbeat is in his throat. “You look so pretty right now,” you whisper. He swallows, lips parting. “Just…” you trail off, taking a sip of the tarte, red wine, lips stained by now. “The way this candle flickers across your skin…you just look…wow.” 

“Thank you,” he chokes out. Is he even getting the hint? 

“You’re honestly probably the prettiest guy I’ve seen,” you say, setting your glass on the coffee table. “This nose is gorgeous.” You lightly drag the tip of your pinky down his bridge, punctuating it with a cute boop to the tip of his nose. “And your eyes…ah, so pretty.” You drag the pad of your thumb across his eyelashes as his eyes flutter shut. “And don’t even get me started on those lips.” You rest back against the couch, smirking at him. 

“No, no, go ahead,” he says, the slightest hint of a giggle in his voice. “What about my lips?”

Ah, he’s got the hint now. “Just how kissable they look. And…” you start, leaning closer to him, hand inching higher and higher on his thigh, faces close enough to feel each other’s breath on your lips. “I want them all over me.” 

Catching your lips with his, he carefully sets the wine glass down before squeezing your thigh, earning a nice groan from you. Pushing off his jacket, he slips his arms out of the sleeves, reaching for your waist, guiding you to straddle his lap. He’s surprisingly good at this based on his shy, cute demeanor throughout the rest of the evening. Legs falling over his, he cranes his neck to reach your lips before trailing down your neck, hands all over your hips. 

“Fuck…” you sigh, hands tangling into his hair. Already burying his face in your cleavage to kiss even more of your skin, both of your breathing starting to get heavy. “My, uh…my bedroom’s down that hallway,” you say and he got the hint immediately.

Hoisting you up with a grunt, thick legs wrapped around his waist, your lips part only briefly as he finds the door knob. Dropping you to your bed, you desperately unbutton his shirt before sliding it off him. He pushes your dress up past your waist, letting out a groan of relief at the sight of your tummy and how gorgeous it is. One hand on your waist, the other on your tit, he simply attacks it with kisses, sucks, and bites. 

You’re not really sure what he’s doing—no one’s ever done this with you before. He doesn’t stop showing your tummy love while his hips grind into the mattress. He must really love tummies. The idea of him pining after your belly all night fills you with butterflies. 

Turning away from him, he whines and pouts at the loss of your beauty, but you say, “I just want this dress off me.” Nodding, he finds the zipper, quickly pulling it over your head and tossing it to the floor to get back to your tummy as soon as possible. It doesn’t last long, though, because once he squeezes your bare tit for the first time, his eyes widen before he makes his way back up to your chest, squishing them together to bury his face into. 

Finally flicking his tongue over your nipple, you moan so sexily, grinding your hips against him. Pushing him off you, you find a moment to flip him on his back, reaching for his pants button, slipping them off quickly. 

It’s your turn to shower his body with kisses and love, starting with a sweet, gentle kiss to his nose, making your way down his chest, licking over his nipples briefly, spending a good amount of time on his tummy, then his glorious thighs. And the beauty that is his cock—pinker than the rest of him and leaking wonderfully. 

Holding him gently, your mouth drops open, but you look up at him through your eyelashes for permission and he nods, eyebrows stitched together. Sinking your lips around his cock, you drag your lips down so slowly, making him whine, cheeks turning pink from embarrassment. One thing about him is…it doesn’t take much for him. Doesn’t take much before he starts begging…begging to fuck you. 

“Be patient, cutie.” And suddenly, you remember, this guy loves tummies and tits—you wrap your tits around his cock, bouncing them up and down and his brain short circuits. The sight of you like this—

“Holy fuck—” he gasps, head falling back against the pillow, rolling his hips between your cleavage. His dominant side seems to have completely vanished under everything you’re doing to him, which you love. Fingers fumbling as they try to wrap around your hair, breath rattling as your name leaves his mouth, toes curling. 

Releasing, you straddle his waist, his big hands squeezing your hips as you reach underneath yourself for his cock, rubbing it up and down your folds. 

He’s so tantalizing, it doesn’t take long to give into him, sinking down on him completely, his eyes slamming shut at the feeling of you. His hands are all over you. Squeezing your bouncing tits, pinching your waist, squishing your soft ass, holding your hips for stability. 

And goddamn does he feel good, reaching the deepest parts of you, giving you butterflies with the way he looks up at you, squeezing you in all the right places. 

“Oh my god,” you breathe. “You’re so…your cock feels…you—”

“I hope the ends of these sentences are good,” he chuckles. You simply don’t know what to do with yourself as you try grounding yourself by grabbing a tit, then running your hands through your hair, anything, but you can only nod before you find the strength to respond. 

“Yes, yes,” you pant. “You feel so, so, so good. Holy fucking shit.”

Fucking up into you, he’s desperately chasing his orgasm, cock sliding in and out of your pussy so deliciously. His breath is erratic as his head drops against his pillow, knots in his stomach tightening with each bounce, fiercely gripping your waist, orgasm quickly approaching. Your whines, the way you’re bouncing over him, the sight of your tits jiggling furiously sends him over the edge. 

And “Fuck, you’re perfect.” Everything about you. His legs involuntarily lift off the bed, muscles trembling as he cums inside you, the feeling washing over you as you’re chasing your own orgasm. 

But it doesn’t take long—one of his thumbs circling over your clit and the other over your nipple is more than enough to send you over the edge. You’re a whimpering mess, fucking yourself on his overstimulated cock, mouth dropping open, obscene sounds spilling out. Falling forward, your tits rub up against his chest as you ride it out. 

You don’t really do much—just lay on top of him while you two catch your breath, his fingertips dragging across your back until his cock slips out of you on its own. 

He finally breaks the silence, “Wow, that was…”

“Yeah, that was great,” you hold your head up to look down at him with a smirk, pecking his nose. “I like you.”

“Ah, stop…” he giggles. “I like you too.” You sit up, running your fingers through your hair and his hands find themselves in the pinch of your waist, thumbs rubbing circles on your hips, but he chuckles and says, “Oh my gosh, look.” You look down and three beautiful hickeys had already bloomed on your belly. He looks a bit embarrassed and admits, “Yeah, I kinda have a thing for tummies.”

“Oh yeah? I couldn’t tell,” you sarcastically, rolling your eyes playfully.

“Is that weird?”

You press gentle kisses to his jaw as you shake your head and say “Not at all, cutie.”

[bradleysass]

Family Gatherings - @noblehouseofgay - word count: 993 - 25 Days of Jegumas - Are family gatherings always positive?

Regulus Black paced the polished marble floors of the drawing room, his steps quiet but frantic. The flickering flames from the ornate fireplace cast his shadow against the room's dark-paneled walls, making him look even smaller than he felt. He tugged at the sleeves of his perfectly pressed shirt, his nerves fraying with every passing second.

It was absurd, really. He knew that. Inviting James Potter to spend Christmas at Grimmauld Place was nothing short of reckless. His parents—strict, old-blooded purists—wouldn't just disapprove; they would be scandalized. But the thought of enduring their oppressive atmosphere and pointed disapproval alone was unbearable.

Besides, James had insisted.

"I’m not leaving you to deal with those stuck-up wankers alone, Reggie," he’d said, his voice warm and resolute. "And if I’ve got to wear something posh to charm them, so be it. Just tell me what to bring, and I’ll be there."

The doorbell echoed through the house like a tolling bell. Regulus froze. Kreacher shuffled past with a grumble, muttering something about "unworthy visitors" as he went to answer it.

Taking a deep breath, Regulus steadied himself and stepped into the hallway.

James stood in the entryway, a grin lighting up his face despite the oppressive atmosphere of Grimmauld Place. He was dressed impeccably: a crisp, tailored suit in deep navy that complemented his warm complexion, polished shoes, and—was that a silver tie? Regulus blinked.

“You…clean up well,” Regulus said, his voice betraying a mix of surprise and affection.

James laughed, stepping forward to press a quick kiss to Regulus's temple. “Told you I could be fancy when I want to be. Now, where are these terrifying parents of yours?”

Before Regulus could respond, Walburga Black swept into the hall, Orion trailing just behind her. Her sharp eyes narrowed as they landed on James.

“And who, pray tell, is this?” she asked, her voice icy.

“James Potter,” James said smoothly, extending a hand. His tone was polite, but his confidence was unshakable. “Regulus invited me to join you for Christmas dinner.”

Walburga ignored the hand, her lips curling in disdain. “A Potter,” she repeated, as if the name itself was a curse.

James's smile didn’t falter. “That’s right. I hope to prove I’m not nearly as dreadful as you might think.”

Walburga raised an eyebrow, her gaze darting to Regulus. “And why, exactly, is he here?”

Regulus opened his mouth, but James beat him to it. “Because your son deserves a Christmas where he’s not suffocated by tradition,” he said lightly, though his eyes flashed with determination. “I thought I’d lighten the mood a bit.”

Orion, who had been quiet until now, gave James a once-over. “You’re the Quidditch player, aren’t you? Chaser for Gryffindor?”

James nodded. “That’s me. Regulus and I had some memorable matches.”

Orion smirked faintly. “I’ve heard you’re talented. A shame about the company you keep.”

James’s jaw tightened, but he forced a smile. “Funny, I was going to say the same,” he replied smoothly.

Dinner began as a cold, tense affair, with Walburga and Orion making thinly veiled comments about James’s background, while James parried with polite but firm replies. Regulus sat stiffly, his hands clenched under the table, trying not to let the tension overwhelm him.

The breaking point came during dessert. Orion, who had been sipping from his wine glass with increasing disdain, finally set it down with a loud clink and leveled James with a withering glare.

“Tell me, Mr. Potter,” he began, his voice dangerously low, “do you honestly believe you’re good enough for my son? A Potter, whose family has spent generations cozying up to Mudbloods and half-blood filth, daring to sit here and play the part of a respectable wizard?”

James froze. The jovial light in his eyes disappeared, replaced by a sharp, simmering anger. Slowly, he pushed his chair back and stood.

“Father,” Regulus said quickly, his voice taut, “that’s enough.”

But Orion ignored him, his gaze fixed on James. “No, let him answer. What does a boy like him think he can offer someone like Regulus? Respectability? Status? Power? You have nothing, Potter, and you will never be anything more than a stain on wizarding society.”

The next moment happened in a blur. James’s fist curled at his side, his knuckles white as his temper boiled over. He took a step forward, his posture rigid and threatening.

“Say that again,” James said, his voice low and deadly.

Regulus was on his feet in an instant, stepping between them. He placed a hand on James’s chest, his touch firm yet grounding. “James,” he said softly, but urgently. “Don’t.”

James’s eyes flicked to Regulus, his fury wavering under the younger Black’s imploring gaze. Slowly, he unclenched his fists, exhaling through his nose as he stepped back.

“This is what I mean,” Orion sneered. “Hot-headed and impulsive. You’ll drag him down with you.”

James turned to Orion, his voice calm but cold. “The only thing dragging Regulus down is this house and the people in it.”

Walburga gasped, her face a mask of fury, but James didn’t stay to see her reaction. He grabbed Regulus’s hand and said, “We’re leaving.”

Regulus didn’t argue. He let James lead him out of the dining room, their footsteps echoing in the stunned silence.

When they reached the hallway, James stopped, his shoulders rising and falling as he struggled to rein in his anger. Regulus placed a hand on his arm, squeezing gently.

“Thank you,” Regulus murmured.

James looked at him, his expression softening. “For what?”

“For not punching my father,” Regulus said, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

James chuckled despite himself, wrapping an arm around Regulus’s shoulders. “Don’t thank me yet. Next time he opens his mouth, I might not be so restrained.”

Regulus leaned into him, his heart swelling with gratitude and love. “You were perfect,” he whispered.

James pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “And you’re worth it.”

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

let me wrap my teeth around the world

Ao3 | 7.1k Words | Babe's POV

Early into their relationship, Asher and Babe get hot and heavy on the couch in his and David's apartment. David walks in on them. He has been in love with Asher for years. He decides to deal with that through an ill advised threesome.

TW: some rough sex, hair pulling, light choking, power dynamics, and unhealthy coping mechanisms. MINORS DNI!!!

Also, Babe is described with a number of masculine features including genitalia.

You had Asher exactly where you wanted him, half dressed, blushing and panting, and pinned beneath you on the sinfully plush couch in his and David’s living room. He was moaning and bucking up into you where you straddled his hips, and his roommate wasn’t due to be home for another hour at least. You could take him right here, string his pleasure out along the minutes and move the whole ordeal to his bedroom by the time you were set to be interrupted. You wondered how many times you could make him come before he gave out on you. 

“Fuck,” Ash whined, his rasping voice half a step higher than where it usually sat, “Babe, please!” 

“Please what, Puppy?” You grinned, running your tongue along the sharp, long line of his throat. He bared his neck for you, gave you better access to his delicate skin. Asher was an animal in more ways than you could understand, and he still exposed the most delicate, most vulnerable parts of himself to you at the first indication you wanted them. He was a thing of beauty. 

Ash had opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the front door opened. You startled, pushing up from where you had spread out over Asher’s bare chest. His hands splayed across your hips to steady you as he propped up on one elbow. 

David looked… haggard. He shouldered open the front door, cursing as the key fought against him. It was an old building, and the locks acted up in the winter. Still clad in his Shaw Security tee-shirt and one of Ash’s spare jackets, you could see the stress that lined his entire body. His face was pinched, like he was gearing up to start shouting at the first person that made themself known. From your vantage point still straddling Asher’s lap, you were able to see the exact moment that David realized what was happening on his couch. 

His eyes slid from you to Ash, surprise wiping away the tension from his features for a split second. He seemed to realize what a compromising position you both were in a moment later and that the door was still open into the corridor for the neighbors to see. He slammed it shut, pressing his back against it.

God, Asher had the nerve to laugh. Fucking asshole. 

“Oh hey,” he grinned, arching his back into you, showing off the muscles that wrapped around his rib cage and led to the delightful curve of his spine. David rolled his eyes nearly in time with you. 

“Asshole,” he growled at Asher, tossing his keys into the fancy little dish he put on the ‘entryway’ table just inside the door. David did his best to make this little apartment as homey as possible, contending with Asher’s immature decore taste and cabinet scorching tendencies to do so. It was nice. David had nice taste. “Put a sock on the door or something next time.” 

“Very generous,” you grinned, “assuming there will be a next time. You told me he wouldn’t get home for another hour.” You eyed Asher under you and spread one palm up his abs, patting him three times sharply, like a spanking. 

David eyed you suspiciously, his dark eyes vicious as they cut into you. You were well aware of his initial opinion of you; that you were just another in a long line of fuck buddies who chased after Asher for his looks and took little to no interest in his heart. His giant, glowing, giving heart. His heart that fell and broke for anybody who gave him a second chance. You assumed that David had seen more than a handful of potential partners turn into pleasure-seeking assholes in his time as Asher’s best friend. It likely got tiring after a while, picking up the pieces when everybody left. 

And under that well-worn protectiveness was something else, something baser. You saw how David looked at Ash. You saw how Ash looked back. When Asher took you home to meet David, they greeted each other intimately; David’s hand sliding along the back of Asher’s neck, pulling his head in to press their temples together, a breath away from a kiss. Something in both of them eased in that moment, like they’d been holding a breath in each other’s absence and were finally able to let it out. 

That was love. You didn’t know if it was romantic. You didn’t know if it mattered. David loved Asher. Asher loved him back. You didn’t know how they had managed not to fall together over the years, but they hadn’t. That was your luck. It was also the source of David’s jealousy of you, of that much you were certain. 

You couldn’t blame him. Asher was something to covet. 

“No, wait, come on-” Asher arched up into you, wrapping an arm around your back and pulling you down to meet him as he half-sat-up. You could feel his core muscles flex to hold you both. He ground up into you, and you barely bit back an unseemly moan at the friction, even through your clothes. “David doesn’t mind. He’s just a little possessive. But you get that, don’t you, Babe?” Ash brushed a kiss against your cheek, trailing his wet, swollen lips across your skin until he found your lips. He pecked them chastely, a teasing touch with a promise of heat behind it. His eyes never left David, hot, dark, and half-lidded. 

This was something that the two of you had talked about before. Asher was unabashed about his attraction to David. The two of you looked remarkably alike, if not in stature than in fine details. Your noses. Your cheekbones. Your eyes. You could see, looking in the mirror, the parts of you that Ash found in David, the parts of David he found in you. Asher said that you were easy to love. You supposed that he had had decades of practice at this point. 

Ash hadn’t come right out and said he wanted to have a threeway with David, but he had certainly implied it. You wondered if he had talked to David about it. If David had said ‘no.’ Or, God, if he had said ‘yes.’ 

David Shaw wasn’t your type. It was hard for anything to be your type when Asher was the one spread out under you, bending his body to your every whim. But you could find the edges of your pleasure along the lines of his body. His straining muscles, his staggering height, his stern features. There was something beautiful there. 

“Fuck you,” David growled, his face twisting up with discomfort. You sat up suddenly, Asher’s hands falling back to your hips innocently. As soon as David gave the indication that he wasn’t into it, Asher and his facade fell away. 

“Sorry,” he said immediately, “sorry, big guy. We can, um-” 

“No- I-” David ran a hand over his face. He caved inward a bit. You’d seen him do that a few times. David Shaw was a fucking building of a man. Every once in a while, he crumbled. “Fuck- wait-” He extended a hand towards you two, his palm flat and open in invitation. Asher blinked at him owlishly for a moment before he surged up. He lifted you, set your feet on the ground, and framed your rib cage in his hands. Your shirt was mostly unbuttoned, mused from your workday and all of Asher’s impatient ministrations. He bent and pressed a kiss to your sternum, his lips warm and firm and unrelenting. When he pulled back, his eyes were bright and sure. You laid a hand on his cheek, kept those eyes on you. And then he turned away. 

He stepped forward, right into David’s space, and ran his hands from David’s pecs up and over his shoulders. You watched his nimble fingers fiddle with the neck of David’s shirt before helping him shrug the just-barely-too-small jacket off of his broad shoulders. 

“You’re sure?” Asher asked him, his voice low and pure. “We can go.” 

“No.” David answered, decisively. “No, I’m fine. I…” his dark eyes flicked down Asher’s face, lingering on those sinful, swollen lips. “I trust you.” It was easy when he said it to Asher. His eyes found you. “Both of you.” That one took some work, but he meant it. You nodded once, trying to take on an air of decision and confidence. It was a little hard to be sure when David Shaw was on the other side of your six-month-old relationship. If anybody could do it, though, it was you. 

“Come on,” Ash took David’s big hand in one of his and reached for yours with the other. Slowly, with that glint of mischief back in his eyes, he lead you both towards the back of the apartment. 

“My room,” David ordered gently. “Bigger bed.” He explained simply, shrugging down at you. 

“Cleaner, too.” You nodded. A sly smile cut across David’s tense features. 

“Oh my God, it is not that bad!” Ash laughed, high and sweet. You wanted to bottle that sound. 

David’s bed was bigger, much bigger. He must have necessitated it. Men as big as David didn’t just settle for queens. In all honesty, Ash was probably too tall for his own bed. He tended to sleep curled up, though, either around you or into himself, a tight little ball of long, lean limbs and muscle. 

David’s door had stayed perpetually closed since you’d been dating Asher, and your curiosity for how he kept his space was always squashed by your respect for his privacy. When he opened his door, you were met by a remarkably plain space. His bed was made with simple, navy sheets and a handful of plush pillows. The room was softly lit, exactly the right amount of light for this sort of activity. He fussed over a t-shirt that was hanging out of his laundry hamper, apologizing for the mess. 

You stepped into the space slowly, taking it in, before you settled on the bed, staring out at David and Asher. Ash smiled, flashed his sharp teeth, and took hold of one of David’s hands. He drew David towards the bed, glancing over his shoulder towards you as he giggled low in his chest. Fuck, you hated when he laughed like that, like he was begging to be admonished. Like he was the cat that ate the canary and was waiting patiently for his punishment. 

You felt a bit hesitant as Asher hopped onto the bed, one hand snaking over your chest and shoulder, the other working at the hem of David’s shirt deftly. Stupid, clever fingers, always moving, fidgeting. Asher could tie a bow with one hand and his eyes closed. He had no trouble getting David’s fitted t-shirt up and off of his cut form while he bent to bite at your neck. You kept your eyes on David, watched his reactions, cautious and cutting. 

David finally helped Ash pull his shirt off and let those clever hands start exploring his chest. Asher pinched and squeezed, digging his fingers into the particularly tense bundle of muscles between his neck and shoulders. Ash tutted, his face screwing up in mock disapproval. 

“So tense,” he muttered, his head still tucked into your neck, “feel this, his shoulders are rock hard.” 

One of your hands, so unfamiliar with this sort of touch towards anybody besides Asher, landed gently on David’s shoulder. Thin fingers pressed into his muscle and you hummed. You began rubbing little circles into David, releasing the tension masterfully. David let out a soft moan, his face flashing with surprise and embarrassment the moment after it left him. 

“It’s because you’re so stressful.” You accused. “I wouldn’t be surprised if his whole back is in knots.” You bent and pressed a kiss to Asher’s neck. Ash folded immediately, a delicious little sound falling out of him as he bared his neck for you to nip at. “Why don’t you help the poor man relax?”

Asher smiled that smile again, that I’m-about-to-be-a-real-pain-in-your-ass smile. David’s face flashed with an attempt at hide his arousal, but he didn’t stand a chance. Not when your cool thin hands started leading him, still pressing expertly into his sore muscles, and directed him to sit on the edge of the bed. Not when Asher pressed open-mouthed kisses on his neck and shoulder, the whisper of his teeth running against David’s skin. Not when Asher moved around him, brushing teasing touches across his skin. 

You snaked your hands around David’s waist and unbuckled his belt. Asher wasn’t the only one with clever fingers, after all. You began to alternate between massaging his shoulders and sucking bruises into the skin of them. David’s head tilted back as you worked, the soft noises that he had attempted to hold back were coming louder and louder now. You kept him distracted and Asher worked him out of his jeans and boxers, right up until the moment that Ash dragged his tongue from the base of David’s half-hard cock to the head, letting out a sinful moan as he did, as if sucking David off was the single most pleasurable thing he could imagine. 

Something ugly and jealous and possessive flared up in your chest. David’s head thunked back on your shoulder, his face contorting and trying to hold on to its familiar tension. He needed this. He had been needing this. Asher was something more for him. If it took a probably ill-advised threesome after what appeared to be a bad fucking day to ease that suspicion and accusation from David’s eyes when he looked at you, then it would be worth it. 

This wasn’t about you. It couldn’t be about you. 

Just that touch from Asher had David’s eyes rolling back and his knees buckling. He plopped down on the edge of the bed, one hand coming up to grip onto your shoulder, the other flying to Asher’s hair. His fingers tangled with those pretty curls. Ash groaned, leaned into David’s hand, his long fingers gripping the base of David’s cock as he laughed. 

“You can pull.” He said. “I like when it hurts.” 

“ Fuck,” David groaned, and you really couldn’t blame him. You couldn’t help but imagine your hand print, stark red on Asher’s ass. 

Asher laughed again, that stupid, infuriating laugh, and pumped his fist around David’s cock a few times before wrapping his lips around the head. You were intimately familiar with Ash’s routine when giving head. It was, reportedly, one of his favorite things in the world to do. He was swirling his tongue around the head once, twice, three times. It was torture. It wasn’t enough. 

“Tease,” David accused, giving his hair a tug. 

“Isn’t he?” You breathed against David’s neck, hands slipping around to trail circles on David’s chest. “Don’t be shy, he can take you. And then some.” Asher snickered, his eyes full of challenge even with his lips wrapped around David’s cock. 

“Is that so?” David grumbled, adjusting his grip on Asher’s hair. You watched as he slipped his fingers over Ash’s scalp, palming his head in what looked like a gentle caress for just a moment. Then, he curled his fingers, threading curls between them, and got a strong, controlling grip on Asher’s head. It was a very intentional way to grab someone’s hair, what you would argue was the correct way. It ensured that he wouldn’t actually hurt Ash, or damage his precious curl pattern. Something about that intention made your chest soften. 

Ash closed his eyes to the feeling, a blissed-out expression melting over his face. He smiled, popped off of David’s cock before resting it against his face. You could estimate just how far down Ash’s throat David would reach. You pressed your lips to David’s ear so only he would hear this next part. 

“He doesn’t have a gag reflex.” You offered that little tidbit up like it was casual conversation. You smiled against his skin. David groaned, his hips bucking involuntarily. 

David made use of his hold on Asher’s hair and directed his head where he wanted it. Ash followed along obediently, even though that defiant glare in his eyes didn’t dim. He hummed as he lapped at the head, taking his languid time winding David up. At that point, he must have been achingly hard, and he seemed to grow impatient with Ash’s teasing. 

David gave Asher’s hair a tug just a second before pushing his head down on his cock. Ash groaned and opened his throat to accommodate him, let the high hum of his moan buzz around David. 

Fuck, he looked beautiful. A blush was dusted across his high cheekbones, his eyes half-lidded and glassy. His hands dug into David’s thick thighs, flexing and gripping at the muscle that strained under David’s weakening control. David keened and curled forward and you moved with him, a strong arm wrapping around his shoulders to steady him. 

“Easy,” you instructed, calm dominance falling easily into place, even though you imagined it would brush awkwardly against David’s own nature. As it was, the poor man seemed to be struggling to stay afloat. You were more than happy to take over if he needed it. “Don’t take your eyes off of him. Don’t waste such a pretty view.” David flung his eyes open and dragged his head off of your shoulder, pulled his hands back so Ash could take a breath. You watched as their eyes met, that connection between them snapping into place. Asher’s pretty eyes were glazed over and hungry, but still calculating and taking in every detail of David’s body. You couldn’t help the endearment that fluttered in your chest. 

“So beautiful,” David muttered, his thumb trailing down the line of Ash’s cheekbone. Asher’s eyes rolled back at the words, another moan rumbling through his chest. David pressed gently on the back of Ash’s head, guiding him back down his length. He pushed Ash’s stray curls away from his face almost gently, reverently. 

They settled into a steady, gentle pace, David guiding Asher’s head back and forth slowly, almost restrained. You imagined that he didn’t want to test Asher’s supposedly non-existent gag reflex too far. You had to admit, David’s length was certainly impressive, and if you hadn’t seen exactly what Asher was capable of, you would be worried too. This was perhaps the only part of Asher that you knew better than David did. 

Asher took to it like an old hat, like he’d sucked David off a million times before, and the little tricks he’d picked ip along the way had melted into muscle memory. Your hands worked out the tension as it rose up in David’s shoulders, eventually traveling down his back. Your mouth moved up his neck, biting and sucking what you knew would be very embarrassing hickeys come morning. There was probably some sort of magical cheat to getting rid of those, so you didn’t hold back. Your intense focus was zeroed in on Asher, and a smile quirked every lick and kiss against David’s skin. 

David’s head lolled back onto your shoulder, moaning shamelessly, his body tensing and releasing over and over again. Suddenly, he pulled back Asher’s head, bared his slender neck as Asher gasped and swallowed, drool and pre-come dripping down the line of his throat. David’s cock visibly twitched at the sight alone, and he sucked a sharp breath, clenching his free hand into a white-knuckled fist. 

“Are you okay?” Asher asked, his voice wrecked and devoid of his usual mischief, plainly concerned and gentle. That fucker could move from a carefully guarded facade to earnest transparency in the space of a breath. It often left you confused, disoriented, one step behind, breathless. 

“I’m fine,” David said, his hand coming to rest on Asher’s cheek, gently wiping away a tear that had escaped past Asher’s thick lashes. Your hands had stilled over his chest at the first sign of trouble, but now began to gently stroke circles over his pectorals, trying to move that touch to ground and comfort him. “I just…” he blushed, broke eye contact with Asher, “I don’t want to come yet.” 

Asher laughed, high and rasping. He ran his hands up and down David’s thighs, squeezing handfuls of muscle, what looked to be just this side of painful. 

“He’s eager.” You murmured into David’s ear. The sound of David’s low groan sent a ping of arousal down your spine. He let his head fall back to your shoulder as the tension fully left his body. You felt him up, heavy as he was boneless and imp. “Like a dog with a bone.” Asher made an offended tutting noise but didn’t refute the allegation. “How should we take him, hmm?” You hummed into David’s neck. “He’s so flexible. So obedient.” 

You guided his head up, pointed David’s gaze down at Asher. Wide, bright eyes started back, open, alert, attentive. A delicious blush Dusted Ash’s cheeks and tipped his ears, his smattering of freckles standing stark against his tanned skin. David found some amount of strength in his arms again, but only enough to cup Asher’s face in his hands, to stroke that heated cheek in a touch you would almost call loving. 

“Up.” You ordered. Asher jerked but didn’t move. His body’s instinct was to obey, but he held himself back stubbornly, his hands folded in his lap, framing his achingly hard cock picturesquely. If you had a talented bone in his body, you would paint Ash just like this; on his knees, looking up at you with something like daring in his eyes. 

“I love when he’s in this sort of moon.” You grinned. Asher huffed at David’s feet, like he was upset to be talked about like he wasn’t there. A smile spread over David’s features at the little pinched that formed between Ash’s brows. So cute. “It’s suck a treat to put him in his place.” 

Asher tensed like a rabbit about to bolt. You were faster than him when he let you be, and David was stronger. The two of you surged forward, almost as one, and snatched Asher from the ground. A mess of flailing limbs, Ash screeched, his yell cutting off into high giggles as the two of you pinned him down. David’s huge hands engulfed Asher’s slender wrists. Ash’s trim waist heaved and tensed as he struggled, kicking out against your hold on his legs. Splayed as he was on the bed, you could see every inch of him, glistening with sweat as he tried to bite at David’s wrist, turning his limbs in every way to escape. Your fingers would bruise into his skin, You salivated at the very idea of it. 

You turned Ash, hitching one slender, muscled leg over your shoulder as you sucked two fingers into your mouth, running your tongue between the digits dramatically. Asher’s eyes locked on to you, a moan escaping him as he watched your little show. Once you were satisfied that you’d teased him enough, you dipped those fingers into him, drawing out a surprised moan that buzzed against David’s thigh. For all of his posturing, Ash didn’t escape now that he easily could have. You knew intimately the kinds of acrobatics Ash was capable of with just one free leg. He just tensed, his foot flexing against your shoulder, his back arching almost unnaturally as he chased your fingers. 

“So tight for me.” You growled. There was something predatory in your chest, like a big cat prowling towards its prey. Your eyes were lidded and sharp, and you locked your focus on Asher’s little moans and shudders and whines. “And I thought you’d still be nice and loose from earlier.” 

Asher laughed, tilted his head back to stare up at David, his eyes hooded with arousal. Still untouched, Ash’s cock twitched and pulsed in tone with your thrusts, red and beading with desperate need. David groaned at the sight of him and you couldn’t fucking blame him. Ash was debauched and ruined and staring needily up at him, as if the relief he wanted was waiting in David’s eyes. 

“He can get pretty loud.” you said, stroking one hand up Asher’s tensed thigh. “Give that mouth something to do, love.” 

The endearment surprised you, but not as much as the high, desperate whine that escaped Ash’s throat. His face pinched in desperation, and when David was still at his urging, Ash opened his mouth, hung his tongue out over his chin, a pathetic invitation to use him. 

If you could capture that image, you’d wear it around your finger like a wedding ring. 

David couldn’t seem to resit that face, those eyes, that hot, breathy moan. He surged forward, pinned Asher’s arms with either knee, and framed his head with his thighs. David took his own cock in hand, stroked himself once, twice, slow and still slick from Ash’s mouth. He held himself just out of reach, smiling sharply as Ash cursed and strained to reach him. 

“So desperate.” He breathed, more observation than admonishment. Ash’s blush darkened and his eyes fluttered closed. Ash found his pleasure somewhere between praise and degradation. It was a middle ground you didn’t have much experience with before meeting him, but one that you’d found your footing in eventually. David seemed to be falling in line as well, although you were making it easy for him. David didn’t need to think, didn’t have to guard Asher’s reactions, didn’t have to take up the hyper-vigilance around him like he did whenever he was with the pack. David was constantly protective, constantly on guard for any threat that approached his people. This was about him. You could take this weight off of his shoulders, if only for this evening. 

David thrust slowly into his own fist before moving lower, letting Asher’s clever mouth envelope one of his balls. He groaned, squeezed hard at the base of his cock with two fingers to keep control of his twitching cock. Asher hummed high on his pallet and hollowed his cheeks. He had done this a million times before and knew exactly how to drive David insane. He let his head roll back, let Asher work. 

You took the opportunity to lick a stripe up your palm and slick yourself up. You’d been ignoring your own needs this entire time, and just that touch was enough to drive you crazy. If that was took much, sinking into Asher, warm and inviting as he was made you see stars. You bent over him, fingers digging into the meat of Asher’s thighs, breathing harshly through clenched teeth as you bottomed out in Asher’s eager hole. You’d always prided yourself on your control. Control over your emotions, your actions, your urges. But here you were, barely maintaining it, teetering over the edge towards animalistic. You hung your head forward and breathed shallowly, panting with the effort it took to control the twitch of your hips. Asher moaned, a ditsy smile spreading across his face. He, who was always buzzing with movement and unfettered energy, was perfectly still and satisfied for a few heartbeats. Then as he grew impatient, he whined, his blissed-out expression marred by annoyance, and began to fuck himself back on your cock. 

A sound close to a growl emerged from your chest, one hand snapped to Asher’s stomach, splayed and pressing into the bulge your cock had formed there. David clenched his jaw, flashing teeth in warning, his eyes locking with yours. Careful, that look said. He’s mine. He’s mine. 

Eventually, the tension snapped. You broke eye contact first, casting your gaze away in what David could choose to interpret as submission if he wanted to. You didn’t know if you were capable of something like that, but if it calmed the wolf in David’s chest, then he could think whatever he wanted. At the end of the day, it was your bed that Asher would sink into. 

Slowly, agonizingly, you began to move, your hand still pressed Asher’s stomach. The skin of his belly extended with each thrust, and he moaned as he was held in place. 

“Fuck!” He cried, sounding close to tears. “Fuck- just- please! Faster!” 

“Or what, Puppy?” You hummed, your voice twisting between gentle coos and condescension. “What will you do?”

Asher huffed in frustration, twisting halfheartedly in your hold before going limp. He shot those sweet, round eyes at you, but you were immune to them at this point. 

“If you don’t behave,” you warned, your voice low and dangerous, “I’ll just leave you like this. Really give you something to whine about.” 

Asher jerked, his arms straining against David’s hold in his attempt to rectify his mistake. 

“No!” He cried, a hint of hysteria at the edges of his voice. “No! I promise I’ll behave!” His voice cracked on the words, wrecked and high. “I’ll be a good boy.” 

You couldn’t help but look up at David as he watched this exchange, to monitor his reaction as if it had any real weight to the dynamic you’d lovingly crafted with Asher. He was watching, dark eyed dazed, mouth open and breathless. David had a dominant edge, and he used it when he needed to corral Asher’s antics. But in the six months you’d been with Asher, you’d never seen someone do it as easily as you. You preened with the pride of it, with the knowledge that despite all of the love and time shared by the two of them, you had David beat at this at the very least. 

“So polite.” You grinned around the words. “I usually have to work a touch harder for you to be this… agreeable.” Your eyes flashed up to David, your chest filled with something between delight and wariness. David held, unflinching. “Be a good boy,” Asher moaned at the honorific, just the sound of it making his cock twitch, “show our guest how useful you can be.”

Asher looked up at David through his thick lashes, eyes glazed over and bleary. You had fucked that bright, insistent brattiness that never seemed to leave Asher, even when exhausted, injured, unconscious. And you’d done it in a blowjob and a few, shallow thrusts. 

David seemed to become aware of himself again, aware of Ash’s hot, wet mouth under him, aware of your calculating eyes watching him. He stroked himself once more, reacquainting himself with the feeling. Asher’s clever mouth opened when David pressed the head to his swollen lips, enveloped him once more in that heat like velvet. David closed his eyes to the feeling and seemed to lose himself in it entirely. 

You watched as Asher opened his throat up to David, angling his head just right so David could bottom out with every throat. Ash’s back arched, his throat elongated, showing off the dark bruises you had sucked into it before David had interrupted you two. David’s breath stuttered, his hands falling to Ash’s shoulders, holding him still as he fucked into him, watching the shape of his cock appear through the near-translucent skin of Asher’s neck. He cursed, one hand gripping tightly at the shape, and stroked himself once through Asher.

Your control snapped at the same moment David’s did. As he fucked forward, you pulled back, as he pulled back nearly far enough to see the head of his cock, you bottomed out inside of Ash. You pushed him back and forth from one cock to another, endlessly filled, continuously fucked. Asher made a series of devastating sounds, alternating between choking on David’s cock and moaning hoarsely with his sparse breath. You two wouldn’t last long now, not when Ash was this warm and soft and his hole swallowed you like it was all his body was built to do. 

You could feel David’s eyes on you as you snapped a series of precise thrusts into Ash, hitting him in just the right spot. Once you felt Ash contort around you as the tip of your cock brushed against his prostate, you adjusted to hit him there with every thrust. You always did aim to please. 

The muscles in your abdomen seized, your thrusts losing some rhythm as you approached your climax. You reached blindly for Ash’s untouched cock. You wrapped your hand around it, all pretense of teasing lost in your eagerness. That touch alone, in combination with your relentless assault on his prostate, was enough. Asher spilled messily over your fist and his own stomach, choking out a moan around David’s cock as his entire body tensed. Your hand, still sticky, came up and caught David’s shoulder, supporting him as he doubled over, driving his cock ruthlessly into Asher’s throat. 

“Come on,” you breathed, barely loud enough to hear, “come on, love.” 

Two more strokes and David was burying himself inside of Asher, bending until his forehead met Asher’s spasming stomach. He cried out, a wordless scream of pleasure or pain or relief. David when still and quiet, his body releasing the last of the tension in his sore muscles. 

That was your ultimate goal with all of this. The only issue was that he was still nine inches deep in Asher’s throat when he lost himself. 

You pressed your hands into his shoulders as Asher’s stomach started spasming, his hands smacking at David’s thighs in an attempt to snap him out of it. David gasped as you put all of the strength you had in moving that building of a man. David gave eventually, gasping and pulling away, back into the mess of pillows at the head of his bed. 

Asher surged up, coughing harshly, into your waiting arms. 

“Easy, baby,” you said softly, “breathe. That’s it.” You stroked a hand up and down his back as he caught his breath. 

“Ash-” David breathed, reaching for Asher and pushing back those wild curls. You watched his dark eyes catalog every bruise and mark, every inch of marred skin. “-I’m sorry, I-” 

“It’s okay!” Asher laughed, halfway between a rasp and a coughing fit. His voice, which was already gravely and rough, was nearly gone. But his eyes were bright and awake again, the spell that had overtaken him at your urging broke. “I’m fine! Look, look at me, I’m okay!” He turned to each of you, caught your eye. Even after being choked out by cock, Asher was focused on reassuring his two mother hens. 

You pressed a hand to the side of David’s neck, and while it did serve as a grounding touch, you were sure David knew what the real purpose was. You were checking his pulse, his vitals, trying to measure the amount of anxiety buzzing inside David at that moment. It was a trick you’d actually seen him use before with Milo’s mate, who had nearly endless energy and, when not directed, could turn into panic at a moment’s notice. David twitched as though to buck out of your touch, to push away the foreign feeling, but your hand on his skin was gentle and warm and relentless. 

Asher squirmed between you two, working himself properly into David’s arms repeating over and over that he was okay, that he was safe, that David hadn’t hurt him. Your pressed your forehead into his muscled back, repeating the same reassurances to yourself. Asher was here. Asher was safe. Ash was pressed against you, warm on your skin, breathing and sweating and ugh, sticky, you’d have to deal with that in a moment. David’s muscles began to relax again, whatever energy he’d managed in his panic leaking out of him quickly. His breathing stuttered, his eyes falling closed. You and Asher both jerked to support him as he went limp. 

Jesus, the guy needed a good fuck so bad this one had knocked him straight out. 

Asher helped you guide him down into an approximation of the recovery position, curled on his side. You nestled David’s head into one of his plush pillows. You stood on shaking knees and made for the ensuite to grab a rag. 

You were reminded, as you waited for the water to warm up, that you didn’t finish. Whatever. You sighed. This wasn’t about you. 

You wiped Asher down gently, wiping off his face first before moving down. Throat, stomach, thighs. He hummed into your touch as he stretched out on the bed next to David. His eyes dropped, sleepy and subdued. 

“You were so good for us, baby.” You murmured into his skin. Asher smiled and laughed softly, running a hand over your cheek, pushing your hair out of your face. 

“You called him love.” He said. You moved to start wiping David down too, the weight of that sentence sitting heavy in your stomach. 

Asher drifted off. You retreated to the kitchen, clad in one of David’s giant hoodies, and made tea. 

By the time you got back, David was awake, blinking owlishly into the softly lit room. Asher as snoring loudly next to him, curled into a ball and pressed into David’s side. 

“He’ll go on like that for hours.” You muttered, false annoyance coloring your voice. 

“You took care of him?” David asked, demanded. He brushed a few stray curls away from Asher’s open mouth, twisted his wild hair into a loose, short braid. 

“Of course.” You didn’t manage to reign in the offense that colored your tone, like it was the only thing you could have done. That wasn’t true, of course. Asher didn’t talk about it often, but he mentioned his former bedfellows sometimes like their mistreatment could be considered a punchline. You imagined that David had cleaned up the messes of more than a few strangers who treated Asher exactly how he asked them to and then left him alone to deal with the aftermath. Asher did best when coddled after sex, especially since he liked it so rough. He flourished under keen attention, physical contact, gentle, loving care. 

You never could deny Asher anything, not anything that mattered. You supposed that was a cross that both you and David had to bear. 

“Took care of you too, for what it’s worth.” You set one cup of tea down on the bedside table next to Asher and walked around to David’s side of the bed. You set it in his hand and motioned for him to drink. He obeyed your silent order and brought it to his lips, breathing in the steam. 

“That’s usually my job.” David sighed, taking a sip and wincing at the bitter brew. “Did you…”

“Doesn’t matter.” You grinned and found your pants among the mess on the floor. Your cigarette holder and lighter were right where you left them. “This was never about me. Do you smoke?” 

David considered you silently for a moment before shrugging. 

“Depends. What is it?” 

“Lavender. Weed. No tobacco or anything.” 

“It won’t hurt, I guess.” 

David sat up straight, twisting to stretch out his back, you heard a series of painful-sounding pops as he did. He turned to look down at Asher, his lithe form wrapped in a plush blanket. He looked so small curled up like that, just a puff of hair and a few stray limbs sticking out of his mound of blankets here and there. David smiled gently, helpless to the tug of it on his lips. 

You sat gently next to David on the bed and brought two of your hand rolled joints to your lips, let them with a flick of your lighter,  and took that first, bitter drag for David. You brought one to David’s waiting lips. He inhaled and tried to contain his cough inside his tight chest. 

“Eventually,” you said, letting out a mouthful of smoke, “you’ll have to start letting us take care of you.” David nearly choked on his smoke as you withdrew not letting him raise a hand to take it himself. “Since you are so determined to take care of everyone around you. 

You stayed like that for a while, you bringing the joint to his lips between sips of tea, your fingers soothing gentle massages over the bruises on David’s neck, attending to him like a helpless child or ailing grandmother. It was almost awkward, the way your unbroken attention held David hostage, kept him still and compliant to your silent direction. But he let it continue anyway, let you fret over him for a few spare minutes in the dark where nobody else, not even your shared, snoring problem, would see. 

Eventually, you took the half-finished cup of tea from David’s hands and dunked the buds of your joints into the still-warm liquid. You poked and prodded at him and bullied him back into bed. You pulled the covers up over his shoulders. David brought his arms around Asher, pulled his arm, pliant body to his chest, breathed in the sunshine scent of his hair. 

You had beaten him to Asher. Ash had called you pack, had called you mate. While David was wrapped up inside of himself, you had come in unexpectedly and won him fair and square. David could doubt that connection all he liked, but it was about the only thing in his life that David got absolutely zero say in. He’d had twenty-five years to make Asher his and he hadn’t. That was on him. 

You shimmied into your pants, tugged off David’s shirt and replaced it with your own. You felt David’s eyes on you as you slowly gathered yourself and made for the door. 

“If you hurt him,” David said quietly, his face buried in the tangle of Asher’s hair, “I’ll kill you.” 

Defeat, admitted clearly between them. You had beaten him to Asher and now David had said it, handed him over willingly. David couldn’t get through a fuck without passing out and nearly chocking Ash out. You could calm Asher’s mind, could direct his endless energy, could correct his behavior with one word or movement. And you’d figured out how to do it better than David in six months. You were the better person for the job, strenuous as it was. Asher needed someone to take care of him. You could do that, and David could not.

Even still, the implications were clear. David knew what kind of person you were. He was the same. You both had the capacity to be horrible, to break hearts, to crush people like Asher without even trying. 

You were quiet for a long time, your hand on the door. Finally, you opened it into the hallway. You left Asher in David’s arms, knowing who he’d come back to come morning. David’s threat hung in the air. You turned back. 

“If I hurt him,” you said, “I’ll let you.” 

[bibibinnie]

not at all — hueningkai x chubby!fem!reader. NSFW/MDNI!

cw. first date, chubby!reader, mention of eating and drinking, reader's a bit tipsy, pet names (cutie, pretty i think), tummy love obvi, nipple play obvi, marking, biting, tiddy fuck <3, oral (m. receiving), jiggle, unprotected sex, creampie, body worship? notes. i am in my kai brain rot era!!! im in love w him, i would die for him, i would kill for him, he is everything. idk how i feel about this one tbh, but it is self indulgent AF!!! smut under cut.

“Kai!” You smile when you open the door, greeted by the cutest Kai you’ve ever seen, all dressed up, holding a bouquet of pink peonies, smelling of cologne. It’s only the second time you’ve seen him, but you didn’t think he could get any cuter after meeting him at the bookstore the other day—cute nose in a book, wavy hair falling over his eyes, biting his lip in concentration. 

You’d caught him off guard approaching him, recommending another book based on what he was reading and ended up chatting for a while. 

“Just let me know if you need any other book recommendations once you finish that one.”

“Okay, will do.” He smiled softly, nodding awkwardly.

“I’m gonna go now…so just let me know, yeah?” Pressing his lips together, he nodded again. “Are you here a lot?”

“No, I’m not here too often,” he said, scratching the back of his head. 

“I’m trying to get you to ask me for my number.” 

“Oh! Right, right…phone numbers—ha.” 

You simply look stunning. Your gorgeous dress hugs you in all the right places, accentuating your chest perfectly. It’s a totally different look from the sweater and jeans you were wearing the other day. So seeing your chest like this gives him heart eyes. He’s just absolutely, positively giddy looking at you. It’s difficult for him to even say, “For you,” while he hands you the flowers. 

“Oh, wow, thank you. How’d you know these were my favorite?” You giggle, letting him in your apartment, but he doesn’t go past the front entryway. He simply watches in awe while you find a vase, rambling a bit to him, not even noticing him shyly standing across the room. “Come over here, silly. Make yourself at home,” you say. 

Nodding, he slowly makes his way closer to you, but he does make a point to look over your apartment—noticing little details about you. The quirky gallery wall above your couch, the fancy olive oils near your stovetop, that book you bought from that bookstore where you met resting on your coffee table. “You’re so cute,” you say, his ears turning red hot. “Just come over and have a seat.” You motion to the bar stool behind the kitchen counter. 

Remembering this is a date and he can flirt with you a bit, he says, “You look really pretty.” It might not have been the cheekiest of flirting, but it’s still flirting. 

“Thank you,” you smile. “You look really pretty tonight too.” And he really does—he’s so, so pretty, almost ethereal, like there’s a glow around him. “So, whatcha got planned for us this evening?” You ask, leaning over the counter, sparkly eyes blinking up at him, tits peeking out over the neckline of your dress. He tries—really, he does—maintaining eye contact, but you’re so, so pretty too, he can’t look at your eyes either. 

So he opts for checking his watch before saying, “I’ve got reservations for us in about a half hour. We should probably get going actually.”

“Oh, okay! Sure,” you smile, grabbing your bag and heading out the front door. 

It’s such a cute, cozy place. All the walls and decor are so warm, it’d make anyone want to cuddle, but for touchy-feely people like the two of you, you’re already all cuddled into each other. 

The two of you clicked as soon as you sat down. You haven’t stopped giggling, touching his arm, you’ve caught him glancing down at your lips more than a few times. And he just can’t get enough of you. You are the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. He truly believes that. 

After dinner and a few glasses of wine later, you ask him—with your best please eyes—to walk you back home. And it’s a good thing too, because he was planning to anyway.

Both of your arms wrapped around one of his, he drags you back to your apartment, having the best time walking down a quiet sidewalk together. You look up at him, his strong nose undeniably noticeable, his pink, plush lips curling into a smile while he laughs with you. 

Oh, how you wanted him. He was simply adorable in the way he joked with you, held the door open for you, and reached for the bill. The whole evening, he was dipped in sugar. And he seemed like this big, tall teddy bear waiting to be devoured by you. 

“You wanna come up for another drink?” You asked, silently begging him with your pretty eyes, long eyelashes batting up at him. You weren’t sure where he was with everything, to be honest. You’d never know what he was thinking about you. 

But oh, how he wanted you. It was torture sitting next you, but he’d never let you know that. The way your tits were pushed up by your dress, spilling over the top as you leaned closer and closer to him, how he could see the indent of your belly button under the silky fabric, your thighs spread across the booth. You looked…delicious. He couldn’t wait to get you out of that dress, writhing underneath him while he kissed and bit your tummy for a minimum of ten minutes before flicking his tongue over your clit and oh, you legs wrapped around his head, he had to stop himself before it was too noticeable. 

Following you inside, you start pouring some more wine for the two of you, soon joining him on the couch. And it’s more of the same—laughing, giggling, joking, just having fun in each other’s company. It feels so good and natural being together. Soon enough, you’re not sure if it’s the wine or what, but something comes over you. 

He’s way too polite to initiate anything on a first date, but you? You need him, but you don’t want to come on too strong. The wine isn’t helping though. 

Your hand grazes his thigh and he swears his heartbeat is in his throat. “You look so pretty right now,” you whisper. He swallows, lips parting. “Just…” you trail off, taking a sip of the tarte, red wine, lips stained by now. “The way this candle flickers across your skin…you just look…wow.” 

“Thank you,” he chokes out. Is he even getting the hint? 

“You’re honestly probably the prettiest guy I’ve seen,” you say, setting your glass on the coffee table. “This nose is gorgeous.” You lightly drag the tip of your pinky down his bridge, punctuating it with a cute boop to the tip of his nose. “And your eyes…ah, so pretty.” You drag the pad of your thumb across his eyelashes as his eyes flutter shut. “And don’t even get me started on those lips.” You rest back against the couch, smirking at him. 

“No, no, go ahead,” he says, the slightest hint of a giggle in his voice. “What about my lips?”

Ah, he’s got the hint now. “Just how kissable they look. And…” you start, leaning closer to him, hand inching higher and higher on his thigh, faces close enough to feel each other’s breath on your lips. “I want them all over me.” 

Catching your lips with his, he carefully sets the wine glass down before squeezing your thigh, earning a nice groan from you. Pushing off his jacket, he slips his arms out of the sleeves, reaching for your waist, guiding you to straddle his lap. He’s surprisingly good at this based on his shy, cute demeanor throughout the rest of the evening. Legs falling over his, he cranes his neck to reach your lips before trailing down your neck, hands all over your hips. 

“Fuck…” you sigh, hands tangling into his hair. Already burying his face in your cleavage to kiss even more of your skin, both of your breathing starting to get heavy. “My, uh…my bedroom’s down that hallway,” you say and he got the hint immediately.

Hoisting you up with a grunt, thick legs wrapped around his waist, your lips part only briefly as he finds the door knob. Dropping you to your bed, you desperately unbutton his shirt before sliding it off him. He pushes your dress up past your waist, letting out a groan of relief at the sight of your tummy and how gorgeous it is. One hand on your waist, the other on your tit, he simply attacks it with kisses, sucks, and bites. 

You’re not really sure what he’s doing—no one’s ever done this with you before. He doesn’t stop showing your tummy love while his hips grind into the mattress. He must really love tummies. The idea of him pining after your belly all night fills you with butterflies. 

Turning away from him, he whines and pouts at the loss of your beauty, but you say, “I just want this dress off me.” Nodding, he finds the zipper, quickly pulling it over your head and tossing it to the floor to get back to your tummy as soon as possible. It doesn’t last long, though, because once he squeezes your bare tit for the first time, his eyes widen before he makes his way back up to your chest, squishing them together to bury his face into. 

Finally flicking his tongue over your nipple, you moan so sexily, grinding your hips against him. Pushing him off you, you find a moment to flip him on his back, reaching for his pants button, slipping them off quickly. 

It’s your turn to shower his body with kisses and love, starting with a sweet, gentle kiss to his nose, making your way down his chest, licking over his nipples briefly, spending a good amount of time on his tummy, then his glorious thighs. And the beauty that is his cock—pinker than the rest of him and leaking wonderfully. 

Holding him gently, your mouth drops open, but you look up at him through your eyelashes for permission and he nods, eyebrows stitched together. Sinking your lips around his cock, you drag your lips down so slowly, making him whine, cheeks turning pink from embarrassment. One thing about him is…it doesn’t take much for him. Doesn’t take much before he starts begging…begging to fuck you. 

“Be patient, cutie.” And suddenly, you remember, this guy loves tummies and tits—you wrap your tits around his cock, bouncing them up and down and his brain short circuits. The sight of you like this—

“Holy fuck—” he gasps, head falling back against the pillow, rolling his hips between your cleavage. His dominant side seems to have completely vanished under everything you’re doing to him, which you love. Fingers fumbling as they try to wrap around your hair, breath rattling as your name leaves his mouth, toes curling. 

Releasing, you straddle his waist, his big hands squeezing your hips as you reach underneath yourself for his cock, rubbing it up and down your folds. 

He’s so tantalizing, it doesn’t take long to give into him, sinking down on him completely, his eyes slamming shut at the feeling of you. His hands are all over you. Squeezing your bouncing tits, pinching your waist, squishing your soft ass, holding your hips for stability. 

And goddamn does he feel good, reaching the deepest parts of you, giving you butterflies with the way he looks up at you, squeezing you in all the right places. 

“Oh my god,” you breathe. “You’re so…your cock feels…you—”

“I hope the ends of these sentences are good,” he chuckles. You simply don’t know what to do with yourself as you try grounding yourself by grabbing a tit, then running your hands through your hair, anything, but you can only nod before you find the strength to respond. 

“Yes, yes,” you pant. “You feel so, so, so good. Holy fucking shit.”

Fucking up into you, he’s desperately chasing his orgasm, cock sliding in and out of your pussy so deliciously. His breath is erratic as his head drops against his pillow, knots in his stomach tightening with each bounce, fiercely gripping your waist, orgasm quickly approaching. Your whines, the way you’re bouncing over him, the sight of your tits jiggling furiously sends him over the edge. 

And “Fuck, you’re perfect.” Everything about you. His legs involuntarily lift off the bed, muscles trembling as he cums inside you, the feeling washing over you as you’re chasing your own orgasm. 

But it doesn’t take long—one of his thumbs circling over your clit and the other over your nipple is more than enough to send you over the edge. You’re a whimpering mess, fucking yourself on his overstimulated cock, mouth dropping open, obscene sounds spilling out. Falling forward, your tits rub up against his chest as you ride it out. 

You don’t really do much—just lay on top of him while you two catch your breath, his fingertips dragging across your back until his cock slips out of you on its own. 

He finally breaks the silence, “Wow, that was…”

“Yeah, that was great,” you hold your head up to look down at him with a smirk, pecking his nose. “I like you.”

“Ah, stop…” he giggles. “I like you too.” You sit up, running your fingers through your hair and his hands find themselves in the pinch of your waist, thumbs rubbing circles on your hips, but he chuckles and says, “Oh my gosh, look.” You look down and three beautiful hickeys had already bloomed on your belly. He looks a bit embarrassed and admits, “Yeah, I kinda have a thing for tummies.”

“Oh yeah? I couldn’t tell,” you sarcastically, rolling your eyes playfully.

“Is that weird?”

You press gentle kisses to his jaw as you shake your head and say “Not at all, cutie.”

[artaxlivs]

WE WERE ALLOWED TO ASK FOR TREATS??!!!?!?

*sobs in too busy to check tumblr yesterday*

Okay - I almost went back to that post and tagged you because you're so damn supportive and your comments always make me feel seen as a writer...but then I got 7 asks all within like 15 fifteen minutes and my brain got frazzled. SO, you're late but it's okay, you deserve it anyway.

"Trick or treat?"

"It's the first of November." Steve scoffed, backing away from the door so Eddie could step inside.

"Yeah....I'm late." He shrugged like 'what are you gonna do?' but then he huffed a laugh, "Or maybe I'm getting an early start for next year."

Rolling his eyes, Steve grabbed the almost empty bowl from the side table, "Well, all I've got left is the Mars Bars and a few Milky Ways."

Eddie stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets and tapped his sneaker on the tile of the entryway. His plan had been to do this last night, say 'trick or treat' and then offer himself up as the treat. To just...put himself out there. In a big way. Like he'd never been brave enough to do before. But he'd gotten almost all the way here and turned around - twice.

This was Steve. Steve Harrington. Nevermind the status and the money and the fancy car. This was Steve. The guy who'd dragged Eddie's lifeless body back through the gate and kept watch over him in the hospital to make sure the staff didn't 'accidentally' let him die. This was Steve. The guy who had been valiantly trying to make Eddie feel welcomed and less alone.

And Eddie was 99% sure that Steve has been hitting on him for months. He blushed around Eddie all the time for christsakes! But Eddie was such a fucking coward. He couldn't even bring himself to flirt back because that would mean exposing himself to the possibility of rejection.

Last night he'd dressed up like Danny Zuko from Grease because they'd watched it together on one of their weekly movies nights. Steve really loved that movie and had made many jokes - possibly flirtations - about 'summer lovin' and how he understood Sandy's turmoil about dating someone so different from who everyone thought she should date. It should have been a sure thing but Eddie had chickened out. Just like always.

Eddie blew his breath out long and slow, stared resolutely at the HHS on the leg of Steve's old basketball sweats. "What if...what if I wasn't asking? What if that was an offer?"

The HHS got closer as Steve stepped into Eddie's space, "You hiding candy in your pockets or were you offering something else?" Steve didn't touch, even though he was close enough to.

Eddie dragged his eyes up, meeting Steve's hopeful - thank god - ones and he just....said it, "Me? I'm offering me."

Steve grinned, biting his bottom lip and looking relieved. He stepped even closer, sliding his arms around Eddie's neck, resting their foreheads together, "Then...happy day after Halloween to me, I guess."

[ifonlyitwasmidnight]

TW: DARK CONTENT. Massive yandere themes. Dubcon. Murder. Knife play. MINORS, BLANK, OR AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. I WILL BLOCK YOU ON SIGHT.

WC: 3.7k

This is dark. If you are not okay with obsessive stalker exes coming after you to get you back and murdering your date, DO NOT READ THIS.

Shikamaru is obsessed. He wants you back, and he won't let anyone stand in his way. Not even you.

ShikamaruxF!Reader

CW: Names (including whore), threats, violence, fingering, vaginal sex, coercion, forced voyeurism, aged-up content

Shikamaru stood across from the restaurant you were in. That fancy one you had been begging him to take you to for the past few months, watching as you reached across the table and placed your hand on your date's forearm. The heavy drag he took from his cigarette did nothing to calm his nerves. 

You'd stopped returning his calls three weeks ago. Now he knew why. You must have thought you were smart by changing your phone number and moving jobs. It had been an easy task tracking you down again. A charming smile and a quick hook-up with one of your co-workers, and she spilled all the information about you he was looking for. Simple enough for a man like him. 

He always told you that you needed to be more careful about who you were friends with. He watched, never removing his eyes from you, as you gingerly drank from your cup, covering your mouth as you placed it down to cover a giggle. He knew the sound of that giggle—he could hear it in his mind. He'd be hearing that sound from your sweet lips again. Soon.

Your apartment was bathed in moonlight as he pulled himself up to the second floor of the building, hopping smoothly over the railing onto your patio. Shikamaru reached into his pocket, fishing out the keyring that contained a key to your new lock. You'd had them changed one day after someone had broken into your apartment while you were asleep. You never figured out it was him checking on you after a night out with your friends. 

Shikamaru had simply taken the liberty to swipe the extra key when you called him, crying and begging him to sit with you while the locksmith did his job. You had said you needed him... even though you'd already asked for a "break" at that point. He couldn't deny you, not when you were begging in that sweet way you knew drove him crazy.

Your keys jingled in the hallway. Shikamaru disappeared into the shadows in the corner of the room, where he knew the light from the hallway outside wouldn't permutate and reveal his hiding spot. He could hear your tipsy laughter and the deep timber of a male voice.

You'd brought him home. Here. To the place he lived with you. 

His blood ran cold. Had he put his hands on you in the car? Had this nobody touched what belonged to him? You tumbled in through the door, tossing your purse and keys onto the entryway table while your date was pressed against your back, arms wrapped around your waist as he peppered kisses over your exposed flesh. 

Every muscle in Shikamaru's body was poised to strike. To beat the man bloody. But he waited. Waited until you turned in your date's arms and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pressing your lips against his in a hungry kiss. Watched as you stepped backward, stumbling over your own feet as the bastard reached behind you to unzip your dress. The air was quickly turning thick. The scent of lust in the air seeped into every nook of a place that was once filled with you and him. 

Your date tried to lead you to the couch, closer to where Shikamaru stood, and he relished it. How unsuspecting you both would be. At the last second, you pulled away, grabbing him by the hand and tugging him towards your shared bedroom because it was his bedroom still, even if you refused to admit it to yourself. You didn't even bother to shut the door before he heard you both collapse onto the bed in a fit of giggles. 

Shikamaru stalked slowly toward the door, straining his ears as your contented sighs began to fill the next room. He stopped just on the other side of the wall, listening as you let this man attempt to fuck you right. He could tell by your strained grunts that he hadn't even bothered to try and prep you, that he didn't bother to give your sweet pussy the attention it deserved. He wondered if you were regretting it yet, bringing home a stranger to try and fuck him out of your memory. Shikamaru knew it would never work. 

Ten minutes. That's all the fucker lasted before he whined, asking if you had finished yet. He smirked when he heard you fake your orgasm a moment later. The bed creaked as you excused yourself to the bathroom. Shikamaru reached into his pocket, knowing this was his chance. 

The idiot didn't have a chance to scream before Shikamaru was on him, yanking him off the bed, quickly wrapping an arm around his neck, cutting off the airflow. He covered your date's mouth with the rag he had retrieved. The pathetic sounds he made muffled as he tried to warn you of the danger waiting for you upon return. His body soon went limp in Shikamaru's arms, and he let the bastard's body collapse to the floor. 

Shikamaru moved to the bathroom door next and waited once more. The door cracked open, and you emerged wrapped in a silk robe he had purchased for you. You paused just over the threshold, looking around whatever his name was. Shikamaru grabbed your arm, pulling you tightly against his chest before slapping a hand over your mouth, muffling your screams of panic. 

"Shh, angel. You wouldn't want the neighbors to hear, right?" He whispered in your ear.

You were frozen. Unable to move even a single finger. You knew what this was. You'd played with these shadows too many times in your life before. Shikamaru knew you would understand the implications. 

"I'm going to move my hand. I need you to stay quiet for me. Can you do that?" He could feel you shiver as he trailed his nose up and down the column of your throat. You were wearing his favorite scent. He savored the way you felt in his arms again. Safe. Secure. You'd see in the end that this was what you needed, just a simple reminder that he was what was best for you. 

Shikamaru tightened the arm around your waist when you didn't answer, squeezing hard enough to make you whimper. You nodded quickly as fat, hot tears fell onto Shikamaru's hand. 

"That's my good girl," he said. 

He let the shadow possession fade away before pushing you forward to the bed. He turned you in his arms, not giving you a chance to run from him again, before digging into his pocket again for the zip tie he had stashed there. 

"I'm going to tie your arms behind your back, and then I want you to sit. Can you do that for me, baby?" He didn't wait for your answer before securing your arms and gently pushing on your shoulders until you were sitting. He wiped the tears from your cheeks as they continued to fall.

"What're you doing here, Shika?" Your lip trembled as you spoke. 

"I missed you." 

"We broke up." 

Shikamaru froze and felt the anger roaring in his mind. It clouded all rational thought. It drowned out all the things he wanted to say. He gripped your thighs tightly, hard enough to bruise, before looking you in the eye. He knew by the sharp intake of breath that he must look terrifying. 

"You're mine." The words were laced with venom, dripping in ire as he spat them at you. He knew you were trembling out of fear now. You flinched as he raised a hand and pressed the backs of his knuckles against your cheek. "Don't be afraid of me, angel. You know I'd never hurt you."

Shikamaru pushed your back onto the bed and climbed over you to press his lips against your forehead before retreating. He went to the small table for two where you used to have breakfast together and grabbed a chair, dragging it across the floor and back into your room. He placed it at the end of your bed, facing you. He quickly retrieved your unconscious date and sat him upright in it, using the remaining zip ties to secure his hands and legs to the metal legs and backing. 

"Dan!" You gasped when you saw his lolling head. Dan, Shikamaru now knew he was called, groaned as he slowly regained consciousness. A loud crack sounded through the room as Shikamaru's hand collided with Dan's cheek, rousing him completely from his stupor. 

Dan coughed as he gasped for air. He struggled to raise his arms to rub at his abused throat, which already had a purple bruise blossoming across the skin. 

"What the fuck?" Dan yelled in a hoarse voice. 

Shikamaru grabbed Dan tightly by the jaw, forcing his face up at an unnatural angle while sneering down at him. 

"You touched what's mine," Shikamaru spat.

"Shikamaru!" You screamed from the bed.

"Shut up!" Shikamaru yelled back, whirling on you. "I told you to stay quiet!"

You shrunk back into yourself, trying to retreat as far onto the bed as possible to escape. Shikamaru looked back to Dan, who was struggling with new vigor to escape his imprisonment. He spat in Dan's face before shoving it away. He returned to the bed, ripping his shirt off and dropping it to the floor. You wiggled, desperate to get away as Shikamaru advanced on you. He grabbed your arm and sat you upright, dragging you back to the center of the bed. You were looking at him with such fear and hatred. He'd fix that soon enough. 

Shikamaru climbed behind you, leaning back into the mountain of pillows still askew from your previous encounter with Dan. He pulled you back against his chest and hooked his feet under yours, pushing your legs apart, causing your thighs to be draped over his own. Your robe fell open, exposing you to Dan, who looked upon you with fear and disgust. 

"I don't think he likes me being here, angel," Shikamaru whispered in your ear, dropping his voice an octave. He touched your inner thigh, and you jumped from the unexpected contact. 

"You're a sick bastard," Dan said.

Shikamaru felt your skin prickle as he dragged his fingertips over your exposed skin, making his way up to your center. He felt you shiver against him and hid his smirk against your shoulder. He couldn't resist pressing kisses there, covering the places he had seen Dan kiss you. He'd erase all the marks on your body put there by another man. Shikamaru groaned, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head when his fingers grazed over your pussy; you were wet. 

"My, my, my... if I didn't know any better, I'd say you missed me too," Shikamaru said.

You whimpered when his fingers brushed over your clit. 

"I just need one more thing from my pocket, love." Shikamaru nipped at your earlobe as he fished a kunai out of his pocket and pressed it gently against the underside of your jaw. You froze as the cool metal met your skin. 

"What're you doing?" Dan yelled. 

Shikamaru looked Dan in the eye as he resumed the light brushes over your clit, causing you to whimper again.

"If she wants to act like a whore, I'm going to treat her like one," Shikamaru said simply. He applied more pressure to your clit, rubbing it in a perfect figure eight like he knows you enjoy, and your body instantly responded, chasing the stimulation. 

You tried to suppress your moans at the ministrations, struggling to keep your composure. 

"I want you to look at him while I play with you, baby. Did he make you cum?" Shikamaru felt your head turn slightly as more pressure was placed against the kunai in his hand. "Tell him. I know the answer." 

Shikamaru slowed the assault on your clit as your legs began to tremble. 

"Go on. Did he make you cum?" The words were said a little more forcefully this time, Shikamaru's patience running thin at your continuously delayed answers. 

"No." Tears fell from your eyes once more at the confession, stifled by the loud moan reverberating through the air when Shikamaru plunged two of his long fingers into your pussy, curling them tightly to drag against your g-spot. 

Shikamaru placed a hot, open mouth kiss on your neck as he pumped his fingers into you. Only aided by the gushing of your pussy as he increased the pace.

"Did he fuck you as good as I do?" He continued.

"N...no," You whimpered.

"Did he play with your pretty pussy before he shoved his dick into you? Did he bother to get you wet like this?" Your hips writhed against Shikamaru's hand, spurred on by the words he was spitting into your ear. 

"No!"

"You sick fuck!" Dan yelled again, horror across his face at what he was witnessing.

Shikamaru stopped his fingers and removed the kunai from your throat, pointing it at Dan. 

"If I hear another word out of you, this kunai is going into your heart." Shikamaru turned your head by placing the back of the blade against your cheek. "Do you want me to keep fucking you, angel?"

Your pupils were blown wide. You were looking at your ex-lover with a mix of lust and fear. 

"Why are you doing this, Shika?"  

Shikamaru slowly pumped his fingers back into you. Once. Twice. Before stopping again.

"I already told you. Now answer my question: do you want me to keep fucking you in front of your date, or should I kill him now and leave you here unsatisfied?"

Your eyes darted between Shikamaru and Dan. Dan trembled in the chair, his eyes shut tightly. 

"Will you let him go?" You whispered, and Dan's eyes snapped open.

Dan was shaking his head, "No! No, you don't have to do this! Tell him to stop!"

"I'll think about it." Shikamaru began pumping his fingers back into you quickly, rushing you toward the precipice of orgasm. Your legs shook, still hooked over Shikamaru's thighs. 

"Open your eyes, Dan!" Shikamaru shouted. He grinned as Dan made eye contact with you. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he watched you submit to Shikamaru's wants. He couldn't tear his eyes away from watching Shikamaru's fingers disappear into your cunt. 

Your walls fluttered around Shikamaru's fingers, sucking them back in each time they retreated from your heat. 

"Let go, baby. Let him hear you." 

Your back relaxed into Shikamaru the closer you got to orgasm, letting your head lull against his shoulder. Your moans grew in volume, little whimpers of Shikamaru's name thrown in every so often that made his cock strain against his pants. He wanted to slam his cock into your wet cunt. He longed to feel you wrapped around him again and hear the sound of his flesh against yours as he made you scream. 

"Tell him how good my fingers feel," Shikamaru demanded. You shook your head, biting down hard enough on your lip that Shikamaru could smell blood. "Tell him or I stop," he growled.

"Good! Fuck, Shikamaru! Please don't stop!"

Shikamaru dropped the kunai to the bed and grabbed your jaw with his now free hand, turning your face up so he could slam his lips against yours. You moaned into the kiss as your legs shook and your back arched off Shikamaru's chest. 

"Cum, whore," Shikamaru growled against your lips, and you exploded. You came with a scream of his name, and if Shikamaru were a lesser man, he might have come in his pants from the sound. 

Dan was sobbing and shaking where he sat. Your chest rose and fell quickly as you came down from your high, melting completely into Shikamaru. 

"Shika," you whimpered.

"Hmm?" He answered as he pressed kisses along your hairline.

"My hands. Please." 

Shikamaru retrieved the kunai and cut the zip tie, content with you lying in his arms now that you had begun to remember who he was to you, where you belonged. The knife clattered on the bedside table. 

You leaped for the knife and quickly turned back to Shikamaru, straddling his hips before pressing the blade against his throat. Shikamaru chuckled darkly at the turn. 

"You gonna kill me, sweetheart?" Shikamaru lifted his chin and leaned forward, pressing the blade deeper into his Adam's apple until it drew blood. 

"Do it!" Dan yelled at you.

Your hands trembled as you loomed over Shikamaru. He knew you couldn't do it. You would never seriously hurt him. 

"Do it, baby," he teased. His hands landed on your hips, pulling you down onto his stiff cock and rocking you against the fabric of his pants. "Go on. Do it."

Shikamaru groaned at the feeling of your cunt rubbing against him, unbothered by the knife to his neck. Seeing you like this, over him, threatening him, made him harder, only reaffirming in his mind that you were just as crazy for him as he was for you. That you would be willing to do this and still hesitate confirmed how much you still needed him. He knew his cock would be dripping in pre-cum by the time he finally got to fuck you.

"Can't do it, can you?" He increased the pace of his push and pull on your hips, and your resolve faltered again, loosening the grip on the knife. "You want me too much, huh, angel?" 

"What the fuck is wrong with you! Kill him!" Dan yelled.

"Shut up, Dan! I can't fucking think!" You screamed.

"Kill him, whore!" 

The room froze as the words escaped Dan's mouth, and Shikamaru quickly disarmed you, launching the kunai with perfect precision into Dan's throat. You didn't even scream as Dan gurgled, eyes wide with shock. Blood pooled from his lips and escaped down his chin before he slumped over. 

Shikamaru gently guided your eyes back to him. 

"No one gets to talk to you like that," he said as he brushed hair away from your face.

"You killed him..." 

"I said I would."

"You said you would let him go!" 

Shikamaru shrugged. "I said I would think about it."

Your eyes bounced from Shikamaru's eyes to his lips, clearly panicking about what to do next. 

"You're mine," Shikamaru said again. 

You pressed your lips against his in a heated kiss, fighting for dominance as emotions overtook you both. Shikamaru nipped at your bottom lip before forcing his tongue into your mouth, resuming the rocking of your hips. You reached your hands down and undid the belt and button on his pants, grabbing his cock through the material of his boxers, forcing a hiss from his lips. 

He pushed you off him onto your back and quickly shed his pants. You ripped at the robe, letting it fall from your body just quickly enough before Shikamaru latched his mouth around one of your nipples, causing you to yelp as he sank his teeth into it, sucking the bud into his mouth harshly. His fingers trailed up your slit again, testing to see how wet you were. He paused, letting your breast fall from his mouth.

"Did he fuck you raw?" His voice was low. A threat lingered. 

You shook your head. 

"Good." He bit into the skin at the top of your breast, leaving a harsh imprint before lining himself up and slamming his hips forward, filling you in one thrust. 

Shikamaru moaned at the feeling of your walls fluttering around him already. He pressed your legs back against your chest, settling his chest on the back of your thighs. His pace was relentless, knocking the breath out of you with each punishing thrust. Your moans grew in pitch each time he angled his hips to abuse your g-spot. 

"This my pussy, baby?" Shikamaru's words broke through your moans, and you nodded. A sharp slap landed against your thigh, causing you to yelp. He asked again.

"Yes! Yours, Shika. Only yours!" Tears forced themselves from your eyes at the overwhelming pleasure. 

"Good. Now prove it." Shikamaru thudded to his back on the bed, pulling you with him and settling you on top. He grabbed your hips, forcing you to bounce. Each downward pull was met with a harsh thrust up. Your hands landed on his chest, digging your nails deeply into his skin. You worked your lower body, keeping up with him, rolling your hips in a way that made Shikamaru's eyes disappear into the back of his skull. 

"Gonna fill you up. That way, you can never leave. You'll be mine forever," Shikamaru was rambling, too lost to the pleasure to be able to control his moans. He felt it in his lower stomach, that growing sensation that clued him to how close he was to filling you with his cum. Your legs began shaking again as your walls gripped him tighter. Shikamaru leaned forward and captured a nipple between his teeth again, twirling his tongue around it. Your fingers tangled into his ponytail, and you pulled, causing him to groan against your skin. 

"'m gonna cum, Shika," you whimpered.

"Do it. Cum on my cock, angel. Fuckin' do it!" 

You screamed his name as you came, sobbing loudly as he pulled you down once more onto his cock before he pumped you full. His hips weakly twitched, ensuring you drained him of everything before collapsing back on your bed, pulling you down to lay on his chest. 

You both panted, sucking in desperate gulps of air as reality set in. Shikamaru felt you stiffen against him.

"Nara..."

"Don't you fuckin' dare," he said. 

"Shikamaru, you killed my boyfriend." You said it so matter-of-factly. 

"And I'd do it again." It wasn't a threat. "I love you. Don't you see that?"

You sighed heavily, fully collapsing your weight against him, surrendering to the circumstances.  

"Don't you love me?" The whisper was broken. You looked up at Shikamaru, who looked so broken, so lost in that moment.

"I wish I didn't have to." 

Shikamaru pressed his lips against yours in a gentle kiss. He'd deal with the body once you were asleep. 

AN: I blacked out and somehow wrote 3.7k of Yandere Shikamaru which has been plaguing my brain for the past 72 hours. It's barely proofread, don't come at me. <3 Take care of yourselves.

@tengens-4thwife

[melodygatesauthor]

Nothing Like Home

Maxim "Kapkan" Basuda X gn!Reader

Original Request: Happy early birthday to you! May I request a Kapkan x Reader with the romantic line, "You remembered my favorite food?" It's the little things that count-

Nonnie YES, I love soft!Kapkan so much. Thanks for the prompt. I wrote this so corny but...I don't care teehee.

Tags/Warnings: SFW, food mentioned, comfort, fluff, romance, just a cute fluffy fic.

Word Count: 390

You were standing in the entryway of the house, waiting anxiously for Maxim to walk through the door. The moment you’d heard he was coming back home from another dangerous Rainbow Six mission, you’d been planning his meal. You knew he would be back early in the morning, so you’d been up since 6:30am just trying to make it perfect.

You knew his favorites, eggs sunny side up, French toast with cinnamon and fresh strawberries, and sausage links. You smirked thinking about the time you gave him patties instead.

“Krasivaya, what is this?” He picked up the patty in his fingers before slapping it into the plate.

“Sausage, why?”

“I will eat it, because you made it, but this is not right.” He did eat it, and every time you made sausage since, you thought back to that day with fondness.

The table was made, orange juice in the fancy glass bottle in the center; you normally only used it for special occasions and this one was as special as any. Your heart leapt when he walked through the door right at eight, tall and broad as you remembered. He wasted no time dropping his bags and grabbing you in his huge arms.

“Krasivaya, I missed you.” He said, squeezing you so hard you thought you might suffocate.

“Max, I missed you too but I can’t breathe.” You managed to choke out before he put you down.

He leaned in and kissed you deeply, you imagined he must’ve been a little touch deprived after having been gone for so long. When he stopped, his sharp eyes narrowed and he took in a deep inhale.

“Is that…” he looked at you with an affectionate smile, “you made breakfast.”

You nodded, “yes I did.”

Other than his obvious excitement to see you, Maxim was excited to finally be able to eat some real food. He made his way to the dining room where you’d put the meal out on display for him. You stood there proudly at your accomplishment.

“You remembered my favorite food…” he sounded a little surprised, “spasibo.”

“I’m glad you’re happy, and I’m glad you’re home.” You felt warm knowing he was there with you, and having a good hot meal.

“I love you.” He said softly, kissing you once more.

“I love you too, Max. Welcome home.”

Birthday Celebration Masterlist

[nocanonhere]

Happy Wyll's Week! Day 1/7

-Nice Trick (SFW): Inspired by in-game dialog of Wyll remembering Duke Stelmane. Him talking about his little boyish crush was so adorable, he’s just so cute! Coupled with a baseline desire for adoration, and you just know fancy tricks and smooth poetry were in his arsenal. He will get a smile out of you! (Centered around my Tav, Aiya. Elf-Dragon Sorceress)-

Even though it aches, Wyll likes to ruminate on his past.

Retrospect didn’t always bring pleasant memories. But he still spent time thinking about his life at home, despite how he was made to leave it.

His earliest memory is one of him tumbling behind his father; anywhere from three to five years old. Ulder had looked behind him briefly, smirking at the barefoot boy pitter-pattering behind him, before turning back around and greeting their usual courier walking toward their arched entryway.

He smirks to himself then, sorting supplies by his and Gale’s tents while the latter, Aiya, Lae’zel, and Shadowheart were out gathering resources.

He remembers when he first began sword training. It hadn’t been with Ulder, not that first day. It had been with Theya. She was a high ranked Fist, often at the Ravengard estate for conversations Ulder refused to have on base; someone Ulder considered a family friend. She was always kind with Wyll, despite being well aware of his very obvious and juvenile crush. But she always took the time to speak with him, recounting her latest excursions with the organization while omitting the details not polite for a child to hear.

And she had insisted on using wooden swords; never mind how he whined. He had been eager to go over slashing techniques, finally convincing her to go over those with him after he had surprisingly and successfully demonstrated proficiency with parrying. Ulder had not let Wyll handle weapons just yet, but Wyll had eyes. He had watched his father and other Fist members practice many of times on base. Baguettes were shorter, lighter, and probably not a proper substitute for swords, but his days of running off with two of them to practice had paid off when the time came.

She agreed to show him the most basic of slashing techniques, stepping him through the arch little by little. For what looked like a basic swinging move, there was certainly a lot to remember. His stance, his squat, his eyes. His face also, because being open and predictable in combat was a negative.

He felt excited after that session, raring to try with the real thing. But once again, Theya laughed and said no. But that had not stopped him.

That night, he had snuck outside to the shed armory and picked a sword. He remembers the lurch in his chest, knowing he was doing something forbidden, but not faltering.

He took to the dummy outside and began to go through the motions of what he learned that day, breathing labored breaths and smiling through it.

He wasn’t picturing the dummy as anything other than what it was; just a practice target. Rather, he was imagining impressing his father; showing him what he accomplished in a few hours. And he certainly liked the thought of impressing Theya just as much. With this, he attempted a flourishing move with the blade. He was going to flip the blade at the handle with his right hand, and catch it mid air with his left. He saw it done at a festival once. It couldn’t be that hard.

And as it goes, he failed to get a grip on the blade, fumbling it and inevitably slicing open his right palm in the flurry.

He cried out, stunned at the line of red that formed before blood seeped down his hand.

Needless to say, Ulder had not been pleased. He hadn’t chided him too bad, but he had let him know unsupervised training would not be tolerated; not until Wyll was older and more experienced.

“What is the rush, Wyll?” he asked, beginning to wrap the injured palm.

Ulder had set him on a study table in his bedroom when Wyll came walking in, voice shaking. He quickly grabbed medical supplies and began tending to the wound.

“I want to be good at it,” Wyll said, eyes trained to the floor instead of his father.

“And you will be,” Ulder assured, voice even and unperturbed. “But there is no need to rush. This was your first day.”

Wyll swallowed, finally looking up to meet his father’s eyes once his hand was tightly wrapped.

“I want you and Theya to see that I’m good at it.”

Ulder stared for a moment, before blinking slowly and smiling gently.

“We know you will be,” he answered, stepping back and gesturing for Wyll to hop down.

He walked Wyll back to his bedroom, which was down the hall and around the right corner, and stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed while Wyll climbed back under the covers.

“Sorry, father,” he finally offered, feeling scrutinized with the man looking down at him.

Ulder sighed. “You just need to be careful. You’re young. You have plenty of time.”

Back in the moment, Wyll was satisfied with how his supplies were stocked in a small trunk he used for his personal items. He smiled at the memory, turning his right palm over and noticing the thin, white line of the scar left over.

Newer scars along with calluses had layered the evidence of his desperation. But his father was right. As he got older, his dexterity improved. By thirteen, he was comfortable writing and holding weapons with both hands.

Ulder had even walked him through how to perform the move. Wyll had explained to him how he tried to recreate it based on what he saw. Ulder corrected him and let him know.

“No need to flip the sword multiple times,” he said, standing off to the side while Wyll held a wooden sword. “Flip it once. Have your left arm raised halfway at your hip so you can be ready. When you catch the handle with your left, then you may flip the blade by the handle as many times as you like before resuming your base stance.”

It took him a few tries, but he was able to do it. He had always been a quick study. And Ulder had smiled. Theya had smiled too when he felt extra confident with the move and showed her (still with a wooden sword).

He heard Karlach greeting the venturing group as they returned back at the edge of camp.

“Find anything worth a damn?” she asked.

Gale nodded. “A few magical items I may use for my current condition. But mostly, wares that will most likely be sold unless anyone here can make use of them.”

Lae’zel set the sack near the campfire and walked off. Looting didn’t exactly seem like her thing, and Wyll could see the visible annoyance start to roll off her now that she was no longer being used as a pack mule.

He looked at Aiya then, as she sat on a makeshift log bench while beginning to go through the bag.

“First things first,” she started, pulling out a jar and holding it above her head to catch the attention of the man a few feet away. “Halsin, this is for you.”

It was a jar of honey, well preserved. The older man walked forward and accepted it gladly.

“Many thanks, Aiya.”

She continued to rummage, but still responded. “Thank Gale. He found it in a basement pantry,” she mumbled. “Among other things.”

She pulled out a weapon then. A slim blade, golden handle on the end.

“Wyll,” she said, looking up. “Can you make any use of this?”

He walked forward and accepted the sword from her. She had stopped for a moment, looking up at him as he examined the find.

“Hm,” he began. Then he smirked. He knew a great way to test its balance.

He tossed it in the air; one flip, then swung his left hand as it fell back to chest level, managing to swing it three times in his hand before bringing it down to his side.

“Balanced,” he answered, lifting it back up and holding it at eye level to observe the quality of the metal. “Light. In good condition.”

He looked down at her. “I can certainly take it off your hands.”

She smiled at him gently. “Nice little trick,” she nodded, and Wyll recognized it was only partly sarcastic, yet it still made something in his chest bloom. “Glad it will work for you.”

“Thank you,” he answered gently.

“How many times did it take you hurting yourself to get that one down?” She asked. Wyll laughed.

“You know, I was just thinking about that earlier. The times I snuck off to father’s armory and practiced flips and fancy deflects on dummies and barrels of hay. I have plenty of scars to attest to that.”

She smirked at him. “And how many noble ladies have you done that in front of?”

He inhaled in disbelief and huffed out another laugh. “I see I’ve been had.”

“Exactly,” she said, then starting pulling more items out of the bag. Wyll watched her for a moment, then asked if she needed any help splitting and sorting items. She denied, but thanked him for the offer.

Dinner was the same sort of chaos it normally was, considering the type of group they were. And it was decided they’d all pick up and move tomorrow. The team today had efficiently searched the area for any supplies that could be worth anything, so it was time to move on.

As Wyll lay in his bedroll that night, he let his mind wander again.

“And you think this will impress the young ladies?” Ulder had asked, mirth in his voice.

Wyll smiled wide. “I know it will.”

[dell-amor-te]

“An Antiva City Oddysey”

Otherwise known as my Veilguard30 Day 6: Gender entry, but l used it as an excuse to write some Dadcanis.

Word Count: 3,430.

Warning(s): Canon typical violence, nothing crazy.

Pairing: F!Rook x Lucanis Dellamorte.

Summary: A pregnant Nöa and Lucanis team up with Illario to begin a caper that will become so much more than the three of them could have imagined here at the beginning of it all.

Head's up: this takes place during an ongoing to in-development postcanon plotline that I've been cooking up that will deal heavily with the future of the Antivan Crows. I'm well aware that Veilguard will probably alter some things about this plot, so if deeper details seem vague, that's because I'm doing it on purpose.

In exchange: I offer more Dadcanis. This time: pre-Jude's birth. (AKA: Lucanis makes for a better mother hen than he does a Crow.)

Cold raindrops slicked the cobblestone streets of Antiva City, casting a fog over the already night-obscured streets of the still bustling city. Despite the lateness of the hour, barkers, grifters, bar-goers, and other souls still filled the city streets and every tavern along the way. Among the throngs were two hooded figures, neither particularly tall, though one still stood a head over his companion.

“Watch your step.” The hooded man warned carefully.

“You worry too much, vhenan.” The hooded woman, an elf, teased in reply.

The couple continued on in companionable silence, keeping a low profile amidst the thick crowds of the city. The hooded man took the lead. He was far more familiar with the city than his elven counterpart, and the sooner they reached their destination, the sooner they could put this whole affair behind them.

Their destination: a less-inhabited inn on one of the many back-alleys of the city. The closer they came to the inn, the less and less din from the main streets that followed at their heels.

Just outside of the inn’s open entryway stood a single, stout man. A kitchen aid, though not the head chef. The inn was nothing fancy, but it was obvious to anyone that cared enough to pay attention that their kitchen staff cared about the meals they prepared, at least to some degree. The man was haggard, wringing callused hands against his well-kempt white apron.

The second he caught sight of the approaching couple, his shoulders slumped as he let out a heavy sigh of relief, hurrying to meet them.

“Thank the Maker you two came.” The kitchen-hand said quickly, ushering the hooded pair to the inn’s back door and out of the rainfall.

“This better be good.” The shorter of the hooded couple said. “I have a germinating spore cluster that’ll need attention soon.”

“So far gone and she’s still running her little tests.” The kitchen-hand laughed shakily, gesturing to the woman as he aimed his attention at the taller (though still not tall) stranger. “Isn’t that dangerous?” He addressed the question right over the woman’s head.

“Talk to her, not me.” The man said curtly, stopping by one of the prep tables while his partner moved into the otherwise empty kitchen proper.

“Right. Of course.” The kitchen-hand cleared his throat, stationing himself near the man.

The woman removed her hood while she moved through the kitchen, revealing a shock of unnaturally phthalo green hair, pulled back into a notably long braid. She knelt down easily enough, removing a tray of long-cold hors d’oeuvres from a lower rung of a magic-chilled stack of trays.

She heaved a breath as she rose, the movement not as deft as it might have been had her middle not been so swollen.

“My lady, are you sure that’s wise, given your condition?” The kitchen-hand asked shakily.

“It’s funny how people always want to question the expert.” The woman noted evenly, still eyeing the half-picked through finger foods. “Besides, if you were concerned about my condition, why would you ask for me by name?”

“Oh. My apologies. I just…”

“Don’t they always?” Nöa sighed knowingly. “You said the guests were dead within minutes of ingesting these?”

“Yes, but, my lady. You see, it wasn’t I who requested you.”

“Then, who?”

Before the man could answer, a door swung open, claiming all three’s attention.

“There you two are! I was getting bored!” A familiar and boisterous bade them. “Holy Maker, you’re massive, Nöa.”

“Aw, I missed you, too, Illario.” Nöa put a hand on her hip as she shot a smile at the man, unfazed by his dramatic entrance.

The oh so respected and feared First Talon of the Crows flashed a disarming smile as he embraced his sister-in-law, seizing her in both arms with an affectionate groan. Behind them, Lucanis took off his own hood at last, revealing his own identity as he came to join his family.

The kitchen-hand stood, stupefied.

“Sorry, sorry. I just…didn’t I see you just a few weeks ago?” Illario asked as he stepped back to study her.

“That’s the funny thing about babies, they tend to keep growing.” Lucanis said as he accepted his cousin’s incoming embrace. “What in the world are you doing here?”

“Well, this nessuno certainly didn’t. No offense.” Illario offered quickly, along with another smile aimed at the harried kitchen-hand.

“None…taken.” Clearly the man was far too focused trying to determine what exactly he found himself in the middle of rather than fretting over Illario’s mild slight.

“Ah!” Illario seemed to remember something. He snapped his fingers before pointing to Nöa. “Did you bring the potion I requested?”

“Oh!” Nöa blinked, pulling her satchel from her side to her front so she had easier access. “I did. Although I’m still not sure what use you could possibly have for it?” She located a small, clear-liquid filled flask. “I mean, obviously I know what this is for. I just don’t understand your interest in it.”

“You’ll see.” Illario reached out a hand, palm up. “May I, my dear?”

Nöa obliged without a second thought, though her interest remained piqued.

Lucanis moved to his wife’s side while Illario made his way toward the portly kitchen-hand. The man’s eyes widened as Illario uncorked the vial and held it out for the shorter man to take.

“Signore?”

“It won’t hurt you. Talon’s honor.” Illario vowed cheerily.

“Talon?”

Were it possible, the man became even more frazzled, panicked.

Illario continued smiling.

As if he knew he had no choice, the kitchen-hand swore, taking the vial from Illario and swallowing its contents hastily. He began gasping, no doubt expecting the contents to take his life from him. After a moment, his breathing relaxed, and he looked at Illario with a confused stare.

“Seems you’ve gotten turned around, my friend.” Illario patted the man on the back, turning him toward the open back door. “Your shift ended hours ago. Your family is waiting for you at home, you should hop to!”

“My…my family. Right.”

Illario stood in the doorway, waving the man on for a moment. Once he was satisfied they were alone, he closed the door and dropped his façade with a heavy sigh. “Maker.” He exhaled.

Lucanis arched a question eyebrow at his wife and cousin. “What was that?” He questioned.

“Forget-Me-Not!” Nöa explained with a pleased lit to her voice as she explained how the compound worked to her husband. “It’s a nepthenian drug. A pleasant one. It rids you of negative memories while keeping your mind intact.” She looked to Illario. “What in the world did he see that made you think to request such a thing?”

Illario grew serious. “Upstairs. Come, with me.”

The grim look on Illario’s face looked entirely out of place in his gestures. True, he was as expressive as a person could come, and he often ran the full array of the emotional spectrum in a very short period of time. And yet this foul expression was unlike any Nöa had seen him wear so far.

And by the look on Lucanis’ face, he had never seen it before.

And that did nothing to settle Nöa’s nerves.

The rest of the inn was abandoned, empty. Nöa wondered if that was typical for business. The kitchen had been stocked with fresh supplies, so she knew the place couldn’t be decommissioned or out of business. She wondered if Illario had seen to clear it of guests himself, or if it had been emptied when he arrived.

She wondered what had brought him here.

But now was not the time to ask questions aloud.

In silence, Illario led them to the top floor of the three-level inn. From there, he guided them down the needle-straight hall with rentable rooms on both sides to its end, to the last door on the right.

“There are two more bodies in that room on the left. But this is the one we want.”

Before turning the doorknob, he grimaced at them both.

The door opened without a sound. Illario didn’t move to enter, instead stepping back to allow his cousin and cousin-in-law to enter before him.

The room was in absolute disarray, Nöa could see that even before she sent up the small ball of fire to illuminate the room. It hovered harmlessly in the air above them, though the scene it shed light on was far from harmless.

But it was the body on the bed, carved up almost ritualistically—though his face was untouched—that really sent the live blood running cold.

“Mierda.”

“Fenedhis.”

Illario almost snorted. “Your child is going to have an unparalleled array of vulgarities to hurl at people.” He noted, though his stab at levity felt flat.

Lucanis stepped forward, standing vigil at the side of the bed. Nöa turned the other way, not for shock’s sake—she would be a hypocrite to be afraid of a little blood and guts, even arrayed in such a particular way.

No, it was the smell that got to her.

She covered her nose with the back of her hand, saying an empty prayer in the hopes that it did enough to keep her from emptying the contents of her stomach onto the floor. Illario once more made room for her in the doorway while she recovered.

“Amor?”

“I’m alright.” She assured Lucanis quickly. “It’s just the smell.”

Illario’s brow twitched.

“Heightened sense of smell.” She explained. “Because of the hormones.”

“Oh.” Illario hid a new grimace.

Nöa smiled knowingly, fleeting under her blanching skin. “Oh, yes, it’s a treat.”

“Don’t push yourself.” Lucanis insisted.

The blood did hang particularly thick, even for the quantity present.

Lucanis turned back to the body, studying it once more. The light from his wife’s spell shifted. That’s when he caught sight of the man’s untouched face.

“Is this…”

“King Fulgeno II.” Illario answered dryly. “Or, at least, that’s what someone wants us to believe.”

“You don’t think it’s him?” Nöa questioned.

“What business could bring the king to a third-rate inn down some back alley lane, unaccompanied by so much as a single guardsman?” Illario posited.

“It isn’t simple spellwork to make such a recreation.” Nöa pointed out.

Lucanis said nothing, though he could feel two knowing pairs of eyes on him.

He banished all thoughts of Zara Renata and her lapdog, Calivan.

“Who would take such a chance?” Lucanis asked. “There’s no benefit to this.”

“Someone who really wants to undermine the Crows, who else?” Illario suggested. “Could you imagine if the contract ended up in the wrong hands and Viago had come here instead?”

Neither Lucanis nor Nöa wanted to dwell on that thought.

“He would have been so blinded he would have missed the obvious.” Lucanis said at length. “Not only does the king’s presence not make sense, but he would never eat untested food.”

“The finger foods.” Nöa nodded. “It smelled like a honey-poison. The flavor is enchanted by application. It’s a cruel method. Cheap and effective, too. Now I understand why the First Talon himself is here.”

Illario bowed politely.

“It’s sloppy work. But so sloppy that it must be intentional. But to what end?” Lucanis turned to face the doorway, squaring up to his cousin’s gaze. “What would you have us do?”

“The Mage Killer and the Lucky Hare at my disposal. I think there’s only one thing to do.” Illario put his hands on his hips. “I have a couple different leads. Lucanis, I was hoping I could give you some footwork while Nöa and I go talk to a few contacts of mine.”

“No talking? I’m in.” Lucanis said. “Send me where you will.”

“Ever reliable, you.”

Illario described the destination to Lucanis quickly enough. Both Crows knew the city infinitely better than their Veil Jumper. With his task set, Lucanis turned to bid his wife farewell before taking his leave.

“Do try to stay out of trouble.” Lucanis said.

Nöa smirked. “I make no promises.”

He sighed, affectionate and fatigued.

“Shall we, my dear?” Illario cleared his throat, catching Nöa’s attention.

“After you, cousin.” She said.

…

“I can’t fucking believe this.”

“It could be worse.” Illario tried.

“Could it?” Nöa challenged, straining to keep her incredulity in check.

Illario waffled, before relenting. “No.” He admitted, deflating. “I’ll need to contact Viago. And soon. If nothing else, whatever move he makes next, this can’t be tied back to him.”

“Would it matter if it could be?” Nöa asked as she used one nail to clean dried blood out from another. “Doesn’t it just reinforce the true power at play, really?”

And Illario thought he had been giving the legwork to Lucanis.

The three dead Executors would say otherwise.

Illario shook his head, casually readjusting his tunic’s color against the night’s chill. One of the Executors has grabbed it at one point during the scuffle, he reasoned.

“Don’t want to think about it right now.” He decided. “Let’s talk about something lighter than lines of succession, shall we?”

Who knew who could be listening?

“Like what?” Nöa fell into step beside him, playing off the anxiety she could feel practically radiating from Illario.

She also elected to ignore the ache in her hip that threatened to disrupt her stride. She couldn’t tell if it was a result of the added pressure on her hips thanks to the baby, or if she had stepped wrong evading an Executor’s dagger before she had introduced them to one of hers.

At least if she couldn’t keep up the pace, she could play it off as a pregnant woman’s waddle to any wandering eyes.

“Like…have you and Lucanis decided on a name for my niece or nephew yet?” Illario bumped her—carefully—with his shoulder.

Nöa snorted, musing him right back. “There have been discussions.” She assured him.

“But no decision.” The younger Dellamorte said.

“Not so much.” She confirmed. “But it’s not like we don’t still have time.”

“Then allow me to make some suggestions.” He took her arm in his as they walked together.

Despite the tension of the evening, Nöa found herself laughing at him. She was also grateful that he had the observance you would expect of a Crow, since now their paces would be set by her.

She would have to make a salve out of whatever she could scrounge up back at the end.

“Oh, what about Ofelia?” Illario supplied, humming. “It’s a very popular name in Treviso. Very popular. Very chic.”

“It’s pretty enough.” Nöa shrugged. “I don’t know how well it flows, though. Ofelia Volkarin.” She did him the courtesy of testing the name before shaking her head.

She decided at the last minute to omit the Dellamorte that should have followed her maiden name. That was something sure to catch attention if anyone who shouldn’t be listening happened to be listening.

“Lilia?”

A non-committal groan, unimpressed.

“Okay, fine.” Illario’s grin was downright diabolical. “How about Illaria?”

“That’s just the feminine version of your name.”

Illario practically beamed. “It means “cheerful,” you know? Very fitting for anyone who has you as a mother.”

“Nice try, cousin.” She teased.

“Worth a shot.”

“What about boys?” Nöa said. “It could be a boy, you know.”

“Matteo?”

Nöa nodded at that. “Ooh, could call him Teo. Not terrible.”

“Alessandro. Lucien. Luca?” Illario raised a sharp and knowing eyebrow.

“Those two are entirely too close to Lucanis’ name. We already agreed we weren’t naming them after ourselves.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun.” His eyes brightened as an idea crossed his mind. “Or maybe you prefer something a little more neutral? Like being a woman named Nöa.”

“That’s called a juxtaposition, darling.” She corrected harmlessly. “It’s an interesting thought, though. I hated having a boyish name when I was younger.”

“Really?”

Nöa nodded. “I would get so tired of hearing people’s disappointment when a girl walked into the room instead of the boy they were expecting. The south can have a woman head the Chantry, and yet I was looked down on for being a woman who was proud to be one.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“I got over it. Learned to love my name, and to wear it as a badge of honor. But…I don’t know.”

“I didn’t know that about you.”

“Why would you?” Nöa smiled, unperturbed. “It’s part of the story, but not one I let affect me too much. I never would have thought about it if it weren’t for other people, because I like who I am, how I am. I just had to make sure everyone else could see that, too. I’d like the same to be true for her. Or him. Or whoever they are. Whoever they choose to be.”

“That’s all any of us can ask for, isn’t it? Acceptance, support.” Illario mused.

“I mean, I could ask for a bed right now. I’m exhausted.” She drawled, feigning dramatics. “And it’s your cousin’s fault, so I think you should take the blame.”

“Come on, amica, we’re almost done. Just one more sweep to make sure no one ruins our night. And then I’ll make sure no one bothers you for a full day.” He nudged her with his shoulder. “Besides, he’s your husband. I think that trumps cousin here.”

“Oh, and yet any other time cousin trumps spouse?”

“It’s been convenient for me every other time.”

Illario’s estimation was fairly spot on. Another hour, and their work was done and they were rounding back to rejoin Lucanis. He was idling near an old inn, just out of sight unless you were looking for him like they were.

“Welcome back.” The older Dellamorte greeted the pair before welcoming his wife with a kiss. “How did it go?”

“Well, our good friends from across the sea won’t come snooping around Antiva City again any time soon, that’s for certain. Although they will come back eventually.”

Lucanis’ frown deepened.

“I wouldn’t ask for specifics beyond that.”

The older Dellamorte noted a few stray splatters of blood on his wife’s blood.

“We spent time chatting. Mostly.” Nöa added, making herself comfortable against her husband’s side, assuring him that all was well before his mind could get ahead of him.

It was a clear we’ll talk about it later—when it’s safer.

Lucanis nodded his understanding.

“Getting to know each other. You know.” Illario supplied coolly.

“I thought you did that when you performed the banns?” Lucanis said.

“It’s a process, Lucanis. Trust the process.”

“Right…” Lucanis drawled dryly. “So…what now?”

“Well, there’s nothing more we can do tonight. And I promised your delightful bride here a full day undisturbed.”

“He did.”

“I’ll debrief you on our findings while she gets her sleep, and you can tell me how your job went.” Illario decided. “Then we should probably get some sleep, too. We’ve got work ahead of us.”

“It sounds like you have an idea, cousin.”

“The beginning of one, I think. Thanks to you.” He pointed to Nöa.

“Little old me? I’m flattered.” Nöa settled herself in a chair nearby, waiting patiently for Illario to elaborate.

The only thing that could ever keep her from sleep was the promise of an interesting conversation.

“I’ve been thinking.” Illario admitted. “Just because the summit was a failure doesn’t mean everything about it was wrong.”

“It wasn’t technically a failure.” Lucanis reminded his cousin, moving to lean himself on the back of his wife’s claimed seat. “The end goal was still achieved. Mostly.”

“My point being that the Crows have to be more unified going forward. We may have helped everyone else circumvent the rest of the world, and Antiva may be free of the Qunari threat, but that doesn’t mean she can’t be threatened. The Crows have to be more stable, they have to be able to stand for their home.”

“Especially given tonight’s odyssey.” Nöa added.

“Exactly.” Illario nodded. “But I’m going to need help if I’m going to make it more than a half-cocked scheme.”

“You have us.” Nöa told him.

“Always.” Lucanis said with a nod.

“Thank you. Both.”

He couldn’t quite quantify what their support meant, especially after…well, everything. But knowing they were behind him, whatever happened next, Illario felt full confidence.

“It seems we have a long night ahead of us, after all.” Lucanis sighed. “I’ll go see if I can make a halfway decent pot of coffee with whatever’s down in the kitchen.”

The night felt different. How so, Lucanis couldn’t put a name to yet. But he knew if he was going to make it through, he was going to need coffee. Something strong.

And a lot of it.

[arachnixe]

A Cage Of Gold

(Part 2 of The New Goddess - Previous: Small Minded)

Clouds break in slow motion upon the walls of the crystal palace. The grand structure floats high in the sky, far above a kingdom bathed in the rays of the morning sun.

The view is stunning from up here. It’s like eating breakfast on the sky’s shoreline. Almost hard to imagine that not so long ago I was one of those tiny specks struggling for survival down below, in the streets of a city that looks very different from this vantage.

I can’t say I miss that life.

Standing up, I leave the table behind me. A backward glance reveals the dishes have already been removed, as has the table I was just using and the window I’d been gazing out of. No servants here, at least in the traditional sense; the palace itself serves. I’m still getting used to that.

I resume my daily exploration, ambling where my whims direct me. The steady tap of my boots echoes through a hallway that takes me to another wing of the palace, varying slightly in style from the one with my quarters. Has it been here the whole time? Last I came by this way, the same path led to a garden, and the time before that, a library. No idea whether these rooms still exist when I’m not visiting them or whether the palace simply chooses to guide me to wherever it wants me.

Once upon a time, I’d have gone out of my way to spite anyone that tried to lead me to do anything I hadn’t already decided I wanted, but I guess things change when you find religion. My Goddess is my shepherd, and I happily walk the path She lays before me.

Today Her path takes me to an ornate pair of doors. With a gentle push, they glide effortlessly open in a wordless invitation for me to continue.

A gorgeous foyer greets me, lavishly appointed with soft rugs, ornate tapestries, gold trimmed furnishings. It’s an entryway fit for the royal quarters of some big-deal monarch, much like the lodging provided for my use. Excitement gets the better of me, and I feel an uncontrollable grin split my face as I break into a jog. Could the other guest here be…?

From the antechamber to the private dining area through several more opulent rooms—I’m sure palaces have fancy names I’ll never know for each of them—I check for an occupant, finding nobody until I barge into the bedchamber and find myself staring at the sorceress who killed me.

Now, I’d like to credit my faith in Her for helping me stamp down the spike of fear that suddenly grips me, but to be honest with myself, it’s the gold shackles binding her arms, the collar of bone, and the chains anchoring her to the wall that are doing most of the heavy lifting there.

“Velle.”

The raven-haired woman responds to her name with a wild-eyed stare, managing to look like a wretched and bedraggled mess even while wearing an immaculately tailored dress of luscious crimson, trimmed with lace. Black-painted lips open and close wordlessly, shock momentarily robbing her of speech.

“You escaped?” The words come at last. “No, of course you did. You were the picklock, were you not? The criminal. You were the one who helped them escape every trap I set. You probably broke free of a hundred prison cells to avoid justice whenever it came for you.”

The sorceress Velle leaps to her feet, and to my surprise the chains extend from the wall to allow her this much freedom. “Set me free,” she hisses in desperation. “Let me join you on your escape, and I will grant you anything you desire. Riches? Power? An army at your command!” Her eyes dart around the room. Her voice cracks. “Anything your heart imagines. Just hurry, before she returns!”

“Wow.” This is too much to process right now. “I mean, wow.” There, that should clarify my position on the topic. Wait, hold on, I might be able to do a bit better: “What are you on about?”

I recognize the expression that crosses her face. I’ve seen it on a lot of people I’ve met, usually accompanied by the question, “are you stupid?” Velle, at least, refrains from saying that aloud, choosing instead to gesture with shackled arms in a way that makes her chain rattle at me rather pointedly.

“Yeah, I didn’t have anything like that,” I reply. “No point in chaining someone up who doesn’t want to escape. I mean, have you looked at this place?” I gesture at the opulence surrounding us. “Who would try to escape paradise?”

“A cage of gold is still a cage when those inside cannot choose to leave it.”

“Oh no!” I gasp in mock horror. “I can’t leave behind all these free meals and silk sheets and actually having a bit of privacy for once! I can’t return to the thrilling life of a cutpurse, running from guards and sleeping outside! How I’ll miss wearing the same mud-soaked clothes for months at a time—”

“Shut up.”

“Come on, I’m not done. I’m still lamenting that I’ll never again experience the sublime joy of starving on the road, deciding to try eating berries I found, not expecting the stomach cramps followed by explosive—”

“I don’t want to hear it!”

“Are you sure? I can go into detail. I remember so much so vividly. Actually hold on, I’ve got one more memory for you: There was this time an evil sorceress fired shards of glowy stuff that ripped through my most important organs and killed me for no good reason.”

“I think you mean sh—”

“That one really hurt, you know. I died about it.”

Velle scoffs. “Obviously you did not die.”

I erupt in a fit of laughter. For some reason this strikes me as hilarious, the best joke I’ve ever heard, even. “Obviously!” If you’ve never died, it must seem reasonable to assume someone could be mistaken about it! But no, she has no idea, and she has absolutely no idea how much she has no idea! I wheeze hysterically, and I wonder if it’s possible to die from laughing too much, whether I might give her another demonstration right here and now!

“I did. I did.” The laughter subsides enough to speak. “I promise, when your soul leaves your body, it’s hard to pretend you’re just taking a nap. When you feel the embrace of a Goddess, when She cradles the core of your whole existence and brings you back, safe and whole, it’s quite different from bandages and reparation magic!”

“Princess Natalia resurrected you? Truly?”

“A bit more than just a princess now, isn’t She?” Come on, I can squash down my giggling while praising Her, right? “But yes, the Goddess resurrected me. She loves me, and I am blessed.”

“Love.” The sorceress in chains sneers. “At last. Now comes to light the real reason for your freedom. I bet the two of you were fucking,” she emphasizes the crudeness of the word, “while poor Sir Wolfgang dutifully followed behind, pining for a lady who was already spreading her legs for some rancid street rat who no doubt could barely even concentrate on her royal cunt, too busy salivating over her family’s wealth.”

Nope, no stifling this one. I double over in another fit of laughter. Was she really trying to upset me by talking about my Goddess and my friend like that?

“Please,” I gasp, “go on.”

With a scowl, Velle remains silent.

“It’s a good start! I think you could really lean hard into the cuckoldry thing. Oh, maybe the Goddess (in Her mortal aspect as the Princess) was betrothed to the Knight before Her ascension. Maybe She really loved him too, in that romantic way, but was determined to wait until the wedding to consummate their love. He understood, and he admired such acts of purity even though his carnal desires cried out for release. Now enter the dashing Rogue, a scoundrel whose peculiar services were needed to get them out of a trap laid by their fiendish enemy (that’s you, naturally)…”

Velle groans. I continue. “The trio escapes! Now, the Rogue plans to rob the two of them before leaving, but the Princess finds Herself strangely captivated by this stranger, whose charm and wit possess a certain irresistible allure. She begs me—the Rogue I mean—to join them on their journey to save the land from certain destruction. Our Rogue claims to be moved by such arguments, but in truth recognizes an opportunity in the blushing glances She sneaks.

“Now the Princess is determined to remain pure for Her betrothed, but oh! How the dashing Rogue’s shirt leaves such a tantalizing swath of unclothed chest open and visible! And the Knight sees how She steals such scandalous glances when the Rogue leans forward in a bow, how hard She blushes at a sly wink, how She laughs at some honestly kind of half-assed puns.”

“How much longer is this going to go on?”

“Not a fan of slow burns? I wasn’t planning to have any bodice ripping for a while yet, but I think if you stick around for a few more chapters we can really get to the juicy part where the Knight finds himself torn between his jealousy and the slow, creeping realization that he’s also falling for the Rogue. There’s a really good moment when the Princess tells the Rogue ‘you’d look so beautiful with painted lips,’ and the Knight stumbles into the scene. He’s taken aback by the gentleness with which the Princess decorates the Rogue’s features, his face scarlet and, for a moment, unable to hide his desire. As he looks at the two of them, the princess in Her underclothes and the Rogue in rouge, it’s unclear what exactly he yearns for, but not even he can deny how he yearns.”

“Are you sent here to torture me then, is that it? I am a gift to you, that you may do with your murderer as you wish?”

I sigh and drop the bit. “No, I’m sure you’re here because She loves you too.”

“A funny sort of love,” Velle says, tugging her chain for emphasis.

“I have faith that if you embraced Her as your Goddess as I have, you would be freed.” I offer a genuine smile. “Sure, it’s especially easy for me to love She Who Saved Me, but if you can learn to love Her as I do, you’ll see that you’re already home. And like me you’d never need to fear death again.”

The other guest spits, hitting me directly in the eye. “Well look at you, getting a wink from the dashing Rogue yourself,” I say with a chuckle, wiping sorcerous saliva from my eyelid. Impressive aim, really. On an impulse, I lick my hand clean, maintaining eye contact as I do so. “If you want some bodice ripping of your own, just say so. But maybe let’s keep this a slow burn of our own, okay?” With a charming grin and a wave of my hand, I turn and walk away.

Maybe Velle’s right, though. Maybe she is a gift of sorts. What could be greater than helping guide a lost soul such as her to the warm embrace of the Goddess? I’ll visit her again the next chance I get.

[the-forests-blessing]

Chapter 6

When Lukas and Dewey make it back to their hotel for the evening, Lukas stops in front of the open entryway that leads into his dark, silent room. The only light he left on in his hotel room is the small table lamp on his work desk. Its dim orange light brings nothing but a sense of peace, as well as a feeling of familiar loneliness. Lukas makes his entry into the room slowly, feeling like he’s being drained of his energy with every heavy step. Dewey trots into the room without a second thought and hops up onto the bed, sniffing around the neat covers, most likely catching the scent of housekeeping. 

     Lukas sets his bag on top of the desk and pulls the chair back before plopping down into its hardwood seat. He drags it back towards the table with a tired sigh and reaches into his satchel for his notebook. Opening the fancy black leather cover, he quickly flips through the pages until he reaches his little sketch of the forest entity.

     Taking up his quill, he dabs its thin tip in ink before hesitating above the blank page. His attention briefly flicks back to his shadowy sketch. The drawing shifted his mind, teleporting him back to the moment he tripped over the tree root. The way his heartbeat skyrocketed in his chest when he made eye contact with the shadows brooding glare. The strange glow of those illuminated irises followed his mind just as they followed him through the heart of the dark forest. His hand twitches at the picture his mind paints and, with no further hesitation, he quickly writes the title of this passage, “The Admin”.

     After he’s reached that point, he’s stumped again. Lukas rests his cheek in his palm, gazing down at his sketch once more. There’s so many questions racing in his mind, all of them revolving around the mysterious entity that apparently prefers to hide within the forest's darkest shadows. He wonders how long this man has lived there. If he’s truly human at all or in fact some sort of ancient mob. Whatever he is, Lukas is dying to know more about him, and the history of his existence. Why the town apparently fears him, yet an Allay, a being of pure radiance, seemingly adores him…

     Lukas can’t get over the way the little blue creature fluttered around the Admin’s unmoving form with a happy trill. It seemed excited to see him, yet the Admin himself stood there, unfazed by his Allay’s bubbly actions. Lukas barely had a chance to blink at him before he was being teleported out of the forest and landing into the dirt outside the tree line. He’s still confused as to the whereabouts of his sweet berries and Dewey’s mouse toy. He suspects, by the way the little Allay played with the fake mouse, that perhaps it is within the happy little spirit’s possession. The thought makes Lukas smile, so he goes back a few pages in his notebook and doodles the Allay holding Dewey’s play toy. 

     He takes a careful glance back at his now sleeping ocelot, smirking at the sound of a quiet snore coming from the large spotted cat who resides on the bed. I’ll see if I can get it back for him. 

     Lukas goes to bed just before midnight that night. With his head in the pillows, he lay on his side, eyeing the distant tree tops through the open windows. The stars flicker in the night sky, their glow drawing his memory back to the glowing eyes in the woods, and how badly he wishes to see them again. The memories keep him awake. When his eyes are drawn closed, he sees them in the darkness. The glow of the Admin and his Allay is the last thing Lukas sees before finally falling asleep.

     The dawn of the new day brings Lukas back to the trees once more. He doesn’t look at the signs anymore, finding the warnings to be nothing more than a useless waste of materials. That, and they’re ugly. The adventurer walks right past them, his expression strong with determination. He walks through the forest without looking back. 

     Before bed, he’d spent his last remaining hours devising a new plan while he sketched in his journal. He’s going to walk into the Admin’s woods and demand (ask politely) the man to grant him access to explore this uncharted part of the forest. Even if that just looks like him speaking nonsense to a bunch of trees for a while, it's still worth a shot. He’ll walk in and speak his heart out. Surely this Admin person will be more inclined to hear him out if he’s aware of Lukas’ true intentions? 

     Logically, it should work. Unless the Admin doesn’t understand speech. Lukas isn’t quite sure. He’s yet to get a real chance to utter a full sentence to the entity. 

     The blond walks across the forest floor, this time without paying any attention to the birds, plants, or any other forms of life that could be residing within the shrub layer and canopies. His well rested gaze is glued to his path ahead of him, keeping a calm and collected mind as he travels closer and closer to the thick blanket of fog. For the first time in days, he decided to take the first route he familiarized himself with. The fallen log, the large mossy rock, and soon enough, the blanket of fog.

     He stops before he gets to that point. Grasping his satchel’s strap, the blond lifts his head up, gazing upon the thick, dense layer of eerie mist. The forest waits in silent anticipation for its intruder to make a decision. The fog lay at its heaviest, completely shrouding the mighty conifers that reside within its protective layer. He took the day off from visiting the forest yesterday in hopes that the woodland and its shadowy resident would perhaps calm and give him a real chance. But… the entire forest has fallen still. It’s been waiting for his return. The silence an invitation, beckoning his ocelot curiosity further into the fog. 

     Radar’s words echo in his mind, “Why are you going in there? Don’t you know how dangerous it is?”

      Lukas scoffs at the reminder. Radar is a kind fellow, one of the few BeaconTown offers, but Lukas can hardly see any reason to take his warnings seriously. Either these people are making up some wild stories regarding the “danger” they say there is, or Lukas is having a completely different experience here in Beacon’s forest. That being something Lukas has a hard time believing, because what on earth would make him so special? He wishes he got more information from Radar, but considering the scholar's overall anxious demeanor, he doubts he would have gotten more out of him. At least not without a full on interrogation which Lukas definitely isn't the type to commit. 

     Okay. No more hesitating.

     The fog is all encompassing. Lukas’ eyes narrow as he eases his way through, attempting to focus on his surroundings the best he can. Surprisingly, he finds himself running into trees; stopping and turning him around and then again- confusing the author and making him second guess his directions. Okay… it definitely wasn't like this before, he thinks as he twists his body, looking all around him, struggling to find his way forward. The fog is thicker than it ever has been, purposefully misleading him in some sort of twisted game. He continues to run into trees or large shrubs that block his path. Frustration claws at his mind, the blond now walking at a much quicker pace. Tree after tree, he grits his teeth and huffs. “Where is it…” he whispers, searching for the entrance. 

     He spends a good three minutes wandering through the fog, confused and most definitely becoming distraught the longer he spends lost. He finally comes to a stop and looks around, really considering his options here. Then, something catches his eye. The blond walks over and squats down by a tree, gazing upon a mossy patch that climbs its trunk. The moss on one side has little specks of glowing white in it, almost reminiscent of dew drops being touched by the sun, except there is no sun here. That, and the rest of the moss on the tree looks just like any ordinary moss. Lukas looks from the mystical side and onward, noticing more of the speckly flora on trees or laying on the forest floor. 

     Lukas is quick to follow it. Keeping his guard up as he follows the path of moss. Eventually the fog layer begins to darken and, in a matter of seconds, Lukas can begin to make out the shadowy shapes of trees returning to his vision, no longer ghosted over by the dense layer of mist. He exits the fog and finally finds himself standing within the heart of the ancient woodland. 

     Darkness shrouds the forest. The ever present fog now lingers in the depths of the trees in a much thinner, easily manageable layer. 

     Lukas sighs his relief. Finally back on track.

      Now all that’s left to do is put his plan into action.

     The novelist takes a few big steps into the Admin’s forest and, with a deep breath, forces himself to find the confidence. 

      “Hello?” He calls out, then immediately cringes. He quickly recalls he’d made the same mistake searching for the Allay, that exact thing being one of the mistakes that landed him back out on the tree line. Lukas quickly shakes his head and takes another step forward. “I uh– Don’t exactly know how to communicate this to you but,” he begins, looking around the shadowy trees. “I just wanted to ask if I can explore these woods? I really want to study this place.” He continues to look around, especially making sure to twist himself around to his backside just to make sure he isn’t being watched from behind. 

      Nothing yet…

      Lukas scratches awkwardly at the back of his head, unsure if he should continue speaking or simply just wait. Choosing to stay silent brings an uneasy tension that Lukas can’t feel comfortable with, so he continues to say, “Well… I guess if you haven’t teleported me out yet, then that must mean it’s okay–” he says as he takes one measly step forward.

      Poof!

      Lukas falls face first into the dirt on the outskirts of the forest. Immediately this ocelot is pulling himself up and baring his teeth. “That’s IT!” The bristling blond makes no hesitation to storm back into the woods. He doesn’t even take the time to brush the dirt off his hands and knees. His usually pale face has turned bright pink with frustration and embarrassment, fuming his way back through the trees. “I am not giving up that easily. Nuh-uh. Nope. Not me.” He grumbles with his temper boiling over. Albeit a bit out of control as he storms past the tree line, no longer thinking of consequences. The leaves nor the pine cones beneath his heavy feet stand a chance and once he arrives at it, neither does the fog. 

     Lukas makes his way into the dense fog layer, surging through it with little to no issue, almost as though the density of its presence earlier were just a test. A test to see how daring he is to return. When Lukas bursts through the fog, he immediately snaps at the forest around him.

     “What’s your problem!? Huh!? You keep throwing me out and for what!? What did I do? Ever since I’ve come to this stupid town it's been nothing but bad encounters left and right! Yet here I thought, oh, forests! I love forests! So I come in here to get away from all the craziness back in BeaconTown, just to find myself being teleported by some— some Admin guy or whatever, pushing me out of the same woodland that those weirdos back in town tell me I’ll die in if I enter! Well I’m waiting!” Lukas crosses his arms with an exaggerated huff. “You gonna live up to those ridiculous signs out at the tree line and kill me, or are you just going to teleport me back out without giving me a real chance!? B-because I’m not going to stop coming back just because those fools back in town tell me I have to. So they can deal with it, and– and you can deal with it too.” 

     While there is no reply, there is an eerie silence that suddenly surrounds him. The forest is completely still, as if in shock with Lukas’ outburst. The branches above him rustle with what little wind arrives. His indignation fades into caution, flicking his gaze around the trees; taking a single step back toward the wall of dense fog.

     His body comes to a startling halt as he bumps into what couldn’t possibly be a tree. Lukas’ heart leaps up into his throat. He slowly looks down to the dirt, spotting what appears to be a massive shadow looming over him. His entire body freezes up, his eyes gleaming with a mix of skepticism and fear.

     Slowly, Lukas turns and looks up.

     Overshadowed, yet visible in the biome's dim daylight, stands the brooding entity that brings fear to the hearts of the local townspeople. The Admin’s glowing eyes glare down into his own, imposing and very unamused by the open challenge.

     There is no motion, the Admin has finally revealed himself to our author.

     A handful of seconds tick by, all Lukas can do is take in all that he sees in this single moment.

     Round cheeks and dark facial hair speckled along his strong jawline and chin in a way most masculine. He bores a glare that could make the most sensitive hearts weep.

     Only then his heart begins to race. 

     The Admin has pitch black sclera's and illuminated irises to match that deep, midnight blue of his skin. He spots a scar on his top lip, then another that splits his eyebrow. The more Lukas searches, he finds more than just those two scars. The Admin’s features are embellished by old nicks and poorly healed gashes, all of them a soft turquoise to stand out against his shadowy complexion. Dark freckles peek through the rough surface of the Admin’s skin. His hair is blue too, a few shades darker than his skin. He’s dressed like a wild man with a touch of humanity, sturdy and powerful with his massive, almost cozy looking shaul. His hair is an unkempt mess, yet glossy and healthy looking. He spots a twig, and a few tiny leaves of foliage he doesn't quite recognize. 

     The entity.. this.. Admin, is an unmoving wall between him and the town he’s visiting. Lukas fails to see now that he is completely at this creature's mercy. He’s confident in the fact he hasn't been teleported out, yet he’s worried for that same very reason. Perhaps he pushed too far?

     The Admin glowers from above. Lukas backs away with a single step. He opens his mouth to speak, only to snap his lips shut as the Admin's massive form bends down to his eye level and glares only inches away from the trespasser's face. His gaze is trained on Lukas’ every subtle movement, only to initiate an invisible hold that keeps the man's arms down at his sides.

     The Admin clenches his massive fists; his nose flares with a deep inhale, then a sharp huff. His expression gives nothing but a predator's aggression, though he’s silent. Their eyes remained locked, unwavering.

     Lukas isn’t sure if it’s mysterious or creepy that nothing has been uttered.

     To the Admin, all this is, is another human who has no idea what he’s dealing with.

     Lukas’ voice shakes with uncertainty as he finally stammers out, “U-uh.. hi…” He speaks quietly as if there was a tightening pressure squeezing around his neck. The Admin's eyes only narrow further, the glare so cold and menacing, yet… strangely alluring. The author can't take his eyes off them. “What an incredible glow…” he speaks, mesmerized by the illuminating irises. “How do your eyes glow like that?” 

      He doesn't give much time for the Admin to respond before he's trailing his gaze down the rest of his massive, foreboding form. “And so tall…” Lukas uproots from his spot, curiosity building his confidence and carrying him to walk slowly around the forest entity, making a thorough examination of everything there is to him. The Admin turns with him, keeping his guard up and never allowing his back to be turned towards the trespasser. Lukas hardly seems to notice. “So many pouches and straps, what do you carry in those? And that armor..” 

     “Is it all made out of leather?” Lukas stops and asks, looking at the thick sturdy chest armor and shoulder pads. Lukas drops his gaze, examining an old, tattered dark flannel button-up shirt beneath all that hefty gear. Lower, there's all the extra pockets he keeps on him, oddly reminding Lukas of his own adventure gear. He wonders if he keeps specific things in those like Lukas himself does, yet the specifics in question tend to be extra inventory or snack space for the blond while he's scouting a biome. Surely a forest dwelling person would make use of extra pockets the same.

     The author now looks down upon the legs and feet, noting the knee guards and the straps wrapped around his strong looking thighs, and the heavy steel-toed boots that look like they could use some replacing… He's got more of those leather straps holding them together. Lukas finally stops his analyzing and looks back up to the man’s continuously upset expression. Lukas tilts his head a little bit, waiting for the Admin to respond with an answer to any of his questions but… it never comes. 

     Instead, Lukas opens his mouth to speak again, only to interrupt himself with a sharp gasp as his entire body freezes, his arms being pinned and locked against his sides and his legs squeezed together whilst an invisible force clutches him, keeping him from moving. His heart rate escalates quickly as shock and uncertainty encompass him. The blond attempts any form of movement just to find himself entirely immobilized everywhere below his head. Instead, all he can do is look upward and watch as the Admin takes a heavy step closer, keeping him pinned beneath that sharp glare. 

      Okay… Maybe I shouldn't have challenged him.

     Suddenly his satchel is peeled off his body, Lukas watching in mixing shock and awe as the Admin floats his belongings over to himself and begins to use his powers to pull one item after another out of his bag. Lukas is absolutely baffled. “H-hey wait! You can’t just-!” The Admin snaps his glare back to the author and immediately Lukas closes his mouth shut. Instead, he’s forced to watch the Admin shuffle through his belongings, starting with the few ecological study books he borrowed from the library. 

     The Admin flips through each one, seemingly taking his sweet time with it too because he takes breaks flipping through the pages to scan some, then flip through more. Lukas is… absolutely speechless at what he’s witnessing. The Admin’s form hasn’t budged at all since he took Lukas’ satchel off him without so much as lifting a finger. He’s got all of his belongings floating around him and is capable of flipping through individual pages of paper at the same time. “How are you doing that?” He can’t help but ask, yet he garners no response from the silent entity. The Admin ignores him, and all Lukas can do is stand there and digest the scene playing out in front of him. 

     The last book snaps shut loud enough to make Lukas flinch. The Admin flicks his gaze sharply back to him as he pulls another book over and lifts its cover. Lukas immediately interrupts, “Hey hold on a sec! Those are my private work journals. You can’t just-” The pages continue to flip without a care. Lukas would sulk if he could. “You know it’s not polite to just start… going through people’s belongings like this.” Lukas glances away with an annoyed expression when his jaw is suddenly grabbed and forced to look back in the Admin’s direction and–! Lukas’ head flinches back as an object is shoved in his face, his teal eyes blinking as they focus in and… recognize that leaf from a few days ago. The one he’d plucked from the stem and watched as the life inside it faded. He’d placed it back in his journal for safekeeping…

     Lukas’ gaze falls, feeling hot with embarrassment at the hypocritical wording he’d chosen. “I.. Uhh.. I’m sorry about that.” He looks back up at the Admin with a look of guilt, finding the midnight blue man’s expression unchanged, looking as grumpy as ever… “I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting a full on inspection of all my personal belongings. I don’t know what you’re looking for, but I don’t think I have anything too incriminating; It’s just my work bag.” Lukas goes silent once again as he watches the Admin. The man finally moves, but only to reach down and open the pocket strapped to his thigh, floating the leaf in and shutting it away. 

     Lukas is once again met with something being shoved in his face, this time it being the journal itself. His eyes don’t linger on it, glancing away awkwardly and mumbling, “that’s you..” in regards to his messy sketch of the shadowy Admin. “I was going to dedicate this journal to the forest here, since it’s one of the last remaining biomes I need to study for the encyclopedia I’m working on.” He watches the Admin’s gaze narrow on him, this time staying trained on him in what Lukas assumes is an expectation for more explanation. “It’s my job. Or well, my dream too.”

     The man in front of him doesn’t seem all that moved by his response. 

     Suddenly, Lukas feels something… strange. The blond tenses, his brows furrowing as he focuses on the uncomfortable feeling of having his inventory being searched. Searched, in a way that no human, monster, or animal could ever possibly do. The inventory is a subspace that each individual person has exclusive personal access to that could never be tampered with by any other person, unless the individual in question is killed and their inventory is exposed, with no one to belong to anymore. This is… 

     “H-how are you doing that?” Lukas blurts out again, becoming even more confused and desperate for understanding. “No person can look through another's inventory like that!” The blond protests, only to pause, his expression falling into a look of disbelief when he comes to an unbelievable realization. “Are you a god?” He slowly draws out, looking straight back into those glowing, turquoise eyes. “O-or some form of high deity? B-because this–” Lukas looks down to his still frozen form, “those powers-” he looks up to his floating belongings. His intrigued gaze returns to the massive man in front of him. “...What… exactly are you, Admin?”

      The Admin, of course, makes no move to respond. Instead he stares at Lukas, his gaze unwavering and glued to the author’s own curious eyes. Lukas watches with piquing annoyance now as the Admin turns his head away and continues going through his belongings. Lukas is floored with this experience so far. Honestly? He feels rather ridiculous having not drawn to this conclusion sooner. There’s no way an entity of this stoic stature and powerful form, wielding magic no less, isn’t some sort of deity. Not even the world's most powerful mobs have powers of this particular caliber. And to be so reserved, showing little to no emotion while doing it. 

      But how is it possible? Are there more like him? …What's a god doing living in the forest like this?

     Lukas is awestruck, all whilst he is still quite frustrated with his continuous lack of understanding. 

     Another object approaches him now. Another book, that of which Lukas immediately recognizes is his dictionary. The dictionary is held in front of his face, flipping through pages until it lands on one towards the back of the book. A blue glow locks into a specific word. 

      What.

      More page flipping.

      Are.

      …

      You.

      …

      Doing. 

      …

      Here. 

      Lukas blinks at the page before the book is snapping shut and leaving, just to float back along with his other belongings, watching as all of them are piled back into the satchel and the bag is thrown. Lukas gasps as the hold on his body relents just in time for him to catch his book bag. “I-I just wanted to explore and.. And to research the forest here. I’ve been all over the world; fifty-six biomes and I’ve never seen- or heard of anything like this forest.” Lukas looks up to the Admin, searching his eyes for any shred of emotion… but there is none. Lukas’ eyes drop down to the forest floor, searching his mind for more words, yet he’s finding himself stuck on something. Why did the Admin use his dictionary to finally respond to him? 

     “You…” Lukas begins, slowly looking back up to the deity, clutching his bag close to his chest. “You don’t talk… do you?” He asks with a hint of curious worry in his tone. As expected, there is no response. The Admin just stares down at him; Lukas can feel the judgment which keeps him rooted to where he stands. 

     “I… I don’t understand.” Lukas rests his chilly hand against his forehead whilst he shakes his head, then draws it back into his styled hair, trying to wrap his mind around it all. “The hunters back in BeaconTown warned me about you. The signs warned me about you. I was told you were going to kill me, yet…” Lukas sighs heavily, clutching his satchel close. “You saved me.” He finally says, then looks back up at the deity who continues to bore an unhappy expression. “That’s also why I’m here, is to thank you for that.”

     Lukas’ gaze rests on the Admin now. Finally having full control of his body again, he’s able to take a single step forward, only for the deity to take a single step back. Lukas stops, then hesitates. 

      There’s something… wrong here.

     In the beginning, Lukas truly thought he’d over stepped his welcome by coming back to the Admin’s forest with a heated temper. The deity looked reasonably upset with him, which Lukas at the time figured was a response to his uncontrolled outburst, but now… He isn’t so sure that’s the case. The Admin’s expression hasn’t changed at all during this lengthy encounter. The deity is a blank slate, and Lukas is inclined to wonder why. 

     Even with such an intimidating exterior and stubborn attitude, Lukas doesn't feel threatened. If the Admin wanted him dead, he's confident the deity would have killed him by now. Instead, he keeps his distance, and part of Lukas feels as though the deity is just as uncertain about him as Lukas is for the Admin. So why is everyone scared of this guy? 

     The sound of a familiar happy trill sounds behind him. Lukas turns and the Admin looks up, both watching as a bright blue glow flutters through the trees and enters the trail the two men stand within. Lukas’ expression brightens immediately, holding his hands out to greet the Allay as the spirit flies over. “Hello there,” he says and the Allay, jovial as ever, approaches Lukas with a lively chime, fluttering around his form, then flutters to the Admin, lighting the shadowy man up. 

     Lukas watches the moment closely, this time really getting a look at the man’s otherworldly features. With the knowledge now that the Admin is a god of some sort, Lukas takes in his appearance in an entirely new light. The dark, shadowy blue skin. There’s a dark shade that permanently stains the upper half of his facial features, shadowing his eyes. The Admin makes no move to greet his Allay, but his eyes do briefly follow its movements around him, hardly moving his head to do so. 

     Lukas feels his cheeks warm the longer he stares, only for the warmth to strengthen when the forest deity snaps his eyes back to Lukas, causing the blond to tense and awkwardly avert his gaze. Lukas’ attention is caught by the Allay returning to him, appearing before him with one of the missing objects from the other day. The little spirit’s eyes close in a joyful gesture as it shakes Dewey’s rattle mouse in its tiny blue hand. Lukas smirks, amused. “So that’s where his toy went. I had wondered about that. What about the sweet berries? Did you take those too?” Lukas asks with a knowing tone. 

     The Allay opens its eyes and blinks before doing a gesture of what looks to be an awkward head scratch. Adorable, the author thinks to himself with a fond smile. “It’s okay if you did, just warn a guy next time alright? Then I can bring an extra bag for you too.” The Allay seems delighted by this response, doing a happy spin and nodding, holding Dewey’s toy mouse close. 

     Jeez… Lukas had intentions of getting Dewey’s toy back from the Admin, but now seeing where it's gone, Lukas doesn’t think he has the heart to take it from the little spirit. Not with how happy it looks. That and he can’t imagine there’s many toys to play with out in the forest. Not unless Admin is capable of conjuring up something like that from thin air. 

     Speaking of–

     Lukas looks up and, to his dismay, notices now that the deity has turned and begun silently walking away into the trees. Lukas’ heart sinks just as he begins to quickly step forward. “H-hey wait! Where are you going?” He calls after him and before he could get another step closer–

      Poof!

     “Oh!” Lukas lands back on the other side of the fog. He stumbles a bit, but this teleportation has been far less clumsy than any of the others before. The blond asserts himself quickly, looking back at the fog from which he came. He didn't send me back to the tree line this time… The last time he was teleported, he felt nothing but frustration and anger fueling his drive to push back into the fog and give the Admin a real piece of his mind. This time though… He feels quite at peace with the progress he’s made today. 

     He finally got to interact with him. He’s learned so much! Yet… so little at the same time. If anything, he has more questions swarming his mind like restless bees now more than ever. 

     As for now… Lukas thinks it may be best to call it a day and to not push his limits. The way back to town through the woods is somewhat grueling though, especially with how regretful Lukas is with a major part missing from their first real interaction together. Lukas, the fool, never even introduced himself. The blond briefly cringes, holding his face in his hands as he walks over pine needles and cones back to the forest entrance. He’d been so caught up within the moment, he didn’t even think to properly introduce himself. To a god no less! No wonder the Admin was so guarded! Lukas couldn’t even spare him his own name, being too entranced in his prolonged moment of awe. 

     “I’m so stupid,” he winces. “What kind of first impression was that? He must think I’m crazy.” Well… he wouldn't be wrong to think that if he did, considering Lukas lost his temper and shouted at a god. Of all things to lose his cool at, it just had to be him. Lukas sighs. Maybe tomorrow, he can make a proper, professional approach. 

     When he gets back to BeacInn, he greets Dewey with treats and loads of new information. The ocelot is relieved to finally hear some good news come from his owner, considering how much the world has been against him recently. Dewey purrs and kneads the blanket, bumping his head against Lukas’ in a proud show of affection. 

     After that, Lukas immediately sits at his work desk and busies himself in his writing, only to have his attention grabbed by a grumbling ocelot again. The jungle cat pawed at Lukas’ pants leg to get his attention and once he has it, he uses his nose to bump a treat towards the author, reminding the man that he too needs to eat before investing himself in his work for the rest of the day. Lukas sighs, knowing Dewey is right and gives him an appreciative head scratch. “Okay, okay you're right. Let's go find something to eat.”

     It's amazing how little mind Lukas pays to the townspeople walking around. Socializing was something he'd hoped to better himself at when he got to BeaconTown, but for obvious reasons, that idea was of little importance and placed in the back of his mind. He's quiet and elusive when talking to others, keeping to himself in a way that fits him right in with the rest of the town's citizens. He doesn't want to last long out in the town's open streets. The last thing he wants right now is to risk a run-in with a nosy hunter. 

     Thankfully, that wasn't the case today. Lukas returns home and does the healthy life essentials like eating and bathing. After a short shower, he ends up staring at himself in the mirror, searching his complexion, thinking back to the Admin's own. All those scars on his face.. Lukas can't help but stare at the nick on his chin he got a few years back, right in the beginning of his adventures. Back when he was still so new to the world which awaited him. He gently runs his fingers over the scar, wondering how the Admin got his. There was too many to count. So many untold stories behind that silent deity. He wonders how he'll ever communicate properly with him, because dictionary use is a bit too time consuming. 

     Lukas lingers on the thought for quite some time. All the way back into the living space where he stands at the window and gazes out upon the trees. 

     After some extensive thinking… he thinks he knows how to approach the Admin with a conversation. He just hopes that the deity will be in a talking mood the next time he sees him.