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bamgyw · 2 months ago

Text

˖°𖡼.𖤣𖥧 little red riding hood 𖥧𖤣.𖡼°˖

summary: afab!reader x werewolf!beomgyu just as little red riding hood entered the woods, a wolf met her. little red riding hood did not know what a wicked creature he was, and was not at all afraid of him. little red riding hood modern [smut] retelling.

warnings: little plot, lot of smut at the end. fingering, biting, sucking, they fuck in the forest? dub-con. definitely not as pretentious and cheaper than six nights.

word count: 6,5k

rey yaps: rey comeback. yay. as you can see, this is not the six night update. i am so very sorry. if you don't like it, i did it on purpose. it's camp. happy halloween.

once upon a time there was a dear little girl who was loved by everyone who looked at her. whenever the wind whistled she wore a warm, scarlet cloak, so she was always called little red riding hood.

the window’s open just enough for the wind to slip through and moan against the narrow slit. its sighs blend with the creeping chill of autumn nights, making it too easy for her to ignore the other sound—the low, mournful howl of the wolf stalking just beyond the trees. waiting. starving.

but inside—warm, cozy, oblivious—she’s giddy, caught up in the process of getting dolled up. the vanity of the pre-party ritual. halloween night, or the night to honor the ancestors' harvest festival by dressing like an unapologetic slut.

she leans in closer to the mirror, dragging the eyeliner brush across her eyelid. the black ink smudges into a sultry, careless flick.

her reflection stares back—rosy cheeks, fox like eyes, lips twitching into a smirk as she perfects her look. red little riding hood. she’s got that ominous, almost brilliant look of blood on snow; hair like lint, cheeks tinted a synthetic red, lips red like wine.

outside, the darkness gathers thick. that part of town—the forgotten edge where the trees grow too tall, too twisted, their branches clawing at the sky—has a reputation. by day, the leaves rustle with tiny, cheerful birds. but by nightfall the trees bend into shapes that shouldn’t exist, and the black between them isn’t just dark. it’s hungry.

she doesn’t care. not tonight. she’s excited.

she’s got a boyfriend, and she adores him in that hopeless, foolish way. taehyun—so princely, so mature, so different from any other boy she’s ever known. just the thought of him sends a flutter through her stomach.

but her excitement falters, her hand with the eyeliner brush pausing mid-stroke.

for quite some time now, she’s had the gnawing feeling that taehyun doesn’t like her anymore. he's distant. cold. the hunger in his eyes has dulled into something worse than disinterest. he doesn’t kiss her the same, doesn’t touch her like he used to. the golden glint of lust she once saw in his gaze is now replaced by dull apathy.

but not tonight. tonight, she’s going to fix that.

she has gotten herself a ridiculous little dress, so charming and frilly that it would drive any boy insane. a costume meant for a twelve-year-old, that should stretch over her curves and frame her just so. a skirt that's more like a belt made of little ruffles, barely brushing the tops of her thighs. puffed sleeves, and a corset cinched tight enough to steal her breath—she doesn’t care. she’s pulling the hunger back into her boyfriend's eyes.

the cheap red costume lays across the tub, a mess of fabric that’ll turn her into something untouchable. a gift for him, draped in lace and bows. she shrugs off her bathrobe, careful to close the door but leaving the curtains wide open. why bother? what harm could come from the empty wilds?

in a deep red bra and panties that cling like fresh blood to bare skin, the fabric is thin, barely there, a gauze that the cool night air slices through. the chill raises goosebumps, and her nipples harden beneath the lace, two sharp peaks straining against the sheer veil.

somewhere in the woods, the wolf is watching.

she notices her own reflection and pauses, taking in how her body looks under the dim light. the slight tremble of her chest, the rosy peaks beneath the lace. her breath catches in her throat as she runs a hand over her stomach, feeling the curve of her waist.

somewhere in the woods, the wolf starts salivating.

she has drowned in self-loathing lately. the boy she loves has been treating her like she’s nothing. she’s felt like nothing. but tonight —must be the witches, the spirits and the ghosts— she feels pretty.

the wolf thinks she’s pretty too. he has spotted a tender, plump mouthful, and hunger is curling in his belly. he can’t hold back anymore, and his howl cuts through the silence—sharp, hollow, vicious. and the wolfsong is a warning. the sound of death by the window.

she freezes. a chill creeps down her spine, not from the cold, but from something primal. she holds her breath, listening. and then she hears it—a soft, distant inhale. a wet and heavy breathing. not hers. human, but not quite.

her head snaps toward the window, eyes wide. there, in the darkness, something moves. no, someone moves. two glowing yellow lights. embers, burning. they don’t blink. they just… watch.

she pulls the drapes shut, heart racing, forcing a grin. halloween, she thinks. just some asshole playing a prank. a cheap, silly trick.

somewhere in the woods, the wolf smiles.

just as little red riding hood entered the wood, a wolf met her. little red riding hood did not know what a wicked creature he was, and was not at all afraid of him.

"just go from streetlight to streetlight," she tells herself.

focus. one light. two. a quick breath of safety before plunging into the next stretch of black. the cold night air curls around her, prickling her skin like needles.

her little red heels click against the uneven pavement, the sound echoing in the stillness. for a moment, she feels that gnawing, unshakable sense that she's not alone. but she shrugs it off, laughs under her breath, calling it paranoia.

the road ahead glimmers beneath a blanket of fallen leaves, slick and shimmering in the muted glow. on either side, the dense, impenetrable forest looms—a thick monster of dark green and black, framing her path to the party.

above, the moon, full and obscene, watches her like a voyeur. all still. all quiet.

except, that is, for the rustling of leaves beneath the predator’s steps. the wolf moves with ease, slipping behind her unnoticed, eyes on her legs as they sway, hungry.

this is his territory. she just doesn’t know it yet.

tucked inside her little basket—a cute part of the costume she’s rebranded as a purse,—there’s a small pocket knife. mom’s voice echoes in her head: “you never know what's lurking out there, darling.”

however, no amount of steel could cut through the one rule. the rule older than the trees that lined this cursed path. in the history of women walking alone at night—never, ever make eye contact.

so when she sees the shadow up ahead—thin, crooked, leaning against a lamppost with a cigarette hanging lazily from his lips—her heart does what it must. it kicks into overdrive.

head up. eyes forward. don’t let him know you're aware of his existence. her fingers tighten around the basket’s handle, knuckles turning white. it’s fine, she lies to herself. just keep walking.

one meter.

he tilts his head slightly, tracking her as she nears, but doesn’t move. her heels click louder now, faster, echoing hollow.

two meters.

close enough to smell the smoke curling from his cigarette. her skin crawls, but she doesn’t falter. just a few more steps and he’ll be behind her, another shadow, another forgotten threat. she feels a sudden, punctuating cold down her neck, but she barely pays attention to it.

three meters.

she passes him, breath held, heart pounding. it's done, she's safe. her fear was stupid, it always is. then it happens—a hand, cold and solid, lands on her shoulder.

her stomach drops. she spins, ready to scream or run, but the words die on her lips when she sees him.

a beautiful boy, just—beautiful.

dark, untamed. his hair’s a mess, falling over his forehead, deep brown eyes glowing like embers. flannel over a ragged band tee, the faint scent of smoke and damp leaves hangs around him.

“you dropped this.” his voice is low, nearly a growl, as he holds out her little red hood. it must’ve fallen when she rushed past.

“o-oh.” she stammers, half breathless, “thanks. i didn’t even realize.”

as she takes it from him, his gaze lingers for too long, making her hyper-aware of the way the dress clings to her body.

“pretty…” he says, the word half-whispered. a slight and wicked smirk touches his lips, like he knows he can degrade the costume and the girl beneath with just a single look.

a shiver races down her spine, but she forces a smile. “t-thanks.”

his eyes drag up and down her body, slow, making sure she notices. heat blooms in her neck, unbidden, and she tells herself—this dress is for taehyun, not for some stranger who smells like rain-soaked earth and cigarettes. and yet, when he bites his lip, something flutters low in her stomach—dangerous, thrilling.

“little late to be walking around dressed like that, don’t you think?” he sneers, and scorn flickers in his eyes. but the humiliation sends a shiver through her, one she doesn’t quite hate. “you headed to the party?”

“obviously,” she shoots back, spreading her arms, letting him take in the dress—though he’s already noticed, definitely. still, she’s relieved. he knows about the party, and suddenly he feels closer, more familiar. not quite a stranger anymore. “you?”

“yeah,” he shrugs, casual, like it’s nothing. “not really big on parties, though. i prefer the quiet.” his voice dips, eyes lingering on her. “but you gotta socialize… or you get lonely.”

“right.” she quirks a smirk, finally letting herself look him up and down. “but it’s a costume party, you know.”

“oh, i’m in costume. i’m just subtle,” he says, grin spreading wider, darker. “wanna see?”

against her better judgment—against every instinct screaming at her to walk away—she nods. his smirk deepens. he lifts his lip, just enough for a single sharp fang to catch in the dim light.

she laughs, half-relieved. “that barely counts as a costume.”

“oh, but it counts,” he says.

“fine. so, what are you supposed to be?”

he leans in just a little closer, his words coiling around her like smoke. “that’s the game, pet. you have to guess. guess right, and you win something. guess wrong...” his smile widens. “well, i get something.”

naive and pathetically charmed by the boy, she raises an eyebrow. “what do i get?”

he leans back, pretending to think, though his eyes never leave hers. "i mean... i'm a stranger in the woods. you get to walk away... unharmed."

poor thing, she rolls her eyes like he was joking. "and if i don't guess right," she speaks, her voice softer now. "what do you want?"

"a kiss."

her heart stumbles. she'd give it to him, gladly. hell, she'd guess wrong just to get their lips together. but... “i'm really sorry i…” she stammers, smile faltering, “i have a boyfriend.”

and though he doesn't seem fazed, his expression shifts. subtle, but unmistakable. his eyes darken, the playful charm fading away. “you shouldn’t go around teasing strangers when you're all alone like this,” he says softly, “might find yourself in trouble.”

she swallows hard, "i– i'm so sorry, i wasn't trying to—"

“it’s whatever,” he says, stepping back into the shadows, his voice a low warning. “go to your boyfriend, little red. but be careful. there are wolves out here. and not all of them are as friendly as me.” he pauses, a smirk twisting his lips. “name’s beomgyu, by the way.”

and so little red riding hood wanders on, oblivious to the truth: wolves wear many skins, each one crafted to prey on vanity, on longing, on the hollow spaces left unguarded.

they slip through shapes, feeding on weakness and hunger. but it’s in the glow of those predatory eyes that you recognize him. the unmistakable trace of his essence, the constant lurking in every form.

the wolf is as cunning as he is ferocious; once he’s had a taste of flesh then nothing else will do.

the halloween party is but a yearly excuse for yeonjun to show off how filthily rich he is and make a joke out of it. as if by opening the doors of his mansion to the rest of the mortals he lets them in on the punchline. a spectacle for the sake of being one. a big parody of himself.

and tonight, he’s dressed as gatsby, because of course he is. the slick white suit shimmers under the bruised purple lights, like a spotlight trailing him—and it might as well be, because yeonjun is the spotlight, soaking in every second of it.

he carries a champagne glass permanently attached to his hand, always swirling just enough liquid to keep things classy but not sober. every grin he flashes feels rehearsed, and he keeps crooning “old sport!" at anyone close enough to hear.

he's a cartoon. a well-dressed, charming caricature of wealth and tragedy, and everyone in the room knows it. and they love it. and he loves it more than anyone.

the music thumps through the house like a pulse, vibrating underfoot and inside ribcages. it’s too fast, too loud, forcing everyone to keep moving or else be swallowed up by the noise. by the chaos. bodies blend together, creating a messy tangle of limbs and sweat, grinding and swaying under the flickering strobe lights.

a chandelier overhead swings crooked, crystals throwing fractured light around, mimicking a starry sky in a thousand different colors. it's gaudy, too big for the room, and yet perfect for yeonjun’s vision. a crown fit for the king of excess.

she sits on the edge of it all, watching. just watching. taehyun’s next to her, but he might as well be miles away.

his eyes are glued to yeonjun who leans in close, whispering something in his ear, pointing out random people in the room. every now and then, taehyun’s lips twitch into a smirk as he scans the room like he’s calculating everyone's worth, everyone’s weaknesses.

he hasn’t looked at her once. she could have been invisible.

the bitterness stings, but she pushes it down. instead, she reaches out, her fingers grazing his arm, trying to pull him back to her, even if just for a second. “hey… you wanna get out of here? somewhere quieter?”

taehyun doesn’t react at first, not even a flicker of recognition in his eyes. he’s in his own world, lost in whatever game yeonjun’s playing.

dressed as a medieval knight, his armor shines under the lights, making him look even more untouchable. when he finally speaks, it’s almost an afterthought. “yeah, yeah. in a bit.” his words are hollow, thrown over his shoulder like loose change. “just… give us a second.”

and before she can process it, yeonjun’s turning toward them with that same cruel smile he’s been flashing all night. “god, you’re clingy,” he says, “can’t handle not being the center of attention for, what, five minutes?”

her stomach twists, heat flooding her face. “i wasn’t—” she starts, but her soft spoken words quickly fall short.

“it’s fine,” taehyun cuts in, still not looking at her, “just… chill, okay? we’ll leave soon.”

it feels like a slap. not hard, not violent. just… cold. her chest tightens. and it’s so clear now—he doesn’t care. he’s tolerating her, only and barely. her fingers clench into fists on her lap. she swallows hard, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill over.

"i’m… i’m going to the bathroom," she says, voice barely audible over the pounding music. but it doesn’t matter. taehyun doesn’t hear her.

she drifts through the crowd like smoke, unseen, slipping between the life and color all around her, barely there.

she finds her way out to the porch, cold air cutting into her skin, sharp as the bitter edge of disappointment still lingering in her chest. she hugs her arms, the night heavy and indifferent, pressing in on her as if to make her smaller.

yeonjun’s yard sprawls below, made-up like a graveyard—plastic tombstones lurch from the soil, skeletons claw out of dirt, grinning skulls leer up at her from the fog.

her breath puffs into the night, fading just as she feels she has, every inch of her dressed up for someone who never even noticed. ridiculous fucking slut.

but then, the air thickens, a chill going down her spine. she senses him before she sees him. a crackle in the dark, the slow burn of a cigarette lighting up.

“you look… sad, little red,” barely a purr. low, smooth, a murmur from the dark that curls around her like a trap.

she startles, spinning, heart slamming up to her throat. it’s him. beomgyu. the boy from the woods.

he's lounging against a stone grave, cigarette dangling from his fingers. his face is a smirk made of shadow, his eyes glinting, almost like he’s playing at something, watching her to see if she’ll play along.

“why aren’t you inside?” she asks.

“i told you," he says, snuffing out the cigarette against the stone, his gaze never leaving her face. "i like the quiet. besides...” his smirk stretches, razor-sharp. “can’t say i’m exactly welcome in there.”

then he stands. he steps closer. that lazy, stalking pace that narrows the distance between them, each footfall a reminder of who’s in control. the night presses her back against the railing.

“you’ll freeze out here, pet,” he says, words tipped with a cruel sort of sweetness.

he’s looking at her the way a wolf might look at a lamb. like he could devour her whole, and god help her, a spark of thrill runs down her spine, sharp as a nail.

she stares, heart skittering in her chest, searching his face for something human—but his eyes are restless, ravenous. and yet they see her, see through her. why couldn’t taehyun ever look at her like that? why couldn’t he see her like beomgyu did?

“i… i want to take that bet.” she asks, trying to keep her voice steady.

his eyes spark, the faintest flicker, and she feels like she’s opened a door she can’t close. he leans in, his smirk curling wider. “what about the boyfriend?”

she holds his gaze, refuses to look away, “the boyfriend doesn't give a fuck about me.”

one of his hands is already sliding around her waist like a snake coiling around prey. the other lifts to the neckline of her dress, fingers sliding up to tug gently at the red ribbon there, toying with it.

“then guess, little red,” he murmurs, lips curling into a pout that pretends innocence, “what am i?”

and from the bottom of her being, she knows what he is. but she doesn’t dare put it into words. she decides to guess wrong.

“a kitten, maybe?” her voice comes out playful, teasing, such a pretty little fool, “with those cute fangs?”

he laughs, sharp and cocky, and she watches his tongue glide over his canines. “wrong,” he murmurs, leaning down, his grin widening. “you owe me something now, don't you?”

she smiles, heart racing as she tiptoes to reach him and his arm tightens around her waist, providing a steady anchor. her lips brush his just barely, the peck of a little bunny.

but he’s already got her, pulling her in harder, his mouth a claim, his kiss a taking. his lips are cold, but the kiss is hot, burning. his jaw tightens and loosens wide and heavy, lips pressing against hers with a force that feels like he's taking something from her—something she didn't agree to give.

she allows him to do as he pleases, giving herself to him like she's under a spell. she clings to his frame, hands gripping his shoulders, body caught up in the press of him.

her breath becomes shallow, her mind a blur. his touch, his heat, too much all at once, too intense, too—

she dares to open her eyes. just to look at him. just for a second.

and she's terrified to discover that his once brown gaze is now molten, liquid yellow, something feral staring back at her. her pulse jumps, fear clawing its way up.

she pulls back, gasping, but he’s already there, leaning in again, his mouth hovering like he wants to bite, to consume. she raises her hands, warding him off. “i… i think i should go back inside.”

"why?" he purrs, and his breath impatient and almost manic against her cheek. "scared, little red?"

her throat tightens, "i don’t really… know you, and…" she tries to step away, but his hands close around her waist like iron. trapping her.

"you don’t need to." his fingers dig into her, reminding her that her body is his to command. he draws her close, “let’s play one last game, pet. just one. what do you say?”

“what… kind of game?” she asks.

and just like that he lets go. he steps back. a twisted offering of freedom she knows can't be trusted.

“we race,” he says, voice low, almost playful. “you run. back to your house. if you make it—” his eyes gleam, hungry “—i leave you alone.”

“and if i don’t?”

beomgyu never replies. he stays silent, shadows pooling in his amber eyes.

the full moon hangs ivory, casting a ghostly glare across his face. he glances up at it, bathing in it's glow like it's medicine. then his gaze drifts back to her, that twisted, merciless smile twisting his face.

and he just starts counting down.

ten... nine... eight...

she doesn't wait for seven.

she bolts. she flies down the steps, heart pounding, her feet barely grazing the ground as she breaks into the night. gravel scrapes beneath her heels.

six.

she ditches her shoes mid-sprint, stumbling onto the cold, wet ground. the fake cemetery looms around her, fog twisting between the tombstones as adrenaline pushes her forward.

five.

the sound of him shifts, something subtle at first—a dark, guttural growl building low in his throat. her heart stutters. it’s happening.

four.

a crackle of bone, a sickening pop, a snarl splitting the quiet night. something breaking, reshaping. she hears his breath deepen, his bones stretching, snapping.

three.

a howl cuts through the night, piercing, shuddering through her bones, her skin, her soul. the sound belongs to something that is no longer human.

two.

she dares to glance over her shoulder, just once, and what she sees makes her blood run cold. a massive, shadowed figure, fur gleaming silver under the moonlight, teeth bared in a snarl that sends ice through her veins.

his eyes, the same molten yellow as before, are locked on her, brimming with a hunger that borders on savage.

she never hears the one. she just runs and runs, as fast as she can. but the wolf is faster.

carnivore incarnate, only immaculate flesh appeases him.

the trees claw at the sky. gnarled limbs jutted out, crooked talons waiting to snatch her, tear her apart, make her one with the dark.

she doesn’t run but hurtles through the blackness, branches snapping beneath her feet like brittle bones. the forest isn't just there anymore—it's aware, watching her, toying with her. she can’t stop. can’t even breathe.

he's after her. and he's close.

“guess right, and you get to walk away unharmed.” how she regrets what she's done. she should've guessed right. should've kept her life instead of trading it for a kiss. stupid mistake. stupid choice by a foolish girl.

but just when she's about to give up she sees—between the curtain of twisted trees, the faintest flicker of light. her house. it's almost a visual illusion. something so desired it seems unreal. so near. almost there. her heart skips with hope.

she never makes it.

something cold as death clamps around her wrist, yanking her back. her body slams against a thick, gnarled oak tree, the bark biting into her back. it’s like the forest itself is starving for her, clawing at her, pulling her deeper into its hunger.

she feels red-hot, searing pain. then the wet warmth of his breath on her face. human again, if you can even call him that. all ragged, scraped and scratched. but human.

"run, run, run," he purrs, voice slick with amusement, "did you really think you could get away?"

it was never about catching her—it was always about the chase. the thrill of letting her think she could escape, just to tear that illusion apart in the final, hopeless moment.

she’s not escaping. not now. not ever.

"little red," he says with a sultry pout, his index finger tracing her jawline, “you seem so scared…”

“w-what are you going to do to me?” she asks.

she tries to wrestle, always avoiding his eyes. but each movement affects her physically, making her more aware of his body against hers, of his hands upon her.

he lowers himself, bringing his face close to her neck and breathes her in. his nose grazes her skin in a barely-there caress that makes her insides tighten. he nuzzles his head against her throat, his body stirring as if comforted by the scent.

“you smell even better up close,” he says, his lips parting as they hover over her neck. he lets his tongue brush her skin, savoring the faint saltiness. “taste even better than i imagined."

he sends a shiver through her, a crackling thrill that races under her skin. her heart beats so swiftly that she feels as though this were the moment she had expected for years. she almost stands up on her toes to hear the rest of his words.

"you’re so beautiful, little red.” he continues. “boyfriend never noticed, but i did. i’ve been waiting for this… for so long.”

and she knows it's true. she would’ve known even if he hadn’t said a word—could’ve felt it in the way his arms cage her against the rough bark of that oak, the trembling eagerness in his body.

he wants her, not gently, but raw and feral. and when she meets his gaze, those amber eyes glowing in the half-light, starvation licking at the edges, she feels something inside her shift. the want for this monster—this creature with fire burning in his stare, diabolically phosphorescent.

in quiet awe, she says, “what big eyes you have.”

“all the better to see you with.”

he does see her. exactly how she wants to be seen. and she wants to let him see more.

she pulls off her scarlet shawl—a flash of poppies, the bloody bloom of sacrifice. and since fear is of no use to her now, she sheds it like old skin, too. next, the blouse—soft, almost apologetic in the way it slides over her head—leaving her breasts bare, kissed by the cold silver of moonlight.

his arms find her without thinking, tight, firm, an embrace that feels like iron bands. in that grip, something stirs inside her, something she hasn't felt in so long it almost frightens her—it’s not just being wanted, but being claimed, protected, as though she belongs to him entirely.

“what big arms you have,” she breathes, her fingers tracing the hard ridges of his bicep, brute strength beneath her palms.

“all the better to hold you with,” he grins, his lips parting just enough for her to catch the white of teeth. the daggers of fangs.

her voice drops to a whisper, “what big teeth you have.”

“all the better to eat you with...”

his words slither out just before his mouth crashes onto hers, devouring. his lips, firm and greedy, drink from her, swallowing her breath, tongue invading with a force that leaves her dizzy.

his hands grip her body with the same ruthless intensity, fingers mauling her flesh like claws, leaving painful bruises blooming under his touch.

his mouth drifts lower, down to her jaw, down to her neck, teeth grazing her skin in teasing bites, until he finds the soft skin of her chest. the hardened, sensitive nipple. he sucks hard enough to leave a bruise. a mark of ownership. meant to hurt. to claim.

his tongue grazes the sensitive peak again, teasing her with the cruelty of it, dragging it out. her breath falters, and before she can choke it back, a broken whimper slips out.

“good girl,” he purrs against her skin, “such a good little pup.”

his hands aren’t far behind. they drift lower, fingers tracing the curve of her body, abandoning her chest like it’s no longer enough. they slide down her sides lingering over her stomach before slipping between her thighs. his fingers brush the garters, barely caressing the lace straps holding them tight against her legs.

“too tight, don’t you think?” his voice is quieter now, almost thoughtful. he traces the garter’s edge again, pressing into the skin where it’s biting in. “let’s see if it left a mark.”

he lifts her skirt, letting her feel every inch of skin being exposed, every second of her body laid bare to his gaze. her leg lifts instinctively, just a small movement, but enough for him to slide the garter down, peeling it away from her thigh.

and there, above the edge of her stocking, her skin gleams, reddened, damaged by the strap. he stares for a second too long, then up at her, asking for permission, knowing very well he has it already.

of course, she lets him.

his fingers skim the inside of her thigh, higher, until they’re at the edge of her panties, toying with the fabric like it’s something fragile. he grins, teasing. and she sees in his eyes, in his invigorated breath, that something violent is coming.

his fingers press against her cunt, once, cold and firm, right against the damp fabric clinging to her skin. then comes a ruthless slap, quick, and she bites down on her lip hard enough to taste blood. then a second slap, harder, leaving her moaning, and her hips jerking toward him.

without a word, his finger slips past the soaked fabric, and makes its way inside her, slow but firm, pushing through the heat of her skin like he’s sinking into something molten, something desperate.

her back arches hard against him, her head falling onto his shoulder. the surrender comes easily—she doesn’t fight it. she opens for him, lets him push deeper, lets him take.

he stops when he’s knuckle-deep, breath hot against her ear. "you like that, little red?”

her heart slams against her chest, and the wet heat grows, slick and throbbing. she can only nod and let out a pathetic “hmph”.

she’s already soaked, but the need—the ache—builds with every passing second, with every subtle shift of his breath, his body looming over hers like a shadow.

another finger slips in, just as slow, until he curls them inside her, pressing deep enough that she feels every inch. her entire body trembles, a soft moan slipping from her mouth.

he pulls out his fingers, but only for a second before he plunges them back in, harder this time, deeper. forcing her body to open for him. her breath hitches, and her cunt clenches around him, her walls spasming as he presses further.

“such a tiny little hole…” he says, almost to himself, a wicked grin curling his lips.

when he withdraws, he drags it out, agonizingly slow, like he wants her to feel every ridge of his knuckles as they pull back. the emptiness is immediate, the loss of him, the loss of that pressure, unbearable.

he holds his hand up, and her eyes widen. she can see the evidence of her need painted across his skin, shining under the dim light.

the dampness between her thighs coats his fingers in a thick sheen. it glistens, dripping down toward his palm, the slick strings of her arousal hanging between his fingers. “so fucking wet for me,” he growls, his voice rough, edged with a sharp, dark amusement. “dripping like a little slut.”

his hand moves again, back down, fingers sliding over her trembling cunt, tracing along the wet, swollen folds. when his fingers find her clit, they barely press—just enough to make her shiver, just enough to make her whimper. the wet bud throbs under his touch, every nerve in her body firing at once.

"beomgyu p-please," she whispers, barely recognizing the sound of her own voice.

the grin that spreads across his face is demonic, a depraved satisfaction settling in the lines of his jaw. every second that passes is his to control. in one fluid motion, his hands are at the waistband of his jeans, undoing them with a pull.

the pants slide down, peeling off like skin, and then he’s free. the hard line of him, thick, swollen, standing rigid in the faint light. it gleams, slick at the tip with precum, and her breath stumbles over itself, catching, holding, as her eyes latch onto the sight.

his hand wraps around his cock and he strokes himself, the rhythm heavy. his size makes her breath hitch—the way she knows he’s going to stretch her, fill her completely.

the thought of him fucking into her becomes all-consuming. her thighs tremble, and she can feel the clenching heat between her legs, aching, desperate.

he moves corruptly slow, dragging the swollen tip of his cock down, sliding it through the soaked mess of her folds. it’s a tease, the wet heat of her slick coating him, and the pressure of him right there—right at her entrance—makes her head spin.

a moan escapes, soft, helpless, her lips parting as he toys with her, his cock gliding up and down, never giving her enough, always holding back just a little longer.

his eyes lock with hers, and they’re glowing, that eerie golden glow, something unholy in them, “beg for me.”

“p-please,” she chokes out, the haze of lust clouding every rational thought. “please, beomgyu… i need you. please.”

the second the words spill from her mouth, he moves. he thrusts into her, forcing her open, the thick length of his cock splitting her apart. the stretch is instant, a burn that radiates through her core, and she gasps, her back arching as he fills her.

the tightness of her cunt clamps around him, a desperate attempt to take him all in, and she can feel every inch of him, every ridge, every vein as he pushes deeper, harder, until he’s buried to the hilt, his cock seated deep inside her.

he grips her hips with ruthless strength, his fingers digging into her skin, sure to leave marks, bruises that will linger. he holds her there, buried deep inside her, savoring the way her body shakes, the way her walls flutter around him.

“ah, fuck…” he groans, his voice rough and guttural like he’s barely holding back from wrecking her completely.

a tremble runs through her like a live wire, raw nerves, everything sparking at once. she adjusts to the size of him inside her, body bending, flexing around the thick intrusion. she feels like she's being split open, the sharp line between pleasure and pain blurring until it’s just sensation—hot, pulsing, overwhelming.

he starts to move, each thrust like a shock to her system. his hips grind into her with almost cruel force, ricocheting pleasure up her spine, waves crashing in her chest.

"look at you," he growls, voice thick with satisfaction, "taking me so well. fuck, my little pet, keep making those noises for me,”

she whimpers in response as the coil of pleasure in her belly winds tighter, tighter, pulling her in. he slides in and out of her, their bodies tangled, twisting, rolling together. her cries now mount in endless spirals, loud as if he was murdering her.

beomgyu answers each cry with a deeper thrust, pushing into her harder, his hips slamming against hers with a brutal sound. he’s lost in it, in her, in the need to possess her to annihilation. she belongs to him now, her body molded to fit his touch, pliable under his hands.

his fingers tangle in her hair, yanking her head back, exposing the vulnerable curve of her neck, and his lips find her there, hot and hungry, biting, sucking, the sharp edge of his teeth sinking into her skin between breathless kisses.

his grip tightens as his thrusts become frantic, erratic, the control slipping from his grasp. “s-so fucking close,” he groans, his voice raw, trembling, every word a struggle against the rising tide of his release.

and with one final, savage thrust, she's the first one to shatter.

the orgasm crashes into her with a force that steals her breath, her vision blurring, her walls clamping down around him as her climax takes over.

he escapes a low, animalistic sound. a howl that vibrates through her chest. he fucks her through her oversensitivity and his thrusts grow rougher, less controlled, his hips slamming into hers. the obscene slap of their bodies colliding fills the air, the noise of flesh on flesh, sweat-slick and raw.

he curses under his breath, his hips stuttering, his cock buried deep inside her as he finally comes, his release spilling into her, thick and hot, filling her completely, warmth flooding through her as her body trembles uncontrollably under the onslaught of pleasure.

beomgyu’s teeth sink deep into her flesh. biting hard enough to leave marks, her skin yielding under his canines, and she whimpers, too far gone to feel the pain, her body burning with pleasure, every nerve on fire, every sensation magnified as the aftershocks ripple through her, wave after wave of white-hot bliss.

his cock twitches inside her, pulsing, pumping more of his release into her, and she sobs, her body shaking as the pleasure rips through her, the intensity of it almost too much to bear. her vision blurs, white-hot flashes behind her eyes, and all she can feel is him—filling her, marking her, owning her.

with a snarl, he finally pulls back, releasing her neck, and a soft moan slips from her lips as his tongue flicks over the small wound he’s left behind, licking away the blood, soothing the sting with gentle kisses. there’s a tenderness to his touch now, strange and foreign after the brutality.

slowly, he shifts his hips, easing his cock out of her, and she whimpers at the sensation, her body so sensitive that every movement reignites the sparks of arousal beneath her skin. she feels him drag against her, the last of his release leaking out of her, warm and thick, a reminder of how thoroughly he’s claimed her.

she lies there, spent, panting, her body soft and malleable under his hands, no longer her own but something broken, something he’s molded, possessed. his slave, his ownership, growing soft under his fingers.

for a moment, everything is still.

the only sound is their ragged breathing, their chests rising and falling in sync. his body stays pressed against hers, his warmth seeping into her, grounding her in the moment. his lips brush her ear, “you’re mine now, little red. all mine.”

she doesn’t even have the strength to respond. she’s spent, hollowed out, drained of everything, her body limp, barely held together by the weight of him, by the grip of his hands still clutching her as if she might slip away. everything feels far away, like she’s underwater.

the world fades—blurry sounds, dim lights—and then she’s weightless, cradled in his arms as he carries her like something fragile.

there’s nothing but moonlit quiet and deathly cold in the woods. only the soft fall of his steps, paw prints in the ground.

and little red sleeps, forever nestled in the arms of the tender wolf.

taglist 𖥧𖤣.𖡼°˖ @beomiracles @yoseicour @fairfootedflekk @bubbly-moon @izzyy-stuff and i know more people asked to be on the general taglist but i'm an idiot and i never kept track so. yeah. sorry. just ask again.

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tapakah0 · 2 years ago

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"Show me the world" pt. 2 Okay, now it's going to be a little 4 part comic thanks to @silvermikey1 ;-; Sensei, I'm terribly embarrassed to tag you because I'm making fan comics that aren't canon of your story and I don't know if it's canon, so ahah please pretend I don't exist.

Pt. 1 | Pt.3

#cass apocalyptic series #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the turtles #rise of the tmnt #future leo #bad future au #future donnie #I'm still waiting for Raph appearance #I'm dying #I'm literally dying because I slept 6 hours summary for two days but I'm happy #Show me the world little comic #Please don't look at me #*hides*#I just tryna to survive...#Cass fanart tag

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hinamie · 7 months ago

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@philosophiums and i have been nursing the beginnings of an atla au so have some preliminary designs while we cook :>

#my art #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #fanart #jjk fanart #atla!au: art #jjk atla!au #atla!au: design #lmhs #this is all im gonna be thinking abt actually JHFHGFGGH #apparently we were brainstorming fr. 10 hours...............#so yes. brain is Worms and the worms are shaped like this #ill flesh these out later but fr now i am very happy #wld like to thank bolin for his shirt and the kyoshi warriors for their usage of emerald green so megumi can have his blue tones #every1 say thank u source materiallllll #i definitely Will have to work on yuujis outfit to make it less of a direct ripoff of bolin GJFSD #as it stands his hood and shirt length r rly all that differentiate the design #oh well! problem fr future me smile #edit i fixed th shirt @ past me ur welcome

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blueboybot · 7 months ago

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In Your Cold Dead Arms

I don't care! I need to show yall one of my weird pairs.

Twigs and dry leaves snapped under feet that were in a hurry, wind blowing violently enough to feel as though it was one more step from uprooting trees and flinging them carelessly about with its strong might. Rain droplets fell from the dark and cloudy sky, rapid rainfall increasing with every droplet that hit skin and cloth, each one harsher than the other.

Some might find struggle with this kind of weather condition but for him it was way nicer than dealing with someone who could manipulate the weather at will. Luckily for him it was simply an act of nature, no powerful foe was attacking him and he could appreciate that once he got out of said rain.

As he ran his eyes continued to look out for shelter, something he could only hope to find in an area like this. More trees and plants overtook his vision, his temper starting to flare as rain fell even harder, almost feeling as if it were lashing him. Thunder boomed from above and lightening soon followed after, clouds lit up and illuminated the area for a few seconds.

On que, lightening striked next to a tree he was close to making him instinctively dodge out of the way. The tree took major damage, its base split in two and some of its green leaves burnt black. Fire appeared for a quick second before immediately being quelched by the rain. However with the destruction of the tree he was able to see a path, and further in the distance some kind of structure.

With the discovery of shelter he headed straight for the building, his legs picking up speed with the promise of soon being out of rain. Getting closer he saw that the structure was a mansion, an abandoned mansion at that. Not one to be picky he pushed open the gates with overgrown vines, finding them unlocked and bolted straight towards the front door, ready to use his body to force it open only to find out it was also unlocked and opened when his hand pushed on it.

Entering the mansion his first red flag came when he laid his eyes on the interior of the place. It was much nicer on the inside than the outside, the floors were clean and shiny, a chandelier lit up with flames hung high from the ceiling, red carpet and wooden decorations greeted him from where he could see them. Overall, the mansion gave off the vibes that it was well kept and that meant he may have just broke into someone's home.

"HELLO, IS ANYONE HERE?"

He expected someone to come rushing out of a door, cursing him or attacking him for entering their home as an unwated guest but he got nothing.

"Please tell me I didn't walk into some kind of haunted house." He mumbled.

Arsenal stood near the entrance door, wiping his boots on the mat and trying to dry himself with the warmth of a nearby candle. He tried to contact the team but something was blocking his signal, so for now he was stuck here until the rain stopped, but judging from the sounds outside that may take a while. He himself think back to how he got into this situation in the first place.

They were flying in the bioship when they got attacked, while trying to manuver through the air the ship got hit and plunged into the sea. He remembered exiting the bioship to look at the damage, only to be swept away by a current that appeared out of nowhere. He ended up on a beach and tried to contact the others but his communicator didn't work. Leaving the beach to explore the rest of the island storm coulds appeared, then it started raining so he ran to find shelter. Now, he was here in mansion that may or may not be haunted.

With a hesitant first step he continued to explore the mansion, going up the long steps that lead to the second floor. Turning left he was met with a hallway, dark brown with a few candles lighting up the way from which they were positioned from each door. Peaking inside, he saw a room with the same dark brown wood, but this time there were elegant designs carved into some of the walls, soft looking chairs and a rug lay in the center surrounded by bookshelves on the wall, a window showcasing the rainy outside world.

The sound of something falling against the floor in another room caught his attention. He whipped out his bow and readied an arrow, cautiously, he drew nearer toward the sound, stopping infront of the third room on the right that was slightly open. Slowly, he pushed open the door back, coming to halt when he saw nothing but furniture covered in white sheets.

He didn't lower his bow though, and his theory of something being in here was proven correct when movement came from a sheet close to the window. Arsenal stepped closer, arrow aimed directly at what he assumed was its head, whatever is under there could be dangerous for all he knows and he wasn't taking anymore chances. He wasn't about to lose another arm or any other limbs for that matter.

The rustling stopped and the sheet pulled back, revealing the face of someone that was definitely close in age to him. Hair so dark as if it was trying to mimic the void of space looked wet, strands clinging to their forehead. Freckles dusted over their cheeks and nose like they were carefully placed by the gentlest of hands. Blue eyes stared at the bow and then him, looking at him with a hint of curiousity only to turn to fear a second later at remembering that there was a weapon very close to their face.

Those blue eyes intrigued the red head. They were unlike any blue he had seen before, mesmerizing in a way, tempting him into their hypnotic trance. Looking away was becoming more of a challenge the longer he continued seeing into something so enchanting. They reminded him of the ice and a burning blue star. So out of this world that he swore his body was beginning to tingle as those eyes gaze back into him. He was locked in a view so breathtaking that the word did little justice to describe how he felt as he stared.

His trance was broken when the teen scrambled away from him, hitting hard against the underwall of the window, and likely hurting his back if the way he winced was anything to go by. The other boy quickly got up an moved to side, hitting his head into a piece of covered furniture that reverberated with a clang sound.

Aresenal winced, deciding he needed to step in and do something before the teen knocked himself out while trying and failing to get away from him.

"Easy easy!" He put away his bow and arrow, looking at the boy on the floor with his hands up to come across less dangerous "I'm not going to hurt you, I was just curious as to why I heard a noise coming from this room."

The teen looked at him with those blue eyes, accessing him to see if he was lying. He must of taken a gamble and decided to somewhat believe he meant no harm because the boy rose to his feet once again, looking at him with slight caution now.

"Do you live here?"

"No, I was trying to escape the rain and came across this abandoned mansion." He replied, looking away from Roy and opting to stare at the carpet.

"Got a shy one." Roy thought looking over the boy and his body language.

His clothes looked a little too big for him. A white t-shirt with short red sleeves and an oval pattern in the middle, black cargo pants, and red shoes with white lacing. There was also a metalic looking wristband the boy wore on his left hand. Overall, Arsenal took him for a pretty boy who wasn't used to these sorts of situations, one who doesn't do much except for sit in quiet with the popular kids and have everything handed to him without much of a resistance from other teachers or students.

"So do you have a name or do I just call you boy?" Roy asked, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

"I'm not a child!"

Oh he was going to have fun with this one.

Roy's face split into a grin as he waited for the boy to reply. The other teen rolled his eyes at him.

"My name is Danny." Danny looked him up and down, "Did you just come from a cosplay party or something?"

He raised an eyebrow, "I'm Arsenal!"

This time Danny raised an eyebrow at him.

"Protégé of Green Arrow."

The boy's face remained the same as Roy's changed.

"Part of the Young Justice team."

Still no look of recognition.

"The Justice League."

"I literally don't have a clue on what any of those are, is it like some kind of sports team?"

"How do you not know the Justice League?"

"I'm from a small town, a lot of outside media doesn't get through to us." The boy mumbled something with a hint of annoyance at the end.

Roy groaned in frustration, putting his hands up to his masked face. He silently wondered if he was going to have to tell pretty boy here about the existance of aliens and meta-humans.

"Woah!" He heard the boy exclaim, feet that barely made a sound ran up to him. "Cool arm!" Roy spread his arms apart from his face to look at him, seeing that the boy's focus was entirely on his prosthetic.

"What kind of lights did you buy for this?"

" Lights? What no— This is how it is." He growled out the last part, remembering what Lex did still left a sour taste in his mouth.

"No. Way!" Danny's eyes seemed to sparkle with awe. "Can I touch it, please?"

Roy let the other teen poke at his arm, watching as fascination filled those blue eyes. The only other person that showed this much interest in his arm was Bart and the little menace would always ask to look at it or try to wrestle him, resulting in him always winning because there was no chance of him losing to someone with those kind of arms.

"This is amazing, can you wiggle your fingers for me?" Roy did just that and watched as a smile etched onto the boy's face.

"INCREDIBLE! The black metal, the desgin, everything was made to fit you. But, I bet I could do a way better job."

"Oh really?" He raised an eyebrow.

"My parents are inventors and scientist, I obviously picked up a thing or two from being around their equipment for so long." Danny placed his two hands on the prosthetic, providing Roy with the knowledge that he was two inches taller than Danny.

The vigilante catalogued the information given to him for later. Even if Danny meant him no harm that didn't mean he trusted him right away, sue him, but the other's parents being scientist that built enough inventions for Danny to alledgedly make his own made him wary.

"You're not a bad cosplayer." Danny said, leaning his head against the metalic arm while looking at Roy.

Those too blue eyes pierced his soul. Danny had to be a meta or alien of some kind, there was no other explanation for his eyes.

"It's not a cos—"

*SCREECH*

An unholy noise screamed out, sounding like a high pitched call and simultaneously a warning from whatever creature it came from.

Roy quickly grabbed Danny by the waist and pushed the boy behind him, shielding him as he armed himself once again.

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cedarsmoke4 · 2 months ago

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“Ethan Win— uh, I mean, Peter Parker…”

Sometimes the silly idea is just too perfect to ignore😂

No-glasses versions and detail shots below the cut⬇️

#karl heisenberg #resident evil village #re8 village #happy halloween!!!#Heisenberg does fit doc ock cosplay pretty perfectly #they’ve both got dark glasses and a long coat and metal adjacent abilities #it’s silly but #listen I’m so fucking proud of this one #it took way too long #almost 23 hours #but I finished it anyway and he looks so good #cedar doodles #mechanic au #ah I forgot to shade the bicycle chain #oopsie #oh well I’m gonna leave it I’m already late for work lol

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project-sonadow · 10 months ago

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different look, always same sonic

#project draws #happy hour au #implied sonadow #sonic the hedgehog #sonic oc

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bangaveragewhitewine · 24 days ago

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snowed in⋆⁺₊❅

Eddie Munson x Reader (from Happy Hours, but can be read as a standalone)

Word Count: 1.4K

Summary: My first contribution to @littlexdeaths The Twelve Days of Promptmas revisits Bouncer!Eddie and Bartender!Reader as they brave a blizzard together.

Content: Cosy and domestic overall. Mentions of sex (oral m & f recieving, penetrative sex). Spit / spit kink mention. Vomit mention if you squint. Hints to anxiety.

December 1993

Silhouetted by the brilliant white sky, he looks like spilled ink framed by the wooden window frame. Accidentally beautiful or intentionally dark and mysterious, a Rorschach print filled with meaning, you want to mount him on the wall and admire him from every angle.

Eddie gazes out at the falling snow, the way it blankets the city streets below. He watches the flakes float and fall, fat and frosty from the fit-to-burst clouds above, and twists the red phone cord around his fingers as he listens to Wayne on the other end.

You can’t see his face from your spot on the couch, curled up beneath a blanket with fuzzy socks and your hands wrapped around a warm cup of tea, but you would bet all of your earthly possessions that he’s wearing his worry beneath his bangs, pinched between two dark brows. You would also wager that Wayne is insisting he is fine and dandy, teasing him for fretting like an old woman (but secretly feeling heart-warm that his boy cares so much).

Your tea is cool enough now to sip without scalding your lips (which Eddie would gladly kiss better if such a tragedy would occur). You smile into the cup when he laughs low and throaty, warming you inside out.

“We’re good, Wayne. Yeah, the bar’s closed tonight, we’re staying put.” Eddie twists slightly to look over his shoulder and winks at you, “Yeah, I’ll tell her.” In socked feet, he shuffles back from the icy-cold glass and turns his back on the blizzard beyond. “You too, old man. Tell Laurel hi from us… Call me tomorrow, okay? Bye, Wayne. Bye.”

You watch him place the phone and its cradle back on the sideboard once his fingers have been untangled from the cord. “How’s Hawkins?” you ask.

“Pretty bad. They closed the Plant, that never happens.”

He picks up his coffee cup, drains the dregs, and comes to join you on the couch. Eddie is grateful when you lift the fuzzy blanket for him and lays himself on his front with his head against your heart. Going quiet, he sighs and soaks in your warmth before continuing - you can feel the tension wash away now that he has spoke to his Uncle.

“And Wayne? He sounded in good spirits.”

“Mmhm. He’s good. Staying with Laurel, her heating is less-shitty. They’re stocked up on groceries for a few days, so it’s fine.” His voice is muffled against your sweater, but you can feel his relief that Wayne and his girlfriend have each other and don’t have to brave the blizzard alone. Just like you and Eddie. Being snowed in alone would royally suck.

You had enjoyed the light dusting of snow that came at the start of the week, braved the sub-zero temperatures to keep the patrons of Jackie’s happy and drunk, and endured a busy Walmart with Eddie to stock up the fridge and cupboards ‘just in case’. It was fun at first, writing your initials in the snow and pegging snowballs at Eddie, laughing until your ribs ached when you tried and failed to dodge his retribution and cold hands. But winter in Chicago was no joke and overnight, a dump of powdery white perfection and a frigid wind had frozen the midwest. Luckily, the bar closed early last night so everyone could get home safe and sound. The phone call from Frank this morning woke you both up and alerted you to the city at a standstill; there was no need to open the bar tonight and maybe tomorrow. With nowhere to be and nowhere to go, you both curled up again to sleep the day away.

A few hours later, Eddie stood by his sleepy promise to keep you warm by burrowing beneath the blankets and making himself at home between your thighs until you were both sweaty and satisfied and the bedroom windows had fogged up behind the thick curtains.

You started cooking a lasagne as Eddie called around to make sure your group of friends were safe and sound and fully stocked up for the next few days. He cancelled guitar lessons planned for the next few days, bidding farewell to the extra cash that makes the Holidays a little more extravagant for you two. When Eddie joined you in the kitchen to help chop and taste-test, he brought loose plans to meet in the park and build a snowman tomorrow if the blizzard permitted. He watched the clock, giving Wayne time to sleep after his night shift; intrusive thoughts of black ice and snow drifts and his Uncle frozen to the bone tightened the tension in his shoulders and made him restless. Finally, he was able to relax once he knew everyone was coping, and once he knew Wayne was safe and warm a two-hundred-odd miles away.

You watch a few episodes of Twin Peaks with the lights low and Eddie falls asleep for a while, looking younger and so peaceful. An unplanned day off is exactly what he needed, wrung out from extra shifts at the bar and guitar lessons and odd jobs he picks up along the way - a day here or there working a sound desk for community theatre, slotting in as a session musician, and learning the ropes at a local radio station (sometimes you even get to hear his voice on the air, though that’s usually when he forgets to mute himself, or his laughter breaches the booth). His ability to try his hand at anything, watching him persist and flourish, makes your heart ache with how much you adore him. Though you do wish he would not spread himself so thinly some weeks, especially now when the days feel so short, when the bar is getting busier as the Holidays tick closer and the days off are fewer and fewer. This snow day, you think, is some sort of divine intervention and you let him sleep on for a little longer than he might like - there’s nowhere to be, nowhere to rush to.

Now the apartment you share smells like the rich and warming lasagne you made together and cheesy garlic bread. Outside, the snow is settling and you sit together at the little dining table with candles and two beers in lieu of wine or something fancy. Eddie’s cheeks are rosy warm and one dimple is stained with a speck of tomato sauce that you will wipe away so gently and call him your ‘mucky pup’. Taking the opportunity to make this an impromptu date night, he attempted to serenade you in butchered Italian until you had to cover his mouth with your hand.

“Baby, I love you so so much, but we’re going to get another noise compla- Ew! Did you lick me?!”

You wiped your spit-damp hand on his face as he cackled and threatened to not give him an edge piece of the lasagne - as if you would ever deny him his share of that crispy cheese topping, as if licking your hand was any worse than living with his boyish burps and flatulence, as if you haven’t nursed him through food poisoning, as if your eyes don’t roll into your skull when he spits in your mouth while your legs are up on his shoulders.

Two empty plates sit in front of you as you share memories of snow days passed and agree that this might just be the best one both of you have ever had. Better than the giant snowman Wayne helped him build when he was eight, better than the big hill you went sledging on when you were ten, better than every cup of cocoa with marshmallows that warmed your cold hands after snowball fights.

Soon you will stand side by side in the kitchen, washing and drying the dishes as you agree on a movie to watch and and wondering aloud if the snow will settle enough for a snowball fight fuelled with hipflasks of warming whiskey with your friends tomorrow. Eddie will call Wayne one more time before bed, and you will talk in the darkness of your bedroom as you fall asleep curled together under too many blankets.

Neither of you is sure what tomorrow will be like, but you both know that you won’t have to spend it alone.

Thank you for reading - I hope you enjoyed! Reblogs, comments and likes are loved, cherished and adored!

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