#i think this was from over the summer but i found it and i like Kind Of. think its okay

[multistan-247]

dilf!sukuna thinks it’s annoying how much you ogle him over the dumbest shit—but the smug tilt of his mouth says he eats it up. he was well-maintained for a man who ate the food for three people and went to the gym whenever time allowed him. infact, his trainer was surprised at his muscle definition, and asked tips from sukuna instead. his sharp words and scowls had mellowed, along with the addition of a few lines on his face, countable strands of grey in pink.

he's bent over the bonnet of his car, white tank soaked through and through, painted to his back. he was a sight for sore eyes, your husband, as he grumbled something about "fuckin' mechanics overcharging for shit—"

every muscle is on display, thick biceps flexing as he props the hood open with one arm, veins trailing down to thick, grease-smudged fingers. his wedding band flashes when he lifts his hand to rub at his lightly stubbled jaw, staring at the dozen hundred engine parts, deep in thought, that did something to you that you could never explain. one of the reasons why some of your fights never lasted for more than 2-3 days.

you hated summer, always whining about the heat and the stickiness that comes with it, but suddenly had a new-found liking for it.

"been calling your name like five times, woman. the fuck you starin' at?" he grunts, huffing as he lifts his top to wipe at the sweat collecting at his forehead. dilf!sukuna, whose abs peek out when he shifts, glistening like a damn oil painting, that stupid tank top riding up just enough to flash his happy trail and that sinful v-line you ached to trace with your tongue.

“if you’re gonna keep eye-fuckin’ me, at least be useful and grab me a cold beer.”

you roll your eyes, already halfway there to the fridge because—how do you say no, especially to a man like him when he's standing there, looking like that?

shirt clinging to his frame, grease staining his fingers and cheek like it belonged there, sweat trailing down his neck like it knew where it was going. you hand him the beer, and he pops the cap on the edge of the car hood like it's nothing. he takes a long swig, jaw flexing, throat working, and the scene before you seems to roll in slow motion. you shake your head to clear yourself of the haze that seems to consume you from head to toe, settling into a quiet ache between your legs.

he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, red eyes catching yours over the bottle like he knows what he's done. he always does.

and sure, this image of him reminds you of your apartment from before, the one you guys had before the bungalow. annoyed yells over the trail of socks he'd strewn around the place, or the way he'd let the dishes dry in the sink for more than two days, which would ultimately lead you to snipe at him, do the dishes yourself, or when you were at your limit, you’d shove at his chest, wild with irritation and sweat-slick fury, only for him to grab your wrist, drag you close, and say “do that again, I dare you."

the last time that happened, the AC had given up mid-argument. the place was already small to begin with, landlord couldn't care less about maintenance, the mess didn't help either. july was a damn furnace and you both were pissed, breathing in each other's heat, too hot and too stubborn to back down. and then, you had yielded when his calloused hands sought purchase on your waist, pressed you up against the counter, kissed you like he was picking a fight with your mouth, pawing at the silly excuses for clothes like he couldn't get it off you fast enough.

his name spat out in anger turned into unwilling moans he pushed inside of you—thrust after brutal thrust. he bent you over the kitchen counter like he owned it, like he owned you. one hand palming at the fat of your hip, the other in your hair, yanking you back so he could hear the way your voice broke each time he drove into you.

the sharp slap of his hand across your ass had you jolting forward, only to arch back with a desperate whimper. the sting bloomed, made your hips snap back to meet him harder, clenching around his cock, your body was begging for more. it earned you low, mocking words and a harsh tug to your nipples.

“where did all the fight go, hmm?"

he'd murmured into your damp neck, the vibrations of his words the last thing you remembered, your cunt clenching around him helplessly till the moment he found release in you, breathing heavily.

now? you’re here again. sweat trailing down your back. his hold, bruising the skin around your waist, pulling you flush as fingers tangled in his spiky, short pink hair while you chase at his lips like he’s your last meal. his hold, tying you to him, to this moment.

you're barely catching your breath when he mutters,

“when did you say nanami’s bringing the lil’ brat back?”

you blink, brain fried. “not ‘til evening."

he grins, his eyes flaring. “good. now get on the hood. haven't even started on you yet.”

maybe you do hate summer. but if this is what it looks like on him, you’ll happily burn for it.

A/N: had to get this out of my system. my ovaries are sobbing. currently summer here, it's soooo hot. and I'm prepping for exams. haven't written or posted in years. hoping this fed you as much as it fed me. might make this a series, based on requests. feedback is welcome!!

[tteotlma]

Mine to Keep

--- A quiet moment turns heated as Joel reminds you why some things are better kept just between the two of you.

Jackson!Joel Miller x Reader (4kwc)

tw: 18+ MDNI; explicit sexual content, heavy sexual tension, age gap, possessiveness, jealousy, hiding a relationship, emotional vulnerability, mild anxiety, groping (over/under clothes), neck kissing, hair pulling, power imbalance (protective/possessive), soft dominance, slow-burn to heat, lingering touches, close proximity, unspoken intentions, introspection, private/domestic intimacy, mild language.

a/n: BC IM GONNA ACT LIKE NOTHING BAD HAS EVER HAPPENED EVER; have just for some reason been thinking a lot abt pedro lately it’s absolutely insane, also now that lent is over i’ve taken up gardening again and i’m just yearning so inspired again. 

--

The wooden screen door swung open effortlessly, to your surprise, to a clean and empty kitchen save for the half drunk mug of coffee on the kitchen island. The jagged edges of the chipped paint on the door caused your skin to rise as you cushioned the door on your bare shoulder to not let the door slam shut. 

You let in a breath about to call out, but the faint sound of music could be heard playing in the other room. Stepping lightly around the corner, and peeking behind the wall you saw your current beau— well, the back of his head but him nonetheless. He was sitting on the sofa, gazing down at something on his lap as the late afternoon sun showered him in rays of light. You watched as small dust particles floated around his frame, and it was then you realized you were holding your breath. 

Letting out a small huff of air you hoped the floor wouldn’t creak beneath your shoes as you took slow steps towards the open room. You were in a quiet awe watching a moment of rare vulnerability, the man you figured was just permanently stiff now had his back hunched, causing his shoulders to slouch. Despite his slacked frame he was still broad, taking up a large amount of quiet space. Eyeing the outline of his body, you watched how the muscles of his traps dipped below the neckline of his shirt, only a sliver of sun kissed skin visible between the curls at the base of his head, and the fabric of his ratty t shirt and you could practically feel the heat radiating off of the exposed skin, you found yourself reactively sticking your hand out to grasp that warmth—and grab you did. 

You let your fingers graze the side of his neck, finally giving away that you were here. The flesh beneath your fingers went rigid, and a small chuckle hid behind a puff of air left your body. Leaning your body over the back of the sofa your hands again finding the base of his neck fingers entangling in the strands of his outgrown curls tugging ever so slightly. 

“Hi.” You whispered, pressing your lips to his temple. 

“Almos’ scared me half to death,” He said, trying to play it off by flipping a page of the town newspaper. Your fingers left his hair and slid down his neck, and chest to clasp your fingers together, arms hung around the man. 

“Sorry, I just couldn’t resist,” you snickered lightly, resting your chin in the crook of his neck staring at his fingers. “It’s not every day you see Joel Miller relaxing.” Your fingers started roaming his chest again, coming to toy lightly with the stubble on his jawline. His skin was warm from the summer sun, and the Wyoming heat. Joel cleared his throat, rustling the papers in his fingers shifting beneath your weight.

 “I wasn’t relaxing, I was jus’ readin’ up.” He shook his shoulders lightly to try and shoo you off, and you did just briefly enough to realize he was wearing his reading glasses, yet another rare sight. 

“Right, because Jackson Hole is so big.” You teased, resting your cheek on his shoulder. 

He cleared his throat again, beginning to fold the pamphlet between his hands eyeing you from the side.

“Ellie?” He asks tossing the papers to the side, he then moves his fingers to take his glasses off, but you stop him, enveloping his fingers with yours. 

“Out with Dina,” you say, a hand finding its way back to his salt and pepper curls tucking loose strands behind his ear. 

“Are you—”

“Saw them with my own two eyes at that food hall.” You reassured him, already knowing if he was going to ask for reassurance. 

“Next to your very much in love Brother and his wife.” You mumbled, and you felt a deep sigh leave his body and only the sound of music played softly in the background as a pause of silence passed between the two of you. Joel held your fingers, resting his prickled cheek against your forearm as you rested on his shoulders.

“Joel,” you whispered, you took his silence as a sign to continue. “Why don’t you want anyone to know about us?” you said softly, hoping your question didn’t just break this glass bubble you were both floating in. 

But it was eating away at you, especially when you saw what seemed like everyone and their brothers' mothers in a tooth-rotting, core cringing relationship. 

Joel cleared his throat and shifted in his cushiony seat.

“W-well, uh…” He cleared his throat again, clearly uncomfortable. You kept running your fingers through his hair, gentle and steady, trying to ease him. You knew he didn’t mean any harm with how he was fumbling—he was just like an old car that needed a few tries to get going.

“What’s got you thinking like this?” He quickly rushes out, grabbing your hand, you could feel the heat radiating off of him. You debated on telling him the drawn out version of word jumble, and anxious rambling or tell him outright like you’ve been rehearsing. 

“I would just—” You grabbed his hands again, thumbs caressing his calloused fingers noticing the faint tan forming beneath his wrist watch. Suddenly struck with shyness you shrug, toying with his hands. “Sometimes, I’d just… love to hold hands with you.” you said said, voice getting softer with each syllable. 

“Sweetheart,” He whispers, pulling your hands, and bringing you around the arm of the sofa. Your hand trails the length of his right arm, muscles taut beneath the pads of your fingers. You watch the hairs on his arm stand, as your nails lightly scratch the surface of his skin. He makes you stand before him.

“Sweet girl,” he murmurs, placing you in the space between his legs, your knees pressing gently against the edge of the sofa. You feel yourself pouting, lips tugging downward despite your best effort to stay composed. Joel’s large hands wrap around yours, rough palms hot against your skin as he brings them to his lips. The soft brush of his mouth on the back of your hand sends a flush to your cheeks, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other.

“As much as I would love to show everyone what’s mine…” he says, voice low, as he leans forward, guiding your hands to rest on his shoulders. He kisses the inside of your wrist, slow and deliberate, before his hands slide up the length of your forearms, settling at your hips, fingers curling into the small of your back.

“Right now…” he presses a small kiss just above your waistband, his lips lingering against your skin before he looks up at you, gaze steady, almost searching. “I just wanna keep this ours, for a little longer,” he murmurs, arms tightening around you. One hand dips lower, fingers brushing over the sliver of bare skin where your shirt lifts, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring it.

"It’s good like this. Just you and me."

You feel him breathe you in, feel the way his fingers linger at your waist, grounding himself in the warmth of your body like he needs the contact to stay present.

"I think about it too," he says quietly. "What it’d be like, not keeping it quiet." His hand rests firm, steady against you, thumb brushing lazy circles into your skin. "But... I ain’t had something like this in a long time."

His voice trails off, thick with something unspoken, thumb still moving like he can’t bring himself to stop, can’t let go.

"I just... I wanna hold onto it a little longer, like this."

You cradle his head in your hands, fingers threading through his hair before dragging down the length of his back, nails scratching softly against the fabric of his shirt as you let out a deep, aching sigh. Joel’s thumbs slip beneath the hem of your shirt, his touch firmer now as he pulls back just enough to see you.

You meet his eyes, face to face, trying to ignore the way your stomach flips at how good he looks—his glasses slipping low on his nose, jaw tense, eyes soft. It only makes your chest tighten more.

You huff, frustration bubbling up.

“I don’t care what anyone thinks,” you say, quiet, yet certain.

Joel’s eyes stay on you, hands steady at your waist.

“I know you don’t.”

He swallows hard, more of his fingers slipping beneath your shirt, onto your skin.

“But this—what we’ve got right now—it’s the only thing in a long time that’s felt…” His eyes search yours, waiting for that unspoken understanding, and when he finds it, he leans in, voice low.

“I’m not ready to give that up. Not yet.” 

Your forehead rests against his, as if the closeness alone could quiet the anxiety crawling its way up your throat.

“Can… we really keep going like this?”

Your fingers find their solace in the curls at the nape of his neck, playing with them in slow, nervous motions, your nails lightly tapping against the arms of his glasses with every other pass. You can’t help but watch your hands move, almost detached, like they don’t belong to you anymore.

It’s some quiet reminder—how much you already lean on him, how even now, you’re using the feel of him to steady yourself, to keep your worry at bay. 

Joel lets out a soft chuckle to the side as he straightens up, leaning into the back of the sofa with a sigh, his eyebrows scrunched with disappointment but you knew it wasn’t directed at you. 

His hands pull you easily, guiding you into his lap, like a missing puzzle piece. Straddling him now, your knees press into the cushion, chest light against his, the steady rise and fall of his breath meeting yours. 

His hands move down your sides, and around the curve of your ass to rest against the sides of your thighs, his palm’s warm against the fabric on your legs. “You’re here. I’m here. Is there somethin’ else we need that I’m missin’?”

Your eyes search his, drawn to the fine lines at the corners, the way they crease softly when he looks at you like this. The sun has left its mark on him, scattering faint freckles and warm tones across his skin, like time didn’t just pass—it stayed, settling gently. As if in a trance, your eyes find a way to his lips, holding his face delicately in your hands, you shake your head slowly. 

“Baby girl,” his fingers burn against your skin, his voice low, and rough, “I’m tryin’ to keep you to myself, just a little longer.”

His thumb drags slowly over your skin.

“Ain’t ready to let everyone see what’s mine.” And with one more look, you feel yourself caving. You subconsciously lean in closer, absolutely weak to whatever hold he seems to have on you.

“Damn you, Miller,” you whisper, and he lets out a small snort, breath fanning across your lips. 

His hands slide up from their place on your thighs, slowly, fingers pressing into the soft give of your skin before settling at your hips, pulling you closer. 

You watch his hands, almost dazed, as your jean-covered knees shift, dragging his shirt up ever so slightly along his sides. The fabric rises, revealing the warm skin beneath—soft, familiar, the faint line of his waist exposed in the now dimming light.

You don’t look up. Not yet.

Your hands slide what feels incredibly slow from his jaw down his neck and chest, fingertips tracing the edge where his shirt had risen, drawn to the heat of him. His hands tighten on your hips, holding you steady, waiting.

And then you look at him, really look, taking him in for all he’s worth, and you lean in, tapping your forehead to his, the plastic of his glasses cool against the bridge of your nose. You dip your fingers beneath the neckline of his shirt and pull him closer. Your lips tentatively brush against his, light as breath, your eyes half-lidded, hoping—waiting—for him to meet you there.

When his lips finally touch yours, he kisses you, really kisses you, it’s slow, and deliberate at first, like he’s aware of how delicate this moment is. His breath hitches, just barely, but you feel it in the way his hands dig into your exposed skin, dragging you flush against him, no space, no air, just him.

His kiss stays soft, for a moment. The kind of soft that makes your chest ache, makes you lean in harder, chasing the heat of his mouth, the way his lips part just enough to taste you, to take more. Your hands trail up his neck and down his chest, in slack patterns stopping at times to caress his ears, or toy with his tousled hair. 

His tongue brushes yours, just a flick, just enough to make your stomach twist. and you feel his hands slide, lower now, gripping at the curve of your ass, squeezing like he’s trying to keep himself grounded.

You let out something between a sigh and a whimper, and that’s all Joel Miller needs.

The already searing kiss somehow deepens, rougher now, his teeth catching your bottom lip before he soothes it with his tongue, pulling you impossibly close, taking and giving all at once.

You sigh into him, your breath warm between you, your fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt, tugging at it as you shift in his lap. The cotton stretches under your hands, bunching in your fists as you press closer, the solid weight of him beneath your palms impossible to ignore.

Your hands roam, slow, dragging over his chest, the heat of him bleeding through the fabric, your fingers curling, groping softly here and there—testing, squeezing, not quite gentle, not rough, just needing, just taking your time as you explore the shape of him. The way he breathes beneath you, steady but tight, makes you linger, pressing your palms flat before curling them again, feeling the give of muscle, the warmth that seems to rise with every touch.

Your hands drift lower, fingers dragging across the stretched fabric, and it’s only when you shift again that you feel it—your knuckles brushing against the sliver of skin exposed just above his waistband. You pause there, just for a moment, fingers tentatively skimming the heat of him, tracing the edge where skin meets denim, where the faintest line of hair disappears beneath the waist of his jeans.

He tenses, breath catching against your lips, and you can’t help the small smile that ghosts across yours.

One hand finds its way back to the curve of his neck, slipping beneath the neckline of his shirt, holding him there, grounding him, grounding yourself. You lean in to kiss him again, your hips pressed firm to his, and your other hand slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, fingertips grazing the bare skin of his stomach, light at first, like a question, before smoothing higher, feeling the heat, the tension, the way he shifts beneath you like he’s trying to stay still, but he can’t.

His hand slides up your back, slow, firm, until his fingers are tangled in your hair, tilting your head just enough for him to pull you away.

When you let him pull you back, it’s only enough to breathe, to see him with his lips swollen, eyes heavy, chest rising hard beneath your hands. You stay close, your breath still tangled with his, the warmth between you humming, thick.

A slow smile pulls at your lips, fingers brushing the warm skin on his back, light, deliberate.

“My, my, Mr. Miller...” your voice is low, soft, but there’s no mistaking the edge of it, “I’m seeing all kinds of sides to you today.”

You feel the way he tenses under you, the pause in his breath.

Your thumb drags along the curve of his necklline, slow, tracing.

“Didn’t think you got jealous.” The words are almost a whisper, your eyes focusing on his skin exposed fingers ghosting, not quite touching.

“Didn’t know you could be so...” you pause, fingers slipping beneath the waistline of his shirt into the curls at the base of his belly button, your palm warm against the heat of his skin. He gazes down, and watches your hand move beneath the fabric of his shirt. “...soft.” 

The heat of the room caused his glasses to slide further down his nose, as we quickly glanced up at you. Smirking slightly at his disheveled state you take your hand that’s on his shoulder and swiftly push his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose before a smirk found its way to your lips.

The weight of his gaze was heavy on you as he doesn’t answer, not with words. Instead, he leans in, his breath hot against your cheek, and then lower, until his lips find the spot just below your jaw, kissing you slow, open-mouthed, like he has all the time in the world, like he’s content to feel you melt into him.

His hand moves from your body, sliding down your arm, fingers tracing lightly until they curl around your wrist, rough and sure. He doesn’t speak, just guides you, pulling your hand from his shoulder, slow and steady, down the curve of his chest, lower, until your knuckles meet the hem of his shirt.

And then he pulls you under.

Your fingers slip beneath the fabric, joining the other hand already resting there, against the warmth of his stomach, where the muscles are tight beneath your touch, where the faint trail of hair leads down, disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans.

He doesn’t let go.

Instead, he holds your wrist there, pressing your hand lower, like he wants you to feel just how much he’s burning, how much of him is wound up right beneath your palm. His breath stutters against your neck, lips still moving over your skin, kissing, nipping, but slower now—like he’s caught in it, too.

You feel the heat of him, the way he shifts beneath you, hips pressing up ever so slightly, chasing your touch as your hands move together, exploring the firm planes of him, tracing the edge where skin meets denim, groping, lingering, hoping to god you’d take more—but instead, your breath catches, something low in your belly pulling tight, and though you don’t stop, not really, your hands stay, palms still pressed to the bare skin of his stomach, fingers splayed, feeling the way he stays warm beneath you, the tension thick, still humming between your bodies, heavy and close.

You lean back—not far, not fully, just enough to draw in a breath, to see him, to take in the way he looks, the way he’s fallen back into the sofa, not letting go but giving in, his chest rising sharp beneath your touch, his shirt pushed up, bunched high enough that you can still feel him, still press into him, skin flushed deep across his chest, creeping high along his neck, blooming in his cheeks, the color settling there, soft and red and beautiful in a way you weren’t prepared for.

And you don’t move your hands—you can’t—because there’s something about feeling him like this, about having him beneath you, so undone, so real, that makes it impossible to pull away, impossible to even think about letting go.

His hair’s a mess, still tangled from your fingers, the curls at the nape damp with heat, and those glasses—slipping low, crooked, barely holding on—make him look ruined in the best way, like no one’s ever touched him like this, like no one else should ever get the chance.

Your thumb drags slowly over his waist, your other hand rising slightly, feeling the way his stomach still trembles under your touch, and your breath hitches—not from what he’s doing, but from what he is, from what you see, what you feel, what you know.

“Yeah...” the word leaves you soft, low, more breath than sound, your eyes locked on him, watching the way he stays with you, caught in it, flushed and open and completely yours. “No one else should see you like this.”

You feel him shift beneath you, his breath deepening, like he knows, like he’s heard exactly what he needed, and you press your hands to him, firmer now, like you’re holding him there—not just to feel, but to claim, to remind yourself that this, him, all of it, belongs to you.

And you’re definitely not letting anyone else have it.

Not now. Maybe not ever.

---

a/n: WAAAHHHHH I WANT TO KEEP HIM SAFE IN MY ARMS FOREVER (also not really edited so soz for the typos)

PLS REBLOG TO SUPPORT 💛

[homemadesterekpie]

im still such an og Hale pack enjoyer for real. i think about them all the time these days. Derek, Boyd, Erica, Isaac and Stiles just chilling together.

it starts awkwardly because they’re not used to eachother yet but the sheer instincts they all have to bond together is so strong the awkwardness feels just like background noise.

Scott having chosen the Argents while Stiles chose the wolves there’s this inevitable rift that forms between them. Stiles having been devoted to Scott for so long it’s obviously painful for him for a while and the wolves senses it.

especially Derek with his new Alpha powers, he can smell it on Stiles, his grief at losing his best friend. but he can also smell resignation and insistent determination.

Stiles does nothing in halves, when he’s in, he’s all in.

they start hanging out almost every day. not doing anything special most days. The betas train, Derek guides them, Stiles watches, he reads. Derek started going through the burnt out shell of his home and found some books and other things to salvage and let Stiles read through them.

and somehow that small thing almost moves Stiles to tears. Derek trusting him with the painful remains of his past life. Stiles is barely just starting to understand just how painful it’s all been for Derek up until now. and how it still tortures him. so having Derek casually show him the smoke smelling books and telling him he can read them if he wants to makes Stiles want to do something stupid like kiss Derek on the cheek and hug him. instead he fights tears and he thanks Derek sincerely as Derek just watches him intently.

It feels weird for Derek to have a pack now. It had been him and Laura for so long that his wolf had been content with that fact. but becoming an Alpha changed everything and he doesn’t know how Laura had been able to keep from changing people to add to their pack for all those years in New York because the drive to do so was almost impossible to resist. but Laura had always been the strong one, she had been raised to be the Alpha while Derek had been raised to become her beta. but he hopes he can make her proud. he hopes he can be half the Alpha she was.

its a relief to have numbers though. it feels safer and it’s easier to breath. he has people to take care of now. he has people to protect and provide for. he has people to patrol his territory with. he can secure his territory’s borders. he can start parley with the hunters occupying his territory.

it’s Stiles who brings it up. they’ve been a pack for a while now. almost a year. summer vacation is around the corner. the betas are strong now, they know how to fight, they know how to kill. meanwhile, Stiles has been going through Derek’s books obsessively. He started taking notes on loose paper but then started transcribing them more neatly into notebooks.

one late afternoon, when the pack is spending the day at the small lake deep in the preserve, Stiles sitting on the bank and reading, he asks Derek if they should consider dealing with the hunters.

ever since the pack has started growing stronger and more confident: patrolling the borders every night, contacting neighbouring packs to tekindle old alliances, Derek finally having his burnt out house torn down. the hunters have been making themselves known more insistently.

Chris Argent has been showing up with his daughter in the preserve hiking, more than once, both of them armed to the teeth. Strangers smelling of gunpowder and wolfsbane have been spotted in town a lot more often. actually, Stiles is pretty sure they’re being followed.

even Stiles who doesn’t have enhanced senses, spotted them all over town. once when out with his dad for dinner, a duo of them had come into the diner and sat at a booth not far from them. Stiles was certain he had seen them before. yes, he could swear he had seen them when he drove back home a few days ago after spending the day with the betas.

Stiles had watched as his dad had tensed when he also noticed the hunters sitting at their booth, ordering food. it was only after, when they were leaving the diner that his dad had asked Stiles if everything was good.

Stiles has told his father about werewolves a few months prior. he hadn’t gone into too much details but the sheriff knew about the pack and that Stiles was part of it. so Stiles shared to his dad his suspicions about the hunters. the next day, the sheriff gave Stiles a gun and took him to the gun range a few towns over. Stiles already knew how to use a gun but it had been a while since handling one so he made sure Stiles reacquainted himself. he also told Stiles that he would start keeping an eye on the Argents and waved away Stiles’ protests about not being worth endangering his job.

so this is why Stiles had to let Derek know they should definitely consider making a move. Derek just says yeah they should. he also confesses having been following the hunters’ movements for a while now. Stiles is taken aback because he had no idea of this??? and the betas hadn’t either from their reactions. they all stopped their swimming to look at Derek with various looks of surprise and betrayal. especially Boyd, whom had naturally worked his way to the second in command spot at Derek’s side.

so they decide to have an impromptu pack meeting right there on the bank of the small lake. they have a picnic and they talk things through as a pack, together. it feels so right to do so. this is what things are all about, Stiles distantly thinks as he watches and listens to Derek explain the hunters’ patterns of movement. a wolf pack, deep in the wilderness of their territory, ensuring the survival of their own.

they decide that Stiles will be sent with Boyd to the main Argent house and deliver the date and time and place for a parley meeting. Stiles recites the words he prepared beforehand , making sure to use the terms he learned from all the books he read.

there will be no violence. but if the hunters were to break that rule, the pack would be forced to take measures to protect themselves.

Chris’ face stays hard and impassive as he listens to Stiles but Allison isn’t as good at hiding her emotions, her face betraying her disdain and hatred. Stiles can’t help thinking those emotions don’t suit her, it makes her look a lot like her mother. the entire time Stiles speaks, she keeps her eyes on Boyd but the imposing beta doesn’t even bat an eyelash. It’s only when Allison’s eyes move to Stiles with the same animosity, that Boyd takes a step closer to Stiles, almost moving in front on him. a soft rumble growing louder the longer Allison looks at Stiles.

Chris’ eyes snap to Boyd for a second before falling to Allison and he stares her down until she has no choice but to lower her eyes, whole body shaking in anger. Boyd stops growling but he doesn’t step down or away from Stiles.

when they finally leave, Boyd walks with Stiles at his back and keeps his eyes the two hunters until they’re both back inside the house and Stiles is safe in the jeep.

Boyd and Stiles share a look when they’re both sat in the jeep. words aren’t necessary here. Boyd has done more than words could ever express so Stiles just pats Boyd’s shoulder, smiling and then he grips it for a few seconds. he’d prefer to hug him but in the jeep it would be too awkward so this would have to do for now.

not long after, the meeting happens. Derek, Boyd and Stiles arrive early. it’s happening at the outskirts of town, almost at the border of the territory. Erica and Isaac are stationed close by and they howl in warning when the hunters approach.

when Scott gets out of the SUV along with Chris, Allison and two other unfamiliar hunters, he’s the only one who reacts. he gasps and his jaw falls open in indignation but he immediately shuts it and rage courses through his veins. he never thought he would ever be feeling like this when it came to Scott but here he is. the gun in the waistband of his jeans at his back burns as his hand itches with the urge to take it out. he could shoot Scott, just to show him a lesson, he doesn’t even have wolfsbane bullets, he’d recover. but this meeting is more important than his ex best friend’s idiotic decisions.

he’s seething in it when Derek’s big hand falls to his shoulder and squeezes for a moment. Stiles calms down almost instantly. his breathing calms and he touches Derek’s hand softly with his fingers in acknowledgment, in thanks and Derek lets go. Scott’s eyes follows the movements and vague disgust blooms on his face.

Derek openly stares at Scott as he walks up along with Chris and his daughter. his stare is hard and unforgiving and he stares until Scott lowers his own gaze to the ground, fidgeting.

Derek leads the meeting and he’s surprised when Chris is the one to lead his own party. he was certain Allison was the one in charge now. She turned 18 and had finished her training months prior. that meant Chris and his men didn’t consider her ready for some reason. it must be because of the way she can’t seem to be able to keep her feelings in check. her hatred and discomfort at being in their presence is so palpable, Derek couldn’t avoid the smell even if he wanted to.

the terms of the Hale pack are brought forward. Hunters have a month to leave Hale territory or face repercussions. if they want to parley in the future, after leaving the territory, they will reach out to the pack for a meeting, the proper way. any other manner of ways used to reach out to the pack, will be considered a breach of the terms and the pack will be forced to take action.

Derek is implacable, his word is law. Stiles feels it in his bones, the skin at the back of his neck prickles with goosebumps. the wind picks up, the trees trashing with it and it becomes undeniable just how powerful Derek truly is at this moment.

the nematon is alive. Stiles has been working tirelessly for months with Deaton to purify it and then secure it’s connection to the Hale bloodline. tonight was the first test in checking the connection and the result is more than promising and Stiles can’t help giving a little smirk.

Chris looks around them furtively, feigning calm but there’s beads of sweat forming at his forehead. he watches Derek for a long time as the trees trash and creak under the force of the wind around them. the ground starts to shake slightly, pebbles and gravel rattling about.

it goes on until Chris finally extends a hand toward Derek and accepts the terms. Derek simply grips Chris’ hand in his own and they shake on it. the ground stops shaking and the the wind slowly die down to a gentle breeze.

Erica and Isaac show up at that moment, making themselves known and the entire pack watch as Chris, Allison, Scott and the two other hunters walk back to the SUV and drive away.

Stiles knows they’re out of earshot once the betas’ tense postures finally relaxes. Derek stays tense for much longer but that’s only before his senses are sharper than the betas.

Stiles and the betas celebrate by sharing hugs and a few nuzzles to cheeks. then Stiles walks over to his Alpha and just has to wait him out a few more seconds before Derek’s posture also relaxes.

he reaches out to place a hand around the back of Stiles’ neck and pulls him into his personal space. he pushes his forehead to Stiles’ own and they breath the same air for a few moments. Stiles lets his eyes fall shut and he grips Derek’s henley at his side.

eventually, they separate and Derek’s hand shifts to lay to the side of his neck, thumb brushing back forth. Stiles can’t look away from Derek’s gorgeous face, his heart pounding in his chest. emotions surge up inside of him and the next thing you know Stiles is kissing Derek on the lips, arms around those broad, strong shoulders.

his uncontrollable emotions seem to burst inside of him and tears prickle at his eyes behind his tightly shut eyelids. he wants to give Derek everything. everything he has, everything he is. he wants Derek to own it all.

the Alpha must feel it all because when he puts his arms around Stiles he squeezes him so tight it borders on painful but Stiles doesn’t even notice it.

when they finally let go of eachother, the betas are gone. they probably left pretty quickly, giving them privacy. they probably went ahead to wait for them at the diner where they said they would regroup after the meeting.

Derek entwines his fingers with Stiles’ before pulling him gently towards the waiting camaro. Stiles steps up quickly and lets go of his fingers to instead hug Derek’s entire arm, smiling brightly. he may let out a few giggles, he’s so giddy he can’t help it.

after the diner, Stiles invites Derek over and they end up watching a movie in the living room since his dad is out pulling a double shift but Stiles can’t seem to concentrate on any of it. after the movie, Stiles asks Derek if he wants to sleep over. he can’t look at Derek in the eyes when he asks because it’s actually the first time Stiles does and there’s arousal thrumming in his veins that he knows for a fact Derek can smell.

he slowly makes his way up the stairs, knowing Derek will follow. at the landing he takes off his t-shirt and drops it to the floor. his jeans, underwear and socks are next, then he hears the creaking of the stairs and he knows Derek is almost at the landing.

he enters his bedroom, still keeping it slow but he chances a look back from under his lashes to watch Derek enter his bedroom with all the grace of the apex predator he truly is.

a shiver runs up Stiles’ spine and goosebumps spreads over his entire body. Derek’s eyes are glowing blood red and he’s fixated on Stiles so intently, it’s like he can feel the gaze on his skin like a physical touch.

heart pounding in his chest, he breaks eye contact to climb into his bed and settle comfortably onto his back. their eyes meet again and he watches as the Alpha stalks stalks deeper into his bedroom. their eye contact break again when Derek pulls off his henley and then Stiles’ eyes are naturally pulled down to watch Derek undo his belt.

he’s panting as Derek pushes down his jeans and underwear at the same time and he spreads his legs almost on instincts. slowly oh so slowly, Derek climbs into bed to settle onto top of Stiles and in between his spread thighs.

Stiles rummage under his pillow until his hand finds the bottle of lube he left there earlier in the day exactly for this. he presses it to Derek’s hand. he doesn’t want to wait anymore. he needs it, he needs it so bad.

Derek doesn’t use the lube right away though, instead he folds Stiles almost in half and opens him up with his mouth and tongue for a long time. Stiles squirms and moans, his dick so hard it hurts but he won’t come. he knows he won’t and he doesn’t want to, he wants to come on Derek’s dick, like he should but he’s already close so fucking close.

when Derek finally pushes two fingers into him Stiles is whinny and he’s panting hard. he knows he’s babbling but he’s not sure what he’s saying. when the third finger goes in his ass it starts making an obscene squelching sound as Derek’s fingers thrusts in and out of him. there’s no discomfort at all and he knows he’s ready, he’s so ready. he tells Derek as much and Derek who’s also panting at this point, takes out his fingers and strokes the lube onto his dick before moving his knees up a little for better leverage and lines himself up.

he kisses Stiles as he breaches him and continues to kiss him as he slowly pushes until he’s balls deep. Stiles can only moan and grip Derek’s shoulders hard as the stretch borders on painful for a moment until his body adjusts.

he doesn’t even have to say anything for Derek to know exactly when the discomfort of the stretch abates because the second it does Derek starts moving. slow steady thrusts that leaves Stiles whining into Derek’s kisses.

slowly but steadily, Derek picks up the pace and then they’re both panting too hard to kiss so they pant into eachother’s mouth for a while, Stiles sometimes babbling unintelligibly. Derek then moves his kisses to Stiles’ cheek, down his throat and settling there. he lavishes Stiles’s throat in open mouthed kisses and starts making a constant rumbling sound in his chest that Stiles can feel under his own skin.

with a hand in Derek’s hair holding him in place at his throat, he slides his other hand down to Derek’s ass to edge him on and he starts begging his Alpha to go harder. Derek doesn’t need to be told twice, on the next thrust he slams back in so hard Stiles screams.

after that, Derek fucks him so hard it’s hard to make any sound. the wolf is growling on top of him, leaving bite marks at his throat and Stiles arches into the thrusts, pleasure climbing until he’s on the edge.

then Derek’s thrusts go erratic and he’s growling louder before he pierces the soft skin of Stiles’ neck at his shoulder with his sharp teeth and Stiles is coming. spurts after spurts of come painting the length of his stomach and torso while Derek spills deep inside of him.

there’s a moment of stillness, Stiles breathing really hard and Derek twitching with aftershocks. the moment passes and Derek lowers himself gently to rest his weight completely on top of Stiles. Stiles lets out a small contented sigh. he’s so happy. he’s so sated. he’s done it. he gave Derek everything. he’s Derek’s now. he’s so happy.

when they’ve both regained their breathing and Stiles starts to doze off, Derek nuzzles his cheek and whispers “you’re mine, i love you so much.” in Stiles’ ear.

Stiles’ heart flutters and warmth spreads in his chest.

“yes, God yes, i love you too.” Stiles whispers back.

[vampirequsa]

''Blaze For Me.''

Kyojuro Rengoku x Reader - Established Relationship - NSFW THEMES AHEAD!! Size, and praise kink mentioned.

Excuse my writting for this one, i haven't written a smut in a long, looong time...but i hope you guys like it!

The night air was still, heavy with summer heat. Cicadas sang lazily from the trees beyond the estate walls, but within the flickering shadows of your shared room, it was another kind of fire entirely that crackled.

Kyojuro loomed above you—broad, golden, utterly divine. His hair hung in wild strands around his face, and sweat shimmered along his neck and chest, catching the candlelight like molten gold. He looked like a warrior god carved from flame and worship, all muscle and warmth and eyes that burned only for you.

“You look beautiful beneath me,” he murmured, voice like embers crackling low, rich and reverent. “So small… so perfect.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers skimmed along your thighs, spreading you wider. His palms were huge, calloused from training and countless battles, but when he touched you, it was with a kind of aching gentleness that sent heat rushing straight to your core. You weren’t fragile, but with him—Kyojuro made you feel delicate, precious. Like something to be treasured and ruined in equal measure.

“You take me so well,” he whispered, eyes flicking down as he eased his thick length inside you. The stretch was intense, slow and burning, and he groaned deep in his throat as your body clenched around him. “Ahhh—gods, you’re incredible.”

Your hands clawed at his back, fingertips sinking into taut muscle. “Kyo—! You're so—big…”

He laughed, low and breathless, thrusting just a little deeper. “Yes, my flame,” he growled, lips brushing your ear. “You always say that. And yet you always take every inch. So brave. So strong.”

You whimpered under him, already trembling from the fullness, from the way he filled every part of you like he was made for it. And he was. Every part of Kyojuro, from his molten gaze to his scorching body, felt crafted to love you entirely—to burn away everything else.

“Look at you,” he rasped, sitting back just enough to watch you from above, his hands gripping your hips like you were the anchor holding him to this earth. “Taking me like a good girl. Gods, you make me proud.”

Your cheeks burned, but not from embarrassment. It was the way he meant it—how sincere he was. How he always saw you. It made your body tremble, your thighs shake around his waist. And still, he moved slowly, dragging his hips back only to thrust in again, deeper, harder, filling you to the edge of your sanity.

“I love watching you fall apart for me,” he whispered, brushing his thumb against your lip. “Every time, I think I can't love you more—and then you prove me wrong.”

Your hands tangled in his wild hair, pulling him down to kiss you—messy, fevered, desperate. He kissed you back like a man starved, tongue claiming your mouth while his hips found a rhythm that made you cry out, your voice breaking on each breath.

“Say my name,” he growled, biting lightly at your throat. “Let me hear how much you want me.”

“Kyojuro—ah, gods—Kyojuro, please, don’t stop—!”

“That’s it,” he gasped, eyes flashing as he held your gaze, hips slamming into you harder now. “Let them hear you. Let them all know who you belong to.”

You couldn’t speak anymore—you could only sob his name, hands gripping his arms, your body wrapped around his like you were trying to become one flame. And he didn’t stop. He worshipped you with every thrust, every word, every blazing look that left you shaking beneath him.

And when you shattered—when the fire inside you finally exploded into stars—he caught you. Wrapped you in strong arms, whispered your name like a prayer, and buried his face in your neck as he followed you over the edge with a roar of your name that echoed like thunder.

[moondustbaby]

Smells Like You

Bsf!Rafe Cameron x Bsf!Reader

Summary: A summer night at the county fair with friends turns into something more as Rafe’s little habits—stealing sips, tugging drawstrings, and never letting her stray too far—start to feel a lot like love. Surrounded by lights, laughter, and everything unsaid, Reader wonders if maybe she’s always been his, even if neither of them have said it yet.

⸻

The county fair is loud, sticky, and chaotic—but somehow, it’s still my favorite day of the summer.

Maybe because of the funnel cake. Maybe because of the group of friends who never manage to win a single prize. Or maybe—probably—because of the way Rafe’s hand keeps finding me through the crowd like I might disappear if he lets go.

Which, according to him, I will.

“You’re small,” he says when I try to wriggle free from his grip on my wrist. “You’ll get lost. Like a toddler in Walmart.”

“I’m literally taller than Sarah,” I argue, but he just shrugs and links our pinkies instead.

The rest of the group is already arguing over which ride to hit next—Topper’s saying Ferris wheel, Sarah’s yelling about fried Oreos—but Rafe doesn’t seem to care. His free hand finds the hem of my sleeve and tugs absentmindedly, thumb brushing the inside of my wrist in a way that’s way too soft for a crowded fairground.

“You good?” I ask, half teasing, half meaning it.

He nods, then steals the lemonade from my hand and takes a sip without asking, like always.

I roll my eyes. “You have your own drink.”

He gives me a slow, lazy grin. “Yours tastes better.”

Later, after we’ve lost the group somewhere between the haunted house and the caramel corn stand, we end up by the ring toss booth. Rafe insists he can win me something and fails miserably—twice.

“I think you’re just doing this for the drama,” I tease, popping a piece of popcorn into my mouth as he misses another shot.

He glares playfully. “I’m doing this for your honor.”

“You’re embarrassing my honor.”

“Shut up,” he laughs, nudging my shoulder with his. “You’re not helping.”

When he finally lands a ring and the girl behind the booth offers a choice of stuffed animals, he picks the smallest one. A cute little duck.

“You know I’m not carrying that,” I say.

He shoves it into my arms anyway. “Too late. It’s a symbol now.”

“Of your undying love?”

“Of my athleticism,” he deadpans, and I burst out laughing.

As the sun starts to set and the lights flicker on across the fairgrounds, I feel his fingers tug the drawstring on my hoodie—well, his hoodie. The one I stole from his backseat and never gave back.

“You’re not even cold,” he says, tugging the strings tighter just to mess with me.

I swat his hands away. “You let me wear it.”

“You always wear it.”

“Because it smells like you.”

The second the words are out of my mouth, I realize what I’ve said—and I don’t dare look at him.

But Rafe doesn’t tease me for it. He just bumps his shoulder against mine again, a quiet little smile playing on his lips.

“Good,” he says, voice low and easy. “You’d get lost without me anyway.”

I laugh, but it catches a little in my throat.

Because the truth is—

I’ve only ever known how to be found when I’m with him.

༶⋆｡ﾟ☽✿⋆˚✧✿☾ﾟ｡⋆༶

a/n: cute and fluffy fic with bsf!rafe, their dynamic is one of my favorites to write🥹

♥️ lani

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Masterlist

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Cain (p4)

Tw: Cain is really violent, like verbally violent. Tantrums, toxic relationships, isolation from friends and family, sexual content, sexual descriptions, profanity- like a LOT of them, Cain losing his shit really frequently. Gender neutral reader, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

This is part 4.

Click here for part 5

Click here for part 1

Cain tries. He really did.

The first week or so after his earth shattering confession, Cain was elusive. You hardly see him at home, not even for meals. But you know he's eating, because you would leave leftovers in the fridge and it would disappear the next day. You thought he was avoiding you, and you understood, because you practically rejected him at first.

He came back one day, seemingly waiting for you in the living room. To your surprise, instead of only acknowledging each other with a split second glance, Cain tried to make a conversation.

"How was it?" He asked.

You asked him what he meant.

"Your day." Cain continues, looking right into your eyes, which caught you off guard. Usually, eye contact means he's about to stir some trouble up, but you think this time he's actually making an attempt to communicate. "How was... your day?"

You told him that it was okay. Then you asked him about his day.

You could definitely see that he physically stopped himself from responding like he used to. Cain closed his eyes and took a deep breath before answering.

"My day is okay too."

And both of you left it at that, as you did your own thing, he did his own thing... which happened to be reading a book of sorts? Strange, he doesn't seem like the type to even be remotely near words. But you didn't want to pry and potentially get your head bitten off.

"It's cold." You turned to him and finally noticed that he's actually bundled up in a hoodie instead of his usual sleeveless shirt. That made sense, the seasons are changing, and very soon you would see frost on the sidewalk again.

Come to think of it, he has recently changed up his fashion sense to cover up a lot more, adjusting according to the weather. No more ripped jeans, instead opting to wear a pair of thick cargo pants with numerous pockets. He also got himself a new pair of shoes, trading in his tattered sneakers for a new pair of combat boots.

You asked him if it bothers him. Cain seemed to pause and think about his answer for a moment before replying.

"I always hated the fucking cold." He spoke with a sense of dread in his voice. Cain knows that he can't change the weather, and he just needs to tough it out. He has done this for years, ever since he was abandoned in that dumpster. But it doesn't make it easier, and each winter feels as intense as the last. And the worst part is, he doesn't understand why the bites of frost disturb him so much. Cain never found out how he was abandoned by his parents; he only knew that they did.

You nodded and decided to just... put aside a bit more cash for the heating bill. You cranked up the heat enough at home to make it comfortable for him. The water heater is also switched on 24/7 now, even if it does hike up your bills. Sometimes you even think the apartment was a little too warm for your liking, but seeing Cain being a lot less miserable made you suck it up and just wear lighter clothing instead.

And you didn't think much of it, until there was one night, when the wind was howling and all you could see was powdery white outside; You heard a knock on your bedroom door, and you were about to fall asleep in a pair of shorts and shirt, because the thermostat is dialed all the way up that it felt like summer. Upon opening it, you saw Cain towering over you, exuding vulnerability. He's not wearing his hoodie, but a white t-shirt, a pair of comfortable plaid shoes, and warm, fuzzy slippers. You were surprised that he showed no signs of sweating, unlike you, struggling to cope with the artificial heat, yet you do so for the sake of your troubled roommate.

You asked him if he needed anything from you. Only to be pulled into his arms for a tight hug. You were about to say something, but you felt wetness on your shoulder. Cain was crying.

"I don't... I don't know what I'm feeling..." Although muffled, you could hear how pained and conflicted he was.

You patted his back as he let it all out. You were dying to ask him questions, but knowing Cain, it wouldn't get you very far if he wasn't ready to share it in the first place.

"It feels good. I-It's warm." He spoke between sobs. "Please... let me stay."

You didn't understand what gave him the impression that you were planning to kick him out anytime soon. You told him that he's welcome here. And that was all he needed to hear tonight.

And what neither of you knows is that today was his birthday, or rather, the day those bystanders found him discarded like trash. Cain may not remember, but his body does. And it was the first time in his life that he wasn't shivering on this special day.

And Cain is afraid, utterly terrified to lose what he has now. Yet he doesn't know how to keep it. So he latches on, he does his best, he tries.

He slept in the same bed as you that night. It wasn't comfortable at all; his body ran hot. And on top of the running heaters? You felt like you were in a furnace. Cain had his arms wrapped around you at all times, constricting your movements, but he wouldn't budge, no matter how much you squirmed. His hold felt desperate; you could feel the aching yearning he held in his body for decades. Cain would bury his head at the back of your neck, making you wonder if he just liked the feeling of being suffocated by his own breath.

You woke up the next day earlier than he did. Cain was still clinging to you with dried tears on his face. But you didn't have the heart to wake him up, because he looked truly peaceful. Though you didn't have to wait long until he opened his eyes and groggily rubbed them, freeing you from his prison.

You greeted him and asked him how he slept last night.

"Good..." He yawned and stretched his arms. Well, at least one of you had a good night's sleep. Cain doesn't seem to be particularly embarrassed that he reached this level of intimacy with you; hell, he doesn't seem to see it as anything out of the ordinary at all. It's as if he were sleeping in the same bed as you for months.

He got out of bed to freshen up, leaving you to finally reclaim your space and take your turn to doze off. Luckily, today is an off day for you, or you would have gone to work in a sour mood.

"Who the fuck are you all?!" You were jolted awake by Cain's sudden outburst in the living room. You heard extra voices and assumed he had opened the door to someone.

An argument ensued, making you scramble back up on your feet to see what was going on. Upon poking your head out of the door frame, you saw Cain heavily berating someone outside your apartment.

You called him by his name, and that caught his attention. "I don't know who these assholes are, they are not coming in!" He yelled, attempting to shut the door on the visitors.

You caught a glimpse of your long-time friends' confused and horrified faces before he slammed the door loudly against them.

Oh.

You forgot that they were visiting. Shit.

You see that Cain was agitated, threatened, even. He began hurling profanities at them, wishing doom on them, so on and so forth. He was panicking; the only way he could express this was by lashing out and pulling on his already messy, short, fiery hair.

You tried calming him down, but that only made him spiral more.

"They said that they're your friends-- They're nothing! They're nothing to you, they don't fucking matter! They're scum, they're trash!" He screamed as tears streaked down his frenzied face. Cain began hyperventilating, the more you tried to get him to see reason. "I'll fucking kill them, I fucking will!"

You decided to shut up and let him burn all his fuel out. All this while, you were extremely baffled as to what suddenly set him off. You know, Cain could be somewhat decent to strangers; he doesn't go off on the delivery men that sometimes come here to give you your packages or food. He would sometimes even be the one who signed the delivery confirmation form with no issue. Not even door-to-door salesmen would make him erupt like this; at most, he would just close the door on them. Why is he suddenly so territorial?

And as predicted, his explosion ended with him curling up into a pathetic ball of misery on the floor. You think your friends decided to leave you and him alone for a while, you're definitely getting a very concerned phone call later.

So, you did. And you managed to convince that you're okay, and Cain is a good man. It was challenging, but they decided to respect your wishes. Or maybe they also didn't want to deal with that unstable landmine of a person.

You don't think he left the apartment without you during the entirety of winter. He would flare up as soon as he felt a draft, and you wonder if it's a traumatic response to something. Either way, you don't think you should pry if he's not ready to talk about it.

Cain got very comfortable with you now. The sofa bed is left empty, now he goes straight into your bedroom. It doesn't matter if you're purposely hogging the bed, he would either manhandle you as if you're his beloved stuffed teddy bear, or have the audacity to say, "Scoot your ass over."

He developed a habit of possessively wrapping his arm around your waist whenever both of you were out. Instead of waiting for you to move out of the way or barking commands to move aside, Cain would just manually move you by guiding your shoulders or sometimes, your hips.

He seemed to be starved of touches. Whenever you take an afternoon nap without him, you would wake up to find Cain holding you in his arms. And he gets annoyed at you for waking him up. When you would spend the day watching television on the sofa, Cain would either lie his head on your lap, or trap you into his- making you his personal lap table for the bowl of popcorn you two shared.

Cain needed something to occupy his hands. So he chose to massage yours instead to soothe himself. It felt nice to apply pressure to your palm and fingers, but sometimes he wasn't aware how strong he was. You would wince at the pain, which caused him to frown, and spit,

"Fucking wimp."

But then, he would bring your hands to his lips to kiss them, and adjust his strength to not hurt you anymore. He wouldn't outright apologize or thank you for most things, but he has his own way to express remorse, guilt, and gratitude.

It felt... strangely natural. He wasn't making it awkward at all when he transitioned from not touching you at all to giving you regular cuddles, kisses, and even sharing beds. Cain moved like it's always been this way, as if he had always given you a kiss on the forehead before dropping you off at your workplace, as if he had always kissed you on the back of your neck to thank you for the meal. Whenever you stood in front of him to say something, he would have his large, calloused hands gripping your arms in place as he listened. You never knew what the purpose of it was, as he doesn't seem to be aware that he's doing it.

You're not necessarily complaining that whenever the two of you waited at the bus stop, in the cold, he would bury you in his chest. It's ridiculously warm, and he would wrap his heavy coat around both of you. Cain would absentmindedly rub your back up and down, stroke your hair as he remains hypervigilant for any assailants that could attack the two of you. And you would be lying when you said that it doesn't make you feel all fluttery inside.

Cain was willing to open up even more on how he feels about various things. But it was still excruciatingly difficult.

One day, he decided to talk to you about your giving nature. It occurred when you decided to give a homeless man some spare change.

"Why did you do that?" He asked when you and he reached the comfort of your apartment. Cain didn't remove his coat just yet, while you're practically stripping everything off yourself because your heating system is too efficient.

"Why did you give that bum money? He didn't work for it." He clarified what he meant. You can see that he's asking from a place of curiosity, not hostility or judgment.

You shrugged and said that it makes the world a better place.

"How?" He furrowed his eyebrows in frustration.

He would have enough money to buy himself something hot to eat and drink.

"That's bullshit. He's going to waste it on booze and drugs."

You asked him how he would know.

"All these bastards think about is their next high." He frowned bitterly.

You said that everyone can change. You wanted to tell him off for being a hypocrite, but it probably isn't a good idea. He vehemently disagreed.

"No they fucking can't. You're being used, you're being a damn jackass! You should have kept that for yourself, these fuckers can't even give you anything of worth back but have the balls to ask for a handout!" He was getting more and more exasperated by the second.

You decided to clam up.

"They're scum, they're all fucking good for nothing pieces of shit!" He continued his angry ranting as he entered the bathroom to freshen up.

And conversations that were deeper than small talk usually go something like that. You refused to be the one who started chatting, allowing him to take the initiative. It seems like he's jealous that you're also generous to other people, as anytime he sees you doing a good deed, he would be throwing a tantrum about how you're letting others walk all over you.

You can't really do donations under his watchful eyes anymore, because he would find a way to get it back from them and return the cash into your wallet.

He's always the nicest when it's just the two of you, and the concept of the world stopped existing. The apartment is his safe haven where nothing outside matters. He is in no way romantic, but he would be much, much tender compared to when you first met him. However, it is actually agonizing to live with him hovering over you every waking minute. If the shows you watch involve the topic of child neglect or even families in general, no matter how mild, no matter how positive or negative, ten times out of ten, he would have one of his infamous, explosive meltdowns.

Oddly enough, he's mostly unaffected by documentaries, even if they potentially touch on his traumatic experiences. He tends to watch those that describe how everyday things are made, unfazed by true crime.

You avoided nature and animal documentaries because Cain would get unbelievably distressed if they involved the abandonment of their young.

Outside of that, you don't know what else to do with him. Cain seems uninterested in anything creative, but recently got obsessed with chess for some unknown reason. Regardless of your chess skills, he would beat you in almost every game, only losing to you when he first started out.

Perhaps it was boredom. Perhaps it was arousal, but you and Cain would begin to frequently have sex. And he fucks like a rabid animal, forceful, angry, desperate and primal. Cain would leave bite marks deep enough to bleed, as if he's trying to shred you into pieces. The curtains are always drawn shut because of his inclination to go down on you anywhere in the apartment. He has no problem bending you over the kitchen counter, making your legs spread on the sofa bed, pinning you against the wall, pounding you deep into your bed, letting the sound of the shower drown out your moans... The only place that's off limits is whatever table that held his valuable chessboard and pieces.

And you know that it just takes a deep kiss on the lips to initiate it, where both of your tongues must dance together. Cain would escalate quickly by rubbing his hands under your clothes. But he wouldn't press it if you decided that you're not in the mood anymore; he would just need to deal with his disappointment and sexual frustration on his own, in pure silence.

Cain doesn't say anything when fucking you. There will only be grunts and groans, but no dirty talk. Probably since he's too busy biting the hell out of your flesh.

His aftercare is a bit strange to you. It would be a strange mix of his usual harshness and an unusual dose of sentimentality:

"Get up." He would order you after a long session of post sex cuddling. Knowing him, you shouldn't oppose it.

"Go shower. I'll clean up." He began chucking the blankets, bedsheets, and pillow cases into the laundry hamper. Once he's done and sees that you're still there, he would turn to you and give you an affectionate peck on the forehead.

"You've been so good to me." He then squeezed the cheeks of your face firmly, causing you to pucker. Cain would chuckle at how silly you looked before kissing you lightly on the lips.

"I love you." He would whisper in your ear before letting you go, patting your head in praise.

However, if you just stood there and watched him ready the laundry basket, he would get annoyed.

"The fuck are you doing there, standing ass naked? Either put on some clothes or go take a damn shower." He would point in the direction of the bathroom. This would be enough to send you on your way.

Overall, you think Cain is a confusing man with moods that swing like a pendulum. You don't think he really feels shame towards you, just familiarity, trust, and comfort. And you feel honoured that you get to see his sweet side (sometimes), no one else outside of this apartment could ever hope to witness it, as he's just so spiky towards everyone. You're still so curious as to what sets you apart from all the other people who tried to help... You assume that Cain does have people who tried putting him on the right track in his life, but he pushed them away.

So one day, you mustered the courage to ask him about it. Expecting nothing more than some deranged yelling, you braced yourself:

"They shoved their help down my throat."

To your surprise, his response is as if you asked him for the time. Your speechlessness prompted him to continue.

"I fucking hated them. None of them really wanted to help me; they just wanted to feel good." He scrunched his nose as if he recalled something disgusting. "To them, I'm nothing more than a broken pet to fix. Something that should get no respect. Something practically useless in everything else, but gets them off like some street whore."

That sounds similar to what you thought of Cain. But you didn't say that out loud.

"They can take their fake sympathy and shove it so far up their asses that it kills them. Fuck them all." He snarled.

You let him release whatever steam he had for them. Well, that made sense that he gets crazily upset when you try to impose help without his request in the first place.

Once he's done, he decides to get up from his seat and pick up his now-worn duffel bag. You didn't have to ask him where he's heading out to.

"I'll be back by eight, I just need to get some stuff. Leave your bedroom door open for me." He pecked you on the cheek and smoothed your hair.

You watched him open the door and turned back to face you one more time:

"And don't fucking open the door to anyone that isn't me! You have a habit of doing stupid shit that's going to get you killed if it wasn't for me looking out for you!" He scolded before slamming the door behind him.

You wonder if Cain thinks of you as someone needing his protection, and so that's why you're not a threat to him but an object of his affection. You sat with this question, and you pondered if Cain genuinely thought of you as someone who is handicapped in some way. Made sense, your boundary-setting skills are non-existent, and you're always people pleasing, no matter how detrimental it is to your wellbeing. That's how you scored Cain.

Finally home alone after a while, you felt a little clueless as to what you should do. You know you should update your friends and family that you're doing well, and Cain is nothing they should worry about. Then again, you don't feel like talking to anyone right now.

The apartment looks pretty messy, with all the random junk Cain would bring back. God knows where he gets this merchandise, or where he got the money to buy it. You are actually in heavy denial that he's been shoplifting and wanted to believe that he's living honestly.

You thought it would be a good idea to tidy up a bit before he gets back and unloads more things from his duffel bag. It's a mystery how that bag could contain ungodly amounts of stuff.

You decided to start with the most cluttered part of your living room: the sofa bed. You know these are things that Cain would use daily, but it wouldn't hurt to organise them a bit.

The first thing that caught your eye? The book that Cain was attached to lately, and was almost obsessively reading. You wonder what was so interesting about it until you read the cover of the book.

It was a copy of "How to Be a Good Boyfriend".

[golddustwomanwins]

SIN

Pastor Art Donaldson x reader

18+

You were a devoted member of his church. He’d see you every Sunday without exception and even during the weekdays if your schedule allowed it. Always sitting in the first row, sweet sundress brushing your shining thighs, cross dangling from your neck. The necklace was too long for him to see the pendant, dipping inside your cleavage and mocking him every time he glanced over during his sermon.

Your lips always had a glossy residue, cheeks flushed as soft mumbles passed your lips. Art always shifted in his seat when you got to your knees, images he should’ve been burned for flashing in his mind.

It wasn’t your fault—he thought—it was entirely him. He was the one imagining you on your knees before him, your lips glossy with something else than your lip gloss. He’d punished himself multiple times for his thoughts, prayed until his knees bruised and lips chapped. He’d scrub his skin in the shower until it turned red and raw, punishing himself for his sinful thoughts.

Art tried to ban you off his mind, but every time it felt like he was finally free from you and your spellbound figure, there you were again, sitting in the first row. On your knees.

This time it was worse. The town hosted a little summer fair, stands filled with various people, selling fruits, little trinkets and what not.

He walked along, greeting a few of his church members. People were drawn to him like he was the sun, all problems dissipating in his presence. It was unusual to see him this casual, only dressed in jeans and a shirt that stretched over his broad shoulders. His eyes found you not a moment later, resting at one of the stands, grinning up at a boy your age.

Right, another reason in the growing list on why Art was doomed for hell. You had a boyfriend. He’d occasionally join you at mass, wandering hands trying to slip beneath your skirt but you’d always push his hands away.

You were grinning up at him at that moment, one hand on his chest, the other holding a cone of ice cream. The white ice melted along the cone, sticking to your fingers as you quickly hurried to catch the melted drops with your tongue. Holy fuck. Art was doomed.

You turned as if on instinct, tongue darting out and coating with white as your eyes met Art’s. They lit up not a moment later, waving at him before you made your way over.

“Father, enjoying the sunny day?” You asked with a soft smile. Your boyfriend was trailing behind you, greeting politely but uninterested, his wandering gaze catching girls walking past in short skirts and low cut tops.

“As much as I can,” Art told you. Your boyfriend saw his friends waving at him and he parted with a quick kiss to your lips before darting off. Art’s eyes followed him before darting back to you.

“He’s gonna come back eventually,” you said with a soft smile, noticing the small frown on Art’s face. “He really is a good guy.”

Art doubted it but who was he to tell you what to do? As of right now he didn’t even feel entitled to give you spiritual advice. He wasn’t any better, a man double your age and lusting after you like a goddamn teenager.

“I didn’t say anything,” Art pushed his hands into his jean pockets and you smiled cheekily up at him.

“No you didn’t,” you said. “But you’re always like an open book, Father. There is no mistaking the disdain on your face.”

Art’s jaw hardened at that. Was he an open book? Did you notice the sinful glances he kept throwing your way? The way his fingers clenched into tight fists every time your boyfriend would suck on your neck. The way his slacks grew quietly uncomfortable every time he saw you on your knees.

“I am the last person to give you relationship advice,” he murmured as you walked past the vendors, arms occasionally brushing and sending a shiver down his spine.

“I think you’re the best person to give relationship advice. Aren’t you supposed to know right from wrong?” The ice cream was now dripping down your wrist without you noticing, but Art’s eyes kept bouncing back between the white cream dripping down your skin and your eyes.

“Not in the slightest. I trust God to lead you on the right path,” away from your cheating piece of shit boyfriend. You smiled at Art a little dazedly.

What Art didn’t know was that you worshipped him. Your loyal attendance to mass was thanks to him, your faithful devotion was because of him. He always made you feel as if everything was going to be all right. If Art told you the sky was red you’d believe him.

Your eyes clashed for a moment and instead of a fleeting glance you got stuck on his. The little speck of brown in his pale blue eyes like a shadow. Like a blight spreading and poisoning his mind. You both snapped out of your staring when the ball of your ice cream finally gave up and splattered onto the ground. You watched it sadly, your whole hand full of the sticky goo.

“Oh no,” you tried to lap it up with your tongue and Art swore he’d gone to heaven. Or hell.

“Here let me,” anything to make you stop from licking white stuff off your skin. He produced a handkerchief, wet it with his tongue and started to clean up your skin. You stared up at him with wide eyes, a feeling growing in your stomach. It usually went away when you focused on your prayers but right now you didn’t want it to go away.

Cheeks flushed and breathless, your hand was clean now and Art pocketed the handkerchief. He didn’t meet your eyes again, only leaving with a short, “I will see you in mass.”

-

The next time, he did see you in mass but he could tell you were distracted. He watched you on your knees eyes closed, silent tears running over your face and dripping down your chin. It was after that he called out to you. You approached him with a soft smile as the other members clattered out of church. The stained glass windows threw a soft red glow across your skin as you stopped in front of Art.

“Hello, Father,” you said. The tears were long dry but there was a melancholic twist to your smile.

“Are you feeling quite all right?” Art asked you, almost wanting to reach out and pull you into his arms.

“Yes.”

He tipped his face slightly, almost like he was scolding you. He visibly watched your shoulders slump in on themselves and as you looked up at him your eyes were filled with tears again. Without further hesitation, he took your hand and pulled you into one of the confessionals. You shared one booth and he sat down, pulling you into his lap. Not even noticing what he was doing, you sobbed quietly in his arms, his hand softly stroking through your long hair.

It took you a long time until you were able to properly breathe again, soft soothing words tumbling past his lips. You looked up at him once you calmed down enough, your lashes wet like dew drops were clinging to them.

“Do you think people can be unlovable?” You asked quietly, your eyes hanging onto his lips. Art frowned slightly, his hand cupping the back of your head. when he saw the look in your eyes, the desperation burying into the soft lines of your face, he knew what had you asking this question.

“No person is unlovable,” he said. “God loves us all.”

You almost wanted to huff at his words. You should’ve expected them.

“Maybe God’s love isn’t enough,” you whispered, training your eyes on his hand that had somehow ended up on your thigh. You knew it was a reproachful thing to say. You shouldn’t want anything more than God. He was sufficient in every way. Still you were only human and bound to want, want, want.

Art ran his thumb over your cheek and you looked up surprised at him. His eyes had changed, pupils blown slightly wide.

“It should be enough,” he whispered, his eyes trained on your lips and when you tilted your cheek into his hand a soft puff left his lips. This was wrong. You should stand up and go back home.

“It’s not,” you said and he echoed your words, “it’s not.”

He didn’t come on to you like a storm all dark and brooding. Art was like he always was, an controlled, calmed guidance. His lips softly captured yours, fingers tilting your chin the way he liked. You shivered slightly at the forbidden touch, thighs rubbing against each other. Your eyes opened and widened in shock when you realized the wetness staining your panties.

Art caught the realization on your face, a small twitch in the corner of his mouth.

“You want me to make you feel better?” He asked, softly stroking your cheek. You leaned into the touch, nodding shyly with tear stained cheeks. Art loved the way the mascara had spread beneath your eyes, looking almost fucked, even though you’ve only been crying.

“Spread those legs for me then, pretty girl,” he murmured, lips trailing wet kisses along your throat. One hand wandered to your covered breast, stroking softly, the other slipping between your thighs. You had one of the sundresses on again and Art felt himself grow hard as he gently nudged the fabric aside.

“You know I can treat you better than him,” he murmured and you nodded, moaning softly when he rubbed your clit over your panties. You arched into his touch, head almost bumping into the wooden wall. He pulled the cleavage of your dress down, groaning when he realized you weren’t wearing a bra.

Your eyes met his. “No bra to church, baby?”

You flushed crimson. “It makes me itchy.” Art didn’t even listen, hot mouth capturing your nipple with vigor. You kept rolling your hips desperately, trying to reach for more friction. Art realeased your tit and laughed haughtily.

“So eager, huh?” He asked. “Want me to add a finger?”

You hesitated at his question and he quickly caught the worry in your eyes. “We’ll just add the tip, huh. You’ll stay pure. I wouldn’t want to doom my most loyal member.”

While he said those words, his fingers already slipped past your cotton panties, gliding through your wetness. Art shivered, his whole figure curving in on himself as he pressed his forehead against your chest. “Jesus,” he murmured and you stiffened at his words.

“‘S all right, sweetheart.” Art pressed a gentle kiss against your lips. “You’re not doing anything bad, yeah? I’m just making you feel better.” You nodded again, leaning forward to kiss him. Your tongues met wetly and his middle finger slowly slid into you. Art didn’t dare go any further than his knuckle, he meant what he said, no matter how blasphemous it was.

He continuously pushed just the tip of his finger inside you, groaning at the tightness. He had to be the first one to do this. Your hips were pushing back on him, almost making his whole finger slip inside but he always pulled back.

“Art,” you moaned desperate a strange sensation building inside you. Art could feel his pre cum pool in his boxers, his hips slightly humping upwards against you.

“Don’t worry, I got you,” his thumb flicked your clit, hot mouth trailing sloppy kisses along your skin. It didn’t take long for your movements to become frantic, the wooden bench creaking beneath Art, the incense clogging your senses, hot breaths filling the silence of the church.

“Father I—“ before you could finish your sentence, Art groaned, his whole finger ramming inside you as you called him Father. With a soft groan he came in his slacks and you right with him. His whole finger pumped inside you frantically, riding out your waves until you were overstimulated. Your thighs clenched shut on his hand and he gently pulled out, adjusting your panties. His hand stayed on your thigh for a moment, his lips meeting yours again.

Art helped you back to your shaking legs after a while, his lips pressing against your forehead before he sent you along. “I’ll see you at mass.”

He turned dismissively, head hanging low. You stumbled past the benches only turning one last time to see him standing at the altar, head hung low, right in front of the wooden crucifix with him bared against it. Sunrise broke through the colored glass, right past Art, who was only swallowed by the shadows.

Once you hit outside, a soft breeze kissed you, arms wrapping around you from behind. You turned surprised, your lips turning into a smile when your boyfriend pullled you in for a kiss. “And do we have him?” He asked with a devilish smile.

Your lips twitched before you gave him a small nod. “He didn’t even realize. Probably thinks I’m still a virgin.”

You both chuckle, walking home hand in hand. When your boyfriend pounds into you that night, you call him father, imagining it was Art hovering above you, his cock ramming inside you. Crucifix necklace dangling from his neck.

[foreverromanticising]

renegade | ln4

(8) a phone call from zak reminds lando of his reality that he had been trying so hard to run from

lando norris x fem!reader | 1.9k words | a still perfect summer with lando norris

(a little bit of a shorter chapter however very heavy in content that took me a little longer to write - pls enjoy and send me all ur thoughts! alsoooooo after this we have two chapters left, ten in total, before i move onto the next lando pic so pls!! stick around for that)

(also!! reminder this fic is based off of renegade by big red machine and taylor… lmk if u can see the cracks and similarities)

masterlist<3

Resentfully so, Lando peeled his body away from yours, a mix of bare skin and white sheets, and began getting ready for the day. Memories of the night before returned to him in the form of a pink flush dusting over his cheeks every time he caught a glimpse of your naked skin, almost taunting him from the way you laid across the bed. He wanted nothing more than to crawl back into the bed again, to get under your skin and drag his lips across every inch of your body. 

But a phone call from Zak that morning, high-pitched and blaring as it his phone rang from his bedside table. He found himself thanking his lucky stars that you merely stirred in your sleep and cuddled closer towards his pillow once he slipped out of the bed beside you. Though, he had to fight a smirk from forcing its way onto his face once he picked up the phone over the thought of why you were so tired from the night before. The ache in his legs was reminder enough as he tried to keep some sort of composure as he spoke to Zak.

It was a minor phone call, a meaningless chat if anything, but it left Lando reeling. A quick discussion about some upgrades to the car for after the summer break, some reminders about training, and another gentle - though, usual - reminder from Zak that he wanted Lando to stay in check; keeping being responsible. It was the same speech from Zak after every sort of break that Lando would be away from racing - begging him to stay in line, a reminder he was doing well, and to keep PR in mind at all times.

Truly, the phone call wasn’t the worst Lando had ever had from his boss - Kingsday only a few months ago left a sour taste in his mouth when he recalled the messages he woke up to after his so called ‘PR disaster,’. But, Lando hadn’t been expecting it. He had had the morning planned out in his head as he wanted a slow and sultry wake up call with you in his arms. Instead, he woke with a panic and his heart racing far too quick for his liking.

It started his whole day off wrong, he didn’t want to think about anything to do with racing when the was in Greece. He wanted to be with you, with his friends, under the Grecian sun and pretend he wasn’t a Formula One driver. So far, he had been successful in doing so - albeit, he faced a blip after seeing Charles and Carlos - but he was happy.

You helped him bathe in this fantasy of his. You had no idea he was Lando Norris, Mclaren Formula One racer, you knew him as Lando - or Lan as he preferred. You knew Lando as the boy who refused suncream and had the tastebuds of a child, the boy who drove maybe a bit too fast for the backroads, and who picked you out the shiniest of shells from the sea because they reminded him of you - ‘the prettiest shells for his pretty girl’. You didn’t expect anything of him, you weren’t questioning his every move after a race, and you couldn’t have cared less about his championship standings. 

Partly because you still didn’t know that side of Lando existed, and he had every intention of keeping it that way in order to maintain his peace. 

Lando kept Zak on the phone whilst he got ready for the day, absentmindedly agreeing to everything he said whilst his mind drifted off to how you two would spend the rest of the day. He was becoming acutely aware of how your time together was slipping through his fingers and there was nothing he could do about it to hold on. The days were running thin and the clock in his mind ticked even louder with everything Zak was saying to him; he needed you to drown out that sound, to make everything quiet again for him.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long before you made your way into the bathroom behind him. The mirrors in the bathroom had fogged up with steam so you wasted no time in dragging your hand over them, catching Lando’s eyeliner through the reflection. You stayed quiet whilst he said his goodbyes, busying yourself with brushing your teeth and pretending you weren’t listening to Lando’s phone call - because you absolutely weren’t and you had no idea what the man on the phone meant by ‘the rest of the season is ours,’ so you pretended to be more interested with the contents of your makeup bag. 

“Morning, baby.” Lando took a step closer towards you, pressing a kiss to your temple and pushing some stray hairs behind your ears so he could take a proper look at you - stood in nothing but his shirt from the night before, and he could’ve sworn you were trying to get a reaction out of him but he knew when you smiled sweetly back up at him, he knew you were none the wiser.

“You’re up early, hm?” It was entirely unusual that Lando was awake before you as you spent most mornings trying to coax him out of bed despite his many protests, so to say you were shocked was quite an understatement.

“Yeah, work phone calls take priority apparently.” He still wasn’t too happy with Zak phoning him when he knew that he was in Greece, trying to create a distance between himself and racing for at least a few weeks. But now you were stood beside him, taking his mind off of that, so he couldn’t complain all too much.

“Even on holiday?” You tutted and rolled your eyes, understanding Lando’s annoyance because you couldn’t imagine how you would feel if your boss had called to chat about work when you had time off. “There should be a boundary set there, honestly.”

“I know but everything’s just so important to him, it can’t wait another few days ‘till I’m back,” Lando sighed and ran his hands over his face, trying his hardest not to let anything Zak had said to him seep into his mind but he was beginning to struggle in his fight against his own mind. “I get it, I do, him being stressed and whatever, but, fuck I mean, I’m fucking stressed, y’know, and I don’t think he’s getting it.” His breathing picked up more than what Lando would’ve been comfortable with, it caught in his throat and crawled through him, threatening him as tears that pricked at his eyes.

You wanted to interject, to try and soothe him however you could, but you let him keep speaking -  let him speak his mind. You figured it would be better for him to truly let his feelings out into the open before you tried to ease his anxieties. 

“I just, I don’t think I can take the pressure sometimes, it feels like everyone’s expecting me to be something I’m not,” He could hardly get his words out in between his shallow breathing, he tried biting his lip to keep his composure but it was useless - his sobs fought their way to be seen, to be heard, and he couldn’t pretend that keeping his emotions at bay was any use. No matter what he done, or how he felt, his emotions would fight their way through him as they bubbled to the surface. “I dont- I can’t- I dunno. God, sorry.”

“No, Lan, no, it’s okay.” You quickly shook your head and moved closer to him, your hands cupping his face to try and pull him back towards you instead of letting him spiral into the mess of his own mind.

“You don’t- I just, I don’t want you seeing me like this.” He tried to pull away, to hide from your worried eyes, but you kept him in your hold. Your fingers dragged across his cheeks, wiping away the tears that had fallen from his eyes as you could feel Lando’s breathing beginning to slow down. 

“You’ve got nothing to hide, not from me.” You could understand why Lando wouldn’t want you to see him in a state like this, but you didn’t want him to feel like he had to hide from you - you wanted to be there for you.

“Sorry, it’s stupid to get worked up like this, especially about work,” He took one final deep breath and clasped his hands over yours as they still rested over his cheeks, tangling your fingers together. “I just get in my head sometimes, get worried about shit I’ve got no control over - I just wasn’t expecting to have to deal with it over here.”

“It’s okay to get worked up, it’s not stupid- you’re not stupid,” Though your words weren’t the most colourful, they were heartfelt and exactly what Lando needed to hear. “You don’t have to be anything, you just have to be you.”

“I don’t think I’m meant for this sometimes,” Lando leant back against the bathroom countertop, unable to stop the words from spilling out - though, he should’ve thought harder about what he was saying to you, knowing it was more than what he had ever planned for but he couldn’t help it in a brief moment of weakness. “I want to live like you, I think, sometimes. Just travel and meet people and live freely, just do whatever I want. I hate that people have an idea of me in their head and I can’t live up to it.”

“The best you can give people is yourself, there’s no point in pretending to be someone you’re not.” You moved to stand in between his legs, Lando’s hands then finding solace on your waist as he tried to keep himself grounded.

“You see me, though. And I like that,” Lando dipped his head closer to yours, his lips hovered over yours but he didn’t dare to press a kiss there, not yet. “I don’t have to pretend to be anything, I get to just be me.”

“That’s all I ask for, Lan.” You closed the gap between you and Lando, your hand resting on his chest as you felt him relax any tensions within him under the pressure of your touch.

“So, that farmer’s market is still there today- you up for it?” He pinched your waist, seemingly in a far better mood than he was all of ten minutes ago. “There’s local honey, homemade jewellery, organic produce. We could take a drive, do some shopping, y’know embrace being a tourist for the last while.”

“Sounds perfect.” You nodded your head and embraced the smile on your face as it hid the minor uneasy feeling that was building in your chest over the thought of how little time you had left with Lando without so much as a plan for what would happen when all of this had to come to an end. So instead, you focused on Lando in front of you and the thought of the farmer’s market with him.

[driedposies]

"My little Nepenthe," {CHAPTER SEVEN: Have You No Idea That You're In Deep?}

Chapter summary: With the Summer Solstice on the horizon, you're made to confront more than your worries about this coup. Instead of running away from what you are now, you begin to accept the things you once feared—including the bond that's made a home in your soul.

Warnings: Explicit language, sexual content (18+ only!), violence, bodily injury, torture, character death.

Chapter lyric: "Do I Wanna Know" by Arctic Monkeys (Hozier ver.)

Word count: 5.3k

Notes: I'm back :) life has been a little hectic these past few weeks, but I should be getting back into the swing of things.

Life continued to slip through your fingers like water. Except where anxiety and fear lingered in the small nooks of your mind, they slowly ebbed away into something warm and disarming. There was a prize within your heart that was slowly being revealed—you no longer felt so utterly alone. 

You weren’t the only one susceptible to this change, it seemed. Eris smiled a little more and a little longer when he thought no one was paying attention. He began to crack open, baring a soft underbelly like a fox returning to his safe glen. 

Eris was… funny. Charming, with the occasional dreadful joke. He made you laugh despite his wicked undertones, enough to turn your cheeks red and forget all propriety and genteel lessons. 

You both continued your charade, yet without acknowledgment, you no longer felt like you were acting a part. And, perhaps selfishly, you imagined a world where Eris felt the same. 

It didn’t help your persuasive heart at the note left for you to find after an afternoon promenade. 

‘I have bartered the silence of your ladies' maids and the guards stationed this evening. I’ll have the pixies send you a dress fashioned for Summer.’

Your ladies’ maids are giggling amongst themselves, whispering and fawning as if they’re worried another was to overhear a scandalous secret. They were in their own right to do so—what you were doing was scandalous. Enough to jeopardise the sanctity of this courting farce. 

What would Beron do if he learned Eris took you beyond the Autumn borders without permission? It likely wouldn’t be as terrible as if your brother-in-law found out. 

Treasonous. And something deep in your soul licked at the word; delighted in it. For a moment, you imagined yourself blending into something so similar to Eris. You no longer had the urge to reject the thoughts as they came. 

You were now picturing Summer Court. 

Feyre had once, very briefly, when she had a sudden idea to tour you through her art studio, told you all the beautiful tales she had collected like seashells over Prythian. A summertime paradise cradled by the sea, its capital rising like a jewel from the heart of a crescent-shaped bay, crowned by a palace perched on a mountain island. Always warm, always carrying a salted breeze. It made you think of Father. 

The dress your ladies’ maids chose was a remarkable encapsulation of summer. It was reminiscent of a sunset over the ocean—shades of lilac, turquoise, and gold that seemed to shift with every movement. The fabric was chosen for the expected heat, all chiffon and organza, with small mother of pearl fragments embroidered around the bust. 

Your hair was left loose for the first time since arriving in Autumn. It was beautiful—you felt beautiful. 

As your ladies tussled your strands of hair into a gold and pearl comb, swooping the pieces from your face—because of the sea winds, Flora muttered—you feel the air shift. You turned as the space beside your vanity folded into itself, and out appeared Eris like smoke, already grinning wickedly. 

“Is knocking now beneath you, Eris?” You drawl, shifting to watch him through the full-length mirror at Fauna’s scolding, at your moving. 

The Autumn Prince glides behind you, meeting your eyes. You take the short pause to rake your gaze down, and then back up. Eris's summer attire was a striking contrast to his usual umber, orange, and black attire. He matched your palate, wrapped in a loose turquoise silk poet blouse, left entirely unbuttoned and tucked into cream trousers. His hair, however, caught your eye—left unbound and uncombed, lax copper spirals curling around his neck and framing his brow. Eris looked all the more like his mother. 

“To successfully sneak away, you must not risk being caught. That includes not loitering in a doorway, waiting for you to finish powdering your nose,” Eris retorts, looming over your shoulder, playful condescension heavy in his tone. 

Your ladies’ maids float away, letting out pleased hums at their work. 

“You know what to do, ladies,” Eris states, tilting his head towards the pixies and then the door. 

The three pixies bow their heads in understanding, before flickering out of the chambers, likely to begin spreading excuses and tales about your whereabouts—or lack thereof. 

Eris reaches around you to pick up your right hand, holding it out in front of you. Looking downwards, your heart almost stutters, embarrassingly disarmed by his hand gently cupping yours.

“I believe celebrations are in order,” Eris comments, grinning, and you’re looking back up to find his eyes still on you through the mirror’s reflection. He runs a thumb over the healed skin across your knuckles. 

Your lips form a tight line. “I’ve yet to be able to even call upon my powers,” you mutter, your breath stuttering when Eris pinches your pinky finger.

“Baby steps, dearest,” Eris reminds, sliding to stand beside you, tucking your arm into his. “You are no longer rejecting your gifts; in turn, they are no longer rejecting you,” he drawls, giving you a small squeeze of affirmation. “And that is a great achievement. So, let us get a move on before we miss the doors.”

A smile blooms like ivy across your lips as the world around you folds. There was nothing, and then you were miles away from Autumn. 

Eris was already holding you steady as you found your feet again.  

The air shimmered with a sudden, electric charge as the Summer Court’s boundary blurred and dissolved like heat rising from sunbaked stones. A faint scent of jasmine and sun-warmed earth filled the space, mingling with the sharp tang of sea salt from the distant ocean. The world seemed to hold its breath in that suspended moment as you took everything in. 

You were standing at the imposing entrance of the theatre, carved from marble and stone. Stood between a vibrant energy of life, laughter and conversation singing in passing as all sorts of fae and creature waded inside the theatre like a stream following a current. Dark skin and scales and webbed ligaments, all clothed similarly to you. Eris’s head of flaming hair stood out, yet no one paid much mind except for the few curious glances.

Eris was guiding you in, leaving you to gawp at the new world around you, passing secret grins your way. “I took the liberty of keeping our reservations a private affair,” Eris murmurs into the shell of your pointed ear. “I suppose it pays to be friends with a High Lord who cares for intercourt relegations.”

Your eyes flicker onto Eris. “You have friends?” You jibe, grin only widening when Eris’s eyes roll. 

Pausing outside the ticket box, you peer through the stained glass to the small fae perched on a tall wooden stool, her translucent butterfly wings closely tucked into her back. 

“Ticket name,” the faerie’s charming, yet wholly bored voice called out, attention focused on the paper list in front of her.

“Vanserra,” Eris states, the name alone enough to startle the faerie to look up. “Should be under the Autumn Box reservation.”

The fae’s lips part for a moment before she looks down at her sheet, and then back up again. “Enjoy the performance, Lord, Lady,” she quickly says, gesturing towards the grand staircase behind the ticket desk. 

Continue into the foyer, you’re almost startled by the size and ornate build of the Summer theatre. Water fountains and sculpted basins shaped like blooming lotuses and mythical creatures were scattered across the large hall, mist slowly rising softly from the water’s impact. Marble was cut into sea motifs across the walls and supporting beams, continuing up the staircase and handrails. 

Above, a circular vaulted ceiling was painted and decorated to represent creatures from the deep ocean, all chaotic yet cohesive. On closer inspection, there was an evident story being told. Romance, tragedy, comedy, betrayal. 

“Nesta will be so jealous,” you whisper under your breath, and Eris responds with a chuckle. 

As you make it up the staircase and the crowds of summer fae thin out, you turn back to Eris. “The Autumn Court has its own box here?” You ask, attention momentarily deviating as a wait staff appears to guide you into your private box. You’re left with two glasses of wine and a fresh fruit platter. 

The theatre’s house was just as beautiful as the rest of the building—evidently, no expense was considered when this place was created. 

“Every court has its own box in this theatre,” Eris explains, picking up his glass and lightly tapping it against yours when you lift your own. You take a small sip with him. “Summer likes to celebrate their Solstices with music and performance. On its eve, you’ll find most High Lords in attendance.”

You let out a considering hum before reaching for a sliced strawberry, sliding it between your lips. Smiling at the sweet berry, you pick up a second to offer Eris. He looks momentarily unsettled, raising a hand. 

“More for me, then,” you sigh, slipping the strawberry into your mouth.

Leaning over the balustrade, you watch as fae filter into the theatre’s house to find their seats. All different groups and walks of life in one place to see whatever Eris siphoned you to—couples on dates, friends passing around a bottle they’d snuck in, families settling children into their seats. Turning to the stage, you notice its setup; makeshift staircases leading up to a balcony taken over by ivy and honeysuckle. 

“What's the performance about?” You ask as you shift back to Eris, finding his eyes already watching you.  

“And let me spoil the story?” Eris replies, grinning into the lip of his wine glass. “You’re going to just have to watch and find out, dearest.”

An indignant huff leaves you. “Not even a little hint? Now, how will I know if you’ve just dragged me to something that’ll bore me stiff?” You retort, evidently much to Eris’s amusement. 

“No one would be in attendance if the story were boring,” Eris points out, gesturing with his glass to the full house. “Anyhow, I’m sure you’ll be more than satisfied with my choice,” he continues with his much-familiar arrogance. “It’s a romance.”

You make a confused expression, before it settles into disbelief. “Did you go through my books?” You accuse, trying to recall a moment when Eris had the opportunity to scan through your stack of books on your nightstand.

“It’s not like they were hidden,” Eris half-defends, hardly perturbed. “It merely caught my eye how many you’d commandeered.”

You could only roll your eyes, resting your elbow on the armrest to press your palm over your mouth, hiding your girlish embarrassment. It was then that you realised that Eris would only know of your book preferences by recognising their covers alone, bringing that knowing smile back across your lips. “Are you a secret romantic, Eris?” You tease, leaning towards him, a growing habit you’ve yet to name. “You ought to tell me your thoughts on Basile’s Sun, Moon and Talia.”

It was Eris’s turn to make a sour expression, choosing silence rather than trying to deny it. 

The patrons soon settle into their seats, quietening as the faelights dim, leaving the stage illuminated. A warm hand takes yours, and your eyes try to find Eris through the dark, faint shadows outlining his strong jaw and tussled hair. Fingers squeeze yours, and you’re reminded that people could be watching, talking about the Autumn heir taking his potential bride on a date to the theatre. 

But who could see their hands interwined in the dark?

When you were still human, before your Mother was taken by illness and your Father lost your family’s fortune, you’d been to the theatre twice. Both experiences were a blur of watercolour and forgotten melodies. But what you did remember was the thrill of watching music and performance come together, heart leaping into your throat at the main theme and overwhelming crescendos, the collective crowd's enthrallment and cheering at the end of the final act. 

You wish you could recount the operetta with great detail, but all you could think of was Eris. His hand in yours, squeezing at every beautifully constructed line and bel canto. You’d laugh and turn to see if Eris found the comedic relief just as amusing, always finding him chuckling with you.  

“I can see why it was so popular,” you’d comment after exiting the grand theatre, deciding to take a small detour down to one of Summer’s many beaches, not yet wishing to return to the reality Autumn held. 

You and Eris discarded your shoes in favour of wandering the shoreline, skipping away from the wet sand when white wash drew too close. The sun was starting to sink below the horizon, casting a warm, fiery glow across the sky and sea. A gentle breeze carries the salty tang of the ocean air, mingled with the faint scent of seaweed. It was enchanting as it was calming, and you could not remember a time you’ve felt so at peace. 

“So, you admit my judgment remains sound?” Eris baits, his smirk ever-present since leaving the theatre. He walks close beside you, brushing your arm so often when a wave rolls near. 

A smile peeks at the corners of your lips. “I can admit you’ve got a fine taste for romance operettas,” you reply, much to Eris’s continued exasperation.

“You are one of the most disagreeable females I have ever met,” Eris sighs aloud, though it hardly sounds like a genuine complaint. 

You respond with a loud laugh, and you catch Eris grinning at you through the corner of his softening gaze. “For living as long as you have, I’ll take it as an achievement,” you playfully retort, nudging his side with your elbow.

Eris purses his lips in mock consideration. "I wouldn’t call it a great one,” he mutters, returning your favour with an eblow of his own. 

Continuing down a beach, you scare off a flock of seagulls into flight, watching as they rise high over the water, purposefully keeping a distance from awaiting water wraiths. At the end of the long stretch of sand was a collection of fallen rocks created by a slow erosion of the tall cliffside, left to create rock pools homing oyster clusters and pea crabs. 

Eris helps you onto a dry rock before settling beside you, following your gaze towards the sea sitting before the setting sun. 

“If it weren't for all the sand, and I an Autumn Prince, I don’t think I’d mind Summer for a home.”

You twist like a sunflower at Eris’s voice. His eyes were still cast across the horizon, the sun’s glow haloing his hair into molten amber, and suddenly it felt like your heart was seizing again. That unfathomable heat that eclipsed your ribs and bled into your chest, sparking golden. 

You don’t know why, but you think of Elain, picturing her in the kitchen on a sunny morning, cookie dough and flour sticking to her fingers. She was telling you something—a dream of hers. You were with your fox again, Elain was murmuring, eyes looking elsewhere. Somewhere where the sun is bright and the sea clear.

You’re suddenly aware of how your heart picks up pace, and Eris is now looking at you, a confused concern pooling in his eyes. You’re falling into yourself until you reach inward, finding a thread you didn’t comprehend through fear, resentment, rejection. You tug, and you shatter with realisation. 

Eris goes wholly rigid, face melting into something close to panic. You’d seen the expression once before, the very first time you met on that balcony, right after you struck him. 

Elain once explained what it felt like to be tethered to Lucien—the mate bond. A link of constant reminder, to be aware of the other without being in the same room, to always be feeling the other. 

Fragmented puzzle pieces began to fall into place. Elain’s dreams disguised as visions. Lucien’s meddling. I owed him a favour. And despite him, I shared in his current situation, he’d told you. 

Why Eris looked to you when constructing this scheme.

“Eris,” you call for him, voice no louder than a whisper—a plea for answers, or perhaps dreaded confirmation. 

“Don’t,” Eris utters, an attempt to mask his paranoia and fear. Then, he’s pulling away and standing from the rock, taking a step back. “I can’t—We can’t,” he starts, wiping a hand down his face. 

“You knew.” You don’t mean for the words to come out accusatory, so full of betrayal. What happened to trust? They seemed to say.

Eris’s expression contorts and falls, and you’re imagining how long he’s known, and how long he’s been bottling this truth. You’re now thinking of Beron and Eris’s vicious brothers—what they could do if they found out. What the Inner Circle would do if they discovered such a piece of leverage. 

“You, don’t,” you suddenly continue, pushing off the rock, not allowing Eris to fall away. “You didn’t tell me. You let me in the dark. Left me in the dark about something I deserved to know about.”

Eris lets out a scoff, throwing his hands up. “Oh, because you would’ve reacted brilliantly. As well as how your sister reacted finding out her bond with Lucien,” he spits back, restoring to his mask of cruelty in defence of his heart. 

Unfortunately, Eris no longer fooled you. “I’m not Elain. Nor Nesta, or Feyre,” you counter, emotions bubbling into the back of your throat. You couldn’t name what you were feeling; distinguish what was your’s from Eris’s.

“You were already drowning,” Eris mutters, defeat swallowing him whole. “For Mother’s sake—you were hardly accepting yourself. I wasn’t about to include a mate bond into a life you didn’t ask for,” he admits, his sombre tone enough to disarm any lingering anger in you. “I—I couldn’t do that to you,” a pause, and he’s looking away again. “I couldn’t do it to myself—the inevitable rejection. You resented me enough. And what can I say? I’m a selfish bastard,” he adds with a dry laugh. 

You couldn’t respond because Eris wasn’t wrong in his assumptions—your only knowledge of bonds initially was the preconceived notion of ownership. Your mortality was already taken from you, changed into something you were taught to despise—you wouldn’t have given up the right to choose your life partner either. 

Your thoughts continue to race; things that once seemed confusing are finally strung together with sense, until everything was leading back to the coup that brought you here.

“You’re going to use the bond against your Father,” you murmur. Eris’s expression fills you with vindication. “You said you were going to goad Beron into threatening my life,” you continue, almost choking on the words, “so you could invoke a Blood Duel.”

Eris’s shoulders slackened, yet for some reason, you couldn’t find it in you to hate him. Not in the way you would’ve done months ago. “I read it in one of those books you gave me,” you add softly. 

Eris rakes a hand through his hair again, his stubborn curls only returning to his brow. “I’m a fool,” he sighs, all the more dishevelled. “To assume I could do all this,” Eris gestures around him, at you. He releases another dry, self-deprecating laugh. “To feed into the fantasy that this was anything but a secret insurgency, without you figuring it out.”

“I would’ve found out eventually, especially if you’re to invoke a Blood Duel,” you say, taking another cautious step towards him. “The implications are enough to figure it out.” You’re thinking of the Inner Circle again. “Everyone would find out. You… you would leave yourself, me, to whatever fallout would come from it?”

You could already imagine what would happen in the reality if Eris won the Duel against his Father. You’d be taken back to the Night Court, made into a battering tool against the Autumn Court. Forever trapped in a nightmare of your creation.

“You’d be safe,” Eris replies, warm amber eyes taken with dejected resolution. “You’d be home with your family, within one of the safest cities in Prythian. Away from Autumn politics; away from what would entail in remaining with me.”  

You’re shaking your head, words pouring out without second thought. “And what would entail staying with you, pray tell?” You retort, almost slighted at Eris’s assumptions about what you want. “You’ve already presumed what I want,” you snap, jabbing a finger into his chest. Eris flinches at the contact. “What if what I want is to stay? That I don’t want to return to the Night Court because I’ve found happiness in Autumn?” You couldn’t help the tears that blurred your vision, saliva thickening your tongue to your mouth, distorting your voice. “That I’ve found it with you?”

Oh, Gods. 

You were in love with Eris.

You knew that much was true. Love was the swelling, hopeful feeling in your chest every time you saw him. Love was the way you could forget about the world when you were with him. Love was the catch in your breath at the simplest of touches. Love was the way you could be yourself around him, in all of your softness and viciousness, and know that you didn’t need to be perfect or worry about what he’ll think, because he never shied away from your rotten edges. And all of that?

You were suddenly terrified. Screwing your mouth shut, you don’t allow yourself to say much more. You were sure Eris knew by your galloping heart; the emotions he surely felt flowing through you and into him. 

Eris closes the final step of distance between you, taking a gentle hold of your chin, tipping your head back to meet his gaze. He swipes a thumb at the corner of your left eye, stopping a tear from falling. 

“I suppose we’re both fools,” Eris murmurs, breathing in deeply before exhaling. “Do you know what you’re committing to? What you could potentially be losing?”

You couldn’t be insulted by Eris’s questioning, because nothing could be more heartbreaking than finding regret where love should lie. “I’m well aware,” you affirm, tone softened. Your hand finds Eris’s, holding it to your cheek. “I couldn’t stand it, in the Night Court. My life felt aimless. And the thought of going back… I don’t know what I’d do,” you explain, swallowing thickly. “For all of the atrocious parts of Autumn, I’ve found so much beauty. And… and this coup, getting rid of Beron, it’s all in the name of making Autumn better, isn’t it?”

Eris’s eyes drop from yours, knowing he doesn’t need to confirm your presupposition. “I believe it honourable, making it your life work,” you furthered, reaching out with your free hand to brush his cheek, finding his vulnerable gaze once again. “I must confess I have a few ideas of my own.”

That roguish smirk slowly returns to Eris’s lips. “Do you, now?” He asks, hand slipping from your cheek and into the unbound hair at your neck. 

“I think Women’s Law needs a large revision,” you state, a smile of your own blooming. 

“I suppose I’ll have to add it to my growing list of changes,” Eris declares, thumbing the skin behind your ear. 

A pleasant silence befalls you, the waves crashing and seagulls trilling filling the world around you. There was still so much left unsaid and undecided, but for now, you were going to soak in the last few moments of this slice of peace on a beach far from your troubled reality. 

“We should return,” Eris mutters, breaking the stillness. “Before someone questions why we are late for dinner.”

You nod in agreement, peeling away from Eris to take his elbow and slide your sandals back on, preparing for the winnow back into Autumn.

At dinner, no one questions when Eris drags his chair from his end of the dining table to yours, grumbling a “that’s better” under his breath upon sitting on your right. When you don’t add enough food to your plate, Eris takes the liberty to pile more on. Karl, however, raises a brow when Eris dismisses him early, citing that you’ll be protected enough if he were to escort you back to your chambers. 

“You’re not going to act as my lady's maid either, Eris?” You ask, teasing as you reach the closed doors of your chambers. “Help draw my bath and change me into my night gown?”

A wicked grin pulls across Eris’s expression, purposefully raking his gaze down your body. “If you so wish,” he drawls, looming over you. 

Your breath catches in your throat, cheeks warming bright red, not used to such direct impropriety. You should’ve known better. Blowing a stray lock of hair from your face, you slide your arm out of Eris’s, taking a gentle hold of his hand. You didn’t want this night to end, and by the way Eris was still lingering, it seemed as though your sentiments were shared. 

“Goodnight, Eris,” you whisper, and Eris nods in acknowledgment, opening the chamber door for you.

A hand catches yours before you could slip away, and Eris pulls you from the doorway and back into his embrace. He's threading his fingers into your hair, cradling your head. Your eyelids flutter, tongue dampening your parted lips, expectation filling your system. 

Eris was close, warm breath dancing over your mouth, until he was not. He was pulling away again, body stiff with tension. “Sweet dreams, dearest,” he murmurs, striding away like smoke on the wind. 

You were left with nothing but a bitter pang of disappointment. 

Closing the chamber doors behind you, you move for your vanity. Your ladies’ maids were already dismissed for the evening, having done more than enough for you in one day alone. Pulling pins from your hair and the flats from your feet, you use the mirror to untie the laces at your back. 

You hardly make it to the ribbons of your corset before a heavy knock rattles your door. You didn’t need to open the door to know who was standing behind it—you could recognise him by sense alone, by scent, you would know by the constant pull within the cavity that held your soul. 

Eris doesn’t give you a moment to greet him, hands already finding your cheeks, hair, neck, before pulling you in. Your mouths opened into each other, the weight of his hot tongue pouring against yours. You could not think, could not do anything but welcome him in, each gasp that came, the heat of his lips. The bond beneath your chest swelled. 

You were trembling, and Eris soothed a palm down the length of your spine. You didn’t know what to do, what he’d like. Eris doesn’t let you fall into flight, takes your hands and directs them above the hem of his shift. You grip the incline of his waist, raking your nails up the expanse of his muscled back, drawing a breathless moan. Eris’s mouth leaves yours, finding your neck, the span of your collar, tasting the salt on your skin. 

You don’t make it to the bed—Eris was sinking to his knees on the fur by the fireplace, pulling you down with him. Your lips find home again, knees bracketing his hips. 

Eris’s hands drag up your thighs, bunching your skirts into white-knuckled fists, fingers tracing the bind of your corset. “Allow me?” He breathes, close to a plea. 

“Yes,” you sigh, hot with desire, all good reason lost to a need that’ll only be satiated by the male beneath you. 

Eris’s mouth finds your throat again as his fingers search for the ribbons at your back, fumbling and tugging with little success. He lets out an aggravated growl, heat licking up your back as Eris’s flames eat away the silk, ripping the rest away to be burned and forgotten.

You pull your hands from Eris, taking his shift with you, revealing bare flesh to your hungry eyes. Lean muscle, freckles and scars smattered across his chest and shoulders, glowing in the tempered fireplace's light. Eris was returning the favour, undoing the lace holding your chemise together, uncovering your breasts. 

Eris doesn’t allow you to ponder the vulnerabilities in your nakedness, cupping his palms over your chest, outlining the span of your sternum with his tongue. Suddenly, he was flipping you onto your back, laying you gently upon the soft animal hide. 

Looming over you, Eris bowed his head like a priest at his altar, pressing an open mouthed kiss to your right breast, giving a gentle suckle to the nipple. Your hand finds his hair as your head tilts back, a ragged sigh leaving you hollow. 

Eris continues down, tracing patterns across your belly until he finds the hair at the apex of your thighs. With benign reverence, he lifts your legs by the inside of your knees, resting them against his shoulders. “You tell me if you wish to stop,” Eris’s voice cuts through your panting, a firm demand. 

You nod your head in understanding, looking down at him. “Okay,” you say, hurried, not blessed with the virtue of patience. 

Eris doesn’t break away from your gaze as he presses a kiss to the inside of your thighs, laving his tongue downwards with an intentional slowness, grinning wide when you pull on his hair. 

You sink back into the fur as Eris finds your core. 

And—oh, Gods. That’s what it’s supposed to feel like. 

Eris runs his tongue up the length of you, stopping at your clit to press and suck. You feel like you’ve gone into freefall, arching towards the sky, towards the man between your legs, eating for his life. The fire in the hearth, the hanging candles above, crackle and fulminate, responding to your every moan and shudder—Eris’s magic responding to you. 

Eris’s forearms bulge with exertion and he’s pushing forwards, fingers gripping into your thigh and a tuft of fur beside your hip. Your grip leaves his hair in favour of his hand, locking your knuckles together. 

Something in your abdomen begins to bloom, a beat of blood in tandem with Eris’s mouth. His face was already pressed close against you, but you wrapped your legs around his head to clutch him closer. Don’t stop, you imagine yourself saying. 

He did not stop. The feeling gathered and gathered until a hoarse cry leaves your throat, and the flames crescendoed. Eris remained, licking and kissing, until you found your breath again. 

Eris returned over you, tongue lapping up what remained smeared across his lips, grinning, looking all like the fox he is. He’s leaning down to capture your mouth with his, a softer enfold. 

You want to give what he gave you, your hand roaming down his side in search of his pleasure. Before you could make it further than the bone in his hip, his hand was clasping yours, holding it above your head. 

“No, my dearest,” Eris breathed into your throat. “Remember. Section 12, Part Three. ‘M not risking your freedoms if one were to catch my scent on you.”

A breathless laugh escapes you. “Now that’s a law we must change first,” you say, full of mirth. 

Eris chuckles, resting his forehead against yours, close to collapsing his weight into you. Your eyes meet, and you’re suddenly struck with worry. “Will you stay?” You ask, wholly exposed. 

“For as long as I’m able,” Eris promises, tucking you close. 

There was silence then, and I did not care for what others would think when they eventually discovered this love of yours. Eris’s eyes were unwavering, holding you without hesitation. Certainty rose within you. 

You won’t be leaving him. It will be like this, always, for as long as you live.  

Taglist:

@rcarbo1 @kk191327 @huffleruffplant @seassttar @butterfly101sworld @elisabethch82 @imma-too-many-fandoms @lreadsstuff @mrsmrx @1455fun @tenshis-cake

[dsireland86]

Can I request something with folio and the reader is a private dancer kinda like a stripper… and something steamy happens between them.

The boys for his birthday but him a private dancer as a joke but it turns into something more as you give him a lap dance and it’s turns into something steamer with some sexual tension and frustration or teasing maybe.

Private Dancer

Tag list:

@philomenie @supersquirrel1996 @foliosgirl @angelmarie89 @fadingintothegrey @thisbicc @lacy1986 @dominuslunae @shayzillaaaa @mrsnoahsebastian @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @stardustsirenmelody @romanreigns-supreme @anything-more than-human @into-the-grey @rumoured-whispers @myownthoughts12 @sister-sebastian @missduffsblog @bngurngheart @somebodyllelse @xxkittenkissesxx @dizzylmwahh @kenjipepsi1 @blackveilomens @chey-h @disappearintothegrey @jilliemiw86 @pathion @fear-its-beauty @an0mallly @potterheadquinn @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @montgomery-929494 @missduffsblog @lilcazy011 @Lonelydragonlady @Mattysbitchvic @athenexe @pipidolloffiziell

It was hot as hell outside in mid-July, so hot Folio swore he could fry an egg on the pavement. The sun bore down on him as he drove his bike up the concrete driveway, soaked in sweat from the summer heat. Parking it in the grass, he climbed off and removed his helmet, squinting from the sudden brightness wrecking his eyes.

"Fuck me, it's hot," he groaned, whispering to himself as he removed his gloves and tossed them into his helmet before tucking it up under his arm and walking up the path to the house. Reaching the front door, he opened it and was greeted by a rush of cold air.

"Hey! Where is everyone?" he called out, closing the door quickly. "We're in here!" Walking into the kitchen, Folio found Noah and Jolly standing around the counter, scrolling through their phones. "What are y'all doing?" he asked, sitting his helmet on the small kitchen table. Grabbing a glass, he walked to the fridge and filled it with ice cold water, downing the whole thing at once.

"Damn, dude. Thirsty?" "It's fucking hot!" he said after swallowing, wiping his mouth. "Yeah it is. I almost suffocated when I went out earlier. Oh! Happy birthday, man!" Folio smiled, thanking Noah. "Got any plans?" Jolly asked? Folio's brow creased.

"Aren't we still tracking today at the studio?" "Well, yeah," Noah answered, putting his phone down. "We're meeting Matt there around two." "I meant after that," Jolly continued. "Going out?"

Folio shook his head. "I think I might ride for a bit then call it a night." Jolly and Noah look at one another. "Seriously? Nick Folio actually taming it down on his birthday for once?" Nick chuckled again, refilling his glass.

"I'm getting older, dude. I can't keep living the crazy party animal life anymore," downing his second glass of water. "Obviously. Dude, I don't think I've ever seen you drink that much water at once," Jolly joked. "Nick Folio trading the party life for a mature, grown-up lifestyle... damn. Hell must have frozen over."

Noah shot Nick a quick wink followed by a sarcastic smirk. Folio just rolled his eyes.

"Whatever. I'm just trying to get my life together and be responsible." "Yeah, we know baby bro," Jolly sighed, coming over to Nick and tossing an arm over his shoulder. "It's just hard for us to accept that our baby is growing up and that you're not the goofy seventeen year old punk we recruited all those years ago."

Folio shrugged Jolly's arm off, laughing. "Fuck! Get off me!" The three of them laughed.

"My dad is throwing a bar-b-que together next week and doing something for me with all the family. I'll just fly home and do something then." "Alright. If you say so. I still think we should do something fun. Chinese or something," Noah suggested. "Sure Veggie fried rice and tv sounds great." "Deal!"

Folio sat his glass down and grabbed his helmet. "I'm going to shower," he stated, heading towards the stairs. "Don't drown!" Jolly called out. "Don't want to have to plan a funeral on your birthday!"

The sound was fire. It was some of the best Folio had tracked in a while. Standing between Nicholas and Matt as they listened to the beats, he skillfully air drummed, tossing his head left and right, and grinning big.

"Damn Folio! That shit sounds good!" Matt praised. "I swear the older you get, the better you get." "Like fine wine," Nick agreed, patting his friend on the back. Folio chuckled.

"Thanks guys. It does sound fucking sick, doesn't it?" "I think we should add it to what Nick and Jolly have already put together and see how it sounds," Noah suggested. "That way we can get an idea of the direction we need to take next." Matt clapped his hands together. "Good idea."

He sat down next to Noah, and together they worked out the small kinks to blend the sounds together. Folio planted himself in the couch behind them, pulling his phone out and scrolling through some birthday texts. Some had him laughing while others had him tearing up a bit. It was bitter sweet. Then, unexpectedly, an email notification popped up, informing him that his gift would be delivered tonight.

"What the hell? What gift?" He opened the email and scanned through the content.

-Mr. Folio,I’m pleased to inform you that a gift from an anonymous has been gifted to you from Violet Flames Dance Studio. It will be delivered to your home on 7-17 between the hours of 10-11 pm at the address provided below. Please make sure you are home to receive the package. Thank you for your time and participation. Enjoy and Happy Birthday from all of us here at Violet Flames Studio.

Folio's loud laugh echoed through the room earning him strange stares from Matt and Noah. "What's so funny? Folio shook his head.

"Nothing. Freaking spam emails. Apparently I've been given some kind of gift from a place called Violet Flames Studio that's being delivered tonight. I don't even know what the fuck that is," he chuckled. "Probably some spam that has like a super mega computer virus in it and now my entire phone is encrypted and bugged, leaking all my personal information to some dude in a basement in some foreign country and will probably blow up by the end of the night."

He looked up at Matt and Noah who were fighting back laughter. "What?" Matt shook his head. "Nothing," looking at Noah who quickly turned away. "Noah?" "Nothing. You're probably right, Nick. Better not keep the phone too close just in case," he laughed, busying himself with knobs and switches. Folio scowled, utterly confused. Sighing, he laid his head back and closed his eyes, waiting for them to finish so he could go home and sleep for a bit before going out for his ride later tonight.

The wind, the heat, the night sky; all of it was the perfect combination, along with the rumbling sound of his bike beneath him. After Chinese food and a movie with the guys, Nick went out for a night ride through some of the long, winding California hills that overlooked the ocean. The moon was full and bright, set in the night sky as a beacon to guide him on his little journey. It was a great ending to another birthday. Driving through town, he stopped at a traffic light, checking his watch. It was nine-thirty. He remembered the email and the time frame of that so-called gift arriving between ten and eleven. He shook the thought off. There was no way that thing was real. The light turned green, and he flipped the nighttime visor on his helmet down, hitting the gas and heading towards home. 

Folio wrapped the towel around his waist and brushed his teeth. Checking his phone. The time read ten forty-five. He laughed to himself as he spit and rinsed, turning the light out and heading to his room where he dressed, then searched for a drum stream on his phone. He headed downstairs for a glass of water, eyes and mind suddenly focused on the screen in front of him, that at first he didn't hear the subtle knock on the front door. Turning the kitchen light off, the doorbell rang again and Folio froze where he stood. Slowly, he looked at the time on his phone and saw that it was five till eleven.

"What the fuck? No way.”

The doorbell rang again. Cautiously, Folio made his way to the front door, hesitating until it rang again, this time throwing it open. A young brunette stood on the stoop, wearing a black t-shirt and black leggings, with a small tote bag hanging on her shoulder. At first, Folio didn't know what to think, but when she looked up at him it was like the entire world stopped. She had the prettiest green eyes he'd ever seen and a smile that felt like a sucker punch to the gut, almost taking his breath away. The girl's lips moved, but Folio didn't hear a thing because of how caught up he was in her.

"Hello?" "I'm sorry, what did you say?" he asked, shaking his head. "I asked if you're Nicholas Folio," the brunette repeated with a small smile. Nick cleared his throat. "Yeah, I mean, yes, that's me." "I'm Y/N. I'm here for your private birthday dance," she said sweetly. “I’m sorry, my what?” raising his eyebrows. "You’ve been gifted a private lap dance in honor of your special day. I’m here to give that to you,” Y/N stated, happily.

Folio just stood there, face deadpanned. 

"So, are you going to make me stand out here on the stoop all night, or invite me in?" she asked, trying to hide her smile. "What? Oh," he breathed a laugh, taking a step back, "yeah, sure come on in," he offered.

Y/N stepped up and walked in, brushing against Folio as she did. Y/N smelled heavenly, her scent engulfing his senses as he followed her into the house. He led her into the dark living room, searching for the wall switch for the ceiling light, flipping it the moment he found it.

"Wow!" "Yeah, sorry," Nick apologized quickly, suddenly really nervous. Y/N reached for the nearest table lamp, switching it on as Nick killed the overhead death beam. "That's better," she smiled, pulling her shirt up and removing it entirely, revealing the laced black sports bra she was wearing.

The sight sent vicious signals of straight, red hot arousal right to the core of Folio's length, forcing him to readjust himself quickly. Y/N noticed the slight red heu that brushed over his cheeks and smiled sweetly at him, reaching over and running a finger down his cheek.

"You've never done anything like this before, have you." Nick shook his head innocently. Y/N hummed in response. "Is this the kitchen?" she asked, pointing through an open entrance. "Yum, yeah," Folio answered. 

His voice had a slight crack. He cleared his throat, hoping Y/N didn't notice. She disappeared into the darkness, turning on light for a brief moment before returning with a chair and placing it in the middle of the room.

"Come," Y/N beckoned him with her finger and a grin. Folio didn't move. It wasn't that he didn't want to. He just couldn't. Fear of embarrassment took control of him, forcing him to remain planted where he stood. Y/N walked over to him and took his hand. Her touch sent electric shivers up his spine.

"I said, come here," she ordered him, her tone thick with honey.

She led him over to the chair and gracefully put two hands on his shoulders, gently pushing him down until he was seated. Folio's heart was racing so fast with anticipation that could only come from something as hot and sensual as Y/N. She kept direct eye contact with him, especially when she slipped off her leggings and revealed the matching lace boy short panties she was wearing. Folio couldn't restrain the deep groan that left his lips as his eyes scaled her body. From her soft, supple breasts to her hourglass shape and thick, luscious thighs, Y/N was the epitome of a wet dream.

"So, how does this work?" Folio asked, licking his lips. "Am I allowed to touch you?"

His eyes followed her, watching every move she made, and yearned to touch her. This was crazy. Nick never felt like this over someone he didn't even know. He knew it was all just a feeling of lust, wanting something forbidden that was placed before him, but the way Y/N smiled at him and the feeling of her touch had Folio's heart spiraling out of control.

Y/N laid her phone down once she'd chosen the music that instantly set the right tone. Turning she looked over at Folio and put on her game face despite how awkward she was feeling. She was a nervous wreck inside; her heart pounding like a hammer in her chest. Normally, she was never nervous or shy around customers, but Nick was different. He was fucking hot as hell and smelled like crisp, fresh air. His hair was damp, indicating that he must have just showered before she got there, making this even harder not to throw herself at him. He made her feel like a school girl with a hard crush, but she liked it.

Standing in front of him, Y/N parted Nick's legs and straddled one scooting as close to him as possible. His face was eye level with her belly, and she could feel his warm breath against her skin. "There are rules," she began, softly touching his shoulders. Folio brought his hands up to her waist and almost touched her, but she pushed them back down. "Rule number one: No touching me. I can touch you, but you can't touch me." Folio frowned. "Rule number two: No kissing; anywhere."

Her eyes locked with his, his penetrating gaze burning a forever place in her heart. Gently, she did what she'd been eager to do, and that was run her fingers through his hair. It was as soft and damp as she'd anticipated it to be, making her softly sigh as she closed her eyes and soaked up the feeling quickly. Quiet whispers fell from Folio's lips, telling her that he liked it. "Rule number 3: no talking at any point once we start this. Do you understand and accept these rules?"

Folio sighed. "I understand them, but I don't want to accept them," he grinned. Y/N hesitated before opening her mouth. "I'm going to assume you were only playing." "Am I," Folio teased.

Y/N bent her knees slightly, brushing Nick's bare knee with her partially wet core. She wasn't going to lie to herself. He made her wet. He got her worked up enough that her panties were damp. No client had ever done that before. Folio breathed in deeply, focusing on her breasts that were closer to her face than he realized, and licked his lips, peering up at Y/N as her lips curled into a half smile. "Are you ready to play, Mr. Folio," she asked seductively, stepping away from him.

The way she said his last name had him clenching his jaw and swallowing hard. Nick slowly nodded. Y/N stepped up and ran her hands softly down his chest, making sure to lift the bottom of his shirt a bit as they traveled to his thighs. Folio grinned as she bit her lip, bringing her hands back up and laying them on his chest while planting herself snuggly between his legs. Her hands made their way through his hair again, her fingers gliding through the soft brown tendrils until they reached the back of his neck, where she ran them up and over the neatly shaved parts of his hair before dragged them down and back around to the front, right below his chin and guiding them down his chest once more.

Y/N slightly moved her body, swaying with the music as she turned around, placing her back towards Folio. Resting her hands on his knees and using them as support, she lowered her bottom into his lap, rolling her hips to the music and grinding against his semi-hard erection. The feeling of it pressed against her shouldn't have excited her the way it did, sending tingled sensations to the center of her heat. Biting her lip, Y/N popped her bottom a few times against Nick's chest, hearing him groan with pleasure. Folio was aroused. Erotically aroused from the way she seductively danced on him. The glazed over look in his soft brown eyes told her so as she turned around and faced him again. The look in his eyes made her heart skip a beat.

"Put your legs together," she ordered him.

The corner of Folio’s mouth lifted, making Y/N think he noticed the way her voice shook a little. He did as she said, allowing her to straddle his lap and roll her body over his chest while gripping his shoulders. She moved up and down his body like silk, popping her hips and bouncing a bit when she sat down on his lap briefly before working back up and over his body again. The heat between them was getting hotter and they both knew this was turning into something that maybe it shouldn't be, but Y/N couldn't stop herself. It was crazy to think that just maybe, she was willing to lose her job over this man and for what? Temporary feelings? Closing her eyes for a moment, she held onto the back of Folio's neck, loving the way his warm, slightly damp skin felt against hers, as she slowly sat down on his lap and started to sensually grind on him. Their bodies were so close she could feel his hardness against her, and it was maddening.

"You're blushing," Folio whispered softly, following it with a light laugh. This time, Y/N could hear the bit of shakiness in his voice. "You're not supposed to be talking," she replied, opening her eyes.

Her moves against him slowed even though the music was still going strong. Folio stared at her with eyes wide and burning with desire, no longer caring how obvious it was, and Y/N saw it. All of it. He wanted her. He wanted her so badly, to the point that neither one of them would know where one started and the other ended. Y/N chewed on her bottom lip for a moment as her gaze fell from Folio's to his lips and her hands to his chest, clutching his shirt and bringing them even closer. The heat in the room increased the moment Nick brought his hands up and eased them over her bottom, his slow hands working Y/N into a desperate hunger. Her mouth fell slightly open when he grabbed it and pushed her lower half closer to his erection, and the noise she made forced Folio to release his own moan.

Her pupils dilated, and she inhaled deeply, bringing both her arms up and wrapping them around Foilo's neck as if finally accepting her defeat. She gave in, no longer fighting or caring what the outcome of the moment would bring. Nick trailed his hands to her hips, guiding her gently yet dominantly back and forth, creating enough friction to drive the both of them insane. Neither of them spoke but allowed their bodies to do the talking for them. Y/N leaned in and found that spot just under Nick's ear with her lips, kissing him and tasting his skin, making sure to leave behind a pretty purple token of the moment they were sharing that would last at least a few days. A deep growl formed in the back of Folio's throat, as yearning words spilled from beneath his breath. It had him wrapping his arms up under hers, grasping her shoulders and pulling her in to attack the little dip at the base of her throat and kiss down her neck. The sensation made Y/N gasp, and she arched against him, driving her fingers through his hair, gently tugging on it.

Nick clasped his hands around her face, his eyes moving to her soft, wet lips, fighting the strong urge to lean in and kiss her; to taste her. Y/N never kissed a client, but she wanted to kiss him, so she did something she'd never thought she'd do. Her lips crashed down on his. Folio melted into her, embracing her tightly as their tongues met for the first time. He rolled his over hers, tasting into her mouth and stroking hers as she began to move her soaked, burning core against his rock-hard shaft that was pressed comfortably against her still, slowly yet greedily, whimpering against his mouth when he hit a spot that made her feel so damn good.

The kiss spun out of control in less than a heartbeat, turning wild and urgent and tasting like a sweet, perfect madness that shifted their senses that only existed between them. Their breathing was ragged, and their hands were everywhere on each other. They found a rhythm that was enough to lock both their bodies in a trance of accomplishing only one thing, and that was to see how long it would take to push the other off the edge.

"You're getting me wet," Folio whispered in her ear." "What?" Y/N pulled back to look at him, almost stopping her movement entirely. "No, no, no, don't stop," Folio begged, grabbing her by the hips to encourage her to keep going. "I promise, it's okay. I love it. It's fucking hot and it's making me want to cum," he admitted, slipping his hands around her neck and pulling her in for a soft, sensual kiss.

Y/N briefly looked down and saw that Nick was right. The thin spandex of her shorts wasn't enough to keep her arousal a secret, and the dark wet circle in the middle of Folio's light gray cotton shorts was proof. "We shouldn't be doing this," Y/N said, meeting Nick's gaze. He smiled softly, clenching his jaw. "Your mouth says one thing, sweetheart, but your body is telling me something else."

He grimaced, closing his mouth and panting hard as Y/N rolled her hips, bouncing lighting on his covered cock. He was almost at the edge of losing himself. "And what is my body telling you, Mr. Folio?" thrusting against him, making curses slip from his mouth. "That you want to cum just as much as I do," he stated firmly.

Just his husky tone and the thought of him making her orgasm without even being inside her was enough to make Y/N moan loudly, completely surrendering her body to the man beneath her. "Then make me cum," challenging Folio boldly. His stubble scraped across her neck as he sat up some and kissed her neck, sucking hard on one spot that had Y/N moaning as she rubbed him hard, "Just like that, sweetheart. I'm almost there," Nick painted, squeezing his eyes closed and bringing his forehead to hers. Y/N's hands found a home on the back of his neck, squeezing and holding tightly to him as the pressure inside her came to a breaking point. "Fuck, fuck!" Folio growled, planting his teeth against Y/N's shoulder and biting down hard the moment he came with a shudder.

Y/N clung to him, her head tossed back as the massive sensation of her orgasm washed over her, making her cum with a loud, choked moan that climbed up her throat. Wetness seeped through her shorts, soaking Folio’s shorts even more and making a mess as some lightly trickled down her leg. "Fuck me," Folio sighed, out of breath as he kissed her forehead. "That was so fucking hot," Y/N admitted, dropping her head to his shoulder. Folio huffed a small laugh, kissing the side of her face sweetly. The words slipped out without thought, but she was too overwhelmed to care or to think too hard about the mess they had to clean up.

"Definitely different," he said, tipping his head back some. "Why, Mr. Folio, you mean to tell me you don't do this sort of thing often," Y/N teased, kissing his Adam's apple. Nick swallowed hard, laughing. "Funny."

He sat up, gazing into Y/N's eyes, realizing that this was it. This was the end to it all. She could sense the slight shift in tension as she sat back and noticed the look Folio was giving her. Her cheeks turned a light crimson as she looked away. "Hey," Folio said, lifting her chin, forcing her to look at him. "You have no idea what you do to me when you look at me like that," Y/N confessed boldly, her cheeks turning even more red as she grinned. "And how am I looking at you, sweetheart?" he asked softly, caressing her cheek. "Pretty. You make me feel pretty," she answered truthfully, half- smiling. Folio was speechless. "I, uh, I should probably get cleaned up and go. It's late," she said, slowly climbing off of his lap. "Can I use your bathroom?" Folio nodded, fighting a doleful expression. "Sure, it's down that hall, first door on the right."

Y/N turned away quickly before she lost her courage, grabbing her phone and bag and disappearing down the darkened hall. Moments later, Folio heard the front door open, a long hesitation following, before it closed, leaving him alone just as he was an hour ago.

[alwritey-aphrodite]

hi scout!! i'd die for holding hands under the table with remus <33 thank uu ily

let's all pretend that this didn't take me roughly 8 bajillion years to write...

but i think it's pretty cute still, love you my darling *mwah*

As much as you love the warmer months, with the sunshine and the blooming plants everywhere and the fact that you seem to run into your friends almost constantly, you could do without the heat. Sure, you love the feeling of the sun on your skin and it’s wonderful to go outside without needing to put on enough layers to rival the fur of a polar bear, you can only take a certain amount of heat before you’re feeling sweaty and sticky and miserable.

James had invited everyone over, desperate to show off the new, summer-y recipes he’s learned in preparation for his favorite season, and you’ll take any opportunity to have someone else cook for you and to sit around and laugh with your favorite people. Unfortunately for you, the theme of the night seems to be playfully picking on you and your disdain for heat. 

Sirius is recounting his favorite story from a few summers ago, where he had gone to wrap you up in a hug and you had reacted with an audible groan of disgust. It wasn’t that you didn’t like to be hugged by Sirius, you actually found his hugs extremely comforting, but it had been in the middle of a heatwave and you had been outside all day. Your skin had been tacky with sweat, and the last thing you wanted was to have someone’s arms wrapped around you.

“It’s not my fault the heat makes everyone sweaty and gross!” You defend yourself, after Sirius wraps up his extravagant retelling. 

“I don’t get sweaty, babe,” he rebuttals, a grin growing as everyone else rolls their eyes.

“You’re gross, though,” Remus chimes in from his spot next to you, and everyone around the table agrees in a chorus of laughter. The discussion shifts towards how gross Sirius is or is not, and you just sit back and enjoy it, taking sips out of the cold can that had been leaving a ring of condensation on your coaster. 

It’s not unbearably hot yet, and the night has a wonderfully cool breeze, but it’s still just hot enough for you to be mildly uncomfortable and daydreaming about taking a shower. You set your can down, and rest your hands under the table. The seating is tight, as it always is with your close-knit group, and you end up knocking your hand against Remus’s. You’re about to apologize, but instead of pulling back, Remus just wraps your hand in his and gives it a squeeze.

You’d expected it to be uncomfortable, just as cloying and gross as the hug with Sirius had been, but it isn’t. Even though your hand is still damp from the can you’d been holding, and the both of you are a little sweaty, it doesn’t make you want to crawl out of your skin. In fact, it’s nice. You find yourself not pulling away either, adjusting your hold to gently trace your thumb along his, an unthinking movement you won’t allow yourself to think about. 

Probably, you should think about it, should think about why this, like everything else, feels so comfortable and natural with Remus in a way it doesn’t with everyone else. You need to think about it, should probably talk about it, but you can’t, because what if that makes the magic of it all disappear? So many little, quiet moments just like this, and they’re so simple but you don’t think you could live without them. 

So, you don’t say anything, and neither does Remus, but you sit with your hands intertwined together for the rest of the night, and if anyone notices you pick up your can with the wrong hand, they don’t say anything either. 

[iwantmyprizepet]

𝒱𝒶𝓃𝒾𝓈𝒽 ℐ𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝒴𝑜𝓊 - 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 4/?

Summary: Your doubts started to fight off any hope you had surrounding feelings for Agatha. Then of course…she looked at you. (??? so dumb. did I mention I hate writing these yet?)

Warnings: Just a little..something naughty, 18+, Alcohol.

Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: It’s dawning on me how silly it is to drop a story that takes place around Christmas as summer nears. It’s when I started writing this and I guess it kind of just happened. Oh well, too late to back out now. I promise it’s not super hardcore holiday centered. If it’s not your cup of tea I apologize. Agatha will very much so start to shadow any care about dumb holidays soon. Christmas in May? Here we come? - Mich (I've been dreading posting this I think it's such a boring chapter. I promise the next one is better…I hope lol)

AO3 Previous Part

I felt on edge the rest of the night after Agatha left, unable to place exactly why. 

After closing up, I ran to the grocery store which nearly pushed me into overload from the chaos inside. 

Little visions slipped in here and there as I ran the aisles. Visions of tackling the public mayhem with Agatha by my side.

When I got home, the quiet of my apartment elevated the sound of my thoughts. 

Hateful little things nagging at the back of my mind now as I put groceries away. Not pretty enough. Too young. Not good enough. Not an ounce of a chance.

My flustered state continued into the morning. 

I was already running late to get to my parents and couldn’t find my annual thanksgiving sweater. It wasn’t anything special, just a dark green sweater I wore every year. It was completely ridiculous, but I felt near tears searching for it. 

I hadn’t felt this generally overwhelmed in a long time. 

I debated calling Chloe, but resisted knowing she’d have enough on her plate today. Some of her family members were quite, interesting. Interesting in a concerning political view type of way. I knew she’d be stressed enough on her own by now.

Finally, after digging for a century I found the sweater in a far corner of my closet.

I hurried out the door after finding it nearly sending myself sailing down the stairs.

——————————————————————————

I got swept into cooking as soon as I arrived. It was blazing hot in the kitchen and while they meant no harm by it, my parents were asking too many questions.

I wanted to be present so badly, but a dark pull constantly brought my thoughts to her. 

I felt near a boiling point by the time everyone else started to show up. 

After about twenty minutes after the whole family arrived I excused myself. My kitchen duties were finished and I was in need of a huge distance from the pulsing entertainment of the house.

Mom’s concerned stare followed me until I was out of sight. 

Usually the loudness of my family was endearing, funny and I’d join in. Right now it just felt like being in the middle of a thousand cymbals crashing. 

My mood was probably more obvious to everyone than I let myself realize. 

I shut the door and sunk onto my old bed letting out a long sigh.

 After a mere few seconds Agatha eased into my mind. It was settling and distressing all at once. 

As I stared at the ceiling a thought came over me and I reached for my phone. 

Opening the browser I typed in her name along with our town and state.

My brain consumed the word CEO right away. 

A scroll down led me to an article about her house. Some local news site showing pictures of the listing before she bought it. It was like something out of a movie.

I was spiraling the more I looked. Closing the tab I tossed my phone off the bed. It landed on the carpeted floor with a soft thump. 

The fact that I even allowed myself for a second to think I stood a chance with her. The clear age gap aside, paled in comparison to the wealth she seemed to have. Obviously so with the fifties she threw around like change. 

Shaking my head I brought my hands to my face. I sucked deep slow breaths in and out trying to steady my wobbling chin. How could I have allowed myself to fall so fast for her? 

The search dug it in deep how despite my inner turmoil, I really had let myself form a bit of hope. 

Now I just felt silly with a pang in my chest. 

Every memory I had of myself around her was causing me to cringe. I felt like a blade of grass to her sun.

A little while had passed, my body temperature dropping back to a normal level. I knew I had to get back soon before a search party was sent up.

While I had calmed down, I was laced with constant unwanted thoughts. My mood soured more and more by the minute.

 With force, I made my way back down stairs plastering a smile to my face. 

The usual joy my cousins kids brought me just seemed to wear me down. 

I of course still entertained their games, but even at their young ages they seemed to pick up on my emotional absence. 

Dinner passed in a blur of conversation. I interjected enough to fly under the radar. 

It’s what I told myself anyways. 

Knowing Agatha was alone today was just another lingering plague on my brain.

After we all finished eating I shooed everyone away taking it upon myself to clean everything up. 

The kitchen was spotless when I walked out of it and into the living room. I sunk into a corner half listening to everyone around. 

Finally, just after seven my final aunt left the house. 

I poured myself another glass of bourbon and breezed past my parents as they walked back from the front door.

“I’m gonna shower quick. I’ll be right back.” I called over my shoulder not waiting for a response. 

I grabbed the bag I packed and headed for the bathroom joined to my room. 

I took a long sip of the bourbon I’d poured and placed it down a little too heavily.

Walking to the counter, I took in my appearance. Every little imperfection seemed to be obvious today. I closed my eyes, Agatha’s face dripping into view. 

After my shower, I headed back down with an empty glass. 

Mom and dad were at the kitchen counter laughing at something. They both went quiet upon my entrance. 

I placed the glass on the counter, keeping my eyes away from theirs.

After a moment dad grabbed the glass, refilling it with a couple of cubes and some more bourbon. I looked up to him with a small smile, nodding and grabbing the glass.

“Something bothering you, honey?” Mom asked quietly. 

I shrugged swirling the ice cubes in the glass.

“Just, overwhelmed the past couple of days. Nothing to worry about.” I responded and finally looked up to her. “Really, work has just been a lot no big deal.”

I was grateful they dropped it there, even though they both clearly didn’t want to. 

The three of us settled into the night. Our annual tradition of watching The Griswold family Christmas commenced. A growing guilt from how distant I was today mixed into everything else.

My moms concerned glances lingered throughout the whole film.

The movie ended and I hugged them both goodnight before slipping off to bed. 

Typical thoughts of Agatha drifted me to sleep. Swirling around me in a grey cloud. 

——————————————————————————

Morning came, the smell of breakfast drifting through the air stirring me. There she was at the forefront again, right off the bat. 

Agatha fucking Harkness.

I pulled myself out of bed and made my way downstairs, desperate for water and distraction.

My parents had Christmas music playing softly, dancing about the kitchen singing along. I laughed shaking my head at them as I walked to the fridge. “Good morning my beautiful daughter.” Dad said brightly as I poured myself a glass of water.

“Morning.” I mumbled draining almost the whole glass in one swig. 

Mom eyed me closely as I finished off the glass. Always worrying.

After breakfast I was coerced into going to tag a tree. 

Sitting in the back of my dad’s truck had me feeling like a kid again. Usually a welcome feeling, now had me only thinking myself inferior to Agatha.

Agatha this, Agatha that I was sick of it at this point. Sick of how bitter it was making me ruining usually enjoyable moments.

The breeze whipped around the tree farm. A woman with her children were searching next to us. Her hair lay dark and wavy. 

I of course thought of Agatha.

My parents chose their usual ten footer. I could foresee it now, dad and I fighting it through the door after picking it up in a week. 

I picked myself a modest five foot tree, full with strong branches. 

We made our way back and I found myself itching to get home. Craving the silence and comfort of my own space. 

With hugs and arm fulls of left overs, finally I got into my car and headed home. 

The strip was empty when I pulled up. It took two trips to drag everything upstairs. 

After a shower and filling up on a plate of leftovers, I sunk into the couch heavily. 

For the first time since meeting her, I found myself dreading seeing Agatha.

——————————————————————————

The overwhelming churn bled into Saturday. 

A demanding, entitled wave of customers rattled through the doors consistently. Even Chloe seemed to feel the weight of it.

“Is it just me, or is everyone being extra rude today?” She asked annoyed, arms crossed.

I groaned elbows dropping to the counter. “I thought it was just me.”

“Must be ass hole convention in town.” Janice chirped into the conversation from the back.

I nodded in agreement with a light chuckle. 

I slumped around more and more as closing time neared, no sight of Agatha. While I was definitely dreading seeing her, it was worse not to. It started to solidify my worries about myself, how I looked to her.

I finished up cleaning twenty minutes to closing. Chloe and Janice left thirty minutes ago. 

The idea of seeing Agatha was slipping away. 

Just after that thought I heard a car door. My head shot up, heart thumping hard seeing a black Maserati.

With a rush, Agatha breezed herself in.

 A tension soaked relief moved through me.

After all this time worrying about seeing her again, now that she was in front of me all I could think about was folding into her. 

“Hey, you.” She said it so casually, like we’d known each other for years. I wondered if she had any clue how much turmoil she was causing me.

“Hi.” I replied steadily trying to calm my nerves.

“Sorry to come in so late.” Her hair fell in it’s usual waviness today, soft and windswept.

“Oh, it’s fine no problem.” I walked myself closer to her. I stopped halfway clasping my hands behind my back, anxiety growing under her gaze. “The usual?” I asked fighting to put a smile on my face.

“No.” She answered stepping right to me, perfume sweeping my senses.

My eyebrows pinched together, head tilting looking up to her. I waited for her to answer my silent question. 

She smiled softly fiddling with a gold ring on her pointer finger. 

“I was in the neighborhood and just wanted to see how your holiday went.” It was the first time she’d said something to me with a hesitation. 

I let out a sigh shoulders dropping. I imagined my forehead falling onto her chest, her arms wrapping me up tightly. Instead, I sat on the nearest stool. “It was alright. Stressful, but good.” I admitted.

She sat on the stool next to me, her knee brushed mine on accident as she did.

“How was your ‘just another day’?” I asked mimicking her explanation of the holiday. 

She laughed looking down, hair falling on either side of her face.

“Takeout and a bottle of wine. Quiet, but okay.” She said smile not reaching her eyes just like the other day.

My heart ached for her. The idea of her being so lonely on a holiday seemed unfathomable. Someone as kind and beautiful as her having nobody. It didn’t seem possible.

“Agatha?” I paused building the courage to ask. “Don’t feel the need to answer, but how is it possible you have no one to spend a holiday with?”

Her lips pursed, finger tapping on the counter as her eyes darted around everywhere but on me. 

“My father was never around. Mother passed away years ago, not that we were ever close. Any other family lives far away and well, I find myself having mostly acquaintances and colleagues. Not so many friends.” She answered me honestly. 

A confidence tried to mask the uneasiness on her face. 

“No great love in your life?” I asked bracing for the answer.

Long distance relationships were a thing, complicated situationships and also me not having a chance either way was a thing. I reminded myself of that over and over again.

She let out a laugh, rings clinking on the counter as she slapped it. 

“It’s always about money or power.” She rested her chin back on her thumb, pointer finger brushing her lips. “I think I’ve given up on it all together.” 

It sent a dark feeling through my chest. Not that I couldn’t agree with her sentiment.

“Yeah, I kind of agree.” I forced a laugh. “Well, not the money or power part but ready to give up on it all together part.”

She nudged my knee. “A pretty young thing like you. Why’s that?”

I fumbled on words, her own sending a mix of dread and want through me. The words young and pretty being side by side felt bittersweet.

Against all of my better judgement, I decided on the truth. 

“Well, I suppose between cheating and manipulation and” I faltered for a second looking over her shoulder. “And disappearing I guess, I don’t know. It doesn’t seem worth the ache.”

I looked back to her, her whole face pinched in anger. My face dropped searching her for any sign of what caused the change.

“Someone did those things to you?” She asked in a gritty tongue.

Uneasily, I laughed waving my hand. “First long relationship cheated, we were young. Second long term well, I suppose I didn’t realize how much control she had until it was over. How much I lost being with her. She just up and left one day, no word.” My light hearted explanation didn’t seem to ease the anger seeping off of her. “But.” I said clapping my hands to my legs. “The past is in the past I suppose.” 

I smiled trying to desperately change the atmosphere around the subject.

Her face softened then, an anger still lingering a presence around her forehead.

“That is despicable that someone would treat you that way.”  There was no joking behind her words, she spoke them seriously.

I shrugged rubbing the back of my neck, regretting even mentioning any of it.

“It’s the reason I’m back here and I am perfectly okay with my little life here so, I suppose it was meant to be. Despite how awful it was in the moment.” She finally smiled then fingers dropping just shy of my arm on the counter.

“Well, I suppose I can even be a little thankful for that.” A smile so soft, aimed right at me and my pattering pulse. “Although, if you need me to track someone down and destroy them, do let me know.”

I leant forward laughing at that, arm pressing into her hand that lay so close a moment ago. She laughed too, fingers pressing up into my arm impossible to ignore. 

It was joking the way she said it, but something in her eye told me she was only half joking.

“My own personal hitman, just what I’ve always wanted.”

We laughed, her fingers flexing into my arm again making my heart nearly stop. Every second felt like slipping on ice around her.

“I do aim to please.” She said it in a devastating tone.

Free hand making a show of flicking her hair behind her shoulder, chest puffed and chin up.

I held back an audible groan looking at her. As if on it’s own wave length, my arm brushed into her hand underneath it. In an instant, as if in reply her fingers moved against me again. 

In this moment with bated breath and a racing heart I thought, how could she possibly not feel it too? I instantly started feeling that annoying budding hope slip in. 

The next thought was the clear age gap. It just couldn’t be possible, her forming an interest in me. 

Stop getting your hopes up stop stop stop.

Her eyes flicked behind me as my thoughts raced. Her face dropped fractionally and looked back to mine.

“I suppose I should get going.” She said quietly, thumb pressing light as a feather against my skin.

My head snapped behind me, the clock reading five past closing.

“Right.” I looked back to her nodding my head. “Yeah, I guess so.”

I pulled my arm away from her hand and stood. I missed the feeling instantly. She stood and I followed, both of us walking to the door.

“See you tomorrow?” She asked shoulder pressed into the door, pausing as she always did.

I nodded smiling. “I’ll be here.”

A push against the door, a nod, a wink and she was gone. 

I stood in my usual daze she left me in, skin still tingling where her hand was. 

——————————————————————————

Sunday was flying by since the start of it. The later the day went on, the more my nerves built up. 

I grew to expect her later in the day now. I let Chloe and Janice go again, the act becoming a regular thing. It was often before, but not like it was now. 

I started pushing holiday storage boxes out after they’d left. I needed something distracting to do. 

Changing the playlist coming through the speakers to one with holiday songs instantly cheered me up.

I’ve always loved the holidays. No matter the drama, it brought people together. Despite the stress, it still seemed to always bring out an extra kindness from most. Made you want to be kinder to someone who looked like they were going through it. 

Now if you asked me before I moved back if I liked the holidays, it would have been a bahumbug.

A young couple sat in a corner table talking and laughing. I did a quick clean before cracking open the totes. The couple left not long after. 

Two stragglers popped in for drinks in the ten minutes that followed and then I was alone. 

It was just shy of an hour until closing when her Maserati pulled up.

I placed the small step ladder I was carrying down in the corner. 

I had just lined up our Christmas mugs on the counter after cleaning them. A mixture of green, white and red mugs. Our logo on either side surrounded by Christmas lights. 

Anne fought me a little on ordering them, arguing it was a waste to get mugs for one month.

My pleading convinced her and we sold so many the first year. Every order that came in sold out near instantly. 

Needless to say I already had a fresh batch on the way for the season.

I watched her as she walked in, unable to help the smile she always put on my face. 

Everything was black apart from her red sweater. As if she somehow knew the occasion she’d be walking in on.

“Hey.” I greeted, the chipper mood decorating had me in obvious.

“Well, hello smiley.” She replied only making it grow.

She peered over the counter at the red and green totes. Her intoxicating scent mingled with the air distracting me as it always did.

“Am I going to be coerced into being a helping hand for decorating?” She asked playfully.

“Oh, you don’t have to help.” I laughed leaning closer to her. “Might have to watch though.” 

One of her inviting hums sounded at that.

“Well, give me something festive for the occasion.” She said placing her purse down and shrugging her coat off. “Not too sweet.” 

A delicate, thin gold chain hung around her neck. Gold rings on random fingers to match. 

Her hands straightened and brushed down her sweater after she got her coat off. A questioning eyebrow raise from her struck me to realize I should be making her requested drink, instead of staring. 

“Festive and not too sweet.” I said a little too loud. “Yes ma’am.”

Another hum sounded from her behind me. I could feel her eyes on me as I grabbed a red and green mug. 

I placed a single squirt of peppermint and mocha into the bottom of both cups. Filling the rest with coffee from the pot I stirred them well. With a finishing touch, I shook them with a light dusting of the peppermint chocolate shavings we kept in a jar. Just enough for the eyes to enjoy. 

I turned to her with both mugs in and took a sip of mine. Nodding with a shrug I accepted it, placing mine down and handing the green one to her. She eyed it smirking, cupped hands warming around the mug. 

“I like the mugs.” She said before taking a light sip. 

Another warm hum came up from her, eyes closed. I wanted to be close enough to feel the vibrations of it. 

“Approved?” I asked softly.

Her hooded blue eyes opened with a nod. 

I took another sip from my mug before turning back. I’d cleared the shelves where we kept our mugs out front for drink orders, storing the usual mugs on shelves in the kitchen. 

I boosted myself up, kneeling on the counter to place the holiday mugs precisely. Red, white and green in that order. Finishing they all sat in an even line ready to be used.

I turned, hopping down just catching the tail end of Agatha looking away from me. I tried not to read into it too much. 

“I’m sorry.” I laughed and took a sip of my coffee. “This must be very boring for you.” 

Her head snapped to me. “I’m thoroughly enjoying myself.” 

I almost took it as sarcasm, but the look she gave had me taking it as a serious statement.

“Give me something to do.” She requested fingers flexing as she played with her chain.

“You really don’t have to help.” I felt I needed to make that clear, she didn’t seem too into holidays. The last thing I wanted was her to feel forced into participating.

Agatha clapped her hands to her thighs before standing. 

“I’ll just start putting things out.” She stated heading over to a tote. I held my hands up. “Okay, wait wait wait there’s a place for everything.” She laughed, hand to her stomach. “I knew it.” 

“What?” 

“You just seem very particular about things, I was right.” 

I rolled my eyes but didn’t respond. She was right, I did tend to be a bit precise with everything. I could tell if someone had moved something an inch in my house. 

Chloe regularly informed me of how neurotic I was with making sure everything was in it’s rightful place. I always shot it right back, that I would’t be as neurotic at work if she wasn’t so messy.  She refused to help me decorate for Christmas after the first year she was here. Hence me dragging everything out after she had left.

“Okay.” I started to change the subject. “You can put these on the third shelf down by that table.”

I pointed to where I wanted them and gestured to the four snowmen in one tub.

“Any particular order, sarge?” She asked waiting with a look like she knew I’d say yes.

There was in fact a precise order I put them in every year. Just to prove her wrong I shook my head and turned away.

That’s how the next half hour passed. I had just started to hang the last strip of garland in the back corner. It was the highest spot out of them all, I struggled with it every year.

I usually didn’t have anyone around when I did, so it usually got hung with me in an odd stretch across multiple objects to get to it. It was almost a tradition at this point, risking my life for a string of garland.

I was very aware of Agatha watching me as I reached for the corner, stood up at the very top of the step ladder on my tip toes. 

I could bring my full size ladder in, but that seemed like a lot of effort for a single strip of garland. That’s what I told myself every year and every year I nearly died hanging it.

I nearly fell to the ground when I felt warm hands press to my lower back and left hip. They strongly steadied my fumble. When I did regain balance I remained frozen under her touch. 

“Don’t want you to fall.” She said gently and low. I began to falter for far too long, every second was loudly ticking from the clock. All I could get my brain to focus on was her touch on me. 

Shaking hands finally moved as I reached to hang the garland again. The hand on my hip held a little tighter, the one on my back pushing slightly harder as if to give me an extra boost.

Finally I reached the hook it latched to securing the strip of shimmering gold.

Her hands didn’t leave me until I stepped to the floor. I stilled again when I did, her body dangerously close behind mine. 

She did exactly what I could only think of doing. Stepping closer she pressed ever so lightly against my back. My eyes fluttered closed for a second. “Dangerous maneuver.” She said on a warm peppermint breath. “It does look nice though.”

I knew she could hear my shaky breathing. There was not a possibility it wasn’t audible to her. 

“Yeah.” It was all I could muster in response.

The bell above the door broke the trance. Agatha stepped back in an easy way. 

“Hey bud.” Brooks greeted bustling through the door. Chloe followed smiling sheepishly, like she knew something was disturbed. 

“Hey guys, what are you doing here?” I tried to ask out casually, hands and voice still trembling slightly. 

Nothing felt casual at all. The worst part was how uncomfortable Agatha looked now. I’d never even think she possessed the ability to feel anything but in control of all situations. 

Her head hung down now, hands behind her back a pinching look tracing her face.

“Wanted to see if you would care to join us on a trip to Tempests tonight?” Brooks asked casually as if he didn’t just shift an entire balance. 

It was a restaurant we regularly went to.

“You should come too.” Chloe said gently towards Agatha, clearly grasping the gravity of the moment with how carefully she said it.

I stepped closer to Agatha just as she moved away. She made a show of looking down at her phone. 

“I actually have to get going.” She picked up her coat and started to slip it on. “Business call in twenty, can’t miss it. Have fun tonight.” Everything about it felt like a lie. Dismissive and hurried, an almost irritation behind her words. 

She finished buttoning her coat and grabbed her purse. Her hand went to, I’m sure fish for her wallet. I took long strides over to her and stopped her hand. “I’ll walk you out.” I said quietly. Her eyes wouldn’t hold mine, but she nodded.

I stepped out first holding the door for her. The cold air fell nicely on my warm face. In a silence, we both stepped to the drivers side door of her car. 

“I had fun.” She said finally meeting my eyes. 

It seemed honest, but an uneasiness hung behind it.

“Are you sure you have to go?” I asked inching a bit closer. 

“Yes.” She nodded and her eyes ghosted over me before looking off to the side. “Yeah, I hadn’t been paying attention to the time.”

I nodded back looking down at my shoes.

Her hand fell to the door handle. In a rush of insanity I reached out placing my hand over the one that held her purse.

“I had fun too.” 

A true smile reached her eyes at my words. The hand that lingered on the door handle reached over, sandwiching my hand between both of hers.

“I’ll be away on business for a few days, I won’t see you until next weekend most likely.” She said it with a slow hesitation.

“I’ll be waiting.” I replied instantly squeezing the hand that was under mine. 

For a second I felt like I might have the high point. Like I somehow, maybe might be effecting her like how she effects me. The voice telling me to keep my hopes down was duller than the rest in the moment.

Her demeanor changed like wiping a chalk board. She held herself to her usual punctual poise. “Good.” With a wink she turned, opened the door and got in. 

I moved behind the car and to the curb, watching her drive away. 

I thought about dramatically running after her car for a few seconds. Making her roll down her window and kissing her. I shook the daydream away.

I walked back in, Chloe wincing and shrinking down as I did. 

“I’m sorry.” She apologized “We really didn’t mean to interrupt.”

I shrugged her off and walked over to the decoration bin. “It’s fine.” 

“We saw what happened.” She paused. “With the ladder.”

I scoffed grabbing the battery candlesticks for the window sills.

“So you’re just spying through windows now?” It came off more irritated than I meant it to.

“Really, it’s not like that.” Brooks chimed in cooly. “We were walking up and just saw it happen through the window. We legit both froze, dude. Then we thought it would be weird if you saw us driving away or turned and saw us staring so we waited a minute then came in. Honestly, we were like two fools outside fumbling with what to do.”

I laughed at the thought and it eased the tension as they joined in.

“Listen, there was nothing to interrupt anyways. It’s all good.” “Lady.” Chloe nearly yelled, her eyes wild and wide. “Don’t give me that bull shit. That was not nothing.”

“Easy tiger.” Brooks said patting her shoulder with a chuckle.

“Yeah, tiger.” I jested placing the last candle in the window with sticky tac. “Now if you wanna get to the restaurant, help me finish up and put these bins away.” 

Luckily, Chloe and Brooks took the hint that I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. 

Dinner was nice and easy as usual. The topic of Agatha Harkness didn’t return. Still, it didn’t displace her from my thoughts.

They pulled away after dropping me off, leaving me to admire the lights and decorations through the cafe window. The view settled a warmth in my chest and I couldn’t help but smile. I’d beaten everyone on the strip to it this year I realized, for the first time. 

The ladder still left in the corner sent a chill down my spine. I pretended it was from the wind and walked up the stairs.

——————————————————————————

Monday came and went nicely. I spent all morning decorating the apartment for the first of the month. 

Chloe and Brooks came over later on in the day. I invited them over for dinner and a movie. 

The rest of the week on the other hand? Passed at an agonizingly slow pace. The memory of Agatha’s touch had a sick twisted way of infiltrating every other thought.

I found myself wondering just as often, if she was thinking about me. 

——————————————————————————

I opened my eyes slowly in bed, the strand of Christmas lights in the kitchen the only thing lighting my apartment. 

A sound from near the window startled me to attention. Slowly a figure inched forward into the light. “Agatha?” I asked confused, sitting up in bed.

A low drawn out hush pushed past her lips. 

As she stepped closer to the bed, her arms crossed over her torso. Slowly, her hands grabbed the hem of her sweater pulling it above her head.

“Agatha?” It came out in a croak this time.

She threw the sweater to the floor, gold necklace and a purple laced bra the only thing covering her upper half. 

Her mouth formed another hushing sound. 

Stopping just a foot shy of the bed, her hands found the button of her pants. In a blink she undid them, bending to drag them down her legs.

“What…”

She cut me off. “Quiet.” 

Smiling a wicked grin, her hands disappeared behind her back. Another quick second had her bra falling to the ground. I let out a whimper heat pooling low inside of me. 

“Good girl.” 

The door bell rang snapping my head like a rubber band breaking. I went to turn back to her, but it rang again. 

        ~~~~           ~~~~           ~~~~           ~~~~ 

I woke with a jumping start to my alarm blaring. My breathing was at a panicking level, heart racing to a concerning degree. An ache between my legs stole almost every ounce of my attention. 

A fucking dream.

“Oh, fuck.” 

I said it out loud just to assure myself, how absolutely screwed I was.

[trazodone100mg]

I'm about to start reading the light novel version of The Summer Hikaru Died, and before I do I want to get a few questions and thoughts about the series and his character out of my head since it's been nagging me.

When did Hikaru die? I've been thinking about this recently. The start of the story takes place in the summer, six months after the 'real' Hikaru has already died. I'm going off of memory alone so the details are fuzzy, but I'd like to go back and reference the manga at some point to see if any dates are listed or months named. If the summer season spans late June to late September, that would mean Hikaru died in January to April, most likely in the winter, early spring at latest. If I remember right, it was rainy and cold when Yoshiki found Hikaru's body.

The 'summer' Hikaru died could be non-literal, as in Hikaru has been dead all this time, but the person Yoshiki knew didn't begin to fully disappear and be replaced in his heart until his suspicions were confirmed that day outside the convenience store. Hikaru didn't truly die until Yoshiki--the first person to find out--was allowed to properly grieve for him over the summer the story takes place. It gets philosophical from there; what is death, and what does it really mean to 'die' in a situation like this? Etc.

I would have a few questions if the story intends to take a more literal path, however, starting first and foremost with, "If Hikaru dies in the summer, does that mean Hikaru hasn't died yet?"

When we consider the title The Summer Hikaru Died, are we only considering the 'real' Hikaru?

I know the Japanese uses different characters in the spelling of the character's name to differentiate between the 'real' Hikaru and 'Hikaru', and Yoshiki does this in his head. Which spelling does the title of the series use? All genuine questions that may hold no water, but has been interesting to think about.

I also have pretty strong feelings about Hikaru's character, if you couldn't tell. And not just 'Hikaru', but the 'real' Hikaru and how his understated and very grounded characterization and emotions inform the 'Hikaru' we know. I think the author is extremely talented to be able to convey so much about him when we have been shown so little of him so far, and I think I understand him fairly well.

The most important thing to note right off the bat; I believe Yoshiki's feelings for the 'real' Hikaru were mutual. Which, I didn't at first! And Yoshiki certainly thought his feelings were completely one-sided as well. But after contemplating their characters and the dialogue, I've come to believe that their depth makes it easy to misinterpret.

I will once again insert a disclaimer that I am working on memory alone, so feel free to correct me at any point if I am mistaken, but my reasoning is as follows:

In the oneshot pilot that serves as a first draft of the series, 'Hikaru' explains when asked that he likes Yoshiki and believes his new body played a major role in influencing his feelings, since it already liked Yoshiki before he came to occupy it. As the 'real' Hikaru is dying, he regrets that he is unable to tell Yoshiki how he really feels, and asks the entity that possesses him to tell Yoshiki that he likes him, too. 'Hikaru' also mentions the curse; that the Indou's lovers are inevitably stolen away, that it has happened in the past between two men (which, on an only semi-related note, I have a ton of other questions I won't even touch here about the previous generation of Indous and Tsujinakas, and this may be entirely off-base but I can't shake the feeling there was...something similar going on between Yoshiki's emotionally distant father and Hikaru's dad, who was his best friend), and that the 'real' Hikaru saw himself reflected in that and was frightened by it.

But that was all a part of the first draft of the story, and we know not everything carried over to the story we know now. But I do believe we can still use it to gain some insight into the author's intent.

Yoshiki describes the 'real' Hikaru as mature and not oft to show big emotions. He wasn't the type to cry, but I have come to interpret his character as somewhat numbed and depressed, and the type to deflect with humor. Here's what I think did carry over; 'Hikaru' certainly likes Yoshiki (in his own, unique way), but in dialogue expresses that he's unsure if those feelings are entirely his own, and doesn't know what pieces belong to who between the two individuals known as Hikaru. The 'real' Hikaru was scared of his feelings for Yoshiki, for a few reasons. He could become a victim of the Indou family curse, he wouldn't be able to marry Yoshiki to prevent the curse befalling him given that they are both men (Hikaru's father makes it a point to tell him that the only way to stop the curse is to marry the one you love quickly), and growing up in the country, they have witnessed second-hand the consequences of not conforming in a town where everyone knows everyone's business (more than once, but specifically: "He's not sick, he's a homosexual.")

Hikaru's father was dead, he most likely felt that he needed to suppress his feelings of love for his best friend and had no way to move forward (my mind always goes back to how Hikaru, in a flashback at the start of vol. 1, turns away from Yoshiki when telling him he could probably find a girlfriend easily if he only tried), and carried the burden of performing whatever their family ritual entailed. He didn't commit suicide, but he died carelessly and only regretted that he would be leaving Yoshiki alone, as he was the only other person to truly understand how Yoshiki felt. And maybe his death was one means of protecting Yoshiki since he couldn't deny his feelings for him.

[funkwitz]

WEUS: an introduction

Weus is a little fantasy universe I have made in my spare time, only so that I can draw weird stuff and kind of string them together. The name comes from the initial idea of it being a collaborative project, like a workshop, hence the WE and US. But it is also to hark back to the French illustrator Mœbius, who is of great inspiration.

It has gone through various iterations throughout the years, but I finally think I’m at a point where it is in a place I like it to be. Now with that out of the way, the juicy parts . . .

Cosmology

It all takes place on an earth like planetoid called Weus, named so after a nature god of sorts. According to church doctrine, it stands at the center of the universe, above a dark moon hundreds of times its size: Charon.

In the church's view the northern lights bring the souls from the realm of the gods, Synnefo, into the material plane. The southern lights work in opposition, by taking the souls away down to Charon. The Chief of the gods, Aldebaran and her lover, Elnath order their seven children to scoop up these souls from Charon and take them up to Synnefo for "redistribution". Whilst they watch over the world as the moons.

The drops of souls lost on the way back up become meteorites.

An extremely simplistic overview of the cosmology (according to the church)

Other cultures hold different views of the cosmos and the cycle of rebirth. Who is correct is difficult to ascertain as no one has really been to the southern hemisphere and looked for Charon.

The Rinr talk of the "Wolf parade of the Hoh", who swoop up those who are destined for death. It is said that this procession can be seen during great periods of grief, and old loved ones can be spotted within it.

The sahalyari don’t experience death as we do, as they wake up again in their dark blood-filled birthing pools 10, 15 or maybe 500 years after they originally perished. No talk of an afterlife, just a little trip to the Void...

Geography

a hightmap of the Continent

Now, for the bread and butter. The main character of Weus: The Continent, the landmass that all its characters and stories take place. A diverse land of harpy filled mountains, forests of blood, shores of poison and oceans of flayed skin.

To its west it rests in the embrace of the sea of Panthalassa, an endless ocean only crossed by the elves and stone men of yore. To the north, past wall like mountains of Skarvenné; the endless steppes of white are found, home to the banshees and other scary stuff.

To its east the endless steppes connect the Continent to the rest of the world, to the old homes of man: "Kengir" and "Lodwar". Whilst down by the poisoned forests of the Plague Lands its connected to a place known as "Avesta".

The Continent itself is split into two halves by the Spine of the World, a huge mountain chain. On the Western side you get the Hinterlands, huge, forested areas with cold winters and wet summers. The Rinr, a wolf life people live here. South of the Hinterland you get the Heretical Headlands, named after the grand heretical empire of the Denuvi sea. The Orbial Covenant. Followers of the Great Serpent Queen, said to be hundreds if not thousands of meters long. Before the Denuvi Sea became a desert, it was an archipelago with a prominent kingdom of alchemists. But it’s said that one of the alchemists sacrificed its people, flaying them and turning them into snakes. The flayed skin now serves as the sand that makes up this desert.

The Toryngians also make their home here. A seafaring people, one will either find them raiding or trading.

To the east of the Heretical Headlands, the Araatian plateau and Murummi Highlands are located. Home to marshal kingdoms who all stand as the vanguard against the Covenant. These provinces used to be marshes for the Ain Empire of old and their ruins still dot the landscape. It is said the Elves and the men of the rocks fought here thousands of years ago, and the even older Eidolons had their capital here. South of the Araatian Plateau you will find the Riverlands, the home of the mages. A huge forest of enormous flowers and endless rivers fill this landscape. A multitude of independent mage cities keep in isolation here as the land is said to be quite potent with magical energies.

The islands south of the Riverlands, Hoorn and Oiito are home to the Sahalyari and Kohtak respectfully. The Sahalyari claims to be descendent from the elves of yore. They live around the Crimson Weald, and oversee holding it at bay, as the Void is quite potent within. The isles of Oiito are home to an isolationist empire, who does nothing but to infight.

A vesperi, a Sahalyari and a Kohtak

Further east one arrives at the Heartlands, home to a kingdom upon kingdoms, biggest being the Albawaabian: The Wall Kings of Old Kengir. This area is known to be the fertile heart of the continent, and it harbor the most people. The horse like Yppadamus live in

its periphery, by their grand Mother Trees: the Lyn Zurnapa.

A yppadamius, with their trusted Zurnapa

There are many more smaller kingdoms and cultures in the Heartlands, but I can elaborate on them some other time. South of the Heartland, the land of the forges, the spires of Automa rise from the deep jungle. A catlike people live here and the ancient forges of the Ain are said to still plop out new mechanical ones.

I think this serves as a good introduction to Weus, feel free to ask any questions if you have any and I will further elaborate on kingdoms or areas whenever I have the time! Theres also the Void and some creatures who I haven’t touched on yet, so look forward to that! :) I will use the tag WeusLore for such post!

[hinamie]

these 3 and their weird catty love triangle have bewitched me body and soul

[artuurle]

once again drawing click clack over images of my nefarious shape

+ bonus based on how I was handed an angora rabbit at a state fair and immediately started ugly crying