#idk I'm not all there today but free from work's clutches so..

[bapydemonprincess]

Picrew used: https://picrew.me/image_maker/1887634

A little pretty and smug Amy 🖤

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I have an odd request… perhaps a captain price fic where the reader is much younger and edgy- likeee covered in tats and stuff,, and price isn’t rly used to that but finds it hot as hell… idk maybe they work together ?? Smut ensues …

IDK I have tatts and wonder what he’d think of that 👹👹

Just an idea 💡❤️😫

Fire it Up (John Price x F!Reader)

Word count: 7.8 k

Tags/warnings: Smut 🔞 mutual pining, flirting, swearing, older man/younger woman dynamic, forbidden love, smoking & drinking, voice kink, a tiny brat taming kink squeezed itself in here too. Reader has tattoos and works as a coder at the base. Rough ~10yrs age gap described, reader is of age I hope to god it goes without saying (Price is canonically 37) Also: no use of 'daddy' in this fic

A/N: I'm so glad for this request anon and I hope you like what I made! Also people please be gentle, this is my first Price fic 🥹 God I wish I could attach the fat scent of cigar here to give you the full experience. 

You don't know what caught your attention first.

The cigar, perhaps. Or the beard? Might be his hips, the ass that tells you this man can fuck a woman for hours.

Or maybe it's the fact that he's too old for you.

No, not too old…

Just older than you. A decade, perhaps, if you were being gentle with him and lenient with yourself.

He certainly isn't old enough to be your father, but he wasn't the type of man your eyes usually drifted on either.

He looks like someone who's supposed to be fishing in Alaska, sucking that fat cigar while taking in the view of mountains while trying to catch wild fish in some wide, free stream. 

He's supposed to come home to a remote cabin: to his little wife who pours him a scotch after he has shown her what he caught today. Make sweet love to her while stars shoot and speckle the indigo night.

He looks like someone who makes love to women.

You, on the other hand, want to ride with him to the sunset on the back of a Harley, clutch his jacket as he drives you to some bizarre highway motel. You want to watch him drink that scotch from your navel. 

You'd do all kinds of crazy shit with him, keep his head between your legs with both hands, grind all over that mustache, and see how wet it gets. You want him to pound you with those narrow hips, take you from behind while you look back with parted, swollen lips and relish the sight of what must be a grown man's hardened body, covered with hair and scars and–

"The bug's still there."

You return to reality, look at the code on your screen, and then at your colleague, a 20-something bloke who looks at you with the lethargic stare that only belongs to techies. You've just been caught daydreaming your eyes off in the middle of a lazy afternoon. Coffee doesn't do shit after 2 PM…

"Yeah I know. I'm working on it," you say. But when the dude leaves, you decide it's time for a creative break. You tell yourself it's only because the code jumps on the screen, not because you hope to catch a certain someone smoking outside. 

The leather jacket is a little too much these days, but you throw it on out of pure habit. You realize the weight of your mistake when you go outside from the ventilated building and notice the sweltering heat. Spring has finally turned into summer.

Coffee doesn’t do shit, but it’s time for another kind of wakey-wakey. And butterflies are a funny term for something that mainly feels like it’s eating your insides out of pure excitement. 

Because he's here too.

Jonathan Price, although no one calls him Jonathan. Few call him John, either. 

Mostly, he goes by the title Captain.

He's stressed; you can tell. But his eyes soften immediately when they fall on you, a brief look to the side, just to know who else comes out to have a breath of fresh air or a smoke. He looks like he's been expecting you, but that might only be a silly girl's daydream. You two share a vice, and you've never been more grateful for your bad habit before this place and him.

And you wouldn't call it necessarily a bad habit. It's simply stress relief if you do it once or twice every few weeks. It's not like you smoke two packs a day. It's not like you even smoke one cig per day. 

Although ever since you started this odd little job in this odd little place, you've smoked one or two nearly every day… And it's not because of the stress.

It's because of Price. 

John. You’d like to see his reaction to you moaning that word in his ear…

"How long have you been here?"

His eyes are still on you, mouth covered by a hand as he makes love to his cigar. And that bedroom voice always gets you. It's better than the upcoming slow drag of nicotine. You're not here for tobacco at all.

"Two weeks." You reach for your excuse and try to prevent your hands from trembling as you light the cig. Usually, you're not this shy with people. Not with men, anyway. But with him, your wits and words disappear. 

You blow the smoke through the air with a quick, lively wisp where he lets it roll out his tongue in a heavy cloud. He's still watching you as if to weigh what kind of woman you are exactly.

"How about you?" You continue the small talk with nervous ease.

He chuckles; the little smile even shows a flash of teeth as he steals a look at the clouds, calculating years with those surprisingly lively eyebrows curled up toward the sky.

"Ages."

He's not that old. Perhaps well over his thirties, might be knocking his forties. The statement is merely an underline of his stress today. You can only wonder what kind of pressure the captain of Task Force 141 is under when you get sleepless nights from a stupid source code. There are a few wrinkles around his eyes, but they only tell you that this man smiles a lot. He might be the only one in this compound who smiles a lot.

"Have you ever tried a cigar?"

There's a glint in his eyes as he offers the thick roll of tobacco to you. It's suddenly difficult to breathe, difficult to even keep your thoughts together.

"No," you shake your head as if your answer wasn't enough to tell him he's the first person ever to offer you such a thing. Then you realize the word does not precisely deliver your eagerness to try that stout cigar.

"Would love to," you hurry to add with a soft smile. "Can I have a taste?"

He walks to you slowly, and your eyes drop to those hips, which sway like he's purposely trying to seduce you.

Fu–ck…

Then your eyes sink even lower, between his legs, to his fucking junk, and it's too fucking late–

Jesus–get your shit together…

You force your eyes back to his and see the little glimmer in them gain a surprised spark – you're totally caught red-handed on checking him out.

Fuck. How can you be so stu–

"Gently then, kid."

You swallow your heart and thoughts down and take the offered cigar; of course, your first thought is how thick and heavy it is. And somehow, you decide right then and there that you will no longer be the nervous, hot-cheeked woman on the corner.

It's time to make him flustered.

So you take a hollow-cheeked, slow suck on the fat cigar. A chaste, savory taste, more like, but there's nothing chaste in the way you raise your eyes to his, putting every ounce of soft seduction in that stare.

He draws breath slowly – his face is full of expression for an allegedly cold-hearted elite soldier. You don't know how often women flirt with this hunk of a man, but he sure looks taken aback by your sudden play. Probably thinks you're too young for him – and you curse the second time you put that jacket on. You want to see his reaction to your sleeves.

"Mm. It's thicker than I thought," you weigh the cigar between your fingertips and let the smoke roll out your mouth. The man switches his weight from one foot to another, speechless, and you suppress a big beam of a smile.

"The taste," you emphasize as if innocent, as if you didn't see that shocked little shift. "Round, and… god, it's almost sweet."

You smile as you give it back, and he chuffs an approving laugh through his nose – those eyes are bear-warm playful now, his mouth curves into an easy smile.

"Nice," you look him up and down as if you're talking about the man and not the cigar.

"Beats those little sticks." 

His voice drops down a few notes; it's almost a husky growl. You barely make out the words he's saying. The tension in the air could form little balls of lightning around you, the flirt is over the roof, and there's even no roof because you're outside – and you take your jacket off, slowly, to make it clear it's summer and not spring.

His eyes fall on the ink immediately, and he blinks a few times, draws some more breath – you tweet your thanks accompanied by another smile and go back inside.

You know he's checking your ass in those black jeans as you walk away.

….....

It doesn't end there.

You see him again and again and again, and at some point you realize he has to walk almost 100 meters from the other end of the base to get to the little corner where the two of you smoke. 

He's intrigued but decent. Holds a distance, never says anything that could be taken in the wrong way – or even in the right way. But he's fucking you with his eyes. 

No… making love to you.

And it drives you crazy.

You don't want that. You don't need that. To be that little wife in the cabin. Pouring him a drink, climbing in his lap, ghosting a finger down the stubble on his chin, see how wide and proud it makes him smile to hold you like you're his and his alone...

God. When did it come to this?

You suck on his fat cigar every now and then. Look him in the eyes while you do it. Once, it makes his tongue dart out, it wets his bottom lip, and then he does that thing with his mouth... the thing where he kind of purses his lips and it makes the mustache dip, and you realize, you learn it's a sign that he's restless, he's flustered.

You make the big, burly captain of Task Force 141 flustered.

And he doesn't smell like the people inside smell. Of stale coder sweat and Joy Division and soft drinks and mommy's home-cooked meals. He smells of rich forest and fine bourbon and half-burnt gasoline. Maybe Saxon on vinyl. Definitely beats those little sticks that are your nerdy co-workers at the hacker department, as you call it.

He may have a flask somewhere; perhaps he takes a sip or two every now and then, whether at work or not. And you don't blame him. Even with those laugh lines and that brown bear benevolence, you can tell he's seen things. 

You wonder what he's like out there in the field. Brutal? Or just efficient?

He never asks about your tattoos, but he eyes them often. There's a certain admiring esteem in his stare. He's checking you out, scratches his chin, and rips his eyes off when they start to drift down. He forces his eyes to stay above your neckline no matter the cost. You mourn that you got rid of the septum a few years ago: you're pretty sure he would've liked that, too. After all, it's a piercing that screams 'warrior' the most. Break after break, you return to your desk, aroused and giddy and surrounded by the rich, masculine aroma of his cigar.

One night, he drives by when you're walking home after what was supposed to be one or two pints.

The car is a big, black pick-up, and when it slows down and starts to inch by your side, your first reaction is a silent curse of why the fuck don't you carry some pepper spray in your pocket.

"Hey, you ok?"

Your head rises from the asphalt the second you recognize that smooth, pleasant voice of a man you had compared every guy to at the pub that evening. The whole man is brimming with burnt sienna, he's hard alcohol with no ice…

You stop and turn, a little wobbly from the pint turned to two or three. Or four.

"Yeah. Had a little girl's night out."

The car rumbles softly, not two meters away, and the sound reminds you of his voice. A soft purr that can turn into a growl, even a roar if he wants to. 

He looks like he's going fishing, even without the boonie hat. The dark hair is cut short, so you won't have anything to tug if he ever ends up between your legs. But you don't really mourn that fact, because he looks so damn good.

He looks you up and down, and you notice the briefest blob of his Adam's apple before he gives you another offer.

"Want me to give you a ride?"

Would love a ride.

Would fucking love to ride you.

"Sure. That's kind of you." 

Your eyes must be sparkling like the fucking stars.

"No problem at all," he leans his elbow on the open window and waits while you round the car and get in. You try to tone down your drunken state, but your moves are a little too brash for a calm and collected coder lady this man has usually caught leaning against the wall of the workplace you two share.

"Did you have fun?"

He sounds like a dad picking up his girl from a school disco, and you purse your lips in slight distaste and amusement.

"Yeah. You know how it is when someone asks you for a pint."

He gives a short laugh and starts to drive. "That never ends well."

You smile and turn to look at him.

"Mm… This one kinda did."

You enjoy the brief look out the window, the sight of someone so formidable and robust and experienced trying to find his way out by feigning something caught his attention in the black, empty distance of a quiet city.

"Glad I could be of service," he brushes off your flirt like it's nothing more than a speckle of dust on his coat.

The rest of the ride is silent, too silent. He turns the music off in case it "bothers you," and it turns into an awkward, overly polite fight about whether to keep it on or not. 

It's a minor shock to notice he was listening to some classical. Not 80's rock, not country, not even BBC. He was just soothing his nerves.

You can't put your finger on what makes you feel so sheepish around this man – usually, you put men on a leash with a few dry jokes and a hearty laugh or two. Now, your flirting is shy and does nothing: there's a wall built up, and from behind that wall, only a few stolen looks…

The pick-up is humming, the engine is running at idle next to your place far too soon, and it's time you get off the car – but you have vehemently decided you will knock down that fucking wall even if you have to drag him to your bed. 

"You wanna come up and have a nightcap?"

Another look out the window as he raises his hand over his mouth, fiddles with his mustache, and avoids the rising heat between you two.

"Thanks, kid. But you need to sleep."

Your heart is pumping, and you feel like a harasser as you place your hand on his thigh.

He doesn't move, but you can hear the audible swallow this time. He doesn't move a single finger even when you slide your palm down that leg, then drag it over to the inner thigh, and start to drift back up slowly, slowly, to give him the time and space to stop you before you reach….

….the visible bulge between those legs, the absolutely gorgeous, ample bump pulling at those pants, something so delicious that you must fight tooth and nail not to race your hand up there and give it a fond grope.

His hand falls over yours just before you reach it.

"Kid. Let's leave it here and call it a night."

His voice is strained and tight, and he's still looking out the window. You don't move your hand away because he doesn't move it away. His warmth stays there, keeping you against him, and you feel like shit for thinking it's not a no… That it's a yes when he seems to hold your hand as a prisoner, wanting to feel your dainty little palm against him.

Your fingers curl slightly, a hopeful gesture to imagine how it would feel to curl and claw at his hips and that ass while he's fucking you.

"Listen. You're a nice girl. A very nice–"

You give a heavy, demonstrative sigh and finally draw your hand away.

"Come on Cap… You're seriously going to give me the "you're a nice girl" talk?"

Finally, he turns. His nostrils quiver as he tries to keep his breaths calm. Your lips part like it's a whole caress he just gave you – and his gaze drops to your mouth instantly. You start to see where the problem is.

You're too young. 

You're forbidden.

"I offered you a nightcap," you tilt your head slightly. "You can come up or you can go home."

You wet your lips, give the bottom lip a tiny little bite, and offer him the last, inviting, soft smile. It must hold an equal amount of sorrow because you can't drown the bitter feeling of rejection, no matter how many drinks you've had that night. No matter how much he seems to want you, it doesn't change the fact that he's apparently decided to stay strong and keep his hands off the cookie jar.

You turn and get out of the car, lean on the door for the final fucking time...

"Didn't know I'd only get to suck your cigar... You're all smoke and no fire, Price."

The door flies closed with a louder slam than you originally meant. 

Now that was a little bit passive-aggressive, you have to admit. But you're drunk, and he's being a pain in the ass, calling you a kid, looking at you like that, having a fucking hard-on and giving you nothing.

…But it does the trick. 

You smile like an idiot when you walk to your place and hear the purr of the engine stop. Another car door opens, then closes, wide footsteps follow you…

A nightcap it is, then.

He looks even bigger when inside a place with walls and a roof. He stands inside your apartment tall and wide as if he's waiting to call attention. Those large hands are over his crotch, concealing the swell of erection you already saw in the car. 

You know the tank top you wear reveals even more skin covered in tats as you throw your jacket away and go get him that drink. The glasses glide on your table, slide nearly to the floor, and the bottle of Jim Beam meets the counter with a devastating clank. You look at the excuse to get him into your place and sigh. 

"You know what… Fuck this."

Offering cheap bourbon to someone like him seems a bit ridiculous. So you offer him something he might actually like. Something he actually came here for. 

You walk to him and throw your hands around him – he stiffens from the middle but looks down at you with a heated glimmer in those eyes. You could've sworn they were charred brown, the same color as his cigar, but up close you see they're actually molten iron. Mercurial.

"You sure about this?" He asks softly.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He unclasps those hands from over his groin, and the warmest weight falls to rest on your waist, even steals a caress to your hip. You want to hurl yourself at him, press yourself against his crotch and grind until you bleed from just that tiny touch he finally gives you.

"You've had one too many, love."

Love…

Shit.

The warmth spreads from his eyes, from that hand, from the word that rolls out of his mouth like a beautiful puff of smoke. It unfurls inside your heart, swells inside your throat, plummets to your groin, and you switch the weight to your other leg to feel how that hand gains more weight as it gets pressed more firmly against you.

"Doesn't change the fact that I want you."

Your voice is nothing short of a purr. When have you ever purred like that to a man? You sound like a housecat, tame and adoring, waiting for a gourmet meal.

"You really want an old man?"

He still has that reserve in his eyes, decent and distant, but underneath, you sense a terrible heat, like the glow of a cigar lit in darkness, an adamant smolder that never dies out.

"You're not that old." 

Your purr turns into a deprived meow. You dangle from his neck, and the smoke, the fire that surrounds him, blends into the gentle scent of a man, the musk of a mature beast. You know he's hairy under those clothes; he fucking has to be. The vision of how his cock must look, surrounded by untame, coarse fur, has tormented you night after night.

And now he's finally here. In your apartment.

You skate your hands over his chest while slowly dropping into a squat, then languidly kneeling in front of his crotch.

He doesn't stop you, not even when you open his belt and the zipper and crawl your fingers down the waistband of his underwear. You have to stifle a delighted gasp upon seeing how his cock springs free and stands proud in front of you in all its glory. And fuck yes he's hairy – the hairiest man you've ever had. 

Cigars feel like tiny little sticks when you wrap one hand around him and lick the weeping slit like it's your favorite ice cream. The groan that follows is a husky eruption above you and gets stuck in his throat as you take him in your mouth.

"Fucking hell, kid…"

He's thick, broad, and the musk fills your nostrils, but what he just said makes you pull back and whisper on the bulbous tip–

"Don't call me a kid," you breathe on his cock, swirl your tongue around him, and his thighs bunch. "Old man."

You finally manage to push some buttons.

The back of his hand brushes your cheek, then slides over to your throat. He's gentle but firm as he forces a thumb under your chin, curls fingers around your neck as if you're a cat who's about to be force-fed some medicine that's only good for her.

"Is that how you wanna play it?"

His thumb brushes down the ridge of your throat. Tentative, promising.

"Perhaps," your lips quiver with anticipation as you smile; your voice is a pitched vibrato before it drops, just to give him a reason to put you in your place... "Old gum–"

The hand pulls up, the grip tightens just enough to guide you back to your feet and up to meet his face.

"Didn't know you asked me here to tame a brat."

Fuck…

You almost moan. 

The hand doesn't choke you; it makes love to you. Claims you as his. 

"Really…?" You sigh. Flash him a filthy, guiltless smile.

The fire surges forth and nearly buckles your knees. His eyes flash in rhythm with your grin, like a sudden flicker of a campfire in the middle of a dark, parched forest.

"This what you want? Hmm?"

The rumble reminds you of the engine of a Harley roaring to life. His throat is burned from the fire of his cigars, the hand on your throat is used to squeezing dead metal and pulling pins from frigid grenades. But even they can't stand a chance against his woodland fire and sycamore smoke. He could bring a cold, inanimate rock back to life with all that fire.

"Yes. I want it. John."

His name on your tongue is a cat's meow. It has the exact effect you hoped for.

"Let's get the brat tamed, then."

"Hah," you finally moan. "Promises, prom–"

The fingers around your throat pull you to his mouth with a python strength. His lips spread yours with soft devouring as he coats you in fire. The coarse beard smells of sweet tobacco – nothing like a pungent cigarette. It's like an old memory: safe and sturdy and strong. Male.

You moan in his mouth – god, what will it be like when he's inside you? – and he capes both arms around you and crushes you against him. Broad shoulders envelop you like a shroud of thick smoke, the cock gets trapped between you like a hot spear, and you mewl like a slut.

Your pussy clenches, just from his warm mouth, the rich velvet of his lips. He takes everything with that kiss, and you're weak in his arms as he bends and molds you against him just the way he wants, opens your mouth with his own and breathes you, samples you like those puffs of smoke he sucks from his cigar.

Your brain short-circuits, you barely notice how your top slides up as his hands go under it. It's dragged up, up, over your breasts and then over your head as he detaches just enough to rip that piece of clothing away. 

You look at him like he's Christmas, then reach for your bra while he opens his pants more to get them down. Your jeans are accursedly tight, and he's breathless, too: the whole room is dark and filled with heavy breathing and rustle of clothes as you claw your socks off, slide your strings down and away, watch him get out of his shirt and throw it on the floor too, all propriety gone.

And then…

Jesusfuck–

He picks you up, lifts you from the ground like you're nothing but a leaf, and strides with you in his lap until your back meets a wall.

The barrel-like chest presses the air out of your lungs while your back travels up – you don't know if his arms or chest do the lifting, but you're being positioned for his cock to enter. Your hands try to grasp something solid before it's too late – his back and neck – your legs wrap around him, feet hooking over his ass as the thick of his tip pokes your soaked folds, and after a few seconds of probing, slides in. 

"F–uck…" you gasp, sounding so needy that it could be a voiceline from a bad porno movie. His lips find the place between your ear and neck immediately.

"Be good for me now," he gruffs, dark and round like the sweetest bourbon, although you know he's the finest single malt in the world. "Be good…"

"Ah–John…"

I'll be good… 

Just for you, I'll be so, so good.

He pants heavy on your neck, grunts as he starts to fuck you against that wall. You knew he might be intense, but apparently, you had no idea. The man is needy as fuck, and has concealed it up until this point. 

You could cry, scream from joy from the thickness that spreads you, fills you with every fat glide of a thrust. The sex borders on rough but is so incredibly tender too, so needy it makes your heart collapse, compress into a taut knot in your chest. It's the softest rocking, the gentlest fucking as he retreats, then ruts into you again and again with sharp, rusty moans. You're in a slow but steady rodeo with this man, your breasts pressed against a solid chest covered with hair, and it tickles, even if his pecs threaten to crush your ribcage.

"You're one hell of a girl," he gruffs in your ear, beard grazing up and down your neck. "Taking me so– Fucking hell, look at you…"

His eyes are embers as they sweep over you: your abundant ink, the helpless, adoring look in your eyes, the little mouth that opens with a gasp, the trickle of sweat that forms between your breasts and meets the hair on his chest. 

He doesn't have to look down to see how greedy your cunt is for him. He can feel it.

"This is what you wanted the whole time? Huh?"

He's all smoke. All fire.

"Yes…"

"Wanted me to take you against a fucking wall? Eh?"

"Yes…just, just take me," you moan and purr some more, giving him everything he wants. "Fuh–fuck me good…"

"Ahh shit..."

You know you're a drug to certain decent men. But to him, you're a forbidden fruit in all its aspects. 

A calm, collected captain who enjoys wide respect, eyeing an edgy, younger woman from the tech department? That's not how this was supposed to go. Thirsting for someone who did what they wanted, looked just the way they wanted, walked this earth like a dark fairy – that's not his usual go, surely. He was supposed to settle down with a proper lady. If he were to settle down at all.

"I've dreamed of this," you whisper in his ear, lips moving just enough to deliver your secret to him.

"Yeah..? Me too," he gives your throat more love with a velvet growl. "Know I shouldn't, but–"

"Shh. Don't–don't…" You grip him tighter, taste the spruce and salt as you breathe his neck. "It's good. It's all good."

He rumbles in approval. Your skin is raw from his beard; even the coarse hair dusting his thighs feels too rough on your skin. And your skin is used to being needled, shot full of ink right inside the dermis. But this… This is branding.

You're silk in his rough embrace, and plundered with no remorse. You sigh and moan, hug him... And then he dares to stop, panting and throbbing inside you.

"Darlin'. Where's the bed?"

The soft question makes you panic. If you go to bed and let him push inside you while you're lying on your back, if you brave a look into those eyes while he takes you, you'll develop more than just a horrid lust for this man. If he collapses on top of you, spent and spoiled while you're at your most vulnerable, you'll tie a string from your heart to his, and you can't, you just can't allow that to happen.

Because he's untamed too. He's not a man who settles down, he's not up for domestication; he's a wandering fire.

"No–no bed," you pant on his muscles, the shoulder that keeps you safely pinned on the wall. "John…? Please."

He's breathing wild too, disguises his surprise well.

"Alright."

He sounds disappointed, and it's not because he doesn't have the strength to maul you against that wall. The rejection stings him too. It makes you want to offer a truce, a little something. When he rocks you again, you graze your fingers up the back of his neck, knowing he will feel ripples across his scalp from your caress.

"We can smoke a cigar after," you propose, not knowing why your voice still comes out as an airy whisper. "Together. I'll pour you that drink…"

His chest swells with a deep breath, he huffs fire on the hollow trench between your collarbones.

"Fuck, woman…" 

It's dense syrup that surrounds you much like those shoulders and arms, that coarse hair, that bold male want.

"And after that I want you to…" You catch your breath and sound like a mouse with your next shy question. "Would you go down on me, John?"

It's like you're under a bear attack, but he stills; his head tilts a little to the side and meets your temple. 

"You wouldn't tease a man like this," he says. A soft warning, brimstone coated in velour, but the core of it is despair. So much need, so much forbidden, distant want… 

"Right? No more teasing."

He's still thinking that you're teasing him… That it's some kind of a joke that you want him.

"I'm serious... I want your mouth on me. I need your–"

"I'll put my mouth on you as soon as we're done here, love."

You have to bite your lips, suck them between your teeth to prevent another deprived moan from escaping.

"Want you to fuck me all night," you continue to whisper on his neck. You should shut the fuck up because it doesn't take a bed to tie that string from your heart to his. After all, they're right there, beating against each other through bone and skin and chest.

"Yeah? That's what you want?"

"Want you to… F-fuck me slow and good from behind and–"

You sniff. Whimper.

You should be ashamed: mewling for more when he's already buried inside you. What kind of a brat are you, wrapping your thighs around that narrow waist like you never want him to pull out?

And you're not crying. 

It's just that the cock inside you is throbbing against your walls as if he's making a home there, his hands dig into your ass cheeks like you're his already, the breath upon your sweat and skin feels far too affectionate. When exactly did a raw wall-fuck turn into such an affectionate, gentle taste of love?

And it's not enough. You want to climb on top of him every morning, ride him slowly and watch him unravel as the sun climbs the sky and coats that fur in gold.

"Could you do that? Please… John, please," you whimper and whine, beg like you're tame already. 

"I'll fuck you all night if that's what you want. Fill this pretty, tight cunt up every way you like."

It's coarse smoke. It caresses you until your legs start to shake. He adjusts his grip, drags the pull-outs like he drags those pulls from his tobacco. Keeps you nicely in place for him to drive back in–

"I'll fuck you 'till you cry, love. Yeah?"

He punctuates that promise with another good, fat thrust. You moan all tame now – a rippling stream, laughing and crying in his molten hold.

His cock fills you while your thighs quiver and tremble in his hands. Your pussy throbs; it sucks him already, the orgasm is seconds away, and your fingertips search for support but only slip over sweaty, hard muscle.

John. John.

"Fuh-…"

He spreads you a little. Those arms are pure iron as they mold you for him to plow. You know he can feel the waves, the way your cunt grips him with longer, deeper pulls as you start to sound downright pathetic.

"Just like that, just like… hah…"

"M-hm. Yeah," he bends the vowels, daubs them with smoke. "That's it. You're doing good. Doing so well my love."

He huffs between the thrusts that have turned into slow, intense love-making. He's making love to you – god, why does he have to be like this…

"Cum for me. Nice and pretty, yeah? Come on."

He encourages you with words, but you can't hear them anymore.

Heat coils in the pit of your core just before you burst with a heady scream.

The spasm is so sudden you almost hit your head on the wall. He's at your throat the minute it's exposed, and your scream turns into a weak wail when his tongue grazes your skin. It's blazing, and dips into the hollow between your collarbones like it's a shot glass full of scotch. Next thing you feel is fire, even some teeth on your neck.

And you thought Price might, just might be intense…

Your head drops as the blunt of the orgasm leaves you. Your feet unclasp, and next up would be some soft waves, but the man continues to fuck your shattered cunt and marshmallow soul with a good, intense pace. The words that pour out of your mouth are those of a brainless person.

"Ah–hah, God–"

"Where's that cheek now, mm..? Pretty little thing."

"John–h…"

The thrusts rub you against that wall like he wants to staple you there.

"So nice and good for me now, ain't ya? Cummin' on command…" An amused chuff right on your poor, chafed skin… "Begging for my mouth and cock."

You travel up and down in a limp heap, trying to hold on to him with weak limbs as he drives into you with a tight series of half-thrusts. Your legs hang loosely on the side, but he has no trouble carrying the full weight of you.

"Slow–slowly, Cap…" 

"Ahh fuck–"

He swears on your ink, right on the trotting pulse on your neck. Through the vapor of man sweat and rich smoke and a whiff of cedar trees bending in the wind, you feel him tense and thicken.

"The fucking things you do to me…" he pants with a low growl, hushed but intense. Your pussy answers with a good, demanding pull. 

"Fuck… fuck–!"

You're a limp doll between him and the wall when he comes. Pressed between a rock and a hard place, literally. His chest being the rock, an entire boulder that whips the oxygen from your lungs as he drives deep, his balls giving a few taut pulls against your ass as he empties himself into you with a satisfied, dry moan. A dark, ripe blossom, shooting straight to your core while you're sealed tight around him.

The world goes still after that; the only thing that moves is your breath and his, a refreshing hot breeze coursing through the stale air. The darkness of the room isn't half as snug as the safety of his arms.

Your fingers find his neck, the short-cut hair and the skin pounding with a rush of blood. He lets you go reluctantly, bends a little to set your feet back to the solid ground. He doesn't pull out, keeps huffing all over you even when you're returned back to the earth. 

And you never want to come back. Your cunt still throbs around him and cries a tiny, thick stream down your thigh. His upper body still pins you against that wall, his breaths still mist your skin, caress the red burns of his beard.

He feels so good. Too good…

When he pulls out, he does so with intense care. He gives you some space to catch your breath, and you finally notice he has fucked your legs into splinters.

"I'm…" You break the hush of heavy breathing with a soft laugh. More viscous load pushes out of you with it. "I don't think I can stand."

"Yeah? Tried to take you to bed," he muses softly, sounding annoyingly content with his achievements.

"Gotta admit it was a good idea."

"As was the nightcap," he rasps, voice drenched in soft smoke.

"We'll get there eventually."

"I have no doubt about that."

You give him a soft, warm chuckle as you cast your eyes between the crest of his pecs. Rough, tight muscle meets your soft breasts with heaving breaths, and teases your nipples to taut little points. The wet hair on his chest looks good paired with your inked, smooth skin… You two look so goddamn fine together.

"I hope I didn't make you deaf with that scream."

He stands at his full height, but tilts his head down and slightly to the side as if you were a new, interesting species he's just found on his travels.

"Wouldn't complain, love," he says. More wet syrup, just for you. He weighs you with his stare, curious and appeased, and you feel shy. For fuck's sake, you still feel shy even though this man was inside you just a moment ago. 

"The bed. Now be a good girl and tell me where it is."

"Down the…hallway." 

A delicate little whisper, again.

It's laughable, how the veteran of Task Force 141 turns you into something so dainty and meek. Captain John Price takes you against a wall like you're nothing but a doll, makes you purr and beg, reassembles you into a weak-willed woman who gets carried to bed. 

This is not how it was supposed to go...

He lifts you back in his lap while you continue to hold onto him like he's your prince Charming. A laugh spills on your lips when he tries to lay you gently on the bed and you manage to pull him down with you. You end up tumbling there in a sweaty, messy heap. 

"Knew you were trouble," he's smiling too as he settles beside you. You curl and wrap yourself around him, your bodies mold and curve together like they're made for each other.

He's so solid, so warm, the kind of man you'd love to fall asleep on every night. No more cold sides of the pillow, no more tossing and turning and trying to get the code out of your head. Just… this chest, those ember eyes burning in the night. Some soft breathing, a roaring engine standing still, waiting for you, just for you…

"I hope this wasn't a one time only occasion," you test the waters.

"No." He shifts a little, disentangles from you slightly. "Unless you–"

"No."

You bend in his arms like a young willow, cut his doubts off with a kiss. It's passionate, and so sloppy it threatens to make the same sounds as your cunt and his cock a while ago.

The hand on your hip tows you closer, then steals its way down your leg. You hike your thigh up, perfectly willing. You're a sticky mess, but so is he: his rock-hard thigh meets your still soaked pussy like these two have always belonged together. And this man's full fire has escaped you until now. There are so many hidden, wild things in him too. 

He would look so good on a Harley… He would look good on a motel bed after riding for days and days with you attached to him like an eloped dark bride. The nights would be smeared with hot sex and cinder and smoke, a dash of scotch on top, he could drink it from your lips. You would serve it to him from your mouth, round the taste a bit so that it wouldn't burn so much…

"Have you ever been to Alaska?" 

The liquor is leaving you, but you don't feel any more sober. The lava in your veins has only been replaced by another kind of fire.

"No."

"Would you like to go?"

"What'ya mean," he murmurs on your tongue, and you know he's hard again just from the thick lust coating his voice. "What kind of question is that?"

"I was just thinking."

"What were you thinkin', kid..?"

"Don't… call me that," you laugh. In truth, you're growing quite fond of it. It reminds you of old movies. "Here's looking at you, kid" and all that.

His laugh is a charred roll in his chest. To him, you're a brat – an unruly kitten – no matter what you say. 

"Kid. Why Alaska?"

He's curious. Borderline hooked. You steal a peek into those vulcan eyes. 

"You'd look good in Alaska. Old man."

"Really," he rumbles a soft purr against your heart. 

Another soft kiss follows. Affectionate… He plays time, but he's also a probing, scanning. You bloom in his embrace, unfurl on his lips like he just wrenched you wide. He could haul you to the cabin right now and you would only cook him dinner.

It's too late, even if you try to shift after such a kiss. Escape to press your cheek against that place between his pecs, the spot where the hair is darkest and thickest. You want to lick that valley where his heart meets his musk. That scent must be born from a good, stout heart.

"Would you take me with you…? If you ever decide to go."

It's a fragile question. A baring of the heart. It holds so much more than an inquiry about whether he would whisk you away on a secret leave. It's strings, pulling from your heart to his, taking root.

"Sure. But you're quite a handful, love."

"Is that so…?" 

You crawl over him as gracefully as you can. He allows you to straddle him, and of course he does. You're no threat; you're only a one woman show. The only thing he's probably missing right now is a glass of scotch and a thick roll of tobacco. 

He takes in the view with hunger: not satiated by that pent-up fuck, just like you're not... 

But then his hands come to rest on your thighs to check if they're still shaking. The touch bleeds possessiveness: it's a thoroughly absent-minded, instinctual attempt to reach for you. It tells you you're exactly where you belong. 

"You seem like the kind of woman who's not for the faint of heart," he says like you didn't just mewl in his arms like the tamest fucking housecat.

And perhaps that's what intrigues him. Contrasts. And even more than that, the odd place where black fuses into white, the gray area where everything is possible. The split-second moment when the skin accepts the ink and traps it in. 

Everyone always says you get buried with your tattoos. That you should think twice before staining your skin with such permanent hookups.

But the thing is, you get addicted to it. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff before a bungee jump. You know you'll never be the same person after you jump, and you know you can't leave that cliff without jumping. It's a stalemate until you clear your mind of doubt and just plunge.

And you don't want to leave this earth without getting stained and sweaty, without dipping your soul into the full experience. You're supposed to get a little dirty. This is Earth, after all.

Your fingers disappear somewhere in his slick fur. Sunrise is hours away, but his eyes spark aflame. They're always, always smoldering like the butt of his cigar. He's a man who causes wildfires at the end of the world – he's a reckoning, a flicker in the dark forest, roaring into a bonfire as soon as the wind passes through the trees.

And you've always loved fire. Wild, and free. The only thing that competes with such freedom is a wide, wild stream. 

"But you can handle me. Right?" Your fingers curl softly around the hair surrounding his navel. "Tame me and everything?" 

It's an offering that causes even fire to tilt its head in curiosity. In the end, you're not sure who tamed who.

"Someone has to," he grabs your hips with rich promise. 

You'll pour him that drink. Light him a cigar after his mouth is full of your taste, see how well it pairs with fire and smoke. You'll toast to the Harley, the crazy motel… 

And Alaska. 

[3verythingiknowaboutlove]

unsaid

how gn!reader and spencer handle deeper feelings with each other- or how they don't handle them.

angsty fluff? some hard feelings? idk WHAT this is word count: 1258 warnings & tags & stuff: I was picturing mid seasons spence for this, brief mention of a spider?, insecure reader, ugh they're SO in love but also so quiet about it, ignoring problems, happyish ending author's note: first piece of writing on here! this is actually so bad but my brain is ROTTED from spencer fluff and honestly him in general, he's all i can think about so obviously i have to contribute to the epidemic

“HELP!”

You hear footsteps bounding towards you and the door to the kitchen slam open. Spencer’s head swivels as he assesses the situation: you, backed into a corner, clutching a glass, looking directly at a point across the room with a terrified look in your eyes. Spencer’s face immediately relaxes and he moves over to take the glass from you.

“Where is it?” He asks calmly. You point, and the spider is quickly dealt with and brought outside. Spencer walks back into your apartment and you look at him, blushing a little, heart still pounding.

“Thanks,” you say, self-effacingly, taking the glass back from him and setting it in the sink. “I'm sorry for bothering you, I know you were in the middle of doing some work, and I know that my reaction was completely irrational, it’s just-”

“Hey,” he interrupts, reaching out to trace your arm lightly. “It's alright. It’s actually completely justifiable. Our brain is wired to be afraid of spiders because they were a larger threat to our ancestors. Today, although we seldom encounter spiders and they are not a constant threat to us, we still have this fear because it’s ingrained in our DNA,” he explains, trying to calm your anxiety. “I’m also around 80 percent done with my report. So I can finish it later in the week. I'm all yours.” He peers down at you, a small smile playing on his face. You admire his smile for a second or two before his words actually register and you squint disbelievingly.

“I don't know how I feel about that. I shouldn't be taking you from your…duties,” you say, tilting your head.

“My duties?” he asks, matching the angle of your head, laughing a little. You shrug, giving him a slight giggle too.

“Okay, duties are the wrong word. But you do do important work that I should recognise has to take priority sometimes. I bet Hotch would rather you finish your report tonight.” He nods quietly, and you know he agrees. He beckons his head, a signal you’ve come to know means ‘come closer and hug me’. You do so, hugging him tightly and letting his arms wrap around you. You back away after a bit and give him a signal of your own- standing on your tiptoes and looking at him expectantly. He bends down and kisses you firmly, arms still wrapped around you.

Your entire relationship is built off of signals like these. You two just seem to know when the other wants something, whether it be a hug or a kiss, or something more. It made things easy.

So you were also sure that Spencer knew that this kiss was making your heart literally melt. It’s like he can reach in through your sternum and hold your heart until it dissolves in his hands. You can feel it dripping through the cracks into your bloodstream until your legs are jelly and your head is spinning.

You pull away for air and rest your head on his chest.

“How about we compromise and I do it tomorrow?” He asks softly.

Your mouth creates an uncomfortable line. “I know I’m obviously not the boss of you, so feel free to do whatever it is you want…” You pause, trying to find the words. “I just feel like it’s important for me to not take you away from your work at all.”

It wasn’t the complete truth, but it wasn’t completely askew from what you meant to say.

The real, slightly more selfish truth was that you felt like it was easier to send Spencer off to do his work than to try and understand why he wouldn't always want to. You constantly felt so raw and open around him. Like he could always see you and your melting heart. It was insanely scary and new, and not easy at all.

That was not something you were willing to admit today, not right now.

“No, you're not the boss of me, but I do think you have opinions worth listening to and considering.” He kisses the top of your head. He pushes your hair back and looks you directly in the eye. “But I also really don’t want you to feel like you can’t ask me for things. Being in the BAU requires a sort of responsibility. Not to just do my work by the time it’s needed, but to also take breaks and spend time with the people I want to be around. Whether it’s to catch spiders or to give her kisses. Okay?” He checks.

“Okay,” you say quietly. He looks at you patiently, knowing that you had more feelings in your heart but also knowing that it was hard to come out and say it. It was a topic for another night, a braver night. He dips his head down to you, and smiles, almost excitedly.

“Ice cream?” You smile too at the change of topic, and nod.

“Can we get changed first?”

In your bedroom, you throw on a massive white T-shirt that you may or may not have stolen from Spencer many weeks ago, along with a pair of shorts. You turn your head over your shoulder to where Spencer was digging around in his bag. “Did you pack comfy clothes? I know we didn’t discuss sleeping over or anything,” you ask.

“Uh, yeah, do you have a shirt I could borrow?” he responds, not looking up. You dig through your drawers and toss him one of his own shirts, this one Dr. Who themed and navy blue. It lands on his face and he swats it away. “Hey, I was wondering where this went!” He exclaims, looking up at you, offended. He takes notice of your shirt, and stands up straight and moves toward you, feeling your shirt between his fingers. “This too. Theft is in fact a crime.” You blush bashfully in response.

“I like your shirts. They’re cuter than mine,” you argue. He shakes his head, smiling. Soon enough, you're on the couch, working on a pint of Tonight Dough.

Your legs are intertwined and you’re laying on his chest, trying to get to the ice cream he was teasing you with, moving away as you chase it with the spoon. “Stop it,” you giggle. He wrestles the spoon from your grip and digs it in the ice cream.

“Open,” he says quietly. You do so, savoring the taste.

You stay like that for a good while longer, just holding each other, until you break the silence.

“Thanks for making time for me tonight,” you whisper, giving him a soft kiss on his chin. He looks at you and gives you a kiss on your forehead. A meaningful one. One that said a few things that were too scary to say.

It was nice, knowing that you had time to figure out your emotions, that there was no hurry. Your problems and insecurities would still be there tomorrow. You could choose to ignore them for a bit. You could look away from the fact that you weren’t exactly sure why Spencer picked you out of all the other girls. Spencer could ignore the fact that going to work was the most terrifying thing because he finally had something to lose. You could just stay like that, intertwined, inhaling and exhaling slowly.

You let the rest of the ice cream melt on the couch side table, not unlike your heart, neither of you strong enough to get up and put it back in the freezer.

[serickswrites]

hi, i literally just found your blog so idk if this has already been done (i will be reading all of your works within the next few hours, btw) soooo here it is, feel free to ignore. i know its a monster block of text but its up to you to say yes or no. But if you do decide to write this i would very much love a happy ending for the whumpee. i always feel so sad when they can't recover and I don't think i could take it. :(

A Cashier/ barista person gets kidnapped on their way home from work. Full on yoinked off the street, into the clutches of a Whumper who is only concerned for the Whumpee's safety. You see, today the Whumpee was yelled at by a particularly aggressive customer( who may or may not be Whumpee's On again and Off again SO). The Whumper (a regular at the place where Whumpee works) Didn't like that.

the Whumper runs home and prepares a nice place for Whumpee. on Whumpee's way home from that shift Whumper shoves them in the van, and uses a syringe and takes them home. Whumper dresses them in comfy clothes, they have all of Whumpee's favorite foods ready, and they are so excited for Whumpee to wake up. They could both cuddle and watch all of Whumpee's favorite disney movies, and Whumpee would finally be safe and happy. Whumper was getting concerned about the dark circles underneath Whumpee's eyes, after all.

Hello! Thank you for stopping by! I can definitely write this, but I'm going to make a few tweaks (I'm not a fan of Whumper turned Caretaker). Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Kidnapping, yandere whumper, drugging, escape

Whumper had prepared everything to a perfect T. Whumpee would love it here. They just knew it.

They had been watching a very long time. Both at their place of work and at home. They had watched Whumpee navigate a coffee bar full of irritable customers and not bat an eyelash. Always cool as a cucumber. They watched as Whumpee dated a string of losers who didn't know Whumpee's value and worth. The latest having picked Whumpee up from the coffee shop. None of them were good enough for Whumpee.

But Whumper was.

And they knew that Whumpee was asking for their help yesterday when the customer ahead of Whumper in line--the latest loser to date Whumpee--screamed and berated Whumpee for serving them almond milk instead of soy milk.

"I said almond! God you're so dumb."

"S-s-sorry," Whumpee stammered as the customer threw the drink over the coffee bar. Whumpee had ducked, so thankfully, the coffee didn't hurt them. But still, Whumper was concerned.

Whumper was concerned when they tossed the customer out of the shop. Whumper was concerned when Whumpee sobbed to them over the counter. And Whumper was concerned when Whumpee gave them their coffee for free.

But Whumper's concerns would end today. They looked over at the unconscious Whumpee in their back seat. They had drugged Whumpee as they stepped out to walk home from the end of their shift. Drugged them and put them in the car.

Whumpee groaned. "Wha? Where?"

"It's ok, Whumpee, you're somewhere safe."

"Who the fuck are you?" Whumpee said as they sat up quickly.

"I do love it when you play games with me, Whumpee." Whumper loved how Whumpee was always pretending not to know them.

"Let me out. Now." Whumpee's voice was steady, but there was an edge.

"We're almost home, love. Then I can let you out. I made you dinner and I can draw you a bath after we watch your favorite movie." Tonight was going to be perfect.

"Let me out. Now!" Whumpee kicked out at the back of Whumper's chair. Whumper swerved as they lost control of the car. Whumpee took that moment to swing open the car door and dash out as Whumper had slowed to avoid hitting a fire hydrant.

"WHUMPEE!" Whumper shouted after them as Whumpee sprinted down the street screaming for help.

[magicalslug]

Life update

...Because those are always fun.

In yet another thinly veiled attempt at writing something that's totally not a vent, you get to hear what I'm up to today.

I'm planning an itinerary for ~a trip to NYC~

(this stays between us bcus this is a V1SA requirement but i aint planning on THAT. I just need it to make any plane trip to canada cheaper instead of direct. bcus apparently your plane landing in usa for even a microsecond requires you to have a v1sa for that. SO fun)

Anyway. Of course it has to be believable. And idk maybe one day it'll be real bcus you know, I do want to watch a broadw ay play LIVE someday.

So I had to do a little research and watch some videos because i had no idea what to put down on it other than "watch musical at 7pm" on it.

And i watched some guys videos about "nyc tips! best places to go! best locations! dont do this here! dont miss this!" type of things.

And the more i watch the more.

Sad? I get?

Traveling abroad is so expensive. Traveling at all is a luxury.

I... I will never live the kind of life that lets me throw money into the fire like that. To travel all over. To enjoy that type of vacations.

Because (and this is the part where i wonder if this isn't just because my brain has been in a terrible state lately) traveling for vacations is kind of a waste right? We all think that? We're all disillusioned by prospect of being away from the worries of your daily life for 3-4 days and then coming back to your nightmare again to live it until the next time you can afford the Momentary escape? Yeah? We're all on the same page?

(What do you mean it's just me?)

It's just.

I've been so sad lately.

"ignoring your friends because it's all too much" type of sadness. "sleeping it off almost daily because it's all too much" type of sadness. "having The Thoughts again almost every day again" type of Sadness.

And it feels like nothing will ever make it better.

And i keep thinking that I know why. I know why i'm feeling like this. But it feels like deflecting the blame.

It feels like i'm lying.

But it must be because I'm back living in the place I wanted to escape from, that i got a momentary escape from it, and now that i'm back it feels like.

Like I was right.

That I will never be free.

And time is running out to escape from it.

And I'm losing anything that made me happy. That made it worth it.

I don't have my freedom. My peace of mind. My art! I can't do art anymore! The friends I had made are now too far away! And the friends I have here are so far away I can't even visit easily!

And I'm so fucking tired and angry and sad all the time!

And stuck living with someone that I hate. And that hates me back.

And guess what!!!! We ALL HAVE PROBLEMS!!!

YOU'RE NOT THE ONLY ONE LIVING IN HELL!!! YOU COMFORTABLE LITTLE POSH THING!!!! WHY ARE YOU SUCH A SORRY LITTLE THING!!!! PATHETIC!!! MEDIOCRE!!!!! STOP FUCKING CRYING !!!!

i DON'T LIKE IT WHEN IM MEAN. BUT NOW IM MEAN ALL THE TIME.

I'm.

I undid so much work in just a few months.

I wanted to live. I really wanted to live. Did you know? I kept calling myself immortal. I kept saying it to friends. I kept going "oh duh, I will never die so jot that down" and i don't think anyone ever asked me why I kept insisting on it.

But it's because it was a comforting thought, a clutch to hold onto. I will never die, so it'd be pointless to be s uicidal. A grandiose claim to train my brain into not wanting to die anymore.

(And though it wasn't the only thing that helped-- It worked. It had worked.)

And reclaiming my life had felt so easy. When I wasn't stuck living with my abuser.

But now I'm back here again. And I hate my job that sucks the life out of me. And I hate where I live because it's just a constant loop of being dehumanized while trying to play nice with the hand that feeds and chokes at the same time. And i hate myself most of all for being so weak.

So weak for it all.

Living my life should be easy. Someone else would not crumble under things so easy to live through. Someone else would be able to defend themselves. SOMEONE ELSE WOULDN'T BE SO PATHETIC.

Because I was getting better. And I was happier. And it wasn't perfect. But I did think for a moment that I was going to make it.

"Where do you see yourself in 5 years"

Dead. Dead if i'm lucky.

I lost everything. Even now I feel how I'm losing myself.

What good am I for anymore. I failed at everything.

"You're never too old to start living life!"

Well that's the thing.

I am getting old.

Too old to keep dreaming of ever achieving anything important.

Anything good.

Anything worthwhile in this world.

So why even wait for more time to pass.

Why not cut our loses.

And leave the world while a few people still care about me.

I want to jump in front of the metro.

I want to jump so badly.

And it'd be so easy.

So easy.

It would welcome me with open arms.

Death would be asking what took me so long.

Why I made her wait.

Why I wasted my time.

Why I wasted everyone's time.

I miss my grandpa.

[mintmatcha]

Stressball

Pairing: Zeke x reading

cw: free use, cisfem reader with feminine nicknames , power dynamics, cigarettes, female receiving oral, choking, overstimulation, rough sex, degradation, praise, reader has pubic hair, biting, Zeke is mean. breeding kink

A/N: idk just enjoy yourself

The terms of your arrangement have been clear since the beginning.

"You live here for free. I take care of your food and give you a little pocket change." Zeke pulls hard from his cigarette, letting you sit in the silence until it grows uncomfortable. "And all I get in return is unlimited stress relief."

You stare into your reflection in his glasses. He exhales, letting the thin smoke curl into the air. "Drink your tea. I made it just for you."

You obey, immediately bringing the mug to your lips. Zeke murmurs something under his breath and you swear you almost catch fragments of the word obedient.

"Stress relief." you repeat. Zeke picks up the sugar dish by the rim, holding it out to you wordlessly.

"Did I stutter?"

"I just-" you take the dish from him, dropping a couple sugar cubes into your drink and watching them slowly crumble and dissolve. "What does that entail? I'm your personal stress ball?"

He smiles too wide to be innocent, "Something like that.”

-----

The front door slams and you already know what's coming. You don’t look up from your book, trying to focus on the words on the page and not how he stomps about the house, cursing under his breath.

Work has been stressful lately. You don’t ask any questions.

When he enters the room, Zeke doesn’t immediately look your way. He circles, like a predator waiting for the right moment to pounce

“Hello, dear.” you mumble. Zeke doesn’t respond, shrugging off his coat and tossing it on to one of the chairs, “You look nice today.”

He does. His beard is freshly trimmed, tight to his jaw, and those dark bags under his eyes only make them sparkle brighter, but you can tell from the sneer on his face that he doesn’t believe you. “Do you think compliments are going to change anything?”

You flip the page. “No. I said it because I meant it.”

“Cute. Keep reading.” He dots a kiss to the crown of your head. "Safe word is Thursday."

In one smooth motion Zeke clutches the back of your shirt and twists, pulling the neckline taut into your throat. He uses the leverage to rip you up and push you completely forward across the table, chair clattering to the ground. The act pushes the breath out of you and you sputter, spittle down your face. The varnished wood is too slick; your hands barely able to stop yourself from face planting.

“What did I just say?” Zeke lets go, pausing for a moment before tossing your book in front of you. "Go on. Keep reading."

The book isn't even open to the same page, but you try to focus on the words and not how Zeke moves. You're very aware of how he drops to his knees behind you, large calloused hands traveling up your legs and up your skirt, not stopping until his fingers bury under the edges of your panties.

He tugs the fabric to the side so hard that the elastic digs into your hips. The rough bristles of his beard scour across the dip of your ass and thigh, his breath, already heavy, tickles your exposed sex.

"You're barely fucking wet."

"I can't always be- ha-aah-'' as you begin to protest, Zeke takes the outer lip of your pussy between his teeth, catching the sensitive flesh between his canines and slowly increasing the pressure until you whine, and then continues until the pain is sharp. The discomfort alone has your feet kicking, toes curling, as you wiggle yourself deeper and deeper into the edge of the table to try and break free. Your heels beat against his chest, but he doesn't break away, instead looping a hand under your stomach to hold you in place.

"Don't run away from it." Zeke breaks away to chide. A finger runs up your slit, smoothly sliding through your folds and you're suddenly aware of how your body has reacted to his touch-- to the pain. Before you can savor his gentleness, it's gone, replaced with the hollow, wet, sloppy sound of Zeke sucking his fingers dry. "Don't pretend you didn't like it."

The wire frame of his glasses jabs into the fat of your ass as he buries himself into your pussy and immediately sucks. The loud, messy sound resonates through the room in an overly lewd display... only to get louder when his spitty tongue joins in, mindlessly working against you.

His nose catches against your opening as he eats, beard tickling up against your clit a way that borders on discomfort... and yet isn't enough. You buck back against him for more, grinding against his chin for the friction you need.

His thumbnail digs into the fat of your ass. A silent warning to stay still. You know better than to try:

He eats you out for the taste-- not for your pleasure.

He stays like that for what feels like forever, prodding and suckling almost aimlessly, until he suddenly stands.

Zeke clutches your hair and guides your head back, farther and farther until you're arched back to meet his eye. His glasses have slid down his nose, smeared from your wetness, fogged from the heat of your cunt. Your cum gleams in his beard as he leans over. The look in his eyes is dark, hungry-- dangerous.

"What's the safe word?"

You blink a couple times before his words sink in. “Thursday.”

Zeke doesn’t respond; he catches your mouth against his and you’re forced to savor the taste of yourself on his breath, your own musk on his tongue. His hips grind against your still exposed sex, digging the crease of your thighs painfully hard into the edge of the table. The shape of his cock is heavy and demanding, even restrained by his pants.

Zeke tugs your hair, forcing you to break the kiss, before stepping back. "Upstairs. Go."

You hesitate, head still swimming from it all.

"Did I stutter?” Zeke says, “Move before I make you move."

You skitter up the stairs, half expecting a chase, but Zeke doesn't immediately follow. It's not until you're in the bedroom, peeling off your dress, that his heavy boot steps make it to the stairs.

“It’s about control.” He explained to you once. “I just need to feel in control of something.”

It works out- sometimes, you don’t wanna worry about anything. It’s easy to hand over the reins to him, let him decide what to do with your body.

You step out of your panties and leave them where they land.

When he makes it to the door frame, he's half dressed: shirt unbuttoned to expose his thick chest, covered in soft, blonde hair that trails down into a darker, thicker happy trail.

"I didn't tell you to strip." he places the cigarette between his lips, letting it bounce as he talks. He takes one step forward and pauses, eyeing the pink frills that lay crumpled at his boots. He side steps to crush it under his heel, grinding it into the floorboards. "But, fuck, I'm glad you did."

A few long strides and he's on you, forcing you back with his frame. Logically, you know he would never hurt you in a way you didn’t want, but the way his eyes grow dark has you backing up away from him, retreating until your legs meet the edge of the bed.

"I like this." his fingers trail through your bush, nails grazing the skin. When he speaks, the cigarette smoke trails out in small bits, just enough to make your eyes water. "Makes me feel like I'm fucking a real woman."

Your fingers find the front of his pants, popping the button free. It’s a simple motion- a reminder of your autonomy. "I am a woman."

Zeke looks up with a strangely gentle smile, ghosting that hand up your body, over your collarbone, over the delicate skin of your neck, "You're just a toy to me."

The hand on your throat constricts so hard that your head immediately swims. Surprise has you gasping for a breath you can’t quite swallow, hands finding his wrists solely out of instinct. Before you can register what’s happening, Zeke shoves you back with the full force of his weight and you bounce on to the down comforter.

You stay there for a long second, sucking in breath greedily as he runs his gaze over your body, hungry.

He’ll ruin you someday, you decide.

"Roll over. I don’t wanna look at you." Zeke lifts one knee onto the bed. As he tucks his thumbs into the elastic of his underwear, he smiles at you with an overly fond and familiar look-- like a husband, not a lover. "Your pretty face makes me cum too fast. "

You oblige.

He might have already ruined you.

Zeke straddles your hips, pinning your legs together with his calves. He forces your arm up above your head, twisting it up at an uncomfortable angle before slotting his cigarette between your fingers.

“Drop that and you’ll fucking regret it.” he says, shoving his pants down just far enough that his cock falls free into the plump of your ass. It’s hot, slick with his precum so it slides gently across your skin. Just the initial prod between your lips has you flinching, the bite mark from earlier throbbing at the touch..

“Your pussy still hurts?” he holds you by the shoulders, stilling for a moment. You nod, tilting your head just enough to meet his eye.

“From that little nibble? What a baby.”

The sudden stretch of his cock is mean. Zeke is thick, wide enough you can barely fit him in your mouth, and he knows it. You know he enjoys how it has you reeling, keening against the bed with a whine. He grinds his hips against you, rubber heels digging against the sheets as if he could possibly get any deeper into you, as if he isn’t fully seated inside you.

“Relax, just take it.” there’s no sympathy in his voice as he holds there, waiting until you grow limp under him again. When you do, he dips low to press a kiss between your shoulder blades, a chuckle on his lips. “There you go.”

He starts slowly, barely pulling out his cock between sinking back into your folds, simply savoring the depth.

The discomfort melts into pleasure, each roll of his hips grinding against your pussy, but the real satisfaction comes from watching his face from the corner of your eye-

Zeke’s slack jawed, those heavily lidded eyes barely open as he drinks you in, tongue pressed against a canine in focus. He looks up to meet your gaze, those eyes focusing for just a moment before he comes undone.

He cums too soon- with gently stuttering hips, mouth pressed into the flat of your back to suppress his groans. The sudden wetness is forced out of your cunt with another hard stroke, forcing your body to squelch.

“Fuck- you bitch-” he grabs a chunk of your hair to the root, twisting your face down into the pillow, “I told you- “

He swallows hard, trying to cover how he shakes. “I told you your face is too much.”

You can feel him shift above you, then the soft kiss of his lips against your fingers as he pulls a drag from the cigarette you almost forgot about. When he exhales, you make the mistake of relaxing-- only to be immediately fucked once again. Each rut of his hips is hard, the slap of skin against skin sharp. You suck each breath through the down-- still able to breathe fully, just not comfortably.

“You’re that desperate for cum?” His weight is crushing; Zeke no longer holds himself up; instead, he’s half crumbled into you, chest flat against your back. Under the discomfort, your body quivers closer and closer to the proverbial edge. “Want it that ba-a-ad?”

Zeke’s voice cracks into a pained sob when he pulls completely out from you, leaving your pussy gaping.

“I’ll fuck you full.” the head to his cock pops back in and you can feel your mixed juices drip down your slit. It’s a stupid trope you’ve read in erotica books, but you really do feel like his cock has changed to shape of your insides, “Make you fat with my bastard-"

He fucks you hard, pace so brutal and rough that you worry he'll smash your head into the headboard; your free hand clamors around in front you of, blindly searching for a flat surface to brace against. Even face down, your moans are loud enough that in the back of your mind you worry the neighbors will hear. Despite how he takes, despite how he does nothing for you, it's not long until you're quivering, cunt clenching around him as your orgasm slams into you.

“Oh, there you go. That's what I want-" Your pussy pulses so hard you can barely register how he twitches inside you, emptying himself once again, "I can feel that greedy, slutty pussy."

After a long moment. Zeke pulls out and turns you over. The absolute mess between your legs has already left a cooling wet spot… every time you move, the tacky wetness slides further and further down, almost to your knees. It’s all over his stomach, even staining the hem of his pants.

Without being asked, you lift the cigarette. He meets you halfway, taking a long drag. Zeke’s chest and stomach are pink with effort-- something surprisingly cute. You want to comment on it, tease him, but that hunger in his eyes still hasn’t been satiated.

"It still wants more, doesn’t it?" he parts your labia with a thumb, marveling at the stickiness, "Little bitch can't get enough?"

He finds himself between your thighs again, cock finding your entrance once more. It’s a bit softer now: more sensitive too, you guess from the wince of his face as he sinks in.

But he fucks you like it’s his job- like he can’t stop until you’re both ruined and overstimulated.

Oh, he’s a beautiful mess: Eyes rimmed with tears, jaw clenched so tight the vein in his forehead bulges, whole body flushed pink.

You just lay limp, equally destroyed. His personal stress ball.

Work must have been really stressful-

It suddenly hits you that he asked a question. “Y-yeah. Wan’ more.”

“Yeah? Yeah?” he mocks, voice as high as yours as he drops to his elbows, face so close to yours, “‘Wan’ more?’”

You strain your neck to nudge your nose into his cheek, needy and exhausted. He refuses to turn, instead keeping his eyes locked with yours and forehead pressed against forehead.

“Squeeze tight. That’s it, real tight. Mm, work for it.” he growls when you clench your whole body, toes curling, already aching pussy twitching as it tries to handle too much dick, "Make that face I like.”

His hand snakes down your body and easily finds your neglected clit. “Come on, make that face.”

You don’t want to cum again; your stomach is cramped and queasy from the first one, but the sloppy, rough circles on your clit are too much. You can feel yourself tumbling again, cumming weakly around his cock.

“There it is, there’s the face.” Zeke’s not far behind, pulling from you with a groan. His cock kicks and barely anything comes out, practically cumming dry. He mumbles something as he slowly shifts his weight on to you, resting his head on your tits. It’s cute for the first moment, until your lungs begin to ache.

“You can’t fall asleep here.” you squirm, kicking your legs weakly, “You’ll crush me.”

He doesn’t move. “Hm.“

“I’m serious,” you lift a hand to stroke his hair, pushing back his locks, “I have to wash up, so do you-”

“Relax. I’ll draw us a bath in a moment.” Zeke sighs “I know how to take care of my toys.”

“Toys?” you emphasize the ‘S’.

You can’t see how Zeke rolls his eyes, but you know he does. “Toy. Singular.”

[red-goat]

Idk “Why does it sound like you’re saying goodbye?” If it is not too late

*puts on angst writter glasses* This is for my coffee shop AU cuz I still have brain rot. TW: Separation anxiety

...

You fiddle with your fingers as you observe them loading the truck. Bag after bag of coffee beans make the truck's level lower a little. You stand on the alley's door trying your best to hide your pout, altho you're pretty sure they've already noticed since they keep reassuring you they'll be back by nightime, still you feel too uneasy to let go. The weather is still pretty humid, it has been raining nonstop latetly and you can't help it but feel a little hopeless as they finish loading the back of the truck.

"B-but why do both of you have to go? C-can't one of you stay here... with me?" Anxiety is an ugly monster and you know too well for your own good. That gut wretching feeling in your stomach which burns and cuts your peace of mind with paranoia and cruel whispers at the back of your mind.

"Oh don't worry! We've already told you, you don't have to open the shop for the day if you don't want to, ok? I don't want you to stress yourself so unesessarely, not good at all. Besides, we both have to be there to sign the paperwork, that's what bussines partners are all about!" Moon hands you over the keys giving you a reasuring smile "Sun is right, you shouldn't get so worked up... there are leftovers if you don't feel like cooking today also... just take it easy ok? You'll do fine without us".

Your eyes widen... that prick in your stomach aches harsher, the emptiness in your gut screams in retaliation to his words, your nervousness is quite noticeable now. "W-what do you m-mean? W... Why does it sound like you're saying goodbye?!" Your panic comes out at your last sentance.

You know that's not what the mean to say, you know it's just your brain messing with you... but you can't help it, ever since you arrived here, to your new found home, you've never been left alone by your own, one of them has always kept you company and so the thought of being alone for the first time in a while is simply... overwhelming.

"I-I'm sorry... I'm just..." you clutch the keys closer to you, fidgeting with the little mug shaped keychain. They both look at you in silence for moment, unsure of what to say, but Moon as always, is pretty perceptive. He calls your name softly and sweetly, a tone he usually reserves for when he soothes you to sleep.

You look up at them teary eyed, and for the very first time when they place their hand on your shoulders, you don't flinch. Your eyes widen a bit, you know they want to hug you, but they don't dare to without your explicit permission. So in a fit of pain, you launch yourself into their arms, finally giving in your most deepest cravings, their comfort. Your nose is filled with the escence of coffee and worn clothes. They debate for a moment about returning the hug but seeing you cling to them like this, they decide to do it.

The traces they draw on your skin makes your worries melt like butter. This... this is exactly what you been yearning for... Them. "Promise you'll text me whenever you can... please?" They remain silent, well Sun does, as Moon suddlently bursts out in a warm laughter "S-sorry! It's just- Hahahha- So cute..." You look up at him from his shoulder. "It's so cute when you think we wouldn't be doing that already... hehe... I mean- Who else am I gonna send memes to? Sun? He doesn't even get half of them!" You know he most likely is using this as an excuse to free some tension, but you don't mind, knowing this is just Moon wanting you to feel better, Sun then plays along "Mayyybe if someone bothered to explain them to me I would at least smile!" Sun retorts, to which Moons anly response is to whisper "susus amogus" and that's enough for you both to start snicker. "You two are weird!" Sun playfully states as you and Moon explode wheezing in laughter. You decide to tease him a bit feeling all your previous worries fade away.

"You looove us and you know it~" he huffs and sighs in defeat. "Can't argue with that, dang it!" You jest sticking out your tounge and giving him a little wink, still not letting go of the comfort of their embrace.

...

Oh angst turned into fluff, my secret weapon >:3

[nompunhere]

Consider: A crossover. Vi stumbles across the hive from hollow knight, likely when it's almost barren. The Hive Knight, last denizen of the hive, recognizes her as a bee, but not as a foreigner. You can probably see where this is going.

hmm, I doubt I'd be able to come up with a whole fic for this, but it's interesting enough (and I love the bees enough) to maybe write a little somethin

(it's probably gonna count the names in the ask itself towards searches, but heck it, I'm still putting this under a cut)

actually hang on, this is turning into a whole heckin ficlet, lemme just-

update, after spending all my free time today writing this: you crazy sonuva binch, you actually did it. you inspired me to write a whole oneshot on the spot, without even a proper outline. me and my darn soft spot for bees... oh wait shoot, I guess I should name this, huh?

An Unfamiliar Hive (H/ollow K/night & B/ug F/ables Vore Fic)

Characters: V/i (B/ug F/ables), H/ive K/night (H/ollow K/night), whole bunch of H/ivelings (background), and K/abbu and L/eif (mentioned) Word Count: 2,217 Warnings: Infected Bees(...? Idk, but V/i is disturbed), Manipulation of Emotion, Accidental Fearplay, and Safe, Soft Vore (Quarter-Size, maybee?) Other Notes: The Hive is pretty dead, but not all the way dead. Takes place after Ghost went through there, but beefore the end of the Infection. H/ive K/night got messed up by the encounter, but he’s alive, and doing.. relatively okay. Also, more importantly, in the dialogue, [brackets] signify Hivespeak, whereas unbracketed dialogue is in the common language. The Hivespeak is intentionally difficult to read, but there should be enough context to get the gist of what’s beeing said, at least

This really just.. kept going and going, huh. That’s what happens when I write without plotting out the whole story first, I guess. Then again, I’ve written longer. Then again again, this was meant to be a snippet. Now it’s time to post this at 1 am because I’m a FOOL-

Fic under the cut

-----------------------------------------------

Vi flitted through the strange Hive uneasily. The place was massive, much larger than the one in Bugaria, even without taking into consideration the fact that everything in this forgotten kingdom was oddly... upscaled. It was also gorgeous, she’d give it that, but it was just so empty for how big it was. It didn’t sit right with her.

She shuddered as a couple bees flew past. Each of them was about half her size, and they were only the smallest kind she'd seen so far. Based on the shape of their bodies, and the tasks she'd seen them perform, she could infer that they weren't quite as sapient as all the bees from home. Still, their movements were deadened, impersonal, mechanical in a way that indicated that no mind went into their work whatsoever. She caught sight of an orange tint in some of their eyes—something she'd noticed in all the husks that still roamed long after they should've died.

Vi really, really wished she hadn't decided to explore this place on her own. She could use the comfort of her teammates right about now. But noooo, she had to get bored while they were resting and go off on her own. She mentally kicked herself for thinking that was ever a good idea in this plague-ridden place. At least here, nothing was attacking her, but it was still too disturbing for one bug to handle alone. She wasn't even going to think about the Hive husks that meandered about on the floor below. If she did, she might throw up. She had a feeling those things would be just as revolting even without the Infection.

As she flew deeper inside, it didn’t get much better. There were more of those obscenely large guardians buzzing around, along with some soldiers. She thanked her lucky stars that they didn’t perceive her as a threat. She clutched her Beemerang closer to her chest as she whizzed past them. This far in, the little honeybee thought she could spot some Hivelings whose movements were a bit clearer, more thought out, less instinct-driven, but they darted away almost as soon as she pulled into view. That was interesting. Maybe there were some that had escaped the Infection, for the time being? They were far outnumbered by the Infected ones, though. And their actions weren’t all that different from what their compatriots were doing, even if they did have a bit more presence of mind.

Eventually, Vi’s wings tired out. She came to land at the entrance of a long corridor and started walking down it, taking note of the remnants of odd, poorly constructed walls that looked to have been knocked down. She kicked at the rubble, choosing a piece to take with her and follow for a bit as it clattered down the hall with each kick. She should probably leave—return to where the team had set up camp before her friends started to worry. But she had already come this far. Something compelled her to see this little excursion through to the end.

At the end of the unusually long tunnel was a room. She kicked the piece of wax and hardened honey to the center of the space and jogged after it before looking up.

Oh. That was... a big bee. A very big, very dead bee, hanging motionless in the center of a tall, rounded chamber, off to the side where a fourth wall should’ve been. This must have been their queen. Part of her wondered at how the Hive was still running with the queen dead. The other part was struck dumb, frozen staring numbly upward at the gargantuan corpse. She didn’t even notice the quiet ‘thump’ of something landing softly behind her.

“[Wh-t.. ... ..doi-g h-re.. l-ttl- -ne?]”

Vi jumped at the sudden buzzing voice over her shoulder. She whipped around to face the tall, imposing bee standing nearby. They stepped forward and knelt to be closer to her level, giving her a kind and concerned look.

Unlike the rest of the workers and protectors of the Hive, this one was bipedal, with metal pauldrons for armor and a long, waxy needle, held like a staff or spear of some sort. Most notably, they were present enough to communicate with her, albeit in Hivespeak. Vi’s Hivespeak was rusty, as Bugaria’s own version of the language had started to be phased out in favor of the common tongue ever since she was a kid. Plus, the Hallownest version seemed to have extra flourishes, and a bit of an accent. Not only that, but this particular bee was stumbling over their words, stopping and starting in odd places. Now that she looked closer, Vi could see that they had a slight tremor, with mostly-healed scrapes and slashes all over their body. She thought she caught a glimpse of orange, somewhere deep in their eyes, but it could’ve just been the amber lighting. It could just be paranoia.

“Bzz? [-re you... alr--ht? D- you ..-ot hav- .. task..? O- -re you h-re to zz-ee Qu--n... V-zz-pa?]”

Some of the words were a bit clearer, now that she could see the body language attached, but it was still hard to decipher. “Uhhhh...” She blinked, at a loss for what to say. “Who the heck are you?” is what she blurted, after barely a moment of thought.

“Zzz... Hallowtongue?” the other bee mumbled. Okay, she could understand the word they (he?) said there, but she didn’t know what it meant. Was that what they called the common language in this place? Weird.

The larger bee shook his head and looked puzzled. “[I -m zz-e... Hive Kn---t,] er... Hi-ive Knnnight,” he stammered, struggling with Common, “[M- n-m- i-zz H--de-. -re you h-re ...fo- V-zz-pa?]” He repeated the last part of his previous question.

Vi still didn’t quite know what he wanted from her, but at least she had a title for him now. “Um. N-no? I don’t.. I dunno.” She looked away, shuffling her feet, only to flinch when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“[I-zz ok-y littl- one, zz-e Qu--n ... be ba-k zz-oon. Zz-e i-zz.. j-zzt re-zzt-ing.]”

She squinted, trying to process what he said, then glanced over at the giant corpse in the room. ...Yeah, she doubted the knight’s queen was “just resting.” Even if he wasn’t Infected, his mind clearly wasn’t all there.

“Okay, yeah, uh. Look, I just- I’m gonna leave, I just wanna go home. This place is, erm, scary, and I should- I should go. Sorry.”

The Hive Knight tilted his head at her, releasing a slightly distressed buzz. “[You... -re home? Hive i-zz ..home. I-zz zz-afe h-re, zz-afe wi--.. me.]” He seemed to think for a moment, then leaned forward, running a hand through the little honeybee’s fluff. She shivered and took a nervous step back. “[Zz--ared -f..] Innnfec..tion? [-h-re’s n-ne -n h-re. You ... zzt-ay zz-afe fr-m] Innfec-tion [r--ht ...h-re. I --ll prot-ct you.]”

Oh, great, he thought Vi was one of the bees who lived here, and he was trying to stop her from leaving. Fan-freaking-tastic. He carefully took her by the arm, and it was then that she started to really panic, pushing at his hand and trying to smack it away with the Beemerang so she could make a run for it. This upset him, but the knight wasn’t deterred. He quickly grabbed her in both hands and hugged the smaller bee to his chest, making soft, low buzzes and stroking the back of her head in an attempt to soothe her. What made it worse was the fact that it was working. Against her will, her struggles died down a little, smothered in some of the softest bee fuzz she’d ever felt.

"[I'vve ..g-t you, i-zz ok-y, I --ll k--p you... zz-afe. --n't bee zz--ared.] Zzzrrrrzzzzzzzz..." he hummed. Vi pushed weakly at the Hive Knight's chest, trying to resist nuzzling into the almost silky fur against her face. Through her antennae, she could feel the wall of fluff part somewhere just above her head. She muzzily blinked and looked up, only to squeak in fear.

The struggling kicked back up a notch as the Bugarian bee was pushed headfirst into a warm, damp cave. The knight continued buzzing around her, the sound resonating through her form as it filled his mouth. Her thrashing ceased entirely. The deep vibration and gentle pressure calmed her more than she'd ever felt before. She couldn't think past the sound, past the soothing numbness that washed over her.

The honeybee went limp, her Beemerang falling from her grasp and being delicately plucked out from the larger bee's jaws. A tunnel opened before her, and her head was pressed into it as large hands guided her legs the rest of the way into the maw. She went without protest as the Hive Knight gulped a few times, pulling her easily down into the embrace of his pinkish-yellow flesh.

The next few seconds were a blur as Vi sank through waves of blissful pressure. The buzzing began to quiet as she dropped into a soft, squishy pouch in the knight's upper abdomen. She landed in a pile of fuzzy round things, which buzzed in sleepy confusion and adjusted themselves to cuddle up to the foreign bee's sides.

Careful not to crush any Hivelings beneath her, Vi sat up and sluggishly looked around, blinking into the darkness. "Whuh.. where..?" She focused intently on what she could remember of the past minute, gasping when she pieced the fragments into a semi-complete picture. She got swallowed. Her breathing sped up as she began to paw at the walls.

"H-hey! What was that for?! Lemme out!"

Something pressed in from the outside, rubbing slowly up and down. The smaller bees nosed at her curiously, nudging her back into the middle to be buried in their collective fluff. They seemed confused as to why she would be upset, as though she were the weird one for not wanting to be eaten by a STRANGER-

A particularly small Hiveling crawled onto her chest and pushed its way into her arms. "Wh- why are you..?" They headbutted her chin with a sharp 'zzt!' that left no room for argument. She tentatively lifted a hand to scratch at their head. All the Hivelings were very calm about this, only concerned by the fact that there was a distressed bee in their midst, interrupting their nap. “Oh. Okay. Huh.”

Now that she thought about it, when she touched the walls, they didn't feel like the walls of a stomach. They weren't rippled, or overly slimy. Rather, they were smooth, and almost.. velvety? (Don't ask her how she knew what the inside of a stomach should feel like, she'd never tell.) This must've been some sort of storage pouch, or something. Of course, she didn't really think the Hive Knight would eat-eat her, let alone all these actual Hive residents, but it was a relief to be certain.

Okay, so Vi was safe, that was good, but she still needed to get back to her team. It must've been at least a few hours since she left—Kabbu was probably worrying his horn off. And Leif- well, Leif was likely fine, but they'd be sad if she were gone.

The honeybee was left with one problem. She didn't know how to get out. She could ask, but she'd been put here in the first place because she was freaking out, so she'd have to be calm when she did it. And she didn’t quite expect these other bees to believe she’d calmed down so quickly. So she’d probably have to wait a while.

It really wasn’t so bad in here, to be honest. It was incredibly cozy, and hardly as humid as she’d expect for the inside of another bug. Plus, there was a soft heartbeat somewhere behind her, and steady breathing to follow along to, and the adorable little snores of the smaller bees as they settled back to sleep... Maybe she could join them in their nap. There was something she should probably do first, though.

“Hey, um, Hive Knight?” Vi began. The knight in question buzzed an acknowledgement. “Yeah, uh, if a green beetle and blue moth come in, can you make sure they don’t get hurt? They don’t mean any harm, I promise. I know them, they don’t wanna hurt anybody. They’re friends.” After hearing out her request, the larger bee hummed in confusion, thought about it for a minute, and hesitantly agreed.

“[--ll.. giv- th-m .. -h-nce.]”

She didn’t catch most of that, but it sounded positive enough. “Thanks,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around the Hiveling still on her chest and rolling onto her side to snuggle them like a plushie. The other Hivelings continued resting against and around her on all sides, enveloping her in warmth and casual acceptance.

They may not have been related, but they still took her in as easily as one of their own. Here, she didn’t have to worry about her sisters judging her for her life decisions. Here, everything was so simple. Of course, a dead kingdom full of threats at every turn could never outmatch home, but she could perhaps see a certain appeal to it.

Maybe she’d visit again some day, after she got out.

***************************************

hgjsngfdmjnsgnf bees,,,,,,, just bees. this ended up beeing both so much longer and shorter than I expected.

hnnnggggg I guess I’ll go back and proofread.. bee-r-bee (okay I only had to make like 3 edits, this is fine)

oh yeah and Vi’s gonna be so mad about the hypnosis thing later. Leif would tease the heck out of her for it if they found out. they’re lucky it doesn’t have nearly as much of an effect on non-bees. I came up with this headcanon just for this oneshot; dunno if I’ll use it again, but it was fun to play around with.

and anon? thanks. ..for bees

Thanks for reading! Feedback is greatly appreciated, and criticism is welcome, so long as it’s constructive/respectful. Asks are open.

—————

DNI NSFW blogs, blogs that post exclusively hard and/or fatal vore, weight gain blogs, proshippers, TERFs, ace exclusionists, etc.

[mightbewriting]

So I came to W&H and B&E in an odd way. I'm a long time Dramione fic reader who like many of us doubled down on in 2020 to find comfort in a bananas year. I kept seeing W&H on everyone's rec list, but for whatever reason kept putting it off. Then I heard about the prequel and decided to wait for that to be finished, read it, then do W&H. But once it was finished, I saw you recommended W&H first so I was like okay I'll do that. I struggle with impulse control but am trying to do better so when I saw the audiobook for W&H I was like perfect, I'll listen rather than read that way I won't gobble it up in a day. Ha well that did not work, I listened to the first 3 chapters (at that time those were the only chapters they had recorded) then instantly ran not walked to A03, reread said chapters, then continued on. At Chapter 4 of W&H, I thought hmm maybe I'll read them simultaneously. I continued that way maybe through Chapter 13 of B&E and Chapter 7ish then fully committed to W&H first. I cannot imagine reading these fics in real time because reading them in full, back to back was the most intense glutenous binge and it's taken over my life in the best way. I have been living in your fictional universe for the past two weeks. I started a list of all the parallels and callbacks and eventually had to call it because they are innumerable. I'm awed. In literal awe. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Your writing - the individual words of your vast vocabulary, the way you string said words together into hilarious, heart breaking, heart stopping, beautiful, and visceral feelings is astounding. It's hard to explain but even good writers (and/or an intriguing plot) sometimes do not create an overall immersive feeling. But the feelings your words evoke are all encompassing and truly universe building. Like it's not just the wording or the plot or the charters but all of it together come to make something even greater than the sum of their parts. Your writing, your universe of W&H, S&S, and B&E live in my mind and heart and in an embarrassing amount of screenshots of passages on my phone and in voice memos to myself as I don't have anyone irl to fan girl with. When I think of your words and the world you built, I'm reminded of a Taylor Swift lyric: "it cut deep to know you, right to the bone". That is how I'd describe your writing's effect on me, but in the best way.

Your brain's capacity to plot, plan, and flawlessly deliver W&H THEN B&E? Idk how you kept all the threads and plot points and moments and timelines in check. My head aches just thinking about how you wrote these stand-alone but also inextricable works of art. Like how does one's brain function in such a level? And it's especially telling in B&E because we knew where we were going but I still gasped, screamed, squealed, giggled, had to put my phone down, clutched it to my heart, fist pumped, stopped half way through just for a minute to breath and take it all in, and overall looked and acted as an utter idiot during each and every chapter because while I knew where we were going I also had no idea! I'm just floored you managed to keep us at the edge of our seats with a prequel? Who does that? You do!

The texts in the final chapter of W&H devastated me, literal chills. I think about that daily. It's exactly what H and we needed. Just like a reminder of what they went through. It reminded me of Chapter 41 of B&E. Like a summary of where they had been and where they are now.

The other thing that rattled in my brain is the motifs of choice and time, life kind of boils down to those two things huh? But choice especially. It's funny because choice is so prominent but at the same time how W&H and B&E give off soulmate vibes even though this is not a soulmate fic (also are the rumors true...?!) because despite time turners, breakups, and lost memories, they always come back together. But more on choice: it's just as Draco says - in a million scenarios he'll always choose her and he feels lucky she chose him just once. But of course with W&H, she does it twice. And she does it in both timelines of B&E, and of course that's the problem when Draco realizes he has not done the same hence heartbreak 1.0. And just god - he wants her to have a choice with the potion, a choice with her memories, and stops the timey wimey madness by realizing he's taking her choice (and in a way H started it by taking away his choice and leaving the first time). And then those parts about how he chose her, she chose him, but they could not chose each other. This motif, these callbacks. I'm flabbergasted. It's just hitting me now that you extend the choice to us as readers - we get to choose whether H get her memories back or not.

Theo in all your Wait and Hope universe, but especially S&S broke me. Blaise asking who is taking care of Theo when he's taking care of everyone else? Theo's literal and figurative demons? Yikes. Those were unpleasant looks in the mirror for me. I'm glad Theo has his Blaise. Where's mine haha? Also just shout to your underrated Blaise. The fact that he might be my favorite of the Slytherians in your stories says a lot since he doesn't say a lot haha. But he packs such a punch in all your works.

Okay, after singing your well deserved praises and fan girling and marveling at your works (god this is so long, I'm so sorry!), at long last my ask. I still cannot get this out of my head: what did Theo mean in Chapter 1 of B&E when he suggests to Draco “I know that. Maybe you could—tell her some of—” some of what? I zeroed in on this as soon as I read it and it's been rattling in my brain ever since.

um. hi? holy shit. i dont know how to process this. i am resisting the impulse to cringe away from the level of praise happening here because i really need to learn how to take a compliment but oh my god? i am not...this is just...wowzers. you are very literally too kind to me. i have melted into a puddle of feelings in my reading chair here. 

so, first things first: thank you. these are some of the nicest things i’ve ever heard about my writing and i can guarantee i will come back to this ask when I'm feeling like i suck and need a motivation boost. i can’t deny...it feels really nice to know that at least one person out there caught and appreciated some of the insane attention to detail i forced upon myself lol. so thank you. truly, thank you so much for saying such amazingly kind things that have short circuited my brain!

and im sure my friends at @etl-echo-audiobooks will be over the moon to know that their recording work was such a hit! your trajectory reading these stories is so fun and hilarious and probably the most unique reading experience i’ve heard so far xD

also, please be advised that your analysis on choice in these stories is probably going to live in my head rent free for the rest of my life. i feel seen, you know? you just...picked up what i was putting down and it feels really nice to know that it worked for you! 

and ok. your question. that little dash of ambiguity i was planning on leaving open ended. but let it be known i can be plied with compliments. i can’t just *not* give you something in return for such a lovely and kind and thoughtful dose of joy you had absolutely no obligation to give me today. 

so, in my mind, after draco’s house arrest ended and before he went abroad for his mastery, he and theo had an extensive (most likely drunken. also blaise was probably there too) night of reflection where they kind of just looked back at their childhoods and the war and the history of blood purity and just sort of went: “what the fuck?” i imagine draco probably confided in theo that when he went abroad, he planned to just try and pretend like none of it mattered, to see if that was really true. and draco probably kept him updated via owl (even though draco did not write enough and theo had feelings about that) so that by the time draco returned and we have theo asking that sort of trailing question, the implication at the end is “what if you told granger some of your realizations about it all?” so...not all that exciting? but there you have it!

in conclusion: thank you! you are too kind! i appreciate your thoughtful commentary SO much! i’m so happy you enjoyed these stories. and i hope the explanation of what theo was going to say wasn’t too underwhelming.

[justtessasworld]

connected | kai parker

Guess who's back?? Btw I'm sorry for the format, Tumblr doesn't allow me to make paragraphs anymore?? Idk why but everytime I post it with paragraphs they're suddenly gone 🤷‍♀️

~

In which y/n sees Kai in her dreams.

~

“That was a good one!”, y/n laughed.

The young woman was sitting at the table in the kitchen of some house somewhere in Virginia. At least Kai said so.

Said man was sitting in front of her, they were playing some game but he had interrupted it by his corny jokes.

“So what are you up to today?”, y/n asked after her laughter had quieted down.

“Hm, we'll see”, Kai stated, pouring himself a glass of water. “Probably going to watch some TV, steal something from the store down the street. The usual for living alone in a world.”

Y/n sighed, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. “I wish I could be there for you. Be here.” She looked around the room, around this small piece of Kai's prison world she was in.

“Oh, don't you worry! I'm just going to wait till you go to sleep again.”

Y/n chuckled dryly, scratching her fingernail over the table.

“Yes, I know, but I just-”, she stopped abruptly.

Y/n felt the strange pull in her stomach, that weird feeling she still hasn't fully become comfortable with after all these years.

“Is it already time?”, Kai asked, standing up and swiftly walking towards the woman.

Y/n nodded, gripping his arms as her legs grew weak. “I frigging hate this feeling.”

Kai chuckled, holding her waist with one hand.

“See you tomorrow”, he said, gently caressing her cheek with his free hand.

Y/n felt her face grow hot, he was so close to her and he smelled so good and-

“See you tomorrow”, she whispered and then she was gone. Disappearing into thin air.

Y/n groaned annoyed as she stopped the ringing of her alarm. 7 am.

Kicking away her blanket, the young woman pulled the ring on her necklace to the front.

It always fell to the back when she was sleeping.

Turning the ring around in her hand, y/n thought of Kai.

The ring had been his once. All those years ago before he was put into this prison world.

Y/n's grandma had found it in the woods in Portland, where Kai had lost it in the night of his imprisonment.

The ring was her gift from her grandmother at her 14th birthday. And also the reason for her dreams. Or whatever they were. They started a few days after her birthday and just never stopped. At first y/n was scared out of her mind of this strange young man in her dreams, living completely alone in the world and being so incredibly rude too. But after some troubles they really got to know each other and y/n Kai became friends, somehow.

She thought she was crazy when she was younger and she still did, sometimes. But she just couldn't believe that her mind could make up such a realistic person. Y/n never told anyone about her dreams though. Not her family nor her friends, she knew better than to try it, she had watched supernatural movies after all.

Letting the necklace go she stood up, making herself ready for work.

“Elena! How are you?”, y/n exclaimed as she saw the Gilbert sitting in the Grill.

Y/n worked there in the summer to pay off her student loans, just as a few other of her friends.

“I'm fine”, Elena snapped. Wowie, y/n thought, someone was in a bad mood right now.

Elena's gaze softened and she turned to the other young woman. “I'm sorry, y/n. It's just-”

“It's just that Damon and Bonnie are still gone?”, y/n interrupted, she might not be one of Elena's best friends but they got along more than good and so y/n knew about the absence of Elena's boyfriend and her best friend. Even though y/n didn't exactly knew everything.

“Well, Damon's back”, Elena stated. “I'm actually meeting with him here, but Bonnie's still… away.”

The way Elena's said ‘away’ made y/n frown. Bonnie wasn't missing, was she? No, if she really was missing, y/n would know. All of Mystic Falls would know.

“Well I hope she comes home soon”, y/n said, smiling brightly and said goodbye.

On her way to the bar she saw Damon and waved, a small grin forming on his normally frowning face.

After a long day at the Grill and with her friends and studies, y/n was more than happy to change out of her clothes and fall on her bed. Looking at her clock, she saw that it was already 10 pm.

Snuggling into her blankets she clutched her fingers around Kai's ring and fell asleep.

There was the feeling of falling and then suddenly she stood in the same house as last night, the sunlight bathing the dark room in bronze colors.

Turning around, y/n couldn't spot Kai. Hm, normally she would just appear in the same room as him, where was he?

“Kai?”, she shouted, walking into the hall. No answer.

“Malachai? Where are you?”, still no answer.

Without a warning the front door opened, nearly knocking y/n off her feet.

“Hey!”, she cried out taken aback, stepping back a few steps.

“Y/n? What are you already doing here?”, Kai snapped, glancing behind him. What the hell?

“Wow, Kai. I'm happy to see you too”, y/n snarled, putting her hand on her hip and looking at him suspiciously.

“You can't be here right now”, Kai growled, slamming his hand against his head.

Y/n flinched, grabbing his hand and hiding them tightly.

Kai always had the habit of punching his head and everything when something was with her, as if that would make y/n disappear. Because even though they knew each other for years now, Kai still thought that she was just a hallucination, a way of making him feel better in this lonely hell.

“Hey, Kai. Kai!”, she shouted, catching his attention. “You know I hate it when you do that”, she said quietly, her eyes sad. It hurt her so much, when she saw him in pain.

“Kai? Who are you talking too?”, a feminine voice said, standing behind the door. Before y/n could react the woman walked into the hall, looking at Kai and then at her.

Y/n knew the woman. It was-

“Bonnie?”

“Y/n?!“

Gasping y/n sat up in her bed. Fuck, her head hurt. In all these years of having these dreams she never had left them this abruptly, being more like pushed out of them than slowly pulled out.

What the hell happened?

She saw Bonnie and then she suddenly woke up. Oh God, Bonnie! Her shirt had been full of blood and she'd looked like hell. And most importantly she had been in Kai's prison world. Kai had told her that he was there because of murdering his family (with which y/n was still not comfortable with), so what had Bonnie done to get imprisoned there?

Or was she accidentally there?

Glancing at her clock, y/n saw that it was only midnight yet. Not too late to hit up Elena.

Standing in front of the massive Salvatore mansion, y/n snuggled more into her warm jacket and ringed the bell.

She had picked up Elena here a few weeks ago, the two of them wanting to go shopping with Caroline.

Now she was waiting for someone to open up, Elena or one of the Salvatores, she didn't care.

The door opened and y/n saw Damon, looking annoyed at her with an open shirt. Apparently y/n interrupted Elena's and Damon's sexy time.

Y/n smiled shyly. “I'm sorry to disturb you, but I have to talk to Elena.”

The vampire looked at her sceptically.

“It's about Bonnie.”

“So you saw her in your dreams?”, Elena asked slowly.

Y/n nodded slightly, maybe it wasn't the best idea, now they probably did think she was mental.

“And in your dreams you are in a prison world with Kai?”

Y/n nodded again.

“How do you know that psycho-boy?”, Damon looked at her closely.

“Psycho-boy? Do you know him?”, y/n asked surprised, turning to him.

“I was in that prison world with him for months. I only escaped alone because your murder-boyfriend shot Bonnie in the stomach!”, the man spat, his face furious.

Y/n gaped at him. “No, he- he wouldn't do that”, the woman whispered, then cringing.

“Well, he did kill his family, so… “, Elena mumbled and y/n frowned. She was right, though.

“How do we get her out of there?”, Damon asked annoyed.

“Well-”, y/n interrupted Elena. “What do you mean ‘her’? We have to get both of them out of there!”

“Oh no, no, no, no, no”, Damon laughed pouring himself a glass of bourbon.

“We won't help that psycho-murderer get out of there!”

“But-”

“No!”

Y/n frowned deeply.

“Well, I don't know how to get anyone out of there”, y/n snapped, “so I'll get going.”

She stood up, taking her coat from the couch.

“You may not know a way but you can help us with the witchy-woo”, Damon said.

Y/n turned around to the two of them. “Witchy-woo?”, she asked.

“Well yeah, or whatever you witches call your magic.”

“Damon, I don't think-”

“You- you think I'm a witch?”, y/n spluttered.

Damon nodded confused. Elena rubbed her temples.

“I'm not a witch!”, y/n laughed hysterically, “We're not in some kind of fairy tale!”

“Y/n, you have to have realized that these dreams aren't normal”, Elena said in a soft voice. “They're pretty common for witches.”

“I mean, of course I know that it's not normal, but I'm not--I'm not a witch.”

Y/n shook her head vehemently. “If I'm a witch, what are you? Vampires?”

Elena and Damon went silent, looking at each other.

“Oh, you've got to be kidding me”, y/n groaned, having to sit down again. “I'm in a damn Twilight fanfiction.”

It had been a week now since y/n found out about the supernatural world. And her probably being a witch. They couldn't confirm it yet, y/n couldn't actually use her ‘magic’ specifically but Elena and Damon and all the other vampires, y/n had met this week (well she did already know them, she just never knew that they weren't human) were sure that was a witch.

God, it felt so weird, saying that. Her, a witch.

There's also been another weird thing. In this whole week y/n had never dreamed of Kai. Not once. Sleeping, actually sleeping and not spending time with Kai, was strange for her.

It was like he didn't want her there, with him. As if he pushed her away.

Y/n awoke, in the middle of the night again, she had slept, like a normal human being but it felt wrong.

She grabbed the ring, thumbing it around.

“Kai, please, let me in”, she whispered, near tears. She couldn't sleep and not being able to dream of him, to be with him with her visions, she didn't just feel like she couldn't relax she felt like she had lost her best friend.

Crying out, y/n pulled off her necklace, throwing it into her room.

She couldn't sleep that night.

A few weeks later, y/n was walking home from the Salvatores, having spend the whole day trying to find a way to use her powers, as she saw a man standing on her front pouch.

“Can I help you?”, she shouted, pulling her keys out of her jacket.

The man turned around and y/n let go of her keys, clanking down to the ground.

That tall frame, dark hair, these dark intense eyes. Malachai Parker.

Y/n gasped, looking at him shocked.

Kai smiled. “Hello, love.”

The young woman cried out, letting her bag fall to the ground and running towards him.

He laughed deeply as she threw her arms around of him, picking her up. Her legs wrapping around his waist.

Kai sighed, burying his face into her hair.

“Why! Why would you keep me out? I was so worried, I thought- I-”, y/n sobbed, clutching his back.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry”, Kai mumbled, squeezing her thigh.

She looked at him, into these deep brown eyes. God, they were shining and so full of emotion. Her smooth hands stroked his jaw, up to his hair, pushing some strands back. He was so handsome and he was here.

“I can't believe you're here”, she whispered, fingernails lightly scratching his neck.

He nodded, his nose nearly touching hers.

Suddenly she was more than aware of their closeness, her legs around his middle, their faces only inches apart, his grip on her thigh.

Y/n breathed shallowly, her gaze flicking to his lips, just as his did the same.

Both of them flinched as the sound of a horn echoed from the street.

Y/n coughed slightly, awkwardly getting off of Kai.

The man grumbled something quietly.

“Let's- let's just go in”, y/n mumbled, picking up her stuff and walking to her apartment, making sure not to meet his eyes.

He was hot on her heels, following her into the small apartment y/n was able to afford.

They had spoken about that exact home once in one of her visions, Kai had never listened that closely. He was happy he did, otherwise he wouldn't have found her.

“Home sweet home”, y/n chuckled, shrugging out of her jacket.

She walked into the kitchen, drinking some water.

Kai appeared in the door frame, leaning against it.

“Love”, he started.

“How are you here? Why are you here? Why didn't I have these dreams the last weeks? You once said you're a witch? Are you a witch? Am I a witch? Elena and Damon said so but-”, y/n rambled.

Kai laughed lowly. “Breathe, y/n, breathe.”

Y/n nodded, sitting down.

“I'm going to explain everything later”, the young man said, walking to where y/n was sitting.

“But firstly I have to get some magic.” Right, y/n thought, she remembered that he was a siphoner and now being in the real world again, he could get magic again.

“Right, of course. I don't know how, though.”

Kai kneeled down in front of her, gently grabbing her wrists.

“Let me try something, that way we also find out if you really are a witch.”

Kai watched her closely. Y/n nodded, she trusted him with her life.

His grip on her wrists tightened and a hot feeling shot through them. It traveled up her arms and spread out until her whole body was hot and prickled.

“Kai”, she moaned, her body growing weak.

He stopped abruptly, letting go of her and nearly falling on the floor, his eyes dark with ecstasy.

“Y/n”, he groaned. “Well now we're sure you're a witch.”

“Why?”, she asked, slumped again the chair.

“Because I just took a bit of your magic and you have more magic than any other witch I've ever known.”

“If you want to stay you can take the bed”, y/n said, putting their dinner in the fridge.

They had spent the entire afternoon with talking, catching up with what happened in the last weeks.

Kai nodded thankfully.

“Elena called, they found Bonnie but they don't know where you are.”

Y/n felt bad for lying to Elena but she didn't want the vampires to do anything to Kai.

"Thank you", the siphoner smiled softly. "And I can take the couch if you don't mind."

"OK", the young woman whispered, turning to her bedroom door. "Goodnight, Malachai."

"Goodnight, love."

Y/n was a light sleeper, so when she started to hear mumbling from the living room she was nearly instantly awake.

"Please- I- father, please", a voice groaned loudly. Kai.

Y/n slowly stood up. He had to have a nightmare. He told her about those years ago. Moments of his childhood when his family would punish him for, well, living.

"Kai?", she called out, standing at the door. The young man was laying on her couch, his tall frame nearly to much for the small couch. He was withering under the thin blanket, hands gripping the sheets, his face sweaty and hair clinging to his forehead.

"Let me go- I'm sorry- please don't- father, please, why-", he muttered, feet kicking away the blanket.

"Kai, hey, Kai!", y/n said loudly, sitting down next to him and touching his chest.

"Kai, wake up, Kai!", she shouted, she couldn't see him like that, it hurt.

Gasping, Kai sat up, his chest heaving and his eyes scanning the room disoriented.

"It's okay, it's okay", y/n mumbled like a mantra, hugging him close.

Kai sobbed lowly, gripping her waist and pulling her even closer.

"Oh God", he groaned quietly, his body calming down slowly.

She let him go after he calmed down mostly, still holding his hands.

"Do you wanna talk about it?", y/n asked, watching him closely.

He shook his head, not meeting her eyes.

"Where-", he cleared his throat, "Where is my ring", he was looking at her neck where his ring would normally hang since she was 14.

"Oh that. I- I'm sorry, I took it off when you didn't let me in anymore. I was so angry and worried.", y/n whispered, squeezing his hand.

"I'm sorry that I did that, I only pushed you out for a few days and after that you never appeared anymore. I was worried sick, myself. Ask Bonnie, I was really grumpy the last weeks", he muttered and y/n laughed quietly.

"It's OK", she said, "And I'm sorry for taking off the necklace."

Kai smiled, squeezing her waist.

She was sitting nearly on top of him and when she realized that, she blushed.

"Oh, shit, sorry", she whispered, making a move to stand up again.

Kai shook his head, pulling her back so that she sat in his lap.

She gasped, grabbing his shoulders. Oh God they were so close.

His arm wrapping around her waist, he pulled her even closer, their chests touching.

Y/n's eyes were wide, her cheeks rosy and her hair falling out of her braid.

Kai smiled softly, his hand touching her neck and cheek.

"God, you're so beautiful", he mumbled leaning towards her and before she knew it their lips touched.

Y/n moaned lowly, her hands gripping his shirt. Angling her head, she kissed back, slipping her tongue between his lips.

Kai's grip around her waist tightened, his hand teasing her braid.

His kiss turned more passionate, her hand clawing at his back, his neck.

"Fuck", Kai gasped as he pulled away, his eyes nearly black.

Y/n nodded shakingly, her lips swollen.

"I've waited so long for this", he chuckled, pecking her lips. Y/n grinned heartily, closing the gap again.

They were finally together.

~

Kai Parker taglist:

@kikii-stfu @panic-naran

[hybrid-lion]

*lights cigarette and sips tea like Kermit the frog while wearing green*

File under: wyldling stuff

OR

 "You do not want to sell me death sticks… You want to text me and have me do your dishes and sleep on the floor and make art with you.*

 ~Obi Wan

  So let's see…

 I'm about 2 months in now to this foray, it's actually genuinely nice out today despite the cloud cover (I grew up in NE so I enjoy grayish days all the same); I live for both sunny days and can be happy in the rain, but prefer not sleeping in the elements considering what I'm working with (as romantic of an idea it seems).

  This is very much well known of me—

 Oof that hibiscus tea hits just right though..

 That hibiscus tea though..

 Let's see, was able to consolidate the backpack we're still rocking with the 60 ltr. bag and thanks to the organization and efforts of giving people that showed up for us at St. Paul's here  in the community I was able to get a couple things (A ground pad that I might not actually need ((  I might be able to give that to somebody and pay that forward, got a sleeping bag, etc), some utilities. You know how that goes.

 The past two months have been working with the land, cleaning up around town, reaffirming my lessons and send eof value of my self, holding people accountable and choosing where I place my time and energy.

 The folks who organize the cold weather shelter on South Main deserve all the praise, as well as the folx down at the Friendly Kitchen for coming in clutch with regular warm meals. I've dropped some weight out here that I was hoping to keep on walking around but am strong like a taxidermied pachyderm again.

 I've mostly been aiming to get out of the state shortly in the coming days and hit the road again which is my goal. I'm excited to extend myself to apply to different environmental jobs as well as bring my best to the table and good opportunities as they present themselves to me.

I genuinely believe people can choose to stop and take the time to start good processes. I'm aware of what I know and my journey and if you would, some of the ideations of that destiny and would believe others will seize their own alongside me, and choose to avoid standing in my way but with me as well in love and defiance of apathy or inaction, which is why I'm such a vocal proponent of my beliefs. 

 I'm practicing not having to be so vocal so that there is a more contingent balance right now and my energy and efforts are understandably valued as they are similar in weight and goals as other like minded folks.

I've been working out, practicing meditations and forms, and just getting back into the swing of things. My aims and aspirations are clear and I know that my intentions are good as ever.

 

 Where am I is I am currently posted over on one of my favorite benches; don't really know exactly what the day has but I'm looking forward to it—

  I have a heart song that I want to sing when I can sing it for folks without being pressured to do so.

  In my heart the possibilities I have in mind are made reality, and Im quite resolved in handling things as I am capable best and positively fof what the day could bring us jn our best interests and designs.

 

   I've reached out to a couple folks from my past life if you would.

   I am hoping and anticipating that somebody decides to hit me back, as that would be super helpful in not being out. I would ideally find a dry floor to crash on and pull my weight in turn like that Orphans song would echo the sentiment of.

  I'm going to be in the area for a little while and it'd be really reaffirming to catch up on some folks if they chose to and if they decided— 

I forgot I have Honey and Oat granola bars too.. I have snacks. 

This is great.

— as I was  if they decided to do so and it was in their best interest as well—  Genuinely just my best for mine and me these days and forward.

With my comprehension of oneness and many forms of practicality in reality I'll probably check in to different circles and with others when it's appropriate for me without inviting in tons of unneeded chaos in a negative fashion and moreso in Lightness.

Idk if anyone ever thinks of the lightness of chaos, or as I prefer to put it, 

  "I loathe constructive dis-order as I choose to see it…"

 Planned for a lot of adventures in the immediate future that I want to pan out mostly specifically pertaining to artwork as well as hopefully I have my eyes on the horizon, working with the land as well as maybe doing some tending and traveling.

 I would be way better off having somebody with me rather than just solo dolo, physically present.

 I got to feed the birds this morning which was super jovial and fun and I've been doing that frequently with meditations on giving and receiving and just for the sake of it.

I just I picture myself atm unwilling to play the proverbial hermit/ 

I actually still love people and socializing on my best days.

 

Going to be heading up either Northern New England or maybe down to the coastline.

 I would like to see the ocean again.

 I was thinking about that the other day which it occurs to me. 

Honestly even though I've spent time by the water  a lot it occurs to me that I never really like had like an avid passion for hanging out or like experiencing the ocean that much as a young adult or as a kid growing up it wasn't out of like fear it wasn't out of animosity…

(although sharks and things in the depths are very scary you know like stare into as the saying goes into the void the void stares)

 Back like there's probably things down there you wouldn't want to be poking.

 Same could be said for a lot of things but you know also you know when you go into something with the right mentality you have to bear in mind you know your mentality— like usually attracts like if you can bear that in mind. So again absolutely l o a t h e me some constructive dis order 🖤💜❤️💜

   Some of my life teachers or guides or a few out me into these and I in turn should fly over there when able and give them a big ol cup of hibiscus tea and mindful of how greatly I value their and my lessons and blessings in turn.

   So yeah we're excited to see what the Day brings might be breaking for camp I do have to like my cigarette again apparently even though I'm trying to quit and will be putting it shortly

 

You only know what you know and where the day is going to take you as you can plan to have and you always hit some small bumps on the road.

 I'm only expecting the best from myself and others these days which is really good applying my lessons as I see fit and not getting caught up on other people's interests from me and spending my time wisely.

 

Speaking of I do need to go to my old house over alcohol and procure some things I have that planned out with a peace officer and I'm just not going to be letting that situation weigh me down. 

 I'm not going to be associating with my prior abusers from my birth family that can't show up for love.

  I'm literally going for some tools and CM and perhaps my yoga mat, which would be more it'd be easier to carry them to the sleeping mat and it'll be able to use it for yoga.

Stretching in the morning, which has again become very very important to me being out and about all the time and just thinking about it now it's like I want to work on my hamstrings but I'm not going to do that atm.

 I'm still going to be procuring microphone when I have the resources available, more mobile gear than anything but still quality gear so I can get the podcast going in the meantime we're just doing logs and poetry and writing and patching and selling and things that make me happy little enjoy enjoyable pastimes like journaling.

 I've been trying to get back to people as well have met some real ones out here that I would take with me if I was precisely able to, specifically some of the older guys from the shelter and kitchen, a couple of the sisters around my age, a few of my bunkmates and some other seasoned folks who seem like good souls, again focusing on tending to reality of my situation and minding my own.

 Very much back to myself as capable as I've grown,  when I'm able to despite the obstacles that have been conquered as well as the obstacles that have been accomplished and already overcome. 

One door closes, another door opens and there's a time and place to address these kinds of things. Sargeant comes to my house like don't sweat the petty things and don't pet the sweaty things like— luckily I'm wearing antiperspirant.

  Clean as a whistle over here surprisingly enough even though I can't remember the last time I showered.

 Which is hilarious even though yesterday was Saturday and I should have.

  I should have showered then,

  but I've just been  mobile and like give myself punk baths here and there like the sink bath. Anybody who's ever been at like at like a camp or a conference knows very much about the same bath or a punk bath if you would whatever you want to call it without being too to non PC. 

 Going now I'm going to hit back a couple folks see if anybody will let me stash my pack with them for a little bit while I go over to my prior abusers house just so I don't have like a 60 l plus bag on my back all the way over there and yeah just expecting the best for myself in the immediate future and hopefully people will come along for the ride it'll be super fun lots of good s*** be wild wild times.

    If y'all like my prior content or want to see more of my future content you can just get at me digitally most accessible for me right now when I have my phone charged until I can procure some more gear.

  You  can always contact me if you have to light if you want to like WebEx or zoom/ video chat as well as long as it's appropriate timing and I'd let you know but yeah you know if anybody wants to reach out to me feel free you know you again it would be nice to re–meet some folks. 

you can look at supporting me or helping me get through this tumultuous time and then I turn I can always of course give back to the community to pull my own weight if you would both literally and proverbial as well as see fit you know what would work best for those involved in the meantime I'm probably just going to eat some granola bars and figure out where to put this backpack because it is lofty the luggage is lofty but manageable and I'm keeping it I also really want to go pick up my echeveria from the house I don't know if I can but something's telling me just carry the echeveria around with me even though it's like not exactly it's not exactly portable right now but how like how perfect would it be if I just have my echeveria like on my head or like on the in the back of my pack like like I don't know like I remember I remember being out in SF and seeing folks with like their cats or like their dogs and their rats just hanging out with them on their shoulder and I'm like I'll just take my complex houseplants with me.

   I can effectively do for myself today looks like the sun's coming out peeking out from behind the clouds a little bit and even if it doesn't it's still out there somewhere which is super lovely and yeah other than that many blessings and you know make your day serve you to your utmost potential as only you yourself would know.

You want to get at me or if you want to support my at the time even like the smallest bean of grain–

 You can hit the cow like button

 you can toss a coin to your shifty cat friend 

or you can hit me up on ko-fi so I can then turn by you a coffee however they pronounce that.

 I know the value of my content and I'm going to be putting that on lock or at least some of the more special personal things for folks who want to subscribe to that kind of stuff that'll be done.

 

  IG is still going to be getting regular updates along with my personal snap when I'm able to and in the position too and other than that yeah all y'all have a beautiful beautiful week ahead of you.

~D

@hybrid_lion on IG

 campsite.bio/hybrid_lion

http://liondaydreams.com/

Also if I was meandering through and stopped to say hai and catch up I might be kind of ragged but clean up nice

Working on this one as well...