#like the first week when it’s snowing for the first time that season he’d be all hyped

[ectoplasmer]

it’s late and my brain is barely working and my room is cold as usual and i know there are a lot of other more important things i could be mulling over but i’m thinking about how my f/os would fare in the winter weather and like. the odds aren’t looking too good here

[eilidh-eternal]

You have a secret

Part of the Metanoia series | Part 1 | Masterlist |

| SingleDad!Johnny x f!reader | 18+ MDNI | CW death of a loved one, grief, attempted SA, Johnny and reader are going through it |

Glasgow is cold in January.

Hogmanay came and went with the typical rambunctious celebrations, every bar and pub in the city overflowing with patrons that spill out onto the pavement and the streets, properly drunk and stumbling over one another as they make their way to the next bar. Some of your coworkers invited you out for a bar crawl, just as they did last year, but you’d decided going out in the freezing weather and nursing a hangover at work in the morning isn’t worth the trouble. So home you stay, curled up with cheap Tesco sparkling wine and the last book on your reading list for the year, the tv playing a montage of celebrations across the city quietly in the background, and you slink off to bed just as the fireworks settle and the night falls quiet.

The days that follow are quiet too, the first week of the new year creeping along in the hazy in between, that little reset that comes between the holiday season and the yawning winter that looms before you, corporate deadlines and end of fiscal year reports that will start to pile up soon. You enjoy the quiet calm of that in between, try to remember what it feels like to be able to step away from your desk and take a lap around the office to stretch your legs before you’re inundated with so many reports you hardly have time to break away to use the restroom. 

Johnny frequents your thoughts more than you'd like to admit as you stroll around the office floor, wondering if he's operating in the same lull as you are, biding his time until his next assignment with dull busywork and monotonous routine. Wondering if he and Isobel had celebrated Hogmanay at home like you had or if maybe he’d taken her to a friends flat with him, one of his team members. Wondered if he let her stay up late with him and counted down the fireworks display together, or if he tucked her into a spare bedroom some hours before, waking her up just in time to see them and take her home to her own bed for the night. 

The growing tinge of disappointment hung like storm clouds over your mood when you hadn’t seen much of them in the days leading up to the new year, and you began to think maybe all the smiles, all the double entendres, were just a friendly personality and polite kindness on his part; just a neighbor being neighborly. There was an exchange of phone numbers with the offer to call or text one another if the other ever needed anything after dinner several weeks ago. Hardly an invitation for conversation. Another polite exchange and thanks for your mutual goodwill. 

Pretending not to care, to resist the urge to check your phone whenever it vibrates on your desk or in your back pocket, takes more effort than you had expected. It’s not him. Why would it be him? It’s not like he said he would call.

But Johnny has a habit of surprising you.

Snow and lights and festive wreaths don’t hold the same wonderment they used to. They all remind him of her. Remind him how she always insisted on a big family dinner. How she was always the one who invited everyone to their home and always had his favorite scotch on hand to toast with at midnight. The lights remind him of flashing red and blue, screaming sirens that cut through the air like the mournful wail of a banshee. The snow covered roads look too much like the roads did that day, tires slipping and sliding, the tail end of his car nearly spinning him out on the highway in his desperation to get to her. 

And the quiet.

The quiet of the world when snow falls and blankets the earth in layers of glittering sorrow makes the silence deafening. Her laughter doesn’t echo Isobels, there are no footsteps mirrored in the snow beside hers, and the tiny angel in the front yard stares up at the clouds where its missing guardian watches over them. It’s hard, for both of them. Isobel doesn't remember the accident, doesn’t remember riding in the ambulance with her mother or the way the security guard and several nurses had to hold Johnny back when she coded. She doesn't remember the tears, the anger, the denial of everything unfolding in front of him, crumbling around him and knocking the air from his lungs, leaving him crumpled on the floor outside her room. 

Isobel didn’t see how he sat slumped against the wall with his head between his knees, arms folded over his legs and fingers digging into his skin until the blunt edges of his nails drew blood. She never saw the procession of doctors and nurses that slowly filed out of the room, the only sound in the somber silence the soft tapping of rubber soles on tile. No beeping from monitors, no clicks and whooshes of the ventilator. Heavy, suffocating silence.

The social worker sat with him, let him fall apart right there on the hospital floor, a sympathetic hand resting on his trembling shoulder as he poured his heart out onto the cold, sterile white tile beneath him. When the silence became unbearable, when it started clawing at his skull and slicing into his skin like razor wire, he let her fill it. He listened to her tell him that Isobel is okay–scared, in shock–but alive and breathing. Lets her lead him through more sterile hallways to an office where another social worker does their best to occupy the tiny girl, but the minute Johnny walks through that door she’s all trembling hands and watery eyes, wobbly chin and confused tears.

He does his best not to let her see it, not when the snow is still full of magic and the lights still make her eyes bright with joy, pure and unbridled. But it's hard to hide the grief that dulls his own, the wintery haze that hardens them into icy pools that long for the warmth of summer skies. It’s hard to step outside and breathe the crisp winter air and not feel his throat constrict, feel the warmth seep from his body, replaced with the empty cold of a world without her in it.

Sometimes he can hear little bits of her in the way Isobel laughs, can see the same stubborn crease of her brow when she can’t quite figure something out and refuses to ask for his help. He sees the same light and spark in her eyes, the same mischief that they once shared through the years, and he can't bear to dim that light, to extinguish the joy and happiness that lives there.

It was a quiet holiday for the two of them. No big parties, no dinner and drinks, despite John's invitation. Just Johnny and Isobel, cuddled up together on the couch watching movies and sharing bites of whatever snack or dessert the other brought with them. He thought about texting you, asking if you had plans to go out, or maybe stay in. Isobel came trotting back from the kitchen, one of the cookies the two of you had made together in-hand, and clambered onto his lap, peering at the unsent message to you on his phone screen.

“What’s it say?” She squints her little eyes at the letters, still not quite able to put the words together.

“Nothin’, leannan.” The words disappear from the text field and he tosses his phone aside to settle his arms around her. “Did ye bring one for me?” She shakes her head no but breaks off a chunk and offers it up to him. “Thank ye.” He leans forward to take it from her, takes the bite straight from her hand, and her delighted giggles fill the gaping hole in his chest with comforting warmth.

Cinnamon and pine still lingers in the air, mingled with the scent of paper and ink, with the warm coffee several customers clutch between cold fingers. With boxing day and the holidays behind them, the shops are much less overwhelming at this time of year, most of the aisles in the book store blessedly empty and the silence only occasionally interrupted by the fluttering of pages or soft footsteps on carpeted floors. The perfect atmosphere for strolling between shelves and taking the time to read more than the blurb on the inside cover of a book before adding it to the small collection already cradled in your arms. It’s the perfect, quiet afternoon until it’s not. Until the silence is broken and every hair on the back of your neck is standing at attention.

“Well, lookit you. Pretty little thing, aren’t ya?” The words are clumsily spoken, slurred and hot against your cheek where his breath fans across clammy skin, sour and putrid, reeking of alcohol and god knows what else. He plucks the book from your hands, works hard to focus his eyes as he surveys the cover art and skims through a passage from the middle of the book. You stumble back a step, heels catching on the shelf behind you and nearly sending a few of the more precariously shelved titles tumbling to the ground. He follows, the only space between him and you created by the book in his hands, and you clutch your little stack tighter to your chest, willing hardbacks and delicate pages to become armor. “This isn’t the kinda stuff a little lady should be readin’.” He waves the book in your face, braces a hand on the shelf beside your head when he teeters off balance, and leans far too close, crowds you back against the shelf until the wood digs into your shoulder blades.

A glance at either end of the aisle reveals nothing but empty rows of shelves and not a soul in sight, no one to come to your rescue.

“I-I can read what I want. Please leave me alone, sir.”

“This is pure filth,” he sneers, shoving the book back at you. It lands on the floor at your feet with a fluttering ‘thump’ and the shelving behind you creaks as you try to maintain some distance from him. You wish that the novels at your back would open their covers and draw you in, hide you between the inked words within their pages. “Worse than porn, this is. ‘S not even any good. Why read this shite when you can have the real thing?” His hand dips down to fumble with something beneath his coat and you hear the metal teeth of a zipper unfurling.

You know what’s happening, know what you’ll see if you look down. You know that you should push and shove and yell and scream, but you can’t. Fear and realization settle heavy against your body, fog your mind with a haze so thick your vision turns blurry at the edges, and when you open your mouth to speak the only thing that comes out is a strangled, muted gasp as he presses his full body weight against you, searing heat pressed firm against your stomach and pinning you in place. 

Everything feels slow and blurry. Like you're underwater, trying to run across the bottom of the ocean, salt water stinging your eyes. The dread that weighs so heavily on your chest keeps you there, refusing to let you surface, refusing to let you draw more than shallow breaths that feel like lungfuls of water instead.

Something cuts through the depths. A noise. Someone's shouting. Angry. And then that weight on your chest, the weight that pins your body to the shelf, is gone. You still can’t breathe, salt water still blurs your vision, distorts the movement in front of you and leaves you disoriented, unsteady on your own feet. There’s more noise, softer this time.

An employee. She’s asking you something. Asking if you’re ok. You let her guide you, away from the aisle to a back room to sit in a chair and drink water from a paper cup while she calls the police. She stays with you until they get there and while they ask you questions, sits in silent support beside you and refills your water when you need it. The police leave, tell you that if they see the man he’ll be picked up, and the younger woman asks if you want to call someone to get you, to drive you home.

The thought of anyone else seeing you, talking to you, trying to touch you, makes your stomach twist with nausea. So you drive yourself home, empty book bag tossed in the seat beside you, no music to fill the silence. You don’t quite know how you got there, sitting in your car outside your house. Can’t remember making the turn down your street or how long ago you killed the engine.

Long enough for Johnny to take notice, it seems. He’s knocking on the window, calling your name, and it startles you. Drags you up from the quiet depths of your mind and sets your heart racing. Too fast. Too much. The car is too small, the seat belt too tight across your chest, and you need out. He nearly gets hit with the door, dodges heavy metal as it swings open suddenly, and his brows slope together in concern when he sees your shaking hands, sees the way you won’t look at his face.

“Wa’s wrong, bonnie? Wha’ hap-” You shove the door closed behind you, brush him off and skitter around him, won’t come within more than a few meters of him, and he calls after you as you climb the stairs to your door, hurriedly fitting the key in the lock. “Have I done-” 

You don't hear the rest of his sentence, and Johnny is left dumbstruck at the bottom of the steps, the slam of your front door and the sound of the deadbolt clicking into place ringing in his ears like he’s stood too close to a grenade.

Next>>>

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

[postmortemnivis]

spring was simon’s favourite season.

maybe because it meant rebirth, seeing the trees turn a vivid green again and the fields full of flowers and colours gave him hope. he loved to wake up and open his window in the early days of april, when the world was finally getting rid of the chilly morning breeze that always made him sick the first weeks of winter. every time he felt the air getting warmer, he couldn’t wait to change his heavy winter jacket into his windbreaker.

maybe it was because his birthday was in may, and despite not having celebrated it like he should’ve when he was a kid, he knew you would never forget to wake him up with a soft peck on the lips.

‘morning birthday boy.

if you asked him, he would tell you he liked spring better than summer because the weather was more enjoyable, not too hot yet not cold. spring’s light showers were his favourite noise to wake up to, after the one of the coffee maker he got you for christmas.

the real reason simon was so devoted to spring, almost as much as he was to you, were you. what did you expect from him?

he knew you probably couldn’t remember, but all those years back, you two met in early spring, after a particularly difficult winter.

simons life had been a deep, cold and dark winter for the past years. two, five, ten, who kept count anymore? his days would blend one into the other, seasons slowly bleeding into the next, he almost couldn’t tell the difference between august and february. seasonal depression was real, but somehow it lingered all around the year for him. that was before you.

you were the first shy sun ray that filtered through the clouds, quite literally. you, as fresh as the cold rain, and your heart, as warm as a late may afternoon, were all he needed to get out of his hibernation. you were what simon needed to wake up, the signal that spring and all beautiful things were on the way, that he needed to arise and get out of his hollow tree.

for the first time in years, simon’s eyes realized that spring was blooming everywhere around him, he was just too deep into his winter, blind, to notice; the flowers were blossoming, as beautiful as ever. he was grateful.

for you, for spring, for the sun finally caressing his face and skin and for your sweet kisses, each of them feeling like the first warm day after months of wind and snow.

“good morning, birthday boy.” you whispered as you kissed his lips.

simon squeezed his eyes shut before slowly opening them. he’d heard you get up, of course, the moment you started stirring in bed he was informed you were awake. you could try to keep the military out of the house, but the instincts followed him home, whether you liked it or not.

your bright smile was beaming at him, your hands on his bare broad chest as you sat on his hips, your thighs on either side of his waist.

“‘mornin’ beautiful.” he mumbled, resting a strong hand on your hip as he sat back, leaning against the headrest.

“breakfast’s in the kitchen,” you smiled, “i made coffee too.”

he hummed. “can smell it. i heard you too.”

you grinned.

“what’re grinning at?” he tiredly grinned back.

“want me to bring you breakfast in bed?” you said, “we can stay here in bed all day if you want to.”

he shook his head. “nah, love, i’m coming to the kitchen. i’ll be ready in a minute.”

you brought your lips to his again before getting off of him and caressing his cheek as you walked back to the kitchen, waiting for him.

his eyes followed your figure until you left the room, and he raised his gaze to the ceiling for a minute before shuffling his feet to the bathroom. he closed the door and stood in front of the sink, his hands on either side of the ceramic. his brown eyes, so dark they looked black, remained fixed on his reflection before he walked to the big window and opened the panes.

“simon?” you called. “baby, your coffee’s getting cold!”

his broad figure stood there, studying the nature outside. there was a small park in front of the flat, a little green heaven where mostly children went to play, he could hear from there the laughters and giggles. the trees, wild cherries and guelder rose followed the small street, their branches almost reaching the top floor where you lived.

“comin’ love.”

it was the middle of may, almost summer, and simon took a big breath of the fresh morning air before leaving the window open as he turned around and walked to the kitchen, right into his little piece of spring.

[butwhyduh]

honestly jdk just tim drake x reader where one/or multiple of the batfam walks in?? i just find them entertaining, or they are continually being interrupted through the day!

Warning: eventual smut and Tim is done with everyone’s shit. If it’s not the end of the world, don’t call me- level done. And you can tell it’s fanfic because Tim is actually an adult.

Tim didn’t get into shows very often. He’s busy and he has a terrible habit of falling asleep after the first 10 minutes. He didn’t want to watch the show but he was tinkering with some of his tech while sitting on the couch and you put it on. And that’s how he got sucked in.

“And Daphne said yes to that? Drew is not good enough to lie to her friends over,” he said and you started telling him the backstory.

You binge watch the next few episodes to catch up to the new season. It was a fun and scandalous show, nothing like Tim’s usual picks. And he thought it was cute how animated you were when talking about the show.

“Trevor needs to get his shit together or not only is Naomi going to leave him, he’ll go to jail,” Tim said.

“Yeah but he owes the local crime boss money and he said he’d kill his family otherwise,” you countered.

“Sounds like Gotham,” Tim quipped. You lightly smacked his arm before laying your head on his shoulder and entangling your arm in his.

“That is not comforting,” you said. “Oo they’re going to tell us who took the diamonds!”

The bat phone started ringing almost off the coffee table. You groaned and let Tim go to sit up to answer that.

“The corner of 17 and Parkway? How many combatants?” He said in Bat speak. And that’s when you knew your date night was over. He hung up and turned to you looking apologetic.

“I have to go,” he said. You sighed but pulled him into a hug.

“Be safe. I’ll be here,” you said with practices familiarity. He kissed you before grabbing his stuff and leaving. He didn’t get back until hours later with some fresh bruises and a girlfriend asleep on the couch.

It was 2 days later that you tried to continue the show. Tim had told Bruce to call someone else first. The door was locked and his phone was on silence. You’d even given him some pretty good incentives if you were uninterrupted and alone after the show.

It was all of ten minutes into the continued episode with pho takeout on the way that the fire escape window opened. In flopped Nightwing covered in mud.

“No,” Tim groaned. You huffed before pausing the show. “Do you need help?”

“Only a bit,” Dick said as the understatement of the year. He let Tim look at him to find that he was leaking blood all over the carpet from a bullet wound in his thigh. “Only a graze. Do you have a bandaid?”

“Good lord,” you replied as Tim called Alfred. You quickly grabbed a towel to stop the bleeding.

It was a few hours later and a carpet cleaner before Nightwing and your carpet were patched up. By that time it was the middle of the night and you couldn’t concentrate on anything. Tim promised a date night another day.

This one was a whole week later. All of the Robins had been warned under pain of torture to not talk to Tim for that evening. Because Tim was to put it mildly, frustrated. You two hadn’t had alone time in over a week.

You started the show back up with all entrances locked and phones off. You were able to watch the next 15 minutes before you heard broken glass.

“Hey did you know your window was locked,” Superboy said standing in front of the window. Tim practically growled before pausing the show to shove Kon out the window.

“I don’t know what you need but the other members of Young Justice are available. Call them,” Tim said but it was already too late. The wind had blown into the room and it was starting to snow outside so he couldn’t exactly ignore the window. Once again date night was canceled.

Tim was so frustrated that he had dreams about you in his bed. It was almost a week later and now 3 episodes behind on the show that you had another date night. He was almost willing to skip the show entirely at this point just to have alone time.

Tim had practically threatened everyone he knew with death threats to leave you both alone.

“Someone is feeling the mode,” Bart joked.

“You mean, someone needs to get laid,” Kon added.

“At this point, yes! I don’t want to see, hear, or think of either of you tonight. Unless it’s the  apocalypse, then I don’t want to even know about it,” he growled. The two other heroes howled with laughter as he left.

You could tell Tim was distracted and preoccupied by the way his hand gripped and squeezed your thigh. He gave you frequent kisses between scenes. As the episode ended, Tim pounced.

“Tim!” You gasped as he pushed you to lay on the couch before the credits were even done. It turned to a moan as his hand slid between your thighs to rub you through your panties.

“It’s been way too long,” he groaned as he kissed down your throat. He was almost never this aggressive and it was dizzying. He pushed your panties to the side to finger you.

“Oh fuck,” you gasped as he hit deep inside you. His hips rubbed his hard cock against you. He pulled at your shirt with one hand.

“Take it off,” he groaned with impatience. Before you had even gotten the fabric over your head, he had attacked your chest. Pulling a nipple into his mouth and sucking hard while fingering you thoroughly had you whimpering.

You shoved down his pants to grasp him in a loose fist. Tim rutted into your hand while sloppily kissing across your chest.

“Please, want you,” you whined and he wasted no time sliding in. Your back arched with a gasp. His arm reached behind your back and Tim took his time with long deep strokes.

This pleasure cycle couldn’t last forever and you both finished far too soon. Tim kissed you softly and gently.

“We can continue this later. I think the food is here,” he said.

“Sounds good,” you said adjusting your clothes and sitting up. “I’ll be right back,” you added as you went to clean up.

Tim answered the door in his messied hair and haphazardly placed clothes. Instead of the food delivery guy, it was Jason standing with his food box. Tim frowned.

“What do you want?”

“Pizza anyone?”

“Leave,” tim growled, taking the box. Jason laughed.

“Interrupting something?” Tim almost slammed the door in his face. “Hey, I just need keys to the Robin motorbike,” Jason added. “Oh I didn’t know you watched that show. Can you believe that in last week’s episode, it was the mom all along. Wild hu?”

Tim sighed before throwing the keys at Jason. “Go away.” He slammed the door.

“Well that sucks,” you said across the room.

Tim locked the door and sat the pizza box on the table. “I’m gonna be honest, and that is that I really just want to finish what we started before pizza. I’m not picky where.”

You laughed before letting him grab you fireman style over his shoulder to drag you into the bedroom. There was no way you were answering the door after that.

[bloodyknucklesforme]

Red Summer | Ghoap x F!Reader | Slasher!AU

After breaking up with your long term boyfriend you take a job working as a camp counselor in Northern Vermont. Seven weeks of swimming, volleyball, archery and hiking. There's even a hot lifeguard. It seems perfect until you find something evil is lurking in the woods

Tags: Slasher AU, Ghoap x Reader, intro chapter, nondescript reader, dark fic

Chapter 1: Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

5.5k words

It smelled like Summer. Ozonic and earthy, carried into your car by the breeze as you drove North through winding roads. Montpelier was two hours behind you now. 

Despite the eighty degree heat, Vermont was lush and green. Only a couple more miles of shaded forest roads before you reached camp. At least you hoped so. Your maps app had been slow to load the last twenty miles.

The place was North, nestled between the border of Canada and the New Hampshire state line. It was gorgeous though. Anytime you thought about moving out of New England to somewhere cheaper the next season changed your mind. The trees just didn’t look as pretty in fall or the snow as splendid in winter. You just wished it was cheaper.

Suppose that’s why you took this job, as much as it didn’t appeal to you. Camp counselor for seven long weeks, the pay was shit but your food and board came free. After a bad breakup you didn’t have time to find a new lease so your life was packed up into a rented storage box with anything valuable shoved into the back of your car. 

A friend of a friend recommended it. She’d been working here for years, attended for even more. She was an old money New Englander. Boarding school outside of Boston and all that. She was nice though. Got you the job over any qualified candidates. It wasn’t nepotism but whatever it was called you wouldn’t complain.

Your car dinged. Low gas. Shit.

Scrolling quickly through the map you saw a gas station up ahead. You’d just make it… hopefully. 

You let out a sigh of relief as you pulled into the station. It was older with dusty windows and sun-faded posters for cigarettes. 

A piece of paper was taped to the pump.

“Reader broken. Pay inside” scribbled in sharpie.

You sighed and headed inside. 

It was dusty inside too. A couple aisles of brightly packaged food and walls lined with fridges filled with beer and soda. The man behind the counter glanced up from his book when you walked in.

He was handsome. Black with dark, short cut curly hair and big brown eyes. Much too handsome to be working in the middle of nowhere. He’d look more fitting in the corner of a bar, buying you a drink. He smiled up at you and your heart might have skipped a beat. 

“Pump three? How much?” He was English… strange.

“Just…uh… ten bucks.” You stumbled out. 

“It’s the accent,” he chuckled. “It throws everybody off the first time.” 

“It’s a strange place for an Englishman to be, I guess.” You swayed awkwardly. 

“I go to Middlebury. Easier to get a summer job than fly home.” He shrugged. 

“Understandable.” You weren’t an expert on Vermont geography but you swore the college was on the other side of the state. 

“Ten on three.” He said, nodding his head towards the window.

“Oh yeah. Thank you.” 

“You still got to pay, love.”

“Oh fuck, yeah. Sorry… uh… Kyle.” You read his name tag before digging through your tote bag, finding the last bit of your cash.

“No worries. What brings a girl like you out here.”

“I’m working at the camp.”

“Weldon lake, right?”

“Yeah. First time… I’m going the right way, right?”

“If you continue up the road. There will be a sign when you need to turn.” He handed you your receipt. 

“Thank you.” 

“Hey!” You were half way out the door when he called. “Stay alive out there. Heard the campers can be down right evil.”

“I’ll try!”

The rest of the journey was smooth, there was a sign just like Kyle said. Another one after that taking you down a long gravel drive and into a dirt parking lot. A couple other cars were there already. 

You made sure everything important was locked up in the trunk before grabbing your duffel bag and tote. You hoped you brought enough sunscreen. 

The sun was warm on your back as you made your way up to the main building. Two other girls were hanging around on the porch. They each wore matching white baseball shirts with red sleeves and trim, each labeled with STAFF on the back. 

“Hey, you’re Sophia’s friend, right? I’m Janie.” She jumped down from the porch fence. “I love your braids by the way.”

You’d done your hair before leaving, figuring it’d be easier to keep clean braided than fight for limited shower time. 

“I’m Natalie,” The other girl greeted. You introduced yourself, thanking Janie for the compliment.”

“I think your cabin is next to mine. I can take you over once you check in.” Janie said.

Check in was easy enough. Sign a couple more papers, show off your ID to prove you were you and get your cabin assignment, key and two staff shirts. Tomorrow was orientation before the campers arrived Monday morning. Tonight was for getting to know everyone. 

“So, where’s this cabin?” you asked, walking outside.

The girls grinned and led you down the path. Everything seemed to branch off from here. They pointed out where the dining hall was just past the main office next to the nurse’s station.

“Don’t expect much. They’re still recovering from when Covid almost killed this place.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah. They had to raise fees and a bunch of parents freaked out. Guess an extra hundred dollars really threw all the millionaires off.” Natalie laughed. 

Next was the pool, fully fenced in and surrounded by two tennis courts and two basketball courts on either side. 

“Hey lasses!” A man called from the pool, leaning over the chain link fence. Natalie rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “Who’s the new girl?”

He had a thick Scottish accent. Lots of transplants for the area, you guessed. He was also handsome. Muscular with a dark mohawk and light eyes. He was shirtless with very short and tight red shorts on and a silver whistle around his neck. He was dripping water over the ground.

“You say that like you aren’t also the new guy, Johnny!” Natalie called, clearly annoyed already. 

“Nat hates him.” Janie giggled. 

“It’s been three hours and he’s already tried to fuck half the counselors. He’s a dog.”

“One I’d put on a leash.” Janie laughed.

Johnny walked over, still dripping wet. His crocs squeaked with every step. 

“Johnny,” he grinned, holding out his hand to you. You introduced yourself as he shook your hand excitedly. He had a tattoo on his side, up by his ribs. You couldn’t see all of it but it looked like a heart with someone’s initials in it. S and something else, you couldn’t tell for sure. “Beautiful name for a beautiful gal.”

Your cheeks felt hot as his blue eyes traveled over your body. 

“It’s going to be a fun seven weeks with all you bonnie lasses around.” He grinned. Nat looped her arm around yours.

“Down dog. We still have half the camp to show off.”

“You know where to find me. Pool looked like the lake when I got here.” He raised his hands up as he walked backwards towards the pool again.

“Come on, before we lose Janie.”

“He’s hot!” She defended. 

“You just like him because he got your name right on the first try.”

“He’s intelligent too!”

The cabins were next. Ten white painted buildings split in half with about eight beds on each side and a shared bathroom in the back. They formed a circle around a fire pit with log benches. 

You had cabin room 14. Janie was the building next door in 15 and Nat with 16 sharing with her. They took turns explaining everything.

“Your bed is the only non bunk and the chest underneath locks so anything you don’t want the campers to find should go there.”

“Basically all your shit. I had a copy of Crime and Punishment stolen last year. Fucking Crime and Punishment like any of these kids could read Dostoevsky.”

“Showers are in the back. Hot water is sparse so if you want some, move quick and early.”

“Breakfast is at 8. Coffee tastes like shit unless you pour half a pound of sugar in it.” 

“You can vape just outside but if you smoke you gotta ask your neighbor counselor to watch your kids. At least thirty feet away or they’ll snitch too.”

“Weed is only for days off because they'll either snitch or demand you share. That goes for kids and counselors.” 

“Days off are randomly assigned but you should get one every other week.”

“I don’t recommend sleeping with other counselors but if you must, go to your car.” Natalie said. 

“We’ll leave you to get settled. Dinner is in an hour. You can meet everyone else then.”

“Thank you guys for everything.” You felt overwhelmed just a bit. 

They left, still arguing about Johnny. He was cute but the break up wounds were still fresh. You didn’t want to sneak around either. You weren’t a teenager anymore.

You haphazardly dumped the contents of your duffle into the lock chest before shoving it back under the bed. You had seven weeks to organize it. 

The bed was okay. A plastic covered mattress with an old sleeping bag. You should have brought your own pillow. Maybe a Target run on your next day off whenever that was. 

The ache in your muscles from driving all day hit hard the moment you sat down. 

There was a knock on the door. 

“Hey sleepyhead!” Sophia came in. You rubbed your face as you woke up. Out the window you could see the sky looked darker, a blue summer evening. “I’m glad you ended up coming.”

“Yeah. Thanks for getting me the job.” You stretched, your shoulders cracking. “It’s nice to get away.” 

“I’m sorry about you and Ale.” There it was. She was nice but always craved gossip. 

“It’s okay. Just wanted different things.”

You shrugged. It wasn’t a bad breakup, no arguing, just a slow and painful demise. He’d even offered to let you stay with him when the lease ended and he found out you didn’t have a place to go. You chose this instead. 

“Well, let’s get you something to eat. The food is incredibly mediocre but I heard a rumor that the lifeguard has beer and weed for the fire pit.”

She was not wrong about dinner. Hot dogs with a slice of Kraft cheese melted on top with a bag of chips as a side. 

You sat with Nat, Sophia and Janie. 

“There are my lovely ladies!” Johnny sat down, forcing his way between Cel and Sophia. Nat looked like she wanted to kill him. “Coming out to the lake tonight? Hope you all brought swim suits or birthday suits.”

“Jesus Christ.” Nat groaned. 

“I think we’re gonna have an easy night. Some of us had long drives.” Sophia motioned to herself and you. “Just some girl time.”

Johnny pouted. 

“Fair enough but I do expect all of you at the bonfire tomorrow.” He pointed at all of them, even Nat. “Especially you new girl.”

He got up and jogged off to another table of girls. 

“Am I allowed to call him a slut?”

“What happened to dog?” Janie asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Dogs can be trained.” 

You all laughed. You’d been worried that you wouldn’t fit in. All the other girls knew each other for years at this point. Janie and Sophia had been coming here since they were kids. Nat met Janie in high school and got a job as a junior counselor with her the first chance they got. 

It wasn’t a super attractive job and the pay was shit but it looked good on resumes and college applications apparently. Showed responsibility. Most of your experiences with camp were from horror films. 

The sun was still out as the four of you walked back. Sophia was your cabin neighbor, taking care of room 13. It’s where you all gathered. 

Sophia and you sat on her bed while she did your nails. 

“Red looks nice on you.” It was a bright cherry red. She’d picked it out, saying they should all match. 

The evening was spent talking and laughing. You asking questions about camp life and getting advice from the other girls. 

You had friends back home but you were glad you fit in so fast. Any anxiety and fear for the Summer slipped away as the sun set. 

“I’m beat.” Nat yawned. It was almost midnight now. Janie agreed and the two wandered off back to their cabin. 

“I’ll head back too. Thank you for being so welcoming, Soph.”

“Absolutely! It’s nice to get fresh meat every once and a while. It can be tough with the kids so some people get jaded. I hope you have fun this Summer and if you don’t you can blame me.” She laughed. 

The air was cool on the little porch out front. Most of the other cabins had their lights off by now and the center was lit up with fireflies, neon yellow dots. 

There was an orange dot out towards the back of one of the cabins across the way. A cigarette. The man smoking it seemed larger than any counselor you’d seen but it was dark and he was half hidden behind the building. It was Johnny’s cabin, you think. He was big. 

He waved and you waved back. He dropped the cigarette and stamped it out. The little corner fell dark and you went into your side.

You didn’t realize how quiet the world could be as you curled up in your sleeping bag. No hum of electronics or cars. No people yelling above or below you. Just the stillness of the stars.

It was an early morning. Johnny was running around the circle of cabins playing music to wake everyone up. He was shirtless again and his shorts seemed shorter than the day before. You wouldn’t complain. 

“So why did you choose this wonderful vista as a summer job?” Johnny asked, jogging up next to you as you made your way to the dining hall. 

“Needed a break. Get out in nature for a bit. I grew up in the suburbs and just broke up with my boyfriend so I guess I wanted to breathe for a bit. You?”

“Running from my previous life of crime.” He smiled. “Nah, just also trying to get away. Was military back home, knee injury did me in. Didn’t know what else to do. Hiked part of the Appliachian trail. You know, it's the same mountain range as the Highlands. Felt like I had to see them. Haven’t really felt like going back home yet.”

“You hiked alone?” You raised an eyebrow. You knew that it was one of the longest and hardest trails in the country. 

“Had a mate with me but I’m on my lonesome now.” He opened the door for you. Sure, he was boisterous but he seemed harmless one on one. Maybe a little dogish but he wasn’t going to hump your leg unprompted. 

“Shirts are needed in the dining hall, Mactavish!” Sophia called. He held up his hands in surrender before fishing out a cropped muscle tee that had been shoved into his pocket. It was a nice change of pace to be around a man that wanted to show off his own skin rather than try to get girls to show theirs. 

You told yourself before you got here that you wouldn’t look for that kind of distraction. It wasn’t worth it, especially not this early. You could look though. No harm in that. 

Bacon, Eggs and self-serve cereal was today’s breakfast. You joined back up with the girls from last night. Orientation was supposed to take up most of the day so they encouraged you to grab a couple pieces of fruit and a protein bar.

“Only fill up your water bottle in here. There are fountains elsewhere but I think they taste weird.” Said Janie. 

You were put in a group with Johnny, Sophia, and another guy named Warren. He and Sophia were long term counselors so they gladly took on the role of being you and Johnny’s tour guide. Johnny had been hired because of his lifeguard training so he already knew the layout of the lake and pool. You were scolded for not having proper shoes for hiking.

“What’s your size? I might have an old pair in my car.” Sophia offered. “If not I think there’s an L.L.Bean like two hours away. We can go on our next day off.”

You weren’t sure if you could afford brand new boots so silently hoped that Sophia did have that old pair and they fit. 

“Don’t want ya getting blisters all summer.” Johnny said. He was doing the hike in crocs but apparently did have boots back at his cabin. 

You didn’t do the full trail but Warren pointed out the different routes and how difficult each one was and which ones kids could do by themselves and which ones they couldn’t. The fields were next. A soccer field and baseball field were across the way from the cabins. It was a loose definition of each. One was a huge patch of grass and the other a diamond of dirt. Both looked a little off size wise. There was the sports supply shed that had all the equipment in it. Only a couple counselors had keys to it.

“People kept using it inappropriately.” Sophia smiled.

There was the art building, the rec hall, a path leading towards the archery field and riflery field.

“Riflery?”

“Yeah. We used to teach kids how to shoot. Mostly clay pigeons but it was one of the programs cut after Covid,” Warren explained. 

“Shame I missed it. Could have taught the kids trick shots.” Johnny joked, pretending to aim a rifle backwards over his shoulder. 

The horse stable was also closed. Too expensive to have horses here for even half the season. 

The Lake was the last part of the tour. It was on the other side of the road so to get there was an underpass to get there. It was large enough for five adults to walk side by side comfortably but the yellow light from the lamps gave it a sickly vibe. 

It ended a little ways before the beach. There were several rows of Kayaks and another shed filled with life preservers and paddles. 

“Wow Johnny! You cleaned it up well.” Warren clapped him on the back. For a moment Johnny looked irritated that he’d been touched but he shoved that emotion out of the way to make room for his usual excited self. 

“Yeah. Cleaned up the best I could.”

“It looks great, Johnny.” You were impressed. He’d even sprayed the kayaks down, bright clean plastic in a rainbow of colors.

“Yer making me blush.” He laid a hand over his heart. 

The lake was gorgeous. Cream colored sand feeding into sapphire waters. You could just see the beach on the other side, a small empty dock with a path leading into the woods. The camp side had a floating platform about thirty feet into the water. 

“Campers have to swim there and back to pass the swimming competency test.” Sophia explained. “If you can’t swim on your own you’re stuck in the buoyed area.” 

There was a ten by ten foot area cordoned off by buoys, keeping to the shallow end of the lake. Made enough sense. No one wanted to fish a dead kid out of the water.

“Let’s head back. We don’t want to miss lunch.” Warren clapped his hands together. 

The four of you made the trek back to the dining hall. You did feel like blisters were starting to form on the back of your ankles. You’d have to put band-aids on them later. 

The rest of the afternoon was spent going over itinerary for the following week. Campers would arrive tomorrow between ten and six. It was a day mostly planned out for settling them in with an inaugural bonfire that night. After that it was seven weeks of regular old American camp adventures. 

You went back to your cabin the moment you had free time. Your ankles hadn’t started to bleed but they were bright red and throbbing. You applied the bandaids and grabbed another pair of socks to wear the rest of the way. 

There was about an hour and half before dinner and final orientation from the camp managers, who, you had been told, often made themselves scarce throughout the summer to avoid having to do their jobs. You settled on top of your sleeping bag. A nice breeze came in through the screen door. Janie had told you that it was the best way to keep the building cool.  

You thought about Ale. His smile and deep laugh. How he’d wake you up in the morning with kisses to the back of your neck. How he loved your hair and ass. How he’d whisper in Spanish to you. You still had the English/Spanish dictionary he gave you shoved in a box back in the city. You missed him. Your cowboy. He would have been so disappointed to hear the stables were closed. Maybe you’d call him after all this. Ask to work something out. 

You drifted off daydreaming about the scent of his cologne.

“Bonnie! You’re gonna miss dinner!” Johnny was knocking on the screen door. Maybe Nat was right in being annoyed by him all the time. 

“I’ll just miss it.” you sighed, rolling over on the bed. 

“You never know which meal is your last. Best not to skip any! C’mon or I’ll drag ya myself.”

You would have thrown a pillow if you had one. How did he always have so much energy?

He jogged literal circles around you on the way to the dining hall.

“How are your feet?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“You were limping on the way back to the cabins earlier.”

“Oh…yeah just blisters.”

He tutted at you. 

“Got to get you some good shoes soon.”

Dinner was the same hot dogs as the previous night with a bonus of a bowl of lettuce, cherry tomatoes and a slice of cucumber. 

There was an excited energy in the room. Most people who’d snuck in alcohol or drugs said tonight was the best night to use it all. An unspoken competition of who could drink the most and still function when the first campers started to arrive. It could be fun, you mused. You were never a big partier in college and what was this if not a perfect chance to make up for that. 

The boys built up a nice fire, each poking and prodding their own side with their favorite stick. You sat on one of the log benches next to Sophia and Janie. Johnny was across the fire, his arm around the waste of another girl counselor. Ceilidh you think it was. Pronounced like Kay-lee, she’d said. Pretty name, Gaelic. Made sense for him to go after a piece of home.

“Glad he’s finally left us alone.” Nat chuckled. 

“I think they’re cute.” Sophia said. You pushed down the twinge of jealousy you felt seeing her giggle at his joke. 

Warren came around with a cooler filled with a hodgepodge of beer. He was his fraternity’s president and one of his responsibilities was to get rid of any extra at the end of the term to avoid trouble. Dry campus issues. 

You grabbed a Modelo. Ale’s old go to and one you’d gotten used to drinking. It left a familiar warm feeling in your stomach.

You drank, you danced, you ate s’mores, you laughed with your new friends. The stars seemed so bright and clear out here. Janie had you all lay out on your backs in the grass nearby as she pointed out each constellation.

“That’s the big dipper and above it is the little dipper but Draco is the constellation between them. If you guys tell me your star signs I can point it out for you.”

There was laughter nearby and you glanced up to see Johnny and Ceilidh sneaking in the dark towards her cabin. 

You had another beer. And another. Maybe one more after that. 

Someone offered you a hit off a joint so you did that too. 

The four of you were laughing and stumbling back to Sophia’s cabin. You had no idea how late it was. The fire was dying out. Warren said he would make sure everyone got back inside all right. The designated driver of drunken counselors. He was a good guy. 

You found yourself laying on your side on one of the empty beds. Sophia and Janie were on her bed, half asleep against each other. Nat and you were talking about your childhoods. 

“I broke a bone three years in a row, each time in May. I missed field day every time. My mom once pulled me around in a wagon so I wouldn’t feel left out,” She laughed. 

“How did you break so many bones?”

“Catholic school where the playground was just a parking lot. I was a wild kid. I broke my arm tripping and falling against the priest’s car. I dented it too. I thought I was going to hell.”

There was a shrill noise. Loud and stomach dropping. A scream cut off. You and the other girls all jumped to attention. It was silent except for the crackling of the fire outside. 

“Fisher cat.” Janie said, trying to convince herself.

“Or a fox.” Sophia added. 

“Did you guys hear that?” Warren said, coming in. 

The four of you nodded.

“It sounded close. I’m gonna check it out.”

“By yourself?”

“One of the other guys is gonna come with me. It’s probably just an animal. If you see Johnny tell him to go check on everyone. I want a headcount before we all go to sleep.”

You all watched from the window as Warren met another guy holding a flashlight and a baseball bat. Sophia turned on the porch light. They disappeared between the cabin’s across the way. 

“Johnny and Celilidh went off together. Should we try to find them?” Sophia offered. 

“Maybe we should just stay here. Safety in numbers.” Janie answered. 

“Safety from what? It was just an animal.” Nat insisted. 

“Didn’t sound like an animal.” You thought. No one else would say it but you were all thinking it. A slide show of clips from horror films played through your mind. 

Four sets of eyes darted around, looking out windows and the front door, waiting for some masked killer to seep through the walls.

Bang!

You all screamed as Johnny flew through the door, clutching his stomach. 

“We have to go now!” He grunted. Blood was pouring between his fingers.

“Oh my god. What happened? Where’s Ceilidh?”

“Dead… fuck.. She’s fucking dead. Fucker came in through the window in the bathroom. I tried to fight him off. I’m sorry.” He gulped. “We have to go now!”

“You’re bleeding. Please let me look.” Janie reached out and he pushed her hand away. 

“Don’t have time. We have to go. Get my car keys. I can fit us all.”

“What about everyone else?” You asked. There was so much blood, it was dripping on the floor now. 

“I don’t know… when..when’s the last time you saw anyone?”

There was another scream from outside. Silence took you over again.

“Please… we can get out and get help but we have to go now.” Johnny pleaded. His bright blue eyes were watery and his tan skin was stained red down his legs. 

“I’m going.” Sophia said, grabbing her backpack. “Fuck this. I’m not fucking dying like it’s a movie. We’re all going. Johnny, do you need help?”

“No, I can manage. I need to get my keys though.”

“I have mine. We can just take my car. It’s an SUV.” Sophia urged, crouching down to look out of the door.

“No…no…I…I uh…I have a gun in my car.”

“You brought a fucking gun to camp?” Nat’s jaw dropped. 

“Old shotgun. It works. I’m trained for this. Get to the car and I… I can kill him.”

“You’re bleeding out, Johnny.” Janie cried, reaching for him again and once again being pushed away. 

“Come with me.” Johnny looked at you.

“I…I…I don’t know.” You were shaking. It didn’t seem real. Too cliche. A real life spree killer running around the woods of a Summer camp. Sophia was right, you didn’t want to die like it was some movie. 

“He knows I’m weak. He’ll go after me first. We’ll get my keys and if he shows up… you take them and run.”

“You..can’t sacrifice yourself.” Your voice warbled.

“It was my job to do that. If I can’t die saving my country, I’d like to die saving a group of pretty girls.”

Johnny was pleading. He seemed to know he couldn’t do it on his own. You thought about Ale saying you needed to stand up for yourself more. You never did. You didn’t stand up to bullies in high school, rogue professors in college or shitty demeaning bosses. You didn’t even stand up for yourself when Ale said he wanted a break. 

Nat was saying how you should all just run to Sophia’s car. She had her keys. Sophia was agreeing. Janie was crying silently. 

“I’ll go.” You forced the words out like vomit. It was that or actual vomit.

“Okay.” He almost smiled. “Sophia, turn off the lights. We’ll give you a signal when it's safe to come out. Then we all run to the parking lot.”

“What’s the signal?” Janie sobbed.

“I’ll whistle.”

You were shaking so much you worried you’d fall right down the front steps of the cabin. Johnny was in front of you, shoulders hunched up, his eyes darting everywhere. Sophia turned off the lights, leaving the two of you in near darkness. The fire was nothing more than orange smoldering logs. 

“You seem like you’ve done this before.” You said quietly, finding yourself holding the bottom hem of his shirt. 

“Like I said. It was my job.”

You walked on your tiptoes, trying not to make any noise. Your heart cried for the others. Even if you didn’t know them. You didn’t hear or see anyone. Maybe they all got out? They escaped already…or the killer was chasing them deeper into the woods.

You didn’t want to die. In the movies it always seemed so prolonged. The stabbings and bleeding out. Johnny had been hurt and he was still going on, trying to save you and everyone else. 

“Stay here. I’ll go check to make sure it's clear.” He said. You’d made it to his cabin, whole body still shaking just on his porch now. Your heart leapt into your throat as the door creaked open. 

“Be careful, please.”

He winked at you before heading in. You picked at the skin around your nails, a nasty old habit that you tried so hard to kick. You could forgive yourself for this relapse. It seemed an appropriate time to scratch out anxiety.

The step behind you creaked. Any light from the fire was blocked out. A arm wrapped around your neck and pulled you flush with a wall of muscle. You screamed for Johnny as a knife cut into your stomach.

It hurt worse than you thought it would. He was stabbing you over and over. All those movies and none prepared you for the sound that came from being stabbed yourself. The rush of blood in your head. You kicked and scratched the best you could, catching the gap of skin between his gloves and sleeves. Flesh caught under your nails and tore. The knife cut sideways across your stomach. Something wet and heavy hit the floor by your feet.

“Fucking cunt.” The man growled. You could have thrown up if it didn’t feel like your stomach had been torn open. 

You hit the porch face first, no strength left to even try to hold yourself up. Blood pooled in your mouth. He stepped around you and in the corner of your eye you could make him out. 

Large, well over six feet and bulky with large shoulders. A half skull mask covered the top part of his face. His head was buzzed. He had a hunting knife in his hand and it dripped your blood onto the wood and onto your face. 

“Johnny!” Your killer called. You’d doomed him too. He could have gotten away. Johnny would die and it would be your fault. They all would now and it was your fault. 

You closed your eyes as the throbbing subsided. You didn’t want to listen. He was so nice. He didn’t deserve it.

You didn’t deserve this. 

You closed your eyes and let yourself slip away. 

You heard music. Loud obnoxious music and singing from an off key baritone scot.

You opened your eyes and you were in your sleeping bag in your cabin. It was Sunday morning again. 

Shout out to @ceilidho for being an inspiration to me to write darker fics and letting me use her name for a counselor.

[coffee-in-rain]

Vulnerable Hannibal Fic Rec List

New addition (located @ the bottom of the page) as of 9/24/2024!

On my previous post, people were interested in finding fics where Hannibal is touch-starved and or dealing with separation anxiety post-fall. So here is a small list of some that may fit that theme! The first five fics are mine, but the rest are some of my favorite fics I’ve ever read that feature vulnerable Hannibal in various seasons, AUs, and post-canon. This list will be updated intermittently!

The Ache Against The Wind (Rewritten): He’d sustained a substantial amount of brain damage throughout the last eleven days, Will had been told. Resulting in Post-Traumatic Amnesia. (Hannibal is tortured in the BSHCI via beatings, laxatives, enemas, starvation and the “water curing” method after his toilet is removed. Will saves him).

Pareidolia: Six weeks post-fall, Hannibal suffers from a seizure during dinner.

Je Te Laisserai Des Mots: Six months have passed since Will pulled them over the cliff. Even in light of their progressing relationship, much of Hannibal still remains a mystery to Will. For reasons unknown, he’s begun to pull away. (A sequel to Shrike; my housewife Hannibal fic!)

Between The Hour Of Reprieve:

At the cliff house, Hannibal receives a much-needed-hug. (features crying, touch-starved Hannibal).

Shrike (To Your Sharp And Glorious Thorn): Hannibal feels anxious about the prospect of Will abandoning him one day because he isn’t at all capable of being like Molly. His anxiety only heightens when Will gets a job. (features crying housewife Hannibal speaking Lithuanian).

A Cabin In The Woods by KoolJack1: Hannibal is thirteen and runs away from the orphanage when he feels that a fate of the elements will be better than the fate of abuse. He finds a small cabin in the woods, thinking warmth will be all he finds. He also finds Will. But who changes who?

Recipricol Alchemy by Scifibabe: In the silent echoes of his dreams, Will Graham treads a line blurred between control and chaos, each step drawing him inexorably towards claiming Hannibal as his own. It's a perilous dance on the edge of darkness, where the thrill of possession whispers of a transformation too profound to resist.

Hold Me, Don’t Let Me Go by sourweather: It's a few months after the Fall when it finally hits him. Hannibal has barely been touched in 3 years. And Will won't let it go on for another moment.

Hosanna In The Highest by sainthannibal: During the fall, Hannibal receives the brunt of the injuries, which leaves him unable to care for himself. Will discovers how much he enjoys taking care of him.

You Made Me Soup by itsybitsylemonsqueezy: Hannibal comes down with pneumonia while incarcerated. Will decides to make him some soup. Absolutely no one thinks it's strange that Will comes to give his ex soup when he finds out he's sick. No one at all finds this suspicious. At. All.

The Boy Under The Monster’s Bed by Wr4tttttthh: There were deep wounds that needed healing, new and old, physical and otherwise. (features crying, vulnerable Hannibal).

Delicate Ghost by hannigramcracker & TimmyJayBird: She was different- not the ghost of his memories, but something about this bloodied child ripped right at Hannibal's chest, and left him drowning in a cold snow he thought he had left in his childhood, that he had locked away within his skull. Drowning, with only one hand to grasp at, one body to cling to. One man to work him through the trauma and remind him what life was.

You With Those Nails, Me With This Cross by TheBitterKitten:

Will goes too far.

The Distance Is Quite Simply Much Too Far For Me To Row by softhan: Hannibal is having a rough time recovering from his injuries post-fall, and retreats into himself to avoid confrontation with Will while he's still weak and ill. Having to play happy husbands hardly helps.

Silk and Lace by jonnimir: Bedelia leaves Hannibal and Will a gift at the house on the cliff.

[yandere-writer-momo]

Monster F-er Anon with some smut (For our Sexy Bushy Eyebrow Husband)

Weretiger Katsumi x Rabbit!Darling (Beeding Kink, Praise, Potential Pregnancy and as much smut as you damn want when it comes to Katsumi)

It’s Mating Season and Darling is trying to get to her den, however she realizes she’s being Hunted and proceeds to run away from the Predator, only to get caught, but instead of being killed, he’s rubbing, hugging and purring in joy for finally catching his ‘Beloved Mate’ and takes her to her- sorry, their new home

(I love Katsumi SO much, he’s so cute)

I have wanted to do a leopard reader so you’re getting snow leopard reader!

Happy Freaky Friday!

🌶️ Yandere Baki Shorts:Little Mate 🌶️

Weretiger Katsumi Orochi x Snow Leopard Afab Reader

When (your name)’s humans had abandoned her in the wild in favor of a new shifter for their exhibit, (your name) was so afraid. She’s never been in the wild before. So this was all new to her…

For the first week, it took her awhile to get used to being on her own… to being able to survive. Her white coat made her easy to spot for predators… a snow leopard had no place in this jungle nor the wild in general. And she was terrified of every sound around her.

She spent most of her time curled up in a small den she had found. The young shifter only came out whenever she was hungry to catch fish at the stream below, but even then… she felt as if she was constantly being watched.

(Your name) caught fish again today, she had gotten better over the last few weeks but it still did little to quench her hunger. She was too afraid to venture out further in the forest for other things to eat. Especially with the strong pungent scent that permeated through the air. There was a bigger predator around and she was terrified to interact with them.

As she picked at her fish, her white ears and tail shot up once she heard a branch snap from above her. Her head darted up to the top of the tree above her only to see a large tiger that stared at her hungrily.

(Your name) quickly shifted into her snow leopard form and started to flee in terror, the larger tiger leaped down and gave tail. Her head pounded from the strong scent that came from the tiger, he must be the one who had marked territory all over the outer perimeter of her den and the forest… she truly hoped he didn’t catch and devour her.

(Your name) was soon knocked to the ground, the tiger pinned her to the ground without much effort. His golden eyes stared deeply into hers while her body shook like a leaf.

She felt herself shift back to her more human form while tears fell from her face. She was going to die… he was going to eat her…

The tiger surprised her when he licked the side of her face, a man now laid on top of her. The tongue soon replaced with lips that eagerly kissed her cheeks. An excitement was held in his now black eyes.

“You’re a leopard… you’re so cute!” The handsome man exclaimed in excitement while he slowly pushed himself off her. His orange and black ears flicked back and forth. “I’m sorry if I scared you…”

(Your name) could only cry while he tried to shush her. His thumbs wiped away her tears with a frown.

“Hey it’s okay… I’m Katsumi.” Katsumi introduced himself, the tiger shifter pressed his forehead to hers. “Please don’t be sad… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you… you just started running before I could talk to you.”

Katsumi frowned at how thin she was. He’s never seen a shifter like her before… she didn’t belong here… she had to have been forced here… but it was the perfect opportunity for him! He’d be able to mate with another big cat!

Katsumi wrapped his arms around her trembling form. The man rested his head atop of hers. She probably had no idea he had made several attempts to court her… poor thing.

“How about you come to my den? I’ll take care of you.” Katsumi cooed while he stroked her soft ears. So cute… so helpless. She was lucky he took an interest in her! She’d starve to death soon…

“R-really?” Katsumi felt his heart flutter at her big eyes. So adorable… so trusting. He’d never let her go…

“Yes. I’ll get you something to eat.” Katsumi purred, the young man rubbed his head against hers. “I’ll take care of you.”

(Your name) took Katsumi’s hand as he lead her into the forest. The tiger’s purrs never ceased…

.

.

.

Over the course of a few weeks, Katsumi brought her plenty of food and even some pelts to keep warm. The tiger constantly fretted over her well being.

The large den was spacious and full of pelts… so many pelts that one would think a family lived there rather than two shifters.

Katsumi was quite chatty. Apparently he too was abandoned but he was taken in by a pack of gray wolves, which explained his sociable behavior… and how cuddly he is.

“You’re finally putting on weight… I’m happy.” Katsumi whispered, the man pressed hot kisses to her soft ears. “(Your name)?”

“Yes, Katsumi?” (Your name) nervously tried to scoot away from Katsumi to put distance between them. As of late, he’s been more touchy and she wasn’t sure why.

“Did you have a mate back at the exhibit?” Katsumi asked with a dazed look in his eye, a loud purr rumbled in his throat.

“No… they moved me out in exchange for panda…” (your name) bitterly laughed. “I mean… we were both endangered species but I guess they weren’t able to find another snow leopard-“

Katsumi pressed his nose against (your name)’s with a purr. “Does it matter if it’s a snow leopard? What about a Siberian tiger? I’m endangered too…”

(Your name) furrowed her brow in confusion. What did Katsumi mean- oh… oh. Katsumi wanted to mate with her?

“I’m a good provider right? I can take care of us and our young!” Katsumi exclaimed while he gestured to the den. “Plenty of space! And we’re both big cats… it could work.”

(Your name) felt her blood go cold. Katsumi took her in to mate with her… he wanted young…

“Katsumi-“ Katsumi pressed his lips to hers to silence her protests. Her body grew warm from the touch, what was happening?

“Cats can induce ovulation…” Katsumi whispered as he pressed kisses all over her cheeks and neck. “We’ll mate everyday for the next five days! That way we ensure plenty of cubs.”

“Katsumi, I don’t know-“ an overwhelming heat overtook her body. The young woman shook in fear. Her heat… her heat cycle was here… but how?

“See? Your cycle is here. It’s time to be bred, darling.” Katsumi gently laid her on the pelts he had collected, the tiger crawled on top of her as he helped her undress. “We’ll take care of that, okay? I’ll make you feel so good…”

Her head felt heavy and her body felt so hot… she couldn’t move nor could she voice her protests. Her body was on fire and the coolness from his skin soothed it. She’d let him… yes. Katsumi was big and strong… he’d be a good mate.

Katsumi smiled at the way she went slack under his touch. The man disrobed himself as well. He feasted his eyes on her body while she admired his.

“With this, you’ll be my mate… and I won’t leave you! You’ll be my lifelong mate.” Katsumi beamed at her, the weretiger lined himself up at her damp entrance. “With this, we are officially mates…”

(Your name) threw her head back when he entered, the tiger hissed at the sensation of her tightness. She was so damp and so tight… she was a dream.

“So perfect…” Katsumi whined, the man shallowly thrusted in and out to test the water. “You’re so good for me.”

(Your name) could only grab his biceps to try to ground herself. This was entirely too much. He was too big for her smaller body.

A scream ripped from her once he picked up the pace. His pert balls smacked against the flesh of her ass while his tail tangled with hers. Whines and gasps left his lips while he began to fuck into her like a wild beast.

“Yes! God!” Katsumi cried while he chased his high. “Gonna get you pregnant… you’re going to carry my cubs… you’re mine!”

(Your name) could only grasp onto his back while her own high began to creep up on her. A mantra of tumultuous cries escaped her lips as Katsumi continued his assault. The man’s face became more beastly while his high rapidly approached.

(Your name) came with a sharp cry, her orgasm sudden and violent. Her walls violently spawned around Katsumi, the man buried himself to the hilt within her while he came. His hands tightly grabbed the fatty flesh of her hips to hold her still while he emptied himself into her. The man panted in satisfaction.

Katsumi then sunk his fangs into her neck to create a mate mark on her, the young woman cried out in pain. Katsumi licked up the blood with a smile.

“You’re my mate… you’re mine.” Katsumi nuzzled his head against her face. “We’re going to have so many cubs… I can’t wait to meet them.”

[peachdues]

SEASONS IN LOVE (PART II)

Sanemi x F!Reader (modern college AU)

Sanemi meets Y/N in January and isn't a fan. As the seasons pass by, their evolving relationship becomes defined by a handful snapshots from the various holidays throughout the year.

CW: modern college AU • 6.6k words • tooth-rotting fluff • college typical drinking and debauchery • some mildly suggestive content • Sanemi is a massive simp

PART ONE HERE

December 24th – Christmas Eve.

Sanemi was hunched over, back turned against the icy wind that threatened to shred through the layers of his coat and sweater, as he waited for someone to answer the door.

A few weeks ago, he would’ve said to anyone that he hadn’t minded the snow — after all, the snow is what led to Y/N smiling — at him, no less — for the first time since he’d met her, and that memory had been more that enough to keep him warm through the fall of every snowflake coating the earth.

He took it all back. Y/N’s smile was a damn pretty sight, but absolutely nothing could insulate him against the near sub-arctic winds that cut through him like a knife as he shifted impatiently from foot to foot on the Kanroji’s front porch.

“God dammit, Mitsuri,” he growled. He unwound a stiff arm from where it’d been tightly tucked against his chest, prepared to start pounding against the oak of her parents’ front door, when the pink party host threw it open, her smile bright and cheerful and warm in a way that Sanemi was not.

“It’s about time!” She chirped, standing aside to let her scowling friend through and into the front entryway of her home.

Mitsuri held her hand out as she waited for Sanemi to pass her his coat. “Everyone else is here already — help yourself to any snacks you want.” Mitsuri snatched the gift-wrapped package lodged under his arm before he could say anything. “I’ll take this,” she waved it, nose crinkling with amusement at Sanemi’s indignant glare. “And I’ll put it with the others!”

Before he could respond, his pink-haired friend traipsed away back to the open floor plan of her living room and kitchen, leaving Sanemi to brush the snowflakes that had gathered on his trousers and remove his boots and leave them with the others’ scattered by the closet of Mitsuri’s parents’ home.

Every year, the bubbly and exuberant pinkette hosted a Christmas Eve for her friends at her parents’ complete with an absurd array of holiday-themed snacks, games, and Secret Santa.

In years past, Sanemi only ever deigned to show up as a courtesy to his friend, eagerly awaiting the day when he could blame needing to take care of his siblings on Christmas Eve as an excuse not to go. After his family had been killed, however, Sanemi had begun spending the Christmas holidays with Kyojuro’s family, along with Tengen, and so, he’d been forced to continue the tradition, given the enthusiasm his flame-haired best friend had for the over-the-top celebration.

This year, however, was Y/N’s first time attending Mitsuri’s annual fete; and curiously, Sanemi found himself growing more and more excited as the time for the celebration drew nearer.

That excitement only bubbled in his gut as he padded towards the Kanroji’s packed living room, eyes scanning for the sight of the one he was most eager — and anxious — to see.

Y/N spotted him from her position on one of the overstuffed leather armrests by the fireplace and shot out of her seat, nearly toppling Shinobu in the process.

“You made it!” Her smile was blazing, a now permanent fixture on her face that Sanemi found himself sneaking furtive glances at throughout the day, afraid that he would miss it.

“Wait,” Y/N stopped an arm’s length from him as she ran her eyes over his form. “Are we matching?”

Sanemi looked down at the outfit he had thrown on (carefully selected) prior to leaving his apartment and back to the amused woman before him. She was dressed in a black turtleneck sweater, tucked into a pair of belted, vintage, loose jeans that she had cuffed to show her festive Christmas socks.

“Just the turtleneck. I don’t do jeans.” Sanemi snorted, flicking her nose affectionately.

Y/N, however, looked better than he. Her hair was loosely secured with a clip at her neck, and she wore no accessories save for a pair of oversized gold framed glasses that she claimed were to help with blue light strains, but Sanemi was convinced she just liked wearing them for fun.

He tried very hard not to stare too long at her full lips — painted a bright, festive red that Sanemi found he really liked.

“I should’ve brought my lipstick along, then we could’ve really twinned,” Y/N’s eyes were alight with her mirth as she teased him.

Had Sanemi been a tad bolder, he would’ve cheekily suggested another way he could get her lipstick on his mouth, but he wasn’t, so all he could do was grumble, a faint red staining his cheeks.

Mitsuri clapped loudly over the chattering group. “Friends! Dearly beloveds! Snacks are over there,” she pointed to a long table packed heavy with various holiday goodies. “And the hot chocolate bar is open! Get a snack and get settled before secret Santa!”

“When you say ‘bar,’ ‘Suri,” Tengen prodded.

The pinkette nodded solemnly. “Yes, you can make spiked hot chocolate, Tengen.”

The flashy, silver-haired man let out a whoop for joy as he made a beeline for the hot chocolate bar carefully organized by their pink-haired host. Before long, Tengen had blessed each of their drinks with a healthy splash of Irish cream, though Sanemi suspected the loudmouth’s own mug was nothing but the festive liquor.

“Nope,” Sanemi fought to keep the grimace off his face as he took a swig of his hot chocolate, the bitter burn of alcohol making him pucker. “Giyuu, drink this — it’s plain.”

The quiet, raven-haired man gratefully accepted the steaming mug from his friend and took a hearty gulp of it, frowning slightly when he realized Sanemi had indeed given him his own spiked drink.

Sanemi pretended to look affronted at Giyuu’s accusatory stare. “What? I thought you’d need it — aren’t you going home to Kocho’s after this?”

Giyuu considered Sanemi’s words for a moment before tipping his head back and swallowing the remainder of the mug’s contents.

Y/N came prancing over from the kitchen, her own mug of hot chocolate cupped between her hands, to where Sanemi now sat on the large sofa, but before she could sit down, Gyomei plopped down, nearly crushing her in the process.

“Apologies, Y/N,” the gentle giant said upon hearing Y/N’s squeak. “I didn’t realize you wanted to sit beside Sanemi.”

If Sanemi hadn’t known better, he would’ve sworn that was a blush spreading across her cheeks. “No worries!” She chirped, twisting around awkwardly to find a new spot.

Sanemi grimaced. He was about to tell her to sit on the arm rest of the sofa next to him, but Shinobu called her over first, the two girls squeezing into a single-person armchair, as Shinobu threw her legs over Y/N’s lap to make room.

Secret Santa proceeded without much fuss. Sanemi was happy to receive a box of high-quality matcha from his anonymous gift-giver, though Shinobu’s lack of a poker face gave away who’d gifted it. Sanemi winked at his tiny friend, clutching the tea box tightly to his chest.

Y/N was practically buzzing with excitement. Mitsuri had hardly discerned the name scrawled on the tag of her giftbox before she’d lunged forward, nearly toppling Shinobu out of her lap.

“My turn!” The expression on Y/N’s face was that of a greedy child’s as she wriggled her fingers demandingly at Mitsuri in anticipation of her present.

The pinkette dropped the heavy box into her friend’s eager hands, Y/N giving a small oomph! against the weight of the gift.

Sanemi watched his best friend tear into her present with vigor, similar to the way a hyena tore into its prey, tufts of wrapping paper floating down beside her as she beheld the grocery store box within.

“What the—?” Y/N’s eyebrows were drawn together as she turned the container over in her hands, eyes squinting as she read the label printed on the cardboard.

“No fucking way,” Her eyes blew wide as she held the box closer to her face in disbelief. “No fucking way!”

Y/N’s laugh bordered on maniacal as she clapped her hands, ripping into the cardboard as she produced one, fat candy bar, wrapped in unfamiliar purple foil.

“My chocolate!” She crowed, dumping the contents of the box out onto her lap. A dozen large, heavy candy bars thudded to the floor, the packaging on each bearing some foreign language and description. “I can’t believe my Secret Santa found them!”

Sanemi smirked quietly to himself. Sure, he’d rigged the Secret Santa pool to ensure that he magically drew Y/N’s name from the hat full of paper Mitsuri had passed around at their weekly dinner a few weeks prior, but he’d only done it because he’d already ordered Y/N’s Christmas gift from overseas.

For ages, she’d not shut up about a particular kind of chocolate that she’d had while abroad with her family one summer. Y/N had moaned to everyone that chocolate at home just didn’t taste the same, and she longed to have just one more taste of the candy she’d come to love while on holiday, though she hadn’t been able to track it down online.

But Sanemi had; he’d found a website that put him in contact with a local, who then used his bank information to clear out an entire grocery store’s supply of the confectionary. It was risky, but he was a man in love, so what else could he do but chance it?

“Over my dead fucking body —“ Y/N threatened, as Mitsuri tried to snatch a bar from her hand.

As Sanemi sat there, smugly sipping his non-spiked hot chocolate, he mused that the look of pure glee on Y/N’s face was well worth his account getting hacked not even a week after his order arrived.

—————————————————————————

The Christmas Eve party continued until the late afternoon, at which point the group of friends began to help their host clean up the discarded snacks and empty mugs of hot chocolate before each of them set off for their respective homes for the night.

Y/N was the only one in their group who had to take a train back to her parents’, her hometown being over three hours away from campus, and so, she was the first who had to leave the merry fete.

Sanemi had offered to drive Y/N the forty-minute trip to the train station so she wouldn’t be stuck paying for an Uber, and truthfully, he was glad to have nearly an hour of uninterrupted time with her before she went home for the week.

“Ready?” He asked her as he looped his wool scarf over his head, bracing himself to be smacked in the face by the icy wind that howled outside the warmth of the Kanroji house.

Y/N finished tugging on a pair of gloves before sliding into her emerald green wool coat. “One sec!”

Y/N darted back to the living room where their other friends exchanged goodbyes and flung her arms around her pink-haired best friend’s neck.

From where he stood near the Kanroji doorway, Sanemi could see the pinkette whisper a few words of encouragement into Y/N’s ear, her face uncharacteristically serious as she squeezed her best friend one more time. Sanemi knew that Mitsuri had been comforting Y/N leading up to her first holiday season at home since her brother died, and he felt a rush of gratitude for the girl as he saw Y/N’s shoulders visibly relax under the warmth of her words.

Y/N returned, her eyes sparkling with unshed emotion that she quickly tried to wipe with her gloved hands. “I’m ready!” She said thickly, plastering a smile on her face.

Sanemi sighed, but slung an arm around her shoulders, pulling her tightly into his side before releasing her. Y/N nodded in gratitude, sniffing once, before wrenching the front door of the Kanroji house open, allowing the icy winds beyond to whip across their faces.

The drive to the train station was uneventful, though Y/N had been sure to provide him with “entertainment” by singing loudly, off-key, to every Christmas song that crackled over the ancient speakers in Sanemi’s beat-up station wagon.

He wouldn’t have traded the smile emblazoned in her face, nor the sound of her raucous laughter, for the world however, not even for the sake of his ringing eardrums.

The duo parked and Sanemi heaved her suitcase out of his trunk. As they made their way towards the train platform, Sanemi fought the urge to take her hand in his, as the snowflakes swirled around them.

“So, how did you find it?” Y/N asked after a moment, her train turning the corner into the station right on time, slowing in the distance as it prepared to stop.

Her snowy-haired friend played dumb. “Find what, exactly?”

She gave him a sly smile. “Sanemi. You’re the only one who would’ve paid attention to me when I complained about some foreign chocolate that you can’t get anywhere but that country. Of course, it was you.”

Sanemi gave her a wry grin. “My credit card may’ve been hacked, but it was worth it. Got ya the whole store shelf, didn’t I?” He nudged her elbow playfully with his own and she giggled.

He would never tire of hearing that sound.

Y/N’s train slowed into the station terminal, and she sighed, parking her small suitcase next to her as she stepped forward and threw her arms around his shoulders.

“Merry Christmas, Sanemi.” She whispered, squeezing him gently.

It would’ve been nice to say it back — to say anything at all, but Sanemi found himself unable to make a sound, a hand only able to come up and awkwardly pat her back just as she pulled away. Whether or not his awkwardness affected her, Y/N didn’t show, for she only gave him one more radiant smile before boarding her train home.

“See you at the cabin!” She said brightly, stepping through the double doors, suitcase in hand.

Sanemi was still standing on the platform in bemusement at his inability to say or do other than stare at her, as though his brain had become nothing but a smooth rock rattling around inside his skull.

Y/N turned to wave at him, the doors to the train still open for the last few stragglers to board, but her smile slid from her face as she beheld him, staring at her with a fiery intensity.

What’s wrong-“ she started.

“I’m in love with you.” He said breathlessly, and to his horror, she froze, her mouth parting and her eyes going wide.

“What?”

But Sanemi could not answer her; he could not even make his traitorous mouth work as the doors slid shut and the train began its slow pull out of the terminal.

Y/N stood there, just past the doors, staring at him with that same, stunned expression until the train car rounded a corner and pulled her from sight.

————————————————————————-

More than an hour later, Sanemi arrived at the Rengoku family home where he was to spend Christmas Eve and the following morning. He kicked his boots off inside the festively decorated entryway, greeted Kyojuro’s parents, and stomped downstairs to the furnished basement where he knew his two friends would be gathered.

Tengen and Kyojuro were sprawled across the plush L-shaped sofa, both silent as they huddled over former’s phone as they listened to whomever was on the other end.

Kyojuro saw Sanemi first and smacked Tengen on the shoulder, the latter looking up as both his friends went wide-eyed.

“Obanai — hold on, he just got here.” Tengen muttered.

“What?” Sanemi demanded, a heat creeping up the side of his neck as his friends stared at him, mouths open.

Tengen pointed at his phone. “Obanai’s on. Apparently Y/N has been talking the girls for the last hour and a half because someone —“ he narrowed his eyes at Sanemi. “Decided to tell her they were in love with her right as her train was leaving?”

Sanemi wondered, briefly, whether it was possible for one’s stomach to fall out of their ass.

“Are you stupid?” Tengen asked, and Sanemi resented the fact he’d almost sounded serious.

“Put Obanai on speaker,” Sanemi muttered, flinging himself down on the sofa next to Kyojuro.

Tengen rolled his eyes but did as Sanemi asked. In the background, Sanemi could hear a faint, shrill voice ranting, and he felt his gut clench. Mitsuri.

“-and now, it’s Christmas Eve and instead of spending it with our girlfriends, Giyuu and I are playing chess for the third fucking time, because that’s how long the girls have been on the phone with Y/N.” Obanai drawled. “Not that it hasn’t been entertaining — ‘Suri is convinced Y/N should’ve pushed you onto the tracks, Shinazugawa.”

Sanemi grit his teeth. “What did Y/N say, Obanai?”

His friend muttered something under his breath that sounded like an insult, but Sanemi said nothing, waiting as he heard Obanai’s voice grow smaller as he left the phone in favor of approaching the girls.

Sanemi’s stomach dipped at the renewed sound of indignant screeching that crackled through the phone, Tengen and Kyojuro snickering.

“Fine, alright, okay, stop yelling,” Obanai’s reedy and exasperated voice grew louder as he neared the phone again, though Sanemi could still hear the muffled sounds of Mitsuri squawking in the background.

“Mitsuri said you’re gonna have to man up and talk to Y/N yourself,” Obanai relayed, a hint of amusement lacing his tone. “And Shinobu said she doesn’t care enough about you to break girl code.”

Sanemi groaned, throwing an arm over his face as he leaned back into the sofa cushions, wishing he’d saved Y/N the trouble, and jumped in front of her oncoming train himself.

“How do I unfuck this?” He intoned to no one in particular, lifting the arm over his eyes to squint at his two friends as they continued to suppress their shit-eating smirks.

“You could try texting her,” Kyojuro offered, though Tengen shook his head in disagreement.

“You can’t just send a text right after confessing your undying love for her as her train was leaving,” the flamboyant man chided, clicking his phone off and kicking his feet up on the coffee table before him. “That’s like begging her to curse your ass out.”

Sanemi grumbled but he knew Tengen was right; whatever conversation he would have with Y/N would have to be in-person. She deserved that much, at least.

Tengen leaned back against the sofa, twiddling the toothpick wedged between his teeth, eyes narrowed at Sanemi in contemplation. “I thought you two hooked up back over the summer?”

Sanemi snorted, shaking his head, as Kyojuro quipped, “You’re thinking of Obanai and Kanroji.”

Their silver-haired friend looked back to Sanemi, eyebrow raising in incredulity. “You’re telling me, all this time, you two’ve been making eyes at one another and you haven’t been fucking?”

“Watch it,” Sanemi bristled, and Tengen held his hands up in surrender.

“Jesus you move slow,” he mumbled, and Sanemi chucked one of the decorative pillows lying next to him at his head, Tengen effortlessly batting the projectile away. “Is she coming to the cabin next week?”

He was referring to the spacious cabin their group had rented up in the snowy mountains to celebrate New Year’s Eve together, wanting a place large enough to accommodate them all, yet secluded enough that they wouldn’t cause too much harm when one of them inevitably set a tree on fire while drunkenly trying to set off fireworks.

Sanemi nodded, and Tengen’s smile turned smug. “Then I guess you’ll have to wait ‘til then to find out what she thinks.”

—————————————————————————

December 31st – New Year’s Eve

Sanemi Shinazugawa had never experienced torture, but the seven-day stretch between Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve was about as close as he’d thought he’d ever get.

By the time he, Tengen, and Kyojuro had loaded up his station wagon with their duffel bags and enough booze to open their own traveling liquor store, Sanemi thought the anxious buzz in his blood would make him jump out of his skin.

He’d not spoken to Y/N since saying goodbye to her at the train station — not really. He’d responded to her Merry Christmas! text in their larger group chat with his own holiday well-wishes, and she’d simply reacted to the message. Otherwise, his phone had remained remarkably silent, without so much as a meme from the woman who held his heart.

He knew that he couldn’t assume her silence meant the worst, even as his brain tried to convince him it was all it meant. After all, Y/N was experiencing her first holiday season without her brother, and Sanemi knew the emotions of such a milestone were far more likely to hold her attention than his pitiful love confession.

He felt nearly sick by the time he pulled into the circular driveway of the enormous log cabin, seated up the hill and a way back from the main road, surrounded only by an endless stretch of snow-covered trees and forest. As he helped Kyojuro unload the cases of beer and bottles of champagne from his trunk, Sanemi spied Mitsuri’s pink Volkswagen parked at the other end of the driveway, next to Gyomei’s Hummer.

Sanemi’s stomach flipped as Tengen unlocked the back door of the cabin, loudly calling out to their friends in greeting in that booming voice of his. Giyuu and Mitsuri leaned over the bannister of the staircase leading to the second floor, waving as the remainder of the friend group straggled through the door, stomping shoes against the welcome mat to clear themselves of any lingering snow.

Sanemi’s eyes met Mitsuri’s and the pinkette’s narrowed, as she promptly turned away from him with a pointed harrumph.

Kyojuro snorted as Sanemi sighed, and they heaved the case of beer they’d brought into the kitchen and on the counter.

It was going to be a long day.

—————————————————————————

Y/N emerged from the room she was sharing with Shinobu and Mitsuri not long after he’d arrived, decked out in some sparkly get-up of Mitsuri’s that was more suited to wearing out at the club than it was for staying in, though Sanemi wasn’t about to complain.

She’d cheerfully greeted every one of their friends with hugs and her smiles until she came to him. Thankfully, Y/N was far less awkward than he, and she’d only hesitated for a moment before giving him a hug that Sanemi found did not last nearly long enough.

As the group settled in with their drinks and grazed at the smorgasbord of food and snacks laid out in the kitchen, Sanemi caught sight of Y/N watching him, eyes expectant. He tried to muster the courage to approach her, to ask her if they could talk in private, but Sanemi balked at the weight of both Tengen and Mitsuri’s knowing stares as they flicked back and forth between himself and Y/N.

He couldn’t do this with an audience; he could only hope that Y/N would understand.

Yet, Y/N looked slightly hurt at the way Sanemi turned and struck up a conversation with Obanai and Gyomei, and Sanemi could feel at least one pair of eyes hurling daggers into his back as he remained turned away, no doubt from Y/N’s pink, livid best friend.

This was going to be damn near impossible, and yet, it was entirely his fault to begin with, as he’d been the one to stupidly blurt out that he loved Y/N to her without properly preparing himself for the moment; and now, it was his situation to un-fuck.

Somehow.

And so, Sanemi merely opened another beer and took a hearty swig of its contents, hoping to gain the liquid courage he’d need to finally confront her head-on.

—————————————————————————

Sanemi had downed two flutes of champagne since the sun had set and he still found himself jittery and uneasy as he continued to dodge Y/N’s pleading looks.

He felt like an asshole, especially right then, as the year wound down to its last half hour. Sanemi was standing in the kitchen alone, turning over a bottle of champagne in his hands as he debated taking it along with him when he went to find Y/N, and work things out between them. Perhaps they could open it in celebration if it turned out that she returned his feelings; if not, he could always drown his sorrows in the bubbly.

“If you don’t grow a pair and talk to Y/N, I’m making out with her at midnight,” Shinobu threatened, brushing by Sanemi to grab another bottle of cheap champagne to uncork. “Right in front of you.”

Sanemi shot her a shit-eating smirk. “Don’t think your boyfriend would be a fan of that idea,” he challenged, grabbing the opened bottle from Shinobu’s hand and pouring himself another glass of sparkling wine.

“I support it,” Giyuu called out from the living room, much to his girlfriend’s satisfaction and Sanemi’s irritation.

Shinobu tossed her hair over her shoulder and turned sharply away from him on her heel. “I rest my case.”

At that, Shinobu departed with a shrill reminder for him to man up! and Sanemi was left alone in the kitchen once more. With a deep inhale, Sanemi lifted his champagne flute to his lips and tipped back its contents, swallowing his champagne in a single wet gulp, before setting the glass back in the counter, and wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

He set out to find Y/N.

—————————————————————————

He found her outside, leaning up against the side of the cabin as she nursed her own flute of champagne, as she stared past the line of trees where their friends had begun assembling the various rockets and fireworks they’d gathered to mark the start of the new year.

Sanemi felt his tongue go thick at the sight of her, so pretty in the snow, though he didn’t know how she wasn’t shivering; she didn’t even have on a coat, and the only thing on her legs was a thin pair of nylons and her platform boots she insisted made her “nearly” as tall as him.

He joined her in leaning against the cabin on the opposite wall of her, though she did not acknowledge his presence past a small inclination of her head, her gaze instead falling to the glass clutched between her hands.

The silence stretched endlessly between them, making him shift his weight from leg to leg as he squirmed.

“Where’s that pretty smile o’ yours?” Sanemi finally broke, and Y/N looked up at him, a frown pulling her painted lips into an adorable pout.

He may have been a tad buzzed from the champagne, but his head felt clear, and his heart felt full as he looked towards his beautiful best friend, so very underdressed for the single-digit weather and snow in that sparkly two-piece Mitsuri had insisted she wear, even though it was just them at the cabin, celebrating.

“Back at the train station,” she mumbled after a moment, returning to her own champagne flute, swirling the liquid around.

Sanemi felt his gut sour, and he found his tongue incapable of forming any words, much to his embarrassment.

Neither said anything for a moment, the distant echoes of their friends cheering as they set up the fireworks magnified against the snowy backdrop of their mountain retreat.

“Why’re you avoiding me?” Y/N’s voice was so small, so unsure that Sanemi felt his heart ache because he hated that he’d been the cause of her doubt.

“I mean, how can you tell me that — what you said, a week ago, and now you can barely meet my eyes?”

“Y/N-“ Sanemi sighed, but Y/N cut him off once more.

“I understand if you didn’t mean it; I get it’s easy to get caught up in the moment, but just tell me that.” She pled.

Sanemi exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I was worried about your reaction,” he confessed after a moment, and Y/N’s frown deepened.

“I was also pissed at myself for doin’ it that way — I had a whole plan, I was gonna take you out somewhere nice, like you deserve, but, well,” Sanemi trailed off, awkwardly. “You just looked so happy at the Christmas party, and then you hugged me, and I guess I went a bit stupid.”

Y/N was silent, only staring at him with wide eyes, her champagne flute dangling precariously from her loose hand as she gaped at him.

“Y-you meant it? You really meant it?” She breathed.

Sanemi looked to her and rolled his eyes. “Yeah,” he answered, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I’ve been waiting…a long time, to hear you say that.” Y/N admitted, a tentative grin spreading across her face.

Sanemi met her smile with his own, and he began to advance slowly towards where she leaned against the cabin wall. “Sorry to make you wait, princess.”

Y/N responded with an airy laugh. “I expected I would have to break the ice,” her heart thundered against her sternum as Sanemi boxed her in against the logs with his arms. “I’ve been openly flirting with you since the snowball fight.”

Sanemi snorted. “And I’ve been putty in your hands since Halloween. Probably longer.” His hand rose to rest on the small, exposed sliver of her waist and Y/N shuddered at how warm his touch was.

“You sure know how to keep a girl waiting, then.” Y/N’s eyes narrowed in on the proximity of Sanemi’s lips to hers. Though felt the warmth of his breath caress her face, he maintained just enough distance between their lips to tease her.

“Jesus, you’re freezing,” Sanemi murmured, his thumb stroking the small patch of exposed skin above her hip.

Y/N smirked. “Then warm me up.”

Somewhere beyond the trees that dotted the property, Sanemi and Y/N’s friends began the countdown to midnight; but the two of them did not react to the impending new year, instead only holding one another’s gaze, steadily in the snow.

Their faces were titled towards one another, both still teasingly withholding the satisfaction of being the first to close the marginal distance between their lips from another. But in the distance, Sanemi vaguely heard his friends cry “ONE,” and so, right as the New Year arrived, he finally gave in, and he slanted his mouth over Y/N’s.

Later, Sanemi would muse over the fact that that had been the second time he’d missed a fireworks show with his friends, but he would not be able to care.

Because no display of colored sparks in the sky could compare to the feeling of Y/N’s lips moving fervently against his; could not compare to the way her fingers buried in his hair, or how she felt beneath his palms as he pressed her against the cabin wall and kissed her for all she was worth.

When they finally broke apart, the winter night had fallen silent once more, but it did not remain so; in an instant, their friends erupted into applause, with Tengen letting out a very loud Finally!

Y/N laughed and wrapped her hand around the collar of Sanemi’s jacket, hauling his mouth back to hers. As their friends made suggestive oohs, both Sanemi and Y/N stretched their hands out and simultaneously flipped the group off.

“It’s about damn time, you two,” Tengen drawled as the group made their way inside the warmth of the cabin.

“If you find a rocket in your bed tonight, Tengen, I want you to know it was me.” Sanemi replied smoothly, not taking his eyes off Y/N as she blushed under the hand he kept on her cheek.

—-———————————————————————

It was after two in the morning, and most of the revelers had finally drifted off to bed, drunk and happy and partied out. Only two couples remained awake, not quite yet ready to let the sparkling night fade to black.

One couple was seated on the ornate leather couch before the cabin’s lit Christmas tree, talking and giggling softly to themselves. Mitsuri stifled a sleepy yawn behind her hand, settling in against Obanai’s side as her eyelids drooped.

The ebony-haired man smiled to himself as Mitsuri’s breathing slowed, the beautiful girl finally nodding off against him as the excitement of the weekend lured her to sleep. Slowly, so as not to disturb his girlfriend’s peaceful rest, Obanai turned his head to watch the other couple still awake, though they were in the adjacent reading room.

There, standing before the large bay window of the cabin, Sanemi slow-danced with Y/N as the sound of some old holiday song crackled through the old record player of the cabin’s study. Y/N’s back was to Obanai, but her head was resting against his friend’s chest as Sanemi rocked them from side to side, his lips pressed against the girl’s hair. After a moment, Sanemi bent to murmur something in her ear, and Y/N drew back from his chest and nodded, causing his grin to spread wide across his face.

Obanai turned away from the sight of his friends, a small smile creeping onto his face, as Sanemi led his new girlfriend to his room.

—————————————————————————

Everyone was slow to rise later on New Year's Day, in no short part due to the previous night’s indulgences.

The last to rise, however, was the friend group’s newest couple, and it was with no small amount of delight that the friends saw Y/N emerge from Sanemi’s room, dressed in his sweater from the night before and a pair of men’s briefs. She padded into the kitchen, happy to accept the steaming mug of coffee that Shinobu handed her with a knowing smirk, while flipping off Tengen as he’d loudly asked her if she’d enjoyed her night.

When Sanemi finally entered the kitchen, a dark purple bruise seared into the side of his neck, the whole gang erupted into applause, much to the couple’s laughter and slight embarrassment.

Mitsuri sidled up to her best friend, nudging her with her shoulder. “Shinobu and I had a bet as to who would show up this morning with hickies. She owes me $5.”

Y/N’s returning smirk was naughty as she brought the steaming mug of coffee to her lips. “You just can’t see mine.”

Mitsuri giggled and Y/N couldn’t help but join her, feeling too warm and happy as her eyes met her now-boyfriend’s while he watched her from across the counter. As she’d swiped a donut from one of the several boxes scattered around the table, Y/N felt Sanemi’s fingers shyly brush against her own, and the pair exchanged small, sweet smiles before resuming conversation with their respective roommates.

Later, as the group loaded up cars with their luggage in a haphazard game of suitcase Tetris, Sanemi caught Y/N’s eye again and winked, prompting the latter to blush.

As they piled into their cars and drove away from the cabin, Sanemi realized he was the luckiest man in the world.

—————————————————————————

Epilogue — New Year’s Day, 2 years later

“He just texted me — they’re walking up,” Kyojuro whispered, and the group dissolved into renewed giggles and excitement as the snow drifted lazily outside.

“Shush!” Shinobu urged over the tittering group, as they all crouched in the dark, excitement buzzing among the friend group as they waited anxiously in Sanemi and Y/N’s apartment.

Mitsuri rocked on her heels beside Shinobu, squatting behind the couple’s sofa, her hands fluttering in glee. “They need to hurry up! I can hardly wait!”

“They’re almost — shut it!” Shinobu hissed at the unmistakable sound of a key entering a lock on the front door.

There was a wash of light from the apartment hallway as the door swung open, and Shinobu and the others burrowed deeper into their hiding spots. Only as the door clicked shut, and Sanemi flipped the light switch to their living room, did the group erupt.

“CONGRATULATIONS!” Every one of them — Mitsuri, Obanai, Shinobu, Tengen, Gyomei, Kyojuro and even Giyuu sprung from their various crouching spaces behind furniture and closets as they greeted the newly engaged couple.

Y/N’s hands flew to her face in surprise and joy, her cheeks bright red as she laughed. On her left hand, a beautiful, emerald ring sparkled.

The blushing bride-to-be turned to her fiancé and smacked him lightly on the chest. “You ass! Is this why you’ve been so weird and secretive over the last few weeks?”

Sanemi caught his fiancé’s hand and brought it to his lips, prompting the young woman to flush even further. Before she could return the gesture, Y/N was nearly knocked over by the flurry of pink and green that hurtled toward her, locking her arms around her neck and sobbing with joy.

“He was afraid he was gonna blow it,” Tengen offered, though he flinched at the sharp glare the scarred man shot his way. “Okay fine — he thought we would blow it.”

“I can’t imagine why he’d be concerned,” Y/N shook her head in mock-solemnity over Mitsuri’s shoulder. “After all, Giyuu did spoil Gyomei’s 22nd birthday.”

Giyuu made some sound of indignation as the tips of his ears reddened. Kyojuro thumped Sanemi on the back in congratulations. “I still think it would have been much nicer to have us all there when you finally popped the question, Shinazugawa!”

Sanemi rolled his eyes. “Like hell was I gonna let you shitheads ruin a romantic moment.”

Mitsuri, who’d not yet unwound her arms from Y/N’s neck, leaned in close to her best friend’s ear. “Did he cry?” She whispered conspiratorially.

Y/N’s grin widened. “Like a baby. He got down on one knee and started blubbering.”

It might have been a slight exaggeration — though her snowy-haired lover had gone misty-eyed as he’d knelt before her in front of the large Christmas tree in the city square and poured his heart out. As he pulled her in tight against him after sliding the delicate ring on her finger, Y/N had felt the wet droplets of his joyous tears as he’d buried his face into the side of her neck.

But Y/N couldn’t resist the chance to make it known amongst their friends that Sanemi Shinazugawa had the softest heart out of any of them.

The pair of best friends dissolved into giggles, before Mitsuri pulled away and the two hummed and hah’ed over Y/N’s engagement ring, Shinobu joining in as they marveled over the way the emerald shone.

Beside them, both Obanai and Giyuu looked accusingly at their smug friend. “Neither of them are gonna shut up about the ring now. Thanks, Shinazugawa.” Obanai grumbled.

Sanemi locked an arm around his friend’s neck and ground his knuckles into the top of his head. “Please. Like you don’t have a Pinterest board titled ‘future wedding’ for when you decide to have the balls to ask ‘Suri to marry you.” He grinned. “I’ve seen your phone, dude.”

“Jackass,” Obanai mumbled, though any ire he felt towards the snowy-haired man was quick to dissipate, because he couldn’t remember the last time Sanemi had smiled as broadly as he did right then.

He was happy — really, and truly happy.

Because Sanemi Shinazugawa loved many things.

He loved Saturday mornings, when there was no alarm or no obligations, and he could just exist peacefully in his bed with his woman wrapped snug in his arms. He loved when his phone had zero notifications, because that meant he was being left the fuck alone, and in peace.

He loved his friends, that wonderful group of people whom he’d known for most of his life, who’d always supported him or provided a good kick in his ass whenever he needed it.

But most of all, Sanemi loved New Year’s Day, and the snow, because it had brought him Y/N — his fiancé, and the great love of his life, and all her smiles that he had to look forward to every day, for all the days to come.

[quiteliterallyilliterate]

MDNI

Ok, for real this time.

CW: Sex/Sexual content, not feral twilight, but he’s almost there, light marking, breeding

Reader has feminine anatomy and no pronouns.

Not proofread!!

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Spring was a very prominent season among Ordon. Sure, every season had its place in their ritualistic life. But given Ordon was a small farming village, the icey cold of winter and droughts of summer didn’t provide them with much. Hell— even the goats were cranky without fresh grass to gnaw on.

But the sun would, with time, melt the snow and nourish the land. Small flowers would poke up on the edges of pathways and riverbeds. The bank would crack as the sheets of ice splintered and gave way. The grounds would soften and absorb the first rain of many months.

Link had always loved spring. As a boy, he loved the warm sun on his skin as he picked away at fresh grass, splitting the blades and getting soft dirt under his fingernails. As he grew, the season proved to be enjoyable far beyond just its temperance. Laying largely in, of course, that his job of caring for a herd of goats relied primarily on their happiness. Spring was kind to him. The sun didn’t beat at his skin, the goats didn’t groan their discontent, the work was plentiful, but pleasant.

Only one true downside sprung to mind with the season of spring. He remembers being particularly younger -perhaps his first season working as a hand with the goats- and getting rammed by a particularly competitive ram. His chest and back had minor bruises, and his palms were scraped.

It was that year he learned there was a lot more to caring for a herd of animals than simply providing them what they needed.

‘One must adjust themselves’ Fado explained as he wrapped the scrapes, ‘To the animals, you are new. Not one of them. Competition to that ram, in his eyes.’ He chuckled heartily as Link explained that he was only trying to help feed them. ‘They ain’t smart enough to know that, kiddo. Don’t you worry yerself. Now run along, I have things handled.’

The years passed. He grew familiar with the herd and they grew familiar with him. He could pick out which were particularly moody, the others more friendly. He knew their waking and feeding times to the minute. He knew which were the most prone to being lame.

But most importantly related to avoiding injury, like that of his prior example, when they’d mate.

And though he never would admit it aloud to a single soul so long as he had dignity, the idea was captivating. The thought that someone could feel the primal need to fuck so badly that the world becomes irrelevant was one he’d often entertain on quieter nights, his lungs struggling to draw steady breath as his hands wrapped around his cock. There was something about that need to rut into somewhere soft and warm and fertile never failed to draw strangled whines from his throat.

But of course, that was before he had to actually tend to said urges.

That was before his soul was shattered and welded back together with something more beast than man.

He’d found, more often than not, that a rut was more annoying than anything else. He was constantly covered in a thin sheen of sweat from his body temperature being so elevated. Worked wonders for attracting attention as a bead of sweat would travel down the contours of his muscles. However, having consistently damp sheets because of it was so annoying he’d sleep on the couch most nights. The aggression was mostly annoying because it resulted in him cursing out the goats so often he was sure he looked utterly insane.

That was, of course, not even mentioning the sexual aggression.

The weeks dragged out and the temperatures raised up. And every single night Link would come home, take a shower, eat some dinner, and proceed to spend the rest of the evening with his hands between his legs. Occasionally a pillow would find its way between strong, plush thighs, his hips bucking and grinding pathetically at the sensation. But even after his hands, thighs, stomach and bed were stained with sticky cum, another wave of mind-numbing heat would roll over him.

Notably most annoying was there was no solution. Horny as he was, the beast would shove away any lover he tried to take in distaste. It craved something special. Something specific to sate his urges and carry his kin.

At first, he thought this to be a cruel and unusual curse from Hylia. Her way of forsaking her hero who was permanently ‘tainted’. It only seemed fitting when one considers the purity culture the church possesses. That it was something beyond simply shameful to tend to temptation.

But then he met you. You who was always different. Who both him and wolf pined for. Who had him tripping over himself for your affection. You who he didn’t care about the consequences. So long has he had you.

You who did not spit at him for who he was— what he was. You who loved him regardless. You who kissed his tattoos and markings. You who reassured him during his anxiety attack, that you weren’t ’too good for him’ that he truly was deserving of love either way.

So much had shifted since then, though nothing really had at all. The both of you both still split chores and cuddled at night. But now both hemispheres of his sentience could be satisfied knowing you were his. First as a lover who he could cuddle and kiss, someone to cherish until the end of his being. And second as a mate who he could protect and claim, someone to breed and carry his pups.

Not much changed as of genuine dynamics, but his outlook most certainly had.

Spring, familiar in the back of his mind, began to bloom. The snow melted off the fields, the life returning to the woods, his mind running wild at seeing any newly exposed skin.

To some extent he felt indecent. The man in him wanted to help you prepare for the festival, to caress your warm skin and pepper your cheeks with kisses. He wanted to enjoy life at your side. The wolfish, however, wanted nothing more than to pin you to the bed and fuck you senseless. To make new life as if his own was dependent on it. The civility instilled in him was mortified with the thoughts of the primal.

But that of course, made them no less present. Nor did it made his skin no less warm, or his jealousy less looming.

Ordon never really held large events, but the equinox of each season was mutually assured to be the time to go all in. Each family would show up with multiple dishes and drinks and the festivities would last long into the early hours of the day. It was your first time at the spring festival, the children presenting you with a flower crown and giddy grins. You both ate and drank your shares, laughing among the village. Just like any other family at the table… that was, excluding the lack of little ones.

Eventually, some of the more drunken began to sing and chant, the makeshift beat and music causing some to dance and sway. Link hung back as you were tugged into the crowd by Ilia. The fading sun caught your skin, dousing it in a radiance beyond mortality. He could hear your laughter amidst the voices, clear and crisp. You were divine, he decided. Not just perfect or stunning, but someone he’d devote himself to until he had nothing left to give.

He’s actually quite unsure on how long it was he sat there in admirance. He got more than a few comments on how utterly lovesick he was for you, but it didn’t matter. Not to him. Not now you were finally his. You came back, a smile lingering on your lips as you kissed him, your hand squeezing his shoulder with some sense of urgency.

“Are you alright?” His hand, rough from a life of nothing but work, cupped your jaw with such delicacy. His voice was hushed, not wishing to draw attention to you in the case something truly was wrong. You grabbed him by the collar, demanding him closer, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you spoke.

“I think it’s time we headed home.” And who was he to deny you? Especially not with the lilt in your voice, one that had him weak willed to your order.

He didn’t bother putting you down as he walked through the front door. He had you on the bed in seconds. He straddled your hips, a single strong hand pressing you to the mattress by the neck. His hands tugged sharply at your shirt, ripping away the fabric with a muttered promise for a new shirt. He immediately defended upon the skin, latching and sucking marks and bruises.

“Yer so fuckin’ stunning sugar” He whispered against your skin, kissing the hickey he just planted.

“All laid out f’me, huh?” His accent thickened, his teeth grazed against the fragile skin of your throat, pulling it taught in places.

“All yours, just for you” You managed to weakly affirm. He grinned, sharp and suggestive.

“All mine.” He nipped at your neck, his subconscious running crazy with the scent of your skin. Begging him once more to claim— to mark what’s his. Reverently, he kisses the lovebites he leaves. Some bleed, but his tongue travels along each ridge in the bite mark. He savours your blood on his tongue. It’s the finest drug, setting each half of his mind reeling and his own blood rushing. He travels to your perked nipples, suckling on them both in turns as his hand massages the other one.

“So good for me.” He lets his hand trail down to your thighs, pressing them open. He chuckles at how easily they spread apart. A fang drags lightly against your skin as he kissed right above your hips, directly on top of where your uterus would be.

“G’na look so pretty, all stuffed with my pups.” He looked up at you through his lashes, his hands tightening around your thighs with the look of need on your face.

“I’ll help ya’ darlin’ don’t you worry” He slid back, hooking a finger over your waistband and asking a slightly shaky “may I?”

“Please, Link I-“ His hands ripped through any clothes that separated his mouth from your cunt. His hands slid to your hips to pull them even closer to his face as he lapped away. A starving man would’ve been more civilised with their meal.

But as far as he was concerned, he was drinking the most intoxicating wine straight from the tap.

He payed no mind to your whines, nor did he slow as your thighs squeezed his head. He would occasionally dive up, his tongue toying with your clit. He lets your fingers thread hrough his hair, pulling him as close as possible before gushing into his maw. He revels in the pain of your knuckles tugging at your hair. He leans in closer, trying to drink you in even more. You tried to pull back to give him breathing room, only to be pulled back in by the hips. He licked your pussy clean, some cum still dripping down his chin. Your hips buck at the sight, a man so pussydrunk he could die of suffocation between your thighs and be happy. He gently traveled back up to kiss either of your cheeks and comb through your hair, massaging out the insides of your thighs as you resurfaced from your mind.

“Love?” He praised you in his tone alone, his forehead pressed against yours as he untangles himself from between your legs.

“Yes?” You open one half-lidded eye to see a beggar man, eyes full of such hope.

“C-Can I,-“ He didn’t need to say ask before you knew the question.

“Yes.” He’s careful, as of trying to convey to you in the motion of pressing your legs upward just how much he loves you.

Something in his eyes darkens the second he’d sunken inside your heat. He paused, letting you adjust to him and your muscles to relax.

“Fuck that greedy hole a’ yours fits me- so so well” He grumbles out, his chest rising and falling, as if staying still were truly a great effort to him. He bares his teeth, unnaturally sharp for one of his kind. His hips suddenly draw back and snap against your own, his length pushing against your cervix. He mumbles fragmented praises incoherently, slamming into you with an abusive pace, contrasted to the slow circling of your clit. His hand is so warm against your sensitive nerves, you want help but buck and wail in a desperate attempt to keep the stimulation as you get closer and closer to cumming. And you know you’re not alone— his grunts turning raspy the closer he himself gets to cumming, almost like a growl.

“Gna’ knock you up.” His hips buck out of time, but certainly no less fast. Your cunt flutters with the dizzying combination of sensations.

“You want that? My litter? Pups of our own?” Perhaps it was the near ferality in his tone that caused you to topple over. Or maybe it was his two fingers that curled around your clit. Even his cock nudging against your most sensitive bundle of nerves. He followed not too soon after, your silken walls squeezing around him must’ve been exactly the fix he’d been lusting after.

You both spent a few minutes curled up, catching your breath and letting your minds settle. You begin to shift, only to be met with a needy whine and arms around your abdomen.

“Nonono! Not yet- Please stay still” Link’s arms were loose, willing to let you go if that were your decree. You made no motion to move, much to his delight. He kneaded out any of your sore muscles and whispered praises into your hair as he played with it. Your eyelids began to flutter, sleep only staged off by his quiet whisper.

“Hey Darlin’?”

“Hm?”

“I love you. I love you so much.”

[bwabys-scenarios]

Heya! Just thinking about Kurapika cuase he my fav. Since Kurta culture is such a big deal to him, how would he try to teach his significant other about it? Would he try to teach them as they go along or would he try to distance himself from his past culture? Thanks for writing these Headcannons, they get me through my busy work week lollll

Kurapika and his culture, thoughts and HCs

!!REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!

A/N: This is less of an x reader and more of Kurta tradition HCs! Also, these are all made up and not inspired by anything specific, so any likeliness to actual cultural practices is not intended. The only tradition that is inspired by real culture is the last one, which is inspired by Dia De Los Muertos(which is obvious but I wanted to give credit where credit is due!!)

Thoughts

Absolutely! As the only Kurta left alive, he’s the only one that can keep his culture and traditions alive. It’s one of the reasons he wants children so badly, he wants to have his clan again!

I think Kurapika isn’t the type to force you to learn or expect you to participate in his culture, after all it’s not your own, but he’d very much appreciate it if you did. You’re his everything, all he has left in this world and the future mother of his children, and he’d be over the moon if you wore the traditional tabards on special holidays and practiced the traditional dance that the Kurta people would preform on their wedding nights.

He also won’t be overbearing with having his kids participate, but will be filled with joy when the little ones ask why daddy is wearing something different and praying on certain days.

Kurapika will bully his friends into celebrating with him, though. Gon and Killua have their own Kurta tabards that they have to wear when then come over during holidays. And no, Gon’s isn’t green. You’ll see why later on in this post.

HCs

-I think the Kurtas had many different traditions, which I will list here.

-One tradition I already mentioned, which is the bride and groom performing a specific dance on their wedding day. It’s a sign of devotion and love that lasts a lifetime, so it’s one of the only things Kurapika really wants you to do.

-Another is celebrating the coming of fall and harvests, alone with spring, summer, and winter. Each season has a different celebration and traditions, like dancing in the snow and leaving your favorite preserved fruit in the windowsill as an offering.

-You give that fruit during winter, a time where the fields are barren so when the fruit is ripe again, the gods give back tenfold.

-In spring, there are always flowers decorating doorframes, most families represented by a specific flower(marigolds for Kurapika’s family!), which is said to strengthen the spirits of each household.

-During summer, the children all made little dolls out of straw(or clay if their family works with it) and fill them with sweets, then leave them in the forest. This is an offering to the forest spirits so they can continue to coexists among each other. The Kurta people have a lot of respect for nature, always giving back what they take.

-The most important tradition takes place during late fall, right before winter. It’s a day to remember your loved ones who have passed, and obviously this holiday is especially rough for Kurapika. Before the massacre, it was a day that was spent celebrating the lives that once were, but now it is full of grief. He wears all green. Brown and earthy tones are used for grieving too, like for widows that are in states of mourning, but green is reserved for funerals. The earthy times symbolize the deceased giving their bodies back to the earth, and the inevitably of returning to dust.

-Because their scarlet eyes are treasured in the clan and green is opposite to red, green is seen as a color of morning. Fun fact, the first time Kurapika saw Gon, he assumed he was in a deep state of mourning because he was wearing an entirely green outfit. Of course he soon learned that the Kurta way of mourning was different than the rest of the world, but that didn’t stop him from being more gentle with Gon for a while.

-Kurapika prefers to pray alone when he’s in mourning. He gets choked up and cries sometimes, and needs time to collect himself and process the tremendous loss he feels.

[babydollmarauders]

CHRISTMAS MIRACLE — COLE CAUFIELD

cole caufield x fem!reader

12 DAYS OF KINKMAS

summary: in which y/n gets stuck with her enemy, Cole, and finds out hate can lead to some miracle discoveries

warnings: NSFW CONTENT, long intro, handjob, p in v (protected), sub!cole (ish?). (4.7k words)

notes: welcome to day 10 of my 12 days of kinkmas! we’re in the final stretch of kinkmas and i hope you guys are enjoying it!

this isn’t how i want to be spending the first day of my break.

well, i guess the first hour of my break.

i was just getting ready to head home, dreading driving in the blizzard of a snow storm and taking my time to psych myself up, when an equipment manager called me over. he told me a player forgot his ipad and is asking if anyone would be willing to drop it off on their way home because he’d like to go over plays during the break.

hesitantly, i said sure, i’d bring it to them; but what i wasn’t aware of, and what i’m sure my coworker conveniently forgot to mention, is that the player in question is Cole fucking Caufield.

it’s not necessarily that i hate Cole; on the contrary, i had always thought he was extremely kind and talented.

in fact, when i had originally interned with the Laval Rocket, he was always incredibly nice to me. and in turn, i fell for him a little each day.

but then, he was called up to Montreal, and the following season, i was offered the position of media manager for the Canadiens.

i was excited, i spent the week leading up to my first day thinking about how wonderful it would be to be able to joke around with Cole again. i thought of sketch tiktoks for the team to do, most with Cole as the leading man because i knew he was a fan favorite, and questions to ask as they took the ice for practice.

and it was great at first. Cole was sweet and he was always willing to take part in team tiktoks, always greeting me with a smile. but around a month later, something changed.

no longer was he the kindhearted individual i was familiar with, instead he was cold shouldered and rude; snarky and arrogant. and that’s the way it’s stayed. for the past few years it’s felt like pulling teeth to try and communicate with him, and even worse to convince him to be in team tiktoks.

which brings me to now, standing at the front door of his house, an ipad tucked under my arm as i stand in the blistering cold. snow sticks on my lashes, flurries in my hair, but my toque does nothing to shield me from the cold Montréal air.

if i drove here on the icy roads, my windshield wipers at full speed, just for him to not even answer the fucking door, i’m gonna lose it.

i bang my fist upon the door again, body shivering from the cold, and it takes merely a moment for him to finally open the door.

he greets me with a wide smile, but when he sees that it’s me who stands before him, that cheery facade drops, a cold, blank expression taking its place.

i can hear the news blasting from his living room as the heated air wafts out of the home, blasting my face and making my nose go numb from the sudden cold to warm.

“what?” he asks, voice monotone.

“here,” i shove the ipad into his chest harshly, making him cough from the sudden impact, “next time, don’t leave your fucking ipad at the rink.”

he glares back, taking the ipad into his hands and parting his lips to argue.

“it was an accident,” he sneers, “trust me, if i knew you would bring it to me, i definitely would’ve double checked i had it.”

you.

my body fills with anger, insulted yet hurt by the way he says it. as though he’s repulsed by me.

“ya know what, asshole?” i don’t even get to finish my quip before i’m cut off a loud alarm coming from the tv.

it gathers both he and i’s attention, his head snapping back to look at the screen, while i peer around him to see it.

“with the blizzard picking up and roads becoming icier, officials have reported that all roads will now be closed for the night. stay inside and stay warm. we’ll get back to you when the storm passes.”

the news reporters words echo through my head, forcing me to end my comeback and just turn around.

i take a step towards the stairs that lead up to his door, but i’m stopped almost immediately.

“hey, where are you going?” Cole calls out from behind me.

“home!”

“they just said the roads are closed.”

“exactly,” i huff, “which means i need to get going quick so that if i get pulled over, i can say i was already driving.”

i’m about to take a step down the stairs when a hand wraps around my forearm, pulling me back.

“don’t be stupid, y/n,” he says, “you’re gonna crash, and i’m not living with your death on my fucking conscience.”

i turn to look at him, a heated glare in my eyes, “i’m not staying with you.”

a mischievous smirk spreads across his lips as he pushes me toward his open door, “yeah, you are.”

i stumble into the warm house, a stark contrast to the weather outside, and i just get my bearing when i hear the door shut, Cole flipping the lock and walking idly past me towards the living room.

“what the fuck is your problem?” i huff, shaking my head as i succumb to my fate, removing my coat and hanging it on a coat hook next to his door.

“my problem?” he looks over at me astonished, “i’m trying not to let you die.”

i roll my eyes, my arms crossing over my chest.

“i would not have died.” but he’s not paying any attention to my words, his eyes locked on something else entirely.

i follow his line of sight straight down to my breasts, inadvertently pushed up from my crossed arms, and my nipples pebbling through my thin dress.

“oh my god,” i hiss, moving my arms to cover my breasts, “fucking pig.”

his eyes snap up to mine before he rolls them.

“get over yourself, it’s nothing special.”

for some reason, i feel offended. not that him looking at them was great, but the way he shrugs it off and implies my tits are average?

“oh fuck off,” i fume, “people would pay to see these.”

he smirks, wiggling his eyebrows a few times, “you saying people pay to see you naked?”

“what? no!” i’m at a loss for words, not an easy achievement for most people, and yet a common occurrence when i’m around him.

“pretty sure that’s what you implied. and i’m sorry to let you down, but i’m not paying twenty bucks to see your rack.”

i gape, blinking at him in shock, “you couldn’t even pay me fifty to see these!”

i’m not even sure why i’m letting this conversation drag on; why i’m even entertaining it.

i sigh, stalking past him and bumping into his shoulder as i make my way to the living room.

“why would i pay when i could see them for free?” he chuckles at my lame tantrum, following behind me.

“what makes you think that?” i sneer, dropping down on the couch, Cole quick to follow.

“well that’s why you took the job, right?” he laughs, “it’s why you were constantly putting me in the spotlight of the team tiktoks and why you were always so buddy-buddy with me? you’re into me.”

i stare back at him in anger, but also frustration. frustration that anyone would think i would take a job just for a man.

“let’s set things fucking straight,” i snap, “i took the job because it was good pay and i grew up here, therefore, the Canadiens are my team and the plan was always to work for them. long before you showed up.

“i put you in the spotlight of the tiktoks because you’re the fan favorite. you have teeny-bopper girls fawning over your nice guy act and for some reason they fucking eat it up. and finally, i was ‘buddy-buddy’ with you because i thought you were a nice fucking guy and you made me believe we could be friends. never would i ever make a career decision for a fucking guy.”

i’m absolutely seething by the end of my rant, one knee bent on the couch and my body twisted to face him.

“sure.”

that one worded response sets me off. i don’t know what it is about Cole Caufield that gives him the ability to get under my skin like nobody else has, but i’m absolutely rageful.

“god, i can’t believe i ever fucking liked you!” i freeze. the words slipped out before i even had a second to process them, and now i watch as a cocky grin paints his face.

“so you admit, you like me.”

“liked. past tense,” i tell him, “i fell victim to your charming, nice guy facade. but never again.”

“you keep saying that!” he grunts, “i am a nice guy!”

“yeah? well, you certainly pick and choose who to be nice to, and for some reason, i’m not on that list.”

i can’t understand for the life of me why i’m suddenly feeling emotional, but i decide in the moment to blame it on pent up frustration. i always have been an angry crier.

“which is fine,” i sniffle, “but god, you didn’t have to be such a fucking dick. i liked you and i thought you liked me; but then all of a sudden you switched up. you started hating me, and i don’t even know what i did!”

Cole seems at a loss for words, shocked by sudden change of emotions. but, he also seems confused, his brows furrowed and a frown upon his lips.

“you don’t know?” he huffs, “i literally asked you out like five times, y/n! and you rejected me every single time!”

now it’s my turn to be confused, “what? no, you didn’t.”

“uh, yeah, i did! i asked if you wanted to go out for drinks after games like five times and every time you said no!”

realization dawns on me, clarity filling my head, and i can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

“why are you laughing?!” Cole groans, head falling onto the back of the couch and hands covering his face.

“because,” i giggle, “this is ridiculous.”

“how?” his response is muffled by the palms of his hands, but i can hear the frustration in his voice.

“because you asked me out five times and all five times, i thought you were just asking if i wanted to join the team for drinks!”

his hands fly away from his face, head snapping up to look at me, “what?!”

i nod my head, overcome by a fit of giggles.

“you thought i was asking you…. to hang out as a group?”

“yes!” i cackle, “and i get uncomfortable in crowded bars, so i made excuses! jesus, Cole! we’ve hated each other for years because i misunderstood your idea of a date!”

Cole is silent for a moment, staring off in front of him at the news playing on the tv, before he slowly begins chuckling.

“oh my god,” he laughs, a hand slapping down on his thigh and making me laugh even harder, “so you hate me now, don’t you?”

“oh yeah,” i nod, “you were a dick!”

“hey!” he chuckles, “you weren’t very nice to me either! i mean just like fifteen minutes ago you shoved an ipad into my chest!”

“you deserved that.” i point to him, narrowing my eyes.

he shrugs, “alright, yeah, i deserved that.”

the room goes mostly quiet, Cole watching the news, while my sight is drawn to the window, watching the snow cascade down to the ground.

we sit there for at least half an hour, him flipping through channels and me watching the blizzard, before a lightbulb goes off in my head.

“hey, i have an idea.” i announce, catching Cole’s attention.

“hmm?”

“i’m sure we both still have some pent up anger and frustration, we can’t exactly just erase the past couple years of hating each other,” he hums for me to continue, “how about a snowball fight?”

he glances over at me with a singular raised brow, “a snowball fight? what, like we’re six?”

“exactly!” i nod, “we get to pelt each other with snowballs and let out any residual anger towards each other, and then we get to start anew. get a clean slate. whadd’ya say?”

his eyes flicker between me and the window for several moments before he nods, “i say let’s do it.”

with that, we scurry from the couch, bundling back into our coats and toque’s, he even lends me a pair of gloves, and then we’re running out into the thick blanket of snow that covers the ground.

we agree on fifteen minutes to build our shields, hurrying to build snow walls as high as we can, and once i deem the ten minutes over, i’m hiding behind my wall, crafting snowballs into a pile beside me.

grabbing one in my hand, i peer out from behind my shield, watch as Cole does the same, and on instinct my hand flexes forward, throwing the snowball as hard as i can.

obviously not from here, Cole’s shield crumbles upon my third snowball throw, making me cackle as the snow cascades down upon him.

he looks over at me with a glare and i duck down, listening to the pelt of snowballs against my shield, but then it goes quiet and all i can hear is the crunch of snow until suddenly it stops.

my brows thread together as i keep an ear out for any sound, but just as i’m about to peer over my wall, it comes crumbling down, and i look up to find the culprit grinning victoriously.

“hey! no fair!” i huff, throwing a snowball right at his chest. he gapes back at me in astonishment.

“you knocked mine down too!” he shouts, a snowball hitting me in the shoulder.

“yeah, but that was an accident! yours was just poorly made!” another snowball to his shoulder, “mine was made well, you knocked it down on purpose!”

he shrugs, taking off and crunching through the snow as he tries to get away. he stops to pick up more snow and i take my chance to throw, hitting him square in the back.

but he doesn’t even turn around, tossing a snowball over his shoulder. i attempt to dodge it but my efforts are in vain as the snow lands directly on the top of my head, making me scoff in frustration.

“rude!” i yell, taking aim and hitting him directly in the back of the head. snow sticks his hair and he whips around to look at me, but upon seeing me; my hat knocked off and snow covering the top of my head, he starts laughing.

“that’s it!” i call out, stomping over to where he’s fallen onto his butt mid-laughter, his eyes squeezed closed as he chuckles with glee.

towering over him, i hold a snowball in my hand, not throwing it, but instead smashing it upon the top of his head.

his laughter falters, his eyes flying open to scowl up at me as i begin to giggle.

“you’re right, that was pretty funny!” i laugh, but i don’t make it long before i step forward, my foot hitting an icy patch of grass, and i fall forward, a squeal leaving my lips as i land on top of him.

“shit.” i breathe out.

“guess you really did fall for me.” he quips and i roll my eyes, but despite the cheesy line and the freezing cold air, the spots in which his hands rest on my sides are burning.

“that was so corny..” i tell him.

“yeah?” he raises a brow, one hand leaving my side, and i almost mourn his touch, but then a handful of snow is being shoved down my coat and i’m squealing, wiggling on top of him as the snow begins to melt into icy water and trickle down my body.

“oh my god, Cole!” i moan in frustration, my face twisting in discomfort.

“don’t do that.” he stiffens, his hands holding me still on top of him.

confusion pinches my face, but then i feel it, his half hardened cock pressing against my thigh.

my teeth sink into my bottom lip, a spark running through my body, but i push myself off of him, standing up and brushing off my coat.

“ya know what sounds good?” i ask him, stepping back as he stands as well.

“what?” he grunts, a small glare pointed my way.

“hot cocoa,” i smile, “or… something else to warm us up.”

“i don’t know if i have cocoa, but i have coffee.”

i nod, “that works! it’ll warm us up and wake us up!”

Cole trudges into the house and i follow suit, but despite my attempt to change the subject, my mind is still stuck on him being turned on.

a gust of air blows through as i reach the door, a shiver traveling down my spine, and i quickly step inside, shutting the door behind me.

i shed my coat and gloves before kicking off my shoes, hanging my now damp hat on the coat hook over my coat.

trailing behind him into the kitchen, i watch as he opens cupboards, rifling through them. i hop up on the counter, legs pressed together, sitting silently until he huffs and turns around.

“i-” he trails off and i follow his eyesight back down to my breasts for the second time today, my nipples stiff and poking through my dress from the previous frigid air.

“Cole.” i snap my fingers, grabbing his attention as his eyes flick back up to my face.

“hmm?”

“god, if you wanna see ‘em, all you gotta do is ask,” i joke, flipping my hair over my shoulder as Cole steps forward.

“can i see them?” he asks, a wicked smirk plastered to his lips.

my lips part, my eyes wide as i blink back at him.

is he serious right now?

surely he’s joking, but i call his bluff, my thumbs slipping through the shoulder collars of my shirt and pulling them down.

i pull my arms out, the top of the dress now only covering my chest, but he continues staring at me. leveling him with a raised brow as i pull the top of my dress down.

i have every intention of just slowly teasing him, but the fabric glides too quickly, my breasts fully exposed to the chilly air now.

his eyes widen and he stumbles slightly in his hurried steps toward me. my teeth sink into my bottom lip, watching him admire my naked chest.

“you actually-” he cuts himself off with a chuckle, his hands hover in the air before them as he peers at me, “can i?”

i nod, and when his cold skin meets mine, a chill runs through me.

lightly pawing at my breasts, his thumb and pointer fingers pinch my nipples, making my back arch involuntary at the stinging touch.

“Cole.” i whimper through a quiet moan.

he steps even closer, nudging my legs open with his body, and my hands reach out, locking around the back of his neck.

“can i kiss you?” i breathe out.

“fuck yeah.”

i pull him forward, finding his lips with mine in a long overdue kiss, and what starts out slow and careful, quickly heats up into something intense and messy.

my tongue slips into his mouth, pushing and battling against his as he continues playing with my nipples, pinching and pulling, rubbing them between us.

a moan reverberates from my mouth and into his, causing him to smile into the kiss.

“you don’t understand how long i’ve been waiting for this.” he mutters, his lips brushing against mine.

“probably not as long as i have.” i tell him honestly, earning a light giggle from him.

his lips capture mine once more, but his hands divert their attention, trailing down my body and pushing my dress down as a result.

“yeah, i forgot, you have the hots for me.” he grins as i lift my hips, allowing him to pull my dress down my legs and fling it onto the counter.

i roll my eyes, wrapping my legs around his waist lightly, “shut up and take me to your room.”

“yes, ma’am.”

i’m almost frightened by the way my core dampens from his reply. i’ve never generally been a dominant person in the bedroom, but there’s something about him that makes me want to become one.

when we reach his bedroom, i unhook my legs, my front sliding down his body and rubbing against his hardened length as my feet lower to the floor.

my hands find the waistband of his sweatpants, still slightly damp from the snow, and i peer at him through my lashes. when he breathes out a lust-driven ‘yes’ in approval, i push them down, allowing him to kick them off and free his cock from the restraint. he pulls his shirt over his head in a rush, leaving him naked before me in all his glory.

tight muscles and chiseled abs make my mouth water, a sculpted v-line leading to his thick cock.

well, now i know why he has his nickname.

leaning in until my lips are nearly pressing against his ear, i whisper an unsure demand, “get on the bed.”

Cole swallows harshly, nodding as he pulls me toward his mattress. sitting on the edge, he looks up at me, awaiting approval, but i shake my head.

“in the middle.” i clarify.

he follows my orders, sitting prettily in the middle of the bed. an animalistic sensation comes over me, urging me to crawl forward on the mattress, and when i do, i hover over him.

one hand rests upon his abs, tracing the results of his stern training regime, while the other presses into the mattress, holding myself up.

i can feel him shiver underneath me as my nails graze across his torso before i find myself trailing down, wrapping my fingers around his erection and giving a small tug.

a hiss falls from his lips, his jaw clenching as his hips jerk up into my fist.

“aww, look at you.” i coo. i bring my hand up to my mouth, licking up my palm before spitting into it twice, rubbing my fingers into it to lubricate it well.

gripping his cock once again, i slowly begin flicking my wrist, pumping as i stare down at him.

shaky curses and tight grunts come from his mouth, his body writhing underneath me, and the sight is enough to make my core pulse, wetness dampening my panties.

i take the moment to trail wet kisses up his chest, starting from the top of his abdomen and leading all the way up to his collarbone.

“so good for me.” i hum, backing away to spit on his cock.

my thumb rubs over his tip, the mix of precum and saliva helping my hand pump his dick smoothly, and he groans loudly, eyes squeezing shut as his face scrunches in pleasure.

“please, y/n,” he whimpers, his voice cracking, “i’m not gonna last. i wanna be inside you.”

“yeah? you think you deserve my pussy?”

i don’t even know who i am anymore, but i find myself liking the newfound confidence that fills my body.

“yes,” he nods harshly, “yes, please!”

my hand stills, releasing him and flattening against the comforter to wipe off the spit.

“condom?” i question, and he points to his bedside drawer, watching closely as i lean over and grab one.

i open the foil packet carefully, discarding it on the nightstand and pinching the tip before slowly rolling it onto him. my motions earn another huffed out breath of pleasure from his lips.

my thumbs hook into the waistband of my panties, pushing them down and off my legs before i throw them to the floor.

crawling back over top of him, i grasp his cock in my hands one more time, rubbing it through my slick folds. it’s glides smoothly through my wetness, and my head tips back as it rubs against my clit.

“fuck, Cole.”

lining him up with my entrance, i sink down slowly, the tip of his cock penetrating my core and stretching out my walls. the stinging pleasure worsens as i sink down lower, and i begin slowly bouncing with shallow movements until it becomes easier to slide onto his erection.

his hands grip my hips tightly, fingertips digging into my skin, but i can’t bring myself to care as i finally take all of him.

“shit.” he curses through gritted teeth, voice tight.

i slowly begin grinding my hips, my clit brushing against his pelvic bone with every movement, and i cry out as i begin bouncing on top of him, his hips meeting mine with shallow thrusts upwards.

my jaw slackens, breathy moans drifting out as i work my hips up and down, listening intently to the sound of his cock sliding through my wetness as my walls draw him in with each downward motion.

“god, you’re so big.” my words are shaky, my hands clutching at his chest in order to support myself.

soon, my legs begin to tire, shaking in both pleasure and exhaustion, and Cole catches on quickly, taking over the brunt of the work as he begins to pound into me from below.

the intensity of his thrusts sends me falling forward, my tits pressing against his chest, and he takes of the position, capturing my lips with his in a heated manner.

his lips press against mine, his tongue exploring my mouth, and it’s a struggle for me not to cry out as the new angle causes the tip of his cock to graze my g-spot with every thrust.

my stomach begins tightening with slowly building pressure, my walls clenching around him with my impending orgasm.

my toes curl, and knowing i’m close, i break our kiss, snaking my hand between our bodies in order to rub my clit.

“fuck, i’m close.” he gruffs, his hips smacking against mine as his thrusts speed up.

i nod my head against him, “me too.”

my fingers circle my clit, pushing me further and further towards the edge, but before i can get there, Cole is one step ahead.

he lets out a harsh grunt, spilling out into the condom as he fucks me through his release, and the feeling of his dick pulsating inside me spurs on my own climax.

my breath hitches, toes curling as i cum around his cock, my fingers slowing down on my clit.

slumping entirely against him, my head lays against his shoulder, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath me.

“what the fuck just happened?” i pant, rolling off of him in favor of burying myself into his side.

his arms wrap around my waist, pulling me tighter to him as he chuckles.

“a goddamn christmas miracle.”

i giggle loudly, a snort escaping me and in turn making him laugh harder.

when we finally calm down, our breathing evening out and our bodies feeling somewhat more relaxed, Cole gets out of the bed, disposing of the condom in his en-suite bathroom trashcan before returning with a wet rag.

i open my legs, my hips jerking as he cleans me up, and i wait patiently as he pulls on a pair of boxers, throwing me a pair and a clean t-shirt.

i pull them on quickly, eager to cuddle more, and when he finally joins me back in the bed, my leg is quickly thrown over his hips, my arm resting on his chest as my head gets buried in his neck.

“you’re a cuddler.” he states the obvious, his hand running up and down my back as i hum in agreement.

“is that a problem?” i question, eyes fluttering shut, and i can feel him shake his head.

he pulls me in tighter, pressing a kiss to my forehead, “just an observation for the future.”

“the future?”

“oh yeah, you’re not getting rid of me now.” he tells me, but i can hear it plain as day; he’s nervous.

i heave out a deep sigh, my body melting into his before i answer, “wasn’t planning on it.”

[theoraekenapperciation]

☆ Theo Raeken Appreciation Week 2024 ☆

this event is for Theo Raeken centric fan works and will run from August 1st — August 7th 2024, it can be gen works or ship, all characters & au’s are welcome! feel free to send in an ask with any questions or concerns!

to participate in this event tag your creations with #theoapprecationweek24 and/or #theoweek24 and then tag this blog @theoraekenapperciation — please make sure to read the rules found here before posting a work for this event

☆ prompts - these can be mixed & matched however you please and if you don’t want to follow them that’s fine too!

day 1 — first meet - what was it like for theo when he first met members of the pack? is there a meet scene you want to rewrite?

day 2 — on accident - is it something sweet like the one bed trope? or is it serious and theo has to navigate the consequences of a major accident happening? or maybe someone else is at fault and he’s caught up in the aftermath?

day 3 — rarepairs - is there any pairings that didn’t happen in the show that you’d like to see? any characters from past seasons you want to see interact with theo?

day 4 — canon divergence - rewrite a scene, add theo into a scene, change the direction of a scene, change an entire storyline, anything your heart desires

day 3 — college - what does he study? is he rooming with someone? does he go out of state or to a community college? does he happen to run into someone from the pack accidentally?

day 6 — being a brother - does theo still have those brotherly tendencies? do they come out around the pack? does he talk about tara a lot or is that kept to himself? is he scared of finding himself in another sibling dynamic?

day 7 — dealers choice!

☆ visual prompts

day 1 — color theory - mess around with color theory in anyway you please!

day 2 — weather conditions - rain, snow, sun, fog, absolutely anything

day 3 — dancing - any kind, jazz, hip hop, goth! maybe he’s dancing with someone? set the scene, is there a certain outfit you can picture theo in as he dances or a place he dances?

day 4 — hobbies - show theo doing any hobby you think he’d enjoy, or he could’ve gotten roped into it by someone in the pack

day 5 — down in hell - find a way to visualize what it was like for theo in the skinwalker hell

day 6 — found family - it could be the pack or maybe someone outside the pack like a parental figure or someone that only showed up for a limited time

day 7 — dealers choice!

☆ alternative prompts

alt 1 — season 5 - any and everything to do with season 5, go wild

alt 2 — season 6 - like season 6 more? perfect, create something to do with any and everything season 6

alt 3 — fluff - anything soft & sweet, or maybe some hurt/comfort, or a canon scene you wish had more fluff in it

[dividers from @cafekitsune]

[starryevermore]

the house of snow (20) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his. 

chapter summary: the ton learns of how its king adores the queen.

word count: 1,992

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: implied smut, fluff, pet name (petal), not proofread

When you first learned of Coryo’s intent to marry you, you had expected a life as Queen would be spent focusing on building a robust social life—planning and attending balls, organizing dinners, entertaining the rest of the ton, overseeing the social season. In your downtime, you would read in the library or stroll the gardens. Forever stuck in a loveless, unsatisfying marriage. Coryo, however, defied your expectations at every turn. Not only was his love true, but he wanted you to rule by his side. He didn’t wish for you to be a mere figurehead—he wanted you to be Queen in every sense of the word. 

You quite liked it, if you were honest. You liked sitting at the desk with him, flitting through papers, sorting out the important needs of Panem. You liked being able to tell him your thoughts and know that they were being heard. You had heard too many horrible stories of men belittling their wives, thinking themselves better when they received the very same education. There men in this Capitol that got off on treating their wives as second-class citizens. You were forever grateful that your Coryo was not one such man. 

And, of course, you and Coryo got up to plenty of revelry in that very office. 

Coryo pressed a kiss to your shoulder as he helped you back into your dress. Though it would be easier to merely push up your skirts and settle between your legs, Coryo insisted on seeing all of you. You were his beautiful wife, he’d say, and he would never deprive himself of admiring such grand beauty. 

“We need to add social engagements to our calendar,” you said, carding your fingers through his hair. He nipped at your neck. 

“I prefer monopolizing your time. Those people do not deserve you in all your brilliance.”

“We rule those people, and we should try to remain in their good graces,” you countered. Coryo conceded by placing a kiss against the same spot he bit. “Just a few balls, perhaps a luncheon or two with the Electors and their families.”

“Very well. Let me know which ones you have a preference toward, and I shall make the arrangements.”

It was ordinarily the woman��s work to deal with social engagements. A smile tugged at your lips. For Coryo to so easily take on the task, without you even indicating for him to do so, warmed your heart. How did you ever get so lucky? How did you ever think poorly of him? “My mother is throwing a ball this week. I suppose we should attend, at least to keep up appearances with my family,” you said with a roll of the eyes. “The ton would not take kindly to a woman who forsakes her family for the Crown. They would spread rumors that I am a power-hungry wench, intent on making you my little puppet.”

Coryo barked out a laugh. “If only they knew how much power you hold.”

“Oh yes, I do quite well at tugging at your strings.”

“You may tug on them for however long you like.”

Though your dress had just been pulled back on, it soon found itself pooled on the floor moments later.

Thought it had been your suggestion, you dreaded the idea of returning to your family’s home—if you could call it that anymore. After having been away from them for the last month, you came to realize you were scarcely more than a pawn to them. If your father wanted you to be well-cared for, he could have allowed Coryo to court you when he came into money again. The Snow family was not a family known to squander their wealth. Had it not been for the war, they still would have been living off of their fortune for generations to come. And your mother…The way she pushed you to act like someone you were not in hopes that it further along Coryo’s proposal…It just made you sick. You once thought that they cared for you, in their own strange ways, but now you weren’t for certain. 

Coryo watched as your lady’s maid pinned back your hair in preparation for your mother’s ball. You were tempted to tell her to stop, that you would no longer be attending, but you also wished to show them, show the entire ton, that you had their King wrapped around your finger. For every thing that they chastised you for, Coryo loved. Nay, he adored. You were certain there was very little you could do that would be wrong in his eyes. 

“You are exquisite,” he said, coming to your side as your lady’s maid stepped away from her elaborate creation. He leaned down, pressed a kiss at the junction where your shoulder met your neck. “The ton will have never seen a more beautiful Queen.”

“You shouldn’t let me stray far from your side then,” you teased as you rose from your seat. You turned so you faced your husband and looped your arms around his shoulders. “The ton can so easily devolve into animals when they see something shiny and new.”

“Oh, trust, my petal, I do not intend for you to ever leave my side.” Coryo kissed your forehead. “I already nearly lost you once when I was least expecting it. I won’t allow it to happen again.”

Your heart clenched. It had been so long since Sejanus was mentioned. You nearly forgot about him entirely. For him to have been so close to both you and Coryo, it didn’t feel so strange for him to not be around anymore. What would have happened if he didn’t come to convince you to run away with him? Would you all still be close? Or would he have still tried? 

You hoped Sejanus fared well with the Peacekeepers. Despite what he attempted, the friend he was willing to hurt, Sejanus was a kind and gentle man. Coryo had told you little about his time in service with the Peacekeepers, but you knew enough to be certain that Sejanus would emerge a changed man. You only wished that he was still kind. 

“And you should not worry about such a thing,” you said. “I am yours just as you are mine.”

Coryo hummed, and pulled you in for another kiss. You let him, letting your worries melt away. 

The worries did not stay away for long, unfortunately. As your carriage rolled up to your parent’s home, your heart thump’d, thump’d, thump’d in your chest. You hated having to let go of Coryo when the carriage came to a stop. At least it didn’t last long, for Coryo soon was helping you out and your hands were reconnected. 

Like when you arrived at the palace, Coryo let you take the lead. But, unlike at the palace, those who bore witness to this soon began to whisper. You expected as much. The tradition of the no one walking ahead of the King was one long upheld. No one ever dreamed of stepping into his path. You swallowed, lifted your head high and squared your shoulders. This was going to be a long, arduous night, but you were not going to let the gossip of the ton ruin your evening. 

Your mother’s eyes were on you the second you stepped foot in the ballroom. You took a breath and turned away from her gaze. Coryo stepped beside you and took your hand. “Come,” he said, “let’s take a turn about the room.”

You nodded. 

Her eyes never left you, though. You moved your hand to hold onto Coryo’s arm, hoping for him to steady you. He looked at you curiously, but said nothing. At least you were distracted by the ton as they flitted around you and your husband. They were so eager for the approval of the King and Queen. It was almost laughable. 

Finally, though, you couldn’t take it anymore as your father joined your mother’s side. 

“We should go say something,” you whispered to Coryo as another young lady sunk into a low curtsy in front of you. “Appearances and all that.”

“Are you certain? I believe we will be quite fine if we continue to ignore them.”

You stifled a laugh. “Perhaps. Think of it this way, though—if we speak to them now, we can ignore them the rest of the ball.”

“Very well. Lead the way, petal.”

Your heart thump’d harder as you crossed the room to your parents. You didn’t have the first clue what you were going to say to them. What they would say to you. They had enough tact, you were sure, to not incite an outright fight with the King and Queen. But they had enough audacity to insult their daughter. They did it as easily as breathing.

“Mama, Papa,” you greeted when you reached them. Neither dropped into a bow or curtsy. Your lip curled at the disrespect. It did not matter that you were their daughter—there was still social etiquette to be followed. “The ball has been lovely so far.”

If they were going to stoop so low, you would not meet them at their level.

“It could be lovelier if there wasn’t so much…whispering among the ton,” your mother said. 

From the corner of your eye, you watched as Coryo’s hands clenched and unclenched. You gave his arm a squeeze, but that did not stop him from saying, “The ton is full of idle gossip. It always has been.”

The warning in his tone did not stop your mother from continuing it, “Still, it is improper for a wife to lead the King.”

You ground your teeth together. Is that all you were to her now? A wife to the King? Oh, if only she knew the true influence you had. If only she knew how highly your Coryo regarded you. She may be trapped in a loveless marriage—and you would forever pity her for that—but that did not mean she could dismiss your marriage so easily. 

“Queen,” Coryo corrected. “Lesser kings have killed for lesser slights against their queens. I would tread carefully if I were you.”

Your father looked between your mother and Coryo. In an attempt to diffuse the situation, he tried, “What my wife means to say is, we would hate for the Crown to be ruined by such silly gossip.”

“The Crown could not be ruined by such things,” Coryo dismissed with a wave of his hand. “What would damage the sanctity of the Crown is to allow such disrespect to go by unchecked.”

“Of course,” your father said. “We did not mean to—”

“I am tired of this conversation,” you announced. You turned into Coryo and smiled up at him. “Would you like to dance?”

Your mother guffawed. “Women do not ask—”

“Whatever you wish, my Queen,” Coryo said. He kissed you softly, snorting a laugh as your mother continued to blubber in the background. “I would dance with you forever if you should ask for it.”

Coryo led you out to the middle of the dance floor, ignoring your mother’s antics and prying eyes of the ton. He took one hand in his, letting the other settle on your waist. Your free hand came  to rest on his shoulder and the band began to play. As he twirled you around the room, everyone seemed to melt away.

Good. The ton could spread rumors and stories all they like. Your parents could look down on you if they so pleased. But none of that would change the fact that your Coryo looked at you like you were the most brilliant diamond ever mined. None of that would change the fact that, in a society where loveless marriages were commonplace, you found the very thing you dreamed of since you were a girl. 

“I love you, my King,” you said. 

“And I you, my Queen.”

[eupheme]

Warm With You | Day 9: First Snow of the Season

sdv!harvey x f!reader

Rated E | 3.4k

Tags: fluff, established relationship, first time together, soft!dom!harvey??, fingering, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, PiV

inspired by “nice boys don't kiss like that”/ “oh yes, they fucking do” from bridget jones’s diary

You didn’t know your boyfriend - the sweet Doctor that he is - could have such a dirty mouth.

You steal kisses under the thick quilt, pulled up over your heads to keep out the chill. Legs slotted together, hips pressed snug as your fingers wander - tracing across his white undershirt, to where his thick hair curls at the base of his neck.

Tonight wasn’t supposed to end up like this, but you think you might be grateful for the snow that has been falling down in thick, puffy flakes all afternoon.

Not seeing how it had picked up during dinner, too starry-eyed and tender-hearted to notice anything other than each other. The dishes neatly stacked and drying as you watched a movie together on your couch - your fingers laced with his.

Only seeing the way the snow piled against your door as he was getting ready to leave for the night - the icy chill of the air cutting through your cozy cabin of a home.

“You could stay.” You had offered, hopeful. “Will you? Stay?”

It would be a new step. The next big one - he hasn’t slept over before.

A lot of your dates have been in public, a lunch grabbed during a break at the clinic. Meeting at the Stardrop Saloon for dinner. Both of you busy - the farm in full bloom during the fall. His work picking up as he doled out flu shots as the season turned - taking care of sniffling colds.

“Yes. I’d like that.” Harvey had smiled, “Very much.”

With the public dates came another sort of slow dance - the ache of desire you had for him stamped down by the surrounding of your friends. The eyes that seemed to drift your way out of interest, excitement.

Stolen kisses, a moment where he had you backed against the door of your cabin as he breathlessly kissed you farewell. You had wanted him to come inside that night - it had been on the tip of your tongue - but he truly had an early morning the next day.

You weren’t sure if he’d even want to sleep in your bed, though you’d hoped he would.

Everything about him gentlemanly - from the way he asked you out, to the flowers he brought you. Polite and kind and taking his time with each step, making sure you were right there with him.

But right now - tonight - there’s a shift. You’re unsure whether it’s the fact that you’re alone, or the slow tease of denial over the past few weeks, or whether it’s the distinct lack of clothes - but there’s a tension, a need, that you can almost feel.

It’s there in the way your fingers tug at his hair, the way he pulls you just a little more flush against him. The soft hum when his tongue brushes against your lip, until you lets him in.

The needy little whine in your throat, when the slow, deep kisses are both not enough and too much, when you want more.

He makes his own sound at that - a deep groan, while you guide his hand beneath your shirt. The heat of his palm as he cups you, his other arm curling around you to tug you closer. The barest brush of a thumb across a taut nipple, your hips shifting against him in response, encouraging.

Feeling where he’s straining against his patterned boxers, your own fingers trailing over the cotton fabric as his sound turns sharp.

You pull back, lips kiss-swollen, fingers going still.

His eyes crack open as you apologize, “I’m sorry. Do you want to stop?”

A low laugh at that, barely a huff of breath. Eyes hazy and half-lidded, his nose brushing against yours, “Don’t stop, sweetheart. Please.”

His hips shifting into your hand, as your fingers unfurl so you can cup him - feel the heavy weight of his cock as you stroke him over the fabric.

A groan rattling in his throat at your hand, his own catching the tight bud of your nipple between thumb and forefinger, giving the lightest tug.

You own moan echos his, working at the front of the boxers - tugging them down to pull him free.

Harvey’s nose bumps into yours when your hand wraps around him fully, fingers lightly squeezing, his mouth open as he exhales. Half-lidded eyes needy under the fan of thick eyelashes, and your lips finds his again as your hand strokes over his swollen, flushed cock.

There’s the drag of skin on skin as you tug on him, one, twice, three times before you’re making a little sound - breaking the kiss to push yourself up.

Eyes bouncing back and forth between his as you ask, “Can I taste you? I want it to feel good, I-”

He makes a low sound, one you take to be his permission - a cold gust of air sneaking into the space as you sit up. Pulling your shirt off, leaving it tangled in the sheets as you move between the thighs that spread open for you.

Admiring him, for a moment. Because you can, because he’s yours. The trail of hair leading down from his bellybutton, neatly trimmed at the base of his cock. A drop shining at the tip, but not enough to prevent the chafe of your hand.

Your tongue peeks out to drag over his cock as it bobs against his stomach. His voice coming after, a rasp to it that you haven’t heard before, “Just get me wet, and come back up here. I want to touch you.”

His words are unexpected - making you clench, breath hot against his skin as you take him into your mouth. Sucking, slicking him up like he asked, tasting the salt of his skin, reveling in the way he makes your lips stretch around him.

Taking as much as you can into your throat, if only to hear his moan, the way his thighs flex under your hands. His hands, fingers gentle as they touch at your face, your eyes watching the way he pants when you hollow your cheeks, your fist following as your head bobs.

“Up here.” He repeats, the slightest edge that has you listening, smiling as you swallow the spit that pools in your mouth. Settling next to him on your side again, your fist still stroking as his lips crush against yours.

Fingers toying at the hem of your shorts, his mouth dropping to your chin, your neck, as you arch against him. Then, sliding beneath, reaching until his fingers part you, finding where you’re slick and aching for him.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” He grits out, his hips jerking into your fist as he pets at you again.

He’s ruining you already, the words spilling from his lips ones you wouldn’t have expected. You don’t think he’s even trying to do it, not intentionally. They seem to flow from him when he sees how his voice affects you. It makes you want to hear more - already thinking about how he’ll sound when he’s buried in you. When he’s close.

His palm cups you, the heel pressing against your clit, before his middle finger just nudges against your entrance. A low gasp as he sinks inside, as if your pleasure was his - a slow pump of his finger, and then another.

Your teeth catch on his lip, the softest scrape, the tightening of your fist. His nose nuzzling against yours, the suck of air through his clenched teeth.

“So warm and wet,” Harvey breathes - watching you, your head tilting back as a second finger slips in, pressing them deep before carefully crooking and stroking.

The gasp you make is sharp, a pleased hum as his mouth moves to your neck. Doing it again, finding a rhythm as his thumb moves to rub against the swollen bud.

“Harvey.” You croak, breathless - the slick pump of his fingers followed by the scratch of his mustache as he presses an open-mouth kiss against your throat.

You didn’t know it could be like this - everything winding tight, a building pressure that has you gasping, hips flexing as you ride his fingers. His name on your lips again, a plea this time.

“What do you need, baby?” He asks against your skin, moving down to where your fingers had teased at your chest. Blinking up at you, a lazy smile beneath the flush of his cheeks, when you find you can’t answer.

Not even stroking him anymore - too distracted, too close - to do anything more than hold him.

“You want to come?” He croons, rubbing the tip of his finger against a spongey spot that steals your breath.

You nod, managing a gasping, croaking “please”, before you see the peek of his tongue, the hot swipe of it against your breast.

The groan that bursts from you then - wanton and needy as he flicks his tongue over your again, his thumb circling your clit with each of your gasping breaths.

Your hips bucking into his hand as his lips close around and suck, the softest brush of his teeth. The muscles in your thighs strung tight, a short, harsh breath punctuating each of your words.

“Fuck, Harvey. Right there, oh, I’m so close-”

His answer, the low, coaxing smoothness of his voice, “That’s it honey. Come for me, let me feel you.”

Gasping then, as he hums against your skin, the bursting pulse of pleasure between your thighs as you clench around his fingers. They slow, pressing deep - his head tilting up so he can watch the blissed-out droop of your eyes, the way your lips part.

Blushing and pleased, his teeth flashing white as his chin presses into your sternum.

Leaving you limp on the bed, moving back up until his lips press into your jaw, your cheek. Fingers drifting over your shoulder, stroking as soothing as you come back down.

Until your head is tilting to meet him, soft kisses that turn hungry - as you shift a knee over his stomach. Carefully easing until you’re straddling him, thighs spread wide over his hips. Arched over him, fingers splayed and balancing yourself on his chest - pressing into his warm skin, the dust of hair.

Your hips shift, until you can feel the hard press of him against your center - his hands flexing where they rest against your bent knees.

One coming up to brush a curl of hair back from his forehead. His own hips canting upward, his cock trapped between your pussy and where it curves up towards his stomach.

The words, heavy on your tongue, “Yoba, I want you.”

And how he smiles at that, sweet and slow as his chin tips up, so he can see you better.

“You want to ride me, sweetheart? Like you rode my fingers?”

Your exhale is sharp as you nod, and he makes a slow, pleased sound. A thudding heartbeat between your thighs, your mind a hazy, needy swirl as your grind down. Each pass making his cock a little more slick, the flushed head bumping against your clit.

“I don’t want to make a mess in your bed.” He groans, though he’s moving with you, meeting the rut of your hips, “Do you have condoms?”

And oh, you want him to make a mess of you - but you understand what he’s asking. Appreciating his care even when he’s aching for you, and you’re nodding, gesturing towards the bedside table.

His arm stretched as he reaches for it, a finger hooking around the wooden knob, giving it a tug. Fishing around for the small cardboard box, dropping in on the bed next to him as grabs his glasses where they are resting next to the lamp.

Brows furrowing as he slides them on, the tip of a fingernail slipping under the edge of the box. Ripping the edge of the foil after, fishing it out before his other hand grips the base of his cock - carefully rolling the condom on.

Holding himself steady for you, afterwards - as you gaze down at him. A flutter of excitement in your chest as you lift up, a palm pressed against his chest for balance.

Lining yourself up, feeling the tip drag against you until he’s nudging against your entrance, and then you’re sinking down onto him for the first time.

A rough moan is pushed from your lungs as you take him, slow and steady, feeling him stretch and fill you. Something you’d imagined frequently - but never dreaming he’d feel as good as he does right now.

His own low curse, your name strung out as he’s buried in you - until your hips are snug against his, and you’re wrapped warm and tight around him.

Your head dipping, fingers curling against his chest as you take a long moment, peeking up to where he’s watching, lips parted. Hands that move to rest on your thighs, where his fingers bite into your own flesh.

Bracing yourself, as you lift up - feeling the drag of him within you as your eyes slide shut. Another, and then another, your heels pressing into his thighs as you find your rhythm.

The pant of your breath matching his, his hips jerking up to meet each bounce, nudging him just that much deeper with each thrust.

“Just look at you,” He’s groaning, broad hands sliding from your thighs to your hips. Grabbing on, arms flexing as he helps you ride him, “Yoba, you’re beautiful.”

It makes you whine, makes you want to kiss him. So you do, leaning down over him, your breasts pressing against his chest as his chin lifts. Meeting you, moaning into your mouth as the sharp slap of your hips turns into a grind.

Changing the way he feels in you, the thrusts shallower. A nudging against your clit that leaves you breathless, your nose bumping eagerly against his as you sigh against him.

Fingers cupping the back of his neck, the other hand bracing against his shoulder. Drawing back to look at him, where he’s watching you as you take what you need.

“Is this okay?” You ask, suddenly a little self-conscious under his gaze. Still disbelieving that he’s beneath you, inside you - feeling better than you’ve ever imagined.

His smile soft and stretching across his face, “So perfect, sweetheart. You’re doing so well for me, aren’t you?”

It makes you clench, where he can feel it. A hand leaving your hip, sliding between his lips and sucking, as your lips press into the stubble on his jaw. Slipping them between you, to rub the wet tips against the bud of your clit.

You jolt - leaning back to give him more room. Touching you like he did before, the slight furrow in his brow as he concentrates - his eyes lifting to yours again.

“Aren’t you?” He coaxes again, the slightest edge to his voice. Not a command, it’s far too soft - but it’s firm, drawing your attention.

“Yes.” You moan, ignoring the dull ache in your muscles in favor of the slick swirl of his fingers. Chasing something you can almost taste - a pressure building and building where he’s buried in you.

He watches you, shoulders curling against the generous pile of your pillows, eyes traveling from your face, down to the bounce of your breasts. Lingering, before dropping - focusing on his fingers. Where he can see you, the way you wrap around him, the flex of your muscles as you arch into his touch.

A low, rough hum when your fingers tighten where they rest on your thighs. Your gasping breath, the small, “Yoba, Harvey. Just like that.”

He stays steady, giving you just the tiniest bit more pressure. It’s bliss, and you can feel that pressure again, the tight swirl in your belly.

“Oh, you felt so good around my fingers, sweetheart.”

The praise makes you whine, his voice soft and coaxing, “Want to make you come again. On my cock this time, so I can stop imagining it at work, and start remembering, instead.”

Your eyes flicker to his, his own gaze-heavy lidded, wanting. His hip flexing up to meet you, a hand braced on your waist and helping keep the pace.

And he sees it, the question in your eyes, the flash of teeth beneath his mustache as he smiles, “I’ve wanted this for ages. Wanted you. Just didn’t want to rush.”

It’s his wanting that tips you over the edge. His voice, the press of his fingers, as your thighs flex, tighten. Pushing him deep into you as you come, the tight clench of your cunt around his cock - your hands brace on his chest as you arch over him.

His name, pretty on your lips and drawn out over long syllables that sounds like a hymn with the way you sing it.

The soft swoop of his hands over your hips, thighs - soothing and comforting. Until your heart slows from where it was pounding in your chest, making itself known.

Now that you’re no longer moving, the chill settles in, and you shiver. Harvey feels the tremble of your fingers against his chest, and he’s catching them, before pushing himself up on his elbows.

“Come here.” He pats the space next to him, gently coaxing you off him.

You miss him as soon as he leaves you, an emptiness and an ache in your thighs from the exertion. But the bed is warm where he’s been laying, and as soon as you’re settled, he’s swapping places, rolling on top. Fitting between your spread thighs.

He’s kissing you this time when he fits himself inside you. The hiss of his breath as he sinks in, a soft, drawn out “fuck” that you hope you never get used to hearing. Something just for you.

Your fingers grasping his shoulders when he pushes deep, a pleasurable force to his thrust that has you gasping.

The clumsy brush of his cheek to yours, his glasses against your face as you smile. Reaching to remove them for them - tuck them away safely.

A low, grateful sound in his throat as he find his rhythm. The flex of his hips as he rocks into you, his weight warm and welcome.

Your lips against his throat, memorizing the sounds of his gasps, a low moan when you clench around him. A thigh, hooking around his hip, keeping him pressed deep as his breaths grow shorter.

“Want to make you feel good, too.” You tell him, the tilt of his chin he watches from where he hold himself just above you.

The smile when you see how he cheeks flush, how his hips stutter at your words.

“Oh, you do.” He groans, eyes half-lidded as he sinks into your heat, “You feel so fucking good, honey.”

His mouth warm against your when he leans down, swallowing his sounds as you start to move with him. The snap of his hips against yours, the muffled slap of skin on skin.

Coaxing him to shift, until his arms are wrapping around you, embracing you. Your hands on his jaw, his neck as you kiss him again, drawing back to tell him just how much you want him. How you’ve thought about him, about this.

His thrusts have gone shallow, and then - he’s there.

You watch with glassy eyes as he comes, the pretty pinch between his eyebrows, his parted lips, his long, broken moan. The way he’s gazing at you as he thrusts deep one more time, holding himself there as the last pulsing flexes of his cock wane.

The bristly brush of his mustache as his lips press to your cheek, the low, content sigh in his chest. Easing carefully from you a few moments later, removing and tying off the condom.

His legs swing off the side of the bed, as he gets ready to throw it away in the bathroom - to clean up. Leaving you with a, “I’ll be right back. Okay?”

The gentle confirmation is sweet. You think he’d stay, even without the storm. It’s a nice thought, and you’re content to stay in your cozy bed beneath the blankets, basking in the afterglow.

It’s only better when he rejoins you, curling himself against your back, lips pressing against your neck. How easily the two of you seem to fit together, the tickle against your skin as he sighs, and finally - relaxes.

Your fingers find his, wrapping around them. Bringing them up to your lips, cradling them carefully as you kiss them. Actions laced with unspoken words of affection, as you revel in the moment. In just being with him, right now.

The warmth in your bed seeps into your heart, as his arms tighten around you. Secretly happy for the storm, even if it means you’ll have more work in the morning.

Because at the moment… there’s no place in the world that you’d rather be.

(tags: @andrewrussgarfield, @luxuryberzatto)

[jules-writes-stories]

Into the Night

A Retelling of Hades & Persephone | Azriel x Eris | Azris Week | Day 7| Equinox

Cast of Characters |

Eris | Persephone Azriel | Hades Lady of Autumn | Demeter Helion | Helios Lucien | Hermes Rhys | Zeus The Archeron Sisters | The Fates Cassian as himself

The first two parts are below. Read the whole story on AO3.

I

Scarlet hair blew across a pale face, like blood on freshly fallen snow. Golden eyes were lights upon dark water, a windy smile. He wanted this fae of Forest and Flame, like nothing he’d ever wanted before. Ours, the shadows whispered.

Each day was the same. Azriel spied on the beautiful male gliding through Autumn’s citrine-ruby forests, watched him slip between stalks of grain and orchards, the scent of stone fruit and loam cloying in the setting sun. 

Somehow the shadows had found their way into this court of hearth and harvest, once in thrall to a wicked Fire Lord, whose wife rose up and took the throne. Now, she ruled as Autumn’s High Lady with her seven sons. And it was the eldest that Azriel desired for his own.

He’d told his brothers, Rhysand, High Lord of Night, and Cassian, Lord of Bloodshed, just how much he needed the prince of Autumn. “Not until the Equinox,” Rhys had insisted. And Azriel was a patient male, a spymaster and a shadowsinger. He could wait for what was his.

Even as the golden cord that bound him to his mate, woven by the Mother herself, dragged at the unruly beast that was his heart. 

II

Today was the Equinox, most High Holy Day in Autumn, and all of Prythian. When Day and Night aligned in perfect balance. It was the one night each year, when the magical boundaries and borders dropped between Prythian’s courts. All fae, High and lesser, Solar and Seasonal, united as one, beneath the Mother’s loving gaze. 

Eris Vanserra, heir of Autumn, prepared for this night of revelry, like any other. He wore green velvet and diaphanous silk that whispered of trysts in moonlit forests. Gold lined his pointed ears, a single hoop in one nostril. 

Warrior, prince, fae of fire—this was his kingdom. And tonight, he would find his pleasure and replenish the land, to give back to its plenty. The prince left for the Forest, his brothers close behind. Fae danced around pyres, in time with distant drumming, already buzzing on wine, the scent of sex, sweet and smoky, in the night. 

Eris felt alive and aroused, in need of something he could not place. Soon. The drumming paused as voices hushed. Crackling bonfires and the breeze in ancient treetops were the only sounds. 

Now.

His magic was rising. It snapped beneath his tongue, itched his palms. Tingled at his fingertips, and down his spine. Until there were full sparks, flames along skin, at the tips of his hair, wreathing his hands. It was life and death and sex, to forget one’s before and after—not to become or have been, but to be.

Now. 

As his magic settled, finally, pulsing through his veins, Eris looked up in awe, ready to receive the Mother’s love. And this was why the fireling was taken so completely off guard. For it was at this very moment, while all of Prythian’s eyes were on the heavens, that Hel’s shadows and darkness came.

 *          *          *

Now. It had to be this very moment. When the wards between their courts were unguarded. Azriel commanded the shadows to bank the bonfires with darkness. Fae cried out as the earth quaked, seeming to cleave open, as the Night Court male landed silently in the darkened Forest. 

The shadowsinger reached out and with strong, scarred hands, pulled the fireling, by his narrow waist, to his chest. Mine. 

The golden thread thrummed with pleasure at the contact, at the scent of embers and rain, of the male in his arms. Amber eyes took in hazel.

 “Who are you?” a voice, breathless, but unafraid, asked in the darkness. 

“I am the singer of shadows. I am yours,” Azriel whispered back, his breath against the skin of the male’s white cheek. And then, before the Autumn fae could panic or react, they were passing through folds of space and time. 

 *          *          *

Eris was lost in the darkness, his only anchor a pair of strong arms, a solid chest, the scent of mist and moonlight on cedar.  He was holding his breath, eyes squeezed shut. 

“Open your eyes,” a low voice rumbled, laced with amusement. The Autumn prince did, and what he saw, left him speechless. He clung to the leathers of a male, built like a warrior, with enormous, bat-like wings, spread against the night sky. And this male’s beauty was heartbreaking. His raven curls were perfectly tousled, as if the wind herself had run long fingers through them. Golden brown skin, high cheekbones, and hazel eyes lined with thick lashes. 

Eris pulled away with a jolt, baring his slightly elongated canines. Flames coiled along his hands. “Take me back to my home.” He growled, with all the authority of an Autumn prince.

But the winged male simply smirked and stared. His eyes moved slowly, starting at Eris’s red hair, the flushed tips of his pointed ears, then shifted with lazy dominance, downwards, lingering at molten eyes, a perfect nose, kissed with faint freckles, to the male’s pink, pouting mouth.

Heat coiled low in the fireling’s belly, at the base of his spine, arousal licking through his veins, even as he grew angry. Who was this male, to look at the heir of Autumn, with such possession? The fae prince bared his teeth again, flames growing hotter.

Hazel eyes, unphased, unhurried, continued to move down the prince’s lithe frame. They took in the long column of a pale neck. Broad, graceful shoulders and a narrow waist. Hips that would feel perfect in his hands. 

And then, the winged male, shrouded in shadows, said, “Eris, you are home.” 

I tagged anyone who asked/expressed interest, but please lmk if you ever want on/off my 🏷️

@c-starstuff-man0, @natashachelsea @chunkypossum, @fieldofdaisiies @jir67 @futurehunt @the-darkestminds @hellolordling @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @brekkershadowsinger @disney-acotar-hp @moonpatroclus @azrisweek @unanswered-stars @theartofmischief @lilah-asteria

[weretheones]

All You Got | Part 11

Part 11: New Trails

Plot: Daryl Dixon hadn’t known much beyond anger and loneliness his whole life, until he found family at the end of the world. Everything he grew to care about was ripped away the day the prison fell; so when he recognized you, an enforcer of his loss, hiding in that cabin, he almost pulled the trigger. But after you end up saving his life, he couldn’t find the indifference to leave you for dead, even if you’d been on the Governor’s side. (Mid-Late Season 4)

Series Masterlist | AO3 Version

Paring: Eventual Daryl Dixon x Reader Word Count: 5k Warnings: typical twd content. mentions of death. A/N: hey remember me? pls say yes :D

A day later, you raided the closest town. 

A new multitool, granola bars, some tampons. It wasn’t much, but at least you had the car when the night turned cold. 

And Daryl. 

Those hints of vulnerability hidden behind a surly mask hadn't disappeared yet. And best of all, he could look you in the eye again. Even if you still couldn’t always quite tell what he was thinking, the reaffirming glance of familiar blue laced with a type of gentleness you’d never noticed before— not even in those quiet moments: when he was patching you up, when he was sick with fever— warmed you up better than any sputtering car heater could. 

He’d never forget the prison. The sight of those metal fences shadowing your face. But there was a trail where your feet had landed these past weeks, littered with moments that could convince even a man as stubborn and heartbroken as Daryl that it was the right choice to stick by your side, the shadow of prison fences and all. Somehow, somewhere along the way from that dingy cabin to the car you shared, you’d made it okay. 

So things were okay, too. For a while. 

But the days went on. 

On and on and on…

Limp leaves of brown and red flew in the air around spinning tires. Ahead was a horizon of cracked pavement lit by the thin light of sunset and the beam of headlights. Except for the speeding car, the road was empty. Nothing to see but amber skies. 

Then those slipped away. The sun dipped behind tall trees, and it was only those headlights and the cold moonlight. No walkers. Not even an abandoned car. Just an empty road, no matter how many miles you traveled. 

“Where are we going?” 

For the first time in months, there was an air of hopelessness caught in your lungs. It infected your voice, wrapping around the words like rotten tendrils of ivy. 

Daryl’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. White knuckles. 

He shook his head. 

“I dunno.” 

The bus had nearly dashed all your hopes, but there was still that stubborn bit of you holding onto the far-fetched idea that something was still out there to find. To protect. Though the road had become so long over the days, the idea smaller and smaller as north, west, south, and east blended, and slowly you were disorientated. No more paths to follow. No more maps to trace. 

You could feel your grip slipping, right as the first flakes of snow fell. 

— 

Eventually, he taught you how to hunt. 

The tracks were the softest thing you’d seen in a week, not since Daryl had smiled at you by that river. Thin ovals imprinted in the dirt under a scatter of leaves that you brushed a hand across, gently. 

“Deer, right?” You looked up at Daryl. “How fresh are they?” 

He just shrugged. “Wha’ ya asking me for?” 

You crouched closer to the tracks. They were relatively deep, the edges cut into recognizable prints. With the back of your knuckle, you pressed into the dirt beside them. It gave away underneath, marking an even sharper and deeper print. The earth was soft this morning, warmed by the pleasantly bright sun despite the first fall of snow a couple of days ago. 

The sinking prints could only have been made that day. After sunrise. 

“They’re fresh,” you concluded. “Maybe an hour or two?” 

Daryl smirked, and you soon had one to match it. 

A deer would be more than enough meat for the two of you. The last time you’d had a catch like that, it’d been in the thick of last winter. Taking a deep breath in, you swore you could still smell the stew steaming from your bowl. It was enough to give your step an extra bounce. To give some fuel to that dwindling hope in your chest. 

Things weren’t always bad, even if it felt like everything was slipping through your fingers lately. 

And then an hour later, you were standing over a dead walker and a dead deer, all chewed up. 

— 

Still no home. No direction. 

The air was damp. An almost suffocating musk that infected every inch of the abandoned motel room. From the tacky wallpaper to the mismatching purple curtains, this place screamed road-trip stop. A little strip of a dozen rooms at the edge of an unnamed town dedicated for only those passing through. 

It seemed fitting to spend the night, then. 

“You can’t seriously like those things.” 

Daryl’s eyes found yours, even in the dim candlelight. 

“Love ‘em.” He threw another pig’s foot into his mouth and you cringed. 

“Ew.” 

“More for me, then.” 

That was just fine with you. 

You rolled your eyes and took another bite of canned corn. It was too sweet and a bit metallic from its years in a can, but at least it wasn’t a foot. 

The pair of you had your backs resting against your claimed, and ironically empty, single beds. After a week of sleeping in that car, taking turns curling into the backseat, it was a treat to have a real mattress to sleep on. Even if it was cheap and full of squeaky springs that dug into your spine. 

But somehow here you were, on the floor instead, sharing a late and unexpected meal against dusty, floral bed sheets. 

Daryl insisted on holding watch most nights. A simple thing that always seemed to lull you to sleep faster knowing that he was there, he was watching. You stopped doubting if he would keep you safe a while ago. He always did, after all. But tonight, it’d been your turn to do the same for him, to wait for each of those heavy breaths to come and the gentle flutter of his eyes as he fell deeper and deeper into sleep. 

That walker had almost got him. 

Really almost got him. If you hadn’t fired a bullet when you did, you would have spent the night digging a grave. All for some gas to fill a car you still had no idea where to drive. It was always just the next town, the next house, the next store, the next—

He let you throw your arms around him after the last of the dead had fallen, even if his muscles turned to stone when you did. And he listened after you told him to rest first. Perhaps the memory of that loose, unbridled fear in your eyes had turned him to putty in your hands, for the time being. 

It was only a couple of hours before sunrise when he woke up. He asked you to rest, too. Whatever you still could get. 

The last thing you wanted was to sleep, to give in to your heavy eyelids and fall away from the world. Not when you could still smell the walker’s rot, could still hear Daryl’s heavy grunts. The crack of that bullet breaking through that monster’s skull. No. No, you wanted to be here. With him. 

But you were putty in his hands, as always. 

It'd barely been halfway through his turn on guard when an old nightmare slipped its way into your subconscious. A morbid twist of Daryl’s neck ripping underneath that walker’s teeth into the sky high flames you’d never forget from the early days. As you began to toss, the squeaking of your mattress pulled him away from the window. His chest ached to hear the mumble of your fragile voice around incoherent pleads, and then that name— the same name over and over. 

He woke you up. 

The haunting touch of the dead, cold and cruel, slipped away with the curl of his warm, merciful fingers squeezing around your shoulder. It’d taken more than a few seconds to realize his features weren’t twisted in terror and pain, like all those other faces that you could barely remember anymore had been. Then there was the drumming beat of your heart as you sat up and clung onto him, for the second time that day. 

After you let go of him, he sat back on your bed, quiet and rigid as a statue. Back to his usual, touch-adverse self. 

So you sat there, listening to your breathing slow and the whistle of the night’s air sneaking past that cracked window. 

“I’m sorry,” you finally mumbled, brushing your messy hair away from your face. 

The stream of moonlight that slipped through the break in the curtains reached across your face. He followed the movement of your hand, heard the rumble of your voice, thick with sleep, and seemed to warm back up. 

Slowly. 

He swallowed. “Nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout.” 

You nodded, fear shifting into numbness. 

“You alright?” 

The moonlight fell on him too, highlighting the concern that laced his eyes. 

“Mhm,” you hummed. 

It was about the most you could muster out; you could still feel the ruthless grasp of dead fingers around your neck. 

It wasn’t convincing, of course. That look on his face didn’t let up. 

“I’m okay,” you reiterated with a deep breath. 

His eyes flickered over you one last time before he finally conceded. 

“Alright.” 

Daryl shifted back again, looking down to the bed. The sheets were thrown back. Your legs curled up to your chest. He had this burning thought— one that had been simmering for a while now, that made him freeze up with fear of his own. Would it help to brush that one loose strand of hair behind your ear? The one you missed? Maybe then you’d hold him again. That seemed to make you feel better, somehow. All he knew was it made him feel warm and—

He stood up, somewhat abruptly. 

“I still got a couple hours, if ya wanna…“ 

“No,” you blurted. “No, I’m not— I’m not tired anymore.” 

He nodded and offered an alternative. No prying and no more nightmares. Just distractions. 

That was how the pair of you ended up on the floor. Daryl eating pig's feet from a jar and you playing up your disgust, because the reality was, you’d eaten far worse than pig’s feet in the last few years. 

“Some fresh game, diet soda, pig’s feet,” Daryl smirked as he wiped his hands clean. “You’d have yourself a white trash brunch.” 

“A delicacy,” you teased. 

“More fillin’ than your corn.” 

You rolled your eyes. 

“Whatever. I’ll stick to my corn, thanks.” 

“Your loss.” Daryl took another bite. “Merle ‘n I used to fight over these.” 

You huffed a laugh, “Seriously?” 

“Mhm. He was a sneaky bastard. Used to wait till I looked away, then swipe ‘em off my plate.” 

“Like a dog?” 

He chuckled, “Wouldn't be the first time someone called him tha’.” 

“Oh? He didn’t get along well with the ladies?” 

“Merle thought he did. Don’t think no one else agreed.” 

You gave him a small laugh. Though, truth be told, the talk of brothers, no matter how joking, was starting to weigh on your chest. It always boiled back down to him, and you couldn’t think about him right now— not if you wanted your eyes to stay dry and your heart to beat that steady rhythm in your chest. 

So you backtracked.

“You ate a lot of white trash brunches?”

“Didn't have much else.” 

“Didn’t cook?” 

“Didn’t know how. Didn’t have no one to teach me, neither. Not unless ya count over a fire.” 

Every meal you’d had in the last two years had been cooked over a fire.

“It counts,” you said. 

“Did you cook?” 

“Mhm. Loved it,” you sighed. “I was pretty good, too.” 

“Better than canned soup?” 

“Much better.” 

“My mom used to cook. Can’t remember it much, though.” 

He had a timid look in his eye, and you held your breath. Ready to share your sympathies— which felt all too frequent, these days. 

“She died when I was a kid. ‘Round the same age as Carl.” 

“Who’s Carl?” 

It was Daryl’s turn to hold his breath. 

“He, uh,” he cleared his throat. Shifted in his spot. That mention hadn’t been intentional, it seemed. A slip in memory— that you were new to him. You’d never lived at the prison, never known the people he did. That the only thing the two of you shared, beyond the old stories you shared during quiet nights, were the last two months. 

“He’s Rick’s kid.” 

He had another look. One that made the air smell like rushing waters and moss.

You felt the words bubble up your throat before you even knew what they were.

“The one I—?“ 

“Yeah.” He nodded.

The one you saved.

“Sounded like it.” 

You took a deep breath of that musty motel room air.

“We didn’t have many kids who knew how to use a shotgun. Never mind kill a man.” 

“Carl did?” 

“He had to. Growing up on the road. The first time we fought the Governor.” 

“Poor kid.” 

“He’s tough.” 

“Still. I can’t imagine growing up like this.” 

Daryl’s eyes fell to his fingers, fiddling with his thumb. Your heart squeezed when his shoulders, as broad and strong as they were, seemed to curl in on themselves. Before you could even register your concern for whatever was running through his head, another question tumbled out of you. 

“You think it might be easier?” 

He shrugged. “Ya jus’ get used to it. Shit being ugly.” 

“I guess,” you mumbled. 

But hearing those words, that thick drawl of his tired voice, made something sting inside of you like salt rubbed into a wound. From the small bits he shared, Daryl’s upbringing never sounded easy, or particularly loving. A brother who neglected him most of his life, a mother who died when he was just a boy, and a father he’d never mention. Even if his life had prepared him to survive this sick and twisted world, it didn’t seem fair. 

“It still doesn’t make it right.” 

Daryl didn’t say much after that. You didn’t want to offend him— you hoped you didn’t. Maybe that comment made it obvious you’d been thinking about his past and his family… Those scars. No matter how hard you tried to forget them, to ignore the intrusive thoughts of how they might’ve come to be, the sight was ingrained in your memory. 

So much for lightening the mood. 

It was silent. Long enough for your words to sink into the stale air, and for the both of you to finish your snacks. The empty cans sat on the dusty nightstand to your left and your head rested against the back of the mattress. Your eyes almost closed, too. 

But with that dark silence came those haunting memories again. Flashes of that nightmare. The desperation trapped in dying screams. Fire and blood. 

You stood up. Back turned to the quick look Daryl threw your way, you dug through that bag you packed full after raiding the town’s general store. It was almost bare, save the three walkers you took out, but you managed to find the last of the canned food that now sat on the floor, empty, and a stray sterile pad, kicked underneath one of the vacant shelves. 

“Should change your bandage.” 

“Alright,” he agreed, moving to sit on the edge of his bed. 

It took everything in him to keep his eyes off that pensive expression of yours. Features twisted in contemplation, and a hint of horror, maybe. You tried to hide it from him. In a way, he hid too, concerning himself with only the buttons of his flannel and the leather vest peeling off his back instead of that festering question he couldn’t seem to stop asking. Are you okay? It sat in his heart like a shard of glass, digging deeper and deeper the harder he tried to pry it away— to ignore the urge. 

The fabric of his shirt hung off the side of his body. Enough room that he knew you’d be able to sneak underneath and change his bandage without bother while keeping the rest of his torso hidden. 

As if you hadn’t already seen more than enough of his tanned skin to keep you up at night with unsolicited thoughts of every kind.

Heartbreak.

Desire. 

The bed squeaked as you sat down behind him, feet hanging off the edge as you turned to see the exit wound. You tugged the old bandage off. It was hard to tell what it looked like with nothing but that thin peak of moonlight and the low flicker of candlelight, but with the pass of your fingertips around the wound, you could tell his skin was flat again. No inflammation, no discolouration save that hint of a healing bruise. There was a fresh layer of white tissue where the bullet had passed out of him, which was the best sign of all. You ripped open the sterile pad you found and taped half over the same spot.

Then you moved to the front to do it all over again. Doing your absolute best to keep your focus on the wound and not his watchful eyes, following you as softly as that candlelight danced across his skin. 

“How’s it lookin', doc?” 

As much as he was trying to distract himself from that heavy look on your face, barely relieved with his stupid quip that you spared the slightest smile for, his curiosity was getting the better of him. Weaving in like the roots of a weed. It still felt foreign to concern himself so attentively with someone without that cursed last name of his; Merle was all he gave a shit about before, and even then, his brother usually rejected that care. Called him a pussy for giving a damn. Then they ended up at the quarry, and it turned out he wasn’t entirely heartless once another Dixon wasn’t around to taunt him. 

“Good. I don’t think you’ll need this for much longer.” 

Truth was, Daryl didn’t give a damn about his shoulder right now. Not when your eyes were hazed like they’d been when he woke you up. 

“How do you feel?” You asked. 

It took him a second to remember you meant to be tending to him, right now. Not the other way around.

“Fine.”

He rolled his shoulder as if to prove it. 

“How ‘bout you?” 

Your eyes stilled, for a moment, then snuck back up to his. As if he’d just caught you red-handed. Another hum hadn’t even the chance to slip past your lips, but you could already tell he thought you were full of it. A slight narrow of blue, flickering over the way you'd been biting your lip and your heavy eyes. He gave you a chance to brush it off again, if you wanted.

Somehow that made your resolve crumble away. Knowing that he saw past it all, but he'd never force you to bare it to him, either. But then those walls you put up years ago were ground down to sand, running through your fingers. 

“I don’t have them often. Not anymore.” 

“You said a name,” Daryl mumbled. “Alex.” 

Pouring free. 

You gave a soft nod. Hoped that ringing in your ears would go away as fast as it came on. 

“My brother.” 

Just like that, his eyes were starting to burn you again, so you looked at your hands. In your lap, where you sat on your knees, just next to him. Close enough to wrap his shoulder. Close enough that you could see his own hands resting on his thighs, fingers just brushing against the frayed edges of his torn jeans. 

You picked at the strands of your own, right beside that numb spot on your thigh where a scar was forming.

“I don’t remember it much, but I think it was from the start. When we were at Westwood.” 

“Wha’s that?” 

“It was a middle school just outside of Atlanta. Some army had set up a base there until they could find a way to move us all to Fort Benning.” 

There was a brief moment when his eyes widened. He had a curious stare that forced you to look up before a flash of green sleeping bags and the silver packaging of MRE rations pulled you back into the memory. 

“There weren’t a lot of us. Under a dozen soldiers. Few of us from the city. Most of the kids ran off with their parents— if they showed up.” 

It hit harder than the Governor had stabbed you, right then, that you’d forgotten their faces. Their voices. Their names. Memories shadowed with ghosts who you couldn’t even tell apart anymore… The smell of burning flesh lingered better than their smiles. 

“It went bad quickly.” 

He didn’t ask how. Didn’t need to really, the end was all the same. One day it was gone, and so were they, and the road became your path again. 

“You ever made it to Fort Benning?” 

The edges of his voice had dulled, filed down until the words were nothing but a feather passing along your cheek, beckoning your attention his way instead. Sometimes you wondered how he knew you were picking up the shovel, ready to dig your way into a pit of fear and regret, before the handle ever touched your hand.

You took in a breath. “Yeah. It was nothing but ash, though.” 

“We were headed there. Back at the start.” 

“Fort Benning?” 

“Mhm.” 

“What happened?” 

“Got held up on Hershel’s farm, instead. Rick ran into some guys one day— bad guys. They told him it fell. Badly.” 

Another flash of the dead. 

“It did.” 

You looked back down. 

“Did those bad guys take the farm?” 

“Nah. We left ‘fore they found us. Herd ran us out. Spent the whole winter on the road after tha’, runnin’ from place to place…” 

Ever so slightly, Daryl stiffened. You knew what that meant. 

Until the prison. 

“What was the farm like?” You asked. 

There was a pleading tone to your voice, twirling up the edges of your words in a way that reminded him of the girl who couldn’t stop asking if he’d stay or leave, who would limp behind him after he silently scolded himself for helping you so much. Back when he didn’t care if your leg hurt or not, or at least, was better at pretending so. 

“We weren’t there long.” He shrugged nonchalantly as if there wasn’t a string as taut as his crossbow squeezing around his heart. “Maybe a month. But, it was the nicest place we’d been. Had trees, big old ones. Runnin' water. Fields’a crops and a couple’a horses.” He added that last one even if Nelly had thrown him so hard he wasn’t eager to ride another horse again. “But we were always fighting each other. No one knew what the hell they were doin’.” 

Your brow raised. “Not even you?” 

“Thought I did.” He shook his head. “I tried.” 

A breeze snuck through the cracked window, flickering the flames around you. He took a breath. 

“Still am.” 

“Me too.” 

The shadows cast across your face were softer now. The sun rose on the opposite side of the motel, but he could still see that hope shimmer in your pretty smile. A softer, dusty blue lit up the sky with ribbons of amber dancing across; orange reflecting onto the colour of your eyes he knew so well. Tracing the edge of your curled lips, the curve of your cheekbones. Your hair was getting long, now loose from the toss and turn of sleep. He didn’t see it down often, but it framed your face just as kindly as the light did. 

You took in a deep breath. It sounded less strained than before.

“We should head back to the car.” 

Daryl nodded. 

Then you smirked, and just like that, the charm that made his chest fill with warmth was back. 

“It stinks like pig’s feet in here.” 

—

The wind danced around you, a whirlwind of fallen leaves and that light dusting of snow, sparking like sugar in the sun. The sky was the same as it’d been the last few days. Pale grey clouds with pockets of blue peeking through. The sun’s harshest rays were always hidden away in the name of winter. 

You spared a glance to Daryl who walked by your side, if not slightly behind. Hunter's eyes roamed over the edges of the railroad you passed through, ignoring that crunch of gravel under your feet while he waited for the snap of a branch or the squeak of a nearby rabbit. Crossbow in hand, bolt loaded like always. The sight of him trailing your steps almost made the cold air bite less. 

That hopeless air in you felt lighter than you remembered, too.

Almost fading.

The car wasn’t far, now. Maybe twenty more minutes. The rumble of empty stomachs had sent you behind the motel instead of through the town you looted yesterday, where the train tracks cut through the forest, hoping to find some breakfast before you finally filled the empty gas tank and started on the road, again. 

Ahead, a rust-coloured train car sat on the second track. A few doodles of white and black spray paint coated the sides, but half of them were covered by a hanging banner, beige and held up by four strings. The bold-blocked words SANCTUARY FOR ALL, COMMUNITY FOR ALL, THOSE WHO ARRIVE SURVIVE were painted in a similarly rusty-coloured red. Underneath the banner was a sign, wrapped in plastic but the lines of a map were as clear as a summer day. Blue, red, and green all lead to a black star in the centre-left labelled TERMINUS. 

The pair of you shared a look, your eyebrows drawn together in a mixture of confusion and shock and his eyes narrowed into slits. Inspecting the poster for any kind of warning, any threat, as if a walker was about to jump from behind it. 

“They were broadcastin’ this,” Daryl muttered, after a long and tense moment. 

Your eyes widened. “When?” 

“Before the prison,” he said, sparing you another uncomfortable look before he continued to stare at the carefully wrapped sign. “We heard it on the radio when we were lookin’ for those meds. Couldn’t make it out then, but this is it: ‘those who arrive, survive’.” 

The wind tickled your skin, goosebumps rising and bangs fluttering across your face as you lingered by that sign. In the breeze, a long strap of white fabric caught around your boot, pulled from underneath the train car. You bent down to grab it, brow furrowed at the sight of a used strip of gauze. 

Your heart skipped a beat. 

“Someone was just here.” 

The crossbow was held tighter then, as if he could be any more on edge. 

“How do you know?” He asked through a clenched jaw. 

“The blood.” It looked like Daryl’s had when you changed his bandages every couple of hours instead of days. “It’s fresh.” 

Your eyes snapped to the map again— how big it was. It covered most of the state, by the looks of it. You could roughly pinpoint the prison in the upper left corner and could imagine lines of your own where you’d travelled these months. Between pharmacies and cabins and random sides of the road. 

And whoever had left this bandage… they’d seen it, too. 

“Daryl, look at how far these go.” Your hand traced the lines of railroads, sprawling across Georgia. “This can’t be the only sign. There’s the prison,” you pointed out, “If they have signs across all these tracks then… your people could’ve seen this.” 

Slowly, your hand fell back to your side. The look in your eye was like the sun breaking out from behind the clouds; a glimpse of that brightness he missed so fondly. Sparked by the glimmering hope in your eye, Daryl could feel a flicker of warmth catch in his chest again, and the realization of what you meant sunk in.

“If any of them saw this map, would they go?”

He hadn’t even known he was nodding along until that slight curl of your lip lifted. 

“Maybe we don't need to find them, just this place.” 

Daryl chewed his lip. The lines on the map curved their way through Georgia like vines, crawling through the north, east, west, and south like the ivy he saw across every abandoned building. Who was to say this place was even there anymore? Putting signs up like that, broadcasting their whereabouts for anyone to hear. It sounded more like a last-chance pipe dream than Fort Benning, and he’d already heard how that played out. 

He’d had enough of those soul-crushing losses. Enough fill for an entire life, and then some. He wasn’t sure if he could risk that again. Not when you were just about everything he had left. 

“I dunno. ’S far.” 

“This is our best lead— our only lead.” 

He shook his head. “We dunno ‘em. Dunno if it’s even real.” 

“You didn’t know me.” 

There you were, with raised brows and that look in your eye that somehow reminded him of the forest’s comforts— soft brown fur of nimble squirrels jumping from branch to branch, the bright blue sky breaking through even the thickest trees, green surrounding him like a blanket. 

“And really, where else do we have to go?” 

A forest he’d spend his whole life exploring. 

Eventually, he gave in. A habit he seemed to be picking up when it came to you. 

“Guess it’s worth a try.” 

And there was that smile again, blooming with new hope. 

————————————————————

-> part 12

A/N: omg hi. I took a long and unplanned hiatus. I won't get into it too much but to recap, in case you care/are curious: I went to nyc for the dead city premiere and had a blast, graduated university, started weightlifting (kinda replaced my twd obsession LOL), got really into GOT, and am now back because for some reason daryl dixon being in paris (????) got me going once more. anyway. im excited to continue this series again!! even if it took every cell in my body to finish this chapter LOL. kinda hate it kinda love it. idk. WHATEVERRRR.

more to come. I promise. thank u for reading and being so patient with me <3<3<3 all the love.

if you’re reading this, thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. please feel free to leave feedback, it helps so much and I love to read it. have a lovely day <3

AYG taglist: @fuseburner @itsmeatballworld @rickysgrimes @stevenknightmarc @huffledor-able541 @your-shifting-gurl @hopefulatrocity @strnqer @dreamtofus @fillechatoyante @suniloli @kiaslily @poubxlle @normanplusdaryl @sseleniaa