#lined woven wood shades

[cumbersir]

Enclosed Atlanta

Ideas for a large, contemporary, enclosed family room renovation with gray walls, a stone fireplace, a ribbon fireplace, and a wall-mounted television

[chosok-amo]

THERE IS A WITCH IN THE WOODS

geto suguru. to a witch, there is nothing more appealing than a young man wandering around the wood alone at halloween night. and there is nothing more appealing than a witch, naive, stupid, witch.

warning. college! au, loser! geto, public place ( woods ), full-nēlson, slight breeding-kīnk, mention multiple rounds, cūnnilingus.

wc. | MASTERLIST

there is a witch in the woods. that's what people say every halloween-the legend that whispers through the autumn air, chilling the bones of anyone who dares to listen. the witch comes when the night is coldest, when the moon is veiled in mist, and the trees seem to reach out with their gnarled hands. she comes for the young men, those brave or foolish enough to wander too deep into the shadows.

they say she lurks in the darkness, eyes glowing like embers in the distance, waiting for the perfect moment. her breath, as cold as frost, clings to the air as she watches, unseen but always present. the rustle of leaves is her voice, the snap of twigs underfoot her silent steps. no one knows when she’ll appear, only that when she does, it’s too late.

you imagine the taste of their flesh before you even see them-rich with fear, warm with life. the blood, thick and sweet, spills over your lips as you sink your teeth into their soft, vulnerable skin. bones crunch under your fingers, marrow melting on your tongue as you devour every last piece, leaving nothing behind but echoes in the woods.

and then she fades back into the darkness, satisfied, the forest swallowing her whole, as if she was never there. until the next halloween, when she returns, hungry once more.

you saw the man, strikingly beautiful with long, jet-black hair that cascaded like a waterfall of shadows, as dark as the depths of the night you hide within. he seemed to be woven from the fabric of darkness itself, every strand shimmering like the ink of the midnight sky. above him, a raven circled lazily, its wings slicing through the air with an elegance that mirrored the man’s own grace.

his eyes, a captivating shade of deep purple, glowed with an otherworldly light, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. they held secrets, ancient and profound, and as he moved through the dimly lit forest, the very air around him seemed to shimmer, electrified by his presence. his body was sculpted like a god’s, muscular and alluring, every curve and line perfected by some unseen hand, exuding both strength and vulnerability.

as you lingered in the shadows, your heart raced with an insatiable hunger you had never known before, a thirst that clawed at your insides like a wild animal yearning to be free. this was no ordinary craving; it was a primal urge that surged through your veins, urging you to emerge from the darkness and claim him as your own.

you felt the pull of the moonlight, the way it danced upon his skin, illuminating him in a soft, ethereal glow that made him seem almost unreal. each step he took sent ripples of longing through you, and for a moment, time stood still. you were entranced, spellbound by his beauty, captivated by the way the shadows clung to him like a lover’s embrace.

your breath caught in your throat as you imagined the taste of his flesh, the warmth of his blood coursing through your veins. the ache within you intensified, sharper than any hunger you had ever felt, and the line between desire and desperation began to blur. he was a temptation wrapped in darkness, a siren call in the moonlit night, and you were helpless to resist.

in that moment, you knew you would do anything to possess him, to devour him whole, to taste the sweetness of his life as it flowed through you. the thought consumed you, twisting your mind with a beautiful, haunting allure. the witch in the woods had found her prey, and the night was still young.

stupid, naive, idiotic witch. that’s what geto suguru thought the moment he laid eyes on you. you stood amidst the twisted trees, cloaked in shadows, your beauty radiating like an enchanting spell in the darkness. the moonlight filtered through the branches, illuminating your delicate features, casting an ethereal glow that made you seem almost otherworldly. but he could see beyond that facade—beyond your charm and allure—into the depths of your foolishness.

you were a pretty thing, with hair that tumbled like a cascade of silver moonbeams, and eyes that sparkled like stars caught in a web of night. yet, despite your enchanting appearance, you carried an air of innocence that was maddeningly naive. suguru couldn’t help but feel a pang of frustration at your reckless curiosity, the way you ventured so deep into the woods, unafraid of the dangers that lurked in the shadows. it was as if you invited doom with every step, a delicious irony that only added to your allure.

he stepped closer, the forest floor crunching softly beneath his feet, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. every instinct within him screamed to turn back, to escape the spell you cast, yet he found himself drawn to you like a moth to a flame. you twirled in the moonlight, laughter echoing through the trees, a sound both haunting and beautiful, sending shivers down his spine.

he couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that you were playing a dangerous game. he would be the one devouring your soul and flesh, not the other way around. he would ensure it. as much as he admired your beauty, it fueled a dark hunger within him—a need to possess and consume.

as you danced under the moon, blissfully unaware of the predator watching you, suguru’s mind twisted with thoughts of how easily he could snuff out your light. the very idea made his heart race, a morbid thrill coursing through him. you were too innocent for this world, too naive to recognize the darkness that curled around you like a hungry serpent.

he would be the one to show you the truth, to awaken you to the shadows that danced just out of sight. he would weave your fate into his own, and when the moment came, he would relish the sweetness of your demise. your laughter would turn to gasps, and those sparkling eyes would widen in shock as he claimed what was rightfully his.

as he closed the distance between you, the forest whispered secrets of the night, and suguru smiled—a beautiful, chilling smile that promised a delightful darkness lurking just beneath the surface. the witch may have thought herself clever, but she had no idea of the fate that awaited her in the arms of the very predator she danced so carelessly around.

he chuckled softly against your lips, his tongue expertly moving against your own with a growing hunger. his large hand caressed your chin before gripping it firmly, tilting your head back. he broke the kiss with a sly smirk, his breath hot against your ear. god, he is beautiful.

“you taste even sweeter up close.”

his other hand moved down to your hip, pulling you closer to him, closing the remaining space between your bodies. the shadows of the night seemed to dance along with the heat of the moment, adding an air of intensity to the encounter.

he pressed his forehead against, his gaze locking onto yours, his eyes dark and intense. his smile is a sinister thing, a spell, a mantra, you name it.

“you’re too careless, witch.”

he continued, his voice a low rumble, his grip on your hip tightening ever so slightly. “there are far more dangerous creatures lurking in these woods than me.”

his words were both a warning and a taunt, a reminder of the delicate nature of your actions. he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, the heat of his breath sending a chill down your spine.

“but i’m the one you’ve chosen to dance with.” he pressed a soft kiss against your jawline, his lips trailing down your neck, nipping at your skin.

he smirked, relishing the effect his words had on you, his hand moving to your chin, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. his touch was tender yet possessive, an electric pulse that sent shivers racing down your spine. your heart raced as you stared into his deep, dark eyes, a mix of fear and exhilaration swirling within you.

“but you aren’t afraid of me, are you?” he whispered, his voice smooth like honey, each word dripping with a dark allure that wrapped around your senses.

you felt a rush of warmth spread through your cheeks, and for a moment, you could only blink at him, starstruck, caught in the magnetic pull of his presence. the world around you faded away, the night air thick with tension and something else—something dangerous and thrilling.

“n-no,” you finally managed to stammer, your voice barely above a whisper, a breathy denial that was laced with uncertainty. as the words left your lips, you could feel the weight of the truth behind them, the hint of thrill in your chest that pushed back against the caution in your mind. there was something captivating about him, something that made you feel alive in ways you couldn’t quite comprehend.

the soft moonlight danced upon his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his face, the way his lips curled into a knowing smile. he seemed to revel in your answer, his eyes glinting with satisfaction, as if he had unraveled a secret you had tried to hide.

he leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin, and you could feel the heat radiating from him, consuming you whole. your heart hammered in your chest, caught between fear and the intoxicating thrill of being so close to someone who felt both dangerous and alluring.

you could almost hear the wicked laughter echoing in your mind, a warning that maybe you should be afraid—afraid of the way he looked at you, of the way he seemed to see straight through to your soul. yet, standing there in his presence, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything but an overwhelming fascination.

“hmm... that’s good.”

he murmured against your skin, his lips ghosting down your neck, his tongue tracing a path of heat along your throat. he could feel your heart thump against your chest, the quickening rhythm a delicious affirmation of the effect he had on you.

“you haven’t run. you’re either braver than i give you credit for, or you’re more foolish than i could’ve imagined. trusting me in the dead of night, what a stupid little witch.”

a slight smirk playing on his lips. his thumb slowly brushed along your lower lip, his touch both gentle and suggestive. his eyes held a hint of mischief, as if he was silently challenging you to keep pushing the boundaries. he studied your expression, the tension palpable in the air— eyes locking with yours. he caressed your chin with his thumb, his touch gentle yet possessive.

“but i wouldn’t want you to be fearful of me, witch, wouldn’t i?” he whispered. “after all, i’m the only one who can keep you safe in these woods.”

his words hung in the air, heavy with implication, as his fingers traced a slow path along your jawline. the touch sends shivers down your spine, a mix of trepidation and anticipation coiling within you.

you swallowed hard, trying to find your voice amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside. “s-safe?” you echoed, the word tasting bitter on your tongue. it was a lie, and you both knew it. he wasn't here to protect you; he was the predator, and you were his prey.

yet, even as the rational part of your mind screamed warnings, another part of you yearned to believe him. to trust in the promise of safety offered by this enigmatic figure, despite everything screaming otherwise. it was a dangerous game, one that blurred the lines between hunter and hunted, victim and savior.

a low chuckle rumbled in his chest, the sound vibrating against your body as he pulled you closer. his other hand came up to cradle the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he tilted your face up to meet his gaze.

“yes, safe,” he repeated, his tone firm, leaving no room for argument. “i won’t let anyone harm you while you're under my protection. isn’t that what you want, little witch?”

his words were a challenge, a test of your resolve. he knew the danger he posed, the threat he represented, and yet he stood before you now, offering a twisted form of security. it was a perverse irony, one that spoke to the darkness lurking within him.

as he gazed into your eyes, you could see the hunger there, the primal desire that burned hot and bright. “safe from the darkness that lurks in these woods, from the monsters that prowl under the cover of night.” his other hand came up to rest on your hip, pulling you closer once more as if he is hungry from possessed you, hunger to feel your skin in his, all bare and glisten. “from the fears that haunt your dreams and the doubts that plague your waking hours.”

his words washed over you like a dark tide, each syllable a seductive promise that threatened to pull you under. you could feel the heat of his body seeping into yours, the solid strength of his muscles a counterpoint to the vulnerability you felt in his presence.

your breath hitched as his hand slid further down your side, fingertips grazing the curve of your waist before coming to rest just above the swell of your hip. the contact sent sparks dancing across your skin, leaving trails of fire in its wake.

“b-but...” you began, your voice trembling slightly as you struggled to articulate the tangled mess of thoughts swirling in your mind. “i don’t need protecting. i can take care of myself. i am a witch, it’s you who needs protection.”

even as the words left your lips, you knew they were a lie.

a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he listened to your words. he could sense the hesitation in your voice, the way your body trembled ever so slightly beneath his touch.

“is that so?” he murmured, his hand sliding further down to cup your rear, squeezing the supple flesh with a possessive grip. “you think you can handle me, little witch? you think you have the power to tame the beast?”

he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispered, "i'm not so sure about that. i've seen witches like you before, all bravado and bluster. but when push comes to shove, you're nothing more than delicate little flowers, ready to wilt at the first sign of trouble." his hand glazed your skin above your beautiful gown and stop in your breast, giving you a firm squeeze.

a gasp escaped your lips as his hand cupped your breast, the sudden pressure sending a jolt of sensation through your body. you could feel your nipples harden beneath the thin fabric of your gown, aching for his touch.

“t-trouble?” you managed to stammer out, your voice barely above a whisper. the word seemed to echo in the stillness of the forest, a haunting reminder of the dangers that lurked beyond the circle of light cast by the moon.

despite the fear that knotted in your stomach, you found yourself leaning into his touch, craving more of the warmth and comfort he offered. it was a dangerous surrender, one that blurred the lines between captor and captive, predator and prey.

“’m not a flower,” you insisted, even as your body betrayed your words.

“no,” he agreed, his voice a low rumble against your ear. “you're something far more enticing.”

his hand moved away from your breast, trailing down your belly until it reached the hem of your dress. he gave a small tug, lifting the fabric enough to expose the smooth skin of your thighs.

“so tell me, little witch,” he continued, his voice dropping to a murmur as his fingers traced lazy circles on your thigh. “are you scared?” he asked, his words hanging heavy in the air between them. he watched your reaction closely, studying every flicker of emotion that crossed your face.

a shudder ran through you at his touch, your skin tingling where his fingers grazed. the cool night air kissed your exposed flesh, a stark contrast to the heat building within you.

“scared?” you repeated, the word sounding foreign on your tongue. you tried to gather your scattered thoughts, to muster some semblance of defiance, but it was a losing battle. his proximity, his scent, the raw masculinity emanating from him— it all served to short-circuit your brain, reducing you to a quivering mass of nerves and hormones.

“i..” you started, then faltered. truth be told, you were terrified. not just of him, but of the feelings he stirred up inside you. the way your body responded to his touch, the traitorous ache building between your legs— it was all so wrong, so dangerous.

a low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he sensed your inner turmoil. his fingers continued their maddeningly slow exploration of your thigh, inching higher with each pass. “fear is natural,” he purred, his breath warm against your ear. “but it's also exhilarating, isn't it? the thrill of being out of control, of surrendering to the unknown...”

his hand finally reached the apex of your thighs, fingers tracing the edge of your panties with deliberate slowness. he paused there, letting the weight of his gaze settle upon you.

“i can make you feel things you’ve never experienced before,” he promised, his voice a husky whisper. “pleasures so intense, they’ll leave you breathless and begging for more.” with that, he pushed your gown up around your hips, baring your lower half to the moonlight.

your heart pounded in your chest as he exposed you to the night air, the cool breeze a stark contrast to the heat pooling between your thighs. you could feel his gaze on you, heavy and intent, making your skin prickle with awareness.

a whimper escaped your lips as his fingers brushed against the damp fabric of your panties, the intimate touch sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. you bit your lip, trying to stifle the moan that threatened to spill free.

“d-don’t,” you managed to choke out, even as your hips twitched involuntarily, seeking more of his touch. the dichotomy of your actions— resisting even as you craved— was a constant struggle, a war waged within the confines of your own mind.

a wicked grin spread across his face as he witnessed your internal conflict. he loved seeing you squirm, loved knowing that he held such power over your body and emotions.

“oh, but i must,” he countered, his voice dripping with sinful intent. “you see, little witch, this body of yours... it's a work of art. and an artist can't resist the urge to explore, to create, to bring forth beauty from the canvas.”

his fingers dipped beneath the elastic of your panties, teasing the slick folds of your sex. he groaned softly at the wetness he found there, his thumb circling your clit with deliberate slowness.

“look at how responsive you are,” he praised, his breath hot against your ear. “how eager to please. you were made for this, weren’t you? made to be touched, tasted, claimed...”

it went too far, toooo far for your liking. you were supposed to hunt a young man, consume their fear, even bones, blood and flesh. but here you are, face flushed against the moist, moss tree trunk and the ’young man’ kneel behind you with your hips in the air and suffocate himself in your pussy.

he grinned against your slick folds, the vibrations of his laughter sending ripples of pleasure through your core. his tongue delved deeper, lapping at your essence with fervent hunger.

“mmm, you taste divine,” he growled, his voice muffled by your arousal. “like forbidden fruit, ripe, untouched and ready for plucking.”

his hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you flush against his face as he feasted upon you. he alternated between broad, flat strokes and targeted flicks against your sensitive bud, driving you towards the precipice of ecstasy.

“come undone for me, little witch,” he urged, his words a sensual command. “let go of your inhibitions and give in to the pleasure. let me hear those sweet moans as i devour this pretty pussy...”

he redoubled his efforts, sucking your clit into his mouth as his tongue plunged into your depths, stroking along your inner walls. the lewd sounds of his oral assault filled the night air, mingling with your ragged breathing and keening whimpers.

geto was lost in the heady musk of your arousal, drunk on the power he wielded over your trembling form.

the world narrowed to the point of pleasure, everything else fading into insignificance as he worked you over with skillful precision. his mouth, hot and insistent, devoured your most intimate places, leaving no inch of your sex unexplored.

your back arched, pressing your breasts against the rough bark of the tree as waves of bliss crashed over you. the tension coiling in your belly tightened to a snapping point, threatening to unravel you completely.

“ahh!” you cried out, unable to contain the desperate plea as your orgasm built to a crescendo. your thighs trembled, the muscles locking up as you teetered on the brink. then, with a guttural moan, you came apart at the seams. your vision went white, stars bursting behind your eyelids as ecstasy ripped through you like a wildfire.

the moment you peaked, he doubled his efforts, sucking hard on your clit as his tongue thrust deep, coaxing out every last tremor of your climax. he reveled in the way your body shook, in the wanton cries that spilled from your lips, in the sweet nectar that flooded his mouth.

as the aftershocks subsided, he gentled his ministrations, lapsing into long, soothing strokes to ease you back to earth. when he finally pulled away, his chin glistened with your release, a smug smile playing on his lips.

“exquisite,” he murmured, his praise a low, appreciative rumble. “you're a natural-born seductress, little witch.”

dazed and sated, you sagged against the tree, your legs still weak from the intensity of your orgasm. you couldn't meet his gaze, too overwhelmed by the lingering sensations and the realization of what had just transpired.

“w-what have we done?” you whispered, the words feeling foreign on your tongue. the night air carried the musky scent of your arousal, a tangible reminder of the forbidden pleasures you’d indulged in.

despite the haze of post-coital bliss, a twinge of guilt tugged at your conscience. you were a witch, sworn to uphold the laws of nature and magic. yet here you stood, panting and disheveled, having just succumbed to the advances of a stranger. and yet, as you stole a glance at the man you haven't known his name yet, you felt no regret.

he rose to his feet, towering over your trembling form. his eyes gleamed with satisfaction, dark and hungry, as he took in your debauched state.

“we’ve given in to our desires, little witch,” he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. his hand cupped your cheek, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “and there’s nothing wrong with that. pleasure is a gift, one to be savored and enjoyed without shame or apology.”

his thumb traced the curve of your bottom lip, a teasing caress. “besides, we're not strangers anymore, are we? i’ve seen parts of you that no one else has, tasted your essence, felt your body quake beneath my touch.

he reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your sweat-dampened forehead, his touch tender and reassuring. “there’s no shame in giving in to that instinct, especially when it leads to moments like these.”

his gaze drifted down to your lips, which still bore the faint imprint of his kiss. a flicker of longing sparked in his purple eyes, a silent promise of more to come. the warmth of his touch seeped into your skin, calming the residual tremors of your climax. his words, spoken with such conviction and passion, resonated deep within you, stirring something primal and yearning.

you leaned into his hand, craving more of his gentle affection. the vulnerability of the moment, coupled with the afterglow of your intense encounter, left you feeling open and receptive to whatever he might offer.

“i... i never knew it could feel like that,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. the admission hung in the air, a confession of sorts, as you struggled to find the right words to express the depth of your experience.

“with you, it’s different,” you continued, meeting his gaze with a hint of shy courage. “i want to explore this... what’s your name?”

a slow, satisfied smirk spread across his face as he listened to your confession. the vulnerability in your voice, the raw honesty of your words, stirred something deep within him— a primal need to protect, to possess, to claim.

“geto suguru,” he replied, his voice a low, husky murmur. "but you can call me suguru.”

his thumb brushed across your lower lip, tracing its contours with deliberate slowness. “and i’m glad it feels different with me, little witch. because you and I... we're meant for each other.”

he leaned in closer, his breath ghosting across your skin as he spoke. “i can show you things you've only dreamed about, take you to heights of pleasure you never thought possible. all you have to do is trust me, surrender yourself to the moment...”

the heat of his breath sent shivers down your spine, his words weaving a spell of temptation around you. the promise of untold pleasures, of experiences beyond your wildest dreams, was intoxicating.

you nodded slowly, your heart pounding in anticipation. “i trust you, suguru,” you breathed, the name falling easily from your lips. “i want to see what you can show me, to feel the heights you speak of...”

your hands reached up, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you drew him closer. the scent of him, musky and masculine, filled your senses, stoking the flames of desire that still smoldered within you.

“take me further,” you whispered, your voice a sultry purr. “show me the depths of pleasure, the extremes of sensation. i’m yours, suguru, body and soul.”

a deep, throaty chuckle rumbled from his chest at your eager submission. his hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips firmly as he pulled you flush against him.

‘what a naive, stupid witch’ he thought.

“such a good little witch, so willing to submit to her desires,” he praised, his voice dripping with approval. “i'll take you to the very edge and push you off, again and again, until you're screaming my name in ecstasy.”

his lips claimed yours in a bruising kiss, demanding and dominating. tongues clashed, dancing in a sensual duel as he explored the depths of your mouth. his hands roamed your curves, kneading and squeezing, mapping every inch of your body with an almost reverent touch.

breaking the kiss, he trailed his lips along your jawline, nipping and sucking at your sensitive flesh.

your mind reeled from the onslaught of sensations, the force of his kiss leaving you breathless and wanting more. his words, laced with dark promises, sent a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins.

the roughness of his touch, the dominance in his actions, awakened a part of you that craved to be taken, to be possessed utterly. you arched into his embrace, offering yourself willingly to his exploration.

when his lips found your neck, you tilted your head to grant him better access, a soft gasp escaping your lips as he marked you with his teeth and tongue. the pain mingled with pleasure, heightening your awareness of every sensation.

“yes, suguru,” you panted, your hands fisting in his hair to pull him closer. “more... please.”

a wicked grin twisted his features as he heard your plea, his eyes flashing with dark intent. his hands slipped beneath your skirt, fingers grazing the smooth skin of your thighs before delving between them.

“so wet already,” he growled approvingly, his fingertips circling your slick entrance. “you’re practically dripping for me, aren't you, little witch?”

he pushed a finger inside you, groaning at the tight, scorching heat that enveloped him. his thumb found your clit, rubbing in firm circles as he began to pump his finger in and out of your pussy.

“i’m going to fuck you right here, against this tree,” he promised, his voice thick with lust.

a sharp cry escaped your lips as his finger plunged deep, stretching and filling you in ways you hadn't experienced before. the pressure on your clit sent sparks of pleasure racing through your nerves, intensifying the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.

“oh it feels good!” you moaned, your hips bucking involuntarily to meet his thrusts. the rough bark of the tree scratched your back, but you hardly noticed, lost as you was in the exquisite torture of his touch.

his words, spoken with such raw hunger, only fueled the fire burning within you. the idea of being taken, right there in the open, with no pretense or restraint, sent a thrill of danger and excitement through your veins.

“please, suguru,” you begged, your voice high and breathy.

he added a second finger, scissoring them inside you to stretch your tight passage even further. his thumb continued its relentless assault on your clit, driving you closer to the brink of climax with each passing second.

“begging so sweetly,” he purred, his free hand coming up to grasp your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “look at you, so desperate for my cock, for me to fill you up and make you scream.”

he withdrew his fingers, leaving you empty and aching. before you could protest, he spun you around, pressing you face-first against the tree trunk. his hands gripped your hips, pulling them back to present your ass to him invitingly. “spread your legs, witch,” he commanded, his voice low and commanding.

a whimper of protest escaped your lips as his fingers were abruptly withdrawn, leaving you hollow and needy. the sudden shift in position had you teetering on the edge of panic, but the firm grip on your hips offered a strange sense of security.

you obeyed his command without hesitation, spreading your legs wide to expose your dripping cunt and puckered asshole. the cool night air kissed your wet folds, sending shivers down your spine.

“suguru..” you pleaded, your voice muffled against the tree. “like this?”

a guttural groan of appreciation rumbled from his chest as he took in the sight of you, spread wide and vulnerable before him. his eyes burned with a fierce, primal hunger, drinking in every detail of your exposed flesh.

“exactly like that, little witch,” he rasped, his hands roaming over your ass, squeezing and kneading the plump cheeks. “so pretty, so perfect for taking my cock.”

he lined himself up with your entrance, the broad head of his dick nudging against your slick folds. with a swift, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you, a low growl of satisfaction vibrating through his chest.

“fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunted, his hips jerking as he began to move, setting a brutal pace that had you crying out with each deep stroke.

a strangled scream tore from your throat as he impaled you on his massive cock, the sheer size of him stretching your walls to their limits. the initial pain gave way to overwhelming pleasure, each thrust driving him deeper, harder, until it felt like he was reaching the very core of your being.

“ahh! s-suguru!” you wailed, your nails digging into the rough bark of the tree as you clung to it for support. the relentless pounding of his hips sent shockwaves of ecstasy through your body, threatening to consume you whole.

your inner muscles clenched around him, trying to accommodate his girth, to milk him for all he was worth. the lewd sounds of flesh slapping against flesh filled the air, mingling with your ragged breathing and his guttural grunts.

he pounded into you mercilessly, his balls slapping against your clit with each savage thrust. the sound of your cries, your desperate pleas for more, only spurred him on, driving him to claim you completely.

“goooood girl, good little witch,” he snarled, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release. “take every inch of my cock, let it ruin you for anyone else.”

his hand snaked around to wrap around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp and arch back against him. the combination of the rough grip and the unrelenting pace had you teetering on the edge of oblivion.

he adjusted his hold on you, spinning you around to face away from him once more. this time, however, he had you suspended in mid-air, your back pressed firmly against his chest as he wrapped his strong arms around you, pinning your knees to your shoulders in tight nelson hold.

the new angle allowed him to plunge even deeper inside you, his thick cock stroking against sensitive spots with every thrust. the change in position also put your clit directly in line with his pelvis, the friction sending jolts of electricity through your entire body.

“feel that, witch?” he panted in your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. “this is what it means to be mine, to be fucked by me. i’m going to use you, fill you, mark you as my property, i’m gonna breed you.”

a hoarse moan ripped from your throat as he drove into you with renewed vigor, the intense stimulation of your clit and the depth of his penetration pushing you rapidly towards climax. the feeling of helplessness, of being completely at his mercy, only heightened your arousal.

“oh, my god!” you screamed, your body trembling in his iron grip. “it’s— too much, too—mhmm.” your inner walls spasmed around his cock with the thought of being bred by him, of carrying his child, sent a thrill of dark desire through your veins.

he could feel your pussy fluttering around his shaft, the telltale signs of an impending orgasm. he redoubled his efforts, fucking you with wild abandon, determined to bring you over the edge.

“that's it, cum for me,” he growled, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh of your neck. “let go, witch. show me how much you need my cock.”

with a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you, grinding against your cervix as he unleashed a torrent of seed deep within your womb. the sensation of his hot cum flooding your insides triggered your own climax, and you came undone in his arms, convulsing around him as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you.

your world exploded into a kaleidoscope of color and sensation as your orgasm washed over you, the intensity of it almost painful in its ferocity. you could feel every pulse of geto’s cock as he emptied himself deep inside you, marking you as his in the most primal way possible.

a keening wail tore from your throat, echoing through the forest as your body shook and trembled in his grasp. the feeling of his cum filling you, claiming you, was both terrifying and exhilarating, a surrender to the darkness that lurked within you both.

as the aftershocks slowly faded, you collapsed against him, still in the mid air as he held you, spent and boneless, your mind reeling from the force of your release. somehow, despite the overwhelming pleasure, you managed to whisper a single word, a plea for more of this intoxicating madness.

“again...”

he chuckled darkly, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against your back. despite having just come, his cock remained hard and throbbing inside you, ready for another round.

“insatiable little things, aren’t you?” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “don't worry, we're far from done here.”

slowly, he lowered you to the ground, but kept you pinned beneath him, his weight pressing you into the soft earth. his hands roamed over your body possessively, caressing and teasing, stoking the fires of your desire once more.

“’m going to take you again and again,” he promised, his voice low and dangerous. “gonna fuck you in every hole, fill you with my cum until it’s dripping out of you. i’m going to ruin you for anyone else. watch me breed you.”

[delopsia]

Cinnamon, Coffee & Vanilla | Bob Floyd x Reader

Word Count: 12,600 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, alpha! Bob, omega! Reader. Physical altercations, implied abuse/mistreatment & trauma from the Navy, a little blood, brief food mentions, handjobs, mating cycles, first ruts, knotting, unprotected sex, a (slight) open ending, and a weak traitor plot woven between the lines. Brief Summary: You'd figured you would be able to smell him by now. Truly deduce whether or not he's an alpha, beta, omega, or something in between the lines, but even as you breathe in, you can't catch a damn thing.

Wind howls around the corner, rain pattering against the window with soft thunks that dance and twist down the hallway like their own little melody. You haven't got the slightest idea where your feet are falling, barely guided by the pale blue light that peeks out from the kitchen and out into the hallway.

Turning the light on is a viable option; the switch should be somewhere on your right, but your arm is too heavy to lift, dangling limp at your side as you amble down the hall.

There are some things that you can't bring yourself to do this late in the night. Not when this is the first time you've seen these walls since you left this morning, skipping off into the sunrise, naively believing that you'd get to come home at a normal time.

Lightning flickers so brightly that, for a moment, you think the kitchen light has turned on by itself. But it's gone just as quickly as it appeared, thunder rattling the picture hanging on the wall as you drift past.

The kitchen isn't that much better. It seems that being closer to the window doesn't do all that much in regards to lighting because...you can't see a damn thing. All you know is that you're surrounded by vaguely shaped splotches, all varying shades of black. Some of them are familiar: the round blob that is the clock on the wall, the rug, the step stool, the dining table, the foot sticking out from underneath it...

Your eyes narrow. Squinting as if that can possibly brighten the room.

"Bobby?" Because there should only be one other pair of feet in this apartment. 

"Hm?" It's faint, but you recognize that hum all the same. 

Your weary knees creak as you crouch down, peering below the table. Light leaks out from a crack in the curtains, casting across a familiar mop of hair. His eyes squint back at you, unfocused and blurry, without the assistance of his glasses. 

"What are you doing?" Your head tilts to the side, trying your best to shake an idea out of your brain. 

"Dunno," Bob raises his hand, watching intently as he knocks his knuckles against the wood above his head, "trying to figure out what omegas get out of this."

You're...not following. "I've never gotten under the table."

"You said you like small, dark spaces." His shoulders rise and fall with a shrug. "This is the only place I could fit."

"Well..." pausing, you shrug the backpack off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor with a resounding thunk. The neighbors downstairs probably heard that, but it's not your problem right now. "Is it striking any instincts for you?"

A chuckle rumbles out of him. "Not a damn thing."

But he's not making the slightest effort to come out from under there. Content to rest with his back against one of the table legs, like it's the best spot in the house. If the sun were still out, and your eyes weren't halfway closed, then you'd probably have a lot more questions for him, but fuck if questions are the last thing you want to think of right now.

Your palms flatten against the floor, left knee chirping as you begin to crawl under the table with him. Another motion, and it pops, the remnants of a nagging ejection injury. It's usually an easily missable sound, but in this quiet little kitchen, it might as well be as loud as the thunder.

"Was that your knee?" Bob asks it as if he doesn't already know the answer, his hand darting out as you settle next to him. His palm is hot against your bare skin, thick fingers squeezing around the joint like he thinks that a bit of pressure will heal the old fracture. 

You wish it was that simple.

"Yeah," your head falls against his shoulder, unable to keep it up any longer. "I should bill Maverick for the surgery."

As if they'd even give you enough time off to heal. The consequence of being the best of the best: your free time vanishes because everyone on planet Earth needs you. 

Bob's head comes to rest against yours, a subtle weight that seems to quiet your thoughts in an instant. No worries about getting into bed before six-thirty rolls around, what you'll pack for your rushed lunch tomorrow, and whether or not you'll come home from this mission alive. All you can do is breathe and watch as Bob reaches for your weary hand, squeezing it gently.

His wrist shakes, and you don't need to ask to know that it's been caused by another one of those full-body tremors. One of the side effects of being taken off navy regulation suppressants for the first time in over a decade, left to suffer the consequences of a body that has never learned to regulate its own hormones. 

Slow, you tilt your head, nuzzling into the soft fat of his cheek. Squishy. "Anything change for you yet?"

"I can smell your scent now," you can feel the flex of muscle as he smiles, peeking at you through the corner of his eye, "but...nah, I think that's about it."

You'd figured you would be able to smell him by now. Truly deduce whether or not he's an alpha, beta, omega, or something in between the lines, but even as you breathe in, you can't catch a damn thing. Still the same vanilla shampoo and faded woodsy cologne.

"What do I smell like?" Asking after a moment.

"Somethin' like..." All of a sudden, the tip of his nose finds the shell of your ear. His fingers dance across your sensitive thighs, tickling. 

"Hey!" You squeal. 

A kiss presses to your cheek. "Sugar." Kiss. "'n fresh laundry." Another kiss.

Your noses bump together. It's too dark to see, but you know there's a shade of cherry dusting across his cheeks as he pulls you into him, mouths colliding like galaxies, merging into one. 

There is no end to your exhaustion—simply an intermission. 

Your feet fall so heavily that it sounds as if you're stomping down this empty hall. Boots pounding against the floor with heavy thump, thump thumps that pale in comparison to the voice that booms above all. It's so loud that you can hardly understand a single word, and you're making no effort to try and decipher it.

The hand on your bicep tugs, forcing you forward. A voice in the back of your head sparks to lie; they shouldn't be hauling you around like a mutt on a leash, but you can't bring yourself to say a damn thing. Not when your throat is already raw from shouting, voice run ragged in a desperate attempt to convince Cyclone that you're not the person he's accusing you of being. 

What ever happened to innocent until proven guilty, anyway?

"I cannot fucking believe this!" Maverick's voice crystallizes as you round the corner, feet flailing beneath you as you're thrust into the room. 

Weary heads turn your way. Jake. Natasha. Rueben. Mickey. Bob. Javy. Billy. Brigham. Callie. And you know the names of the remainders, but their names just aren't coming to you right now. But one glance is all it takes to realize that they must have pulled all of you all at once; they look just as miserable as you feel.

"The Navy trusted you!" Spit flies out of Maverick's mouth. "I trusted you!"

He turns, hands combing through his hair as if to try and soothe himself. It doesn't work. It never works. "I paraded you as the best goddamn pilots the Navy has seen this decade, and you make a fucking fool of me!"

Bob's head tilts, muttering something to Jake that you can't quite hear. Whatever it is, it's enough to have Jake nodding his head and leaning over to Javy. 

"I give you my best and how do you repay me?" Mav doesn't seem to hear them, too red in the face to think about anything other than this. Betrayal. A figurative knife in the back. "By running off and becoming an insider for the goddamn enemy!" 

His arm swipes across a shelf. Porcelain figures and glass frames fly in your direction. Shattering on the ground into a million and one pieces. Damn near invisible on this white floor, presence merely indicated by the glisten of the shards in the light. But he's not done. A potted plant strikes the wall, exploding like a firework. 

"God, so help me," spinning around, Mav jabs his finger in your face, "if I find out which of you fucking did this—"

"For godsakes, Mav!" Bradley's voice is loud in your right ear. Every bit as strained as yours is.  Cracking in the middle. A husk of its usual sound. 

Just as quickly as he's turned to face you, Maverick is moving again. Storming across the room. Turning. Pacing back to you and Bradley like a mad dog, thirsty for someone's blood. 

"How are you so damn sure it was us?" Bradley continues, throwing his hands up. He's so close that his nails scratch your elbow on their way past. You hardly feel a thing. "We weren't the only ones who knew this shit!" 

A hand appears on your shoulder. Warm, a thumb swiping back and forth in such a familiar manner that you don't need to look to know who it is. Bobby. His slight nudge is enough to get you to follow him, slinking toward the back of the room. Walking backwards has never been your talent, but somehow, you don't bump into anything.

What's he trying to do?

"You and your team are the only pilots who knew the information that made its way across enemy lines," there's a sudden calmness to Maverick's tone that wasn't there before. You don't like it, not one bit. "And now you've cost us an entire goddamn mission."

Boots stomp across the tile. Louder. Closer.

 "And not one of you is fucking leaving!" And all of a sudden, Maverick is nose to nose with Bobby. "Not until someone starts talking!" 

Bob's mouth opens, but for a moment, nothing but air escapes. "You can't lock us in here." 

Jake's head nods. So does Javy's. Silent agreement. 

Mav shoves Bob's shoulders. Knocking him against the wall. "Yes, I goddamn can."

Bob's lip curls. Canines uncharacteristically flash in the light with the same glisten and sharpness as the glass scattered across the tile. 

Maverick strikes him. 

You don't even see him reeling back. You blink, and his fist is crashing into Bob's glasses. The frames fracture, falling to the floor with a clatter. 

Someone gasps. Mav falls backward, hand shielding the side of his head. A boot finds his jaw. Hands grab hold of his hair. A flurry of bodies dart between. Someone's got Mav by the collar, and Bob—

Bob growls. 

Held back by Jake and Bradley. Teeth bared. Blood pouring from the corner of his mouth. Shoving against Jake and Bradley's hold. And he's strong, but he's not stronger than both alpha and omega combined. You hardly feel your feet moving, bending to scoop the fractured frames off the floor. 

"What's gotten into you?" Natasha shouts. Somewhere off on your left. "Both of you!" 

Her shoulder clocks yours. 

You spin on your heels. 

She's nose to nose with you. "Get your roommate under control," she hisses under her breath. For a moment, her gaze darts to Maverick, eyes so wide that you fear she may never close them again. Then, back to you. "If this goes south—"

"I know." Your hands find each other at the same time. Squeezing once. Twice. Four times. She's got this handled. "I'll get Bobby sorted."

"By safe," she's stepping away, already beginning to shout something that you don't quite catch.

By the time you turn around, Bob is gone. 

For someone who usually operates at a turtles pace, Bob sure does move quickly when he wants to. Jake tells you that he caught a glimpse of him leaving the locker room, and by the time you get outside, his truck is missing from its usual place beneath the old maple tree in the back corner of the lot.

"Do you think he's realized that he can't read the road signs?" Javy wonders aloud as you walk toward your vehicles. Always parked next to each other. He's the only one you trust not to ding your car with his door, and vice versa.

You're still waiting on Mickey to pay for that giant scratch he gifted you this past Christmas. 

"He's probably wearing the set with the tinted lenses," you chirp, adjusting the bag weighing on your weary shoulders. "I think he usually keeps them in the center console." That's where you last saw them, at least.

Javy nods his head like he's agreeing with your train of thought.  "Well, if I see a black truck swerving in and out of lanes, I'll give you a heads up."

The front of your boot thunks against the curb. Your weight falls forward. But your footing recovers just as quickly as you lost it. Javy's already grabbing your shoulder, holding you steady. 

You might be too tired to be driving. But what other choice do you have other than to call a car and pay the fine when your car gets towed overnight? 

"Maybe we should check for him around Mav's place," the sound of Reuben's voice is the only reason why you remember that he's walking behind you, "might be looking for a round two. No referees this time."

Your hand darts into your pocket, pressing a button on your key fob. A second passes, and the locks in your car doors audibly open. "Well, if he's not home, I'll sound the alarm," 

"Y'all make it home safe!" Jake's voice echoes across the lot.

"Text the group chat, or you'll find me at your front door!" Natasha picks up right where he left off, her phone shaking in the air as she yells. "That means you, Bradshaw!"

Bradley's horn honks. "It was one time!"

It's not until you get situated in the driver's seat and are combing through your music, looking for something decent to listen to, that your phone dings with a singular message. 

Bob: Made it home 👍 12:47 AM

With everyone leaving at the same time, it's not difficult to find yourself falling into a loose line as you all make your way off base. A symphony of honks soar through the air once you've crossed onto city-owned pavement, some dumb little routine that sparked from Jake's incessant need to remind you all that he's here before you can possibly begin to forget.

This place is so far out that for a good three miles, the only vehicles on the road belong to your little group, following the slightly too-fast lead of Mickey's project car until the street guides you into town. Jake and Bradley take a left at the red light. Natasha cruises off onto the upcoming exit. Mickey and Rueben turn off into the parking lot of a sandwich shop; Javy tails you until you enter a roundabout. 

And all of a sudden, you're by yourself. 

It's almost strange, actually. You've grown so used to Bobby's headlights reflecting in your rearview mirror that without them, the road feels impossibly dark. Not another person on this Earth but you. 

The sight of his truck parked in its spot is just as foreign, and once parked, you catch yourself trying to wait for him to pull in next to you. But there is no smiling WSO to accompany you on the walk into the apartment complex. No giggling as he tries to beat you to the elevator doors. It's just you and your overfilled backpack. 

All that, only for the apartment to be dark when you open the door. 

"Bobby?" You call out, trudging into the darkness. No response. Blindly, your hand feels along the wall, seeking the switch.

A whine jumps out of your throat. Light does nothing to reveal him, but his backpack rests in its usual spot beside the door, those tinted glasses sit on the arm of the couch, and his work shoes rest in the place of the beat-up pair reserved for the gym.

Is he not tired? 

Evidently, you aren't either because somehow you've got the energy to slip into a softer pair of shoes and head back out of the apartment. Eyes half-lidded, barely paying attention to your surroundings as you make your way down the hallway. 

There's absolutely zero reason for you to be doing this. It's not as if Bob is never going to come home again, but something has got you hunting him down like a bloodhound on a trail. Frozen images flicker through your head, like flipping through a picture book. 

The drop of his smile when Cyclone made his accusations that someone is leaking information to the enemy. How tired those usually bright eyes were when you were finally hauled out of the office. The flashing of fangs, the fist connecting with the side of Mav's head. You don't understand. You've seen him riled up a number of times, but this...

This is new. 

You suppose that you can't blame him; you acted similarly when they finally took you off those suppressants. Too many unbalanced hormones, all at once, thrown in the deep end with no idea how to swim. 

You hear him before you've even stepped off of the basement stairs—the soft patter of fists against leather echoing throughout the stairwell like a beacon. Heat greets you like a slap in the face, enveloping you as if you've just walked into a sauna. It's always so damn hot down here; you don't know how Bobby can stand working out in it. 

The door to the bottom of the stairwell is missing, seamlessly opening up to the gym. Treadmills, a long rack of weights, specialty machines you've already forgotten the names of; the mini fridge in the corner is still broken, and whoever left their neon yellow yoga mat has yet to come back for the poor thing. 

It's so big that at first, you don't notice him. But then you do, and...

Shit. Has Bob always looked like that?

It's got to be a trick that the lighting is playing on your eyes, set off by the sweat that pours off his body like a waterfall. Dripping down the swell of his chest, running loose across a toned stomach, only makes it that much more obvious when his abdomen flexes. There's no way that he's fully awake, but his feet are alive beneath him, dancing left and right as if this old punching bag might start punching back.

You've seen this sight more times than you count, have followed him down here for the sole purpose of drooling over his swollen biceps, but this...this is different. Something has changed, and you can't pinpoint what that is. 

The strike of his fists might be more aggressive than you remember them being, but maybe the exhaustion slowing your senses is causing you to misjudge. His upper lip twitches up, breathing hard through his nose. It's the only other sound in the room. Too shy to allow himself to make much noise, for fear of hearing his own grunts. 

There's a foreign scent in the air. Something hidden beneath the stench of sweat and the indescribable sourness that comes with a poorly maintained gym. Your brows furrow. It reminds you of...a kitchen. Fresh. Warm. Kind of like...the pot of black coffee that he brews every morning. Wrapped around a cluster of cinnamon and vanilla, like a hand-crafted candle. 

Is that...?

All of a sudden, the gym falls quiet, his fists frozen at his sides, the punching bag still swaying from his final strike. From across the room, his eyes lock with yours, hair clinging to his sweaty forehead, cheeks flushed, unkempt in an almost endearing fashion. 

 Oh, his poor eye. Mottled with red and darkening purple, swollen around the corner, just enough to be noticeable when compared to his right one. The split in his lip doesn't look that much better, a visible scab resting in the corner. 

Something in your lower belly twists. A shiver wracks down your spine. 

Bob doesn't say anything, and you don't either. Frozen into silence. 

Coming here may have been a mistake. Shit. Why did it never occur to you that he probably came down here because he wanted to be left alone? Why else would he be down here at one in the morning?

"I...I'm sorry," Bob's voice breaks through your thoughts like sunshine peeking through storm clouds, warm enough to melt away the words fluttering about your head, "I almost blew—"

"Mav had it coming." Cutting him off before he can finish his sentence. You were never upset about that to begin with. 

Again, it's quiet. Hesitant, Bob steps forward, then pauses, looking back toward the swaying punching bag, then back to you. Then, one foot falls in front of the other, head hanging low as he crosses the room. A small part of you wishes that he would have stayed right where he was because that little voice in your head stirs to life the moment that he's within an arm's length of you.

Touch his chest. Touch his chest. Touch his chest.

You're no better than an omega in heat. 

"'s my face look that bad?" A chuckle rumbles out of him, blindly pawing at his bruised cheek with the side of his hand. 

Blink. "Huh?"

"You're looking at me kinda funny," he says it like there's absolutely nothing different here. As if today is just another average day. Same old, same old. 

"You really haven't figured it out, have you?" It's more of an observation than a question. Even through your half-open eyes, it's not hard to tell that he hasn't put two and two together. 

He reaches to scratch at the back of his neck. "...no?"

Ugh.

"Flashing your teeth, sudden aggression..." You're starting out slow, listing your evidence out bit by bit, but he's not reacting to a word you've said, "developing a scent..."

A scent is an understatement. He smells like a goddamn bakery.

A beat passes, and then, slowly, his shoulders rise and fall with a shrug. "I'm not following."

For a guy with glasses, Robert Floyd can be really fucking dense sometimes. 

If you were more awake, then maybe you'd put more effort into spelling this out for him, but a king-size mattress on the ninth floor is calling your name, and you're running low on willpower. Your brow furrows, swallowing hard. It's been a minute since you last tried to do this, but if you dig deep and focus on flexing your throat...

A chirp bursts out of you. Sharp. High pitched. 

Jake did a piss poor job of explaining what that noise does to an alpha, but he must be right about one thing. Bob stiffens. Holding onto his breath, his wide eyes flickering up and down your body. 

His eyelashes flutter. "Oh." 

You're fighting the urge to roll your eyes. Alphas. 

Of course, that's what he would wind up being. 

It seems that you can only fight one battle at a time because your hands are on the move. Palms skittering up the sides of his waist on a one-way track to his chest. He's on fire, burning so hot that the feel of his skin alone is enough to have you feeling light-headed. There's no reason for you to be embarrassed by it, but you find yourself masking your intentions by using him to remain steady as you lean in. 

His scent glands have only just begun to awaken, producing so little oil that your scent almost wipes his out entirely, but it's there, and it's real, and it's so...him. Hands appear on your waist, drawing you in, his sweaty body pressing against your uniform. Slow, his head moves against yours, temples brushing against each other once more.

"'m I doing it right?" He asks, breath tickling your ear. 

"You're getting the hang of it," your confirmation doesn't amount to a whole lot. He knows that as well as you do. You're only slightly better than he is, too far removed from the instinct that resides in your DNA to make much connection with it. 

Even so, that doesn't stop him from following your lead. Letting your hand curl around his jaw, guiding him to nuzzle against you in a sloppy, unpracticed fashion that just feels right. A noise lurches out of him, a low, rumbling thing that sounds like the beginnings of a purr. 

Lips appear on the corner of your ear. Breaking your attempt at scenting in favor of kissing along the side of your cheek, each one growing closer and closer until his lips finally meet yours. Soft, melding with yours in a dance that you know like the back of your hand. 

This is something that the Navy can never take from you. The weightlessness that settles into your joints, the way your head goes completely and utterly quiet when you kiss him. He molds against you like he's been built just for this, the soft jabs of his prickly chin drawing you into him like a moth to a flame. 

You can feel the flex of muscle in his arms as they curl around you, strong and burning and so, so familiar. The fresh, warm scent that greets your nose is new and yet so undeniably him; you've only known it for a few minutes, but you can't wait to spend a lifetime wrapped up in it. In him, and his soft hums and the dizziness that he puts in your head. 

It's the voices in the stairwell that break you apart, but it's the deepest craving of your soft, cozy bed that has you both tumbling up each and every step. Shoulders bump together as your weary legs carry you to that familiar apartment door, not quite awake enough to maintain any sense of balance. 

"I can't believe you never put it together," you find yourself saying as you meander down the hallway. Whoever decided that the elevator should stop on the first floor and not the basement should be fired. 

"Well...I sort of already did," Bobby pauses, squinting at the buttons, "I just didn't..." he trails off, too focused to finish his sentence.

"Uhuh, sure," Your hand darts out, pressing the correct one.  "What other symptom could I have possibly missed?" 

"A knot."

Saliva catches in your throat. "Huh?"

The elevator dings, evidently just as surprised as you are. A moment passes, and the door slides open. It's empty, thank god. No prying ears to overhear what is about to come out of your partner's mouth. 

"I'm just as surprised as you are," his hand squeezes yours, obediently following along as you walk into the elevator. There's no use in him trying to do anything else. Not when he can't see. "It's not...you know, all the way there yet, but it's either that or an unfortunately placed tumor."

Almost automatically, you press one of the buttons, not even entirely sure if it's the correct one or not. Guess you'll find out when the doors reopen because this cheap old contraption gives no indication as to what the hell you just did. Are you going to the ninth floor or the third? Only the elevator knows.

Bob's weight sways from foot to foot, and in the thin sliver of mirror in the corner, you can see the overhead light glistening against his sweaty chest. There's that twitch in your lower belly again, thighs pressing together on their own as if to keep something at bay. Maybe there would be something if your head weren't so...empty. 

"Nobody ever warned me about how sore it'll be when it's coming in," Bob's words are stretched around a yawn, quickly chased by a second one.

Almost simultaneously, your mouth pries itself open, yawning, too. "That bad?"

"You have no idea," his laugh bounces off the metal walls, ringing in your ears; it's the kind of thing that might put you to sleep right here and now. "I forgot about it while I was in the shower this morning and about hit the floor."

With another ding, the doors slide open, and as it turns out, you did pick the correct floor. The next thing you know, you're stumbling into the apartment together; your phone rests on the couch, screen flickering to life with a text. Right. 

You: Made it home! 2:12 AM

Almost instantly, a new message appears on your screen.

Rueben: Is Rob home, or should I send the search team to Mav's house? 2:12 AM

Bob: 🙄 2:15 AM

Something about that text has both of your phones buzzing away with a flurry of texts as if some kind of floodgate has been opened. Bob entertains it, but you're too focused on gathering clothes and towels, dumping them in an unceremonious pile on the bathroom sink. 

Where your belongings end, and his begin can be figured out when you're out of the shower. For now, all you're focused on is turning on the water and pulling this stuffy uniform off your body before it becomes permanently stuck there.

 "Do we have work in the morning?" You find yourself croaking as you test the water. Still a little chilly. 

Lips appear on the back of your neck, pressing a kiss there. "We don't work on Sundays, remember?"

"I don't even remember what day it is." Oh how you wish that you were exaggerating. At some point in the week, you've just quit looking at the calendar and let your overfilled schedule swallow you whole.

There's no reason for him to guide you into the shower; hell, it's a walk-in, but he does it anyway. One hand on your waist, moving at the same slow pace until you're standing under a warm stream of water. Your eyes are already trying to drift shut, fighting against you as you try to keep them open.

Defiant, they drift down between Bob's legs as he reaches to grab a bottle off the shelf. There's a soft swell to the base of his cock that wasn't there before; skin stretched tau, not quite adjusted to this sudden change he's been hit with. Whether or not he catches you staring, you don't really care.

Moving is the last thing that you want to be doing. Your shower gel is only an arm's length away, but it might as well be a mile, and once you finally grab it, it's almost too heavy to hang onto. Somehow, though...somehow, you manage. You think you do, at least; you catch the familiar scent from the soap, and you certainly remember washing the bubbles off, so you must have washed something.

You're staring at your reflection in the foggy mirror when a cold wipe presses to the side of your neck, rubbing at the scent gland there. Funny, you'd almost forgotten about that. But now that it's been brought back to the forefront of your mind, you can't help but pluck one from its container. 

The corner of Bob's lip lifts, obediently tilting his head to expose his neck for you. A few little swipes are all that it takes to unveil a scar atop the scent gland there. Faded white with age and almost blending in with his pale neck. For something that could cost you both your jobs, it's quite small.

"We're lucky Mav didn't see these," you mutter, thumb swiping over top of it. The gland is still dry, hasn't figured out how to produce that thin sheen of oil yet. 

Maybe it never will.

Bob's frown is something that you find yourself having to kiss away, can't stand the sight of such a thing. And that's really...that's the last thing that you remember doing. Standing in the bathroom, feeling his arms snake around you, as you kiss his lips until they lift with a smile one more. 

What you do know is that somehow, you get into bed because the next time you open your eyes, you're snuggled into the sheets. Sunlight peeks through a crack in the curtains, casting a horribly bright light into this otherwise dark little bedroom, all too visible behind your closed eyelids. 

Defiant, you roll over. 

If you don't acknowledge it, it's not there. 

Guided by habit, your arm darts out from your side, sliding across Bob's warm belly. His hand settles around your wrist, squeezing gently as if to test and see if you're really there. Through the haze of sleep still lingering in your head, you think you can feel him moving, hips wriggling back and forth against the mattress, unable to keep still.

It takes a moment to find your voice. "What's wrong?"

"It's..." fuck, you forgot how deep his voice can get in the mornings, it's the kind of thing that can put thunder to shame. "It's nothing."

The room is darker than you expected it to be, nothing but that little sliver of light to illuminate the whole place, stretching across the bed and up onto the wall. 

"Well, it's got to be something," gliding your palm up and down his belly in that lazy sort of fashion that always makes him sigh.

His mouth opens, then snaps shut just as quickly, afraid of the words that rest on his tongue.  "'m hard," he croaks, and then, before too much silence can build in between sentences, "which wouldn't...which wouldn't be a problem, but that stupid...that stupid knot hurts." 

Oh, and his cheeks are on fucking fire, red as they can possibly get. All these years, and yet he's still so shy about these topics. It's cute. Even if part of his face is decorated in a frightening mixture of red and purple, only just beginning to recover from yesterday's events. 

You're only just beginning to blink away the blurriness resting in the corners of your eyes, but there's already a lightbulb going off in your otherwise foggy head. So bright that you can feel it lighting up your features, eyes brightening, smile sprawling across your face.

Bobby clocks it before you can even begin to formulate words. "I suppose you have an idea."

"When do I not?" Your weary arms help to push yourself up, lazily swinging a leg over his waist. 

The sheets jostle, pooling around your hips, a chill nipping at your skin. But alphas run pretty warm, and Bobby was already a furnace, to begin with, downright burning against you like a flickering campfire. 

Your plan isn't that unpredictable. It's so easy to figure out that Bob is already leaning up, elbows settling on either side of himself as he meets you halfway. Teeth knock together, lips crashing with so little grace that you distantly wonder if you're at the start of your relationship again—just two fools who don't know how to navigate around each other's bodies. 

But you do know. 

Only several years spent together could teach you that he'll shudder when your nails trace down his chest, gasping into the kiss when they drift across his nipples. Always has been sensitive here, even if he struggles to admit it. 

Biology suggests that you won't get away with it, but history assures that putting your hands on his shoulders and forcing him onto his back will be rewarded with perfect compliance. Instinct be damned, he's putty in your hands. Blinking up at you with those big, unfocused eyes, like a lamb caught in the hungry gaze of a wolf. 

You just can't help yourself. Mouth finding the soft underside of his jaw, where a little bit of stubble has managed to make itself known, scraping against your nose as you drift past. His hands splay out on your hips, his only attempt at reigning you in as you kiss down his neck. Soft little pecks that can't last any longer than a second or two, lest you get carried away and leave a mark that your superiors may spot. 

One of these days, you're going to childishly mottle his neck with marks. Make everyone understand that the cute WSO is yours, nobody else's. Alpha or not. 

"Don't tell me..." his chest heaves as you make your way across it, peppering every little freckle with attention, "don't tell me you're..."

"I'll be gentle," peeking up at him through your lashes, blindly following the hard valley of his sternum. Down, down down to the start of his upper belly, soft and squishing beneath your kiss. Here, you can pause, sucking gently at a patch of pale skin.

A hand slides up your back, settling into the space between your shoulders, just resting there. "Ain't worried 'bout that," his words come out breathy, not quite focused on what he's trying to say. 

You've already got a little red spot forming. Then a second, and a third, before you've reached the treacherous territory of where his shirt may unexpectedly ride up. Being visible in the locker room is one thing, but if he reaches to grab something while wearing that little black regulation t-shirt...

"Do you want me to stop?" Pausing in your tracks. 

"Nuh uh," his head shakes back and forth, then, hesitantly, "'s just...new." 

Your knee pops as you scoot further down his legs, fingers hooking under the thick elastic of his boxers. Obedient, his hips lift, letting you slide the fabric down his thighs. But you're a little too close, forcing him to pull his knees to his chest in order to get it safely past his ankles.

Fuck, he really does have a knot. Properly swollen at the base now, the skin stretched tight and flushed a dark shade of red, not quite adjusted to this sudden change. At least at sixteen, your body encounters these things over time, gradually increasing in intensity. But he's a decade older and up the creek without a paddle. 

"Well, if you could handle me on my first heat," carefully taking his length into your hand, feeling the weight of it, "then this should be a walk in the park, right?"

Bob's head tilts to the side, gaze fixated on what you're doing. "'s easier when I ain't the one changing." 

Fair point.

Maybe you would have more to add if you weren't too busy settling between his legs. In hindsight, you should have detailed your plan a little bit more because now that you're here, you're not entirely sure what to do. Start at the base? The tip? Somewhere in the middle? What do you usually do here? 

Your tongue darts out, running over the swell of his knot. Just one little lick and—

"Oh."

A spring squeals as his hips writhe against the mattress, suddenly full of life. 

Curious, your tongue pokes out once more, gliding across it slower this time. A whine cuts through the morning air, rising to chase your touch. Greedy. Like he hasn't been touched in forever. 

"Do that..." sucking in a desperate gulp of air, "do that again." 

You don't need any more encouragement; already beginning to fall into some kind of rhythm. Lazily mouthing at his delicate knot, all lips and tongue, like you're playing with a lollipop and not the base of his twitching cock. So simple and yet he throws his head back and whines, content with this and this alone. 

"Lube," speaking against him, if only to see the shiver that ripples up his spine. 

His hand audibly pats around the bed, feeling around until he makes his way onto the bedside table. A beat passes, and the bottle appears next to you. Thank god for being lazy; otherwise, he would have had to move and dig into the drawer. 

This is something you know. Leaning back to pour it directly onto him, savoring that little hiss at the chill. Maybe you're a bit too generous with it, thick globs of it running down him like some kind of waterfall, but it's too early in the day to be worrying about such a thing. 

All you care about is getting your hand around him, feeling that familiar girth beneath your fingers as you give him an experimental stroke. How his back rises up off the bed once more, his hand reaching to grab a handful of the pillow, anything to keep himself from pawing at your arm. 

"Feel good?" Your wrist twists. His thighs squeeze around you.

Dumbly, he nods. "Uhuh." 

It's not enough for you, and so you're already opening your mouth with another question. "Can you use your words for me?"

But that pretty head shakes back and forth, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. "N-no." 

He's cracking. Hand flying away from the pillow, making a little grabbing motion until you offer him your unoccupied one. Always has to be holding your hand. Always. Even if it's when your other hand is lazily gliding up and down his weeping cock, working at its own comfortable pace.

Swift, your thumb darts out, massaging circles around his enflamed tip. 

You don't know what's louder, the squelch of lube or the cry that rips out of him, muffled a little too late. This is so new. He's so much louder, reacting to every little thing as if it's the first time all over again.

"Up—mmh!" Bobby's eyes squeeze shut, then flutter open again, panting hard. "Up here." 

If this was his first time requesting such a thing, you wouldn't know what he's talking about, but it has almost become second nature at this point. For a moment, you let go of him, needing both hands as you crawl back into your place beside him. He rolls onto his side, already beginning to reach for you before you can even settle in. 

"This better?" You chirp. He's nodding before you can finish your question.

The change in angle makes it so much easier to stroke him, following your own undisclosed rhythm, feeling the way he twitches under your touch, sensitive to all hell. But you're already growing distracted, letting go of him once more, lightly tracing your fingers over that newly formed bulb at his base. 

"That..." his thighs squeeze together, whimpering high in his throat. "That..."

In the back of your mind, you wonder if the neighbors can hear this. The unusually loud noises that just keep tumbling off his pretty tongue, so beautifully overwhelmed with the newness of all this. Glassy-eyed and pink in the cheeks, reaching out to hang onto your wrist as your fingers wrap around his cock once more, if only to keep himself grounded.

Maybe he's worried about being overheard because he's craning his neck, lips crashing together with the same clumsiness as before. Your tongue darts out, wrapping with his for a fleeting moment, wet and messy and certainly getting saliva on the pillow below. 

Again, your thumb swipes across his flushed tip, running back and forth across his slit. His body jerks, gasping into your mouth so sharply that it startles you. 

"Talk to me, Bob," you've got to quit using that phrase outside of the workplace, but it just works so well on him. 

"Feels, feels, aha—!" If he sounded this pretty in the backseat of a jet, you probably wouldn't have a license anymore. "Feels good!"

Vanilla, cinnamon, and coffee kiss your senses with all the strength and intensity of a roaring freight train. The scarred gland on the side of his neck glistens, finally producing that intoxicatingly warm scent. So strong that it makes your head spin, senses downright swimming in it.

"I want...I'm gonna..." Bob's eyes scrunch shut, his foot kicking at the sheets like he can possibly keep it at bay if he fights hard enough. 

But you're not slowing down.

"That's okay," squeezing him a little tighter, twisting your wrist in a fashion that makes his knees knock into each other. Close. So, so close. "Cum for me, Bobby." 

And he does. Twitching in your hand one, two, three times before that first rope of cum paints your palm with white. Fuck, and it just keeps coming, knot swelling impossibly wide, pulsing with every spurt, until your entire hand is fucking dripping. 

You've never seen so much of it. Not from him. 

On their own, your fingers dip down, delicately rubbing at his expanded knot; it throbs under your touch, his thighs snapping together on impulse. The greedy voice in your head wonders what it would be like to feel that inside of you, locking your bodies together, cum flooding your pussy until you can't possibly take another drop from him.

"Feels..." he's fighting for a proper breath, eyes rolling, "feels so different."

"Is that a good thing?" You hum, drawing your hand away before that nonexistent refractory period of his can raise its ugly head and drag you in for a round two. 

Weary, his head nods, but you're not entirely sure that he realizes he's doing it. "Uhuh."

You don't know if he's just not awake or if it's something about the alpha thing, but he hardly has his eyes open, lying next to you like a lazy puppy. His belly and your hand are a downright mess, drenched in an obscene mixture of cum, saliva, and lube, and more just keeps spilling out of him. 

A shower is the only thing that can clean this mess up, but it's too late for that. He's already wriggling an arm around you, his head nuzzling beneath your chin, and moving is suddenly impossible. 

If he's not worried about it, then you suppose that you aren't either. 

It takes twenty minutes for his knot to go down, disappearing entirely as if it were never there, to begin with. It takes an hour to get out of bed and another one for your impromptu bubble bath to end, only for you to crash on the couch like a pair of sleep-deprived teenagers. 

What else are you meant to do on your day off? Something productive? 

You'd known this day was coming, but Christ, you didn't expect it to arrive this soon.

A gray building with gray floors and even grayer walls. The definition of boring and exactly where you're supposed to spend the next several hours rotting away in a meeting. The plastic chairs, the doors, and the pen that the lady sitting at the front desk taps her cheek with are all the same, dull monochrome. 

It's such a severe lack of color that it makes the fading on Bob's cheek appear brighter. Fresher. Like he walked out of the fight ten minutes ago and not three days. There's no uniform, but Jake's red t-shirt is almost offensively vivid, persistently resting in your peripheral, no matter which direction you turn your head.

All of a sudden, the unnamed girl stands, darting into another room without a word.

"Sure can't wait for this to be over," Bradley mutters almost as soon as the door slams closed. 

Jake shifts his weight, bumping their shoulders together. Hard enough to make Bradley sway with the impact. "Worried you can't take the heat?"

"Are you projecting?" Bradley hums, hardly even reacting to the second attempt to shove him.

There's a response there that you don't quite catch about something back at home. But before you can decipher those whispered words, your eavesdropping is cut short by a weight appearing on your own shoulder. The burning press of Bob's nose against your neck, shamelessly burying into you. 

"Bobby?" You chirp, craning your neck to try and get a better look at him. No dice. 

He doesn't move. "Mmm?" 

Rueben's head swivels in your direction. Nose wrinkling. 

...did you forget to take a shower? What's he looking at you like that for? 

All of a sudden, Bob's feet stumble. Weight falling atop your back as he tries to regain his footing, so damn heavy that he's got you wobbling right along with him. A strangled noise rumbles out of him, riding on the coattails of his breath.

"Robert?" Because he's not answering to your nicknames. "Do you feel okay?"

"My head is..." his words vibrate into your collar, arms wrapping around you as if to use you as a pillar, "spinning." 

"You're not gonna get sick on us again, are you?" Nat has suddenly appeared on your left, brows knitted together. 

Between the lingering glances from Rueben and the sudden end to Jake and Bradley's conversation, it's suddenly far too quiet in this little room. A second drags by. Then a second, and a third. Your only indication that Bob is even awake is the brushing of his eyelashes against your skin.

Just as you're beginning to think he doesn't have a response, he opens his mouth.

"'s not that kinda spinning," he mumbles, hardly even loud enough to reach your ears. 

Surely, it can't be something that he ate; you two have shared the same meals all week. If he's feeling off, then you should be, too. It's certainly not allergy season, and as far as you could tell, he was perfectly fine on the drive over here. 

So what gives? What could have possibly changed in the span of a few minutes?

The unnamed woman stumbles back into the room, her heels clicking with every little step that she takes. Something comes out of her mouth, but the grumbling noise that rumbles out of Bob covers it up entirely. It must be a request to follow her because all at once, everyone around you begins to move, filing through the same door that she just came from.

Bob's arms loosen from around you, and he's straightening up, all things that should make him appear better, but...he looks worse. Pale in the face, shoulders appearing to slouch in on themselves as he walks next to you. He's moving, though, feet falling in perfect tandem with yours, following the crowd down the corridor and around a corner. 

The group comes to a sudden halt.

Bob's shoe squeaks against the floor. His shoulder hits the wall, his head rolling like it's too heavy to hold up. Eyelashes flutter, his chest rising with a breath so shaky that you can see him quiver with it. 

Something's wrong.

"Bobby?" You start to reach for him, but Rueben's quicker than you, settling a sturdy hand on the back of Bob's shoulder, trying to draw him away from the drywall before he can accidentally put a hole in it. 

Abnormally short fangs flash. Something akin to a growl rips out of Bob's throat. Heat rushes between your legs. 

His face drops. Eyes wide. "I'm sorry, I—"

"It's nothing personal," Rueben's already backing up, his palms facing the ceiling. The closest thing he can get to waving a white flag. "I get it." 

You don't believe what you're seeing. Smelling, even. It's way too soon for this, but...

He's starting his rut. 

"Is everything okay?" The girl from before is asking; you wish you could remember her name, but reading her nametag is the last thing you're doing right now.

Bradley's shoulder nudges against yours, his head hanging low as if to shield out the rest of the group. "Get him home," he whispers. Firm. "I'll cover from here."

Your attention flickers to Bob, then to the rest of the group. "You're sure?"

All it takes is a look. Unwavering, jaw stiff, commanding all the authority that he can possibly muster. Omega or not, he's not one to be argued with. 

Bob's shoulders shudder. Sweat is already beginning to bead at his forehead; lips parted, breathing through his mouth. 

You don't need any more convincing, already beginning to take him by the wrist. There isn't the slightest bit of resistance, falling into step with you without any ounce of convincing. Whether or not he's actually comprehending what's going on, you're not sure, but he knows enough to not try and let go of you.

Taking the keys from him is the hardest part, trapped in the front pocket of his jeans, right next to the growing tent in the fabric, downright begging for your attention.

"Feels...weird," he grumbles, foot missing on his first attempt to climb into the truck. The second is a little more successful, almost trembling as he pulls himself up into the seat. 

"I know," if it's anything like what your first heat felt like, then you've got a pretty good guess of what he's going through. Heat flashes, loss of coordination, nausea, the overwhelming need to orgasm damn near eating you alive.

In fact, you think that's exactly what he's going through. Grumbling with every turn you take, slouched against the corner of the seat, his head against the glass. There's a tremble in his hands that wasn't there before, knee bouncing up and down, unable to slow itself even for a second.

There are more signs that you would likely notice if you weren't so focused on the road ahead. You've only driven this truck a handful of times; the turn signal is in a different place, the view of the road is different, and it doesn't quite take turns as sharply as your car does.

But he's quiet. Uniquely so, as if he's lost in his own head. Doesn't make a comment on how you pull his truck into its spot rather than backing it in, only grumbling when you don't immediately give him your hand during the walk toward the apartment complex. 

His chin falls onto your shoulder the moment the elevator doors close. 

"Still feeling weird?" You ask, attention flicking to the mirror.

He whines, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, arms wrapping around your waist. A familiar hardness shamelessly grinds into the curve of your ass. Even the thick material of his jeans can't stop you from feeling the way he twitches, desperate for something. Anything.

Warmth rushes down into your thighs. Knees knocking together as they clamp shut, helpless to do anything but wriggle against him. His shaky exhale tickles your ear. 

Something clangs overhead, but you can hardly pay it any mind. The elevator could be falling, and you still can't bring yourself to care. Too focused on twisting in his hold, bodies so close that your noses crash together. 

Bob looks no better than he did while you were in the truck. Skin so clammy that he glistens in the overhead light, not quite pouring with sweat but if you give him a few minutes, that story may change. 

The elevator doors open with a squeal. You move toward them. He doesn't budge. 

"Bobby?" Your head tilts. 

His eyes dart toward something in the hallway. You follow his gaze, but not a damn thing is there. Nothing but the same old gray carpet, dusty, decorative table, and the welcome rug sitting outside your neighbor's door. 

Your alpha neighbor. 

"Bobby, it's your instincts running wild," your attempt at diffusing fails to evoke the slightest reaction, "nobody is going to hurt us." 

He doesn't seem to believe you. Still staring off into the hallway as if his greatest enemy is about to slink around the corner at any given moment.

You reach over his shoulder, fingertips brushing over the back of his neck. Scarred and battered from all those scruffings during basic and every other time a superior thought they caught a glimpse of defiance. Delicate, you pinch the soft skin there, but his shoulders don't loosen like they should. No, they stiffen. 

His chest swells with a sharp inhale. 

"It's okay," whispering, as gently as you can, "it's just me." 

Hesitant, he takes a step forward. Obediently following your lead, those big blue eyes flickering back and forth across the hall as you walk down it. The apartment door is only a few steps away, off in the corner of the building, but it must take a minute or two to get him there. He's just sane enough not to fret when you let him go in exchange for digging the keys out of your pocket.

The door opens, and it's as if an invisible string snaps.

Kisses appear on the side of your neck. Crowding you through the threshold, the door slamming closed the moment you're through it. The apartment is at the same temperature it's always been at, and yet it's too damn hot in here. Feels as if you're walking into a burning room, but instead of flames licking at your skin, it's Bob's hands. Darting under your shirt, desperate to feel more of you.

"I..." Bob's voice dies in his throat. Rumbling against your nape. "I..." 

It's too easy, letting him pull that thin piece of material over your head, your back finding its way up against the wall. The meeting, your friends, the buzzing of your cell phone in your back pocket, none of it matters. Only the press of Bob's lips against yours, how his body slots against yours, built for this and this alone.

He's everywhere. His lips are crashing into yours, and his hands are creeping up your naked back, and the bulge in his jeans is pressing against your hip, and, and—

It's so much. 

Fuck, it's so much. 

"Bob," you find yourself gasping, aimlessly uttering his name as if it can quench the fire beneath your skin. "Bobby..."

He whines at that. Rumbling against your mouth and down your spine, rattling through you like a shockwave. Your fists gather the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer. Deeper. Draws a surprised groan right out of his throat, caught off guard but making no move to stop you. 

His hips roll into yours once more, all too eager for something, anything. Your thigh slots between his, pushing up just enough and...

"Shit," he's swearing under his breath, so quiet that you hardly hear it. 

Your impatient hands tug at his shirt. The kiss only breaks long enough for you to yank it over his head, taking his glasses with it. They the floor with a painful clatter. 

He makes no effort to retrieve them.

Neither can you because he's back in your space within an instant, his lips stealing your breath away as if it has belonged to him all along. He tastes like coffee and the honey biscuit he scarfed down on the way to the meeting, so warm and sweet that it's like kissing a bakery instead of a man. 

It ought to drown you. Flooding your senses like some kind of pleasant assault swirls your thoughts and delves deep into your belly, disturbing the butterflies there and setting you alight. This is...this is new. He's always made you weak in the knee, but you don't recall them nearly buckling from his scent alone, only held up by the strong arms looped around you.

Something in your lower stomach clenches. So upset over the overwhelming sensation of being empty that it begins to cramp, a wave of slick rushing to ease the ache. 

Bob's moving, and it's all you can do to throw your arms over his shoulders and hang on. Following blindly as he backs you through the bedroom door, feet stumbling blindly. Back, back, back, guided by the pressure of his hands and the bump of his chest against yours.

The backs of your knees hit the mattress, crumpling out from beneath you.

Your ass hits the bed. Vision swimming as you try to regain focus. 

That soft belly is right in front of you. Pale and dusted with freckles, the thin layer of fat concealing the muscle that lurks beneath. You just can't help yourself, greedily leaning in and kissing a fading hickey. One of your hands finds its way to the tent in his jeans, pressing softly. 

Bob sucks in a breath. Jerking. "Hurts." 

"I'm gonna take care of you," you say it as if you've got yourself together. You don't. "I promise."

The button to his jeans pops open without the slightest resistance, zipper racing down the tracks at a record pace. He's too quick to help. Hands colliding with yours as you both yank at the hem of them, pulling his pants and his boxers down in one go, sloppy as it might be. His cock springs free without warning, the flushed tip nearly hitting your cheek as you try to help him pull the fabric past his thighs.

Once they're past his knees, you can no longer reach them.

Your eyes dart to the bottle of lube sitting on the bedside table. With the heat between your legs, you're almost certain that you won't need it, but you're squirming across the bed anyway, rolling onto your belly, arm outstretched, reaching for it. Your fingers wiggle, catching on the side. The bottle spins across the table, right into your grasp.

Hands appear on your hips, dipping beneath your waistband.

"Hey!" You squeal, but it's too late. He's already tugging your pants down, too, pulling you across the sheets in the process. Your phone pops out of the pocket, landing next to you.

"Sorry," but those half-lidded eyes and his lazy grin imply that he's definitely not sorry, already hovering over top of you. There's barely enough room for you to roll onto your back, caged between his shivering arms. 

Funny, you'd always presumed alphas to fall under the same old, aggressive stereotype once their rut started, but this one...he's anything but. Pink in the face, pressing soft kisses against your cheek, almost entirely himself. 

Whether or not he hears you uncapping the lube, you don't know, but he doesn't react to it in the slightest. 

"Ah—!" He does react when your dripping hand wraps around his heavy cock, spreading cold lubricant across him without so much as a warning.

His knot is hardly there, nothing but a slight bump at his base, as it should have been this whole time. You reckon that something about his rut finally kicked his hormones into gear. 

Your hand is hardly doing anything special. Simple strokes to spread the sticky substance across him, thumb swiping over his head once, twice, drawing little whimpers past his lips with every motion. Sensitive and so wrapped up in the feeling that he doesn't realize that you're surging up off the bed. Pushing him over, your leg swinging out to straddle his hips. 

Those wide eyes draw a giggle out of you. "Dummy." 

It's so easy, reaching between your thighs and taking hold of his weeping cock, guiding it up until his tip slips through your folds, nudging against your clit and all. Ugh, you've missed this feeling.

"You're..." Bob sucks in a trembling breath, eyes flickering from your face to the sight of his cock nuzzled against your cunt. "You're sure?"

"Are you?" Mirroring him. You've already made your intentions loud and clear. 

He nods before he can find his voice. "Uhuh."

"Then so am I," and before either of you can begin to conjure up a response, you're sinking down on him.

A sudden pressure appears at your entrance, an ache already arising from your severe lack of interest in stretching yourself for him. It's a dizzying kind of burn that has your body shuddering, taking his cock head in with a soft 'pop' that ought to make your heart stop. 

"Jesus," Bob's hands fly up to your hips, squeezing tight, "fuck." 

There's just something about hearing him swear that gets your head spinning, fighting to keep your body upright as you take him inch by delirious inch. Not obscenely thick, but enough to already be rubbing against those little hidden nerves. It's not fair. He has no right to have your thighs tremoring before you've even taken him halfway.

Your hands fall forward, bracing yourself against his heaving chest. The feeling of the pitter-patter of his heart beneath your palms isn't doing much to help you either, beating at his chest like a caged animal.

Coffee and cinnamon strike your nose with the intensity of a freight train, tearing through your head so quickly that everything becomes muffled, wrapped up in your own little world. A little place where Bobby is your only concern, with his oddly sweet scent and soft blue eyes that threaten to drown you if you gaze too closely.

But your ass is settling into his lap, and you're too damn full to remain up in your head much longer. Fuck, you can't breathe. Lungs tight as if you've run out of room, forced to pant for air that you can't possibly hang onto. 

Already, Bob's hips roll up, unable to keep himself from squirming beneath you. His hands roam up your sides, idly touching, as if to make sure that you're really here. That you're not a figment of his rut-clouded mind.

"So pretty," he babbles, sounds absolutely awe-struck, "you're so pretty." 

"You're just saying that because I'm riding you," teasing, a little smile emerging onto your face as you draw yourself up.

"No, I'm—mmh!" His head falls backward, thunking against the pillow.

This...this is something. You've hardly even drawn yourself up an inch, and he's already whining about it, his hands squeezing your sides once more, hanging on tight as you sink back down on him. 

It's on the second attempt that your breath hitches, stars sparkling in your vision as he rubs against a particular bundle of nerves. An experience nearly identical to any of the other times his cock has been in you, but something...something is different here. You don't recall feeling a sudden gush of slick, reacting to an extreme. 

He should have quit taking those suppressants sooner.

You're drawing yourself up quicker now, clinging to his chest as you try to find your pace. Something quick enough to get what you want but shallow enough to avoid wearing yourself out before you've even gotten close. But it's so hard to remain rational when he's downright nailing that little spot, cock head kissing it over and over and over. 

Bobby's hips jump up once more, meeting you halfway. His whine intertwines with yours, dancing about the room and through the walls. You hope the neighbors aren't home because you don't have the strength to quiet him down. Not when he sounds so pretty. 

"Darlin'," his head rolls back and forth, blinking rapidly, "darlin', I..." 

A beat passes. He doesn't finish that thought.

"Hm?" Fighting to keep your eyes open, "talk to me, Bob." 

You're using workplace phrases in the bedroom again.

But his eyes only scrunch shut. So tight that his nose wrinkles with it. "I don't know."

On its own volition, your hand darts out; he meets you halfway, fingers lacing together as you push them onto the bed. It's a motion that forces you to lean forward, such a subtle change in angle, but—

"There," you blurt it as if you're not the one in charge here. Heat rushes up your belly, burning high into your throat, smoke clouding your vision. 

You're babbling something, but you just can't hear it. Control crumbling like a house of cards, impossible to rebuild as your hips quicken, chasing the delicious pressure of his cock against your nerves. Cunt clenching around him like a vice, every little motion punctuated by an obscenely wet noise that you're only vaguely aware of. 

It's a sudden growl that rips you back into reality. Bobby's short fangs sink into his shivering bottom lip, pretty blue eyes glassy as he bats his lashes up at you. 

"Huh?" Freezing in your tracks. Is there something...did you do something that he doesn't like? 

He's pushing himself up, suddenly all too close. "Wanna roll over." 

The room is spinning before you can even realize what he's just said. Back hitting the soft mattress, a familiar weight settling atop your chest. Arms brace on either side of your head, already finding his favorite position.

Your newly empty hand darts up. Grasping at his wrist until your fingers lace together once more, his weight pinning them into the sheets. You haven't the slightest clue how he stayed inside of you, but he's already beginning to move, and your shaking legs are coiling behind him, and—

"There!" It rips out of you so suddenly that you think you sound akin to a wounded animal. Little shocks jump up your core, pussy fluttering around him. "There, there..."

His hips move a little harder, properly jostling you beneath him, rubbing into those little nerves once more. "Jus' like this?"

All you can do is nod, tongue limp in your mouth. 

Bob's leaning closer, his nose nuzzling against yours, hardly an inch of space left between your heaving bodies. The slight swell of his knot catches on your entrance, such a sudden thing that it rips the air out of your lungs, fighting to keep your legs hitched around his waist. All it's doing is drawing him up against where you crave his touch most, growing impossibly wet from the feel of his knot alone.

A stray squeezes out from the corner of his eye, rolling down his cheek and leaping down to hit your nose. His lips crash into yours before you can begin to ask about it. A soft intertwining that makes your thoughts swirl together until they've blended into a constant, incessant murmuring. Bob. Bob. Bob. 

"Bobby?" It slips out before you've realized it, and if your voice itself could echo a word, you have no doubt that a hundred incantations of his name would be tumbling out your parted lips.

His whine cuts through the air. 

"Feels good," he gasps, speaking against your lips, making no effort to pull away any more than he has to. "Feels...it's so—mmh." 

There's no possible way to keep himself quiet, his whimpers so distracting that you hardly notice the ones coming out of your own mouth. Your unoccupied hand rises, shaking with the heavy thump of your heart as it settles against his cheek.

As if it's come alive, your back twitches up off the bed, legs squeezing around his bony hips, a wildfire rushing across your skin. Head swimming with the noise that is Bob Floyd and the incessant nudge of his growing knot rubbing against that sweet little spot. It's so new and it's so much, and, and it's got spots decorating your vision. Patches of black fading in and out, like you're about to faint.

His knot catches on its way out of you. So big that it doesn't slip back in on the next pass, merely pressing into your pussy once, twice, three times. 

You don't feel it coming. 

One moment you're fine, and the next, your eyes are rolling, cumming without warning, as his knot finally pops inside of you. Quaking with the force of it, ears ringing so loud that you can hardly hear Bob's cry as he cums inside of you. Knot swelling to its full size, locking your bodies together, his cum flooding your spasming cunt, with nowhere for it to escape. 

You're only distantly aware of your back hitting the bed once more, legs slipping out from around him to fall at his sides instead. There are teeth sinking into your shoulder, and your heart is pounding against your chest, lungs burning for a breath you've gone too long without.

The first inhale grounds you. Brings you down from the ceiling and back into his arms. 

The second rips every ounce of strength from your body. All too limp beneath Bobby and his crushing weight that has long since settled on top of you. 

"I love you," his words are jumbled together, so unintelligible that you hardly realize what he's saying. 

It must take a minute or two for you to squeeze his sweaty hand, still linked with yours. "I love you too." 

There's no way that you'll be separating any time soon, not with his knot pulsing inside of your poor pussy, stretched to a limit you didn't know you had. Even when his phone dings from the other room, there's nothing he can do about it. How cruel nature is, forcing you to lie here and accept his snuggling advances. Barbaric, even.

"This..." Bob hums, kissing at your jaw, "feels so damn weird."

Idle, your arm loops around his shoulders, hand greedily delving into his hair. "Tell me about it. If you cum any more, I think I might pop." 

Your giggles melt into yawns; whoever said that sex was a quick and easy thing clearly wasn't doing it right. The moment that Bob gets his head comfortable, his nose nuzzled beneath your ear, you know that you've lost him. Frankly, you're not far from it, either, already beginning to fight back another yawn. 

But your brain isn't on the same page because while your body is already sinking further into the bed, growing heavier by the second, your thoughts are racing a mile a minute. Maverick. The prescription suppressants sitting on the dresser, waiting for the day that the Navy requires you to start taking them again, for the sake of efficiency and making the job easier for all parties.

You don't understand it. 

Why does the Navy prioritize scrubbing you of alpha, beta, and omega statuses? What's the point of soap designed to strip your scent glands when all it does is make you so much more sensitive to the variety of scents out there? Was the endless scruffing from your superiors really meant to 'build character'? Or was it just a bunch of insecure superiors desperate to make themselves feel in charge?

Bobby should have known whether he was alpha, omega, or beta over ten years ago. Why is it that you and he have been medicated to high hell while Maverick has walked around for the better half of thirty years without being given a single fucking pill to take? He's exactly what the Navy preaches about; a hot-headed, cocky alpha who gets so invested in instinct that he hurts his team.

God, fuck, his fangs aren't even formed properly. Short and stunted from the lack of hormones, not an ounce of threat to them, no matter how many times he may try to flash them. 

Your eyes dart to your cell phone, resting on the unoccupied side of the bed. 

It's barely within reach, but it's nothing that a little stretching won't resolve. Heavy in your hand as you type in the passcode and navigate toward an app, resting in the far right corner. The screen turns black. 

A beat passes. 

Then, a second.

And a third. 

The camera opens, little squares dancing across the screen as it scans your irises. A microphone crosses the screen. Your name tumbles off your tongue.

Finally, it opens. A crudely built messenger app, a myriad of texts flooding in as it loads. Wire transfers. Messages about the mission. Information that the Navy never thought would leave your lips. Names. Javy. Natasha. Jake. Rueben. Bob. Mickey. Three other familiar names that you cannot be bothered to read. All you care about is finding a contact by the name of Admin, and pressing the call button. 

As the dial tone sounds, Bob's head lifts, sleepy eyes flickering up to meet with yours. Doesn't need to look at the phone to understand what you're doing. It's a call he made when Admiral Cain left a mark on your wrist. The same number Bradley dialed when Cyclone started that brawl with Jake. 

Bob's just beginning to settle back into the crook of your neck when someone picks up. 

"Who hit him?" 

You know that voice. You know what happened the last time you called. But for once in your life, you've forgotten how to feel hesitant about the words that are about to leave your mouth. 

"They call him Maverick."

[mxnsterbabe]

Female Harpy/Female Reader

SFW

Wordcount: 3,451

Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist

You've travelled a long way to learn music from the legendary harpy. She'll teach you, in exchange for your company.

Evelyn stood at the base of the cave, her heart racing with nerves. The entrance loomed before her, dark and cold.

It led to Persephone, a once-famous musician who had lived in Oceanhall. Evenlyn had heard so many stories that it was difficult to tell fact from rumours—how she a tragedy drove her into hiding. Now, she lived alone in the wild, away from prying eyes.

Taking a deep breath, Evelyn stepped inside. The cave was cool and slightly damp at first, but as she ventured further, it felt surprisingly homey. The walls were decorated with paintings, while the floor was covered in soft moss and woven rugs. Instruments of all kinds were scattered around; a violin in the corner, a harp peeking out from another room.

“Hello?” Evelyn called out, her voice echoing softly against the stone walls. She took another step forward, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. “Persephone?”

There was a moment of silence, then the sound of soft footsteps approaching. From the shadows, a woman appeared. She hovered by the edge of the round doorway, eyes narrowed.

She was stunning, with cascading red hair flowed into equally vibrant feathers. Her eyes were a piercing shade of green, regarding you quietly. Powerful wings, lined with the same vibrant feathers, folded behind her.

Evelyn took a deep breath and stepped forward. “I’m here to learn from you,” she said, her voice steady despite her nerves. “I’ve heard that you’ve taught people in the past.”

Persephone’s eyes narrowed slightly, a shadow passing over her delicate features. “That was before, in my old life as a celebrity. I don’t teach anymore. I just want to be left alone.”

Evelyn felt a pang of sympathy. She could sense the pain behind Persephone’s words. “I understand that you’ve been through a lot,” she said gently. “I’ve come a long way because I believe in your music. I want to learn from the best.”

Persephone’s gaze softened a little, but her expression remained guarded. “Why should I let you? What makes you different from anyone else who’s sought me out?”

Evelyn took another step closer, her voice filled with sincerity. “Because I’m willing to listen and understand. I don’t just want to learn your music; I want to learn from you. Please, give me a chance.”

Persephone studied her for a long moment, the silence stretching between them. Finally, she sighed. “Very well. I will allow it, but on one condition.”

Evelyn’s heart leapt with hope. “Anything.”

“You must stay here for a month,” Persephone said, her tone firm. “Without leaving. You need to prove that you’re dedicated to learning and that you respect my solitude.”

A month? It was a daunting request, but Evelyn knew she couldn’t back down now. “I can do that,” she replied, determination in her voice. “I need to go home first, to tell my family where I’ll be.”

Persephone nodded, a hint of a smile touching her lips. “Very well. You may go, but if you truly want to learn from me, you must be back by sundown on Sunday. No later.”

Evelyn nodded, relief and excitement flooding her. “Thank you, Persephone. I promise I’ll be back.”

With a final look towards Persephone, Evelyn turned and made her way out of the cave.

The journey back through the woods was long and difficult, the path winding through dense forest and over rocky terrain. The sun dipped lower in the sky, weak beams of light filtering through the foliage.

By the time she reached the edge of the forest, the sky was painted with the warm hues of sunset. Evelyn’s home, a little cottage on the outskirts of Oceanhall, came into view just as twilight began to settle. She hurried the last few steps, her heart racing as she thought about how to break the news to her family.

Inside, the familiar scent of dinner greeted her. Her parents were seated at the kitchen table, her younger brother already halfway through his meal. They looked up as she entered, smiles of welcome turning to curiosity as they took in her serious expression.

“Evelyn, you’re just in time for dinner,” her mother said, setting an extra plate on the table. “Come, sit down.”

Evelyn took a deep breath and joined them at the table, her mind racing with how to begin. “I need to talk to you all about something important,” she said, her voice steady despite the rapid pounding of her heart.

Her father raised an eyebrow, setting down his fork. “What is it, love?”

“I’ve found Persephone,” Evelyn began, seeing their eyes widen in surprise. “She’s agreed to teach me music, but there’s a condition. I have to stay with her for a month, without leaving.”

The room fell silent. Her family exchanged worried glances before her mother spoke up, concern etched in her features. “A month; Evelyn, what about your job? What if something happens to you up there?”

Evelyn felt a lump form in her throat but pressed on. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! Do you know how difficult it was to track her down?”

“How do you know she’s who she says?”

Evelyn frowned. “I… I just know.” It was a surety she felt deep in her soul.

Her father leaned forward, his brow furrowed. “How can you trust that Persephone won’t do something dangerous? You’ll be alone with her for a month, Ev.”

Evelyn reached across the table, taking her father’s hand. “I trust her, and I need you to trust me. This is something I need to do, Dad.”

Her younger brother looked up, brows scrunched. “What if we need you?”

Evelyn’s heart ached at the sight of his concern, but she gave him a reassuring smile. “I’ll miss you, but I’ll be back before you know it. This is my dream, and I need to follow it. Please understand.”

Her mother sighed, tears glistening in her eyes. “We just want you to be safe, Evelyn, but I know you; you’ll do it anyway.”

Evelyn stood and embraced her mother, her own eyes misting with tears. It wasn’t quite acceptance, but she knew Mum wouldn’t try to stop her.

“Thank you, Mum. I promise I’ll be back, and I’ll be safe.”

Her father rose and wrapped them both in a hug, big arms easily wrapping around them both. “Go chase your dream.”

***

Evelyn arrived at the cave just as the sun was setting, the last rays of light casting a warm glow over the rocky entrance. She was exhausted and cranky from the long journey, her duffel bag heavy with the weight of her belongings. As she approached, she saw Persephone waiting outside, her silhouette framed by the light.

Persephone’s soft features and delicate face contrasted sharply with the stern scowl as she spotted Evelyn. Her red hair flowed gently in the evening breeze. She was radiant.

“You’re just in time,” Persephone said, her voice cold. “Come inside.”

Evelyn followed her into the cave, the familiar sight of the cosy interior greeting her. Persephone led her to a small side-room. It was simple, with no bed, but a pile of pillows created a makeshift sleeping area that looked surprisingly comfortable.

“This will be your space,” Persephone said, her tone clipped. “We start tomorrow.”

Evelyn nodded, too tired to respond. She set down her bag and sank into the pillows, which were almost as comfy as a real bed. As she lay there staring at the ceiling, she drifted off with the image of Persephone in her mind.

***

The first lesson was tougher than Evelyn had imagined. Persephone was an impatient voice coach, demanding precision and excellence from the start. Evelyn struggled to keep up, her voice cracking under the pressure. Persephone’s sharp corrections stung, but she pushed through, determined to prove herself.

“You must focus,” Persephone snapped, her wings fluttering with agitation. “Again.”

***

As the days passed, Evelyn found herself gradually improving. Persephone remained distant and stern, but there were moments that hinted at something.. more. During one lesson, as Evelyn hit a particularly difficult note perfectly, she caught a glimpse of pride in Persephone’s eyes.

“Better,” Persephone acknowledged, her tone still formal but softer.

Evelyn’s heart swelled at the small victory, spurring her on.

***

In the evenings, they would sometimes sit outside the cave, the landscape offering a moment of peace. Evelyn shared stories of her family and her life, trying to bridge the gap between them. Persephone listened silently, her expression unreadable, but she didn’t ask Evelyn to stop.

One night, after a particularly gruelling day, Evelyn played a simple tune on the violin, hoping to lighten the mood. Persephone watched her, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips, though it never fully formed.

***

The lessons continued, each day blending into the next. Evelyn’s voice grew stronger, more confident, under Persephone’s rigorous guidance. Despite the challenges, she found herself falling for the harpy. There was something captivating about Persephone’s beauty, her strength, and the glimpses of vulnerability she sometimes showed.

During one practice session, Evelyn stumbled over a note, her frustration bubbling over. Persephone sighed, her stern façade cracking just a little.

“Take a break,” she said softly. “You’re pushing too hard.”

Evelyn nodded, grateful for the reprieve. As she rested, she noticed Persephone watching her, a flicker of concern in her eyes.

***

Three weeks passed, and a strange routine settled in. Evelyn and Persephone worked together every day, the initial coldness between them thawing slowly. Persephone remained distant, but there were moments that gave Evelyn hope. She cherished these small breakthroughs, heart lightening.

One evening, as the sun set and the cave was bathed in a golden glow, Evelyn sang a song she had written for Persephone. The melody drifted through the trees, slow and soft, as Evelyn watched Persephone from the corner of her eyes.

Persephone listened, her expression softening. When the song ended, she looked at Evelyn with an intensity that took her breath away.

“We’ll continue tomorrow,” Persephone said, her voice unusually gentle. “Rest well.”

Evelyn nodded, a smile playing on her lips. As she lay down in her cosy corner that evening, she felt a sense of contentment she hadn’t expected.

***

On the last day, Evelyn woke up early, determined to do something special. She gathered the few ingredients she had and prepared breakfast for Persephone. She wasn’t quite sure how Persephone usually got her food—she had never seen her forage or hunt—but she didn’t dwell on it. Instead, she focused on making a meal that would hopefully bring a smile to the harpy’s face.

As the aroma of cooking filled the cave, Evelyn set the table with care. She had managed to put together a modest spread: fresh bread and homemade jam, chamomile tea, and a fruit salad made with berries and yogurt. She even added a small vase with a wildflower she had found, a touch of colour to brighten the morning.

Persephone appeared just as Evelyn added the finishing touches, her red hair and vibrant feathers catching the soft morning light. Today, there was something different about her. She looked almost...nervous. Evelyn wondered if it was the impending end of their time together that was unsettling her.

“Good morning,” Evelyn greeted with a warm smile. “I made breakfast.”

Persephone nodded, a faint smile touching her lips. “Thank you. That’s very thoughtful.”

They sat down to eat, and Persephone began to outline the plan for the day. “We’ll work on your final performance piece today. It’s important that we—” She paused, glancing towards the cave entrance. The light outside was dim, the sky a murky grey that promised a storm.

Persephone’s expression grew serious. “It looks like a storm is coming. It won’t be safe for you to travel home today.”

Evelyn followed her gaze to the ominous sky, the wind already beginning to pick up. “Safety first.”

They ate breakfast in a comfortable silence. Evelyn couldn’t help but steal glances at Persephone, admiring her delicate features. Despite her stern exterior, there was a softness in her eyes that Evelyn had come to adore. She wondered if Persephone felt the same way—the sadness of parting, the hope of what might come next.

As they finished up breakfast, the first gust of wind billowed into the cave. It howled, and rain began to lash against the cave entrance.

Persephone seemed lost in thought, her usual composure slightly shaken. Evelyn reached out, placing her hand gently over Persephone’s.

“It’s okay,” Evelyn said softly. “These storms never last long.”

Persephone looked up, her green eyes meeting Evelyn’s. For a moment, all the barriers she had built seemed to fall away. She gave a small nod, her hand squeezing Evelyn’s in silent gratitude.

Suddenly Persephone stood, her wings rustling softly. “We should start your final lesson,” she said, her voice steady.

The storm raged on outside as Persephone and Evelyn began their final lesson. Persephone's demeanor was more intense than usual, her instructions sharp and precise. Evelyn could sense the urgency in her voice, the determination to make this last lesson count.

"Again," Persephone commanded, her wings rustling with agitation. "You need to perfect this."

Evelyn’s voice strained as she repeated the lyrics, her throat aching. Persephone pushed her harder than ever before, not allowing a single break. Every mistake was met with immediate correction, and the pressure was immense. Evelyn’s exhaustion grew, but she refused to falter.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Persephone held up a hand, signaling for Evelyn to stop. “You’ve done it,” she said, her voice softer now. “You’ve perfected it.”

Evelyn panted, wiping the sweat from her brow. She should have felt a sense of pride, but all she felt was a dull ache. It was over. There was no more reason for her to stay.

She hummed the first few notes again, letting it echo through the cave. Her throat still stung, but it was worth it.

Persephone’s expression softened, and she seemed to hesitate before speaking. “This is my favourite song,” she admitted quietly. “It’s a love song. I used to make all my students learn it.”

Evelyn’s eyes widened. “Why is it your favourite?”

Persephone looked away, her gaze distant as she gathered her thoughts. “It was the song that played at my wedding—well, it was supposed to. I was left at the altar, and that song was the last thing I heard before I ran away.”

Evelyn felt a pang of sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Persephone. I didn’t know.”

Persephone took a deep breath, her wings drooping slightly. “After that, I couldn’t face my fans, the press, or the ridicule. I retreated here to escape it all. The love song that once brought me joy became a painful reminder of what I lost.”

Evelyn stepped closer, her heart aching for Persephone. “You still teach it. Why?”

Persephone’s eyes met hers, and for the first time, Evelyn saw a flicker of something in her green gaze. “It’s a beautiful song,” she said simply. “Despite everything, I still love it. Teaching it to you has help me to remember the good times before the pain.”

Evelyn reached out and gently took Persephone’s hand. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been.”

Persephone’s grip tightened slightly, and she gave a small, bittersweet smile. “You’ve learned well, Evelyn. Your voice carries the emotion this song deserves. It’s not just about the notes or the words; it’s about the feeling behind them.”

Evelyn nodded, feeling a deep connection to Persephone’s story and the song they had worked so hard on. “I’ll make sure to honour it,” she promised. “I’ll never forget what you’ve taught me.”

Persephone’s eyes softened, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them. “Thank you, Evelyn. You’ve done more than just learn to sing. You’ve reminded me why I love music.”

As they stood there, the storm outside seemed to quiet.

Evelyn glanced toward the cave entrance, then back at Persephone. “Thank you for everything,” she said softly, a hint of reluctance in her voice. “I suppose this is it. Time for me to go.”

Persephone’s expression grew serious. “No, not yet. It’s safer to wait until the storm fully passes. Stay one more night.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the tension between them thickening. Evelyn’s mind raced, her heart heavy with the thought of leaving Persephone behind. She knew she couldn’t go without expressing what she felt. Gathering her courage, she stepped closer.

“Persephone,” she began, her voice trembling slightly. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Before she could second-guess herself, Evelyn closed the distance between them and pressed her lips to Persephone’s. The kiss was filled with desperation and longing, a surge of affection that had been building up throughout their time together. Evelyn’s hands trembled as they cupped Persephone’s face, her heart pounding in her chest.

Persephone froze for a moment, then responded, her wings enveloping Evelyn in a gentle embrace. The kiss deepened, each of them pouring their unspoken feelings into it. Evelyn felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, not wanting this moment to end, not wanting to leave Persephone’s side.

When they finally pulled away, both were breathless. Evelyn’s eyes searched Persephone’s, finding a mixture of surprise, confusion, and something else—something hopeful. “I don’t want to leave you,” Evelyn whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You deserve better than this. You deserve to be happy and not shut yourself away from the world.”

Persephone’s gaze softened, a single tear escaping down her cheek. “Evelyn, I...”

Evelyn shook her head, her hands still cradling Persephone’s face. “You don’t have to say anything. Just know that you’ve changed my life, and I want to be here for you, if you’ll let me.”

Persephone’s wings tightened around Evelyn, her expression a blend of vulnerability and gratitude. “You’ve given me a lot to think about,” she murmured. “I never expected... this.”

Evelyn smiled, brushing away the tear on Persephone’s cheek. “Neither did I, but here we are.”

They stood there for a while longer, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the storm outside now a distant memory. In that quiet, intimate moment, Evelyn knew she had made the right choice. No matter what the future held, she was determined to help Persephone find the happiness she deserved.

Finally, Persephone spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “Stay with me tonight. We’ll figure out the rest together.”

Evelyn nodded, her heart swelling with hope. “I’d like that.”

Persephone took Evelyn's hand gently, leading her deeper into the cave to a room that Evelyn hadn’t seen before. The bedroom was coay and warm, with walls adorned with more bright paintings, and a large nest-like bed filled with soft pillows and blankets. The flickering light from a small lantern cast a soft glow over the space.

Persephone turned to Evelyn, her green eyes reflecting a mix of tenderness and uncertainty. “Stay here with me tonight,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Evelyn nodded, her heart swelling with affection. They moved to the bed, and as they lay down, Persephone wrapped her wings around them both, creating a warm cocoon. Evelyn nestled closer, feeling Persephone’s steady heartbeat against her.

The closeness was both exhilarating and comforting. Evelyn felt a rush as she rested her head on Persephone’s chest, their legs entwined. Persephone’s fingers gently traced patterns on Evelyn’s back, sending shivers of delight through her.

“Thank you for staying,” Persephone murmured, her breath warm against Evelyn’s hair.

Evelyn lifted her head, looking into Persephone’s eyes. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Their faces were so close now, and Evelyn felt a magnetic pull, her lips brushing softly against Persephone’s. The kiss was tender at first, exploring the newness of it all.

Persephone’s hands moved to cradle Evelyn’s face, her touch gentle yet somehow possessive. Evelyn responded by wrapping her arms around Persephone’s neck, pulling her even closer. The kiss grew more passionate, their breaths mingling as they lost themselves in each other.

Breaking the kiss, Evelyn rested her forehead against Persephone’s, both of them breathing heavily. The air was charged, but there was no rush.

“Persephone,” Evelyn whispered, her voice filled with emotion. “I care about you, you know that right? It’s not just about the music anymore.”

Persephone’s eyes softened, a smile touching her lips. “I know.”

They shifted slightly, settling into a comfortable embrace. Evelyn’s hand found its way to Persephone’s hair, gently stroking the soft locks. Persephone sighed contentedly, her wings tightening protectively around them.

In the quiet space, Evelyn felt at home.

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

I'm so obsessed 'SbITILYP' it makes my day whenever it updates! I wonder when Hiccup will be able to get his hands on some roses, especially the protagonist's reaction to receiving flowers?

Sorry, but I Think I Lost Your Plot pt 26

Pairing: Onesided!Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Modern!Fem!Reader

Words: 2,983

Berk is a whole new place and you just might have opened up a whole new door for yourself. It’s probably a good one.

Tags: Time Travel, Reader into Movieverse, Reader’s POV, Hiccup’s POV, unedited

<Previous - Next>

You kept your eyes glued to the ground.

The leaves of a plant that were scattered across the floor were somewhat recognizable, though you couldn’t place where you’d seen them before. 

Today, though, there seemed to be an excess of them littering the paths around Berk.

You followed a beige dirt path up from the fields, staring at the ground as you carried up a short woven basket full of wheat. It was your day’s payment, the farmer having felt very generous with his store of things.

You didn’t really have a kitchen area, but you weren’t going to refuse a gift. Maybe you could trade with Mrs. Ingerman for something later. It was worth a try.

It had been a while since you’d been into town, having skirted around it for the majority of the day. It’d been a while since you’d seen anyone important, much less Hiccup, and the more time elapsed, the more you avoided, the more antsy you got.

It was noon, and you could feel the sun through your sleeves, a warm thing that made you want to melt into a puddle, like a cat. A nap would be very nice.

It was much quieter than it had been in a while. Things in town had been busy since the Outcasts had been taken into custody. Mildew had been arrested and subsequently exiled and the Outcasts, Alive the Treacherous especially, had been awaiting trial, locked away in the dripping, jailed caves under the Great Hall.

Things had also been very, very quiet and very, very intense. The air was stiff with tension and just about ten times the number of words left unsaid. It was a world of difference compared to the quick gossipy phrases usually exchanged in town.

There was something going on today, though you didn’t care, ready to enjoy some you-time by the cliffs by the coast doing simple jobs and laying in the grass.

Did that have anything to do with the leaves?

You perked up at the call of your name as dirt became wood plank, glancing back towards the fields but not lingering long enough to make out many details. 

You could tell easily, though, that it was Hiccup.

His voice, nasally though it was, set your heart beating like a whole stampede of bulls was pounding dust and you were just about to get trampled encierro style.

“Can I walk with you?” He asked.

You paid only vague attention to his voice in an effort to keep calm, a line of sweat running down your face and hitting the dirt.

There was a strained quality to it; it sounded like he was trying to keep normal. It wasn’t strained in a way that made you believe he was upset so you didn’t worry, more as if he was holding his breath, though for what you had no idea.

Was this how he felt?

“Maybe… Keep looking?” Hiccup hedged, “I’ll follow the path with you, so you dont trip.”

You nodded.

You walked into town like that, eyes on your feet.

The ground turned to wood turned to dirt a few times, your boots tapping and padding against both.

You picked up a leaf once or twice and kept them flat in your palm.

You adjusted your basket twice, though at Hiccup’s insistence, you kept your eyes focused on the ground.

Until you spotted something.. Out of the ordinary.

Something bright red, saturated as the most visible shade of blood drifted down onto the path. It was round, though slightly light at one of the edges, which came to an almost blunt point.

You squinted down at it, bending further with fingers outstretched.

Your fingertips brushed against dirt as you scooped it up, before taking a step as if you were going to keep walking, and then stopping again.

The flesh of it was soft, with what felt like a film on top that was almost like satin, though the flex and feel of it was much different. It felt as if it might split under your nail if you pressed into it, which you nearly did, holding it between the crook of your pointer finger and your thumb.

It was… A petal.

“So…” Hiccup started, coming to a slow stop beside you, “Notice anything different?”

You turned up and looked at him, the sun was inviting and cozy on your cheeks as you pulled them out of your own shadow.

And then you started.

And you dropped your basket, its bottom landing against the ground with hardly a pat.

What you focused on wasn’t Hiccup himself, but more what was behind him. Something you’d missed as you’d walked with your eyes focused on your feet like you were Sherlock Holmes, which you felt funny about now.

It was flowers. 

Roses. Everywhere. 

…Mostly. 

“What…” You said, for the first time.

There were some other species planted throughout donned in multiple different colors, planted alongside houses in various states of bloom, some with thin pipes made of wood connecting to a larger, thicker one, lifted over the lot.

Some in blues and small, wild whites were hanging from planters above, both shelves nailed into the sides of huts and sturdy metal pots with holes in the bottom hanging by tightly woven and painted rope with small strings dangling from the sides.

You could tell that quite a few plants had been the kind repotted from fields and nooks out in the forest, herbs and farm foods planted closer to huts and lined by stones for the sake of convenience, and suddenly a whole lot of things made sense. 

Nearly magenta pink thistle with its spiky green body, hanging purple bluebells, and pink lavender-esque, black spot dotted heather -even one pink Foxglove plant with its many hanging lantern-like flowers sectioned away from the rest in a small metal cage- peeking out from around corners and around huts.

The rose bushes lay large and mostly flowering in large planters, fenced-off using small pikes, fallen leaves and petals bleeding into the space all around, marking your path from the fields all the way to the places in the clearing they’d been planted. 

Up on the hill, you could just barely make out a small rose bush planted just by the pen up by the Chief’s hut.

You had to turn wildly, tracing them back with your eyes, “What…?”

You said it again.

Pale, dry dirt still made up the majority of the clearing, yet leaves and bushes lined the sides of buildings, spilling over upturned, dark earth which dotted the open space, marking boot and dragon tracks across. 

Small carvings of Vikings like gnomes were dotted around the place, arranged in a way that seemed more respectful and worshipful of their depictions than fanciful.

Off in a corner, a small stone fountain in multiple layers, with a little sign which, after many recent, sleepless nights thinking about boys with brown hair and green eyes and stupid freckles and large teeth, you were certain said ‘prototype.’

Vines grew from some thin wood rods to match the metal rods sticking out from the dirt standing, taller than most of the houses, which seemed to be a lot like lightning rods.

“It was a volunteer project,” Hiccup interjected quickly at your silence. 

In your periphery, you could see him step forwards slightly. Jerkily. 

His hands were close together, closer to his torso than away.

“This is…” You started. But you didn’t have the words to express just how you felt. Not yet, when you hadn’t even finished processing the life in front of you.

You inhaled deeply, so quickly your lungs hadn’t time to work it or for you to really feel satisfied by it as you turned yourself bodily, ogling the sight. 

His Dad, the Chief, and the Riders, the Twins egging each other on with dirt gloves, Astrid standing still and attentive as if to involve herself somehow in the conversation the Chief was having with Spitelout, both Chiefly hands pushing back red hair and resting against a mighty back.

Some serious talk about the Outcasts, it looked like, from the way Spitelout was shouting. It seemed that even during the good times, the Chief stayed alert and Spitelout stayed on edge, but there was a softer quality to it here, one that said ‘of course’ and made it seem more funny and fitting than worrying.

“Hey!” You heard the small Larson kid shout as he chased after a girl with bright blue ribbons in her straw-colored hair which held two thick braids together. 

Your attention was briefly drawn towards the indignant shout.

It was then that the Chief briefly turned his attention towards his son, causing your focus to snap back and forth between him and Hiccup with a loud, “Hiccup!”

Hiccup shook him off with his head, despite the fact that you were sure he’d approach, but the look on his face seemed to beg you to keep taking in everything. 

There were dragons lounging on the treetops, all of the Riders’ dragons plus Thornado, off in the far distance, napping on a roof, yellow, which had been covered in soft, grassy plants and clovers, a viking below shouting up at him with a shaking fist.

Stormfly was bobbing her head like a chicken, sitting at the head of a mounted head, which tipped and cracked dangerously under her weight. 

Barf and Belch were off causing chaos, wiggling their heads over a crown of kids while Meatlug was being pampered with fish from a shaded barred and scratched by her rider.

Everyone seemed surprisingly not displeased by the change. 

You could tell who’d helped with the planting by the dirt caked onto their hands and under their nails and by how close they were to the various shovels and buckets piled along the clearing.

Some Vikings had ripped sleeves, others were sweating, arms over their heads to block out the sun, trousers rolled up and helmets displaced off to the side in the shade by huts and under benches. 

Even Mrs. Thorston had come down at one point, harping at other various Vikings and sending googly eyes and comments the Chief either didn’t hear or pretended not to towards his back

You weren’t sure how you missed the sound of chatter, deep and thick all around you.

The two blonde ladies who’d roped you into beadmaking before stood side-by-side, your laundry partner standing tall with crossed arms, gloves dirtied from digging, staining the crooks of her elbows.

She was sewing, needle held over a worn, dirty smock, a dark brown dress and boots packed underneath.

She nudged your laundry partner in the shoulder, pointing towards you with the hand holding her needlepoint.

You even caught a glimpse of the brown-haired fisherman keeping to the more empty alleys and shaded sides of the village clearing, looking as if he’d kind of enjoyed the festivities but also very overwhelmed.

You knew Vikings easily took in the down time given before the storm hit. It was human nature, and with the time to work off restless energy, it seemed a taut line had been released, the air filled with laughter and the bustling, joyful and indignant arguments of children.

The flowers mixed with the paints on the huts and the traditional wood-carved builds on Berk’s homes, which had in fact only grown more complicated since the fall of the Red Death, Berk looked absolutely beautiful. Like everyone here had been born into some sort of eternal festival, and you had just been transported into it; a human in a world made by people who existed beyond reality.

“How did you-... You convinced them to do all of this?” The ‘for me,’ went unsaid. You were too scared to say it, afraid that if you did, the illusion might break and this would all turn out to be a pretty lie, and a pretty lie it was.

You slowly looked back to him, your waist carrying the bulk of your turn.

Someone had just finished clapping him on the back, having must have had at least some exchange of words while you were turned, sharing congratulations as they passed to a hardy woman with a large pitcher of something probably cool and a few mugs. Was it Gobber? 

You couldn’t tell.

You didn’t know Hiccup was such a landscaper.

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” Hiccup said, arms behind his back and stance wide as he shifted his weight on his feet, “They loosened up to the idea after I brought up what they’d do to cover the pipes.”

You noticed the dirt on his elbows, the lack of twine on his sleeves and the splashes of yellow and red paint on his cheek that told you that the color on the houses had looked brighter and more plentiful for a reason.

“I, ah,” You said, stepping closer; leaning closer until you stopped just right in front of him. You could have said something about root damage, maybe, or, or… Anything that would have come out coherent in any sort of way. 

But instead, you felt static, and there was nothing to lead you but the fresh feeling in your chest and the prickling in your toes, intense in a dizzying way that nearly threw you off balance.

“You… Planted all this, for me?” You asked, astonished. Against your will, your face began to heat up in a way that must have looked obvious; you felt blotchy and out of place and absolutely light, airy on the inside in a way that brought you both closer to the moment and into the third perspective. 

You were here and with Hiccup. 

Were you going to do it? You weren’t sure where the question had come from, dazed.

He was looking at you with wide eyes as you grabbed his shoulders and leaned closer, closing your own so hard they must have looked like they had been pinched, though you were incredibly aware.

For a moment, it felt like the whole world was watching, paranoia and embarrassment filling your back, each hair on your neck raising in tune with the number of eyes focused on your spine.

You didn’t have to see to know it, though you spotted people stilling and staring in your periphery.

You weren’t sure whether you did or didn't purse your lips though you knew Hiccup was watching, his shoulders stiffening under your hands.

What if you read this all wrong and you were about to embarrass yourself in front of everybody?

…What were you going to do? Were you really going to try and kiss Hiccup for the first time in front of all his friends and family?

Your back and neck felt hot as if you were sweating, heat fluttering and writhing and squirming in your stomach, rising in a quick crescendo though you knew it wouldn’t be until a few moments yet that you’d feel the first bits of moisture against the small of your waist.

It was too much.

You were brought back into yourself with a jump like the cracking of a stick, able to feel every raw edge like a breeze on an exposed nerve or an out-of-place note in sharp.

“I can’t do this!” You squeaked and slapped your hands over your eyes as you quickly turned and ran away, face burning with embarrassment.

“Wait-!” Hiccup stood, dazed for just a moment, watching your cramble away, running sightlessly back onto the path away from the village through the minor crowd that had gathered there. 

He felt slightly robbed, hand extended. It was very, very hot out and his insides burned in a way that, put together, made him feel on fire in a way that was nearly unbearable.

He stepped over a rose, the rose, a nice enough red one he was sure you hadn’t noticed. The petals had been slightly crumpled and ripped as he’d pulled it from his coat, hastily shoved in when he’d seen you walking up to the village from the fields. 

 It had fallen from his hands after his hands had fallen to his sides as you’d stepped closer with-

Hiccup stared intently at where you had run off to, brows furrowed, feeling very determined.

He needed to catch up to you now.

“Woah,” Tuffnut said, voice dragging distantly, standing in awe a few measures behind him, as people began to laugh and gossip, “That was lame.”

It seemed Hiccup was the only one who’d taken it seriously, the other Vikings happy to play and gossip while what seemed like the most pivotal moment of his life happened right in front of them -No, he was not exaggerating.

His prosthetic creaked as he whipped around, calling for his dragon, “Toothless-!”

He ignored the excited murders beginning in the background, heart racing. 

You’d been… very close.

His dragon was there, giving him as much of a look as there was possible for him to give, as if he himself was somewhat embarrassed by the whole event.

Hiccup gave him a look of his own, wordlessly asking his dragon, ‘So what?’

Hiccup didn’t know what he expected from him as Toothless turned and started trotting away, snorting and grawping as he disappeared into a heavily planted alley, just before he jumped up onto one of the many ramps covering Berk lining the rear ends of some of the houses.

“Aw, come on-” Hiccup started before very quickly running after his dragon, like he did way back across rooftops when dragons were nothing to him but bloodthirsty monsters, arms outstretched, nearly tripping as his foot caught on a tuft of grass, “Toothless!”

[kat-writes-things]

Pairings: Forest God x Fem!Reader

AN: This is my first writing on Tumblr and it just kind of fell out of my head so please let me know if I should have tagged this as anything specific! I don't know what I'm doing OK LOVE YOU BYE

Word count: 731

You wander through the forest, just like you do every other night, your footsteps crunching on the fallen twigs the only sound in your ears. You've become accustomed to the slight whistle of the cool wind as it licks at your puckered skin, sending shivers down your spine. You should have worn something warmer—your pyjama shorts and threadbare shirt do little to hide the curves of your body, let alone keep you warm, but you don't mind. You know it's only a matter of time before they sense your presence.

You find the clearing you usually frequent, hoping that they aren't far behind. It's particularly cold tonight under a cloudless, starry sky, so you gather some wood and try to light a fire. You huff in annoyance when no sparks fly and throw down your flint in defeat, sitting yourself down on the loamy ground and curling in to preserve your body heat.

"Having trouble?"

A low voice rumbles at your ear. The sound seems to come from all directions as well as from within. You feel their hot breath on your neck as they let out a low, growling chuckle.

"Let's see if we can't get this going, hmm?"

They step forward into your eye line, and you're left breathless as they tower over you, emanating an aura of ancient power. Their skin is as dark as the deepest shades of the forest night, almost blending in with the surrounding trees. You are certain you wouldn't see them if not for the faintly glowing spirals adorning their skin, casting an otherworldly luminescence into the night. As usual, they are only wearing some woven ferns between their legs, having no use for mortal clothes.

They crouch between you and the pile of wood and blow onto it. You know this is for show; they could've lit the fire without even so much as looking at it, but power like that scares mortals like you, so they've resorted to theatrics. As they're crouching, performing their little show for you, you notice some slight scars on their back, marring their beautiful skin. You reach out and trace a finger down one of the more jagged scars, marvelling at the feeling of their skin. They are warm to your touch, your finger gliding over their smooth obsidian skin. They shudder under your light finger, and you smirk, knowing what you do to them.

"That... is very cold."

They turn from the now roaring flames and face you fully, their green eyes seeming to glow in the firelight. Their lips curl into a smirk as they see your eyes widen and darken with lust. They know that they have the same intense effect on you as you do on them.

"You're earlier than usual."

The words were almost too quiet to hear over the fire burning so brightly, framing them in an ethereal glow. You can't help but lean toward them, your hand now fully on their waist, eyes beseeching them to close the distance between you. They lean ever so slightly toward you before suddenly pulling away and letting out that low chuckle again at your whine. You crave to touch them more, but they have danced just out of reach, their hulking form surprisingly graceful.

They stretch their long limbs to the sky and spin slowly, absorbing the forest's energy. The trees seem to bend inward toward them as they spin, creaks and snaps coming from all around until they stop spinning with a deep breath. You had been slowly inching your way toward them across the forest floor, but now they have fixed their penetrating gaze on you once more, and you almost cower from the intensity behind those incredible eyes. You can't bring yourself to look away as they stalk toward you and reach down to bring you to your feet.

Your head barely reaches their chest as you gaze up at them in wonder. Their presence never ceases to astound you. You know you were never meant to see them, let alone speak to them. Let alone... touch them. Your hands find their waist again, anxious to feel their burning hot skin against you once more. You lean into their heat, the luminescence from their body illuminating the bliss on your face as they wrap their arms around you and bury their nose in your hair, inhaling your scent.

Part 2?

Taglist: @ace-malarky

Divider: @vibeswithrenai

[yoimix]

𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐚𝐤𝐞 | 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚

series: yoimix christmas event !! (๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)

pairing: thoma x reader

synopsis: someone should’ve told thoma that knitting matching heart sweaters for you and taroumaru doesn’t exactly express the massive crush he has on you.

prompt: thoma + dressing pets in festive wear

genre: fluff, f2l, idiots to lovers (once again)

wc: 2.1k

warnings: language, yn is down BADDD, childish tactics

a/n: sorry for pushing back the schedule guys :( stuff happened and apparently i’m going to hawaii

“No, no, no, (name).” Thoma waves frantically at you to stop.

You stiffen, unsure of what to do next. He places his hands over yours in a flash, guiding your movement gently. With skin warm as ever, you sigh at the contact. 

“You loop it like this, and then do that… So, y’know, it doesn��t fall apart.”

He grins at you, prompting a pointed look from you. “Are you making fun of me, Thoma?” 

You’re not sure why the two of you snuck out of the Christmas party just to knit tiny sweaters for the litter of kittens you found outside Komore Teahouse. But you’re here now, and it’s your self-appointed job to get on Thoma’s nerves in any way possible. 

The problem is that he’s the nicest man in Teyvat, and nothing you do can make him shake. It started out as a bet you made with Ayaka, but then it progressed into more of a personal challenge. However, Thoma might as well be a log of wood with the lack of emotion he greets your shenanigans with. 

So, instead of getting mad at you, he’s patiently teaching you how to knit.

“Oh dear.”

Thoma stops your hands with his again, blissfully unaware of the effect it has on you. No matter how many times you tell yourself that he’s nice to everyone, every action of his seems to have a detrimental effect on you.

“It’s like this…”

Like you give a shit about how to knit. You just want to be close enough to feel his warmth all the time. Somewhere along the way, you blurred the line between friends and something more with your stupid tactics. Now, it’s on you to figure it out. 

But it’s Thoma.

This man is so horribly perfect that even the ‘ugly’ Christmas sweaters he knitted turned out pretty. Carefully woven with a heart against a baby blue background, it’s lined with pine trees at the base and a star at the center. He even made sure of the color variations, with a red heart for him, a yellow one for you and an orange one for Taroumaru. 

“You’re not listening,” he tuts, a small smile on his face. 

You roll your eyes. “It’s hard. Not everyone is as gifted as you.”

“That’s alright,” he laughs. “You should take a break anyway. Things done tired lead to injuries and I wouldn’t want scars on your hands.”

There he goes again, caring for you more than he does for himself. The chatter of the party continues in the next room but you can only rest your eyes on Thoma, so focused on getting the sweaters right. The litter of kittens sleep peacefully in the box at the corner of the room, a watchful Taroumaru lying beside them. Peace brims in the atmosphere; you nearly forget it’s a winter night with the warmth radiating inside this room.

And yet, the lack of intimacy between you and Thoma is driving you insane. It’s so hard to remain calm with him in proximity. Either he stops being nice to everyone, or he kisses you till you can’t recall your name. You’re so touch-starved, you have to battle your brain chemistry every night.

“You know…” You smile slyly as another plan hatches in your mind. 

“Hm?”

“Ayato said he’s hosting some event soon. Isn’t he so cool to be able to find time amidst all that work? A man of the house, eh?”

Maybe talking about other men will get the fabled rise out of him. Yae novels can never go wrong. But then again, your friends are horrified by your reading taste.

Thoma laughs. “Of course he is! It takes a lot of determination to do what he does.”

“W-well… I was uh- talking to Detective Heizou! The… other day…and… do you think we could be more than friends?”

Thoma blinks, confused. Hah! Maybe you’ll finally get to see that green shade of jealousy.

“Well, you could start with a date if you’re into him.”

Of course, that shade of green is very different from the one coloring his eyes.

“No!” You blurt. “I mean, not really. I heard he’s flirty with everyone anyway…”

“Oh, that he is,” Thoma sighs before grinning at you. “I didn’t want to discourage you, that’s all.”

“Well, he’s on my mind now,” you mutter begrudgingly. “I didn’t need that image of him.”

“You’re on my mind for longer than that,” he mumbles, followed by a soft chuckle. “And you’re fine.”

Thoma keeps complicating things like this and there’s nothing more you want than to kiss him silly.

Another brilliant thought strikes. 

“Aha!” You snap your fingers, startling Thoma. 

“Uh, (name)?”

“We’re missing alcohol!” You complain, placing your hands on your hips. “What kind of a Christmas party is this?”

Thoma pauses before breaking into laughter.

“You sound more and more like a Mondstadter every day.”

You pout. “Well, you talk about it so often…”

“Don’t get me wrong,” he smiles, finishing up the last of the batch of sweaters. “I love Mondstadt but my heart lies here.”

With me? You can’t possibly say something that embarrassing out loud.

“With you…” You perk up. “...guys.”

Of fucking course.

You hold back a groan. This isn’t meant to be so frustrating. You could be saying it aloud, you could be holding him closer, you could be anything but miserable and lovesick. If you could, you’d blow on those Mondstadt dandelions and wish for Thoma’s smile against the sun. What if you love him and he loves you not?

There’s a reason you only buy cheap things—you’ll lose them or break them. As much as Thoma helps you haggle the prices in Ritou, he couldn’t possibly help you with this. You can’t keep anything, much less someone as perfect as Thoma. It’s not just the idea of rejection holding you back, it’s your own heart. 

“You’re not good with alcohol either,” you chuckle.

“Hey, don’t laugh.” Thoma pouts. “I’m sure I could down it better with some food.”

“Mhm.” You roll your eyes. You should give up now. There is no possible way in Teyvat you can make Thoma yours. Might as well make peace with it.

“Oh, fruitcake!” He declares.

“Fruitcake?” You blink.

“Yes, dear?”

You feel a rush of blood to your face. “H-huh? That- that was so stupid, Thoma!”

Thoma laughs uncontrollably, squishing your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger fondly. “Gosh, I was only kidding but you look so cute.”

“I change my mind. You’re the most horrible man in Teyvat.”

“Even though I baked fruitcake for you?” He offers a small grin. “With no fruit pieces because I know you hate fruit pieces.”

“So, it’s just a cake.”

“Well, yes… but it’s your favorite flavor!”

You shake your head, a smile fighting its way onto your face anyway. 

“Oh, and I have some dog cookies for Taroumaru,” he continues, “And milk for the cats because I don’t think they can have solid food yet.”

“And for you?”

Thoma pauses, clearly confused. “Right… Well, I don’t need much more than this for Christmas. I have a roof over my head, my friends around me, and… kittens! What more could a man ask for?”

You frown. It’s not worth getting upset over but his attitude is infuriating.

“You always look more tired than happy at these parties, Thoma,” you say. “You don’t always have to overwork yourself for everyone.”

“It’s alright,” he laughs awkwardly. “You’re having fun, right? That’s good enough.”

It seems that even if you never get on his nerves, he gets on yours. How many times has he let himself suffer just to keep you in check? He will risk his life for his friends and family—excessive loyalty is not a virtue. Even when he washed ashore with no mora or a name to him, he offered the strays his food every day. It’s irrational; and it could’ve killed him. Just thinking about it makes you unbearably angry. He’s lucky you found him. 

Then why is it that you still feel luckier of the two?

“I hate it when you do that, Thoma.”

This is why you can’t have nice things. Because you break them. 

Thoma looks genuinely remorseful, and you immediately regret saying it.

“I-…I’m sorry, (name),” he whispers. “I would never do anything to upset you.”

God, you wish you weren’t such a problem child. You wish he was meaner. You wish you’d stop falling for him every day.

“It’s like you care for me more than I do,” you mutter, upset. “I don’t know how to act.”

Thoma blinks. “I- That’s not what I…”

Placing his hand over the upper half of his face, he sighs. “It’s only half-true. You bring out the best in me, (name).”

You scoff. “You’re already the best I could ever find in a man, Thoma.”

Quick flames erupt from his ears at your comment, startling both him and you. You blink at him, his cheeks and ears as scarlet as fire, before bursting into laughter.

“You’re the same as ever,” you manage to say in between laughs. “You once set the bouquet on fire before you could give it to your crush.”

“That was way back when!” He furrows his brows. “It was a schoolboy crush and it lasted three weeks.”

“Don’t get defensive on me,” you tease. “You’re just such a clown when you’re in love.”

“Does that mean you’ll keep smiling at me?”

“Huh.” You blink. “Well, if that’s your party trick, sure.”

“(Name), I’m not sure you understand,” he breathes. “I’m erupting like this because you’re here.”

“Then would you spew fire if I kiss you?” You lean towards him, a playful lilt in your voice.

“Stop teasing me, (name),” he murmurs, leaning further into you, arms on either side. It’s hard to be mean to his puppy dog eyes and plush pout. 

Before you can think it through, you close the gap between your lips, a soft sound of surprise leaving Thoma. But your senses return before he can kiss you back, his lips chasing yours when you pull away.

“Oh!” You gasp, eyes wide as your hands fly to your mouth. “I can’t believe I just did that, oh my god. What have you done?”

“M-me?” He fumbles, cherry red. “You kissed me. Why are you shocked?”

“I didn’t think I’d actually do it!” You exclaim. “That was too impulsive for me to act normal.”

“I like it when you’re impulsive.” His fern green eyes seem to melt at your gaze, an almost pleading look laced with quiet mischief.

You bite back a smile, and he leans in to press his lips against yours. Why haven’t you done this before? You giggle into the kiss, his arms wrapping around you tighter. Christmas has never tasted sweeter.

Suddenly—

“Woof!”

You separate yourself from each other, jumping at the sound. Looking down, you found a rather angry Taroumaru glaring at you from beside the stack of kitten sweaters.

Thoma is the first to laugh. “Sorry there, buddy. I didn’t mean to make things awkward for you.”

“Awoof!”

“Oh, yeah! I’m done with the sweaters.” Thoma nods. “We’ll try them on tomorrow morning.”

You furrow your brows. “Are you… communicating?”

“No, I’m just assuming what he means.”

“Arrrrooof!”

“Okay, I have no idea what that means.”

Taroumaru leaps onto your lap, snuggling his face onto your collarbone.

Thoma knits his brows, almost offended. You don’t get to see that expression often, and you wouldn’t have expected Taroumaru to prompt it. “Oh, so you’re here to steal my (name), is it?”

“I wouldn’t mind Taroumaru stealing me,” you declare. “Isn’t that right?”

You floof up Taroumaru’s face, scratching the  back of his ears as he gives you a joyous yip.

Thoma rolls his eyes, a smile begging to take over his lips. “You’re taking it too far, (name).”

“Really now?” 

You feel warm lips press against yours again, eliciting a soft laugh from you. However, it’s cut short by Taroumaru’s angry headbutt against Thoma’s chin, a grunt of pain following as he’s pushed back. However, it’s soon replaced with laughter, the sound resonating across the room. Only Thoma could laugh so full, even on an empty stomach.

“Alright, you win.” He raises his arms in defeat. 

“We should take a family picture,” you suggest, looking around for the kamera.

“But we’re not married?” Thoma tilts his head to the side.

You smack his arm. “We don’t have to be married for one!”

“Ah, pre-marital photographs. Scandalous.”

And so, stands the pre-marital photograph of you, Thoma and Taroumaru in matching sweaters, by your dresser—you’re clutching your stomach as you laugh while Thoma’s turned red (in true Christmas spirit) trying to hold in his laughter. Taroumaru is the only one photogenic enough to make it work, his head tilted to the side and eyes closed in joy. You should’ve known then, that only the sweetest of fruitcakes could top that photograph (and Thoma’s came pretty damn close).

[ainyan]

The Last Memory

(This story can also be found on Ao3 for those who prefer.)

It was bitterly cold, the snow swirling in the air, but he did not feel it. Such mundane concerns like temperature and weather did not concern him; the ice did not touch him, and he felt no hint of the frigid wind. The thick coat that covered this body was only for show; neither it nor he needed it now; had not for some time - but one mustn’t upset the natives by wandering around in inappropriate clothing.

How tedious. Life had been much easier when everyone had worn the same thing, had been the same race, had wanted the same goal.

This parody of existence these creatures called living now was messy and fleeting and horribly insulting. But it is all he had to work with.

For now.

Pushing aside his dark thoughts, he paused on the graveled path leading up to the village before him, studying its wooden walls with disgust. No more the soaring towers of Amaurot; no more the glorious spires, the glass and steel etchings, the flowing lines and sleek curves. These creatures - these “men” - had barely discovered how to work iron again, much less build anything that wasn’t strictly functional.

But there was something behind those rough-hewn walls drawing him onwards; he’d been feeling the pull and tug for days now, forcing him ever northwards until he’d reached this tiny hamlet tucked deep into the snow-shrouded woods of the northern wilderness.

Another of his lost brethren, perhaps. So far he’d managed to find nine of the thirteen and restore their memories to those shattered, broken souls, but four still eluded him. It was possible - nay, probable - that another shard lay within those walls.

Though he was eager to be done with this damnable duty, it would ill-suit his current form to go bursting through those gates and causing a ruckus. As much as it pained him to admit it, he had a role to play, and it would not do to have the natives - or whatever they were - discover that there were forces so much more powerful than their insignificant selves in their midst.

Not until they’d finalized their plans to undo what that wretched woman had done.

So he took his time, striding up the path, straight backed, square shouldered, just another traveler like those who infrequently wound their way along the dirt-and-gravel paths that traced the vast distances between the scattered villages and hamlets that dotted the northern tundra. As he approached the gates, he could hear a muffled shout - directed not at him, but at the guard who stood within the walls, and one of the great doors ponderously swung open.

Trusting fools.

He stepped across the threshold and onto the main thoroughfare for the hamlet, one that ran directly from this gate to the one on the other side of town. In the distance, he could see what passed for a town square, the shingled buildings rising around it, short and squat and nothing like the magnificent edifices of a bygone era. Trying to ignore the twinge in his heart, he instead turned to face the guard who approached him.

And he knew why he’d come.

Her eyes should have been green - a bright, emerald green with rims of brilliant platinum, their flowering irises shaded with hints of forest green and tawny gold - not such a pedestrian shade of cornflower blue. Her hair should never have been the bland color of wheat, without a hint of individuality - rarely had her hair been so much as its original raven hue; instead, always an ever-changing rainbow based on her whims.

Even her skin was wrong - sunkissed rose now, rather than the rich color of walnuts, as smooth as the finest silk woven from her precious bombicae. Tall for one of the creatures that called themselves a ‘hyur’, she was nevertheless significantly shorter than she’d once been, her body slimmer, less lushly curved beneath the furs and leathers of her clothing.

Wrong. She was all wrong. This was all wrong.

Even her soul was all wrong.

That it was hers, he had no doubt. Faint and dull like any of the sundered, it was still a thousand times brighter than those of the creatures who inhabited the world that had been theirs. Only a few shades of blue rose from within to shimmer below her skin: sapphire and cobalt and lapis lazuli. Less the oceanic tides that had once surged with vigor and more an insipid pond like one of the ornamental water fixtures that had graced the city parks.

Still. It was hers. Mnemosyne.

She smiled at him, her eyes meeting his with a frank curiosity as she crossed her arms and leaned back on one heel. He could sense her confusion and knew that she felt that same tug and pull - so much stronger now in such close proximity - that had drawn him all this way. Unlike him, however, she had no idea what it meant. No idea what connection it portended, a connection that would last until the last star burned out and the universe collapsed upon itself. One that would draw their souls together again and again and again, as it had for countless millennia before. “Welcome, stranger.”

Soft, breathy, lilted. In no way the powerful, rich, sinfully deep voice that used to tease him to a fever pitch, that would cut across the floor of the Convocation chamber and slice her opponents to shreds without a single blow, that would lift in song - out-of-tune, but still - when she showered or would rise in ecstasy as he drove her up and over the edge again and again.

“Greetings,” he said, trying his best to modulate his tone - he’d been told that even at his most pleasant, he often came across as supercilious. By the flicker in her eyes, he gathered he’d once more failed. As her expression lost some of its cheerful welcome, his hand slid into his pocket, clenched around a stone.

The rest he carried in a pouch beneath his jacket, but this one - this one he couldn’t bear to place with the others.

It never should have been made. Lahabrea and Elidibus would be appalled if they knew he’d gone behind their backs and created a stone for her as well as the missing ten members of the Convocation, but he didn’t care. She was a hope he could not give up.

And now she was here. He had only to draw out the stone, to channel his magicks through it, and she would remember.

She would be.

“What brings you to Hearthward?” she was asking, her eyes glinting suspiciously as they flicked down towards the hand he’d slid into his pocket, her own fingers skimming surreptitiously towards the sword dangling at her side. “Don’t get many strangers around here.”

His mind raced, considering ramifications even as he answered in an off-hand tone, offering a ready-made excuse for his presence. “I’m scouting ahead; the rest of my party is a few days behind, but I wanted to make certain nothing had changed on our maps.”

Those pale blue eyes flickered over him, and he knew she was seeing his well-worn gear - similar to hers, leather and hide and fur, sturdy and ugly, with a heavy, primal scent that still offended his nose after all of these years. The pack on his back was filled with all manner of tools he had no idea how to use, but was certain the malformed soul that had once worn this body had. He’d learned enough during the conversation he’d struck up with the creature in the last town, before luring him out and shedding his body of its burden, to take it for his own.

“I see,” she said, nodding slowly as her hand fell away from her sword, and he knew she’d accepted his response. “Very well. If you have any need of resupply or wish to take an evening’s respite, the inn,” and she pointed to the largest building in town, just off the square, “and the general store,” and that was the smaller building squatting in the inn’s shadow, “are there, and open for another several marks of the candle.”

Just a simple spell, a shove really, to release the memories, the personality, the person within the stone, to restore her to herself. To restore a little balance to a world gone mad.

A little equilibrium to himself.

Even as his fingers closed around the amber-colored stone, her eyes shifted past him and, for a brief second, her eyes lit up. He knew that look; he’d seen it directed at himself. At Hythlodaeus.

He turned.

The hyur was tall and slim, dressed as they were. His hair was pale blond, his eyes a rich chestnut brown. His smile was quick and ready as he greeted the guard, and in it, the visitor could read his interest, his desire. A quick glance back at her showed him the same; no affection - not beyond the bounds of friendship, not yet, but an attraction. 

Jealousy, hot and angry, curled in his belly, and he could feel his aether rise in his breast, already forming the spell that would smite this misborn upstart into his component pieces, motes too small to see with the naked eye.

“Excuse me,” she said, breaking his concentration. “Is there aught else you needed?” He turned to meet her eyes, and she stared up at him, her smile faltering. “Forgive me, good sir, but… have you been here before? I would swear I know you from somewhere.”

Her fingers raised unbidden to brush between her breasts, across that point from which heart and soul sprang, that center of self.

That center that bound them together through eternity and beyond.

One little twist of his magic.

And yet.

She had stood in opposition of the Plan. She’d turned away from him, from them, refusing to give her aid to summon their lord Zodiark, to bring forth the only being which could restore balance to the world. She’d left him, left Hythlodaeus, left the Convocation and their people to walk amongst these- these twisted, stunted creatures, these creations with their pallid, insipid souls. To save them, at the cost of them.

And if he restored her… if he restored her, she would do the same. She would never espouse what they were doing now, never agree with the tentative plans Lahabrea had begun to make to rejoin the fourteen shards of their shattered star.

He could have her back, but she would never be his again. And their disagreement would be an ache in his breast from now until eternity ended.

“No,” he said after an uncomfortable stretch of moments, during which both hyurs had stared at him, perplexed. “No, I have not been here before. I’m afraid we have never met.” He forced his lips into a smile, and deliberately slid his eyes towards the man. “A pity, I think.”

Her brow furrowed and the man stiffened. “Indeed,” she said slowly. “If that is all, then I bid you a good day. Should you have need of aught else, simply see me, or anyone within the village, and we shall be happy to help you.” Her smile was quick and bright - almost too bright; the bond was beginning to pull at her, draw her in. Draw her to him.

He bowed slightly, and her eyes widened, then crinkled in amusement. Such a familiar expression; such a familiar pang in his breast. As he turned to walk away, he could feel her eyes on his back, then felt her regard slip away. A few more steps, then he turned back.

She was staring up at the pale-haired hyur, and he was gazing back. They did not speak, but there was a comfortable familiarity that spoke of friendship, of comradeship. He could read the tentative courtship in their stances; the way that they angled themselves towards each other, the way the man’s fingers curled, as if to keep himself from touching her. The way she twisted her fingers together for much the same reason.

The bond pulsed and pulled in his breast, tugging him back to her. Now that he had found her, he would never lose her again, not as long as their souls remained tied together by fate and destiny and a love too profound to ever be defined by words.

And he knew she could feel it too. Even as the man began to speak, her head turned back towards the visitor and met his eyes - and he could see her puzzled confusion, her helpless interest. The man faltered, frowning, then also turned to stare at him, eyes darkening with jealousy.

He took a step back. She took a step toward.

This would not do.

He could not break the bond. Would not break the bond. To do so would jeopardize her chances of ever finding fulfillment, the snapped thread of their futures together forever tripping her up. As frustrated and unhappy as he was; as disgusted as this world made him, he would not wish such misery upon anyone - especially her.

But perhaps…

He forced himself to turn away again, to begin striding towards the square. He heard a deep, rich voice rise in question, and felt her falter, heard her voice answer, anxious and confused. He waited until he was certain her attention had been diverted once more, then turned back.

The man had a hand on her arm, and his expression was one of distress and concern; that told him all he needed to know. Despite his jealousy, his first thought was her and her wellbeing. This man could never give her everything that he could - and the one thing he could not give that she needed more than anything.

Support.

Together, they would be at odds. She would remember the world they had lost, would once again feel her impotence and helplessness to aid those who had once looked to her for succor. She would blame him for the death of their beloved Hythlodaeus, just as she had before, and she would be no more likely to stay now than she had then. He would lose her again and again, and she would lose him again and again, and through their bond, they would suffer.

Apart - she would live her life, die her death, a thousand, thousand times. She would love, she would lose, she would weep and she would laugh, and she would never remember the love they had shared within their perfect paradise. And he… he would never forget.

He took a breath.

He let it out.

He reached into himself, into his limitless wellspring of aether, and he crafted a spell, a breaking, a rebinding. He tore free their bond from his own soul, snapped the threads of their future with an almost audible snap. He felt the pain of it sing through his body, saw her convulse as the loss of it struck her as well. Even as the other hyur caught at her, calling her name, he threw the spell at him.

It struck home, it sank in; it pulsed, he convulsed - and then it settled, braiding itself indelibly into his soul. The pair leaned drunkenly on each other, disoriented and confused. He waited with baited breath to see if his spell had done its work.

The woman looked up. The man looked down.

Their eyes met. Widened.

Then their mouths met. The bond would not push them into love; not immediately, but it would break down the barriers formed by shyness, by reticence, by the nagging feeling of waiting that would have kept her from forming any such bonds at all.

He did not wait to see what came of it. Already the ache of it was fading, and nothing pulled him here any longer. Head clear, heart clear, he strode off, bypassing the inn, the store, for the gate on the other side of the wall.

And when he passed through it, he dismissed it from his mind, and relegated her to where she belonged.

To memory.

[whosxafraid]

Meme: For You I Would Status: Closed URL: @tabbyrp

One AM.

The last few patrons having wandered out the door an hour before. The normal din of the place falling away. A quiet settling in about the place as nightly routines have come to a close. And the only two people that can be seen from the foggy windows are a blurred pair tucked away in the back corner. The little table lamp glowing warmly against dark wood. Where two glasses catch and pitch the soft light.

Hands that come and go from the light's edges. Deep noted amusement woven with the higher pitches of femmine laughter. And though one could not hear the conversation...they would be hard pressed to assume it anything of real importance. Just two people enjoying each other's company in the wee hours after a long day's work.

But in reality perhaps it is more than that. More in the sense they have dancing about each other without really knowing said dance. Where a midnight rescue had been thanked by gained respect and perhaps dinner on him--as friends. But he's not entirely sure when that line started to blur, and he's fairly confindent she doesn't either. But that's half the fun of life isn't it? Following the good connections and vibes to see where they lead. And at the moment it has lead them to a quiet after work drink. Tucked away in his favored corner booth. Where likes and dislikes are learned by simple conversation and jokes made by both.

A moment that later he will think back on and treasure. Because nights like these...despite all the grand adventures that await them...nights like these will be his favorite memories. The ones where they were allowed to just exist, and enjoy each other's company without a thing more to complicate it.

But in the moment...memory is not his focus. Instead he finds his gaze tracking every moment she makes with a kind of lazy facination. Every word and sound absorbed like an unending sponge. Learning all there is too know about Tabby Mitchell at her speed. And maybe he ignores the knowning looks from his other employee. That pink haired little gerbil sometimes had too big a nose for her own good. But she meant well and Luka doesn't really hold it against her.

Still green and off yellow follow along with the story she tells with the same interest his ears do. And there's a real kind of amusement rumbling up out of him when she comes tumbling down next to him from on high. Because she had to act out the bit about losing her balance and falling butt first into a snow drift last winter. And the sound of that rumbling amusement of his is easy. Like the far off thunder of a storm.

Or at least it is until hazel catches hold of green and off yellow. Until without at all realizing it he's dove head first into her nets. And maybe its his imagination but he could swear there's bits of another color in there too. Reminds him of what the shades of sunlight look like when they first fall upon the tree tops. And for all that he should have had the wearwithall to unstick himself...

He can't.

Doesn't want to

And the space between them begins to shrink. And he can't tell if its him closing it or her...or maybe both. But regardless its is closing. She's closing. Until there's not but a breath between their noses. Eyes stuck in each others. And maybe he cheats. Intakes a breath to make sure he's not misreading the entire affair.

Yet in the same moment every green light blinks on?

CRASH

What sounds like a shelving unit collapsing roars from the swinging kitchen door and both are startled. Both are reacting. Head coming up and around the back of the booth. To the point they both look more like startled squirrels than nearly caught lovers.

Oooow

Comes the voice from the floor. Luka and Tabby exchanging glances before they both burst with embarrassed amusement. Though that doesn't stop either from coming to the dishwashers rescue. The boy really needs to learn to use the cart Luka bought. But he never will and Luka will never correct him.

[corinneecrivaine]

THE DAY YOU HEALED MY SOUL

Part 2

First steps at The Brigthly Stars Island

Queer romance Fanfiction

Main characters : Kit and Jade

Located in the heart of the crystal-clear waters of the Caribbean, The Brightly Stars Island was a hidden gem, protected by ancient mysteries. Surrounded by white Argentine sand beaches and lined with majestic coconut palms. This island paradise was a veritable sanctuary of natural beauty. The air was infused with enchantment. The sun's golden rays played with the foliage of the trees, projecting luminous flashes onto the ground, creating a bewitching dance of light. The bright, shimmering colors of the tropical flowers embellished every corner of the island, as if nature herself had decided to paint a living picture. The crystal-clear waters surrounding the island were home to dazzling marine life, with rainbow-colored fish, majestic turtles and playful dolphins that seemed to welcome visitors to their underwater kingdom.

At the heart of the island lay a lush forest where the trees seemed almost alive, whispering ancient secrets to one another.

Enchanted paths wound through the dense vegetation, leading to magical glades where fireflies danced in the night.

At dusk, the sky turned shades of gold and orange, offering a breathtaking spectacle. And when night fell, the sky's vault was adorned with thousands of twinkling stars, as if the galaxy itself had bent over this island, offering its cosmic magic.

The inhabitants of The Brightly Stars Island were renowned for their benevolence and human warmth. They were the guardians of the secrets and legends that permeated every corner of this island. Some claimed that invisible magical creatures roamed the woods, protecting the island from all evil.

Time seemed to slow down and every moment was an invitation to lose oneself in the splendor of nature and magic. The Brightly Stars Island was a place where burned hearts and souls could open up to the wonders of the world, bond with nature and heal from deep suffering.

These were the reasons Emma had always shared with Kit her wildest dream of coming to this place. Convinced that this magical island, full of mysteries and wonders, would have closed the gaping emptiness tearing at the heart and soul of her sweetheart.

*******

Kit woke up slowly but gently, often grumpy in the mornings, "My little grumpy darling" as Emma used to call her.

Her first night on the island was lulled by the gentle murmur of the waves caressing the beach, the chirping of the crickets and the heady scent of exotic flowers, giving her a sense of well-being and serenity she hadn't felt for too long.

Kit got up 1 hour before sunrise, showered, changed into a light outfit and headed for the restaurant where Melissa was waiting to share breakfast.

When she arrived at the restaurant, Jade's mother greeted her warmly, her radiant smile reflecting her love and joy at finding her again.

Fresh, juicy, sweet fruit and local specialties such as baked salted fish fritters, cornmeal porridge and plain milk were all on offer, creating a tantalizing picture that whetted Kit's appetite.

The place was mythical. Their restaurant was a veritable haven of peace and charm, perfectly integrated into the island's paradisiacal environment. The delicately hand-woven wicker chairs seemed to blend harmoniously into the natural setting. Their comfortable shapes and soft cushions invited you to relax and contemplate the breathtaking landscape. Under the benevolent shade of the majestic palm trees, their slender trunks formed a kind of natural canvas, gently filtering the emerging light.

Mélissa had placed candles on each of the rustic wood-scented tables, adding a subdued glow to the first light of dawn.

They sat down at a table on the beach, with a breathtaking view of the sparkling ocean and their feet in the fine sand. It was pleasant. The beach was deserted, silent except for the waves, which provided a soothing symphony. The white sand formed the restaurant's natural floor. Bare feet sank deliciously into this natural carpet, offering a unique warmth and softness.

Melissa began the discussion.

- Sorry I made you get up so early. How was your first night here? I hope the accommodation suits you.

- It didn't bother me at all. It was simply magical. The sound of the waves and the soft air gave me a serenity I haven't felt since... The apartment is perfect. Thank you so much.

Kit's heart was torn between the wonder of that first magical night on the island and the deep sorrow of not being able to share it with Emma. She remembered the tenderness of their embrace. The pain of no longer being able to experience those moments together was heartbreaking, for Emma was the person who had made every moment special and prodigious. She wished she could have been in her arms that magical night. She would have whispered in her ear the words of love she treasured in her heart. That first night brought her face to face with the reality of losing her sweetheart. For the first time since Emma's death, she allowed herself to feel the pain of this absence, while letting the magic of the island bring her a little comfort.

- I'm so glad you're feeling well. You'll see, this island has a calming power. It's a special place where nature offers comfort.

- I feel this island is a refuge for the soul. I came here to…

Whenever their eyes met, Melissa could see a fleeting glimmer of sadness in Kit's eyes. As if the memory of Emma made her vacillate between the joy and pain of the past. Melissa was a person with a loving and caring heart. She was deeply touched by Kit's suffering. As a mother, she wanted to offer her support and listen, but she also understood the importance of giving Kit the space and time he needed. She felt she needed time to open up and share her pain. When she was ready, she would be there for her.

- I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time. Enjoy your stay here. Know that you're welcome in our family. We'll be with you every step of the way.

- Thank you so much for your welcome and kindness.

They exchanged a knowing smile, marking the start of a new adventure under the sign of the love of this family and the magic of the island.

- Oh, look, the show's starting.

The sunrise was a breathtaking spectacle, a veritable symphony of colors and sensations. As the darkness of night began to dissipate, the horizon blazed with a palette of warm, shimmering hues ranging from orange and gold to shades of pink and purple. The first rays of sunlight danced over the glistening ocean, melting into the horizon with infinite softness. The blue and turquoise hues of the water blended with those of the sky, creating an enchanting atmosphere.

The majestic palm trees that lined the beach seemed to be adorned in gold, their leaves shining like jewels under the rays of the rising sun. A gentle sea breeze brought with it the intoxicating scent of the ocean, filling the air with a salty, invigorating perfume. The sky was painted in increasingly intense hues, like a constantly evolving painting. The clouds, which seemed like soft touches of paint on the celestial canvas, were transformed into a gradation of striking colors, adding even more magic to this marvelous spectacle.

The seabirds awoke, launching their joyful songs into the morning air. Their silhouettes stood out against the sky, adding a touch of life and movement to this enchanting backdrop.

As the sun continued its slow ascent, the whole island seemed to light up with a golden glow. Nature gradually awoke, offering a harmonious concert of sounds and colors.

Time seemed suspended, where the soul felt connected to the pure, eternal beauty of nature. This spectacle was a reminder of the beauty and magic that permeated the island, bringing hope to every wondering heart.

The golden rays caressed Kit's skin. She longed to realize this dream with Emma. Yet, in this timeless moment, she could feel her presence. Their love could transcend time and space. She knew Emma's dreams would live on in her. She imagined her beside her, contemplating this wonderful moment.

Suddenly Kit saw a small fishing boat sailing in the distance. She remembered one of the legends Emma had told her. That of a magical lighthouse that lit up the darkest nights of sailors lost at sea. She used to say that this lighthouse was the brightest star on the island, guiding dreamers to their deepest wishes.

Kit's gaze fell on the horizon, where the sun was just rising. She knew that Emma was now that star shining in the night of her heart, bringing her courage and hope. Her heart filled with love and memories, Kit murmured softly to herself, "You're right, my sweet, this island really is a magical place. I know you would have loved these colors, this light. I know you're here, somewhere in this immensity. I feel your presence in every breeze that caresses my face, in every ray of sunshine that warms my heart. You'll always be by my side, in every step I take on this enchanted earth and in my whole life."

Kit let herself be carried away by emotion, tears glistening in her eyes. She felt a deep connection with Emma, as if their souls were bound for eternity. She continued to contemplate the sunrise. She felt an inner strength growing within her, drawn from the love she had shared with her Beloved. Her memory would shine in her heart forever.

- I'm so sorry. It's the emotion. It's... so beautiful.

She apologized to Melissa for her tears.

- My young child, don't be. You're allowed to cry. Let yourself be carried away by the magic of the island, let it guide you to the path of your healing.

Kit smiled.

Jade appeared in the distance, accompanied by her sister Scorpia. Kit discreetly wiped away her tears. The words exchanged would remain between them. A silent act of respect and trust from Melissa for the girl's privacy.

They sat down.

- This is my sister, Scorpia. She works in the kitchen and will be the future manager.

- Hello.

- Hi.

Scorpia, tall and slender, carried an obvious assurance, a sharp, empathetic gaze. Her husky voice sounded like a melody both mysterious and fascinating. Her red hair, pulled back in a neat braid, added to her straight, confident look. Yet what lay behind this outward appearance was a caring, compassionate soul.

Both sisters discerned Kit's delicate gesture, the fleeting sweep of her tears. Like their mother, they remained silent about what they had observed, but looked at each other briefly.

While breakfast was going on in a warm atmosphere, Scorpia fixed Kit with her piercing gaze. She spoke in an authoritative voice, revealing the self-confidence she had inherited from her father.

- So, you're joining our family team.

Kit sensed the intensity of the question in the young woman's eyes and voice. She understood that this opportunity was not just a job, but an invitation to join the family legacy. The elder of the two sisters wanted to see if Kit was ready to get involved.

- I'm honored to be part of your team.

Scorpia watched Kit attentively, analyzing every word, every expression. After a brief moment of silence, her face softened slightly.

- Welcome. Working with us means being part of a family where everyone gives their best.

Scorpia's determined character was evident in every word she spoke. She was uncompromising when it came to the family business.

Jade, sensing the intensity of the conversation, decided to bring a note of gentleness to it. She turned her attention to Kit, a benevolent smile lighting up her face.

- What my sister means is that for us, it's more than just a job. It's our way of sharing our passion for cooking and creating special moments for all the people who come here.

Her voice was soft and soothing, contrasting with her sister's commanding assurance. Jade had always had this natural ability to bring comfort and empathy to those around her. She continued, enthusiastically.

- Every dish we serve has a history, a tradition, and we truly believe in the importance of transmitting these values through our meals and, of course, the cocktails you'll be serving.

Kit felt her heart warm at Jade's words. She appreciated the way she managed to strike a balance between her sister's assurance and her own gentleness.

She imagined Emma sitting at that table, sharing that breakfast with them, laughing and chatting with the same sweetness and authenticity they displayed. It was a painfully beautiful vision, an alternate reality Kit would have loved to experience. She would have loved to hear Emma's sweet voice mingle with that of Jade, Scorpia and their mother. She wished this family could have known her. She could almost feel her presence, imagining shared smiles, tender gestures. She knew that if Emma had had the chance to meet this family, she would have been immediately welcomed with affection for her gentle, loving nature.

Despite this deep desire, reality could not be altered. Emma was gone, but her impact on her life and her heart remained, the imprint that guided her and urged her to honor her memory.

As the conversation continued, the waves gently caressing the shore and the sun illuminating their little corner of paradise, Melissa, in her gentle voice, interrupted the moment. She stood up with Scorpia.

- My darlings, it's time for both of us to welcome my husband back from his morning fishing trip.

Her tone expressed a combination of respect for family tradition and pride in her husband's work.

Jade, who had remained seated, turned her gaze to Kit.

- My father has always been very attached to the sea and fishing. He likes to share what he brings in with us and the restaurant's customers. It's a tradition that goes back generations.

Jade's admiration and respect for her father was evident in her voice.

While Scorpia, her mother and Kael gathered near the shore, Kit watched the horizon. Alone with Jade, she felt her gaze imbued with a touching benevolence. Yet this attention made her uneasy. In the depths of her soul, she knew she wasn't ready to open her heart again, to let a new person into her life.

All those intense moments shared with Emma were still far too present, every laugh, every caress, every word. She didn't want to replace her. She neither wanted nor could erase this history with a new romance. Her complex emotions showed in her eyes as she met Jade's gaze. She offered him a shy smile that couldn't hide her bruised heart.

Jade understood, her gaze soft and compassionate. She wouldn't press Kit, wouldn't try to break down the barriers she'd erected. She would let time do its work, trusting that hearts would heal at their own pace, aided by the magic of the island.

The scene seemed suspended in a delicate balance between past and future, between pain and healing.

As Jade watched Kit intently, she intuitively sensed the pain that lay within her. However, she didn't insist, respecting Kit's need to keep certain emotions private. She chose to share a magical moment linked to the island.

- This island has a unique way of touching our hearts. It offers a refuge for our emotions. I think everyone finds a haven for their soul here.

Kit noticed the similarity between Jade's words and Emma's, as if the two women shared the same vision of The Brightly Stars Island and its healing power.

The young girl smiled softly, touched by Jade's wisdom. Their eyes met in a silent communion of shared emotions.

As the sun bathed the island in its golden light and the waves continued their dance, Kit knew she wasn't ready to love, but perhaps she could begin to heal.

Jade rose gracefully to her feet, her smile as warm as ever and her presence soothing. She'd promised Kit she'd go shopping with her. An offer that showed her willingness to be there for her without rushing her.

- If you're ready, Let’s go shopping. On the way, I could show you a few places. This will give you a chance to familiarize yourself with the island. I could also help you get settled.

Her soft voice reflected genuine sincerity. She wanted Kit to feel at ease as she acclimatized to this new environment.

The young girl was touched by Jade's kindness. She took the gesture as an invitation to share a moment together.

Kit stood up, guided by her budding friendship with Jade. Together, the two women made their way to the famous colored ladybug, ready to explore the island and share this moment that heralded a new beginning.

[things-about-writing]

Hades looked up from the scrolls and papers scattered across the large stone desk, everything on it dark shades of grey and blue. Except for the small flower pot off in the corner, the tan clay keeping the rich black soil trapped inside. Keeping the small closed up flower nestled in it happy and healthy. The little pot was kept carefully tucked away from the edge so no hasty movement would knock it to the floor. Letting out a sigh leaning back, looking away from the work he had lost focus on a while ago. Hades attention drawn to the bud of the flower a small sliver of a burgundy petel peeked out at him. Staring for a while he looked back to his work, feeling a warm breeze wash against his cheek before he could read two lines. Bringing one of his long ringed fingers up against his cheek.

Hades looked over at the flower pot a magnificent flower had fully bloomed with petals the had glowing burgnedy tips leading into a spiral of blue mixing together as it went to the center of the flower . Pushing himself up from his chair he walked around his desk. "Of course you would find a way to make even my blues feel warm." he said tracing the petal leaving the looming stone chamber, the beautiful flower giving a soft break to the cold feelings echoing off it's walls.

The lost souls and his faithful retainers leading them along the halls of the underworld were treated to a rare experience looking over at the tall long haired man draped in leathers and robes of black. His presence that would normally leave them with chills so bad it made their vision fade. But his aura had a relaxed chill to it, the experienced retainers knowing what that meant carrying on with their duties. one of the new retainers looked at his face as he passed and could swear if only for a moment he saw a small fleck of a smile across his paled skin. His eyes pulling away as quick as they went to him, not daring a second glance at Hades.

Making his way through the infinitely expanding halls, Hades finally came to a small hallway just long enough for a set of double doors to be tucked away at the end. He made no attempt to hide the slight bounce in his step as he made his way to the large stained brown wooden doors. The earthy tone offering a slight contrast to slate stone walls and polished granite floors leading up to it. Slowly he brought his hands up grasping the silver doorknobs.

It had been nearly six months since the doors were last opened. He could feel a slight catch in his throat as he twisted the knobs, pushing forward the creak from the doors breaking the silence that had a hold over the hall.

Pushing the door open, he was greeted with the smell of pomegranate and freshly bloomed flowers. The smells mixed with the sight of vibrant greens from the grass and trees in front of him. Painting a canvas as far as his eyes could see for an array of other colors to poke out amongst his love's garden. Slipping off his sandels stepping into the grass hades walked into the room, that looked more like the forest of Greece then a room in the underworld.

A smile formed on his lips looking down at the light path of pressed grass that was made solely from soft foot steps walking along it. Warm rays of light from the artificial sun he convinced Apollo to put in the sky peaked through the tree leaves shining golds and yellows against his face, Hades walked along the path the feeling getting stronger, her energy washing out over the garden make gentle winds blow.

He walked for a little while seeing flowers blooming and running his hand over the leaves of bushes beside him. Coming to a stop at the edge of a clearing. The only thing in it was two long row of budding flowers that made a path to a woven wood circle gateway with more budding flowers growing out all over it. He stepped forwad standing in front of it. the grass tickling between his toes, eagerly spinning one of the rings on his fingers looking at the gateway. The smile he wore grew bigger as the budding flowers the last ones he passed to have not bloomed slowly started to open.

The violet petals peaking out around the gateway at first. Hades felt a flash of ember in his heart as the Narcissus flowers opened each one waking up to welcome his queen, his love. His heart back to him.

There was a flash of green in the gateway, Hades closed his eyes letting the flash disperse. Looking to the gateway, all the vibrant colors around him seemed to fade a little in comparison to the figure before him. His eyes softened as he saw Persephone standing there, her hands nervously holding her gown her eyes welling up with emotion. The lovers both froze for a second taking the other in. Her long curly hair bouncing against her shoulders in the breeze, her tanned skin of her shoulders peaking out from the gaps in the sheer green and white gown she wore.

It was once their eyes met, neither could stand it. Rushing towards each other, Persephone leaped into his arms. No hesitation, her love would catch her. Catch her he did her arms, wrapping around his neck as his went tightly around her back. Pulling him in her lips, meeting his, the fierce God of the underworld melting against the small woman in his embrace.

His softness saved solely for her. one of his hands tracing her back the feel of her skin like electricity to his. His touch and the joy from the kiss of her love, making any of the trees and bushes nearby bloom with fruit. After their kiss Hades loosened his grip as Persephone unwrapped her legs from him. Letting her stand before him, the God refusing to take his hands completely from her waist as he looked down into her eyes.

Persephone felt a safety that was nearly impossible to feel in the underworld. Looking up at her love. Slowly raising a hand she placed it softly against his cheek. "Come we have been apart too long my love. I missed your embrace." She said slipping from his hug, grabbing his hand. Hades gladly letting her lead him into the woods. His eyes never leaving her.

[skittlespizza]

ORIGINAL STATEMENT (THE MAGNUS ARCHIVES)

ARCHIVIST:

Statement of Wendy Humbert concerning their newest… novel?

WENDY:

Ha. No- it’s about a novel that I read.

I’ve always been afraid of writing a novel. I’m a published author, I have two anthology stories published! I only write short stories… not out of hate for the novel medium, no, I just don’t have the commitment needed to write a novel. But a few days ago, a week maybe? My editor suggested I should just try, and to write a rough outline for a hypothetical novel.

I… can’t focus on things easily. I get distracted and that’s why most things I write have to be short, it’s stressful! I needed to write, I needed something. So, um. Three days ago, I began to look for some inspiration. I had zero ideas for this novel. I was walking around downtown, music in my ears, watching the world around me go. I love people watching, it sounds creepy, but there’s a delight and joy in watching people do their everyday thing. Watching them talk about things I could ever know, or seeing their reactions when they get a text or watching them cry and break down. There’s something curious about watching humans, disconnected from my and their reality. I can write their story! Do you know, do you understand, just how great that is?

While walking down an alley, I stopped at this door. It was ancient, old, his bookstore was an odd one in the back alley of downtown. it was kind of… how do I put it? It looked shitty. The sign was so weathered away I couldn’t make out the name. The door was what got me, it was wooden, antique and ancient. This dark shade of red that seemed darker than blood. The weirdest, most peculiar part, was the large spider web engraving. Woven intricately into the grains of wood– it caught my eyes. The door handle was rusty and- well. You see a mysterious, creepy door with a sign that looks older than the building itself? You have to enter it. At the very least, you have to look inside.

I think part of me wanted to be a character in my short story.

Just a door, a door between me and what could be one of the best stories I could write. My hand wrapped around the handle, rust flaking off the metal. Turning the doorknob, I felt chills up my spine. I was being watched by someone, I know I was. Pushing open the door…

It was just a bookstore.

The floor was linoleum, black and white tiles, diamond shaped. It was a large room, and in the middle was this tree. Dead, withering, and around it, lines and lines and lines of bookshelves. I felt like I was in some story, like a fantasy where I would be the chosen one. I walked inside, the scent of books and mold filling my nose. It was almost pitch black, except where I was looking, just lit enough to see where I was going. Fucking creepy. I began to browse the books. Reading the spines, I couldn’t recognize a single author. I’m telling you! I’ve read thousands of books, I know so many authors, but no matter how much I searched, not a single author rang a bell. You don’t realize how abnormal that is, especially for a modern day book store! Well… abandoned?

Augustus Finch? Oliver Wilson? Gregory Weston? Not only do these names sound fake, but their books were empty. No words, just empty, crisp, pages of nothingness. Except this one- reading the spine, I stopped. I felt something deep inside me tell me I had to take it off the shelf. To read it.

Opening it, it was filled with text, no margins, no padding… just words. Not a single centimeter of page left empty. I needed this book.

So I left with it.

From the walk home, to riding the train, I felt like I was being watched. That feeling, once again, returning in full. I got home, sat down, and looked at the book in my hands. I stared at the cover, once again, the swirling kaleidoscope of a spider web. It was golden against the dark red of the cover. Tracing the engraving, I opened it.

“Wendy opened the book-” the book read. “Wendy opened the book and began to read. They tilted their head a bit, squinting at the small text of the book. ‘How did it know?” they asked, ‘How did the book know what I’m thinking? Even as I’m reading this- NO! NO! Stop it!’ they cried, opening their mouth in shock. They began to read the next line out loud: ‘How do you know this?’ they asked again. This wasn’t right, no. A book, written who knows how long ago, should not have all their actions on paper!

This is wrong, this is bad, this isn’t right! They wanted to put it down, but something magnetic kept them in place.”

I flipped ahead in the book. I thought, hey! Maybe I could tell my future. Ha! No- this book…

“Wendy flipped ahead in the book, wondering what exactly this book could do.” It said. It knew I would flip ahead to that one page, and I would read that specific line and it would listen to me. LISTEN TO ME. HOW DID IT KNOW THIS!? HOW DOES IT KNOW MY EVERY MOVE? Do you know the horror that’s your every action being written down on paper in this random book without an author, without a title, without any fucking margins! No! No you don’t! Except maybe you do now, because you’re written in that book now! I know it because I read it! Jonathan Sims, the book said, Head Archivist at the Magnus Institute.

I continued to read, I don’t know why I did, but I did! I couldn’t put it down, it was magnetic. It forced me to! God, and all it did was taunt me, Jonathan! It TAUNTED ME, LAUGHED AT ME. It told me how I was going to die, how my entire future would play out! I- I become nothing, I become nothing! I don’t have a future, no- this book. This book TOLD me how I would go insane, go mad, at the fact this book exists! That I would become nothing, that I am nothing, that I would quit my job and become a hermit. How does IT KNOW?

I’ve become a character- I’ve become a character and I don’t know what to do. I am a character in a novel! And the words I’m saying now, and I’m talking to you reader, are being read by a monster. By this person who KNOWS. By you reading this, I am hurting. I surely hope you are entertained by this! I hope you enjoy.

[Laughter]

Even- EVEN NOW. I am listening to the book, I am listening to what it told me to do. It gave me the address, it told me I would speak with you, that I would say these exact words while screaming, crying over how much… how broken I am after this. That no matter what I would say, the book would know. And do you know what the book told me?

ARCHIVIST:

Um… no.

WENDY:

It told me you would understand. YOU would get what I feel! You would know what this all means! What does the spider web mean! How does it know? Why I’m being controlled by some words on paper! I feel sick, I don’t-

ARCHIVIST:

Give me a moment…

WENDY:

The book said you’d say that too.

ARCHIVIST:

Do you have the book on you?

WENDY:

It said I would keep it home.

ARCHIVIST:

Why do you keep listening to it if you hate it so much?

WENDY:

Because it threatened me, Archivist. It said if I didn’t listen-

[Laughter].

ARCHIVIST:

…

Humbert-

WENDY:

Do not- do not say my name. Just tell me… why? Why, Archivist. What does this all mean? Why?!

ARCHIVIST:

I can’t do that.

WENDY:

That’s what the book said you’d do.

ARCHIVIST:

I-

[click.]

ARCHIVIST:

After that, Wendy had to be apprehended by security.

I know what that book was. I sent Martin to go and pick up the book from Wendy’s home. I don’t want her to have that.

It must be- it was the Web.

I know it.

Statement ends.

[orangez3st]

Dream Currents

Captain Rex × OFC Force Goddess

— Chapter 10: Ocean

Tags: teen & up, f/m, gen, hurt/comfort, childhood friends, romantic friendship, fluff, pre-star wars: the clone wars, clone cadets (training in kamino), very rex-centric, rex whump, the worst is probably sw curse words (tell me if I should add more tags!)

[Content] [Start] [Prev] [Next] [AO3] [Spotify]

“They start calling you Sho’cye now.”

She perks up. “Oh! Your brothers? What does it mean?”

“It means ’ocean’ in Mando’a,” he simply replies, momentarily watching her inspecting a single berry she just plucked off its stem. Earlier on when he got into the Coastline, she took him to foraging in the woods.

It's his first time venturing behind the treeline. He can still hear the sounds of the ocean behind him, as they aren’t going in too far, but the forest is bigger than he expected. It stretches out beyond his periphery to the point where he sees nothing else but leaf-covered ridges. His best guess is there’s another span of rocky cliff on the other side, but he dares not to find out. At least until his counterpart takes him to.

*Guess this one.” She suddenly thrusts the berry in front of his face, and he has to pull back to have it properly within his eyesight with no blurriness. They’ve been at this little game for a while; to guess whether things she forages edible or not.

Six-Seven takes his time to inspect. This one is oddly blue colored, almost mirroring the current state of the skies above them. Random spots of indigo around it and it looks juicy and mouthwatering enough, had it not taken a shape that looks like a feline brain or something. Not that it looks weird, but he’s never seen it before. Probably one of her creations for this dream realm that he needs not worry about in real life.

“Uh,” he drawls, “Inedible?”

She grins up at him. “Wrong. It is. Try?” She lowers her hand slightly, the berry now in line with his mouth. Blinking, he opens up and bites into the blue thing once she drops it behind his teeth.

Mm… it’s– oh it’s a bit sour. Weirdly meaty despite looking juicy. Tangy aftertaste. Could’ve done better with sweetness.

He nods in approval anyway, gulping the chewed fruit. “Okay.”

“Oh, there’s that another one,” she points excitedly to another berry shrub about ten meters over. Woven container in hand, she makes her way as she glances over her shoulder at him. “It’s edible. I think you’ll like it more than the blue one.”

He watches her figure marching forward. His grey Kaminoan training jacket top clings onto her body protecting her bare arms, having complained about the twigs poking into her skin. He promptly offered the jacket, to which she gratefully and happily accepted, leaving him in a white t-shirt and bottom half of the set. He doesn’t mind poking twigs and low branches – he can always move around and duck under them carefully.

With both hands in his pockets, he follows her. He’s grateful for the shade the trees around them provide. The sun is unforgiving this time in the Coastline – he must’ve gotten here halfway through his eight-hour sleep. Its light pokes through the canopy, creating jumbled leaf-shaped shadows on his exposed skin.

She turns around just in time for him to stop a couple of steps behind her. “Here, try this one.” Grinning, she thrusts another berry in front of his mouth. This one looks promising, judging by the look. It’s deep red with smoother skin, which reflects the peeking sunlight above them. Once again, he lets her feed him and goes to taste his palate. Almost immediately, his eyes widen in pleasant shock.

Oh yeah, now that’s what I’m talking about.

“Sweet. Juicy. You’re right. I like this one,” he remarks, swallowing. He steps around, leaning towards the berry shrub curiously. Their shoulders brush. “Can I have more?”

She giggles, touching his arm fondly. “All you see there is ripe enough to eat. So yeah, help yourself.”

Taking another moment to observe the whole shrub, he finally begins to pick several of the red berries himself.

“How do you say it?” she says suddenly, catching him off-guard that he does a double take.

“What?”

“The name you’ve given me.”

“I heard some starting to call her Sho’cye now! I think there ain’t no other name that fits her!”

Oh, he’s got zip ideas who started it, but he wholeheartedly agrees.

“Sho’cye.”

“Sho’cye.” She tests it multiple times under her breath, her luminous smile growing as she continues to do so. “I love it. I shall be known as Sho’cye now.”

The name, the notion itself is simple, and yet… she loves it. She belongs to the galaxy, associating with none of the planet or system, and perhaps her existence is unknown to any of the species, and yet… she easily accepts the given name. A name in Mandalorian language – the very speech he speaks and blood that flows within. Something that he takes huge pride of. Something that one of his brothers sprouted out of his adoration to the deity. His own grin breaks into his countenance. So simple… and she accepts it.

“An honor,” he says, pride bubbling inside him, “Your name is in Mando’a.”

If it’s even possible, her glowing smile spreads even wider, and a pleasant laughter flows out of her lips – a lush music of nature to his ears. The smile reaches her eyes, sea green pools twinkling in joy among the shadow of the canopy under the sun upon her fair face. Six-Seven sighs contently. Warmth emanates in his chest as he fondly watches the familiar display of joy – it’s like watching one of his brothers celebrating a new name given to his identity. No more numbers. He meets her gaze, locking it daringly. His defenses fall immediately as he bores into the radiant sea green that he’s adored for years, and the warmth in his chest betrays him as it creeps up to his cheekbones to flush his skin red. A huff of laughter escapes him, following the luminous joy. No more namelessness.

Sho’cye. Sho’cye averts his gaze, her softened smile remains as she promptly urges him to continue his forage. Soon, his cupped palm is filled with a handful of shining red berries. Sho’cye offers him the container to put in, and he does so, offering to hold it for her in return as they begin their relaxed pace back towards the beach, snacking on the berries as they go.

“Do you know any Mandalorian language?” she asks, stepping over a tree root poking through the soil.

“I do,” he answers, “Fluent, actually. Second language. After Basic, obviously.”

“Oh.” Sho’cye nods amusedly, having learned of his and the clones’ fast learning ability. She waits until Six-Seven chews into another berry and swallows before following up with, “Did you learn it yourself, or someone taught you?”

“We, uh, we have elective classes for Mando’a. Each of us was given the choice of whether to take it. A good portion of us didn’t. Says it’s a waste of time since they’d rather practicing guns-a-blazin’ instead.” He audibly sighs. “Either way, thanks to the trainers and Prime himself for urging the Kaminoans to add that as a part of our training. Says to give the chance to ourselves to feel at home and embrace our culture since we don’t… really have one. For motivational purposes. Morale.”

They reach the beach, yet Sho’cye, who leads their pace, falls behind and still finds comfort under the tree canopy, so she stays, leaning sideways against one of the trees. It’s hot, anyway. Stepping out into the harsh, beating sun is absolutely the last thing they would do, so he follows suit on the next tree over.

Sho’cye smiles when he offers her the container. “Did the Kaminoans oblige right away?” she continues asking, picking a few berries.

“No,” he shakes his head. Glancing her way, a wry smirk manifests across his lips. “But they know better than to stand in, like, a hundred bounty hunters’ way.”

Sho’cye scoffs, muttering ‘of course’ under her breath. “Are all your trainers Mandalorian?” she asks again.

“Most,” Six-Seven nods, munching on another berry and savoring the juicy sweetness before further explaining, “The original template for the clones is a Mandalorian bounty hunter named Jango Fett. Sometimes we call him Prime. All our trainers are bounty hunters Fett knew. With them overseeing and training us hands-on, we’re expected to be able to match the given physique and stamina, or even surpass them.”

Sho’cye fondly takes the shared information, nodding along. “I’ve known the people of Mandalore as fierce warriors.”

“Yeah. That’s why Fett is ideal. Adaptive. Quick thinking. We clones have possession of his traits in our blood. Plus genome alterations, to bring out the best as needed fit for a war soldier.”

War soldiers. A swift, lightweight realization dawns on him. Of what he is, and thousands of others. Engineered and trained to become the most perfect and obedient army in the galaxy. Submissive. Identical. Practically putting up a sign with ‘nothing interesting here, move along!’ written all over it, spray-painted in red, so nobody would look twice in their direction. They’re all the same. Lab-bred, lab-grown war soldiers. Same training. Same regulatory haircut. Same meal portions. Shared piece of clothes. Shared knowledge. Same routine. Same function. Replaceable. Expendable.

Yet, with the constant, subconscious push to pursue individuality, would they eventually lose the perfect and obedient image their commissioner wants them to be? Becoming oneself, weaving a particular character and building a desired quality by and for themselves, is a daring, uncharted territory to step a foot on. The urge can’t be helped. Stressed call to differ from others, a hundred thousand others. Pressured to contain knowledge of warfare as it continues to stream down the line, acting parched creatures. Demands to live the life of none other than a lab-grown soldier in the soon-to-be greatest organic army throughout the galaxy.

It's tiring. It drains the hell out of them. It’s elusive, yet not stressful. Thanks to behavioral modifications the Kaminoans had been oh so kind to tinker with that they’re capable of withholding more stress than average sentients. Doesn’t mean they can’t feel stress, though. Just means they have a bigger dam to contain the water. Amusingly it also means they’ve got to wonder when its foundations will breach until water sprays harmlessly out of the littlest holes and finest cracks in the walls. Give it time, and it'll transform into a fierce man-made waterfall, its content full of careless output and absent guilt. In the end, it’ll drain and dry, breached foundation and broken steel smelling like decay and moss, leaving a watery disaster in its wake, yet as well as chance.

Chance to fix. Chance to rebuild. To re-strategize. To evaluate. Chance to heal. To see life given yet another chance of growing and recovering out of error and calamity. To see life deserving of peace in its own environment – deserving of rest. A call to flow along the stream. A call to rejuvenate, to see hope after havoc. Not just a glimpse, but the entirety of it. Proper repose to sit back and see the bigger picture in tranquility and a healthier state of mind.

Sho’cye has been present. To give them that tranquility. That peace of mind they so much need. That stability he so much needs. That push of support to navigate through his mundane routine of physical training and theoretical lectures. A sense of calm, like the soft breeze and gentle waves that graze the Coastline.

“You’ve been giving good dreams and good rests to them,” he says, once again earning her undivided attention. “The clones. Think dubbing you with a name is the least they can do. Easier to identify you with. To call you with.” He smiles to himself, recalling the moment he first heard her name mentioned at that particular cardio training session one morning. “Probably coming from a spur of a moment.”

A quiet chuckle underneath a warm smile graces about her. “For the practicality, I believe yes,” she says, gently folding her arms close.

“They are grateful to you,” he presses, meeting her gaze intensely, determination laced in his tone. “Really. We clones stick up to a tight schedule, studying endless protocols and enduring endless training. We’re exhausted. But you’re there in their dreams while they’re asleep, giving the best rest.”

Sho’cye merely smiles at him. A soft one, barely there. Acknowledging the things that thoughtfully tumbled out of his mouth. Represented grateful praises. He catches Sho’cye’s fair cheeks flush with a tinge of pinkish red, and he can’t tell if it’s from the heat or something else.

“Why?” he shoots again, “Why do you care?”

“No one does,” answers Sho’cye after another moment of silence. Her gaze moves downward, hands clasping and bare feet upon grass in her periphery. Meeting his eyes again with powerful intensity, she says, “My dominion grants protection to those who know of my existence, sentients and non-sentients alike.” Compassion sits in her sea green eyes. “Living beings.”

She cares. Because no one does.

Partly untrue, since their trainers actually care about them, overseeing their growth and checking in when the situation allows. Camaraderie in its best sense. It’s funny how the cloning facility in general becomes some kind of a stage play for the clones and their trainers. Goodwill and fond affinity hiding behind masks of superintendent stoicism, reverence, and trust behind compliant habitude. All behind closed doors. Conjoined four walls be the mute witness to their individuality, the room becoming their safe space to express freely. With the reg troopers, yeah. With the command batch is another case, given looser screws to concoct battle plans and sharper analysis of their surrounding, to be able to improvise within the reigns of established protocols.

But here in the Coastline with her…

Open space. Plenty of them, just as much as natural air, blowing and tickling past his skin and his buzzed blond hair. Not recycled air. The weather. The panorama. All differs to the one he grows up seeing. So much vibrant colors with Sho’cye in the middle of it all. Midnight-haired Sho’cye in the midst of tropical palette. The only dark color he’s taken a bit of a liking for himself. How the sun reflects on it and how the wind gently caresses the little pieces that frames her face. That kind smile that offers comfort, and countenance of utter hospitality and warmth. Sho’cye did tell him once that she’d like him to know that here, in his dreams, he’s completely able to loose some screws himself without having to worry about judgement.

He can’t, though. That’s just his programming. And last time he checked, his programming isn’t going to fail him any time soon. The programming frowns upon her constant welcome to be expressive and to quit the soldier’s uptight behavior. The programming also deduces for him that she doesn’t mind with either. Well, he’s trying his best to match her energy (tossing curious questions and gets asked in return, though she asks a lot more than him, genuinely being not knowing to some selective topics that it makes the whole thing kinda silly given she’s practically a god but anyway he indulges them). Seems like the only logical thing to do before he wakes up quite well-rested from his eight-hour sleep.

Her compassion knows no bounds. But then again, he never sees her angry. Don’t think I’d ever want to. He’s been trudging oh so carefully even around their established rapport – the one factor that might make her angry, he hasn’t found. Again, he doesn’t think he’d ever want to. He knows of a few clones, mild and nice on the outside but when something picks the shit outta them, the raw Mandalorian reprisal unleashes. Slow to temper. It’s one trait that, when it’s nearing danger zone, he finds himself gulping in nervousness when faced with, as if something tangible is about to kriffing snap.

Her dedication to actually make sure these clones have proper rest. He hasn’t settled with whether she truly is channeling godly selflessness and sympathy or that she’s planning something. That programming inside him tells him that it’s the latter, but his stomach can’t back him up to answer the why. Sho’cye does it without as much as lifting a finger. If she’s concocting a great plan of her own, either it’s neatly thought out or outrageously simple, it doesn’t show as facial stress lines. What’s visible to him is that she’s helping them out to have enough rest to tackle the next day’s routine with refreshed vigor and determination. Makes him wonder about the selflessness that she’s exhibiting. Though it’s likely a very godly trait (not that he’s read about millions of mythologies across the galaxy), a wary siren whoops inside his head about there might be a catch?.

He clears his throat. “Do we have to believe in you?” He pauses, seemingly to gather his scattered thoughts. “To, uh, have your protection? Concretely speaking.”

“Do you?”

“Me?” He’s taken aback by the returned question and it’s hilariously showing. “I-I do trust you, though.”

“I am aware,” she smiles, exhaling a slow, patient breath. “Trust and belief are two different things.”

Okay, he. He absolutely didn’t expect that one.

Her silence makes him utilize it to a maximum effort of uprooting some honesty amongst the storm of faith conflict that’s been long brewing.

“To be honest, struggling,” he finally mumbles what he hopes is qualified as an answer. Realizing that the past four words just won’t do, he releases a breath and brings himself to continue reciting his mentally written jumbled points, “I mean I do believe in you, but not in a religious sense? I’m aware you’re a deity. But seeing you here, talking with you, feels like talking with a friend rather than with a goddess.” It’s definitely becoming his own chain of thoughts said out loud. He swears there’s a twinkle of mild amusement in her eyes. He continues anyway. “You, taking form as a human. Is that it? Either way. Safe. Friendly. Trustworthy. Nowhere near religiousness. I guess that’s where I am.”

Seems like she’s satisfied enough with his answer. Don’t know why he labels it as satisfaction, but it looks like tension is rolling down her shoulders.

“That is my aim.”

And he’s confident he’ll unravel her abstractness sooner rather than later.

[Content] [Start] [Prev] [Next] [AO3] [Spotify]

Word Count: 3,044

[wedezine]

Mindful Interiors: Steps to a Calm and Serene Living Room

In today’s fast-paced world, a calm and serene living room serves as a personal sanctuary—a space to relax, recharge, and create cherished memories with loved ones. Achieving this sense of tranquility requires intentional interior design choices that prioritize comfort, simplicity, and harmony. Here’s a guide to help you transform your living room into a haven of peace.

1. Select a Tranquil Color Palette

The foundation of a serene living room begins with a calming color scheme. Choose soft, neutral tones such as whites, beiges, greys, or pastel shades like muted blues and greens. These colors create a soothing ambiance and make the space feel light and airy.

Interior Design Tip: For added dimension, incorporate accent pieces like cushions, throws, or rugs in complementary earthy tones or subdued blues. This adds depth without overpowering the serene atmosphere.

2. Embrace Minimalism

A clutter-free space is crucial for achieving a serene look. Opt for minimalist furniture with clean lines and multifunctional features. Keep accessories and decor to a minimum to maintain visual clarity and balance.

Interior Design Tip: Introduce sleek storage solutions like built-in cabinets or stylish woven baskets to discreetly store essentials while enhancing the room’s aesthetic.

3. Prioritize Comfortable Furniture

Comfort is at the heart of a peaceful living room. Invest in cozy, well-designed furniture such as plush sofas, ergonomic armchairs, and soft ottomans. Each piece should be carefully chosen to enhance functionality and comfort.

Interior Design Tip: Choose natural upholstery materials like linen, cotton, or velvet, which not only feel luxurious but also contribute to a warm, inviting vibe.

4. Introduce Natural Elements

Nature-inspired interior design enhances tranquility. Incorporate organic materials like wood, rattan, or bamboo, and add greenery with low-maintenance plants such as peace lilies or pothos.

Interior Design Tip: Place plants in ceramic or terracotta pots for an earthy aesthetic. Pair them with wooden furniture or natural fiber rugs to elevate the organic feel.

5. Optimize Lighting for a Relaxing Atmosphere

Lighting plays a pivotal role in setting the mood of a living room. Use layered lighting by combining ambient, task, and accent lights. Warm-toned LED bulbs, dimmers, and natural light create a soft, serene glow.

Interior Design Tip: Accent the room with candles, lanterns, or fairy lights to enhance coziness. Position light sources to eliminate harsh shadows and create a warm, balanced ambiance.

6. Layer Soft Textures

Textures bring depth and warmth to a living room. Incorporate soft furnishings like woolen rugs, knitted throws, and plush cushions. These elements make the space inviting and tactile.

Interior Design Tip: Experiment by mixing different textures—such as smooth leather, cozy wool, and lightweight linen—for a layered and balanced design.

7. Personalize with Minimal Décor

While simplicity is key, personal touches ensure the room reflects your style. Add carefully curated decor items like framed photos, abstract art, or cherished souvenirs.

Interior Design Tip: Stick to a cohesive theme for your decor to maintain harmony. Opt for pieces that complement your chosen color palette and design style.

8. Design Zones for Relaxation

Use interior design techniques to create functional zones within your living room. A cozy reading nook, a meditation corner, or a dedicated lounging area can transform your space into a multi-functional retreat.

Interior Design Tip: Define zones with area rugs, furniture placement, or lighting. For example, a floor lamp and armchair can mark a reading spot, while a soft rug can anchor a meditation space.

9. Enhance Acoustics for Serenity

A serene space isn’t just visual—it’s auditory. Interior elements like thick curtains, upholstered furniture, and area rugs help absorb noise and improve acoustics.

Interior Design Tip: Add a white noise machine or a Bluetooth speaker to play soothing instrumental music, creating an immersive atmosphere.

10. Infuse Calming Scents

Engage the senses with interior elements that introduce calming aromas. Scented candles, essential oil diffusers, or incense sticks can set the mood with fragrances like lavender, eucalyptus, or sandalwood.

Interior Design Tip: Stick to a single signature scent to avoid overwhelming the senses. Place your chosen scent source near seating areas for maximum effect.

Conclusion

Creating a calm and serene living room is an art that combines thoughtful interior design, comfort, and personal touches. By focusing on soothing colors, natural elements, and minimalist decor, you can design a space that offers tranquility and reflects your unique style.

At WeDezine Studio, we specialize in crafting personalized interiors that merge elegance with serenity. Whether you want to revamp your living room or your entire home, our expert designers in Bangalore can bring your vision to life. Let us help you create a living space that feels like a true sanctuary.

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White and Black Tapestry: A Timeless Decor Trend

Tapestries have long been a cherished form of art, blending function and aesthetics. Among the many designs available, white and black tapestries stand out for their minimalist appeal and versatile style. These pieces can transform any room into a space of sophistication and character while complementing various decor themes.

The Appeal of White and Black Tapestries

The stark contrast of White and Black Tapestry creates a dramatic yet balanced aesthetic, making these tapestries a popular choice for modern and traditional interiors alike. The monochromatic palette adds a sense of elegance and simplicity, allowing the intricate patterns or bold designs to take center stage without overwhelming the room.

This classic combination works well in different settings:

Modern Homes: Clean lines and geometric designs in black and white perfectly match minimalist decor styles.

Bohemian Vibes: Mandalas or abstract patterns add depth to eclectic interiors.

Traditional Spaces: Vintage-inspired tapestries bring timeless charm to any room.

Versatility in Design

White and black tapestries come in various patterns, sizes, and themes, allowing homeowners to find a piece that resonates with their personal style. Common designs include:

Geometric Patterns: Perfect for contemporary or industrial interiors.

Nature Themes: Trees, mountains, or celestial designs bring a calming, natural vibe to the space.

Abstract Art: Adds a creative and modern flair to any wall.

Cultural Motifs: Mandalas, tribal art, or symbols offer a global touch, making the space feel unique and inviting.

Uses of White and Black Tapestries

These tapestries are more than just wall hangings. Their versatility makes them a multifunctional decor element:

Wall Art: A statement piece for living rooms, bedrooms, or offices.

Bedspread or Throw: Adds texture and style to your bedding.

Room Divider: A stylish way to partition open spaces.

Ceiling Cover: For a whimsical, cozy atmosphere.

Tablecloth or Picnic Blanket: A creative touch for gatherings or outdoor adventures.

How to Style a White and Black Tapestry

To make the most of your white and black tapestry, consider the following tips:

Create a Focal Point: Hang it on a prominent wall to draw attention and set the tone for the room.

Pair with Neutral Tones: Complement the monochrome palette with shades of gray, beige, or wood tones for a cohesive look.

Incorporate Texture: Layer it with other materials like faux fur cushions or woven rugs to add depth.

Use Lighting: Highlight the tapestry with warm lighting or spotlights to enhance its design.

Why Choose a White and Black Tapestry?

A Buddhist Wall Tapestry offers a timeless appeal that fits seamlessly into various decor styles. Its ability to blend with neutral or colorful surroundings makes it a long-lasting addition to your home. Beyond aesthetics, these tapestries often tell a story or showcase artistry, giving your space personality and meaning.

 

Whether you’re decorating a new space or refreshing your current decor, a white and black tapestry is an elegant choice. Its versatility, beauty, and functionality make it a decor essential for anyone seeking to add sophistication and charm to their home. Embrace the timeless appeal of monochrome design and let a white and black tapestry transform your space today.

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Combining Black and White Floor Patterns with Contemporary Décor

Black and white floor patterns are timeless, offering a striking contrast that perfectly complements contemporary décor. From geometric designs to bold checkerboards, these patterns can act as a statement piece or provide a versatile backdrop for your modern interiors. Here’s how to seamlessly integrate black and white flooring with your contemporary design style.

Start by choosing the right flooring pattern. Checkerboard tiles are a classic option that can evoke a retro or modern vibe depending on how they’re styled. For a more subtle and sophisticated look, opt for herringbone or chevron patterns in black and white. Geometric designs such as hexagons or diamonds add a touch of visual intrigue and are ideal for minimalist or industrial spaces.

When combining black and white floors with contemporary décor, consider your colour palette. Keep walls neutral to let the flooring shine—white, grey, or even soft beige tones work well. If you prefer a bold approach, an accent wall in a vibrant colour like teal, mustard, or emerald green can create a dramatic contrast while maintaining balance.

Furniture selection plays a crucial role in enhancing the overall aesthetic. Choose sleek, modern furniture with clean lines and minimalist designs. Materials like metal, glass, and polished wood pair beautifully with black and white floors. For added warmth, incorporate natural textures such as woven baskets, jute rugs, or leather chairs.

Layering is key to softening the boldness of black and white flooring. Rugs can help define spaces and add a layer of comfort. Choose rugs with subtle patterns or solid colours that don’t compete with the floor design. Monochromatic or neutral rugs in shades of grey, cream, or taupe can balance the room while maintaining a cohesive look.

Lighting is another important consideration. Use contemporary light fixtures like pendant lights, track lighting, or floor lamps with sleek finishes. Black or chrome accents on lighting fixtures can tie in with the floor pattern, while warm bulbs create a welcoming atmosphere.

Artwork and decorative accents allow for personalization. Black-and-white photography, abstract art, or metallic sculptures enhance the contemporary feel. For a touch of vibrancy, add pops of colour through throw pillows, vases, or books. These accents can be easily updated to refresh the space without altering the flooring.

Black and white floors work well in open-concept spaces. Use them to delineate different areas, such as the kitchen, dining, or living spaces, while maintaining a cohesive aesthetic. In smaller rooms, these patterns can make the space feel larger when paired with strategically placed mirrors.

Maintenance is straightforward with black and white flooring, especially with vinyl or tile options. Regular sweeping and mopping keep the surfaces pristine, while the high-contrast design hides minor scuffs and dirt.

By thoughtfully combining black and white floor patterns with contemporary décor, you can create an interior that is both timeless and modern. This bold flooring choice adds character and sophistication, ensuring your space stands out with style.