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physalian · 11 months ago

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Pacing your Story (Or, How to Avoid the "Suddenly...!")

Arguably *the* most important lesson all writers need to learn, even for those who don’t give a damn about themes and motifs and a moral soap box: How your story is paced, whether it’s a comic book, a children’s chapter book, a doorstopper, a mini series, a movie, or a full-length season of TV (old school style), pacing is everything.

Pacing determines how long the story *feels* regardless of how long it actually is. It can make a 2 hour movie feel like 90 mins or double the time you’re trapped in your seat.

There’s very little I can say about pacing that hasn’t been said before, but I’m here to condense all that’s out there into a less intimidating mouthful to chew.

So: What is pacing?

Pacing is how a story flows, how quickly or slowly the creator moves through and between scenes, how long they spend on setting, narration, conversation, arguments, internal monologues, fight scenes, journey scenes. It’s also how smoothly tone transitions throughout the story. A fantasy adventure jumping around sporadically between meandering boredom, high-octane combat, humor, grief, and romance is exhausting to read, no matter how much effort you put into your characters.

Anyone who says the following is wrong:

Good pacing is always fast/bad pacing is always slow

Pacing means you are 100% consistent throughout the entire story

It doesn’t matter as much so long as you have a compelling story/characters/lore/etc

Now let me explain why in conveniently numbered points:

1. Pacing is not about consistency, it’s about giving the right amount of time to the right pieces of your story

This is not intuitive and it takes a long time to learn. So let’s look at some examples:

Lord of the Rings: The movies trimmed a *lot* from the books that just weren’t adaptable to screen, namely all the tedious details and quite a bit of the worldbuilding that wasn’t critical to the journey of the Fellowship. That said, with some exceptions, the battles are as long as they need to be, along with every monologue, every battle speech. When Helm’s Deep is raging on, we cut away to Merry and Pippin with the Ents to let ourselves breathe, then dive right back in just before it gets boring.

The Hobbit Trilogy: The exact opposite from LotR, stretching one kids book into 3 massive films, stuffing it full of filler, meandering side quests, pointless exposition, drawing out battles and conflicts to silly extremes, then rushing through the actual desolation of Smaug for… some reason.

Die Hard (cause it’s the Holidays y’all!): The actiony-est of action movies with lots of fisticuffs and guns and explosions still leaves time for our hero to breathe, lick his wounds, and build a relationship with the cop on the ground. We constantly cut between the hero and the villains, all sharing the same radio frequency, constantly antsy about what they know and when they’ll find out the rest, and when they’ll discover the hero’s kryptonite.

2. Make every scene you write do at least two things at once

This is also tricky. Making every scene pull double duty should be left to after you’ve written the first draft, otherwise you’ll never write that first draft. Pulling double duty means that if you’re giving exposition, the scene should also reveal something about the character saying it. If you absolutely must write the boring trip from A to B, give some foreshadowing, some thoughtful insight from one of your characters, a little anecdote along the way.

Develop at least two of the following:

The plot

The backstory

The romance/friendships

The lore

The exposition

The setting

The goals of the cast

Doing this extremely well means your readers won’t have any idea you’re doing it until they go back and read it again. If you have two characters sitting and talking exposition at a table, and then those same two characters doing some important task with filler dialogue to break up the narrative… try combining those two scenes and see what happens.

**This is going to be incredibly difficult if you struggle with making your stories longer. I do not. I constantly need to compress my stories. **

3. Not every scene needs to be crucial to the plot, but every scene must say something

I distinguish plot from story like a square vs a rectangle. Plot is just a piece of the tale you want to tell, and some scenes exist just to be funny, or romantic, or mysterious, plot be damned.

What if you’re writing a character study with very little plot? How do you make sure your story isn’t too slow if 60% of the narrative is introspection?

Avoid repeating information the audience already has, unless a reminder is crucial to understanding the scene

This isn’t 1860 anymore. Every detail must serve a purpose. Keep character and setting descriptions down to absolute need-to-know and spread it out like icing on a cake – enough to coat, but not give you a mouthful of whipped sugar and zero cake.

Avoid describing generic daily routines, unless the existence of said routine is out of ordinary for the character, or will be rudely interrupted by chaos. No one cares about them brushing their teeth and doing their hair.

Make sure your characters move, but not too much. E.g. two characters sitting and talking – do humans just stare at each other with their arms lifeless and bodies utterly motionless during conversation? No? Then neither should your characters. Make them gesture, wave, frown, laugh, cross their legs, their arms, shift around to get comfortable, pound the table, roll their eyes, point, shrug, touch their face, their hair, wring their hands, pick at their nails, yawn, stretch, pout, sneer, smirk, click their tongue, clear their throat, sniff/sniffle, tap their fingers/drum, bounce their feet, doodle, fiddle with buttons or jewelry, scratch an itch, touch their weapons/gadgets/phones, check the time, get up and sit back down, move from chair to table top – the list goes on. Bonus points if these are tics that serve to develop your character, like a nervous fiddler, or if one moves a lot and the other doesn’t – what does that say about the both of them? This is where “show don’t tell” really comes into play.

4. Your entire work should not be paced exactly the same

Just like a paragraph should not be filled with sentences of all the same length and syntax. Some beats deserve more or less time than others. Unfortunately, this is unique to every single story and there is no one size fits all.

General guidelines are as follows:

Action scenes should have short paragraphs and lots of movement. Cut all setting details and descriptors, internal monologues, and the like, unless they service the scene.

Journey/travel scenes must pull double or even triple duty. There’s a reason very few movies are marketed as “single take” and those that are don’t waste time on stuff that doesn’t matter. See 1917.

Romantic scenes are entirely up to you. Make it a thousand words, make it ten thousand, but you must advance either the romantic tension, actual movement of the characters, conversation, or intimacy of the relationship.

Don’t let your conversations run wild. If they start to veer off course, stop, boil it down to its essentials, and cut the rest.

When transitioning between slow to faster pacing and back again, it’s also not one size fits all. Maybe it being jarring is the point – it’s as sudden for the characters as it is for the reader. With that said, try to keep the “suddenly”s to a minimum.

5. Pacing and tone go hand in hand

This means that, generally speaking, the tone of your scene changes with the speed of the narrative. As stated above, a jarring tonal shift usually brings with it a jarring pacing shift.

A character might get in a car crash while speeding away from an abusive relationship. A character who thinks they’re safe from a pursuer might be rudely and terrifyingly proven wrong. An exhausting chase might finally relent when sanctuary is found. A quiet dinner might quickly turn romantic with a look, or confession. Someone casually cleaning up might discover evidence of a lie, a theft, an intruder and begin to panic.

Whatever the case may be, a narrative that is all action all the time suffers from lack of meaningful character moments. A narrative that meanders through the character drama often forgets there is a plot they’re supposed to be following.

#writing advice #writing tips #pacing #writing tools

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unabashegirl · 4 months ago

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my best friend's dad | part 1

Y/N and Scarlett Styles are best friends in college. They share everything even their plans for Spring Break. They have a trip to Bahamas planned. Everything takes a turn when Scarlett is unable to fly, and Y/N is forced to coexist and interact with Scarlett's dad.

Author's note: hello everyone, i hope you are all having a lovely night. As promised, here is a two-part one shot. I tried to make it one part, but as I wrote I realized I needed to give more context and build up the tension between Harry and Y/N.

check out my patreon (starting at $2) and get full access to the second part (+4K words) and much more :) thank you beforehand!

word count: 6.9K

warnings: talk about smut

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From the very first day, Y/N had doubts about the career she had chosen to study in college. To be truthful, she had picked journalism because she admired how polished the reporters looked on the news. Her uncertainty vanished the moment she met Scarlett Styles at the end of her freshman year. Meeting Scarlett made it all worthwhile. They met in one of those classes that was just a filler for the syllabus, where no one ever attended and the professor didn’t seem to care, giving everyone the same grade.

Since freshman year, they had been inseparable. Y/N admired Scarlett in many ways. She loved how Scarlett stood up for what she believed was right, fighting with grace and facts. Scarlett influenced Y/N and helped her gain the confidence she lacked. She was much different from her freshman self.

"Alright, what do you think?" Y/N asked as she finished tying the side strings of her bikini bottoms. "Be honest." Y/N had Facetimed Scarlett for the approval of her outfits for their upcoming trip.

"Love it. That's definitely your color. How many are you taking?" Scarlett was in England, having flown back home to see her grandma and meet her youngest cousin before flying to the Caribbean to meet Y/N.

"Ten?" Y/N asked as she wrapped her bathrobe around herself and slipped off the red bikini she had just tried on. "Is that too much?"

"I think that's too little," Scarlett giggled. "I think that's all we’re going to wear for those two weeks."

"Crap," Y/N said, pursing her lips as she looked for more options. "The rest of my bikinis are too skimpy. I might have to buy more."

"Just take those," Scarlett rolled her eyes, looking at her best friend through her phone. "Stop spending money. Your mom is going to have a heart attack when she sees the credit card bill."

"I can't! They're too tiny! Your dad is going to be there," Y/N complained as she held up one of the smallest bikinis. "I want to make a good impression. He’s going to think I’m a whore."

"Please! My dad is probably going to be locked up in the house, designing and drawing. We’re barely going to see him."

"Fine, but you have to stick up for me when he kicks me out of the rental for nudity," Y/N said, laughing along with Scarlett, who knew her father was likely too busy to pay attention to their outfits, even on vacation.

Y/N continued her packing, occasionally glancing at the screen to see Scarlett’s reactions. After sorting through a few more outfits, she plopped down on her bed with a sigh.

"I'm so excited," Y/N said, smiling at Scarlett. "A much-needed break."

"From all the partying," Scarlett laughed. "I'm actually looking forward to some quiet time away from all the nonsense."

"Have you talked to him? Has he texted you?" Y/N asked, referring to Scarlett's boyfriend, Henry. They had a fallout two days before the break when Scarlett told him he couldn’t go to the Bahamas with them.

"He's still giving me the cold shoulder," Scarlett shrugged, trying to act like she wasn't hurt, but Y/N could read her too easily. She could tell Scarlett was hurt and disappointed. "I’m just not ready for him to meet my dad. Why is it so hard for him to understand? He means everything to me. I don't bring every guy I date to meet my dad. It's disrespectful."

Henry and Scarlett had started going out four months ago after meeting at a dorm party.

"His reaction is very childish if you ask me," Y/N said. She could tell that they weren't going to last. Scarlett hated being restrained or forced to do something she didn’t agree with. "He’s your dad. You choose when is the right time to meet him."

"I feel like he's just using the excuse of meeting my dad to tag along on the trip," Scarlett revealed. "Why would he want to meet him when we’ve only just met?" Y/N nodded; she had thought about it too but had refrained from saying it.

"Time will only tell, Scar." Her best friend only nodded. After they hung up, Y/N felt a mixture of excitement and nerves. She finished packing and went straight to bed.

The day of the trip finally arrived. Y/N was getting some much-needed coffee and a snack when she was interrupted by a call from Scarlett.

"I'll never understand why people can be so slow through the TSA—"

"Y/N, please don’t kill me," she interrupted, her voice filled with urgency. Scarlett had a knot in her throat.

"What? What happened?"

"They aren't letting me board the plane. My passport expires in less than six months." She was embarrassed; nothing like this had ever happened to her. Scarlett usually checked everything multiple times. However, the one time she hadn’t was last night. "I've talked with my dad, and he's calling some people, but I'm going to miss my flight and probably the first week of the trip until I can renew it."

Y/N couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice-cold water on her. She was disappointed and felt like crying.

"Y/N? Are you still there?"

"Y-yeah," she cleared her throat, noticing that the barista was calling out to her. It was her turn to order. Y/N stepped aside and allowed the next person to go before her. She was no longer thirsty or hungry. "So, I’m just going to find someone to get my luggage back and go home."

"What? You aren’t going to get on the plane? Why not?"

"What am I going to do without you?"

"Relax, read a book, listen to music, get a tan and a massage, and wait until next week for me to get there. Don’t be silly," Scarlett stated the obvious. She was just calling to let Y/N know the reason for her absence, but that didn’t mean the entire trip was canceled. She was just going to be late.

"I don’t know, Scar…"

"I am not taking no for an answer, Y/N. You spent way too much money on your seat on that plane. You opted out of eating quite a few times just to be able to afford it. My dad is already there, so you won’t be completely alone."

Y/N sighed, feeling torn between her disappointment and Scarlett's insistence. "Okay, you’re right," she finally conceded. “but please hurry up”

“I will. I’ll miss you,” Scarlett replied. “I promise I’ll get on the flight first out as soon as I get my passport sorted. In the meantime, just try to enjoy yourself. It’s the Caribbean, after all.”

Y/N nodded, taking a deep breath, trying to normalize her pulse after the panic attack that she had started having.

“I’ll try my best.”

“That's the spirit. Give my dad a hug for me and have a safe flight. Text me when you land”

“Love you. Bye”

After hanging up, Y/N forced herself to focus on the positive. The trip was a chance to unwind, and she needed to make the best out of it. She ordered her coffee, though her appetite hadn’t quite returned and headed towards her gate.

Y/N boarded the plane and found her seat and after stowing her carry- on, she settled into the window seat, gazing out at the bustling airport below.

Just as she was about to pull out her book, a tall, handsome man appeared beside her. "Looks like I'm your seatmate," he said with a friendly smile, gesturing to the seat next to her.

Y/N smiled back, noticing his warm hazel eyes and easygoing demeanor. "Great, nice to meet you," she replied.

"I'm Anthony," he introduced himself, extending a hand.

“Y/N," she said, shaking his hand. "Nice to meet you too."

As the plane took off, they struck up a conversation. Anthony was friendly and easy to talk to, and Y/N found herself enjoying his company. They talked about their reasons for going to the Bahamas, shared travel stories, and laughed about the little quirks of airplane travel.

"So, what's bringing you to the Bahamas?" Anthony asked after the plane reached cruising altitude.

"I'm meeting a best friend for spring break," Y/N explained. "She got held up with a passport issue, so I’m flying solo for now."

"That’s a bummer," Anthony said sympathetically, “I am also heading there for spring break with some friends. Maybe we’ll run into each other again. What are your plans for the trip?”

“A bit of everything, I guess. Relaxing, exploring and trying out some local food. You?”

“Pretty much the same. We’re staying at a resort, but I’m hoping to see more than just the touristy spots. I’ve heard the local culture is amazing.”

They continued chatting, sharing their interests and dreams. Anthony told her about his job in marketing, his love for surfing, and his plans to travel more. Y/N opened up about her studies, her passion for writing, and her excitement for the upcoming trip.

As the plane began its descent, Anthony turned to her with a smile. “Let me give you my number. In case you ever want to join us”.

"Sure," Y/N said, smiling back. She handed him her phone, and he quickly entered his contact information.

“Feel free to text me if you want to hang out” Anthony said, hanging her phone back. “And if you ever want to try surging. I am your guy”

"I might take you up on that," Y/N said, slipping her phone into her bag.

Once the plane landed, they gathered their belongings and headed towards baggage claim together. "It was really nice meeting you," Y/N said as they reached the terminal.

"You too, Y/N. Have a great time, and hopefully, I’ll see you around."

"Definitely," Y/N replied, giving him a wave as they went their separate ways.

Scarlett had arranged for a driver to pick them up, so after she collected her luggage, she met with him by the exit doors of the airport.

As Y/N exited the bustling airport, she was greeted by a warm, tropical breeze and the vibrant colors of the Bahamas. Her driver, a cheerful man named Marcus, welcomed her with a friendly smile and helped load her luggage into a sleek black SUV. Once she was settled in the backseat, they set off toward the villa where she would be staying with Scarlett’s dad.

The drive began with a stretch through Nassau’s lively streets, brimming with a mix of local culture and tourist attractions. Y/N watched as vendors sold fresh fruits and handmade crafts from colorful stalls, and locals mingled with visitors in an atmosphere buzzing with energy. The smell of jerk chicken and conch fritters wafted through the air, making her stomach rumble in anticipation.

As they left the city behind, the scenery shifted to a more serene landscape. Palm trees lined the roads, their fronds swaying gently in the breeze. The vibrant turquoise waters of the Caribbean Sea came into view, sparkling under the bright midday sun. Y/N marveled at the clarity of the water, so inviting that she could hardly wait to dive in.

They passed through quaint villages with charming pastel-colored houses, each with its own unique character. Children played in the yards, and neighbors chatted over fences, giving the area a warm, community feel. Y/N felt a sense of calm wash over her as they continued along the coastal road.

Y/N nodded, taking mental notes of places to explore once Scarlett arrived. The drive continued, and the road wound through lush tropical forests, alive with the sounds of chirping birds and rustling leaves. The scent of blooming flowers filled the air, adding to the sensory delight.

As they neared the villa, the landscape became even more picturesque. The road led them up a gentle hill, providing breathtaking views of the ocean and the surrounding islands. The sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over everything.

Finally, they arrived at the villa. It was a stunning, two-story retreat perched on a cliff overlooking the sea. The architecture blended modern elegance with tropical charm, featuring large windows, spacious balconies, and a thatched roof. The garden was a paradise of vibrant flowers, exotic plants, and a sparkling infinity pool that seemed to merge with the ocean beyond.

Marcus helped Y/N with her bags and guided her inside. The interior of the villa was just as impressive as the exterior. The open-plan living area was filled with natural light, and decorated in soothing, coastal hues of blue and white. Comfortable, stylish furniture invited relaxation, and the large glass doors opened onto a terrace with panoramic ocean views.

That’s when she heard a heavy British accent say, “she is here. I’ll call you later. Let me know what they say. I love you”

Harry, Scarlett’s dad appeared from upstairs. “You must be Y/N” he said, walking over to her. “I am Harry. Welcome to our little paradise”. To say that Y/N’ was beyond surprised was an understatement. Slightly sunburned from a day in the Caribbean sun, his skin had taken on a warm, reddish hue that only accentuated his natural good looks. He was shirtless, revealing a toned, athletic build, with tattoos peeking from various places on his chest and arms. His swim trunks hung low on his hips, showcasing a casual, relaxed style. Harry’s tousled hair, still damp from a recent swim, fell in soft curls around his face, and he wore a pair of sunglasses that added a touch of mystery to his striking appearance. His easy smile and confident demeanor made him all the more attractive, embodying the perfect blend of laid-back island vibes

She had expected someone older and more conventional, not the youthful, charismatic man before her. He looked far too young to have a college-aged daughter.

“Hi,” Y/N replied, feeling a bit fluster. “Thank you for having me, Mr. Styles. It’s so beautiful here.”

“Call me Harry” He laughed softly, a sound as charming as his smile. “I hope you’ll feel at home”.

As he spoke, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the easy confidence with which he carried himself was undeniably attractive.

She suddenly felt self-conscious, acutely aware of her travel-worn clothes and the fact that she probably smelled like the airplane. She smoothed her hair, hoping she didn't look as tired as she felt.

Harry seemed to sense her unease. "Long flight?" he asked kindly.

"Yeah, a bit," Y/N admitted, feeling a little dirty and disheveled beside him.

"Well, I can imagine you might want to freshen up. Your room has a great view and a nice big bathroom. Why don't you get settled in, and we'll have some lunch out here later?"

"That sounds perfect," Y/N said, grateful for his understanding.

Harry gave her a reassuring nod. "If you need anything, just let me know. Scarlett speaks very highly of you."

"Thank you," Y/N said, touched by his kindness. "I really appreciate it."

As she turned to head to her room, she caught herself glancing back at Harry, who had returned to lounging by the pool. His relaxed posture and the way he effortlessly fit into the tropical surroundings only added to his allure. Y/N shook her head, trying to focus. She was here to enjoy a vacation with her best friend, not get distracted by her best friend's dad, no matter how attractive and intriguing he was.

Once in her room, Y/N took a deep breath and started unpacking. The luxurious surroundings helped her relax, and as she stepped into the shower, she let the cold water wash away the travel grime and her lingering nerves. She knew this trip was going to be full of surprises, and meeting Harry was just the first of many.

After a refreshing shower, Y/N felt revitalized and ready to embrace the beauty of the Bahamas. She rummaged through her suitcase, deciding on an outfit for the evening. With a bit of confidence restored, she picked out a vibrant bikini that Scarlett had convinced her to buy. It was a flattering shade of coral that accentuated her curves and complemented her complexion. The bikini top offered just the right amount of support, enhancing her figure without being too revealing.

She took her time getting ready, applying a light layer of sunscreen and letting her hair dry naturally into soft waves. Y/N gave herself one last approving look in the mirror, feeling much better than she had after the flight. She slipped into a flowy cover-up and grabbed her favorite book before heading downstairs.

As she walked through the villa, she could hear the faint sound of music and the gentle hum of conversation from the terrace. Stepping outside, she saw Harry lounging by the pool, sipping a drink and reading something on his tablet. He looked up as she approached, his eyes widening slightly as he took in her appearance.

“Better?”

Y/N nodded, feeling a rush of warmth feeling embarrassed by her appearance earlier.

“I though I’d take your advice and relax by the pool for a bit.” As she placed her book on the sunbed, just so she could let her cover-up slip off, revealing her bikini. Harry’s appreciative gaze didn’t go unnoticed and she felt a surge of confidence.

“Good” he replied, gesturing to the sunbed next to his. “I hope you applied some sunscreen. The sun here is ruthless”

“I did” She smiled and settled onto the sunbed, feeling the warmth of the sun on her skin. She opened her book, trying to focus on the words, but she couldn't help but steal glances at Harry. He was even more attractive up close, with his sun-kissed skin and the tattoos that peeked out from his swim trunks. The way he effortlessly exuded confidence and charm was captivating.

"Good book?" Harry asked, breaking her reverie.

"Yeah, it is," Y/N said, trying to sound casual. "I’ve been meaning to finish it for a while.”

"What's it about?" he asked, genuinely interested.

"It’s a mystery novel," she explained, holding up the cover for him to see. "Keeps me on my toes.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, the sound of the waves and the tropical breeze creating a soothing backdrop. Y/N felt a sense of contentment she hadn't expected. The rest of their first day was spent by the pool. Harry excused himself after dinner to work. On the other hand Y/N stayed outside to watch the sunset on her own.

“What are you working on?” Y/N asked the next day as she noticed Harry picking up his tablet and stylus.

“Designing a new building” Harry was the owner of an architectural firm. He spent most of his days, leaned over his design table, drawing.

“What kind of building is it?” Y/N said, genuinely impressed.

"It’s a mixed-use development," Harry replied, turning the tablet so she could see the screen. "It’s going to have retail spaces on the lower levels and residential units above. The idea is to create a community where people can live, work, and play all in one place."

Y/N leaned in closer, sliding her sunglasses down, admiring the detailed sketches and blueprints. “What’s your vision for it?”

Harry’s eyes lit up as he began to explain. “The design focuses on sustainability and integrating green spaces. There will be rooftop gardens, lots of natural light, and energy-efficient systems. I’m trying to create something that not only looks good but also feels good to live in.”

Y/N could hear the passion in his voice as he spoke, and she was fascinated by his creativity. “It sounds truly special”

“I hope it is” Harry said, smiling appreciatively.

Y/N watched as Harry continued to draw, the lines and shapes forming into intricate designs under his skilled hand. "How did you get into architecture?"

“I’ve always loved drawing and building things," Harry said, leaning back and gazing at the horizon. “When I was a kid, I’d spend hours with sketchbooks. It just felt natural to pursue architecture. I studied it in college and worked my way up through different firms before starting my own. How about you? What are you majoring in?" Harry asked, his tone genuinely curious.

Y/N frowned slightly, feeling a twinge of disappointment that she didn't share the same passion for her career choice as he did. "Journalism," she replied with a hint of hesitation, her gaze momentarily drifting away. She took a deep breath, feeling a pang of uncertainty as she compared her own career path to Harry's evident passion for architecture.

"It's... it's something I chose because I thought it would be interesting," she admitted, her voice tinged with a mix of honesty and self-reflection. "But lately, I've been feeling like maybe it's not what I'm truly passionate about."

Harry listened attentively, his expression thoughtful. "I understand," he said gently. “It’s okay. You are still young and it takes time to find that passion. Have you though about what inspires you?”

Y/N nodded, grateful for his understanding. "I've always enjoyed writing and telling stories," she admitted. "But I haven't found that one thing that really lights a fire in me, like architecture does for you."

Harry smiled warmly. “Don’t beat yourself up for it. You still got a long way ahead of you and sometimes that passion reveals itself unexpectedly” he said.

Y/N felt a weight lift off her shoulders as she listened to Harry's encouraging words. She realized that she didn't have to have everything figured out right away. This trip, with its new experiences and conversations like this one, was already helping her see things from a different perspective.

After a while, Harry put down his tablet and stretched. "I think it’s time for a swim down at the beach. Care to join me?”

Y/N hesitated for a moment but then nodded. "Sure, why not?"

They made their way through a winding path bordered by lush foliage, leading to a secluded stretch of beach that seemed untouched by the usual tourist crowds. The soft sand greeted their feet as they approached the water's edge, the gentle lapping of the waves creating a soothing soundtrack. Harry glanced around with a smile.

“Breathtaking as always” he remarked, gesturing to the pristine beach.

Y/N nodded in agreement, feeling a sense of tranquility wash over her. The beach was indeed stunning, with its turquoise waters and powdery white sand stretching into the distance. It felt like a hidden paradise, far removed from the hustle and bustle of everyday life.

"I can see why Scarlett loves it here," Y/N said, taking in the beauty of the surroundings.

The next day dawned with a soft, rosy glow creeping over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold. Harry woke before the sun, as was his routine, slipping on his running gear quietly so as not to disturb the peacefulness of the villa. He tiptoed downstairs, the floor cool under his feet, and headed for the front door. As he passed through the living room, he glanced out onto the terrace.

There, on one of the sunbeds, Y/N lay curled up under a blanket, her silhouette softened by the early morning light. She had fallen asleep waiting for the sunrise, her peaceful expression making her look even more serene. Harry couldn't help but smile at the sight, feeling a warmth spread through his chest. He found it endearing

Resisting the urge to wake her, Harry quietly slipped outside and started his jog along the quiet streets. The rhythmic pounding of his footsteps helped clear his mind, but try as he might, thoughts of Y/N kept intruding. He couldn't shake the image of her in that attractive bikini, her laughter echoing in his mind from the day before. It wasn't just her physical beauty that captivated him; it was her warmth, her intelligence, and the easy way they connected.

Feeling a pang of guilt, Harry quickened his pace, pushing himself harder. He hadn't expected to be so affected by Y/N's presence, and he chastised himself for dwelling on thoughts that felt inappropriate given their relationship. He had spent the previous day enjoying her company, sharing stories, and learning about her dreams and ambitions. Yet, now he found himself unable to shake the attraction he felt towards her.

By the time he returned to the villa, the sun was fully risen, casting a bright light over the tropical landscape. Harry took a deep breath, trying to steady his thoughts as he cooled down. He decided to take a cold shower, hoping the shock of cold water would help clear his mind. As he stood under the refreshing spray, he couldn't help but feel ashamed of his inner turmoil. He didn't want to complicate things or make Y/N uncomfortable during their time together.

He just couldn’t get that damn bikini off his mind. The one she had wore the day before. The red color complemented her sun-kissed skin beautifully, accentuating her curves in all the right places. His hand creeped down and grabbed throbbing cock, trying get some release from the torture that he was experiencing. Her confidence and natural grace shone through, making her even more captivating. He admired the way she moved with a relaxed elegance, her laughter and smiles lighting up the surroundings. Every detail, from the way her hair fell in gentle waves to the sparkle in her eyes as she talked animatedly, only added to her allure.

He couldn’t help imagining her naked, under him, moaning, begging for him. Harry though about how deliciously tight and warm she could feel around him. He thought about how she would taste and his mouth water. He didn’t last long. As he allowed the water to wash him off, he couldn’t help feeling ashamed. Ashamed that he was acting like a schoolboy. He was forty-four years old and fantasizing about his daughter's best friend while she slept downstairs.

part 2

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glassrowboat · 8 months ago

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Gas Station. Boothill.

There is no plot here, just porn.

Word count: 500+

Authors note: This is my first smut so fuck if I know if it's any good, you read it and find out.

Warnings: nsfw, male bottoming, fingering that gas thing on boothill's back, slut shaming

He was so cute like this, crying out as those robotic hands clung to the covers. Each little detail of those metallic digits sinking in deeper and deeper to the cloth below, you could swear it was his goal to tear apart. The sound of ripping surely wouldn't surprise you nor would the sight of threads laid out on the mattress Boothill was currently pressing himself against.

Did he honestly believe that some cushions and blankets would make an honest to goodness lifeline when not even his cries for you to slow down were being headed? The cold sting of metal biting your fingers as they flicked over the perfectly polished surface. Aluminum coating as you've learned between his babbles of “cutie, cutie, cutie.”

What a paltry attempt at cussing his little heart out.

“That's a good boy.” The tease was on the tip of your tongue in an instant, coaxing him on, guiding Boothill along just the same way your fingers were in his insides. Feeling along the fuel filler that unsurprisingly reeked. Getting close enough would have anyone believing they were suddenly at a gas station, pumps to their left and right listing out numbers of the last til taken as a man in the distance held a cigarette to his lips. “But I know you can take a little more.”

“Please- I ca-”

He can't? As if. He's done this time and time again, let your fingers fuck his little back side with his cute little ass up in the air. If it wasn't made of metal you'd be tempted to smack it, to toy with the flesh that would be there, to let your teeth sink in and draw out another whine. Another mewl. Another moan. All for your ears as the bed creaked again under Boothill's fist slamming down.

“You said you'd let me take my stress out, was that a lie?” Not even bothering to give him a chance to answer, not even a second for that pretty little head of two toned hair to think, another finger slid into his hole.

Indents, bumps, the little beads that spun round and round with every twitch of your touch all so sensitive. It was enough to make one think you were truly fucking his ass with how Boothill was reacting, head falling down as those measly little groans were barely muffled.

That's what he was trying to do, right?

“I didn't give you permission to muffle your voice, baby.”

“Honey,” he gasped out, the tone in his voice enough for you to know he was trying to say anything but the pet names that came from his lips that were spitting out drool. Saliva on his chin that was reflecting the dim lights that poured in through the closed curtains. “I'm sorry- I-”

“Seems I have to teach you a lesson on top of getting my work day off my mind. You're in for a long night, Boothill. So be a good fuck toy and take it.” What was that thing he seemed to like hearing so much last time? Oh, right. “Or I'll have to tell the other galaxy rangers just how much of a whore you are.”

And just as expected, his back arched at the words, trying to take more of what your touch was offering just like he was supposed to. Oh if only he did this earlier, then you wouldn't have to spend the rest of the night training him to behave.

#boothill #boothill x reader #gn reader #hoyoverse #honkai star rail #honkai sr #hsr #x reader #smut #banner by cafekitsune

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demonslayedher · 4 months ago

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I'd love to hear more of Nakime's thoughts. Like maybe when a couple of Hashira first dropped in she was like, "ew, vermin, don't touch my clean floors" and shut them out instead of leaving them to be potentially consumed by all the demons in there.

And you know those demons were starving with all the lack of activity that the Corp would have detected, so she probably sometimes got sick of their whining and was like, "ugh, fine" and opened doors under random unsuspecting dinners. (Or maybe the filler Castle Demon brought back that woman all tied up because he had a secret deal to sneak food in? Nakime's an Upper Moon now, she probably got to eat that demon as her own snack if he thought he was pulling a fast one on her.)

Since she was watching the Corp members all that time, she probably knows a lot of private information about them. Perhaps she even found entertainment value in it. Perhaps while dealing with ObaMitsu she kept them nearby to play with so she could get something to unfold between them. I don't how I'd draw it, but I'm picturing her smashing dolls together (or at least flopping them around like ragdolls through doorways) and thinking, "now kiss."

Addition:

I assume she gained the ability to track all those Corp members once she had more of Muzan's blood and became an Upper Moon. But prior to that, it stands to reason that she was perfectly content just to be a complex introvert hiding and hiding away, away, away to play her biwa and not be bothered by anybody, and just drop in a snack when she felt like it.

And Muzan was probably annoyed at first, like, 'at least Kyogai is out there trying to do things, what does my other musician think she's doing? I didn't give her immortality just to indulge in the arts' and he pops himself over for a look into her thoughts to lecture her and then sees what she's done with the place and is like, 'oh. Actually. She's got really good decorating sense. This is pretty cozy.'

#kny silliness #nakime #obamitsu #kibutsuji muzan

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grinnames · 22 days ago

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Hai! Just wanna say I LOVEE this AU to death!!! I love the concept, designs, everything! I had a question regarding IGBP: How would the scars translate to SMG4, and more importantly, does IGBP happen in your AU? Also, this is totally voluntary, but how would SMG4 react to a hug from Hexsy? :3 (That's right, bro's getting hugged this time /silly)

Thank you for enjoying my story! I'm still figuring out some of the lore for this AU, and that includes IGBP, so I don't want to spoil too much until I'm ready. SMG4 DOES go through a psychotic break, gets a keyboard, and nearly ruins everything, just like in canon. However, his psychotic break will be for a completely different reason than perfection. I'm thinking that instead of "perfection," it's going to be more about "reclaiming what was lost." (Interpret that how you will!) IGBP is either going to be a turning point in which something truly dark awakens inside SMG4, or he gets some sort of redemption arc.

The one thing I can say for sure is that SMG4 won’t have any physical scars. As the vessel for an eldritch god, he can just regenerate and heal those scars like nothing happened!

As for that hug... (ahem)

Congratulations, you are one of the five many people that asked for a hug! Since so many people asked for a hug from these two, I'm going to later post the drawings of your characters getting their hugs in one big post. I'm just replying so that I don't leave you all hanging! (end filler message)

#ask godbox au #godbox au #smg4 au #godbox smg4 #godbox 4 #the hug saga #the hug saga continues #why #not you too #lore #it's gotta be perfect

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tadpolesonalgae · 8 months ago

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Can’t Bring Myself To Remember You

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: I’ve thought about it a little and I don’t think this adds anything to the story—it really just feels like a trashy filler episode.

word count: 4,173

-Part 14-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

It’s not an unusual occurrence for you to open a book near dusk then pull out of your mental wandering after dark, frequently falling so deep into immersion, so consistently dragged under by lonely curiosity that time itself seems to slip through your soft, tender fingers. A shadow twirls a lock of hair about, a gentle approach so you know he’s there.

Even when his steps don’t subconsciously take on that soundless whisper, it was too often you’d startle at the sound of his voice, almost strangely so, spun around looking slightly flustered. Azriel had always assumed it a side effect of being stolen from your home all that time ago, being thrown about in the ocean of your life, only now beginning to settle back into relative calm.

You turn now, meeting his soft hazel eyes, shadowed by lovely lashes and defined by a strong brow. A mouth that appears so soft your heart aches at the faintly curved edges, appearing so warm and inviting. The steady certainty about the way he moves, so calmly assured of each step, unrushed but quietly determined, driven forward relentlessly by his unfaltering loyalty, the dedication to helping those under his brother’s rule.

A smile pulls your mouth apart, surely gleaming in your eyes, warming your cheeks as you meet his gaze. “What a surprise to see you here,” you say, closing the book silently, balancing the thick and heavy edge on your hip, the leather of its wrapping weighing comfortably into your waist. “Looking for something?”

He smiles, pushing off from the bookcase he’d been leaning against, dark hair flopping over his brow, as soft as silk and looking as warm as fur. How lovely it would be to run your fingers through, gently playing with it like how you would do when you were younger, sat before an open fire in a wobbly line, crafting intricate patterns with your sisters.

“I’ve found it now,” he replies, amusement written clearly across his features, more open than usual, your pulse increasing. His eyes drop away from yours, landing on the book at your hip, nodding to it with a faint smile. “What have you gotten your hands on this time?”

You reciprocate the expression with a little more enthusiasm, almost beaming as you shift the volume to present the cover to him. “It was tucked near the back here,” you explain, eyes darting to the shelf you’d been stood before. “It looked a little forgotten so I had to move some of the others around to get to it. It’s a book on botany, and the different plants that can be found throughout the courts. It’s amazing how such a range can be contained to such a small land mass given the shift in climates.”

His eyes twinkle, and your heart flutters in response, smile broadening a little. “Were there many books in your first home, or did your curiosity come from seeing your father’s study?” He asks, watching you calmly, gaze skating over the beautifully crafted cover of the book appreciatively. “There weren’t as many as there are here, but there were a few I could get my hands on,” you answer honestly. “Elain and I used to flip through the pages to look at the illustrations when we were younger, though they were mostly done in ink so only black and white. Sometimes when we found ones with colour in—there were some wonderful ones. I mean, really so full of colour and shimmery paints they really looked from another world—but we would fold the corners over at the top to show to Feyre later. Then sometimes they’d have diagrams with names underneath that we didn’t yet know how to pronounce, so would fold the corners over at the bottom to ask Nesta later since our mother wouldn’t want to be disturbed. Then later because she wasn’t there.” You come to a stop, lips drawing themselves into a thin line.

“Do you miss her?” He asks quietly, those shadows of his rolling like mist from his back, weighing to the floor to cover the boards in an inky black fog. “I…it’s complicated,” you answer, head dipping as you pull the volume back to your torso, as if it will act as a shield against the complex emotions you have no idea how to articulate. “You have plenty of time to figure it out—should you wish to,” he says gently, and you peer up at him, heart fluttering at the warmth in his eyes. The faint softening at the edges of his wonderful mouth.

You remember to respond, dipping your head in a subdued nod. Tongue swiping over your lips. “Is your…I mean, your mother…?” He blinks those lovely hazel eyes, so filled with swirling colour, and you inwardly cringe, seeing how he shifts to stand more upright, posture more rigid. That sweet curve of his mouth replaced by a polite smile, one he probably knows he should give to keep anyone from feeling bad. “Alive, yes,” he answers, his tone not inviting anymore questions, without being clipped.

Lips pursing into an awkward line, your gaze drops down to the book, to your feet, nodding in confirmation. “I…I’m happy for you,” you say quietly, hoping it’s the right thing and she isn’t a terrible woman. Female. That would be quite awful, if she turned out to be.

Azriel hums lowly, and your throat rolls, toes curling a bit in your shoes. You inhale, managing to look in his vague direction, “how was your day?” It comes out much more muted than you had intended, heat spreading throughout your features as you again dip your head, felled with embarrassment. A moment of silence passes, and you feel like you might crumble into a heap of sand, simply disintegrate right then and there.

But, “good,” he answers, chuckling lowly.

Peeking up nervously, you can make out the slight twinkle in his eyes, the relaxed softness to his mouth, and relief washes through you, crushing and sweeping in its intensity. “Training’s going well,” he continues unprompted, and you perk up more, shifting on your feet, attempting to straighten out your shoulders. “It’s becoming a nice, well-rounded group. Nesta seems to be doing well, too. They all are.”

You manage a smile, drinking in every word, basking in the richness of his voice, imbued with a tinge of royal blue emotion. “Sounds like you’re having fun,” you say, trying to match the mirth of his intonation, how genuine it sounds. You don’t really succeed. “Between the strain of practice and learning, I think they do,” he answers, still smiling faintly, and you pause to take a moment to try and capture what’s different about his features when he’s smiling. The curve beneath his eyes, how his cheeks round a little, the way his lips stretch out and curve. Something about his ears raising a little higher, too.

“Have you ever considered joining?” He asks tentatively, and you freeze up.

“Training?” You manage, forcing down the splutter, cowering at the thought. His features level out, but his eyes remain amused as he nods. “No. I don’t think… It’s not for me,” you stumble through the answer, looking away. Then heat warms your cheeks, embarrassment heating across your chest, meeting his gaze. “Should I be?” You ask, quieter than before, stomach tensing as you pull the book closer to your front.

He shrugs, “only if you’d like to. You might find it enjoyable.”

You manage a tight smile, not knowing what to say without sounding rude, so choosing silence.

“Nesta…she has friends there,” Azriel says hesitantly, and you can feel his gaze on you. “They enjoy reading, too. Maybe it would be good for you to go. Exciting.”

“Really?” You ask, managing to meet his gaze, shifting on your feet as you grip the book tighter. “What sort of things—do you know?”

“I could find out,” he offers, the edges of his irises softer.

But you shake your head, “it’s fine. I’m— I’m happy. Where I am, I mean. As I am.” You dip your head slightly at the awkwardness. Should you be saying something like that with pride? There isn’t much to be proud of. Hardly anything you can say for yourself.

It’s a bit worthless, if you’re honest, to only have that to cling to.

“You are?” He asks, gently.

Your stomach drops through your toes, heart plummeting deeper than the depths of the ocean’s floor. Shifting on your feet. Even he can tell… But you nod, head dipping further as you peer at the ground, heart straining for some reason. “Besides, I love getting to read the things in here,” you manage, clutching the volume a little tighter. “And, I’m not sure Nesta…her friends would be interested in reading encyclopaedias.”

“You don’t know until you try,” he says quietly, matching your level of volume. “Wouldn’t it be nice having more people to talk to about the things you like?”

You shift again on your feet, readjusting your grip on the bound book. “Maybe? I guess…”

“So why not try?” He asks, able to hear the slight smile in his voice, and you want so desperately to look at him. “Just one lesson, or even a few minutes to see what it’s like. The first step is usually the hardest.”

“I don’t know…” you hedge, discomfort lodging itself in your throat; between your ribs. “What are you unsure about?” He asks, leaning up against the bookshelves. You shrug, not meeting his gaze. “I guess…I don’t see the point in it,” you answer reluctantly, quietly. Knowing he won’t like that response.

Sure enough, you can hear the frown in his voice, disapproval sharpening into something bladed, disappointment in your lack of enthusiasm. “You should still try,” he says gently, wings shifting at his back, refolding themselves. But you shake your head, more firmly this time, “I don’t want to intrude. That’s her space that she’s made. I don’t want to contaminate it.”

“You wouldn’t be contaminating it,” he sighs, arms folding casually over his broad chest, and you feel like he’s telling you off for something.

Slightly desperately, you aim to switch topic to something he’ll be willing to move on to. You don’t doubt he could keep you here if he wanted, simply returning to the original topic of conversation, so you have to be careful with your new selection.

“Have you asked Elain if she would join?” You ask, not meeting his gaze.

You feel his pause, heart beating a little harder in the hopes he’ll go along with it. The irony of you being the one to bring her up isn’t lost on you—after you’ve wanted a conversation free of her for some time now. So it’s just the two of you, even for one discussion.

“Elain?” He asks, bemusedly, and you nod. “Do you think she’d be interested?”

“You thought I might be. Why not her?” You reply, wincing at your tone. Shifting again on your feet. But instead of tense silence, he chuckles faintly. “I understand the two of you are sisters, but you’re very different from one another.”

Your eyes close briefly, allowing no more than a moment for the condemnation to sink through you.

You’re nothing like Elain, and he can see that clear as day.

So you smile faintly, trying to bring some life into it. “Just a thought.”

———

It had felt like being tossed to the grimy, half-rotten wooden boards of the old hut in there.

They hadn’t bothered with chains—you were human, what could you do against them?

Strange, magic, powerful creatures, hewn from nature herself. Like gazing upon perfect marble sculptures and wishing for their cold grace, sacrificing flesh and blood for stone-cold immortality.

It’s strange how distorting panic can be. How acutely aware of the smallest hairs rising on mostly bare legs, yet forgetting the faces of the fae who’d thrown you into the deep dark of the cell. Warm bodies pressing tight to one another in the dim light of the stone cell, trembling hands gripping one another, grown out nails inadvertently scraping. Shaky breaths misting in the damp, winter deep air.

Few words had been traded in the perpetual night, a cold, spindly hand passing meals into the room through some method of magic. It had been good. Cold and plain yet disgustingly pleasant.

The first time Feyre had returned from Prythian and eaten human food she had gagged, it was unforgettable seeing how she’d changed. Such a small moment with such vast implications. Having then sampled the food, likely the worst of the worst of their own pallet, you could understand the insufficiency.

It doesn’t matter now though. Not now you’re trapped, locked away from the light.

Unknown time passes, and you never hear them coming. Like the night you’d been removed, they come on silent feet, utterly predatory and entirely invincible.

He’d appeared then, sat on a throne constructed of what you think vaguely reminds you human remains—long, stretching bones bound together to be sat upon, forced to serve long after death, condemned to relentless work, never to be lain to rest. The King you’ve been warned about.

At your side Nesta stiffens, observing something you can’t, struggling to remain alert after the numbing darkness of the cell. The strange isolation that had been enforced upon you despite company.

Even to human senses, the smell of blood is apparent, stark and piercing in the barren throne room. Though everything is secondary to the dooming thrum of pressure coming from the dais. Even the lives around you fade into something lesser when confronted with the concentration of Everything before you—a culmination of everything that has ever happened and everything that ever will across the four-dimensional planes, universes stretching and thinned, brought together before the Cauldron that sits, hunched on the stone floor. Watching. Observing. Waiting.

Words jumble from the king’s mouth, but you doubt even Nesta is entirely listening, not with the white-knuckled grip she has on you and Elain, pulled taut together, bound tighter than you’ve ever been before, a refusal to release one another. Even as numbing pain sets in, you don’t try to escape, each of you understanding the aches of the grip are small safeties, reminders you still exist with one another.

Grey-blue eyes catch yours across the hall, wide and fearful as they gaze upon the three of you. The youngest, yet the strongest. The strongest of your sisters, yet maybe the weakest in the room beyond yourselves. The power imbalance so stark the world tilts a little, as if nodding its head sadly in agreement.

Awareness is dunked over you like taking an icy bath, coming to in time to hear the damning words that have your heart jittering in your chest. Lurching and fumbling with fear.

“Who is the youngest, over there?”

And like a moth drawn to flame, your terrified eyes lock with his, singled out as a knowing smile tilts the King’s lips. “You.”

It’s a new terror, you understand. Being noticed by a being so incomprehensibly greater. How to rationalise and understand the fear in the fleeting seconds that tick faster and faster with each blink of your eyes. How time falls flat, and eventually pulls apart as a guard’s hand rips you clean from your sisters, a snarl of rage only adding to the ringing buzz that glistens though your ears, feet fumbling numbly over the cobbles, cracked and jagged in places.

The world fades in and out of focus as ice prickles from beneath your skin, at once hot and at once freezing the skin from your flesh, so cold it will start peeling back at any second, shedding until you disintegrate onto the floor. You’re helpless as you’re pushed onto the dais, far too close to the prowling beast of the Cauldron to ever come away. Even if they released you, the understanding is clear to you it would not allow the escape.

Noises break through the lilting haze of your world, vision clearing enough to pick out the wide, hellish eyes of your oldest sister, the conflict of terror and undeniable rage that blazes away in full view, and you wonder how she can sustain it. How she can muster up an emotion so overpowering your attention is pulled away from the Cauldron. From the King, and Queens.

Her teeth gleam in a snarl directed to the male atop the throne, and you wish for even an ember to take root in your soul. The inadequacies of your own self rising to the surface like bodies buried in muddy land.

“Put her in.”

Every muscle strings taut in your body, jaw nearly breaking itself from pressure, nearly vomiting the food you’d been given from squeezing your stomach in, every part of your being inherently recoiling from the eerily calm pool of black water before you, so still it looks like glass, contained in metal that reeks of something that should not be touched. Even borne witness to.

You’re lofted into the air, unable to so much as kick, terror taking control of your body, feeling as though you’re freshly dead, held stiff by catatonic shock while breath still whispers from your lips. Screams are choked back by the tightness in your throat, lungs burning with cries that would surely curdle blood, piercing shrieks that might at least serve to deafen their keen hearing.

But their large, spindly hands release you, and you slide into the yawning mouth. Gaping, and grinning.

Ice-cold water shocks your system, and you sink like a stone into the liquid. Sinking. Sinking. Sinking.

Dropping through the barriers of the realm. Falling off the edge of the world.

You drop further than possible, and nightmares resurface. Of rivers that swell and break their banks, flooding wetlands and tearing livestock from their home in the torrents of the winter melt. Rain lashing down day after day, heart pounding in your chest, hoping the rising water will never reach the already shaky beams of your rotting hut. In those night terrors there’s no escaping the rising tides, the currents gripping your ankles as you’re snatched from your feet, dragged away and under, swallowed whole and torn from your family in the blink of an eye.

Liquid like mercury surrounds you whole, submerged in the quicksilver of the Cauldron’s contents, dredging up long forgotten memories as though your life is passing before your eyes. Laying on the floor of your father’s study, flipping through books on food, plants, fauna and flora. There had been one nightmarish creature that had always stuck with you, lurking in the depths of your mind no matter what comforts Elain had provided, nor the goofy drawings Feyre had done in attempts to reduce the terror, nor the reasoning that such a small creature whose home was the deepest, murkiest parts of the sea would ever be able to find you.

And yet the Cauldron seems to seek it out specifically, conjuring the memory of the slimy pale blue paint that had been used, the ink that sharpened razor like teeth, the small spot of white on the page that illuminated the fish’s grotesque features.

Like an angler fish, you can’t help but feel now, sunken so far below, sucked in a whirlpool to the bottom of the Cauldron, that its icy surface had been the light, the power rolling from its dark metal the warm glow, and you’d been thrown toward it.

Now past the shredding ring of teeth, cast into its stomach.

The inky water pushes at your lips, squirming at your squeezed-shut eyes, wriggling like icy maggots trying to crawl beneath your skin, to worm their way inside and infest. It seems impossible to hold them out—everything had come from the Cauldron, how were you supposed to barricade yourself against that which you’d been born of?

You pull as tight as you can, wrapping in on yourself as blood recoils from your extremities, all you can salvage of yourself pulling taut and compact, stitched closer than rock, squeezed denser than ice that’s had centuries to compress. Air has long since lost its value among your turned around preservation instincts. Air is a pathway in, and you fear its intrusion with a conviction that spears deeper than any fear of death.

But the Cauldron is a prime creator, second you suppose only to the Mother, and has no concern for time.

No matter how long you keep it out for, minutes, hours, days, years, time is endless and stretching, a new metric confined to the swirling depths of horror contained within its malice-imbued metal. No matter how long you keep yourself walled off, hibernating deep within the parts of yourself you hadn’t even known existed, it waits just outside, prowling, circling, slowly squeezing and constricting. Until like even ice, or rock, you’ll split open. Pressure so steep it could cleave universes.

Even after the walls you’ve hidden behind, the only things keeping out the idle swirl of pure, liquid power, it’s not enough. Everything will fall to time, eroded and grated down to dust beneath the relentless drip of ticking seconds.

Your mind feels too numb to register as it creeps in, cold and deadening as it spreads calmly throughout your blood, filling you up from the inside out, infusing into your skin—numbed from slumber. Creeping and contaminating with cold, needle slim fingers, rearranging and knitting pieces together than should not be joined within a mortal.

It holds you with a familiarity that’s at once startling and reassuring, a puppet returned to the puppeteer, a dress returned to the seamstress, a splintered leg returned to the carpenter. All of them at once, without the care of a mother for her child. Cold and analytical, examining its past creation, exploring its functions with harsh fingers. Peeling back your skin, then your flesh, then your skull, retrieving the centre of your thoughts to discover your foundations.

Wishes and desires, tucked away secrets even you’ve forgotten, passing thoughts unworthy of being voiced, wants that deserved to be spoken but tied down by your tongue. Its ladle scoops you out, hollowing your mind and stomach, dipping a spoon into soup to retrieve a mouthful, except this space will be replaced with something else. Something to push the bounds of humanity and transform you into the sharp-featured creatures who had taken what scraps of your world had remained.

Something with the tremendous strike of lightening but worse fills the empty pockets it’s made. Capable of burning like the blazing rage contained within quicksilver eyes. Something slower. More insidious. You aren’t made for brute force, so a more subtle route will have to be afforded.

Like it had selected the nightmarish memories, so does it haul up the secret wishes. The wants so desperate they have heat kicking back against the icy touch of the Cauldron’s waters. To blaze like Nesta, to protect like Feyre, to soothe like Elain. But more.

A use.

If not a warrior, then a blade to be harnessed.

The Cauldron plucks the desire from your bones, and your body slumps. Skin without its stuffing, a heart without its thump. You could swear you feel it smile as it finds what it’s looking for, now conjuring up its match. The piece to fill the void it’s created by removing the wish, replaced with something sturdier, to lift your body to immortality.

With each possibility the prices rise steeper, and yet you no longer recoil.

The craving to have something—something entirely new, something entirely your own taking control of your mind and soul, driving you forward. How deeply you yearn to be someone with possessions that are your own. Not passed down, nor borrowed or shared, but your own. Something only you can have.

The desire is so acute you feel salty wetness push out from beneath closed eyelids.

To be sought after. Craved. Pursued.

Valued, treasured, fought for.

To have something that made you become both desired and capable of protection.

The cost would always be irrelevant for an offer like that.

Down to your roots, clipped at the foundations, an entirely human desire to be wanted. At whatever price, the yearning so innate and so acute your heart aches within the cage of your ribs. It runs deeper than a want, or a wish, or a need. So inherent to your ideal that now you’ve discovered its existence, returning without it would be a new death with every second, every breath drawn taking you further apart from the moment your could’ve had it.

The Cauldron smiles, dangling it before you, quietly hiding away what it’s already taken, not giving you a chance to consider what you will lose.

And with a still human heart, your soft, trembling fingers pluck the glowing green star from the inky darkness. Fooled by inexperience.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya

#cbmthy #cbmtry

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aet-tsu · 5 months ago

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What do you mean I'm obsessed with Mammon 👁️👁️?

I have a passion to do a lot of doodles of the demons. I made a note where I wrote every demons I already drew. Anyway here's a post filler cause we enter a new arc. The "art block" episodes. Hope you are ready for me being absent for a while 😎 love on yall.

Post scriptum : Thank you deeply for all you support from my last post. I really appreciate it and I have no words to tell you how it helps me.

Sometimes it happens that an art you did really wasn't the one you expect to do. So I was very disappointed by the results.

I'm glad that from another perspective. People seemed to like and send me that much support. I don't usually talk knowing some will read. So I really mean you all were helpful. Thank you again for all your support. I'm glad I found in whb a community I feel good. I wish to keep going in those silly demons (and angels) drawings.

#what in hell is bad #whb #whb mc #whb mammon #whb oc #whb leviathan #whb belial #whb sitri #whb dantalian

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bradshawsbitch · 1 year ago

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‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎↠ 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 - ⅸ ↞

⁘ bradley bradshaw, the notoriously ill mannered head chef at the small franchise pub down the street, is quite content with his fast paced job. no commitments or obligations outside of his kingdom of sharp knives, pots, pans, prep work and a shot of jäger after a double. that is until a new waitress is hired, and suddenly his strict and rigid rules of no obligations or commitments starts to waver. . .

› pairing; bradley bradshaw x f!reader

word count; ~ 3.2K

× chapter warnings; swearing, see general story warnings, mature content, mentions of food

disclaimer; first of all, thank you!! for being so understanding and amazing about this story. i am so overwhelmed with love for all of you who keep being excited about my surly chef, even after all this time. second of all, i am sorry for it having been an 'all this time' - your support means everything to me. thank you again ❤

this chapter was super hard for me to write, which is why it's a little shorter, and perhaps more of a filler and a thank you to my readers. please be aware that the prose may be a little rusty as i am slowly getting back into writing again ❤

tagging some people who i know have waited; @roosterforme @hangmanssunnies @mak-32 @laracrofted @pisupsala @cherrycola27 @gretagerwigsmuse @seresinsweetie @ryebecca @lewmagoo

otherwise you can follow @bradshawsbitch-library and turn on notifications ❤

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Soft little sighs, muffled by muted green sheets fill the room as rays of the morning sun turns harsher the higher it rises in the sky. Noon is approaching, unbeknownst to the two laying still in bed. A Monday, which for many means the start of a new week, gone is the restful weekend and labor is nigh. For the two forms in bed though, the pace of mere mortals were not applicable. A waitress and a chef could sleep in, for their holy day was indeed Monday. Most restaurants were closed, or very slow come Monday - which gave those weary souls a day to rest.

Turning slowly, the woman burrow deeper into the sheets, a small smile tugging on the corners of her lips as she heard Bradley’s soft, sleepy grunt as his arms tightened around her naked midsection. He hasn’t awoken yet, and neither had you, not fully at least. Sleepy eyes were slow to open, blinking rapidly to adjust to the light that surrounds the two of you.

Waking up next to Rooster’s warm form sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. Seeing the way his eyelashes flutter, the way his lips are ever so slightly parted - his cupid’s bow defined so prettily beneath that lovely facial hair of his… the way freckles dot along the bridge of his nose… tan skin so beautiful, ridges, freckles and spots that adorn his skin. Sleepily, you let your finger trace over those shapely shoulders, where, much like the stars the freckles dot all the more frequently.

“Bambi…” Rooster grunts, voice raspy and breathless - the mere mention of your nickname makes those fluttery wings of butterflies flap helplessly within your chest. His hold on you tightens again, drawing you in towards his chest. One arm embraces your form soothingly, as the other gently tucks your head into his chest, a large thigh suddenly nudging its way in between yours to rest. This position he also adjusts, letting the hand that had rested in its embrace slide slowly down past your bottom, ghosting over your thigh before gripping just above your knee - drawing it up high on his thigh.

A content sigh leaves his lips as his thumb draws soothing circles on the bare skin that’s still in his firm hold, pleased with how he’s molded you into his form. You fit quite nicely here, he reflects as you start to place small kisses against Bradley’s sternum - he’s warm from sleep, radiating calm and safety as he holds you near.

“Getting enough air in there, sweets?” he rumbles after a few moments of your face buried in the dip between his pecs, lips ghosting over his sternum every now and then. Nodding, you let out a soft ‘mhm’ in reply as you trace your hands over the ridges of his hips and waist, gently letting yourself explore his adonis belt and lower abdomen.

Bradley lets out the softest of noises, a choked moan that seems to catch in the back of his throat as his pubic hair tickles the back of your hand as you leave feather light touches closer and closer to where he needs you. His grip on you has tightened, and his nose and lips are pressed tight against your hair where he inhales deeply. His palm is flexing, tensing and kneading where his palm is spread on your thigh - he hesitates for only a short moment before he uses his strength to pull your leg further over his hip.

A small gasp and a pathetic whine slips past your lips as your lower body joins where your hand had been exploring just seconds ago. Drawing your hand back, you feverishly grasp at Bradley’s neck, shuffling to tilt your head back up to catch his lips with yours, your body fluid and ever moving against his large form. Pressing, pushing, pulling– the leg Rooster had pulled closer now draws him in to you, the whole length of your naked body pressed against his sturdy one.

“Fuck, Bambi…” he groans as you grip the short hair at the nape of his neck before your lips chase his, you whine again as Rooster’s palm slides up to grip the flesh of your ass, kneading and grinding you against his hardening cock.

“Bradley!” you gasp as you feel his warm, soft skin run along your sensitive clit. Another whimper leaves you, clinging on to his shoulders, drawing him in with all the strength your sore muscles can muster. You need to be closer, need to have him surrounding you in every sense. Bradley hums deep in his chest as his lips stray from yours to leave chaste kisses along your neck, his hot tongue laving over points he discovered you were responsive to yesterday.

Bradley’s hand drifts from your waist, up to tease at your nipple, pinching, pulling gently before letting his palm envelop your flesh, kneading and drawing out soft little moans from you before he traces his fingers down your stomach, down to where you’re rutting against his upper thigh.

“What’s my needy little baby want, hm?” his raspy morning voice reverberates in your ears, and as he speaks he lets the rough pad of his index finger press against your clit, slowly drawing languid circles in time with your desperate movements.

“Need you…” you whine, frustrated that he thought now was a good time to tease you. His soft chuckle in response draws the least intimidating little growl out of you, and Bradley can only smile as he places a soft kiss to your lips

“Relax,” he whispers “we’ve got all the time in the world, sweetheart,” as he says this, a single thick finger gently eases back and forth over your slick folds before pushing inside. Bradley slowly moves in and out of you, lips attached to the junction of your neck and shoulder, drawing small moans out of you as he works you open for him.

If yesterday had been frantic and explosive, today Bradley was savoring you. He wanted to memorize every sound you made, every move of your body as it reacted to his touch, every mewl of his name falling from parted lips. As he worked three fingers into you, he could hear your breathing pick up slightly, your grip on his bicep tightening and loosening rapidly, and he couldn’t help the smirk that grew against your salty skin.

“You gon’ cum for me, sweet little Bambs?” he muttered, and you could only nod as your moans turned high pitched, Rooster never slowing or altering his movements as your body shook against his own as you tipped over the edge on his fingers. Bradley moaned low at the sight of you.

“Look like a fuckin’ angel cumming on my fingers…” he murmured “Fuck, darling, you make me so fuckin’ hard.”

Pulling his fingers out of you, he used your slick to coat his cock, languidly stroking himself as you came down from your first high. Panting, you nudged your nose against his, lips connecting in a fleeting kiss before you felt the nudge of his swollen tip against your puffy entrance. “Please,” you whispered softly against his lips, fleetingly catching a glimpse of those amber eyes. They were so intense, but you couldn’t look away if your life depended on it.

At that first gentle push, your breath stuttered against Bradley’s parted lips. His cock was slowly inching into you, and even if he’d made a point to carefully prepare you for him, that initial stretch felt otherworldly - had he been this big yesterday too?

Grunting, Bradley’s eyes fluttered shut. Gripping his bicep, you inhaled sharply, pressing your forehead against his as he stilled. “You alright, baby?” he murmured, his hand moving to soothe up and down your back, making your chest flutter with emotion.

“Yeah- just… were you this big last night?” you moaned, and Rooster couldn’t help the small laugh that left him, before he reached up to cup your cheek. Moving away a little, he let his adoring gaze roam over your face. The cute scrunch of your nose, the thin sheen of sweat making you glow, eyes alight with lust and… Bradley blinked, taking in the way your chest heaved, the way his body was molded against yours, your warmth and your trust - it made him dizzy.

“More… please, Bradley,” your voice was soft, and you slowly moved closer to his chest, nuzzling your face into his neck where your lips flitted over the skin of his throat, along the long line that went across it, up to his jaw and back down to gently suckle at the skin near his collarbones.

Letting his strong arms wrap around you, Bradley moved against you, one hand slowly ghosting over your skin to grip your thigh as his cock slid deeper and deeper into your core, finally bottoming out as he gently pushed at the small of your back to tilt your hips just right. Small little noises reverberated against his warm skin, and he felt your lips leave wet traces as you occupied your mouth with his neck and shoulders.

“You okay, Cookie?” he murmurs against your ear as he rocks his hips slightly against you. The soft mewl you let out fills his chest with pride, and something like a fierce need to protect you, to make sure you’re taken care of.

“So good, Roos’” the words were slightly slurred against the naked skin of his shoulder, and he grunted softly as he yet again used his strength to form your body against his. His large palm resumed their hold right above your knee, drawing it upwards as he pressed your bottom down against himself. Almost as if he was rocking your body against his instead of the other way around.

“Sound so pretty for me, darlin’” Bradley murmured, gently nudging your chin with his nose, lips hovering over your skin - he needed you to look at him. Needed to see the way those sweet eyes betrayed adoration, betrayed lust and need and want and… trust. He needed to see how much you depended upon him - how you’d given yourself to him to cherish.

As with every other thing, you were so responsive to him. To his voice, touch - it was dizzying, truly. Your glittering eyes held his, and he moaned low in his throat as he felt the way you squeezed him as you caught sight of his face. He could feel his heartrate picking up, could feel the way his breath were coming in shorter bursts, and it fucking turned him on to no end that that drew the softest of little mewls from you - made your brows pinch in that cute little needy fashion he’d noticed only once yesterday.

“You okay, my little Bambs?” he murmured softly, letting his lips brush against yours lovingly “I’m so okay,” you whispered against him, your hands slowly running across his muscled chest, nails leaving soft little tendrils of pleasure as they went.

“You’re so beautiful,” Rooster confessed breathlessly, grunting softly at the end as his cock slid, if possible, even deeper into your heat - as your hips started rutting against his movements. The soft moan of his name made him groan, fucking into you more languidly - slow, steady and deep. The hand that wasn’t gripping your thigh, keeping it hitched high over his hip, returned to squeeze and knead at the flesh of your breast. Fuck, he loved your tits. Loved your body, loved– his breath hitched in his throat, heart almost doing fucking double time…

Blinking, he let out a shuddering breath before letting his mouth leave a wet trail down your throat, before his lips enclosed on your nipple, his tongue teasing and flicking against the nub. At the sensation of Bradley’s hot tongue on your sensitive breasts, you let out a high pitched moan, pushing your chest against Bradley’s face as your hands flew to his curls, gripping tight as you panted wildly. You were so sensitive, and Bradley’s cock was stretching you, pulling and pushing so so slow - and yet he made it feel so fucking good. You could almost feel every ridge and vein as the drag of his cock made wetness drip from your core, down his length, making a mess of his pubic hair… He was fucking you so incredibly, right there in his bed, that you’d both shared that night.

You cried out his name again, ending almost on a sob as he pushed his cock deep inside just as he let his lips latch on to your flesh, giving it a heady suckle - his facial hair scratching just hard enough to bring tears to your eyes from the pleasurable sensation. That pressure was building again, deep in your core, building and getting more and more tense. He was everywhere, just like you’d wanted. Filling you, tasting you, gripping you… his smell was surrounding you, the feel of his hair, the warmth of his body, his sweat glowing like a halo around his body in the morning sun as the muscles in his back rippled and moved.

“Bradley!” you sobbed pathetically, clawing and clinging to him, he must have felt how close you were. Your pussy was pulsing around his thick dick, your arousal dripping down his balls at this point. He was grunting and moaning against your flesh, and you desperately tried to rut your hips, needing more, more more– but he kept his slow, deep pace. His cock barely left your cunt before he pushed deep, each stroke of his cock hitting that spot that you hadn’t been sure if it existed or not.

“That’s it, baby,” Bradley’s voice sounded wrecked and broken as he released your now glistening nipple. “Can feel you squeezing my dick,” he sounded almost smug - you hated that it almost turned you on. His large hand was still palming at your tit as he nipped and kissed gently at your jaw, your hands still tugging desperately on his hair.

“N-need more,” you gasped, pleading with him as you looked down on him. Those amber eyes of his were shadowed by heady lust, and he just smirked softly before shaking his head ever so slightly “No,” he muttered, kissing your chin as you cried out, the tears that had burned behind your lids slowly running down your cheeks.

“Fuck,” he gasped, his cock twitching deep within your pussy “so pretty, darling, crying for more of my cock,” he whispered, you couldn’t do more than nod and keen, letting out small cries and whimpers as you felt your core clench around him harder, chasing that high so desperately.

“You’ll cum from this, baby.” he rasped “You don’t need more.” he decided- It felt like he was cradling your body in his hands, molding and shaping, pushing, pulling, playing with you as if you were only made for him. And he was right. As he spoke those words, a shocked gasp tore through your throat as you cried and sobbed, white hot pleasure rolling through your body in waves as you shook and shook, convulsing slightly with every thrust that Bradley’s swollen tip hit that sensitive spot deep within your core.

“Fuck–” Bradley moaned loudly, “atta girl,” he praised, voice breaking slightly as your hips rolled and shook in his hold “Fuck, Bambi- I’m gon’...” his chest rose and fell rapidly, his shoulders and back muscles rippling as he fought to hang on to see you through your high, not sure if he could–

“Cum in me,” you whined softly, needing him. Needing him everywhere. At those words, Bradley shattered. He couldn’t hold on if his life depended upon it. With a long, low moan of your name, his hips stuttered, once twice, stilling deep within you as he gasped and his warm release filled you, over and over as his cock pulsated through his high.

“Jesus, darling…” Bradley gasped and moaned low as your cunt throbbed around his still hard dick, milking him of the last of his orgasm. “So good… so fuckin’ beautiful… soft ‘n pretty,” he was murmuring now, kissing his pretty words into the skin of your chest. He finally released his grip on your thigh, palms gently smoothing over the area, ghosting over your skin as his strong arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you close to him as you both caught your breaths.

“Bradley,” you murmured lovingly, nuzzling into his warmth, it was hard to describe how you were feeling - but it felt weird. Good, but a little jarring. You’d never experienced sex in this fashion before - not entirely sure you’d even experienced any other partner giving you two orgasms, let alone while they were actually inside of you. Your heart was fluttering fast and hard, and the tears that had run down your cheeks had all but dried, but it felt as if the high was lingering - clouding your mind and making you feel so utterly vulnerable.

Perhaps he could sense it, perhaps he could hear it in the smallness of your voice, but slowly he’d ushered you to rest against the broad expanse of his chest as he softly shushed and murmured against your skin. “You’re alright, darlin’ - did so good.” in the fluffy state your mind was in, you hadn’t really gathered that you were whimpering and making noises as Bradley held you.

“There you are, baby… you’re alright, you’re safe - I’ve got you honey… fuck - that was incredible… you’re incredible,” he let out a small laugh as his strong hands moved up and down your spine, the other gently stroking over your hair as he murmured praise and soft words of encouragement in your ear. Tilting your head back, you took in the tenderness of his brown eyes, and you smiled softly up at him.

“That’s it, there’s my beautiful Bambi,” Rooster murmured before placing a small kiss on your nose. “Gave unsteady legs a new meanin’ huh?” he rasped, grinning as you swatted at his chest, although you couldn’t help the amused smile that stretched on your lips.

“Do we have to get up?” you murmured, pouting softly at the thought of leaving this heavenly moment. You didn’t want to walk out into the harshness, the cold, the bitter. You wanted to stay here, in Bradley’s arms where everything was okay, everything was safe and covered in a thick layer of fluffy soft clouds.

“Not right now,” Bradley murmured against the top of your head “I have to get up to cook you something of substance to eat in a while, but you don’t have to worry your pretty little head about that just yet,” he smiled, placing a reassuring kiss against your hair. You smiled softly at the thought, a content sigh making your form rise and fall gently in his hold.

“You never stop working, do you?” you teased.

“Well, hate to break it to ya, Bambs - but people will unfortunately always need to eat,” rolling your eyes, you felt the head chef had earned another light slap against his chest - the only answer was a rumbling sort of laughter that made his chest vibrate slightly against your touch.

“And cooking for you isn’t a job,” he said casually “it’s something I love doing.”

For some reason, those small words sent a strong wave of emotion through your body, awakening the flutters of butterfly wings again. This time they were not only contained to your stomach, but seemed to flutter and spread warmth and overwhelming, nearly suffocating emotions all through your body. Choked up, you merely squeezed Bradley as tight as your muscles would allow it before offering him the most sincere

“Thank you.”

#mise en place series #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #rooster x you #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fics #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster imagine

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