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bussyslayer333 · 2 years

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it’s all about you

summary: 4 times Jake thought about marrying you and the 1 time he did.

pairing: jake seresin x girlfriend!reader

word count: 5.9k

warnings: allusions to smut throughout, mentions of alcohol, swearing, jake being whipped!! MDNI 18+

“Cookies or Brownies?” you hum, rifling through your kitchen cupboards.

“Cookies, we’re not monsters babe.” Jake replies seriously from where he’s stood behind you, checking out your ass.

You snap back up with a cheer and the brown sugar you were looking for in tow. Jake quickly diverts his gaze in favour of not getting caught and decides that your fridge magnets are suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

His intense inspection of the little windmill stuck to your fridge has you snorting, quickly turned into a squeal when Jake pats your behind with a little more force than intended.

“Jake!”

“What?” He spins around as if to look for someone else who could have committed the offending action.

“You’re stupid.” You giggle, jutting your hip out to hit his own.

Jake reciprocates the action before finally picking up a wooden spoon and smacking it against his palm loudly.

“Where do you need me chef?”

“Fold the butter into the brown sugar,” you instruct, “softly.”

Jake rolls his eyes purposefully obnoxiously and sighs loudly, “I know.”

“Don’t make me remind you of cupcake gate.”

Jake’s attitude drops, “we agreed not to bring that up.”

“I play petty Seresin, now fold. Gently.” You sass.

Jake chuckles at your demeanour and gets to work, following your orders to complete the cookie dough.

Once complete and set to chill in the freezer, Jake goes to leave the kitchen but instead watches on in amusement as you pace around anxiously. After your third rearrangement of the trinkets on the window sill he interrupts.

“Babe, what are you doing?”

You sigh dramatically and throw yourself into his arms.

“I’m nervous.”

Jake snorts, “why?”

You pull back from where you face was smushed into his chest and pout, “don’t be mean. I’m scared they won’t like my cookies. Or me, for that matter.”

Jake’s thumb strokes absentmindedly over your cheek in an act of comfort.

“All kids like cookies. Fact.” He states, “and they’re gonna love you because they love me and I love you.”

“I don’t want to be their uncle Jake’s lame girlfriend who makes bad cookies.” You bite at your pushed out lip.

“You won’t be, now let’s bake these suckers.”

Jake pats your ass playfully as you bend down to retrieve the cookie dough.

“Put the oven on.” You order.

Jake mock salutes, “yes, chef.”

You run through about ten outfits before finally settling on what to wear, and as you brush through your hair once more, the doorbell goes.

You can hear Jake and his sister talking downstairs as well as the excited giggles of his nieces. When you finally descend the stairs Jake’s sister is smiling up at you.

“It’s great to see you again!” She gives you a one armed hug, the other holding the girls backpacks.

“You too!” You look down to where the girls are holding on to each of Jake’s hands, “and it’s great to meet you girls!”

The younger of the two immediately leaps forward and grabs onto your hand, “I’m Ellie, you’re pretty,” she singsongs.

You bend down and wipe at a smudge on her face, “Not as pretty as you!”

Ellie giggles determinedly and turns back to her mom to smile.

“Ellie, Olive, be good okay?” Jake’s sister nods her head to the two girls before looking back up to the two of you, “and thank you for looking after them on such short notice.”

Jake rolls his eyes, “you know it’s fine, now go have fun.”

“Thank you!” She smiles before kissing the girls on the heads and making her exit.

You look back down to the girls, Ellie is still clinging onto your hand with a smitten look on her face. Her golden curls are kept in two pigtails with small scrunchies. She’s adorable and can’t be older than 5.

When you avert your gaze to Olive, she seems to blush slightly. She is partially hidden by Jake’s large frame but you can still make out her blue eyes and long, mousy brown hair. She looks much older than Ellie, probably about 9 or 10. Much more reserved as well.

“It’s nice to meet you Olive!” You beam.

She nods in your direction, “hi.” It’s almost a whisper but you smile in acknowledgement anyways.

“Jakey I’m hungryyyyy,” Ellie drags out the “e” sound of her Y.

“Well that won’t do will it, Ellie bellie?” Jake teases, dropping Olive’s hand in favour of scooping Ellie up into his arms.

Olive chuckles awkwardly at the commotion and fiddles with the straps of her bag as Jake carries Ellie towards the kitchen where the cookies are almost finished. You can sense a small amount of anxiety radiating off of her, you were similar at that age. Never quite feeling in place. It suddenly becomes your duty to make sure she understands it’s okay.

“I love your hair, it’s so long!” You smile comfortingly at her, reaching out to fiddle with the ends.

She leans more into your touch and speaks quietly, “thank you, I- sometimes I think it’s kind of boring.” She shrugs.

“It’s really beautiful! I wish I could grow my hair that long,” you hum, inspecting the completely undamaged strands of hair.

Olive smiles up at you, “I just wish I could do more hairstyles with it.”

“I could braid it for you? If you would like that of course?”

“I would really like that,” Olive nods.

She lets you lead her upstairs where you sit her in front of your vanity with all your hair and makeup products. You watch fondly as she “oohs” and “ahhs” at the products on display.

“Tell me if I hurt you at all okay?” You question as you brush out her mostly untangled hair.

Olive nods in understanding, “can you do two french braids?”

“Of course!”

You sit in silence for a few moments as you brush and part her hair. You can feel her gaze on you from the mirror.

“You okay?” You hum.

“You’re really pretty, y’know? Way more than Uncle Jake.”

Her words make you giggle, “Your Uncle Jake is very handsome, why else would I be with him?” you tease.

She snorts, “I figured it wasn’t because he was clever.”

You try not to laugh too loud at her quip and bite your lip, “he has his moments.”

Olive rolls her eyes and mumbles “sure” and once calmed from your laughter you’re able to start on the first of the braids and talk to her more.

“How’s school?” You question absentmindedly.

“It’s okay,” she answers. Olive opens her mouth again as if to say something else, before closing it again.

“You can tell me,” you affirm.

“Promise you won’t tell Uncle Jake?” She asks.

“Pinky.”

She quickly intertwines her little finger with yours before beginning.

“There’s this boy,” she blushes as she sees a grin spread across your face, “he sits next to me when we do science, and he’s really cute.”

“What’s his name?” You ask, trying to keep your face neutral.

“Trey. But I don’t even think he knows my name.” She sighs.

“I’m sure he does, Olive, especially if he sits next to you.” You reassure her.

“I mean he only really talks to me to ask for help, but one time he told me he really liked my shoes.” She gushes.

“That’s a good sign Olive,” you confirm, “if a boy likes you he’ll make sure to compliment you, don’t settle for a boy who doesn’t make you feel special, promise me?”

Olive nods diligently, “promise.”

You make a little “aha” noise as you finish with the first braid and begin to move onto the second.

“Did Uncle Jake do that?” She ponders.

“Hmm?”

“Make you feel special?”

You nod your head as your fingers move nimbly through her hair, “he asked me out five times before I said yes.” you giggle in remembrance.

“Five?” Olive chuckles.

You’re not quite sure how to explain to Jake’s niece that you thought he was something of the manwhore before he finally professed his feelings for you.

“I wanted to know that he was committed,” you decide on.

“Uncle Jake really loves you. I heard him on the phone to my mom yesterday and-”

“Stop spilling all my secrets would ya?” Jake quickly interrupts, butting the door open with his foot.

Ellie is propped on his right side holding a plate of what you can assume are your cookies. She and Jake had long gone through the sheets of her My Little Pony colouring book and had decided to come find the two of you and share the cookies that were quickly depleting.

Olive giggles, “sorry Uncle Jake.”

“It’s okay kid,” he grins and plops Ellie down on your bed before coming to stand behind you. He wraps his arms around your waist and pecks you on the lips quickly.

Olive and Ellie both pull faces and Jake laughs, “I thought that’s what you wanted to do to Trey, Ollie?”

Olive gasps, “how do you know? And no I do not!”

Jake taps the side of his nose teasingly. You roll your eyes and quickly finish off her braid, flipping them over her shoulders.

“Done.” You pat her head and hope her anger will diffuse.

“Thank you,” she smiles brightly at you, but returns to shooting daggers at Jake just shortly after.

“Cookies?” He offers up as a peace offering.

Olive still keeps up her impressive pout.

“I made them babe don’t worry,” you provide.

“Well in that case,” Olive reaches for a cookie and takes a hefty bite, her eyes widen considerably, “these are so good!”

“Thank you!” You smile, brushing at the crumbs that had accumulated on her cheeks.

“These are the best cookies ever!” Ellie proclaims from where she is now chowing down on another cookie.

“Hey! I thought we said no more?” Jake frowns in faux anger, plopping down on the bed next to Ellie.

“You said that, not me!” Ellie giggles.

“You got me there, bellie.” Jake sighs in defeat.

Ellie throws herself into Jake’s arms and gives her best puppy dog eyes.

“Can we watch a movie?” She pleads.

“You wanna watch a movie, kid?” Jake pokes Olive.

Olive looks to you and you smile, “Yeah,” she nods.

An hour later, you’re all squished onto the couch watching Frozen. Ellie is long past waking up and is spread out across the “L” part of the couch snoring quietly.

You’re tucked into Jake’s side and he’s fiddling with your hand, he hasn’t been watching the screen at all. Instead, watching your features and the way Olive will point out her favourite parts and songs to you. He particularly enjoys her version of “fixer upper” which he presumed might be dedicated to him. He enjoys even more so when by the time the film ends the way that Olive is dozing off on your shoulder and the way you’re stroking softly at her arm.

“They love you,” he coos into your ear.

“I’m glad,” you hum, “I really love them.”

“Olive is never like that with anyone, she’s usually so shy.” Jake explains, placing a kiss at your temple and then tucking your head under his chin.

“I was like that too when I was her age.” You murmur as to not wake the girls, “I hope she knows how special she is.”

“You’re gonna be such a good mom someday,” he whispers down at you.

“I hope so.”

Jake had been waiting for what felt like hours. It was five minutes really. But when you had told him to go wait in the car he had expected you to be out much sooner than you were. And when you finally sat down next to him, he wasn’t all too pleased.

“Let’s go.” You hum, pulling down the mirror to apply a final layer of lip gloss.

“Is that what you’re wearing?”

“Yeah, why?” You turn, a crease forming in your brow.

Jake winces, unsure of whether to continue, “your skirt, it’s really short.”

“I guess so.” You deadpan.

A beat passes.

“Are you going to cover up?”

Jake watches as your face drops.

“Why would I do that?” You reply snappily.

Jake sighs and begins to pull his car out of the driveway.

“Because I don’t want random guys hitting on you all night.”

“How is that my problem?” You retort, anger bubbling up.

“I just don’t want them getting wrong ideas about you, that’s all.” Jake tries to reason.

“And what would those ideas be, Jake?”

Jake can sense your rising anger. He doesn’t want to be in an argument with you by the time you reach the Hard Deck. That leaves him approximately four minutes to diffuse the situation he has caused.

“Just forget I said anything, it’s fine.” Jake dismisses.

“No, I want to know what you mean.” You assert, arms coming up to cross over your chest.

“Can we just drop it?” Jake sighs after a moment, “I don’t want to fight in front of everyone.”

“We wouldn’t have to fight if you weren’t being a dick!”

Jake rolls his eyes and doesn’t dignify you with a response, angering you even further. When he finally pulls into a spot outside of the Hard Deck you turn to him and flick at his shirt that can’t have more than two buttons done up.

“You gonna do that up sweetheart? Touch revealing don’t ya think?” You spit snarkily.

With that you slam the door to the car and make your way inside without looking back. Jake watches as you beeline for Natasha and rolls his eyes when she shoots him a dirty look. It was only more ammunition for her general distaste of him.

It goes like that for the rest of the night. You avoid Jake like the plague, sticking to Nat’s side mostly near the bar top. Although, you always stay within Jake’s line of sight which is heartening for him.

Bradley seems to find the ordeal hilarious.

“What did you do to piss her off this time?” He taunts.

Jake grunts. “I told her that her skirt was too short and that she needed to change.”

Bradley’s eyes widen, “bagman even I know you’re not supposed to say shit like that.”

“Yeah, well I know that now!” Jake spits.

“Hey don’t shoot the messenger,” Bradley rolls his eyes, “just go say sorry.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“She called me a dick.” Jake huffs.

“She’s not wrong,” Bradley offers.

Jake stays silent.

“You’re so petty.”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

Bradley and Jake stare at one another for a moment.

“Yeah, okay maybe,” Jake relents.

He sighs and averts his gaze back where you’re sat with Nat. You’re laughing so hard at something she’s said that you’re doubled over. You really did look beautiful, and Jake hadn’t even told you because he was too worried he was gonna get jealous and be a dick. Yet he still managed to do the last part.

“I hate when you’re right,” Jake admits, handing his beer over to Bradley.

Jake begins to make his way over to you, he’s going to apologise. However, he did not account for what was going to be quite the persistent obstacle.

“Hey,” a voice blurts from in front of him.

Jake catches sight of the owner of the voice, she’s tall and just a touch too blonde to be believable. She’s pretty, sure. But not you.

“Hey,” Jake replies absentmindedly, trying to make his way around her.

She steps in front of him again, blocking you from his view and tries to start up a new conversation.

“I’m Kendra, and you are?” She smiles in what Jake supposes was seduction.

Right now all he’s really trying to figure out is if your still at the bar or not.

“Jake.” He replies, hoping it will satiate her enough to move.

“Well Jake, it is great to meet you,” Kendra hums, sticking out her hand for Jake to shake.

Jake shakes it swiftly and goes to retract his hand, Kendra keeps it in her own grasp and plays with his fingers, keeping an awkward amount of eye contact with him.

“Look Kendra, I’m sure you’re a great girl but my-”

“I love your shirt!” She interrupts, “would probably love what’s underneath more.”

Jake cringes at her line and at the way her hand is now currently moving towards the excessive amount of chest exposed by his lowly buttons. Before she can reach skin, her hand is smacked away by red polished nails that Jake would recognise anywhere.

“Hey baby,” you whisper, before throwing your arms around Jake’s neck and smashing your lips into his.

Jake is all too quick to reciprocate, letting his hands fall to your ass only just covered by the tiny skirt that Jake has suddenly taken a distinct liking to. You pull back only to catch your breath, but instead catch sight of the seething blonde still stood uncomfortably close.

“We were talking!” She insists.

“He’s busy,” you cock your head to the side in faux apology, “sorry.”

She huffs and mumbles “crazy bitch” as she storms off, you pout to try and hold in your giggles. When you turn back to Jake, it proves useless trying to hold them in when you catch sight of his mouth smothered in your pink lipgloss.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Jake breathes out.

“I’m still mad at you,” you tease.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m a jealous dick, you just look so fucking good I didn’t want anyone else to see you.” Jake explains, hands caressing at the skin at the tops of your thighs.

You snort, “I think I’m the jealous one,”

“Good, I like a change of pace sometimes,” Jake pinches softly at your skin and lets a smile grace his feature at the way you squeak.

“Should we get out of here?” You whisper, hand trailing down Jake’s chest to where his hand is resting on you.

You guide his hand underneath your skirt slowly until Jake realises the lack of barrier between his hand and your cunt.

“Fuck, baby.” Jake hums practically into your mouth from how closely you two are stood.

You step away from him swiftly and bring his hand back into yours, pulling him towards the parking lot. Jake could cry from happiness.

“If this is stupid you can just tell me, okay?” You ask from where you’re stood in front of a blindfolded Jake.

It’s his birthday today and you told him you had a surprise. He figured it would be a party, which he was thankful for but he couldn’t understand the point of the blindfold.

“Okay you can take it off now.” You instruct.

Jake all but rips the blindfold off and looks down at you to take in your attire.

“Jesus, baby.”

“Do you like it?” You question, giving him a little spin.

Jake’s mouth is agape as he watches the way you twirl, clad in the tiniest daisy dukes he thinks he’s ever seen and what can only be his flannel. The cream of your cowboy boots are subtle and suit you well.

“Like it?” Jake steps forward and shoves his hands into the small back pockets of your shorts, “I fuckin’ love it.”

Behind you, Jake can see his Stetson placed on the table, and behind that he can see into the garden where all of his friends are already drinking and chatting.

“You set this up, baby?” He nods to the glass doors.

“I had some help,” you shrug, finally moving out of his grip to grab his hat.

Jake extends his hand out for you to pass it to him, but is pleasantly surprised when you place it on your own head. He opens his mouth to speak, but your catch him before he can with a wink,

“I know the rule, cowboy.” You tease, placing your hand on his chest. “Consider it a birthday gift.”

Jake holds back a groan as you drag him outside to where he’s greeted by a chorus of “happy birthday”s and various other jokes about him getting old. It sort of shocks Jake at the amount of people there to celebrate, and he has to hold in a chuckle as he sees a number of your friends already beelining for the group of pilots nursing beers on the decking.

Bradley is quick to find Jake as the party gets into full swing, people chatting and music playing throughout the yard.

“You’re one lucky son of a bitch,” Bradley chuckles slapping Jake on the shoulder.

Jake has been staring at you for the last 10 minutes as you twirl around with Phoenix to the varied 2000s songs that have been on loop for most of the evening.

“Don’t I know it,” Jake boasts, clinking his beer bottle against Bradley’s.

You can feel a gaze on your back as you grind onto Phoenix whilst Nelly Furtado plays, not to your shock it’s Jake, head cocked to the side with a lazy smirk on his face whilst practically ignoring everything Bradley is saying to him. You can only giggle as Phoenix makes a teasing remark about him being whipped. She wasn’t wrong.

You make you way towards the boys slowly, smiling as you catch the end of their conversation.

“Whatcha talking about?” You goad, as Jake pulls you back against his chest already.

“You.” Bradley answers truthfully.

“All bad I suppose?” You bait.

“Oh the worst,” Jake fills in, pinching at the meat of your thigh playfully.

Deciding not to prod further, you turn in Jake’s grip to face him and plant a sloppy kiss on his face. It makes Jake laugh and Bradley mock gag, rolling his eyes and making his way towards Phoenix. Jake captures your lips with his a few more times, hands wandering dangerously low towards your ass before you pull away with a wink, and also slight fear of traumatising your guests.

“Patience is a virtue,” you remind Jake, he simply groans in response.

The rest of the night goes as such, Jake gets cornered into conversations, his eyes wander to you, you tease him some way or the other, Jake is left half hard whilst talking to an admiral. It’s uncomfortably delicious and Jake cannot wait for his last birthday gift.

At 1:30 AM, the only stragglers left are the dagger squad, drunkenly swaying around Jake’s backyard and singing horrific variations of “Slow Ride” to annoy him. It doesn’t even work, because Jake knows he has something so sweet waiting for him. However, his patience is wearing thin and considering these are the people closest to him, he has no qualms with speaking his mind.

“Alright, y’all time to get going,” he announces, herding everyone out.

Bob had been kind enough to offer to drive everyone home, and Jake was keen to take him up on it, helping Bob strap in their drunk friends with alarming efficiency.

“Hey! What’s the rush birthday boy?” Javy slurs as Jake buckles his seatbelt.

“He wants birthday sex!” Nat whisper shouts into Javy’s ear, with emphasis on the shout.

The truck erupts in whoops and crude hollers towards Jake and only Bob can offer him an apologetic smile.

“Good luck,” Jake pats Bob on the back.

“You too.” Bob replies with a laugh, eyes glancing quickly to where you’re stood on the porch, hip popped out against one of the wooden beams.

Jake all but sprints back to you, hauling you up into his arms, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist. You move to place his stetson on his own head, but Jake stops you.

“Nuh-uh sweetheart, you ride the cowboy, you gotta wear the hat.” He smirks, kicking the front door shut behind him.

“Seems fair.” You hum after a moment.

And when Jake walks into the changing rooms on Monday morning, taking off his shirt to reveal hideous claw marks down his back. No one bats an eye.

Jake had experienced what one could only describe as a clusterfuck of a day.

To start off the day, his alarm hadn’t gone off, meaning he had to sprint to his car and run a red light on the way to work. What was worse than the impending ticket that he was going to receive was the fact that he hadn’t even been able to kiss you goodbye like he does every morning.

It set him up badly. Jake Seresin was never one for superstitions but you were clearly his lucky charm. Proved so even further by the way his concentration was lacking in the flight simulations he was running. Then when they were up in the air, Jake was missing every opportunity to shoot down Maverick, messing up every manoeuvre and just generally souring his already damp mood.

To top it all off, the pièce de résistance, when Jake finally made it back to the changing rooms, itching to change out of his sweaty flight suit. His bag was sat open, clothes sopping wet whilst two of the newbies stood guiltily next to a broken shower head.

He almost blew his lid. Almost. But then he pictured getting back to you, falling into your arms after this tragic day and finally being able to relax. So for once, Jake decided to keep his mouth shut. He picked up his sopping bag and silently stalked out of the room.

When Jake reached his truck and listened to the way his bag squelched as he set it down, he held in another groan of frustration. The sun was still beating down and his sweaty flight suit was clinging to him in all the wrong places. Deep breath in, clench the steering wheel too hard, deep breath out. It was a 15 minute drive. He could do that for God’s sake.

Jake’s 15 minute drive quickly became a 45 minute one when he found out the road he was supposed to be taking was closed due to a burst pipe. The sky was a dusky purple as he finally pulled up outside your house. Jake can see that the light is on in the kitchen as well as your figure moving around languidly.

Jake slams the car door probably too loudly and rushes to the door. When he opens it, Jake is greeted with the loud sounds of your 90s playlist blasting throughout the house, he can hear you voice - although somewhat out of tune - belting along as well.

It makes him smile, for the first time on that horrid day. Jake’s bag of damp clothes are forgotten by the door as he quickly shucks himself of his boots and makes his way towards the kitchen. He opens the door to the sight of you wiggling your hips to Santana whilst holding a spatula and pushing around some type of stir fry.

You continue your movements, but turn at the sound of someone entering, a large smile gracing your face once you realise who it is.

“Hey, handsome,” you preen, dancing your way towards him.

Jake can’t help but chuckle at you movements, but he quickly falls limp once your wrap your arms around his neck. His large arms wrap around your waist tightly, engulfing you in him. You take note of Jake’s subdued demeanour, and raise one of your hands to scratch at the hair at his neck just like you know he loves.

“You okay, babe?” you hum, swaying him slightly.

“Shit day,” he groans out, leaning further into your touch.

“You wanna talk about it?” You continue your ministrations.

“Later.” He huffs, “Just wanna be with you.”

Jake’s sweet words make you melt into him further, burying your face into his chest. The arms of his flight suit were tied around his waist, only his tight black undershirt covering the expanse of his chest. He smelt like a combination of jet fuel, sweat and his cologne that he’d hurriedly sprayed in the morning. It should probably be off putting but it was so undeniably Jake that it was addictive. You inhale again as you place a chaste kiss against his pec.

“Are you sniffing me?” Jake chuckles.

“You smell so good,” you can only groan out, smushing your face into him again.

Jake leans back and takes your face in his hands,

“I’ve not even showered, I stink,” he chuckles incredulously.

“You still smell so good,” you whine, lips forming a pout.

“That means we’re meant to be or something, my pheromones get you going huh?” Jake teases.

“Never say pheromones again,” you roll your eyes and wiggle out of his grip to lower the heat under the pan you were searing the food in.

Jake follows you diligently, arms wrapping around your waist so he can cling to you as you move about the kitchen. Once bored of your movements, Jake swiftly lifts you up to sit at the counter top.

“Jake!” You swat at his chest, “we need to plate up the food,” you remind him.

“It can wait,” he decides, leaning in to connect his lips to yours.

It’s what he’d been waiting for all day. The pillow of your lips on his, the way you melt into his touch. One strong hand caressing the side of your face and the other gripping at your hip. You rest one hand on his chest, the other at the back of his neck, guiding his face to yours over and over again. Jake feels like a teenager again, making out with his girlfriend on the kitchen counter top. Except his 16 year old self would probably lose his mind trying to figure out how he ended up with someone like you.

Once you’d let Jake’s tongue explore your mouth in a kiss that had lasted far too long, you finally pull back to catch your breath.

“You want food?” you question with a smile.

“Please,” Jake hums as you hop off the counter. He smacks at your ass you walk away from him, “I’m starving.”

You roll your eyes fondly, and get to plating up the food. Jake isn’t too keen on letting you out of his grip, so you sit in his lap as you eat, feeding him and yourself at the same time. It’s nice, his strong grip is comforting and Jake appreciates how eager you are to listen to his rant about his shitty day.

“I was missing you all day, baby,” Jake murmurs, kissing at the side of your neck.

“I always miss you, Jake,” you smile earnestly, “now go shower and I’ll wash the plates.”

Jake allows you out of his grip so you can stand and move back around the kitchen, he shadows you once again, moving in tandem with his hands never leaving you.

“I thought you were going to shower?” You question, placing the last dish in the dishwasher.

“I don’t wanna leave you,” he whines.

You sigh, holding in your smirk as you turn to face him. “You wanna shower together?”

Jake has never looked so giddy as he practically races up the stairs, shirt flying off as he climbs the steps.

“You’re insatiable!” You yell after him.

“Only for you!” He yells in return.

“I’ve thought a lot about what I could say right now,” Jake clears his throat.

He’s not nervous. In fact he doesn’t think anything has ever been so clear in his mind.

“I think usually when people do these things they tell memories or defining moments about their relationship, but the truth is. Every goddamn moment since I met you, I knew this was the only possible outcome.”

Jake looks down to where your sat with your shared friends and family, you look like a dream really. He’d been antsy about not seeing your dress, but now he was glad he’d waited.

“Y’know she turned me down five times before finally agreeing to go out with me?” Jake chuckles into the mic he’s holding.

Laughter rings out through the guests but Jake’s gaze never wavers from you. You’re rolling your eyes at him with a smile on your face, letting out a giggle as Jake’s mom squeezes your hand.

“I don’t blame her, I was kind of a mess. I’d just been stationed back here on North Island, and Javy was my only friend because I was a dick.”

The dagger squad, raise their glasses in a cheers to Jake’s statement, cracking the room up again.

“I never thought Rooster would be sat at my table at my wedding, I’ll admit that.” Jake laughs out.

Bradley in return whoops and raises a hand in salute to Jake.

“He’s single by the way ladies,” Jake winks to your elderly grandmother.

“Anyways, as I was saying, total dick, with a lacking moral compass and even more so in my emotions. I was kind of betting on getting the mission done and going back to wherever the hell I was stationed and moving on. Then I ended up pissing off the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen by pouring a drink down her shirt, and she chewed me out worse than any admiral I’d ever crossed.”

“It was expensive!” You quickly yell out in defence.

“As you can see, I’m still making up for it,” Jake teases, “but from that moment onwards I realised I needed to get my act together. My pea brain was shocked that a woman would cuss me out like that, and I immediately fell in love with her. Which probably makes me sound crazy but seriously, being around you for five minutes makes you want to be a better person, and being around you for this long has made me a better man.”

Jake’s smile can only widen when your glossy eyes meet his, “Rooster once told me I was a lucky son of a bitch to have you, and as annoyingly as always. He was right. I don’t know how or why you agreed to be my girlfriend, and it’s a godsent miracle that I get to call you my wife. You’re the best person in every room - sorry everyone - and the most beautiful person always. I love you, which you already know, but I just wanted to say it again,” Jake exhales.

Jake raises his glass in a final toast, “to my beautiful wife, the new Mrs Seresin.”

Glasses clink around the room and Jake almost misses you beelining for him throughout all the commotion. Your arms wrap swiftly around his neck, pulling his lips against yours. You kiss him softly, before pulling back to whisper to him,

“You know I love you so fucking much right?”

“Of course I do, baby,” Jake hums.

“You’re the best man I know,” you smile, leaning in to his lips again.

Jake dips you as you kiss, feeding off of the theatrics as people holler. People are standing and moving towards the dance floor as he brings you back up, forehead pressed against your own.

“Do you know how hot it is that you’re my wife?” He smirks.

“Mrs Seresin does have a nice ring to it,” you decide.

“The best, actually,” Jake replies, as he’s dragged towards the dance floor by Javy.

a/n: jake is so husband coded it’s not even funny,,, like THAT IS MY MAN!!!!

@roosterforme ages ago we were talking and you asked me to tag you when i posted my jake fic, sorry it’s been eons hehe i hope you enjoy!!

pls comment, reblog, or send me an ask and tell me what you think!!

thank you for reading :))

- honey <333

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kitchenwitchtingss · 1 year

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50 KITCHEN WITCH TIPS TO MAKE YOU FEEL MORE WITCHY

(And other useful things I've learned over the years)

Hi! This is a list of dos, don'ts, tips, tricks, and other fun things that I've learned over the years. I always love finding more effective and efficient ways of doing things so if you have any cool things you'd like to add, leave them in the comments or reblog. I'd love to read it.

Anyways... On with the list ^_^

Light candles around your kitchen space (just make sure nothing flammable is near you)

Annotate your cookbooks with the correspondence of the ingredients.

Mediating is really good to calm the mind before cooking.

Cut oranges and lemons thinly, dry them, and hang them with twine around your kitchen

Need a cleansing tip? Open all your windows near your kitchen. Let some fresh air in.

Cutting sigils into apples, pie crusts, and carved potatoes.

Save lemon and orange rinds, freeze them, and then use them to clean the garbage disposal.

Make infused oils and honey: Things like garlic honey, lavender honey, herb oil, sun oil, moon oil, dandelion oil, and other different edible oils are very fun and useful to make.

Hid sigils in pages of your cookbooks and kitchen witch journals.

Add some plants! Snake plants and spider plants don't need too much light, and growing your own herbs in your kitchen is awesome too. Basil, lavender, thyme, aloe vera, rosemary, etc. are good fits. You could also add some plants that require more sunlight on the kitchen window sill. Like cacti and succulents.

Bring crystals into your kitchen space such as rose quartz, clear quartz, amethyst, or whatever you want the space's intentions to be.

I keep a small money tree on the sill, along with cacti for luck and protection.

Make a simmer Pot! Mostly because it makes the whole house smell good, easy, and fun.

Stir clockwise for best results!

Learning how to pickle things is actually pretty witchy. Plus, anyone could do it as it requires absolutely no kitchen experience. You could pickle any vegetable, even if you don't like pickles. I originally learned this after having to take shelter from a natural disaster. A person brought a bunch of stuff and taught us how to pickle things with different spices and herbs. Very fun!

Decorate your kitchen with your favorite stuff. Crystals, decor, heat mits, that cool mushroom cake stand you've been eyeing at the World Market for the past 2 weeks, cool looking curtains, sun catchers. Why stop there? Paint the walls, hang shelves full of marked-up cookbooks that are a little too well-loved and thumbed through.

Wanna be the person that has the amazing-smelling house every time people come over? Syrups take some time to simmer down, it's actually a pretty good time to leave it on the stove to simmer. Since syrups have a lot of aromatic ingredients, it acts as a really good-smelling simmer pot.

Hang up herbs to dry with twine from cabinets that are rarely used.

Invest in that new set of plates and cups.

Homemade jams, butter, sauces, and syrups are your best friend.

Crochet or knit your own dish rags, pot holders, etc.

Don't pour extremely hot things into a glass that's not Pyrex, it will break, and you will be very sad about it.

Don't cook anything while extremely upset or emotional (For safety reasons)

Make recipes you want to make, not just because you'll like the effect. Make it because you think it's tasty.

Chinese Five Spice works in place of herbs for protection and luck spells a lot of the time! It's cheaper to buy 1 spice than 4 different spices that total up to 15 dollars when you could just spend 3-4 dollars.

Take a shower before cooking (I don't know how to explain this one other than it makes you feel better)

Don't use microfiber/plastic material clothes on hot burners, it will fuse to the burner and melt. It is VERY hard to get off.

I don't know if I need to put this one but I did see someone do it so nonstick pan = wooden utensils and plastic utensils, metal pan = metal utensils. Do not use a metal spoon in a nonstick pan, please. It can make you very sick.

Keep your pets away from hot oil, open ovens, and hot pans.

You can proof bread dough in the fridge overnight if you don't have the time to bake, or want to eat fresh bread right in the morning.

Need a quick witchy meal for dinner in 12 minutes? Use premade tomato pasta sauce and doctor it up with thyme, rosemary, and garlic, for protection and distilling stagnant energies. Serve with pasta of your liking.

You can substitute Butter for Crisco/shortening, buttermilk for 1 cup of milk + 1 tbsp apple cider vinegar or lemon juice, and heavy cream for 1 cup of half and half plus 2 tbsp of butter.

Use leftover animal bones to make bone broth

Teach yourself the art of bread scoring (It's fun, and you can show it off to your loved ones!)

Collect and hoard your own and others' family recipes.

Sometimes the food doesn't have to be a spell, sometimes it just makes you feel good and you don't know why.

Listen to your favorite music in the kitchen, it makes the monotonous things like chopping veggies move faster.

Invest in a vegetable chopper if you don't like chopping vegetables.

Find a really good hot cocoa recipe and make it once a week. Master it. Just for your own happiness because hot cocoa is really good. You could also be the friend/family member that makes the best hot cocoa ever.

Focaccia Bread Lasts a very long time, and it's very easy to make!

Keep a first aid kit near where the oven is, in case of burns, cuts, or serious injuries where time is everything.

Quick Bread and no-rise loaves are simple for beginners, tasty, and take little time. They also feel very witchy to make.

Study a bit of Herbalism! It's fun and really helps better understand the herbs you're putting into your food.

While something is boiling, put your wooden spoon over the pot to minimize the chance of something boiling over.

Try a bit of coffee magick, it's simple to get into, and gives you a boost of energy to take on the day!

If you're over 21, wine-making is a very interesting way to celebrate the sabbats. Just with that, make sure you KNOW what you're doing. With anything fermented, there's always a risk if you don't store things correctly. Apple wines, strawberry wines, dandelion wines, etc. all very cool to experiment with. If you're not over 21, vinegar is a similar way to experiment.

Hang up some witchy things, sigils, photos, cool magnets, and other things that give you joy on your fridge. (Sometimes if you are lucky they have some fun magnets at five below)

If you live in the US, for some reason, there are a lot of books in the book section dedicated to witchcraft and spirituality. At least where I live. And they are all under 5 dollars!

Teas are the cheapest and easiest things you can practice being a kitchen witch.

#witches #witchy #kitchen witch #witch #magick #witches of tumblr #kitchen witch recipes #modern witch #modern witchcraft #food #witchcraft #witchblr #food blogs #witch aesthetic #witchy vibes #wicca #baby witch #beginner witch

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shhhsecretsideblog · 5 months

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No Time To Hide

This was something I wrote for an Imagine You’re Pregnant prompt, original post here. Thought I’d make a side blog and post it here as well cos I really enjoyed writing this and might be tempted to write more birth fics

Eva opened the wooden window of her small cottage, letting the cool autumn air whip through her hair. The smell of woodland and damp grass filled her nostrils as she took a long, calming breath.

Describing herself as a green witch, Eva loved her little cottage hidden away from everyone deep within the rich forest. Coven life was never something that appealed to her; the idea of being constantly surrounded by other witches, their opinions and their magic, was torture for Eva. She much preferred her own company, free to live her life the way she wanted. Free to use her own style of magic, without the distraction or judgement of others. It was why she decided to live here in the heart of the forest. There was a river that flowed through the centre of the woodland, the ancient trees stood tall around her home, and the forest floor was packed with all manner of plant life. It was perfect; just her, the elements and Mother Nature.

Despite her preference of living alone, as time passed Eva began to yearn for something… it wasn’t romance or friendship, but the idea of a child. Children were never something she had considered, but as she grew older Eva had begun to see the benefit of having children. Someone to pass all her knowledge and wisdom to, someone to love and care for and share all that she’d learnt. She wanted to pass on this way of living, to create a legacy.

A few months ago, nine to be exact, she enchanted a local townsman - not that he would ever remember it. And now here she was, rocking side to side and cradling the underneath of her heavily pregnant stomach, preparing herself as birth drew near.

The cramps had started yesterday afternoon, small and barely noticeable at first. Eva had been terribly uncomfortable these last few weeks, suffering constant aches and twinges, so she did not immediately give them any thought. However when they got sharper and more frequent, forcing her to pause whatever she was doing, they soon got her full attention.

Not knowing how long this could take but knowing she would eventually lose mobily as her labour progressed, she collected all her preparations and got the supplies ready. Blankets, towels, sterilised medical equipment, all within easy reach in the main living room. Snacks and drinks lay available on the coffee table and a pot of hot water sat by the open fire keeping a constant warm temperature.

“Mmmnnngghhhhh” Eva moaned deeply as the latest wave peaked. She leaned forward resting her elbows on the window sill, jutting her hips back and swaying them slightly. The baby was low and heavy in her pelvis, the head pressing downwards as her body slowly opened up.

When the latest pain had eased Eva straightened and looked down at her swollen stomach, speaking lovingly towards her unborn babe. “You’re really coming aren’t you little one? I’ve not done this before so please take it easy on me.” Her child responded with a gentle kick prompting the witch to smile.

Over the next few hours Eva got into a good rhythm riding out the contractions, each one hitting sooner than the last and with incrementally more vigour. She paced, rocked, squatted, kneeled, trying to find any comfortable position to ride out the waves. Her low and heavy stomach made moving from position to position cumbersome; one hand staying on her bump or her lower back at any given time, while the other kept her supported on whatever furniture or surface was nearby.

As the contractions ramped up, creeping steadily towards unbearable, the witch’s teeth clenched tight and she growled behind them. Three minutes apart. Holding on to the back of her armchair Eva lowered herself into a deep squat. Sweat covered every inch of her body, her thin linen dress and underwear clinging to every curve of her fertile frame.

Her hips were in agony, the pressure building. She opened her mouth to wail but no sound came out, shocked into silence by a sudden burst between her open thighs. Immediately the pressure eased and Eva could catch her breath again. The wooden floor below her feet was soaked; her waters had broken.

“Oooooooh okay- We’re getting so close- Are you ready to come out now baby? I cannot wait to meet you.”

Eva stood up, cradling the curve of her spasming bump. Her bare feet stepped ungainly out of the puddle on the floor and she quickly threw a tea towel down to soak up the worst of it.

“It’s just you and me, little one. We can do this.” Eva reassured herself, rubbing circles around her swell, preparing for the intensity to soar now her waters had gone.

However, before the next contraction could strike the witch startled at the sudden loud interruption of ringing bells. Rapid and urgent, the piercing chimes echoed all around her cottage, howling through every room.

Witch hunter!

The enchantments set up around her hidden home in the forest hadn’t gone off in decades - she had almost forgotten the wards were still in place. And yet the incessant ringing immediately chilled her to her very bones, suddenly haunting her with long forgotten memories of the brutal murders of her fellow witches.

Her stomach clenched with a new, different sensation - fear. At any other time Eva would arm herself with weapons and potions and storm outside on the offence, making sure to take down her enemy before he had the opportunity to strike. But now… the pressing weight in her hips and the constant aching of her contracting womb showed she was in no position to attack, or even defend herself, if put up against a murderous witch hunter.

She had to get out of here. The warning bells throughout her home would soon reach the ears of the witch hunter and then he would beeline straight to her hidden sanctuary. She needed to find somewhere else to hide.

Distracted by the chimes, Eva was unprepared for the next contraction when it ripped across her body, rooting her to the spot. She doubled over in pain, palms planted firmly on her thighs.

“Unnnhhhhhhhhhhhh no-no-no-no……” she whimpered through strained breaths as the pain skyrocketed and her belly hardened. Panting heavily the witch ignored growing desire to bear down. Her waters had broken, she was probably almost fully dilated, if not already. But she couldn’t stay here. If she stayed, both her and her child would certainly be killed. She had to leave and find somewhere safe to deliver this baby.

After what felt like an eternity, the contraction finally faded and she bolted straight out the back door of her cottage, leaving barefoot with nothing but the clothes on her back. She had wasted precious minutes since the warning alarm riding out that last pain - she couldn’t afford to waste any more time gathering supplies to take with her. Eva took off as quickly as she could, disappearing deep into the lush green forest.

She barely got out of sight behind the first set of oak trees before another contraction was already upon her. Two minutes apart. Leaning against the rough bark of the nearest tree, Eva squeezed her eyes shut and tried hard to swallow the whimper creeping out her throat. The unbearable pressure was demanding in its silent request and her knees trembled with the effort of ignoring it. The baby was so heavy, and dangerously low. Feeling like it would just fall out if she took a step too wide. Yet she remained strong, persevering and weathering the storm in her uterus, determined to keep this baby inside of her until she got somewhere safe.

The second the pain let up an inch the witch was on the move again running as fast as she could across the forest floor. Over ferns and moss, rocks and fallen branches, thankfully the hardened soles of her bare feet were used to the uneven terrain. She made sure to keep off the main footpath and stayed hidden within the dense trees, but it made for more of an obstacle course than she’d like. With added weight of her labouring belly she couldn’t move at speed and on a few occasions nearly lost her balance. But deeper and deeper into the forest she went.

The trees became her allies, providing cover and support when she was forced to stop with each new powerful contraction… 90 seconds apart... 60 seconds apart. A large, ancient willow tree with an unusually curved trunk was the latest comrade in her fight for survival. Eva had pitched herself within the alcove of the trunk, out of sight and leaning back against the bark, lifting the weight of her hardened stomach with both hands. The long hanging branches brushed the forest floor in a circle around her position, hiding the witch behind a nature-made curtain.

“Grnnnhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Eva could no longer hold in the animalistic sounds of her extremely advanced labour. The baby was right there, nestled deep in her widened cervix, desperate to be born.

“Nooooooooo-please-baby-wait-a-bit-moreeeeeee-” she begged through gritted teeth. The next contraction started before the current had even finished and the need to push was too powerful to refrain. Knees bending and thighs widening, Eva’s body pushed of its own accord.

It felt right, pushing. It was what she was meant to be doing - to follow nature's primal instinct. And yet she couldn’t forget the very real threat of the witch hunter, still hidden somewhere in this forest, poised and primed to kill her.

The fierce contraction continued to hold her hostage. A long grunt escaped her mouth as her body pushed along with the pain.

“I can hear you, witch!” A gravelled voice taunted from across the thick forest.

Eva’s eyes widened and immediately clamped her mouth shut, biting her lips together drawing blood. Half squatting against the tree, every muscle in her body continued to strain as it forced the baby lower and lower and lower. She couldn’t stop pushing even if she tried. One of the hands cradling her stomach shakily ventured south, lifting up her dress and feeling between her legs. Through the thin damp fabric of her underwear she could feel the baby’s head begin to enter the world.

She panted silently, tears streaming down her cheeks. The forest stretched out for miles, completely uninhabited in all directions; she was all alone. There was nowhere to go and no one to help. Heavily pregnant, being hunted, and seconds away from birthing this child.

A loud snap of wood echoed from a few metres away. Eva suddenly bolted like a startled deer, consumed entirely by fear and survival, and disappeared again into the thickened wood. She ran, wide legged, the heavy boulder of a baby’s head deep in her pelvis screaming to be born. Push! Her body cried out. Stop running and PUSH!

But she couldn’t. If she stopped she’d be dead.

Another contraction ripped through her as she ran. 30 seconds apart. Her muscles tensed and squeezed as she ran, her body trying to force the baby out despite the mother’s desire to hold on a bit longer. She could barely stay upright, the raw adrenaline no longer enough to keep this birth at bay. Her legs became jelly, all she could feel was pain and pressure and fear. Eva faltered, she couldn’t go any further. Out in the open she planted her hands against the nearest tree, widening her stance, and pushed. Hard.

“Mnnnnnnnrrrrgggggghhhhhhh!!!”

More of her baby’s head began to appear behind the fabric of her tight underwear.

“Ohhhhhhhhhh-Hecateeeeeeeeeeee!” she whimpered, praying to the deity.

Her baby was close to fully crowning, she could feel it. The white hot agony of being widened and stretched beyond anything she imagined made her eyes water and throat nauseous. She retched, a dry heave, and desperately tried to catch a breath through the dual need to push and the sudden urge to vomit. The texture of the rough bark beneath her palms was the only thing keeping the witch semi-grounded and preventing her getting swept away in the overwhelming sensations currently tearing her body apart. Still bracing the tree, Eva’s head dipped as she took slow deep breaths, ignoring the instinct to push in order to ride out the sudden nausea.

An ominous whistling sound drifted through the trees carried on the wind. Eva could barely hear it over the thundering beating of her heart, that is until she heard:

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” The voice sang.

The witch hunter was close. But so was her baby... Eva felt between her legs again to evaluate just how bad her situation was. It was bad. Her underwear was stretched beyond repair as it housed a significant portion of her baby’s head, filling her cupped palm. Ignoring all the pain and her body’s pleas to push, she panted heavily and tried to think! She needed a plan to survive.

The witch hunter had physical strength, yes, but he did not know these woods like Eva did. This was her home, her sanctuary, and she knew every inch like the back of her hand. Beyond her laboured breaths and the unnerving whistling of the approaching witch hunter, Eva registered another sound nearby - the swooshing sound of running water. The river - she was by the river!

Lifting her head the witch frantically scanned the surrounding area, getting her bearings of where she’d ended up within the woodland. She was a few hundred yards from the river’s edge, about a mile from her cottage. It wasn’t an area she often visited because of…. That’s it! Okay, it wasn’t a great plan, and there was no way to know if it would work, but it was her only shot of survival.

She took a steadying breath through the current contraction squeezing her womb, fighting once more against the primal need to push. The baby’s head filled her underwear, millimetres from a full crown. If she pushed again there was no way she’d be able to stop until the head was fully born.

Whimpering through the pain Eva stood up straight, one hand staying between her legs, and she prepared herself to move. Just get to the river. She told herself before making her way unsteadily east.

The sound of rushing water grew louder as she stumbled slowly through the forest. One step. Another step. Nearly there. She knew exactly where to go, and where to avoid, desperately trying to stay focussed on her surroundings and not succumb to the agonising pain crowning between her thighs. Keep going.

“You can’t escape me, witch!” The voice threatened, getting closer.

Eva stumbled into the side of a tree, her bare shoulder scraping against the bark. Pausing, she took a brief moment to breathe through the pain. It was a mistake. The second she stopped to inhale deeply her body started bearing down again, forcing the baby down. Immediately the head came to a full crown in her damp underwear and she screamed.

“WITCH!” The murderous voice roared.

Eva turned and saw a flash of black leather through the distant trees, and it was coming her way. Cupping the baby’s head she tentatively wobbled forwards, knees trembling, staggering towards the riverbank. The blinding pain was constant, her eyes barely focussing. She had to make it to the exact right spot or her plan would certainly fail. Her footsteps were shaky but determined as she continued the last few carefully placed steps in her journey. Behind her the crunching sound of a disturbed forest floor drew ever closer.

Reaching the river’s edge Eva collapsed against the large boulder that sat on the grassy bank. She made it. Turning around against the stone, the cold granite pressed against her back as she faced the woods and waited for the imminent arrival of the witch hunter. But the baby’s head inched lower, her body stretched to its absolute limit. She wanted to cry, to howl, to scream. Instead she focussed inward, drawing on all the power from the earth under her feet, and taking a deep breath she finally, and intentionally, followed her body’s demands. Teeth gritted, a growl behind them, she pushed with everything she had. Her whole body trembled, bearing down against the pressure of the large round head slowly appearing between her thighs. The ears… a nose… she could feel it all. Her hands frantically scrambled under her dress and within seconds the baby’s head popped out into her underwear and she cupped it quickly within her palm. The relief was instant and for a brief moment Eva’s heart calmed as she held her child’s newly born crown.

The witch’s reprieve was short-lived as the approaching footsteps from behind one of the nearby trees resulted in another person soon entering the river's edge. The witch hunter was dark haired, full beard, but was not as athletic as Eva was expecting. There was sweat glistening on his temple and dripping down his neck, disappearing beneath a thick leather jacket. His mouth practically drooled at the sight of her and he gripped the long hunting knife in his hand. The lust for her death was haunting.

“At last… you’ve given it a good go, I’ll give you that, but you cannot escape your fate.” The man said as he took a step towards her, threateningly swishing the knife in readiness. “You are an abomination, evil incarnate. Witchcraft has no place here. My family has been taking your lot out for centuries. And it looks like I get the honour of not only killing you… but the next generation as well.” He glared at her pregnant swell.

“No- no! This- this child is innocent…” Eva panted, still holding the head of her half-born babe hidden under the draped fabric of her dress.

The witch hunter scoffed and took another two ominous steps in her direction through the fallen autumn leaves. Eva watched each step with a laser focus.

“No descendant of a witch is truly innocent.” He drawled, tilting his head with an unnerving animalistic incline. “Wickedness will run through its veins, there is no saving its soul.”

Eva couldn’t take her eyes off his feet, watching every step he took. She chose this location for a reason, knowing she needed to end up exactly here by the rivers edge - dangerously using herself as bait. His heavy boots crunched through the orange leaves, sauntering slowly towards her like he was toying with his prey. So close. Her heart stopped, breath held as Eva prayed to all the Goddesses for her plan to work. Then whoosh!

The witch hunter was suddenly hoisted in the air by his foot, caught in a primitive trap laid here many years ago by the previous inhabitants of these woods, whom were long dead and forgotten. The man roared as he was pulled sharply towards the sky, his arms flailing, the hunting knife falling from his hand in his shock.

Eva exhaled heavily and closed her eyes in pure relief. The steady thumping of heart pulsed around her body, beating once more now the immediate threat disappeared. The man yelled and shouted at her as he hung limply from the tree, but the sound barely registered with the witch. Her senses had been overtaken by the sudden movement of the baby, turning inside her, and an all too familiar urgent weight pressing down signalling her work was not yet over.

Eva tried to move but she was too far gone, too deep in labour, every muscle seemingly locked in position. “Unhhhhhhhh Hecate….. mnnnggghhhhh the baby- the baby is comingg…..” she whimpered, the pain splitting her in half as she was stretched once more with the baby’s shoulders. All her bodyweight was pressed back against the boulder, and she managed to sink towards the ground. Squatting deeply, her large rounded stomach rested heavily between her thighs.

“Ohhhh it’s coming…. I- need… mnghhhhhhhh I’ve got to… got to pushh...”

She ripped off her underwear as the next contraction started, freeing the baby’s head from the confines of the damp linen. With both hands ready to catch, the witch pushed with renewed determination. “Urghhhhhhhhhhhh!” One shoulder was out! Then the next shoulder. She took a breath, panting, holding the child dangling from her body. Eva became suddenly hyper-aware of the breeze and leaves, the nearby river and the crisp autumn air, all the elements surrounding them which her child was now being born directly into. Trembling, she beared down fiercely once more and within another few minutes a newly born witch entered the world.

Eva sobbed with relief, quickly pulling her daughter up over her stomach and placing her against her chest. The infant made a soft gurgling sound, her first breath, and then started to cry. To a new mother it was the most beautiful and reassuring sound in the world.

“Disgusting…. Filthy little vermin.” The witch hunter sneered with venom.

Eva had forgotten her audience and looked up with hatred at the man still swinging upside down from the tree. She held her baby tight and secure against her skin, as if shielding the child from the mere sight of him.

“You should drown that thing in the river.” He spat.

Red, blinding fury overwhelmed the new mother. With the pain gone and her baby safe in arms, pure fury raced through every pore of the witch’s body, consuming every atom of her being. Rising slowly, babe still clutched in hand, Eva approached the hanging man with eyes glowing with revenge.

“When I get free, I'm gonna enjoy splitting you from ear to ear!” He roared.

Her head tilted in observation watching the man’s disgusting arrogance in his determination to kill her despite still struggling against the rope binding his leg. Apparently unaware his threats were idle and his attempts to escape the trap were futile.

The witch bent down carefully to pick up the large silver blade that had fallen amongst the browning leaves. The man didn’t see the new mother pick up his weapon, and didn't notice the switch when the hunted became the hunter. Eva stalked silently, murderously towards the hanging man.

Before he could open his mouth to mock or belittle or challenge her, Eva’s hand swished past his vision in a flash, the blade gliding through the witch hunter's throat like a knife through butter. The man’s eyes widened, taking a heartbeat to register what just happened, before the cascade of blood erupted from the open wound and he began to choke and splutter.

Eva dropped the knife.

Delicately readjusting and shhhing the newborn cradled in her arm, she took one final look and started their journey back to the cottage. Eva found comfort in the sounds of the forest; of the flowing river, the whistle of a breeze, and the drip drip dripping of her enemies blood now pooling onto the forest floor.

#birth kink #pregnant kink #clothing birth #panty birth #birth denial #public birth #forest birth #giving birth #birth fic #birth fiction #fpreg birth #tw: blood #tw: death #my writing

417 notes · View notes

comfortless · 6 months

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got a startling number or requests for this, so here’s a part two for captured mercenary! König x noblewoman! reader..!

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. medieval au, dubious consent, slightly rough smut, abduction.

On the twelfth day, you finally understand how to punish König.

The nightly incidents have grown more frequent, sometimes thrice before the sun rises. Even once when you had caught his eye from across the yard whilst he bathed in the pond. A heavy hand had curled around his manhood with the most obscene words you had ever heard a man speak spilling from his panting mouth.

You merely stared like an innocent fawn in the face of a starved hunter then, but as the day passed a deep sorrow seemed to take root, one that should have been left well enough alone. König is not an animal, but… he is an unwed brute whose very appearance had most of the servant girls running for their quarters with their hands shoved protectively into the laps of their skirts.

He’s lonely. You had reasoned that must be why he’s so hellbent on torturing you to tears, to harass you with that leaking, throbbing pillar between his thighs. His insults have come to a stop. The man you took in for a pouch of copper is more of a pity than a terror at all.

With the sleepless nights beginning to weigh down on you, puppeting yourself day by day grows to be the most awful task. He’s always lurking close: it’s what he’s here for. König’s eyes never stray from you.

It’s getting to him, too.

The midwife, of course, shyly told you that a lady of your status should hold fast to her maidenhood until the eve of her wedding. But… once the dutiful words had been spilled, she immediately followed them with laughter, explaining that some men just needed to be subjugated, hinting that that was possibly the solution to what has you so downtrodden.

You couldn’t help yourself, not when he glanced up at you in the midst of training, his sightless mimicry of an opponent made up of wood already felled and settled into the dust at his feet. You could always feign your innocence, accuse him of imagining things should he say a word. Though, you’re guilty, just as guilty as him as you reveal your body to him where you sat perched upon the window sill.

The fluttering, innocent fabric of your gown is pulled from your shoulders and pushed down your hips to pool upon the floor. The laces of your corset are hastily untied to follow down. The underdress is all but torn away when you notice the way he halts in place, jaw tightening and eyes going wide.

Like the most malevolent of nymphs, you don’t offer him a taste when he comes storming into the castle chasing that glint of hope. You wind yourself through the halls, fully clothed as he huffs and growls just beyond your shoulder of how it is cruel and dangerous to tease a man.

Something about the way he boasts of doing so much for you to receive so little in turn conjures laughter from your throat. It is not often you’re able to treat a man this way, and even less often have you learned a thing about war, but you’ve certainly turned the tables in this ridiculous battle.

Those warnings of his fall entirely on deaf ears.

Then comes the night you no longer sense him positioned beyond your door. You sleep uninterrupted and warm, safely tucked between layers of cloth and down. The comfort of not being stirred awake by clamoring and grunting jolts you up with worry, because by this time it’s unnatural.

The peace of the night is heavy; the castle is entirely silent, no heavy soles meeting stone floors or hushed voices whispering secrets. There are crickets chirping beyond your window where a cool breeze drifts in to flutter curtains, but not a sound otherwise.

You push past your own apprehension to try the door, to seek him out with your innocent fretting, only to find that past that wooden barrier no one is stood guard.

A torch is lit and stationed upon the wall in König’s place, and the looming darkness further down the blackened hall feels so inexplicably ominous that your courage is diminished the second you place you find your footing over the threshold of the door and step out to have it envelope you in full.

König is not the only thing that would swallow you whole if you allowed it.

The realization dawns on you with each fragile step upon cool stone. He’s left you to fend for yourself, likely run off to have his fill of brothel girls and find a new band to strike you and any other pompous noble down. Your castle and your servants would all be ash come the dawn if he so chose… but it isn’t that thought that fills your heart with dread whilst you make your way out of these silent walls.

There’s a clamor coming from the stables when night air brushes over your face, the breeze pushing your hair into your eyes. You’ve heard the sound many a times when one is preparing to ride, the gathering of a saddle whilst the horses press their hooves to earth and watch on in preparation. There are no chores to be done elsewhere, and no servant would be given permission to leave the safety of the walls this late into the night.

König is leaving, abandoning you and his duties.

That’s what bothers you more than the thought of some awful demise.

You can’t place why it even matters. He’s been nothing short of a terror since the day he stepped foot in this place. He doesn’t bring your heart any soothing, only leaves it in wreckage and strikes up a wetness between your thighs. The man is not special, only cruel and ugly, sharp and bloodied like the swords he looks upon with far more passion than he’s ever given to you. Yet, the thought of being without him is haunting.

The walk across the yard feels as though it takes an age. You refuse to cry before him again, have those callused fingers wipe away your tears, but the scowl you force is only as daunting as the look of a forlorn puppy. You can’t find it within you to hate him, even when you try in earnest.

Your hand grasps at the wall of the stable as you peer inside to find the very scene from your imaginings. A horse is readied with as many supplies as it can carry, sacks of what you assume to be stolen food and weaponry hastily fastened to its sides. König is there, of course, shushing the animal with feed as the gate shuts behind him.

He would wait it out here until the night deepens and there would be no chance of anyone coming to stop him, all others preoccupied with their dreaming. As much as you would have preferred to find the sense to return to your own mattress and wait for the sun, your steps lead you inside instead. To him.

“What are you doing?” Your hiss is meek, hushed, and you know you sound more the part of a scorned wife than any authority at all. Your eyes don’t even meet his, cast down to the loose hay at your feet blanketing the dirt floor.

The man only sounds elated at the sight of you, at the idea of being caught amidst his further wicked behavior as he explains to you exactly what you already know. He does not shy away from approaching you, either. You only realize then you’re still dressed for bed without a weapon, just this loose, white gown and a betrayed stare. You’re no threat to someone like this, if anyone at all.

“You want me to stay?,” he hisses right back, taking liberty over your state to draw a hand up to your face, tilt your chin up so your eyes do finally meet his. The sadness remains in his eyes, deeper than you could even fathom, but accompanying it now is a crying madness.

Subjugate, you remind yourself when your lips press to a line. You could play the part of someone braver, bring him to his knees with words and promises up until morning where he would assuredly receive a good lashing.

The hand on your chin crawls down to your neck, thumb petting your pulse with even strokes.

“You can make me,” he continues through your bitter silence. The smirk upon his face is not charming, only cruel again; likely the same look he would give to the void each time he has heard you unravel at the mere thought of him.

You separate yourself from him with a wounded glare, barely keeping yourself together at the thought of finally allowing this brute to unite with your being in such a way. The reasonings as to why you should not are a blur now, reeled back by a more demanding series of thoughts. A secret you could keep, just as long as…

“You really will? If I allow you to…”

“Ja,” König answers simply, gives you a firm nod as to further express his answer. The truth of it was, he finds you dumb. After many months being here, you’ve picked up on a few words of his mother tongue and still he seems to think of you as a simple woman. “Zeig mir deine pflaume.”

You think you may even look the part of some naïve, overly trusting creature when your gown falls to your ankles to rest of the hay covered floor.

The man does not kiss you, only weighs your breasts in his hands, squishes them and paws at their plushness until his breathing grows heavy. He’s grown hard beneath his tunic already, without so much as a moan or a touch from you, but with his eyes locked onto what lies between your trembling legs and the flesh in his hands you almost feel a swell of pride.

His face dips to press into your chest, an eager tongue snaking out to wet you… everywhere. Perhaps he isn’t the most experienced with women, perhaps he’s only sampled what the brothels had to offer.

There’s no care for your pleasure here, only a tentative exchange made clear by the way he gropes at you with such force and tugs your nipple between his teeth as shallow pants and low whimpers leave your parted lips. The bites grow in intensity until you bring your hands to his scarred face to shove him away, only then does he relent back to feverish licks.

A hand trails down to your hip, all too eager in its exploration. There’s no warning when he tests your willingness, pets at your cunt like a well-loved pet. And damn it all — you are wet, as much as you would like to be frigid and resentful here, your body sings for him with soft whines instead of birdsong and dew over the petals of your own flower. He hums appreciatively while suckling at your tit, pushes a finger into your slit so suddenly your body jolts forward to grasp at his shoulders for purchase.

“Not here…” You try to reason with him. There are beds in the castle and walls so thick not a soul would hear. You didn’t need to be fucked in a stable like a breeding mare, it’s unbecoming for both of you.

Not that König even had the sense to listen. You’ve placed a hearty offering at the altar of a starved god, and he would be a fool to allow room to have it snatched away.

The response he gives you is not in words. It’s with a sudden spin that leaves you grasping at the gate of an empty stall, your back to him. You’ve never felt quite so vulnerable, never so horribly heartbroken when this beast chooses to take you from behind instead of nice and slow, in a bed that smells of lavender and incense.

There’s a soft rustling as he pulls his cock free from his garments, his head pressed to where your shoulder and neck join where he whispers what you imagine to be pure filth in his mother tongue, takes in your scent with panting breaths. The fat tip of his cock is diligently rubbed against you in hasty strokes, gathering your wetness until you feel yourself beginning to quiver.

Any chance to turn back is ripped out of your grasp the second he loses patience and begins to feed your drooling cunt each girthy inch. The hands that directed your face with most of your interactions are now cinched firmly against your waist. The sounds that leave him now are unlike any you’ve heard prior; a hand as hard and rough as his could never quite feel the same as what you’ve blessed him with.

“You feel…” He halts momentarily when he’s stuffed himself into you entirely, listening to each soft sound that’s pulled from your lips as you shake around him, for him. He doesn’t need to speak, really… you feel it too, the immediate heat and immaculate bliss of being joined in such a way. You’ve seen that horrid, thick thing countless times but to imagine it would feel so heavenly inside…

“Fick mich… so tight…”

His fucking becomes rampant when you cast him a look over your shoulder, one of utter rapture. Any patience he feigned is lost, because his cock spears you open again and again at a pace that jolts you in place and has your nails splintering the wood in your grasp. The teeth that pulled and bit at your nipples sink into your shoulder to keep those foul words contained, but does little to stifle the desperate groans and keening whines. The sounds of impact join him, filling up the shush of the night air.

Though you try to keep yourself contained, when a hand rises to squeeze at your breast and pinch your nipple between two coarse digits, any hope of biting your tongue is snuffed out. The sounds of your pleasure only add to his derangement; his thrusts become almost unbearable as he fills you with the length of his cock, pulls out to where his tip snags at your entrance only to fully bury himself again in quick repetition.

You don’t even come before he grows sloppy. Each stroke comes less intent, shifting from too fast or far too slow. It’s maddening, the way he sinks in to press his balls to your clit, already drenched in your essence, like a proper lover only to pump you like a common whore following.

He announces his impending orgasm to you in a grunt before sinking his teeth into your neck. Your hand detaches from the gate to slip between your thighs where König immediately grips your wrist as directs each movement as you circle your clit. There’s no tact or beauty here. He forces you to set a rough pace, desperate to feel you squeeze around his cock before he fucks his seed into you; the brute grows impatient and bats your hand away entirely as he pinches and flicks at the nub until you sob, because as torturous as it is, it works.

You’re brought to an abrupt end, eyes squeezed shut and jaw tightening as your hips jolt to meet his palm and your cunt pulls him in to pulse. He laps languidly at your neck while he gives you only a few stilted thrusts before the entire affair comes to an end. König doesn’t have near enough sense to keep himself contained, how no curious servant was pried from their bed by the pleasured bellow he lets out then is remarkable.

The man who fucks his palm near thrice a day still manages to fill your cunt to bursting with his seed. It slips down your thigh when he pulls away from you, tugs at your cheek to take in the view with a satisfied grunt that makes you want to recoil from him in a fit of misery. Maybe even love, because you find yourself so regrettably content now that you wouldn’t even mind sleeping in this sour smelling stable if only he would keep an arm around you…

König’s thoughts are elsewhere. He adjusts himself back into his clothes and pulls your gown from the floor to present it back to you. There’s no romance, only a subtle hint of something more than disinterest when he flashes you an almost boyish grin while you straighten yourself out as best you can.

A warm bath followed by a pillow beneath your head would be nice, but instead this romp blesses you with more dread.

The horse König had so diligently prepared is led out of its stall, and you… You’re hardly given a moment to react before you’re seated on the saddle by a pair of thick arms, the owner of which follows suit while you shoot him an uneasy glance. The question of where he’s taking you is only met with a palm curled over your mouth and an affectionate peck to your temple. You’ve no intention of being thrown off a horse or further tempting fate, even if it seems the easier route than whatever this proves to be.

“My lady wants to stay with me..,” he purrs as the reins are forced into your hands. That same hand slips down to push up your gown again and pivot your ass to rest over his crotch. “So she will come with me, hm?”

The cock finds its way inside of you again as the horse takes quiet, metered steps. Your eyes grow wet with tears unshed, and your protestations are muffled by that grip over the lower half of your face. König seems almost sympathetic even with the transparency of his renewed arousal throbbing inside of you; his hand falls free from your mouth as the horse carries you both past the threshold of the gate, replaced instead by a kiss both fiery and soothing.

You sulk and demand he return you home, to the safety of that stone nest, only to be shushed each time by a sweet press of his mouth to yours, your cheek when you will yourself to turn away. His free hand pets at your side, your breast, any where he can touch to calm your trembling. It doesn’t help… much, but your heart does seem to soften amidst the confusion and bereavement.

“I will take you home,” he mutters as he toys with your clit again, beckoning you to grind back against him. Your head lolls back again his shoulder, dazed and shaky from both his touch and his horrible deceit.

Home. Back to whatever pit of sulfur and grime he came from to drag you back down into it with him.

“… I’ll take care of you, little dove.”

It’s a shame this gentle side of him only decided upon showing its face when the roles reversed in his favor. Prisoner or wife, you meld against him wholly, sigh your pleasure as he whisks you away.

#könig x reader #konig x reader #tw: dubcon

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luveline · 1 year

Text

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

you start to second guess your relationship when eddie doesn't waylay you with his usual abundance of kisses after work. meanwhile, eddie tries to work out what's upsetting you, how to fix it, and most urgently, how to ask you a super important question. fem!reader, 5k

cw: eddie skipping meals at work, suggestive flirting

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

Eddie's borrowed headphones slip down your head as you dance. Nothing dramatic, a shoulder wiggle as you do the dishes. You can't hear the racket you're making, plates crashing into one another on the drying rack, the hot water pounding the basin, the clip of your sock-clad foot against wooden slats as you tap it.

Your hands burn at the high temperature. Your fingertips are pruned, palms chapped as you finish washing Eddie's mountain of dishes. His whole apartment was in similar disarray before you arrived, laundry to the eyes and one of his haphazard book towers collapsed in the bedroom. The dishes had been scraped and rinsed but not washed, the laundry designated to one corner of the bathroom; Eddie's not unclean, necessarily, but unfocused.

You had time. You don't mind coming over to help him out.

Though if he knew you were here doing this he'd blow a gasket. I don't want you wasting your time doing shit I should've done a week ago, he'd say.

It isn't time that matters to you. You'd take a couple of days out if it helped him, if it meant he could enjoy the place he lives to the fullest extent. Plus, you spend time here too. And you get to borrow his Walkman the whole time. Eddie has the best tapes.

You hum along to the finishing line of the song and set the last clean cup upside down on the draining board. Satisfied at a job well done, you wipe the sink basin clean, drain suds from the sponge, and turn off the water. Cool air floats in through the open window, kissing your lightly perspiring skin hello.

You dry your hands on a cloth and push Eddie's headphones carefully down to your neck, more than careful with his things. He works hard for everything he has, days and nights and any shift they want him to take. Most of it goes into his savings account. His spare change gets dropped into a washed out pasta sauce jar on the sill for a forthcoming rainy day. Ridiculous amounts of it get spent on you, and if you asked Eddie he'd say it was perfectly reasonable, sweetheart.

You're not asking him. You don't think new clothes and sweet treats nearly every time you see him counts as reasonable, but you'd be a liar if you said you didn't appreciate it.

Hence your unsanctioned use of his spare key. You buy him treats too, but money can't buy the satisfaction of a clean home. (Well, it could. Hiring a day maid might've been quicker and cleaner in the end, but would a day maid have put their heart and soul into dusting his figurines with a makeup brush for fifteen minutes?)

You turn around with Eddie on your mind, feeling grateful and tired at once. Your thoughts stutter at the warm body standing casually in the doorway, his shoulder pressed to the jam, a rucksack and a carabiner of keys hanging from his curled fingers.

"Hey," Eddie says.

You flinch like he's coming at you, startled by his sudden appearance.

His laugh is apologetic, at least. "Woah! I thought you heard me, where's your head?"

You slap a hand to your racing heart and huff out a breath that fans up your face. Eddie straightens from his cool guy slouch, dropping his keys on the counter and sliding his bag beside them.

"It's around here somewhere," you say through a smile, trying and failing to glare at him as he puts his hands on your waist. "You scared me bad."

"It was accidental."

He pulls your hips to his and leans back. A close pressure without being particularly sexual. It's obvious that he's looking you over, like you might've miraculously run into harm in the sixteen hours you've been apart.

"I didn't think you'd be back yet, sorry," you say breathlessly, still recuperating from your scare.

"I'm the sorry one."

He brings a hand to your face. If there's one thing you can count on with your boyfriend, it's that he's going to find an excuse to touch your face at least once a day, whether it be with the back of a ring-heavy finger trailing down your cheek lightly, or a flat, hot palm, calluses scratching ever so slightly as he squeezes it into whatever shape he feels like. Never cruel, but melding.

He's in a mood.

Not salacious. Teasing at most, he pulls a rough line down from the corner of your eye to your lips.

"Why are you doing my dishes?" he asks.

His hands smell like citrus scrub and white vinegar. They must've had him cleaning in the kitchen at work again.

"So you wouldn't have to. I know you don't mean to let them pile up."

"I'll find my laundry in the dryer, I'm guessing."

"Nope. Folded in your dresser, more like."

He pulls your chest to his, the heat of his breath kissing your nose. It smells like the spearmint gum he chews obsessively during his morning shifts. Eddie has a theory that eating in the mornings is breaking a seal —you'll be much hungrier for the rest of the day than you would've been otherwise. Better to wait for lunch.

You hate his theory (three meals a day plus as many snacks as he needs would be perfect, if he could find the time) and his gum for what it represents. It reminds you that he likely hasn't eaten today, and you're quick to start brainstorming ideas for dinner from the ingredients you'd seen while cleaning. He has ground beef, enough eggs to make pasta, and a tupperware of frozen soup from last Wednesday. The world's your oyster.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks. You don't have time to answer. "I wish you didn't do all the laundry, babe. Those stairs are a fucking killer."

He leans that last inch. A kiss is coming any second now, your pulse capering between your ears. A hundred kisses shared between you and you wait for the next with the same calibre of excitement as you did for the first.

"I owe you a deep tissue massage, right?" he murmurs.

You beam at him, pushing the heel of your palm against his chest to widen the distance between you into something a little less heart-pounding. "You haven't eaten today, have you?"

"I'm pretty hungry," he says, his voice smooth as angora silk.

He looks, again, like he might kiss you. His eyes dip to your lips, a molten brown shining in the kitchen light. You wait, and you wait, but he doesn't close the gap.

You push your smile to one side, your eyelashes twined in the corners from the force of it. Your smile isn't entirely genuine. It's cool if he doesn't wanna kiss you… sort of. He can do whatever he likes, of course, you'd never force him to kiss you just to keep you happy or for any other reason, but you're a little down at the idea that he doesn't want to. You love how they feel. You're used to them as both hello and goodbye.

Eddie might not want to kiss you, but he isn't putting on a show, his amorous smirking a reality you battle with (read: give in to, enjoy, daydream about) on the regular. Perhaps he isn't eager to ravish you after a full day bussing tables. That's more than okay.

However he might be feeling, you aren't going to let him go hungry a minute longer. "Dinner?" you ask.

"I was thinking sloppy Joes," he says, his hand running down your arm. He turns for the fridge. You follow. "Brioche buns?"

You step in front of him, the fridge door a cacophony of glass rattling as you tug it open. "I'm making them."

Eddie wraps his arms around you, moving you bodily to the side. It's too quick for you to dig your heels in.

"You used to be a gentleman," you complain.

"No, I didn't." He taps your ankle with the rubber toe of his converse.

You make dinner together, to each other's chagrin. Eddie steals spatulas and frying pan handles from your grip. You bump his hip away from the stove grill to toast buns. When you sit down together on the couch, it's at war, elbows digging into soft spots and cups placed out of reach on the coffee table.

"Dick," you say.

Eddie takes a bite, says, "You're the dick, dick," and starts shovelling fries onto your plate. "Giving me more fries is ridiculous. We should eat the same portions, we're the same age."

"But one of us had breakfast and lunch, and one of us didn't," you say, using your fork to give his gifted fries straight back.

And here's where you get the first inkling that something's making him not want to kiss you, emphasis on you.

Eddie loves kissing you when he feels loved. For obvious starters, whenever you tell him you love him he makes sure to kiss your lips. When you make him laugh, when you wash his hair in the shower, when you draw stars into his palms, all those things garner a fond peck to the temple. He kisses the space just under your ear so often you're sure there's a contusion in the shape of his mouth there, permanent and purpling, his go-to whenever he's laying on top of you or hugging you from behind.

You can count on a mildly greasy kiss no matter the meal. Eddie loves eating dinner together. He waits for you to get home, sometimes for hours, to share a plate with you. You've never not indulged him with a kiss. Tonight, he doesn't ask.

It would be here. Name-calling dripping in affection, you elbow glancing off of his as you cut into your sloppy Joe, and the TV failing to cover the sound of a quick kiss before he digs in. You're gutted at the lack and surprised to have noticed it, but you don't go so far as to mourn the loss: Eddie's likely too hungry to think about kissing, that's all. Right?

Despite attempts to convince you otherwise, he's hungry. He finishes his plate in what feels like five big bites, hair tucked behind his ears, an innocent but far off look about him as he wipes his fingers in a piece of kitchen towel and leans back into the couch cushions with a small groan.

"We should stop eating on the couch," he says.

"You told me you wanted to sit here." You're confused.

"It's like, testing fate. I'm a mess. I'll ruin it and have to get a new one I can't afford."

You chew on a fry. "I mean," —you put your hand over your mouth, pleased when he turns to you with a ready-made smile, like the act of just looking at you is one he enjoys— "even if you drop something on it, we can Didi Seven it. Or get one of those fancy water vacuum things."

"It's my couch," he says. "You wouldn't have to clean it."

"You're my boyfriend," you respond, "so I wouldn't mind."

"I'm your boyfriend," he says, his head tilted ever so slightly to one side.

His lips close, his eyes tracking up and along the lines of your features with an unnameable emotion in his gaze. You'd like to say that it's love, but you're starting to think it's something else.

"Don't say it like that. You sound too unsure," you say.

Amusement dances across his face. "Are you finished?" he asks, opening his hand for your tray.

"No," you say, faux-stroppy. You take another fry.

Eddie grabs his tray. He skirts around your legs and stops at your side. In his more dopey moods, he'd take your face into his hand again and hold your head still as he kisses your crown.

He squeezes your shoulder. "I'm not unsure about anything," he says warmly. "I'll get you a drink, yeah? Ice?"

A chuck under the chin with his forefinger and he's gone, leaving you sitting there wondering what's wrong with him. Home an hour now and not one single kiss? Is this the end of the honeymoon phase? How do people survive this shit, you think. It's agonising.

Your chewing turns morose.

You and Eddie go through phases, waxing and waning, as most people do. There's always love there, but sometimes there's so much of it you don't know what to do with yourself besides lavish in it. Only yesterday morning he'd been in your bed, shirtless (as you often wish he'd be), dark ink like bruises in the low light where it climbed the lengths of his arms and his bare chest. You were lax under his touch, his nose and lips pressing to your skin as he kissed you from rib to soft tummy. Slow, kissing you as though he had nowhere else to be but there. As though his next shift wasn't thirty minutes around the corner.

You were mortified when he blew a raspberry. Now you're thinking you might peel out of your shirt and ask him to do it again if it means he'll kiss you in any definition.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks as he returns, his hand sliding along from your shoulder to the other while he steps over your legs.

"What are you thinking about?" you ask.

"Feeling very repetitive today, are we?" he teases, no consideration for your dinner tray as he collapses into the seat beside you.

You're expecting his cheek on your shoulder, his hair tickling your upper arm. It doesn't come. Worried he's discouraged by your tray, you place it on the coffee table and sit back. You really want him to kiss you.

Kissing someone isn't something you thought you'd want to do before you met Eddie. To be kissed, sure. To give a chaste peck, absolutely. But to have someone put their weight on you, to press at the seam of your lips with their own and to wade in like a steady wave, one breath at a time, until you're unsure where the boundary of your mouth begins and his ends, that was all new. Eddie kisses like he loves, loud and brash, rough and eager. Gentle when he needs to be but arduous.

He makes you feel wanted in a thousand ways and the first is his greedy penchant for stealing a kiss or three at every opportunity. It's weird that he hasn't kissed you yet. He's acting weird.

"You're being super weird," you say. You feel like a pressure cooker with steam pouring from the release valve.

Eddie smirks at you. "That so? Any explanation attached to that, or are we name-calling? I have some names for you, if we are."

"Oh, I have to know."

"Figured you would." He throws his leg over your thigh. The firm muscle of it tenses as he wiggles his foot.

"What were you gonna call me?" you prompt impatiently.

"Sweetheart. Angel." He turns his cheek into the back of the couch, bringing his pinky to your face and drawing a line from the smoothest skin under your eye outward. "Pretty. Very pretty."

"Says you," you murmur. If he thinks you're so pretty, why won't he kiss you? "I can't work out your angle today."

"Am I acting differently?" he asks, seemingly unperturbed.

No. He just hasn't kissed you. There might have been a moment when he first came home where you thought he was hesitating to kiss you, but since then he's acted exactly as he usually does (minus kissing, therefore making it unusual).

You sigh, half serious and half wanton sadness. "No." His nose twitches. You startle. "What?"

"Nothing."

"What, do I have bad breath?" you ask, bringing a hurried palm to your mouth to try and test it.

Eddie pulls your hand down, admonishing through a laugh, "You obviously don't. You know I'd tell you, babe."

"Oh."

"I got gum though, if you want it."

You bat his chest. "I bet you do… I don't know what it is, then. I give up."

"What's what?" he asks. He takes a curl of his hair around a painted fingernail. It coils on his finger, where he pinches the end, bringing it up to your chin and drawing a smile under your lips with the tip.

"I… do I have something in my teeth? A zit? What's the issue?" you ask, lost.

"There's no issue!" He laughs, and he curves his hand gently around your neck. "Why do you think there's an issue?" he asks. A thread of his voice wavers. Impossible to notice if you didn't know everything about him, down to the stray hair.

"No, because," —your voice shrinks— "you're being off with me." You won't cry, but it's impossible to stop the doubt that seeps into your voice. "You're not…"

Eddie strokes your neck with his thumb, growing serious. "I'm not what?"

"You haven't kissed me." You avoid his eyes. "Not since you saw me."

"I'm sorry," he says, immediately dipping forward.

You pull back. "Wait–"

Eddie waits. "What?" he asks.

"I don't want you to kiss me just 'cus I asked you to."

Eddie pushes his hand upward, his index finger shaped to your jawline. He rubs a quarter circle from your chin to your jaw tentatively with his thumb, an awful sorry look in his eyes that he gets whenever you're upset. "Well, I always want to kiss you," he confesses. His eyebrows furrow. "You know that, right?"

"But you haven't, today."

Is that pathetic? you panic. Noticing, caring, it feels so, so silly all of a sudden, you can't believe you spilled it that easily. You may as well have written clingy loser across your forehead in glaring pen.

Eddie sees it. He doesn't cringe at you like you fear he will.

"Ah," he says, almost humming, his lips barely parted, "that's just not okay, is it? My girl waiting on a kiss."

He leans in. You shy away, wanting his kiss but wanting the run up more. Eddie follows your lead, keeping space between you, rubbing a diligent and affectionate circle into your cheek. His touch is soft enough to tickle.

"I'm not trying to act desperate, I just figured– I thought there was a reason you hadn't," you say.

Eddie asks you in his softest, most genial tones if he can kiss you.

You don't say yes so much as you lift your chin and close your eyes. Your relief is sharp as he closes the fizzing space between you, as he guides your face to his and holds it there like a treasured pearl cupped in two palms. He makes a sound at the back of his throat that kills any doubts of his affection stone cold dead. Your lips part a millimetre if that, and Eddie slots into the gap, his hands growing less and less careful by the second, the pressure of his touch amping up. He moves back only long enough to turn his head, your noses bumping, another breathy sound slipping past his lips. You smother it gracelessly with a rougher reciprocation.

It's not your longest kiss, but it works. It's the reassurement you needed. Eddie pulls away to suck in a harsh breath, the feeling foreign against your tingling lips. His face dips, his eyes out of view. His hands move in twin down the slope of your neck, languish, feel along the thin layer of your t-shirt as though he's looking for some secret answer.

"I'm not trying to act weird around you, I'm just nervous," he says.

You feel your back aching, stiff as a rod. "Nervous?" you ask quietly.

Eddie rests his forehead on your chin. He whispers a cuss, and then he sits up very tall and looks you in the eye.

It takes him five seconds to tell you what it is that's making him anxious. In that time, you come up with a handful of things. I lost my job. I don't want to be with you anymore. There's someone else. There's no one else, but you did something that pissed me off/made me uncomfortable/disgusted me. I'm sick. None of your guesses are good, and none prepare you for what he asks next.

"Would you wanna move in with me?"

His hand meanders along your thigh. An awkward smile catches his lip like a fish hook, tugging it up on one side.

"I… what?"

"I think it's a good idea. I was trying to ask you yesterday, and now today it didn't feel right. I don't want you thinking I'm asking because you did my laundry." His hand warms your thigh, a pervasive heat. Your face is similarly hot. "We could split rent, and you could keep saving. You wouldn't have to deal with your shitty neighbours. You'd be closer to your job, and– and to me. It's a good idea," he repeats. "There's a ton of reasons it would be good for you, but I'm asking 'cus I missed you so bad last night I couldn't sleep. I wanna be with you whenever we can be."

"You'd really want me to?" you ask.

"You'd never have to wait for a kiss again," he says hopefully. "I know it's a big move. I get it if you're not ready."

"I'm ready," you say. You don't know it's true until you've said it aloud.

Delight sparks and catches like sun-dried tinder. Elation lights his eyes. "Holy shit, yeah? You want to?"

"Yeah," you say, nodding emphatically, trying not to yell. "Yes, I want to. I'd love to! That would be–"

"A dream," he finishes, snatching your waist into his grasp, basically yanking you into his arms.

"Amazing," you say, your arms forced over his shoulders.

You wrap your arms around the back of his head, curls that smell of almond oil and a generous dollop of hair mousse crushed to your face. Your eyes slip closed. You suck in an inconspicuous breath, though your self-indulgent action is interrupted by a groan, Eddie squeezing you hard enough to make the bones in your back click three at a time.

"I can't believe you, sweetheart. I don't kiss you for an hour and you think there's something wrong?" He laughs.

"I'm spoiled," you say sheepishly. To draw his attention, you add, "I can't believe you, afraid to ask me that! Why would I say no? I love you."

"I love you, too," he says, pulling the small of your back tighter still so he can dig his nose into the side of your head.

He kisses you all over the side of your face until you're painted in little warm patches from overexposure. A loved up mess, and dizzy with relief.

Relief and excitement. "How soon do you want me in here?" you ask, sitting back.

"How soon do you want another kiss?" he asks.

"Will we be stealing each other's questions all day?" you ask.

"For the rest of time, if I get my way."

"That's so corny," you whisper, ecstatic.

Eddie pushes you down onto the couch cushions. You know before he so much as pulls up a knee that he's going to climb on top of you. You make room for him, your heart feeling like it could breach through your ribs one bone at a time.

"What are you doing?" you whisper with a smile.

"Making up for lost kisses."

—

Two Weeks Later

Eddie wakes to a kiss.

Your arm thrown over his waist, your hand feeling greedily at the trim curve atop his hip, you've well and truly wrapped yourself around him. Like an octopus. He imagines the popping sound of your suckers if he tried to detach you (not that he'd want to).

You're dotting shy, soft kisses down the column of his throat. "I love you," you say softly between them, a melody that turns him to jelly. "I love you. Love you, love you, love you."

Your kisses are a compromise —after the general holy fucking shit-ism of your conversation a fortnight ago, Eddie put his foot down. He was out of his mind knowing his apartment was about to become yours, but he was also incredibly unhappy about the faces you'd made before he asked. He remembers your voice, your apprehension as you mumbled, "No, because, you're being off with me."

Eddie had been totally off trying to figure out how to ask what was potentially the second most important question he could ever ask you; he was distracted enough by it that he totally forgot about kissing you senseless. And your worrying asked a totally new question he hadn't thought of before. Why does Eddie always kiss you first? And why had the lack of a kiss been seen as a bar, and not an invitation?

Hence Project Kiss Me, Stupid. Or Project Kiss Me Stupid if he's feeling particularly in love (because you aren't stupid at all, but you may have made an unintelligent assumption (Eddie not kissing you for a few hours did not mean even slightly that he isn't gross in love).

The project was more like a proposal. Eddie decided you should be making the first move more often, so you weren't ever left feeling like something was wrong between you for lack of a kiss again. "If you ever think I'm mad at you, plant one on me. I promise I won't be mad much longer," he told you.

You're passing with flying colours, as far as he's concerned. Eddie thinks your moving in was gift enough, but fuck, all these kisses? He's been a walking vestibule of love, and lust, and sickening fondness for two weeks now. Project Kiss Me Stupid is the best thing that's ever happened to him. He's a genius.

"Good morning," you say into his neck, a hint of teeth scratching him with the greeting. Eddie cups the back of your head with a weak, tired groan as your lips close over his pulse.

"Morning," he says. His voice is thick with the grit of sleep.

"This is okay?" you ask, pausing in your kiss.

Eddie tips his head back heavily into plush pillows, your pillows, fresh with new bedding to match the nightstands you'd decided on together. "Please," he says. His arm slides behind your back to belt you in. "I'm gonna think you don't like me anymore if you take any longer."

"Very funny," you murmur.

He knows he's forgiven for teasing when your face dives back into the crook of his neck. His eyes shutter closed, blissed, thinking, God, I could get used to this, when you nip him.

"You didn't like my joke, I take it?"

"It was funny," you say, giving him a scratching kiss.

"That's counter-intuitive," he warns. "I like it rough."

You fall away from him to cover your face with both hands. He knows he's rubbing off on you at the sight, your head shaking a theatrical side to side that fails to hide real embarrassment beneath it. You look especially tortured.

Eddie knows exactly how to fix it.

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

thanks so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed!

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader

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bloodreinasbathwater · 3 months

Text

Where Kings Land

Part 1

Jacaerys Velaryon x Stark! Reader

a.n: I finally get the hype about Jace. This right here is one fine man. the hair, the freckles, the big nose. ALL of it. this is part 1 of the miniseries for House of the Dragon, and it's my first time writing outside of the regular asoiaf series. Enjoy and please lmk what you think!!

Warnings: manipulation, not proofread, yelling, cursing? talk of beheading and treason.

Word Count: 4,900

masterlist link

summary: In the harsh lands of the North, where winter's bite is ever-present, a tale of duty, desire, and deception unfolds within the ancient walls of Winterfell. Y/N Stark, sister to the absent Lord Cregan, finds herself caught in a web of political intrigue as the realm teeters on the brink of civil war.

...

The heavy wooden door slammed behind her with a resounding thud, echoing through the granite corridors of Winterfell. Y/n Stark—sister to the Lord of Winterfell, Cregan Stark—strode purposefully down the hallway, her frustration evident in every step. The torches lining the walls cast flickering shadows across her face, highlighting the furrow of her brow. She yanked her fur cloak tighter around her shoulders, warding off the perpetual chill that seeped through the ancient stones. The servants scurried out of her path, lowering their eyes as she passed. Y/n barely noticed them, her mind occupied with the litany of tasks that lay before her. The castle, a sprawling behemoth of grey stone and timber, was a living, breathing entity, and Y/n felt the weight of its responsibilities press down on her.

Cregan, her brother, was a warrior, a leader born to the battlefield. He thrived on the thrill of the hunt, the clash of steel, the shouts of battle. The day-to-day running of Winterfell, the endless paperwork, the constant negotiations, the delicate dance of alliances and diplomacy… these fell upon his shoulders. He was a silent force, a steady hand guiding the ship through the turbulent seas of politics and power.

Reaching the grand hall, Y/n paused, her gaze sweeping over the gathered lords and ladies. Their conversations buzzed like a hive of bees, their laughter echoing off the vaulted ceiling. She longed to be amongst them, to share in the joy of a feast, to ease the burden of her thoughts, but the weight of the impending winter hung heavy on her heart.

The biting wind whipped around Y/n's face as she ascended the final steps to the maester's tower. The air was thick with the scent of parchment and old magic, a familiar and comforting aroma despite its inherent chill. Inside, the room was bathed in the soft glow of a single lantern, casting long shadows across the piles of scrolls and tomes that littered the floor. Y/n's boots clicked against the stone floor, a sharp counterpoint to the rustle of the raven that perched on the window sill, its beady eyes fixed on her with an unsettling intelligence. The bird was a harbinger of news, always, and today, its arrival had filled her with a sense of foreboding dread.

“You've got ravens in your hair,” the maester, Alyn, said with a dry chuckle, his voice raspy from years of whispering secrets into ancient texts. He was a frail figure, his fingers gnarled and stained with ink, his eyes filled with a wisdom that seemed to encompass the entirety of the world. She brushed at her hair, dislodging a stray feather that had become entangled in its braids. 'They know I'm coming for them,' she said, her voice tight. 'They always seem to.'

Alyn nodded, a knowing glint in his eyes. 'King's Landing sends more than its fair share of worries north,' he said, gesturing to the table in the centre of the room. It was an imposing piece, carved from ancient oak, the surface groaning under the weight of a mountain of sealed parchments. Y/n sighed, letting the weight of the responsibility settle upon her shoulders. Every one of those scrolls contained a new burden, a new demand, a new headache she would have to unravel. The North had always been harsh, a land of unforgiving winters and fiercer people.

'What's the news, maester?' she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Alyn shuffled through the pile of scrolls, his gaze searching for a particular one. “They're now threatening us with dragon fire, my lady,” he stated solemnly, the chain around his neck clinking softly.

Y/n's eyes narrowed as she surveyed the pile of letters that lay on the table before her. Her jaw clenched, her anger rising like a tide. “Burn them,” she commanded, her voice sharp and decisive. “Burn all the letters. We will not answer, nor will we cower.”

Alyn's eyebrows rose in surprise, but Y/n's resolve only grew stronger. “Prince Jacaerys should be here any day. We will make good with the Blacks.”

Maester Alyn leaned back in his chair, studying her face. 'Are you certain, my lady? This is a dangerous game we play. The Green's dragons—"

“Are no more fearsome than the winter that forged us,” Y/n cut him off. She moved to the window, gazing out over the frost-covered courtyard. “My brother may be in the north of the Wall, but we will not be cowed by southern threats.”

Her words echoed through the frigid halls, carrying with them a resolute determination that belied her youth. “You are right, my lady,” he said at last.

Y/n turned to him, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes. “Thank you, Maester Alyn. Please, have the letters burned. We must prepare for the prince's arrival. We’ll show him true Northern hospitality. And maester," she added, a hint of a smile playing at her lips, "make sure we have plenty of that strong northern ale. We'll need it for the toast when we pledge our support to Queen Rhaenyra."

Maester Alyn nodded slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes. He reached for the candle on his desk, ready to carry out her orders. "As you wish, my lady. there's one more," he said softly, holding out a sealed parchment. "It arrived separately... and it's addressed to you personally."

Y/n hesitated, then took the letter. The seal bore the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, but something about it seemed different. More... personal. With a swift motion, she broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. Her eyes scanned the contents, and her face hardened.

"It's from Aegon," she said, her voice tight. She began to read aloud:

"My dearest y/n,

The silence between us cuts like shards of Valyrian steel, slicing through my soul. Do you remember the stolen moments in the godswood, under the watchful eyes of the old gods? The promises we made beneath the heart tree?I await your reply to our ravens with bated breath, much as I once awaited your stolen glances across the great hall.

But make no mistake, my white wolf. Your beauty will not shield the North from my wrath should you choose wrongly. Aemond grows impatient and Vhagar hungers for blood. With one word, we could reduce Winterfell to nothing but ash and bone.

Remember this, my sweetling: fire destroys ice. And dragons do not forgive.

Choose wisely. Choose me.

Yours in fire and blood, Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm"

y/n’s hand shook as she finished reading, her knuckles white where she gripped the parchment. The maester watched her, concern etched on his weathered face.

"My lady," he began cautiously, "what—"

"Burn it," Y/n interrupted, her voice cold as the Wall itself. "Burn it with the rest." She tossed the letter onto the pile, her eyes blazing with a fury to match any dragon's flame.

…

Amidst the icy grip of the winter, the last traces of sunlight had long since disappeared beyond the horizon when a thunderous beating of dragon wings shattered the bleak silence. Y/n stood in Winterfell's snowy courtyard, her chilled breath leaving clouds in the frigid air as she looked up to witness the dark shape descending from the sky.

With ethereal grace surprising for its size, the dragon landed with a resounding thud and steam rising from its scales as they met the frosty ground. As its rider dismounted, y/n found herself frozen in place, her carefully prepared greeting dying on her lips.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon strode towards her, his Valyrian features softened by Stark coloring. Dark curls framed his face, windswept from the flight. But it was his eyes that caught y/n off guard - soft and kind, yet holding a depth that spoke of burdens she had yet to find out.

For a moment, the world seemed to fall away. Y/n's heart raced as she stood before the prince, a stranger yet somehow familiar. She couldn't explain the sudden pull she felt towards him, as if they shared a connection beyond words. But at the same time, fear and doubt crept in, questioning if this was all just a dream or a cruel trick of fate.

Jacaerys approached, his movements as graceful as the dragon he rode. His brow furrowed slightly at her silence. He glanced around, perhaps wondering if he'd made some misstep. Finally, he bowed low, breaking the spell. "Lady Stark," he said, his voice a low, warm timbre that sent a shiver down her spine. " I am honored to meet you. And I thank you for your hospitality."

Y/n blinked, suddenly aware of the eyes of the entire courtyard upon them. She straightened, pulling her mask of cool composure back into place. "Prince Jacaerys," she replied, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. "Winterfell welcomes you. Please, come inside where it's warm. We have much to discuss."

As she turned to lead him into the castle, Y/n caught the prince studying her with curiosity. She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with a challenging look of her own. Whatever this feeling was, she couldn't afford to let it distract her. The fate of the North hung in the balance.

Yet as they walked, she couldn't help but be acutely aware of his presence just behind her, like the warmth of a flame at her back in the cold northern night.

…

The Brown Room lived up to its name, with rich walnut paneling and fur-draped chairs that spoke of comfort in the face of long northern nights. Y/N led Jacaerys inside, the scent of beeswax candles and old parchment greeting them. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the cluttered table where ledgers and letters vied for space.

Y/N gestured to a high-backed chair. "Please, sit," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. She reached for a decanter, the crystal cool against her fingers. "Would you care for some wine, my Lord? It's a Dornish red – my favorite one."

Jacaerys settled into the chair, his eyes roaming the room before settling on Y/N. "Thank you, my lady. And please, call me Jace."

As she poured, a drop of wine escaped, staining the cuff of her sleeve crimson. Y/N barely noticed, too aware of Jace's proximity, the warmth radiating from him in the cool room.

"What did you wish to discuss, my lady?" Jace broached softly, accepting the goblet with a nod of thanks.

Suddenly, the room felt stifling. Y/N's heavy fur cloak, a necessity in Winterfell's drafty halls, now seemed unbearable. She shed it, draping it over the tall oak chair behind her. The firelight caught the silver direwolf clasp as it settled.

"Our support," Y/N replied, forcing herself to meet Jace's gaze. His eyes, she noticed, were flecked with gold in the candlelight. She swallowed hard and continued, "We have two thousand men. Strong northern fighters. We call them Winter Wolves."

Jace leaned forward, interest piqued. "Winter Wolves? An apt name, I'd wager."

Y/N allowed herself a small smile. "Indeed. They're as fierce as their namesake and twice as loyal." She moved to the table, rifling through the papers until she found a particular map. As she spread it out, the familiar scent of ink and parchment helped ground her.

"Here," she pointed, "is where we've gathered them. They await only my brother's word - or mine, in his absence."

Jace stood, moving to study the map. His arm brushed Y/N's as he leaned in, and she caught a whiff of leather and something else - perhaps the lingering scent of dragon scales. Jacaerys studied the map closely, tracing his fingers over the different markings and symbols. He was impressed by the precision and detail of the Winter Wolves' gathering points.

"Your brother must be a formidable leader to have gathered such a force in such a short time," Jace remarked, straightening up and turning to face Y/N.

"Yes, he is," Y/N said with pride.

"This is... more than we dared hope for," Jace admitted, his voice low and warm.

Outside, a wolf howled in the distance, a lonely sound that seemed to echo Y/N's inner turmoil. She squared her shoulders, pushing away the unwelcome feelings. Jace's brow furrowed as he studied Y/N's face. "My lady, are you well? You seem... flushed."

Y/N startled, realizing she'd been staring. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, painfully aware of the dampness at her temples. "I'm fine, my- Jace," she corrected herself. "I was... under the weather a few days ago. Nothing serious."

Jace's eyes softened with concern. Jace's hand hovers near Y/N's elbow, his fingers poised as if ready to reach out and catch her. She can feel the warmth radiating off of his skin, and she can sense the electricity between them, even though he's not quite touching her. "Perhaps you should sit. We needn't discuss everything tonight."

The gentleness in his voice made Y/N's heart flutter. She sank into a nearby chair, Jace following suit. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, giving her his full attention. His eyes were pools of liquid silver, soft and caring as they searched Y/N's face.

"Tell me," he said softly, "how are you truly faring? It can't be easy, managing the North in your brother's absence."

Y/N's carefully constructed walls began to crumble under his earnest gaze. "It's... challenging," she admitted. "Especially with the constant stream of demands from King's Landing."

Jace's expression darkened. "Ah, yes. I've heard whispers of Aegon's... correspondence."

Y/N couldn't hide the flash of frustration that crossed her face. "Correspondence," she scoffed. "Threats, more like. Your cousin seems to think he can bully the North into submission."

"My cousin," Jace said, his voice low and intense, "forgets that winter roses have thorns." He reached out, this time taking Y/N's hand in his. The touch sent a jolt through her. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it. "You needn't face this alone, my lady."

Y/N found herself lost in his eyes, warm and sincere. "I... thank you, Jace," she murmured.

A log shifted in the fireplace, sending up a shower of sparks. Jace glanced at the flames, then back to Y/N, a mischievous smile playing at his lips. "You know, where I come from, they say the dragonfires pale in comparison to the warmth of a northern welcome."

Despite herself, Y/N laughed. "Is that so? And how does our hospitality measure up?"

Jace's thumb traced circles on the back of her hand, his touch feather-light. "Oh, it exceeds all expectations, my lady. Though I must confess, I find myself most warmed by present company."

Y/N felt her cheeks burn, but for once, she didn't mind the heat. A small smile tugged at the corners of Y/N's lips as she gazed into his captivating eyes. "You're quite the charmer, Prince Jacaerys."

"Only when properly inspired," is all he replied.

…

The pale light of dawn crept over Winterfell's stone walls, casting long shadows across the frosted courtyard. Y/N stood in the stables, her breath visible in the crisp morning air.

Her fingers, slightly numb from the cold, worked methodically on the leather straps of her horse's saddle. The familiar motions were soothing - tighten, adjust, check, repeat. The rich scent of hay and horse sweat mingled with the earthy aroma of leather oil.

As she worked, Y/N caught herself glancing repeatedly towards the castle, anticipation building in her chest.

The sound of approaching footsteps made her heart quicken. Jace appeared in the stable doorway, silhouetted against the brightening sky. He stifled a yawn, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Y/N noticed the slight disarray of his dark curls and felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to smooth them.

"My lady," Jace greeted, his voice husky with sleep. He cleared his throat, offering a sheepish smile. "You're up early."

Y/N felt the corners of her mouth twitch upward. "The North waits for no one, Your Grace," she replied, handing him a set of reins. Their fingers brushed, and Y/N pretended not to notice the warmth that spread from the point of contact. "Are you ready for an adventure?"

As they set out, the rhythmic clop of hooves against cobblestone gave way to the muffled thud of earth. The misty woods enveloped them, tendrils of fog curling around the horses' legs. Droplets of dew clung to Y/N's eyelashes, refracting the weak sunlight into tiny prisms.

Y/N led the way, her posture relaxed and confident in the saddle. She navigated the invisible path with ease, ducking low-hanging branches and steering around hidden roots. Behind her, she could hear Jace's horse snorting softly, its rider muttering gentle reassurances.

"I can hardly see the path," Jace called out, a note of uncertainty in his voice.

Y/N twisted in her saddle, catching Jace's eye with a mischievous glint in her own. "That's because there isn't one," she replied, allowing a rare, playful smile to cross her features.

The forest was a symphony of morning sounds. Birds trilled their dawn chorus, their songs echoing through the mist-shrouded trees. Small creatures rustled in the underbrush, sending leaves skittering across the forest floor. The earthy scent of damp soil and pine needles filled the air, punctuated by the occasional whiff of wild mint when Y/N's horse trampled a hidden patch.

Hours seemed to pass as they wound their way through the increasingly dense forest. Y/N found herself hyper-aware of Jace's presence behind her. She could feel his eyes on her back, and fought the urge to glance over her shoulder more often than necessary.

Finally, they came upon a rocky outcropping. Y/N dismounted with practiced grace, her boots sinking slightly into the damp earth. She patted her horse's flank, murmuring soft words of thanks. From the corner of her eye, she watched Jace dismount, noting the slight stiffness in his movements after the long ride.

Jace stretched, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension. His brow furrowed as he surveyed their surroundings. "My lady," he began, a hint of amusement in his tone, "I hate to question your expertise, but this looks suspiciously like a dead end."

Y/N's laugh echoed off the rocks, startling a nearby bird into flight. "Patience, Your Grace," she said, her eyes twinkling with secret knowledge. "The best treasures are often hidden."

She reached out, taking Jace's hand in hers. His palm was warm against her cool fingers, and she felt a flutter in her stomach at the contact. Pushing the feeling aside, she led him towards what appeared to be a solid rock face.

As they drew closer, a narrow opening revealed itself, barely visible unless one knew exactly where to look. Y/N squeezed through first, tugging Jace along behind her. The passage was tight, the rough stone scraping against their shoulders. Cool, damp air enveloped them, carrying the faint mineral scent of underground water.

Jace's breath was warm on the back of Y/N's neck as they inched forward in the dim light. She was acutely aware of his presence, of the way his chest occasionally brushed against her back in the narrow confines.

Suddenly, the passage opened up. Y/N stepped aside, allowing Jace to fully enter the cavern. She watched his face intently, savoring the moment his eyes widened in awe.

Sunlight streamed through an opening high above, illuminating a spectacular waterfall. The water, tinted an ethereal light blue by minerals in the rock, cascaded down in a thunderous rush before crashing into a pool below. Mist rose from the impact, creating tiny rainbows where the light hit just right.

"By the gods," Jace breathed, his voice barely audible over the roar of the falls. He turned to Y/N, wonder written across his features. "It's incredible."

Y/N felt a warmth bloom in her chest at his reaction. "Welcome to my secret place," she said softly, suddenly feeling shy. "Not even Cregan knows about this."

Jace's gaze softened as he looked at her, something unspoken passing between them. "Thank you for sharing this with me," he said, his voice low and sincere.

They settled on a smooth rock near the pool's edge, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. The mist from the falls cooled their skin, a welcome relief after the long ride. Y/N pulled out a small bundle from her saddlebag - bread, cheese, and a flask of sweet northern ale.

The conversation lulled, replaced by the constant rush of the waterfall. Y/N traced patterns in the damp sand with a stick, her eyes distant. Jace watched her, noting the slight furrow in her brow.

"A copper for your thoughts, my lady?" he asked softly.

Y/N looked up, a rueful smile tugging at her lips. "Just thinking about duties," she said. "They never seem to end, do they?"

Jace nodded, understanding in his eyes. "The burden of our birthrights," he agreed. "Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be free of them."

"Free," Y/N echoed, the word hanging in the mist between them. She sighed, tossing the stick into the pool. "Cregan writes often of my duties. He's pressuring me more and more to find a husband."

Jace's expression shifted, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "I... I apologize if I'm intruding, but may I ask why you haven't? Surely you've had no shortage of suitors."

Y/N met his gaze, finding unexpected comfort in the warmth she saw there. "Because I want love," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I want a simple life, filled with moments like this." She gestured to the cavern around them. "But how can I promise forever to someone when tomorrow is so uncertain? How can I build a life amidst a war?"

Jace was quiet for a moment, considering her words. "Love in wartime," he mused. "It's not an easy path, but perhaps... perhaps it's the very thing that makes the fight worthwhile."

Y/N felt her heart quicken at his words. "And what of you, Prince Jacaerys? What does your heart seek in these troubled times?"

Jace's gaze softened as he looked at her. "I seek a partner," he said quietly. "Someone to stand beside me, not behind me. Someone who understands duty but hasn't lost sight of dreams." He paused, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Someone who knows the value of secret waterfalls and stolen moments."

The air between them seemed to crackle with unspoken possibility. Y/N felt drawn to him, like a moth to flame, but held herself back. This was not the time, not with so much at stake.

"It seems we both seek something rare and precious," she said, her voice thick with emotion.

Jace nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "Perhaps the gods will be kind," he murmured.

…

The iron-bound gates of Winterfell groaned open, admitting Y/N and Jace as the sun dipped below the horizon. The air was thick with the scent of pine and woodsmoke, punctuated by the sharp tang of approaching frost. Their horses' hooves clattered against the worn cobblestones, the sound echoing off the ancient stone walls.

As they dismounted, Y/N felt the day's exertion in her muscles, a pleasant ache that spoke of adventure and freedom. She caught Jace's eye, noticing how the fading light caught the silver threads in his jerkin, making them shimmer like starlight.

"Jace," she began, her voice low and tinged with an emotion she dared not name, "today was—"

"Lady Y/N! Lady Y/N!" The frantic shout shattered the moment like a stone through ice.

Y/N's transformation was instantaneous and mesmerizing. Her shoulders squared, chin lifting as if an invisible crown had settled upon her brow. The softness in her eyes hardened to flint, sharp enough to cut.

"What is it?" she demanded, her voice crisp as a midwinter morning.

The guard skidded to a halt before them, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "My lady, there's been... an incident. You're needed urgently."

Y/N nodded curtly. "Lead on," she commanded, then turned to Jace. "Your Grace, I must attend to this. Perhaps we could speak later..."

Jace stepped forward, close enough that Y/N could smell the leather of his riding gloves and a hint of something spicy—cloves, perhaps. "If you'll allow me, I'd like to accompany you.”

Y/N hesitated, then inclined her head in agreement. They followed the guard, their footsteps echoing through Winterfell's torch-lit corridors. The warmth of the castle was a stark contrast to the chill outside, yet Y/N felt a different kind of coldness settling in her bones.

They entered a small, dim room that reeked of fear and desperation. A man knelt on the floor, the rattle of his chains a counterpoint to his broken sobs. In the flickering torchlight, his tear-stained face looked ghastly, almost skull-like.

"What has he done?" Y/N's voice cut through the room like a blade.

The man looked up, his eyes wide and pleading. Y/N's voice sliced through the tense atmosphere like a blade, her words sharp and filled with accusation. The man shrunk back in his seat, his eyes wide and pleading as he desperately tried to defend himself.

"My lady," he stammered, "I beg you... I was only going to King's Landing, to pledge myself to King Aegon, my children. Is that such a crime?" His voice trembled with fear and uncertainty, his hands shaking as he awaited her judgement.

Y/N's gaze bore into him, seeking any sign of deceit or treachery. Observation seemed to be her weapon of choice, and she wielded it with expert precision. Y/N's lips thinned. "If you wished to leave, you could have done so freely. We do not hold men against their will in the North. Or have you forgotten our ways so quickly?"

The guard cleared his throat, the sound like gravel underfoot. "There's more, my lady. He attempted to steal half the winter rations and one of our best horses. Caught him in the act, we did."

The man's sobs crescendoed. "You can't behead an innocent man!" he wailed, his voice cracking. "You and Lord Cregan, you'll be the death of House Stark! The North will remember this betrayal!"

Y/N stood motionless, but Jace saw the almost imperceptible tightening of her jaw, the slight tremor in her clenched fists. The room fell silent save for the man's ragged breathing and the soft hiss of the torches.

Her grip tightened on the hilt of her sword, her knuckles turning white as she struggled to keep her composure. Jace watched as Y/N stood motionless, her face a mask of stoic determination, but he could see the anger burning in her gaze.

"Send him to the Wall," Jace suggested, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through Y/N's chest. "It's a harsh sentence, yes, but one that allows him to redeem himself in service to the realm."

Y/N turned to him, her eyes unreadable in the dim light. "Or I could let him go," she mused, her voice barely above a whisper. "But then, what message would that send? That theft and betrayal go unpunished in the North?"

"Take his fingers, my lady," the guard interjected. "It's an old punishment, aye, but effective. He'd bear the mark of his crime, but keep his life and limbs... most of them, at least."

Y/N closed her eyes briefly, and in that moment, Jace saw the weight of the North resting on her shoulders. When she opened them again, they gleamed with resolve.

"You've given me much to consider," she said, her voice steady as the foundations of Winterfell itself. "I'll not make this decision in haste. Guard, take him to the cells. See that he's fed and given water. I'll pass judgment when the sun rises."

As the guard led the prisoner away, his pleas fading down the corridor, Y/N turned to Jace. The torchlight cast dancing shadows across her face, highlighting the sharp planes of her cheekbones and the weariness in her eyes.

Jace moved towards Y/N, his tall frame casting a shadow over her. She could feel the heat emanating from his body, a welcome warmth against the coldness that had nestled in her chest. He spoke gently, never breaking eye contact with her. "You carry your burden with grace, my lady," he murmured, his voice deep and soothing.

Y/N held his gaze for a moment, allowing herself to bask in the comfort of his words. But as quickly as it had come, the moment passed. She took a step back, "Grace," she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Grace is a luxury, Your Grace. In the North, we survive on harsher virtues."

Her eyes, once warm and inviting, now held a wintry gleam. The soft curves of her face seemed to harden, as if the very stone of Winterfell was seeping into her bones. With those words, Y/N turned away, her cloak swirling around her like a shroud. As she walked deeper into the shadows of Winterfell's halls, Jace was left with the unsettling feeling that he'd glimpsed not just the Lady of Winterfell, but a portent of the harsh days to come.

The torches guttered in a sudden draft, and for a moment, the corridor was plunged into darkness. When the light returned, Y/N was gone, leaving behind only the echo of her words and the lingering chill of premonition.

...

Tag List <3

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teddy-bear-naps-and-random-snaps · 3 months

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love-bitesx · 1 year

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OMG OMG IMAGINE YOU PUTTING YOUR HAND ON HOBIE’S FACE AND THEN HE INSTEAD TILTS HIS HEAD SO HE KISSES YOUR PALM AAAAA 😭😭😭😭💖💖💖💖🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

ANONNNNNNNNNNNN I LOVE YOU

hobie x gn!reader

sweet lavender hung in the air, wafting through your apartment as the incense stick burnt down to its stem, clumps of scented ash crumbling onto the wooden window sill. gentle hum of music emanating from the decorated stereos, uniting elegantly with the whisper of traffic on the streets below your window.

hobie’s weight held you flush against the sofa cushions, legs tangled like web, hovering over you. veined hand running along your thigh, across your hip, stomach, anywhere he could reach. it wasn’t suggestive, nothing inappropriate, just the gentle touch of a lover – drinking in your skin through his fingertips. content hum vibrating your throat, hobie lowered his head to nip at your collarbone, a path of tender kisses leading to-and-from your lips.

it was a treasured moment. you finally had him to yourself – no patrol duties, no grumpy miguel chirping away, no missions or grand tragedies – just your hobie, soft to the touch, present with you for as long as he wanted. there was no rush, no need, no pressure, simply his lips sipping on your sweet aroma; a scent that refuses to leave his clothes, his skin, his mind. he doesn’t complain.

ghosting your fingertips along his arm, following the veins that wrapped his forearm like ivy, you danced across the distantly scarred skin of his chest, his body melting in your wake. your movements were slow, steady, and he grew restless in anticipation. teasing along his neckline, following the lines of his throat, you rested both hands on his cheeks – soft, but jagged from stubble.

cupping his face kindly, you succumbed to his dark brown eyes, half-lidded as he smirks down at you. no words were necessary, your eyes told him everything he needed to know, and he hoped that his carried the same sentiment. and boy, they did. dark with passion, and lined with a look that said nothing but ‘i love you’, lashes sitting pretty as you looked at him in awe.

turning his head, he placed a kiss to your open palm, eyes still trained on you and if his hands weren’t still firm on your waist, you could’ve sworn you’d turned to liquid and melted into the couch, putty in his hands.

“you have no idea what you do to me, hobie,” you whisper softly, so soft it falls through his chest like heaven, and he wishes he could bottle the sound.

placing another kiss, further down, and one more onto your wrist, your skin erupted into goosebumps, body shifting underneath him, and this time, it didn’t feel so innocent.

“why don’t you show me, then, darlin’?”

tags: @melisseus @meowmeowmau @fiannee @reneny @midnightnoiserose @sweetheartlizzie07 @soulaanshere @punksnlovers

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a-court-of-fics-and-errors · 4 months

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Keep Moving Forwards: Part 4

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 3.0K

Author's Note: This is the second part of what I anticipate will be a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

There was an odd pain radiating from your temple, stretching around your forehead to the back of your scalp, pulsating. What happened? you wondered. As you reached up to press your palm into the epicenter of the pain, you felt a distinct sharp pain radiating up your side from your ribs, spreading down through your back. It was enough pain to justify saying your entire torso felt like it was on fire. A sharp hiss escaped from between your teeth as you finally managed to bring your palm to your temple, the ache still pounding. You ran one hand up your side to find it bandaged, a wooden splint strapped to your side to keep you from bending. Something very bad had happened. You tried to recall events leading up to now, but the memories were foggy. Something about rain and darkness? Your body remembered biting cold, but other than that, you struggled to pull anything from your subconscious. Right now, you were just exhausted, both in mind and body.

When you opened your eyes, you were met with an odd sight. A wooden ceiling, vaulted high above you. You squinted, unsure if the pain in your head was distorting your vision. The roof of your cabin was much lower and certainly didn’t have the ornate carvings lining the beams. You managed to turn your head slightly, your neck sending a shooting pain through your spine as you clenched your teeth. Unless you were dreaming, this wasn’t your cabin.

To your right, there was a small wooden side table with four ornately carved drawers. Atop it was a washbasin with a dirty red rag draped over the side, and a single candle burned down almost to its base, the wick and flame high and flickering. Across the room was a large window with brown curtains hanging from the beam above it. On the window sill stood a series of bottles and candles—perfume bottles, perhaps. Below that was a chest carved with various markings, some of which you could make out as stars. Fighting against the pain, you craned your neck to look at the fireplace, where wood cracked and split as smoke curled up the chimney. Resting next to the mantle was a series of weapons: swords, knives, an ax, all left haphazardly as if someone had thrown them down some time ago and left them to collect dust.

Your head sent another pang of pain through it as you squeezed your eyes shut, your head falling back to hit the pillow again, which was soft, warm, and inviting. You let your hands fall back to your sides, instinctively curling into the warmth of the soft fur at the side of the bed. You let your fingers run idly through it as you tried and failed once again to orient yourself. Thinking too hard sent the pain burning through your skull again, and every breath felt as if someone were dragging a knife down the length of your side.

You must have fallen asleep, because when you next opened your eyes, the light in the room had shifted to the oranges and yellows of evening. Struggling once more to turn your head and look around the room, you noticed the washbasin had been removed and the candle replaced with a taller, newer version. Someone had come in while you were asleep. When you reached down your sides, you noticed the wooden splint had been removed and the dressings replaced with smoother, cotton bandages. Not only had someone been in the room with you, but they had also nursed you.

You tried to sit up. Another blast of pain, and a small inadvertent squeak from your mouth, and your head fell back to the mattress. When you turned your head, you recognized the male standing in the doorway, but couldn't quite place him. Your eyes squinted at him, mouth slightly open.

“You’re awake,” he finally spoke, making his way across the room and setting a basin of clean water on the side table before wringing out the rag within it. He reached across to run it across your temple, and you jerked to the side, causing another roar of pain as you squeezed your eyes shut and groaned.

“You can’t move like that,” he warned, pulling his hand back, the water dripping onto the floor. “You haven’t fully healed, and every time you move, that rib recracks.”

A broken rib. So that was the cause of the pain.

You groaned slightly as he placed the rag back in the basin and took a step back. You gave him a long look up and down. Yes, he certainly seemed familiar. His tanned skin, covered in swirling black tattoos running down his arms and up his neck, barely visible above the collar of his black shirt. His face was hardened yet kind, with hazel eyes meeting yours as you continued to try to decode this familiar stranger. His hair, soft black waves, swooped down over his forehead, and the most familiar part of him were the large bat-like wings protruding over his shoulders, the talons on the top glinting in the light of the fire, now blazing at the foot of the bed.

“Do you not recognize me?” he asked after you seemed satisfied with your visual investigation.

You rested your head back down on the pillow, your neck nearly giving out from the strain of holding it up, which felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds. You choked back a slight gasp as your neck spasmed. “No,” you finally got out. “Should I?”

The male’s brows furrowed, and a hint of concern flashed across his face as he clasped his hands behind his back. “We met a few nights ago, both at the Starlit Stag Inn. You were in the room adjacent to mine.”

You pulled through the memories, recalling your initial interaction, walking in to find him lounging on the chair. Memories seemed to be coming back, slowly.

“You were in my room,” you said, squeezing your eyes shut.

The male let out a light chuckle as he pulled a wooden stool from the wall, planting his large frame onto it. His forearms rested on his thighs as he leaned forward, clasping his hands. “I would argue you were in my room, given I was there first.”

You opened one eye, the other still clenched shut, to look at him. His face was soft, inviting, handsome for sure, but what struck you most was the seeming care he took in looking at your face, which you were sure was battered and bruised based on how it felt.

“Well,” you replied, “I guess I’m sorry about taking over your space.”

He smiled again, his scarred thumb stroking the top of his other hand as he looked down at it. “I was more than happy to share.”

There was a pause as he looked back up at you, now staring toward the ceiling, ragged breaths escaping from you as you tried to peer through memories, searching for what had happened over the last few days.

“What do you remember?” he finally asked.

You blinked a few times. Rain, cold, pain, male voices echoing, saying such foul things, and before that, purple flowers, your mother. “It’s fuzzy,” you finally said, tears building at the corner of your eyes, though you weren’t sure why.

“Seemed like you knocked your head pretty hard,” the male said, gesturing to your temple. “Though I can’t say what happened to the rest of you, you were pretty battered when I found you”

“Found me?” you asked, a tear slipping down your cheek, though it was on the other side, and the male couldn’t see it as you shoved the sadness deep down.

The male nodded. “You were lying on the river bank, soaking wet and freezing. I assume you’d somehow fallen into the river and hit your head. You don’t remember any of that?”

That would explain the blasts of pain.

“What river?”

The male’s eyes furrowed again, apparently you knew less than he thought. “The Frostvale.”

“Frostvale, as in the Illyrian Frostvale?” you clarified.

The male chuckled again. “I don’t think there are many others named that.”

Frostvale was where your mate had taken you one summer, to spend the weekend swimming in the cold water rushing in from the eastern sea. Your mate. Oh gods.

You suddenly tried to shoot upwards, but the pain pushed you back down.

“Whoa, whoa,” the male warned, rising from his seat and rushing over to you.

You screamed as the pain radiated up your side and seemed to erupt from your mouth.

“You need to be careful. Your ribs are shattered,” he warned, pulling back the blankets slightly to check your bandages. It was then that you realized you didn’t have a top on and that the bandages around your midsection barely covered your breasts. You gasped quickly as the male went to adjust the bandage, but you whipped out an arm to push him back, slamming into his chest, pulling the fur blankets up.

“No!” you screamed at him.

He threw his hands up in defense. “Alright, alright” he conceded. “That was fair. But you need to not move so much. You already punctured your lungs twice just while you were sleeping.”

That explained the wheezing, hollow, raspy sound emanating from your chest.

“Half of this week has just been trying to keep you still,” he said.

“A week?” you suddenly realized, your eyes widening.

The male nodded, lowering his hands and returning to his stool. “Yeah, you’ve been out for about four days.”

You gulped down the anxiety growing in your stomach. You’d lost four days, and who knows how many more from the injury. You suddenly ran through how far you would have made it from your cabin, realizing your original plan to escape had altered based off of this slight mishap.

You learned, after more questions, that you’d been away from the cabin for the last seven days. A full week without being found or going back—the longest time you had made it, although the injury certainly aided in that. But what you found strange was that since you had woken up, and the entire time you had been unconscious, the slimy voice of your mate hadn’t wormed its way into your mind. You shuddered at the thought of being unable to get away from your mate's coercion, insults, rages, and any other commentary he might throw down the bond. You silently thanked the Mother for whatever grace had been gifted to you.

The male looked toward the washbasin and then back to you. You followed his eyes. “I need to clean the gash on your head,” he said.

“I can do it,” you retorted.

The male frowned. “You can’t sit up. If you lift your arm above your head, your lung is going to pop, and I’m not even sure you have enough strength to hold yourself up for more than a second.”

You weighed your options, your eyes darting between the washbasin and his face. He sensed your hesitancy and finally responded, “I promise I won’t do anything. I just want to wash your wound.”

He held his hands up again as if in a peace offering. You gulped, still not fully sure why you felt so against this male touching you. Something in you felt incredibly hesitant about those wings, but you couldn’t quite place why.

The male sucked his lips between his teeth and peered around the room, his eyes landing on the fire mantle. He stood slowly as you watched him. You tried to cover yourself more, but pulling the blanket up caused a small fire to radiate through your back. The male seemed attuned to your nerves and said, “I’m going to get up and grab something from the mantle, and then I’m going to come back here and sit down.”

You nodded approval, and he gave a small nod back before he stood, continuing to face you, hands drawn up before himself while he walked slowly to the mantle. Your breathing paused as you waited. He reached up and grabbed a single hunting knife from the top. You suddenly panicked, trying to sit up, in fear of what you didn’t know. He wasn’t coming at you, wasn’t menacingly brandishing the knife, and yet you felt an inherent need to flee. When he saw your reaction, he quickly placed the knife on the floor, standing again, hands drawn up to his shoulders, palms facing you.

“It’s okay,” he reassured as you grunted at the pain. “I’m sorry, I should have told you what I was getting.” He pointed a finger down at the floor. “I was going to let you hold this while I cleaned the wound. You can hold it to my stomach, and if I go too far or you feel unsafe, you can defend yourself.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, confused at his remark. He was willingly giving you a weapon and asking you to stab him with it if you felt uncomfortable. “What?” you asked.

He looked at you, pausing, eyes meeting yours. “I just thought you might feel safer if you had some control.”

You tried to wipe the confusion from your face. He wanted you to stab him. No, he wanted you to have a way to stop him from hurting you. Even if he didn’t plan on hurting you, he wanted you to be able to stop it. You didn’t say anything, just continued to look at him.

“Are you okay with that?” he asked. When you didn’t respond, he added, “Look, I don’t know why you aren’t healing faster, but I’m worried that letting that fester is just going to make it harder and harder or deadly.” A pause. “Plus, I’ve been working hard at cleaning it for the last few days, so having you ruin my work doesn’t seem fair.” He gave you a small smile.

You nodded, and he smiled again, saying, “Alright, thank you. Now, I’m going to lean down and get the knife. I’m going to put it next to you on the bed and then step back until you take it, okay?”

You let out a sound of agreement, and he slowly crouched, one hand descending to grab the blade, the other still held in the air. He stood back up and slowly walked to the side of the bed, putting the knife next to your hand and taking a step back, both hands returning to the air. You quickly gripped the knife, and through the pain, held it up, your upper arm still propped up by the bed.

“Doing okay?” he asked. You nodded.

“Okay,” he pointed to the washbasin, “Now I’m going to grab that rag and dampen it. Then I’m going to run it over your forehead to clean it. It might take me a few rounds before it’s clean, and I am going to want to stop to look at the wound, but I promise I won’t let my hands touch you. Is that okay?”

You nodded your agreement. He nodded back. “I’m going to have to lean over you a bit, so you just keep the knife steady. You can rest it against my stomach.” You nodded again. He paused momentarily, “And please don’t accidentally stab me, if you’re going to do it, make it count.”

He slowly walked forward, grabbing the rag and dipping it into the water before wringing it out. He then brought it to your forehead, wiping it gingerly at first, his eyes focused on the wound. You held the knife to his stomach, pressing the tip gently into his shirt, feeling the hardened muscles underneath.

You gulped a few times, your sight locked onto his face and hands as he tended to you. He spoke the entire time, telling you what he was doing, alerting you when he was going to move, and warning you if things would hurt. At some point, you let the knife fall from his stomach, but you couldn’t decide if it was comfort or fatigue. When he was finished, he tossed the rag into the basin, scrubbing his hands clean and then wiping them on his pants.

“I probably should have opened with my name,” he chuckled to himself. “It just seemed like you were more preoccupied than niceties would have allowed. I’m Azriel.”

You looked at him, your fingers tracing the knife handle. “I’m Y/N,” you responded.

“That’s a pretty name,” he replied, turning back to you.

You smiled lightly, not looking towards him, just tracing the carved woodland animals on the handle of the knife.

“Look, I—” he started, then stopped, pondering his response. “I don’t want to intrude, and I know you’ve got some amnesia from hitting your head, but I just—” He paused again. “That first night, in the tavern, I came into your room and woke you up because you were screaming and—” He stopped.

You gulped, your eyes filling with tears, and you sniffled them away. You didn’t know why this kept happening. Why did you keep allowing yourself to the brink of tears in front of this stranger? He watched as your eyes reddened and lined with silver. “We can talk about it later,” he said, then smiled, picking up the basin and propping it on his hip. He looked toward your torso. “Would you feel more comfortable if a female looked at your ribs?” he asked.

You swallowed the hard lump in your throat that built before you could cry and nodded your head. Azriel smiled slightly, aware of the oncoming storm, and said, “I’ll send a female up here tomorrow morning.” He turned, walking toward the door, his large wings narrowly fitting through the entrance. Before reaching behind him to pull the door shut, he paused and asked, “Do you like berries?”

You nodded again, unable to speak for fear you might sob. He threw you another smile before ducking his head and leaving the room. Then he shut the door, leaving you alone as your tears began to fall and you coughed out long sobs that sent your body radiating with pain. You were stuck here, in a room, unable to move, with a male you didn’t know. You gripped the knife in your fist before pushing it under the fur blanket as your exhaustion hit you again, and your weary body succumbed to sleep.

Authors Note: Thank you for everyone who has been keeping up with the story and interaction and a special thanks to those who asked to join the tag list, it means to much to know there are people out here genuinely enjoying my works!

@thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll

@fightmedraco

@marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @quinzzelx

@romantasyreader28 @minnieoo

@mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf

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mermaidgirl30 · 6 months

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✨Take Me to Wonderland✨

A/N: Thank you so much @5oh5 for being my beta, I so appreciate it 🩷 This fic took over my mind last week and I just had to write it out. This one was super self-indulgent for me. I’ve always loved Alice in Wonderland and thought I could definitely pull Joel into the mix. I hope you enjoy going to Wonderland with Joel 🥹

Summary: You find yourself in Wonderland, but you think you’ve been here before. And the handsome stranger, Joel Miller, is someone that definitely seems familiar.

Pairing: Joel x fem! reader

Word Count: 14.7k

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only MDNI)

Tags: Soft Joel, soft dom! Joel, no outbreak, Alice in Wonderland AU, smut, creampie, unprotected p in v, oral receiving (fem), reader finds Wonderland, lots of fluff

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The bright lights from the lavish dinner party hall give you a blaring headache. This is the third one this week you’ve had to attend. It’s just the same routine. Another dinner, more socializing you don’t want to be a part of, putting on fake smiles to impress some higher up rich snobs just so you can make a good impression for your company.

You’re exhausted, so brutally tired that you could probably crawl up on one of the window sills and take a much needed cat nap with the way your body is lagging in your sparkly wedges. You drag your feet across the polished wooden floor and press your hands down firmly against your short sky blue dress, the fabric swishing around your soft thighs as you smooth the skirt out.

The smell of expensive wine and top brand steak lace through the air, the sound of soft classical music buzzing through your ears as you casually slide by important business men and women intermingling on the middle of the dance floor.

You pick up a glass of champagne and let the harsh taste slide down your parched throat, letting the liquid bubble inside you as you set it back down against the silky white table cloth. You want to go home, leave this fancy feast where talk of money and stocks fly through the air. If only there was some sort of distraction that could take you away from it all.

Suddenly, you see fast movements from the corner of your right eye. You shoot your head that direction and see what looks to be a white cotton tail jump through the sea of Coach shoes and fancy tailored suits. You move your head to see around a woman’s long silky coat and see flurries of hopping movements, the color of snow dancing through the crowd.

You take a few steps forward to see just what it is, your curiosity getting the best of you. You take one more step and stop the moment you see just what it is. A small white rabbit sits in the middle of the crowd. It has long white ears, probably as smooth as a feather, and big blue eyes that seem to look inside your soul. It holds up a golden watch and points straight at the hour hand and turns back around, running toward the long, empty hall outside of the ballroom.

A white rabbit? Did no one else see that? Are you just that tired that you’re hallucinating?

You look around to all the people in the crowd, but no one seems to notice the white rabbit that just leapt its way through the ballroom, and no one seems to notice your wide-eyed gaze. You turn to the brown wooden door and see the white rabbit point once more to its shiny watch, nodding its head as it runs outside of the room and disappears.

You take a step forward in the direction the rabbit went, but then stop a moment. Are you really going to chase after something that has to be an illusion? You look back to the sea of faces you don’t even know, watching as their fake laughter and imposter stances make you sick. You take one more look to the open door and nod. Hell yes you’re going to chase after a white rabbit.

You sprint to the door, careful not to trip over your high wedges as you chase after the rabbit. You see it at the end of the hall waiting for you, fluffy ears standing high as it holds the ticking watch in its hands as the shine of the watch reflects off the clear glass windows. It runs around the corner, not waiting for you as it keeps going. A clear game of tag as the rabbit seems amused at your clear exhaustion of trying to catch it.

“Wait!” you shout down the echoing halls, hoping the rabbit will hear you, but when you turn it’s disappearing yet again. This time, going through a small, dark hole in the wall as it drops the grand watch to the marble floor, not stopping to pick it up.

“Wait, you forgot this!” you shout frantically as you run over and bend down, picking up the watch as your fingers run idly over the golden watch. The watch strikes 7:30pm as its golden second hand spins in a cycle, the minutes ticking by as you hear the faint noise of the watch.

Tick, tick, tick. As the seconds pass by, the ticking seems to stir something in you as you look over to the dark hole in the wall, just big enough to crawl through. You could squeeze in, but should you? You don’t know what’s past the darkness of that wall.

You look back down the long hallway and hear the vacant laughs and chimes of silverware floating down the hall. You have a choice. You either go back in that loud, rambling room of rich pricks or you can go explore the darkness of the hole the white rabbit went through.

You only have one choice. Go chase a fantasy or walk back into a room of people you don’t care about. Your head turns quickly back toward the dark hole, and you decide then.

You choose the fantasy.

You hold tight to the golden watch and sink to your knees as you leave the crowded party down the hall and enter into a quiet, dark tunnel- like hole. The walls are hollow, damp corners filling your vision until you can see nothing but pitch black. You keep on pushing your way through, grunting with all your might as you squeeze through the narrowing walls.

The floor turns from marble flooring to thick, rich grass as you crawl and crawl and crawl until suddenly the opening of the room is large, towering above you. Deep green grass surrounds you, a lofty ceiling made of moss hangs freely from the darkness, and then you see a bright light.

You shift your way through the plushy grass and look through a little keyhole as warm light bursts through. You place your hands on the intricate pink doorway and look through the tiny hole. There, in the middle of a cobblestone path, stands the rabbit. It looks back at you, nodding its head as if to say “Come on now, you’re late.”

You push on the heavy door, putting every ounce of strength into your arms as you can until you hear a locking sound click into place. You shove once more and then you’re falling forward as the doorway jars open.

You land with a thud on the concrete steps and take a minute to smooth out your dress as you stand up. Once you do, you watch the white rabbit speed off ahead of you, daring you to chase after it. You’re awfully sick of playing this game of tag, but you run after it into a sea of green as you enter into a maze of thick bushes.

The rabbit jumps through the green maze, zipping around tight corners as you huff to try to keep up. You nearly run straight into a tall, mangy bush as you slide amongst the slippery pebbled path.

“Wait!” you call out. “You’re going too fast, please!”

Just as the rabbit disappears around another corner and you follow after it, you wind up in a massive open area. You stop and gasp as you take in the tall, colorful wildflowers, the rush of the lilac scented breeze, the mist of a flowing river as a rushing waterfall tumbles into the clear, blue water.

What is this place?

The rabbit hops up to you and grabs the golden watch from your hand, stealing it back as its furry paw flexes around it.

“You’re late.” The voice comes out deep, the sound of a male’s voice as he hops off into a thick, green forest. Before he disappears completely, he sticks his furry ears out behind a tree and curls a paw his way. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come on! He’s waiting,” he calls as he disappears behind a sea of thick trees.

He’s waiting? Who is waiting? And did that rabbit just talk? You must be losing your mind.

You shake your head clear as you walk past a patch of colorful wildflowers. Lilies, tulips, and flowers you don’t know the names of all sprawl out in a thick patch of colors. Vibrant purples, blues, pinks, greens, yellows, and reds collide together in a row of lavish intricacy.

As you look across the patch of lush green grass you see white roses that drip red, mixing the colors together as if blood stains the pure white roses. You find it kind of odd to have a field of untouched, beautiful wildflowers and then a row of rose bushes that seem to be tainted by paint.

“Odd. This place is so odd,” you murmur as you move along the straight trail that will lead you to the trees where the rabbit disappeared. “Silly rabbit, what am I possibly late for? Who was he talking about when he said he’s waiting? Who is he?”

The questions swirl through your head as you pass through the flower field. You hear whispers, quiet and meek as they dance through the large, colorful field. She’s here. She’s finally here! Oh, finally. He’s been waiting for so long.

Are the flowers talking about you? Is that what you’re hearing? No. It can’t possibly be. This is too much. You have to be hallucinating or asleep. This isn’t real. None of this is real.

You push yourself further up the path, passing painted butterflies of orange, blue, and white colors as they flutter above your head. The area is so green, lush grass and vibrant plants every which way you look. Glowing mushrooms the color of hot pink line the way through the thick trees, and you follow.

You end up on a winding path, a soft, salmon colored dust path that splits off into four different directions. You turn to the left, to the right, looking all four ways as your mind races like a ticking clock.

A large white wooden sign sits to the left of the path, arrows pointing in all different directions as the signs read This Way, That Way, Up Here, Wrong Way, Down Here. There’s no rhyme or reason to any of this madness. How the fuck were you going to get out of this mess if the signs couldn’t even be read?!

You stomp one of your shoes into the dirt and kick some pink dust up, feeling yourself losing your patience as this place isn’t making any sense. First, there was a white rabbit with a golden watch, then you crawled through a small hole that led you to some sort of fantasy land, then the rabbit accused you of being late, and now this.

You kick the edge of the wooden sign with your foot aggressively and let out a deep huff. “How do I get out of here?” you sigh as you cross your arms and furrow your eyebrows together.

“You want to get out of here? But you only just got here!” A slithery, deep voice slips down from one of the jacaranda trees and startles you as you jump back from the voice.

“Who’s there?” you ask shakily as you look up into the big purple leaves of the massive trees. You search and search until a large cat comes out of the shadows and shows its face. You stop in your tracks and look up as a pair of big green eyes appear on a low hanging branch. Its body materializes next as thick lines of purple and pink paint its long-haired fur.

“Who is there is a good question, isn’t it? I know who you are, but you don’t know me. How intriguing,” he smiles as he hangs off the branch and twists his body to where his face is right in front of yours. His green eyes glow like fairy lanterns and his pearly white sharp incisors seem to go on for miles.

“How do you know who I am?” you ask nervously as you stare back into eyes that lock on yours. His smile widens as he drops his body further, seeming to float in space as he places his sharp paws underneath his chin.

“Oh, my dear. Everyone knows who you are here. It’s no secret. We’ve been waiting. Mostly he’s been waiting. And what a treat that’ll be. You’re even prettier than I imagined,” he chuckles deeply as he spins his body around yours, floating in thin air.

“Who is he that everyone seems to be talking about?” you ask annoyed as you cross your bare arms over your chest and turn to follow his floating body. You want answers and you want them now.

“You’ll find out soon, very soon,” he laughs as his fanned out tail glides against your shoulder, leaving a feather-like touch to your skin.

“Fine, if you won’t tell me then just tell me which way I’ll find him,” you demand as you place your hands on your hips, letting the soft material of your blue dress sink through you.

“This way,” he points to the left, his claws sharp like knives as he switches directions and points to the right. “No, this way. Actually, maybe it’s north of here,” he smiles as he points up from where he floats.

You purse your lips to try to keep yourself calm. “Please, just tell me where to go,” you plead, eyes burning red as you try to keep your composure together, but it’s slowly breaking the more this cat plays with you.

“You’re exactly where you need to be, my dear. Just hold tight,” he smiles as he disappears into thin air, his voice carrying through the wind as it slowly slips away. Vanishing just like that.

You look every which way while fisting your hands to your side and turn back toward the direction you first came, looking out into the wildflower fields that paint the ground a sea of rainbow colors. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, letting the cool breeze hit your skin as you inhale scents of fresh roses and lilty daisies.

“Home, I need to get back home,” you whisper silently.

Just as you take another deep breath, you hear the deep sound of a throat being cleared and then a rugged, gravelly voice break you free of your thoughts of home.

“You lost there, darlin’?”

You turn back around, as quick as a bolt of crisp lightning, and you’re about to chew the cat back out until you realize it’s not him. It’s a man. Him. It has to be the one they were all talking about.

You watch as he leans up against the rough bark of a winding tree, his arms crossed over his broad chest as he leans and watches you closely, eyes trailing down your body as he takes you in nice and slow. Suddenly you’re completely nervous and forgetting your words as you take him in.

Tall. He’s so tall, a little over six feet if you had to guess. His eyes are like pools of honey. Deep, brown eyes that seem to have flecks of warmth sprinkled all around them. And his arms. God, his arms. Large, muscular as his biceps pull at the blue flannel button-up that wraps tightly around him. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, exposing large veins that seem to thread and skate down his arms as they end in massive hands. Hands that probably feel warm, safe.

His blue jeans cling to his thick thighs as clean leather boots lace up over his large feet. He smirks over at you, a flirtatious, playful look that says he’s trouble written all over that gorgeous face. A smooth, patchy beard and mustache cover his face with silver lining the edges. And his hair. Dark tousled curls that spill over the edges of his forehead, and you think they look soft to the touch, maybe even like velvet.

He looks like trouble to you. Warm, inviting, fun trouble.

God, he’s so handsome.

“Well?” he asks again, waiting for you to answer.

“I…I…” you stutter out, unable to even form a comprehensive sentence. What the fuck is wrong with you?

“Cat got your tongue?” he chuckles as the deep sound from his chest seems to reverberate right off the hollow tree barks, landing right into your own chest. It’s like you can feel his laugh. Warm, syrupy, infectious. He’s like a dream. A dream that doesn’t seem to be quite real.

You shake your head, clearing the fog as you find your words again. “I was just looking for my way out of here. Back home,” you answer as you take a step forward and lace your fingers together as you hold them nervously behind your back.

“Back home? You already want to leave so soon?” he laughs as he pushes himself off the tree and takes a few steps forward, crunching his leather boots over the salmon colored dirt of the road.

“Of course she doesn’t. She hasn’t even seen all of Wonderland yet,” the cat replies as he comes out of thin air and rests on the handsome man’s shoulders, his lined purple tail curling around his long neck. “I think she wants you to show her Wonderland,” he says with mischief written all over those glowing green cat eyes.

“Wonderland?” you ask with your eyebrows knit together in concentration. “What’s Wonderland?”

The cat twists its flexible body over the man’s arm, floating off to his side as he smiles brightly up at him. “I’ll let you lead the way. Good luck,” he grins as a loud laugh carries through every path of the massive forest. “Goodbye, pretty girl,” he calls as he vanishes once again into thin air, only the glow of his jagged smile staying in the cotton clouds, high above the trees.

You shake your head and laugh under your breath. This place isn’t real. It can’t be. “Who was that?” you ask the man as he crosses his arms and looks over at you with a gleam in his shiny brown eyes.

“That’s the Cheshire Cat. You can just call him Ches for short. That’s what we all call him,” he replies as he takes another step toward you, getting so close that you can smell him. Rich mahogany and the scent of deep pine needles. Intoxicating.

“And you? Who are you?” you ask as you flick your eyes over him, seeing just how large in stature he is.

“The name’s Joel. Joel Miller,” he nods as he sticks a large hand out to you, edging you to take it as he shoves it closer to you after you do nothing but stare at it.

You finally get the courage to reach your hand out and place it in his. You gasp as soon as he closes his strong grip on yours. His fingers are thick, calloused, warm as you slowly shake his hand.

His eyes lock on yours and it’s like you’re frozen in time, flecks of golden brown staring back at you as you quickly come back to reality. You drop his hand and take a step back, breaking the soft introduction as you stare at the small crevices in the ground.

“I know who you are.” He says your name softly as if he’s known you for years. And it sounds so good coming off his tongue, like a melody that sweeps past the breeze and lands right into a large bed of wildflowers. Gentle. He says your name so gently, soft. But how does he know your name? This doesn’t make any sense.

“How do you know my name?” you ask suspiciously as you watch him shift his weight back and forth against the firm ground.

He chuckles like this is all a game to him, like you know him already when in reality he’s a complete stranger. Someone you’ve never met. You would’ve remembered if you met someone like him before.

“There’s a lot I know about you, sweetheart,” he smirks, a devastatingly handsome smile that you can’t help but melt over.

Sweetheart? Something shifts inside you as you take in his handsome face, his warm eyes that seem to drip like flowing honey. A gleam in his eye that tells you you do know him. But how? You want to stare into those entrancing eyes, want to walk over and trace your fingers against the starry flecks of warmth, but there’s no time for that. You need answers, now.

“What is this place? Wonderland is what Ches said. What’s Wonderland?”

Joel just laughs and shakes his head. “Wonderland has been here for a very long time. It’s been here waiting for you. It’s been so long, darlin’. So very long. We didn’t think you’d ever come,” he says quietly as he huffs a sigh of relief that you’re actually standing here in front of him.

“You’ve been waiting? What? I don’t understand. I’ve never been here before. This has got to be some sick fantasy. I must’ve fallen and bumped my head. None of this is real.”

“You sure about that, sweetheart?” he asks as one of his dark eyebrows raises high on his forehead, eyes staring at you as if he’s waiting for you to say something else.

You question his stance but quickly shake your head out of the daze. “Yes, this isn’t real. Now I’m going to close my eyes and pinch myself and then I’ll wake up back in the real world,” you confirm as you close your eyes tightly and dream of home.

Home. You mean back to your overwhelming, overworked life as you engage in endless meetings and parties with people that don’t matter. Is that what you really want to go back to? Is that what you want?

You keep your eyes sealed closed as you grit your teeth together and think of home. Home. Back to your warm bed and back to your cat, Duchess. You feel a pinch sting your arm as you squeeze your fingertips together, but to no avail. It doesn’t seem to work.

You hear the sounds of a deep chuckle rumbling in front of you, and then you peel your eyes open to see Joel standing a few paces away as he crosses his strong arms and shakes his head in dismissal. He’s laughing at you.

“What’s so funny?” you ask annoyed, huffing out as you see you’re still in Wonderland. It didn’t work.

“Didn’t work, did it?” he smirks, his large hand dragging down his coarse beard as his penetrating gaze keeps you in place.

You gulp, catching your own breath as you answer quietly. “No. I guess it didn’t…”

“That’s because this is real,” he confirms as he takes another step closer to you, boots scuffing against the dirt as he takes another and another and another until he’s standing right in front of you, wild brown eyes sinking down into yours.

You shake your head, unwilling to accept that this may very well be real. “This isn’t real. You’re not real.”

“Not real, huh? Reach out and touch the trunk of the tree,” he instructs as his gentle voice carries through the crisp air.

“Why?”

“Just do it, will ya?” he asks with more force in his rugged voice, the sound making you stand up straighter as it reverberates down your spine.

“You’re a stubborn one, ain’t ya?” he chuckles, a Southern drawl carrying through the wind as it lands straight through your ringing eardrums.

“Guess so,” you laugh.

You reach your arm out timidly and stroke the dark bark of the tree, feeling the rough edges snag against the palm of your hand.

“There ya go, just like that,” he praises as you feel his hot breath breathing down your neck, your skin suddenly boiling alive as you breathe in the scent of fresh bark and wood as it seems to cloud your racing mind.

You take a step back out of his reach and look nervously around you. It sure felt real, but it still didn’t explain how you were here.

As if he sees the wavering expression on your face, he speaks again. Low and gruff sounds falling off the tip of his tongue. “This place is real. Just as much as I am. Here, close your eyes for a second,” he says nicely as he takes another step forward.

You take a step back, and he holds his hands up to say he’s not going to hurt you. “Please, just for a second. Close ‘em. Need you to trust me, sweetheart.”

As your mind caves to his request, you find yourself obeying. You close your eyes and twist your fingers around the hem of your dress, letting the nerves drift away as you try to relax.

“Now, take a deep breath. Focus on the sounds of the rushing water, the trees gently blowing through the wind, the air around you as it blows through your hair. Just listen, get lost in the sounds, in yourself,” he instructs with a lilty voice, the sounds instantly calming you as you follow his instructions.

You slow your breathing down, taking nice, deep breaths as you lose yourself to your surroundings. You hear the faint hum of honey bees dancing through the wildflowers, feel the rush of spring air as it blows gently through your flowing hair, hear the trickle of the river as the distant waterfall clashes against rocks and smooth water.

Focus. Deep breaths. This is real, this is real.

Before you can take another breath, a large palm slides against your cheek, and you almost jolt at the electric spark it ignites in your body.

“Does this feel real to you?” he asks quietly, the volume of his words coming off as composed, soft, warm.

You carefully place your hand over his as you feel the opposite textures of his skin. The back of his hand is soft, smooth as your fingers timidly graze along his tanned skin. His palm is rough, calloused fingers hovering over your jawline as his thick fingers stay right there on your face.

It feels strange how warm and inviting he feels, how vaguely familiar he seems as you breathe in the taste of mahogany and pinewood, letting the scent coat your lungs as you drink it down. You want to box it up, wrap it tightly in a jar so you can fill your surroundings with the smell of him.

“Open your eyes,” he whispers, his hand still grazing your jawline as you flutter your eyelids open.

Your eyes grow wide as you see him standing right in front of you, boots meeting the edges of your open wedge shoes as you see just how clear and coated his glossy brown eyes are now.

“This real enough for you?” he asks quietly as he slides his calloused thumb across your cheek once more, filling your insides with warmth and peace. A peace you’ve been craving for months.

“Yes,” you whisper out, voice deceiving you as he drops his hand and chuckles, taking a step back as he digs his fingers into the pocket of his dark jeans. You’re suddenly aware that the warmth is gone from your face. It left the moment he dropped his fingers from your jawline.

You take a moment to breathe, letting the warm sunlight wash over your fair skin as you let the scent of lilies and forest scents bring you back to earth. You take one more deep breath and ask the question that haunts your mind.

“What am I doing here, Joel? How am I? I just… I just don’t understand.” Your right hand grabs the edge of the satiny material of your light blue dress as your eyes wander back over to the man with broad shoulders and beautiful eyes.

He shrugs a little, but smiles underneath the hoods of his brown eyes. “You needed an escape, darlin’. You opened the door to Wonderland. You found it, with a little help from the white rabbit,” he responds with a deep chuckle. “But, ultimately, you found it on your own. It’s your fantasy land.”

“My fantasy land? But I… I’ve never been here before. How could it be mine if I didn’t even know about it? And you. How could you possibly know I was coming?” you ask with your voice raised, endless questions brewing as if this was all impossible in the first place.

Impossible. This place is impossible.

“I wasn’t sure you would come. I only hoped you would,” he says softly as warm brown eyes look down into yours, feelings stirring inside you that you can’t quite decipher. Too twisted, too tied in knots, too risky to untangle.

“Why do I feel like I’ve known you for years? I only just met you…” you whisper vacantly, your voice hollowing out on the last syllable as something snaps inside you. A feeling of… tranquility.

“A funny feelin’, ain’t it? Those feelings are never really wrong though, are they?”

His pondering questions make you feel crazy, mind boggling as you slowly shake your head. No. That can’t be true. Or is he just twisting your mind to make you believe whatever he says? But somehow you know he’s not lying to you. He wouldn’t. Somehow you know he’s not playing tricks on you. Deep down you know, he’s telling the truth.

You run your fingers through your hair and let them fall back down to your sides unfaltering. “Am I mad? Have I lost my mind?” you ask distraughtly as you bite your lower lip and knit your eyebrows together in deep thought.

He takes a step forward, golden eyes shining in the sunlight as he laughs and shakes his head. “We’re all a little mad here, darlin’.”

You stifle a small laugh and shake your head knowingly. “Mmm,” you hum as you take in the madness of the words.

We’re all mad here.

He nods his head as a curl falls down against his forehead, leaning toward the winding path that’ll take you north into a forest of wonders. “C’mon. Follow me.”

Follow me. The words twist off his tongue as they echo through your mind. Follow me. What will happen if you do follow him?

You turn back toward the way you came, eyes searching for a hidden door you can’t see anymore. Covered by twisting vines and a sea of green mazes that snake around the overflowing garden. No turning back now.

You feel Joel’s large presence behind you, drawing closer and closer until he’s right behind you as his dark shadow falls across the salmon colored pathway. You inhale a deep breath, but all you smell is pine needles and fresh wood and maybe a hint of fresh cut grass. You smell him.

“You’ve gotta stop lookin’ back from the way you came, sweetheart. I know that’s the last place you want to be right now. You want to be away from the noise, the stress, the fake smiles.”

His voice slides against the shell of your ear, reverberating down to your chest as his words sting your insides. Of course you don’t want to go back to that. So why are you looking back?

“What are you so scared of, sweetheart? Hmm?” he asks quietly, his fingertips grazing the edge of your arm as goosebumps form over the sensitive areas he touches. Wildfire burning in the thick brush of trees is what it feels like. Fiery, tempting, smoldering. You can almost taste the flames. Those stirring, enticing flames.

“Everything,” you whisper, pulling all the courage in your gut to answer his question. What are you so scared of?

“Everything, huh? Darlin’, you don’t have to be scared of me. You don’t have to fear this place. This is your safe haven, your sanctuary. Take a leap of faith. Come join me. Follow me through the trees. There’s nothin’ to fear. The only thing you should fear is time itself. So relax. Can you do that for me?” he asks, his hot breath blowing down your exposed neck as you feel his large hand slip down to your waist, barely grazing your light blue dress as his lips sit dangerously close to your jawline.

You don’t have to be scared of me. Relax. This is your safe haven. The words simmer in your mind as your heartbeat races in your blood. The only thing you should fear is time itself.

“The only thing you should fear is time?” you repeat, the words leaving your lips as you feel his calloused fingers trace a flyaway hair behind your ear, tucking it back neatly as he lines his soft lips up to your earlobe and whispers.

“Time, darlin’. You can’t escape it, can’t run from it. But you can run with the madness, let your mind unwind just a little as you slip away into wonder. Let me show you the way,” he coaxes, a sweet melody that enchants your very soul, pulling you toward him, away from all the noise of the outside world, away from normalcy.

You feel him slip from your grasp as you open your eyes up and turn slowly in his direction, seeking his soft brown eyes and deft fingers again. He smirks over at you, a mischievous grin as he nods his head and holds out his hand.

“Follow me through Wonderland, sweetheart. Let me show you exactly what I’m talking about.”

You look at his outstretched hand and look back behind you, back to the way you came in. No going back. This is your chance. Take a leap of faith. Follow him through Wonderland.

You turn once more and see him nod his head, a gentle smile curling up against the sides of his mouth as his warm eyes wade into yours. It’s like you hear his calming drawl as you look at his outstretched hand, calloused fingers reaching your way, convincing you to take it.

Follow me through Wonderland. Let me show you.

You lift your hand, curling your fingers as you think twice about it. His soft brown eyes relax, the crow’s feet pulling at the edges of his tanned skin as his crinkled eyes tell you it’s okay. You can take his hand.

“C’mon, sweetheart. You can trust me,” he says softly, his large palm reaching out a little more, coaxing you to take it.

It’s like you hear the swaying whispers of the wild flowers in the fields, their small trills of voices as they carry through the wind. Take his hand. He’s safe. He’s been waiting so long for you. Let him take you to Wonderland.

You feel it inside your chest, the building breaths and aching longing that leads you to him. Just one more glance at those brown flecks of warmth and that’s all it takes to convince you.

You reach your hand out and press it slowly into his palm, letting his calloused fingers lace through yours as you gasp at the warmth that simmers there. Safe, he’s safe.

He leads you forward through the thick trees, passing peculiar species of birds and plants you’ve never seen before. All shades of the rainbow laid out like a colorful map for you to take in. As you look around in awe, Joel turns his head back and smiles at you. A warm, gentle smile that makes your insides melt with affection.

He continues leading you through this beautiful, strange world. Further, further, further until you’re almost to the end of the pink road, following Joel as he takes the lead.

His hand presses into yours more, calloused fingers brushing over yours as comfort embeds your entire skin.

Familiar, he seems so familiar like you’ve been here before, like you’ve held his hand before, like you’ve known him for so long. And it’s strange, such a strange feeling that encompasses your whole being.

You reach the end of the path and then end up in a wide open space that looks like an enchanted forest. Rows of colorful tulips, marigolds, and lillies cover the area. Green hills in the far distance tower high in the sky, lush grass covers the ground, and a running river crashes lightly to the left of a cobblestone path.

As you walk through the path of vivid flowers, you swear you hear them whispering, calling your name as your bare legs brush past them. And it sounds like they’re talking about you.

Joel chuckles quietly in front of you as he shakes his head, ruffling his tousled curls as he turns and looks back at you.

“Did I hear the flowers whisper my name? Or am I hearing things?” you ask as he looks at you with sun kissed lips and brown flecked eyes.

“They uh… they were definitely talkin’ ‘bout ya. Don’t mind them. They like to gossip to each other,” he laughs, the infectious sound flowing through your ears as you can’t help but smile shyly back up at him.

He really is handsome.

“What are they saying?” you ask as he continues to lead you through the glowing sunshine of the glittering forest.

“They think you’re pretty,” he blushes as if he’s hiding something else, but you don’t push for more answers.

“Pretty, huh? That’s what they think?”

“Mhm. Beautiful…” he whispers under his breath, making your cheeks blush crimson as you fight a growing smile on your glossy lips.

As you continue walking through patches of soft grass, past more whispering tulip fields, you can’t help but wonder if this is all a trick of the eye. Everything is so beautiful, so surreal like that it’s hard to wrap your head around this place.

Joel looks back your way and squeezes your hand, assessing your wandering gaze as you watch a bright blue butterfly land on Joel’s shoulder, the butterfly seeming to stare up at him as Joel smiles down and nods. “Hello, Absolem.”

“Absolem?” you ask as the butterfly turns your way and crawls on the back of your hand, looking up at you as if he’s trying to talk to you. No words come out of his mouth, but you swear you see a tiny speck of a smile on his lips as he flies away and leaves you standing there watching in awe.

“Absolem,” Joel confirms.

“You talk to butterflies in your spare time?” you laugh as you casually tease him. He squeezes his hand around you and shakes his head.

“We’re in Wonderland, remember? You can pretty much talk to anything, even the trees. They’ll eventually answer you.”

“Strange, this is so strange.”

“Just wait till you see the mad tea party up ahead,” he responds as he pulls you deeper into a shaded area covered by big, purple leaves that fill the trees.

“Mad tea party?” you ask with a raised brow.

“You’ll see,” he smirks as he pulls you along.

You walk around a big, shaded tree and come to stand a few feet from a long, narrow table that has tall wooden chairs surrounding it. A lacy white table cloth hangs low over the edges as various icing topped cakes, intricate tea pots, fine china, and pastries litter the table in a heap.

You gasp as you see a mangy rabbit with discombobulated ears yelling about unbirthdays and tea sitting about the table. The white rabbit sits on the opposite side assessing his golden watch while arguing with the other rabbit, and the Cheshire Cat floats above the table as he curls his striped tail around his neck. But what wracks your brain a little is the tall, peculiar man that sits at the head of the table.

He has a large green top hat with a decorative pink ribbon around the rim of the hat. His clothes are odd. A red velvet jacket sits atop a purple frilly shirt with a large multicolored bow around his neck. His pants sit pressed against his legs as stripes fill the cotton material.

When he looks up, a large white smile fills his face as bright red hair sticks out underneath his top hat and flashy green eyes stare wildly your way. He drops his cup of tea and sprints over to you in a hurry, wide eyes staring your way in shock.

“It’s you! You finally found your way,” he says out of breath, voice elated with excitement as he looks over at Joel. “Joel, you found her. You brought her back!” he shouts as he jumps up and down in a crazed manner.

“Brought me back?” you ask confused. But you haven’t been here before. Have you?

“She found Wonderland herself, hatter. I didn’t bring her here. She found it on her own.” He looks over at you, and you swear you see pride in his eyes, a fondness that could only be explained by looking into his eyes.

Safe. He’s safe.

“Darlin’, this is the mad hatter.”

The mad hatter takes your hand as he says your name and bows his head as he tips his oversized hat to you, making you feel like you belong here. Like you’re not a stranger to this world.

“Nice to meet you,” you say as you give him a courteous greeting.

He smiles up at you with a big Cheshire grin and asks you the most curious question you’ve ever heard before. “Why is a raven like a writing desk?” he asks with big green eyes as he leans forward with his hands clapping together in anticipation.

“Umm I’m not sure…” you say quizzically, eyebrows knit together as Joel just shakes his head.

“Hatter, she doesn’t have time for questions like that. Let her be. Her and Joel have places to go,” the white rabbit says as he holds up his ticking watch, the other rabbit just pointing and laughing at nothing in particular.

“Oh, right. Well you must come back for tea! We can celebrate your unbirthday and have lots of tea and cake,” he shouts loudly as he bows and skips back over to the table, joining the madness of the tea party again.

“Go on now,” the Cheshire Cat says as he waves you off with the flick of his purple paw. “Have fun with Joel.” He smiles a wide, bright smile at you as it curls into a devious smirk, pure trouble behind those blinding green eyes.

Joel chuckles under his breath and shakes his head. “C’mon, darlin’. Got a lot more to show you.” He grabs your wrist and pulls you the opposite way of the tea party as you hear the faint shouts and laughs from the ridiculousness of it all.

As you walk through a trail of wispy willows and white rose bushes, you ask him another question as you follow his lead. “You live here? In Wonderland?”

“Mhm. Got a house right up that winding path.” He points to a cobblestone path that leads into a valley of tall, green trees that overlook the side of a flowing waterfall.

“It’s just you?” you ask, eyes fixed on the large veins in his neck as he purses his lips together and nods his head.

“Jus’ me, darlin’.”

“It must get lonely here. By yourself, I mean,” you say as you nip at your bottom lip, hoping you’re not overstretching your questions.

“It can be, I suppose.” At those words, his thick fingers wrap tighter around your wrist, almost as if he’s latching on to you, hoping you won’t leave too soon. You can almost hear the wallowing of his words as if he speaks them out loud to you.

Don't go away. Stay here with me.

You continue walking, the green grass catching on your shoes as you come across a large, glistening pond. Massive green lily pads with pink flowers that sit atop them wade in the water as they float gently in the breeze. Joel nods his head and takes a step forward, but you take a step back, fear coursing through you.

“You want me to cross that?” you ask all wide-eyed and mouth falling open as you see no other way across. “Wouldn’t the lily pads just sink?”

“They’re solid, made for crossing by foot. It’s alright. I do it all the time.”

He holds his hand out, his large palm facing up as he nods for you to take it. You weigh your options carefully. Either turn back to the mad tea party or take your chances here with Joel. You know which one you want to choose.

His brown eyes become warmer, golden flecks dancing in his irises as he spreads his fingers wider, taking a step in your direction as he asks you once more to put a little faith in him.

“C’mon, sweetheart. You trust me?” he asks as his eyebrows knit together in a tight line, his eyes searching yours as he waits for an answer. There’s that look again, the one you saw back at the entrance from where you came. You hear the words so carefully.

You can trust me.

“Yes,” you breathe, putting your hand in his as a smile curls up on his lips that forms a dimple against his cheek.

He’s so fucking handsome.

“Well, c’mon then, sweetheart. This way,” he responds as he carefully leads you across the floating lily pads.

Glowing coy fish glide under the water as sparkling dragonflies hover over the surface of the crystal clear water and dance around the green lily pads. The smell of spring and rose bushes fill the air as the glowing sun warms your soft skin. This place is so magical.

When you finally cross over to the other side of the pond, Joel leads you over to a sea of giant mushrooms. Pastel pinks, dark blues, violet purples, and shades of ember reds fill the area. And they look so soft to the touch, like velvet beds you can crawl up and take a cat nap on.

Joel turns you around, his eyes softening as those flecks of warmth sink deep into yours. He stands so close to you, so close that you can smell the pine wood and mahogany scent that drip off his very being. You want to inhale that scent, drown in it as it coats your insides, bottle it up so you remember exactly what he smells like.

And then he smiles. That deep, warm smile that seems to pull everything into place. It’s so warm, so calming, so soothing. You’ve seen it before, you know you have. But where? When? You don’t even know. All you know is you have seen him before. You must have.

You gulp and twist your fingers nervously through your skirt that blows gently in the wind, your lips parting open as you find your words. “Why do I feel like this isn’t the first time I’ve met you? I feel… I feel like I’ve known you for so long,” you murmur out carefully as your gears grind together in your brain.

He chuckles, a deep, sated sound that seems to fill your body up with a splash of warmth. “You think you’ve been here before?” he asks curiously, eyebrows raising as he places all his attention on you.

“I don’t… I don’t think so. I would’ve remembered this place. I would’ve remembered you,” you stammer out, your brain cells firing off as you try to remember.

Remember, remember, remember. But you can’t. You can’t.

Your brain starts to go foggy, all memories of this place nonexistent. If you’ve never been here before then why do you feel this way about Joel? Why is he clouding your entire mind with his warm eyes and gentle smile?

“Why do you think you’re here, darlin’? Why do you think you opened up that locked door to Wonderland?” he asks with a tilted head, eyebrows knitting together as he concentrates solely on you.

You gulp as his intense stare lingers on you. Your fingers grip the hem of your dress as you stutter out nonsense. “I… ummm I don’t know…”

“No?” he asks as he crooks his head, a hand sitting deep in the pocket of his jeans as his eyebrows mold together in a tight line. “I think you do, sweetheart.”

You take another breath as you blow it out through your mouth, letting it fall through the wind as you swallow back nerves. “You seem to know, Joel. So tell me. Tell me why I’m here.”

He smirks before he starts to move forward, his broad form coming closer and closer until he’s standing right in front of you. Joel circles you slowly, calloused fingers trailing up your bare arms as he slides behind your tense shoulders. He drags his index finger along your collarbone gently, making you squeak as nerves pull through the pit of your stomach.

“This is why you came here, remember? To let go, to lose yourself in this fantasy,” he purrs as his lips slide against the shell of your ear, breathing hot air down your neck as your body seems to still against the lull of his deep voice.

His thick fingers trace your jawline, your chin, your neck as he courses down to the strap of your delicate sky blue dress and lingers there, slowly hooking a finger under as he whispers seductively into your ear, “So let go.”

Your breath hitches as his sloped nose brushes against yours, his lips hanging inches above yours as you stare at them. Big, plush, enticing lips. Soft. They look so soft, like they’d fit perfectly over yours.

His forehead drops down to yours as you breathe him in deep. Pine trees, wood, sunlight, ecstasy. It’s all you smell, all you feel as his calloused fingers brush over your jawline, lingering under your chin as he brings your face up, up, up. Just enough to be able to brush his lips against yours as you feel hot warmth flood through your insides. Anticipation builds as you nearly moan his name out, your lips parting slightly as you gaze into his warm, starry eyes. And in that moment you want him, badly.

“Is this what you want, sweetheart? Wanna let go and lose yourself in me?” he blows over your lips, his fingers brushing a curl behind your ear as they tease your jawline, making you arch up more as your fingers dig into the soft material of his flannel. “Say yes, let me show you how to let go,” he coaxes.

Without thinking, you let your body take control as you slur the words out effortlessly. “Yes, show me. Show me how to let go,” you whisper.

He wastes no time and crashes into your lips, his large hands cupping your face as he presses deeper against your mouth. Soft. His lips are so fucking soft as they ravish yours deftly.

You part your lips for him, letting him slot his tongue inside your mouth as he glides the tip of it against yours. He dances around your mouth, meticulous circles as you breathe him in, tasting the honeysuckle flavor of his large tongue. You run your fingers through his tousled curls and feel the moan that catches in his mouth, making you burn like wildfire against the sound.

He starts pushing you back and you walk backwards and feel yourself stop as something hits the back of your thighs. He doesn’t let up, doesn’t stop as he takes and takes and takes. Continuing to twist his savory tongue around your mouth.

After a few more seconds of intense kissing and fingers twisting in hair, he breaks the kiss and leans his forehead against yours as his large hands run down your sides, landing on your hips as he starts to hike your dress slowly up. Your breathing is ragged, desperate as you want more.

Give me more, please.

It’s like he senses your need as he asks, “You gonna let go for me, sweetheart? Let me give you what you need?”

“Yes, yes,” you whisper rapidly as you hear him chuckle under his breath.

“Good, let me take care of you, baby. Sit back for me.”

He pushes you back further as you land sitting on top of a dark blue mushroom. It’s big, soft, almost velvety as you lay your palms flat against it. It almost feels like a bed made of feathers. How strange. He puts a hand on your shoulder and gently shoves you back until you’re laying flat against the mushroom, the softness of it all taking over as your heart pounds in your chest.

You look up and see him stalking toward you like a starved dog, his smirk widening as his eyes darken and hound you. When he reaches the edge of the mushroom, he grabs your legs and slides you forward as you hear a small yelp escape your vocal cords.

“What are you… what are you doing?” you ask nervously as he slowly starts to part your legs while dragging his thick fingers up and down your thighs languidly.

“What’s it look like I’m doin’, hmm?” he asks, smirking as he cocks an eyebrow up and digs his nail beds into your flesh, making a coat of slick fall against your now sticky panties.

He moves up, up, up until he’s hovering over your clothed folds, brushing ever so gently against the damp material. Oh, fuck. He teases the waistband of the material and skims over the soft skin underneath, making you bite your bottom lip as you practically beg him with your needy eyes to keep going.

“You want me to keep goin’, baby? You gotta tell me what you want. Use your words, c’mon.”

“I… yes, I…” you stutter out, unable to say anything else as he barely slides the waistband down, just enough to where you feel the gentle breeze blow against your nearly exposed pussy.

Oh, fuck.

“You want me to make you feel good? Want me to take all that stress and pent up energy away?” he asks as his eyes start to pulse into dark pits. “Hmm?” he hums as he brushes the heel of his palm into your dripping center, making you jump at the jolt of electricity.

“Please. Fuck, Joel. Please,” you beg as he hikes your light blue skirt over your hips and presses his thumb into your clothed folds that are already soaking for him.

“Goddamn, darlin’. Already so fuckin’ wet for me,” he hisses as he slips his thumb inside the lace material and brushes his thumb against your soft folds.

He groans as he feels just how wet you are for him. “You have no idea how good I’m gonna make you feel, baby. Just lay back and let me take care of this pretty pussy,” he smirks.

He grabs the edges of the material and slides them fluidly down your legs as he throws them to the ground. He stands back and rakes his hand painfully through his scruff as he knits his eyebrows together and groans at the sight of you.

“Goddamn it, you’re so pretty, baby. Fuck,” he groans as he pushes your knees apart and stares at your pulsing core, a look of pure pain crossing his tan face.

He falls to his knees on the bed of grass as he slowly starts to trail kisses up your legs. He starts at your ankle, slowly working his way up the side of your knee, then pressing sweet kisses to the inside of your thighs as he works you up nice and slow.

He slowly blows a wave of air across your exposed center and lavishly runs his hands up and down your thighs as you feel more slick start to form between your thighs.

“Oh, baby. Fuckin’ drippin’ for me. You look so sweet, just wanna eat you up,” he groans as he places a tender kiss into the crease of your thigh and then slowly, slowly reaches your center, right where you want him.

“Oh,” you breathe out, forgetting how to take even breaths as your body starts to shake.

“Eyes on me, darlin’. Want you to watch,” he purrs, his eyes dark pits as he hooks his meaty hands around your thighs and smirks up at you. “Eyes. On. Me.”

He slowly licks a thick stripe from your dripping hole and glides it up against your soft folds as he repeats the action two more times. You let out a breathy moan as his tongue makes all your nerve endings come alive. Wildfire burning through your body, begging him to give you more.

“Joel,” you moan as he teases the tops of your folds with his large tongue, smirking as his drool runs down your pussy.

“You taste so fuckin’ sweet, darlin’,” he coos out. “Just hang on.”

He lifts his mouth and slowly lets saliva that’s pooling in his mouth drip over your throbbing pussy, letting the warm sensation cover you in bliss. He breathes in deep and then spits on you as he meticulously rubs the fluid around and around and around, rubbing his thumb in tight circles around your aching clit.

You writhe against him and part your lips open, knitting your eyebrows together as the sensation makes your head feel dizzy and light. You choke on another moan as he stares deeply into your eyes as he circles and circles and circles. Rubbing just the right areas as more slick drips down his calloused fingers.

“Joel,” you whine as his calloused thumb presses deeper against your clit.

“That’s right, baby. I’ve got you. Hang on, sweetheart. Not gonna stop till I have you coming on my tongue,” he growls.”

He plunges his soft lips down on you as he parts your folds with his fingers and laps soft circles against your puffy clit. You moan as he devours you and tilt your head back in pure bliss as you stare up at the fluffy cotton candy clouds.

You flutter your eyelashes as you tilt your head to look down at him, his blown out pupils staring up at you wide-eyed as he feasts on you nice and slow. He pulls your throbbing bundle of nerves into his warm mouth, and it takes everything in you to keep from coming in that instant.

He slips two fingers inside your dripping hole as he plunges deep inside you, curling his fingers up to hit that spot that makes you see stars in your blurry vision. You twist your fingers into his tousled curls as he moans against you, pulling your clit back into his mouth as he sucks you down, down, down.

You hear the squelching noises of his fingers plunging in and out of you, feel the pressure building in your spine as he licks and sucks your glistening clit. You feel like you’re on cloud nine, feel as if it’s just you and Joel in this fantasy land, feel as if you could come undone at any moment as the wet noises seem to echo through the blowing breeze.

You feel your walls start to clench up as he quickens his pace of his fingers inside you, licking long stripes up your core as you moan out his name again and again and again. You’re so close, so close to spilling yourself all over him as you tighten your fingers through his curls and arch your back off the matte blue mushroom.

“C’mon, baby. Come for me. Let me see you let go,” he coaxes as he presses against your spongy walls and pulls your clit into his mouth as he sucks you deep. That’s what does it for you.

“Fuck, Joel. I… I’m coming,” you moan as you feel your walls clench up one more time and then release, white hot liquid spilling down as he laps you up nice and slow.

Your vision goes black as you tilt your head to the sky and let your body ease into a relaxed state as you come down from your orgasm. You feel your breath come in rapid waves as you fight for air to build back in your lungs, your core still on fire for Joel as he laps up all your slick in between your legs.

He stands tall as his large body leans over you, your legs straddling around him as he stands in between your thighs. Your slick glistens on his patchy scruff and mustache, and it makes you that much wetter as your eyes trail over his ravenous features.

“Did so good, baby. So good,” he praises as he brings one hand to caress your cheek affectionately, making you tingle all over at the fondness of the touch.

“That was… that was incredible,” you gasp out as he smirks down at you, the warm flecks of his eyes shining down on you like a golden ray of sunshine.

Warm. He’s so warm.

“Glad I could indulge in your fantasies,” he chuckles as he brings his hand back down your side, his fingers tracing delicately down your hip as he makes his way over your thigh, slowly trailing up and down in slow motions.

“You’re gonna give me another one,” he smirks, his pupils expanding into black pits as he brushes against your sensitive folds.

“Another one? But I’m so sensitive, Joel. I don’t know if I can…” you whine, panting between breaths as you think about him giving you another mind blowing orgasm.

“Oh, trust me. You can and you will,” he growls between his teeth as he starts to move his fingers up and down your folds again, starting a fire down in the pits of your core. “Tell me yes, sweetheart. Tell me it’s okay.”

Your mind fogs over as you nod your head and whisper out, “Okay. Okay.”

“You trust me?” he asks with a cocked brow, his fingers slowly gliding up and down your center, already building slick against his thick fingers.

“I trust you,” you nod, biting your lip as you hold back a moan.

“Yeah ya do,” he smirks. “Don’t hold back now, baby. Wanna hear those loud moans.”

He presses his calloused fingers deeper against your center, spreading your folds as he starts to circle his slick coated fingers against your puffy clit. He spits down again on your pussy and gathers the spit on his fingers, making you more soaked as you hear the sticky, wet sounds of thick fingers against drenched skin.

He hovers over you, leaning against his arm as he stares intensely down at you with those big black pits of his. Your mouth drops open as he flicks against your clit faster, faster, faster until your eyes start to roll back as you feel the blood rushing between your legs.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises as you moan at the sweet words, nearly blacking out as the intense sensations wash over your entire body. You grab onto his flannel shirt as you fight for your life, your second orgasm so close to breaking that you feel like you’re about to lose control.

“C’mon, give it to me. Let me see you come again, baby,” he coos as he presses down harder onto your throbbing clit, his hand moving side to side faster and faster as you feel your back arch off the velvet mushroom.

It all happens so fast. You let the vibrations buzz through your body, starting at your head that slips slowly down your body as you curl your toes and roll your eyes back. You feel the hot heat start to slide out of you as you release for him, more come pouring out than last time as you feel the ecstasy encase your entire body.

“Oh, that’s a good fuckin’ girl. Goddamn,” he moans as he slows his fingers to gentle strokes and makes sure he works you through your orgasm entirely.

You lay there with half hooded eyes, your fingers still curled around his flannel as you slowly release and drop them down next to you. You feel satiated, satisfied, but yet you still want more.

When he starts to back away, you grab his wrist and prevent him from moving out of your range. “Wait, Joel. I need… want more,” you gasp out, your breath winded and tired as you fight to stay completely in one piece.

He knits his eyebrows together and turns your head to face him, his large fingers cupping your chin as he stares down at you with intense eyes. “You want more?” he asks softly.

“Yes, yes,” you whine out, almost embarrassed by how needy you sound.

He chuckles and shakes his head back and forth. “Think you can handle it, sweetheart? Not too tired?” he asks with a sly smirk as the crow’s feet pull at the corners of his eyes.

He’s so fucking perfect.

“Mm-mm,” you shake your head, your hand reaching for his flannel as he lets you grasp on to him.

“Alright, but you asked for it, darlin’. Gonna give ya what you need,” he smirks as he slowly unbuckles his leather belt, unzipping the zipper of his denim jeans as he slides them and his black briefs down, letting his leaking cock press against his soft tummy.

You gasp at how massive he is, the precum spilling over as you wonder what it tastes like, what it feels like inside you.

He crawls on top of your body, crowding your space as you feel overwhelmed by the smell of his woodsy, pine scent. It intoxicates you, drives you mad as you fist at his flannel shirt, desperate to get him as close as humanly possible without completely jumping into your skin.

“Joel,” you whine, pawing at the flannel material as you beg him to take you.

He cups your chin in his large palm and looks you deep in the eyes. “Relax, sweetheart. Let me give you what you need,” he coos.

He lines up with your entrance as he teases you, sliding the tip of his cock up and down your folds as he collects your slick and his spit, already starting a fire in your core as he brushes past your sensitive clit.

“Fuck,” you hiss as his teasing torments you.

“Mmm, that’s right, gorgeous. Gonna take ya now, gonna make all your worries disappear,” he whispers as he hooks your legs over his shoulders and slides his slippery cock inside you.

Your mind goes numb, your brain stilling as the air seems to shift colorfully around you. It’s like the clouds turn pink, misty blue as colors swirl around your vision, making it look like you’re inside a make believe dream. Ecstasy, blinding pleasure erupts through your body every time he ruts up deeper inside you. His cock thrusting, thrusting, thrusting, so deep that it hits that spot that has your ears ringing with white noise.

He gives, gives, gives himself to you, making you cry out with blissful moans as he bends your knees to your chest and fucks into you deeper, harder than before. The sensation builds, your third orgasm right on the edge every time he gives more of himself to you, ravaging you until you can barely take it anymore.

“You’re so fucking beautiful moaning my name, sweetheart. Squeezin’ me so tight,” he breathes out raggedly as sweat builds against his forehead, making his curls stick together as he breaks the distance and crashes his lips down on top of yours.

The kiss is hungry, needy, starving as your tongue collides with his; his hips rocking back and forth between yours. You taste yourself on him, let the salty, sweet flavor run down your glossy lips as your moans twist together in unison. A sweet melody that fills the air as you get lost in each other’s ecstasy.

He bottoms out in you, thrusting faster and faster until you’re on the verge of tears. You’re so sensitive, your body on the edge of spilling again as you hear the slick slap of skin on skin through the air.

“Joel, I’m gonna… I’m about to…” you cry out as a tear licks at the corner of your eye. You’re not going to last any longer.

“Come for me, baby. Let me feel you,” he coaxes against your lips, his forehead leaning on yours as he speeds up his thrusts. He hits your spongy spot one more time, and that has you clawing the back of his neck as your hands tangle in the hair at the scruff of his neck.

You clench up around his thick cock and then spill all over him, milky hot come leaking down your thighs as he groans against your lips as you echo a low moan back to him.

“Fuck, that’s a good girl,” he praises as he thrusts deeper, deeper, deeper until he’s bottom out time and time again. You’re on cloud nine as you feel his cock drive into you, feel your body go numb against his hold on you as you feel him start to lose control.

“Gonna-fuck, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna-” His mouth drops open and his eyebrows furrow together as he moans out your name, thick ropes of come painting your insides as your eyes roll back at the warm sensation.

He ruts up once more in you, spilling his entire seed as you both breathe in foggy, dense air. Arousal and the smell of sex envelop the wind, blowing down your body as you smell nothing but you and him mixing together to paint the skies red. He takes a minute of just keeping his cock inside you as he runs a hand down your cheek affectionately, warm eyes sinking into yours as his lips curl into the most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen.

“Did so good for me, my girl. So good,” he praises as he cups your cheek and plants a gentle kiss across your lips. You drink him down, wanting to remember how he tastes like honeysuckle and sugar cookies. He tastes like something you want to imprint in your memory.

When he releases, he slowly slides out of you. You moan at the loss of him, but he scoops you up in his arms when he lays flat on his back. He feels warm, secure, safe. He feels like someplace you want to stay forever. Your eyelids start to flutter closed, your body unable to stay awake any longer. You’re so tired, so worn out from the sex. You just need to rest a little, let your mind enter into the thick fog.

“Joel, I’m so tired,” you slur as your words start mixing together, your eyelids growing heavy against your eyes.

“Go to sleep, baby. I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” he hums out, his strong arms pulling you closer into his chest as you let your mind fade into the darkness. Your vision goes black as you fall asleep instantly, knowing you’re safe in Joel’s arms.

When you start to wake up from your nap, you smell the scent of fresh roses lingering in the air and hear the sounds of cheerful birds chirping in the distance. As you start to shift your body and start to flutter your eyes open, you feel movement underneath you. You feel the broad chest underneath you as he slowly breathes in and out, feeling how warm he is with your fingers tangled in his soft flannel.

When your eyes finally open, he smiles up as you as his fingers rake down your scalp. “There you are, darlin’. Was starting to wonder when you’d wake up. You were out for a couple hours,” he says with a deep, sleepy edge to his voice. He must’ve fallen asleep at some point, too.

You hum out against his chest, your chin laying on his chest as you look up at his warm eyes, those eyes that make you melt with longing. “You just wore me out so much that I couldn’t stay awake any longer. You really know how to get a girl to fall asleep, huh?” you ask with a smile widening on your face.

He laughs and hugs you tighter to him. “Just givin’ ya what you needed, sweetheart. Happy to oblige anytime,” he smirks as you laugh again and shake your head.

You relax against his body as his hand runs gently up and down your scalp, sending you into a trance-like state as you rest your hands under your chin and stare up at him. His eyes are so warm, the smile that’s curled at the corners of his mouth sending sparks down your body. He feels so familiar, like you’ve known him for much longer than a day.

Your eyebrows knit together as you study his features, tracing the lines on his forehead with your eyes as you look deep into those golden brown irises. And something like a flash of lightning hits your mind, a distant memory flashing before your eyes as you go wide-eyed. You do know him. You’ve seen him before. You’ve been here before.

“You… this isn’t the first time I’ve seen you before, is it?” you whisper as your throat runs dry. “I’ve been here before, haven’t I?” You know him. You know him.

He sighs, a held in breath leaving his lips as he smiles affectionately at you. “Yes. You’ve been here before, sweetheart. This isn’t the first time.” It’s like all the weight is emptied from his body as his face relaxes and his chest feels less tense now.

“I knew you all along…” you whisper out incredulously.

“You did, baby. Welcome back. Didn’t know if you’d ever find your way again,” he says sadly as his eye color changes to a somber brown.

“But how did I… how did I even get here?”

“You were drowning, sweetheart. You needed an escape. You unlocked the door. You found us again. We’ve been waiting so long, so very long,” he whispers as he hooks a loose curl behind your ear, his eyes slipping into yours as he rests his forehead on yours, a form of intimacy that feels like home. He feels like home.

You lay there breathing each other’s air like oxygen, your lips tangling against each other as you lap up his honeysuckle taste, burning the taste into your memory as if it’s the most important thing in the world.

After a few minutes of getting lost in each other, he helps you up as you stand firm against the lush green grass. He helps you slide the lace panties back into place, covering your sticky center as you fall back into his chest, wrapping your arms around his broad back.

You hear a faint buzzing a few feet away from you, the sound like white noise in your ears. When you turn, you see an open doorway as painted red roses spill over the dark entryway. Your eyebrows crease together as you look at it carefully. It’s calling to you, almost like it wants you to follow.

Joel sighs, a defeated sound rasping from his throat as he looks at you with sad eyes. “Think it’s time for you to go back, sweetheart,” he huffs, his calloused fingers twisting around yours as he holds you close.

“Go back? But I just got here,” you say with wide eyes, feeling your stomach drop as you take in the meaning of his words.

“I know, darlin’, I know.” His face contorts with agony, his eyes on the verge of falling apart, but he puts himself back together as he cups your chin. “You’re needed back at the party. They’re waiting for you,” he says as you hear the distant noise of champagne glasses and classic music floating through the air. The party, it was still happening?

“But I’ve been here for hours, how is it still going on?” you ask with your nose scrunched up in question.

“Time is different here, it moves slower, much slower than the outside world,” he says as his honey eyes flick to the open door. “Wonderland moves on its own time. Funny thing isn’t it? How time works.”

“Yeah, very strange,” you say with your words drifting off as you stare at the door. The door that’ll take you back to reality, to a place you don’t want to go back to.

He sees your distant glance and pulls your face back to him as he looks distinctly into your glistening eyes. “You need to go back, baby. Go finish the party.” He’s telling you that you need to go, but his hollow words are drifting into the void. He doesn’t want you to go, not really.

“But what if I don’t want to go back…” you say quietly with a locked jaw, tears pricking at the backs of your eyes.

Let me stay. Please, let me stay.

“The door is open, sweetheart. It won’t close again till you go through,” he says with a pained expression, his calloused fingers burning your skin as he glides his fingers over your jawline delicately.

You nod your head slowly, telling him you understand. Your eyes wade into the painted door, but your eyes snap back up to his. “What if I want to come back? How do I come back?”

He smiles down at you as he pulls a chain out of his back pocket, a glistening necklace shining brightly in the sun as he opens up your palm and closes your fingers over it. “With this. This is the key that opens Wonderland. It’s yours now. Anytime you want to come back, all you have to do is ask. Think of me, think of Wonderland and hold the key. The door will open for you. All you have to do is ask.”

You open your palm and trace the edges of the golden key with your fingers, letting the cool metal stain your skin as you see the intricate letters carved into the gold. Wonderland is written in cursive letters on the side as they reflect against the sunlight. Wonderland. The key that’ll take you back to wildflowers, twisting paths, and Joel.

He takes the necklace from your open palm and unlatches it as he circles behind you and places the necklace against your chest. “Hair up for me, sweetheart,” he asks as you quickly oblige. You lift your hair and let him latch the necklace into place as the cool metal key sears into your skin. You lift the key and smile, your whole world now in your hands.

He steps in front of you and cups your chin, letting his thumb trace your bottom lip as his eyes sink deep into your own. “Well, I guess this is goodbye, for now,” you say sadly as you let your hand linger on his flannel, hoping you can stay like this forever instead of going back to your boring dinner party.

“Hey,” he says as he brings your face closer to his, leveling his eyes with yours, “this isn’t goodbye, sweetheart. Not even close.” He leans down and kisses you deeply as you latch onto his flannel, promising yourself that you’ll be back. This isn’t goodbye, it couldn’t be.

He releases your lips and walks you to the door. As you look in, you see the long, lit up hallway that you came from earlier. You can hear the music, hear the muffled voices down the hall as you see fluorescent lights from the ballroom. This was it, you had to go.

Before you step through, Joel grabs your wrist and turns you around to face him. “I had the most perfect day with you, sweetheart. I can’t wait to see those beautiful eyes of yours again,” he says with a curled smile on his lips.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You run your fingers through his tousled curls and hold his gaze just a little longer, memorizing every single golden fleck in his irises as you take in his chocolate eyes. “Thank you for showing me Wonderland again. I can’t believe I forgot. How could I have forgotten you,” you say wide-eyed. You’d never forget him, how did you forget in the first place when he was your favorite thing in the entire world.

“Guess you got lost in the outside world. I’m so glad you found your way back to me, my love.”

My love. The words crash into you like a colliding car crash, hitting your insides with those familiar words that sound like music to your ears. My love.

Before you can question his words, he kisses you gently on the forehead and shoves you through the door as it closes behind you. You end up back in the long hallway as the sound of faded music seeps down the corridor. When you turn back around, there’s no door, only the painted white wall that burns into your eyes. You sigh and turn back around.

When you turn, your breath hitches. In the center of the hanging mirror with gold coated around the winding edges, you see Joel staring back at you. Your eyes widen as you walk up to the clear mirror. He looks like he’s standing right there, as if you can reach him with your mind.

You reach your arm up and place your palm flat against the glass, his hand mirroring yours as you wish with all your might you could just feel his calloused fingers again pressed against your skin. You can’t feel him through the mirror though, he’s only a reflection in the glass that you so want to slip into.

He gives you a small smile as nods his head in the direction of the party. You turn toward the end of the hall, your eyes flicking toward the crowded room as you hear laughs and loud voices carry down the corridor. When you look back to the mirror, you only see your reflection. Joel’s gone. You hold back a tear as you sigh out heavily and turn back around. You guess you have to go back in there.

When you turn from the mirror and start to head down the hall, you gasp as you see a small blue butterfly fluttering its wings on the back of your hand. You take a closer look and go wide-eyed.

“Absolem?” you ask. You see what looks to be a gleam in his eye as he suddenly flies off and disappears into a dark corner of the room. You smile, feeling your insides calm down a bit as a piece of Wonderland slips into the real world. It’s a sign, a promise that you will be back to Wonderland.

You head down the long hallway as your click of your heels echo down the corridor, keeping your wide grin stretched across your face. When you turn into the sea of jewel cladded necks and pressed suits, you can’t help but think of painted roses and honey brown eyes. And it’s then you know you can get through the rest of the evening because you went to Wonderland. Your escape, your dream, your sanctuary.

Wonderland. You’d be back, you just know it.

When you walk back into your cozy apartment and shut the door, you flick on the dim lights and start to walk to your room. You play with the golden key that’s latched around your neck, tracing the smooth edges as your thumb glides across the word Wonderland.

Wonderland. God, you wish you could go back right now. You want to, you need to.

Suddenly, a thousand feelings crash into you all at once. It’s like you get struck by lightning, zapping your brain into a dense fog as if you suddenly wake up from a deep sleep. You remember, you remember it all.

You close your eyes and the vivid pictures paint your mind. You can see you and Joel back in Wonderland painting pictures by the pond, can see yourself tumbling in the wildflowers with him, can taste his sugar coated lips after he fed you a piece of cake, can smell the rose scented air as he told you he loved you that first time in a bed of white and crimson red roses. It wasn’t all a dream. It was real, he is real.

Joel, your love. How could you forget?

When you open your eyes, you jump as you see exactly what you were pining for all evening. Joel. Joel’s leaning against your cream colored walls, his arms crossed over his chest as he smirks up at you with those honey glazed eyes that you can’t get enough of.

“Joel?” you breathe out, your voice cracking as you can’t believe he’s in your room at this very moment.

“Miss me already, darlin’?” he chuckles, his lips coated in warmth as the door to Wonderland stands wide open behind him, different shades of roses and flying butterflies leaking into your dimly lit bedroom.

“How are you here?” you ask amazed as your eyes go wide.

He’s here. He’s here.

“You were calling to me,” he says as he nods to your key hooked around your neck that your finger is still sliding against. “You haven’t even been gone a couple of hours, baby. You missed me that much?” he teases as his laugh fills the room.

“Yes.” You let the key fall back against your chest and run over to him, slamming your body against him as you wrap your arms around him.

“I remember, Joel. I remember it all,” you say out of breath as a tear falls down your cheek. “How could I forget. How could I fucking forget?” you ask wildly as another hot tear runs down your face. You feel his calloused thumb wipe the tears away as he lifts your face up to his.

“It’s alright, baby. It’s all okay now. You just got lost inside the chaos of the outside world. I’m so happy you made it back, my love. I’ve missed you so so much,” he coos as he pulls you into his chest and runs a hand soothingly up and down your back, calming the storm that swirled inside you just seconds ago.

“Take me home,” you beg as you run your fingers through the edge of his scruff, causing him to groan in response.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s go home.” He grabs your hand and pulls you through the wide open door, watching it close tightly behind you as it locks in place and disappears behind a bed of painted white roses.

Joel smiles and pulls you to his chest as he hooks his hands around your hips. “Sweetheart,” he coos as he gently cups the sides of your face and brings his forehead down against yours, “please tell me you’re never leaving again. Stay, stay with me. Stay in Wonderland where you belong. We’ve all missed you so much, but especially me. I’ve waited for your return for so long. I can’t bear to lose you again.”

You smile up at him as you brush your lips over his, breathing in his honeysuckle taste as you nod your head slowly. “I’m never leaving again. Never ever. I’m staying here with the white rabbit, with the Cheshire Cat, with everyone. But most importantly I’m staying with you, my love.” You echo his words of my love back to him as he smiles down at you.

“Welcome home, my love. I’m never letting you go again.”

He crashes his lips down to yours as you melt into his touch, his taste, his scent. You feel the warm air encase you as you get lost in him, in all of him. And you know now that this is where you belong. You belong in Wonderland with Joel.

And so you begin your lifetime full of adventures with the best way you know possible, getting lost in Joel, in your favorite Wonderland.

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