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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 23 days

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Winter's King 21

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: I am very tired.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As promised, the king acquires you a full outfit to face the cold. A fur trimmed hat to replace your standard linen cap, a pair of lined hide gloves, and thick boots that go to your knees. He has bolstered you to face the elements but you are wholly unprepared to face the corridors as the glances of soldiers and servants meet you with a new glint of judgement.

You wear the king’s cloak as before. You keep your head low under the hood as he walks ahead of you. It is a farce. A poorly acted charade. How naive you’d been for so long not see through it all. You were the perfect fool for an intent audience.

You descend and come out to the west of the castle, through a door beneath a sharply peaked arch. The snow continues to heap over the land though the winds have relented. The king pauses as you emerge and reaches to take you by the wrist, as if he fears you might be lost in the powder.

He walks you across the yard towards the stables built across a flat of land nestled along a curved rock wall. The doors creaks as he pushes through and the heat of braziers and horses’ bodies greets you within. Sniffs, snorts, and knickers rise in the air as you walk between the stalls. There is one in which a single horse resides, the rest crowded in pairs and trios.

You look up at the steed’s dark snout, it’s eyes even bleaker as it snuffs out harshly. It’s nostrils flair at your approach and the king clicks his tongue at the beast. It raises its nose then shakes its head. It’s ebony iris fixates on you as its master touches its braided mane.

“Roach,” you murmur into the dry air.

“You remember,” he comments gently.

“Yes,” you watch the horse as it watches you. It bows its head, nose coming close to yours, fuming hot breath around you. It sniffs the trim of your hood.

“Let the animal see you,” the king advises.

You bring your hands up and push back the hood, letting it hang over your shoulders. You stare at the dark eyes. Roach continues to twitch his nose in your direction then further dips his head, pressing against your chest. Uncertain, you bring your hands to touch his soft ears.

“Ah,” the king sighs, “Roach is rarely partial to any but me. Even I receive a nip or too from the curmudgeon.” He chuckles and touches the horse’s thick neck. “others have nearly lost a finger and even sacrificed garment or two.”

“A creature so volatile, he makes a good war horse?”

“She,” he corrects you.

“Oh, apologies.”

“I doubt she minds,” he muses and pets her long nose as she raises her head. “She is restless. She would do good for the exercise.”

He lowers his hand and unclasps the stall door. He pulls it out as you step out of the way. The horse clomps through, kicking impatiently as it blows through its lips. The king moves parallel to you and draws you before him. Before you or Roach can react, he has you aloft, urging you onto the horse’s unsaddled back.

“Hold tight,” he girds and puts his hands to the horse’s shoulder, “come, Roach.”

The horse starts and you press your hands to her back, clamping on with your thighs. You rock with her motion to keep from slipping. You duck with the mount as she bends through the door the king holds open. The winter snows dusts down on you as you emerge.

The king drags his palm along the horse’s side and swings himself up with little effort. He sit behind you, Roach not missing a step or buckling at his ascent. He pulls you snug to him, tugging up your hood as the chill nips at your cheeks. He wraps his arms around you and clutches a swathe of the horse’s braids. He whistles and leans, guiding the horse away from the castle.

“She is obedient,” you remark at her agile response.

“I prefer mares for that reason,” he returns. You wonder if it is a quip meant for the queen or yourself. Perhaps both. “It isn’t very far, though the path is steep.”

You nod and stare at the white expanse, a few jutting rocks pocking out above the carpet of snow, leafless branches reaching out here and there. The horse carries you to a ledge, narrow and treacherous, and you lean back into the King Geralt as the edge has you dizzy. He slips his hand beneath your cloak to squeeze your hip.

“I have you, treasure, you needn’t fear,” he assures.”

“Yes, your highness, thank you,” you touch his knuckles and shiver.

“Sweet summer maid,” he purrs as he draws you snugger. “This winter is harsh but I will keep you warm.”

You shudder and hang your head. For so much comfort as he offers, you find little. It isn’t only the snow which chills you.

You ride on, the impact of hooves softened by the layers below, the air hollow and biting as it seeps beneath your hood. The sky ripples grey and seems to darken as you descend the curling path along the cliff’s edge. At once, you are plunged into thick blackness.

The world levels out and the king shifts, sliding off the mount to land on his feet. You peek over your shoulder and see the grim light through the mouth of the cave. The king touches your leg and you turn, letting him help you from the height. Roach kicks and spits.

The king frames your waist before he releases you. You listen to his steps as he moves through the dim. There’s is a scratch as he strikes flint and flame illuminates his shadow. He bends and takes something from the ground. He pauses and works with one hand, wrapping something around the thick stick. He lights the length of linen around the wood’s tip, a torch to see you along.

“She will stay, she is not keen on confinement, especially underground,” he girds and removes his own cloak, draping it over the horses back, “the air enlivens me, I shouldn’t need that much.”

He wears a leather coat, sewn of thick strips of black and studded with silver. He approaches you and bends his arm, offering it gallantly as a gentleman might with a lady. You hesitate and hook your arm through it, hugging his elbow as he leads you deeper, the torch flickering with each step.

You enter a tunnel with rocky tendrils stretching from top to bottom, encased in layers of ice and frost. The flame illuminates the frozen layers. Deeper and deeper you go, quiet as your curiosity mingles with concern. Where are you going?

Your boot slips on a slippery patch but the king keeps you upright. You thank him and bring your other arm across to steady yourself on his bicep. You feel his muscle bulging beneath. You do not doubt his promises. He will keep you safe. Down here, but you doubt what he might do without.

He raises the torch as the air thins and you the cave opens up. You look around as the walls lay beyond the breadth of the torches glow. Your eyes are drawn by the icy fingers hanging from the ceiling. There is one close to you. You reach to touch its pointed tip.

“Icicles,” the king says, “be careful of the thin ones, they might fall.”

He moves the torch to show more, all around you, light fangs the line the cave, lining the edges. The flame sparkles on their eerie translucence. Then the king lowers the light and you look down beneath your feet. You’re stand on ice!

“Your highness,” you instinctively pull yourself closer to him, your soles sliding as you try to walk further.

“It will not break,” he assures you as he urges you on, “this cave never thaws, even in the warmer months. They call it the Moth’s Den.” He leads you across the ice and your eyes catch on the icicles, thick and thin, some pointed, some reach to touch the floor. You hear an odd hum, almost a buzz, and he sweeps the torch before you.

You stop to gape at the wall before you. It looks soft and fluffy, almost like fur. Then you lean closer and see the wings. Pale silver moths, fluttering in place, clinging to the wall. Their fuzzy bodies line every morsel of the space.

“Snow moths. Harmless creatures. Unlike their summer counterparts, the detest the light,” he extends his arm and a circle along the icy wall is sudden bare as the moths move to avoid the glare. “When I was a boy, I always wanted to have one as a pet. I could never get one past the entrance before it escaped and flew back to the depths.”

You blink and lower your hand from his arm, though you stay hooked onto him, “I didn’t think this was your home.”

“As a boy it was. At least, that’s how I saw it. My father, king of the day, sent me here to train with Lord Vesemir. As much to keep me out of trouble. I am not unaware of myself. I was not the best behaved. Vesemir took me in and he bides no mischief,” King Geralt explains, “though he does not rule without compassion. He taught me many things more than discipline. He taught me,” the king peers over at you, “that my heart should be heard just as plainly as my mind. If you do not balance them, then it will all topple.”

You look back at him. Your chest aches deeply. Doesn’t he know you don’t have that privilege? Can he not see that you do not get that choice? Even for a king.

You might never had cared for Lady Rezlyn and her gossip. You think it cruel and unkind. Often you wonder if she spoke less of others, if she might gain more friends. You never engaged much in Merinda’s whispers either. But you heard them and you know what becomes of mistresses.

The other woman. That’s what you’ll become. A whore. A name to be spat. A figure to be avoided. A maid might be ignored but she neither favoured or despised. She just is. She has her purpose. A mistress only has the stain put upon her. The one who taints who my walk away, but she never will.

“The ice becomes you, treasure. The cold it... pales to your beauty,” he smiles down at you. His gold eyes are vibrant and his fine features are even more admirable in the limn of the flame.

He lifts his chin and takes steady steps away from the wall and leads you towards a jutting stone at the other end of the cavern. He bends to plant the torches base in the crevice at its foot. The torch leans but stands on its own.

He faces you, untangling from your arm, and puts his hands on your shoulders, “I want to know what you think. Tell me. Do you like my homeland? Do you like the winter?”

Your lips part and you glance up. Your eyes wander around the space and you turn your head. You raise your hands to touch the king’s leather gloves.

“I think I do,” you answer. You can’t deny the beauty even if it is deadly. “I might think differently should I meet a bear or a wolf.”

“It is why you must stay close, treasure, I would never let a beast get anywhere near,” he avows, “I refer to all beasts. Be it man or animal. You will always have me. You needn’t be afraid.”

You lower your eyes. You can’t say the truth. He knows it but he refuses it. His is a king, he might bend even the world to his whim. You let your hands trails down his forearms. He drops his hands and takes yours.

“Will you tell me more? About when you were a boy?” You ask, hoping to forget the present a little longer. You are intrigued to think of this man as just a child. It is a rather impossible concept.

“Hm, well,” he lets go of you and moves around you. He comes behind you and presses himself to your back. He rocks you as he turns you to admire the cave, “I would come to these caves and talk to myself...” he laughs rockily, “you see, if you holler loud enough, your voice bounces back at you. Lord Vesemir, he is not always in the mind for conversation and horses can be just as finicky.”

He continues to turn you with him. Even without his cloak, his warmth seeps into you.

“And I would gather bouquets of frostwart and white willowrods for they are the closest to flowers that grow here. I would put the bunches all around, as if I was too be coronated. I was told every day I would be king and I wanted to be ready, but mostly, I’d pretend I was at tourney. I would have my practice sword and I would parry with the air. The air was not so mean as Vesemir with his jabs.”

You listen, closing your eyes, trying to see it in your head. A white-haired boy with his golden eyes and flowers and swords. Now a man who’s marched through blood and dirt. How time changes more than the seasons, it transforms all.

“What of you, maid? I want to know of you. When you were a child, did you frolic with the rabbits and the squirrels?”

You go rigid. You try to pull away but he has you caught. You lean back and exhale heavily.

“The life of a maid isn’t very interesting,” your murmur.

“You were always a maid? Even when you were young?”

“Always,” you affirm. “I emptied pots, brought Lord Dustan his boots, though at times, Lady Jazlene required a playmate...”

He’s quiet at the mention of his wife. You feel the crack in your heart. Your nose is numb and tingling.

“Yet, how did you become a maid? Before that, was there nothing?” He asks.

“Please, your highness--”

“I bid you call me by my name.”

“Geralt,” you utter, “please, I beg you, I wouldn’t speak of before.”

“Did you have parents? Siblings--”

“None of it,” you hiss and elbow away from him, throwing your arms out to keep balance. You spin and shake your head, “please. My parents are dead. Long gone. And the memories I have of them are nothing more than that. They’ve only ever been dead to me.”

He is taken aback, his face pale and cheeks tight, “treasure, forgive me, I only... I want to know everything of you--”

“You know what I am. I am a maid. That is it. That is all I can ever be. I am not a lady, not a wife, not a queen,” you clap your hands together, the impact softened by your mittens, “you cannot make me anything different, king as you may be. I will only ever serve, and you will only ever command.”

His lips part and he steps towards you, “that isn’t true.”

“It’s what must be true,” you look to your feet, “might I make a request?”

“Anything,” he says.

“Take me back to the castle,” you raise your eyes.

He nods solemnly and reaches for you, “as you wish.”

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #medieval au #the witcher #winter's king

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bulkhummus · 2 months

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What I think is particularly heart breaking about this episode, is that Esteban is immortalizing a memory that Cecil doesn’t get to experience. Esteban knows about his grandfather, because he has heard the story several times before according to Abby, in fact they all just heard it. Cecil is experiencing, second hand, remnants of a memory that slides off of him. It refuses to stick.

There is something so poetic to me about Cecil being a reporter, a journalist, an observer, and doing everything to piece together a story from literal scraps of his own life, only to find its already been written for him. The story has already been told. Cecil doesn’t listen to stories, he tells them. I can think of nothing more infuriating than a story being told and not having a satisfying ending, or an ending that makes sense. Nothing within the story justified the ending. And yet we have seen it before throughout the show.

I am reminded of the episode It Doesn’t Hold Up, where Cecil watches the last few minutes of his comfort film Cat Ballou, changed and different. He has seen the same movie over and over and over again, and now the ending is different. In the drawing Esteban drew in 245, there is a shovel stuck into the dirt, and there is a boy climbing into a tree. In the ending of Cat Ballou, there is a man digging into the base of the tree. Just like in the episode It Sticks With You, when Abby, Cecil and their mother journey into the woods, and Cecil climbs into a tree over and over and over again until he can no longer remember the outing with his husband and son. Just like in Cassettes, when a young Cecil’s story is cut short, in an ending that Cecil refuses to listen to, immortalized on tape.

Just like in Liminal Spaces, when Cecil enters a space that is neither here nor there and is haunted by someone who tells him that he wants Cecil to remember. The very face that Cecil saw in Cat Ballou in It Doesn’t Hold Up. In fact, he tells Cecil he has no choice, before once again, he is pulled from the story.

Cecil’s whole life is one long interrupted narrative. It’s as if he is an old cassette that isn’t rewound all the way before pulled out of the slot and put back on a shelf. The next person to listen to the tape, unknowing, doesn’t realize where they’re starting off is not the beginning. There are things missing. Cecil has gotten so good at forgetting (and justifiably so) — has forgotten how to stop. He’s recording over the same tape over and over again until the tape inside is no longer coherent. I’m thinking, of the sound of a cassette being rewound, and how it could sound very much like how Cecil is often describing owl sounds.

So, how disquieting, to have your own family stare back at you, privy to information about yourself that you do not get to have. Cecil is there, quite literally, to construct a story for his town, but who is there to construct a story for him? A man you used to hate? A sister you aren’t sure you even like? A husband who you have forgotten before? Children who see and hear more than you realize? The listener?

No. Instead he will sit until dawn comes, and be made a fool out of trying to create a story, maybe even a better one, out of scraps of memories.

#my baby girl is in denial okay and thats ok #i think its normal and healthy and good #im having so many thoughts my nbrain is moving a mile a minute #and like this was NOT coherent bc theres so much i want to talk anout but #damn how fucking sad this episode was im onsessed #i lvoe when cecils going through it #it doesnt hold up #Casette #It Sticks with You #Bedtime Story #cat ballou #liminal spaces #go to the mirror #wtnv #welcome to night vale #cecil palmer #wtnv spoilers

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aurorawhisperz · 11 months

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that’s the thing (e.l)

I ACCIDENTALLY POSTED THE DRAFT AND LOST THE ASK 😭😭😭 (but here u go anon if u find this 🙏)

contains: swearing, fluff, smut 18+ (oral, fingering, slight overstimulation)

spiderman!ethan landry x fem!reader

based off you’re here that’s the thing by beabadoobee 🙏

•

Ethan definitely screwed up.

He swings across the city in tight spandex. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Ethan exclaimed, speedily typing on his phone, but you wouldn’t respond.

Being the friendly neighborhood Spiderman, he always had priorities—but that didn’t stop him from spending time with you. Knowing this, you forgave him every time he’d miss something.

Well, that jinxed it. On the lookout, he had completely forgotten about your date, Ethan—being the dork with the heart of gold, thought this would be the last straw for you.

Ethan often thought about this every time he’d be swinging around New York just to make it up to you. One reason why he’d always make it up to you is because he felt like he should, or must.

The second reason why is because it always ends in something wonderful—whether it’s him sleeping over, or the other way around, or something else that would have the boy completely whipped.

Then he spotted you, wearing his jacket you ‘forgot’ to return. His whole world seemed to stop—that was until he remembered the fact that he left you waiting.

A bunch of people backed away when Ethan took you with him. “It’s the spider dude!” Someone near you exclaimed.

“What? Oh my god!” You exclaim, swiftly sliding your hands around his neck. “I am so SO sorry that I left you waiting, okay? I was on the lookout, I completely forgot about our date, I’m really sorry, I REALLY AM!” He exclaimed, talking fast, then you pointed at a pole that was about to hit his head.

Once Ethan was about to dodge it, it hits the top of his head instead. His grip tightened till he swinged back to your dorm—though weakly.

He yanks his mask off and leans back on your bed.

“Less talking, more swinging.” You sigh, grabbing the sides of his face—then you kissed him, your lips moving in sync. He could taste the fruity lipgloss you had put on. Ethan's eyes widened in surprise as you pulled away. He blinked a few times, trying to process the unexpected turn of events.

Then a smile was on his face, pulling you back. Deepening the kiss.

“Being a superhero’s girlfriend isn’t that hard,” You frown, then he kisses more again before you continue, “But seriously, you have to change out of this shit.” Ethan kept a hand on your waist, “Actions speak louder than words, right?”

You jump as Ethan quickly jumps under your bed, your roommate bursting in. “Hey, I’ll be leaving you alone here for a while since I’ve got somewhere to go.” You nod, then they wave, “See ya.” And leave.

Quickly falling on your bed as Ethan uses his webs to lock the door, “This is really cute,” He holds up your diary, the drawing of Spider-Man you made on a sticky note during a lecture. “Can I keep it?”

“Change first.” He rolled his eyes at your command.

He quickly changed into his normal clothes after slipping off the spandex. “Dammit,” He exclaimed as he checked his backpack for flowers he was gonna give you—there were flowers, but only a few, the petals flying away instantly.

Walking into the living room, Ethan uses his webs to snatch the remote from your hands, “We’re watching a movie, because I have to make it up to you,” Then handing you the somewhat ruined bouquet of flowers. “Eth, you shouldn’t have.” You teased then grabbed his camera from the table.

“Try and take a picture of me holding these, that’s how you can make it up to me.” Ethan takes the camera from you then more words come from your mouth, “Although you’re already here, that’s how you can make it up to me.”

The camera flashes in your face as you cover the lower half of your face with the flowers—then laying down on the couch with Ethan as the movie starts playing.

“You know,” says Ethan, “I’m really glad I forgot about our date today,” You frown, then he chuckles, “It led to this and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You both chuckle at his words then you shower his face with kisses. Ethan quickly pulled you down to kiss his lips. The movie was long forgotten soon after that.

His lips crashed into yours once again, then his nails dig in your thighs as you straddle him.

“Maybe because you knew it would lead to this,” You mumble against his lips, his other hand running down your spine like an instrument. Ethan broke the kiss to move down to your jawline—then your neck.

His hands tapping on your lower back as you pulled away. “You’re a sneaky one.” You pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose, then Ethan let out a breathy laugh, “I’m Spiderman, of course I’m sneaky.”

“But I love Ethan Landry more.” Right after Ethan takes quite a few minutes to process your words, he pulls you in by your waist to kiss you once again.

You wrap your arms around his neck as his fingers dig into your hips.

He mumbles against your lips, “I want you,” He starts to smoothly put a little tongue in the kiss, then when your lips part even more for permission, it slips in. You hum against his lips as Ethan slowly grinds into you.

You pull away and smile, he drags his thumb over your bottom lip, you try to kiss him again, but he keeps a hand on your chest to stop you. “Can I go down on you?” The question makes your eyes widen as you turn beet red. Ethan’s stupid puppy eyes made you nod, and the smirk felt good to kiss off.

His arms placed you back on the couch, the needy boy got on his knees. Ethan gives you a deep kiss, then he moves down your jaw, he leaves a mark on your collarbone.

It goes from your chest, to your belly, and he reaches your clothed core. Ethan looks up at you and you lick your lips.

The boy pulls down your panties and starts with kissing your inner thighs. The sneaky little thing was always a tease, it pained you slightly but you know you love him.

Ethan presses a wet kiss to your left thigh, sucking on it. His breath fans over your core and you shudder.

He presses a kiss to your clit, then makes his way down to your entrance—licking up then burying his face in between your thighs. Your back arched at the pleasure.

In the early stages of your relationship, you had always told him what felt good, and he made it feel even better.

Your legs threaten to lock around his head, but his big hands hold your hips down. You were basically squirming, and he was only trying to drive himself away from the spot you wanted him to stay on.

Ethan harshly sucks on your clit, circling it with his tongue. You feel like you’re close, VERY close. Without warning, his middle finger enters you and that makes you lift your head up and whine in pleasure, you could feel him smile against your core.

“God, don’t stop.” You say breathlessly, and while muffled, you could still hear him, “I won’t,” He pulls away with a pop, “Trust me.” He dives right back in as soon as he finishes.

When his ring finger enters, your body felt limp and like everything slowed down for a minute.

The hot feeling down your stomach was heating up.

When his nose bumped into your clit, along with his ring finger entering the chaos, that feeling hit it’s peak.

Though Ethan didn’t stop, he kept lapping up your juices—it felt so overwhelming. Your hips were basically jolting up out of instinct.

You shuddered under his touch, he reaches up for your hand and laces his fingers with yours.

When Ethan finally pulled away, he crawled back on top of you and pushed away a stray strand of hair. He didn’t say anything, he just smiled. You know you’d forgive him for missing a date either way, the only way he could make it up to you is just being there.

He presses a soft kiss to your lips, then he mumbles in between kisses, “I’m not done yet,” Your eyes blink open as he pulls away, the taste of yourself lingering on your tongue. “I wonder how people would feel if they find out their friendly neighborhood Spiderman was a pro at not only superhero-ing, but this.” says Ethan.

You chuckle and pull him back in for another, when he breaks the contact he takes the square foil out of his pocket and smirks at you, then places it on the table next to you both. He tries to kiss you again

You grab it from the table, “I’m not on the pill, babe,” You assure him, he shrugs then takes it from your hand. He sticks the tip of his tongue out when he struggles to open it. You laugh at Ethan, and open it yourself. “I’ll be your walking stick tomorrow,” he whispers to your ear.

You were in for a long night.

#ethan landry #ethan landry fanfiction #ethan landry fluff #ethan landry x reader #scream #scream fanfiction #scream fluff #ethan landry angst #ethan landry smut #scream angst #spiderman #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman fluff #spiderman x reader #spiderman angst #spiderman smut

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ashleyhuh · 6 months

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Hyper analyzing Devlog 07

I am just too excited for this and I NEED to talk about Devlog 07 and just the implications and some speculation of each screen shot AND the new art!

I wanna start from a more overlooked screen shot which really puts us in Andrews shoes and more!

In Andrew's eyes he doesn't even value his friend enough to consider him anything other than "Friend B" which to me is probably how he remembered it as I'd like to imagine in this scene he sticks up for Ashley and probably might even stop being friends with him again, somewhat how like they tried forgetting Nina and blocking out her name and face from their memories only this time he wasn't even important enough to Andrew his name was simply forgotten, not important enough because Ashley is far, far more important to him.

This to me really confirms that Nemlei wants to tell this story for how it is and how many of us see it. A romance novel, even in Decay we see Andrew still loving Ashley but angry he loves her and angry with himself for being this way. We see this in how he is still physical with her tho he is using that touch as a means of frustration, he wants her but he hates that he does. This drawing is also just super fucking cute I love it

I think honestly its incredible how this is the first time we see a police officer this late into the game considering what types of antics they've been up to. There isn't much to analyze here other than with the officers seem to have a more relaxed mood, talking more about the monotonous parts of their job and as such I don't believe they'd be looking for Andrew, but Andrew is still hiding from them as he can't afford to be seen by Police.

This to me could say a lot or nothing. The soul in front of lord unknown could very much so be Andrew's as it's popular speculation that he is going to be sacrificed and Ashley has to get him back. The game has made it clear to us that when you lose your soul you don't die which is a key element if Nemlei is going to ever develop that detail further with what we've speculated from before. This area could also have major significance if it's important that Ashley and Andrew try to summon lord unknown in the optional part of the game. Who knows it could matter it could not such as with the gun having bullets or not.

#the coffin of andy and leyley #tcoaal #gravecest #ashley graves #andrew graves #coffincest #I need to talk about this game or I will explode I stg

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piratefishmama · 5 months

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I Wish | Part 2

Two sharp claps woke Eddie that following morning.

Followed by the whirring sound of some kind of motor, and then gradually, sunlight.

Sunlight travelled up his face until it hit his eyes directly, lighting up all the little veins behind his eyelids that nobody ever really wanted to see but no matter which way he shoved his head into the pillow, and he did try left and right…

He couldn’t dodge the sunlight.

“Wakey Wakey rockstar!” He was awake. Wide awake, sat up very straight very quickly and then everything felt very wrong when his world spun and— “awh shit Eddie, not again. Hold it! Don’t you dare, not until I—” chunks hit the floor about two seconds before a bucket would have been in place to catch it all. The shockingly red bucket held frozen in place where it’d failed to reach him. “Get there.”

Whoever that was sounded so disappointed.

Eddie had no idea why, but he felt like death. The sunlight hurt his eyes, and his head ached like he’d been hit by a brick wall, not him walking into one, no, one falling on him.

“Ngghhh” he groaned, before spitting what remained in his mouth out into the bucket, for what it was worth.

“What did you do last night, Eddie?” Eddie lifted his head up slowly, trying not to agitate his throbbing headache any more than it already was. With squinted eyes, he struggled to make out the person in front of him, but even when his focus returned, he couldn’t place exactly who the guy was, nor… where he was.

The room he was in was… large.

A huge open space with beige walls sparsely decorated by what looked like gaudy hotel art, he didn’t recognise the bedsheets either, softer than his usual ones, and when he finally found his eyes able to focus against the harsh direct light of the windows, with his hand shielding them a little, the large floor to ceiling windows of his room looked out across a city skyline.

“Who… who’re you?” That was apparently the wrong thing to say. Mystery guy didn’t look too impressed.

“Are you kidding me? Who—who am I? That’s how bad it is? You’re so fucked up you’ve forgotten me this time? I swear to god every fucking time Eddie. Every single goddamn time it’s like this and you just—I keep falling for it!!” Every pitchy hike of that voice had Eddie wincing back “What excuse will it be this time Eddie? It was just ‘one last time?’ Or what about your greatest hit ‘everyone else was doing it’, or maybe you’ll just wave it away like it doesn’t even matter? What did you even take?!” Eddie just wanted to hide, he wanted to hide under the mystery covers, away from this loud person who seemed to know him but…

Eddie was still drawing a blank.

The last thing he remembered, the last thing he clearly remembered, was being in the trailer after coming home from the faire, he remembered… he remembered—

“Where’s… where’s Stephan?” He remembered the Genie.

“Stephan? Who the fuck is Stephan? Are you—motherfucker are you cheating on me?! Who the FUCK is Stepha—” the bedroom door opened, cutting off the mystery mans tirade before Eddie could think too deeply about the idea of cheating on someone he didn’t even know, and like straight out of some kind of sit com, in walked the man himself.

All that was missing was an audience cheer track.

“I’m Stephan, Louie. Please get out.” ‘Louie’ straightened up, face seemingly set into a permanent scowl, he’d have probably been attractive if Eddie’s first encounter with him wasn’t that.

“Steve? Where the hell have you been?! You let him get like thi—”

“Get out Louie, or I remove you.” Arms crossed over broad chest, frame tall, broad, his attire less like it was in the trailer, now he wore a simple white button down and a pair of black slacks. Imposing despite its simplicity. “And make no mistake I will remove you.” He added, tone just as firm as his stance, Louie faltered, resolve quickly crumbling under that impressive presence.

“Fine, but I’m done with this. I can’t do it anymore, I can’t support him like this, so… please have my things sent to my apartment in Chicago. I’m finished.” And out he went, without even so much as a backwards glance to the deeply confused man still in bed, door slammed behind him leaving him alone with ‘Steve’.

“…Stephan?”

“Yeah, Eddie?”

“What the fuck is going on?” The outfit melted away, replaced with a glittering twinkle of a stereotypical magical effect, by the peasant garb he’d worn in the trailer. It was him.

He was real.

Stephan, or… Steve. Steve was easier, he was going to use Steve. Steve offered him his best attempt at an apologetic smile, before approaching to sit on the edge of the bed. “World fame, big shot. You’re lucky I didn’t dump you mid-way through one of your gigs, or worse, last night. Sorry but this was the uh… lesser of many evils. You’re currently in LA staying at a hotel midway through a press tour to advertise your new album, and that… was Louie. Your boyfriend of… three months now? Underwear model, definitely too young for you, I never approved but hey, who listens to the Genie? Nobody, because you’re all too ‘metal’ to listen to the Genie.”

That was… so much information at once. The room still felt like it was spinning, Louie had left the bucket on the floor next to the throw up. Eddie kind of wanted to throw up again. He couldn’t even process the ‘boyfriend’ thing.

“Can… can I wish to feel better?” He was almost proud of himself for coming up with that one.

“Sure you can.”

“I wish I felt better.” A snap of Steve’s fingers, and all those aches, all those pains, the headache the nausea the spinning, it all just. Vanished. Kind of disorientating but, for less than a second, and he was fine. Clear as a whistle, never felt better than he did in that moment. “Holy shit…” Steve smiled. He was prettier than Louie when he smiled.

“You’re welcome. Listen Eddie… I’ve basically disguised myself as your bodyguard in this reality, I exist as a normal person in your life, your band know me, your friends know me, I will be there in all realities we walk through together in some way shape or form. But this one… this one is tricky.”

“Can I wish for the throw up to be gone cause it’s starting to smell.”

“Go ahead.”

“I wish the throw up was gone.” Another snap, both the vomit, and the bucket were gone “oooh bucket too, you overachiever” Steve snorted a little laugh, shaking his head, making his softly coifed bangs sway lightly. “Where were you when I needed to clean my room last month?”

“Please be serious, Eddie, only for a moment.” Eddie settled in the bed, hands in his lap, totally fixed on Steve. Then he noticed he had new tattoos on his hands and suddenly that was way more interesting. As were the tattoos up his arms, a whole sleeve, no. Both sleeves! He looked down at his chest, MORE tattoos, and— Steve grabbed the covers before he could lift them to check his lower half. “Eddie.” Oop. The tone was firm, not quite as intimidating as the one Steve had used on Louie, but… Eddie stilled.

“I’m listening big guy.”

“You wished for world fame, that your band were to become world famous. That does not happen in a blink of an eye, Eddie. Not even by magic. That happens with years of experience, of effort, it happens with dive bars, basement, and garage gigs, it happens with multiple awful record deals that limit and exploit you until you find something that works, it takes nearly breaking apart, it takes, and it takes, and it takes, but what it takes the most of… is time. Eddie. It takes time.” And wasn’t that sobering.

He looked at his hands again. Saw the weathered lines amidst the tattoos for the first time.

Steve didn’t stop him this time from looking beneath the covers, there were more tattoos, way more than he remembered having, but there were lines where lines shouldn’t be, scars where scars shouldn’t be, there were wrinkles in places he was too young to have wrinkles in. Weathered.

He looked weathered.

Steve could only be sympathetic about it, could only appear softened, like he knew this would be tough, but he couldn’t really do anything about it.

“…How much time, Steve?” His fingers gripped the covers tight, he could feel his heart in his throat, thumping away faster as anxiety skyrocketed. He was older. His wish was world fame he didn’t think about anything other than that. It wasn’t even supposed to work Steve was supposed to just be some crazy homeless person who walked in from the cold.

He wasn’t supposed to be real.

“About thirty years?” Eddie pinched himself again on autopilot. It hurt. Silently, he threw his covers off of himself, and stood, the room didn’t spin like it had been earlier and nothing hurt like before, Steve’s magic working like a charm. Still silent, he crossed the room to the bathroom, turned on the light, and found himself looking at… a stranger.

No. It was still him. But he was struck with the thought of why someone like Louie, youthful and handsome as he’d been even in his anger, would want something like him? Wrinkled skin, bags under his eyes, his body slimmer than it ever ought to be and his hair… still long and badly maintained, but now peppered with streaks of grey. “What…” his voice croaked, his hand lifting to rub at the loose skin of his cheeks. Gaunt. Weathered. “What happened to me?”

“Addiction mainly.” Steve was there, behind him in the doorway, close but not touching. Never touching. He held a robe in his hand.

“I don’t do—”

“Mmm… you didn’t… not at first. You smoked but… drugs were more a business venture to you than a vice, right?” Absently, Eddie nodded. He’d dealt his fair share of weed, so what? How had he gone from dealer to— “one of those record labels that didn’t fit. You see… it’s easy to keep a band relevant and making money, when they’re always making headlines, good or bad, it doesnt matter, getting publicly trashed makes some people more money than it loses. Coupled with heartbreak, encouragement, and easy access… impulse control was never your strong suit, was it?” He spoke like he knew him. Maybe he did, Steve had said a genie knew its master, right? “World fame has its dark side. There’s no gain without some form of suffering, Eddie, especially when the gain is as gigantic as world fame.”

“Can—can I go back?”

“Of course you can, you need only wish it. However… I don’t think you should though. Not yet. This is jarring, seeing yourself like this, it’s incredibly jarring, however… you asked for world fame and haven’t even experienced it. Just a small downside. Why don’t you live the day, think of it as an opportunity to experience what this is like, maybe it’ll help you achieve some goals in your own time.” Eddie’s eyes returned to his own reflection, taking it in…

He kind of looked like Wayne. There were worse people he could look like in his older years, especially since people had always claimed he looked like his father. But no... he looked like Wayne. He took some comfort in that.

“…Will it be safe?” Steve regarded him with silence for a moment, just long enough for Eddie to understand. “Nothing’s ever totally safe, is it?”

“No, it’s not. But as your bodyguard I’ll be as close as I can at all times. You don’t need to ask if you can wish it either, if you want to go home, just wish it, and it’ll be done, alright?” Steve stepped forwards into Eddie’s space, and carefully draped the robe over his bare shoulders as Eddie nodded his acknowledgement and pulled the robe tighter around himself, Steve’s hands still there, a pleasantly warm and grounding weight on his shoulders. “Now you should shower, and get yourself dressed. You have a few things to do today so I’ll be waiting outside to take you to your first thing once you’re ready.”

Eddie was almost scared to ask. “Which is?”

“Breakfast of course, but then you’re taping a talk show so chop chop!”

Two quick claps in succession and Steve was off, headed for the door to give him some privacy as if he hadn’t just seen Eddie completely nude, ignoring the sharp, “A what?!” That followed from the bathroom as he exited the suite.

Part 4

#PirateWrites #IWishFiclet #Steddie #No Upside Down AU #Genie!Steve #The Adventure begins!!

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nastyburger · 11 months

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Please say more about the awful Asian designs in Danny Phantom. I'm not Asian but I'd love to have a rundown on the elements that make them offensive so I can avoid and critique those elements in other works. And also you deserve to speak your mind about it

im gonna mostly talk about southeast asian designs since thats what i am and the most familiar with and also what i feel are the show's worst transgression with their casual depictions. tw for racist imagery im gonna link pictures.

there's not much to say about the designs aside from, you know, everything but things to note are the unnatural yellow tone for the skin and closed slanted eyes. veggie burger (fan name for the bg character in the middle) also suffers from the huge nose that sometimes shows up in racist depictions. the straight edge/cut hair as well is somewhat stereotypical. this one isn't as bad but in conjunction with everything else its not ideal. i will give the smallest molecule of credit that at the very least dp never gave any of these bg characters buck teeth.

some depictions are better than others, but theres still missteps happening in one aspect or another. kwan's eyes in a lot of shots/episodes can be too skinny and even too slanted, the girl in the middle is almost perfect but her skin is too yellow (she looks kinda okay on my computer screen but i remember when watching dp on my tv she looked real brightly yellow), and principle ishiyama (who was weirdly forgotten about pretty early on in the show and was replaced by lancer doing most of the school stuff despite not being principle?? which is a whole other issue with how dp treats its poc characters) the same usual notes about the slanted eyes but also the upturned nose is pretty reminiscent of racist japanese art during ww2. again it is not the worst way to draw a nose but combined with everything else in this show's depiction of asian characters its not great, they are on thin ice man.

not to mention, principle ishiyama is the only character here with brown eyes. this is a problem that extends to all poc characters in dp and to my knowledge i think ishiyama might be the only one with them tbh. this is, again, a whole other issue though.

i think the thing that bothers me most about these designs though is that dp is very clearly aware that these depictions are bad. the only difference between the first set of characters and the second is one singular thing: they have a clear speaking role.

suddenly when theyre not stock background characters, dp knows how to act when drawing them. i cannot for the life of me find the image of it, but the last jock guy in the first set gets a speaking role in reign storm (he's cosplaying phantom) and he is drawn with proper open eyes! (theyre also blue but whatever) it just makes me sad that this was a clear choice they made.

the show also went in a different direction in the final product, but early development stuff was really drawing from a lot of japanese/asian influences like danny was originally gonna have a motorcycle (pulling from ghost in the shell) and was even referenced in the show via the akira motorcycle reference (which i once again, for the life of me, cannot find. danny took johnny 13's motorcycle and did the classic akira slide i think it was in million dollar ghost?? idk whichever one where the giw are trying to blow up the ghost zone). danny's name was originally gonna be jackie, named after jackie chan, this i assume was given to jack fenton afterwards. and i think the show having a more martial arts direction with the action was also gonna be a thing? that one could be wrong dont quote me on that, there was an episode where danny and vlad have like a weird ninja fight though im pretty sure.

either way my point here is that they wanted to pull from all these influences and it was prominent enough during development that they sprinkle references to it throughout the show and yet their portrayal and treatment of asian characters in the show is so abysmal it just feels Bad™, you know? i cant really put it more eloquently than that, like its very take and no give with it.

it overall just puts a bad taste in my mouth, and its sad that it still affects people years later. like i mentioned in the tags of the post that started this discussion with that whole old trend of putting yourself into the bg of dp screenshots, i felt alienated by that. and its not the people who participated's fault obviously but most of the people i saw participating were white fans (going off of how they drew themselves) and it made me a bit mad that they were able to enjoy the style of the show in a more carefree manner than i ever could. i didnt want to ruin anyone's fun obviously, but a small part of me wanted to bring to light how i wasnt on equal ground with them in that situation.

#seance #considered putting this under a read more but i decided i dont want to give people the choice to just not look at it

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whatitshouldvebeen · 2 months

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(no idea if these even go through, first time pls be patient with me) i’ve been going through your blog for a few days and i am loooving it omg i love the way you write so much! i was wondering what you would think would go down when,

a victim using reader as bait to let the victim go

a victim hurting reader (mistook as a family member) or

A victim dragging reader out an exit to escape also (thinking she’s another person trapped there) please don’t feel like you have to answer all, (or even answer at all) you have your own life and you can make your own decisions in life :) 👋

A Dog's Loyalty

I wrote this as a combo of all three requests of yours!

Description: Ana tries to escape with you, but you don't want to leave

Warnings: blood, injury

"Oh my god, Leland, there's someone else in here!"

You looked up at her, your eyes wide. You were huddled in the corner of Johnny's shack, frozen in place. It had been months since you saw another person; you'd almost forgotten anyone but Johnny truly existed.

"Don't worry, hun, we'll get you out. My name is Ana, what's yours?" the young woman asked, working to untie the rope from around your ankle. She had the most beautiful tan skin, her dark hair matted with sweat but still cascading in pretty waves down to her shoulders. The guy she'd called Leland kept watch, peeking out of the cracked front door anxiously.

You hesitantly told her your name, and she smiled as she helped you up from the floor. "I think our friend Julie already unlocked the front gate. We just have to get there without getting caught."

Leland signaled that the coast was clear, sliding through the crack in the door. Ana waited for you to go, and you marveled at how easy it was to get through now. You'd been here so long you'd lost a lot of weight since the first time you'd been sneaking around trying to escape.

You're almost blinded by the light as you emerge on the other side. How long had it been since you'd been outside? You couldn't even remember. Months? A year? Longer?

Ana came out after you, and not long after the three of you heard a chainsaw revving. Ana pulled you into some tall grass while Leland ran away from the exit, drawing the attention of the man you'd heard Johnny refer to as "big boy," who yelled in outrage as he chased after him.

"Come on, now's our chance!" Ana said, grabbing your hand. You stumbled after her, not used to running after so long locked away.

"Where do you think you're going, sweetheart?"

The voice stopped you in your tracks, only a few feet from the gate. Ana looked at you incredulously and tried to pull you toward the gate.

"Come on! He's coming!!" She screamed, tugging at you. You stayed rooted in place, your ears burning.

"Be a good girl and stay right where you are." Johnny rounded the corner of the white picket fence, walking so slowly you probably could get away if you started running. But you didn't.

"Oh my god, you're one of them, aren't you?!" Ana accused, pulling your back against her chest. She took out a bone scrap and held it to your neck, her breathing erratic.

"Let me and Leland go, or I'll kill her!" Ana said, pressing the scrap against your neck and backing up toward the gate. You winced, but it wasn't anything new to have a sharp edge threaten your life.

Johnny stopped, his eyes narrowing.

"'Fraid I can't do that. Your friend is already in the basement being chopped up as we speak."

Ana swallowed harshly. "You piece of shit! You're lying!"

Johnny grinned. "Stick around fer dinner and I'll let you see him again, all dressed in some nice gravy ‘n chitlins."

Ana's tears fell on your shoulder as her back ran into the gate. Johnny stayed where he was, his fingers twitching at his side.

"Johnny," you whispered, trying not to move.

"Obviously, she wants to stay. Keep her," Ana said, shoving the gate open. She then took the bone scrap and jabbed it into your thigh, throwing you to the side.

You screamed as you fell to the ground, blood welling around the bone scrap. Johnny let out a feral growl before lunging, moving faster than you'd ever seen him move.

"Help me!" Ana screamed, running out onto the road. Johnny moved twice as fast, fueled by rage as he grabbed her around her midsection. He didn't hesitate before dragging his blade across her throat, her blood fanning out through the air and splattering on the road. He let her drop to the road, discarded, and you heard him run back through the gate.

He collected you in his arms, sitting on the dusty ground and holding you close.

"Are you okay baby?" He asked, gently stroking your hair from your face. He looked down at your leg and winced, the first time you've ever seen him queasy at the sight of an injury.

You nodded, though your face was pallid and your fingertips felt cold.

"I… need a bandaid…"

Johnny laughed and nodded. "I'll get ya one. Come on." He picked you up easily, cradling you against his chest. Instead of taking you to his shack, he brought you into Nancy's house for the first time. Once inside he laid you out on the dining room table, much like the meals they'd served over the years.

He rushed to the bathroom and brought back gauze.

"This is gonna hurt sugar. Here." He unbuckled his belt and put it between your teeth. "Bite down on this, alright?"

You nodded, and he smiled. "Good girl. One… two…" He then yanked the bone scrap from your thigh.

You wailed, more thick blood oozing out onto the table. Johnny poured alcohol over the wound, making the pain almost unbearable. He then, as quickly as he could, wrapped your leg in gauze. You felt your vision getting fuzzy as you began to fade. But then, Johnny leaned over the table, took his belt back, and kissed you.

Your heart instantly picked up, and your eyes focused on him as he pulled back, his cocked grin on his handsome face.

"You showed your loyalty today, sugar. I knew you were special." He kissed you again, and even though your arms were weak you still wrapped them around his neck. When he pulled back, he looked happier than you'd ever seen him.

"Welcome to the family."

#johnny slaughter #johnny sawyer #tcm game #texas chainsaw massacre game #tcm #texas chainsaw game #texas chainsaw massacre #johnny slaughter x reader #fanfiction

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chickenparm · 7 months

Text

Give of Yourself (fox!Tartaglia/f!Reader)

check out the full version of the header art by @lemonemlyn!

---

AO3 LINK

fox!Tartaglia/f!Reader 6,989 Words - NSFW (mating bites, knotting, breeding, mild dirty talk, reader is referred to a handful of times as "pretty")

---

The first time you meet him is in the depths of the woods, the snow up to your knees as you hunch over your traps and deftly retrieve what’s going to be your dinner for the next few days.

At first you don’t even hear him. He doesn’t make a sound until he’s within arm’s reach, his boot crunching against the snow in a movement that you now know was intentional. After some time, you’d realize he’d never let you hear him there if he didn’t explicitly want you to know. The sound makes you drop the limp hare in the snow, the ones slung over your shoulder falling as well with the speed that you draw your weapon.

But it’s unnecessary. At the time, you’d assumed him unarmed, so your guard lowered slightly. He simply had a smile on his face and both hands raised in surrender, and a polite question on his lips. “Could I share your dinner this evening?”

Simple, polite, and almost forgotten when you catch sight of the soft auburn-colored appendage swishing behind him, the long triangles perched atop his head.

Tartaglia, he told you his name was, at least for the moment. When you inquire a little further, he just says that different situations require different names, but all of them are inherently correct. So, Tartaglia is his name, and he isn’t offended in the slightest when you ask if he’s a fox envoy from Inazuma.

“I’m Snezhnayan, like you. How could that be what I am?” Tartaglia carries your hares over his shoulder, following along in your footsteps in the snow but somehow looming over from behind you. It’s a bit unsettling, but he’s been nothing but cordial during this short interaction, so you chalk it up to your own uneasiness of people.

“I am no fox envoy,” Tartaglia says with finality. “But I am a Fox.”

“What’s the difference?” You ask as your cabin comes into view. A small, one-roomed thing with sturdy stone walls and a thatched roof just installed this last summer.

Tartaglia laughs a little, following your lead in stomping the packed-in snow from the bottoms of your boots. You rest them by the door when you enter your home, swapping for shoes that are softer, more comfortable. There are none for him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, the cold doesn’t bother him at all.

“Fox envoys are fox envoys, and a Fox is a Fox. You’re thinking too hard about it.” Tartaglia says this as if he were explaining that the sky is blue, and snow is cold, and there’s one extra hare strung on your line than what you remember lifting from your traps. You eye it curiously, but say nothing of the strange gift.

Taking them from him to begin preparing, you ask, “Well, are foxes some divine being? Are you immortal?”

“Foxes are Foxes, and I live as long as a Fox usually does.” Tartaglia watches patiently as you work, not offering to help, but you wouldn’t have accepted it anyway. He’s a guest, and you’d rather he just answer your questions. It’s been far too long since you’ve spoken with another person since the snows kept you in place for the season.

One rabbit is finished as you mull over his answers. Then, with more questions, you speak. “You’re not very good at answering questions, you know.”

“You’re just not asking the right questions.” While you work, he wanders your home, looking over your shelves and belongings, but never touching. Occasionally, his fingers will flex in his gloves like he’d love to pick up a trinket or book, but he’s remarkably respectful. “Try again.”

You hum, setting aside more bits and pieces of your prey, some to eat and some to preserve. “How long do foxes live?”

“As long as they like.”

“And how long do you like, since you’re a fox?”

A smile spreads on his face over his shoulder, and you try not to return it too widely at the prospect of playing this little game with him. Each question he answers dutifully, and you try your best to wheedle him into a corner where you can get the results you want. With careful maneuvering, by the time you’ve started roasting the rabbit and the fat is dripping and hissing in the fire, you’ve learned a handful of things about your guest.

Tartaglia is a Fox. Not a fox, but a Fox. There’s a distinction in how he says it, one that you eventually pick up on. Where he comes from are the forests around Morepesok, the ones you also call home, and he’s only now shown his face because he was bored. When you ask if Foxes can even get bored, he laughs as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

Tartaglia tells you he likes you, and asks if it would be out of line to return and pass the time in your presence. You say yes, of course, because you’ve never met a Fox before and he seems like a rather charming kind.

The next time you see him, he’s across the river as you squat near the edge and check your cages. They’re all empty, meaning you’ll be eating salt-cured hare again tonight. As you look up, he’s already made it to your side without a sound. It’s not nearly as unsettling as you expected.

“Rabbit again, it seems,” you gripe, getting to your feet and dusting the snow from your pants. Tartaglia doesn’t seem terribly put off, instead giving you a shrug. His tail sweeps lazily from side to side, the tip leaving a single large crescent in the snow behind him. Clutched in his hand are the back legs of another hare, fresh enough that you won’t need to subsist off salted and dried meat for dinner.

On the way back to your cabin, you pose more questions for him. “Do you have human ears, too?”

“Why would I?” And you glance up as he follows along next to you. There are no human ears beneath the ginger locks of his hair. Just the two soft appendages at the top that swivel as if he were listening to everything around the two of you. “I’m not human, what use would I have for human ears?”

“Are Fox ears better? Why would humans need human ears, then?”

“Because humans are humans.” Tartaglia says simply, stepping over a log across the path and holding out a hand for you to brace on to follow after him. He does it naturally, as if it were second-nature to assist you with something so trivial. He doesn’t let your hand go until you’re safely on the other side.

“And Foxes are Foxes?” You ask, and his mouth curls in a little smile, like he’s proud of you for such a thing.

“Now you’re getting it!”

The third time he appears before you is a week after the second. It would be a lie to say you don’t recognize him immediately. The shade of his fur is the same as always, though it covers the slim and lithe body of a fox - a Fox, he would correct you - and you would recognize the shade of his eyes everywhere.

Snow reflects so much light, yet none of it seems to catch in his gaze.

Tartaglia follows after you, unperturbed by the fish hanging off your line as you carry it back home. Without asking, you know he plans to stay for dinner, and it’s a surprisingly quiet evening as he curls up on the warmed stones of your fireplace and pointedly remains underfoot as you try to cook. Even a nudge with your toes doesn’t move him, and you have to step over and around Tartaglia to ensure the fish is ready to eat.

“Can you change back?” You ask, sitting on the floor next to him. There’s a plate nearby with his food, but he hasn’t touched it yet. Instead he sprawls on his back with his stomach being warmed by the fire. It takes all your willpower not to reach out and pet him.

He might find it undignified, but he doesn’t seem particularly worried about being dignified. Only that you understand that he’s a Fox, not a fox.

Tartaglia tilts his head to look at you, and somehow you know he’s saying yes. So, you continue with, “Will you? I like how you look normally.”

He doesn’t respond. In fact, his eyes simply close and he looks impossibly smug as he waits for you to take your own utensils to be cleaned before he wolfs down his food. With an annoyed sound when you return, you take his empty plate to clean that, too. In the beginning, you wondered if he did these things on purpose. Now you know for certain that he does.

Tartaglia appears to you as himself only a few days later.

“Is this more to your liking?” Tartaglia gives you cheek with a little smile, ducking his head beneath the top of the door frame as he enters your home without knocking. You can’t bring yourself to mind much at all - he is always welcome.

Glancing up from the clothes you’re mending, you look him up and down pointedly before nodding once. “Yes, I prefer this much more.”

“I thought you’d prefer the other. I’ve been told I make a very handsome Fox.”

“By whom?” You ask, scrunching your nose at him. “Other foxes? They’re biased.”

“And so are you,” Tartaglia points out, moving to sit down on the same stones he’d sprawled across only a few nights before. “This form is more human, so you would prefer it. Both are correct.”

“Like your names,” you agree, and he gives you that little smile that makes your stomach twist uncomfortably. Even so, you undeniably enjoy seeing it.

On his next visit, Tartaglia brings you a gift.

It’s a little thing, just barely fitting into the palm of your hand. It’s a small dome made of metal, the golden latticework interspersed with little squares of blue and red. Upon opening it, you find that it’s a music box, one that plays a tune you’ve never heard before, yet makes you nostalgic. Almost instinctively, you want to hum it, and Tartaglia hums with you as if guiding you along the notes.

The music box becomes your most prized possession. There’s little use for pretty trinkets this far out in the wilderness, yet every night before you sleep, you wind it up and drift off to the sound. When he sees it displayed on your mantle, Tartaglia seems to beam with an unknown, positive emotion.

It is not the only gift he brings, but it is your favorite.

Once, after dinner and before you turned in for the evening, Tartaglia gets to his feet and holds a hand out for you, ears forward and alert, tail moving with lazy interest. “Play it again and dance with me?”

Your movements are clumsy, but like he guided you with the music, he nudges you along with the dance. Tartaglia’s dexterity keeps you from stepping on his toes, but you learn soon enough how to match his steps to the music. He does not let you falter.

At your waist his hand curls, the other lacing with your fingers, and you can’t help but notice how impossibly warm he is. Like a furnace pressed to your front, you feel as if you’re burning alive as he hums to the music with half-lidded eyes and looks down at you with that same unfamiliar expression.

From this close, he smells like snow and the sun and pine needles. As if he’d dashed through the underbrush and picked up the scent of the forests around you. It’s almost enough to make you melt into him, his very presence becoming familiar and adored. You wonder if perhaps it’s in his nature to make himself endearing, to worm his way into your life and make space so easily.

It’s not as if you’ve made it difficult.

Winter turns to Spring, and Spring creeps close enough to Summer that the snow begins to melt and you feel more comfortable making trips into the village. On your first, Tartaglia muses upon the idea of going with you, but then backs out after a moment of consideration.

“Foxes aren’t welcome. Not in Morepesok,” Tartaglia explains, and you can’t help but be a little put-off after having hoped he would spend the day with you in the village.

But you understand. It’s an insulated town, and the unknown and unusual are frightening to them. Perhaps that’s why he never showed up to you until now? It’s hard to get an answer out of him pertaining to his reasoning, not with how expertly he’s able to weave your questions into something confusing and nonsensical.

Without his company, you see no reason to linger long. Once, you might have spent hours in the village socializing, getting used to the feeling of people. But this last Winter has been filled neatly with Tartaglia’s presence, and you haven’t felt lonely - not once.

With that in mind, you gather up all your gratitude and return to your home with a pull-cart of supplies and a single frivolity on top. Tartaglia is waiting for you, and he hasn’t bothered to hide the way he’s paced circles around your cabin, prints of boots and paws that intertwine with one another.

When you present him with your gift, he holds the stuffed toy in his hands, turning it this way and that. “More trinkets for your shelves?” Tartaglia asks, and you can’t help but laugh at him the same way he laughs at you. Only when it leaves your chest do you realize it’s laced with fondness.

“No, it’s for you. A gift. I’m sorry it isn’t fancy, my kind of life doesn’t leave much room for that.”

Tartaglia is silent for a long, long time.

After he’s taken his gift and disappeared on you for nearly a week, he returns once more when you’re settled into the snow next to a hole cut through the ice, bundled up in your furs with a fishing pole poised and waiting for a bite. Initially, you expect him to take a space across from you, but then you’re startled when he reaches down to pluck the pole from your hands and jam the handle into the snow.

Before you can protest, worried that you’ll miss a bite, his hands now reach for your cloak to untuck it from around you. You’re left bereft and cold, an argument poised on your lips about how you don’t have natural immunity like he seems to have.

Ultimately, you’re silenced by the way he sidles up behind you, bracketing your body with his legs, the heat rolling off him seeping immediately through your layers. Your forgotten cloak sits in the snow as furs of russet and auburn settle around the two of you comfortably. All thoughts of fishing for your dinner are lost as a dreamy sort of haze settles over you.

“Isn’t this better?” Tartaglia sounds a bit smug as he speaks over your shoulder, his cheek brushing against your temple. “The fur of a Fox is much warmer than anything else.”

“These are yours?” You ask, your hand tentatively running along the softness, strands plush against your fingers.

Something rumbles behind you, right up against your spine, beneath Tartaglia’s sternum. “Yes, and now they’re yours. You’ll keep them safe for me, won’t you?”

Of course, you will. You’ve never held on to something this sumptuous in your life. Absently you continue stroking them, the rumbling at your back lulling you into a trance the likes of which you’ve never felt before. It’s so enthralling that you don’t notice the tip of your fishing pole nudging, or the way he reaches out to pick the rod up and pull in your catch.

Once the fish is writhing on the surface do you snap back to reality and set to work killing it and stringing it up to take home with you. Tartaglia resets your line, then those long arms wind around your middle to pull you back into the warmth of his furs. The cycle repeats, you’ve never felt this secure in your life. Having to pull away to return once the sun starts to sink feels like the greatest torture.

Tartaglia leaves the furs with you, reminding you of your promise to keep them safe and to wear them when you’re in the trees. You do not see him in the form of a fox again.

At night, you find yourself inexplicably drawn to sleeping with them, keeping the thickness wrapped around you snug enough that your blankets are unnecessary now. Inadvertently, Tartaglia keeps you warm as you’re encompassed in the scent and heat of him. You’re not quite sure how he’d react if he knew that you were so taken with this, with him.

Secretly, you hope he’d give you that sweet smile that crinkles the corner of his eyes, and gather you up into his arms so you’d never be cold again. Having his fur is as close as you think you’ll get.

One morning, you sleep in late. Your food stores are plentiful with the comparatively warmer months, there’s enough wood chopped, you have only small chores to do that won’t take much time at all. So, you roll over on your side and snuggle into Tartaglia’s furs with a pleased little smile and a dreamy sigh. Somehow, they still smell like him, even after a handful of weeks.

The bed dips, first at your back, then at your front, and as you turn your head to look upward, you see Tartaglia hovering over you, looking curiously at your sleepy expression. Only his quiet breaths and yours fill the silence, the fire having long burnt out through the evening and morning. The dull blue of his eyes travels from your face to the warmth you’re wrapped in, something shifting, turning a little darker.

Against your cheeks, you can feel his breath shake as he exhales, then inhales, then says, “You accept, then?”

You’re not sure what he’s referring to, but you’re sleepy enough that you simply smile and nod. In truth, there aren’t many things that you wouldn’t do if he asked it of you. So accepting something blindly isn’t so frightening when it comes to Tartaglia.

“Wonderful,” Tartaglia murmurs, leaning closer, lips brushing against your cheek and nearly searing your skin. “You look so perfect like this, pretty Mate.”

Mate. The word makes your eyes crack open again, staring over his shoulder at the ceiling as his lips press more firmly against your cheek with purpose. Pine and snow fill your lungs as you inhale, then let it all go. You’ve realized with Tartaglia that perhaps questioning everything is the incorrect route.

If you watch with patience, you’ll learn what you want to know.

Shifting his weight to prop on one hand, his knee pressed into the bed near your lower back, Tartaglia’s other hand lifts to curl around the edge of the furs, pulling it down to get a better look at your face. “You don’t even know what you did. Do you?”

It’s not something he needs an answer to. You’re well aware that he knows you’re confused, yet still trusting all the same. Being cradled in the most precious part of his being feels as if it empties you of thought and refills you with affection that overflows. Tartaglia smiles, your heart flutters.

“Every step was perfect,” he muses, letting go of the furs to cup your cheek, thumb smoothing beneath your eye in a soft arch. Over his shoulder, the gentle sway of his tail catches your eye, back and forth like a metronome that soothes you. “You let me in your den. You accepted the prey I brought you.”

Lips brush against your cheek once more, his hand on the opposite keeping you steady as he speaks his words into you. “You expressed approval of my appearance. The music box was a courting gift; you accepted that. We danced and played together. You returned with a gift of your own.”

Letting go of your cheek, his fingers reach down to tug at the furs a little more, showing more of your face, your neck, your shoulders. Steadily he tugs it free until he can slip beneath it with you, sharing the warmth of his body until you feel smothered and safe.

“I gave you my form - my fur. It’s the way of Mates, you know. The exchange of what makes us who we are.” The curl of his body slots behind your own, pulling you back against his chest until every inch of you is tight against him, no space left for anything more than complete understanding.

A thought tickles at his previous words, and your voice feels weak and jumbled as you murmur, “I have nothing to give you in return.”

“I know. It doesn’t make our bond worth any less,” Tartaglia answers, face nuzzling into your neck, the feel of something sharp over where your pulse pounds the strongest. “You’ll give me yourself. I’ll mark you, and you’ll be mine, and that’ll be enough.”

Again, the drag of sharpness that could only be his teeth. Sharp pointed canines that you’ve seen enough to no longer be completely intrigued by. The slide of his hands around your waist as he squeezes you tight, one palm pressed to your stomach. “And I will be yours. I’ll care for you, protect you. Keep you safe and happy and full of my kits.”

Your thoughts feel muddled, but they’re still your own. No matter how comfortable you feel, how pliant you are beneath his hands, the words still bring you pause. Of course being his Mate would entail that, it should have been obvious when he first mentioned it. And yet, it doesn’t scare you as much as it might have before.

You fully expect him to do something. Anything. For him to bite you, or paw at you, or do anything except what he does now. Tartaglia’s body cradles yours and his hand strokes over your stomach and he inhales deeply at your neck as if he can’t bother breathing if it isn’t laced with your scent.

The movements almost lull you back to sleep. Your eyes have trouble staying open, and the strange weightlessness of unconsciousness makes your sink further into him. As a last resort, because you cannot simply let things lie, you ask, “Won’t you do it?”

“No,” he answers simply, not elaborating until you’re starting to prickle with impatience. For once, he has mercy on you. “You haven’t given me yourself, yet.”

“How?” Your question is only met with the slow spread of a smile against your shoulder. You think you might know.

Tartaglia’s grip falters a little, allowing him to move his hands to your hips to nudge you onto your stomach. With careful hands, he coaxes you to lift them, higher and higher until you’re propped on your knees, chest to the furs you’ve gathered subconsciously to cushion yourself for what you must intrinsically know is coming.

Those hands on your body squeeze, fingers pressing into your skin as if to test the give, and he hums appreciatively. “Good for grabbing, like I suspected.”

Tartaglia has seen you in many states. Bundled up in all your layers, only your eyes peeking over the edge of your scarf. In warm, casual clothing as you cook dinner. In your bedclothes when you’ve just woken and he politely demands breakfast. But there have been very few instances where he’s touched you.

A hand in yours as he helps you over fallen trees or across ice that the wind has blown mirror-smooth. The brushing of fingers as he passes you whatever prey he’s offering on a given day, the memories heavier now that you know what his intent has always been. His chest pressed to your back as he wrapped you in his furs - himself - for the first time.

But this is different. This squeezing and pawing at your hips, your thighs, your backside… There is no innocence about this. Tartaglia appraises you with purpose now, as if he were taking stock of a deeply sought after prize, something hard won and treasured. If he hadn’t so openly said it, you’d know just by the way he appreciates your form that you are very much his.

And he is yours, and you want to see him while he explores you. Wiggling a bit, you tell him so, and his hand slides up your spine to push between your shoulder blades, a firm denial. Mercifully, he clarifies enough that you relax into it. “Not this time. Humans have their preferences for mating, and I’ll go along with those happily. I see the merit in it. But if I’m going to take you as mine, we’ll do it my way.”

Like an animal, you want to murmur, but you know it wouldn’t be quite right. Tartaglia is not just some animal, but you’ve always been aware of something beneath the surface that speaks of a more primal way of doing things. Natural would be the word he likely used, but no matter how you add it up, the sum remains the same.

You don’t struggle against the press of his hand, and he squeezes your hip once more in approval. Sliding back down your spine, he nudges your lower back into a deeper arch before those long fingers hook into your pants and underwear. “Nothing would make me happier than to give you everything you want. As often as you want, in as many different positions. After you give yourself to me like this.”

“Yes,” you hiss, almost impatient with the methodical way he’s picking you apart, thrumming at your nerves while barely doing anything at all. It’s the implications that your mind is supplying in the spaces between, and you know he’s doing it on purpose.

The frigid air meets your backside, your thighs, the wetness of your cunt as he tugs your clothes down enough to bunch around your knees. It’s all he needs right now, and you’re just glad he isn’t wasting time by trying to reveal more of you. Those same hands touch your skin now, squeezing in all the same places, his palms burning hot against you. A pathetic little sound falls from your lips, and he freezes.

You can feel him smiling.

As his fingers spread you open, you don’t have the wherewithal to even be embarrassed at the vulnerability of it all. Tartaglia looks at you shamelessly, a little rumble leaving his chest as he thumbs over your clit with little warning. Your hips jolt, only for a moment, and then you’re pushing yourself back against his circling finger for more.

It feels as if you’re demanding it from him, but also that you’re offering yourself as some sort of… toy for him to play with. The mere suggestion of it has you reeling; that you would willingly put yourself in his hands for his amusement. But that’s what all this is for, isn’t it? You can’t help asking that of yourself, knowing that it’s the truth.

Tartaglia wants you to give yourself to him in the only way you really can. An even trade for the offering that still wraps around you now. The exchange for having him at your side always, giving you all those things he promised. Protection, happiness, safety… The feeling of his cock nudging against you, hot and weighty, the chill of something smearing across your skin.

“Look at you, all ready for me,” Tartaglia breathes, nails scraping against your skin as he pushes closer, nestling against your cunt until his tip brushes your clit, his pulse thrumming against you just as surely as yours races against him. “Knew you’d be perfect. I knew it. I watched you, you know.”

And that makes you stiffen. You’d suspected, of course, but-

“Ever since you came here–” two years ago– “I watched, I waited. The forests are wild, uncontrollable, imperfect. But you’re… different.”

Tartaglia rocks against you, a minute sliding of his cock against your oversensitive cunt. He lets you feel every inch of him before ever giving you a taste. “Humans are delicate. Fragile, really. Wrapped up in your layers, I thought you looked cute. But every day that passed, I grew more sure that you’d look even more divine with my furs wrapped around you…”

And he leans down, pressing his lips to your neck, just over your pulse once more. You can feel the heaviness of his breath as he murmurs, “And how you’d look with my mark right here.”

Goosebumps prickle along your skin at the open threat of his teeth pressing into your skin. Not hard, never breaking, but little indents left as he pulls away, surely. Perhaps it’s your own mind tricking you, addled with both desire and the man above you, but you have a distinct need to have those marks on you permanently.

So, you bite down on your lip and whine a little plea, unsure of what you’re really asking for, only knowing that you want it desperately. More than you’ve ever wanted anything. The entirety of your life feels like it’s been boiled down to this single moment, the pinprick in time where it’s just you and the Fox above you, behind you, surrounding you completely.

Tartaglia withdraws, just enough to give you the full drag of him against your folds before the head pushes against your entrance. Never before have you taken someone with such little resistance, but never before has anyone worked you into such a state with so little effort. Tartaglia has barely touched you beyond squeezes and gropes for his own gratification, yet you can feel a rivulet of your own arousal roll down the inside of your thigh.

And you can hear the squelch of his entry, your cunt being pushed open to make way for him to seat fully inside you. Your mouth falls open in a silent sound as Tartaglia eases you open in one smooth move, the sharp angle of his hip bones pressing into your backside. The pressure only increases when he leans over you again, one hand braced on the bed, the other smoothing over your stomach, fingers pressing in just beneath your belly button.

“Right here. Can you feel me?” Tartaglia’s voice is almost a purr as he coaxes you into responding with a nudge of his hips forward. Your mouth shuts with a click of your teeth, face twisting in pleasure as you’re swept up in the sensation of having him inside, of nearly being rearranged to make room for him to take you.

Each move is torturously slow, and you’re reminded of his words, of the implication. You moved into this cottage two years before he approached you, and it’s been half a year since then. Two and a half years of persistence points to a lifetime of patience. Because of his nature, you assumed he’d take you quick and harsh.

And yet he pulls out and pushes in at an agonizing pace, your mind latching on to the sensation of being filled and emptied. Tartaglia fucks you like he has all the time in the world to do so, like he wants to spend that time memorizing every trembling inch of your pussy before marking it as his own. Like… he wants to torture you for not letting him do this sooner.

You would have let him. Gods, the first time he smiled at you - for real, not the wide and false thing he defaults to - you would have graciously done anything he asked. Including this frustrating slow paced fuck. Or is it mating? You’re not sure, and you don’t really have the faculties to ask such a question in the precise way required to get a real answer.

Fisting the sheets, you push back against him as he pulls out, trying to get at least one sharp thrust in to satiate yourself. Tartaglia doesn’t stop you, doesn't prevent you from doing it, but only once. Only when you rock forward and off does he stop you with a hand on your backside, palm pushing into the flesh and fingers squeezing in quiet warning.

Next time, you recall him saying. This one is for him, for his enjoyment. You don’t move, sucking in a shaking breath to fill your lungs, and his grip lessens to pat your ass in encouragement. “Smart; you remembered. Just relax. Just feel. Can you do that for me, just a little longer?”

You make a sound of agreement, but he doesn’t accept it as readily as you thought. Another tap to your backside, a little bit harder this time. Perhaps his patience isn’t as infinite as you thought. “Say it out loud. Say that you’re happy staying right here, feeling my cock.”

Tartaglia doesn’t sink back into you. Your entrance is stretched wide around his tip, your cunt clenching around nothing and begging for him to give you anything at all. Weary with your own desperation, you cave for him. “I-I’m happy just feeling your cock–”

“Your Mate’s cock,” he amends his original request, nudging forward, giving you a little as compensation so far.

You want more, even if he buries inside and never moves again. “I’m happy staying here and feeling my M-Mate’s cock.”

Something that felt so frustrating before now feels euphoric as he slides all the way in once more, nudging against places inside that you’re not sure have ever been touched like this. All it took was a moment of realignment to take you from annoyance to appreciation for the slow, slow roll of his hips.

This is fine. This is enough. If you close your eyes and focus only on that slow dragging, on bearing down and tightening around him further, then you find yourself inching closer and closer to the release you need. A little groan of surprise leaves him as you do this, then a little chuckle as he quickly realizes what you’re trying to do.

You expect him to tease you, to demand that you hold off and you’re not allowed to finish while he does this. It would be cruel, but you’d do it, only because he’d made so many pretty promises about what comes next. And yet, he slides a hand around you, breath hot against your ear. His fingers find your clit again as his cock goes still inside. “Since you’ve been so good…”

Tartaglia doesn’t move himself an inch as he plays with your clit, stroking it between two fingers, drawing circles with the pad of his middle digit, pressing hard to give you a little jolt of pain before soothing it away with soft touches. You’re not certain what it is he’s getting out of this until you tense particularly hard and his cock twitches inside you.

The closer you get to orgasm, the more you tense and flex around him. Tartaglia doesn’t need to fuck you to get his own pleasure, you realize, and that only spirals you higher toward the very apex of it all.

Through the haze you feel his mouth on your neck, sucking against the little marks he’d left not so long ago. The pressure will leave bruises, and you almost think that’s the extent of it. A mark that will be left to show he’d been here with you, that you were his until it faded and he’d surely put another in its place.

Tilting your head, you give him all the access he’d like. You’d be proud to leave whatever mark he gives, even though you’re isolated enough out here that you’ll likely not see another person until it starts to fade. But you’ll see it, you’ll feel it. Just as surely as you feel him throbbing in your cunt, as surely as his teeth dragging along your skin before sinking in.

As surely as the pain of his bite mixes with the exquisite agony of your drawn out release, the two striking at the same time and mingling so thoroughly that there’s no hope of pulling one from the other. They’re the same thing now, both overwhelming and leaving you just as delirious as you’d been when he arrived.

Something else burns at you, too. Between your mind reeling and your muscles tensing as if you’d experienced electro directly from the source, you realize he’s moving now. Quick, shallow, sharp little thrusts, something pushing at you that you don’t recognize. If you weren’t so thoroughly ruined, you’d panic, but instead you sprawl beneath him and let his hands hold your hips to keep you from going completely boneless.

The bluntness pushes you open, slowly but surely with each thrust until the stretch making you nearly squeal as he forces it inside. Only when you accept it does he finally dig his nails in and mouth against your neck, moaning against your skin with each shot of his release. Involuntarily, his hips jerk forward as the waves roll over him, his body pushing yours into the bed as he loses his strength to keep you aloft for his use.

Your neck stings, your pulse runs hardest in your cunt that’s stuffed full of his cock. Mindlessly, your fingers reach for the red fur sprawled around the two of you, pulling it closer. Its owner is at your back, but you have a single-minded need to be completely wrapped up by him. Everything feels muddled, as if you’d had a bit too much firewater to drink and were in the throes of your cups.

Tartaglia’s tongue rolls against the stinging marks, and you wonder if he’s tasting your blood or if he’d even gone that deep. It felt that way, as if he’d pierced you clean through. Perhaps his mark will last far longer than you expected.

A sharp hiss leaves you as you shimmy a bit to get more comfortable, and his length doesn’t dislodge from you. In fact, you feel as if he’s locked inside, something keeping you from pulling free. Another shift, a whimper as you realize that’s exactly what’s happened, and he finds quiet glee in your confusion.

“Did you think I was lying? I told you that I would breed you, Mate.” His hand sprawls over your stomach, possessive as if something were already growing there. “Hush now, my knot will go down soon and you can ask all your questions.”

“Can’t I ask them now?” You ask, annoyed at how thick your voice feels from exhaustion. Against your neck he nuzzles, lips brushing over the tender spot where he’d bitten you. Verbally, he doesn’t answer, but you suspect that he’d just reiterate his desire for you to wait.

And so, you relax beneath him, letting his weight settle over you comfortably. The furs tickle against your nose as you inhale their scent, as potent as the moment he’d first wrapped them around you. A thought meanders through your mind about what you might smell like to him, and whether he pines for it in the same way that you do.

Tartaglia doesn’t seem the pining type. At least, that’s what you thought before all of… this. Apparently, he’d been doing so for quite some time, far before you even had laid eyes on him.

With a little roll, he pulls you to lay on your side, his body spooned against your back once more, just as before, the thickness of his tail curled over your hip. The movement slips him free of you, and you don’t quite have words to articulate the disappointment that settles in your chest from the loss. You feel unlike yourself, but somehow more in-tune with who you are, as well.

Sensing your confusion, Tartaglia answers questions that you hadn’t had time to formulate. You’re his Mate, he tells you. He’s put his mark on your neck permanently, claiming you for himself in the eyes of all others. When your fingers raise to your neck to feel, he brushes your hand away. “Don’t touch it, you’ll irritate it more.”

“I just want to feel it-”

“There’s nothing to feel. It’s the shape of my teeth, and it’ll scar over,” he chides you, squeezing your hand. “Just trust me when I say that it suits you.”

You suppose you’ll be the judge of that later. In the meantime, you sigh a bit petulantly and relax in his hold, trying not to drift off to sleep. To combat yourself, you needle him further. “Why didn’t you say anything before? About your… feelings.”

“I have been.” Tartaglia almost sounds affronted, like you’ve put this entire thing up to be judged for validity. “We went through every step of the mating process. It’s not my fault you didn’t ask about any of it.”

“How was I supposed to know!”

“By asking,” Tartaglia answers simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You want to spin around and smack him, your hand pushing against the bed to give you leverage to do just that, but he cuts you off at the pass by wrapping those furs around you so tightly that you’re certain you’ll turn into a Fox yourself.

And then he laughs at you, light and weightless, rasping a bit at the edges in a way his polite ones never do. If not from his smile, then just by the angle of his ears, Tartaglia is happy. As happy as you’ve ever seen him. You’ll be annoyed with him later, you think, when you’ve had your fill of his elated expression and grow tired of seeing him so jovial.

That moment doesn’t come.

#mind the a/n for content tags #tartaglia #childe #genshin impact #genshin #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #x reader #f!reader #afab!reader #tartaglia x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia/reader #childe/reader #reader-insert #nsft #mdni

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doawks · 10 months

Text

i. melt into you, im changkyun.

♫ If I move too quick past you, I would think it's my reflection Being this close isn't close enough You could tell every time we touch, every time we, oh [...] That's when I melt into you

pairing. ex!changkyun x f!reader. genre. exes to lovers (?), smut, some fluff. warnings. manhandling, cheating (but he’s kinda like forgotten lol), dirty talk, implied jealousy + possessiveness, dom!changkyun to softdom!changkyun, praise kink, daddy being said once, little crying, creampie, unprotected sex━ missionary.

not proof read.

“does he fuck you like this, sweetheart?” the question was rhetorical━he knew the answer just as much as you did. “nah, i don’t think he does. because if he did, i wouldn’t have to be fucking you into my mattress every night and sending you on your way back home with my cum dripping down your thighs, now would i?”

you couldn’t help but turn your head to the side in utter embarrassment. changkyun saw right through you, constantly reading you like an open book. he knew you better than anyone, he knew you better than you knew yourself - and that’s saying a lot. you could never pretend when you were around changkyun, already knowing he would instantly call you out.

“c’mon, baby, fuck━” he lets out a guttural groan when he feels you clench down onto his cock tightly. god, changkyun will never get over the way your pussy feels. “so fuckin’ tight. i’m not going anywhere, baby, relax.”

you whimper at that. it’s not like he meant it in the way you thought, but it wasn’t exactly like you were in the right state of mind. when changkyun fucked you, he took you to an entirely different planet, literally. he fucked you hard and deep, leaving your pussy battered and legs a wobbly mess by the time he was done with you. when you two were dating, he left marks all over your body because he wanted to show the world how belong to him and only him ━ he can’t do that anymore however, much to his annoyance. but he doesn’t need to mark your pretty skin up anyway because you will always know who you belong to. your pussy only cries, aches for him and your heart is interlocked with his. you know it, he knows it. your new boy toy was merely a poor replacement to try to get over changkyun, but it obviously isn’t working, clearly.

“more. want more, please, kyunnie . . .” you aren’t exactly sure what you’re begging for. you’re honestly just blabbering at this point and changkyun knows that. he also knows how to shut you up.

shaking his head in amusement, changkyun hooks his veined hands underneath your knees, pressing them to your chest. when catching a glimpse of his biceps flexing, you instantaneously feel your pussy gush. his head lurches forward, silver necklace dangling prettily from his neck, “my insatiable little thing. you’re never going to be satisfied with what i give you, will you?”

you pout slightly, “i am.”

“no, you aren’t. but you will. you want me to fuck you hard and annihilate your little cunt, then so be it. but don’t try to push me away, you got that?”

maybe you overestimated just how much you could handle. . . just a bit. changkyun’s cock is thick, it always has been. he takes pride in that, quite frankly. the first time you two had sex, he remember vividly how shocked along with astounded you were when he lined it up with your pussy, eyes big and doe, mouth wide wondering how he was going to fit. since then, you thought you became accustomed to his size, but that’s only because he was giving it to you sweetly, inch by inch. even tonight, when changkyun threw you on the mattress, he promised to go easy on you, though you being as needy as you are, you knew you wanted - needed more than that. you only got to see changkyun once a week because you didn’t want your boyfriend to grow curious, so when he did fuck you, you wanted to make the most of it.

“fuuuuuck,” he draws out, throwing his head back, adam’s apple bobbing. he pounds into your squelching pussy mercilessly, a white ring of cum beginning to coat his cock when sliding out. “sweet little cunt━fuck, so tight. takin’ me so well, sweetheart.”

“d━daddy, my clit . . . can you, mhm, can you rub my clit?”

you were so fucking cute, always using your manners for him. he absolutely loved that about you. yeah, you might be a brat at times, but at the end of the day, you were always going to be his good girl. his.

he doesn’t answer verbally, instead, he takes his thumb into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the digit before bringing it down onto your clit, which twitched instinctively underneath the pad of his pollex.

on the brink of tears, you don’t think before you cradle changkyun’s face and bring his plush lips to yours. since you two began doing this whole ‘exes with benefits’ arrangement, it was agreed that there would be no kissing during sex because it would be deemed too romantic. you initiated the rule, unfortunately. only because kissing was the first intimate thing you ever experienced with your ex, who was once your boyfriend, changkyun. it meant so much to you especially because it was with someone you loved━love so dearly. you knew that if you were to kiss changkyun, it would bring you back to the first time you ever did. the memories suddenly pivoting in your head.

changkyun kisses you back sincerely, lips molding against yours. his pace comes to a halt, the hand that was under one of your knees quickly coming to your cheek, stroking the skin tenderly. you don’t feel yourself crying until changkyun acknowledges it, “shh. don’t cry, my pretty angel. i’m here.”

you’re silly. extremely silly. you never just wanted to fuck changkyun. but you knew, or thought, it would be the only way to relish in his warmth once again. you missed his touches, his words, sure, you missed him fucking you, but you really just missed him, in general.

changkyun pulls away slowly to press a kiss onto your nose. “need to take a break?”

“no, i just━missed you. not the sex, you.”

“i never left, baby. i was always here, no matter what you thought.” changkyun smiles softly at you, a smile that could light up an entire dim room.

changkyun’s words stick with you, because he’s so right. he never did leave. when he found out you were in a relationship, any normal ex would back off, but changkyun didn’t. he stayed in contact with you. or at least tried because you would never really respond to any of his messages. he made sure you were okay, wished you a happy birthday, a merry christmas. you two never ended on bad terms, but somehow, someway, you made it seem like you did.

god, how stupid you feel right now.

“i’m sorry, changkyun,” you choke, leaning into his touch. you missed him. so much.

changkyun puts your thighs at the side of him, bringing both his hands to your waist, gripping you. “no more apologies. just let me make love to you.”

with that, changkyun continues to fuck you. not hard, not rough ━ but slow and sensual. he tattoos open mouthed kisses onto your neck before going down to your collarbone, occasionally suckling your skin into his mouth. he yearned for this ━ just to be soft with you whilst telling you how pretty you are. he never told you he loved you enough back then, and that was his mistake. a mistake he would never make again. because now, he will make sure you know how much he loves and adores you with every 206 bones he has in his body. his life is purposeless without you, it has no meaning. you’re like his air, his water. you’re a necessity.

the head of changkyun’s cock kisses your cervix which has you arching your back of the mattress in pleasure. it feels good, too good. you haven’t felt this overwhelmed with pleasure and emotions in a long time. “kyunnie━”

“don’t think i can keep up any longer, baby. g━fuck. gonna come.”

“in me, kyun! in me. want you to come in me, please.”

he furrows his brows but nods his head nonetheless, “fuck. yeah, alright, angel. whatever you want.”

the mans hips speed up, balls slapping against your ass. the thumb he has on your clit also begins to quicken, causing your legs to jerk at his sides from the sensitivity and the impactful pounding. the sounds of your pornographic moans, changkyun’s deep grunts, and sweaty skin clapping is extraordinarily lewd but you can’t even find it in yourself to care neither does the man above you.

“c’mon, pretty baby,” he gently coaxes, “give it to me. make a pretty mess all over my cock for me. you can do that right, yeah? i know you can.”

your stomach starts to tighten, implying that your orgasm was quickly approaching. changkyun knows this, of course, because as stated before, he see’s right through you - and because he can feel your little pussy holding onto him for dear life, desperately trying to empty his balls. he chuckles, “fuck, sweetheart, you’re gonna milk me dry.”

with a few more encouraging words and deep thrust, you’re releasing all over his cock, changkyun following soon after into your pussy. as a heavy breath escapes from his lips, he deflates onto your chest - snuggling his head in the crook of your clammy neck - cock softening in the process while still being in your warm, gooey pussy. “love you so much, baby.” he whispers quietly in your skin.

you delicately shut your eyes, smiling while doing so. “love you, too.”

you knew you were going to have to find a way to break up with your boyfriend later on, but you didn’t care about that right now. all you cared about was the warmth changkyun was providing that you missed.

#♥ ━ CHANGKYUN!#im changkyun #im changkyun smut #changkyun x you #changkyun smut #changkyun x reader #monsta x smut #IT IS 6 IN THE MORNING !!!!#lawd.#anyway...#changkyun brainrot <33 #kpop smut #i.m changkyun #i.m smut

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pinkrangermemes · 3 days

Text

EPIC: The Musical

lyrics that absolutely fuck me up, feel free to change pronouns and such as needed

"A mission to kill someone's son, a foe who won't run, unlike anyone you have faced before."

"I'd rather bleed for you."

"This is the will of the gods."

"Don't make me do this."

"The blood on your hands is something you won't lose. All you can choose is whose."

"You're as old as he was when I left for war."

"How could I hurt you?"

"I'm just a man who's trying to go home."

"When does a man become a monster?"

"When does the reason become the blame?"

"Forgive me."

"We should try to find a way no one ends up dead."

"You can relax, my friend."

"Think of all that we have been through. We'll survive what we get into."

"This life is amazing when you greet it with open arms."

"I see in your face there is so much guilt inside your heart."

"Have you forgotten to turn off your heart? This is not you."

"Have you forgotten your purpose? Let me remind you."

"Don't forget that you're a warrior of a very special kind."

"Don't disappoint me."

"What gives you the right to deal a pain so deep?"

"Don't you know that pain you sow is pain you reap?"

"Your life now is in my hand."

"A trade, you see. Take from me like you took from me."

"You shall be the final man to die."

"It's just one life to take."

"When we kill him our journey's over."

"Captain?"

"You've hurt me enough."

"When I kill you, my pain is over."

"Mark my words now. This is not the end."

"Remember them."

"Who hurts you?"

"If nobody hurt you, be silent."

"He's still a threat until he's dead."

"Finish it."

"What good would killing do, when mercy is a skill more of this world could learn to use?"

"The blood we shed, it never dries."

"I am your darkest moment."

"I am the infamous _______!"

"This way, you won't disappoint me."

"This way, you won't waste my time."

"Unlike you, every time someone dies, I'm left to deal with the strain."

"I'll remind you, I saw you as a friend, but now we're done."

"This way, you won't plague my life."

"This way, you'll close the door and have your damn goodbye."

"Since you claim you're so much wiser, why's your life spent all alone?"

"You're alone!"

"This day, you sever your own head."

"This day, you lost it all. Consider this as my goodbye."

"Don't forget how dangerous the gods are."

"How much longer 'til your luck runs out?"

"You rely on wit, and people die on it."

"I still believe in goodness."

"Lead from the heart, and see what starts."

"And what will we do when it tears us apart?"

"You're like the brother I could never do without."

"How much longer 'til your strength takes leave?"

"I can't have you planting seeds of doubt."

"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer."

"Sometimes killing is a must."

"Friends turn into foes and rivalries."

"Never really know who you can trust."

"The end always justifies the means."

"So much has changed, but I'm the same."

"I'm left without a choice and without a doubt."

"Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves."

"You are the worst kind of good 'cause you're not even great."

"You are far too nice."

"Mercy has a price."

"Unlike you, I've got no mercy left to give."

"The line between naivete and hopefulness is almost invisible."

"What have you done?"

"I am your darkest moment, the monster that always draws near."

"Remember me."

"There's only so much left we can endure."

"Think of your past and your mistakes."

"No, I'm not a player. I'm a puppeteer."

"I can hardly sleep now, knowing everything we've done."

"It's a game of wits, but you don't have to play."

"A foe like ____ is not to be messed with."

"You could be hurt or you could beat her."

"I'll help you conquer her."

"Wouldn't you like your outcome preferred?"

"Don't thank me, friend, you very well may die."

"Did you do something to them?"

"I don't know who you are or why you're here, but let me make this one thing clear."

"I've got people to protect, friends I can't neglect, so now there is no turning back."

"Back at home my wife waits for me. She's my everything, my _____."

"Maybe showing one act of kindness leads to kinder souls down the road."

"This land confuses your mind."

"All I hear are screams every time I dare to close my eyes."

"I no longer dream, only nightmares of those who've died."

"Why would you let _____ live when ruthlessness is mercy?"

"I keep thinking of the infant from that night."

"____, when you come home, I'll be waiting."

"Even if you're the last thing I see, I'll be waiting."

"I took too long."

"I'll always love you."

"Your past is always close behind."

"I see a song of past romance."

"I see portrayals of betrayal and a brother's final stand."

"I see a man who gets to make it home alive, but it's no longer you."

"We've suffered and sailed through the toughest of Hells, now you tell us our efforts were nothing?"

"I see a wife with a man who is haunting. A man with a trail of bodies."

"How has everything been turned against us?"

"How did suffering become so endless?"

"Do I need to change?"

"What if I'm the monster?"

"What if I'm the problem that's been hiding all along?"

"If I became the monster, and threw that guilt away, would that make us stronger?"

"So what if I'm the monster lurking deep below?"

"If I gotta drop another infant from a wall in an instant so we all don't die, then I'll become the monster."

"I'll become the monster."

#since I haven't seen one yet #epic the musical #roleplay prompts #rp prompts #roleplay starters #rp starters #rp memes #roleplay memes #epic the musical starters #sentence starters #rp sentence starters

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blitzxiiru · 1 year

Note

U talked about people giving u scar ideas (in my case even more scar ideas).

P.S.: I LOVED the picture of Leo you drew with electricity scars! They looked very cool! I like how you did, at least with that picture, made them glow, just to make them stand out a bit more; looked awesome. Also, Leo looked hella feral in that picture, and I am ALWAYS here for feral Leo, lol.

And I just saw some clips and amvs (one of those clips being from TMNT clips tumblr) where Shredder almost crushed Leo to death and also threw him very far, hitting a car. I would link it, but tumblr hates me, and doesn't let me (at least currently) link stuff anymore in asks (maybe the Tumblr Gods will let me do so again someday...).

And then later on, in a different scene, he started trying to crush Leo's throat with his clawed hands (man, Shredder, haven't you already done enough damage to Leo's throat and/or windpipe, like sheesh, man!).

Also, since someone mentioned April (you drew her so pretty! And I liked the scars you gave her), Casey defin. would have SOME scars too. Like, for sure some head ones, pretty sure that dude got some and/or a lot of head injuries in that show and/or just scars from being such a brawler.

Also, Raph and Karai are brain worm/brain worms scars buddies! I say that, but that is sad as hell, poor Raph and Karai. I could see them bonding over it though. And Leo and Mikey just worrying about them when they talk about it (Donnie would too, but like, Leo is very much an overprotective sibling and would worry about and/or dote on his siblings/family/close friends, and Mikey worries about his big bros a lot, and knows when they are upset) sometimes.

we fr giving these boys more scars as if they don’t have enough of it already HHAHAHHAHA

thank you!!! i had a hell of a time time drawing that piece btw, it was super fun to draw feral leo. he really deserves to let off some steam.

i think i remember that scene, there was actually a recreation of it during that halloween episode in season 5 if i recall correctly?? poor boy got his arms crushed twice, by the SAME damn person..

shdgsjbdjsbd thank you again <33 april and casey was great to draw too, dude you have no idea how much i needed to touch up on drawing actual people since being hooked on tmnt bc i went literal weeks drawing turtles instead of humans LMAO thank god for muscle memory or else i would’ve forgotten completely. and, yes, absolutely! casey would def have some head injuries, and more centring around his arms and hands too. he’s buddies with mikey, since they both get head injuries so frequently.

karai and raph would tease each other about their brainworm scars lmao, they’d compare which one is nastier and neither would back down until the others have to mediate the two idiots into a draw. this happens everytime they meet btw

hope you enjoy my little doodles about these senarios :)

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hugheswritetr · 4 months

Text

D-Day

MASTERLIST

Heartbeat | Jack Hughes

Author’s note: the longest chapters so far, hope you enjoy it;)

Song: Daylight- Taylor Swift

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The bathroom counter in my room is overflowing with make-up. As always, I decided to lay a little bit longer than necessary in bed as I should, and this is the result of it. I cannot even navigate through the stuff, making my frustration rise more.

My palms are sweaty, my arms are aching and the goddamn eyeliner is getting crooked more and more each time I try to fix it. This is not my day. I am hoping that it at least looks presentable, the last thing I want is to look horrendous on national television.

Don’t even get me started on my outfit, the new bought heels I put on to stretch already digging into my feet. Sure, the heels are Jimmy Choo’s ( I would never buy anything else ), but even the price tag can’t fix the already forming blister.

,,Thalia! Stop hogging the bathroom!” my brother screams from outside, banging on the door for the millionth time.

Did I mention it was the day of the draft?

The day Mattheo had been working towards his entire life, the past week of his life incredibly stressful, the combine and interviews going with being the fourth projected pick.

We had flown to Dallas two days later than him, residing in the Mariott hotel in downtown Dallas. The whole family is here for this once in a lifetime event. Whole family but one person.

I can see that it’s troubling him, dad was one of his biggest supporters, paying for various trainers and private ice time with them. Despite all that, he is not here. I am sad for him, remembering the special father and son bond between them.

,,Give me a second” I shout back at him, even though knowing that the second would be a lot longer. How much more can my arms ache?

,,Thalia!” my brothers annoyed tone making me screw up more ,,Come on!”

,,Oh my god Theo stop! You’re making me nervous!” I report back in annoyed sneer. “You?!Nervous ?!” I don’t know how he manages to be louder each time. “Are you forgetting it’s my draft day?!”

,,Oh my god! Fine!” I reply, trying to swiftly gather my things into my make-up bag. Luke’s bathroom will have to do. I open the door, revealing my annoyed brother standing there.

,,Finally” he says as he enters the bathroom. “Asshat,, I retort my last comment before leaving the room.

The trip down the hallway is short, five steps and I am already knocking on his door.

But the boy opening the door is not the brother I am expecting . ,,Thalia?” Jack is raising his eyebrow at me making me squirm under his gaze. ,,Um, Could I finish getting ready in your room? Mattheo needs to get ready and he can’t when I’m in the bathroom” the blush to my cheeks rising as I ask the question.

,,Sure, but Luke is not here” the newfound information making me almost wish I hadn’t come here. I enter the room and swiftly aim for the bathroom, hoping to get away from the awkward silence that fell between me and the boy who stole my heart and doesn’t even know it.

What I didn’t expect is him following me and sitting on the bathtub beside me. “So, what are we doing?” he asks, catching me off guard. “We?,, I nervously laugh. “Sure, Lils, I’m not going to sit there when I can keep you company,, he nonchalantly replies.

I pray he doesn’t see the effect he has on me and that the foundation tint is covering my red cheeks. If it hadn’t been for my mind replaying the sentence over and over again, I wouldn’t even notice the name he said.

“You know my name is Thalia, right?” I ask and he laughs like it is the greatest joke he heard for a while. “You think I’m dumb? Lils is my new nickname for you, you have lillies on your dress” he voices the detail of my dress.

,,Oh” it was as I forgotten all of the english vocabulary and the only response I can muster is this.

,,Let me help you, sit” he says, noticing me still not drawing the eyeliner right. “Jack, please, like you know how to do it” I reply, rolling my eyes. “And you do?,, he jokingly answers.

He puts his hand around my biceps and sits me down on the bathtub, standing up and taking the make-up tool from my hand.

I gaze up to him, admiring the focused look in his eyes, but most importantly admiring him. The small freckles covering the bridge of his nose, the pink hue on his cheeks from spending time in the sun. The lines of focus between his eyebrows reminding me that he is human, and not some carefully carved sculpture. Jack Hughes is perfection.

,,Here, done” he finishes drawing the eyeliner. I stand up, expecting the disaster on my eyes, but when I gaze into the mirror, the eyeliner is drew on, good? It honestly makes me surprised.

I voice my thoughts with surprised laugh ,,Where did you learn this?”. Jack looks at me “I often watch my girlfriend do make-up, I’m kind of a pro right now” the world girlfriend silencing my next words. I just stand there gaping at him, the awkward silence sweeping over the room. The sentence is a dig to my heart, reminding me that I can admire him all I want, but I can never have him.

I think that my guardian angels decided to help me, and thank god they did, because Luke enters the room.

,,Come on Jack, we have to go - Thalia?” he asks surprised. “Oh Hi Luke, I was just here to finish my make-up, Mattheo occupied the bathroom” I answer his confusion.

Quickly cleaning up the stuff, I gather it to my hands leaving the room ,,I should go see if mom and Theo are ready, see you” I leave without waiting for the answer.

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I am in a state of awe for the last 5 minutes, and the cause for a first time in a while is not Jack. As I am sitting in my seat, the NHL level stadium makes the situation feel ten times more real than back in the hotel, signalling the significance of the event.

Our seats are in the higher part of the arena, right before the Hughes family. Luke is shaking his leg notoriously, he seems even more nervous than Quinn and Theo, the actual people being drafted.

There is a limit on the amount my nerves can handle, and before I know , I am complaining to him ,,Luke! I swear to god, if you’re going to shake that leg one more time, I’m going to slice it” I say to him, making him widen his eyes. “Geez Thalia, never took you as the psycho type” Jack inserts himself into the conversation. Once again, reminding me of his unforgettable presence in my life.

My mother knowingly smiles at me, knowing the real reason for my snapping. I feel sad for Mattheo, one of the most important events of his life is here, and dad is missing. I can see it’s troubling him, so I put my hand around his leg.

,, He is looking, you know it right?” I say to him, trying to calm him. He offers me a bittersweet smile in response ,,I know”.

The ceremony soon begins, anticipation filling my entire body. The reports saying Mattheo is going to be one of the first first rounders - making it known that the fate of his draft is going to be revealed soon.

First pick belonged to Buffalo Sabres, and the smile on the lucky hockey protégé picked for them making me excited for Theo’s moment.

I am thinking, not even noticing that the next team is picking. Selfishly, I hope that he would be going to the Detroit Red Wings to be close, but I know he is going to be picked sooner.

Then the Montreál Canadiens appear on stage. Making the usual speech.

The second Mattheo's name is called by the Montreal Canadiens, we jump from our seats and scream in joy. First mom hugs him, her eyes are shining with tears making my own spill in reponse. I hug him too, being the proudest sister there is on planet earth in this moment, my heart soaring with happiness. He made it, and I couldn’t be more proud. He leaps a few steps up to the Hughes family to hug Quinn, his now former teammate. And then the journey to his new team begins.

My heart skips a beat as I watch him make his way to the stage, a mix of emotions swirling within me. Pride, excitement, and pure happiness radiating off him and in return, off me.

After the moment ends, we sit back down. I can basically feel the anxiety radiating from Quinn by not being picked yet. All I can do is plead with god and my dad to bring the moment sooner.

It is as they hear my prayers, because as soon as the Vancouver Canucks call the name of their next new player, my ears reach the sound of a name of the boy I had grown to care about so much over the span of past three and a half years. I jump from my seat for a second time, expierencing the happiness once again.

The proud feeling coursing through my body from both of the boys successful drafts is beautiful. Me and Luke hug, feeling proud of our eldest brothers and wanting to share the moment together. The two bestfriends made it onto the international stage, an accomplishment we will be celebrating for a long time.

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The draft had been a rollercoaster of emotions, but seeing Quinn and Mattheo's dreams come true was an incredible moment.

We meet with them after the draft, the smile is permanently etched on their faces for the rest of the evening, making the whole group feel good.

The only thing that doesn’t feel good are my feet. Who suggested these painful heels? I know the answer, making me frustrated at myself. My ,,silent” huffing is unnoticed, until I see the middle Hughes boy stopping and waiting for me.

,,Come on, jump” He says, catching me off guard. “What?,, I reply, the confusing train of thoughts surging through me until he crouches . ,,Jump” he says, waiting for me to jump on him.

My proud mind is screaming at me not to, wanting to prove my mother I can wear heels for the whole evening even if she insisted I couldn’t.

But as I try to take another step, the pain spreading through my feet is too much for me to bear, making me jump on him.

Despite being dark, I can see daylight. Personified in the presence of him.

I don’t even notice the knowing look on the elder women faces as they watch us. As if secretly knowing what the future holds for us. We will soon find out.

#jack hughes #jack hughes fanfiction #jack hughes fic #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #luke hughes #new jersey devils #nhl #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl x reader #nj devils #jack hughes blurb

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