#of writing too many stories about monsters

[theadorableapprentice]

Nightmare

MC x Solomon Warnings: Hurt/Comfort Word Count: 1709

A/N: The song is Nightmare by Set It Off. It's one of my favorite songs and made me think of Solomon awhile back. I'm glad I finally got to write this story. It took a different direction than I thought it would, but I still like how it turned out. I hope you enjoy!

They're coming, creeping from the corner

And all I know is that I don't feel safe

Solomon doesn't talk about his past much. You knew this. Of course you knew this. You’ve tried so many times to get Solomon to tell you stories from his life. He would brush off your requests with some cheeky one-liner and that was that. So, you didn’t get to know the real reason why he’s always on edge. “We’re humans in the Devildom, MC. Why wouldn’t I be?” That’s his response whenever you asked him about it. Nevermind that Solomon managed to beat Diavolo when he was mad and actively going for Solomon’s throat. Nevermind that he walked from the Human World all the way to the underworld and then back. Nevermind that he’s fought a war against the Devildom. 

The only thing that you really know is that Solomon doesn’t feel safe. You’re actually not sure if you’ve ever seen him truly relaxed. Sure he puts up this laid back facade, but you know him better than that. Which is why you’re not entirely shocked by the sight before you upon coming home.

I feel the tapping on my shoulder

I turn around in an alarming state

But am I losing my mind? I really think so

Not a creature in sight

Solomon whips around when he hears the door click, eyes wide with fear. He’s scared of something. You’re not sure what, but he is. 

“Sol… Is everything alright?”

“MC, I-” He cuts himself off and looks over your shoulder and then peers out the window.

But, what you don't know

Is that my breathing gets faster and so does my heartbeat

I wish this was over, I wish that this was a dream

He can feel his heartbeat speeding up. It’s getting hard for him to breathe. This hasn’t happened in awhile. He’s usually good at hiding these things from everyone. But not now, not from you. 

“MC, I don’t-” He closes his eyes and tries to take a deep breath. Anything to get this to stop. For things to go back to normal, where he could pretend everything was okay.

“Sol, look at me. Can you look at me?”

I created a monster, a hell within my head

With nowhere to go, I'm out on my own

Oh, I'm so scared

Solomon opens his eyes and there are tears forming. You’ve never seen him cry before. In fact, any vulnerability is a rare sight. It’s becoming more frequent, but the moments are few and far between.

“Here, now put your hand here,” You say, guiding his hand to your chest. “Take a deep breath with me. In.” You take a deep breath in and watch as Solomon tries to do the same. He shakes his head, unable to get a deep breath in. “That’s okay. Just keep your hand here. Can I try something?”

I created a monster, a beast inside my brain

With nowhere to go, I'm out on my own

My mind impaired

Awake me from my nightmare

Solomon nods, tears falling from his eyes. His voice cracks. “Please.”

You move your hands to his face and gently pull him until your foreheads are touching. Your thumbs lightly stroke his cheeks, wiping away the tears that have fallen. “Okay, I want you to close your eyes and focus on my voice. Can you do that for me?”

Solomon nods and closes his eyes. 

“Okay. I want you to think of the place you feel the safest. Think really hard about it. Do you have a place in mind?”

Solomon nods again, breathing slowing ever so slightly.

“Okay, can you describe it to me?” You ask.

“It’s your bedroom when we sleep together in there,” He responds. This makes your heart swell. The place he feels safest is with you.

“Can you tell me specific details? I want you to make this as real as possible in your mind.”

“The blankets are soft. It’s warm because you’re next to me, but it’s not too hot. The room is dark, except for the moonlight that comes through the window.” Solomon’s breathing is slowly returning to normal as he describes your room to you. 

When he finishes and his breathing returns to normal, you take him into a hug.

“Thank you, MC,” Solomon says, hugging you back. He buries his face in the crook of your neck and you feel tears starting to fall from his eyes.

“I’ll always be here for you Sol. Can you talk to me about what’s going on?”

Wait, something doesn't feel right

No, something seems wrong

And I've been feeling this way

For far too long

“I don’t even know where to start. There’s just so much.”

You slowly rub his back, hoping to comfort him even more. “How about you just tell me one thing. One thing that’s upsetting you.”

“Okay. I don’t feel safe, MC. Something feels wrong but I don’t know what it is. It’s like this feeling that something terrible is going to happen or that something is off.” 

“Solomon, you’ve lived a very long life. And I’m sure you have been through a lot of things that would traumatize most people. That’s going to have some lasting effects on you. Let me try something that works for me. Can you tell me what terrible thing you think is going to happen that has you so upset right now?”

“I’m scared I’m going to lose you again, MC. I’m scared that one day you’re going to go out and you won’t come back.”

Your heart breaks for him when you hear that. “Okay, let’s break this down. Why is that a realistic fear?”

“You’re a human in the Devildom. Most demons want to eat you.”

“Okay, and now, why is that fear unlikely to come true?”

“You’re a very capable magic user. And you have a lot of powerful beings watching over you.”

“I don’t think Diavolo would take very kindly to a demon trying to harm me, do you?”

Solomon lets out a tearful laugh. “No, probably not. Seeing him genuinely angry is a rare sight, but I know that whatever demon tried to hurt you would be in for a real bad time.”

“Okay, see? While there is always a chance I’ll get hurt, it’s very unlikely. I don’t think many demons are stupid enough to face the wrath of some of the most powerful beings in the three realms. Now, is there anything else that’s upsetting you?”

As my vision gets blurred, my skin's getting colder

Appearing young, while I'm growing older

I collapse to the floor and scream

"Can anybody save me from myself?"

“I feel trapped, MC. I stay at this physical age, but I grow older every year. Every so often I have to move around, pretending to be a new person. It’s hard to keep any human friends because they all grow older and I don’t. One day you’re going to grow old too. But I will always stay just like I am. Most people would kill to be immortal, but it just feels like a curse anymore.” More tears fall onto your shoulder.

“I can’t imagine how lonely that would be. But, I want you to remember that you do have friends. The brothers, for one. I mean, remember Asmo and Mammon fighting over what Asmo should get you for your birthday? They care about you. And, while I might not always be around, you still have me for quite awhile. And who knows, maybe I’ll stumble upon some ancient artifact that turns me immortal. With how things seem to work for me, that is a possibility.”

Walking to the ledge, I find myself looking down

Frozen still with fear, now I'm plunging to the ground

If only I knew how to fly

Then I could convince myself this isn't my time to die

Solomon laughs again. “Yeah, it is… But I wouldn’t wish immortality upon you MC. It’s truly not as great as it seems. It’s… It’s hell. You watch everything change around you as everyone you know and love grows old and dies. And then you have to start over somewhere else.”

“I have plenty of loved ones who aren’t going to grow old and die. You, for one.” You give him a comforting squeeze and continue to rub his back.

“Yeah, but what about your human family? What about your human friends? Watching the people you love die isn’t an easy thing.”

“No, but that’s a part of life. And I’m sure staying the same age while they get older is hard, but I have you guys. It wouldn’t all be bad. Getting to stay with you forever wouldn’t be bad.”

“Staying with you forever sounds nice… But I still wouldn’t wish this upon you. I don’t want you to turn into what I have.”

“What, a wonderful person who protects humanity? Someone who would do anything to help the ones he loves? That sounds like a pretty good person to me.”

“You have too high an opinion of me, MC.”

Instead, I'm rocketing faster and faster

I dive-bomb to the floor

And when my body crashes to the pavement

I'm right back where I was before

“No, I think my opinion of you is just right.”

Solomon lets out a shaky breath as a few more tears fall. “Everyone calls me shady, some even call me evil. Your opinion-”

You cut him off. “My opinion matters more than a bunch of demons who don’t actually know you. Have you done shady things? Sure. But don’t forget the ones calling you shady are literal demons. They don’t get an opinion when they’re worse than shady themselves. You’re doing great Sol. Despite what you and everyone else thinks, you’re doing great just how you are.”

I created a monster, a hell within my head

With nowhere to go, I'm out on my own

Oh, I'm so scared

Awake me from my nightmare

Solomon sniffles, pulling his face back up and wiping the rest of his tears. “Thank you, MC. I love you and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You smile at him. “I love you too Solomon.”

#obey me #obey me x reader #obey me solomon #obey me solomon x reader #Nightmare

[dyrewrites]

Is it possible to write a monster story that doesn't end up being about identity and learning to love even the darkest parts of yourself?

#i am genuinely curious #because it doesn't seem like it #from my limited experience #of writing too many stories about monsters #with identity crisis #writing rambles

[ichorblossoms]

amusing to me how ttw's story has evolved into something where there's really no reason for half of the cast to be dragons but also consider a) they've always been dragons b) i'm not about to redesign them to be humans c) i like it :D

#the dragons are people and i think it's fun that way #like if i ever say smthin like 'ppl in this universe' i also mean the dragons #points to my undergrad thesis: it all comes back to this shit. the monsters are people #with ttw there's like. this ever-present sense that i can delve into the greater sociological implications of having two different species- #-of people coexisting in this universe. also the worldbuilding shit on god i could go on so many research rabbit holes for the smallest shi #but the truth is that i don't find the society- and history-building as interesting as the story itself #so my thought process is more like 'how can i adapt the technologies of the 'modern world' to accomodate for dragons too' #not to say i don't intend to like. flesh out the world though. i mean the setting is kind of a character? so i kind of need to do that hfgk #and like. it is something i Want to do too #but i don't think i'm gonna go full disco elysium on things and create a whole ass World #idk. idk. there's a lot of shit that ttw can be About and a lot of shit i want to play around with #we'll see where it goes as i write it tbh #rambles

[stupid-sloot-headcanons]

God it's nice to be watching Mob Psycho again. I feel like BONES staff went "Ok we have BNHA season 6 and Mob Psycho III airing in the fall 2022 season. BNHA'll have some nice moments but if it's average or underwhelming, it'll be fine. People will legit fucking murder us if Mob Psycho III lags in quality. So keep up the good work for the love of God"

#and 1 ep in theyre already doing great! #am i biased because MP100 is one of my favorite manga/stories ever made? #... #yes 👀 #sloot watches #.mp100 #like i rly dont know if i could wver do dark content for it bc...I just cant #then again i said smth similar about Monster so...aaaah idk #i feel like its too...good? i dont want to think about somehow tarnishing ot/fucking it up with my smut yk #its one of many reasoms why I will NEVER EVER write anything smutty/dark for Silent Hill #not even the shitty games #now i HAVE had ideas about writing from Angela and Eddie's perspectives... #but again im so worried about fucking up my favorite game ever made

[raiiny-bay]

monster boyz... documentary...

#thinking thoughts over here #idk why but i've suddenly found myself super into documentaries. like i've been watching so many #& i thought. what if. what if !!!! #i have a pretty good idea of what it'd be about too #one of the side characters is partially mutated/a half monster #so i was thinking i could write up some interviews between him & his group w another group of characters i have who are like #makeshift journalist/news crew/filmmaker types #idk how i would pull it off exactly but #i'll think of something #i think it'd be a fun side story to explore in the mbz universe #rainyrambles

[delta-piscium]

the concept of writing really is staying a concept

#so many ideas so many stories written out in my head so little written on paper I am losing my mind #I have too many things j wanna work on and I can not make decisions this is hell #gonna have to put the ideas in generators and pick one #trying to mash them all together into one so I won’t have to chose one and it’ll be a Frankensteins monster type of fic but also #that’s dumb? it would water the ideas down or ruin them and also leave me with no ideas when that’s done so actually what if I got over #myself and made a decision huh? except that’s been my question to myself for 24 years so #the real reason I’m not writing is because I have an ungodly amount of uni work to do the next month and I’m not doing it but I can’t write #bc then I’d feel guilty about writing fics instead of all the papers I have waiting so ugh #barely reading either bECAUSE I DONT HAVE TIME #dels endless rambles

[redpanda-redpanda]

✏️

#Once more I've found myself (likely) overthinking writing things #Current project has had So Many Beginnings #Because I can't settle on an idea and keep hopping around #And it's getting very frustrating because I want SO BADLY to write the story because I love this character and her story so much #I've the basic idea down but it's the details that keep tripping me up #I was all excited because I got 38 pages written in a single weekend #...And then I got sick and now it's a month later and my momentum's gone (very annoyed about that) #I keep telling myself that God has a plan and maybe I'm not meant to write just yet for whatever reason #Maybe there's something else I've yet to discover - but it's so hard when I just want to write #And I'm really frustrated with magic systems atm too #I LOVE reading about magic...but I hate designing it because I know I overthink and nitpick and I can literally feel my brain rebelling #And I'd really like a sort of historical-fantasy fantasy world with monsters and no/not much magic #But...magic is sort of how my MC gets the story started #She frees monsters that were thought to be a myth...and how can she free them (and put them back) if not with magic? #And I'm not sure how to get to what I want vs what's...actually possible? in the scope of the story #*long sigh* #I love writing but sometimes it's so frustrating #redpanda rambles

[wilwheaton]

In a long essay about the televised incident, Wheaton makes a lot of salient, emotionally vulnerable points about his reaction to David’s stunt, tying it in to memories of parental abuse he suffered as a kid—pointing out, among other things, that, within the agreed-upon fiction that we all adhere to pretty fervently around all things Muppet or Muppet-related, Elmo is a child. Writing, Wheaton notes that “Elmo is an avatar for children all over the world. Children who are too small to understand Elmo is a puppet will know that a man attacked someone they love for no reason, and that will frighten and confuse them.”

Wil Wheaton condemns Larry David for his Elmo-based violence

This story is a week old, and has blown up today. The right wing smoothbrains are out in force, doing their usual thing, until they get distracted by the existence of a successful woman somewhere in the world and have to go rage against that.

I don’t know why this is happening today. I don’t know why right wing clout chasing incels have decided to make this their Thing today. It’s all very confusing, especially a week after the fact.

But I want to put something here that I added to my post on Facebook, that those dudes (it’s always dudes whose entire personality is “MONSTER ENERGY DRINKS!”) need to hear but won’t understand:

A lot of us who had the same visceral reaction to a grown man putting his hands on a child (Elmo is 4 years old) in anger, without consent, and then laughing about it all share an experience that you should be grateful you don't share with us. And when you say your shitty little toxic and cruel thing, when you reduce the whole thing to a puppet and a joke, you're doing to us what the adults around us did when we were kids. And it hurts all over again. Are you really someone who wants to hurt another person simply because you can? Maybe take the impulse to be a jerk and redirect it into being grateful you have no idea why this is so upsetting to so many of us.

Larry David put his hands on another performer, without consent, in a segment he was not part of. That, alone, is not okay. It is not EVER okay. The fact that so many people don’t get that, or are deliberately choosing NOT to get that, is telling.

But as I said, Elmo is a child, and he is a friend to children, so all the kids whose parents were watching the Today Show with them, because Elmo was on to talk about sharing big feelings and caring for your mental health, got to watch this man storm into a set, and angrily attack Elmo.

That’s indefensible behavior, and calling me names doesn’t change that.

[ectoplasmer]

hfhhffhbrfhfj

#temptation to write about warrior cats is strong but sleepy tired influenced by school might be stronger #some part of my brain that i haven’t used since middle school got activated earlier this week and i just. cannot stop thinking about my fan- #-clans >_< i’m putting actual effort into the world building this time!! #sort of #i just want to make it different from the actual series and not just a copy and paste of dotc #i have personalities in mind for the founders now and where they came from etc #i have a decent idea on how i want the clans to actually become a thing #only issue is. actually writing the story/timeline and making characters to fill in the gaps… #especially with how many cats are usually in a clan + who would come from the tribe + finding loners/kittypets/etc #i have to actually be creative and make stories/ideas on how that happened #i have a few ideas for characters already but #i’m a bit worried about actually putting them into action lol #i want to make the kittypets more knowledgeable on twoleg things because two of the founders- #-have clans based around ‘space’ more or less #and cats in the main series don’t usually know the names of planets or constellations or what a galaxy is #this could easily be fixed by me just changing the clans to be different but. i’m attached :( #and then i want them to know concepts like what music is what ‘monsters’ actually are etc #i want to make them more human and fleshed out since they live so close to them!! #i just. feel like that might be a bit out there in terms of warcat writing >_> #i etill get nervous about making my characters too perfect or mary sue like dgjdhsj early fandom experiences ruined me #*still #anyway. hi. #rainy.file #delete later

[inkskinned]

my father told me he read it, but he hasn't read it. that's okay. my friends keep picking the words out of my throat.

someone once told me that the more trigger warnings that go on a book, the better it is. i didn't mean to write something with so many conditional phrases - i was writing about what i felt while being a human. sometimes you are a person and sometimes you are a statistic. sometimes it is falling upwards and sometimes it's sliding back down again.

my father tells me that it will be difficult to get people to read it. i didn't like the idea of a singular genre. i'm not going to lie to you - it is actually a difficult book to get through. i change the rules in it. it's not poetry or prose explicitly. it's neither false nor reality. i give you the tools to "solve" the book, but i let you do the thinking. my father says people don't care to think. i don't know about that - i think we just, like, enjoy reading.

the thing is - i was tired of stories about survival where someone with depression goes to therapy and wakes up okay. i didn't live like that. i was tired of books about violence, where the gore of what i experience was splashed in glitter to lick off the page. like, i was a person, you know? i had a life and a job and a family. and in books, i watched my story get ripped up so people could explore the viscera of my body. so they could feel good. my brother once called it inspiration pornography. we had walked out of a suicide-prevention seminar, both of us disgusted while the increasingly-elated presenter kept listing methods-of. i remember the look on my brother's face. like i would tear that man apart given the right time and place.

my father says that kids these days. he warns me against writing about things that are too-serious. he says that they don't want it. i don't listen. he does make me take out a scene from the book where i go to church after having sex with a woman. it used to be the 7th scene in the book. i don't think he's read further than that, it rocked him too hard to continue.

it's a book about being queer. it's a book about being raised catholic. it doesn't have monsterfucking, i'm sorry. it's just about, like.

at some point you have to choose to stay here. and then you do have to stay here, which takes practice. this is about forming the habit. this is about what happens after you've already started doing the work. because, like. you keep going. you have to. and it's like. very imperfect.

i should make a post on instagram. i should make this announcement less bittersweet. but like -- i'm giving it you, specifically, because i think you know why i had to write it. you and me. this little community.

body's a bad monster. here's the link if you're interested in ordering.

#i will never shut up about this #by the way . this is the book that u are trying to get me to eat #also available on other links!! barnes and noble and s&S #also btw i drew the cover :) they asked me to lol #btw this isn't self-published. this is like. book deal thru simon and schuster

[flanaganfilm]

The Midnight Club - Season Two

I'm very disappointed that Netflix has decided not to pursue a second season of THE MIDNIGHT CLUB.

My biggest disappointment is that we left so many story threads open, holding them back for the hypothetical second season, which is always a gamble.

So I'm writing this blog as our official second season, so you can know what might have been, learn the fates of your favorite characters, and know the answers to those dangling story threads from the first season.

So for those of you who want to know what we were planning to do, here's a look at what would have been season 2!

AMESH Season 2 would open with Amesh, his glioblastoma advancing quickly. He would tell the first story of the season, but would be struggling to make it through. We'd focus on his love story with Natsuki for those first few episodes as it becomes clear that Amesh's death is imminent.

Meanwhile, Ilonka is trying to reconcile how she was fooled by Julia Jayne, all while falling further in love with Kevin, and she realizes he may be fading faster than he lets on.

Ilonka begins a serialized story in an effort to encourage him to "stay alive a little longer," like he did in season one. And the story she tells is... REMEMBER ME.

This was the thing I was most excited about for this season.

REMEMBER ME is one of my all-time favorite Pike books - it tells the story of a teenage girl who is pushed off a balcony, and awakens as a ghost. She has to navigate being a spirit while trying to solve her own murder. We would have stretched this story out over 5 episodes. We were going to use it as a vehicle for Ilonka to try to come to terms with the fact that she is going to die, and to begin to trying to wrap her head around being a ghost... but this is the coolest part... the lead character of Ilonka's story wouldn't be played by Ilonka. She'd be played by...

Anya.

Because this is how we live on, isn't it? In the minds of those we leave behind. And Ilonka would use REMEMBER ME as a way to imagine her dear friend Anya, waking up as a ghost, navigating the afterlife. And this sets up one of the best mechanisms of the show - even if a character dies, as long as they're remembered by members of the club, they live on in their stories.

As the story starts to pick up steam, though, the group will have to deal with the death of Amesh, which he greets with grace and bravery.

In his final moments, he sees someone in his room - the Janitor from the first season, as played by Robert Longstreet, who says comforting things to Amesh even though he can't respond.

In his final, final moments, the SHADOW descends upon Amesh, and he is engulfed into it, which reinforces the idea that the Shadow is DEATH...

With Amesh's death comes something that upends the entire thing: a NEW PATIENT. We didn't work out too much about who this would be, but it would be a new roommate for Ilonka. Someone taking Anya's old bed. Ilonka would find herself being initially cold to her - just as Anya was when Ilonka arrived. Even feeling like this new girl shouldn't necessarily be ushered into the Club. But of course they would develop a beautiful friendship over the course of the season. The new girl joins the club, where something else exciting is happening - Cheri is telling a story. We hadn't decided which one, but I think it might have been MONSTER.

Natsuki would be the next to die, which would be heartbreaking. And again, she would talk to the janitor just before it happened... and again, the Shadow would come in the final moments.

For Spence, though, things would take a different turn.

The advancements in HIV treatment in the late 90's would come into play, and we'd see his prognosis change. The HIV cocktail came out in Dec 1995, and we really wanted to explore that.

Spence would ride the swell of antiviral advancements, and by the end of the season, he'd no longer be classified as terminal. In the finale of season 2, Spence would leave Brightcliffe just like Sandra did in Season 1, heading off to manage his disease and live the rest of his life.

But onto the BIG MYSTERIES of the season one... here are some answers: What is up with Dr. Stanton's tattoo and bald head? Well, a few things. First, Dr. Stanton is actually the daughter of the original Paragon cult leader, Aceso. Her nickname was Athena, she wrote the Paragon journal that Ilonka found in S1. She turned on her mother and helped the kids escape, but because she was part of the cult in her teenage years, she had the tattoo.

It was her initials that Ilonka found carved into the tree in season 1 (her maiden name was Georgina Ballard, hence the G.B. that Ilonka finds carved in the tree).

She hated what her mother became, and the atrocities of the cult. She reclaimed the property after her mom was gone, and wanted to change it into a place that celebrated life. She was trying to undo her mother's legacy and leave something behind that was beautiful. She is wearing a wig at the end of S1 not because of a sinister reason, but because she is undergoing chemo. Dr. Stanton has cancer. Having helped so many people deal with disease, she now has to deal with it herself.

Her treatment would be successful, and she'd go into remission, but having to face that - while caring for the terminal kids at Brightcliffe - was going to be a very introspective arc for Stanton.

What about the Living Shadow? It's Death, right? Well... no.

At the end of the season, Kevin will die... followed shortly by Ilonka. And as she is dying, two things will happen. First, she'll find herself talking to the Janitor, played by Robert Longstreet... and she'll make a discovery.

HE is Death. And nothing to be afraid of. It turns out no one else ever saw this character. Stanton has a cleaning service, and the Nurse practitioners make up the rooms - the only people who ever saw this mysterious Janitor were the patients. He is Death, and offers them kind words before they die. Then what was the Shadow?

This is an idea we take directly from the book REMEMBER ME, and we'll see it play out in the final moments of Ilona's final tale. In Pike's book, Shari is pursued by a dark entity called The Shadow. When it finally catches her, though, it turns out it is not a bad thing at all.

The Shadow is THEMSELVES. It's the Unknown. As it engulfs someone, in the last moment of their life, it takes them through a place of understanding and catharsis, preparing them for the next step.

THIS is what happened to Anya in S1 when the Shadow finally reached her - that's why she fantasized a life beyond Brightcliffe, which ultimately let her find acceptance of her death. It looks different for everybody, depending on their mind-set - because it is simply an extension of themselves.

The Shadow is just the final catharsis, a return to our original form - it is a moment of true understanding, and once we experience it, we move on to the next place.

We see the Shadow in full effect when it finally comes for Kevin. KEVIN DIES with Ilonka at his side, and it leads to the biggest reveal of the season:

Who were the Mirror Man and the Cataract Woman?

They were Stanley Oscar Freelan and his wife, who built Brightcliffe (fun trivia, he is named after the real-life Freelan Oscar Stanley, who built my favorite hotel in America - the Stanley Hotel. The Stanley is also the inspiration for THE SHINING!).

But more than that... there's a reason that Ilonka only sees Stanley in the mirror, and sees the Cataract Woman whenever she looked at Kevin. This is something else we took from Pike's original book... these aren't ghosts, but glimpses of PAST LIVES.

Ilonka WAS Stanley Oscar Freelan, and Kevin WAS his wife. They've lived many lives this way, and are true SOUL MATES - they always find each other, and they always fall in love. In this life, they knew it would be a short one, so they agreed to find each other in the house they built. They've been "remembering" who they are, and glimpsing their former selves in reflections, and sometimes when they look at each other. This is also why Ilonka's very first words to Kevin in S1 were "Do I know you?" and why Kevin thought she was familiar as well. They are two souls who always find each other, again and again.

The story is this: Stanley was dying, and built this cliffside home hoping that the seaside air would help him. It did, and he far outlived his prognosis (this is also true of the real-life Freelan Stanley). However, his wife began to succumb to dementia.

She would wander the halls, looking for him ("Darling!") and would even forget to feed herself ("I'm starving...") and she eventually refused to leave the basement. Heartbroken for her, Stanley painted the walls to resemble the woodland view, and the ceiling to resemble the night sky, so that it would be a little more beautiful for her.

He also painted a labyrinth on the floor, which was a technique used to try to curb the effects of dementia. She'd walk the pattern of the maze and it was believed it could help her cognition. Eventually, she developed frightening cataracts, but Stanley loved her through it all.

They were soul mates.

So while they seemed scary in season 1, that was just how Ilonka and Kevin's mind were trying to remember their pasts. We even had their faces distorting in ways consistent with how memories degrade over time. When the Shadow comes for Ilonka, and gives her this understanding - this "remembering" - she realizes she has nothing to fear. She and Kevin will shed these personas and be reborn, and have the joy of finding each other another way. The Shadow comes for her, Death takes her gently, and Ilonka goes off with Kevin back into the cosmos, ready for their next incarnation. The series would end with Cheri telling this story to a whole new table of patients, including our new series leads. Most of our original cast now would exist as stories, a story told to the next "class" of storytellers at the table, all of whom we will have met by the end of the season. A story called "The Midnight Club."

Well, that's it... that was what we had in mind. It's a shame we won't get to make it, but it would be a bigger shame if you guys simply had to live with the unanswered questions and the cliffhanger ending. I loved making this show, and I am so proud of the cast and crew. Particularly our cast, who attacked this story with incredible spirit and bravery each and every day.

But for now, we'll put the fire out, and leave the library dark and quiet. To those before, and to those after. To us now, and to those beyond.

Seen or unseen, here but not here.

I'll always be grateful that I got to be part of this Club.

#the midnight club #season 2 #cancelled #netflix #what might have been #flanaverse #mike flanagan #christopher pike #intrepid pictures #remember me #unanswered questions #loose ends #heather langenkamp #farewell brightcliffe

[flowersandbigteeth]

Orc boyfriend with what he thinks is a tiny, smol mate who's so smol, so delicate, so sweet... They're actually pretty firmly built for a human, while a bit short, along with being stubborn and sassy and ready to bite heads off for their adorable XL size boyfriend.

I've got so many orc stories going right now, but you know I'm not mad about it ^_^ I love Orcs <3 There are so many different ways to write them. I have another couple of Orc asks I'm working on, as well 🥵

Orc (Cedar) x thick f reader

Word Count: 5K

Tw: sfw orc fluff, some brief descriptions of battle, brief mention of sa, size difference

More monster fluff here

“Put the stick down, sugar. We’re not going to hurt you.” 

You scoffed at the soldiers circling you, their eyes dark with lust. 

“We just want to have some fun,” another said, his eyes drifting over your shapely hips. “Don’t you owe us a debt of gratitude for rescuing you?”  

You squeezed the iron fire poker that you had gripped in your hand. 

“Rescuing me? You didn’t get your rocks off burning down the damn village?” 

“It was a strategic maneuver,” the leader of the armored men said with an oily smile. “We are here to liberate you.” 

“By assaulting me?” you snapped. 

There was not a doubt in your mind that the second you lowered your weapon, they were going to drag you into some dark corner and act out all of the sick thoughts they had echoed on their faces. 

Your King’s soldiers weren’t good guys. When they heard there was an Orc camp nearby, they couldn’t be bothered to attack it directly. Instead, they burned down your village. They said it was to prevent them from resupplying. 

It was true you did business with the Orcs, who were technically your enemy, but they never acted like enemies. While big and quite scary-looking, they paid in gold and were always polite to the women running the shops. You never felt the least bit unsafe alone with one, and occasionally, they’d help you out with things that needed done– fixing roofs and cartwheels. The men of the town had all been conscripted for the war, so it mostly the ladies keeping the village afloat. The soldiers had made a whole lot of children and the elderly homeless. 

“Come on, sweetie, this game is getting tiresome.” 

One of the soldiers dared to approach you, and you didn’t hesitate a second, swinging your poker and smacking him so hard in the head that his helmet crunched. He collapsed on the broken boards that had once been the floor of your little noodle shop. 

“Now that’s a crime!” the leader barked.

He waved to his accomplices. 

“Get in there and restrain her!” Their eyes fell on the collapsed soldier, and they looked between one another, trying to sort out who was next to get a whomping. 

You flexed your wrist, preparing to swing at whoever came at you next, when you heard the heavy steps of an Orc approaching. The soldiers were too inexperienced to know what that sound meant. You’d heard them approach every day at dinner time for several months. It wasn’t until he was shouldering his way through what was left of your door that they took notice. 

“The enemy approaches! Your swords!” 

The Orc you knew as Ash, wrinkled his brow and let out a lilting call to gather his brethren. The ground rumbled as more heavy feet ran towards you. 

Wood splintered, and what remained of the ceiling creaked as they tore the walls away, making more room for a fight. 

Faced with five nine-foot Orc barbarians armed with axes almost as big as their bodies, the soldiers tried to run for it. You screamed as they threatened to trample you, trying to force their way through the back wall, but they never reached you. 

The Orcs didn’t need to draw their weapons, grabbing every soldier and smacking them against the ground until they stopped moving—a gruesome way to die, but practical. 

When the danger was crumpled into a wet gnarl of bones and metal, their eyes turned to you. Ash said something to his friends in their own language before he stomped across the room and plucked you up like a kitten, cradling you in his arm. 

“Hey, What do you think you’re doing?!” 

“Quiet, little one. You’ll give us away.” 

You puckered your lips at him, annoyed, as if the stomping of five tons of muscle was quiet. When you tried to wave your poker at him, he plucked it out of your hand but didn’t drop it, tucking it instead in his belt. He said something else to his friends before turning to split away from them. 

You had no reason to panic. The Orcs had never harmed you, but being taken away from the group put frightening thoughts in your head, and you instinctively started screaming. 

The Orc sighed, sounding tired, when four more soldiers came skidding around a corner, swords in hand. You looked up at him apologetically, smacking your hand over your mouth to stay the scream that didn’t want to stop. 

He set you on the roof of what was left of a building and pat you on the head, a gesture that you read as “stay” before pulling out his axe. You weren’t going anywhere, even if you wanted to. The drop was fifteen feet down, and the stairs were just charcoal at the base of the building. 

“Attack!” the leader of the soldiers shouted, but their moves in their heavy metal armor were slow. Ash swung his arm in a sweeping stroke that sliced four of them in half where they stood. The other one, eyes wide with horror, turned tail and ran. 

Replacing his axe, he picked you up again and headed into the woods. This time, you had enough sense to keep quiet. 

You’d never been to the Orc camp before, but you heard it before you saw it. The brassy sound of a grinder and hammers on metal rang through the trees, blended with the shouts of the Orcs in their language.  There were lots of huge tents and fires spotted here and there. The camp was buzzing with activity. Orcs ran around shouting at one another, some gathering weapons, some sending groups in the direction you came. You recognized many of them as some of your customers. They often came in groups and hauled away vats of the noodle stew you sold. 

A few Orcs waved at Ash but didn’t pay you much mind as he carried you to the nicest-looking tent. It had a banner outside of it with a gold bear embroidered into the fabric. Ash set you on the ground at the door and handed you your poker before patting you on the back, indicating you should go in. 

“What’s in there?” you asked. 

He said something in Orcish that you didn’t understand and walked away. There were too many other giants around to attempt an escape, so you pulled aside the fur covering the door and peeked inside. 

“Hello?” 

Your question was returned with a deep voice, smooth as a glassy pond. 

“Enter, little one.” 

Taking a few steps inside, you were faced with what you could only describe as the most handsome Orc you’d ever seen. His skin was a deep olive, and his hair fell over his shoulder in a long, dark sheet with small braids here and there. His tusks were large, but they seemed only to highlight how well his lips were formed. His features were harsh and defined but not unattractive, with a straight nose and deep-set gold eyes. The only thing you could point out as a flaw was a dark scar from his forehead to the right corner of his jaw. 

You assumed the Orcs were blunt tools, sprinting into battle with no real plan, but this one was sitting at a high table examining maps with a book in his hand. 

“I’m…I’m not sure why I’m here,” you said, brandishing your poker, though you didn’t feel like you were in any particular danger. 

“I asked Ash to fetch you,” he said without looking up. “You’re the noodle shop woman.” 

“My name is (Y/N), not “noodle shop woman,” and I don’t have a shop anymore. The soldiers burned it.” 

He put his book down and turned his gold eyes to you. 

“That’s why you’re here.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

His eyes drifted over you before they settled on the poker you were still holding up. 

“You were feeding most of the camp. If there’s no shop to visit, you can make noodles here.” 

You blinked up at him. 

“Oh…Am I your prisoner?” 

He chuckled. 

“If you’d like to go back to your people, I won’t stop you, but judging how they burned down your village without hesitation, I think you’re safer with us.” 

You had to admit that made some sense, but you still weren’t buying it. 

“I can’t stay here with you!” 

He tipped his head, the corner of his lip twitching up slightly. 

“Why is that, little one?” 

You narrowed your eyes at him. 

“First of all, I’m NOT little, and second, an Orc camp is no place for a lady.” 

A shudder that had nothing to do with fear shot down your spine as his eyes moved over your body. He crossed the room, scooping you up, and setting you on his table. Your feet dangled far from the ground. 

“What- What are you doing?” you snapped, waving your weapon at him. 

“My neck was hurting from looking down at you. You’re very short.”

The sparkle in his eyes told you he was teasing you, which drew heat to your cheeks. 

“Maybe compared to you. You’re unnecessarily large. What are you doing with all of that muscle? Are you going to arm wrestle your books?” you pouted, eyes drifting to the massive bicep peeking out of the fur vest he wore. 

He laughed out loud, gracing you with a wide smile. 

“You’ll fit right in here.” 

You raised your nose at him, trying to look unconvinced. 

“Where will I even sleep? All of your tents are big and drafty.” 

“Since you’ve declared your intention to court me, I wouldn’t mind if you slept here.” 

“Declared my intention to— Where did you get that idea?” 

He flicked a fingertip at your poker. 

“In the old days, Orc females came to their males' tent and threatened them into submission with their favorite weapon.” 

Your cheeks burned like hot irons, and you almost dropped it. 

“Well…I’m not trying to court you. It’s for protection.” 

He snorted at you but nodded his head. 

“If you say so, little one, but it will be much warmer in my tent if it’s drafts you’re worried about.” 

“I don’t even know your name. Ash called you something in your language. I didn’t understand…” 

He examined one of the feet you had dangling over the edge of his table. Compared to his big hand, it was tiny. 

“Cautalin, it means something close to general in your language, but you can call me Cedar. That’s what my mother named me.” 

Your eyes traveled over his barrel chest and thick arms. 

“Seems about right,” you said, finally setting your poker down. 

He picked it up, looked it over, and tested the weight in his hand. 

“Not a bad choice,” he said. “Light but effective.” 

You glanced up at him through your eyelashes, feeling cheeky. 

“Do you feel like submitting?” 

You watched a flicker of heat ignite in his eyes, and he slowly set it down. 

“Come on, let's get you to bed, killer.” 

He picked you up again, walking you over to a large pallet covered in furs. 

“This is your bed.” 

He gave you another smile. 

“We’re in the middle of a battle; I won't be sleeping tonight. It's all yours.” 

Though you weren't quite sure about sleeping in his bed, weariness overtook you at the sight of the comfortable, cozy furs, and you crawled in, wrapping yourself up to your chin in blankets. 

He put your poker next to you and blew out the candle, slipping out the front flap as you dozed. 

— 

You woke to yelling, but not the sound of battle. Crawling out of your furs, you picked up your poker and peeled out of the flap Cedar used as a door. Another Orc you didn't recognize was the one yelling, and Cedar had his arms crossed, looking bored. 

Your eyes drifted to about twenty women, elderly, and children, cowering in the chilly morning air, their faces streaked with soot from the fire.

“They’re our enemies!” the strange Orc barked. 

“Really, Asvoth? Are you really afraid of a handful of children and their mothers?” 

“This is a war camp, not a nursery.” 

“It's my camp, not yours. They stay.” 

“I outrank you. I can take your command.” 

Cedar snorted. 

“Yet the King hasn't trusted you with a unit of your own. You're nothing more than an errand boy with a fancy title. Any of these children could take your job.” 

Asvoth’s face turned a deep forest green from both embarrassment and indignation. He yanked the sword he wore on his back to his hand. Without thinking, you hopped in front of Cedar, waving your poker at the intruder. You had no idea why, a fact you only considered after you’d already put yourself in harm's way. Still, you'd made your move so the only thing to do was follow through. 

“You heard Cedar! We’re not leaving! Get on if you know what's good for you!” 

Asvoth sprung forward, dropping his sword toward your head. Your eyes squeezed shut, preparing for pain, but there was only the clang of metal. Opening one eye, you glanced up to see Cedar’s axe blocking the other Orc’s blow. 

There was a moment when you thought Asvoth might overtake him, but Cedar’s muscles weren't all for show. He shoved the other Orc back, and he toppled over, landing on his butt in the dirt. His sword landed in front of the children with a CLANG. 

“Woah!”  the little ones cheered, circling around it like it was a strange animal. 

A few of them tried to pick it up, but it was far too heavy, making their eyes pop even wider.

Cedar nodded at him, and a pair of Orcs from the camp dragged Asvoth up by the collar of his tunic, pushing him towards the forest.  

“I'm reporting this!” He shouted over his shoulder as he stumbled towards the woods. 

Cedar waved a hand at one of his Orcs, beckoning him closer. 

“You and Orin follow him and make sure the King gets our side of the story, not his.”  

When the situation seemed settled, Cedar looked down at you and patted your head. 

“Thank you for your protection, little suitor,” he said with a smirk. 

Your cheeks blew up in flames, but you puffed your chest and looked at the children watching Ash pick up the abandoned sword. They hopped around him like little bunnies, begging him to teach them to use it. 

“I have no idea what you mean! I’m here to make noodles! Point me in the direction of my kitchen! These little mouths are probably hungry.” 

He chuckled, but guided you with a large hand on your back to a large tent filled with whatever food supplies they had rescued from the village. You wrinkled your nose at the primitive workspace, but there were enough flour and eggs to work with. You were surprised to find someone had stuck in a lower table, perfect for your height. After washing your hands in a water basin, you got to cooking. 

“What are you still doing here?” you asked Cedar, who had plopped down in a chair and was reading a book. 

He smiled. 

“Reading.” 

You blinked at him, putting your floury fists on your hips. “Are you surveilling me? I’m not going to poison you all! I have to eat this too, you know.” 

He tipped his head to the side, his gold eyes sparkling in the makeshift hearth. 

“The sound of cooking is soothing. I liked to study in the kitchen while my mother cooked when I was a boy.” 

You looked him up and down. 

“I can’t imagine you as a child.” 

You thought for a second, tapping your chin. 

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen an Orc child, actually.” 

He looked back down at his book, shifting in his seat to get comfortable. 

“You will,” he said as he flipped a page. 

Your brow wrinkled at that nebulous statement, but you knew everyone was hungry after the long night, so you got back to work. 

By midmorning, you had a stewpot big enough to feed an army filled with noodles, vegetables, and what little bit of venison the Orcs had been able to hunt between the battle. 

“All done,” you said, clapping your hands and creating a puff of flour in the air. 

Cedar got up and shouted something to his men, and two Orcs appeared to carry the big vat into the central circle so it could be served. You felt a sense of satisfaction when all the bowls were passed out and the children, tired humans, and bloodied Orcs were eating. The mothers spoke quietly between one another, while the children could hardly sit still, their big eyes following the Orcs every movement. 

“Here.” 

You looked up to find Cedar holding a bowl out to you. A grumbling stomach had you accepting it, and he patted the seat next to him for you to sit down. The two of you ate quietly for a moment before you asked him a question. 

“What are you going to do with all of us?” 

“Hmm?” he asked. 

“Well, I mean when the battle is over. We have nowhere to go. Our town is destroyed.” 

He looked at the children who, after scarfing down their bowls, were engaged in some game with Ash. 

“I was hoping you would all return to our capitol city with us. That’s where we live when we’re not fighting.”

Your eyebrows jumped. 

“To the Orc city? We’re humans. Don’t your people hate us?” 

He shrugged. 

“There are some weak minds who reveal their own fragility with their hate, but the rest of us like your kind. This whole war started because we wished to create allies amongst the humans.” 

“What? The soldiers said you attacked!” 

He chuckled. 

“Your king has a very effective propaganda engine. That’s probably the only thing about him that is effective. We sent a delegation party to him to discuss our interest in mingling with you humans. You all are prolific; despite your size, you’re a sturdy bunch. We thought marriages would bolster our numbers and strengthen your stock. Your King attacked, and we were forced to defend ourselves. The force that attacked us was decimated, and he declared war.” 

“You mean…you wish to mate with us?” 

His eyes slid down to you, and he gave you a sharp nod. 

“Is that so surprising?” 

You thought about it for a moment. 

“I don’t know…Maybe a little. You’re so strong. You’re not afraid we’ll diminish you?” 

His thick hand cupped your chin and rubbed some flour away with his thumb. Your heart raced at his touch. 

“Size is not what makes us strong. Our strength lies in our unbreakable bonds. Your King will be defeated, not because his forces are less than ours, but because he orders his men to betray his own people.” 

He nodded towards the children, who were playing chicken fight on Ash and another Orc’s shoulders. 

“They will remember it was men who burned down their village, stole their fathers from them, assaulted their mothers and Orcs who took them in, fed them, and helped them smile again. 

“I suppose you’re right,” you agreed. 

His smile widened. 

“I will remember you took up arms to protect me against an enemy twice your size. You belong among the us.” 

Suddenly the wool dress you wore was much too hot. 

“I should go wash these before the next meal,” you squeaked, grabbing his empty bowl and scurrying away.

Once safe in the kitchen tent, you pressed your hand against your chest, trying to still your heart. Why did Cedar make you feel so fluttery? You’d never felt this way around anyone before. You usually kept to yourself and steered clear of romance. It had to be the battle, you decided. You were still hyped up from the night before. In a day or so, you were sure it would pass. 

Dunking empty bowls in ice-cold river water helped cool your thoughts as you tried to focus on what to make for dinner. The Orcs stocks were pretty hefty, but they and the children ate a lot. You’d noticed many of the parents tipping some of their bowls into their little one’s, making sure they were fed properly in case the next meal didn’t come. 

It saddened you it had to be this way. What horrible person decides to burn down their own citizens' village? Who was the King even protecting you from? Not the Orcs, that’s for sure. 

A loud rabble outside dragged your attention away from the dishes, and you picked up your poker before peeking your head outside. 

A few Orc scouts were speaking in rapid Orcish to Cedar. When they paused, his eyes immediately looked around for the children and frowned before he spoke to you all. 

“The human King has sent reinforcements. They will close on our camp by nightfall.” 

The mothers all gathered their children to their skirts, looking weary. 

“Women and children to the kitchen tent! We will keep you safe, but you must stay hidden!” 

You made way as a small stampede of humans rushed past you, many pushing their children to hide under the table. 

“What’s happening?” You asked Cedar as people and Orcs rushed around. 

He scrubbed his hand over his jaw, looking disturbed. 

“Someone ran back to your King with a story that we’d kidnapped you, not taken you in from starving in a burnt-down village. We will win this fight, but then we will have to make the journey back to the capitol. They will keep attacking if they think you’re within their grasp. Do you think you can explain this to your people? We don’t intend to take anyone by force, but I wouldn’t trust the King’s soldiers.”

“Yes, of course. Whatever you need.”

You hurried back to the kitchen, where the humans were muttering to one another. 

“Should we flee to the forest?” Isla, the former town candlemaker, asked. “Can we depend on the Orcs to protect us?” 

Another woman scoffed. 

“We can’t trust anyone. These Orcs are kind now, but they’ll sell us out at the drop of a hat.” 

Linda, a quiet woman who worked as a weaver, whimpered. 

“But we’ll starve in the forest alone. Word is the King’s men have raized every town for fifty miles!” 

You inserted yourself into the conversation, holding up your hands. 

“No one needs to escape to the woods. The Orcs are going to take us back to their capitol to keep us safe.” 

Linda squeaked in horror. 

“The Orc capitol?! Where they can enslave us?!” 

“They have no plan to enslave you. Don’t you want your children to be safe? We will be safe behind their walls!” 

“Or…when the King takes the city we’ll all be hung as traitors!” 

“Shawna, don’t put that in her head. Linda, we’ll be fine. I trust Cedar.” 

You paused on that thought, realizing not only was it true, it didn’t make any sense. You’d only just met him. Your conversation was interrupted by the shouting of men outside. 

“We’ll talk about this later,” you hissed, “Here, take this.” 

You armed the humans with whatever haphazard weapons you could find, mostly butcher knives and skillets. 

Outside, you could hear the clang of weapons and the squelching sounds of metal piercing flesh. 

“What's happening?” Linda asked, trying to get around you so she could peek out of the tent flap. 

“Stay back!” You barked. “If they see us, we’re in trouble!” 

You could tell she was losing it, hopping from one foot to another, her hands getting slippery on her knife. 

“No, no, no,” she whimpered. “I don’t want to go with the Orcs. Even a human monster is better than them!” 

Before you could grab her, she skipped through the doorway, running wildly into the fray. The other humans gathered around you, their opinions spilling out like loose marbles. 

“What is she thinking?!” 

“Linda, come back!” 

“Let her go, she’s nuts.” 

You clenched your jaw, squeezing your iron poker. 

“She’s scared. I’ll go get her…you all stay put!” 

Before anyone could stop you, you darted after her, trying to catch sight of her red skirt through the mess of armour-clad humans and massive Orcs. The King had sent a much larger force than the one that had burned down your village. The battle around you was brutal. You almost slipped on a puddle of blood, your eyes frantically searching for Linda. 

You found her pointing her knife with shaking hands at a human soldier. 

“What are you doing? I’m a human, too!” 

“The King ordered you all dead!” he snarled, raising his sword at her. “No witnesses! Come on, do your duty to the kingdom, and die quietly!” 

Panicking, you launched yourself at him, whacking him with your poker as you barreled into him. The two of you went down, metal clashing as you fell and dropped your weapons. Both of you scrabbled for purchase in the blood-soaked earth. You could hear Linda screeching beside you as you tried to overpower the soldier. His armor, now slick with mud, made it impossible to get a hold of him, and he triumphantly dragged himself to his sword, clumsily grabbing it by the blade and flinging it in your direction. You saw the metal flash in the firelight before pain exploded between your eyes, and your vision went black. 

—

“Please tell me she’s not dead,” you heard Linda’s voice from far away. 

Isla scoffed. 

“You’d better hope she’s not, Linda. This is all your fault!” 

“I'm sorry!” she simpered, “I made a mistake! I thought the soldiers were here to free us!” 

“Free us from what? A good meal and a safe place to sleep?”

You dragged your eyelids open, vision blurry for a moment before it cleared. 

“What…what happened?” you murmured. 

“She’s awake!” Isla gasped. 

You felt her cool hands against your cheek. 

“Take it slow, here; have some water.” 

She pushed a tin cup into your hands, and you wet your palette with a few sips. Looking around, you were surrounded by the humans, all looking very concerned. 

“Is everyone okay?” you asked. 

Isla smirked, and the other women tittered a bit. 

“Thanks to you, I suppose. That chieftain or warlord or whatever saw you get knocked in the head and went berzerk. He killed most of the soldiers all by himself.” 

Another woman poked her head out of the tent. 

“She’s okay! You guys can untie him!” 

“Untie who? Is the battle over?” 

Isla nodded.

“Yeah, all the soldiers are dead. We’ve all been waiting for you to wake up so we can move the camp before the King sends anymore. Can you believe he ordered them to kill us? I guess so he could claim the Orcs did it and get more support for the war.”

She smirked at you. 

“And as for who's tied up, your Orc friend thought you were dead. The others had to tie him up so he wouldn’t go on a rampage. He was ready to storm the King’s stronghold! You ought to see the ropes they had to use…thick as your waist!” 

You heard the roll of stomping feet, and Cedar burst through the tent flap. His hair was wild, and his tunic was red with blood. He fell to his knees in front of you, holding his hands as if he couldn’t decide if you were safe to touch. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, carefully prodding the bandage you had wrapped around your head. “That monster didn’t do any permanent damage, did he?” 

“She’ll have a scar,” Isla said, “but I think she’s fine.” 

Cedar’s face lightened, pulling you towards him, his big arms wrapping around you. 

“Thank the goddess,” he sighed with a heavy breath. “I thought they’d taken you from me.” 

He cupped your cheeks between his palms when he finally let you go. 

“You are so stupidly brave, little one,” he gasped, eyes wet. “You have more honor than your people deserve.” 

Behind him, Isla waved the women out of the tent, leaving the two of you alone. Not used to so much intimate attention, your cheeks warmed, and you weren’t sure where to look. 

“I just didn’t want Linda to get hurt,” you muttered. 

He gave you an odd smile, scooping you out of the cot you’d woken up in. 

“Once I get you to our home in the capitol, I’m going to have to keep you locked up for your own safety,” he said, patting your head. 

You looked up at him from where you were tucked, leaning on his bicep. 

“Our home?” 

He grinned at you, counting on his fingers. 

“First step to Orc courting: Threaten your desired with your weapon. Done. Step two: Allure them with your cooking skills, cooking or hunting something delicious. Done. And the final step: Display your honor through a grand act of bravery. Done! You’ve effectively and thoroughly seduced me, little one! All that’s left is to take you home!” 

He tipped your chin up with one thick finger and dipped his head to press his lips against yours. Your whole body felt like it was made of butterflies, every nerve flickering with excitement. Despite being covered in blood and mud, his kiss tasted like honey and sage. It felt like a warm cup of tea on a chilly morning. Your eyelashes fluttered shut and you sank into his warmth, despite yourself, happy to be alive and in his arms.

“Oh!” you gasped as he straightened his neck.

Your mouth fell open, unsure what to say. Before you could think of anything, Cedar carried you out of the tent, shouting orders at his men to pack up the camp so you could leave for the capitol.

#monster x girl #orc x reader #monster x reader #x reader #yandere x reader #soft yandere #orc boyfriend #monster romance #monster fluff #male yandere #yandere fluff #yandere romance #monster boyfriend #orc #orc romance

[feeder86]

Feeder 86: The Top Ten

Can you believe that the Feeder86 ‘Orginal Gainer Stories’ blog will soon be posting the two hundredth story? I thought of many ways to celebrate. But then I stopped and realised that I would probably be best using the time to address one of the questions I get asked about most frequently. Which of the stories do I personally like the most?

This was not an easy list to make as I very rarely go back to re-read my own work after I have finished editing and posting them. This is not because I do not like them, but because I always see bits that I want to change. Nevertheless, this project was the perfect opportunity to revisit a few oldies that I remember being very proud of at the time. 

Hopefully you will see this list for what it is: a glimpse into how I write, my motivations and drive; rather than just a self indulgent pat on the back for myself. Yuck!

So, with that being said, let us begin...

#10 The Feeders’ Formula: This tale certainly had to be placed into the list. After all, it is the one that kicked off ‘Original Gainer Stories’ all those years ago. There are many amazing examples of instant body weight transformation stories out there. I felt that I needed to write this one as my contribution to the genre. It went down well at the time. I swiftly wrote a Part Two, then followed it up with others (The Feeders’ Formation, The Feeders’ Formalities, The Feeders’ Foreclosure, The Feeders’ Forecast, The Feeders’ Former Years), becoming something of an ongoing saga in recent years; focusing on the different Feeders from that very first meeting. As a writer who sometimes struggles to find the ending, these are wonderful to write as they all have the same inevitable conclusion. There is also so much freedom to be had when you’re working with characters who are pretty much pure evil. I know so much more about the Feeders than I’ve ever written down, so it is great to tease out those little details with each new installment. The newest of these tales (The Feeders’ Foreplay) was the darkest yet, but seems to have provoked a very favourable reaction from many. Who knows what the Feeders may get up to next? I do! And you can find out too, once we start a whole new sweeps season of stories this April! Come with me into The Feeders' Fortress!

#9 Only One: Where do I start? Only One has my absolute favourite type of feeder. Ben is big, sexy and very in control. He’s one of those rare types of guys who always stays on top and is a step ahead of absoultely everyone he meets. Who wouldn’t fall for him? I certainly did! In fact, I loved him so much that I wrote an entire prequel for him (and none of you even noticed!) Check out Rewire if you want to see how Ben became the man we know and love.

#8 The Wright Boys: The idea of a weight gain that cannot be stopped or controlled is a tempting one for many. How much easier would it be if you didn’t have to second guess your choices or face the pressure to lose weight? This was the first tale of what I see as ‘The Curses’ saga that eventually bled into many other stories (including another one on this list!) and culminated in Wright vs Beckett. However, this story remains my personal favourite of these. If you’re a fan of looking for crossovers between my stories, these are some of the most explicitly linked. I followed it up with a spin-off tale (The Wright Boys: DNA), but continue to have ideas about how I could go back to these boys in the future. Watch this space.

#7 Making Monsters: The title of this story really does give away how I felt about it at the time. This is quite the saga, spread over into not just two, but three parts! It began as a story that was very similar to Blackmailed; a tale that I had written previously about a guy voyeristically enjoying seeing his friend fatten up her boyfriend. However, this story evolved even further for me, with Tommy’s love of eating and gaining weight being both his greatest love, and his biggest shame. His denial only heightened the tension for me, and, when he does eventually give in, the gains feel all the more satisfying as a result.

#6 The Pig Feed: It’s not easy to write a gainer story where there isn’t another character spurring the events along and encouraging things. In this tale however, that role is given to a very tasty and surprisingly addictive pig feed mixture that Steve gets himself hooked on. It’s a story that I really enjoyed writing and still feel very happy with. I have considered writing more stories around this interesting feed. However, I am yet to do so; deciding (for now at least) that things are perhaps best left as they are. But, feel free to let me know your thoughts on this.

#5 Farm Boy: Whether you grew up in a big city, or a small rural community, like Hayden in this story, we can all relate to having desires and attractions that those around us don’t understand. And, thanks to how well connected we are these days, we now know what it’s like to realise that you’re not actually alone, and the whirlwind of excited emotions that follow. I enjoyed writing this story because I, quite simply, fell completely in love with Hayden. As kinky as he was, he still retained that fresh faced innocence throughout. If any of my characters were destined to be together forever, I imagine that these two would be my top choice.

#4 Keeping a Crush: This is one of those stories that I wrote in a matter of hours, and I was so pleased with it when I was done. Getting the train to go to work is not necessarily something that many Americans have to do, and so the location had to be switched to the UK (quite refreshing, I thought!). For me, it’s one of those really rare instances where placing very solid restrictions on the structure of a story (In this case, having it all take place during the commute to and from work) and finding that it actually elevates the sexual tension and mood. All scenes take place in public settings. All conversations could, in theory, be overheard. These days, so many people meet online and flirt for weeks by messaging back and forth, before they even see each other for the first time. Nowadays, for better or for worse, the actual, real fantasy is finding a connection with someone you just see in the real world; perhaps with a person you literally just met on the way to work...

If you’ve not read this one, I really would highly recommend it.

#3 To the Max: Stories with a magical element to them are either loved or hated. However, I find that this tale walks that line very successfully. Ned gets his hands on a love potion and makes straight guy, Max, fall for him. I’m sure we’ve all been there with that fantasy! However, it is in the consequences of inviting someone into your life, someone that you actually know very little about, that the entire eroticism of this story is based. I won’t spoil it for those who have not read it, but believe me when I say that things soon start getting very interesting indeed…

#2 Tommy’s Two Hundred. Don’t recognise this one? Well, that's because none of you have read it yet. 

Now, I’m not just saying this because I want you all to come back for the two hundreth story, but this is genuinely one of my absolute favourites. For my big milestone stories in the past, I have written something specifically for that event (Wright vs Beckett, The Seven Feeders of Finn). However, this is just a tale that I adored writing and decided to hold back for you all, especially for this occasion. It’s a story of domination and submission within a fairly open, but very kinky, relationship. Strapping Hunter plays the part of a very controlling feeder, making me break many of my own rules and stretching my boundaries to the absolute limits. You’ll either love him, or you’ll hate him. That’s all I’m going to say…

Also, this story is going to be the first Feeder86 story that will be fully illustrated. It’s all thanks to the amazing talents of Spellwell9 who was given an advanced copy and asked to imagine the characters in four different scenes. I cannot wait for you to see this!

Put it in your diary. All will be revealed from Friday 5th April…

#1 F80 Control: This is perhaps a controvercial choice (especially as my #1). I have previously admitted that this story strays a little from its purpose of being a gainer story. In other words, I get very caught up in the background story that is being told. However, I feel that the science fiction genre is surprisingly underused in tales of weight gain. Yet, the combination of Aritificial Intelligence and submission seemed, to me, to be the perfect blend. It really is a beast of a story if you can follow it all the way through to its conclusion. 

With the advent of improved artificial intelligence software in recent years, I felt the time was right to develop the world further, with the addition of F80 Ctrl Alt Del; a spin-off tale set slightly before the main story. Then, unable to help myself, I followed this up again with another companion story, F80: Kidnap and Control. 

The reason I chose this universe as my favourite is because this is where I am happiest writing. With AI, I don’t need to consider the morality or motivations - I know exactly what their aims are and I can see multiple ways in which it will cause conflict with humanity (and their waistlines!) I would also love to write more for this world one day, and I even left a little unused subplot in the last story that I think would provide the perfect starting-off point for another chapter. Will I ever write it? Well, we’ll have to wait and see…

So, there you have it! The the complete list!

This was a much harder exercise than I expected when I first embarked upon it. Stories like: Jiggle the Jock, Meticulous, Rule Number One, Freaks, Leftovers I and II, Ethan: The Secret Feeder and, not fogetting The Consequences I, II and III all crept in and out of the list, unfortunatley missing out on the final cut. There are many, many others, of course. But this list cannot go on forever...

So, why not tell me which ones were your favourites? Feel free to write in the comments and post a link to any other stories that you have enjoyed from myself, or from other authors. Hopefully, if we all work together, this could become a great resource for people in the future, filled with signposts and reccommendations.  

Also, don’t forget the Feeder86 Contents page where you can find links and descriptions of all the 200 stories posted so far (as well as plot outlines for upcoming tales as well). Please continue to enjoy the vast catalogue of stories, and even have a go yourself! I love supporting the many new gainer fiction writers who contact me. So please do get in touch if you need advice, or to talk through your ideas. Let’s all encourage a whole new generation of people to get typing away! I’m sure you will cheer them on just as much as I will.

Thank you to everyone who supports the stories blog here on Tumblr. Keep checking in every Friday througout April for a whole new sweeps season to celebrate this milestone. Stories will include: Tommy's Two Hundred, Train for a Gain, The Feeders' Fortress and The 1% (a companion story to The 5%). For now, I thank you all for taking time out to sit and read the very bizarre tales that sprout from my mind. You are all wonderful.

Happy 200 stories!

Feeder86

#gainer fiction #gainer stories #gainerstory #gayfeeder #gainerfic #gainer story #gayfeedee #gay feedee #gainerstories

[dailyadventureprompts]

Monsters Reimagined: Yeenoghu, Demon Lord of Insatiable Hunger

It's been some years since I did my overhaul on the lore of the gnolls and how they embody the weird de/humanization that goes on with various monsters over d&d's history. Ever since I've had more than a few folks write in asking about how I would handle the default Gnoll God Yeenoghu, who exists in a similar state of "Kill everything that ever existed" to Orcus and a good portion of the game's other late game threats, thematically flat and not really useful for building stories around.

For a while I've avoided doing this post because I thought it might skew a little too close to my personal philosophy, and risk going from simply being influenced by my views to an outright soapbox. I personally hold that despite being part of our nature hunger is the source of the majority of human cruelty, and if society and cooperation are the tools we developed to best fight against the threat of famine, it is fear of that famine that allows the powerful to control society and secure their positions of privilege.

I've also dealt with disordered eating in a prior period of my life, alternating between neglecting my body's needs and punishing myself for needing in the first place. I'm well acquainted with hunger and the hollowing effect it can have, though I'd never claim to know it so well as someone who went hungry by anything other than choice and self hatred.

Learning to love food again saved saved my life. The joy of eating, of feeling whole and nourished, yes, but there was also the joy of making: of experimenting, improving, providing, being connected to a great tradition of cultivation which has guided our entire species.

If I was going to talk about an evil god of hunger, I was going to have to touch on all of that, and now that it's out in the open I can continue with a more thematic and narrative discussion on the beast of butchery below the cut.

What's wrong: Going by the default lore, there's not much that really separates Yeenoghu from any other chaotic evil mega-boss. He wants to kill everything in vicious ways, and encourages his followers to do the same. He's there so that the evil clerics can have someone to pray to because the objectively good gods are on the party's side and wouldn't help a bunch of cannibalistic slavers.

This is boring, we've done this song and dance before, and the only reason that there are so many demon lords/evil gods/archdevils like this is because the bioessentialism baked into the older editions of the game's lore was also a theological essentialism, and that every group had to have their own gods which perfectly embodied their ethos and there was no crossover whatsoever, themes be damned.

Normally I'd do a whole section about "what can be salvaged" from an old concept, but we're scraping the bottom of the barrel right from the inset. Likewise my trick of combining multiple bits of underwritten d&d mythology to make a sturdier concept isn't going to work as most of d&d's other gods of hunger or famine are similar levels of paper thin.

How do we fix it: I want Yeenoghu to be the opposite of the path I found myself on, a hunger so great and so painful that it percludes happiness, cooperation, or even rational thought. Hunger not as a sumptuous hedonistic gluttony but a hollowing emptiness that compels violence and desperation. More than just psychopathic slaughter and gore, it is becalmed sailors drinking seawater to quench their thirst, the urban poor mixing sawdust and plaster into their food because their wages are not enough to afford grain.

This is where we get the idea of Yeenoghu as an enemy of society, not because violence is antithical to society ( I think we've learned by now how structured violence can really be) but because society fundamentally breaks down when it can't take care of the people who provide its foundations. Contrast the Beast of Butchery with one of my other favourite villainous famine spirits: Caracalla the grim trader, who embodies scarcity as a form of profit and control in to Yeenoghu's scarcity as suffering.

Into this we can also add the idea of the hungry dead, ghouls yes but also vampires, anything cursed with an eternal existence and appetites it no longer has the ability to sate. A large number of cultures across the world share the idea that the dead cannot rest while they are starving, which is why we leave offerings of food by their graves or pour out a glass to the ones we lost along the way.

On that topic, there's also a scrap of lore involving Doresain god of ghouls, who has been depicted as an on and off servant of Yeenoghu. Since I'm already remaking the mythology, I'd have Doresain act as a sort of saint or herald for the demon lord, the wicked but still partially reasonable entity who can villain monolog before the feral and all consuming demon god shows up.

Summing it all up: Yeenoghu isn't a demon you wittingly worship, it's a demon that claims you, marks you as its mouthpiece and through you seeks to consume more of the world. It gives you just enough strength to keep on living, keep on suffering, keep on filling that hole in your belly and feed it in turn.

The greatest of these mouthpieces is Doresain, an elf of ancient times who's unearthly hungers elevated him to demigod status. Known as the knawbone king, he dwells within a dread domain of the shadowfell, and is sought out only for his ability to intercede with the maw-fiend's rampages.

Signs: Unnaturally persistent hunger pangs, excessive drool and gurgling stomach noises, the growth of extra teeth in the mouth, stomachs splitting open into mouths.

Symbols: An animal with three jaws, a three tailed flail or spiked whip. A crown of knawed bones (Doresain)

Titles: Beast of butchery, the maw fiend, the knawing god

Artist

#monsters reimagined #fiend #yeenoghu #undead #deity

[reiderwriter]

Hi!!! I really love your writing 🥺 Idk how this works so Idk if my request is alright so If it's ok for you to write it, I got this idea about Spencer turning into a player/manwhore after maeve died so he's not into y/n in the beginning but the others always joke about how she's totally in love with him and he doesn't believe until he starts to notice little things she does for him(like getting him coffee every morning, remembering everything he says) so he start to fall for her. Genre: smut with soft!Dom Spencer, dirty talk, degradation(please no daddy kink) (Sorry if it's to long, I read it's best for you if we give as much detail as possible so that's that) I'm going to identify myself with this emoji 🥺 when I read the fic or in my next requests, hope I gave you something to write with.

A/N: Thank you for the request and omg this plot has given me brain rot since you sent it in 💀 I accidentally made this a little angst-heavy for the first half but there's a very "happy ending" if you catch my drift. I hope you love it! ❤️

Summary: Spencer Reid's heart is broken. But in healing himself in the arms of countless woman, he doesn't realise he's breaking yours.

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, angst, oral (F receiving), fingering, P in V penetration, dirty talk, degradation of you squint a little, soft!Dom Spencer is incredibly soft.

My masterlist with all my other works is here, and my requests are open!

It had taken four whole months before someone on the team had confronted Spencer about his grief, his lack of sleep, his overall dreariness, and they were almost shocked that it wasn’t you that did it. When Rossi had walked up to him, offering a story about his Uncle Sal in an attempt to get him to open up, or at least seek help, the others were on the other side of the glass, shooting looks over at you, quietly enquiring with their eyes about why it hadn’’t been you to offer him that out.

But you had, you’d been trying. You’d been following him around, taking him food every couple days to make sure he was eating, sticking around to make sure that he wasn’t lonely. You’d even cleaned up after him on the particularly hard days, where he didn’t want to move from his bed and couldn’t bring himself to go outside if there was no work, no one else to save. But you couldn’t offer him more, because he already had all of you.

You’d first realised that you were in love with Spencer Reid a few months after you’d joined the team. You’d been bought on as a fresh set of eyes on a case that had a lot more to do with you then the rest of the team had been led to believe.

Your high school boyfriend had been the victim of a notorious highway murderer, and you yourself had been kidnapped by the unsub, put in hell for the following three days and escaped with your life only because of an earlier BAU team, including agents Hotchner and Rossi. When bodies had started turning up on the same stretch of highway, you needed to be involved or you’d never prove to yourself that you could do what they did to save you. That you’d be able to put your feelings aside and catch monsters.

You’d found the man responsible of course, and in restraining yourself from putting a bullet in his brain, you’d found yourself a place on the team, and some peace for a time. And then Spencer happened.

You really should have known. You were always fond of the nerdy type, of men who had such deep interests that they forgot to pay attention to social queues, who had too many cute habits (like purposefully mismatching socks) that you couldn’t help but find endearing. You’d grown close quickly, with the man grateful that there was finally someone to listen to him ramble and not judge him, and you grateful that he also held himself back enough, listened closely and well to remember so many details about your conversations. You knew an eidetic memory helped, but it was the care in the small actions, like buying you the beanie baby you lost as a child but still mourned, that you’d mentioned in conversation a grand total of one time, that really solidly made you realise. You were in love with him and had dug yourself a hole that you weren’t going to be able to climb out of anytime soon.

You’d almost told him once. Convinced that if you just explained your feelings, he’d suddenly feel the same or realise that he felt the same way, too. You’d opened your mouth to let the words run freely, but he beat you to it.

“I’ve met someone, and she’s totally brilliant and I think I might love her, and that must be an insane thing to say considering I’ve never even seen her face.” You’d willed the broken pieces of your heart together as you forced a smile on your face, ready to listen to the man who owned your heart smile for another, live for another, breath for another.

When Maeve had ultimately passed away, you knew that you’d never be able to say those words to him. You weren’t going to be the replacement for a dead woman, and you weren’t going to push those feelings on him when he was grieving. But you loved him and he needed you, so you stayed.

On the nights where he was so angry with the world that his words were biting, on the days where he said almost nothing so trapped inside his brain, in the hours between dusk and dawn where there was no rest for him, wiping away the tears that fell silently and just being as near to him as he needed.

You had some experience in broken hearts, anyways. You might as well put it to good use.

–X–

It had taken five whole months since Maeve’s death for the team to realise that Spencer was changing. He was still the same person intrinsically, ready to spring into a conversation about absolutely anything and everything that interested him at the drop of a hat, still debating with Penelope about which of them was smarter, still being teased in that playful way by Morgan. But there was a confidence to him now that was almost dangerous in the fact that it was uncharted territory for him.

You’d noticed it first on one of your regular coffee runs. The two of your were so serious about your coffee tasting like anything but actual coffee that you’d bonded over the need for a sweet treat, and had been going for coffee before all of your office shifts almost since you’d started. You were glad to have him finally back by your side, making stupid jokes about how many philosophers it would take to change a lightbulb, and actually smiling and laughing with you that you almost didn’t notice anything amiss.

But when the barista who took his order carefully slipped him her number - something she’d been doing for the whole six months you’d been frequenting that cafe - for once, he hadn’t thrown it away. He’d taken a lingering look at the digits inked neatly into the napkin and quietly slipped it into his pocket. You were confused to say the least, but since that night of your almost confession, there had been a boundary between you two in that sense.

It was almost as if, if you didn’t ask questions about Spencer’s love life, it was like he wasn’t out there, being in love. With Maeve it had worked fine because he’d never met her, and honestly, until you’d started trying to save her he hadn’t brought her up a lot. But now, you were too afraid to break your own heart again to check up on him, deciding to let it go for your own well-being.

The others had noticed soon enough. Comments about a pep in his step, his flirtacious manner with some of the female witnesses. He’d gained a few claps on the back from Morgan after closed off conversations that you had decided you were thankful not to have heard.

Because if you never saw or heard what Reid was doing, and apparently doing with multiple women, multiple times a week, then it couldn’t hurt you anymore than you were already hurting now.

–X–

It took seven months from Maeve’s death to realise that you were only fooling yourself this entire time.

Despite his new-found release, the therapy he’d found in the beds of women whose names he never learnt, there was one thing that you could still rely on with Reid, and that was your Friday night Star Trek watch-along.

You’d mentioned once a few weeks into your job that you’d never seen it before, and he’d had this absolutely starry-eyed look on his face in bewilderment, that when he’d half-heartedly suggested you watch it together, you’d leapt at the chance. Since there was so much of it, here you were over a year later, still keeping to that Friday night ritual. You’d watched it together in motels in the middle of nowhere, you’d watched it together over the Christmas holidays, you’d watched it together in the days directly after Maeve’s death, and tonight was supposed to be no different.

You pulled up to his apartment and knocked on the door, and when you couldn’t immediately hear him shout to “come in” from his kitchen as he was preparing the popcorn, you knew that something was wrong. His door was always unlocked, and he laughed at your habit of knocking on the door, insisting that you could just walk in anytime you needed.

Now that you needed to, your hand seemed heavier than ever. You gripped the cold metal of the handle, knowing exactly what you would find on the other side of the door, but still wanting to live in the clear denial of it. You prayed it was something else keeping him distracted.

You let yourself in and were welcomed with the sight that shattered your heart for the final time. There were clothes scattered across the floor, male and female. Shoes discarded in the heat of the moment. You didn’t want your eyes to follow, but your feet weren’t listening as they walked you to the bedroom door, thrust wide open, and you saw him there finally.

“Shit, Y/N, what are you doing here?” he scrambled to pull his clothes back on, to cover whatever woman it was underneath him that day, to make sure you didn’t see anymore of the image that would be burned into the back of your brain for the rest of your life.

You couldn’t say anything. You knew that he had been doing this, doing it to cope, doing it to move on, doing it to feel a sense of intimacy after he didn’t get that with Maeve. But here was the irrefutable proof that he’d never even looked at you with an ounce of the feeling you had for him. You held up the bag of snacks you usually bought to your Trek marathons as a response, the tears filling up your eyes rendering you mute as you finally tore yourself out of the room.

“Oh god, it’s Friday. I didn’t realise…. I’m sorry, can we do a raincheck, Y/N?” He guided you further out of the room, placing a hand to the small of your back to help move you along. Something in you snapped then and you recoiled from his touch, whipping your head up to him and just staring at him with all the defiance you could muster. He had broken your heart, you weren’t going to let him dismiss you that quickly.

“Y/N, why are you crying? What’s wrong, what happened? Tell me and I’ll do everything I can to fix it.” He finished his words, and made to wipe the tears from your face, but you slapped his hands away from you before he could make contact.

“Don’t… just don’t touch me, Spencer.” Those were the only words you could offer in explanation before you turned on your heel and ran straight out of his apartment for the last time.

–X–

It took one month from you storming out of his apartment for Spencer to realise that he hadn’t dreamt of Maeve in the same amount of time. Where his dreams had been full of her asking him to dance, they were now full of you recoiling from his touch, refusing to speak to him outside of your professional work, withdrawing into yourself and crying. The worst ones were the ones where you were crying because he tried desperately to hold you, to wipe the kisses away, but everytime he tried you moved further and further from his reach.

It had been a month of you ignoring him, and he still didn’t know what went wrong. Yes, you’d caught him in bed with a girl, but you knew he was doing that. You’d known from the start, and he’d known that you’d known, so surely it wasn't just that.

Morgan wasn’t helping him on that front either. He’d explained the awkward run-in in his apartment, desperate for some answers and received some pretty curt replies.

“Pretty boy, if you don’t realise what you did wrong, then there’s nothing I’m going to do to help you. You’re on your own until then.” He’d refused to talk about it anymore.

He’d thought a few times about talking to the girls on the team, but you’d been partnered with JJ for the last month on cases to avoid him, and there was a bond there between the two of you that he didn’t want to overstep.

It was in this confusion that Rossi found him again, taking pity on the boy wandering around like a lost puppy in the absence of your friendship.

“Kid, what is up with you again recently?”

“Y/N has been avoiding me, and I don’t know why. Derek said it was my fault because she… well she walked in on something that I’d rather she hadn’t, you know, and I don’t know why she still won’t talk to me because it’s been a month.” He rambled out, thankful that someone was finally hearing him out.

“If I’m understanding your insinuation here, I think I know what the problem is.” Rossi sat back, choosing his words carefully, so as not to startle the younger man. But he was so worked up all over you, missing your voice, your touch, your company, and just wanting you back in whatever way he could get you that he jumped at the very suggestion of answers.

“Then please, tell me, I’m begging you. I’ve been tearing my hair out trying to figure out what it is and I just miss her so much that it hurts.”

“Spencer, you know I usually don’t get involved in the personal lives of my coworkers, but just listen to me now, nice and calmly - and dont try to interrupt me or say a word. I know what I’m talking about, okay?” He gave a quick nod of his head, waiting with baited breath for Rossi to continue.

“The girl is in love with you. Head over heels, in fact, and has been for quite some time. And she was holding it together real nice until you decided to become this casanova and now she is heartbroken,” Spencer looked like he was about to interrupt, to spew out that that couldn’t possibly be the case, but Rossi silenced him with a look. “If you don’t believe me, you use that memory of yours and you do what you do best. Think about it.”

–X–

For the next three months, that was all Spencer did. He thought about every interaction you’d ever had. The blush on your cheeks when he’d introduced himself for the first time (and refused to shake your hand). The countless nights spent curled up on opposite sides of his couch, laughing and crying together at silly sci-fi shows. The way you’d thrown yourself into his arms after a particularly gruelling case, buried your head in his chest instead of anyone else's. The day you’d finally confessed your past to him, how he’d felt your heart beating as he held a finger to your pulse, hand gently holding yours waiting for you to finish describing the time you’d stared death in the face.

You’d noticed the change, but you wouldn’t let yourself acknowledge it fully. Noticed how he’d shoot you lingering glances from across the room, how he’d look like he had something to say when you announced you were leaving for the night. How he’d ask everyone together what their friday night plans were just to hear you admit that you were going home alone in the company of the rest of the team.

You’d noticed, and god had it given you a spark of hope that you wished would die quickly. You’d noticed, and so you weren’t as surprised when he turned up on your doorstep four months after you’d last talked to him, on another friday evening.

“What are you doing here?” you greeted him, the words coming out colder than you wanted them to seem, inwardly cursing yourself for letting your emotions get the better of you.

“Don’t make me leave, please, I just have something to ask and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Spencer, it’s been a long day, and I just want to go to bed so-”

“Do you still love me?” His words cut you off and your heart all but stopped. Your tongue grew heavy, and the inside of your mouth tasted acidic, knowing that you weren’t going to be able to fully stomach whatever conversation was coming.

“Excuse me?” you spluttered out eventually.

“Three months ago, Rossi said that you were in love with me, and I need to know that if that was the case, are you still in love with me now?” You expected some cold curious look to be gracing his face, but you looked up to see his eyes perfectly trained on your own, his mouth set in a line, a look of stony determination set on his face.

“If I say yes, what difference does that make?” you tried not to spit out the words, but you had no control over the venom in your heart.

“If you say yes, then I am going to kiss you, and then I am going to spend every last day I have on the planet making up for being an idiot for the last two years.” Your breath caught in your throat, and, not for the first time in front of Spencer Reid, you were stunned into silence.

“So, what is your answer?” He looked down at you again, and you started to see the cracks in his stony facade, started to see through to the man who desperately wanted you to say yes, to scream it at him.

The word hadn’t even fully formed on your tongue before he was crashing down into you, his mouth pleading for forgiveness and wrapping you up in him. He grabbed you and pulled you back into your apartment, whispering into each of your kisses.

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.” The two of you stumbled into the space, but he never moved his hands from the sides of your face, cupping your cheeks gently as his lips brushed against yours again and again.

Your legs gave way beneath you by the time you’d reached the open space of your living room, but instead of catching you, he fell to his knees with you, content for the two of you to just sit there together in each other's embrace.

“You’ve loved me this entire time, and I was too stupid to realise that you’re everything I need.” He kissed your mouth, your jaw, your neck, moving his hands from your face to your waist, pulling you in deep again as you desperately pulled away in search of breath. That only toppled you further to the ground, and he came down on top of you again as well, one hand coming up to cup the back of your head so you didn’t hurt yourself.

And you kissed him back just as fervently when your breath returned, listening to every apology and forgiving him with every touch. His kisses said “I’m sorry,” and yours said “I know,” and that was all the communication you needed for now.

He pulled your shirt over your head eventually, and your skin met the cold tile of the floor, a shiver running up your spine causing you to buck your hips up into his. He hissed at the contact and pushed his bodyweight down further into yours, his legs slotting perfectly between your splayed ones now.

“It took me too long to realise, and it has taken me too long to act on the knowledge, but I am not going to let you go again, do you understand?” he pushed his lips into yours again before you could respond, and you clawed into his shoulders as he started grinding down into your body. His hand trailed up your waist to your breasts, pulling them free from the constraints of your bra, as he let his tongue slide down from your neck to your chest.

“I need to hear you say it baby, need you to say you understand, can you do that for me?” Your body burned under his attention, back arching desperately for more contact as his tongue swirled your nipple into his mouth, gasping breaths loud enough to fill the empty air of your apartment. His stiff cock was firmly pressing against your core now, barely clothed in the pajamas you’d pulled on before his arrival.

“Spencer, yes, I need you, I need you right now, please,” grabbed at either side of his face and pulled him back up so he was face to face with you. You initiated the kiss this time, and you could feel your heart soar at the tender kiss he met you with, thankful for the reciprocation.

“Not yet, baby, not yet, okay?” he whispered in your ear, trailing his hands down to your centre and slipping his hand under your clothes. “So fucking wet for me, baby. Just for me, right, baby?” His fingers found your clit, and he started rolling it between his fingers. He worked slowly enough to drive you insane, but giving you just enough relief that you couldn’t complain.

“Yes, Spencer, yes, yes it’s all for you. Only for you,” you managed to gasp out. He shifted his hand after a few minutes, still pressing love bites down your chest, claiming you as his in the most animalistic way possible. He spread the wetness that pooled at your core around, making sure that his fingers were coated in you before pushing a single digit into your aching hole, thumb continuing to draw circles around your bundle of nerves.

“That’s my little slut, so desperate for me, so needy for me.” His words shot through you, and you started thrusting your hips up desperate for more friction with his hand. He roughly pushed you back down, pinning you under him with his free hand.

“No, baby, I’m in charge here. You sit back and relax and let me make you feel good,okay?” His words soothed you, the growing heat in the pit of your stomach fizzing in anticipation. His kisses dropped lower and lower, until he was finally pulling off your remaining clothing and replacing his thumb with his lips.

“Fuck Spencer, if you keep doing that, I’m going to-” another sharp intake as he pumped a second finger in and out of you.

“Going to what, baby? Use your words?”

“I’m going to cum, Spencer please, I’m going to cum, I’m going to cum.,,” you rode out your high with his face stuffed between your legs still, swallowing your loud moans for fear of the entire neighbourhood knowing just how obsessed you were with this man.

“You did so good for me, baby, so good. I love you so much, okay? I’m going to take care of you from now on, okay?” He began pressing kisses to your mouth again, and you could taste yourself against him now.

“I need you so badly, baby, are you going to let me have you?” He started pulling off his own clothing now, removing his shirt and tie, but never once leaving your embrace for too long.

“I love you so much, baby. I’m sorry for not realising before, but I realise now. I was so terrible to you after Maeve, and god, even before she died I was using you as a therapist to talk through my thoughts and fears, but I was too dense to even realise that I was only in love with Maeve because she was safe. I couldn’t meet her, couldn’t touch her, didn’t have the chance to ruin anything I had with her. I couldn't realise that she wasn’t you, that she wasn’t going to feel like you do in my arms. And maybe some part of me loved her, but we were using each other, and I was using her to avoid confronting how I felt about you.”

“And how I feel for you is different. I am obsessed with you, Y/N. I am so madly in love with you that the last four months have felt like hell. I could have emptied myself of all the blood in my body and still my heart would be beating for you. Do you understand?”

You answered in a chaste kiss on his lips, sweet and quick, but as much as you could muster without driving yourself to the brink of insanity getting yourself high on his touch.

“Use your words, baby. Tell me what you want now, okay?” He’d unbuttoned his pants shortly after that and you stared transfixed at the head of his cock poking up and out of them, desperate to see it, touch it, taste it.

“I need you inside of me, Spence, please,” you cried out, tears welling in your eyes at the tender contact, the confession. All the emotions you’d been burying for the last four months bubbling to the surface, dancing around your head as he made you dizzy with desire.

“You’re so perfect, Y/N. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you,” with the last of his clothing removed he was finally free, taking his heavy,aching cock in his hand and lining himself up with you. With a single thrust, and another confession of love, he gave you what you wanted so much.

“You wanted me like this, baby? So desperate to have my cock inside you?” he plagued you with questions as you adjusted to his size, watching your face for any discomfort as you mumbled out yes after yes.

“Me too, baby. I wanted you just like this, wanted you so desperate and dripping for me that I could slide right in, wanted you like this for me and only me.” He began thrusting then, slowly pumping his cock into you, heavy with each return, the sound of skin slapping against skin joining the ensemble of your moans.

“I love you,” he said again, and with each thrust of his hips, and you responded in kind, matching his thrusts with your own and pressing a kiss into the skin of his shoulders. You were so desperate and needy, so starved of touch and starved of one another that neither of you lasted long. Your bodies were so in sync that as soon as he’d pushed you over the edge for a second time, you could feel him spill himself inside you, filling you completely.

He rolled off you, but didn’t leave you there, picking you up and carrying you to the bedroom. He cleaned you up as much as possible, then folded you back into his arms, holding you again so tenderly that you let the tears flow down your cheeks for a final time.

It was Friday night, and he was here, and he loved you. You weren’t going to let him go again.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #mgg #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #criminal minds smut #requested #🥺 Anon

[dmitriene]

THOUGHTS ABOUT CAVEMAN SIMON AND VILLAGER READER.

synopsis: spring has come, and with it the time for sacrifices to someone, who lives far from people and scares everyone who pokes their noses into the forest, and what could be better than bribing the one you fear, so you were chosen as the one who will bear all the gifts deep into the forest.

cw: fluff, comfort, smut, possible dubcon, story set not in modern time and might be unrealistic, not based on real knowledge about cave people, possible ooc simon since he's a caveman, virgin reader, mentions of cannibalism (not in action), biting, licking, groping, simon is rough around the edges, pet names, cunnilingus with dubious consent, simon is inexperienced, male and female intimacy, many mentions of bare flesh, overstimulation, crying, aftercare, kinda kidnapping. pairing: caveman simon ghost riley x villager fem reader

author's note: this idea was born from an absolutely spontaneous conversation with @suimon, and i'm grateful to her, because without her encouragement i wouldn't decide to write such an interesting story, which is kind of new for me, but i still hope those who will read it enjoy, it's my first attempt on writing this kind of plot, that ended up being 4.5k words.

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3. ˑ༄

long melted snow, allowing fresh green grass to break through the once dissipated white fluff of snow, bright flowers decorating endless meadows and forests surrounding the village exactly along the perimeter — all this brings with it spring, warm weather, fresh juicy fruits and vegetables, and after them the time for a sacrifices.

behind the forest clearing, where the trees become thicker and seem to be getting darker, lives one whose cave, the exact location of which not many people know, are afraid to approach, and you never heard the exact answer, the exact reason, but everyone was afraid of this place more than fire, but were justified by a man who was frightening to the point of trembling, as if they had seen a living ghost.

naturally, you had never seen him, and you treated his stories as if they were fairy tales — an attempt to intimidate the kids from going too far during walks, nothing more, or so it seemed to you, until you were chosen as the one who would go to him with the onset of spring with fertile gifts, an attempt to appease the so-called monster, which terrifies the entire village with its very existence, and you couldn’t understand why you should go to the one you’re afraid of, and also with gifts?

but one way or another, it was not in your authority to refuse the election of the head of the village and the people, so you were dressed up in the best dress from your meager wardrobe, the white fabric flowing to your feet seemed as soft as silk, an absolutely light linen, diluted a wreath woven from fresh, sickly sweet flowers, and in your hands a basket of the freshest fruits and vegetables, with a rope on your wrist, a thick plexus leading to the neck of a good, well-fed cow, the devil knows what he will do with the poor, as you would think, animal, but one way or another — your task is to give, even if you looked the most appetizing here.

walking through the forest is difficult, especially when, of all the attempts to navigate, you only have — “go straight ahead and stop when you see the cave„ and the only thing left to do is to listen, periodically stop when the cow bends down to nibble fresh grass, and then walk again until feeling of dull pain in the legs, due to the fact that making your way through trees and large branches with almost bare feet is uncomfortable, a little painful, and you have to pick up the white dress in your hands so as not to get it dirty, trying to maintain a festive look as possible, not drop the basket, and still get to this damned place.

more and more doubts creep into your head, maybe no one lives there at all, or does, but it’s just a wild animal, and villagers just couldn’t see it in the dark clearlier?

but it’s hard to believe that in the thicket, which every time becomes darker and denser, in which there are more and more bushes and broken branches, and somewhere where there are even tree trunks lying — someone really lives, and while thoughts are wandering around your head like a prodigal wind, and the path completely disappears under your feet, you finally reach the right place, meeting your eyes with a stone cave, assembled from stones in a stable structure, sprinkled with greenery, moss and tree trunks.

really someone’s abode, albeit open, and looking as if it could become your undoing.

even the poor animal seems to be enveloped in fear, the cow bursts into a loud moo, resting her hooves on the ground, and with all due respect, you cannot push such a weight behind you, but you will not let her escape, tying the poor thing by a rope and to a tree trunk nearby, allowing her to calm down a little, to be distracted by tufts of grass, while your gaze rushes forward into the darkness of the cave, and your legs tremble slightly.

— “well.. here i come, cave man, huh..„ slips from your lips encouragingly to your own self, although your voice trembles, but you cannot return to the village with the same full hands, and in any case, you will most likely be sent again after this, damn old people, so the only way is forward.

the branches crunch under your feet, it seems to you, until you notice glimpses of animal bones, and it’s as if you are tugging from the inside, your step immediately quickens, and you practically stumble, clutching the basket to your chest and swallowing nervously, saying in your mind over and over — “it doesn't belonged to someone, it doesn't belonged to someone„ but it didn’t get any easier, as if the deeper you went, the more terrible it became, there was only pitch darkness ahead, not planning to make way for you even for a second, so you walk, almost blindly, closing one eye and making your way with the other.

— “is.. is someone there? hello??„

your voice echoes against the stone walls, but it becomes clearer under your feet, and a little brighter ahead, so you continue to walk even despite the dead silence, step by meek step, getting out to the center of the cave, where the walls become wider, and your eyes get used to darkness, letting small details immediately scatter before your eyes — some kind of wooden cabinet, a small rectangular table with a single chair, and above it a shelf with plates, everything is just like in your own house in the village, however, the bed is not very similar to the usual one, full of skins, located quite low, and you hesitantly step deeper, saying

— “hey?.. i'm, uhm.. i mean no harm, hello? someone?„

your voice sounds a little quieter, patient, as you walk to the table and allow yourself to place that same basket on it, carefully adjusting it along with the vegetables and fruits mixed in it, before moving away, smiling at the more welcoming composition, besides, it decorated a small surrounding emptiness, you even forgot for a while that you were in a cave, you felt comfortable, until the moment you turned around, noticing a dark figure in the corner that turned around sharply, and you screamed uncontrollably.

a large, massive figure in the very corner of the cave turns to face you, demonstrating its immensity and body, hidden under only one piece of fabric, vaguely reminiscent of pants, but what catches you, or rather scares you, is the skull attached to his face, and the skull would be less frightening if it belonged to an animal, but the shape was human like, separated from the back and leaving only the front, somehow attached to a dark piece of fabric stretched over the man’s face, showing the world only his sunken, dark eyes.

simon overreacts to the sound, furrowing his brows and clenching his hands into fists that hang on either side of his wide hips, not liking it when someone barges in uninvited, especially like this, but watching you shake like a cornered rabbit , he softens, and at the same time resolutely begins to walk in your direction, without warning, which makes your heart jump right up to your throat and back into your chest when you calm a bit inside, but still take a couple of steps back from approaching figure.

— “uh, h-hi? i'm sorry, i must scared you.. i-i screamed pretty loud, yeah?„

you babble, the words fly out of your soft lips hastily and with an attempt to justify yourself, and he freezes, breathing somehow displeasedly through his nose and causing his bare chest to heave, but still, he grumbles somehow approvingly, tilting his head to the side, as if having mercy on you and giving the opportunity to justify yourself, and you don’t dare to miss it.

— “uh, i was sent from village, you know, not far from here! i brought you some fresh vegetables and fruits, and cow.. you know, that does moo„ the words come out in one breath, while you spin around, pointing first at the basket that suddenly appeared on his table, then towards the exit, talking about the cow, telling him about it as if you were talking to a child, as if mistaking him for a completely savage, and simon squeezes out a rough, dry laugh, crossing his burly arms over his wide, scarred chest, cutting off your explanations

— “i know what a cow is„

his voice is hoarse, tart like coffee beans on the tongue, and you stop, taking a deep breath.

simon has already realized that you are from that stupid village full of fools who take him for some terrible animal, but instead of the usual fear like in other people’s eyes, in yours he sees some doubt and sincere guilt, like in a child’s who was scolded by his parents, and this causes amusement in his gaze, a flutter in his light eyelashes

— “i'm, sorry.. it's just, the villagers acted like you are some kind of wild animal, and i.. i thought..„

the words get confused in your head and on your tongue, one way or another, you, even if not for long, believed to the words of the people living in the village, believed that he was less human than many, now trying to justify his honor and your words, standing under his gaze and trembling as if leaf in the wind, your legs shook as you squeezed them together, feeling his strange, ardent gaze where your plush thighs began behind the thin fabric, and goosebumps ran down your skin as his lips stretched into a wide, wild grin.

you stand before his eyes like a prettiest gift, a prey — you are shaking like a little rabbit, or a newborn doe, as if your legs are about to lose control of your weight and collapse on the stone floor, even though a carpet of someone’s skin lies under your feet, he wouldn’t want you to return back to the village in a deplorable state, or maybe you yourself were sent as a sacrifice?

he doesn't know, because you look incredibly attractive and alluring in that light outfit with just panties underneath, the silhouette of the fabric of which he can see on your hips before his gaze goes up to where your round, soft breasts are hiding under the finest cloth, and up to the strands of your hair, decorated with a wreath of fresh flowers, he knows it by the sweet smell and by the fact that he has already seen such in the forest, and simon has never tasted people, has not eaten human flesh — but looking at you, at the softness, at the sweetness, maybe he should give it a try?

— “i never tasted human flesh before„ words roll off his tongue in advance of rational thoughts, a rich baritone from the thin line of pale lips behind the fabric of the mask and the shape of the skull where he licks them like a predator.

and you are theprey, the one which trembles and whose eyes widen when you hear his unexpected speech, wild, causing the blood in your veins to freeze and your legs to obey the instinct of escape, and you take off from your place, turn around on the thin sole of your sandals and move your body towards the exit and impenetrable the darkness from which you came, which previously let you in — and will no longer let you go without the permission of its owner.

you can’t even hear simon’s steps behind you, because of how adrenaline is pumping in your ears and blood echoes like white noise in the background, as his figure wraps around yours like a shadow and pulls you, he clings to the light fabric with dirty fingers and squeezes with a heavy weight around your waist, first with his fingers, then with his hand, heavy bonds that drag you into the air and there’s no point in even twitching your legs, he immediately turns you around in his arms, places your soft flesh in his palms, relishing in the softness, warmth, fingers greedily kneading the soft, supple skin between his fingers on top of the now slightly stained fabric, pressing you into a cold stone wall as you close your eyes tightly.

your body is trembling, you’re waiting for the touch of someone else’s teeth on your body, a sharp flash of pain, surrendering to the clutches of creeping death in the guise of a person without resistance, having resigned yourself in advance, even on the threshold of this cave, even when the dark, densely trees swallowed you in the depths of the forest, but no pain comes, no sensation of rough, sharp teeth in the skin, just his hands that slide from your butt, where he shamelessly touched you, to your hips and thighs, tracing the skin and bones over your dress, forcing you to twitch, squeezing your legs together.

something inside you is twisting shamefully hotly, curling into a coil in your lower abdomen and setting all your nerve endings on fire, you still don’t look, your eyelashes and eyelids are trembling, and simon takes pleasure in your instinctive fear, akin to the animals he mercilessly catches in the depths of the forest, kneeling in front of you just as he once knelt in front of them, but you were distinguished from a dead animal by your vitality, sweet aroma, soft warm body which he wanted to taste until greedily accumulating saliva in his mouth.

— “pretty„

he growls low from his throat, causing you to flush with a flash of blush, your fingertips prickling nervously, it seems that he’s saying this from a sadistic point of view, not really to you, rather than to your body, to what he will eat, and you refuse to look at the eyes of your fear, even when rough, calloused hands run along your legs until he lays them on his broad shoulders, lifts up the dress that gets in the way, exposes the skin to your thighs and carelessly leaves them rumpled to dangle there, when his bare mouth pierces your skin and licks.

your eyes immediately widen following the hitching breath that flies through your parted lips, and you look at him, this beast, this man, standing in front of you on both knees, and even between your legs he seems immense, but strangely tender, when he licks and gently bites a path to your thighs along the soft flesh, pressing his nose into it, you see it’s slightly crooked form briefly, the black fabric falls to cover everything except his mouth, which greedily tastes you like no one has ever tasted.

his dark eyes meet yours fleetingly, yours are frightened, his are peaceful and satisfied, the corners of his lips rise forward and spread on his face, and you feel every movement of his lips on you in dangerous proximity as he crawls higher and higher, settling between supple thighs with his head, sticking his nose and mouth into a place that attracts him with sweetness and wetness, a small sticky spot on the thin fabric, into which he buries himself greedily, opening his mouth wide and licking the fat stripe along your panty clad pussy, burying his nose in your twitching clit and grinning at the reaction of your body, as well as at the quiet, ringing moan that arose from the depths of your throat.

the light, thin fabric gets wet from the amount of saliva in his mouth, mixing with the moisture that is released from your hot, bothered pussy, causing the gusset of your panties become almost transparent, as simon buries himself deeper, without asking, he just takes it, squeezing your thighs until there is a slight, uncomfortable pain burning on your skin, as your legs kick forward and attempt to squeeze together because of the new sensations that you don’t understand, didn’t experienced before, but he’s not going to let you escape just yet, but you squeak, a shushed, soft sound, which makes him soften nonetheless.

simon's gaze studies you through his light eyelashes, he sees the conflicting emotions on your face, how your chest is heaving, how moisture collects on your lash line, threatening to release and turn into tears, so his arms wrap around and squeeze your legs a little more carefully, stroking the soft skin with awkward, uncertain circular movements of his fingers, he hasn’t interacted with people for a long time, especially in the moments like these, when his face is buried between your thighs while he laps lightly against your panties.

fear slowly leaves your body along with rational thoughts, you lose your vigilance in the hands of a stranger, a person who shamelessly touches your private parts, but touches you so well, so carefully, igniting that warmth in the bottom of your belly more and more each time and allowing you to twitch, squirm as much as it possible while being held half in the air, thus only pushing your hips forward, towards his wet mouth, and shuddering with pleasure and new flashes when his nose nuzzles harder into your little clit, making your toes curl, and he growls.

— “so sweet„

comes out as a muffled growl, and you don’t know if he’s talking about you or your pussy, but he licks you more actively, making your folds stick to the absolutely wet fabric of your panties, while he slurps and sucks your folds and clit, his movements are messy, uncertain, he's been isolated from people and any contact with them with his own hands, but that doesn't stop him from having a taste, as his tongue runs between your folds and he continues to tease you with slow, exploring movements.

you make more and more unusual to yourself sounds, quiet moans, breathy mewls, wet squelches that he swallows whole as your hands find support on his head and you dig your fingers into his mask, as you grow more and more impatient in your movements, just in time when simon gets tired of this unnecessary, wet piece of fabric, a barrier to the sweetest fruit and nectar in his life, so he bares his teeth and clings to the waistband of your underwear, helping himself with his fingertips and tearing them away down your legs, exposing your fluttering, wet hole to his hungry eyes and mouth.

the mere sight leaves him swelling with hardness in his pants, and your gaze catches on the silhouette of his cock, leaning heavily against his meaty thigh and bulging against the thin fabric, one little sight had you swallowwing nervously before your eyes roll back from the sharp contact of his bare lips with your bare cunt, he swipes his thick tongue once, twice, licking your wet folds and slurping your juices as an endless source of quenching his thirst, he licks and licks until you begin to lose yourself in how long you've been in this position, where your folds and clit swell, and simon just presses himself unexpectedly deeper before suddenly diving in further.

a loud sigh and a whiny moan spread through the cave, his tongue curls at the tip, when he accidentally, but with pressure, pushes your folds apart and into your fluttering hole, his tongue flattens against your entrance, before licking and thrusting inside, into the warmth of your velvety walls that tighten around his muscle right there, and he growls with satisfaction, akin to a muffled purr, moving his head up and down, smearing his entire jaw and lips in your slick, surrendering fully to your softness and warmth.

every movement of his tongue inside leaves you trembling, your legs intuitively spread apart further along his broad shoulders, your hips find a natural rhythm and constantly buck forward with every lick of his fat tongue against your walls and his sucking on your clit, noticing what reaction it causes in you and trying to hear more of your absolutely innocent, wanton squeaks and moans, enjoying the knowledge that you act and feel this way because of his actions, so he presses his knees into the stone floor harder and leans forward further.

your stomach twists more and more, and you push his face away from you with sharp, broken whimpers, when his tongue touches your spongy spot again and again, your body seems to be engulfed in flames, your spine arches away from the wall, resting your entire weight on his face and curling over him, breathing loudly and shakily when the tip of his tongue thrust rapidly, abusing your sweet, spongy spot with his hungry, drooling mouth.

he only grunts as you lean your full weight on him, continuing his assault on your throbbing and clenching hole, alternating between grazing his tongue against your folds and clit, or thrusting his muscle deep inside your core in fast, albeit languid movements, just until your loud whimpers and hoarse mewls echo against his stone walls, and your stomach twists and turns as your body convulses in an unexpected feeling of sudden orgasm, cunt clenches and pulsates around his tongue, letting go of your sweet slick and milky cum for him to have, covering his chin and mouth in the huge amount of liquid that he actively drink and lap up, opening his mouth wide and licking you clean, drinking till the last drop.

simon doesn’t stop, as if not knowing the line, which he doesn’t really know, continuing to run his tongue against your slit and cling to your hole, as he sukles on your clit, your whole body is buzzing strangely, your head begins to ache from the endless pleasure and overstimulation that his actions and touches bring, making everything between your legs swell and tingle, you desperately claw his bare back with your hands, adding to the scarred canvas of his flesh, trying to push, resist, but he doesn’t care, right until a loud sob escapes your lips.

he reacts instantly, making something close to a questioning grumble before retreating slightly between your legs, licking his thin lips around the edges and all your fluids on your thighs, you hang on him like a sack of potatoes, trying to grab his back with your hands and at the same time not allowing him to move away from you normally, quietly, pitifully sobbing, which cause him to growl, and with a rough grip of his wide hands on your hips, unhook you from him.

simon holds you more carefully, more gently, his hands are still shamelessly squeezing and pawing your hips, going down to the swell of your plush ass, touching the skin and also pulling down your dress to cover you and provide you with the minimum comfort possible in your position, where your panties lie torn on the floor, and endless salty tears flow down your raw, cowered in slight blush cheeks, and he feels even more sympathy for you than all the times before, frowning his light eyebrows and pursing his lips.

— “don't cry..„

he mutters in frustration, carefully releasing one hand from under your butt to carefully wipe the wetness of tears from your cheeks, while you sniff your reddened nose, your head and body pulsating with a strange surge of fatigue, there's still an uncontrollable throb between your legs, and the very thought of this feeling makes you sad, as your eyelids gradually get heavier with a dissatisfied whine escaping from the depths of your throat.

— “shh„

simon whispers quietly, shamelessly moving his face closer to yours to lick your wet cheeks, making you frown and grimace, resting your hands weakly on his shoulders before he gently begins to rock you in his bulky arms and press you against his chest, changing your position so that he supports you under your knees and your back rests comfortably on his thick bicep, curling up, and you no longer care about everything that happens.

you were in a comfortable, floating state between sleep and consciousness, not struggling or scratching like most of the little preys he meet, allowing him to carry you carefully away from the far wall and to a place that vaguely resembled a human bed, full of soft animal skins and located closer to the floor, on which he lays you down and immediately wraps you in the warmth of various furs, fleetingly touching the top of your head while carefully stroking your hair, reaching to the already slightly tattered wreath with flowers and throwing it away somewhere, to which you don’t even react, on the contrary, you cuddle in response to his touch with your head and face.

this makes him chuckle hoarsely, a sound that makes your skin crawl, but he carefully lays you down more comfortably and strokes your warm cheek, going down to your shoulder and drawing the same awkward circles here with the tip of his finger until you are taken into deep sleep, first with your mind, then with your body, allowing your eyes to close and plunge into darkness in a place unfamiliar to you, going limp and burying your nose in fur that smells sharply of musk, something tartly foresty and reminiscent of him, plunging you even deeper and further in viscious sleep, following the rough whisper, that is contrasting with his careful, soft touches.

— “sleep well, my pretty sacrifice„

simon mumbles practically under his breath, his dark eyes following every flutter of your eyelashes and the sigh that slips from your parted lips, before making sure that you are in a deep sleep and getting himself up from his haunches, the movement is accompanied by a slight crunch of bones and a grumble from his lips, he looks around his own cave, a torn, damp cloth lying on the floor, a wreath with scattered petals and a basket with some sort of offerings on the table, which he will use later.

for now he rests his hands on his hips, licking his slightly dry lips and looking at the prominent weight between his legs, resting against the fabric of his pants and responding with warm, tingling arousal and slight drippling moisture, but he will take care of this later, for now, simon will collect all the unnecessary garbage from the floor and get it as far away as possible, and then take care of the cow you brought with you from the village, even if he doesn't prefer to use meat from someone else's hands, he can definitely let it pass now, because he will need to persuade you to stay with him, as soon as you wake up.

simon will not allow something like you to escape, he has denied himself contact and warmth for too long, and now, having touched the forbidden fruit, he knows one thing for sure — he will never let it go again and will not refuse it, so you are in his abode for a long time.

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