This has been an appreciation post for how awkward Sam is on the trapeze.

ive come to conclusion that kingsley is molly, just without the memories. it makes more sense to me than it just being a random new soul. it's like a "factory reset" on him.

and everything about that basically makes sense to me, except for the clothes. why was there such a sudden shift in how he dressed? and i saw someone say that kingsley didn't want to be expected to be like molly, just like molly didn't want to have the residuals of lucien's life. but it felt like more than that- he seemed to have genuine distaste for molly's outfit.

and i was just watching talks for ep 6, and taliesin said that the reason molly enjoyed being all decked out was because "it's such an easy way of immediately assessing people" bc of how they react to you.

and if i might make a leap here: when molly woke up, he had no one. he didn't know how literally any person in the world felt about him, until he slowly started making frienships within the circus. and he knew he was an odd and extravagant person, so he started dressing as a caricature of that, so that when he met knew people, they would react to his appearance and he would know exactly how they felt about him.

but kingsley woke up to people caring for him and being there for him. he didn't know these people, but they showed how they felt about him. so when he chose his new outfit, sure he had fun with it, but he didn't go gaudy or ostentatious, because he didn't feel the need to instantly gauge other's perceptions of him. kingsley's first impression of the world was kindness, molly's first impression of the world was solitude. and i think that's what makes them different.

Quantum Leap Trivia #327:

Speaking of the movie Casablanca...

In Leaping In Without a Net, the names of the father and son are Laszlo and Victor.

Victor Laszlo is also the name of the husband of one of the main characters in the movie Casablanca.

Like this post for a starter with Sonic

No catches. No prompt. Just like the post and I’ll do my best to write you a starter with Sonic. 

WHEN YOU LEAP WITHOUT A NET YOU’LL FIND, IT WONT BE THERE ALL THE TIME, SO WATCH YOUR STEP NOW WATCH YOUR STEP DONT FALL!!!!

champagne sins

pairing: socialite! johnny x fem! reader

genre: smut

word count: 1,714

warnings: alcohol consumption, slight voyerism, slight degradation

a/n: I blame @sehunniepot for this

general taglist: @naomis-sins , @slightlymore-main , @jjaeyoonoh, @ichbinschnappi, @infnteen , @markresonates , @babyksworld

——————————————————————

You love the way your new designer dress hugs your figure tonight, sparkly fabric reflecting the light and making everything around you glow. You love the way the champagne bubbles tickle your tastebuds with their sour taste, on your third glass already and with no intention of stopping anytime soon. You especially love having Johnny eat you up with his eyes from the other side of the room, his honey-colored stare having an iron grip on you.

Letting your body move on its own accord and with a wobble in your step you walk over to where he’s standing, large body resting sideways on the decorated wall. Johnny’s a socialite, yet if you asked him what he did for a living you’d get a different answer every time. He’s a DJ at the biggest club in town, he’s a reality star, he owns real estate. Maybe he’s one of those pretty boys you pay handsomely to loop your arms around for the rest of the night.

And you don’t blame anyone that would want to have Johnny like this, hard to resist with this combination of tall height, dark locks, and even darker intentions. Tonight, he looks more expensive than all your jewelry combined with those leather pants that melt right over his thighs. He’d left the top button of his satin shirt unfastened, teasing you with his smooth, tanned skin, and you take the first leap of immorality by loosening the second one yourself. You’re endlessly jealous of those pearls for getting to loop around his neck.

“Undressing me before even saying hi?”

“Hi. Now can I do one more?”

He chuckles and you take it as a sign to hook your index on the third buttonhole, revealing the top row of his abs. They’re covered in small glitter particles from last night’s fun and you envision the masterpiece you could create with just some lipstick and your fingernails. A sweet smell hazes your mind further, a mixture of his cologne and that caramel-scented e-cig he likes nursing so much.

He hums while still frustratingly keeping his hands to himself, towering over you with his broad shoulders and crushing the surge of confidence caused by the liquid courage, “What has you so naughty tonight baby girl?”

“You”

He loves having people inflate his ego and you know how to take advantage of this fact very well. He pushes back his long bangs with his hand, wet from the heat in the penthouse and finally pulling you closer with the other. His rings dig right over the dimples on your back, just low enough to toy with what’s considered inappropriate in a room full of people. Not that anyone cares, really; everyone is high on the substance of their choice and Johnny is just simply your favorite of vices.

“Naughty, naughty girl”, he muses and you follow his lips like you’re hypnotized, enjoying the degrading way he kisses his teeth.

“You know, when you pretend to be all righteous it makes me wanna fuck you even more”, you bite back and something changes in his eyes, pupils expanding like a big black hole that’s about to swallow you entirely.

His fingers leave his scalp to now grab onto your jaw, thumb hindering the blood from going to your head and forcing you to look away from the tattoo on his chest. You’re so close now that you notice his tongue is toying with some blue-colored candy, its original spherical shape now being a mere wafer-thin piece of sugar.

“You didn’t have a mouth this dirty last time I saw you”

“I thought you loved my mouth”

He grins at your wits, flashing you the same million-dollar smile that gets him free drinks and pretty people at his feet at all times before finally planting his lips on yours.

You think that out of all Johnny’s beauteous features, his lips have to be your favorite ones. Bow shaped and soft, they beg you to suck, nibble, and bruise them, the other party invitees be damned. His right hand, previously resting on your waist, is now grabbing your ass shamelessly, and he takes advantage of the gasp you let out to press the remaining candy against your own tongue. You’re so preoccupied with the way he twirls in your mouth that you’ve pliantly allowed him to corner you between the wall and his body, and when he starts to lick right over the middle of your throat you don’t know if the room is spinning because of the champagne or him.

“Fuck”, you mutter as your half-lidded eyes stare into the ceiling, a familiar hardness poking the top of your thigh.

“Language”, he scolds you against your skin, with a tone so cold you don’t know how it spreads so much warmth to your body, “Good girls don’t swear”

“What if I want to be bad?”

“Follow me”

“Follow me”

You weed your way between the groups of beautiful people, grabbing a glass of champagne on the way, until you reach what seems to be the door to the party thrower’s office. A big “DON’T ENTER” sign hangs from the knob and Johnny throws it to the confetti-filled floor without the slightest guilt, leading you inside the study.

It’s a spacious room, with full-length windows and a mahogany desk placed in front of a filled bookshelf. You don’t even manage to ask him where he wants you when he starts ravaging your neck again, his big body making you backtrack to the reclining leather chair in the end of the office. Unadulterated arousal pulses through you with every bite he leaves behind, and you push him down onto the seat, momentarily enjoying the view of him sprawled like that just for you.

Impatiently, Johnny grabs the back of your bare thighs, pulling you on top of him, and you quickly start to unfasten his braided black belt. Endlessly entertained by the thought of messing with you, he starts petting over the skimpy fabric of your underwear in an effort to distract you. It works, with your fingers shaking as they try to push his pants below his hips while his own start circling around your swollen clit.

A pitiful sob graces his ears as he pushes your soaked up panties to the side, petting your raw pussy that drips with a mess you’ve made just for him. You move your hand between his thighs in retaliation when he pushes two fingers inside you, working him into his full length as your moans harmonize into the most filthy of tunes.

“Tightest fucking pussy. Dripping wet too. Did I do this, pretty girl? Or was I just your victim for the night?”

“Just for you”, you moan out as you move along with his fingers inside you, your hand gliding easily over his cock with the aid of his precum.

He looks so fucking good like that; all messy and sweaty and all yours that you tug the bottom parts of his shirt away from one another, buttons breaking and dancing all over the floor.

“That was expensive”, he mentions playfully just to tease you, knowing damn well this shirt was nothing compared to Johnny’s net worth.

“And I’m priceless”

You take the glass of champagne that you’d left on the floor and start to spill some of the bubbly liquid over his chest, watching manically as it travels through the lines of his abs. The pale moonlight that seeps through the window kisses the wet skin, making him look irresistible as you lean down to suck the drink from the hollows where his muscles connect. Johnny weaves his fingers through your locks and giggles at the feeling, shivering when you reach his happy trail.

“Had enough of a taste?”

“I need one more thing”, you purr and take a condom out of your purse. He strokes his cock lazily as you open the foil carefully, eyeing you hungrily in the meantime, as if he hasn’t taken a good look at you already. When you’re done slipping the condom over his shaft you line the throbbing member to your opening, mentally preparing yourself for the girth you know is about to come.

A breathy whine leaves your lips when he slips fully inside you, and the way Johnny stretches you out already has you seeing stars.

Languidly but full of pleasure you start to circle your hips over him, enjoying the blinking light of the city that falls to your feet. A fleeting feeling of panic surges through you when you see all the people on the road and the balconies of the lower buildings, feeling even more exposed than you already are.

“Johnny, what if someone sees us?”, you ask him innocently but never once do you stop grinding your hips, making him smile at the empty question.

“I thought you wanted to be bad? Not a good girl anymore?”, he teases and thrusts his hips forward without a warning, making you shriek with how deep he reaches inside you. “A naughty, filthy girl that wants my cock in a party full of guests and with the whole city watching.”

He lifts his hand to drag down the fabric of your top, successfully freeing your chest and exposing you even more, loving the way your boobs look as you ride him.

“You think that just because anyone that happens to look up to see you being all slutty for me I’m not gonna fuck you against every surface in this room?”

You whimper at this promise, and your experience with him vouches that it will soon turn into reality.

“Please”, he scoffs, “you better bounce”

━ Izuku Midoriya x Fem! Reader (spiderman au)

━ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘!! In which Izuku Midoriya is Spiderman. While he tries to keep his identity a secret, his feelings for his classmate grows more and more. He wants to confess his feelings to y/n before school is over, but the life of a superhero is not so simple. ━ 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑!! nothing much ━ 1095 words

— Commissions are open!

In today's world, heroes are seen as individuals or groups devoted to helping others. You see them a lot in movies where the protagonist takes down its antagonist and is proclaimed the hero in the end. Other heroes like policemen, firefighters, and doctors are also worthy of the title. However, Japan has welcomed a new hero into the fray named Spiderman.

A tragic disaster fell upon an apartment complex in the city of Musutafu. Flames consumed the building preventing firefighters from entering the entrance doors. Predictions of how it started are unknown to the officers on standby. The chances of the structure collapsing are super high, and no one is inside would survive. Amongst the victims, a man holding his newborn child is screaming for his wife. He pleads for the firefighters to save his wife, which they assure the man without doing anything. As New reporters describe the scene, a lone figure wearing green is swinging into action.

All hands pointed out the figure, leaping off a rooftop and swinging feet first into a window. Eyes landed on the window, floors above the ground and near the rooftop. It's then the crowd witnesses spits of fire spewing out the windows. Explosions ring in their ears, increasing the chances of the roof caving in. This forced a dreadful silence throughout the entire area.

Inside the inferno, a woman is clinging onto a lone pillar. Around her, the floor is crumbling, leaving nothing for her to escape. Calling for help didn't do much then she expected. Falling debris crashing was louder than her screams. The woman yelps, hands slipping for a moment. She manages to cling on tight, but the pillars lean forward, causing the woman to hang over a pool of flames and smoke. Loud cries echoed by the time said hero arrived.

Clad in a green jumpsuit, a white spider on his chest gave the woman a hint of who he was. "—S-spiderman,"

The lone boy sees the woman, tears of joy begin to show. "Don't worry, ma'am! I'm coming to save you!"

"Please help me—I don't wanna die," The woman begged, hands being to sweat.

"Hang on!" With that, he jumps, shooting web stings as support for the pillar. He created a net just as another explosion shook the building. Landing on top of the post, he reached out for the woman. "Take my hand! I have you okay!"

"I-i can't! I'll fall!" The woman shouts, voice shaking with fear. The tiny tremors and sounds of the webs fraying frightened her the most.

The hero shook his head, leaning down to extend his hand a little further. "You're not gonna fall! I'll catch you before that happens. I'm not letting you die here! I promise!"

Shaking, one hand leaves her hold on the post, and she's successful in taking her saviour's hand. Spiderman pulled the woman into his arms, carrying her bridal style. The woman doesn't hesitate to throw her hands over his shoulders. He leaps off the post just as his webs come loose and fall into the fiery pit below them.

At that point, the building is caving, the two escaped by jumping through another window. Spiderman shields the woman from the glass and flips his way towards the ground. The landing is rough but worth it. The green hero looks down, hearing the woman coughing. He sighs in relief, seeing no injuries on her skin covered in ash.

Back on the ground, the lady's husband gasps, tightening his grip on his baby. "Suna! Suna!"

The husband pushed past the officers, meeting his wife on the other side. Spiderman sets her on a stretcher before her husband brings her in for a tight embrace.

"Thank you, spiderman!" The man yells, smothering his wife's face with kisses. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you so much!"

"Honey-you're crushing me,"

"Just doing my job, sir," The hero said, saluting the family.

Nobody could see the hero's smile under his mask. Alas, he couldn't stick around once the news reporters aimed the cameras towards him. Cameras flashed in his eyes, hindering his sights for a moment. Fleeing the scene, he left the crowd in awe by showing off his tricks. He ran up the walls of a nearby building before he swung off a web and disappeared.

An hour after the incident, Izuku dealt with another problem not far. It was a bank robbery that took a few minutes of his time. He quickly takes care of the culprits before another issue pops up someplace else. Once, he finally stops on top of a building where he hid his schoolbag. He overlooks the city, watching the citizen live their lives, happy and free.

He never gets over the beautiful view and takes a couple of pictures for safekeeping. His phone vibrates as he scrounges through his bag. When he takes out his phone, he sees his mother's contact id on the screen.

"Hi, mom," He greeted.

"Izuku Midoriya. I thought I told you not to be late home. School ended three hours ago, and I'm getting worried," The woman complained.

Peeling his mask off his mouth, Izuku rests his phone against his ear. "I'm sorry, Mom. I had club activities and study classes."

"Did you at least get the eggs for dinner?" His mother asked. The green haired boy jolts, shaking his head side to side. He completely forgot about the eggs since he put on his suit, which is always bad on his account.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I completely forgot about the eggs." He admitted nervously. "I'll get them right now,"

"Oh, well-can, you also get some cream as well, and be safe on your way home, please?" She asked. Izuku pulls his mask back over his face. Sling his bag over his shoulders, he tightens his straps, keeping it secure on his back.

"Don't worry, I'll be home as soon as I can. See you soon, Mom!" Izuku hangs up the phone before he puts it back in his bag. Sitting inside was also a slim little box. He pulls it out and opens it revealing a beautiful hairpin. It's a gift for his classmate, who makes his heart skip a beat. You.

Izuku made sure his gift was secure and zipped up his bag. He loomed over the building edge, ditching his hiding spot on top of a building. He leaps off and quickly finds a place to change into his clothes. As Spiderman, Izuku was always terrible at lying. It's a constant struggle keeping his identity a secret. He's still in high school, living his life as a teenager and an only child. Two long years later—he still forgets about the eggs.

Lupophobia

Yandere "Escape Attempt" prompt - Razor

-------------------- Words: 8,944 Warnings:-fem reader, attempted noncon beastiality (none actually happens), yandere/captivity, noncon, biting, breeding, brief gendered themes/tones involving animal mating. Heavily inspired by my degrees of lewdity "deviant"/beastiality playthrough. I applied things I learned in college linguistics for this. Truly putting my education to a good purpose. --------------------- The fortunate thing about animals, and their adjacents, was that they were very easy to deceive, and no matter what, they would fall for the same trick, time and time again. "You see it girl? You want it?" You grimaced at the slimy texture on your fingers, wiggling the fatty slab in your grip and swallowing the sickness that came from looking at it. Out of, you supposed, ingrained social habits, you gave an awkward smile as you wiggled the meat. In contrast, the wolf had the opposite reaction, her ears immediately perked up, and she leaped into a playful position, front half low to the ground as her tail stuck up, and a low whine escaped her throat, eyes fixated on the meat. Yes, unlike with people, who had a greater capacity for pattern recognition and learning, who followed the fool me once, fool me twice mantra, you could count on animals to be easily deceived over and over without having to change the way you deceived them. This was far from the first time you had pulled this exact move, nor was it difficult to do -- you merely waited for a spare moment to rip out a chunk of the meat and hid it away for a little while while the rest of the pack was not looking, too absorbed in their own gorging to even cast a glance in your direction. "You want it...?" You repeated, wiggling the slab again in front of the wolf's eyes. Drool spilled out of the side of her mouth between her sharp, glistening teeth, and she let out another whine.

This was not the first time this trick had worked. This was not the first time you'd managed to steal and hide a hunk of meat away while the animals gorged themselves on the remains of whatever poor creature fell victim to them. Hell, this wasn't even the first time that this specific trick had worked on this specific individual wolf. You'd come to recognize each of them with time, even assigned them little names in your head by identifiers. She was a mother, one of the wolves that remained behind at the little den while the others went out for hunting, leaving only the nursing females, the smallest pups, and, well, yourself. Albeit in a weakened state in nursing, they were still easily capable of overpowering you, and, through means you honestly did not understand, they somehow knew they were supposed to prevent you from leaving. Even when you stood up, one or more of them would immediately pick their heads up, ears falling flat and even letting out the softest of warning growls.

She whined in front of you, eyes fixated on the slab. You wiggled it again. It was an easy deceit to pull off. "You want it... then go... get it!"

You hurled the hunk of red flesh as far as your arms could manage, and, exactly per plan, the she-wolf immediately bolted in the direction of the throw. And likewise, you turned on your heel and began the now-routine dash in the opposite direction -- the direction of human civilization. That had been the easy part.

It was the rest of the way that would be difficult. This time of day was the only opportunity you had to pull this whole thing off, but the sun was quickly setting, and unlike the wolves, you were not exactly gifted with night vision. You likened the route to an obstacle course, a puzzle -- repeated actions that became muscle memory. The first few times, you'd merely stumbled around in the woods for a few minutes. With each successive attempt, you retained more knowledge of the path, could clear a longer distance in increasingly shorter times, memorized landmarks, remembered little helpful actions and hindrances, and with each successive attempt, you found yourself making it closer and closer to the end of the woods than the time before. There wasn't much else to go by, so you used trees that stood out to you. The huge tree with the hollowed out hole in the center was the first landmark -- go right. The tree that had an oddly-angled branch came next. So on and so on. You measured success by how many of said landmarks you could pass in time, striving to make each a longer and longer venture every time. Just when despair had been finally getting the better of you, the last attempt had had you finding a footpath used by the Springvale hunters, and that meant you were close. If you could just find that again -- there. To say flat ground was a welcome feeling to your bare feet was an understatement. The slimy dirt texture of the forest floor and prickly leaves and pine needles was not a pleasant sensation. Nonetheless, there was no time to savor it or anything, soon, soon, you'd walk on paved streets, and floors, and, and... You stopped for a mere moment, panting, desperately taking in deep breaths to soothe the exhaustion burning in your chest. You darted your head from side to side. There was no sign of anything coming your way. No footsteps or growls in the distance behind you. You felt your heart pounding in your chest, as much from physical exertion as it was from a blooming, disbelieving excitement. I might actually make it.  Your legs felt weak at the prospect, and you steadied your stumbling against a tree. You were certain you'd never made it this far before. It was difficult to process, almost surreal. After so, so, so many times, over the course of months and months, you were so used to being stopped by this point that your brain half-expected it at any moment. You'd really reached a point at which the escape attempts were almost done with a knowing futility, you no longer really had much hope when setting out, merely running on principle and the faint chance that was now so real. You could be stopped any moment. And yet, after a few more breaths, nothing happened. You shook your head to clear the dizziness, taking a deep breath and squinting forward in the twilight. You nearly felt your heart stop when you processed a shape in the distance -- a building. Springvale. It was distant and downhill, but visible. Right there within your reach, and all you had to do was go to it, so you steadied your breath and took off as fast as-- The world suddenly spun around you as something snatched at your ankle. Your shriek echoed off the trees, reverberating until it grew silent. A clanging of metallic sounds accompanied it, rattling hollowed objects triggered into motion. Everything began to settle, the sudden flooding of stimuli to your eyes and the feeling of sudden movement both slowing to a gentle sway. You were unbreathing, unblinking, heart pounding as your vision spun and, in a panicked haze, you desperately darted your eyes and head each way, struggling to process your senses. Your head felt suddenly tight and tense, your upper half heavy, and a burning pain wrapped around your ankle. Everything was... upside down. You looked down -- no, up -- at your feet. One was bent at the knee, falling in the direction of gravity towards your head, the other was extended perfectly straight, tense and unable to move. A cord was snagged around your ankle, a perfect tightened knot that wrapped around the flesh. You looked up -- no, again, down -- at the ground. Nausea lurched in your stomach as you did, seeing the forest floor a good drop below. You took a moment to process. You followed the trail of the rope from where it tugged painfully at your ankle, followed it to the branch it looped over, and down the trunk to the base of the tree, where it was securely tied around a knotted root. The metallic sound had come from what appeared to be collected garbage, metal scraps, a glass bottle or two, and some metal tools and cans all tied up in a net and secured to the spot where the rope met the branch, an alert that the trap had been set off. Your mouth hung open, you blinked over and over, before finally, bitter anger burst in your chest. "Ghhhhh!" You let out a frustrated, furious cry, thrashing wildly and pulling at your scalp. You kicked and struggled, but only succeeded in making yourself swing, making the nausea and dizziness worse. A trap. Of course. The furthest you've ever gotten, and you were stopped by a fucking hunting trap. Damn those Springvale hunters for coming this far out into the woods. It could be worse, you tried to console yourself. It could have been a bear trap, which would have more or less destroyed your leg, possibly taken it clean off. But nonetheless, misery and frustration bubbled up in your chest as you swung back and forth, slowing down to stillness. You'd never made it this close to town before. You could see the road as well, albeit just barely, a few hundred yards in the distance. You could make out where the dirt path became gravel in the distance, upside-down in the last light of the quickly-setting sun, and, as tears filled your eyes, you reached a hand out to it, miserably grasping your hand shut before letting your arm fall. It was so, so close! Now you were trapped, stuck here in this miserable, humiliating predicament, and you'd have to wait to be saved, and inevitably dragged back the way you'd come. You thrashed again, trying and failing to curl your body up and reach your foot. Your fingers just barely grazed the knot of the rope, but even if you could reach it, it was designed for your body weight to hold the knot in place to begin with. You let out a shaky sigh and a small sob, tears dripping directly out of your eyes and falling downward with gravity. You wiped your eyes, and a thought made a bit of nervous, daring hope light up in your chest. You were close to Springvale, right? Maybe you could be heard. This trap was set by the Springvale hunters themselves, right? You'd seen these types before, a snare that, when tripped, released on one side and whipped around the center of the force that tripped the rope, forming a perfect, tight knot around the ankle of the prey before hauling it upwards by use of weight. You took a deep breath and cupped your hands around your mouth. "Help!" You called out, straining out the vowel as long as you could, before inhaling a ragged breath and repeating the action. As the echoes quieted, you waited, but nothing happened. You wriggled and writhed, but only succeeded in making the net of metal rattle. You supposed it helped the hunters hear animals struggling, and led them to the source. But the hunters wouldn't be back out until tomorrow, you couldn't afford to wait for them to come rescue you on their own. You waited a moment, trying again and again to yell. The Springvale hunters, a traveler on the road, hell, you'd accept help from treasure hoarders if they hung out in this part of the wilderness. Anyone, anyone human. Well, except one, preferably, but still. Any other human being. You couldn't even remember the last human interaction you'd had. At least, a fully human interaction, without any licks or whines or growls or other canid behaviors you'd become far too accustomed to. But nobody came. You waited. Tried again. And again. And again. No response. Your head was beginning to pound and throb. You'd black out if you stayed like this much longer, and you were pretty certain it could even kill you. But nothing was responding to your cries for help. You wracked your brain in panic for a solution. An idea popped into your head. You'd seen Razor do it before, and the wolves responded to him even though he produced the sound with a human voice, so maybe you too could... It was embarrassing, but worth a try. You didn't exactly have many options. You jerked your bodyweight in the other direction, making yourself turn to face the woods in the direction you'd come from instead of Springvale. You reached your quickly-numbing arms up and cupped your hands around your mouth, forming your lips into an "o" shape, and, well, swallowed your pride. You didn't have any better ideas. "Awooooo--" You tried to mimic the howls you'd heard so many times as accurately as you could manage, but it came out a bit strained and comical. You waited a moment, and, receiving no response, whimpered in your desperation and tried a second time. Your voice echoed throughout the trees. You weren't certain exactly how it worked, you were pretty certain they had different tones they used, some for aggression, some as a cry of distress, but you weren't capable of telling them apart. You could only hope for the best. It wasn't really as if they could help you, but at the very least, they would probably go find Razor for you. They'd done so before, after another humiliating failure when you'd fallen into a hole in the earth during a past attempt. You'd learned they were far more intelligent than you once thought, and they understood things like that, at least. But gods, did this make you feel dumb. Your face heated with embarrassment with each attempt. You inhaled to try a third time, but as you did, a shrill howl pierced the air from a distance. A response. Your heartrate picked up as a little spark of relief and hope -- albeit dread that lurked in the back of your head -- made you shudder. You howled again, and received a second response. It carried on for a few minutes that way, sounding back and forth, and it sounded like the other was getting closer. Finally, you heard steps, and anticipation swelled in your chest. You were pretty sure that the response howls had been that of an actual wolf -- even you, in your time in these woods, had learned to tell the difference between Razor's vocalizations and that of the wolves. There were simply some aspects of the canid sounds that human vocal chords could only mimic, but not recreate to a perfect likeness, and thus his vocalizations were a bit distinct. Still, you could be wrong, or, even better, perhaps the footsteps coming close to you weren't an animal at all, but perhaps a different figure, maybe a hunter...? No, that was definitely a four-legged gait. That, too, was something you had learned to tell apart, a two-legged gait versus a four-legged one. It kind of came in handy when you were trying to to hide or run and needed to gauge exactly what was hunting you down. You craned your neck to the best of your ability in the direction of the sound. A creature emerged from the trees. You took a sharp breath. ...It was merely a very large, brownish-greyish wolf. It gazed up at you with big black eyes and ears perked up in alertness. You squinted. You'd never seen this wolf before. You were fairly certain of this much; during your time in the woods, you'd learned to distinguish between them pretty well. You learned the little differences -- this one was bigger, this one had a scratch on its ear, this one had a scar on its hip, this one was more brown and this one was more grey, and so on it went. This one was different from all the wolves you'd become familiar with. The wolf sat down, tilting its head at you, tongue lolling out as it panted. It was huge, muscular looking. "Help," you whimpered. As aware as you were that it obviously did not understand, you couldn't think of anything else to do. You flailed a bit in your desperation, and pointed towards the spot where the rope was tied to the tree. "Help me... Come on, please..." The wolf actually followed the line of your pointing, eyes settling on the base of the trap. And, miraculously, moved towards it. Your heart pounded. Did it actually understand? Would it help? It walked over and bit at the rope, shaking its head rapidly in the same way you'd witnessed the wolves kill small prey, or how dogs played with toys. It was helping! You shuddered again, hope burning in your chest, and a tear of relief dripping from your eyes upside-down to the ground below. And if this wolf wasn't from the pack, it wouldn't take you back, right? How, you weren't certain, but the other wolves seemed to understand the... arrangement going on. Many of your escape attempts had been thwarted not by your captor himself, but by the pack -- surrounding you in a circle, barking and growling and snapping at you until you were forced to turn back, even tackling you as you ran, biting your clothes and arms to drag you back. But this wolf would let you go, right? .... Wait a second. Cold dread suddenly made your stomach lurch. This wolf had no reason to help you, and no reason to drag you back. It had every reason to see you as easy prey. Any relief or hope you'd felt was immediately replaced with a chilling rush of panic. Yes, you would be easy prey, right there for the taking. You thrashed about, trying again to reach up and loosen the knot on your foot, but failing. Fuck. You were trapped between two unpleasant options. There was a chance the wolf was just helping, but in the end, it was an animal, not a person, with instincts of goodwill or benevolence. It would follow its instincts. Once you hit the ground, you'd have to run. That was the only solution. But... it also occurred to you only then that you were hanging a good fifteen feet or so in the air. Upside down. What if the fall knocked you out? Hell, what if it broke your legs? What if it broke your spine? If it were Razor himself, he'd lower you down slowly, but the wolf lacked the sense  or ability to do so. You'd just drop. Fuck, fuck, fuck. There was a thick coating of leaves on the ground, which would hopefully help, and this part of the forest had soft, clay-like ground rather than hard rock, but nonetheless, it was a long drop. Dammit! Your body wracked with a sob of frustration, anger, and panic. Why did all of this have to happen to you? You'd asked yourself that that plenty of times. You didn't do anything to deserve-- There was a snapping sound. You shrieked as gravity immediately sent you crashing down, world spinning around you, and you collided with the earth with crash that took the breath from your lungs; the sound flooded your ears, echoed as your head went numb. You landed directly on your back, eyes looking up at the trees and the sky beyond then as the world spun around you and your vision darkened. Pain ran through your body on impact, a rough, blunt sort of pain that ached through your flesh and meat and bones. You groaned in pain, teeth clenched as it flooded your senses, trembling as it slowly began to ebb away after the initial blow. The wolf's face popping into your vision sent you jolting back to awareness. It was startling, it's cold wet nose pressing against your own, and after a moment, it lapped its tongue against your face. Panic seized your entire body, and you were frozen, unable to move, not even breathing, eyes wide in terror. And then it licked you again, letting out a soft, tender whine. It was being friendly. You let out a shuddering sigh as relief washed over you again, and you thanked whatever god was looking out for you for granting you your life. "Th-thank you," you murmured, reaching a trembling hand up to pat the wolf's head, wincing at the soreness in your arm. It whined again, bumping its head against yours. Wolves were far, far larger than you were certain most people realized. Back home, you'd always thought that the howls you heard at night from within the safety of Mondstadt's walls were from creatures no bigger than the large hunting dogs you'd seen in Springvale. In reality, that was not the case. Even the smallest of the wolves were massive in comparison to those dogs, their heads easily twice the size of your own. You'd been utterly terrified of them in the beginning, bursting into frightened tears whenever one made its way over to sniff you in their curiosity, or dump an offering of a small creature's carcass at your feet in a show of friendliness (an unsettling experience, no matter how many time you were told it's good, 'cause they like (y/n)), or lick your face in an attempt to show affection. You'd grown used to it with time. But this wolf was even larger than the majority you'd seen, easily thrice your size in every capacity. Likely a loner separated from its pack. You were aware there were sometimes conflicts between the larger, stronger pack males that ultimately ended in the loser leaving the pack and heading off on its own, although it seemed nearly incomprehensible that a wolf of this size would lose to anything. Had it chosen the route of violence, you wouldn't have stood a chance. You laid there for a moment, head spinning as you took deep, shaky breaths, trying to calm yourself down and regain your sense of control over your body. You curled your fingers and toes, flexed the muscles in your arms and legs. You were a bit scraped up and your entire body still ached from the impact, but miraculously, nothing seemed broken. You closed your eyes, feeling the cool evening breeze and the wet tongue that was repeatedly lapping at your face. Finally, after a moment, with a groan at the ache in your body, you pushed yourself upward with your elbows, flipping over to your hands and knees, pulling your leg forward to stand-- The breath was knocked out of you yet again as a massive weight crashed down onto your body. You clawed at the ground, gasping to regain oxygen, body going tense. "Wh-what-" The creature let his bodyweight fall down on your frame, and you grunted as your upper half slammed into the ground. It rendered you entirely immobile, this wolf was both massive and heavy, you could barely breathe under the sheer mass of its body. You struggled to push yourself back up onto your elbows. "H-hey, what are you--" With a whine, it rutted its hips forward. Oh, fuck. "N-no!" You tried to rear up, pushing your upper half upward on your elbows as hard as you could, to no avail. Its weight was crushing. "B-bad! Bad dog! Stop!" You clawed at the dirt, gasping as it thrust again. "Get off!" It only let out the same high, throaty whine, thrusting its hips several times in quick succession, humping your ass with desperation. You could feel its blunt-ended cock digging into the flesh, making your blood run cold. When it rutted forward, the motion hiked your ragged little dress up, bunching up the fabric and exposing your cunt. You whimpered with fear, desperately trying to drag yourself forward. "Stop, stop, get off!" You thrashed again, achieving nothing by the action. The worst part, the dread that was quickly overtaking your thoughts, was that you knew it was futile. You'd learned a long time ago that your resistance would mean nothing, not by the brutal laws of the world outside of the fragile sense of safety human society provided. It was expected. It happened among the wolves themselves all the time -- the mates were not something that were chosen in the same way humans did. Too many times you'd witnessed the ritual -- the males would fight, snarling and growling and lunging at each other until one would give up and run scurrying away, tail tucked between its legs. Growing up with all the knowledge you'd learned from books and what humans generally observed of the animals, you'd always assumed that from that point, the she-wolves would then gladly and willingly copulate with the victor, but, you'd quickly learned, that was not the case. It had shocked you the first few times, your eyes widening and your mouth dropping open as you witnessed the poor females get tackled, mounted, their whimpers as teeth sank into their shoulders and kept them in place. It was brutal, and yet, you'd come to understand and accept it was simply the way things were. Perhaps the part that had shocked you the most was how accepted it was -- the other wolves would simply look on, adjusted to what was normal among them, and the brutalized female would, from that point on, act as a normal mate to what more or less was originally her assailant -- licking and grooming each other, sleeping next to one another, spending time with each other, all as if such a thing made sense. Given the acceptant, compliant state you sometimes found yourself slipping into, you supposed you weren't too different in that way. Because they're strong, you'd been told. Beating the other male and forcibly mating the female herself signified strength. They were supposed to try to run and fight, and the male was supposed to forcibly overpower them, a display of strength, of suitableness as a partner. That was why fighting back didn't matter -- it was supposed to be that way, in the minds of the animals, and thus they were content with that setup. The present moment was anything but content. Another rut of the wolf's hips brought you snapping out of your brief thought, back to the moment at hand. The forest was quiet aside from your own struggling, the last rays of light were fading from the sky, the moon hanging high in place of their light. You let out a shrill, squeaking cry, thrashing with renewed effort, but, predictably, not even budging. "Get off! Get off me! Stop it, bad dog!" No matter how you tried, you couldn't move your body in the slightest, perfectly pinned still. "Fuck..." It let out another whine, not even seeming to notice your struggles, grasping at your shoulder with its teeth, and you feared that if it bit down, it might shatter your shoulder. It rutted forward, and this time you froze, entire body going tense as the blunt head of its cock pressed firmly against your exposed slit. You finally managed to claw at the leaf-covered ground enough to pull yourself forward, if but just an inch -- and the wolf, snarling, thrust its own body forward to push you back into the same position. One of its front paws reached forward and clawed onto your shoulder, and you squealed as it pulled you back, forming a tiny cut in the flesh of your jugular. Your began to nearly hyperventilate, trembling, breaths shallow and quick. "S-stop..." Your plea was defeatedly quiet, realizing that further protest would only hurt you. Tears gathered in your eyes. Your back was bent at an angle under the sheer weight of the furry mass that kept you pinned, and it felt like your very lungs were crushed, breathing quickly becoming difficult. You began to feel your body tingling with numbness. It was so heavy and difficult to breathe you weren't certain you'd even survive if it fucked you. Panic seized your brain, overriding any coherent thought. There was a snarling, growling sort of noise that cut through the surrounding stillness. It wasn't coming from the creature mounted on your body. It didn't sound canid. It was human. Much like the howls, you had learned, with time, how to distinguish between the real and the imitation, those sounds that, no matter how long of a lifetime of practice one had, could simply not match the vocals of another species. The wolf stopped its motions, turning its head, and likewise immediately transitioned its entire demeanor, tensing up and returning the sound, a low snarl, baring its teeth as its snout wrinkled up. It dismounted your body and lowered itself to the ground, hips and shoulders raised as its core sank low, a preparatory stance ready to lunge. You fell forward, face crashing into the leaves, before scrambling upwards and falling back on your ass, propped up with your hands behind you and your knees bent as you froze, unable to move a muscle, eyes open wide and gasping for breath as air burned in your lungs. You could see red-orange eyes glaring in the moonlight from a short distance, and for once, the face of the wolf-boy made a wave of relief come crashing down, rather than panic at being found. He made another low sound in his throat, a snarling growl. His shoulders hunched up in a similar motion to the wolf, baring his teeth, glare locked on the transgressor. He didn't have a weapon on him, so his hands clenched into fists at his side. You'd witnessed this plenty of times in the past by now, but never before with him as one of the participants. The other male wolves within the pack hadn't exactly taken an interest in you, rather, simultaneously accepted you as one of their own, while seeming to recognize you as something of an "other," as they did him. Among them, though, these conflicts were regularly occurring, a constantly shifting hierarchal dynamic that was weighted in blood and pure brute strength. Your heartrate picked up anew. Strong as Razor may be, this thing was massive. And he didn't have his claymore, you remembered he'd left it near the den earlier, before going on his daily routine to check the various animal traps. This wolf could kill him. And given that it wasn't a pack member, it wouldn't hesitate to do so. The wolf took a few heavy steps forward, growling all the while, and the wolf-boy reciprocated the action, a deep low growl in his throat as he stomped forward, fingers curling into a claw-like shape, not exhibiting so much as the slightest hesitation to show aggression against the massive creature. You tried to stand on your shaking legs, but fell on your ass again. "W-wait, no, r-run," you stammered, words spewing out of your mouth before you could process them, "he'll hurt you--" Your vision went white, bright light exploded all around, a crashing, booming sort of sound cutting off your words. There was a heat to it that you could feel on your skin, but it blinded your vision, leaving you blinking as, in a mere moment, the electric energy faded to a purplish glow that sparked with a buzz in the palm of his hand. The wolf leaped back in terrified shock, immediately flattening its ears, turning and tucking its tail between its legs, scrambling with fear into the darkness of the trees. And just like that, the threat was gone. You were left slack-jawed, mouth hanging open, trembling and panting as you watched it disappear, footsteps growing quieter and quieter until they could no longer be heard. Instead, the leaves to your side crunched in a two-legged pattern as the figure drew closer, and then dropped down to his knees to get on a face-to-face level. You turned your head and your eyes met. His eyes were wide and pupils blown even wider, mouth slightly open, looking you over. His eyes had always had a softness to them, full of light. After a moment, he reached up, slowly, and wiped the tears from your eyes, a soft, unthinking gesture, and leaned forward. He nuzzled his face against yours, and, after a moment, licked a few quick, short laps up the side of your face. It was nothing you weren't very well used to, and you merely sat numbly as he did so. His eyes trailed downward, widening as they met the gash that had been created on your neck by the massive wolf's claws, and he leaned forward again, lapping at your skin. You inhaled a sharp breath at the sting of his tongue on the wound, but you knew it actually was helpful in terms of clotting, so you didn't resist. You sat like that for a moment, silent, still, letting him clean up the wound, saliva naturally helping the healing process. It was bizarrely intimate in its own way, but it certainly wasn't the first time he'd helped in that way with a wound. It stopped stinging after a moment, blood clotting under the wet warmth. He pulled his head back, looking over you again as if to ascertain your unharmed state, eyes wide and expression flat, looking directly at your face - your weary face, trembling lip, expression still uneasy from the remaining shock. "You... Okay?" There was a softness to his face, a wide-eyed look of innocent concern. You did your best to nod. Any hope you'd had left had been crushed at some point in the adrenaline of the encounter, and thus, all chances of escaping gone, defeat and weariness washed over your body, and you slumped forward in exhaustion. Of course, he was unaware of and most likely did not even consider why you suddenly fell against him, he tended to take any action you made at face value and accepted it as simply what it was, and likewise, every action he made was easily interpreted the same way. It was, you sometimes consoled yourself, a rather welcome simplicity in contrast to the hidden and subtle meanings that humans often portrayed through their actions, and you never had to worry about an innocent action being misinterpreted maliciously, nor did you worry that your emotions were too transparent in your actions. Instead, he merely seemed pleased by the gesture, eagerly wrapping his arms around your frame and pulling your closer, rubbing his head up and down so the sides of your faces nuzzled together, squeezing you tightly. "I heard you," he said, a cheerful sort of pride in his voice. "Came to help." You swallowed. "Th-thank you..." As much as his sudden appearance crushed any chance you had of reaching Springvale, you couldn't help but feel a genuine relief, even gratitude, for saving you from what would have undoubted been a highly painful and traumatizing experience, if you'd survived the lack of oxygen. Not that you weren't already getting your fair share of traumatizing experiences out here, but, well, none quite like what your experience would have been had he not shown up. After a still, silent moment of embrace, he released you, shifted and stood up, but then suddenly tensed, and his eyes widened with what seemed like surprise, or perhaps realization, mouth opening slightly. His eyes were cast downward, settled on the cord that was still tightly tied around your ankle, and reached down to loosen the knot, slipping it off and tossing the remaining cord to the side. You made a small sound as if to start speaking, but cut off and fell silent, shutting your mouth. And then, as he came back up, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and processing, mouth slightly open as he looked a bit to one side, then the other, to you, and up to the tree from which you'd hung. The wheels were turning. Finally, after a moment, it seemed to click, his eyes went wide with realization for a split second before he turned his head back towards you and narrowed his eyes in a glare. His "angry" face had always been a bit difficult to take seriously, he had maintained a baby face despite his age, big eyes and soft features making it look like more of a pout than anything, but in time you'd learned the rightful amount of fear to have at seeing it. Your heart sank in your chest. "You ran away again." His voice was a bitter, grumpy mumble. You'd feared that when you noticed the surprising lack of anger up until a few moments ago. That it hadn't yet clicked with him, until now, exactly why you were out here, how you got out here, in the first place. He might have thought the larger wolf had dragged you out here, or, perhaps more likely, it had not crossed his mind at all in the intensity of the previous moments, too focused on conflict and comfort. "I..." You trailed off, trembling. There was a moment of silence. You couldn't exactly argue against it. It was true that he was rather gullible, and would often believe rather ridiculous excuses or explanations that anyone else would never buy, but there were limits to that, and at the present moment, you couldn't think of any excuse that even he would believe. Even if the wolf had come in to drag you away, the she-wolf set to guard you would have made a noise to alert the others, and he knew that. There was a moment of silence, and, not receiving any objection to his claim, he exhaled a frustrated huff through his nostrils. "I'm mad." As nice as it was that you didn't have to worry about being misinterpreted, another pro to your situation was that your captor was easily the most transparent person you'd ever met, bluntly honest, so much so it sometimes worked against him. You were pretty sure he couldn't be indirect or subtle with his words if he tried. Passive-aggressiveness or anything of the sort was foreign. "I'm sorry," you murmured, hoping to ease his anger, but you knew by now those words didn't really hold any meaning to him. He opened his mouth, that same pout on his face, and took a breath as if to speak, but no words came out. He closed his mouth, looking at the ground for a moment, opened again, repeated the process, and again, before roughly shaking his head, head hanging and expression falling to something like irritation and disappointment. With other people, you'd feel more intimidated by silence, silence meant someone was angry and trying to get under your skin. And while he made no attempt to hide being angry, you knew the silence wasn't an intentional passive-aggressive act, but rather, just lacking the proper words. It was a process you went through frequently, and to some degree, you felt bad for him. Having feelings, having complex thoughts, but lacking the knowledge or ability to articulate them, being unable to adequately express what you thought and felt, limited to such simple terms as sad and mad, words that could only convey incredibly simple feelings... you could only imagine how frustrating that would be. He knew that those words weren't enough, but didn't have any other ones to use. You understood why, then, he grunted in frustration, kicking at the ground, sending a few leaves scattering. But you also knew that if he could not express himself with words, actions would have to suffice. You knew better than to expect any different. This routine, despite its variances in the specifics of how the events went down, went like clockwork from this point onward, the moment of defeat. They say humans are, after all, creatures of habit. You nonetheless let out a little surprised sound at the suddenness with which you were lifted by the armpits, quickly moved a few steps to the side and unceremoniously pushed forward, facing one of the many boulders that dotted the forest floor. Instinctively, releasing an exhale of defeat and acceptance, braced yourself against it, hands pressed into the rock. You were technically standing, but leaning far forward, bodyweight resting mostly onto the rock you were bending over on. His front pressed against you, hand pushing your back down into an arch, latching arms around your waist. There was no hesitation, no preparation, merely pulling the fabric of your dress up with one swift motion, and the waist of his pants down in another, all in a matter of a single moment, and rutting against you, once, twice, cock slipping against your folds, and on the third thrust, it actually slid in, pushing about halfway in with harsh force with no warning. You gasped at the sting, clawing at the rock as your face twisted with the slight pain, but his hand gripped hard on your shoulder. "Stay... Still." It was honestly impressive, you sometimes thought, to manage to get a cock inside you so easily with hip angling alone. He'd never thought to use his hands to do so, you guessed due to merely mimicking what he observed, as all humans did. Nonetheless, you let out a mewl at the feeling of friction against your walls as it dragged, pulling out a bit before slamming back in. Then again, faster. And again, faster still. And finally, setting into a rhythm, quick and harsh, your body lurching forward at the force. Defeat and despond had fully set in, and you made no movement to fight back, instead attempting to ease the discomfort by pushing back with the thrusts. And then, after a moment, it stopped. It often did -- again, a set pattern, a routine. Increasingly often these days, he changed his mind at this point, initially going with the instinctive, natural option, but it would take a moment to remember that there was an alternative. You shuddered at the sliding feeling and emptiness as he pulled back out, but even though you braced yourself, the air was knocked out of you as you were flipped over, back hitting the rock -- and this time aching as the bruising flesh from the earlier fall was hit again -- now leaning your weight onto the rock on your back, facing forward. The roughness with which you were tossed about and maneuvered was, you knew, not intentional, nor out of malice, but it always left you disoriented as your vision spun a bit. And it was only a single second before you were filled again, gasping a deep breath and reaching your hands out to claw at his back as you felt yourself stretched apart all in one motion, and your legs fell into the routine position of hooking over his arms. He liked it this way. The human way, he called it, with you on your back in some form rather than on your hands and knees, facing him rather than turning away, which had been the only way you'd done it -- you supposed the only way he had been familiar with -- for a good while. You'd introduced the position once when your arms and legs were exhausted from strain, and, perhaps to your relief, it became the most common way that the routine went down. You supposed that, deep down, no matter the way in which a person was raised, there were certain innate needs and instincts that could not be overridden, woven into the very biology of a person. For humans, intimacy, the feeling of affection, and you supposed that that itch was met for him more adequately this way. And he liked to mimic normal behaviors in that regard. You recalled a time ago, back before you were brought out here for good, the wide-eyed fascination with which he'd watch passing couples of people on the road and streets, would make an attempt to imitate the same actions, albeit lacking in the same gentleness, technique, or appropriate timing. Reaching out to grab and hold your hand (with a crushing grip) as you walked, awkwardly pressing your mouths together (so firmly that your teeth clacked and your jaw hurt). That, at least, had gotten better. Now, it was somewhat gentle, he leaned down and pressed his mouth to yours. Gentle, but still very awkward, lacking in the rhythmic motions with which you'd expect, more like holding still but pressing firmly against you, but lapping a quick lick to your lips. You could taste blood on his lips and tongue, a permanent coppery taste that never went away. That didn't last long. It was hard to maintain the mouth contact when he started rutting into you, causing your body to rock in jerking motions up and down on the surface, and his face buried itself into your shoulder, panting shallow breaths that were warm against your flesh. And again, like clockwork, you knew how the issue of your body rocking back and forth, disrupting the rhythm, would be solved, and you inhaled as you braced yourself, first for the tightening grip of arms around your waist, and then-- You gasped a sharp breath despite your mental preparation as teeth sunk into your jugular, opposite the one with the injury, further locking your bodies together. He growled, a low throaty sound. Teeth gnawed at your shoulder before releasing and sinking down in a different spot, digging into the flesh just short of the force it would take to break it. You cursed whichever god thought it would be funny to give him abnormally sharp canines. Even with your weight leaning against the rock, a good portion of it was still being supported by his arms, which, with any normal human being, you would hope would cause enough strain to perhaps slow down the actual thrusting, but you knew better by now. Nor did you expect any kind of buildup or anything, no, you gritted your teeth at the immediate fast pace that dragged against your insides, raw and with little fluid to lessen the friction. The quickness and suddenness always left you sore, your internal parts not having enough time or stimulation to expand or prepare, so each thrust that slammed into the top of your insides sparked a shock of pain and pleasure sensation so strong your entire body jolted with the feeling. The bruising soreness of the recent abuse to the same spot -- how many times earlier today, three, four? -- heightened the sensitivity. And, as with the rest of the routine, you didn't expect words. You couldn't blame him -- talking was hard enough when he was focused, you imagined it was much harder when preoccupied with sensation, and with less blood in the brain. It also made sense that he didn't seem to process anything you said either -- any slow down or wait fell on deaf ears, or rather, non-comprehending ears. Eventually you, too, fell into the same state- "I-- hah, ah, w-wait, mnn-" -- unable to form words, unable to take in anything around you, pure sensation clouding your brain of any and all thoughts. You heard your own little cries ring out and echo through the empty forest, and soft, pleasured whines in your ear, hot breath from panting that grew faster and faster as the thrusts became more erratic and harder, slamming in and out, the wet, slapping sound ringing out with your own voice. It pushed against all the right spots, stretching you incomprehensibly full, overloading your brain with the feeling, and the harder your nails sank into his back, the harder his teeth bit down into your neck. The sparks of pain from the feeling felt small, distant, erased by the overwhelming good feeling created by adrenaline and pleasure, and the thought of how badly it would hurt later was the furthest thing from your mind in the moment. And because you knew words meant nothing in the heat of these moments, you had learned that announcing or warning for orgasm didn't matter. Neither of you needed words -- as with many things, you could communicate it without them just fine. He could still sense it, the way you clenched and your hands grasped at his hair and raked down his spine, and in response, the thrusting somehow grew harder and faster still. A perfect and clearly understood communication as clear as any verbal exchange. The squealing you made, the way your body spasmed and your back arched, was better than anything you could have said, really. You weren't... actually fully certain he understood the action as anything other than communication, like a message indicating "cum now." You assumed that was what it meant to him, since, as always, you felt the movement stop, panting as he pushed into your one more time, holding your hips as close as possible as you felt a twitching inside. It was always perfectly coordinated like that. The peak was always too short, always that same burst of feeling that you wished could last just a moment longer, leaving you panting. Heavy breaths in and out, shuddering, sweaty flesh clinging to each other. You could feel the arms that held your legs up shaking with aftershock, forehead falling to rest against the spot between the mounds of your chest. Then, after a moment, a nuzzle, slowly rubbing a cheek against your collarbones. As soon as that stopped, his head popped up again, looking up at your face with those same wide amber eyes, soft and somehow, despite everything, they always seemed so innocent and bright. A curious, but fairly neutral, content sort of wide-eyed gaze. Anger resolved. Sometimes you were grateful it was that easy. "Ok. You're... good, now." You understood without needing it explained. "Good" indicated something along the lines of fixed or resolved, the phrase "you're good" indicating, in this context, resolution. You assumed it had originated from listening to others in some context or another. You swallowed, and nodded. There was no point in fighting now. A sort of numbing aftershock had set in, and your head was spinning so much that even if you ran, you might fall over on your own without the inevitable tackling. It was a struggle for another day... the same conclusion this always, always resulted in, a conclusion you reached more and more quickly each time, but you tried to put the concern that thought sparked away, merely standing on trembling legs. "...Stupid hunting trap," you muttered, giving the remains of cord a kick into the leaves. He tilted his head and made a soft hm? of confusion. "Th-the trap," your voice was raspy. "They laid out traps for - for catching animals, the hunters, you know." He blinked for a moment as he processed your words, then shook his head, but smiled, beaming with pride. "Mm-nn, I made it. Put lots of them around here." You squinted, head jerking up to scan the treeline - sure enough, now that you looked closer, you could see several treetops dotted with similar nets full of scraps set to make a sound when triggered and struggled against. In fact, the more you gazed around, you realized there were easily dozens and dozens of similar traps, some of different styles and shapes, all perfectly lining the edge of the woods before the road. "...You won't catch things like that," you muttered. "It's too close to the end of the woods." Another slightly confused stare. He shook his head. "Traps are... for you." You could always count on him for two things. Undying loyalty, and obtuse honesty. You blinked at him, expression flat in blunt surprise, then, with a crooked smile, you let out a single huff of bitter, tired laughter. You were numbed to the point that you were, at the very least, able to recognize the humor of it all. Another way of coping, perhaps. It only occurred to you then, as your thoughts cleared, how relief had washed over you when the lone wolf had run out into the night, but your mind had not been focused on your own violation. You remembered your words. Run, he'll hurt you. Your only concern in that moment had been his safety. The thought set off some sort of alarm bell in your head, but the utter exhaustion made it difficult to place much concern in anything.

Your legs were trembling in aftershock, numb and heavy, but it wasn't as if that mattered. Even as you briefly put a hand to the stone beside you to lean your weight onto in an effort to stand, you knew you wouldn't be walking anyway, that wasn't part of the routine. And sure enough, as you got about halfway upward, arms wrapped around your waist instead, and you were roughly maneuvered, tossed like a ragdoll, knocking the breath out of you as you were tossed over his shoulder. "Okay, we're going home, now." He started taking a few heavy steps forward, not even struggling in the slightest to carry your full bodyweight, instead walking as if you were light as air. You didn't protest. You slumped over defeatedly, merely casting your gaze all around, trying desperately to memorize the locations of at least a few of the traps in the dark, but knowing full well in the back of your mind you'd never get past them all. No matter how you may outsmart them, you could never win. It occurred to you that, in a way, you were the one falling for the same trick over and over, continuously placing a ridiculous hope in escape and falling for your own foolishness time and time again. Perhaps that made you a bit more like the animals than you liked to admit.

John and Mary Grayson were kind of insane when you think about it. Flying without a net and all. Although, I think it's interesting that if we really wanted to, we could almost assume their reasoning for doing something so dangerous via Dick's own reasoning for skydiving.

They say skydiving is for people with a death wish. I’ve come to learn it’s for people with a life wish. A wish for things to be as amazing as jumping out of a plane on a beautiful clear day from so high up that you feel you can almost touch the stars. And that’s what I am going to do soon. Make the great leap. Touch the stars. - Nightwing #141

Surprises

Based on this request: “Divergent imagine the reader is from Amity and is going threw dauntless initiation and she has a hard time dealing with it but copes with song writing and singing and Eric catches her singing near the chasm.”

masterlist

Eric Coulter isn’t usually the type to be surprised. He figured that out for himself after he decided to come to Dauntless, after he chose to win every single fight that came his way. He’s been leading initiation for a few years now, and he’s yet to find a single trainee that actually makes him question himself. They’re all the same, aren’t they? They all think they’re the greatest thing to ever hit the city, they all get destroyed by training just to build themselves back up again. The same thing happens every year, and Eric has seen it all.

Still, when he stands listlessly on the edge of the Dauntless roofline waiting for the next trainload of potential initiates to arrive, he feels something he hasn’t felt in a long time. It hits him in the span of half a second, when he begins to focus on the figures leaping from the quickly approaching train cars and sees a flash of yellow, Amity yellow. Eric isn’t the kind of person to get surprised by the initiates, or at least he didn’t think he was. Maybe he was wrong.

Eric is used to keeping up appearances. So, despite the fact that he is tempted to drop all pretense and just stare at the girl currently dusting gravel and small pieces of rock from the torn knees of her- yes, Amity yellow- pants and shirt, he doesn’t. That makes him a little better than the other trainees, at least. Their jaws practically dropped when she first stepped off the train, and they watch her now as she strides briskly through the crowd to reach Eric like the rest.

Despite the fact that he’s kind of fascinated by this (an Amity showing up to Dauntless? Has the world ended?) Eric still has a role to play. So, by the time the other trainees manage to make it over to him, he’s had enough time to hide his surprise away behind folded arms and shoulders thrust back in a classic display of confidence. Eric knows exactly what the new initiates are seeing: a Dauntless leader a few years older than them, someone who looks like he could kill them a dozen times over without breaking a sweat. They’re not wrong, and he’s proud of it. That just adds to the aura.

This is why Eric is able to keep his back straight and expression unbothered, despite the fact that his eyes want to keep returning to that one spark of yellow in the midst of all this black and white and blue. Usually, most Dauntless initiates were either born in the faction or came from Candor, maybe even Erudite, but Amity is practically unheard of. In fact, Eric doesn’t even know that he’s seen a single Amity go through training in the entire time he’s been here.

Eric clears his throat once he’s garnered a substantial audience, and addresses the upturned faces. He can tell by the fact that the trainees keep eyeing the gap in the roofline behind him that more than a couple of these guys are afraid of heights, which makes him smirk a little. It’s always fun to watch the cowards jump, they tend to scream at hilarious intervals.

“I’m Eric, I’ll be one of your initiation leaders. If you want to be a part of Dauntless, this is the way in.” Eric pauses from his relentless stare across the trainees to gesture towards the expanse of nothingness behind him. He knows that there’s a net at the bottom, that this little stunt is no more threatening than a quick game of hopscotch, but the initiates don’t. In fact, he’s not even sure that the Dauntless-born are aware of this, which makes the first step of training all the more fun. 

When he’s greeted by nothing more than blank stares, Eric claps his hands together, silently delighting in the way it makes more than a couple initiates flinch. “Alright, don’t all go at once. Who’s going to be first?” There are the usual murmurs and declarations that this is absurd, but despite all this, someone steps forward. At first, Eric sees nothing more than a brief shock of movement as the initiate attempts to push through the crowd of trainees, and then he realizes who it is. The Amity girl, come once again to surprise him.

She hovers by the roof, then climbs up onto the edge near Eric. She glances down one last time, then leans forward into the fall. Although Eric’s seen enough kids jump that this part usually doesn’t intrigue him anymore, he can’t help but break his usual pattern and glance over to watch her as she goes. She looks almost like the few ancient paintings Eric has seen in old class textbooks- the Renaissance-era ones of angels and ethereal spirits. The Amity girl almost seems to hang there in the air, arms falling slightly to her sides as she plummets. The yellow cloth of her apparel catches at the wind, and Eric has the foolish thought that she looks like a match dropped down the dark opening until she fades from view and he can see her no longer.

Once the girl is no longer in his frame of view, Eric shakes himself, and returns back to normal. Not wanting to seem less brave than an Amity, the other initiates begin to come forward and jump as well. Eric allows himself to have his usual bit of fun as he watches the terror in the trainees’ faces just before they fall, although it isn’t quite the same. Whenever he looks away for longer than a second, he seems to see that Amity girl again behind his eyelids, the spark of yellow fading away into the darkness. 

Eric curls his hands into fists by his sides, so tight that his fingernails slice into his palms. He needs to get a hold of himself. How many times has he done this initiation before? He can’t let one girl make him lose track of his job, even if that girl happens to be utterly unlike any Dauntless he’s ever met before. Eric can’t help but wonder what made her decide to join Dauntless. How do you corrupt someone like that into joining Dauntless, the darkest faction of them all?

Eric isn’t sure of the answer even a week or so into the program. He’s had plenty of time to learn about the Amity transfer, sure. Her name is Y/N. She’s best at the team exercises, which makes sense, and activities that involve precision, like throwing knives or shooting guns, which makes less sense. Despite all this, though, despite the fact that Eric’s been watching her more closely than the others, he still can’t see the darkness in her that every other Dauntless seems to have.

To be honest, Eric has no idea why she would join Dauntless. She seems hesitant to hurt people in the fights, like she draws back seconds before she punches someone hard enough to injure them. She keeps losing matches because she won’t commit to taking it all the way and winning, even if it means that it might get her hands a little bloody. It makes no sense to him- what else would Dauntless represent? This is power. This is freedom from fear. How could she want anything else?

Eric is not supposed to be biased towards the initiates. He’s never had a problem with this before, but for some reason, he keeps finding himself watching Y/N’s fights across the room, or silently appraising her marksmanship when he’s supposed to be correcting someone else. Eric doesn’t know what’s gotten into him, but he’s not entirely sure that he can make it stop. For some reason, he can’t seem to turn his thoughts away from Y/N, even though she’s no longer wearing the eye-catching yellow.

Eric is walking back to his apartment after a long day when he first hears it. For a second, he thinks that he didn’t hear anything at all. It’s late at night now- after initiation finally ended, he had to do some training of his own, and then Max wanted to meet and discuss how the trainees were progressing to make sure everything was on track. By the time he finally got out of everything, it was so late that most everyone was asleep or out at someone else’s place.

That’s why it makes no sense that he would hear something that sounds almost like a voice, almost like someone singing. Maybe Eric is more tired than he’d thought, and he’s literally half-dreaming as he trudges back to his place. But there it is again- a raised note or two, carrying through the halls. This time, he’s sure of it- it’s someone singing, and it is most definitely there.

Eric follows the sound without questioning it further. He walks through the twisting corridors like he is dreaming after all, but he goes nonetheless. He vaguely recognizes where he’s going, but it’s only when Eric’s feet stop at the entrance to the Pit that he realizes where he ended up. The sound is louder now, echoing up across the walls. There’s no one on the walkways, no one lingering near the door, but it’s there.

Eric turns and heads down the stairs, walking to the ground level. There, at last- a figure, sitting with her back to the stone wall of the chasm, head tilted up to the sky as if singing to the heavens directly. Here, the sound is practically impossible to ignore, but not in a bad way. No, not at all. In fact, it’s actually really good.

Eric doesn’t recognize the melody, nor has he heard the words before, but that’s not exactly going to stop him from appreciating it. The notes seem to hang in the air, one by one, then soar up to the very top of the chasm in a crescendo that could take his breath away. Eric is not usually one to appreciate the beauty of things, too caught up is he in what he can take instead of admiring, but he knows this to be true: this singing is one of the most beautiful things he’s ever witnessed. The most beautiful thing of all- well, that might be the singer herself, the former Amity whose eyes are now widening when she realizes that she’s no longer alone. Y/N.

Y/N stops singing when she notices Eric, and the abrupt, jarring silence drags him back to reality. Y/N stands up hastily as he walks closer. “Sorry- I didn’t know anyone was still up- I’ll go back to the bunks-” Eric reaches out and takes her hand, just to keep her there. He should let go of her once she turns back to face him, but for some reason he can’t quite convince his fingers to let go of hers.

“No, it’s fine. Your singing, it was-” He breaks off uncomfortably. Despite his confidence in almost everything Dauntless, Eric doesn’t know how to handle a situation like this. There’s no way to talk military strategy or combat tips when it comes to telling a girl that her voice makes Eric think that he’s met an angel in real life.

Eric tries again. “It was really good. Don’t apologize.” A half smile touches the edges of Y/N’s lips. “Really? I used to do it a lot back in Amity, but it didn’t seem to fit in here.” Eric grins in spite of himself. “Yeah, the a cappella part of Dauntless initiation got taken out a while ago. Didn’t really fit with the whole ‘dangerous and brave’ theme.”

Y/N laughs in earnest now, and Eric can’t decide which sound is prettier, that laugh or her singing from earlier. He thinks briefly that he might have to hear both again, just to be sure. “Yeah, I kind of got that.” Eric clears his throat. “I’m glad to hear it, though. I didn’t recognize the song.” She nods. “Songwriting is a habit of mine. It helps me remember that there’s more to life than initiation, you know? Especially since it’s not going so well for me.”

This last sentence is spoken entirely as a fact, with no calls for sympathy or requests for help. Eric has to respect that- Y/N knows exactly where she stands, but she’s alright with that. He couldn’t say the same thing about most of the other trainees. Still, though, Eric feels the need to say something. “It gets better after a while. If you manage to get through the first stage, you’ll be able to go to the mental training, and I think you’ll be good at that.”

Y/N brightens at this. “You think so?” Eric nods. “You seem like the kind of person who would be good at that sort of thing.” He’s not entirely sure if this is a compliment or not, but Y/N smiles at him again, so he doesn’t really care. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. Guess that gives me more to fight for, you know?”

Eric smiles at that. “I’m glad to hear it. See you around, then.” He doesn’t entirely want to leave, not really, but when Y/N squeezes his hand once more before letting it go, Eric can convince himself that he can hold on another day. Y/N turns and leaves, heading back up the stairs. Eric watches her go.

He’s not used to this side of him, the person who would be content to talk with a girl like Y/N and smile when she smiled at him. All the same, he’s not entirely sure that he minds. If Y/N can pull through the fighting and get to the fear landscapes- well, he’ll do anything he can to help her through it. Besides, judging by the fact that she’s willing to work through it too, that shows that she’s got bravery. That’s a sign of Dauntless, and that’s a sign that Eric can have her in his future again. Anything for that.

requested by @cokecola4211​

eric coulter/divergent tag list: my songwriting muse @rogueanschel​, @dindjarinneedsahug​

Sam is crammed with people.