chasing pavements

lexi. she/her. thirty. est. low activity, multimuse indie blog. minors dni. seeking dash & discord partners. established october 2021, recreated march 2023. ©

rules // muses // opens // plots

❛⸻ ADDISON INGRAM. she/her. twenty one. heterosexual. college student. sadie sink.

❛ ⸻ ALARA SATIK. she/her. twenty eight. bisexual. movie & television actress. hande erçel.

❛ ⸻ ALABAMA ALDEN. she/her. twenty five. bicurious. flight attendent & insta model. madelyn cline. starters. aesthetics. more.

❛ ⸻ AVA LUCAS. she/her. thirty two. bisexual. surgical resident. greta onieogou.

❛ ⸻ BECKETT TAYLOR. he/his. thirty seven. bisexual. journalist. sebastian stan.

❛ ⸻ BLAKE NAVARRO. he/his. twenty three. bisexual. physical therapist & soccer coach. froy gutierrez.

❛ ⸻ CAROLINE SHEPPARD. she/her. bisexual. twenty eight. city councilperson. florence pugh.

❛ ⸻ EMILIA WRIGHT. she/her. twenty three. bisexual. professional ballerina. grace van dien.

❛ ⸻ JADE THOMPSON. she/her. twenty three. bisexual. professional musician. madison bailey.

❛ ⸻ KYRA TAHANI. she/her. twenty. homosexual. student. erana james.

❛ ⸻ MILES CARVER. he/his. twenty nine. homosexual. paramedic. ronan rubinstein.

❛ ⸻ RAFAEL SANTANA. he/his. twenty nine. bisexual. professional hockey player. taylor zakhar perez.

❛ ⸻ REAGAN BRADLEY. she/her. twenty three. homosexual. restauraunt hostess, escort & only fans model. reneé rapp.

☾

Delaware can feel the tension rippling between them when he pulls back, just slightly. He’s worried for a moment of what her reaction will be. Everything feels so volatile, like a blink in the wrong direction might set them off. Delaware isn’t sure if she wants to kiss him or smack him for a moment when their eyes meet. His heartbeat has to be audible from a mile away. Her voice catches over his question, and he feels the need to close the distance between them, to kiss and touch her again, like gunpowder settling over his skin, waiting for the spark to catch and explode. 

And there her words are the flame he has been waiting for, and something delicate and tucked away snaps inside of him. It takes his self-control along with it.

His eyes are hungry as he takes in every inch of her skin, exposed as her shirt is nearly ripped off of her and tossed to an empty corner of the room. Delaware moves fast, too fast for any human eye to track as he lifts up from his chair to carry her over to his bed. His arms hook under her and he stands, effortlessly despite the addition of her weight, keeping her as close as he can. Their mouths meet in another clash of want and dominance, one that he is intent to win. It’s a mix of lips, tongue, and teeth as desire rips through both of them.

Once he’s close enough to the end of the bed, he tosses her down, ripping his own shirt off. The fabric stretches and gives way as the pieces of it are ignored. He’s on top of Atlanta in a moment. A growl rips out of him at the first press of their bare skin against each other, and Delaware pins her to the bed underneath him, intent on kissing every single inch of her.

          She’d lost all sense of decorum, but maybe she’d lost that years ago anyway. All she could really feel was the heat of his skin, hear the pounding of his pulse like a drum beat echoing war songs in her head. Her thoughts were reduced to single syllables:  Now. Touch. Faster. More.

          Her shirt is finally ripped off of her, leaving behind a chill that ravaged up her body, but it had nothing to do with the cool air. The pack was so comfortable around each other, it certainly wasn’t as if this was the first time Delaware was seeing her body. He’d seen it hundreds of times. But this was different, because he held her like he’d never touched anything so precious before. Like his fingers were worshipping her thighs, her waist, her chest. He felt like hard marble against the smooth satin touch of her skin. She’d ached before but it was never anything like this. 

          She was panting, gasping, desperate to breathe, because she’s not sure she’s actually inhaling oxygen anymore. It might as well have been kerosene, the way her skin feels like it burned. A stifled moan, her hand in his hair and her mouth on his shoulder, biting down because she couldn’t handle the delirious sounds coming out of her own mouth. 

☾ Delaware has pictured kissing her countless amounts of times. There have been moments over the last couple of years, some more memorable than others, where it has almost happened. Afterwards, once they separate, the what-if game always comes into play. What if Del kisses her mid-fight, where the tension is palpable and the anger simmers in his veins. What if he kisses her after a cup of coffee, slow and sweet like they have all of the time in the world before the pups are up. What if he just does it randomly, out of the blue during one of their game or movie nights when there is just so much affection between them and their self-built family? Every time Delaware runs through scenarios there is always trepidation, worry, or some awkward other force that stops him. The want for her is a pull he’s had since they first met, but he has spent so much time overthinking and over planning that nothing good can come out of it. He expects their first kiss to be clumsy and awkward after years of missteps and almost-couldhave-beens.

It’s not. The two of them fit together in an uncanny way that has him flushing, his entire body attuned to her in an animalistic way that is more instinct than thought. For the first time Delaware doesn’t think, not rationally. Instead his head swims of Atlanta. The feel of her pressed against him. The taste and smell of her. The soft sound she makes when his tongue demands entrance into her mouth. The whimper when he bites down on her lower lip. The warmth of her waist under his fingertips.

It’s too much and not enough all at once, and Delaware starts losing control, inch by inch. The growl actually manifests, escaping as a deep rumbling sound that he knows she can feel, pressed flush against him. His eyes shine and dilate, pupils completely blown out. His grip, the hand in her hair, tightens as he detaches his mouth from her, teeth scraping down the side of her neck in between messy, open-mouth kisses he places there. The urge to mark her screams at him and Delaware has to force it back.

It takes all of his control to push back, his breath coming out in short, hard pants as he looks up at her. It’s a strange feeling, having to tilt his neck up to see her as she’s in his lap, and Delaware swallows hard as he takes in the gorgeous sight of her. Atlanta looks positively wrecked, disheveled from his hands, lips slightly swollen from the intensity of their kisses.

“We should talk,” he mutters, but there is a lack of decisiveness as his eyes trail back to her lips and the desire to kiss her until she’s breathless and pull her even closer wages war with the logical side of his brain. “Or take this to the bed.”

          Being a werewolf, there were many times that Atlanta felt beholden to her body. The drawn out agony of a full moon, the daily wear and tear of shifting, the time she’d picked up a silver necklace and it had scalded her hand. There were days when she began to feel like she was just a vessel, an animal trapped inside her mostly human body, waiting to get out. There were even times where she had even considered it, back in the beginning. To just turn, let herself run free and never come back to the human world. 

          None of those times had prepared her for this. It was like every inch of her skin was brand new, being touched for the first time. A trail of sparks set off where his hand skimmed along her hips and up to her waist, burning, bruising touches that felt too much and too little at the same time. Instead of the stark separation of being a wolf, this was her body’s firm reminder that this time, she was blessedly human. 

          She could barely hear the sounds leaving her mouth, but they’re not sounds she’s ever made before. Never has she felt so carefully taken apart. And god, all this was just from one fucking kiss.

         Gasping, Atlanta dropped her head back and zeroed in on the feeling of his mouth against her neck. Her fingers gripped in his hair tight, dragging him in closer as if mere centimeters away was just too far. She blinked slowly, trying to pull herself together enough to meet his eyes, but she was too far gone to be saved. His eyes were so dark and distracted, his hair, usually so neatly styled, in complete disarray from her fingers. 

           “Talk?” Her voice cracked, caught in her throat. Like her mouth had decided she was never speaking again; she existed only to be kissed. 

           She thought for a moment, nearly second guessed herself. But never before had acting on instinct come so naturally, made her feel so alive. She was tired of thinking and over thinking and holding herself back. This was what they should have been doing all along.

☾

There is an echo of disappointment and confusion that lingers in the recesses of his mind that Delaware knows does not belong to him. It mixes with his own frustration, putting him in an awful mood that all of the other pups pick up on the second that Atlanta leaves the kitchen. There is an invisible bubble put around the Alpha, a sold three foot barrier that separates even the bravest of his pack and his personal space. The rest of breakfast has a dissonance in his rhythm that is noticeable. The water for the french press over-boils as he takes too long to line up the eggs. He misplaces the black pepper and can’t find the container of it anywhere. The top of the salt comes off and flies around the counter in an unlucky puddle. He growls as he cracks an egg too hard, the hissing press of skin against the metal skillet sounding as the shell is pulverized. 

“Del?” Ark calls out to him as he robotically flips another fried egg and puts it off onto a serving plate. Delaware blinks out of his own trance, trying to put a damper on the emotions running rampant through him. It’s the worst part of their link as a pack, and especially the imprint link between himself and Lanta, and Delaware wishes he could just sever it for just a moment. Delaware turns to look over his shoulder to see the kitchen suspiciously vacated of all other pack members; Arkansas must have drawn the short straw.

“Make sure the chore list gets updated. I’ll be in my room, working.” The ‘dont bother me’ goes unsaid, and Ark just gives him a small, sympathetic smile as he picks up the last egg with his hands and shoves it into his mouth so it doesn’t go to waste. 

His work is more of the same frustration. Delaware finds himself unable to fully focus on the pages he’s editing with all of the emotions of the day, his pack, and his goddamn stubborn imprint running through him. He finds himself re-reading the same paragraphs multiple times and pressing the keys of his new laptop hard enough to hear the plastic snap and crack. He overthinks the scene in the kitchen over and over again, running a thousand scenarios through his head. What if he had kissed her, what would her reaction be? A laugh, at him for being so presumptuous? A slap, for his insolence? A lack of reaction entirely, as he misreads the situation? More importantly, what if she had kissed back? The thought plagues him. Most of the pack seems to pick today to go into town or be out of the house, and Delaware feels an awful headache building at the crown of his head as the silence settles around him. His hands hover over the keyboard, a scathing remark poised at the tips of his fingers that his poor employer does not deserve, when Atlanta comes barreling through his room. 

He barely has time to turn to look at her, still seated in his chair, when he feels the harsh connection of their lips. Warmth hits Delaware all at once, a dominance growl building steady in his chest as her show of aggression. His senses are overwhelmed with Atlanta, so much that he doesn’t hear Arkansas and Maryland scrambling out of the house and away from the scene as the front door slams shut.

For once, instead of thinking, Delaware just reacts. He swivels the chair, turning his head to put him at a better angle to kiss her back. His hands are greedy, pulling her forward until she’s balanced on his lap and flush against him. The dam breaks and a soft noise escapes him at the feel of her body against him, her lips desperate to quell the growing tension that’s been simmering between them for years. His teeth nip at her lower lip as he takes control of the kiss from her, unable to push down the urge to finally claim his mate as he own. One of his hands tangles in her unruly hair and pulls, and the other stays around her small waist, refusing to let her go now that he finally has her.

          She felt the frustration in her body, this vibrating tension like a bell after it had been struck. Ringing, a constant, hollow ringing, pulsing through all of her veins and pressing against her skin. Atlanta felt like she was a bomb that had been carefully built, the timer clicking down second after second. Bound to go off any moment, the tension building, and as their lips met, she shattered.

          She made a noise when he moved closer, a sound of surprise abandoned in her throat. Surprise that yes, he was, he really was, kissing her back. But at the same time, it was like a key had being clicked into a lock. One touch and the only part of her that was empty, that had sat broken and lonely for so long, snapped into place. And with that came a feeling of disbelief... 

          Why had they waited so long?

          He tasted like black coffee, like those stupid peppermint candies he was always crunching on, the tiniest hint of sugar from the syrup still on his lips. The movement was so seamless that she didn’t even realize it was happening, until she caught herself pressing back against his thighs. Pressing hard, like the thin layers of fabric between them were far too much. Already her hand was edging past the neck of his tee shirt, fingers softening against his hair. How long had she wondered, dared to think even for a moment of what it might feel like to touch him? She hadn’t, she’d fought back against every animal instinct that drove her to be close to him. To give into it then, to finally melt into submission to the urge, sent a rush straight to her head. And then to every inch of her, a desperate heat under her skin, aching for him.

☾

All of Delaware’s senses are honed in on her. He hears the intake of her breath, the stutter of her heart, feels the warmness of her skin despite the feather light touch. Atlanta is so close that the coffee smell overwhelms the pancakes, and he takes in a slow, deep breath. For supernatural creatures, they move so slow and careful around each other. It would be laughable if the tension wasn’t so thick between them, awkward and charged for far too long. Would Delaware leaning in, succumbing to the desire, be a relief or a let down at this point? He isn’t sure, and his hesitation to close the distance between them makes the decision for them.

Delaware hears the telltale patter of feet on the stairs, and whatever trance he has been stuck under snaps apart. He stiffens, leaning back and away from her personal space. The desire to kiss her, to set something in motion after running in place for so long lingers in his chest. He wonders if she can feel that, too. He keeps his gaze down at the plate, feigning interest in the waffles he has left. His appetite is gone now.

“Coffee?” Texas asks, completely oblivious the scene he just interrupted. Delaware gets to his feet to walk over to the large coffee pot; what’s left in the french press isn’t enough for a full cup, let alone a pack of sleepy, grumpy wolves. He turns on the oven, grateful for the distraction it brings.

“I’ll get it started. Lanta made waffles. I’m going to fry up some eggs.”

           She forgot how to breathe in that moment, her body poised on the edge of her seat. It was a little like deer in the headlights, a frozen moment while everything around her seemed to be  moving at lightning speed. Nothing was moving at all, just the anxious beating of her heart. 

           And if anyone had asked, yes, she considered herself tough. She hardly ever cried, even through the bone-breaking agony of shifting forms. She didn’t spill all of her emotions at the slightest inclination,  or get emotional over some cheesy hallmark movie. She was proud of the way she kept herself together, being a steady, solid leader for her pack. 

         But in that moment, for just half a second, she let the sheer disappointment hit her like a train. Her head dropped, her eyes closed. God, was she ever going to be good enough for him?

         And then she boxed that shit right back up. Made nearly a dozen more waffles as the pack began to wake up, started the laundry before they’d even finished breakfast, took out the trash and ran a quick perimeter patrol, drove the van into town to get the oil changed and pick up groceries. Atlanta kept herself busy, every second of every fucking hour, in the hopes that her brain would eventually move on. Would stop lingering over the milliseconds that they’d spent so close together, the hopefulness that had felt like a light switched on in her chest, the ache of failure as they both closed themselves off yet again.

          Of course, she couldn’t. She couldn’t stop reliving it, over and over, hundreds of times in her head before noon, replaying like the slow motion playback of a football game. And it just got worse every time, the bitter aftertaste staying in her mouth. 

☾

With the asbestos debacle finished, they can enjoy their breakfast. Probably. Delaware can feel Atlanta’s hesitance to sit next to him and guilt hits him for a moment. He banishes it away instantly, not wanting her to feel it through their link. Delaware blames himself for their lack of closeness. Imprinting isn’t something he planned on, at least not this decade, and living with an equally stubborn soul hasn’t always boded well for them. There has been denial, resistance, and even resentment between the two of them over the last couple of years. There have been good memories, too. Warm days spent together, many cups of coffee shared, drunken nights cuddled up near each other. A bunch of almosts, not never quite anything more.

He watches her eat out of the corner of his eye, smirking when she rips apart the waffle like a barbarian. The smell of syrup is so sweet to his nose, flooding through the kitchen. Delaware practically gets cavities just sniffing it, and has no idea how Atlanta can enjoy dousing her waffles in it. 

“Sorry,” he grumbles at the physical touch, voice barely audible as he looks over at her again. The last thing he wants is to invade her personal space, even if there is an undercurrent of constant ache to have her nearby. In her haste to shovel waffles into her mouth like they have a time limit before they disappear, there is the smallest amount of syrup on Atlanta’s chin, right under her lips.

“You have…” Delaware’s hands have a mind of their own as he swipes it with his thumb, the rest of his hand cupping her face for just a lingering moment before he realizes himself. He lets his hand drop before bringing his thumb to his mouth, licking the stickiness there. He pulls a slight face, nose scrunching up at how unbelievably sweet it is.

          The waffles were deliciously warm and delectable, and she generously covered hers in syrup and butter. Atlanta made a mental note to get blueberries next time, something fruity to balance out the sweet. Maybe some sausage and bacon, but a pack of werewolves could devour a slab of bacon before it could even hit the fridge. She was consistenty amazed at the sheer velocity her pack could eat. Ravenous like wolves, indeed. 

          The touch was so slight, it shouldn’t have startled her, but she nearly jumped like she’d been shot. Unresolved sexual tension, she’d heard Indi whispering one day, and that was a phrase she couldn’t shake out of her head. That was certainly the feeling, when they were both lying in bed at night, lying in two separate rooms on opposite ends of the house, but somehow she knew he was awake. And he knew that she knew, and they would lie there in perfect silence, hearts beating in tandem, until they both fell asleep.

          And then, as if the mere touch of their hands hadn’t been so overwhelming, he reached across the fathomless depths between them and touched her face. She was frozen for a long moment, her body not knowing how to react. A part of her was screaming to run, to get as far away as fast as possible and pretend that this had never happened. They could go back to the way they’d been five minutes ago, in amicable company but without the touch that made her feel like there was a gaping hole in her chest. 

          Atlanta gasped, the softest inhale of breath, her eyes following his hand up to his lips. And ever so slightly, she leaned in.