#Spring Returning Verse | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

anyshowwitharainbow · 1 month ago

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Hello, Sailor! (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary:

Anchors aweigh! Does this ship have seat belts? Oh well, its probably fine. Fair winds and following seas! OR You've never tried water sports... This is the story of when you get curious and find out your wives really, really want to.

A continuation of this prompt-fill. I'm considering this part of the Cootie-verse, but it can be read as a standalone!

Warnings + Tags: 18+ MDNI, mostly smut, some feel good fluff, Rio g!p, bottom reader, mommy!Agatha, daddy!Rio, cg/l themes, no mention of pronouns except 1-2 'they's, clit/pussy/cunt used for reader, pet names, water sports

Words: ~7k

A/N: Nobody look at me... I get shy when I post filth. I will edit as I find things that need fixing.

AO3 | My Fics | original prompt

Hello, Sailor!

It started around lunchtime. Rio had been mulching the garden and there was a ring of sweat on her gray, cutoff crop top that was distracting you. You hadn’t intended on your eyes focusing on the wave her drinking made in her throat. Something about the way her head tilted back as she gulped down water made your throat suddenly painfully dry.

“Want some?” She asked, handing the water bottle towards you.

You shook your head ‘no’ dumbly.

“I think it’s empty anyways.” She frowned slightly, peaking into the inside of your favorite water bottle she commandeered.

She sat it on the counter with a clank and came to give you a brief, brisk kiss before returning outside. You were frozen for a moment or two before springing into action and refilling the bottle. You had to see that again.

Making your way outside you hand her the bottle and retreat with her soft ‘Thanks, babe.’

You casually sat on a bar stool, lazily spinning left and right before you accidentally land where you have a perfect view of Rio working outside. Watching her work had always done something to you. Anytime sweat sheened off her warm, olive skin you became entranced at the way her body moved, folded, and strained under her tasks. Something was different today, though. Every time she pulled a glove off and held it between her fingers as she reached for her water bottle your breath caught in your chest. You felt anxious, anticipatory…did you really want to see it again that badly?

Then, she’d bring your bottle- your bottle- to her lips and take several gulps. Each time, her head craned back. The movement in her neck was delicious. Your cunt throbbed with each gulp and it made your cheeks burn hot. You thought about touching yourself. You knew it would only take a small shift for your wetness to spread over your thighs. What the fuck is happening to your body?

This cycle rinsed and repeated over the next few hours. A few times, you retrieved her bottle to refill it. Each time, she was more appreciative than the last.

“How’d you know it was empty? Good timing!”

“My savior, once again.”

“So good for me, bunny. Thank you.”

“You always know what Daddy needs. If I didn’t know better I’d think you were watching me.”

You’re certain your face turned as red as some of her potted plants. Had you been caught?

So you tried to be more casual about it. You pulled yourself into various tasks around the house and occasionally glanced out the window to see what Rio was up to. You must have missed her running out of water- because now you look up to find Rio clicking the head of the garden hose and turning it on at a low pressure.

Her mouth sits open and she holds the hose above her and to the side. As she drinks from the stream you’re conflicted, unsure of whether you want to be the hose or be Rio while she’s the hose.

Not like that …

You justify to no one in your mind. It just reminds you of Rio drinking up your juices. And the one time you squirted with her lips wrapped around your cunt and you made a mess all over her face. The release had been pure ecstasy…

You wonder if that’s how it feels for Rio when she cums down your throat.

“Boo!” Agatha pinches your sides and you screech in shock.

“Agatha, what the fuck!” You whisper-yell at her trying to keep her quiet.

Her brow raises dangerously at you, a silent question of: ‘Agatha?’

Before she can question your use of her full name, and frankly your tone, she follows your gaze. You see her swallow and the beginnings of a blush color her cheeks.

“Oh…” her understanding meets yours in kind.

You both let your eyes linger on Rio for a moment before Agatha snakes her arms under yours, resting her hands on the counter and pinning you there. She nuzzles your ear before whispering:

“Do you wish it was you making a mess on Daddy’s face, bunny?”

“I—“

“I bet we could make that happen. Hmm? I could make you ride my cock. I’d even let you choose which one. Though…” she chuckles dangerously, “I know you like how thick my purple one is. When I fuck you with it I know you feel it right here.”

Her drawl on the word ‘right’ toys with you and you groan when her cool hand rests at your lower belly, right above your waistline.

“I’d say I’d fuck your ass, but Daddy would be too tempted to breed your cunt. I wouldn’t want to distract her from sucking your needy little clit.” Her coo is shaped through a pitiful pout, “Then how would you be able to make a mess all over her face, bunny?”

Your skin catches fire and you’re certain you are moments away from burning the whole house down.

“Do you remember when you squirted all over her face?” A pause…she wants an answer.

“Yes.” Is all you are capable of mustering and she chides you gently in response.

“Yes what, love?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“Good, bunny.” Her praise melts you into her frame. “Did you notice that Daddy never pulled away? In fact, I’m positive I saw her try and get closer.”

You hadn’t noticed… You question the validity of Agatha’s claim, but know she has no reason to lie.

“I think Daddy liked you being our little super-soaker. Do you think you’d be able to do it again? If Mommy fucked into you while Daddy ate you out? I bet it’d be easy to make you explode.”

As if on queue, Rio let the water from the hose fall over her forehead and down her chest.

“What if shes imagining that’s you, bunny? Would you give Daddy what she wants?”

Agatha’s hand slips into your shorts, groaning when she finds you aren’t wearing any underwear. She grunts and ruts into you when she’s met with your folds already being slick and white hot. She rubs lazy circles over you and you wish you could see her face.

“I could bottom out in one go. Grab your hips and yank you down til your ass is rubbing against my hips. You’d be whining, but the stretch would feel so, so good. Daddy would be at the end of the bed, stroking her cock. You’d want to taste her precum but I wouldn’t let you. You'd be too busy getting fucked like the good little slut you are for me. So good at taking Mommy’s cock…”

“Are you imagining it, baby? Me grabbing your sweet little throat,” her free hand wraps around the front of your neck for emphasis and you have no control of the harsh buck of your hips. “Can you hear it? Your ass smacking against me? It’s so loud, bunny…”

“Fuck… Yes, Mommy.”

You aren’t entirely sure where your body ends and Agatha’s begins. Perhaps if you’ve merged into one then she knows just how good she’s making you feel. You wiggle in an effort to get her to slip her fingers inside.

“Greedy today, aren’t we?” Her voice teeters on a growl, but her chuckle mists the possessiveness in her tone. “You don’t need my fingers, baby. Remember? Mommy has her cock buried in you.”

You are a fucking mess. You’d give anything for her words to be true.

“How does it feel to have Mommy rail you, hmm?”

“So fucking good.” You pant.

“Yeah? I bet I could make you our little super-soaker without even making you squirt.”

She is supporting most of your weight now and the subtle strain in her voice is delicious. You don’t have any time to consider what she means before she is husking at your ear.

“Is that what you want, bunny? For Mommy to fuck the piss out of you?”

Your body freezes, burning so hot that you feel cold.

Fuck the piss—?

Your thought barely forms into confusion when Agatha slams three fingers into you, curling them so purposefully your knees buckle.

“Jesus, fuck—“ you squeeze your eyes shut and you’re certain you open them, but you can’t see a thing.

“Maybe you’ll squirt first…maybe you’ll just think you’re going to. But no, baby. That’s just Mommy’s cock ramming into you.”

She is nearly battering your insides but your body only tries to suck her in deeper than her fingers can reach. The squelching noises coming from your cunt are filthy and only get louder when she drags her teeth against where your shoulder meets your neck.

“Such a naughty little bunny. Your pussy must really like what Mommy is saying.”

You clench at the way she coos in contrast of her harsh ministrations. Coherent thoughts are beyond you and your bones are jelly. If Agatha were to let go you’d fall to the floor.

“It’s okay, baby. I love that you’re this wet just imagining me fucking the piss out of you. And Daddy would be right there…letting you soak her just like she’s soaked right now.”

You groan at the thought of both women’s attention. If Agatha wants it, and if Rio wants it, you certainly aren’t one to deny them. You’ve always said you’d try anything once… Here in Agatha’s arms the thought of letting yourself go sounds like a dream. Even when you’ve squirted before, you always tried to hold back. What would it be like to give yourself to their whims so completely?

“Look at Daddy, bunny.” She removes her hand from your throat and harshly grips your chin, forcing you to lock your gaze onto where Rio is now stripping her soaked cut off and throwing it over her shoulder.

All you can do is whimper pathetically. She’s so fucking sexy and you’ll give her anything she wants. If she wants to lick your pussy while Agatha fucks you so hard your body has no choice but to piss everywhere…

“The next time she’s that wet it’s gonna be because of you. She’ll have her tongue buried in your cunt, licking from your clit to my cock. I’ll be right here whispering to you while you let me fill you up so full that if I hit just the right spot…fuck you at just the right angle…you’ll explode.”

You may as well be her puppet. Of fucking course you’d let them ravage you. They can have all of you. Whatever they want, it’s theirs.

“I know it’s hard to hold it all in. Such a big job…” she coos, “You’ll be a mess…a little rag doll for Mommy and Daddy to use. You’ll have held on for so long… It’ll be so easy to just…let go.”

Agatha bites your ear lobe and you yelp. Your insides are tight, throbbing coils and your body is buzzing in static tingles. She quickly retrieves her hand from your shorts and holds her fingers to your lips. She doesn’t wait for you to grant entry, she just slides them in and out until she’s determined they’re clean.

Your body is screaming for release. You’ve never been so aware of the weight that sits just above your cunt. Does your clit always throb when you have to pee this bad? Through the fog of whiplash you recognize a small gush your body clamps to contain.

Did you just… Was that…?

You try and subtly cross your legs, but the shift in pressure is just a threat to a dam that is moments away from bursting. She chuckles against your back and you know she’s clocked your uncomfortable wiggling. You can feel the smug pride radiating off of her.

“Or who knows,” she shrugs and pulls away, unpinning you from the counter. “Maybe Daddy wants to be the super-soaker this time. You’d look so cute getting pissed on by Daddy, bunny.”

Agatha’s smile is sweet as pie and a far cry from the filthy images she is planting in your mind. She leaves you there- a confused, horny mess that really, really has to pee. She’s sauntering away and you let her put some distance between you before you make a beeline for the bathroom. Unfortunately, she quickly cuts you off and slips into the bathroom.

Her smiles oozes kindness, but her eyes remind you who’s really in charge here. Perhaps that’s why your protest dies in your throat as she shuts the door and latches it, leaving you a desperate mess in the most unfamiliar, but certainly most delicious way.

______

Agatha’s commitment to her own bit is unparalleled. Eventually, you give up on waiting outside of the bathroom door. The urge to pee has died down considerably, so you choose to relax and wade through the days events. You’re rocking on the hammock near where Rio is working as you mull Agatha’s words over.

You aren’t naive. You’ve heard of water sports. You’ve even seen a few videos online that, while you’ve never lingered on them, did pique your curiosity.

There is something so forbidden about it, though. Your mind urges you to change course anytime you let yourself think of actually being part of the act. Working through Agatha’s words and your reaction to them felt like defusing a bomb. One wrong move and everything would crumble into chaos beyond repair.

That seems dramatic, even to you. It’s just pee. Is there that much difference between wetness, you and Agatha squirting, or Rio’s cum? It’s not like any of you are ever dehydrated or drink much else besides water and tea. Honestly, the times Agatha has squirted you remember painfully aching for more. Once, you had your fist buried in Agatha’s cunt for another ten minutes chasing for more and more before she had to tap out.

You try and imagine what it would be like if she did squirt for longer or released more liquid in general. You always lap up anything she gives you. You’re certain you’d cum the entire time she gushed all over your tongue, face, chest…

She clearly has an interest in water sports. How long has she fantasized about fucking you until you piss all over her and Rio? And her comment at the end about Rio peeing on you… Have her and Rio talked about this before? Does Rio share this fantasy? Does Agatha want to pee on you or Rio as well?

You will forever be desperate to taste as much of Agatha as possible, so you shouldn’t be as surprised as you are when you squeeze your thighs together to give your aching clit some relief. It’s easy to imagine Agatha riding your face, her silky cunt claiming your mouth and rutting against your nose. You often dream of her crouched over you, squatting so you can have access to feast on her puffy, dripping lips.

Your thoughts drift closer and closer to the unknown and before you know it you’re imagining various ways the three of you could explore water sports.

Maybe while Agatha is crouched over you she says:

“Open up, baby. Mommy’s got something for you.”

You clench at the thought of a jet stream of hot liquid gushing from Agatha. God, you know she’d soak you. Perhaps you’d be in a white t-shirt…the fabric clinging to you and cloaking you in Agatha’s warmth as it spreads.

Rio though…she is far more calculated and meticulous when it comes to how she gives you things. She likes to take her time, to give things with purpose. You imagine she may have you on your hands and knees, face shoved into the sheets and begging for more as she slowly slides her cock in and out of your ass.

It would be after several long tens-of-minutes of her stretching you, when her being fully sheathed tingled like stars and tasted of nothing but need. She’d pull all the way out and you’d whimper at how open and hollow you felt, at how pathetically you needed to be full again. You’d feel how widely gaped you were- clenching doing nothing to stop the tickle of the stream of cool air Rio blows into you.

“Finally,” she’d say, “nice and open for me.”

You’d hear the crack of a slap against your ass before its sting prickled at your ass cheek.

“Can you be good for Daddy now, bunny? I was so thirsty all day and now I’m so full… I really have to piss and your sweet little ass is the perfect place to do it.”

You unintentionally, and very audibly, moan. You clear your throat to hide it and Rio doesn’t even give you a sideways glance. Your celebration of concealing your pathetically needy noise is cut short when you clock a small smirk on Rio’s face. She seems content on letting you continue relaxing without any teasing so you take the time to study her.

Her jaw is soft, but well defined. Her shoulders are broad in their strength and her hands… Jesus, those hands are purposeful and you know they could destroy you.

You imagine one of them firmly gripping your ass cheek, the other firmly gripping her cock.

“Look how soaked your little cunny is, bunny. Is that what you want? Daddy to fill your ass up with my piss?”

You aren’t able to fantasize much more of the scene, your body catching fire at the mere thought of Rio’s hot stream hitting your walls and coating your insides. No matter how much she stretches you there’s no way she could fully release and it all fit in your ass. Would she stop? Would she direct her stream up your back? Would she let you overflow, her piss dripping down your cunt and onto the sheets?

Would she make you try and hold it all in? Would she fill you to the brim with her piss and then fuck it out of you? Would she just fill you with more while fucking you? Maybe she would fill you up then have Agatha eat your ass?

Your cheeks feel painfully sunburnt, yet you are still swaying in the shade. You hope it’s shaded enough that Rio can’t see your current state. Letting one foot drag on the ground, you force yourself to a halt when you see Rio making movement to leave.

“Where you going?” You are mostly curious, but hear a tinge of panic in your voice that you aren’t expecting.

“I have to pee.” Rio offers, casually, like she would on any normal day.

Today, however, was not a normal day. Today, you want to at least see.

“Agatha’s in the bathroom. I’ve had to pee this entire time.”

“Well fuck,” Rio sighs before shrugging. “Guess I’m going out here.”

She moves to find a spot behind the tree your hammock is attached to, out of your line of sight.

“Hey, wait!” You call, trying gracefully to roll out of the hammock and stumbling over your feet.

You run around the tree just as she pulls her cock free from her shorts and briefs.

“Yes, bunny?”

The subtle quirk in her brow tells you she’s half amused, half confused. You look down, eyeing her soft member and the way her hand pushes it in place to aim. You’re staring, and her amusement turns smug.

“See something you like?” She grips her cock to wiggle it gently.

“Can I…” you start, unsure if you should bail or throw caution to the wind. “Can I hold it?”

Rio snorts, but smirks proudly.

“Anything for you. Let me pee first though.”

“No!” You let out in a rushed bellow and she eyes you like you have three heads. Through your blush you continue.

“I mean…can I hold it while you…you know.” You try, embarrassment crawling up your neck.

“You want to hold it while I pee?” Rio questions without any amount of judgement.

Her seeking clarity to understand you disarms you in your battle against shyness and you can only nod. Her eyes are filled with questions, but none that she asks.

“Of course. Anything for my curious little bunny. Give me your hand.”

You comply and she guides you to her member, gently wrapping your hand around it. You squeeze, you’ve always loved the feeling of her cock when it’s soft.

“You have to be gentle but firm. Not too much though. He really likes when you touch him and it’ll be harder to go if he gets hard.”

You nod, fully absorbing every bit of information she’s offering. A deeply rooted curiosity, one that resided in you long before today, buzzes in anticipation of being satiated.

“You’ll have to aim it, okay? I have to go really bad so it’ll probably be a strong stream. When it comes it may make him jerk up, so just be sure to not let go.”

Your fingers adjust their grip and you are laser focused on where they rest.

“Okay, here it comes, bunny. Hold on tight.”

She looks up towards the leaves and you feel her tense lightly in her effort. Before you know it her cock is jerking harder than you expected and your loose grip allows the stream to shoot up nearly straight into the air.

“Tighter unless you want to have a wet t-shirt contest.”

Rio’s instruction is followed by a hearty chuckle and you feel the blood drain from your face. She assesses your flushed cheeks and her mouth falls open in something the resembles a deeply satisfied pride. The attention is too distracting so you grip tighter to meet her ask.

Her resulting groan could be classified as a growl if it had more vigor. Her head falls back against the tree and you feel stiffness start to push against your grip.

“Is it…are you getting hard?" You ask dumbly.

Clearly it’s getting hard, but maybe it just does that?

“It’s hard not to when I’ve got my little bunny’s hand wrapped around my cock. It’s especially hard not to when said little bunny seems particularly interested in Daddy’s pee…”

You blink and find Medusa waiting for you behind your eyelids. You’re as stiff as the tree Rio is leaning on and if your cheeks somehow weren’t tinted before then they are firetruck red now.

“Hey, don’t be shy, bunny. I like that you’re curious. Clearly.” She looks down to her semi-erection, that juts more proudly than it did before, before continuing.

“Do you want to feel it?”

Her tone is pillowy soft and lulls you away from your bashful, frozen state. You want to nod yes, but your brain threatens to sound sirens.

“Here, give me your finger.”

She takes over where your hand grips her and holds your wrist until you stick your pointer finger out. Her aim is now slightly downward and she guides your hand closer to her stream.

“Is this okay, bunny?”

You nod. As quick as you’d swipe a credit card, she swipes your finger through her stream. The warmth is fleeting, but combined with the pressure it offered you have to bite your lip to keep from showing your satisfaction.

“How was that?” She searches your face and her cautious hopefulness is what shatters your efforts to contain yourself, so you answer with a full smile. “Yeah? Want to do it again?”

This time, when you nod, she releases your wrist.

“You’re in charge, bunny. Go for it.”

Her smile is all-consuming and you’re emboldened by her clear contentedness and pride. She seems just as happy to share this moment with you as you are to share it with her.

You cautiously swipe your finger through her stream, eventually allowing two fingers to play in it and keeping them there. Her stream begins to trickle until only a few dribbles and drops make their way out. You frown but are quickly pulled out of your disappointment by a thumb stroking your cheek.

“Trust me, there will be plenty more where that came from. Daddy can always make more. Now get comfy again while I finish up.”

She tucks herself back into her shorts and readjusts her sports bra. You see two buds straining against the fabric and you playfully poke at one before she swats your hand away.

“Nice try, sailor.”

“Sailor?” You question the nickname.

“Yeah, you know. Cause you sailed through my stream.”

“Oh my fucking god.” You laugh at her corniness and she joins you, the sound a sign of satisfaction with her ability to bring you joy.

“Now go before I make you explain the nickname to Mommy.”

You don’t want that job so you scamper off, concocting a plan that you are sure to abandon if you don’t bring it to fruition right this second. You hear Rio call after you when you breeze past the hammock and into the house, but you pay her no mind. You find Agatha quickly and pull her by the wrist as she questions you in bursts of confusion.

“I’m not even wearing shoes! What has gotten into you, bunny?” Agatha questions as you pull her outside and to where Rio is still standing, equally confused.

There is no anger in her tone, only intrigue colored by confusion. You relish in the uncertainty you have pulled them into. It isn’t often you’re able to confuse both women at the same time. Still, you don’t let it linger for long.

“I didn’t think you’d be so eager to explain your new nickname, sailor.”

Rio lets the name hang in the air. Agatha raises both brows, but you aren’t sure if it is at the cockiness in Rio’s tone or the nickname she doesn't understand.

“What have you two been doing out here?” Agatha questions in suspicion.

Rio visibly relaxes and withdraws from her smug demeanor. Agatha doesn’t get jealous within your relationship, but she doesn’t enjoy being left out for too long, either. Your eyes follow Rio’s hand that falls on the small of Agatha’s back before gripping the furthest hip and pulling Agatha in closer to her side.

“I was on my way inside to use the restroom, but our little one informed me you were monopolizing the facilities. I went to pee behind this tree, but before I could I was stopped by a very, very curious little bunny that wanted to help. For what I can only assume is scientific research, bunny wanted to feel it. Thus, our little sailor was born.”

Agatha eyes both of you. Her tense shoulders tell you her dominant question is likely ‘You peed on them without me?!’, but her taught muscles relax quickly and her eyes twinkle with something mysterious.

“Our conversation from earlier must have resonated with you, bunny. I’m glad Mommy could help pique your curiosity.”

Rio is about to question what conversation Agatha is talking about when Agatha catches her eye and gives a barely-there shake of her head. Rio must receive the message, because her question never comes.

“What did it feel like, bunny? Did you like helping Daddy go peepee?”

Agatha so easily melts you into a space where you’re certain she is all-knowing. Her attention entrances you to the gentle warmth it offers. She is your sun and you are destined to look to her for how ever long ‘always’ amounts to.

“It was warm,” you hear the dreamy bliss in your voice, but don’t feel yourself speaking the words. “I liked how it felt on my fingers.”

She smiles brightly at you, as if you are something wholly irresistible. Rio seems content to watch as Agatha floats closer towards you and she settles some of her weight against the tree.

“Daddy was very thirsty today, I can only imagine how much she had to give you. Did you get to feel it anywhere else, sweetheart?”

You shake your head no and she hums, likely satisfied that she didn’t miss out on too much of the fun. You understand the desire to share this exploration with all three of you. That’s why you chased Agatha down and drug her out here, after all. As if reading your mind, she continues.

“What did you bring Mommy to see, bunny?”

You are staked down by bashful hesitancy. You want nothing more than for her to cut the ropes and allow you to float into her and Rio’s assurances.

“There’s something you want both Mommy and Daddy to see, baby. Can you tell us what it is?”

You’re saying the words in your head, but no response leaves you. Agatha pulls you into an all-too-short hug and you miss her warmth as soon as she pulls back.

“Can you help Mommy guess?”

Upon your nodded confirmation she lets her hands fall to your waistline and twirls one of the drawstrings on your shorts around her finger. The prominent veins in her hand make you clench around nothing. She's so close to where you’ve needed her all day. Yet, your need for her at the moment isn’t quite as simple. You need Agatha, yes, but you need Mommy too. Her guidance, her doting, her affection.

“Do you need these for what you want to show us?”

When you shake your head ‘no’ she gently pushes your shorts down. You gasp at the gentle breeze hitting your soaking wet center and she groans at the sight of it. Whether she remembered you aren’t wearing underwear or not, you’re sure her response would’ve been the same.

“You’re so wet, bunny. Is this all from helping Daddy pee?”

You shake your head ‘no’ and she hums.

“Some of this is still for Mommy from earlier, hmm?”

You whine when she crouches down and uses her thumbs to gently part your lips so she can see your clit straining for attention.

“It wasn’t very nice of Mommy to leave you so needy, was it?”

She finds your eyes and locks your gazes together.

“Can Mommy show you how sorry she is, bunny?”

You figure you must’ve nodded because her eyes continue to bore into yours as she sticks her tongue out and uses her head to move her tongue over the underside of your clit. You hear shuffling in Rio’s direction, but are unable to break your gaze from the blue eyes that beg for the whole of your attention. Your hips offer pathetic little jerks against Agatha’s tongue and she chuckles at your bodies eager desperation.

“I’m sorry, little one. I forgot there was something you wanted to show us! How silly of me. Do you mind if I go make sure Daddy is ready for what you want to show us?”

Again, you offer a shake of your head and she straightens herself up, turning around to face Rio. Your eyes finally fall on the woman who is observing and you squeeze your thighs together when you see her erection straining against her shorts. A gush of wetness escapes you and coats the insides of your thighs when you notice her hand is down her pants.

“That’s a job for Mommy, isn’t it Daddy?” she asserts and Rio may as well be a deer in the headlights as Agatha frees her cock by yanking her shorts and briefs down.

Neither you nor Rio are prepared for the sight of Agatha crouching down and taking the entirety of Rio’s length into her mouth and down her throat in one go. From your vantage point, you can see Agatha’s nose scrunch against Rio’s neat tuft of hair. The subtle bulging in Agatha’s throat moves as Agatha gives short bobs on Rio’s cock, keeping her nestled into her throat the entire time. Rio is a panting, moaning mess and you’re certain she’s about to cum down Agatha’s throat.

She doesn’t get the chance to, as Agatha gracefully draws her head back and straightens herself out.

“Now sit and be good. If you behave and save your cum for our little bunny then maybe the next time your cock is in my mouth I’ll let you piss down my throat.”

Rio’s cock twitches before her back slides down against the tree until she is seated. Agatha chuckles at the state of heady, all-consuming arousal Rio is left in. The coy smirk on her face is quickly replaced by a much sweeter smile as she turns back to you.

“Daddy’s all ready now, little love. Are you?”

You shuffle a bit on your feet. Your body is on fire from Rio’s hungry look that settles on you, but your current headspace is far more suited for compliance than taking the lead. Agatha seems to understand this and is next to you in a flash.

“I think you’re ready, love. You know your words and taps to make anything stop at anytime, yes?”

When you nod, you’re gently chided and you offer what Agatha wants to hear.

“If I say ‘red’ or tap you three times you’ll stop.”

She beams with pride and plants a kiss on your forehead.

“Good, bunny. That’s exactly right. Can you trust Mommy now?”

When you nod she rubs your back before guiding you to squat down.

“Can you spread your knees apart for me? We need to make sure Daddy gets to see too.”

You follow the instruction and you know they can both see you clenching at the feeling of the breeze against your completely exposed cunt. Agatha crouches next to you and uses one hand to stabilize you and the other to spread your lips open.

“You have such a pretty little pussy, bunny. Mommy needs you to be brave now, okay? I know it may seem scary, but I can’t even begin to tell you how long I’ve wanted this. I want to see you let go. Can you do that for me, baby? Can you let go for Mommy?”

You gnaw at your lip. You are spread wide open with Agatha’s hand on your cunt, Rio stroking herself slowly while watching. You’re momentarily distracted by the wetness on Rio’s cock, likely a mix of precum and Agatha’s spit.

“You don’t have to be shy in front of Daddy. Daddy wants this too. Look at how hard she is. You know, one time Mommy caught Daddy standing outside of the bathroom while you were going tinkle. She was hard as a rock. Almost as hard as she is right now.”

Its Rio’s turn for a blush to consume her features. You would question it, but the way her stroking picks up its pace tells you its likely true.

“I know she’s dying to see it just like I am. Can you go for us now, bunny?”

You finally give a confident nod. You’d do anything to receive the doting you are awarded with in return.

“Perfect, now just relax, baby. Mommy’s got you.”

You relax into her embrace and will your body to let go. Your body seems to not understand your brain’s request. Though you’re urging yourself to pee nothing happens.

“Does this help, bunny?” Agatha coos as she uses her fingers to lazily circle your clit, breaking through a mental dam you weren’t fully aware of.

Your resulting whine is pitiful.

“Mommy, I can’t…” the beginnings of frustration threaten your resolve, but quickly dissolve when she begins to shush you softly.

“Yes you can,” she coaches before slipping two fingers into you.

You and Rio moan at the same time and Agatha chuckles before moving back to your clit and continuing.

“Be good for Mommy and Daddy, bunny. It’s okay. Let go.”

Her whispers do a better job at willing your body than your own demands. Before you can think about it much further you feel a rush from somewhere deep within your lower belly all the way to your cunt. The three of you collectively gasp when the first spurt of hot, nearly-clear liquid gushes from you.

“Yes, good, bunny. So good for Mommy. Keep going. We want it all.” She encourages, lightly tapping your clit with her hand.

Part of you wants her to slap your clit harder, but before you can ask, she removes herself from your clit and uses her fingers to spread you open as widely as she can.

You bear down for a moment to encourage your body before you fully let yourself go and your powerful stream rushes out of you. You’re focused on watching yourself pee while Agatha is touching you when you hear Rio spit. You look up to see her rubbing the newly added lubrication over the head of her cock before she begins to stroke herself faster.

“You like that, Daddy? Watching our little bunny go peepee while Mommy rubs their little clit?”

“You’re doing so good for Daddy, baby,” Rio soothes through a groan, “Mommy was right. The last time you squirted on my face I was so tempted to fuck the piss out of you. You’re so fucking sexy.”

Your body is blooming into something entirely new. Freedom tickles at every nerve ending you have and you’re consumed by a euphoria that only comes from shared, raw, unadulterated honesty. It emboldens you to seize this moment while you have it, in case you don’t feel as brave later.

“It feels so good, Mommy. Thank you for helping me. It’s so easy to pee for you and Daddy when you touch me. Fuck, I can’t wait until I’m doing this with you or Daddy under me. I want to give you everything.”

Agatha’s growl strokes your ego and you aren’t entirely sure where everything you’re saying is coming from.

“You were right earlier. I want you to fuck the piss out of me so bad, Mommy. I want your cock fucking me so deep that it makes me completely lose control and wet myself all over the bed and Daddy’s face. Or, fuck,” you gush with wetness and the clenching temporarily pauses your stream before it returns full force. “I want to eat your pussy while Daddy fucks my ass so hard that I soak the sheets with my piss. I want Daddy so deep in my ass that I don’t have a choice, it all just comes out.”

You’re so far gone in your fantasies that you only pause when you hear a string of expletives from Rio. You look up just in time to see her paint her stomach with long, thick ropes of cum. She doesn’t even wipe her hand before coming over to you, pulling your legs out from under you, setting your ass onto the ground, and wrapping her arms around your thighs as she lays between them and begins feasting on your soaking wet cunt.

Agatha is stunned, but you can feel her arousal by the way she tries and fails to compose herself. Ultimately, she lets her hand travel down to spread your lips open again to give Rio better access.

“Don’t stop, baby. Give Daddy what she wants.”

You aren’t entirely sure how much you have left to give, but your body demands a full release and complies without your order to.

Your pussy is buzzing with the muffled groans coming from Rio’s mouth and you try to sear the image of your piss pooling around her lips into your brain. When she opens her mouth, your stream flows unhindered and you could cum just from seeing it ricochet off of her tongue. She stretches her lips to cover your entire cunt, leaving just your clit poking out for Agatha to toy with. Your body is screaming with pleasure, so you can’t be certain, but you vaguely wonder if the steady, timed movement of Rio’s tongue is her swallowing.

Is she…?

Your thoughts are cut off when Agatha finally rubs your clit with purpose.

“Do you like it when Daddy drinks from your leaky little pussy, baby?”

You can do nothing but pant as Agatha and Rio bring you closer and closer to erupting. Your orgasm is rapidly approaching and you worry once it hits you that you’ll combust into nothing but dust to be swept away by the wind. Rio’s tongue laps against your hole and its all you need before something in you snaps and you burst.

You let out a scream and you’re swimming in a tunnel of light headed bliss that consumes you whole. You vaguely register words of encouragement and praise from Agatha before oxygen slams back into your lungs you feel like your heart restarts from minutes of being stopped.

“Holy…” You start, but you lose the ability to form words when you see Agatha pull Rio up into a hungry kiss.

You’re lost in the way Agatha’s tongue seems to dig for more and more of a taste of you in Rio’s mouth. It isn’t until you see Agatha’s outstretched hand that you realize both women have stood up. Rio waves Agatha’s hand away and tucks an arm under your knees and behind your back to lift you easily.

“Upstairs,” Agatha directs and Rio nods before parting ways with Agatha as soon as the three of you reach the kitchen.

Your confusion must be painted onto your face because Rio just chuckles. You throb at the underlying hunger you hear and find matched in her eyes.

“What? You didn’t think playtime was over did you?” She smirks, knowing you’ll be nothing but eager to be fully devoured. “We’re not done with you yet, sailor.”

*—*

A/N: Gonna have to walk the plank to cool off. Lort this did a number on me just from writing it, LOL. I hope it did a number to you if you're reading this!

For just a few quick taps you can like, reblog, or reply to provide me validation. Its not required but just know this is what I look like checking my notifs as soon as I post a fic. 🥺👉👈

Looking for more? -> AO3 | My Fics

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edenspoem · 11 months ago

Text

The Sweeter the Wheat

# pair: post-seattle!jackson!ellie x reader

## summary: There is no better birthday gift than loving her.

### reader discretion is advised: romance angst, fluff, bit suggestive towards the end, alcohol consumption, jesse is alive (he thought ahead this time), loser!ellie, sometimes!awkward!ellie, sometimes!cheekyandflirty!ellie, reader is sickenly envious and a bit nosy, but aware, ravenous and tipsy makeouts, sappy shit. #### a/n; listened to "to all of you" by syd matters + "cardigan" by taylor swift while writing parts of it.. got a love/hate relationship with this fic but it slaps i guess

SPRING SUN

“At least we got back before her birthday. Psh—‘magine that sweet tooth havin’ to commemorate her twentieth with nuts and jerky.”

Jackson tholes the bright spring against countless heavy hearts, numb from the death groans of winter. Under the melted snow, came old meadows, but nobody returned to comb through them. Only to pluck them bare of flora for a sole reason—a sole person—and not in the name of beauty.

Some meadows were stabbed through. Pierced into, made into a final home for the dearly departed he.

Time slipped slowly.

“Huh?”

Jesse sits at the tail of the bar, mumbling somethings that fly right past your ears. The diner is packed and the jukebox softly plays, but that of joy and conversation rules, so all nearby speech that is spat has become hodgepodge, herding your brain to run where the world is quiet. Given that, and the subtle significance in the day around you, you feel less than yourself. Immaterial.

There's a rightful wager that you didn't hear Jesse at all. Something about birthdays, maybe.

You pull yourself from the stars with a head-shake, having to retire the tiny notepad in your clutch. “Sorry, I completely tripped out just then. Why are we talking about birthdays—whose birthday are we.. talking about?”

Jesse appeared to be in doubt that your star-scaping moments were over; his features contorting more and more into disbelief as you gave him that barely curious squint. Poor him for having to be offended for somebody else.

A special somebody else at that!

His drawl comes in handy, “Come on, man. Four years strong and now you wanna forget that girl's birthday?” a voice so versed in pettiness, you could smack it right from his clever, grinning lips.

At whim, you almost do. But then his words fall into perfect place; that subtle signifigance makes all the more sense.

Spring: dappled in sunlight and vigorous in the trees, seems lovelier than it would in March or May. Seas of crimson and clovers thrive in the middle of April, and so does the red in her hair—soft, auburn tines—and the meadows in her earnest and shiny eyes. Recently dim, bruised and disheartened. But there, and unplucked at least, above the freckles you least regret missing when vengeance and a clue drove her out of this large, timber sanctuary. Home.

Every year on this day, the sun is relentlessly beautiful. No wonder, you think, now that you remember.

It's Ellie's birthday.

“Shit,” you curse, chewing at your guilty lip. “Is Ellie hiding out today as well? Haven't noticed her walking the thoroughfare at all.” Through the idle-talk, your hands find stray porcelain to retrieve and pile in the sink, scoffing at the liters of coffee that inevitably go cold in forgotten mugs.

“Do you notice anything working behind that counter?”

“Duh, dipshit,” you spout, back-talking him shamelessly, “I noticed you ambling towards the window earlier and knew my ears were in for a grating punishment.” Minding your eyes on nothing but the various plates you grab, the clutter clears fast. Like a damn robot.

He raises his hands in defense. “Hey, not my fault patrol’s been on cruise control this week.” With a part of the counter graciously tidied by your speedy work, he reclines in the barstool and claims that space with his lower legs, off to the side. Blissfully permission-less. “Can't say the same for here, though.”

You draw in a prefacing breath, tilting a cup at him. “You could if you hel—”

“No chance.”

“Fuck you, Jess,” you reply wielding a nickname given for occasions of defeat, little knives glaring from your eyes. “Thought this friendship had a no-questions-asked sort of thing. You've disgraced me.” Cueing that age-old love for drama, you gild the lily; mock a drama-queen. Hand to your heart and a pout to your mouth.

Hating Jesse is out of the picture, and hate is an easy pill to swallow. Sure, you two bark blank insults from time to time, but it's all in good humor. You just get each other too well. A hitch fated to click. A shoulder to violently sob into.

Jesse tuts at you, rolling a smug pair of eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Diners just aren't my thing, as infected aren't yours.” He reaches and grasps his mug of coffee that'd been basking there ever since you whipped up his usual, content in keeping his gob flat for the ‘noon.

And you're content in the casual peace and company. Always are. It coerces you to fulfill orders quicker, you would say. Here you stand, in perfect function, machine of the cogs.

That's how all days streak by here. A warm sun arises, and the hustle and bustle of human nature crowds every faded red booth in here, as your kin would have you sustain, and you sustain it fine enough. Even with the latching, mostly silent presence of your best bud Jesse to keep boredom a stranger and insanity a myth. Peckish lips, thirsty throats; everybody. All famished faces of Jackson, satisfied in the wake of your work. All, save one.

Ding!

At the entrance, you hear the jingle of the tiny, golden bell topping the door, and it doesn't intrigue you to investigate. Everyone is a frequenter, and you're basically omnipresent; sensing who it is and where they're routed to before they even sit. Call that perfect function.

Abruptly, the vintage magazine Jesse blankly browsed through is smacked back in place, and his throat clears. “First customer to break the hour-long streak. Let's see who—” he trails, and a dramatic pause thickens the air. Surprise loudly ensues. “Oh, ain't that funny. Look what fate dragged in.”

“Is it not a regular?” you ask, and at last perk your chin up. Intrigue clasps you now, as Jesse thought it atypical enough to point out.

Turns out, it isn't a regular at all.

Fate was a scary portrayal, as fate—and unfinished threads—would have you snuck into a corner and stranded for her to find. Plaid and blue, stood Ellie, lost as a doe in tangled woods, yet tall with purpose in front of that swinging glass door. From here, you notice her right arm supported in a white sling and twisted into her chest, right off the bat, as you did the night of return. Changes were made, obviously, sprigs of marker detailing the canvas-color of it, no doubt produced by those pesky kids in-town. Her tattoo is sorely invisible behind the bandages too; you've always liked that thing.

She's a bona-fide crush. A red-headed angel.

There and then, you recall why your heart reawoke into a prance that night she returned head to toe in dry, aged blood. You felt the revival of an inner-warmth, tracing fingers over the stitches in her back as she hunched in repressive quietude. Felt the moon evaporate off your skin, felt her wrist tensen in your palm as you dressed the wounds in hers. Felt the elusive moment staying became going, as it wasn't right.

You went straight home and threw right up, that very night. Her cold, marred skin was as deathly-like as the skin of a corpse. And you trailed your fingertips, all over it.

Strange. In a week, her flesh has been suppled of life. Hale, blushing and glowing as in younger days.

In your heart: a tremor. It reaches up every time you swallow, and blooms its beat, pounding at the pit of your throat. You don't feel real, you feel light, you feel fright. You feel the past, waking from a slumber in you, emerging breathless beyond the surface. So many things.

You feel fourteen again.

“Guess her ears were burning,” mumbled Jesse, polite enough to not transform your shared scrutiny into a scene, only so he could leave it in your hands. His head carefully turns, speaking softly, “You spoke to her at all, recently?”

“No,” a weighted breath departs you, and your shoulders repose. “Only the night she returned, while I tended to some of her travel wounds. Conversation wasn't easy to digest.” Shunning her very blatant presence, you pick your wash rag and begin again, foraging distraction.

“Bet not. Shit got hectic on the route Tommy picked,” he hums, and his eyes pursue once more to secretly follow her walking the opposite direction. Eyes you expectantly the second she slips into a booth. “Gonna take her order?”

You glower at his smug stare, knowing full well he intends to badger you into jumping the gun. Well, you're employed to do that, but, fuck fate! “Uh, duh? Di—”

“—Ipshit. Stop stalling.” He aims his hand, escorting you. “Birthday girl awaits.”

“Yeah, hold that smile. See what happens later.”

“Mhm.”

EXTRA SYRUP

Spectral hands suffocate your heart, and now your chest is tightened. Gut nervously sickened. There, she sits, seemingly absorbed by the air, and the sun that ripens with it. Thumbing at her nails, but not anxiously. Blowing at her lip, but not boredly. Hair dark ochre as the earth, yet fiery as the flaxen ray that pours into it. Tucked into a neat bun, as it was in December, January, and every paving year before. You like her hair that way.

She halved it up when Joel passed, and Seattle howled her name.

A lot about Ellie changed, really, but that is the perennial nature of water. Ellie is Neptune; a late-teenage girl experiencing a crucial shift into a new, individual season. Ones so seldom—they're cataclysmic, but temporary.

So much of her is eclipsed to the naked eye. Buried to make burrowing space for others. Just not you, it seems.

Every now and then, she glances as you intricately work your way over, a fist cupped to itself as if it alone safekeeps her deep and untold intentions; the warrant for sitting there. And you too, glance when her eyes smoothly retreat, dedicating pockets of this single, cherished minute to drink in little glimpses of her face. Trying to read her, read the shapes on her face if they indicate trouble, or truce. Last time you talked, you declared your resentment for being left worried and sleepless in Jackson.

Was it out of love?

Through the fair-haired light, that scar-heavy look on her features has noticeably abated, recapturing the tender warmth that gave her face the kind, puppy-browed ambiance you hesitated the world for. Gently laid brows, scarred the same as ever.

Those fucking freckles, too; a constellated map. Hidden miles and miles away for one sun and moon too many.

Not a mile bridges you both apart now, not anymore.

“Hey, Ellie,” you chime in, frail in respect of the one-mind conversation her idle stare partakes. Just her, and the spring sun. Sweet wheat skin is taken from its aerial shine as her head heeds your voice, a loose twine of auburn falling from place.

Your somber greeting fine-tuned the focus in her eyes, softening into a shape less spacious, more devoted.

And though away from underneath the boughs of sunlight, her eyes found a disembodied source. Dried moss, gleams into a violent sea glass, pupils taking in how you hold that notepad firm in thumbs and pointers.

For the first time in an age, you too, have changed.

The corners of her lips crease into her cheek. “Hey,” her reply mirrors the breathiness of yours, and her left arm low-arcs up to rest on the booth seat, body facing you head-on. Totally relaxed. “How come you didn't mention the job switch? Was lookin’ for you,” she asks curiously, a tinge of that sweet-talk peeking through her wide grin.

Now that you've stepped closer and garnered her attention, you can see and feel every notched nicety of her face on yours. You can only imagine how a swollen, sliced lip feels, and the continual migraines a fractured nose brings. Weeks of healing have swept by, but her afflictions in particular weren't petty.

“Guess it felt irrelevant to bring up when you got back. But you're here now, and you found me. So?” your tone edges on.

“Well, yeah,” she chuckles. “Did you not miss me?” She feigns offense; brows quirking and her tone pitching slightly.

You did.

A sigh starts in you, “Hard to not miss and worry for somebody when you picked up their slack in every patrol dating way back.” Barely nipping what you really felt with a snarky tease. “Oh shit, that rhymes,” you glance off and whisper to yourself, still loud enough to inspire mirth.

And it does; her forehead pinches and her voice rises in mirth, laughing casually and shifting in her seat to lean one elbow upon the table. “Ha— yeah,” she admits defeat. Ellie is undeniably cute when she does, always shrinks into herself and sinks into thoughtful conference, thinking of something—anything smart to knock you back into that corner. “Guess you're right. Hm, always were on my ass about that, huh?”

You tut, “Mhm. Missed my scolding in Seattle?” crossing a leg and bearing weight upon it.

“Nah,” she confesses briefly, and you barely believe it. Wringing in doubt at that sly smile she tries to conceal from you. “I learned my lesson this time.” Ellie glances up, a prayer written on her face asking you to hold your scolds. “Trust me.”

“Hurt enough this time?”

“Fuck you!” She punts you playfully in the ankle and begins a laugh again. “You’re not allowed to point that out!”

That was the way of things; Ellie would charge into a fight wearing her life on her chest, slackening the rules, and you had to reel her in. Tug the leash. It had you suspecting her to have a foolproof reason as her backbone, like she was daring the devil with eyes fearlessly open. Steadfast intent. She would lure runners to her, grapple them from you, or push you away beyond safety. Leave you to watch an animalistic vigor fill every bind in her body until you're convinced she’s either coming out bitten or scathingly torn.

You wish she saw how worrying she truly looked; a sweet face splattered hair to chin in the blood of infected, catching her breath and shaking the arm of the croaking infected she just slaughtered off her ankle. Being way too blithe-hearted for the sacred sake of everyone involved.

“Don't worry about me.”

One day, when she asked you with her solemn eyes to be afraid, you thought she finally trusted you to handle yourself past her overprotective nature. Then, one clicker got too close for comfort, and she retracted the pact of fighting equally. Losing more than what her blade owes the earth would prove her fears to be a product of her unsacrifice.

Ellie figured it was half the reason you quit patrol duty, but not that it was fully the reason you anguished over her leaving for Seattle later on; her appetite for violence.

She accepts it so easily. But even when you had sworn she had place in something as simple as retiring from patrol and nothing else, she smelt the sugary scent of a white lie. Joel did it before. She never accepted it under a gentle radar. Instead, it had her wondering if she had upset you, if you would forgive the crimson melodrama and still take her up on breakfasts at ten when she returned. Regardless if you painted the full picture in the end, apologies spilled alike to winded waters out of this girl; sorry that she still could not stomach you tagging along for vengeance. Never-ending sorries, and you lapped each one up. Brought gaping arms around her and absorbed all the ugly and hopeless sounds. You wanted to prove her fears wrong, but perhaps it was time fear let you be the lamb. Live and let live.

Then, Dina would step in, and Ellie would be wrapped around her finger in sudden laughter. Happy and unhurt. Couldn't even remember what occurred before her sun entered the room, and dried those tears.

Crimson melodrama is all you preserved when abandoned, and is all you could look at her with when in longing.

The winter dance had your guts up to your throat.

Seattle, inexplainable.

You don’t hate Dina; your envy lies with the disconnection of it all.

“What do you recommend?” she questions, and her eyes anticipate you to be the ultimate apocalyptic-dining expert. Locked and attentive. She then begins to shake her head in gesture, planting the menu down. "I don't— I don't usually go to these kinds of places, so.. What do you think?" she awkwardly giggles, tapping the menu's plastic sleeve.

Tension presses a smile onto your lips at her inelegance. "Nobody does, not even people who went to these places before the outbreak," you opine, swapping the notepad to one hand and sliding into the booth. "It's okay. I mean.. hmm, what do you prefer? Sweet or salty?"

Her eyelids flick down, fingers coming to lace together as her eyes traverse the options. "Uh, I guess I— wait, wait," she interrupts herself. A swift finger draws you to look down at the menu, "You guys make pancakes here?" green eyes gaping at you with pupils more voracious than her stomach—or her sweet tooth.

"Yeah."

"I'll have that then."

It was a steadfast verdict. The sweet honey pancakes, she shall have, at the cost of a couple minutes and a couple ingredients. But it isn't traditional for birthdays, so you weigh in. “Just pancakes? I mean.. Faye is back there if you want something a little more celebrator—”

“—I'm not really a blow-the-candles-out and make-a-wish type of person,” she corrects you, brows cinched in as she rambles. Then, her free hand scoots the menu forward. “But you already knew that, you just insist otherwise,” she chuckles, unable to meet eye and eye.

True. Your soft insistence dawns from wanting nothing less than heaven inside everything for her, and maybe a dash of that sweet-sweet crush on her. But, Ellie is so staunch in being the humble girl that doesn't glorify every recorded happening with string lights and a wish hurled into the uncaring universe bent upon nurturing demised, late lights young girls reach for. She kept everything low-key: a small garage get-together on her last birthday, the one before that, and the one predating those two. Alcohol in your palms and movies playing back to back. Budding distorted laughs and tumbles into each other. Birthday things.

The remnants of her fifteen-year-old mind hangs aimlessly inside that museum. Dangled and stretched into archaic bones. On the day of return, she arrived happier than a sunflower drunk on the sun. Broad smiles and whatever else.

Wasn't for long.

“Forget you're so down-to-earth and reserved about all the fun things,” you snarkily deliver, retiring that still empty notepad behind your back. Memory shall serve. “Will that be it then?”

“Are you saying I'm not fun?”

“I'm saying you need more of it.” You emphasize with a tiny bounce-up on your calves, tilting your head north. Though, nothing she uttered was wrong and so your voice silkily drones on, “And that.” You act the lack of a ruder way to insinuate. “But yeah, okay. One order of pancakes coming up.”

“Cool, I'll uh—have a 'celebratory' drink in the meantime?” She nudges the menu towards you once again, irises pulled thin on themselves. Thoroughly staring; your reflection in a bead of black.

You have to laugh, kindly laugh. “No alcohol here, dumbass.”

“Oh. Right.” Her doe-stare only crescendoed from there, shying away at the result of her asking. Something reluctant is lodged in her pale throat, stumbling out only when it feels imminent as you turn away. “D-Do you wanna chat, afterwards? There's so much bullshit surrounding Seattle I have to catch you up on and I-I didn't before, so.."

Swinging your head back, you gauge that mercurial girl there. Tripping up her request like it couldn't escape hibernation from her head any quicker than insult does.

Faye shouldn't mind. “'Course, I was left to wonder about everything since that night anyway.” Your boss might even encourage it; knowing that your long-standing crush for her—heartbreaking to fathom, beautiful to feel—never swept you from rambling Ellie into some fairytale, so she would use it to psych you into asking her out. Jesse, too. Damn the nosy ones!

But it's the one thing that keeps you worried now.

“Cool, cool. Oh, hey, add extra syrup will you?”

What does Ellie think of you?

“Mhm,” syrup is nowhere as sweet as your hum. “Got it.”

Does she think of you at all?

MOUTHS ALL-CONSUMING AND DEPRIVING

Minutes in, minutes out, wallowing at that ruby-red booth fed the realization to Ellie that the nerves feeding off her anxious chest could not combat conversation alone. She needed an aid. Liquid courage. Velvety smooth and robust.

Fortunately for betting gods and heaven-watching anyones, leftover whiskey from the last bonfire made stock in her cloistered, chaotic cabinets. So it founded no surprise that it whirled to mind after the celebratory-drink fact; leading you here, in her bedroom, on her bed. She pours whiskey into stubby glasses, One for her, one for you, and a lucky extra two for further along this unexplored line. Nothing overflowing limits.

But, oh boy, did it make you all lovey-dovey.

Her lips move and they dance over words, but all you hear is your own enamoration of how heart-shaped they are. You see, but fail to hear and comprehend. Floating aimlessly into those freckles, again. Something a fourteen-aged, sanguine mind would do.

Ellie was relaying Seattle to you, she prefaced. Prefacing didn’t aid you in paying attention, though. Today is not your sharpest, it dates to be your most absentminded. Not your usual, at all.

Nods are swayed to every shock-value word that you manage to understand, but the star-crossed rest, you miss, and replace with whatever story her pupils trace. They flit to read your face after each end of her sentences, so it has you thinking too much of her time has slipped without the company of a listener, and now that her time slips into you, she can use it to stretch your expression with whatever witty remark she makes.

She did one day blurt that your laugh compliments your smile—or however that fucking flirt threw it over the crackle of that bonfire.

In fact, when you begin to let parts of her body neck-down from her face distract you, only then do you decipher how much she has grown in a month.

She pitches her drink to sip, and your eyes are hot on that glassy trail, artistically concerned with the way she swills down whiskey: fluently gulped, throat bobbing, the scar on her lip licked clean. Her brows too, have thickened, much so as her leathered skin, her callouses. She traces her thigh in circles repeatedly—a fidgety habit—and her lips purse and tug and wrinkles hug and press said lips when they are prettily wide.

Every high noon or low point of her body was different, and you have missed a great many things you care too much about to not appreciate every brink and midst. You don't want her to be lost to otherworld winds without studying her presence harshly. She is in your scrutiny, now more than ever.

“So, do I get to see my pancakes yet, or?”

“Oh, oops.” You snap out of your woolgathering, wagging your head left to right. Then briskly as you assented her invitation, you slide your knees under you, reorganizing your seating. “Can't blame me for being so invested in your epic tales. Could totally be a comic narrator for the school in town.”

Ellie had already been sat skyward. Sprawled at one leg and tucked at the other, arm in her lap, where her whiskey is nestled. “Oh, sure,” she says with a sarcastic edge. “Those kids are a bunch of little shits. They would probably interrupt me with fart jokes or make actual fart sounds than sit still and pay attention for thirty minutes.”

“Hmm,” you hum, short and atonal, peeling the corner of the plastic lid back. “And who do you think taught them those terrible jokes, huh?”

Soft lids narrow together to sharpen her gaze; glaring at your clever comment, lips propped slightly open. “Terrible?” An offended, toothy smile pulls on her lips. All sentences she could possibly muster up come crashing into each other; an agglomeration, “I—They aren't bad jokes—and they're puns, really, so they're actually pretty fuckin' smart,” she boasts with brows raised. “And It isn't my fault that every annoying kid picked them up and started repeating them.”

It most certainly is her fault. Hell, even you catch yourself reciting them at the crest of nightfall, giggling into your palm. Although, why she's trying so rigorously to plead her pun-enjoying case to you, might just be funnier. “Are you seriously trying to explain puns to me?”

“God,” she surrenders in a chuckle, and bows her head to introduce another quick sip to her parched lips. Ellie then eyes you for a blank second thereafter, tugging the plump of her lower lip through her teeth. Like contemplation has her hindered.

Around you, the lungs of the garage’s foundation inhale, and exhale; creaking and settling.

She dashes a huff. “You basically asked,” Ellie reminds you, her tone and eye-roll implying obviousness. “Can I eat my pancakes now? M'hungry.” Her face sutures into a pseudo-frown and encloses herself to a crisscross, impatiently behaving.

Now, as for the pancakes. Fluffy, biscuit brown, star-shaped, bountifully rivered in unrestricted syrup, topped off by a definitely-melted, humbled ingot of butter. Needless to say, you're pleased by what boredom and intact cooking-books taught you, and she hasn't even seen them yet.

The ask for a carryout-container was already in order the moment you set pace for her table, because you wound up in a near-catastrophe as she sought you out around the kitchens like a lost pup and maundered right into you. Thank patrol for instincts; it's the one thing you held an undying clutch to. And the sweet pancakes you proudly plated, making refuge on the counters as you cross-examined Ellie in case you injured her arm more.

Lucky girl was all fine and peachy, of course.

She only knocked you two right into that near-injury mess to invite you here. Persuasion sat readily in her throat incase you questioned her motives—most of her ideas turning out to be a little friend-group antic, never anything serious or singular—but you agreed to it in double-time.

“Think you might just be one of those kids at this point.” You gingerly tweak the rim of the plate you kept the pancakes on and lift it outside the container, planting it between all four knees.

“Eh, you're not so innocent yourself,” Ellie contends before she even casts her first peek at the hillock of starry sweetness, totally taken aback when she does. “Holy shit,” she awes, just as if she were a young teen again, “Are you kidding me?”

Labor-intended nights never slip soft through the gaps of your fastened fingers, not even days where your work period is abridged, but hey, strange, space-brain girls are far beyond ordinary exception. Hell, Ellie is vital! Commemorating the red angel you worship in the patterned and soapy act of cooping up on her bed, toasting to the moonlight and letting her talk your ear off for old times' sake is your approach to telling her you love her.

“Know I'm not a pancake-connoisseur, but I gave it a unique whirl. Just for you.” You held a fork out, gracing her with first honors. “Don't blame me if it gives you a stomachache,” your forewarn is a doubtful one; in your mind, morningtime will arise with an extra punch to her gut.

Ellie, however, stares right into the baying eyes of a challenge, snatching the fork from you. "Hey, if it's good enough for my tongue, then it's good enough for ma' gut!" and promptly after exclaim, gashes and tears her fork into the sweet, airy texture of the pancake, popping it past her sweet, berried lips. “Mhh—and I will blame you. So you end up feeling sorry n'take care of me.”

God, whatever souls you would sell to spend paradisal afterlife with this fool. Talking with a gob flush of the birthday project you're humiliated to be proud of. You scoff, “Asshole,” lightheartedly scornful as can be, and it snaps something to mind. Head tilting eye-to-eye, “Dina wouldn't be the one to?” you ask, right after she swallows.

That particular question seemingly struck a chord as her brows cinched together, eyes dropping with allusion. “No,” she says meekly, soft in the sound, but you can tell it came up heavy. Shadowed by a sigh, and an untimely chuckle. “Do you want to know?” She throws on a shrug that ripples through her head, sending it to hang lopsidedly. As the stout willow grows.

“Guess so,” you agree temperately, not wanting to seem too eager—even though with this topic, you just might be. Camouflage those old, foul feelings of envy. “Did Seattle have you kicking more ass than just Wolves and infected? Couldn't have been a very romantic tr—”

“Dina's pregnant.”

Silence carves it's way after that. Thick, tense and unyielding. You had words lined up but like a shot in stark night they've just—vanished, sunk back into the chamber. Nothing prepared you to hear that, “Pregnant?” lowering a hand to your belly where you swear your heart has pummeled to.

Ellie glances up, once at your widened face and once at your hand. A bite of humor works it's way above her chin; smugly smirking. “God, don't tell me you're pregnant now too.”

“What? No!”

Damn idiot. Should punch her right in the—nevermind.

Ellie is way too quick to make serious things unserious. “You're a damn menace,” you unapprovingly giggle.

“Am I?” Amusement raises her brows, tearing into the pancake with her fork for another bite. “Cause you seem to like menace.”

You adjust onto propped elbows, “Do I?” playing all nonchalant. “I mean, what do you mean by that?” your voice dims, expending for the small space that separates you and her.

“Mhh,” she contemplates with a purring sound, and shrugs. “Dunno.” Ellie retreats those eyes downward where you won't compel her to smile. You can tell she battles the letch to look up again, which—as proven in her case—doesn't fucking work. She shoots up carefully, and it's a conflicted gaze this time. “Not with Dina anymore, though. That’s the other thing.”

And we're back.

Having reconciled the chance, you retrace. Look at her with somber concern. “Did something between the two of you happen?” It's a gentle question, reinforced by the bulletproof stare you offer her to unwind in.

The air in her voice softens, “Sort of,” and the meridians of your body then become easier to look at as she continues, wrinkles in her brows. “Said some things I shouldn't have, and we.. figured it best to leave it at that. For now.” her explanation sounds desolate and attemptless, like she has sat in shadow and vigil accepting this fact and has given up on hope. Crestfallen and quieter; this isn't like her. Bent at her wrist, dangling that glass above her crisscrossed lap like a sad child pokes at the food on their plate.

“For now?” You hate that you pry, but that sick greed in your gut from times before haunts with a hunger for knowledge. Your envy that is enlightenment. Still, you hesitate to seem nosy, wanting nothing than to possibly just console your friend in need. “What's holding you back from.. calling it quits? The pregnancy?” You crane your body upright slowly.

“Just still feelin' bad.” Her fingers begin a tap-dance at the glass' rim. “I'm an asshole.”

You duck at the neck, searching for her downcast eyes. “Come on, El. I've only ever seen you rant and rave at middle-aged grumpy men and infected, no way it was that bad.”

“You weren’t there,” she insists otherwise with an earnest voice, inciting a refreshed sigh as she swigs her whiskey.

“Well, what did you say?” You are relentless. No, normally you would not condone it, but tonight, tongues are loose and boundaries are blurry. You miss your happy girl. “I could talk to Dina, if it helps.”

“Wouldn’t change shit.”

“If you love her, you would try.” Even if it sickens you.

Ellie slots her drink in her lap, and grouches. “Dude.” She pinches the bridge of her nose and stifles a groan, frustrated. It draws out in words without proper footing, “It's weird. We just don't know what to say to each other—I don't know what to say to her, it.. it's just how it is—it was a mutual agreement. None of your business, really.”

Her own tongue is a very obvious byproduct of nerves, whiskey, stress, by and large a lot of things. Being goaded, definitely.

How it is, is how it will be.

“She broke up with me.”

You didn't mean to goad her, but curiosity—and a kiss of alcohol and envy—ate your refrain. The lack of any eye contact or movements to stray from you thereafter her word is telling enough. That it aches her head, and a cold, guilty sweat crosses over your skin. It was a stupid thing to blurt. You feel fucking stupid for even saying that.

Fuck.

Her dry sniffle is noisy on your shortcoming, and has you scrambling to think. “Sorry, just been worried for weeks.” But you shrink into a ball of abraded arms and legs, conserving yourself into a shy, spotted egg of curiosity that clads no hatching cracks to be convicted of. “Thought you two finally getting together would be the dream to end all dreams.” What the fuck do you know anyway?

Her eyes watch through you, into you like water; she notices, and the pancakes are slid to the side. Shuffles of fabric clamber closer as she eats the inches between you two, her breath brushing your forehead. “Hey, hey. I didn't mean anything by it. It's fuckin' great that I got somebody I can drink with and mope to. Really. Just been shitty all around—Tommy? Fuck, he's been the worst lately.”

Everything ascends in temperature once her hand plants on the side of your neck, every nerve petrifies; unheard-of touch. She can feel the gasped tension in your throat, thumbing the muscles down.

“Don't worry about it,” she says, and her saying that amuses you.

A moth-eaten phrase in particular is what was said. You scoff at it, plopping your legs back out. “Dude.” You bite a smile into your lips. Sucks that such a hackneyed thread of words does so; you're really chewing back the urge to call her any byname of dumbass, per usual. But damn that sincere face on her face that sweetens the teasing deal for you. You settle for low-hanging fruit. “You always say that, Ellie.”

“Ugh,” she seconded a scoff back at you, grimacing coyly. “Don't you start.” Ellie drags her hand off, not intending for it to land smack-dab on your thigh. It takes her a second to register the sound, the texture, slinking her hand behind her when you say nothing.

“Start what?” you stutter a laugh, bringing your thighs together.

“Nothin,”

“Don’t bullshit me, WIlliams.” To educe her, you dig your foot into her side, poking her. “Does it have anything to do with only me being here and not anybody else?” You lean into her.

Ellie does too, an exact mirror of you. “No..” The only thing that contrasted you, was her hand again, seeking what was left behind on your thigh. “Just wanted to see you first,” her lips barely move besides a slick smirk. Voice tiptoeing through the air, the noise-level two clandestine lovers live at, in secret song.

“You fuckin liar. No hang-outs for weeks before you left and suddenly you want to see me?” You call bull when she relucts to raise her hung head, witnessing the corners of her lip curl. Her head twists away more, and you spearhead the first, little move: tuck that irkful strand of auburn with a single finger. “C'mon.. what is it?”

“Stupid,” she blatantly spits, and at last confronts your face with her puckish one—glimpsing down, and up, and down. Watching her grip flex into your leg intermittently, chewing her lip. “Mhh, maybe 'm starting it.”

Ellie is heart-poundingly close; her breath is now yours to breathe. You whisper, “Maybe you are,” perking yourself right up to her cheek, unnoticing of the ardor her eyes spin over your face. Unsure where to stare. You pretend the pressure on your thigh flies under the radar, too, and that your heart isn't in the middle of a love-logged swell, and your cheeks aren't tender from smirking at the feeling of it perched there. Love-struck death befalls, if else confessed, so you tease, tease, and tease to stomach your excitement. “Maybe, you're stalling on those pancakes because they actually gave you a stomachache. You feeling good?”

Her bitten lips part, and the next sensations you feel—are transcendental.

Wisping whispers so hot, and intoxicating on your skin, you fail to catch her hand coming up from your thigh to clasp your face, or that hers has shifted in front of yours. She breathes out, “Won't you shut up already?” through lips pulled into a smirk, and rushes to press it fondly against your mouth.

You wince—somewhere between an electrified gasp and a reaction of delight—into the kiss she stole, and it only beckons her to starve more for you. The heat of her whiskey breath pours into your mouth, and you drape your eyes closed. Scoring these seconds by, she spends them concentratedly rolling the skin together, others pushing and shying from the kiss, until she stills and bleeds out the pressure in a slow, wet smack. Hazily eyeing you for a response.

Once you feel her no more, your eyes blurrily creak open, and the corners of her lips at soft upturn greet you. Single creases at either side, the few freckles above them outspread.

Judgement renounces you, leaving you with pathetic pickings for reply. You aren't sure what she wants—or needs you to say. “Ellie?” daintily, a mumble flows onto her lips, and is far from a frail sound of concern. Intrigue encapsulates you.

What does this mean?

You think you know, but self-reason has always proven itself to be naive and too eager to trust.

By cruel emotion, she misunderstands you. “Sorry,” she pants out breathlessly, blowing the shape of it into your cleft lips and hovering right upon. Her fingers gouge the fabric clothing your chest, mangling it into her fist—an attempting grasp. This proximity is all she could ever dream of. “Is this okay?” Yet, dreams always sever at the apotheosis. So when she comes in for the second kiss, she wants no more for dreaming; the reality she yawns with hunger into, is insurmountable.

A dewdrop of something cold dribbles between you. Tears.

In turn, you misunderstand her. Using your own stubbornness to create an enigma. To think, that out of the blue, all of this would transpire? After endless wishes unanswered? You doubt it.

You love her, but you refuse the reality of it happening upon you.

Separating from the plush, licked skin of her lips fleetingly, you speak. “Is this you being drunk?” Only to be drawn back in without her processing your words right away, and then drawn back out. Intricate intimacy.

“Please,” Ellie begs, “Answer me, before I feel like an asshole again,” and chuckles sobbingly before her teeth feel rapaciously empty, and cannot tolerate it any longer. Instinct, and teeth nip your bottom, vulnerable lip.

Neither of you could be totally drunk, having only drank a modest portion.

So this is raw.

Thinly pulled, she slowly stretches it across the air between, and watches it spring back beneath eyelids sunken low. The action entails nothing else for her to feed satisfaction from, already panting right in your mouth in search of more as soon as your tongue descries the answer. “More than okay,” you heave in a passioned breath along that all-consuming, deprived mouth. Your hand squeezes her fist confirmingly.

It quenches her lust to know, a hot-blooded, moaned and voiceless curse snapping into your mouth. “I fuckin' love you.” Her rage softens in meeker kisses, peppering them up to the corners of your lips until she pauses, and pulls herself away. Her eyes turn troubled and adrenaline-rushed. Stains of tears shimmer beneath, along new ones that begin to plunge, and for the first time ever, you know they're yours. But then the flesh between frowns, the mood shifting, and she croaks, “Am I.. an asshole?”

It breaks you to hear that.

You glare, and stammer, “W-What? You aren't.” Hooking dearly onto her wrist when her hand glides up to rest against your cheek. “Why?”

“Cause I sprung this on you, 'nd I don't wanna force you to..” Ellie cranks to a halt, mouth screwing shut like her thoughts were too much to bear hearing aloud. “Fuck,” she quietly spews, cowering her face near your neck.

“Said it was okay,” you coo, clarifyingly coo, raking your fingertips up and through the tied loops of her hair. “The only asshole thing you'd ever done was not let me come with you.”

“I know.” Her eyes search for uncomplicated plains. The sheets, her lap, your neck. A kiss is planted as she tips her head, the gust thereafter a warm reminder of her sorries.

“Thought you were going to die.” You awoken in violent patterns, cold nights restless in bed, tossing and turning. Waking and falling into daydreams of how Jackson would feel missing a cardinal component. A girl to rave against dying lights. Thorns scale your throat at the thought. “You're reckless, y'know?” you mean it as a gentle insult, chuckling as it leaves your lips, and sealing it into her scarred palm. Kissing reckless consequences.

Her lips loiter on the pulse of your throat. They drag, and they drag.. sloppily limping over your jaw as she makes her way to observe you in her palm, mumbling low, and gravelly, “How many times am I gonna have to say it?” Ellie deems it redundant to tell you that she knows again, resorting to her own little gentle insult, “Such a fuckin' sap.”

“Says you.”

Her hand is comfortingly warm; you aren't fain to break away. But her fingers are curious, thumb nearly making it into your mouth before she second-guesses herself, easing it at the verge of your lips instead.

A longing moment of Ellie staring at the way her thumb looks—a decoration to your mouth—passes, and she responds, “Still alive, aren't I?” to that loose thread of a plea you forgot you even said. It calls you right over, bidding you to look into her eyes again as space finds itself thinning again, her scratchy, band-aided nose caressing yours. “Dumbass.”

She chuckles into your mouth as you chuckle into hers, cutting yourself off with a kiss that ebbs, and flows. Suckles, and smacks, snaking her tongue in for a change. That sweet, sweet wheat. Saccharinity you can't explore anywhere else other than the outline of her mouth. And you—of grunted volitions in her chest—take exploration further, replacing the grasp of her shoulder with the coursing of fabric, sliding under the hem of her shirt and palming the skin there.

You feel her skin breathe, her belly breathe into your hand, and a content wrinkle pinch between her brows. Her skin, is as soft as nothingness.

“You're a dumbass.”

Air clings to your cheek as her hand reaches around you, pressing fingerprints into the base of your head as to prop you for her delightments. Ellie is no amateur, enjoying you as if she knew you were hers without explicit pledge.

“Sure, babe,” she scoffingly counters, and pulls her tongue out of you, lips messiy shining. She scouts you out; lays eyes on your expression with undertones of satisfaction and presses an appetent bite right back into your damp skin, grunting into the filthy kiss.

Your mind is one-pathed right now; in the most maddened form, you crave the story further down her throat. In that warm space, is air thinned and balmy with the scent of alcohol and syrup. In those whimpers, is the sincere confession she held tight in throatly gloaming, all those intimate times before. In all of your yearnings, your lips never parted for more.

Two holes that want to consume each other.

Weeping, wailing, tormenting in an empty forever.

“Fuck you, Ellie,” you cathartically sob into the humid cavern of her, a hint of wanton—and other repressed things, taking form. That hand under her shirt wanders from her navel and tweaks the button of her jeans, pressing your body against all of her like it hurt to be inside your own, singular body. Overcame by a need you could not chew out.

Ellie cuts the kiss, quick to soothe the movement with her hand pressing down and collecting yours. “Hey, hey, too fast,” she laughs, distancing herself and giving you those eyes that could see you were overstrung, hectic to go somewhere you aren't prepared for.

She loves you, but that means appreciating you enough to wait until time is perfect.

Her head cocks, “Let's take shit slow, huh?” fingers weaving into the pliant gaps of yours and pulling your fist dear to her chin, kissing it.

You speak over the repeated sounds of her smooches, “Yeah, sorry,” cringing slightly at how fucking cheesy the scene became. But, when is Ellie not? Wonder clasps you now; intent to know what this makes out of the two of you, having held your feelings for forever. “Well, what does all this mean, then?”

“It means..” Ellie slants her body even more, stealing your wrist along with her. Planning something, no doubt. “You and me, breakfast tomorrow at ten, Tipsy Bison?” Her mouth stuck to the side of your hand like syrup, so firm in not letting you go.

It makes your ears simmer hearing her shamelessly set up a date, of all things she could have said. God. You errantly laugh, totally not giddy when her mouth starts sprinkling up your arm at an alarming pace. “Sounds more than good—hey! You slow down!”

Happy birthday, asshole.

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latenightdaydreams · 10 months ago

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König x First Meeting (fem)

MDNI🔞

I'm sorry for not posting as often as I usually do! There has been a lot of things going on in my personal life, but I promise to be back on my normal schedule soon! ILY all and thank you so much for everyone's patience and grace🩷 I hope you all have a great day/night!!

Master List ✍🏽

>cw: fem/afab, fluff, sexual thoughts

1.4k word count.

📻

Over the last three years, you’ve always just been a soft voice on the other side of König’s radio. What was first professional talk only quickly turned into deep conversations and flirting. Every mission he can rely on you to always be there. You’ve been able to help him out of terrible situations, causing the bond to grow stronger. It helps that your voice is so feminine and soothing to him.

Even though you both have never met face to face, he’s developed deep feelings for you. Other than your first name, he knows nothing about you. Are you married? Do you like men? That doesn’t really matter; men like König aren’t built for relationships, so he’s never sought you out. Why ruin something good?

König has just returned from a successful mission, his team put together a small party at the local bar for him. He sat at the bar with Horangi as everyone else spread out across the bar. In the middle of the story Horangi was telling him, he hears your voice. His eyes widen as he looks around trying to find you. Then you speak again.

The light coming in from the windows behind you formed a halo of golden rays around your body, framing your stunning shape. It’s as if König was looking at an angel, a dream come true. He places a hand on Horangi’s shoulder as to excuse himself as his feet guide him to you.

“Y/n? Is that really you?” König asks as his eyes travel all over your body as he stops a few feet from you.

“König!” You respond in such a happy tone, your lips curving into the sweetest smile he’s ever seen. He is a massive man; in height and in muscle mass. While you can’t see his face, you can see his beautiful pale eyes.

“Y- you’re here. In the flesh.”

He is trying his best to be respectful, but finding it hard to take his eyes away from your body. To see you, the body, the face, to match your voice; he feels as if this just confirms that he’s in love with you. This is exactly what he was worried would happen if you two ever met.

“It’s nice to finally meet you face to face.” His eyes meet yours once more as he holds his hand out for you to shake.

The sweet familiar giggle leaves your lips as you brush past his hand and wrap your arms around him for a hug. “There’s no need to be so formal.” You tease, causing his cheeks to turn red underneath his mask.

König wraps his arms around you, returning the hug. You’re so much smaller than him that your head barely reaches his chest. He leans down slightly and takes a deep breath. You smell like a breezy spring day. Everything about you screams home to him, he came picture himself coming home every day and burying his head between your breasts and letting the stress of the day melt off.

When the hug ends, he can still feel his body tingle where you touched him. His icy blue eyes are stuck on you, trying to study every little part of you that he can. He notices your eyes travel over his body as well, giving him an ego boost.

“Congratulations on your work.” You say grabbing his gloved hand.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, Süße.” His voice is barely above a whisper as he squeezes your hand slightly. There are so many words fighting to be said, but he doesn’t know where to begin. “Would you like to sit together and chat?”

“I would.”

Horangi turns in his seat to see König walking hand in hand with you. He raises his eyebrow and shrugs, getting up to join the crowd of people to give you both some time alone. You sit, sliding into one side of the booth and König ops to sit beside you verses across from you. He can’t take his eyes off of you or stop touching you. Three years of only knowing your voice. Three years of joking, flirting, and life saving advice.

“You’re a lot taller than I thought you’d be.” You say softly as you gaze down at his hand caressing your upper thigh through the fabric of your jeans. The sexual tension between the both of you is insane.

König chuckles at your comment while nodding his head. “I am. I’m a big man, kleine Taube.” Your thighs are so deliciously thick, he can only imagine what they would feel like underneath the fabric of your pants. His eyes drop to your cleavage before traveling back up to your eyes. “It’s crazy to finally put a face to the voice.”

“Hopefully a cute face.” You smirk and chuckle.

“A beautiful face. You’re so beautiful and small.” His face heats up at his words as his mind begins to wander about what it would be like to have you completely to himself.

“Well, thank you König. I can’t see your face but I imagine it’s just as attractive as your voice.”

He leans back in the booth and laughs, shaking his head in disagreement. “I have scars, Taube. Graying hair.” His eyes travel from your eyes to your soft pillowy kissable lips then back up.

“Maybe I’m into that.” You smirk.

It’s just like speaking to you have the radio, you’re just as flirty and confident in person and that’s very attractive to König. His hand on your thigh squeezes twice before he shifts his body to face you more. The hand moves from your thigh so he can remove his gloves, showing off his pale large hands. His fingers dance across your small palm before linking fingers with you. You place your free hand on his arms, caressing his muscular bicep. His pants grow tight on him as he feels his cock begin to harden.

Before anything else can be said, Horangi brings over two shots for the both of you. He has a sly smirk on his face as he passes one to you and then to König. “Celebration shot!” Horangi gleefully shouts.

You reach for yours and then look at König and wait for him to grab his. He does and watches you closely waiting to see what you will do. When you bring the small glass up to your lips and drink the harsh liquor with no reaction his cock twitches. What he wouldn’t give to see your lips wrap around him instead.

König looks at you and lifts up his mask, exposing his lips to you. You can see a scar coming from his cheek down past his lip to his chin. He takes the shot quickly, but before he can drop his mask you lean up and kiss him. Your lips fall on his cheek, but the corners of your lips touch and it drives him mad.

He looks down at you for a moment, not reacting while he attempts to gather his thoughts so he doesn’t just bend you over this table and fuck you in front of the whole bar. One of his hands comes up and caresses the side of your face as he leans in to kiss you again. His lips are soft and delicate at first. Slowly his lips move against yours in a more possessive and passionate heat.

Your lips feel just as soft as clouds, you smell and taste so sweet. His hand slips down your body, wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to him. The kiss intensifies as he feels your lip’s part. He wastes no time; the tip of his tongue runs across your bottom lip before slipping into your mouth.

A small hum rumbles from his chest as he moves his hand up and down your back, moving to your side to explore your curves. You feel so perfect in his hands. You taste so good on his tongue. There is no one else. You are the one.

König pulls back from the kiss; his eyes look down into yours. All he wants to do is ravish your body and get to know every inch of you, but he knows he should take you out first. You’re more than just a hookup, he can build a future with you. He thinks for a moment, letting his eyes trail down your body once more before speaking. “Would you like to go on a date?”

“I would love to.”

“Tomorrow.”

“What time?”

“I’m free all day, Süße. You can take as much of it as you want.” You could take the air from his lungs and he’d die a happy man.

“I want it all.”

König smirks at your response. His hand lingers on your upper thigh once more, letting his fingers rest on your inner thigh. “You can have it all. Anything for my Taube.”

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sinning-23 · 2 years ago

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To Breathe Underwater (Luffy x Mermaid!Reader)

Okay yall this is the first of many in a mermaid/siren series I decided to WRITE LIKE AN IDIOT LOL sorey I fell off and haven’t been active I feel like I’m going to crumble- like a strong breeze could take me outta this point.

Anyway I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: None

Water fills his lungs are he struggles against the still waters. This was the price to pay for his abilities. the ocean consuming him, weighing him down, pulling him into her cold embrace. It burns his nose and throat as he cough the last of his air into bubbles.

His eyes are begingin to close as he falls unconscious, flashes of light swirl around him. Though muffled from the water, he can hear what sounds like metal pieces clinking quietly. Warmth envelops him, arms wrapped around his body as he's pulled up.

What was this...Who was this. He forced his eyes open, the water making it a blurry sight but, it was definitely a who. And a very pretty who at that.

They were calm, eyes scanning his rapidly as her webbed fingers and iridescent hands twinkled in the light. She hold his face, his consciousness fading faster then ever, and with a single connection to lips she preaches air into him, swapping the water that filled with lungs for oxygen. Again and again and again, she breathes into him, slowly but surely swimming him up to the surface, to shore.

_____________

You can’t help but trace his face, the sun making his hair look shinier, and his face so much brighter. You try counting the freckles there, its seemingly impossible. He breaths slow, chest rising and falling and you trace the scar there. You’d never been this close to a human before....they're so delicate.

He coughs, the last remnants of water spilling from his lips as you gasp and flinch back. You can hear voices from afar but you don't move, far too worried about the human in front of you to care. You crawl back to him, pushing the wet hair from his face and cupping his cheeks after. He's missing something...

"Who are you?" His voice is raspy, yet concerned.

You shake your head, looking back to the water to see his hat floating. Bingo! You grab it, and set it over his face, leaning close to his ear before letting your name roll off your glossy lips.

He repeats it, a slow mantra of your name drips off his tongue as you slither back to the water.

"That was a mermaid! Luffy got saved by a mermaid!" Usopp gasps, pulling his captain up with a smile.

Of course, Luffy was still a bit delierous form the deamn near death experience, but he made a note to remember than name so he could properly thank the thing that saved his life.

You.

_6.5 months later_

Winter draws in and your tail was shed for a pair of limbs longer than your arms. It wasn't the first time you'd had this happen and it certainly would be the last. Every winter, a mermaid sheds their tail to seek warmth on land during the cold and snowy months. Then, in spring, when the first few flowers bloom and the tempurature rises, you return to sea.

Now, you were sitting in one of this villages many taverns, well, one of which mermaids like yourself have come for shelter for decades. The current owner had given you a nice room and some fresh clothes for the winter months and in return for giving you that you would provide entertainment.

So there you are, hair flowing over your shoulders, voice ringing sweetly across the space as customers, pirate or otherwise, indulge.

You hadn't realized that the table at the far left of the eatery had been occupied, and one of the guest simply couldn't tear his eyes away from you. You were so...familiar.

"Luffy you look like you’re burning holes through her, calm down. " Nami speaks, a smirk forming over he features seeing her Captains current state.

Luffy wasn’t very well versed in just etiquette but then again you didn’t really need that when you were a pirate. The content of his character was far more important than idk maybe not standing on a rich ladies table and requesting a boat from her.

Anyway, he snaps his gaze away from you and back to Nami. There you were, glittering under this mellow spotlight as your voice carried over sweet, diabetes inducing melodies and his heart can’t help but squeeze.

You’d saved his life, that’s something he’ll never let go, somehow feeling a pinch in debt to you. His eyes trail from the top of your head to the shoes on your feet. Usopp might have an answer for that….

“I swear she was a mermaid when she saved me. Usopp, you know a lot about those things, why is it that she has legs now?” He questions, leaning forward with a wide smile.

The man in question stammers for a moment trying to find the words but before he can even get some outlandish explanation out, the waitress just so happened to cut in.

“This has been a rest spot for mermaid for years. They get legs in the winter to stay warm on land among the people. Then, in spring, they return to sea, we’ll if they do choose. The longer they stay on land, the harder it is to go back to their tails.” She explains, setting down drinks, tucking the tray under her arm.

“Some merfolk opt to stay human and they just, unadapt I suppose. They lose their tails forever.”

Luffy draws back to the stage to realize you’re not there and a panic shoots through him. He grabs the waitresses arm, wondering where you’d gone and she only points to an empty staircase. That’s all it takes for him to jump out his seat and leave his crew behind. He needed to see you. He needed to hear your voice. Feel your hands over his face, tracing his freckles and over his lips.

He wanted his heart to feel as if it somehow spring out his chest when you spoke. Is this what a crush feels like???? He did it know anything about you accept that you’d been kind enough to save him, you were a mermaid, and god were you absolutely beautiful. But, he found himself wanting to know you, and when he wants something, he’s determined to get it.

The light creeking of your door makes you flinch but you turn to see that same man you'd though tof nonstop for the past 6 months. The silence is deafening, your heartbeat ringing n your ears and his does the same.

You swallow dryly, trying to think of something to say but...what is there to say? He steps in, pausing for a moment to search your eyes for protest, but you only encourage it with a step forward.

"You look different when you’re not drowning." You joke poorly, seeing him slile.

"So do you when im not busy trying to breathe underwater.” He laughs, seeing you smile in response.

#x reader #one piece #one piece luffy #monkey d. luffy #straw hat luffy #one piece netflix #one piece live adaptation #siren #reader is a mermaid

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ranchstoryblog · 4 months ago

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PRESS RELEASE: Marvelous USA Shares Valentine’s Day Trailers for Rune Factory: Guardians of Azuma’s 16 Romance Candidates*

Across Azuma

Earth Dancers May Find Romance

Start With New Trailers

Whether an Earth Dancer’s true love is a hero or a humble villager or an ancient God, there’s someone for everyone in Azuma… Marvelous USA today released a pair of trailers featuring the romance candidates for Rune Factory: Guardians of Azuma, the action-RPG and life-simulation title scheduled for release on the Nintendo Switch™ system and Windows PC via Steam on May 30, 2025.

The first trailer focuses on eight male marriage candidates from across Azuma.

youtube

Rune Factory: Guardians of Azuma | Romance Candidates Trailer - Bachelors

The second trailer puts the spotlight on Azuma’s eligible bachelorettes.

youtube

Rune Factory: Guardians of Azuma | Romance Candidates Trailer - Bachelorettes

Romance Candidates

Subaru | Wandering Hero

Left his cold village in the northern part of Azuma on a mission to save the land. Childhood friends with Kaguya who hails from the same hometown. Usually relaxed and easygoing. Enjoys gazing at the sky. While generally not a fan of battle, he has a strong sense of justice and will fight fiercely to protect his friends and loved ones.

Kaguya | Wandering Hero

Left her cold village in the northern part of Azuma on a mission to save the land. Childhood friends with Subaru who hails from the same hometown. Loves being in nature, especially when she’s interacting with animals and observing flowers. Although usually calm, she despises evil and resents any acts of injustice.

Iroha | Cheerful Teahouse Proprietress

The owner of Iroha's Teahouse in Spring Village. A friendly, caring young woman who dreams of revitalizing Spring Village and returning it to its former glory.

Murasame | Swordsman Seeking Greatness

A samurai who wanders Azuma with the goal of becoming the world's greatest swordsman. Master of the Munen Muso sword style, which means "free from empty thoughts." Spends his days training and keeping his sword in good condition.

Hina | Mysterious Archaeologist

A half-human, half-fox were-animal who arrives in Azuma on an airship with Mauro. Claims to be an archaeologist. Childhood events instilled in her a strong desire to help others.

Mauro | Adventurer Who Sails the Skies

A self-proclaimed treasure hunter from a foreign land who came to Azuma by airship in search of a legendary treasure. This sentimental soul is easily moved to tears.

Ulalaka | Peaceful God of Spring and Mirth

Azuma's kind, gentle god of spring and merriment. Her benevolence knows no bounds and she simply wants everyone to live happy, peaceful lives.

Matsuri | Boisterous God of Summer and Swords

Azuma's carefree god of summer and swords. Enjoys physical activities of all kinds. Despite being a master of the blade, she tends to solve problems with brute force instead.

Kurama | Astute God of Autumn and Wind

Azuma's calm, cool-headed god of autumn and the wind. Well-versed in a wide variety of subjects. Due to his tactical nature, he excels at every game imaginable, both ancient and modern.

Fubuki | Half-Beast God of Winter and Water

Azuma's warmhearted wolf god of winter and water. A somewhat anxious soul who hates to hurt others.

Kanata | Prestigious God of Light and the Heavens

Azuma's god of light and the heavens. Acts as the gods' official representative. Serious and intelligent, but also prone to flights of fancy.

Kai | Oni God of the Underworld

A leader of the oni feared for his incredible strength. Although a bit selfish and rough around the edges, he treats his retainers well. Always wears a mask that hides his true face.

Clarice | Deadly Beauty

The leader of a mysterious group that traveled to Azuma to further some unknown goal. A cold, battle-hardened soldier who fears little. Her long blonde hair flutters behind her as she fights.

Ikagura | Mystic Leader of the Jingasa Corps

A mystic from the capital who leads the Jingasa Corps. Mild-mannered by nature, but when his personal goals are at stake, he stops at nothing to achieve them.

Pilika | Huntress Who Honors All Life

A quiet, plain-spoken hunter who hails from Azuma's far north. Her hunting skills know no peer, and she feels deep respect for every living thing.

*Available via “Seasons of Love” DLC bundle

Cuilang | Soft-Spoken Puppet Master

A mechanical expert who lives in Autumn Village. Although he speaks little and socializes even less, the other villagers can always rely on him, and he never turns away a soul in need.

*Available via “Seasons of Love” DLC bundle

About Rune Factory: Guardians of Azuma

Guardians of Azuma takes players on an all-new adventure in the never-before-seen country of Azuma. Here, players will assume the role of an Earth Dancer destined to return hope—and life—to the once-thriving land. Choose from one of two protagonists whose fates are closely tied together, and experience reimagined and expanded Rune Factory gameplay; as Earth Dancer, players will farm with grace, restore and build entire villages, and fight with new weapons like the Bow and Talismans. Azuma is a vast world to explore with majestic villages to uncover, each taking inspiration from Japanese culture and each with a seasonal theme. In addition to exploration, combat, and village-building, players will also cultivate relationships with the locals, recruiting them to your side in battle or to help manage the villages. Wield sacred treasures of the gods and the Earth Dancer’s power of dance to purify the land and return Azuma to its former glory. The adventure of a new world awaits.

Pre-orders for the Rune Factory: Guardians of Azuma “Earth Dancer Edition” are now available via the Marvelous USA Online Store and at participating retailers for an MSRP of $99.99. This stunning collection comes in a custom outer box featuring awe-inspiring art of a battle high above Azuma, and includes a physical copy of the game, an original soundtrack CD, an art book, an Azuma-inspired folding fan, a plush Woolby keychain, and a substantial DLC pack, which includes the “Seasons of Love Bundle,” the “Festive Attire and Dark Woolby Bundle,” the “Rune Factory 4 Hero Outfit Bundle,” the “Rune Factory 4 Bachelorette Outfit Bundle,” and the Useful Item Bundle. The standard edition of the game is also available to pre-order for an MSRP of $59.99. Details on digital editions and pricing will be announced later.

Developed by Marvelous and published in the Americas by Marvelous USA, Rune Factory: Guardians of Azuma is scheduled for release globally on the Nintendo Switch™ system and Windows PC via Steam on May 30, 2025. The title will be published in Japan by Marvelous Inc. and in Europe by Marvelous Europe. More information can be found on the official website, https://na.runefactory.com/azuma/, and on X @RuneFactory. This title has been rated “T for Teen” by the ESRB.

Information about Marvelous USA’s products can be found at www.marvelous-usa.com. Fans can also check out the latest videos from the Marvelous family of titles on YouTube and get updates by following on Facebook, X, Instagram, and BlueSky.

#story of seasons #rune factory #guardians of azuma #rune factory guardians of azuma #rune factory: guardians of azuma #goa #press release #Youtube

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frut1ger-aero · 3 months ago

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medieval inspired purecacao au

had a brainwave while listening to cocteau twins and golden brown (someone ban me from writing aus)

In synchrony with the natural orchestra of the woods, were the pants of a man upon his steed, cantering through the undergrowth. He longed to strip off his steel and chainmail armour and bask in the dappled sunlight, but on the orders of the Vanillian King, he was to remain in the attire of a man his status—a knight. A higher ranking knight, as displayed by his sleek black horse, but a knight nevertheless, who had to bend to the orders of the king.

As of now, he was barely a few yards from his station, so he gently reined his horse in and they slowed to a trot. His sheathed sword clunked uncomfortably, and the urge to discard it amongst the leaves was profound. However, he stayed loyal to his orders and continued on through the woods, where spring was primitive and native creatures bounded out of the way. Insects clicked and clacked, and with the ever-present hum of bees, the area seemed to be pulsing with nature.

Though he preferred the harsh bitter of winter, with its swirling snowstorms and biting winds, watching summer unfold was undeniably beautiful.

He was beginning to sweat, however, and the distressed whinnies of the animal beneath him told him that she too, was suffering.

They had both hailed from lands where the cold was consistent, never divided into seasons like the Vanilla Kingdom was. The Dark Cacao Kingdom endured blizzards and high amounts of snow regularly. In fact, if it was warm, that would become an issue discussed at the Citadel.

It was foolish, but he found himself missing his home. He rarely gave himself time to pine, yet he could not stop himself from reminiscing. Four years ago, due to a political disagreement, he and four other of the best Cacaoian warriors were sent over to the Vanilla Kingdom to compensate for whatever the Vanilla King was angry about. A lowly knight like him would never be versed in political affairs, only a pawn to be traded.

He had seen and endured many gruelling summers, and revelled in winters that almost felt like home, but nothing could ever top the feeling of satisfaction that returning home would bring.

“Dark Cacao!” an anonymous voice rang out. He nearly jumped off his horse when he heard it.

Who had followed him into the woods? A messenger, probably. As was the custom, he bowed his head and waited for the person to catch up to him.

“Dark Cacao, it’s me,” the voice called, even louder this time.

Yielding, Dark Cacao turned around, and through the slits of his helmet, saw who was approaching him.

Instantly, he felt calmer as he watched the Vanilla prince, Pure Vanilla hurry over to him, casting wary glances around.

“What are you doing here? Where is your attendant?”

It was No secret that the prince was visually impaired, and due to this, he always had an assistant by his side. For some reason, he always found a way to escape them and tail Dark Cacao.

“I wanted to see you,” Pure Vanilla said, like it was perfectly acceptable to evade the person who was employed to assist his every move. “I overheard Crunchy Chip at the gate discussing where you were put to guard.”

“You have to get back,” he replied, looking around in a paranoid manner. It was only them in the woods, but he shuddered at the thought of the consequences if they were caught.

“I don’t want to. I missed you. Can’t you take your armour off for once?” Pure Vanilla muttered, in the petulant manner only a pampered prince could master.

“Absolutely not,” he refused.

“Why,” Pure Vanilla whined.

“Just because you’re a prince, that doesn’t mean you always get what you want. How am I supposed to explain you being here?” From atop his horse, Dark Cacao could see the way Pure Vanilla shifted at that.

“I’ll tell them the truth—that I ran off.”

“You’ll get into trouble and your father will monitor you even more closely.”

“I don’t care. Will you take your armour off now?” Pure Vanilla pleaded.

In truth, Dark Cacao deeply wanted to. It had been so long since he had embraced his lover without the weight of his armour. But he still held fear of the authorities.

“I promise you can put it back on when I’m done.”

“That sounds lewd.”

Pure Vanilla snorted in a very unprince-like manner. “It does, but you know you want to.”

He was right, actually. Somehow, an aristocrat like him managed to see past the layers of metal and muteness and understood the being that lay beneath awfully well. Pure Vanilla knew of his most raw, vulnerable feelings, and never once treated him as less or mocked him, though technically he was. So, to satiate Pure Vanilla and take advantage of moment of solitude they had, Dark Cacao swung himself off his mount, where he was still taller than Pure Vanilla.

“Fine,” he conceded.

The armour was silent as it hit the woodland floor, and he stripped, piece by piece until he could actually feel a soft breeze washing between the folds of his thin clothing.

“Finally,” cried Pure Vanilla, bouncing on the balls of his feet and landing a kiss to Dark Cacao’s lips.

As he was pulling away, Dark Cacao caught his face in his hands and pressed their lips together in a longer, more urgent kiss. He slipped his arm around Pure Vanilla’s waist, pulling him closer.

“I bet you’re grateful I ran off,” Pure Vanilla murmured into his lips, pushing Dark Cacao’s hair back and sliding a hand onto his cheek.

He pulled back, stroking the area beneath his bi-coloured eyes.

“I’m always happy to see your demanding little face.”

Pure Vanilla hummed, searching Dark Cacao’s face. He lifted a hand, and gently prodded a cut on his jaw.

“Is that new?”

“Probably. It’ll heal.”

“Well of course it will—“

“It might get infected.”

Pure Vanilla fought the urge to smile. “I know, but how do you even get one,” he wondered aloud, pursing his lips in concern.

Dark Cacao uttered something unintelligible in return, and continued to thumb the space underneath his eyes. He was focused, and though it seemed as though he was focused on Pure Vanilla, yet he didn’t register his words.

“Dark Cacao?”

His heavily-lashed eyes fluttered a little, and he sighed, leaning his forehead against Pure Vanilla’s. “I’m sorry my love. Your eyes are simply captivating.”

“Even though they can barely see,” he said bitterly. His voice took on a softer tone. “At least I can see you.”

“Half the time I’m wearing my armour,” Dark Cacao said.

“I can still distinguish you. Something about your demeanour and the way you hold yourself, the way you walk, makes you so much more distinctive. Everyone else fades away into a blur of colours. You really are the only one I have eyes for.”

It was times like these, when Dark Cacao wanted to unravel completely before him.

“I live for you only; I serve you only,” Dark Cacao whispered.

Pure Vanilla ran yet another hand through Dark Cacao’s hair, and pressed down on his broad shoulders, guiding him down towards the floor. He kissed his bare neck, his collarbone, his jaw, littering Dark Cacao with kisses as he gently pushed him to lie on the floor, and moved to lie atop him, sliding his hands beneath Dark Cacao’s head, lifting it to kiss him even more. He responded by wrapping his arms around Pure Vanilla’s back.

“I hate my stupid royale clothing,” he breathed, reaching around to loosen his sash and dispose of it somewhere in the foliage.

“Is there any kind of clothing you actually like,” Dark Cacao teased.

“Probably not. But armour hardly counts as clothing,” Pure Vanilla said, before he dove back into the kiss. This time, Dark Cacao felt his smile when their lips reconnected.

Pure Vanilla was warm, but it was a warmth he tolerated. No, more than tolerated. A warmth he craved, one he would forsake the cold of his homeland for. Strangely, he found it much more comforting than the conditions he normally loved, when it came from Pure Vanilla.

The prince sat back, disentangling himself from his lover, who also sat up, crossing his legs, Pure Vanilla leaned against his shoulder, resting his hand on Dark Cacao’s knee.

Behind them, Dark Cacao’s horse whinnied, flicking her tail.

That was a painful reminder to Dark Cacao: kissing the prince’s sun-soaked lips would not make his duties go away.

As if he could read his mind, Pure Vanilla spoke softly: “I wish I wasn’t a prince, and I wish you weren’t a knight.”

Often, Pure Vanilla would begin to talk of his inner wishes, fanciful dreams of a life they could lead where expectations wore neither of them down, and they could love as freely and as openly as they desired.

Dark Cacao understood those feelings. As a matter of fact, he shared in them a great deal, the desperate wishing that things were different. But he also knew, once he began to dwell on them, they would begin to grow, larger and larger until they consumed him and he would feel nothing else. So he less than encouraged it when Pure Vanilla got like this.

“Pure Vanilla,” Dark Cacao said gently.

“I know. Believe me, I know. But I can’t help wanting a quiet life with you.”

“This is all we have, you know that.”

“But I love you,” he burst out. “I love you so much and I hate that we’re so far apart all the time. I want to sit in sunlit fields with you for as long as I want, kiss you and hold you without a care in the world. Why is it that I have to bend to these ridiculous norms?”

Pure Vanilla turned to Dark Cacao, looking on the verge of tears. His eyes were glossy and he drove his teeth into his bottom lip with all the strength he could muster.

“I can’t even dream in peace. You’re everything to me, yet I can’t even have you, not fully,” he said, his voice cracking and his bottom lip trembling.

“I am always yours, my prince. All of me,” Dark Cacao said quietly. And he lifted Pure Vanilla’s hand from his knee, and kissed it.

A sob escaped him.

Dark Cacao lifted him, setting him down into his lap, whereupon he lay down, curling up and began to weep freely.

Twirling golden hair between his fingers, Dark Cacao stroked Pure Vanilla’s back. If his face was in view, he would have wiped the tears away.

“I wish it were different.”

As he looked down at the sobbing prince, Dark Cacao felt an ache begin to dull his senses, a fog born of love and desire and sorrow descending over him.

Distantly, calls and cries sounded. They were far, but seemed to be getting closer. Dark Cacao came to the realisation that they must be searching for the prince, and were on their way to the post—one he hadn’t even reached—where Dark Cacao should have been stationed, presumably to ask him if he had seen the prince.

“Pure Vanilla,” Dark Cacao urged. He shook his leg gently until Pure Vanilla lifted his head.

“I know it is ironic, but people are coming.”

He sniffed, wiping a hand over his eyes. “It’s not your fault. I’ll tell them you were taking me back, if you let me get on your horse.”

Dark Cacao wasted No time and immediately started pulling his armour back on, not fumbling once in his haste. He was accustomed to this, scrambling in and out of armour, going from a loving, affectionate man to a stoic, silent knight.

Right before he pulled his helmet on, Pure Vanilla stood on his tiptoes and clumsily planted a kiss on Dark Cacao’s lips.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replied. He meant it.

Then, he donned the last part of his armour, and his walls were back up. He mounted his horse, holding out a hand to help Pure Vanilla’s swing up and sit in front of him.

Having had its reins snapped, the horse sped into a gallop, carrying them through the forest.

Pure Vanilla leaned against Dark Cacao’s firm, armoured frame. To him, he was still the beautiful man he had kissed not even two minutes before.

He held onto that thought. The thought that, though he was forced to hide behind welded steel and metal all the time, Pure Vanilla knew what lay within.

And oh, how he cherished it.

#dark cacao x pure vanilla #crk au #medieval #knight x royal #cookie run kingdom #purecacao #dark cacao cookie #knight #prince #pure vanilla crk #pure vanilla cookie #dark cacao homosexual truther

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eylih · 10 months ago

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Credit: Brittney Lee (D23 2024)

The first piece of concept just got leaked! What we can assume/theorize:

- Considering the general atmosphere, the movie will take place in Spring (as I expect cause we already got Fall in F2 and both Summer and Winter in F1). I'm just hoping it will be the next Spring after F2

-The spirits and lore they introduced in F2 won't be left out, or least Nokk won't

- There's a slight chances the movie takes place a new places cause the trees look slighly different from the Enchanted Forest's

Unless it's an area in the forest where the vegetation is quite different or I'm over analyzing

- We're gonna have either a real MAGICAL antagonist or a character who appears at such at first. They look like they have a cap so these horns could be fake

- Their weapon reminds me a bit of the Northuldra's. It may be a different type but still one of their traditional tools

- They're clearly not the same but the way the character is holding it is similar to how Yelena holds hers in this concept art (also made my Brittney Lee). Not to mention this Ryder concept art by Jin Kim. So maybe a sign of the return of our Northuldra characters...?

-The Northern lights are gonna have an important role in the movies (since it's confirmed F3 and F4 are a same story cut in halves)

- We might meet the previous fifth spirit (or spirits)! It's a bit blurry and subtle but the two characters in front of the strange castle seems to quite have reindeer's horns. I'm even assuming the one on the left could be an actual reindeer

For those who are familiar with the deleted, Frozen 2 originally portrays a prologue where a character who could turn into a reindeer. It's kinda imply they were the fifth spirit

I have a strong feeling Frozen 3 and 4 are gonna include a lot the ideas they couldn't include in Frozen 2. Unlike Frozen's, a lot of Frozen 2's deleted scenes could still make sense in the canon verse

Remember these are my personal assumptions, feel free to agree or disagree!

#frozen #disney #frozen 2 #disney frozen #frozen elsa #elsa and anna #frozen 3 #d23 #concept art #fan theories #northuldra #honeymaren #ryder nattura #kristanna #nokk #elsamaren #frohana #brittney lee

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miowyaa · 3 months ago

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My heart to you; Isagi x f!reader

A/N: Requested by @evapori ! Thank you so much for this request, I had a lot of fun writing it, I hope you’ll enjoy! This should've been entirely light hearted but it is a little sad during the beginning, oops. ALSO IM SO SORRY BUT I COULDNT FIGURE OUT HOW TO MAKE THEM OFFICIALLY TOGETHER? LIKE he does (kinda) kiss her at the end so your just gonna have to live off those crumbs. im so sorry. Also, there's a part where the reader suggests that he becomes a “nude art model” IM NOT WEIRD I PROMISE, if you watched the anime there's a scene where Bachira and Isagi's parents meet and share that their sons are frequently booty naked at home LMAOO. CW: None! Or atleast that I can think of, if you spot any, let me know in the comments or in my dms <3

It's the game that will qualify Yoichi for nationals, he's playing with the same passion he normally does and you respond by cheering your heart out for him, just as you have been doing for every game of his. It's the last deciding point and he's running towards a goal, you can tell, but he passes and they lose. It hurts you but you know he's hurting more, and it's apparent on the walk home.

It's a silent walk home where the silence acts as a thin veil of his true feelings, he drops you off at your front door and waves a goodbye without so much as a word. You aren't that well versed in the realm of soccer, but you are in Yoichi. You pivot to say a goodbye only to find his back already turned to you and one leg over his bike, and decide that it's probably better to say nothing. Taking out your keys, you unlock your front door and walk in, the yellow fluorescent lights greet you as they always do but today there's a certain coldness to them. It was under these same lights where you met Yoichi, and it feels like it was just yesterday.

You were both six when you met, you recall your mother calling you from downstairs to greet someone- the son of her friend. He's bashful and stumbles over his words, he's matured since them but sometimes you can see faint traces of his past shyness. His mother introduces him and “Yoichi Isagi,” and you notice that he grips his mothers coat even tighter, but he does peek his head out a little more to get a better look at you. In return, you raise your eyebrow to stare at him rather judgementally. Your mother ushers you to go to the living room to play, and you do so. You take his wrist and drag him out from his mothers shadow, determined to show him your toy collection. He obliges, but it's not like he had much of a choice, you had a rather strong grip for a six year old.

It's been years since then, but he still allows you to pull him around like he's a ragdoll. But today, as his retreating figure becomes smaller from your view through the tiny crack you've made through the window blinds, you slump down and come to the realization that something may have changed. It might just be biased, but you can't name another soccer player that deserves this more than him, not even that white-haired guy from the other team that somehow got the reporters to listen to him so easily, not even him because he's not your Yoichi.

It's a few hours later and you're in bed, reading old text messages. Maybe it's cowardice but you find it hard to send him a message right now. Instead, you find comfort in past playful banter. You stare at your phone for so long that you don't realize a new day has begun, the sun rises and you stare out of your window dazed. The lack of sleep is evident but it all goes away with the sound of a notification. This notification in particular is his, you know this because he has a special ringtone on your phone, for calls and messages as do you on his. You spring for your phone and unlock it as humanely possible after what seems like hours, your messages finally load and a text reads out, “im coming over in 5, i have some news!”

What news? The vague text leaves you pacing around your room in worry, but you are soon snapped out of it when the sound of a rock hits your window, you look out and there he is. Wrapped in a scarf and grinning. This is a good sign, this means that whatever news he has likely isn't going to be that he has some life-threatening disease and he only has three weeks to live. You dash to the door in record time and slam it open, hopefully it didn't wake your parents. “Hi!” you pant, your rush to get to him is evident.

“[Name],” he smiles, and so do you. Like always, you grab his wrist and take him inside and he shuts the front door behind you. In your haste, you nearly make the both of you trip over several times, but luckily, you two do not end up on the floor. You make it to your room and sit him down, and with the most serious face you can make, you grab and shake his shoulders.

“Spit it out!” you say, still shaking his shoulders, he stops you by putting his hands on your shoulders and shaking you back in retaliation, its effective.

He pulls out a letter from inside of his coat and it's already opened, but you read the front of the envelope and in fancy font, it reads, “Japanese Football Association.” You stare at him dumbfounded but he urges you to continue. By the time you're done skimming over the letter, you're practically on top of screaming in joy. From the perspective of an outsider, you might as well be his mother from how much your screaming is embarrassing him. “It sounds like you’re more excited than I am,” he sighs before pushing you away with a finger on your forehead.

“Maybe I am, but it's about time they noticed how awesome you are. Were they perhaps blind before? It's the only explanation,” you shoot back, swatting his hand away. “But it's today! You should be more happy, you’re too calm about this,” you lean back on your bed's headboard, crossing your arms.

“I feel like you’re plenty excited for the both of us,” he hums before he stands up. “But if it makes you feel better, I promise I'll become the greatest soccer player!” Yoichi grins before turning his back to you, flexing his muscles.

“While you're at it, why don't you pick up a few jobs as a nude art model?” You laugh, he freezes before his arms drop down and looks at you with horror. “My mom told you that?” He looks at you fearfully and nearly drops to his knees in embarrassment.

“No. You forget we’ve known each other for close to a decade, and plus you already promised that on the first day we met remember?” You stick out your tongue playfully. He thinks for a second before he looks at you like ‘bazinga!’.

He leans in close to you and nearly shouts, “of course I do! The first day we met, I brought a soccer ball because before I was playing soccer- but it started raining. So my mom decided to take me to meet yours and when you took me to go play I-” you cut him off.

“You accidentally kicked it in my face.” you raise your eyebrow. Shamefully, he looks away and stuffs his hands in his pockets, you feel like he's about to start whistling and hope he does because it’d be pretty funny.

He coughs and you allow him to change the subject, and he looks like he's getting serious. “All of that aside, I don't know how long I'm not going to be able to see you for. But I hope that when we do, I'll be a better player for both of us, and I wanna make sure you’re still my biggest fan.” He grabs your hands and looks away, and you can see the redness creeping up to his cheeks.

Is he trying to make you burst out into tears or is he naturally this endearing? You guess both but that he's not doing it intentionally. He starts debating whether or not he should just run out your door and just go there because your silence is just killing him that much, you’re staring at him with wide eyes and your jaw opened slightly, and honestly, the redness on your face might even start to rival his. But luckily, he doesn't have to do that. You break free of his hold and slap his back as hard as you can, he stumbles a few feet from the unexpected hit. “Of course I will, you dummy,” you huff as you look bashfully to the side. Yoichi lights up and crashes onto you in a hug so tight that you think that it might leave bruises later, but nonetheless, you return it. He presses a kiss to your forehead and before you cant comprehend whats going on, he runs out of your room, making sure to slam the door in the process. If you didn't wake your parents earlier, they're surely up by now.

You stand there in shock, but not for long as you catch sight of him outside your window, running off to what's probably his football program thing, waving to you with the biggest grin in the world. You're more than happy to reciprocate.

#x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #isagi x reader #blue lock #isagi yoichi #bluelock #isagi x you #isagi x y/n #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x female reader

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pokeshippingweek · 9 months ago

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POKESHIPPING WEEK 2024!

It's that time again, pokeshippers!

Last year, we announced that the format of Pokeshipping Week - one theme per day - was getting retired. We also said that we'd still put on a celebration of some kind going forward. Well, the time is here, and I'm happy to announce that we are planning a pokeshipping zine...next year!

If you'll forgive the bait-and-switch there, we have seriously talked about doing a zine, but time got away from us this summer. So, while we do hope to tackle that undertaking in 2025, for this year, we're planning what you might call an open Pokeshipping Week!

How does it work, you ask? Simple: over the years, you all have submitted a lot of potential themes for Pokeshipping Week. For every seven that got chosen each year, plenty were left behind. Well, now you can fill November 1 to 7 with art, fics, AMVs, GIFs, graphics, etc., all about our favorite Poke-couple, using any seven you'd like from the unused themes list.

Any and all contributions are welcome, and if they're tagged #pokeshipping week 2024, we'll reblog them here and on the main @pokeshipping blog. Besides Tumblr, we’ll keep our eyes out for the tag on Twitter and DeviantART for artwork, for fanfics on FF.Net and AO3, and for AMVs on YouTube (no NSFW, please).

The full list of unused themes (from years 2020 through 2023) is below the "Read More" break. Use, combine, and create as your heart desires, and we'll see you November 1!

A bad fight A day in the life A never-ending road A ship full of shippers Alola sunset scene Amusement park Anime characters meet their game/manga counterparts Anniversary Art classes together/Drawing each other Ash and Misty in Sinnoh Ash’s hat Avatar: The Last Airbender AU Birthdays Breakup Cameran Palace ball (as in Movie 8) Celebrating Celebrities Champions/Masters Cheerleader Misty Childhood sweethearts Chocolate Comfort during a natural disaster Comforting each other Competition Confiding in one another Cooking disaster Costumes Criminal/Detective Crossover Crossover with game/manga-verse D&D Dealing with Team Rocket’s teasing in “A Scare in the Air” Dewpider/Araquanid Different hairstyle Disaster dates Disney AU Double dating Elder years Elders Ash and Misty Evolution Fairy tales/Fantasy AU Fankids Fireworks First day on the job Food Fortune-telling/foresight Game of Thrones AU Giving advice to a younger generation Grey hair Gym leader Ash/beginner Misty Halloween/horror/ghost story Hanahaki disease Handkerchief Happily Ever After/Fairy Tales Hiding Hogwarts AU Horizons Hot tub/Hot springs If Ash heard Misty’s Song If Ash or Misty weren’t from Kanto If Ash started his journey at 16 or older If Ash’s journey had ended after winning the Indigo League (in season 1) If Misty caught Lapras If one came from another region If their parents met If they didn’t meet on Ash’s first day In-universe Pokéshippers Intimacy Japanese-style confessional love letter JRPG AU (ie, Final Fantasy, Dragon Quest, Monster Hunter, etc.) Karaoke Ladybug and Chat Noir Last goodbyes Learning a different language Lost Pikachu Love Letter Love triangle Lovers across the multiverse Lovestruck (if Ash acted like Brock) Meeting the parents/relatives Mewtwo Strikes Back alternate ending Misty and other Pokégirls discuss their loved ones together Misty meets Goh and Chloe Misty overcoming her fear of Bug-types Misty the coordinator Misty’s Bug-type phobia Mixtape/playlist Mystery dungeon Nervous Ash Never have I ever Other Pokemon games AU (Detective Pikachu/Pokemon Masters/etc) Out of their element Overprotective Misty Perspective of Oak Ranch Pokémon on their relationship Photo shoot Pirates Plot twist Pokemon daycare Pokémon Mystery Dungeon AU PokéNav communication/Video calling Possessed/evil Misty Pregnancy/Birth Pro-gamers Puberty Reappearance of Ash’s father and/or Misty’s parents Regency Era Romance Return to Orange Islands Romeo and Juliet Sci-fi AU Scuba diving Secret identity/superhero AU Slow Slumber party Spies AU Stargazing Studio Ghibli AU Sunshine and Rain Superhero AU Swimming lessons Sygna suits Tabletop RPG AU Taller (height differences) Tauros ranchers Ash and Misty Time capsule Training together Umbrella Vacation Visiting Oak’s ranch Water and electricity/water and fire What if Ash didn’t take Misty’s bike? Yoga together Z-ring/Mega Stone

#announcement!#pokeshipping week #pokeshipping week 2024 #pokeshipping #news!

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swordfish-ii · 6 months ago

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Walking in the air

@thesteambird | Secret Santa 2024

✶ synopsis. — a brief moment in a day spent with with him

✶ featuring. — venti

Written for @thomine

Softly and quietly, his voice drifts towards you. Line by line, verse by verse, a song you do not know, and words you do not speak. But that has never mattered. Music is the language of the soul, and every one of his songs sings directly to yours.

You come to a stop, pausing before the threshold, just out of view of the open doorway. Eyes closing, you savor the song. Each note, each word, the pause between each line, the faint, almost inaudible breaths as he inhales to sing again. These are memories you greedily snatch for yourself – the ones you squirrel away in a special corner of your heart, nestled deep beneath your breastbone, a pile of little secrets just for you.

The song ends and the lyre strums stop. His voice lingers, hanging on the last note before fading to silence for a breath or two.

"I know you're there," he calls out after, his voice light as a breeze, "I should start charging you. I could probably pay my entire tab at Angel's Share with how many private shows I've put on for you."

You walk out brazenly, “Big talk for someone who doesn’t pay rent.”

“Boo!” he pouts, before dramatically throwing his lyre-free arms over his eyes, “You would deprive the most popular bard in Mond a place to rest his head? A place for him to put up his feet, to recover his spirits to face world and all its trails and tribulations?”

“Hey, I wasn’t the one that brought up the topic of payments,” you drawl, “but, I do have an offering to present in return for your song, oh most marvelous bard in all Mondstat.”

His eyes peak out from under his arm, twinkling with anticipation.

“Oh, do tell then! Don’t keep me waiting.”

You gesture to where you came from with a tilt of your head, "I made a pot of mulled wine. And the baked apples are just about ready to come out of the oven."

He springs into movement, a warm hand finding yours, fingers intertwining as he tugs you along.

The wind tickles the back of your calves, urging you to trot just that bit faster back to the oven, where the finished apples sit waiting, golden brown and steaming hot.

You pull the dessert out, and he grabs serving dishes. You scoop an apple for each of you, and he pours two mugs of wine. Then, you both sit down and enjoy.

After, when the plates have been mostly cleared, when the compliments have been given and graciously accepted, when you have been sipping away at your cooling mug of wine, he starts to hum the same song as before.

"That song, where is it from?"

He looks out of the window, where the snow is blanketing the city, settling on top of the statue in the square.

"An old friend of mine wrote it years and years ago," he pauses here, his voice soft, "Songs are all written with the songwriters' feelings, you know. So, to me, they sound most spectacular when you can sing them with the same heart."

He holds your gaze, and you make a request:

"Sing it for me again? I didn't catch the first bit earlier."

He smiles and magics his lyre to his hand. "Sure! I won't even ask you for an apple this time."

I'm holding very tight I'm riding in the midnight blue I'm finding I can fly So high above with you

Note: here is the song he sings.

#genshin impact #venti x reader #venti #venti x you #steambirdsecretsanta

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justgiulia · 8 months ago

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Author's note: Ok so I was on my bed and this absolute banger of an idea spawned into my mind...I suggest you read the historic background I've written in this same post to better understand the vision...

they/them pronouns used after the historical background

Rook Hunt as a stilnovist poet

HISTORICAL BACKGROUND

I think a lot of us know about stilnovism, known also as "dolce stil novo". A literary movement that began towards the end of the thirteenth century with Dante Alighieri as its most renowned poet. At the basis of the stilnovistic thought, there were the fundamental chivalric ideals of love such as: the vision of a woman as an angelic and transcendent creature, to the point that the one who loved her felt the need to ask God for forgiveness for having venerated the woman more than God himself; the knights and the troubadours/stilnovists (name of the poets of that literary movement) were tormented by an unrequited love since "true" love for them meant observing the woman from afar, without their love being reciprocated because they felt inferior to the woman they loved.. Now imagine rook hunt as a stilnovist poet deeply in love with the reader...do you guys see the vision?

Rook would write sonnets dedicated to the reader, celebrating their beauty and virtue in the style of dolce stil novo. He’d describe them as an ethereal muse, illuminating his darkest thoughts and guiding him toward love’s enlightenment.

Drawing from the tradition of dolce stil novo, Rook would often use nature as a metaphor for his feelings. He might compare the reader’s eyes to the shimmering stars or their smile to the blooming roses of spring, illustrating the profound impact they have on his soul.

In the quiet of the night, Rook would sneak away from his duties to serenade the reader outside their window, playing soft melodies on a lute and reciting verses that express his admiration and longing. These serenades would be infused with a mix of romantic despair and hope, like the essence of stilnovist emotion (as said previously).

Rook would treat the reader with utmost respect and adoration. He’d engage in chivalrous acts, such as gifting them flowers or rare books of poetry, and he would always seek their counsel and company. He would often lose himself in daydreams about the reader, contemplating the nature of love and beauty. These contemplations would inspire him to pen some of his most poignant works, reflecting on how their presence transforms the mundane into the extraordinary, like Guinizzelli's works or he might write about how the reader’s love brings light to his dark moments, yet also acknowledge the bittersweet pain of longing like Dante Alighieri.

Rook would look for opportunities to engage the reader at gatherings of poets and artists, where they could share their thoughts on love and beauty. He’d seek to impress them with his eloquence and charm, hoping to capture their heart amidst discussions of art and philosophy.

As previously mentioned, Rook’s poetry might carry a hint of melancholy, reflecting the struggles of a lover whose affections may not be fully returned. He’d write about unfulfilled dreams and the sweet sorrow of love.

So, yes. I think Rook would embody at 101% the essence of a passionate stilnovist poet, channeling his love for the reader into art and emotion, celebrating them as both muse and companion.

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sweetteaanddragons · 4 months ago

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Back to Middle Earth Month - First Times

@spring-into-arda

(Specifically: the first time Maglor tries to use an instrument after his rescue in my Memento Pugna verse!)

He had been forced to stay away from Maglor for longer than he would like; he trusted Lauriel to have ensured that Maglor received the care he needed in Elrond’s absence, of course, but there was also the lurking fear that this time when he returned, he would find that yet another piece of his family had slipped out of his reach.

The look on the apprentice healer’s face when he walked into the room to relieve her did not encourage him.

She fled without offering explanations, but he thought he could piece part of it together already; Maglor had turned in the bed so that his face was to the wall and did not appear to have moved for some time.

There was a hand harp on the floor beside the bed. A decided dent had been knocked into it from the force of the fall.

“Atar,” he said gently. “Atar, will you not look at me?”

There was a noticeable pause, the first time Maglor had refused him since Elrond had found him in that cell. That was progress, of a sort; he noted it in the small corner of his mind not consumed by worry.

Maglor turned at last. His eyes were terrifyingly blank.

“Elrond,” he said after yet another pause.

Elrond sat on the side of the bed. “Will you not tell me what happened?” he said gently.

“Nothing. Nothing that matters.”

Maglor’s hands were one of the few pieces of him that were not wrapped in bandages or recently released from them. The damage on them had been too old to require them.

Elrond reached for those hands carefully now. The palm of one was twisted by old, thick scar tissue; the fingers on both were near unrecognizable.

He could imagine what had happened when Maglor had attempted the harp.

“It is for the best,” Maglor said, still in that horrible, echoingly empty tone. “If I cannot wield a weapon . . . it is for the best.”

His voice was beautiful, even still, but it too had not healed; it rasped and caught unexpectedly.

“It is not for the best for you to be deprived of your music,” Elrond said firmly.

“It doesn’t matter,” Maglor repeated. “Only one thing matters, and this will only help with that; people will be less afraid, and if they are less afraid - “

“It matters,” Elrond said, just as firmly as before. He turned Maglor’s hands over, considering them carefully. He had to be sure before he said this, but -

Yes. He was sure. He had been considering the problem since he had gotten Maglor through those first terrifying weeks; once he had been sure the other would live, the problem had consumed every moment he could spare for it.

“I can heal this,” he said.

Maglor’s head snapped up.

“It is a risk,” Maglor said at last. He could not look at Elrond as he said it. “I would understand if - ”

“I can heal this,” Elrond repeated, “and so I will heal this, once you are strong enough to bear it. Only work on growing stronger so that day may come soon.”

Maglor closed his eyes. Took a shaking breath.

“I do not think I shall ever be done thanking you,” he whispered.

Gently - ever so gently - Elrond squeezed his hands. “Stay with me,” he said quietly. “That is thanks enough.”

#b2mem25 #memento pugna #maglor #elrond #implied/referenced torture

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mollywog · 3 months ago

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Katniss of Panavonlea

Katniss’s knees quiver from her perch on the stool in front of the class.

“Begin whenever it pleases you Miss Everdeen,” Mr. Crane, the school master, says smuggly.

She scowls despite her nerves. He’d looked so delighted at the prospect of demonstrating his authority on his two new pupils when her sister’s slate had slipped. It had crashed to the ground, shattering and Prim had turned so pale, looking next to tears as the man gleefully began to berate her carelessness— ‘he might be politer to a stranger,’ Katniss had been quick to point out in her sister’s defense. As a result she had landed herself in Crane’s crosshairs instead. All the better, she’d thought.

Unfortunately for her, he could not have landed upon a more effective punishment than standing her up in front of the room to recite from memory the passage she was meant to be reading.

It’s not that she hadn’t read the text - she had, even reread it in the time the teacher allotted while he’d gone to the back of the room to make eyes at Cassie Mere under the guise of tutoring. She’d just hadn’t a knack for memorization and up until this point, no real need for it either.

“Alright Miss Everdeen, I’ll grant you a concession; Recite anything— anything at all.”

This is no favor; for now that any recitation is possible, she can’t bring a single one to mind at all!

Snickering from the edge of the room draws her attention; that awful Clover Pye laughing at her, no doubt!

That does it.

She lifts her chin and straightens her spine before opening her mouth to begin—what? She's still unsure, until her sister’s musings on the violets this morning come to mind, and the words spring forth— well, not words exactly.

She may have no patience for prose, but she can remember anything set to tune after only one listen. So she sings. Focusing on the widow at the back of the school house, the sounds of the classroom melt away; her voice shaky at first, soon warms to something splendid, swelling as she sings the final verse:

Roses are red, love; violets are blue.

Birds in the heavens know I love you.

Know I love you, oh, know I love you,

Birds in the heavens know I love you.

The last note rings out and she’s greeted with silence as she returns to the human realm, having surely briefly left it for the fairies as she sang.

Even Mr. Crane looks stunned at her outburst, so she bobs a quick curtsy and dismisses herself back to her desk.

It’s only then that she becomes more accurately aware of all eyes still on her. Delly Cartwright's smile is even wider than usual, only heaven knows how, and Clover Pye is no longer laughing, her nose wrinkled in distaste.

But it’s the boy standing in the aisle’s reaction that rankles her the most. Peeta Mellark, who teases the girls something terrible, much to their thinly veiled delight, stands as if frozen in motion; eyes wide, mouth agape.

He’s mocking her; they all are, she’s certain! Her temper flares.

So as she passes, she sweeps his feet from under him, sending Peeta Mellark tumbling to the ground with a satisfying thump.

She doesn’t wait for the next punishment, instead gliding past her desk and leaving out the back door, ignoring the school master’s shouts from behind her.

#Katniss of Panavonlea #AnnexTHG #a little bit of the valley song #a little bit of the post 74th interview rage #a little of the private training session shenanigans #and a nod to Anne sacking the slate over Gilbert’s head #everlark fanfiction #thg fanfiction #tell me what scene to consider next

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0oolookitsme · 1 year ago

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Like Gold Dust

Hii everyone! This one is kind of different than most of my fics. There are lots of descriptions and lesser dialogues and she's an angsty one! Lowkey poetic too, I think? I don't know! You tell me! I hope you enjoy reading <3

Verse - Footballer!Harry x Art Director!Y/n (uni era)

Word Count - 3.1k

Warnings - This fic is about Harry dealing with Seasonal Depression and he doesn't deal with it in this fic very healthily. So, if that, in any way, seems like it might be triggering for you or you don't wanna read about it, I totally understand! Close this fic and take care of yourself, I'll see you in the next upload! Sending love <3 (Also, there's miscommunication as well because of course, they are in uni!)

Winter has come knocking the wind out of Harry's lungs, and happiness has begun feeling like gold dust to him -- everybody seems to be chasing after it, but rarely catches it. But while Harry deals with the harshest Winter he's ever had, Y/n seems to have begun hating her favourite season.

Please rb to share! | Masterlist

With her head lowered defeatedly, Y/n slapped on the door with her palm for the fifth time. "Harry," she exhaled a breath that she had held hostage in her lungs so that she wouldn’t miss his reply. "I know you're in there ...let me in, please," her voice went meek towards the end, eyes moistening making her screw them shut, tighly.

She let her head rest on the door, sniffling a few times when she feels the sudden tiredness overtake her senses once again.

Maybe he's asleep, she thinks to herself just to get herself moving. Nodding at her own thought, she fisted the hand that was still pressed against the cold shut door and put it back in the warmth of her coat’s pocket.

This was nothing new. Every morning she'd come to his dorm, knock and knock and knock, and get teary eyed when he wouldn't open up. She'd catch him on the campus sometimes, walking in the same clothes she'd been seeing him in since the past three days, his head low and eyes avoiding any and every gaze.

"Harry!" She'd call after him and run up to match her steps with his. "I went to your dorm; thought you were sleeping but here you are!" Halting in her place she'd exclaim. Then, she'd mumble sadly -- "looking all pretty," running a little because he hadn't stopped with her.

She'd walk with him quietly then, cautiously weaving her fingers through his rough ones. He'd squeeze her hand three times in return and hold on tightly until they'd reach the point where they needed to part ways for their classes.

Truth be told, those little encounters seemed to be the only thin thread she was hanging by. His simple touches, holds, and cold lips pressed against her forehead. It made her believe that he didn’t entirely hate her, that she wasn’t as useless as she felt.

Y/n felt like she was lacking somewhere. That she should be the one he should be talking to in moments like these, that she should be the sole source of comfort he had but it seemed like he kept his distance from her as much as he could. And that made her feel like maybe she wasn’t his favourtie person, after all.

She knew that it wasn’t the truth in her heart. That Harry did still love her, and found his safe haven in her – the smallest actions he made were assuring …but they weren’t enough to prevent Y/n’s opposing, combatant mind from exceeding its thinking capacity.

Every night she found herself doubting herself – her capacity to love, especially. Was her love not enough for the both of them to sail a little longer? At Least until Spring came and Harry’s sunflower plant became full of life again?

She feared that their relationship was withering away, just like his sunflower, and she was sat in his room on his window sill with the plant in her lap, frantically giving it sunlight and air and water and better soil but it just won’t stop shrinking in size and fading in colour.

Doing everything she could, still Y/n was always feeling helpless and in despair. It was like she was screaming but Harry wasn’t listening…whether intentionally or not because, from Harry’s point of view, no sound seemed to be coming out of her scream – maybe because he was under water.

"I'll see you soon," she'd tell him and get up on her tiptoes to hug him close to herself, pressing a kiss on his unshaved cheek. And with that, she'd walk away, her hand a lingering touch until she had walked far enough, and she, yet again, proved to be insufficient and not enough.

Walking against the brittle wind, she caught sight of the on-campus cafe. Walking inside, she looked up at the jingling bells above the door and smiled. She’d been coming here for so many months and yet she looked up at the source of the chime every time she walked in – for coffee, mainly, and for some warm shelter, secretly.

"A medium coffee please," she told the barista, who also happened to be a good friend. The cafe was opened by some of the college students, for the college students. It was nothing fancy but did its job remarkably well.

No one was speaking this early in the morning. Everyone was bundled up in any corner that they could seek, and Y/n looked around in hopes that maybe the footsteps she'd heard inside Harry's dorm weren't actual and that she might catch him cozied up here, instead. Because sometimes they'd bump into each other here or at the library, and that would bring her the peace that she was feeling rarely this Winter – which came as a shock to the system because she didn’t nearly love any season as much as she did Winter.

But alas, it was only a hope after all.

"Can I get a refill, please?" Someone asked, slightly embarrassed as the peeked from behind their laptop screen. Standing in front of Y/n, the barista – Kate – agreed to the request with a warm smile.

It was brighter than usual today, Harry had noticed. The sunlight pouring in through his open window laid right on his bed and if he wasn’t already feeling brighter today, which is the reason why he is standing fresh out of his bathroom and rubbing his towel against his head with another one wrapped low on his hips, his mood just felt as if it had bubbled up so high that he couldn’t handle it all by himself.

The flimsy curtains were still drawn in front of his windows, as he quickly changed. Even though he hated dressing up before his skin had fully dried. Unconsciously, he began humming a song and when he realized that while brushing his hair, he felt as if he had caught himself off guard.

Happiness had begun to feel like it was like gold dust, to Harry. He’d suddenly become very aware of how difficult it was to obtain, how everyone wanted it and it was almost as if it had grown out of his comfort zone.

He wasn't excited about the winter, not that he ever was. But he was depressed. Harry avoided his own gaze in the mirror then. He hadn’t said anything to himself other than a broken sob in weeks, so to find himself humming a song felt surreal.

Throwing some things in his backpack, he swung it over his shoulders. He didn’t have anything on his feet, he realized and sprawled on the floor to look under his bed for the socks he was sure he had absentmindedly kicked under there.

He took a quick sniff at his socks, deciding that he could go with them this last day. With a few grunts he pulled them up on his feet, sitting on the floor of his dorm room and tying his shoelaces. Y/n had gifted him those among some other things for Christmas, and that thought made him smile as he stared at the Nikes on his feet for little.

A few of his bones popped as he got up, making him groan in satisfaction. Checking if he had his phone and headphones on him, he decided to go and quickly check the scenery outside via his window and see for himself if he should carry an umbrella, which didn’t make any sense because it could begin raining cats and dogs any time where he lived.

That was when he caught sight of snow – falling down in flakes, slowly like feathers. His mouth fell open as he pressed his palms against the cold window glass, looking outside like some eager kid with his nose slightly smushing against it. His gaze wandered and he realized that everyhting was covered in white snow, shimmering beautifully as sunlight fell down.

Suddenly in a much bigger hurry, he swung his backpack on one of his shoulders again, and locked the door once he was on the other side of it.

The temperature inside his dorm room was much colder than the temperature outside, Harry realized, just as he does every other day and proceeded to walk down the hallway with his hands in the pockets of his bright pink hoodie. He’d been thinking all morning that maybe this serotonin release was only for one day, but chose not to dwell over that so he could simply live for at least some hours – for as long as the sun was away from the jail-bars, namely clouds.

But then he realized that it had finally begun snowing, and he felt like no one could take his happiness from him; absolutely no one.

He hated this issue that he had. He’s been suffering with seasonal depression since he was fifteen, he’d guess, and he hadn’t had one winter since that made him happy. Except, of course, the last one, in which he finally had the nerve to kiss Y/n under a mistletoe that had been hanging on the wall indentation that separates the dining area from the kitchen in his home.

And she made the Winter sufferable, if not entirely rainbows and sunshine for him. But it only made Harry hate himself worse – the fact that she adored no season as much as she did the snow one, and yet she was sad all the time during the span of this Winter in particular, because of him.

When Winter was approaching, she had strictly told him to come meet her before he’d leave for practice in the mornings, just so that she could hold him for a little before they’d go in for entirely different classes for the day, because she was aware that one of his love languages was physical touch. She didn’t really have a clue about how harsh this Winter was going to be on them, considering it hadn’t ever been so bad in the years she had known him, even as his best friend.

But he hadn’t been following the one rule she’d made; he was unable to.

He tried to stay away from her, when he realized that. Just so that she wouldn’t have to share all of her love and happiness with him to the level that she was left with nothing but his sadness. It wasn’t making him feel good, it hurt worse than the Winter did – staying away from her. But it was for the better, he’d tell himself over and over again as he would roll his lips in his mouth and shut his eyes tightly when she would come knocking on his dorm room morning and night, voice sounding as if she were on the verge of breaking down and begging him to open up so that she could come in and help him, and herself even.

“This is making me very sad, Harry. This – whatever it is that you’re doing, i – it isn’t making me feel anything but … but sad,” she would utter defeatedly outside his dorm, being ignorant about the strangers that might be hearing her. And, Harry would clench his eyes shut if his mind showed him a sight of her bottom lip trembling with fat tears rolling down her flushed cheeks.

What would matter to anyone hearing her, if Harry wasn’t hearing her? She’d think as she’d knock for the last few times, getting louder and louder.

It made Hary question his decisions, if he was doing the ‘right thing’ after all. But still he would gulp down his cry that threatened to escape his aching throat. He cried, and held himself as his body shook and broke down in sobs, because it felt selfish to have her do it when she could be outside building a snowman.

He was well aware that she was concerned about him, it showed in her actions -- bled through the looks of care she passed him before she had to part from him. And he felt careless, like he wasn’t being responsible and mature enough by simply letting her in but he was. He couldn’t explain as to how or why, but in his head, he knew he was being sensible by not enclosing her in his misery.

Around Y/n he was calmer and more at peace – that was, nowadays, whenever she would catch him sulking on the campus somewhere. Almost all the time he wanted to be coddling her, holding her or being near her -- he knew she’d keep him sane, at the least but still he didn’t go to her. So he managed to comfort himself by the things that reminded him of her.

He felt such geat despair in that moment, when he would be sliding down the wall of his dorm as tears fell one after another from the slits of his eyes. He’d feel resentful of himself, but would still wrap his arms around his weak body and strangle his sobs because the walls were paper thin. He’d rest his head on his knees, back against the cold wall before he’d crawl to the foot of his bed and cry into the mattress as if it were his mum’s or Y/n’s lap.

The sun had begun its hideaway for multiple days on end, and it got dark way earlier. Although he'd liked to think that he was prepared for the season, for the entirety of the beautiful autumn, he knew he was just baffling to himself. His current state was proof for it.

He felt tired, always. Never sleeping and being irritated at the slightest mistakes made during practice -- whether it was with himself or with his teammates. He had no interest in eating or getting out of his dorm room in the mornings, which was extremely unusual of him. Exams were around the corner and as much as he'd like to say that he was ready to tackle them, it was a lie far far away from the truth.

He wasn't even sure what the syllabus was, if he was being completely honest.

By the end, his throat would be aching because of the stifled wails and the sun would have risen by the time he’d be done collecting himself, and then a headache would follow and his eyes would've dried up because of the night time that he used to study instead of sleeping.

Swiftly climbing down the flight of stairs to go to y/n's dorm, he felt the same kind of sensation he did when he was going back home for the winter break.

He knocked thrice, gently because he’s sure she's still sleeping or just woken up. There was a rush in his body, the thought of seeing her was making him more and more impatient. He was beginning to feel nervous, almost verging on anxious.

The door opened, and Y/n peeked through the small crack before and her eyes widened at the sight in front of her. He was standing right there, freshly showered and dressed in a fresh pair of clothes. His face was shining and as he smiled down at her, his dimples indented in his shaved cheek and she could smell the strong smell of his shaving cream that lingered around for a while. His lips were stretched so far that the front of his bunny could be seen from the small gap forming in between.

He didn't look much better than he did on the mornings that have passed them by since winter started, but he did seem to be in a better mood. It made her happy that he loved the hot pink hoodie that she bought him as much as she did. He had paired it with some joggers, and the shoes that, again, she had gifted him.

Tears pooled in her eyes in an instant and her nose flared a bit as her mouth swung open in a grin, spurts of laughter falling out as she gazed at him in disbelief.

She made herself fully visible and opened the door wider. Instead of saying anything, she closed her mouth shut, still smiling at him brightly, and opened her arms for him to lean into her.

"Good morning," he gritted through his teeth as she held him tightly, rubbing her back up and down as she broke down in his arms. Pushing the door shut with his leg.

“Good fucking morning,” she sobbed and hicupped, a crack in her voice indicating that this was the first time she'd spoken since she'd woken up, and that she would’ve begun screaming in victory if only she could stop the stuttering cries rushing out of her.

This was the sole reason she'd begun to dislike mornings less, in the first place -- the love she felt oozed out of her at the sight of Harry. But she hadn’t realized just how off and gloomy she had been this whole time until she broke down at the mere sight of him looking decent. All these mornings that she had to wake up knowing deep in her core her that she wouldn’t see the sun, no matter how much she begged for it to come out had put her in a despair so great that she couldn’t even fathom the feeling of it.

But when she’d woken up this morning to see the land outside covered in white snow, shining as sunlight fell on it filled her with a certain hope to the brim. It almost made her flinch, the way sunlight fell on her face as she laid in her bed, eyes swollen and pillow still wet with the tears she’d cried into it the night before.

"You look exceptionally good this morning," she said while pointedly eyeing him up, wiping off the snot with the sleeve of her hoodie. "All good?"

Harry laughed at that, picking her up and taking her to the unmade bed. It looked like she was in the process of making it because all of her stuffed animals were strewn all over the floor -- and she tends to sleep with them on the days Harry isn't there to take up more space than necessary.

“I would’ve been on my way to buy some flowers for you, had I not seen the snow outside. Got too excited to see you, couldn’t wait,” he spoke softly, like she was still in a fragile state.“Plus, it’s too cold outside and I’d like my golden girl to come with me… For the sunflowers only bloom at the sight of the sun,” he smiled with his eyes crinkling on ends, and dimples shying away from Y/n’s gaze.

“First of all, we need to talk and second of all – how many times did you reframe this cringy speech, Harry?”

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